Chapter 22

The hypersonic speeds the shuttle traveled at created a fine tremor throughout the craft, one nearly too intangible to perceive. Leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed, Gohan was aware of it as a faint trail of sensation down his spine. He tried to concentrate on it, working to block out other sensations that he preferred not to experience. It was moments like this, during enforced quietude or in that gray shifting area right before falling asleep, that the nebulous, twisted sense of wrong that permeated Vejiitasei twined through his mind.

It was the downside of being sensitive to auras.

He tried to talk to Trunks about auras, but the younger boy couldn't grasp the concept. It was probably better not to push him on it, thought Gohan. Trunks had made so much progress in the last few weeks, especially with his flying, that forcing a corresponding spiritual growth would likely have the opposite effect. Gohan was a little in awe of Trunks' ease with flight so quickly, since it was the one ki skill that caused him the most difficulty. But then, he had been training for a fight, and learning to focus his power into offensive strikes was the priority. The Heir was just trying to have fun with his abilities. Gohan reminded himself to be patient with Trunks. He's probably just too young yet.

Or he's just too Saiyan, suggested an alien voice in his head. You need a certain level of purity to witness resting auras. Even at this age, I think the young Prince might lack that degree of purity.

He had allowed himself to become too relaxed. Gohan reflected that he was very glad he didn't have to maintain constant psychic shields when he was on Earth. We're landing soon, he informed the Voice. If you have anything to say, say it.

Merely safe journey, little hybrid, murmured the velvet caress in his mind. I was very pleased with the time you spent with young Vegeta.

That was enough to increase Gohan's misgivings about Trunks' lack of self-awareness. I don't know why you're so interested, but stay the heck away from Trunks.

The Prince makes his own path, responded the Voice. If you are so concerned about my motives, though, perhaps you should reconsider—

I don't want to meet with you.

Scared? jeered the Voice.

Gohan was no Saiyan to rise to such a taunt. Absolutely, was his frank reply.

Ah. Very wise of you, little one. The Voice withdrew, leaving behind a lingering sense of amusement.

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Bulma was shifting anxiously from foot to foot, wondering out loud if every bright flash in the sky was the Prince's flight. So far, none had been. Most of the distant ones were warriors in the prescribed air zone practicing flying as they fired off ki-generated blasts. A few had been other shuttles that flew over the Palace to land at the public port on the capitol's edge. Vegeta glanced at Zarbon. His liaison flexed a wrist so the King could check Zarbon's chronometer. The scheduled arrival of the Heir's shuttle was still a few minutes away. Bulma had dragged the honor guard out nearly an hour early, impatient to be with her son again. Vegeta and Zarbon managed to hold out until they threatened to be overwhelmed by incoming messages; the Queen's Guards responded literally to Bulma's rhetorical grumbles about the whereabouts of her husband by sending out alerts for the King and for the King's liaison. The two nearly collided in the corridors as they hurried to the shuttle landing site behind the palace. For an instant they stared at each other in defiance before a corner of Vegeta's mouth turned up and Zarbon burst out laughing. "Of course neither of us is anxious to see Trunks," said Zarbon agreeably.

"Stop calling him that," growled the King. Which only made Zarbon laugh again before he swept an arm to the side, indicating the King should precede him.

Bulma pounced on them as soon as they appeared. "Where have you been, what took you so long?" She tried to drag Vegeta with her to the head of guards' formation, but the King planted his feet and refused to budge. Scowling, she slapped him on the arm and ran to the front alone, where she continued to demand a second-by-second account of the shuttle's approach from the Queen's Lieutenants.

Vegeta remained standing where the King was supposed to be standing, surrounded by several ranks of guards in a position meant to force anyone disembarking from the shuttle to admit the ruler of Vejiitasei was the true center of attention. It was an excellent vantage point for viewing his wife's antics. For all that she welcomed her son's absence at first (and, Vegeta admitted to himself with a slightly feral smile, there were advantages to not having the brat underfoot in the royal quarters), Bulma had become more and more restless as the week rolled on, calling the boy several time a day, fretting when he was out of reach. And, while he never would have admitted as much out loud, there were times the King himself missed his son. Early in the week he found himself in the Prince's schoolroom as he popped by for one of his carefully-arranged "impromptu" visits, scowling at an empty room thinking the tutors had serious explaining to do before remembering the brat was away.

Tamane was indicating some distant lights to the Queen, insisting that was the shuttle that carried her son. With her weak human eyes, Bulma of course couldn't see the faint pattern in the sky. She tried to solve that problem by sprinting onto the landing site, as if getting physically closer to the shuttle by a few dozen yards might actually focus her vision. Giving one disgusted snort, Vegeta waited for Radditz to corral her and bring her back to safety, then belatedly realized that the only Guard who dared talk back to the Queen was also on the approaching shuttle. "Chishan."

