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Nothing either Kami-sama or Goku told him about the Room of Time and Space prepared Krillin for the reality. The awesome isolation. The crushing, unaltering sameness. The pristine emptiness. The oppressive, unrelenting lack of -- anything.
He would have gone crazy after the first week. He would have killed himself after the first month. But there was something grounding about a child, something about being that responsible for another life. As he watched Gohan go through the grueling paces Piccolo set for him, Krillin reflected that any child was probably special in its own way -- but he should have known that Goku's son would have qualities beyond that of any other four year old on the planet: focus, determination, absolute dedication to the physical and mental discipline. Krillin said as much to Piccolo; predictably, the Demon King scoffed. "You didn't have to put up with his endless yowling the first two weeks," Piccolo muttered. "That would have really sent you over the edge."
"Oh, I don't know. I seem to be surviving you okay, and all you do is whine."
That brought on one of those brief, sharp sparring matches where Piccolo stopped short of killing him only because (Piccolo assured him) Earth needed all the help it could get. Krillin accepted the explanation with skepticism. Going into the curtained white, white bed of the boy, he coaxed Gohan out of his meditative trance and played hide-and-seek with him around the planters that framed the door back to the real world, making such exaggerated faces when he was 'found' that Gohan was giggling too much to successful hide when it was his turn. Piccolo floated nearby, glaring from under lowered antennae, muttering darkly to himself (but loud enough for Krillin to hear) about wasting time with such foolishness. When Gohan started yawning uncontrollably, Piccolo unfolded himself to the floor, picked the boy up by the scruff of his neck, and roughly announced that it was time for all good little human whelps to be in bed -- and Gohan, too. That earned more giggles from Gohan, who wrapped himself around the Demon King's big forearm like it was a tree branch and let himself be carried back to his bed.
Krillin eyed Piccolo thoughtfully when he came out. "Tuck him in okay?"
Piccolo glared at him. "Yeah, and I made sure he scrubbed behind his ears, too. Don't be asinine." Piccolo strode away into the oppressive white distance until he was little more than a white-caped speck himself, and crossed his legs to float with his back pointedly to Krillin. Krillin shuddered; he rarely left the platform next to the door himself, so terrified was he of becoming lost in the oppressive white nothingness that pressed in around them; and retired to his own white, white bed to dream colorless dreams that left him drained and restless.
When told where his son was, Goku had looked at Kami-sama as if he had never seen the deity before and planted himself in front of the door to the Room of Space of Time, his squared shoulders indicating a resolve to stay put. Uncertain what they could do for their friend, Tenshin-Han and Chaozu returned to their home in the northern latitudes to train. Yamcha opted to stay with Goku, but was finding that Goku seemed not to much want companionship.
Hoping to jar him out of his fixation with the closed door behind which his son trained, Yamcha said to Goku, "I'm going to Capsule Corporation to check out the Saiyan. Want to come?"
"I'll stay here."
Yamcha bit his lip, looking at the clock that marked time in the Real World. There was a little under twenty hours to go -- eleven months if you were on the other side of the door. He couldn't imagine what Gohan was going through. It took all of his endurance and resolve to deal with the week he, Tenshen and Chaozu spent in the oddly claustrophobic whiteness of endless nothing. And it took more than resolve to survive the next week, when Kami-sama used the "Time" vector in the Room of Space and Time to create a simulacrum of an ancient battle on Vejiitasei so they would have experience fighting Saiyans before the modern day ones actually arrived.
Looking at Goku's blank stare, fixated on the door, he wondered how Goku would stay sane for another twenty hours. Trying to coax him away, he said, "Maybe the Saiyan will be awake enough to give us some info."
"I saw him already," Goku intoned. He folded his hands under his armpits and looked away. "You won't get anything out of him. I didn't get what I hoped for out of him," he murmured.
Yamcha remembered the half-wild child he had met in his desert bandit days, when the two fought to a virtual standstill before he glimpsed Bulma in the shade and forfeited the contest in confusion. It was hard to see that aggressive child in the wooden-faced man before him. "Look," Yamcha sighed, "I have to let Puaru know what's happening, and I have to touch base with Bulma and her dad. Heaven's great and all, but--" he pulled a face "--no phones."
Goku looked at him, dark eyes wide and solemn. "Do you still have your sword?"
"Huh? Sure, but I haven't used it in years. Not since I start learning ki attacks. Kind of silly to swing a weapon around when you are a weapon."
"Oh, I don't know. I'd get it, if I were you."
"You think swords are going to be any use against the Saiyans? They have spaceships and stuff; if we're talking weapons, they must have laser pistols and ray guns and --" Yamcha waved his hands "--geez, I don't know, all sorts of science fiction thingees."
"The Saiyans?" Goku blinked at him. "Who's afraid of the Saiyans? Yamcha, you need protection from Bulma. She's really, really tee'd at you this time."
