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The crew is starving.
It’s the way it is with humans, Ein has come to realize. They’re always starving. Starving for attention, starving for love, starving for money, starving for … Starving.
Hunger is poison to the mind and, from his position under the hall air vent, Faye’s starting to look like a cheeseburger. She’s wrapped up in a yellow bath towel, fresh from the shower, slowly dripping ketchup-red lacquer across her splayed toenails.
Ein licks his chops.
He’s been waiting for her to move, to do something, for the past hour. She’s parked on his spot, the best spot on the couch: the one with the computer terminal. She could be watching Big Shots, but instead she’s watching a woman explain pattern transfer techniques for nail polish in Russian. At least he can brush up on his Russian.
Ein’s stomach growls. The disruption startles Faye and her hand slips, slashing bright red onto an adjacent toe. She curses and glares at him, preparing to chuck an emery board at his head, but stops when her own stomach returns the greeting.
With an exasperated grumble, she scoops up her implements of perfection and stalks noisily from the room. She threatens something about ‘the best dogs being hot and covered in mustard’, and Ein’s head tilts to the side in response.
A stillness settles over the room without Faye occupying it. Ein studies it for a moment; the blue grey walls cool and clean, reflecting the light from Faye’s television program. Traces of Faye’s shampoo mingle with hints of Spike’s cigarette smoke. There is a subtle loamy smell that Jet carries from his greenhouse around the ship. And, as Ed zooms out of the room as quickly as she entered it, Ein concedes the scent of food has long gone from the ship.
Ein sighs, his long furry body ruffling slightly as he realizes he’s the last cowboy standing. A dog’s got to do what a dog’s got to do. It’s time to take matters into his own paws.
Ein trots to the vacated seat and claims it. Carefully, he reaches across the gap from his perch to the table and noses the monitor to the appropriate channel. Punch is already half way through his speech about the catch of the day, when Ein finishes surveying his cushion for maximum body heat absorption. He curls up and watches as Judy mimes the atrocious actions of the prospective villains: A marketing group being investigated for insider trading and data-mining on a planetary scale.
Ein likes Judy. She’s squeaky and bouncy and … almost so distracting that he misses the important details.
A photo of an older woman snaps Ein’s focus into full attention. His hackles raise as a familiar face appears on the screen. The woman’s perpetual sneer reminds him of small cages, volleys of stimuli, and uncomfortable hats.
He growls.
A cool hand scratches his neck from behind the couch. Jet slowly reads the name aloud, “Sera Bierka.”
Ein barks once, sharp and distinct.
“Former partner?” Jet jokes with Ein, but it falls flat. The dog ignores him for the screen.
Jet smooths Ein’s fur until the tension eases from his shoulders. “I’ll set the coordinates.”
Ein’s ears perk up, and his attention shifts to the towering man.
Jet smiles.
---
Jet docks the Bebop in one of several industrial way-stations between Venus and Mars that sprang up like daisies after Earth became inhospitable. And, like daisies, this one has become a bristling powder-keg of irritants, just waiting for the wind to shift so it can spread out deeper into space.
Ein sneezes at the mental image, and decides that he’s spent far too much time at the controls with Jet. Jet was, after all, a perfectly serviceable navigator before receiving subtle corgi guidance. And that means it’s time for the legwork.
A dog on a mission is unstoppable, Spike soon learns, as he struggles to lasso a leash around Ein’s neck before they exit the hatch. Faye tails behind them, setting a pair of wearable electronic glasses on her nose before joining the boys in their mission.
To the world outside, their reconnaissance looks like a couple taking their dog for a stroll. Maybe. Ein thinks they look like a strangely dressed, awkwardly distant, tourist couple being pulled about by a giant hamster. The trio are the definitive antithesis of the local inhabitants; the yellows and blues of their clothes, and the ease in their gait, clash against the gritty space station. At this rate, their prey will see them coming; Ein consciously adds a level of determination into his step.
Faye taps at her headgear, reading up on their bounty. According to her records, Dr. Seraphima Bierka had a long career in behavior modification and psychology, but left the field after a burglary bankrupted her firm. She was last seen working as a marketing consultant on Jupiter, and is wanted for insider trading. A footnote reads that she has recently been tied to illicit subliminal messaging via personal electronics. Weary of that last line, Faye removes her glasses.
Faye surveys the surrounding foot traffic and shopping stalls, then frowns. “Nothing says discreet like a dog walking his human.”
Spike spares her a glance and the irony is tangible. “It’s zen navigation.”
She squints at him. “What?”
“Zen navigation.” Spike shrugs, but the gesture is deflated by Ein’s pulling. “Follow the guy that looks like he knows where he’s going.”
“And the dog knows where he’s going?” Faye scoffs and points around the port. “Why not the guy with the fancy watch? Or the guy with the bionic eye that keeps twitching? Or the kid with the cat shirt?”
“Instinct,” Spike answers simply, following Ein around a corner into an open plaza.
“Instinct. Your instinct tells you to listen to a dog.” Faye plants a fist on her hip. “And how do you know his instincts are leading you to a pizzeria?”
The trio come to a halt at a ramen cart.
