Episode Three

'The Hermit's Arrival'

Earlier that morning . . .
Roshi was glad to arrive in West City; he'd thought he might never see it again.

Not that he wasn't eager to return home soon if for no other reason than to be sure that Oolong and Puar didn't eat him out of house and home, but he knew he needed to be here in West City.

He knew when he heard that a 'golden warrior' had destroyed the androids that it had to be Bulma's son, and he knew when the 'golden warrior' had called martial artists to West City and Capsule Corporation's headquarters that he was looking to rebuild Earth's Special Forces.

And Roshi knew he had to help in whatever way he could. Out of a debt to humanity as a whole, or simply to wash away the shame of not fighting the androids even knowing that he couldn't possibly win . . .

Roshi thought about seeing Trunks and Bulma again after so long and decided, I should bring a cake.

The city had been nearly completely rebuilt, as the home of Capsule Corp. HQ it had been the center of a great deal of the rebuilding effort funded by the corporation.

While the city's population had suffered during the Android's rampage it had seen a great many new residents arrive from their various hiding places. It might be the most populated city on earth now, Roshi thought.

So he had a far easier time finding a bakery than he'd expected. One rather nice building with a large sign that looked like a chocolate cake almost seemed to jump out at him.

The old turtle hermit headed right over, seeing several police officers crowded around the place. Usually a good sign, the old man thought to himself.

He walked in and enjoyed the scent of fresh bread. There were several cakes on display and many police officers forming a long line.

Roshi waited in line and watched as the team of bakers worked. Especially a stocky young woman with short brown hair held under a net. He watched her as she worked not for the usual reasons he stared at women—or at least not exclusively for the usual reasons he stared at women—as the line gradually moved forward.

While others worked quickly enough she worked with blazing speed and with a surety of someone experienced beyond what her years would likely have allowed. More than that, she had a definite technique and she made a real show of tossing doe in the air, catching it on the pan or striking holes in the donuts.

It was something of a show, and the audience—the police officers—enjoyed it immensely.

And here I thought they were just living up to stereotypes. Roshi thought to himself as his turn arrived.

The plump woman at the register, obviously an older relative of the younger artisan baker, her mother perhaps, smiled pleasantly at him and asked, "What can I do for you?"

Roshi dug out his dusty old wallet and said, "I'd like a cake . . . something nice, something you give a friend you haven't seen in a long time."

"Oh? Well sure, we have a large selection of cakes. Is there any flavor you'd like?"

Roshi considered, but found himself a bit distracted by the younger woman's showmanship. "Oh I suppose chocolate is always a safe bet, don't you think?"

"It's pretty popular," the plump woman agreed, "Our chocolate cake with rich vanilla frosting is a local favorite, even though we've only been open a month."

"Well let's go with lady's choice!" Roshi decided, "I'll take a vanilla frosted chocolate cake."

"Good choice sir." The plump woman smiled, "Anavill? Bring a nice fresh one!"

The stocky younger woman stopped toying with the donuts and dashed into a back room, emerging with a white box tied with brown string. She handed the box to her mother and went back to her dough, all of it taking less than a minute.

"Quite a graceful girl. Has she had any martial arts training?" Roshi asked.

The plump woman smiled, "Oh, well yes actually. Our Ana had a few classes at the dojo down the road, but she's only a beginner. Classes were canceled today so her teacher could be at the Golden Warrior's announcement."

Roshi smiled and said, "If you ask me, thats where she should be too. She's got real potential you know, and I'm a man who knows a thing or two about martial artists."

"You think so?" Anavill said, turning to regard Roshi though still catching her dough on the pan.

"Maybe on your break, sweetie." Her mother said with a smile, and Roshi paid for his cake and left.

He decided to take the long way to Capsule Corp. and enjoy the sights of the rebuilt city. After about an hour he'd made it about halfway to his destination when he heard the sounds of a scuffle in a nearby alleyway.

He stopped and looked down they alley to see a trio of tough looking kids crowded around a smaller boy.