Yamcha's jaw dropped. Then he hooked an elbow around Goku's neck and pulled his head down, noogying him as if he were still that strange child as the younger man convulsed with giggles. "You fraud," Yamcha snarled, rubbing Goku's scalp hard. "You idiot. Here I am worried to death about you, and you're setting me up. You jerk!"
Laughing, Goku shrugged him away with one smooth movement of his powerful shoulders. "Everyone's so serious. It'll be okay soon."
"Aren't you worried about Gohan?"
A shadow crossed his eyes, but was quickly chased away. "Sure. I'm worried about all of us. But it's been over a month in there, and no-one's pounded on the door yet. If they can last this long, they'll go the distance. It's a good omen, Yamcha."
Sighing, Yamcha said, "You think the sun coming up in the morning is a good omen."
"It is," Goku pointed out. "It's the start of a new day. That's always a good thing, Yamcha."
Yamcha regarded Goku with a strange mixture of awe and tenderness. Any species that produced you can't be all bad, he thought. Out loud he said, "Well, if Bulma's still pissed off at me--"
"Oh, she is," Goku assured him. "I went to see her, and boy, was I glad I wasn't you!"
"--I'd better go let her vent," Yamcha concluded wryly.
There were unexpected compensations having the little human runt with them in the Room of Space and Time, although Piccolo decided that companionship was not one of them. While barbed conversations were amusing for a week or so, they got tedious on a continual basis. After two months of being constantly in each other's company, the two developed a communication system that suited them, a series of waves or curt head nods, their mutual dislike and growing antagonism making it difficult to talk civilly to each other even in Gohan's presence. But he gave Piccolo someone of quality to train against, and while Krillin wasn't near the Demon King's league, he possessed surprising talents for a mere human. He was speedy, fractionally faster than Piccolo himself, he had strong hand to hand skills (but then, he had grown up with Goku), and he was demonstrating impressive ki attacks, his determination to not lose face in front of Gohan pushing him to power levels he probably didn't know he had and beyond.
And he had a surprising rapport with the kid, which was a good thing since the kid was being forced to the edge of his fragile endurance. Piccolo gave him sets of pushups and sit-ups to do, increasingly complex kantas to work through; the kid did them until his body trembled and tears rolled silently down his cheek. Piccolo didn't know what to do for him at these times, but Krillin would sit with him and talk about Earth, get the boy to talk about his mother, and play games of tag through the white, white rooms near the exit. And they would meditate together, although sometimes Gohan still held up his chubby arms to Piccolo and demanded to sit in his lap, climbing determinedly up the Demon King's cape and clinging to his shoulder when Piccolo claimed he wasn't interested in being the kid's sofa today. Sometimes the little arms went around his neck, and Piccolo would snarl that the kid was strangling him and spin until Gohan, giggling, let go and somehow managed to land in his lap anyway. Gohan put his head back against Piccolo's chest and crossed his arms in unconscious mimicry of his mentor's posture, and Piccolo felt feelings he had no words for, glaring harshly at Krillin in lieu of slapping the kid around. Krillin, who did not trust him with Gohan, crossed his own arms and glared back, staying alert until Gohan was done meditating and ready to go on to the next set of exercises.
Ten more months of the bald runt staring at me, thought Piccolo. Why did I want that planet again?
"And I'm supposed to do what, exactly?" Puaru wondered out loud.
Turning his head, Yamcha spoke to the small blue and white shape clinging to his back. "Bulma won't kill me if there's a witness."
"Bulma's rich," Puaru pointed out. "She can buy her own witnesses."
"When did you become such a cynic?"
The whiskers twitched in a feline approximation of amusement. "I really don't know, Yamcha. I'm still trying to figure out when you became such a slut," Puaru sweetly replied.
"Don't start," warned Yamcha, pulling up and hovering over the domed buildings of the Capsule Corporation complex.
Puaru peeked over his shoulder, furred ears perking forward. "Is the Saiyan as frightening as they say?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him yet. The ones I fought in the Room of Space and Time--well, they were pretty scary. But I was thinking; Goku's Saiyan, supposedly, and he's decent. He's more than decent. Maybe there's been some sort of colossal mix-up."
"Sure, and I'm a talking pig."
"You could be replaced with one, y'know."
"And your underwear drawer would never be safe again," retorted Puaru as he gazed down at the buildings, worry briefly puffing his fur out before he consciously smoothed it down again. "Let's get this over with. I want to see the Saiyan, too, but I'm warning you; if Bulma goes over rock concert levels, I'm leaving. Purring in sympathy, mind you; but still, leaving."
Bulma was surprising civil.
But then, Bulma was clambering around a severely-damaged once-spherical spacecraft, helping her father and some of their workers pull bits and pieces off to examine, and she was always at her most civil when she was so engrossed in the wonders of mechanics that she didn't notice who else was in the room. After peeking though the craft's open hatch, she barely spared them another glance. "Hi, Puaru. I don't have time for you right now, Yamcha."
