Namek

Chapter 53: He Who Speaks For All


There was the sound of footsteps plodding down the ramp echoed from behind Bulma, and in the next instant Yamcha stopped at her side.

'So this is Namek, eh?' He asked. 'Looks pretty blue.'

'And green,' Bulma replied with a smile. 'Seems inviting, doesn't it?'

To her right, Yamcha gave a telling stretch of his limbs. 'Beats being on a ship, for sure.'

A lapse in the conversation took hold as they both examined the empty expanse laid out before them- and a pang gripped Bulma's heart. Before she knew what had happened, her hand had tightly clenched itself around Yamcha's upper arm. 'I don't want you to push yourself,' Bulma said sincerely, half-turning her head to him. 'Or do anything taxing, or move out of your comfort zone. Tien and I can handle things- we promise. I promise.'

He gave her a sad, though bright, smile. 'So I should say nothing, do nothing, and act like I'm not here?'

'I'm asking you to let us take the lead,' she answered crisply, 'and let us plunge into the pitfalls instead. There's no need for you to expose yourself to any more risk right now- making it to Namek means that we've put most of our troubles behind us. And if you want to talk about anything at all,' she squeezed his arm, 'I'm here to listen. About the PTO, about what happened with Raditz- about anything. Okay?'

'I appreciate that, Bulma- but not now,' he replied, his face stern. 'Another time.'

Yamcha's unflinching dismissal of her gesture caught them both tongue-tied for a time- Yamcha was surprised by his own candor- but thankfully, they were joined by another person not too long after.

'Bez is staying in the shuttle,' Tien informed them once he had strolled down and ramp and his feet were on solid earth.

'That's what he wants?' Bulma inquired.

'That's what I told him,' Tien said acerbically. 'Yamcha and I are of the same mind on this- he can't be trusted to know what we're doing here.'

Bulma swept her gaze to Yamcha, saw him nod in a sign of agreement, and shrugged. 'Fine,' she said. 'And you think it's a good idea for him to be left alone?'

'Once we have a good idea of what's going on,' Yamcha spoke up, 'I think I'll hang back with him.' He made a concerted effort to make eye contact with Bulma. 'Seems like the right thing to do.'

Their gazes met, and Bulma's mouth curled into a muted smile. 'I agree,' she affirmed.

With this their conversation died down again, as both Tien and Yamcha focused their attention on the immediate environment. Something became salient to them- Namek was remarkably quiet. At first Bulma found this fact comforting; there had always some level of ambient noise present at the base they had fled from which was maddening in that, no matter how hard Bulma had investigated, she could never find the source of this constant, nearly silent buzz. Namek was silent- and while being in an environment with less noise pollution was pleasing, the reasons for this could be… unwanted.

Bulma noticed that both Tien and Yamcha looked to be concentrating- searching, she determined. 'Please tell me they're some people who still live on this planet,' she said pleadingly.

'There are,' Yamcha said in a pained voice. 'And a large group of them are coming to us as we speak.'

'Well that's good news, right?'

'There's stronger than us,' Tien told her, squinting into the distance. 'If they think we're bad news, we would be hard-pressed to defend ourselves- not to mention that we couldn't handle their numbers.'

A pinched expression seized Bulma's face. 'How many, exactly?'

She had her answer a moment later. Around a flat-topped hill, a mass of people emerged- green-skinned humanoids, one and all. They approached them at a slow jog and resembled a mob more than anything else- persons of every shade of green, age, height and weight were trodding towards them, each face a different mixture of interest, fear, and surprise. Bulma noticed that some were holding what looked to be shovels- some long, some short- and various other tools she would have expected to see lying around an alien farm or garden. Their clothes were an odd mix of garments Bulma would have expected to have seen on Piccolo, but also included lighter and more open garments that didn't seek to cover the wearer's arms or the inner part of their midsection. But their garb was familiar enough, not to mention their distinctive green antennae, for Bulma to conclude that they were Namekians. When they came within earshot, Bulma could hear a strange language, low, flowing, and punctuated by abrupt sounds, start to filter out of the crowd in various disembodied voices.

In total, there must have been at least thirty green aliens steadily marching towards them. And none of them looked particularly happy to see them.

'We're friendly,' Bulma declared loudly before they could close on them fully, stopping the group in their tracks a couple of strides away. Judging from their reaction, it seemed that they had a limited understanding of what she was saying. This was good; she could be direct, simple, and clear before things could go off the rails. 'We've only come here for your dragonballs,' she continued, feeling a bit more confident in her interspecies communication skills.

A concerned murmur immediately traveled through the crowd as if a wave of water had splashed down on them, and Bulma belatedly realized that perhaps it wasn't a good idea to lead first contact with a cloistered alien race by asking to see its most valued treasure.

Tien must have had the same thought- he pushed past Bulma and stood in front of her, even as the mood of the crowd became more suspicious and hostile. 'We are on a mission to revive one of our friends,' he said, trying in vain to launch his voice over that of the Namekians.

