Chapter Two

Bulma paused a moment in her typing to stretch and take another sip of coffee. This was the fifth in a series of long nights spent working in the familiar glow of her computer screen. She glanced at the clock: only one in the morning. The night was still young; plenty more to get done before she collapsed. This was the only time of night when she could really work, thanks to her new shadow. Trunks had been all but reading over her shoulder all day; it was oddly unnerving. She'd found other, less interesting things to do during the day, and when he had retreated to the rooftop at twilight she was finally free to do as she pleased...so long as she didn't leave the "safety" of her workroom. She could hardly blame him; rampant Jinzouningen--was there any other kind?--were not to be taken lightly, but even so it was damnable timing.

Not as bad as the old days, she thought reflectively. But even so, why does nothing ever just fall into place around here? Trunks had told her all about the other world he'd seen: a world that resisted the androids, a world that still had a Gokuu, a Vegeta. Bulma glared at the mug cradled in her hand; now was not the time to start thinking of Vegeta again. She was just being spoiled...Trunks was still around, and doing everything that Vegeta would have to protect her. She wanted for nothing, since the Reconstruction. She'd kept busy rebuilding and spared herself the guilty selfishness of savoring her own grief.

The rebuilding, however, was nearly done--not so much to build for such a reduced population--and she needed a new distraction. An uncertain thought process had led her to this project, her new and morbid fascination; her first work to date that she'd felt the need to hide from her son not because it was beyond him, but because he would understand it only too well. Guilt over that, too: it was not difficult for her to find other things for Trunks to do, at least under normal circumstances, but with the recent turn of events she found herself using more underhanded means of deception and it bothered her. If she really had that much to hide, perhaps there was something wrong with her after all...

Setting aside her dregs of coffee with an expression of disgust, Bulma returned to her work.

Back again--so soon? the shattered buildings seemed to ask. Trunks did his best to ignore them. He was coming for a reason this time, a reason he could better justify than simple unease. As he'd sat on the high dome of the Capsule Corporation it was first the quiet wailing that had drawn his attention here, but something else had cemented his resolve to return.

There was something living here now, a ki signal so faint he'd almost mistaken it for some animal until he recalled from his last venture that no animals lived here. That in itself was odd, but not nearly as unsettling as the thought of a human wandering through the wreckage: a badly wounded human, judging by the wild fluctuations in the already-minimal ki. Of course there had been nothing to do but come and rescue the unfortunate.

Probably a victim of one of the Jinzouningen's "games", Trunks thought bitterly. His mind flashed to old scenes of the twins, laughing as they battered his body to a pulp and then deposited him back home so he could heal for the next time. They were, he knew, less careful with their human playthings; those were more expendable. His gut twisted--too familiar--at the whisper of broken voice he caught on the chill night wind: two whispers.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Sandra Gallito."

"What happened to you? Oh, gods...oh gods I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to..."

Trunks ghosted between buildings, silent, searching. Neither of the voices sounded right, and one of them--no, he'd never say something like that. It had to be someone else; just two children lost and whispering to each other in the dark.

Why could he only feel one ki?

The immediate answer tightened his fists; he shifted slightly, just to feel the scabbard over his jacket--old habit. One of those voices was dead: one of those voices was an android. Holding himself just short of transforming Trunks proceeded, eyes narrow despite the darkness. He wanted it to be Juunanagou. He wanted the cyborg to be here so he could end this.

Half-melted twists of vinyl still clung to a charred wire-frame awning, flapping in spasms; the movement was distracting. Trunks glanced at them once in mild irritation and froze, for the moment forgetting even to breathe.

Juunanagou--yes, that had to be him--stood looking up at the building long ago burnt to the ground, hands clasped behind his back. A thinning sleeveless shirt hung over his lean frame, pale shoulders exposed to the cold; he wasn't shivering. His jeans were all but shredded, webs of white stretching across the holes and slashes; his familiar holster and gun were missing.

