Disclaimer: the idea and characters of Dragon Ball are owned by Akira Toriyama. This is a simple non-profit fan parody.

Chapter 25 - The summer of our discontent

On the first day of summer, in the early afternoon, under a white hot sun, in a dry, scorching air, Bulma finally walked out of her school for the last time. And she was not happy.

It was hot. She was tired from the few weeks in which she'd crammed all the study she had not gotten in months, and from the hours she had just spent answering questions both in writing and in speech. All around her she could see at the horizon new towers rising against West City's skyline, still mostly barebone structures surrounded by struts - the skeleton of the new defence system that her father was designing and building in collaboration with the RDF. Going through boring drudgery while much more interesting and important things were going on all around her - that had been her whole life since her meeting with the King. And then there was the matter of her final vote.

Her parents and Goku were waiting for her in front of the place.

How would she tell them? Where would she even begin? Should she try the self-loathing route? Laugh it off? Play the pity card, by bringing up her traumatic experiences, and how rattled she'd been about the whole 'a terrorist group is trying to bring back a demon lord who once almost destroyed the world' affair? She was ridiculously frustrated and angry, and the worst thing was, she didn't even know with whom.

Her mom smiled, expectant, waiting for her to break the silence and say something.

"To begin with," blurted out Bulma, "who the heck even remembers the 45th Fragment of the poet Yin Li by heart?"

"The same Sun that rises never sets,

and the one which sets never rises again.

The cicada sheds its skin,

the river flows with new water,

every spring is the first of its kind,

and each summer the last."

There was a long, stunned silence from all those present, their faces turned towards the impromptu reciter.

"Thanks, Goku," said Bulma, finally. "That really improved the mood."

"It was in one of the books grandpa brought me." explained the boy. "I liked reading it, I thought it was relaxing. But now that I think about it, perhaps not very cheerful."

Dr. Briefs jumped in, taking his daughter under his arm. "Oh, never mind that, I know you're not one for classical poetry, I was not counting on you doing all that well in literature. But how did everything else go?"

Bulma muttered something incomprehensible.

"I'm sorry...?" he asked, as everyone leaned in closer to listen.

Because that made it so much easier for her, right?

"B+." finally managed to say Bulma. "My final grade is a freaking B+."

Her father frowned slightly, but under his moustache you could tell he was about to chuckle. Her mother immediately seemed just too emotional about the whole 'my daughter graduated from high school' milestone to care about the minutiae. And Goku obviously had never known or cared about grades once in his life.

"I got everything perfect in math, physics and chemistry - of course! But literature was a disaster, and, and," Bulma drew her breath, "and history wasn't that good, I didn't remember a lot of the really old stuff, then I got into a spat with the teacher about Piccolo's war of all things, can you imagine, because I said he was a real warlord while the book says he's probably just an amalgam figure mixing traits from two different people who lived around the same time..."

"Well, we knew it wouldn't be your best grade." said her father. "You had way too little time to study too much. But what's done is done. Now it's over, and you can look ahead."

Bulma pushed him away. "But I sucked! I was bad and now I'm pissed because after skipping one year in primary and always being top of the class and getting to graduate at sixteen I still got this sucky grade which is really lame and I will never get the chance to fix it again!"

"Why do you care so much?" asked Goku, candidly. "You almost forgot completely about this until less than two months ago."

"I don't know!" shouted Bulma. "It just pisses me off."

Dr. Brief smiled. "I'm sure you'll get over it. There's an easy way to begin doing that, right?"

"Sure." muttered the girl. "I'll blow it off with C4."

C4, or how the official name went in full, the Capsule Corporation Camping Carousal, was the recreational event planned for the next day for all members of the Human Enhancement Program - a full day of sports, swimming, barbecuing, sunbathing, and generally all sorts of frolicking in the pleasant weather of West City's summer. It had been proposed, of all things, by Bulma herself, though she did not have much time for its organisation and left that mostly to her mother. The once-in-a-century event of Bulma suggesting that both she and other people take some time off and just blow off some steam on fun nonsense was enough to get her parents worried about her health, but truth was, the reason for it wasn't too hard to understand. It was unspoken, because she would not say and the others would not ask. But the day after the camping Goku had planned to leave to go train with Master Muten, who had accepted him as pupil at the end of the King's council. Two days after, Bulma, Yamcha, Bandages and Spike would all leave for Red Ribbon HQ, to prepare for the upcoming war. And they would not meet again until the day would come to fight that war, and win it, because losing wasn't an option for them or the world.

And so, on the last day of peace, they all agreed that the best thing was to go with her idea, and pack as much fun in twenty-four hours as was humanly possible.

"Comin' by with the drinks!"

West City was not a maritime city, but the sea was not far. Sandwiched between the westmost periphery of the city and the ocean there was a thin green belt, with plenty of great spots for camping out and picnics. That was the area they'd decided to settle on, close enough to the beachline that they could walk there for a swim but still on the grass. Bandages showed up with a giant crate of beer and an equally massive cube of ice, followed by Spike with a barbecue and a full stack of boxes of ribs, steaks and sausages, and Yamcha with a dozen bags of drinks and snacks. Obviously, nothing of that was remotely necessary since they could just bring everything in capsules - which Bulma had done with the rest of the provisions and equipment, safely tucked away in a case no bigger than a purse.