The crowd, if anything, grew louder, drowning out Tien's words. 'WE DO NOT MEAN- WE ARE NOT BAD-'

Then, by some unseen force, the tension in the crowd dissipated, and a second later an appeared hand, visible as a flat palm extended over the heads of the crowd, began to advance towards them. The mass parted; a stout, somewhat short, and older looking Namekian, characterized by the many deep-set wrinkles encasing his face, walked out of the crowd. He did not seem to eye them any more favorably than any of the other gathered Namekians. 'How have you come to know of our most secret treasure? Who are you people?' He asked in their own language in a careful, cautious tone. His accent was unplaceable, and yet he seemed to possess as well a grasp of the words as what Bulma presumed to be their native language.

'You all are… Namekians, right?'

Moori regarded Bulma. 'We are,' he answered deliberately. 'And how do you know that? How do you know so much about us?'

'We are from a planet called Earth,' Bulma explained slowly, stringently trying to not spook them any further. 'Up until recently, our planet was watched over by one of your kind- a Namekian called Kami. His life was linked to the dragonballs, which we used to repair our world after we struck by evil or misfortune. In a recent battle, when another Namekian called Piccolo died, because his life force was linked to Kami, the dragonballs ceased to work. In that same battle, a dear friend of ours died.'

Bulma took a second to breathe- and at that moment, she saw a more curious, perhaps more friendly audience than was present before. 'Before he died, Kami informed that us he had come from this planet, Namek, and that there were dragonballs here that could revive both our friend and himself. So that is our goal; to bring back the lives of our friends.'

By the end of Bulma's speech, the crowd had become more muted, and generally more contemplative, as her story worked its way into their heads. Moori took a moment to scan the crowd, and then spoke on their behalf. 'To the best of my knowledge, we have never had a Namekian among us named Piccolo or Kami… but the cognizance of your words shock me,' Moori said candidly. 'No one on Namek has ever come across aliens from another planet, and thus could not have transfused the galaxy with knowledge of our dragonballs, but your description of the dragonballs of your own planet is startlingly similar to how I would describe our own. Tell me: are they-'

'Orange,' Bulma answered quickly, her mind having already deduced what Moori would ask. 'And there are seven of them, and each one has a number of inlaid stars in its center.'

Something uninterpretable flashed across the eyes of the older Namekian, and then he gave what seemed to be a serious nod. 'Then there are serious grounds to your claim, after all. We have never had visitors on Namek for as long as I have been alive, but it is clear that I must discuss this matter with our race's elder, Guru. He will have some idea as to who these Namekians Kami and Piccolo are, and even if his knowledge fails in that, he will provide us with counsel as to what to do. I understand that you want to use our dragonballs?'

'Yes,' Bulma said, summoning as much humility as she could. 'To revive our friends.'

'Guru will learn of this and judge of your worthiness,' Moori said in a firm, reverent tone, 'for it is his life that anchors our dragonballs to our planet, and gives them their power. If he ultimately decides not to grant you permission to use them, then there is nothing I can do.'

An odd sense of obstruction struck Bulma- the feeling of something needlessly obstructing what she knew to be a good and well-intentioned goal. But this, she reminded herself, was just a fleeting feeling, and minding where she was, she nodded in agreement. 'I hope to convince him otherwise.'

'Good. Well then,' Moori said as he briefly surveyed the crowd of Namekians before turning back to Bulma. 'It would be amiss of me to not invite you travelers to our village while I confer with Guru.'

'By all means,' Tien spoke up, looking ready for a walk, 'lead the way.'

0o0o0

'...Dear, why did you bring so many guests?'

The Ox-King was standing limply, leaning most of his weight against a groaning tree with his right arm, and looked to be withering in the noon sun. 'I… I'm so tired…'

Chi-Chi moved past Rayne, Oolong, and Puar and came to her father's side quickly. 'Dad, what's wrong?' She asked as she took one of his arms in support. 'You look awful.'

A wheeze rumbled out of his heavy chest. 'Your son… is a handful.'

The mention of Gohan caused Chi-Chi to immediately straighten. 'Where is he?'

The Ox-King coughed, and pointed one stout finger up towards the sky. Confused, Chi-Chi, along with everyone else, cast their gazes skyward.

There was a small purple dragon, several tens of feet up in the sky, flying around like a drunken helicopter. And, unmistakably, a small figure was clung to the dragon's hide like a cowboy riding a bucking mare.

The strength of Chi-Chi's cry could have pierced concrete; she and Rayne immediately blasted into the sky, pursuing a now spooked young dragon that was frantically trying to fly away. On the ground, without the support of his daughter, he began to waver until Puar and Oolong slammed into him. 'We've got you, big guy,' Oolong said, he and Puar having shifted into a bigger human form to help support the Ox-King's weight. When they stabilized him again, they helped him to sit on the ground with his back flush against the tree.

