Hitchhiker On The Space Highway

Hitchhiker on the Space Highway

The girl twisted the knob with reckless abandon, shifting through static and stations without a care. Sometimes she'd stop to listen to what came through but mostly it just felt good to turn the little knob.

It had ridges all around which enabled her to grip it with her thumb and pointer finger with ease. All too often these days the buttons to push were smooth and seamlessly integrated into screens. How boring.

This little knob was a relic of the past. A past long forgotten and almost wholly abandoned.

Even here on Earth, a land where stubborn survivors repurposed and utilized everything available, it wasn't a commonplace bit of equipment. She'd scavenged the entire radio unit from a military base that had been heavily damaged by meteors. There were a lot of modern technological scraps on the base, but much more interesting to her were the devices stuffed into a small room at the end of an underground tunnel.

There had been all sorts of cords and cables and knobs and dials and other bits and pieces down there. Dust coated everything inside so much that she'd coughed and coughed and coughed as she grabbed as much as she could carry in her pockets and in the satchel she made with a threadbare towel she carried with her everywhere.

The towel was getting thinner and thinner as time went by. It had been in rough shape when she'd initially taken it from the orphanage and she'd used it plenty since then. It worked to dry her off, to keep her somewhat warm in lieu of a blanket or to cushion her head as a pillow (the usage depending largely on the temperature of the planet whenever she grew tired) and it worked well to bundle up treasures when she traveled.

It had several holes these days so she knew it wouldn't hold up much longer. Nothing on Earth lasted forever and things in her life seemed especially impermanent. Adults came and went - or else she herself was the one to move along.

Uprooting her own life had become something of a pastime. There was too much to see and do and experience to stay in one place for ever and ever and ever. How dull!

Lately she'd spent a lot of time staring at the stars. She'd spent daysweeksmonths journeying from here to there on the planet. Usually on her own two feet but sometimes hitchhiking if the opportunity presented itself. That was usually dangerous though. People who gave her a lift - whether by plane, train, or automobile, or even on a boat! - they seemed to want to bring her home. Give her a place to learn and grow and live.

It was sometimes a tempting notion. But there was something inside that kept her too ansty to settle down. Too distractible to hold still. She'd tried it a time or two and it never really took.

Maybe it was because life here was so stagnant. So stale.

Life amongst the stars though...

There was a poetry to the thought.

A hunger had been slowly building within her, one which could not be sated by sustenance. She had met plenty of people here on Earth and had seen a lot of the planet in her quest for adventure and excitement. She was curious now about everywhere else. Moons, planets, asteroids, space stations... there was so much yet to discover! So many people living lives she couldn't even imagine.

"Haaaaaalloooooooo out there!" She cried into the microphone she'd recently affixed to the radio. "Testing, testing, one two THREE!" As she spoke, she spun the knob a few more times for good measure.

"Hello?" A crackling over the line. A response!

"Ahoy hoy!" She replied jubilantly. "Who goes there?!"

"Uh... who goes where? This is Love Machine, on Moon Angel. Who is this? What's your ship?" The voice answered.

"It is I! Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the 4th! Hailing from EARTH!" The girl grinned madly, though there was no video feed to project her visage outward into the universe.

"Earth? Humph. Nothing good comes from Earth." The voice muttered. "What're you doing on this line? What do you need?"

"Need? Ed wants to hitch a ride! Far away to the stars, up and up and up! Don't be afraid to come to Earth - we're mostly harmless here!"

"Ed... you sound too young to be hitchhiking. The galaxy is a pretty dangerous place, kid! Anyway I'm not about to steal some child from their home even if you're trying to run away. You mosey along back to your folks and grow up a bit more and then come looking for a way off the planet, hey? Take it from Love Machine, it's a wild wild world out here and you can't get by just on a smile. You take care now, okay?"

The radio returned to silence. Ed sat blinking in confusion. "Too young to fly to the stars? Ohh no! Edward wants to go!" She crossed her arms and crossed her legs and tried to cross her eyebrows but a serious frown was all she could manage there. "No home, no folks, no way out? No no no, this will never do! But maybe the funky love machine is right... Ed isn't prepared to leave just yet... ooooooh, Ed knows what to do though! Research and investigate and LOOK DEEPER. There's got to be good people who would want to bring Ed along on their trip around the sun. But whooooooo? Yay! Ed has a mission now! Look out, outer space! Ed is going to find her way one of these days, yup yup yup!"

Runaway

She stared at the pocket watch for hours that day.

She didn't wash the laundry. Her clothes - clean or dirty - all seemed wrong somehow. Like she'd been wearing the clothes of another woman all these years. Were these even her own fashion choices?

