In the back of the small plane, Videl mopped the brow of the mysterious girl, who was still out cold. Above all, despite the dust and blood intertwined with it, Videl was fascinated with the other girl's hair. It was softer than silk, and the most extraordinary colour – a dark purple shot through with streaks of burgundy that glistened in the fading moonlight.
She yawned, tired not so much by lack of sleep than by emotion. And why had Gohan been so overprotective? She dismissed the thoughts that flowed immediately with a sharply exhaled breath. She'd think about it in detail later.
Bulma turned around, breaking her train of thought.
"What do you think? Will she be alright?" Bulma looked for reassurance in the younger girl's face, and instead found an expression mirroring her own as each tried to derive comfort from the other. Videl sighed.
"I really don't know. She needs to be in that tank, and fast."
Bulma's eyebrows drew together in determination.
"Yes, we should hurry. Strap that stretcher down and find something to hold on to. I'm switching to turbos!"
The plane slowed, a click was heard, and then Videl was pitched backwards, smacking into the back wall with an audible 'oof'.
Bulma grinned at her over their sleeping visitor.
"I warned you to find something to hold on to."
Back at Capsule Corporation, Dr and Mrs Briefs along with Yamcha, Tien, Chaozu and Krillin awaited the arrival of their new "guest". The four warriors had arrived with the sun, having also felt the disturbance, and were far more worried than excited. Dr Briefs, on the other hand, had taken to pacing like a child at Christmas and periodically scanning the horizon for any signs of Bulma's plane.
Tien's third eye proved a valuable asset – he was the first to spot the glimmer on the horizon that was undoubtedly Bulma's plane. But what was that girlfriend of Gohan's doing in there? He amplified his senses a little, and made out Bulma's aura and another dying one. That must be the girl they found!
Bulma brought the plane down gently on the back lawn, and lowered the hatch at the back before stepping quickly out of her seat and motioning for Yamcha and Krillin to move the girl from the back and inside to the waiting tank.
All was well until Yamcha lifted the girl's limp form to place her in the tank, and yelped in fright.
"Sweet Mother of Dende! Bulma! Get over here! This girl's got a tail!"
Bulma nearly dropped her clipboard in shock. It was impossible. But it was true. Wrapped loosely around the girl's waist was a graceful, monkey-like tail the same colour as her hair.
From the top of a flight of stairs, Vegeta had been watching their fumblings with some amusement: It wasn't often someone new showed up, and especially not one who intrigued him as much as this one did…
Trunks interrupted his daydreamings with a shrill "DAD!"
"What?! What's your problem?" Vegeta snapped back at the little purple-haired six year-old whose hair was still ruffled from sleep. Chikusho… the kid doesn't even look remotely Saiyan, let alone like the son of a Prince.
"Th-th-the girl we found –" Trunks panted in his excitement. "The girl they found has a tail like you and Uncle Goku used to have. That's what mother says."
"How many times do I have to tell you?! That imbecile is NOT YOUR – what did you say?" Vegeta paused, mid ranting-roar.
"The girl has a tail." Trunks replied dutifully.
"I heard you the first time. I'm just having trouble believing it."
"Mother wants you to go see. As quickly as you can." The little boy was bouncing from one foot to the other, and the movement was driving Vegeta nuts. Regardless, he restrained his legendary temper. I must be getting soft, he thought.
"I – I'll come down in a minute, boy. Go find something to blow up, ne?"
"Okay daddy." And Trunks bounced off, ready to spread the news of their stranger new visitor to anyone willing to listen.
Vegeta leant against the doorframe, unsure of his legs and his stomach in knots. It can't be, he mused, but it is. The strength…what she said…the tail…everything's falling into place. That girl's a Saiyan warrior!
Goku, Chichi, Gohan and Goten arrived in the laboratory area of Capsule Corp with Chichi still screaming at her husband and eldest son and Goten walking with his hands over his ears.