They were fanning him- Puar was the fan while Oolong fanned- when Chi-Chi and Rayne plonked back to the ground near them with heavy thumps. The former held a pouting Gohan close to her chest, while the latter had what looked to be an adolescent dragon restrained in a headlock. 'Yeah?' Rayne said, goading the dragon and giving it a shake. 'You like that? This is how Gohan felt, you jerk!'

Chi-Chi watched this happen with mild disinterest; she was too busy trying to purge the fear and terror that had launched her into the sky just a few moments past. 'Gohan… you… hey,' She looked down at her son and saw him on the verge of crying. 'What's wrong?'

Gohan, tears forming like little pearls in the corners of his eyes, gestured with a chubby arm towards Rayne and the dragon. 'Mama! Ma-' and then a series of unintelligible, displeased sounds babbled out of his mouth.

'What is it, Gohan?' Chi-Chi said. 'We got you out of the scary sky- why are you sad?'

'Dear,' the Ox-King spoke up from against the base of the tree to her side, 'Gohan wasn't taken by the dragon… he was playing with it…'

Chi-Chi glanced between Gohan and the dragon; it was easy to see what her father was referring to once it was pointed out. There was a clear admiration between the two, and more so, a clear anxiety about them being apart. 'Rayne,' she said, catching her friend's attention, 'bring the dragon closer to Gohan. Hold them… about a foot apart.'

To this command Rayne threw a strange look, but faced with Chi-Chi's expressionless face, Rayne loosened her grip on the dragon and approached, and like two lovers who had been separated unjustly, Gohan and the dragon reached towards each other with bright eyes.

'Oh, Gohan,' Chi-Chi said in a resigned tone as soon Gohan and the dragon nestled against each other, each one suspended in a pair of arms, 'you're going to be a difficult son, aren't you?'

0o0o0

Bulma and Tien were asked to follow the Namekians back to their village after their initial meeting- Yamcha, as agreed upon, stayed behind with Bez in the shuttle. On their walk over, they learned what at first had been hard to see; the Namekians as a people were incredibly friendly. With a considerate and measured style, they opened up to them, and at the same time, inquired about humans- their traits, traditions, their way of life. It was refreshingly earnest- for the first time since catapulting themselves into space, as opposed to the number of interrogations and desperate learning she had had to do, Bulma felt like she was having a true conversation with a people entirely unlike her own. Most of their questions were well-intentioned and understandable- though some were not. The Namekians were fixed on the difference of appearance between Bulma and Tien. Which was understandable, as Bulma and Tien undeniably looked different, but this line of inquiry struck Bulma as funny, because, well...

'You all look the same,' Bulma blurted out to the surrounding Namekians as soon as the thought had entered her head. 'Are you all the men?'

A shorter Namekian, who looked to be a child, swung closer to Bulma and gave her a wide look. 'Men? What's that?'

'What you all are,' Bulma said, pointing to the cumulative mass of Namekians around them. 'None of you look like women.'

'Women?'

'They don't look very gendered to me, Bulma,' Tien said from behind her. 'It's possible they don't have one, or even the concept of it.'

The child threw a similar look to Tien. 'Gender?'

Tien gestured to him, presenting the kid as evidence. 'See?'

'You know,' what looked to be a rotund middle-aged Namekian said to Bulma's left, 'you look very different from your friend.' It appeared that he had missed most of their previous conversation.

Bulma presented him an uncertain frown, and began to take a wider look of the crowd around her. 'Guess I do…' she muttered. 'Though, still… how do you make more Namekians?' She thought out loud. Wait… how did Piccolo get born from King Piccolo, exactly? Was there a Queen Piccolo?

Before her mind could fully flesh out what she thought might have been the likeliest explanation, the middle-aged Namekian answered her: 'We're all born of the same person, our elder, Guru. He uses portions of his energy and to lay eggs, and after a standard period of gesticulation, we hatch from these.'

'...Gross.'

'So that means he's getting weaker with every Namekian he creates?' Tien asked.

The Namekian wrinkled his nose. 'Guess so. Never thought of it that way. By the way, my name is Batso, if you were wondering.'

Bulma and Tien politely told them theirs, and when they asked him as to what type of work he does, he gave them a look. 'I'm a farmer, like everyone else. We care for the planet- for its green grass and its trees to its frogs and crabs and every other thing with at least two legs. Every organism deserves a chance to live.'

'Your planet seems to be in good health,' Tien commented. 'You've done a good job of maintaining it.'

'Well, we've worked-' he froze momentarily, both verbally and physically, but then he set off again, faster than before. 'We've worked hard to get the planet back to what it is now- but it's not my place to talk about that. Speak to Moori when you get the chance.' With that, Batso moved to the edge of the group and away from them.

'They seem like a simple people,' Bulma muttered to Tien as soon as he was out of earshot.

'They strike me as more protective than anything else.'

'Hmm.'

