Chapter One

1

As the Bebop dropped out of hyperspace, the mottled globe of Jupiter took shape in the forward viewport. Jet Black stubbed out his cigarette. The orbit of the massive planet was abuzz with traffic, ships of all shapes and sizes buzzing about this way and that, hundreds of people going about their personal business, most completely oblivious of the dangers that lurked in the backdrop of their daily lives. For these people, the atrocity of the day before had been no more than a sad and sickening blurb on the local airwaves, probably doing nothing but disturbing the sanctuary of their existence. Out here, somewhere, Jet knew there were those who knew much more about the syndicate than he could ever dream, but those creeps were few and far between.

Jet piloted the Bebop slowly along the transit markers, plotting a course for Ganymede. The trip had been a smooth one, something that had become a common occurrence over the past few months. Faye didn't bitch about where they went anymore, and without Spike and Edward, that meant a hell of a lot less bitching than Jet had grown accustomed to. Which meant there was a new routine in his travels throughout the solar system, and that routine entailed sweet silence.

The radio blasted space-traffic directives to all ships en route to Ganymede. Jet, who instantly recognized the obvious changes in the regular routine, adjusted the volume of the communications console and keyed in fresh coordinates into the computer every couple of minutes to correspond to the directive. The most direct and obvious change was the lack of oncoming traffic meaning that no one was leaving Ganymede via customs, and by the length of the long line waiting to get in, Jet knew it'd be a long while before the Bebop could even check in. Probably they were running level three inspections of each ship. It seemed odd that space-traffic control would make any such changes to the routine, but it wouldn't be the first time Jet had been forced to handle any such inconveniences. He might even learn something along the way.

The government had taken drastic measures to secure Ganymede airspace. A public shoot-out to the extremes of the previous day was enough to shut down the order of an entire world, and this brutal battle had done just that. Everyone suffered—some more than others—but in this case, Jet, as a former policeman, knew the ropes. He would abide by the law, just like any other upstanding citizen, whether or not he had a choice. He was simply that kind of man. He plucked a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and leaned back. It was gonna be quite a wait, and he knew it. He scratched his beard, allowing his thoughts to drift. Soon, the scent of fresh lilacs and a pair of soft footsteps alerted him to his young partner as she slipped into the room, refreshed after her morning shower. He risked a glance over his shoulder; Faye was draped loosely in her bathrobe, a towel wrapped like a turban around her wet hair. He watched as she strolled over to the coffeepot and helped herself to a cup and three heaping scoops of sugar.

"Morning," she mumbled as she slid over to his side. She blinked at the viewport, staring at the heavy traffic. At first, nothing clicked. Her mind was still muddled from a dismal night's sleep, no doubt groggy from the muggy atmosphere in which she preferred to shower. Jet took his cigarette from his lips and exhaled. He watched her emerald eyes twitch a little, as the scene took shape before her. "Where the hell are we?"

"Ganymede Space Transit." Jet stubbed out his smoke and looked back down at the computer station. A monotone voice spilled out over the airwaves, informing the line of ships it would be a twenty minute wait before the next ship would be allowed to enter Ganymede airspace. Jet rolled his eyes, but he'd known exactly how it was going to be from the moment the Bebop had dropped out of hyperspace.

Faye collapsed into a chair nearby, staring at the screen. "I thought we weren't coming to Ganymede."

"We agreed we weren't going after the syndicate," Jet replied. He shut down the computer, knowing it would be a while before they could go anywhere. "I have some unfinished business down here. I figured if we're not here after a bounty, we might as well take a load off for a bit."

"What business would an old fart like you have on Ganymede?"

"I have a meeting with other old farts."

"Your friends from the force?"

"Might say that. More like friends I made when I was with the force." He glanced over to the girl. Faye was more alert now, though she held a hand to her temple as if her head was killing her. Seemed possible, considering that a trip to Ganymede was more than a little out of the way, and that this was the colony where members of the Red Dragon syndicate had ruthlessly attacked and killed shoppers in a quick shop. "I don't think we'll be staying too long," he offered, hoping she would let it slide.

