Undiscovered Territory
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Wounded Land
You haven't fallen asleep, have you, young one?
Dende's eyes snapped open at the sudden voice within his mind. He was still propped against Porunga's side, next to the wound that he had only managed to partially heal. Not that he had actually fallen asleep of course, though admittedly he was drifting in that direction. He had used up so much power that he had an excuse to just lie down and rest for a little while.
But he was wide awake, now. It was difficult not to be when a great dragon was speaking to him telepathically. Why Porunga was doing this, though, Dende could not quite fathom. The dragon had as much as closed himself off just before he had begun his attempt to heal the terrible wound in his side, had clearly not wanted to associate with a mere mortal such as himself. Why would Porunga now care about a small, insignificant creature like him?
Dende pushed himself back to support his weight on his knees, lifting one fist to rub at his eyes as he did so. And unconsciously, he gave Porunga an answer. No . . . Porunga-sama. I'm still awake, though I'm very, very tired.
He almost swore that he heard the dragon chuckle mentally. Or at least he assumed that it was a chuckle; it sounded more like a crackling wheeze than anything else, but maybe that was as close as one of his kind could get. What had he to be so amused about, when he was in such a dire condition?
Porunga-sama? I didn't think I would ever hear one of your kind calling me that, Porunga continued, almost wryly. He did sound genuinely amused, but then his mental voice took upon a more serious edge. Don't fall asleep on me yet, young one. You've a task to finish, have you not?
Dende blinked. So Porunga had noticed a change in his wound, and had pinpointed him as the source. In a weird way, it was kind of flattering; the great Porunga had taken notice of him, and it seemed close to a compliment. He hadn't thought that he had done anything truly noticeable to the injury. Still, the fact remained that he had not done enough, and could not.
I . . . I'm sorry sir, but I can't do any more. I'm too weak, now, Dende replied in his head while simultaneously hanging it in shame. He just felt so useless. All he could do had not been nearly enough to properly help.
Are you? Porunga returned. It more seems to me that you have just given up, and not truly exhausted your power. If that's true, then yes you are very weak indeed.
Somehow, that barb hit in a way that it usually would not have. Under normal circumstances, he would have simply nodded in the affirmative to this. It was, after all, what he really felt, a reinforcement of beliefs that were already within him. He knew that he agreed with this statement, agreed with it utterly, but some part of him did not want it to be true.
This whole giving up thing . . . When he thought about it, it really wasn't his style. Oh, he often thought about it, gave it serious consideration. That much was true. But in the end, he had always chosen the other way, to keep moving. The only time in recent memory where he recalled giving up was moments ago, when he had let himself collapse against Porunga's side, believing himself to be physically spent.
But was he really? Perhaps it was more of an emotionally spent sensation. He'd been under so much stress throughout this situation, had been so overwhelmed. No, being exhausted was not the reason that he'd chosen to give in. He had given in because he just hadn't felt like doing anything anymore. It was frustration, pure and simple. How completely, utterly selfish was that? And was that the kind of person that he wanted to be?
Dende instinctively knew the answer to that, and lifted his head, eyes hard with a newfound resolve. Even if he could not do this, he had to try his utmost, or he would feel the heavy weight of guilt for all of his life and afterlife. No, Porunga-sama, he thought at last, while tightening his lips, and rolling up his sleeves as per usual. No, I'm not quite as weak as all that. I can't promise anything but that I'll try. I truly hope that it will be enough to help you.
Once more, he placed his hands over the wound. This time, he did not feel sick from the gooey feeling under his palms, the pulsing of the fluid leaking from the great dragon's body. His mind could not be spared to focus on his own impressions of the injury, but solely the injury itself.
How much strength was left in him, Dende was not sure, but he did have enough to expend upon further healing efforts. With little trouble, he called upon the power again, feeling out for the edges that had been created from his previous attempt. It would be easiest to continue from these spots, where he could detect the fine lattice-work that he had wrought and simply extend it. This way, it ate up less power to start, leaving more for the rest of the wound. He didn't think that this would leave enough to heal it entirely, but he could certainly get it to the point where Porunga's life was not in danger any longer. Surely he could manage that much.
Familiar warmth seeped through his hands, gathering inside the gaping wound. Dende closed his eyes to concentrate, to focus this warmth the best way that he knew how. It might take a lot of time, and a lot of work, but this time, he was going to succeed.
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He had never experienced this feeling of unity before in all of his life. And to be perfectly honest, he hadn't thought that he would want to. By nature, he was a solitary person, rarely desiring to be in the company of others – whether for minor reasons or major ones.
But something was different here, within this battle. Chiton felt at home with his two partners, as though they had performed a fusion without melding their bodies. He had always read the moves of all participating in a battle if he could, so that he could make adjustments as necessary, but it had never felt so smooth as this. It was actually a rather pleasing sensation. He had not thought that he would ever have a pleasing one in such close proximity and bond to others.
It was amazing how, when one spent so much time analyzing others, he forgot to analyze himself. He would have figured that he knew himself better than this.
Chiton dove out of the way of an elbow aimed for his chest, and instead of striking at the opening this left him, he shot beneath the alien. And a blow from the side struck the alien instead, while he reared up at launched an assault upon its back.
It was amazing how much easier the battle was now. A cohesive unit fighting together rather than each one going at it alone . . . For the first time he saw the true wisdom in this strategy. And in fact, he wondered why he had never figured this out earlier in all of his musings. Rather strange to think that Limpet had discovered something before he had.
Oh well. Even virtual simpletons had good days.
Once again he read the attack, and switched his own move accordingly. Even without sensing ki he would have been able to see how worn down the alien was getting by now; its reactions were slowing, and its decision making was getting increasingly poor. Yes, it was getting quite tired now, and this would shortly be its downfall.
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A dull stabbing. That's all that it was now, really. Over the past several minutes the pain had gradually gotten weaker and weaker.
This was a welcome change from the previous few. Then, the pain had still been constant and sharp, cutting into every bone and organ, though not enough to put him at risk of not breathing. For a while, it had seemed as though it would remain at that level and Muuri had begun to worry that something might have happened to Dende while he was healing Porunga. Or in the very least that the boy had exhausted his healing power.