After about half an hour had passed, Bulma and Tien arrived at what must have been the Namekians' village- houses made of what looked to be sun-bleached clay or sediment were arranged and stacked in oval capsule-like shapes, giving the place a rustic alien charm. The domiciles were little more than walls and a ceiling, with nothing to serve as doors except loose fabric hanging from the lids above the doorways. Just outside these were rows of strange vegetation, neatly tilled and watered, which occupied the space between and just beyond the houses.

As the crowd around them seamlessly dispersed, and the denizens of the village resumed their activities of either working, chatting, or playing across the fields, Bulma and Tien were struck by how intimate everything seemed to be; everyone knew each other and quite literally, had nothing to not share with others.

Bulma and Tien ultimately settled themselves onto a low, jutting rock embedded near the center of the village, and from this perch, watched the Namekians go about their business. The adult villagers farmed- it was incredibly boring to see how much they farmed. The children were much more amusing to watch; they ran and buzzed around like little cubs, occasionally bumping into hard-working adults amongst the rows, eliciting warm and gentle glances in return. They would range back and forth towards Tien and Bulma, like a boat bobbing up and down in the open water, and visually, the children looked split between fear and curiosity whenever they glanced in their direction. Bulma didn't mind- Tien maybe minded a bit.

As time wore on, their eyes were also intermittently drawn to the landmark in the distance Moori and flown to- what looked to be a pillar of earth rose out miles above the landscape, towering over the village like some sort of guardian. It reminded them of Korin's tower, mightily reaching up towards the sky way back on Earth, and they felt- perhaps because they now had the opportunity- a little homesick.

After little less than an hour Moori reappeared as a blip on the horizon and steadily flew towards them. His face was taut; Bulma couldn't make much of his expression.

As he landed and began to catch his breath in preparation to speak to them, the rest of the village mutely gathered around them. 'Guru has listened to your story with grave compassion; his heart aches to rectify the harm done to you with the dragonballs- but he has a condition,' Moori clarified, before Bulma's brightening expression interceded. 'He wishes to seek the consensus of the Namekians; the village chiefs of Namek- which, including myself, number seven in total- each possess one dragonball, and Guru desires that each dragonball be granted willingly and in good faith from each village. These are the circumstances by which he will summon our dragon, Porunga, for you.'

'Where are these other village chiefs?' Bulma asked.

'Well, at their villages,' Moori said. 'We Namekians are displaced across seven villages, each one choosing and overseen by a village chief. There… are not many of us.'

'Has this not always been the case? Bulma probed, though with some tact.

'Yes,' Moori answered dourly. 'Roughly five hundred years ago, our planet was afflicted by a period of time called The Calamity, which brought great suffering and devastation upon our people. Our numbers have never recovered since then- if it were not for Guru's selfless and repeated expenditure of his own life force in order to bring each and every person you see here to life, he would be the only Namekian still alive. And even then, though his spirit and wisdom may remain great, his body has paid the price; he is surely nearing the end of his life…' Moori ended on a quieting note.

'I see,' Bulma said, her face bent in a sympathetic manner. She could now easily place the eery unease that accompanied the planet's ever-present silence; there used to be many more people alive here in the past.

There was a shuffle of sound from behind her, followed by Tien stepping forward. 'If you don't mind, Bulma,' he said, 'I'll go ahead to the other villages; hopefully… well, considering that we may be on a timeline…' He trailed off.

Bulma nodded. 'That's for the best. I can't move as fast as you, so I'll stay around this village and the shuttle while you hop around.'

'Right.'

He took a moment to lay out his ki sense over the full planet- while the gravity of Namek was similar to Earth, Namek seemed to be smaller- and noted six other small groupings of ki scattered across the planet similar to this village. Then, with a short wave, he lifted off of the ground and blasted off in direction of the nearest grouping.

The crowd dispersed soon after that, leaving Moori and Bulma staring off in the direction Tien had left by. She turned to him. 'As a village chief, you'll have a task for us, too, right?'

He gave her a look- the same something Bulma saw earlier flashed across his eyes. 'All in good time,' he said. 'We can talk about that later.' Then, after a quick glance up towards the far-off pillar of earth, he left her alone.

0o0o0

Apparently, Namek wasn't very big. Tien found himself zipping through the muted green skies without issue, moving fast enough that the ground far below him blurred in his vision, and realized that he had grown much stronger than what he imagined the limits of the human body were. It was humbling… and in some ways exciting to know that one of his own preconceived limits were discarded without him even noticing. There was a time after the final at the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament that he had come to believe that he was reaching the limit of what training could do- that there wasn't much further in strength a single person could beyond what he had seen between Krillin and Piccolo- but Raditz's arrival had shattered that illusion mercilessly. His interactions with Vegeta and Nappa had stretched that disbelief even further, showcasing the true, monstrous extent

And even here on Namek, Tien sensed strength among self-proclaimed farmers that, if given a chance, would easily surpass his own.

He reflected that, when the galaxy at large wasn't scaring the ever-living crap out of him, it was proving to be a valuable teacher.

