Chapter 28

About the time the King's flagship was powering down to enter the system of the rebellious planet Koorim, Zarbon and Radditz met, as they routinely did, in Zarbon's personal quarters for an evening meal. Zarbon started the get-togethers as a way for the officers of the various Guards to compare notes and to iron out problems, although he knew most of the Saiyans showed up strictly for the food. Chishan and other high-ranking officers such as the Captains of the Palace and the Domestic Guards were regulars at the meetings. Zarbon dutifully extended the invitation to Shiruko but Chishan's second had no interest in the officers of the other Guard branches. The other Captains also bowed out for one reason or another. That left him alone with Radditz. Realizing just before Radditz arrived that it might be a touch — intimate — with just the two of them, Zarbon raced around his quarters making sure every light was blazing. Not that Radditz had made a serious pass at him in years; not since they had returned from the Chikyuu mission, in fact; but even after a couple of decades on Vejiitasei Zarbon was not sure what a Saiyan might construe as an invitation.

He need not have worried. Radditz made a beeline for the table, which, while it didn't groan under the usual mountain of food needed to sustain Saiyan appetites, still had enough to nourish most non-Saiyans for several days. The small hill at Radditz's elbow rapidly diminished as he shoveled sustenance in with a speed that was impressive even for him. Irritation was the motivating factor; the Queen's Captain was grumbling, between and through mouthfuls, about the Prince's new companion. The Queen's Guard was over-stretched to compensate for the King's Guards who were on the off-world mission; keeping track of two high-born brats, one of whom thought the suns shone for her, and the other one who knew the suns shone for him, was an additional strain on personnel that Radditz frankly felt he could do without.

Zarbon grinned. Apparently the conversation was going to be far less formal than when other officers were present. He also had his allotment of smoothing over situations created by the two children in the past few days. His sympathy was tempered by pragmatism. "The Prince is spoiled. I knew that, but it wasn't until I had Gohan around for comparison that I realized how spoiled he is. Having someone else his own age at least keeps him from being the center of attention."

"The Prince is supposed to be the center of attention, especially when the King is not around," pointed out Radditz. "Anyway, if he's spoiled, whose fault is that? You barely tap him during training matches. If he got the snot knocked out of him once in a while, that would help."

Delicate violet color brushed Zarbon's cheeks. "He's too small to take that kind of punishment yet."

"That never stopped you with Vegeta."

"Since Vegeta is as spoiled as they come despite having the 'snot' kicked out of him on a regular basis, that doesn't appear to be very effective," retorted Zarbon, his irritation with the absent King rekindling. He picked at his own sparse food and allowed himself to gripe. "Vegeta has plenty of physical discipline. What he lacks is mental discipline."

"The King has you for his 'mental discipline.'"

Zarbon found himself glancing around the room as if spies might be hiding behind the potted plants. Radditz paused in his feeding frenzy long enough to smirk. "Don't worry, your apartments are squeaky clean. Bulma's engineers have developed some of the most sophisticated anti-spying sensors in the galaxy."

"I know. Lord Freeza has hinted that he would be interested in knowing why his ambassadors have become so inept at planting devices in the last few years. I just smile sweetly and flutter my eyelashes. Of course, if we lose Bulma we'll soon lose our technological edge over the other empires."

"It won't come to that." Radditz was confident. "Bulma isn't going to put her planet at risk. Anyway," he added, prosaically, "if she were planning on bolting, I would be the logical person to arrange things for her. I'm oath bound to her, not to Vegeta. If she leaves, the Queen's Guard goes with her."

Zarbon wasn't sure Bulma understood the depth of the obligation placed upon her guards, but it reminded him of his torn loyalties between the King and the Queen as he remembered Vegeta's inquires after his wife and his heir. "I had to put off Vegeta again today. I hate that."

"Ho, is that why he called me? I wondered. Well, I did better. I told him Bulma was working on the warp drive for the Earth ship."

Zarbon choked on his drink. Springing out of his chair, Radditz solicitously pounded him on the back. "You know how he's going to take that," Zarbon managed after he stopped sputtering.

"Uh-huh." Radditz was unrepentant. "Well, you're always nagging him to pay attention. If he did, he would have known it was just the next project on her docket." Radditz grinned maliciously as he sat down again opposite Zarbon.

"That's a nasty thing to do to a man about to go into battle," said Zarbon sternly.

"Like there's anything strong enough to hurt Vegeta," snorted Radditz.

