by Becky Tailweaver
Somewhere, something is calling for you;
Two worlds, one family.
Trust your heart, let Fate decide
To guide these lives we see.
--Phil Collins, "Two Worlds, One Family"
Chapter 5: Wake Up To Reality
"Not my baby...not my Trunks...he promised me...he promised!"
Mom...
His mother was crying. He knew it somehow--he caught the echoes of her soul, the ripples in space finally reaching him. He could hear her sobbing uncontrollably, could feel the intensity of her grief--lonely, long-suffering grief. And she was grieving because of him. Because he had left her alone. Because he had broken his promise.
Mom...I'm so sorry...I want to come home...
He was dead, wasn't he? This wasn't what the afterlife had looked like when Dende had brought him there...all liquid and black. He couldn't see...and his head hurt abominably. Was it supposed to hurt this much after death? Or was that part of his punishment? He breathed slowly, his chest aching...and his heartbeat throbbed in his temples painfully.
Wait. Pain was optional, but people do not breathe nor have a heartbeat when they are dead.
I'm...alive...?
He was breathing. Easily--almost too easily. Another thing he soon came to realize was that he was warm again. And lying flat. He appeared to be awake... Hello? Testing, testing, this is the brain of Trunks Briefs... Well, his mind still worked, at least. As his brain began to become more alert, hazy memories assaulted him. He remembered... The lights were gone in his cramped space, the power long out. It was getting cold, so very cold; he shivered uncontrollably, curling tighter into himself to conserve warmth. The air was growing so thin that each inhalation was a painful effort...he took panting, open-mouthed breaths like an overheated dog and struggled to stay conscious...
There were voices speaking not too far away, but they were hazed and watery to his ears. He drew another breath--ah, the air was so clean and thick and pleasant, even though his chest hurt--daring to open his eyes. The light stung in his eyes, and he squinted painfully. Gradually, his vision adjusted enough to make out a drab off-white ceiling.
Nope...not pretty enough to be Heaven...not hot enough to be Hell... Yup, I'm alive. But...how did I make it?
Turning his eyes slowly left and right, orienting himself, he realized that he seemed to be in some highly technological room. His mind fished up the fact that he was probably shipboard, evidenced by the low, echoing hum that vibrated through the chamber. The walls were the same dull, gray-white paneling, and there were important-looking instruments on some of them. He let out a soft groan and tried to shift, to move and stretch. He wanted to get himself back on his feet and active, to clear his mind--but mostly he just wanted off this hard table.
What the hell...?
With a start that jolted slowly and painfully through his sluggish muscles, Trunks found himself restrained--manacled. His Saiyan fear of being trapped brought him fully awake probably before it was a good idea--his vision swam groggily as his head lifted off the headrest. He tried to focus, but found that his forearms and legs were fastened by steel clamps.
"Goro, he's awake," said a gravelly, accented voice. "Get the cap'n."
"Get 'im yourself, snotbrain. You're on duty," replied another in a liquid, gurgly tone.
"Fine, fine, as ya like."
Trunks oriented on the voices just in time to see a thin, blue, long-tailed figure disappear out a sliding door, too blurry to see close detail. The one who was called Goro, apparently, was a short, tubby alien with four eyes and green, pebbly skin. His eyes gradually began to focus more clearly on his surroundings.
A...medical facility? Trunks wondered. On a ship, somehow? But who...?
"What's up in there, Nuriz?" asked a rough, masculine voice from the hallway.
"The pris'ner's open'd 'is peepers," the blue scaly one--Nuriz--responded. "Cap'n need's ta know."
"Hey, he's awake? I wanna see him."
"Stay outta here, Kalifer," Goro said over his shoulder, out the door, as Nuriz's footsteps stalked off. "We don't need you ripping the prisoner apart before the captain gets to. No matter how much you like it."
That didn't sound so good.
"Buzz off, tub-toad." The speaker shoved into the room as though Goro were beneath his notice. Trunks gasped and tried to sit up again, eyes widening in surprise when he saw the newcomer, who stalked fearlessly over to him.
