Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

“En tout cas, les passagers n’avaient pu avoir à leur disposition aucun moyen d’estimer la route parcourue depuis leur départ, car tout point de repère leur manquait.”

“At any rate the passengers, destitute of all marks for their guidance, could not have possessed the means of reckoning the route traversed since their departure. “

-Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island (1874)

Sparks flew out from one panel just as the forward view whipped into blurred streaks and they were flung to the side of the craft. A loud ripping sound and then the sound of someone slamming into the wall caused gasps and cries of alarm. Each felt like laundry spinning in a dryer, except this rate of rotation far exceeded the capacity of a home appliance’s tolerance. Quite unlike a dryer, there was nobody to turn the off switch.

“His belt broke!”

“Grab onto him! Quickly Gohan!”

“I’ve got him!”

“17! Hold onto him with all your strength!”

“He’s not going anywhere…”

“Trunks!”

“Ride out the wave!”

“Oh my god, we’ll be shaken to bits!”

“The engines can’t take this…”

“They’ll hold together… just HOLD ON!”

“I can’t…”

Pressed tightly to the wall, the passenger who had broken loose now felt a strong arm gripping around him. Not only had the ship spun in one axis, now it wobbled in two, breaking the centripetal force. More in the fashion of a bit of exploding popcorn, he now was tossed around. Another passenger felt the whiplash as his belt snapped, and slid backwards to press to the ceiling as the entire ship tumbled in two, than three axes, objects, and occupants in danger of bouncing off the walls. Twisting his arm around the ripped belt, he caught the body thrashing towards him and clung tightly. Another hand grabbed onto his leg, squeezing like grim death and Gohan realized he hurtled back into the aisle. The hands that had reached out were those of Satan and 17, both leaning across their seats while twisting their own arms into their belts lest they snap.

“Trunks hold onto me!” the engineer cried.

“Sonny we’ve got you! Just hang in there!” Satan bellowed.

Gohan’s arm ached in its socket as he clung to the ripped belt, and felt 17’s hand grabbing him under one armpit while Satan clung to his leg. His other arm locked around the body of Trunks, who had thrown both his arms around Gohan’s chest to grasp for stability. Still securely in his pilot’s seat, Yamcha’s hands desperately wrenched the controls in an effort to stabilize them. Yet the flickering power on the console and the deadly spin of whatever backlash had hit them was making it close to impossible. Gritting his teeth, he fired the retro thrusters against the spin.

Gradually, the tumbling of the cabin and the rattling decreased. Plunged into flickering darkness intermittently the passengers pleaded, prayed, and hoped they would survive. Indeterminate time passed before the whirling finally stopped and the craft pulled out of its death spiral from the shockwave of the Light of Eärendil explosion. Once the spin was slower and lazier, everyone felt a rare moment of disbelief mingled with heart stopping peace.

“We’re clear of it. I did it… barely,” Yamcha’s voice panted. “Trunks, are you okay?”

“I… think so,” Trunks weakly stammered. Soft cloth pressed to one cheek, warm with the other’s body heat.

“Thank heaven for that,” Yamcha sighed.

“Is everyone all right?” Gohan shakily asked.

“We’re still alive and in once piece I think,” whispered Satan. Through the gloom, his eyes probed intently for confirmation.

“That was one hell of an explosion,” 17 commented as calmly as he could. “Just how you kept us alive is beyond me, but you did it, Yamcha.”

Gohan felt Trunks small body hugging tightly to his, and the resulting ache in both his arm sockets. Then a dull blue glow flickered on once more, as the cabin lights returned. Fingers latched around the armpit of the arm clinging to the belt, and he glanced up to see 17 straining backwards, his blue eyes wide with his own pain. Satan slowly released his grip on Gohan’s ankle panting in relief. Slowly Trunks relaxed his grip on Gohan and glanced up at him with a slightly shocked look on his face.

“But where are we?” Gohan asked. “Still in hyperspace?”

“Yeah, but you’d better take a look at this. These headings make no sense and I’m losing power. The coordinates are off,” Yamcha panted. “We’re clear of whatever storm we hit, but that’s all I can tell.”

“First things first. We need to find out if we’re all in one piece,” Gohan said with a clear strong voice of authority. “Does anyone here know anything about medicine? We need to find out who is all right and who isn’t! Then we need to figure out what damage was done to the ship, and how much food and oxygen we have, while I work on what to do next.”

“I was an orderly in the service, I can help,” 17 said.

“I’ll be okay, look to Trunks, and the others 17?” asked Gohan. “Make sure we’re all right. That was one hell of a shock.”

“You can open your eyes, lad,” Gohan said soothingly to Trunks.

“Oh… sorry,” Trunks stammered as Gohan carefully released him and the youth drifted freely.

“Thank you 17,” Gohan glanced up at him gratefully.

“No problem,” 17 nodded, releasing his grip as well. “Any bones broken?”

“You all right Sonny?” Gohan’s aide-de-camp asked.

“And you’re all right Yamcha?” 17 glanced up at the pilot who shook his head slowly.

“Other than being rattled,” Yamcha murmured. “You look after Trunks first, mister!”

“I’m okay, but a bit dizzy still. But thanks to Gohan I’m in one piece,” Trunks confessed. Indeed, he still felt as if the ship were rotating, his eyes moving to track the now nonexistent moment. Inside the canals of his ears, he swore he could tell the fluid was sloshing around yet.

“Don’t mention it, young man” the engineer smiled warmly at him. Still weightless they drifted apart, Gohan’s gentle shove sending him towards 17. The captain caught Trunks and helped him hover in one place over one of the seats. Yamcha glanced over his shoulder, satisfied his charge was safe.

“Does anyone’s neck feel sore?” 17 asked.

“Mine, but I can move my head and body. Thank you,” Yamcha said. He aimed gratitude to Gohan as well as 17.

“Yamcha, how much do you know about repairing ships as well as flying them?” Gohan asked.

“A good deal, since you ask,” Yamcha answered. “We had to sometimes play metallurgist and crash course engineer on my freighter runs.”

“Help me please, then Yamcha? Stay up front there, will you?” Gohan asked. The engineer was grabbing the seat backs to pull himself towards the co pilots’ chair again. Hovering over it, he shifted into position and gazed at the coordinates flickering there. The engineer felt something creeping down his forehead, but figured it was sweat. Yamcha pointed to the flickering lights on the console that concerned him.

“No wonder you can’t see where we are. This is an error reading,” Gohan wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. A few drops of blood came off on it.

“While 17 attends to the others, why don’t you take a tally of all the things you saw damaged? And Satan go check the stores,” Gohan suggested. Yamcha nodded, unbuckling from his seat and glancing over the panels. Occasionally he asked Gohan what something meant in Canopian.

“I don’t know much about Canopian but if we had a set of blueprints…” Yamcha cursed and mumbled. “We’re drifting along, and there’s no need for me to drive this thing till we figure out where we can come out of it.”

“Yes. You and I need to go over the ship and figure out what was damaged, how much fuel we have before I can give a good answer,” Gohan said.

“So, explain and translate the schematics of this thing?” asked Yamcha. His fingers awkwardly slid along the relays of the piloting computer, slowly working through the buttons. Beside him Gohan drifted, his own hands dancing across the keyboards to find the specifications. After a few minutes of coaxing, multiple pictures flashed across the forward plasma display.

“All right now you know where the schematics are, let’s see where the ship says we are,” Gohan said.

“So I’m guessing we’re a LONG way from where we started?” Yamcha murmured.

“Seems to reason,” 17 answered from the middle of the craft. He noticed Gohan rubbing his forehead.

“Gohan you’ve got a scrape on your forehead,” said he.

“The others come first 17,” Gohan said, pressing his hand to his head to staunch the bleeding.

“I’ve found the first aid kit,” Satan said, wincing momentarily as he avoided shifting his left shoulder. Once he found the small metal box over the first seat, Satan let the kit drift in the air hovering between the cabin and the cockpit area. 17 folded a square of gauze and then directed Gohan how to press the piece of bandage to put direct pressure on his wound.

“I’ll come back when the bleeding stops,” 17 grunted. Gohan nodded, continuing to hold the bandage to his head.

Taking a flashlight 17 then moved over to where Trunks drifted over one of the seats under Satan’s watch. He shined the light into the boy’s eyes, checking to see if either pupil was of a disproportionate size. His other shoulder was slightly slumped yet he asked, “Can you see me clearly?”

“I’m fine thank you. Just dizzy and my neck hurts,” Trunks answered, blinking in the light.

17 clicked off the flashlight, and then murmured, “Your pupils look the same size. That’s a good sign. Don’t try to move too much.”

“Don’t fuss, Satan,” Gohan mumbled as his aide-de-camp pressed on the bandage.

Rummaging through the kit, 17 pulled out two tablets from the painkiller bottle. Tipping them into his palm, he handed them to the youth saying, “Better swallow these. I’ll get you some water from the storeroom. Let me know if you feel sick or dizzy anymore.”

“I’ll get the water,” Satan volunteered. “You keep tending to the others, 17.”

The correspondent sprayed a plastic skin coating over a scrape Trunks had on his forehead. Having checked over Trunks 17 moved over to where Satan was fingering his sore shoulder but carrying a container of water. “You all right?” 17 asked.

“I’ll live. Is the kid okay?” asked Satan.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Trunks piped in.

“Good I’m glad,” 17 nodded sincerely glad for his welfare. Trunks smiled at the look of ready concern, feeling warmth that others then Yamcha were now around to depend upon and form friendships with.

“Trunks, you’re sure you’re okay?” the pilot repeated once more.

“Don’t fuss Yamcha I’m fine,” Trunks answered with a bit of frustration.

“And you sure you’re all right, Yamcha?” Satan asked. “You look really rattled.”

“Just a bit shaken up is all. But I’m in once piece,” Yamcha confessed. “And I know some of the systems shorted out.”

“Not till I look you over too, since I’ve seen to the lad,” 17 cautioned. He floated through the aisles like a black bird of prey, to land near Yamcha’s chair. Carefully his gloved hands reached to probe places on Yamcha’s sore body.

“Watch it, my neck,” Yamcha hissed. “It’s attached you know!”

“Whiplash. Classic case. I think a little aspirin will help, and a bit of a compress,” the reporter murmured, reaching for a heat pack and gently pressing it to the back of Yamcha’s neck. Feeling the fingers tickling under his collar Yamcha bristled temporarily. The minute chemicals flared into life, along with the slight icy hot sensation of the flexible pad.

“17 while you’re up here I can use some help,” Gohan explained, pointing at the blinking navigational terminal.

“I’m not exactly a mathematician,” 17 answered.

“Actually I was wondering if you’d mind me using your computer,” Gohan asked.

“Yes,” he nodded. With one hand, he reached through the pockets of his coat for the unit. 17 extracted the slim flat device from inside the voluminous garment. Then he carried it over to Gohan.

“Thank you. I will need it to tie into the ship’s computer possibly. I hope you don’t mind,” Gohan asked.

“Be my guest. It’s for a good cause,” 17 nodded.

“All right then,” Gohan said, opening the computer. He noticed 17 had set it to the viewing option that let everyone see its screen. Gently he pried the front off the nearby panel in front of him.

“That’s my Sonny, always taking things apart,” Satan chuckled.

“These units are specific to one way code entry. I’m going to be demanding a lot of this ship’s computer, and I don’t want to blow the circuits,” Gohan said as he reached for a set of wires. “I hope you don’t mind me modifying your computer a bit, 17.”

“It’s out of my hands now,” 17 shrugged. Gohan smiled his gratefulness and then opened the back of the small computer. Finding another set of leads, he twisted them around those from the open panel of the Sunrise. Then a pulse of energy married the two systems.

“Pretty crude, but it’ll allow me to bypass any subroutines locking me out. I am just starting to change the settings as we sit here,” Gohan grunted, sweat beading on his forehead.

“So any luck yet?” asked Yamcha from up front, his head tucked under a panel.

“That’s what I’m attempting to ascertain,” Gohan mused, staring at the coordinate navigational panel.