"Look here!"

Bandages tossed his load in the air, then with one single fist shattered the ice in shards, which Fangs immediately jumped in to catch with a tub; and with another strike, the crate of beer was crushed too, and the single cans all fell lining themselves up straight into the ice.

"Will you stop showing off!" shouted Bulma. "Those cans will explode when you open them if you shake them that much!"

"Uh, guess that's true." the man scratched his head. "Well, not like you're having any, right? Miss underage."

Which only earned him a stuck out tongue, and then it was back to business for everyone, setting up the camp. Bulma had brought a massive capsule tent. She could have brought a whole house of course, but if you stayed inside a regular building, where was the camping part? Goku trotted behind her, the only one who hadn't carried anything, mostly because he had more sense than the others.

Bulma's parents came right after, amiably chatting and walking at their own pace, keeping their distance from the much rowdier bunch ahead. Panchy wore a light, fluttery summer dress, large brimmed straw hat and sunglasses. Dr. Briefs had ditched the lab coat and was wearing a shirt, which was pretty much the best one could expect from him in such circumstances.

Bulma recalled coming to this exact spot many times over many summers with them; it was a pretty easy way to just spend a summer day off. They could have afforded luxurious resorts in far more exotic locations, of course, but her father was almost never willing to leave the city or his work for that long. The place was almost exactly as she always remembered it, with one major exception. Over the entire area loomed the massive, towering shape of one of the outermost defence perimeter pylons currently under construction. The structure wove itself upwards right at the south east of there, and since it was still morning, the sun was right behind it, shining through the struts. Checkered by crossed bars, as if it was jailed, or all of them were.

"Betcha ya can't light the barbecue up with just your spiritual energy, Yamcha!"

"I'll take that on! What are we betting?"

"Well, if you can do it, I'll leave you half of my ribs."

"Great! Ok, then if I can't, you can have my share of beer."

"That's talking! I'm game."

"He's still underage too, Bandages, don't you remember? He's got no share of beer."

"Wait, what? Damn you, you tricked me! You-"

The barbecue had flared up and died down, and now the smoking hot embers were ready to be used. Yamcha promised to handle the cooking with the years of expertise he'd gained living on his own in the desert and cooking what he hunted. He picked the cuts of meat, slapped them on the barbecue, and sprinkled salt on them. As it turned out, that was pretty much it for his expertise. Not that much more was required anyway.

The meat started coming, as well as some veggies, courtesy of Goku, who wanted to properly balance the protein and fat. He advised others to do so too, earning mostly shrugs and a bad look from Bulma, as if he'd insinuated something terrible about her. They brought up dishes, spread blankets, and started sitting around and eating, passing around drinks and sauces, sometimes by spectacular throws that left most of the boys unfazed but gave Bulma the disturbing feeling of being caught across mortar crossfire.

Lunchtime had almost finished passing pleasantly when the trouble started.

Many groups of people had come and gone from the area during the morning - it was a popular picnic spot after all - but none quite as numerous as the one they were seeing now. A couple dozen people of all ages showed up, though conspicuously, for what looked like a very large family, they had no children with them. Their equipment also looked unusual. They carried poles and what looked like large blankets wrapped up in bundles, plus various other devices.

"Is that a megaphone?" asked Bulma, squinting to see better.

Her father put down the book he was reading and gave a look.

"Oh, I think I know what that's about." he said, with a slight frown. "Bulma, dear, you might want to ignore that. Guess someone recognised us and the news spread."

"Recognised us?"

The group started unfolding. They didn't put their blankets on the ground or pull out barbecues and such. Instead, they spread them out, propped them up with the wooden sticks, and raised them above their heads.

The banner read

OUR CITY IS NOT A FORTRESS! STOP CC MILITARISING WEST CITY

in massive, red painted letters. Out of the group stepped forward a girl, that looked more or less the same age as Bulma, with short, blonde air arranged in a pixie cut. She held up the megaphone and used it to start chanting, coordinating the other protesters, who joined her in a single chorus of "No weapons! / No wars! / Keep your guns off our shores!".

Bulma blinked a couple of times in disbelief.

"Dad." she only managed to say. "What."

The doctor sighed. "I'm afraid there's been some issues with the populace after we started working on the defence project. I didn't bother you with this, but well - our PR team is handling it."

"But the new defences are supposed to protect them all!" she sputtered. "From Piccolo!"

"Yes, but it's not like they know that. The King didn't exactly make it public knowledge." Her father gave her a penetrating stare. "In fact, this is a good time to remember you that you're not supposed to talk about that, no matter how miffed you get."

Goku casually trotted to join them, while taking a bite from a large rib steak. "Why are they shouting?" he asked.

"Apparently, because they think those towers we're building to protect their lives are ugly." commented Bulma, acidic.

The boy raised his eyes, giving a long, appraising look at the pylon, a monster of steel and concrete looming over the entire area.

