Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Deeper Than Colour -- The Kioku Story ❯ Training Tips From The Master ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DB/Z/GT. I'm not thinking up any clever, witty lines this time, either. I'm on a kind of time limit ... ^_^

A/N: I know I wasn't going to update until February, but this is called a "I don't want to study anymore chemistry because my brains will explode" gift chapter to you guys. Heh. I don't like studying . . . so here you go. Seriously, though, I won't update anything else until after, and the next chapter of this story might be a little longer in coming. But here's something to tide you over until February. ^^

This chapter doesn't have blood or guts or too much action in it . . . it's more of an interim bit, with the beginning of the kids' training. So, enjoy.

Deeper Than Colour - The Kioku Story

Chapter Four: Training Tips From The Master

BEEP! ... Uh, Mama? Um, it's me. Trunks. Um, me an' Kiku decided we're gonna' leave to train for a while. Not forever, just until we get strong enough to beat the jinzouningen. A couple months, maybe? Anyhow, we didn't want to bother Gohan-san 'cause he's busy all the time, so that's why we left. And we don't wanna' put you and ChiChi-san in danger. We don't want the jinzouningen to come looking for us and kill you. So. Um . . . yeah. Uh, Kiku wants to talk now, so here he is ....... (scuffling sounds) ....... Mama? It's Kiku. D-don't be mad or sad, please . . . we will be back, after we get rid of the jinzouningen. We'll kill them so they can't hurt anybody again. But we . . . we didn't leave 'cause we don't love you, 'cause we do. Um, we just thought it would be better if we were gone. So you wouldn't have to see Papa in me and Bulma-san wouldn't see Vegeta-san in Trunks-kun and all that. Tell Gogo not to come looking, 'cause he won't find us. We're little and we're good hiders. 'Bye, Mama, 'bye Gogo, 'bye Gram'pa. I love you. Oh, Trunks-kun wants back on ....... (more scuffling) ....... Hi again. I just wanted to say 'bye, Mama. And . . . um . . . I know I never say it, but I love you. See you after we kill the jinzouningen. Oh yeah, 'bye to ChiChi-san and Gyuumao-san, too. ... BEEP!

******

"Ouch! Trunks-kun, get off me now!"

"Just a second. I hafta' hang up the phone."

"Trunks-kun! You're standing on my antennae! Owww, it hurts!"

"I'm sorry!" Trunks sprang nimbly to the ground and landed on the broken concrete, raising a small cloud of dust. He glanced worriedly at Kioku. The only illumination came from the street lamps, spilling out onto the road, and in the yellowy-orange light, Trunks' face looked like the visage of some bizarre alien. "You okay?"

Kioku glared at him, rubbing his head, then his expression changed to a broad grin with startling swiftness. "Yeah. It's done hurting now," the smile disappeared as Kioku's face drooped. "I hope Mama isn't too sad."

"She'll be okay," Trunks reassured him, "Just . . . don't think about her. I'm not thinking about my Mama, and I don't feel like I m-miss her," but his voice faltered, and Kioku looked at him out the corner of his eye. Trunks' crystal-blue eyes were shimmering, and Kioku smiled in sympathy.

"You're right," Kioku spoke up, a little too loudly. "Let's find somewhere to train. Somewhere the jinzouningen won't find us, but where Gogo won't know to look, either."

"Like where?" Trunks seemed extremely relieved to have a change of topic, and he latched onto the new problem with great, if somewhat forced, enthusiasm. "A city? A forest?"

Kioku shrugged, massaging his forehead with his fingers. "I don't know! Um . . . someplace. Just keep walking. We'll figure it out."

The boys trudged through the ruins of the city, climbing over pieces of crumbled cement, pausing a time or two to stare at the ground when they came across the bloodied remains of the city's inhabitants. After the fourth such occurrence, Kioku felt ready to head back home, and he could hardly see the pavement as the tears blurred his vision.

"Don't look," Trunks warned, covering Kioku's eyes, leading him through the worst of the holocaust. The small boy's voice deepened with fury, and his hands shook over Kioku's eyes. "This is why we're fighting the jinzouningen, Kiku. So that this won't happen anymore."