“Well, what does it say?”

“The engine’s not reading the coordinates properly because it has no point of fixed reference. The segment of hyperspace we are in. We’re not picking up any navigation beacons,” Gohan mumbled.

“What?” Yamcha blinked. “That can’t be right!”

“That would explain why the readings make no sense. I’m trying to correct now,” Gohan explained while running his fingers over computer input buttons in the co pilot’s cartography input.

“You mean if we’re far enough out there’s no signal to lock onto,” Trunks chimed in from the back.

“Correct, Trunks,” Gohan nodded with a smile. “So that’s why I’m trying to get the computer to use our last fix where we hit that backlash as a reference point instead and extrapolate–from the time we hit to the time now– which is about an hour or so.”

On his survey of the ship, Satan continued to favor his shoulder. Absently Satan grasped his own shoulder and slowly tried to roll it. 17 drifted over and cautioned, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Sore shoulder?”

“Yes, but it’s not that bad… OUCH,” Satan winced. Immediately his left hand crossed his chest, pressing hard upon the right shoulder as if to suppress the spasm that spread across his joint. He had wrenched it when he had caught hold of Gohan’s leg.

“Satan, do what he says,” Gohan ordered.

“All right, Sonny,” Satan relented.

“We’ll see if we can’t help you get more comfortable Satan,” asked 17, picking his way along the cabin to where Satan drifted. He motioned for the aide-de-camp to remain where he was then probed the sore shoulder.

“Right here?” 17 asked, tracing one finger across the blade of the shoulder. “Must be a pulled latissimus dorsi. No wait; it’s the deltoid muscle here.”

With those words 17’s finger touched with a feather pressure to the base of the Captain’s scalp, then across to the collarbone. Suppressing his urge to yelp, Satan merely grunted his affirmation on where it hurt most.

“Can I help?” Trunks asked. He was impressed by that probing stare in 17’s sky blue eyes, narrowing much in concentration as Gohan’s did when looking over the panel minutes before. It was the look of a pro, and Trunks recognized it.

“Sure lad. Reach into that first aid kit and get out an instant cold pack and some of that gauze,” 17 motioned with his head.

“So what’s the prognosis? My shoulder feels like it’s on fire. I’d say it’s a sprain,” Satan grunted. Reaching up to his shoulders 17 shrugged his way out of his trench coat and then let it drift near one of the seats before turning back to his patient. Now partly divested of the long coat they could see 17 was far more lithe and slender than the bulk his clothing provided.

Panting, Satan glanced up at Satan, and then hissed slightly at the compress 17 placed against his shoulder. “Trunks hold that on there while I work.”

“Thanks both of you,” Satan nodded up to 17. The reporter was twisting lengths of gauze around the compress Trunks held over the shoulder to secure it in place.

“I’ll make a sling for you. You won’t be able to move that arm for a while and it will be sore,” 17 murmured, motioning for Trunks to hold the improvised bandage and then position Satan’s arm while he folded a bandage into a triangle. He then passed the tips of the bandage around so he could knot them around Satan’s neck. The wider part supported and immobilized his left arm.

“Thanks,” Satan murmured appreciatively.

“No problem,” 17 said. “It’s only a sprain. You should be fine in a day or two. Just don’t’ use that arm.”

“You’re wincing a bit yourself. You should take your own advice, Doc,” joked Satan.

“I’ll be all right. Got a high tolerance for pain,” 17 chuckled, probing his own shoulder. “Maybe so, but you look like you could use some water,” Satan suggested.

While 17 tended to Satan, Gohan kept his ear remotely trained on them. Still he continued to cogitate, analyze, and help Yamcha see what else was blown. So far, engines were functional, and so was communication. A few other systems were slightly shorted out, but everything seemed in reasonable order. Now he had to figure out what their next step was.

“Is everyone all right, 17?” Gohan asked.

“Yes,” 17 nodded.

“Good, then we need to focus on what our assets are while Yamcha and I continue looking over the damage. What else do we have on board, Satan?” Gohan asked from the front.

“I’ll continue to look,” Satan nodded.

“Trunks, you give him a hand. 17 keep an eye on everyone and make sure if any of us show any other signs of distress act accordingly!” Gohan ordered.

“Right,” 17 nodded.

Following Satan to the back of the craft, Trunks felt a need to help in whatever way he could. Unlike the adults, he had no specific role, yet still knew he could contribute by watching, listening, and learning.

“Here, let me help you with that,” 17 answered, tapping his shoulder.

‘Huh?” Gohan blinked up at him, still pressing the gauze to his head.

“The bleeding’s stopped. I’ll just make a more permanent bandage,” 17 murmured. Gohan removed his hand from it and 17 reached up to check the scab that was starting to form. He dabbed at the abrasion a bit, then held the small spray bottle he held in his other hand at a distance of six inches.

“Thank you,” Gohan nodded. His dark eyes filled with ready gratitude, accompanied by the warm smile he gave the correspondent. Then the expression morphed to a sheepish grin. “Now perhaps you can give me a bit of a hand with this computer? I seem to be having some trouble with saving my files.”

“I had forgotten to give you my gloves,” 17 said, tugging them off and handing them to Gohan. “The keyboard’s inside them.”

“Ah, makes sense,” Gohan said as he slid 17’s gloves on his hands. Although they were a tad snug, the pliable material stretched sufficiently around his larger fingers.

Lips moved as Gohan calculated in his mind. Wiggling his fingers on the invisible keyboard, he tallied up what he could not crank out immediately in mind. Occasionally he would chew his lip before twiddling another set of numbers and letters on the computer’s screen. He knew he would be forcing the sunrise to perform tasks it was not originally configured for through his warehouse of engineering know how. Once that was accomplished he had the chore of conveying to the others what he proposed. He sought to answer the ever present was the question of just how possible it would be to work miracles from the alien circuits, engines and components.

“Now it’s your turn,” 17 turned back to Yamcha, and then brushed his fingers over the pilot’s neck to check his compress. Reluctantly Yamcha allowed him to, not readily admitting the soothing touch in the correspondent’s slim long fingers.

While Yamcha and Gohan assessed what was broken, the youth and the aide-de camp were looking at the other ship supplies. Down the aisle to the back of the cabin, Satan and Trunks drifted, using their hands to push along. Satan snaked his finger along one of the hairline grooves outlining a door the height of Trunks and the width of his shoulders, easing it open. Small containers were neatly stacked, flat trays among small spherical bottles containing drinking water and other liquids. “If I know this ship, one of the side benefits is that it recycles every drop of moisture cycling through here and puts it out as water,” Satan explained to Trunks.

“Even our waste?” Trunks asked.

“That gets vented out into space. Just like the other lavatories on Canopian ships,” Satan nodded, moving back into the cabin. Another small door led to the solitary lavatory, which was equipped with a suction space toilet and sink.

“Well we’re lucky there. Yamcha has told me war stories about other WC’s and this one seems like a luxury in comparison if it’s the same style as the ones on the Ligh of Eärendil,” Trunks murmured. His crystalline blue eyes wandered into a dimension of images spawned by the stories that Yamcha had told him while growing up. Naturally, the stories were sanitized for Trunks younger ears, but the youth had an uncanny ability to fill in gaps that jumped his logical reason.

“Suction setting,” Satan explained. He clicked the door shut. Trunks reached into the tiny ‘galley’ to pull out some of the bottles of drinking water. They were in small bulbs, the perfect container for the most efficient packing.

“How careful do we have to ration?” Trunks asked, holding two bulbs of water though hesitating to grab three others. Something in his mind already invisibly calculated how many ounces of fluid the average human needed in a day. Multiplying that figure times the volume of water bulbs he saw gave him a pessimistic estimate. Especially in light of the possibility that they had no idea how long their voyage in the Sunrise would be.

“We’ll get the answer when Sonny figures out where we are. But since this ship looks like it has the means to recycle water we can spare a bit now,” Satan judged. He picked up a tray of what appeared to be fruit cubes; they were the easiest way to restore some energy quickly in the form of glucose. Judging from how intently Gohan cogitated he would need it.

Back up in the cockpit of the ship, Yamcha and Gohan were leaning close in the aisles, bent over a small pad of paper filled with scribbles. Pencil tucked behind his ear Gohan was explaining something raptly to the pilot. Several panels were pried off while Yamcha glanced into them, pointing to various circuits.

“Yamcha, some water?” Trunks offered, drifting down the center aisle clutching the spheres in his hand by their necks.

“Thanks kiddo,” Yamcha smiled, reaching for one. Gohan did the same with a look of gratitude. Satan also passed up the tray of fruit cubes, which Gohan took one of. When it came to Yamcha, he reluctantly extracted two.

“So any luck men?” Satan asked. He turned to make his way down the aisle to where 17 watched.

“As far as I can determine we were carried along for about forty five minutes of our time,” Gohan scratched his neck. The bulbs of water floated nearby, only drifting slightly as they reached out to sip from the necks.

Yamcha through a mouthful of cube said, “We not only had our own engines but that backlash… and it doesn’t help that I couldn’t make out the numbers. Plus there are some repairs we need to make and that’s going to take time since I’m not familiar with this.”

“It’s my estimate we’ve gone far further through hyperspace past where I had intended. And that means we’re out of known Earth, Canopian or Alpher space,” Gohan mused. Squinting at the control panels, he waved aside a thin haze of smoke. Then he pressed a few keys on his front co pilot’s panel, only to grunt in frustration.

“What?” Yamcha asked.

“Press the set of relays to your right, never mind I’ll do it,” he said, and then leaned over to tap keys on a panel just before Yamcha’s right hand. “That will activate the diagnostic program.”

“What’s the red light here mean?” Yamcha asked. He pointed to blinking ciphers flickering on the tiny screen to the left of the proximity detector. “My gut tells me it’s what’s wrong, but I really am getting SICK of needing a translator!”

“That’s right,” Gohan narrowed his eyes. “All right according to this, the power to engine 3 is burned out, but that will need a replacement. Left front sensor is showing damage, as well as the deflection screens along the right front side.”

“I’m reading another blinking red light by the thrust and altitude controls, and they’re sluggish,” Yamcha said, testing the controls.

“True. At least here, we don’t see any indications on the screen for oxygen leaking. The batteries are holding, and there are no damages to ship integrity by the looks of this here,” he pointed to the next column of numbers flickering over. Already his brain took in every detail of the ship his senses delivered. Continuously he would return to the blueprints he had called up to turn over possible means of egress in his mind. Before he could even help his friends, he had to have something substantial to run by them.

“What about the maneuverability?” Yamcha asked during Gohan’s preliminary scanning of a tangle of alien blueprints showing up on the copilot’s screen.

“Right. We have altitude and pitch, but the left retro-maneuvering jets are leaking charge. All right… let’s look at the navigational array,” Gohan said, leaning back towards the proximity detector and the navigational coordinate reader between them on a flat screen. His fingers danced over the keyboards, bringing up stellar charts that flickered and blinked with the Canopian equivalent of an error message. Scratching his head the Engineer murmured, “All right, show me what you’re made of”

Fingers dancing across alien panels coupled with the lines of ciphers that Gohan’s eyes flickered across. Yamcha himself squinted at the numbers coming up on the screen even though he could not understand Canopian. Lips moved as Gohan mentally translated the numbers to Arabic and announced, “Well according to this, I’m not getting any navigation beacon signals. Yet that makes little sense because we should only be 0.03 light years from our original position.”

“That’s not right. We have not traveled long enough to get THAT far out. Try it again! The signal receiver must be damaged,” Yamcha threaded fingers through his hair.

“I know. Even if we had traveled for two weeks, we wouldn’t be far enough out to be outside the beacon system. So that means we’re not where we should be,” Gohan said. “And the signal receiver here… you can see from the green confirmation light that it is functioning properly.”

“So we have no reference point. We’re not even in the sphere of charted space when we should be if that’s the case,” Yamcha chewed his lip. “But even with the force of the Light of Eärendil explosion it wouldn’t be enough to push us out beyond the beacons.”