This thought brought Tien to the first grouping of people he had sensed; he descended into a smaller, similar village to the one he had left, clearly centered around a main, larger white building with pointed horns on its roof. To his surprise, there was a crowd waiting for him. They were silent as he landed and came to a stop.

Without so much as a greeting, an older looking Namekian stepped out before the ten-odd people and pulled away a bleached cloth, revealing a large orange orb, bigger than his head, with six stars inlaid inside it. Tien was inclined to call it a gigantic jewel- but then he synthesized the size of the thing with the stars inside it and realized that he was looking at a Namekian dragonball.

He must have looked confused because before he could say anything, the one holding the dragonball began to speak. 'Word travels quickly among us elders,' the older Namekian said, chuckling and gesturing to the two green antennae hanging off of his forehead. 'As quick as thoughts, one might say.'

Tien was mute as the elder approach and placed the ball into his hands, reminding him of the action of placing an offering into a stone statue's lap. He remained silent as the elder, facing him, withdrew back, not with haste or fear, but with measured, complacent strides. 'I don't understand,' he finally said, wrenching his gaze from the dragonball to the small crowd facing him. 'I was told there would be some sort of trial… why are you giving me this?'

The elder halted and cast a knowing glance in Tien's direction. 'Each elder takes stock of the person requesting this honor and decides if they are worthy… and you are that. You do not need to complete a trial or perform some other trick for me to see that. You seek to bring back those who you care about immensely; truly, there was no greater purpose for which the dragonballs were originally created for. Use our dragonballs for this task, and you will make happy guardians out of me and the other elders.'

Tien was speechless; and, soon enough, he had no one to give a speech to, as the crowd nodded agreeingly with the elder's words and began to disperse. The elder passed by him nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just given away the greatest treasure he had ever held to a total stranger… and perhaps, Tien noted, there was something both true and untrue about that thought.

0o0o0

At the end of the day- or however much time had passed, as it seemed that at any given time there was at least one sun, sometimes two or three, streaking across the skies of Namek- Tien possessed six dragonballs. There were too unwieldy to carry more than one at a time, so when his business concluded at the second village, ending in the exact same way as it did at the first, he had simply told them to keep it with them until he came back. So instead of orbs, he carried with him the verbal assent of six village elders, each one judging him to be worthy of such an awe-inspiring power without possessing any sort of knowledge of him. Each and every one of them had mentioned what they had heard and that his ki was good- but Tien found that last fact hard to believe. He had committed evil acts in the past. He had, to some extent, considered repeating them recently. And he really didn't see much of a difference between who he was when he trained under Shen and who he was now. Sure, his actions had changed, and he had committed himself to treating others, especially his martial enemies and friends, with the respect and dignity they deserved- but he still had the sense that his character, having been capable of doing such evil acts in the past, could still relapse if he didn't hold himself to a strict enough standard. The part of him that had done wrong was still there, waiting to be unchained, and even though he could accept this without inflicting any sort of psychic toil on himself, he did not consider himself good like his other friends. Perhaps he wasn't as misguided as Yamcha felt- but with knowledge of one's own self, a different sort of culpability came with it.

As Moori's village came back into sight, Tien released a long, drawn-out sigh. It was times like these that he really missed Chiaotzu.

On this occasion when he touched back down on the ground, there was no crowd waiting for him; the village's inhabitants were dispersed amongst the fields and houses, and the only people who paid him any head were Moori and Bulma. The former jumped up off of her rock perch in a show of restless energy. She locked eyes with Tien. 'So, then-'

'Every village I've been to agreed to help us,' Tien said flatly, quickly, knowing that she must have been half-suspicious that he was coming back empty-handed. 'When we're ready, we can collect the dragonballs and summon the dragon, if…' Tien trailed off, flicking his gaze to Moori, whose face was locked in an expressionless, thoughtful fixture.

'We're that close, then?' Bulma said, clearly shocked at what Tien had said. 'One more dragonball?'

'One more,' Tien affirmed. 'So, Moori?...'

The elder was quiet- concerningly quiet, and his gaze was affixed to some patch of dirt between them. After some time, he raised his gaze towards Tien. 'I have thought long on this, and while I do believe you all are of a pure character and have only noble intentions… I have decided that, in order to secure my own confidence in your worthiness, I request patience. Prove to me that you are willing to wait and stay here for a time, under my watchful eye, and in time I will grant you permission to use the dragonball under my care.'

Tien most likely wouldn't have felt an immediate blow- the feeling of being pushed away abruptly and agitatedly by someone you hadn't expected it from- from Moori's statement if he hadn't enjoyed the kindness and belief that had been showered on him by the other village elders. It felt jarring, and he couldn't tell whether this was because it in reality was, or whether he had expected a different response. And, in the back of his mind, he was unable to stop himself from speculating on how much time they had before a possible invasion descended on this planet. This, in particular, motivated him to push back.

'Why,' Tien replied evenly, 'exactly do you think we need to wait? You said it yourself- you think we're fit to use them.'

