Session 24

Fernando stood in the middle of the practice room, hands on his hips as he fixed Faye with a glare. "The day before the most critical round in the contest and you decide to change the music on me which requires a complete overhaul in choreography?"

Faye heaved a sigh and studied her nails, trying to escape the slight tug of Spike's smug smile. Even from here now she could smell the scent of whiskey lingering with the stale cigarette smoke, clearly he'd been at the bar for those missing hours. She needed a cigarette bad, but didn't dare to ask Spike for one. Even though she had glimpsed a pack and his lighter in his sweatpants pocket. The lunkhead had been correct on their way here when he had mentioned Fernando might not be overjoyed by the change of plans, even though Faye had told him hours ago in a message.

"You are lucky we have this room for as long as we do! Since we're down to a handful of finalists our time is unlimited today, or else you'd be screwed." He paused for a moment, a grin flashed on his face. "You're also saved by the fact that I've had couples pull this crap on me before. Routines on the fly are old hat."

Maybe he wasn't that angry? Faye tried not to bite her lip. Fernando had already proved amazing at shaping the best routines to showcase their skills. But something about the glint in his eyes worried her. He looked a … a smidge too eager.

"Faye, can you do the splits?"

She looked over her nails. "Yes. All the way down."

Fernando turned to Spike. "And you?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Of course." A pause with the lift an eyebrow. "Why?" That was the tone he often employed when Jet suggesting something he wasn't going to like.

But why was precisely what Faye wanted to know. The sudden brightening of Fernando's expression quickened her pulse. Especially when his hands clapped together. "Ok, hope you two had a solid breakfast. I've got you until dinner!"

Spike slid Faye a baleful glare.

Fernando waved a hand to the center of the room. "Let the torture commence."

An elbow nudged Spike's ribs. His eyes snapped open to find himself standing in the dinning room surrounded by silks, satin, and wool. He blinked and tried not to rub sore muscles through his dress jacket. Shit, Fernando let his cruel streak flare into full throttle during that last session. He had to wonder if half of that so called rehearsal had been sheer spite.

Dressed to the nines for the final dinner before the end of the contest, Faye leaned over and whispered beneath her stole, "Stop nodding off."

Spike reached up and adjusted his tie before whisper-snapping back, "Gimme a break, Faye. I'm tired after how many hours of crash course contortion?"

"It doesn't matter. You go face down in the soup tonight and I'm not waking you up. I'll let you drown."

Now there's an idea. "I think I might die happy, provided it's not some fancy ass gourmet flavor concocted from slug-slime."

A waiter came around with a tray loaded with champagne glasses. Spike took two and handed one to Faye. He followed her lead and didn't take a sip. After all, no one was, clearly waiting for some social cue. Polite conversations continued, though he could not fail to notice the divisions. Once more the current contestants lingered in their own pool actively avoiding those who had been knocked out of the running. That struck him as amusing considering the mock comaraderie among the finalists. Such a lonely view at the top. The air was filled with the thinly veiled ill-wishes between the last eight couples standing, or seven of them, anyway. The Dunninghams strutted through like they owned the joint, sizing up the other couples while offering coy waves. And he'd have to be dead to miss the scathing glances from Carlos and Roberta, the pair decked out in scarlet and white as though they were the target to aim for.

Something about their expressions changed, souring further as if disgusted by a sudden scent. Spike followed their line of sight to note Jim and Maria breaking the invisible line of separation, champagne in hand.

"Maria wanted to come over and congratulate you two on getting into the finals." Jim held up his glass, but in good manners did not sip yet.

At his side, Maria bowed her head and shared a conspiratorial wink with Faye. Oh what a devilish smile shared between the two. Spike kept Jim focused on him so he wouldn't catch it, nor the quiet conversation between the women—yes everything was ready. "Thanks. You two made it quite far."

"Eh," Jim lifted a shoulder. "Dad would have called this another one of my failed ventures. I don't look forward to going home … uhh empty handed."

