Ascension, Part IV

Chapter 8

The Furry Kingdom isn’t a democracy per se, but it’s also not accurate to refer to it as a monarchy. The Grand Parliament carries out the day-to-day governmental functions of the kingdom, while the King usually fulfills ceremonial duties. His Majesty will sometimes deploy the bully pulpit in support of favored policies and causes, but that’s the extent of his involvement in politics. On very rare occasions, the King has summoned a parliamentarian to his residence, which is seen as an act of near-political coercion. 

Technically speaking, the King has the right to override any decision made by the Parliament, and rule by decree– but only in regards to the subject matter of the parliamentary decision at hand. This step has not been taken in hundreds of years, and the parliament has come to guard its independent power fiercely against royal overreach.

The Official Guide to the Furry Kingdom, Chapter 4: Governance and Politics

Serin never understood why her colleagues liked campaigning so much. 

She was back home in her district. It was the parliament’s second break of the year, the four weeks before the run-up to election day. Serin wasn’t up for reelection this year, but she promised her friends on the hot seat that she would hit the trail with them to show support. And it was the perfect chance to begin to build grassroots support for the census.

That was one important change that had come out of the work of the Saiyan Affairs committee. Calling it the Saiyan Census was a surefire way to rile up opposition to the idea, especially from Bell. Eventually one of her colleagues suggested making the census cover everyone, kingdom wide. They’d still get the information they needed, without the controversy of singling out one group. So the Saiyan Census became the King Furry Royal Census to ride on the popularity of the King.

She was standing next to Soot, who was in a surprisingly tough reelection battle against a challenger who they’d never even heard of a month ago. She was a firebrand, seizing the headlines about Saiyan attacks to call for greater surveillance on Saiyan populations. Soot was out on the streets campaigning, practicing slogans and lines that made him sound even tougher than his upstart opponent. Soot was Serin’s friend, but she was indifferent about the outcome of the race. One person who wanted to confront the Saiyan issue was as good as another.

“With your support, we’ll win this election and put a stop to these Saiyan attacks once and for all!” Soot said to the gathered crowd of about two dozen humans. There was polite applause that was mostly drowned out by the boos of a handful of protesters all the way in the rear.

“And now, I’d like to introduce a long-time friend, and an advocate who has made it her life’s work to keep humans, and Saiyans, safe. Please welcome Parliamentarian Serin.”

“Friends, we need you to vote for Soot in the upcoming election, not just because he wants to keep you and your families safe,” she said, standing before the crowd in an all-black pants suit with a magenta blouse underneath. “Soot is a key supporter of my exciting new initiative, the King Furry Royal Census. This will give us what we’ve never had before: an accurate count of all the people living in the Furry kingdom, humans, Saiyans and beastmen alike.

“With this information, we can better serve all of you. We can send resources where they’re needed most. We can develop better, more affordable housing. We can plan our food growth programs more accurately. And most importantly, it will help us to keep everyone safe.” One person clapped in the audience. It was not the response she was hoping for, but she knew it was hard to get people excited about a giant person count.

“You bigot! You’re trying to control Saiyans!” someone shouted from the group of protesters. Serin looked and saw a Saiyan youth, his tail flicking with anger, staring back at her.

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, young man. I don’t mean any harm towards Saiyans. The census would be classified, and shared only with top level individuals working for the royal government. It’s a project to help us understand our constituencies better.”

“It’s a project to get the exact location of all the Saiyans in the kingdom,” he shot back. “With how you humans treat us, why would we want to tell you where we live?”

The protester was young, but he was smart. He saw right through the talk of including humans and others. But Serin couldn’t understand his opposition. It only made sense to know which of the kingdom’s citizens were potentially walking time bombs, and where they lived. She was doing this to protect everyone, but she knew that argument wouldn’t work. It hadn’t budged Bell one centimeter. She decided to try a different tactic.

“How we treat you?” she asked. “There are no laws that say that Saiyans must live where they must. No rules that explain why your schools are so poor. No reason that so many of you are impoverished, angry and desperate. I see you standing their, protesting against me, against this idea, against everything. But what have you done? What have you built? Where is your effort?

