Chapter 24 - The council of Furry

West City Gazette, May 8, 750

The first day of the rest of our lives, by Hank Firecracker

[...] My readers know I have often said much about Capsule Corporation, Bulma Briefs, the way her research might shape our future, and the accountability I would expect to come with that power. I have certainly not been afraid of expressing criticism where I saw it fit to do so. Some people have suggested to me that they expected whatever I wrote today to be a similar indictment. A loud and proud 'I told you so', crowning my campaign of the last months.

The truth is, I did not tell you so. I did not tell you so because what happened yesterday on Papaya Island, and all across the world, was beyond imaginable for me, as it was for you all, and, I expect, for Bulma Briefs. While she certainly was involved in the organisation of the Tournament, I am sure she did as much as possible to prevent any reasonable threats to its safety. But what happened was not reasonable in any sense of the word.

As I am writing this, we are still receiving the numbers. Seventeen dead on Papaya island, but that is perhaps the lightest toll. Other locations across the world were the sites of fighting, sometimes very destructive, between forces belonging to the Red Ribbon army and its seceding terrorist faction, whose objectives and motives are still unknown. Many of these battles only saw victims from the army itself, which may make them register lower on our attention, but make no mistake, they showed a military might on display that is absolutely terrifying to know in the hands of a terrorist organisation. With five of the biggest Red Ribbon bases fallen in the hands of what amounts to a loose cannon faction, the entire North-East territory of our main continent seems to be effectively under the control of the insurgents, with not enough firepower from either the Royal Defence Forces or even the Red Ribbon itself to contrast their presence. The dead and wounded of yesterday, I fear, may only be the bloody prologue to a dark chapter of our lives indeed. The King has not released a statement yet; but reliable observers tell us that many important military personalities, as well as all the key actors of the drama that played yesterday at the Tenkaichi Tournament, have been ferried to the Capital and convoked for an emergency hearing with His Majesty himself, or one might be inclined to say, a war council [...]

The trip from Orange City to the Capital took a few hours by plane. His Kintoun would have been faster, but Goku was tired, and besides, he needed more than just transport. For starters, it had been a good time to get up to date on the situation. Bulma did not have as much time as she wanted, wrapped as she was in her own preparations for the imminent meeting, but they still managed to spend enough on a long video call to get the basic facts of what had happened to both of them down. Goku listened speechless to Bulma's rough account of the evening - and her insistent reassurances that he shouldn't blame himself for not being there, not with all that was going on for him. Bulma, despite her generally somber mood, was shortly turned into an excitedly squealing mess at the knowledge that he could now control his transformations, not to mention the whole bit about him being actually an alien, but she quickly decided that topic was better reserved for a time of greater privacy. It's not like she could understand much of what had gone on in ten minutes over the phone anyway.

Once he'd wrapped up the call, Goku was serviced by a tailor who had been generously paid by Bulma's family for the extravagant job and who fitted him with what were considered clothes suitable to meeting a sovereign. On Goku's part, he thought they seemed more suitable to confining a madman who would otherwise go wild. Perhaps that was their purpose, to guarantee the safety of the King by restraining his guests. However, he categorically refused, in spite of the tailor's heated objections, to let him wrap what seemed like a silk noose around his neck. As a principle, he would never wear something that would enable an opponent to grab and strangle him so easily at a moment's notice.

Finally, the plane landed vertically on a platform on top of the Royal Palace; from there he was handed to two guards who showed him around and eventually led him to the large antechamber in which those waiting for an audience with the King were seated.

"Goku!"

Seeing him walk into the room, Bulma ran to hug the kid. She bent over and squeezed him, like she was making sure he was indeed the right size and shape, despite all the time they'd spent talking earlier.

Then she withdrew and buried her hand in a bag, suddenly remembering something.

"You left this at the tournament." she said, pulling out a short wooden stick that fit well in her palm and handing it to Goku. "You would rather have it with you, right?"

"Oh, right."

Goku grabbed the stick and with a thought he stretched it out from that compact size he'd left it in for easy storage to his pole's usual length of one meter or so, then whirled it among his hands for a while, feeling its familiar weight. He had not enjoyed much being forced to fight completely unarmed at the Tournament. But in the end, he let it shrink again and handed it back to Bulma.

"Best to leave it here," he said, "I imagine we are not supposed to bring weapons with us when meeting the King."

"You're not wrong. I'll leave it in my luggage with the guards here, they don't need to know what is it." Bulma dropped the magical item back into the bag. "And you're, well-"

She looked at him, head to feet, wearing the finest kid-sized suit her money had managed to buy at such short notice - but with an unbuttoned shirt, no tie, and what must have been a hastily cut hole for his tail in the back of his trousers.

"It's terribly constricting." grumbled Goku. "And it makes me hot."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, now." said the girl, giggling. "It makes you elegant. At best."

"Hm." The boy couldn't help sounding disgruntled, as he uncomfortably wiggled inside his clothes. "How are you? The things that happened at the Tournament sounded very-"

"Fine. I'm fine." snapped back Bulma, with a dismissive gesture. "I mean - what does not kill you makes you stronger, right? Well, I have to be plenty strong by now."

Goku nodded, unconvinced, but let the matter drop. He took a look at the rest of the people assembled on the seats of the room, or standing around talking. Bulma's father, Giran, master Muten, who was seeming trying to call someone on the phone, and Pilaf, who looked extremely nervous and wary of all the guards scuttering around. The only unfamiliar face, besides the guards that escorted them, was a tall black man wearing a military uniform. He did recognise the red logo on his chest though - he had seen it often when they had discussed Mai and researched her past.

"I'm sorry," said master Muten suddenly, passing the cell phone back to one of the guards, "but I can not seem to contact my sister. If she does not desire to be spoken to, there really is no way to do so."

The guard scoffed. "How does she even know it's you calling, and not a customer?"

"Perks of her profession, I'd say." the old man smiled. "I'm afraid we will have to hold our meeting without her. But she is not the most talkative sort, so I suspect even if she were here we would not learn much from her if she wasn't in the mood to let us."

"Very well." the guard looked in Goku's direction. "The boy has arrived too, I see. I'll go report to the King then."

He trotted away to an adjacent room.

"Goku, I'm happy to see you well." Dr. Briefs walked up to his daughter and her friend. He, too, was wearing a rather formal attire, an image almost as incongruous as that of Goku. "We were all worried yesterday, but then, it was a crazy evening for everyone."

