A Strange New Visitor

“Hello, Bulma-san. We need your help,” said a worried voice, Bulma recognized as belonging to Son Gohan.

“What’s going on? Don’t tell me there’s some new threat. Vegeta hasn’t come home yet from training.” Bulma said into the phone.

“No, no, it’s not that. At least, we don’t think so.” Gohan began talking faster. “We’ve got an injured guest here and were wondering if she could use your healing chamber. I think she might die.”

“Sure, Gohan-kun--of course! Come right over!!”

“Arigato, Bulma-san. Otousan will be right there.”

Before Bulma could reply, she noticed Goku had appeared in the room, (using his instantaneous movement technique), carrying a young girl wrapped in blankets. “He’s here. ‘Bye.” She hung up the phone and turned to face Goku. “Let’s hurry. She doesn’t look too good.”

Goku followed her down the hall to Bulma’s lab, where she kept the healing chamber. “It’s been a while since anyone’s had to use this, but it should be fine. I’ve had it ready, just in case. You never know with you saiyajin-types.” She opened the door to the chamber and Goku gently laid the girl inside and removed the blankets. Bulma pulled down the oxygen mask and strapped it to the girl’s face. With that done, she closed the door and set the timer.

“I think she’ll be alright by morning, if she survives the night. She’s lost a lot of blood. And, after receiving that blast to her mid-section, I’m surprised she’s alive at all! But, if she made it this far, I think she’s going to be okay.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Goku and Bulma watched as the chamber filled with special blue healing fluids. The girl inside the chamber was still unconcious, never noticing the fluid level, even as it rose above her head. “Who is she? She looks a lot like you and Goten.”

“I don’t know. Her ship just crashed in our backyard. When I saw that she was injured, I took her out of the spacepod and went for help.”

“Maybe she’s a relative.”

“Maybe. Chichi’s not going to like having a crater in the backyard, though.”

Bulma smiled. “Hmmm… another saiyajin. I wonder what this means. Those injuries, she had them before the space pod crashed.” She turned her gaze back to the girl. She just floated there silently, oblivious to her surroundings. “Well, we won’t find out until morning.”

The door to Bulma’s lab opened. “Mama! Where’s Papa? I want to train, too!” called a familiar voice.

“Trunks-kun? I don’t know. He hasn’t come home yet.”

Trunks frowned. He didn’t look too happy. He’d had his heart set on training tonight with his father. He was already dressed in his green gi. His attitude brightened a little, though, when he noticed his mother had not been alone in the room. “Goku-san!”

“Hiya, Trunks!”

“What’s going on?” He asked, then he noticed the girl floating in the healing chamber. His eyes widened, and he approached the tank to peer inside and take a closer look. “Who’s that? She kinda looks like you.”

“We don’t know.” Bulma answered, and placed a hand on Trunks shoulder. “We’ll know when she wakes up, tomorrow.”

“Well, I better get going. I’ll come back tomorrow to see how she’s doing.”

Goku said goodnight, while Trunks and Bulma waved, and then he just disapeared.

The Next Morning

Bulma didn’t know what to make of the young girl Goku had found injured in the space pod. She was a bit tall for her apparent age, with long, slender legs and a thin frame—to the best of Bulma’s knowlage, a very uncommon body-type for a saiyajin . Despite the various scars and her fury, brown tail, she looked more like a human than an alien warrior.

The enzyme fluid was nearly drained from the healing chamber. When the machine chimed, she opened the door and removed the oxygen mask from the girl’s face. Suprisingly enough, she began to stirr. Bulma watched as the girl blinked a few times, then slowly sat up and rubbed her fingers through her damp, spikey hair. Bulma smiled. Her hair looked a lot like Goku’s. Well, just not so big. Already, as it dried, it was beginning to sprout off in several directions.

“How do you feel?” The girl blinked a few more times, then stretched her arms and wiggled her fingers and toes. “Take it slowly. I don’t want you over exert yourself.”

The girl looked up at Bulma and smiled. It was then that she noticed her eyes were golden, with slitted pupils, just like a cat’s.

“Oh, I’m fine, that I am.” She swiftly curled her knees to her chest, then out again, using the unspringing momentum to jump to her feet. “Don’t worry about me—Zandrians heal comparatively fast to most humanoid species, indeed they do. I’m more hungry than anything else. I thank you for your kindness.”

