Undiscovered Territory
CHAPTER SEVEN: Reconnaissance
His head felt heavy, stuffy. And it was surrounded by a darkness that should have been disturbing yet somehow was not. Rather, it felt oddly comforting. Though truth be told, he did not know why this should be odd or why it should have disturbed him. There was just something inside his foggy mind that told him that he should feel threatened, that there was some danger present.
And that danger was given form at last, in the voices that he could now discern. Normally, he had sharp hearing – or so he seemed to remember, at least – but these voices sounded muffled, far away. The same sense that told him that he was in danger refuted this, however. They told him that the voices were very close indeed. Too close. And there was something about their owners that screamed trouble.
He just didn't know what it was.
The blackness lightened to grey, but this did little to clear his head. The sense of foreboding did grow stronger, however, and he struggled to remember where this had come from. Surely he must have known at one point, otherwise why would he be fearing harm?
It was an effort to remember, but he tried it anyway. The grey around his mind seemed to be a clue. Not the significance of the colour, per se, but the colour itself. Maybe that was the shade of his surroundings? Though what places were grey he could not quite figure out. Most places that he knew were green or blue. And even inside any house, there was none of the muted shade that now surrounded him. It was always pure white.
But with the memories of colours, other images came. Trees, most prominently. Perhaps he had been among them recently? And he remembered people suddenly. A small child much like him in appearance. His brother, he recalled. His younger brother.
The other people that flew through his mind were not so comforting to see. Wide-shouldered armour and frightening builds. Faces that had either dark frowns or disturbing imitations of smiles. And he remembered them saying something terrible just before . . .
Jolted along with his memory, Dende's eyes snapped open. He lay on a hard flat surface – a table, he registered instantly. A table in a room with some crazy scientist that had little regard for life. Or none, really, as far as he had seen.
But though he was awake now, his body refused to move. Whatever had been administered to him had obviously not fully left his system. He couldn't even shift his eyes to look anywhere else in the room. Involuntarily, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, his vision hazy at the edges and partially obscured by his antennae.
"Scree, would you get the rest of these into isolation?" came the chillingly familiar voice of Doctor Gneiss. "We'll run tests on them a little later. We need some more room in here to properly test that blood sample from earlier. Get the kid out of here once you're through with the samples."
"Right away, Doctor." Scree's voice this time, the very tone of the obedient assistant.
"Now, then – Oh."
Dende would have flinched at the doctor coming into his field of vision, but his body was too paralyzed to even manage that. The doctor titled her head curiously at him, an expression of obvious wonder at one thing or another.
"Well, that's interesting," she said at last. "That sedative should have lasted at least another half hour. I wonder if this can be attributed to those regenerative capabilities that I read about."
That she had read about? What did this strange scientist know about his people? The Nameks were largely a planet-bound species – had been so for well over a generation – and had only in the past few years had any significant contact with aliens.
And yet, when he thought of it, that monster that had been Frieza had known a few things about his people as well. This was a matter of impossibility. How could he have known anything about them if he had never been to the planet before? Could it have been some knowledge somehow gleaned unseen before he had arrived? And was it happening here again?
So many questions washed through Dende's mind that he thought that they might drag him down under the seas of unconsciousness once more. But perversely, they only kept him more awake than he had been a mere moment ago. They were far too frightening to put him to sleep.
He saw more than felt Scree's arms slide under him. His body was still mostly numb to sensation. The skin registered the touch, but could not tell if it was rough or gentle, loose or tight.
"Come along, little one. It's over for now," Scree reassured him in a voice that actually was quite comforting. Considering how much he had been helping Doctor Gneiss, this was strange. Briefly, Dende remembered this man's seeming regret for whatever actions he had endured while he was out. That had to be why the voice soothed him rather than unnerved him. Some part of him was convinced that the regret had been genuine, rather than contrived.
"Oh, no! Dende!" A new voice this time, and unmistakably belonging to Scargo.
A sliver of mental anguish sliced into Dende's brain. His brother sounded worried, extremely so. Not that Dende could blame him. Who knew when this drug would wear off and finally allow him to move again?
"Relax, child. Your friend shouldn't be too much longer until recovery." Scree once more in that comforting tone. Dende wondered briefly if it had the same effect on Scargo that it had had upon him. Probably not.
Scargo came into his field of vision, looking rather haggard if Dende said so himself. Not that he likely looked any better. His younger brother put his hands on his shoulders, and began to shake him marginally. Dende would have liked to move, but still he could barely feel the rest of his body.
In response to this, Scargo only shook harder, tears welling up in his eyes. "Dende, are you okay? Come on, can you hear me?"
"S . . . Scargo." Dende tried his voice, finding it very weak. This failed to discourage him, however; he was just glad to be able to move his mouth and force any level of volume through his lips. "F . . . fine."
At last, Scargo stopped shaking him, and blinked. "What?"
"I . . . I'm . . . fine." Dende repeated, straining to get the sentence out.
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. He didn't quite know whether he was fine or not, but he was feeling better than he had a few moments prior. With any luck, this stuff should wear off soon, just as Scree had said.
Scargo gasped at something, and Dende strenuously raised his head to follow his bother's gaze. He managed it for the briefest of seconds before his head fell back against the oddly warm metal floor. In that brief glance, he saw what had frightened his brother so.
