Welcome to DBZ Love Garden

“Ce furent de longues et pénibles heures à passer. Le froid était vif. Les naufragés souffrirent cruellement, mais ils s’en apercevaient à peine. Ils ne songèrent même pas à prendre un instant de repos. S’oubliant pour leur chef, espérant, voulant espérer toujours, ils allaient et venaient sur cet îlot aride, retournant incessamment à sa pointe nord, là où ils devaient être plus rapprochés du lieu de la catastrophe. Ils écoutaient, ils criaient, ils cherchaient à surprendre quelque appel suprême, et leurs voix devaient se transmettre au loin, car un certain calme régnait alors dans l’atmosphère, et les bruits de la mer commençaient à tomber avec la houle.”

“The long and painful hours passed by. The cold was intense. The castaways suffered cruelly, but they scarcely perceived it. They did not even think of taking a minute’s rest. Forgetting everything but their chief, hoping or wishing to hope on, they continued to walk up and down on this sterile spot, always returning to its northern point, where they could approach nearest to the scene of the catastrophe. They listened, they called, and then uniting their voices, they endeavoured to raise even a louder shout than before, which would be transmitted to a great distance. The wind had now fallen almost to a calm, and the noise of the sea began also to subside.”

-Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island (1874)

Thunderous sounds roared in their ears though the water suddenly grew less choppy. Instead of waves, they realized it was emanating high from their right. Making note of it they continued their swim, piecing out that it was in fact the roar of a waterfall high up in the cliffs. Where there were waterfalls there was a source and fresh water vital for life. A glimpse through a growing fog indicated the suspect, which they swam past. This sound served as a beacon, though not one of light but an audible one, for future judgement.

For the better part of an hour it continued, but hardly diminished over the sound of their splashing and steady swim forwards. In fact, it increased in volume, coming from straight ahead. Indeed, it was also the distinctive rush of a waterfall as well, and the three were overcome with surprise. Towards the sound, they thrashed and kicked, using it as a guide.

Although tendons burned and aching muscles protested, each of them shoved the last few yards of water aside. Hands touched alien rock of a small bar of land, fingers scrabbling to tug sluggish bodies out of the water. With the diminishment of distance between islet and castaways came that of daylight. Bluish skies gave way to black, heralded by horizontal strips of green, pale champagne yellow and orange. Mist covered the setting sun like a curtain, soon pushed aside by the relentless rolling in of fog.

To their bones, it seemed the chill of the sea had progressed, leaving them each to claw their way out of its embrace painfully slowly. It had robbed their limbs of strength, yet despite this; their spirit to survive was undeniable. Perhaps spirit alone spurred last reserves of adrenaline and made it possible for Yamcha first to drag himself onto the bar and flip over. He extended his hand to grab the questing one of his charge Trunks. Once the lad scrambled alongside his sopping wet guardian, the duo aided 17 astride the small piece of ‘terra firma’. Now it would be a waiting game until the sun returned and they could discern the lay of the land.

“Everyone… okay?” Yamcha huffed.

“Other than being exhausted, cold and wet you mean?” 17 answered. “Yes.”

“I’m fine, but… c…cold,” Trunks chattered his teeth. Spasmodically his muscles shivered and they visibly twitched under his soaked clothes.

“It’s land all right, and not far off from the sound of that waterfall,” Yamcha grunted. 17 and Trunks made noises in the affirmative.

“C’mon kid, off with it. Let’s wring these out as best we can,” Yamcha said, stepping back. He curled fingers around the lapels of the boy’s jacket and tugged on it. Turning around Trunks shrugged off the garment, and then turned to help Yamcha out of his. With Trunks help, 17 shed the saturated brown jacket that clung to him with the temperature like a sheet of ice.

In a flurry of activity, the pilot and his young charge both twisted their jackets carefully, and then let water drain. The reporter opted to fold his lengthwise and squeeze in increments working from top to bottom. They alternated swinging the garments back and forth before putting them on. Pant legs were grasped and squeezed out, while they kept their shirts on and wrung handfuls of water that splashed audibly on the rocks on which they stood.

Reaching around his neck 17 removed the scarf/cravat and squeezed it. Shoes were only removed so they could relieve their socks of the greater parts of moisture. The trio stripped their wet clothes one piece at a time to limit skin exposure to the chilly night air laden with fog. Reluctantly they even removed their pants by Yamcha leaning for balance on 17’s shoulder. Quick snaps of air to shake the droplets back and forth later and they each were once more clothed.

That task completed the castaways shared their warmth mutually along with the reassurance of one another’s physical presence. Yamcha felt the need for the lad’s continued welfare, and knew he had to guard his words and actions so as not to disparage the lad’s spirit. 17 too caught the momentary grim look on Yamcha’s face before he fettered it behind pragmatism. He was no stranger to witnessing war and the unrelenting deaths it tallied up of friends and colleagues. Silent understanding passed betwixt reporter and pilot as their eyes met out of view of Trunks clinging more tightly to Yamcha.

“17, did you hear anything else? An explosion or perhaps the voices of Gohan or Satan?” asked Yamcha. 17’s blue eyes softened with concern.

“Only what I saw earlier,” said 17. “But then because of the fog and darkness I saw nothing else.”

“We need to wait for them in case they swim here at any rate,” Yamcha agreed.

“We should call out their names perhaps?” asked Trunks, relaxing as Yamcha’s hand rubbed warmth in his back.

“Might I suggest taking turns so to save our voices?” 17 suggested.

“Right. Good point,” Yamcha said, gently nudging Trunks away while he stepped a few feet from the others. He cupped his shivering hands around his mouth to bellow, “SATAN! GOHAN!!!”

17 and Trunks moved a distance of five feet from the pilot. Silently they understood the need to spread their number as well as their cries.

“Satan?” shouted 17, cupping his hands together. His voice shot out, reverberating over the boom of the water.

“SATAN!” Trunks yelled, shrilly in his high-pitched treble.

“SATAN! OY! ARE YOU THERE? SING OUT!” Yamcha boomed. They waited for a time, and then walked in ever widening arcs to listen for any sound. His eyes squeezed shut at the persistent silence. Hearing the voices of the other two ringing out equally caused him to ache because they were denied any answer. Neither of them could not shake memories of Gohan and Satan’s faces during those last few seconds of their egress. Like a movie, it played looped in both their minds making thought difficult.

“GOHAN! SATAN… are you there?” Trunks cupped his hands to his mouth and again shouted.

“GOHAN! Satan, where are you?” 17 shouted.

Their hearts stopped collectively to hear a violent splashing. A loud bellow was half choked off, and then resumed. Yamcha gasped, “Did you hear that!”

“Yes!” Trunks whispered, confirmed by 17’s grunt. They suddenly recognized it to be Satan’s voice crying out in the darkness.

“HEY SATAN!” Yamcha’s voice bellowed, reverberating off what seemed to be the surfaces of what may be mountains. “ANSWER ME!”

Straining their ears, they could just about discern Satan shouting, “HERE!”

“Satan, follow my voice!” echoed 17’s voice a distance away. Already the reporter was further down the hard surface on which they stood, while Trunks was closer to Yamcha. Steps echoed and the sound of scraping shoes on rock. Three sets of feet to be precise hurried towards another loud bellow, that formed words again garbled by their reverberation.

“SATAN! SWIM THIS WAY!” Trunks and Yamcha chorused. The noise of their footsteps crept closer to the source, and Yamcha barely discerned the dark shape of 17 crouched down in the fog. Relief filled Yamcha and Trunks hearts when they again heard a louder more distinct cry of, “YAMCHA! 17! LAD!”

“Here, here!” they all cried, in response to the violent splashes and flailing sounds that sent droplets into their faces. Three pairs of hands flailed out guided by sound alone towards the frenzied scraping of fingers on rocks.

“Where’s Gohan?!” Satan shouted, his fingers grasping out at the welcome hands of 17. He braced himself half lying down. Shouldering in next to him, Yamcha dipped his hand and locked around the wrist of their now found friend.

