The Coxsackie Saga: Planet Bitraien

Pan stirred and emitted a deep, sleep-ladened groan, burying her head with a pillow to drown out the ear-splitting shriek of her alarm. The sound pierced her cushion, and she was forced to scoot to the edge of her bed where she fumbled with the round clock until she managed to switch it off.

“Seven thirty is to early,” she thought, rolling out of bed and stumbling to the light switch. She flipped it and the lamps flared to life, chasing away the darkness and revealing a room that Pan kept fairly clean and tidy. “I just hope my sheets are clean.”

Squinting against the light, she walked back to the bed and was overjoyed to find the sheets had survived the night. She plopped down on the edge of the mattress and glanced at the clock. It read Seven thirty-one.

A super-deformed picture of Grandpa Satan adorned the center of the timepiece, his mismatched arms pointing toward the numbers themselves. It was a cartoonists rendition, but the image of her other Grandpa made her homesick. Not for the first time, she asked herself why she'd stowed away on the Capsule Corporation ship.

She shook her head and chased away the thoughts. That kind of emotional weakness is what prompted Trunks to spike her drink in the first place. If she really wanted to help him and Grandpa Goku, she'd have to be tough, physically and mentally.

She rubbed the last of the sleep from her eyes and hurriedly made her bed. The aroma of sizzling bacon wafted into her room. That meant Trunks was preparing breakfast and it would be ready soon. She glanced at the clock again, Trunks never finished cooking until after eight and, even though she'd taken one after her accident, she liked to take a hot shower before she ate. It wasn't even seven forty. She'd have plenty of time. She pulled the wrinkles out of her nightshirt and made certain that her bare, lower extremities were well hidden beneath the orange fabric before heading toward the bathroom.

As she stepped into the hall, chilly air assaulted her naked legs, causing a swarm of goose flesh to run from her round bottom to her ankles. The icy atmosphere forced her bladder to contract and Pan almost spilled her urine all over the metal floor. Shivering, she stepped into the bridge. Trunks stood behind the kitchen counter, a spatula in his right hand and a “kiss the cook” apron he hated to wear covered his shirt.

“Good morning, Pan,” he greeted. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Alright, I'm going to take a shower.” Trunks nodded, but said nothing more. Pan was relieved that he hadn't asked why she wasn't wearing pants. But, considering the way the past several days had gone, it was entirely possible he noticed and had simply drawn his own conclusions. That though made Pan's face flush and she hurried to the bathroom.

Once inside, the first thing she did was extract her sleep pants from the hamper. She tossed them in the corner so she wouldn't forget to put them in the wash after she bathed. Next, she removed the nightshirt and dropped it next to her pants. Cold assaulted her now bare body and she longed to step into the shower, to let the hot water warm her skin, but nature's call was to strong to ignore.

“Business before pleasure,” she muttered aloud. She sat on the toilet and inhaled sharply when the porcelain met her skin. It was like ice, but she did her best to ignore it and relaxed.

Pee trickled from her, slowly at first, then escalating into a torrential downpour. Urine sloshed noisily into the pool below her. The stream was so wide and forceful that dribbles ran down her inner thighs and fell in tiny droplets from her rear. The flow subsided and a loud, airy fart boomed from her bottom.

Pan rested her elbows on her knees and settled in for her morning constitutional. It seemed that no matter how many times she went during the night, she always had to take a massive dump in the morning. But she didn't mind. “At least I don't have to run to the toilet in the morning,” she thought. “At least, not yet.”

A putty like turd emerged from her anus and poured smoothly and easily from between her cheeks. “Oooh,” she moaned. Her entire body tingled with relief and the ease of it all. This was the perfect dump. Soft enough to flow without any help from her but firm enough that she knew it would only take a few wipes to get clean. Unlike almost every other poop she'd taken in the last four days, this one came with no stomach cramps. The log stopped moving and eventually broke off under it's own weight, but Pan could tell by the tell-tale fullness in her gut that there was more to come.

