So sorry. It's been like... two months since I updated this. I forogt about it, and then didn't know what to write. Hopefully this is satisfactory!

Chapter Three: All In A Day's Work
(Music: "Diggin' My Potato" - OST 1, Track 16)
Spike awoke to a sharp prodding in his ribs. A moment later, Spike's senses came back to conciousness and he was aware of an insistent voice. "Hey, you. I need to clean this room. Unless you got money for another night, get out of here! It's already noon!" Spike sat up slowly, nonchalantly. The woman kept poking him with the broom-handle and calling for him to leave the motel. Spike opened his mouth in a tremendous yawn, and shoved a cigarette into his open mouth. He reached for his pants, hanging on the bed-post next to him, pulling them on under the covers of the bed. He rolled out from under the ratty blanket, then nodded to the woman sarcastically. "Thanks for the great service, Miss." The woman frowned with disdain, and Spike pulled on his shirt, holstered his gun, emptied the pack of cigarettes into his pants pocket, and shuffled out the door and into the bright afternoon.

Spike Spiegel walked the streets of Ganymede, no destination in mind. He was hoping he could hitch a ride off this moon and get to somewhere worth his time. Ganyemede was too pretty for him. The scenery and foliage contrasted sharply with Spike's only memories of life: buildings and streets, ghettos and hoodlums, the rundown Martian city under its large protective bubble. The land outside the protective pocket of atmosphere and climate control was a harsh, desolate, blood-red wasteland. However, that wasteland was comforting, the only thing Spike knew. With a sneer, Spike remembered that the color of the Martian soil was about the same color as a rose. Or blood.

(Music: "The Singing Sea" - No Disc, OST 2)
Spike lost track of time while he was losing himself in his memories. He looked up and found himself at the wharf. A long series of docks stretched out into the cool, blue ocean. Tied to the docks were various fishing ships, trawlers, tug-boats, and speeders. Fishermen and crew swarmed around the docks, tending to their ships or getting ready to leave. The entire wharf had an old-fashioned feel to it. It was even built out of wood. On his left, he spotted several burly fishermen laughing as they stepped down a set of stairs into a restaurant called, "Treasure From The Sea." The title was followed by a poor cartoon of an old pirate of the seas, complete with eye-patch and scimitar. Spike leaned on the nearest wall and lazily watched the waves calmy crash against the shore.

"Excuse me, criminal," a rough voice said, shaking Spike from his daydreams. Spike looked up and saw the giant man from the bar pushing Spike off to the side. "Wha... oh, it's you. What was your name? Jet Speed? Jet Slack?" The man harumphed condescendingly. "It is Jet Black, kid. If you'll excuse me, I'm trying to read the poster that you are so casually leaning on." Spike smiled for a moment, then stood up, revealing an advertisement behind him. "What's it say?" Spike asked dully. Jet growled back, "If you'll be quiet and let me read, maybe I could tell you." Spike rolled his eyes indignantly, but shut up for the time being.

Jet finished reading the flyer, then put his hat on his head and headed off towards the "Treasure" restaurant at a brisk pace, a wide smile on his face. Spike turned and took Jet's former position, stooped over and squinting at the small writing. He read aloud, "Attention fishermen! Need a cheap boat you can fix up? Auction. Used fishing ships, trawlers, and steam-boats. April 14, from 10 AM until 2 PM. Only hard woolongs will be accepted: no credit please. Sponsered yy the Ganymede Sea Protection Agency (GSPA)." Spike finished his cigarette, spit it onto the street, and groped through his pocket for another one. His hands found nothing but the rough fabric of his pants. Spike softly cursed, then walked towards the site of the auction with nothing better to do. A sea-rat skittered across the dock, dving headlong into the cold ocean with a splash.

(Music: "Cat Blues" - OST 1, Track 5)
"DO I HEAR A THIRTY GRAND? THIRTY,THIRTY, THIRTY, MAN IN THE BACK, THIRTY-FIVE, ANYONE THIRTY-FIVE, YES WOMAN WITH THE GREEN DRESS YES FORTY? ANY FORTY? FORTY GRAND? THIRTY-FIVE ONCE, TWICE, SOLD TO THE WOMAN IN THE GREEN DRESS!" The auctioneer sold at a blistering place, exchanging syllables, pronunciation, and clarity for speed and intensity. There was a modest turn-out, and an old, beat up tug-boat had just been sold. The woman in the green dress scoffed at the insignificant price for her vast fortunes, pulling out two W 20,000 notes. Spike stood near the back, watching the festivities and feeling dwarfed by the crowd. The auctioneer brought out the next ship with an equal speed and excitement. It was an older fishing boat, with large turbines and a very asymmetric design. The ship's nose pointed up out of the water, and the generators near the back showed that the ship was capable of space flight. That would have been a given, but the GSPA was selling some real old clunkers today. One couldn't be too sure. The large, ungainly vehicle had the name "The BeBop" power-sprayed onto the side in yellowing paint.

"GOT AN OLD FISHER FOR YOU, GOOD AS NEW DO I SEE A TWENTY? TWENTY FOR THIS ONE? TWENTY? TWENTY TO THE BALD MAN, THIRD ROW. TWENTY-FIVE, YES YOU IN THE MIDDLE. THIRTY? THIRTY? YES, THIRTY TO THE MAN WITH THE BIONIC ARM! THIRTY-FIVE? NO-ONE? NO THIRTY-FIVE? YES, THIRTY-FIVE TO THE MAN WITH THE GREEN HAIR!."

Spike didn't know why he had bid. The ship itself left much to be desired. But Spike sensed that under the rusty exterior, a true working ship lay underneath. Of course, Spike hadn't seen W 35,000 in several months, but he had gotten out of paying things before. Mainly by running or shooting, but he could think of a way.

"GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE, AND... FORTY GRAND TO THE MAN WITH THE BIONIC ARM!"

Spike raised his eye-brows, surprised. Jet kept his hand held high, and threw an incrminating look back towards Spike. Spike smiled sarcastically.

"GOING ONCE..."

Jet had lowered his large arm, but was still glaring back at Spike.

"GOING TWICE..."

In an effort to divert the man's cold stare, Spike waved at him, motioning with his arm to turn around in his seat.

"GOING... OH! FORTY-FIVE TO THE MAN WITH THE GREEN HAIR!"

Spike gulped in surprise, choking on his sharp intake of air. The auctioneer counted down, raised the hammer, and dropped it with a loud, ringing finality. Spike took a deep breath, wiped his forehead in the hot mid-day sun, and sighed. The next item was presented, and the auction went on. Spike grimaced at the thought of having to run away now, leaving his debts behind and an irate Jet Black. He had vowed to keep his nose clean, at least for a while, and stay out of the police records on any more planets. He already had quite a file on Mars.

Coming soon... Chapter 4: "Let's Make A Deal!"