Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Play Me Some More of that Old Blues ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Cowboy Bebop

Title: Play Me Some More of that Old Jazz

Spoilers: Real Folk Blues 1 2, KOHD (the Movie)

AN: If you haven't seen the movie, (or the series! Eeep!), you'll miss a lot of what's going on in this fic, in fact, much of what happens in this story is based `almost' exclusively on events from the film. In any event, if you haven't seen the movie, that what the heck are you doing reading this humble tale? Get the hell out and rent that bad boy! When your done, come on back and see me.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Prologue

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

There was a hum.

 

The sound was almost lost within the cavernous space of the room. Soft lights played on the surfaces of new machinery, green glass, and pale flesh that had been barred from the sun for too long. Two men stood in the room, speaking in hushed tones while examining the readout on a display at the foot of a long cylinder, approximately chest high and beaded with water droplets. The shorter of the two men leaned against the device, unconcerned about the moisture that soaked through the heavy cloth of his suit.

 

“Any reaction in the beta group?”

 

The taller man shook his head. “Nothing. Like I told you before, the samples are useless in that state. If we had a viable batch…”

 

“We don't, at least not yet. Look, I thought you said you had some results for me. Mr. Caulder will be very unhappy if I don't bring him something.”

 

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, the taller man tapped at the screen of his display, pulling up a strange set of images. “I didn't have time to fully analyze this before you arrived, but I did notice something a bit unusual in sample B. I wanted to examine it further but…”

 

“Show me.”

 

Bending to his task, the tall man tapped away for a moment again before stepping away from the screen. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, as you know, sample B was injected with a culture taken from the alpha subject. In this instance, I chose to stimulate the culture with a small electrical pulse. I set it for three-second intervals. The other samples in the series were placed under steady current. We already know that heat no longer seems to trigger a response. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that the alpha subject is deceased. Apparently when the body entered into rigor it caused the devices to revert into an inactive state, effectively deactivating…”

 

“This is irrelevant, please tell me about sample B.”

 

Clearing his throat, the other man rubbed his neck again. “The, ah, the subject, sample…. sample B, it seems, is showing a reaction to the intermittent electrical pulse. It…. well, see for yourself.” The taller man led his companion to a stout microscope. The entire device was enclosed in a sealed environment; the dials were operated by typing commands into a computer relay system. Once the system was adjusted, the shorter man leaned toward the microscope, holding back his tie with one hand to avoid obstructing his view. What he saw caused a small gasp to escape him.

 

“They're dividing.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 1

 

Earth: Anchorage, Alaska

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

Long, tapered fingers wrapped delicately around the nubbed handle of a Glock 30 handgun. Red lips parted to blow away an errant strand of dark hair. That done, they turned upward into a half-smile. Jade eyes glared smokily from under charcoal lashes, showing none of the humor that the lips betrayed.

 

“So, are you planning to come along peaceable-like, or do I need to blow a hole through your kneecap first?”

 

The shaking man stared back at the woman behind him. Only moments before, he had asked her how much, and she had smiled sweetly, rubbing his arm. Next thing he knew, there was a glint of dull metal and she went from evening entertainment to nightmare in a heartbeat! Licking his lips, the terrified man shifted his eyes around, looking for any escape at all. Unfortunately, he seemed to lack severely in the rescue department.

 

“L-look, lady, I, I don't know what this is about! Last I heard, prostitution was still legalized on this planet!”

 

The woman smiled icily again, sighting her weapon. “Oh, it is- so I've heard. Unfortunately, murder is still considered a crime. Now, don't make me repeat my question.”

 

The man blinked, the fear inside changing to terror. “You're, you're a b-bounty hunter?”

 

Faye grinned menacingly. “I prefer `Angel of Justice' myself, but- yeah, whatever. Now come on!” Reaching out, she snagged his arm. With a burst of adrenaline, the bounty-head ripped away from her, ducking as she fired off a shot.

 

“Hey, hey, get back here dammit! I need gas for my ship you little swine!” Snarling fiercely, Faye tightened the grip on her gun and ran after him.

 

.

.

.

.