"So I hear." said the kid. "I still do not understand well all that happened. Bulma gave me a summary, and the tailor that put me in these clothes, on the plane, explained only what he had heard on TV, and that did not seem much. I don't get much of the consequences of it all."

"I still do not have a clear picture myself." said the doctor, sending a side glance to his daughter. "But I understand this meeting will be a chance to clarify many things. A lot has happened, all over the world. This may well be the start of a war."

The throne room door opened again, and the guard from before walked out.

"The King has consented to meet you. Please form a queue, and we'll let you enter one by one after a short search..."

The short search took almost one hour between all of them, and required them to move into a small booth, strip down, and prove that they had no weapons on their body to an examiner of their own sex, with various degrees of protesting involved (Pilaf's shrieks of indignation could be heard from a couple cities away). Then they were all admitted into the room.

If they had expected anything especially solemn or royal, they were sorely disappointed. What they were made to seat in was merely a very large conference room, with a circular table running in an almost complete ring around a podium, with just enough of a gap to let a speaker go take their place at the centre. When they stepped in, the room was empty; or at least, empty of any human presence. At the head of the table and to its left and right, for almost half of the circle, were sets of TV screens with webcams hooked on top, replacing the actual speakers on their seats. At a glance Bulma could see many faces on those screens that she recognised from one or another news report - Zeeman, Minister for Science, Pitt from Interior, General Liu of the Royal Defence Force and Minister of Defence, and many other political or military authorities. And the screen at the head of the table showed none other than King Furry, the blue anthropomorphic dog that had ruled the greatest part of the world for a couple decades now, his bespectacled eyes set in a worried frown.

"What is the meaning of this?," started complaining Pilaf. "We get searched like some kind of terrorist and then-"

He stopped himself short of finishing that sentence, partly because of the glare he got from one of the guards escorting him, partly because of a sudden jolt of self-awareness about his role as would-be usurper. There were snickers and expressions of slight outrage from the various ministers. The King, however, did not seem to take it badly.

"I am sorry that you have been inconvenienced so." he said, shaking his head. "Despite all the thought he gave to the question, my chief of security could not see a way to protect us from so many people well able to kill us with their bare hands. There were too many uncertainties, and too much danger for us all to be so vulnerable. So we all are speaking to you from a secret location, and we can hear and see all you are doing in turn. We hope you do not take it as a sign of a lack of trust."

"Not at all, Your Majesty." said Bulma, with a slight curtsy. "In fact, it seems eminently sensible to me. It is a dangerous time."

"We're glad you understand. Let us then go to the heart of the matter. You are all here because you are all involved in various ways with an incident that threatens to shake the bedrock of peace my whole dynasty has been built on for three centuries. You, all together, possess information that we need going ahead."

He hesitated for a moment, as if pondering if to add something.

"I believe," he said finally, "the first thing we should hear is the account of the new commander of the Red Ribbon. Commander Black, if you please."

Black stepped up and walked to the podium, while the rest of the group sat down. He stayed imperturbable amidst the icy stares of the members of the government, and especially of those from the Royal Defence Force. It was common knowledge that there was no trust or love between their two militaries, with such different outlooks and objectives. To most members of the RDF, Ribbon soldiers would be little more than common criminals.

"Your Majesty," said Black, "I will relay the most recent information I have received. This is by no means a final tally, but I believe it will convey the extent of the damage."

He cleared his voice, and started consulting a large wad of printed papers.

"Yesterday, around 19:30 hours, Capital Time," he started, "a large coordinated attack has begun on the forces of the Red Ribbon, from internal enemies of motivation hitherto unknown. The fighting has involved seven main sites; six were major Red Ribbon bases, and one was the Papaya Island Tenkaichi Tournament grounds, where I was personally located, escorting the late Commander Red. This last attack resulted in seventeen casualties, of whom nine were insurgents and four members of the Red Ribbon. The apparent objectives of the enemy were to kill Commander Red and mr. Giran, who is here today with us. The latter attempt having been averted, I would consider the operation at least a partial success. However-"

"Success my ass." growled Giran. "Something important has been stolen from me."

Black raised his eyebrows at the comment, then quickly skimmed through the reports up to a tagged page.

"-the rest of the fighting has been much bloodier, and not quite as successful for our side," he continued. "The Red Ribbon possesses eight main bases across the world. It seems the enemy has carefully planned this action for years, and has infiltrated the higher ranks of our organisation. This allowed them to strategically transfer and relocate personnel throughout the world. As a result, the highest concentration of these traitors was found in the north-east region of this continent. The Muscle Tower, our northernmost base, fell in minutes, with our loyal men being taken by surprise and killed before they had time to react by those whom they considered trusted companions. A similar fate hit three other bases, only one of which managed to oppose what still amounted to only a symbolic resistance. The fighting was over in less than half an hour. We have no way to produce a tally of the casualties, but the total of our forces hosted by those bases included something like 70,000 men, more than half our forces, of whom we estimate that at least 80% must have switched to the insurgent side, and the remaining 20% to be lost. Vast amounts of equipment have been lost as well, including armoured and air divisions. A few survivors have managed to escape and some are being collected as we're talking, and hopefully they will manage to give us more detailed information."

There was a murmur among all the screens. The King alone didn't flinch and kept listening intently.

"Another base, the Desert Fox Den, which is located south of here, approximately at the same latitude as West City, has been heavily contested for long enough to evacuate part of our loyalist forces, but is now in the hands of the insurgents. Our men gave them a real fight, though, so hopefully they will be too busy licking their wounds for a while before they can do anything."

"Then we must attack!," shouted General Liu, "This is way too close to two of our major cities. If we can take them by surprise while they're still weak-"

"I think they will be aware of it too." agreed Black. "If it were me, I would simply strip the base of all useful equipment, then withdraw to a less exposed position and blow up everything that is nailed to the floor. So I think it's safe to assume they will do that."

"Then we could try cutting their escape route. If they're going to move towards the north-east, we can mobilise quick enough to stop them."

"But in doing so you would expose yourself to being attacked from two sides if their north-eastern forces come to their rescue, and-"

"Please, don't digress." intervened the King. "General Liu, don't be too eager to declare a war before we know all the facts. Yes, these terrorists have committed some horrible actions. So have, at times, the soldiers at the orders of the Commander who stands before us right now."