“Easy does it. Trunks, grab his other hand. All together, PULL!” 17 panted.

So saying, 17 grabbed Satan’s left hand, while Yamcha grabbed his right. Trunks added support to the reporter’s side and they tugged hard. A loud grunt from the once lost man and the scrape of cloth on rocks indicated he was sliding on his belly. Together they helped the gasping aide-de-camp scramble up. So charged with adrenaline was he that he almost knocked them over in his delight.

“Yamcha, 17, Trunks!” he gasped, alternating between massive bear hugs and violent handshakes.

“Thank heaven you caught up to us! What the hell kept you?” Yamcha gasped.

“Sonny, where is he?! We’ve got to find him!” Satan cut him off.

“Wait a minute, easy now,” 17 interrupted. “Catch your breath and let’s compare notes shall we!”

“You didn’t find Gohan then?” Trunks finally managed to say.

“No, I thought he may have already signalled you. I swam around for hours trying to catch up but this damn blasted night is thicker than black pea soup!” Satan cursed.

“You didn’t hear an explosion did you?” Yamcha asked.

“No! Did you?” Satan frantically grabbed his collar. Yamcha’s teeth almost rattled in his head as he was subjected to the excited frenzy of the soldier. Just where did that boundless energy stem from? The captain was running on pure adrenaline now, boosting their energy infectiously with his.

“Please, Satan, we didn’t,” Trunks implored, gently grasping Satan’s wrist and trying to pry his fingers off Yamcha’s jacket. “Please we didn’t hear anything blow up!”

“He’s right. Just the sound of it rocketing off when we saw you drop from the ship,” 17 again asked.

“There you go! That means he’s still alive!” Satan laughed.

“We didn’t see a signal yet, we hoped you did!” Trunks slapped him on the back. “You were last to jump!”

“Well he’s probably just managed to land the ship then! I remember when he…” Satan rambled. “It was still flying on a level course without losing much altitude and I saw it disappear over some mountains before I hit the water…”

“Mountains? That would explain the echo we heard earlier of the waves and our voices,” Trunks reasoned.

“Right. So the ship didn’t blow up by what you or any of us saw, and you didn’t see a signal. Where were you all this time?” Yamcha asked.

“After I jumped I was swimming to try and catch up to you three. What are we standing lollygagging around here for? We’ve GOT to find him!” the aide-de-camp spluttered.

Steadying hands caught hold of the eager man, stopping him from plunging once more into the cold water. “Wait, just HOLD IT! Relax! None of us have seen him, and we need to think straight about what we should do before we just go nuts!” Yamcha shouted.

“I’m sure as you are that Gohan’s just probably inland,” Trunks said. “Did you all see the trajectory of his ship?”

“He’s right! It was headed north! I saw you drop and then me, and it headed that very way!” panted Satan.

“All right then, so if he’s still with the ship possibly, and there was no explosion, then we should all wait for his signal,” 17 reasoned. “Right?”

“This would have been by now… something must have gone wrong… I have to find him!” Satan burst in.

“Satan, please, there’s only so much we can do. Look, first we need to know the lay of the land, before you decide if you should swim or walk,” Yamcha said.

“Which could be benefitted by each of us walking around and coming back to one another in a few minutes,” 17 proposed. A dull blue glow shimmered from his wrist while he turned on the indigo dial to consult the time. Others glanced at their wristwatches too, seeing the set of the hands on the hour.

“No, we stay together,” Yamcha waves his hands in the darkness though he could not see them much further in front of his face. “We didn’t get this far just to be separated now, thank you very much!”

“Together is better! It would be what Sonny would suggest!” Satan agreed wholeheartedly.

“All right then,” 17 relented. Although he knew Yamcha was right, he still felt a bit petulant at times at having his suggestions shot down. The immediate tension was not helping the situation. He shoved away any bruised ego in favour of going along with the plan.

The reunited foursome commenced their circuit of the immediate area first. Ever present was the continuous roar of the invisible waterfall. By judging the position of its noise, they could use it as a landmark even in pitch-blackness. Not even stopping to wring out his clothes Satan took the lead next to Yamcha. Immediately behind them walked 17 and Trunks, shoulder to shoulder and quietly counting their paces. On one side, they spotted the curve of the edge of land that they had scrambled onto, while the dark water like black coffee lapped at it mercifully. Opposite that, the fog concealed any but the barest hint of the land’s dimensions. While they went along, Yamcha and Satan found small bits of rock and attempted to use them to scrape small marks to demarcate every ten paces.

At places, they could kick aside a small indentation in a layer of fine sand that coated the ground. Trunks grabbed 17’s arm when he almost turned his ankle. They spun about to observe that the toe of his boot had caught in a shallow depression. After this mishap they were more mindful of their step. Though the eyes of the others were sorely, tested Yamcha could swear that he noticed something odd about the angle of ground on which they walked. It was not his imagination for he felt like he was walking on an incline for part of their passage. With relation to the waterfall’s cacophony, he could not miss it.

“Is it just me or does it seem like the ground’s sloped here?” Trunks murmured.

“I wondered about that,” the pilot said. “You see it too kiddo?”

“Well of course it slopes! It angles towards the sea!” the aide-de-camp replied.

“Let’s just keep going, shall we?” the reporter urged them on.

“But you can’t help but notice it,” Yamcha murmured.

“Also notice something else?” Trunks asked.

“Being what?” 17 said.

“No sound of waves crashing on rocks,” Trunks replied.

“True,” Yamcha nodded slowly. “But hearing a waterfall.”

“What can that tell us? That we’re attached to a small spit of land in a bay perhaps?” Satan rubbed at his beard. He pointed to the others, who confirmed his suspicion as he stood at the end of what seemed a long finger. They then swung around to walk the length of the other side.

“No wonder we heard those echoes from the waterfall,” Yamcha said as they paced along the other side of the tiny peninsula. Its slope was inclined slightly the opposite way so Yamcha felt as if his left leg was walking on higher grown then his right now. Satan strained his ears for any possible sign of Gohan’s distant shouts. His blue eyes grew misty and forlorn for they failed to pierce the gloom. As they passed nearly an hour, 17 stopped them.

“Look there, one of the lines in the sand,” he pointed.

“I can hardly see myself,” Satan cursed.

“No, you’re right,” Yamcha frowned, kneeling down. He stood again, and then walked further. A sudden curse met their ears and the other three rushed to his side.

“Dammit!” the pilot swore, flanked by 17 and Trunks on either side.

“That’s an awful lot like the same hole you tripped in a while back,” Satan mused.

“That’s because it IS the same hole!” Yamcha grumbled, leaning heavily on the others to haul him up.

“You’re saying we’re walking in circles then,” Trunks asked. “Yamcha, the slope of the ground’s opposite now.”

“Back to the whole thing about needing a shorter left leg then your right to walk comfortably?” 17 chuckled.

“Yeah, exactly. And it was the other way round when we came to the side opposite this one…” Yamcha trailed off.

“Meaning?” Satan impatiently wondered.

“This isn’t a peninsula guys,” Yamcha announced, his voice falling flat. “It’s a mini island.”

“Islet is the proper word you mean,” 17 corrected him.

“This is just great! We travelled billons of miles, swam an hour in cold water only to get stuck on an islet!” Yamcha grumbled.

“This islet’s probably in the middle of a bay,” Trunks said.

“I remember seeing cliffs when I landed in the drink all right,” Satan confirmed. “And it’s only a short swim to the mainland which we could easily make now!”

“But what way would we go? How can we know where to swim?” 17 asked. “This way, that way? In the middle of the night and with such fog… no we can’t jeopardize our lives like that. We need to wait till morning.”

“I remember seeing what seems like a large boulder or something we passed on the way from where we were,” Trunks said. The other three glanced toward him, pointing in the thick darkness.

“Where?” Yamcha asked, seizing on the lad’s information to pull them out of another verbal sparring with the determined aide-de-camp.

“How does that help us?” Satan asked.

“I do not want to sit in the cold any more than the rest of us. And I don’t think you are either, Satan,” 17 commented, laying a hand on the captain’s arm.

