Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ DragonBall Zenith: How Young Hearts Bleed ❯ Liftoff! ( Chapter 4 )

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Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, its characters, story line, or any likeness of the characters. My name is not Akira Toriyama. However, this story line has been created by me to be used by me and to be written by me. You know that drill. Also, I do not own Mountain Dew, though I really wish I did. I am not endorsing any brand names I use here in any way either, along with the future topics of gangs, fighting, and the like. If you look carefully, you'll notice that I am strongly against those things and try to make that clear to you, the reader.

(A/N: I'm too tired to do the talk show this time. Sorry, but it will be postponed 'till next time. Read the bottom of the page for more details.)

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A/N: Yay! Finally, after much delay (I was grounded by my parents… **twiddles her thumbs and looks innocent** What? Haven't you ever been grounded before? …Rhetorical question there…), Episode 4 is finally out! YAY! Okie, now I just have to think up a new disclaimer mini series… Hmmm… Oh well. I'll think one up later. For now, you just have to read this episode, k? Oh, and I just have to get out one more episode before I start working on "The Black Plague" again. Ain't that nifty? ("Nifty"? "Nifty"!? Who says "Nifty" anymore? Jeez, I need to go drink some more Mountain Dew before… I… Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz….)

Broken bodies, broken dreams.
All is lost, or so it seems...

"Live out of your imagination, not your history." - Stephen R. Covey

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Three weeks, three whole weeks of 18 hour days and 6 hour nights, three weeks of work to which ordinary men would have hung up their hats, and the New Hope was complete and ready for takeoff.

Trunks was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling and fumbling with his sword late that night. There was so much ahead of him! Two days of rest had already gone by and liftoff was tomorrow morning. "Well, this morning." Trunks corrected his thoughts, checking his watch. All of his personal items besides the sword were already capsulated and loaded into the ship's cargo area so his room was bare save the ghostly remnants of furniture that would remain on Chikyu. Trunks glanced to his bedside table where the only "family" picture ever taken with Vegeta not blowing the camera up afterward once rested.

It was taken right before Goku had gotten sick at a picnic the Z team, friends, and family were at. Everyone was there and Trunks was still an infant. Goku stood in the back, towering over the rest of the team and smiling his famous smile, as happy and healthy as ever. Vegeta, arms crossed, stood next to Bulma who held an infantile version of Trunks in one arm and the other arm holding one of the ornery man's arms firmly. She had a metal band around that arm's wrist that could easily be mistaken for a bracelet, but it was actually one end of a pair of handcuffs, the other end strapped on the concealed wrist of her Veggie-chan. Though Vegeta could have easily broken them he dared not upset "the woman" for fear of one of her verbal sparring matches. He scowled just as much as usual, if not more for the fact he was having his picture taken ("Or else," Bulma had told him, "You're sleeping on the couch for the next week and I'm not fixing your training room!" That was yet another one of Bulma's aces).

Trunks had an oddly satisfied look on his face. Why? He had just filled his diaper as the picture was taken. Vegeta got a kick out of that, literally, for laughing at Bulma's one-moment-later horrified look.

From what Trunks was later told the day seemed to be perfectly normal. Vegeta was grouchy, Goku was carefree, Gohan was playing around, and the other guys had a heated game of football going (to which the Saiyans weren't invited because they always ended up popping the ball). Who would have ever guessed that it would be the day Goku got sick?

The original red flag was raised when Goku declared himself to be "not hungry". The following silence was nearly deafening in its sharpness, broken only by the sound of Krillan's head meeting the football on a forgotten pass. Not even a cricket chirped.

Of course, no one could have guessed that he was sick. With a Saiyan immune system, the symptoms of his ailment didn't even surface until the virus had nearly destroyed him from the inside out.

Goku didn't suffer much after he fell ill. It only took him two days to die, fighting to the last. The rest of the Z senshi suffered greatly, however. No longer did they look to the enemy in an all-out fight for survival, but realized their death could be brought about by something they could neither foresee nor prepare for.

Trunks examined the handle of his sword again; its base was meticulously detailed, his name inscribed in the silver plating in an elaborate script. The handle itself was made of leather, well worn and impressed with his handprints from age. He wondered just what kinds of challenges and rewards the universe held for him. Earth was on the very edge of the galaxy, much too far away from what he expected to be the center of commerce for the other aliens to care much about it, despite its indisputable attraction to the most powerful protagonists and antagonists of the universe. (Frieza, Vegeta, Goku, Piccolo, Kami, Tien… The list goes on and on.) That, and from Bulma's research and observations, Chikyu and it's solar system was right in the middle of a "wasteland" of worthless space debris serving as a thick insulation for that lone gleaming sapphire, Earth.

