Okay, I just pulled this one out of the dust and cobwebs. I haven't
written this thing in approximately fifty or so years, give or take a
few…but I finally got an idea for a finish for the storyline. The end is
near! Take heed! Sorry to all those people who read the beginning and then
suddenly noticed I wasn't writing much anymore…I guess I kinda took a
vacation from fan fiction altogether. But have no fear, I'm back, and I may
have a few ideas swimming around in this wacko brain of mine that may make
some kewl fics. Or not. At any rate, this will be fun.
This chapter is not the final one, and I don't think the final chapter will come for at least a little while. So sit back, relax, and read. BTW, you may have forgotten entirely what that plot was before this. If so, I recommend skimming previous chapters. I myself tried writing after fifty years of nothing and couldn't remember anything, so I had to read the entire long, boring thing…okay, so it isn't exactly boring. But I'd bet my little preludes are! Have fun, thanks for reviewing, and continue reviewing and reading and such because it is my only sustenance in this cruel world…sigh.
Disc. I don't own DBZ.
Chapter 13
He didn't look to be a skilled artisan. He held his weapon limply at his side, smoothing his dark hair and smiling softly. Trunks eyed the man's movements carefully while cleaning his sword. He was definitely underestimating the man; surely he must have some talent to make it so far. Trunks looked closer. What was he hiding beneath that simple leather jerkin?
Trunks' sharp scan soon turned up results. The dark one had calloused fingers which held his sword comfortably. A few scars along his arms spoke of previous skirmishes. Well-worked muscles lined his calves and forearms. This man was no ordinary fighter. He knew his business. Trunks knew he'd have to use all his techniques efficiently to have any chance at all against this guy.
Trunks quickly brandished his sword (politely, considering the circumstances), but with an undercurrent of menace he was sure a learned fighter would pick up. The dark one nodded and did the same, adding a short hook at the end of the blade's sweep, as if to say, 'Bring it on.' This was Trunks' language. He smiled and crouched low, itching to begin.
************************
Hydra. Hydra. Hydra. Hydra.
The crowd began chanting wildly as the graceful warrior slithered into the ring. His booted feet slid easily in the dirt as he moved through basic sword maneuvers, pleasing his loyal following succinctly. "Throto, Gradien, Bladatru! All the easiest motions and the crowd is loving it all!" Pan snorted with disgust. She'd certainly never drop so low for an audience. Hydra moved into a well-known defense technique, and Pan brought up its name. "Gardlok! I learned that when I was, like, two!" She sighed, knowing her rants would never slow Hydra or his fandom down, and hefted her trusty broadsword in hand. Blowing her errant bangs from view, she clenched her free fist and stalked into the ring.
*Well, this had better be worth it, because I haven't had one good fight all day.* Grimacing, she stood low, ready to parry any attack and slice through any defense.
The bell rang, and her muscles clenched in anticipation.
****************
Ding!
The dark one came at Trunks full-force. The speed of his blade sent rushes of air along Trunks' face, cooling the beads of sweat that already popped out along his brow. Parry. Parry. Trunks was working so hard, he couldn't keep his mind fast enough to attack. All he could do was block the silver from scathing his skin.
*Think, Trunks! Where's the weakness?* He searched his opponent at whatever chance presented itself, clocking the strikes and, just in time, stopping the blade's fury. He could feel his first loss coming up fast.
What could he do? The man was a machine, striking incessantly and skillfully at every opening Trunks ever had in his life. It was as is the man knew what Trunks was thinking. Every slice was followed by a cut, and then a swing, and then a kick. The man just wouldn't let up! Trunks quickly thought up a plan of action, and, following a quick block, he leapt backwards and spun his blade, stopping the dark one's in midair. They had reached a stalemate. Trunks was breathing heavily, and, he realized with satisfaction, so was the dark one. Perhaps he wasn't superhuman after all...
*************
Hydra wasn't all he was cracked up to be. Sure, he was an efficient swordsman, a great tactician, and an excellent attacker. But a defender he was not. All Pan had to do was block him and attack, and the fight was hers. However, his attacks were a force to be reckoned with. He had dropped the basics bit and was now employing intricate flickers and slices, some of which Pan could not even recognize. They seemed to her to be of a different discipline entirely. Perhaps even of a different world.
She had to get an attack in. Just one stupid attack would win her the fight! But Hydra's blade continued its barrage. And then she had him.
