Set'em Up

by A N G Reynolds

  “Technically, you were invited too,” Ariadne muttered.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t exactly fight for me to stay when I refused,” I countered.

  “You’re right,” Ariadne sighed. I shook my head with a wry grin.

  It took me a little while to come up with an acceptable plan, which included everything from bathroom breaks, showers, naps, and feeding times. The Lees would just have to be content with washing fully clothed and handcuffed. Actually it would be more of a rinse-down and face wash simply to keep the smell at bay. Between the two, I didn’t figure Set would give me quite as much trouble as Ottoman, who seemed to be some kind of addict—

  Ah. Addict.

  I looked at the still-unconscious twin/clone with some horror and surprise. I hadn’t thought through this far enough. I never was a great strategizer. If Set was an addict, I doubted his poison of choice would remain in his system from the time he last took it until we made it to Earth. I certainly wasn’t going to stop and get him more of it; my illegal activities stopped at acquiring and giving illicit drugs to my bounties. I rubbed my forehead, setting the new schedule aside and began writing out a battle plan for any signs of withdrawal. While it would all depend largely on what Set preferred, the Lilstar’s medical kit might have some non-addictive substitutes to keep his symptoms at bay, but it was duct tape on a space suit, a temporary fix to a long-term problem.

  Ottoman let out a sniveling laugh behind me through his taped mouth. I glared through his LOVER tattoo and judgement of me, realizing he knew I had just realized what my predicament was.

  Great, not only was he a sociopath, he was also perceptive.

  “What’s up?” Ariadne said, looking in concern from me to Ottoman.

  “We’re in it up to here,” I gestured to my neck.

  Eleven

  The first few days of the trip went along smoothly. Everyone was fed properly, allowed to use the facilities, and rinsed down at least once. Ottoman was actually behaving himself, something that surprised me, but every so often I would catch a weird glare from the corner of his eye. He was still someone I wouldn’t trifle with. So that was why I quickly adopted the policy of attaching a shock plate to our captives’ necks whenever they weren’t strapped to the ship. I kept it on the lowest setting, figuring that was just enough to startle them into submission. I never even had to use it, except once on Ottoman who decided to half-heartedly attempt a takeover. That time, however, I made sure I wasn’t in direct contact with him when I turned it on.

  Set remained lethargic almost to the point of unconsciousness. Since he was so apathetic to his surroundings, I went so far as to removing the tape from his mouth most of the time. Besides, if he went through withdrawal, it would be better keep his mouth unobstructed.

  It wasn’t until the fourth day, about halfway to Earth, that things began to go badly — even setting aside the fact Ariadne and I had passed our month-long probation from Aristotle. That, fortunately, was something to be dealt with once we had reached home. No, the more immediate and dire situation we faced came from one simple sentence:

  “Where are the unicorns?”

  It came from a soft voice situated behind Ariadne’s chair. She was napping, of course, and I was left awake to keep an eye on everything.

  “What unicorns?” I asked with genuine fear, wondering if all of my anti-withdrawal plans would be enough to keep Set and everyone comfortable for the mere five days we had left until Earth.

  “The… unicorns. Like fairies, but with less… misogyny,” Set said, eyes narrow, skin damp, muscles spasming, and fingernails the palest of blues. Even his LOSER tattoo seemed to be ashy.

  “Misogyny…?” I let the word roll out of my mouth as I wracked my brain to both diagnose his withdrawal symptoms and plan what to do next. The good news was, I’d shown an aptitude for biology as a kid. After I’d graduated from the Basics, the rest of my education through high school was centered heavily on human and organic structure, anatomy, diagnosis, and a lot of basic first-aid. There had been some more advanced topics, of course, of which I had only scratched the surface, but between my education and stories of my brother’s work, I was reasonably confident that I could handle a withdrawal-ridden addict. Unfortunately, everyone reacts to either drugs, or a sudden lack of them, a little differently, although each poison had its own calling card, so to speak. Even with that spectrum of symptom variance and signatures, Set seemed to be reacting very generically.