Trunks would, first of all, head over to New Namek (home of the Nameks, or Piccolo and Kami's race) for directions to the galactic center of commerce, then proceed on his way from there. Trunks knew where the Namekian planet was located due to the fact that Goku had used his "instant transmission" technique to sweep the galaxy for it and had come back with its location plus a new friend. Actually, Dende had been Gohan's childhood buddy, but that's not the point.

Trunks smiled; his thoughts jumping to the going away party the guys had thrown for him the previous night. They had gotten themselves drunk, but Trunks "couldn't legally drink" due to his decreased average physical age of 17, though his height was returned to a score that he had passed much earlier in his life. That was ok though because alcohol doesn't do a single thing to Saiyans anyway. Lemon juice and honey works like a charm, though, for some strange reason. It's almost like an elephant tranquilizer shot to Saiyans. Not even Bulma has figured out why yet.

His thoughts skipped to another unpleasant memory, one he has lived with for quite some time. All those innocent people he could have saved had he just started training a little bit earlier, had he just not been so selfish, had he tried just a little bit harder… Their dying screams cut sharply through his consciousness and sent him cringing.

But that was over with now, nothing could be done. Much more than a year had passed since those deaths took place, and since one year was the limit for the use of the Dragon Balls to undo any wrongs committed… And Chikyu no longer had a set, what with Piccolo and Kami gone and Dende without the knowledge of how to create new ones.

Trunks sighed once more and capsulated his sword. He had better get some sleep; he would be having a big day.

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The morning came all too soon, and before long Trunks was outside and saying his last good-byes and receiving his final instructions.

"…And all of the information, blueprints, and some essential spare engine parts are in capsules 87F through 103Z. The cargo log is in this capsule." Bulma handed the tiny, mini corn dog shaped, white painted device to her son. The only part that wasn't white was a label with a blue background and black lettering that clearly read "87E". "There are Senzu beans in capsule 208S. And remember never, ever to let the atomic pressure gauges in the training room or on the engines to function over 320%. Make sure to change the plant's nutrients once or more every 6 months! You wouldn't want to run out of oxygen, would you?"

"Are you sure we can't come with you? It would be like our greatest adventure yet!" Mike pleaded with Trunks.

"And leave Chikyu completely unguarded? You guys are still needed here, I don't belong." Trunks replied suddenly saddened even more.

"And where else do you belong?" Tim said hotly, annoyed at Trunks's decision to leave them and perhaps being a little selfish.

"About 30 years in the past, and space is the next best thing." The lavender haired youth told them. "I thought we went over this."

"Yeah, I guess we did…" Tim placed one had behind his head in a classic "oh yeah" pose, one which is used by all people alive in this universe quite often.

"Well, I guess I should be off then. Goodbye, everyone." With that, he turned to go, but was interrupted when Bulma latched herself onto his back to give him one last hug.

"Be careful!" She told him, near tears. "Promise me you'll come back alive!"

"Hey, Mom! I'm a Super Saiyan! Don't worry, I promise." He replied as if it were common sense.

Bulma couldn't help but think that Super Saiyan-ism didn't make a dent in Vegeta's fate, but her thoughts were cut short when Timothy joined the hug, followed reluctantly by the other two guys and shortly after returned by Trunks. She was just happy that the four super strong men had enough common sense not to crush her frail figure. After a few short moments, Bulma squirmed out of the embrace just in time to avoid the next round of farewells.

"Take care, man" Andy told him.

"We'll miss you!" Tim hugged him tighter, a tear visible in one eye.

"Don't be a stranger, come back and visit sometime!" Mike offered.

"Don't worry." Everyone let go and Trunks continued. "I promise! I'll come back and visit sometime."

"While we're still alive?" Andy asked.

"While you're alive, and hopefully still young." Trunks nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah, look who's talking! You Saiyans don't get 'old' until you're like 200!" Mike teased, rolling his eyes.

Trunks smiled and merely said "bye" a final time before walking into the ship and taking the pilot's seat.

He initiated the launch sequence and his mother and friends cleared the area.

"Engines: Green, at 20% and rising. Cabin pressure: Green. Engines at 30%." The feminine voice of the computer stated calmly. Down the checklist and displays Trunks went. As the engine output rose, so did his anticipation along with a slight feeling of regret, regret for leaving this place. It was the same feeling he had when he left his home in the alternate timeline, the past. That time he had to leave, but that wasn't the case now. Sure, he could start over, he could make new friends, and he could leave the universe to itself and just live in this little blue bubble. Sure, he could stay.

But it seemed that the Saiyan version of combat fatigue had caught up with him. All his life, he had been fighting. Though Trunks convinced himself that he was doing his duty, using his power for the good of the universe, in reality the underlying reason was slightly more selfish. It was the result of his Saiyan heritage, his Saiyan pride: Trunks was addicted to the thrill of battle, he thrived off the adrenaline rush. Just like a true addiction, one fight led to the need of another, greater challenge and he would never be satisfied. Fortunately for his current mental condition, Trunks didn't know this; he still felt he was the hero.

