Ah, kono mama dakishimete (Ah, hold me the way I am)...
Nureta mama no kokoro wo (My heart, damp as it is)...
Kawaritsuzukeru kono toki ni (Is being changed at this moment)...
Kawaranai ai ga aru nara (If unchanging love is there)...
March 19th, in the year 765
“Hang on just a little longer, and I promise, I won’t ever leave you again. Please, Bulma...”
Bulma opened her eyes weakly, blinking against the stabbing light.
Colors swirled around and around in her vision, and then the world righted
itself once more. The first thing she made out clearly was a gentle woman’s
face, looking down upon her. For a moment, she believed it was her mother
hovering over her, just like in the past, during the few times that she
had been too sick to go to school. She allowed herself to relax within
the safety of the memory, feeling strangely light-headed and euphoric.
The image quickly faded, however, to be replaced by reality.
The hair was not blonde and curly, the lips were not painted
a soft, pastel pink, and the eyes were not a crystal-blue; instead, the
raven-colored hair was pinned up in a bun, the lips were imbued with an
attractive scarlet color, and the eyes were the darkest brown that Bulma
had ever seen.
“She’s awake!” Chichi cried out, her face looming largely in Bulma’s
sight. Other faces quickly appeared around her, each of them filled with
relief and happiness. Bulma tried to stretch her hand out for one of them
to take, but it was as if her limbs weren’t attached to her, and nothing
responded to her half-conscious commands. Instead, the most she could manage
was a weak grunt.
“Bulma, can you understand me?” the older woman asked, bending
over and grasping her limp, weak hand. She nodded in response, and Chichi’s
eyes flooded with tears of joy. The woman’s tears spilled down her smooth,
alabaster cheeks to land with a splash upon the place where their fingers
entwined together. “Oh, thank Kami,” she whispered, overcome with emotion.
“We thought we’d lost you.”
Bulma tried to respond, but simply couldn’t. Her strength had
left her, and it was all she could do just to manage to keep her eyes open.
Vaguely, she heard a man’s voice in the distance calling out for a doctor
to come over, as another one, close by, addressed her directly.
“Yo, Bulma! Good to see you again.”
She instantly recognized Goku’s chirpy voice, and swung her head
over to the left to see him better. Her childhood friend stood behind his
wife and son, smiling in his usual goofy way at her. He gave her the thumbs-up
sign, and winked at her encouragingly. He put his other hand on his son’s
shoulder protectively. Gohan wiped at his eyes and smiled; he had obviously
been as worried as his mother.
Bulma started slowly putting faces together with names.
Beside the Son family stood Kuririn, who also smiled at her triumphantly,
and jumped up with an excitable “yaa-hoo!” At the end of her bed, Oolong,
Puar and the Master cheered her recovery rowdily, dancing around the room
like children at play. A soft touch on her right hand drew her attention
to that side of the room. Her mother and father were there, tears pouring
from their eyes as well, and coming up behind them hurriedly was Yamucha.
He smiled when he saw her, and looked as relieved as the others at her
awakening.
At that moment, Bulma knew who her real friends and family were,
and she silently thanked God for having them all in her life.
Tired beyond what she had ever known before, her eyes closed
of their own volition, and sleep took her away once more.
Ba-dump... Ba-dump... Ba-dump... Beep... Beep... BEEP....
The noise from the heart monitor woke Bulma for the second time
that day. It keened for an instant after she became conscious, then evened
out once more. She turned her head slightly, and could see the green and
yellow blinking lights on its panel. The spikes of the EKG were regular
and strong.
She was alive.
The fog that had encompassed her earlier was completely gone
now, and she could feel and see things with clarity and understanding.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but she fought against the urge to close them once
more, forced herself to keep them open by concentrating on the pain throughout
her body. Everything hurt - her arms, her legs, her head, her lungs. There
was a peculiar burning sensation in her chest, and each time she inhaled,
it stung like a thousand razor cuts. An intricate set of tubes were shoved
up her nose and down her throat as well. She had no power to remove them,
and so, could only lay there, feeling the plastic rub against the side
of her esophagus harshly.