“Shelter,” Trunks calmly glanced up at Satan. “One of the priorities that Gohan…”

“Of course, how silly of me to doubt,” the aide-de-camp relented. “I’m sorry boy. Lead the way.”

“Twenty paces past where you um… fell,” Trunks leaned in the direction. Yamcha and the others followed his lead. Nevertheless, they were soon aware that 17 had stopped and they had overtaken him.

“Water! HERE!” 17 shouted. Yamcha whirled about, hurrying in the direction of his voice.

“Only a small bit, but it’ll do,” nodded 17. The two men dropped to their knees around a small hollow filled with rainwater on the far end of the islet. So far, they had walked the distance of barely a hundred yards length by thirty yards breadth. Grey stone was smoothed underfoot, riddled with holes of varying sizes.

“Trunks, Satan! Come over here! We’ve got water!” Yamcha called.

“Rainwater,” 17 whispered, gathering handfuls and raising it to his lips. He eagerly swallowed what precious mouthfuls he could. Yamcha, Trunks and Satan did the same, relishing each drop. Once refreshed they resumed their search for shelter.

Instinctively they could feel the ground’s contour and see the much darker shadow upon the gloom soaring seven feet overhead. With their hands, they explored its contour, finding a slight overhang leaving a hollow of about five feet from the land’s surface. High enough that they could sit comfortably without banging their heads on the overhang’s under surface. The four of them satisfied themselves with sitting close together with their backs to the ridge of rock they had encountered. That way they could continue to share body heat and look for any sign of the engineer.

“We’re going to wait here and try to sleep,” Yamcha announced voice steady and strong. “Then tomorrow first thing swim to the mainland.”

“Shouldn’t one of us stay awake and take the watch in shifts. In case we see anything?” asked Satan.

“Yes. Keep an eye out for Gohan, and keep calling out,” Trunks eagerly confirmed. Out of the inexperience of youth, the boy had kept hope alive, united in purpose with Satan. However, Satan’s need was born out of personal belief that Gohan could even defy death if he wished let alone walk on water.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Satan answered.

“Fine. Works for me,” Yamcha nodded.

“I could stay awake with Satan,” 17 volunteered

“But you need sleep too, my friend,” Satan protested.

“I could take one of the watches to help 17 get rest,” Trunks suggested.

“Uh uh kid. No way. You’re getting sleep!” Yamcha said sternly.

“But I can stay awake!” Trunks protested. “I want to help!”

“I agree with Yamcha, you need rest, lad,” 17 said.

“That goes for me too, boy,” said Satan with a nod.

Trunks signed resignedly, “All right, you win.”

Yamcha said sternly, “We can’t afford to lose any more of our party.”

“Remember he said wait till morning. You need your sleep if you’re to look for Gohan, remember?” 17 urged, purposely keeping his voice loud enough. He was mourning the loss of his coat, because without it he felt lost and vulnerable.

“All right, you win,” mumbled Satan glumly. He leaned close to the rock, sandwiching 17 between himself and Yamcha. The pilot and Trunks moved close together, the lad’s head pillowed on the shoulder of his parent. Guardian and foster son shared their warmth freely, a family forged from a promise to long dead parents. 17 sat still, buttoning his corduroy jacket tightly while burying his face in the silk red ascot scarf. His own ears heard not animal noises but judged what it would take to bring any one of them to heel without the use of modern armaments.

While the others sat clustered together, Satan alternated between pacing the rock and sitting still to hear the sounds of his environment. The calls of winged creatures continued, with the occasional grunts of marine furry or feathered things questing after this planet’s answer for fish.

Yamcha patted his pockets, cursing the fact he had eaten those bars of chocolate so long ago. Granted they were consumed in the 3 weeks aboard the Sunrise. Yet he missed the delectable smooth taste that alleviated his stress. Nudging his charge he asked, “Trunks, when we’ve seen the lay of the land and have found shelter, you think there’s any chance of finding cocoa beans on this planet?”

“I doubt the climate’s quite right for that Yamcha,” Trunks said, and shook his head.

“You sure know how to encourage a guy kiddo,” Yamcha shivered, scooting closer.

“If Gohan were here he’d know how to make cocoa from seaweed. And I’d figure out the recipe myself if he wanted it,” Satan joked, trying a smile in the gloom. Still it failed to hide his frantic state of worry.

“I’m sure we’ll find eggs tomorrow for breakfast,” the reporter said. “The question will be how to cook them.”

“We’ll worry about that when we find the eggs,” Yamcha said. He kept his eyes narrowed to the dark, cursing that their probing power was diminished by the elements. As in centuries past, perfect eyesight guaranteed a man or woman a career as a pilot. Yamcha was no exception, training those dark brown eyes of his on every inch of water washed crag for any sign should the fog lift. A fog of thick black easily obscured any stars. Through the gloom, Yamcha attempted to discern the shapes of the mainland. At one point, he could swear he saw the form of the staircase. At another instant, he thought he glimpsed a man’s shape silhouetted in the blackness. Then the next time he checked, it was not there. Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination, Yamcha thought, rubbing his eyes.

“Get some rest, will you,” 17 urged firmly but gently.

“I’ll listen and watch for Sonny. If I see any signal, or anything I’ll let you know,” Satan said. However even training his ears to the furthest Satan could hear what first sounded like a human voice was soon identified as a cruel imitation of a natural sound. A glance at the illuminated dial of his wristwatch soon told him the time was ripe to rouse 17, who had volunteered for the second watch. All that was left for him to do was sleeping. As one of their party kept watch, the others slept deeply. Only Satan slept fitfully, worrying about his friend. As for Trunks, his repose was peaceful.

Satan blinked awake out of the depths of restless sleep. Darkness had given way to a steady grey, still denying him vision of any major features of their world save what was immediately around them. The ambient temperature had increased slightly, so he did not shiver as much or need to cuddle up as tightly next to his friends. Yamcha noticed the aide-de-camp stirring and turned his attention there.

“Satan, it’s only 5 AM. Still kind of early. Why don’t you rest a bit more, buddy?” Yamcha suggested.

“I can’t sleep anymore. Not when Gohan could …” he trailed off and looked around restlessly. “At least it’s not so dark and foggy now. Can you see anything more with those eagle eyes of yours?”

“So far I can only make out general rock formations, Satan,” Yamcha smiled reassuringly. He rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder and patted it. “But not really tell where we are in relation to the land. Not any better than last night. It will take time for me to see more.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Satan nodded. He drew his knees up to his chest and sighed. His hand patted Yamcha’s still resting on his shoulder. Firmly the pilot hugged his friend with one arm for reassurance.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Yamcha said, his arm still wrapped around Satan’s body. “We’ll find Gohan sooner or later. Just you wait and see.”

“It’s just that when think of him out there all alone and cold… I know he’s out there, friend Yamcha. I just can feel it…” Satan trailed off. For a moment, the two friends sat in shared silence, giving one another strength.

After a few minutes, Yamcha disengaged his embrace and gave Satan a friendly slap on the back. “Well then we’ll just look extra hard, okay?”

Yamcha sat for a time near Satan with a hand on his shoulder. He offered reassurance of his presence while waiting for the fog to lift. Satan continued to sit beside Yamcha, both sharing their body warmth. The pilot after a time asked, “Come to think of it Satan, you never did tell us just how you ended up calling your superior Sonny.”

Satan blinked and then answered, “Well, it’s because he’s pretty much a son to me. A son in law.”

Processing this for a moment Yamcha then said, “Whoa wait a minute. You didn’t tell us you had a daughter…”

Satan nodded in confirmation. Drawing in his breath sharply Yamcha then asked, “Well why did you join the army? I mean with the war and all wouldn’t it have been wiser to stay with your daughter to protect her?”

The aide-de-camp hesitated, clearing his throat and glancing over at Yamcha. Slowly the pilot nodded, intimating that whatever Satan had to say it would be safe. Those blue eyes stared down a distant corridor of memories, selecting ones that were not as immediately painful. Instead, they were searching for a far happier time to help him reveal what was the cause behind a newly healed scar. Gohan’s absence had ripped that old wound open yet again, and he was nursing it before his friend. An entire string of self-blame and mental anguish was unleashed and he sat there trying to find just the right words that would frame her reminiscence in an easier light.