She didn't wash the dishes. Jet had left before breakfast and she hadn't bothered to make herself anything to eat so truthfully there were no dirty dishes to worry about. An empty sink, an empty life.

When had it begun being this tedious to live? When had she first noticed the loneliness seeping in? When had they given up on their love?

Did Jet even realize that they'd fallen apart?

She didn't think so. Then again, it had taken her until today to understand that her own unhappiness was driving her away. Away from the love she'd once bore for this man, this apartment, this shared life.

But with Jet the job always came first.

Oh, they had a roof over their head and food to eat and he was willing to buy her whatever dress or necklace or book she may want. He gave her all sorts of things to fill the hours. But nothing truly filled the void of his absence.

Not that she begrudged him his job. It was important work. It kept the streets of Ganymede cleaner and safer and all that jazz. It also kept him away for hours that often turned into days.

Had this really been the life she signed up for?

It felt wrong. She felt wrong. She wasn't herself anymore and wasn't sure when she had gotten lost in this sham of a relationship. She thought it might be killing her in fact.

And suddenly she was outside. Rain was falling falling falling to the ground but her spirits were beginning to slowly soar. What was happening? Where were her feet taking her? What was going on?!

She was running away. Escaping the comfort of the trap she'd been willing caught in for too long. Running from the shadow of a person she'd been and running towards the memory of who she'd once been. Perhaps there was still time to be that person again - or, no, that silly girl had led her into a stagnant routine. Perhaps it was time instead to be someone else. To try new things and make mistakes and grow.

She'd been a potted plant, cared for and admired. That was a fine life for some. But now she could be a wildflower - free to run rampant, unfettered and beholden to no one.

No Hero

A sultry voice drifted from the entryway of the tavern as Spike made his way in past a couple as they held open the door to leave. Slow and sensual, the voice demanded answers - not from the audience but from life itself. Gradually, the woman's inquisition rose from queries into a full throated cry of her need.

Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?

It wasn't a song Spike was familiar with but that wasn't saying much. He tended more towards blues, jazz, and instrumentals. Naturally Faye would gravitate towards powerful female ballads. Well, he couldn't fault her for it - she certainly had the vocal cords to handle the passion of the lyrics she chose.

The people who frequented the karaoke bar all thought she was a rising star. A soulful beauty with a keen brilliance that kept her churning out new songs.

Of course, Spike knew she was just rehashing music from before the Gate Accident - particularly tunes she was fairly sure had been lost since then. Ed was pretty good about scouring the interwebs for anything Faye could recall in case it had been recovered, but there was plenty that had been destroyed in those tumultuous days that only existed now thanks to Faye's recently returned memories.

She could be on her way to the top, in fact. No one knew except the Bebop crew about her personal knowledge of the actual original song writers and singers. And even then, music was often copied or remixed or bought out from the originators or whoever held ownership of the notes.

But Faye didn't bother. Maybe it was due to her own scruples. Maybe she secretly didn't want a life of fortune and fame despite bemoaning her lack thereof to her shipmates endlessly. Whatever the reason, Faye kept her singing as merely a side gig and not even a paid one at that. She seemed to relish simply showing up at a bar and wowing all the patrons.

Somewhere after midnight in my wildest fantasy... Somewhere just beyond my reach...                        There's someone reaching back for me!

Spike purposefully kept his back to the stage as he made his way to the bar, signalling for the bartender as he went. He didn't need to look to know Faye was there, reaching imploringly towards a rapt crowd, hope shining in her glimmering green eyes.

He'd been to this establishment before and recognized the buxom blond who was currently helping another lush further down the way. She looked like an airhead but she made a mean martini (Faye's favorite fancy drink) and knew that Spike liked two fingers of whiskey, neat. She also knew that he didn't care to make conversation, which was frankly a relief given how some bartenders were nosy bodies just itching to offer unasked for advice.

After she left the drink, Spike found himself staring at the wood grain of the bar. Idly he traced his pointer finger around a wet circular smear left by some previous glass of the night. What manner of person ordered a drink with ice? Something doomed to perspire onto whatever surface it was placed.

It was Callisto, after all. Sure, the moon had begun to see an influx of the female persuasion at long last, but the temperatures remained bitterly cold all year. Most folks opted for warm drinks or something served at room temp. It was a trifling thing to fixate on, but Spike liked to consider oddities and the why of them.

Up where the mountains meet the heaven above...             Out where the lightning splits the sea...                  I could swear there is someone somewhere watching me...

