Time Warriors Chapter 2

"Well, it's just not fair, that's all! Everybody else is going – why can't I go, too?"

Goten was whining, and not for the first time. His boyish face, so much like Gokuu's, was scrunched up in a scowl that contorted his eyebrows completely out of proportion, and his bottom lip was pushed out as far as it could go. The entire Son household was helping Bulma prepare for her upcoming trip, no matter if they were going with her or not, and Goten thought that was the height of unfairness. Why should he help someone pack to go on a trip when he wasn't even allowed to go?

He and Trunks were busy bundling equipment together from Bulma's workshop. Trunks was actually doing the delicate work of packing his mother's instruments away and labeling the boxes, while Goten taped the boxes, hauled them outside to a waiting van and packed them inside. Several bored-looking men in Capsule Corp. jumpsuits leaned against the van, watching him huff and strain while they smoked cigarettes.

"Gentlemen, I'd appreciate your help over here right now!" a shrill, feminine voice commanded. The men jumped away from the van and dropped their cigarettes, consternation written plainly across their faces as they hastened to comply with their boss' orders.

A blue head with bobbed, silky hair popped out of the small window, scowling at them. "We're trying to move this lathe, and you need to clear a path for the robots. Plus, there are some other boxes that need to go to the spaceport. Now, if you please …!"

The Capsule employees moved with alacrity, running toward the back of the building where the robots were laboring with their burdens.

Bulma was supervising the move, efficiently directing the workers who were shifting the heavy equipment from her workshop to the spaceport. When she stopped to catch her breath, Bulma looked around and realized that both Goten and Trunks were helping. She immediately strode over to Trunks and hissed, "Make sure you pack all the rest of the boxes. We're leaving in a few hours – I won't have time to double check anything, and I don't want any of my probes or circuit boards broken before they reaches Argus."

Trunks looked offended. "Goten wouldn't break them on purpose, Mother – he's very careful!"

"Of course it wouldn't be on purpose," Bulma agreed, narrowing her eyes and gesturing at the teen. "But just look at him. He's in such a state right now that I'm surprised he's taping the boxes and not himself."

"I suppose so," Trunks offered unwillingly. "But –"

"No 'but's,' Trunks. You pack that equipment." Raising her chin and peering in the other direction, Bulma shook her head in annoyance and called, "Goten! Go - ten! Don't tape over the label – we won't know what's in there!" Sighing, she hurried over to the sulky adolescent and pointed out the labels on either side of the box.

"Sorry, Bulma," Goten muttered, eyes downcast. "I wasn't thinking."

As he readjusted the tape and attacked the box again, his mind continued to turn on the injustices in his world. Why do I have to work all the time? he growled to himself. It's not fair ... stupid Gohan never gets pushed around like me. And why isn't he helping here, anyway? He gets to go on all these trips, and all I get to do work and clean up after him .... I never get to go on trips ...it's just not fair ...

Darkness hung over Theo like a sheath, suffocating in its completeness. Fear and hatred, her twin companions, whispered conspiratorially in her ear that it was time and he was close, her master had come to take her back, but this time he was going to take everyone else, too, not just her –

No! she thought wildly, I won't let him - I'm never going back, he'll never have me again …

But he has you already, the voices pointed out, malicious and spiteful. And now he wants more …

"No ….," she gasped, her mind screaming I will die first – and I’ll take you with me! Creative power leaped from her hands for what seemed an interminable time and crackled in the blackness, power that was electric and many-hued and brilliant, power that was swallowed as quickly as she sent it, dying in the dark.

Oh, no, no, no, she mourned, watching it wink out, terror tight in her chest, I've failed again … it's too late …

Fear drove her forward as she strained to see in the blackness, her feet stumbling while hot tears trickled down her cheeks. She lurched, fell to her knees and cried out, sharp pain lacerating her hands and shins as she scrabbled for balance in the rubble and debris strewn on the ground.

Fool! He'll have you now …

Without warning, weak light illuminated her; she blinked and squinted, holding her right hand in front of her face to shield her eyes. Dust rose in front of her, creating indistinct shadows on the horizon, and the voices in her mind fell silent.

She looked down at her body and nearly cried out again. Her short, brown tunic was ripped and streaked with dirt and blood and her hands were filthy, covered in grime. Her legs were barely protected by pants that had been cut to ribbons; fresh gashes showed on the tops of her thighs. But it was the wreckage scattered on the ground that claimed her attention.

Enormous piles of rubble rose in front of her, accusing, righteous victims of a catastrophe, as far as the eye could see. She appeared to be kneeling in a broad valley covered with nothing but rocks and boulders, pebbles and pea gravel, slabs of marble and chunks of granite. It spread from horizon to horizon, and was seen through a filter of dust that smelled slightly of sulfur. A deep silence surrounded her - no insect humming, no rustling wind - nothing.