Crossing and interlacing his fingers, he looked at them. Then he said, “She was such a brave little girl, always smiling and cheerful, and wanting to help others. Videl was only three when her mother passed away. I became my little angel’s father and mother, you know.”

A small window opened to the past, allowing Yamcha to see into Satan’s hidden world. He remained silent, nodding to prompt his friend to continue with a warm smile. Feeling more comfortable Satan then turned his head to face Yamcha more. “Yes since then it was just me and her, the two of us taking on the world. I’d take her into my office when I went to work. Sometimes she’d want to sit behind my big desk in my leather chair and pretend like she was me running the company.”

At the memory, Satan chuckled fondly. Yamcha leaned closer and grinned a bit. “Her feet barely touched the floor, and she’d always bounce her little heels against the bottom of that old high backed leather chair. It was because of that I then got her a little desk of her own that she could use right next to mine. So I could keep an eye on her when I was at work.”

Yamcha watched his blue eyes light up with pride at those words. He could clearly picture a diminutive female version of his friend shuffling papers and giving play orders to invisible employees behind a toy desk while looking up at her daddy on the videophone. It reminded him of how Trunks would sometimes sit behind the controls of his space yacht and play as if he was a pilot. Now linked by that image of a child playing in its parent’s role he felt closer to Satan than before. Things were clearing up in his shadowy past far more than the fog around them.

“She always wanted to do things just like her daddy,” Satan fondly sighed. “How she’d always say that she’d take good care of the company for me, and I was so proud of her when she finally did. And you know what?”

“What my friend?” Yamcha smiled, nudging Satan’s knee.

“She ran Satan Corporation way better than I ever did. Boy she was a natural. It wasn’t a year before she was reorganizing things doubled our production capacity. That girl was always expanding our market in ways I had never thought of. She could sit in that conference room, tell them what needed to be done, how much it would cost, and like THAT…” here Satan clicked his fingers together. “They’d scamper off to do it.”

“You really did a good job bringing her up it sounds like,” Yamcha observed.

“You know, I’d figured someday I’d lose my angel to another man. But when she met and married Gohan it was like I gained another son,” Satan reflected.

Satan’s eyes then dulled from their sudden twinkle. His brow furrowed, along with the tiny lines at the corner of his mouth showing under his beard. He glanced away from Yamcha, instead staring at the toes of his boots. Uncomfortably Yamcha shifted, trying not to wake Trunks who was sleeping with his head and shoulders pillowed on the pilot’s lap. Murmuring Yamcha rubbed Trunks shoulder to sooth him and returned his attention to Satan.

“She was on the president’s ship that day, you know. There was this big association contract to sign with a nonaligned alien government,” Satan said quietly. At sound of those words, Yamcha saw warning flags rising. He knew then that Satan was on the verge of disclosing something rough.

“She’d promised Gohan she would take off some time from work after the trip…” Satan added. “And then… start a family.”

“Yes, go on,” Yamcha nodded, his dark eyes urging Satan to continue.

“If it had only been a day sooner or later… I could have been a grandfather you know,” Satan grunted, his hands seizing pieces of sand and letting them run through his fingers. Then he opened his hand and tossed the rest of it into the grey gloom ahead of them. His statement remained painfully unfinished in the awkward pause ahead. Yamcha saw the hurt crumpling his face and nodded sadly.

“Yeah. It was like that then, wasn’t it? If only you’d been there sooner, if only you could have done something. And you run over and over it in your mind,” Yamcha said.

Satan nodded his jaw wobbling. His breath escaped in a long slow hiss. Soberly Yamcha squeezed his friend’s shoulder once more, sharing a knowing nod. He himself knew how dangerous it was to play a game entitled “What if?” Such a game would occupy his mind with hours of memories playing back in an endless loop of torment. Hoping to find rationale in irrational thinking would not bring back a dead daughter of an aide-de-camp, or two good friends of a pilot.

“Well, with her gone, there wasn’t anything holding us back on Earth anymore, Yamcha,” Satan said.

“Man, I guess there wouldn’t be any reason to stick around anymore, Satan. Damn,” Yamcha observed. Their eyes met in that moment of understanding. A huge weight seemed to ease off Satan’s chest a bit though the pain was still fresh from his admission. The pilot’s reassuring hand on his shoulder anchored him in the present. Just hearing those words Yamcha surmised why Satan was so possessive of Gohan. The engineer was the last thing he had left of his daughter, and his family to hold onto.

Now with a new understanding, Yamcha and Satan turned their attention outwards once more. Several hours had passed by. While they had been talking, the sun had risen, turning the blackness into a steady battleship grey. Yamcha’s eyes discerned that the fog had thinned enough for him to glimpse something through the fog. Satan next to him saw his friend tense and his own heart pounded with perceptible excitement. Grabbing Satan’s arm he whispered, “I can see something now! Shapes through the fog just ahead. I think I can see… stairs…”

“Stairs? Yes… so do I!” Satan whispered excitedly back. His own hand grabbed Yamcha’s sleeve as the pilot scanned the clearing vista. Indeed Yamcha could now see a stretch of grayish blue water between their islet and a curved strip of rocky beach. Jagged pillars of upright rock jutted in places to the left and right of their islet. Occasionally they could see the disk of the sun peeking through, only to be shrouded again by clouds. However the bulk of the dark shapes rising from the deeper blue grey that was the water were clearly land. It was quite obvious they were indeed on an islet in the middle of a bay just as they had discerned last night. Just to see the land instead of merely feel it gladdened Yamcha’s heart. Satan picked up on his relief as well, feeling his own spirits rise a bit. If they could see more and more as the fog lifted, it increased their chances of finding Gohan.

“That’s right. Look how tall those cliffs are stretching around us. On either side of that gap,” he pointed. The dark shapes were now revealed to be tall cliffs ringing the bay, craggy and suggesting volcanic origin. Immediately ahead of where they sat in the shade of a rock, at a distance of what he judged a quarter mile, were natural hewn steps that started from a curved stretch of beach, ending at a gap in the mountainous cliffs. Yet the top of the stairs were still shrouded in thicker grey clouds.

“I’m still wishing that we could see how high those stairs are!” Satan murmured, narrowing his eyes. He wished he could burn off the rest of the fog by willpower alone because the haze was still blocking part of the view.

“Let’s wait a few minutes more before we wake the others,” Yamcha suggested. With each passing minute they saw the tops of the cliffs and their colors more clearly defined. Sunlight broke through at a low angle in the sky, shimmering on the water of the bay now and giving it a bluer appearance. Still the fog was patchy, only revealing tantalizing details while leaving others obscured. The jagged rough tops of the cliffs looked sharp enough to cut paper, and were indeed the same color as the rock of the islet. Leafy tops of green trees peeked over and among the cliffs. Even the tops of the thunderous waterfalls now came into view, generating a light mist. Now Satan could see how narrow the strip of sandy beach was, bounded by tidal pools among the rough hewn upright pinnacles.

Yamcha grabbed a rock and tossed it forwards. It bounced off the edge of the islet before plunking into the water. The pilot then whispered, “How deep do you figure that bay is? Judging by how dark it is I’d say at least a few hundred feet.”

“Definitely not something you can walk across. But I can see the top of the mountain now! It’s huge!” Satan whispered in excitement.

“I could just feel the land was there, you know?” Yamcha whispered.

“I know my friend,” Satan grinned. “This means we should wake the others!”

“All right then,” Yamcha agreed. He reached over with his other hand to nudge the reporter first, calling out, “Wakey, wakey reporter man! Time to rise and shine for your morning edition!”

“Time to get ourselves up and move,” Satan said cheerfully, rolling onto his knees. 17 groaned and blinked, then rolled over to glance at his companions.

“Trunks wake up kiddo,” Yamcha urged.