Fortunately, she shrugged, a sign of surrender. "Nothin' better to do. Might as well ride it out." She lounged back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other and allowing her robe spill away from her raised knee, revealing the length of one tone thigh. She didn't seem to notice the glance he stole of her before returning his attention to the line of ships before them. Many were as old and rundown as the Bebop, and a few were large, commercial freighters en route to disperse their cargo to various businesses on Ganymede. There were even two or three sleek vessels, too leisurely to be company owned, too rigid to be private yachts. Maybe secured government transports? Seemed like a reasonable assumption. Mars was probably sending Ganymede help for dealing with yesterday's shoot-out, considering the origins of the Red Dragon.

Ten minutes passed without incident. Both bounty hunters kept to themselves for the duration. Jet wondered what Faye was thinking about. She spent a lot of her time dwelling on things that hurt. Not exactly brooding, but at the same time, she wasn't a happy person either. He supposed that really wasn't the biggest of surprises. A few short months ago, she had finally learned who she had been before the accident that had forced her to be put into cryogenic stasis to save her life, only to find that nothing of that aspect of her life existed anymore. Then she had lost a man who had come to be a close friend, not to mention Edward. Now, there was only Jet, and he was pretty sure she wasn't satisfied with him over the other two.

"I think you're wrong," she said suddenly. Jet blinked, trying to figure out how she could have possibly known what he was thinking. He cast her a sidelong glance, but before he could ask what she meant, Faye leaned forward, staring to the viewport. She smirked. "We're gonna be in line a hell of a long time."

Jet grinned back. "Yeah. Guess so."

"If anyone could fuck up a schedule…" she started.

"Hey, don't give me that shit. You and Spike were the ones who refused to play by the rules, remember?" Faye was still grinning as she drained her coffee cup. Her partner laughed, resting his thumb against his temple as he stroked his fingertips against his brow.

Another minute of silence followed before something finally changed in their field of vision. In open space, outside the transit rings, were three two-man vehicles clearly marked by big block letters along the front, just beneath the cockpit dome: POLICE. Jet let his eyes follow their course across the starfield, wondering just what it was they were doing. It wasn't often that anyone flew outside the transit rings this close to an inhabited world. It was against the law. If the cops were out there now, it could only indicate one thing: they were after a ship that had decided to take the chance. It was impossible to tell whether their quarry was trying to get to Ganymede or sneak away.

Faye leaned forward as she stared dumbly as the three ships faded to specks against the darkness. He could see the question in her emerald eyes. I wonder where they're headed in such a hurry? Jet didn't bother to speak. Instead, he turned his eyes to the comm as a red light flickered on. Frowning, he reached out to flip the switch.

"This is the Bebop." No face appeared on the monitor. Audio only, it seemed. "Jet Black speaking."

The voice that responded was a youthful one, with an eagerness that Faye couldn't have anticipated. "Jet Black? The Jet Black, pilot, captain, and owner of the Bebop? Former law enforcement officer turned space cowboy, feared by outlaws, beggars, riffraff, gangsters, and murderers, loved by law-abiding citizens everywhere?"

Jet frowned. "Yeah, yeah. That Jet Black."

"Never heard of 'im."

Faye grinned. "I don't know who you are but I certainly like your attitude."

Jet shot her a glare before returning to his contact. "Who the hell is this?" he demanded. "How'd you get this channel?"

A laugh boomed over the comm. "Lieutenant Alexander Kane, Inter-Solar Systems Police." Jet frowned, letting his thoughts drift back to happier times, considering all the people he'd known, all of the names he might have heard, and came to realize that Alexander Kane wasn't on the list. He shot Faye another look, but she seemed just as clueless as always. Who the hell is this guy? he wondered.

"The ole hag's told me quite a bit about you," Kane added. "The man who single-handedly broke the Dogma case."

