Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Play Me Some More of that Old Blues ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

 

Chapter 11

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The tapping of keys created a feeling of strange nostalgia.

 

Jet couldn't stop staring at the girl. She had actually grown a little since he'd seen her last, though she was just as wiry as before. She also claimed it was her birthday… her second of the year apparently, for they'd celebrated one for her two weeks before they'd gone to Earth… Jet paused, shaking his head. Well, she was either fourteen or fifteen depending on how you looked at it. Ein barked, the other half of the equation, sitting there bold as day. His fur was looking a bit unkempt, but little else had changed. Ed giggled at something on her computer, her fingers never ceasing their movement. It was incredible. Here he was, thinking he'd lost the last of his crew, and suddenly he's saddled with two characters he never thought he'd see again.

 

“Jet person, Faye-Faye not gone!”

 

“Huuhhgh?” Jet sat up, wondering if the child had developed the ability to read his mind. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I don't know where Faye is. Nobody here seems to have seen anything.”

 

Ed giggled again. “Faye-Faye not here! Gone, gone to a distant wooorldd!!!” She cried, raising her voice dramatically. Jet scratched his eyebrow. Trying to understand Ed could sometimes be as complicated as flying a toaster.

 

“Ed, what are you babbling about?”

 

Ed actually paused her typing to look up at Jet through the lenses of her goggles. “Faye- Faye was taken away! Ed found sneeaaky evidence! See?”

 

Jet peered over Ed's shoulder and stared at the computer screen. At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. It was video clip of some kind, but the quality was poor. It looked like it had been recorded from a security camera. A haze of static passed across the screen, and Jet squinted, as though it would help him see through it better. “Ed, what is this?”

 

“Shh, watch, watch!”

 

The static cleared, and Jet gasped.

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The young man breathed softly under the white sheet. His hair was a dark ashy brown, and fell in gentle waves about his face. When open, his eyes were gleaming orbs of pewter touched with gold, and framed by thick lashes. But his eyes had not opened in three years. Skin that once was deeply tanned had grown pale. Hands that had once been strong were now limp, and lay by his side. The room he was in was fantastic, adorned with luxuries that most people could never dream to own. The windows were large, and light was allowed to pour through them. However, no amount of light could remove the somber feel of this room. In contrast to the opulence on every side, the bed that held its single occupant was like a giant metal spider. Devices of every kind pumped fluids, monitored brain activity, controlled temperature, restricted muscle degradation, and kept the body alive by feeding it liquids and oxygen at regular intervals. In spite of this, there was no life. Had the doctors had their way, the man would have been buried and mourned over two years ago.

 

But the doctors didn't know everything.

 

There was a movement, and a hand rose to caress the smooth forehead.

 

“I almost don't dare hope… but, but I think we may actually have something this time. The new subject… she might just be the key…”

 

A quiet knock interrupted the fevered words.

 

Mr. Caulder rose to his feet. “Come in.”

 

The slender form of Mathis slid into the room, silent as a shadow. “I'm sorry sir, I don't mean to disturb you.”

 

Caulder gestured for them to retreat to the balcony. Once outside, the older man nodded his head. “You have an update?”

 

Mathis smoothed his tie. “They've just finished phase one of the tests. The initial results look very good. Dr. Wilde assures me we can expect phase two trials to start as early as tomorrow.”

 

Caulder's face remained stone smooth as he stared out over the city. “And the subject, how is she?”

 

Mathis shrugged. “They've moved her out of the lab, as per your instructions. I still don't quite understand…”

 

Mr. Caulder turned. “It's not for you to understand, just obey.” He turned to the distant vista again. “What of the other subject, B? Have any more tests been conducted on him?”

 

Mathis tugged at his tie, shifting his feet minutely. “I'm sorry to report, Subject B died late last night. As you know, his injuries were quite severe… he never fully recovered.”

 

Mr. Caulder looked at his hands. He seemed lost in thought, and Mathis was about to speak when the older man looked up. “Thank you for your report, you may leave.”

 

Closing his mouth smartly, Mathis dipped his head and exited.

 

Remaining behind on the balcony, Caulder rubbed one hand over his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he put his back to the view and returned inside.

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Spike lifted his eyes to the sky. For a moon, the view wasn't too bad… till you looked down. Sighing, he pushed through the double doors of the bar. The interior was dusty, as were the men occupying the place. A few eyes swiveled his way, but most of the clientele followed the local practice of `mind your own business'.

 

The bartender was filling a glass when Spike leaned against the bar. As soon as he was finished with his current customer, the bartender threw his cleaning rag over his shoulder and walked over. “Help you?”

