Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Ghost In The Machine or: The Espressorcist ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Ghost in the Machine

or

The Espressorcist

 

Jet slapped his hand against his forehead and dragged it down over his face. “I can't believe you killed him,” he said, for the fourth time.

 

Spike rolled his eyes. “It was an accident,” he replied, for the fourth time.

 

Jet stared at Spike, his hand still cupping his chin. “I can't believe you killed him,” he said.

 

Spike groaned. “For the last time, Jet: It was an accident.”

 

“Well, it's all academic now,” Faye interjected from the doorway of the sitting room. “The fact is that one and a half million Woolongs just flew out the window.”

 

“Literally,” grunted Jet.

 

“I only left the guy in the cargo hold for five minutes,” Spike protested. “How was I supposed to know there was a fault in the airlock?”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” said Jet. “Maybe because I've been telling you every day for the last week and a half!”

 

Spike grumbled under his breath, leaned back into the couch and stared intensely at the ceiling.

 

Jet leaned forwards in his chair, and dropped his face into his hands. Emerging after a few moments, he said, “I can't believe you killed him.”

 

“It was an accident,” Spike growled.

 

Faye sighed deeply. “I'm gonna get some coffee.”

 

“Thanks, Faye,” said Jet. “That'd be great.”

 

“I'm sure it would,” Faye replied as she disappeared down the corridor.

 

Jet rolled his eyes. He should have known better than that.

 

The sitting room fell silent and remained so for some minutes, with Jet sat head in hands and Spike staring into space.

 

After a time Jet looked up. “I can't believe…”

 

Spike shot him an angry look.

 

Jet sighed and let his face fall back into his hands. A few more moments passed, and then the silence was broken by a second lament, this time from down the hallway.

 

“Shit,” Faye barked, loud enough to be heard from the kitchen.

 

Jet and Spike looked at one another. Their eyes lingered as they waited to see which of them would respond to Faye's cry.

 

“We should probably both go,” Jet sighed.

 

“Yeah,” Spike concurred resignedly. Whatever had happened, it would probably end up involving both of them anyway.

 

The two men stepped out of the sitting room and travelled the short distance down the corridor to the kitchen. There they found a startled looking Faye stood with her back pressed tightly against the counter, her grimacing face staring wide-eyed at the coffee machine opposite.

 

Again there was silence.

 

“Well, I'm not asking her,” Spike said finally.

 

Jet grunted, and asked grudgingly, “What's wrong, Faye?”

 

Faye turned to him. “The coffee machine,” she said distantly. “It… spoke to me.”

 

The three bounty hunters exchanged stares for an instant, and then Faye came out of her trance. “I mean, I thought I heard something… in the coffee machine,” she said, playing down her claim having apparently realised its implications.

 

“And here I always thought Ed had the monopoly on talking to inanimate objects,” Spike chuckled. “Looks like she's finally cracked, Jet.”

 

Faye pouted, all too aware that there could be no pithy comeback in a situation like this.

 

Jet looked at his watch. “April fifteenth,” he read out loud. “Looks like I win our little bet. That'll be 100 Woolongs, thank you very much.”

 

“Alright guys, I get it,” Faye grumbled, folding her arms angrily.

 

Spike reached into his pocket. “That's too bad,” he smiled. “Another fifteen days and I'd have won.” He plucked a 100 Woolong note from his inside jacket pocket, and placed it in Jet's waiting hand.

 

Faye's eyes almost popped out of her head with outrage to see that her colleagues really had been betting on how long her sanity would last. But before she had a chance to let them know how she felt, a new voice entered the fray.

 

“Hey babe,” said the sleazy drawl. “You forget about me already?”

 

Suddenly, all eyes were on the coffee machine.

 

“What,” the voice said. “You never seen a coffee machine before?”

 

Without averting his gaze from the machine, Jet returned the 100 Woolong note to Spike, who proceeded to fold it up and place it back in his pocket.

 

“You see,” Faye proclaimed in vindication. “It talked!”