"All ... gone," she breathed, looking around her in sickened horror. "They're … dead. All dead." She rocked back and forth, staring. Absently, she ran her fingers through her tousled red hair as she rocked, her teeth clenched, shoulders hunched against imaginary blows.

You killed them, you killed them all, you said you would and you did …

She felt suddenly dizzy and nauseous and sank back on her haunches, her forehead pressed into the palms of her hands for several moments, leaning against one of the larger piles of rubble. The queasiness dissipated, but was soon replaced with a blinding, familiar ache that anchored itself behind her left eye.

No! I didn't kill them, it wasn't me, she thought, numb, raising her forehead from her hands, her head throbbing. It wasn't me – I didn't do this …

….then who did? the voices smirked. Maybe it was the same person who did this …

...and as she raised her forehead the vista blurred and changed, shifting from a towering gray landscape to a forest garden with squattish heaps of bodies lying in front of her under a blood red sun.

Theo's stomach pitched over as her breath caught in her throat; suddenly, she was seeing other cairns, other graves ... bodies piled over bodies, tumbled on top of each other … and she immediately recognized where she was.

The bodies were humanoid; large, fierce looking warriors in battle armor with blue-black hair, long brown tails curled around their waists, many with surprise etched in their dark, still open eyes. It was not a battle scene - there were no mutilations, no mangled bodies, no weapons near the corpses - it almost appeared that they had dropped from the sky in heaps. The smell rising from the area was distinct; it was the smell of fear, and surprise, and death, mingled with the odor of the species itself ...

She felt her gorge rise as she looked at the nearest cairn, horror, revulsion, and denial following swiftly on the heels of each other, running through her mind.

"That's … not … possible," she whispered, shaking her head repeatedly at the sight in front of her, trying to block out her view of the corpses with her arm.

Of course it is - you made it possible, the voices said, cheerfully vicious and indulgent. You must recognize your own handiwork; it's quite distinct. And look - you've made it so easy for your master to find you again…

"No!"

Theo gasped and sat straight up, frantic, her body bathed in sweat and her hands in small, balled fists, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. Still panting loudly, her eyes lost some of their wildness as she slowly recognized where she was. She shivered and hunched over, her left arm wrapped around her stomach as if protecting it from an invisible attacker while her right hand grasped involuntarily at her collarbone, searching for something at her neck.

Long, shaky breaths helped calm her racing pulse … in … out … in … out … Her mantra became the focus of her world as she tried to force her body to relax, muscle by muscle. Her breathing finally steadied to a regular, even rhythm; she looked down at her right hand as she moved it away from her throat, staring at it as if she had never seen it before. What was I doing?

Glancing at her doorway through the gloom, Theo felt a wave of relief wash over her. At least I didn't wake Allyssa and Elyse this time, she thought ruefully. That's happened too many times lately –

Snorting softly to herself, she wiped the sweat off her forehead, pushed herself off her bed and padded over to a large bookshelf in her room, snapping a glowlamp on as she passed. Squinting through the shadow at the titles on the shelf, she scanned the books with her index finger until she found a thick tome with a smooth, oiled binding.

"Heh," she muttered as she snatched the volume from the shelf, staggering backwards a step under the weight of the book and the ferocity with which she pulled it. Behind the book was a tall, translucent, rectangular phial, large enough to store there, yet thin enough to sit behind her books undetected. It was almost filled to the top with what appeared to be a dark blue liquid.

"C'mere, you," Theo grunted as she tossed the book on the foot of her bed and pulled at the phial with her other hand. She maneuvered it easily from the back of the shelf, but needed to use both hands when pulling it free. Theo clasped the cruet to her chest and unscrewed the cap; her head swiveled from side to side as she silently frowned and wondered, what? no glass?

Unexpectedly a vision of black, obsidian eyes under thick, craggy eyebrows swam in front of her; curious, intelligent, mocking eyes, eyes that were a remnant of her nightmare surfacing one last time. Gasping in horror, Theo clenched the phial with both hands, raised it to her lips and drank deeply, almost sucking at the neck of the bottle, staying that way for several long moments.

She pulled the cruet from her lips and panted, then lifted it up and drank again until it was all but drained.

Get out! Go away, leave me alone …

Theo swayed gently on her feet and drew the bottle away from her lips, feeling the fiery warmth of the ghee explode in her chest and pour into her muscles, moving quickly toward her brain. Capping the phial, she put it back on the shelf with trembling hands, then forced herself to do the same with the book she had flung on her bed. It was difficult, as the ghee had already started to work its magic on her limbs, turning her legs and arms to rubber and made thinking an arduous, if not impossible, task.

