Chapter 1 – Extracting Necessary Information
The ships are returning. They fly in an orderly single-file line through to the docking bay. Good. I sip the sour-tasting drink in my glass with another hand pressed against the glass. I want to be down there, but not yet. Not until I actually have people to see.
I've called for a report, but service is slow. The people under my command don't seem to realise how quickly orders should be answered. They're all beginners, though, so I can't blame them for it yet. They'll have to learn from the elders.
The door behind me slides open, finally. "Sir, Rift, here with the report."
"At ease." I take another sip from the glass. "Anything interesting?"
"We've been searching under guard and secretly so that no one picks up the ship. The galaxy's quite small in comparison to others, so all the planets have already been searched. Full scope and search, but no life on any except for the third one in, the one that's coloured blue and green."
"Thriving, is it?"
"Yes. Huge population. Must have a lot of things worth taking – currency and the-like. As far as I saw, they've got nice females, too."
I smile. "That's all you men seem to think about." I place the glass back onto the table beside me. "I think that this planet is worth ransacking. If there are as many inhabitants as you say there are, then the economy won't be as badly affected after we've searched it. They should keep the money coming. The planet should continue to thrive, meaning that we can keep coming back for more."
"Good, Sir. I'll take the best ships and the best fighters, and-"
"Hold on, Rift. Remember the 'Power of Three' rule: riches, strength, and land. All are valuable to me." I scrape fingernails across the glass. "We can't get the important things if we don't know where to find them, can we?"
"All sorted. We took a few...um...samples from the planet. A couple of inhabitants on a building site, one picking apples in the forest on his own, a dozen shopping and going around their business – we'll get the information from them."
"Good. See to it now. The longer we're here for, the quicker they'll pick us up."
Rift stamps his foot – "Sir!" - and leaves the room.
I stand by the window and watch as the planet's inhabitants leave the ships. They all look bemused, pale and scared witless, surrounded by my captains and members dressed in black robes, like cloaks coating their identities with shadows, from my personal army. I stand and watch as Rift reaches the group and picks out a couple for 'interrogation'. Most of them answer the questions quickly and shrink away from the danger as soon as they can. Some don't. One particularly fat character stands and complains through his disgustingly large mouth at the captain. Stupid of him. The sword hanging at his side - a strange thing to be carried around by a normal person, I note - is removed, and Rift catches the handle and drags the blade along the character's upper forearm. He talks now as the blade is held to his throat, sweating like a pig.
This interrogation continues for another hour or so, before the inhabitants are taken away from the docking bay and Rift turns and heads back to my room. I welcome him with a beverage, and he reports to me again:
"We've got co-ordinates for the richest places on the planet. Strength is something lacking in the population, and there isn't land that can be easily taken without many, many people noticing. Most of it has been built on. There are some rich natural sources that we can put to use, like coal and oil. Well, here's the list of the richest businesses." He delves into his front pocket, pulls out a scrap of paper and hands it to me. I scan down the list, pick out a few names: "Warfare Ltd...Informatique Parfait...Capsule Corporation...Virgin Music...Rondoove's Goldmine Ltd." These names are ridiculous.
"Perfect," I say, handing it back to him. "Head for these businesses and ransack them. Bring back inhabitants – humans - for testing-"
"And females," he interrupts slyly. I smile, equally slyly.
"Yes. Especially females." I stretch, tired of this conversation. "Just do what you're good at, but don't completely dry the planet out. Take, at most...a quarter, else the planet's economy won't recover."
"Sir." A salute, then he turns and leaves the chamber. I smile at the closed door, and watch through the glass again at the docking bay. Rift is giving orders. My personal army is filing into over 20 individually large cargo ships – a sea of black. The ships jettison from the docking bay and into the unknown space outside. The profits of this expedition would be very interesting indeed.
For now, I'm tired of watching. I decide to sleep.
