The sun at Kame House was relentless. It was bright, cheerful, and pleasant.
I stood on the soft sand, the ocean breeze ruffling my heavy cape. 'Piccolo would be proud.'
Master Roshi stared at me over the rim of his sunglasses. He had recovered his magazine, but he was wary.
"So," Roshi said, scratching his beard. "You're a fan. You know about the Turtle School. And you want my necklace."
He tapped the orange sphere hanging around his neck. The 2-Star Dragon Ball.
"I collect rare artifacts," I lied, keeping my hands visible and non-threatening. "I have heard that you possessed this. It would complete my set."
"Is that so?" Roshi grinned, a lecherous expression overtaking his face. "Well, kid, nothing in this life is free. You want the ball? You gotta pay the toll."
"You need money?" I asked.
Roshi waved his hand dismissively. "Money? Bah! I have an island. I have a turtle. What I need..."
He leaned in, wiggling his eyebrows.
"...is companionship. A young, lively gal. Or, if you can't manage that, maybe a souvenir? Some... delicate undergarments?"
I stared at him. He really is a big pervert.
"I am not a trafficker," I said, my voice deadpan. "And I do not carry women's underwear."
"Boring," Roshi scoffed, turning back to his deck chair. "No deal then. Scram, kid. I'm busy reading the... articles."
I looked at the ball. I could take it. But I still respected the old master despite his vices.
I needed a compromise.
"Magazines," I said.
Roshi froze. He slowly turned his head back around. "Come again?"
"West City," I said "It is a metropolis. They must have... premium literature. The kind they don't sell on small islands."
I pointed to the tattered magazine in his hand.
"Fresh issues. A year's supply."
Roshi's sunglasses slid down his nose. His eyes were wide, sparkling with a pathetic, hilarious hope.
"A year's supply?" he whispered. "Of the... good stuff?"
"Top shelf," I promised, though I had no idea what that entailed. "I can be back in ten minutes."
Roshi unclasped the necklace instantly. He tossed the 2-Star Ball to me.
"Deal!" he shouted. "West City is North-West! You can't miss it! Hurry back before I change my mind!"
I caught the ball. It was warm, humming with a faint energy.
"Thank you, Master," I said, bowing slightly.
I tucked the ball into my sash.
I didn't run. I didn't jump.
I simply ceased to be on the ground.
BOOM.
I accelerated to supersonic speed instantly. A cone of displaced air exploded around me, kicking up a massive wave of sand and ocean water.
On the beach, Master Roshi was knocked backward, his sunglasses flying off his face. He scrambled to his feet, shielding his eyes as he watched the purple blur vanish into the horizon.
"Bukujutsu..." Roshi muttered, his lecherous grin vanishing, replaced by the sharp gaze of the Turtle Hermit. "The Crane School flight technique? No... that was faster."
He looked at the spot where I had stood.
"Just who the hell is that kid?"
--
West City.
I dropped out of the sky, decelerating rapidly to avoid shattering windows, and landed in a quiet alleyway between two buildings.
I walked out onto the main street.
It was chaos, but peaceful chaos. Hovercars zipped through the air. People walked on the sidewalks, holding coffees and talking into phones.
"Hmm," I whispered, pulling my turban lower. "Nice."
'It would have been easy mode if I reincarnated on earth instead of Vegeta.' I told myself.
I needed to find Capsule Corp. I knew it was the biggest building in the city, but from street level, it was impossible to know where it was.
I spotted a local. A girl, leaning against a shop window. She had pink hair and was chewing gum.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping up to her.
She jumped slightly, then looked me up and down. Her eyes lingered on the cape, then my face. She blushed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
"Oh. Hi," she said, popping her gum. "Cool cosplay. Are you going to a convention?"
"I am looking for the Capsule Corporation," I said, ignoring the cosplay comment.
"Capsule Corp?" She giggled, shifting her weight to one hip. "Yeah, everyone knows where that is. It's the big yellow dome downtown. But..."
She batted her eyelashes.
"It's kinda far. If you want, I could... show you? Maybe we could get tea on the way? You have really intense eyes, you know that?"
I stared at her.
Why was she moving her hair like that? Was her scalp itchy? And why was her face red? Was she ill?
"I don't need tea," I said, confused. "And sorry but your indications are quite vague. 'Downtown' is a large area."
The girl's smile faltered. "Uhh... right. It's that way. Three blocks, turn left."
"Understood. Thank you."
I turned and walked away immediately.
"Weirdo," I heard her mutter behind me.
Did I become a weirdo? I just asked for directions.