Heh … I'll have to… make … some more, she decided as she flopped bonelessly on the bed, not bothering to snap off the glowlamp, … or find it … somewhere else … Theo sighed as she drifted out of consciousness, her head deep in the pillow, her hands and body finally limp and still.

Life evolved throughout the universe, and in its diversity, took many forms. Beings with a biological base were by far the most numerous, but they were in no way the only kind. Individuals that could live in the vacuum of space, those that were as large as a small planet or those that were as small as a microbe were all represented; as long as the organism could respire, reproduce, and move on its own, it was classified as "alive."

To be sentient, however, required a species not only to respire, reproduce and move, but also to be self-aware. Many species made it to this level, only to be swallowed up by a larger, more ambitious race. The only way to guarantee that your progeny would make it to adulthood was to insure that all their competitors were either neutralized or eliminated.

The H'trch, a rare race of silicone-based beings who resembled jumbled rocks smeared with oily green slime had formed, matured, then moved to a comfortable desert planet they called Calipt'dor, near the edge of the North Galaxy. Initially, the H'trch were primitive, believing they were the only sentient life in the universe. However, the intrusion of organics in their world forced them to re-evaluate their theory; they eventually decided that while they might not be the only sentient beings in the universe, they were obviously the most intelligent and the ones who were fit to rule over all others. The H’trch spent century after century trying to fulfill their own prophecy.

But their homeworld was empty now – a dead planet, hanging in space. Some slight biological life was trying to push its was through the flinty crust of the earth, as water tried to burrow its way to the roots of the flora, but there was nothing else. Hot winds blew across the plains, which were void of everything except irregular shaped mounds of rocks as far as the eye could see -- in some places, they were piled over ten meters high.

A living H'trch stood in that wind, surveying the barren landscape. Gravel scraped around his feet as he shuffled forward, his great head swiveling from side to side, senses stretched. He stood as tall as two regular men at his shoulder, and his head was set on top of his body without the benefit of a neck. Various rocks and boulders appeared to have been put together and carved for his torso, arms and legs, while green slime bathed all the joints and crevasses that were visible. The other parts of his body were covered by an array of odd-looking equipment; his head, in particular, was covered by a large helmet coated with various types of circuits and sensors, designed to catch every change and variation in the atmosphere.

The H'trch's body contracted then uncoiled like a spring as he stretched itself to his maximum height, shaking his arms at the heavens. He bellowed and roared, screaming something that sounded so awful and melancholy that it rocked the towers in the distance to their very foundations.

The helmet sparked and glowed as the warrior mourned, circuits turning on and off in rapid succession. Another roar came from the H'trch, but this one was aimed directly at one of the towers in the distance; almost immediately, it crumbled and collapsed, quickly followed by others close to it. He roared a third time – and this time, energy that had been sparking on the outside of the monster’s helmet suddenly coalesced in his hands, shot out in a tight beam and destroyed the distant towers. Again and again he shot energy bolts toward the horizon, each one larger than the previous, never seeming to exhaust his power supply.

The H'trch finally lowered his hands to his sides in a posture that imitated defeat. He walked over to one of the larger piles on the plain, not ten meters from where he stood, and knelt by it. Tenderly, he chose two nondescript pieces from the top of the pile, held them up for inspection and then cradled them next to his body, moaning. He stayed like that, motionless, for several long moments. Green slime slipped through his jointed fingers to cover the stone; in the hands of the adult H'trch, the stones looked as though they were once part of the face of a child.

"Well, that’s that – they’re off!"

Mrs. Briefs stood on the grass of Capsule Corporation, her blonde hair ruffling slightly in the night breeze, peering up at the twilight sky. She was standing apart from the little group that had gathered to wave goodbye to the adventurers; ChiChi and Goten, Juuhachi and Marron, Videl, and Bulma's daughter Bra. They all craned their necks, squinting up at the twinkling stars in the sky, hoping to see a last glimpse of the spacecraft carrying their loved ones to Argus VI.

Her eyes, as always, appeared to be closed, and her face wore a pleasant, if dimwitted, smile - which made ChiChi wonder. She suspected, at times, that the other woman's dim exterior hid a brain as clever and as tough as either her daughter or her husband. ChiChi had always admired the adroit way in which she handled the people in her household; her absent-minded husband, her tart-tongued daughter and especially Bulma's proud and stubborn Saiyan husband.

Even after all these years, ChiChi still couldn't forget that it was Vejiita who had started what she thought as "all that trouble." If that man had never come to this planet, she reasoned, her Gohan would have had a normal, sane childhood, and would not have run off, chasing androids and monsters and Kami knows what else that decided to threaten their world. The fact that Vejiita had little, if anything, to do with the events surrounding Gero and his creations – or indeed, anything that happened after that – meant absolutely nothing to her. She tightened her grip on Goten's shoulder, making him wince in discomfort. She was not going to lose another one to that way of life, no matter what.

