By all accounts, it was a typical Saturday night in deep space for the Starbug crew. Lister and Cat were playing a Junior Angler drinking game in the mini-pub, Kryten had powered down for the night, and Rimmer sat alone at the table in the bunkroom, cramming for the next morning's Beginning Astronavigation exam, and cursing his terrible luck. Even though he'd made his timetable months ago, circumstances entirely beyond his control had prevented him from following it – Lister had been up to his usual antics, of course, plus a time hole had surgically subtracted two weeks from the universe, and not to mention there had been that rather nasty incident with the GELF hybrid and the breakfast kippers. That had taken weeks of valuable time to clean up, and as a result, Rimmer hadn't even started revisions yet. Not for the first time, he now had one night to learn, review, and master the entire course. And, as usual, his progress was slower than the express checkout line at Seniors R Us.
"CUTIE: Current under tension is… is…" Exhausting. Enraging. Endless. Rimmer dropped his hand and let his face fall forward into the well-worn textbook in front of him. He winced at the sharp and sudden pains in his nose and chin, courtesy of his new hard light form, but it was satisfying to hear the thud and to be able to express frustration physically again. Lately, all he'd felt was irritation and outrage with these damned astronavs. What kind of gimboid can't pass even Beginning Astronavigation by his thirteenth try? Then again, it wasn't his fault; he'd opened the textbook at least twenty times, skimmed the first three chapters repeatedly, and slept with it under his pillow most nights – what more could one man do? But dead or alive, no matter how many times he revised and sat for the exam, he still couldn't master even the most basic principles, and if he couldn't recall them here, on his own, at his own pace, he knew he'd be hopeless in the exam room. Again.
He groaned in frustration, and looked up to see that it was just after midnight. The exam was in eight hours, and, stuck on chapter two, he'd made no meaningful progress. He'd already registered for the exam on the evaluation computer, and boasted to Lister of his impending victory, so he could hardly back out now, but his mind protested at any further revision tonight. Maybe a quick walk would help clear his head. Not far, just to the medibay and back, but hopefully it would help him relax. He rose unsteadily, and trudged towards the door.
He was sick of astronavigation and sick of the exam process. And worst of all, he was sick of trying to even the playing field. It wasn't his fault that the exam computer's marking standards hadn't been updated since the 23rd century, and were still keyed to the Academy training he had never received. All he needed was just the slightest bit of advantage to compensate for this handicap, but it seemed like every time he tried, the universe threw a fish in his face. It was always the same story; what was the point of trying it all again? He first had to scheme new ways to help him marshal the facts already in his command, which taxed his intellect to the limit and distracted him from revisions. Lister called it cheating, and the onboard exam computer probably would as well if it ever found out, but it wasn't Rimmer's fault that the system was rigged against him. Still, even once his plan was in place, the anxiety of being disqualified was all-consuming, and self-sabotage was inevitable. Was it any wonder by the time the actual exam rolled around, he had always gone more than slightly bonkers?
Things hadn't been any easier when he was alive, either. Probably the worst episode had been that time he'd ingested a garbage pod's worth of learning drugs, and due to an unfortunate breakfast companion, his exam answer was an 80,000 word manifesto on the history, societal significance, and thermodynamics of toast and toastable bread products. Traditional schoolboy tricks hadn't helped either - even faking a seizure to peek at someone else's exam hadn't worked (though in his defense, the plan had worked flawlessly until he was seated next to Stinky Cunningham. Who still used cursive in the 23rd century? Get with the times!). It never made any difference; no matter how much he strategized and prepared, every time he sat for astronav, he couldn't even navigate his way out of the exam room unassisted. After thirteen failures, with a fourteenth looming on the horizon, it was starting to get embarrassing.
