As I mentioned in the summary, this is a catharsis piece. I wrote this to relieve some of my feelings about recent events. I
In fact, this story goes out with memory and honor to the passengers of the Pittsburg flight who decided to do just that, and with that same memory and honor to the other passengers who had their lives ripped from them.
Furthermore, I wrote this story in the world and with the person I did for a reason. We all wish that Goku or Vegeta or one of the other super-powers from DBZ could have been there. Surely they could have done something, right? Well, it doesn't matter. They aren't real, and neither are their powers. It's lots of fun to have them save the day, but I wanted to illustrate something that we, the normal, weak humans, could do.
Having said all this, I have one more thing to say. If you don't want to read anything even remotely related to the the incidents of the 11th, then DON'T. You have your feelings and I respect your feelings. If you're not ready for this kind of then, then DON'T READ IT and most certainly don't flame me or my story. You are warned.
With the ease of long practice, Bulma slung her carrysack onto the conveyor belt then walked through the metal detector. Sometimes she felt that she knew this airport almost as well as she knew her house. She smiled at the attendant as her bag went through the scanner, then picked it up and walked briskly to her gate.
She was busy while she waited for her plane to begin boarding. She pulled out her laptop and her cell phone, making calls and sending messages to tie up any loose ends she might have left behind. She spent awhile chatting happily with Trunks and Bra, and finished the traditional argument with Vegeta that they'd started that morning. He always hated to be left alone with the kids. She suspected that he didn't like being outnumbered. At last, though, it was time to board so she said good-bye and blew Vegeta a kiss in response to his good-bye grunt.
Once on the plane (in first class, of course), she plopped her bag on the seat and pulled out her book and a large, and very old, floppy teddy bear. Then she stuffed her bag under the seat and settled in, with the bear on her lap and her book on the fold-out tray. The stewardess smiled at her and she grinned back. "It's my flight-bear," Bulma said. "He keeps me safe." The stewardness nodded and moved on.
One of the downsides to being the president of an international corporation was the amount of time she had to spend in meetings and flying to said meetings. However, since this had pretty much been her way of life all through her adult years, Bulma was used to it. She'd found that the easiset way to deal with it was to space out. She spent a lot of time reading and listening to music. She decided to save working on the laptop for later in the flight, when she'd want to be waking herself up for the conference ahead of her.
It was only an hour or so into the flight when IT happened. Two panicked flight attendants, each with a knife-toting man at their back, started herding everyone to the back of the plane. "We have a bomb!" one of the knife-men announced threateningly when some of the passengers seemed inclined to resist. Bulma clutched her teddy bear and stared at them with huge, frightened eyes. Knife#2 smirked at her, and she clutched the bear tighter. After a few more threats and a random beating ("So you don't get any ideas"), they left for the cockpit. Moments later, the bodies of the captain and co-pilot were dragged down the aisle. They were left about halfway down the plane. "That's your line," Knife#1 said. "Don't cross it." Then both Knives took up positions in front of the doors to the first class cabin.
Bulma waited tensly with the other passengers. There was no way to know what their hijackers were up to, not without asking, and chances that they'd actually answer were about zilch. Eventually, satisfied that their hostages were sufficiently cowed, the Knives left. They shouted back a few more threats, then disappeared past the first class curtain. This gave Bulma the chance that she'd been waiting for. Ignoring the nervous shifting and worried whispers around her, she calmly ripped off her teddy-bear's head. Inside she had rope, fishing wire, and rags. She checked them all quickly, to be sure that they were still sound. They had, after all, been in the bear for many years. Bulma believed in being prepared. Smiling grimly, she stood.
"Now," she said. "Who's ready to do something?"
It took awhile, of course. They had to be quiet, and they had to hide what they were doing. The Knives weren't stupid, they made regular trips back to make sure everything was quiet. But soon they had everything set. Four pairs of people were stationed at different spots in the aisles. They crouched down on either side of the aisle, hiding behind the seats. A thin line of fishing wire lay waiting on the floor.
