THIRTY-EIGHT: Millennium arc

Spike was at his finest, a graceful architect of combat, slipping through the fight with lucid fervor. Once his might and cunning skill had been fueled by rage. Now he was as cool and calculating as his former partner in the Red Dragon syndicate, who had trained him to be what he had become, a man who was now his enemy.

He wove in and out of range, dishing out blow after blow while taking none himself. He was a swarm of unstoppable offense that the four attackers had not been prepared to face. Jet, Ed, and Ein simply didn't need to be there. Regardless, and despite the powerful arsenal they brought with them, the four men were simply no match.

He dispatched them one by one, and very soon after the fight had begun, it was over, ending with Spike standing over four men as Jet, Ed, and Ein simply watching on. It was an exhibition of dominating skill, and Spike didn't even break a sweat.

Almost immediately after the final man hit the sand, three new figures appeared around the corner. These men approached unarmed, but they walked around as though they owned the place. Spike drew his sidearm even before their arrival, letting the three of them know that he had not yet dropped his guard.

The men stopped ten or so paces away and the tall one in the middle held up his hands. "Hey. Nice piece of work there, stranger," he said. "Not a helluva lot of men can fight like that."

Spike gave one of the fallen men a nudge with the toe of his show. "Not these guys, that's for sure."

The man smirked. "Not these guys," he agreed.

"You want a demonstration?"

He held up his arms in surrender. "Oh, no. That would be a horrible idea." He gestured to the men. "I apologize for all this. We take security of this facility very seriously, as you can see. With dangerous criminals like Vash the Stampede wandering about the desert, we have to be extremely cautious toward all uninvited guests."

"Men with shotguns on motorcycles?" Jet asked. "That seems a bit excessive."

The man almost laughed before he gestured to his fallen men; a couple of them had finally started to come to after their collective beatings. "You tell me."

Jet scratched his head. "Guess not."

"Tell me, strangers, what brings you to these distant parts?"

"We're bounty hunters," Jet said. "Name's Jet Black, and that's Spike Spiegel. The girl there goes by the name Radical Edward."

Spike shot him a look, but he knew that these people wouldn't know those names anyway, so he didn't say anything.

The man's brow rose slightly. "Bounty hunters? Well, it's been a long time since I've seen good bounty hunters. I'm Henry Starks, and these are my associates, Merrick Quicksilver and Kane the Nighthawk." Both men bowed their heads as they were introduced, more in acknowledgment than greeting. Spike took a moment to memorize every detail of their dress and facial features.

Then, he too nodded his acknowledgement of their presense.

"If you don't mind me askin', what is it you people do here?"

Starks smiled at Jet's question. "Research, mostly. This is the single most important archaeological find throughout the whole of Gunsmoke. This very structure is evidence that a whole other race existed here before the coming of mankind."

They followed Starks down a brightly-lit corridor of the massive structure, with Merrick and Kane taking up the rear. The structure was massive, made of a metal the likes of which Jet had never seen. He was drawn to the intricate designs engraved into a single black stripe in the wall three feet above the floor that ran the length of the corridor. While he didn't quite understand what the markings meant, he was near certain that it was some form of alien writing. This odd building had not been built by human hands.

"And what do you know about it?"

"Not a lot. You see, we've only just acquired rights to this place. The men who discovered it wore out their welcome ages ago."

"But it's a ship, right?" Edward asked, sporadically dancing about behind the man, exploring every nook and cranny of the huge hallway. Jet had almost forgotten the kid was there, because she hadn't made a single noise in some time, a rarity for the girl, especially in times of learning new things.

"Huh? Oh, we think so. But there's no direct evidence to suggest it. Much of whatever it was is buried in sand these days."

"How long has it been here?" Jet asked.

"Hard to say."

"Two thousand years!" Edward announced, flopping down on her backside and dropping Tomato gently onto the floor in front of her.

Jet's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Ed, how do you know that?" Spike demanded.

"She doesn't!" Jet replied. "She couldn't."

"Do so!" Edward snapped back. "She's called the Millennium Arc because the Keepers lost her two thousand years ago!"

The two men who had lived with her for the better part of a year simply stared at the girl. Their audience of three waited to see where the converstation was headed. For a long, silent moment, Edward fiddled with Tomato, as if she had completely forgotten her little rift with her friends.

Jet slapped his forehead. "For Christ's sake, Ed! Make sense once in awhile. Please. It'd really be better off on my heart that way."

"Don't be silly, Jet-person!"

Starks chuckled and placed a hand on Edward's shoulder. "I'm afraid your friends are right. I don't know how you can possibly know what this thing is."

Ed turned on him like a rabid beast, hissing at him before she sunk her teeth into his wrist. Starks let out a cry of pain before ripping his arm away from her.

"You little—" He started to rear back to slap her when Spike snatched his wrist, flipping him easily head-over-heels and onto his back. Then he stepped on Sparks' neck, cutting off his airway.

"Now that wasn't very nice," Spike said with a smirk.

"Hey, get off—"

The other two started forward, but froze when Jet pulled his sidearm, taking aim. "Hold it right there."

Spike added a little pressure to the heel of his shoe. "Just a second. You rear back to slap my friend and think you're calling the shots? Sorry man, but that's not how it works." With Starks at his mercy, he pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket and lit one, taking his time. "If Ed says this thing is a ship, I believe her. She isn't wrong very often. What do you think, Jet?"

"Sounds good to me," the ex-cop replied.

Spike removed his shoe, letting Starks up. The man sat up quick, gasping for air. "Jesus, man! That was uncalled for."

"Don't raise your hand to me or my friends," Spike warned. "Next time it won't be near so pleasant."

Jet turned to Ed. "How do you know this thing is called the Millennium Arc?"

"Maybe this isn't the time for a philosophical talk with a certified lunatic," Starks said, and rose slowly to his feet. His eyes went to Spike. He was angry, but he kept his tone quiet. "We have a proposition for you, Mr. Spiegel."

Spike glared. "Yeah? What?"

"Vash the Stampede."

"What of it?"

"We want him taken down. He's a risk to everything we're trying to do here."

"So. Why should I care?"

"There's sixty billion double-dollars on that man's head. You can have the whole damn thing, but we want him kept away from this place."

"What's so special about this place?" Jet asked.

"It's a gateship!"

"Whatever Ed," Spike muttered. He stuck a finger in Stark's face a moment later. "Look, we're going after Vash as is, but not for your benefit."

"Fine. That's all well and good, Mr. Spiegel." Starks had a sudden glint in his eyes like a jaguar waiting to pounce. "And I eagerly wish you the best of luck, but with all due respect, Vash the Stampede is a very dangerous man."

"So am I."

"Not so dangerous as a man with sixty billion riding on his broad shoulders."

"I'll take my chances."

"I'm sure you will. But your way might take you a long time. I have two things you don't."

Spike rolled his eyes. "And what could you have that would possibly help me?"

Starks smirked. "First of all, I know where the bastard is hiding." Spike shot Jet a look. "And second, I have a bigger gun."