“This plan was developed to help you, Saiyan. How can we fix your roads, build you new schools, clean up your neighborhoods if we don’t know where they are? You say we treat you badly? We don’t treat you like anything, good or bad because we don’t know how to reach you. And I’ll be the first to admit that’s wrong. It’s wrong how we’ve ignored your people. This census is the first step towards correcting that injustice.” Serin turned towards the crowd, which had almost doubled in size since the heated exchange began. “This plan is to correct all the injustices of poverty, disenfranchisement and neglect. This is your chance to say ‘I’m here.’ And when we know where you are, we know where to send the help.”

The young Saiyan began to speak again, but this time he was drowned out by the cheers and applause of the crowd. Soot looked over at Serin and smiled. She’d found it. The message that would break through.

“I’m here!” she shouted again, and the crowd roared.

***

“A census?” Piña said. The regular meeting had been canceled, and only the most senior members of Arula’s dojo were allowed to attend the secret meeting being held in her home. Reene was pleased that she’d proven herself worthy, and was now part of the inner circle. They were joined by Will and Jicama, sitting on opposite sides of the room. “What’s that?”

“They basically count every person in the kingdom,” Reene said.

“So what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” Will said. “With the census, they’ll see that the high poverty, high crime areas are populated by Saiyans, so they can finally do something to improve our living conditions.”

Jicama scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re so naive. They’re going to take that data you hope they collect and use it to attack us. They already think we’re dangerous, and this will prove it to the ones who mean us harm.” 

“You’re being dramatic, as always,” Will sighed.

“I think Jicama has a point,” Arula said. “But I don’t think it’s just about Saiyans. Why would the government need to know where every person in the entire kingdom lives? I don’t like the sounds of it.”

“What do you think, Reene?” Piña asked.

“Hm? I don’t know what to think yet.”

“Well you wrote an article about it.”

“Just because I write about something doesn’t mean I have an opinion on it,” she said. “I just do what my editor tells me to do. And besides, it’s too early to tell. They could both be right, or both be wrong.”

Jicama stood up and started pacing. “We already know the humans fear us. That’s why they’ve passed all the laws against us. We can’t fight, we can’t transform. We can’t do anything that reminds them of how weak they are compared to us.”

“The Saiyan Laws were passed hundreds of years ago,” Will said. “That was a time when prejudice was much worse than now. Even you have to admit that things have gotten better.”

Arula had made the group study history too. The Saiyan Laws were a dark stain on the Kingdom’s history, passed by King Furry VII. Saiyans were basically forced to live in ghettos and barred from serving in any position that the king considered “critical to non-Saiyan health and safety”, meaning anything except for the most menial labor. Future kings apologized for the brutal treatment Saiyans received under Furry VII, and over the decades many of the Saiyan Laws were repealed– but not all.

“We still exist under the terms of the humans,” Jicama said. “How is that better?”

“Let’s try to stay focused on the issue at hand,” Arula said, defusing the moment before Will and Jicama went back to being at each other’s throats. Jicama fell back into his chair in a huff, and Piña leaned over to rub his back. “The census is still just a proposal. Nothing will get passed for at least the next couple of months, not until after the election and the new Parliament is sworn in. That gives us time to talk to our parliamentarians and find out what’s really going on.”

Everyone in the room nodded their agreement. Even Jicama grunted in acknowledgement. 

“There is one other thing I wanted to discuss,” Will said. “How did Celer find out about our group?”

“Obviously you’ve been talking too much,” Jicama said. Piña elbowed him hard in the shoulder.

“If you think that I talk about fighting at school, you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.”

“All right, enough you two,” Reene snapped. Everyone turned to look at her, startled. It was the first time she’d exerted authority over anyone in the group, but she’d had enough of their bickering. “Now Will brings up a very real concern, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since he showed up that day. I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re being watched.”

A nervous silence fell over the group. Arula was the first to speak.

“What makes you say that?”

“That’s the only explanation. Maybe the Saiyans who came and left are talking, but if so, why haven’t they come back? And why haven’t we seen more than one new person if the word is spreading so broadly that some high school kid found out?”

“What are you suggesting then?” Will asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“I think that the kid was told about us by someone who wants him to be in the group,” Reene said. “For what reason, I don’t know.”

“If they’re watching us, why haven’t they shut us down?” Arula asked. “Like Jicama said, fighting is illegal.”

Reene shrugged. “I don’t know that either. But if I had to guess, for whoever is watching us, they either think it’s easier to keep us together in one place under surveillance, or that it’s too dangerous to try and stop us.”

“Any group of humans trying to take down even one of us now that we know how to fight would be suicidal,” Piña said. 

