Undiscovered Territory
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Shadow Games
Scargo woke slowly, giving his eyes an absent rub with the back of one hand. These eyes gradually took in his surroundings, and for a moment he was confused. Hadn't he been in a smaller room, with that scary alien lady and her not quite as scary assistant? He was sure that this was the case . . . Hold on a minute. That was wrong. He remembered now being back here.
It wasn't a vivid memory, clear and sharp as daylight. No, it was dark, clouded at the edges like the sky before a thunderstorm. But he could distinctly remember Dende leaning over him, smiling in relief, and how happy that had made him . . .
He must have fallen back asleep, still under the influence of that gas that had been forced into him in the smaller room. There was not much strength in his body right now, but there was enough that he could shudder at the memory; unlike the one he'd had a moment ago, this one was unclouded. He could remember struggling weakly against the hand of the assistant as he pinned him to the wall, using the other hand to put some sort of mask over his face. He'd tried to pull away from this mask, but then the air had started to taste and smell funny, and he had been unable to move.
Dazed by the remembrance, Scargo put a hand to his forehead. It was over, he reminded himself. That horrible event was over, and he was back safe with his brother.
He looked up to reaffirm this feeling, and his eyes flew open the rest of the way. Dende wasn't in here with him. In a panic, Scargo sat up, then eventually managed to climb to his feet. What had happened to Dende? Had the scary alien lady taken him to do more experiments? Fear began to well up inside him, an internal tidal wave threatening to crash over his mind. What if –
"You're awake."
The voice startled Scargo, and he screamed, falling backward. And his scream caused the speaker to do the same, only without the fall. Scargo put a hand over his heart, drawing ragged breaths, but at the same time feeling almost silly. The speaker in question was only Dende. He was in here with him after all. Only something didn't seem quite right.
"Dende! You're outside that barrier!" Scargo cried, it not occurring to him to keep his voice low. "How did you do that?"
"Shh." Dende put a finger to his lips for a second, motioning him to be quiet. "I used my healing power. Its aura protected me."
Wow. Scargo would never have thought of that, to use the healing power in such a manner. He would never conceive it to be possible. If there had ever been any question as to why he very nearly worshipped his older brother, here was the answer. Dende was just so smart.
"That's amazing," Scargo breathed, his voice full of undisguised wonder. He climbed back to his feet, ignoring the dizzy feeling that still swirled around in his head. "What are you doing now?"
Dende frowned, and for the first time Scargo noticed that his brother was floating. "I'm trying to figure out how this keypad works. If I can do that, then I'll be able to get you out, too."
"Oh, you can do it." There was absolutely no doubt of this in Scargo's mind. If Dende could pull off something like using his healing aura to get through a painful barrier, then there was no way that he could fail at figuring out some machine.
For some reason, Dende did not look all that encouraged by his words. Instead, he kept frowning, and turned back to the keypad, poking at it with one finger.
Not one comfortable with long periods of silence, Scargo could not resist continuing to speak. "So do you think you're close? How long have you been trying?"
"I can't tell if I'm close or not," Dende responded almost absently, finger still poking at the keys. After a couple of seconds, he lowered that finger and his frown grew deeper. "And I'm not sure how long I've been trying. Probably for at least half an hour, anyway."
"Well, you're just about due, then," Scargo chirped, finding himself in a rather good mood. Yes, Dende was going to figure things out and then they could go safely home. It wouldn't be long now, he could just tell.
A few minutes later, Dende blinked, and inclined his head toward him. "Hey Scargo, I think I've got it this time. Try to come out."
Scargo nodded firmly; the say-so of his brother was all that he needed. Still, his insides tensed as he took a few steps toward where the barrier was. They obviously didn't trust Dende as much as he did. It was only a short matter of time to see whose instincts were validated.
And Scargo smiled broadly, several steps ahead of his previous position, and not at all the worse for the wear. His faith in his brother had proven true, as he had known it would all along. "See, I told you that you were due!"
Dende smiled, not as broadly, but then he hadn't done that very much since back on the old planet. He lowered himself to the floor. "I guess you were right, then. Let's get out of here."
Of course, Scargo was only too happy to agree. He followed Dende to one of the room's two doors – he instinctively shied away from the other one, glanced at Dende for reassurance and was surprised to find that he was tense as well. Scargo tilted his head in confusion. Since when did Dende get scared like that anymore? He hadn't seen him that way since back on the old planet, when that horrible monster had attacked their village.
This door was locked by a keypad as well, and Dende floated up to examine it. Scargo merely regarded his brother with curiosity; that tenseness and fear that he had seen a second ago was gone, now, almost making him wonder if he had somehow just imagined it. But he knew that he hadn't; Dende really had been scared.
Scargo jumped back a little in surprise as the door whooshed open, but managed not to fall down this time. Dende drifted back onto the floor.
"I thought that that would be too good to hope for," Dende said quietly. "The code was the same." He took Scargo's hand and pulled him along. "Come on, Scargo. Let's go."
Scargo did not have to be pulled, but he did not resent this action. As long as they got back home, everything was fine with him.
It never occurred to them that there would be an alarm.
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Whelk released the tension in his body by way of firing a ki blast. His aim, true to the constant training to which he held himself, was accurate, striking the alien form before it could land a blow on Elder Muuri. Legs pumping with an almost identifiable thrill, he interposed himself between the alien form and the Elder, Limpet taking up a position just beside him.
