The Trepidation of the Spheres
A Dragonball Z fanfic by Stella Quetzacotl
First created: Jan 8, 2002
Last modified: May 5, 2002

~~~~~Legal Stuff~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a work of fiction written for entertainment purposes only.  All
DBZ characters are the property of Akira Toriyama and FUNimation.  All
other characters are the property of the author.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~Text Conventions~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[This is a character thought]
/This is a voice within a character's head/
*This is emphasized text*

Chapter Two: Divergence

	The four Saiyans had only traveled about half a kilometer - 
although it felt like more to the injured Goku - before arriving at an 
embankment overlooking a small settlement nestled in the planet’s 
exotic forest.  “There,” Nappa said quietly.  “That settlement will 
serve.”  He looked to Vegeta for confirmation.
	The Saiyan prince nodded.  “Let the hunt begin.”  He levitated 
himself up and floated down the embankment like a dark-haired spectre. 
Nappa and Raditz followed suit.
	Only Goku hung back.  “You’re going to - “
	Raditz made an exasperated noise.  "Do you want to eat or not?"
	"Leave him alone," Nappa said quietly.  "He'll change his tune 
once he gets the blood taste."
	[Blood taste?] Goku thought, swallowing.  [I don't like the 
sound of that.]
	"You there!"
	The shout came from the left.  All of the Saiyans turned to 
find themselves surrounded by a veritable army of green-skinned, 
insect-featured creatures waving objects that looked like guns.  "You 
are tresspassing on our territory," said one, presumably the same one 
that had spoken before.  "What right do you have - "
	Vegeta grinned, raised a hand, and shot a ki blast through the
speaker's chest.  He dropped without so much as a whimper.
	The other aliens - the natives of this planet, Goku could only 
assume - opened fire on Vegeta.   The Saiyan prince just stood there, 
bathed in his own aura, his face still drawn up in a mocking smile.  To
their credit, none of the natives actually missed Vegeta - he was too 
much of a target *not* to hit - but none of the laser ammo came even 
close to penetrating Vegeta's ki.
	"Hold fire!" shouted one after a few moments - the default 
ranking officer, Goku guessed.  The insectoid squinted at Vegeta 
through the harsh white of his battle aura.  "What *are* you?" he 
demanded.  "Some kind of Saiyan?"
	Vegeta's grin grew like the sunrise of a condemned man's last 
day.  "I am."
	"Wh-"
	"HYYAAAH!" Vegeta launched himself into the hapless soldier, 
ripping him apart before he had time to flinch.  The prince whirled, 
catching the native to his right in a roundhouse and the native to his 
left in a punch, and with a deft twist of his ankle lunged into the air
and cracked his entire body like a whip to catch the next soldier to 
his left in a headbutt.  The three victims fell within moments of each 
other, their limbs the overcooked-spaghetti variety of limp.  Dead.
	Goku's stomach buckled, hunger forgotten.
	"Hrrar!" "Gyahh!" Within moments of each other, Raditz and 
Nappa charged the stunned natives, ripping into their ranks with a 
savagery that made Goku start.  Vegeta continued his spontaneously 
choreographed dance, his movements now taking his two subordinates into
account, and the screams of the dying heightened into one long banshee 
wail.
	Goku realized he was screaming too, and shut his mouth 
abruptly.  His limbs were shaking with fear and fatigue, but his voice 
was that of helpless rage.  Even if he was fully healed, even if he had
a month to train and prepare, he had no hope of besting the Saiyans. 
Not Raditz, not Nappa, not Vegeta (definitely not Vegeta) and most 
especially not all three at once.  He was helpless to do anything but 
watch as the bloodbath continued.  Helpless.
	[NO!]
	"Stop it!" Without thinking, Goku rushed his brother, catching 
hold of his arm.  Raditz jerked him around, reacting without thinking -
it seemed to run in the family - and almost took Goku's head off his 
shoulders with a ridgehand before realizing who it was.  With an angry 
cry, the stronger man slung Goku off, sending him sprawling into the 
roiling crowd of soldiers.