It had been Doctor Gneiss. One might have said that it was just Doctor Gneiss. Merely the person herself and not anything that was unnerving or dangerous. But that was really not the case, as the scientist on her own filled both criteria more than admirably. Dende imagined his brother being subjected to whatever horrors had been inflicted upon him while he'd been unconscious, and a chill swept through his bones.
They would have to escape this place before that happened.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Too many hours. It had just been too many hours.
Muuri was not one accustomed to pacing, but he was gaining ample practice at this particular nervous habit. He'd begun his waiting outside, but it quickly became obvious that he do it inside his house instead. He didn't need the village to see him so agitated.
He had managed to keep his calm, or the outward manifestation of it, as he had called a village meeting to discuss the disappearances of Dende and Scargo. It had been a little easier then, the worry had not fully bloomed in his gut. He had half convinced himself that nothing quite all that terrible had happened to the children. Thus he was able to give the impression of being on an even keel. The other villagers had even gone so far as to praise his leadership and level-headedness. The praise had instantly felt like a lie, a very much undeserved honour.
But it had been over six hours now. None of the search pairs had yet returned with the children, or even just a report. Muuri understood that it took time to scour an entire planet, and that the other villages would be recruited to help, but . . . But it wasn't the sort of thing that he could help worrying about. His job was to watch over all of his people, now, since the death of Saichourou, and for a while he had been reasonably confident that he had been doing well at it.
Now, though . . . Now he was having flashbacks to Old Namek, where he had failed to protect even his small village. How could he watch over the entire race when he had not been able to watch over a village of only three dozen of his people?
This was one of the few times that Muuri actually cursed being the Great Elder. He didn't really know what he was doing in dire situations such as this. He merely went on instinct and his best judgement, neither of which he had much confidence in at the moment.
Muuri wiped a hand over his face, and sighed. All of this thought was getting him nowhere but into a deep spiral of depression. He couldn't let that happen. His people needed him to be strong.
And thus to facilitate getting off this destructive internal path, he stepped out of the house. He had to be the Great Elder, now. For everyone's sakes, perhaps most importantly his own. Besides, some of the search pairs might be returning about now. It was only right that he be out there to greet them.
The light of twin suns pierced his eyes along with a third one setting in the distance, a little too bright for his aging vision. Still, it was a welcome difference from the relative darkness inside his house, which had helped feed his ill mood. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he looked to the sky for any returning men. Never having learned how to sense ki, he relied on his eyes more than anything else.
He thought he saw some specks in the distance, but he could just have been blinking reflections of sunlight out of his eyes. It wasn't until a voice called out to him that he knew for sure.
"Elder Muuri! Searchers are returning!"
Thank Porunga. Perhaps they had managed to find something. Muuri hurried his old legs toward the centre of the village, where the searchers were more likely to land. This was not a far distance from his house, of course. All elders lived near the centre of their village.
He made it to the square just before the first search pair landed, gracefully alighting upon the ground. The two men, both tall and imposing as warrior types tended to be, wore dark expressions on their faces that did not inspire him with much confidence. That blooming worry in his gut had been right. He knew that for sure now.
Still, he tried to hold out a little bit of hope. "What is the word? Have you found anything?"
One of the two men refused to meet his eyes, while the other's expression only softened. It was the latter one who responded to him. "No, Elder. Not a trace of the children, as far as we could find."
Muuri did not have the energy left to keep his face neutral. His eyes narrowed in sadness, and his shoulders drooped, taking his antennae along with them as though they were tied together with string. He looked up hopefully at the next returning pair, but a couple of head shakes gave him his answer. No one had found anything.
"What do we do now, Elder?"
Muuri did not know which one of the Nameks before him had spoken, though of course it did not matter. The question was an important one regardless of who its poser was. It was also one for which he had no answer.
"Wait here awhile," he said after a moment's pause, somehow managing to keep a tone in his voice that bespoke that he was in full control of the situation. These men needed that from him, even if it were mostly a lie. "Other pairs will be returning later in the day from further out. Until then, waiting is all that we can do."
The men in front of him looked nonplussed. One of them even seemed about to protest, but thought otherwise and closed his mouth. Muuri almost wished that he had spoken up. Then he could have relieved some of this burden of leadership upon him. But he was the Great Elder. It was a highly honoured distinction that some part of him still felt blessed to hold, but it was not an easy job.
Finally, unable to stand the stares any longer, Muuri turned on his heel and headed back toward his house. He had much to think about, far too much in fact. And unlike mere moments before, he actually relished the idea of not being the Elder, if only for the shortest of whiles.
Though somehow, it did not make this situation any less stressful.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Basalt tapped his finger against the arm of the chair. The rhythm was not idle, nor was it angry. In fact, it really wasn't anything at all except present. At times, it fluctuated between the two said moods, matching those of its creator. He just couldn't decide whether he was more bored than angry or vice versa.
He was not going to go out there, he reminded himself. It was an insult to his station. Or the station that he should have had, anyway. The planet couldn't be any more interesting than the ship. Boring landscape, minimal population as far as he knew. No, it was no better than the ship.
An idle mind was a dangerous thing, and especially so was his. While he tried to keep his thoughts focused upon how he would break through the glass ceiling imposed upon his people, they took a different turn altogether. Back to that sighting he'd had of the two native children. Something about them had nagged at him even then. Just what was it about those creatures that was so important?