“What do we do then? Stop training?” Jicama asked.

Arula thought for a moment. “No, that would tip them off that we know about them, and who knows what would happen next. If Reene is right, there’s nothing to do but keep going about our business as usual. We have to wait and see what their next move is. Will, we need you to talk to Celer, and find out who exactly told him about us. That’ll at least give us some clues to work with.”

“I’m on it.”

“From now on, no one leaves these meetings alone. Pairs, or preferably groups of three,” Arula said. “And make sure that you keep your head on a swivel. All right, that’s it for tonight. I’ll see you at the next training session.”

Piña and Jicama were already on their way out the back door, as Reene figured they would be. She waited near the front door as Will grabbed his shoes to leave. “Want to walk together?” she asked.

The sun was setting in the distance, setting the sky on fire with a blaze of gold and crimson. The two walked in silence for a while. She knew he was upset about what she’d said about his student, and didn’t want to press the issue.

“Celer’s a good kid,” he said finally, just loud enough for her to hear over the constant buzz of traffic that whizzed by them.

“I know,” she said. “I don’t think he’s doing anything wrong. He could be in trouble too, for all we know. I just think it’s strange that he was able to find us.” 

Will looked at her. Reene was so used to seeing his brow furrowed as he focused during training, that she’d never noticed how young he really looked. She was a couple years older than him, but he looked like he could pass for someone in their late teens. 

“Can I tell you something? That you won’t repeat to anyone?” 

“Of course.”

Will turned to look at the sunset, allowing its lurid light to blaze into his eyes. “I don’t want to be a Saiyan. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want someone watching me or my kids. I just want to be normal and be left alone.”

Reene was surprised that he said those words aloud, but not that the sentiment was coming from him. “Why do you come to the training then? I know you hate Jicama, and if you don’t want to fight, why show up?”

Will chuckled. “I don’t hate Jicama. Or, I don’t hate who he is. I hate what he is, if that makes sense. He’s a proud Saiyan, exactly the kind that humans fear. It’s people like him that make them treat the rest of us the way they do.”

Reene was silent. She didn’t believe that; humans would always treat them as different because they were different, but this wasn’t the moment to correct him. She simply listened.

“As for why I go, believe me, I’ve quit every week since Arula first invited me to attend. Every time is the last time. And then, as the day gets closer, I start to get excited. My blood starts pumping faster just thinking about throwing a punch. I love fighting. I hate that I love it, but I do. What can I say, I’m a Saiyan.” 

She knew the feeling too. She thought about her job, how much she wanted to write about the arts, about municipal elections, about sports, anything other than constantly covering Saiyan stories. They were about nothing but violence and pain, how everyone promised to have a solution for their troubles but turned their backs when it came time to actually do anything. How much easier her life would be if she was a frail, delicate human female who could cry out for help and everyone would fall over themselves to make sure she was safe and protected. Instead, she was ten times stronger than anyone who would come to her aid, so they never did.

Yet she also loved it. Deep down, she enjoyed knowing that she could grind the bones of her coworkers, her doctor, her professors, her dentist, everyone around her who told her she was wrong and bad and unworthy for who she was, into dust. She felt powerful when Jicama threw her into the dirt so hard she left a body-sized crater, but got up and dusted herself off. The humans could never. Never. And that’s why she was made to suffer.

Before she knew it, she was standing at the bottom of her apartment building. The sun had faded into dusk, and nightfall was nipping at its heels. She could barely see Will’s smile in the waning light. 

“Thanks for listening to me, and not judging me,” Will said.

‘We’ve all had those feelings. Well, except for maybe Jicama,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week.”

Chapter 9

According to our best understanding, the first Saiyan to land on Earth, Son Goku, didn’t know he was a Saiyan until he was an adult. He had already conceived a child by that point, unknowingly proving that interspecies mating was possible between humans and Saiyans. As no Saiyan females ever reached Earth, Saiyans could only mate with humans for several generations. General knowledge of Saiyans was still low, so intermarrying between the two species held no stigma. At first, when children began to appear in noticeable numbers that had tails, the public assumed they were some form of the beastmen that already called the kingdom home.

After many years, however, the existence of Saiyans as a group distinct from both humans and beastmen became obvious, and a curious trend took root. The integration of Saiyans into overall culture began to break down, beginning with interpersonal and romantic relationships. Humans were the first to establish interspecies dating as a taboo, placing Saiyans in a lower social class and therefore slandering any human that would deal romantically with a Saiyan as debasing themselves.