"But it will happen," Kioku argued, yanking Trunks' hands away and glaring furiously, though his anger wasn't directed toward his friend. "We won't be strong enough for a long time. Lots an' lots of people will die before we can do anything about it. I hate this!"

Something happened to Kioku then, as he stood with his fists clenched, eyes staring off into the sky. His blood seemed to disappear and it was like his veins were filled with lightning, running through his body, and, had he not been bald, his hair would have stood on end. Without knowing why, Kioku opened his mouth and let out an incoherent scream, filled with rage and pain, feeling the hurt from all the dead people in the city, and incredible anger toward the jinzouningen.

He thrust his hands up to the sky, and the power that had been building up within him was released in an amazing outpouring of light. The night sky was lit almost to the brightness of day, and anything that wasn't tied down to the ground was flung backwards - including Trunks.

"WHOOOAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!" Trunks yelled as he careened head-over-heels in the air, smashing into a semi-upright building a hundred metres away. "...ow..." his tiny voice filtered through the roar of Kioku's energy aura, barely audible, sounding startled and cranky, but not really hurt.

At last, the sudden onslaught of energy faded and Kioku collapsed to his knees, gasping and coughing, fingers digging into the pavement. Now that the crackling power was no longer surging through him, Kioku felt . . . empty; like the shell of a cicada - the same in appearance but completely devoid of substance within.

Only one thought could be formed in the void of Kioku's mind: he wanted more. Whatever it was that had just happened, it awakened a yearning deep inside him that had been completely vacant before.

"What the heck was that?" Trunks' voice startled Kioku, and the Namekusejin whirled around to see his friend half-limping back to him, scratched and bruised but otherwise unharmed. The demi-Saiyajin uttered a few choice words gleaned from his father's more colourful vocabulary, shooting Kioku looks as though the three-year-old had just pulled a Dragonball from his ear. "I haven't seen anybody go nuts like that since Gohan-san!"

"I-I don't know," Kioku stammered, rising slowly to his feet. His legs felt wobbly, and his head spun. "I just got really angry, and the power just . . . just came."

"That's how Gohan-san turned into a Super Saiyajin," Trunks informed him, holding Kioku under the elbow as his legs threatened not to support his weight. "He got really, really, really mad. Do you think that getting angry is the secret to power?"

Kioku shook his head, frowning. "I hope not. Getting mad is like - like hate, and Mama told me hate is bad. It's like poison, Trunks-kun; it eats up your heart until there's nothing left."

"The jinzouningen are different, Kiku. Yeah, it's not good to hate people, but they're not people! They're monsters!" Trunks' eyes flashed, and for a split-second it was almost like Kioku was looking at a smaller version of Vegeta-san. "They kill everybody, and they aren't sorry. They like it! They deserve to be destroyed."

"I never said they didn't," Kioku argued, "But . . . do we have to feel hate to get strong? 'Cause destroying the jinzouningen is one thing, but feeling that kind of - of angryness all the time, that's not what I want."

"You're sounding like Goku-san again," Trunks sighed gustily, and he scratched his head, messing up his tousled hair even further. "Look, let's just forget about it for now. Now we need to find a place to sleep."

"Okay."

The two boys searched through the rubble for a secure spot in which to rest, where they would be protected and sheltered without having to worry about the building collapsing on them. It took some doing, but at last they sought refuge in a half-broken building that seemed to be secure. They huddled together, resting back-to-back, trying to ignore the coldness that seeped through their clothing. They'd removed their chest plates and boots, since the armour absorbed the cold and spread it through their bodies, and sat clad in the bodysuits.

Kioku shivered in the cool night air, because he had never slept outside; even when he and Trunks had played at camping in the backyard, Bulma-san had made sure their tent had been equipped with all the conveniences of a modern home.

"We shoulda' brought blankets," Trunks observed miserably. "This is stupid. I never know what to pack and stuff."

Kioku nodded silently, rubbing his arms. "I feel like a baby," he remarked, feeling embarrassed. "I'm three . . . I should know how to sleep without a blanket."

"I'm almost four, and I'm colder than you are," Trunks retorted, "So don't feel too bad."

"I'm colder than you."

"N'uh-uh! I'm colder."