The sound of water lapping against the hull of the Bebop was a balm to Jet. He enjoyed his work, especially when it paid the bills. But all the time spent in space tended to wear at him after a while. The feel of earth beneath his feet, the sound of water and the call of sea birds, these were the things that his heart ached for.

 

Squatting by his Hammerhead, Jet rubbed absently at the stiffness in his leg. Six months, six months and the pain still hadn't completely left. Hefting a wrench, the bounty hunter loosened a dented side panel from the old craft. The panel made a hollow clunk as he dropped it to the deck plates. Examining the wires, prongs, and tubes within the site, Jet grunted. “Damn, I knew it was a blown coil! She better get back here soon or…”

 

The sound of a light craft could suddenly be heard outside. In moments, the Bebop shuddered as the Redtail made its standard landing on the deck. Jet stood painfully as the outer hatch rolled aside to reveal a battered Faye. His brow went up as he examined the yellow of her collar, which was the only color visible above the sheet of mud that covered her from the chest down. “Did you get him? Or did you decide to visit one of those fancy spas? You know, you can't just spend money indiscriminately Faye…”

 

“Oh stuff it Jet! Yeah, I got him! And if you weren't such an ass…”

 

“I'd know that you fell into Ship Creek in the process.”

 

Faye merely glared. Then, digging into her pocket, she produced a money card, which she handed to Jet along with a healthy gob of rancid mud. “Enjoy. Oh, and I already took out my share, along with a healthy tip for my troubles, and don't you dare ask for it back!” Jet stared at the mud in his hand with open disgust. Then, shrugging, he wiped it off on an oil rag hanging at his waist. Disposing of the rag in a nearby wastebin, Jet followed Faye into the main part of the ship. “Don't sit on the couch in your muddy clothes, that stink would never leave!”

 

Faye looked over her shoulder scornfully. “You don't have to warn ME! Fortunately for you I'm not like Spi…” Her voice choked as she bit her lip. With a watery intake of breath, she started walking again. “I'm gonna take a shower. I'm really hungry, think you could fix supper early tonight?”

 

Jet looked after her as she disappeared from sight. His mouth formed a hard line as he looked at the money card again. Sighing, he slid it into his pocket and turned back to the docking bay, his boots thunking heavily on the metal floor. Six months, and the pain still hadn't left.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Location Unknown

 

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

The thin form was encased in tiny bubbles. Occasionally, a couple would lethargically roll upward, a miniature pocket of air that would rise to the surface of the tepid water, and burst, soundlessly, at the top. The body hung, long wires trailing from the scarred flesh to connect with a bank of monitors. Each one gave a different readout. Each one showed minimal lifesigns. Minimal, but not absent. The tall man walked up to the cylinder that contained the suspended individual. Glancing once at the monitors, he jotted a few notes on his pad before checking the connecting wires at the back of the devices. Assured that they were all firmly in place, he continued on, never once looking at the body beyond the glass.

 

Within its cocoon of fluid and glass, the slender body slept. Calloused fingers floated slack, each one tipped with a small metal cap. A scalp that had once boasted a healthy head of hair was now shaved completely, replaced by a forest of bristling needles. Nothing of modesty remained on the naked form, save for the metal and rubber that encased the flesh, monitoring its systems, and keeping it alive. From the outside, `alive' seemed a relative term. Blood still flowed, the heart still beat within the chest. The devices imbedded in the brain still registered electrical activity. But to an observer, that was all the activity there was. No breath lifted the chest, there was no need as oxygen was provided through an outside source. In fact, the lungs had been disabled to prevent any movement whatsoever. To anyone looking on, the body appeared dead. However, this was not the case. Something yet remained. It would manifest itself as a miniscule eye twitch, a tiny movement that was written off as random electrical stimuli. But the truth of the matter was far more interesting. Behind the lids, beneath the cloud of paralyzing drugs, a ragged voice was screaming.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Faye stared hard, not noticing that the tip of her tongue was protruding slightly from between her lips. Her hair was soaked, and long, wet trails skittered down the smooth surfaces of her skin. She shifted a bit, but did not stand as she continued to concentrate on the reflection of light on her gun. She had come into her room, once her shower ended, with the intention of wiping down the muddied weapon. Apparently someone had beaten her to it, for the Glock shone with its fresh application of oil.