	[I can't stop this,] Goku realized as he picked himself up.  
[If I try, they'll kill me.  I'll force them to.]
	Apparently Raditz came to the same conclusion, for even as Goku
regained his balance, the long-haired Saiyan advanced on his battle-
weakened brother.  "I can't deal with you and them at once," he 
growled.  "If you insist on interfering - " He raised a hand, ki 
lighting his palm.
	"As long as you're slaughtering innocents," Goku heard himself 
saying, "I can't just stand by and watch."
	"Then fight with us."
	Goku gritted his teeth.  "You haven't been listening to a word 
I've been saying if you think that I'd - "
	"Then sleep."  Raditz's arm snapped forward, shoving the ki 
ball into Goku's face.  Fire ripped into his eyes and Goku recoiled 
instinctively, falling back into the dirt.
	Then something struck his head and the world dropped into 
darkness.

	It was past midnight when Gohan posed the fatal question.
	"Mr. Piccolo, when are we going to look for my dad?"
	Piccolo, leaning against the wall of the cave that served them
as a home, opened his eyes to glare at the boy.  "What makes you think 
we're going out to look for him?"
	Gohan gulped.  "Wh-what else have you been trainin' me for?"
	Piccolo looked the boy over.  At five years of age, Gohan had 
metamorphosed from the runty little weakling his mother had forced him 
to be into the young fighter Piccolo had set out to make him.  His 
little arms were well defined with muscle, his face had lost its baby 
roundness, and his skin, once pale as a water lily, was tan and marked
over with scars.
	On the outside, Gohan was a warrior.  On the inside... he was 
still the little boy he'd always been.  Compassionate.  Kind.  
Trusting.
	Weak.
	"I know Bulma's been workin' on building a spaceship," ventured
Krillin sullenly from the other side of their small fire.  Barely three
hours after he'd learned of Gohan's kidnapping, Krillin had put two and
two together and gone after Piccolo.  Actually, to be perfectly honest 
he'd gone after Kami-sama, Piccolo's good side and Guardian of Earth, 
and wheedled from him the whereabouts of the Demon King reborn.  At 
first, Krillin had planned to spirit Gohan away, perhaps to some safe 
place on the other side of the world - heck, he was a monk, he was an 
expert at safe havens - but Gohan had raised such a fuss over leaving 
'Mr. Piccolo' that he'd woken up his green-skinned self-appointed 
trainer before Krillin could get them both halfway to the door.
	It had taken an hour of talking to keep himself from being 
killed outright, but it had taken Gohan's tears to make Piccolo allow 
Krillin's presence - on the conditions that he did not disclose Gohan's
location, that he cook for Piccolo and Gohan, and that he participate 
in training exercises when Piccolo required it.  Krillin grimaced - 
Piccolo's methods were brutal, but he had to admit they worked.  Under 
the demon's tutelage, both Krillin's and Gohan's power had grown by 
leaps and bounds.  (Compared to Gohan, admittedly, Krillin had only 
grown by *a* leap and *a* bound.)  Piccolo made it clear he didn't want
to train Krillin, didn't want him there at all, but Gohan would be too 
distressed at his death to continue training.  So Krillin was allowed 
to remain.
	It was a tightrope existence.  But in Goku's absence, Krillin 
felt responsible for Gohan.  So he walked it.
	Piccolo shot Krillin a glare.  "And how do you know what that 
woman is doing, monk?"
	By now Krillin was used to Piccolo's unspoken threats.  "She 
told me.  Before I went out after Gohan.  I don't know how far she's 
gotten with it, though."
	"Hmph."  Piccolo seemed satisfied with this answer.  Either he 
didn't suspect Krillin had been sneaking away to talk with Bulma and 
Chichi, or he wasn't willing to press the issue.  That was fine with 
Krillin.
	"Mr. Piccolo?" Gohan queried again.
	"What?"
	"When *are* we gonna - "
	"I haven't been training you for a rescue mission," Piccolo 
snapped, cutting the boy off.  "I've been training you in the 
eventuality that the Saiyans return to Earth."