"...they're not wrong." he decided.

"Oh, come on! Whose side are you on?"

The chorus stopped, and the blonde girl with the megaphone stepped even closer. Behind her, her companions stood, facing Bulma and the others, arms crossed.

"To the plutocrats of Capsule Corporation!" she shouted, only to be amplified even further by the megaphone. "We, the citizens of West City, will not stand by and watch as the military-industrial complex destroys our green for its opaque interests! We will resist, passively and actively if necessary! We will not be denied - we demand to be heard!"

"Yeah, we're hearing you alright." groaned Bulma.

"We will stand here as long as necessary. We will not leave until we are given a chance to talk with those who are responsible for this wanton destruction! Until then, expect no quarter, and expect no quiet! Everyone: no weapons! / No wars! / Keep your guns..."

And so the chanting resumed.

"What's that, boss?" Bandages came closer, cracking his knuckles. "Want me to help them disperse?"

"Goodness, no!" Dr. Briefs jumped up, scandalised. "Really, I'm just sorry about this whole affair. I sympathise with them - it feels almost nostalgic. Back in college, that could have been me. Do you remember the protest to keep the river clean where we first met, honey?"

Panchy sighed wistfully. "Of course I do, dear!" she chirped, lost in the mist of happy past memories. "Though really, I only showed up because a friend of mine told me there were cute boys."

"And you found one!" chuckled the doctor, winking.

"Oh, you weren't one of the cute ones." replied Panchy, with a dismissive hand gesture. "But you were the one I was told to ask if I wanted to get something to smo-"

"Ok, time fucking out!" shouted Bulma, suddenly alarmed. "Dad, you're supposed to be a good example and all, you know?"

"Oh, those were different times," replied the doctor, shrugging. "That was that, and this is this."

Then, frowning suddenly, "And of course you're never supposed to do anything like that." he added.

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sure, dad. So anyway, if you're such an environmentalist at heart, why don't you go talk to them like they're asking?"

Her father shook his head sadly. "I'm not sure what I would say. I can't exactly talk about the real reason for all of this, and I understand well that without knowing that, how can I say it..." He raised his eyes at the tower. "It does looks a bit excessive."

"Alright." the girl crossed her arms. "So what you're saying is, we're supposed to let these people ruin our fun on the last day of quiet we have before we... before it's time to go back to work?"

"I'm saying we should find a way to be tactful, and maybe accept a bit of discomfort as part of our lot." he said, dejected. "And the most important thing is that we be mature about how we deal with this, and we don't instead react with some kind of childish tantrum which would only make matters wo-"

The explosions interrupted his speech and made him realise Bulma wasn't even listening any more. She'd stormed off and decapsulated four massive loudspeakers, taller than her and with subwoofers the size of her head. She connected a laptop to them and quickly browsed a music library before she found the perfect pick for the occasion.

The angry growling of a heavy metal vocalist, invoking death and murder over pretty much everyone other than him, exploded in the air at maximum volume, drowning completely the chanting from the protesters and shaking all presents down to their very bones. A few seismographers in the area registered the event.

"I promised today it would be fun." said Bulma, with a look of grim determination. "And if it's the last thing I do, fun is what we'll have."

"That's it, Erasa." groaned one of the protesters, an old man with a long white beard. "Now they won't hear us any more."

The girl with the megaphone looked at the Capsule Corporation group, from which now came a most unholy noise, enough to be annoying even at that distance.

"I'm sure they won't be able to keep it up for long." she said. "That must be painful from up close."

The old man winced. "It's painful from here too. What kind of music is this?"

They turned both to look at another of the protesters, who was strumming an air guitar and rocking his head back and forth. Feeling observed, he stopped.

"What?" he asked. "Deathkill are awesome."

"Anyway," continued Erasa, "there's another thing we can try if they keep it up. Did you bring stuff for the barbecue?"

The other frowned. "Your idea is to eat?"

"No, that's not it. We just need some aluminium foil..."

The sphere was forged of a titanium-vanadium alloy, diameter of fifty centimetres with a thickness of five. It had been made of two separate hemispherical halves, which had then been joined at the middle by arc welding. The rods, made of the same material, were cylinders one metre long and three centimetres in diameter.

"GATHER ROUND BOYS!" shouted Bulma, cheerfully. "I BROUGHT A PIÑATA!"

"A WHAT?" shouted back Yamcha, from a few steps away. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"A PIÑATA!" she repeated. "A CONTAINER YOU BREAK AND THERE'S CANDY INSIDE!"

DEATH! DEATH! KILL FOR THE THRONE! CRACK THE SKULL AND BREAK THE BONE!

"..." said Goku.

Bulma put a hand to her ear. "WHAT? SPEAK LOUDER, GOKU!" "WHY NOT JUST GIVE US THE CANDY?" he asked.

"THAT WOULD MISS THE POINT!" she replied. "BREAKING IT IS THE FUN PART!"

"THERE IS NOT MUCH FUN IN BREAKING THINGS ONCE YOU GET THE HANG OF IT, MISS BULMA!" commented Spike. "IT IS USUALLY UNCHALLENGING AND ABRUPTLY RESOLVED!"