“Well here are the energy readings. All I need to do is account for time,” Gohan murmured. He pulled out his notepad, and removed the pencil from behind his ear. Equations spilled from the tip of the writing implement and filled two pages in a matter of minutes. The other occupants peered around his shoulder occasionally from what they were doing; sensing the tension in Gohan’s tightening shoulder muscles under his coat.

“I do not like those figures you’re coming up with, Gohan,” Yamcha commented. He studied the formulas for velocity, energy output and time corrections. Although much higher math was involved, Yamcha knew the telltale equations from his pilot’s training. All space pilots needed some calculus to account for gravity wells and special distortion.

“Nor am I,” Gohan confirmed. He punched more figures into the navigational system, so a sphere surrounded the tiny facsimile of their ship. Pointing to it he then said, “According to the energy output of the ship, we used this amount of fuel. I also factored in the estimated force of the explosion, and accounted for how long the ship’s chronometer says we have drifted until we regained stability. If we were on space charts we would be somewhere in this sphere, able to pick up any number of beacons. “Since we cannot receive any beacon signals we have to assume the ship’s at least 45 light years away from where the Light of Eärendil exploded,” Gohan said pressing a few key making a much larger sphere appear.

“Damn it all,” Yamcha grumbled, rubbing his forhead impatiently. “The only possible way this could happen is by some… some freak of space nature or a wormhole.”

Gohan nodded, pleased that Yamcha had stumbled on the answer through intuition that he had through cogitation. He said, “That’s it exactly, Yamcha. You hit the nail on the head with wormholes. Judging by the energy readings recorded by the ship’s logs it’s a definite possibility. If you use Einstein-Rosen bridge’s equations and apply them to the standard theory of hyperspace… we’d be approximately 300 light years from the explosion point within a variance of + or – two percent.” he pressed a few more keys and a wormhole trajectory appeared on the screen spreading much farther than the largest sphere.

“But no ship can generate a wormhole inside space. That’s technology that we joke about in flight academy, but it’s just a theory,” Yamcha said. Doubt and dozens of questions exploded into his brain and he hated the possible ramifications.

“Does the Canopian have some technology we don’t know about that might have a way to generate wormholes?” Trunks put in from the back.

“No, it would be nice if that were the case,” 17 answered him. “Gohan you know as well as I do that if they did, I’d be the first to know about it.”

“You would,” murmured Yamcha.

Gohan ignored the verbal jab and rested a hand on Yamcha’s shoulder. He patted it sympathetically and admitted, “You’re right that a wormhole was involved Yamcha. And there is a way I hypothesize that the explosion of the Light of Eärendil was amplified to a degree because it happened in hyperspace and therefore was able to cause one to open up.”

“Just like the story I covered on the Kazimir incident two years ago,” 17 interrupted.

“You mean the one that Earth Defense covered up?” Gohan asked, interrupted in mid explanation.

“Why am I not surprised you know about it,” Satan glared at the reporter for interrupting.

“Excuse me?” Yamcha blinked at them, frustrated that two others were party to something he had missed. “You don’t mean that beryllium freighter! The one that was attacked by space pirates and went missing?”

“Without a trace. That’s the one,” 17 answered, with a sad nod.

“Ten men and women just lost in a space rift? I know they never found any survivors but a wormhole would explain why,” Yamcha exclaimed, his mouth dropping open in horror. Shivers crept up and down his spine.

“Yes Yamcha, it was a hyperspace explosion that tore open a wormhole in space time. That was the only possible explanation Earth Defense forces came up with,” Gohan nodded, his face lit up with recognition.

“But we didn’t hear about it,” Yamcha growled in frustration. He tried to wrap his mind around the possibilities and it made it far worse than he could have imagined.

17 reached out and gripped Yamcha’s shaking shoulder. “You seem pretty troubled.”

“I knew the first mate on that ship, dammit, and nobody TOLD me?” Yamcha demanded. “And you know about it?”

“Yamcha, it was a cover-up, unfortunately,” Gohan said sympathetically. “Called operation smokescreen. Earth defense was trying to crack down on piracy in the Delta sector. But one accident was covered up because Earth didn’t want to admit that it had lost a vital shipment to growing numbers of pirates.”

“So, it is just like that then,” Yamcha said, a frown spreading across his handsome face.

“I’m sorry,” 17 said, squeezing the pilot’s shoulder tightly. “I know what it’s like to lose friends, believe me. However, what makes it worse is I cannot tell their families unless I have clearance. As horrible as you feel now, it’s worse for the one who has to report or not report on it.”

“Yeah, but still that doesn’t…” Yamcha trailed off. Despite his anger he pressed his hand tightly to 17’s resting on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry as well, Yamcha,” Gohan apologized. Trunks moved over and threw comforting arms around his guardian’s waist. Yamcha slid his arm around the boy’s body, accepting the hug and squeezing his eyes shut. Whatever comfort he could give his guardian, the boy transferred, and the others shared the pause in sympathy for a lost friend’s fate now revealed.

“We’ve a chance to survive where they didn’t, friend,” Satan kindly interposed. “And for what it’s worth, you can’t bring them back.”

“I know but damn it,” sighed Yamcha. A minute later, he released Trunks, and then looked grimly at Gohan again.

Gohan gently said, “I know it is a nasty surprise but we need to focus on our own trouble. Look, I’m correct in assuming that the explosion in that case and in OUR case was amplified and generated a wormhole. It pushed us further along then we normally would have been thrown.”

“You’re right, Gohan. And it means that we’re not where we should be, so we’re screwed like my friend and his crew were, and about to suffer the same fate,” Yamcha realized.

“Not to mention our food won’t last forever,” Trunks added.

“Exactly,” Gohan nodded. “Satan, what’s the rations supply like?”

“Well it’s like this Sonny,” said Satan. We’ve got a water recycler onboard, and I figure if we keep systems to a bare minimum, and nobody moves too much except to fly the ship and eat and drink I’d say we should have enough for 3 weeks and half of exploration.”

“Thank you. So whatever plan we undertake to save ourselves we only have three weeks and half.” He pressed a key which called back the ship’s blue prints on the screen and he studied them . “Ok, it seems we only have a few options at hand, I’ll mention each, then we’ll decide the pros and cons, and we’ll vote. Sound Fair enough?” Gohan asked. “But keep in mind that once we decide we all must be committed to the course of action.”

“You all understand we won’t expect you to go along with us just because we’re Earth Defense officers. Each of you guys has any other ideas to contribute this is the chance to throw them on the table,” Satan further clarified.

“Good to know,” Yamcha grunted.

“All right, what is our first option?” 17 asked, folding arms across his chest.

“Number one, we build a long distance communication apparatus and boost the range to the widest possible amplitude and hope we can be rescued,” said Gohan.

“That sounds pretty remote. Even the traders haven’t been out this far,” Trunks nodded soberly, then asked, “Have they, Yamcha?”

“Pirates are a dime a dozen out here kid. What are the chances anyone would hear us and be willing to help?” Yamcha snorted, and shrugged. “Who’s going to take time to rescue 5 civilians in space?”

“Not to mention that even if we did get someone to help, it would take them months to reach us and by then we would be dead,” Satan added.

“To do this I’d have to dismantle a good part of the auxiliary system and divert all but the basic functions into broadcasting a constant S.O.S,” Gohan said.

“Meaning minimal life support and marginal rations consumption,” Yamcha said, immediately understanding where this suggestion was headed.

“Choice number two is this. We just keep the ship going for as long as we can and hope we can locate a suitable planet to land on… and colonize.”

Yamcha then asked, “So how we find the suitable planet out here, Gohan?”

“I can develop a program for scanning for habitable planets from hyperspace,” Gohan said. “But it means a lot of tinkering and programming.”

“You mean you’re able to scan from hyperspace for the spectrum of distant planets?” asked Trunks.

“Exactly, Trunks,” Gohan nodded.

“That’s quite a feat from hyperspace,” said Yamcha.

“Yes, but it is possible,” said Gohan.

“So option 2 is basically to settle down and live till we’re rescued or not?” Yamcha asked.

“Would it be so bad?” Satan said. “You two wanted a quiet place to live in peace. “

17 added, “And as long as I’m not captured they can’t use the information to kill more people.”

“And besides, survival is the most crucial thing,” Gohan nodded. “I think it’s safe to say wherever we land has to be a suitable world for colonization.”

“Which means as close to earthlike as possible without much need for terraforming,” Trunks nodded.

“Not many planets fit that bill,” Yamcha ran fingers through his long hair. It had burst free from its ponytail and hung freely down his back.

“Well if there is one, Gohan will find it! Exoplanetary location’s the topic of one of those 3 PhDs he’s got,” Satan laughed cheerfully.

“I’m NOT surprised,” 17 nodded.

“Just chemistry, physics and mathematics,” Gohan hastily explained, a bit sheepish at his credentials being hung out to the group so quickly.

“So Gohan, you can find the planets, and tell us how we can help out,” Trunks said, retrieving his deck of cards again.

“That’s right, Trunks. This is why I pointed out why we needed to make the choice before we did anything else. We need all the pieces of equipment if we’re to proceed, and we can’t go back once the die is cast,” Gohan said.

“Um Gohan, there’s one tiny problem with option 2 you didn’t explain,” Yamcha pointed out.

“What is it?” Gohan wondered.

“How the heck we are going to get out of hyperspace, not having a hyperspace vortex unit on this ship, even if we DID find a planet to live on?” Yamcha asked. Doubtfully he stared towards the control panel. Finding a suitable world on which they could live and possibly spend most of their lives seemed a long shot despite their commitment.

“True,” Gohan said and frowned, tapping his chin. “But there is a way to get around that. We build our own.”

“Well, that’s going to take a fun amount of tinkering, and basic repairs are my forte, but not cobbling something that complex together,” Yamcha said, and looked at the controls just before him.

“Okay, Gohan, you’re the math expert. What are the odds on choice 1?” Satan said. “Thanks to the war we haven’t explored out this far.”

“Considering what just happened, I think we’d either attract hostile attention or death,” 17 quietly interposed. “I hate to say it, but I’d rather stake my bets on the option 2.”

“Unfortunately you are very correct. We’re at war, and that is another possibility of greater danger then starvation. Satan?” asked Gohan. “Your views?”

“Well I have to admit that I think 17 has a point, and Yamcha’s right that we can’t be sure that help could arrive in time before our rations run out,” Satan said, and shook his head.

“Who would take time to rescue five civilians in wartime anyway?” Yamcha added.

“What about the second choice?” Trunks asked. “Are the odds better of finding a place to live… at least temporarily?”

“Now you mention it kid, that one seems even more of a crap shoot. It’s a challenge to find a place to settle if we have no clue what planets are where,” Yamcha asked.

“And there is a chance that even if we do find such a place, there may be primitive or intelligent beings who take us for gods or demons, or prey,” said Gohan pragmatically. “But if we do find a habitable world I’m sure we could survive somehow.”

“Put some numbers to it Sonny and it might make it easier to vote on it,” Satan leaned over and whispered.

“Numbers sound good. I need something more than that before I stake my life on any odds,” Yamcha snorted.

“Can we do both?” asked Trunks.

“Unfortunately not. That’s why we need to vote on it now,” said Gohan. “Option 1, we run the risk of encountering war ships and capture or death. Option two we can avoid the chances of being attacked or killed from hostile vessels by searching for a suitable world to colonize. Yet with both we will have a limited time that involves waiting.”

“And option two,” 17 reiterated. “Since you mentioned it, I for one am not thrilled at the idea of being some primitive alien’s god, only to fail them when they realize our hand weapons and other ‘miracle’ devices fail to perform. Our guns charge will only last so long.”

“Not to mention they might want to steal our technology,” Yamcha said, shrugging.

Drawing in a deep breath Gohan said, “We have a remote chance with either option, both are fraught with great risks. If we do send out a cry for help, we risk capture. If we search for worlds, it will take time. I put odds of rescue at 7 to one in favor of someone hearing us. However, 15 to one that the help we would find would be hostile. And 30 to one that if it’s not hostile the help would come too late. Option 2, the chances of finding a habitable world are 10 to one. Yet that probability increases the further distance we travel and the more space we see. Our odds of someone hearing us that can or will help decrease though with each passing day.”

