Chapter 7: Whatever happened to Son Chichi?
Bulma's father had helped her carry the limp form of her lover into the house, as her mother comforted the wailing Trunks. Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Gohan felt weak, and more than a little abandoned; he knew that a part of himself was angry that here, he had held Vegeta, keeping him from harming himself in his wild seizure; had protected Bulma, as well, until the danger was past, and at the cost of his own body. But he shot down that thought with the knowledge that it had been that ill-formulated plan that had set things in motion in the first place. And after he had nodded to Bulma that he would be all right, the whole family had rallied around their own, leaving him there, outside in the quiet night. He had no right to be angry; they were right to leave him.
And it gave him plenty of time to think.
He had realized, now, that the strange burning sensation that had plagued him as he fought Vegeta was not genuine; it was not reflected in any of the injuries he found on his own body, not even the final expulsion of Vegeta's energy which had singed even the prince's own fingertips. His shield had blocked the worst of that. The fire had come from either something he'd touched or ingested, some sort of poison which produced a neurological illusion; or, alternatively, it was overflow from Piccolo. And he was betting on Piccolo. Which meant that the first thing he had to do was make sure his little brother was all right. That was the first thing.
An owl called. Gohan realized he had been lying on the ground, unmoving, for some time since he'd resolved to go after Goten. It perturbed him more than a little that he wasn't sure exactly how long. This was no good-- in either of the scenarios he'd planned, a multi-stage attack had been undertaken upon unknown numbers of his friends, and there was no guarantee that it had ended. He would have to get into the house. Resigning himself to the petty pain of non-fatal injury-- although his lack of time sense was a trifle worrying, and he wasn't certain he'd make it without falling-- he pulled on his inner reserves, to drag himself into the relative safety of Capsule Corp, after the others. His ribs were daggers against his side. Ignoring them, Gohan rolled onto his belly, and pushed himself to his knees. Speed had suddenly become important.
High above him in the cool night sky, a strong energy approached.
There was bouncing and incoherent sounds, first; then a light, briefly, and a nasty smelling rag over her face. She swung her fist at it with all her might, blindly, and nearly dislocated her shoulder doing so; her hands were tied, tightly, behind her back. She bit at the rag, but the taste was horrible, making her gag, and as she tried to spit and found she didn't have the energy, she realized she was losing consc--
--iousness. The bouncing was gone, but it was still dark. Night? Carried? Vegeta? Her thoughts made no sense.
Chichi opened her eyes; they were sticky with induced sleep. It was not, in fact, actually pitch-black anymore; merely dim. Shaking her head in a vain effort to get the wool off it-- she had a conviction that her skull had somehow been padded with it-- she took stock of her surroundings.
She was in a cage, steel-barred, thick, with a heavy lock; her hands were still tied, but her legs were free (although in her current dizzy state unreliable). She was in a small room, windowless, filled with switchboard and radio equipment; a map that made no sense to her was pinging. Two men talked with one another in hushed voices; she couldn't hear what they were saying. Humans, though, or at least humanoids; she wished she were better at detecting ki. She would assume they were human. Gohan hadn't felt them in the garden. Gohan hadn't saved her in the garden. Gohan--
"Status?"
The voice, louder now, caught her attention. He spoke into a headset, still facing away from her; the tinny voice coming over the radio was nearly inaudible.
"...Confirmed, alpha target is down." The man turned to his companion with a pleased nod. Chichi's heart sank. Which one was alpha target? Could it be her son?
"Good work, Blue," the man said, then, "hold on--"
His companion-- Goon Two, she'd call him, Chichi decided-- had turned to Goon One, handing him a printout. Glancing over it efficiently, Goon One spoke into the radio again.
"Gamma team reports their target is MIA, presumed injured. Repeat, Gamma target is missing. Report to location Gamma f-"
Chichi felt hope spring. Injured? Someone, at least, was alive. That was the meaning.
Goon One had turned to his subordinate. "Get units three and four to Blue Location," he said, animated, "And notify the Omega teammembers to end search; their targets just showed up."
The squeaking of the radio suddenly called Goon One's attention back.
"A-- I-- No, the order stands! I don't care what you saw, Omega Targets are homo sapiens. I'm not going to throw this opportunity away because you're too cowardly to trust your fellow soldiers..."
As Goon One ranted on, Chichi attempted to piece matters together. Location Blue-- probably where she had just come from, presuming Vegeta or Gohan to be Alpha Target. They were going to launch a military attack on Capsule Corps? Ordinarily, she'd laugh at the idea; even with Vegeta out of the picture, the Briefs were not easy targets. But with all the confusion, would they see it coming? She had to do something. Her legs were free; and that was her one asset. What were steel bars to an enraged mother? They would never see her coming--
Chichi lept to her feet, hurling a ferocious back-kick at the hinge of her cage. The two men wheeled, astonished; what, had they expected her to stay passed out forever?
Her kick probably would have connected, too, if it wasn't for the lack of balance from the suddenly standing up. Instead, her left leb teetered horribly, and with no arms to catch herself, Chichi collapsed face down in a drugged heap.