"No, I am. My fingers are froze."

"No, I'm colder! My fingers and my ears are froze!"

"Well my ears are bigger than yours so they're twice as froze!"

They bantered back and forth in this manner until Kioku realized how ridiculous the argument was, and he burst into fits of giggles. Trunks looked at him oddly for a few seconds, then joined in the laughter.

Once they had worn themselves out, Kioku gasping for air and watching as his breath puffed in front of him, something happened. The landscape of demolished skyscrapers and twinkling stars vanished, replaced by arid desert and rocky cliffs . . .

The child whimpered in his sleep, curling up into a little ball with his arms wrapped around his knees, chin digging into his chest. "I'm cold," he whispered, his already small voice sounding even tinier as he shivered. He opened one eye, stared up at his teacher imploringly. "Can I sleep with you, Piccolo-san?"

"No," he grunted, shifting away. "I'm not in the mood to cuddle with you, brat."

"I don't wanna' cuddle," Gohan argued, lower lip protruding. "I just wanna' stay warm."

He blew out his breath in a snort, wondering how a child with such awesome destructive power within him could be . . . well . . . so childish! "You're not sleeping on my lap, little one. Just wait a minute," closing his eyes, he focussed his mind and within seconds, a blanket appeared over Gohan's huddled form.

Gohan clutched the blanket to him, grinning widely, and he glanced at him. "Thank you, sir!"

"Just don't lose it, because I'm not giving you another one. And if you make any of those disgustingly 'cute' noises in your sleep again, I'll blast the blanket to ashes."

Gohan's eyes sparkled mischievously, and suddenly he held the blanket tightly around his shoulders, then leapt up onto his sensei's lap. "I dare you to push me off, Piccolo-san," he giggled, snuggling close.

He snorted again, and after an unceremonious shove, Gohan found himself in the dust, the wounded expression on his round face making him look like a kicked dog. "You didn't think I'd do that, did you?" he smirked, crossing his arms, then the grin faded as Gohan's eyes began shimmering with tears. "Ach, kid, sleep wherever you want. I don't care."

He closed his eyes and settled back against the cliff, pretending he didn't care one way or another. A few seconds later, he heard Gohan give a sigh of understanding, then the boy crawled back into his lap. He didn't comment, and neither did Gohan for a while.

At last, a tiny voice piped up. "Will you teach me that thing where you make blankets and clothes and stuff appear?"

"No. It's a Namekusejin ability. Go to sleep."

"Oh, okay. G'night, Piccolo-san."

"H'n."

Kioku blinked several times, wondering why the memories had been coming so frequently, and just when they were needed. He didn't have much time to ponder, though, because his attentions were drawn to Trunks. The demi-Saiyajin was huddled against Kioku, arms around his waist, his body shuddering violently, and Kioku quickly became alarmed.

He frowned in thought, thinking back to the memory, and he let what he knew of Papa Piccolo-san's mind fill him, so that for a few seconds he could read his father's knowledge. Like he had done with the herbs, Kioku concentrated on one specific aspect of the flashback, and after a while he nodded in satisfaction.

"Haaahh!" he whispered, holding out his hands, but nothing happened. His eyebrow ridges furrowing, Kioku chewed on his lip and forced his mind to focus, a few select words from Vegeta-san's vocab' dancing through his brain. "Work, you silly thing," he ordered in a commanding hiss.

The air rang with a kind of 'shnnng' noise, and Kioku jumped as a blanket appeared out of nowhere, falling to the ground. "Yeah!" Kioku whispered, picking the white material up and placing it over him and Trunks, feeling warmer almost instantly. Funny how something so simply familiar like a blanket could make him feel at home.

"Pretend Mama's the one tucking me in," Kioku whispered huskily to himself, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his chin, aware that Trunks was drowsily doing the same. "Pretend she's right here . . ."

Before he relinquished control of his body to sleep, Kioku shifted slightly to wipe the tear that rolled down his cheek.

******

"Is walking part of training? 'Cause if it is, I should be a Super Saiyajin by now," Trunks whined, giving a great show of moaning and groaning as they continued their trek to wherever Kioku was leading them.