"What's the meaning of all this?" he demanded of the form, one that was smaller than him but had the clear build of a warrior.
The alien warrior gave him an infuriating smirk. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Namek. Though if you stay back, I may just tell my men to spare you."
Whelk was about to make a biting retort, but was interrupted by a highly unusual sight. Quite abruptly, another alien form crashed through the wall of the building to a hard landing on its back. And it lay there, motionless. This seemed to even stun the alien and his other visible underlings, and everyone stood still in shock for a moment. What had just happened?
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There hadn't been much darkness in the room, but Chiton knew well enough how to use even that small amount to his advantage. He'd lain in careful wait, huddling in the shadow cast by the Dragonball's pedestal. And sure enough, the attack that he had figured was coming did just that.
Sometimes it was almost too easy.
Using his speed, which was his best physical attribute in combat situations, he was able to land three carefully placed strikes – two punches and one ki-enhanced kick – on the invader before anyone else in the room could make a move. He would have liked to have been a little more stealthy about knocking the alien out, but it seemed that he had somehow overestimated said alien's power, and had consequently sent him flying through the wall.
Chiton almost sighed. Ah well. It was not the proper time to dwell upon mistakes, not when two unfriendly parties still shared the room with him. Mistakes could be analyzed once the battle was over.
The only true problem with the attack that he had just executed was that he drew attention to himself. The other two would not be caught looking as their companion had.
He lowered himself into a fighting crouch, eyes carefully studying his two opponents, scanning for weaknesses, or traces of emotion on their faces that he could convert to such. No expressions but those of anger and determination were visible upon them; any fear that they'd previously had was either gone or well hidden. Sizing them up quickly, Chiton noted that they were both taller than he was by a fair margin. He would have to watch out for their greater reach.
Not to mention the idea of being double-teamed, which he now found himself facing as the two remaining invaders charged toward him as one. Mind working fast, as it tended to do, Chiton did not waste a second and made a move of his own.
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Limpet dodged to the side, much to the apparent anger of the opponent that he had acquired. And in response to this, he chuckled a little; it was almost strange even to him, but there were times that he just enjoyed getting a rise out of people. Something about it was so much fun.
His opponent – in appearance rather similar to those human creatures save for the flamboyant shock of hair upon his head, and the long white teeth that protruded from under his lip – jumped back from a strike of his own and snarled. A quick glance showed that a ki blast was forming in his hand.
In response to this, Limpet circled around to the alien's back, discreetly pulling ki into his own hand. When the alien whipped around to face him and launch his blast, Limpet launched his – directly into its face.
Naturally, this stopped the alien's attack in coming; he reeled backward in the sky a bit, hands clawing at his face. And with the opportunity thus presented, he was free to finish the battle as he saw fit. He delivered a punch and a whirling elbow to the alien's unprotected chest, sending it hurtling toward the ground. And it was not able to right itself in time, crashing into the dirt and bringing up a respectable cloud of dust if not a huge one. It was nice to look at, at least. And the fact that he had not landed upon any of those who were conducting battles on the ground struck him as a rather fortunate thing itself.
This battle had not been difficult, he found himself thinking. But he checked himself when he saw the dust cloud clear and his opponent climbing to his feet within the depression he'd created in the earth. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so easy after all. He could live with that.
Still, he thought as he spared a glance backward and upward, he would have liked to have been able to go and assist Whelk with his current engagement. It didn't seem to be going quite as favourably as his.
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He would have welcomed the good exercise that he was getting, if not for the situation in which he was getting it. A training match would have been preferable to this: a true battle against someone who had dared to threaten his people.
Whelk frowned as he and his opponent separated; by sensing the ki of all those present, this one was by far the most powerful. Thus it had of course fallen to him to take up combat against him, for there were none in the village that could match him in raw strength and ki.
That, and the man just made him angry.
With little bother as to keeping his temper in check, Whelk launched himself forward, not raising his fist until the very last second before he needed it. And the man still managed to block the punch somehow, crossing his arms over his chest to deflect the blow. Undisturbed by this nonetheless, Whelk aimed another punch at his face. This too met with a pair of crossed blocking arms, frustrating him once again.
And frustration rapidly turned to surprise and pain as his opponent whirled about, swinging his leg into a roundhouse kick which caught him in the side. Bone creaked under the intense force of the blow, but still held firm.
Instinctively, Whelk ducked and felt a rush of wind pass over his head, created by the flat hand of his opponent swinging out in a deadly chop. He used this opportunity to jab an elbow backward, and felt a satisfying jarring feeling ring through it as the blow struck true. In the next fluid motion, he uncurled his arm to follow up with a backhand strike that managed to find its target just the same.
The alien grunted in pain, and Whelk turned in time to see him flying backward. Quickly, Whelk began to gather ki into his palm, building to a level of decent strength, but nothing too high – he wanted to question this man later, about this raid and what he'd surely done to the children. The ki flickered bright golden in his hand, in its brighter phases drowning out the light of the sun behind him, but much more concentrated, much more focused. Just a little more build-up, and it would be ready to fire; his target had not yet quite recovered from the previous blows, and would not be able to stop this missile from connecting.
Or so he'd thought.
Whelk didn't even have enough time to be shocked at the blue-white blast of ki shooting toward him; his own ki dissipated in his hand, and the blast of the opponent struck him full force.