“Oh brother,” Yamcha murmured, his head swimming with the numbers although he was used to them for coordinates and celestial navigation. For a moment, he rubbed his scalp again, wondering if the sudden headache was from delayed whiplash or Gohan’s estimations.

“Vote gentlemen? Ballot or show of hands?” 17 offered, uncrossing his arms.

“Next you’ll be asking if we can vote on how to vote?” Satan joked.

“Let’s get it over with. Door number 1 or door number 2?” Yamcha interrupted with an impatient wave of his hands. Realizing he was right, Gohan relented.

“I have a way we can vote. Why don’t we use my playing cards,” Trunks suggested. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small translucent plastic box. Opening it, he shuffled the slick cards marked with the flying Pegasus logo of the Earth Distant Transit ship they had first taken from Capsule.

“Good idea,” Gohan said.

“Yep Sonny. I say those who want to go with plan 1, pick any red card, and those who want 2, pick a black card. Even odds,” Satan agreed. He extended his hand for the deck, then took the cards and picked out ten before handing the rest of the deck to Trunks.

“Now,” Satan said, offering two cards to each person. “Spade or club held up you say you want plan 1. You hold up a diamond or heart, you go for 2.”

No arguments or protests arose from anyone else who held the cards with the decorated backs facing the others. Gohan fingered the King of Hearts card along with an ace of clubs, shaking his head at any significance they held other than being the most convenient ones Satan picked. Yamcha snickered at the humor in it, while 17 flicked the corner of his two cards. Clearing his throat Gohan said, “All right, show your choice gentlemen.”

Simultaneously each chose their card. Yamcha brandished his queen of hearts, while Satan held up a king of diamonds. 17 flourished a queen of diamonds, followed by Gohan presenting a king of hearts, and Trunks presenting a jack of hearts. Gohan spoke first, “Well it seems it’s settled. We go for option 2.”

“Here you go kiddo, you’ll want these back then,” Satan said, handing his cards back to Trunks. The lad reached for each person’s ‘votes’. When he reached for Gohan’s, the engineer’s fingers brushed his when passing the card back. Trunks stashed the cards back in their packet before slipping it into his pocket again.

“Since you’re holding the cards young man, that reminds me we’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to stay out of the way till Gohan here tells us just HOW we can help,” Satan teased.

“There will be plenty for each of us to do, don’t worry,” Gohan said. “And what each of us doesn’t know how to do, we will learn as we go from one another’s experience.”

“That sounds fair enough,” 17 confirmed with a nod.

“So let’s see what it’s going to take to make this plan of yours working, Gohan,” Yamcha said, feeling more convinced by the steadiness now present in his voice.

“Right. First you are going to continue your crash course in engineering and blueprint design, Yamcha,” Gohan motioned for him to drift towards the front of the cabin again.

“I’d like to know what you’re doing and if you need help,” said Trunks.

“Let him watch. He’s a fast learner,” Yamcha whispered to Gohan. To this, the engineer nodded.

“Well, if you’d like to watch us we’ll see,” Gohan nodded, impressed with the eagerness of the youth. Trunks moved up and hovered nearby.

“What should we do, Sonny?” asked Satan. “Stay clear till you sing out?”

“Yes. Satan, you and 17 dim the lights, and Trunks give them those cards. I’m sure that you two can amuse yourselves till we are surer of what we’re looking at,” said Gohan.

“I guess that means you watch and learn, Trunks,” Yamcha agreed.

Gohan noticed Yamcha’s continued frustration with Canopian and decided to take action. Turning to 17 he said, “I realize it might be easier if we got the ship to speak our language.”

“That’s simple. You can run the database through my computer’s translation program. It can translate blocks of text to canopian, it should in theory do the same with the computer’s files,” 17 answered.

“Well not THAT simple,” Gohan said and scratched his head with an amused smile. He then drifted over to 17’s computer, motioning the reporter over. “Show me the program,” he asked. “I’ll see if I can modify it.”

“Why bother?” Yamcha asked.

“Simple. It will take you more than 3 weeks to learn Canopian, that’s why,” 17 quipped.

“Ha ha,” Yamcha shot back. Both watched for ten minutes as Gohan made the necessary changes to the program.

17 watched the list of files flickering over his computer screen. Blocks of canopian text would first scan across its surface only to blink off and into the equivalent English text. Even the files from the Canopian database flickered on the screen as well, cross referencing files. Gohan nodded in satisfaction, seeing his algorithm for checking any translation incoherencies was functioning well.

“All right, Yamcha, here’s what we need,” Gohan mumbled, narrowing his eyes at the tangles of alien blueprints. Unfortunately, the main display screens were already blinking with the program Gohan was using to translate the ship’s programs from Canopian to English. This left a very small screen a quarter of the size to peer at.

“Can’t see it very well here,” Yamcha complained.

Trunks suddenly raised his hand, “Excuse me, but can’t we use that screen over there? It’s twice the size.”

“What the incoming video comlink port?” Gohan blinked.

“He’s got a point. Whom are we going to talk to right now? And why do we need to see them in full Technicolor is beyond me,” Yamcha shrugged.

Gohan smiled at the lad’s ingenuity. Indeed the video-com screen was twice the size and although it could display the face of whoever was calling them, there seemed little use for it at this moment. Therefore, he turned to the communiqués panel and slipped his fingers into the tangle of wires underneath. Twisting a few together, he then jerked his hand back when a spark stung him and licked his finger.

“You okay?” Yamcha and Trunks asked, smelling the distinct odor of ozone.

“We’ll see in a minute. Come over here and look,” Gohan suggested, and nodded. He rubbed his burned finger on his pants while adjusting the contrast on the screen.

Yamcha became nearly cross-eyed trying to make head and tail of the Canopian star drive. Tugging out his small engineer’s scribble pad, Gohan started to sketch down the main units. Then realizing he would need a theoretically larger sheet of paper, he abandoned the notebook and shoved it into his breast pocket again. Quietly he and Yamcha along with Trunks scrolled through the alien blueprints. Using the computer Gohan began to draw his ideas out at each step. Nearby 17 and Satan quietly watched, awaiting orders from the engineer. Both occupied the silence with teaching one another a card game. A good chunk of time becoming oriented had passed before Gohan had an inkling of what changes could be made.

“We’ve got two objectives here. To use what we have to both modify the ship for hyperspace opening, and a way to scan for habitable worlds,” Gohan said.

“But wouldn’t you need to check the program 24/7. And if it’s too complex we can’t take turns. Who would check it when you’re resting if it’s too far over our heads?” Yamcha asked.

“I won’t be scanning,” Gohan informed him. “The device will go off when it finds a planet and it won’t take long to look over the data. However, I have to adjust the scanning parameters and make sure it works first. And well, I’m sure we can all find ways of passing the time, quietly.”

“Yeah, like hitting up the reporter guy here for story time?” Yamcha asked sarcastically. He raised his voice to say this, calling back into the cabin where 17 and Satan were holding up fans of cards and mumbling in quiet voices.

“Actually that’s not a bad idea. I think we should all get to know each other,” said 17, leaning back in his chair. “Since we will be stuck together.”

“Yeah,” Yamcha murmured, looking towards 17 oddly. He then broke his gaze and returned it to Trunks.

“It’s okay. You did keep your promise to my parents,” said Trunks cheerfully. “And besides, there’s so much to explore out here where nobody else has been… at least nobody from Earth.”

“No threats from Alphers,” Satan nodded. “That’s good by me.”

“Now here’s the modification’s I’ve planned,” Gohan mumbled. He then straightened up and glanced back to 17 tossing cards back and forth with his aide de camp.

“Everyone gather around! 17, your stylus, I need it to project what I’ve done on the wall,” Gohan called. 17 and Satan drifted up, and clustered around the front part of the ship.

Reaching for his electronic stylus, 17 scribbled electronically what Gohan directed. This process took at least fifteen minutes in itself while 17 traced over Gohan’s drawings. Then each image was simultaneously drawn up on the computer and projected on the wall for everyone to see.

Once the drawings were complete Gohan then said, “First we’ll take a look at the engines and the then the related circuits. First I will show you the before in blue, and the modifications in red we are going to make. And I’ll instruct what each of you is going to do.”

“Ass backwards engineering and redundant as hell, huh?” Yamcha turned to the engineer.

“Because of that redundancy we can change things around and make our own hyperspace vortex unit and open it when we find a suitable place,” said Gohan with a triumphant smile. He pointed to a side view and rear view of the ship which 17 had drawn with his holographic pencil in 1/10th scale, taking up a good part of the wall.

“With the navigations array and a reconfiguration of two engines?” Trunks said, and nodded his head.

“Yes. You see how there are three engines, one in back flanked by two smaller here?” Gohan pointed to over the blueprint 17’s stylus projected on one side of the wall. Next to it in red appeared a modified set of blueprints of Gohan’s making. The engineer turned and ran his finger across his images marked with the changes.

“Removing the engines and remounting them to another purpose. But then that leaves us only one with a 1/3 of the power,” Yamcha said, and bit his lip.

“Don’t forget the laser cannons though,” Gohan refuted.

“I didn’t believe it QUITE at first till you drew it out, but it makes sense up there in blue and red the more I look at it,” Yamcha wiped sweat from his brow. A row of seats back, Satan and 17 listened quietly, conserving their strength. Already the lights around were dimmed, and the temperature was ten degrees cooler.

“That’s something you can be sure of, if you haven’t already guessed, my friend. Gohan makes the impossible possible,” Satan interrupted, causing the three to turn their heads and glance over their shoulders. Patiently they listened to Gohan’s instructions until each knew inside and out what he had planned. Over the next few hours Gohan and 17 sketches a set of entirely new blueprints with 17’s stylus. They continued to use the wall to project the images on, so it was far easier to see. In between these times, others played cards and continued to swap jokes.

Even more hours passed by where Gohan then presented his blueprints once more, and each learned their specific role. 17 would stay inside the ship with Trunks and test each circuit while Gohan and Yamcha effected the changes outside. Satan would continue to monitor how much oxygen or food they were using as well as help boost the morale of the tiny crew. He took on the task of preparing the small meals and hot drinks served at four-hour intervals. In addition to cook, he would serve to keep them on a routine of eating and sleeping, because he knew how easily they could forget their basic needs in their fervent efforts to complete Gohan’s plan.

**
Over the next two days, the refits were performed. Before their first walk, Yamcha and Gohan had found space suits in the storage locker. Each extravehicular activity would be performed at a few hours stretch before the oxygen tanks had to be recharged. By the time the second day dawned, both were extremely familiar with their operation, and could hastily dress for their hyperspace walk. Now two suited figures bent over an opened square of deck, its guts opened to the swirling purplish blue of hyperspace. Only the force of their gravity shoes kept either one from drifting off into its void.

Yamcha grimly knew once an astronaut was lost and separated from his ship, he was doomed. A hundred light years of distance in hyperspace represented a million in regular space. With no means of escape, the astronaut would drift forever in the undulating patterns of purple and cyan haze, never to be rescued. Such a thought he suppressed and focused immediately on the laser under his right hand. With a carefully applied shot from his laser weapon, he cut the pieces of metal that moored it down into place.

“That’s it, now I’ve got the other,” Gohan answered, squeezing the trigger as well for a small second. Both men breathed relief when they had successfully cut the weapon housings free from their anchoring points inside, and the resulting circuits that tied them into the ship’s workings.

“Now let’s get them to their new home,” Gohan answered. “The ship’s power generator. We’re going to make these part of our new hyperspace vortex generator.”

“Right,” Yamcha answered. Gravity shoes carrying them along the hull of the ship, they walked back towards the access port Gohan had marked out for their refit. Already he had disconnected the communications relay, and had wired parts of it into the engine assembly. Yet instead of being able to immediately add the engines to the hyperspace vortex generator, he had to first cut them loose. Unfortunately the way the power wires ran with the circuits the communications assembly was right on top of the laser power wires so the communications unit had to be removed first.