Black adjusted his tie. "Not at my orders, technically." he said. "But I will not deny involvement is some of the actions that have made the name of the Ribbon infamous across the world."

"You will not deny it?" said the Minister for Interior. "You should be brought to the gallows for them!"

"I was only brought here with the explicit guarantee that I would be treated as a diplomatic representative." replied Black, unflinching. "So you can drop the posturing, Minister."

"The guarantee stands." intervened the King. "However, so do the Ribbon's past crimes against the citizenship. Many resent it for those crimes, and I among them. Just because I have not seen fit to act upon them until now does not mean this situation will be allowed to continue. Inaction is not the same as ignorance."

Black arched his eyebrows. Among the council there were no signs of support, and the attention had been shifted from new enemies to old resentments. Looking at the scene, Bulma almost felt like she was attending a trial now.

"Your Majesty, let us drop all pretence," finally said the accused. "I am Commander of an army that is no more. The father of our late Commander Red created it in a world in which many smaller kingdoms existed and resisted Your Majesty's authority, and working as mercenaries to settle disputes among them was a profitable, and legal, business. That world has disappeared. Your Majesty's reign has seen to that, by reunifying those kingdoms under a single banner-"

"And without firing a single shot." pointedly remarked the King.

"Indeed. The Ribbon could not sustain itself any more by those means, and its strength that kept it in a precarious balance with your forces is now gone. Yes, we did some disreputable things. We got away with them because no one could stop us without causing a major global war. And we still were haemorrhaging money. It was only a matter of time before our whole capital would be dilapidated, and our Army dissolved or massively downsized. Our Commander was simply too naive to see that."

"Are you admitting that now we could squash you no problem, Black?" said General Liu, with a smug smile.

"I'm saying now you would almost sure to win in the end." replied the Commander. "Not that it would be easy or bloodless. Our men are still far more trained and battle-weathered than your soldiers who have never seen war or combat beyond a few skirmishes with desert bandits, General. The same, unfortunately, holds for the insurgents. They are more numerous and have a solid hold over the North-East. You could perhaps defeat them, but they would give you a hard time, and they hold North City as a hostage."

"That will not be something I will see under my reign," proclaimed the King. "The RDF will perform its job and defend the main inhabited areas. That is to take absolute priority over anything else until we know enough to make better plans. Commander Black, you admit therefore that the Red Ribbon can not survive this crisis. How many forces do you have left that still answer to you?"

"Some 50,000 men, Your Majesty. Three major bases, including Headquarters, in the western peninsula. Tanks and planes and artillery, but not as many as the insurgents. It was a heavy blow we took yesterday."

The King nodded. "Very well. You sound like a reasonable man, Commander. I trust then that you see what the most reasonable path is, going forward?"

"I do." admitted Black. "I would not have become an officer if I could not tell when a battle is lost. We will not pointlessly fight and put the world to the fire, Your Majesty. However, I have two objections to make. The first is I would like to point out that even in the eventuality of the Red Ribbon's-" he paused for a moment, weighing the word he was about to utter, "-disbandment, a general amnesty for all its members from any past crimes they're proven or suspected of having committed is the least we would need to guarantee that the men even obey the order to disband in the first place. But more than that will probably be necessary."

"An amnesty?" Pitt was outraged. "Do you think we'll let you-"

"We will." intervened the King, cutting him off shortly. "If it leads to a smoother transition and prevents blood being spilt, an amnesty is a given. I will not sacrifice my subjects' lives on the altar of justice. We can discuss the rest later."

"Very well, Your Majesty. The second thing is, I do not believe similar negotiations could be held with the insurgents. Your Majesty will likely agree with me after learning the details I have already heard about. And I have some very... strong feelings about them, after what they did to us. I am sure many of my men share those. So I think it would be best for both of us if the Red Ribbon could fight one last war. The one against this enemy. Your Majesty's forces will be bolstered in the upcoming fight, and the Red Ribbon will get to sink its fangs in the enemy that destroyed it, and drag it down with itself. I believe it only fair."

The King thought about it for a moment. "Very well, Commander." he said. "If I will be convinced that there is a need for such a war, you will be welcome to take to the front line. Perhaps that could repay some of the ill you have done to this world. But be warned, to convince me that such a thing is indeed needed is a high bar to clear. After all, I did allow you to exist for all this time; do not think I have been happy with this arrangement for one second of my reign."

"I appreciate the sincerity, Your Majesty. I have said my piece." Black bowed slightly. "As for clearing that bar, mr. Giran was the one who survived the enemy's attack. Perhaps he may tell us more about their motives...?"

"Very well. Mr. Giran, come forward, and speak to your King."

Giran shifted on his too small chair, trying to get up from the too low table, pushing himself against his crutch. He winced in pain, as the table pressed against his wound. Some of the ministers appeared impatient.

"Your Majesty, ah...," he mumbled, "if I may..."

"You are excused. You can speak from your current seat." said the King. "Please."

"Ah, thank you, Your Majesty." said the ptero, dropping back on his seat. For all his usual bluster, he seemed genuinely intimidated standing amidst so many powerful people. "Right, so. I'm not a great speaker or anything - uhm - let's see. You all know about the Demon King Piccolo, I suppose?" There were murmurs and glances exchanged between the ministers.

"Of course I do." said simply the King. "My entire dynasty rose to power in the wake of his defeat."

"Right. So." Giran cleared his voice. "I come from a certain tribe. We live in the southwestern peninsula - Your Majesty wouldn't be interested in where exactly, we are just a simple people, minding our own business. At least, that's now. Three hundred years ago, not so much."

"See at that time, you humans - not you, Your Majesty, of course, you know what I mean - well, humans weren't too nice with everyone who was not human and all. So when the Demon King arose, and he looked very non human at that, many of our tribe thought he'd be a good leader. He would liberate us all from the tyranny of man and such, or just give us some good ol' payback for some of the stuff we'd gone through."

The room stayed silent. The true nature of the Demon King had been a long matter of debate - all his surviving portraits were not exactly naturalistic, and it was hard to identify what species he'd belonged to. Most of the historians had assumed some kind of reptile or dinosaur, because of the green skin, but that was still a hotly debated topic.