"It's that damn Piccolo, I tell you! He's a bad influence on Gohan! Look what that green bean has him doing now! Sneaking out at nights! Not calling! Creeping around the countryside at all hours looking for a single person! How could one person be that important?! Goku! Goku, are you listening to me?!"
Actually, Goku had quit listening to her rantings a couple of hours after they got home. Sure, it'd been late and all, but it was an honest accident on Gohan's part, and she didn't have to get so worked up about it. Sheesh. But he answered her regardless, or he'd have to listen to another hour's screaming fit.
"Yes Chichi, I'm listening."
"And what about you, Gohan?!" Chichi was so hysterical, Gohan didn't dare do anything but nod, and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
"Take your hands out of your pockets!"
"Yes, mother."
Hearing the commotion, Mrs Briefs stuck her head out of a doorway and greeted the family in her usual chirpy manner. Somehow, this had a pacifying effect on Chichi, who calmed down somewhat and let the tension out of her shoulders and her fists unclench.
"Good morning everyone!" Mrs Briefs said brightly. "I suppose you'd like to see our new visitor. Come right this way."
In the tank chamber, a multitude of faces were pressed against the glass. After a quick exchange of greetings, Bulma stepped back and gave her place to Chichi, and Goten, Goku and Gohan floated above the others to peer at the figure in the tank.
"Vegeta confirmed it, Goku. This girl – whoever she is – is at least part Saiyan." Bulma said softly.
"And how did His Majesty confirm it? Huh? I suppose with all his wisdom, he looked at the tail, said 'Yes, that's a tail, she's Saiyan', I'll bet." Yamcha spat bitterly. He had no love for the alien Prince who'd stolen his girlfriend.
"Quit being such a pig, Yamcha. There's more to it than that. Yes, he confirmed the features as Saiyan, but we also checked the DNA from some blood samples from both of them, which indicated the presence of a specific acid which can only be isolated in a solution of…" Bulma prattled on in heavy scientific terms gleaned from years of studying Vegeta. Yamcha was immediately sorry for his sniping. Jeez, anything, even Vegeta himself was better than listening to this stuff.
When everyone had had their fill of staring at the newcomer in the tank, Bulma insisted they leave her be and retire to the living room where Mrs Briefs awaited them with her standard smorgasbord.
While the assembly, now grown to include Goku, Chichi, Gohan, Goten, Videl, Trunks, Dr and Mrs Briefs, Piccolo (although he stood outside), Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, Chaozu, Puar, Oolong and the recently arrived Master Roshi lounged about, lulled into a sense of contentment, Gohan started in alarm as he sensed a massive, thought suppressed, power level coming towards them. Other head shot up moments after his.
Could it be the mysterious girl in the tank? Bulma tapped into the room's surveillance camera with the notebook computer on her lap, and shook her blue hair. She was still recovering, although her vital signs were getting stronger by the minute.
Whoever she was, the girl certainly recovered like a Saiyan.
"Hi, guys."
A familiar voice greeted them from the doorway.
"Trunks!" Gohan exclaimed in excitement.
"What?!" exclaimed the little Trunks.
"Not you, the future you! Did you come back for a visit? Gohan queried the lavender-haired youth at the door.
"Kinda. I came to tell you that I've defeated the androids in my world. And I thought I'd hang around for a couple of days, if you don't mind." Future Trunks gave his usual half-smile, and was shocked by a sharp little voice at his knees.
"Hey. Who are you? And why do you look like me?" little Trunks demanded in a manner quite like Vegeta's. Bulma reproved him, and future Trunks quickly pulled his long hair back into a ponytail. The last time he'd met up with his little self, he'd nearly had his hair ripped out.
"Well," Goku said, standing up and gesturing for the older version of Trunks to take a seat. "It looks like it's story time, and do we ever have one for you!"
Chichi sighed as the two stories were relayed. This was going to be a long day.
Inside the regeneration tank, the mysterious girl was beginning to wake up. Curling her fingers a little, experimentally, she found she was not in open air, but in a fluid somewhat thicker than water. Despite this, she could breathe comfortably, and became aware of the mask over her mouth and nose.