"Just the way of the world..." he sighed, and turned away from the building, pausing as he found himself face-to-face with Trunks. A stray lock of hair blew across his face, the rest held back in a ponytail by a rubber-band; he puffed the hair from his eyes with a faint smile and looked at Trunks curiously.

"It's too late to put it out."

Trunks blinked. Oh, and what new game was this? He graced Juunana with a cold glare.

"Don't feel bad for them. If not this, something else would have gotten them."

"What are you talking about, Jinzouningen?"

"Jinzouningen? That's a new one."

"What did you do with her?" Trunks demanded; the other voice had been female.

"She did it to herself, kid. I hardly had a part in this."

"Don't play coy with me. Where is she?"

Juunana looked puzzled. "Are you feeling all right? You're not making sense, kid. Why don't you sit down...did you have family in there or something?" He stepped forward, holding out a hand; without realizing it, Trunks took a step back, hands coming up defensively.

"Whoa, easy...I'm not gonna hurt you."

"That's right," Trunks murmured. This had gone on long enough; transforming instantly, he hurled a beam of ki at Juunanagou. The remains of the collapsed building burst into the air, shrapnel bits of brick showering the empty streets and ruins. They probably heard that back in Satan City...

Trunks waited, hands extended before him, his ki aura a token defiance against the darkness. Another wisp of wind trailed the dust away--Juunanagou was gone.

"My name is Sandra Gallito. My name is Sandra Gallito. My name is Sandra Gallito."

The rosary of her name stumbled across the girl's lips, over and over. Her name--she knew her name. Remembered her name, remembered other things: her family, strange faces, her home, a darkened room, her sister, bits of machinery glinting in a light she could not see. None of it fit together; her head throbbed and she forced her lips to keep moving in pace with her feet, shuffling through mortar dust and broken glass.

"My name is Sandra Gallito." She knew who she was. She knew what she looked like, what her parents looked like, what home looked like. This, she knew, was not home. Why had that man sent her here? She paused, struggling to remember the man.

"My...name...name...is..." No use. She shook her head sharply and fell back into the litany. The man would have to wait. She had to, had to remember her name, never mind the reason why. She knew her name and knew that it was important.

She did not know where she was, why she had to keep walking even when the earth beneath her feet rocked her to the ground--or what deficiency of sleep or food was presently creating the mirage in front of her. A boy, no, a man; rather beautiful man, from all that she could see, which wasn't much. Her vision kept blurring with the pounding in her skull.

"My name is Sandra..."

He was saying something, too quiet. She thought she heard her name, and clung to that.

"My..."

She wasn't aware of him shushing her, picking her up; didn't even think to be startled when he flew--flew--with her, out of the town she didn't know. She didn't have to be aware of these things. She had only to know her name.

Bulma arrived downstairs--whatever caution the somewhat noisy entrance may have stirred in her forgotten as she recognized her son's voice through the soft curses--to find Trunks in one of her labs, stooped over the shivering form of a young red-haired girl. He looked up sharply as Bulma arrived.

"I was about to get you. I...found her; I don't know what happened to her. Her ki is nearly down to nothing but there aren't any wounds..." He trailed off with a high, frustrated sigh and Bulma quickly stepped between him and the girl.

"I'll see what I can do," she said quickly, making her own inspection; she had more experience in treating injuries than Trunks did, anyhow. Even so, his analysis seemed correct; Bulma pressed lightly on the girl's stomach, frowning at the lack of reaction. No internal damage? What was wrong here? The girl moaned and tossed her head feverishly; Bulma rested a cool hand on her forehead, trying to soothe.

"Easy, honey, easy..."

"M...my...name..."

Bulma blinked. "What's your name?"

"Her name is Sandra Gallito," Trunks provided quietly.

"And how do you know that?"

"She was saying it when I found her." He shifted, looking at the girl. "That's all she said."

