Chapter 18

"Gone," repeated Negin as he folded his arms, scrutinizing the unfortunate Palace Guard with his customary grimness. Only years of training prevented Konny from squirming under the implacable regard.

Next to him, the other Queen's Lieutenant pinched the bridge of his nose, his posture momentarily mimicking a common one the King's liaison assumed after meetings. "You know who he's with," he stated, rhetorically.

Negin grunted.

Tamane sighed. "It's your turn to go after them."

Negin gave his fellow Guard a slightly malicious glance. "Then you must deal with the Earth woman."

The other Saiyan plainly twitched. "I'll get the Captain," he decided, relief threading through the words. "He knows how to handle her."

"The Captain is due in court with the Queen shortly."

"Oy."

"Suck it up," advised Negin as the two turned away.

A muttered imprecation dealing with Negin's sexual conduct around hoofstock drifted back to Konny's ears, but although she remained, properly, at attention until the two were out of sight, it was clear they had forgotten her. Left to herself, Konny blew out a breath of air and smirked, glad that dealing with missing Heirs and disruptive Earth visitors fell under the duties of the Queen's Guard.

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"You little thief!"

The words were ripped away from the small pursuer by the wind. Darting through the uncertain air currents generated by the vehicle he was chasing, he wove back and forth, quickly calculating distances between spired towers, brushing past some by centimeters as he tried to maneuver to a position in front of the tiny craft. The tight quarters were making any but the most delicate of shifting difficult. Mr. Piccolo would think this is good training, he thought, grinning.

On the walkways below, Saiyans folded their arms to stoically watch the spectacle while associated aliens looked up in wonder at the small figure darting over the capitol. Children were a rare sight on Vejiitasei since most were shipped out. The few high-born ones that remained were carefully cloistered from the general populace. During the young Earth-Saiyan's current visit, however, the sight of a pair of distant specks looping around the capitol's tallest buildings had become a common sight. It had been entertaining at first. Now, more than a few individuals were marking the days until the Earth-Saiyan returned to his planet and the capitol could function without these constant disruptions.

Few realized how close the capitol was to a very big disruption.

The small craft did not quite touch its stunted tail-fin against the thick spire as it looped tightly around the building's apex, but it shaved dangerously close, enough for swirling air currents between buildings to work against the vehicle. When the nose dipped down into the start of a tight corkscrew, Gohan did not waste time wondering what went wrong. He simply acted, generating a burst of speed to loop around the suddenly-failing vehicle, scraping through a brief narrow opening between the craft and the building. Gohan glanced ahead to see a wide pedestrian-filled balcony thirty stories off the ground. The craft inexorably wobbled toward it. He gathered ki around himself with a brief, focusing scream, impossibly blurring to a streak well ahead of the distressed craft. He pulled up with an explosion of displaced air, whirling with his arms outstretched, palms open toward the fast-approaching craft. Those in the path of the impending disaster barely had time to register their danger, let alone react to it, before the careening machine crashed into the small figure waiting for it.

There was another shout from Gohan as he tensed his arms and accepted the force of the blow driving him toward the building. Feeling it gave him the information he needed. He pushed back with equal force, marshalling powers his small body appeared incapable of originating. The very air groaned in protest as machine and boy wrestled for control, but Gohan had the machine's measure. With one last concentrated effort he flattened his hands on the machine's hot hull and strained against it. The wall of the balcony just pressed against his back as the machine finally halted. Unhurt, Gohan looped invisible bands of ki about it to hold it in place and grinned at the small form in the cockpit.

"Trunks," he said, "take it easy. Don't break Captain Chishan's toy. He's worked so hard on it."

The clear canopy swung back. Slightly abashed blue eyes stared solemnly from under a fringe of pale blue bangs. The Heir to the House of Vejiitasei unfastened his safety restraints and slowly levitated from the seat, his arms crossed against the white armor covering his chest, his chin lifted mutinously. "Sorry," the child said, the customary edge of arrogance in his voice barely softened by the apology. "I got the controls mixed up, and then I just couldn't straighten it out."