Moori looked uncomfortable, and remained unnaturally still. 'I do not say this without great reluctance. As I've said, I think your intentions are good... but there are other factors to consider when granting you this privilege. The other elders do not know as much as me- I alone speak to Guru, and convey his wishes in matters such as these to the rest of our race.'

'So this is Guru's choice?' Bulma asked. 'He wants us to wait?'

Moori didn't respond; his silence was deafening.

'Is this your choice?' Bulma asked pointedly.

'Guru is old,' Moori said, now dragging a side of him, defensive and agitated, out into the open. 'While his wisdom is unimpeachable, he does not care enough for himself… in his advanced age, he has grown consistently iller, and now, for him, it is a struggle to simply breathe. That rattling, dull sound... ' Moori shook his head, as if to clear from it a closely-held memory. 'He sees no-one save me and his guardian for fear of overtaxing him- and yet, even in his near-death state, his compassion for others is undiminished. He would willingly let the dragonballs be used to help others, even at the risk of him dying… and that, I cannot allow.' Moori looked at them then, and looked on the verge of pleading. 'Please, you must understand! If I could grant your wish- I would! But to do so would bring about catastrophic consequences!'

'Why wait, then?' Bulma asked, careful not to jump to any assumptions. 'If he's too sick right now…'

Moori paled- which, with a Namekian complexion, meant his face turned light green- and held his arms tight at his sides. 'I… do not know,' he admitted, 'if waiting will improve his health. It may grant him another few cherished years on this world- it may be for naught.' Then, his tone hardened, and he glanced between Bulma and Tien. 'But I cannot allow any actions to be taken that may jeopardize his only chance to recover. We must wait.'

'For how long?'

'Indefinitely.'

'Did you even tell him about us?' Tien demanded, rushing back into the conversation like a wall of water overtaking a dam. 'Because it sure sounds like you made a big show of talking to him-

'I am entrusted to keep him safe!' Moori protested, the timbre of his voice deepening. 'To keep him alive! And that includes not informing him of knowledge that he will use to indirectly kill himself!'

'And what about the other village chiefs? Do their decisions mean nothing?'

'These are my terms,' Moori replied, stone-faced and unswayed. 'I am a village chief- only I can allow this village's dragonball to be used in a ritual. And, at this moment, I say no.'

'That's not fair!' Tien shouted, not caring that he was making a scene in the middle of the village. 'You- you didn't even-'

Bulma suddenly found herself as an outsider looking into the conversation rather than as a participant- people were now filtering in between herself and the growing commotion between Tien and Moori, and alarmingly, she found it hard to push herself to the front, and even harder to gauge the Namekian faces around her.

In light of Tien's continuing outburst, Moori's face soured, making his wrinkled face resemble a rotting green fruit. 'You are a visitor here- an alien to our people and our way of life. You have no right demanding anything of us!'

At this point, Tien wasn't one to be discouraged, especially by someone as flagrantly, insufferably- 'You don't understand!' Tien yelled. 'Everything we care about is in jeopardy; we can't afford to wait around on the possible chance things improve! If we don't revive our friends soon, we're in trouble! We'll all be in trouble!'

A visible shift took place on Moori's face- defensive concern was now being replaced by a greater, more severe fear. 'What are you saying?' He said in a small voice. 'Are you… what are you talking about?' He breathed, his voice choked with disbelief.

Tien was dimly aware that, silhouetted against the backdrop of a growing crowd of Namekians, this wasn't the best place to have this conversation, but he was too far in to stop now; he could see the coiling, snaking terror, slithering across Moori's face like a creeping shadow. The elder's mind was assuredly embroiled in an innumerable number of speculations as to what he had meant- so he had to say-

'I'm not threatening you!' Tien said, more forcefully than he would have liked. 'It's just… people may be after us, and may be coming here, and-'

And the immediate reaction of the crowd hushed him, hushed Moori, even as the elder looked ready to explode- and Tien felt the air around him shift.

'No- you don't understand!'

At this point Bulma had tried to approach- but the wall of Namekians with their backs to her formed an unending, impenetrable barrier and shut her out. She was, in the worst sense of the word, an observer to whatever was happening beyond the litany of angry people in front of her.

0o0o0

King Piccolo staggered back, his feet failing to find purchase on the slick, smooth rock- where did this moisture come from?- and ultimately stumbled backward and collapsed onto his hands and lower back. 'You-' he couldn't even express what he was seeing- what the sight inspired in him- of the figure in front of him. It was coming face-to-face with a maker he hadn't known existed.

The wind was fierce this high up in hell, and whipped fabric in every possible direction. 'Please, son, stand,' the darkened Namekian commanded, stepping forward and extending a hand down towards him. 'You have no reason to act this way.'

'You- you-'

'Is this how you treat your father?' Fangs glistened in the dull, tumultuous air. 'Your creator? Stand, Anan!'

That name, like the visage before him, threw King Piccolo's mind into another tumult. It spoke to something deep within him- something fractured and splintered, yet still there. The light brush of an ancient idea against a jagged and twisted mind made him recoil even further into himself.