"Well, that's a start," Bulma sighed. "Maybe we can look up her parents. Sandra...Sandra, can you hear me?"

The girl froze and stared at Bulma, eyes wide. Bulma gently brushed some hair off Sandra's forehead--the poor thing was a mess. What had gotten to her?

"Sandra, can you tell me what hurts? What happened to you?" She spoke slowly, calmly; the girl looked ready to bolt. Sandra didn't answer, rolling her eyes around to take in her new surroundings. Trunks stood awkwardly to the side, hands crossed in front of him, feeling less than useful. Well, he'd brought her; he just wasn't sure what else to do. Bulma glanced at him over her shoulder and sighed. He did the fighting, she did the healing.

"Toronkusu, get me a couple blankets, will you please?" Relieved at the assignment, Trunks turned to fetch them and was stopped by a strangled cry from the girl now struggling on the table. Sandra gurgled, choked, and pointed at Trunks, turning questioning green eyes on Bulma. Bulma stroked Sandra's arm and tried to lay her back out.

"That's my son, Toronkusu. He found you and brought you here so we could take care of you, okay? You just relax, now..." Bulma murmured, trying to shove the young woman down while remaining gentle. Sandra had probably seen a picture of him somewhere--gods knew he and Bulma were well-known--and was feeling awed. Bulma had seen it before; she hardly had time for it now.

"It's okay," Trunks said with a hesitant smile at Sandra. "I know what you saw down there probably scared you, maybe even hurt you, but you're safe now." Sandra frowned and lay back, looking pensive, and Bulma threw Trunks a look.

"Can you lie still for me, Sandra?" she asked in her 'dealing with patients' voice. "I'm going to go get something to help you sleep and Toronkusu will find you a warm blanket. You just try to relax while we sort all this out, okay?" Sandra muttered something and shut her eyes; still frowning, but at least no longer trying to get up. Bulma smiled at her, grabbed Trunks by the sleeve and hauled him out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms. "So what did she see?"

Trunks pressed his lips together, turning over options in his mind. He couldn't lie to her, obviously, and yet...he still couldn't be sure of what he'd seen, couldn't even be sure of what he'd done. An objective point of view would have estimated the encounter as remarkably straightforward and simply solved; it would have been nice to think of it that way, but something hadn't seemed--hadn't felt right.

"I can only assume, honestly," Trunks muttered. "I don't know how long she'd been there or even how she got there. It's out in the middle of nowhere; nothing lives there, nothing goes there..." He sighed.

"You should go back and look for a hovercar. She must have driven out there, though I can't imagine why she'd want to."

"Well, the thing is, I'm not sure she wanted to." Trunks looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think perhaps she was brought there."

"Kidnapped."

"It looked that way, yes."

"Toronkusu, why didn't you say that to begin with? Well, in that case, we can look up her folks and call them, see when she went missing and with whom and--" Bulma paused and looked up at her son. "Anything else you're leaving out, before I get everything in order?" It was unnerving to think that Trunks could lie to her; or at least, omit certain possibly-vital truths. Of course, she was in no position to criticize, which helped her mindset little.

"Nothing that doesn't need to be rechecked," he hedged. "I need to be sure. I'll go back and look things over again and if she says anything important, call me."

Bulma looked a bit startled. "Call you?" He hated having to even carry a remote phone; insisted he'd never need or use it.

"Call me. I...think I'm going to be out most of the night." A faint, weary smile touched his face. "Do you still need help getting blankets?"

"I'll manage," Bulma snorted, watching him warily. At last she nodded and uncrossed her arms, looking oddly defeated. "All right. You do whatever you have to and I'll see if I can get her to talk." She pinned him with a last motherly glare as he prepared to leave. "And when you get back you're going to explain your side of this."

Trunks cringed inwardly; yes, she was onto him. Actor he was not, and a terrible liar.

"Yes, Okaasan." With a slight bow to her as a gesture of respect, he squared his shoulders and set out to answer at least one of his questions.