Chapter 19

"Zarbon, this talk of treaties and violations and consequences is tedious," complained the King. "The borders are crossed all the time. Tell me plainly what the problem is."

"This is not a case of a damaged trader going off-course or a scout straying too close to a population center," responded Zarbon, fighting as he often did to keep his voice even in the face of one obdurate Saiyan ruler. "This is an entire military expedition that invaded King Cold's space."

"You say they weren't supposed to be anywhere near there," pointed out Vegeta, not for the first time.

"It doesn't matter where they were supposed to be," Zarbon returned, also not for the first time. "It's where they ended up. We're lucky, in fact, that it was Freeza's prefecture and that he was willing to hear out an explanation from me before proceeding along lines that could only lead to an inter-galactic incident. His father is not being so understanding," he added with an emphatic underscore. "King Cold is requiring an immediate and public apology."

Vegeta raised one brow.

"Yes, I know, out of the question for a Saiyan," agreed Zarbon, vexed. "If I arrange for a private apology, would you—?"

Both brows went up as Vegeta's visage took on a decidedly sardonic cast.

Zarbon raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, I had to try," he informed what-ever deity might be hovering under the palace's roof. "I'll think of something, my King. There is another problem."

"Isn't there always," murmured Vegeta, bored.

"There are only a couple of survivors, but one of them is Lord Youkan."

"Lord—?" queried Vegeta, as if puzzled as to why a noble was off-planet before Zarbon saw memory flash across the King's face. "Great, one of Miso's brats. Dammit. This is what comes of letting the nobility wander off planet like common warriors."

It was Zarbon's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Baka," said the King, not without a touch of absent amusement. "Common warriors have common sense. Nobles do not."

"I am so not going there," the alien muttered, under his breath but deliberately loud enough for Vegeta to hear.

The King acknowledged the snipe with a slight upturned corner of his mouth. "Do they want a ransom for the high-born brat or what?"

"I don't know," admitted Zarbon. "I offered one, of course, but Lord Freeza indicated that he wished to 'retain' Lord Youkan for a while. I confess, that worries me. His release may depend on that apology that nothing will tear from your lips."

Vegeta shrugged. "Miso has others."

"His mother is also a chieftain, so there's an Eastern prefecture involved—" started Zarbon, but stopped himself. It was not only that Vegeta lacked interest in the subtleties of succession within the Saiyan nobility, but a certain avid expression that was becoming more and more evident across the high-browed Imperial countenance. "Vegeta," Zarbon said, faintly, "whatever you're thinking, I beg of you, reconsider."

"They were on a purge, were they not? What planet?"

Still regarding his King with ever-mounting mistrust, Zarbon said cautiously, "Koorim. I briefed you on it. A squad was lost there—"

"I remember," said the King, smiling.

It was the Saiyan battle smirk. Zarbon ventured a glance over one shoulder, but Bulma was not in the room. He returned his gaze to Vegeta, his misgivings doubling. If it wasn't Bulma bringing out Vegeta's fighting spirit, then who or what—?

"I think," said the King, "that obtaining the release of an incarcerated Saiyan noble is precisely the sort of situation that requires your considerable diplomatic skills, Zarbon."

"Vegeta, when you start with the compliments, you frighten me," said Zarbon frankly.

"But while my liaison wrestles with the delicacies of retrieving the son of two Chieftains, the planet Youkan's legion were supposed to purge — well on our side of the galactic border — remains defiant. It was expected to be a troublesome purge, no? That's why Youkan's legion was going; it's the only one in the off-world forces with two Elites. Well. Since the only other off-world Elite is Radditz's dam, and she's currently on a mission—I suppose someone else will have to go. Someone with power."

Zarbon looked at his King with narrow-eyed suspicion. "Vegeta," he said. "No."

Vegeta smirked, the light of anticipation spreading across his face. "Zarbon," he replied. "Yes."

_________________________________________________________

When the screaming started, every Guard within hearing distance, whether Palace or Domestic or Royal, halted what-ever they were doing and sprinted for the source. The shouting echoed through the stonework halls, bouncing off the thin veneer of marbling. That perhaps accounted for the strange cadence of the noises, which did not quite sound like anything most of the guards had ever heard before. Tumbling over each other, warriors spilled into the King's wing of the palace.

The first several to track down the din to its origin were witness to a very strange scene.

Zarbon was shouting at Vegeta, the syllables uttered a mixture of Standard, sibilant hissing, and angry sounding clicks. Vegeta stood with his arms crossed, gaze cast to the floor, his expression one of unspeakable boredom. His eyes flicked up as guards burst in from every possible entryway. A small smile turned up one corner of his mouth.

