_Log_
_Jet_
_Arrived at Ganymede at 15 hours_
_Sat in silence with Spike_

The old ceiling fan turns in weak circles over our heads, the squeaks echoing around the metal room, the sound so constant that my ears have accepted it. To me, the squeaking is silence now. Come to think of it, I've accepted a lot of irritations around here. The way that lazy guy, Spike, sprawls out on the only couch and I have to sit on the stool. The way that woman, Faye, keeps taking off with my money and then strutting back in and doing the woe-is-her routine because her pony didn't win. The way that kid, Edward, whines. Well actually, Edward is alright. But for the most part, it's a house of horrors.

I guess I can't complain. I don't see too much of my roommates. Like skittish rodents, they hide away in their little corners of the Bebop, only running out when I cook or set the TV to Big Shot to see the list of bountyheads, because they only care about the cheddar. It's fine by me, they're just nuisances and the less I see their faces, the better. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the fan squeaking.

It's an ordinary day—not that there are days on the Bebop, but I go by my watch set to Ganymede time—and I'm sitting on the stool with my newest bonsai tree in front of me on the table. I'm using my metal fingers to pinch one half of a nasty bar branch, and working my flesh fingers around the scissors, snipping the half off. You can't have bar branches, it's real bad. A 'bar branch' is technically two branches, both at the same level on opposite sides of the trunk, and you need to snip one off because that's the way of things. And not to brag, but I'm a good snipper. About sixty percent of the time, I get the snip perfect. This is one of my many perfect snips, so I give a satisfied hum and set the scissors down, sweep up the watering-can by my boot, and douse the little green guy in cool water. They say you should let the water drain through into a tray, but I don't see the sense in that. You can't give a tree too much water. So I water it good and proper.

Over the table, I see Spike's lanky figure in my peripheral vision, his bare arms folded behind his head and his long legs stretched out over the arm of the couch, clad in those kung-fu-whatever-it-is pants. We've been sitting in silence for about two hours now, so I finally glance up to check what face he's making. And he's asleep. His mouth is parted around a cigarette with a dot of orange on the end, and the orange is slowly tipping toward the skin of his chest, all nefarious, so I lean over and swipe the cigarette away. When he stirs and blinks his eyes open, I say, "I wanted a drag," and slot it between my teeth before burying my face back into the bonsai tree.


"Man," Spike groans. "Are we still on Ganymede?"
"That's right," I say, brushing my flesh hand through the tree and examining the odd leaf with a brown tip. "You must've drifted off."
He hums. Then we lapse into another silence, and when I throw a glance over the leaves, his eyes are closed again. That annoys me. A guy shouldn't sleep so much, it's not healthy. He ought to socialise, is what he ought to do.
"So, that Faye, huh?" I say, manufacturing a chuckle to fill the emptiness. "She's been gone for ages and I'm starved."
He puffs air through his lips. "Uh huh."
"Whaddya think she meant by ‘a five course dinner’?"
"Jet, she only said she'd bring back food to make sure we don't take off without her. She's not gonna spend her money on us."
"Hey now," I mumble, because my belly is hollow and I'd like to keep the dream alive. "Maybe she'll surprise us. Maybe there's a nice girl under that bitter exterior."
"Yeah, right."
"Well anyway, what about you? You gonna stretch your legs while we're on Ganymede?"
He cracks a brown eye open and it settles on me. "If that five course dinner doesn't arrive soon, I'll have to. Great, more canned crap."
"Well, you and me could get street food and walk around."
"Walk around," he repeats.
"Yeah," I try to say casually. It comes out a little stiff and he frowns.
"I'd rather just get the food, then come back here and eat."
"But, uh, we've been cooped up in the Bebop for so long. We should go see some nature, Spike."
"I'll pass. I've got enough nature in here, with all your little trees everywhere. Just why are you petting that thing, by the way?"
I yank my hand out of the leaves and fold my arms, feeling the weight of the metal one. "I wasn't petting it," I explain with remarkable patience, "I was tidying it."
"Tidying," he says, "right."
"You know, Spike, you get blood clots if you don't go on walks."
"I exercise in the cockpit."
"Well, what about the mutt? He needs to be walked."
"What mutt?"
“The dog! Ein! Our dog!"
"We have a dog?"
"Spike!"
"Oh," he drawls with a stupid smirk, his head tilting, "right, that thing. Well, it's not mine and I don't care for it."
With a grunt, I re-fold my arms and say, "well, fine! The walk was only a suggestion anyway!" because I really don't give a damn.

Really. I was only being generous by inviting a lonely guy to spend time with me. I'm opening my mouth to explain this, that I don't give a damn, when Faye bursts in with empty arms and a big smile, and no five course dinner. The hope in my chest dies and the hollow feeling in my stomach deepens. Spike and I stare up at her bleakly like we always do, and her smile turns sheepish.


"Now listen," she says in a soft, sweet voice as she comes down the metal stairs and moves over to us. Her maroon cardigan is covering her torso, so she shrugs it down until the material mantles around her pale elbows and reveals her tight, yellow top, probably to make us think she's cute, which never works. "I really was going to buy us a nice dinner," she coos, "and I was going to cook it and everything. There was a lobster involved. I had everything in my shopping cart, and I was about to pay, but then the cashier started pressuring me to buy scratch cards! Can you believe that?"
"No," Spike says.
"That's what happened! Really!"
"Faye," I say, taking a long drag on the cigarette, "people like you always face divine retribution in the end, you know?"
"Psh, divine retribution. I just explained I had good intentions!"

Faye plonks herself down on the table between the seats, poking at my bonsai tree a bit. Spike's eyes start closing again. The fan keeps squeaking overhead. I'm certain the moment is in danger of getting all empty like it usually does, so I put the cigarette out on the table, get to my feet, and cough. Spike looks up at me. Faye does too, but I keep my eyes on Spike's half-lidded ones.
"Guess we gotta go grocery shopping," I say.
"I really gotta go?" he asks.
The words are like a slap in the face and the room gets hot in an instant. I part my lips and mumble out an, "Oh.” Thinly. “So you don't even wanna go now, huh?"
"It's a one man job."
"So you just... ain't gonna come?"
"What's the big deal, Jet?" He huffs, turning over on the couch so his back is facing me. "I got the groceries last time."
"Well I—"
"You wanna get on my back for no reason."
"No, I just—" I open and close my mouth, my words coming out in a jumble. "I just— While we're on a planet, I figure we should go out— and— uh..."
"Oh god," Faye laughs, the prim sound echoing, "you two are ridiculous. Jet's trying to say he wants to spend time with you, Spike."

That wench.

My body gets all stiff and I don't know what to do with my hands, but thankfully Spike is still facing away from me. Several beats go by, with Faye sniggering under her breath, until he turns over, springs up from the couch and strides ahead of me without meeting my eyes.

"Need a break from Faye," he says.
"Oh, good," I say, following him.
"We can go for a walk too."
"Oh, alright."
"To see the nature."