Kalifer gave a feral grin as their eyes met, his thick, heavy brows drawn down over large, angular dark eyes--nocturnal eyes; eyes far too large to be set in a human face. His shaggy black hair, wild and manelike, was bound in a rough ponytail that reached his shoulder blades, with bangs that hung in spiky clumps around his forehead. He wasn't wearing armor; instead, he was clothed in a shipboard suit, much like an engineer's coveralls, that only served to highlight the squarish, chiseled, muscular form. His body exuded strength, and the aura of energy he wore was that of a wild, ferocious power--a very familiar kind of power. A long, furry brown tail waved eagerly behind him, the tip curled up and twitching over the deck.
My God...he's a...a Saiyan! Trunks made a sharp, startled noise and drew back as Kalifer leaned over him.
"Well now, aren't you a find?" Kalifer drawled, his voice low and rough. "The captain of the little wreck. And quite a few interesting gadgets we found on that wreck, too. Won't you tell me where you're from, squirt?"
Trunks finally found his voice. "No!" he managed to get out. He was far too shocked at seeing another member of his father's race to say much of anything coherent.
Kalifer's Saiyan smirk somehow got smirkier. "I think we'll find out anyway. You'll tell us, eventually." His eyes scanned over Trunks' body. "Tiny little chap, aren't you? And purple hair!" The Saiyan chuckled unkindly. "Probably a nerd, too. A little weakling we found suffocating in an escape pod!"
The escape pod! Now he remembered! Less damaged than the rest of the ship, the escape pod afforded him some respite from oxygen loss, despite the fact that it refused to launch. But only temporarily was he safe; it too leaked air, and with the damage done to the ship's systems its power soon ran out as well. He had been cooped up in there for hours...days...starving, growing colder by the minute, and finding it increasingly hard to breathe...and then, slowly...nothingness...
Kalifer leaned down a little too close for comfort, giving an intimidating Saiyan snarl/smile right in Trunks' face. "So, how much profit can we pry out of you, pretty boy?"
"Kalifer," Goro warned.
"Shut up, frog-face," Kalifer barked, not looking over his shoulder. He grinned again, more sinister this time. "I'm playing with my food."
With any other creature, the snarl, the teeth, the power, and the threats might have worked. Kalifer was a dangerous Saiyan, a threatening young man who was secure in his power and prowess. On lesser beings, those half-instinctive Saiyan intimidation tactics worked wonders for guaranteeing obedience, cooperation, and general fear. Most victims would be melting into a gibbering puddle of terror at the sight of a young Saiyan male grinning at the prospect of reducing them to painful paste.
However, that type of intimidation did absolutely nothing to another young Saiyan male who was also quite confident in his own strength.
Trunks gritted his teeth in a snarl worthy of an insulted Saiyan warrior. A growl escaped him; his ki jumped and he flexed his muscles, the steel bonds snapping like brittle wood. With a thundering yell, he nearly exploded off the table, the sheer force of his aura knocking the big Saiyan back.
"What in seven hells--?" Goro squawked, shielding himself as Kalifer slammed into the wall beside him.
"Stay away from me!" Trunks roared, not quite reaching Super Saiyan but coming close, his power flaring visibly blue-white around him. For a moment, the two others were immobile in surprise, their captive having suddenly become the center of a whirlwind.
Abruptly, Trunks remembered he was aboard a vessel. With an effort, he controlled himself and stopped the tempest. He didn't want to accidentally wreck the ship and end up right back where he started.
Kalifer lowered his arms and grinned with a low laugh, almost appraisingly. "So, the pup's got teeth, eh?"
"What in the Cosmos' dairy air was that?" bellowed a gravelly, cruel voice. "Kalifer! What are you doing to the prisoner?" A big, round, brown-skinned alien waddled through the doorway, his face resembling that of a snapping turtle, his three-fingered hands fisted on his hips. His orange eyes narrowed when they fixed on Trunks.
Goro answered first. "Kalifer didn't do it, Captain sir. It was Purple-Hair over there."
A tall, powerfully built, ram-faced alien stepped through the sliding door. He wore a uniform, but it was fairly obvious that his entire body was covered in sleek gold-tan fur. He had a pair of large curled horns on his head, like those of a bighorn sheep, and he walked on hooves like a faun. "The energy discharge overloaded our the active scouters, Goro," the alien said, his deep voice smooth and resonant. He held up the wrecked remains of his own instrument.