"What have you done to my son?!" She tried to yell, but what actually came out was a loose-lipped mumble.
Goon Two approached the cage, and reached between the bars. Chichi steeled herself to be hit, too weak to dodge; but instead, he slapped tape over her mouth. Her eyes widened. The nerve--- without even saying a word!
Gohan, she thought. There's nothing I can do. And though it had been true for years, for every battle they had fought since she had met Son Goku, never before had it stung so close to her heart. Her plan was broken; the only plan left to her was to wait.
Gohan, for his part, was never going to make it to the back door of Capsule Corps. The energy signature was nearly on him. He looked around-- cover, at least there must be partial cover. The hedge. He reached--
And hands took him around the waist.
"Gohan!" A concerned voice. Was it familiar? "What happened here? I came as soon as I felt Vegeta's energy go strange like that, but it took me some time. Gohan?" The voice raised in pitch, worried. "Are you conscious, buddy?" Strong hands turned him, and he found himself face to face with a round head, swimming in his vision.
"Kuririn," he said, placing it at last. He tried to smile, and the monk looked crestfallen. "I'll be OK. Just trying to get inside." There was a bumbling noise coming from somewhere.
Kuririn's hand went to the pain on his temple, and came away blooded. "Kid, I think you're hurt worse than you know," he said, and with no more ado, hefted Gohan as if he were weightless. "Let's get you inside. Are Bulma and Trunks okay?"
"Don't want to see Bulma," Gohan mumbled. He was having trouble putting words together. "Angry at me."
"She left you here like this?" Kuririn said, horrified. "I'm going to have to talk to her. Come on, I can feel Tenshinhan on his way, too-- we'll take care of it, kid. I promise, you don't even have to look at Bulma if you don't want to."
Gohan relaxed. Not have to look at Bulma. That sounded good. Very good. There was something he had wanted to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. Where was his mother? Where was Son Chichi?
"I'm going to put you down for a sec," said Kuririn. The pleasant edge to his voice sounded a bit strained. "Got a little company. This will only take a minute." Gohan found himself back on earth again; the ground was beginning to seem almost friendly. He cracked an eye open; Kuririn was standing over him, arms raised in a block. And above him, the whirling noise raised in a crescendo; helicopters. He was too tired to count how many. He opened his mouth, but only a croak came out.
"Get to the house, if you can make it," Kuririn said over his shoulder. "Please, get to safety!" He turned. "Tenshinhan," he said to the helicopters. "You'd better get here soon."
Bulma's father had helped her carry the limp form of her lover into the house, as her mother comforted the wailing Trunks. Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Gohan felt weak, and more than a little abandoned; he knew that a part of himself was angry that here, he had held Vegeta, keeping him from harming himself in his wild seizure; had protected Bulma, as well, until the danger was past, and at the cost of his own body. But he shot down that thought with the knowledge that it had been that ill-formulated plan that had set things in motion in the first place. And after he had nodded to Bulma that he would be all right, the whole family had rallied around their own, leaving him there, outside in the quiet night. He had no right to be angry; they were right to leave him.
And it gave him plenty of time to think.
He had realized, now, that the strange burning sensation that had plagued him as he fought Vegeta was not genuine; it was not reflected in any of the injuries he found on his own body, not even the final expulsion of Vegeta's energy which had singed even the prince's own fingertips. His shield had blocked the worst of that. The fire had come from either something he'd touched or ingested, some sort of poison which produced a neurological illusion; or, alternatively, it was overflow from Piccolo. And he was betting on Piccolo. Which meant that the first thing he had to do was make sure his little brother was all right. That was the first thing.
An owl called. Gohan realized he had been lying on the ground, unmoving, for some time since he'd resolved to go after Goten. It perturbed him more than a little that he wasn't sure exactly how long. This was no good-- in either of the scenarios he'd planned, a multi-stage attack had been undertaken upon unknown numbers of his friends, and there was no guarantee that it had ended. He would have to get into the house. Resigning himself to the petty pain of non-fatal injury-- although his lack of time sense was a trifle worrying, and he wasn't certain he'd make it without falling-- he pulled on his inner reserves, to drag himself into the relative safety of Capsule Corp, after the others. His ribs were daggers against his side. Ignoring them, Gohan rolled onto his belly, and pushed himself to his knees. Speed had suddenly become important.
High above him in the cool night sky, a strong energy approached.
There was bouncing and incoherent sounds, first; then a light, briefly, and a nasty smelling rag over her face. She swung her fist at it with all her might, blindly, and nearly dislocated her shoulder doing so; her hands were tied, tightly, behind her back. She bit at the rag, but the taste was horrible, making her gag, and as she tried to spit and found she didn't have the energy, she realized she was losing consc--
--iousness. The bouncing was gone, but it was still dark. Night? Carried? Vegeta? Her thoughts made no sense.