A sign on the cart declares the establishment the best noodles on the station. Ein sits patently and barks politely at the vendor. Faye waves her hands at the scene, demonstrating that her point has been proven.
Absorbed in her victory, Faye misses the vendor’s exchange with the dog, and the shop’s departure. The sides of the cart fold up into a compact shape and the vendor wheels his cart away with a bicycle, revealing the medical complex the cart had been obscuring.
Spike’s eyebrows raise in mild surprise, and his lips quirk up into a grin. “It’s a guy thing.”
Faye pivots to see what the boys find so amusing, and shakes her head at the building clearly emblazoned ‘Professional Hypnosis’. “Unbelievable.”
Ein barks an agreement.
---
The lobby is small, but sleek and modern. Customers wait on a few plush seats organized to the left of the door; a stylishly dressed receptionist sits behind a counter on the right. A door on the far side of the lobby occasionally opens and a customer is admitted or departs. A bell chimes as Spike and Ein walk through the front entrance. On cue, the receptionist greets them cheerfully. “Good afternoon, sir. Do you have an appointment?”
Ein barks in response, and the man’s smile vanishes. A few customers close their magazines and stare at Ein, who strikes a stunning pose in the center of the lobby.
“I’m sorry, sir,” The receptionist explains, “You’ll need to remove your pet from the premises.”
Spike and Ein exchange a look. Spike’s eyebrows arch in question and he points to himself.
The man exhales impatiently. Behind him, a woman in a white lab coat enters into view, and plucks a file from the counter. “We don’t allow dogs in our facility,” the receptionist explains.
At the word ‘dog’, the woman hesitates. Ein sniffs the air and his posture stiffens. Spike meets the woman’s gaze. “We’ll be on our way, after a word with Dr. Bierka.”
The man begins to protest, but no one is listening to him any longer.
The woman hurls the file at Spike and bolts from the room. Spike deftly slaps the projectile from the air, but the documents within scatter in a shower of papers. A customer yelps and Ein adds to the scene with a cacophony of barking.
Two security guards emerge from the inner door. As they descend upon Spike, Ein gives the leash a sharp pull and slips his collar. He darts through the door as it closes, cutting off a colorful array of curses from Spike.
Ein races through a hall lined with more doors and hallways. Most doors are closed, but the open ones display reclined couches and soft lighting; others lead to small observation rooms lined with mirrored glass.
A woman screams as he jumps through her legs. Turning a corner, Ein startles a man carrying an armful of clipboards. The man yelps as he loses the contents of his arms; charts clatter to the floor, and Ein’s forced to bound over them. He’s hot on the trail and refuses to be hindered by inattentive humans.
Turning one last corner, Ein spots his prey at the end of the hall. She risks a glance over her shoulder to check her pursuer’s progress, and screeches when she sees how much ground the short legs have covered. She returns to her escape; her hands fumble for the latch on a door marked 'Exit'.
Ein barks twice, tongue lolling out to one side of his muzzle in exertion. The woman flings herself through the exit, and promptly introduces herself to Faye Valentine’s right hook. There isn’t a squeal so much as a groan as the woman crumples on impact, into the alley. She grasps for the door to remain upright, but it's little comfort. Ein lunges for her calf and she’s down, pleading for mercy in the alley behind the building.
When Spike clears the hall behind Ein, Faye is shaking the stiffness from her fingers. He returns his gun to its holster and notes that the doctor’s sitting cross-legged, hands cuffed behind her, with a tiny Welsh guard dog staring her down.
Spike shoots Faye a question, nodding toward the row of unmarked doors that line the alley. “How’d you know this was the door she was going to come through?”
Faye shrugs. “Instinct.”
Spike cocks a grin at her and Faye masks a smirk by sucking on her raw knuckles.
Ein stares at each of them in turn, then cuts the tension with a yip.
Spike hauls the bounty to her feet. Ein's step earns a jaunty wiggle as he follows the trio back to the ship.
---
Success smells like burgers.
Jet picks up two armfuls of brown bag burgers, on his return from processing. He also enjoys a small strawberry pie, but that secret is kept between he and Ein; Ein won't tell, as long as Jet ignores his fellow cowboy as he licks stray crumbs off the deck.
Jet distributes dinner to the crew before escaping conversation by ducking into the cockpit. Ein listens as Jet whistles absently, calculating which repairs the ship deserves most from their boon. Ein leaves him to his numbers.
Ein sits on the floor with Ed and she proffers a handful of fries with a corresponding set of airplane noises. Ein enjoys sharing with Ed, but fries always taste better when they’re stolen from Faye’s plate.
Faye doesn’t seem to notice how dangerously close she is to losing her reward dinner, though; she’s too absorbed in telling Spike that he’s wrapping the bandages around her hands all wrong. Ein’s pretty sure she doesn’t need bandages anymore -- the blood on her knuckles dried before they made it to Jupiter -- but he’s not going to judge people on their bizarre courting habits.
For now, their stomachs are full, his humans are happier, and he can sleep a little bit easier.
Ed bites into her burger and a glob of secret sauce escapes from it, pooling to the floor. Ein laps it up.
He’s helpful like that.