"Can We Start Over?"
A "Dragonball Z" original flavor/alternate reality fanfic
by: Jennifer L. Mondazzi
originally written: 12/30/1997 - 01/01/98
Will you hold my heart?
Namida uketomete... (Catch my tears...)
Mou kowaresou na all my heart... (All my heart is ready to break...)
It had been only a mere a week since she had first been admitted to
the intensive care unit at the hospital, but thanks to the miracles of
modern medicine, Bulma had recovered well, and was on now her way home
finally. No more bad food, no more crabby nurses, no more tubes or
needles or bandages, no more complaining neighbors who banged against
her wall at the insane hours of the night, and no more bed pans. No
more overwhelming smell of Ammonia or Lysol, no more boring television
commercials playing 24-hours a day, no more leaching blood from her
every few hours, and no more ugly green robes.
Probably the best thing, though, was that she could finally take a
long, hot shower in her own bathroom, all on her own - without the help
of a pushy aide. She was free!
Although she was supposedly confined to bed rest for another two
weeks, she was overjoyed that she was home finally.
Most of all though, she was excited to see the faces of her friends
and family once more. Before the 'incident' in her room, she had
believed herself to be totally alone, but now, she knew better.
Everyday, her friends and family would come to visit her, encouraging
her recovery, and everyday, she had found another reason to go on
living. The bleakness that she had believed to have been surrounded by
had simply vanished, replaced by a comforting warmth, and a feeling of
being loved.
For once, Bulma felt good.
"Honey, is there anything else you need?" her mother asked her,
bending down to retrieve the dinner tray from her lap. "Perhaps another
helping of rice, or how about dessert? I made some cherry-topped
cheesecake - your favorite."
Bulma shook her head and smiled.
"I'm fine, mama, really. I'm totally stuffed. Thanks though."
"Alright then, dear," her mother said in a sing-songy tone. "If you
need anything, just..."
"...push the button," Bulma interrupted with a grin. "I know, I know.
If I need anything, I will. Right now though, I'm a little tired." She
suppressed a yawn behind her hand and blinked, leaning back against her
pillows. "If you could shut off the lights when you leave, that would
be great."
Her mother nodded, then turned, with tray in hand, and headed for the
door. It swung open just as she had been reaching for the handle, and
she jumped back, surprised. Instantly, Bulma was awake, her eyes wide
with suppressed fear.
Ever since the night of her attack, her mind had been overactive,
causing her to be jumpy. Every little abnormal sound brought her senses
into keen focus, and started her blood pumping in fear. Images would
flash before her eyes at the most inopportune moments: the particular
color of her blood as it had soaked into the white carpeting at her
feet, the touch of the boy's lips against her own - soft and gentle, or
the utter lack of expression on his face as he had killed her without
remorse.
He had, too. Killed her, that is. She'd had to be resuscitated by the
ER staff in the emergency room, but for a full minute and twenty-three
seconds, Bulma's heart had stopped beating. She could remember none of
it, though, only blackness swirling around her, comforting and warm.
Still, she had been dead. It was no wonder she had become almost
paranoid.
So, when her had mother gasped, Bulma felt the familiar surge of
adrenaline and panic grip her heart, and she sat bolt upright,
expecting the worst.
A familiar figure appeared in her doorframe, arms by his sides, face
and demeanor as arrogant as usual.
"Oh, Prince Vegeta, it's good to see you again," her mother said in a
relieved tone, smiling brightly to the little alien who currently
shared their residence. "It's been a week since your last visit inside.
We were worried that something may have happened to you. You do train
an awful lot, you know."
Vegeta merely grunted in reply, and rudely walked past the older woman
to Bulma's bedside, striding confidently into the small room as if he
owned it. It was only then that Bulma noted that he carried something
in one hand. She didn't catch a good look at it though, before her
mother's voice drew her attention once more.
"I'll just leave you two alone to talk," Mrs. Briefs said, giving
Bulma a knowing wink and smile, and quietly closing the door behind
her.