The room was semi-dark, with only the moonlight coming in from
an uncurtained window to her left, and a sliver of the artificial light
entering from under her closed door to the right. It was obviously nighttime,
and she was alone. It seemed the visitors hours were long-since over, and
everyone had probably been forced to leave. Or, maybe, they had left on
their own, figuring that everything was fine now that she had awakened
once.
She tried to reach out for the button to press for the nurse,
but it was just beyond her reach, hanging above her head, and to the right.
Never one to call it quits easily, she continued to try, but it was no
good - she just couldn’t reach. She fought back at the tears of frustration,
blinking rapidly to force them away, but it was useless. They slid down
her cheeks silently, and she lay there feeling more helpless than she could
ever remember in her entire life. Giving up on the call button, she relaxed,
and closed her eyes once more, wishing that the hurt would all end, and
that she could rest. She was so tired.
A warm hand covered her limp one, and she weakly lifted her lids
to look at who it could be. He was shadowed, so she couldn’t see his features,
but his shape, outlined against the small amount of light, seemed vaguely
familiar. Was that Goku? It resembled him... but the hair wasn’t quite
right. It wasn’t Vegeta either - this man’s hair didn’t stick straight
up like some punk’s bad nightmare. Yamucha wasn’t as stocky of build, and
she couldn’t think of why Tenshinhan would even consider visiting her (besides,
the triclops was as bald as the moon, she reminded herself).
So who was it?
The man’s calloused fingers stroked her small hand, soothing
and gentle, confirming that he meant her no harm, and, although he didn’t
say a word, Bulma felt strangely relaxed in his presence. After a while,
his even breathing and the regular beeping of the EKG machine lulled her
into a state of insensibility. She closed her eyes again, sleep pulling
at her.
The young man waited until he was sure that Bulma was fast asleep
before letting her small hand go. He gently reached out and moved a stray
hair away from her cheek, letting his knuckles stroke against her skin
softly as he did so. His rational mind told him that he shouldn’t be doing
this, yet his heart ached as he looked down upon her beautiful features,
and he felt the familiar pain well-up within his chest.
She’s not even my Bulma! he reminded himself, pulling away, and
stepping back. I have no right to do this! His thoughts, though, seemed
to hold little weight when in the presence of the woman he loved.
He shook his head, and standing, moved towards the window. The
brilliant, multi-colored lights from the city below were entrancing, and
reminded him of a memory from his childhood, so long ago...
“Father, mama’s been really lonely lately.”
“Has she?”
“Maybe we could take her into the city this weekend. It is her
birthday, you know?”
“Is it? Do you think she’d like that?”
“Yea, I think she would....”
Pulling himself away from the view, tucking away the lost memories,
Mirai Son Gohan concentrated on what was important in the here and now.
He knew that if he didn’t find a way to put #17 down fast, a
future much worse than the one he had known would arise in this timeline.
No matter what, he could not let that happen. For Bulma’s sake, for Trunks’
sake, for his father’s and mother’s and friend’s sakes, and for the child
Gohan’s sake, he would do whatever it took to assure that.
He opened the window, and stepped out, floating above the ground
effortlessly with the use of his ki. Quietly, he shut the panes behind
him, and flew off towards the giant silhouette of Capsule Corporation in
the distance, his plan firmly ensconced in his mind.
“That damned bastard,” the Jinzouningen murmured to himself, rubbing
at his cheek, feeling the ache of the bruise there. “Soon, Son Gohan, you’ll
regret everything,” he promised, and increased his speed, hoping to arrive
at his destination soon. He watched the mountainous land beneath him fly
by at an incredible rate, and after several minutes, he realized that he
was close. Landing in a small glade in one of the many forests on the island,
he glanced around.
Vaguely, he remembered it being around here somewhere...
“Halt intruder!” a voice came from behind, through the dark canopy
of the forest. #17 turned in the direction of the voice, and caught a good
look at the creature which had addressed him, as it stepped out from behind
a tree, a small laser gun in its hand.
“Identify yourself,” it commanded, pointing the weapon at him.
It stood a little taller than himself, #17 realized, and was
covered with the test-tube grown flesh of Dr. Gero’s earlier artificial
human experiments; a clear indication that this synthetic being was an
android - not a cyborg - and therefore, inferior to him. Its pasty skin,
brilliant red eyes, and lack of hair on every part of its body would never
allow it to pass for human either; a dead give away as to its placement
within the ‘laboratory hierarchy’. The Jinzouningen thought back to what
he had known about the previous experiments by his creator, and matched
the face with a designation.
