(Chapter Eight)
By: Kureeji
Pan stared at the looming faces in front of her. An alien? A Saiyajin? “Forgive
me for not accepting that I am an alien smoothly.” She said dazedly, a
sorry attempt at sarcasm. She walked out of the room, hearing the murmuring
voices behind her but not comprehending them. They seemed so far away now.
As she walked slowly, not knowing where she was going, her mind zoomed on ahead
of her. She grit her teeth. Her mother had just found it convenient not to tell
her. “Oh yeah, Pan dear, almost forgot! You are an alien from another planet,
also called a Saiyajin. Surprise!” her thoughts were filled with anger,
confusion, sadness, the whole batch of a soap opera (or anime^_^) balled up
and shoved into her head. She stopped when she came to a room that was padded
on the walls. A sign on the door, old and battered, read: MODIFIED GRAVITY CHAMBER.
“Sounds like some kind of space thingy…” She thought, and then
mentally slapped herself. “ARRGH! No more space thoughts…” And
she walked into the room.
The room was at least 3 stories high, and padded. The floor was a gym floor,
specially made for sparring and heavy duty things of the like. She glanced in
the corner, behind a special glass covering was a room where you could “watch”
what was going on inside. She carefully unlocked the door, and stepped in. As
the light filtered into the room, she could see the endless streams of dust
flutter downward. Control after control was here, maybe it doubled as a maintenance
room. “Main electrical switches, gravity control…hmm.” She glanced
around the room, and found what she was searching for-training suits. Like a
school girl gone shopping crazy she hurled gi after gi, and strangely a couple
of spandex “thingies” behind her. Finally, she held up what seemed
as though the perfect top, a black stretch top. Usually she wouldn’t be
caught DEAD in something like this, especially with all the hormone filled guys
on the streets. She slipped the thing over herself, and was amazed at how it
seemed to fit her just right. Walking out of the room, clad in new clothes,
she spotted a computer that seemed to be the main control of the gravity chamber.
“Ooh…” She stepped over lightly, and fiddled with the keys. She
really didn’t know why, but she had always had a knack for machinery. She
selected a program entitled, “Sparring Simulator, Level 10.” “It
is probably not that hard anyway. I mean, who would put something dangerous
in their house?” She mused, happily skipping the first 9 lessons.
An automatic voice filled the room. “You are about to engage in a virtual sparring simulator, in which hand to hand combat will be required. I have detected that you have not gone through lessons 1-9. Are you sure that you do not want to be trained in these lessons?” The simulated voice intoned.
“Umm…no?” Pan said timidly, not sure if she was comfortable talking to a machine.
“Very well.” The computer buzzed. “Simulation will start in
3, 2, 1…”
The room went pitch black. Pan breathed a sharp intake of breath, before the
room filled with artificial red light. A door opened from nowhere, and out came
several robotic people. They assumed an offensive stance in front of her. She
immediately took on a defensive cat like stance, and licked her lips, anticipating
the fun.
Two flew at her with a strength that she hadn’t expected from the likes
of a machine. It buzzed and whirred, and she quickly found herself blocking
and sidestepping, face to face with three metal faces instead of two.
After a couple of seconds they seemed to increase their numbers, flying at
her with an inhuman fury. They didn’t stop. She whipped around to block
a blow from a robot in front of her, but did not manage to avoid getting a sharp
punch to her back. She flew across the room, and hit the wall with a thump.
Groggily she got up, and they automatically swarmed over to her. She charged
a blast, and like a machine gun threw a couple hundred at them, without even
thinking.
When all the smoke cleared, she was left with sporadic patches of ashes. She breathed heavily. “Oops! I thought they could take ki blasts!” She knelt down, and gathered what few bolts, coverings and other parts she could find.
Carefully, she set to work sweeping them out of the way. She ignored them, and continued sparring, this time with herself.
Trunks stood, watching Pan critically. Her muscled arms glistened in sweat and her black hair was plastered to her face. She wore one of his training tank tops, and could not help but noticed how it fit every one of her curves.
She pummeled the air with her fists in a quick graceful motion, and he was surprised
to recognize this as one of her father modified Saiyajin katas. Her long legs
moved stealthily as she completed her warm up with a roundhouse kick.
She returned back to a back stance position, and let out a breath. She bowed
to her invisible opponent. Trunks’ noted the pile of fried bolts and nuts
in the corner. Trunks sighed. Pan’s head whipped to his direction. Her
black eyes hardened automatically, and her body tensed visibly. Trunks smirked,
an act that sent shivers up Pan’s spine.
“What do you want?” She asked frowning. Hadn’t she just left him?
“Mom wants you. She says she has something to give you.” He smiled an encouraging smile, desperately trying to break the walls he had build between himself and her. She ignored it, dragged a hand over her forehead and stalked out of the room. He followed suit, watching her walk. It had a swinging in her hips, a tall gait like her father’s but somehow softer. “She is a warrior.” Trunks reminded himself.
“In here! In here!” Bulma’s voice echoed through the hallways. As they entered the room, Bulma sat around a mass of boxes…boxes full of clothes. She laughed happily. “I always wanted a daughter.” She mused thoughtfully. “So I could dress her up!”