En masse, the warriors braked to a halt and gaped at the two men.

"Zarbon," Vegeta chided as his gaze returned to the floor, "get a grip. You're getting the guards all bothered."

Zarbon looked like a man on the verge of an apoplectic seizure. His face was flushed dark violet. Veins bulged against his temples. Clenched neck and arm muscles made him look very thick. With an audience, however, his sense of propriety forced him into moderation. The alien bit down on a lower lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the golden gaze was level and cold. "Vegeta," he said, firmly, "the King may not go offworld."

"Zarbon," mocked the King. "Telling the King what he can and cannot do is an exercise in futility. Isn't it?"

_________________________________________________________

There were few people the Heir would openly concede intimidated him.

His Earth grandmother was one of them.

The instant he met her he knew she was something entirely outside of his experience. Standing slightly behind his father and mother on the gold carpet, he mimicked his father's cross-armed stance and stoic face as the round craft from Earth set down and the honor guard snapped to attention. The slender blond woman that darted out of the ship ignored all of them. With barely a glance toward her daughter, she descended on the startled Prince. Guards who tried to leap to the boy's defense were growled at by the Queen's Captain. Heedless of protocol Radditz planted himself next to the woman and frowned at his fellow guards as the Earthling swept the Prince up in her arms, pinched his cheeks until they were cherry red, and exclaimed that he was such a big boy and what an adorable tail! No-one except his own mother had ever touched him so — enthusiastically. The Prince looked about wildly, wondering if this were an attack and if he should just blast her to protect himself, but he had a feeling Mom wouldn't like that and, besides, he had never actually 'blasted' anyone. Fortunately as quickly as he was scooped up he was dropped again. Sitting on the gold carpet, Trunks was left scowling in disarray as the woman next launched herself at his mother.

With Radditz watching derisively, the Heir tried to re-gather his dignity, getting to his feet resolutely as if it had been his decision to set the royal bottom on the carpet. Radditz crouched next to him. "Bra," the Queen's Captain told Trunks quietly with a feral gleam in his eye, "is a force of nature. Even Saiyans sometimes must yield to nature, my Prince." He glanced toward the royal entourage, where the Queen was trying to embrace both her parents and Gohan at the same time, nearly knocking all three of them over in her enthusiasm. "It runs in the family," the Captain concluded, dryly. "When you are older, you may wish to discuss aspects of it with your father."

The Prince had never been in the rain, never been out under the suns when it was too hot or too cold, had never been exposed in any way to 'nature.' The idea that something could be stronger than a member of the House of Vejiitasei did not strike him as possible. He snorted (not quite managing the resonance of his father's snort, although Zarbon assured him he would grow into it), proclaiming that Saiyans might have to yield to nature but Princes did not. Catching the words, his grandmother folded her hands under her sharp chin and smiled widely. "Oh, isn't that just precious," she cooed. "He looks like Bulma, but he takes after you, too, Vegeta!"

For all the reaction the King had, he might as well not be present. He simply exchanged a long, steady stare with Gohan, then proceeded to ignore everyone equally. It set a pattern that would last for the duration of the Earthlings' visit. His father showed up for meals and other 'family' events, usually under heavy prodding from Mom and/or Zarbon, but apart from the occasional glare in Gohan's direction rarely participated. Trunks alone was forced to adjust to the enthusiastic greeting ritual his grandmother insisted upon. To himself he might admit that having someone besides his Mom and Zarbon pay attention to him was nice (but only because Zarbon instructed him that one must always to be honest with oneself ), but outwardly he tried to carefully maintain the aloof shield he copied from his father.

It had been almost a week since he last saw his grandmother. His grandfather was usually camped out in the Engineering section, an area of the palace the Heir was familiar with since it was also where his mother usually camped out, so he could see them whenever he wanted to, or at least when he could get their attention. Grandmother, however, had been on a tour of the Northern Continent. Trunks knew she had returned from her trip — he could tell by the haggard expressions of the Queen's Guards and the tight, anticipatory light that oozed from the Queen's Captain whenever Grandmother was around. The big man positively glowed when collecting Trunks from his tutors. Trunks asked where Gohan was — Gohan no longer shared lessons with the Heir, since the Earth-Saiyan was inclined to ask questions, contrary to the rote memorization the royal tutors insisted on — and was informed that he was with the other Earthlings. That, Trunks knew, meant Mrs. Briefs as well. As he traversed the distance between his lessons and the private quarters in the Royal wing of the Palace, the little boy contemplated the strange pale woman he wouldn't be able to avoid.

