Fandom High School

As the class came in, there were the usual seats and Rimmer seated at the front with his hands folded. Something about last week, specifically the visit of one David Lister, had taken some of the wind from his sails and it was a singularly tired looking hologram who looked out at his cadets today.

"The final lesson, the very last thing I have to teach you--" he looked down at his notes, the syllabus, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the bin, "well, it's really very simple, class.

"Whatever you think I would do in any given scenario, do the exact opposite."

He folded his hands and closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair.

"Now either sit here and bask in whatever bitter vindication you've gained from this lesson, or go."

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Much to the disappointment of his class, it was regular old dead-as-a-doornail Rimmer who was at the head of the class today. He looked troubled, more than usual, and he eyed the class with suspicion as they came in and sat at their desks.

"Today's class," he said with a lift of his head, unwilling to admit that he was reasonably sure they were going to want that smeghead in bacofoil back over him, "is as the syllabus says: Weasel cunning vs Being a Smeghead. If you hadn't figured it out already, the question posed is how far is too far? Where does ambition stop and pure wrongheaded bastardliness begin?"

He paced in front of them, as much from nervousness as because he thought it was a teacherly thing to do.

"That is a question each of you will face in your path to success. When does it go from stomping on a few fat, stupid heads to get what you need to being a truly disgusting display of smegheadedness?"

He paused at the front of the class.

"The answer, cadets, is very simple. It's when the idea of looking at yourself afterwards, or, in the more unlikely case where you can look at a future version of yourself that for some reason has decided yellow is his color, is utterly repulsive. A bit of weasel cunning should make you feel like you're on top of the world. If the idea makes you feel like the slime under an androgynous pleasure GELF, no amount of cunning is worth it.

"That's why today, I'm going to make that response easier for you. I have three 'situations' set up which will test your cunning... and your smegheadedness. Two answers are stupid, one is appropriate, and one will result in a quantity of slime falling atop your head."

Because if he was going to be tortured by this class, then by God, so would they.

"If you have any questions, stuff them."

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The professor seemed to be missing for the moment and the classroom was certainly different from usual. There were no desks, no little chairs; instead, there was a single table covered in yarn and a couple of books on crochet projects. The right hand wall said that the place was QUARANTINE SUITE 152, but not much more than that. Immediately in front of them, across from the now-closing door, was a great black empty window.

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Rimmer was waiting in the Danger Shop, back stiff and smile smug. The room was set up like the average classroom, with desks and two #2 pencils on each. A copy of the syllabus lay in the exact center of each one, printed out crisp and fresh this morning. If there was a typo (or a complete nervous breakdown) on the sheet, he hadn't noticed as he'd been busy making sure that everything was perfect for his first class.

As soon as he saw his students, he knew that wasn't going to happen. Regardless, he was determined to soldier on, to shape these miscreants into proper Space Corps recruits even if they weren't in the Space Corps.

"Welcome," he said with overblown magnanimity, marching across the room in front of the students, "to Seven Secrets of Success. All of you are here because you want to succeed. You're not willing to settle for... for what life hands you, no" and he turned sharply on his heel to stare at them, "you're looking for more. Up up up the ziggurat, as I always say. You're looking to make the world look up to you. You're looking to make people say 'there's the kind of man I want running my ship; there's a son that I can be proud of; there's a man I'd sleep with sans head injury!'."

He realized he might have gone just a bit far afield and thus took the opportunity to spin again and continue towards the other side of the room.

"So! We will be doing introductions, obviously, but to show you just how accomplished your instructor is, you'll be getting not one secret, but two:

"Getting Straight To Work, one of the most important things to remember if you'd like to succeed. And the other, well," he smirked with hidden knowledge, "you'll just have to see when we get there."

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