Life in Red... • RED DWARF • Arnold Rimmer x OC story

1. Bronze swimming certificate

Red Dwarf, Eight months before radiation leak...

My eyes rolled open and I looked up at the bleak ceiling of my sleeping quarters.

Grey, grey, grey...
Ironically, it was a prevalent theme on the ship 'Red' Dwarf.

I'd wished for something besides the tone deaf hues in my single bunked sleeping quarters...

Something besides the mellow churn of the Dwarf's engine and the cheap whistling of metal pipes in the cold hallways.

Every day was the exact same aboard the slow, depressing ship.
I mean after all, it was a fairly dull ship with even duller people.

...And I was one of them.

I rolled out of bed and quickly changed into my wrinkled uniform.
It was becoming increasingly late in the day and it was already time for my shift.

I knew if I didn't arrive to work on time, the supervisor wouldn't let me hear the end of it.

He was almost amusing that way. No one got in trouble for being late, at least, not really.

And yet, You'd do something wrong and the shift superior managed to make something as severe as corporal punishment seem sweet in comparison.
Sadly instead of physical torture, tardiness only invoked a series of long, tired rants from the gapping maul of a neurotic supervisor.

'Second Technician Arnold Rimmer', 'BSc SSc' as he pointed out rather proudly on his name tags.

I once heard a rumour that Rimmer payed captain Hollister for his lowly position as Technician because he was too irritating to get past his interview.
I'd also heard that Rimmer was raised by the skutters in the vents and as a result had gone mental; The latter was somehow more believable.

The rumours that floated through the halls were often questionable, but one thing was for certain.
Rimmer was perhaps the most disliked man on the ship and his anal retentive behaviour was about as suffocating as getting sent through the airlock.

I could recall a time when waking up at noon and doing half-assed repairs on the vending machines was an obligation instructed by my superiors at my first job orientation.

Then, on a sad day four months prior, I was moved to Z-Shift to work under Arnold Rimmer.

As if by a punishment from god, I'd been forced to tow to line to the very extent of what was possible.
All of which was done just to avoid Rimmer's wrath, who administered complaints and nitpicks with the same carnage of a deity in vengeance.

I wished Arnold Rimmer wasn't my boss any more.
I wished I didn't have to wake up to the bleak ceiling in my sleeping quarters.
For some reason, and most pressing on my mind, was that I wished that Rimmer didn't think his Bronze swimming certificate and silver swimming certificate were genuine accomplishments.