"Take it that your stolen property hasn't turned up yet."

He hung his head. "Nope. And I haven't told him, either. This is … well … I'll probably be dis-inherited for this."

That crappy high-class leash again. Spike watched the bubbles in the champagne, contemplating what the heck he could even say when their hosts entered the room. As Ohmar and Cleo Tutford paraded through to the raised platform with their table all eyes turned to them and silence descended.

Cleo faced them all. "Tonight is the final dinner before the finale round. Tomorrow the eight finalist couples will take the floor for the cabaret, a dance that showcases the skills of those who have proven they deserve the privilege of dancing to the top. We have been amazed by the performances this year. As usual the Espositos brought their signature style."

The Espositos brandished smug smiles like trophies and held out their glasses in an air toast, sweeping around to the room. A gesture that looked pointedly conceited. No one corrected them. Everyone clapped politely despite the open insult.

Ohmar joined her side and took over. "However, more than a few surprises presented themselves. In the final round, among some of our longstanding finalists, we have several new couples. The greatest of which is the current first place holders, the newly wed Sterlings."

All eyes turned their way. Spike and Faye each held up their glass to the Tutfords during the wash of applause. Somehow it felt awkward to Spike, but at his side Faye's smile was as genuine as he'd ever seen on her. Let her have this.

Cleo waved a hand over the other finalist couples. "We cannot possibly continue without mentioning the other finalists who have shown remarkable flexibility in this contest. The Idos, the Straussbergs, the Dunninghams, the Kellers, the Rochelles, and the Writenhouses. All eight couples will compete for the grand prize tomorrow. And so, we toast to your combined success on making this the closest final round since we started the competition. You are all the cream of the crop. The finest that society has to offer. The pinnacle of the elite class."

Everyone raised their glasses high. Spike took little pleasure in the beady expressions of some of their competitors. The threat of murder in more than one of their gazes. They drank, but the fine champagne flavored by the ill reception seemed like ash in his mouth.

The toast complete, Ohmar took his wife's hand. "Before we dine, we beg the pleasure of a brief indulgence. Cleo, would you let me have this dance?"

The quartet started to play, tucked back in the corner as the Tutfords took to a small dance floor off to the side watched by everyone.

Spike's stomach growled a bit louder than he would have liked. It drew a quick glance from Faye. He sighed and whispered, "What? I'm hungry. We didn't get lunch."

"Whose fault was it you drank your breakfast."

"Mmmph." His brows knitted for a moment. But he sighed and set his empty glass on the waiter's passing tray.

Faye watched the dance floor, a wistfulness in her eyes. "You know, they make a cute couple."

Jim laughed. "Match made in the stars. This contest is their entire life. That's why they go so far to make this like nothing else. This cruise ship was built specifically for it. After all, nothing else would have the room for all the live musicians, the practice rooms, the ball room. They truly love what they do. Wish my life could be like that."

Lifting a shoulder Faye shrugged. "Who says it can't?"

Jim flushed, and studied his shoes as the music filled the uncomfortable silence.

In the shadow across the room Daniel hung his head looking no more at ease than earlier. In fact, to Spike the man looked several shades paler. Dark bags beneath his eyes. His wife clung to his elbow, worry in her eyes. It came as little surprise that nearly no one came into their vicinity. Except … as Spike watched from the corner of his eye he spotted Brookridge leaning back and whispering to Daniel. From that angle the bureaucrat couldn't have caught the expression shift. But Spike did. Daniel's eyes shot wider, he cringed as his wife held him from collapsing to the floor.

He had barely a moment to consider this when a flurry of motion closer to him demanded his attention. Phillip Dunningham rushed out of the room, pushing people out of the way. His hand wiping his forehead.

A moment later, Eliza's heels clacked across the floor, worry in her eyes.

Jim shook his head. "Too much pressure from the contest?"