The allure was too much to resist. Her voice was like a siren call no matter how he tried - however feebly - to distract himself. But he was strong enough to avoid turning on his stool. He could be discreet. He could be coy. The view of Faye, clad in a ridiculous satin evening gown that clung to her curves, with a split in the bodice that plunged recklessly between her breasts to nearly her navel... That view was just as wonderful seen in the reflection of the glass behind the wall of bottles as it would have been had he stared right at her.

There was no need to give her the power here. No need to display his weakness for her charm. Indifference had been a source of strength for him since he could recall. It had been the one thing to aid him in keeping her at bay during the first months of their cohabitation on the Bebop. Later, after his triumphant return (broken and bruised and bloodied, but what's new)... It had been his indifference that made her boil.

It was a petty victory but keeping his cool when she got fired up was still something to savor. Torturing himself (and her, apparently) was childish and pointless and for some reason was still his go-to response when emotions threatened to engulf him.

Her eyes would snap fire. Her words would carve ice. More than once he'd seen her hands tremble as she fought to keep from slapping or slugging him. Yet no matter how irate he made her, he could tell she saw through his act.

It was in the curl of her lip. In the way her gaze would skitter away. In the soft sigh she'd let slip before throwing her hands in the air and stalking away.

She knew his nonsense and she liked to play the game.

Lost in reminiscence of the woman on the stage, he nearly missed when the music changed and the atmosphere of the tavern shifted to correspond to the upbeat tempo of the next karaoke performer's choice. Unlike Faye, who sang from pure memory and with only the fumbling accompaniment of a band unused to her requests, the other acts would all be reciting off a projection of lyrics upon the wall.

She did love to outshine any competition.

Slender fingers tapped the bar in a quick double beat right next to the slowly evaporating water ring. In no time at all the blond deposited a dry martini next to Spike's drink. He kept his gaze on the bottles across the bar, eyeing her in the reflection as she raked her own gaze over his body from top to toe and back again.

Her gaze on him stoked the fire inside.

Finally swinging his eyes to her form, Spike smoothly presented a lighter from his pocket to spark to life the cigarette she'd pulled from a slim metal case that she kept strapped to her thigh with a garter belt.

Faye stared dead into his eyes, neither of them blinking, as she inhaled deeply and then exhaled a beat later, extinguishing the flame and enveloping them both in a plume of smoke.

"Why hello stranger," She murmured in greeting. Like always, Faye emanated life. There was something so refreshing about her. So intoxicating.

"I should warn you," His voice was low, nearly a whisper. Intimate in ways he shouldn't be with her. But, like always, he couldn't help himself. "I'm no hero, Faye."

Her laughter made his heart soar, though it was clearly at his expense. Or, since he wasn't offended at her reaction in the least, perhaps she wasn't so much laughing at him as laughing with him.

"Oh Spike," Faye took another drag of the cigarette and blew a few smoke rings in his direction. "A lady like myself has no need for a hero. Sometimes a song is just a song. Anyway..." She dragged a finger over his lower lip until he opened his mouth and she placed the cigarette there for him to puff on, freeing up both her hands to trail down past his lapels, teasing over his ribs, to splay her palms flat against his stomach over the worst of his scars.

"Anyway," She said again, giving him a lascivious smirk, "You're the one in need of rescue, after all..."

Mushroom Hunting

Even as abnormally intelligent as Ein was, he wasn't impervious to making a mistake every now and again. He laid the blame on this erroneous instance on being hungrier than usual. Who wouldn't have eaten a mushroom in starvation? Particularly when said mushroom had been toted around by a human.

Ein knew wild mushrooms were hit or miss and that the 'miss' could sometimes be lethal. He'd foolishly trusted that the goofy man hadn't had a stash of deadly 'shrooms.

No, these mushrooms had quite a different - though certainly not deadly - effect on the consumer.

Normally he'd have shared the treat with Ed. She was a kind kid and Ein's favorite member of the crew. But for once Ein had been too ravenous to be generous and in retrospect he was grateful for his own rude behavior. He was positive that Ed - while she might have enjoyed the strange trip - absolutely did not need to experience the side effects of the 'shroom.

It was difficult enough to wrangle her as it was! Keeping an eye on her to keep her safe would have likely proved impossible. Ein was clever and resourceful but even he had limits.

Thankfully Ed was clever as well and when Ein had begun hiccuping and acting odd she'd understood that the mushroom had been to blame. Further research had been necessary and, at her side, Ein had observed - once he came down from his own high - the effects on the rest of the crew.

