The Unlikeliest Pair Chapter 53: Position Opening, a red dwarf fanfic

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A sound like a buzz-saw played through an open-air rock festival's P.A. system jolted Rimmer awake from his latest dream – one of his nice ones, too – He swung his legs over the bunk, and tried to locate the source of the sound before his memories of the last few days re-entered his brain.

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The snore drilled into Rimmer's skull – perfectly even, up and down, followed by a catarrhy trill, and then the absolute worst part of all: the silence. The silence that always made him think Lister had stopped snoring. Almost five seconds later, and that revolting semi-choking sound as the mucus shifted around in his cavernous nasal system, and back onto the perfectly even snore.

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Rimmer stood over his bunkmate's sleeping form, taking in the filth and stains he had accumulated just before bed in the form of an almost-empty curry tin and two cans of lager. Oozing with disgust, he looked around for something to make the noise stop. He'd already tried ear plugs, but the noise still somehow got through. He thought about plugging his nose, but the rotten oaf might suffocate, and Kochanski would probably kill him for his efforts.

He opened the desk drawer and dug around for something in the pink glow of his reading lamp. He found some cellotape and, after putting on a pair of disposable gloves, stretched some out and placed it gingerly across Lister's gaping maw, holding his lips shut. With him still able to breathe through the still-open corners of his mouth, he quieted down.

Relieved, Rimmer took the gloves off and settled back into bed. Why? Why had the nanobots restored him? Everyone else, he could somewhat follow the logic. He didn't have to share quarters with any of them. What the absolute hell had he done to deserve this?

He'd been all set to say 'to hell with it' to the old days. He had no real affinity for the human race – they treated him like garbage most of the time anyway. As much of a shock being the last man in the universe had been, he'd gotten used to it, and now it had been cruelly snatched away from him. Forced to interact with people again – all of whom thought he was a prat – and do a menial job he had no interest in.

That was another difficult thing to deal with now. He'd never liked being a Second Technician before, but now, he didn't even have the desire to be an officer anymore. No more did he yearn for that pointless brass pip his parents had convinced him would validate the sperm that made him. He'd shed that annoying albatross around his neck and moved on to discovering the joys of art. The crew being dead had been his Renaissance Period, and instead of a Period of Enlightenment, he'd been thrust back into The Dark Ages.

And then the word 'Enlightenment' brought back some bittersweet memories, and he decided he ought to get some sleep.

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Rimmer jumped back out of bed, startled wide awake once more, and he looked around to see Lister had removed the tape from his mouth in his sleep. It now dangled, crumpled, from his also-dangling left arm that hung out over the bunk.

About ready to cry, Rimmer collapsed back into bed and just stayed there, waiting for his next shift to start.

"Oh, I say!" the vending machine giggled. "We barely know each other!"

"Shut up," Rimmer groused, removing his 14B poker from the nozzle. "Chicken soup."

One electronic hum later, and a cup of piping hot chicken soup emerged. Rimmer took a sip from it, spat it out and checked it off on his clipboard.

Lister leaned against the trolley, bored out of his mind. "It's stupid, y'know? All this maintenance. The only reason they don't give this to the service robots is they've got a better union than us."

"Mmm," Rimmer grunted in response, not looking up from his clipboard as he led the way to their next repair job.

Lister tilted his head to get a better look at his face. "You okay, Rimmer? You've got dark circles under your eyes."

"Didn't sleep well last night. Someone snores like an asthmatic warthog."

"Hey! You're one to talk! You snore, too!"

"Well, if I do, then you can obviously sleep right through it. Although, to be fair, it could very well be because you eat enough curries and drink enough booze before bed that you simply pass out." He raised an eyebrow critically as he saw his subordinate pulling out a cigarette. "Lister, please don't light that in here. We're in a spaceship. Everything's sealed. Other people have to use this corridor, you know."

"Yeah, like who?"

"Well, me, for a start!"

Lister lit the cigarette and took a light puff, letting a small noxious cloud blow Rimmer's way. He took his clipboard and waved the stench back in his direction. Cranky from lack of sleep and irritated at this git literally blowing off his completely practical concerns, he scowled and resumed the journey up to the next job.

En route, they ran into Todhunter. Rimmer felt weird seeing him again. He could recall that, before the accident, he'd thought of the First Officer with nothing but contempt. Now, years later, he couldn't quite remember why he'd felt that way. He hadn't even thought about him once in the last few years.

"Rimmer," Todhunter greeted, carrying a clipboard of his own. "Lister."

"Sir," Rimmer replied crisply.

"Yo, Todhunter, get down!" Lister shouted, just a bit too loudly.

"Indeed." Todhunter looked through his files. "Now Rimmer, we've been doing a spot of tidying up, and we found that you've filed over two hundred and forty-seven complaints… against Lister."

Rimmer looked between the two of them. "Have I?"

Todhunter flipped through the list. "Let's see… that's one hundred twenty-three counts of insulting a superior technician, thirty-nine counts of dereliction of duty, eighty-four counts of general insubordination, and one count of mutiny."

"Mutiny?" Rimmer repeated, dumbfounded.

"I stood on your toe," Lister replied breezily.

Casting his mind back to before the accident, Rimmer began to recall a time Lister had been acting particularly obnoxious, and he'd finally reached his breaking point – going over to the annoying little git's guitar to snap it in half, whereupon Lister leapt down from the top bunk and stomped on Rimmer's foot to stop him.

"Ohhhh," he said, visualizing a little lightbulb lighting up above his head. "That was after you'd signed me up for experimental pile surgery."

"After you tied me dreadlocks to the post while I was asleep and sounded the fire alarm!"

"Okay, that's enough," Todhunter said, sounding more tired than angry. "I'd appreciate it if you two would just learn to get on, if that's not too novel a suggestion."

"Yes, sir," Rimmer sighed, crossing his arms. "It's just that some of us just weren't meant to have bunkmates."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lister indignantly.