But neither of those things mattered now; they obviously were not true. In fact, the pain had subsided so much that Muuri had gently pushed away the two villagers that had been hovering over him and climbed to his feet. Oh, it was still agony to stand up, but all things considered he felt wonderful.
He even managed a smile, one full of hope and a small hint of pride. While things were by no means over yet, he was starting to feel a great deal better about their chances.
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Dizziness swept through him again, a sharp and sudden spiral to his mind. Combined with the warmth that permeated his body, it created a great temptation to go under, but Dende resisted it. He was not yet done.
Flesh tingled under his hands, stretching and regrowing, attaching to regenerated tissues within. If he had to guess, he would surmise that the wound which had looked so impossible for him to do anything about was actually about halfway healed. It was an amazing accomplishment to him, one that caused pride to swell up into his body; perhaps he was not so weak and helpless as he had thought himself to be.
And this pride sustained him, buoyed him against that dizziness that wanted to drag him far away from here. If he had done this much, then maybe he could do more. Much more.
He ignored all of the unpleasant feelings in his head; they were useless distractions to his task – no, his duty. All of his concentration went into regulating the flow of his healing aura into the body that lay still under his hands. This was a good feeling, and always had been.
But Dende could not keep that unpleasantness away from him for very long. It reared up once more, stronger than the last time. Apparently it had learned its lesson and would not allow itself to be ignored any longer. The dizziness attacked his head again, the strength seeped away first from his legs and then his arms . . .
He held firm for as long as he could, saving the last vestiges of his strength for sustaining his arms. And indeed they lasted longer than the rest of him did; even as he slumped against the body, unable to hold himself upright, power still flowed through them. It was almost unconscious now. The arms and hands knew what actions to perform, and did them without any orders.
Even so, they could not last forever. A chill swept through his arms, and Dende knew instinctively that this was caused by the lack of his healing aura flowing through them. This time, he truly had exhausted his power. This time, he really had tried his best.
And as he slipped away into blackness once more he was confident that this time, he had actually been able to help.
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A blow slammed into Basalt's face, followed by one from his left and another from his back. They came in such rapid succession that his mind could barely distinguish the fact that they had been separate attacks. Not that his mind was really up to snuff at the moment.
Basalt extended both fists and whirled about in a circle, hoping to catch all three Nameks with this one move. However, this did not go as planned; two of them dodged out of the way perfectly, while the other jumped back enough to only receive light contact. No damage had been done.
And to make matters worse, the Nameks charged in as soon as he halted his momentum. This was not like before, where they had been disorganized and he could deal with them more or less individually. No, now they were in perfect unison, and striking at one of them immediately left him at the mercy of the two others. At this rate, he was not going to last very much longer.
Not that he had really expected to.
Stubborn as he was, he had already somewhat resigned himself to the fate that would now be soon in coming. Not completely, of course; he had fought with everything that he possessed, and for a while it seemed that he would come out on top in this battle. A small sense of hope had grown within him, though there still would have been the rest of the locals to deal with, and in a weakened state at that.
He knew that he was all but doomed now, but still he fought on. Even if he had been forced to live as a scout, he could die as a warrior. In his own mind if nothing else. He took no comfort in this fact however. Death was death whether one went the way he preferred or not.
But the choice was no longer his, and perhaps never had been. All of his attacks now met with empty air, even though he could have sworn on several occasions that he had hit. It was like fighting phantoms, creatures that had no true corporeal form until they struck out at an opponent. He could not even counter them anymore. Every time he made a move to block, that particular Namek would pull back his blow at the last instant and two hard impacts would mark other unprotected places on his body.
How he could even think anymore, Basalt was not sure. With all of the blows to the head that he had taken, he figured that he would have been working on nothing but auto-pilot by now. In all truth, he kind of wished that he were.
It wasn't necessary though. Despite the pain, he was almost relieve when he felt three blows hammer into him all at once: one to the chest, one to his temple, and the other one to the base of his skull. The pain only lasted for a few seconds, then was drowned away by a strangely pleasant numbness.
And soon after that, the numbness dwindled to nothing as well.
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The adrenaline, which had kept him going throughout the entire battle, finally drained away from Whelk's body. For a second, he almost let himself go, dropping a bit along with the body of the alien. But he stopped himself before he fell too far, shaking his head a bit and giving one of his rare rueful smiles.
"Glad to see that you decided not to take the nose dive after all, Whelk," Limpet said lightly. Even battered and bloody as he was, he could not resist the opportunity to make some silly remark. "Hitting the ground again wouldn't be a great way to celebrate a victory, in my personal opinion."
Whelk normally would have chastised the other Namek for making such a remark, but he found himself in a supremely good mood and did more than let the comment pass. He actually laughed at it. "No, it doesn't fit my opinion either. This seems to be one of our rare points of agreement. Perhaps I should get my head checked."
Chiton took this opportunity to slip in a gibe of his own. "I've thought the same of both of you for years."
Whelk didn't bother to be surprised at this turn of events – that Chiton had spoken up without having been spoken to first. A great battle had just ended, and the rush and relief tended to overrule a person's usual tendencies. Case in point that Whelk found neither of the comments irritating.
His eyes were drawn away from his two companions, however, and a great sight caught his attention. In that insane storm of battle, he had somehow forgotten about Porunga, and how he had been wounded. It was a shameful thing, to forget the wound of a dragon, but he had needed his full attention for the battle. Seemed as viable an excuse as any.
And he thought for a second that Porunga was not wounded anymore, for he had forced himself upright, somehow lifting his massive bulk from the ground. But Whelk's initial perception was not quite true; there was still a gash in the dragon's side, though far less intense a one that he would have figured from the blast that he had suffered. Nonetheless, Porunga did not appear to be terribly bothered by it.
Driven by pure impulse and curiosity, Whelk glided toward Porunga, angling his flight downward as he did so. To float at eye level to a dragon was a great affront to the creatures, and he was nothing if not respectful. Lightly, he touched upon the grass, though he wobbled a bit on an injured leg. He idly wondered just when he had suffered that wound, but it was not something that was a concern at the moment.