He had been to many planets before, more than most warriors would ever see in their lifetimes. After all, not all planets were suitable for conquest. For once, Basalt did not curse his scout designation, for the eclectic experience that he'd come to possess had served him well.
But the point was that he had seen many different species over the course of his lifetime, and he was trying to recall if he had ever seen these. Bald, green, bipedal beings with antennae . . . He was rather sure that he had not seen this species before. But that didn't stop the bells of familiarity from ringing in his head.
Basalt stood, frustrated. He was not a curious man, but this was driving him to distraction. If he just found out, then perhaps it would leave him alone. And that could very likely be solved by a trip to visit Doctor Gneiss.
Though he tried to suppress it, a shudder passed through his body; this annoyed him despite the fact that he was in his quarters and thus nobody was around to see him shaken. But it was the principle of the thing. That woman was crazy. He couldn't wait to be rid of her.
All scout ships harboured a scientific division. It was merely common sense, to get decent reconnaissance on a planet. While some scientists were sent out to very specific worlds for in depth research, most of them were put on a five-year rotation with a particular scouting crew. If they had been able to return to base, then this would have been the end of the good doctor's tenure. Now, he and everyone else had to put up with her for another few weeks, at least. Months, more likely.
It was hardly a reality that anyone enjoyed.
Still, since she was here, he may as well make use of her. The only hope was that she would be willing to answer his questions. Oh, if she refused to do so, he could order her of course. He did outrank her, after all. But that woman had no respect for her betters and didn't care whether she had been given a command or not. She told people things if she felt like it, and she tended to keep her studies private, known only to her and whatever assistants that she had to work with.
The door of his quarters whooshed open, and he strode down the hall with commanding steps. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead. Or it was, until something caught the corner of his vision. The man he had sent out to follow the children. Pumice, if he remembered correctly; he did not often bother to learn the names of his underlings. The purple man was holding a hand across his stomach as though something pained him.
"Halt, scout," Basalt said abruptly. He waited until Pumice was facing him before he continued. "What happened out there? Report."
Pumice's lip curled into a sneer, but it lasted only for a second. The man quickly regained his professional manner. "Followed the child to a settlement, sir. Primitive looking, not much better than the natural surface area. And small, too. Only a few dozen by my estimation. Had to kill a native that spotted me and take a detour to dispose of the body. And . . ."
Basalt was markedly impressed to hear the man's voice trail off. This one had always been quite stoic and professional in his memory, not one to do such a thing. Something, whatever he had been about to say, had clearly affected him on some level. "And what, scout? This report is incomplete."
Pumice lifted his head, all business once more. "And was spotted by another on my way to return to the ship. I had to engage in combat. Eventually had to retreat, as two more were fast approaching."
"A native wounded you?" Basalt could not keep a smirk from coming to his lips. Though only a scout, and one far below his own position of course, he would have figured the man to be able to handle something like this. The natives didn't exactly look impressive. "So I see. Very well, scout. Dismissed."
Pumice nodded and walked off, more than likely to the recovery chamber rather than his barracks. His wounds, however minor they had appeared to be, would need to be treated.
The little encounter brightened Basalt's mood a bit, and he chuckled as he resumed his trek toward the scientific crew's allotted area. To have been forced to retreat from these natives . . . It really was laughable.
But he wasn't laughing for very long. Something about that report struck him, in the same manner as sighting those children. What was it with him and nagging questions today?
And the thoughts continued to play through his mind, as he no longer made a conscious effort to subdue them. The natives' appearance, the presence of at least a few decent fighters . . . It sounded like some old scouting report that he might have read some time ago. If he could just . . .
Angrily, Basalt shook his head. What was wrong with him lately? All this aimless wandering of his mind. He had never before been like this in his life. Never had there been so many unanswered questions in his mind that he had so desperately wanted resolved. Whoever or whatever was responsible for this freakishly unreal turn of events was going to pay, and pay severely.
"Hey. This area is restricted; you can't –" Basalt looked up at the one who had accosted him, who paled in turn upon recognizing him. The man gave a quick, apologetic bow. "I'm sorry, Commander Basalt, sir. I didn't recognize you at first."
Basalt did not even favour the man with a second glance; he merely cast his eyes forward again. The guard was so far beneath him in station that making eye contact would have been unseemly. "Where is the doctor?"
He had the feeling that the man was shaken a bit by the question. Basalt could not quite blame him. "Uh . . . We just received word that she's left the main laboratory and is on her way back to her quarters. Room 412E."
Without a nod, or any other visible acknowledgement, Basalt continued forward. He kept his eyes trained upon one wall, and then the other, searching for the proper room number.
But as luck, or whatever force it was, would have it, he did not have to do so for long. A short way down the corridor, disgusting yellow skin, immaculate lab coat and all, was Doctor Gneiss. With a tiny shudder that would only be noticeable to the one it ran through, Basalt stepped forward to call her to attention.
"Doctor Gneiss. I would speak with you." It required no effort at all to make his voice speak in its most authoritative tone. When he was around this repulsive creature, it did so more naturally than it did when speaking to his other underlings.
The doctor turned her eerie solid blue eyes upon him. Though she had no eyebrows, or ridges to mark where they would have been, the skin around those eyes wrinkled slightly. It could only be a clear sign of annoyance. "Would you? I suppose you think that this can't wait. I've already finished my work for the day, and would rather not be bothered by anyone."