"Well now, I wouldn't say that…" Jet said, scratching his bald head.

Alexander howled. "ISSP records say otherwise, Black Dog. 'Once he gets his teeth in you, he doesn't let go.'"

"Mmm." Faye leaned forward, eyeing Jet with an amused smirk on her face. "Nah, that doesn't sound like my Jet at all."

Jet slashed a hand across his throat, a clear indicator for her to shut her mouth. Faye arched her brow, leaning forward. Jet tried to ignore the fact that the front of her robe was running dangerously close to spilling open. He looked quickly away. "Alexander Kane, you say? ISSP lieutenant?"

"That's right, sir."

"Care to tell me something, kid?"

A pause. "What's that?" Alexander asked.

"What the hell are you doin' on this channel? One of my old co-workers put you up to this?"

"More like your old boss. Remember Sylvia Borden?"

Jet inhaled sharply. "Commissioner Sylvia Borden? That old bat's still on the force?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "What's she doing looking for me?"

"No, she's not with the force anymore. At least, not directly. Commissioner Lambert took over a few months back, if you can imagine." Harvey Lambert, Jet thought. What the hell was that guy doing with ISSP? Before he could put words to the question, Alexander continued: "Anyway, Sylvia's the one who secured my position before she resigned. She thought it was the least she could do after all my mother did for her, back in the day."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah. She was in the homicide division."

"Homicide." The word slid easily off Jet's tongue, followed by realization. Jet leaned forward. "Hell, you don't mean Sandra Monroe? You're Alex Monroe?"

Alexander laughed. "Well, not anymore. Mom married into the insurance business a few years back. Jeremiah Kane. He's the son of the AkitaHartz Insurance CEO that was knocked off a few months back."

Hence the new name, Jet thought. "I'll be Goddamned. Last time I saw you…hell, you were just a little squirt."

"Yeah, that's me. I took the name because Jeremiah and I got to be pretty close."

Not to mention your father is a huge prick, Jet thought sourly. He let out a soft sigh and leaned forward. "And how's Sandy these days?"

A silence followed. "She died. Couple months ago, working a case."

"Oh…" Dark eyes settled somberly on the long line of ships ahead of him. He sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Alex."

"Yeah. So was I." Alex hesitated for a time, as if trying to settle his dampened spirit. "Look, Jet. Sylvia's in a heap of trouble, and I was tryin' to help out."

Jet stole another look at Faye. The girl adjusted her robe against her legs and rose into a seated position to eye her partner. "Alex? What's wrong?"

Another pause. "Shouldn't talk about it over this channel. Sylvia told me to remind you of the roost. Said you'd know what it means."

Jet frowned. "The roost. I get the message." He paused for a moment, considering the girl beside him. "Tell her I'll be there."

Faye shot him a look that would melt steel. Jet ignored her. Right now there were bigger concerns in the world than Faye's happiness. Hell, his was shot as it was. Why shouldn't he be able to drag her down with him? It never stopped her from doing the same to him. After shutting down his comm, Jet rose to his feet and turned to the door.

"Jet!" she snapped. For a moment, he paused in the doorway. "Wait just a goddamn minute! What the hell did you just get me into?"

"Beats the hell outta me."

"I thought we were here so you could meet with your friends!"

"Yeah. Just so happens Sylvia Borden is a good friend of mine." Without another word, he turned and stormed from the room. Brooding with each step he took through the cold, metal halls of his ship, Jet came to a realization that he really didn't give a shit about what Faye Valentine thought. He had to know what was going on. Sylvia was important to him. If she was in trouble, he was going to be there for her. Screw the consequences. Screw everything. He'd spent far too long babysitting people like Faye that he'd forgotten Jet Black was human too. It was about damn time he did what he wanted, for reasons that suited him. That was the very least he owed himself after the last few years of hell he'd been through. That understanding suited him well enough.

Satisfied, the Black Dog thrust his hands into his pockets and trudged to his room.

