Mars Fusion
Mike256bit [mike256bit@hotmail.com]

A Cowboy Bebop based fanfic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. . . unfortunately. . .

Warning: Go ahead, I dare ya.

My notes: This is the highly, or at least, requested sequel to "Virus Edward". I was pleased with that one, let's see how this one rolls!

When you get to the "Cowboy Bebop", just think commercial break.

Title 17 of the copyright law applies -- I don't own Cowboy Bebop or its contingents, but I own the story. Y'hear?

Kick it!

--

The bushel of leaves shifted for a moment, revealing it to be an odd toss of hair as Spike coolly walked out from behind a tree. "I hate parks. . ." he muttered, the warm breeze of the Mars spring doing nothing to sate his miserable jive. He stepped out of the brush on his way through a self made short cut -- that left him beaned with a frisbee, dog mess on his shoe and one or two bee stings -- and sat down in a slump on a nearby bench.

Not bothering to root through his suit jacket for cigarettes, (knowing he used them all up by throwing them at the kid who hit him with the frisbee) he instead tentatively pulled off his boot and hobbled over to a nearby water fountain.

"I hate kids. I hate parks. I hate dogs," he grunted, finding that his shoe was hard press to maneuver under the spout of water.

"You sure do hate a lot of shtuff, Mishter."

Wearily he turned to look at a little girl, no more than seven. Her lisp became far more apparent as he set eyes on her. "Are you a kid?"

"Yup."

"Do you like parks?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you own a dog?"

"You bet!"

He leaned down, keeping his face as level as possible while coming inches from her face. "Then I especially hate you."

It wasn't long, a second or two maybe before he reeled back in pain, having been poked viciously in the eye. "You're mean!" the little girl exclaimed, raspberried and trotted off. Spike hissed, whipping his shoe out of the fountain and putting it back on in a ferocious grumble. The little squishy sound that followed really chapped his hide.

"You'll never make friends with that attitude, Spike."

"Shaddup, Jet." The Hammerhead's pilot took a seat on the bench Spike sat on prior, on which Spike then again plopped down. "Your informant going to be here?"

"You bet," Jet mumbled, watching a butterfly float its way through the gentle wind. He grinned, watching it land mockingly on Spike's nose. Spike made no move other than to slowly reach for his gun. "You know," Jet began, his rumbling voice scaring the insect away before Spike to obliterate it, "I think I might like to retire in a place like this."

"It's full of kids," Spike answered dully. "And rainbows. Do you like rainbows, too, Jet?"

Saying nothing, Jet only looked to the street where the screech of tires pulled a car to a halt. The passenger door opened and an ISSP official popped out, looking over to where the two bounty hunters sat. "The informant?" Spike asked, ready to hop to his feet as the man with shades stared at them.

"Uh huh."

However, before either could get going, the official dropped forward, still on the street as the car sped away. Screams of children filled the air as the all ran for their lives. "Oh," Jet mumbled, relaxing back into the bench. "He's dead."

-Session -- : Mars Fusion


Faye sat back, sipping at a carton of apple juice she found in the back of the fridge. She could swear 'Motts' was around back when she was a kid. She was also sure they'd gone out of business when she was a kid.

"Eh, I've had worse diseases. This can't kill me." Her brow furrowed as she hit a thick spot, sucking up a solid mass that rammed itself down her throat. She made a face like she'd gotten a bad pistachio and tossed the carton aside. She stuck out her tongue, gagging a bit before reaching under the couch for the whiskey she knew Spike had stashed. Grabbing the quart, she pulled it up and sat back, guzzling a gulp to quell the nasty taste still swirling in her mouth. Her eyes began to burn a bit, but man, that felt good.

She jerked, dropping the remainder to crash to the floor when an ear-splitting call wracked her poor ears. She looked back behind her with a sneer to see Edward wave at her, presenting the telecom in her free hand.

"Mesa-message from-a Spiko and Jetlag!"

"Have you been drinking my whiskey?"

"Nooooope!"

"Oh, that's right," Faye said dryly, snatching away the communicator as her patience for humanity seriously began to dwindle. "You're Ed." Edward arched her eyebrows, stumbling back a bit at she grappled to cover where her heart would be.

"Aghast! Edward has been discovered! Edward is Edward! NOOO!!" Turning, she tripped over the table and fell into a roll, using the momentum to just flip herself out of the room. Faye watched with the look of a stoned teen on Saturday night, her eyebrow twitching ever so slightly as the whiskey below pooled around her heel.

"Kids. . ." She tapped the call-waiting signal with a sigh, a grim smile on her face as Spiko and Jetlag appeared before her. "Hi boys, got any presents for your mistress?" The two stoic stone-faced characters on the screen blinked and looked at each other for a moment as the comment's audacity made itself present in their now irritated expressions.