Her tone of voice indicated that this sentiment was more strongly felt for him than for anyone else. Like he had said, no respect for her betters, this woman. "You can spare a few precious moments for a superior, Doctor." Her excuse had no effect on him; if he'd come to her early in the day, she would have said that she wanted to hurry to her work. And if it had been in the middle of the day . . . Well, not even Basalt would interrupt her while she was working.
"Very well," the doctor said after a moment. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened almost imperceptibly. "But at least allow me to clean my work from my hands. Come inside."
Basalt would have refused; this woman had dared to give him an order. But she was being more co-operative than usual today, and he might as well enjoy this chance while he had it. Or as much as time with Doctor Gneiss could be enjoyed, anyway. He followed her into the room.
As one could assume from her personality, the doctor's room was spotless. She never trusted the custodial crew to clean it for her; this she left to her assistants or did herself, on the theory that only those versed in the sciences would know how to clean it properly. Just more pretension, on her part. In her lab, Basalt would have understood such a fuss, what with all the chemicals and other equipment and such, but in her quarters? It bordered upon the ridiculous. But nobody had ever accused her of being sane or reasonable.
He stood barely inside the doorway, arms folded to indicate that he would move no further. With a frown of exasperation, Doctor Gneiss headed into the back room to wash her hands. This took several minutes, much longer than anyone else would deem necessary. Basalt would have mentally accused her of deliberately taking too long in order to avoid or even spite him, but it was merely her obsessive sense of cleanliness at work, and he knew it. Spiting him was just a bonus.
The doctor returned at last, drying her hands on a small white towel. Basalt fixed her with a disapproving glare, but as was her nature, the doctor ignored it.
"So what is it that was so important that you had to speak with me about it?" she asked at last, her voice sharp and crisp as winter winds.
"Circumstances warrant the early results of your research on the native species," Basalt returned, matching her tone.
Doctor Gneiss' face darkened. "This soon, Commander? I highly doubt that. Not that it will make any difference, but why don't you just tell me the true reason?"
Basalt stifled a growl, kept his temper in check. He was remarkably good at this, proven by the fact that he had yet to kill the doctor during these five years despite her constant insolence. She would not see him riled. "Be glad that I've given you a reason at all, Doctor. Given the basic fact that I outrank you, it is not among my obligations. Now tell me."
The room remained silent for several minutes, neither of its occupants deigning to speak. A battle of wills was being waged, and the two combatants were fierce ones indeed; even Basalt had to question whether or not he would crack first. Blast that arrogant doctor.
But as it happened, Doctor Gneiss was the one to break the stalemate. "Fine. I've found little enough, anyway. I haven't yet had the time to do much proper research, so I doubt that it would help you much."
He had to stifle another growl; the woman was only offering her information because it was scant. Had she more detail, she would share nothing at all. "Perhaps that's good for both of us, then. The less time this takes, the less time we have to spend in the other's most unpleasant company."
"Perhaps so," Doctor Gneiss agreed evenly, fastidiously folding her towel before she placed it upon her bed. "So just what is it about the Nameks that you wish to know?"
Basalt couldn't stop his reaction; he blinked in surprise. "Nameks?"
Doctor Gneiss smirked, obviously enjoying his shock. "Yes, the description fits very well, though it was most unusual to find them here."
"Impossible, more like. Lord Frieza destroyed their planet well over a year ago. They should be extinct." Though Basalt had been unable to keep the disbelief off his face, he managed to banish it from his voice. He added, almost as an afterthought, "There was no way that they could possibly have escaped."
"I would have thought so, too, but they are here."
New thoughts and suddenly answered questions flowing through his mind, Basalt nodded curtly. "Never mind the rest of the report, Doctor. That will be all."
He saw the doctor's eyes widen slightly as he turned on his heel, and pressed the door's side panel for it to open. His steps were measured and even until he passed by the guard and was not surrounded by anyone on the ship.
But now they quickened.
He knew, now, what had been nagging at him since he had seen those children floating above the ship. All he had needed to hear was the race's name. Nameks. These were the Nameks.
That was why they had looked familiar. No, he had never seen them before, but he had read the scouting report of the planet, the last planet to which Lord Frieza had gone, where he'd ended up injured nearly to the point of death. Why Lord Frieza had gone there was never quite known, save for the entourage that he had taken with him, but other soldiers and scouts had passed many rumours along.
Basalt had never greatly believed in rumours; more often than not they were nothing more than simple foolishness. And strangely enough, one of the most foolish sounding also had made the most sense. Upon the Nameks planet, there were said to be a set of magical spheres that had the power to fulfill any desire. A few different names for these artifacts had been bandied about, but the most common one was Dragonballs.
While seemingly nothing more than a pile of nonsense, something such as this would have to have prompted Lord Frieza to go there; one could only imagine what he had wanted, but it was the only conceivable reason to head for a very unremarkable planet. It took this for Basalt to even half believe it.
And his belief was growing stronger. Whatever Lord Frieza's wish had been, he had clearly not received it, and a planet bound race had escaped its world's destruction. With the supposed power of these Dragonballs, this very well could make sense.
A smile stretched Basalt's lips as shifted his course toward his crew's barracks. Those same artifacts could be here on this world, as well. And with them, a way not only to crack through that glass ceiling, but to obliterate it.