The fighting was obviously one-sided, just not in favor of the side most people might have expected.

The smaller boy avoided most of the attacks and took any that landed without seeming too bothered.

He wasn't making much attempt to hit back, instead it seemed more like he was letting them wear themselves down, occasionally redirecting them with a surprising fluidity.

Master Roshi wouldn't just stand around and watch young men trying to beat each other senseless, so he took a seat on the lid of a trashcan that seemed clean enough and watched the show unfold. He was ready to act if necessary, but he felt like there was no need for him to intervene. The three larger aggressors were making no headway with their would-be victim, instead they were just running out of breath and looking foolish.

Eventually the thugs were worn out, the biggest of them was bent over hands on his knees panting and the other two were being a lot more weary. One of the two still trying to attack tried a wild swing which would have missed even if the smaller boy didn't dodge out of the way and let the thug behind him run into the blow.

Roshi couldn't help but laugh then and all four boys looked at him in surprise.

"Oh don't let me interrupt!" The old hermit chortled, "Go ahead boys, finish up."

"We're done here." The biggest thug grunted, "You get to live another day, Schip. But this ain't over."

"It is for today." The younger boy, presumably Schip said, popping his neck.

He was making a good show of it, but Roshi could tell he was a little worn out too. The old man used his staff to tap the lid of the trashcan next to the one he was sitting on and said, "Got a minute, young'un?"

"I guess . . ." Schip said, coming over but not sitting.

Roshi smiled, "How long have you been practicing martial arts?"

"Martial what now?" Schip shrugged, "Not ever."

"Not ever?" Roshi raised an eyebrow. He supposed it was possible, the boy's technique hadn't been familiar but it seemed a little too practiced and planned to be just wild movements in the heat of battle.

"Not ever." The boy confirmed.

"You're a good fighter." Roshi said.

"I'm still alive." Schip said evasively.

"Run into the Androids?"

"No, not personally. No one ever did and lived. I mean except the golden warrior."

"Know about the Golden Warrior, eh?" Roshi asked. "What do you think?"

"He's a hero!" Schip said. "He saved the world, old man, have you been living under a rock?"

"No, just in a submarine!" Roshi laughed, but neither Schip nor the three thugs catching their breath in the alley joined in. He rubbed his bearded chin and asked, "When's the last time you ate anything?"

He almost expected Schip to say 'not ever' and would almost have believed it but the boy just shrugged. "A few days, I guess."

Roshi smiled and handed him the box from Anavill's bakery. "I got this for a friend, but you look like you need it more."

Schip looked dubious, as if he thought it might be some kind of trick but after a while he rushed in and snatched the box. He opened it up and his eyes went wide.

"You're just giving me this, mister?"

"Yep." Roshi nodded.

Schip hesitated, then looked over his shoulder at the three bigger kids glaring at his back. He said, "Alright, Mace. You too, Dill and Alum. We can share, tomorrow don't give me such a hard time."

"Seriously?" One of the thugs gawked. The largest one seemed to hesitate, the other two watched him and didn't move to accept the offer until he finally nodded.

Roshi nodded as well, watching with satisfaction as the four boys shared the cake, ignoring dirty hands and lack of utensils. It wouldn't last long between them. "Did you know the Golden Warrior lives in the Capsule Corp. headquarters building in this city? You should go there, Schip."

"Why?" Schip asked.

"Because you're a good fighter, of course!"

Roshi left the hungry boys to finish off the no doubt delicious cake and continued on his way, finally arriving at the Capsule Corp. building.

He smiled, he could feel the power and energy from so many martial artists crowding around the place. He began to move into the crowd when a pair of large rough looking men stopped him.

One was brunette and wore a white gi and the other was blond and wore a red gi. They both looked pretty beat up, the blond held out a hand and said, "Hold it old man. For your own safety you really shouldn't be here."

"Oh yeah?" Roshi raised an eyebrow at him.

"Martial Artists from all over the world are here, a lot of them are aggressive." The brunette said, folding his arms. "Everyone's waiting for the Golden Warrior's speech today and with the way things are there could be a riot."