Suddenly, a shout from the crowd jolted the air. "Hydra! Hydra! JACK!!!" Hydra looked up from his attack towards the voice. "You're wife, she...she just had...a baby girl!" Hydra...Jack...turned his back on Pan completely and waved at the voice.
"Really? That's wonderful!" Guilty but determined, Pan took her chance and attacked Jack's back with the blunt edge of her sword. He fell quickly. "Sorry, Jack. Congratulations. You're a father." She smiled slightly and lifted the poor man to his feet.
He groaned. "Hey. No problem. I guess." He smiled sheepishly and waddled towards the crowd, gingerly nursing his bruised back.
******************
Opening! Where's the opening? There! Trunks saw the hole and eagerly went for it, all too late realizing the cunning trap for what it was. He soon found himself with his nose grinding against the dirt, his arms trapped behind him. Darn.
"It seems that I have the upper hand here, Trunks." The too-normal male voice entered his dulled ears obtrusively. "I'm so sorry to remove from you your fabled winning streak, but I must say, the pleasure is all mine." Trunks knew he was about to find himself unconscious and summed up all his remaining strength. He yelled at the top of his lungs and threw his head up, striking what he hoped was some vulnerability in the dark one's armor. He heard a loud crack and hoped he hadn't split his head open. That's sure what it felt like. Head throbbing, he now rolled to the side, yanking his arms away and spinning to his feet, his fists held in a threatening stance.
It was then that he noticed that the dark one was lying on the ground, groaning. Trunks had struck something vulnerable with his head! He noted that the man was cradling his hand, which was obviously broken. His fingers were spread out and his wrist jutted forward at an odd angle. The man was crying like a baby.
"Um...Sorry?" Trunks tried. The dark one simply glared at him through frustrated tears and allowed himself to be carried out of the ring. Trunks rubbed the back of his head and turned slowly amidst cheers from the crowd to see a pair of deep black eyes watching him intently. He narrowed his own and smiled in what he hoped was a challenging way.
**************
Pan's stomach fluttered as Trunks' perfect eyes rested solely on her. She steeled her emotions and glared at him with all the animosity she could muster.
And then there were two.
*************
Silence filled the crowded arena. A few coughs here or there sounded deafening in the ears of the multitude. The final two fighters stood facing each other, one a bold woman with an iron will, the other a disciplined warrior with controlled fire in his blade. The air was polarized with an electric current, sweeping its way through the stadium, touching each watcher and linking everyone together in a feeling of anticipation. This was what they were waiting for.
Trunks slowly scanned Pan's face as she polished her sword in a last attempt at preparation. She looked...beautiful, yes, but that was how she always looked. She looked different. She seemed to hold a great weight on her soul. Trunks wondered if he was the cause. {Of course he's the cause. You and I know it. Why doesn't he? Because he's a - say it with me now - MAN. Apologies to all the men out there, but you know it's true, at least in the most general and stereotypical sense.}
Pulling his mask on, Trunks crossed his arms, for once skipping the crowd-pleasing, and waited. He'd win this one, even if he did love his opponent. (Of course, Trunks did not actually admit this to himself. However, due to the fact that all men do that (sorry for that, but I'm in a male-bashing mood. Don't sue. I have no money to speak of), I decided to put that little statement in because we all know he's actually thinking it somewhere in the depths of his curious mind. So now we don't have to wonder anymore, as if we were anyways. Back to the story.) He had vowed never to be defeated long before. He would not break that vow for the deepest blackest eyes he had ever seen(again, not his actual thought. But he does actually feel like this. I know it because I'm writing it. Why does he not admit that he is smitten with the girl? Because, again, he is of the male sex and ALL men (overgeneralization) HATE (stereotype, hyperbole) admitting ANYTHING (hyperbole again) to themselves EVER(once again, hyperbole - isn't it wonderful?). On with the story. I'll try not to interrupt again.).
****************
Pan noticed that Trunks was patiently standing at the ready, and deliberately took her sweet time in cleaning her sword. She stuck the point in the ground in front of her and left it there, defying all laws of physics, as she tightened her gloves and stretched her quads. Her armor creaked as she twisted left and right, releasing kinks in her back that she had long since forgotten. Her well-healed wound from a few fights ago was threatening to open. She gritted her teeth against the pain. *That's what you get for trusting the doc's new 'miracle' treatment.* She grimaced and finally gripped the hilt of the broadsword before her, readying to battle to win.
The superintendent rose to the podium to begin the fight. Instead of doing so, he launched into a lengthy, boring speech about the honor of making it to the final fight and the pride they should feel and so on and so forth. Pan almost sighed in boredom, but caught herself and instead focused her attention on counting the number of times Trunks tapped his thumb against his forearm as he, too, awaited the fight. So he wasn't so collected as she had thought. All the better.