"What were you doing with this?"

"Captain Chishan told me I could not fly it," Trunks replied. "Captain Chishan can't tell me what I can and cannot do."

"Trunks, please notice that I am currently holding this thing up. I'd say Captain Chishan was right about you not being able to fly it. Next time, ask for lessons first."

The Heir turned his head to the side and "humph'd" softly.

"No harm done," Gohan assured him, concealing a grin, "but try not to be so reactive, okay? Help me with this. We need to get it back before Chishan has a heart attack."

"Um..." The royal facade cracked fractionally as Trunks looked helplessly at the craft.

"Let's set down for a minute," Gohan said, giving the boy time to recover himself. Trunks was just beginning to stretch out with his ki abilities, and too often regarded objects as being "too heavy" in a purely physical sense. There were things that were beyond a certain skill level, but weight usually didn't play into what could and could not be done. Carefully Gohan positioned himself so that it appeared he was holding the craft up by its nose, although in truth his focused ki was doing the work, not his arms. He sank toward the distant ground, Trunks hovering at his shoulder and sinking in perfect synchronization with him.

"You are good," Gohan told him cheerfully. "I couldn't fly when I was your age."

"I have to be good. I'm going to be King," replied Trunks, again with that edge of arrogance that perfectly mimicked Vegeta. Once more, however, it was followed by a flicker of uncertainty. "Dad thinks I started late," the Heir stated, no hint of vulnerability in his voice or manner.

He would, thought Gohan in irritation. Being around Vegeta made him really, really appreciate his own dad. In fact, it made him really, really miss both of his parents. "Humans and Saiyans grow up differently," he told the younger boy. "I was a little ahead of other Earth kids." He looked at the boy's lean legs and arms, the slim neck. Trunks did not have the soft rounded limbs or uncertain gait of a three-year-old human toddler. "You're a lot ahead of Earth kids."

"Mom's glad you came," Trunks said. Again, there was nothing confiding in the words. The Heir always spoke factually. "She was scared when your mom and dad had to stay behind that you would, too. She keeps saying I should be around kids more. She thinks I need social — social —"

"'Socializing.'"

"Yes. There aren't any kids my age, though."

True enough, thought Gohan. The lack of playmates Trunks' age had been a deciding factor for Mom. The unexpected news that she was pregnant precluded Chi-chi from coming on the scheduled trip to Vejiitasei herself. It took all of Bulma's considerable pouting and prodding skill to convince Mom that Mrs. and Dr. Briefs were suitable chaperones for the journey. In truth, once they arrived on planet of the Saiyans, Gohan had hardly seen either of Bulma's parents. He spent most of his time with Bulma and Trunks as Dr. Briefs immersed himself in the engineering section soaking up as much alien science as he could cram into his brain, and Mrs. Briefs took numerous little trips all over the planet leaving diplomatic chaos in her wake.

Gohan had never been around other kids much, but there was a complete dearth of companionship in Trunks' life, surrounded as he was by the huge, scowling adults in charge of his protection. Bulma was far from indifferent to her son, but, like her own father, she was inclined to get into a "zone" when something intrigued her and, without meaning to, she could ignore Trunks for hours on end. Vegeta was around, a bit, usually when Zarbon prodded him to pay attention to the boy. It was hard, however, to say the monarch interacted with his son. Gohan supposed that Vejiitasei's King did far more than the average Saiyan father; he had personally seen Trunks twine around his father's legs when the King unexpectedly showed up at the Prince's lessons, gazing up at his parent with adoration, while Vegeta let him do so without rebuke, and even touched gloved fingertips to the pale blue hair in a caress the child could not possibly feel. For the most part, however, the young Prince maintained a stoic, nearly adult air of disdain. No wonder Bulma thinks he needs to be around other people more. If it weren't for her and Zarbon, he wouldn't have any real emotional contact with anyone at all.

