Set'em Up

by A N G Reynolds

  Ariadne just grinned at me broadly.

  “Well, if they are nightcrawlers they should be out and about by now,” I commented.

  “Are we sure we want to be out and about by now?” Ariadne asked in concern. I mused the thought over for a minute.

  “It’s either risk it or we scarf down what’s left of the space rations,” I said. The princess shrugged and we made for the airlock.

  Myrkheim was not a supremely dark place to be during the nightshift. In fact, it was barely any darker than usual, although someone had cut the power to the electric lights running along the massive windows, making the few stars that could be seen and the chartreuse-colored nebula stand out as prominent features. I guess it did make everything seem a little more night-like, and pockets of nightclubs could be found where all the usually yellow lights were replaced by neon-colored signs, most of which were made of a bioluminescent material that had a natural, if faded, glow. The patches of nightclubs looked like black swaths of nothingness standing out against the rest of the lit buildings. The middlemost shelves of the colony were also dimmed, some even dark, since they were made mostly of living quarters. All the shops and factories, however, remained brightly-lit.

  “Let’s head toward that clump,” Ariadne said, taking lead on this particular task. She gestured at the nearest nightclub grouping on this level. Of course, these were nice nightclubs, the exclusive kind the rich socialites always go to be seen publicly. Fame was not something that was for me, I had decided a long time ago.

  I followed the princess in an effort that was just as futile as I’d first assumed. None of the nightclubs on this lowest level housed any kind of subculture we were looking for. It was all high fashion and overly-expensive champagne. So we ascended to the next level, which housed nightclubs that catered a little more to the common man. Still, it was an affluent common man. It wasn’t until we had reached the second quarter of shelves that we found the kind of place we were looking for, and even then it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth club that we found any sign of the punks.

  Don’t doubt the pain our feet were in as we finally approached the first gaggle of our target demographic at well past midnight.

  “Hey, you,” Ariadne said without finesse. I wasn’t certain if it was a lack of sleep or food that was putting her on edge.

  “You talking to me, shorty?” a chick with dazzlingly braided hair, almost no tattoos or piercings, and overly-shaped eyebrows asked in an accusing tone. I decided to wait this one out.

  “Yeah you,” Ariadne said in an equally abrasive tone. She presented the glove, however. “You look like the kind of gal who could use some fashion help. Luckily, I have this. I just need something in return.”

  “I’m not certain—” “I began to tell Ariadne as I looked at the chick’s friends. They were all tattoo-less rebels without any kind of happy expression on their faces. The princess had made the right call with the glove, however, as more than one of these punks had a fingerless leather glove —— just one —— as some sort of statement I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

  “What does a squeak like you know about fashion?” the chick said. However, she still hadn’t turned away from Ariadne.

  “Puh-leeze, your boots aren’t even a genuine Maestro Martinez pair. They’re cheap Centauri knockoffs at best. What are you, new to the life?” the princess declared, crossing her arms and kicking out her hips in defiance. She was beginning to look more and more like these people. All she needed was to dress in black.

  Whatever she was doing was effective, however, and the punk-chick looked more embarrassed than angry as all of her friends looked at her boots. Apparently she was new.

  “Although, now that I notice, only that guy has the real deal,” Ariadne said after scanning the rest of the group. The goateed fellow shrugged while everyone else looked self-consciously at their feet. “But my offer is with you. What do you say?”

  The punk-chick took the glove and tried it on. It at least fit perfectly.

  “What is this made of?” she said in excitement. It was still a nice glove, if dismembered.

  “Trade you for it,” Ariadne said.

  “How about this belt?” The punk-chick gestured.

  “Nope. Too difficult to peddle,” Ariadne said. “Anything else?”

  The punk-chick sighed and thought for a few moments.

  “How about this? I don’t even like coffee,” the punk-chick-newbie dug through her pockets for a piece of somewhat crumpled paper. It was a voucher for a coffee house on the lower level. “My sister gave it to me but she thinks I’m some sort of bookworm.”

