Session 12
Steps echoed through the metal corridors registering on the tiny screen on his wrist. Bob maneuvered around debris scattered all over the deck plates of the Bebop holding his breath as a shadow skittered into the darkness. Something was wrong, so wrong he held his gun in a shaking hand. The ship tied to the dock of the nature reserve's lake sat on aux power. She'd been thoroughly tossed, but nothing appeared to be stolen. When he'd called out, no one had answered according to the device.
That message was strange as hell. What's going on here?
He didn't dare pull out his communicator to look at the screen, but he clearly remembered the words in the text message from having to repeat them multiple times to the chief to get clearance to go.
"Bob, please adhere precisely to every instruction in this message. Proceed to Mendel Crater toward the nature reserve and follow the Bebop's tracking beacon. Bring medical staff with EMT training STAT. It is imperative that everyone have military grade noise blocking headphones and communicate entirely through the builtin radio channel. Warning: DO NOT remove headphones! Come swiftly. This is an SMC situation." There had been a short pause before a second message arrived. "SMC, just realized that you are probably more familiar with SOS. I don't give a shit about the ship. It means Save My Crew. See you soon."
Bob's immediate reaction had been confusion. Surely this was a joke. Jet didn't talk or write like that. Had he been drugged? He couldn't imagine Spike being that cordial, the guy was more or less a thug. And Faye? Well, possible, but he doubted that. She didn't seem one to use the word please in any serious turn of phrase. Bob had received messages from Ed before … definitely not her! There were no emojis. Worried, he'd spent the next hour convincing the chief to let him check things out.
Outside the ship the EMT's and the officers he'd taken with him on this impromptu mission waited as he scouted the interior first.
Nothing but his steps registered on the sound monitor he wore on his wrist as he climbed up the metal stairs to the bridge. It was eerie not hearing anything as he called out. But that written warning left a chill as he cleared the steps.
No one was on this ship. It felt entirely deserted. "Jet? Where the hell are you?"
Though he couldn't hear his own voice through the headphones, in response to it two large ears poked up from the cockpit. A moment later a head popped up over the arm of the pilot chair. A corgi sporting a red collar with the tag saying Ein panted and he swore smiled at him.
The ship's dog vaulted out of the seat and ambled over as swiftly as his paws could carry him. Even in the dim light it was obvious he was dirty. He nudged Bob's ankle until he knelt down.
"What? Do you want to be petted?"
"Bob?" Over the channel came a reply. "What the heck is going on in there?"
"It's just Ein, their dog."
As Bob tried to stroke between his ears, Ein ducked his head and seemed annoyed—if dogs could be annoyed. That was a mind-blower.
Ein nudged his hand.
"What do you want?"
He nudged it again. Bob opened it palm up and Ein dropped ear plugs into his hand.
"Uhhh, I have these on. Noise canceling."
Ein turned his head, twitching his ear as he side-eyed him. This proceeded for over a minute as Bob looked at the ear plugs, the dog, and the knocked over rooted through toolbox.
"Wait … " Bob met Ein's pointed stare. "You want me to put these in your ears?"
Ein huffed a sneeze and stepped closer.
"Oooookkkkkaaaaay. This is going to be a weird day. Where are the others?"
Putting his paw on Bob's knee, Ein nosed the earplugs.
"Fine." He popped one into each ear channel and waved a hand. Within a second Ein tore off down the stairs leaving Bob to race behind the dog wondering how such short legs could go so damn fast. "Ein, wait!"
It struck him as he raced toward the flight deck tailing the dog that with the earplugs in he couldn't hear him calling out.
"What's going on?"
"There's a dog headed your way, follow him!"
"Roger!"
That was unwarranted. At the edge of the forest Ein stood panting, waiting with wide eyes for them to descend the ladder to the dock. The moment Bob's foot hit the dock, Ein turned and darted down the path pausing here and there to make certain he was followed.