In return, Saiyans began to see their social isolation as a marker of pride, claiming that humans were too meek and weak to handle the physical and emotional strength of their kind. Today, it is exceedingly rare to see human/Saiyan couples, and such relationships are shunned by both species.

–Excerpt from “Saiyans in Modern Day Society” by  Professor Oiiver Hillis

Jicama felt something sharp poke him in the ear. He batted it away in his state of half-sleep, and began to drift back into his dreams again. It poked him again, and he rolled over on his side with a frustrated sigh. Then it poked him in the back of the head. He was wide awake now, and could feel the anger slowly rising. He sat up, and the early morning sun greeted him with a blinding flash across his eyes. Irritably, he turned towards the other side of the bed, ready to tear into Piña for not wrapping her unruly hair the night before, until he saw her.

She was splayed on her back, with drool trickling out the corner of her mouth. Her breasts, heavy and solid like the rest of her frame, hung off her chest in opposite directions. Her left arm was behind her head, and her right was over the side of the bed. He felt the anger inside him dissipate as she snored gently, and he sat there for a while staring at her.

Are these the feelings of a Saiyan, he wondered. He’d read Son Gohan’s book cover to cover more times than anyone in the group, trying to reconstruct a vision of the lives of his warrior ancestors. On their home planet, there was no love, no family, no loyalty. Saiyans lived by their strength alone. Treachery and deceit, backstabbing and double-dealing seemed to be the norm for a race of space pirates.

And yet, the Prince of All Saiyans, Vegeta, surpassed only in strength by Kakarot, had a family. He had a wife. A human wife. Jicama still didn’t know how to square the circle of a man who landed on Earth to destroy it, somehow becoming one of its greatest defenders. When he’d brought the conundrum to Arula, she chuckled. 

“People change,” she’d said simply. That answer angered him, but in the time since that conversation, he realized  many things angered him that perhaps shouldn’t. And, perhaps, he was changing too.

He was so lost in his thoughts that despite looking at Piña he didn’t notice her beginning to stir. She stretched before she opened her eyes, bellowing as she did so loudly that the room seemed to shake. She finally opened her eyes to see Jicama before her, and smiled.

“Good morning, Prince,” she said. She’d taken to calling him that as a way to poke fun at his obsession with Vegeta. 

“Good morning my eye. The good one that you didn’t almost poke out with your hair, that is,” he tried to sneer, but couldn’t hide the grin that was spreading across his lips. “From now on, you’re not allowed to go to sleep with your hair out.”

“Oh ho, so Mr. Saiyan Pride has a problem with my hair,” she said, sitting up and shaking out her mane. “What would Will and the others say if I told them that you were here oppressing me?”

That did put a frown on Jicama’s face. He got out of bed, and Piña watched not so subtly as he walked towards the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom while naked. She heard the water come on as he began brushing his teeth. “What’s your problem with Will anyway? He’s always been nice.”

She heard him gargling from the bathroom. “He’s weak,” he said finally.

“So weak that your last fight was a draw?” she reminded him.

He came back into the room, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, he can fight. But he’s weak of spirit.”

Piña sighed. “I hate when you talk in Saiyan sayings.” Jicama bristled. He hated when she called them Saiyan sayings. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that he’s lived a soft, weak life. He plays at being a Saiyan, but his whole life he’s been able to pass for being a human. He only takes on the burdens of our people when it suits him to.”

“And that’s his fault?” she asked. “He’s to blame that his parents removed his tail, or that he’s not a two meter tall, muscle bound giant like you and I are?”

“There’s more to it than that, I wish I could explain,” Jicama said, visibly frustrated. “When I saw you for the first time, I could feel the warrior spirit radiating from you.”

“You’re just saying that because you wanted to get in my pants,” Piña said, playfully pushing him. 

“Even so,” he said, pushing back, “I know you were there for you. The others, even the new girl Reene, are all there to learn about themselves. I don’t know, it just feels like he’s there to prove something. And if he has something to prove, then maybe he should stop acting like a human during the day and being a pretend warrior at night.” 

Piña reached over and traced her fingers along Jicama’s back. He was naturally muscular, and he’d been training even harder since his draw against Will a couple of weeks ago. He felt like he was etched in granite, until she applied the slightest pressure to him. The tension in his body gave way, and she felt the suppleness of his flesh beneath her fingertips. 