"Sire."

"Go get her before she gets flattened. If you have to drag her off by the hair," the King smiled slightly, picturing the ruckus that would cause, "do it."

There was an audible gulp. "Sire," said Chishan again before squaring his shoulders and trotting after the Queen.

Zarbon shaded his eyes to watch as Chishan spoke earnestly to Bulma, making vague shooing gestures as if trying to herd her back to her own guards. "You realize," he remarked, "that if Chishan actually does touch her, the Queen's Guards will be all over him regardless of what stage of landing the shuttle is in."

"That would be the most entertaining thing that's happened all week."

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While Youkan was allowed complete access of the compound controlled by Taurus, he found the freedom more annoying than anything else. The computer terminals refused to send messages or log onto Vejittasein channels, which meant the only thing he could get from the machines was mindless entertainment shows or endless propaganda about the glories of the Emporium. Nothing was more likely to set a Saiyan warrior on edge. Youkan took out most of his frustrations in the training rooms, although even that was less than satisfactory. Taurus politely turned down his challenges, and warned against provoking any of the other warriors present into a battle. Painfully aware of Kimchee's vulnerable state in the regeneration tank, Youkan gritted his teeth and obeyed.

He was not sure what his options were if someone challenged him. When the door opened in his training cubicle, he was bored enough to hope that was what was happening. Whirling and placing his cupped hands in front of him, Youkan began to generate energy for a ki strike. White cloth flowed around the newcomer as the figure placed his closed fists on his hips. "If it makes you feel better, go ahead," invited a dry voice.

Zarbon? Almost speechless from surprise, Youkan dropped his hands. For a moment all he could do was stare as his brain grappled with the unexpected appearance of the King's second-favorite alien. Traditionally the liaison was addressed as "lord," but, traditionally, the liaison was a member of Saiyan nobility. Still, thought Youkan, words were cheap, and he was the reason Zarbon had to journey to this non-Saiyan place. Most importantly, he had to get Kimchee out of that tank. "My lord—" he started.

He was cut off by a raised hand. "Flattering," remarked the figure, "but inaccurate."

Radditz would have immediately picked up the variances; hair more blue than green, a braid that reached past the waist rather than to the shoulder-blades, skin so pale it had a whitish hue, far smoother features; but Youkan had never made a study of Zarbon. He did not realize his mistake until the alien gave a slight bow and identified himself. "Yuzun, personal attaché of Lord Freeza. My master has sent me here to help smooth over this little ... problem. So. Care to explain, Lord Youkan, exactly how your legion came to be in my master's space?"

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Although protocol dictated that he exit first, the Prince held back and insisted that his grandmother leave the shuttle ahead of him.

His mother would have commended his chivalry. Saiyan reaction would have been more mixed, with Northerners approving of the show of respect for an older relative and Southerners wondering if the boy understood his own rank. Gohan, however, cocked a brow at him and said, "Trust me. That's not going to work." Behind Gohan, Radditz allowed himself a small smirk of agreement.

Gohan was right.

There was much squealing and hugging as the two Earth women greeted each other. Peeking out, Trunks decided the coast was clear and cautiously disembarked. He skirted the two women and set out to traverse the long expanse of gold carpet as he approached his father, meaning to give the traditional obeisance. However, he never got to do more than think about going down on one knee in front of the King. Somehow, his mother knew the precise moment he was in arm's length. One slender hand snaked out, and the Prince found himself solidly snared.

He managed to set his feet under himself so that he wouldn't fall. But Mom wasn't content with just grabbing him. Going on her knees in front of him, the Queen gathered wads of flesh on either side of his face between thumbs and forefingers and, to his horror, began to contort his face into unnatural shapes as she proclaimed that he had gotten too much sun and had put on weight and was he even a little taller?

"Mom," grumbled the Prince. He saw some of the Queen's Guards smirking. He glared at them over Mom's shoulder until they stopped. "I have to go greet Papa," he tried to assert under his breath. At the end of the walkway, the King's shoulders raised in a bare shrug. Papa inclined his head at Zarbon, and the two made their way toward him. Great. Everyone is going to think I don't know how to act properly, like that Eastern brat. Trunks tried to express his displeasure with a Vegeta-like scowl, but found it impossible with Mom distorting his visage.

"You have to tell me all about your trip," insisted Mom. "Did you have fun?"

