The six star ball was far to the north, and after a while they had to switch the car out for snowmobiles. They rode in frigid silence for a long time, until eventually Seventeen stopped and pointed out a dot on the white horizon.

"There's a village over there, a couple hills away," he said, and Marron checked it against the dragon radar.

"I bet it's there," she said.

"Hmm," was all her uncle said, before mounting his snowmobile again. Soon they came to rougher terrain, and they were forced to capsulize the snow mobiles and continue on foot. There was a vague path, blunted by snow, and they walked along it, Seventeen pestering Marron with questions about what she was going to wish for. Early in the road trip she had responded to these questions seriously, but by now it had become something of a game.

"Um… a million puppies!"

"I don't know if a million puppies would even fit on that island," Seventeen remarked. "Why not a million kittens?"

"If a million puppies can't fit, I don't think a million kittens will either," Marron responded. She went on, but Seventeen was interrupted from listening to her by the beeping of his enemy identification system.

"What the…"

Renegade android detected. Model Number: 8. Created by Dr. Frappe in collaboration with the great Dr. Gero. Rebelled against the Red Ribbon Army in 750. Orders: destroy on sight.

"Shut up, you stupid computer," Seventeen muttered, causing Marron to glance up at him with a puzzled expression. He shook his head at her and scanned the landscape. Far away, too far for normal human eyes to see, was a lone, squarish figure, bigger than a normal man. His internal files brought up a picture. "Ugly son of a gun. Definitely Frappe's influence."

"Uncle, what are you talking about?"

"It's nothing, Marron," he said, resuming walking. If he was reading between the lines correctly, Goku had freed Android 8 from the Red Ribbon Army a long time ago and apparently the ugly bastard was still running free up here all these years later. Seventeen silently wished him well and hoped their paths did not cross. He didn't appreciate any reminder of his time under Gero's control, no matter how benign, and he doubted Android 8 would feel any differently.

He stepped over a small mound in the ground and felt all his artificial functions freeze and stop. His body, suddenly cut off from communication with his brain, went limp and collapsed, and he was treated to the horrifying experience of being fully conscious in a void where he could feel, hear, see and smell nothing. He floated, able only to wait for sensation of any kind to return, forced to hope that Marron would be alright without him.

Marron was already a few steps ahead of her uncle when he collapsed, and she was only alerted to his fall by the sound of crunching snow. She turned her head, wondering if Seventeen had knelt down to start gathering snow for a snowball, and then spun all the way around, horrified to see his limp form on the ground.

"Uncle?" she tried, praying he was playing a trick on her. "Uncle? This―this isn't funny, you know. Get up. Get up!"

When he didn't move she knelt beside him and shook him slightly. Nothing. She shook him again, harder. Still nothing. With great difficulty she heaved him over so he was on his back, and his still-open eyes stared at nothing. Waving her hand in front of them elicited no reaction. He was out cold.

By now her breath was coming quick and shallow, and it was starting to make her slightly dizzy. She sat back on her haunches and took several deep breaths, grasping at memories of sitting on warm sand in the early morning, listening to Roshi lead her and Krillin through their daily centering exercises before practice. "Match your breathing to the waves," Roshi would say. "Slow and steady, in and out and in."

There were no waves, so Marron made do with the memory of them, made more difficult by the cold and damp soaking through the knees of her pants where she knelt on the snow. She breathed steadily for a few minutes, and the scrap of calm this afforded her reminded her of the instructions she'd been given if anything were to happen to her uncle: stabilize him if necessary and call Bulma. Regular first aid would be next to useless.

She opened her eyes and checked Seventeen's pulse, berating herself for not having done it sooner. It was a little faint, but steady. She breathed in relief, the knowledge that he was alive doing more to calm her down than the breathing exercises had. Next she pulled the capsule case out of the bag her uncle carried (no small task since it had landed under him) and pressed the button to expand the communicator that would give her a direct line to Bulma. The small box appeared in a puff of smoke and she pushed the on button, already feeling better.

The machine did nothing.

Frowning, she pushed the button again, willing the screen to brighten and give her a menu. Still nothing happened. Panic began to well up inside her again, and she pulled her uncle's cell phone out from his back pocket, another struggle, made even worse by cold and fear. It also didn't turn on, but it was hard to tell if she was pushing the button hard enough through her thick mittens. Eventually she fumbled them off and sat, shivering, pressing the on button over and over. Nothing. It was dead.

A strangled sob escaped her throat, and she took more deep breaths. She was shivering hard now, and she realized her uncle must be even colder. Carefully she took out the house capsule and threw it, hoping it wasn't also busted. Luckily it expanded, and she took Seventeen by the armpits and dragged him inside. None of the electronics inside worked, but it was better than being out in the snow. She was unable to get him into bed, so she put a pillow under his head where he lay on the floor, and went outside to test their vehicle capsules.