"Did you do that?"
Trunks focused on the round brown alien who had spoken. "Huh?"
"Answer me quick, runt--did you do that?" the captain snapped again.
"Uh..." Trunks thought it safe to play it innocent until he figured out who all these aliens were. "I, uh, guess so."
"Who are you, runt? Where are you from? What were you doing out here in the Badlands?" The captain's questions were staccato-quick.
Trunks drew himself up to his full height--although it wasn't much, thanks to his father's blood. "I was on my way through this space when I hit an asteroid."
"I'm still asking where you're from, runt," the captain repeated. "Answer me or you'll suffer."
"Does it matter?" Trunks snapped. "I'm going to suffer whether I tell you or not, so I'm not saying anything!"
"Heh," Kalifer grunted, almost a laugh, as if in appreciation of Trunks' defiance.
The captain smiled as well, but it was a cruel spreading of his beaklike mouth, not a kindly smile. "You've got spunk, runt--enough to match that scouter-popping power of yours. Tell me, can you fight?"
"Well enough," Trunks replied, voice still low and dangerous. "Like to find out?"
"You wouldn't be worth my time, space trash," the captain said blithely. "But I could use a strong little runt like you in my crew. I think I'll keep you on."
"Why would I want to do that?" Trunks asked sullenly. "I was on my way somewhere, and it's important that I get there."
The captain smiled again, widely and slowly. "Well, now, it's also important that you're still breathing, isn't it?" he drawled predatorily. "You owe us, runt. We picked you up when you were dying in that wreck. Unless you'd like to go back out there? I can arrange to drop you out an airlock any time."
Trunks snarled at him. "You think you could?" His aura flashed briefly.
"Don't waste your strength, karaikoro," Kalifer growled from behind his captain. "Better men than you have tried and failed. Why do you think I still work here?"
The captain, without even looking behind him, slammed an elbow with crunching force into the big Saiyan's midriff, doubling him over with a grunt. Kalifer stumbled back against the wall and slid down it, squinting up at Trunks, who stood shocked at the casual display of cruelty. "See?" he gasped. "No one here is stronger than Captain Carro."
"You'd better remember that, Runt," Carro said sharply. "You're on my boat whether you like it or not. Wherever else you thought you were going, you can forget it--you're working for me now."
Trunks snarled, but Carro ignored him and cuffed Goro on the shoulder. "Get back to your post, frog. And the rest of you, too. Our cargo won't wait for your curiosity." He glared at Trunks once again. "You, Runt! Your first order: Since you've made such good friends with the big monkey over here, you can see to his broken ribs. Get to it! Kalifer, watch this runt and get him stowed away."
Without a backward glance, the heavyset alien stomped out of the cramped infirmary, his crew in tow. The ram-horned alien paused, regarding Trunks for a moment with flat-pupiled, gold-brown eyes, before following his captain.
Trunks was left alone with Kalifer.
"Heh," the big Saiyan huffed painfully. "I don't need a brat's help." He levered himself to his feet, still hunched, and leaned against the wall. "Not the first time he's knocked the wind outta me."
Trunks stayed where he was, on the other side of the room. "He's done that before?"
Kalifer shrugged, then winced. "He likes to do it--to remind me who's in charge."
"Somebody ought to thrash his hide," Trunks growled.
"Step on up and try it, karaikoro," Kalifer snapped back. "How could a runt like you have a hailstone's chance in a volcano? I know my strength, and I could never beat him." His voice carried an overtone of frustration and despair.
Trunks shrugged, then began to look around the room, at the medical equipment. "Size doesn't count for much where I come from," he replied absently. He spotted something vaguely like medical tape on a shelf. "You need something for those ribs, at least until they heal. If you go banging around without support it'll hurt worse than getting your tail pulled. Do you keep pain relievers on this ship?" He glanced at Kalifer's healthy physique. "I'd give it about three hours before you're back on the job. Whatever it is you do on this tub."
"Feh. I need a regen tank, that's what--wait. How did you know--?"
"Can you tape yourself, or do you need a brat's help?" Trunks said sharply, quickly, to cover his slip.