It figured. Her mother seemed to adore the irritating, contemptuous
little bastard whom had moved into their lives without so much as a
'how do you do?', and Bulma knew - just knew - that somewhere inside
that presumably empty-head of hers, the older woman was secretly
conspiring to hook the two of them up. Leaving them alone while Bulma
was so vulnerable was all a part of the plan it seemed; it forced the
two of them to interact with each other at a time when she was too weak
to give a fight her 100% best effort. She knew that the bet was on the
Prince of the now almost-extinct Saiyajin race taking pity on her for
this, and going easy, showing a more gentler side to his personality,
which Bulma would inevitably find irresistible.
She mentally sniggered. Not bloody likely.
With a sigh, Bulma reflected on the fact that her mother was probably
the most devious person she'd ever come across. Seemingly guileless
outwardly, disarming and charming in her simplistic ways, while
inwardly, she was planning your entire future out in minutia details
without your consent.
She curled the blankets more tightly about her body, and turned a sour
look upon her intruder.
"Say your peace, Vegeta, and go," she said wearily, leaning back into
the pillows, and turning her attention towards the closed window just a
few feet from her bed. "I'm tired and don't have the energy to verbally
spar with you today."
Vegeta snorted, and held up what it was he had been carrying. It was
made of cloth and colored red, stained by a deeper crimson in
splotches.
Immediately, Bulma recognized the scarf belonging to her attacker.
Feeling her face lose its color, she sat up once more and shakily
reached for the fabric, her fingers trembling as she did so. Just
before she could take it from him, however, Vegeta closed his own
fingers tightly around it, capturing her hand in his own. Bulma looked
up at him, confused.
"Where did you find this?" she demanded, trying to tug away. It was no
use, of course - Vegeta retained a firm grasp on her, and he wasn't
letting go. When she looked up into his eyes, suddenly, she became
aware of how intensely awkward this intimate contact with him was. Was
this the first time that he had touched her voluntarily? She felt the
color return to her cheeks instantly, and dropped her gaze,
embarrassed. Again, Vegeta snorted, as if reading her ridiculous
thoughts for what they were, and she was so terribly humiliated by the
entire situation.
<Damn you mom!>
"It was lying on the ground outside your old bedroom window," he
replied finally, his tone actually half-civil.
"What were you doing there?" she asked, annoyed with herself and
Vegeta. When did he plan on letting go of her? Anytime now would be
nice...
"Looking for clues," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in
the world. "In case he comes back." He grin grew positively feral, as
if welcomed a challenge such as that. Bulma shuddered.
"He will, I know it. He'll be back to finish it," she said, ominously,
forgetting her hand for an instant, and shutting her eyes to the
terrible memories which surfaced.
<"I found you at last...You'll pay for what he did to her...">
"Good," Vegeta said viciously, an unfulfilled challenge in his voice.
"I won't miss meeting him this time."
At that, Bulma looked up quickly, clearly astonished.
"What do you mean?" she asked urgently, a strange nagging sensation
tugging at her mind. "Haven't you already fought him once?"
Vegeta glanced at her in a combination of disbelief and incredulity.
"Stupid woman, don't you pay attention to anything? I've been out
training since the afternoon of your 'picnic'. I just got back last
night."
Bulma began trembling.
"Then...then, it wasn't you who drove him off, and then took me to the
hospital?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. By the suspicious
drop of Vegeta's dark brows low over his narrowed eyes, she assumed
that he knew nothing about it. "I had assumed... When I asked who he
was, he said he was you."
"What did this 'other me' say?" he asked after several seconds of
silence between them. Bulma was intensely aware that he still had not
let go of her hand, but stood as stoic as some sort of unmovable golem,
towering over her smaller form. She let go of the blankets, and reached
up with her free hand to touched the side of her head, which suddenly
ached, unaware that her flimsy nightgown had slipped off of one
shoulder, baring the flesh there, and giving Vegeta a good view of the
side of her long, attractive neck.