"THIS ONE IS SPECIALLY MADE FOR YOU GUYS!" insisted Bulma. "IT'S GOING TO GIVE EVEN YOU A HARD TIME!"

DRINK THEIR BLOOD! LET 'EM GET IT! SLURP THEIR GUTS LIKE MOM'S SPAGHETTI!

"..."

"WHAT?"

"I SAID-"

"LOOK, I'LL JUST PUT IT UP HERE!" explained Bulma, trying to lift the metallic sphere. It didn't budge. "OK, YAMCHA, GIVE ME A HAND. JUST LIFT IT- HEY! STOP THAT!"

"STOP WHAT?"

"THAT!"

"WHAT THAT?"

"THE LIGHT!" shrieked the girl, exasperated. "STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING WITH THE LIGHT! IT'S ANNOYING!"

"I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING!"

"SO WHAT IS THAT?"

She pointed in a direction, while trying to shield her eyes with the other hand. All gazes turned that way to see that some of the protesters, including their leader, had split from the main group and moved in a circle around. They held a large sheet of aluminium foil and were using to reflect the sunlight straight at Bulma, occasionally blinding her. When they realised they'd been noticed, the blonde girl grinned and waved a hand at them, then hit Bulma with the sunlight again.

"THAT'S CHEATING!" she shouted. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE RULES OF PROTESTING ARE BUT THAT CAN'T POSSIBLY BE ALLOWED!"

CUT THEIR THROAT! STAB THEIR BACK! IF THEY BEG, DON'T GIVE A FU-

Suddenly, sweet, blissful silence came back, as the voice and instruments of Deathkill were muted. Everyone stood still, too busy regaining their bearing after the onslaught had finally ended. Some clutched their head among their hands and moaned.

"That's enough, I think." said Dr. Briefs, who was standing next to Bulma's laptop, and was now removing a pair of earplugs that he had worn for the entire ordeal. "Bulma, please, let's not escalate this even further. It's getting really silly. Perhaps we should just go."

"Never!" replied the girl. "I'm not going to yield to this sort of tactics! Today we're going to have fun!"

"The way I see it, that ship's already sailed." grumbled Bandages.

"What if I go to talk to them?" suggested Goku. "I am not a representative of the company, but perhaps we can figure something out anyway."

"I'm not going to deign them of my attention, but you do whatever you like." replied Bulma, crossing her arms and scoffing. "Just remember not to mention anything that's under royal secret."

"And please be diplomatic." added Dr. Briefs. "The last thing we need is someone telling the newspaper that we tried to intimidate or threaten them."

Goku nodded, very serious. "Don't worry. I will just talk a bit and come back."

One hour later, the game of piñata had long finished, leaving behind only scrap metal ready to be recycle and a mound of sweets, candy bars, chocolates and such which were now being used as chips to bet on a game of poker. The game was completely dominated by See Through, who used his invisibility powers to achieve the best possible poker face - that is, no face at all. There had been much complaining, but in the end no one had managed to figure out a way in which this could possibly be violating the rules.

Goku finally came back, walking slowly, lost in thought.

"Hey, you're back, finally!" Bulma greeted him, while See Through dragged to his side a massive hoard of gelatines. "You took your sweet time! How did it go?"

"Did you know," asked the boy, with a worried look, "that this area is one of the few nesting zones for the western bluejay?"

The other blinked. "No. Why?"

"Well, because the construction of the tower is disrupting the pattern of-"

"Oh, come on, seriously?" Bulma's jaw fell. "They convinced you?"

Goku thought about it a moment. "I wouldn't say that, no," he replied, seriously, "but I wonder what we could do to protect this vulnerable ecosystem."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe stop Piccolo from taking over the world?" she snapped. "Or do you think he'll have amazing environmental protection policies amidst all the murdering and general tyranting?"

"I don't think he would, but from the story we've heard, he's only interested in killing people." mused the boy. "So from the bluejays' perspective, his victory might actually be a positive outcome."

Bulma threw her hands in the air and just turned away, leaving Goku to chat with her father, who had come closer to hear what the fuss was about. The two immediately got into an enthusiastic brainstorming session discussing how one could go about relocating bluejay nests without upsetting their delicate equilibrium with the surrounding environment.

She went back to the game of poker. Yamcha was just dealing around a new hand.

"So how did it go?" he asked, handing Bulma her cards.

"About as well as you might expect," she said, shrugging. "He may be strong in a fight and smart and all, but Goku isn't exactly a cunning politician."

"Well, at least we got some quiet out of it." said Bandages. "They stopped all their chanting and blabbering while they were busy with him."

"You know what? You're right." Bulma was struck by a flash of inspiration. "That's it, that's their weakness! They can't resist the chance to try and proselytise, so all we need to do is keep throwing people at them. We'll just take turns, and we can probably drag this out until this evening anyway!"

"That's a nice idea," Yamcha said as he finished handing the cards, "but who would bite the bullet first?"

"Not me," mumbled Bandages. "I would end up losing my patience and smacking 'em."