"Put Edward on," Spike muttered.

"Fine," Faye grumbled, turning to holler. She nearly turned stark white as the said girl was mere centimeters over her shoulder. Faye, still a little shaky, got up and nudged the screen in her direction. "Fuh-for you, Ed. . ." A wide grin on her face, Edward sat and picked up the communicator, getting obnoxiously close to the screen.

"BLORK FADDA WOO WOO MR. PANTS MAN!!"

The two pilots blinked for a moment before turning to look at each other.

"Put Faye on," Spike muttered. Edward nodded appropriately and set the box down, turning to look around. Seeing Faye nowhere, she furrowed her brow as a perplexed curl made way onto her lips. She tipped her head and made a silent 'oohh' as she saw the purple tresses peak up, revealing Faye's concerned eyes.

". . . Are you going to explode?"

Ed shook her head, her goggles tipping back and forth comically. Her grin remained as she back flipped off the couch onto the floor, running backwards and away into the depths of the Bebop. "Alllll youuurssss!! Hssssooooohhhwwww!!" Faye watched with confusion as Ed peeked back in with a smile. "That's backwardsese for 'whoosh!'" She ducked out again as Faye, nerves still rattled, sat back down.

"Alright," Jet's face began, scratching a particularly shiny spot on his head as the Mars day gleamed off his baldness. "Th--"

"Are you guys in a PARK?!"

"Look, shut up and listen," Jet said sternly, looking behind him to make sure the cluster of trees was still keeping them concealed. The sound of children playing, Faye thought, was unusually absent. "Our informant seems to have gotten in over his head."

"He out for bounty?"

"He's dead," Spike said, lighting up a used cigarette he wouldn't dare mention that he'd found in a ashtray.

"Dead?" Faye repeated.

"Shot in the stomach. True sign of a sloppy kill. Too sloppy for the ISSP," Jet murmured, "but sloppy enough for certain Syndicates dealing more in hi-tech horror than in traditional terrorism and mayhem."

"Although, there isn't any more doubt that the ISSP is behind this. This was one of those officials that you couldn't get to unless you were a god."

"Right," Jet confirmed. "Higher ranking, and obviously those involved with the self-destruction of the ISSP simply opened his doors. What I can't figure out, though, is why they want to collapse the place. It's not like they'll get any monetary gain."

"Well," Faye mused, "they're obviously using the Iron Hand and Black Ice Syndicates to set up a frame. Helps those two Syndicates get a name and it takes more scrutiny off the ISSP. Still, Jet's right, what are those in the ISSP trying to gain by degrading the system?"

The two shrugged "All out war -- that was the consensus," Jet supplied.

"Oh, right," Spike nodded. "A Syndicate opens an attack and wham, the whole thing goes to pieces."

"Well," she mumbled, "what did you find out from those two sons of the heads we captured?" She was met with blank stares as she came back from the fumbles she made with her tongue. "Erg, you know. The two who sent the virus. You said they were the sons of those two Syndicates. After all, they can't be very big names if they don't do any coup d'etats, undermining and all that jazzy bullshit."

They both blinked again, turning to look at each other. "I. . . thought you talked to them, Jet."

"I thought you did, Spike."

"Do you think they're still alive?"

"Been days since I've been down on the brig."

"Oh, God, you guys are idiots!" Faye hissed. "Get back to the ship. No wonder we don't have any leads!!"


Back in the park, a few miles away from the Bebop's stationing, Jet and Spike were met with angry static as Faye's snappy 'tude reached them even though the transmission had ended. Spike looked back to the body and shrugged, walking over to it. "C'mon, Jet," he mumbled around his cigarette, "lets get cartin'. I'll take care of the boys -- how 'bout you go talk to the Iron Hand?"

"What?" Jet asked, ambling over. "Why should I?"

"I've just got a bad feeling about this collaboration between the Syndicates. I want you to get me some info. Go check with the Iron Hand, I know you've got people in there."

"Alright," Jet sighed, picking up the dead man's legs. "Let's roll."

--

Faye walked ahead of Spike, a pounding becoming clearer with each passing door. Stopping, Faye simply presented a hand to the portal from where all the clanging was coming. Cries like 'Let us out', 'It's dark', and 'It smells like urine' came occasionally before Spike worked the mechanisms to open the port. Immediately he pushed himself in, dragging Faye with him.

Stepping in, he saw the drab lighting, dragging a chair from the corner to a bare table in the middle of the room. Taking a seat, he broke out a pack and lit another one up, glaring at the two captures. "Sit," he ordered, them falling into place across from him. Faye sat on the edge of the table, a little disappointed that she didn't get their rapt attention. They must have been really hungry.

"Alright," Spike mumbled. "Tell what the deal is, Jamison."