Of course, he noticed, but said nothing.
"It's too fuzzy to remember everything," she said, trying to recall
exact details, but I remember asking if it was you, and he said
something to the effect of, 'I'm here for you.'" She daintily shrugged,
which caused her unbound breasts to bounce slightly.
Vegeta noticed this too.
"I guess I should have known better to think it would have been you,"
she said finally with a sigh. Vegeta was silent for a moment,
considering something. Finally, he spoke his thoughts. "Why is that?"
Bulma looked up, amazed by the softness of the tone. Had that been the
first time he'd ever spoken really civilly to her? What game was he
playing now? "Because," she explained, fatigued already by speaking so
much, "you're not the 'hero' type, Vegeta."
Again, there was a strange pause, and while he thought, his fingers
seemed to absently stoke hers, his eyes focused on them. Clearly, it
was an absent gesture, but Bulma refused to say a word, not wanting to
break the strange mood , and curious as to what he was up to. When he
spoke again, it was once more in that hushed tone. "And who is a hero,
Bulma?"
He seemed so sincere, and yet everything within her told her not to
give him an inch, that somehow, he was mocking her, as usual. Despite
this, she decided to answer sincerely. "Well, I guess Gokuh qualifies."
Even as the words left her mouth, she noted the way Vegeta's black
eyes seem to grow impossibly darker, filling with scorn and...something
else that she couldn't identify. Unexpectedly, the warrior dropped her
hand, allowing her to keep the scarf, and he turned away, heading back
for the door without another word. Bulma's shock lasted only a mere
fraction of a second before she regained her wits. "Wait! Where are you
going?" she demanded, irritated by Vegeta's sudden change in mood.
The prideful Prince of the Saiyajins never looked back as he left the
room, and didn't bother to shut the door behind him.
Bulma sighed aloud in frustration, and lay back in the bed, clutching
the scarf against her heart. Even now, all this time later, the stale
scent of her dried vital fluid which soiled the boy's forgotten garment
wafted up to her nostrils, bringing with it unwanted memories.
She pushed past the discomfort, wanting to know who her mysterious
knight-in-shining-armor had been, fought against the tide of fear and
anxiety to try to recall any important detail. Nothing came immediately
to mind.
Finally, she let it go, relaxing as best as she could, releasing the
past and drifting back to reality. Reaching over, she pushed the button
next to her bed, and a small robotic servo-droid appeared from an
opening in the wall. It's only function was a simple one, and within
seconds, the lights in the room shut off, submerging her into the
nighttime. Only the fraction of moonlight, coming in from the window,
kept the darkness at bay, and she was thankful for that small reprieve.
The whine of the droid's gears as it retreated back into its hole faded
away finally, until there was only silence surrounding her once more.
Shutting her eyes, her last thoughts before sleep came were of the
mysterious man's voice echoing in her ears...
<"Just stay with me this time, Bulma, and I'll never leave you
again. I promise.">
From his vantage point outside Bulma's window, Mirai Son Gohan floated
silently, dimming his chi as much as possible; an old trick he had
learned during the years he had spent hiding from the Cyborgs among the
ruins of towns. There was no need to alert Vegeta to his presence.
When the lights had gone out, he snuck a closer peek into the young
woman's room, and finally caught sight of her small, fragile figure
huddled under her covers, fast asleep. Even from here, he could hear
her small snoring and smiled to himself. <So alike...>
Content that, for now, she was safe, he turned away and headed back
down into, what had been called in his time, Old Capsule City - back to
the small, abandoned warehouse that he had taken up residence in for
the last ten days. Flying in through the broken window, he headed down
into the concrete labyrinth, stretching his senses out before him,
searching for danger. He perceived nothing living, except the rats and
other small vermin that occupied this area normally.
