Chapter Twelve

Examinations

The comprehensive results from the thorough scan on the artifact had been completed and reviewed, all of the data catalogued and analyzed. A team of researchers and their assistants had spent nearly a week since the first analysis going forwards and backwards over the data. They were now coming to an important realization: they had more new questions than they had answers.

Dr. Brynn, who had been leading the research efforts from day one, threw his pen down on the table in disgust. He sat back, rubbing his tired eyes. "This is turning fascination into frustration," he grumbled to his colleagues, who had joined him around the table for the morning meeting. For the sixth day in a row his hopes that a good night's sleep might shed some light on the research were dashed. Another three hours, four pots of coffee, and four scientific minds full of theories had gone by, all for naught.

Well, maybe it wasn't quite that bad. They had figured out a few more things that the artifact was not. Like a baseball. Or a grapefruit.

"Think outside the box" was the mantra Dr. Brynn applied to his profession. When in doubt, all a good researcher had to do was think of something progressively crazier until they would find the answer. However, as a scientist by profession and a human by nature, he could never bring himself to discard the rules and physics of the world that he perceived. Oh, there was always the maverick new theory that came along every few years and broke through to expand the established perceptions of science, but even that was a morbidly slow process. The underlying problem was that even as scientists thought "outside the box," they failed to notice the closed crate the box was stored in. As far as they were concerned, the box was it. It had to be.

But it wasn't, and they were blind to it. Blind not only to the true, borderless nature of reality, but to their own unseeing gaze. They were blind men who wholeheartedly believed that there was no such thing as sight. They could not even realize they were handicapped, because as far as they were concerned, the handicap did not – could not – exist.

"If this wasn't so damned interesting, I would just give up now," grumbled the youngest researcher, Dr. Timms. He was a firebrand young scientist, just into his thirties and recently privileged with a position at the West City Museum. "Who knew a ball of rock could be so intriguing?"

"We don't even know if it's a bloody rock," Dr. Jeeves replied in his deep English accent. He was an archaeological expert spending some time abroad working at the museum, taking advantage of the vigor of his late forties. His razor-sharp wits had long since put to rest the jokes of affiliating his name and accent with those of a butler.

The fourth researcher sitting at the table was Dr. Aginn. He was a wizened former trailblazer who was now approaching the time for retirement, and reception of international awards for his extensive works in archaeology and geology. "Gentlemen, there is no such thing as a question without an answer. There are only answers we haven't considered yet." What would perhaps be interpreted as a simple aphorism from most, the statement seemed to subdue the palpable frustration in the room when coming from the elderly scientist.

"Right, then," Dr. Brynn sat up straighter, readying for another round of mental exercise. He was an average man in most respects. Not old, not young; not exceptionally bright for his field, but neither was he below the norm. Even his appearance was the incarnation of the average scientist: tall, lanky, balding, with glasses perched prominently on his nose, and an assortment of pens protruding from the pocket of his white lab coat. "Let's keep going. We can't allow ourselves to be stumped by a rock, now can we?"

"We still don't know if it's a rock," Dr. Jeeves repeated, though this time with a more jocular tone, as well as a faint smile. The four men shared a subdued chuckle that nonetheless drained most of the remaining tension from the atmosphere.

"Well, the process of elimination is obviously not working," Dr. Timms observed. The group had spent the last several fruitless days on finding out what the artifact was not, in hopes of narrowing down the possibilities of what it was. "Let's start from square one again. What do we know for sure?"

The four men shuffled through the piles of printouts and charts until they found the sheets outlining the results from the scanning machinery. Dozens of pages, filled with details and formulas that all eventually boiled down to a few simple facts. The artifact was made of no substance ever seen before, which eliminated the possibility of using carbon dating to any accurate degree. It emitted a faint electromagnetic signature that, while it had never been seen before, resembled in passing the magnetic seals used in laboratories to keep areas static- and particle-free. The machine could make no distinction between an outer surface that was apparently solid, and an inner content that was slowly shifting like unsettled oil suspended in water. The artifact was amazingly smooth, and a perfect sphere, as a laser scan revealed not even miniscule deviations. The fact that the lattermost information was the least baffling, considering the orb had been sitting under a mountain since long before mankind was capable of any such detailed craftsmanship, was not much comfort.