"I dunno'. Maybe," Kioku allowed, stopping for a second to rub the bottoms of his feet. "I think I gots boot blisters."

"Me, too. Where are we going?"

"Wherever my feet are going," Kioku explained sketchily, ignoring Trunks, who was rolling his eyes. "I'm not sure, but I think Papa Piccolo-san knows where to take us."

"Oh. Gre-e-eat," Trunks threw up his arms in a sarcastic gesture. "Piccolo-san. A dead guy is telling us where to go. Why didn't I think of that? Gee, it's so simple! So smart!" he glared at Kioku, but it was more out of exhaustion than malice. "Don't tell me he talks to you and Gohan-san!"

Kioku shook his head, trying not to limp as his tender, pampered feet grew increasingly sore. "No, but it feels like he's showing me sometimes. It's weird, Trunks-kun, and you'll think I'm stupid if I tell you, so never mind."

Trunks just shrugged, not really caring one way or the other. His friend was strange, and he knew that, but he liked him that way. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just kind of funny. So where is Piccolo-san making us go?"

"We'll know when we get there."

"Wonderful."

******

"Are you sure?"

Kioku glanced at Trunks incredulously. "Whaddaya' mean? 'Course I'm sure! This is where we're gonna' train."

The lavender-haired boy shook his head, eyebrows raised, and he waved his arms frantically. "There's nothin' here! No food, no water, nothin'! We'll die out here!"

"We will not," Kioku scoffed, casting his gaze about the expansive landscape. Over the course of nearly a week, their travels had led them to a large, open desert, filled with rocky cliffs and mountain caves. "And food never woulda' been a problem if you'd brought some."

"Don't remind me," Trunks retorted sourly, planting his fists on his hips. "Well, okay, we're here. There's prol'ly lotsa' animals around here somewhere, if I can just find 'em. No sweat," he licked his lips hungrily, since his candy stash had been reduced to a few stale mints, and Kioku suppressed a giggle. It looked as though Trunks expected the animals to hop out of the cracks in the rocks and stand there waiting for Trunks to eat them.

Trunks must have heard the muffled laughter, because he whirled on Kioku, blue eyes snapping with irritation. He looked a lot like Bulma-san when she used to get mad at Vegeta-san. "Will you cut it out?" Trunks demanded, "You don't hafta' eat, so don't make fun of me, okay?"

All Trunks' griping over the past few days finally reached a sort of boiling point, pushing Kioku's already strained patience past its tolerance level. "SHUT UP!" he yelled, clenching his fists. "It was your idea to leave home! I miss Mama and Gogo, and if all you're gonna' do is complain, then why didn't we just stay there? Quit being a baby!" the normally-gentle Namekusejin crossed his arms, scowling ferociously.

Trunks' eyes widened, and his entire body trembled as he backed a few steps away. Kioku blinked rapidly in confusion, wondering why in the world Trunks was so upset. He'd just shouted at him, that's all. "Trunks-kun, what's the matter? I didn't wanna' -"

"Not you, dummy!" Trunks cut him off, scrambling backwards and tripping over his own feet. He skittered backwards like a crab, nearly falling over in his attempt to get away, his hands slipping in the loose sand. "Th-that!"

It wasn't until Kioku realized Trunks' wavering finger was pointing to something over Kioku's shoulder that he felt hot breath blasting the back of his neck. Filled with foreboding and the sense that he was about to scream, Kioku slowly turned his head around.

A mouth, full of large, jagged teeth half the size of Kioku himself, was less than a foot away from him. The would-be warrior didn't have to look up to see to whom the fangs belonged; Gogo had read him enough books on dinosaurs for Kioku to know exactly what he was dealing with.

"M-m-maybe if we don't move, it won't see us?" Trunks stammered, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

"Don't be stupid," Kioku snorted at the common misconception. "That's not true."

"So . . . whadda' we do?"

"RUN!!!!!"

"Nice plan," Trunks scoffed, giving Kioku a look like he was an escapee from an insane asylum.

Kioku didn't reply for a minute, concentrating as he was on the more important issue; running fast enough that he wouldn't be eaten by their irate pursuer. Once he had worked out a rhythm where he could run without stumbling, and his lungs didn't burn too badly for want of oxygen, Kioku inclined his head in Trunks' direction and shot back, "You gots a better idea, Trunks-kun? Huh?"