2

The Hole In The Wall Tavern—the "Roost," as it was called by certain members of ISSP—was a rundown bar on the outskirts of the Ganymede colony, run by a rugged bear of a man called Geoff Zacharias, tall, heavyset, unshaven, complete with a voice to match. Jet pushed the rim of his cap slightly over his brow with his middle and forefingers and peered quietly about the empty room. The chairs were set up onto the tabletops and the lights were dim, a clear sign that the place was closed. The air was thick with smoke. Geoff was at his usual place behind the bar, leaning against the counter as he wiped the surface with a damp rag, chewing on the end of a burning cigar. Straightening his suit, Jet drew a breath and headed to greet his old friend.

The place hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been here, about four years and two months ago, shortly after he and Spike had teamed up for the very first time, though he could see time hadn't been too rough on the old bartender. The Russian was a little thinner, seemed a little healthier, maybe even a little happier then he was during his last visit.

He made his way through the maze of tables and came up to meet his friend, pulling off his hat and setting it on the counter. The two stared at each other for a few somber moments, and then Geoff broke into a huge grin. "Why, if it ain't the Black Dog," he said as he dropped his rag on the counter and thrust his hand out over the bar. Jet took it without hesitation. "Tell me, what brings you back to this hellhole?"

"A mutual friend," Jet replied. "Geoff Zacharias. How ya doin', old man?"

"No complaints, anyway."

"Good to hear." Jet lowered himself into a barstool as Geoff dug out a bottle and two glasses. He saw an antique jukebox from the late Twentieth Century in the corner of the room and wondered how long his friend had owned it. He couldn't recall seeing it during his previous visits to the bar, but then again, this was the first time he'd been here during closing hours with nobody else around. A soft, lilting tune seeped from the speakers and saturated the air with its woeful purity.

Geoff slid a drink toward him and poured a second for himself, leaning against the counter. Jet realized, not for the first time, how great it really felt to be somewhere he truly felt he belonged. He thoroughly remembered his last visit here and was grateful that Geoff seemed to have forgiven the misfortunes of that little adventure. The big Russian lowered his glass and shook his head slowly as he inspected his friend. "Didn't expect you here so quick, Jet."

Jet eyed the man and sipped his vodka. "I was in the neighborhood."

Geoff raised a thick, bushy brow but didn't say a word. The two were silent as he went back to wiping the counter. There was a difference in the big man's demeanor, a fact undoubtedly brought on by their lack of contact over the past few years. Jet regretted instantly that he'd never even made a phone call. Finally, Geoff lifted a casual eye back to his old friend. "Tell me, friend: how's the cowboy business?"

"Sucks most the time."

"Sorry to hear."

With a nod, Jet drained his glass. "How did Sandy die?"

A sad look came over the Russian's face as he peered to Jet. He could see instantly his big friend didn't have all the details, but he knew enough. It hadn't been a pleasant sight, Jet realized. As Geoff poured Jet another drink, he told the tale of her disappearance, which proved to be an abduction three days later when the search ended in a gruesome discovery. Geoff didn't care to describe the scene, but Jet insisted.

Sandy's corpse, or what was left of it, had been discovered in the back of an unmarked car in a rundown, crime-infested neighborhood of the Ganymede colony. How she had died was impossible to determine, though there had been a great deal of postmortem trauma. There could be no certainty to the actual cause of death, but it was undoubtedly murder. There had been no denying that. The questions remained: who was her killer, and was there enough evidence to pin the deed on a suspect? They didn't even have so much as a skin cell beneath Sandy's fingernails.

Jet swallowed at the description and glanced down at his glass.

"Rape?" he asked.

"No evidence," he said. "Not so much as a drop of semen."

Jet nodded. Perhaps, maybe, his good friend had been spared at least that indignity, though she apparently had suffered everything else. He drained the remainder of his vodka and slammed the glass down on the counter.

"Mind if I buy you another?"