Kalifer immediately bristled, forgetting the tail remark. "I don't need anyone!" He snatched the roll of wide medical tape that Trunks tossed at him, glaring laser bolts as he gingerly removed the top of his uniform and began to wrap his midsection.
Trunks regarded him, a little grain of empathy settling in his heart. Kalifer stood a head and a half taller--if he raised his arm horizontally Trunks could walk under it easily--but he didn't seem too much older than Trunks was; maybe only a couple years his senior. Yet he had all the world-weary cynicism of an old man; he'd seen it all and liked none of it. He must have had a tough life, a lonely castaway from a destroyed world.
Goku, my father, and those other two who died must not have been the only ones who survived Planet Vegeta's explostion, Trunks realized. I wonder if there were others like Goku, sent out as babies to destroy worlds and no one ever came for them...or how many others there might be, little colonies struggling to find a place to survive in this galaxy. Could it be...? Maybe my father was wrong...maybe the Saiyans aren't all dead!
He felt a shudder pass through him; he didn't know if it was good or bad that the infamous race of planet-killers still existed in some number. But then he looked at Kalifer, and felt his revulsion soften; not all Saiyans were evil, and they could improve--his father was a prime example. Kalifer wasn't bad. He just had never known the kindness of life on a planet like Earth.
Not all the Saiyan survivors--if there were any more--were as lucky as Goku and Vegeta.
"Just what does Carro expect me to do here?" Trunks asked after a few minutes of contemplation, unable to contain his curiosity.
"Probably cargo loading, like the rest of us," Kalifer replied gruffly, still working. "He'll have you on-the-job training for basic shipboard functions. You might even get galley duty 'cause you're so small. Combat, too. Pirates don't do everything legal."
"What did you say?" Trunks blurted. "Pirates?"
Kalifer glanced up at him incredulously. "What, you didn't know? We're space pirates. Thought it was obvious, karaikoro."
"N-no." Trunks leaned against the counter, hand pressed against his forehead, running fingers through his hair. Great. How had he fallen in with space pirates? Rescue, my butt. They just wanted my ship--and to make me their slave! Well, I'd like to see that fat captain just try!
Kalifer shrugged. "Pirates, smugglers, free enterpreneurs--however you want to fancy it up, that's what we are. We do some legal trade shipping, and some smuggling of illegal goods. We rob passing ships and sometimes planetside posts. We even pick up space trash to salvage. That's what we did when we found you. Or really, I found you."
"You found me?"
Kalifer rolled his eyes. "You're just full of questions, aren't you, karaikoro?" He set the medical tape on the counter and slipped on his tunic again. "We're on a legal shipping deal, this time. I spotted your wreck on the nav console, but Carro didn't want to stop for you--your ship was too small to be worth our time. I insisted we stop, and..." He grinned and lifted his arm, showing half-healed, three-fingered bruises on his forearm. "Actually, I crashed the navigation console so we had to stop. Can't go anywhere when the ship doesn't know where you want to go."
"Why?" Trunks asked, suddenly touched. "Why did you risk getting hurt when you didn't even know...?"
"Eh, no reason," Kalifer grunted. "Just though I shouldn't pass this up. I had a feeling--and I was right! Your ship's full of weird, neat junk! And you're not a bad find yourself--another strong crewer. You remind me of someone, too." He shrugged again. "'Sides, I'm used to getting banged around. Carro's been doing it since I was a brat."
"What?" Trunks' head snapped up. "Just how long have you been on this ship?"
Kalifer grunted. "Since I was a little kid. Carro attacked Rothuvar--that's my colony's planet--and razed the settlement. Killed my folks, my sister, and probably everyone else. I was the littlest, so he dragged me back to his ship like a pet." His eyes hardened, and his mouth twisted into a hint of a snarl. "I was a small kid, like most of my kind, so he carried me here by my tail and called me his little toy monkey. I worked years in the galley, cleaning the halls, and doing menial chores. Rest of the crew kicked me around like an animal. Heh, that's what most of the galaxy used to think my kind is. Monkeys..."
Trunks' face scrunched up in sympathy. "That must have been hard for you."
Kalifer shrugged, a seemingly typical move for him. "Huh, I don't care. Taught me to be tough."