Pain exploded through his body as the world around him flashed a pale, icy blue. Flesh seared, but did not give way under the force of the burning sensation flooding across it. His skin was sturdy enough to withstand such force with only a scorching rather than a disintegration.
But what did disintegrate was his concentration, rendered non-existent by the sudden shock. As such, he no longer had control of his ki, and plummeted downward to a harsh and unforgiving encounter with the ground.
The earth partially gave way around his body, forming a tight seal around his muscles. While his head still throbbed and swam, he did not give in to the desire to allow himself to fall unconscious. This was a battle, by Porunga! There was not a single bone in his body that would allow him to stay down until he had given the fight his all.
Still, it was not until after the dust had cleared that he was able to convince the rest of his body to start moving. Aches ran up and down every part of him, attempting to drag him back down into the crater once more, but they met no success here.
As it was, his vision was slow to clear, and it seemed to him that he was still looking at things through a haze of dust. Various battles went on about him, and he was encouraged to see the body of more than one alien lying motionless upon the ground. His people, the fellow warriors of this village, were doing well against this threat.
And speaking of threats . . .
More discreetly this time – his hand behind his back, for one thing – Whelk charged up a ki blast. His opponent was becoming clearer in his vision, heading back toward the building. And not paying any more mind to him, no doubt confident that he would provide no interference. The man underestimated him greatly.
Well. Whelk would show him the folly of that kind of attitude. The ki blast now fully charged in his hand, he shot it forward, the bolt launching like lightning from his flat palm.
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Basalt's scouter alerted him to the danger almost instantly, performing its function to perfection. That still was not enough to give him the time to fully dodge the bolt of ki that surged toward him. He twisted his body around, though no enough to prevent the edge of the blast from tearing through the armour at his side, as well as some of the body beneath. His momentum broken, he tumbled to the ground.
But this did not keep him down for long. Despite the pain in his side, and the always unpleasant sensation of blood leaking from a wound, he rolled into a kneeling position without breaking the tumbling motion that had brought him to the ground in the first place. One hand he placed on the ground to steady himself while the slight giddiness caused by loss of blood played through his head.
He was ready for the next attack from that bipedal slug, yet it seemed that it would not come. His earlier blast must have dazed the creature so much that it still remained somewhat groggy. And well it should have done that, even if it had failed to kill him as Basalt had intended. That Namek was more powerful and more stubborn than he had thought. It really was quite a problem.
For a second, Basalt considered renewing his attack, but he decided against it. Who knew if the Namek had more reserves left? His purposes would be served much better if he just grabbed the Dragonball and got out of here. He could always deal with that Namek again later, after this world's mystical artifacts had granted his desire.
He whipped his attention over to the building, where two of his less combat oriented underlings had their hands full with a single Namek, a smallish one who looked to be barely into his adult years. At this, he almost shook his head. It was a sad sight to see that even a scout could not handle someone who was barely more than a child. But no matter.
Stealthily as he could, Basalt charged up his ki and flew just to the side of the fray. He was surprised, but ready when the Namek suddenly turned to strike at him as he passed. For his trouble, Basalt refocused his ki into one leg and shot it out, catching the unfortunate creature in its side and sending it flying into the wall.
That done, and a sharp, admonishing look to the two scouts, he landed lightly in the relative darkness of the room. And in the centre of this room, illuminated by sunlight pouring in from the hole in the wall, there was a pedestal upon which rested a large orange ball with four red stars floating inside of it. The Dragonball.
Unlike many others, Basalt did not stop and stare in wonder at this object; he was not one given to wonder, and more importantly, he did not have the time. A battle was still being waged outside the building's walls.
He lifted the ball off its pedestal, surprised by the warm surface and the seeming weightlessness. But more thrilling to him by far was the knowledge that here was a piece of his goal, and that at other villages, other pieces of his goal were being collected. He didn't quite know how the whole thing with Dragonballs was supposed to work, but he could figure it out once he had all seven.
For now, his task was completed, and it was well time to escape from this village. He turned and shouted out his order. "Objective completed! Pull back!"
With these words, he launched himself into the air, glancing down as his minions followed suit. Or those of them who could, at least. More than one lay motionless upon the ground, felled somehow by some of the locals. Another just managed to kick one away from him and follow into the sky.
It might not have gone exactly as he'd planned, Basalt reflected, but he had gotten what he'd come for. Telling the rearmost underling to keep an eye on their backs, he focused his gaze forward, mind filled with thoughts about how close he would soon be to his desire.
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A harsh, hideous blaring noise filled the air around them, at an intensity that almost made their ears bleed. For relief, Dende and Scargo pressed their hands over their ears, though this did not do much good. And the red flickering lights surrounding them were an even greater assault to their senses, reminding Dende most uncomfortably of the barrier that he had managed to free them of, but without the burning sensation. On and off it went, leaving crimson after-images in his field of vision.
He had not anticipated all this. But he should have, he really should have, since it was not a very difficult concept to conceive that the place where they were being held prisoner would have an alarm system. Here it was his job to save his younger brother, and he didn't think of something as simple as that. It was one of those times where Dende got the feeling that he was not really cut out for such an important job.
But being as there was nobody else here who could do that, he had no choice but to continue upon it. Though loathe to do so, he took one hand away from his ear and grabbed onto Scargo's arm. With no idea as to what direction might be proper, he took off down a random hall, dragging Scargo behind him.