"Bunch of bullshit, we found out later." continued Giran. "Piccolo was defeated in the end, and those of our tribe that hadn't fought directly at his side and been executed or killed in battle just decided they'd rather not have to do anything with people like him any more. We lost almost as many to him than we lost to his opponent. The old bastard was a tyrant and a sadist, pure and simple. There are stories-"

"That is all very interesting," interrupted General Liu, "but how is it relevant?"

"Sorry. Getting to that. So, a few months ago these guys shows up. Humans. Well armed, but no uniforms. They call themselves the Instruments. They start sweet talking us. They say they knew we had been loyal to their Master, and they hoped that some of that loyalty still survived. They buttered us up and told we were too strong to live a life of poverty in the mountains, that we ought to take what we have a right to from those weaker than us. And fuck's sake, some of my tribe even listened. We ask how did they know where to find us, they drop the name of a couple guys that had left years ago seeking fortune. They say they're in the same organisation."

"We cross-checked," intervened Black. "At least one of these people was indeed in the Red Ribbon, and a key command figure in the base with the largest concentrations of insurgents."

"But we did not know that at the time." continued the ptero. "Anyway, they want to rope us in in some war they want to fight. They say that their Master will return, and that he will reward those who supported him. And those who didn't, well, he would do what he usually did."

"But Piccolo is dead." intervened Pitt. "He's been for three centuries. How could he possibly return?"

"They say he's not." grumbled Giran. "That he's just imprisoned. That they can free him. Release him onto the world, and then he will be unstoppable."

The minister shook his head. "These are just stories, made up by what sounds like a sect of religious fanatics. Piccolo was nothing but an ordinary warlord. Sure, his fame was amplified to mythical levels, but are we really to believe-"

"Yes." the King's voice trembled with a light shiver. "We are. I am sorry, minister, these truths are usually not known outside of the diaries of my ancestors that only the reigning King is allowed to read. But I have reason to believe Piccolo is indeed still alive, and imprisoned."

There was much murmuring all around. "But how would that be?" asked the minister. "Your Majesty, even if these texts are written by your ancestors, should we truly take at face value-"

"You do not need to listen to me alone." replied the monarch. "Because I believe we have with us someone who knows the story much better than me. Someone who was there to see the events with his own eyes."

He looked pointedly at master Muten. Following the King, many pairs of eyes turned to stare at him.

"Your Majesty." said the old man, calmly. "With all due respect, how did you know?"

"All in due time. First, your testimony."

"Very well."

The master rose up, hopped above the table by pivoting on his walking stick, then walked to the podium.

"As His Majesty seems to know, I am old enough to recall something of that time."

Master Muten spoke with a tone that sounded unusually serious to all who knew him. He seemed to have set all foolishness aside, and his voice really seemed heavy with the full weight of his years. As his story unfolded, the whispers of incredulity died down, and turned into attention. It was unsure what was more surreal, the tale they were hearing, or the idea that the King and the world's foremost martial arts expert had plotted together to make a fool out of everyone else.

"I was just a youngster, mind you. I was training under my old teacher, master Mutaito, together with a fellow student named Shen. When King Piccolo started his campaign of terror, we initially didn't think much of it. Wars happened all the time; lords squabbling among themselves, conquering lands, securing their eternal legacy that would inevitably die off at the next conquest. The foolishness of mankind. Master Mutaito warned us to stay out of it unless it was a matter of protecting the innocent; martial arts are not meant for supporting the ambition of men who think themselves Gods."

"It soon became hard to ignore, though. It was clear there was something unprecedented about this new lord. His viciousness was unparalleled. He exterminated entire cities in his wake. He needlessly tortured and slaughtered civilians, not even just when it suited him to send a message. He simply was cruel for cruelty's sake; he revelled in inflicting suffering. Such madmen are usually hoisted by their own folly, and their careers ended by a knife in the back. But not him, and that was what really alarmed master Mutaito. There were rumours that the new lord was also a powerful martial artist, one so strong no one could put him down. Feeling a responsibility towards the world and his art, the master told us to keep training on our own for two weeks, packed some food and clothes in a light bundle, and left, disguised, to go snoop around in the lands that had been conquered, and decide if something needed to be done."

"I beg you to believe me, Your Majesty, when I tell you that master Mutaito was a man of rare courage. He would have welcomed death itself with nothing but a bow and a smile. And yet, when he came back from that trip-" Muten's voice hesitated "-he was not the same. He sounded tired, his hands would tremble. Sometimes he would jump at nothing, or freeze for minutes at a time, and his sleep was troubled by nightmares. He refused to tell us anything that he'd seen. All he would say was that he had witnessed evil, and that he needed to eradicate it. He said that if he didn't do it, no one else could. That even for him, it would be almost impossible. He was perhaps as strong a fighter as I am now, and in the face of Piccolo, he believed he did not have anything but the slightest chance."

"We learned soon enough how right he was. After months that our master spent in meditation and training in a cave, during which we only saw him when he peered out for his most basic needs, we packed clothes, food and water and set out to find Piccolo. Shen was boisterous and bold, thinking there was no way this fighter no one had ever heard of could stand a chance against our master, but Mutaito was in a dark mood, and that made me feel uneasy. I too found his tales hard to believe, thought that maybe he had overestimated his opponent, and it would be over quickly. More of a foolish hope, perhaps. I think we all knew the truth, deep down, and were just trying to deny that it was a march towards death that we were walking."

"At the time, Piccolo did not hide. He had ousted the ruling king that sat in this capital, in the old palace that was before this one, on the same ground. On the rubble of that castle he had torn down with his bare hands he had built his throne, and here he sat. It seems fate, I guess, that I should tell the tale for the first time in the same place where it happened. Piccolo had soldiers and minions, but none served him as guards, such was his pride. He welcomed challengers, confident he could break their strength, their resolution, and finally their life. So, the duel between my Master and the demon that ruled the world started simply like that, by asking."

"All hope we held was destroyed in a matter of minutes. Piccolo was strong enough to not only defeat our master, but to toy with him before. And he did it, for a long time, just because he enjoyed seeing us despair and be humiliated. Strike after strike crashed ineffectively against his defence. He parried only at the beginning, then he let Mutaito hit him without even dodging, laughing at the weakness of his attacks. Shen lost all his confidence and cowered in front of him. He bowed and pleaded Piccolo to spare his life, to take him as a pupil, all while praising his great strength. I knew better than hoping that Piccolo would give in to such obvious adulation. I steeled myself, and meditated, and prepared to die proudly fighting when my turn came."