Seeing Porunga was a fairly rare thing, for it was not often that the Dragonballs were put to use. Which was only right and proper – the powers of a dragon were not to be called upon lightly. Only in dire circumstance was such a thing permitted at all.
Even so, this was the third time that he had been blessed with this sight; all of his people had seen it at least twice, just a few short years ago when they had been on Earth. The view was truly magnificent, causing one to question their own power and value. All creatures were dwarfed in front of Porunga as a reminder of their lowly status; such a feeling could often curb the greed that might prompt some to make wishes.
He sensed more than heard Limpet and Chiton come in for landings just behind him. At this, he had to smile. Even though the battle was over, they refused to leave him alone. All well and good; for a change, he actually relished their company.
"Well, that is a great relief."
Whelk had to force himself not to wince at the thunderous volume of Porunga's voice. He'd heard it before, of course, but had never exactly gotten used to it. There was a nagging bit of curiosity in him though, and he followed up on it. "If I might ask what that relief is?"
He wasn't sure how Porunga regarded him just now. The dragon's eyes were a flat red, seemingly incapable of a proper expression. He could be annoyed, amused, or completely neutral to the inquiry. It was impossible to tell.
"You can ask the young one for that," came Porunga's answer. Though it sounded vague, there was no irritation or dismissal in the tone, or so it seemed at the very least.
Whelk finally pulled his eyes away from Porunga to a place several yards away. He would have discerned the sight easily but for the fact that Limpet had moved forward, blocking the view. His fellow warrior knelt down as if to lift something, and only when he turned did Whelk see what he intended.
Cradled in Limpet's arms was Dende. For the most part, the child appeared to be unharmed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. And since he was not wounded, Whelk could only think of one scenario that would put him into such a state. And that was exhaustion. Whether it was from excitement, or . . .
It made sense, suddenly. That wound of Porunga's . . . had been much worse than what the eyes now showed. But an exhausted Dende lying what would have been right beside him gave the answer that Whelk had been seeking. He knew that the boy was a talented healer, but that he could heal a wound of that size to such a degree . . .
An amazing child, that one. What other could save the life of a dragon?
"Now if you don't mind," Porunga continued, drawing Whelk's attention back to him. "I've been out here for quite a while and would much rather go back to my sleep. Isn't anyone today going to make any wishes?"
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His eyes opened abruptly and unlike the many previous times there was no dull fogginess surrounding his mind or his vision. As soon as his lids lifted, his vision was sharp and clear as if he had been awake for hours.
And again for the first time in a while, he found himself awakening in an agreeable environment. The rounded windows and shining white walls were enough to convince him that he was in a house. Not an alien spaceship, landed here inexplicably, not a laboratory where he would be subjected to painful experiments. A plain and simple house, the kind that his people had constructed for generations.
The shock of this was enough to jolt him to his feet. Yet again, no dizziness overcame him; there were no threats to drag him back to the ground. But was he really where he thought he was, or was it some strange dream sent to torture his mind?
Well, he would never know if he just stayed in here. It took no effort to find his way through the small house and open the door to let in the outside world. Sunlight poured over him with such intensity that he was forced to shield his eyes. It had been a long while since he had experience proper exposure to the sun. His eyes needed time to readjust to this little bit of normality.
He blinked a few times and then lowered his shielding hand. The sight that greeted him was an unexpectedly pleasant shock to his system.
Children sat at tables playing card games. Some of the adults tended to the rows of Ajisa plants. Others wiped the outside of buildings with white cloths. And the occasional one trekked across his field of vision with a golf club slung over his shoulder.
All of this, which would have bored him substantially only a short while ago seemed so thrilling, so new. So alive. That was the word that he was looking for this whole time. Alive. And so was he, back home as well.
"Dende!" A shout caught his attention, and one of the children who had been at a table playing cards slipped from his seat and rushed toward him. He blinked in surprise and barely recognized this child before he was enveloped in a hug. "So you're finally up! I was wondering how long you'd sleep!"
Dende returned the hug for a few seconds before pulling back to examine his brother. From head to toe, Scargo appeared to be in perfect condition; no scratches or scorches marked his body, and there were no telltale signs in his movement that indicated any injury.
Still, Dende was confused and he made no effort to hide this. "Scargo, what all happened?"
Scargo blinked. "You're asking me what happened?" he asked, incredulous. "You were the one in the middle of all the action at the end."
"Well yes, but . . ." Dende bowed his head a little, and felt his cheeks colour in embarrassment. The words Scargo had spoken sounded something like another praise. "But I didn't see everything, and now I've been asleep . . ."
"Deservedly so, my child."
Dende jumped at the new voice, but relaxed upon seeing Elder Muuri's face. It was the biggest kind of relief to see him again; he hadn't been able to stop the worry in his heart for his Elder – and all of his kinsmen – when he'd first seen all of the Dragonballs gathered. In fact, he would have expected the village to be a complete wreck, but here it was utterly intact. There weren't even scorch marks on the houses nor any visible injuries on the residents.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Elder Muuri, but I don't know what you mean," Dende said cautiously.
Elder Muuri chuckled a bit. "Too exhausted from healing Porunga, I would imagine."
Dende felt the colouration in his cheeks deepen. "How did you know that I . . ."
"I am the Great Elder, my child," Muuri cut him off gently. "With a little effort, I can know all about what goes on with both the Dragonballs and the dragon."
Well, that certainly made a lot of sense, Dende had to admit. Actually, it was quite the simple sounding concept, one that he should have been able to figure out on his own. The connection was perfectly natural.
"That was really amazing, Dende!" Scargo jumped back into the conversation, and latched onto Dende's arm in pure excitement. "I mean, you healed a dragon! And we even got to make the wishes afterward."
The wishes. The very idea of them had slipped free from Dende's mind the moment that he had seen Porunga wounded. All that had been in his head then, and even up until now was to save a life. That Porunga had the power to grant wishes . . . Strange, but Dende had sort of forgotten that for a while.
