Welcome to Boxer & Rice

“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.