The house was large, empty and dark. Penelope Rondoove sat upstairs on her velvet-covered window seat, watching over the vast fields that belonged to her father. The sky was clear of stars but still very beautiful, with all of the colours of the night mingling into each. It was like an oil painting. Behind the house were the endless factories that produced the gold and jewels – the objects of which her father was obsessed with, that had made life for her so rich and plentiful. But she despised the smell of melted metal, so had chosen a bedroom with a window facing away from the fumes. She was glad she had now. She opened the window, and breathed in the fresh air.
Then, she noticed the large, navy blue sitting stationary on one of the far fields.
"Huh..?" she mumbled curiously, and dropped from the window seat and left her bedroom, her naked feet pattering on the wooden floor. She shivered in the sudden cold breeze of the house, and wrapped her jumper around her for extra warmth. It was a good job that she had decided to sleep in her clothes tonight. It would have been freezing in just her thin night dress.
She had reached the stair case and was half way down the stairs when the tapping began, like metal on metal. She shuddered. It was too dark. "Dad?" she shouted.
Her voice echoed from the walls of the large entry hall. There was no reply.
She hated her house when it was lifeless. Usually, her parents were still awake at this time, watching the television for the business news and statistics. Perhaps they'd gone to bed early. "Daddy?" she called again, finally reaching the hallway.
She jumped when the tapping happened again, very close to her right. It was coming from outside. Metal on metal, or perhaps some unerthly fingernails tapping against glass...? No! Stop scaring yourself! Shaking slightly, Penelope reached out, and wrenched the curtain across.
It was a loose chain, tapping on the surface of the window from the outside. "Idiot," she muttered angrily to herself, closing the curtain again.
"Mom? Dad?" The TV was on in the living room, she could see the light issuing from it through the doorway. "I'd appreciate it if people answered me once in a while," she shouted furiously, walking into the living room. "Didn't you hear what-"
She stopped dead. Mr Rondoove was lying face-up on the carpet, completely unconscious with blood trickling from his mouth in a small river down the wrinkles of his chin. There was another, more delicate hand poking out from behind the sofa, with a golden bracelet twisted around the thin wrist. Mother... Penelope was going to scream, before-
::THUNK::
On the opposite side of the world, the day was boiling hot. The distant scenes were shimmering gently under heat waves: scenes of grey block buildings running parallel against one another, jettisoning steam and thick, choking smoke into the atmosphere. Inside the factories it was just the same. The heat had somehow managed to sneak its way into the huge buildings despite the fact that the air conditioning was running full blast. Men in orange work suits were simultaneously wiping sweat from their foreheads with one arm whilst juggling dangerous pieces of razor-sharp equipment with the other. The machines coughed up piece after piece of jet black coal, an endless stream of the stuff. The man working the conveyer belt looked up longingly at the clock on the wall: 12H00. 10 minutes till lunch.
Everything was working normally when an alarm bell sounded out loudly, a rare occurrence for the factory workers. Was it the fire alarm? They all stood motionlessly, not knowing what to do.
The ceiling caved in.
The men in Block 4F screamed in terror as four large metallic objects pierced through 2-feet thick plaster. Most got out of the way and exited the factory speedily. Those who stayed behind were either suffocated by the dust or crushed to death by falling pieces of rubble.
The man left his station at the conveyer belt. He stood, dumb-struck, watching as the gigantic ship coated in the grey dust of the plaster landed on the factory floor. His legs were frozen as people dressed in black robes left the craft and invaded the coal carriers, stealing huge chunks of the stuff and dragging the lumps back to their mysterious companions. And his mouth was wide open in a large 'O' of shock as the thieves armed with blasters approached him, jeered, and shot him into a million pieces.