She didn't want to waste the ease of this dump by forcing it out, so she relaxed and waited for her colon to purge the rest of it's load. Her foot tapped patently on the plain, white tile floor. The bathroom was an environment she'd grown to know intricately over the past few days, so intricately that she knew they were exactly 4,537 flowers on the room's horrible yellow wallpaper. The sink and tub were rather boring, but the ship was designed by Capsule Corp, a company known for it's technological advancements, not home decor.

Another blasting fart ripped from her bottom. That must have been the plug, because immediately afterward another log began making it's way out of her body.

This one was softer, but emerged long enough to brush the surface of the water before Pan pinched it off. Another, tiny chunk failed to cling to her bottom and it plopped into the toilet. The fullness in her gut was gone, replaced by blissful relief.

Pan quickly wiped her bottom and flushed the toilet. She jumped into the shower and let the hot water warm her. With breakfast almost ready Pan had to hurry, so she lathered her body and hair and rinsed them simultaneously.

Satisfied that she was clean, she turned the shower off and stepped out. Droplets of water rolled off her body, creating tiny pools around her feet. Pan was expecting a blast of cold air to greet her, but apparently the heater had kicked on. The temperature was almost perfect.

Hastily, she dried off and dragged a brush through her wet hair. She wrapped the fluffy, blue towel around her body high enough to hide her budding breasts, happy that it was long enough to cover most of her body. She grabbed her pajamas and stepped out of the bathroom.

The stairwell that led to the middle deck and laundry room wasn't two steps from the bathroom, so Pan was able to slip to the washer without Trunks noticing. She tossed her pajamas in the machine, as well as a small load of other soiled clothes, and started the cycle. Convinced that the final piece of evidence to last nights accident was being taken care of, Pan bounded back upstairs.
Trunks was absorbed in pulling out dishes as she strolled past. She knew that meant he was probably finished cooking. Pangs of hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she was in no hurry to sate them. Eating triggered the looser, diarrhea-esque bowel movements she couldn't stand. Of course, she had to eat. She couldn't allow herself to starve just avoid the runs.

Once inside her room, Pan let the towel crumple to the floor as she walked to the small dresser. She pulled open the top compartment and picked out a pair of plain white socks. She slipped them on and opened the next drawer. The underwear drawer.

She gasped. There was only one item left, a lacy thong she had bought behind her mother's back a week or two before leaving Earth. She held the skimpy article up, frowning. Considering her circumstances, a thong was less than ideal underwear, but it beat going commando. She pulled it on and gave it a good yank to make sure the string was nestled comfortably between her cheeks. At that moment, an image of hot diarrhea blasting past scant panties flashed in her mind. She shuddered and shook the premonition off.

“Pan, breakfast is ready,” Trunks called, his voice muffled by the walls of her room.

“Alright,” she replied. “I'll be out soon.” Next she slipped into a pair of faded blue jeans, hooked a pink bra around her chest and pulled a long, black tee-shirt over that. Unconsciously, her hand reached for the orange bandanna that sat crumpled on the top of the dresser, but it stopped short. Several trips through the washer had erased any evidence that she had once used the head band as toilet paper, but she hadn't been able to convince herself to wear it since Sandoro. Her hand hovered over it briefly, but she pulled it back. She couldn't bring herself to wrap her head in something that had cleaned her butt.

The first thing Pan noticed upon entering the bridge was a green planet looming in the ship's view window. Behind it, she could make out a tiny bluish dot, probably another planet in the distance. They usually didn't go into orbit unless Giru detected a Dragon Ball. A wave of excitement washed over Pan. Maybe today they'd be one step closer to completing their quest.

“Hey,” Trunks greeted as she pulled up a chair and plopped down at the table. He pushed her a plate containing several strips of bacon, an egg, a small bowl of cereal and an orange. She poured herself a glass of milk and noticed he was halfway through his own breakfast.

“Hi, Trunks,” she greeted. “Where's Grandpa?”

“Training, where else? I figured we should eat our fill before I let him know breakfast is ready.” Pan nodded. She should have known. If Grandpa Goku wasn't training he was eating. If she and Trunks had to compete with him for food, they'd have gone hungry.

There was an awkward silence as they ate. Pan knew that Trunks felt guilty about her digestive problems, and to be fair he was to blame. Pan had forgiven him, but there was still a little tension between the two.