“Now, let’s just affix them into the drive unit area. We can plug in their power after we set them in place.”

“Can’t you just modify them here at the same time? You said you had to reroute circuits.”

“It’s better if they’re in place already. Besides, I’ll direct you step by step as I’m working on the starboard. You’ll do the port. Then we will wire them into the main power source. We also have to invert some circuits. And after this comes the next round of tests,” Gohan said with a chuckle.

“All right then, let’s go for it,” Yamcha said and nodded.

Gohan led the way, and then set the unit into a cavity he would cut. Following his lead, Yamcha gravity walked to the other side of the engine and set his cannon inside. Then would come the painstaking process of lashing them into place. Strips of metal cut from the weapon’s outside cowl held them down. Then once secured in one place Gohan removed the front focusing array to reveal the power source itself. Hands steady as possible he reorganized circuits and wiring to patch the unit into the rest of the ship. Simultaneously Yamcha followed each cue, his own hands sweaty in his space gloves.

First, to be repositioned were the engines, which easily clamped onto the outside. Once their guts were exposed, Yamcha welded them to the ship’s hull. Then he threaded wires down into the access hole and waited for Gohan’s command. “Here the port engine’s on the side. What next?”

“You have the navigational relay wire exposed? The one that we threaded through earlier?”

“Yes. The green or the red lead?” Yamcha asked.

“The red. Wire it to the alpha terminal. Then weld it in place. Next the green a3 goes to zed five seven….” Gohan’s quiet voice instructed.

“Right,” Yamcha muttered, his visor lit from before him as his laser weapon melted the small wires together.

“Now, take the forward focuser from the cannon, the one you unscrewed and tied to your belt?” Gohan’s next word echoed through the helmet speaker near Yamcha’s ear.

“Yes. Where does it go?” asked Yamcha.

“You are going to put it into place. There’s a small cavity near the engine block, it’s a triangular hole… fit it in there, and then set the wires so they plug into the three terminal. Then you…”

“Wait… it isn’t just going to SIT in there is it?” Yamcha inquired.

“No. I forgot. You need to take a strip of metal and wrap it around the edge, and then fix that down,” Gohan sighed, forgetting the most pragmatic aspect shortly.

“All right. Yeah, I see there is a metal piece here that I can fold up and wrap around,” mumbled Yamcha, seeing a small cavity in the upper left corner of the opened rectangle. Midway down he’d laid the remaining two-foot cylinder of the energy source of the laser cannon. Then he took the smaller six-inch sized focusing element and raised it up to fit into a small triangular ‘hole’ between two secondary support beams. He found the tiny terminals and connected the wires, mumbling all the while the steps after Gohan relayed them. It was a jigsaw puzzle comprised of only some parts that made sense. He recalled having to fix a hyperspace vortex generator’s focusing element. They usually tied into the engine couplings and there were always ‘spare’ ports to wire in new components. Then that meant re allocating the circuits from inside the flight cabin.

“All right. Now since that’s in C terminal, the system will re identify that as a new ‘device’ in my program,” Gohan said.

“Even though it’s for a laser cannon?” Yamcha muttered.

“Most ‘improvised’ components you can assign a new ID code that the computer will believe… whatever you tell it. It’s a ‘default’ ID code, usually 0001. Then the computer thinks it is a hyperspace focusing element,” Gohan explained.

“Even if this ship didn’t have a hyperspace focusing unit to begin with?” asked Yamcha.

“Well it’s not hard to get the computer to ‘add’ that into its subroutines. The main thing is that if you assign it that number then it matches with the new modifications in the Sunrise computer bank. It ‘thinks’ it has a hyperspace vortex generator now,” said Gohan.

“So it believes whatever we tell it, right,” Yamcha snickered. “Reminds me of my first mate who was a whiz with computers. He made my flight computer think it had a virus, that put ‘hello there mate’ all over my main navigation screen as an April fools prank, the jerk.”

“Well I could do that, but this is a more useful application,” Gohan said.

“Right,” Yamcha chuckled.

“Now, let’s test the power flow,” Gohan said. Rerouting his voice link he then said, “17, you ready for another system change?”

From inside the cabin, 17 sat behind the main terminal, which was an amalgamation of his computer tied into the main one. Using his gloves, he moved his hands over virtual keys. “Yes Gohan. What have we got?”

“Okay, we’ve repositioned the starboard and port engines, leaving only the center. Are you reading that those circuits are closed?”

“Yes. The e-3 is reading zip. Now I’m seeing that we have the hyperspace ‘block’ showing up. Yes, we have a ‘hyperspace’ generator cipher showing up,” said 17.

“Now, see if you see a code coming up for the focusing element,” asked Gohan.

“Yes… 0001 focuses on starboard and port,” nodded 17, seeing the codes flicker.

“Now, run diagnostic to see if they’re talking to the navigation element,” said Gohan.

“Navigation element beta… green link open… yes it’s talking to the ‘vortex generator’,” nodded 17.

“Great. What else is showing up?” asked Gohan.

“Wait I’m getting a negatory code… a 303 error,” 17 reported. “I assume that’s not good?”

“No,” Gohan mumbled and suppressed a curse. “Okay, try imputing the command ‘reroute to alpha link’ and see what happens.”

“What was that again?” asked 17.

“Reroute alpha path so the navigation unit is talking to the vortex generator, and going through the power focusing element 0001,” Gohan repeated.

“Done,” 17 said, fingers moving in midair. A small green light flickered, lighting up the diagram that showed the component parts of the ship in a cartoon form. The whole square that said ‘vortex generator’ blinked from amber to green. Two lines of green traced down to the engines and towards the cockpit, schematic and he heard a positive chirp.

“Error code?” Yamcha asked.

“No, it’s talking. All lines of connection are showing up green in the ship schematic,” said 17.

“Now, try imputing dummy coordinates 001-89-89z,” Gohan murmured.

“Uh huh,” 17 said. He chewed his lip, fingers again entering symbols. His knowledge of Canopian was good, but Gohan was moving ever faster with his commands.

“Now hit confirm,” Gohan instructed.

“Confirm. I’m getting a ‘confirm trajectory’ prompt,” 17 answered back.

“That’s great!” Gohan laughed triumphantly. “We have a hyperspace unit and it’s live!”

“It’s live,” shouted Yamcha’s voice over the speaker, overlapping Gohan’s.

“Live? Its live folks,” 17 said to Trunks and Satan. Behind him in the cabin Satan was arranging various boxed meals and portioning them out into ‘aliquots’ for the minimum daily intake of calories. Small notes were affixed to each bundle.

“Wait,” 17 interrupted.

“What?” asked Gohan.

“I’m getting a power reading,” 17 said. “I’m showing an error in ‘energy output required’.”

“Where specifically? The generator path?” said Gohan.

“Yes. It’s saying it’s insufficient power from the engines you routed in,” 17 read the message carefully.

“Not to worry. I’ll have enough. You just bypass that check for now and I’ll feed the new energy requirements into the system later,” said Gohan.

“Well you did tell me to input whatever ‘power’ readings that came in from the starboard and port engines tied in. And I’m seeing a 100 unit energy deficit… and I’m thinking from what I remember about that,” said 17.

“If there’s not enough energy for the vortex opening the balance is thrown off,” Yamcha patched in over the link. “Yeah… not to worry.”

“That’s where the laser cannons come in. I’ll be able to drain a bit from them last minute if we need to,” said Gohan. “But it will only give us five more minutes so we’ll have to use it only if necessary.”

“You’re the experts,” said 17. “If you say it’s good enough, then I’m fine by it. Any other checks?”

“We’ll be coming in soon. Satan, do we have the rations made-up?” Gohan asked.

“Sure do Sonny. We have at least two weeks and half of food left if we give each person the bare minimum. And that’s really stretching things,” Satan replied.

“Good. Let’s hope it won’t be necessary,” Gohan answered with a hint of regret. Trunks glanced up from the panel he was checking over, and felt a twinge of fear that evaporated with Satan’s reassuring glance.

“Not to worry. We’ll get out of this well before then, with Gohan in charge,” Satan smiled at Trunks.

***

Operating to the bare minimum of their resources, the pod inhabitants huddled together for warmth. For the past few days, each had shared small pieces of their lives, breaking whatever ice remained. Any such barriers were melted in the heat of their escape, forging the tenuous links of friendship that grew stronger with each passing day. Each had their strengths and weaknesses that poured together into a collective pool of knowledge that would defy any obstacle hurled towards them. All five castaways were not about to abandon themselves to fate’s whim, rather they took what fate handed them with collective stoicism.

At their forefront was the engineer Son Gohan, who tirelessly forged mathematical equations through brain and computer while probing the nature of their vessel. While he had connected the computer into the guts of the Canopian guidance system, he was constantly tinkering and exploring, disassembling minute parts to see what made it tick. Such an undertaking provided an education mere textbooks could not provide. Sometimes at his side knelt Yamcha, the pilot who was also sharpening his learning curve in the Canopian text.

What rations they consumed were dispensed by Satan’s skills in shaping them to something appetizing. Even with limited resources, he did what he could to serve them with varying interests. Stretching a week’s worth of food for ten for five people to the minimum caloric required for existence was something he undertook well.

It has been a pleasant surprise the first day after their escape when turning out the contents of their pockets produced outside the deck of cards, a pair of metal brain teasers, a key chain Rubiks cube, a mini set of magnetic dominos and a travel Mah-Jong. Trunks had slipped some manual games into his pockets that he often brought to play various games with his guardian Yamcha. Satan too had a travel deck of cards tucked in a pocket somewhere. The dominoes doubled as an improvised chess set as well, the board itself fashioned from a pulled panel that Satan had scratched black and white squares on. It was interesting to what extent a set of dominoes could become a checker set, or tokens for improvised ‘battleship’.

Across the viewfinder flashed minute pulses, reflected in Gohan’s dark eyes. The collar of his jacket was turned up, his sleeves tugged down and his uniform zipped up as tightly as it could to conserve heat. Meanwhile the others sat among the seats, wrapped in various blankets they had found under the seats for the general comfort of the passengers. Like the airliners of old, each seat had such a blanket and pillow, and they were divided among the five as cloaks or lap blankets. Pieces of pillowcase were ripped up and fashioned into mittens and gloves to cover their fingers and prevent precious heat from escaping. Blankets were worn like hoods, their ends tied together giving each of them a rather ghostly appearance.

As campers clustered around a flashlight, the other four sat around a small light panel Yamcha had tugged out from the ceiling and set there to give them a central light source. Although it was blue and provided minimal heat, it warmed their spirits. Huddled close to Yamcha was his charge, Trunks, while 17 pressed close to Yamcha’s side, and the pilot did not object. Satan closed the gap in precious heat between trunks and 17, each man’s knees and shoulders touching in the tight huddle of all four sitting Indian style. Clutched in their hands were fans of cards, a blend of Satan and Trunks travel decks. Small pieces of paper and the tops of water containers lay in small piles on their laps, representing ‘poker chips’.

It was difficult to tell in the blue illumination if the lips of the four were in fact blue from the light or from cold. Shivering a bit more, Yamcha unconsciously moved closer to Trunks. He felt the side of 17 pressing more closely, sharing the precious body head and did not object.

“I’ll see you five, and raise you ten more,” 17 said, tossing a few chips into the center.

“You’re kidding, right?” Yamcha blinked at him.

“I’ll just toss in five and hope for the best,” Satan chuckled.

“Ten says you’re bluffing,” Trunks answered, throwing down a few of their improvised tokens.

“What have you got?” came out of the chattering teeth of 17. Since he was more slender than the others were, he had much less reserves of natural fat that those such as Satan and others had more of.

“Full house,” Yamcha threw his hand down.

“I fold,” chuckled Satan.

“Four fives,” Trunks showed his hand.

“Royal flush,” smirked 17.

“Dammit,” mumbled Satan with a bemused smile. “You’re lucky that Gohan’s not playing this round.”