In the suburbs of a large city, West City at late evening time, fires were springing up all over the place. A woman sprinted down the street dragging her small child behind, but she was cut down a second later by a huge dog-like figure and dragged off into the night. The space crafts towering over the houses were loading up with coal and oil, some of which spilt out onto the streets. Men, women and children were running together in groups, thinking of safety in numbers, and mostly these groups were left alone. Only some of the humans had been brought down and dragged back to the waiting space crafts. It seemed as if all the invaders wanted was zeni, and lots of it. Several incidents went amiss: cars driving insanely through the streets; flames darting out of buildings and cutting through groups of invaders, killing some downright; one man and his green-haired daughter flying through the air high above the city…all these were un-noticed, because of the invaders' obsession with stealing as much as they could carry. Some of the braver human men had stayed behind to fight the fires springing up in every street. It was chaos.
Hiding behind the wall of house in the shadows the figure, a thin pale girl with white skin and a long, glum face, shook her head. "I warned them of something. If this is bad, then what's to come?" she asked herself, and, tucking a yard long tail of hair and a large red ribbon inside of her black coat, she walked off back into the trees.
In the dome-shaped building, a crowd of party-goers were huddled around a television screen, completely silent. They were watching the chaos outside. The nervous reporter on the television was wrapping her hands around the hem of her short red dress and glancing at either side of her all the time.
"It's complete madness out here in West City," she spoke aloud to the camera. "These strange beings - these 'invaders', as they have been dubbed by the news team - are stealing zeni and…everything…mercilessly. It has been reported that many citizens have been captured and taken into the…there's no way to describe them…space ships, the massive structures standing behind me..." She cupped her hand to her earpiece, listened in silence, as a group of people dressed in black ran from behind her, dragging bags along the floor. The reporter began again. "I've also just had news that this chaos is happening all over the world…the French company Informatique Parfait's main factory has been completely obliterated…it is feared that our very own Capsule Corporation could be next in this line of raids-"
An explosion rang out from behind her. She screamed. "The world hasn't seen such madness since Buu's reign of terror!" she shouted shakily.
A figure in black appeared out of nowhere and made an attempt at grabbing the reporter around the waist. She screamed and tried to beat him off with tiny fists. The view was shaking. Obviously the cameraman was having troubles of him own, too...
Something flew out of the air and landed on the invader gripping the news reporter. The black figure dropped her, and aimed a blaster at his attacker. Everything was moving around the screen so quickly that it was hard to follow what was going on…that is, until a prominent voice rang out from amidst the chaos:
"Have no fear, the Great Saiyamann is here!"
Back in the sphere-like building, one man whooped in delight.
"That's my boy!" clichéd Goku, grinning from ear to ear. He was the only one. No one else seemed too happy to see Gohan.
"I'm going to go and help him," muttered Krillen finally, biting his bottom lip. "This looks serious. We're supposed to be the protectors of Earth and all." He glanced towards Chi-Chi. "I'm guessing Videl's out these to?"
She nodded in reply, mind elsewhere. Her gaze was fixed on the television screen, on the figure of her teenage son who was, at that moment, battling hand-to-hand with one of the darkly-dressed invaders. Goku rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.
"We'll all go. We've stood by and done nothing for too long." His expression was one of seriousness. It was startling how fast his emotions could change. "I want to find out who these guys are…from the looks of things they're just interested in stealing zeni-"
"Any sign of Bra and Vegeta yet?" came Bulma's voice from the kitchen. A moment later she appeared, dressed in a formal top and jeans but her face a mask of anxiousness. "I sent them out shopping before all this madness began, and they haven't come back yet-"
Everybody shook their heads. "That reporter said they might raid Capsule Corp. next," Bulma muttered, staring at the chaotic scene of destruction.
Somehow the cameraman had managed to keep his machinery upright, filming. Gohan, dressed in his hero costume, was still fighting with the invaders. Behind him, Videl's head could just be made out in the darkness. She was surrounded, and her usually pretty face looked grim.
"Let's go already!" shouted Trunks angrily, clenching his fists. "They're having trouble fighting them all off! Me and Goten could do some good at least." His hair began to stand up, tinged with gold. Bulma shot him a dangerous look.
