Author’s Notes:  This story is told from Mirai Gohan’s POV.
Dedication : This fic is dedicated to Lord Truhan for being the wonderful person he is and suggesting that I write this. ^_^.

Song Used: Bill Withers – Just the two of us

*****

I see the crystal raindrops fall
And see the beauty of it all

I glanced at my pupil out of the corner of my eye, watching him as he lay back on the soft grass, allowing himself to rest a little after our spar. He never relaxed completely. Not that I blame him, though; with the androids lurking about, no one could fully let their guard down. I watched as his crystal blue eyes closed in content, his mind satisfied with his recent progress.

He had beautiful eyes.

Is when the sun comes shining through
To make those rainbows in my mind

I had never really thought about it before (okay, so I had…), but everything about Trunks was beautiful. Everything he did was with a natural grace inherited from his royal father. I permitted my eyes to wander down his body, taking in his petite yet muscular frame.

“Gohan?”

I blinked rapidly, noticing that this lavender haired prince was talking to me.

“Gohan?” he repeated. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, Trunks. I was just thinking…about the androids…yeah…”

“Oh.”

When I think of you some time
And I want to spend some time with you

He shifted so that he was turned on his side, his chin resting in his hand, his elbow on the grass. He gazed at me with those expressive azure eyes.

“Do you think we can beat them? I mean, they’re so strong. Every time we go to battle, they always defeat us.”

“I know, Trunks. But don’t worry. We can do it.”

“But it’s just the two of us, Gohan!”

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

I smiled, his words sparking a memory in the depths of my mind. “Isn’t that a song?”

“What?” Trunks blinked, obviously having never heard the song I was speaking of.

“‘Just the Two of Us’…you know…’just the two of us…we can make it if we try…’ …You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

The blank expression on Trunks’ face was more than enough answer to my question. I smiled again.

Just the two of us
Building castles in the sky
Just the two of us

“Dude, you’re just old. I’ve never heard that song before,” he said.

I laughed softly and he grinned, showing his perfect teeth. My laughter trailed off and my smile grew wider, taking in the angel before me. It was so rare that I saw Trunks show a genuine smile, that I’d forgotten how it could light up his face, accentuating his already handsome features.

You and I

“Gohan?”

My brain just barely registered his soft call, and I shook my head, clearing it of all thoughts. Now was not the time to live in a fantasy world. I had a planet to protect, a student to train.

“Gohan? You’ve been spacing out all day. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Trunks. Don’t worry about it.”

“Aw, come on! You can tell me. What, do you think I’m too young to understand? Honestly, Gohan, I’m not a kid anymore.”

He had a point. In this world it was tough for anyone to have a childhood. Every child had to grow up so fast. That was one of the main reasons I fight–to give children a chance to enjoy being a kid, especially Trunks. I knew I couldn’t take back what the androids had done, but if I could just defeat those mechanical monsters, then maybe I’d be able to see that smile brighten his face more often.

“Gohan…you’re doing it again. I’m really worried about you.”

“I’m fine, really.”

I watched as his eyebrows knit in frustration, his lower lip sticking out in a slight pout. He looked so damn cute! Then I noticed a flicker of inspiration appear in his eyes for a fraction of a second before those sapphire orbs began to brim with tears.

We look for love, no time for tears
Wasted waters’s all that is

“Trunks?”

A single tear dropped down his cheek, and I realized that he was using his ability to cry on command to get me to tell him my secret. I smiled mentally at his cleverness. I looked on as his bottom lip pushed out further, his eyes growing shinier with more tears, his nose twitching with every sniff.

“That look won’t work on me, Trunks,” I said, both of us knowing very well that the statement was a lie.

And it don’t make no flowers grow
Good things might come to those who wait

I tried to tear my eyes away from his, the cerulean irises chibifying even more with every passing second, but to no avail. My eyes were glued to his face, part of me not ever wanting to look away.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong, Gohan?”

I bit my lip, stifling the urge to chuckle at his tiny voice, and shook my head from side to side. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

The sadness in his eyes vanished and he sighed. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves and stared up at me for a moment. Slowly, a smirk crept onto his face, a mischievous glint growing in his eyes. He sat up and crawled over to me, closing the small distance between us. Suddenly, our faces were just mere inches apart.

Not to those who wait too late
We got to go for all we know

“Please, Gohan…” he whispered, his breath tickling my face.

I repressed a blush as I noticed that his voice had dropped an octave. I searched his eyes for a hint of what he was scheming, but I found nothing. He could mask his emotions as well as Vegeta.

“Trunks…”

Whatever it was that I had planed to say vanished from my thoughts, as I became aware of a touch on my leg. I glanced down and realized that his fingertips were stroking my right thigh. I felt a warmth blossom in my groin and thanked the gods that I was wearing my baggy training gi.

“Come on, Gohan. It’s just the two of us…”

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

I swallowed. Just the two of us. Kami, I’ll never be able to get that song out of my head now. Trunks moved his face closer, the tip of his nose touching mine, his silky hair brushing against my cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded with…lust? No, it can’t be. It must be my imagination…

Just the two of us
Building castles in the sky
Just the two of us

His hand stilled, and his smirk turning into a sexy smile. A very sexy smile. When did he learn to do this? He closed the already tiny gap between us and pressed his lips to mine. They were soft, just as they had been in my dreams. When his tongue slipped out of his mouth to lick my lips, I gladly parted them, allowing him entrance.

You and I

Our tongues wrestled, battling for dominance. I lifted my hand, hesitantly at first, to comb my fingers through his hair. A low moan escaped his throat, and suddenly my loose pants became a little too confining.

All too soon, Trunks withdrew his tongue, much to my dismay. He must have noticed because he chuckled softly to himself. He kissed me again, tenderly, and began nipping and sucking on my lower lip. His hand, which had been resting patiently on my thigh, started to move again. He caressed my leg, his fingertips lightly brushing over the material, tickling the sensitive flesh underneath.

I hear the crystal raindrops fall
On the window down the hall

He pulled away from me, his hand still stroking my thigh, his lips curling into that sexy smile again.

“Will you tell me now?” he asked, his voice husky.

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. The sensations from that kiss were still fresh in my mind…and in my pants. I glanced down, hoping that my erection wasn’t very obvious.

It was.

Well, maybe Trunks wouldn’t notice.

“Well, it looks like someone’s a little happy, ne?”

Damn!

I laughed nervously, shifting in a vain attempt to cover it up. The corners of Trunks’ mouth twitched upward, and he bit his lip to stifle his snickers. I felt my cheeks burning and knew I was blushing furiously. The sight caused Trunks’ shoulders to shake with repressed laughter.

And it becomes the morning dew
Darling, when the morning comes

After Trunks had calmed down a considerable amount and my embarrassment had faded, he focused his gorgeous blue eyes on me and titled his head to the side. He grinned sheepishly, his cheeks turning a pinkish hue.

“Uh, Gohan? Would you mind if I…took care of that for you…?”

And I see the morning sun
I want to be the one with you

My eyebrows arched in utter shock at his question. Did he just ask me…what I think he just asked me…?

“Trunks…”

He scooted closer to me, his hand returning to my leg and wandering farther and farther up my thigh. His fingers brushed against the tip of my erection, the contact still felt through the cloth. I shivered at his touch.

“Trunks,” I said again, “I…”

“…don’t want me to…?”

“No! I mean, I…” I trailed off, trying to find the best way to phrase my emotions. “I don’t know how to say this…”

“Just tell me what you feel,” he said, a hopeful look in his eyes.

Just the two of us
We can make it if we try
Just the two of us

I took a deep breath, exhaling as a sigh, and collected my thoughts. “Trunks…the reason I’ve been spacing out is because…I’ve been thinking about you. You’re always on my mind. I guess…I love you, Trunks.”

The wide grin that spread across his face made my heart melt. I had never seen him so happy before. He reached up, wrapped his arms me, and buried his face in my neck.

Just the two of us
Building big castles way on high
Just the two of us

“I love you too, Gohan,” he muttered.

I placed my arm around his slender waist and squeezed him closer to me. The chorus of that old song ran through my head and I smiled. Just the two of us…

You and I

Author’s Notes:  Thanks to Lord Truhan for giving me the basic idea for this fic! Oh, and I cropped the song a bit (okay, I chopped off about a third of the end…) for convenience.

Song Used : Abba – Take A Chance On Me .

*****

“I just think…the passion is gone. I’m sorry.”

If you change your mind, I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

Videl’s words repeated themselves in Gohan’s head over and over again. It had been six months since the court hearing that had announced the official termination of his and Videl’s marriage. Six months that Gohan had spent wondering what had gone wrong, what had dimmed the spark that had once burned so brightly between them.

Currently, he was lying on his bed in the small apartment he had rented a few months prior to the hearing, reflecting on everything that he and Videl had been through together. When his friends had first heard that she had filed for a divorce, they were there, trying to cheer him up, trying to make him understand that life wasn’t over.

But to him, it was.

Gohan had given everything he had to make his relationship with Videl work, and to stay working. Though, his efforts had not come to fruition. And now, as he lay staring at the cracked ceiling above him, he had come to realize that love was not meant for him. Ever.

If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down

A tear ran down his cheek as the thought entered his mind. “Never again will I give my heart to anyone,” he vowed quietly.

***

Trunks paced back and forth in his office, wondering how he should break up with his latest girlfriend. His mother, always wanting grandchildren, had been pushing him to settle down with someone and produce an heir to Capsule Corporation. Even so, Trunks had realized long ago that his interests lay with no girl, but instead with a man. A man he had loved since childhood. A man named Gohan.

If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

The lavender-haired ouji had been the first one Gohan had come to when Videl had delivered the news that she no longer felt that their marriage was worth it. He had been the shoulder on which Gohan had cried on, the silent ear that had listened as Gohan repeated how much he loved her. He had bitten his tongue then, not voicing how he shared his pain. How he knew what it was like to love someone, but not be loved in return.

“President Briefs?” came the lively voice of his secretary over the small intercom sitting on his desk. “Raika is here to see you.”

“Oh joy,” he muttered under his breath. He pushed his index finger on the button on the intercom and spoke tiredly, “Send her in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie
If you put me to the test, if you let me try

Raika was a beautiful young woman. Her emerald eyes contrasted well with her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair. A smile was always on her lips, her mood ever cheerful. She walked towards Trunks with her usual grin on her face, her eyes dancing in the light. Her pink sundress fluttered in the self-produced breeze.

“Trunks! Sweetie! I’ve been waiting all day to see you!” She wrapped her arms around him and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. “Where are we going tonight? I was thinking about -”

“Raika,” Trunks interrupted, chewing his bottom lip nervously, “I don’t think we should go out tonight.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Why not? Are you busy? If you are, then we could -”

“What I mean to say is,” he continued, again cutting off her sentence, “I don’t think we should go out tonight…or any night. I think maybe we should call it quits with our relationship.”

“What?”

Take a chance on me
(That’s all I ask of you honey)
Take a chance on me

“I’m sorry, Raika. It’s just…I don’t think our relationship can advance any further…”

Raika stood still a moment, her expression hurt, her eyes growing shiny. She brushed the stray strands of her hair behind her ear and tried to blink away the tears. “Why…?” she asked quietly. “What did I do wrong? What did I do…to make you feel this way?”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s…I…”

“It’s someone else? You love someone else, is that it?!” she almost yelled, her anger at his abrupt decision beginning to show through.

“Raika, please… I didn’t want to hurt you…”

“Don’t, Trunks. Just don’t. Your sorry excuses aren’t necessary.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her arm and turned on her heel, walking out the office door.

Trunks cringed as she slammed the door closed, then sighed heavily. He truly wished he hadn’t had to do that, but he just couldn’tlead her on any longer. She deserved someone better. She was worthy of someone who would care for her, someone who would love her. He could only hope that Gohan would feel the same about him.

We can go dancing, we can go walking, as long as we’re together
Listen to some music, maybe just talking, get to know you better
‘Cos you know I’ve got
So much that I wanna do, when I dream I’m alone with you

The lavender-haired man pressed the button on his intercom, “Teri, hold all my calls for me, will ya?”

“Of course, President Briefs. Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah.”

***

Gohan sat up, drying his tears on the back of his hand. He sighed deeply and rose from his bed, walking to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and, while waiting for the water to heat, stared at himself in the mirror. The stranger that returned his gaze surprised him momentarily. The dark circles under his eyes, the tangled strands of ebony hair, the dull irises…they all seemed foreign to him. He remembered a time when he would look into the mirror and like what he saw, but that seemed so long ago.

When he was still with Videl.

He turned away from the glass and stripped of his clothing, stepping into shower stall. He sighed through his nose, allowing himself to relax a bit under the warm spray. His eyes closed as he washed himself quickly, then he turned off the water and walked out of the stall. He dried himself with a nearby towel and wrapped it around his waist. His gaze wandered back to the mirror, his mind curious to see if the quick bath had returned him to his old self. He stared into the eyes of his reflection and saw the deep anguish hidden in those midnight orbs. Disgusted with the image, Gohan clenched his fists and slammed one into the mirror, the glass shattering and flying across the room. A few shards scraped against his skin, drawing blood. A lonely tear travelled down his cheek to mingle with the red liquid on his face.

Gohan fell to his knees and tightly gripped the cotton towel between his fingers. His heart ached so much; the pain was just too much. He had believed so deeply in his heart that Videl had cared for him as much as he had for her. He had thought that he had finally found the love that his parents shared, the love that he had searched for so long. He had expected to spend all of eternity with Videl, his high school sweetheart.

As reality caught up with him again, he felt his world crash around him. Videl would not come back to him, and there was no one else who would love him the way he needed to be loved right now.Realizing that there was no other option, no other way for his depression to end, he formed a ball of energy in his hand.

It’s magic
You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair
But I think you know
That I can’t let go

Trunks parked his car in the lot of the apartment complex where Gohan now resided. He had held in his emotions for the older man too long. It had been six months since Gohan and Videl’s relationship had officially ended, and he could no longer keep silent. He walked to the elevator, and pressed the button for Gohan’s floor. The corny music that played in the background helped soothe his anxiety over finally revealing to Gohan what he had felt for so long.

He vaguely heard a ding that signaled the opening of the doors. Trunks stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to Gohan’s apartment. He breathed in deeply, then knocked on the door. He waited a few moments but received no answer, so he knocked again. Still no answer.

Trunks furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Why won’t he come to the door? I know he’s in there…’ As he was about to knock a third time, he felt Gohan’s energy signal decrease rapidly. Trunks’ eyes widened with worry, and he used his strength to force his way into the small apartment.

If you change your mind, I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

Gohan clenched his fingers into a fist, compressing the sphere of light into a line that vaguely resembled a dagger. With trembling hands, he brought the makeshift knife to his wrist and sliced deeply into his skin. He grimaced at the pain, but it was nothing, he decided, compared to the pain in his soul.

As he watched the blood flow from his wound, he heard the main door open and rapid footfalls rush toward where he was kneeled on the floor. The footsteps stopped at the bathroom door, and he sensed Trunks’ ki standing there.

“GOHAN!!”

If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down

The blue-eyed prince’s heart stopped as he stood staring at his beloved on the carpeted floor. He felt numb as dull black eyes were lifted to stare at him. No, not at him, through him. Trunks dropped to Gohan’s side and wrapped his arms tightly around the older man, cradling the shaken form against him.

The dampness Trunks felt on the thigh of his pants shocked him back into reality, and he remembered what Gohan had done to himself. Tears gathered in his eyes as he tore off the hem of his shirt and tightly bandaged Gohan’s wound. The white material was soon stained red, just like his pants and the carpet next to them.

“Gohan…Gohan, why…?” Trunks asked quietly, his voice breaking.

Gohan continued to look at his wrist, ashamed to look Trunks in the eye. He felt Trunks pull him into another embrace and rest his cheek on the top of his head, muttering softly to him. “Gohan, please, don’t ever…don’t ever do that again…”

“Why does it matter?” Gohan said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Why does it matter what I do to my life anymore? Videl doesn’t care…no one…no one cares…”

“Oh, Gohan… Gohan, I care! I’ve always cared about you! I always will!”

If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

Gohan’s eyes widened, disbelievingly. He shook his head fervently, then groaned and sagged against Trunks as his abrupt blood loss caught up with him, dizzying him. Trunks held him tighter, unabashedly letting his tears flow down his cheeks.

“Gohan…I wish I had come here sooner… Maybe I could have… Gohan, why do you think no one cares? Everyone cares about you. And I…I love you, Gohan.”

“…What?”

“I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I didn’t know it then, but I did. I always wished that you would love me back…but you were with Videl all the time… I figured you would never feel the way I felt about you.” Trunks wiped his tears away, and looked Gohan in the eyes. “Gohan…”

The older Saiya-jin stared into the watery cerulean orbs in front of him. He saw the panic on the surface, and the love held underneath. The love that Trunks had just confessed to him.

“Trunks, I don’t…”

“Please, before you reject me, Gohan, could I…I mean…well…um…” Realizing that his thoughts couldn’t be voiced with mere words, he did the first thing tha came to his mind, something he had been longing to do for years. He cupped Gohan’s face in his hand and leaned down, softly brushing his lips with his own.

Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie
If you put me to the test, if you let me try

“Trunks–”

“Gohan, please…just take a chance on me…”

Take a chance on me
(Come on, give me a break will you?)
Take a chance on me

“Trunks…I can’t…after everything…Videl, she was…she was everything to me…”

“Please, let me be your everything now. Videl won’t come back, but I’ll always be here for you, Gohan. I love you; I love you more than Videl ever could. Just let me show you that. Please!”

Trunks took Gohan’s injured hand in his own and gingerly kissed the temporary bandage wrapped around his wrist. He returned his glance to dark eyes and hoped that Gohan could see in his eyes at least a fraction of the love he held in his heart. They held each other’s gaze for long moments, Trunks’ eyes desperate, and Gohan’s eyes searching.

After what seemed like an eternity to Trunks, Gohan ended the staring contest and spoke, his voice quiet, “I can’t forget about her, Trunks.”

If you change your mind, I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

The lavender haired man forced a smile to his lips. “I don’t expect you to do that. I just want you to let me take away some of the pain. I…”

He trailed off, not able to finish his sentence, for he realized that it would be hopeless to go on any further. It was obvious that Gohan loved Videl. More than he would ever love Trunks. Who was he to come into the older demi’s life and ask him to start another relationship just after he had been forced to end the one he thought would last forever? Trunks tried to blink back the tears that had accumulated in his eyes, but to no avail. They escaped and fell down his cheeks, dropping onto the back of his hand.

Gohan skimmed his fingers over the damp spot. “You…what?”

“It…doesn’t matter…”

“Trunks, tell me.”

“It’s just…Gohan, I would do anything to keep the sadness from your eyes. I would take on a world of pain…just to see you smile again…”

If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down

Gohan watched as the other man toyed with the frayed edge of his shirt. He kept his face expressionless as his thoughts raced throughout his mind. Here was Trunks, his little brother’s best friend, confessing his love for him, trying to save him from the sorrow he was steadily drowning in. Trunks loved him, but he loved Videl…didn’t he? If he loved Videl as much as he thought, thenwhat was this emotion he felt in the pit of his stomach? If he truly loved Videl, then that means that there would be no room for anyone else, right?