Bulma looked the girl over, checking for any remaining injuries, and found none. “Are you sure you feel alright?” The girl nodded. “I don’t know how you do it. Even some of the strongest people I know usually wake up at least a little bit groggy. Here, it’d be best if you took a shower. The fluid won’t smell so good pretty soon. I’ve laid out some clothes you can wear, and we can eat when you get out.”

The girl followed Bulma to a small room off to the side. “To work the shower, just turn the right nob for hot water, the left for cold. I’ll be back in a moment.” The girl nodded. “By the way, my name is Bulma. And you are…”

“I am Hope, born of Calm and Quiet, Family of Morgan.” She smiled. “I really appreciate everything you have done for me. After tearing up the land by your home, I thought you would be angry with me, that I did.”

Bulma laughed. “Oh, it’s not my backyard your pod devestated… you’ll have to settle that with Chichi. But don’t worry about it. What matters is that you’re alive, girl.” Hope smiled at that, then began tugging at her torn and bloodied body suit. “I’ll just give you some privacy.” Bulma stepped out the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

“Mama, where’s the girl?” Trunks pointed to the bathroom door. “She’s in there, right? She’s okay?”

“Yes, Trunks-kun, she’s fine. Her name’s Hope, and she’ll be staying here—at least for breakfast.”

“She’s saiyajin, right?”

Bulma shook her head. “I don’t think so. She sure looks like one, though.” Trunks looked a little disapointed. “Well, it’ll be interesting to see how she eats.” Trunks smiled. “If she’s anything like Goku…” She chuckled. “We’ll have to hire another chief.”

She is nice, that she is.

Hope thought about her strange new situation. She was not dead. That she knew. But, where was she, exactly? Yes, she was in a shower, getting clean… Hope smiled to herself. It was assuring to know that even after losing nearly all she held dear and then narrowly escaping death, she still had a sense of humor.

This was probably earth, she figured, because those where the last destination coordinates she had entered into the pod’s navigation computer before she had been abducted. But, where on earth was she? This place did not appear to be residential, though, perhaps it was. She would find out soon enough.

Who is that woman? Hope figured she was probably a nurse of some sort, or a technician. What truly mattered to her was that Bulma seemed to sincerely care for her well being, something Hope had not the joy of experiencing in quite a long time. She is a lot like mother. Well, Bulma does have blue hair. Maybe I am just homesick. Hope rinsed the shampoo from her hair, careful not to get any soap in her eyes.

It felt so good to be clean. Hope enjoyed the warmth of the water as it caressed her body, and the fresh scent of the soap as she scrubbed herself clean. Apparently, Earth was technologically advanced enough to create their own healing chambers. She found not a scratch, spare for a large, star shaped scar that she knew would forever mark her midsection.

“Oh, Trust-kun… What has happened to you?”

She did not want to think about it. Her own brother… he did this to her. He… No. Not Trust. No… The look on his face as he fought her. Those eyes… Black eyes with golden slits… No. Trust did not even smell right. Hope refused to believe her own brother would willingly play part in trying to harm her. Maybe… Maybe he is being controlled. Maybe it is not really him, but a decoy, designed to throw her off guard.

Hope turned the knob and the water stopped flowing. As much as she enjoyed the luxury of a nice hot shower, she did not want to keep Bulma waiting. Besides, already, her stomach was grumbling. Hope toweled off quickly, wondering what she would have to eat. She knew, whatever it was, it had bound to be better than what she had been cooking, out in the wilds.

The clothes Bulma had left looked loose fitting and felt, actually, quite comfortable. Hope had no trouble decerning how to wear them, unlike the first time she had attemped to dress in her galactic academy uniform. The shirt was a little small and the slacks were a bit big around her waist, but not a problem a good belt could not fix. She was thankful someone had been thoughtful enough to trim and stitch a hole in the rear for her tail. And, she liked that the soft cotton overshirt, though large and brightly colored, acted as a good jacket. It is almost as if these clothes were made for a boy. The boots on the bathroom counter, those were actually hers. Hope smiled at this. Those boots had been a gift from her grandmother, Peace. Bulma must have cleaned them well—she found not a trace of blood on them.