 

“And it ogles,” Jet observed.

 

“I thought it was looking at her funny,” Spike concurred.

 

“Hey, are you morons even listening,” exclaimed Faye. “Our coffee machine is talking to us. Doesn't that bother you?”

 

“I guess we'd better take a closer look,” said Jet. He and Spike approached the machine and peered down at it quizzically.

 

“Hey, quit breathing on me,” the machine complained. “You're steaming up my jug.”

 

“I know the feeling,” muttered Faye, somehow still acutely aware that she was being watched.

 

“I know that voice,” said Spike.

 

“Yeah,” said Jet. “It sounds like the bounty head we, or should I say you just lost, Lenny “Alias” Graham.”

 

“The one and only,” the machine replied.

 

“Don't you mean `the twenty three and only'?” Spike quipped, referring to the deceased dubious past.

 

“Good one, Scruffy,” Graham scoffed. “You're lucky I don't scald you, flushing me into space like that.”

 

“Sorry `bout that,” Spike said insincerely.

 

“Sorry? I was blown screaming into the freezing void and all you can say is `sorry'? Why I oughta…”

 

“You reap what you sow, Lenny,” preached Jet. “That's what you get for relieving trusting old ladies of their money and disappearing into thin air.”

 

“Oh, the bitter irony,” Spike smirked.

 

“This guy just keeps getting funnier,” Graham sneered.

 

Faye barged between Jet and Spike. “What are you doing in there,” she asked, leaning down and staring angrily into her own distorted reflection in the glass jug. “What do you want from us?”

 

“Lean over a little further and I'll tell you.”

 

Faye frowned quizzically at Graham's unsavoury tone of voice. Then, realising what was going on, she leapt back and receded behind Spike and Jet. Once she was confident nobody was looking, she took a moment to pull up her top.

 

“So, how do you suppose he got in there,” Spike asked of Jet.

 

“Not sure,” Jet replied.

 

“The Bebop's electrical and computer systems are based upon a dynamic network of relays and memory nodes that is not entirely dissimilar to the human brain. Perhaps the subject's brain waves were impressed upon - or copied to, if you will - those systems during a moment of extreme emotional and physical stress, via the faulty wiring in the cargo bay door, and from there into the circuitry of the coffee machine.”

 

Jet, Spike and Faye looked to the source of the explanation: Edward, who was stood grinning in the kitchen doorway.

 

“Just an educated guess,” she beamed, and then skipped away.

 

“That would have been my guess,” said Spike.

 

“Mine too,” replied Jet.

 

“Fine,” Faye huffed. “So we know how he got in there. Now, how do we get him out?”

 

“Hey, who said I wanted to leave,” said Graham. “I'm always up for breakfast with a beautiful girl.”

 

“Nyeuuhh…” Faye shuddered.

 

“Nobody is staying in my coffee machine,” said Jet. “Now, let's see here… maybe if we just turn it off…” He reached out and plucked the cable from the electrical socket.

 

There was a brief pause as the bounty hunters waited to see if there was still anyone inhabiting the appliance.

 

“Do you think he's… gone,” Faye asked tentatively.

 

“I don't know. Why don't you ask him,” Graham replied.

 

“Damn it,” Jet lamented, and reinserted the power cable. “Anyone else care to come up with something?”

 

Spike thought for a moment, and then leaned over towards the machine. “Hey Lenny,” he said. “Can you see a light?”

 

“Um yeah, I guess,” Graham replied suspiciously.

 

“Move into it, Lenny,” Spike said softly. “Move into the light.”

 

Faye and Jet looked at Spike as if he had just crawled out of Ein's litter box.

 

“I saw it on a talk show once,” he explained. They seemed less than convinced. Spike sighed impatiently, “Hey Lenny, have you moved into the light yet?”

 

“Nope, sorry,” Graham replied. “I tried, but I think it was just the water dispenser.”

 

Spike stood upright and scratched his head. “You know,” he began. “Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. I mean, I know he's stuck in a coffee machine, but that is still Lenny Graham, right?”

