Chapter II
The Chief Astronomer
A shadow on top of the world, that is how the astronomer imagined himself. He knew reality was not far off. The observation deck of Starlook Temple was the highest point in Federation City, rivaled in height by only a few of mankind's other great works, and the city spread beneath the astronomer, a sea of torch and lantern fire.
Federation Sentries patrolled the skies above Federation City, that was true. The astronomer was not really the highest soul in the city. Black raptors against the black—he spotted their paths from time to time as the sentries blotted out the stars behind them. But the astronomer did not let this inconsistency malign his solitude. At the peak of Starlook, from midnight to sunup, he was alone. Sometimes sad, sometimes at peace.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind him. The astronomer closed his ledger.
The balding crown of the Chief Astronomer bobbed up the stairwell, and the muscular old man stepped out onto the deck. A high altitude breeze yanked on his light evening robe.
"Chief Astronomer."
"Good evening." The Chief Astronomer greeted his underling by name. "Cold up here."
"Always, sir."
The two men stood quiet, watching the sky, as astronomers will do. Soon, purple was bleeding up the curtain of the sky, the astronomer's work coming to a close.
"You're up early," the astronomer remarked to his superior.
"Actually I am up very late," his Chief replied. He sighed. "I am having trouble sleeping of late, what with the going-ons in the world. The Nikin Royal House has been exceptionally aggressive lately. There was another skirmish in the borderlands."
The astronomer knew his Chief was of Nikin lineage, and based on his age, he would have been prime fighting age for the last Nikin rebellion. He was built like a warrior, anyway, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest.
"Bloody fools," the Chief added.
It gave the astronomer great relief to know his Chief had somehow escaped the brainwashing the Nikin gave their youth.
"We astronomers have more important things to worry about," the astronomer said, gesturing to the changeless stars. They both laughed. Laughed at the joke, laughed at the truth of the matter.
Because they knew that in the celestial spheres, the affairs of men were predicted, and in the stars' movements, fates predicted. But more than astrology, the peoples of the world turned their eyes to the sky for a single reason: to catch sight of threat. Death came from the sky, from the space beyond the sky, so their forebears had predicted—and many of the great heroes of old had laid down their lives protecting the planet from such alien threats.
"Will there be war?" the Chief said, echoing the astronomer's thoughts. "Surely reason should prevail. But my stomach tells me otherwise. Sometimes I feel we are just counting down the days to the Harbinger."
The word sent chills down the astronomer's spine, though he thought of the prophecy often. A falling star, that heralded the judgment of the Earth. The astronomer burped lightly. He was a man who dealt in science, in astronomy and astrology. The Harbinger was more legend than fact, the actual prophecy lost to the sands.
"What is that?" the astronomer asked aloud. A sudden light had appeared on the edge of dawn, nearly as bright as a planet. The astronomer regretted his outburst—how foolish to forget a planet sitting on the horizon.
"Bulma have mercy," the Chief gasped. "I think it's getting brighter."
The astronomers looked at each other, horrified. Intrigued.
"The Goku must be told at once," the Chief declared. The wind howled as he blasted off the observation deck and dove down towards the city. Still so powerful, even in his age. Just who was that old man, warrior or scientist? The astronomer lost track of his precious ledger and it dropped and rang upon the stone.
Agghus
A black blur became a lightish blur. A fog became a headache. Agghus groaned. He pushed himself up with one hand and test the cloth bandage around his neck with the other. A raging headache.
"Easy there, friend. You're still pretty hammered."
Crossed blades came into focus on, the small, sheathed blade that had been used to poison Agghus, and his heavy Wolf Fang Dagger, sashed to the ninja's hip. A smile hid behind the ninja's cloth mask. The Nikin warrior muttered something about killing him, and his murderous threat was met with laughter.
"In your state, I'm not sure you'll be able to throw a straight punch. Much less a ki wave."
The ninja's eyes twinkled in the thin slit in his face-mask. He put his hands on his hips.