Eyeing his mother surreptitiously, Gohan wiggled out from underneath her hand and moved closer to Juuhachi and Videl, his expression sullen. He was quite old enough, after all, not to be manhandled by his mother in front of other people.

"Poor Piccolo didn't look very happy, did he?" As ChiChi opened her mouth to reply, Mrs. Briefs continued chattering, oblivious to the dark-haired woman trying to get a word in edgewise. "Most of the others did – I know that Bulma was relieved to be leaving, and Gokuu always enjoys going on trips. Trunks is going to miss you, too, Goten," she said, nodding in his direction, "but don’t worry, it’s only going to be a few weeks, I think – at least that’s what Bulma said. Hmm … and now that I think about it, Kuririn didn't look very happy, either. Why didn't you go with him, dear?" she asked, scooping her granddaughter up into her arms as she turned to look at Juuhachi. Bra giggled, wanting to claim more of her grandmother’s attention.

"Because I wasn't asked," murmured the blonde, amused at the older woman’s constant chatter. There was a lot of information given away by Mrs. Briefs if one had the patience to listen to it, and Juuhachi was nothing if not thorough. Kuririn never told her when he expected to be back, and here she found out just by listening attentively to Bulma’s mother. "Besides, someone has to stay here to protect the planet. We can't send all our fighters away."

Goten looked at her, surprise etched in his eyes. She coolly returned his gaze, lifting her eyebrows at him.

"Well, what did you think, boy?" she inquired, staring at him. "Did you think that we could afford to have every decent fighter leave at the same time?"

"I … I never thought about it," he said, surprised.

"No kidding," the android replied dryly. "That’s why other people are doing your thinking for you. "

Goten bristled, but Mrs. Briefs walked between them, patting the boy’s arm and chiding, "Now, now – we’re going to be on our own for a while, so we need to get along with each other. It’s not surprising that you didn’t think about protecting the planet, dear," she continued, smiling sweetly at Goten. "We aren’t under attack right now."

"Not now … but for some reason, we seem to be a magnet for every stray Saiyan and demon that was set loose around the universe," ChiChi muttered darkly.

Juuhachi nodded in agreement. "All the more reason that some of us stayed behind without complaining," she remarked, walking behind Videl to recapture her daughter. "Come on, Marron, it’s time for us to go inside," she said, effortlessly snaring her small hand in one of hers. Marron giggled as her mother smiled down at her, fondness and love for her little girl shining from her eyes.

"Yes, let’s do go in," Mrs. Briefs echoed, turning to the group and shooing them inside the main building, Bra still in her arms. "Everyone’s welcome to stay here – in fact, tonight I insist. We’ve plenty of room, and I couldn’t bear staying alone this first night. You know," she said confidentially to ChiChi, "this is the first time that I’ll have been alone since Bulma was small. When she was a little bit older than Bra, we started taking her on our business trips and traveling together as a family. I haven’t been alone since."

"Well, I don’t know –" began ChiChi, looking over her shoulder; but when she saw Videl walk over to Goten and start a quiet conversation with him, she relaxed a bit. "Oh, all right," she relented, smiling back at Bulma’s mother, "we’ll stay."

"Excellent!" Mrs. Briefs exclaimed, beaming. "It will be a real girls’ night in – ah, well, except for you, of course, Goten," she amended quickly.

He nodded and rolled his eyes, but was actually rather happy at this turn of events. He liked Videl a lot; she was pretty, smart, and she paid attention to him and made him feel important, something his bruised teenage ego craved. Not being asked to go with Trunks had been a blow; no one had even bothered to explain why they didn’t want him, not even his father. Even Juuhachi, as blunt and sarcastic as she was, had been more help than the members of his own family. It was frustrating being the son of a Son.

Sensing his mood, Videl turned to him and murmured, "Come on, Goten – let’s go see what they have in the kitchen. I’ll bet we can get something to eat and then go watch videos for a while."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Goten said with a goofy grin. "I’m pretty hungry now."

Kami, he even smiles like his father! Videl prodded him in the direction of the main building, following everyone else inside. "You know, Goten," she said thoughtfully, "you’re not the only male warrior here. Yamucha, Tenshinhan and Chao-tzu are still around. But," she said with a smile, "you are the only Saiyan warrior on the planet – which, I suppose, makes you pretty special."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right," Goten agreed, surprised, now feeling much better about staying behind. If I’m the only Saiyan left, then right now I must be the strongest warrior on Earth! He held his head higher and straightened his back noticeably as he walked into the Briefs’ home.

Masking her smile at the vulnerability of young male egos, Videl followed him inside, quietly closing the door.