Finally, the oration stopped and a ring sounded in the arena. Neither fighter made a move. Indeed, Pan had not yet donned her helmet. Instead, Trunks and Pan simply looked at each other. They considered the situation carefully. They skepticized as to the fatigue they were surely both experiencing. And then they both moved, simultaneously, to circle each other slowly.
The ritual continued endlessly. All Pan heard was the soft, easy breaths coming from Trunks and the halting gasps escaping her mouth. Her heartbeat rose in her throat. Dust clouds rose where the two fighters walked. Her sword threatened to begin shaking in her hands.
"Well, Trunks, it looks as if you have made it this far quite easily."
"Mm-hmm." Trunks continued circling, and Pan followed suit.
"I suppose you think you're going to win this fight with the same ease as you won all the others?"
"Mm-hmm." Pan snorted slightly. This 'Mm-hmm' business was getting on her nerves.
"Well, if that's the way you're going to play it, Trunks, I guess we have nothing to say to each other." Keep calm, Pan. Anger is not a good mindset in which to fight!
Trunks stopped circling. His helmet blinded her eyes. He raised his sword and pointed it straight at her forehead. She supressed the urge to gulp.
"Mm-hmm." He said pointedly. Pan broke.
"That's it, wonderboy, you're mine!" She raised her sword and lunged at him.
He parried easily, of course. Pan knew she should get a hold of herself, but she was swamped in a deluge of emotions that had her by the throat. She fiercely swung and struck, blind to the results, neglecting any defense at all. She came to herself when a quick, sharp blow to her temple sent her flying through the air. She landed in a heap on the edge of the ring. She cringed, expecting Trunks to finish her off then and there. But no final attack came.
Pan dared a peek up and saw that Trunks was standing at the other end of the ring, waiting. She jutted her chin forward in determination and pushed her battered body off the ground. Her hatred had fled, leaving only a grim emptiness. Exactly what she needed now. She grinned. "Thanks for the pity, but don't expect the same from me when you're in just such a situation."
"Mm-hmm." Pan only laughed and lifted her sword slowly, eyes blazing, to point it directly at his throat.
****************
Trunks was rather shocked at the fury Pan had shown with her last attack. He now knew (finally) that he was the cause of all her anger. It pained him. He didn't know exactly why he felt regret. He pushed all thought from his mind, though. Her fury meant his gain. He tried to stoke it again with what had previously set it ablaze.
It didn't work. He expected it. Now the real fight began.
The audience was in complete awe of the final fighters as they spun across the ring. Their movements were fluid and exact. Their blades blurred and the sounds of metal on metal filled the silence. Then they found their voices.
Cheers erupted from the crowd. "Hurrah! Pan! Trunks! Hurrah!" "Wahoooooooooooo!" "Keep going!" "Watch it, Trunks!" Trunks and Pan, though, were unperturbed by the sudden noise. They were caught in a dance of steel. They twisted and turned, complementing each other in motion even as they tried to gain the upper hand. Pan leapt, Trunks dove. Trunks swung, Pan blocked. Air moved at speeds unclockable as metal swung even faster. Waves upon waves of attacks and defenses came from each fighter. They were evenly matched.
But then, the audience's jubilation died down. The superintendent looked about quizzicly. A few pointed to the sky, and he looked to where they indicated.
Trunks and Pan were oblivious to the sudden silence. They continued their dance unheeded by the masses.
The superintendent, flustered, used the main com-link and angrily connected with the Academy's military post. He couldn't reach them. The lines had been disrupted by someone...something...
"Ladies and gentlemen. It seems we have a slight situation here. But please, we are currently working to fix this...problem. Have no fear." He flicked his fearful eyes to the sky, finally taking in fully the terror of their situation. Qatorans.
Finally, Pan broke from the battle, noticing that all was not as it should have been. For one thing, the audience wasn't watching them intensely. Trunks yelled a battle cry and swung in for the death blow. She blocked it with all her strength. "Trunks, you fool! Can't you see what's happening here?!" She ducked another swing and tackled him. He was in such a fever of battle, he was almost incoherent. She pinned him down and tried to shake some sense into him.
"Aaaaaah! What? What are you doing that for??" Trunks glared up at her. She sighed and dropped her head to his armored chest with a thud.
