Chapter Eight: Life on Board
Life had settled into a quiet sort of routine in the past months. The days were filled with research for Bulma and with training for everyone else on the ship. The training was going extremely well. Piccolo had done amazing work with the mental training lately; the fruits of the training creeped Bulma out to no end. Half of the conversations during meals were silent now, and she really had to work and guess to understand what everyone was saying. Or thinking. Whatever. Besides the fact that she felt left out, it was extremely frustrating; the air seemed alive with unspoken communication. Sometimes she was sure she picked up their silent voices, but she never knew if it just was her intuition and her long years of being around thesepeople that made her predict what they were going to say. She had been able to predict - or hear - more and more.
Vegeta found her irritation rather amusing, and teased her frequently with it. He could be such an ass! Bulma found herself getting ticked off by the whole situation. Being in the cramped spaceship for such a long time was really getting on her nerves; after all these years she couldn't live without Vegeta, and she loved her children and friends, but please, definitely not for 24/7 without an outside world to flee into! She began to crave shopping sprees and sitting outside in the sunlight. She missed her lab. She missed her tools. She missed her wardrobe. She even missed her parents.
And Kami, she HATED being a test subject for manipulation mind games, she thought vehemently, toweling herself dry after an early morning shower. Piccolo had ordered the young halflings to try and manipulate their mother's will for practice. Bulma's protests had been largely ignored, save for some comments that this was important and that she had the strongest will they knew without any mind shields. So she was the only person they could test their abilities on.
And don't worry, her young son had assured her, azure eyes sparkling with mischief, we won't do anything harmful. You know I never would!
Very funny, Trunks, Bulma thought, glancing at the clock in the bathroom. It cheerfully announced that it was 4 am at Earth right now. Nothing harmful, eh? I'm rather sure that showering at such an ungodly hour was not MY idea!
Pissed off to no end, she stomped through the hallway, slamming the bathroom door behind her. No way was she going to sleep anymore tonight. Oh well, she had been having a bad night anyway. Goku and Vegeta were off-ship, exploring some planet they were hovering over. Bulma had discovered that this planet still had some ki-readings that seemed to indicate intelligent life. Vegeta had confirmed this; this planet had been one of the richer trading nations during Freeza's rule. Well, there was not much left of that now. There was still life down there, but it was scarce. The inhabitants of this planet must have hid themselves well during the assault, Bulma supposed. Good for them... or not?
They had explored multiple planets now, and every time the two Saiya-jin left the ship Bulma nearly drove herself mad with anticipation and boredom during the long wait for their return. What stories would they return with, this time?
Still irritated, Bulma made herself a cup of tea and waited for the sign from the two Saiya-jin indicating that they would want to board again. It was going to be a long night.
***
Sparring filled all of their lives right now. Honestly enough, there was not much else they could do between planets, and Trunks happily immersed himself in it. He had been training vigorously lately.
Kick, punch, spin, smack. Kick, block, block, block.
"We'll sing the deathsong, kids..." Trunks muttered, dodging a particular blow that would have knocked him unconscious if it would have connected, "'cause we got no... future..."
Somersault. He loved the feeling of somersaulting. It had been one of the things that had made him want to learn to fly when he was a kid. It was one of his father's favorite moves during battle, he knew; fighting his father always involved speed, dazzling movements, quick turns and loops and spins. Goku was an awesome fighter, too, but he relied more on hand-to-hand, the parrying and blocking, while Vegeta danced. He preferred sparring with his father, usually. It was all a matter of taste, he supposed. Or maybe a thing of heritage. He was not sure. And he did not care either. He wanted to concentrate on the fight and on the here and now. What did battle preferences matter anyway?
Spin, block. Dodge, kick. Block, punch, block.
"And we hope that Heaven's true..."
"Would you please stop singing," Vegeta inquired, never even altering his speed or wavering his defenses. "You're annoying me."
"Try to break through," Trunks smirked. "If it annoys you, I'm not going to stop. Kiss it on the face and send it to God... We'll sing the deathsong, kids… Kick my ass for it, Vegeta. Come on, you can do it."
"Don't be so cocky, brat! His father's bellowed words were accompanied by severe blows that rendered his wrists senseless and tingly, even as he blocked. These were going to leave bruises. Trunks did not care. Maybe if he let himself be pounded, he wouldn't dream tonight. That would be nice for a change.
He refused to give up. "Because we got... no... future..."
"What is that song anyway?"
"I don't know. Something we picked up on the radio just before we left earth. I thought it was rather fitting."
Block, parry, hit. No time to rejoice, block, block.
Mental intrusion, mental block.
"Oh, that was very low, Vegeta," Trunks hissed, breaking away from their engagement.
His anger just earned him a smirk. "Then quit thinking that way, brat. If you Don't change your attitude, I'll change it for you. You're a prince of the Saiya-jin, we're not going to lose to those silver twerps. Where's your pride?"
Encouragement from Vegeta? Kami, he must have been acting really depressed then.