Trunks swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with the silence that hung in the air so heavily. “Gohan…I-I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

Gohan’s eyes settled on him as Trunks inhaled deeply and began to rise from the carpet. “I’ll go now…”

“Trunks…”

If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

The sapphire-eyed ouji stopped his movement and stared at Gohan expectantly. The ghost of a tired smile tugged at the corners of Gohan’s lips as he spoke. “Please don’t go, Trunks. I…I’d like it if you stayed around for a while.”

“Gohan…” Trunks crouched down in front of him. “I’ll stay with you forever if you want me to.”

“Trunks,” his voice seemed exhausted, “I can’t promise you much, but I’ll try. Just…just be patient with me, I…”

Trunks cut him off, pressing his gently lips to his. He stood again and held out his hand for Gohan to take. Gohan stared blankly at the hand momentarily, then raised his own hand to lock fingers with Trunks, accepting much more than the proffered hand. As he pulled him to his feet, the violet-maned president wrapped his arms around him, touching their foreheads together.

“Don’t worry, itoshii,” he whispered. “I’ll wait until the end of time to be with you. And I’ll do the best I can to make sure nothing ever hurts you again. I love you, Gohan.”

Tears pricked the edges of Gohan’s eyes as he heard Trunks’ heartfelt words. He returned the embrace, hugging Trunks tighter to his own body, the contact reassuring him, comforting him. In his heart Gohan realized a hope that he hadn’t felt in months.

Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me

Everything would be all right.

Time’s Lessons Learned

Chapter 5 Kid Trunks and Future Trunks Training Time

Summary: Now that Future Trunks is staying at Capsule, he and Kid Trunks are settling into a routine. Yet can he keep his agenda a secret for very long, and should he?

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This fan fiction means no harm to the anime or manga. The idea for this fanfiction was borrowed from Our Time, a doujinshi by Manya and Minyea, the Dragon Sisters. Thanks to Lord Truhania for help developing the ideas for the story!

***

Fists flashed one against the other. Although his opponent was barely half his height, the lad compensated by his stance. Feet firmly planted and back arched, Kid Trunks fixed sapphire eyes on his longhaired opponent, and raised his hands. Standing with a minimal amount of target presented he twisted so his side faced Future Trunks, while his chest faced sidelong. Almost in the fashion of a fencer mingled with other techniques, Future Trunks nodded.

It mimicked Father’s fighting stance. Wearing dark blue gi belted with a sash, his demi doppelganger then launched himself; forwards at the same time Future Trunks pressed his back leg down and lunged. Fists collided with sparks flying, and blue ki fields buzzing like bug zappers. As their auras brushed Trunks felt the resistance of almost identical frequency ki blocking his own. Defiantly, Kid Trunks dropped, and then swept his leg out to kick his opponent’s baggy pant sheathed leg out. However, Future Trunks easily landed on his opposite leg to block the kick aimed at his midriff. Fists jabbed out in rapid succession, their lavender hair flying.

“You just getting warmed up, or is this all?” Future Trunks taunted.

“I was starting to get bored,” Kid Trunks laughed back, smirking devilishly. “Now, let’s kick it up a notch!”

Flipping backwards, he landed, feet again spaced apart. Fists spread wide; he let out a low grunt. Hair flipped upwards, gleaming with gold energies in a mere fraction of a second. Future Trunks too mimicked the pose, and then it was the kid’s turn to see the long ponytail bristle into armored spikes. For a second he flinched, realizing how disturbingly similar his doppelganger appeared to the Legendary. Lightening snaked over him, and his hair glowed pale gold.

“Super Saiyan 2, you’re not holding back, are you? Well that’s even better!” Kid Trunks exulted. A quick snap of power and his own form was wreathed in similar blue patterns of force. However as he again launched himself, something gleamed brightly out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he caught his reflection in the shining blade that arched towards him.

Barely did he dodge out of the way, as the sword sizzled past his head. Ducking under, Kid Trunks then leapt up as Future Trunks slashed doubled handed with the blade sheathed on his back. “So that’s it huh? Watch this!” Kid Trunks taunted. He leapt up, and to Future Trunks shock landed on the flat surface of the sword, standing on it with booted feet. Flipping forward he then pushed down with one flattened palm, and kicked sharply at Trunks jaw.

“Damn,” Future Trunks swore, feeling blood erupt into his mouth, as his teeth sunk into the side of his cheek. He hadn’t seen that coming, but the little guy was good. Moreover, nasty.

“Nyah missed me slowpoke!” Kid Trunks grinned.

“Oh yeah?” Future Trunks asked. He grinned meaningfully back, and then tossed his sword up. It flipped repeatedly, and then stuck fast in a nearby tree, its pommel still vibrating with the force. Shortly Kid Trunks glanced to the side, and then leapt back in anticipation. His fists crackled at the level of his hips, gold energies charging.

“Double buster!” he shouted, directing twin beams towards Future Trunks. Arching his back and levitating, Future Trunks suddenly exploded a bubble of force from his skin that blocked the beam. Then he recovered, his arms flashing quickly back and forth before his face. Easily Kid Trunks figured he could block the ball of energy hurled at him.

“Burning attack!” Future Trunks shouted.

“As if!” Kid Trunks rolled his eyes.

However, instead of lifting his arms to block, Kid Trunks rocketed out of the way of the glowing sphere hurtling fast. It dissipated in a huge burst of ki inches from where he stood in the GR. An instant later, someone phased behind him, and he kicked sharply. Grabbing his ankle, Future Trunks barely stopped the collision, and then snapped the younger version of himself away from his body like cracking a whip. Kid Trunks shot backwards towards the far wall, only to twist in mid flight and hurl a blast forwards.

An identical ki sphere matched its intensity, creating another huge pyrotechnic show. As it cleared, both Super Saiyans panted, their hands held up and glowing with intense power. Voices blended high and low, both mouthing words that had to do with “Finish… Buster… cannon…”

The bleeping of the intercom startled their concentration. Both of them dampened their power fields, their enlarging spheres of energy flickering off into nothingness as they absorbed their energy back into themselves. Teal eyes met in silent understanding, knowing that their match would have to wait after lunch. First Kid Trunks hair flickered back to its lavender state and dropped, followed by the gold spikes of Future Trunks falling limp around his face. For a moment, they stood only ten paces separating them, strands of hair soaked purple and sticking to their cheeks and forehead.

“Not bad. Father’s been teaching you well,” Future Trunks gasped, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You’re not too bad either, Nii-san,” panted Kid Trunks stumbling over and reaching out for a towel stacked neatly on the floor by the door. He tossed one to the elder, who hurled a water bottle at him. They both caught their respective items and started dabbling at the sheen of sweat their battle had produced.

Neither of the pair was too surprised to see Bulma’s face framed in a large screen levitating in midair. “All right boys, time to call it quits and come eat! Even young warriors need to keep their strength up!”

“Coming mom!” both of them called, then blinked at one another strangely. As Future Trunks toweled himself off his younger Self glanced at him.

“Hey, Nii-san?” he asked, seeing the youth pull on a blue jacket that he swore he’d seen before.

“Yeah, Chibi?” he answered, pressing the button to open the Gravity Room. The door hissed, depressurizing into normal Earth G, before swinging into the hall.

“That jacket. It looks familiar. I could have sworn Gohan had one exactly like it in his room,” Kid Trunks noticed.

Hearing this, Future Trunks froze, and Kid Trunks was surprised to see a slight blush covering his ‘brother’s cheeks. “Um… really?”

“Yeah. What’s up with that?” asked Kid Trunks. “You give it to him or something?”

“Actually I did. He liked it so much that I gave it to him, and Mom had another one made when I got back to the Future,” Future Trunks hastily explained. Already he marched off down the hall, as if trying to walk quickly to avoid any more questions. Kid Trunks frowned, unsure of why his older brother… that’s what he thought of his older self now as… was so shy?

“He’s acting like Gohan does around girls. Weird,” Kid Trunks shrugged. Somehow, the thought didn’t seem so weird to him. As far as he knew, guys liked guys like some guys liked girls. It wasn’t so unheard of in West City for two men to date one another. Unfortunately, in Gohan’s village, such behavior was considered odd, and almost indecent.

“Whatever,” Kid Trunks shrugged. Then his mind spun with a strange revelation. He trotted rapidly after his older brother to keep up with him before Future Trunks could elude his next question.

“Nii-san, hey wait up!” Kid Trunks shouted. Swiveling his head around, Future Trunks slowed his pace and waited for Kid Trunks to catch up with him.

“Yes, Chibi? Afraid I’ll beat you to lunch?” he joked, all shyness now locked beneath a veil of self-assuredness.

“Yeah right. Why is it every time I talk about Gohan you get all weird on me, huh?”

Trunks froze again, cursing under his breath. He glanced down at the younger version of himself and realized how shrewd Kid Trunks was, and wondered how on earth he could explain himself. After all, Kid Trunks was no idiot, possessing his mother’s intelligence and his Father’s cunning. Anyone would be blind not to notice certain cues. Just how this would change things, he struggled to answer, blue eyes widening in shock.

“Um… it’s nothing. I just haven’t seen him for a while, and I’m not sure what to say to him. Considering he’s not even expecting to see me, that’s all,” Future Trunks smiled and said as brightly as he could.

“Uh huh, yeah. Whatever you say. But it sure is strange. I mean it reminds me of how Gohan gets whenever mom teases him about…”

“Aren’t you a little young to be worrying about such things?” Future Trunks blinked at him.

“What things?” Kid Trunks blinked at him, playing innocent. Nevertheless, Future Trunks didn’t buy it for a second.

“Watch it, your mother’s… our mother’s just in the next room,” Future Trunks hissed, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him to the side. “Look, we’ll talk about this later. I’ll explain after lunch okay. But no more questions about it… you didn’t see anything.”

“See what? I don’t’ see why you’re freaking out. It was only a question, sheesh. I mean what do I care if you don’t know what to say to Gohan. You’d think that you guys were…” Kid Trunks almost got out, and then trailed off. A tense moment ticked by, and Future Trunks heard the pounding of his own heart, as he was almost afraid of being unmasked. Then Kid Trunks shook his head. “Nah, what am I thinking? I’m just a kid still. Why should I know what I’m talking about right?”

“Uh right,” Future Trunks nodded. He then stared to where his younger self was swiveling his eyes to see Bulma and his grandmother entering the common area where all the corridors and staircases to Capsule mingled in a vast vaulted indoor courtyard.

“You two had better wash up before lunch,” Bulma cautioned.

“Oh my you two look so cute in your workout clothes!” Mrs. Briefs tittered.

“Ugh, don’t even start! I’m not cute, Grandma!” Kid Trunks pulled a face. She grabbed his cheek playfully, giving it a tug.

“That’s my little angel! So angry and so proud just like his dreamboat of a father. You’re going to be a heartbreaker with the ladies like your Nii-san here, right?” she gushed, embarrassing the poor kid by ruffling his hair and pinching his cheek even harder.

“Mom, stop torturing him, and let them go get a shower,” Bulma sighed.

“I can’t help myself he’s just so cuuute!” Bunny continued to fuss. Finally, she released her grandson who backed away with an embarrassed and annoyed look on his face. She turned to Future Trunks who blinked incredulously with an awkward smile.

“Um, I’m all hot and sweaty, Grandma. I don’t’ want to ruin your new dress!” he waved his hands frantically before his face as he dashed off after his younger self. Both demis made it to the safety of the built in locker rooms before Bunny could chase after them and tease them further.

“Mom, honestly, get a grip! You know Trunks hates getting his cheek pinched! He’s not a baby,” Bulma glared at her mother.

“What, what did I do?” Bunny Briefs looked clueless at her daughter. Rolling her eyes, Bulma grabbed her mom’s wrist and then leaned down to pick up the sweaty towels her two sons past and future had dropped.

“But they won’t get this lovely fruit punch I made them!” Bunny lamented.

“Mother, make yourself useful and wash these towels, before they get any riper. I’ll set the table for lunch,” Bulma groaned.

Chapter 3:

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This work of fan fiction means no harm to the anime or manga. I get no money for writing this. My thanks to Lord Truhan for help with the ideas in this fan fiction.

It was great to have doting grandparents willing to babysit the future president of Capsule at the drop of a hat, Bulma Briefs realized. All the years she spent puttering in the lab when she wasn’t undertaking child care were frequently breaks from her role as a mother. Added to that was her duties as capsule corps president. While she could hire nannies the best that money could buy, she opted instead to bring her son with her to the office where she could keep an eye on him. Alternatively, she simply allowed her mother to play granny daycare, knowing that her son was receiving the best of care.

For months after Cell’s demise, her husband had either disappeared into the wilderness to train or mourn in the Saiyan fashion. It had taken a few weeks of his sitting on the edge of a cliff looking out at the sunsets before she realized she needed to intervene. Fortunately, Future Trunks returned and spent much time with his father, inventing a new goal for Vegeta to accede to. Within an hour of his first visit back, Vegeta and he blasted off to the wilderness and didn’t return for an entire week. During that time, she examined the time machine, concerned with the readings on its energy demands. With each trip, the machine required more time to replenish its energy. Bulma’s calculations showed disturbing implications, because each time Trunks navigated the temporal stream, he encountered more branch points replete with temporal eddies. Fortunately, between her and her father Dr. Briefs, they programmed an algorithm to help him compensate in the temporal coordinates. One of these times, she feared he wouldn’t be able to return to his own time.

Despite the risk of that first visit back, it was more than worth it for it seemed to rejuvenate Vegeta. After Future Trunks visit gradually he spent more time watching her with the baby, and then actually entering the room while she did things as mundane as nursing or changing diapers. Gradually he even would have the child near him as he watched television, or lost himself in what he’d think was some mundane earth activity. Until the child reached age two and things changed.

At first Vegeta spent time simply modulating his energy and showing the child how to control ki. Trunks was fascinated at the glowing aura extending from his father’s fingers, and would watch it with a serious face and a wave of his own chubby hand. Or else he would sit up, and toddle over to where Vegeta stood or sat generating the ki ball. Progressively the rapport between father and son unfolded so that Vegeta spent more time pursuing more earthly activities. Trips with Bulma to the shopping mall or to the amusement parks were not uncommon in the next seven years. As Trunks grew older, Vegeta’s vow of never fighting again seemed invalid. Bulma allowed him to train Trunks, knowing it was the best outlet for his knowledge and healing of his broken spirit. He needed a purpose other than outpacing Son Goku, and investing that energy in Trunks was the best remedy.

With each passing year, Trunks grew into a mischievous and intelligent little boy. Even though he was spoiled in some ways, in others Bulma was glad most of it was due to Vegeta’s continued involvement in the boy’s life. Unfortunately, one side effect of his renewed interest in training the boy was rekindling his own interest in training himself. He spent longer periods in the gravity chamber, isolating himself only to spend what amounts of time he dared with his son or Bulma. Life became more compartmentalized where if he was not training trunks Vegeta was pushing himself to surpass the limits he’d reached during the Cell Games.

After seven years, Vegeta and she had finally achieved a good balance looking after the boy. Spoiled with attention in her mind was far better than being deprived of it. Trunks had plenty. Late nights in her laboratory were Bulma’s escape from reality in to her own little world. Keeping up with an energetic seven year old was almost a full time job. Still her mind wandered to the occasional visits by their older son from an alternate timeline. Once a year he would stop by to check up on them, only to leave after his time machine was charged for another trip. During the next seven years, the trips grew less frequent until they abated altogether. During most of those rare visits, Future Trunks spent most of his time with Vegeta sparring in the gravity chamber or in space testing the new Capsule crafts. In orbit they could train to their heart’s content without endangering anyone on Chikyuu.

Now on one such late night, she focused on her latest project; reorganizing her computer invention database. Vast blocks of memory were occupied with the calculations and programs used to run Capsule’s inventions. She had one separate locked secure database just for her own proprietary inventions. As she swirled her coffee in its blue thermal Capsule mug she ran the mouse over an entry she had overlooked for quite a while

Her eyes blearily read the text. “Temporal algorithm beta three.”

“I’d almost forgotten about this. The latest modification in case he visits,” Bulma wondered, sipping her coffee. How long had it been between visits this time? At least four years, she realized, checking the entry notes. Her fingers flew gracefully over the keys, allowing her to scroll down the pages of equations and recheck the figures. When realizing the energy demands her eyes widened in near horror. Would it take the output of a nuclear plant to charge a machine this time if he happened to return? According to the time span, such recharging would require almost two months, if not three to completely restock the temporal power core.

“It increases geometrically each time,” Bulma sighed, setting down her cup with a clink. “Sooner or later, the power core won’t be able to hold the necessary energy.”

To her, the barrier to overcome time travel was like pushing a rock up a hill. For each trip, the slope became steeper, requiring more to push it up. Yet the return trip from the past was not as taxing. Power requirements increased proportional to the number of trips he’d taken. She would download the log from his time machine each time he arrived, and store it in the corner of the lab so it could recharge without anyone jeopardizing it.

Tiny ripples radiated outward from the center of her coffee mug. She heard a faint clinking, realizing the cup was rattling on the surface of the desk. Minute vibrations seemed to creep through the floor, and even in the air itself. Then she heard the whoosh of what sounded like rocket engines outside the complex, and felt the ground lurch like an earthquake.

“Speak of the devil,” she gasped, leaping out of her chair. The hallway to her private lab was long, but she crossed it in just a matter of seconds to enter the main living quarters. Her mother and father were sitting near the television where Trunks sat hunched over a video game console.

Dr. Briefs was pacing back and forth, his ear glued to the phone. Spotting Bulma he shouted, “I’m getting too old for this! You tell that husband of yours he’d better stop scaring the local people of West City by breaking the sound barrier! I could hear the windows rattling over the Video game!”

“Daddy I’m sorry. I’m going to see who it is. Tell the security guards that I’m handling it!” Bulma said.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Briefs commented, standing up rather calmly. “Do we have visitors? They should be landing at the company airport…”

The phone at Bulma’s waist rang, and she grabbed it. Her father glared at her as he returned to speaking to whoever it was on the phone. “I’ll take care of it! There’s no need to worry!” she told her security chief.

“Mom, what’s that?” Trunks asked, tossing his game down. “I feel someone’s ki… it must be papa, back from his training in the desert!”

“Now Trunks don’t get so excited! Let Mommy see who it is before you go rushing off!” Bulma cautioned, catching the back of her son’s shirt seconds as he whizzed past her.

However, the forward motion pulled her along and Trunks grabbed her hand. “Mom, its Papa! It has to be!”

“He only just taught you to sense ki, you can’t be sure,” Bulma protested weakly. She struggled to keep up with his stride, and then realized her mother and father were huffing behind them.

“Is it that nice young man from the future? I’d better put on another pot of tea!” Mrs. Briefs panted.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This work of fan fiction means no harm to the anime or manga. I get no money for writing this. My thanks to Lord Truhan for help with the ideas in this fan fiction.