"Hey, where is this mutt taking us? Aren't we here for a crew?"
"Stay with me, I think he's taking us to them."
"The dog? Yeah right? You doing Red Eye again?"
Keeping his mouth shut, Bob pressed onward deep into the forest. The shadow of a crumbling building loomed up in the distance. Several gasps interrupted the channel. This was not on any map. On the side of the building, ivy wreathed letters spelled out SOMNUS Institution.
Ein paused in the frame that at one time used to support a door, the shattered glass littered the ground. His front paws popped off the ground as he barked soundlessly. But with each bounce, the monitor on Bob's wrist blazed for a moment before going back to just above baseline.
What is this, a vintage Lassie episode? "Follow him."
In a flash of white butt fur, Ein vanished into the dim corridors. Grimly Bob followed the dog noting the footprints in the dust going in, but not coming back out. The only set that exited was paw prints. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. This was impossible! This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening.
This building had been abandoned years ago. The moldering ceilings sagged from exposure. Paint pealed from the cinder block walls. The air had a musty scent about it growing worse the further he pressed inward passing room after iron doored room. This place reminded him of a hospital of some sort, a high security one by the heft of those doors complete with external slide-locks. Stenciled letters and numbers in his headlamp seemed to denote room blocks … wards.
Recently the dust had been disturbed by three sets of shoes and one set of bare feet, along with Ein's paws. Until it changed. A set of different footprints accompanied by drag marks. He followed the paw prints to find Ein staring at him from the center of a room.
Inside that dim chamber-like room they all lay on the filthy floor—chests rising and falling slowly as if sleeping. Drag marks from their feet through the debris showed the tracks and the scuffed footprints of another to the point where they had been dumped. Jet lay on his side with Ed leaning against him. Faye sat keeled over against the far wall. In the center of the room Spike's body lay in a twisted heap with a bottle of sake loosely gripped in his left hand, his discolored right lower arm at an odd angle and swollen. Against the edges of the room the ivory tinge of bones. Dozens upon dozens of skulls lie among the collective of other bones in various signs of decay.
The crew of the Bebop was incredibly pale, dust covering their prone bodies.
What the hell happened? Bob was far too shocked for a panic attack.
"Quick, get in here! They're still alive!"
"Who?" They filed in, the medics moving swift the moment they spied the crew.
Bob stared in horror at the sight. He knew Jet and their antics. How did someone get the drop on this crew? This badly? A paw pressed against his ankle. He looked down to find Ein standing beside him, panting and watching the medics insert IVs and splint Spike's broken arm. Lucky for him the bones were not through the skin. But none of the crew showed any response what so ever.
Something else did. The monitor on his wrist blazed to an intense constant low thrum. "What the hell … "
"Hey, do you know these guys?"
Snapping back to reality, Bob knelt down and stroked Ein's ears. "I do. They're bounty hunters. The big guy is Jet Black. The one with the busted arm is Spike Spiegel. The woman is Faye Valentine. And the girl is Ed." He wasn't about to try and remember the rest of that. They always called her Ed.
"Aside from the broken arm, no obvious trauma. But they've been here unconscious a while. Signs of severe dehydration. We need to get them to a hospital fast. Good thing we brought the rapid transport."
Bob picked up Ein and held him close. The dog cuddled into his embrace as they watched the crew carried out one by one on stretchers. How was he going to explain this to the chief? He didn't even want to think about that. First he had to figure out how to get the ship towed back to Alba city.
With a warm tongue, Ein licked his cheek.
… There is one enemy you can never run far enough from—the one within yourself …
Everything felt heavy. Even thoughts behind closed eyes. There was an IV, that much was obvious by the chill traveling up the flesh of the arm. Air against the face, clean air against lips so dry they were cracked. Like some annoying persistent surround sound check, beeps kept a steady discordant cadence. More than one set of rhythms, out of sync.
Can this be trusted? Am I truly out?
