SESSION 7
Distant voices droned on. Flashes of explosions danced in the darkness. Fingers braced on triggers. Staring down the barrel of a gun. A bead of sweat in anticipation. Everything on the line. Just one squeeze to test the limit …
A dull ache banished the lucid images. Spike dismally became aware of every fiber of his body. He seemed to be lying on his left side … maybe? He cracked open his eyelids to the flickering of a broadcast on a screen sitting on a table. His head rested on something nauseatingly yellow.
Where the hell was he now? This was hardly the first time he'd woken up … somewhere … wondering what the hell had happened.
A metallic click caught his attention. He wasn't alone. His gaze drifted toward the sound … his Jericho 941 lay in pieces on the low table. A man with a cybernetic arm pulled an oiled towel through the barrel. Jet … the Bebop. Right. This must be the living room with that tacky furniture.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Yo. You're tougher than you look, kid."
He opened his eyes and tried to scowl, but lacked the energy to pull it off.
"You alright?" Jet asked in the long silence.
Experimentally, Spike shifted each limb. Though it hurt, nothing throbbed with a sharp intensity. "Bruised," he muttered, "nothing broken."
"Good. You'll live."
Spike shut his eyes with a grunt. That's a matter of opinion. He listened as Jet picked up each part of the gun, cleaned it, and set it back on the table. How long had he been out? His clothing was damp, but not drenched. Clearly it had been a few hours at the least.
A splash of liquid in a glass forced his eyes back open. Jet pushed a glass of whiskey to the edge of the table. "Here. Sit up and drink this. You took quite a tumble out there."
Sluggishly, he inched his arm across the chasm and took the warm glass from the table. He couldn't quite banish the trembling. Exhaustion. An engine running on fumes. He didn't bother to sit up. Rolling his head forward, he hung off the edge of the couch and took a stiff gulp. The amber alcohol scalded his throat. Warmth. Idly, he watched the fluid slosh back into the bottom of the glass. After another long nap he'd need a good routine to work out the kinks. He had to get moving again, loosen back up, push through the bruises. Pushing … always pushing.
"Jet?"
"Mmm?"
"When I said I wanted a ride off Mars, you know I wasn't referring to a mechanical bull ride, right?"
Jet kept his gaze locked on the firing mechanism he was reassembling, he blanched. "Well, yeah. Of course. I didn't do that on purpose."
"Riiight." Spike sighed and downed the second half of the whiskey. He let his arm drape over the edge, hovering the glass just above the floor. Even in the dim light he could see the purplish discoloring of his forearm. It wasn't too bad, but the color change was obvious against his normally pale complexion. "Where are we?"
"In a low Mar's orbit. Not risking her again to … whatever that was." Jet cleared his throat and nodded to the display. "Typical news. They're calling it a natural quake. Huh, a quake with five epicenters? That's a new one."
Spike's gaze drifted to the flickering images of the crater city. A satellite view revealed four immense rubble zones, the fifth was what used to be the lake where the Bebop had docked. Now all that remained was a red crater in the midst of the city. The announcers rambled on about the disaster without saying much of anything at all. "Cover up." Spike clicked his tongue. "Don't want to cause a panic. Imagine the clogged roadways if they learned a White Tiger bitch had her paws on a sonic quake generator. Well, at least we now know what that 'stolen hush hush technology' was."
"Yah." Jet picked up a few more pieces of the gun and turned them around in his hands. "You're going to need this."
He scowled. "Still determined to collar Topaz?"
Ignoring him, Jet continued, "They canceled the bounty on Jeeters. Good thing too. He's not much good with his skull cracked open."
Spike's eyebrow rose. He moved his head enough to see the railing splattered the dried blood. And he'd thought he had a rough ride. At least he hadn't still been tied to a chair!
For the first time Jet eyed Spike. "What was in the trashcan that's now smeared all over my floor?"
He shrugged and smirked. "He spilled his guts. I meant to throw that out. Forgot."
Jet glowered.
"He's a dead end. So, the bounties off. No sense in hanging around this rock."
"That machine nearly sunk my ship, Spike. That's not something I intend to leave unsettled. She's going to pay for this."
"Heh. Good luck. Topaz doesn't pay for anything. Ask the last guy who tried to go dutch with her."
He opened his mouth to reply when the screen flashed and an I.S.S.P. uniformed man appeared. "Hey Jet. Was hoping to catch you in."
"What do you have, Bob?"
Spike ran his finger along the edge of the whiskey glass. He should have put money he didn't have on that bet. I.S.S.P., Jet reeked of it. So, maybe his instincts weren't compromised, after all.
"You anywhere near Mars? Something big is going down. It's not official yet, but they're about to announce a huge reward for whoever leveled the city of Baltisk. Intelligence caught a whisper of a threat, a second attack. Something about Tharsis?"
Tharsis? Spike half-closed his eyes. Not that shithole! Not now, dammit.
"Yeah. I'm in orbit right now. Had a good view of the action." Jet rubbed his chin. "Reward huh? How much and what are the conditions?"
"Bounty is five-million wooglongs for whoever is behind this. Alive. There is a rumor of half if brought in dead. Think it's because no one knows who did it and what they want. Higher ups want this done fast and quiet. Seems there's a piece of stolen government tech behind this. They want it buried."
"No kidding." Jet nodded and glanced at Spike, out of range of the communications camera. "I have an idea what's going on. Thanks for the tip, Bob."
"Anytime, Black Dog. Good hunting." The screen vanished and once more the news resumed the series of half truths.
"Fortune smiles on us." Jet reset the barrel on the Jericho with a grin.
"And karma is a sharp toothed bitch." Spike muttered from the couch. "I'm tellin' ya pal, let's get out of here. Tharsis isn't that great of a city. Let Topaz level it. Mars will be better for it."
"No way. The Black Dog never gives up. Besides, I told you, I'm not leaving Mars without my bounty."
Spike rolled over onto his right side with a groan, facing the back of the couch. "Let me know how that goes for you."
"No need. You can see for yourself." The click of the fully assembled gun accompanied his laugh. "There we go. Back in working order."
"No—I won't. I'm not leaving this couch until we're in hyperspace on our way out of here."
"You owe me a bounty head, Spike."
He paused, his teeth grinding. "I don't owe you shit! Not after this!" He held up an arm, the shirt sleeve flopped down revealing bruises, the color coordinated with the indigo blue of his suit. Now that he thought about it, where the hell was his jacket? And his tie?
The laden silence stretched overlong. "I … uhh … you saved my Bebop. I know. If you hadn't gotten to her in time … "
"She would be in pieces resting in the dry lake bed, Jet." Spike snapped, shutting his eyes. "You're damn welcome."
"I'll repay you … "
"You can start by keeping your promise."
Jet didn't answer. Spike's stomach did the talking. It growled loud enough to combat the droning of the broadcast. He curled into the new discomfort. When was the last time he'd had a decent meal? He couldn't even remember … just the dive bars. Glass after mindless glass drowning his nerves.
"Fine, Jet. If you insist on dragging me back to Tharsis, when we get there we do things my way. You got that?" His stomach twisted again, hard enough he winced. His voice lost its edge. "First, how about something to eat?"
He heard Jet set his gun on the table followed by the footsteps out of the room. Alone, Spike opened his eyes and swallowed hard. A shiver, not born of cold, tore through him.
Karma really was a sharp toothed bitch. And he still carried the scars that proved it.
See you, Space Cowboy!