They touched down next to one of the capitol's moving concourses, the metal craft settling gently between the two boys. There was an interesting undulation of motion, as people on the walkways found themselves in the presence of the Heir and threw themselves to their knees, heads lowered against any unintentional offense a stare might bring, remaining that way for several dozen yards as the even-paced track carried them past. The overall pattern resembled a wave, with Trunks' small figure representing the trough.

Trunks gazed stoically at the spectacle, his stance a near perfect mimicry of his father's. Only someone who knew Trunks well would notice the slight forlorn droop to the Prince's mouth. After spending most of the last two months with the Heir, Gohan knew the Heir very, very well. "Everyone's afraid of me," commented Trunks. "It's always like this."

"It wasn't always like this," said Gohan with a curious conviction that Trunks, being three, simply accepted. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"Oh-oh." Trunks made a move as if to hide behind the larger boy, then remembered who he was and squared his shoulders grimly. Glancing down the walkway, Gohan grinned. There was an approaching group who were not throwing themselves onto their faces; but then, members of the Queen's Guard didn't need to prostrate themselves in the presence of the royal family. "Look, here's Lieutenant Negin's squad," he said, deliberately light-toned to cheer Trunks up. "You know what that means?"

"Yes. Papa's gonna find out about this now," said Trunks with stoic glumness.

"It means," said Gohan with determined cheer, "that they can help us get this back to Captain Chishan's hanger. That will save us some time. Remember, you have to be in court with your dad in less than an hour."

If anything, Trunks' expression turned even more sour at that reminder. "I hope he doesn't hear about this before court starts," the Heir mumbled under his breath as Gohan waved at Lieutenant Negin.

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Although the King was not appraised of his son's latest mis-adventure with the young Earth visitor before court, the boys' near-destruction of one of Vejiitasei's major buildings reached Nappa's ears in plenty of time for him to make preparations for the Heir's future. It was auspicious, the Commander decided, that it was a day when court was in session; otherwise, Nappa might have to go through channels and wait several days for an audience, long enough for Zarbon or other anti-Saiyan forces to turn the King's ear against him. On court days, any noble could demand and receive an audience with the King. Nappa gave the gold pin holding his cloak in place a final burnishing brush of the fingers and ran a hand over his bald pate. He gave his reflection a "thumbs-up." He was a fine figure of a Saiyan nobleman.

That was more than could be said of the Heir.

Almost everything halted in the palace the day the King first brought his three-year-old son into the throne room. Official vids were not enough to prepare the assembled nobles for just how human the Heir appeared in person. About half-way down the golden strip of carpet the boy stopped, clearly overwhelmed by the multitude of stares upon him. Without checking his stride, the King reached back, grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck, and hoisted him into the crook of one arm. Sitting pressed against his father's shoulder, the boy looked around with bright curiosity in those non-Saiyan eyes. Vegeta climbed the dais to the throne, sat the boy down next to it, and told him to sit without squirming. Cross-legged, holding his ankles, the boy managed that for an hour. At the first sign of restlessness, Vegeta reached over and pressed a nerve cluster in the small neck, knocking the boy out. He tossed the boy to Zarbon and curtly told his liaison to remove the brat. The next week during open court the pattern repeated, only this time the boy managed to be still through the entire session. Within a few weeks he was standing quietly at his father's knee, disconcerting counselors and warriors alike with his steady blue gaze.

The purists among them became more upset as it became clear the boy was going to be powerful. His birth ki should have translated into lower Elite level as an adult, but those who dared level scouters on the boy saw a brat who radiated the power reading of a fully-realized first class warrior. Plainly one of the abilities he inherited from his father was that of unpredictable fighting level. Since Gohan's arrival, there were even rumors (albeit only in the darkest of corners) that the royal brat was learning Earth techniques, including the cowardly one of disguising his power level.

Before the current visit of the Earth-Saiyan, Nappa was inclined to believe the abilities of the Heir grossly exaggerated. The brat was, after all, under-developed by Saiyan standards. However, the royal Heir made impressive progress during the two months with the Earth-Saiyan brat. "Playing," the Queen called it in doting approval, but however one wished to view the activities of the two boys, the truth was that in under two months the Heir went from uncertain hovering to full, controlled flight as he responded to the challenge of keeping up with the older boy. This new escapade clearly meant, thought the Commander, it was time for the brat to find other outlets for his youthful energies before he blew up something that Vejiitasei needed.