“I’m all cleaned out,” Trunks laughed lightly. He was a good sport when it came to most games, and after having been beat four times round left 17, Satan, and Yamcha to duke it out.

“Better take Sonny another blanket,” Satan urged. He grabbed one of the ones that were draped over his shoulders to hand to him.

“Keep warm kiddo. You get too cold, you get back here,” Yamcha started, letting Trunks out from under their shared additional blanket. Although each man had his own blanket cloak, the extras were shared and collectively draped for an extra layer.

“I know Yamcha,” Trunks nodded, halfway rolling his eyes.

“Get over here and share that damn blanket will you?” 17 glared at Yamcha.

“Cranky, cranky,” Yamcha glanced back. “Hey, are your fingers blue or is it just the light.”

“Hard to tell,” 17 shivered, rubbing his fingers together.

“Get under here, idiot,” Yamcha sighed, missing the warmth his charge provided.

“Why didn’t you say something, buddy?” Satan griped at 17, whose teeth were chattering.

“I was too busy on the game? We ARE still playing?” 17 said with smooth bravado, though they could hear through it. “You just want to see my cards.”

“Shaddup,” Yamcha answered, getting up and sitting on 17’s left. He tossed an end of blanket overtop the correspondent, wrapping his arm around the thinner man’s shoulders.

“Plenty of blanket to go around you know, or are you going to have us playing for those too, you card shark?” Satan joked, pressing more tightly against 17 on his left. “Damn you’re shivering!”

“Big deal we all are,” 17 whispered, rubbing his hands together.

“I thought some of that hot air from one of your stories or Satan had warmed us up, but I was wrong,” Yamcha teased, glad for the warmth of the shivering man next to him. Satan’s own arm wrapped over 17’s shoulder, both sparing no squeamishness of proximity to cover his slender shoulders.

“Th… thank you,” 17 nodded, feeling the delicious warmth.

“Hey, Sonny, can you jack the thermostat up one degree?” Satan asked.

“Sorry, I wish I could,” answered the engineer from the front. Hunched over the terminal, Gohan’s glove covered hands struggled over a virtual keyboard. He felt the weight of another blanket draped over top him, and the slight warmth of another body leaning close.

“Here, look like you could use this,” Trunks said. “Satan insisted.”

“If you won’t jack up the temperature then come over and share the shivering, then,” Yamcha urged.

“You’ve been at that for two hours, Sonny,” called Satan.

“I’m fine, really,” Gohan answered, hiding his own shivering. At that very moment, he was calculating if he could spare a few ounces of power to increase the climate a bit.

Suddenly a bleeping light shrilled in the cabin. Everyone turned their gazes up front, and knew what that meant. “So, what have we got now?” asked Satan.

“Another planet scan, I knew these modifications would work,” Gohan laughed with a warm smile.

“Well you DID say that tweak in the sensors would do it didn’t you?” Yamcha called from the rear.

“Data’s coming in now… let’s see,” Gohan murmured.

“Any other candidates?” asked Trunks, hunched close.

“Let’s see. We have a class O blue giant. Hmm, the data says we have five planets according to the gravity well,” Gohan murmured, glancing over the figures pixelating before him.

“There, there’s a methane trace, and water,” Trunks pointed, leaning close. He shivered a bit.

Gohan moved closer to the lad, his side pressing to offer more warmth. “That’s right Trunks. Moreover, that indicates frozen form of methane on the furthest out. But it’s a gas giant.”

“What about that one further in?”

“The three outermost are gas and liquid ices. A few satellites, but I am going over them now. Two rocky, no water,” Gohan mused. “No.”

“Inner rocky planets,” Trunks guessed.

“No, that innermost one’s flash frozen on one side, and baking on the one facing the sun. And it’s rotating so fast that it’s generating winds that are in excess of several thousand kilometers per hour,” Gohan sighed.

“Nothing could live in that extreme,” Trunks murmured. “But the second one in… I am seeing some traces of carbon dioxide. Some types of oxyweed might grow in such climates. They got some growing on Mars after they discovered it on Barnard three.”

“I know. Barnard 3 was a lot like Mars was, with less carbon dioxide and more oxygen. Fifteen percent. However, this one’s less than five percent oxygen, mostly nitrogen and CO2. We couldn’t breathe that even if oxyweed grew there, Trunks,” Gohan shook his head.

He then ran his finger down at the various satellites of the gas giants. “Mmm, that one resembles Jupiter’s moon named Callisto which has an icy crust and slushy water inside. But it’s so far out…”

“I have to recalibrate for this sector. I forgot to account for one tiny variable. Ah, there,” Gohan murmured. “Yes, it has methane, but hardly any water to speak of. No, that’s no good.”

“The only creatures I know of that live on methane are certain psychrophilic bacteria,” Trunks murmured.

“Liquid methane,” murmured Gohan. “And you’re right. I don’t think this planet’s any more promising than Titan.”

“Right. But any further in?” asked Trunks. “You mentioned more satellites?”

“The only ones of any consequence around the other giants are all either rock, with no atmosphere and even the one with the icy crust doesn’t have the tidal force enough to generate any latent heat. Plus we aren’t equipped to breathe underwater,” Gohan sighed.

“Another dry well huh?” Trunks asked. “Too bad none of the satellites have any atmosphere other then methane and frozen water.”

“This last one has deposits of frozen oxygen, but we can’t breathe it in icy form,” Gohan nodded sadly.

“Slim pickings anyway for any kind of life. Probably just bacteria and algae. Even if we had any volcanic worlds, only thermophiles would live there,” Trunks confirmed.

“You know a lot about extremophile organisms, Trunks,” Gohan mused, his shivering decreasing since the two of them huddled under one blanket.

“My gramps was a scientist. He had the biggest collection of specimens gathered from around the Solar System and the Earthen museum of Natural History on Mars,” said Trunks eagerly. “He and I made a lot of games out of naming the genus and species.”

“I remember reading one of Dr. Brief’s papers on the very subject. You’re the worthy successor to his storehouse of knowledge and then some, lad,” Gohan said appreciatively.

“Yeah,” murmured Trunks quietly. “When mom was busy running the company he and Grandma were always looking after me, and there’s a lot you can learn just running through the terrarium they had.”

“How extensive WAS his collection?” asked Gohan quietly. “I’d heard rumors.”

“Rumors?” asked Trunks. “I figured you have some background in looking for habitable planets since you’ve been modifying the sensors, but where did you study?”

“The University of West City,” Gohan answered. “In fact before the war this was what I did. Searching for planets suitable for colonization. That is till the war started.”

“And nobody was interested in finding new planets to inhabit,” Trunks nodded sympathetically.

“Of course we had state of the art tools. With this I’m lucky to see as much as we can, from hyperspace,” Gohan answered.

“By the gravity variations you said?” Trunks repeated, knowing this but reminding himself so they could all keep alert.

“Yes Trunks. You know that space is warped in three dimensions around a body like a planet or star, forming a gravity well. A star has a very distinct gravity well. Any planets orbiting it perturb the well slightly. What makes this different is that from hyperspace, you have to look for the way in which they are distorted by looking through the route you’re traveling,” he answered.

“It’s not quite like the ‘wobble’ method astronomers used to use, is it?” Trunks asked, craning his neck to see the minute movements of Gohan’s fingers.

“It is, and it isn’t, Trunks. Hundred years ago, astronomers would see the ‘wobble’ of a star’s trajectory and by that map out the size of the body orbiting the planet. Then the telescopes grew more and more sophisticated in order to scan for the spectrum of emitted lines for elements in those planet’s atmospheres. Yet here,” Gohan said, and pulled a fold of his robe to demonstrate. “We have the added dimension of hyperspace. The gravity well itself wobbles, and tends to tug on the dimension of hyperspace in a certain way. Stars that have planets have a discernable ‘perturbation’.”

“And this algorithm scans for these ‘perturbations’,” Trunks nodded.

“Right you are,” Gohan said. “Though the problem is that I have to keep recalibrating for any variables, such as nebula or dark matter that might obscure the view.”

“How many stars have habitable planets, Gohan?” Trunks then wondered, resting his chin on one hand.

“Have you learned about the Drake equation, Trunks?” Gohan asked. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he tugged the pencil from behind his ear.

“Vaguely. Something about estimating the habitable planets in a galaxy but the main equation escapes me now,” Trunks scrunched his brow to remember. “But it was mainly for civilized planets, not just any life.”

“Well it’s simply this. However, we leave the last multiples off. The equation first used was this. We will say that N is answer we are looking for. Now first is the variable R*, representing the average of star formation in a galaxy, in our case the Milky Way,” Gohan scribbled as he spoke. Next to that, he wrote f with a small p subscript.

“This is the fraction of those stars that actually have planets orbiting them,” he continued. Then the engineer scribbled a letter n with a small e. “And that stands for the average planets per star that are able to bear life.”

Trunks watched Gohan then write the letter f with a small cursive l. It jarred a fragment of memory for he chimed in, “Oh now I remember. This means those planets that have any life forms that arise on them, right?”

“Very good. And what is this next cipher?” Gohan asked, eagerly drawing the next variable, an F with a small I.

“Planets on which intelligent life evolves!” Trunks nodded. “And I know what the last two are. The f with the small c subscript are those that actually have civilizations we can detect by our means of technology… and L… is how long those civilizations last.”

“Excellent Trunks. Remember L, lifetime, length. We multiply them all together and have the original Drake equation,” Gohan said.

“So you’re leaving off the last 3 variables and it should make it simpler,” said Trunks.

“In theory yes. However, we also have to allow for planets capable of supporting human life. So that means we have to throw in a variable for the correct ratios of elements necessary,” Gohan corrected him.

“Such as an atmosphere that has 20 percent oxygen and 80 percent nitrogen, and water,” Trunks said. “And the right temperatures for it to exist as a gas.”

“Exactly. And enough gravity to hold that atmosphere,” Gohan added. “So then we add more variables, and since we’re not concerned with civilizations we don’t care about the Fermi paradox. That is the possibility that any civilizations would have any detectable traces, and we go from there.”

“So,” Trunks peered at Gohan’s squarish concise handwriting.

N = R* x fp x ne x fl x fi x fc x L

“But in the field since we know the age of the Milky way we can simplify it further adding a bit of calculus,” Gohan continued. He drew a large curlicue underneath to represent an integral, and Trunks squinted at it.

N*= ∫0Tg R*(t)dt

“I’m afraid I haven’t had calculus yet,” Trunks confessed, struggling to understand but being frustrated that he had not the tools.

“Well if you’ve done graphs, you know that a graph on an x y plot has an equation that explains it and defines the line’s shape, right?” Gohan asked, drawing an X and Y-axis and drawing a line.

“Yes. I know about the whole Y= mx plus B stuff,” Trunks muttered.

“Well say you’re in a car, and you’re covering distance in an amount of time. Let us just say that distance divided by time is your rate of travel. So Velocity is equal to your distance traveled divided by the time in the car,” Gohan said.

“Uh huh.”

“If you don’t change that rate, it’s a flat line. However, if I CHANGE the velocity, then I have to invent another relationship to tell how much my rate has changed. So then I can say a CHANGE in velocity is something called Acceleration, right?” Gohan said.

“I see. Acceleration is represented by a change in velocity over time,” Trunks muttered.

“If we drew graphs we could relate these things. In calculus, you have derivatives and integrals. Integrals are simply the area UNDER a line or curve. It’s a good way of modifying an equation to zero in on a variable that you want to look at in a specific way,” Gohan said.

“Mmm, I don’t QUITE get it, but I’m sure if I thought about it long enough,” Trunks confessed. “I mean I WANT to, but I still wish it were simpler.”

Gohan reprimanded himself for over explaining things. He had to put on the hat of a patient teacher, determining what building blocks to expand upon and which ones to gloss over to convey his meaning. Obviously trying to explain integrals was not of much good if Trunks had not yet learned calculus. He would rectify that later. Right now, it was easier just to spell things out and hope it would get his point across simply. Therefore, Gohan then said, “Well it’s a fancy way of relating the equation in terms of another. To put it simply, that term Tg accounts for the age of the Milky Way. We simply make R a constant, and then we can put N* equal to R x Tg then.”