Hope examined her appearance briefly in the mirror. Her hair was still damp, and, as usual, quite unruley, just like her father’s. She had no intention of doing anything more to fix it. Afterall, this was not a beauty contest. Briefly, she adjusted the controls on the glowing blue band she wore around her neck. It made a soft humming sound and dimmed a bit as she adjusted it’s settings. Satisfied, she straighted her shirt collar and buttoned her sleeve cuffs. When she felt she was ready, Hope opened the bathroom door.

Trunks waited patiently by the bathroom door for the mysterious young girl within to emerge. Afterall, he had nothing else better to do. Papa still hadn’t come home. Trunks was not really worried, just a bit miffed that his father had something better to do than spend some quality time with his son. It really was not like Vegeta so much anymore to disapear without warning like that, for more than a day. After breakfast, whether Papa returned home or not, Trunks decided he would train in the gravity room. That’s one good way to let off a little steam.

The bathroom door opened, and the girl turned to look right at him and grin. “Hello.” Trunks stepped away from the wall, surprised. It seemed she just knew he was standing there, though he was out of her view. Trunks stared at her for a moment, forgetting himself. He found her somewhat pretty, though, imediately he thought she looked a lot like Goku and Goten—almost boyish. The girl’s cheeks colored slightly, and her tail swayed back and forth. Those white and gold boots she wore—they looked like Papa’s.

“Hi.” He’d never seen anyone with a tail like that. He knew his father, Goku, and Gohan had all had tails at some point in time, but that was before he was born. “You must be Hope. I’m Trunks, Bulma’s son.”

“Pleased to meet you, that I am.” Hope held out her hand, and he shook it. “Do you mind if I stretch a bit before we eat?” Trunks nodded and watched as she began to move through a series of poses consisting of lunges, kicks and swift punches. Her form was excellent and her style was somehow familiar. It was almost like… like Papa’s.

“You’re a martial artist?”

“My grandmother trained me until a few years ago. I am on my own now, that I am.” She looked a bit sad for a moment and her gaze fell to his feet. Though, when she looked up again, she smiled at him. “I am famished, that I am. Have you eaten yet?”

“No. I’ll be joining you for breakfast.”

“Great.”

Trunks looked down at his feet and shuffled them a bit. “Ahh, you wouldn’t want to sparr later, would you?”

Hope’s eyebrows shot up and she was grinning from ear to ear. “Honto?!! I would love to, that I would.” Her tail began to ripple and wave up and down as he laughed. “No one has ever asked me to sparr before, that they have not. Well, except for grandmother.”

Hope followed Trust down the hall in good spirits. She had finally found a friend after all this time. And now, now they eat. Hope hoped that Bulma would not mind feeding her—really feeding her. Hope was hungry, that she was. If she was not careful, she knew that she might scare them. Her appettite is tremendous, and might appear quite unusual. At least, it was by Zandrian standards. Perhaps it was the Zandrian appettite that was strange. “How much do earthlings eat, Trunks-kun?”

“Not a lot. I do, though.”

“Yeah? Is it okay if I eat? I mean, I would not want to inconvience you. I do not mind hunting, that I do not.”

“Hunting?! No need—my family’s very wealthy. Eat as much as you like. It’s alright.”

“Really?” Trunks nodded. “Okay. I will.”

As they walked down the hall, Hope began to inhale deeply, taking in the scent of the air around them. Trunks thought of asking what she was doing, but did not want to emabarass her. She seemed somewhat distracted, as if paying attention to some other sense he could not fathom.

“You are not entirely human, are you?”

Trunks blushed. “How’d you know?”

“You smell a lot like my grandmother did.”

Trunks stopped walking. “What do you mean by that?”

Hope smiled, then looked around. They were in the kitchen. Bulma stood by a round, wooden table laying out bowls, spoons and glasses. “Pull up a chair. I’ll pour you guys some cereal.”

“Have you seen Papa?” Bulma shook her head, and Trunks joined the two of them at the kitchen table. Hope closed her eyes and folded her hands, mumbling softly to herself a short prayer before picking up her spoon. Trunks and Bulma waited for her to finish, not wanting to seem rude.

Hope gazed at the strange food in her bowl, wondering what it could possibly be made of. Each piece was spherical, brown, and airy, floating in a white liquid substance she ascertained to be some sort of earth animal’s byproduct. “What is this? Is it soup?”

Trunks chuckled. “It’s called cereal—Coco Crispies, to be exact. The white liquid is cow’s milk. It’s good.” Hope shrugged and tried a bite. It was good, indeed. Before long she had finished her first bowl and asked for more.