Time’s Lessons Learned

Chapter 2 Gohan’s Time Training

Memories of other more painful times after that were common for Gohan, in the years to come. He would often remember that year of training in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber during the week Cell was giving them to ‘rest’.

Broken, blossoming with new bruises, Gohan turned over in the small bed once more. Distantly the sounds of Goku’s ki explosions explained the flickering blue lights shining through the window. In the twilight of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, it was hard to differentiate night from day except for the huge clocks and trickling hourglasses. The novelty of the pocket world quickly faded through endless days of kicks, punches and ki blasts singing his already aching body. Never since Namek or those first days training did it hurt this bad.

On top of all the fresh crop of bruises and sore aching muscles, he felt sick. Unable to train he had taken to bed, only to wake in a half torpor hearing his father continuing in his absence. At times like this when his muscles screamed Gohan wondered if it was worth anything. All that seemed to transpire day in and out were new ways for his father to use him as a punching bag.

“Is that all I am to him? Some means to an end,” Gohan found himself wondering. He tried to push away the though, feeling guilt bubbling up. Yet as his head pounded continually along with the explosions of his father’s training, he felt left out. In between times of his father leaning over and forcing hot broth down his throat with steamed rice, the heat burned him at the same time icicles pricked every square inch of his skin. Just behind his temples, a battle raged in volcanic heat, contrasting the freezing shiver of his toes and fingers buried under the blanket.

He curled up on himself, struggling to block out battle cries. Of what good was he to anyone except as a training partner? Just why he should bother trying to achieve SSJ when he could barely withstand the daily pummeling was beyond him. He had often dreamed of what it would be like training with his father, only to learn in three years the reality. Often times he would be in the middle of a two-way punching fest between Goku and Piccolo, only to feel like a tagalong. How many nights of ping ponging between his father and Piccolo for some scraps of knowledge that led him nowhere?

Pressing his hands to his head he would cry, “Masenko HA!” to block his father’s beam. He remembered the gleam of pride in Piccolo’s eyes those few times, shoving against the Kamehameha wave. Moreover, the echo of his father’s laugher as he was kicked backwards.

How hard was it to learn a Kamehameha wave, Gohan wondered? It seemed so simple and yet in all those three years Goku never instructed him once in his signature technique. Now he had earned the privilege, so called, to train one on one with his father and it was the pits. In comparison, the year under Piccolo seemed a fond memory. Yes, Piccolo had been hard and cold, but in that time, they had forged an unbreakable bond.

All he wanted to do was to shut out the thunder rolling distant, and the voices whispering failure in his ears. Squeezing his eyes so tightly shut he saw orange in the blackness, much like the orange of his father’s gi. On the green fields of Namek, there had been bright red blood that contrasted just as glaringly. At that time, his father seemed an angel sent to rescue them all. All they had to do was hold out until his daddy came. Then it would all be okay.

However, it was not to be. Even with Goku’s strength, everything went horribly wrong. Krillin exploded before their eyes, Dende slaughtered. Even Vegeta who was an enemy turned tentative ally was pierced through the heart. Vegeta, who had saved him from Freeza’s blows repeatedly. After all those months on Namek, the Prince, Krillin and Gohan had grudging respect for each other out of necessity to survive. Then Goku came and took charge, and things blurred into a far greater struggle.

He had to be strong, Goku whispered. Even now, he heard the footsteps and saw the shape of his father blocking the light.

“Dad,” Gohan muttered, weakly lifting his hand up. Goku gently pulled the covers up to his chin, a bowl of that purple hued rice he would come to hate. He had liked purple beans and rice, but day in and day out it was becoming a loathed staple.

“C’mon it will help you feel better,” Goku urged. Gohan felt him tug his head forward with an arm slipped behind his neck, nearly yanking his head from his spine. Something cold and curved was shoved below his lip and liquid tipped past making him cough.

“You have to be strong Gohan. Any day now, you will be a Super Saiyan. You just need to push harder…” Goku whispered. He could not see his father’s face, backlit by that eerie twilight. Only the shadow falling across his bed as he coughed down the meal Goku force-fed him.

Goku could feel the resistance of his son to the treatment. Gohan glanced feverishly up into his father’s dark eyes, seeing a glimmer of sadness. Sighing, he withdrew, still carrying the half-emptied bowl. Gohan turned over in bed, his back facing his father. The message was entirely all too clear then. Distant footsteps receded, telling the half Saiyan his father was exiting the HTC pavilion. After a wait of ten minutes, he heard the resumption of loud shouts accompanied by ki blasts.

Though he could sense the pain in his father’s gaze, Gohan couldn’t help but delight in it. Although he wanted to scold himself for such perverse pleasure, he felt in a way that his father deserved it for not pushing him harder or sharing such secrets sooner. Anger and resentment bubbled up as hot as the fever pounding his pulse in his forehead, contributing to a slow simmer that spread all over his body. More tightly, he curled up on himself beneath the blankets, burrowing into their protection to achieve that inside the womb sensation he found comforting.

Unable to turn anywhere immediately for comfort, Gohan retreated inside himself. Even his mother seemed a poor substitute because of her constant disapproval of his abilities locked inside. While a good part of him wanted to be a good son and study as his mother desired, he wondered where his hopes and hers ended. Turning over memories in his mind, he soon realized that he had no aspirations of his own, only settled for those goals others had pointed out for him. Just what bars to leap over and hoops to jump through were always provided by his mother, and never clearly reinforced by his father. While other children in literature had very clear father figures that would put their foot down, he wondered why his own father was so quick to acquiesce to his mother’s will. From all his studies, he learned the basics of psychology, and his analytical brain tried to square his parent’s interaction with what was normal.

“What is normal,” Gohan asked himself. “My father was gone for a year or two, dead for a year before that… and my mom’s had to do much on her own. Plus who do I know around here who is?”

What came to mind were the village children. Chichi had limited interaction with them, choosing to cloister Gohan away to put his studies before all else. The only people he could play with were Dende and Icarus. He recalled however volunteering to watch Baby Trunks for Bulma from time to time while she perfected the remote control. At times, she even found him assisting her.

Gohan’s love of electronics stemmed from the time he accompanied her and Krillin on their voyage to Namek. Filling the endless days with study only went so far, so he often helped Bulma tune up things in voyage. Through those interactions, she taught him the basics of electronics to keep his mind and hers occupied. In some ways, he felt like Bulma understood him better then Chichi did. At least she wasn’t uptight about letting him do certain things that Chichi would have a stroke if she ever found out.

Then his thoughts meandered through the blue of Bulma’s eyes to recollect another pair of eyes that were identical in shade. Future Trunks. Thoughts of him filled Gohan with a sense of relief. All his interactions with the teenager seemed filled with hope. Just sparring with him gave Gohan a sense of relief that he never felt with anyone save Piccolo. Oddly enough, Trunks treated him like an equal, not a pupil, or a child to be reprimanded. In his eyes, Trunks seemed to almost worship him. Yet was it because he reminded the lavender haired youth of his own Future Gohan, or was it for his own sake?

“Does he like me,” Gohan suddenly wondered. “For who I am, or just because I remind him of his Gohan?”

His Gohan. Future Gohan. Very different and yet very much the same. Separated by as many years as he was to Future Trunks. Ironic and yet poetic simultaneously. Since the revealing of that package of strong feelings, Gohan sought to navigate the significance and meaning of them. He didn’t want to misinterpret the strange glances and sad looks that Future Trunks cast his way during their workouts or sparring times.

“I don’t want to be a substitute for him, yet if he does like me…” Gohan trailed off. Yet the attention and the purity of desire to spend time with him superseded any doubts at this time.

Summoning to his mind those images derived from Trunks he formed the clearest image he possibly could. In slowest detail, he paused each instant like a slideshow in his mind until he reached the sight of his future alternate self. Close-cropped hair except for a few spiky tendrils off the forehead comprised a far different hairstyle to what he wore now. The gi seemed a size or two large, considering the blue weighted undershirt, sleeves nearly touched the middle of his arms. Quite a contrast from how his father wore the shirt, its short sleeves reaching barely past his shoulders. Almost as if Future Gohan strove to grow into the gi that still seemed several sizes too big, yet fit in its own style. For him it was just right, just distinctive enough to differentiate him from Son Goku. The patch bearing the “Han” sign written in bold black script confirmed his individuality.

Jet-black hair flooded through with golden light, resulting from the flames of Super Saiyan energy licking over Future Gohan’s figure. Teal eyes devoid of pupils gleamed at him through the memories as experienced from Future Trunks perspective, yet now deposited safely in Gohan’s mind. He studied the diagonal scar crossing over his doppelganger’s adult face, realizing it resembled Yamcha’s, and only added to the rugged handsomeness Future Trunks perceived in his recollections.

“He was a super Saiyan. That means I must have it within me,” Gohan reasoned. In the fever pitch of his sickness his mind still flickered efficiently, preoccupied with the revelation. It seemed as if the golden glow from his future self had transferred into his heart. As it grew brighter, it radiated soothing warmth capable of banishing the dim doubts his father and others had previously deposited.

Coupled with the new levity of spirit was Future Trunks pride. A smiling face peeked behind that fringe of purple hair at him many a day. The graceful slant of his angular eyes contributed to the perfection of his expression. In them, he didn’t see the resemblance to Vegeta, only the uniqueness that was Future Trunks. He delighted in those smiles the young half Saiyan gave him whenever Gohan arrived at Capsule, or in any other place. No matter what Gohan did, he sensed that Future Trunks would still accept him faults and all.

“I don’t need to prove myself to him, because he’s just glad to see me. Not only that… but he’s actually happy when we’re together in any way?” Gohan realized. As this thought crossed his mind, the warmth spread and modulated his body temperatures within a more normal limit. Now instead of shivering with twitching muscles wrapped in on himself Gohan could relax and lie still. Filling his head with the smile of Future Trunks and glimpses of a possible future, he managed to sleep.

Author’s Notes: My thanks to Lord Truhan for help with the ideas in this fan fiction.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This work of fan fiction means no harm to the anime or manga. I get no money for writing this. My thanks to Lord Truhan for help with the ideas in this fan fiction.

Time’s Lessons Learned

Chapter 1 After Cell’s Time

It was hard transitioning from late teen hood to life as an adult, often leaving him with one foot on the threshold while the other seemed frozen stuck inside a comfortable doorway. All markers of comfort had long ago faded, forcing Gohan to form new attachments as replacements for his father’s absence. While the void left by Goku’s choice to remain dead never filled, there were other things that allowed him to seal that emptiness off behind a wall and try not to notice it was there. On the other hand, that was his hope.

In the diversion of supporting others, he found relief from missing his father so deeply. Still questions filled his head, such as why would his father not realize that the risk of danger was far less than the risk of danger through emotional abandonment. A mother needed him greatly as a source of emotional support, and he sensed in time, someone else as well. He had been too distracted before to realize the other life ki burning brightly, yet he knew it from having sensed the same phenomenon in Bulma years ago; it was from the formation of a new child in his mother’s womb.

New life brought new hope. He wondered if this was how Future Trunks must have felt when arriving in a world hardly recognizable from his own. Part of him also wondered if he would see his fellow warrior again. Emotionally shoved on a father who had been long absent only to have that tentative new bond ripped asunder kept him sleepless in his solitary room upstairs. Fortunately, his grandfather the Ox king was on hand to help with stemming the tide of his mother’s emotional downs. Coupled with her increasing pregnancy and her funk induced by perceived rejection from Goku she spent few days out of bed.

Though his books sat neatly stacked on his desk, he found himself only turning to them occasionally now. Far more important were the gentle coaxing of his mother from her emotional stupor through making chamomile tea and fixing breakfast. Now the roles of caretaker switched, evident from him bringing meals for Chichi in bed while the Ox King settled the bills and affairs of the house. Even the women from the village came to help, including Lime’s family, bringing casserole dishes for the young window.

Occasional days of brightness pierced through the gloom of the dull ache when Gohan was not busy studying or helping out with the care of his mother and home. On such days, his grandfather the Ox King would take him fishing to remind Gohan that he was indeed still a youth in need of recreation. HIs life could not be one of sole responsibility, even though he seemed more than happy to sacrifice his own hobbies for the sake of pitching in.

“You need to remember to give yourself some time, Gohan,” Ox King told him as they sat by the shore with their fishing poles dangling in the lake. The sense of comfortable familiarity misted Gohan’s eyes with tears, and eased the ache a bit more. While the void was concealed behind a growing wall of plaster, it still needed more time to solidify.

Even so, the feel of the warm sun burning down on his pale skin filled Gohan with a sense of hope. Textbooks often mentioned how sunlight influenced mood. Just knowing he made the weather possible by defeating cell gave him some measure of peace. Now he could lean back and peer into that blue void crisscrossed by occasional clouds and the diamond glistens of sunrays spilling down. In addition, know that it was because of sacrifice. Yet as he frowned, he could not help but wonder why others did not realize they needed to put their own feelings aside as he had done.

How can helping others be selfish? How could wrapping your separation in a noble and ill-conceived excuse make it right to abandon your wife and child? Gohan felt like loathing his father sometimes, and yet he was disturbed more that it seemed justifiable.

Other times Piccolo was a listening ear. Just talking to Dende in some visits he saw Piccolo meditating at Kami’s Lookout. Hovering in midair with his cape hanging down and fluttering in the thin air Piccolo spoke very little but listened volumes.

***

Years slowly formed out of the endless days. Slow changes were the norm, marked by the progress of Chichi from whole days spent in bed to only partial. In six months, she was often doing a larger share of housework, insisting Gohan resume his studies. There was not as much time for the books to gather dust anymore. So plunging into his studies, he found solace from the aching holes.

Finally, when his younger brother was born, another looked to him for guidance. After stewarding his mother through her dark time, he found it a huge relief to act silly and care for a younger soul. Yet he felt adulthood foisted upon him and barely realized that he had a right to protest it. Guilt was a huge motivator, making Gohan shove aside any desire for his own needs in favor of pitching in and pulling his weight.

Right now, a crib sat in Chichi’s bedroom, so she would not have to keep the baby in the bed. Ox King insisted. Much of the time, his grandfather spent the night in a new wing that he had built onto the small house for the new library of books that Gohan would need for his continued study.

Throughout it all, Gohan’s thoughts wandered to the welfare of his fellow Z warriors. Especially

the fate of Future Trunks. Sometimes lying on his bed at night, he thought back to the other times when they had shared sleeping space through their adventures. One particular night crossed his mind more and more often as the days went by and he sat contemplating his calculus:

Trunks thrashed back and forth on his borrowed bed at capsule. Down the hall, Gohan’s enhanced half Saiyan hearing could not mistake the noise of the low moaning, amidst the rustle of cloth. It soared loudly above the domestic din of Capsule’s humming energy conduits supplying power to each of the many rooms. Such a steady hum existed on a much smaller scale at his home at Mt. Paozu. Just why he rested here other then home was just pragmatism, for who wanted to fly four hours home when they could simple spend the night here?

Vegeta had taken quite a beating from the androids then, and Trunks and Gohan were working on individual techniques in one of the other training facilities Bulma had constructed. She had busied herself with discovering how to rig a remote control detonator that could disable one of the androids. So far, Krillin had not been brave enough to use it.

Gohan automatically leapt out of bed, hurling his sheets aside and was halfway down the hall before realizing what he was doing. It seemed born out of instinct. An inborn silent voice urged him to the side of the other half Saiyan. His impulse to knock on the door was overridden hearing the escalation of the moans into near cries of help, and screams. Rather than risk scaring Trunks even more badly by shouting, Gohan simply opened the door and rushed inside. It took a second to register just what he saw amidst the pile of rumpled sheets half dangling off the side of the bed ,but Gohan knew from the thrashing of his arms and legs that Trunks was still sound asleep and fighting some unknown terror.

“Trunks wake up!” Gohan automatically snapped, stepping over a pile of clothes and pillows thrown off the bed. “It’s Gohan…”

“No… No!” Trunks howled. HIs foot flashed out, and then Gohan heard a loud thump accompanied by the crack of plaster on the wall shattering. Gohan drew in his breath sharply, leaping onto the corner of the bed and reaching out to grab Trunks wrists. Already one of his hands was glowing ever more steadily with blue ki, and it would not do to have him hurt himself and anyone else with whatever tormented him.

“Trunks wake up!” Gohan repeated, kneeling right next to Trunks hip. Forcing his face within inches of the other half Saiyan, he saw the sheen of sweat glistening there. While he was worried he could not help but notice that the other was bare chested, judging by the sheets tossed partway aside. Judging by the resistance of Trunks to Gohan’s grasp, he knew it that was quite possibly a reenactment of one of the many battles of futility.

“Gohan, no… You can’t be dead!” Trunks howled. Mention of his name made Gohan’s heart stop dead. The way in which he screamed with such desperation wrenched uncertain emotions to the surface.

Sudden images flickered at random, causing Gohan to blink. So strong was the wave of pain that shot through him that he felt himself shortly stunned. His numb brain seized up, and then Trunks twisted his wrists. The next second Gohan found himself flying across the room, before feeling his shoulder and hip slam against the carpeted floor. A rapid burst of balled up emotions tangled with unfamiliar memories scrambling inside Gohan’s consciousness. He could see the shape of a red and blue gi clad figure standing across a distance from him, his hair burnished gold. Although its back faced Gohan, he noted the sigil spelled out his own name, though the style was the Turtle Hermit school uniform.

“Take me with you Gohan, please… I can help you fight; I won’t get in the way this time!” a younger version of Trunks voice echoed. From the solid muffled quality, Gohan realized he was seeing memories through Trunks eyes.

Gohan questioned just how such a connection could be forged, then remembered how his father Goku could read minds with a touch of a hand to a forehead. Back on Namek, he had asked to read Krillin’s mind in such a manner. Inadvertently Trunks had transmitted these images to Gohan through the contact of skin on skin. Strange other emotions tingled inside Gohan, and he felt mixed with fear something else that caused him to blush.

“All right,” said the tall figure, his gold hair spiky with the power of a Super Saiyan. Gohan shivered through the recollections realizing it was he, or an older version. Teal eyes stared down with a silent sadness that felt painfully familiar. In addition, the nasty scar crossing his face told the silent story, not to mention the left sleeve of the weighted top that dangled without an arm.

“Kami,” Gohan breathed, pushing himself to sit up. “That’s me… in Trunks world. But I look so… so different…”

The thrashing had abated by now, and Gohan tensed to hear the change in Trunks breathing. Rasping breaths and a pounding heart echoed, but Gohan realized that his own heart was pounding equally unrestrained trying to process the alien memories. Tendrils of his hair hung down, and he felt the weight of his own lengthening hair halfway down his back. He heard Trunks breathing slowly, and the creak of bedsprings heralding someone swinging around their weight to sit up.

“Gohan…” whispered Trunks, voice thick with emotion.

“You… you’re awake… thank Kami,” Gohan responded, his own voice cracking slightly.

“Wait a minute… what… what are you doing here?” Trunks asked. Gohan managed to scoot over, pulling himself on his hands and knees to where Trunks sat on the corner of his bed.