It was about time that he and his crew went out in search of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Reconnaissance
His head felt heavy, stuffy. And it was surrounded by a darkness that should have been disturbing yet somehow was not. Rather, it felt oddly comforting. Though truth be told, he did not know why this should be odd or why it should have disturbed him. There was just something inside his foggy mind that told him that he should feel threatened, that there was some danger present.
And that danger was given form at last, in the voices that he could now discern. Normally, he had sharp hearing – or so he seemed to remember, at least – but these voices sounded muffled, far away. The same sense that told him that he was in danger refuted this, however. They told him that the voices were very close indeed. Too close. And there was something about their owners that screamed trouble.
He just didn't know what it was.
The blackness lightened to grey, but this did little to clear his head. The sense of foreboding did grow stronger, however, and he struggled to remember where this had come from. Surely he must have known at one point, otherwise why would he be fearing harm?
It was an effort to remember, but he tried it anyway. The grey around his mind seemed to be a clue. Not the significance of the colour, per se, but the colour itself. Maybe that was the shade of his surroundings? Though what places were grey he could not quite figure out. Most places that he knew were green or blue. And even inside any house, there was none of the muted shade that now surrounded him. It was always pure white.
But with the memories of colours, other images came. Trees, most prominently. Perhaps he had been among them recently? And he remembered people suddenly. A small child much like him in appearance. His brother, he recalled. His younger brother.
The other people that flew through his mind were not so comforting to see. Wide-shouldered armour and frightening builds. Faces that had either dark frowns or disturbing imitations of smiles. And he remembered them saying something terrible just before . . .
Jolted along with his memory, Dende's eyes snapped open. He lay on a hard flat surface – a table, he registered instantly. A table in a room with some crazy scientist that had little regard for life. Or none, really, as far as he had seen.
But though he was awake now, his body refused to move. Whatever had been administered to him had obviously not fully left his system. He couldn't even shift his eyes to look anywhere else in the room. Involuntarily, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, his vision hazy at the edges and partially obscured by his antennae.
"Scree, would you get the rest of these into isolation?" came the chillingly familiar voice of Doctor Gneiss. "We'll run tests on them a little later. We need some more room in here to properly test that blood sample from earlier. Get the kid out of here once you're through with the samples."
"Right away, Doctor." Scree's voice this time, the very tone of the obedient assistant.
"Now, then – Oh."
Dende would have flinched at the doctor coming into his field of vision, but his body was too paralyzed to even manage that. The doctor titled her head curiously at him, an expression of obvious wonder at one thing or another.
"Well, that's interesting," she said at last. "That sedative should have lasted at least another half hour. I wonder if this can be attributed to those regenerative capabilities that I read about."
That she had read about? What did this strange scientist know about his people? The Nameks were largely a planet-bound species – had been so for well over a generation – and had only in the past few years had any significant contact with aliens.
And yet, when he thought of it, that monster that had been Frieza had known a few things about his people as well. This was a matter of impossibility. How could he have known anything about them if he had never been to the planet before? Could it have been some knowledge somehow gleaned unseen before he had arrived? And was it happening here again?
So many questions washed through Dende's mind that he thought that they might drag him down under the seas of unconsciousness once more. But perversely, they only kept him more awake than he had been a mere moment ago. They were far too frightening to put him to sleep.
He saw more than felt Scree's arms slide under him. His body was still mostly numb to sensation. The skin registered the touch, but could not tell if it was rough or gentle, loose or tight.
"Come along, little one. It's over for now," Scree reassured him in a voice that actually was quite comforting. Considering how much he had been helping Doctor Gneiss, this was strange. Briefly, Dende remembered this man's seeming regret for whatever actions he had endured while he was out. That had to be why the voice soothed him rather than unnerved him. Some part of him was convinced that the regret had been genuine, rather than contrived.
"Oh, no! Dende!" A new voice this time, and unmistakably belonging to Scargo.
A sliver of mental anguish sliced into Dende's brain. His brother sounded worried, extremely so. Not that Dende could blame him. Who knew when this drug would wear off and finally allow him to move again?
"Relax, child. Your friend shouldn't be too much longer until recovery." Scree once more in that comforting tone. Dende wondered briefly if it had the same effect on Scargo that it had had upon him. Probably not.
Scargo came into his field of vision, looking rather haggard if Dende said so himself. Not that he likely looked any better. His younger brother put his hands on his shoulders, and began to shake him marginally. Dende would have liked to move, but still he could barely feel the rest of his body.
In response to this, Scargo only shook harder, tears welling up in his eyes. "Dende, are you okay? Come on, can you hear me?"
"S . . . Scargo." Dende tried his voice, finding it very weak. This failed to discourage him, however; he was just glad to be able to move his mouth and force any level of volume through his lips. "F . . . fine."
At last, Scargo stopped shaking him, and blinked. "What?"
"I . . . I'm . . . fine." Dende repeated, straining to get the sentence out.
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. He didn't quite know whether he was fine or not, but he was feeling better than he had a few moments prior. With any luck, this stuff should wear off soon, just as Scree had said.
Scargo gasped at something, and Dende strenuously raised his head to follow his bother's gaze. He managed it for the briefest of seconds before his head fell back against the oddly warm metal floor. In that brief glance, he saw what had frightened his brother so.