Trunks was not about to admit as much in front of his guards. He settled for attempting to twist out of her grasp as his grandmother filled in details. "He spent a lot of time with Goku's parents — have you met them? They are just so precious! — and Gohan taught him to swim a little bit. I had a great time, too, of course, seeing all the sights." Mrs. Briefs concluded by cooing, "Radditz was just so much help. I'm so glad you were able to spare him for a week."

Under Zarbon's cool gaze Radditz managed not to blush, although it must have taken a powerful effort not to color.

Vegeta folded his arms and assumed an expression of complete boredom. "Oh, no doubt all the Eastern males were happy to be of service," he drawled.

Mrs. Briefs took no offense, smiling brightly, but "That is my mother you're talking about," the Queen reminded him in irritation.

"Saiyans have no generational sensitivities," commented Zarbon, sardonically.

Mom sniffed. Using the firm grip she had on his cheekbone, she gave Trunks another violent shake, as if making sure his head was still attached to his shoulders was an indication of overall good health. "I think you're hurting him," said Gohan in amusement.

Trunks glared at his friend. "This doesn't hurt!"

Mom, however, finally caught the hint and released him. It was hard to resist the urge to rub at his abused cheeks. Gohan grinned. "What you get for being such a cute kid," he said, mocking.

One thing the Prince noticed while he was on the Eastern Continent was that neither of Gohan's grandparents pinched their young relative. Once, when Gohan reached up to grab his hand, Bardock appeared startled but pleased, closing his fingers around the boy's hand. Trunks tried to imagine grabbing the King's hand and found he couldn't complete the picture in his mind. Mom often took him by the hand in public, but somehow the idea of his father doing the same thing just didn't fit.

Later in the week Bardock and Gohan had gotten into a wrestling match that ended with Bardock tossing Gohan repeatedly up in the air as the boy screamed "uncle, UNCLE!" between laughs and giggles. Riiki stood off to the side, completely stoic as she viewed the scene. While most Saiyan nobles would have considered their actions innate rather than cultural, the difference in the way the two warriors acted around Gohan was something Trunks vaguely realized as having something to do with who they were, without precisely being able to ascribe it to upbringing or genetics.

Thinking about Gohan's grandparents made Trunks realize that there was one family member missing. "Where's Grandfather?"

"The Imperial Father-In-Law was in a delicate stage in an experiment and couldn't be here," Zarbon told him. "He said that he is going to make a point of being at dinner tonight, although I must remind you that he has no sense of time and may show up well after everyone else in the Palace is asleep."

The Prince considered the information before crossing his arms in an unconscious mimicry of his father and looking up at the King. "I'm going to spend some time with Grandfather," the Heir said.

The King had little patience for the Imperial Father-In-Law. "What for? After tomorrow, you won't have to deal with him again."

"Because he is leaving soon. I have not spent enough time with him," the Prince told his father, firmly. "It will be a long time before I next see him. He knows why the sky changes color. I want to know what else he knows."

The King rolled his eyes, but Zarbon did not quite manage to hide a small smile. He stretched out a hand. "Come, little Prince. I will take you to the engineering section."

The Prince studied the hand held out to him. Then, with just a trace of hesitation, he reached up and wrapped his palm around two of the blue-tinged fingers.

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"He continues to insist that he doesn't remember going off course in a meteor storm," Yuzun said.

"Of course he doesn't," retorted Taurus, "since it didn't happen. The Saiyan troops were approaching Koorim just as I was dropping the Captain's supplies off, and since our master has a very strict 'no witnesses' policy—" He shrugged. "Fortunately Youkan is assuming that there are gaps in his memory, rather than realizing that we are lying to him."

"We are not getting a lot of satisfaction from the Saiyans about this," Yuzun continued. "Their little King can't be bothered to talk to Freeza directly. That's not what Zarbon says, of course, but that's what it amounts to."

"Our master still derives amusement from the situation?"

"Although I can't comment on what Lord Freeza does and does not find amusing, I'd say this is the most fun he's had in a while," returned Yuzun with a hint of wryness. "Despite Zarbon's considerable skill with words, King Cold's patience is running thin. He wants his apology. Should he actually lose his temper, the Saiyans will regret they did not accord this situation the attention it deserved."

"There will be an accounting," agreed Taurus.

Yuzun's response was a small moue. "Simple purges I can deal with, but wars are messy," he said in distaste. "Hopefully it won't go beyond a skirmish or—"

He was silenced as a single finger was laid against his lips. Taurus gazed at the other man with half-closed eyes. "You disappoint me," he said gently.

Yuzun's mouth curved upwards. "You will just have to use your imagination," he retorted, speaking against the other's finger. "I know 'imagination' is not something you Saiyans are known for, but—"

Again, he was interrupted. Dropping his hand, Taurus leaned forward as if to kiss him. Instead, when his mouth was a whisper away, the Saiyan turned his head and softly blew a warm trail of air across the other's cheek. Yuzun gasped and shivered. "I trust you can survive your disappointment," he said, his voice not quite steady.