“That must have been one nasty nightmare. I heard you from down the hall,” Gohan confessed.

“Gohan, what is it? WAs I that loud? Sorry to make you worry. I’m fine,” Trunks said, scooting to the edge of the bed. He was worried why Gohan was still sitting on the floor, looking badly shaken. Trunks extended a hand to him, and motioned for Gohan to take it. HE easily tugged his friend up towards the bed.

“Come on, sit down. Since we both woke up, it doesn’t look like we’ll get back to sleep any time soon. Are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

“I should ask you, Trunks. You sounded like someone was murdering… sounded like someone killed your… best friend,” Gohan tentatively observed. He sat down next to Trunks on the edge of the bed, looking only sideways at the older half Saiyan instead. When Trunks gasped, Gohan knew he was treading on dangerous territory. Should he continue to press Trunks to talk, or not?

Seeing how Gohan’s shoulders were slumped over, Trunks too felt the tension in the room rise to a palpable level. His gut told him that somehow Gohan had figured out just what he had been dreaming about, and he cursed the fact the younger version of his mentor was so smart.

“Are you okay? Holy shit did I do that,” Trunks commented, staring at the hole in the wall. He felt anger surge through him at his lack of self-control. His every motive was to spare Gohan the truth of what became of his counterpart. Better the youth still cling to some notion of childhood before the storm increased, rather than have angst foisted upon him so young. He was on the threshold of teenager hood, and only a few years separated them both. Ironic.

“I saw, Trunks,” Gohan coughed.

“What are you talking about?” Trunks lamely tried to protest. A hand rested on his arm, squeezing tightly.

“I saw myself. You somehow… put memories into my mind… I didn’t realize till I saw them…” Gohan began. Trunks inhaled sharply, his muscles twitching under Gohan’s grasp.

Trunks words came out stilted and tinged with trepidation, “What DID you see… Gohan…”

“What must have been me? You were asking me… er him… to not leave you behind,” Gohan answered, his young voice trying to relate something to the owner of the memories. IT seemed pointless, but Trunks had a right to know what was going on. Although Gohan could be angry at the memories forced into his brain, it was his fault for bursting into the room without knocking.

“I see,” Trunks nodded, swallowing hard. He removed his arm from Gohan’s grasp. The dim glow of whatever ambient light from the windows shimmered on his lavender hair, painting it hues of silver. One foot still hung down while his arms wrapped around the other knee hugged to his chest.

“I’m sorry if I saw something I shouldn’t have Trunks,” Gohan apologized. He too drew up his knees and hugged them both, rocking back and forth slightly on his side of the bed.

“What’s done is done, Gohan. You only saw yourself as an adult,” Trunks began. Yet he stopped his explanation as the description of memories rang clear in his mind.

“Oh,” Gohan acknowledged. He could tell in the change of tone in Trunks voice and the hesitation that he had ventured into forbidden territory. Already he had crossed a line that he felt he should not have. Now he knew something far more intimate then Trunks had ever meant anyone to discover. How could he admit to trunks he knew the feelings held secretly for so long for his other self?

He only wished he could love someone that much when he was older.

***

Author’s Notes:  Song Used: “Beauty and the Beast” which apparently belongs to Howard Ashman.

*****

Tale as old as time

Could there possibly be any kind of story older, or more cliché, than love? They’re everywhere, in everything, even masquerading themselves and hiding, to surprise you at the last moment when you’re cornered. Don’t sound to biased, do I? I don’t mind being caught… well, not too much. If I were still as hot-headed and prideful as my youth I wouldn’t believe that I could ever fall for the “great deception.” Heh. If there’s any trickery in it, it was me fooling myself that the feelings weren’t there. I got caught by love -good-, and now it’s my brat’s turn to fall, too.

True as it can be

Rail as I might have against the entire -concept- of love, shy away from trusting another with something so fragile as my heart and pride when I’ve stood alone for so long… only something so true could have passed through my defenses. I’ve heard it isn’t so in all cases, but in all the times -I’ve- seen it form it has been. I suppose you think this means that I believe in the “True Love” baka ningen are always going on about. I suppose. Their problem is that most of the time when they declare it it’s -lust- at first sight. But in the case I’m watching there are real feelings on at least one side. If they aren’t on the other, well, I’ll just have to hurt someone, won’t I?

Barely even friends

If you weren’t watching them you’d never notice. I’ve got a bet on that everyone else is going to be surprised as hell when they finally get it together. Well, Kakarot’s spawn should notice at least, he’s close enough to them. And -that- is why everyone else isn’t going to know what hit them. They don’t even have to change their patterns to see each other, get in their “forbidden glances” during that crush stage humans insist on. My Brat goes to see the Spawn, and if the Boy just -happens- to be there of course he can join them. Or he can come get his brother from over here. The Spawn -must- have noticed by now, and if I didn’t already have one running I’d bet that he was working both of them toward each other. Of course, it’s so obvious I probably wouldn’t get anyone to take the other side. He’s got to have figured out that it’s mutual before either of them did.

Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly

First, they’re occasional friends at best, or acquaintances. Then the pattern shifts. It looks -almost- like before, but they begin to seek each other out, camouflaged to look like previous interactions. I don’t know who started it, I don’t watch them -that- closely (or didn’t), but it started the whole process like those damned little blocks the Brat and the Spawn set up all over the house when they were young, only even -harder- to stop.

That’s how it sneaks up on you, especially if you can fool yourself into thinking nothing -really- changed, or that it’s just -them- acting funny, and you’re untouched. I think that the Brat will have an easier time getting through that stage than I did. He’s a lot better about admitting his emotions, which I credit (or blame) to his human upbringing. The Boy, on the other hand, might have problems, but for pretty damned different reasons. It’s not so much that he isn’t allowed emotions, it’s that falling for my Brat isn’t on the schedule for his perfectly mundane life, planned out from the moment of his birth by that banshee he calls a mother. She’s always despised anything that upset the life she’d laid out for him, but so far she’s managed to overcome all the disruptions. I have the feeling that this little road-block, however, blows all the rest out of the water. Do I sound like I’m gloating? When it finally happens, it’ll be about time!

Just a little change
Small to say the least

Where is it that a relationship turns from “innocent” to “budding heat”? I feel that this distinction can only be made by outsiders watching closely, from the inside it all blurs. Whatever the point is, it changes a casual touch, given in the exact same manner as the day before, from simple contact to a bolt of lightning. The mere sight of your other’s face, or any other part of them for that matter, becomes an image to be treasured, a target for adoration, or a command for all the blood from your hair to your toenails to gather in your face so it can get a look, too.

The problem with those blushes is that they then embarrass you, which makes you blush -more-, which in turn becomes more humiliating, and it creates a highly uncomfortable vicious cycle. I remember the first time it happened to -me-, surprising and embarrassing as hell, I said something trite and fled, with as much dignity as I was capable of mustering. They’re hard to deal with when you can’t admit that you can -be- embarrassed. If your own body and thoughts, not to mention dreams, hadn’t made you realize what you were going through -before-, this is the point where you finally wake up. That’s where it hit me, at least, though it took nearly a dozen instances before I could admit it.

Both a little scared

I don’t understand why so many humans have no qualms about love. It can be a damned scary thing. Yes, I -am- admitting to fearing something. But it’s not what I’m -most- afraid of. That place, as it should be in most people, is reserved for -losing- those you love. Of course, that fear is tied up in the fear of love itself. But still, what’s that human saying? “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” I can’t be sure of that, but they’re not gone yet, and shouldn’t be any time soon.

I bet they’re both scared as hell. Always seems to happen. There are fears that go with almost every love. Do they feel the same way? Will they -keep- feeling the same? Will I? What if I’m being hasty? What if it’s not -really- there? Then, of course, there are always specific ones as well. Will they accept us? Would their family love me as a -relative-? What about his/my daughter? I swear the most annoying part in Chikyuu courtships is the uncertainty.

Neither one prepared

No one is -every- prepared for love, no matter what they think or say. It just isn’t the kind of thing you can ignore or analyze while it’s happening, much as you try, and it’s -certainly- not something that can be anticipated. Loathe as I am to admit it, that would take part of the fun out of it. Or terror, whichever.

Beauty and the Beast

Everyone, entering -any- relationship always assumes that they’re the ‘beast’ of it. Unless of course they’re self-centered pricks. But in most there’s the common thought of “I don’t deserve them.” You feel as if you’re somehow taking advantage of them. Either you believe they have a false impression of you, that you aren’t up to their standards, they’re too loving, or the all-around: “They’re too good for me,” “Someone else must be better for them,” or “They’d be better off without me.” -Eventually- they might get it through to you that none of it’s true, but the best thing to do is try and remember that they’re thinking the same things.

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise

Being a paradox seems to be part of love’s nature. Like I said, it’s the same story over and over and -over-, but it’s new every time. No matter how many of those damned trashy true-love romances you read, if it ever hit -you- it wouldn’t feel like you’d been imagining. It’s not -quite- all hearts and flowers, after all. Your body, hormones and all, gets involved as hell. People might -talk- about loving like that without needing to touch, but either they aren’t -really- feeling it or they’re lying through their teeth.

Ever as before

It’s amusing how history repeats itself. Well, you can laugh at it as long as you aren’t centrally involved in the repetition, at least. My brat follows me too well, though the pattern isn’t -quite- the same. I wonder how many years he can dance around it. I’m fairly sure it won’t just get buried, I’ve watched it build between them, slow and steady, water piling up against the dam. Eventually, it will break. A single touch might be the last straw. I occasionally amuse myself by wondering where they’ll be when it happens. To extend my metaphor, when that dam finally goes, there will be a -lot- of water backed up behind it.

Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise

They’re going to get caught by it eventually, ready or not. I certainly wasn’t. Of course, unless one of them -really- gets a clue they won’t be able to get the jump on the other one. Besides, if it hadn’t happened to me like that, it likely never would have come about at all.

Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song

I’m sure I’ve already said that this is the oldest story in the book, if not the -only- kind there is. It’s also in all that damned human music the Brat and his sister listen to at nerve-wracking volumes. Hell, it’s even in their advertisements! It would likely shock most people who know me (well, except the closest) if I told them they had those kinds of stories on Vejiita-sei, too. Oh, they didn’t play out in quite the same way, but it was there. If I were anyone -but- the Prince, or my life had gone differently, I wouldn’t have resisted the idea so strongly. Saiya-jin were hardly cold-hearted bastards among themselves. Brutal, yes. Prideful, yes. Certain of their superiority, yes. But it was only when interacting with -other- species that we would show no feelings besides blood-lust. Consider it racial arrogance and pride. Feelings can only be a weakness if others know about them. I simply had the misfortune of being raised almost entirely in the presence of other species, and the mask became permanent.

Bittersweet and strange

I wonder how long it will take the Brat and the Boy to decide that it’s worth it. They’ll lose thing, but what is a gain without a loss? Eventually they won’t even miss them. Like the Boy’s damned mother’s influence, or the image of what they -thought- their lives would be. They’re going to be moving about blind. I suppose, after the first hurdle or two we could move to help guide them… Wouldn’t do to lead them by the hand the entire way. Of course, things eventually fall into place when you’re on your own, but until then… Hmph, I’ll have to consult about this.

Finding you can change

Changing is both hardest and easiest, which meshes well with the entire nature of love. It can be what you resist the most, thinking perhaps that -they- should be changing for -you-, but you’re doing it before you even notice. Most of the time they don’t even -ask-, and you shift to fit them. It’s only fair, because they’re doing the same for you. I’m not sure quite how my Brat will change, but I’ve got some thoughts about the Boy. Less serious, less driven by outside expectations, more humor. But who knows, maybe my Brat will bury himself in all those damned books right beside him.

Learning you were wrong

I’ve heard that one of the most important parts of a relationship is being able to admit you’re wrong and apologize. Anyone who knows me at -all- will probably see that I had a hard time with it. I’m still not sure whether it’s harder to admit fault about big things or little things. The big ones are more important to you, but you’ll generally get confronted about them. Little things can get ignored. I had a lot of big things, a couple little ones. They’ve got just about the opposite. I’ll have to wait and see how it goes.

Certain as the sun
Rising in the east

They’re getting closer. It’s going to happen -soon- now. Though I wasn’t expecting it, I think the Boy might have a better idea of what’s going on. He got rid of that self-centered little bitch he called a wife. Technically, I suppose, she divorced him, but he won in court so the kid is his. I think that’s to her benefit. And even if she’s the one who filed, I could tell he was getting restless, and likely managed to encourage her on that path without letting her realize it. All that psychology he’s taken is apparently useful here. If he’d actually -wanted- to keep her, he could have used it for that, too, and she still wouldn’t have been the wiser. No one ever said that she was -really- intelligent. She may have figured out that he killed Cell, yet she -still- didn’t connect him to the “golden warrior” stuff until she -saw- him change, even though all recordings of the Cell Game show him in Super Saiya-jin. Hn. Maybe that’s one reason he got rid of her: she’s not too smart. The Brat is intelligent, though. Even if he does occasionally try to fake “dumb fighter” to get out of things.

Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme

They finally did it, and I won my bet, though by a smaller margin than I’d thought. I don’t know whether they’ll really need any help or not, they seem to do better than we did. The Boy’s mother nearly had a heart attack, and fainted dead away, which was endlessly amusing. They stood up to her, though, which is a damned good sign. The Spawn was patting himself on the back the entire time, which seemed to surprise -them-. I don’t know how much influence he had in finally forcing them to admit their feelings, but he certainly -acts- like he orchestrated the entire thing. We, of course, knew about it all along. But, I still won.

Beauty and the Beast

Now I’ve got to go collect my winnings from my mates. Though the deal was with the Shrew (she thought the others would be more observant), the Idiot promised to referee. He wasn’t sure about what his brats or mine would do, really, so stayed on the sidelines. There’s a brain in there somewhere. Maybe I can consider this a bit of payback for when they managed to trap me, with love. Of course, the “trap” is larger than my world used to be, once I realized the door was open. But it is amusing to play games with them. I never did have a change against them, though. Not when they work together.

Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast

Author’s Notes : This is meant to be “The Wolfpack” story arch coming to life. I’m honored to be your guide while this adventure last.

Welcome and happy reading.

“The one that loves you the most will die, and in return for your life, you’ll make the one you love the most, suffer. This is my condition.”

“I accept. Shenlong, grant my wish.”

“So be it!”

With these words, Shenlong fulfilled his contract with the lone man standing on the edge of the snowy cliff. The blast of silent energy surrounded the whole World, perhaps even the universe, with the magic of the Dragon Spirit. In that moment something had changed and it could never be undone.

Trunks felt to his knees and shivered, slowly taking in the weight of what he had just witnessed. He could fell every cell in his body screaming in agony, yet he endured. Like an outcast wolf, he was alone now.

The pain would pass soon; he could only focus on the present, like the wolves do. The past was gone, the future non-existent. This moment, this day, was the only thing than mattered.

It had taken him seven months to gather the dragon balls on his arrival that year. He had planned on arriving before Frieza and his father, and even before Goku’s return from his space pilgrimage.

It was the only way to have enough time to gather the balls and plead for his mother’s request to the Dragon God. It was all they could do to save their future, from the world of chaos and grief that it was.

Trunks lay on the cold ground, his face streaked by tears and dirt. The sky above was in a fiery red and gold, a wonderful sunset crowned by one lonely star.

“Mother…”

Far away, in the profundity of the mountain’ side close to Korin’s Tower ; two fighters were training hard. The blows kept coming non stop at blinding speed. There was no use of Ki blasts or energy waves, only raw skill.

The younger Z warrior ducked the punches or his opponent fairly easily, it was their long legs he had to pay attention. Their speed was lethal. Gohan run and duck behind a rock, the next kick send a rain of shingle at his face momentarily blurring his vision, which was Piccolo’s intent. Without his sight, Gohan had to rely on his other senses and intuition.

Gritting his teeth, the young half Saiyan strained to hear any movement, but there was non. Only the soft breeze that blew during summer could be felt. But then, there it was. A nearly audible thump, followed by a sigh. Then another. A heart beating very slowly, a breathing so controlled it was almost not there.

Gohan gathered momentum, and run threw the fragments rain ready to drive his fist into his opponent.

It was then when they both could feel the wave from Shenlong’s wish granting. Gohan looked up at the sky, feeling bewildered.

Piccolo took his pupil’s moment of distraction to grab Gohan’s wrist and pull the boy up, delivering a rib’s breaking punch.

The Namekseijin could feel the inside of the boy give way, as the air left his lung. Immediately, he twisted around sending Gohan flying against the mountain’s face with a kick on his back, leaving a perfect circular dent on the hard rock.

With a dry sound the boy’s body fell to the ground, gasping and semi conscious. Although his ribs were broken and he was completely battered, he was still struggling to get up. With a small shrug and the ghost of a smile on his face Piccolo approached the kid, and turned him over with a kick.

Gohan was in pain, but that fighting spirit inherited from his father made him stir and reach out to grab his tutor’s ankle.

Piccolo felt a surge of pride for the boy. The Namekseijin knelt down, and gently lifted Gohan’s head.

“Here. Eat this.” Said Piccolo and placed a small senzu seed inside the boy’s mouth.
Unfocused eyes were looking at him.

“Piccolo-san did you felt that energy just now?” said Gohan as the seed healed him.

“Hn. Surely some loser asking Shenlong for a useless wish.” Answered the Namekseijin.

Gohan stood up, and stared into the sky. He felt different somehow. “Maybe…but it felt different from others, like the whole world felt the effects of that wish…what do you think it means?”

Piccolo dropped his hand heavily on a child’s head. With one of his rare smiles, he reassured the boy.

“It doesn’t matter now. Don’t think more about it” Then he added with a malicious grin. “We still have time ‘til sunset. Ready to continue?”

“Yes, Piccolo-san!”

Eagerly, both resumed their training. Yet, despite what he had said, in the depths of Piccolo’s mind, he knew what had happened and was already weighing the consequences of that fateful wish made to Shenlong.

***

It was well past the sunset, when Piccolo brought a sleepy and battered Gohan back home. Gohan was dirty and bruised, but his face glowed with satisfaction and happiness of having spent the whole day training with his “Piccolo-san”.

Piccolo was searching his small bag for another senzu to give the boy before delivering him to the clutches of his overprotective mother.

“I think you better go inside quickly and clean yourself, before…”

“GOHAN!!!!!!!!”

The blood-curdling shriek made both warriors pale in unison. The most terrifying person, the only one who could send the Z warriors heart into a fit of panic, appeared. Chichi stood right behind them. Hands on her hips, her face red with anger.

“I-I’m home…mom” stammered Gohan. Piccolo swallowed hard, and put the boy on the ground.

“Of course you are home! Now! You should have been here hours ago!” her voice pitch was getting higher and higher, always a bad signal. Piccolo was so pale by now he almost looked yellow. Gohan did look down to wear, but the poor boy was more mortified over her mother overreaction. He knew his mother loved him. But her hysteria was growing with each passing day her husband was absent.

“And you!” Chichi suddenly turned on her heels and if glares could kill, Piccolo would have been reduced to ashes that second.

