Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ In a Sentimental Mood ❯ Chapter 10

Spike's foot was on the first step when the entire mountain shook. Only grabbing the railing with both hands kept him on his feet. Galen wasn't so lucky. He was thrown forward to the floor, hitting his head on the corner of his command chair. His cane skidded to a halt next to the pile of broken chair. The gash across his forehead bled into his eyes and he wiped it away with his sleeve.

 

“What the hell was that?” Spike demanded. He hurried to the control panel just in time to see the grid on the screen flicker and disappear.

 

“The Automatic Defense Grid must have gone out,” Galen said. “Help me up so I can see what happened.”

 

Spike lifted his father into the command chair, shocked by the light weight concealed beneath the baggy clothes. He grabbed a stray rag and fashioned a make-shift bandage for the wound, tying it on like a headband to keep the blood from obscuring Galen's vision.

 

“The northwest cannon's out. Must've been hit from behind.” He grabbed the virtual glasses and tossed them to Spike. “Keep those rocks away from us while I check some things.”

 

Donning the glasses, Spike picked up the gun and began firing at the incoming meteorites. Most were small and disappeared with one hit.

 

“These puny things couldn't have made that much impact,” Spike observed.

 

“No,” Galen agreed. “My readings indicate a much larger hit a mile away. A fragment rebounded and hit the cannon. I'll have to reboot and realign it before the grid's operational again. Just let me check something first.”

 

Spike could hear the fingers dance across the keyboard even if all he could see was rocky, pitted earth. He shot down a few more human-size boulders and scanned the sky for more. A bright twinkle caught his attention high overhead. He started to raise his hand to shield eyes, then remembered he wasn't actually standing on the surface and let it drop.

 

“This is bad,” Galen mumbled. “This is really bad.”

 

“Does it have to do with the burning rock heading straight for us?” Spike asked. He risked slipping the glasses down his nose to look at Galen. Immediately regretting it once he saw the panicked look on his father's face. He slid the glasses back up. “How bad is it?”

 

“It's going to take at least twenty minutes to get that cannon up and running again. That meteor will be here in fifteen.”

 

“So I shoot it down with the other cannons,” Spike said hopefully. “Piece of cake.”

 

“Not exactly.” Galen sighed and scrubbed the drying blood from his face. “That particular meteor is approximately a half mile wide and made of ferrite. Pure iron. My lasers would barely make a dent in something that big and solid.” He paused and Spike heard more typing and shuffling at the computer. “What kind of firepower does your bird have?”

 

“She's got plenty when it counts.”

 

“It counts now,” Galen said. “Something this massive hitting Earth could cover the whole continent in dust for years. If you could fly up close enough to at least break the thing in two…maybe three pieces. Then I think I could handle the rest.”

 

“You got it,” Spike said, dropping the gun and glasses in the command seat. Galen grabbed his sleeve.

 

“Here. Take these blasted things with you.” He held out the battered pack of cigarettes. “I think I'm sick enough from them already.”

 

Spike took the pack but gave his father a quizzical look. Galen wouldn't meet his eyes. Spike's intuition was trying to tell him something, but the immediate situation didn't allow him time to dwell on it. He put the pack in his pocket and ran up the stairs to the Swordfish.

 

“There's no activity now,” Galen's voice said from the radio. “You should be free and clear once I pop the hatch.”

 

Spike latched the door and started the engine. The sound reverberated off the metal walls. “Ready whenever you are.”

 

There was a pop of pressurized air and Spike lifted off, pointing the Swordfish into the sunlight streaming through the hole above. The brightness temporarily blinded him and he had to squint at the radar to keep the ship on course.

 

“So, Spike,” Galen said conversationally. “I didn't get a chance to ask you anything about yourself. Do you have a family? Am I a…grandpa?”

 

Spike couldn't help but smile. “No. No wife or kids. Never really fit into my lifestyle.”

 

“That's too bad. No matter how distant or dysfunctional, having a family is important. It's what gives you strength and the will to go on when things get tough.”

 

“I'm beginning to understand that,” Spike mumbled to himself.

 

The burning meteor loomed directly ahead. Spike armed his laser and aimed a blast right in the middle of the oncoming rock. The stream hit, but only a small fragment was blown from it. He had to bank hard to avoid flying through the flames and being pulled in by the iron's magnetism.

 

“Son of a…”

 

“What? What is it, Spike? Is something wrong?”

 

“You said this thing was a half mile wide,” Spike said, adjusting the Swordfish's angle to see better. “You forgot to mention it's three times that in length!”

 

Spike fired relentlessly at the meteor, finally breaking pieces the size of the Bebop apart from the hard material. He circled round and round, trying to find weak spots to target. As they neared the Earth, laser fire accompanied his attacks and cleared much of the debris away.

 

“Damn! I'm overheating!” Spike broke from his attack maneuver, his laser refusing to fire. The meteorite was getting dangerously close to Galen's hideout. “It may be close, but I might be able to squeeze out one more shot in a minute or two.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” Galen said. “You did better than I hoped. Some of these pieces may hit, but the destruction should be contained to the meteor zone. But you better fly out of range just to be safe.”

 

Spike pulled up and headed for clear space.

 

“I know I'm not your favorite person right now, Spike. But I'd like to ask one small favor?”

 

“I'm not telling the Syndicate where you are or about your lasers.”

 

“It's not that. I'd like you to put a flower on your mother's grave for me. A white lily. You can do it or not, just don't tell me `no'. I'd like to think it'll be done.”

 

Something in his father's voice made Spike pause. He looked down at the speeding meteorite and realized what was wrong with the scene. There was no laser fire coming from the ground. A rock the size of a skyscraper was heading straight for Galen's mountain, and he wasn't fighting back.

 

“What's wrong with the cannons?” Spike asked, banking hard to return to Earth. He dodged the smaller pieces trailing behind the burning meteor and tried to get his own laser to respond. The display screen would only blink in warning that it hadn't had enough time to recharge.

 

“The cannons are fine,” Galen replied.

 

“What's going on?” Spike demanded. “Answer me, dammit!”

 

There was a pause long enough for Spike to wonder if his father had turned off his radio. Then he spoke, the reception broken up by the closeness of the magnetized iron rock. “Take care of yourself, Spike. Even though I'm sure you had a hard life, don't let it discourage you from living it to the fullest. And don't dwell on the past. You probably would have hated growing up a scientist's kid anyway. I just wish there was more I could have given you.”

 

The rest was nearly obscured by static, but Spike was able to make out four words before the meteorite hit. The shock wave and blast of dust and rock drove Spike to fly higher, away from the large hole where a mountain had been just seconds before. He circled the area, unable to believe his eyes as the mushroom cloud slowly dissipated in the wind above the enormous crater. The Swordfish's fuel indicator beeped a warning and Spike was forced to break away from the destruction to head to the nearest town.

 

Galen's final words echoed in his mind, clearer than the broken broadcast his ears heard. “I love you, son.”

 

Spike wiped his eyes to clear his vision. “I love you too, dad.”