"But...to spend years in slavery, not being able to live up to your heritage..." Trunks remembered his experience with his Past-Time father in the Room of Space and Time, and the hints that Vegeta had shown him. He knew of the pride of his race. "Saiyans are warriors by nature--how did you stand it?"
"Feh. It made me stronger. Carro finally let me start learning to fight when I was big enough, when he figured I could..." He broke off, his gaze going from reminiscent to analytical. "Wait a minute. That's the second time... How do you know about Saiyans?"
"Uh..." Trunks mentally kicked himself for the slip and grasped for an excuse. "Well, you aren't exactly without a reputation, you know--?"
"That's ghyota crap, karaikoro," Kalifer barked. "The Saiyan race has been mostly extinct for way longer than even I've been alive. Nobody recognizes a Saiyan without his tail and his attitude--the galaxy may not have forgotten about us, but they sure don't know that much about us anymore. You're the first alien I've met in ten years who knows anything detailed about Saiyans."
Smarter than the average Saiyan? Trunks wondered. Or else Goku's not your brightest example... "Um, I-I've heard..."
"Come to think of it, how could a little weakling like you break durasteel manacles?" Kalifer pressed on, his face serious and contemplative. "But...your coloring's wrong..." he murmered.
"Okay," Trunks sighed. "There was a Saiyan who grew up on my home planet. His son was my trainer when I was a kid. That's how I know."
Kalifer's eyes snapped back to his face. "A Saiyan? On your home planet? Where is it?"
"I won't tell you," Trunks replied sharply. "You're a pirate."
"You little...!" The bigger Saiyan looked like he might try to beat it out of him, then shrugged. "Feh, never mind. You said 'was.' I take it he's dead?"
Trunks nodded. "His son, too."
"If he was the only one, how'd he have a son?"
"My trainer was...a halfling." Trunks didn't name the other species that comprised Gohan's chromosomes, not wanting the pirates to know anything about his home planet.
Kalifer glared at him skeptically, snorting. "Torugar, eh? Bunch of freaks, half-breed Saiyans."
Trunks winced. "Why...why is that?"
"Species from different planets usually aren't genetically compatible with each other," Kalifer explained gruffly. "And hybrids come out sterile, deformed, and usually insane--it's a rare thing that a half-Saiyan can even live long past birth, much less grow up or fight. They're feeble--polluted by weak non-Saiyan blood. Your trainer must have been one of the luckier ones...but then, your kind looks enough like..." His gaze turned sharply contemplative again, and he examined Trunks one more time. "Pah, it's nothing. Let's get to work, karaikoro. Apparently Carro's assigned me to babysit you." His gruff, surly Saiyan attitude came back into full swing as he gestured for Trunks to follow him. "Come on."
A little struck by Kalifer's frank disdain for non-Saiyans and his obvious disgust for half-breeds, Trunks warily followed the bigger youth out into the corridor. It was long and drab and gray, just like the room he'd left. "What is that you keep calling me?" he asked.
Kalifer glanced over his shoulder. "What--karaikoro?"
Trunks nodded. "What does that mean? Is it a name?"
"Hm." Kalifer shrugged--it seemed to be his most common expression, one of indifference. "It's in Saiyan. I guess it means 'purple-hair' in Standard. Heh...karaikoro-sonjuka...'purple-hair small one.' I've been calling you that name since you didn't give me one to call you."
Karaikoro...sonjuka... Trunks thought for a moment. Being called "Little Purple-Haired One" wasn't exactly the most appealing thing for a warrior--but it might work as a pseudonym until he could get away from these pirates. "Karaikoro sonjuka," he murmered aloud; but it wasn't a name, it was a sentence in another language. Shorten it, maybe...? "Karaikoro..."
"Say it all you want--nobody else knows Saiyan," Kalifer grumbled, leading him along. "It's pretty much a dead language."
All the better! Trunks fought back a grin. Perfect. "You can call me that if you want," he said.
Kalifer glanced back at him oddly. "Huh?"
"I mean, that's what you pirates can call me: Karaikoro. Besides, you said no one else knows your language--it'll be a good nickname."