It had been Doctor Gneiss. One might have said that it was just Doctor Gneiss. Merely the person herself and not anything that was unnerving or dangerous. But that was really not the case, as the scientist on her own filled both criteria more than admirably. Dende imagined his brother being subjected to whatever horrors had been inflicted upon him while he'd been unconscious, and a chill swept through his bones.
They would have to escape this place before that happened.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Too many hours. It had just been too many hours.
Muuri was not one accustomed to pacing, but he was gaining ample practice at this particular nervous habit. He'd begun his waiting outside, but it quickly became obvious that he do it inside his house instead. He didn't need the village to see him so agitated.
He had managed to keep his calm, or the outward manifestation of it, as he had called a village meeting to discuss the disappearances of Dende and Scargo. It had been a little easier then, the worry had not fully bloomed in his gut. He had half convinced himself that nothing quite all that terrible had happened to the children. Thus he was able to give the impression of being on an even keel. The other villagers had even gone so far as to praise his leadership and level-headedness. The praise had instantly felt like a lie, a very much undeserved honour.
But it had been over six hours now. None of the search pairs had yet returned with the children, or even just a report. Muuri understood that it took time to scour an entire planet, and that the other villages would be recruited to help, but . . . But it wasn't the sort of thing that he could help worrying about. His job was to watch over all of his people, now, since the death of Saichourou, and for a while he had been reasonably confident that he had been doing well at it.
Now, though . . . Now he was having flashbacks to Old Namek, where he had failed to protect even his small village. How could he watch over the entire race when he had not been able to watch over a village of only three dozen of his people?
This was one of the few times that Muuri actually cursed being the Great Elder. He didn't really know what he was doing in dire situations such as this. He merely went on instinct and his best judgement, neither of which he had much confidence in at the moment.
Muuri wiped a hand over his face, and sighed. All of this thought was getting him nowhere but into a deep spiral of depression. He couldn't let that happen. His people needed him to be strong.
And thus to facilitate getting off this destructive internal path, he stepped out of the house. He had to be the Great Elder, now. For everyone's sakes, perhaps most importantly his own. Besides, some of the search pairs might be returning about now. It was only right that he be out there to greet them.
The light of twin suns pierced his eyes along with a third one setting in the distance, a little too bright for his aging vision. Still, it was a welcome difference from the relative darkness inside his house, which had helped feed his ill mood. He shielded his eyes with one hand as he looked to the sky for any returning men. Never having learned how to sense ki, he relied on his eyes more than anything else.
He thought he saw some specks in the distance, but he could just have been blinking reflections of sunlight out of his eyes. It wasn't until a voice called out to him that he knew for sure.
"Elder Muuri! Searchers are returning!"
Thank Porunga. Perhaps they had managed to find something. Muuri hurried his old legs toward the centre of the village, where the searchers were more likely to land. This was not a far distance from his house, of course. All elders lived near the centre of their village.
He made it to the square just before the first search pair landed, gracefully alighting upon the ground. The two men, both tall and imposing as warrior types tended to be, wore dark expressions on their faces that did not inspire him with much confidence. That blooming worry in his gut had been right. He knew that for sure now.
Still, he tried to hold out a little bit of hope. "What is the word? Have you found anything?"
One of the two men refused to meet his eyes, while the other's expression only softened. It was the latter one who responded to him. "No, Elder. Not a trace of the children, as far as we could find."
Muuri did not have the energy left to keep his face neutral. His eyes narrowed in sadness, and his shoulders drooped, taking his antennae along with them as though they were tied together with string. He looked up hopefully at the next returning pair, but a couple of head shakes gave him his answer. No one had found anything.
"What do we do now, Elder?"
Muuri did not know which one of the Nameks before him had spoken, though of course it did not matter. The question was an important one regardless of who its poser was. It was also one for which he had no answer.
"Wait here awhile," he said after a moment's pause, somehow managing to keep a tone in his voice that bespoke that he was in full control of the situation. These men needed that from him, even if it were mostly a lie. "Other pairs will be returning later in the day from further out. Until then, waiting is all that we can do."
The men in front of him looked nonplussed. One of them even seemed about to protest, but thought otherwise and closed his mouth. Muuri almost wished that he had spoken up. Then he could have relieved some of this burden of leadership upon him. But he was the Great Elder. It was a highly honoured distinction that some part of him still felt blessed to hold, but it was not an easy job.
Finally, unable to stand the stares any longer, Muuri turned on his heel and headed back toward his house. He had much to think about, far too much in fact. And unlike mere moments before, he actually relished the idea of not being the Elder, if only for the shortest of whiles.
Though somehow, it did not make this situation any less stressful.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
Basalt tapped his finger against the arm of the chair. The rhythm was not idle, nor was it angry. In fact, it really wasn't anything at all except present. At times, it fluctuated between the two said moods, matching those of its creator. He just couldn't decide whether he was more bored than angry or vice versa.
He was not going to go out there, he reminded himself. It was an insult to his station. Or the station that he should have had, anyway. The planet couldn't be any more interesting than the ship. Boring landscape, minimal population as far as he knew. No, it was no better than the ship.
An idle mind was a dangerous thing, and especially so was his. While he tried to keep his thoughts focused upon how he would break through the glass ceiling imposed upon his people, they took a different turn altogether. Back to that sighting he'd had of the two native children. Something about them had nagged at him even then. Just what was it about those creatures that was so important?