Yamcha was promptly miffed. "I didn't come to see you," he said, loftily. "I came to see the alien."
"Well, unless one's hiding under the paneling, no aliens here," Bulma responded, absently. "Radditz is in the infirmary, but last I checked he wasn't conscious. Mom's there." Ducking back into the craft, she tucked her feet under herself and settled back, patting the contoured seat under her legs. "Comfy! Can we figure out how to do this padding, Dad? Maybe we could use it in next year's car line."
Her father, buried someplace within the craft's inner workings, muttered something Yamcha couldn't catch. "I'm leaving now," he announced crossly.
Bulma, not looking, stuck a hand out the open hatch and waved it. Yamcha waited until he was outside the building before fixing the floating Puaru with a hard stare and saying, "Stop giggling."
Mrs. Brief greeted him cheerfully. "My, I haven't seen you around lately. Still playing baseball?"
"The season's over."
"Oh, and I meant to get to one of your games! Well, next time. Hello, Puaru."
Puaru floated around Yamcha's shoulder, greeting Mrs. Briefs politely and holding out a paw to rest against her upraised palm. "Is that the Saiyan?" he asked as he took in the shape on the bed. "He's lots bigger than Goku."
Yamcha's eyes narrowed as he stretched out with senses Puaru did not possess. "High ki," he murmured, blinking. "Nasty vibes."
"But you could take him," said Puaru without mockery. He was not happy with some of Yamcha's recent life choices, but he was convinced no one was a greater fighter. He started to drift closer to the alien.
"Well, he is flat on his back," pointed out Yamcha, "but, yeah; my ki's higher."
"He's been sleeping a lot, although he's much better than he was and he's made some dramatic improvements the last couple of days," said Mrs. Briefs. "He watches us sometimes."
Puaru inserted himself between the tubes and wires over the Saiyan's chest, looking thoughtfully at the pale face as he floated over the bed, storing it in his memory in case he ever needed to mimic it. "He does look like Goku..."
"More hair."
"I'll say!" Puaru followed the mass of hair; it flowed over most of the Saiyan's big body and, although it was hard to tell through the sheets and medical devices, looked like it might go to his knees and beyond. "Wouldn't someone just grab that during a fight?"
"If you're fighting a Saiyan, what you want to grab is the tail," Yamcha reminded Puaru.
Mrs. Briefs told Yamcha, archly, "Well, I think he's quite handsome, but Bulma does seem hung up on the whole tail thing."
"Piccolo blew up the moon the other night, so having one won't do him any good."
Puaru looked again at the Saiyan's face. The similarities were striking, but so were the differences. That mass of hair sprung from a dramatic widow's peak, giving Radditz's visage a high-browed cast very unlike his brother's; Goku often seemed to be peering from under bangs too heavy for his head. The eyes were the same color, although Puaru didn't much care for the way this Saiyan's were glinting at him through the half-closed lids.
"Oh, is that what happened to it? That Piccolo; always blowing things up. If he really wants to rule the world, he should try building things instead. People would be more inclined to like him then."
Dark, steady, gleaming, hungry eyes, thought Puaru. "Yamcha--" he whispered.
"I don't think he plans on running for the office of world dictator, Mrs. Briefs."
Puaru watched, transfixed, as the Saiyan's mouth parted slightly. "Yamcha--" he quavered, urgently.
"Well, you can't just take over a planet, can you? That just makes people resentful and before you know it you have a revolt on your hands. Very bad for business, as Bulma would say."
The tip of the Saiyan's tongue peeked out. He slowly drew it over his upper lip, staring fixedly at Puaru.
"Yamcha!" squealed Puaru. Flinging away from the bed, the feline glommed on to Yamcha's head with all four stumpy limbs, quivering in terror.
"What the hey--?"
"He's going to eat me, he's going to eat me!" wailed Puaru.
"Oh, stop it," said Yamcha, trying to disentangle his hair from Puaru's fur. "Look at him, he's out cold--"
"I'm not hanging around here to be lunch!" Puaru howled.
Sighing, Yamcha said goodbye to Mrs. Briefs. "You'll have to come to dinner when we get this whole thing with the Saiyans straightened out," she told him. "Bring your new lady friend," she added without any malice whatsoever.
Yamcha smiled at her. Bulma's mom was one of his favorite people; come to think of it, she was one of everyone's favorite people. Maybe they should sic her on the Saiyans; she would have them drinking tea and watching soaps in her living room in a matter of minutes. "I will," he promised.
As terrified as Puaru was, the little feline still managed to mutter in Yamcha's ear, "And which 'lady friend' will you be bringing?" Yamcha pretended not to hear.
"That was very naughty of you," Mrs. Briefs told the supposedly comatose patient sternly. Then she grinned. "I'll talk to the medical staff about getting you off this horrible liquid stuff."
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Seven
Return to Vejiitasei Ascendant
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