Bad: Chapter 11
"Why not speak about it now
I put things that shade to you
Maybe I've been dismayed
Maybe that's the truth"
- Hope Sandoval
"The world we live in and a five-year-old could use a computer better than either of you."
Spike and Faye looked back at Jet like scolded children as he glared at them over his computer screen.
Spike held up his hand in front of his chest, angling his fingers to point at himself, a rogue thumb pointing outward. "Why are you including me?"
"Knowing how to use the Alpha Catch doesn't count. God forbid this ship's programming fails and I'm not here to steer it. Or if I wanted to take a vacation. Do you even know how to do basic system maintenance? Some crew I picked up."
Spike shrugged, shaking his head. "I could figure it out."
"And, you."
"Me?" Faye questioned, pointing quizzically at herself.
"Yes, you. I found this thing in two minutes," he said scornfully, holding up the drawing of the black and white bird on Edward's pennant. "Did you even look at all or are you having a nice little private joke on me?"
"I looked!" Faye threw her arms up, rising from where she'd been perched on the arm of the sofa, sitting precariously with one leg bent under her ass, and circled the coffee table, leaning over Jet's shoulder to inspect his findings.
There it was. White body, black wings, mohawk and all.
"Kookaburra." The photo reflected in Faye's eyes as she studied it.
"Isn't there a song about a Kookaburra?" Spike said, looking upward, attempting to recall. "Or maybe it was a flamingo."
"Terribly helpful."
Spike shrugged a final time and threw his legs onto the sofa, stretching out fully now that Faye had vacated her spot.
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know. It's an Australian bird. That's all there is to know."
"Old Australia or New Australia?"
"Old."
"Do you think that's where she is?"
"Hard to say. We don't even know where this came from. More than likely, it won't help us."
Spike began to hum, summoning back the memory of the song, tapping his feet together.
"That's on Earth. That's where we left her."
"Kookaburra sits…sits…sits in the old elm tree…old gum tree…"
"We didn't leave her. She left us," Jet reminded her, offended by her characterization of the situation. "With no way to contact her."
"King of the bush is he…"
"She's a thirteen-year-old professional hacker who's been wandering around the solar system alone for more than half of her life. If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be."
"Fuck." Faye squeezed the bridge of her nose.
Spike began to whistle a melody to the lyrics.
"That's not helping."
"Wait."
Spike turned to them, his lips still puckered, mid-whistle. "Yes?"
"I've heard that somewhere, too. That tune."
Faye began to hum to herself quickly, purposefully, jogging her own memory. She held one hand in the air, her fingers dancing, mimicking pressing the keys of piano, Spike and Jet looking on with curious anticipation.
After a short while, she shook her head.
"No good."
"Eh." Spike laid back on the sofa. This whole thing was quickly becoming ridiculous in a way he despised.
"Maybe we should start thinking about a contingency plan."
"Like what?" Faye demanded.
Jet sighed. "I don't know."
"There's no other plan. This is the plan."
Jet felt an argument coming on. He decided to cut it off at the pass.
"I'll keep looking."
Faye sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead. "I'm going out." And with no further preamble, she strode out of the common area toward the hangar.
"What's eating her?"
Spike replied with an indifferent expression. "Hell if I know."
"Moody broad."
Fucking Europa of all places. Where the days were deathly hot and the nights were deathly cold. And now half of it was on fire.
Faye strolled waywardly through the streets of the tiny desert town, flakes of white ash falling all around, the air pungent with the smell of fresh cinder. If she wasn't so miserable, it would have been quite lovely.
They'd tracked a bounty here only to find that a wildfire had started half an hour before they'd entered the atmosphere. All the police activity in the area had chased off all the drifters and criminals, leaving nothing but bored townsfolk, sitting out on their porches, watching the flames roll down the mountainside at dusk.
Now, in the early morning hours, even they had disappeared. So it was just her and the sound of gravel under her feet.
She sat down on the curb in the orange cast of a lonely streetlamp and lit a cigarette. The air was dry and hot, but the intermittent breeze seemed to appear at the exact moment that the temperature became unbearable, and then swiftly died away again.
Faye hugged her knees and rested her chin on her arms, listening to the crickets singing to the moon.
