It was Monday morning. Rimmer stood outside the JMC Recruitment Office and stared at the poster on the door. 'JOIN THE CORPS AND SEE SPACE!' it proclaimed cheerfully, showing two beaming officers clothed all in white. Rimmer snorted and pushed open the door. The man inside looked up from his desk with a smile, "How can I help you?"
"Hi," Rimmer said, "My name's David Lister and I'd like to sign up for a post on Red Dwarf."
Twenty minutes later, Rimmer had filled out all the forms they'd thrown at him about his qualifications, medical history and personal goals. He'd bullshitted it all without much difficulty. They didn't care about qualifications unless you had a degree in something specific like Astro-Navigation, which he was fairly certain Dave didn't, he seemed essentially fit and healthy, and he'd filled the personal spaces with the usual muck about team-work and motivation that all companies liked to hear.
He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of this sooner! Not only did it solve both Dave's problems of money and a place to live, but the ship was heading back to Earth! And the icing on the cake was that it meant Rimmer would still get to see him!
"Well, Mr Lister, this all seems to be in order," the interviewer smiled brightly, shuffling through the forms. Rimmer smiled blandly and said nothing. "Er...you say here you particularly want a position on Red Dwarf," he continued, squinting at one particular page, "Why's that?"
"I've got a friend already on board," Rimmer said, "It's nice to have a familiar face around when you're somewhere new." A thought struck him, "In fact, I was wondering whether it would be possible for us to share a bunk. I know for a fact he doesn't have a roommate at the moment."
"Oh, yes, well...er...I don't see why that should be a problem," the man said, "I could certainly look into it. Now, do you have some form of ID on you?" Rimmer's heartbeat quickened, "Yes. I have my passport here somewhere." He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the man, his palms sweating.
It should be okay. It was an excellent forgery. After picking them up on Sunday night he'd taken them back to his hotel room and compared them to his own official passport and had been unable to spot anything suspicious. It would be fine. It would all be okay...
"You don't have much of an accent," the man remarked.
"I'm sorry?" Rimmer asked blankly, his heart leaping into his throat.
"You were born in Liverpool, weren't you?" the man smiled, holding up the passport, "I had family there a few years ago. My mother's side."
"Oh, yes," Rimmer smiled back weakly, "Yes, my parents moved us to IO when I was still fairly young."
"I see," the man smiled cheerfully, "People move around so much these days. It's a shame really, in some ways."
"Mmm..." Rimmer nodded, smiling madly.
The interviewer handed him back his passport and stamped a few sheets of paper, signing one corner and gesturing for Rimmer to sign the other, "Just sign here, Mister Lister, and you're a registered member of the JMC and Red Dwarf. Third technician, clearance code Lister D 000169. Just let me call them up about that bunk. What did you say your friend's name was?"
"Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer."
As the man patched through to the ship, Rimmer signed the forms. He'd done it! He really had! He'd done something important and not screwed it up! He was so intent on his inner gloating that he barely heard the conversation going on right by his ear. Eventually the man turned back to him with a smile, "There we go. They've marked you down to share a room with Mister Rimmer. Now you won't have to worry so much about getting to know people." He handed Rimmer the top sheets of the forms he'd signed, "Just show them this at the gate and they'll wave you through. You'll receive proper photo identification during your on-board induction."
Rimmer stood up and shook his hand, "Thank you very much for your help," he grinned.
"Not at all, Mister Lister. I hope you enjoy your time with the JMC."