“I’ve let you keep this stupid training nonsense once a week in Goku’s absence, but I’ve had it!” She yelled and snorted like a bull ready to charge.

“We weren’t late, he’s back before his curfew, just like we agree!” Piccolo replied, with a wary smile. It took all his training to keep him from trembling before the angry human.

“Look at my son!” She suddenly pointed at Gohan. “If this is how you train, he would soon get killed!”

The boy for his part was doing his best to blend with the house bricks, in a sorry attempt to escape his mother’s outrage.

“Chichi, just listen… it’s nothing serious, one Senzu will take care of it in no…” Piccolo froze in midsentence, if there was something that infuriating, overbearing woman hated more than seeing her son injured, was the use of any magical medicine.

The vein on chichi’s forehead was pulsing. Piccolo knew that was the worst sign of all. A strange battle aura was formed around Chichi, it’s energy wilting the grass at her feet.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Home.”

Light being struck down by lightning, Chichi charged over Piccolo with her broom. It was not that a mere stick was enough to harm him, but the speed and anger that woman could use.

Clapping his hands, trying not to harm Chichi, Piccolo send a blade shaped gust of wind to break the broomstick in half.

“ARGH!” Shrieked the infuriated female and ran into the house.

Piccolo smirked, thinking that would be the end of it, and was about to say his good byes to Gohan when a projectile hit him square on the head. Followed by what looked like a heavy cooking wok, a frying pan, a teapot and a casserole.

“Blasted female!!” Piccolo yelled trying to block the storm of cooking apparel thrown at him. It was impossible to have a sensible argument with that woman when she was so angry all the time.

Taking flight, Piccolo prepared to retreat.

“Piccolo-san…” Whispered Gohan. Watching his mentor retreat with the tail between the legs was very unsettling.

Once airborne, Piccolo threw the senzu quickly for Gohan to catch. The lad chews the tiny seed, and gulped it barely in time when his mother redirected her attention to him.

“Now for you young man!” She addressed Gohan whom was by now completely healed. “Get clean and sit to dinner. I want you to finish these prep school tests by evening. Your tutor, Mr. Shu will be coming tomorrow morning. “

Gohan groaned audibly. If there was anything he hated, it was spending time with that sadistic excuse of a teacher.

“I learn more being with Piccolo-san…” The boy mumbled.

Chichi turned around and with one glare had Gohan frozen like a tiny animal about to be eaten. “I don’t want to hear anything else about training! If you disobey me again, I’ll forbid it until your father returns…”

“…And only Kamisama knows when that’ll be…” suddenly Chichi broke crying.

“Mom…” Gohan felt worried for his mom. He knew that she missed his father more than anyone. He climbed down the table and approached Chichi. His mother threw herself over him, and hugged him tight.

“Gohan, Gohan… you don’t understand. Momma just wants to protect you.” Chichi was sobbing. “What I want is that you won’t end killed!”

Gohan small arms embraced his mother with all his might. He could share the same feeling. It had been a traumatizing experience to witness the deaths of Krillin, and then Vegeta in Namek, and for him to be at the brink of death as well.

“I won’t die, mom. I’ll be good.”

Soothing his mother as best as he could, Gohan wished very hard Goku would come back soon, because otherwise what little love kept them together would be broken and gone.
His father was the only one that could make things right for this tiny family.

Author’s Notes: This story is very alternate-universe.

Chapter One: Whatever Happens

Rain was pouring, pounding on his poor bloodied head without mercy. He wrapped his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm in the blistering cold. He kept his head down as he walked along the empty, barely lit streets. It was the dead of night. He was all alone. What happened? He couldn’t remember. Where was he? He didn’t know. Did he have a family? Where did he belong? Who did he love? Did he love anyone? Did he even have a home? An acquaintance?

All of these questions drew a blank in the small child’s mind. He twisted his wet raven locks around a petite finger. What name did he go by? How old was he? He looked at his tiny hands and formed them into a fist, then poked one out at a time. What the heck was he doing?

He couldn’t remember how to count. The gestures and symbols and words all felt so distant. Could he still speak?

“Ahhh….” he sighed. “Aaaahhhh…” he sighed again. What should he say? “My head hurts.” Good. He sill knew how to speak. What about the alphabet? “A B C D E… K… N…” He sighed again. What was next? Nothing. A blank. Empty space. He looked over his shoulder and stared out at the frighteningly dark road. Something clattered from an alleyway nearby, as if a tin can falling off a dumpster. The boy jumped and began to run. His frightened sprint came to a halt, however, when he collided with a pair of legs.

“Hello?” another voice questioned. “Are you okay?” The little boy looked up to see a man with bright purple hair and an umbrella, shielding his head from the unforgiving storm. He immediately held the umbrella over the child and placed a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. The boy shivered and held himself tighter.

“I don’t know,” he answered, noticing his own condition. Blood, scratches, and large, swollen, throbbing bruises covered his body. “I think I got hurt really bad.” The man nodded and ripped his silky white shirt, dabbing the wounds with care.

“How did you get out here?” he asked. The boy shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you get hurt?”

“I don’t know.” The man seemed to be at a loss. He bit his lip and tore off his sleeve, wrapping it around the boy’s head.

“Well, do you remember what your name is?”

“Ahh…” the boy struggled. “Ahh… I’m um…” What was it? He sighed, frustrated. The man patted the boy’s shoulder and inspected him closer. He noted the various cuts, burns, and bruises littering the child’s tiny body. He had to be no older than five. His bright brown- nearly orange- eyes glowed beautifully like precious gemstones in the rainy street-lamp-lit light. The man let his eyes travel down to inspect the child’s ripped clothes. He furrowed his purple eyebrows as something on the boy’s shirt caught his eye.

“Prince,” it said, stitched with love across silky, expensive fabric. Is he a prince?

“Um… I’m Goh… Goh… ughhh,” the little boy growled and pulled at his hair, feeling anger rise up in his chest. The man gently pulled the boy’s hands away and rubbed his arms, not even flinching when the blood smeared between his fingers. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said gently. He let his fingertips brush across the boy’s ripped clothing. The boy looked up at him, eyes wide and afraid. The man smiled. “My name is Trunks Briefs,” he informed. The little boy nodded. “You can call me Trunks. Why don’t you come home with me? I can take care of you until we can find out whose son you are.” The boy’s eyelids dropped and he slid his amber irises back down to the ground. Trunks’s heart dropped with them, feeling the sadness radiate off the kid’s skin. “Can I call you Prince?” he asked gently. He brushed his fingers underneath the boy’s chin and lifted his head back up.

The boy hesitated, entranced by the warm gesture and comfort of Trunks’s dazzling blue eyes on his own. “…Would you… call me your son?” the boy asked tenderly, as if afraid of the answer. Trunks’s eyes widened. Son? He tilted his head slightly, eyes filled with concern.

“Would you call me your daddy?” he asked, just as softly. A smile crept across the boy’s lips.

Trunks stood back up and reached out to take Prince’s bloodstained hand. “I can’t wait to show you… your new home. Everything will be all right,” he assured.

“Daddy?” Prince asked softly, letting the man grip his tiny hand tenderly. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

As the raven-haired boy that Trunks had so delightfully named, “Prince,” followed his new caretaker, hand-in-hand, the rainy street suddenly took on a new appearance. Prince looked over Trunks’s shoulder and smiled. The world was suddenly so beautiful.

Author’s Notes: This story is done as a tribute to the novel Mysterious Island by Jules Verne, and is written in collaboration with Lord Truhan.

“Si on eût été au temps des génies, cet incident aurait donné le droit de penser que l’île était hantée par un être surnaturel qui mettait sa puissance au service des naufragés !”

“If they had been living in the time of genii, this incident would have given them the right to think that the island was haunted by some supernatural being, who used his power in the service of the castaways !”

-Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island (1874)

“C’mon sit down here, buddy,” Yamcha quickly said, steadying the captain. On Satan’s other side 17 moved, bracing the captain up as well. Between them, they helped him to sit down on a nearby log.

“No sign of him,” Satan interrupted, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. Now they knew what caused the gleam in his eyes, for they were from unshed tears.

“None whatsoever?” Trunks pressed further. His only answer was a sad shake of Satan’s head. Now he slumped miserably on the log, all strength having departed in the wake of his adrenaline.

“Here, take this,” Yamcha said, as 17 cracked open one of the silex nuts. Yamcha stayed at his side, motioning for 17 to assist Trunks. A silex was brought to him, and set into his hand, sloshing with liquid. When presented with the duo plumbs he only took a few morose bites. He said very little, mechanically eating what his friends offered and quenching his thirst with small sips of juice. The three other friends knew well why Yamcha remained close to the Captain. His encroaching misery at having failed to find Gohan now robbed him of what little energy and sprit he had left. Tears swelled in his eyes and he dabbed at them while turning away. The rest of his meal lay untouched.

“Satan, we’ve found a cave, and food. We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” Yamcha soothingly urged, rubbing his shoulder.

“What does it matter,” Satan murmured, eyes squeezed shut.

Trunks swallowed hard, a wall of misery slamming into him. 17 noticed this and moved to gently squeeze the lad’s shoulders when the boy stepped back. “Easy lad, we must convince him to come with us.”

“But…” Trunks trailed off.

Yamcha felt the press of Satan’s head in his shoulder and the tears soaking at his jacket. Through half sobs, the man began to break down, and Trunks felt another onslaught of fierce raw emotion let loose. His own chin began to quake and he felt his spirits sinking. Yamcha sighed deeply, looking helpless between his charge and the man clinging to him sobbing like a child.

“Damn…” he trailed off.

17 mouthed, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.”

So saying 17 clasped the lad’s hand to give it a small squeeze. Yamcha nodded in silent relief that 17 was reaching out to the boy and giving what comfort he could not divert from Satan. Weight of his role settled hard and he coughed before saying, “Satan, look… we can’t just sit here. We have to move. It’ll be night soon.”

“Please Satan, we have to go now!” Trunks said, voice cracking. Fiercely he squeezed 17’s hand and the reporter shook his head. He led the boy towards Satan and stood firmly on Satan’s left. Reaching out his other hand, he pinched the man’s shoulder.

“Look, we know you haven’t found Gohan yet, but his orders were to find food, shelter, and we’ve done that. You have to follow his orders as we have done. It would be what Gohan would want,” 17 urged, voice smooth and calming as possible.

A heavy sigh shook Satan’s body, full of relent. Lifting his head from his hands, he blinked though his tears at the reporter to give him a sad nod. Yamcha patted him reassuringly on the chest while still draping his comforting arm around the captain. “See, he’s right. Now would you throw Gohan’s sacrifice away so cheaply by endangering yourself as well as us?”

Several pats on the back later and presses of the hand roused Satan enough to stand and walk with Yamcha flanking him on one side and 17 on his other. Yamcha waved to Trunks to stand near him and they each took turns with their arm wrapped around the Captain’s waist to urge him along. They sensed the presence of their physical comfort was what he needed as motivation for his crushed spirit. In buoying Satan’s, they were forcing their own to keep sharp reign on their emotions.

Once inside the cave, they released him and guided him to sit down on one of the improvised beds. He sagged like a ragdoll then lay down with his back facing them. The others all lowered themselves to sit on the cave floor and rest for a bit and collect their thoughts.

“Now what?” 17 asked Yamcha.

Trunks asked slowly. “I just… it doesn’t seem possible that Gohan is… well you know. I mean he’s too smart to…”

“Kid,” Yamcha started. He slid alongside Trunks and wrapped the boy in his arms to give him a long overdue hug. For a minute or two they simply sat, drawing strength from one another. 17 was speechless, pressing his hand into his face and mumbling his own disbelief. Satan’s sorrow had infected them and they were all overcome with possible grief. None of them moved very far from Satan, whose back was heaving in and out with his suppressed sobs. Facing away from them, he did not show his tears but they heard his crying all the same.

“We need to collect ourselves,” 17 finally broke the silence. “And see what is to be done. Our mission included the making of fire didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Yamcha nodded, still grasping his own self-control.

“Maybe Satan can make fire?” Trunks brightened up, his spirit again renewed.

“Satan, you hear that? We need you,” Yamcha turned and nudged the captain.

“Gohan could make fire,” Satan answered plaintively.

Gently Yamcha rested a hand on Satan’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. He said, “Buddy, I know Gohan’s loss is really hitting you hard. We’re all grieving here, but we need your help making a fire. It’s going to get a lot colder and we need heat so we don’t risk jeopardizing our health. Also, we need to eat cooked food to build up our strength. We’ll need to settle here.”

Trunks leaned close as well, patting Satan on the back. He added, “And for helping you search for Gohan too.”

“Yes… I know, sorry to have lost myself there,” Satan swallowed hard. He turned over and swung to sit up, swallowing his sobs and tugging at his uniform instinctively to regain some decorum.

“We’ve gathered wood there. None of us has a match, and the silex won’t work without steel,” Trunks pointed. He rose and strode over to the stacks of twigs and branches they had made at the mouth of the cave.

“Fine… that will do,” Satan murmured, reaching in his pockets. His fingers closed around something and he withdrew a small folded paper matchbook that bore the letters “Cygnus Ale House” on it. He stood up; his posture still slumped but his military training reasserting itself. The others moved in various positions near him, as Satan knelt by their pile of kindling and fuel. Carefully he assembled three larger branches in an A shape, and then placed a small pile of broken sticks resting against the bottom of the A. Opening the matchbook, he noticed it was mainly empty except for three paper matches that remained.

Pensively Satan chewed his lip, tearing one of the matches out. Unfortunately, the paper strip was far too short to use the match and he struggled to rip out the second. This one he placed against the ignition strip on the back, while folding the cover inside out and pulled the match through it. It hissed and spluttered, but did not fully ignite. His hands trembled with frustration, poised over the kindling. Only one solitary match remained, and he knew everyone was depending upon him for success.

“Crap,” he whispered. “My hands are so shaky…”

“I could give it a try,” Trunks suggested, hand extended for the matchbook. The lad settled down next to the aide-de-camp, who placed the book in his hand.

Now it was Yamcha and 17′s turn to chew on their lips while Trunks tugged at the last match with slender fingers. Under his breath, Trunks swore, feeling the same scrutiny that Satan had experienced seconds before. Managing to tear the match out intact with enough stem, he then flipped the matchbook over and pressed the head to the ignition strip. He positioned his hands over the kindling, and then dragged the tip slowly along the rough sandpapery black line. The resulting rasp sounded far louder than anything else in the tense silence did.

Four pairs of eyes widened in excitement to see a reddish orange flair hiss into life, forming a luminous flame. Holding his breath Trunks touched the match to the pile of kindling, watching as it began to smoke. Tiny twigs glowed before taking on the flame from the match he now set in the middle of the pile. Breath was released from everyone’s chests, as Satan positioned more sticks to catch the now lit flames standing defiantly against the encroaching dark. Gold tongues of fire danced from the small kindling onto successively larger branches.

“Yeah! Good going kid!” Satan grinned.

Trunks gasped in relief when Yamcha hugged him from behind shouting, “All right Trunks! Way to go!”

“We have fire, gentlemen!” 17 proclaimed enthusiastically, also slugging the aide de camp and the lad on the back. Before long, crayfish were skewered on long sharpened sticks and set by the fire. Eggs were roasted in the coals as well. Eagerly they consumed the heated protein, feeling strength return to their now famished bodies. In addition to the nourishment, they all basked in the heat filling their grotto, all awash with newfound comfort.

It was decided that the three adults would stay awake in watches to tend their new fire. Trunks would sleep the whole night while they would keep the flames alight until morning.

***

Only 17 remained awake at this hour, carefully adding more fuel from the pile when he notices the flames crackling low. Within the blaze, he saw dancing figures leaping and cavorting, evoking a tranquil state for the reporter. Just inside the cave mouth, their fire crackled, regulating the temperature and keeping out the dark chill. Not far from him, the other three slept on their improvised beds.

17 could hear the aide de camp muttering in his sleep. He turned his head for a moment and watched as Satan fitfully tossed and turned. Perhaps Satan was imagining he could hear Gohan’s voice because he would suddenly cease snoring only to turn over and resume after a minute or so.

Twigs cracked between 17′s hands when he turned his attention back to his task. He tossed the broken wood on the fire, and sat Indian style absorbing the delicious heat. Although he felt warm, his soul was filled with a progressive chill caused by Gohan’s continued absence. Not knowing if one was alive or dead was far worse than dealing with the pain of loss. Over time, one could block the sensation out, but it would continue to eat at their resolve like a cancer.

Beside Satan, 17 knew that Yamcha was sleeping on his back, with Trunks’ head pillowed on his chest. None of the four wished to be very far from the others, such was the extent of their longing for human company. It was only them against an empty and large world, and they had to rely on their friendship and collective reassurance to be up to the task of colonization.

The reporter thought that Yamcha wished to shield Trunks from another wave of sorrow by allowing the boy to sleep so close to him. It gladdened 17′s heart to see them gathering strength from their parent/child bond. Trunks seemed to sleep deeply at first, and then stirred a bit as if listening to some inner dream nagging him. 17 when he had slept was able to tune into the deep restful state through his spy conditioning of inducing it. When he felt as if he needed to be vigilant, he could will a shallower sleep. Something that Yamcha was jealous of, the reporter chuckled to himself.

He shivered when he heard Trunks whimper a bit. 17 turned back to look at his friends, and watched as Yamcha mumbled and tightened his protective grip on Trunks. The boy slept with his head pillowed on his guardian’s chest as he had done for many nights since. That ever-present physical link between parent and child was their source of strength, and he reverted to it more now than ever. Dreams rolled and stumbled behind Trunks closed eyes. Hearing the reassurance of Yamcha’s steady heartbeat never failed to lull him to finally sleep. Up until the flight on the sunrise they slept in separate beds, but Yamcha’s snoring was still a welcome reminder his parent and guardian was nearby if he needed him.

Through dreams Trunks was half drifting through the lands they had surveyed. His toes seemed to drag on the ground and his body felt light as a cloud. On the other hand, he felt as if he were an astronaut trainee underwater testing his spacewalking in neutral buoyancy. Barely floating with only his boots barely touching the ground. As in a no gravity zone just drifting over the surface of a space station floor.Overhead he saw the star spangled alien sky now free of clouds and glittering like a banquet of scattered diamonds. Most of it was dominated by the silvery crescent of the gas giant their planet orbited. It served instead of a moon, its horns facing downwards while a narrow band indicated a ring system much like Saturn’s.

“Trunks,” spoke a voice, shattering the wonder. His heart pounded in his breast when he realized it was none other than Gohan’s. A smile crept across Trunks face, and he spun towards the source of the sound. There at the edge of the tree line he saw Gohan alive and unharmed, waving to him.

“Gohan! We were so worried!” Trunks said, running towards him.

The figure dissolved into mist, and Trunks almost tripped, frustrated. Steadying himself, he then saw the engineer once more beckoning at him at a distance of nearly fifty yards. Again, he said, “Trunks, this way!”

“Gohan, what’s going on?” Trunks asked, dashing after him. They were almost effortlessly gliding out of the trees, to the waterfall’s rushing roar. Minute water droplets kissed Trunks face as he barely closed the distance and grabbed at Gohan’s spectral sleeve. Only mist met his touch, and he again was alone.