“Mmm,” the lad mumbled, stirring in Yamcha’s lap. He blinked up at the pilot and Satan.

Grunting, the reporter opened one eye and glanced up at his companions. “And a good morning to you too, junior birdman!” he answered. Still half dazed Trunks accepted Yamcha’s help to sit up. He combed fingers through his mop of lavender hair and glanced around at the others. 17 did the same, rubbing his eyes blearily.

“All right people, take a look around you!” Yamcha said, pointing at the now mostly clear view of their craggy

“Incredible view! It’s volcanic in origin. Just look at how rough those cliffs are! I bet that beach is nothing but crushed and pulverized pumice,” Trunks whispered, dragging himself on his hands to sit between the sleepy reporter and his guardian.

“Indeed,” 17 nodded. Satan had by now climbed to his feet by tugging himself up on the rocks. He reached down and extended a hand to Yamcha.

“On your feet buddy,” he laughed. Yamcha grinned, letting Satan tug him up so he could bend over and stretch. He let Trunks continue to sit there, raising his small hands over his head and yawning. 17 chose to remain seated, instead extending his legs in a wide V so he could lean to one side then the other to stretch.

Yamcha touched his toes, feeling the vertebrae in his back cracking. He was aware that 17 was still sitting behind him, and rapidly straightened up to glance down at the reporter. Quickly it seemed 17 had turned his head away, and the pilot strode over towards him. “Well aren’t you going to stand up?”

“C’mon, up and at ’em men!” Satan urged more like his cheerful self. “We’ve got a channel to swim…”

“After we find some food of course,” Yamcha said. “Trunks, what’s around here that’s good to eat kiddo?”

Already Trunks wandered away from the shelter of the rocks, heading towards the edge of the islet. Its edge seemed to curve towards what appeared to be other pillars ringing what were tidal pools, covered over. “Just checking for seaweed,” he called back.

“Good call,” the pilot nodded, immediately halfway after him. 17 and Satan regarded one another, both still glancing around at the lay of the land now visible. A tantalizing glimpse of the base of a mountain was visible through the ‘v’ shape at the top of the stairs. The reporter’s eyes tracked over the landscape, memorizing each feature in his photographic memory. Reflexively he reached into one of the larger pockets of his baggy pants and pulled out his small notebook. He fished a pencil out of his pocket and started to sketch what he saw while wandering off after the others.

“Caragheenan,” said Trunks, holding out pieces of seaweed he had tugged up from the shore of the islet.

“Huh, I’ve used a version of that when cooking,” Satan nodded, nibbling on a bit.

“Look for anything with this shape or confirmation. And here… a sort of shellfish,” he said, reaching into his pockets to show them a small species of lithodome.

“They should be safe to eat raw,” Satan murmured. “As I recall.”

“No problems with that I can remember,” Trunks nodded. “And the caragheenan can also be boiled.”

“Good job kiddo,” Yamcha said appreciatively. “Okay men, let’s fill our pockets and eat breakfast so we can work out a game plan!”

All four of them started searching for something to eat. All four of them started searching for something to eat. When anything was found each would show their find to Trunks who would inform them if it was edible or not. The only edible item available turned out to be lithodomes, yet fortunately there were a great many to satisfy their hunger. When they began to consume their repast they noted with pleasure how spicy the lithodomes were, making them quite palatable when plain. The limited shape of the islet didn’t give much except for the place Trunks already had scanned, but there was enough they soon collected to make a small breakfast with bits of caragheenan to nibble on. While they ate the subject of their next move was brought up by Satan.

“I say we cross that bay and climb those stairs as soon as we can,” he proposed.

Yamcha tossed down the empty lithodome shell he was holding into the pile heaped between him and Trunks. 17 carefully regarded both men when Yamcha answered, “That makes sense. But we have to figure out just how we’re going to climb those stairs.”

“In the fog it would be dangerous. We should wait,” said 17 pragmatically.

“It doesn’t look like a big deal to swim that distance. We’ve swum further than that yesterday. And I’ve climbed cliffs with less handholds then those stairs,” Satan said as if it were simplicity itself.

“Maybe easy for you since you’re a seasoned rock climber and its second nature for you to know what makes good handholds and footholds? But the rest of us aren’t nearly as good, remember?” 17 reminded him.

“No problem for beginners. Why there is no need to worry, because I can help boost you guys up and then climb after you,” Satan said as if it were simplicity itself.

“Yeah, but it would be a lot easier and quicker we need a rope of some sort,” Yamcha mumbled, glancing around.

“Some lengths of seaweed could be twisted into a rope of some sort, but it would have to be strong enough to hold sufficient weight,” 17 said.

“Kid, anything around here that meets those criteria?” Yamcha asked.

“Unfortunately the sort of seaweed necessary is a species of bull kelp that grows at around 35 meters. But we can’t wait to specially dry it or prepare it. Though we should keep in mind that seaweed can be used for a foodstuff, and a source of various vitamins such as the B complexes. Not to mention there are species that have useful anti inflammatory properties or can be used for burns,” said Trunks tapping his chin.

“We never know when we may need that,” 17 commented. He popped another bit of raw lithodome into his mouth.

“Well then why don’t I go on ahead since I’m a pro at climbing without a rope? Then if I find Gohan I can always bring him back!”

“You’re awfully optimistic. I don’t’ think we should separate our numbers,” 17 shook his head.

“I think it isn’t a bad plan,” Yamcha said. “Look Satan, since you’re so keyed up to go first, you go ahead and do that. The rest of us will wait till the fog clears, and use that time to collect more food. Then we’ll climb those stairs and find some kind of shelter.”

“We need a place to meet up, and a time,” 17 reminded them.

“How about at the top of the stairs?” Trunks suggested.

“Good call kid. I can do that easily. How about sundown?” Satan nodded eagerly.

“All right. Sounds good to me, men,” Yamcha said, nodding. “Trunks, 17 and I will meet you at the top of the stairs come sundown. And we’ll hopefully have a place to spend the night.”

“I’m not sure I’m crazy about this. What if something should happen to you, Satan?” asked 17.

“Nothing will. I’ll see you guys at sundown, okay!” Satan said.

With a wave to them he dashed to the edge of the islet. Positioning his hands before his head, Satan jumped off the shore and dove headfirst into the water. Soon he bobbed up, and swam freestyle across the now viridian green stretch of water. 17 chewed on his lip, his cobalt blue eyes narrowed in frustration while his two friends watched Satan.

“That was a foolish thing to do! I know how much he wanted to find him but I don’t like this!” 17 began to argue.

“17, do you think there’s any way we could have stopped him? Maybe Satan can find Gohan. It doesn’t hurt to try. Anyhow, either way that gives him the chance to explore ahead of us and who knows what he can find?” Yamcha said quickly.

“Very true,” 17 nodded, uncrossing his arms. “I just didn’t care for him rushing off like that so suddenly. But if anyone can find him I’m sure it’s Satan.”

“Wouldn’t it be terrific if he DID find him when we all met back up?” Trunks said hopefully.

“That’d be nice all right. But right now let’s keep focussed on the bare necessities, men,” Yamcha nodded.

“We’ll just have to hope he won’t run into any trouble. There’s no telling what animals may be on the other side of those stairs,” 17 pointed out.

“I doubt he’d let anything get in the way of his search,” Yamcha laughed.

“Uh huh,” Trunks nodded. “I’d be more worried about the animals. Though I’m sure there is a good probability we’d find predators in this biosphere.”

“Very true! We need to make weapons as soon as possible,” said 17, scanning the islet.

Yamcha pointed out, “There’s probably nothing here to make any weapons. We’ll have to wait till we’re on top of those stairs. It would be more trouble than it’s worth to try swimming with wood or climbing with it, anyway.”

“He’s making good time,” Trunks said, staring at the diminishing wake of their friend swimming at a good pace. Satan pulled with strong broad strokes, receding ever more with each second. They could still hear the splashes from the motion of his arms and legs.