"It means I don't want a bunkmate. In the last few days, I've barely had any time to myself. Not used to being around all these people again."

"Well," Todhunter said with a shrug, "if it's private quarters you want, Rimmer, you're going to have to move up in rank."

"And we all know just how well you do at exams, man," Lister grinned patronizingly.

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "If you'll excuse us, sir, there's a squeaky door one floor up that demands our attention," he said drolly.

Todhunter chuckled. "As you were, men," he said before carrying on in the opposite direction.

While Lister followed him with the trolley, Rimmer thought back bitterly to his attempts to take the Astro-Navigation Exam. All twelve times. Or was it thirteen? Did the one where he had a spasm and needed heavy tranquilizers count? In any case, he hated studying for exams with a passion, and he couldn't focus on it with all that hatred. He'd come up with all sorts of excuses to weasel out of actually studying – and he now knew why. He wasn't cut out for space. He didn't care about astronavigation or quantum mechanics or any of that other crap.

So how the hell could he get his own quarters if he couldn't even pass the exam?

Rimmer sat morosely at his table in the mess hall. He rarely came here after the accident – much too large and empty, reminding him of how alone he was – but now it was packed full of annoying chattering people and god he couldn't stand it. He stabbed at his food with a metal fork and couldn't believe he missed being on Starbug. At least in those days, he had his own room, only three other people to deal with and things to do.

Speaking of which, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up in surprise to see Kochanski carrying a tray and standing at the other side of the table. "Room for one more?"

Rimmer wordlessly lifted his foot under the table and gently pushed the opposite chair out for her. She smiled and sat in it, setting her tray down and eating her meal. "Heard from the Cat recently?" he asked.

"I see him around. I think he retreated to the cargo decks." She frowned. "Gosh, I wonder if the cat city is still there."

"For everyone's sake, I hope not. We'd have enough supplies for the crew, and that unnatural smell would be gone."

"On the contrary – that smell was completely natural. That's the problem."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Rimmer hated to admit it, but he felt better in her presence. "How are things with Lister?" he ventured.

She remained focused on her meal. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Yes, well, I asked you first."

"We're playing things by ear," she sighed. "There are so many adjustments to be made. I'm not in the right frame of mind for a relationship."

"Plus, you're worried that you'll get back together and he'll turn out to not be the great guy you've been saying he was?"

Kochanski stabbed some of her salad, smiling tightly. "Thank you, Professor Rimmer," she said before jamming it in her mouth. "So how about you?"

"I had no misconceptions about the man. He's as slobby, thoughtless and useless as ever. I actually thought that maybe my memories had exaggerated him in some way. Nope! He's actually worse than I remember."

Kochanski smiled slightly. "The snoring?"

"Yes! Oh my god, how did you deal with it?"

"Ear plugs the first night. Every night after, sending him home to you."

"You bitch."

"Indeedy."

Rimmer bitterly stabbed at his chicken. "Todhunter says the only way to get my own quarters is to be promoted to a high enough rank. And we all know how that usually goes for me."

Kochanski leaned against the table thoughtfully. "Well, the Astro-Navs are a bit dicey, for sure," she murmured. "But you don't have to get promoted that high to get private quarters. Maybe you could try something easier."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I dunno. See if there are any positions available and see where it leads you."

The thought of having to do studying and revision again didn't appeal to Rimmer at all – but then, he saw Lister stepping out of the cafeteria line with a meal, using his fork to scratch the side of his torso, against his 'casual' t-shirt with the madras sauce stain that seemed to change shape every time anyone looked at it. He then used that fork to eat his extra-spicy chicken vindaloo, and then he blew bubbles in his beer milkshake before he joined Petersen, Selby and Chen at their table, whereupon they laughed too loud and made motorboat noises for no earthly reason.

"I'll ask Holly about it tonight."

That night, Rimmer went through the various class descriptions that Holly had gotten for him. Plenty of job openings needed filling. He scrolled through the laptop, feeling not unlike he had in his youth, choosing classes back in school on Io. Funny how life came full circle. He wondered if his not-father would somehow end up being his teacher again.

Kryten had come to visit and help tidy up Lister's mess. He seemed to truly enjoy cleaning the curry stains off the ceiling, and Rimmer saw no reason to get in the way of that. His bunkmate would not be back for a while. Once his shift ended, he went off with Petersen and their motley crew to the pub. It would be decent enough respite for now. He'd only come back singing off-key sometime after midnight.

He heard a familiar howl up the corridor, and he closed his eyes briefly despairingly. Not Lister's drunken singing – the Cat had returned. He glided into the sleeping quarters and came to a stop in the middle of the room, doing a quick pirouette and posing, despite the fact no one really took notice of him. "Hey, buds! What's new?"

"Oh, sir! Welcome back! We haven't seen you in ages!"

Cat nodded as he went through the fridge. "Yeah, I've been busy! I had to make sure all my suits were safe and sound, and I had to make a whole bunch of stuff 'mine' again. I tell ya – these humans get everywhere!" He grabbed a bottle of milk and some chicken before pulling up a chair and eyeing Rimmer's laptop. "What's this?"

"Mr Rimmer is looking at job openings and requirements."

"Any particular reason?"

"Because I need to get the hell out of this room," Rimmer groused, rubbing his eyes from looking at the screen for hours.

Cat shrugged. "The door's right over there! Help yourself!"

"I mean, I want to move to a new sleeping quarters. I need somewhere private, but I need the appropriate rank in order to get it."

"I thought you didn't take tests anymore. You said they drove you even crazier than usual."

Rimmer shook his head. "Stuff like Astro-Navigation and Engineering is a step too high for me. Kochanski said I should look at something simpler."

Kryten came over with his squeegee. "You should come work with me, sir! Honest work, decent pay, and frankly, it's a very fascinating field!"

"Kryten, they put you to work in the ship's laundry."

"Yes, sir!"

"We have a crew in excess of one thousand. I have no desire to spend all day folding and ironing over one thousand pairs of undergarments."

