Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far
Shine on you crazy diamond
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there
Shine on you crazy diamond – Pink Floyd

GodDAMNIT.

Swing. Turn. Punch.

BITCH.

Punch. Feint. Swipe.

FUCK.

Kick. Kick. Feint.

Spike?

WHAT?

Spike stopped shadowboxing to glare at Ein.

Perhaps you should take it easy, Spike.

This statement earned Ein nothing from Spike except a snort and a return to his shadowboxing.

After a mildly disastrous run-in with a few members of an off-shoot gang comprised of former, but low-level, Red Dragon members and a subsequent hospital stay to remove three bullets, even Spike had to admit that he was not up to the task of bounty hunting just yet. Since then he had been working even harder to fine-tune his newly designed fighting style. The problem was that then there was a lull in bounties, so Spike hadn't had an opportunity to field-test his new capabilities.

This caused several weeks of tension on the Bebop, with many raised voices. Ein had tried to ignore most of the "discussions" as they tended to simply boil down to Spike and Faye hurling insults at each other, with a few zingers from Jet thrown in.

Unfortunately, a large and significant and high-profile bounty came up. A well-known female assassin's whereabouts suddenly became public knowledge. This assassin was beautiful, she was dangerous, and she was worth a lot of money. And Faye didn't want Spike going after it.

The reason for this was several-folded, naturally. Faye's financial state, although her large past debt had been closed, was still a bit on the tenuous side, and she really wanted to establish herself strongly in the woolong department. Faye also wanted to prove something, prove that she was a quality bounty hunter, although she wasn't quite sure whether it was Jet or Spike she was trying to impress.

Faye had attempted to cajole Spike and appeal to his sensible side, what sense he had. She tried to play down the importance of such a bounty, and how it wouldn't be worth his trouble. She had even gone so far as to actually forbid him to leave the Bebop, and to make matters worse, Jet agreed with her. Jet knew that Spike was not well enough to take on such a task; in fact, Jet wasn't even sure that he and Faye, able-bodied as they were, could handle this bounty. Spike had countered that Jet's arm and Faye's stupidity didn't exactly put them in the running of being successful. Faye responded to that opinion with one of her own, one that precluded that Spike was missing at least one part, if not all, of his genitalia. Spike's retort to Faye precluded her evening occupation and habits. Faye's retort to Spike precluded farm animals, both in his ancestry and sexual preferences.

And it was at that point that negotiations broke down, thought Ein, as he continued to watch the lanky man punish himself with another lengthy kata. It finally turned out that Jet and Faye had left Spike behind as the two went in search of the bounty, and Spike was currently working out his frustrations with a shadow. Well, that, and a wall or two, noted Ein, looking at Spike's recently bandaged knuckles.

Faye and Jet were currently flying their respective ships to the other side of Mars, where they had gotten intell that their current bounty was hanging out. The entire journey had been terse, beyond Jet barking directions. Faye merely shook her head and sighed; despite her tender years (beyond those spent in cryo-hibernation) she knew well enough to not bother a male regarding directions. They landed their ships near a harbor and met up at the end of a pier. Jet was lighting a cigarette, his back to the chilly air. He did not offer a cigarette to Faye. "Are you up for this?"

Faye arched a single carefully plucked eyebrow. "Ready, steady, go."

"Don't get ahead of either me or yourself. Do precisely what I say and we might just get ourselves out of this with our skins."

"If you're so skittish about this bounty, Jet, why did you bother coming after it?"

Jet shrugged, which was a sure bet that he was lying. "We need the cash."

"I've been floating us okay for a while."

"Hospital bills. And Spike still can't pull his weight."

"You never got this pissy when he was laid up before. Pierrot . . ."

"Never mind. Let's get moving." Jet jammed his hands into his pockets and took off walking up the pier, head down, his gait looking so much like Spike's lazy mosey that Faye almost laughed. However, she kept her mouth shut and followed Jet.

