“We can’t take cats, they’re not an established part of the ecosystem,” the clerk’s eyebrows pinched together painfully.
“So what are we supposed to do with them?” Ariadne asked.
“Well, I mean we can take them, but we can’t…we’ll have to…you know.”
I nodded in understanding.
“No way!” Ariadne said, hugging the box defensively.
“I’m sorry, but if they get loose they might decimate the vole population and we’ll have a massive yellowjacket hatch,” the clerk shrugged hopelessly. “The voles already have enough predators.”
“Can’t you adopt them to people leaving the colony?” Ariadne asked.
“We could, but they’re illegal to have on-site. They’ll have to stay somewhere else,” the clerk said.
I looked at Ariadne. She pursed her lips with the same realization I’d just had.
“Could they stay on a ship?” I asked.
“If you promise to keep them locked up,” the clerk said.
“The Lilstar just got a lot smaller,” Ariadne said wanly. I nodded, but ghosted a smile as I peeked into the cat-box. The littlest runt of a kitten batted at my fingers through one of the airholes.
“Let us know if you’ve got anybody who’s looking to adopt,” I shot back to the clerk, secretly hoping no one would ever claim these sweet faces.
“How much money have we made?” Ariadne asked as we trudged back to the Lilstar. I counted the credits in my hand carefully. It definitely wasn’t much, and in fact it could be considered barely anything, but there was enough to keep us comfortably fed while we searched Myrkheim.
If our quarry hadn’t decided to pack up and leave by now.
The good thing about working for animal control, however, was that we had a chance to get to know Myrkheim and its people a little better. We were developing contacts, something a well-respected skiptrace once taught me was more important than any paper trail a quarry could leave behind.
Of course, these contacts largely consisted of Centauri who don’t have vocal chords and old ladies missing their prized potbelly pig, but it was better than being completely alone. Plus, we now had a regular place to get a good meal: Jones’.
“We could actually buy something off the middle shelf,” I suggested, stowing the money into my pocket.
“We’re really moving up in the world,” Ariadne grumbled. Although the words sounded optimistic, Ariadne was decidedly not and hadn’t been for a while. I was kind of hoping the kittens would cheer her up, but perhaps she was more of a canine person. “Plus we haven’t made any real headway catching Ottoman. We haven’t had time for it.”
“Well, it’s not like we have any other choice,” I said. Originally, I had meant that as a more helpful our-situation-is-unavoidable-lets-make-the-best-of-it type of encouragement. That, apparently, was not how it came out.
“Well I’m sorry I bank at a non-U.C. bank and stranded us here,” Ariadne huffed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at her strangely. “Geez, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not! Marcie, we are up to our precious necks in debt, and the only chance we have to get out of it could be halfway to Proxima by now!” The princess stuck a finger in my face.
“Calm down,” I said sharply. “We are going to be fine. I will figure this out and—”
“Yeah? You, figure this out? I don’t care if you took that license off of the Ethon Longma itself, neither you nor I know what we’re doing,” Ariadne declared, then spun and stalked toward the Lilstar.
Unfortunately, she was probably right. No, I was not some great skiptrace. I never had formal training, I never apprenticed under anyone. All I had really done was track down one deadbeat who’d falsely put my brother behind bars. I was a one-time giant slayer and that didn’t make me qualified to slay giants full-time.
But I was no idiot. I observed. I watched. And I learned. I had had help from the best of the best. I could do this.
I marched toward the Lilstar with new resolve.
I stopped dead in my tracks for a moment, staring up at the big, bold, bright and bioluminescent advertising board in front of me. It was currently showing a woman gently washing shampoo from her obviously genetically-tweaked hair, but between misleading advertisements for United-Consortium goods, there were skiptrace bounties. Most for hardened criminals, the dangerous or exciting ones more than a single party was interested in. Simple debtors, unless they were gambling debtors, usually did not make the cut.
Unless we added some misleading information. I made a dash for the nearest advertising company.