"Nor me," chimed in Spike, "I'm afraid much like Bandages', my countenance might only result scary to those poor fellows."

"Nor me," said a voice coming from a bunch of cards floating mid-air above a bunch of empty clothes, "'cos I'm winning."

"It would need to be someone good looking, possibly already popular, a bit of a local celebrity, even..." said Bulma, counting on the fingers of her hand. "Someone known to care for the community... the kind of man that would make them want to really bring him to their side, and spend a lot of time doing so."

Yamcha raised a worried stare. "Why does that description sound so specific?"

"You know," Bulma flashed a charming smile, "that girl with the megaphone looks really cute."

He thought about it for a moment, then Yamcha put the cards down with a sigh and got up. "I've got to take one for the team, right?"

"Go get 'em," said the girl with a chuckle, then she focused back on her hand and its alluring three kings which she hoped could turn into a full house.

When Yamcha came back, he found the group had spread out. Bulma was leaning on a deckchair, reading a novel. Goku, Bandages and Spike were off on their own, and neither Fangs nor See Through were anywhere to be seen.

"Oh, there you are," Bulma raised her eyes from the book and checked her watch. "You earned us almost one hour and a half of quiet! Good job."

"You don't even ask me how it went?" replied the boy, grinning.

"Does it matter? It's not like I was hoping for anything other than some respite."

"I got a date!" announced the other, triumphantly.

Bulma eyed him sceptically.

"Well, if that's the case, congratulations." she concluded. "That was fast. Possibly a new record."

"Not for me." replied the other, smug. "But definitely in my five best times."

"Braggart."

There was a loud thud. The very ground under their foot shook with the force of a massive impact. Yamcha turned to look at the source, to see that it had been Goku, hitting Bandages from behind with a punch strong enough to push his feet into the ground.

"Yeah, that was Goku." said the mummy, without turning around. "Small hand, big punch."

"What are they doing?" asked Yamcha.

Bulma shook her head. "Playing a game in which someone hits another player from behind, and then the person who was hit has to guess who hit them. I swear, of all the boy things, this is the boyest I've ever seen."

"Sounds fun! I'll join them later. What about the other two?"

"Fangs is in a tent, says too much sun will burn his... delicate complexion." explained Bulma, flipping one page of her book. "See Through is somewhere sunbathing. Naked, because he wants a complete tan, and invisible, because he's embarrassed at being seen naked."

"Sunbathing while invisible?" Yamcha frowned. "Wait, does that-"

"No one told him. Hey, you never know, it's magic. It might work."

A minute passed. Yamcha kept eyeing Bulma, expectant, and Bulma kept blatantly ignoring him and reading her novel (the third volume of the popular 'Sharon Galactica' series, a saga about a space cop woman who spent equal parts of her time chasing intergalactic criminals and having flings with hot and passionate lovers).

"Ok," she said finally, closing her book with a sigh, "I'll entertain you - tell me about this date."

"I mean, it's not exactly a date per se..." started Yamcha.

Bulma raised her eyebrows. "You're not impressing me."

"I'm supposed to meet her next weekend, at this place where they all gather to discuss their course of action for the next protests, and-"

The other stopped him, lifting a hand. "So it's not a date. It's a meeting."

Yamcha lifted a finger in objection. "Well, yes." he finally admitted.

"Also, won't you be with us at Red Ribbon HQ next weekend?"

"I hoped to get the day off," replied the other. "I can run back to West City in a few hours. It's good exercise."

Far away in the distance, the chanting resumed. The protesters were nothing if not determined, Bulma had to give that to them, at least.

"Who should we send now?" asked Yamcha.

Bulma considered the options. Her father had expressly refused to go talk to them, and anyway he and her mother were both sleeping inside the tent right now. Of the others, there wasn't one she'd trust to either last more than ten minutes, not freak out the protesters completely, or not resort to violence. Bulma wasn't the best at handling public relations, but even she could see how sending a living mummy to strangle the leader of a protest group with his bandages was one of the things you usually didn't want to be associated with your company's image.

There was just one answer. She put the novel down and stretched her legs before jumping up from her deckchair.

"I think I'll go have a chat with them myself." she said.

So it finally came down to that. Bulma slowly marched across the field, eyes slightly squinted in the bright sun, fixated on her rival walking towards her from the other side. Behind each of them were their respective cohorts, looking expectantly, waiting to witness the result of that final clash that would decide the day. The meadow was too small for both of them, and they knew it.

"Whoever calls themselves the leader of this bunch, come forward!" shouted Bulma, standing in the middle of the open space, legs wide, arms crossed. "Whatever complaints you have, let me hear them and respond as they deserve."

The blonde girl had left her megaphone behind, and stood in front of the other with equal confidence. "My name is Erasa," she shouted back, "as you would know if you didn't think yourself too good to come to school with us commoners."

Bulma thought about a second. Yes, it was possible she'd actually seen that face at some point in her class...

"I represent the concerned citizens of West City who are worried by the recent activities of Capsule Corporation in collaboration with the Royal Defence Force."

