8
Directions
Naviv, as it turned out, lived in an underground bunker below the city which Trunks had first found. The bunker was all of five hundred square feet and held Naviv's bed, a closed off toilet room, and what Trunks figured was a stove and refrigerator of sorts. This was likely a man who was never home. The place was covered in cobwebs. The walls were sheets of filthy white and the floors unkept. His bed was freshly made. The latched door hidden beneath a rug was not to go unnoticed by Trunks. Nor the guns, scouter, and badge by the door.
Walking Trunks over to the small barstool table shoved back into a corner, Naviv ushered him to sit. Trunks watched the man pull a flash of something from his floorboard before seating himself opposite the table. Naviv took a swig and offered up the flask.
"No thanks," Trunks turned him down, sniffing hard. The place was rancid.
The Tuffle shrugged and finished off the liquid. He tossed the flask down and watched, listening to it spin against the tabletop loudly. Finally he sighed and rubbed his face. "Moonstone," he breathed. "I have heard of this," he admitted. "But it is only rumor. Such a jewel cannot exist."
Trunk smirked and leaned forward on the table playfully. "You mean you think all wish granting items are hogwash?" he asked, knowing full well not all legends of such were fake. The Dragon Balls were very real.
"Naturally," Naviv huffed. "Plus," he added, squinting at Trunks, "no man would dare brave the Mountains to search alone. So if this jewel does exist, and the Saiyans are too uneducated to use it, likely it will not be found."
Snorting, Trunks rolled his eyes. "It's what, another seven months before your planet's full moon? I think I'm pretty safe," he said. "If I knew where to start looking."
"You are either stronger than you appear, my friend," Naviv chortled, "or very ignorant." He cracked his knuckles one by one. Shifted in his seat before standing abruptly and going across his bunker.
Curious, Trunks rubber necked to observe. He hummed at Naviv when the man produced a weather worn, large piece of paper. "What's that?" Trunks asked, trying to get a look as Naviv moved to sit.
"A map," Naviv said, face blank as he looked at the map before laying it flat and turning it to face Trunks.
Trunks looked it over, furrowing his brow. "For a guy so afraid of the Saiyans," Trunks began, "you sure know a lot about their clans." The map was far better detailed than Trunks had hoped. In fact, it was downright astounding. Had Naviv traveled the mountains himself to create this? Or, Trunks assumed this to be the case, had the Tuffles done such research over time? His father had talked of history lessons taught to him before his kidnapping. Vegeta claimed that the Tuffles were a peaceful people, with only a select group of authorities who provoked the Saiyans time and time again before finally the Saiyans' violent nature took course and an all out war broke forth. Thinking on this, Trunks wondered at the map. Who exactly was Naviv? Definitely not a peaceful civilian. "Did you make this?" he finally asked Naviv.
"No," Naviv shook his head, calm and watchful. "I had help. We watch the Saiyans," he said, "they are bombs waiting to explode, and our government needs information. We do not fear them. We are proactive."
"Information on what?" Trunks asked. "I'm not trying to be a prick here," he started in, "but the strongest weapon known to mankind doesn't stand a chance against someone like me back home. Even if these Saiyans are a thousand times weaker, there are literally thousands of them. It's a fight you don't want to pick."
Naviv grinned. "We are not to be underestimated," he assured.
Deciding it was not his place to get involved, Trunks waved off the conversation. "Have it your way," he said. "It's not my business. I'm here only for that Moonstone. I couldn't give a shit less about your people starting a war they'll eventually lose."
"I have copies," Naviv said, tapping the map, brushing off Trunk's words, "take this one. Search as you desire."
"Much appreciated," Trunks said kindly, slowly taking and folding them map. He placed it into his pocket, along with the capsules, and extended his hand once more to Naviv.
This time the Tuffle slapped his hand away. "Now go," he said. "I will help you no further, half-blood Saiyan."