“And when something’s a constant it drops out because it’s a numerical value?” Trunks asked, scratching his head.

“Well sort of,” Gohan answered patiently. “It just changes the equation like so…”

N = N* x Fp x ne x fl x fi x f c x L/Tg

“Because we know more about the galaxy through observation?” Trunks repeated.

“Exactly Trunks,” Gohan smiled.

Both the engineer and the lad clustered together unconsciously for warmth, their bodies now touching. It was a welcome change from shivering under one blanket. Many more hours passed while Gohan showed his young companion much more about the inner workings of the ship.

***

Nearly two weeks had passed in all; the time counted out painstakingly by marks on a pocket calendar or the ship’s tiny chronometer. Reduced to the bare minimum of power, the inhabitants of the Sunrise clustered together as close as could be. Blankets were shared, while extremities were covered or tucked under the shared blankets. Half-dozing, the castaways spoke in hushed voices, their spirits ebbing with each passing day.

Stretching their food to its limits, Satan now divided the latest day’s rations among his friends. From one hand to the other small dry wafers were passed; all that remained of the solid food. With it went small bulbs filled with reconstituted lichenrite broth. Doubling as water and food, it was a valuable resource.

“You take some of mine, Trunks,” Yamcha whispered as he handed the warm soup container to the lad.

“No, don’t ask me to, Yamcha,” he said to his guardian.

“We’ll all need our wits about us, so we should simply consume what’s given us. Any time now we’ll go from passengers to pioneers, hopefully colonists,” Gohan said softly. Glancing from each haggard face to another, he knew it was contingent on him to keep their spirits alive. Silent authority exuded from the pale-skinned dark haired engineer, pressing close to Captain Satan. In between Satan and Yamcha sat the reporter, while Trunks brushed shoulders with his guardian and the engineer. Having torn out the seats, they had carefully opened a common place to huddle in the middle of the craft together.

Arranged before his feet Satan had opened a small box. Balanced across the journalist 17’s blanket covered knees was a pad of old-fashioned paper and a pencil. Wrapping sock clad fingers around the pencil he scribbled things down that Gohan called out to him. Satan placed them into the kit, while Yamcha huddled closer to Trunks protectively. He draped his arm around his charge’s shoulders, feeling Trunks curl into him.

“Knives?” asked 17 with blue lips.

“Check,” Satan said.

“Flashlights and matches?” asked Gohan.

“Right here. And I’ve got what remains of the first aid kit too,” Satan murmured.

“Good,” Gohan nodded. Jokes had dwindled to a precious few, the five of them assembling the items in a translucent plastic box. Already present in the box and written down on 17’s paper were the following, with a check beside them.

1. Flashlight with batteries
2. Food concentrates for one day
3. Thermal blankets
4. Knives
5. Laser pistols with power source
6. Flares
7. Chemicals for purifying water
8. First aid kit
9. Scissors and razors
10. Bandanna
11. Twine/string
12. Small collapsible tent

“Reminds me of the one about the Canopian minister, the Alpher high priest, and the Earthen minister,” Satan began.

“You’ve told that joke at least a dozen times already,” Yamcha groaned.

“Well there was the one about the Alpher that walked into a bar after he jumped off a rooftop,” Satan shrugged.

“Heard THAT one too, remember?” 17 wrinkled his nose.

“At least 100 times,” Gohan chuckled.

“When the jokes have been recycled, watch out,” Yamcha chattered his teeth, lips blue as everyone else’s.

“So, that’s everything checked off then, Gohan?” asked 17, scratching with his pencil.

“Yes,” nodded Gohan. Satan pressed the blue lid on the box, locking it securely with latches. Then he and Yamcha tied twine around it to secure it more completely. Everything they needed for an emergency was contained in that small crate. Just when they would be able to use it was another matter of pressing urgency.

“I feel a bit dizzy,” Yamcha wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Don’t move too much, Yamcha,” Trunks reminded him. “The oxygen’s getting pretty heavy in here.”

17 glanced down at his checklist while Yamcha bit his lip, and Satan glanced concernedly at Gohan. Swallowing hard the engineer broke the silence, “Well it looks like we become hibernators first, men. Then we become colonists… after we land of course.”

“If we find a planet, that is,” mumbled Yamcha.

“We will,” Satan waggled his finger at Yamcha. “Just you wait and see.”

“Wake me up when you find another joke you’re going to repeat for the millionth time,” Yamcha yawned, leaning back. Despite his bravado, Trunks knew that things were closer to desperate then they all voiced aloud. 17 glanced at the lad with a nod of understanding, quietly folding up his paper and tucking the notebook into the pocket of his pants.

“How many planetary systems have we checked out, Sonny?” asked Satan quietly as he saw 17 and Yamcha both settle down.

“At least thirty five,” Gohan answered his dark eyes with shades of purple under them. His pale skin seemed ghostly white now, yet the twinkle in his gaze was still spirited and determined.

“We need only one planet to live on and that can’t be too much longer,” Trunks answered, trying to buoy up his own sagging spirits. Indeed the air seemed close and hot. Grey mist fluttered in all their minds, making it easier to lie down and doze in the confined space that was their small microcosm of life. Only the dim blue of ghostly hyperspace flickered through the windows and forward plasma screen.

“Right you are,” Gohan said. “Don’t worry Trunks. Just go to sleep. We need all our strength for whatever lies ahead.”

“Hibernating like bears on Earth,” murmured Trunks. Yamcha in his sleep pulled the boy to lay his head against his shoulder, and soon Trunks had joined the others in slumber. Satan too bowed his head seeing Gohan’s insistent gaze. Soon only the engineer peered around the dim cabin, his face now betraying the sense of despair he hid so well from the others.

“Soon please, soon,” Gohan whispered to the darkness and endless corridors of purplish blue in which they coursed. A river of life and a conduit of hope was becoming an avenue that may lead to oblivion if circumstances did not soon favor them with an oasis. Eyes closed tightly, and Gohan squeezed his hands together in frustration. They were all looking to him for miracles and he wanted desperately to prove their expectations right.

Oh but for one signal that was true!

Gohan pressed his lips together tightly, chewing on them from inside. For a long period, the others slept, and Gohan wrestled with the grey haze, unable to join them. Still his mind whirled with endless doubts and he found himself sinking into a brown blur. Although his eyes were open and unblinking, his perception was far away in another place trying to answer so many questions of just how much longer they could endure. Only two more days of usable air existed, he could tell from peering at the distant Canopian ciphers on the instrument panel forward.

While he watched over the floating prone figures wrapped in sleep, he saw a blinking from the panel. Wires were twisted and wreathed together, marrying the reporter’s computer on top of the Canopian dashboard. At the same time the piercing tone of his alarm bleeped, starling him. Letting his blankets drop, Gohan shoved himself away from the cluster of others. One by one, they murmured and stirred, shaking off sleep to peer at Gohan’s disappearance.

“What… what?” Yamcha stammered, blankets slipping down around him. Next to him 17 and Trunks both opened their eyes simultaneously. Their bodies felt stiff and unused from days of endless floating about. Satan’s blue eyes popped open, riveted past Yamcha’s shoulders at the sight of Gohan’s shadow falling across the panel.

“Another possibility,” Trunks murmured.

“Could be like the others, but one can always hope for the best,” 17 nodded.

“Like the billion other times. I’m going back to sleep,” Yamcha grumbled, feeling his brow pounding with the thickening haze and a spinning dizziness. Already 17 blinked, his blue eyes seeming to have difficulty focusing.

Face lit by the blue and red lights of the screen, Gohan bent over nearly double in the pilot’s seat. His fingers danced as they had many dozens of times before. Sighing, Yamcha again lay down, pulling Trunks to do the same. Still laying his head against his guardian’s, Trunks strained to hear what Gohan seemed to be muttering to himself. Satan through half-shut eyes leaned back and watched his friend’s face backlit by flickering lines pacing across it. 17 himself could not fight the urge to lie down once more and surrender to the urge to freeze still.

“Sun, type G. Main sequence star,” came Gohan’s voice, calm at first.

Trunks twisted around to see Gohan’s shadow form lean more intently forwards. Both of those gloved hands were pressed tightly to the instrument panel. Gently Trunks lifted his head from his guardian’s shoulder, tucking the blanket around the pilot to avoid waking him again. Only the tips of Satan’s lips twitched upwards into a small knowing smile. Especially when he heard the rising volume in Gohan’s voice. He said, “System of six planets. Two with proximity to the sun and poisonous atmospheres, a third giant with three satellites. Outermost planets all gaseous with varying degrees of frozen methane and hydrogen. Reading water traces around third giant.”

“Water?” Trunks asked, pulling himself by his hands to the engineer’s side.

“Yes, water. Most of the traces centered on the outer satellite of the gas giant. About the size of Jupiter. Circumference of outer satellite is 200 miles. Inner satellite is 2000. Mainly rock with water…” Gohan continued to read.

“Wait. Did you say what I think you said?” Trunks asked his throat catching. Inside his breast, his heart quickened, something tingling like blue waves over his body. Goose pimples arose on his skin, and he saw the sparkling of excitement in the engineer’s face.

“Yes, and a 20/80 oxygen nitrogen atmosphere respectively. Temperature about 20 degrees centigrade. Moderate winds. Orbital time about ten days around mother planet.”

“Water… did you say water, Sonny?” Satan’s ears perked up. “And Oxygen?”

“I did Satan, I did,” Gohan’s face spun around to see the excitement flashing across Trunks, only inches from his. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder and turned completely around to the others.

“Yamcha… 17!” Trunks shouted. “Oxygen! Water!”

“You… you’re serious!” Satan laughed. “Yes!”

“I am! Reading several land masses, and the spectrum is quite clear,” Gohan exclaimed. “Everyone wake up! This is vital!”

“Who’s shouting?” Yamcha blinked, staring up at Satan.

“He’s found it! Sonny has found it! What did I tell you?” Satan poked him. Reaching across he nudged 17 as well. The reporter jolted, his own blue eyes blinking in confusion at the loud laughter and excited babbling breaking out around him.

“Yamcha! He’s done it!” Trunks whooped, rushing towards his guardian.

“Please wake up, men! We have a lot to do and little time! To action stations!” Gohan shouted, authority lacing his young voice.

“Right!” Satan straightened his shoulders. Adrenaline pulsed like a rejuvanative dousing of chilly water over Yamcha’s body. He sprung fully awake, twitching with life. 17 also shook off the slumber, launching himself off the wall with the thrust of two hands.

***

Soon they clustered around the console like fish viewing a new human’s face behind the tank. Gohan’s voice charged with excitement, shouting directions, “Satan, get the kit ready. 17 take your position, and Trunks you stand ready. Yamcha, take the seat neat to mine.”

“Okay, roger that,” said Yamcha. “Still I wish I was flying this bucket. I’ll get rusty.”

“I have to be the one unfortunately because if something goes wrong, I have to be able to compensate,” Gohan answered, fingers running along the relay buttons. “You need to have your button ready on the trigger. However, I have to guide the trajectory manually. Moreover, you have to be ready to move out with the others in case. ”

“You mentioned you’d try and open the vortex as close to the continent as possible,” Yamcha nodded.

“Yamcha, the guts of this thing are compromised. You remember how it is all wired for manual. We will not have much time once you trigger the relay to open. I will be flying the craft once the vortex opens close to the continent. The data is shadowy at best, and we need to be absolutely certain of this,” Gohan blinked at him.

“Right!” the others shouted. They scrambled about, gathering up blankets and binding them into small bundles. Aching muscles fired into life, warming in the rapid burst of activity. Soon they were red faced and panting with the exertion of securing the items here and there on the walls. Others they held tightly in hand.