--
Capsule Corporation, a massive, yellow-domed structure dominated the center, surrounded by lush gardens and a high security wall.
I stood at the intercom gate.
"State your business," a robotic voice crackled.
I couldn't just say 'I need Dr Brief.' I needed a hook. A name that would pique the curiosity of the smartest and richest man on the planet.
"Tell Dr. Brief," I said clearly, "That I am here regarding Dr. Gero."
Silence.
A few minutes later, Click.
The massive iron gates swung open.
I walked up the driveway. I expected security drones.
Instead, the front door opened, and a blonde woman in a brightly colored dress stepped out. She was holding a tray.
"Hello!" she chirped, her smile blindingly bright. "My husband said we had a guest! Would you like some cake? It's strawberry shortcake!"
This was Panchy. Bulma's mother.
She looked exactly like the anime. She radiated an aura of total, blissful obliviousness.
"I..." I hesitated. "I am here to see the Doctor."
"Oh, he's in the lab!" she said, offering the tray. "But you look like a growing boy. You must be hungry. Here, take a slice. You're very handsome, aren't you? Like a movie star from one of those desert films."
I took the cake. It seemed rude not to.
"Thank you," I said awkwardly.
"Follow me, dear!"
She led me through the house. It was massive, filled with plants and wandering dinosaurs. We reached a heavy steel door at the back.
"Honey!" Panchy called out. "The boy about Dr. Gero is here!"
The door slid open.
The lab was a mess of wires, half-built engines, and empty coffee mugs.
Dr. Brief was hunched over a workbench, welding something. A small black cat sat on his shoulder, unbothered by the sparks.
Brief flipped his welding mask up. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip. He looked me up and down, taking in the purple gi, the cape, and the slice of cake in my hand.
"You look a bit young to be mixed up with the Red Ribbon Army," Brief drawled, his voice scratchy and calm. "And you certainly don't look like one of Gero's androids."
I set the cake down on a clean spot of the table.
"I don't know Dr. Gero," I admitted. "But I knew his name would get the door open."
Brief chuckled, scratching the cat's chin. "Fair enough. Gero's a brilliant lunatic, but he's bad news. So, if you're not a Red Ribbon spy... who are you? And why are you in my lab?"
"My name is Cress," I said. "And I have a business proposition."
I reached into my sash and pulled out the 2-Star Dragon Ball. I placed it on the table.
Brief looked at it. "Pretty marble. What does it do?"
"It emits a unique signature," I explained. "I need a device that can track this specific signature across the planet. A dragon radar."
Brief took a drag of his cigarette. He picked up the ball, weighing it.
"Interesting material. Feels like resin, but... denser. I could build a tracker, sure. Take me an afternoon. But why should I?"
He put the ball down and leaned back.
I looked at him. He was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
"I'm not offering money," I said.
I leaned in.
"I have a ship. Parked in the Wastelands. It possesses a Faster-Than-Light drive capable of crossing the galaxy in months."
I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes.
"I need modifications," I continued. "I need a gravity generator installed in the hull. One that can simulate up to 300 times Earth's gravity."
Brief raised an eyebrow. "300 times? You'd be a pancake."
"I can handle it," I said. "If you build the gravity chamber inside the said ship and the radar... I will let you study the FTL drive. You can copy the schematics. You can reverse engineer the engine."
Dr. Brief stared at me. The cigarette ash fell onto his lab coat. He brushed it off absently.
"FTL," he muttered. "Real FTL?"
"Real," I confirmed. "Alien tech."
He looked at me for a long moment. He assessed the strange clothes, the intense demeanor, the request for 300G gravity.
He grinned. It was the grin of a man who had just found a new puzzle.
"How old are you, kid?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen," Brief shook his head, laughing. "Alien ships. Gravity chambers. Dr. Gero. You're a weird one."
He grabbed a screwdriver and pointed at the back door.
"Bring the ship around to the back garden. Don't crash into the greenhouse; my wife loves those roses."
He picked up the Dragon Ball and walked over to a massive scanner array.
"Well?" he called back. "Get moving."
I allowed myself a small smile.
"Right away, Doctor."
I turned and walked out.
--
"Bring it down gently!" Dr. Brief shouted, waving a lit cigarette. "Mind the hydrangeas!"
I hovered the Starlin-Class courier over the back garden of Capsule Corp. It was a massive ship, a grey brick steel, and it looked utterly out of place amidst the manicured lawns, fountains, and roaming pet dinosaurs.
I eased the thrusters. The ship descended.
CRUNCH.
I landed it squarely between the greenhouse and the main fountain. A few prize-winning rose bushes were flattened instantly under the heavy landing struts.