It was an immense relief when the blaring sound stopped a moment later, though it echoed in Dende's ears even after it had faded. And while the sound was gone, the red light still flashed incessantly, making it a chore to keep his eyes open. On one occasion, he nearly ran straight into a wall, but managed to avoid it at the last second.
Dende swallowed, trying to keep his heart in his chest as opposed to either on the floor or up in his throat. There had to be a way out of here, but which way did he go? All of these hallways looked the same to him. There were no distinctive features that he could use to determine whether or not he had been dragging Scargo around in circles this whole time. He just felt so useless . . .
But he looked down at Scargo; the younger Namek still had his eyes squeezed shut against the flashing red light, and Dende could see tears pooling at their edges. Dende set his lips firmly. He could do this. Giving his brother's hand an encouraging squeeze, Dende took off running once more.
It was surprising yet very relieving that they had not yet come into contact with another person in this place. Dende found this very strange, as he had expected more havoc around here after the alarm had sounded. Not that he was about to complain or anything, but really, where was everybody?
The fact that this was fortuitous, though, overrode any of his confusion about it. So much the better if they encountered no one. Of course, they would no doubt encounter someone sometime, be it Doctor Gneiss, or one of those soldiers that had captured them and imprisoned them in her laboratory, or any number of others. This place simply could not be empty.
"Hey! You!"
Ah, the world made sense again. Dende's head shot up to the owner of the voice, a tall, rather threatening-looking creature wearing the signature armour. There was little time to make a decision on what to do. In fact, there was none.
"End of the line, kids!"
This voice was a new one, coming from behind them. Dende fearfully glanced over his shoulder and saw another soldier standing there, less impressive physically than the first, but intimidating nonetheless. Dende's gaze shot again to the soldier in front of them, then nervously over to each side. They were in the middle of a corridor, with no pathways branching off that could be used as an escape route. The nearest intersection was behind the first soldier.
Scargo latched onto him more tightly as the first soldier began to charge full speed at them. Dende looked over his shoulder once more to see that the second had followed suit. He did not know what he could do at this point, except for to fall back upon his instincts . . .
Taking a deep breath, Dende, still with Scargo's hand in his, dove at the first soldier's legs. He managed to knock into the soldier's ankles and trip him up. As Dende climbed to his feet, he saw that the first soldier had fallen directly onto the second and they were both lying on the floor, trying to untangle themselves from each other.
Not one to waste time in a situation like this, Dende bolted for the intersection. His lungs were burning such as they never had before in his life; they seemed to be filled with a fire equivalent to one that would occur upon the surface of a sun. But he kept moving, resisting the urge to rest. They could not afford to stop.
"Dende," Scargo puffed from behind him. "Can we rest a second? I can't . . . can't do anymore running right now."
Oh, how badly Dende wanted to consent to this. His body almost gave in, but then survival instinct welled up in him once more, stronger than earlier. If they stopped now, then they would never escape this place alive. "We're almost out, Scargo. Just keep going a little longer."
He did not bother to check back and see whether the lie had soothed his younger brother at all as it had the last time. Stubbornly, Dende kept his eyes focused ahead, watching sharply for any doorways, or any other people present that would try to curtail their escape.
At another corner, he found the latter, and he sharply pulled back before he and Scargo could be spotted. Heart now in his throat, Dende dragged Scargo back in the direction from which they had come, and turned down a hallway that they had passed by. Glances to his sides at the next four-way intersection showed that it would be most unwise to make a turn. In fact, the number of people around seemed to be increasing overall. Whether or not that also meant that they were closer to an exit, Dende was not sure.
Yet again, another person; they were quickly being deprived of running room. If this kept up, then there was no way that they were going to make it to an exit before being caught. For the first time, Dende wished that he could create a ki blast. He disliked the idea of fighting, and other such destructive uses of energy, but it would sure have come in handy right about now for him to just blow a hole in the wall instead of running around like this.
Running that was getting them nowhere. Dende could hardly breathe anymore, and he imagined that Scargo was no better off. Indeed, he could hear his younger brother wheezing behind him. There was no way that either of them could keep this flight up for much longer. They needed a new strategy.
Abruptly, Dende halted, Scargo stumbling to a stop beside him. For a few seconds, though sparing even that was dangerous to their chances of escape, Dende merely stood there, catching whatever he could of his breath.
"Scargo," he said hoarsely, straining to get his voice to work in his dry, burning throat. His younger brother's head was bowed, and his body shook as he drew in heavy breaths. "Scargo, listen to me." This time, Scargo looked up at him; those tears that he had seen previously at the corners of his eyes were now running down his face, mixing with the sweat that poured off of his forehead. "This running thing won't work. We'll have to hide and wait for things to calm down." Dende frowned darkly, hating himself for what he had to say next. "But we're going to have to do it separately. It will be too hard to find a spot that would fit both of us."
Scargo looked up at him in shock, and that shock seemed to help him find his voice. "What? But Dende –"
"It's the only chance. We might not both get out, but the one that does heads back to the village to tell them what's happened!" The plan tore at his heart so much that he could not believe that he had uttered it. How he would ever forgive himself for this? "Just do it!"
Painfully, Dende released his brother from his grasp and took off down the hallway on his own. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Scargo had taken heed to his words, and was on his way in the opposite direction.