Time for a subject change. He was not about to let his feelings show to Vegeta. The Saiya-jin prince would show no mercy, and Trunks did not think he would like a repetition of a fight like they had last week. Vegeta had kicked him down repeatedly, demanding that he'd get up and fight back verbally, but he had refused, lacking the strength. He needed stability right now, not fighting. "So what did you find on the planet anyway?"
"Let's take a break," Vegeta announced. He went straight to the place where they had stored their water and drank half of the bottle, the rest he poured over his head. "Didn't the woman tell you? Planet's called Pardun. Used to be a race of traders, low level, actually liked working for Freeza. It made them rich. They were one of the first against the wall when the Cold Empire fell." He smirked. "Snotty bastards, they got what they deserved. Anyway, they said a lot of things. Most of it was bullshit. They believed the silver guys to be magical or something. Or that their armor was magical. Kakarot did most of the talking, since I was having a hard time not to laugh into their faces, or blast them, or both."
Trunks put down his own bottle of water. "Magical?"
"Yes, something like that." The Saiya-jin prince sat down and leaned against the wall comfortably. "The armor is magical. Once you would put it on, you would never be able to take it off again, and it would change you into a merciless killer, or, as they called it, the perfect war machine. You'd be invincible, and you would get whatever revenge you wanted, in exchange for your soul and your sanity. What a load of bullshit. However, we've heard similar stories from several planets now, and this is the best story we could make of it. Besides, ever since I saw the inside of Buu's stomach I think I can believe anything. We've heard the most exotic speculations on the Silver Terror, as you call them. Most of the people down there call them Angels of Death. A rather fitting name, I'd say." He looked a little amused and picked up a second bottle. "But for more details, you'll have to ask the woman. She fancies herself in charge of the intelligence around here after all." He took a few gulps, then looked at Trunks again. "Up for another round, brat?"
"Anytime."
***
"Hello Bulma, what are you working on?"
Bulma turned away from her terminal and smiled at Gohan, who had just entered the bridge. He looked exhausted and bruised, but still wide awake and alert. He also smelled nice, she noticed. He had probably just taken a shower after sparring.
"Oh, some speculation on the stories we've heard about the Silver Terror. It's just something to pass time between planets, really. How are you doing, Gohan?"
"Sick and tired of sparring right now, actually," he confessed. "I hoped I could sit down with you and help you a little for the upcoming days. I need a break from the mental and physical training, or I'll go crazy."
"Of course you can, I could use another mind looking at my crazy theories. I can imagine you want to take it easy for a bit, you boys have been pushing yourself to the limit. However, don't expect me to go easy on this research. It's all crazy speculation I suppose, but I'm very serious about it."
"Naturally," He waved her comment away and sat down next to her, turning the chair to the terminal. "I could use some real thinking and speculating right now actually. So, show me what you're working on."
Bulma rose and walked over to the coffeemaker. "Coffee?" when he nodded, she pushed some buttons and continued: "Well, the whole idea of the armor, from what we've heard, is that it's supposed to block any kind of physical and mental contact to the person inside. That's why they seem so invincible, it's hard to really reach out and touch them, in any way possible. It's simply almost impenetrable to anything. I've been calculating some diagrams on how such a substance should work, that's what you're looking at right now."
Gohan observed the diagrams and calculations and frowned. "It's all very sketchy," he said carefully, clearly not wanting to offend her. "Where did you find this information?"
"I built the ideas from scratch and from what little information we have," she sighed, handing him a cup of coffee. "But as you see here, there's some sense in this. From what we've heard from Trunks, the physical shield is stronger than the mental one. That is probably because physical attacks are much more common than mental ones.
It is possible to break through, we know that, too."
Gohan leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant. "It makes me think of the material that broke the Z Sword. What was it called again? Katcheen or something? The Supreme Kai claimed it was the most durable substance in the universe."
"Really? Tell me more about it!" Immediately her fingers found the keyboard, starting search and trace programs. She had her own programs, of course, and Vegeta had given her some links and passwords to intergalactic information networks that could be accessed through nearby planets. Most of the networks had gone down over the past decade, but it had a few dazzling databases and connections that surpassed the Internet on Earth by far. It didn't take long before information began to fill up her screen, even as Gohan was still describing what he knew about the material.
Energetically, she started to read, hoping they had caught onto something.
***
"Come on, you can do it!" he heard his friend cheer over his own tensed screaming. Goten was drawing upon his own power, fighting his way deeper and deeper into himself, hoping to stumble over some yet untested power source. Dammit, Trunks had been able to go Super Saiya-jin level 2 months ago, what was keeping him?
His father had offered that maybe he had to be angry to transform, but Goten doubted it. If that was so, his frustration would have triggered it weeks ago. Besides, he had become Super Saiya-jin during a simple spar with his mother, for crying out loud! A level further shouldn't be that much of a problem. He knew faintly what it was like to be Gotenks, with all that intense power at his fingertips, now only if he could just imagine that hard enough, maybe it would come... they needed it. If they could align their power at a higher level when they'd fuse, Gotenks' power would be unimaginable. It was so necessary, why wouldn't it come?