But he still had to know. "We used the wishes? All of them? What were they?"
Elder Muuri placed one hand affectionately upon Dende's head while indicating the village with a sweeping gesture of the other. "Well, look around you for one thing. This village, along with all of the others, was in sorry shape after the Dragonballs were stolen. The first wish had been to repair all of the damages."
"Yeah," Scargo nodded. "And then the next one was to get rid of that spaceship and all of the aliens."
All very sensible. Whoever made the wishes – probably Whelk and whoever had been the other members of his triad – had made wise ones indeed. "And the third?"
"Well, that was more to save you some extra trouble than anything else," Elder Muuri explained lightly. "After your whole ordeal, it would have been improper to ask you to heal all of those who had been injured, even if it was just the ones of this village." He paused, smiled. "So we had Porunga do it instead."
"Ah." It was all that he could say, really. It seemed odd that a wish had evidently been used with his benefit specifically in mind, but was very flattering also. He sort of felt like he didn't deserve an honour such as that. Only heroes did, and he would never be one of those. Perhaps to the eyes of others, but not to his own.
Scargo tugged on his arm. "Come on, Dende! I've been saving you a seat at the table so you could join in the poker game when you woke up."
Dende smiled at this. Everything, it seemed, was turning back to normal. "You go on first. I'll be there in a minute."
Scargo nodded at this and hurried back toward the table. He immediately slid back into his seat, shuffling the cards as he sat.
"What's the matter? Don't really feel like joining them?"
Dende shook his head at this. He understood the sentiment, but it was inaccurate. "No, I do. Just seems strange, is all. Everybody seems to be acting like nothing happened."
The look on Elder Muuri's face darkened a bit, and Dende immediately felt guilty for making the statement. He had to just go and ruin things again, when everything was peaceful . . .
Elder Muuri just sighed. "They may be trying to act that way. You know, several of our people did die in this. We even found the body of one of our villagers out in the middle of nowhere. Despite appearances to the contrary, we all know what happened."
"Oh." Dende frowned. At first feeling uneasy because everything was so happy, he was now disheartened that it wasn't truly the case. "I guess not even the Dragonballs can fix everything."
"No. I'm afraid that they can't."
It was a sobering truth. Even with the power to make wide-sweeping wishes, some things simply could not be undone. Some things could not be repaired despite the best of intentions or the hardest of work. While it would be easy to sink into a depression over this fact, it was simply the way of life. Those who appreciated it could deal with this truth and move on in time.
Elder Muuri lightly shoved him on the back of his head. "I believe that you have a poker game to get to, my child. I do hope that it doesn't bore you."
Dende regarded his Elder curiously for a moment. The statement sounded kind of like a joke, but there was a sincere undertone to it that made him doubt this. Nonetheless, he smiled and uttered the truth. "No, it won't bore me, Elder Muuri. I'm sure that I'll be fine."
No more words were needed here. Dende scurried off to join his brother and the other children at the table. He had to wait for a few minutes for them to finish with their current hand, but sat patiently and quietly. The wait did not wear upon his nerves in the slightest bit. When the new hand came about, he wasted no time in eagerly scooping up his cards.
Even he could appreciate a little tranquility sometimes.
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Space never lost its majesty, no matter how many times he had seen it. And he saw it all the time, of course; he spent more time in transit than on any particular planet, which was what happened when one was an accompaniment to a scouting crew. Stars whizzed by the single large window of the escape pod, seemingly close together despite the fact that they were separated by a tremendous distance. That was one advantage of escape pods; they were very fast.
Occasionally, an asteroid would pass by, little more than an oversized rock in the distance. As per protocol, he had programmed the escape pod's path to avoid those fields. It gave him less to worry about in the steering department, and more time to himself just for thinking.
It had been a strange thing, bearing witness to the death of Doctor Gneiss. While he had feared her callous devotion to her work, he also had to admire the breakthroughs she had managed to achieve. His feelings upon seeing her death had been appropriately mixed: sadness for the demise of a great scientist, but also a sense of relief. That she had been so cruelly experimenting on those children had brought on the latter.
Scree had never claimed to be the most moral of creatures. He was sure that he had done some things of great wrongness over his life, and was an accomplice to that many more. But to see the looks of terror and to hear the whimpers of pain coming from small children . . . Perhaps his greatest sin of all had been back on that planet. He hadn't even tried to stop the doctor.
Punishment would not come, not from outside sources. To all of those he had done his job, had admirably performed his duty. They just wouldn't understand the turmoil that this whole event had caused him. To them, it simply would not make any sense at all.
What would make sense to them, however, would be the idea that they needed to send warriors to that world. Such a loss that was experienced, even that of a lowly scouting crew, was an open challenge to the Empire. Whether or not the planet itself was deemed useful, it would find itself scheduled for clearing. The Empire would not allow itself to be embarrassed.
He didn't realize what he was doing at first, as his hands went to the computer console in front of him. His fingers merely flew across the keys, the clicks echoing over each other in this tiny space in an effort to seem louder than they actually were. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was into the navigation charts that had led them all to the planet.
Scree paused for a second, suddenly realizing what direction his actions were taking him. Indecisively, he chewed on his lip. A difficult choice was presented to him, and he did not know why he was called upon to make this choice at all. He should just shut down the console and forget about his crazy instinct.
What he had been about to do would get him into great trouble were he ever caught. Was he really willing to take that risk?
At that thought, the faces of those two young children, the latest lab subjects, came floating through his mind. He had seen them suffer greatly, and here he had a chance to ensure that it did not happen again. When put in this manner, the choice became surprisingly easy.
It was not a complicated matter from here; once again, his fingers flew across the keys, intent upon their new task. Patiently, he waited for the screen to show him what he had been trying to do, and was greeted with it a moment later. Though it would take a long time to reach its full effect, the location of that planet would be erased from any record that the Empire had.
With a sigh, Scree shut down the console. A queer sense of pride ran through him at his actions. Whatever the price could be, he may well have saved an entire world. Perhaps it would make up for some of the darker deeds that he had performed in his life.