“Hello there, Number Eleven,” he addressed it casually. “It’s
nice to finally meet you.” The android known as Number 11 processed the
conversation instantaneously through its purely mechanical brain, and came
back with a response within seconds.
“How is it that you know my designated identification number?
I do not recognize you,” it responded flatly, raising the weapon a fraction
of an inch higher - aimed directly at Number 17’s heart. The boy shrugged,
indifferent. “No, probably not,” he confirmed, stepping casually towards
the android. Its response was to charge the weapon, and the audible hum
it gave off reverberated in the quiet air around them. Number 17 stopped,
annoyance flickering across his handsome features. He suppressed his impulse
to simply destroy the creature, knowing he’d probably need it later on.
“We never officially were introduced, since you were destroyed
before I was awakened from stasis,” he explained to the android. “Allow
me to introduce myself. I am Number 17.” He kept his arms out to the sides,
palms facing up - a non-threatening gesture that he had learned from a
group of foolish humans who had begged him for mercy several years ago.
Of course, those pleas had never been granted, but Number 17 had learned
from that experience, and now, he used it to his advantage.
The android analyzed the data it had been given, and quickly
came up with another conclusion. “Impossible,” it stated, preparing to
fire the gun. “You are not an android.”
“No, I’m not,” Number 17 responded quickly, internally disgusted
with being compared to the less-than-perfect android. He kept this emotion
from his voice, however, as he spoke. “I am Jinzouningen - a cyborg, and
I came from the future to change what I know will happen. If you take me
to Dr. Gero, he can confirm my identity.”
The gears in its computerized brain clicked and whirled quietly
as it considered this information. Number 17’s augmented hearing picked
up the noise clearly, and he was hard-pressed not to sneer in loathing
at the archaic pile of circuitry that stood before him. Patience wasn’t
one of his strong points, as his sister used to constantly point out to
him, but he endured it all in silence.
Just thinking about his Juu started his blood boiling again,
and he forced himself to turn those thoughts away, and concentrate on the
here and now.
For several more seconds, the android seemed to consider the
best course of action, but finally, it indicated that Number 17 should
follow it with a flick of its wrist. “Come this way,” it dictated, and
turned towards the southeast. After several silent seconds, the android
turned back to find that Number 17 had not moved to accompany it. It raised
the gun again, preparing to fire. The boy pointed off towards the southwest.
“The back entrance is just over the next rise, in that direction,”
he indicated, “Much closer, than the three miles it would take to get to
the front door.” Clearly Number 11 had known this, for its expression registered
a computerized surprise. Number 17 started off towards the way he indicated,
letting the subordinate android follow if it chose to, his patience for
the game having reached its limit.
Within seconds, the two arrived at the back, secret entrance
to Dr. Gero’s underground lab. Number 17 was intimately aware of the android’s
close scrutiny, as he reached for and found the release mechanism for the
outboard computer, punched in the correct code, and opened the entryway
for them. Without looking back, he entered the familiar domain, and marched
straight for the main computer room, his pace never wavering. He could
have flown, leaving his counterpart in his dust, but he chose not to; he’d
need Number 11 to witness what was about to happen, to validate his identity
to the others when he woke them from stasis.
Besides, he wanted Number 11, like the rest, to understand his
power, to see the fear he could instill in their creator. That should be
enough to gain the loyalties of his brethren - for they were programmed
to respect strength and might above all else. His ‘father’ would be the
example, and when he had broken the old man, he would kneel to Number 17
as well, swearing fealty. The others would all fall into line after that,
and they would be his to command.
Be afraid, daddy-dearest, he thought to himself with a wicked
smirk, your prodigal son has returned.
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AUTHOR’S NOTES:
“Mirai” means “Future” in Japanese.
“Forever Love” was written and sung by X-Japan, copyright, Dahlia/East-West Japan AMCM-4271, 1996.
“Dragonball” is the copyright of Akira Toriyama/Bird Studios/Toei Animation/Sueisha, and the copyright, 1996-97 of FUNmation/Saban Entertainment, all rights reserved.
All other characters and situations are the property of this author,
copyright 1997.