The scientists reviewed these facts with practiced diligence, trying to discern some clue from the mounds of unknown data. For another two hours, they pursued their goal, until at last they gave up and broke for lunch.

All four departed for various eateries, but all had the same thought creeping into their consciousness. If they wanted some concrete answers, they were going to have to use more than scanners and fancy equipment. It was fast becoming time for a more hands-on approach.

-- --- --

The first week of summer vacation had already come and gone, giving apparent truth to the adage that "time flies when you're having fun." Gohan was relishing the return to something that close resembled the better parts of the first seventeen years of his life. Idle mornings spent lounging around the house after waking up to Chi-Chi's exceptional cooking. Lazy sun-soaked afternoons with Goten spent exploring the expansive wilderness around their mountain home until lunch. Evenings spent with family, lounging around the house after a copious dinner, sharing stories of a blissfully uneventful day or tuning in to a decent movie on one of the few television stations they managed to pick up out in the middle of nowhere.

When the mailman delivered final grades from Orange Star High School that Friday, he had commented pleasantly on how he wished they would get mail more often, so he could have an excuse to visit the countryside.

Chi-Chi had opened the officious-looking envelope with a neutral look. She then spent most of the remainder of the day dancing around the house with a downright dazzled air, her atmospheric expectations surpassed by Gohan's marks in school. So great was the overbearing matron's euphoria, she had told Gohan flat out that he didn't have to study a single book all summer if he didn't want to.

Not a bad way to start my vacation, the teenaged demi-Saiyan thought with contentment. He lay on a grassy embankment near one of the lakes that were scattered around their house, letting the warm sun wash over him as he studied the clouds floating lazily above through half-closed eyes. Part of him was still enjoying the simple fact that it was Sunday, and he didn't have school tomorrow.

His sensitive ears picked up the faint rustling sound of grass blades turned by a footstep. Suppressing his old combat reflexes at the sense of the approaching predator, he feigned ignorance to its approach. The soft footfalls continued until he wagered they were a mere dozen feet away, then an earsplitting battle-cry echoed through the surrounding hills. "YAAAAHHHH!!!!"

He leapt up with fluid grace, snagging the barreling mass of orange-clad ambusher in midair. The tiny form yelped with surprise, struggling valiantly. A mass of wild, spiked black hair thrashed around under Gohan's nose until the teen graced the proffered skull with a set of rubbing knuckles.

"AHHHH!!! No fair! No nouggies!" the impish young boy squealed.

After maintaining the playful punishment for a few more seconds, Gohan dropped the defeated sibling down with a laugh. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to sneak up on me, squirt."

"Yeah, but I'll get you sometime." Goten rubbed his head, but an infectious smile was brightening his face. "Then I get to give you the nouggies!" he chirped.

"That's the way it works, bro. So, you enjoying the summer so far?"

"Yeah!" the young boy exclaimed, punctuating the statement by hopping up on his brother's shoulder, perching there like a large orange and black bird. "It's great having you around all the time again, Gohan."

"Same to you, squirt. Hey, it's almost lunch time, isn't it?"

It might have seemed impossible, but the younger half-Saiyan's grin widened even further at the mention of food. "It sure is!" Goten might not catch everything that went his way, but when it came to food, his internal clock was as good as anyone with Saiyan blood in their veins. "I'll race you!" Without waiting for a response, the youngster leapt off his brother's shoulder and sped off towards home.

With another laugh at his brother's unquenchable happiness, Gohan chased after him. They wove through one of the many wild paths that led to their house, winding between thick trees, over scattered streams, and effortlessly leaping small ponds. The familiar faded yellow dome of their house came into view, followed by the unmistakable scent of a meal nearing completion.