	"Which could be years.  Decades, even," Krillin pointed out.
	"Or weeks."
	"But we don't *know*."
	"No," Piccolo glared, "you don't."
	Krillin subsided and Gohan started in again.  "Mr. Piccolo," he
pleaded, "we gotta look for my dad.  You said yourself I'm not ready to
fight the Saiyans by myself."  Krillin saw Piccolo wince - trapped by 
his own words.  "An' we can't just leave him in space, with my - with 
Raditz."
	"Gohan."  Piccolo's voice had lost its customary acidity and 
was simply low and solemn.  "In all probability your sire has perished
by now."
	Krillin stiffened.  [No.  It couldn't be.]
	"No way!" Gohan insisted.  "No one can kill my dad."
	"Raditz can.  And would.  Gohan, this is for your own good.  
Forget your father.  Focus on the present.  With your help, we can make
sure the Earth does not share Son Goku's fate."
	Gohan looked up at his teacher, suddenly, the movement of a 
half-tamed animal considering escape.  "D-Dad..."
	Then the boy threw himself into Piccolo's arms with an 
inarticulate howl.
	Krillin was taken aback.  He'd seen Gohan cry before, of 
course - especially during the early months when Gohan was just 
learning to survive a fight - but never like this.  Before, Gohan's 
tears had been trickles, his sobs high and fast through clenched teeth.
Sobs of physical pain.  Never had Krillin seen Gohan cry from grief.  
The monk winced at each low moan, watching the puddle of tears grow 
larger at Piccolo's feet.  He longed to comfort the five-year-old (was 
he really so young?  He seemed older.) but Gohan was in the arms of 
unapproachable Piccolo now.  Krillin stayed where he was.
	Although he could tell that Piccolo wanted nothing more than 
for him to take the sobbing Gohan off his hands.
	"Gohan.  Stop this."  Piccolo's voice was strained.  "You're a 
warrior now.  You have to learn to control yourself.  Stop crying."  
Gohan howled on, oblivious.  While such behavior might have earned him 
a sharp cuff in the past, Piccolo now seemed pinned down.  "Stop it, 
Gohan.  Your father would want you to be strong."
	Krillin finally made up his mind to speak up.  "Let him cry, 
Piccolo.  He's earned it.  He's been through enough already."
	"Are human children naturally weak?" the demon grated.  When 
Krillin, cowed, didn't respond, Piccolo scowled.  "Don't ever again try
to tell me how to deal with him."
	"Uh - "
	"It's - it's okay, K-Krillin," Gohan sniffled into Piccolo's 
jumpsuit.  "T-thanks for s-sticking up f-for me."  He pulled away from 
his teacher, much to Piccolo's relief, and wiped his tears on his arm. 
"H-he's right though.  I gotta s-stop crying now.  I gotta be brave - 
for Dad."
	For a moment, Krillin just stared at him.  [Is this really, 
truly the same shy little boy that Goku introduced us to, less than a 
year ago?]
	[Heck.  He's Goku's son.  It figures.]  Krillin managed a wan 
smile.  "You're right, Gohan.  You're right."
	Tensions eased, muscles relaxed.  Gohan plodded away to curl 
up in his pile of animal skins, heavy-lidded and sleepily content.  
Krillin smiled to watch him.  No matter how special he was, a child was
still a child.
	It was, so to speak, a Kodak moment.  Naturally it couldn't 
last too long.
	"So here you are!"  The voice was shrill, commanding, and made 
all three boys wince.  It spoke of unaltered, unchallengable 
authority.  It spoke of strength.
	In short, Chichi had found them.
	"Hiding out in the desert like a bunch of hermits.  And 
*you* - " the human woman leaped out of the aircar that also ferried 
three other shadow-hidden figures, and strode up to Piccolo - "where 
did you get the gall to kidnap my son?  Hasn't little Gohan been 
through enough?!"