"And if you do try any of the Nikin-blow-myself-up-for-God-and-country bullshit—I will be on you faster than a boozer on rum."
The ninja—warrior—whoever he was—waggled a fist in Agghus's direction. Agghus's head reeled.
"And then I'll leave you, knocked out, trussed up like an goose at your buddies' feet, instead of giving you the dignity of walking over to them of your own power… They're right over there, by the way."
The edges of the room were coming into focus. It was small and dirty, a flimsy wooden storage shed, no doubt, at the edge of the Wolfwood. Through a pane of brown glass, a group of Nikin soldiers were just visible, standing at ease.
"Fuck me," Agghus grumbled.
"Ah, the truth of your predicament is becoming clear, eh?"
The ninja was right. Agghus was trapped. A warrior's death was no longer an option. He would have to return to the General Court, an utter failure. There was no more awful fate for a warrior of his class.
The ninja folded his arms. There was something familiar about him, something remembered, and in that moment Agghus felt such a pure hatred as he never had in his life. His veins throbbed. His pain receded to fury. He began to stand.
"Not quite," the ninja said, and he moved—struck—before so much as the hint of an aura could rise around Agghus. Pressure points spasmed across Agghus's body and he collapsed like a cloth puppet. The ninja set him gently—insultingly gently—on the bare wooden floor.
"Alright, slugger, listen up. The only reason you are alive right now is to deliver a message to the General Court."
Agghus's rage flickered. That attack—Agghus was still trying to comprehend it. So fast, so precise. It shut him down. Even in his drugged state, Agghus could fully register the skill. He was dealing with an Champion Level warrior, perhaps one of a few hundred on the planet.
"If the Nikin want to start another bullshit war, then so be it."
For the first time, the ninja's voice registered something beside amusement. Disdain. Maybe anger.
"We can't stop you. But stick to the laws of the Federation Treaty. No innocent casualties. No cities leveled. No war crimes. And know that if you don't—there will be no more Nikin."
So Agghus had been prevented from taking a warrior's death, from salvaging something of his mission, for this: to deliver an existential threat to the Generals, his highest superiors and personal heroes. His blood was curdling with anger. Who was this warrior?!
"Well, tootle-loo!"
A flash and a bang ripped the shed apart. Agghus staggered into the arms of his comrades, coughing in dust, still woozy from the poison, a single thought on his brain. Who was that man?
Zelli
Zelli lingered on the edge of morning, watching new continents and oceans cross the line from night to morning. She zoomed from spot to spot across the globe, investigating the biosphere with its all-too-familiar inhabitants, while Daan prepped from planet entry. Her excitement had reached dangerous levels.
Zelli feared she would explode.
"Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!" Daan whirred.
How will I be greeted? Zelli wondered. As a long lost orphan, returning to the family? With awe and curiosity? Civilization had regressed even further from the time her ancestors had departed in their great spaceliners. Children ran around barefoot, homes were mud-brick, much of the trade seemed barter—a live chicken for a sack of grain. And they had chickens! Zelli hoped her arrival would not scare them.
"Oh my!"
"For Goku's sake, what is it!?" Zelli hollered at her dumb copilot.
"These readings, Captain—"
"What about them?!"
"They don't make sense. Even for me, and I'm a very sophisticated program."
"Oh, shut up about you and take us down already."
"There's more energy on this planet that the biomass should be able to hold—a million times over."
"Blah blah blah we'll figure it out when we get there. Come on! The ship's done prepping and we've transmitted our findings back to the mothership. Take us down—right there!"
Zelli pointed to a city that was just crossing into the morning, a metropolis like a freckle on the planet, the biggest one yet.
"Zelli, wait! We need more time to prep! We should follow protocol and study—"
"Take me to their leader! Let's get a move on!"
"Zelli they can fly!" Daan shouted, with uncharacteristic volume.
