Session 23

The rattle of a can down the street caught Spike's attention. He wrinkled his nose at the odor of piss mixed with stale beer. His perspective was off, too short. A quick glance down at his feet and he blinked, wriggling his toes against the canvas sneakers. Denim jeans, a gray long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up, an open black vest.

What the hell …? he hadn't dressed like this since …

A blues harp snapped his head up, the sweet sound coming from the alley accompanied by rhythm on a bucket drum. His feet moved on their own, pulled toward it. Just like that distant day, shit this has to be a dream.

Seated on a stoop, a teenager a few years older then he had been, reclined with a fedora cocked on his frizzy hair. Spike knew him in this moment, but back then … back on that day in the streets of Tharsis this was the first they had met. Dizzy, the jazz cat. Poorer than the dirt they sat in, beside him his younger brother pounded on a plastic bucket with a pair of taped up drum sticks, changing the tone by lifting one side with his foot.

Dizzy turned and looked up, a crooked smile on his face as he stopped playing. "Heh, looky we got here, bro. This here be an alley cat."

Spike took a step back as he'd been noticed. "Who me?" Was my voice ever that high?

"You see anybody else?"

"I'm not a cat." He blushed a bit. "Just heard the music … and it sounded cool, s'all."

Dizzy threw his head back and laughed. "Boy, you an alley cat if I ever seen one. A stray, all right."

Spike folded his arms across his chest. "Stray? Not hardly. I'm here on a job." Too late he realized he shouldn't have said anything. He glanced over his shoulder wondering where Masanori was. No one was supposed to know what he was up to.

Yes … this memory, it was the day that a Red Dragon had come to Mao's dojo to borrow a street runner. Spike had been selected from the boys. The first day since he'd started training he'd been allowed out. He was supposed to be keeping his eyes peeled for the target. But damn, that music. It called to his very soul. Even now he wanted to linger in the balm. To lean on that wrought iron railing forever, rewinding the jam session again and again. Relive the moment of his first taste.

The scent of smoke filled the air. The city scape changed. Spike blinked and stared down the alley at the burnt out husk of the jazz hall. The Skeleton Key … no!

He shut his eyes tight against it. No! Not that memory. Gritting his teeth he willed it backward in time to something better …

… The impact of his palm against Dizzy's in a high-five ended in an embrace. The day they reunited in a back alley. Days after Spike had entered the ranks of the Red Dragons. Just a young punk with a gun shoved in his waistband. But loose on the streets, his time became his own.

Yes, … here. Stay here. He clung to the memory. Sitting on the bottom step, hands in his jacket pockets staring up at the sky through half closed eyes as Dizzy and his alley cats wailed out the blues. The trumpet and the sax echoed through the corridors of the city until the dawn lightened the sky. For that night Spike soared in the current of the music, ignorant of the price he would pay for pulling the trigger days before for that first time. Only looking back now did he realize … that night death had no reference point for him.

Not like now …

Opening his eyes, Spike heaved a sigh. He stared at the ceiling instead of a star strewn sky. How far he had come from those distant days. Still, he had to smile whenever he thought of Dizzy. One of the few fond memories, a rare friendship not bathed in blood. The nights spent lingering in the music were always the best, a break from his usual duties. He truly missed that.

Sitting up, he stretched, eyeing the liquor cabinet. Something else he was missing. Served him right for smashing the whiskey bottle. Well, he could always nip down to the actual bar. Sliding out of bed, he blinked to find Faye seated on the couch going through music.

She glanced up and pulled the headphones down. "Oh, I was just thinking about the music for the next round. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Spike stretched out the kinks from the day before. Nothing major, just a few minor stitches to be expected from using old muscles in new ways. "Nah, woke up on my own. Thought you'd picked the whole list ahead of time. What changed your mind?"

"I did have it all selected. But you know, as we've gotten further into this and changed other selections, it got me thinking. Maybe there's something better, more suited." She pulled out the plug and the music spilled out along with vocals. "The thing is, this one really needs to be sung, by a woman."

Spike snickered. "That's Morella."

Faye morosely looked at the computer and sighed. "No chance of getting anyone who could perform like that."

He crossed his arms. "How about Morella herself?"

"Oh yeah right. How you gonna get her on the ship by tomorrow?"

"Easy, walk two doors down and ask Maria."

"She knows her?"

Spike grinned. "Maria is Morella."

Faye practically shoved Spike out the door. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Uhhhh, Faye, can I get a shirt first?"

Maria sat on the couch, her eyes distant as she listened to the file. "Oh yes, recorded this one a while ago with the Alba City Orchestra. Of course you can use it."

Faye took her hands. "We're hoping that you'd sing it for us."

"Live?" She glanced between Spike and Faye. "Well, I'm not sure Jim would … "

Spike shrugged. "Who cares what Jim thinks. Is it so shameful to be a singer? Do you want to do it?"

She blushed, looking down. "Yes. I do … and you two are so remarkable on the dance floor. But ever since Jim and I got married he has been trying to hold me back from the attention of the stage, something about people like us shouldn't engage in such behaviors." Maria looked up, determination in her eyes. "Well, screw that! I'll do it."

Faye embraced her. "Oh thank you!"

She laughed. "To be connected to your performances this year, oh they'll be talking about this for ages. That will be so much better than the usual idle chatter." Glancing up at Spike, she gave a little wink. "Thank you for the invitation. I am honored you remembered."

"You can thank Faye." Spike held out a hand. "She's the one who stumbled on your song."

"Alright," Faye stood up, preparing a message on her phone. "I'll send the notification of the song change."

Maria rose and strode for the door. "The orchestra practices ahead of time, during the time slots when the couples are in the rehearsal rooms. I spent a bit of time listening on previous days. There's just something about live music. I'll see if I can get a chance to run your song with them. It has been years since I have performed it. I'm so excited. See you tomorrow!"