Trunks merely grunted in response, and Kioku grinned triumphantly, fangs bared. Though he was younger, he was better at winning arguments than Trunks was. Trunks, however, seemed to have forgotten this. "Bah," he snorted, sounding like his father. "This is your fault, anyway. Nice going, Mr. 'My Ears Are Bigger Than Yours' Namekusejin. How come you didn't hear it?"

"I was listening to you whining like a baby!" Kioku stated matter-of-factly, trying to ignore his friend for the moment. The heavy, panting breaths of the dinosaur seemed to be getting ever-warmer on the back of his neck, and he resisted the urge to look back.

"I'm not a baby!"

Kioku looked at him again to snap off a retort, but as he did so he broke his rhythm. His booted feet caught on an upturned chunk of rock, and the tiny Namekusejin fell flat on his face. He had a brief moment of panic, thinking he was going to get eaten, before his head smashed into a boulder and his consciousness faded . . .

******

"Kiku, get up, I'm sorry!"

The voice seemed to be coming from a place thousands of miles away, by the lack of volume. Kioku groaned, not wanting to wake up, for he was dimly aware that once he did, the pain would come back. However, the insistent little voice and the feeling of being shaken, kept prodding Kioku to return to consciousness.

"Kiku, I didn't mean to distract you. I didn't want you to fall. Get up, please!"

No, he thought groggily. It hurts out there. It's nice here.

"Kiku, Kiku, Kiku! Wake up!"

I already said no. I don't wanna'.

"Get up, get up, get up, get up!"

At last, Kioku moaned and opened his eyes, though he regretted it as soon as he did. His head felt like a watermelon that had been stepped on, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. His right shoulder was hurting quite badly, too, and he couldn't feel his arm. "Ughh," he muttered.

"Kiku! You're okay!" Trunks cried gleefully, and before Kioku had a chance to prepare himself, two short little arms wrapped themselves around his neck in a vice grip. "You scared me, you big poo head!" Trunks continued, "I thought you was dead!"

"Get off," Kioku grunted, trying unsuccessfully to pull Trunks away. "You're hurting me!"

Immediately, Trunks backed off, and when Kioku's vision stopped looking like he was underwater, he could see Trunks kneeling in the sand, wiping his watery eyes. His dusty face was already streaked with tear trails, and Kioku was surprised. He hadn't seen Trunks cry in a long time. "What happened?" he rose unsteadily to his feet, his legs all shaky. He bet he looked like the drunk man he and Trunks had seen in the city one time.

"You fell, and the dinosaur almost gots you!" Trunks explained, still rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He didn't even bother to deny that he had been crying. "But somethin' happened and I killed it. With an energy blast. I . . . I fried it all up like a - a chicken!" he glanced around dubiously. "I was hungry, but not that hungry. There's lotsa' meat to eat up now."

Kioku was still not quite coherent, and he wobbled a bit when he tried to walk. "My head hurts," he complained, and he finally took his hand off his forehead - and blanched when he saw that his fingers were covered in a sticky, violet liquid.

"ACKK!" he screeched, wiping his hand on his pants. He had sudden flashback of slipping on Papa's heart two years ago, but he hurriedly pushed it away before he could throw up. "I blooded! I blooded! I'm leaking!"

Trunks got a funny look, and he blinked a few times before talking. "I wouldn't worry about your head, Kiku. Um . . . your arm is . . . um . . . worse."

Kioku frowned, puzzled, cocking his head to one side. "It doesn't hurt."

"I know," Trunks scratched his head, and the look on his face was like he didn't want to say something, but knew he had to. "Um . . . just look at it."

Obligingly, Kioku glanced down at his arm - and nearly collapsed in shock. His armour was cracked and the spandex torn . . . and below his shoulder, Kioku could see the ground. He tried to lift his right hand to his face, but no limb rose in response to the action. His right arm was gone. "I gots no arm!"

Kioku placed his good hand on the stub of his arm, feeling sick to his stomach to feel the blood slowly oozing out. "Ewwww . . ." he clasped his fingers over the remains of his limb. "Wh-what happened?"