 

Spike, remembering his sensitive digestion, passed on the whiskey and asked for a beer instead. In moments, the cool glass was set before him. Spike took a tentative sip, spilling a couple of drops on the rough surface of the bar. Hunkered over his drink, he rubbed his hand over his chin, grimacing at the prickly stubble. The near silence in the bar was unnerving. Granted, it was the middle of the day, and there were very few people inside…

 

Spike looked up as another customer entered, brushing a layer of dust from his shaggy hair. “Barkeep, set me up!” He announced as he strode to the bar. Unsmiling, the man behind the counter grabbed a tall glass and filled it with a heavy ale. Apparently the guy was a regular. “Thank you my good man!” Said the customer with a grin. He hefted the glass, peering through the rising bubbles. “A fine brew as always my friend!” The barkeeper grunted, shaking his head. The other customers in the bar kept to themselves, obviously used to the loud man. Not getting the attention he was striving for from the harried barkeep, the customer turned his attention to the only other person at the bar… Spike.

 

“Hey, how's it going pal? Name's Hollis, Bill Hollis.” He stuck out a calloused and meaty hand. Spike shook it, squinting at the too firm grip. Pulling his hand free, he shook it to bring back the feeling. He realized Hollis was speaking to him.

 

“… ill some time while I waited for the shipment to arrive so I decided to stop in here.”

 

Spike nodded, which was obviously encouragement for Hollis to continue… which he did with exuberance.

 

“Man, you'd think we were the hub of the universe with all the shipments I got coming in these days!”

 

Grunting, Spike took another sip of his beer. After several seconds, he realized Hollis wasn't speaking anymore. Glancing over, he saw that the other man was studying him closely.

 

“You know, I can't recall seeing you here before… you're new here, aren't you?”

 

Spike raised his brows. “Why would you say that?”

 

Hollis smiled. “Well, first off, you look like someone who just escaped from a refugee camp,” Spike nearly choked on his sip, “and, second, you're trying to chug down that swill that Barney over there tries to pass off as beer. Nobody here drinks that crap.”

 

Barney the barkeep half-smiled at Hollis, but made no comment.

 

“So, tell me I'm wrong.”

 

Spike set down his glass, swiveling to rest his back against the bar. “Nope, got it in one.”

 

Hollis grinned. “Boy, you must have something you're running from to park your ass all the way out here!” Still laughing, Hollis ordered another round, plus one for Spike.

 

Twenty minutes later, Spike was surprised to find himself still talking to the older man. It wasn't normal for him. However, there was something, something, painful… about the thought of going back to that dried up hotel room. The conversation wasn't intense, just comments on the weather and the people Hollis knew. He shared about himself freely, talking about his business at the, as he put it, `best, and only, shipping-receiving facility on Pandora.' Nor did Hollis pressure Spike for details about himself. Instead, he did most of the talking. Ordinarily, Spike would have found some way to slip away quietly from such conversation… like faking a heart attack or something. This time, though, there was something so… welcome, about listening to the guy talk. Maybe he reminded Spike of Jet. Maybe the bounty hunter was feeling lonely. `Nah', he thought, `It's probably just whatever residual drugs are still running through my system.'

 

About that time, Spike's stomach decided to remind him that beer was no substitute for food. Even Hollis stopped talking as he heard the rumble. Smiling sheepishly, Spike gestured for his tab.

 

“Guess it's time for me to head on outta here.” He said, standing, slightly wobbly, to his feet.

 

Hollis stood as well, instinctively reaching out to steady Spike on his feet.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Hollis nodded, waiting while Spike paid for his beers.

 

As the young man turned to go, Hollis held out his hand. “Wait.” Spike paused, watching as Hollis rubbed the back of his thick neck. Bill looked up at him, seeming to debate what he was going to say. Spike was just about to start walking again when Hollis spoke.

 

“Listen, I know you really have no idea who I am. Hell, I have no clue as to who you are… but… you want to come over for supper?”

 

The Déjà vu made Spike dizzy for a second.

 

“Listen, I don't know a lot about you, other than the fact that you seem to be a crack shot. And you don't know anything about me other than my name…”

 

Spike smiled. “Why not?”

 

Hell, a free meal was a free meal.

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Jet stared, trying like hell to suppress the sudden tightness in his chest.

 

Ed replayed the video, per Jet's instructions. He leaned close to the screen as the action played. The images were small, grainy, and shot through with ribbons of static. But he could see figures. He could recognize them.