Jet looked up. It wasn't Geoff that had spoken, but he knew the voice all too well. He turned to see a short woman in her sixties, staring back at him. Her short, wavy hair was white as snow, and her face held the soft countenance, brimming with the sober determination he'd known for nearly eighteen years, when he was nothing more than a rookie of the force. He hadn't even heard her come in, and he remembered how she used to be known as the White Ghost in her youth. Damn, she'd been a good cop. Jet had to smile, despite himself. "Sylvia Borden," he said, rising.

"Have a seat, Jet. I'll come to you."

She moved with a slight limp, a battle scar that had forced her from the field to a desk job in her late-forties. Jet remembered being there in Intensive Care after she was moved from the operating room, and how she described the incident even as she regained consciousness to find him and several other ISSP officers standing over her.

Jet had been the one to break the question: "Well, what the hell happened out there?"

She'd rolled her eyes and grumbled through her oxygen mask. "I got my ass shot."

The two sat in silence for several moments as Geoff poured three more drinks, sliding two toward his guests. They toasted silently to their lost friend and drained their glasses a moment later. There was a long moment as each waited for one of the others to break the silence, but it was such a respectful silence that Jet just couldn't find the right words, nothing worthy of the somber time they shared. Maybe it was a time best spent in the quiet of the night. He swallowed and gave Sylvia a quiet stare. She nodded her understanding. Like old times, Jet found he could hold a conversation with his old friend without a single word having to be said.

The door opened again, and two others slid quietly into the room.

Benedict Allen hadn't changed a bit since Jet had last seen him, still the hulking bull of a man he'd been back when Jet was on the force. He was in his late-thirties, about Jet's age, though he'd actually come onto the force three years after Jet, when the Black Dog had already made a name for himself, and instantly "The Bull," as he came to be known, earned a reputation as ISSP muscle. It was a nickname that proved to be well earned and much deserved. His partner in law enforcement was half his size, a skinny white man, at least a head shorter but still tall in his own right, and no less of a force in terms of confidence. Jet didn't know him, as he was a youngster with the eyes of a veteran. His golden blond hair was tousled, though clean, and his eyes were piercingly green.

It took a moment to realize who the kid was, but his face and his eyes told the story before he even had to ask. Jet rose to his feet as Ben and the kid joined him and Sylvia at the bar. He shook hands with the strong grip of "The Bull" offering a silent nod, and then shook hands with the big man's partner.

"Alexander Kane," Jet said.

A somber smile crossed the boy's lips before he nodded. "That's right, sir."

The two shook hands. Jet had actually met Alex as a few times before—once when Sandy had brought him to the station and three or four times during a visit to her apartment—but it had been ages since he'd seen the boy. No longer was he the child of his youth. He was a man, and Jet could clearly see the potential for growth, the eagerness for justice, that he'd once held when he was nothing but a rookie on a force that respected him. That was one thing about ISSP: he'd always felt as though he'd been wanted, until the day he'd lost his arm. He could see the same misguided faith in the eyes of the boy before him.

"God, you look like your mother."

Alex's eyes sparkled, though his mood remained somber. "So they tell me."

"We all here then?" Benedict asked, glancing to the former ISSP commissioner.

"Lieutenant Kitch helped to set this little meeting up," Sylvia replied. "But he's swamped, what with the massacre at the quick shop."

Jet nodded. "Saw it on the news," he said. "Must 'a been a hell of a mess."

Sylvia seemed to shudder at the thought of it. Jet thought they all seemed a little less than enthusiastic about discussing the matter. No doubt what he'd seen on TV was the abridged version of the chaos. Well, that was putting it mildly, but he couldn't know without the knowledge. Jet drew a deep breath and leaned forward. "So, I assume you called me in to do more than talk about ancient history and current events," he said quietly.

"We're after the bastard who killed Sandy," Sylvia confirmed quietly, draining her glass.

Jet frowned. "I didn't think there'd be enough evidence to pick from a list of suspects."

"There wasn't," Benedict said, leaning forward. "At least, not until today."