  “My brother thought I was a wrestling fanatic,” I chimed in, remembering a birthday with ring-side seats to a local beat-em-up. Sure, I had thought Ignacio Sonata, three-time Sol System Champion, was cute from a poster when I was seven, but that didn’t mean I was obsessed with wrestling. After that, he made sure to carefully observe my likes and dislikes and what I was actually into and what was a passing fancy.

  All of the punks and Ariadne looked at me like I had grown another head.

  Yep, definitely not my tribe.

  Finally, the punk-chick gave me a quiet little chuckle and then Ariadne and I were on our way with a voucher for coffee. As I yawned loudly, I seriously considered cashing it in myself.

  “Should we head back to the Lilstar? I’m dead on my feet,” Ariadne said, shifting from the undercover punk she had been a minute ago into a tired-looking princess.

  “May as well, I don’t think the coffee shop’d be open today,” I said.

  “We’re not cashing this in, are we?” the princess said, confused.

  “No, but where else are we going to find someone who will definitely be interested in free coffee from it?” I pointed out. Ariadne just shrugged in understanding.

  Our slog back to the Lilstar took up the rest of the night and we decided that space rations just weren’t on the menu for breakfast, so we slept most of the day and woke up hungry.

  “This plan is getting us nowhere,” Ariadne complained as we started toward the coffee shop.

  “It will, we just need to keep trading upward,” I said.

  “Why don’t we just take bounties? Aren’t we skiptraces?” the princess suggested in a tone that implied I was an idiot for not thinking about that earlier.

  “We are legally bound to Aristotle’s company and can only take bounties from him or Mr. Carver,” I sighed. “Otherwise I’d be looking over the local bounties right now.”

  Ariadne made a sound like the growl of a dying hippo and fell back a few steps to roll her head dramatically.

  “Yep. That helped, I feel much better,” I said wryly, sticking my tongue out for effect. The princess shot me a pouty glare and stomped on ahead of me toward the coffee shop.

  It was a very nice establishment with a warm, brownish sort of atmosphere about it. The whole place was a riot of mostly coffee-type smells with various herbs and spices to make the average cup of joe ridiculously but deliciously complicated. I could never quite manage coffee; it was entirely too strong for my taste even when doused with copious amounts of cream and sugar. Of course, it wasn’t technically coffee in this place, it was café and the people who dined here would be quick to judge you for using the wrong word. Although I didn’t hang out with this crowd very much, I’d seen enough to know that they were generally good people, mostly poets, writers, and other artistic souls. Despite their outward glares, I highly doubted they were any kind of real threat.

  That being said, I could feel my nose sticking up in the air the minute I walked through the door.

  “I wonder what will get us kicked out faster, telling the proprietor of our plans or not telling him,” I mused, looking toward the counter with what I hoped was not a suspicious glance.

  “Getting kicked out wasn’t part of the plan,” Ariadne frowned in surprise.

  “It was always something that could happen,” I commented as I made my way toward the counter. May as w
ell attempt the choice with decency first. Maybe the manager would take pity on us. I shot quietly back over my shoulder, “We could also go to jail.”

  The princess cringed visibly.

  I walked up to the counter with a smile on my face.

  “Hi,there. My friend and I are flat broke, so we were wondering if we could trade this voucher for something with your clients,” the more words I said, the less inclined I felt to letting Ariadne and me try to trade the voucher.

  Which was exactly how the proprietor felt. As it turns out, there was an option I hadn’t thought of: getting thrown out and then arrested. Technically the arresting came after we spent hours lurking in the various corners of the colony trying to trade a piece of paper that represented one free coffee. Apparently we’d become a pair of suspicious-looking public nuisances and enough people complained to send a pair of cops after us. I really wasn’t certain what I expected from our desperate plan, but it seemed reasonable looking at it from the outside in.

  Seven

  “How does this rank with space rations?” Ariadne commented pointedly, shoving bits of mashed…vegetable around her plate. I wasn’t certain prison rations were worth more than the super-processed meat I had been eating three meals a day, but at least it was something different.