Cat leaned over to look closer at the screen. "Which job are you looking at now?"

"'General Armoment Provider in Recreational League'," Kryten read out loud.

"Providing shoes for the ship's bowling team," Rimmer translated, resuming scrolling. "Fancy job title – always a red flag."

Cat cracked open his milk and took a sip. "All this for your own room? Okay, so this place is a dump, but is it that bad?"

Off in the distance, they heard a familiar voice wafting through the open door. "From Ganymede to Titan-n-n-n–n-n… Yessssshir, I've… been aro-o–o-o-u-u-u-u-und…" Lister's drunken singing reverberated painfully off the metal walls and assaulted their eardrums. He staggered in, pausing his singing to take one last sip from his can of Leopard Lager. "Lunar City Sheven… you'r-r-r-r-re my idea of heaven-n-n-n…"

"Never mind," Cat muttered.

"Ah, Mr Lister, sir!" Kryten said brightly. "Welcome home!"

Lister snorted. "Home…!" he groused. "What even is home, mate? I always thought it was Earth! Everything I've been doin' since my twenty-fifth birfday has only taken me further… and further away from it! Stranded on Titan, joined the Corps, had the brilliant plan to start a farm on Fiji… and what happens? Three million smegging years into Deep Space! And I'm still on Z Shift 'n' all!"

Cat leaned closer to Rimmer. "I don't recall asking for this guy's life story."

"Just give him a few minutes," Rimmer assured him, not looking up from the laptop. "He usually passes out after he talks about 'the plan'."

"The Plan!" Lister said loudly. "Ohhhhhh, I had The Plan! Not just any plan. I had The Pla-a-a-a-a-a-an!"

Cat moved his meal further away from him. "Hey, man! Watch the breath! You'll curdle my milk!"

Lister continued as if he'd never spoken, but Kryten did gently grab his arms and steer him closer to the bunks. "I saved up all my pay! I was gonna buy a little plot of land in Fiji! The prices there were unbelievable!"

"Sir, if I recall correctly, during the twenty-third century, Fiji suffered a volcanic eruption that put it three feet below sea level."

Lister waved his hand dismissively. "Could've got a drainage grant for a song. Anyway, I had this whole plan to open up a hot dog and doughnut stand. The staff would've had these gorgeous hats with arrows going through them. I would've had a farm. I'd have had a sheep and a cow, and I'd breed horses."

"You can breed horses with a sheep and a cow, sir?"

Even in a drunken stupor, Lister could still give the mechanoid a dry look. "The sheep and the cow would've been completely platonic, Krytes."

"We're all relieved to hear that," Rimmer muttered. He looked up at the Cat briefly. "How much self-respect do you think I'd lose to work in waste disposal?"

"How much do you even have now?" Cat asked, finishing off his chicken.

"Krissie would've been there, too," Lister continued as if they'd never spoken. "She was gonna wear this white flowing dress and help me with the horses, and I would've taken care of her 'n' all."

"How very thoughtful, sir," Kryten said, helping him off with his boots. "Miss Kochanski does like horses. I'm sure she was delighted."

Lister shook his head. "I never got 'round to tellin' her. She finished with me before I could. I just… hoped, y'know?"

"Solid grounds for any relationship," Rimmer sighed.

"Hey! She would've said yes! I bet she would! And when she finally ditched Tim, I thought for sure she would!" His expression turned miserable again. "The smegger finally gets his arse busted down to working as a cashier in the ship's shopping mall, and it was all for nothing."

That got Rimmer's attention. He swiveled 'round to look at him. "He what? He got demoted?"

"Yeah, for tampering with evidence during the trial," Lister said, leaning against his bunk, propped up with his elbow with a faraway expression. "After all that, Krissie still barely speaks to me."

Rimmer scrolled through the job listings on the laptop again, typing a few things into the search bar, but nothing came up. He held up his wristwatch and aimed it at the mirror, allowing Holly to appear. "Holly – do you know anything about Tim being demoted?"

"Yeah, it just happened this morning. The board of inquiry finally made a decision."

"But why reduce him in rank so dramatically?" asked Kryten.

"They sought out character witnesses. A few unfortunate truths came out."

"Such as what?" asked Rimmer.

"Fraternizing with several women in different departments. They all showed up to give letters of recommendation on his behalf. Unfortunately, they all showed up at the same time."

Cat gave an impressed whistle. "Such a thing as having too much game."

"What about his previous position?" Rimmer asked, getting up to pace a little. "It isn't listed."

"It only happened this morning. Probably hasn't been posted yet."

"Did he have his own private quarters?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Could you send me all the necessary training requirements for a Catering Officer?"

Holly nodded. "I'll get on the blower with the other Holly. They'll be in your inbox in a few."

"Taa muchly!" Rimmer bent over to prepare on his laptop.

"My goodness," Kryten exulted. "Catering Officer! A most interesting field!"

Cat snapped his fingers excitedly. "If you work in the kitchen, do I get free fish?"

"You already get free fish," Rimmer reminded him.

"It's still good to know someone on the inside!"

Lister snorted. "You? Work in the kitchens? You always looked down on those guys. Hell, you looked down on everyone above you!"

Rimmer didn't look up from typing, going through the ship's onboard website to start work on his application when it arrived. "A job's a job, Listy," he replied. "I'll spend my days buffing the skutters' wheels if it gets me my own quarters."

He heard Lister haul himself up into his bunk, snickering to himself. "Can't wait to see how you smeg this one up…," he slurred. "Bet you're gonna… gonna…" His voice faded into a muffled snore.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building," Rimmer muttered, sitting down again to focus on his class requirements.

Kochanski clutched her stomach and leaned back uncomfortably in her seat. She dabbed at her mouth with the cloth napkin and tried her best to look dignified as she stifled a miserable belch. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "I seem to recall you volunteered for this."

"You lured me in with chocolate mousse. That's not playing fair."

"And you decided to eat it all in one sitting."