After leaving the bunker and flying back towards his spot in the desert, Trunks figured he must have offended Naviv. It was obvious by the way that the Tuffle carried himself, he was usually held in high regard amongst others. The badge alone spoke of his, at least somewhat, importance. Not to mention Trunks told him about being half related to a race of apparently detested 'primates.' Whatever organization that man worked for, he was betraying them in helping Trunks even in the slightest. And Trunks supposed he hadn't been all that watchful of his words at the table. He'd basically told Naviv that whatever cause Naviv was fighting for with all his research, the war would be lost. Naviv knew Trunks was from years into the future. A future without Tuffles, if he read into what Trunks had said.
In fact, the future of this time realm might have just been altered entirely by what Trunks had revealed. Should the the universe survive, Trunks thought he might come back some day just out of curiosity.
"Whatever," Trunks shook his head and landed. "Focus." He looked up at the dark sky and saw that the thick cloud on this side of Planet Vegeta had not moved; still no stars, not one, in the sky. Only the hazy crescent moons floated above the atmosphere. On the Tuffle side, the sky had been wide open and flush with lights. A testament to the difference between these peoples. Lowering his face, he sighed. He was already homesick. Shuffling with his jacket, Trunks stripped down to his tank top and pants, slinging the garment over his shoulder. He took the capsule case and picked out the blue one, tossed it hard against a tree. He watched the smoke clear, shielding his eyes only a little. The large Capsule Corp building seemed odd and out of place. But Trunks figured in the middle of a desert, he was likely safe from unwanted guests.
Yawning, he stretched as he walked toward the door and let himself in. This was the standard edition mobile home. It came with a twin bed, stove, sink, toilet, sofa and television set. The fridge was stocked with basic needs. Kind of like a studio apartment back on Earth. Only with his family's logo plastered on every surface.
He ate almost everything in the fridge because he was starving and had not eaten since breakfast. Whenever that had been. A tank built inside the floorboards held maybe six gallons of water, of which Trunks drank only half a gallon before falling asleep sideways on the red and tan bed, sheets tangled around him.
The toilet was broken.
It occurred to Trunks as he pissed on a tree first thing in the morning. Considering himself a fairly intelligent being far above most, he paused at the idea that he might go back into town and find a few tools. He could easily create a crude translation for the planet's langue out of one of the Tuffle's scouters. He would only need a scouter, small-pick screwdriver, and an empty motherboard. Within maybe an hour he could makeshift a rough translation based off of the formula he'd looked at a few times before. While he was out, he would pick up something to eat. Though he wasn't quite sure how he would pay for any of this. The wallet full of Earth money wouldn't do him any good. And he'd probably have to steal a scouter from an officer. They seemed to be the only ones wearing them when Trunks had visited the city yesterday.
His stomach growled loudly and Trunks frowned. He needed to make this quick. If he was willing to steal a scouter, he decided he might as well play the full part of a thief.
The city was busier today than it had been before. Trunks was bumped into and pushed aside roughly as he weaved the sidewalk, eyeing signs for what looked like it might be a hardware store. He spotted one deep on the south side of whatever city he was in. The hours were posted by the closed sign and he had no idea how to read them. Cursing under his breath as he stood before the chained up doorway, Trunks crossed his arms and leaned against the building. Glaring hard at nothing in particular. Once he had a translator, this trip might actually be kind of fun. Until then, it really kind of just sucked. Not only could he get nothing accomplished, he'd have no good stories to bring back. He could see it now, the chance of bragging about banging an alien chick dwindling right before him. His stomach growled again and he stared down at it, scowling.
All the food Trunks had passed by smelled terrible. These Tuffles lived off what looked like slop and smelled like his grandfather's deceased cat's shit.
"I should have packed more food," Trunks sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting the sun warm his face. He'd have no choice but to eat the slop. That or go hungry until he could catch a fish in the nearby lake. That sounded better to him. Settled on the matter, Trunks stepped away from the hardware store and let his eyes go over the city street and crowd slowly. Each person he ticked by was useless. He was searching out anyone wearing a scouter. When he finally did, the officer was cuffing a young woman outside a clothing store. Smiling to himself, Trunk trotted across the street in the middle of traffic. Horns blared.