"Because of them." She breathed heavily and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, while suddenly realizing her position. And then realizing she liked it. A lot. It was not to be enjoyed, however, for as she said her last words, Trunks sat up. She yelped and scrambled off of him, hitting her forehead repeatedly with her hand. *Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid!*
Thankfully, Trunks didn't notice her insane actions, focused instead on the massive ship that now blocked the sun from view and blanketed the arena in shadow. "Oh, no. Not them." He had seen thousands of pictures in history. He knew them by rote. They were not compromisers. They were destroyers. Qatorans.
Pan followed his gaze and gasped. The large, imposing ship was beautiful in its terror. She shivered and crawled up next to Trunks. "Are th-those what I think they are?" She shivered again.
"Qatorans. Yes." Trunks sat back and tore his eyes away from the ship. "This is not a good thing, Pan. This isn't good." (duh)
Trunks rose now, and quickly raced across the ring to the podium, where he began speaking rapidly with the superintendent. Pan watched, dumbfounded, as the two men had a heated conversation, Trunks demanding, the superintendent strongly disagreeing. Finally, the older man nodded. Trunks leaped off the podium and raced towards an exit. Pan followed him.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked when she had finally caught up with Trunks.
"I have to help defend the Academy. I'm going to the military unit to see what's blocking communications." He ran faster.
Pan sped up. "I'm coming too." Trunks looked over at her, shook his head resignedly, and continued running full-speed. The two raced on through the exit and across the deserted campus, heading towards the defense complex.
******************
"Someone's cutting off this line. That's why we haven't been able to get word across. We're all very involved, so we couldn't spare anyone to run and tell you guys the problem." Trunks nodded and followed the man who was continuously barking orders to his officers. Pan trailed them both, listening for catches of their conversation.
"We short on men. We weren't expecting an invasion, even one ship. We should have been, I guess, but the Qatorans have been dormant for over fifty years. HEY! GET UP AND START SCANNING THAT SHIP, PRONTO!! We have some K-7 fighter crafts, but no-one to fly them. We have a great, efficient shield, but noone to maintain it. We have a ship just fifty parsecs away- YOU MORON! GET UP AND DO SOMETHING USEFUL!!! - with the efficiency and power to destroy the Qatorans with one shot, but no way to contact it. NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW! If only we could get a message through to the Argo, we'd stand a chance against these NO! NONONONONONONONONONO!!! bullies. But if there's anything you can do, YOU IDIOT! THE QUARTERDECK, NOT THE BRIG!!! please don't hesitate. At all."
Bewildered at the sudden outbursts from the commanding officer, Trunks was at a loss for words for the moment. But then he thought through the situation logically and coherently...and came up with nothing.
"Is there anything I can do, Trunks?" Pan tapped him softly on the shoulder. "I feel so useless here. I do have abilities that are just as effective as yours, you know. Let me help you." Trunks looked at her.
"Well, for one thing, do you have any ideas for how to get the Argo over here with no comm link?" Trunks paused expectantly. Pan grinned.
"Didn't he just say he had a bunch of pilotless K-7's?" Her grin widened. Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Don't you see, dummy? All we have to do is fly those babies to the Argo, tell them what's happening here, and our problems are solved!"
"Yeah, all but one little catch. The Qatorans aren't just going to let us waltz past them to get someone to help destroy them. They aren't idiots. They're trained warriors. Also, two of those things would definitely be a plus in the air, so they could cover each others' backs. You heard the man, they have no pilots. I can fly one...maybe, but that's all."
"You didn't spend much time listening in Tactics, did you?" Pan snorted. "All we need is a good decoy, luring their fire away from us as we escape."
"Us? I think not. You mean 'I,' right?" Pan glared at him.
"I happen to be the best pilot of small fighter crafts in my entire class, thank-you-very-much! I happen to have great targeting skills, and, if I do say so myself, am mcuh better than you in that respect. So I'm going TOO!!!" She spat the last word at him full force, smiling with satisfaction at the bewildered face he quickly tried to cover up. His face then clouded with anger.
"Listen,-" The commander entered the room.
"So, are you guys gonna help, or..."
"Sir, we'd like to request permission to take two of the K-7s out for a spin to tell the Argo what's up. We believe that if you draw their attention for a bit by sending out a decoy..."
So the plans were quickly drawn up, the commander slightly disapproving, but unable to hinder the two students' enthusiasm. Maybe this would actually work. Maybe...