“Wish I had some of that guys’ energy,” Yamcha commented. They caught sight of Satan when they heard his voice off in the distance. Through what fog remained they could glimpse him well up the stairs. Anguish seized all of them when he vanished in the fog and lost sight of him. Finally when they again saw their friend he had ascended the uppermost stair. Loudly they shouted and cheered, waving their arms in congratulations.

As time wore on, the three braved the stretch of water separating them from the mainland. This necessitated stripping their clothes and bundling them up. Then the clothes would remain dry by carrying them on their heads. One by one they slipped into the sea once more, swimming easily across the calm waters. Within only a few minutes they stumbled onto the beach, covered in coarse rocky grains instead of fine sand. Once they reached the shore they hastened to dress because the water was considerably cold. There they collected lithodomes more easily in the tidal pools for their continued trip.

They stood at the base of the first stone step. At about the height of Yamcha’s shoulder a wide flat shelf led to another ‘step’. He motioned to 17, calling out instructions. 17 nodded, as Yamcha made a stirrup with his hands and they together boosted Trunks up. Then 17 gave Yamcha a leg up after the pilot made a running jump. Lying on their stomachs Trunks and Yamcha then dangled Yamcha’s jacket as a handhold for 17 to tug on and scramble up. All three then felt the flat stone of the basalt underfoot and glanced to the next ‘shelf’. Fortunately, it was only four feet high and they could all scramble up. The next stair was taller, perhaps seven feet and required Yamcha and 17 to boost Trunks up further. Yamcha insisted on shoving 17, yet the correspondent shook his head, “No, you’re heavier. You go up and then pull me this time.”

“Fine,” Yamcha grunted, not in the mood to argue. He nodded to 17 who got down making a stirrup with his hand. Yamcha was boosted up with a bit of a grunt from the reporter. This time he scrambled up lithely with an assist from the other two as before. They would repeat a process for at least a dozen more times before they reached the top of the natural staircase that seemed hewn for a giant long extinct.

When finally the travellers reached the top, they felt a moment of tense hesitation before treating themselves to a view of what lay behind. Tentatively they glanced over the shoulder, while keeping balance lest it be a sheer drop. Yamcha spied down the other side, and stood shortly transfixed. Trunks and 17 still panting with exertion trudged up to his side. The pilot knelt momentarily, half sitting in his shock and relief. An expression halfway between a smile and awe crossed that scarred countenance. The pilot was pleased that their domain was of a large size.

“Green, for miles,” Yamcha panted.

“Trees upon trees,” Trunks added, narrowing his eyes to try to see what species.

Yet they were still high enough to get a sense that it was a valley, ringed on all sides as far as the eye could see by mountains. Immediately over the top of the highest stair was a gradual slope downwards into a line of lupine, then trees. The valley floor itself was resting on a pedestal approximately 900 feet above the islet’s surface. On a third level was the top of the tall mountain giving them three ‘planes’ of elevation. A faint hope was growing that they would manage to survive here, and a world of possibilities suddenly seemed in reach. After all this valley was far more lush then the islet. The trio realized there was no trace of a fire or crash; no broken trees or scorched earth to be seen. 17 and Yamcha shared a momentary and meaningful glance, both realizing that Gohan’s ship had possibly sunk in the ocean. With trees, there was material for eventually building dwellings. Yet they could not undertake such a mammoth task with only three of their group present.

“So, it’s down there we’ll find what we need for shelter, food, water and fire men,” Yamcha said, slapping dust off his hands and dusting off his pants. All three of them were coated with a light sheen of fine powdery dust that caked on their still damp clothes.

“There’s probably a cave or natural hollow further down if we descend,” 17 suggested. From his many trips to various worlds, he had an eye for some sorts of terrain. Especially with his experience in hunting game on those same worlds in his spare time.

Trunks said, “And all manner of food sources, at least botanically, if I get a closer look. Warm-blooded mountain dwelling organisms usually eat these lupines within reach. Further down will likely be coniferous trees that may have nuts in season…”

Yamcha fingered his chin and wondered, “I’m wondering if we’re getting into winter because the water’s so cold.”

17 agreed, “It’d be a problem if we were near winter. Because we’d have very little time to settle in, not to mention problems finding food.”

Combining this with the other evidence he now saw Trunks began, “It looks to me like spring, probably early spring taking into account the chill of the water.”

A bit surprised 17 commented “How can you be sure of that?”

Trunks squinted, hand held over his eyes to shade them. He pointed to the nearest trees below and said, “You see those bluish foliaged trees?”

“The ones with the oval shaped canopies?” 17 said.

“Yes. They’re from the Okrana Broadingas family,” Trunks nodded.

“So?” 17 asked.

“If they were autumn they’d be orangish red,” the lad explained.

A warm smile crossed Yamcha’s once taciturn face. He said, “That’s really good news then! It gives us time to build a good shelter. Just think of all the fruits and nuts we can harvest in the summer.”

17 shared a small smile as well adding, “That is indeed good news. We’ll be able to even hunt a few beasts that Satan can turn into smoked ham. For winter.”

Trunks nodded saying, “There’s also fishes from the gulf and river we can smoke as well. Judging from the trees, they must have a considerable water source and that is most likely a river.”

17 came to a stop by the nearest taller trees. He leaned down to grab at the branches that had fallen on the ground nearby. First he picked up one the length of his arm but the width of two fingers, swinging it around and then shaking his head in dissatisfaction.

Yamcha and Trunks also stopped, and the pilot asked, “Hey, what are you up to?”

“We need some primitive weapons. Sticks to use like clubs and stones to throw,” 17 pointed out. “Unfortunately the animals won’t conveniently come to us cooked and ready to eat. We need something to hunt them.”

Admiration filled Yamcha’s face as he watched 17’s search for a suitable stick or stone. He commented, “Well man, even though you’re a journalist you have a practical side to you.”

17 wrinkled his nose playfully and said, “You’ve only just begun to see now? I’m not just a convenient blanket or hot water bottle you know.”

Trunks noticed a slight pink hue tingling Yamcha’s cheeks. His guardian coughed deeply, pounding his chest a bit.

Trunks looked oddly at 17 who seemed amused at something. To distract himself further from 17’s comment Yamcha hastened to glance around him. 17 and Trunks did so as well, scanning the ground as well as the bushes and lupine before the tree line. A few minutes search yielded three suitable branches that would make good clubs. They also found a few stones that would suffice for throwing weapons. They were the size and weight that could fit into a person’s hand comfortably, and still hit a target with enough force 17 judged to bring down small animals.’

Grabbing one of the sticks Yamcha swung it at the level of his shoulder. He turned his body then whirled it above his hand and brought it down against an invisible oponent. Satisfied with his weapon, Yamcha said, “Okay men, let’s do this. We need water. Also shelter, like a cave would be best. Once we get that settled, it’s a search for wood for fires as well as food.”

17 said, “Now that you mention it I’m getting a bit thirsty.”

Yamcha motioned to them, halfway turning his body and half-scrabbling half sliding down. “Careful!” 17 cautioned. “Don’t go too fast. We don’t want to spread ourselves further!”

“We’d be more intimidating if there are three of us should we be attacked,” said Trunks.

“Okay, I get it,” Yamcha panted, followed closely by 17 and Trunks. “Unknown territory and all.”

“Just don’t go too fast okay?” 17 said. “Let’s stay together. We don’t know what’s down there.”

Carefully they edged their way down a gradual stony slope, interrupted in places by the alpine lupine and scrub brush bushes. These hearty plants had a foothold then more of a steady distribution the further northwest they ventured. Within ten to fifteen minutes of measured toeing their way down, their view of the valley became immediate and they were immersed in foliage and the smell of earth.

They all walked on the uneven ground free of any injuries save occasionally tripping. Glances upward judged the time of day from the angle of the shadows. In their pre landing briefing, Gohan had informed them all that the length of the planet’s day was approximately equal to 24 earth hours, give or take a few minutes. In Gohan’s terms, that was 23.67 earth hours. 17 asked, “How long do we have till sundown?”

“I’d say about eight hours of usable daylight,” Trunks automatically answered.