An introspective journey that more or less trapped them in one place. Hearing Jet giggle had been rewarding, if unexpected. Seeing Spike step along to nowhere had been a relief as there were many places on the ship that could prove dangerous to someone tripping the light fantastic. And Faye's aerobic exercising seemed at least a healthy output of energy.

Truth be told, things were still a little fuzzy for Ein himself at that point. The world had mostly returned to normal but the edges were still a blur as he and Ed watched the announcement on Big Shot. They instantly recognized the guy - Domino Walker - from their encounter with him earlier.

Ed's eyes lit up and Ein could practically see the gears turning in her mind. Hunger was still gnawing at both of them and hunger is always a powerful influence.

"Shes's a cowgirl Ein! We earn money and buy food! Ein, you're a cow-woof-woof!" Ed exclaimed.

Ein had to admit it was a good idea. Money meant a way to secure sustenance - that was literally the whole reason the rest of the crew ever went and did anything - and he and Ed had a better chance than other bounty hunters at getting this one in the bag! They had already run into him, after all, and Ein still had his scent in his nose.

It was time to gear up and get going on this mushroom man hunt!

His skin feels rough where his hands trail along her body. His hands are coarse, dry, fingertips chapped and scratchy. It's a combination of the arid environment of the ship, the years of using those hands for tough hands-on work, and the frequency of his hand washing. All of that has played into the texture currently roaming over her curves.

It's absolutely divine.

She wonders if anyone else ever noticed the quiet urgency with which he would hasten to the bathroom after getting back to the ship. It's not like blood made him squeamish - he'd come back innumerable times dripping and oozing that precious life source, or else covered in splatters of someone else's. He never flinched at getting caught in the spray and never shied from doing dirty work.

But she remembers racing to reach the bathroom first - not the tiny toilet off the hallway, but the actual wash room with the shower stall and the tub.

She wasn't afraid to get filthy either, but getting clean was always her top priority when getting back. And apparently Spike's as well. Washing away the blood, sweat, and tears. Letting the turmoil of the day slough off and dribble down the drain. Relishing that sliver of time when the rest of the world might as well be miles away beyond that locked door.

At some point she'd noticed that his hands were always a brighter red than the rest of his newly clean body. As if he'd worked hard to scour away any and all traces of the damage those hands had dealt. It reminded her of something she'd seen once in her childhood - a play of some sort, perhaps? Out, out damned spot! But her memory is still fragmented and incomplete - or perhaps it's just that some things never stuck very well in the first place.

They haven't shared much about themselves. Or at least, he hasn't - and Jet plays his cards close to the chest as well. She'd inadvertantly revealed plenty about herself, however, when she thought she'd merely been talking to the dog. Afterwards, Spike had certainly overheard the conversation she'd had with the asshole doctor when she'd been trying to knock some answers out of Whitney. And then everyone on the damn ship had learned more when that piece of her past appeared in beta max form.

Still, you couldn't spend months in close quarters without discovering a thing or two about your shipmates. And one thing she has learned through observation is Spike's penchant for scrubbing his hands to rid them of any traces of blood.

He has the hands of a pianist - long fingers that can spread wide - and they splay out against her soft flesh to cover as much ground as they can. Her skin is silky smooth in comparison to his. A side effect of the cryo sleep? A hint at the pampered life she led before the accident? The reward of good genes and her own regular use of lotion?

It doesn't matter. It could be all those factors but she doesn't care to think on it. Not when she can focus on the way his skin scrapes against hers and elicits shivers of appreciation that she can't possibly hide. Sometimes he'll curl his fingers so the nails can score down her back and it makes her mewl in pleasure.

He treats her so delicately sometimes. It makes her feel like a goddess. But she tends to prefer when he's more aggressive. More possessive. Animalistic. It thrills her to know that she can drive him wild and make him move without restraint. To mark her body with his own.

The friction between them is so intense she almost can't stand it.

It makes her feel alive. Makes her feel powerful.

She can rub her hands all over his body without ever leaving a scratch - unless she uses her nails, which she sometimes does. But she's also learned that he prefers her mouth blazing a path along his torso to all the places he usually hides inside that blue suit. Sucking and nibbling, licking and biting - she uses her mouth for far more pleasurable pursuits than catty responses or scornful remarks.

He tries so hard to be clean. Which makes her all the more satisfied when she succeeds in making him sweat. Mussing his already wild hair and leaving smears of lipstick to mark the places she's been. His hands, so delightfully like sandpaper when they roughen up her back, become moist in no time from the sheen of perspiration that soon gleams upon them both, and - more intimately - from the flood of pleasure those long fingers coax from the crux of her body.