  Great.

  I glanced at Ottoman for any kind of help he might offer. Surprisingly, he was looking at his clone/twin with an amount of empathy or pity I wouldn’t have assumed possible. I suppose if I shared a face with someone, I would feel connected to them through any sort of narcosis that might be affecting me congruently.

  “What’s his fix?” I asked Ottoman, fishing for just how deep his empathy toward Set might exist before I removed the tape.

  He looked at me with wild, yet not wholly un-pleading eyes that I took as a sign he wanted to help. I leaped out of the chair and freed his mouth.

  “He likes crystals of any kind, but the last he took were a few adams,” the sociopath told me, still glancing warily at his deeply-suffering counterpart. Set seemed to be caught between crying, laughing, and thrashing around violently. I nodded, retaped Ottoman’s mouth, and went for the medical kit.

  Adams, adamas, or simply “diamonds” started out like many other illegal drugs: as a prescription medicine. During the U.C.’s rise to control the creation and sale of pharmaceuticals, private companies fought to be competitive by creating and marketing so-called wonder drugs on a daily basis. Most of the drugs did more harm than good, such as diamonds. Originally meant to cure all insanity, adams quickly caught on in the underworld as the best way to empty your mind. Sure, it cured mental ailments, but that was because it was slowly eating away every aspect of your brain, leaving you a drooling, empty shell with no muscle control.

  I dashed toward the cabinet with the medical kit, waking up Ariadne in the process.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked, just after sitting up too quickly and banging her head on the ceiling above her bunk.

  “Just keep an eye on those two!” I shouted in return. The moment I reached the cabinet I began pulling out all the non-medical provisions that had the misfortune of standing between me and my prize. I finally found it shoved in the farthest corner of the highest shelf and made a mental note never to put it back there again. I ripped it open almost violently, spilling half the contents all over the floor. I finally found the medicines I was looking for. From what I remembered of close adams encounters, someone going through withdrawal needed two things: a sedative to calm their spastic brain and nervous system and something to relax their stomach.

  Of course, they could still die from the withdrawal, but these medicines could keep the more dramatic of the symptoms at bay.

  I found an all-night dermal sedative for Set along with an anti-nausea pill. The patch would be easy enough to administer, and I would probably put it directly on his neck for a quicker effect, but getting him to swallow the pill was another matter entirely. I seriously considered crushing it into a glass of water, but getting him to swallow a whole glass of water seemed even messier. In the end, I started with the patch.

  “Marcie!” Ariadne demanded once I returned with the medicines. She said it quietly, however, while kneeling cautiously beside Set. She didn’t seem panicked or frightened by the addict’s inane babbling or thrashing, just concerned.

  “I’ve got stuff, hold this,” I said simply, handing her the bottle of anti-nausea pills while I unwrapped the sedative patch. At this point, Set was shrieking, sweaty, and somehow pale and flushed at the same time. He pulled so much on the epidermis slats that bound him to the ship that I was afraid he might break his wrists.

  Without being asked, Ariadne helped me apply the sedative patch by holding down the addict’s kicking legs. Of course, that brought more and louder screams from the brai
nless man, but I was wholly focused on the task at hand. Just get the patch to his neck, I told myself, then wait a few minutes for it to kick in. In the sweet spot between him being hyperactive and being sedated, I could force-feed him the anti-nausea pill. With any luck, we’d be good for a few hours until the patch wore off.

  He fought like a pinned and mostly rabid opossum, trying to bite at my hand as I attempted to place the patch on his neck. I placed my hand just behind his ear and pushed his head firmly to the side, exposing his neck enough for me to put the patch just over his carotid artery. The location meant that it would be able to enter the bloodstream much faster than if I’d put it on muscle or fat. Although, even if I missed the artery a little, it was still fast-acting. I didn’t miss, however, and by the time I had collected myself, he was just dazed enough to force feed the anti-nausea pill without causing him to choke. For a moment, he was so green I figured it wouldn’t stay down. But within ten minutes he was resting peacefully.