"But Mutaito was not just a strong and just master; he was a man of cunning, when he needed to be. Every blow he sent at the opponent had a purpose, even the seemingly futile ones that shattered against his body. And that purpose had slowly been reached, a deception unfolding across a whole fight, with his life on the line. He could not fake weakness, not against someone as strong as Piccolo; he would get found out. He really did fight with all his might, and exhaust all his strength, and convinced him that he had ran out of all tricks, all techniques. And when Piccolo was sure anything he could throw would be harmless, Mutaito unfolded his most lethal secret, that he had developed during his meditation."

"I do not know how the technique was born. I believe he was inspired by it by the utter rejection of the evil he saw Piccolo perpetrate, and without such an inspiration, I do not think anyone could reproduce it. It was called the Mafuuba, and when it hit Piccolo it did not harm him - it did not need to do so. It was magic, not pure power, something I did not think you could master with martial arts alone. Piccolo screamed and struggled as he was caught into a green vortex that seemed to shred his very being into thin threads of energy. Master Mutaito told me, with great effort, to take one of the canteens whose water we had drunk coming there, unplug it and leave it on the ground. I obeyed, stolidly, without comprehending what I was seeing. Mutaito redirected the flow of green energy into the canteen, rushed to plug it again, and trapped the demon. Then, his hand still holding the plug, he exhaled his last breath. The toll of the energy he needed to spend for that technique was too high."

"I was unsure what to do with the canteen, other than it needed to be put away from the reach of all who could want it. There still were many former servants of Piccolo around, and I was not confident I could defend it from all of them. Shen left me too, ashamed and dishonored by what he'd done, and I did not trust him anymore either. I decided the best prison was the one nobody knew the location of, not even I, and swam far into the ocean to then toss the damned thing down above the deepest abyss I could find, and where the currents were stronger. I do not believe any human being could possibly recover it ever again. When a new King rose from the ashes - your ancestor, Your Majesty - I told him some of what I had seen, though not all. Just enough to satisfy him that Piccolo was indeed gone for good. And thus ended the ambition and folly of the Demon King."

There was a long silence at the end of the story, that only the King eventually broke. "Thank you, master. You can go back to your seat."

"If what you say is true," said cautiously Zeeman, "however, then there should be no risk of Piccolo being freed. Even if the technology today could be enough to go recover his container, finding it is another matter. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. A dark haystack. I mean, in 300 years, the canteen could have been dragged into a subduction zone and-"

"Precisely my thoughts." Muten nodded. "It seems to me like it would take a supernatural intervention just for that."

"That's the problem." said Giran. "They might just have that."

Most people seemed just confused at this, but Bulma had a terrible intuition. She extended a hand to her father and grabbed his, squeezing it nervously. She was starting to see the scary way in which all the pieces could fit.

"There are items called the Dragon Balls." explained the ptero. "Piccolo knew a lot about them, for some reason, and we all passed that story down since that time. Me and those of my generation, we didn't pay much attention to it - just a legend, we thought - until last September."

Bulma thought that sounded awfully familiar.

"The sky got dark. Like in the legends."

"Just a weather anomaly that-" intervened the Minister of Science.

"Then a streak of light crossed it, from east to west." continued Giran. "Like in the legends."

Goku, Bulma, and Pilaf all exchanged glances.

"And when we followed that streak and searched the area where it had landed, we found a small stone ball. Approximately the size to fit in a human palm, perfectly smooth. Like the legends say a Dragon Ball becomes after being used. The legends also say that the Dragon Balls are seven, and that if they're gathered, they can grant any wish. The people who came to visit us knew them too, and asked us if we had found of any of them, and good thing only me and a couple others knew, and we weren't about to tell them. Still, they found out anyway, and sicced that bitch on me. The one who shot me, and the one who stole the Dragon Ball from me."

"This is absurd!" shouted Zeeman. "Magical items that grant any wishes? Including, are you impying, resurrecting the dead? And someone would have used them last September? Mister Giran, I believe we would know if someone had-"

"It has happened. And they can resurrect the dead."

The heads around the table all turned at the interruption to see Bulma, standing up from her seat, slightly trembling.

"I am living proof of that."

The story that followed was even more incredible for many of those present - anyone who had not witnessed it in person, at least - and an order of magnitude harder to accept than Muten's. But at this point, this seemed a meeting out of legends, and those who still were not used to dealing with that were quickly getting on speed. After all, the evidence mounted up, and Bulma Briefs had already earned a reputation during the last months for being surrounded by rather impossible things. Scepticism wasn't completely eradicated, more like suspended - there would be time to question all of this in block after the end. Here was one of the most brilliant scientists of the era, and a reliable government contractor for years, supporting his daughter in her wild claim to have died and come back. There ought to be something to that. Pointedly, she omitted mentioning any details of what she had experienced during that time, and no one asked for them. The matter was already surreal enough without it becoming outright metaphysical.

"The Dragon Balls are now undetectable," said Bulma, "but they will stop being so on September the 12th, at some point around midday - I can reconstruct the exact moment, I have a recording of the event with a timestamp. If the Instruments are after them, then at that point the hunt will be on. They will try to grab them, wherever they are, and get their wish."

"This is all very hard to believe, miss Bulma." intervened Commander Black. "But if it was true, it would put them at a serious disadvantage. You say the Balls disperse all around the world. Does that mean they would need to reach areas that could be deep within enemy territory?"

"Yes, of course. Though I have never had a chance to check myself, the legends I read suggested they'd only spread on land. Which makes sense, had they fallen into the ocean they would have ended up lost forever by now."

"That's what our stories say too." confirmed Giran.

"Right. That sounds less than ideal for anyone." Black was thoughtful. "Your Majesty, if it is true that the insurgents are after these Dragon Balls, then knowing in advance when to be prepared for their attack and counteracting it would give us a significant advantage."

"I will not command the army to act on the basis of myths and legends!" snapped General Liu. "We will have our hands full already defending the population. Your Majesty, they could be in league with the enemy! This could be a trap!"

"I do not believe it so," said the King, "but I will not order you to risk your men's lives on the basis of so little to go by either. Commander Black, you asked for a chance for your army to have a place in this war. If you are so convinced, this appears to be it."

Bulma saw Black staring at her - studying her. She wondered if he was doubting too, how much he could believe her (admittedly incredible) word.