'You don't even remember your own name?' the stranger mocked with a sick smile, evidently pleased by King Piccolo devolving into a trembling mess. 'You couldn't even protect that?'

Protect what!? The insides of King Piccolo's head buzzed like a thousand angry insects, one and all clambering and scraping against the sides of his skull. He had, and always had been, the better half of a being that was deluded, divided between the stronger, more decisive part of himself and the weak, cloying affection he had for a world that wasn't his own. When he and Kami separated, it made King Piccolo stronger, not weaker. He… thought as much. And what right did this stranger before him have to critique a person that no longer exists?

Just as King Piccolo felt himself coalescing around some sort of response, a presence lifted off of him; something he had been unaware had even been there and could not say when it had descended on him fluttered off of him like a heavy crown being lifted, and all at once he felt his mind calm and his breathing slow to match the measured breaths of the other Namekian.

'No... ' the stranger's voice no longer slid against his skin like sandpaper- it was reached him disgusted and distant. 'You are not him. You are… a rotted branch of what was once a great and mighty tree... ' His back came to face King Piccolo. 'You are nothing to me.'

King Piccolo quickly stood, latching his anger to his thoughts- 'I am King Piccolo, the rightful heir to the being I was born of! I carry his strength and ambition, and I alone have the will to use these! And you are not my father, my creator! You are a ghost!'

To King Piccolo's surprise, the Namekian turned again to face him. His face was more neutral now. 'In that, you are right. If I am not your father, I am perhaps a progenitor; I am Katas, the father of the being you were derived of.' A sneer. 'And, you are, frankly, beneath my concern now. You are just as much as, if not more than, a ghost like me.'

The earlier shock King Piccolo felt was fading and was replaced at every juncture by indignation and outrage. This was the beacon he had strode towards for however long he had been here? This ancient, pruning being? 'I know ghosts when I see them,' King Piccolo replied confidently, straightening to his full imposing height such that he was nearly as tall, if not a little shorter, than Katas. 'and you must have been dead longer than I've been alive. So you're a frightened, scared ghost, that clings to your present form from the fear you hold towards the final end- the end that awaits everyone here; passing into nothing. You've been here far longer than me- surely you've seen others fade away?'

Katas gave a curious roll of his shoulders, somehow connoting to King Piccolo that he acknowledged and accepted the truth of what he had said. 'I am scared of nothing,' Katas said in a low, almost introspective voice, 'least of all passing from the last stage of a prodigious life. But, in the final minutes of my time among the living, a great injustice was wrought on me, and so I wait here for my heirs to return to me, in whatever form they may take.'

'And I am not one?' King Piccolo growled.

'I can sense the stink on you,' Katas rumbled, 'of a being cut loose of what had made them strong. Though I know not how, you are now the severed half of a greater being, and someone else has stepped in to take your place. You are, as I've said before, beneath me,' he finished perfunctory.

'What if I told your heirs are never coming?' King Piccolo hissed vitriolically. 'That you'll persist here, withering into nothing, for nothing!'

Katas' gaze, dark and deep and terrible, fully fell upon him. 'And what would you know about that, rotten little branch?'

'I know my son will finish my work,' King Piccolo breathed, simultaneously growing and shrinking underneath Katas' appraisal. 'He will smash that fool Kami to pieces and lay claim to his world, and rule it for centuries!'

'Son?' Katas murmured, his deep-set eyes seeming to recede even further into his skull. 'So… you… ah, of course!' Katas stepped forward, throwing a billowing dark purple cloak that had crept towards his front back over his right shoulder. 'You severed the link between yourself and your other half! You did so to let your son live alongside… Kami, you said? In my absence, you two have chosen strange names…'

The shift in Katas' demeanor was jarring, even unnerving, and King Piccolo felt keenly out-of-place high atop this rock formation. He had known when first setting out that there was a chance he would come across something… revealing about himself or this realm. He had not expected this discovery to be both these things.

Katas strode even closer now, and wrapped one suffocating, muscular arm around King Piccolo's shoulders. 'Your son… he is a link between yourself and your other half. You know this, yes?'

'I do,' King Piccolo replied gruffly. 'What's your point?'

'It has just occurred to me that you have forgotten much of what you had once known,' Katas pronounced with such a predatory inflection that King Piccolo had to fight the irrational urge to run away like some sort of common prey, but he felt it as, again, irrational. Here he was confronted with something he had obsessed with during his lifetime; who he was, where he came from, and ultimately, how he would be judged against those who had come before him. His goal of conquering the Earth was only meant to place himself favorably against that forgotten and ancient past; it was him groping in the dark for something to challenge the unknown deeds that necessitated his creation.

So why did this irrationality tempt him to be anywhere but here?

There would be time for thinking later; now, in the present moment, Katas loomed before him like the veritable ancient that he was. 'You will learn what was lost,' he said, 'and in doing so, you will learn what it means to be an heir to Katas...'