Chichi opened her eyes; they were sticky with induced sleep. It was not, in fact, actually pitch-black anymore; merely dim. Shaking her head in a vain effort to get the wool off it-- she had a conviction that her skull had somehow been padded with it-- she took stock of her surroundings.
She was in a cage, steel-barred, thick, with a heavy lock; her hands were still tied, but her legs were free (although in her current dizzy state unreliable). She was in a small room, windowless, filled with switchboard and radio equipment; a map that made no sense to her was pinging. Two men talked with one another in hushed voices; she couldn't hear what they were saying. Humans, though, or at least humanoids; she wished she were better at detecting ki. She would assume they were human. Gohan hadn't felt them in the garden. Gohan hadn't saved her in the garden. Gohan--
"Status?"
The voice, louder now, caught her attention. He spoke into a headset, still facing away from her; the tinny voice coming over the radio was nearly inaudible.
"...Confirmed, alpha target is down." The man turned to his companion with a pleased nod. Chichi's heart sank. Which one was alpha target? Could it be her son?
"Good work, Blue," the man said, then, "hold on--"
His companion-- Goon Two, she'd call him, Chichi decided-- had turned to Goon One, handing him a printout. Glancing over it efficiently, Goon One spoke into the radio again.
"Gamma team reports their target is MIA, presumed injured. Repeat, Gamma target is missing. Report to location Gamma f-"
Chichi felt hope spring. Injured? Someone, at least, was alive. That was the meaning.
Goon One had turned to his subordinate. "Get units three and four to Blue Location," he said, animated, "And notify the Omega teammembers to end search; their targets just showed up."
The squeaking of the radio suddenly called Goon One's attention back.
"A-- I-- No, the order stands! I don't care what you saw, Omega Targets are homo sapiens. I'm not going to throw this opportunity away because you're too cowardly to trust your fellow soldiers..."
As Goon One ranted on, Chichi attempted to piece matters together. Location Blue-- probably where she had just come from, presuming Vegeta or Gohan to be Alpha Target. They were going to launch a military attack on Capsule Corps? Ordinarily, she'd laugh at the idea; even with Vegeta out of the picture, the Briefs were not easy targets. But with all the confusion, would they see it coming? She had to do something. Her legs were free; and that was her one asset. What were steel bars to an enraged mother? They would never see her coming--
Chichi lept to her feet, hurling a ferocious back-kick at the hinge of her cage. The two men wheeled, astonished; what, had they expected her to stay passed out forever?
Her kick probably would have connected, too, if it wasn't for the lack of balance from the suddenly standing up. Instead, her left leb teetered horribly, and with no arms to catch herself, Chichi collapsed face down in a drugged heap.
"What have you done to my son?!" She tried to yell, but what actually came out was a loose-lipped mumble.
Goon Two approached the cage, and reached between the bars. Chichi steeled herself to be hit, too weak to dodge; but instead, he slapped tape over her mouth. Her eyes widened. The nerve--- without even saying a word!
Gohan, she thought. There's nothing I can do. And though it had been true for years, for every battle they had fought since she had met Son Goku, never before had it stung so close to her heart. Her plan was broken; the only plan left to her was to wait.
Gohan, for his part, was never going to make it to the back door of Capsule Corps. The energy signature was nearly on him. He looked around-- cover, at least there must be partial cover. The hedge. He reached--
And hands took him around the waist.
"Gohan!" A concerned voice. Was it familiar? "What happened here? I came as soon as I felt Vegeta's energy go strange like that, but it took me some time. Gohan?" The voice raised in pitch, worried. "Are you conscious, buddy?" Strong hands turned him, and he found himself face to face with a round head, swimming in his vision.
"Kuririn," he said, placing it at last. He tried to smile, and the monk looked crestfallen. "I'll be OK. Just trying to get inside." There was a bumbling noise coming from somewhere.
Kuririn's hand went to the pain on his temple, and came away blooded. "Kid, I think you're hurt worse than you know," he said, and with no more ado, hefted Gohan as if he were weightless. "Let's get you inside. Are Bulma and Trunks okay?"
"Don't want to see Bulma," Gohan mumbled. He was having trouble putting words together. "Angry at me."
"She left you here like this?" Kuririn said, horrified. "I'm going to have to talk to her. Come on, I can feel Tenshinhan on his way, too-- we'll take care of it, kid. I promise, you don't even have to look at Bulma if you don't want to."
Gohan relaxed. Not have to look at Bulma. That sounded good. Very good. There was something he had wanted to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. Where was his mother? Where was Son Chichi?
"I'm going to put you down for a sec," said Kuririn. The pleasant edge to his voice sounded a bit strained. "Got a little company. This will only take a minute." Gohan found himself back on earth again; the ground was beginning to seem almost friendly. He cracked an eye open; Kuririn was standing over him, arms raised in a block. And above him, the whirling noise raised in a crescendo; helicopters. He was too tired to count how many. He opened his mouth, but only a croak came out.
"Get to the house, if you can make it," Kuririn said over his shoulder. "Please, get to safety!" He turned. "Tenshinhan," he said to the helicopters. "You'd better get here soon."