“Are you sure that you’re not the one trying to prove something? That you’re not human at all?”

“No human has ever looked at me as anything other than a Saiyan. No Saiyan has either, for that matter,” he said. “I have to be. He chooses to be.” He stood up, and Piña’s eyes fixated on his firm buttocks. She went to grab them and he slapped her hand away. “And speaking of which, I have to get ready for work. You can stay if you like. I’ll be home at the regular time.”

“Okay. Bring some food with you when you come back, I don’t feel like cooking,” Piña said as she rolled back over and closed her eyes. 

Jicama showered and dressed without bothering to be quiet; Piña could sleep through a tornado. He caressed her hair as left the studio apartment he had in the Saiyan quarter of the city. One of the few benefits of living there was that his job was within walking distance. He stepped outside into the brisk morning air. Work at the Capsule Corp. manufacturing plant hadn’t begun for the day yet, so the air was cleaner than usual. He breathed deeply, and felt his head clear. He and Piña had a wonderful night, and he was sure they’d have another one when he got home. All that stood between him and her was eleven hours of grueling labor. Light work, he thought to himself.

He was in such a good mood that he didn’t see the group of humans that had started to follow him. Fortunately he’d been honing the technique for sensing energy that Arula had taught them, so he felt them approaching. Human energy was fuzzy and weak, lacking the intensity and sharpness of a Saiyan so he typically ignored them. Yet there were enough bodies approaching them that their combined presence was enough to put him on guard. He turned quickly, seeing eight humans in the telltale red overcoats and black jackboots of Royal Security.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“We’ll ask the questions, boy,” one of the humans growled. He was a large man, especially for a human, with a thick handlebar mustache and haircut that left most of his head bald except for a thatch of red hair on top. “Where were you last night at approximately 1930 hours?”

“How should I know? I don’t tell time like you weirdos,” he said.

“That’s 7:30 PM, smartass,” the human said. 

“I don’t have to answer your questions. I’m gonna be late for work,” Jicama said, and turned away. Suddenly the other Royal Security officers moved, more quickly than he would have given humans credit for. They surrounded him in a tight circle. Jicama could feel his heart start to race. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the red-headed security officer said. “Where were you last night?”

“I was with a female companion,” Jicama said. “I believe it was your mother, although it could have been your sister. It’s hard to tell in the dark.”

The security officer stepped forward, and pulled out a baton from his belt. He flicked his wrist and the baton took on a bright blue glow and emitted a low hum. Jicama’s eyes narrowed, and he crouched down into a defensive position.

“Oh, that looks like martial arts,” the officer said, grinning. “Please tell me you know how to fight, so we can lock you away for the rest of your life.”

Jicama had almost let his anger get the better of him. One punch, and it would all be over. He could kill every human surrounding him with ease, but they would send more. They wouldn’t stop until they captured him. And then they’d raid his apartment, and find Piña sleeping peacefully. How would she react when she was startled, alone with an army of humans bearing down on her? He unclenched his fists and stood up straight.

“What a shame, I always wanted to see how strong you monkeys are,” he said, slamming the baton into Jicama’s chest. The Saiyan barely flinched. He was surprised by the force the baton landed with. The electricity that flowed from the weapon into his body hurt, but Jicama would never let a human see him in pain. The human looked up at Jicama, then turned to the rest of the group.

“What are you waiting for? Take him down!” he shouted. One by one the other guards activated their batons and began striking Jicama. The cumulative force of the blows began to take their toll on him, and his body began to shake with pain. He stared straight ahead stoically though, refusing to show that each blow was weakening him just a bit more. One human struck him in the leg, and he collapsed down onto one knee. Seeing him fall emboldened the guards, and they continued to hit him all the harder. They wouldn’t be satisfied until he cried out.

“Stop! Stop it!” came a voice from behind. Jicama’s face finally betrayed some emotion as he turned to see Piña standing behind him, pleading with the security guards. “What is this about? Leave him alone!”

“Another Saiyan? They’re multiplying like roaches!” the red head said. “And where were you last night at 7:30? There were reports of a robbery in this neighborhood, committed by a tall person with unruly hair. Was that you?”

Jicama felt the anger in him reach volcanic levels. If he so much as laid a finger on her–

But Piña raised her hand to him. “I was with him all night,” she said. “You can check the security video for this building. He arrived home like he always does at 6:00, and I came over at 7:00. Neither of us left the building until this morning.”