Mrs. Briefs was following up what she called her "farewell tour" of the Northern Continent with one to the Eastern Continent, wedging in dinner with the Arlian ambassador tonight. That meant there were a week's worth of hugs and cheek-pinching to make up for, and possibly another week's worth to get in. Trunks was not sure how he felt about the woman's imminent return to her own planet. Mom, he knew, would be a strange combination of sad and relieved.

The contradictory feelings were what he himself felt when he thought about Gohan going away. Gohan did not behave toward him with proper respect, but Trunks found that he enjoyed being around the older boy far more than he could ever admit. Gohan was ... fun. "Fun" was a new experience for the Heir. He had considered the matter carefully, and decided he liked "fun." He liked the games of tag, he liked playing hide 'n seek in the empty arena, he very much liked flying up high and staring down at the capitol even through he got so dizzy the first time Gohan dragged him above the spires he nearly lost his lunch. However, Gohan was leaving with Mrs. Briefs to visit the Eastern Continent and spend his last week on Vejiitasei with his low-born Saiyan grandfather. Trunks was tempted to order him to stay, but he had a feeling it would be like when Father ordered Mom to do something. "Counter-productive," he heard Lieutenant Negin call it after one of Mom and Papa's public blow-ups. Although the Earth-Saiyan was amazingly even-tempered, Gohan could get his hackles up and become as stubborn as any Saiyan—and he didn't want that, the Prince admitted to himself. He wanted Gohan to come to Vejiitasei again some day so that they could have more "fun."

The little party turned into the corridor that led to the private quarters of the Royal Family, Captain Radditz and the other guards modifying their steps to the Prince's short stride. As usual, it was hard to see through the maze of Saiyan legs that surrounded him protectively. Trunks could not immediately tell what brought the group to a halt. Then the Captain stepped to one side, and the Prince found himself looking up into the golden eyes of the King's liaison.

Kneeling to his level, Zarbon placed light fingertips on the Prince's shoulders, gazing at the boy with a slight fold between the slender brows. Apart from his mother (and, now, his grandmother), Zarbon was the only being who ever touched him. "You do look fine," Zarbon said after a careful scrutiny. "I couldn't get close enough during open court to be sure. You must be more careful, my Prince. You are extremely important."

"No machine is going to hurt me," said the Prince with the proper echo of Saiyan scorn copied from his father.

"Of course not," murmured Zarbon in soft amusement. "Still — I would be sad if something happened to you, my Prince. You don't want me to be sad, do you?"

Trunks started to say 'no,' caught himself, and managed to turn the head shake into a shrug, although he couldn't quite abort the bright smile that came unbidden to his mouth at Zarbon's words. The blue fingers rapped lightly against his shoulders, then Zarbon stood up and directed a cool glance toward the Captain. "Mrs. Briefs is eagerly anticipating the arrival of her escort."

There was a growl from the Captain. "I had to wait for the Prince," said Radditz.

"I'm not the one you need to explain that to," returned Zarbon politely as he continued on his way.

Radditz watched the alien until Zarbon vanished around a corner before directing his gaze to the Prince. "I can go in first," he said with an amused quirk of his mouth. "She will be so busy scolding me for tardiness that she just might forget to scold you for running off with Chishan's contraption."

It would not do for the Heir to the House of Vejiitasei to cower in the hallway as a mere Queen's Captain ran interference for him. Squaring his shoulders, Trunks marched into the room and braced himself for his grandmother's attack.

He was not braced enough. The whirlwind of energy that approximated his grandmother engulfed him immediately, squealing as Trunks was pulled and tugged in directions he was surprised to discover his body could go. "You naughty boy, taking off in a car! You're not hurt?"

If you don't count being squeezed to death, thought Trunks, but refrained from saying anything out loud for fear of getting his cheeks pinched again.

"As I already told you, he's just fine," came Mom's voice from someplace deeper in the room. "The little aircraft came off the worst, although even it just has some scrapes here and there."

"Well, I suppose it just runs in the family. Your mother used to do things like that."

"Not until I was old enough to get a learner's permit," was Mom's dry response.

"She also has a selective memory," remarked the Earth woman as she set Trunks down. Divested of her embrace, the Heir could finally determine who else was in the room. Mother was in the doorway leading to the private quarters. He could just catch a glimpse of the King behind her; his father had his back to the scene and appeared to be studying something in the distance. Gohan was politely greeting Radditz as Trunks' guards began to blend in with other Queen's Guards, taking silent posts in the outer quarters. Gohan grinned over at him and said, "Dinner's waiting for us in your room. Tamane got us some new sims from town, so we can play with those tonight."

There was a snort from the private quarters as the King registered his opinion of games that mimicked combat.