She should have known this was a stupid idea. She was a petty con, not a criminal mastermind. Her tricks were short-lived and inspired by impulse. She played the cards in front of her and cut loose as quickly as she could reasonably justify. This kind of thing took patience and careful planning, and it was already starting to come apart before it even began.
Her insides were bound up wretchedly. If she couldn't work this thing out, she was fucked. They were all fucked, Spike especially.
Their seemingly innocuous 3 a.m. breakfast had proved to be anything but. Since Spike's return to the ship, she had felt herself pulling free, extracting her heart from the emotional entanglement she had awoken in many months ago. But with this single shared excursion she felt all of the strands go taut again, roughly drawing her back in. The confused intimacy of their conversation had insidiously pervaded her thoughts for the past three days, drudging up all of the acute anguish she'd experienced in those chaotic final days.
She took a drag off her cigarette and flicked it into the street in front of her.
"How gauche. This whole town could burn up, you know."
"In case you hadn't noticed, the fire's already started."
Spike emerged from the darkness, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and stepped up onto the curb, leaning against the lamppost.
"What's the word?"
"Nothing yet. Jet's gone to bed."
"Lucky him."
"How long has it been since you really slept?" he asked, almost too softly.
She buried her face in her palms. "Forever. Seems like forever."
Spike looked down at her. Sometimes she was such a kid.
"I think I'm starting to lose it."
"Well, if you want, I could knock you out cold like Jet did me."
She waved her hand in front of her face. "This is the moneymaker, Spike."
He chuckled.
She stared out into the blackness, studying the bright orange peak of the mountain where the fire was still blazing. "Aren't you nervous? What if this doesn't pan out?"
He kicked at the ground. "Whatever happens, happens."
She scoffed. "Isn't that the mentality that got you in this mess in the first place?"
"What can I do, Faye? Please, edify me."
She stood. "Oh, I don't know, how about give half a shit about something?"
"I'm not going to get into this again."
"Of course not." She snorted, smiling bitterly to herself, and began to depart.
"Don't take this shit out on me," he called after her. "I didn't do anything."
She turned to look at him. "You're so fucking clueless."
"What?"
She turned away again, intending to leave him standing in the dark, his unanswered question hanging in the air. Instead, she felt a hand grip her shoulder and spin her around.
"Don't walk away. I'm talking to you."
"You can. Why can't I?"
"Goddamn, that's childish."
"Leave me alone, Spike."
"Or what, you'll try to shoot me again?"
"Fuck you!" she spat, jabbing her finger in his chest. "Everything's a fucking joke to you." She drew back, gesturing wildly. "Someone, I don't know, fucking shows you something, and you just piss all over it."
"That's not what I did," he said, his voice grave.
"Yes, it is. I was fucking standing there like a fool, fucking pleading, and it's like you don't even remember or fucking care at all."
He felt his temper beginning to flare. He squeezed his fists tighter in his pockets, focusing only on maintaining his composure. "I didn't forget, but I certainly fucking appreciate you reminding me of all the pain I've caused."
"How horrible that must be. I'm sure it's way worse than being pushed aside and told what you feel doesn't matter."
"I gave you my reasons, Faye. Maybe they weren't good enough for you, but they were for me."
She seemed to lose all steam.
"I don't think I can be around you, Spike."
He stepped forward. "Don't be like that. I'm sorry."
"You don't even know what you're apologizing for."
The words came slow. "Yes, I do. I never meant to hurt your feelings, and I am sorry for it."
She looked down hard, embarrassed for both of them. "That's not going to do it for me."
"What else then?"
She sighed, dejected, exhausted beyond words. "I don't know."
He watched her standing before him, attempting to pretend that he wasn't there, rubbing her eyes, blocking him from her view. Anger had flooded his entire body. What gave her the right to vilify him? She had no idea at all about his life, did not know his choices or the ways he had suffered. He wanted to storm away and never look back, whatever friendship was between them be damned. But as he watched her, he saw her genuine, undeniable sadness and his anger subsided to guilt.
Lacking any words, he did the only thing he could—hastily, so she couldn't fight it, he slid his arms around her and pulled her to him, embracing her. She froze, but despite his impulsivity, he remained resolute, holding her tiny body against him.
He wanted to speak again, to say that he knew why she didn't believe him when he said he was sorry, but when her arms came up to rest around his shoulders and he heard muffled sniffling against his chest, he was silenced.
