"Who does she think she is?" muttered Jet as he rose from the chair, tousling his son's hair as he walked out of the room, back into the living area of the ship. The Bebop was well used as a family ship, and Jet was happy on her. With three sons, things still weren't crowded. Only the oldest was his, technically. The other two had adopted him, much the same way that Ed had, so many years before. "Old softy," Faye called him, and he didn't argue, except about the "old" part.

Faye was away right now, chasing down a lesser bounty on her own. She still did that from time to time, when motherhood pressed her independence too hard. Her comm would be off, Jet knew, so he didn't try. She was a temperamental wife.

Subject Eight was recaptured only two days after he had escaped. It had taken nine men to bring him down, and only three returned unharmed, carrying an unconcious Subject Eight. Two did not return at all. The man had been most reluctant to return to the base. Jordan watched dispassionately as they put the subject back in his cell, their anger showing in unnecessarily harsh treatment as they fastened his restraints. Only when he was chained, hand, foot, and neck to the wall, did Jordan approach.

"Eight," he called, the only name the man before him had had for eight years. "Eight, wake up." The man opened his eyes groggily, blinking a few times in the bright light. Blood was crusted around one eye, which was ringer further in purple bruise. His eyes widened briefly as he realized his captivity, but then they narrowed, focusing on the man standing between him and the light.

"Jordan," he acknowledged in a low, angry voice. He glared at him, subtly tugging against his bonds.

"Why did you run?"

No answer.

"You know we can't let you loose. You had your freedom, two years of it. We shouldn't have let that happen, but we did. We were merciful. And remember, you would be dead, were it not for us."

"I would rather be dead," Subject Eight growled, looking aside from his captor's eyes. "This is not a life."

"Oh," rejoined Jordan, turning to leave. "But it is. Not one you might like, but this..." His gesture took in the cell and the bare, metal-walled hall beyond it. "Is all the life you get." For once, his face registered an emotion; anger. "It's more life than you deserve." The door clanged shut behind him, and the cell and its lone occupant were plunged into darkness.

Faye arrived back at the Bebop in a flurry of shopping bags and new clothes. Apparently, her lone hunt had gone well. Almost before her ship hit Bebop's decks, she was leaping clear of its cockpit, running straight past her family and into the main cabin, where she punched the vid screen, collapsing onto the couch just as the familiar music for Big Shpt filled the room.

"Well, that's friendly," commented Jet, following her into the room. "No greetings for your loving family?"

"Shhh!" she hissed, waving at him. "They're announcing a big bounty today. I heard about it from one of my contacts on Earth."

Onscreen, Judy was grinning at the camera. She had, a few years ago, resurrected the famous bounty hunter's show, and hosted it herself now. "Howdy," she said, waving. "Welcome to yet another episode of Big Shot, the bounty hunter's prime source. Let's see, what do I have for you all today. Ah, now here's something to make you all excited. As I'm sure you all know, last week, Ganymede's Prime Minister was assassinated. Well, the government has a picture of the guy who did it, and they want him bad. So bad, in fact, that they've posted a 300,000, 000 woolong bounty for his head, dead or alive. Here's the picture."

As the image, blurred and grainy, came up in the screen, Jet choked and Faye let out a shocked gasp. Spike, grinning madly at the camera, saluting with a bloody hand, a gun cocked loosely over his shoulder.

"It's not possible," Faye stuttered, looking to Jet with confused eyes. "Spike's dead, long dead."

"That's what I said," Jet muttered, "But I guess I was wrong. Ed contacted me yesterday," he explained. "Her computers found him two days ago, on Ganymede. I thought it was a look-alike. A doppelganger, but that," he gestured to the screen where the image lingered. "That's Spike."

{Still not mine, maddit, but my birthday's in three days, so we'll see. I'M GETTING A 1994 CANDY-APPLE RED CHRYSLER LeBARON CONVERTIBLE! As you can tell, I'm a little excited about it. So, if you would be so kind, please review my story. That would be a great birthday present for me, too.

Spike: Not as good a present as that car. Can we name it Swordfish 3?

Depends how fast it can go.

Spike: Fair enough.}