 

“Oh boy.” Jet could see where this was going.

 

“Couldn't we just hand him over to the police as he is and claim the bounty?”

 

“Sure Spike,” said Jet. “But before we drop by a police station, why don't you take moment to think about how that conversation would go?”

 

Spike returned Jet's stare as he ran through his idea in his mind. He didn't have anything to add after that.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Faye growled, and stormed towards the door.

 

“Where are you going,” Spike enquired.

 

“I'm going to get a crow bar so I can smash the damned thing.”

 

“Hey, I paid good money for that machine,” Jet protested, and followed Faye out of the kitchen with a look of concern plastered across his already seasoned face.

 

“Well, it looks like it's just you and me, Scruffy,” Graham observed.

 

“Looks that way,” Spike replied.

 

“So, what do you want to do now? I spy? Twenty questions? C'mon, I'm bored stupid in here.”

 

“Now,” said Spike. “I make a cup of coffee.”

 

“Great,” Graham groaned. “I can see life with you guys is gonna be a real riot.”

 

“This is nothing,” Spike smirked. “You should see us on a Sunday morning.”

 

Graham sighed. “I shoulda just gone to hell.”

 

Spike opened the cupboard above the machine and reached for the coffee grounds. Then he stopped. Remembering the rather unpleasant-tasting residue he had received as a bonus along with his last cup of coffee, Spike decided now would be a good time to change the filter. He closed the cupboard, and then unlocked the hatch in the top of the coffee machine revealing the soiled filter within.

 

“Ah, damn it that's bright,” Graham complained. “Hey, what's going o…”

 

Spike removed the filter from the machine, only to find that it was caked in a thick black goo. Cocking an eyebrow in disgust, he took it over to the waste disposal shoot, placed it inside and pressed the jettison button. This caused a door to draw closed across the opening. There was a brief hiss, and then the door opened once again to reveal an empty hollow.

 

Minutes later, Jet and Faye returned to the kitchen, still debating the pros and cons of destroying the Bebop's one and only coffee machine. Both ceased their bickering upon seeing Spike sipping from a mug of fresh coffee.

 

“Where did you get that,” Faye asked longingly, her crowbar-laden arm falling limp at her side.

 

“Made it,” Spike replied succinctly.

 

“You made it,” Jet echoed. “But what about you know who?”

 

“Gone.”

 

“Well, how did you get rid of him,” asked Faye.

 

“I changed the filter.”

 

Faye's shoulders sank in resignation. “Of course,” she droned.

 

“So uh, what did you do with him,” Jet asked, giving the coffee machine a once-over.

 

Spike glanced over at the waste disposal.

 

“You flushed him into space,” said Jet. “Again?”

 

“Ashes to ashes,” Spike replied.

 

“Dunce to dunce,” said Faye.

 

“You do realise you've condemned him to an eternity drifting through space all alone,” Jet informed Spike.

 

Faye folded her arms. “Lucky bastard.”

 

“Feel free to join him, Faye.” Spike snapped.

 

“Woah, sounds like everyone needs a little coffee,” said Jet, stepping in before things really turned ugly. “Maybe I should brew us all a fresh pot.”

 

“Well you better had, because I'm definitely not doing it,” said Faye, stepping out of the kitchen. “I'm not going near another coffee machine ever again.”

 

“Have fun with your new buddy, Jet,” Spike added as he followed suit.

 

Having been left alone, Jet set about preparing the pot of coffee he had promised his associates. Once the initial preparations were made, Jet pressed the start button and the newly cleansed machine set to its task.

 

A thought occurred to him. Sidling over to the door, Jet peered out at Spike and Faye. Both were in the sitting room, patiently awaiting their share of the precious black liquid. Convinced that neither was within earshot, Jet leaned back inside the room and tentatively approached the toaster that sat alongside the coffee machine. Slowly he leaned down and, peering into the two long rectangular openings in its lustrous casing, he said quietly, “Hello?”

 

***

 

Who y'gonna call?