Scree smiled to himself and lifted his gaze once more to look upon the vastness of space.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Wounded Land
You haven't fallen asleep, have you, young one?
Dende's eyes snapped open at the sudden voice within his mind. He was still propped against Porunga's side, next to the wound that he had only managed to partially heal. Not that he had actually fallen asleep of course, though admittedly he was drifting in that direction. He had used up so much power that he had an excuse to just lie down and rest for a little while.
But he was wide awake, now. It was difficult not to be when a great dragon was speaking to him telepathically. Why Porunga was doing this, though, Dende could not quite fathom. The dragon had as much as closed himself off just before he had begun his attempt to heal the terrible wound in his side, had clearly not wanted to associate with a mere mortal such as himself. Why would Porunga now care about a small, insignificant creature like him?
Dende pushed himself back to support his weight on his knees, lifting one fist to rub at his eyes as he did so. And unconsciously, he gave Porunga an answer. No . . . Porunga-sama. I'm still awake, though I'm very, very tired.
He almost swore that he heard the dragon chuckle mentally. Or at least he assumed that it was a chuckle; it sounded more like a crackling wheeze than anything else, but maybe that was as close as one of his kind could get. What had he to be so amused about, when he was in such a dire condition?
Porunga-sama? I didn't think I would ever hear one of your kind calling me that, Porunga continued, almost wryly. He did sound genuinely amused, but then his mental voice took upon a more serious edge. Don't fall asleep on me yet, young one. You've a task to finish, have you not?
Dende blinked. So Porunga had noticed a change in his wound, and had pinpointed him as the source. In a weird way, it was kind of flattering; the great Porunga had taken notice of him, and it seemed close to a compliment. He hadn't thought that he had done anything truly noticeable to the injury. Still, the fact remained that he had not done enough, and could not.
I . . . I'm sorry sir, but I can't do any more. I'm too weak, now, Dende replied in his head while simultaneously hanging it in shame. He just felt so useless. All he could do had not been nearly enough to properly help.
Are you? Porunga returned. It more seems to me that you have just given up, and not truly exhausted your power. If that's true, then yes you are very weak indeed.
Somehow, that barb hit in a way that it usually would not have. Under normal circumstances, he would have simply nodded in the affirmative to this. It was, after all, what he really felt, a reinforcement of beliefs that were already within him. He knew that he agreed with this statement, agreed with it utterly, but some part of him did not want it to be true.
This whole giving up thing . . . When he thought about it, it really wasn't his style. Oh, he often thought about it, gave it serious consideration. That much was true. But in the end, he had always chosen the other way, to keep moving. The only time in recent memory where he recalled giving up was moments ago, when he had let himself collapse against Porunga's side, believing himself to be physically spent.
But was he really? Perhaps it was more of an emotionally spent sensation. He'd been under so much stress throughout this situation, had been so overwhelmed. No, being exhausted was not the reason that he'd chosen to give in. He had given in because he just hadn't felt like doing anything anymore. It was frustration, pure and simple. How completely, utterly selfish was that? And was that the kind of person that he wanted to be?
Dende instinctively knew the answer to that, and lifted his head, eyes hard with a newfound resolve. Even if he could not do this, he had to try his utmost, or he would feel the heavy weight of guilt for all of his life and afterlife. No, Porunga-sama, he thought at last, while tightening his lips, and rolling up his sleeves as per usual. No, I'm not quite as weak as all that. I can't promise anything but that I'll try. I truly hope that it will be enough to help you.
Once more, he placed his hands over the wound. This time, he did not feel sick from the gooey feeling under his palms, the pulsing of the fluid leaking from the great dragon's body. His mind could not be spared to focus on his own impressions of the injury, but solely the injury itself.
How much strength was left in him, Dende was not sure, but he did have enough to expend upon further healing efforts. With little trouble, he called upon the power again, feeling out for the edges that had been created from his previous attempt. It would be easiest to continue from these spots, where he could detect the fine lattice-work that he had wrought and simply extend it. This way, it ate up less power to start, leaving more for the rest of the wound. He didn't think that this would leave enough to heal it entirely, but he could certainly get it to the point where Porunga's life was not in danger any longer. Surely he could manage that much.
Familiar warmth seeped through his hands, gathering inside the gaping wound. Dende closed his eyes to concentrate, to focus this warmth the best way that he knew how. It might take a lot of time, and a lot of work, but this time, he was going to succeed.
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He had never experienced this feeling of unity before in all of his life. And to be perfectly honest, he hadn't thought that he would want to. By nature, he was a solitary person, rarely desiring to be in the company of others – whether for minor reasons or major ones.
But something was different here, within this battle. Chiton felt at home with his two partners, as though they had performed a fusion without melding their bodies. He had always read the moves of all participating in a battle if he could, so that he could make adjustments as necessary, but it had never felt so smooth as this. It was actually a rather pleasing sensation. He had not thought that he would ever have a pleasing one in such close proximity and bond to others.
It was amazing how, when one spent so much time analyzing others, he forgot to analyze himself. He would have figured that he knew himself better than this.
Chiton dove out of the way of an elbow aimed for his chest, and instead of striking at the opening this left him, he shot beneath the alien. And a blow from the side struck the alien instead, while he reared up at launched an assault upon its back.
It was amazing how much easier the battle was now. A cohesive unit fighting together rather than each one going at it alone . . . For the first time he saw the true wisdom in this strategy. And in fact, he wondered why he had never figured this out earlier in all of his musings. Rather strange to think that Limpet had discovered something before he had.
Oh well. Even virtual simpletons had good days.
Once again he read the attack, and switched his own move accordingly. Even without sensing ki he would have been able to see how worn down the alien was getting by now; its reactions were slowing, and its decision making was getting increasingly poor. Yes, it was getting quite tired now, and this would shortly be its downfall.
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A dull stabbing. That's all that it was now, really. Over the past several minutes the pain had gradually gotten weaker and weaker.
This was a welcome change from the previous few. Then, the pain had still been constant and sharp, cutting into every bone and organ, though not enough to put him at risk of not breathing. For a while, it had seemed as though it would remain at that level and Muuri had begun to worry that something might have happened to Dende while he was healing Porunga. Or in the very least that the boy had exhausted his healing power.
