Bardock surveyed the beach, and what he could see of the
island, from the air before he touched
down. It was large and rocky but deserted,
and everything edible had long since been
plucked, stripped or dug and eaten. He'd
expected that, and had brought a few scant
rations, and a little firewood.
Odd how his growling belly and parched throat
didn't accept that he'd come here to die.
Somehow he hadn't expected that, though he'd
taken a few days to put his affairs in order
before leaving. Raditz was already in
military school, and Kakarot sent just this
morning to a distant alien planet.
His commander hadn't argued with his
decision, though the others' averted eyes and
furtive glances had told him they knew where he
was going. No one saw him off, or wished
him a safe journey or return. They knew he
wasn't coming back.
It
was where Saiyans went, what they did,
when the pain of life became too much.
Losing his mate was the worst thing that had
ever happened to him.
He saw no signs of the others. Surely
he wasn't the only one seeking death this cycle?
He shrugged. It would make little
difference anyway, since no one would ever know
what
happened to him. There would be
no funeral, no remains, just swift red rending
and devouring by one of his fellow-mourners
tranformed by moonlight.
He had a couple of hours left. Time
enough for a last meal, and maybe a nap.
He didn't want too much time to think
about it. Well. A nap would keep him
from thinking, and use up some of the empty
time. He hoped he'd be able to get to
sleep.
He wasn't. Neither the fire he'd lit in
the cave he'd found nor a full belly was able to
lull him to sleep. He wasn't surprised,
and just wished he'd thought to bring a game, a
book, anything to keep his mind off his
loss. He spent his last hours ranting,
growling, pacing.
And when the moon rose, he went out naked to
meet it, raising his arms like a worshipful
supplicant, welcoming the change and the
forgetfulness it brought.
And the world went black.
Bardock
awoke to hazy pain and the smell of blood.
Hunh. Not what I expected the afterlife
to be like, he mused fuzzily. He
forced protesting eyes to open against the
too-bright sunlight, and they punished him with
an overpowering headache. He had deep
gouges over his chest and right shoulder, and he
was naked and tired and sweaty and achy and
thirsty and smelly and sunburned and still
alive.
Still alive. How'd he manage that?
He ran gentle fingers over the gouges,
frowning. Oozaru claw marks--that's all
they could be.
That meant--that meant he'd
won the encounter. Trust me to
not even be able to kill myself right! he
thought bitterly. Now he was awake and
self-aware again, and had to face his memories,
while his opponent--whoever it had been--had
found the oblivion both had been seeking.
It might even have been someone he knew that
he'd killed.
And eaten.
Bardock
gagged, rolled over and vomited, silently
thanking the gods he couldn't see any
identifiable Saiyan body parts in there.
He lay back, panting, to consider his options.
Thirsting to death was fairly fast, but he
doubted he'd have the willpower for it.
He'd probably just wind up guzzling the briny
seawater when it got the best of him.
Starving would take care of itself, unless he
wanted to live on lichens and bugs.
He could see to it his wounds got infected,
but that would be a painful way to go.
It was too warm to freeze. Maybe he
could drown himself? Fly way out over the
sea and plunge into the water? No, that
wouldn't work--if he could fly out, he could fly
back. Ditto for levitating-then-falling,
or heading for outer space, or ki-blasting
himself.
He growled as he limped back toward the
cave. He was a warrior; he'd find a way.
But first he was going to get some sleep.
He awoke even more stiff and achy than he'd
been in the morning, and pushed himself upright
with an irritable snarl. His scabbed-over
wounds throbbed, and he was still hungry
and thirsty and naked and sweaty and
sunburned. And, he realized, too much of a
coward to end it this way. He'd have to
transform.
Or
start looking for lichens and bugs.
He pushed his way out of the cave and truly
saw the stark landscape for the first
time. Sand, sea, rocks and shadows under
the three-quarters-full moon. No animal
noises. No leaves to rustle in the
wind. Just more rocks.
He stepped into a patch of moonlight and
uncurled his tail, waiting, hoping against hope
that it would be enough to transform him, to end
this misery.
Nothing happened.
He
slammed angry fists into his own thighs in
frustration.
NOW I have to wait through another whole
cycle to die! It's so UNFAIR!
For custom demanded, and honor required, that
he remain for one full cycle if he somehow
managed to survive that first night. He'd
known that sometimes people survived, but he'd
been so convinced it was his time, so
ready...
But he wasn't ready for an entire cycle of
vermin and seawater, though in his heart he
doubted that even his Saiyan metabolism could
withstand it *that* long. What a way for a
warrior to die.
He took a deep breath and
soundly cursed the universe for not killing him
last night, and for taking his mate away, and
especially for its perversity in denying
him the quick painless (or at least
less-conscious) death he'd planned. Then
he raved at the moon for daring not be full when
he needed it to be and for hanging there in the
sky and mocking him.
A tiny voice in his head kept repeating that
if anyone could see him now, they'd surely think
him completely insane, ranting naked at and
under the moon.
"Ha!" he sneered at the voice. "If
anyone wants to look at me, they'll have to use
a scouter with a telescopic lens!"
A scouter. Oh, gods. A
lens.
A lens to magnify the moon-rays.
He was shocked into silence, and collapsed on
top of a convenient boulder. Would it
work?
"Only one way to find out," he
muttered as he powered up and cleared his mind
of distractions--no small accomplishment in his
current state. He focused and shaped his
ki into a lens, wishing all the while he'd paid
more attention in physics class. Nothing
happened. He settled in for a long night
of trying different shapes, heights, angles and
thicknesses, and was concentrating so hard he
almost didn't notice when the world went away.
He awoke with truly foul morning breath and a
bellyfull of neighbor. He fought to keep
it down.
Every night, weather permitting, Bardock
practiced his new technique if there was even a
sliver of moonlight. He slept during the
day, and was oblivious of time when he was
transformed, so the lunar cycle went by faster
than he could ever have imagined.
Occasional rainstorms forced him to go hungry
but also gave him a chance to get fresh water.
By the time he was honorably allowed to
leave, he'd had plenty of time to think and to
grieve, he'd mastered his new technique, and his
wounds were healed. His physical wounds,
anyway.
He still missed his mate terribly,
but he no longer wanted to die.
He spent his last night on the island in the
most secure cave he could find. No sense
in surviving this long just to get eaten by this
month's crop of oozaru. And he'd already
decided to keep his new technique a
secret. It might come in handy sometime,
and a third-class warrior needed all the
advantages he could get. He got no sleep
that night--no surprise--but he was
surprised at how tight the outfit he'd brought
was now. Had he actually gained weight
here?
He
didn't want to think about it.
He was in good spirits as he flew toward
home--and a real meal! And a real
bed! And a hot bath! And some
conversation!
His commander was astonished to see him, as
were his squadmates. He showed off his new
scars and reclaimed a few items he'd given away,
thinking he'd die soon. It took
awhile--and a warrior's oath--to convince them
that, yes, he really had endured the island for
a whole cycle without leaving or having supplies
smuggled in.
No one had ever heard of such a thing.
His commander shook his head in wonder.
"Destiny must've spared you for a reason."
Bardock
shrugged. "I have NO idea."