I winced. "Sorry," I whispered inside the cockpit.
I hit the ramp release and walked down.
Dr. Brief was already there. He didn't seem to notice the crushed roses. He was practically vibrating with excitement, ducking under the ship's hull to inspect the engines.
"Fascinating," Brief mumbled, running a hand over the scorched metal of the ion drive. "The alloy composition is incredibly dense. And this vector shielding... primitive in design, but the energy output is efficient. Very efficient."
He popped his head out from under the wing, ash from his cigarette falling onto his lab coat.
"You parked a tank in my garden, son. I love it."
He walked over to a patio table where he had set up a few gadgets. He tossed me a small, round device with a green grid screen.
"Here. The Dragon Radar."
I caught it. I pressed the button on top. The screen beeped, showing two yellow dots pulsing in close proximity, the 2-Star Ball I had, and another one right here.
"That was fast," I said, impressed.
"Physics is physics," Brief shrugged. "The energy signature is distinct. Once I isolated the frequency, building a receiver was child's play."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another orange sphere. Five red stars glowed inside the resin.
"Speaking of that signature," Brief said, tossing it to me casually. "The scanner kept pinging the basement. I found this down there years ago. I've been using it as a paperweight for my blueprints."
I caught the 5-Star Ball. It felt heavy, warm.
Two down. Five to go.
"I am borrowing this," I said seriously. "Once I have used them, I will bring it back. I will place it exactly where you found it."
Brief blinked, looking at me like I was speaking a foreign language.
"Kid, it's a paperweight. Keep it. I'm more interested in the FTL drive."
"It's a matter of principle," I insisted.
"Sure, sure. Principle." Brief waved a hand dismissively, already turning back to the ship. "Now, show me the hyperdrive motivator. I want to see how it handles sub-space distortion."
--
I left Brief to his tinkering and headed toward the gate. I had a radar, two balls, and a mission.
"Oh! Hello there!"
I stopped.
Blocking the garden path was the woman from before, Panchy. She was holding a bundle of blankets in her arms.
"Leaving so soon?" she asked, her smile radiant. "But you haven't had lunch!"
The bundle in her arms shifted. A tuft of bright blue hair poked out.
A baby.
The infant squirmed, letting out a fussy, irritated whimper. Then, she opened her eyes. They were large, blue.
Bulma.
She looked at me. The crying stopped instantly. She stared at the purple gi, the white cape, the stern face.
She reached out a tiny, chubby hand and grabbed the edge of my cape.
"Oh my!" Panchy cooed, bouncing the baby gently. "She likes you! She usually cries at strangers. She has such a temper, just like her father."
I stood there, frozen.
This tiny, drooling creature holding my cape... she was the future. She was the one who would invent the Dragon Radar (which I was currently holding a prototype of). She was the one who would build the Time Machine. She was the one who would tame the Prince of all Saiyans.
I really hope Black Goku won't be a thing. He's my favorite villain from super but in reality, he would be too dangerous.
Right now though, Bulma was chewing on her own fist.
I felt a strange, awkward warmth in my chest. I wasn't good with kids. On Vegeta, kids were just small soldiers.
I reached out slowly. I offered her my index finger.
Bulma grabbed it. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She gurgled, a sound that might have been a laugh.
"Who's the cosplayer?"
I looked up.
Standing on the porch was a teenage girl. She had blonde hair, wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy pants. She was holding a soda can, looking at me with amusement.
Tights. Bulma's older sister.
"He's a guest, Tights!" Panchy chirped. "He brought your father a spaceship!"
"A spaceship," Tights deadpanned. She looked at my turban, then at the ship crushed into the rose bushes. "Right. Okay. Sure."
She walked down the steps, eyeing me.
"I'm Cress," I said, gently pulling my finger away from Baby Bulma.
"I'm Tights," she replied. "Nice cape. Is there a convention in town, or do you just like being dramatic?"
"It's functional," I said defensively. "It's weighted."
"Uh-huh." She popped the tab on her soda. "Well, 'Cress,' Mom is going to have a heart attack if you leave without eating. She's already setting the table."
I was about to refuse. I had a planet to scour.
Then, the wind shifted.
The smell hit me.
Roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Fresh bread.
My stomach let out a growl so loud it actually vibrated my chest armor beneath the gi. It sounded like a angry beast waking up.
Panchy clapped her hands. "I knew it! You're starving! Come inside, I made enough for an army!"
I swallowed. The nutrient paste on the ship had kept me alive, but it hadn't made me happy.
"Perhaps," I said, trying to maintain my dignity while salivating, "A quick meal would be nice."