Maybe he should scare the crap out of himself by using his imagination and tell his mind that it was necessary to transform right now and force himself? Because it was his mind that was blocking him; he was strong enough and everyone knew it. And he... couldn't... stay... behind! As long as he could remember Trunks and he had always been roughly equal in power. He'd die if Trunks would surpass him that far. And he definitely did not want to be the weakest fighter, the idea simply freaked him out. He almost laughed out loud. When had the friendly competition between them changed into pride? And why was he so proud? He never used to care about it; Gotenks' power had always been enough for him. His own power had been enough for him in the past. But here he was, trying his best to prove he could do it. Not because of the horror that would plague the earth in a few years, but because he needed to prove himself.
And he would not have it!
Screaming in frustration, all Goten felt was the need to explode. He needed to channel his feelings somehow, but it was inside of him and it simply would not come out. Come on! They needed him! They had to need him, otherwise he'd go nuts and he'd have taken off to space all for nothing! He had to let it OUT! He needed to break through, he needed to remember how it was to break into new power, he had it IN him, damn him... damn him... damn everything... he would...
And there it was.
No explosion, just a shrill sound of energy crackling around him. His body tensed up and all it took was a simple opening. He just had to open himself to the power, and it all flooded inside of him. He did not need to let it out, but let it in. He had to surrender to it, that was all it took.
Crackling and beaming with newfound power, Goten turned to his friend with a smirk on his face, and all he could think was: Damn me, indeed.
***
One look at the beaming faces of Bulma and Gohan was enough. Not even everyone was sitting at the dinner table yet, and they were shifting in their seats like little children, all excited with some news they wanted to share as soon as everyone had arrived.
Trunks looked up from the food that would probably taste like ashes in his mouth again, and proposed calmly: "So tell us your wonderful news, before you explode."
He caught an amused glance from Vegeta, but did not answer the look. Instead, he worried about how he was possibly going to eat all this. Bulma had made sure there was a healthy portion on his plate, but he was not hungry at all. Of course, this was a recurring phenomenon. Bulma had yelled several times at him already, he needed to eat well if he were training this extensively, because he was burning up energy like it was nothing. Of course Trunks was aware of that. He was just repulsed of the idea of eating ever since... ever since then. And if it made him feel light-headed and dizzy sometimes, so be it.
Maybe he wouldn't have to eat with all this excitement tonight.
"We," Bulma announced, her blue eyes sparkling with pride and joy, "...are going to the planet Aranza."
"What is so special about that planet, woman? It's just a chunk of stone; the atmosphere burnt out during a biological war decades ago."
"It's the mines," Bulma explained to her husband with a patience that surprised them all. His gruff remark had done nothing to diminish her jubilant mood, obviously. "You see, Gohan told me something about what he thought was the strongest material in the universe, and I did some searches on it, which ultimately led me to another mineral that I'm fairly sure makes up the basics of the armor of the Silver Terror." A satisfied smile played around her lips. "And that's why we're going to Aranza. Too see if I'm right."
Trunks leaned back in his chair. "Say that you're right," he began slowly, "wouldn't it be very dangerous to journey there? I suppose that the Terror would be there, too."
"Well," Gohan cut in, laying down his spoon, "isn't that what we've been preparing for all along, then? We're still making progress, but I think that we should be able to take some samples and get out of there before all hell breaks loose."
It sounded as if they had put a lot of thought into this already, Trunks noted. Well, good for them. It might be dangerous, it might be not. "Of course, this whole journey is a gamble," he muttered sardonically. "Why not stake all of our lives to prove a theory?" "Isn't that a bit of a dark view on our mission, Trunks?" his past mother ventured.
He shrugged and looked at his plate. "Whatever."
A green hand on his arm made him look up. "Hey kid, you've all worked miracles over the past months. I don't think that I can teach you much more about mental warfare, and physically a lot of barriers have been broken as well."
"Yup! Even I reached a new level," Goten added brightly.
Piccolo largely ignored the teenager, projecting his attention on Trunks. "We'll be as ready as we can be. We will be fine."
Oh great, now he was getting reassurances from Piccolo, too! Why did everyone think he was so uncertain? He was just trying to be realistic! He had fought the Terror, not them! He was also the one who had lost everything, so why bother being careful and realistic? He could not afford to be naive and hopeful! The last battle he had fought had beaten those things rather effectively out of him.
Trunks sighed and continued to stare at his plate.
"I think that if I could find what their awful armor is made of, I could really help you people in defeating those guys," his mother continued cheerfully. "So I think it's worth the gamble. What do you people think?"
Even before the first of the gathered warriors had agreed, Trunks felt the agreement hanging in the air between them. He also felt the unspoken question as they all turned to him for his decision. He felt forced to look up to them and forced his voice to sound as bright as his mother's: "Well, Aranza it is then."
Author's Note: The lyrics are taken from Marilyn Manson's 'Deathsong', which I was listening to while writing this chapter.
Updates to this story will follow soon; now that Nanowrimo is over I have many high hopes to me writing a lot of words in a short period of time. If I can write 50,000 words in a month, then I can surely wrench out at least two more chapters before the end of the year, right? ;)
And, as always, kudos to Sango, my beta-reader! I assume that you've surely read her awesome stories yet. If not: here you go!