The red-headed security officer gave her an unpleasant smile, raking over her with his eyes. She wore nothing but a large t-shirt that she hastily threw on when she heard the commotion from the apartment. “So a hot night of monkey love, eh? We will check the footage, and if you’re lying, we’ll be back.” The other officers had stopped hitting Jicama, who was trembling from the beating. His clothes were singed and he had numerous abrasions and burns on his body. The redhead took his baton and smacked it into Jicama’s face, leaving it on his cheek until it began to burn the flesh underneath. Still, Jicama refused to cry out. The guard spat off to the side in disappointment.

“Let’s go,” he said to the rest, and they walked off as if they’d just put down a dog. When they were out of his view, Jicama collapsed onto the sidewalk. 

Chapter 10

Public Split On Census Proposal

By Reene

West City– A proposal to count the citizens of the world has been met with equal parts celebration and consternation.

The proposal, put forth by Parliamentarian Vanessa Serin, seeks to conduct the Furry Kingdom’s first official census. Royal officials would send out questionnaires to learn about the demographic makeup of the kingdom, as well as information about employment, family size, education level and a host of other categories. Officials would also dispatch individuals to conduct counts in areas where responses to the questionnaires would be expected to be low or inaccurate. 

“We want this information to be able to plan Royal services better for all people in the kingdom,” Serin said while campaigning with her colleagues for the upcoming election. “We want citizens to say, I’m here, so that we know where to send help.”

Early polling shows that the proposal has majority support, but barely. 55% of those polled support the idea of a census, while 36% oppose it. 9% of respondents said they gad too little information or no opinion on the proposal.

For those who oppose the census, the main concerns are fears about civil liberties being violated by such a massive government undertaking, and what royal officials will do with the information.

“I don’t want King Furry or anyone else in my business,” said Deshaun Jackson, a small business owner in downtown West City. “I don’t bother them, and the government doesn’t bother me, and I want to keep it that way.”

The census is still just a proposal for now, and many suspect it will face a tough path towards becoming law in the Grand Parliament.

Reene had come to really like Celer in the few training sessions he’d attended. So much so, that she’d invited him to become an intern at her newspaper to explore what having a job was like. Will got him special permission to miss one day of school a week to work at the paper. He was bright and eager, always ready to proofread or track down or source or even just grab a cup of coffee for her. She could see why Will enjoyed teaching so much, although she was certain such a career wasn’t for her. Today was going to be a special day for Celer though, and she stood at the elevator, waiting for him to arrive. He stepped into the newsroom at 8:30 sharp, on time, as always.

“Morning, Ms. Reene,” he said cheerfully. No matter how many times she told him that Reene was fine, it never stuck for him. 

“Good morning, Celer. I have some good news for you. I talked to my editor yesterday, and we both think it’s time for you to have your first byline,” she said.

Celer’s face lit up even more than normal. “Really? I get to write my own article?”

“With my help, but yes. I’m just supervising and supporting you. You’re going to do all the research, conduct all the interviews, and write the copy yourself. So I want you to give it some thought, and give me an idea to bring to my editor by the end of the day.”

“I already have my story idea,” he said. “I’ve been giving it some thought just in case this ever happened.” Reene smiled at him. His preparedness and enthusiasm was a far cry from the lazy cynicism that permeated the newsroom. 

“All right, lay it on me.”

“I’ve noticed over the course of the school year that kids have stopped coming to school. At first it was just one or two, and we all thought that they had moved or something. But now we’ve noticed that around 15 students across all the grade levels have left. I want to know what’s happening to them,” he said.

“I’m not sure that’s newsworthy,” Reene said to him. “If kids are switching schools or moving, then that’s just parents making their choices. We can’t really write a story about that until it becomes way more, like it threatens the continued existence of the school.”

“That’s the thing though,” Celer said. “They haven’t moved. We can still go to their parent’s house right now. And when we do, they say their kids are gone. They’ve just disappeared. The rumors around school are that someone is kidnapping Saiyan kids.”

Now that was something different. Reene recalled the conversations that they’d been having in the group over the last few months, about people that Arula invited to join the training and how they suddenly stopped coming. It had only happened a few times, but enough that it kept coming up in conversation. Those weren’t kids, but was it possible that there was some connection?

“Have you talked to any of these parents yourself?” Reene asked.