Although the Jinzouningen gave off no chi of their own, being a living
organism afforded them a heartbeat, albeit an irregular one. It was
this anomalous pattern that Gohan had accidentally discovered when he
had gotten too close to the female, #18, as a young child, and he had
learned to search for it over the years since, able to pinpoint the
location of the Cyborgs from it.
As far as he could tell, there was nothing like it anywhere nearby, so
it was with great relief that he mentally assured that his demesne was
'safe' for yet another day.
He chose to walk the three flights of metal stairs to the small room
that he housed himself in currently. "Every little bit of a work-out
helps you to get stronger," his Master, Tenshinhan, had once told him.
As a result, at every opportunity, Gohan did things the 'normal' way,
forcing his muscles to stay relaxed and stretched.
He pushed aside the small make-shift hanging he had put up, and
entered the small, dark space that was his new home. He had found both
the hole-filled shower curtain and the raggedy, foul-smelling blanket
he lay on at night in an old dumpster out behind the warehouse on the
first night he arrived. Neither seemed too bad to make do with, and
besides, he'd used worse in his own timeline, so he had officially
'adopted' them to help keep the nighttime chill at bay. Despite his
slightly-higher elevated temperature, thanks to his half-Saiyan
heritage, he didn't need much to keep warm, but every little bit
counted.
Sitting down, cross-legged, on his 'bed', which sat against one wall,
he relaxed, leaning his head back, beginning his evening meditations.
Tenshinhan had taught him many things in the short time that he had
lived, one of which was to allow rest to come during quiet moments such
as this one. Not only did it help to refresh the mind, but it also
allowed one to cut down on the amount of sleep you needed. It didn't
take the place of sleep, certainly though, and soon, Gohan knew he'd
need to rest for several hours to regain his full potential. As it was,
he was functioning on very little rest - barely ten hours in three
days.
However, there was still the need to find Gero's underground, hidden
lab. He'd been searching for it for five days, and still no luck. The
location it had originally been at had changed.
It seemed that going back in time already had altered events.
He wondered, briefly, if #17 had gone to see his creator yet. If so,
he didn't envy the older man. Gohan knew all too-well of the
'affection' that the Cyborg had for it's 'parent'.
After about an hour, Gohan left. His first priority was to find
something to eat, and then he'd try to locate Gero's lab once more.
This was going to be a long night, after all.
<"Promise me...Gohan...">
"Did you bring it?" Number 17 asked, his voice carrying a dangerous
threat to it. The android facing him, Number 10, nodded once, lifting a
small beaker. Inside, a small globular of orange material resided. The
thick, viscous stuff glittered like the stars, and gave off a strange
warmth which could be felt even through the specially treated glass.
The Cyborg carefully took the container from the inept creature and
held it up to the dim light above, watching as it passed through the
substance magically.
"Excellent," Number 17 breathed, excitement coursing through his
veins. After a brief inspection, however, he lost his triumphant smile,
and grew disappointed. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he
addressed Number 12 savagely. "Bring Gero to me now!" The short, bald,
female android turned and hurried out, executing its superior's
commands.
Since he had arrived six days ago, things had been moving along
according to plan nicely. Seventeen had subjugated his 'father' and
brought the others into line easily; they now followed his every
command - as was to be expected. Of course, he'd had to make examples
out of Numbers 06 and 07 - a rebellious pair of aliens whom had been
captured by Gero, altered with cybernetic limbs, and implanted with a
special device that forced them to obey commands from the main
terminal. They were simply no match for the full-fledged Cyborg,
however, and still sat as a pile of dust in the center of the control
room to serve as an example.
The morning after he had taken charge, Number 17 had painfully
described in detail his expectations, and locked Gero away in his small
laboratory - under surveillance, of course - to get to work. For all
that time, the Doctor had been working almost around the clock, limited
only by his human need for sustenance and sleep, and yet, still, he had
not completed the first stage of the project.
Number 17 continued inspecting the small container in his hands,
ignoring the others in the room, amusing himself with thoughts of what
he'd like to do to his creator. Finally, the double doors opened
inwardly, and Doctor Gero was brought before him.