The door closed behind her. Spike tossed his white suit jacket on, heading for the door.

Faye glanced up from her phone. "Where do you think are you going?"

"Out for a bit." He waved from the door. "Don't worry, I'll be at the practice in a few."

"Spike, what are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes, hand on the door jam. "Just need a drink. No big deal." Without another word he shut the door as a startled expression flared on her face.

The halls were not empty, quite a few couples with a lot of extra time on their hands mingled as he wandered through heading for the bar on the upper deck. That place was pretty neat including a glass dome to star gaze through. Today he wasn't interested in the dome so much as a good stiff shot of whiskey. Sure, it was early. But who really cared? A drink was a drink regardless of what time, right?

Waiting for the elevator, a rather loud shout caught his ear. Mr. Vanderleer shoved another man dressed in a shirt with no jacket. "What do you think you are doing here on this deck? This is for first class only. You are a servant. How dare you rise above your station. You should not be off your deck unless you are with your master."

Spike stiffened at the rebuke. The recipient cowered against the wall, holding his arm close to his chest.

But Vanderleer wasn't finished. "Waste of resources keeping your lot alive. You sully the air we breathe. Nameless scoundrels like you will never be worth anything. Nothing but sources of disease and mischief. Probably the origin of that horrid pox that's all over the news."

Mrs. Vanderleer walked around the poor servant. "Lower class, nothing but pieces of worthless trash. You can tell just by looking at them. If you ask me, dear, that entire class should just die off."

Mr. Vanderleer joined her, taking her arm with a sneer over his shoulder as the man moved off with his head bowed. "What class?" The moment they passed Spike the Vanderleers snapped into a wide seemingly genuine smile. "Well, if it isn't the astonishing Mr. Sterling."

But Spike's jaw was a little too tight to respond with more than a nod. Their words echoing still, never amount to anything.

Mrs. Vanderleer offered Spike a coy smile. "My now, what an honor it is to be this close to one of your caliber. You are simply amazing. We all thought that Carlos and Roberta would remain the victors in an unbroken streak. But not now."

Spike half hooded his eyes, taking out a cigarette to cover for the length of time before he could muster a reply. "What can I say, I'm a whole new breed."

The elevator door opened. He stepped in and hit the close button, thankful they hadn't followed. Alone he had a few moments to himself. Not that it helped. Seeing proof of what lay beneath the civilized veneer just a reminder of the bitter imbalance in life. When the door opened he remained tense beneath the exterior. Entering his goal he walked right up to the bar and took a stool.

The bartender glanced up. Spike held up three fingers. "Whiskey, neat."

"Top shelf?"

"Sure. Why not."

Flipping a glass onto the counter, the tender grinned. "Morning drink, eh? Unusual. But, you got company." He slid the drink in front of Spike and turned back to the shelves. Wiping down the already pristine bottles.

Spike took a sip and glanced to his side. Dr. Adenine slumped on a stool, his gaze lost into a half drunk vodka. After a long moment, he looked up and heaved a sigh. "Kinda early for drinking, I know. It's Sterling, isn't it?"

Spike shrugged. "Eh, what is time anyway? To heck with all the formal stuff. Call me Spike." His hand came to his chest, only then did he realize he hadn't put his tie on, nor buttoned his shirt all the way up. So much for the upper class appearance. Maybe that was why Faye looked so damn startled. Hopefully she didn't kill him when he came back.

Adenine laid forward on his arms. "Call me mud."

He cocked his head. "Something wrong, Doctor?"

"Daniel." He closed his eyes. "No point in calling me a doctor. I won't be one much longer."

Well, this was a touch odd. Didn't Jet say a transport was being sent to pick him up? Was he that worried about catching the illness? Did he have the pox? Spike found himself sliding backward a touch. "Uhh, why?"

Daniel downed the rest of the vodka, slamming the glass on the bar. His hand shook. "Its gone. All of it. My assistant called me. The back-up has been wiped. Every shred of research on the virus … molecular makeup, how it replicates, the paths it takes to attack the immune system, the keys to slow it down. Mere steps from curing it. All gone. My laptop, wiped. There is no point in me going back to the lab. It will take months to regather the data. By then … Europa's population will be decimated."

Spike took another sip of his whiskey, reminding himself of the persona he was supposed to be playing. Double-O Spike, as Ed would call him, might be keen enough to ask questions. But unfortunately, the trust fund moron he was supposed to be wouldn't. At the moment this stupid charade still smarted from the Vanderleer's remarks. After all, which population was likely to be most impacted by this? Sure as hell wouldn't be those with the resources to get off the planet before the quarantine. Daniel didn't mention the transport, something that was not common knowledge. So Spike clearly couldn't bring that up.

Daniel held the glass up. "I need another, and yet it won't be enough to drown the guilt from lives that will be lost."

"Hey, it's not like you did it on purpose, right?"

"My laptop had remote access to the drives. It's the only way in. If I had left it in the secured lab no one could have reached through the backdoor."

Spike swallowed the rest of his whiskey, lost in thought. Backdoors? If they found everything, they had to have known to look for the backups, not just grab the intel. Not an easy task.

Daniel glanced at him. "So, tell me, I'm usually not a heavy drinker … what's a hangover like?"

"Huh? Why would you ask me?"

"Well, I figured an alcoholic would know."

Spike blinked, his hand still on the glass. "I uh … well, I enjoy a good drink. But I'm not really … what makes you say that?"

He lifted a shoulder. "What else would explain the current leader in the contest drinking at this hour?"

The splash of whiskey refilling his glass snapped his eyes up to the bar tender. He didn't really have an answer as he threw back the next gulp.

See You Space Cowboy