"That's not unusual."

"The entire bowl."

Kochanski went to retort but felt her stomach churn and had to cover her mouth again. She wanted to be supportive of Rimmer's new interest, but her appreciation for free food proved her undoing. He kept cooking new dishes for his class, and she kept eating them all for the sake of support.

After several days of this, though, she really needed a boatload of antacids and a stomach pump.

Rimmer took out his notepad and pen. "So, thoughts on this one?"

Dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin, Kochanski got her thoughts together. "Well, the roast didn't make me gag this time, so that's a step in the right direction."

"And the pasta?"

"Still a bit spongy."

He looked up from his notes. "Spongy?"

"I don't know how else to describe it. They were squishy and absorbent. That's why I had three glasses of water afterwards."

Rimmer sighed as he scribbled down her notes. "God, this is my life. From exploring space in a bid to try and restart the human race to failing to cook decent rigatoni."

Kochanski smiled weakly as she forced herself to get up from the table. "Rimmer, are you sure you even want this job? I admit, you've surprised me a lot over the years. Piloting shuttlecraft, taking up art, having sex for a second time – but I've never really seen you as a chef."

"Nor did I. But if I want my own 'digs', as the Cat calls it, I've got to try." He put down the notepad and picked up the syllabus he'd printed out earlier. "I have to prepare a four course meal: a soup, an appetizer, an entrée, and dessert."

The mention of soup nearly made Kochanski snicker, but she managed to hold it back thanks to that blasted promise she made several years ago. "Well, the entrée is coming along, and as long as the appetizer doesn't bounce this time, you're almost halfway there. I just want to make sure you're sure about this."

Rimmer scowled. "Why? You think I'm going to flunk, too?"

"On the contrary – I think there's a chance you'll pass. I want you to be absolutely certain that this is something you want to do. Otherwise, you'll get stuck in a new job you can't stand and possibly be unable to go back."

Crossing his arms and slouching against the nearby countertop, he stared down at his boots sullenly. "I just want my own space. It's so difficult to pursue hobbies with all these people around us – and with a bunkmate who'd just as soon use my sketchpad to blow his nose or my watercolor palette to put out his cigarettes in."

"Oh, come on, Rimmer – he wouldn't."

"I once leant him my James Last CD for ten minutes, and in that time, he lost the lyric sheet and got jam on the cover. To this day, I don't even know where he got the jam."

Kochanski wrinkled her nose distastefully but nodded consolingly. "Sometimes, bunkmates are just like that. My old bunkmate, Babs, used to drive me up the wall."

"How so?"

She smiled patronizingly, joining him at the countertop. "Well, there's only so much I can tell you without your face turning deep red. Let's just say it involved a calendar, a pint of mint choc ice cream and the entire contents of our bathroom middle right hand drawer."

Rimmer grimaced. "I think I'm getting your point. But Lister and I are just too different from each other to live in the same quarters. I need a respite from all these people, and I'm not going to get it with Captain Sticky Fingers. So, as far as I'm concerned, all of this work is worth a dose of sanity."

His watch began to beep, and he turned it off as he went over to the fridge nearby and pulled out his dessert – an enormous glass bowl filled with a three layer chocolate trifle.

"Okay, last part for today." He looked at her anxiously. "Everyone likes chocolate, right?"

Kochanski whimpered quietly before adjusting the waistband of her trousers. "Right," she assured him, picking up a spoon.

Music slammed itself into the walls via the pub's sound system, making them vibrate lightly in tune to Hip-Hop-a-Billy's bass notes. Lister waded through the crowd of people, all dancing, talking, laughing, shouting, fighting – one of the nice things about the music was that he couldn't make out anything and thus didn't feel compelled to get involved. He briefly scanned the crowd, his eyes finally landing on his friends at a table in the corner, a few empty mugs around them. Grinning, he dodged a rhythmically gyrating couple and pulled out the empty chair.

"Evening, lads!" he said, thudding down next to them. "Started without me, did you?"

"We waited as long as we could, Davey Boy!" Chen chortled. "You're the one who took so long!"

"Yeah, it must've been at least three minutes!" laughed Selby.

They got the next round of drinks in, and Lister gratefully sipped from his beer. "Oh, I needed that. Smeggin' hell, it's been a day."

"Rough day in the chicken soup mines?" asked Chen, earning a few giggles from the others.

"I didn't think it was possible, but working with Rimmer is even worse when he's not being an anal-retentive smeghead."

Petersen giggled. "Hee hee! 'Anal'!" And that got a few laughs.

"I sang, I whistled, I hummed, I clicked, I even tried tap-dancing! He didn't complain once!"

"Maybe he's enjoying it!" suggested Selby.

Lister shook his head. "He didn't smile once – except when I dropped a circuit breaker on my foot."

"What's the big deal, then? Sounds like he's finally got that fifty foot pole removed from his arse," said Petersen before downing his beer.

"If I can't annoy Rimmer, what's the point of any of it?" Lister grumbled. He believed it, too. Being a Third Level Technician was dull. As the lowest-ranking guy on the ship, his biggest contribution was pushing Rimmer's trolley. Sure, Rimmer's position as his superior was just as much of a joke as his, but at least he got to actually do some work. Winding the guy up got him through the day. If he was taking the high road, that made the day stretch like the elastic in his dear old granny's knickers.

"Probably got other things on his mind," said Selby, twirling his cocktail umbrella between his thumb and forefinger. "He's dead focused on that chef's exam."

Lister tilted his head. "He's still doing that? It's been nearly two weeks. I thought he'd have given up by now."

"Nah, I've seen him in the practice kitchens," confirmed Chen. "Say this much for the git – he's got stamina. If he had any brains, he'd be putting that energy to pullin' birds."

Petersen chuckled. "They'll have to get through Kochanski first!"

"What?" Lister's head swiveled to look at him.