The aged man, with limbs shriveled and organs already rotting away
within his body, stooped over a well-weathered wooden cane, his once
great height reduced to a mere five feet, ten inches by years and
abuse. His left arm was bandaged and tied close to his body in a cast,
hanging uselessly, but there were no other visible injuries to his
person that time had not brought on itself.
Purposefully, Number 17 made him wait, until, at last, he put the
beaker on a small table and crossed the small dais in the center of the
room, to take a seat in a tall-backed chair.
"Your progress is excellent, 'father'," he said mockingly, a sneer on
his face. "But it's still not enough. There are obvious flaws with this
first Partial, and it will not mature. It must be destroyed." Dr. Gero
looked up, adjusting his glasses across the bridge of his nose in a
habitually nervous gesture, and cleared his throat.
"Yes, well, there have been problems with the conversion," he
explained in a calm, respectful voice. "The original sample that you
provided to me was already dead, and I was forced to reconstruct its
cell composition in order to extract the correct DNA sampling rate."
The old man cleared his throat again, hacking on his own spittle as he
did so. "However," he continued after a short coughing spasm, "Partials
Two and Three are coming along flawlessly. Another one-hundred and
sixty hours in the rejuv fluid and they should be ready."
Number 17 considered his schedule versus the time it would take for
the experiment to conclude. Given that it would take Partial One a full
week in the revitalizing fluid to mature, another four days after that
to successfully combine the three Partials together into the one
substance known as Materia, and then another three and a half weeks to
incubate, he was looking at a minimum completion date of five weeks -
once the problem with Partial One was corrected, that was.
Given that he was never a very patient creature, the amount of time
necessary to complete everything would be like murder on him. He sighed
a little too loudly.
"Gero, I give you five days to make the first Partial ready for the
rejuvenation fluid," the Jinzouningen offered, waving his hand
dispassionately in dismissal. He turned back to the beaker then, opened
the lid, waited a few seconds, and stuck one digit into the mixture.
"Wait!" Gero cried out just as his 'son' submerged his entire index
finger into the strange substance. He cringed, waiting to hear the
audible sizzle, to see the visible bubbling, and to be exposed to the
acrid smell of chem-charred flesh, but strangely, there was none of
that. Number 17 did not remove his hand, either, but swirled it around,
mixing the gelatinous stuff around and around, all the while staring
dully into the jar, uncaring.
After a minute or so, the Cyborg removed his hand and Gero was amazed
to see that the flesh had not been eaten away, nor that anything
adverse had happened to it. As if guessing his thoughts, his creation
explained.
"You see? This sample will not develop. It is useless to me like
this!" The dark-haired boy hurled the jar against the wall, suddenly
angry. The plasi-glass vessel cracked, but held its shape, as it had
been designed to do, but the material inside landed onto the dirty
floor, contaminated further.
Furious eyes turned on him then, and Gero took an involuntary step
backwards before the blazing fire he saw held within the gaze before
him.
"I want it done, 'father'," the boy commanded, his voice amazingly
soft for one so full of rage. "Fail me again and I will make you wish
I'd only shattered your one wrist."
With that, the boy turned his back on the old man, and he knew he had
been dismissed. He exited the room quietly, escorted by Number 12, and
headed back for his laboratory to do what must be done.
Number 17 dismissed all of the others, and left the main control room
himself, heading down the corridor towards the Stasis Room, his fury
dissipating as he walked, replaced with a nervous excitement.
Reaching the end of the hall, he punched in the newly-changed password
and the door slid open. Bluish-white mist slipped out as the cold air
escaped, touching the warmer environment outside. He passed through
another small entryway to a second door, punched in a second password,
and the door slid upwards with a hiss as the pressure-seals released.
He bent over, and went under the thick, steel gantry before it
completed its unlocking, entering the frigid room, but then stopped,
apprehensive to go further. After his first visit to this exact room,
he'd tried to avoid it, but the dreams returned every night, haunting
and inviting...