*********************
Oooooooh. This could get interesting. It's getting trekkier by the minute! Ah, well, I guess in fan fiction you kinda have to steal a lot from your favorite shows. I may have the Qatorans be either Borg-like or Klingon- like. Any suggestions? Or do you not give a rip either way? Or do you not even know what Star Trek NG is? You poor, deprived people. Oh, well. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. Reviews would be much appreciated!!!! J :) :) :)
This chapter is not the final one, and I don't think the final chapter will come for at least a little while. So sit back, relax, and read. BTW, you may have forgotten entirely what that plot was before this. If so, I recommend skimming previous chapters. I myself tried writing after fifty years of nothing and couldn't remember anything, so I had to read the entire long, boring thing…okay, so it isn't exactly boring. But I'd bet my little preludes are! Have fun, thanks for reviewing, and continue reviewing and reading and such because it is my only sustenance in this cruel world…sigh.
Disc. I don't own DBZ.
Chapter 13
He didn't look to be a skilled artisan. He held his weapon limply at his side, smoothing his dark hair and smiling softly. Trunks eyed the man's movements carefully while cleaning his sword. He was definitely underestimating the man; surely he must have some talent to make it so far. Trunks looked closer. What was he hiding beneath that simple leather jerkin?
Trunks' sharp scan soon turned up results. The dark one had calloused fingers which held his sword comfortably. A few scars along his arms spoke of previous skirmishes. Well-worked muscles lined his calves and forearms. This man was no ordinary fighter. He knew his business. Trunks knew he'd have to use all his techniques efficiently to have any chance at all against this guy.
Trunks quickly brandished his sword (politely, considering the circumstances), but with an undercurrent of menace he was sure a learned fighter would pick up. The dark one nodded and did the same, adding a short hook at the end of the blade's sweep, as if to say, 'Bring it on.' This was Trunks' language. He smiled and crouched low, itching to begin.
************************
Hydra. Hydra. Hydra. Hydra.
The crowd began chanting wildly as the graceful warrior slithered into the ring. His booted feet slid easily in the dirt as he moved through basic sword maneuvers, pleasing his loyal following succinctly. "Throto, Gradien, Bladatru! All the easiest motions and the crowd is loving it all!" Pan snorted with disgust. She'd certainly never drop so low for an audience. Hydra moved into a well-known defense technique, and Pan brought up its name. "Gardlok! I learned that when I was, like, two!" She sighed, knowing her rants would never slow Hydra or his fandom down, and hefted her trusty broadsword in hand. Blowing her errant bangs from view, she clenched her free fist and stalked into the ring.
*Well, this had better be worth it, because I haven't had one good fight all day.* Grimacing, she stood low, ready to parry any attack and slice through any defense.
The bell rang, and her muscles clenched in anticipation.
****************
Ding!
The dark one came at Trunks full-force. The speed of his blade sent rushes of air along Trunks' face, cooling the beads of sweat that already popped out along his brow. Parry. Parry. Trunks was working so hard, he couldn't keep his mind fast enough to attack. All he could do was block the silver from scathing his skin.
*Think, Trunks! Where's the weakness?* He searched his opponent at whatever chance presented itself, clocking the strikes and, just in time, stopping the blade's fury. He could feel his first loss coming up fast.
What could he do? The man was a machine, striking incessantly and skillfully at every opening Trunks ever had in his life. It was as is the man knew what Trunks was thinking. Every slice was followed by a cut, and then a swing, and then a kick. The man just wouldn't let up! Trunks quickly thought up a plan of action, and, following a quick block, he leapt backwards and spun his blade, stopping the dark one's in midair. They had reached a stalemate. Trunks was breathing heavily, and, he realized with satisfaction, so was the dark one. Perhaps he wasn't superhuman after all...
*************
Hydra wasn't all he was cracked up to be. Sure, he was an efficient swordsman, a great tactician, and an excellent attacker. But a defender he was not. All Pan had to do was block him and attack, and the fight was hers. However, his attacks were a force to be reckoned with. He had dropped the basics bit and was now employing intricate flickers and slices, some of which Pan could not even recognize. They seemed to her to be of a different discipline entirely. Perhaps even of a different world.
She had to get an attack in. Just one stupid attack would win her the fight! But Hydra's blade continued its barrage. And then she had him.
Suddenly, a shout from the crowd jolted the air. "Hydra! Hydra! JACK!!!" Hydra looked up from his attack towards the voice. "You're wife, she...she just had...a baby girl!" Hydra...Jack...turned his back on Pan completely and waved at the voice.