They walked to a tea room, a traditional one that still had geishas pouring the tea in the ages-old ceremony. And there, in plain sight, was their quarry: Sayuri, the so beautiful, yet so dangerous assassin. She was dressed in traditional kimonos herself, her obi tied tight into the prefect box on her middle back. Faye half-wondered if Sayuri kept her weaponry in her bodice or in her obi when Sayuri stood effortlessly, as if she had floated to her feet. "Bounty hunters?"

Jet was so surprised at how direct the woman was that he replied, "Yes. Come with us, please."

"Jet Black of the ISSP. You and your ilk were unable to tether me then. Despite your Black Dog moniker, this is one target your teeth were never able to hold."

Jet tilted his head. "I'm honored at your long memory, Sayuri. The years have been good to you, it seems."

"I'm sorry to see that the years have not been good to you. The loss of your arm is not something I would have wished upon you, and the loss of your hair makes you appear so much older beyond your years. I have also heard about the . . . illness of your partner. Please give him my regards."

"I will, once you come with us."

"'Us', you say? The young lady is with you? I thought you could afford better than that, my old friend."

It suddenly occurred to Faye just what the lovely kimono-garbed woman was insinuating, and Faye jumped forward with a snarl, her Glock at the ready. "Can it, bitch!"

Sayuri sighed, and replied, "Manners, manners." Seemingly out of nowhere, a katana appeared at the side of Faye's neck, and Faye felt about an inch of her hair, freshly cut by the razor-sharp blade, fall on her collarbone. "I know who you are, Poker Alice. Do not trifle with me."

"I could say the same to you." Faye took half a step backward, and then moved to duck under the blade, but Sayuri anticipated her move and dropped the blade just enough to catch Faye's upper arm, leaving a thin cut. Faye gasped, and stepped back further, just as Jet circled around, putting the barrel of his revolver against Sayuri's skull and grabbing the wrist that held the blade.

"Stop moving, Sayuri."

Sayuri caught Jet's eye. Her eyes were twinkling. She swung about, knocking his gun from her temple with one hand and bringing the blade against his rib cage with the other. Jet winced, but it appeared that the blade did not cut his skin: it was stopped against the composite material in the vest he was wearing. Faye was agog. "You got a new vest?"

Jet made another grab for the hand with the katana. "Damnit, Faye . . ."

"And you didn't tell me? Or offer me one when you knew what we were up against?"

"Shut up, Faye!" snapped Jet as he bent Sayuri's wrist back enough to make her drop the katana.

Sayuri, however, never stopped smiling. "You've let my tea grow cold," she murmured, and then pulled a small stiletto from her obi and drove it into Jet's collarbone. Jet let go with a grunt of pain, and Sayuri swept from his grasp, retrieved her katana, and sailed out the door before Faye even got her Glock cocked. Jet pulled the stiletto from his shoulder and began to take off after Sayuri. "Damnit, Faye, move your ass!"

Faye dashed out on the heels of Jet. "Don't you yell at me!"

Jet began muttering every swear word he could think of under his breath as his head whipped back and forth, searching for a trace of the beautiful assassin. He thought he saw a flutter of her kimono high atop a fire escape, but as he went to hoist himself up the bottom of the ladder, the pain in his shoulder was too unbearable. He stood, forehead resting on a rung, breathing heavily. Faye stood behind him, watching the blood from his wound trickle over his shoulder and stain the collar of his tee shirt. She waited for the explosion. Surely he would blame this on her. And it was her fault: their failure began when Faye lost her temper. Finally, Jet took a deep breath and said, "Are you okay?"

It took Faye a moment to remember that she'd been injured as well. She looked at her arm where a thin line of blood stood, already dry. "I'm fine. You're the one that's hurt."

He had yet to face her. "It's nothing. In the big scheme of things, we got off lucky."

"We didn't get the bounty."

"We got away with our lives."

"You've chased her before. You knew her."

"Two dozen or more officers have died trying to capture her."

"You knew that and still we went after her?"

Jet finally turned and caught her eye. "You were the one hipped up about chasing her. I was trying to keep you from getting killed."

Faye snorted. "Thanks for caring."