<"Did you miss me today?" she asks, landing onto the top of the
table across the room from me, smiling mischievously.>
<"Of course.">
<I have never seen that dress before. The hem shows her pretty legs
off, and the synched waist outlines her attractive shape. She looks
beautiful in red.>
<She blinks, confused by my bluntness. "That's all you have to
say?">
<"Yes.">
<She smiles, and jumps down effortlessly, to stand on the ground
once more. "You're not very eloquent.">
<"I don't need to be. Not with you.">
<She considers this. "No, I suppose not.">
<She walks towards me, her hips swaying slightly. She does not
realize how desirable she is.>
<" So, what do you want to do today?" she asks, stepping up next to
me, looking over my shoulder at the book I am reading. I close it,
glancing up at her.>
<"I want to kiss you.">
<It just comes out, but I do not regret saying it. It is the truth.
I have wanted to try this since I first witnessed humans doing it in a
small, run-down shack in the forest a few weeks earlier. Of course, I
killed them, but not before watching them mate. They primal ways were
exciting.>
<She shrugs and smiles, leaning over, turning the side of her face
to me. "Ok, go ahead.">
<"No, not on the cheek.">
<She blinks and draws back, partially surprised. Understanding dawns
then, and there is no need to explain. We are twins. "Ah. Well, are you
sure that it's alright?">
<"Of course.">
<It has to be. I want it too much.>
<She looks at me, and I can not turn away. I feel trapped by her
eyes. My heart rate increases suddenly. Is this normal?>
<"Alright then," she says, and I see a similar curiosity in her
gaze. "I want to try too.">
<I reach for her, pull her down into my lap, and hold her close. Her
heart beats quickly as well. Perhaps this feeling _is_ normal. I run my
fingers through her golden hair, and it is as soft as her skin is
against mine. She leans down and our lips touch. My heart speeds up
again, as does hers. The kiss lengthens, and I wrap my arms about her,
drawing her closer to me until I can sense only her.>
<My loneliness aches.>
<Nothing else in the whole world matters except this.>
Number 17 shook away the memories. He could deny it no longer. He
needed to be here, to see _her_.
His gaze swept past the five other chambers, and narrowed in on the
one in the furthest right hand corner, labeled simply with "18" in
bright red letters. Walking towards it, he stepped up the short, three
stairs to see into the frost-covered window. Rubbing aside the
precipitation, he glanced upon her lovely features once more.
The loneliness pierced into his heart anew.
Unconsciously, his fingers reached out and stroked the glass, as if
wishing to penetrate it to get to the real thing, and he felt his chest
squeeze painfully as he beheld the woman he had thought to have lost
forever all those weeks ago.
"I have...missed you," he whispered brokenly to the sleeping face,
feeling a hot tear trickle down his cheek for only the second time in
his life. The first time had been for her as well. All one of his
firsts had been hers.
<"What do we do now?" she asks, and I feel her quivering body in my
arms, trembling with mine. We are both a little frightened, but I know
what I want enough to answer her.>
<"We kiss some more.">
<"And then?" she asks, curious.>
<I know what she is hedging at.>
<"We'll do whatever you want to do and nothing more.">
<She seems startled that I would offer her this chance to 'escape'.
For an instant, she forgets who I am.>
<"Will you stop if I ask you to?">
<I smile, relieved that she wants this too.>
<"Of course.">
<She smiles back shyly.>
<I have never seen this reaction from her before, and I know she has
never shown it to another. I want to see more new things with her.>
<"Then will you kiss me again?" she whispers the question, leaning
towards me, placing her lips close to mine again.>
<There is no other answer to give.>
<"Yes.">
Pulling back, Number 17 hastily wiped at his eyes, composing himself
once more, and checked the read-out grid on the side of his sister's
tube, making sure all of her vital signs were registering as normal.
They were.