"Really? That's wonderful!" Guilty but determined, Pan took her chance and attacked Jack's back with the blunt edge of her sword. He fell quickly. "Sorry, Jack. Congratulations. You're a father." She smiled slightly and lifted the poor man to his feet.
He groaned. "Hey. No problem. I guess." He smiled sheepishly and waddled towards the crowd, gingerly nursing his bruised back.
******************
Opening! Where's the opening? There! Trunks saw the hole and eagerly went for it, all too late realizing the cunning trap for what it was. He soon found himself with his nose grinding against the dirt, his arms trapped behind him. Darn.
"It seems that I have the upper hand here, Trunks." The too-normal male voice entered his dulled ears obtrusively. "I'm so sorry to remove from you your fabled winning streak, but I must say, the pleasure is all mine." Trunks knew he was about to find himself unconscious and summed up all his remaining strength. He yelled at the top of his lungs and threw his head up, striking what he hoped was some vulnerability in the dark one's armor. He heard a loud crack and hoped he hadn't split his head open. That's sure what it felt like. Head throbbing, he now rolled to the side, yanking his arms away and spinning to his feet, his fists held in a threatening stance.
It was then that he noticed that the dark one was lying on the ground, groaning. Trunks had struck something vulnerable with his head! He noted that the man was cradling his hand, which was obviously broken. His fingers were spread out and his wrist jutted forward at an odd angle. The man was crying like a baby.
"Um...Sorry?" Trunks tried. The dark one simply glared at him through frustrated tears and allowed himself to be carried out of the ring. Trunks rubbed the back of his head and turned slowly amidst cheers from the crowd to see a pair of deep black eyes watching him intently. He narrowed his own and smiled in what he hoped was a challenging way.
**************
Pan's stomach fluttered as Trunks' perfect eyes rested solely on her. She steeled her emotions and glared at him with all the animosity she could muster.
And then there were two.
*************
Silence filled the crowded arena. A few coughs here or there sounded deafening in the ears of the multitude. The final two fighters stood facing each other, one a bold woman with an iron will, the other a disciplined warrior with controlled fire in his blade. The air was polarized with an electric current, sweeping its way through the stadium, touching each watcher and linking everyone together in a feeling of anticipation. This was what they were waiting for.
Trunks slowly scanned Pan's face as she polished her sword in a last attempt at preparation. She looked...beautiful, yes, but that was how she always looked. She looked different. She seemed to hold a great weight on her soul. Trunks wondered if he was the cause. {Of course he's the cause. You and I know it. Why doesn't he? Because he's a - say it with me now - MAN. Apologies to all the men out there, but you know it's true, at least in the most general and stereotypical sense.}
Pulling his mask on, Trunks crossed his arms, for once skipping the crowd-pleasing, and waited. He'd win this one, even if he did love his opponent. (Of course, Trunks did not actually admit this to himself. However, due to the fact that all men do that (sorry for that, but I'm in a male-bashing mood. Don't sue. I have no money to speak of), I decided to put that little statement in because we all know he's actually thinking it somewhere in the depths of his curious mind. So now we don't have to wonder anymore, as if we were anyways. Back to the story.) He had vowed never to be defeated long before. He would not break that vow for the deepest blackest eyes he had ever seen(again, not his actual thought. But he does actually feel like this. I know it because I'm writing it. Why does he not admit that he is smitten with the girl? Because, again, he is of the male sex and ALL men (overgeneralization) HATE (stereotype, hyperbole) admitting ANYTHING (hyperbole again) to themselves EVER(once again, hyperbole - isn't it wonderful?). On with the story. I'll try not to interrupt again.).
****************
Pan noticed that Trunks was patiently standing at the ready, and deliberately took her sweet time in cleaning her sword. She stuck the point in the ground in front of her and left it there, defying all laws of physics, as she tightened her gloves and stretched her quads. Her armor creaked as she twisted left and right, releasing kinks in her back that she had long since forgotten. Her well-healed wound from a few fights ago was threatening to open. She gritted her teeth against the pain. *That's what you get for trusting the doc's new 'miracle' treatment.* She grimaced and finally gripped the hilt of the broadsword before her, readying to battle to win.
The superintendent rose to the podium to begin the fight. Instead of doing so, he launched into a lengthy, boring speech about the honor of making it to the final fight and the pride they should feel and so on and so forth. Pan almost sighed in boredom, but caught herself and instead focused her attention on counting the number of times Trunks tapped his thumb against his forearm as he, too, awaited the fight. So he wasn't so collected as she had thought. All the better.