"Concerned citizens?" asked Bulma, sarcastic. "West City has over seven million inhabitants. I don't see many of you here."

"Still more than there are of you, yet you get to decide for everyone else, apparently," replied Erasa, unfazed. "The new defence system being erected all around West City is an outrageous waste of taxpayers' money, a destructive attack on our environment, and an offence to the eyes. It also appears completely unjustified, save for the need to shuffle money from the public treasury to the pockets of the Briefs family."

The other sneered. "Let me get this straight. You think we're doing all this... because we're in cahoots with the King to make money?"

"Do you have a better explanation?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about protecting the city from the rogue terrorist organisation that has just sprung up?" snapped back Bulma, irritated.

"A rogue terrorist organisation like the Red Ribbon?" replied Erasa. "Which for example is suspected of having perpetrated the Pazu Village massacre in 724, during which there were more than twice the victims of the Tenkaichi incident."

"Ok, that's-"

"Or having provided weapons and manpower to the drug lords behind the eastern trade, which in ten years has led to more than fifty victims, two of them journalists who had snooped too much."

"Right, yes, but-"

"Or having assisted the coup in the city-state of Batora, which resulted in the government being overtaken by the faction that wanted to forgo independence in favour of joining the world kingdom. Technically all perfectly legal, of course, since it was foreign territory and a civil war - but thousands of dead. So, care to explain me what is so different now that these cutthroats have split in two and are killing each other for a change?"

That one of the two sides has the means and the will to unleash on the world the most dangerous being to ever walk this Earth, was the obvious answer, but Bulma couldn't exactly say as much. Besides, she knew the Red Ribbon didn't have a great fame, but she'd never researched their history much. Now suddenly she felt a bit more queasy about the prospect of visiting their main headquarters, and felt grateful that her father had set the condition that she ought to have a bodyguard.

"Alright," she said, carefully, "for the sake of argument, then - what would you think if, hypothetically, the King possessed information that you don't, and had good reason to think this faction poses a greater danger than the Red Ribbon either did?"

Erasa shrugged. "Why would they?"

"Because they're more fanatical, or more aggressive, or have acquired a secret weapon. What then?"

"Then he ought to share that information with all of us." replied the girl. "And we'd see why this stuff is so necessary. If he doesn't do it, why should we not suspect that he's got ulterior motives?"

"What if he can't?" pushed back Bulma. "What if sharing the information would in itself increase the danger?"

"Oh, that's so convenient." Erasa rolled her eyes. "Stay put, dear citizens! Trust us, dear citizens! We know what's best for you! Here's some vague soundbites about how dangerous these terrorists are, now get your whole city turned into a fucking fortress!"

She walked forward to Bulma, as her voice rose and her eyes lit up with anger.

"And what do you care? You get to stay sitting in your little complex, training superheroes or whatever, and your dad is all buddy with the King while our money pays for your company's profits! So pray tell me, what is this greater danger we should be aware of that justifies all of this?"

"I... I can't..." Bulma stammered. "That was just speculation!"

"Was it? You know, me and my family, we owned a house until February, when some giant monkey monster appeared out of nowhere and stomped it flat! And good thing we'd all had time to flee. Now my family's renting some cheap apartment in the city centre while that area is being rebuilt."

Bulma paled to this. She was glad Goku wasn't there to hear it.

"So is there really some greater danger? Is that monster going to return? Is there another? You know, I would rather prefer that this is just some corrupt scheme to make money than the alternative! Because what does the King know is coming that is so dangerous it requires that thing to be fought off? Maybe if we actually knew what awaits us we could agree that this is really the best way to defend ourselves!"

"Maybe the King didn't tell you," replied Bulma, piqued, "because he thought if he did you might not agree it is!"

"Yes, of course we might not! THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF TELLING US!"

Erasa's shout left Bulma dazed. She went back to talking more softly afterwards, but her voice was still a bit rough due to the effort, and her eyes still glaring.

"You're so rich and powerful, you don't understand how it feels, do you? To just - not have control over your life. You go on and then some kind of force from outside arrives and smashes your house, or hurts you, or builds a giant fucking tower on your favourite camping spot."

"And there's always someone more powerful that just sort of hangs above your head," continued Bulma, almost muttering to herself. "And you never know when they will be able to get you or why should it be fair that they have so much power over you - they just do."

Erasa looked at her with a slightly surprised gaze. "So you do understand, maybe."

Bulma didn't answer. "Look, I can tell you this much. I can't decide this stuff. But I can talk to my dad, and believe me or not, he's sympathetic to what you're saying. We can't stop building the tower, but it will probably have served its purpose by the end of this year. I think it's going to be easy then to convince the King to just have these torn down. We'll return the area to as close as possible as it was. And from the look of it my dad will probably come up with something for the bluejays too. That's the best I can do."

"Wait a second, are you serious?" Erasa frowned. "End of the year? Do you mean-"

She went pale.

"That soon?"

Bulma shrugged. "What soon? I don't know anything." she said, dismissive. "We'll have just built it and then torn it down. As you said-"

She grinned.

"-biggest waste of taxpayers' money ever."