  “Aaaahhhh…” I moaned softly.

  “I’ll see if there is a faster course we can take,” Ariadne said as she slid into the pilot’s seat.

  “And one without a lot of turbulence,” I suggested, watching Set’s face lose its green hue temporarily.

  I continued to sit on the floor between our two captives, resting my head against my palm. Ottoman nudged me with his foot and I gave him a pretty nasty side-eye. He remained undaunted by my glare and lifted his chin in a motion that suggested I take the tape off.

  I did so grudgingly and with a demanding, “What?”

  “How long do you think you can keep that up?” he asked accusingly. “Set is bad off and won’t get much better without medical attention. Real medical attention.”

  “Ah, shut your mouth,” I said and taped him back up off-handedly.

  Ottoman yelled formless words at me from underneath his tape, gesturing to his twin/clone repeatedly. I didn’t have much room to judge him on the matter; I’d be concerned if my brother was in that same position. However, I was tired, and it was Ariadne’s turn to be awake, so I tumbled into the open bunk and fell promptly asleep, taking the opportunity to pretend that the Lees were already in police custody and that Aristotle hadn’t banished us from his employment.

  • • •

  The next two days consisted of the same routine: give Set a new sedative patch and anti-nausea pill. For the most part, these two substitutions seemed to keep his withdrawal symptoms down, but even Ariadne recognized that the addict was not coming even close to being stabilized. We needed to get to Earth fast or find some kind of clinic that could handle him. I spent many an hour simply chewing my lip out of frustration. On the one hand, we had a sick twin/clone who was close to dying and few options to help him. On the other hand, we had a vicious twin/clone who would undoubtedly take any and all opportunities to escape when possible.

  But someone was technically dying.

  “Could we be brought up on charges?” Ariadne asked on cue, glancing toward the sleeping addict.

  “How far are we from a station or colony?” I finally asked.

  “We’re not far from Baltia, Mars. Plus, we’re on something of an intercept course with Edonite,” the princess said, gesturing to something on the control panel I couldn’t make sense of.

  Actually, I wasn’t paying attention to what she was pointing at, having swiveled my head around to watch out of the corner of my eye. I watched Ottoman’s face to make sure he didn’t have any preference in the matter. The last thing I wanted to do was take him directly to one of his favorite hideouts or a station he was familiar with. His LOVER-tattooed face revealed an irritating amount of nothing.

  “Baltia has a great clinic,” the princess offered.

  “Edonite has fewer laws and traffic,” I countered. Ariadne looked at me briefly, then nodded and then input the proper coordinates.

  I turned to look at Ottoman full-on. His gaze was now fully fixed on Set. He seemed to actually care for his twin/clone. I wondered exactly what made him the way he was, insane and likely far more dangerous than had originally been reported. While there was still a chance he was just a debtor, I somehow doubted that covered the subject. He probably was a debtor, but it was also likely that my over-exaggerated advert on Myrkheim was less exaggerated than I’d originally believed.

  There was always a chance I could have become like that. Some skiptrace might have had me tied to their ship, dragging me home to an arrest and trial. I’d had plenty of opportunities to do so even as far back as my childhood. The situation involving my brother could have been a catalyst for a downward spiral, but it wasn’t. Against all that had happened to me, I’d managed to stay afloat in terms of sanity. Of course, I always had days where I doubted my mental stability, but looking at real crazy put those concerns to rest.

  I must have shown some sort of pity toward the sociopath because suddenly he looked at me, got angry, and strained against his bonds as if to fight me. Of course, the copilot’s seat was far out of his reach, but he managed to kick it once or twice.

  Without a sound I placed the final sedative patch I was holding on his exposed ankle.