Now standing on the curb, Trunk watched the officer jam the woman into the back of his car and shut the door defiantly. They had been arguing. Valiant, the officer dusted his hands and took a step forward toward his driver side door. Trunks would have to act quickly. He looked around him for the closest object, which happened to be an old woman and her odd looking animal on a leash. She was waiting at the curb, hand resting on the sign that probably said bus stop. Who could tell. Slowing his actions to normal pace, Trunks made a grab for the old woman's purse and hoped she would cause a scene loud enough to grab the officer's attention. She did.
"Eresszen, te ördög!" she yelled, shrill and small, shaking as she held onto her purse.
Trunks felt terrible about what he was doing.
"Állj meg ott!" a loud, gruff voice called out full of authority. The officer approached. Trunks could hear him clicking his scouter and going for his gun as he ran toward them. He was fit guy, maybe Trunks's height, size, and even age. But he didn't really stand a chance. His energy level was maybe one hundred. Trunks just allowed him to hit him over the head with the butt of his laser gun. And faked a fight as he was pulled away from the old woman and was tossed into the back of a police car with the cuffed lady.
Huffing and puffing, the officer got into the car and started the engine, staring them down in his rearview. He gave a spiel, probably reading them both their rights. Trunks looked out the window as they pulled away. He would wait until the man pulled over to get them out.
Beside him, Trunks felt the woman struggling with her cuffs. She cussed the officer hatefully, spitting at the bars between them. Kicking at his seat. The man ignored her. Studying her, Trunks thought she looked a lot like Eighteen, only younger. Except her hair was a mess of curls pinned into a bun atop her head. He wondered what her crime was. Probably she had stolen from the store and had been dumb enough to get busted. After much of a fruitless fight, she gave up and sat, exhausted against the back seat. She slammed her head against the cushion one last time and growled before glaring out of her own window. The rode quietly the rest of the way. Which lasted much longer than Trunks would have hoped. He eventually shut his eyes and stopped watching the buildings go by.
When the car pulled over, Trunks awoke to find the officer opening his door roughly. He almost fell on his face against the asphalt. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Trunks let the man pull him out. He surveyed the building quickly. No one was around. On the officer's hip, a device flickered, buzzed, and a voice came over it. A walkie of some kind.
One hand on Trunks's bicep and the other holding down a button, the man spoke back. And when he let go of the button, Trunks struck. It didn't take much; just a quick butt to the man's helmet, energy focused, and the thing cracked. The officer, stunned, fell onto his back alive but unconscious. Like a twig, Trunks snapped the cuffs apart, wearing them like bracelets. He bent down and took the green scouter from the officer's face, placing it over his own eye.
"Wow. Mennyire erős. . ." the woman, still in the back of the car piped. She sounded surprised and impressed. But also terrified.
He chose not to release her. Instead, Trunks blasted off into the sky, hovered, and transmitted himself back to the hardware store. He appeared in front of it, nearly squashing a child on his hoverboard. The boy eyed Trunks, mouth agape before scampering off.
He'd had enough of wasting his time. Any second could be this universe's last. Sure, he wanted to explore and have fun, but the adult part of him knew that there was more at stake than a grand adventure. Trunks lifted his hand and fired a quick bolt to the shop window, blasting the glass to pieces. Bystanders screamed and ran away from the shards. Yes, this would cause a scene and any second now the police would be on him like mad. But by the time they got here, Trunks would be long gone. He jumped into the store and ran through the aisle, looking in every bin, on every shelf, and every peg. Finally he spotted what he was after. Small yellow screwdriver and right near it, a motherboard that looked like it would fit into the scouter he wore. Pocketing both, Trunks disappeared, reappearing back at his Capsule Corp hut. He'd made it out just as police lights flashed into the darkened store.
The rest of that day, he slaved over the scouter and ate a cooked bird that he had shot down from the desert sky. The bones lay outside his hut, baking in the hot suns.
"Eresszen, te ördög" IS "Let go, you devil!"
"Állj meg ott!" IS "Stop there!"
"Mennyire erős" IS "How strong"