0o0o0

Yamcha had stayed to his part of the shuttle for a time, content to sit and think. There came a time, however, where he couldn't think for any longer, and more importantly, couldn't ignore the faint sensation of something brushing against his consciousness, almost like the wind on a nearly windless day. Propelled by this, he left his room and moved towards the ship's exit.

Bez was sitting in that room to the side, his head angled towards the ground. For a brief moment they made eye contact, and then Yamcha resigned himself to sitting for but a few moments more.

The former PTO soldier seemed surprised at this- he cast a second glance at Yamcha seating himself opposite at him- but just as quick he purposefully chose a spot on the floor and stared at it.

Thus, Yamcha was granted a moment to collect his thoughts. He was grateful. 'I've been thinking,' he finally said, getting the slightest tilt of Bez's head up in response. 'I… want to apologize.'

Bez's head, facing the ground at an angle, gave a slight twist to one side- Yamcha approximated this to be a sign to go on. 'I blamed a lot of our troubles on you for a while, when… well, there were many different things that went wrong. You and me included. So I'm sorry.'

Bez grunted. 'You don't have to say anything for my sake- like I said before, the sooner we part, the better.'

'I'm not saying this for your sake,' Yamcha said sharply, seizing Bez's sustained attention- manifesting itself as fully fledged gazing- for the first time. 'I'm saying this for my sake.'

After this they sat in silence for a bit longer, both unwilling to part from their thoughts any further until Yamcha abruptly stood. 'There's something on this planet- something wholly unique,' he stated. 'I need to find out what it is.'

Bez's expression became, to Yamcha's eyes, decidedly more confused. 'What?'

'I have to go. Lacking a better option, I trust you to not do anything while I'm gone.' And, with that, Yamcha strode past Bez, trudged down the shuttle's ramp, and blasted off into the air.

0o0o0

Bez's head was turned in the direction of the ramp for a few long minutes after that, wondering whether the human's withdrawal was some sort of trick or trap- but he heard nothing more once the tell-tale sound of wind whipping down the length of a person's clothes and smacking against the ground sounded and faded. And even then he wondered if this was part of some sort of test of whether he had enough baseness left in him to take their shuttle and abandon them here without a ship.

If they had expected him to do that, they thought too highly of him. He had nothing left to scrounge and fight for- nothing more to prostrate himself to or commit vile acts for just to possess the simple privilege of being allowed to live. No doubt his face was being plastered across this sector, his name being entered into a database and marked as dead or for death. He knew that, to any superior, as a soldier survivor of a base wipe, he would be seen as either a deserter or a traitor, and both were grounds enough to warrant his immediate execution.

So once he was dropped off at the nearest urban planet, he looked forward to drowning himself in whatever local drug they had until he couldn't look or walk straight- and, at least then, he'd see his death coming.

He became aware that his fingers were nearly clamped to the metal seat underneath him and that his heart was pounding- and he decided to stow these thoughts for another time. With a hop, he rose to stand and, seeking to burn through the rampant nervous energy running through him, began to pace back and forth across this room.

He guessed that he would have done this for twenty minutes if his foot hadn't hit something at five- something metal and thin caught against his stride. Irritated, he cast a glare downwards, and poked with the afflicted foot what looked to be… handcuffs? He hesitated to call them that, for they were laid in a discarded pile in the corner of the shuttle and looked nothing more than rubbish from where he stood- but he crouched down and, lo and behold, his first guess had been right.

Curious, he reached a hand towards them and tugged on them in order to splay them out further- but he reflexively flinched his hand back in pain, causing a small gasp to escape him. The handcuffs, which initially appeared to be nothing more than metal, were hot to the touch and multicolored. Strewn on the ground around it were dull-colored metal casings, almost as if they had been shaken or burned off. 'What?...'

Bez turned the handcuffs over- and his stomach immediately pooled into his legs. He immediately recognized the small, almost insignificant needle-like spindle of metal pointing off one end of the device; the color and undulating light that glowed from it- a transmitter, pulsing with gentle red light, blipped and beeped quietly to itself. He had seen this device before- and in the next instant, he rocked to his feet and crushed it into tiny metal splinters with the bottom of his boot.

'Dammit…' he hissed, drawing his leg back in halting lurches. 'We need- we need to leave now!… dammit!'


A/N: Well, that's in the books. More focus on Namek and the events there this time around.

It's probably obvious enough at this point that I don't need to say it, but for the sake of clarity, the history and society of Namek and the Namekians is, in some ways, a marked departure from canon. Stay tuned.

Reviews:

OneofTen: ;)

LWexe: There's a whole lot more here!

Perfect Carnage: Surprised to hear that, considering that I haven't seen Minus or the new Broly movie. A contract-based system just makes a lot of sense to me; and, with any sort of military operation, there's going to be a butt-load of support personnel making sure everything is tip-top behind the scenes.

Interesting theory… interesting.

Belsareth32: Thank you! I can't believe you're still trucking along with me!