"Maybe you could come eat with me and play with Gohan later," said Mrs. Briefs. She reached down and grabbed the Prince by the cheeks, contorting his face as she pulled in opposite directions. "I can't believe we're leaving so soon," she said, mournfully, as Trunks wondered if trying to squirm out of her grasp would hurt more or less. "I feel like I haven't spent nearly enough time with my little man!"

Mother asked, "Whose fault is that?"

Gohan said, "Trunks could come with us."

The King's head turned. "You must be joking," said the monarch over his shoulder in a voice that indicated no amusement.

"Why not?" There was a faint challenge to Gohan's words. "If he's going to be King, it will belong to him someday. It might be nice for him to look at it, once in a while."

"It would be such a shame to separate them now," insisted Mrs. Briefs, batting her eyelashes at Radditz as he made slashing gestures at his throat suggesting silence.

And I could spend more time with Gohan before he leaves. The Heir stared at his mother with wide, pleading eyes set in a stoic countenance.

"Oh, I suppose it wouldn't hurt," said Mom. "Vegeta, if it's okay with you—?"

There was no response from the King.

"I'll have Zarbon clear it with Chieftain Nira," said Mom. She smiled at Gohan. "You two go play, but don't stay up all night. You're going to have to be up early to get the shuttle to the Eastern Continent."

Gohan announced, "First one there gets to be Captain Ginyuu!" and promptly took off for the inner quarters.

"Hey!" Giggling compulsively, the Heir chased after Gohan, taking to the air next to the window and racing out with such speed that Radditz's mane of hair was caught in the slipstream and flared out.

Smiling, Mom waved him and Gohan off.

_________________________________________________________

As soon as the two boys sped from the room, the smile dropped from Bulma's face. She slapped her hand against the wall, sealing the Guards in the outer chamber. Placing her hands on her hips, she fixed Vegeta with a piercing stare and uttered words he had come to dread.

"We have to talk."

Vegeta regarded her warily. As usual, his mate misspoke; somehow that phrase did not indicate a conversation was about to take place, but that Bulma was going to unload some of her weak human emotions on him and that he was expected to stand there and let her.

"I can't stand how you're treating Trunks," Bulma proclaimed. "I told myself it was because he was a baby and you had to get used to the idea, then I told myself when he got a little older and a little stronger you would change toward him, but he's strong enough to fly now, and you're still acting like—!" Words evidently failed his mate. She stared at him as if expecting him to somehow pull what she meant out of her closed mind.

Vegeta said with perfect honesty, "Woman, I have no idea what you are going on about."

"You're still so distant with him," complained Bulma, her voice husking as if she were on the verge of tears.

For a moment Vegeta wondered sardonically what the little human's reaction would be if he burst into tears himself. The entire planet thought he was too involved with his son's upbringing and progress, and she thought he wasn't involved enough. Life was not fair.

He thought again of his upcoming mission, and felt that perhaps life wasn't too unfair.

"And now you've palmed him off on Zarbon! I thought we agreed that you were going to train him, Vegeta. I suppose that's something that Kings just don't do or something."

"Well, it isn't," Vegeta started.

"It's something that fathers do! I wasn't much older than Trunks when Dad helped me assemble my first calculator!"

"Woman, it's not that," Vegeta snapped. "He's not strong enough to train with me yet. Zarbon might bloody his nose once in a while, but I could kill him."

There was a pause.

"Just what kind of training are we talking about, here?" Bulma asked, cautiously. "I thought it was just martial arts or something."

After all this time, she still spoke of Vejiitasei's citizens as 'just' martial artists like her feeble Earth comrades instead of trained, deadly warriors for whom fighting and killing was a routine part of daily life. Even knowing how power was transferred between generations, she clung to her stubborn misconception. It's a good thing she's not a warrior; her refusal to deal with reality would get her killed. "Zarbon," Vegeta informed her, "is a stickler for basic techniques. The brat will be drilled and drilled and drilled until he wants to kill something out of sheer boredom. He'll be ready for me, then."

Placing her hands on her hips, his mate gave him a steady stare as one slender foot tapped against the floor. "Sometimes I feel like I'm doing all the work here, Vegeta. Well, I'm glad Trunks is off for a few days. I'll get a chance to recharge. It would be nice to get you two boys out of my hair and have some time to myself, once in a while. Maybe you can take some sort of father-son bonding trip into the wilderness or something," she added, hopefully.

He opened his mouth to inform her that he, at least, would shortly be out of her 'hair,' that she and the brat would have plenty of time to both 'recharge' while he was away on the upcoming mission. For a reason he could not pinpoint, he hesitated. No need to spoil the rest of the visit, he reminded himself, without examining why the news of his trip might be something that would spoil the remainder of the Earthlings' stay.