I do not own Cowboy Bebop

The Third Riddle

Prologue

There is an old folktale from a forgotten country in which a farmer's daughter is spirited away by faeries. The farmer is sad, and one of the fey folk takes pity on him.

"If you answer three riddles correctly," the faerie says, "we shall return your daughter to you. If you fail, you will die." The farmer agrees, uncaring of his own death. Without his daughter, life means little to him anyway.

The first two riddles have been lost to time – in any respect, after much thought, the farmer answers them correctly. The third and final riddle is much more difficult.

"Answer me this," says the faerie, "how many stars are in the sky?" The farmer is frightened. Who could know the exact number? Ah, my daughter, forgive me. In this I have failed you. The faerie smiles, as if sensing his inner anguish. "You have until midnight." He disappears.

The farmer spends the rest of his allotted time despairing of ever saving his daughter. At last, he falls into a restless sleep, haunted by images of the ageless winking stars.

When he awakens, it is nearly midnight. He saddles his horse, ready to ride out and face his death, when he stumbles. He jars his mount and the horse's tail swishes irritably. The farmer gets an idea.

He rides out to meet the faerie. "Well?" he asks. "Do you have my answer?"

The farmer nods. He pulls out his knife and swiftly slices his horse's tail off. "There are as many stars as there are hairs in my hand." He offers the tail to the faerie. "If you do not believe me, you are welcome to count for yourself."

The faerie laughs. "A fine answer! Very well, for defeating me in this battle of wits, you may have your daughter back." He gestures and a doorway appears beside him. Through it walks the farmer's daughter.

"Father!" she cries, rushing to his side. They embrace. The faerie disappears.

Many tales are told of the wise farmer, the man who outwitted the fabled intelligence of the faeries. When asked about his answer to the third riddle, he would just smile, and say that no man could ever count the stars, and the faerie knew that. For the stars, the farmer would add, are ever changing, trapped in a never ending cycle of life and death.

Saburo Kenta waved frantically for his assistant, one eye still pressed against the telescope.

"Hideaki!" The boy ran over to him

"Yes, Master?"

"Get me the graph paper and a pen, quickly now!" Hideaki snatched the pad and marker from a nearby table and handed it to the astronomer. He watched as his master scribbled furiously, placing dots on the page in seemingly random places, occasionally leaning back to squint through the telescope. He cleared his throat.

"Master, is it the variable star?"

Kenta nodded absently. "Yes, the – I don't believe it!" He jumped to his feet and pressed himself against the eyepiece. The pad fell to the floor, forgotten. Kenta was mumbling. "No...can't...falling? Decreased luminosity...as well as movement? Most irregular..."

He continued in this vein for some time, Hideaki loath to interrupt him. He'd learnt long ago that there was no point – once Master had something on his mind there was no stopping him. He wandered off to fix some tea.

When he returned Kenta was calmly writing on the graph paper again. He accepted his mug with an unruffled look. Sipping it, he appraised the young boy. "Hideaki, tell me what you know about the variable star."

Hideaki stood a little straighter, puffing out his chest, combing his memories for information. "Uh," he began nervously, "the variable star in question belongs to the R Coronae Borealis family. In contrast to other variable stars, which spasmodically grow brighter, the R Coronae Borealis star dims at irregular intervals. This decrease in luminosity is due in part to dust clouds of as yet unknown origin that appear near the star, obscuring it. At times the variable star cannot be seen by the human eye."

Kenta nodded thoughtfully. "Good," he said, returning to his graph.

The apprentice fought the blush he knew was colouring his cheeks from his master's approval, and ventured tentatively, "Master, did you say the star was falling? I thought that was impossible of the variable –"

He was cut off. "I was mistaken. The star is unmoved." Kenta sipped from his mug, considering. "Although...we're one of the only observatories on Mars with a telescope this powerful. I suspect amateur stargazers will assume that the star has died." He turned and looked through the eyepiece once more.

"But they're wrong. This old thing's got a lot of life in it yet."

Somewhere on the hazy border of life and death, Spike Spiegel was having a fantastic time. He felt – empty. Devoid of emotion. Without feeling. And it was good.

All the pain, all the guilt, all the fucking hang ups he'd been unable to shake in life had released their poisonous hold on him and he felt like a new man. Hell, maybe he was! Maybe he was getting ready for reincarnation, or something. He couldn't see his body, so he didn't know what kind of shape that was in. In fact, he couldn't see much at all. It was all white – the blinding flash of oblivion.

He thought maybe he was floating. With no body it was hard to tell, but there was no sensation of weight. Physically or emotionally. Well, so it seemed. He tried it. He thought about Julia. Nothing. She was gone and he didn't feel a thing. An insidious thought grew at the back of his mind – that she'd been dead to him; beyond his reach - for far longer than that day on the roof.

When was that again? Spike didn't know how long he'd been in the floating whiteness. But he could sure get used to it. He wondered how he could take Julia's death so lightly. She'd been all he was living for. And then he didn't need to live any more. So he didn't. It was as simple as it was fucking impossible to understand.

Still floating. The white light seemed to hum. It was soothing.

Soothing. Pruning bonsai was soothing. If floating Spike had eyes, they would have widened at that thought. Jet. He felt a jolt. It pushed him down.

Ed. The cheery hacker and her nonsensical ramblings. The affection she held for that damn mutt. The one that was too smart for its own good. Another push.

Spike felt...heavy.

Faye. Weight was creeping back and he didn't like it.

"Stop it!" he shouted at the empty nothingness. A silhouette shimmered in the white before his vision and he gasped to see the outline of his hand. "No! I don't want to go back!"

Faye was crying. She was pleading with him not to go. Why do you have to go? Are you telling me you're just going to throw your life away? He'd turned away, the echoes of her sobs and gunshots ringing in his ears.

It was getting cold. There was a whistling noise surrounding him, as well as the sensation of falling, a rock through the air, weight through the void.

"Don't take me back!" His yell went on deaf ears. He fell for a moment longer, then landed back in his body, back in the world of colors and noise.

I'll be feeling that one tomorrow.

He groaned, shifting slightly on the hard surface. Then his eyelids fluttered and a pair of mismatched eyes opened.

I'm back.

Oh, shit.
Okay, this is my first Bebop fic. Comments and constructive criticisms are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading!