Forever Love...
Forever Dream...
Afureru omoi dake ga...(Only overflowing thoughts...)
Hageshiku setsunaku jikan umetsukusu...(Terribly, sorrowfully,  bury all time...)
 
 

March 28th, in the year 765
 
 

 “Gohan...you must...stop him. He’ll change the past...so that he can...make a new future.”

 “A new future?”

 “Promise me...Gohan...”
 
 

 Mirai Son Gohan jolted out of his sleep, sweating and panting heavily. After he’d reoriented himself as to what was reality and what was dream, he tried to rub away the image of his nightmare from his vision.
 Every night for the past fourteen days, it had been the same thing - Bulma, blood splattered across her beautiful features, a gaping, cauterized hole in the center of her abdomen, begging him to stop the Jinzouningen before it could change too much of the past, before it could destroy any hope for a good future...

 He constantly lived with similar torturous memories, and sometimes, Gohan found himself contemplated ending them all for good. Were it not for his promise, he knew he would.

 He shook his head, to clear the night’s terrors away, and removed the filthy, nasty-smelling blanket from around his body. Standing, he realized that he had to urinate, and not wanting to soil where he slept, he walked down the metal stairs and stepped outside of the warehouse, relieving himself against the wall.  After he’d finished, he looked around. The pinkish-gray of the rising sun met his gaze.

 Fourteen days, and still no closer to finding Number 17.
 That damned creature had moved Gero’s lab, hiding all traces of where it might have gone. It knew that Gohan would come after it, knew with a certainty that the lab would be the first place he’d search for.
 Always one step ahead of him...

 He sighed, re-adjusted his clothes, and went back inside his haven, climbing the stairs once more with ease.
 Rifling around inside his backpack, he found what he had been searching for - the busted Dragon Radar that Bulma had kept in her personal belongings. Despite the fact that, in his own timeline, the Dragonballs had been nullified by Piccolo’s death, Bulma had kept the device - perhaps out of pure sentiment. Gohan had never questioned her about it, but now he was thankful that she had held onto it.
 He turned the device over and over in his hands.
 Although he was no genius at electronics like Bulma had been, she had taught him a few things while they had been together. He understood the basic, rudimentary principals, and, thanks to his mother pushing him to study when he had been younger, he understood how to apply practical repair and maintenance to most devices that Bulma had created.
 He carefully opened the backpanel, and noticed right away that the thing was repairable, but it would need a whole new set of wires, and a couple of brand new Integrated Circuits. That would be easy - such parts were available in this time, in local electronic stores.

 For a second, things actually looked up.

 However, Gohan’s elation quickly bled away when he noticed that one particular, important piece had been damaged beyond repair - the phase-coupler. Without this specific component, he wouldn’t be able to pick up on the unique frequency that the Dragonballs emitted. Cursing, he threw the device down in disgust. He’d never be able to replicate the piece, and finding one was next to impossible - it had been designed specifically by Dr. Briefs, and wasn’t available commercially.
 That meant he’d have to go to Capsule Corp. to get it.
 Or better yet, he could always steal a functioning Dragon Radar. That would save him the time and trouble. Suddenly inspired, Gohan mentally began concocting a strategy. He’d go check out the security systems in detail on the laboratory, comparing it to what he already knew of the place from his own time, and from there, figure out a way to break in. Once he was there, he’d steal the radar, collect the Dragonballs and make his wish.
 It was a simple plan. It was an easy plan.
 It was a flawed plan.
 What if he was seen by one of the others? His own Bulma had warned him about encountering their friends and family when she had explained her time-jump plan to him initially. The phenomena of paradox, she said, would be countered by the Time-Displacement Bracelet, so running into themselves wouldn’t be a problem, but it was still a very dangerous trip. She had worried that they would get too involved with the others, and eventually end up not wanting to leave the past. That, she had cautioned, would create lasting effects on everyone, and would make it harder in the long run to say good-bye.
 And Gohan knew that he would have to leave at some point. Staying in the past would alter the future too drastically, possibly making it worse.
 He sighed, leaning back against the ratty blanket, and forced himself to admit that he’d already grown a small attachment to this timeline’s Bulma, despite his wishes not to. Every night, before he returned to this mock ‘home’ of his, he would fly over to wherever she was, and look in her window, assuring himself that she was safe and well. It was an old habit, one hard to break. He had done the same with his own Bulma, tucking her in every night for years, assuring that she had been comfortable and secure.
 Rubbing his eyes, he sighed for the third time that morning.

 He sat up abruptly, and shut out his thoughts, refusing to contemplate the issue further. He’d resolved himself to his fate, whatever it may be, and would try, in the meantime, to stay out of sight. Now, however, there was work to do.
 
 
 
 

 “Gohan? Can you hear me? I asked how your studies are coming along?”
 Chichi entered her son’s room and looked around at the emptiness that greeted her. Sighing in impatience, she noted that the window was left open again - a clear indication that Gohan had snuck out of the house. Probably off training with that slug-of-a-brain father of his again, she mentally harumphed, placing her hands on her hips.
 From her standpoint, the neglect of Gohan’s studies had gone on for far too long, and Chichi had finally come to a decision: when Goku came home later that night, she vowed that she would have words with him about the situation, and settle the matter once and for all!
 By Kami, Gohan was going to study!
 
 
 

 “Your punches are still too slow,” Goku challenged his smaller opponent. “I can see them coming from a mile away.” He quickly moved in behind his son and, before Gohan could utter a surprised gasp, slammed the edge of his hand against the boy’s neck, sending him flying into the turf below at a frighteningly terrible speed.

 Too late to halt his impending crash, Gohan cut the damage in half by firing a ki blast before him. The upraised, hot air helped to ease his impact, but it still hurt like hell when he hit. He valiantly tried to pick himself up from the small crater in which he lay, but every muscle and bone in his body hurt. The best he could manage was to crawl out onto the cool, early-Spring grass, and lay there, panting, utterly exhausted. His father gracefully landed at his side, and Gohan was annoyed to find that the older, more experienced warrior hadn’t even managed to break a sweat, despite the many hours that they had been training.
 Goku smiled.
 “Quick thinking,” he complimented. “Taking half damage is better than taking it all, I suppose.”
 Gohan managed a half-chuckle, which caused him to wince in pain. A rib was busted, he knew. It seemed that he’d have to go visit Capsule Corp. to have yet another session in Bulma’s rejuvenation tanks. Since she’d “borrowed” the Namek technology and constructed the chambers a few months ago, it had made combat training more ruthless. The chances of serious, permanent injury were almost nullified by the amazing, rapid healing properties of the tanks.
 “It’d be better to take no damage, though,” he rasped, grasping at his left side, where the pain throbbed. Goku nodded, and smirked, but offered no hand-up to his son. Gohan understood what his father was about immediately, such was the growing closeness of their relationship. The boy knew that his dad wanted him to be increasingly self-sufficient as he got older, so the man wouldn’t coddle him while training. Gohan knew that what was coming would be infinitely worse than anything they had encountered thus far, so his papa was intentionally being hard on him in an effort to toughen him up.
 However, Piccolo had taught Gohan that specific lesson already - when training for Nappa’s and Vegeta’s arrival all those years earlier - so he knew that picking himself up was his own responsibility. If he didn’t get up on his own, he’d end up laying in the dirt all day.

  He’d show his father that he was tough enough, and wouldn’t be cowed!

 Pushing himself over and up, Gohan stood on shaky legs, refusing to go down on his knees. He bit the inside of his cheek, and kept his resolve, staring at his father with determination glinting in his eyes. Goku grinned, pride showing in his own gaze. The two remained silent for several minutes, no need for words between them. Finally, the older man broke the moment’s seriousness with a stretch, throwing his eyes to the sky. “Let’s go home and get something to eat,” he offered, rubbing his stomach. “I’m starved!”
 Gohan nodded, still very much in pain, but feeling his stomach growl in response, and the two took off into the sky, headed towards home. He’d go to see Bulma after he’d filled his belly.
 
 

 A small, shadowed figure watched them go from the safety of some large boulders, some distance away, and let out a relieved breath.
 The asexual alien-Cyborg, Number 09, leaned its forehead against the warm surface of the rock, and thought out a plan. It knew where the Son house was located - Gero’s mainframe relayed that information when the alien called it up in it’s half-computerized brain - but for some reason, it was loathe to go towards the place. It seemed that the little alien’s conscience was acting up, giving it a nasty case of guilt.
 It froze its actions, trying to decide what to do.

 The day its fellow creations, Numbers 06 and 07, had been killed by the future #17, Nine had wanted a chance at revenge, but logically, it knew that it wouldn’t stand a chance against the more advanced model in combat. Outwitting the dark-haired youth had also prove unsuccessful, as Dr. Gero had found out the hard way. It almost seemed as though Seventeen had magical eyes in the back of his head, and that he could pick the thoughts right out of any creature’s brain if he wanted to.
 For those reasons, any rebellious intentions that Nine had harbored that night a week ago had been quickly squashed by one stare into Seventeen’s menacing blue eyes. It shuddered in remembrance.

 If only it could find Eight, things might not seem so bleak!

 But Number 08 had run off the night of Seventeen’s arrival, and Nine had been unable to locate him since, despite its best efforts. It was as if the alien boy had simply dropped off the face of the planet. Maybe it had killed itself. Number 09 could only speculate, since it had absolutely no clues.
 The question remained now, though, should it try to do the same, or should it follow Seventeen’s wishes? Just thinking about going against the older boy’s orders terrified Nine to the very core of its being. It imagined being dragged back to Seventeen by one of the others, or worse, being commanded back by remote, to stand before the deranged creature from the alternate future, and tortured slowly for its disobedience, if not destroyed outright. It suppressed a shudder.
 The terror such a thought instilled made Nine’s decision for it.
 It launched itself into the sky effortlessly, and headed after the Saiyan and his son, continuing to think about its predicament, and hating what it was going to do.
 
 
 
 

 “Ready to go back out?” Goku asked his son enthusiastically, pushing aside the pile of dishes next to him, and standing. Chichi appeared beside him instantaneously, hands firmly on her hips.
 “GOKU! Gohan is going to study for the rest of the day!” she shouted with finality.
 Her husband took a step back, placing his hands between them, as if to ward her away. Almost weekly, his wife went on a tirade about her son’s study habits, and each time, Goku had had to point out the obvious flaw to her reasoning - how was Gohan supposed to get into a good school if the Earth was destroyed? His arguments made perfect sense to him, but his stubborn wife refused to budge, and as a result, their son spent half of his time in training, and the other half studying. Although Goku thought the latter was a waste of time, he always relented in the face of his wife’s wrath. If he didn’t, she’d refuse to share her bed with him later, and that was the one threat that he dreaded having her carry out.
 “But...Chichi...”
 “Don’t you ‘But Chichi...’ me, mister!” she raged, tapping her foot in agitation and crossing her arms in front of her. Not a good sign. Goku knew immediately that this tirade was going to be different from their typical ones, so he gave in earlier than usual.
 With a sigh, he turned to his disappointed son.
 “I guess you’d better go do as your mother says.”
 He shooed Gohan towards his room, feeling a little sorry for the boy at the moment that his door closed behind him. Studying was such a bore! Personally, Goku couldn’t keep his attention focused on a text book for more than ten minutes before restlessness kicked in. He assumed it was part of his heritage, since he noticed that Vegeta also behaved in a similar fashion.
 He turned back to his wife, and smiled innocently, scratching the back of his head. “Is that ok?” he asked, wary of Chichi’s strange mood, and hoping it would pass quickly. He noticed that once a month, his small, seemingly-fragile wife got into a similar disposition to the one she was currently displaying, but he attributed it to her human genes, much as his lack of attention was seemingly Saiyan.

 He smiled at such an outstanding connection - it seemed that every species had its own peculiar quirks!

 “What are you smirking at?” Chichi growled, picking up the dishes on the table, and bringing them to the sink. She began to methodically cleanse them, breaking every couple of plates between her angry, shaking hands. After having broken about a dozen or so dishes, she stopped, leaning over the sink, her frame shaking with the force of her tears. Despite how hard she tried to be strong, an audible sob escaped her lips.
 Moving silently up behind her, Goku wrapped his arms about his tiny, human wife, and held her close to him, suddenly understanding what was wrong. The bond between he and his mate had grown so apparent to him over the years that when he really tried, he could almost hear Chichi’s inward thoughts in his own mind. He rarely engaged that ‘talent’ however, on account of the fact that it required intense concentration, as well as forethought and planning - more traits that he seemed to lack when dealing with any subject other than food or fighting.

 He sighed deeply.
 “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low so that Gohan wouldn’t overhear. Despite the fact that the kid’s door was closed, Goku was aware of his son’s emotional responses to their fights. He wanted to spare him any further anxiety, if possible.
 Chichi nodded, unable to say a word. She placed her soapy hands on top of his, and leaned into her husband, sniffling. Goku bent down to rub his mouth near her ear, breathing in the fragrant scent of her freshly-washed hair. “Chichi, I promise - I will protect you.”
 “And who will protect you and Gohan?” she wailed, turning in his arms and pressing her tear-streaked face to his chest. “Who will be there to save you?” Her fists struck his solid pecks, bouncing off harmlessly. “I know it’s selfish, but, for once, I want my family to be just like every other normal family. Why can’t you understand that I want my son to grow up without having nightmares of the terrible things he’s been forced to see. I want him to get into a good school, and meet a nice girl, and give us some wonderful grandchildren. I want...oh, Kami...I want you all to myself, Goku! I’m tired of sharing you with Piccolo and Kuririn and Yamucha and this whole damned world! I want my husband back!”

 Goku was speechless. Until that moment, he didn’t truly understand what being married was really all about, but now... now, he knew.
 He’d forever been a free soul, roaming when and where he wanted to, without real consideration for his mate’s concerns and needs. Coming home had always meant that Chichi would be there, with a hot meal, a warm bath, mended clothes and a comfortable bed. All for him.
 So, when was the last time he’d actually done something for her?

 Well, there was the time...

 No, saving the world was more on a grand-sort of scale; it tended to encompass everyone. Certainly, not a very personal act, like, say, cooking a meal for her, or drawing her a bath once in a while. The more he reflected on the terribly unappreciative way he had always treated his beautiful, strong-willed wife, and how much he had taken advantage of her kindness, dedication and love over the years, the more he began to feel like a complete and utter heel. How he must have crushed her spirit! The guilt ground away at him, making him feel very small inside.
 Unsure of how to express how sorry he was in words, he relied upon doing so in the only other manner he understood and felt comfortable with. Bending his head down, he placed his lips to Chichi’s slender, white neck, then moved them over to her flushed cheek, then to her tiny, pink ear. When his mouth found hers, kissing delicately and hungrily at the same time, he felt her shivers turn from those of sadness to stirring passion.
 Casting a quick glance to the still-closed door of his son’s room, he gently lifted Chichi against him. Her arms came up and around his neck, forcing her lithe body intimately against his. Guessing that Gohan was probably deeply entrenched in his reading, Goku knew there would be a few hours of undisturbed time for them.
 He continued to kiss Chichi all the way into their bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers. Then, when the door closed behind them, he proceeded to let his wife know exactly how much he truly adored and loved her.
 
 

 Gohan wasn’t stupid.
 He knew what the sudden silence in the house meant.
 Quietly, he opened his door a tiny crack to get a better look around. Yes, his parent’s bedroom door was closed, just as he suspected. They were busy doing ‘grown-up’ things, as Kuririn once explained it to him. Sighing, he closed the door again, and slumped back down in the chair at his desk, returning to his reading, knowing that he’d be expected to complete at least one entire textbook before dinnertime.
 Within a few minutes, he heard a woman’s muffled moaning coming from beyond his door, and blushed. He ignored it, digging his nose further into his reading, but his concentration broke when he heard the creaking of a bed join in the groaning of now both a masculine and a feminine voice. He squirmed, plugged his ears, put his headphones on, but no matter how he tried, he knew what was going on in the other room, and was thoroughly embarrassed by it.

 That was the problem when you were a prodigal kid - too much information supplied to you.

 When he could bear no more, Gohan opened his window and snuck out, wanting to give his mom and dad some privacy. After he was outside, he considered his options. Pushing lightly against his cracked rib, he winced. It was still very tender, and he knew that he’d have to go to the rejuv tanks at some point within the next day, so that he could be in good shape for the next sparring session, however, he also knew that if he flew there, his increased ki signature would alert his dad to the fact that he’d snuck out of the house. Since Capsule Corporation was all the way across the other end of the continent, he’d never be able to make it there and back before his parents figured out that he’d escaped.
 Looking down the dirt-paved road ahead, he decided that he’d just go down to the lake and maybe go for a small dip. Maybe the cool, spring water would help ease the swelling in his side. He walked the three miles until he reached his destination, whistling the entire way, trying not to think of how icky it was that his parents were “doing it”.
 
 

 After his soak in the refreshing water, Gohan shook himself off, and began putting his clothes back on carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a dark humanoid figure moving among the outcropping near the waterfall, and when he glanced up, it had hid itself behind a large boulder.
 Curious and wary, Gohan called out to it.
 “Hey, you there - come on out!”
 He waited, but there was no response.
 “Come on, I saw you! You can come out! I won’t hurt you,” he coaxed, stepping towards the rocks. Still, nothing moved, stirred, nor answered.
 When he got within a few feet, something small and lavender-colored flew past him at an incredible speed. Gohan reached out and grabbed it with a speed matching the creature’s own, and ensnared it. A pretty, young, completely-alien face glared at him, tugging desperately on its sleeve, trying to free itself. Gohan took a step closer, and it struck out at him. He easily parried the blow, then another, then dodged the third with a shift to his side, all the while, never letting go of his catch.
 “Release me!” the creature snarled, then discharged a ki blast at point-blank rage into Gohan’s stomach. It intentionally wasn’t meant to damage him, but it was enough to force him to let go. He clutched at his side again with both hands, as he felt the pain of his previous injury flare up. Groaning, he went down on one knee, seeing stars in his vision. For several seconds, nothing but agony registered, then finally a small voice called out to him from beyond the haze.
 “Are you... alright?”
 The alien leaned the palms of its hands on its knees, bending over him, concern in its bright, strange eyes. Gohan glanced up, and was instantly captured by them. So much like emeralds! The stranger’s mouth moved again, asking the same question once more, and finally breaking the spell, Gohan nodded. He shook his head, and stood, clutching his aching side.
 When the alien straightened as well, he was astonished to note that he... no she... no... Gohan couldn’t honestly tell... it was a only slightly taller than him, but that its skin was tinged light-purplish. Its small ears, pointed at the tips like Piccolo’s, poked through its raven-colored hair, which was tousled. Its long, front bangs were flipped over to the right side, almost hiding one eye completely, while the rest of its hair was cut short and layered close to its head. It vaguely reminded Gohan of one of those punk female hairstyles he’d seen in magazines.
 As if its hair, ears and skin weren’t enough to create a few raised eyebrows, the foreigner’s choice in clothing was just as strange. It wore a simple, gray, zip-up jumper with a small insignia - “R09R” - embroidered in red on the front, left pocket, and a pair of black, high-laced, military-styled boots. He... she... whatever it was... looked like some sort of escaped convict from the intergalactic juvenile ward.
 The alien looked all around, guiltily, shoving its hands into the jumper’s side pockets, trying to avoid Gohan’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” it said, its voice a lovely alto in pitch. “You startled me.”
 Gohan attempted a small shrug, not wanting to alarm the creature any more than necessary. It was obviously terrified of something, since its gaze flew all around, seeking danger.  Maybe it was an escaped felon. He intentionally soothed his voice when speaking to it, just in case it was dangerous.
 “Oh, it’s alright. You startled me too.”
 The creature looked at him then, meeting his gaze once more, and again, Gohan felt lured into those sparkling eyes, captured by their intensity. As if not of his own will, he took an awkward step closer, drawn to the beauty and promise he saw reflected at him. The alien immediately stepped back, fearful, and he stopped, a little surprised. Since when were criminals timid? Weren’t they all supposed to be tough and mean?  He had to reevaluate what he was looking at.
 Perhaps this alien creature, wearing albeit strangely conspicuous clothes, had just been out on a weekend cruise throughout the galaxy and just got lost. What if this entire scenario was all in his head, and really the creature just needed directions... or fuel... or a meal... or all of the above?

 It was possible. Much stranger things had happened to him.

 “Er...hi! My name is Son Gohan,” he offered, putting a friendly hand out, hoping to ease the tension a little. Once the ice was broken, he was sure he’d find out everything he needed to know, then he could make a more rational decision. Besides, if she... he... it... did turn out to be one of those “Most Wanted Outlaws in the Galaxy,” he was sure he could handle it.
 The alien looked at him, almost unsure of what to do, then its hand timidly met and clasped his firmly. “I am called...Nine,” it supplied, with a shaky smile.
 For several silent moments, the two stared across at each other, neither one releasing the other’s hand, almost unsure of what to do next. When a small bird trilled from the safety of the trees several feet away, it broke them apart, snapping them back to reality.
 Gohan looked towards the horizon, at the afternoon sun; he figured he still had an hour or so left before he had to leave. “So, what are you doing... er... here?” he asked, turning his attention back to the interesting face before him. “We don’t get many visitors out this way.” A pretty blush crept up Nine’s face, and it looked away, out over the water, seemingly embarrassed.
 “I... um... actually, I came to see you.”
  Gohan was pleasantly surprised. Grinning sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his head. “Me? R... really? Why?”
 For the space of ten heartbeats, Nine said nothing, considering its words carefully. Just when Gohan was about to ask another question, it spoke. “I... I felt your loneliness... so much like mine. It called out to me.”
 The last was said in barely a whisper, but Gohan’s enhanced hearing, inherited from his father, allowed him to pick up the words clearly. He blinked, put his arm down, clearly stunned. “My... loneliness?” In truth, Gohan had never really thought of himself as lonely before, but now that the subject had been brought up, he realized how true those words were.

 Up in the mountains, he was isolated from society, with no neighbors close by, nor children his own age to grow-up with. Despite the fact that his home-tutoring sessions had put him years beyond his own age group scholastically, they deprived him of the chance to make friends and to attend a real school. Additionally, having to deal with the weight of the world’s safety on his shoulders had forced him to grow up faster than normal, so he was much more mature than the average eleven-almost-twelve year old, or so he had been told.
 He was also the only half-Saiyan on the planet. Because of this, in a crowd, he was easily recognizable with his strange, frenzied hair and his bulky muscle mass. His enhanced strength and senses, his ability to fly, and his heightened ki would make him a target for questioning and criticism in the real world outside, should anyone ever find out about them. It was all rather freakish to normal people.
 Over all, he had to admit that he was really, very different from every other creature he had thus encountered in his short life.
 Which meant he wasn’t like anyone else.
 Perhaps the uniqueness should have made him feel special, but at this particular time, and this particular place, Gohan began to feel the weight of his awesome solitude, and somewhere in his soul, something cried out.

 A warm, hesitantly-friendly hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie suddenly. He looked up into Nine’s entrancing gaze, and felt the wordless understanding there, could almost hear it speak to him.  I know what you’re feeling, it seemed to say, I’ve felt it too. Staring into those guileless, verdant depths, straight into Nine’s soul, a surprised Gohan abruptly realized that the alien and he shared a similar, hidden sadness. Like one link of a chain wrapping about the next naturally, Gohan instantly felt connected to Nine, and in that moment, he was a little less alone in the world than he had been before.
 As if suddenly startled by a similar enlightenment, Nine turned away abruptly, launching itself into the air flawlessly. It hovered ten feet above Gohan, looking down at him, its face a mask of unsurety. It tried to say something, but couldn’t seem to be able to get past its own bewilderment.
 “Will... will you meet me here again?” Gohan called up, hoping that his new friend would agree to his request. “Maybe we can go swimming or... something?” A flash of happiness passed over Nine’s face. It nodded, clearly relieved that Gohan had been the one to ask.
 “When?”
 Gohan considered his daily itinerary. Usually his father and he started training around eight o’clock in the morning, and kept it up until one or two in the afternoon. Then they returned home for lunch, and he would study most of the evening away, under his mother’s watchful eye. If he planned on visiting Capsule Corp. later this evening, that left only early tomorrow morning or late tomorrow night free. In all likelihood, after another brutal day of training, he knew he’d probably end up making another trip to Bulma’s lab tomorrow night, so...
 “How about dawn, tomorrow?” he offered.
 Nine considered for an instant, tilting its head in a rather charming fashion, then nodded. “Tomorrow at dawn, we’ll meet here,” it said, then waved and flew away quickly before Gohan could say anymore.
 
 

 Gohan watched until Nine was nothing more than a speck in the distance, then, turning, a smile plastered to his face, he made his way back towards his home, whistling the entire way.
 Not once did it cross his mind that his parents had probably long since finished up their ‘grown-up’ session, and would be waiting for him to arrive back home, having checked and found him gone. Neither did it occur to him that they’d be angry at him for sneaking off, nor that as punishment, he’d be assigned another whole book to read before he could fly off to Capsule Corp. later that night.
 No, absolutely none of that crossed the young boy’s mind. After having found a new friend, Gohan’s only thoughts were on Nine - as far from the real world as possible.
 
 
 
 

 “Report.”
 Number 09 shuffled, ever uncomfortable in the presence of its new ‘master’. It cleared its throat and gave an edited version of its encounter with the young Son Gohan. Of course, it skimmed over the issue of its own feelings, and how it had unexpectedly connected with the young half-Saiyan on a deeper level than even it had predicted. Carefully and skillfully, it manipulated the data to give only the information absolutely necessary. When it was finished, Number 17 chuckled, and placed a hand on top of Nine’s head, ruffling the already unruly hair.
  “Excellent, Nine. I knew I could rely upon you,” the Jinzouningen congratulated the smaller creation, a smile on its cold, calculating face. Nine flinched at Seventeen’s touch, inwardly cringing away from it. It wanted no praise from this monstrous being, least of all for what it was doing.
 Seventeen stood and walked over to a computer terminal. Within seconds, the image of Gero’s lab appeared on the main screen, and Number 09 could see that his ‘father’ was stooped over a workbench, still laboring tirelessly on the chemical experiment that Seventeen had commissioned when he had first arrived. When he noticed the monitor switch on, the Doctor limped over to it quickly, and then, his face appeared large before them. The dark circles under his eyes, the deepening wrinkles, and the disheveled, unkept appearance all told Nine that its ‘papa’ hadn’t slept nor bathed in days. It also noted that his bandaged left arm needed a fresh wrapping and adjustment, otherwise the wrist bones wouldn’t heal properly. The chafing skin would eventually break, and cause pustulent sores to appear on the human’s fragile skin, if left untreated.
 Careful to keep its expression neutral, Nine suppressed its annoyance, inwardly forcing itself to remain calm. Instead, it zoomed and enhanced the images on the screen, trying to read the equations written on the chalkboard in the backdrop, capturing them and filing them away for future playback. It recorded the conversation between the creator and his creation, making a mental note to retrieve the information from the main computer terminal later, just in case, and hoped that perhaps it could use all of the information it had been collecting for the last nine days to help bring about Number 17’s fall from glory sometime soon.
 Wasn’t it the Earthlings who created the saying that, ‘good things came to those who waited’? For now, Nine would be patient.
 
 “Well, old man,” Seventeen sneered at the screen, “I want a status report.”
 Gero adjusted his glasses nervously. “Yes, well... Partials Two and Three are doing well in the rejuvenation fluid. Another three days and they will be complete.” Seventeen tapped his finger on the metal frame of the terminal in irritation. “And by that time, Partial One will be finished, correct?”
 There was an unveiled threat behind the request.
 Gero cleared his throat.
 “Well, I’ve just completed reconstruction of a new cell batch. In twelve hours, it will be ready for me to extract the DNA sampling rate so that I may clone it at that time...”
 “Excellent,” Seventeen cut him off. “Then we can expect Partial One to be ready for rejuvenation in twenty-four hours?”
 Again, Gero cleared his throat, and readjusted his glasses. “Well, as I stated earlier, it is too soon to make any sort of positive assumption. It is unsure as to whether we can clone these new cells at all, since they came from a dead sample. The initial reconstruction may have worked, but the clones may be flawed. Such was the case with the initial Partial I supplied to you the other day.” Gero made a helpless gesture with one hand, a small shrug. “This sort of work... it’s all trial and error.”
 Seventeen looked evenly at the screen, his finger frozen in the downswing of a tap. “I see,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “You have three days, Doctor. No more.” He finished his downward motion, clicking the monitor off, and the screen went black.

 Nine maintained a neutral facade when Seventeen turned back to it, regarding it carefully for long, silent moments, between narrowed eyes. Finally, the Cyborg smiled, a chilling expression which forced Nine to suppress a shudder, and motioned to the alien to come closer. Nine was helpless but to do as bidden, yet when it was within arm’s length, it stopped, alarmed by the evil glint it saw deep in the dark-haired boy’s eyes. Seventeen’s hand snaked out faster than even Nine’s enhanced vision could follow, and grabbed it, pulling the alien up and onto the boy’s lap. With a flip, Seventeen turned Nine around, so that it sat with its back to him, and he wrapped his arms around the smaller, now shaking frame, leaning his face close to Nine’s ear.
 “Do I terrify you?” he asked gently, his hot breath brushing against the alien’s neck. Nine tried to scoot away, but Seventeen tightened his grip, refusing to let his fellow creation go. He chuckled, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from the alien’s temple. “Well, do I?” he asked again, rubbing his cheek against the ebony-colored hair beneath him.
 Nine nodded.
 Honest, at least.
 Seventeen chuckled again, and squeezed the smaller body closer to his, until Nine’s back was firmly against his chest. “Is it true that your species is hermaphroditic?” he asked curiously. Once more, Nine simply nodded. “How interesting,” the Cyborg remarked, evidently pleased. He ventured a further, daring thought. “So, are there any special... requirements... for reproduction in your species?”
 Nine seemed to consider its response carefully, phrasing it ambiguously. “My people do not come into their breeding term until they have reached the appropriate maturation stage.”
 Seventeen murmured his understanding, continuing to rub his cheek into Nine’s hair, breathing in the lovely lilac and sunshine scent of it. For some reason, it reminded him of Juu’s hair, soft and fresh; he liked it. It was too bad that the creature was going to try being difficult. However, its stubbornness may prove interesting.
 “And at what age is mating considered possible?” he asked, pushing the subject. Automatically, he felt Nine’s two hearts speed up, pounding loudly in the Cyborg’s sensitive ears. It’s already rapid breathing became even more so, as it finally seemed to comprehend what Seventeen was up to. It cleared its throat, and responded as logically and detached as it could. The occasional stutter was just too precious, however.
 “When... when we have reached ten of our planet’s seasons, our bodies become physically able to... mate. It is during the... first mating... that our permanent gender is determined.”
 He grinned, really enjoying himself on Nine’s discomfort. “How? What determines the change?”
 It took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, regaining some measure of control. “The more... chemically dominate of the pair becomes female, and the remaining partner becomes male,” it stated clinically. Seventeen knew that he’d taken Nine by surprise at first with this strange line of questioning, but now it was trying to adapt by retreating into the computer-half of its personality.
 He couldn’t very well let that happen, now... could he?

 
 There was a pause, before the Cyborg asked yet another question. Nine wished that the human would just let the entire subject drop, but it knew he wouldn’t. When Seventeen wanted something, he usually got it, and right now, it wanted to play with Nine.
 A sense of helplessness crept through the little alien’s spirit.
 “And what if the gender of one partner is already determined before the... first mating?” the Cyborg inquired, placing a small kiss upon the sensitive, erogenous spot on the back of its neck, where the spine met the clavicle. It uncontrollably let out a small, half-excited, half-surprised sigh.
 Despite the fact that it wasn’t human, the anatomy of its people was very closely related to that of the species from this backwards planet. Seventeen seemed to know this, and was using that knowledge now to get something from the little alien. But what?
 It didn’t doubt that the Jinzouningen had known all about its people from Gero’s private files, and was simply asking these questions as an excuse to illicit a reaction from it, perhaps to even instill an emotion in it - lust or fear. Whatever his reasons, Nine knew it was helpless before Seventeen’s twisted plans. It didn’t have the strength of will to physically fight back now.
 It blinked back tears of humiliation.
 “You know what will happen,” it whispered, angry, clenching its jaw, and balling its hands into fists on its lap. Again, there was a snicker, followed quickly by yet one more kiss, this time, on the side of Nine’s neck, in the sensitive place where its pulse beat. Nine grit its teeth painfully together to keep itself from reacting again.
 Seventeen genuinely laughed aloud this time.
 “I’ll assume your bodies will adapt as appropriate to assure reproduction,” the human breathed against the tender, pale skin beneath its lips. The alien trembled, digging its nails into the palms of its hands painfully, and shut its eyes. Seventeen’s mouth reached its overly-sensitive ears and nipped lightly on its lobe. Nine gasped aloud, then growled low in its throat in warning.
 

 Seventeen pulled back slightly, and smiled wickedly.
 “So, how old are you now?” he purred, leaning his chin against Nine’s shoulder and tilting his face to the side, watching the alien’s profile carefully.
 

 Nine swallowed, unable to quell its trembling this time. Out of the corner of its eye, it noticed that Seventeen raised an eyebrow delicately in mirth.
 “I am... six years, two months, and thirteen days old,” it stated clearly, falling back again on the cold, calm logic of the computer once more to quell its terror.
 

 Seventeen shook his head, smirking, and his hoop earrings tinkled in response. “No, I don’t want your date of awakening,” he admonished. One of his hands gently, slowly moved up and down Nine’s body, stroking and feeling the curves seductively.
 “I asked, how old you are. Are you old enough to mate yet?”
 

 Nine felt a tear uncontrollably fall from the corner of its eye, and trail down its pale cheek. It splashed upon Seventeen’s right hand, which then froze in place over one of the alien’s hearts in astonishment. For the space of several breaths neither said a word, and the hush in the large room was disquieting.
 Then, suddenly, Seventeen released Nine, and sat back in the chair, allowing it the chance to escape.
 Nine was stunned, but hurriedly jumped off of the Cyborg’s lap, to stand on its own shaky legs, its back still to its ‘master’. At that instant, it was hoping that Seventeen was so disgusted with it that he would strike out at it, but the blow never came.
 “Tomorrow, and every day after that, you will meet with the child, Son Gohan, and further convince him of your intent at friendship,” Seventeen instructed, his voice cold, emotionless, sterile. “Do whatever is within your means to get him to trust you, but within two weeks, I want him to say ‘how high?’ when you say ‘jump’. Do we understand each other?”
 “Ye...yes,” Nine stammered, wishing with all its might that Seventeen had simply turned it into a pile dust, so that it could rest next to its fellow creations, Six and Seven, on the floor, with no further cares or worries. The idea of betraying the boy, now that it had finally met him, brought a pang of guilt to Nine.
 “Good. I want an update of your progress nightly,” Number 17 said in way of dismissal. The alien-Cyborg took this as its cue to leave, and began heading for the door. Before it reached the exit, however, Seventeen’s voice halted it once more.
 “Nine...”
 The alien turned to face the more powerful Jinzouningen, its head bowed, its hands clenched in fists at its side. “Yes?”
 “Your update will be in person.”
 Shutting its eyes, forcing back the tears, Nine understood what was being demanded of it - if not now, sometime soon, Seventeen would continue what they had started tonight. It nodded, mouthing some sort of correct reply, turned and hurried out of the control room.
 When it was out of earshot, Nine ran as fast as it could, the tears streaming down its face, its sobs echoing off the metallic, gray walls. Reaching the outer door, it slammed the correct code in, and then thrust itself into the purplish-black sky, not caring where it went.
 It was a temporary escape, but at the moment, it was freedom.
 Nine headed towards the mountains far off in the distance, wishing for all the world that its programming would have allowed it to take its own life six years, two months, and thirteen days ago.
 
 
 

 Seventeen monitored Nine’s progress through the labyrinth maze of the hidden, underground base with the assistance of the cameras that had been installed at nearly every entrance, exit and long corridor. He smirked, watching as his fellow creation sped towards the passage out, and as it propelled itself far into the darkened sky, heading in the exact direction of the Son house - probably unconsciously.
 He chuckled as he shut off the monitor, and headed for his room. Once there, he lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling again, and considered all of the deliciously pleasing ways he could continue to torture his present interest.
 Ah, anticipation...

 Aside from himself, 16 and 18, only Numbers 06, 07, 08 and 09 had been living creatures before being Cybernetically-enhanced by Gero. Because they had been born with a free will, they were considered unpredictable and dangerous. As for the others, all mere Androids - man-made endoskeletons covered with living tissue and a computer for a brain - he had absolute certainty that they would follow his commands without question, and as such presented him no threat, no real challenge.
 He mock sighed.
 Eighteen and Sixteen were in stasis, and Six and Seven were long-since dead. Eight had run off the night of his arrival, so that left only Number Nine for him to have fun with.
 He could deal with that.
 The Jinzouningen smiled as he thought about Nine’s reactions earlier that evening. Oh, yes, Seventeen had read the rebellious thoughts hidden behind the creature’s beautiful, green eyes, could almost pluck the thoughts directly from its mind, so obvious was its feelings. Yet, as he had held that small, attractive body to his, he had wondered when it was finally going to try to break away from him, wondered if it would strike out at him, or if it would simply sit still, and wait for what came next.

 Placing his hands behind his head, he grinned wickedly.
 Ah, the thrill of trying to keep two steps ahead of Nine would certainly keep his interest, even if it was only until he woke his twin from stasis.
 
 
TO BE CONTINUED........

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AUTHOR’S NOTES:

“Mirai” means “Future” in Japanese.
“Jinzouningen” means “man-made” in Japanese.

 “Forever Love” was written and sung by X-Japan, copyright, Dahlia/East-West Japan AMCM-4271, 1996.

“Final Fantasy VII” is the copyright of Square Co, Ltd., 1997, and Sony Computer Entertainment Inc.

“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, Jennifer L. Mondazzi, copyright 1997-1998. **In accordance with domestic and international copyright law, you may not reproduce this work, or any portion thereof, without the express written permission from this author.**