“We’ve already used at least two hours finding our way this far, guys,” Yamcha said. “So let’s explore around here to see if we can find anything resembling shelter.”

None of them wandered far from one another. For under the canopy of thick green and blue the shafts of sunlight penetrated periodically, while in other places it was fully filtered. Trunks examined every plant and shrub for anything edible while 17 and Yamcha kept a lookout for anything resembling an overhang or a depression.

“Here, they’re called raspods,” Trunks pointed to smaller shrubs with pinkish pod shapes. They had a slightly filmy sheen that was opalescent, which he split open. Inside the fruit, itself was the size of a fingertip, and arranged like peas in a pod. They were in sections of four each. When nibbled on they tasted like a cross between blueberries and raspberries. Some were soft and others were firm, but none was poisonous.

17 nodded, “I remember seeing a purple version of these in the Viridian system when I did a story.”

“They’re really more fruit than vegetable. Common on some worlds, not on others,” Trunks said.

Another bush yielded small objects the size of two cherries fused together. They were double lobed and hung from low-lying branches that they could hit with a branch. Their spiky exterior was scaly like a pinecone but succulent inside. The bluish flesh tasted much like plums, surrounding twin seeds.

“Duoplumbs,” Trunks said.

“Not something I’ve eaten,” 17 relented. When their pockets grew too heavy with berries they resorted to carrying the duoplumbs in 17’s cravat scarf.

“They’re almost extinct because of their popularity. They’re a delicacy to the Canopians, and a virtual rarity to Alphers,” Trunks explained.

Hearing this Yamcha laughed, “Well I’ll be damned! It’s something those dirty Alphers won’t get their mitts on!!!”

“A taste of heaven that the bastards will be denied makes it even sweeter,” 17 added.

Yamcha then said, “As Governor of this planet I hereby prohibit any duoplomb trade with Alphers!”

“And who made YOU governor, exactly?” 17 asked.

“If we’re going to elect anyone, shouldn’t we wait till we’re all here? You know you have my vote,” Trunks said.

17 replied, “But you’re not old enough to vote, kid.”

Yamcha added, “We’ll wait till you can vote then, Trunks.”

Then grinning he said to 17, “See I already have 40% of the votes!”

Lowering his voice 17 said, “Since the woods are growing thicker now, we should be more careful, men.”

Other taller trees stretched up with broad leaves and round pods hanging beneath them. They were darker green and a few had fallen beside the mother tree from a height of about ten feet. Trunks identified them to be like the ginkgo tree, but more related to that of the earth coconut. A few of these hard nuts were hammered on, sloshing when shaken and held up to the ear.

Small furred mammal analogues scampered and bustled through undergrowth, giving them only a glimpse of their form. The fleeting sight of their fur was a light greenish grey, in keeping with the forest around them. High overhead they spotted green and light pink-feathered birds the size of robins and blue jays leaping from branch to branch.

The sudden whistling noise alerted 17 and he ducked into the cover of a bush. Before Yamcha or Trunks could speak, he raised a finger for silence. A pointed finger motioned Trunks to crouch by him and peer around the bush. Silently Trunks understood the need because it was the first bird that landed within reach and was of sufficient size. Iridescent blue feathers mimicked the peacock, but its size more resembled a wild turkey. Its fan of tail feathers lifted up as it turned its back on the hidden colonists.

Impatiently Yamcha curled his hand around a rock and inched forward. 17 grabbed his arm but the pilot lobbed the rock forwards and it skimmed past the fowl. With a loud squawk, it spread its fan and spread blue and indigo wings tipped in brown to flutter away. A few curses later Yamcha had to admit that he had been foolish.

“You may have a pilot’s eyes but that’s not the sort of way to go about catching a fowl like that,” 17 murmured. “We haven’t got any firearms.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” Yamcha answered.

“And no way to roast it either till we find fire,” Trunks reminded him.

“Shit that’s just perfect,” Yamcha swore.

“We should act as if we’re going to have fire, and this means hunting whatever we can. I’m sure that Satan will be able to light one,” 17 said.

Scanning through the trees Yamcha spotted promising rock formations. He pointed ahead, and suggested, “I believe we should head southwest, men. I think those structures there may offer shelter.”

Concerned, 17 said, “What about water?”

Yamcha answered, “I know where to find it. Remember the waterfall?”

They skirted along the edge of the tree line eventually, deciding to chance that there could be a hollow hewn out in the cliff. As they explored they gathered the identified foodstuffs, carrying the pods in their pockets, and nibbling on the duoplums as Trunks called them. The three scoured along the rock formations once they emerged from the trees. Unfortunately they found nothing in the rock wall thus far. Yamcha mumbled, “There must be something here.”

Like some sort of Alice in wonderland, they had felt small in comparison to the unfamilar world around them. Nevertheless the distance separating them from their potential shelter would be far less daunting than the stairs had been.

Sure enough, half an hour later, Yamcha’s sharp eyes spotted such an opening. Their relief in finding shelter was tempered with a their longing to reunite with Satan and anxiously awaiting the results of his search.

Wiping sweat from his face for a minute, Trunks saw in the distance the expanse of green and blue-needled conifer trees they travelled through not so long ago. It dwarfed all the other hills surrounding their new destination. Now he returned his attention forwards.

Wind whipped all the castaways hair into their faces, seeming as if it breathed its essence into all of the terrain. The shallow opening yawned before them, but 17 cautioned, “Wait, let’s not rush in. We don’t know if there’s not some dangerous predator’s den there.”

Trunks said, “If there’s a predator, he’s not here now.”

17 shook his head, peering further inside. He said, “It’s an inhabited lair.”

Ever inquisitive Trunks asked, “How can you confirm that?”

With a slight smile 17 said, “There’s no bones present.”

Yamcha answered, “That’s good. Then we don’t have to evict the tennant.”

Lips near 17’s ear Yamcha whispered,”So what do you think of our motel?”

17 smirked and replied, “I should have known it was the type of cheap motel you’d bring me to.”

From the height of the cave they could glimpse back and see a sea of viridian, cobalt and sapphire replaced the sea of rocks and fog they’d left behind. The lair was slightly domed shaped and lower at the farthest place where floor met ceiling. While this meant ease of entering, it also meant they needed something to use for bedding. Enough of the mouth was partly blocked against mountain wind, so they set about deciding the best place to make a sleep area.

Trunks shivered a bit then nodded, “It’s a bit primitive, but with a good fire going and some bedding, it’s more than a decent place.”

Yamcha nodded, agreeing, “Yeah seriously. Far better than an Alpher’s jail cell.”

“Shouldn’t we go to the waterfall for water now??” 17 asked him.

“Well we need to make this place more comfortable first before we get water,” Yamcha said. “Besides if I’m not mistaken we should be barely ten minutes away from it.”

Scratching his head a bit Trunks said, “Are you certain? The waterfalls we observed earlier are at least 45 minutes from where we are now.”

“Well kiddo, I’m pretty confident we are,” his guardian answered.

With that matter discussed they ventured into the neighboring forest collecting small bits of brush and soft leaves. These were spread on the flattest part of the cave floor behind a ‘thumb’ ridge of rock that acted like a small wall against any wind whistling inside the cave. Soft moss was suggested but was not prevalent enough to gather except to make small pillows.

***

Once they had made their upgrades in comfort to their new dwelling, Yamcha was satisfied. He stepped outside of the cave, then called to the others, “Now let’s get our water.”

Trunks and 17 exited the cave, while Yamcha noted the position of the sun. He turned towards the northeast, then walked with cofindence towards that direction. 17 and Trunks followed him for approximately fifteen minutes before they realized he was deviating somewhat from the course they had originally followed.

Then 17 asked “I’m curious about something.”

“What’s that?” Yamcha asked.

“This doesn’t look like the path we originally were following. It seems like we’re going someplace else. Aren’t we making towards the waterfalls?” 17 pointed out.

Yamcha glanced back over his shoulder towards them, and said, “Well I’m taking a shortcut.”

Trunks asked curiously, “What type of shortcut, exactly?”