 

Jet.

 

This wasn't the first time either. Ever since… she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. It was just his way of dealing. They all had their ways. Jet brooded, trimmed his trees, and did what he could to make her know he understood. For her part, she went out every time there was a bounty, regardless of how small, and kicked ass. Ruefully, Faye regarded her soiled boots in the corner where she'd tossed them. Well, usually she kicked ass. Sighing, she stood to her feet, ignoring the towel that loosened from her body and slid to the floor. She felt warm; the ship was too humid. This always happened whenever they were planet bound. Combing her fingers through her hair, Faye grabbed her t-shirt and shorts. Her muddy clothes would require some work to keep the stains off. Too bad Jet couldn't have washed those too while he was at it.

 

As Faye walked to the laundry area, she found herself musing again. `Wonder where Ed is now', she thought. `Wonder if, if she even knows…' There had been no word from the young hacker since she left the ship; she and Ein had vanished into the desert. On silent agreement, neither Faye nor Jet made any attempt to locate her. After all, Faye herself was the one to suggest she go find herself. “Fine time for her to actually listen to me.” Faye said aloud, shifting her garments to one arm while she slid the curtain to the laundry room aside. Digging through the various cleaners and pre-treaters Jet kept beneath the sink, Faye finally opted for the unlabeled semi-clear jug half-filled with mystery liquid Jet claimed was the best for getting out stains. Unscrewing the cap, Faye coughed at the noxious odor that wafted up from the depths of the jug. The fluid inside was a murky white, shot through with freckles of sandy grit. With her typical delicacy, Faye dumped a splash on top of her clothes. Regarding her sodden garments for a moment, she upended the rest of the contents into the washer.

 

As her clothes slogged and sloshed in the washing unit, Faye leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes half-closed with the comforting sounds of water agitating. It was still too warm. It had been warm that day too…

.

.

.

 

“Where are you going? Why are you going?”

.

.

.

“I have been seeing the past in one eye…”

.

.

.

“You told me once that the past didn't matter...”

.

.

.

“I thought I was watching a dream that I would never wake up from…”

.

.

.

“Are you telling me you're going to just throw your life away?!”

.

.

.

“I'm not going there to die.”

.

.

.

“Don't tell me stuff like that now!”

.

.

.

“I'm going there to see if I'm really alive.”

.

.

.

Faye's head jerked up sharply with the ghostly report of a gun. The sound echoed in her mind, blending with the washer as it clicked into the spin cycle. Her lower lip trembled slightly, and she sucked it between her teeth to still the motion.

 

“why do you have to go…”

 

Faye winced as her teeth clenched, cutting into her lip. Kicking away from the bulkhead, she flipped open the washer, not waiting for it to finish emptying itself of dank water. Grabbing the slippery mass, she threw it roughly into the dryer, remembering to adjust the settings for vinyl. The metal button on her top made a familiar clank as the dryer started spinning. Rubbing her still-damp hair, Faye left the small room. Jet wasn't in the living room when she plopped down on the couch. A note on the stout metal table said he'd gone to town to get a new coil for the Hammerhead. Faye grimaced, reading between the lines. What he really meant was that he needed the fresh air, such as it was, and that he was going to barter at a junkyard for a used coil and probably use up what little cash they had left. Faye crumpled the note, hating the feeling of failure that ran through her. “Might as well see if there's any food left.” She murmured, striding purposefully towards the kitchen. As if she didn't know the answer to that question already.

.

.

.

.

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

Author's Notes: Ship creek is a real place in Anchorage Alaska. I went fishing there once or twice, and I can tell you, it is a muddy hellhole. The mud at the bottom layer is thick and dark, and about the consistency of clay. On top of that, there's a good foot, foot and a half of congealed silt that makes you feel like you're walking through chocolate pudding. And it smells like a mixture of rancid fish, dead fish, and fish ass. Of course, the description Spike gave for the odor of the medicine he fixed for Jet in “Toys in the Attic” fits too.