"Well I'm glad you're concerned for my safety but I'll be just fine!" Roshi laughed. It did look like these two strapping young fighters had taken quite the beating fairly recently.

"I don't think you understand," the blond said, "you're in danger if you stick around here."

"Not as much danger as you're in if you don't get to steppin', boys!"

A sharp female voice rang out and sent both men cowering away in a rush. A slender woman of average height stepped through the crowd. She had pink hair and wore a tight black and pink outfit, which would have been more than enough to get Roshi's attention on its own, but there was something else interesting about her as well.

"Well well, they sure ran off in a hurry." Roshi said.

"Yeah, I guess they didn't fancy getting their butts kicked by a girl twice in one day. Let me guess, thought you were too old to be here, right? Never mind them, they thought I was too ladylike to be here, showed 'em what was what. Can't stand meddlesome people like that, think they know what's best for everyone."

"Handled 'em yourself, eh?" Roshi asked.

"Of course. Don't tell me you think I'm too ladylike too." The woman scoffed.

Roshi just grinned and gazed appreciatively at her figure behind his black sunglasses.

"I wouldn't say you're too ladylike for anything at all. So tell me, does 'perfection' have another name?"

"Paragon' maybe? But if you're talking about me it's Pastel, and at your age you should be ashamed." The young woman laughed.

Roshi was about to make a really witty comeback when the crowd's excitement rose and he felt Trunks' approach.

He could feel Trunks just by the overwhelming power he radiated, even though Roshi could tell the young man was trying to keep it down, there was simply too much to be contained.

At least in comparison to all these people.

Roshi had no trouble recognizing Trunks, even though he'd last seen him as a baby. He frowned as he watched the nervous young man. He seemed a little older than Roshi would have expected, but stressful living could do that. Still the old man's smile returned when Trunks said, "Uh h-hello. I-I'm Trunks Briefs, and I'm the one who killed the Androids. I'm the one you all call the golden warrior."


Z=Z=Z=Z=Z=Z=Z


"Have you eaten yet?" Trunks asked as he led Master Roshi into the Capsule Corp. headquarters, "I sort of skipped breakfast to make the early morning announcement."

"And I skipped it to listen." Master Roshi chuckled. Bulma led them both to the cafeteria, they'd left Basil and Thyme behind to help with the fighter registration.

The newly rebuilt Capsule Corp. cafeteria was built to accommodate maybe twenty scientists and engineers and the kitchens weren't really fully staffed yet.

But the staff they had had managed to put together a reasonable enough breakfast. Eggs and rice with a bowl of fruit at the center of the table. Trunks and Roshi both sat and trays were rapidly brought to them by the staff, eager to impress. His mother had already eaten breakfast, but she sat with them and enjoyed a cup of coffee anyway.

"I was surprised to see you, Master Roshi." Bulma said, taking a sip of her coffee. "To be honest, I sort of thought . . ."

"The Androids had got me?" Master Roshi supplied and Bulma nodded. He lowered his gaze and admitted, "Part of me wished they had. There was nothing I could do to stop them, but I wanted to try."

"You would have been no match for them." Bulma reassured him.

"That may be, but that doesn't make it any easier to hide away in a submarine while two metal monstrosities murder millions." Master Roshi said. He looked to Trunks and said, "When I heard that the son of Bulma Briefs had been the one to destroy the Androids I wasn't completely surprised, but when I learned he was calling for the world's greatest martial artists I figured you were planning on training a new batch of warriors. Thought I could help with that!"

"I'm grateful for the help," Trunks said honestly, "I had no idea how I'd manage to train anyone!"

Roshi nodded, "I can help, I've already noticed a few in the mob who've got some potential. How were you planning to decide who to train?"

"A tournament," Bulma answered. "Televised, it'll help improve the public morale. The winners will receive a cash reward from Capsule Corporation, and we'll evaluate the performance of everyone involved."

"That sounds like a big time consuming affair." Master Roshi said.

