Engage smug mode*, a red dwarf fanfic

Title: *Engage smug mode*

Author: Katy (Darwin's Ape)

Rating: PG

Category: Humour

Archive: Wherever – just ask, OK?

Disclaimer: Everything good in here belongs to the great and glorious Rob Grant and Doug Naylor. Apologies for borrowing them, but I needed to make Carrie smile.

Notes: In my defence, this was a rush job, it's not in my fandom *and* I'm no good at happy fics. But the only person obliged to read this is Carrie, who knows all that anyway.

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*Smug mode engaged*

Three decks below his shipmates' cabins, Kryten watched them sleep on the ship's CCTV. Three…two…one…

Lister was the first to respond to the alarm. He opened one eye, ascertained that nothing was threatening his guitar or his carefully guarded stockpile of porn and then pulled his pillow over his head. The alarm rose in volume. Rimmer jerked into a sitting position, arms raised as if halfway through a Double Rimmer. His eyes shot open. He slowly lowered his arms after doing a quick check of his surroundings and realising that God did, in fact, hate him. There was no gorgeous woman on his left arm, no champagne in his right hand and no Admiral Wossname praising his magnificent courage (above and beyond the call of duty) anywhere in sight. Instead, he remained lost somewhere in deep space, sharing a cabin with a man so grunge, Kurt Cobain would have asked him to take a wash.

Smeg.

Cat didn't use an alarm in his cabin. The sheer number of clothes in his room lead to acoustics that would muffle sounds below 5300 decibels. (Coincidentally, the loudest alarm clock ever made fell short of this target by only 20 decibels. This clock was designed and manufactured by Bassett Ltd, a small, family-run firm based on one of Neptune's moons. Including the prototypes, precisely 16 of these clocks were made, one of which currently orbits Saturn. For the two centuries it existed, Bassett Ltd's company motto literally translated as "Where there's a will, there's a very large frying pan.") Fortunately for Cat, his internal clock knew to wake him three hours before his main snooze, giving him time to pick out the perfect midday-napping outfit.

*Smug mode plus engaged*

Just about now, stage one of Kryten's plan should be coming into action.

"Lister…" Rimmer's voice oozed menace. "Why is our ceiling covered in pink balloons?"

"W'f'jck?" Lister responded.

"Lister! Why the smeg is our ceiling covered in pink balloons?!"

"Wuh. Fuh. Jck," Lister clarified. As a special token of his undying love and affection for his cabin-mate, he lifted his head from under his pillow. "Smeg off, goalpost head."

"Our cabin looks like an idea rejected by the set designers of 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' for being too camp and all you can do is resort to petty insults, dingo breath? Nothing makes me prouder to see you having sole responsibility for carrying on the fine traditions of the human race."

Lister's attempt a reply was cut short as Cat burst into the room, demanding that they look at what he was wearing.

"Yes, Cat, very nice," they chorused.

"You look hotter than the bastard son of George Clooney and an industrial thermostat," Lister added dutifully.

"I know, I know," Cat replied, "but look at my clothes. Some smeghead's turned them all pink. Even the lifeforms between Lister's toes know not to wear pink this season."

Rimmer looked across to Lister's toes. "Now you come to mention it, I've always thought your feet are by far the most fashionable part of your body. It must have something to do with being so far from your brain."

Lister smiled. "I find that sometimes my feet agree with the rest of me. Like now, we all want to kick your kneecaps in."

"Aren't we forgetting something important here?" Cat interrupted.

"The balloons?" Rimmer asked.

"No, nostril features – my clothes!"

Three decks below the cabin, Kryten grinned. Maybe his humanoids weren't the most sensitive in creation, but that just made the fact that they'd noticed all the more special. It was nice when all his hard work was appreciated.

*Smug mode plus plus engaged*

"WHY THE SMEG IS MY CURRY PINK?"

"Oh, so finally you deign to notice our little problem," Rimmer added, a tad snidely even by his standards. But what with the pink uniform, the pink display units and the very, very pale red ribbons welded to the skutters, who could blame a hologram for getting upset? The whole experience had become especially trying for him after Cat decided that he couldn't do any work today as his suit clashed with the (pink) consoles. "And while we're at it, has anyone seen Krytie-boy?"

*Smug mode disengaged*

*Engage panic mode*

*Panic mode engaged*

"He's probably off somewhere trying to get the pink stains off the toilets." Both men shuddered. That had been a nasty surprise.

*Panic mode disengaged*

*Smug mode reengaged*

Thank goodness for that – for a moment, Kryten had been worried that his part in the day's events would be discovered before his piece de resistance.

"Well, we do have more important things to worry about. Did you know Cat's been rocking backwards and forwards for the past three hours muttering to himself?"

"No. What's he been muttering?" Lister asked.

"I couldn't quite hear. I think the words 'candy floss' featured quite heavily though."

"Poor Cat." Lister thought for a moment. "No, poor me. Have you seen my curry? And my smegging beer looks reddish, too."

The dinner was pink. Oddly enough, that didn't come as a complete surprise to any of the crew. What did, however, surprise three of them was the very large, very, very pink cake that took both skutters to wheel it in. It was, indeed, very large. It was also an especially loud shade of pink, the type of colour appreciated by only the most dedicated members of Bassett Ltd's workforce.

"What the smeg is that?"

They heard a rumbling sound coming from inside the cake. The top shook, swirls of icing were dislodged from the cake's surface, the top began to crack…

"HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!" In theory, this was the point at which Kryten would spring from the cake, showering his crewmates with synthetic pink rose petals. In practice, this was the point at which Kryten's right arm spasmed, shooting out through a layer of pink sponge, one of pink fake marzipan and a third of pink icing to hit the Cat in the eye.

"Sirs, I must apologise. Mr Cat, sir, my sincerest –"

Lister cut him off mid-grovel. "Kryten. What. The. Smegging. Smeg. Is. Going. On?"

"Well, Mr Lister, sir, I thought that, since it was Valentine's Day and we're marooned in deep space without a teenybopper's chance in a mosh pit of ever seeing home again, I thought we should do something to mark the occasion."

Rimmer spoke slowly, choosing each word with care. "You mean this… this…" he gestured wildly, taking in the pink clothes, pink food, Lister's pink dreadlocks and his own pink uniform, "this… this is all your version of a morale boost?"

*Smug mode hyper plus plus engaged*

"Yes," Kryten beamed. "Do you like it?"

"Kryten," Lister began. "Man..."

"And that's not all," Kryten said. It had taken him weeks of careful planning but he knew that the happy looks on the others' faces would make it all worthwhile. "Sirs, if you'd like to follow me to the control room…"

*Smug mode hyper double plus plus extreme engaged*

"Now sirs, if you'd care to take a look at this VDU, you'll see a current view of the outside of the ship."

Thud.

Proudly, Kryten beamed down at the unconscious forms of three quarters of the crew of the mining vessel Pink Dwarf.

----Fin----

HAPPY LET'S-LAUGH-AT-SINGLE-PEOPLE DAY, CARRIE.

HOPE YOU'RE COPING WITH THE PANTOMIME.

**MWAH**