Jet's eyes narrowed. "Believe me; it would be so much easier on me if I didn't, Faye." He moved past her and walked back to the pier where the Hammerhead was. Faye watched him go, confused by him as she was by the other resident male on the Bebop. And men complain about women being so mys-fucking-terious, she thought. She began to follow him. Jet shook another cigarette out of the pack, and lit it, but this time, he offered one to her.

Spike, meanwhile, had continued his katas at the same breakneck pace. Ein had honestly never seen Spike quite so furious, and he wondered at just how frustrated Spike was.

Spike.

Spike continued his intricate foot pattern.

Spike, STOP.

Spike stopped. He was breathing hard and pouring sweat. His hands were still clenched into fists.

What is the problem, Spike?

"What ish the problem? Weren't you paying attention earlier? Here I thought you were shmart."

This can't just be because they didn't want you to go on this potential death trip.

"Yeah, well, that hazh a l-lot to do with it."

And what else?

"I don't l-like people telling me what to do. Eshpeshully her."

She's worried about you.

"I didn't ashk her to be."

A pause. Are you okay?

"Headache."

You've been having far too many headaches lately. Perhaps you should take a break.

"I'm okay." Spike returned to his kata, but with a stronger, more distinct wobble. He stopped for a couple of moments, and then, clear as a bell, there was the other voice in his head again, the one that wasn't Ein's or his own. Stop doing this. You're causing yourself harm.

"Shtop it! Who . . . t'fk . . . are . . . you?" Spike took two wobbly steps. Who the fuck is that, Ein? It's not you! There's . . . another fucking voice in my head! Make it stop!

Ein, bewildered, moved closer to the human. Spike, you're wobbling. And you're slurring your words.

I've been slurring my words for a long time.

No. This is worse.

I'm okay, Ein. It's just that . . . other voice. It scares me. And the headache. It hurts. It has to stop, Ein, it has to stop.

Is anything else happening? Numbness? Dizziness?

After a few moments, Spike stopped moving. He was weaving on his feet. Ein?

Spike?

I'm not okay.

What is it?

Something . . . Can't . . . and Spike collapsed into a heap on the floor. Ein ran to the man's side and pushed him with his nose.

Spike? Spike!

There was a very long pause. Spike's eyes flashed open. Ein?

Spike, you have to tell me what's wrong!

Hurts.

Your arm? Your chest?

Head. It hurts. It has to stop.

Not a heart attack? Shit! Spike! Do what I say, now! Ein managed to pull on Spike's shirtsleeve until the man was in a prone position on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Ein jumped on the man's chest. Smile for me, Spike, goddamnit, smile for me!

Spike could only manage a twitch of one side of his mouth.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK, Spike, it's a stroke, you're having a STROKE, can you hear me? Answer me!

Nothing.

Spike?

Still nothing.

SPIKE!

A glimmer in the eye. The false eye. You have to help him, the other voice said. He's going like Ranger, and you have to help him.

I can't help him; I couldn't help you or any of the others. This isn't a computer, it's a human! I can't help him!

Yes, you can. You're the only one out of all of us who would be able to. You have to! Do it now, Kid!

Ein, shaken by the voice from his past, now confirmed that the voice was that of . . . Ein hunkered down on the man's chest and focused on Spike's eye, the one that quite didn't match. And reached into it.

What Ein suddenly experienced was nothing like the cyberspace or even the limited insides of the computer systems he had accessed before. For one thing, the noise was constant, a near-unbearable whooshing and pounding that only the strongest of sub-woofers could create on the outside. And the heat was unlike anything that Ein had ever known. Also, all of the data he had processed, hacked, stolen, had a cold detachment to it that was the complete opposite of the emotion that he was now trying to process. Desire, pain, nostalgia, anger, love, fear, and joy spun into Ein's psyche.