At Bulma's signal selected passengers started fighting, raising voices filled with panic and anger. Right on cue, Knife#2 burst in shouting. Within moments, he was tripped and silenced by one of the hidden pairs. They quickly stuffed rags in his mouth and tied him up. The fighters kept up appearances by continuing the shouting and screaming.
Knife#1 came charging in soon enough, and met the same fate. They were both brought back to the galley, where Bulma had set up resistance headquarters. They glared at her and growled threateningly through their gags. "Now, now, boys," she said, smiling evilly, "That's really not the way to act." Toying with one of the captured knives she crouched in front of them. "I know you're not afraid of death." They smirked at her. She smirked back. "I don't want you dead. Oh no, I want you very much alive... BUT," she lowered the knife meaningfully, "I don't care if you're... INTACT... or not." Both men paled, and she grinned sharkily at them. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other."
Delegating some of the brawniest passengers to guard detail, she stood and signaled the fighters, who had kept up their act through her little talk with their captors. They changed tactics and started wailing as though they were being successfully subdued. "It's about fucking time!" they heard one of the hijackers from the cockpit call back. In response, a woman screamed.
"Oh my god! My baby!" she shouted hysterically, and did a credible impression of fainting. After that, the sounds of fighting faded as everyone retreated to the back of the plan for stage two.
Everyone smiled, and there were handshakes for those who had taken direct part. Bulma nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you all," she said quietly. "Now comes the more dangerous part. We have to act quickly or they'll wonder why the others aren't returning. You," she said to one of the men who had helped capture Knife#1 and #2, "and you," she said to another, "come with me. The rest of you take up the positions we discussed earlier and be ready."
Quickly she and the two chosen guards walked up the aisle, clutching make-shift weapons. Bulma didn't keep the knife because she couldn't use one as a weapon, and knew that was a liability. Instead she had someone's laptop, large enough to be a bit of protection and heavy enough to make a respectable bludgeon. One of the people walking with her had the knife. It turned out that her name was Claudia and that she was a student of a small but vicious Hispanic martial art that involved lots of knives. The other guard was named Richard and he was retired military. Richard carried someone's large, professional camera.
Quietly they snuck up on the cockpit. Sensing people approaching, and expecting his people, the hijacker pilot called back to them. "What took you idiots so long?"
"Oh, nothing much," Richard said. The hijackers immediately turned around, reaching for their weapons. Richard calmly brought the camera up and took their picture. The flash, designed for night photography, instantly blinded them. Bulma stepped in with the laptop and swung in an arc that bashed their heads neatly one after the other, not giving one time to come to the aid of the other. Richard and Claudia took care of the rest, dragging them back to be tied up with the others. Bulma could hear the cheers of the other passengers as she settled herself into the pilot's chair.
It wasn't over yet, though. Genuis though she was, and having more than a passing familiarity with flying airplanes, she still wasn't sure how to fly this particular jet. There wasn't time to learn, either, but she only needed to know one button. The radio.
"Tower, this is flight #607. Come in, please. Repeat, this is flight 607, someone please come in!"
The radio crackled in response. "Flight 607 this is Tower Control in Narita. We need more time--" Bulma cut them off.
"Tower, you have all the time you need. The hijackers have been dealt with. Captain and co-pilot are dead. Request immediate assistance in flying this thing!"
"Who-- What--?!" the radio spluttered. Behind it she could hear whoops and cheers.
"FLY THIS THING!" Bulma shouted.
"Yes, ma'am," the voice responded, dazed. Then he began rattling instructions which Bulma followed as quickly as possible. Once they were more or less set, she answered his questions.
"Who: Bulma Briefs, Richard Clay, Claudia Algodo, and the rest of the passengers. What: over-powered the hijackers and took back the plane."
Tower Control was speechless. "HOW?"
Bulma smiled grimly. "Be prepared. And promise yourself never to be helpless."
This is probably not terribly realistic in places. But hey, who said that wish fulfillment had to be realistic?