  I cleaned my plate and what was left of the princess’s in any event.

  We’d really only been behind bars for a few hours, but the cops that had arrested us seemed nice enough. They’d gone somewhat out of their way to get us a meal hours before the actual lunchtime. That being said, we still were locked up without access to bail money and facing charges of at least scalping and loitering. Not that much, granted, but enough to set us back in our hunt for Ottoman Lee a fair bit. Besides, Aristotle might not like having his two newest skiptraces hold records on such an important colony. Heck, we might even end up with bounties on our heads.

  “So, ladies…” one of the cops that had arrested us, Officer Remiel, came up to the jail cell. He leaned forward on the bars with a pitying expression on his face. “What are we going to do about you?”

  “I apologize, officer,” I said sincerely. “Ariadne and I are flat broke and I thought trading items would get us somewhere more easily than any other option.”

  “Why can’t you just cash bounties? This checks out, you are definitely licensed to skiptrace on this colony,” Officer Remiel said with a shrug, waving our license in the air.

  “Legally we aren’t allowed to cash bounties unless our employer directs us to them,” I said glumly.

  The cop nodded his head a few times in understanding.

  “There has to be something you guys can do to earn some cash,” Remiel said, stroking his chin. I wanted to say something a bit sarcastic, but that felt unnecessary. I mulled over nothing in particular, not really wishing to walk the dog on what I could do to earn quick money on this colony, until Officer Remiel snapped his fingers.

  “I have an idea for you ladies. It’s not great work but it should get you enough money or trades to get back on your feet. Plus it uses a lot of skiptracing techniques,” the cop smiled broadly as he unlocked the cell.

  “We can go?” Ariadne asked.

  “If you promise to give my idea a shot and not creep around the center like you have been,” Officer Remiel grinned.

  “I think we can do all of that,” I said enthusiastically and exited the cell, following Remiel as he led the way to the front offices. He gestured to some chairs and sat down behind a desk. “Now, here’s the idea: this colony has some animal control but not enough to keep up with the ecosystem, so we usually have bounties up for animal capture for anyone willing to put in the effort. What do you think?”

  “Sure!” Ariadne said without hesitation. I gave her a questioning look. It wasn’t as though I was going to refuse this officer’s entirely reasonable proposal, but she answered him without even a moment to think it over. She seemed to do a lot without hesitation.

  “Okay, that sounds good,” I finally agreed. The cop nodded in approval. “Do we need special permits or something?”

  “Nah. If you can take on humans, we figure you’re good for critters. Here’s the address to the animal control facility that will set you up with traps and predators,” Officer Remiel said, handing us a slip of paper. It was only a few streets over.

  “Thank you,” I said genuinely. The officer just smiled.

  “Keep your noses clean, ladies,” he said as Ariadne practically dragged me out of the police station.

  We walked up two blocks and made a left, arriving at the nearly overcrowded animal control building. There wasn’t exactly a line spilling out the door onto the streets, but the main office was packed with all sorts of colorful, skiptracing characters. They had to be skiptraces, because there was no way that this many rogues could have been there to adopt stray puppies. Plus, they were all staring up at the screens of color-changing scales that organized themselves into words and numbers and displayed the various critter bounties. These ranged from a trespassing neighbor’s iguana to some missing miniature cows from a microfarm to an infestation of moths at a local factory. I sighed, thinking over my options. Infestations might be easy, since that would just involve setting out traps. Tracking down missing turtles? Much more difficult.

  Ariadne and I finally made it to the front desk, where a harried but low-voice clerk looked at us blankly.

  “Here to adopt?” he queried just as blankly.

  “Actually we were sent over to help with animal control,” I said, a little hesitantly.

  The clerk actually blinked at us in slow surprise.

  “Do you have your license on you? I have to register you in the database,” he finally said. I produced the license and rocked back and forth on my feet.

  “Am I reading this right?” the clerk said after a minute. “You two took down Big—”

  “I did,” I said sharply. My vendetta was old news and so was that pig whose license I stole.