The one obviously named Jamison gulped, tugging at his stained and sweaty, rusty shirt collar. Swallowing, he leaned back, his skinny frame dwarfed by the broad chairs. "Me? Why me?"

"Because I said so," Spike said irritably as Faye reached down for a cigarette. She nudged the pack in their direction, almost laughing as they gave questioning and fearful looks toward Spike. "Go ahead," he sighed.

They each took one, flinching equally as much as Faye reached over, purposefully reached over, to give them a light. She grinned, pocketing a lighter, the two shuddered a bit as their first inhale of nicotine in days gave their starving bodies a swim.

"Well, Jamison? Tell me what you know."

"I. . . don't know what you're talking about." Spike looked at him dully, glancing over to Jamison's partner.

"Kenic?"

"We're pawns!" he blurted. Jamison glanced over frightfully, sweat raining off him in an ironic attempt to ruin his cool. "We're just poster boys and delivery types. The ISSP is completely behind it. There's no Syndicate conglomerate, that's all bullshit! Each of our Syndicates have been trying to get that down, but that's only increased a lot of tension. The only partnership is between Jamison, me and the Second File at the ISSP."

"I knew it," Spike hissed, blunting his cigarette on the table, trying to dissipate some of the smoke. "The ISSP is just pulling strings, trying to get rises and make a fuckin' war."

"Second File?" Faye inquired gently, puffing out a billow over Spike's head.

"Yeah, yeah," Jamison stuttered, "Kenic's right. The Second File is a security rank that's all for biological and chemical programming. Kenic and I had a collaboration prior to this, and a few rogues at the ISSP tapped into it. We were eventually led to the Second File and delivered a lot of techno-babble about programming. Personally, I didn't understand any of it, but it's the kind of stuff my father had our Syndicate working on."

"Mine too," Kenic, slightly raising his hand.

Spike sighed, an empty pocket forming in the smoke. He looked to Faye and got to his feet. "I need to call Jet back before he gets screwed. I didn't think these guys would be alive. Or at least wouldn't talk so easily." He looked back, seeing them both peer down at the table.

Faye shrugged falling into step next to him. "Well now we confirmed everything. The ISSP is trying to take out crime without looking like a monster."

"Not. . .quite," Spike said. "They just want an excuse for battle. And so far, everything they've done has worked perfectly to set up these Syndicates and create a lot of natural tension without looking suspicious. They're doing a damn good job."

"And why are we going to stop them?"

"Because we can get paid, Faye. The ISSP, general police, government and bounty stations all give us money. And hell, since the ISSP is just as much a bad guy in this now, we can play cowboys for some low level Syndicates. If the ISSP gets what it wants, it's absolute chaos. If crime is so 'wiped out' we won't have any bounties anyway."

Faye stopped at the door, looking at the two nervous fellows who stared back inquisitively. "And them?"

Spike grinned. "We'll leave em' on the ISSP doorstep with signed confessions to treason." The two nearly fainted as the door closed, two chuckles coming from outside.

--

Jet was lead in by a buxom black woman, shades guarding her eyes and an emotionless, flat crease to her lips guarding from any sense of courtesy. She turned away silently, Jet peering back over his shoulder at her before he took a seat in the plush, blue chair facing a large oak desk. Behind the desk was a wall of windows overlooking a murky, gray skyline. The stained hard wood floors were nice, at least. Stained with what, however, wasn't determinable. Pippu, maybe?

"Man, I hate secretaries," he mumbled.

"Jet, you hate everything." He turned as a hand was placed on his shoulder, leading up to an aged, spotted, but smiled face. "Good to see you."

"You too, Ron."

Ron stepped around, taking a seat across from him at the large desk to whom the Iron Hand gratefully supplied. Sighing, he turned his view to the sky for a moment before looking back to a long time friend. "What can I do for you? I got your call, you're lucky I could get you in."

"Info, as always."

"Couldn't do it over the communicator?"

"Hey, gonna hate me for wantin' to see you, buddy?"

"Guess not," the man chuckled, kicking his feet up onto his desk. "Info to spare, Jet."

"I need to know about this conglomeration."

Ron's grin dropped, a serious facade taking over as his hands took place on his lap. "I thought you left the ISSP, Jet."

"I did."

"Then what's this about a conglomeration?"

"I wanna know about it."

"Jet. . . you don't want to take this any further."

"If it's real or not, that's all I want to know--"

The click of a glock stopped him as Ron raised an arm, a disappointed sigh filtering out. "You're not allowed to know, Jet." Jet took a breath, sitting back in his seat. The gun did not waver, Ron sitting just as he was when he was being jovial. "If you find out, you won't leave alive."

Jet almost grinned as he produced a pack of cigarettes, holding the cart in his hand after biting one from the pack. He lit it, taking a long, long drag. "I'm willing to risk that."

--

When the revolution comes, the people will shout "Cowboy Bebop."