Daan zoomed into the city. A young woman in blue silks, glorious billowing pants and a coat, decorated in red and gold, hung like an ornament in the sky. She carried a large sack of parcels, maybe scrolls. Is it a trick of the light? To answer her question, the messenger-woman dove back into the city, the wind spinning around her clothes.
"They can fly," Zelli squeaked. She remembered the legends, of course. The Z Team had taught the people of Earth to increase their ki, but the power needed to fly…? She asked to see another, and Daan promptly pulled up a dozen windows of messengers, soldiers, sky-rickshaws and what seemed like average people soaring above the earth. It was nearly too much.
"Take us down."
"Zelli, let's take a deep breath, and use a moment—"
"Captain Gaia, switching to manual controls," Zelli announced, and she activated the manual steering throttle and began her descent to the planet below.
Vandakir
The Wolf Clan and their allies—the Boar Clan and the Turtle School—did not have diluted Saiyan bloodlines. They had, in fact, no Saiyan in them at all. Their ancestors were all just regular humans who had learned to increase their ki during the Z-Awakening. Some, like the Wolf Clan, used their newfound abilities to draw strength from the Earth itself. But they were still only human, still only so strong.
Which meant that if Vandakir could only learn to become a Super Saiyan, he would instantly become the strongest one in the room.
The warriors of the Wolf Clan did not seem worried; Vandakir did not blame them. If he could go Super Saiyan, he certainly would have done so by now. He was not even bound. The only thing wrapped around his body was a healing poultice bandaged over his shoulder.
"What do you want from me?"
The elders of the Wolf Clan, Hog Clan and Turtle School sat on mats along the cavern walls.
"I won't turn against the Nikin, even though they tried to kill me!"
"Of course not," replied the man in the chair at the end of the cavern. "You are Nikin, and Nikin never betrays Nikin, except for the good of the state and the worship of the God of War."
The deep voice added, "Fucking idiots."
Vandakir tensed. He clenched his good hand. Was this going to be it? Was he finally going to become a Super Saiyan? He strained against some invisible bonds. No, of course not.
"Is something bothering you?"
The one skylight in the cavern—a simply hole in the rocky roof—shown a yellow beam of light into Vandakir's eyes, and blinded him from seeing the man right before him. He didn't like it, didn't like the voice, didn't like the old man's long, pointy nails, hanging over the arms of his throne. There was something off about this elder, something different.
"Well, I'm wounded in a room full of my enemies."
"We saved your life, you ungrateful wretch."
Vandakir sighed. It was useless to struggle.
"Yes and… Thank you for that, whoever you are. But you should have just let me die. I cannot go back, and I won't turn against my own people. All I ask is that you make it quick."
Vandakir bowed his head in a ceremonial gesture of sacrifice. The old man snorted with laughter.
"Is the play over? Should we clap?"
Paper shuffled, and he tossed the treaty Vandakir had been carrying into Vandakir's lap.
"You think we need your help unraveling this plan? The Nikin want to bait the Wolves into a war, momentarily distract their allies, and conquer territory piece by piece until they again rival the Federation in power. Doesn't take a genius to sort this out. We don't need you to turn over information."
The old man leaned forward, cutting off the light, and Vandakir realized that he was not a man at all—men do not have long pointy ears, or short fangs, or green skin.
Piccolo smiled, "We have much bigger plans for you."
Zelli
The rim of the planet slipped out of Zelli's view as she pointed her ship's nose towards the earth. Daan chattered frantically but his captain was in the zone, now. The Zelli-zone. The surface neared and all the wonders of Zelli's imagination—and the hopes of her lost people's survival—began to manifest:
Teal rivers in brown deserts.
Pine forests between snowy mountain caps.
A city, sprawling with stone towers and open-air causeways, golden roofed palaces and muddy canals, flags of every color flapping in the marketplaces.
It was all heartbreakingly beautiful. The ship punched into a bank of clouds.
"Captain Gaia, life signals approaching!"