"You fell, and you hit your head on that rock," Trunks explained, carefully avoiding looking at Kioku's injuries. "And then the dinosaur came and it . . ." he scrunched up his face like a little prune, "It bit your arm off. It was gonna' eat you all up, but then I fried it nice and crispy," his horror evaporated for a second, and he drew himself up with pride. "You shoulda' seen it, Kiku! I used little energy blasts when I trained with Papa, but this one was huge!"

"Heh," Kioku laughed back, and looked down at his shoulder again. The gaping wound had closed over, the bleeding stopped. "That's kinda' ewwy," he said, finally swallowing his revulsion. "I wonder how I make it grow back?"

Trunks slapped himself on the forehead repeatedly, muttering, "Dummy!" over and over. "I forgot you could do that. Ahh, if I remembered that I wouldn't'a' been so scared."

"I don't know how to do it, though," Kioku shrugged, the gesture feeling kind of funny with only one arm. "Maybe I'll remember later," he rotated his shoulder slowly, finding that the pain had died down to a dull throb, and he knew even that would fade in time. "Where's the dinosaur now?"

"Behind a big rock over there," Trunks trotted over to a large boulder, and Kioku followed. The sight that awaited him caused Kioku to turn away abruptly, his hands over his mouth as he fought the urge to gag. Stumbling away from the site on weak legs, Kioku managed to get a few metres away before plunking down on the ground.

Trunks came back, looking confused, and he sat beside Kioku. "What's the matter?"

"How can you eat that?" Kioku sputtered, still feeling ill. "It's dead!"

"You want me to eat it alive?" Trunks cocked an eyebrow. "That's even grosser."

"Why do you have to eat dead things at all?" was the anguished reply. "Just eat plants!"

Trunks paused for a moment, then he shook his head. "It's a desert, Kiku. I hafta' eat animals, 'cause there are no plants. You can stay in that cave over there while I eat it, if you want," he pointed to a large opening in the cliff above them, one that had previously escaped Kioku's notice.

"Okay," a little queasily, Kioku staggered to his feet and walked to the cliff face, where he stared at the daunting rock in front of him for a few seconds. "All right, Kiku, you can do it," he told himself firmly, reaching out with his small hand and gripping a chunk of stone, slowly pulling himself up.

It was more difficult than he had thought it would be with only one arm, but Kioku was able to find good footholds and could keep himself balanced for the second or two that it took for him to switch his hand position. And strange as the idea seemed at first, Kioku got the impression that someone had already cut hand- and footholds into the cliff some time ago.

At last, his muscles burning, left arm shaking, Kioku reached the cave. He collapsed on the floor, panting, not caring how hard the ground was, or that pieces of rock were sticking into his back - all he wanted to do was rest. He stared at the ceiling for a while, watching a tiny lizard dart about, slipping through cracks and crevices, and Kioku smiled a little. He liked lizards. This one was green, like he was, and he wondered for a second if Namekusejins were related to Earth lizards. Probably not.

The little reptile skittered across the roof of the cave, making its way to the far wall, and Kioku followed it with his eyes until the lizard disappeared into a small hole. "Hey!" Kioku exclaimed, crawling on his knees and one hand to the crevice. "Come back here, mister lizard!"

The lizard didn't obey, so Kioku stuck his arm in the hole and thrashed his hand around, trying to find it. He didn't, but his fingers brushed something else - curiously, Kioku closed his hand over the object and drew it out. It was a notebook, similar to the kind Mama used to use to teach Gogo his schoolwork, but the symbol on the front was way different. Kioku couldn't read very well yet, but he recognized the character as one that Gogo drew all the time: Ma, meaning devil, or demon. That was Papa Piccolo-san's signature. Below it, a little smaller, was the character Han, which Gogo used as his.

His interest now piqued to the fullest, Kioku opened the book. The pages crackled like they were a few years old and hadn't been opened in a while, but they weren't too too old. They didn't smell musty or anything. The letters written on the pages were scrawled in a childish hand, but with a neatness not usually present in a four-year-old's handwriting.