Oblivious to Chen and Selby's signaling him to shut the smeg up, Petersen continued. "Yeah, she's helping him in the training room when she's got time off. Wouldn't let me go in to drink his cooking sherry."

"Krissie's in there with him?"

Petersen froze, his mug only millimeters from his lips as he finally saw the dismayed looks on Chen and Selby's faces. He laughed nervously. "Aw, c'mon, Davey boy! It's not like that! She wouldn't have him, and you know it!"

Lister squirmed in his seat, leaning on the table with his elbows and staring into his beer mug. Of course Krissie wouldn't go for him – unless she would – and even Rimmer wouldn't stoop so low – unless he would – so he really didn't have anything to worry about – unless he did – and she'd already said she wanted to be with him – unless she didn't – and that she just needed some space to figure things out – unless, unless, UNLESS –

He sipped the beer, finishing it off and taking a breath. "Yeah, I know," he said, trying to stay calm. "I mean, so what if they've suddenly become fabulous friends out of nowhere? Men and women can just be friends, right?"

They all stared blankly at him for a moment before realizing they needed to nod in affirmation. "Oh, absolutely!" said Chen.

"Happens all the time!" agreed Selby.

"Totally plate tectonics!" Petersen managed not to slur.

Mildly reassured, he left his chair. "I'll get the next round in," he announced, heading for the bar. He pretended not to hear them sigh with relief behind him.

Lister tried to stop himself from visiting the training room, but he had a free day while his mates didn't, so he wandered the ship aimlessly. He tried going to the cinema, but today, they were only showing that remake of Casablanca, and he just couldn't sit through it. He'd tried to enjoy just having the sleeping quarters to himself with all the music and movies his bunkmate hated, but he kept thinking about Kochanski – with Rimmer.

He eased his way down the corridor and tried to subtly peek his head inside. He could smell something cooking. He edged around the door and spied Rimmer mixing something in a bowl while a digital timer counted down on the oven. His eyes darted all around. He could see all the used pots and pans he'd gone through, the sink loaded up, and a few finished dishes on the countertop, but he didn't see anyone else. Feeling a little more confident, he finished walking all the way in, rapping on the doorframe as he did. "Knock, knock!"

Rimmer looked up in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Lister tried to make his shrug look nonchalant by just scanning the room with his hands in pockets. "What, I can't swing by and offer my support?"

Rolling his eyes, Rimmer resumed his task. "Fine. What did you have to say?"

Taken aback, Lister realized he didn't have anything to say. He racked his brain for a moment, looking around for anything to latch onto. "Er… what are you making?"

"Right now, I'm making marinara sauce for a three cheese lasagna with roasted red peppers and mushrooms."

Lister nodded, pretending he knew what 'marinara' meant. Was it like madras? "I guess you're doing pretty well, then. In here. All on your own. No help from anyone."

As if someone had rubbed an old lamp to summon her, Kochanski abruptly entered behind him. "Okay, they didn't have the shiitake mushrooms you wanted, so I just got canned mushrooms. I'm sure it's – Dave?"

Startled, Lister looked between them. "Kris?! What're you doing here?"

She held up the tin can. "Delivering 'shrooms, as the kids call it. What are you doing here?" she asked, handing it to Rimmer.

"I just… er… came to see how things were going, that's all."

"Things are going well. I only had to have my stomach pumped once."

"Turns out," Rimmer said distractedly as he used the tin opener, "lamb isn't supposed to look like cheese."

Lister looked between them, looking for any signs of intimacy. Didn't he read somewhere that the kitchen was the most important room on a spaceship? She moved off to the side while Rimmer got out a cutting board and a knife to chop the mushrooms. "So… when's the exam?"

"In three days," Kochanski told him, hopping up on a nearby table and letting her legs dangle. "I think he's nearly there. He's been cooking up a storm for weeks now."

Lister nodded, eyeing the countertop. "It does look like a tornado hit this place."

She giggled the melodious giggle of hers, and his heart swooned. Dammit, he thought it'd been torture being broken up and away from her, going everywhere on the ship without her. Now, being this close to her, trying to just be friends with her – somehow, that felt infinitely worse. To be so close and yet so far…

Rimmer finished mixing the marinara and held the wooden spoon out to Kochanski. "Here, what do you think?"

To Lister's astonishment, Kochanski took a small bite out of the sauce with zero hesitation. She licked her lips thoughtfully before nodding. "Does not taste like an old shoe."

"Result!" Rimmer said triumphantly before heading back to the stove. "Now for the noodles…"

While he dug around, Lister looked indignant. "What, you're not interested in my opinion?"

Rimmer snorted as he got out a large pot and began to fill it with water. "Lister, I need someone with more than one functioning tastebud for this."

"Besides, Dave," Kochanski added. "You're allergic to tomatoes, remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

She gave him a long look, tilting her head down so her eyes bore patronizingly into him from under her brow. "Dave, marinara sauce is a type of tomato sauce."

Feeling a little dumb at this revelation, Lister tilted his head in an effort to look not embarrassed. "Yeah, well… I knew that."

She giggled again, and he blushed a little. How did that giggle have so much power over him? To his disappointment, though, she focused on Rimmer again. "Is that the last you need of me, monsieur?"

Rimmer didn't look up as he brought the water in the pot to a boil. "Why? Am I boring you, Miss Kochanski?"

"Only all the time. Plus, I've got a real job to get back to. Navigation Officer, remember?"

"I do – because you always pull rank to get what you want from me."

She gasped dramatically. "I do not!"

He finally looked up, smirking. "You pulled rank to make us play The Magic Flute with you."

"That was for the good of the crew! If I hadn't, you might've made us play RISK again!"

"It's the best strategic war game for players ages fifteen and up!" he protested, but he sounded too playful to be affronted.

Then, Kochanski did something that completely threw Lister for a loop. It absolutely made his skin crawl and almost made his stomach return his lunch to the outside world. She reached out and tweaked Rimmer's nose. She actually put her forefinger and thumb on either side of those cavernous nostrils and tweaked them, smiling mischievously as she did. What's more, Rimmer didn't seem remotely stunned by this action. He just rolled his eyes.