He had been to many planets before, more than most warriors would ever see in their lifetimes. After all, not all planets were suitable for conquest. For once, Basalt did not curse his scout designation, for the eclectic experience that he'd come to possess had served him well.
But the point was that he had seen many different species over the course of his lifetime, and he was trying to recall if he had ever seen these. Bald, green, bipedal beings with antennae . . . He was rather sure that he had not seen this species before. But that didn't stop the bells of familiarity from ringing in his head.
Basalt stood, frustrated. He was not a curious man, but this was driving him to distraction. If he just found out, then perhaps it would leave him alone. And that could very likely be solved by a trip to visit Doctor Gneiss.
Though he tried to suppress it, a shudder passed through his body; this annoyed him despite the fact that he was in his quarters and thus nobody was around to see him shaken. But it was the principle of the thing. That woman was crazy. He couldn't wait to be rid of her.
All scout ships harboured a scientific division. It was merely common sense, to get decent reconnaissance on a planet. While some scientists were sent out to very specific worlds for in depth research, most of them were put on a five-year rotation with a particular scouting crew. If they had been able to return to base, then this would have been the end of the good doctor's tenure. Now, he and everyone else had to put up with her for another few weeks, at least. Months, more likely.
It was hardly a reality that anyone enjoyed.
Still, since she was here, he may as well make use of her. The only hope was that she would be willing to answer his questions. Oh, if she refused to do so, he could order her of course. He did outrank her, after all. But that woman had no respect for her betters and didn't care whether she had been given a command or not. She told people things if she felt like it, and she tended to keep her studies private, known only to her and whatever assistants that she had to work with.
The door of his quarters whooshed open, and he strode down the hall with commanding steps. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead. Or it was, until something caught the corner of his vision. The man he had sent out to follow the children. Pumice, if he remembered correctly; he did not often bother to learn the names of his underlings. The purple man was holding a hand across his stomach as though something pained him.
"Halt, scout," Basalt said abruptly. He waited until Pumice was facing him before he continued. "What happened out there? Report."
Pumice's lip curled into a sneer, but it lasted only for a second. The man quickly regained his professional manner. "Followed the child to a settlement, sir. Primitive looking, not much better than the natural surface area. And small, too. Only a few dozen by my estimation. Had to kill a native that spotted me and take a detour to dispose of the body. And . . ."
Basalt was markedly impressed to hear the man's voice trail off. This one had always been quite stoic and professional in his memory, not one to do such a thing. Something, whatever he had been about to say, had clearly affected him on some level. "And what, scout? This report is incomplete."
Pumice lifted his head, all business once more. "And was spotted by another on my way to return to the ship. I had to engage in combat. Eventually had to retreat, as two more were fast approaching."
"A native wounded you?" Basalt could not keep a smirk from coming to his lips. Though only a scout, and one far below his own position of course, he would have figured the man to be able to handle something like this. The natives didn't exactly look impressive. "So I see. Very well, scout. Dismissed."
Pumice nodded and walked off, more than likely to the recovery chamber rather than his barracks. His wounds, however minor they had appeared to be, would need to be treated.
The little encounter brightened Basalt's mood a bit, and he chuckled as he resumed his trek toward the scientific crew's allotted area. To have been forced to retreat from these natives . . . It really was laughable.
But he wasn't laughing for very long. Something about that report struck him, in the same manner as sighting those children. What was it with him and nagging questions today?
And the thoughts continued to play through his mind, as he no longer made a conscious effort to subdue them. The natives' appearance, the presence of at least a few decent fighters . . . It sounded like some old scouting report that he might have read some time ago. If he could just . . .
Angrily, Basalt shook his head. What was wrong with him lately? All this aimless wandering of his mind. He had never before been like this in his life. Never had there been so many unanswered questions in his mind that he had so desperately wanted resolved. Whoever or whatever was responsible for this freakishly unreal turn of events was going to pay, and pay severely.
"Hey. This area is restricted; you can't –" Basalt looked up at the one who had accosted him, who paled in turn upon recognizing him. The man gave a quick, apologetic bow. "I'm sorry, Commander Basalt, sir. I didn't recognize you at first."
Basalt did not even favour the man with a second glance; he merely cast his eyes forward again. The guard was so far beneath him in station that making eye contact would have been unseemly. "Where is the doctor?"
He had the feeling that the man was shaken a bit by the question. Basalt could not quite blame him. "Uh . . . We just received word that she's left the main laboratory and is on her way back to her quarters. Room 412E."
Without a nod, or any other visible acknowledgement, Basalt continued forward. He kept his eyes trained upon one wall, and then the other, searching for the proper room number.
But as luck, or whatever force it was, would have it, he did not have to do so for long. A short way down the corridor, disgusting yellow skin, immaculate lab coat and all, was Doctor Gneiss. With a tiny shudder that would only be noticeable to the one it ran through, Basalt stepped forward to call her to attention.
"Doctor Gneiss. I would speak with you." It required no effort at all to make his voice speak in its most authoritative tone. When he was around this repulsive creature, it did so more naturally than it did when speaking to his other underlings.
The doctor turned her eerie solid blue eyes upon him. Though she had no eyebrows, or ridges to mark where they would have been, the skin around those eyes wrinkled slightly. It could only be a clear sign of annoyance. "Would you? I suppose you think that this can't wait. I've already finished my work for the day, and would rather not be bothered by anyone."