"I'll manage."

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Whatever it was the Imperial Father-in-Law was working on, it kept the brat's attention for hours, until Vegeta got tired of waiting for the Heir to return on his own and sent for him. The Heir was almost asleep on his feet when Zarbon brought him back to the royal quarters, mumbling about time-space variables. "I could see it in my head," he told his mother as she fussed over the boy like he was still in diapers. As if it were something he had committed to memory, the Prince recited his next words in a monotone. "It's like the shunts used to make the capsules shrink, but Grandfather thinks that reapplying it to space-warp technology—"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Dad's been boring you with one of his pet projects, eh? I think I left him with the theoretical scientists a little too long. There isn't any profit in that particular scheme. "

"I could see it," insisted the Heir as she brought the covers up around his neck and senselessly tucked them around his body.

"Are you going to fluff his pillow, too?" queried Vegeta from the doorway.

Bulma ignored him.

The Prince was both tired after the long day and hyper from his extended visit with Dr. Briefs. However, exhaustion was winning. Mumbling as his heavy lids drooped closed, "I wish Gohan wasn't leaving," the Prince said.

Bulma stroked his pale hair. "I know. I wish my folks could stay, too."

The little boy, however, was already slumbering.

Bulma was totally drained herself after helping her mother and Gohan get ready for the trip back to Chikyuu, and a little bit emotional about the departure of the Earthlings the next day. Much like the Prince, she fell asleep almost in mid-sentence, tucked against her husband's side. Aware that he would soon be leaving on a mission himself, Vegeta rested rather than slept. He listened with half an ear for any ambient sounds coming from the Heir's quarters, absently gathering Bulma in his arms when she turned onto him. She didn't stir again until the faint early light filtered into the bedchamber.

Vegeta ran a hand up his wife's smooth back, and felt her stretch lazily. "'morning,'" she mumbled. Sighing, he glanced at the chronometer. There just wasn't time... "Much as I would like to spend the day in bed with you, I have meetings and training, plus we have to see your parents and Kakarott's brat off..."

"Mmmm," she mumbled. She lifted her head from his chest and blinked down at him, her fine hair falling over her face. Tsking gently, he pushed it back for her.

"How you humans get anything done with your hair always in the way is a mystery."

Her sleep-softened eyes hardened into a glare. Vegeta smirked — it didn't take much, sometimes. But then she dropped her head down against his shoulder again as if she just didn't have the energy and stretched again, and he found himself eyeing the chronometer and making some quick calculations...

"Mommy?" came another sleep-filled voice from the adjoining room. Blinking owlishly, her brat stumbled into the room, then pulled up. "Oh. Uh..."

She turned her head; he could feel her cheek move against his shoulder as she smiled. "Hey, Trunks."

Face it, thought Vegeta, the gods are against you this morning. "Hey, brat."

Sitting up, she held out a hand to her son, and the boy clambered over his father and nestled against her. Propping himself up on one elbow, Vegeta looked into the boy's steady blue eyes. "And what's your schedule, brat? Zarbon going to start working with you today?"

"After Gohan leaves he's taking me out in the gardens. He's going to teach me to think."

Vegeta raised a brow. "Mediation techniques already? You're young for that yet, brat."

Even wrapped in Bulma's arms, the boy managed a passable shrug. "Zarbon says it's clear I'm going to surpass my birth ki, and he'd better get me started on control before I get too Saiyan for it."

Both brows went up. "Is that what Zarbon says? Hmmm. We're training together this morning; maybe I should ask him about this."

Bulma turned her head slightly, her chin against the top of her son's head, frowning at her husband. "Vegeta, don't get rough with Zarbon. Trunks won't have anything to do this afternoon if you put Zarbon in a regeneration tank."

"I might stop just short of that. Zarbon doesn't have to be much beyond crawling stage to meditate, anyway." Sitting up, he flicked his tail in his son's face and heard the boy giggle. Getting out of bed, he turned and looked at the two of them for a moment; the boy closing his eyes as Bulma gently rubbed his back, her hair spilling across his head, mixing with the lighter blue of her son's hair. It wasn't fair how much alike the two of them looked; that idiot Kakarott's son at least looked a little like a proper Saiyan, however much he didn't act like one. But the power, the power Zarbon was preparing his son to handle, was all Saiyan.

Something tightened in his chest, just for a minute.

If he had been human, he would have had words for the feeling; love, tenderness, wonder. But he was Saiyan, and there were no words. Turning away, he left the room.