"Get back to work, soldier," she teased, and she turned and walked out of the room, giving Lister a friendly smile as she left. Was that all he was destined to get from the woman she loved? Just a friendly smile while she tweaked another man's nose?

The sound of water splashing jolted him out of his yearning, and he saw Rimmer had poured the long flat noodles into the boiling pot. As he chucked aside the now-empty cardboard container, he turned and seemingly remembered Lister's presence. "Anything else to add, Listy?" he asked, already moving on to whatever task came next.

Lister shook his head. "Nah, I'll get out of your hair," he replied. He made for the door, but then, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Rimmer, honestly, man – good luck."

The other man turned where he stood and regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Not to worry, Lister. If I pass this exam, I'll move out, and then, we can both have some space."

Lister didn't respond as his bunkmate went back to work. He had a very sinking feeling just what Rimmer planned to do with his 'space'.

The day of the exam finally arrived, and with it came Rimmer's nerves. He paced anxiously outside the exam office, rubbing his hands and repeating whatever mantras he could remember. Something about being brave, avoiding amphetamines and that he was not, in fact, a fish. It did very little to soothe his beating heart.

He heard footsteps approaching, and he turned to see Kochanski, Kryten and the Cat walking up. "What are you all doing here?"

"We came to show our support and wish you luck, sir!" Kryten said brightly.

"And to find out what you're cooking and if certain individuals can get any free samples!" added the Cat hopefully.

Kochanski approached him with concern. "How long have you been pacing out here?"

Rimmer shrugged, twitching a little as he did so. "Oh, I dunno. One, maybe two… hours." He started pacing again. "I know, I know, this isn't helping, but I haven't taken any sort of exam in years. The old nerves are starting to creep back in."

"Sir, you've nothing to fear!" Kryten assured him. "We've monitored your progress, and you've improved a great deal!"

"Yeah, you only started one fire in the stove," nodded the Cat. "You've kept the bar very low for yourself!"

Ignoring them, Kochanski stopped Rimmer pacing and guided him to a nearby bench to sit down with him. "Look, just empty your mind. Overthinking leads to nothing good. One time, I had a clarinet recital in school, and I spent so much time thinking about how awful I might do that I walked out onstage and vomited straight down the barrel."

Rimmer stared at her for a long moment. "What's the point of this ridiculously amusing anecdote?"

"It means that if you spend all your time worrying about how you're going to screw it up, it's just going to make it worse. When the time comes, I want you to walk into that exam room thinking about how amazing it will feel when you get it right."

They heard a whistle come from Rimmer's wristwatch, and he held it up to see Holly on the small screen. "Zero eight hundred hours, Arnold. You're up."

Letting out a shaky breath, Rimmer nodded and took off the watch, handing it to Kochanski before getting unsteadily to his feet. He couldn't have anything he could cheat with on him, and despite Holly being cursed with computer senility, he still counted as an unfair advantage – something the computer took great pride in.

The others wished him luck, and with as much dignity as he could muster, Rimmer stepped into the exam room.

It was late in the afternoon before Rimmer was due to receive his exam results. He'd managed to keep himself busy afterwards with his work shift, repairing faulty vending machines and applying lubricant to a squeaky door on D Deck, but now, the day's work was done, and he simply paced anxiously in his and Lister's quarters.

Lister himself lazed in his bunk, absently strumming his guitar. Rimmer found he could just about tolerate that infernal instrument if Lister didn't play it in earnest. Offkey plucking could be taken in stride – it was only when he tried to perform an outright tune that he couldn't stand it. He'd really prefer it if the little git went somewhere else, but the pub didn't open for at least another half hour, and he wanted to wait for his mates to pick him up.

Rimmer's pacing would've continued for hours had Holly not alerted him to something. "First Officer Todhunter is approaching your quarters," the computer announced.

"Todhunter? What for?"

"He's got your exam results."

Lister whistled. "Hand delivered and everything," he remarked. "You probably poisoned the taste committee."

Rimmer wished he could be more confident that wasn't the case. He knew he hadn't been an exemplary cook, but he still felt he'd done well enough to pass. He wrung his hands anxiously while trying to deflect the insult with an exasperated sigh.

Ten minutes later, they heard a knock at the door, and Rimmer pretended he hadn't been hovering right in front of it by faking a few heavy footsteps and slapping the door button. It slid open, and he forced a probably-sickly-looking smile at the First Officer at the threshold. "Sir," he said, fumbling his arm as he almost saluted but decided not to. "Please, come in."

Todhunter looked amused but said nothing. "Rimmer," he greeted, stepping through. "Lister," he added, nodding to the human wreckage in the top bunk.

Lister nodded casually in his direction but didn't move otherwise.

"Holly said you have my exam results, sir," Rimmer said, trying to keep his voice even-toned.

"Yes," Todhunter said, pulling a sheet of paper out of his breast pocket. "Normally, we simply message them to you, but given the circumstances, I thought it best to discuss them in person."

"'Circumstances'?" Rimmer repeated, taking the paper. He unfolded it and looked at the results. His brain sputtered in confusion at the numbers, and especially the great big red letters at the top – P A S S. He looked between the sheet and Todhunter's grin. "I… passed?"

"You passed," the officer confirmed.

Lister sat up too quickly and banged his head on the metal roof of his bunk. "Ow! He what?!"

Todhunter pointed at one particular column on the results. "You just passed. Seventy-five percent. The examiners found your starter 'wanting', but that you showed enough promise and determination that they would be willing to try you out as a Junior Catering Officer."

Rimmer gripped the side of the locker. "But that's… that's…" He took a deep breath as a thought occurred to him. "Why did you decide to hand deliver it to me?"

"Because the orders for a promotion haven't gone through yet. We noticed on the application you were applying for Timothy Duncan's position. He was a Catering Officer Second Class." His expression turned wry. "Needless to say, they weren't about to give his position to a novice getting in on the bottom rung, even if you had done better on the exam."