"You mean you don't want us to know your real name," Kalifer snorted, shrugging. He stopped in the middle of the corridor. "It's a stupid face-name, but whatever you want. I won't say anything to Carro." He grinned, clapping a sinewy hand on Trunks' shoulder. "You got guts to buck the captain like that, squirt. I like it--it'll be our private joke. Anyway..."
Trunks raised his eyebrows when Kalifer poked a button on the wall panel, which opened a narrow hatch before them. "What's this?"
"My quarters," Kalifer explained. "Carro wants me to keep an eye on you. There's no other empty rooms, and I doubt a little squirt like you would last long trying to room with some of the brutes on this boat. My quarters are small, but you can bunk with me. Long as you don't snore--or try to kill me in my sleep."
"Uh...no." Trunks poked his head in. The room was tiny, roughly five feet wide and eight long, just bunks in one wall and a closet/cabinet with sliding doors in the other--very reminiscient of the tiny bunk-rooms on his own ship. It didn't even have a window, but was surprisingly tidy for what he'd imagined of a Saiyan's quarters. The blankets on the bottom mattress were rumpled. "I take it I get the top."
Kalifer cuffed his shoulder. "Take it or sleep in the galley."
Trunks stepped in and looked around. "This is it, huh?"
Kalifer shrugged. "Well, it ain't the Rolinds Hotel, but it's home. Make yourself comfortable." The bigger Saiyan sat on his bunk, only to jump back up at the sound of a high-pitched squeal.
"Yeeeeep! Ouchies!"
"Yow! Damn you, Spit, get outta my cabin!" Kalifer roared, jerking back his bedcovers to reveal a tiny, cowering creature.
The little thing looked up at them through beady yellow eyes. Trunks wrinkled his nose; the thing resembled an eighteen-inch furry lizard with six clingy paws and bat wings, a pair of large triangular ears darting this way and that. One could hardly tell if it was reptile, mammal, or insect.
"Eesa no problem, Kallie!" the lizard-creature said in a squeaky, burbly voice, wriggling like an eager puppy on the bed. "Me goin' right now!" Spit spotted Trunks. "Oooo, Kallie gots a new friend, eee? Hesa reely teeny fellow, yes? Mebbe he bein' my friend, hesa teeny like me!"
Trunks grimaced; Spit's crawly ways and high-pitched voice gave him the shivers, and the alien creature's smell was none-too-pleasant.
"I don't think so, lizard-bug," Kalifer growled, grabbing Spit by the wings and tossing him out the door. "Get lost."
Spit wailed, but the cry cut off when he hit the far wall with a thump. The creature got up and shook himself, then skittered away down the corridor, mumbling. "Okie, okie! Meen can take a hints! Sheh, biggie butt Seeyan settin' on me--oughta take a bite outta hees tail next time..."
Kalifer rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bunk as the door slid shut on the little thing's ramblings. "That's Spit," he explaned resignedly. "Nosy critter, general busybody, and Carro's personal pet spy. Gets into everything--he's a real chameleon. Watch out for him; he's sneaky and he tells Carro everything he hears. If you've got secrets, don't speak 'em carelessly."
"Gotcha." Trunks didn't feel comfortable enough to sit, so he leaned against the wall. They stayed like that for several minutes before Kalifer broke the silence.
"You just gonna stand there all day?"
Trunks sighed. "Could I at least get my personal stuff out of my ship? If I'm gonna be here a while I might as well get comfortable." Only until we reach a planet. Then I'm getting me and my ship the hell off this rust bucket and back on my way to Namek.
"There's no such thing as comfortable on this boat, squirt." Kalifer frowned, standing up from the bed. "You can try talking to Taliquin about it." Then he grinned, shoving Trunks' shoulder in a companionable manner. "Now c'mon, Karaikoro, let's head to Engineering. I'll show you some of the ropes. Don't forget where my quarters are--I won't always be around to hold your hand."
"Don't worry about me. I'm smarter than I look." Trunks grinned back at him, allowing a bit of a Saiyan smirk into his expression. Kalifer actually wasn't that bad a guy--just a bitter young Saiyan raised by cruel space pirates. Maybe when he got away from the creeps, he'd ask Kalifer if he wanted to come with him.
After all, they were both Saiyans.
To be continued...