All four cars were nonstarters, as were the motorcycles and the snow mobiles. There were two bicycles, but the road was too snow-covered to make that a viable option, and plus she didn't know how to ride one anyway. She opened the other capsule case, the one with smaller items, and as her eyes roamed the contents, trying to find something that might be useful, her attention was snagged by the capsule holding her uncle's gun.

If she was going to have to walk to civilization, which was looking more and more likely, it would be foolhardy to go unarmed. She wasn't sure how far it was to the town they had spotted, and it was evening, soon to be dark. She had potentially miles of open, rough terrain to make her way through and all kinds of wild animals or nefarious, evil poachers could be out there between it and her.

On the other hand, Seventeen had been livid when she'd taken his gun last time, and the memory made her hesitate, despite knowing he would probably approve in this situation. Frowning, she looked at him where he lay near her on the floor, breathing shallowly, his face utterly still. Normally he frowned in his sleep, a gentle creasing of his brow and pursing of his lips, but now he looked almost serene. She wondered if this was what he'd looked like when Dr. Gero had been working on him and her mom, and she shook her head to get rid of that thought before she could imagine it too hard.

"Okay!" she said loudly, standing up. "Uncle, I'm sorry, but I have to walk to town and I need to take your gun. I promise I won't do anything dangerous with it or point it at anybody unless they're trying to hurt me. You... you be good until I get back, okay?"

Talking to him like she expected an answer made her want to cry, so she took the capsule with the gun and pulled her mittens back on, squaring her shoulders and marching out the door.

And ran into a large, solid person standing right outside.

"Oof!" she said, stumbling backwards. She started to apologize, and then caught sight of the person's face: bulging eyes in a hideous face covered with badly healed scars. She screamed and backed up. The man yelled too, which made Marron scream harder. She popped the rifle and plucked it out of the air, pointing it at him, terror and adrenaline making her movements smooth and precise.

"Go away!" she yelled. "It's loaded! I'll shoot! I will!"

The large man backed away, looking as shocked and frightened as Marron felt.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Don't hurt me."

He cowered, putting his hands over his head, and Marron found it difficult to stay frightened of someone who was so obviously frightened of her. She lowered the gun, pointing the barrel at the floor, though she remained ready to fire if he turned out to be faking. He peeked out from between large fingers.

"What do you want?" Marron demanded.

"He's hurt, isn't he?" the man said, looking past her into the house at her uncle. "I wanted to help."

At first she felt only guilt at having pointed a gun at someone who was just trying to be nice. But then suspicion took over as she realized something.

"How do you know that? Have you been watching us? Who are you?"

Her grip on the gun tightened, though she resisted the impulse to raise it again. The man kept his hands up in full view, which made her feel better but also made her second guess her suspicion.

"I'm Android 8," the man said. "I saw him fall from far away. I came as fast as I could."

"You're... an android?" Marron repeated, shock erasing most of her fear. "Like...?"

"I think he is too," Android 8 said. "Isn't he? He fell down, but you didn't. That must mean you're not an android."

"Why did he fall down?" she asked, exhausted by the war between fear and trust. He didn't seem to want to do anything but help, but he knew things he shouldn't know and he was so scary-looking. "What did you do?"

"I didn't!" he protested earnestly. "Dr. Frappe did, though. He was my creator. He's old now, and he got confused. He made traps for androids. I was out trying to get rid of them. He didn't mean it, though! He thinks it's a long time ago, and he's afraid of the Red Ribbon Army."

"You're not with them, are you?" Marron demanded. One of the only things she knew for sure about her mother and her uncle's pasts was that the Red Ribbon Army had been involved in a bad way. If he was against them then he was probably okay. Android 8 shook his head wildly.

"No! I hate the Red Ribbon Army! But Goku saved me, and now I live here. Please let me help him. I won't hurt you, I promise."

Name-dropping Goku decided it for her. He would have no way of knowing she knew Goku, so either this was some very elaborate plan to kidnap her and take the dragon balls, or he was telling the truth, and Marron's gut told her it was the latter. She lowered her left hand from the gun with a sigh, stepping aside to let him in. Android 8 smiled and edged his way through the narrow doorway.

"I need to take him to my house," he said, picking up her uncle as though he were a doll. "I'll walk slow so you can follow."

He walked outside, taking care not to knock Seventeen against the door frame as he did so, and Marron followed him, wondering if her decision to trust him was a good one. She capsulized the house while he waited, and then they walked down the road, Android 8 carefully stepping around the spot where her uncle had fallen.

"I'm pretty sure that's the last trap," he said. "I'm sorry he got caught in it. You can have some hot cocoa when we get to my house. My friend Suno will make some for us. She's good at making hot cocoa."

He continued chatting in this vein all the way into a small village. Marron made no reply to any of it. She was exhausted: from her long day of travel, from it being so cold, from fear and adrenaline and from walking behind Android 8, who, while he was certainly pacing himself, still walked much faster than she was used to. It was a huge relief when he turned into the doorway of a house and she could sit down.