Gohan noticed a few extra figures hanging around the household. Goten was standing outside the door, leaping up and down and waving his arms at his approaching brother in the elation of his victory. His usual partner in crime, the lavender-haired form of Trunks, was observing his friend's outburst with a mixture of calculated disdain and suppressed desire to join in on the display. The source of his restraint, the spike-haired form of Vegeta, was leaning against the wall of the house, eyes narrowed but as alert and observant as ever. The tall, shapely figure of Bulma Briefs stood conversing with Goku. Gohan slowed to a halt at the gathering, waving his greetings.

"Hey, son," Goku called with a wave, omnipresent smile affixed to his face. "You're just in time for lunch."

"I beat you! I beat you!" Goten sang out before the teenager could reply.

"Sure did, bro," said Gohan, bending down to tousle his brother's hair. "Hey, Trunks."

The other boy nodded his greeting with a faint smile. Though Trunks often acted far more reserved when Vegeta was around, the little imp was obviously straining to keep his happiness in check. His face was wavering on the verge of an outburst like Goten's. Gohan didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Gohan! Just the young man I wanted to see!" Bulma greeted happily.

Small warning bells began going off in the back of his head. He now had a sinking suspicion about what Trunks was so happy about. "Hey, Bulma. What's up?"

"We've got a little favor to ask of you," she replied. "I've been talking with the research and development lab that was responsible for making that microfabric I showed you. They suggested I come down to take a look at their work firsthand, to see if there was anything else I could help figure out about it. In an unprecedented sign of interest, the walking ego suggested he come along with me," she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the form of her significant other.

"I determined that this laboratory meant there was a possibility of intelligent life on this rock, and wanted to investigate," Vegeta said. "It's the most promising sign I've seen in fifteen years, after all."

Bulma rolled her eyes, but didn't rise to the bait. "I figured that if he was going to come along willingly, we might as well make a trip of it." That elicited a snort from the prince, expressing his appraisal of 'making a trip of it.' "So, we're going to take a little extra time and get away from board meetings and gravity chambers, and Goku and Chi-Chi are going to come along. A little vacation could do all of us some good."

Gohan nodded. Now he knew why Trunks was struggling at the reigns. "And, you need me to keep an eye on the dynamic duo," he supplied, tilting his head at the pair of hyperactive demi-Saiyans.

"Right in one," Bulma confirmed, her smile broadening. "Don't worry though. I've already got a good idea for tomorrow," she said, her tone becoming conspiratorial. Gohan suppressed the urge to run in fear. Bulma in a mischievous mood was every bit as dangerous as Goten and Trunks could be on their worst days.

"Oh? What's that?" Gohan asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Well, as opposed to locking yourself in a house with these two, we figured you could do better with some fresh air. It just so happens that Capsule Corporation has a private box at the West City baseball field, and tomorrow is opening day. A nice ballgame to watch, and enough catered food to keep even three half-Saiyans occupied."

"Not a bad idea," Gohan admitted. "Provided I can keep them from destroying the stadium."

Though it was meant as a joke, Bulma turned to the pair of young troublemakers, hands on her hips, and leveled her best threatening gaze on them. While not quite up to Chi-Chi's standards, it was plenty to turn both boys into attentive statues.

"I had better not hear of you two making trouble in public like that. If we hear about any demolished sports arenas, Trunks," she said warningly, "you will get nothing but bread and water for a week."

"The same goes for you, Goten!" a threatening voice called from inside. Chi-Chi, attending to the kitchen, had nonetheless been listening to the conversation with her keen maternal senses.

Gohan grinned at the two boys, who were noticeably subdued and nodding their understanding with terrified looks on their faces. When it came to Saiyan children, an ounce of prevention was worth a hundred tons of cure.

Bulma's gaze softened out as she turned back to Gohan. "Thanks for your help, Gohan, we appreciate it. You'll only have to deal with them for a couple of days. Feel free to stay at Capsule Corp. if you like. It's easier to get the heavy machinery to repair the damage those two are bound to cause there than it is out here."

"No prob. I'll make sure they keep the planet in one piece. If not, there's always the Dragonballs," he joked. With Goten and Trunks, though, you never knew.