"When the time comes, we will take care of it." he said, finally.

"That's not nearly enough!," burst out Bulma, who had assisted to the exchange in increasing distress. "Your Majesty, this is not just any matter, it is the key to this entire conflict. If these people really want to bring back Piccolo, with the Dragon Balls, they can. The Commander said their forces are numerically inferior to the insurgents - if they are defeated..."

Black didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else, but she felt many hard stares fixated on her. It was like she was missing something obvious that had been left unsaid but that both parties understood perfectly.

Oh, of course. That's what they want. For both forces to whittle each other down to irrelevance, and then sweep in to clean up the leftovers. And Black is sticking with his part only in the hopes that sufficient sacrifices will buy the rest of his soldiers immunity.

If any soldiers will be left at all, that is.

"Your Majesty," she said, "you are making a mistake."

"Perhaps." the King thoughtfully pinched his moustache. "Miss Bulma, however, I invite you to think of the implications of what you told us instead. If I took your tale at face value, last year you went on a hunt to find magical objects of great power. What did you plan to do with them?"

"What?" the girl stuttered and flushed. "That is not your... I mean, Your Majesty, I don't see how that matters."

"Mmmh. Perhaps nothing nefarious, then." the dog chuckled. "But you should consider the consequences of that. With that power, you could have unseated me."

Pilaf gulped.

"You could have taken the throne for yourself. Or more simply, killed everyone. Just like that. It can do anything, right?"

"I-I don't know if it can do that much!" blurted out Bulma. "Shenron has limits, I think. I would not have used them so irresponsibly, or for something evil! Once I found out if they worked, I planned to use them to do good, instead."

"Ah, yes. Doing good. Such an easy concept. For years, miss Bulma, I have reigned on this world, and tried to do good. Did I do good by letting the Red Ribbon roam and cause what little damage it did because I thought a war to suppress them would be much more bloody? Judging from what we face now, perhaps not. Wanting to do good is not enough to avoid doing evil. And the more the power, the more the potential for damage. Have you considered this, when you decided to take it into your hands?"

Bulma thought back to all her reconsidering of how to formulate the best wishes, though she had to admit, it never had gone much beyond the whole boyfriend thing back then. "Yes, Your Majesty. I have."

"So you say. But from our point of view, miss Bulma - why should we trust you with absolute power?"

The girl raised her chin and looked the other in the eyes. "With all due respect, Your Majesty," she said, "why should we trust you with it?"

Many gasped. Dr. Briefs had tried to jump from the chair and cover his daughter's mouth before she could commit what amounted to lèse-majesté, but he obviously wasn't fast enough. The King, however, did not seem offended. Just thoughtful.

"Indeed." he said. "I have Ministers and a Parliament, miss Bulma, but ultimately, in many matters, the last call is mine, the last chamber of discussion my own brain. Sometimes power is thrust onto us, and the best we can do is use it as well as we know to. Still, I hope you appreciate my conundrum. How would you feel about pretty much anyone else gathering the Dragon Balls and using them without your knowledge or consent?"

Bulma's voice lost a bit of the spunk from before. "Not - not that good, Your Majesty."

"Precisely. Perhaps you should have thought about that before unleashing this possiblility on the world - but no, miss Bulma, it is not your fault, it seems others too were aware of this, and the technology had been developed in parallel by them. If anything, your knowledge may have just saved us from a disastrous sudden defeat."

"To my ministers and generals I say, I know you're incredulous. You're right to be, I would not expect anything else but suspicion from you at this stage. But I would like you to answer me, and everyone else too. Think in the assumption that this is all true. There is a Piccolo, trapped somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. There are Dragon Balls that can summon him back into this world. There are people who know about both these things, and want him back. What is our best course of action?"

"Squash them immediately," replied Zeeman, without hesitating, "if we knew all of that for sure, then we should take no risks at all."

"True, but unfortunately, we do not know for sure, and General Liu already excluded that possibility." observed the King.

"I stand by that." replied the General. "But in this working hypothesis, I would say - build up our defences. We need to do that anyway. Prepare our cities, both to face enemy soldiers, and to face Piccolo, if it comes down to that. And then prevent them from getting these Dragon Balls. They want to gather them, while all we want is to stop them from gathering them. We can use that."

"You can't prepare to face Piccolo!" shouted Muten, jumping up from his seat. "I have seen him - no ordinary weapon could stop him!"

"But we do not need to rely on ordinary weapons." said Dr. Briefs, suddenly. "Master, I respect your authority on the matter, but my daughter has made incredible progress in studying spiritual power these last months, and I have not lagged too far behind. I have spent a lot of time considering how one could defend themselves from the danger that people as strong as you could pose. I believe if we pool our knowledge together and work with the rest of the engineers at Capsule Corporation we can provide His Majesty's government with an effective plan to fortify our cities."

"I would be happy with that," said the King, "but I thought Capsule Corporation did not deal in weapons?"

"We have never done it." confirmed Dr. Briefs. "But this seems a special circumstance."

Muten shook his head, mumbling about the foolishness of men who overestimate their power.

"If you allow me, Your Majesty," spoke Commander Black, "your forces may well focus on defence. What remains of the Red Ribbon can take care of the offence, namely, of securing the Dragon Balls as soon as it is possible. To that effect, I hope Capsule Corporation will support us with their technology."

"We can do more than that." said Bulma. "Well, it's not in their contract, but I can ask the fighters on our payroll what do they think about giving a hand. Yamcha in particular has a bit of a heroic streak, lately, so-"

"I will help too." said Muten. "I owe it to my master to see that his sacrifice was not in vain. You seem to be deluding yourself that Piccolo may be stopped, but preventing his return is what we must put all our efforts into."

"So will we!" Pilaf jumped up from his chair, speaking for the first time since the beginning. "I mean, the Ox King has no love for the Red Ribbon, but we have a bone to pick with these 'Instruments'. And their master dethroned my ancestor!"

"That sounds good." Black nodded, pleased. "With your help, I am much more confident that we can win. After all, our win condition is simply to secure at least one Dragon Ball, and defend it from further attacks. As long as we can do that-"

"Then we should destroy it."

There was a long silence. The clear, young voice had raised, uninvited and unexpected, stunning all.

Then finally someone reacted.

"Goku," hissed Bulma, fixing the boy with eyes too incredulous to even look angry, "what the heck are you saying?"