As someone who spent a very long time in the military of the Cold Emporium, Zarbon had a different perspective on what constituted "strong." The Saiyans tended to dismiss such reports as rumors or exaggerations. Still, Vegeta was powerful by any standards, not just Saiyan ones. Zarbon told himself to stop being such a lifegiver where the King was concerned. His hatchling could take care of himself. "I thought a cooling off period might be just what the two needed, but I'm not so sure. Bulma's just so ... I don't know."

"She's mad because he went on a purging mission."

"Well, so am I, but I'm not snubbing him every time he calls."

"No, you're angry that he went off planet, period. She's angry about the 'purging' part."

"Habitable planets are at a premium in an expanding Empire," Zarbon pointed out, puzzled. "If a race becomes subversive or doesn't care for their world properly, there are always pioneers from over-crowded Associated Worlds eager to colonize."

"We were being a bit more metaphysical than that." Radditz's voice was dry.

"Bulma was discussing philosophy with a Saiyan? Clearly she needs to be committed."

"Ha, ha. She asked if I considered what I did 'evil.'"

Zarbon made another choking noise.

"Yes, I know," said Radditz, sardonic. "I could hardly say, 'that's a compliment, it means you're doing your job properly,' so I brushed it off. Earthlings," he shrugged.

"I had an odd conversation like that on Earth. Goku asked what made me so evil," mused Zarbon.

Radditz howled. "That sounds like a typical simp-Earthling reaction. There really is no hope for him."

"Life on Earth must be so — even. I could use that, sometimes." There was a touch of envy in Zarbon's comment.

The big Saiyan exhaled in disgust. "You barely set foot on Chikyuu. I lived there for months. They are not as passive and sedentary as they pretend. They have scores of petty conflicts. They always stop before anything decisive happens, though." His tone was derisive. "No commitment. No follow-through. No resolution. Feh."

"It's not that different here. Only here situations are ignored."

"So?"

"So Vegeta is off playing soldier rather than handling our dilemma with the neighboring Emporium," said Zarbon. "Cold is beginning to make not-so-subtle hints about taking a more 'proactive' stance on some of the disputed border planets."

Radditz propped his chin on one closed fist, regarding Zarbon steadily with an unblinking stare. He gave a small shake of his head and returned to his food. "You really are dense sometimes, y'know?"

"I must be. I have no idea what you're going on about."

"King Cold wants to talk to the ruler, does he? Zarbon, we do have two rulers. If he didn't specify the King, I venture to say the Queen might do."

After a moment of blank astonishment, Zarbon announced, "I'm an idiot."

"Don't expect an argument from me on that."

"How to get her to intercede, though?" Zarbon wondered out loud. "Maybe some of those human emotions of hers could be played upon..."

"I just point out the obvious." Radditz smirked. "Figuring out how to manipulate events is what the liaison is for."

Zarbon wrinkled his nose up in pretend repugnance, making Radditz laugh outright. Zarbon gazed across the table at his friend, thinking, This is nice. He quickly shook the unguarded moment off. Stop that. We both deserve better. He watched Radditz's amusement degrade into hearty chuckles and smiled wryly. In any case, 'nice' is one of those things a Saiyan would take as an insult. "I think you missed a few crumbs," was what he said.

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Word came late the next day that the purge had been a success and, more importantly, that the King sustained only minor injuries. Zarbon made sure the Queen heard the news, without spin or embellishment, from him personally. Bulma went white, red, white again, until her overall complexion settled into a taut bloodless whey shade. Relief at her husband's safety, followed by bone-deep guilt at her first reaction, decided Zarbon as he tried to predict and compensate for her peculiar human responses. One pale hand crept to her neckline, unconsciously gathering the material there in a clenched fist. "He'll be coming home soon, then," she said, her tone unemotional as she stared into the distance.

Zarbon hoped that the unconscious use of the word meant Bulma herself considered Vejiitasei 'home.' "Well, once the ship is fixed—"

There was a spark of concern. Bulma's eyes flickered to meet his. "The ship was fired upon?"

Zarbon briefly flashed back to the moment in the conversation with Vegeta when it became plain that the ship had not been fired upon...

Vegeta stood with a corner of his mouth ticked up, eyes downcast in that way that conveyed complete indifference rather than subservience or guilt, as Zarbon raked him over the coals for endangering his person with such a hair-brained stunt...or tried to. "Zarbon," he finally said, "you would not leave your King adrift on a rebellious world. I knew you would send another vessel for me."

"I'm sure Fleet Commander Shouga appreciated the danger you put her ship in," snapped Zarbon.

The King replied, with total unconcern, "The duty of the troops is to die for the King. Perhaps next time they will not be so hesitant to open the airlock doors."