But neither of those things mattered now; they obviously were not true. In fact, the pain had subsided so much that Muuri had gently pushed away the two villagers that had been hovering over him and climbed to his feet. Oh, it was still agony to stand up, but all things considered he felt wonderful.
He even managed a smile, one full of hope and a small hint of pride. While things were by no means over yet, he was starting to feel a great deal better about their chances.
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Dizziness swept through him again, a sharp and sudden spiral to his mind. Combined with the warmth that permeated his body, it created a great temptation to go under, but Dende resisted it. He was not yet done.
Flesh tingled under his hands, stretching and regrowing, attaching to regenerated tissues within. If he had to guess, he would surmise that the wound which had looked so impossible for him to do anything about was actually about halfway healed. It was an amazing accomplishment to him, one that caused pride to swell up into his body; perhaps he was not so weak and helpless as he had thought himself to be.
And this pride sustained him, buoyed him against that dizziness that wanted to drag him far away from here. If he had done this much, then maybe he could do more. Much more.
He ignored all of the unpleasant feelings in his head; they were useless distractions to his task – no, his duty. All of his concentration went into regulating the flow of his healing aura into the body that lay still under his hands. This was a good feeling, and always had been.
But Dende could not keep that unpleasantness away from him for very long. It reared up once more, stronger than the last time. Apparently it had learned its lesson and would not allow itself to be ignored any longer. The dizziness attacked his head again, the strength seeped away first from his legs and then his arms . . .
He held firm for as long as he could, saving the last vestiges of his strength for sustaining his arms. And indeed they lasted longer than the rest of him did; even as he slumped against the body, unable to hold himself upright, power still flowed through them. It was almost unconscious now. The arms and hands knew what actions to perform, and did them without any orders.
Even so, they could not last forever. A chill swept through his arms, and Dende knew instinctively that this was caused by the lack of his healing aura flowing through them. This time, he truly had exhausted his power. This time, he really had tried his best.
And as he slipped away into blackness once more he was confident that this time, he had actually been able to help.
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A blow slammed into Basalt's face, followed by one from his left and another from his back. They came in such rapid succession that his mind could barely distinguish the fact that they had been separate attacks. Not that his mind was really up to snuff at the moment.
Basalt extended both fists and whirled about in a circle, hoping to catch all three Nameks with this one move. However, this did not go as planned; two of them dodged out of the way perfectly, while the other jumped back enough to only receive light contact. No damage had been done.
And to make matters worse, the Nameks charged in as soon as he halted his momentum. This was not like before, where they had been disorganized and he could deal with them more or less individually. No, now they were in perfect unison, and striking at one of them immediately left him at the mercy of the two others. At this rate, he was not going to last very much longer.
Not that he had really expected to.
Stubborn as he was, he had already somewhat resigned himself to the fate that would now be soon in coming. Not completely, of course; he had fought with everything that he possessed, and for a while it seemed that he would come out on top in this battle. A small sense of hope had grown within him, though there still would have been the rest of the locals to deal with, and in a weakened state at that.
He knew that he was all but doomed now, but still he fought on. Even if he had been forced to live as a scout, he could die as a warrior. In his own mind if nothing else. He took no comfort in this fact however. Death was death whether one went the way he preferred or not.
But the choice was no longer his, and perhaps never had been. All of his attacks now met with empty air, even though he could have sworn on several occasions that he had hit. It was like fighting phantoms, creatures that had no true corporeal form until they struck out at an opponent. He could not even counter them anymore. Every time he made a move to block, that particular Namek would pull back his blow at the last instant and two hard impacts would mark other unprotected places on his body.
How he could even think anymore, Basalt was not sure. With all of the blows to the head that he had taken, he figured that he would have been working on nothing but auto-pilot by now. In all truth, he kind of wished that he were.
It wasn't necessary though. Despite the pain, he was almost relieve when he felt three blows hammer into him all at once: one to the chest, one to his temple, and the other one to the base of his skull. The pain only lasted for a few seconds, then was drowned away by a strangely pleasant numbness.
And soon after that, the numbness dwindled to nothing as well.
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The adrenaline, which had kept him going throughout the entire battle, finally drained away from Whelk's body. For a second, he almost let himself go, dropping a bit along with the body of the alien. But he stopped himself before he fell too far, shaking his head a bit and giving one of his rare rueful smiles.
"Glad to see that you decided not to take the nose dive after all, Whelk," Limpet said lightly. Even battered and bloody as he was, he could not resist the opportunity to make some silly remark. "Hitting the ground again wouldn't be a great way to celebrate a victory, in my personal opinion."
Whelk normally would have chastised the other Namek for making such a remark, but he found himself in a supremely good mood and did more than let the comment pass. He actually laughed at it. "No, it doesn't fit my opinion either. This seems to be one of our rare points of agreement. Perhaps I should get my head checked."
Chiton took this opportunity to slip in a gibe of his own. "I've thought the same of both of you for years."
Whelk didn't bother to be surprised at this turn of events – that Chiton had spoken up without having been spoken to first. A great battle had just ended, and the rush and relief tended to overrule a person's usual tendencies. Case in point that Whelk found neither of the comments irritating.
His eyes were drawn away from his two companions, however, and a great sight caught his attention. In that insane storm of battle, he had somehow forgotten about Porunga, and how he had been wounded. It was a shameful thing, to forget the wound of a dragon, but he had needed his full attention for the battle. Seemed as viable an excuse as any.
And he thought for a second that Porunga was not wounded anymore, for he had forced himself upright, somehow lifting his massive bulk from the ground. But Whelk's initial perception was not quite true; there was still a gash in the dragon's side, though far less intense a one that he would have figured from the blast that he had suffered. Nonetheless, Porunga did not appear to be terribly bothered by it.
Driven by pure impulse and curiosity, Whelk glided toward Porunga, angling his flight downward as he did so. To float at eye level to a dragon was a great affront to the creatures, and he was nothing if not respectful. Lightly, he touched upon the grass, though he wobbled a bit on an injured leg. He idly wondered just when he had suffered that wound, but it was not something that was a concern at the moment.