Steeling himself, Dende focused his sight upon finding a good hiding place. But his mind remained upon Scargo.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Shadow Games
Scargo woke slowly, giving his eyes an absent rub with the back of one hand. These eyes gradually took in his surroundings, and for a moment he was confused. Hadn't he been in a smaller room, with that scary alien lady and her not quite as scary assistant? He was sure that this was the case . . . Hold on a minute. That was wrong. He remembered now being back here.
It wasn't a vivid memory, clear and sharp as daylight. No, it was dark, clouded at the edges like the sky before a thunderstorm. But he could distinctly remember Dende leaning over him, smiling in relief, and how happy that had made him . . .
He must have fallen back asleep, still under the influence of that gas that had been forced into him in the smaller room. There was not much strength in his body right now, but there was enough that he could shudder at the memory; unlike the one he'd had a moment ago, this one was unclouded. He could remember struggling weakly against the hand of the assistant as he pinned him to the wall, using the other hand to put some sort of mask over his face. He'd tried to pull away from this mask, but then the air had started to taste and smell funny, and he had been unable to move.
Dazed by the remembrance, Scargo put a hand to his forehead. It was over, he reminded himself. That horrible event was over, and he was back safe with his brother.
He looked up to reaffirm this feeling, and his eyes flew open the rest of the way. Dende wasn't in here with him. In a panic, Scargo sat up, then eventually managed to climb to his feet. What had happened to Dende? Had the scary alien lady taken him to do more experiments? Fear began to well up inside him, an internal tidal wave threatening to crash over his mind. What if –
"You're awake."
The voice startled Scargo, and he screamed, falling backward. And his scream caused the speaker to do the same, only without the fall. Scargo put a hand over his heart, drawing ragged breaths, but at the same time feeling almost silly. The speaker in question was only Dende. He was in here with him after all. Only something didn't seem quite right.
"Dende! You're outside that barrier!" Scargo cried, it not occurring to him to keep his voice low. "How did you do that?"
"Shh." Dende put a finger to his lips for a second, motioning him to be quiet. "I used my healing power. Its aura protected me."
Wow. Scargo would never have thought of that, to use the healing power in such a manner. He would never conceive it to be possible. If there had ever been any question as to why he very nearly worshipped his older brother, here was the answer. Dende was just so smart.
"That's amazing," Scargo breathed, his voice full of undisguised wonder. He climbed back to his feet, ignoring the dizzy feeling that still swirled around in his head. "What are you doing now?"
Dende frowned, and for the first time Scargo noticed that his brother was floating. "I'm trying to figure out how this keypad works. If I can do that, then I'll be able to get you out, too."
"Oh, you can do it." There was absolutely no doubt of this in Scargo's mind. If Dende could pull off something like using his healing aura to get through a painful barrier, then there was no way that he could fail at figuring out some machine.
For some reason, Dende did not look all that encouraged by his words. Instead, he kept frowning, and turned back to the keypad, poking at it with one finger.
Not one comfortable with long periods of silence, Scargo could not resist continuing to speak. "So do you think you're close? How long have you been trying?"
"I can't tell if I'm close or not," Dende responded almost absently, finger still poking at the keys. After a couple of seconds, he lowered that finger and his frown grew deeper. "And I'm not sure how long I've been trying. Probably for at least half an hour, anyway."
"Well, you're just about due, then," Scargo chirped, finding himself in a rather good mood. Yes, Dende was going to figure things out and then they could go safely home. It wouldn't be long now, he could just tell.
A few minutes later, Dende blinked, and inclined his head toward him. "Hey Scargo, I think I've got it this time. Try to come out."
Scargo nodded firmly; the say-so of his brother was all that he needed. Still, his insides tensed as he took a few steps toward where the barrier was. They obviously didn't trust Dende as much as he did. It was only a short matter of time to see whose instincts were validated.
And Scargo smiled broadly, several steps ahead of his previous position, and not at all the worse for the wear. His faith in his brother had proven true, as he had known it would all along. "See, I told you that you were due!"
Dende smiled, not as broadly, but then he hadn't done that very much since back on the old planet. He lowered himself to the floor. "I guess you were right, then. Let's get out of here."
Of course, Scargo was only too happy to agree. He followed Dende to one of the room's two doors – he instinctively shied away from the other one, glanced at Dende for reassurance and was surprised to find that he was tense as well. Scargo tilted his head in confusion. Since when did Dende get scared like that anymore? He hadn't seen him that way since back on the old planet, when that horrible monster had attacked their village.
This door was locked by a keypad as well, and Dende floated up to examine it. Scargo merely regarded his brother with curiosity; that tenseness and fear that he had seen a second ago was gone, now, almost making him wonder if he had somehow just imagined it. But he knew that he hadn't; Dende really had been scared.
Scargo jumped back a little in surprise as the door whooshed open, but managed not to fall down this time. Dende drifted back onto the floor.
"I thought that that would be too good to hope for," Dende said quietly. "The code was the same." He took Scargo's hand and pulled him along. "Come on, Scargo. Let's go."
Scargo did not have to be pulled, but he did not resent this action. As long as they got back home, everything was fine with him.
It never occurred to them that there would be an alarm.
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Whelk released the tension in his body by way of firing a ki blast. His aim, true to the constant training to which he held himself, was accurate, striking the alien form before it could land a blow on Elder Muuri. Legs pumping with an almost identifiable thrill, he interposed himself between the alien form and the Elder, Limpet taking up a position just beside him.