 

The camera showed a man in a long coat running across the rooftop of the Red Dragon's headquarters. He was firing a pair of guns, dodging shots from the syndicate members. A bullet hit his shoulder, spinning him around. He kept his feet… somehow, and continued with deadly purpose. An explosion whitened the screen for a moment, and when it cleared, the rooftop was shambles. The syndicate men had backed off, and now the lone gunman stood facing only one other adversary.

 

The two exchanged blows, one with gun, and one with sword. The fight was fierce, and very short.

 

The man with the sword fell.

 

The other man, wearing the long coat, hesitantly began walking down the long flight of stairs. His stubborn will was the only thing keeping him upright at this point.

 

Halfway down, the man looked up. His face was pretty clear from this angle, Jet recognized the expression. Though he couldn't hear any audio, Jet knew what the man said. Then, with terrible finality, the stubbornness bled away, and the strong legs folded.

 

Jet rubbed his eyes, disturbed at the moistness he found there. He looked over at Ed. “Run the…” he paused to clear the roughness from his throat. “Run the video forward to 7999.886.”

 

Ed complied, and the figures on the feed suddenly began zipping around like insects… all but the man on the stairs. When the video reached the desired point, Ed returned it to the normal speed. The syndicate members were beginning to split up. They were seeing to the wounded members who were still alive. A couple went up to the body at the top of the stairs.

 

Nobody went near the figure in the long coat.

 

Suddenly, off to the side, there was a blaze of light as a ship burst on the scene. Already shell-shocked syndicate men ran as the lead ship laid down a scattering of cover fire. In moments, the roof was cleared.

 

A dozen figures in black outfits jumped to the roof, making a beeline to the stairs.

 

They grouped around the body for a few seconds, then turned, rushing back to the second ship. The body was with them.

 

Moments later, they were gone.

 

Ed stopped the video, and Jet leaned back, his eyes raw. A blistering emotion was running through him.

 

“Black suits…”

 

Ed glanced over questioningly as Jet muttered, half under his breath.

 

“He said, she was taken by men… in black suits…”

 

His eyes burning with intensity. He turned to Ed, putting one hand on her shoulder. “You knew this had something to do with Faye… didn't you.”

 

The girl shrugged, for once at a loss.

 

Jet turned introspective again. He was once a cop, dammit! Wild leaps like this were the sort of thing he'd trained AGAINST doing! The process of investigation was methodical. You looked at all the facts, all the clues. You build a picture of what was the most likely scenario based on the evidence in hand.

 

Jet sighed. But he was lying to himself if he denied gut reaction. Any cop walking a beat would tell you that gut instinct had saved his or her life at least once.

 

Still, just because men in black suits had taken Spike's body, didn't mean they were the same men in black suits that had accosted Faye. Besides, even if they were, it didn't answer the question of… why?

 

“Ed, play that part where the ships first appear again.”

 

“Okay-dokey spaghetti-okey!”

 

She hit a few keys, and the video began to play two seconds before the ships burst on the scene.

 

“Okkaaayy.. stop, there!”

 

The video stilled. Frozen in space, one of the ships filled half the screen.

 

“Ed, can you enlarge it at all, bring out some of the details maybe?”

 

“Edward is on the job!!” The girl tapped furiously, slowly pulling the image from its bed of static. Smart programming aided the hacker in identifying certain parts of the ship that had been obscured by camera distortions, but not everything could be identified. Jet leaned closer to the screen. “Can you clear it up any more?”

 

“Ed tried, the camera was too staticy.”

 

Jet nodded. “It's ok, you did good Edward.”

 

The girl beamed as Jet continued to study the ship, looking for any markings that would identify it. Near the edge of the image, right where it went out of frame, there seemed to be… a line, or a mark. It could be a word…

 

“Can you move it forward, frame by frame?”

 

Ed complied, and the ship jerked in a stop-motion fashion as it progressed forward.

 

“There, stop it.”

 

Most of the side of the ship was visible now. Though still distorted, Jet was able to read most of the word.

 

“Machatron… damn, what's the rest of that word…”

 

Ed began typing again, her fingers flying over the keys. A smaller screen opened up in the lower corner of the computer. It was a file image of an older man.

 

“Who's that?”

 

Ed hit a few more keys, opening up a data file.

 

“Richard Caulder. Entrepreneur and president of… Mechatronics!”

 

Ed grinned.

 

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A N: Bill Hollis is as much a shock to me as he is to Spike. I honestly had no idea he would show up- or play the part I have planned for him, until he strode into the bar!