The hollow of Spike's stomach complained again. "Sure," he muttered, wondering when dinner would be. His hand hit his pocket. He'd neglected to put anything in there. Not his cigarettes, lighter, or his phone. This was going to be a long night.

Jet leaned back in the cockpit of the Bebop. Her course steady as she goes drifting through the stars outside of the hypergates. This was not how they normally traveled, nor for this long. When Faye had first proposed this gamble he figured it would be quick work to tease out the suspects. Especially once she opted to take Spike instead. With his keen eyes, it should have been child's play.

Huh! Shoulda known this would go like every other gig. At least one dreaded scenario hadn't played out. The Golden Calf still continued on her course in one piece. She wasn't reduced to a burning wreck. By some miracle Spike had stayed on board for two weeks without utterly destroying it.

Hell, by the broadcast coverage, team covert Bebop was performing rather well. Who would have thought that Spike and Faye could actually climb to first in the contest. As Jet lit a cigarette the other side of that nagged him. Was that all they were doing? Dancing and dining instead of staying on point?

Given Faye's pampered tastes and Spike's appetite it wouldn't surprise him. Halfway into scowling he broke into a chuckle and shook his head. "Seriously, what was I thinking letting those two run off like this. Probably come back and expect their noodles to be served with silver platters and spoons."

For the first time since they started the con he pulled up the file on Ivanhoe and Uhrikha Bruusikhov. Yup. It looked legit. Everything checked out as a real bounty. So Faye hadn't just made up something for a vacation. Wouldn't be the first trick bounty the crew had turned for the sake of manipulation.

He rubbed his head. Of course she hadn't filed it. There had been the matter of the broadcasts. Shortwave. By now Jet had closed the distance, coming up behind the Golden Calf to where she blipped on the radar edge. A nice steady course for a pleasure cruise. He didn't want to alarm them, so he kept back coasting along in the stardust.

Edward popped up out of the dark beside him. "Shortbread! Shortbread! Wavey wavey-blip!"

Startled out his reverie, Jet caught his dropped cigarette before fixing her with a sour glare. "Translate out of Ed-speak please."

"Oh easy peasy." Ed tugged her goggles back. One of the little robo-compys hopped up, nesting in her tangled hair. Thankfully it was the quiet one, Shuĭ. "Intercepted another shortwave."

"In code?"

"Of course. It's silly though." Ed swayed back and forth. "Chicken grew legs. Flew coop."

Jet's nose wrinkled. "Whuh?"

"I know." Ed plucked the compy from her hair, cradled him and held onto his splayed feet. "Chickens already have feet, they don't grow them."

"Did you tell Spike and Faye?"

Ed paused for moment, the compy in her arms lay on its back in a semblance of bliss. "No. Just cracked-pepper the code."

Dialing through Jet waited. And waited. And waited. Spike didn't answer. He sighed and tried Faye's phone. Same result. At last he leaned forward staring at the time. "Damn it. Bet they're at dinner and can't respond without blowing cover. We'll have to try and catch them after."

An alarm blared. Jet sat bolt upright and turned in time to glimpse the yellow marked compy glancing worriedly down into the hanger bay. The door was opening. A moment later a white dotted compy floated out in front of the bridge looking quite perplexed through the window, a disconnected handle still clutched in its flailing claws.

Ed stood up. "Ny—yah. Jīn's outside again."

"Again!" Pushing up, Jet growled. "If he didn't have the release lever for the bay I'd leave his metal feathered ass out there! Dammit, that's all I need. To spend the rest of the night trying to catch that floating piece of space trash. More trouble than Spike and Faye combined."

"That's saying something." Ed hugged Shuĭ to her. "You need to talk to your brother before Jet takes him apart for parts."

Shuĭ's peep was the last thing Jet heard as he stomped down the stairs to launch the Hammerhead for recovery duty. "The shit I put up with!"

See You Space Cowboy