“Trunks, over here,” Gohan uttered.

“Where are you? Why won’t you let me close?” Trunks pensively demanded.

Then darkness fell like a curtain and Trunks could see nothing but woods. More trees, unfamiliar rose up around him and he skimmed by them quickly. Almost as if he was a bird winging his way through. While Trunks knew he was asleep, he was tasting and smelling things he had never seen but could only imagine. Exotic pale green flowers with silvery pollen smelled like vanilla mingled with cinnamon grew on shrubs. Past brambles with large pitcher shaped blossoms he also moved, glancing inside to see they had trapped small birds in them and smelled the sour tang of the pitcher plants digestive juices. Unfortunately, he moved at such a rapid pace past them he could not identify them properly.

Suddenly he stopped beneath the arching branches of more unfamiliar trees. Their trunks were gnarled and twisted, with pale grey bark. Again, he heard a voice shout, “Trunks, look up here!”

Glancing up he saw a figure leap from a branch of a tree almost a hundred meters off to another. The blue uniform gleaming with gold braid was unmistakably Gohan. A scrabbling sound indicated him leapfrogging in a zigzag pattern from one, then two, than three trees. When he stopped on the branch directly overhead, he smiled down at the lad. Reaching down he bent and grabbed one of the many rounded objects hanging from the branches and plucked it. Something dropped towards Trunks, and he automatically reached out his hands to catch whatever it was. Into his palms landed a purple sphere striped with thin yellow stripes, with a slightly firm texture. Lifting it up he smelled a tangerine scent laced with something like apple.

The engineer nodded and smiled before he turned on the branch on which he crouched, and leapt back the way he came. Trunks cried out in protest, “Hey wait!”

“Trunks!” Gohan called, leaping to another tree.

The lad then heard the roar of a river drowning out the sound of Gohan’s voice. Silvery soft glow from the mother planet’s crescent lit his way towards the Mercy. His toes dragged as he floated over it, and then onto the opposite bank. There the forest continued, with similar trees as he had seen before. More deeply into the forest, he passed intent on keeping pace with the engineer. He caught sight of a tree with a huge bulbous region halfway up its forked trunk.

Fog drew back, dissolving into the thin air and revealing more varieties of conifers and deciduous trees. Now he tasted a fresh chilly burst of wind whipping into his face. Through the gaps in the overhead tree limbs, he saw tiny sprinkles of silver ambient light peeking through.

“Gohan, this isn’t a game!” Trunks despaired.

“You’re closer than you realize, trunks,” Gohan called. Still drifting inches above the forest floor, Trunks soared towards the sound. Again, he passed into line of trees.

“Here?” Trunks asked. “I can’t see anything!”

“Trunks!” uttered the voice of the engineer, almost next to him. Now Trunks emerged from the dark shadows of the thicker stands of trees, into a thinner region of the forest. Through the gaps between smaller trunks, he spotted a region of ferns. Demarcating the boarder was the tree line, just before a clearing. The tendrils of the fronds were partly rolled up in the nighttime devoid of the sun.

Walking through the fern, he saw grey rock, gleaming pale through the moonlight, indicating a chain of mountains. Upright spires of rock rose up from the ground, resembling the fingers of a hand sticking up out of the earth. On the one that would have been the thumb, Gohan sat, patiently waiting for him with a smile on his face. He leapt down, and then motioned to Trunks to follow.

“In here…t his way,” he instructed. Trunks dashed over after him, into the mouth of a grotto to the left and rear of the rock ‘fingers’. Snapping his head around he then saw a blue uniformed body stretched out unmolested and unharmed. Peacefully Gohan lay in the grotto, slumbering like a child with his chest rising and falling.

Inside his mind, Trunks felt and heard Gohan’s voice. Clearly and urgently it said, “Please hurry Trunks! There’s not much time left! You’ve got to come get me. Before it’s too late!”

Compelled by the note of worry in Gohan’s voice, Trunks moved forwards, his hand outstretched. Fingers extended in the cool darkness of the grotto towards the Engineer’s prone figure. Suddenly Trunks felt his entire body jerked backwards. As if an elastic band had attached itself to his back, he shot backwards out of the grotto. Everything blurred around him as he rapidly retreated from the place where Gohan lay.

Still through the night Gohan’s voice echoed, “Trunks!”

Sharply he jolted back into his body, rapidly jarring awake. All his muscles twitched as sweat blistered on his brow. His entire clothes were saturated with liquid while his heart pounded a mile a minute inside his chest.

“GOHAN!” Trunks shouted, sitting bold upright.

Nearby 17 who was tending the fire heard Trunks cry out. Quickly he moved over to crouch near the boy who sat shivering. His blue eyes were wild in the firelight. Grasping Trunks shoulder 17 asked, “Lad, are you okay? I hear you shouting…”

“17… I saw Gohan… just now, he’s alive,” Trunks stammered.

Of course, Yamcha jerked awake feeling Trunks spasm alongside him. He babbled, “What’s wrong… who… what…”

“I saw Gohan,” Trunks said.

Still half asleep Yamcha shook his head to clear it. He glanced momentarily at 17, who also gave Trunks shoulder a comforting pat. Sighing Yamcha said, “Kid, you were dreaming. I know we all want to find him…”

“Take a deep breath and tell us about it,” 17 suggested. The reporter crouched still at Trunks side, while Yamcha dragged himself to sit up. Rubbing his eyes Yamcha pushed dark hair out of his eyes and blinked at Trunks. He wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, feeling how tense Trunks seemed.

“Gohan, did you say you saw Gohan?” Satan’s voice interrupted. The shadow of the head and shoulders of the soldier blocked the earthlight from outside.

“Satan, it’s just Trunks having a nightmare,” Yamcha said. Turning away from the aide-de-camp the pilot soothed, “Relax Kid. We’re all here.”

“It WASN’T a nightmare!” Trunks snapped back. “I saw Gohan and he was alive!”

“Of course he’s alive!” Satan seized upon his words. “If anyone can survive it’s he!”

“Wait, hold on, kiddo, you saw him in a dream,” Yamcha fussed. “We all want that to be the case but we haven’t even found him yet!”

“I’m sorry but I DID see him Yamcha! He’s alive! And I saw him clear as I see you or me in daylight!’ Trunks insisted.

“Kid, please, just calm down. I’m sure it was real to you at the time, but you’ve got to relax. We’ll look for him in the morning, I promise,” Yamcha insisted, shushing him.

“He’s right. And even if it IS a dream, where DID you say you saw him?” Satan asked, leaning close to where Yamcha and trunks sat arguing.

“Across the river. In a field of ferns. It was like I could see the way,” Trunks explained.

“But we didn’t see any ferns on the way here,” 17 said gently. Turning to Satan he asked, “Do you recall seeing any ferns in your search for Gohan?”

“No, I don’t,” Satan answered.

“I saw the ferns after I crossed the river, and went through the woods a good distance,” Trunks said.

“Well then we can check in that direction tomorrow morning, kid,” said Yamcha.

“Since you’re so sure of it,” 17 added. Satan grunted in affirmation, his interest keenly apparent in his blue eyes.

“Don’t sweat it,” Yamcha rubbed the boy’s shoulder. “We all want it to be true. There’s no shame in what you saw or believed you saw.”

“Think about it lad. How could a dream tell someone anything more than they already know,” 17 asked. “You could have imagined the rest from what we’d seen. After all you are a bright young man.”

“Still, isn’t it worth it knowing what you thought you saw?” Trunks snapped. “Sometimes dreams reveal jumps in our thinking that we can’t begin to fathom.”

“But dreams can also reveal fantasies we wish were true. And that would presuppose that we were making images from our observations,” 17 patiently insisted.

Suddenly, reverberating through his head Trunks heard Gohan’s voice reminding him, “Hurry up Trunks, before it’s too late.”

A moment later Trunks blinked, his face set into determination. There was no time to lose. Bracing both hands on either side he leaned forward to rise, then said, “I’m going to check now.”

Before he could climb to his feet, Yamcha held him down gently with one hand. Shaking his head the pilot reprimanded, “Trunks you can’t go there in the middle of the night!”

“Well there’s earthlight,” Trunks argued, blue eyes insistently glancing up at his guardian. “I’ll be able to find the way still.”

Yamcha let a sigh hiss out of his nostrils, but said nothing. 17 cautioned,

“It’s too dangerous to go now, you may run into any number of wild animals, lad.”

“But 17, it’s been nearly a day. Gohan needs help now. He may not be alive tomorrow,” Trunks protested his blue eyes serious and insistent. Why couldn’t they see how urgent this was, he thought impatiently. Every second seemed to tick by, increasing the knot that was developing in Trunk’s stomach. It was as if he could feel Gohan’s need then and there.

Satan reassuringly placed a hand on Trunks’s shoulder. He said warmly, “Well I’ll go with you kid.”

Combing a hand through his fall of dark hair Yamcha regarded the other three. He inhaled deeply and said, “Hold on a minute, let’s just talk this through before you two go rushing off. I don’t want us to get separated again.”

“But he is right that Gohan may need us now. We should go as soon as we can,” Satan suggested. Buoyed by his support Trunks nodded.

Both the pilot and reporter again exchanged glances. Yamcha bit his lip, realizing that if he did not humor the boy somehow Trunks and Satan would set out on their own. It was not expedient to separate their numbers. Exhaling resignedly Yamcha then said, “All right, I know that if we don’t check it out you’ll do it anyway. But wherever you’re going Trunks I’m going too.”

“You believe me then,” Trunks smiled in relief, reaching out to grasp Yamcha’s hand.

“I know better than to say no, once you’ve made your mind up kid,” Yamcha nodded, giving it a squeeze.

Reluctantly 17 tapped his chin and stared at the fire. Then glancing back at the others he sighed, “Well since we’re going I think we need torches. And we should build up the fire so it doesn’t go out.”

Yamcha’s eyes met those of 17. Silent understanding passed between them. For a few seconds they seemed to think the same thoughts, especially evident when Yamcha said, “Right then 17. We’ll need some supplies to take with us as well.”

“If we know what way to start out on, that is,” 17 said. From the gleam in his blue eyes, Yamcha knew he was catching onto an unspoken game. One that would test Trunks knowledge and gently embarrass him without being harsh, with the ultimate end being proving he had only experienced an elaborate dream.

Already Satan had taken the liberty of gathering provisions. The ‘string bags’ they had made previously were again pressed into service to carry some of the duo plumbs and a few of the silex nuts. More wood plunked onto the fire, deposited there by Trunks. As they moved around preparing, they continued to discuss their expedition.

Dropping to one knee Yamcha rested his hand on Trunk’s shoulder. This brought him at exact eye level with the boy. Earnestly he asked, “So how do we proceed exactly? We cannot just wander blindly into the forest. Especially if there’s dangerous beasts. We can’t expose ourselves without at least knowing what path to follow.”

Trunks gazed into his guardian’s eyes, his mind tracking through the images he had experienced. Clearing his throat he answered, “Well I hadn’t quite thought of that.”

Yamcha’s hand gave his charge’s shoulder a squeeze gently, his dark eyes reassuring as he coaxed, “Looks as if you’re thinking now.”

Further Trunks retreated into the mental signposts. He sorted them into a list, placing bullets beside each. Then rearranging them into the right sequence, he drew an imaginary red line across a mental map. It was crucial to mention the first signpost they would encounter, so he carefully selected his words. He remembered the pale green flowers growing from shrubs. Therefore, he ended up saying, “Well we should head east and slightly north. That means we go back into the forest. Until we reach shrubs that have pale green flowers that are slightly silver in color. Next there will be brambles and pitcher plants.”

“Seems like you’re pretty sure about that. Pale green flowers on shrubs, huh?” Yamcha repeated slowly. He released Trunk’s shoulder long enough to give it a reassuring pat.

“That’s right,” Trunks nodded.

“Okay kiddo. I’ll make you a deal. We’ll go that far, and if we don’t find anything like you just described, we come back, okay?” Yamcha suggested.

“I accept your terms then,” Trunks said, his brow relaxing and the breath escaping his chest. Relief filled him and he knew if they could just see what he had, there was a good chance. For a time the four companions finished their preparations in the dim earthlight and the glow of the renewed fire. Shadows passed over the cave walls, reminding Trunks that he had to convince them his dream was not as ephemeral but was solid fact.

“All right, all ready now?” Yamcha glanced at the other three standing up and shouldering their items. They all turned to the entrance of their cave, stepping outside to the greeting of a quickening wisp of cool pre dawn air.

“We should walk close together gentlemen,” 17 announced. “In case we are attacked, it will provide a smaller target.”

“And we’ll be able better to defend ourselves,” Satan grunted in agreement.

“We can’t risk losing anyone in the dark, men, in an unknown place. We always have to keep that in mind,” Yamcha added.

Once all four had exited the cave, Yamcha and Trunks took the lead. Only a few steps behind them marched Satan and 17. Each of them carried a torch they had constructed from good-sized branches cut form a resinous pine tree, which were not far from the grotto.

Everything was painted in tones of dark shadow. All four men were hyper vigilant, listening for any sound and careful to glance out at their surroundings from what light the torches cast. For a time they walked, reaching the line of trees and crossing into the forest. Overhead branches twisted in a framework, casting odd shadows that reminded them of interlaced fingers or arms. Occasionally bright stars peeked through the gaps, reminding them of their smallness on such a remote world.

Small shrubs were soon visible, low to the ground among the trees. Trunks pointed towards one of them, bidding Yamcha and the others to shine a torch upon them to confirm what dimly looked like splotches of white against black. As the torches’ pool of light glided over one such blotch, it revealed itself to be a flower. Pale silver dust seemed to coat the heart of the flower, consisting of pale apple green leaves. Yamcha murmured something akin to surprise when Trunks picked one off the shrub and showed it to the others. 17 and Satan each passed the flower between them, admiring its beauty and feeling their hearts quickening a pace.

“You see what color the petals are?” Trunks asked.

“Almost a sea foam green,” 17 murmured, feeling the dust of silver pollen coating his fingers.

“There’s more on each of these shrubs, men,” Satan pointed, passing his torch in a half arc to reveal the color of more such blossoms.

“Okay, pale green flowers, got it,” Yamcha observed, scratching his head. “But I know as well as the rest of us you could have predicted this based on what you already know from all those hours of studying exobiology.”

“Maybe so, but that’s not the only thing to look for,” Trunks said patiently.

“What else?” Satan wondered.

Satan stepped beyond the group, only to stop with 17’s hand on his shoulder. He stopped, realizing he almost broke the tightly knit unit that was essential for their safety. Yamcha motioned for them to advance a ways to see the extent of the new plants. 17 tucked the flower Trunks had picked into the lapel of his suit jacket, missing the flower he had left behind when they had first met. It reminded him that something else was occurring, a strong possibility, and promise stirring in their minds.

Further along, light gleamed off something sleek and low to the ground. Yamcha’s sharp eyes spotted a rounded bulk, with petals fused into a pitcher like container. Other such blossoms were at intervals on the forest floor, and his eyes widened. He said aloud, “Come look at this!”

Satan’s torch seemed to dance in the darkness as he observed, “these look very much like pitchers, or I’ll be damned.”

Trunks gave a small smile, not saying anything but allowing the other three to crouch down and bow their torches for a closer look. Inside each pitcher glistened the shimmer of water, and small insects slowly digesting deeper down near the bottoms. 17’s breath coursed out of him sharply and he touched the flower on his lapel as if convincing himself what they saw was real. As for Yamcha and Satan, their fingers stopped inches from touching the outside of a plant, until Trunks intently gazed at it and stepped closer.

“Well?” Satan asked, nudging Yamcha. “You see that!”

“It’s pretty clear even in this low light what we’ve seen. I guess we’ll go a bit further along men, and see if there’s anything else we don’t recognize. But still if we don’t see anything else unfamiliar we’ll go back, all right?” Yamcha repeated.

“Good,” whispered Trunks. 17’s pale eyes gleamed through the torchlight towards Yamcha’s. A half smile crossed both men’s faces with a strange snap of something like excitement. At that moment in each of their breasts, it seemed a small flame had alit. Like a pilot light in an old gas stove they were small flames, but steady against the darkness. Just what it represented? Hope, the start of it.

Through the pitcher plants and shrubs, they continued to march, maintaining their formation. A sense of strength silently flowed among them with a united purpose that grew stronger with each step. Still Yamcha and 17 were puzzled and somewhat frightened by the two confirmed signs, not ready to accept that it was more than a coincidence yet. As for Satan, his own heart already quickened as his adrenaline surged, and trunks felt a warm glow spreading through his body.

Shadows of tree branches changed their network of interconnecting branches further along the path they trod. Satan glanced more carefully overhead, his eyes trained to the variations from straight to those of a more crooked configuration. His breath surged out in an audible hiss when he saw Trunks gazing more frequently upwards. Still further along the branches were gnarled, sprouting out from twisting trunks that seemed like epileptics frozen in a fit. Yamcha and 17 both felt another spurt of quickening pulse, stopping themselves to take in the sight all around them.

“That’s another different type of tree,” Yamcha muttered.

“That’s right! And you can’t say you’ve seen THAT species before can you?” Satan pointed excitedly, his voice increasing in volume.

“No, I can’t,” answered Yamcha. “But again there are trees of this sort of shape on other planets.”

“Let me see more clearly,” 17 muttered, almost touching shoulders with Yamcha. Trunks remained silent, his smile increasing by the minute. Looking towards Satan, he nodded.

“This is the next signpost,” Trunks said quietly.

“Okay, I guess we can see how far these go. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yamcha commented. The others maintained their tight unit, each step carrying them further through the third sign. Wind whispered through the branches and nipped at their clothing so they turned up their jacket collars. Temperature seemed to drop a degree or two.

When the twisted trees grew less frequent, others predominated. Among the branches, they saw not mere leaves but the distinct silhouette of what appeared to be spheres. Yamcha again trained his superior eyesight, narrowing his vision to perceive that they were lighter in color and different against the texture of the leaves. He stopped, and the others halted automatically to examine where he pointed. A broad smile crossed Satan’s face and he trembled and twitched as he said, “Fruits. But too small to be silex nuts, and not the shape of the duo plumbs.”

“What color are they?” 17 asked.

Yamcha bent over to pick up one identical to those overhead at the foot of the nearest tree, thins topped himself. Trunks crouched near him and carefully picked up the object, handing it to his guardian. He said, “See. Definitely not duo plumbs. They don’t have the double lobed structure. Yet another thing that I saw.”

“Purple with yellow stripes,” Yamcha nodded. “Right 17?”

“Very lovely. I admit I’d not seen these earlier myself,” he said, tapping his chin.

“Nor me,” Satan cut in. He held one of the striped fruits to his nose, inhaling its scent.

“Damn,” Yamcha swore, shaking his head. All four reverently palmed a piece of fruit, wanting to assure themselves of its tangibility. That they were not grasping a dream.

“They’re not any of the fruits we discovered before?” Trunks refuted.

“I guess this means we need to see how many other things we don’t recognize,” Yamcha said.