The rest of the day passed in relative quiet - the protesters stopped chanting, though they continued their vigil and kept up their signs and banners. Bulma came back and didn't talk about what had been discussed - only reassuring her dad that she hadn't let out anything she was not supposed to. At one point, she, Goku and Yamcha went for a swim, or rather, the two boys did, and she was confined to trying to learn how to float while staying close to the beachline, since she'd never bothered until then. Goku went to great lengths to explain to her how really, swimming and summoning one's spiritual energy weren't that different; a lot of it relied on forgoing to some degree conscious control over one's body, and letting it just do its thing while relaxed. That similarity, Bulma suspected, was the main reason why she was so awful at both things.

When they came back it was already twilight, and they lit up the barbecue again for dinner. At that point the protest had been trickling away for a while, their numbers dwindling, and finally it dissolved entirely. A couple of the girls that had been there even happened to drift towards them and started chatting up Yamcha, who was all too eager to keep them company. One even reached out to Goku - and ended up lost with him in some long philosophical discussion about politics. Bulma tried asking where Erasa had gone, but she only received a shrug. Well, obviously she wouldn't hang around. Bulma's last quip had left the leader of the protest rather cold, if not straight up outraged, though she suspected not as much as she would have been if she didn't suspect there was more that was being left unsaid.

Finally, having ran out of food, the time came for the last activity of the evening. While Dr. Briefs and wife had already withdrawn inside the tent to sleep, Bulma set up a small open air cinema using capsules to conjure a screen, a projector, and the loudspeakers from before. There had been some discussion about what movie to watch, but in the end, the decision had been easy enough. A few weeks earlier, right after the Tournament had ended, Yamcha had been called up by a production company who asked him to sell the rights to his name and life story so that they could make a movie on him and his heroic exploits in West City. Yamcha had thought the initial sum was way too petty for him to consider, and refused, in the hope of haggling a bit and getting a better deal. The company instead had simply not called him again, and then, some time later, had released "City Warrior Yarcha", a completely original production for which any resemblance to real people or events was entirely accidental. This had seemed really funny to everyone except Yamcha himself. In the end, however, the company had the grace (or the cheek) of sending him at least a copy of the movie that they couldn't deny had drawn "some artistic inspiration" from his real life actions. And so Yamcha had to settle for the fact that, at least, he'd gained some indirect publicity, and the movie for the C4's open air cinema night was found.

Bulma and Goku sat in the back, where the light of the screen was distant enough that everything around them was basically dark. Goku had sat next to Bulma; and Bulma had sat next to one of the vats that still had some cans of beer left, now sunk in a sea of warm water left by the long melted ice. Since no one could see her and everyone was focused on the movie, she could easily get away with grabbing a few. She popped a can and took a sip right as the movie was beginning.

The movie was nothing if not pedestrian. Yarcha was a hapless softball player with extraordinary strength whom some obviously villainous team owners spurned, forcing him out of the league out of envy. There was much moustache-twirling. Poor Yarcha, kicked out, ended up wandering into the lab of a certain Purma, a busty scientist with a very determined attitude, who injected him with a Hero Serum which multiplied his already amazing strength and transformed him into a defender of justice. Bulma didn't know whether she should be flattered at the fact that they'd picked such a sexy actress to interpret her off-brand alter-ego, or pissed at the fact that she was blatantly acting as a love interest for Yarcha. In doubt, she opened another can of beer.

The plot thickened. After having averted a few petty crimes, Yarcha got involved in a greater conspiracy that threatened the whole world. Apparently, some of the team managers who had kicked him out were in fact aliens, hellbent on subjugating the Earth. Bulma wondered if she should apologize to Goku on her planet's behalf for its backwards sensibilities about extraplanetary lifeforms, but he didn't seem to mind much. Anyway, the managers now wanted to gain some leverage over the hero, and so decided to kidnap Purma, in order to blackmail him into doing their bidding. But they had underestimated Purma's pluckiness and bravery - when the hitmen showed up at her home, she pulled out a hidden gun, and took them down at the end of a spectacular gunfight.

Bulma winced, and took a third can of beer.

"I thought you weren't supposed to drink that." said Goku, finally noticing, having until then been unreasonably gripped by the terrible movie.

Bulma looked at him with the hazy, unfocused gaze of a sixteen year old girl who'd already downed two full cans of beer. "Want a swig?" she suggested finally, with a malicious grin, pushing her can towards him.

"I though I wasn't supposed either." he replied, unsure. "Isn't it unhealthy?"

"Oh, who knows. Maybe you got some amaaazing alien metabolism." she said, chuckling. "Come on, try it! Dad's asleep anyway, he can't complain."

"I'm not getting bribed." pointed out Goku, extending his hand. "But I am a bit curious."

"That's the spirit! Go for it."

The kid picked up the beer can, brought it to his lips, and drank a bit.

"Eeeeeeuggghhh." was his immediate reaction, and Bulma had to grab the can before it fell on the ground. She laughed.

"That's so bitter." said Goku, after finishing sputtering. "Why do you even drink that?"

"You get used to it." she replied, taking another sip.