With a last glance through the window, he finally turned his back and
made his way out of the room. Both doors sealed shut behind him with a
hiss, and he headed back down the corridor towards the main computer
room. There was still so much to do, so many calculations which had to
be in place at the right time. He didn't have time to be fantasizing
about the past, and should concentrate from now on about the future.
Their future.
Everything would come together at the correct time. It had to.
He put his trust in the mainframe to work through the mathematical
equations which would be necessary to coordinate precise events, and in
Gero's fear to keep the man in line and working on his experiment. The
only unknown that remained was that bastard half-Saiyan.
He still had not located his own timeline's Son Gohan, but he assumed
that the man would be somewhere near Capsule Corp., keeping a sharp eye
out on his 'beloved' Bulma, or hiding in the mountains watching out for
his own 'family' closely. The fool may have even contacted the 'Z
Warriors', and told them the truth of his arrival, preparing them for
the worst. Attacking either group again anytime soon wouldn't be
possible because of it.
So, despite how it irked him beyond belief, Number 17 knew that
precaution might be really the best course of action for him to pursue
- especially at this time.
However, there were alternatives to brute, up-front force...
Entering the mainframe room, he went over to a comm-link, and summoned
Number 09 to him, then turned his attention to the computer's work,
adjusting correlations when necessary. Within minutes, a young alien
boy appeared, dressed in a gray zip-up jumper, his black hair tousled,
his large green eyes bright with the innocence of youth.
Number 17 gave his fellow creation his instructions in short order.
"Go to Son Gokuh's home, and find a way to befriend the child named
Son Gohan. I want him to trust you, so that you can easily follow him
around and gather data for me."
Number 09 appeared to want to argue, but the Cyborg simply raised his
eyebrow, daring him to defy, and the kid nodded in acquiescence,
mentally beaten-down. "How do I explain my appearance though?" he
asked, downtrodden.
The Jinzouningen stopped what he was doing instantly.
An interesting point.
Yes, the child would be considered strange due to the slight purple
tinge to his skin and the way his ears pointed at the tips. He
shrugged, and sniggered. "Say you're a foreigner. The Son family is
just stupid enough to probably believe you." He turned back towards the
computer, reading the screen faster than any normal human possibly
could. "I don't care what you tell them, really," he continued as an
afterthought. "Just get the kid to think you're his best friend in the
whole wide world, and report back to me daily on what those stupid
Saiyans and their friends are doing."
For a few minutes, there was silence - nothing moved nor stirred.
Number 17 turned back to the small boy, curious as to why he was still
there, and noted that Number 09 wore a huge frown, obviously hating the
idea of the duty he'd been commanded to perform.
"You may go now," he instructed the boy in a neutral tone.
Number 09 nodded, then turned and left, shoulder slumped.
When the door closed again, Number 17 called up the schematics that he
had swiped from Capsule Corp. the day he'd arrived here. He went over
every inch of the blueprints, looking for flaws, but after a while, he
had to admit it - Bulma Briefs was certainly a gifted scientist and
inventor. The Time Portal design was practically flawless, with
failure-probability factors computed and added right in as contingency
plans.
However, some modifications were definitely in order if he expected to
get this thing up and running on schedule...
TO BE CONTINUED........
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
"Mirai" means "Future" in Japanese.
If you caught the "Final Fantasy VII" reference in the story, give
yourself one point in 'COOL'. If not, it's still ok. "Materia" is a
magical substance made up of the souls of living things. In the game,
you can use it to cast spells. In this fanfic, it's use is completely
different, so don't expect a repeat of FFVII spells to happen. I only
picked the name 'Materia' because it sounded neat-o, and because I'm
currently spending vast quantities of time trying to beat this stupid
game! Ok, well, I'm not going to spoil anymore for you, so you'll just
have to read the rest of the installments to find out what this
'Materia' stuff is in *my* world and how it's used.
"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,
copyright 1997. **Please do not copy or duplicate this work without
express written permission from this author.**