“But Gohan,” Son ChiChi watched how her son discarded his books and dashed out of the Son family quarters. “Your studies... The Academy...”
But the boy was long gone to greet his mentor and friend. Commander Son heaved a melodramatic sigh, hen a smile slowly spread on her face. Piccolo was back, and that meant that her husband had returned, too. She just hoped that Goku had managed to lose His Royal Pain in the Neck on the way. Of course she knew that Goku would never do something so heinous, and if she was honest with herself she knew that Vejita was part of her crew just like all the other odd and not so odd creatures on board, but still... He had that obnoxious tendency to never do as he was told, unless the prince of all Saiyans felt that it served his own purposes. On the bright side of things, his background as one of Lord Frieza's lackeys gave him a unique insight into the Ice-jin's mentality and strategies that had meant the difference between life and death. Of course, he was also an expert on security issues. Otherwise, ChiChi would never have entrusted the ship's weapons and safety into Vejita's hands, even – or rather, especially with him being the third strongest being in the sector after her son and her husband.
She carefully gathered the books Gohan had knocked down to the floor in his excitement and placed them on the desk. The boy made her proud, being smart, disciplined and well mannered. Some day, her son would become a famous Starfleet Admiral, or a scientist, or maybe a diplomat, that she was sure of. With a smile, ChiChi opened the zipper of her uniform jacket began to prepare a welcome back dinner for her husband.
x
“Piccolo, it's us.” A tall bald man with an additional third eye on his forehead cautiously moved forward.
Piccolo edged back a step.
“Who are you?” He could feel how the others formed a lose circle around him and tensed, preparing to use whatever chance of escape he was offered by these people. People who were nothing but a nameless crowd, perhaps even the enemy. He lifted his arms slightly, ready to defend himself should it become necessary.
The old man stared at him as if he had just announced that stars were made of cotton candy.
“Who are you?” Piccolo repeated, this time with more vile. “Tell me who you are or I'll kill you all!”
Unfortunately, he had no means to back up his threat, but he didn't dare to show the gaping audience that he was about as helpless as a fish on dry land with his shackles. His gaze flickered from one to the other and he could feel how several of the strangers around him increased their power level.
“Don't you remember us?” a blue haired woman approached him, giving him a strange look. “I'm Bulma.”
Neither the name nor the face stirred any memories. “I've never seen you before.”
“Commander Bulma Briefs, the ship’s engineer. C'mon, you grumpy Namekian, you can't have forgotten me!”
“If I have, I don't remember!” Piccolo snapped, trying to find a way how he could get away from the hostile strangers. Maybe he could just run... Nonsense, he was on a spaceship. Even if he escaped them now, he'd still be stuck like a peach in a can. No, he'd never get out of here on his own, he needed someone to ensure his flight. Stalling, he checked the strangers for weaknesses, tried to find the one who'd serve best as a hostage. “I don't remember any of you, so tell me who you are and why I'm here.”
“You are on board the USS Dragonball,” the old bearded human said. “You are part of my crew. You and Son Gohan went to Planet Ice 710, but bounty hunters got you and killed Gohan...”
Gohan. The kid. Piccolo's eyes widened in sudden realization. The strangers had freed him from the prison to make him pay for Gohan's death. Instinctively, he increased his ki level and fell into a fighting stance. “He tried to safe me. They wanted to...”
Before he had a chance to finish the sentence, the lift door in the back of the bridge opened and a boy scuttled out, jumped over of people and landed right in the middle of the assembly before he came to a halt right next to him. Cheerfully, the kid announced: “Piccolo-san! You're back!”
The others looked at them expectantly. Piccolo reached the conclusion that he should know the boy. Something about the expression in the young human's face told him that they must have been close. But who was the kid? He had seen the eyes before, somewhere in a life that was disclosed to him now. Had they been friends? Had the boy been his student? Piccolo was at a loss. “I'm sorry, kid... but who are you?”
“But...” The boy's face fell like in slow motion as the words sunk in. “I'm Son Gohan.”
“G-Gohan? You’re the one killed because of me?” With a mixture of curiousity and anger, Piccolo studied the boy. It was laughable – here he was tormenting himself over the boy’s sacrifice and all the time the little pest had been safely aboard a spaceship. A sense of betrayal began to spread in the Namekian.
“You said he was killed,” he huffed at the old man.
“I was dead,” the kid quickly reassured him. “Doctor Yamucha revived me.”
“Piccolo, calm down. We are your friends,” the tall one who had helped to free him from prison slowly came closer.
Were they telling the truth? What was the truth, anyway? The Ice-jins had made him a monster, his distored and fractured memory had confirmed it, and now these people claimed they were his friends? He needed time, more time to sort this all out. Unfortunately, right now time was a luxury that he couldn’t afford. The entire situation scared him more than he liked to admit. Piccolo wrecked his head for a way out, but only his initial plan sprang to mind. With desperate determination, he grabbed Gohan by the throat and dug his talons into the windpipe until he drew blood. “Let me go, or I’ll kill him!”
At once, the power levels around Piccolo went through the ceiling. Some of the strangers dashed back to the walls, out of the way of possible harm by the fight that was imminent. The rest, however, had lost their friendliness. Piccolo growled, slowly moving himself and his young hostage over to the lift.
“Leave the kid alone,” the old man said calmly.
“Piccolo... Don’t be stupid,” the Bulma-woman pleaded. “You don’t really want to do this.”
He felt the boy’s grip tighten painfully around his wrists, and it dawned to him that the kid could easily break his bones. Not to mention that the two who had brought him here and now were bristling with enough energy to blow up the ship. Wind gushed through the bridge, small items swirled through the room and people ducked for cover. When parts of the bridge electronic began to shortcut and explode, the situation was slowly getting out of hands.
“My ship!” Bulma screeched and quickly began manipulating some controls. “Vejita, Goku, what are you doing to my ship?”
“Silence, woman!” one man barked.
“Let go of my son,” the other man approached him carefully. “Let him go before you get hurt. This is wrong and you know it. Give up and let us help you.”
“Wrong,” Piccolo gambled high, hoping that whatever bond these people shared would keep them from killing him as long as he had Gohan. “You’ll give up or I’ll crush his throat here and now.”
Gohan choked and gasped for air. Piccolo felt sorry for the boy, but some disgusting part of him thouroughly enjoyed the gruesome scene.
“I told you the Nemakian’s not worth it, Kakarrott,” the small one with the spiky hairdo hissed. “But would you listen to me? No...”
“Shut up, Vejita,” the guy with the three eyes snarled. “Piccolo has lost his memory, and right now you’re not helping any!”
Vejita snorted. “If you care so much for your green friend, Commander Tenshinhan, then why don’t you go and tell him he’s doing a boo-boo?”
The two men glared at each other, distracting Piccolo for the fraction of a second. That was all Gohan needed to free himself. In a move that stemmed from years of ridgid practice, the boy focussed all his energies and catapulted the Namekian over his head, sending him flying ungraciously into the next control panel. A shower of sparks covered him, then the broken circuitry sent a jolt through the shakles and the world went dark around Piccolo.