Seeing Porunga was a fairly rare thing, for it was not often that the Dragonballs were put to use. Which was only right and proper – the powers of a dragon were not to be called upon lightly. Only in dire circumstance was such a thing permitted at all.
Even so, this was the third time that he had been blessed with this sight; all of his people had seen it at least twice, just a few short years ago when they had been on Earth. The view was truly magnificent, causing one to question their own power and value. All creatures were dwarfed in front of Porunga as a reminder of their lowly status; such a feeling could often curb the greed that might prompt some to make wishes.
He sensed more than heard Limpet and Chiton come in for landings just behind him. At this, he had to smile. Even though the battle was over, they refused to leave him alone. All well and good; for a change, he actually relished their company.
"Well, that is a great relief."
Whelk had to force himself not to wince at the thunderous volume of Porunga's voice. He'd heard it before, of course, but had never exactly gotten used to it. There was a nagging bit of curiosity in him though, and he followed up on it. "If I might ask what that relief is?"
He wasn't sure how Porunga regarded him just now. The dragon's eyes were a flat red, seemingly incapable of a proper expression. He could be annoyed, amused, or completely neutral to the inquiry. It was impossible to tell.
"You can ask the young one for that," came Porunga's answer. Though it sounded vague, there was no irritation or dismissal in the tone, or so it seemed at the very least.
Whelk finally pulled his eyes away from Porunga to a place several yards away. He would have discerned the sight easily but for the fact that Limpet had moved forward, blocking the view. His fellow warrior knelt down as if to lift something, and only when he turned did Whelk see what he intended.
Cradled in Limpet's arms was Dende. For the most part, the child appeared to be unharmed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. And since he was not wounded, Whelk could only think of one scenario that would put him into such a state. And that was exhaustion. Whether it was from excitement, or . . .
It made sense, suddenly. That wound of Porunga's . . . had been much worse than what the eyes now showed. But an exhausted Dende lying what would have been right beside him gave the answer that Whelk had been seeking. He knew that the boy was a talented healer, but that he could heal a wound of that size to such a degree . . .
An amazing child, that one. What other could save the life of a dragon?
"Now if you don't mind," Porunga continued, drawing Whelk's attention back to him. "I've been out here for quite a while and would much rather go back to my sleep. Isn't anyone today going to make any wishes?"
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His eyes opened abruptly and unlike the many previous times there was no dull fogginess surrounding his mind or his vision. As soon as his lids lifted, his vision was sharp and clear as if he had been awake for hours.
And again for the first time in a while, he found himself awakening in an agreeable environment. The rounded windows and shining white walls were enough to convince him that he was in a house. Not an alien spaceship, landed here inexplicably, not a laboratory where he would be subjected to painful experiments. A plain and simple house, the kind that his people had constructed for generations.
The shock of this was enough to jolt him to his feet. Yet again, no dizziness overcame him; there were no threats to drag him back to the ground. But was he really where he thought he was, or was it some strange dream sent to torture his mind?
Well, he would never know if he just stayed in here. It took no effort to find his way through the small house and open the door to let in the outside world. Sunlight poured over him with such intensity that he was forced to shield his eyes. It had been a long while since he had experience proper exposure to the sun. His eyes needed time to readjust to this little bit of normality.
He blinked a few times and then lowered his shielding hand. The sight that greeted him was an unexpectedly pleasant shock to his system.
Children sat at tables playing card games. Some of the adults tended to the rows of Ajisa plants. Others wiped the outside of buildings with white cloths. And the occasional one trekked across his field of vision with a golf club slung over his shoulder.
All of this, which would have bored him substantially only a short while ago seemed so thrilling, so new. So alive. That was the word that he was looking for this whole time. Alive. And so was he, back home as well.
"Dende!" A shout caught his attention, and one of the children who had been at a table playing cards slipped from his seat and rushed toward him. He blinked in surprise and barely recognized this child before he was enveloped in a hug. "So you're finally up! I was wondering how long you'd sleep!"
Dende returned the hug for a few seconds before pulling back to examine his brother. From head to toe, Scargo appeared to be in perfect condition; no scratches or scorches marked his body, and there were no telltale signs in his movement that indicated any injury.
Still, Dende was confused and he made no effort to hide this. "Scargo, what all happened?"
Scargo blinked. "You're asking me what happened?" he asked, incredulous. "You were the one in the middle of all the action at the end."
"Well yes, but . . ." Dende bowed his head a little, and felt his cheeks colour in embarrassment. The words Scargo had spoken sounded something like another praise. "But I didn't see everything, and now I've been asleep . . ."
"Deservedly so, my child."
Dende jumped at the new voice, but relaxed upon seeing Elder Muuri's face. It was the biggest kind of relief to see him again; he hadn't been able to stop the worry in his heart for his Elder – and all of his kinsmen – when he'd first seen all of the Dragonballs gathered. In fact, he would have expected the village to be a complete wreck, but here it was utterly intact. There weren't even scorch marks on the houses nor any visible injuries on the residents.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Elder Muuri, but I don't know what you mean," Dende said cautiously.
Elder Muuri chuckled a bit. "Too exhausted from healing Porunga, I would imagine."
Dende felt the colouration in his cheeks deepen. "How did you know that I . . ."
"I am the Great Elder, my child," Muuri cut him off gently. "With a little effort, I can know all about what goes on with both the Dragonballs and the dragon."
Well, that certainly made a lot of sense, Dende had to admit. Actually, it was quite the simple sounding concept, one that he should have been able to figure out on his own. The connection was perfectly natural.
"That was really amazing, Dende!" Scargo jumped back into the conversation, and latched onto Dende's arm in pure excitement. "I mean, you healed a dragon! And we even got to make the wishes afterward."
The wishes. The very idea of them had slipped free from Dende's mind the moment that he had seen Porunga wounded. All that had been in his head then, and even up until now was to save a life. That Porunga had the power to grant wishes . . . Strange, but Dende had sort of forgotten that for a while.
But he still had to know. "We used the wishes? All of them? What were they?"