Pocketing the fruit each of them continued to feel the intensity of excitement escalate. What had been small flames now spread to tongues of fire burning more steadily with increasing hope. What else would reveal itself as they continued their exploratory march? Sure enough, the wind was increasing in velocity; rattling branches and making them clatter like dozens of tiny feet on small stairs. A smell of ozone permeated, reminding 17 of what it smelled like just before a thunderstorm.

Dampness seemed to increase along their trek, like small droplets hanging in the air. Then they came to a gap in the trees, and Trunks stopped abruptly, pointing ahead. Satan, 17 and Yamcha all did the same, their eyes trained on the silver ribbon rippling and shimmering under the earthshine and star studded sky. They could again see the heavens clearly, and their torches flickered and sputtered out. Indeed a river coursed through, and they stood on one bank glancing across to the other side.

None spoke for fully five minutes, each taking in the significance of this sixth signpost confirmed. Yamcha and 17 grew increasingly perplexed at the string of what should be coincidences but were in fact confirmations. The chain of sightings was leading them further from a return trip to their cave. So tantalizing was it to continue that they thought twice about reminding the others that they still should turn back unless the unfamiliarity continued.

“I next crossed the river,” Trunks said. “Though I seemed to fly at the time.”

Tongues of steady flames of hope burned brightly in each of their chests now. They had increased to the size of the torch flames that had lit their way. Nevertheless, the four men wondered if their flames of hope would continue to increase with the accumulation of clues. What had seemed implausible now was far less impossible. Trunks had led them well so far, but what was beyond the river? Curiosity battled with the prudence of not fording an unfamiliar barrier of water. After all, they had to negotiate its banks or find a means of crossing.

“The river…” Satan repeated his voice thick with emotion. “We must go on! This makes the sixth such thing we’ve not seen before coming this way!”

“You crossed the river and it seemed like you were flying?” Yamcha blinked at Trunks, who nodded vigorously.

“We can’t fly across it now,” 17 quipped. “So shall we explore along the bank a bit?”

“You intend to cross it?” Yamcha asked.

“What have we to lose? Don’t you want to know what’s on the other side?” Satan asked.

“You now see why we can’t go back?” Trunks urged. “There are still more signs to prove.”

“I see your justification. And I’m not averse to continuing, but how deep is the river? How are we going to cross it…” 17 began, but then was stopped by what Satan did next.

“One way to find out, and waste no more time!” Satan announced, climbing down the bank. He slid into the foaming current, watched by the other three who held onto trees to work their way down as well. Just in case Satan may need a hand, Yamcha and 17 both extended arms until they saw that Satan had sunk no further than the water level that met his waist. In addition, they observed he stood reasonably easily, so the current was not so swift or forceful to knock him over.

Yamcha cautioned Trunks to remain while he stepped into the river also. His feet landed on the bottom, his body feeling a perceptible tug. Satan then seeing that Yamcha had entered the river nodded and began to wade across. Saturated with moisture his clothing tugged and pulled to the side but he continued. Yamcha then motioned for Trunks to step in and 17 to cross last. Unfortunately, as Satan crossed, his torch flew out of his hand as he lost his footing. Quickly he recovered, just as 17 himself dropped in holding one of the torches over his head. All four of them forded the river, careful not to slip and fall on the slick bottom. While the current was vigorous, it was not impossible to keep one’s footing provided they walked slowly. Impatient at simply wading, Satan pushed off the bottom and began to swim. Yamcha helped to steady Trunks, who was smaller and shorter and may actually be pulled away if he lost his footing. 17 cursed when his foot slipped on the bottom. He landed against Trunks, and his torch dropped from his opposite hand.

“Damn it,” he cursed. Each struggled to hang onto their bundles as they stumbled through frigid water. It was both refreshing and invigorating but they hastened their pace.

“Don’t worry, keep going!” Yamcha said. “It can’t be helped!”

Ahead of them, Satan reached the far bank and hauled himself out. Grabbing onto overhead branches he pulled and stumbled up the slick mud of the riverside and then turned to the others. He anchored himself firmly and held out a hand to help Yamcha out. Then once Yamcha moved beside him, he motioned for Satan to continue up to the level of the forest floor. That left Yamcha to assist Trunks out, and then both of them to grab 17’s hand and give him a good tug. Trunks was urged to scramble up and take Satan’s hand, then boosted to the front of the line. Next came 17, who was the second lightest of the four, and then Satan assisted Yamcha. The remaining three helped pull him up and they were soon trudging into the line of trees again.

Only a moment did they stop to catch their breaths and wring out the worst of the water from their damp clothes. As they had done days before they removed the soaked clothes, twisted them, and let the water seep down to the forest floor. Quickly they again donned the pants, shoes, and socks, before resuming their expedition. It was 17 that took stock of their lack of torches and mumbled another curse.

“Lost them all,” he grumbled.

“Look, no use crying over spilled milk friend,” Satan reassured him. “We just have to keep going now.”

“Don’t blame yourself guys,” Yamcha nodded. “Let’s just press on. We’ve gone THIS far.”

“We’ve nothing to lose by continuing. Besides it’s not much longer till sunrise judging from the position of the mother planet in the sky,” Trunks said.

“May I suggest we walk even closer together, considering we’ve been deprived of a prominent source of light?” 17 said, his teeth chattering.

“C’mon friend, the more quickly we move the more warmer we’ll become,” Satan cheerfully laughed. His spirits seemed greatly elevated, and all three realized they felt their own attitudes were growing steadily more positive. Water had not doused their flames of hope.

Deprived of the physical illumination of their now absent torches, their eyes adjusted to the ambient light provided by earthshine and stars. The thickness of the tree canopy was not as considerable as on the opposite shore at first, so their path ahead was reasonably lit. However, each kept a hand on one another’s shoulders for mutual reassurance. Trunks felt Yamcha’s hand resting on his, and in turn, Satan felt compelled to reach out and touch the lad’s to keep encouraging him on. Not that Trunks needed it because he was still in the lead with Satan next to him. Yamcha felt 17’s slender hand resting lightly on his arm and felt glad for the reassurance in his friend’s touch.

Variations in the shape of the tree trunks were faintly visible due to light passing through the branches above. Earthshine cast a bluish green light, seeping through in small speckled patterns and patches of light and shadow. Yamcha then moved to the front past Satan, intent on using his own eyesight to help navigate. His night vision was just as superior to the others as his daytime vision was. Trunks stopped, his hand extending to block Yamcha’s way. “What do you see?” he asked. “Any unusual shapes yet?”

Yamcha sensed that Trunks already knew what was ahead just as the six other times, but continued his game anyhow. He glanced to where Trunks was facing and happened to see the trunk of the largest tree ahead was rounded, not gnarled and twisted, and not upright. Almost as if a tumor choked its growth midway up and extended for a radius of at least twenty feet. He said, “I take it you mean that large round growth ahead of us?”

“Yes,” Trunks nodded. “That’s it exactly!”

“That’s terrific news, kid! What do we look for next?” Satan automatically laughed. He seized both Trunks shoulders and gave the boy an excited and encouraging shake.

“Damn, another confirmation,” 17 muttered appreciatively.

Now Yamcha needed no prompting to say, “Trunks, let’s see what’s further beyond.”

“Coniferous trees,” the lad replied. A smile crept across 17’s and Yamcha’s faces and they heard the rapid increase in Trunks step as he pulled a pace ahead. Then he stopped and waited before continuing. Always they kept that silent understanding that none should go on alone. It was all of them or none of them committed to the purpose.

Sure enough, the deciduous trees gave way to piney needles that soared skywards, and some loomed overhead to block while smaller ones merely cast long shadows. Instead of the soft feel of moss, the slight slipperiness of shoes on the forest floor told them they were thousands of needles that had happened to fall and coat the path ahead. Underfoot the natural carpet of evergreen needles now cushioned their steps. By now, the wind had quickened, chilling them more thoroughly through their damp clothes and they huddled together just as much for body warmth as for safety. Conifers and deciduous trees would occasionally mix company, their branches and needles hissing and whispering as the wind whipped against them. The rustling of leaves grew louder and their hair fluttered from their faces.

“I don’t like the feel of the weather,” muttered 17.

“Me neither,” Yamcha agreed, his grip on Trunks shoulder tightening.

“We should hurry then,” Trunks said, increasing his pace.

“It doesn’t matter as long as we find him,” Satan encouraged, matching Trunk’s increase in speed, and then almost knocking Yamcha over who was walking in front of him. Seeing his eagerness Yamcha allowed Satan to move past while he trudged alongside 17. The slender body of the reporter shivered and Yamcha felt him pressing closer so their arms touched.

On the horizon through gaps in the trees, they saw the midnight black giving way to bands of lighter purple. Stars were being blocked not only by the conifers and tall trees, but also by clouds. Ambient light decreased and they slowed their pace, straining their eyes in the increasing darkness. Trunks however said, “It’s going to thin out soon. Keep going.”

“It had better,” Yamcha said with caution. “Take hands everyone. We can’t afford to lose anyone now.”

So saying he felt Trunks hand grasp his, and then he reached for 17. Satan grabbed Trunks other hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Shall we kid?” he asked. “Press on?”

When it seemed they could not see more than a few feet ahead then distant light from ahead dimly lit the gloom. Gloom grew to a soft shadow, and bluish white light in the shapes of horizontal gaps. They realized they were reaching the tree line as the spacing between trunks increased. More ambient light came from above, scattered however into a vague glow by earthlight through clouds. Barely any stars were now visible, and the wind whipped them from the side and above, because the trees had blocked it somewhat.

“It’s thinning out now, thank goodness,” Yamcha sighed with relief. The others made noises of agreement, shivering against the chilly bursts of wind. It was more steady and strong, whipping against them and biting through their clothes to their skin. Only two steps from bone chilling the wind also carried the feel of tiny droplets hitting their faces.

“Up ahead!” Satan pointed excited. “We’re coming to the tree line…”

“Tell me what you see Satan! Ferns?” Trunks said equally anxious. Four hearts pounded in anticipation, realizing another of Trunks predictions was coming true. Already the forest had thinned as he said, and now Satan was jumping up and down for joy.

“Ferns I guess it is then,” Yamcha said, voice fraught with wonder.

“That makes number 10,” 17 said.

“Who’s counting? Let’s continue!” Satan’s voice boomed out. It pumped their blood and whipped their spirits into frenzy. Hearts pounded in double time as the foursome felt their hope enflame to a roaring campfire. He rushed out of the tree line, his feet brushing aside ferns as he and Trunks walked forwards.

Of course, Yamcha and 17 were right behind them, only by two paces. However, 17 glanced around as if looking for something else that was not there, but finding nothing.

“I’m just worried though,” 17 mused, tapping his chin. “Where are the charred trees and traces of a crash? If we’re near where you say he must be… then why have we seen no debris?”

“Good question,” Yamcha nodded.

“We can look for clues later after we’ve found him,” Satan said.

Buoyed by Satan’s support Trunks said, “Satan’s right. The thing is that once we find Gohan, he may be able to answer that question about the crash. Right now, the clues we need to worry about are the ones to help us find him. There are only a few more to go!”

“You don’t say,” Yamcha said. He had not bothered to ask Trunks what they were for the sake of the game. Now he was anxious to know the last few with the uncanny nature of Trunks predictions. Coincidence had flown out the window in favor of believing that Trunks dream was in fact a prophetic vision. Still a small seed of doubt kept him from saying so.

“What’s number eleven?” asked 17 eagerly, as they continued through the ferns.

“Look for grey rocks after the ferns,” said trunks. “Protruding in a distinctive pattern…”

“You mean like rocks sticking up there?” Satan pointed, his whole body seeming to lean into the direction he indicated.

“Like a human…”

“Hand?” Yamcha completed his heart stopping. 17 too felt his breath catching and Satan swallowed hard before laughing with joy. Scrambling through ferns Satan and Trunks led the exuberant party forward. With each step, their hearts pounded faster, until they finally reached the rocks that resembled fingers protruding from the ground. In wonder, they examined them, while 17 and Yamcha caught up with their friends.

“It is as you said,” Satan nodded, glancing anxiously around.

Still bewildered, Yamcha leaned close to 17 and whispered, “What are the odds of us finding a weird rock formation here, friend?”

17 answered softly, “I’d say pretty close to zero, actually.”

“I thought so,” Yamcha nodded.

“But one more clue,” said Trunks, feeling the palpable excitement tingling the air around them. Their voices were automatically lowered to a whisper though they did not know why. As if the sanctity of what they were about to witness was violated by loud voices at this moment. Perhaps it was instinct, but they did not stop long before proceeding to the grey rocky wall before them.

“An opening,” Yamcha pointed, his sharp eyes managing to make out its dark shape. Wind whipped and nipped at their bodies, causing them all to shiver. It howled through the trees, rustling branches, and dislodging needles and leaves to blow through the forest they had just exited. Trunks nodded anxiously and the others lay hands on his shoulders as they advanced.

A loud rumbling overhead sounded like a celestial being moving furniture about, startling them all. Something wet seemed to hit Trunks in the eyes, and he saw the others were blinking. 17 held up his arm before his face as tiny raindrops pelted him. Yamcha shouted and the others dashed for the shelter of the grotto. Keeping close together, as they had the whole expedition the group braced each other.

Trunks scrambled over a series of rocks that formed a ‘threshold’ to the grotto opening. The others scrambled over the obstacles as well finding Trunks transfixed and rigid staring ahead. Yellowish green patches glowed from the ceiling and walls, casting its light eerily on the stalactites and stalagmites that resembled ominous teeth. Thankful for the light source in the absence of their torches the companions could see well enough to notice what else occupied the chamber. Trunks chest rose and fell his blue eyes wide with surprise mixed with joy.

“No way, this is… I can’t believe it!” Yamcha gasped. Their eyes blinked at what should have been impossible but were right there before them, only fifty paces away.

“I’m seeing it but I’m at a loss for words,” 17 murmured. He quickly moved forwards, to get a closer look. There lying on the rocky floor was the engineer. His head was pillowed on a low smooth rock, while his body was arranged face up resembling a crusader in a stone tomb centuries ago.

“I told you. He’s HERE!” Trunks pointed his voice barely above a whisper.

“Move aside,” 17 said in that authoritative tone, his long legs carrying him to the side of the reclining engineer. Genuflecting on one knee, he reached out two fingers to touch the carotid artery. Quickly he unbuttoned Gohan’s collar and a few of the top fastenings of his uniform. Simultaneously he bent his head over, positioning his ear over Gohan’s mouth and nose.

The others watched while kneeling, keeping enough space for 17 who was intent on seeing if he was alive, further unbuttoning the cuffs of the uniform and hyper extending Gohan’s neck so he could breathe more clearly with an unobstructed airway. Trunks and Yamcha both busied themselves with speaking softly to Satan and restraining him with hands hooked around his arms. He relented and then they merely stood on either side of him, waiting.

“G… Gohan… he’s here… but are we too late?” Satan choked. “He looks so pale!”

“Wait a minute man. Don’t jump to conclusions,” Yamcha said in a calming voice. “If there’s anyone here who can save him it’s 17, okay? He’s in good hands.”

“Well… is he…” Satan began.

17 felt the steady strong pulse under his sensitive fingertips. Against his cheek slow breaths wafted, each warm and moist with life. “He… he’s breathing and has a pulse!” 17 announced. “I’m checking for broken bones now!”

“Alive… alive!” Satan mouthed, hot tears stinging his eyes. His heart stopped for a full half minute when he beheld the sight before him. There was the person he had longed to see for what seemed two days and never thought would be alive again.

“Easy, let’s just stand close,” Yamcha whispered in his ear.

By now, 17 had gently pulled one of Gohan’s eyelids back and was peering to check the pupils’ dilation. Mumbling to himself, he then moved to the other. Carefully he lifted Gohan’s arm, moving it but seeing no reaction. Rubbing his chin he mumbled, “This is strange.”

Tugging up Gohan’s sleeve 17 examined the arm for any strange puncture marks. Baffled, he scratched his head when he found none. A check of the opposite arm yielded no other possibilities. He said, “From the lack of limb reaction, he’s not asleep, but unconscious.”

“Well can you bring him round?” Satan asked impatiently, still keeping his voice hushed.

“I daren’t try till I further assess his condition,” 17 answered.

All the tension of the past few days that balled his innards in a knot spontaneously released and he slumped heavily onto Yamcha. Then his breath rasped in and out. Yamcha moved between the aide de camp and 17, readying himself for any possible action.

Wrenched from the pits of darkest depression Satan felt himself springing to life. Hours ago when he realized that Gohan might well be irretrievably gone, the once insane resolve supplying him with boundless energy before had abated. Now it rekindled with the rediscovery of his best friend and ex son in law, lying there unmolested, or so he hoped. A one presumed lost member of his family had been found, and he turned towards the one who had orchestrated it: Trunks. His heart pounded fit to burst inside his chest heaving with happiness. Half-sobbing half-laughing Satan advanced upon the lad. Tears glistened in his beard and dripped down his chin while he rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.

“I can find no broken bones or apparent injuries on him. He’s merely unconscious, but I find no bump or contusion,” 17 further called.

“Lad, you… you…” he gasped with a huge smile on his face.

Trunks whooped with surprise when he was suddenly caught up and spun around. Nearly crushed to Satan’s chest in an immense bear hug he felt the gratitude radiating through the other man. Every fibre of his being was tensed up in a sob of joy as he held Trunks in that fierce embrace. Tightly the muscular arms increased their pressure; almost squeezing the air from Trunks lungs, yet the boy shared in the palpable exhilaration and returned the hug.

17 and Yamcha looked on in shared excitement and amusement. Both remained by the silent and unconscious engineer, still checking his vital signs. They could almost reach out and grasp the tangible happiness pervading the air. Moving close Yamcha alternated slapping the youth on the back and congratulating him. Yamcha felt a wave of guilt for doubting the boy at first, as well as 17. However, they resolved to keep their self-deprecating remarks private, instead indulging in the high of well being.

“Satan,” Trunks gasped. The aide de camp set him down, still taking hold of the boy’s hands to squeeze them.

“Well, kiddo, I will repay you some day,” replied Satan. “Now we are friends for life.”

When they had calmed somewhat, a white flash of lightening suddenly illuminated the grotto mouth. Thunder reverberated in the grotto, startling them. The four friends glanced at once another, all in various positions around Gohan. Straining their eyes they could see it was grimly gray although daylight outside, casting a pale light across the rocks. Not quite sufficient to overrule the phosphorescent glow of their grotto, but enough to confirm that the sun had perhaps risen a bit in their preoccupation with Gohan.

“Quite a coincidence how things worked so nicely for us seeing all these signs,” said Yamcha as they watched over Gohan. Already the storm increased with ferocity, confining the companions to the grotto.

“True, but it brought us Gohan,” Satan pointed out. “We should be focussing more on bringing him around than just how he was brought here. Later we can figure out the why-fors and where-tos.”

“Still it is a nagging question we cannot ignore,” said Trunks. “How I dreamed of things that I had not seen and followed them like signposts. Moreover, how I heard Gohan’s voice in my mind as clearly as I hear you and me talking. It begs investigation.”

