"Jet? Is there something wrong? Why do I smell—oh."
Faye swallowed the rest of the sentence when she turned around the corner and saw the source of the overwhelmingly malodorous burning stench. Ed had donned a white pillowcase—perched ridiculously on her head—and was currently balancing an egg in the grasp of two fingers, poised to fall, while her other hand was busy using a charred plastic spatula to stir what looked like thickened cottage cheese around in a frying pan over the blue flame of the stove. Blinking rapidly, Faye decided not to endanger her and Jet's life by allowing the culinary edition of the Cirque du Ed to continue.
Snatching the egg in distress out of Ed's fingertips, she hurriedly switched off the stove and grabbed the pan before—well she didn't want to waste time contemplating the consequences. She returned the egg and pan to the safety of the sturdy countertop and braced her palms against the handle of the oven as she closed her eyes exhaustedly and let out a heavy sigh.
"Ed-person was making pancakes for breakfast!" Faye turned to the disgusting pan of scorched gruel and knotted her brows in confusion. Pancakes...?
"Pancakes, man rakes, land flakes, hand brakes!" Ed twirled around the kitchen, obviously undeterred from her foiled pursuit of the subject of her rhymes. Faye walked up to the spinning teenager and plucked the pillowcase from her head.
"Ed, how about you go wake up Jet and let me make the pancakes, okay?"
"Okay, Faye-Faye!" She curved the path of her motion into a more or less straight line out of the kitchen and into the Centrifugal Anti-Gravity Synthesis Chamber—or, the rotating room. Faye smiled, shook her head good-naturedly, and turned to the matter at hand. Dropping the soiled pan into the sink, she picked up another clean one and began pulling the proper ingredients for pancakes out of the fridge and pantry.
"Oh crap...there's no milk left." She sighed before she heard a frustrated shout coming from the direction of Jet's room. A minute later, scrubbing up the disgusting pan in the sink, she recognized the unmistakable sound of a dripping and downtrodden Jet plodding into the kitchen. "Morning, Jet."
He grumbled in acknowledgment. Grabbing a bowl and box of cereal from a random cupboard, he poured himself an exemplary breakfast of lucky charms, then turned to open the refrigerator in search of a certain resource he had no knowledge was recently depleted. "The milk's gone."
"I know. Why don't you pick up some from the nearest grocery store?"
Jet stretched out his arms and yawned. "Why don't you? I have to do some more scrounging for info about this...Kevin Calhoun guy. I got some tips from Buddy that he was last seen in this area, and I need to talk to the ISSP guys before we can make a move."
"Okay...hey Jet, where are we anyway?"
He tensed up and shifted his weight before replying. "Nowhere really. Little town on Mars."
She nodded uncertainly and made her way to the airlock door to the deck, plucking a cash card off a table and placing it in the front right pocket of her familiar vinyl lemon shorts. The sunshine greeted her like an enthusiastic telemarketer—relentless and not entirely welcome. She shielded her eyes frantically so as to escape blindness due to the high contrast between the dim artificial spaceship lighting and the penetrating midmorning Mars sun.
True though the red planet was further away from the namesake of the solar system than the origin of human existence, the false atmospheric conditions created to sustain life proved a feeble filter for photon transmittal. UV rays were not a problem, however, as when the new artificial sky on the undeveloped planet was constructed, the scientists included a gas that managed to block most of the harmful short wavelengths from reaching the surface. It performed as an undisturbed ozone layer, more perfect and durable than the one humans had initially inherited from the earth.
Faye's pupils stabilized eventually and focused on the corrugated iron deck of the old fishing ship. It gave her an utmost feeling of bliss being able to once again call it home. After all, it was the only home she had had since Act Two of her life began. Her past was an unusual one, and as such it required categorization into different parts—the years cryogenically frozen serving as the intermission. After that, her life could be further subsidized into scenes. The time between her awakening and when she had met Spike Spiegel that fateful night in the casino--Scene One. The ten months of heaven spent as a member of the Bebop's crew—Scene Two. And her post-Spike's death/memory recovery period would be dubbed Scene Three. If one felt the need to be nitpicky, it could be split further, but generally speaking, this was how the play of her life was set. The one circumstance yet undecided, though, was an unanswerable question.
Would it end as a comedy, or a tragedy?
She sighed at the unbroken view of a small city of cookie-cutter brick buildings and shops visible from the little dock the Bebop was anchored and tied to. The sandy rust-colored walls evoked a tinge of recognition; quickly discarded as she remembered just how many of the habitation modules on Mars used the exact same materials for construction and similar design patterns.
All doubt was cast aside, however, when she took a tentative glance to the west and shut her eyes tightly at the sight of the one view she knew could not lie. The neon lights were turned off in the morning sunlight, but she had no trouble reading the bold red letters spelling 'Tharsis General Hospital'. Stifling back a sob building in her throat, she regained her composure and refused to let it bother her.
She had already come to terms with everything, and there was no reason to break down once confronted with the mere sight of the city where her virtual Armageddon had taken place almost three years ago. Her mind felt the slight presence of a ghost of a feeling reminiscent of hope. She idly wondered if they had ever found his body and buried it, thinking one day she might even come back on her own to find out. At present she was still not prepared to deal with the emotional strength required to undertake such a task, however.
Sighing in resolution as much as resignation, she continued walking to the wooden pier and hopped over the railing to plant her feet on more or less solid ground for the first time in several weeks; time spent chasing rumors in outer space. Mindless of where her feet carried her, Faye set off vaguely in search of a grocery store, but overwhelmingly lost in numbing thoughts. Did Jet mean to send her out by herself to reopen the deep wounds left the last time they had been in this city? Was he trying to help her by making her face her memories again?
She slowed when she spotted a red and yellow ball bounce a bit before coming to rest before her feet. She bent over and picked it up, her trance not broken until she heard a cheerful giggle preceded by scurrying footsteps.
"Um, Miss can I have my ball back please?" Faye looked over at a small child, no more than five years old, with a broad, grinning, flushed face framed with ruffled white-blonde hair. He breathed quickly and deeply, panting slightly after chasing his plaything over what seemed like a long distance for his little legs. She smiled genuinely.
"Sure. Here you are, handsome." She crouched down and handed him the ball, enchanted by the adorable blush creeping over his cheeks. His silver-blue eyes glittered with innocent and pure happiness. She faltered at the thought of the horrors life may have in store to corrupt that, but shoved it away when his grin widened.
"Thanks Miss!" He bounced his ball somewhat ungracefully on the concrete sidewalk and turned to the grassy area opposite the street. Faye smiled at the image as he stumbled after the rolling orb through a wrought iron archway giving way to an idyllic meadow; clearly out-of-place in the densely populated city, but nonetheless picturesque. Benches occupied by happy-looking families and relaxing businessmen, and everything from women knitting to men playing chess to small kids laughing and running gave the impression that this little slice of joy and heaven has served as a refuge for cityfolk for generations.
"Hey, what's your name?" She called belatedly after him, and the boy let his ball roll away a few feet when he turned to face her again, standing directly under the archway, framed by the twisted metal calligraphy titling the land 'Destiny Park'. She became taken aback by a sudden sense of familiarity when the bright sunlight shone through his golden crystal locks and his glassy irises were cast into shadow and reflected deep blue oceanic hues. Faye gasped.
"I'm Spike."