It was time for the Heir to begin training.

And if the thought of blacking those non-Saiyan blue eyes pleased Nappa a little too much — well. Powerful the King might be, but he was no mind reader. Having gone through the same experiences himself, Vegeta would not judge a little necessary abuse harshly.

The edges of his mouth curled into a savage grin, Nappa made his way to the court.

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It was not often that the Queen sat in on a court session. She was, after all, the busiest and most sought-after scientist in seven quadrants. She did not normally have the time nor the inclination to concern herself with the politics, either internal or external, of Vejiitasei.

Lately, however, the usually-empty throne by Vegeta's side was, more often than not, filled. It was assumed by most that the Queen was supervising her young son's role in the court, although the most astute of observers (Zarbon and Radditz among them) noted the increase in court attendance coincided more with the arrival of the Queen's parents than with the onset of the Heir's public duties. Those who had contact, however slight, with either of the elder Briefs appreciated that Bulma might need the escape court routine offered.

It proved fortunate that the Queen decided to attend this particular session, since much of it was devoted to her son, who stood, as he had for the last several weeks, silently on the top step of the dais to observe the proceedings. The Commander of the Armed Forces approached the royal couple, bowing deeply before them, although his almost-covetous gaze was set on the face of the young Prince. Nappa's first few words made the tips of the Heir's ears turn red, although the boy maintained his decorum and continued to view the Commander with a proper air of detached scorn. "You didn't break Chishan's craft, did you?" demanded the Queen. "I put a lot of work into that."

The younger Vegeta's reply held a hint of long-suffering. "No, Mother, I did not break the Captain's machine."

The Queen appeared to lose interest in the rest of the details Nappa provided about the Prince's outing. When Nappa insisted it was time for formal training to begin, however, she gave her husband a sidelong, expectant glance. Vegeta listened with a closed expression to Nappa as the Commander outlined the Prince's training scheduled, and then said, "No."

"Sire?"

"I will oversee my son's training."

There were smothered gasps from some off-world courtiers. Appreciating the attempt at levity, Nappa jovially said, "Now, Sire, you know that's not how it's done—" He cut himself off when Vegeta's coal-black eyes hardened.

The King gazed steadily at the man who had, essentially, raised him at the Prince's age. Nothing but faint contempt was evident in his face. He spoke softly, dangerously. "Have a care, Nappa." He waited until the big beefy head lowered in acknowledgement before continuing in a normal voice. "My son is half-human, Nappa." He saw the quickly-repressed blanch, and did not need telepathy to read Nappa's thoughts on that comment—Anyone looking at him can see he's not Saiyan. "I am the one with the most experience with humans, Nappa. I will oversee his training. And when he is too strong for any Saiyan sparring partners, I will train him myself."

Nappa found no more words with which to protest.

"This will begin—" the King started.

The Queen interrupted. "There's no hurry, is there? There's only a week left before my parents and Gohan go home," she said in her direct manner. "Why spoil the rest of their visit?"

"I was going to say, woman, as soon as your wretched parents and that redundant brat of Kakarott's get out of the way," snapped the King.

The court held its collective breath. There was never any way to tell how the Queen would respond to that 'leave-me-alone' tone. Her reactions at times could be very—diverting.

"That's fine, then," said the Queen cheerfully, much to the disappointment of the court as a whole.

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Radditz spent a very trying session lecturing an unrepentant Gohan on appropriate behavior around the Heir, ending with an admonition to fetch one of the Queen's Guard next time the Prince went on an unsanctioned adventure. Although he knew his nephew had far more upstairs than his half-wit brother, the Earth-Saiyan brat could put on the brainless routine when he wanted. Gohan smiled that angelic, un-Saiyan smile at him and said, "But it was fun!"