"What's the meaning of all this?" he demanded of the form, one that was smaller than him but had the clear build of a warrior.
The alien warrior gave him an infuriating smirk. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Namek. Though if you stay back, I may just tell my men to spare you."
Whelk was about to make a biting retort, but was interrupted by a highly unusual sight. Quite abruptly, another alien form crashed through the wall of the building to a hard landing on its back. And it lay there, motionless. This seemed to even stun the alien and his other visible underlings, and everyone stood still in shock for a moment. What had just happened?
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There hadn't been much darkness in the room, but Chiton knew well enough how to use even that small amount to his advantage. He'd lain in careful wait, huddling in the shadow cast by the Dragonball's pedestal. And sure enough, the attack that he had figured was coming did just that.
Sometimes it was almost too easy.
Using his speed, which was his best physical attribute in combat situations, he was able to land three carefully placed strikes – two punches and one ki-enhanced kick – on the invader before anyone else in the room could make a move. He would have liked to have been a little more stealthy about knocking the alien out, but it seemed that he had somehow overestimated said alien's power, and had consequently sent him flying through the wall.
Chiton almost sighed. Ah well. It was not the proper time to dwell upon mistakes, not when two unfriendly parties still shared the room with him. Mistakes could be analyzed once the battle was over.
The only true problem with the attack that he had just executed was that he drew attention to himself. The other two would not be caught looking as their companion had.
He lowered himself into a fighting crouch, eyes carefully studying his two opponents, scanning for weaknesses, or traces of emotion on their faces that he could convert to such. No expressions but those of anger and determination were visible upon them; any fear that they'd previously had was either gone or well hidden. Sizing them up quickly, Chiton noted that they were both taller than he was by a fair margin. He would have to watch out for their greater reach.
Not to mention the idea of being double-teamed, which he now found himself facing as the two remaining invaders charged toward him as one. Mind working fast, as it tended to do, Chiton did not waste a second and made a move of his own.
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Limpet dodged to the side, much to the apparent anger of the opponent that he had acquired. And in response to this, he chuckled a little; it was almost strange even to him, but there were times that he just enjoyed getting a rise out of people. Something about it was so much fun.
His opponent – in appearance rather similar to those human creatures save for the flamboyant shock of hair upon his head, and the long white teeth that protruded from under his lip – jumped back from a strike of his own and snarled. A quick glance showed that a ki blast was forming in his hand.
In response to this, Limpet circled around to the alien's back, discreetly pulling ki into his own hand. When the alien whipped around to face him and launch his blast, Limpet launched his – directly into its face.
Naturally, this stopped the alien's attack in coming; he reeled backward in the sky a bit, hands clawing at his face. And with the opportunity thus presented, he was free to finish the battle as he saw fit. He delivered a punch and a whirling elbow to the alien's unprotected chest, sending it hurtling toward the ground. And it was not able to right itself in time, crashing into the dirt and bringing up a respectable cloud of dust if not a huge one. It was nice to look at, at least. And the fact that he had not landed upon any of those who were conducting battles on the ground struck him as a rather fortunate thing itself.
This battle had not been difficult, he found himself thinking. But he checked himself when he saw the dust cloud clear and his opponent climbing to his feet within the depression he'd created in the earth. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so easy after all. He could live with that.
Still, he thought as he spared a glance backward and upward, he would have liked to have been able to go and assist Whelk with his current engagement. It didn't seem to be going quite as favourably as his.
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He would have welcomed the good exercise that he was getting, if not for the situation in which he was getting it. A training match would have been preferable to this: a true battle against someone who had dared to threaten his people.
Whelk frowned as he and his opponent separated; by sensing the ki of all those present, this one was by far the most powerful. Thus it had of course fallen to him to take up combat against him, for there were none in the village that could match him in raw strength and ki.
That, and the man just made him angry.
With little bother as to keeping his temper in check, Whelk launched himself forward, not raising his fist until the very last second before he needed it. And the man still managed to block the punch somehow, crossing his arms over his chest to deflect the blow. Undisturbed by this nonetheless, Whelk aimed another punch at his face. This too met with a pair of crossed blocking arms, frustrating him once again.
And frustration rapidly turned to surprise and pain as his opponent whirled about, swinging his leg into a roundhouse kick which caught him in the side. Bone creaked under the intense force of the blow, but still held firm.
Instinctively, Whelk ducked and felt a rush of wind pass over his head, created by the flat hand of his opponent swinging out in a deadly chop. He used this opportunity to jab an elbow backward, and felt a satisfying jarring feeling ring through it as the blow struck true. In the next fluid motion, he uncurled his arm to follow up with a backhand strike that managed to find its target just the same.
The alien grunted in pain, and Whelk turned in time to see him flying backward. Quickly, Whelk began to gather ki into his palm, building to a level of decent strength, but nothing too high – he wanted to question this man later, about this raid and what he'd surely done to the children. The ki flickered bright golden in his hand, in its brighter phases drowning out the light of the sun behind him, but much more concentrated, much more focused. Just a little more build-up, and it would be ready to fire; his target had not yet quite recovered from the previous blows, and would not be able to stop this missile from connecting.
Or so he'd thought.
Whelk didn't even have enough time to be shocked at the blue-white blast of ki shooting toward him; his own ki dissipated in his hand, and the blast of the opponent struck him full force.