"Oh, one other thing," Bulma said, her smile turning almost devilish. "You'll need all the help you can get with these two, and the suite at the stadium has plenty of extra room. Why don't you invite Videl along?" she said, elbowing Gohan in the ribs.

Vegeta, sensing where the conversation was going, rolled his eyes and butted in. "Woman, I don't know what is worse. Your incessant nagging, or your insistence upon nagging when I can smell a meal three feet away. You can resume torturing the brat later. Now, we eat."

"Hrmph," the genius scoffed as she rounded on the Saiyan prince, folding her arms and turning up her nose. "I do not nag," she protested. "And since when do you 'eat?' I thought you just inhaled."

A single black eyebrow rose. "I only inhale my food when you do the cooking. That way, I don't allow the sickening tastes to linger in my mouth."

"Well then, perhaps you could do better," she shot back, the corner of her mouth curving in an impressive grin that came off as both playful and challenging.

"It wouldn't be hard. Even so, perhaps I can continue to suffer in silence," he stated, voice betraying no sense of surrender with the remark.

Before Bulma had a chance to continue their verbal spar, the prince turned smartly on his heel and walked inside. Shrugging off the discussion, the rest of the crowd followed inside, ready to enjoy a meal as only two families full of Saiyans could.

-- --- --

The four scientists returned to the cramped staff room after lunch, setting up around the same circular table covered in a mass of papers. They talked idly for a few minutes, warming back up to serious thought like athletes stretching before a workout.

"Well, let's get back to the task at hand," Dr. Brynn said, returning the group of intellectuals to the still-baffling puzzle of the enigmatic orb sitting in the adjacent room. "Did anyone have any breakthroughs during lunch?" It was asked partly as a joke, but the scientists around the table all turned quiet and thoughtful at the remark.

It was uncomfortably silent until Dr. Aginn spoke up. "I think it's time we realized that technology can only get us so far when examining artifacts, and in this case, it's not nearly far enough." He paused to look around the table. All the scientists were listening. All of them had been thinking along the same lines for a while now, but the elderly Dr. Aginn had been the first to come out and say it. "I know the museum prefers to keep artifacts intact and preserved for display, but the usual methods have proven almost useless on the orb. I think it's time we tried to get inside the artifact, and find out what makes it tick."

"The curators will not be pleased if we ruin a perfectly good display piece," Dr. Jeeves pointed out, stepping up for the necessary role of devil's advocate.

"Of course, but how do we know if what we see now is even the true interest of the orb?" Aginn replied reasonably. "We've relied too much on technology in recent years to tell us what is and isn't special about historical finds. If we do the same here, we end up placing a nice-looking ball on a podium with a blank placard for visitors to gawk at."

"I agree, doctor," Timms spoke up. "If we're to find anything worthwhile about this piece, we need to open it up and see what is inside. It's quite likely that what we see now is just a fancy container to some unknown contents. It could be anything from an urn to a coin purse, but we won't find out by endlessly scanning it with no results."

"Well, it has to be said," Jeeves stated with resignation. "What if we crack open this nutshell and find ourselves with nothing more than two split halves of an ancient stone? The museum would be furious."

Dr. Brynn snorted at that, saying, "The museum doesn't care what it looks like on display, so long as it brings tourists and publicity. Even if it is just a rock, it might look even better on the inside. If not, who would know that it was in one piece in the first place? No one expects ancient relics to be in such pristine condition."

"Very well, then." Jeeves nodded his assent, his conscience satisfied.

"So it's settled?" Aginn asked rhetorically. He received nods from his colleagues all the same. "Good. I see no need to waste time, then. Let's hop to it."

A bit taken aback by his enthusiasm, the other three scientists rose and followed the elderly expert into the lab. Upon seeing the orb set atop one of the lab desks, their doubts were pushed aside at the thoughts of the discoveries they were about to make.

Hands-on research at its finest was about to unwittingly test the belief that some things, once forgotten, had best stay that way.

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Next chapter: Going, Going, Gone