He cracked open his eyes. A blurred image stood framed by bright lights. Hell, was this death? He breathed slowly, deep as he could, willing his vision to clear as the figure bent closer, clearly seated beside him.
"Jet! Thank God, you're awake."
Bob?
A bout of familiar giggling from off to his left stole his wandering attention. Wearily, Jet lifted his arm and felt the IV tube shift as he rubbed his dry eyes to clear them. An oxygen mask over his face caught his fingers as his sore arm sunk back on top of the covers. He was in a hospital bed, and he felt like absolute shit. Plagued by nausea and cold, his throat dry and every muscle ached like he'd run a marathon.
Nestled into an identical white medical bed with its built in monitors mounted into the wall to his right he spied Ed in a hospital gown ruffling Ein's ears. The corgi lay beside her, sparkling clean from a fresh bath. Ed's eyes had bags beneath them, she was paler and thinner than normal with an IV drip in her arm. Her movements suffered from a lack of coordination, but she smiled and waved. In a hoarse voice she rasped, "Doctor said Ed needs to stay in bed for a bit. But Ein is good medicine woof woof."
Ein barked softly and nuzzled her hand.
Jet blinked slowly. Toward the foot of his bed, Bob sat in a chair, his hat in his hands. Worry all over his face. "Damn, Jet, what the heck happened to you guys?"
Bob? What is he doing here? It was like thinking through molasses. "I really—" he coughed, his dry throat irritated by the words. Catching his breath he tried to swallow saliva but there wasn't much there. "Not sure," he forced it out.
Bob scratched the back of his neck. "Well, it's a good thing your message reached me. The doctors said you all were pretty close to the end. Another couple hours tops and there wouldn't have been a hope in the galaxy to stabilize you."
It was slow, creeping into his mind. Jet raised an eyebrow. "Message?" Speech was hard, but he had to know what the hell was Bob talking about?
He blinked and lifted a hand. "The message you sent me. To come to Mendel Crater with EMTs and military grade … " his expression slackened. "You sent that … right? You know, SMC? Save My Crew?"
It took a lot of effort, but Jet slid his gaze back toward Ein nestled against Ed. The little dog lifted his head and looked back at him, smiling cheekily.
Jet heaved a smile and offered a thumbs up. "Good boy. That's over."
"I'll say, at least you're all together."
In the silence Jet heard the beeping of the monitors. His, Ed's and… there were two more sets.
He turned his eyes toward the window at the far end. This was a long glass partitioned room in ICU. Out the window Alba city tower reached toward the evening cast heavens in the distance. In the other two beds Faye lay closest to him dressed in a hospital gown with her arms at her sides, an IV below her left inner elbow. Her eyes still closed, skin pale beneath the oxygen mask. She'd been in cryogenic sleep before, Jet now imagined that it might have looked much the same. Down near the window, Spike lay furthest from him. Scruffy, he desperately needed a shave beneath the oxygen mask strapped to his face. His right arm, bulked in a cast, lay propped up on a pillow at his side. His eyes were also closed, gaunt features slack. Both of them had circles beneath their eyes dark enough to be black eyes. Neither stirred. Beneath the blankets he swore more lines and tubes ran back and forth. Of course Jet could feel the evidence of more beneath his own blanket. A new benchmark, the roughest that this crew had ever been reduced to as a whole. After the asteroid amusement park they were still ambulatory. He knew if he tried to get up he'd get a close up view of the tile floor.
He smiled at their sight. Relief. They were in good hands now. He could rest easy now. "Have they woken?"
"Not yet. Ed's only been awake for about an hour. I talked the staff into letting Ein stay here, they've been taking turns walking him. Hey, let me go get the doctor. I'm sure there's some stuff to tell you. I … I need to get back to the station. By the way, I got the Bebop towed back to the bay. But I have to tell you, it looks like someone riffled through it."
Riffled through it? Who … again the gears turned slowly until they dredged up the obvious answer. The six pack! He heaved a sigh. "Thanks for the save Bob, appreciate it."