	Piccolo was saved from having to respond by a suddenly 
wide-awake Gohan.  "Mom," he was saying, "don't blame him.  He was 
trainin' me."
	"Training?!"
	As Chichi engaged Gohan in verbal fisticuffs - a contest in 
which the boy found himself hopelessly outmatched - Piccolo used the 
respite to shoot Krillin an enraged glare.  "You couldn't keep your 
mouth shut, couldn't you?"
	"I didn't tell anybody!" Krillin protested.
	"Which I still haven't quite forgiven you for," broke in a new 
voice.  Krillin stifled a groan - Bulma.  "Fortunately, Gohan had a 
Dragonball on his hat," the blue-haired scientist continued from the 
entrance of the cave, holding up a Dragon Radar.  A sheepish-looking 
Yamcha followed behind, and the saturnine Master Roshi brought up the 
rear.  "Just like a tracking device."
	Krillin stood.  "Then why didn't you try to take him back 
before now?"
	"He just would have been kidnapped again," Bulma snapped back. 
"Anyway, before now I didn't have a way to go find Goku."
	Gohan, upon hearing this, tuned his full attention onto Bulma. 
"You mean there's a way to get my dad back?"
	"Well... not exactly.  But there *is* a way we can find him."
Bulma was beaming with genius pride.
	"The Dragonballs," Piccolo stated.
	Bulma looked up as if seeing Piccolo for the first time.  
"Y-yeah," she said, shrinking back to stand behind Yamcha.  "Exactly."
Bulma, apparently, still hadn't lost her fear of Piccolo.  Not that 
anyone blamed her.
	Piccolo advanced, secretly relieved that at least *this* human 
had enough sense to fear him.  "You do realize that in all probability,
Son Goku has perished.  Even if he survived Raditz's attack, well.. it 
*has* been about a year."
	Master Roshi spoke up for the first time.  As always was the 
case when there were no eligable females around, the Turtle Hermit 
exuded an air of mountainous calm.  "Goku isn't dead - not yet.  I've 
had a sixth sense about Goku ever since he began his training under me.
I would know if that boy had passed on."
	"Of course it helped that Kami-sama told you the same thing," 
Bulma muttered.  Piccolo's hackles rose as Roshi shushed her.
	"Anyway, Kami-sama says it's beyond his own powers, so we can't
transport Goku back here  - " Yamcha broke in.
	"Which would just bring Raditz and his friends back to Earth 
that much faster anyway - " Chichi pointed out.
	"But we *can* wish to be transported to where Goku is," 
finished the desert bandit.  "The element of surprise should be enough 
that we can get Goku and escape, then find transportation back home."
	"Do you really believe that?" Piccolo demanded.
	Yamcha shrugged nervously.  "No.  But it's worth a shot.  And 
it would be easier with Krillin along."
	"M-me?" Krillin squeaked.  He'd much rather Yamcha had not 
called attention to him.
	"Sure.  You still remember how to do Taiyoken, don't you?"
	Krillin blinked a couple of times before he got it.  "Oh.  
*Oh*."
	"Is that monk all you came for?" Piccolo demanded.  "Because 
I'll gladly let you take him off my hands."
	"No," Chichi growled.  "We came for Gohan too.  You got a 
problem with that?"
	Gohan swallowed.
	"As a matter of fact, yes," Piccolo growled, projecting all the
animosity he could muster into his voice.  "The boy hasn't finished his
training yet.  Until he has - he goes nowhere without me."
	"Finding Goku is more important right now!" Chichi shot back, 
matching Piccolo indimidation tactic for intimidation tactic.  "Gohan's
training - *if* I decide to let it continue - can wait."
	"You want the boy to grow up a weakling?"
	"He's *not* a weakling," Chichi insisted.  "He's a *scholar.*"
	"Guys, guys," Yamcha broke in.  "Chichi, we need to get going."
	"Right."  Chichi composed herself.  "Gohan, come on."  She 
turned, clearly expecting her son to follow without question as Krillin
was doing.
	"Um..." Gohan hesitated, moved forward a step, stopped.