I was either a genius or stupid.
“What do you think?” I asked proudly, showing Ariadne the print-out. She turned from her chair at the Lilstar’s helm, looking over the receipt with a suspicious look in her eyes.
“This was your idea?” she finally asked, eyebrows puckered.
I stuck my bottom lip out, taking back the receipt. It was from the advertising company, describing just how much I’d paid for these words to be displayed in the Center’s promenade, in plain font, once a day for the next five days:
WANTED, Information or Whereabouts
Name: Lee, Ottoman
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 135lbs
Eyes: Brown
Skin: Pale
Defining Marks: One or two facial tattoos with the words “LOVER” or “LOSER”
Wanted For: Grand Larceny, 2 counts; First Degree Murder, 3 counts; Ship Theft, 1 count; Sexual Harassment 5 counts; and $1.6mil in debt.
Contact: U.C. Myrkheim Advertisements Inc. for details.
It wasn’t necessarily cheap, but I figured it was enough to get the ball rolling on the skiptracing part of this adventure.
“Sexual harassment? He’s a freaking debtor and we’re currently in more debt than he is!” Ariadne cried.
“What am I supposed to do? We can barely make enough to feed ourselves and those five cats we’re fostering!” I raised my voice. It wasn’t a perfect idea but I’d appreciate a little support given our current situation.
“I don’t know. Do skiptracing or something, you’re the flaming skiptrace!” Ariadne yelled.
“You said earlier that neither of us know what we’re doing!” I shouted.
“Neither of us do know what we are doing but—” Ariadne flustered.
“But what?” I asked.
Ariadne scowled at me, an expression I returned.
“I’m going out. I have errands to run. Someone around here has to be useful,” she said quietly. I barely gave her a nod as she stormed out of the Lilstar. I crumpled up the receipt and threw it as hard as I could against the wall. It sat there for a moment on the floor, shaming me, until I decided the kittens would have more fun with it and put it in the bathroom with them.
• • •
I was awake most of the night. I felt frustrated, particularly because Ariadne made good points about our inability to actually make headway in our mission. There had to be some reasonable alternative to our current plan that would make everyone happy. It’s not like Ariadne ever wanted to be a skiptrace anyway. It’s not like she needed to be here either.
I could always tell Ariadne to just leave me on the colony and chase after her parcel business. Ottoman Lee shouldn’t be too much of a difficulty for me. He wasn’t much taller than I was and unlikely to be some sort of dangerous psychopath. I also had the very contraband shock-device that Ariadne definitely wouldn’t need running around the system delivering packages. The license didn’t require both of us there to make the arrest anyhow, it just meant we both could.
I’ll tell Ariadne in the morning, I mused, and offer to stay behind.
Of course, just as I was ready to drift off to sleep, she decided to return to the Lilstar. I caught her arm as she walked between the bunks.
“Have a minute to talk?” I asked, sliding off the bunk.
“No,” she said thickly, tucking her head away from me. “I’
m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
“Did I make you cry?” I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach. I held on to her arm.
“No, I just went out. I made us a few extra credits,” she said.
“How? What did you do? Ariadne—” I began. I didn’t finish, however, as she plucked my hand off her arm, grasped my thumb, and twisted my arm behind me. She didn’t use a lot of force, but the idea of my thumb being bent completely backward made me compliant. She pushed me against the wall, pressing her free hand against the back of my neck. I panicked, a lot, slamming my foot against her knee. She had it braced, but I hit it enough to hurt and make her release me. I spun around quickly, fists up, staring at the monster that had hurt me. Ariadne had her hands in the air defensively.
“Stop it!” she cried out, lowering her hands slowly. “I was just making a point.”
I took a few deep breaths. Suddenly she was just Ariadne again, dark, sparking eyes and tattered jeans. I put my fists down.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I commented.
“I promise,” she nodded solemnly, easing down to the floor. I finally got a good look at her face, which was slightly bruised, like her knuckles.