Finally, the oration stopped and a ring sounded in the arena. Neither fighter made a move. Indeed, Pan had not yet donned her helmet. Instead, Trunks and Pan simply looked at each other. They considered the situation carefully. They skepticized as to the fatigue they were surely both experiencing. And then they both moved, simultaneously, to circle each other slowly.
The ritual continued endlessly. All Pan heard was the soft, easy breaths coming from Trunks and the halting gasps escaping her mouth. Her heartbeat rose in her throat. Dust clouds rose where the two fighters walked. Her sword threatened to begin shaking in her hands.
"Well, Trunks, it looks as if you have made it this far quite easily."
"Mm-hmm." Trunks continued circling, and Pan followed suit.
"I suppose you think you're going to win this fight with the same ease as you won all the others?"
"Mm-hmm." Pan snorted slightly. This 'Mm-hmm' business was getting on her nerves.
"Well, if that's the way you're going to play it, Trunks, I guess we have nothing to say to each other." Keep calm, Pan. Anger is not a good mindset in which to fight!
Trunks stopped circling. His helmet blinded her eyes. He raised his sword and pointed it straight at her forehead. She supressed the urge to gulp.
"Mm-hmm." He said pointedly. Pan broke.
"That's it, wonderboy, you're mine!" She raised her sword and lunged at him.
He parried easily, of course. Pan knew she should get a hold of herself, but she was swamped in a deluge of emotions that had her by the throat. She fiercely swung and struck, blind to the results, neglecting any defense at all. She came to herself when a quick, sharp blow to her temple sent her flying through the air. She landed in a heap on the edge of the ring. She cringed, expecting Trunks to finish her off then and there. But no final attack came.
Pan dared a peek up and saw that Trunks was standing at the other end of the ring, waiting. She jutted her chin forward in determination and pushed her battered body off the ground. Her hatred had fled, leaving only a grim emptiness. Exactly what she needed now. She grinned. "Thanks for the pity, but don't expect the same from me when you're in just such a situation."
"Mm-hmm." Pan only laughed and lifted her sword slowly, eyes blazing, to point it directly at his throat.
****************
Trunks was rather shocked at the fury Pan had shown with her last attack. He now knew (finally) that he was the cause of all her anger. It pained him. He didn't know exactly why he felt regret. He pushed all thought from his mind, though. Her fury meant his gain. He tried to stoke it again with what had previously set it ablaze.
It didn't work. He expected it. Now the real fight began.
The audience was in complete awe of the final fighters as they spun across the ring. Their movements were fluid and exact. Their blades blurred and the sounds of metal on metal filled the silence. Then they found their voices.
Cheers erupted from the crowd. "Hurrah! Pan! Trunks! Hurrah!" "Wahoooooooooooo!" "Keep going!" "Watch it, Trunks!" Trunks and Pan, though, were unperturbed by the sudden noise. They were caught in a dance of steel. They twisted and turned, complementing each other in motion even as they tried to gain the upper hand. Pan leapt, Trunks dove. Trunks swung, Pan blocked. Air moved at speeds unclockable as metal swung even faster. Waves upon waves of attacks and defenses came from each fighter. They were evenly matched.
But then, the audience's jubilation died down. The superintendent looked about quizzicly. A few pointed to the sky, and he looked to where they indicated.
Trunks and Pan were oblivious to the sudden silence. They continued their dance unheeded by the masses.
The superintendent, flustered, used the main com-link and angrily connected with the Academy's military post. He couldn't reach them. The lines had been disrupted by someone...something...
"Ladies and gentlemen. It seems we have a slight situation here. But please, we are currently working to fix this...problem. Have no fear." He flicked his fearful eyes to the sky, finally taking in fully the terror of their situation. Qatorans.
Finally, Pan broke from the battle, noticing that all was not as it should have been. For one thing, the audience wasn't watching them intensely. Trunks yelled a battle cry and swung in for the death blow. She blocked it with all her strength. "Trunks, you fool! Can't you see what's happening here?!" She ducked another swing and tackled him. He was in such a fever of battle, he was almost incoherent. She pinned him down and tried to shake some sense into him.
"Aaaaaah! What? What are you doing that for??" Trunks glared up at her. She sighed and dropped her head to his armored chest with a thud.
"Because of them." She breathed heavily and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, while suddenly realizing her position. And then realizing she liked it. A lot. It was not to be enjoyed, however, for as she said her last words, Trunks sat up. She yelped and scrambled off of him, hitting her forehead repeatedly with her hand. *Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid!*
Thankfully, Trunks didn't notice her insane actions, focused instead on the massive ship that now blocked the sun from view and blanketed the arena in shadow. "Oh, no. Not them." He had seen thousands of pictures in history. He knew them by rote. They were not compromisers. They were destroyers. Qatorans.