	"Well? What's wrong?"  Chichi half turned to shoot her son a 
laser-filled glare.
	"Well..." Gohan ducked his head.  "It's just that... there's
really no reason I can't continue my training with Mr. Piccolo while 
we're looking for Dad."
	"Huh?"
	Piccolo watched dazedly as Gohan tripped up to him and held out
a hand.  "Mr. Piccolo?  Do you think you could come with me?"
	Chichi squawked in protest, Bulma facefaulted, and the rest of 
them indulged in their own indications of disbelief.
	"What will you do if I say no?" Piccolo demanded quietly, his 
face unreadable.
	Gohan only hesitated a moment before answering.  "I'd stay with
you.  You are my teacher, after all.  Besides, I don't have to worry 
about my dad.  He's strong."
	"Gohan, are you crazy?" Chichi screeched.
	"Shh."  Master Roshi put a hand on her arm.  "Just wait a 
moment."
	Piccolo, dead to his surroundings, stared at the proffered 
hand.  [Kami-sama's playing a joke on me,] he thought.  [This sounds 
like just his kind of humor.]
	[And yet...]
	With a sigh of resignation, Piccolo gripped Gohan's hand in 
his.  "Let's go find your father."
	Gohan beamed.  And through the violent protestations of Bulma, 
Master Roshi, Yamcha, Krillin, and Chichi, Gohan's smile shone like a 
festival lantern.

	If Kami-sama, the guardian of Earth, found any part of the 
situation funny, he made no sign.  Piccolo was grateful for that small 
courtesy, although he would have liked the excuse to hit the old man.
	"So your spaceship never - ah - got off the ground?" Krillin 
asked Bulma, shifting from foot to bare foot on the cold marble 
flooring of the Lookout.
	The scientist shook her head, chagrined.  "Nope.  I can build 
one that holds air and water enough for one person, but go over one and
things get problematic.  I *could* do a two-person spaceship, 
eventually, but that could take years.  And don't even get me started 
on a three-person job."
	"I like it better this way," Yamcha said, fingering his newly-
acquired pouch of senzu beans.  "Being cooped up in a little spaceship 
for a year is not my idea of fun."
	He didn't have to add, 'Especially with Piccolo.'  All involved
understood.
	Kami-sama spoke, for the first time since the group's arrival. 
"Who of you will be making the trip?"
	"I'm going," Bulma said immediately.
	"Me too."  Yamcha was only a heartbeat behind.
	"I'm going," Krillin said, as decisively as he got.
	"Try to stop me," Chichi said grimly.  There were no takers.
	"I-I'm going," stammered Gohan, awed by the grandoiseness of 
the kami's dwelling.  He'd been here before, when Garlic Jr. had made 
his appearance, but most of that time he'd been drugged.
	"As am I," Piccolo rumbled, daring anyone to contradict.
	"Very well." Kami-sama nodded, the beginnings of a smile 
showing at the corners of his lips.  "Mr. Popo?"
	Mr. Popo, the rotund, dark-skinned custodian of the Lookout and
Kami-sama's constant companion, smiled and hefted a bundle wrapped in a
white sheet.  "Here they are," he said to the group.  "The seven 
Dragonballs you collected."
	"Great!" Bulma affirmed.  "Let's get this show on the road, 
whaddya say?"
	"Of course."  Mr. Popo set the bundle on the ground and 
unwrapped it.  The seven Dragonballs of legend lay there, gleaming 
against each other, the light of their stars throwing scintillating 
reflections on the faces of the spectators.  Mr. Popo moved back and 
Kami-sama took his place with an air of grand dignity that hadn't been 
there before.
	Bulma, Chichi, Krillin, and the rest fell silent and still.  
This was a special moment.
	As the Dragonballs gleamed in anticipation, Kami-sama threw his
arms into the air - a proper posture for summoning the Eternal Dragon. 
"SHEN LONG," he thundered,  "ARISE!"

Next chapter...
As Gohan and company hitch a ride with a veeery familiar crew, Goku 
begins his training as a Saiyan.