Elder Muuri placed one hand affectionately upon Dende's head while indicating the village with a sweeping gesture of the other. "Well, look around you for one thing. This village, along with all of the others, was in sorry shape after the Dragonballs were stolen. The first wish had been to repair all of the damages."
"Yeah," Scargo nodded. "And then the next one was to get rid of that spaceship and all of the aliens."
All very sensible. Whoever made the wishes – probably Whelk and whoever had been the other members of his triad – had made wise ones indeed. "And the third?"
"Well, that was more to save you some extra trouble than anything else," Elder Muuri explained lightly. "After your whole ordeal, it would have been improper to ask you to heal all of those who had been injured, even if it was just the ones of this village." He paused, smiled. "So we had Porunga do it instead."
"Ah." It was all that he could say, really. It seemed odd that a wish had evidently been used with his benefit specifically in mind, but was very flattering also. He sort of felt like he didn't deserve an honour such as that. Only heroes did, and he would never be one of those. Perhaps to the eyes of others, but not to his own.
Scargo tugged on his arm. "Come on, Dende! I've been saving you a seat at the table so you could join in the poker game when you woke up."
Dende smiled at this. Everything, it seemed, was turning back to normal. "You go on first. I'll be there in a minute."
Scargo nodded at this and hurried back toward the table. He immediately slid back into his seat, shuffling the cards as he sat.
"What's the matter? Don't really feel like joining them?"
Dende shook his head at this. He understood the sentiment, but it was inaccurate. "No, I do. Just seems strange, is all. Everybody seems to be acting like nothing happened."
The look on Elder Muuri's face darkened a bit, and Dende immediately felt guilty for making the statement. He had to just go and ruin things again, when everything was peaceful . . .
Elder Muuri just sighed. "They may be trying to act that way. You know, several of our people did die in this. We even found the body of one of our villagers out in the middle of nowhere. Despite appearances to the contrary, we all know what happened."
"Oh." Dende frowned. At first feeling uneasy because everything was so happy, he was now disheartened that it wasn't truly the case. "I guess not even the Dragonballs can fix everything."
"No. I'm afraid that they can't."
It was a sobering truth. Even with the power to make wide-sweeping wishes, some things simply could not be undone. Some things could not be repaired despite the best of intentions or the hardest of work. While it would be easy to sink into a depression over this fact, it was simply the way of life. Those who appreciated it could deal with this truth and move on in time.
Elder Muuri lightly shoved him on the back of his head. "I believe that you have a poker game to get to, my child. I do hope that it doesn't bore you."
Dende regarded his Elder curiously for a moment. The statement sounded kind of like a joke, but there was a sincere undertone to it that made him doubt this. Nonetheless, he smiled and uttered the truth. "No, it won't bore me, Elder Muuri. I'm sure that I'll be fine."
No more words were needed here. Dende scurried off to join his brother and the other children at the table. He had to wait for a few minutes for them to finish with their current hand, but sat patiently and quietly. The wait did not wear upon his nerves in the slightest bit. When the new hand came about, he wasted no time in eagerly scooping up his cards.
Even he could appreciate a little tranquility sometimes.
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Space never lost its majesty, no matter how many times he had seen it. And he saw it all the time, of course; he spent more time in transit than on any particular planet, which was what happened when one was an accompaniment to a scouting crew. Stars whizzed by the single large window of the escape pod, seemingly close together despite the fact that they were separated by a tremendous distance. That was one advantage of escape pods; they were very fast.
Occasionally, an asteroid would pass by, little more than an oversized rock in the distance. As per protocol, he had programmed the escape pod's path to avoid those fields. It gave him less to worry about in the steering department, and more time to himself just for thinking.
It had been a strange thing, bearing witness to the death of Doctor Gneiss. While he had feared her callous devotion to her work, he also had to admire the breakthroughs she had managed to achieve. His feelings upon seeing her death had been appropriately mixed: sadness for the demise of a great scientist, but also a sense of relief. That she had been so cruelly experimenting on those children had brought on the latter.
Scree had never claimed to be the most moral of creatures. He was sure that he had done some things of great wrongness over his life, and was an accomplice to that many more. But to see the looks of terror and to hear the whimpers of pain coming from small children . . . Perhaps his greatest sin of all had been back on that planet. He hadn't even tried to stop the doctor.
Punishment would not come, not from outside sources. To all of those he had done his job, had admirably performed his duty. They just wouldn't understand the turmoil that this whole event had caused him. To them, it simply would not make any sense at all.
What would make sense to them, however, would be the idea that they needed to send warriors to that world. Such a loss that was experienced, even that of a lowly scouting crew, was an open challenge to the Empire. Whether or not the planet itself was deemed useful, it would find itself scheduled for clearing. The Empire would not allow itself to be embarrassed.
He didn't realize what he was doing at first, as his hands went to the computer console in front of him. His fingers merely flew across the keys, the clicks echoing over each other in this tiny space in an effort to seem louder than they actually were. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was into the navigation charts that had led them all to the planet.
Scree paused for a second, suddenly realizing what direction his actions were taking him. Indecisively, he chewed on his lip. A difficult choice was presented to him, and he did not know why he was called upon to make this choice at all. He should just shut down the console and forget about his crazy instinct.
What he had been about to do would get him into great trouble were he ever caught. Was he really willing to take that risk?
At that thought, the faces of those two young children, the latest lab subjects, came floating through his mind. He had seen them suffer greatly, and here he had a chance to ensure that it did not happen again. When put in this manner, the choice became surprisingly easy.
It was not a complicated matter from here; once again, his fingers flew across the keys, intent upon their new task. Patiently, he waited for the screen to show him what he had been trying to do, and was greeted with it a moment later. Though it would take a long time to reach its full effect, the location of that planet would be erased from any record that the Empire had.
With a sigh, Scree shut down the console. A queer sense of pride ran through him at his actions. Whatever the price could be, he may well have saved an entire world. Perhaps it would make up for some of the darker deeds that he had performed in his life.
Scree smiled to himself and lifted his gaze once more to look upon the vastness of space.