Pain exploded through his body as the world around him flashed a pale, icy blue. Flesh seared, but did not give way under the force of the burning sensation flooding across it. His skin was sturdy enough to withstand such force with only a scorching rather than a disintegration.
But what did disintegrate was his concentration, rendered non-existent by the sudden shock. As such, he no longer had control of his ki, and plummeted downward to a harsh and unforgiving encounter with the ground.
The earth partially gave way around his body, forming a tight seal around his muscles. While his head still throbbed and swam, he did not give in to the desire to allow himself to fall unconscious. This was a battle, by Porunga! There was not a single bone in his body that would allow him to stay down until he had given the fight his all.
Still, it was not until after the dust had cleared that he was able to convince the rest of his body to start moving. Aches ran up and down every part of him, attempting to drag him back down into the crater once more, but they met no success here.
As it was, his vision was slow to clear, and it seemed to him that he was still looking at things through a haze of dust. Various battles went on about him, and he was encouraged to see the body of more than one alien lying motionless upon the ground. His people, the fellow warriors of this village, were doing well against this threat.
And speaking of threats . . .
More discreetly this time – his hand behind his back, for one thing – Whelk charged up a ki blast. His opponent was becoming clearer in his vision, heading back toward the building. And not paying any more mind to him, no doubt confident that he would provide no interference. The man underestimated him greatly.
Well. Whelk would show him the folly of that kind of attitude. The ki blast now fully charged in his hand, he shot it forward, the bolt launching like lightning from his flat palm.
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Basalt's scouter alerted him to the danger almost instantly, performing its function to perfection. That still was not enough to give him the time to fully dodge the bolt of ki that surged toward him. He twisted his body around, though no enough to prevent the edge of the blast from tearing through the armour at his side, as well as some of the body beneath. His momentum broken, he tumbled to the ground.
But this did not keep him down for long. Despite the pain in his side, and the always unpleasant sensation of blood leaking from a wound, he rolled into a kneeling position without breaking the tumbling motion that had brought him to the ground in the first place. One hand he placed on the ground to steady himself while the slight giddiness caused by loss of blood played through his head.
He was ready for the next attack from that bipedal slug, yet it seemed that it would not come. His earlier blast must have dazed the creature so much that it still remained somewhat groggy. And well it should have done that, even if it had failed to kill him as Basalt had intended. That Namek was more powerful and more stubborn than he had thought. It really was quite a problem.
For a second, Basalt considered renewing his attack, but he decided against it. Who knew if the Namek had more reserves left? His purposes would be served much better if he just grabbed the Dragonball and got out of here. He could always deal with that Namek again later, after this world's mystical artifacts had granted his desire.
He whipped his attention over to the building, where two of his less combat oriented underlings had their hands full with a single Namek, a smallish one who looked to be barely into his adult years. At this, he almost shook his head. It was a sad sight to see that even a scout could not handle someone who was barely more than a child. But no matter.
Stealthily as he could, Basalt charged up his ki and flew just to the side of the fray. He was surprised, but ready when the Namek suddenly turned to strike at him as he passed. For his trouble, Basalt refocused his ki into one leg and shot it out, catching the unfortunate creature in its side and sending it flying into the wall.
That done, and a sharp, admonishing look to the two scouts, he landed lightly in the relative darkness of the room. And in the centre of this room, illuminated by sunlight pouring in from the hole in the wall, there was a pedestal upon which rested a large orange ball with four red stars floating inside of it. The Dragonball.
Unlike many others, Basalt did not stop and stare in wonder at this object; he was not one given to wonder, and more importantly, he did not have the time. A battle was still being waged outside the building's walls.
He lifted the ball off its pedestal, surprised by the warm surface and the seeming weightlessness. But more thrilling to him by far was the knowledge that here was a piece of his goal, and that at other villages, other pieces of his goal were being collected. He didn't quite know how the whole thing with Dragonballs was supposed to work, but he could figure it out once he had all seven.
For now, his task was completed, and it was well time to escape from this village. He turned and shouted out his order. "Objective completed! Pull back!"
With these words, he launched himself into the air, glancing down as his minions followed suit. Or those of them who could, at least. More than one lay motionless upon the ground, felled somehow by some of the locals. Another just managed to kick one away from him and follow into the sky.
It might not have gone exactly as he'd planned, Basalt reflected, but he had gotten what he'd come for. Telling the rearmost underling to keep an eye on their backs, he focused his gaze forward, mind filled with thoughts about how close he would soon be to his desire.
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A harsh, hideous blaring noise filled the air around them, at an intensity that almost made their ears bleed. For relief, Dende and Scargo pressed their hands over their ears, though this did not do much good. And the red flickering lights surrounding them were an even greater assault to their senses, reminding Dende most uncomfortably of the barrier that he had managed to free them of, but without the burning sensation. On and off it went, leaving crimson after-images in his field of vision.
He had not anticipated all this. But he should have, he really should have, since it was not a very difficult concept to conceive that the place where they were being held prisoner would have an alarm system. Here it was his job to save his younger brother, and he didn't think of something as simple as that. It was one of those times where Dende got the feeling that he was not really cut out for such an important job.
But being as there was nobody else here who could do that, he had no choice but to continue upon it. Though loathe to do so, he took one hand away from his ear and grabbed onto Scargo's arm. With no idea as to what direction might be proper, he took off down a random hall, dragging Scargo behind him.