I should be dead by now. Where am I? I must be dead, and this is my punishment for failing.
She floated for a long moment, trying to recollect the events that had led to this strange sensation. She had been tracking a powerful life force for months, and had managed to isolate the signal to a small planet – Earth, her pod's computer had informed her – and she must have crashed. That was the only explanation.
Pain. She remembered pain – in her chest, her head, down her arms, her back – but that was gone now. How could she have recovered so fully? Unless she was really dead, which seemed unlikely. She curled her fingers slowly, in what she hoped seemed like a reflex to any observer, and dug her nails into the palm of her hand. They bit in, stung a little, and confirmed her suspicion she wasn't dead after all.
Vaguely, a face entered her mind's eye. A man's face. The look on that face was pure innocence, echoed by the look in his black eyes that matched his spiky hair. She'd known someone with hair like that before. No, he couldn't be. Impossible.
Still unwilling to open her eyes, she put her situation into perspective. She had crash-landed on what must be Earth. She had been hurt, and a man with black hair and black eyes had taken her to a healer of some sort. She could still feel all of her limbs.
I can't find anything else out unless I take a look around, she thought. Indeed, she opened her eyes a crack, and saw through a greenish fluid that the room she was in was empty. I have to get out of this tank-thing. But how? She pushed experimentally against the thick glass. It didn't budge. Tail wrapped protectively around her waist, she gave in to her impulse and began to panic.
A warning beep went off on Bulma's computer, which she had set on a coffee table for her Trunks and Goten to play with so she could listen more freely to the story being related by the future version of her son.
"Mom! Goten broke your computer!" Trunks squeaked.
"Did not!" Goten squeaked as loudly as Trunks.
"Did too!"
"Did not!" Then a joint cry of:
"MOM! He's picking on me!"
Chichi rolled her eyes and let Bulma deal with their little spat. She'd done enough screaming for the day as it was. Bulma sprang from her seat and hurried to the two boys.
"Neither of you broke it. That was the alarm from the tank room!"
She closed the program the boys had been playing with and switched back to the camera she'd patched in to. Sure enough, the vital signs were back to normal but a little high, as though the girl was panicking.
"Of course!" she slapped her head in exasperation. "She'd be terrified, she may not have been in a tank like that before, and there's nobody in there to let her out. Come on, dad!"
Bulma grabbed the shoulder of her father's lab-coat, and dragged him with her, thought he needed little encouragement, and dashed for the tank room.
Inside the tank room, it was just as Bulma had expected: the girl in the tank was searching wildly for a way out, looking at her with terrified eyes.
Bulma dashed across the tiled floor to the control panel, and while she tapped out a sequence her fingers knew by heart to release the fluid and the lock, she held her finger up to the girl, telling her to wait.
The fluid began to drain, and the look of panic on the girl's face began to fade, replaced by one of wariness and mistrust.
Bulma lifted the hatch, and the girl backed into the far wall of the tank, taking the mask off her face and drawing in controlled yet worried breaths.
"It's okay, we won't hurt you. We only want to help you. Come on." Bulma clichéd, yet meaning every word. She extended a hand to the cowering figure, which had begun to assume a defensive posture.
Somehow, the frightened girl knew this voice. It occurred to her at once. This was the woman's voice that had made that other man pick her up when she was hurt. For a reason she couldn't define, the girl relaxed a little and decided to trust the blue-haired woman who smiled reassuringly at her, and reached for the hand held out to her.
Stepping unsteadily out of the tank and dripping wet, she felt a little stiff, but far from hurt. And the woman's warm hand moved to her shoulder, guiding her out of the room.
"Let's get you cleaned up. You can't walk around looking like that." Bulma looked searchingly into the girl's face, examining for signs of comprehension.
"Can you understand me?"
The girl stood dripping on the floor for a moment. She could understand the other woman fairly well – the language she spoke had been taught to her as a child and she remembered much of it, despite the fact she never used it. Not trusting her voice, she nodded, and was pleased with the relieved look this brought to the white-coated woman's face.