"Trunks, remember the rule – no powering-up in the house!" she snapped, glancing at the remains of a shattered vase, stocking up the bin in the corner of the room.
"But Mom-"
At that moment the door to the living room opened, and Bra, soaking wet, ran into the room and hugged her mother's trouser leg. Her green hair was hanging down before her face in wet strands, flattened against the top of her head. She shoved a bag of apples into Bulma's outstretched hands. "Mommy, it's horrible out there!" she said in a high-pitched squeak.
Bulma's eyes were wide. "What happened to you?" she muttered, stroking her daughter's hair. "You're soaked..."
"That's because the humans are putting out the flames," came a cold voice.
Vegeta was standing in the doorway, almost as soaked as Bra. His own spiky hair drooped slightly forwards, and his clothes were sopping. "Well, are you coming or not?" he snapped at the group crowded around the TV screen. "We don't have a lot of time to waste, if you moron's hadn't realised that yet!"
He turned, powered up to Super Saiyan and flew from the room without a second glance.
"Daddy's in a bad mood! There are those nasty people everywhere," Bra was telling her mother breathlessly. "One tried to steal my zeni but Dad chased him and blasted him and we had to fly over the buildings and then the mean men, they tried to shoot us with this metal guns but we dodged them and-"
"Calm down, Bra, please," her Mom replied soothingly. She looked up. "Goku, what are you going to do..?"
"Grandpa, look!" came Pan's voice. She was crouching in front of the TV screen. "The men, they're beating Dad!" Everyone followed her horrified gaze.
The flames of the buildings were burning brighter than before. The camera was now on its side, and the reporter and cameraman were nowhere to be seen. The city was devoid of people, of any citizens at all, except for the invaders dressed in black. Many of them were heading for the space ships, still clutching bags of zeni and lumps of ornaments and the like, obviously stolen from surrounding houses. The only invaders not dragging bags to the spacecrafts were the ones fighting with Gohan. He looked worn out, and, although darkly-dressed bodies littered the ground, many more kept on coming, a sea of black descending upon the Great Saiyamann and his female companion. The invaders had a graceful, precise method of hand-to-hand combat. They leapt into the air in smooth arcs to land behind their opponents and hit them with a flurry of swift punches. Gohan had the advantage of energy waves and ki blasts, but the invaders were quick at dodging. They had perfected their fighting skills into a deadly, skilful art.
Videl was having definite trouble. She could fly, but could not blast her attackers like her husband. She was tiring. And still the sea descended. Even when Vegeta entered on the left hand of the screen and began to blast through the invaders, their numbers would not be cut down. They were marching to their deaths, but didn't seem to care.
Goku clenched his fists. Without warning, he flew from the building. Krillen, Tien, Trunks, Goten and Yamcha all followed. Pan made to go, but Chi-Chi grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "Oh no you don't, young lady," she told her small grand-daughter. "You're not leaving my sight. It's too dangerous for you."
Pan struggled. "I want to go and help!" she cried imploringly. "Trunks and Goten went, so why can't I?" But Chi-Chi didn't release her arm. She, Bulma and the others were watching the TV screen intently.
Pan's mind whirled. She thought of a plan. She reached out and pinched Bra lightly on the arm. Bra turned and looked at her curiously.
Swap, Pan mouthed at the tiny girl, pointing at her grandmother's hand. Bra stood, puzzled, and Pan had to repeat herself three times before she got the idea. She began to mouth a reply:
But-
Swap! Pan was getting anxious and impatient.
Chi-Chi's mind was elsewhere. Bra gently lifted the woman's hand from Pan's shoulder, and placed it on her own. You owe me a favour. Hurry up, she mouthed, but Pan was gone, sneaking out of the door as quietly as a mouse. She powered up, leapt into the air and flew westward, smiling at the thought of a proper fight. Now she could put her training to action.