"Up here?!"
"Confirmed. Approaching fast," Daan said urgently. The fact that he wasn't being surly frightened Zelli.
On screen, Daan targeted two moving shapes. A second later, the ship broke the cloud-layer, and the creatures came into view. They wore metal armor and carried metal spears of ancient Earth warriors, and were approaching at nearly five hundred klicks an hour.
"PEOPLE CAN FLY HERE?!" Zelli exclaimed.
"You knew that already!" Daan snapped.
The throttle rattled in Zelli's hands; she was starting to regret switching to manual. Piloting was not really her thing; captaining was her thing. The first flying soldier hit and immediately the ship started wailing.
"Warning! Warning! Foreign object on the hull! Warning!"
Zelli had felt the ship, a ball of metal capable of passing through the corona of a star—rattle with the impact.
"Oh man oh man what do I do?! Daan!"
"Warning! Warning! Foreign object—"
The second flying-man struck and they began to spin. Gravity pulled on Zelli's stomach like a slipknot. Despite the centripetal force, they clung on.
"They appear to be some kind of warriors—"
"What do they want?!"
"Warning! Warning! External shield breached!"
"Apparently to destroy our fuselage."
"Not helping!"
More life signals, more flying soldiers were approaching fast.
"Warning! Warning!"
Through the glare of the alarm lights, Zelli watched a visual of the two humanoids on her ship—one stabbing the engine casing with his spear, the other prying at the metal barehanded. His hands!
"Well, tell them to stop!"
"Warning! Warning!"
"WE COME IN PEACE," Daan broadcast to the men destroying the ship. "WE ARE FRIENDS!"
He began to cycle the message through ancient earth languages. A rear thrust erupted in a stream of fire. ("Warning! Warning! Rear thruster damage!") The flying-men shielded their faces from the plasma, and moved across the ship. A third, a female soldier, landed on the nose, directly over Zelli. He held on with one hand and used the other to smash his spearpoint into the cockpit.
"Warning! Warning!"
If the ship's cockpit was to disappear, the warrior and Zelli would be only a few yards away, looking into each other's eyes. Suddenly, she had an idea.
"Daan, screen down!"
The display screen and nosecone became transparent. Zelli and the soldier saw each other face to face, and the soldier froze. She was only a few years older than Zelli. Clouds spun like cotton-candy in a centrifuge around them.
"STOP! PLEASE!" Zelli begged for all she was good for.
A second later, the woman's expression returned: cold. The look of a soldier. The spearhead came down, warping the cockpit, fracturing the screen beneath, and severing the connection to black.
"WARN-NING! WARN-NING!" the alarm screamed distortedly.
"Daan?" Zelli squeaked. She wanted to be a kid again and go hide under a blanket.
"Maneuver Twenty-Seven."
Zelli took a deep breath and recalled her training. That Maneuver Twenty-Seven? The spear came down again, as hard as an artillery shell. Splinters of the glass screen showered across her face. She took a breath. Atmosphere howled through a break in the cockpit.
"Execute Maneuver Twenty-Seven."
The spear came down, and the ship exploded.
The Chief Astronomer
"Mister Goku!" the Chief Astronomer thundered. "Mister Goku!"
He raised his fist to hammer on the door. The guards crossed their spears in front of him. Gohan-class, elites. They would filet even a strong man like him if they wanted to. Outside, the city was waking up, the markets coming to life. A boom rang out, the work of an early morning demolition crew. But still, the Goku slept on. The Chief Astronomer had waited long enough; he decided to risk it and pound on the door. A bolt slid behind the door.
The Chief Astronomer caught his breath. The secretary behind him did the same.
"First Lady Pella," the Astronomer managed to gasp.
"Is there something we can do for you? My husband is resting."
