Prologue

The door to the Room of Spirit and Time drifted shut, and Piccolo sighed,

turning to look at the others who had gathered here in the Kami's palace.

Gokuu's expression was unusually pensive; beside him, Gohan's eyes were wide

with wonder. For a moment Piccolo's gaze lingered on the boy, and he felt a

twinge of regret; Gohan's childhood would not last much longer. Not with a

monster like Cell threatening the world. No, Gohan would soon be faced with

the trials of a true warrior, whether he was ready or not---and it was up to

the boy's father to ensure that he was ready. Narrowing his eyes, Piccolo

assessed Gokuu again for the hundredth time. His one-time enemy could so

often be a blithering idiot . . . but as a warrior, Son Gokuu had no peer.

He sensed something of Gokuu's plans for the boy, and he had to agree that

Gokuu's assessment might be right; Gohan's hidden power might be formidable,

indeed, if only it could be tapped. He'd trained Gohan himself, and had seen

something of that power, but as yet it was still wild, raw and

uncontrollable. Useless against something like Cell. If Gohan's power was

to be tamed, only Gokuu could help the boy do so. And that kind of power

might be their only hope against the monster Cell . . .

A brief glance at the others only confirmed his feelings. Of all of them

save the Saiyajin members of their group, only he himself stood any chance at

all against Cell, and Piccolo was not so foolish as to overestimate himself

now that Cell had upgraded his power. Tenshinhan was formidable, but Cell

was unbelievably powerful; the three-eyed warrior wouldn't last long at all.

The same for Yamucha and Kulilyn, and worst of all, he could see that they

all *knew* how helpless they would be against Cell. Those three were the

greatest warriors of their race; it was disturbing to see them so

disheartened. For a moment he sympathized with them, but then he pushed the

feeling aside; probably a remnant of the old Kami's gentle personality

resurfacing. Sympathy would do neither the three warriors nor the rest of

the world any good, if Cell was not stopped.

Frustrated, Piccolo glanced at the door again, and scowled. Damn Vejiita's

arrogance; he and Trunks had taken the room when Gohan should have gone

first. But there was wisdom in gaining as much power among their little

group as possible, and if the Saiyajin prince and his time-travelling son

could increase their already formidable strength even a little, it might be

worth it. The pair might even prove to be their saviors . . . but although

the youth who called himself Trunks was an enigma to Piccolo, Vejiita was

another matter. He didn't relish the idea of being beholden to the Saiyajin

. . . but Piccolo was above all else a pragmatist. If Vejiita proved to be

the warrior who defeated Cell, he would accept it and endure Vejiita's

gloating for however long he had to. But privately, Piccolo suspected that

it would be the son, rather than the father, who ultimately gained the

greater power. Vejiita's cold-blooded ruthlessness made him an utterly

deadly warrior . . . but there was a coldness about Trunks as well, and the

boy was (surprisingly) even more driven and determined than his sire. He'd

have to be, if there was any truth to the boy's story of growing up in a

devastated future world. Closing his eyes, Piccolo felt a smile touch his

lips as he marvelled that Vejiita could produce such a son. Maybe miracles

really did happen.

Mr. Popo suddenly drew in a sharp breath beside him, and Piccolo glanced

down at the rotund, benign form that the entity had chosen to adopt. "What

is it?" he asked.

Popo looked up at Piccolo, and Piccolo felt a surge of affection for the

creature before he stifled it. It seemed that the old Kami's personality was

influencing him more strongly than he'd expected; he needed to go and

meditate, but couldn't afford to do so in this crisis. He shoved the thought

aside and focused on the here and now. Mr. Popo looked disturbed, and from

the set of Piccolo's new memories that had shared a lifetime with this being,

he knew that this was unusual. "The ones who just went into the Room,"

murmured Popo, almost to himself. Only Piccolo could hear him when he spoke

that softly. "Perhaps I should have warned them about the Room's

properties."

"You did," Piccolo replied, also keeping his voice low. No need to alarm

the others. "You told them about the occupancy limits---"