“Indeed,” nodded 17. “And now the storm is keeping us here, giving us time to ponder such things. Just how did Gohan get here when he’s clearly been in some induced sleep?”

“Induced?” Satan blinked. “As in something put him asleep.”

“Or someone?” Trunks mumbled. More thunder drowned out his question, so the others failed to hear his further point.

“What was that?” asked Yamcha.

“I’m trying to think of any species of animal that I know of that could cause such an effect. So far, all I’ve come up with are two species of insect that sting, but only one of them would induce a trancelike state, and it wouldn’t be comatose. Or several species of reptile that are venomous. The one species I know of that could come close to causing this state without poisoning him hasn’t been found in such conditions.”

“What is such an animal?” Satan asked.

“A certain species of amphibian whose skin secretions can induce a hallucinogenic effect. However, the victim stops breathing under prolonged exposure. It may explain Gohan possibly walking in a drugged state and collapsing here, not acting in his right mind. But he would be showing more effects of poisoning because its eventual effect is depression of the central nervous system,” Trunks mumbled.

“There’s no sign of poison from my evaluation,” 17 said. “Rather a tranquilizing effect. Like a sedative. Not a hallucinogen.”

“That’s why this is so strange. The only other cause is from consuming certain species of flora. But I haven’t seen any samples of those yet,” Trunks mumbled.

“I doubt Gohan would have eaten anything he considered unsafe,” Satan snorted.

“Gohan couldn’t have walked here on his own could he? I mean maybe he could have, but why wouldn’t he have met up with us? Like we’ve planned so carefully,” Yamcha shook his head. “I mean that’d work with your theory that some animal or plant he came into contact with would make him act irrationally.”

“The chances of him exhibiting such a constellation of symptoms on his own is remote,” said 17. “He didn’t appear to be poisoned. Drugged perhaps. Nevertheless, from my examination I saw no lasting effects save a comatose sleep. I’d need far more resources than I have here now to make a further determination.”

“I say it’s an animal of some sort. Think harder Trunks, you overlooking any sort of animal, any sort at all?” Yamcha said.

“I saw no puncture marks,” said 17. Trunks grunted and shook his head. His list of possible suspects in the fauna kingdom had suddenly come up short.

“No insect poison then. Perhaps exposure to a plant of the tranquilla species. Though its fruit is known to cause the eater to go into a comatose state and that means consuming it. Its leaves and flowers haven’t been documented as inducing the same effect,” said Trunks.

“Well maybe he ran into the leaves or inhaled pollen from it. Something like that and it caused him to sleepwalk,” Yamcha shrugged.

“That is plausible,” trunks said, and scratched his head. “Not unheard of. If he breathed in some of the pollen from the flower, it may have such an effect. Yet it would take a great deal of it, whereas eating the fruit would be more potent and take far less. But Satan you mentioned he wouldn’t eat anything he didn’t trust.”

“Exactly. Since you weren’t there to advise him lad,” said Satan.

17 gently opened Gohan’s mouth and peered inside. He also raised the engineer’s hand to peer at his fingernails. Motioning Trunks over he asked, “You don’t see any rind or seed under his fingernails do you? I don’t either.”

“No,” Trunks murmured.

“So that rules that out? No pollen?” asked Yamcha, as the two of them glanced over Gohan’s uniform as the engineer continued to lay motionless.

“He may have been sleepwalking?” Satan mumbled. “Nah, that’s silly. I still think it’s pointless to figure it out till we’ve got him awake.”

“You agree though it’s all too convenient how things arranged themselves to lead us to his side though,” said 17.

“Absolutely,” said Yamcha.

“Still, it’s a mystery we should save for another time. You’re right about that Satan. We’ve ample time to solve it while figuring out what to do next,” Trunks said.

“Damn, we’ll be here a while,” muttered Yamcha, shaking his head.

“Perhaps we should try waking him?” Trunks asked 17.

“We can try,” 17 nodded. Carefully he rubbed at Gohan’s chest, trying to massage life back into him.

Satan leaned over his commanding officer and patted at Gohan’s hand, urging, “Sonny, wake up! You’re safe now!”

Immediately the others clustered around Gohan, watching as Satan gently rubbed at Gohan’s temple and arms, urging him with a soft voice. However, Gohan still remained limp and motionless. The aide-de camp looked up at 17 with a question in his eyes.

“Try some cold compresses,” said 17. “Someone take my scarf and get it moist.”

“Right,” Satan said. He grasped the red square of fabric 17 offered and moved to the mouth of the grotto. Moistening it with rainwater, he then wrung it out so it was not so dripping wet but still moist. Quickly he returned and handed it to the reporter.

“Thank you,” 17 said. He took back the moist cloth and carefully dabbed and sponged at the reporter’s head.

“Perhaps we can get some silex nut juice,” Trunks suggested. “Have it ready for when he comes around.”

“Good. Get it ready. He should have some fluids anyhow. We don’t want him to get too dehydrated,” 17 nodded. Yamcha moved off to retrieve one from their supplies, and Trunks moved to help him position it so he could crack it open.

Cradling Gohan’s neck a bit, Satan glanced over to see the two of them carrying one of the nuts, split into half with a bit of fluid sloshing in it. Still 17 continued to sponge and rub at the engineer’s brow with his moist damp cloth, hoping to bring him out of the slumber.

17 said, “Easy with the neck…”

“Gohan,” 17 called out. “Can you hear us?”

“Gohan,” said Satan, shaking him a bit again. Slowly the engineer blinked his dark eyes barely fluttering open after a few seconds.

“Easy, easy,” 17 said, and folded the damp compress so it lay across Gohan’s brow. The engineer mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Try some of the juice?” Trunks asked.

“Gohan, you need to drink something. Here let this wet your whistle,” Satan said, motioning to Trunks. The boy brought the silex nut over and carefully held it just under Gohan’s lip. Carefully he tipped the shell so the liquid moistened Gohan’s mouth. He coughed a bit and managed to drink.

He licked his lips, and Trunks held the shell to them once more. Weakly he sipped a bit more, and then sighed with half shuteyes. “Must sleep…” he groaned.

“Damn it you scared us to death,” Yamcha began, but shut up when he saw the worry on Trunks face.

“Thank goodness, I found you,” Trunks said, taking the engineer’s other hand and rubbing it vigorously like he saw Satan doing.

“Crash… or explosion…” Gohan moaned, weakly swinging his arm up, and dragging his hand over 17’s sleeve.

“What kind of question is THAT?” Yamcha wondered.

“We don’t know, Commander,” Trunks answered quickly. Everyone looked at him oddly.

“Let him rest now, men,” 17 instructed. “He needs time to recover.”

Gohan’s eyes dropped closed, as if burdened by a great weight. The hand that had reached up to 17 then flopped beside him. Soon he was fast asleep, dead to the world. Yamcha shook his head and half laughed, “What a man. Asking that kind of a question when he’s first found. Amazing.”

“Don’t you worry. I’m sure he’ll be feeling better tomorrow,” 17 said, gently moving Gohan’s head and shoulders off his lap. He positioned the improvised pillow under the commander’s head and piled the leaves more completely around him.

“I guess we sit here wait for him to wake up, and wait out the storm,” Yamcha surmised.

“Yes. That reminds me we should keep him warm too,” said 17, glancing up at his friends. Each of them pulled off their outer coats and jackets to drape over the commander’s body. Then they all huddled closer to one another to share body warmth.

“Reminds me of the ship,” murmured Satan with a chuckle.

“Speaking of ships,” Yamcha said. Turning to Trunks he asked, “So we don’t know if it’s a crash or not?”

“Well we heard no explosion, correct?” Trunks surmised.

“Right,” said Satan, who nodded.

“Indeed,” 17 added.

Because Gohan had only surfaced momentarily from sleep, Yamcha felt extreme frustration. Nevertheless the mood of all the others was lifted considerably knowing Gohan was alive and on the mend. Their first priority would be to follow his directions and nurse him back to health so they could all set about colonizing their new world.

***

As the hours passed, the colonists rested and repaid their accumulated sleep debt. They ate sparingly from their provisions, checking periodically on Gohan and the weather outside. Each one, except Trunks, took turns performing this duty. Body heat shared among them served them well as it had on the ship a time ago. All the while lightening periodically illuminated the grotto accompanied by the rumbling boom of thunder. Inside the grotto, moisture-laden air hung thick and close, dampening their clothes but not their spirits.

During one of 17’s watches, the reporter noticed the storm was burning out in intensity. Crashes of thunder had given way to the steady drumming of rain. No more lightening flared, but the feel of the air still indicated the storm was not quite over. Grey daylight filtered through the gloomy overcast sky in greater abundance now. Sitting close to Gohan’s head, 17 monitored the Commander’s pulse with two fingers pressed to the carotid artery of his neck. Slow and steady it remained, and the engineer’s breathing was equally even and regular.

Next to where he sat lay Yamcha, who was just blinking and rubbing his eyes. Trunks was awakened by the movement of his guardian, peering over to where 17 sat. Satan was still half-asleep but regaining wakefulness. It was near the end of 17’s watch, and the others were all curious and weary of endless sleep as to Gohan’s condition.

“Well?” murmured Satan, rubbing his eyes and dragging himself to sit by Gohan’s head.

“He’s continuing to slumber and rest well. And the storm looks to be blowing out a bit,” 17 glanced over his shoulder. The pilot wandered over to the front of the grotto, peering out into the depths of the lightening gray. Instead of the color of battleship, it was now the hue of slate.

“I see, that’s good news. But the rain isn’t,” Yamcha mumbled, trudging back to where the others were assembled. Beside him, Trunks blinked and moved to kneel near 17’s side.

“By now the fire’s surely gone out,” Trunks nodded.

“Damn rain,” Yamcha cursed, glaring at the grotto opening. “We can’t do without fire for long, and we don’t dare leave here.”

“Not safe at all to venture back in this,” Satan grimly observed. “Now that we’re all reunited.”

“Not to mention it’s not safe to go out and gather fuel or anything else now till this clears. But we will need it before much longer,” 17 said.

“Rain can’t last forever,” Satan said hopefully. “Just a matter of hanging on till Gohan awakens.”

“Still I just hate sitting here knowing that fire WAS going and there’s not a damn thing we can do to get it back,” Yamcha lamented.

“Should we try waking Gohan again,” Trunks suggested. “You did say he needed fluids.”

“With or without a kiss?” 17 teased. Trunks blushed lightly when he said this, and Satan wrinkled his nose with interest.

“Ah well…” Trunks chuckled.

“No it’s best to let him wake up on his own,” 17 replied, his face becoming serious again.

“Not to worry anyway kid. Each of us did give him a bit. He was half asleep during my watch but he did sip some silex nut juice,” Yamcha said.

“And during mine, lad,” 17 said.

“Anyhow, let’s not worry about Gohan. Or about the subject of fire gentlemen,” Satan suggested.

Muscles twitched under 17’s fingers. He withdrew his hand, and then glanced down as his patient once more stirred and tossed his head. 17 glanced at his friends and whispered, “He’s coming around.”

“Gohan, how are you feeling?” Satan gently asked, rubbing Gohan’s temples.

“I’m still a bit tired, and lightheaded. A bit hungry,” Gohan reported, blinking up at his friends.

“It’ll be all right,” 17 reassured him. Satan sponged Gohan’s brow a bit more.

“I’m going to try to sit up,” Gohan grunted, shifting a bit. Satan nodded, and he and 17 both repositioned themselves to steady him. With his head and shoulders propped at a lesser angle in Satan’s lap, he had a better view of the others arranged in front of him.

Trunks, already by the pile of food selected some of the fruit. Yamcha cracked open another silex nut, fixing it so the juice could be easily dribbled out through a small hole instead of cracking the shell open entirely. Handing a duo plumb to Gohan, Trunks positioned himself near Satan and assembled other food in a small string back on his lap. Their fingers brushed when Gohan took the fruit Trunks handed to him, the lad suppressing a slight blush.

“Thank you very much,” Gohan mumbled, biting eagerly into the fruit. He licked the juice that dribbled off his fingers before he accepted the silex nut from Yamcha. Color was already returning into the engineer’s countenance with the simple food.

“No problem,” Yamcha nodded.

“I’m relieved to see you’re all safe and well,” Gohan said, smiling warmly at his friends.

“Goes without saying we feel the same,” Trunks was the first to say. Each of the others expressed their relief as well, patting shoulders or shaking hands to express themselves.

“So, did the ship crash or was there an explosion?” Gohan asked, between sips of the silex nut juice.

“Well we were hoping you could answer that question,” Yamcha replied, scratching his temple a bit.

“I don’t remember much but I propose we methodically try deducing what happened. The best way to proceed is by each of you giving me your recollection of what happened on the ship. Including any details that may seem insignificant, then I’ll chime in,” Gohan said, swallowing another mouthful of silex nut juice. He then passed the emptied shell back to Trunks. Yamcha reached for a piece of rock that he’d sharpened and took the shell so he could crack it open.

“You realized you had to make a last minute course correction after you saw where we emerged from the warp gate wasn’t where you thought we were,” Trunks said.

“Yes, but did any of you recall any sounds the ship was making when I was making those changes? Any sparking of circuitry or movement that seemed abnormal from where you were sitting in the passenger area?” Gohan asked.

“We were shaking and buffeting pretty bad. Just before you told Satan to blow the hatch,” said Yamcha. “More so than I thought we would. But considering the last minute corrections… I’m not that surprised.”

“Yes that’s true, but anything else? Like as you were about to leave the ship?” Gohan asked.

“I didn’t see any sparks or smoke from where I sat in the other parts of the ship before Satan blew the hatch,” 17 recounted.

“The indicator lights seemed to be doing what you figured they would. And our angle of approach was a bit more steep because you were compensating for not appearing where you first calculated,” Yamcha shrugged.

“But other than that nothing else at that point?” Gohan asked.

“Nothing I can remember. It all happened so fast before I hit the button,” Satan shrugged, struggling to recall any shred of anything that would prove helpful.

“We were all hanging on till the last minute when Satan pressed the control. It was hard to see anything because of the rush of air,” Trunks admitted watching Yamcha carve out the supple green meat of the silex nut.

“Well I do remember I was the first out. However, the ship appeared intact the split second I dropped. There was no sign of smoke or fire from it. Before I hit the waves,” 17 said. He was satisfied with the twinkle returning in Gohan’s eyes, as well as the return of his vitality. His movements did not seem as sluggish as before, when reaching to take pieces of fruit or bits of crayfish.

“Trunks and I both hit the water after and we all started swimming. When I looked up, I saw Satan falling from the craft…” Yamcha said. “The engines were still bolted on, and I didn’t see any debris. She was pretty much still intact before she shot out of view.”

“I only saw the ship briefly, when my head broke water,” said Trunks. “I saw nothing either that would indicate the ship was breaking up or that it was about to explode.”

“I jumped next, and I tried to hold onto the kit. Well tried to anyway,” Satan frowned, remembering how he had lost hold of the survival kit they had painstakingly packed.

“None of you saw any flames, explosions, or smoke then?” Gohan raised a brow.

“Not me,” shrugged Trunks.

“Nor I,” 17 added.

“Or me either.”

“Seems like we all saw nothing that’d help much,” Satan apologized.

“So what do you remember after that, Gohan?” Yamcha asked.

“I was relieved when all of you exited the craft. I managed to make a last minute course correction and steer it towards the land. I was trying to land it in a relatively safe place to minimize the damage. Then the power ran out and I lost the ability to guide it. Then all of a sudden, there was a bright blinding light, simultaneous to a loud vibrating sound that rattled the whole craft. After that, nothing,” Gohan recounted. As he related his account each of the four listened intently, astonished and confused by what they heard.

“Which is why I needed to know if any of you saw an explosion, or heard the ship crash,” Gohan asked.

“We didn’t see anything. Only the ship disappearing after each of us bailed out,” Satan said. “Even when I searched for you on my own I saw nothing.”

“Nor did we,” Trunks recounted.

“Well was there anything around me where you first found me? Any footprints, clues?” Gohan then asked, confused by the surprised looks.

“We found you in this grotto, Gohan,” Trunks informed him.

Gohan’s dark eyes widened as he asked, “You mean you didn’t carry me here?”

“No. We found you right here just as it started raining. We followed Trunks clues,” Satan said.

“I had a dream where I heard you as if you were leading me here along each step. And I was able to guide everyone here to find you.”

“That’s incredible, Trunks,” Gohan observed, his eyes wide with interest. “Tell me more.”

“You were in my dream, as a ghost. I could not quite touch you and I heard your voice. Leading me every step of the way. Almost like a game of chase,” Trunks said his face a bit pink.

“I was in your dreams then the one leading you. Fascinating, but very uncanny,” Gohan blinked.

“He woke us all up all right,” 17 said. “We weren’t sure at first.”

“But each new sign we found was right on,” Satan said.

“And none of us had been this way before then,” Yamcha added.

“It’s a huge mystery,” Gohan mused, glancing at each of them in turn. “From my perspective as well as yours. However, we still must determine if there was a crash or explosion. Did any of you see any areas in your explorations where the ship could have crashed?”

“Not at this point,” said Satan.

“We haven’t seen much of the lay of the land yet,” Trunks said.

“Then we should perform an exploration of this place. Yet to do that we will have to restore our strength first. That means we must obtain more nourishing foods than fruits, by the use of suitable weapons. Also while we’re at it we require ropes, baskets and other equipment which we will use to store what we gather, and what else we’ll find on our expedition,” Gohan announced. Already he had begun to plan, filling each of them with a sense of purpose and direction that they sorely needed.

“Well we can’t go anywhere in this damned rain,” Yamcha reminded them “To go back to where we had fire and a cave for shelter.”

“Which is probably out by now anyway,” 17 sighed.

“True, but now we have Gohan, and we’re as good as fed and warmed, men,” Satan laughed, slapping him on the back.

“It wouldn’t be reasonable to set out in this weather, considering we don’t’ want to get cold and wet when we’ve not fire at this point. We cannot risk anyone’s health so lightly. We should wait till it abates,” Gohan agreed.

“A small cold wouldn’t be too terrible,” Yamcha pointed out.

“Well I disagree. Considering we have no drugstores or pharmacies in the immediate area to treat any illnesses it would be foolhardy to take unnecessary risks. The loss of one colonist is a detriment to our community,” Gohan disagreed. “Gentlemen we must be mindful of the fact that we only have ourselves to count on for our survival. To be successful will require much work from each one of us.”

To this, everyone nodded and shook one another’s hands. Then Yamcha said, “Well I’ve no objection to busting my rear with hard work. But I’ve got one request for you Gohan.”

17 and Trunks exchanged amused glances as Satan chuckled. Gohan asked, “Name it my friend.”

“Just that we call ourselves colonists,” replied the pilot.

“Hurray to that!” Satan laughed.

“I’ll second that!” Trunks whooped, as Satan clapped him on the back.

“No arguments here!” 17 chorused, wrapping an arm around Yamcha’s shoulder. Facing one another all five colonists formed a circle and cheered to Yamcha’s request and the spirit of cooperation.