Rimmer felt the paper crumpling in his fingers, and he realized he'd started gripping it far too tightly in his growing disbelief. "So… if I take the Junior Catering promotion, I more than likely wouldn't get his single quarters?"

"Very much not," Todhunter chuckled. "In fact, you'd have to share quarters with one of the catering staff of a similar rank."

"And that staff member would be…?"

"Petersen."

"Oh smeg." He thudded down into the single metal chair in the room. To share quarters with Olaf Petersen – the Danish moron who bought a house on a moon in a hydrogen atmosphere and spent every night of his life since he was twelve getting absolutely wasted. If Lister was a horrible bunkmate, he couldn't even conceive sharing a room with Petersen. Even if he didn't snore, he would probably pass out naked on the floor and whiff the place up with his liquor. To share a sink with him would be a near death experience enough, let alone an entire room.

Lister, naturally, spoke up. "Oh, what, you're too high and mighty to share quarters with Petersen?"

"Lister, there's a reason Petersen has his own quarters," Todhunter chuckled. "If he wasn't good at what he did, he'd be kicked off the ship for gross indecency in the ship's pubs."

"Oh, who among us hasn't gotten pissed enough to strip down in a pub occasionally?" They both looked at him, and he deflated a little, recognizing he had no argument.

"Anyway," Todhunter continued. "I thought it best to discuss this with you now before they went ahead and gave you the job. I mean, if you want the job, it's yours, but…"

Rimmer looked into the middle distance. Did he really want this? The threat of having such an unsavory bunkmate aside, it had been exhausting and frustrating just preparing for the exam. Did he really want to work in the kitchen all day, preparing meals for a bunch of uppity officers? At least on Z-Shift, it was literally just him and one annoying coworker he was in charge of, as opposed to several frenetic coworkers that would outrank him.

Swallowing heavily, he lifted his head. "Thank you, sir," he said slowly and deliberately, "but I think… I'm going to decline for the time being." He paused before tilting his head so he actually looked at Todhunter. Eye contact was important. He'd read that in one of his career building books. "But thank you for the opportunity," he finished.

"Of course," Todhunter replied, his tone soft, and he left briskly, the door sliding shut behind him.

Three weeks down the drain, Rimmer thought miserably, staring at the ceiling. All that effort, and even though he'd succeeded, he still felt like he failed. He'd put in so much work, and he hadn't changed his situation one iota. Back to square one.

He heard an out-of-tune strum from the top bunk, and he closed his eyes despairingly. "Well," Lister drawled patronizingly, "that's just too bad. Still, not to worry. You can join me while I eat my chicken vindaloo and wicked-strength lager while playing my guitar to Rasta Billy Skank." He rolled off the bunk and landed on his feet, his usually gormless grin now displaying an unmistakable undercurrent of malevolence as he crossed to the fridge.

Just as Rimmer contemplated whacking him over the head with the guitar and running away, he heard a whistle from his watch. Sweet distraction. He pressed the stud and beamed Holly onto the mirror. "What now, Hol?" he grumbled.

"You're popular today, Arn," the computer replied. "You've been summoned to the Captain's Office."

Rimmer sat up straighter. "The Captain wants to see me? What for?"

"Dunno. I'm just the messenger boy. It's not just you. He's called on Kochanski, Kryten and the Cat as well."

Rimmer caught the XPress Lift to the Officers Deck, meeting Kochanski, Kryten and the Cat along the way. They knew even less than him about what the Captain would want. He briefly filled them in on his test results, and while there were general commiserations and halfhearted condolences, no one seemed terribly surprised he turned it down. It didn't stop the Cat from still asking about free food, of course, but they'd gotten used to that.

They walked down the long corridor to the Office. It looked so much bigger than they remembered, with deep blue walls punctuated with cozy orange LED lights. Captain Hollister sat at a desk perpendicular to the door, looking at them expectantly with several papers scattered around him.

It took Rimmer a moment to realize he should probably salute, but he hadn't done that in a long time and his motor skills in that department had withered from lack of use. He brought his hand up awkwardly to his forehead, but his hand looked sloppy, and his salute resembled more of a drunken wave. Kochanski saluted much more smartly, while Kryten's looked even worse than his, slapping himself in the forehead. Cat just nodded amiably in greeting.

The Captain didn't react much to any of the attempts of respecting his authority – such as they were – and simply interlaced his fingers on his desk. "So," he said briskly, "we've gone through all the reports you filed, Kochanski, about you guys effectively running the ship in our absence." He held up a manila folder with several sheets of paper in it. "Very in depth."

"Yes, sir," Kochanski replied.

He opened the folder and skimmed over some details he'd underlined. "A lot of this has been correlated by the ship's black box recordings and the logs. We've got 'Future Echoes', 'Backwards universes', 'Interdimensional travel'…" He turned a page and shook his head. "Gotta say, I'm particularly concerned about some of these other things – 'Rogue Simulants', 'Genetically Engineered Life Forms', something about a 'Pan Dimensional Liquid Beast' …?"

"Worst Christmas ever," grumbled the Cat.

The Captain plopped the folder down on the desk and leaned forward on his elbows. "Needless to say, we're a mining ship. We're not really equipped to be dealing with all these otherworldly creatures that you guys seem to have pissed off." He glanced at the report again before eyeing Rimmer. "You really married one of these things?"

Rimmer briefly glared at the sheepish Kochanski. "There were circumstances, sir."

Shaking his head, Hollister soldiered on. "In any case, none of us are ready to face these things head on. Now, the nanobots have given us a few handy defense mechanisms to protect us, and we're sharing all of this info with the officers. In the meantime, however, we're not ready for any kind of attack on us. We've got about as much of a chance as a family of frogs in biology class."

"What do you propose, sir?" Kryten asked.