Pan smiled a little, she’d never seen so much stuff in her life. “Were
all these yours Bulma?” Pan asked, fingering a dress made of black silk.
Materials like these, they didn’t make anymore.
Bulma watched her and the dress. “Why don’t you try that on?” Bulma prompted carefully. Pan’s eyes darkened. “I don’t wear dresses.” She said firmly.
The sound of Sunday shoes echoed on the dirty stone sidewalk. Pan, around
6 or 7, smiled happily up at her
mother, watching her black dress swish at her knees. Pan tugged at her hand,
“Look mommy, I can do a trick!” She let go of her hand briefly, and
twirled around, making her fluffy dress swish cutely. Her mother laughed and
picked her up.
“You are crazy, you know that?” she kissed Pan’s stubby little
nose, and brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ears.
Pan smiled, but then sobered quickly. “Why are we coming here again mommy?
And why is everyone wearing
black?” She tugged her dress for emphasis, and pointed to the tall steeple
of the church nearing them. A crowd
gathered at the steps, and at the sign that said, “FUNERAL TODAY.”
Even though she was young, she sensed her mommy was sad.
“Mommy used to know someone that died Pan.” She smiled, amidst tear
filled eyes. She wiped them away
quickly. “So we are going to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” Pan said sniffing, on the verge of tears herself. Death is a hard concept for 6 year olds. “What was the persons name?”
“His name was Son Gohan.”
“What’s a “Goat hon?” She asked quite seriously, wrinkling her nose. Her mother laughed, and snuggled her into a hug.
“Never mind.” She said, still smiling.
The church was near now. Only a few steps to get out of the ally. The sound
of bells rang sweetly in the mid morning quiet. “It is pretty.” Pan
said, reaching her hands to the sky, feeling the breeze.
The peace was interrupted, by a slithery voice. “Where ya going, pretty
thing?” A man, clothed in darkness,
stepped out of the shadows. Pan felt her mother tense, and she clung on to her
tightly. Her child instincts told her bad things about this man. His voice was
wrong, unlike her mothers soft one. His body language was untrusting.
“That man is not good.” She said firmly, into her mother’s ear.
“Shhhh.” Her mother whispered, setting her down. “Run Pan, run
now, and wait at the house.” Pan froze as her
little buckle Sunday shoes touched the ground.
“Go!” Her mother screamed, as the man approached. Pan started to
cry,
but did as her mother said.
The last vivid memory of that day, was the sound her dress swishing as she
ran, of church bells ringing, and her
mother screaming.
Bulma watched as Pan was trapped in her own world, still looking at the dress.
A tear traveled down her cheek.
“Hey.” She said gently. “Let’s do this tomorrow. Right now,
how about some food?” Pan smiled, and her stomach growled. She grinned
sheepishly, and put a hand behind her head, in a gesture all too familiar to
Bulma. Bulma laughed, and led her to the kitchen.
After eating, they set down on the couch in the living room. “Tell me about
my family.” She said softly, staring hopefully, desperately at Bulma.
Bulma smiled. “Well, let me start with Goku. Gosh he was such a lighthearted
person. He was your grandfather, you know.” She said, looking at her puzzled
face. “He was, perhaps the greatest warrior to ever grace us. Even Vegeta
was hard pressed at times, but what can I say, I loved him.
“And Chichi, your grandmother--.” She stopped. “You can still meet her.” She said carefully, watching her reaction.
Pan’s eyes widened. “Are you for real?” She sat up a little straighter.
“Why would I lie to you, hon? Bulma said smiling.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She asked suspiciously.
“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure you were just some kind of
street punk or something.” Bulma laughed, and Pan laughed a little too.
She yawned. “How about I show you a place to sleep?” She led her down a hallway, and opened a door. ”This used to be Trunks old room. Make yourself at home, and don’t worry about jacking it up.” She motioned to the crayon marking on the walls and half ripped off posters from his teen years.
“Thanks.” She turned to look at Bulma meaningfully. “For everything.”
She felt her eyes tearing a little. Bulma
enveloped her in a motherly hug.
“Don’t worry about it girl, remember you are a Briefs family member
now. My new daughter. And I will always be here for you.” She looked her
straight in the eyes, making it final. Pan nodded,
wiping away her half shed tears.
Bulma looked at her smugly. “ Tomorrow we are going to make you up for
Chichi.” Pan laughed “Is that a good
thing?” She joked. “We’ll ask Trunks when I’m done with
your makeover. I am sure he won’t have any problems with it.” She
smiled and walked out of the room.
“Hey!” Pan yelled after her “What is that supposed to mean!?”
She shrugged, looking down at the charred remains of her pants. “Pajamas.”
She muttered, spying a dresser set.
She pulled out a pair of Trunks sweat pants, and was glad they were his when
her was younger, and smaller. They fit just fine. She rolled them up calf high,
and jumped into bed, stomach down. As she drifted into sleep, her last thought
was how the sheets smelled very familiar to a handsome shoulder she had once
lay upon. It smelled like…Trunks.
“Annoying baka…” She whispered half-heartedly. For the first
time since her mother died, she slept
peacefully, without nightmares.