"We should destroy it." repeated Goku, looking back without flinching. "You heard the story. If Piccolo is that dangerous, we can absolutely not allow him to be released. The safest way is to destroy the first Dragon Ball we lay our hands on. You should all realise that."

"But - we'd lose the chance to use them!" shouted back the girl, ignoring all etiquette and protocol for the circumstance. "Ever again!"

"It would not matter, if we were all killed by Piccolo."

"He may not be invincible! Goku, you could beat him for all we know! We want to avoid him being freed of course but-"

"I am happy that you trust in me so much but..." the kid shook his head "...I can't be sure. Maybe, and with time to train before. I would not bet the world on it. Bulma, I know you have plans, but you promised me I could do what I wanted with the Dragon Balls next time. Well, this is what I want. The four-star Dragon Ball at least is mine, and I want to destroy it."

Bulma stuttered, unable to find the right words. Sure, Goku's reasoning was perfectly sensible, but there was such a thing as playing it too safe. The risk was enormous, but so was the reward he was willing to just throw away.

"For what it counts," intervened Muten, "I think I may agree with the boy."

She panicked. There must be something she could say to stop the discussion going down this ruinous road, anything, it couldn't possibly end like this, the most wondrous items of all time just lost forever for such a stupid reason...

"That will not do." said Commander Black. "If the information we have is right, then Piccolo could still be freed by conventional means. It is simply a matter of finding the canteen he is imprisoned in. Am I right?"

Bulma sighed in relief.

"Yes," admitted Goku, hesitant. "But the minister said it's almost impossible."

"It's almost impossible now." replied the Commander. "When Muten originally tossed the canteen in the ocean, it was impossible to either find it or recover it. Now we could recover it, with a submarine, if only we knew where it is. Who's to say that tomorrow it won't become possible to track it too? In fact, who's to say that the Instruments want to use the Dragon Balls for that purpose at all? All we have is speculation. Maybe the canteen can be tracked by following a signal, like the Dragon Balls, and they know even though we don't."

Begrudgingly, Goku nodded.

"So the Dragon Balls remain, if anything, our best weapon." continued the other. "If Piccolo were to be freed nevertheless in the future, and no one could defeat him, their power might be just what saves us. Besides all the other uses they have."

"If they are as wondrous as you say, I guess you may have a chance." agreed Muten, thoughtful.

"And!" added Bulma, hopeful, now that she saw a crack in Goku's reasoning. "Whatever damage the war that will break out causes, the Dragon Balls might be used afterwards to fix it. Or we may use them to get rid of Piccolo forever so that the risk never arises any more."

The boy shook his head. "I accept that you may be right. I won't destroy my Dragon Ball right away, if I get it. But if it comes to a situation where it's about to be stolen or captured-"

"I understand." said Black. "I agree with you that it would then be the only sensible move. But we should still have time. In fact, putting the retrieved Dragon Balls in a container rigged to destroy them if forced by unauthorised people sounds like a tactic we should consider. For more than one reason."

Bulma sighed in relief. Well, that the mere thought of destroying the Dragon Balls had been entertained was disturbing enough for her, but at least the damage had been controlled. She wondered if this was just about those arguments, or a little gesture on Black's part to earn her trust. A show of alliance.

After a while and some more back-and-forth about tactics and other details, the meeting broke up in a mix of individual conversations. Goku, Bulma noticed, had run up to Muten, and was asking someone, to which the old master - and molester, she wasn't about to let that slide - seemed to reply with unusual enthusiasm. On the other side of the screens, wherever that was, most of the ministers too seemed to be arguing over something. She took the chance to imitate them and slid next to Commander Black.

"Thank you very much." she said, sitting next to him. "I'm sorry for that - Goku can be a bit..."

"I wouldn't have said that if I did not believe it." replied Black, waving a hand. "I think Goku had a point; he just did not think all the consequences through. Did you not consider the option?"

Bulma shook her head. "I have no intention to let these criminals take away from us any more than they already have. And the Dragon Balls would be a price higher than anything they've done yet."

"They've killed people, miss Bulma." said the man, with a dry smile. "I thought you cared a lot about that."

"Which is why I would rather not lose the only thing that could bring them back." replied the girl. "I do not like settling just for cutting my losses. I need those Dragon Balls."

Black considered her for a moment. "There is someone I should introduce you to," he said, finally. "You would get along like a lab on fire."

Bulma was puzzled. "Wouldn't you usually say a house?"

"Usually, yes." the other chuckled. "I think I will get a chance anyway. Your company is to be involved with the defence already. But given our disadvantage, I would hope you could also support us, and have a more... active role?"

"Are you suggesting," asked Bulma, carefully, "that I could have access to your research facilities?"

"That is what I had in mind, yes."

After Capsule Corporation, the Red Ribbon was probably the richest private organization in the world. In fact, given that most of their activities weren't exactly squeaky clean, the matter of who had the most capital at their disposition had never been entirely settled. Bulma felt a jolt of energy at the thought of just how much there could be to see and learn if she could have access to their laboratories...

"What's the catch?" she asked, suspicious.

"Nothing in particular, if you can trust me." Black shrugged. "I just would like to get as much as possible done before September, if it can give us an edge against these enemies."

Yeah, she wasn't still fully convinced. But it was tempting. "You've seen what I have been researching. It's dangerous stuff, and I'm not willing to just disclose everything to you guys. You realise this has the potential to revolutionise the way wars are fought altogether. Make your whole armory obsolete."

"You think I may resent you for it?" the man shook his head. "Miss Bulma, soldiers and scientists aren't that different in this respect. Change is not something that can be avoided; it is a part of our jobs. Change in tactics, in technology, in political landscape. You don't achieve victory by denying change, but by embracing it faster than anyone else."

"So you don't deny you're trying to get some benefits out of my research?"

"As you would be trying to get some out of ours." Black replied. "And the world as whole hopefully can benefit from both."

Bulma paused for a long while.

"You have a deal." she said finally. "Though if I can avoid it, I'm not getting anywhere near a battlefield."

"I surely wasn't thinking of that. I doubt your father would agree anyway." said Black. "Though in my opinion, you would do quite well on one of those."

That was the strangest compliment Bulma had ever received - but in the end, it still was a compliment, and she acknowledged it with a light smile.

"My father will be hard to convince about this already." she sighed. "But hopefully we can work something out."