“So,” I said, covering my shaking hands by walking into the bathroom to retrieve a dermal patch. The kittens came flying out of the bathroom the minute I opened the iris, some bounding for the cockpit, some heading toward the ship’s innards. None of them seemed to have a plan of what to do once they reached their destinations, however. “What’s with the new face art?”
“I found a way to make extra credits. You might not like it, though,” she answered when I came back. She was thumbing a whole roll of credits, trying to keep them away from the speckled runt of a kitten on her lap who batted at the metallic fabric playfully.
“You found an illegal fighting ring,” I commented, applying the patch to her face.
“Yup,” she said. “A good one too, lots of nice rules and regulations but not so many that it gets in the way of the fight.”
“How did you even find it?” I asked, sitting across from her. The spotted kitten turned its affection to me.
“Remember that guy whose iguana got stuck in his neighbor’s floor next to the house’s main artery?” the princess-turned-fighter asked.
“Iguanas love heat.” I nodded.
“The iguana guy had a hidden punching bag in his garage and a few cases of the ointment fighters use to calm tired muscles, plus a whole pile of dermal regenerative patches. Myrkheim doesn’t have a professional fighting league so I assumed he knew where the good fights would be,” she said. All our time making contacts at animal control seems to have paid off a bit.
“He just walked you to the next illegal fight?” I asked.
“Well I kind of threatened to have his iguana deported.” Ariadne bit her lip.
“That’s cold. And a threat we definitely couldn’t have backed up,” I said.
“Actually, I checked the manual. Iguanas are new to the ecosystem and certain breedlines aren’t allowed,” she said.
“Like you know the different breedlines,” I huffed, actually feeling a little better.
“Hey, you should see the other guy,” Ariadne said, gesturing to her lip.
“Is he still in one piece?” I asked.
“That’s why I like the martial arts. You get to beat the crap out of people without as much gore,” the princess crinkled her nose at me annoyingly.
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes, mocking, before looking back at the credits in her hand. “I was thinking, you can leave me here to deal with Ottoman, while you go start your parcel business.”
Ariadne looked at me thoughtfully.
“Nah,” she said, shaking her head.. “I was feeling useless, but, not so useless I’m going to up and abandon you the first chance I get.”
I nodded.
“So what are we going to do?”
“I can keep fighting,” Ariadne said seriously. I winced a little. It was a terrific opportunity to speed up our cashflow, but the fights were not just illegal, they were incredibly illegal. If the Myrkheim authorities caught us, we’d be the ones deported. Plus, what happened if Ariadne lost a fight and we ended up with no cash whatsoever?
“Actually, let me put it to you another way,” Ariadne said, interrupting my thoughts. “I am going to keep fighting. It won’t take many more rounds to earn us enough to restock the ship and get back to skiptracing.”
“I don’t really like the idea, as appealing as it is,” I said. The princess leaned a little closer to my face with an expression that was very much not accepting of anything less that my compliance.
I think my brother used it on me once when I refused to eat my ham and algae.
“To be honest, your only choice in this matter is whether or not you want to come cheer me on in the next fight.” Ariadne shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom. At least two of the kittens followed her.
I smiled at the runt kitten making a big show of sleeping in my lap.
Of course I was going to come, ninny.
Even if she wasn’t as cute as Ignacio Sonata.
• • •
The fighting arena wasn’t exactly what I expected, although I didn’t have many expectations. I’d only ever been to one live fight in my entire life and even though it was semi-pro, it had felt kind of scummy. This felt even worse. Firstly, it took place in a gooey, slimy part of Myrkheim where ages of factory work with leaking corrosive substances turned the organic components of the floors and nearest wall to a festering mush. Falsebone in little better condition stuck out, corroded almost down to the marrow. The only mercy seemed to be that Myrkheim had far fewer nerve endings in this region, meaning it couldn’t feel any of this decay. Not that the colony had any great deal of sensory input or reaction to said input; it had just enough nerves to locate major problems like ruptured veins and broken bones.