“I’ve got the kit ready to go,” Satan called. Under his arm, he gripped the kit, and sat down on one of the seats nearest to the door. 17 and Trunks sat down across from him, and the hatch. Finger sliding towards the button, Satan waited anxiously. He recalled Gohan’s steps of the drill. At the right time after the first pass, he would blow the hatch and hope that the gust of atmosphere in would not knock them out with its intensity.

“Everyone get into position so we can land in one piece once I open the vortex over the continent,” Gohan instructed. “I’ll only have five minutes to fly the ship around for the best landing spot.”

“Bailing out… only five minutes after we materialize to find a place to set us down. That’s a tall order, Gohan,” Yamcha wiped sweat off his face as Gohan’s algorithm popped up.

“Remember the backup plan. Just on, the slight chance things go wrong. Trunks, you, and 17 will be the first out when we open the gate. If I can’t find a place to land, you’ll have to bail,” said Gohan. “Satan, you will follow with the kit, and Yamcha you’ll go with him once the vortex opens. I’ll stay behind.”

“You sure that we won’t need that plan b though?” Trunks hesitantly blinked at the engineer. Already he buckled his belt tightly, fingers tingling with the loss of the improvised socks over them.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” 17 urged. “We’ve got to be ready for anything.”

“Finalizing the countdown.”

“Roger that,” Yamcha nodded. He locked any last questions away behind his clenched teeth.

Gohan’s hands moved to the control rods, while Yamcha’s rested on the respective sequence on the copilot’s panel. Positions now reversed, the two men glanced at one another knowingly. Many times, they had talked through this scenario, and knew it inside and out. As did the other three readying themselves with hands poised over their seatbelt buckles.

“If we do get separated, remember that you have to find food and shelter from the elements. Once I’ve landed, I’ll fire one of the flares. You should be able to make your way to where I am. Yamcha, you must make sure the others find food and shelter. Trunks you’ll help see what’s edible. Satan, you’ll set up a shelter with the kit. And 17 can get the lay of the land.”

“That is IF we get separated, not when,” 17 answered.

“Get into landing position!” gasped Gohan.

Posed at their various assigned places they tensed collective muscles. Fingers seemed to hover above buttons of either instrument panels or seat belt buckles. Around them, the ship shuddered, continuing its track but rumbling deeper with a bone jarring vibration. Gohan’s left and right hands rehearsed their upcoming dance on the steering rods. Downwards the flickering blue Canopian ciphers ticked, and then changing to red numerals towards the last time increments.

“Standby,” Gohan grunted glancing sidelong at Yamcha for an instant. His voice was laced with barely restrained tension. Yamcha’s fingers glided down circuitry button relays, still intact though they were wired just below with a tangle of cables to 17’s computer nearby.

“I’m looking at the sine waves. We’re reaching optimal vibration…” Yamcha whispered, staring at the flickering waves like an oscilloscope. Amplitudes of the engine revved in perfect synchronization, their own focusers humming silently in the cabin.

“NOW!” Gohan shouted. Not a fraction later Yamcha’s finger stabbed the main button. The rattling hum crescendo to a moan, then a shimmying that juddered the five passengers from inside their bones. However, they were still floating in antigravity the atmosphere itself vibrated along with every panel and seat surface with minute vibrations. Such vibrations increased into larger pulses that caused their skin to crawl and the room to shake convulsively.

Everyone’s eyes focused on the forward plasma screens, filled with bluish purple waves radiating from an invisible single point ahead as it had for many weeks. However, this time they saw the movement bending and shaping the focus, something appearing like smoke before stars. Suddenly a bright flare seared their eyes with overpowering radiance. All around the pod outside energies sizzled and an intense wave of heat pulsed through everyone only to vanish in an instant. The entire cabin felt electrolyzed with tiny pins and needles that caused their hair to stand on end. Once they opened their seared eyes, they saw a gaping rip like a tunnel open ahead. Through the parting curtains of matter, spiraling away a tantalizing hint of blue and swirling clouds emerged.

“Approach vector! We’re opening the gate now!” Gohan shouted. Everyone hooted and hollered with excitement. Upon the proximity detector a distinctive series of shapes appeared, like blotches of land.

Hyperspace blurred away, revealing a world of varying shades of blue. Across the lower part of the plasma, screens stretched an endless vista of green ocean. Above it, a cornflower sky streaked with white clouds. Now a moaning howl pierced their ears, louder then dozens of old fashioned jet engines. Whips of the clouds slid across the screen, the convex curve of the endless sea flattening rapidly out until it dominated more than one third of the bottom then one-half.

“Oh SHIT!” Gohan cried, his eyes widening in shock.

“What, what?”

“We’re in the wrong place!” Yamcha shouted.

“I know, dammit!” the engineer gritted. Feverishly Gohan’s hands ran across keys like a master pianist. From behind him, his fellow travelers exchanged glances of worry. His eyes scanned the horizon, and then glanced from the navigational panel to the distant horizon searching for the elusive continent. Instead of being close to haven they were about to plunge to a watery grave.

“Where the hell is that continent? Wait yes… I see it, just coming into view… got to get as close as I can to it!” Gohan said, and then slammed his finger on another button. A thundering bang shuddered the ship, swaying it back and forth. For a minute the nose tipped up and back, tossing the passengers into each other.

Black eyes flared with urgency as Gohan shouted, “I’ve located the continent! I’ll try to get us as close as I can in the next few minutes! But if I can’t, it’s Plan B.”

“You’re serious!” Yamcha asked.

“Don’t question him! Just get over here! He knows what’s he’s doing… right Sonny?” Satan yelled.

Each felt suddenly heavy with the sensation of body weight sinking back into their seats. Trunks leaned heavily against 17, who pressed to the side corner of the cabin. Satan felt the weight of his own body crushing into the seat. Yamcha and Gohan barely managed to turn their heads again to regard one another. Each passenger if they glanced forward could see the jagged shapes of brown that indicated a land mass far below, and it was fast filling half their view.

“The continent is approximately 1 mile in front of us! I won’t be able to get us any closer. Satan, stand by to blow the hatch when I tell you! There isn’t much time to…” Gohan barked imperatively.

“Shit,” Yamcha cursed.

“You heard him men!” Satan repeated with the same commanding tone. Fingers depressed seat belt buckles, clicking in a chorus that ended with Yamcha. He stumbled like a drunken man, unaccustomed to his own weight towards Satan. Steadying him, the Captain barely stood up out of his own seat. His fingers glided along the wall towards the hatch release, while holding the kit under his arm securely.

Yamcha almost tripped over his own legs to plunk down next to Trunks. The boy squeezed his guardian’s fingers tightly, and then tossed his head in the direction of Gohan. “We’re really going to separate?”

“Yeah, kid, get ready. There’s no reasoning with…”

“He knows what he’s doing,” 17 reminded Yamcha, his teeth rattling in his skull. Yet their words faded into a wheezing howl and then another loud bang that shook them even harder. Tossed into one another they grabbed onto each other’s arms for support.

“That’s it! Satan, blow it!” Gohan’s next command shrilled over the din.

“Hold on!” Satan gritted his teeth, fingers depressing the switch. An agonizing whine sounded as the door slid open. Instantly all occupants were blasted full in the face with a column of outside pressure. It whipped the stale air form their mouths, driving the breath from their lungs. Giddy and oxygen starved they panted in the relentless whipping wind whistling in the cabin now.

“What are you waiting for? JUMP!” Gohan hollered.

“You heard the man, you first!” Satan shouted, beckoning to 17. Stumbling forwards to the aperture, 17 raised his face to block his eyes, then tumbled forwards. For only a second his black coat billowed out behind him like a cape and the next he was gone. Yamcha grabbed Trunks hand, yanking the boy off the seat and shielding his own face with his forearm. Anxiously Trunks peeked through slatted eyes against the biting wind towards Gohan tucked into the pilot’s seat.

“Hold on kid!” Yamcha yelled, before he stepped into open air. After him Trunks walked, feeling nothing but the assault of open space. Then the pod was above them, a black rectangular cylinder fast falling away from them. Smoke trailed behind it, and he felt Yamcha’s hand clutching tightly. Instinctively they spread out, seeing the flying form of 17 only mere feet below.

“Bring your legs under!” Yamcha shouted, words almost lost in the thin but delicious air. Like birds, they soared over a new world. A distant shape on the horizon was only a shade or two darker then the bluish green interrupted by choppy whitecaps. Pointing their toes, they released hands just as Trunks swallowed a breath and realized the sea was just under them.

Air became water, foaming and crashing over them. Like bricks they almost hit, the thicker medium encasing them instantly. Bubbles swirling around his head, sounds muffled, and a nose full of salty brine stunning him. He spat out the mouthful of seawater finding the taste of it refreshingly familiar. Flailing his hands Yamcha shoved the water downwards. His eyes peered through the semi clear water to see two other shapes and many others shifting between them.

Then the glassy undulating surface rippled above. He glimpsed his reflection and then smashed upwards, black tendrils of hair sticking to his eyes. Shaking them away, he spat out the mouthful of seawater and cast his gaze about. A soaked figure bobbed up on his left ten feet away, face full of black hair plastered to his head. Only five feet away he heard the choked cry of ‘Yamcha!” and saw Trunks lavender hair break water.

“Trunks, over here!” Yamcha shouted.

“We’re not far from the coast,” 17 panted, rolling onto his back. Wrestling with his coat, he shucked it off and let it drift away behind him. Soon it was swept away on the foamy bobbing waves buffeting them. Over the surface of the waves, they saw the long stretch of land looming over a gap of greenish blue water. Stretches of tan beach contrasted against jagged mountains and the green patches of trees. Yamcha’s sharp eyes spotted a small sandy islet closer between them and what appeared to be a main land mass.

“Swim for that islet! Before we either get tired or freeze to death!” Yamcha ordered. Seeing no sign of Satan or Gohan, he felt the need to gain control until they were reunited. He did not question the impulse; rather he looked back to Trunks.

“To that direction then, men?” 17 panted, spitting out water and floating on his back. Sopping wet sleeves emerged as he swam the backstroke and pointed his head towards the dark shape on the horizon.

“Trunks…” Yamcha panted, motioning towards him. Yet he had little to worry about because the lad had rolled onto his side and was thrashing against the water with an easy scissor kick. As for himself, Yamcha swam freestyle, ducking his head underwater every second stroke. Each of them chose the easiest way to close the gap between their present situation and an uncertain one ahead. Anguish for their two unknown companions was paramount.

“What if they don’t…?” Trunks asked.

“Don’t think about that, lad, just swim. I am sure Satan got out. Didn’t you see him jumping out seconds later?” 17 asked, calmly swimming with his blue eyes facing the sky overhead.

“I… think I did… but… Gohan…” Trunks spluttered, spitting out water.

“He’s probably already landed the thing ahead of us. C’mon… race you!” Yamcha called to his friends.

Their eyes trained on a distant dark shape bobbing up and down in the pyramidal shaped swells. Indeed, they seemed a different shape than waves on earth, and the pilot wondered if it was a lesser gravity that was responsible. Surely, it was water, and tasted like a sea, though a bit less salty and dark shapes soared overhead like specks only to vanish in their journey to the land mass. Two weeks of inactivity caused their aching muscles to protest. Yet they slogged their arms and legs onward, knowing that island was growing ever larger even if only minutely with each passing minute.

Indeed the black shape itself was increasing in size, and all three men felt the push of something against them. The sounds of strange squawking and splashing waves drowned out their pants for breath and their hearts pounding in their ears. Shaking water out of his face 17, who was on his back. He saw two limbs break surface and then sink again from the dark speck.

“It must be Satan, or Gohan!” 17 called.

“Huh?” Yamcha mumbled, rolling onto his back, and swimming as 17 was to peer. His own dark eyes narrowed, fixing to where the correspondent pointed. Trunks still swam on his size, not needing to submerge his head for a breath. Floating on their back seemed a nice break to freestyle and they alternating between that and other less tiring strokes.

“The current… it’s taking us ahead towards the islet,” Trunks panted. “And overhead… those must be avian… they’re not mammalian.”

“Birds on any word of a feather,” Yamcha mused. “Yes, that IS Satan… it’s got to be!”