"Yes, but it should give us a chance to really get a feel for these fighters and their abilities." Trunks said. "Anyone can get lucky in a tournament fight, and selfish monsters can be strong fighters. We want people with skill as well as luck, and we want people who'll put the people before themselves, just like the old fighters did."

Roshi stroked his beard thoughtfully, prompting Trunks to ask, "Do you uh . . . have any suggestions?"

"I think that'd be fine, it's a good way to find strong fighters. But you also want good students who're willing to learn. Some of the top fighters in that crowd think they know it all already."

"I noticed." Trunks nodded.

"But I think you two might have humbled them a bit." His mother said with a laugh.

"Well maybe a bit!" Master Roshi laughed along with Bulma.

Trunks smiled, "I hope I didn't discourage anyone."

"I wouldn't worry about it, like I said I spoke to a lot of them and I know most of them already know you're stronger than they'll ever be."

"That's not what we want though," Trunks admitted, "it's fine that I'm the strongest now but if there's anyone out there that could surpass me I hope they do."

Trunks felt a little embarrassed when his mother and Master Roshi fell silent. They looked at him for a moment, and finally his mother said, "Gohan left you big shoes to fill, Trunks. But you're Earth's greatest guardian now. It's pretty unlikely that anyone out there can surpass you when you've been training for so long."

"Saiyans have a tendency to get stronger faster, and at least if Gohan and yourself are anything to go by Half-Saiyans are no different." Master Roshi said. "Not many humans will be able to approach your level, let alone match it. The truth is you're probably going to be training a support crew instead of replacements."

Trunks nodded slowly, "I know . . . but I won't be around forever, and I feel like threats to the earth aren't going to just stop."

"They probably won't." His mother told him, "But you know I have some ideas about what to do to help with that."

"What do you have in mind?" Roshi asked.

"Actually I'm hoping to find some means of contacting New Namek. Knowing that they supplied the alternate time line Earth with a new Guardian makes me think we should try to do the same thing here."

"When the time machine builds up enough power again I plan to try going back and finding out."

"I can see if my sister Baba and her crystal ball can help with that, but how will you reach New Namek if you do learn its location?"

"In a ship of course. Just like the one Goku used to reach planet Namek." Bulma answered.

"Now that the world is getting back on its feet we're hoping to build a new ship." Trunks elaborated. "That's another reason I'm hoping to have a crew of fighters ready, if I have to leave Earth for months at a time I . . . sort of want to know the planet will still be here when I get back."

It was a joke, but nobody laughed.

Trunks finished his food and looked at Master Roshi. He asked, "You said said you had some good candidates in mind?"

"A few." Master Roshi confirmed. "I'll see if I can't track them down for you after breakfast."

"That'd be great." Trunks nodded.

His mother smiled and said, "I can't think of a luckier break than you showing up on day one, Master Roshi."

"Neither can I. Thank you for coming." Trunks said gratefully.

Master Roshi smiled slightly, "Don't sell yourself short, young'un. You're on the right track looking for fighters and not necessarily just taking the winners of this tournament. I'll help as much as I can, but I think even if I weren't here you'd have been able to work things out."

Trunks smiled, "Thanks. I hope you're right."


Z=Z=Z=Z=Z=Z=Z


Lieutenant Cereza was shaking in his boots as the captain surveyed the survivors of the planet's population.

Six individuals, each with a power level over one thousand. They'd been deadly opponents and the crew had suffered losses as a result.

So now Captain Kalt was going to make them an offer they couldn't refuse.

"We're not completely uncivilized. You all proved yourselves powerful warriors and the Galactic Trade Army is in need of powerful warriors. You caused my crew to take losses, it seems only fair that you . . . enlist."

The species were muscular and very rotund. They reminded Cereza of Lord Frieza's old henchman Dodoria, but they lacked the spikes and pink skin, instead having short stubby horns on their heads and a more gray shade of skin and apelike faces.

"What makes you think we'd ever serve you?" One of them demanded.

