reddwarfslash | Double Trouble

Double Trouble - Part 9

Rimmer’s double hauled Lister into the cramped midsection of the small red transport ship in the Branson’s docking bay; keeping the pistol pressed firmly to his head. Once the airlock had hissed shut behind them, he shoved him roughly forward and Lister staggered, grabbing the edge of the table for support. His head was still pounding from the blow he’d received and he felt nauseous and weak. He turned to face his captor but before he knew what was happening he was punched in the stomach with brutal force. He folded up, swooning.

As he lay curled on the floor, trying to get some oxygen back in his lungs, he saw the double cross the room and put the pistol down while he rummaged through some crates. He pondered his chances of making it across the room to the gun before he was spotted and glumly concluded that they were less than zero.

The double returned to him with a length of rope and started to tie his wrists together behind his back. Still fighting for breath, Lister gathered his strength and kicked him as hard as he could with both feet. His boots connected with a wall of solid light. The double didn’t so much as flinch, but he did give Lister a sharp backhand across the face. The slap set off another blast of pain in his already singing head and he retched, closing his eyes as the world turned to wavering darkness for a few seconds. That was enough to convince Lister that gun or no gun, any further attempt to fight this man was going to end badly for him. He’d just seen him crush his radio into a mess of splintered plastic and wire with his bare hands, just as he’d once seen his Rimmer turn an enamel cup into fine sparkling powder with his fist on one particularly stressful day aboard Starbug; and clearly this guy had no qualms about using that strength to make Lister suffer if he pushed him too far.

Once his wrists and ankles were tightly bound, the double dragged him without ceremony into a corner of the room. There was a row of large metal hooks protruding from the girder above them, hung with mining tools. The double tossed the rusty equipment aside then looped more rope around the bonds on Lister’s wrists, threw the loose end over one of the hooks and pulled it taut, yanking Lister’s arms up painfully behind him and securing them there.

Lister was starting to get his breath back. He raised his head weakly, “Listen,” he said softly. It might be a little late for negotiation but smeg it all, it was worth a try. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t know if this is planned or spur-of- the-moment or what. But whatever it is you want, man; whatever you came here for, kidnapping me isn’t going to help.” The double ignored him, he was pawing through some more crates across the room. “Just tell me what’s going on and maybe we can work something out, yeah?” Lister suggested as sweetly as he could, “It doesn’t have to be like this...” The double pulled a dusty, oily rag out of the bottom of one of the crates and examined it critically for a moment, then tore a strip off. He walked back to Lister, shaking his head, “You really don’t get it, do you?” He forced the filthy scrap of cloth into Lister’s mouth and tied it tightly in place. Lister looked up at him helplessly, not understanding. The double squatted down before him and stared hard into his eyes. “I’ve got everything I came for,” he said simply.

He stood up straight. “Just so you don’t get any smart ideas about trying to wriggle free, I should warn you, if you put any weight on that rope you’re going to dislocate both shoulders. I’d just lie quiet if I were you.” He turned and went through to the cockpit, leaving Lister helpless on the floor.

“Sir,” Kryten said anxiously, “It’s been nearly an hour and I still can’t re-establish contact with Mister Lister or the other Mister Rimmer. Perhaps we should start looking.” Rimmer fidgeted nervously, “Give them time, Krytie,” he said, “I’m sure they’re not far away.”

“But they both knew what time we were supposed to meet back here, Sir.”

“Look, what can possibly have happened to them on an empty ship? I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. They’ll come back when they’re ready.”

“I don’t like this, man,” Cat said restlessly, “I don’t trust that, dude, not one little bit. This situation smells all wrong.”

“For smeg’s sake!” Rimmer threw his hands in the air, “What are you both so worried about? Lister is more than capable of taking care of himself and as for my esteemed duplicate...Well, he’s me. Even if they have got into a scrap of some sort, I’m sure it’s nothing Lister can’t handle.”

“He’s not you,” Cat replied, with astuteness so unusual that both his companions looked at him with surprise. “I’m serious, Alphabet-Head. You’re no picnic – hell, you’re the human equivalent of a wart; unpleasant, unattractive and very hard to get rid of. But that guy is different.”

“What do you mean?” Rimmer asked, offended.

“If people were smells, you’d be an armpit,” Cat told him bluntly, “But him? He’s gangrene. He’s rotten. All wrong. How can you have spent so much time with him and not realise that?”

Rimmer looked at his worried companions and began to feel an edge of unease himself. No, he and his double weren’t exactly alike, he knew that. He had felt on more than one occasion a kind of dis-synchronisation between them, but it was minor – nothing to worry about, surely. He experienced a fleeting moment of deja-vu that he didn’t understand. His own voice shouting - Stay away from him! Don’t go near him! He’s not like me - and a deep unexplainable feeling of dread. He shook himself. “You’re wrong,” he said simply, “Maybe we aren’t exactly alike but I can tell you one thing with absolute confidence. My double would not hurt Lister any more than I would. Okay?” It didn’t help his mood when Cat and Kryten failed to look comforted by this.

Half an hour or so after the Branson had disappeared from view, Rimmer’s duplicate set the transporter controls to autopilot, sat back in his chair and sighed. A mixture of relief, satisfaction and...something else not quite so pleasant. He swivelled the chair round and looked back into the mid-section, where Lister lay bound and gagged on the floor. The first part of the plan seemed to have gone very well but this had all happened so fast. He’d only had a matter of hours to formulate this plot and put it into action and he’d assumed that he’d have his double here with him for support. He couldn’t understand why the man had backed out, when offered the opportunity to balance the scorecard with their tormenter once and for all. Well, no matter. It was down to him now. But he had to focus. He cradled his head in his hands and massaged his temples.

Just keep calm, he told himself; don’t get carried away and ruin things like you did before. Take your time, don’t rush. You’ve earned this Iron Balls. Make the most of it.

Lister lay as still as he possibly could on the hard metal floor. He had tried, surreptitiously, to work himself free of his bonds, but the double hadn’t been kidding. Any pressure on the rope pinioning his arms was incredibly painful and he’d decided not to test it any further. He was trying not to think about what lay in wait for him. He couldn’t understand what was going on here. Why did this guy hate him so much? And why would he go to all the trouble of kidnapping him when he could have easily killed him twenty times over by now if that was what he wanted? Obviously, he had something more planned for him, but what exactly? In the circumstances, Lister could only surmise that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Not good at all.