The conversations all came to a head when the King called the room to order.

"One moment of your attention, please."

Silence returned in the meeting. All heads turned to the main screen.

"I will say a few words before excusing you all. There is still much too discuss, way too much for a single encounter, but that can be done among those who are interested in the next days and weeks. A lot of work awaits us, and perhaps pain; though I have hope that we can avert the worst. And it is to share with you the reason for that hope that I call to you now."

"I do not know what you believe about the world, and whether it has a purpose or a guiding hand. I am sure you all must have your own ideas. Miss Bulma claims to have seen death and come back; perhaps she knows more than all of us in this matter."

There were some light chuckles, which quite annoyed Bulma because what had been taken as a joke by some of the others definitely wasn't to her.

"But I can tell you something, now, that I have seen and heard enough to not feel foolish doing so. After yesterday's events, this meeting would have been held regardless, obviously. But yesterday night, during the few hours of sleep I could get after the situation had calmed down, I had a dream. A confusing, yet strangely vivid dream, in which I sat at a table, talking about what had just happened with many people, some of whom I had only glimpsed."

"A brilliant scientist and his daughter."

Dr. Briefs and Bulma exchanged looks.

"A would be king with a blue skin from a once noble family."

Pilaf made a choked sound, the outrage for having his family considered only once noble and that for being so underestimated by the King whose throne he wished to usurp perfectly annihilating into complete bafflement.

"A lone warrior from a proud tribe."

Giran nodded with a grim look. He seemed suddenly lost in thought.

"A master of martial arts."

Master Muten remained inscrutable, his ever present sunglasses hiding all emotion.

"The commander of a mercenary army."

Commander Black was unperturbed.

"And a young boy with a monkey tail."

Goku acknowledged with a polite nod and sat down.

"And you all have brought here precious knowledge, strategy, advice, and aid. It may be a coincidence, and these just the ramblings of an old dog. But I do not believe it so. I think a hand has pointed you all to me, and I am glad I followed its advice. I trust that such a hand will not let us fall under the blows of our enemies, however powerful. Today may be remembered as the day in which a war started. Together, let us end it. You are dismissed."

"Man, that was looong!"

Leaving the room, Bulma stretched and yawned loudly. Next to her, her father seemed already lost in some kind of mental calculation. Goku trotted right to her side.

"Bulma, I'm sorry for earlier," he said, "but I thought that-"

"You can be such a worrywart." she replied shaking her head. "You would destroy the chance at infinite future miracles just to take a slightly smaller risk now? Seriously..."

"Well..." Goku trailed off. "But it's the world at stake if we lose."

Bulma scoffed. "We won't. No goddamn way. You could probably beat all these guys up on your own!"

She noticed Commander Black walking towards them, and realised the time had come to work her charm on her father. He had to agree. She had already started fantasizing about what kind of incredible technology she could concoct by joining forces with the Ribbon's scientists. Honestly, the robotic arm that Mai had dropped at the Tournament had her completely stumped for how incredibly sophisticated it was.

"Dr. Briefs?"

"Dad, he's talking with you." Bulma tugged at her father's arm three times before he finally quit his trance and raised his eyes to meet those of the massive man towering over him.

"Commander Black," he acknowledged, blankly.

"I know you are easy to contact," said Black, "but the same can not be said for me. Please take this."

He handed a small business card, completely empty except for a single phone number.

"It's a safe line. Personal. And we change the number every month." he explained. "We should coordinate our efforts if we are to succeed."

"Hm, thanks, thanks." the doctor nodded and stuffed the card deep in one of his pockets. "I am sure we can manage. But if the occasion arises-"

"I would also like your daughter to come over to visit our headquarters soon." added the Commander. "I think there is much both we and she could learn."

Bulma drew her breath.

Dr. Briefs' expression turned sour. "Your headquarters." he said, in a resentful voice. "You mean your den of cutthroats."

"Dad!" snapped the girl. "He saved my life!"

Her father looked at her, then at the man, then sighed and shook his head. "Well." he said. "Thank you, Mr. Black. Really. I apologise for being rude. But what you ask me is nevertheless something I would never agree to in normal circumstances. We have never worked to develop weapons; we will do now only because of the gravity of the situation. From that to helping the Red Ribbon-"

"You have heard me talk earlier, doctor." said Black gravely. "The Red Ribbon is finished. It will not exist for long. Our last enterprise will be the same as yours - to win the war ahead. Don't see it as helping us. It is helping you, and I trust it will be a great learning experience for your daughter. And, well, our science division personnel will need somewhere to go after our organisation is dissolved. So this may double down as a recruitment rally for you."

"Let me finish." Dr. Briefs replied, with a voice that now sounded just tired. "I said I would never agree in normal circumstances. But these are not normal circumstances. Just earlier I have been... ordered... by His Majesty to give you as much assistence as you needed, and that my daughter ought to be involved in the defence efforts. Apparently, young or not, you're too precious a resource to be wasted on the sidelines."

Bulma smiled at that acknowledgement, before the full meaning of it hit her. Ordered.

It still felt good to know she was going to get what she wanted, but the feeling was slightly spoiled by the awareness that it was not her or her father's choice at all.

"Therefore, I think this is the safer it's going to get for her. But one of our warriors has to agree to escorting her as a bodyguard. And we expect you of course to reciprocate any information we share. If I get the impression all you are doing is leeching off our discoveries through her, the deal is off. I am all for the open exchange of ideas in science, but not with private mercenary armies."

"Naturally." Commander Black nodded. "I have agreed as much with your daughter already."

"Bulma, I will also run all the knowledge you are going to disclose through my own judgement. If something is to stay secret, you will not talk about it, no matter how exciting or fun the science that would result."

"Of course!" the girl smiled. She could take a little reasonable restrictions; it would take a lot to completely ruin her mood now. "You don't need to worry!"

"And it goes without saying that nothing of this will happen before your school finals. You have already wasted a lot of time."

"..."

"Your finals that I am sure you remember about. As you promised, when you started this whole research program, that you would definitely give it your all to your studies even if you stopped attending school, and definitely not forget that school exists altogether due to being swept up in all this other stuff."

"..."

"You know, this is precisely why I usually activate the environmental recording system at home when I'm about to have a serious talk with you. I am sure when I go back home I can dig out the audio file with your exact words when-"

"AAAAAAUUUUGHHH!"