He didn't think that he could go down the same dark path that this same drive led his father down. And that path led ultimately to his destruction. Such was the way of this inordinate amour propre.

Trunks sighed and watched the bright holographic display as the engine output rose. 50%, 55, 60, 65, 69, 72, 73…

The digital needle climbed the final few numbers to the desired level of 75%. It was a powerful engine, and 75% was perhaps more than needed for a launch off Earth.

The increased G forces were nothing to Trunks, who had trained in the gravity chamber in excess of 400G's daily, and that was only a warm-up. Sure the 20 or more G's caused him to subconsciously emit a small amount of ki to steady himself as his half-human build only allowed him to stand up to 10G's effortlessly and unaided by a machine or ki, but it was a pittance of a price to pay for the other benefits.

In only a few seconds, Trunks was accelerated and out of the atmosphere, watching the Earth and moon fade from view via the electronic display. The sight was beautiful as that gleaming sapphire, adorned with its ashen satellite, rotated slowly around each other as if in an endless waltz… Trunks took a picture.

If Trunks had more than the few ties he remembered there, it would have been a heart-wrenching sight, but the Chikyu he remembered was a battle scarred place where the inhabitants cowered in constant fear. They did, that is, until Trunks became powerful enough to terminate that terror once and for all.

No, Trunks was looking forward to his adventures in the heavens and was nearly glad to leave the harbor of such nightmarish memories behind. Unfortunately for him, more than a few encounters with others would cause them to surface once again. They would become his weak spot and his power, his friend and his foe. He would use them to defeat evil and they would be manipulated by evil to defeat him. The source of his power was a double-edged sword, just as easy to impale others with as to be impaled with himself.

As the Earth faded from view and disappeared, only one thought surfaced clearly in his mind. "Next stop, New Namek!"

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"Is it working? Hurry! Get it up!" Tim yelled, eager to boot up the tracking device that would let them monitor Trunks's progress in space. After an anxious minute of waiting, a tiny white dot appeared on the screen, blinking almost on top of another dot, Earth.

"Adjust the scaling!" Alex yelled.

"Just a minute! Genius can't be rushed, you know." Bulma replied, disgusted with their childlike behavior.

"Sorry." All three men voiced at once. Bulma sighed.

"Alright." she declared. After a few taps of a blinking blue button, the scaling was reduced enough to allow them to see the little dot representing Trunks's ship speeding away towards unknown territory. "There you go. Now, I'm going to get some lunch made. We don't need to spend every spare moment in front of that screen." The boys didn't reply, their faces already glued to the screen like it was an "I Love Lucy" weeklong marathon of new episodes. Bulma sighed. "I don't know why I bother…"

To be continued…

And finally, I have updated! At long last! Gee, how long has it been? ...Oh yeah... I guess it's been about 4 months... Oh well. Wanna know why? I DON'T WANNA TELL YOU! **Gets hit in the head with a frying pan** Ow... Fine. **Twiddles her thumbs** I was grounded... GROUNDED, OK!? Oh well... You'll be happy to know that I've drafted up to Episode 22, but I'll be changing it a lot to reduce the amount of Episodes there will be in this adventure... Yep, Trunks is going on a campaign! For all those of you non-dorks out there who don't know what that is... A campaign in story land is a looooooooong series of adventures linked in some way to a final, colossal battle. An individual adventure or even a mini-series of interconnected adventures is a fraction of the whole thing. I'm thinking I'll want to do maybe 3 adventures and about 2 mini-series in this story, maybe less for time's sake. I'll only be highlighting the extremely important adventures too, the unimportant ones will be separate stories, though really good ones. The reason is that I know most of you out there don't want to listen to a whole novel at 1-episode-per-day/week/month intervals, or even the recent 4 month development. Also, I am a sophomore in high school. That means I have 2 1/2 more years before college... And I probably won't have any time then.

So enough of that. Some more good news is that the other story I was talking about is nearing completion. The bad news is that it is 354 pages long in small print. Yep, I'll have to do some major editing there, even re-draft the entire thing. Whoo boy, and I still have The Black Plague to work on... And homework... And various other little stories... And homework... And art class... And the band tour in four days... And did I mention homework? (Note to all freshman and 8th graders: NEVER, EVER take all your hard classes in one year, ESPECIALLY not sophomore year! ...Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.)

Well, that's enough of my ranting for tonight. And by the way, I'll have to postpone that talk show for the next installment. I'm tired. **A groan from the audience** Yeah? Well what if I told you to write it!? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE THAT!?!? **Audience cheers** Oh no...

Well, if you think you can do better than me, try your hand at it by e-mailing the finished product to me by March 31, 2002 at willow920@hotmail.com. You will be cited, congratulated, and given a spot in my site's hall of fame. Oh yeah, you're feeling special now!

Of course, if no one responds, I will do the talk show... Eventually. Until then, you get no disclaimer mini series. Hah!

'Till next time...