  • • •

  We arrived at Edonite within a few hours and contacted their medical facilities to warn them of our situation, just as Set’s most recent dermal patch was beginning to wear off. Ottoman was still sleeping like a murderous baby, however, so I moved him farther into the ship. As I told the princess, the station was light on laws, but I figured it would be best not to advertise having four people in a two-person craft, although the Lilstar was beginning to smell like it was overpopulated.

  Besides, I wasn’t quite certain Ottoman was a small fish. Having him snatched out from under me by another skiptrace or overeager station security would probably evaporate any chance I might have with impressing Aristotle.

  And I really needed to impress the carrot-top lawyer.

  After moving Ottoman, I turned to the rousing Set and began to prepare him for the medical officer that was waiting for us at Edonite. He was starting to mutter and spasm weakly, like he was having a nightmare. Right now, of course, his life pretty much was a nightmare, most of which was my doing. Not that I truly pitied anyone who decided to ruin their lives with drugs or other destructive vices. I only felt sorry for the waste of human potential they exhibited.

  Like now, Set refused to give Ariadne and me any cooperation in moving him toward the airlock and the awaiting nurse. His thrashing increased and his inane muttering became a full-on scream even through the tape I put on his mouth.

  “Cut him free!” I yelled tersely at Ariadne as I tried to hold down the addict. She produced a folding knife from her pocket and proceeded to cut the organic slats holding Set immobile. Well, somewhat immobile. Ariadne was attempted to be careful enough not to nick one of the Lilstar’s nerves, which translated into her taking forever to cut the slats free from the ship.

  I had to switch tactics from simply holding down Set’s free legs to sitting on top of them. Each agonizing moment brought a new wish from me that usually involved speeding up the princess’s cutting efforts or ensuring my meager frame was enough to keep this addle-brain from hurting himself or anyone else.

  “Hurry!” I let myself cry out once as Ariadne continued to move slowly.

  “Yes, I know!” the princess yelled back at me. She was only about halfway through. Just another half to go.

  Of course, things are never as easy as ‘just halfway more to go,’ especially when it’s imperative that they do go smoothly. In this case, Set broke one of his wrists trying to thrash about. The break let him wiggle a hand free and before I could stop him, he hit Ariadne across the face, sending her flying backward, crashing into the back of the pilot’s seat.

  To her credit, the princess was back up without any kind of hesitation. Of course, she caused me a great deal of panic when she completely ignored her original task and instead stepped over Set and moved deeper into the ship.

  “What t
he—” “I bit off a choice word as I sat on the addict’s struggling legs, trying to pin his free arm at the same time. His wrist didn’t seem to be causing any more pain than the rest of his symptoms, but even so, I tried to grab his arm instead of the wrist itself. Even if he wasn’t feeling any pain in the break, it wouldn’t do for me to make things even worse.

  Ariadne returned a second later, placing a semi-used dermal patch from Ottoman on Set’s free shoulder. I could see she was resisting the urge to smirk at me as we waited for the addict to calm down. This lasted until Set’s breathing became more or less regular and she turned to give me a knowing side-eye.

  “Yeah, yeah. Your name is I. Genius; I get it,” I waved her off. “How’s that cheek?”

  “Ow,” Ariadne said as she reached up and touched her fresh wound, which comprised of what would be an excellent black eye and scar, if the surprisingly massive pressure cut wasn’t treated properly.

  “You’ll accompany Set to the clinic, I’ll stay here with Ottoman,” I nodded toward Ariadne, who seemed to agree with that plan.

  “Are you sure you can handle him?” the princess asked in a low tone. I glanced toward Ottoman, who was looking around somewhat bleary-eyed.

  “Yeah, I should be all right. The tough part is you making sure someone doesn’t try to snatch Set from us.” I contemplated giving Ariadne the shock device, but decided against it. It wouldn’t do to have her caught zapping a hospital patient even if he legally was one of our prisoners.