The moment the rather bewildered Bob left the room he smiled directly at Ein. "And thank you, boy!"
Dehydration, nothing more. Jet sat up in bed watching the glorious sunrise through the window, casting brilliant light over Spike and Faye's sleeping forms.
No, he frowned at the choice of his thoughts, sleeping turns out to not be right.
Half a day followed by a full night had passed and neither one had so much as stirred. Staff bustled in and out disrupting his own rest over night. They had kept their words soft in the dim room as they'd obsessed over the vitals. Jet caught snippets, enough to piece together a vague picture of the truth.
They were stable, hearts beating strong and breathing on their own … with no signs of approaching consciousness. Coma, had not been said lightly. There was more, but Jet had trouble catching it over the steady cacophony of the monitors beeping. The mark of so many heartbeats, out of sync, trapped together in the monitoring beds of this single room.
To his left Ed slept in her bed with Ein snoring peacefully in her embrace. His little dog paws twitching in his sleep. Each puff of his breath stirred her hair. She smiled, nestling closer to him.
Good. She's still alright.
A nurse walked in heading toward Faye's bed.
Jet cleared his throat. The moment she glanced his way he asked softly, partly to keep his voice from cracking. "What's going on with them?"
Her eyes widened nervously. "I uhh … privacy sir, I shouldn't say."
He flexed his artificial fist, fixing her with the sternest glare he could manage and hoping it was enough in his faded condition. "They're family."
She did a double take between them all, choking on her own breath as she pointed between the four of them.
"Please." Jet croaked, his gruff faltering and proving he wasn't back to himself yet. It turned to desperation. "I have to know."
The doctor lingered in the door, her hands gripped their charts. With a soft dismissive gesture to the nurse, she approached Jet's bed and sat on the chair beside it. "Spiegel and Valentine … "
"Spike and Faye," he clarified nodding their direction.
For a moment she started, the expression faded as she tapped the charts. "Spike and Faye, your friends are not responding as positively as you two are. Yes, you all came in with serious cases of dehydration. We expected it being essential to monitor for at least a few days. But … they should have woken by now. There are no signs as to why they have both sunken into full comas. Do you recall how you wound up in that building?"
Jet ground his fist. "I don't even know how to begin to explain what happened to us."
"The policeman brought back a strange recording of a barely audible sound wave permeating the building you were found in. We could tell enough from the signature that it was designed to effect brainwave functionality. Certain frequencies have been know to cause disturbances in the body, especially consciousness. There are cases of unbalanced fans causing issues. But that still doesn't add up. They're no longer subjected to this sound wave, and I can tell you their brains are not suppressed, they are very active."
"What?" That caught his attention, he tried to sit up further and the ache in his body complained forcing a grunt from him.
"Easy." The doctor held out a hand and looked to the monitor. "You're still recovering."
"Obviously … " He panted a breath, easing back down and listening to the beep of his heart slowing back to a steady rhythm. "What did you mean about their activity … why are they not waking?"
"Nothing we've tried so far has brought them out of it. The scans show strange patterns as though they should be wake up. But they just … don't."
He reached out a hand to her. "They have to wake up. We're a team … they're my family."
She glanced over her shoulder at Faye and Spike. "We're doing the best we can. But to be honest, Mr. Black … ehhh," she looked down at the chart, "Jet, you all were pretty damn close to the brink. Your friends, if they do wake, have a lengthy recovery ahead of them."
An alarm went off in another room and the doctor ran out toward it leaving Jet more concerned than relieved.
He laid his head back coaxing his own body to get on with recovery he no longer had time for. Very little could be done from lying in this bed attached to the monitors. He needed to be free of this. He needed to see what was on their screens and get to the bottom of this. "Hang in there, guys. The ol' Black Dog's coming."
If Morpheus is behind this … he's going to pay!
See You Space Cowboy