  “You’re scary,” the clerk said with enough respect for me to regret being snappish.

  “Yeah, she also brushes her teeth with a child’s toothbrush,” Ariadne said, turning to watch my face. “It’s powder blue with a little cartoon ship on it.”

  I jabbed her in the side with a pair of fingers as hard as I could. She didn’t even wince.

  “Hey, I don’t judge. I have a whole set of Captain U.C. underwear,” the clerk shrugged.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, and neither did Ariadne, so we let the moment pass in silence.

  “All right, you’re in the database, so you now have access to the animal control bounties,” the clerk said. “Once you have chosen a bounty, you go to that desk over there and Mildred will outfit you with the necessary equipment. After you have completed your bounty, report back here for your compensation. Pets and pet-like animals are to be captured alive and brought to an animal control building. Pests and infestations are handled with the appropriate predators and traps for which you will be responsible from the time you request it until it is released at the site. Don’t go coming back for more wolf spiders if you happen to drop the first ones. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Ariadne sand I said in the same, uncertain tone. The clerk didn’t seem to notice the uncertainty, however, and gestured to the scalescreens.

  Ariadne and I sidled up as close as we could to read off the available bounties.

  “What are you thinking?” Ariadne asked.

  “Infestations seem like the easiest to handle, but also pay the least,” I said thoughtfully. “Maybe start with that?”

  “Alright, which one?” Ariadne’s brows furrowed a little.

  “How about that one? ‘slug infestation at restaurant Jones’ Tier 3 Row 5 from the left; bonus available,’” I suggested.

  “Yay, invertebrates,” Ariadne sighed, but accepted the idea. We walked back to the clerk, declared our bounty, and walked over to Mildred. The overly short woman with white hair nodded. After a mome
nt, she placed a carboard box and a bottle of beer on the counter in front of her.

  “Slugs are a mess, especially in restaurants. What you’ll want is some of these violet ground beetles; they clean up the area without leaving a mess and can’t carry zoonotic diseases. Don’t forget to tell the restaurant to shut down its kitchen for about a day; these guys are genetically modified and don’t live much longer than 24 hours. After that, they can clean up and resume business.” Mildred gestured to the surprisingly noisy box. The beetles were scraping up against every side, giving the box an almost writhing quality to it. I swallowed loudly.

  “What’s the beer for?” Ariadne asked, looking over the bottle.

  “For attraction,” Mildred said. “You pour the beer into choice areas around the infestation, which attracts the slugs, then you release the predators in those areas. It makes clean up easier.”

  I made a gesture to the cardboard box, which Ariadne flatly refused to pick up. Instead, she snatched the beer from the counter, leaving me the more unpleasant choice. I could almost feel the beetles crawling all over my skin after I picked up the box. But I imaged starving to death in a strange colony and held the box in a firm but gentle grip.

  “Thanks,” I said cautiously.

  “Thank the beetles,” Mildred replied. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Unless I got that bonus.

  “Ugh, this isn’t even the good stuff,” Ariadne commented once we were out of animal control. She looked at the open bottle of beer in disgust.

  “You really drank the slug-juice?” I accused her. She turned a little green around the edges.

  “Well, don’t put it like that,” she muttered.

  • • •

  Ariadne and I made our way to the restaurant, Jones’, which turned out to be much more like a nightclub with blacklights, loud music, and a mosh pit filled with writhing, bioluminescent-tattooed partygoers. It was barely even lunchtime, but I decided not to judge. I was the one bringing in a box of squirming beetles to take care of a slug problem.

  I weaved my way up to the high bar to the left. It sat a few steps up from the dance floor and was incredibly well-stocked with both alcohols and flavorings, backlit by soft bioluminescent lights that were just bright enough to let you read the labels. The bar itself was topped with what appeared to be falsebone slab embedded into the epidermis. That’s how you know when it’s a high-class establishment, if it has an level bar. I walked up and glanced around for the bartender, rapping the bar a few times. I was finally greeted by an eye-patched bartender with a surprisingly pleasant smile and a nametag that read Ylva.