--
The dining room table was laden with enough food to feed a family of ten for a week.
Ten minutes later, it was empty.
Clatter.
I stacked the final plate on a tower of porcelain that defied gravity. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, feeling the heavy, satisfied warmth of a full stomach for the first time in months.
"Thank you," I said. "That was... adequate."
Across the table, Dr. Brief, Panchy, and Tights were staring at me. Brief's cigarette had burned down to the filter. Tights' mouth was slightly open.
"Where..." Tights whispered, looking at my flat stomach. "Where did it all go?"
"Don't know," I said simply.
"You eat a lot, a damn lot!" Tights noted, narrowing her eyes.
"Something like that," I agreed.
I stood up. "Dr. Brief. Regarding the ship."
Brief shook himself out of his stupor. "Right. The modifications. You wanted gravity plating?"
"I want a complete overhaul," I said.
I walked over to a nearby whiteboard and grabbed a marker. I drew a circle.
"The brick shape is inefficient for high-gravity maneuvering. It has structural weak points at the corners. I want you to strip the FTL drive and build a new chassis."
I sketched the design. It was spherical. Compact.
"Round," I explained. "Like a ball. It distributes the stress evenly. Inside, I need a training deck capable of 300G. But I also need living quarters. A bed. A kitchen. A shower."
I paused, looking at the TV in the corner of the room.
"And a media center. Music. Movies. I have a lot of downtime in space."
Brief looked at the sketch. He rubbed his chin. "A sphere... aerodynamics wouldn't matter in a vacuum, but for atmospheric entry, it's brilliant. Self-contained. Modular."
"How long?" I asked.
"To strip the drive, build a custom chassis, and fabricate gravity plating that won't crush you?" Brief exhaled smoke. "A month. Maybe six weeks."
"I have time," I said. "I need to find the other five balls anyway."
Tights was leaning forward, her chin in her hand. She was studying me with a new intensity.
"You talk like a weirdo," she said. "You eat like a dinosaur, no perhaps more. And you're ordering custom spaceships."
She tilted her head.
"How old are you, Cress?"
I looked at her.
"Fourteen."
Clang.
Tights dropped her fork. It hit the plate with a sharp ring.
"No way," she said. "Get out. I'm fourteen."
She looked at me, really looked at me. She saw the scars on my hands.
"You're lying," she whispered.
"I wish I was," I said softly.
The dynamic in the room shifted. Tights looked down at her soda. She looked suddenly self-conscious.
--
I walked to the front door. The radar was in my pocket. The 5-Star Ball was in my bag. I was ready.
Then I froze.
I remembered Master Roshi.
"West City... premium literature... a year's supply."
I patted my sash. I had the Dragon Balls. I had the ship.
I had zero Zeni.
I stood in the doorway, my hand on the knob. The sweat started to bead on my forehead. I didn't want to steal earthlings.
I turned around slowly.
Tights was standing in the hallway, watching me leave.
"Forget something?" she asked.
This was it. The lowest moment of my life. Lower than bowing to Frieza. Lower than the mud on Planet Meat.
"I need..." I cleared my throat. "I need to borrow money."
Tights blinked. Then she snorted.
"The space warrior needs cash? What for? ammo? Fuel?"
I looked at the floor. "Literature."
"Literature?"
"Magazines," I mumbled. "For... a master. It was the price of the ball."
Tights stared at me for a second. Then she burst out laughing.
It was a loud, unladylike cackle. She clutched her stomach.
"Oh my god," she gasped. "You're buying porn? That's the 'price'? That is hilarious."
"It is a transactional necessity," I said, my face burning.
"Okay, okay." She wiped a tear from her eye. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wallet. She pulled out a stack of bills.
"Here. 50,000 Zeni. That should buy you enough 'literature' to sink a boat."
I took the money. "I will pay you back. I have credits, but I need to find a galactic exchange—"
"Don't worry about it," Tights said, waving me off. "But there's interest."
I stiffened. "Interest?"
"Stories," she said. Her expression turned serious. "I want to be a writer, Cress. Science fiction. Adventure. And you..."
She poked my chest.
"...you just fell out of the sky with a spaceship and a tragic backstory. While my dad builds your ship, you're going to come back here. You're going to hang out. And you're going to tell me everything. Who you are. Where you came from. Why you have a tail."
I looked at the money. Then at her.
She was lonely. I recognized the look.
"Deal," I said.
"Great." She grinned. "Don't die out there, Space Boy."
"I'll try my best."
I turned and walked out the door.
I launched myself into the sky, the Zeni clutched in my hand.
--
If you guys could make the wish to Shenron, what would you chose ?