"Good," smiled Bulma. "Then maybe you can tell me your name. We can't call you 'hey you' forever."
A pause. Bulma deliberated over how well she'd been understood, then finally:
"Jadali. My name is Jadali, but I am most often called Jade."
"Well, Jade, I'm Bulma. You're at my home, and I'll look after you. Come with me." In a gesture that disconcerted Jadali somewhat, Bulma took her hand and led her down a long hall.
Stopping in the doorway of a beautifully furnished bedroom, Bulma waved Jade inside and pointed to the small ensuite.
"You can wash in there. I'll get you some clean clothes. I'll be back soon." And with that, Jade was left alone in her new surroundings.
She scrutinised every inch of the room she'd been left in, and then for lack of anything else to do, entered the adjoining bathroom.
After quickly discerning how to work the shower, Jade stood under the steaming water and felt the stiffness, which Bulma later attributed to being a side effect of the regeneration tank, melt away.
She found a comb and tidied her hair into a plait, then critically observed her reflection in the steamed-up mirror. Not even a bruise, and I know I had broken bones. That tank is better than I thought.
Bulma snapped her out of her musings, entering with a pile of clothes for her to try on. She hummed happily to herself as she set out the unfamiliar garbs for her new guest.
"Maybe you could try this with this. It should fit you." Bulma held up a dark blue sleeveless shirt and a skirt that fell to mid calf.
"Thankyou, Bulma." Jade eyed the clothes suspiciously, unfamiliar with the cut and design, but donned them anyway. The result made Bulma laugh out loud.
"Oh my – you can't wear that."
The clothes she'd handed to Jade were far too big on her slender frame and looked utterly ridiculous.
"Um, they were some of the smallest things I had… let's try – "
"Bulma? If you don't mind, do you have the pouch I wore on my belt somewhere? I have my own clothes in that. But thankyou for trying." Jade tried desperately not to offend the woman who was being so kind to her.
"Of course. Over there, on the dresser. It had some jewellery in it we thought you'd miss fairly quickly, so I brought it in for you."
"It's not really jewellery."
"Oh?" Bulma was puzzled. It certainly looked like jewellery to her.
"Watch."
Jade rummaged through the bag and held out a jewelled wrist guard that looked like something from an ancient set of armour in triumph. She snapped it on, and flicked at one of the gems on the upper face of it. Bulma stifled a gasp as Jade now stood before her fully clad and armoured to the teeth.
A black bodysuit not unlike Vegeta's had appeared about her upper body, sleeveless and high-necked. On top of that, a gleaming breastplate made of some metal that looked rather like gold to Bulma, also gem-encrusted; below that she wore a black skirt, cut on a sharp bias and split up one side to allow her to move, and solid, polished boots that reached to her knees. Another wrist guard had blinked into reality, an exact duplicate of the first. At her hip, a dagger in a jewelled scabbard made itself known as it glimmered in the sunlight streaming from the bay window.
While Bulma stared in amazement, Jade quickly reattached the pouch of "jewellery" that Bulma had misjudged to a loop on the dagger belt.
"Wh – who are you? A princess or something?" Bulma had picked her jaw up from off the floor and found her tongue. Jade laughed softly.
"Of course not. Does my attire displease you?" she asked with such seriousness that Bulma couldn't help but laugh back.
"Not at all. That's a beautiful outfit. But you don't need to get dressed up for us."
"I'm not. This is what I usually wear. Most people where I come from dress this way." Jade was obviously becoming uncomfortable, and Bulma quickly noted this and changed the subject.
"There's a lot of people waiting to meet you, you know. Do you feel up to it?"
Ah, the people who owned the voices she'd heard must be here.
"It would be disrespectful of me not to. The… the man who picked me up, with the black hair… is he here?" her brows furrowed into a frown of concentration that reminded Bulma distinctly of Vegeta.
"Goku? Yes, he's here. And a few others. Are you sure you want to come?"
"Yes." Jade said with determination. Here goes nothing, she thought. Perhaps these people can help me find the New King.