The way he tantalizes her senses always leaves her weak.

But it's no matter, because she has the same effect on him.

She knows this because he's told her.

In a ragged voice, panting in her ear as his tongue circles along the outer curve and before he tugs the lobe into his mouth. He's told her how the silky feel of her hair vies with the silky smooth texture of her skin. Has told her how she's simultaneously the smoothest and softest and sharpest thing in his world. How, despite the ease with which she glides upon his body, he can never quite believe it's true. That something so intense and consuming can come to them so simply.

That the passion they share can bring him focus while being so sinfully distracting.

He confides, in the heat of the moment, how she is all contrasts that manage to fit and flow together seamlessly. She is past and present and future fused. And he begs her to grip him tight. To lock her legs around his hips. To trap him within her welcoming warmth. To hold fast to his battle scarred hands with her own.

She reminds him, wordlessly yet speaking volumes with their bodies crashing together and with her gaspingmoaningwhimpering breath mingling with his, that he is alive.

His touch on her keeps her buoyed in reality. In the here and now and YES, there - please, more! - don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop.

And tonight, like so many other nights of late, she loses herself utterly in the arms of this once-broken man. She pieces him back together, offering him the promise of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Her smooth skin lit on fire by his rough hands, his heart beating reassuringly strong against her own heaving breast.

Legacy

The elevator ride was silent as Mao rode with his security team to the Great Hall on one of the uppermost levels of the Red Dragon Tharsis Headquarters. He took in the view through the glass wall as the cart trundled quietly along its track, grateful for the peace of the moment that enveloped the small space. It was no small thing he was on his way to do, after all.

The sky had been clear all day - which he took as a sign that everything was moving into clarity. Now, some clouds were meandering into the airspace above the congestion of the city, but the sun was still beaming down on the skyscrapers such as the one he was presently in. Sunset was not far off, but for the time being it was as bright and warm as a person could hope for. Tharsis was well known for its rain, which even the weather control satellites had been unable to completely control. It amused him to think of the weather being as unruly and difficult to tame as the syndicates which thrived on the planet.

It had taken ages to convince the Van of his idea, but thankfully the White Tiger Capos seemed just as ready to bury the hatchet. Cooperation between their syndicates would mean more power, riches, and respect for them all. After so many years of rivalry, of violence and loss of life, this pact between them would usher in a brand new era of peace and prosperity. It would be his legacy - a fitting way to put a cap on years of dedicated service and all the recent effort he'd put into consolidation. The treaty, on a scroll tucked neatly under his arm, would finalize all the talking points that had been covered in the long months leading up to this day. That the Van trusted him to manage this meeting on his own was a source of pride that he had no shame in acknowledging. Pride had its place in life, as long as one didn't permit pride to control.

There was very little he was actually proud of, in fact. Regrets he had in spades, but accomplishments were few and far between. Once upon a time, he'd had the joy of recruiting and training some of the strongest candidates to one day take over the syndicate - and oh, how proud he'd been of those boys, boasting and bragging about their every achievement and conquest - but it had all fallen apart. The dream died when Spike died. Even if he secretly believed that Spike still lived, a hope that he had shared only with Annie, there was no chance for the future he'd once worked so hard to assure.

Years had passed by since that bleak day and Mao had turned his sights towards other worthwhile goals. And now, finally, the greatest would come to pass.

To transmute the bloodshed of the syndicate rivalry into a pact of solidarity that would see both into a glorious future... that was a legacy he could indeed revel in. A feat to stoke his ego, to make up for the shadow that had been cast upon the city for so long, to bring relief to his troubled mind. He would always carry the weight of his decisions, of the acts he'd condoned and the missions he'd set soldiers on. It would be good to have something pure and true to give back to the people, something they need not fear.

The doors slid open behind him and two members of his security team exited to swiftly survey the floor.

Mao took another moment to enjoy the scene spread before him. The Great Hall had enormous windows of its own to regale visitors with the cityscape stretched out below, and he was quite partial to that view as well, but it would be with new eyes that he gazed out of those windows. This would be the last time he would stare out at Tharsis as a city beleaguered by the incessant conflict of the two most powerful syndicates on Mars. It was a somber thing to take in. When he moved into the other room, he would sit with his back to the colossal windows so the White Tiger Capo could behold the grandeur behind Mao. It wouldn't be until the signatures were put to paper that he would be comfortable with turning his back on the other man and letting the splendor of the city - with all the shining promise it held - greet his eyes.

The sun would set on a day that would live in infamy. Tomorrow, a tentative new peace would dawn on Tharsis.

His legacy would soon unfold.