Pan followed his gaze and gasped. The large, imposing ship was beautiful in its terror. She shivered and crawled up next to Trunks. "Are th-those what I think they are?" She shivered again.
"Qatorans. Yes." Trunks sat back and tore his eyes away from the ship. "This is not a good thing, Pan. This isn't good." (duh)
Trunks rose now, and quickly raced across the ring to the podium, where he began speaking rapidly with the superintendent. Pan watched, dumbfounded, as the two men had a heated conversation, Trunks demanding, the superintendent strongly disagreeing. Finally, the older man nodded. Trunks leaped off the podium and raced towards an exit. Pan followed him.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked when she had finally caught up with Trunks.
"I have to help defend the Academy. I'm going to the military unit to see what's blocking communications." He ran faster.
Pan sped up. "I'm coming too." Trunks looked over at her, shook his head resignedly, and continued running full-speed. The two raced on through the exit and across the deserted campus, heading towards the defense complex.
******************
"Someone's cutting off this line. That's why we haven't been able to get word across. We're all very involved, so we couldn't spare anyone to run and tell you guys the problem." Trunks nodded and followed the man who was continuously barking orders to his officers. Pan trailed them both, listening for catches of their conversation.
"We short on men. We weren't expecting an invasion, even one ship. We should have been, I guess, but the Qatorans have been dormant for over fifty years. HEY! GET UP AND START SCANNING THAT SHIP, PRONTO!! We have some K-7 fighter crafts, but no-one to fly them. We have a great, efficient shield, but noone to maintain it. We have a ship just fifty parsecs away- YOU MORON! GET UP AND DO SOMETHING USEFUL!!! - with the efficiency and power to destroy the Qatorans with one shot, but no way to contact it. NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW! If only we could get a message through to the Argo, we'd stand a chance against these NO! NONONONONONONONONONO!!! bullies. But if there's anything you can do, YOU IDIOT! THE QUARTERDECK, NOT THE BRIG!!! please don't hesitate. At all."
Bewildered at the sudden outbursts from the commanding officer, Trunks was at a loss for words for the moment. But then he thought through the situation logically and coherently...and came up with nothing.
"Is there anything I can do, Trunks?" Pan tapped him softly on the shoulder. "I feel so useless here. I do have abilities that are just as effective as yours, you know. Let me help you." Trunks looked at her.
"Well, for one thing, do you have any ideas for how to get the Argo over here with no comm link?" Trunks paused expectantly. Pan grinned.
"Didn't he just say he had a bunch of pilotless K-7's?" Her grin widened. Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Don't you see, dummy? All we have to do is fly those babies to the Argo, tell them what's happening here, and our problems are solved!"
"Yeah, all but one little catch. The Qatorans aren't just going to let us waltz past them to get someone to help destroy them. They aren't idiots. They're trained warriors. Also, two of those things would definitely be a plus in the air, so they could cover each others' backs. You heard the man, they have no pilots. I can fly one...maybe, but that's all."
"You didn't spend much time listening in Tactics, did you?" Pan snorted. "All we need is a good decoy, luring their fire away from us as we escape."
"Us? I think not. You mean 'I,' right?" Pan glared at him.
"I happen to be the best pilot of small fighter crafts in my entire class, thank-you-very-much! I happen to have great targeting skills, and, if I do say so myself, am mcuh better than you in that respect. So I'm going TOO!!!" She spat the last word at him full force, smiling with satisfaction at the bewildered face he quickly tried to cover up. His face then clouded with anger.
"Listen,-" The commander entered the room.
"So, are you guys gonna help, or..."
"Sir, we'd like to request permission to take two of the K-7s out for a spin to tell the Argo what's up. We believe that if you draw their attention for a bit by sending out a decoy..."
So the plans were quickly drawn up, the commander slightly disapproving, but unable to hinder the two students' enthusiasm. Maybe this would actually work. Maybe...
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Oooooooh. This could get interesting. It's getting trekkier by the minute! Ah, well, I guess in fan fiction you kinda have to steal a lot from your favorite shows. I may have the Qatorans be either Borg-like or Klingon- like. Any suggestions? Or do you not give a rip either way? Or do you not even know what Star Trek NG is? You poor, deprived people. Oh, well. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. Reviews would be much appreciated!!!! J :) :) :)