It was a cozy little cottage, with a kitchen table at the center and a mismatched collection of furniture arranged around the hearth, which had a blazing fire in it. There was a worn but lovingly-made rag rug in the center of the room, and a hallway leading to somewhere Marron couldn't see. The warmth from the fire soaked into her bones, making her drowsy on top of being exhausted.

"Suno!" Android 8 called, setting down Seventeen on the kitchen table with as much care as a mother with her newborn baby. "Suno, we have guests!"

A kind-looking woman with red hair tied under a kerchief came into the room from the hallway, her hands flying to her face at the sight of a man on the table.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed. "Eighter, who is that?"

"He got caught in one of Dr. Frappe's traps," Eighter explained. "She was with him," he added, gesturing to Marron, who mustered the strength to stand.

"Oh, you poor dear," Suno said, coming over to her. She bent down and peered into Marron's face, checking her over. She gave Marron a friendly smile. "What's your name?"

"Marron," Marron said, her voice croaking. " Will..." She swallowed to clear her throat. "Will he be alright?"

"I think so," Eighter said. "I can fix things really good."

"Eighter," Suno scolded, turning to him with a confused smile. "Don't call people things. And what do you mean, you'll fix him? You're not a doctor."

"He's an android," Eighter explained patiently. "Like me."

Suno turned to Marron, her mouth and eyes wide and round.

"Red Ribbon?" she asked. Marron nodded. "What's his designation?"

Marron had to swallow again. She felt tears like a lake behind her forehead, but none fell. It was getting harder and harder to stay present, to not just curl up in a ball and go to sleep. Her uncle, still as death, lay on the table as unresponsive as ever after hours of being unconscious. If he'd been a normal human he'd be waking up by now. But he wasn't human. He'd wanted her to remember that. He and her mother weren't human anymore. She had never understood why her uncle made such a big deal out of it, why her mother hated talking about it. Maybe they hadn't chosen it, but being able to fly and pick up cars had always seemed like something to be happy about. She had never thought about the price they paid for it.

"Seventeen," she whispered.

"Oh, my," Suno whispered back. "That many...?"

"Who built him?" Eighter asked, removing her uncle's coat and kerchief with extreme tenderness.

"Dr. Gero," Marron whispered, and then felt compelled to add, despite what her uncle insisted, "But he was a human before..."

Eighter looked up at her in alarm.

"A human?" he repeated incredulously. "That's awful. Poor guy. I'll do everything I can to help him."

His tone was so compassionate, so sincere, that it was no use. Marron leaned over and began to quietly sob.

Weight returned first, followed closely by feeling. He felt the sensation of his own body lying prone return to him by a trickle that grew into a rush of pins and needles, and he made to cry out, though whether he did or not was unknown to him. He could once again discern that he was breathing, a welcome relief, and with that came his sense of smell: baking bread and piney scents, as well as the sharp flash of ozone he could only surmise came from himself. His internal computer booted up at this point, and he felt his face constrict as warnings and error messages blared in his brain. He dealt with each one, and when he had readjusted the settings on his optical sensors, they too came back online. He opened his eyes, blinked, and tried to sit up.

"Not yet," said a voice, and a hand pushed him gently back down. Renegade android detected. Model Number: 8. Created by―

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, whether to the android or his systems he didn't know. He let himself be pushed back, and realized he could hear. He ran his diagnostic program when he felt the port in his chest snap shut, and he lay there in a cozy haze for some time, until―

"Marron!" He sat up, muscles sore and protesting, and glanced around wildly. There―he hopped off the table and staggered over to her―poor little lightning bug, she looked terrible―where were they anyway―whoa, he didn't remember making an appointment with the floor.

When darkness overtook him this time, it was complete and true unconsciousness.

After he regained consciousness and he could sit up without fainting, and after Suno introduced herself and Eighter, Seventeen looked to his niece, wrapped in a blanket and holding a mug of something in her hands. Her eyes were staring into nothing, and the hands wrapped around the mug were trembling. He slid off the table and knelt in front of her, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"Hey, bug," he said gently. "You okay?"

The trembling grew worse, and tears began pouring down her cheeks. Her eyes still did not focus. They had told him what happened, and he could piece in the rest. She was probably in shock.

"Hey, c'mere," he said, pulling her into his arms. Loud, keening sobs tore the air, and he was grateful when he sensed the other occupants of the house move to another room. "Shh," he soothed, as she clung to him, "Shh, it's okay, bug, I'm okay, I'm here."

"I'm―sorry―" she sobbed brokenly. "I'm―sorry I―took―your gun―without―asking―"

"Hey," he said, stroking her hair, sorrowfully amused that the thing she was most worried about was that. "Hey, it's okay. You did good, kiddo, okay? Don't worry. I'm not mad. Okay? I'm not mad."

She continued to sob wordlessly, and he let her cry it out. It was embarrassing, but he owed her big time. He'd been careless and she'd had to deal with the consequences on her own. Letting her cry was the least he could do. Besides, he decided, as her tears soaked into his shirt, it was kind of nice to be needed.