"Well, Holly's already picking up a couple of derelict ships in this quadrant. It'll be a few weeks before we're near enough, but I figure it's good to start planning."

Kochanski frowned. "You want to raid derelicts, sir?"

Hollister gave her a patronizing grin. "Actually, Kochanski – we'd like you guys to raid derelicts." He indicated the folder. "Seems you guys sure did a lot of that when you ran things."

"Well, yes, sir," said Kryten, not liking the sound of this but trying to remain helpful, "but only when we needed to restock on essentials like food, water and laundry detergent."

"Look, all I need from you guys is to act as a sort of 'scout party'. You find your way into certain situations – with your years of experience – and advise us on how we proceed. It'll give you all a special rank. We're thinking about 'Reconnaissance Officers'."

Cat scowled. "How about 'Expendable Officers'?"

Kochanski, however, held up a hand to silence the others. "Sir, it's not to say we're not interested, but there are clearly some details that need to be ironed out. Use of a shuttlecraft, supplies, compensation – plus, all of our regular duties."

Hollister shrugged. "You can still work in Navigation part time," he said. "And I'm sure Rimmer would like a break from vending machine maintenance. Just think of it as a promotion in the field."

Rimmer opened his mouth to say something, but a thought struck him, and he changed tactics. "I suppose, sir," he said, choosing his words carefully, "that with us now being a 'team', we should probably be stationed closer together. Perhaps on the same deck?"

"I suppose so," Hollister replied.

"And since Kochanski needs to remain where she lives on the Officers Deck, perhaps we should all find quarters on the same floor as her so we can reconvene more easily?"

"Perhaps…"

"I mean, it doesn't have to be anything fancy. Maybe just… each of us gets their own single quarters?"

Rolling his eyes, Hollister leaned back in his seat. "I suppose that could be arranged, Rimmer."

Satisfied, Rimmer looked hopefully at the other three, particularly at Kochanski, trying to look both professional and pitiable.

Thankfully, she gave a wry smile and addressed Hollister. "We still have some details to go over, but I think we can come to some arrangement, sir."

One week later, Kryten went through a stack of books on the shelf in Lister and Rimmer's quarters. "Let's see," he said, reading the spine, "Astronavigation and Invisible Numbers and Engineering Structure Made Simple."

"Mine," Rimmer replied, not looking up from putting his clothes on a rack.

Kryten placed the book in the computer trolley and went to the next one. "The Pop-Up Kama Sutra - Zero Gravity Edition."

"Lister's."

Kryten placed the book back on the shelf and looked at the next one. "The Napoleonic Wars – the Life and Times of the World's Shortest Leader."

"Mine."

Another book for the trolley. "Cooking with Chillies – Complete with Tips for How to Treat Heartburn."

"Lister's."

Rimmer smiled briefly as he got all his nice clothes on their hangers. Sport coats, dress shirts, vests, trousers – they looked impeccable, especially without Lister having spilled curry sauce on them. Somehow, the little git always managed to spill something on his belongings whether he meant to or not, so to get any of his things out of here unscathed was nothing short of a miracle.

The books piled in the trolley next to the art tutorial videos, the art supplies themselves, his collection of CDs that ranged from light jazz to Hammond Heaven and his two swimming certificates – which he had for no other reason at this point other than it was all he had to frame. Pleased with almost having everything together, he took a step back to admire the handiwork.

"I believe that's everything, sir," Kryten said brightly.

"Good work, Krytie," he replied. "Go ahead and take the trolley, will you? I'll follow with the rest in a minute."

The mechanoid nodded and wheeled the squeaky trolley out, passing Lister as he entered the room. He looked around the now less-cluttered quarters in bemusement.

"Ah, Lister," Rimmer said brightly. "I guess this is where we part company. Not too nervous about the new job, are you?"

Lister raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Yeah, I get to push the trolley and hold the 14B now. So much responsibility."

But Rimmer would not be deterred. "You always said the job was a joke. Shouldn't be too hard. Second Technician Lister – and you said you had no ambition."

With Rimmer now moving up to this new Reconnaissance position, they'd decided it would be simpler to promote Lister to be in charge of Z Shift. He was still the lowest-ranking guy on the ship, in charge of no one, but what the hell – if Rimmer could do it, so could he. "So you'll be off, then?"

"Yes, I'll take the rest myself. I have another meeting with Todhunter. I usually just zone out for most of it and let Kochanski do the talking. She knows how to speak 'Officer'."

Lister grimaced at Kochanski's name. "So how's the new quarters?" he asked.

"Just what I needed – one bed, one desk, one chair. I even managed to get one with a shower. Of course, knowing the Cat, I'll be lucky if there's still any hot water on that floor." He glanced around at the old quarters before nodding decisively. "Well, I guess that's that. If you find anything of mine, I can trust you to send it my way, yes?"

"Yeah," Lister nodded. "Totally."

Satisfied, Rimmer wrapped his fingers around the metal clothing rack's handlebars. "Right then! See you 'round!" Looking very excited, Rimmer wheeled the last of his things out the door, leaving the old bunk room behind.

Lister remained where he stood, taking in the emptiness. He was finally rid of the smegger. Finally a free man. He could hum as much as he liked. He could crack his knuckles and grind his teeth without being written up. He could sleep in the bottom bunk with all the extra leg room. He could have things exactly the way he wanted without fear of annoyance. Just to drive the point home, he picked up his dirty sock basket and dumped the contents all over the floor. He grabbed the shampoo bottle and left the cap off. He did all the fun stuff he'd always wanted to do but couldn't because his smeghead bunk mate wouldn't let him.

He did everything to try and distract himself from the fact that Arnold Rimmer, the man he hated most in the universe, would be on the same floor as Kristine Kochanski, the woman he loved more than anything – living as equals, working together, while he, Dave Lister lived in squalor down in the dregs working on vending machines.

His bleeper bleeped at him, telling him his shift would be starting soon. With an unhappy sigh, he went to fetch the trolley.

Next up: "Cassandra"