Her tone of voice indicated that this sentiment was more strongly felt for him than for anyone else. Like he had said, no respect for her betters, this woman. "You can spare a few precious moments for a superior, Doctor." Her excuse had no effect on him; if he'd come to her early in the day, she would have said that she wanted to hurry to her work. And if it had been in the middle of the day . . . Well, not even Basalt would interrupt her while she was working.
"Very well," the doctor said after a moment. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened almost imperceptibly. "But at least allow me to clean my work from my hands. Come inside."
Basalt would have refused; this woman had dared to give him an order. But she was being more co-operative than usual today, and he might as well enjoy this chance while he had it. Or as much as time with Doctor Gneiss could be enjoyed, anyway. He followed her into the room.
As one could assume from her personality, the doctor's room was spotless. She never trusted the custodial crew to clean it for her; this she left to her assistants or did herself, on the theory that only those versed in the sciences would know how to clean it properly. Just more pretension, on her part. In her lab, Basalt would have understood such a fuss, what with all the chemicals and other equipment and such, but in her quarters? It bordered upon the ridiculous. But nobody had ever accused her of being sane or reasonable.
He stood barely inside the doorway, arms folded to indicate that he would move no further. With a frown of exasperation, Doctor Gneiss headed into the back room to wash her hands. This took several minutes, much longer than anyone else would deem necessary. Basalt would have mentally accused her of deliberately taking too long in order to avoid or even spite him, but it was merely her obsessive sense of cleanliness at work, and he knew it. Spiting him was just a bonus.
The doctor returned at last, drying her hands on a small white towel. Basalt fixed her with a disapproving glare, but as was her nature, the doctor ignored it.
"So what is it that was so important that you had to speak with me about it?" she asked at last, her voice sharp and crisp as winter winds.
"Circumstances warrant the early results of your research on the native species," Basalt returned, matching her tone.
Doctor Gneiss' face darkened. "This soon, Commander? I highly doubt that. Not that it will make any difference, but why don't you just tell me the true reason?"
Basalt stifled a growl, kept his temper in check. He was remarkably good at this, proven by the fact that he had yet to kill the doctor during these five years despite her constant insolence. She would not see him riled. "Be glad that I've given you a reason at all, Doctor. Given the basic fact that I outrank you, it is not among my obligations. Now tell me."
The room remained silent for several minutes, neither of its occupants deigning to speak. A battle of wills was being waged, and the two combatants were fierce ones indeed; even Basalt had to question whether or not he would crack first. Blast that arrogant doctor.
But as it happened, Doctor Gneiss was the one to break the stalemate. "Fine. I've found little enough, anyway. I haven't yet had the time to do much proper research, so I doubt that it would help you much."
He had to stifle another growl; the woman was only offering her information because it was scant. Had she more detail, she would share nothing at all. "Perhaps that's good for both of us, then. The less time this takes, the less time we have to spend in the other's most unpleasant company."
"Perhaps so," Doctor Gneiss agreed evenly, fastidiously folding her towel before she placed it upon her bed. "So just what is it about the Nameks that you wish to know?"
Basalt couldn't stop his reaction; he blinked in surprise. "Nameks?"
Doctor Gneiss smirked, obviously enjoying his shock. "Yes, the description fits very well, though it was most unusual to find them here."
"Impossible, more like. Lord Frieza destroyed their planet well over a year ago. They should be extinct." Though Basalt had been unable to keep the disbelief off his face, he managed to banish it from his voice. He added, almost as an afterthought, "There was no way that they could possibly have escaped."
"I would have thought so, too, but they are here."
New thoughts and suddenly answered questions flowing through his mind, Basalt nodded curtly. "Never mind the rest of the report, Doctor. That will be all."
He saw the doctor's eyes widen slightly as he turned on his heel, and pressed the door's side panel for it to open. His steps were measured and even until he passed by the guard and was not surrounded by anyone on the ship.
But now they quickened.
He knew, now, what had been nagging at him since he had seen those children floating above the ship. All he had needed to hear was the race's name. Nameks. These were the Nameks.
That was why they had looked familiar. No, he had never seen them before, but he had read the scouting report of the planet, the last planet to which Lord Frieza had gone, where he'd ended up injured nearly to the point of death. Why Lord Frieza had gone there was never quite known, save for the entourage that he had taken with him, but other soldiers and scouts had passed many rumours along.
Basalt had never greatly believed in rumours; more often than not they were nothing more than simple foolishness. And strangely enough, one of the most foolish sounding also had made the most sense. Upon the Nameks planet, there were said to be a set of magical spheres that had the power to fulfill any desire. A few different names for these artifacts had been bandied about, but the most common one was Dragonballs.
While seemingly nothing more than a pile of nonsense, something such as this would have to have prompted Lord Frieza to go there; one could only imagine what he had wanted, but it was the only conceivable reason to head for a very unremarkable planet. It took this for Basalt to even half believe it.
And his belief was growing stronger. Whatever Lord Frieza's wish had been, he had clearly not received it, and a planet bound race had escaped its world's destruction. With the supposed power of these Dragonballs, this very well could make sense.
A smile stretched Basalt's lips as shifted his course toward his crew's barracks. Those same artifacts could be here on this world, as well. And with them, a way not only to crack through that glass ceiling, but to obliterate it.
It was about time that he and his crew went out in search of them.