It was an immense relief when the blaring sound stopped a moment later, though it echoed in Dende's ears even after it had faded. And while the sound was gone, the red light still flashed incessantly, making it a chore to keep his eyes open. On one occasion, he nearly ran straight into a wall, but managed to avoid it at the last second.
Dende swallowed, trying to keep his heart in his chest as opposed to either on the floor or up in his throat. There had to be a way out of here, but which way did he go? All of these hallways looked the same to him. There were no distinctive features that he could use to determine whether or not he had been dragging Scargo around in circles this whole time. He just felt so useless . . .
But he looked down at Scargo; the younger Namek still had his eyes squeezed shut against the flashing red light, and Dende could see tears pooling at their edges. Dende set his lips firmly. He could do this. Giving his brother's hand an encouraging squeeze, Dende took off running once more.
It was surprising yet very relieving that they had not yet come into contact with another person in this place. Dende found this very strange, as he had expected more havoc around here after the alarm had sounded. Not that he was about to complain or anything, but really, where was everybody?
The fact that this was fortuitous, though, overrode any of his confusion about it. So much the better if they encountered no one. Of course, they would no doubt encounter someone sometime, be it Doctor Gneiss, or one of those soldiers that had captured them and imprisoned them in her laboratory, or any number of others. This place simply could not be empty.
"Hey! You!"
Ah, the world made sense again. Dende's head shot up to the owner of the voice, a tall, rather threatening-looking creature wearing the signature armour. There was little time to make a decision on what to do. In fact, there was none.
"End of the line, kids!"
This voice was a new one, coming from behind them. Dende fearfully glanced over his shoulder and saw another soldier standing there, less impressive physically than the first, but intimidating nonetheless. Dende's gaze shot again to the soldier in front of them, then nervously over to each side. They were in the middle of a corridor, with no pathways branching off that could be used as an escape route. The nearest intersection was behind the first soldier.
Scargo latched onto him more tightly as the first soldier began to charge full speed at them. Dende looked over his shoulder once more to see that the second had followed suit. He did not know what he could do at this point, except for to fall back upon his instincts . . .
Taking a deep breath, Dende, still with Scargo's hand in his, dove at the first soldier's legs. He managed to knock into the soldier's ankles and trip him up. As Dende climbed to his feet, he saw that the first soldier had fallen directly onto the second and they were both lying on the floor, trying to untangle themselves from each other.
Not one to waste time in a situation like this, Dende bolted for the intersection. His lungs were burning such as they never had before in his life; they seemed to be filled with a fire equivalent to one that would occur upon the surface of a sun. But he kept moving, resisting the urge to rest. They could not afford to stop.
"Dende," Scargo puffed from behind him. "Can we rest a second? I can't . . . can't do anymore running right now."
Oh, how badly Dende wanted to consent to this. His body almost gave in, but then survival instinct welled up in him once more, stronger than earlier. If they stopped now, then they would never escape this place alive. "We're almost out, Scargo. Just keep going a little longer."
He did not bother to check back and see whether the lie had soothed his younger brother at all as it had the last time. Stubbornly, Dende kept his eyes focused ahead, watching sharply for any doorways, or any other people present that would try to curtail their escape.
At another corner, he found the latter, and he sharply pulled back before he and Scargo could be spotted. Heart now in his throat, Dende dragged Scargo back in the direction from which they had come, and turned down a hallway that they had passed by. Glances to his sides at the next four-way intersection showed that it would be most unwise to make a turn. In fact, the number of people around seemed to be increasing overall. Whether or not that also meant that they were closer to an exit, Dende was not sure.
Yet again, another person; they were quickly being deprived of running room. If this kept up, then there was no way that they were going to make it to an exit before being caught. For the first time, Dende wished that he could create a ki blast. He disliked the idea of fighting, and other such destructive uses of energy, but it would sure have come in handy right about now for him to just blow a hole in the wall instead of running around like this.
Running that was getting them nowhere. Dende could hardly breathe anymore, and he imagined that Scargo was no better off. Indeed, he could hear his younger brother wheezing behind him. There was no way that either of them could keep this flight up for much longer. They needed a new strategy.
Abruptly, Dende halted, Scargo stumbling to a stop beside him. For a few seconds, though sparing even that was dangerous to their chances of escape, Dende merely stood there, catching whatever he could of his breath.
"Scargo," he said hoarsely, straining to get his voice to work in his dry, burning throat. His younger brother's head was bowed, and his body shook as he drew in heavy breaths. "Scargo, listen to me." This time, Scargo looked up at him; those tears that he had seen previously at the corners of his eyes were now running down his face, mixing with the sweat that poured off of his forehead. "This running thing won't work. We'll have to hide and wait for things to calm down." Dende frowned darkly, hating himself for what he had to say next. "But we're going to have to do it separately. It will be too hard to find a spot that would fit both of us."
Scargo looked up at him in shock, and that shock seemed to help him find his voice. "What? But Dende –"
"It's the only chance. We might not both get out, but the one that does heads back to the village to tell them what's happened!" The plan tore at his heart so much that he could not believe that he had uttered it. How he would ever forgive himself for this? "Just do it!"
Painfully, Dende released his brother from his grasp and took off down the hallway on his own. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Scargo had taken heed to his words, and was on his way in the opposite direction.
Steeling himself, Dende focused his sight upon finding a good hiding place. But his mind remained upon Scargo.