Kioku stared at the writing, trying to decipher it. He could read a little, since Gogo and Mama often read him books before bed, and he could recognize a few words. He also knew that Gogo had taught himself to read when he had been Kioku's age, and the little Namekusejin had always held his brother in high esteem for that.

Well. If Gogo could do it, he could do it, too. Gogo might be a genius, but Kioku was . . . um . . . green. Hey, that had to count for something, right? Even if it didn't, he was Piccolo-san's kid, and Papa had once told him that Piccolo-san was the smartest of all the Z-senshi. Kioku bet that he knew how to read.

The fighter-to-be forgot all about his exhausting climb, and the charred remains of the dinosaur on the ground below him, as he settled down on his stomach with the book a few inches away from his face. Kioku squinted at the characters, trying to figure out what they said. He could pick up some words here and there, and was able to decipher more by filling in the gaps. After an indeterminate amount of time, Kioku let out a yell of triumph and danced around the cave on his toes, flipping cartwheels before he smacked into the wall.

"I did it, I did it," he crowed from his awkward position, splayed upside down against the wall. "I read a whole page!"

After a few minutes of cackling delightedly to himself, Kioku crawled back to the abandoned book and stuck his nose in the pages again. He decided to start from the beginning and read through until Trunks came up . . .

When the lavender-haired demi-Saiyajin poked his head into the cave some time later, Kioku pounced on him. "Whaa!" Trunks screeched as he and Kioku tumbled about the cave, rolling around and smacking into rocks. "What's going on?" he demanded, pushing Kioku off him.

"I read some of Gogo's book," Kioku declared proudly, holding it up. "And he talks about what Papa Piccolo-san did to train him. We can learn about training in here! It gots sparring, and energy beams, an' all sortsa' stuff in it. We'll be super people in no time!!"

"Wahoo!" Trunks shouted, and now it was his turn to throw himself on Kioku. The two of them tussled playfully until they were both out of breath, and they lay on the ground, panting heavily.

"Jinzouningen, here we come," Kioku said, grinning. He looked over at Trunks, who lay with his arms outstretched, face turned upwards. "We'll be home soon, right, Trunks-kun?"

Trunks nodded, and he chucked Kioku on the cheek lightly. "Oh yeah. Once I become a Super Saiyajin, I know we'll be ready to defeat 'em. We'll decimate 'em!"

A short pause ensued, then Kioku piped up, "Trunks-kun? What does 'decimate' mean?"

"Uhhh . . ." Trunks opened and shut his mouth a few times soundlessly, and Kioku wondered if he even knew what the word meant. "Papa used to say it."

"That doesn't tell me what it means," Kioku propped himself up on an elbow and peered at him skeptically. "Do you even know?"

"Of course I know!" Trunks retorted, but a funny glint in his eyes indicated otherwise. Kioku crossed his arms, sitting up, and Trunks immediately stammered, "It - it means . . . um . . . it's something you do to bad people. You see, the first part of the word, 'dec', sounds like . . . um . . . 'desk' . . . and the 'im' sounds like 'in' . . . so . . . uh . . . decimate means . . . um . . . to turn people into desks!"

Kioku stared at him, one eyebrow ridge raised. "Uh-huh. You made that up. Admit it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not! The jinzouningen are made of metal, and desks are made of metal. So there! Stupid!"

"My desk is made of wood."

"Well . . ." Trunks glanced around in a panic, trying to find a way out. "All the smart people know that the good desks are made of metal. So you don't know anything. You think just 'cause you're green you're cooler than me."

Kioku laughed, and he rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "I thought I was."

"Oh shut up," Trunks hit him good-naturedly, "You're just a dummy. -'mon, let's spar before we go to sleep. You can tell me about Piccolo-san and his training tomorrow."

"Okay!" grinning, Kioku pounced.

"WHAA! I wasn't ready yet!!!"

******

A/N: Again ... heh. Uh, the next chapter will be after they're done training - and there's a 5-year gap between the chapters, so once again, don't get confused. All right? Well .... see you in February! Next time: the kids vs. the jinzouningen!

Oh yeah! I've started a mailing list for my stories. If you want to be on it, either e-mail me or mention it in a review or something. I've said this in my bio', but I don't know how many people actually read those.