Ein pushed his way through in search of the cause of the stroke, attempting to further link himself to the chips implanted in Spike's cortex. It seemed that he was now a voyeur into the man's memories, and he saw fleeting images that he didn't understand. The kindly face of a woman looking down on him. A man, stern-faced. Dark, soot-filled streets lined with chain link fences. The smoke-filled rooms of a billiard hall. The images came at Ein faster and faster, leaving only a fleeting particle of what they contained. A rose. A glass fish on a windowsill. A running child. Raindrops. A man. A woman. Long, blond hair. A streetlight. A chair. A puddle. Death. Another man. Another woman. A child. A dog. All of these images were repeating, until Ein pushed through once more and found his destination: the nano-chips themselves

The imbeds were supposed to run on a string pattern that would eventually loop itself, but the pattern would be minutely changed each time the loop revolved. What was happening was that the chips were stuck in a loop with a pattern that was repeating far too often, causing the synapses of Spike's brain to not complete. This started a cycle of deoxygenation, which in turn caused clotting to form around the nano-chips. Ein pushed the clots free and placed his full concentration on the nano-chips themselves, and Ein was hit with a barrage of Spike's words and thoughts:

Whatever happens happens hunger is the best spice they say BANG it hurts just a dream bled all that kind of blood away it hurts I lost it in an accident watching a dream I could never wake up chose to be hunted it hurts women with attitude story was way too long I'd been longing for obnoxious little frog it hurts it has to stop . . .

Just like Ranger, Ein thought wildly, just like Ranger, he's going just like Ranger! It will stop, I promise, Spike, I'll make it stop.

He shut down the nano-chips, and re-booted them. The file still remained, dark, pulsing, corrupted, just like Ranger. Ein shut down the nano-chips again, re-booted them again, and this time, removed the file completely.

Ein suddenly had the sensation that he was being pulled backward. He also sensed his memory being pulled from him, and the images came as fleeting as the ones from Spike's memory: The Bebop, Jet, Faye, Ed, Spike, the briefcase, the lab, the other lab, another lab, the other experiment, the extra upgrades, the endless, endless experiments. The same emotions that Ein had perceived from Spike returned, blinding in their new-found clarity.

And finally, Fang. Ranger. Blood.

Not Blood! I will not give up that memory! Take the rest. But not Blood!

The cacophony of sound in Ein's mind reached a pinnacle.

Then, blessed silence.

And the sweet passage of time.

Spike's eyes opened wide and came into focus. He blinked, and blinked again. He looked left and right, trying to figure out where he was. He felt a very heavy weight on his chest, and he raised his head to see Ein draped across it.

"Ein?"

Ein's eyes stared off into the distance, and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Spike raised his arms to cradle Ein as he rolled over to his side, placing Ein on the floor beside him.

Ein? Are you okay?

Nothing.

Ein?

Still nothing. Spike lay there, staring into the dog's eyes, his mind whirling. He was unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. Had this dog somehow moved into his mind, replacing some of his own memories? Why did he know the entire history of this dog, this . . . thing that had come into his life?

What had been done to this Corgi? And what had the Corgi done to him?

Spike saw a glimmer in one of the dog's eyes, which appeared to be looking at a memory from long ago. A memory of rolling fields, and the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable. And it wasn't blood that Ein kept seeing, but a dog named Blood. Spike swallowed and spoke to the dog again. Ein? The dog did not respond, and Spike tried once more. Kid?

Blood? What happened? Are you okay?

I'm not Blood, Kid, it's Spike, remember?

Long ago. Oh, god . . .

I know, Kid. What happened to Blood?

I'm so sorry, Blood. So sorry . . .

It's going to be okay, Kid.

Fang, Ranger. Both dead. My fault. And Blood. . .

It's going to be okay, Kid. Kid. Listen to me. The newspaper, Kid.

The newspaper?

The one you saw in the village. Right before Ranger . . . The one that had the headline about the Mad Bio-Dogs – what was the date on the newspaper?

The date?

The date on the newspaper, Kid. When did all that happen?

A pause. July 10th, 1996.

1996?

Tired. So tired, Blood. Ein closed his eyes. Spike stared at Ein, frightened that the dog was dying in his arms, until he saw the dog's even breathing. Spike's mind was racing about the past of this dog -- this dog that had been alive since 1996, nearly 80 years -- the memories that he had just seen, and the full realization of what this dog was capable of doing.

Ein had saved his life.

For the second time.

The man and the dog remained on the floor for a long time. Later, when the other humans returned to the ship, empty-handed, they would find the man and the dog lying there, like a shipwrecked sailor clutching a life preserver.