Rimmer gloomily entered the medibay and drifted around the room, letting his eyes roam the various instruments and equipment. The lights were dim this time of night, and the only bit of light and color came from a shimmering rainbow of test tubes stored in a rack on the back shelf, samples of the positive viruses that Lister and the others had recovered from Professor Lanstrom's ruined laboratory a few months back. What a horrible, humiliating ordeal that had been, contracting that awful holovirus. Rimmer hadn't even known he could be infected by viruses as a hologram, but now a whole new chasm of fears and paranoia over his health had opened up for him. Particularly with his new hard light drive, he could never be certain whether he was susceptible to illnesses, or how they might manifest. Though at least now he had a dignified excuse if he decided to skip tomorrow's exam – he could always just tell the others that he was sick. Not even Lister could criticize him for missing an exam if he'd come down with a bug…
Suddenly, Rimmer's eyes and nostrils flared wide. If he could be infected with a holovirus, then maybe… True, he didn't know for certain how it would affect him, if at all, but what did he have to lose? If he didn't have some type of assistance, there was no point in him sitting for the exam tomorrow, and he knew it. In his excitement, he yanked the rack off the shelf, searching for luck.
The test tubes were filled with neon-bright colors from all over and beyond the rainbow. They radiated promise and opportunity, the ability to enhance any feature or veil any flaw, if only temporarily. Luck, sexual magnetism, creativity, confidence, empathy, charisma, you could come down with any quality you could possibly desire. He'd seen the luck virus once, when Lister brought it back to the ship and into quarantine. If memory served, it was blue, or at least some remarkably bluey shade of green. Scanning the tray now, Rimmer spotted two different blue vials. The first was a rich, royal blue, labeled "felicitus populi (bonŝancon)." The second was a brilliant, almost radiant sky blue, titled "confidentia (memfido)."
Rimmer frowned. Drat. He couldn't even guess on the Esperanto, but maybe he could figure out the Latin. English came from Latin, right? It couldn't be that difficult. He stared at the first tube. Felicitus populi. Must be…feline popularity? That didn't sound anything like luck. The Cat must have gotten this one custom-programmed, or maybe it was a sample from him, an attempt to isolate his arrogance and vanity (hopefully to cure it; he'd been insufferable since day one). No, felicitus populi was right out. But confidentia? What could that mean other than 'confidential,' and what could be more jealously guarded than a good luck virus? Enough of the stuff and you could probably rule the entire universe with a well-timed snap of your fingers. Yes, this had to be it! Rimmer picked up the luminous tube and uncorked it, but then hesitated. Maybe he should double-check this first. Wasn't it in his best interest to make absolutely sure that this really was luck he was taking? For all he knew, it could be Lister's most recent urine sample; the color was certainly consistent.
On the other hand, time was probably of the essence if he wanted the full effect. When he was alive, generally a few days would pass between some inconsiderate goit sneezing in the lift and Rimmer waking up with a full-blown space cold, complete with runny nose and a concentrated fever burning up one of his arms. With the exam in less than twelve hours, though, Rimmer hoped that for once, his immune system was as exhausted, unprepared, and pessimistic as he felt.
He held the test tube up to the light, in a jeering toast to his own desperation, and then knocked back the entire contents like a double whiskey with cherry and lemonade. But as luck would have it, the taste was actually rather pleasant, like a fresh-picked, fortifying orange with generous zest. It tasted clean, bold, and energetic, exactly the restorative Rimmer needed. He savored the aftertaste for a moment before replacing the empty tube in the rack and heading back to his quarters. If this really was luck, he'd have an exam perfectly tailored to the questions and subjects he knew best waiting for him in the morning. Even a mild infection might be enough to give him a ninety-point extra credit question on how to spell his own name.
On returning to the bunk room, Rimmer instinctively headed back towards his desk to start his recording of 'Learn Astronavigation While You Sleep'. He always played it the night before an exam, in part because no matter how worried and restless he felt, his eyes always grew heavy within the first thirty seconds. But tonight, he paused. Did he really need to hear the instructor drone on for the fourteenth time about time holes and biosextants and how to calculate stoppage time for a reverse landing on Europa? Or could he muster like a man and sleep alone among the stars? After all, if luck was on his side, he didn't need the program. If not, he knew it wouldn't make a difference anyhow.
He turned away and walked over to his bunk, and began to fluff up his pillow instead. He felt… strangely calm, oddly comfortable with his decision that he didn't need to revise any further tonight. He didn't need the instructor's monotonous whine to drown out the constant chatter of his anxieties – for quite possibly the first time in his entire life or death, Rimmer's mind was at peace. Maybe tomorrow would be his final attempt at this exam after all, because with every moment, he became more and more convinced that he was going to pass. A rare smile began to snake its way across his face, and with a sigh of contentment, he closed his eyes.