“No, but I know kids who have.” 

“Okay, I want you to get started on this right away. See if you can get in contact with any of these parents. Ask if they’ll speak on the record, if they’ve filed missing persons reports, what response they’ve gotten, the whole nine. I’ll go talk to my editor right now,” she said.

“Okay!” Celer said, and ran off to their shared workspace. Reene skipped her usual cup of coffee and went straight to the editor’s office. 

Drew Julane was a thin man, rigid as a pole with a sharp, beak-like mouth and constantly wet eyes. He was sitting at his desk when Reene went in, chomping on anti-smoking gum so hard that she was afraid he might bite his own tongue off if he missed. 

“Hey Drew, remember how you said that I could give the kid an assignment?”

“Yeah.”

“I think he’s got a good one.”

“Yeah?”

“A bunch of kids have gone missing at his school. He thinks they’re being kidnapped.”

Julane looked up from his computer. “This is the Saiyan school down the road, right?”

“Yes. One of my friends is a teacher there. He can use him as a source, plus he knows some of the parents of the kids that have gone missing.”

Julane tapped on his desk for a moment. Reene knew he did this when he was weighing the pros and cons of a story. It seemed like a slam dunk to her though. Missing kids? There was even a chance to get some awards out of this one, she thought.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Reene blinked hard. She must have misheard him. “I’m sorry?”

“No. Give him something else to do.”

“Drew, this is a great story, especially for him. It’s personal, he knows the sources, he can–”

“We’re not wasting money on a story no one’s gonna read.”

“You’re not even paying him!”

“But I am paying you. And you’re gonna have to be chasing behind this kid, fixing his mistakes and double-checking his sources. Humans don’t want to read about a bunch of missing Saiyans, and we both know Saiyans don’t read.” 

Reene stiffened, visibly angered. “I know no such thing.”

Julane looked at her again. “We got you on the Saiyan beat already. If Royal Security or someone makes a statement, then we’ll get you to rewrite it and publish it. But put the kid on something else. And you’re behind on the budget story, so get on that.” He turned his chair and went back to staring at the computer screen.

Reene opened her mouth to speak again, but instead turned and stormed out of the room. Her fists were balled up at her side as she reached the desk that she shared with Celer. He was already on the phone, pen in one hand and notepad in the other. How was she going to break the news to him?

“So what’d he say?” he asked as soon as he hung up the phone. Reene looked at him. His bright eyes were just waiting for her to give him the go-ahead.

“He gave us the greenlight,” she lied. “Get to work kid.”

***

The sun had sunk low in the sky, casting long shadows across Reene’s living room. Her apartment was a modest one bedroom, with a single used sofa and an end table as the only furniture. Since her breakup with Chris, she hadn’t any need to entertain, and she’d purposely reduced the clutter in her apartment after reading Son Gohan’s autobiography.

It was in her hands at that very moment, the light from outside just bright enough for her to read through it for a third time. It read like a Greek tragedy; the emperor of the universe, defeated by the very creatures he destroyed to protect himself. The folly of the battle against Cell, tainted by arrogance and pride. The triumphant return of Son Goku to defeat a galactic, magical monster. It all seemed too fantastic to be real, and yet, here she was, a descendant of those warriors. Living proof of the story, tail and all.

She stared at the pages, re-reading certain passages over and over. She was still trying to decide what to make of her people’s history. We were basically pirates, she thought. Sellswords who annihilated entire civilizations and sold the planets to the highest bidder. It disturbed her greatly that her race was basically all of the stereotypes that humans used to describe them: savages who loved nothing more than battle. But that’s a human way of thinking, she thought. We were feared throughout the galaxy. We produced the greatest warriors in the universe. And she and her comrades were the heirs to that power.

Alot of good that does us, she thought bitterly. Jicama was still in the hospital from his beating. Arula had cancelled their latest training session, unsure of how to handle the situation. Piña was by Jicama’s side day and night, and whenever Reene stopped by to visit, she could see a dark rage brewing behind her eyes. Will was off at school, and hadn’t been heard from since the attack. And Celer was running a fool’s errand that she’d put him up to. She hoped that when she brought a finished story to her editor he’d relent, but that was a long shot.

Reene flipped through the book, skimming through different passages until one stopped her. It was the chapter after Son Gohan had defeated Cell, but he’d lost his father during the battle.