"Survival." The Captain said simply. "Serve me and you survive. Think of it: your race's existence preserved through you. You, the one last chance your people have of ever returning, no matter how obscure that opportunity may be. You're hardly a breeding population, but where there's life there's hope, and I am offering you hope."

The gray alien who had spoken up before did so again and said, "All right, we'll serve you."

"Ah not so fast." Captain Kalt smiled his predatory smile. "I only have five openings in my crew."

A sinister laugh passed through the assembled warriors, even Cereza laughed. These gray primitives had given him a bit of a rough time but now they were almost extinct and he knew what the Captain was going to demand next.

"I'm afraid there's only room for five of you on the ship. One of you . . . can't come along."

The spokesman alien seemed taken aback, all six looked at one another in terror.

"H-how will you decide who stays behind?" Another of them asked.

"I won't." Captain Kalt said with a wicked smile. "You will. I'm going to turn around and count to ten. Decide democratically if you like, but when I reach ten and turn back around I expect to see just five of you still living. If there are still six of you alive then I'll kill all six of you. Now . . . one . . ."

The gray aliens were shocked and quickly two of them fell upon the spokesman who fought back fiercely.

The crew laughed at the sport and enjoyed the show and when the Captain said "Eight" the spokesman managed to knock one of his comrade's heads back harshly, snapping its neck.

Cereza laughed and checked the fighters' power levels on his scouter. It was a respectable three thousand, as high as Cereza's own, the speaker's power level had spiked at four thousand though it was diminishing now.

The Captain reached ten and turned around. "Splendid!" He said with a laugh, "I'm glad you worked that out. Well then welcome to the family. We have strict but very fair rules, you'll learn them soon enough. They're not complicated, keep your uniform clean, your quarters tidy, and . . ." The captain's cold gaze fell on Cereza, "never . . . disappoint . . . me."

Cereza swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Lieutenant Cereza . . . how many men did we lose on this world?"

"F-four?" The Appullatien answered nervously.

"And how many openings did I say this crew had?"

"F-f-five?" Cereza squeaked.

Captain Kalt smiled, "Well then I ask you again, how many men did we lose on this world?"

Cereza's mind raced looking for a way to survive this situation. His teeth were chattering too badly to properly speak an answer to the question. He managed to take a step back, maybe he could run and hide? Maybe he could go into exile? The Captain was a good ten paces away, he might be able to run away fast enough.

It hadn't been his fault, the ship's scouters had been wrong, it wasn't his fault that the natives were stronger than they looked.

And it wouldn't be fair to kill him, he was still stronger than most of the rest of—That's it! He thought desperately.

He stretched his hand out and with power born mostly of his desperation put everything he had into a blast that took the head off of one of the weakest members of the crew.

There was a stunned silence from all assembled, then finally Captain Kalt threw his head back and laughed.

The rest of the crew laughed too.

Cereza allowed himself to relax a bit and laugh as well.

Then he closed his eyes to blink and felt something hit him hard in the chest and knock the wind out of him. When his eyes opened the Captain was no longer standing ten paces away.

But his hand was sticking out of the Lieutenant's chest.

Cereza looked down in terror and tried to scream in pain and fear but all that escaped his mouth as a wet gurgle.

Captain Kalt said, "Another good rule of thumb is not to kill anyone without my permission, no matter how amusing it might be. I think that concludes orientation, someone bring me a wet washcloth?"

He roughly removed his arm from Cereza's chest cavity and the Appullatien fell to the ground to die alone on the grass of an alien world far from home, the last thing his dying mind would register was the laughter of comrades he'd fought alongside for a lifetime.

None of it mattered to him as he lay there dead. While it wouldn't help the doomed Cereza, there was at least one member of the crew on whom the sadness of the situation was not lost amidst the cruel laughter. Whether the Captain had truly intended it or not, a lesson had been learned.

To Be Continued . . .


On the next episode of Dragon Ball COED . . . Master Roshi introduces Trunks to some of his future students, while others look forward to proving themselves to the heroic warrior.