'Fun' was not an option for the Heir. Somehow, none of the Earthlings, not even the boy's mother, seemed to grasp that very basic point.

His mood improved slightly when his path crossed that of Zarbon's in one of the hallways of the King's wing of the Palace. The alien had that drawn air. Smirking, Radditz paused long enough to remark, "You're looking put-upon."

"Oh, I've just had another duty added," said Zarbon in irritation. "Did you hear about the nice little speech Vegeta gave about 'overseeing my son's training'? Somehow that translated into: 'Zarbon, you do it.'"

Radditz grinned. "You like the brat," he pointed out.

"There's a lot to like," Zarbon agreed, his visage softening into that cast of open affection that made Radditz slightly queasy at witnessing someone unabashedly exhibiting such a weakness—and more than a little envious of the little Prince.

Abruptly, he wanted away from that expression that would never be directed toward himself. "Can't stay to chat, Zarbon. I'm going to be late for Bra's little excursion."

"Oh, we can't keep dear Mrs. Briefs' waiting, can we?"

"Not after what happened last time I kept her waiting, no. Tamane says he is never dealing with another human female again, no matter what orders he has. Since he's been in charge of her for," Radditz consulted his chronometer, "about two hours now, I need to relieve him before we have an intergalactic incident."

"Somehow, I doubt she would recognize an intergalactic incident even if she instigated it." Radditz bristled at Zarbon, slightly, just enough to warn him (again) about making snide comments about Bra. "I can't chat either, though. I have messages from Lord Freeza that came through during the afternoon session. I have to see what he wants." Zarbon flashed his white teeth in one of his more pleasant smiles. "Do enjoy Bra's company this evening."

"Do enjoy chatting up the Lord of the Lizards," returned Radditz, dryly. At least I really will enjoy myself.

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Vegeta would have welcomed an intergalactic incident.

He would have welcomed any number of distractions. In fact, he often caught himself eyeing Gohan with calculation. He still couldn't read the Earth brat's fighting level, although he was sure it had increased in the three years since the boy's last visit to Vejiitasei. He couldn't put a finger on why he thought that. Something in the confident stance of the nine-year-old, the way Kakarott's son set his head, the steady appraisal of his eyes. Power the brat held before, but it had been erratic. Vegeta was convinced that Gohan could now control and direct his ki with a precision very few Saiyan adults could match.

Unfortunately Bulma stood between him and a direct confrontation with the boy. After the first escapade with Trunks Vegeta had very nearly issued a formal challenge to avenge the insult to the house of Vejiitasei. Exasperated, Bulma snapped, "It was a food fight, Vegeta! That's very typical childhood behavior. We may be scraping mint sauce out of Trunks' ears for a week, but it's hardly 'insult' material." When Vegeta tried to insist, Bulma treated him to a diverting display of what true insults entailed. He had been so amused he forgot to issue the challenge.

Unfortunately preventing the Heir from destroying downtown could not be construed as an 'insult.' And there was, Vegeta reminded himself as he entered his wing of the palace, tugging off the heavy necklace as he strode past guards jerking to rigid attention, the entire issue of 'ripening.' The brat would be more of a challenge in a dozen years, when his fighting potential was closer to being fully realized.

"Sire!"

Zarbon. Scowling, Vegeta halted and turned toward the sound of his liaison's voice. Value Zarbon unquestionably had, on levels that the King did not care to contemplate, but a physical challenge he was not any more. Apart from the formidable tasks of keeping his Queen safe and (now that the brat was past the stage where excrement was the most important thing in his young life) tabs on his son, there were no more challenges on Vejiitasei.

As he waited for the liaison to reach him, however, Vegeta felt a strange fission of electricity run along his skin. Of all the Saiyans on the planet, very few could read anything through the composed facade Zarbon habitually maintained. Vegeta, however, witnessed in the face of his liaison a shadow that had him unconsciously preparing for news of the worst sort. Hopefully something so dire that it will relieve the continual boredom of being trapped here.

"Sire," began Zarbon, his tone grim and earnest, "we have a problem."