The Chief Astronomer found that his mouth was stuffed with cotton. First Lady Pella, the wife of the Fiftieth Goku, was a beautiful woman—her rich saiyan bloodline had helped her retain her beauty as she aged—and never had this fact been more apparent to the Chief Astronomer than as she stood in her bedroom doorway, wearing nothing but a bed sheet.
"Chief Astronomer?"
"Uh, First Lady…"
Lady Pella held the silk sheet modestly against her chest. Somewhere beyond that draped goddess, the Fiftieth Goku, President of the World Federation of Peace, was recuperating. The Goku was an object of fascination in his own right. The single most influential man on the planet, and one of the youngest ever to hold the seat, the Goku had been a Martial Arts Champion before his equally successful foray into politics. Being a direct descendent of the First Goku hadn't hurt him in either venture.
The sound of a body, accelerating down the hall, drew their attention.
"A message for Mister Goku!"
"Oh, now what?" the secretary groaned.
A Federation messenger blasted down the hall. He pumped to a halt at the door, forcing Lady Pella to hold her sheet with both hands as the currents sent it whipping. Women of the Heron School, the Chief Astronomer made a mental note, are as bold as the rumors hold.
"Master Secretary, a message for the Goku!"
"Get in line," the Chief Astronomer snapped.
"What is it!" a voice shouted from beyond the door. There was the sound of clothing rustling, and the Fiftieth Goku himself, President of the World Federation, pulled the door open the rest of the way. He was flushed from exertion and had only begun to button his loose shirt.
"I'm here!" the Goku grinned. Lady Pella raised an eyebrow. "What's the news?"
Famously affable, the Fiftieth Goku was. The Chief Astronomer had met him only a handful of times, and had always found him pleasant, even warm. But to be mirthful when interrupted during… this? The man's good human lived up to the legends.
"Mister Goku, an alien spacecraft was just destroyed in the sky over Federation City!"
The Chief Astronomer could not breathe. So his estimation of the star had been right. But already destroyed? He realized the Goku was looking at him, searching his thoughts.
"Who knows about this?"
The Goku was no longer flushed. He nodded to his wife and she disappeared.
"A handful of officers, and one of the sentries who survived."
He buttoned up his collar.
"Bring them all to the Bunker."
He cracked his knuckles and nodded to the Chief Astronomer.
"Let's get to it, then."
The hint of a smile never left his features.
Zelli
The rear thruster had backfired, shorting the fusion coil. The engine exploded in an enormous fireball. The ship was obliterated, its circuitry liquified, its hull blown to slivers. Four of the five sentries were ripped to pieces; the last managed to shield himself and was caught by a second patrol as he fell to earth. The sky was bright with death—save for a tiny bubble-shield in the center of it all, which used the commotion to jet away from Federation City as fast as possible. Maneuver Twenty Seven worked exactly as intended.
Zelli had traveled in her bubble-shield extremely fast for many miles, beyond the stone towers of the metropolis, over a patchwork of fields and lines of forest, until her drop-pack ran out of power. She crash-landed at the edge of a grassy pasture, smashing through a heavy wooden fence and plowing for several meters through the topsoil until she finally stopped, the shield gave out, and her cloaking shut down.
After a few seconds sitting in the smoking dirt, Zelli attempted to stand, but her pack was too heavy and she was still woozy from the g-force. She fell back hard on her butt. Her shorts were starting to smoke from the scorched earth.
"One small step for man…" she grunted.
Zelli hauled herself clumsily to her feet. Her glorious return to the planet Earth—the first of her race to do so in thousands of years—had involved a mid-air attack, her ship exploding, and a singed pair of buttcheeks.
"Are you okay, Captain Gaia?"
Complete disaster did not begin to cover it.
"I don't know, Daan."
She did not have pants. She had not put on her expedition pants, and now they were long gone. She looked up at the morning sky—she had never see a sunrise over a real planet before, only from the portal on a spacecraft. She had never seen dawn break through clouds and dewey leaves of grass. But all she could feel was lost.
Daan's alarm sensor began beeping.
"Life signals approaching."