Goku shook his head. "Why are you not supposed to drink it? Besides the terrible taste."

Bulma shrugged. "Because it's unhealthy, mostly. Or maybe it's just because it makes you think less about the future and be even less responsible than usual and imagine what that means for me."

She giggled again.

"That doesn't sound good." said Goku.

"Haven't you noticed? I'm not a good girl." replied Bulma, her expression suddenly gloomy. "I drink beer, and I don't study and get B+ at my finals, and I... I act like a stuck up bitch sometimes, and I'm selfish-"

She paused a bit, sullen.

"And I'm a murderer."

Goku frowned. "What are you talking about? You're not-"

"I didn't tell anyone." she interrupted him. "But on the day of the Tournament I killed someone. One of those terrorists. Only Commander Black saw me. It's just - it was self-defence, okay? Tooootally justified. So I don't know why I keep... keep remembering it."

She shook her head.

"Totally justified. But it was, you know. The part that really gets me. It was like, I didn't even realise it, okay? I didn't think about it. I just reacted, and then, bang, he's dead. His eyes went all, all blank and stuff."

There were shivers running through her body. She downed the rest of the beer in a single gulp.

"And the part that really, really gets me is, he must have gone... there. He wasn't a good guy. So I sent him to Hell. With my hands. I keep thinking I did that, and well, I guess one day I'll have an eternity to apologise to him, yeah?"

"It wasn't you who sent him there." said Goku. "It was Enma."

"You said your grandpa told you the Gods are more like forces of nature than people with a free will." replied Bulma. "So it was really me making the choice."

The boy shook his head. "It really wasn't. And whatever you did, he would have ended there eventually if he didn't change his ways."

"Maybe."

She tossed the empty can, and Goku grabbed it before it landed on the grass. "I don't believe either is a very serious sin," he said, serious, "but as far as that stuff goes, I think littering is worse than drinking when you're not supposed to."

Bulma laughed and nodded.

"Goku, I'm sorry." she said finally. "For the King's meeting, I mean. You suggested to destroy the Dragon Balls, and you were right, that may actually be the best thing to stop Piccolo from coming back if the situation is desperate. I made up a lot of reasons why it wasn't a good idea, but the truth is, I just could not give up the idea that perhaps, perhaps if I could use them again and again, I could find a way to change it all. To make it better. And I didn't want to let that go. I'm just that selfish, right? To risk getting the whole world killed just because I'm afraid for myself."

The boy thought about it for a while.

"No, I don't think you're all that wrong." he said, finally, slowly. "If everyone got killed by Piccolo, they would still end in the afterlife and... wherever they get sent. I don't mean that what comes before doesn't matter," he added, hurriedly, "but in the end, what comes afterwards is permanent. Just protecting this world isn't enough to matter, in the long run. But I don't know if the Dragon Balls would be enough either. They must have limits, and what you'd be trying to do would be so incredible, that if you were able to, perhaps you wouldn't even need them any more."

"You might say I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell." Bulma chuckled. "But hey, one has to try, right? Tomorrow Piccolo's goons. Then Frieza. And then-"

She tossed her head back and pointed a finger at the sky. Not the stars, but the infinite blackness between them, receding forever into the distance.

"You're very confident." commented Goku.

"I'm very drunk." replied Bulma.

They'd missed most of the movie; it was now in its epilogue. Having beaten badly the evil alien conspirators, Yarcha was holding Purma with a single arm and bringing her closer, while she closed her eyes and pushed her lips forward. A rousing music underlined the triumph of good over evil and announced the imminent arrival of the end titles.

"That way it's easy." grumbled Bulma. "Just win once, and bam!, happiness ever after. Movie's over. But us, we're stuck here just having to do it again and again until we lose. Like your poet friend said - every summer the last."

"That's part of a lost poem, though," explained Goku. "It used to tell the story of a pupil seeking the teachings of a famous master. The 45th fragment is spoken by the pupil, complaining about the injustice of the world. The 46th comes from the answer of the master, who praises the virtues of the wise."

"Let's hear it."

"His eye embraces the whole world,

his heart is calm, his mind still,

his self fills the bowl like water,

he lives in the eternal summer."

The girl grinned.

"You're right. I like this ending better. But I'm not much of a wise woman, myself."

She grabbed her fourth can of beer, opened it and raised it in a toast.

"To this summer!" she shouted, to the sky, and the world, and a few very baffled people who were trying to watch the ending of the movie.

She took her first swig.

"May it last forever."

Right, this was a bit of a breather chapter as I mentioned, and I was myself a bit melancholic while writing it, so my mood has certainly affected it. Still, I felt like it was necessary to give the characters a bit of time together to goof off, and I won't have any more chances to do that for a long time in the upcoming arc. To everyone speculating about a meeting between Bulma and Dr. Gero... well, keep reading! I'm really happy to see how many of you like this fic so much, it inspires me to keep doing my best on it! I hope I can keep the next arc up to everyone's standards. Things are getting more and more complex by the chapter, and juggling all these variables I'm always worried I'll let something slip and leave one or two plot holes. Wish me good luck in that enterprise, I guess! To the next time!