“After my father died, I felt like I was lost. Before, death was almost a joke in our world thanks to the Dragon Balls. But this was permanent death. The rest tried their best to help–Piccolo, Krillin, mom and the rest. But we were all grappling with the same overwhelming grief. They’d never dealt with permanent death either. 

The only person who had was Vegeta. He’d lost his family , his race and his planet. None of them were ever coming back. Until then, I believed his Saiyan bravado about how nothing mattered but strength, that the bonds of family and friendship were meaningless. Then I saw him after my father died. 

He was different. Somber. There was none of the gloating he’d done when he thought Dad had died on Namek. Back then, he thought he’d gained something with Kakarot’s death. After the Cell Games, it was clear he felt he’d lost something. He seemed like the best person to talk to.”

She closed the book. That was the feeling she couldn’t put into words, a sense of being lost. Floating aimlessly in an ocean of humanity, bracketed by waves of indifference and rejection at every turn. Maybe if she had the Dragon Balls, she could wish for fulfillment or understanding. But they were long gone, having vanished hundreds of years ago when the Guardian of Earth died. There would be no easy fix for what she was feeling. 

Reene stepped out into the early evening air, headed for the hospital. It had been a couple of days since she’d seen Jicama there. He didn’t speak the last time she came; the three of them simply sat in silence until Reene began to nod off. She didn’t expect him to say anything this time either.

When she arrived in his room, he wasn’t there. Piña was asleep on a cot next to the hospital bed, snoring quietly. Reene felt a breeze move through the room, and looked over to see that a glass door that led to a small balcony was open. Jicama was there, his massive hair swaying gently. She walked loudly to announce herself as she approached, a force of habit. She knew that he had sensed her as soon as she entered the room. They stood quietly for a few minutes, staring at the horizon as the sun faded into night and the silvery crescent of the moon rose to take its place. She looked up at him. He’d basically made a complete recovery, even from the savagery of that attack. Saiyan biology worked wonders, but there was still the faint outline of a scar on his cheek.  

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better,” he answered shortly. Then, to Reene’s surprise, he unfolded his arms and looked at her, smiling. “Much better, actually. Thank you for coming to see me as often as you did.”

She was taken back. Jicama wasn’t rude or ungrateful, but he was often gruff, short with his responses and irritable when pressed to talk, especially about how he felt. 

“You’re welcome,” she said. They were silent again for a while, until this time Jicama spoke first.

“Let me ask you a question, Reene. Do you think the humans that you know value you?”

“I used to think so,” she said. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

“I see,” he said, turning back to the horizon. “I don’t know any humans. They don’t live in my neighborhood. They don’t work at my job. They don’t notice me on the street, other than to step away as I approach. I don’t understand them, and I don’t think they understand me.”

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“It did, once,” he said. “Do you know what I wanted to be when I was a child?”

“Let me guess,” she said. “A doctor.”

Jicama laughed, a hearty laugh that seemed to come from deep within his soul. “Not with my bedside manner. No, I actually wanted to be a parliamentarian.”

Reene’s jaw dropped. “You? Run for office?”

“Is it that crazy? You see how I like to boss people around in the dojo. I wanted to make life better for my parents, for all Saiyans. I saw the Saiyan politicians on television with their slick suits and entourages and I thought, that’s going to be me. I’m going to be important. I’m going to make a change. And then, a human teacher told me one day that I should give up on that dream.”

“Did they tell you why?”

“I was too Saiyan, he said. I could never get elected. At first, I rejected what he said , but then I started looking at the parliamentarians. Really looking. They all look human, even the Saiyan ones. They’re all thin and small. Their hair is carefully cut and cropped to look human. They wear colored contacts to have human colored eyes, like blue and green. And not a single Saiyan parliamentarian has a tail. Not one. I realized he was right. I’d never get elected.”

“Just because all the other Saiyans had to look human to get elected doesn’t mean you have to,” Reene said. “Things have changed since we were kids. The world might be ready for Jicama the parliamentarian.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. It never will be. Not as long as humans are afraid of what Saiyans can be, and Saiyans are afraid of what we are. But when I was laying in that bed, close to death, my dream came back to me. I saw myself as a leader, as someone who was going to protect Saiyans and make our lives better. I just can’t do it their way. I have to do it my way.”

Reene didn’t know what he meant by that, but she knew that she didn’t want to ask. She turned to stare at the dark horizon with Jicama, with Piña’s snoring as the only noise in the room.