Ariadne and I, hoods up to make some sort of overly dramatic entrance, wove our way through the surprisingly thick crowd toward the arena proper, which was little more than a rusted old grain silo. The tall, tubular metallic structure made a great place for an illegal fight, with a clearly delineated fighting area being the inside of the silo and plenty of rust-hole windows to allow everyone and their brother a good look. Of course, it also looked like it could topple over at any minute, but I tried not to think about that.
Ariadne led us straight toward the mustached guy whose iguana she’d threatened earlier. He didn’t precisely greet her with a smile or anything close to civility, but he assured her that all the proper arrangements had been made.
“You’re fighting Trish Abercrombie at 0300,” he said, fidgeting with his nice, expensive suit. It was much different than the stained tank top I’d seen him in while rescuing his iguana, but I didn’t judge. I hadn’t had a change of clothes in a day or two. At least I’d put on a pair of plain earrings and some eyeliner Ariadne had insisted on. “She’s not a strong fighter, but she’ll give you a good bout.”
“Sounds good, Aether,” Ariadne said in a flat tone. “But next time give me somewhat a little more challenging. What’s the betting at?”
“You made an impression yesterday, but Trish is a fan favorite. So far the odds are in her favor,” Aether said, running a comb through his well-trimmed mustache.
“All right, I’ll figure out the money,” I said, moving between Ariadne and Aether. “You go scout around or warm up or whatever.”
She flashed me what was almost a mischievous grin before disappearing into the crowd.
“Tell me, does she cheat?” Aether asked flat out. It was a rude question to say the least, so I blinked at him a few times just to watch him sweat into that expensive suit. “She’s scary.”
“Yeah,” I nodded before staring the insulting man down with a snarl. “And she’s the happy one.”
Aether swallowed and didn’t say anything more except to acknowledge the odds I’d placed. It wasn’t all of our money, but
enough to make a sizable return if Ariadne won.
If ‘won’ was still my choice word, since I’d never actually seen her fight before. I didn’t know what to expect.
I found her watching the current bout through a minute rust-hole.
“Couldn’t find any better seats?” I chided. She smirked, but didn’t look away.
“Next time I want to fight him.” Ariadne pointed for me to look through the small rust hole. In the ring were two heavyweights, putting on a decent, if overly-dramatic, show by slamming one another full-body into the ground. I winced a few times, continuously waiting for the cracking of bones. Of course, these guys might have falsebone reinforcement grafts along their spines and major joints. Although technically illegal and guaranteed to shorten your life in a very painful fashion, even I knew of a few doctors who’d perform the surgeries…at a great cost.
Either way, they shook the silo each time one of them hit the floor, causing it to rattle terribly. Nobody but me seemed to be bothered by the fact that the rackety structure seemed ready to topple over at any moment.
“Ugh, why?” I finally asked.
“Because the falsebone graft in his right knee is giving out. A well-timed blow and he goes down like a rock,” Ariadne whispered with a snap of her fingers for emphasis.
“I didn’t notice that,” I said.
“That’s okay, you’re not going to be in there anyway,” the princess patted me on the back and went to watch the fight some more. I sneered at her backside and decided to get a better look at the crowd and fighters, a far more interesting view than whatever was going on inside the silo.
For the most part, the crowd was a genuine mix of people — some oily factory workers just off their shifts, some well-dressed businessmen with elegant masks to hide their identities, some little kids and even whole families cheering on their favorite and booing when said favorite disappointed them. It wasn’t too difficult to distinguish the fighters from the spectators. Most fighters simply wore whatever was the most nondescript since, if the police raided the place, boring clothes allowed them to pass as inactive participants of this illegal sport. There was still a culture of showing off, of course, and some fighters were dressed to the nines with fancy costumes, headdresses, tattoos, and anything else that helped them stand out loudly.
Set'em Up Page 11