“Well you see kiddo, instead of going towards the waterfall, we’re doing something different. We’re going to meet the river that generates that waterfall,” Yamcha explained.

Impressed, 17 said, “I’m flabbergasted. That’s actually good thinking on your part, flyboy.”

Another 15 minutes through the forest, they had heard the rushing sounds of water through the trees and had eagerly hiked to investigate. It was a sizable stretch of water, fast moving in places over smoothed stones. Excitedly the three waded up to their ankles and dropped to their knees in the soothing coolness.

“Wait, shouldn’t we boil this first?” asked 17.

“If we were on Earth I’d agree with you,” Trunks said. “But seeing we’re on an alien planet, it’s more likely it’ll take time for these bacteria to get accustomed to our DNA.”

A raging thirst burned in their throats and all three felt the need to bathe their faces and sink their hands to the depths of their elbows in the life giving fluid. The pilot, reporter and lad all scrubbed the sweat and dust from their faces eagerly, splashing handful after handful that never seemed enough.

“This river here… we should call the Mercy,” 17 said reverently, shaking water droplets from his hands.

“No argument here. This is the BEST tasting water I’ve drank. And that says a lot considering we’ve been without water for a while…” Yamcha sighed deeply, his eyes half shut. Trunks soon afterwards reminded them it would be prudent to hunt for crayfish or other river dwellers for future food.

***

Some time later they had successfully trapped some crayfishes that were a dark blue in color and about the length of Trunks forearm. 17 had suggested they fashion a crude fishing net by twisting some supple branches together. They used this to carry their catch back towards the cave, all pleased with themselves. Now they knew the way to the river, they took far less time on their return trip.

Along the path Trunks spotted volcanic formations. He bent over and began to pick up various pieces of rock. Noticing he stopped, Yamcha and 17 turned back to find him crouched over assembled jagged pieces of stone, examining each one intently.

“Look what I’ve found!” he said, holding one up. “Silex.”

“Well I’ll be damnded,” Yamcha mumbled, takign the piece of rock and examining it. 17 also peered at it carefully.

“Now we can cook these crayfish,” 17 said eagerly.

“I can just taste them already,” Yamcha nodded as he carried the stack of wood bundled on his back.

“Let’s not taste out crayfish before they’re cooked,” Trunks joked.

“I know 67 ways to cook crayfish, but unfortunately none of them involve eating them raw, lad,” 17 quipped.

Back at the cave 17 cleared a place just in front of the mouth so he and Yamcha could place rocks into a circle. They chose dry ones that would not explode when exposed to a fire’s heat. Then 17 and Yamcha placed a few small twigs in the center in a neat pile. Yamcha and 17 hoped with the assembled materials they could ignite a fire. Bending over the twigs, Yamcha struck the silex together near the smaller twigs assembled. Unfortunately though he generated sparks, they did not catch on the wood.

“Damn,” Yamcha also cursed in frustration. It seemed that even though they posessed silex it did not guarantee a blaze. Bending over a series of twigs only caused the pilot to become more agitated, ready to smash sticks into even smaller bits.

17 said, “Let me try with just the wood.”

He knelt near Yamcha, and set a larger piece of wood face up. Then he vigorously scraped the end of one twig back and forth faster and faster. Althouth he succeeded in carving a groove, no flames resulted.

“Shit,” 17 sighed.

Trunks however was occupied not with the fire at this moment. He was focussing on the nuts he had found on their search for the wood. The lad had identified large round spheres fallen among the tree trunks as a sort of species of coconut. Now he turned them over and over trying to figure out the best means to open it.

17 rose from his haunches and wandered over from the fire pit. Grasping a bit of the silex Yamcha threw aside he said, “Here, try this, lad.”

The lad turned it over in his hands while 17 said, “Why not put this to better use. You could use it like a knife… and then steady it against a rock.”

“A flat rock like this one?” Yamcha suggested, forgetting the fire and picking up one of the rocks from the ring of stones around the firepit.

17 remarked the silex would be put to better use as a sort of knife. Holding one on a flat rock, he indicated Trunks or Yamcha should slice into the thick shell.

“Wait, let’s spit it open. Save the halves, because they’d make a great container!” Trunks suggested. Yamcha stopped with a rock poised inches above his wedge of silex.

“Good point,” Yamcha murmured. 17 too nodded, and they hammered small sharp cracks along the sphere’s deep green surface. What resulted was a succulent yellowish white meat amidst a greenish juice. Eagerly they all raised it to their lips and sipped of the sugary sweet ‘milk’.

“What do they call these, kiddo?” Yamcha asked, after they had each shared that first mouthful.

Rubbing his lips on his sleeve Trunks said, “Well they are related to earth coconuts… but more towards the melon family.”

“I have the perfect name,” 17 joked. “Silex nuts.”

“What?” Yamcha blinked, salvaging the halves of the shell.

“Because of the method employed to open them of course,” 17 noted. “And since you didn’t fare well with using it to make a fire, it fits.”

“All right, you win man,” Yamcha grunted, licking drops of the silex nut ‘milk’ from the corners of his mouth.

“Now, let’s gather up more of these, just in case we run into Satan again, with Gohan. They make great sources of fresh drink, and we can use the halves as bowls,” Trunks suggested. Having found an efficient way to open the nuts, they set about cracking more open. More shell halves were collected and set to the side once each of them had eaten their fill of the nuts they gathered.

***

After resting for half an hour Yamcha peered out the cave mouth and checked the position of the sun in the sky. Considering how low it was he felt compelled to inform the others, “It looks like we should start for the top of the stairs guys.”

Trunks suggested, “Shouldn’t we take some food with us? Satan and Gohan will probably be hungry.”

“That is if he found Gohan,” 17 added.

At those words Yamcha stated, “There’s no point in jumping to conclusions. We’ll just go and see for ourselves.”

Nevertheless there was still the issue of how to carry silex nuts. Trunks proposed a solution that seemed viable. Trunks had identified long strands of a reddish tinged grass, segmented like bamboo, but thinner and more pliable that would be suitable to make a net. Quickly 17 and Yamcha harvested some and wove them into a mesh bag. They then headed back towards the grotto to fill it with more silex nuts.

Catching sight of the crayfish 17 remarked, “At least Satan will be able to make us a fire.”

The pilot confirmed that he had placed a piece of silex in his pocket. Next he picked up one of the full nets along with an empty one for additional items they may find en route. Turning to the others he announced, “Time to go now. Let’s meet Satan.”

On the way they continued to gather more food from the succulent larder the planet provided. Around them the luxurious forest was rife with a multitude of plants ready for the taking, some identified, and some yet to be discovered.

On a rotting log grew clusters of hemispherical capped stalks. Trunks deviated from the group to investigate. Yamcha and 17 soon were acquainted with the first species of fungus Trunks described, named Aspergillis piebaldii. Piebald blotches of purple intermingled with green on the caps about the size of a golf ball, set atop two inch light purple stalks. Tiny fiberous roots merged into the bark of the fallen log, which could be easily torn free. A dozen or so of the mushrooms ended up in the once empty string bag.

Not far from the top of the stairs Trunks called to Yamcha and 17 to boost him up. In the cleft of a forked tree branch about 10 feet up, he had spotted a cluster of interwoven branches. When he clambored down aided by his two companions Trunks held a nest the diameter of a dinner plate. A clutch of four orange shelled eggs were within. enthused at the addition of more protein to their future meal, the pilot and reporter envisioned scrambled, over easy, and poached eggs.

When at last the sun’s disc touched the far horizon, they worried at his constant absence. Then when they had almost resigned themselves to return they heard a loud bellow calling their names. Yamcha, 17 and Trunks abandoned further foraging and strode to meet him. Judging from the source his voice emanated from the forest.

When he came into view, they saw his face haggard and his eyes gleaming brightly. Curly hair seemed to bristle even more on his head giving him the appearance of someone who had pressed his finger into a power conduit. However, the slow drag of his gait indicated a lack of success. He almost stumbled into their waiting arms after they reached one another.

17’s desire to say anything was marred by the sight of Satan alone. Whatever hope remained now had evaporated.