“Did Giru find another Dragon Ball,” Pan asked, motioning toward the green planet with a nod of her head.

“I'm not sure,” Trunks replied. His frown telegraphed his confusion and frustration. “He said there's interference and he can't tell. I've got him doing a thorough scan of this planet and the one behind it. Hopefully, something will turn up.”

The silence resumed after that and lasted until the end of the meal. “I should let Goku know breakfast is ready,” Trunks said, standing. “Then I'm going to see if Giru has turned anything up.” He looked as if he wanted to ask Pan to join him, but thought better of it. “See ya.”

Wordlessly, Pan watched him go. Before the incident at Sandoro she had shared a strong friendship with the purple-haired half Sayain, but he couldn't seem to forgive himself for causing her so much grief. He had grown somewhat distant and even his fighting seemed to be affected. Pan hoped he got over it soon, but knew that he probably couldn't until her bowels settled down. If she told him that his little trick had saved her life, it would probably help, but she couldn't stand admitting that she crapped herself. So she kept quiet.

“Alright, breakfast!” Grandpa Goku exclaimed, rushing for the tray of bacon and stuffing handfuls of it down his throat without chewing.

“Jeez, Grandpa, you could at least chew,” Pan scolded. Sometimes she wondered if his maturity had been affected when he'd been wished back to a child.

“Hey,” he said, unfazed by her scolding. “Did you poop your pants again last night?”

Blood rushed to Pan's face as she blushed brightly. He couldn't know, could he? She was certain that she'd eliminated the evidence and decided to spare her dignity by lying. “Of course not! Why would you even ask something like that?!”

“It's just that Trunks and me found a pair of your dirty underwear in the incinerator,” he said between mouthfuls of food. Pan's mind raced. She distinctly remembered putting the ruined panties in the ship's incinerator last night. She must have forgotten to activate the flames. She let her shame turn to anger and she indignantly poked her nose in the air.

“If you already knew why did you ask,” she challenged, crossing her arms. “Besides, you shouldn't ask a lady those kind of things, it's embarrassing!”

“But Bulma did it for a Dragon Ball once,” Goku started, confused. “It wasn't a big deal then.”

“Bulma did, WHAT?” Pan couldn't believe her ears. “No way.”

“She did, I saw her. Master Roshi made her do it. It didn't bother her.”

“Hey,” it was Trunks, interrupting a conversation that Pan had no desire to continue. “You two need to come here, something's up.”

* * *
The trio stood in a tight circle around Griu, each member fixing the tiny robot with curious stares. “I don't get it,” Goku said. “Did you find Dragon Balls or not?”

“UNCERTIAN,” came the robotic reply. “TWO READINGS FOUND ON PLANET BITRAIEN, ONE ON PLANET OBI MATCH DRAGON BALL READINGS BUT ARE NOT DRAGON BALLS, GIRU.”

“How can they not be Dragon Balls if they match the readings,” Pan asked angrily. “I think you need to get your circuits straight before I straighten them for you!” She made a threatening move toward the little robot, but Trunks stepped in her way.

Calm down,” he said. “Giru was getting interference earlier, it's probably messing with his sensors now.”

“So what do we do,” Goku asked. Trunks seemed to consider the options for a moment.

“Giru says that both planets have breathable air.” He pointed out the view window. “That's Bitraien. I say we check out these readings. If they are Dragon Balls, we'll get two from there and a third on Obi,” he pointed to the bluish planet in the distance, “there. It might be a waste of time, but if they are Dragon Balls we can't afford to miss them.”

Pan and Goku nodded their agreement. “Alright,” he continued, “I'll set the ship's landing sequence. You two go and get ready for the landing.”

The trio dispersed and Pan headed to her room to grab her blue backpack. An audible gurgle emitted from the lowest depths of her belly. It sounded almost ... eager. Like something inside her had been excited. Pan frowned. She knew it meant her breakfast was on the verge of making a grand exit from her body and made a mental note to bring several rolls of toilet paper along.

But as she packed her knapsack, Pan couldn't shake the feeling that the ominous rumbling in her gut was more that pre-diarrhea churning. It felt like a bad omen, and suddenly Pan had strong second thoughts about visiting the green planet Bitraien.