Zarbon did not further upbraid Vegeta for his callousness, since technically the King was correct. He did consider mentioning the expense of replacing the fleet's flagship and training new troops, but money was as meaningless as the lives of others to Vegeta. Mostly, Zarbon decided as he regarded the set countenance of the Queen, he was glad Bulma had not witnessed the transmission herself. "Not exactly," he hedged, then tried to lead her away from whatever human thoughts were putting that sour expression on her visage. "Hopefully he'll pay some attention to diplomacy now that he has the fighting out of his system."

"Is there a problem?"

Unexpectedly, here was the opening he had thought might take weeks to orchestrate. What appeared reasonable when slapped about in casual conversation, however, suddenly strained with pitfalls and dangers. Knowing that Vegeta would never apologize, Zarbon had been prepared to yield territory and trading rights to salve Cold's fury at having his space violated. Now he had to wonder what Vegeta's reaction would be if the situation were handled by the Queen. If she did express regret, would Vegeta later retract her statement? Worse, could this became one more point of conflict between the two? The tension between the rulers was causing discipline problems within the palace itself, minor so far but disturbing nonetheless. And, ultimately, Bulma's well-being as well as the safety of the Heir depended on Vegeta's support. If the schism deteriorated to the point where Vegeta publicly repudiated her, Bulma would not long survive. Zarbon decided to backpedal. "There's always a problem." He gave her a charming smile, hoping Bulma would just drop the subject.

With the tenacity that characterized her approach to most problems, Bulma refused to let him retreat from his comment so easily. "There's an entire corps set up to deal with diplomacy, Zarbon. It's hard to imagine there's something they can't handle. Why are you hoping Vegeta will suddenly turn into a politician? "

It won't hurt anything to just discuss it with her a little. Wryly admitting that he was striving to justify going behind Vegeta's back, Zarbon told her about the two detained Saiyan warriors and Vegeta's disinterest in even acknowledging the situation.

Bulma listened thoughtfully, a small frown pulling at her face. "I heard about it, I suppose, but I didn't know any details. 'Youkan.' Why is that name familiar?"

"He's the son of Chieftain Miso and Chieftain Nira," Zarbon reminded her. "He beat Radditz at the Tournament for the King's Guard your first year here, remember?"

That abruptly produced a strong reaction. Color flooded the wan cheeks; anger sparked in the blue eyes. "Kami, Nira must be frantic! I can't imagine what I would do if Trunks went missing! She didn't mention it to me even once." Zarbon cynically thought it likely that the Eastern chieftain was trying to put Bulma in her debt before building up to it. "What do we do to get her boy back?" demanded Bulma.

Zarbon wondered what would happen if he said 'fight;' at this moment, he rather thought Bulma would lead the battle herself. Her small hands were tightly fisted and her expression was murderous. He understood taking up arms for one's hatchlings, but fighting for the hatchlings of someone else made no sense. "What King Cold wants is a formal apology."

Bulma stared at him, incredulity etched across her features.

Well, it was worth a try. Zarbon resigned himself to a messy end to this predicament. "Vegeta agrees that an apology is out of the question," he started to reassure her.

Bulma interrupted with an inelegant snort. She curled her hands against her waist and glared. "I should have realized it was something so simple." She sounded fed up. "Trust a Saiyan to get hung up on a few words. I'll be happy to talk to Cold. Want to help me pick out something appropriately Imperial?"

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Usually during the first training session of the day Zarbon was willing to let the children go through their habitual tussle as the pecking order was re-established, but this morning he came down hard on Zenza when she tried to grab at the Prince's tail during the warm-ups. Shocked that he dared use a sharp tone with a Saiyan noble, Zenza lashed out at him. The next second she was flat on her back inhaling dust from the newly-formed crater surrounding her. "Learn your limits, milady, and pick your fights accordingly," said the King's liaison as he smiled down at her softly.

The Prince's head popped over the edge of the crater. "There's important stuff happening today," he told her, loftily. "My papa's liaison doesn't have time to waste on bratty little girls."

"I don't have time to waste on any histrionics, Trunks," responded Zarbon, his pleasant voice steel-edged. "Your mother has a very big meeting in an hour, and I have to be there for it. Buckle down and go through your katas."

The Prince did not argue. He never argued with Zarbon. Instead he smiled brightly at the liaison and turned away. Struggling to her elbows, Zenza heard the sharp exhale of breath that meant the Heir had started his exercises. "Do you need help, milady?" the alien inquired.

Zenza shot to her feet. "No!"

"Then I suggest you join the Prince. You're falling behind."

Zenza stuck her tongue out at Zarbon as soon as his back was turned. Jumping out of the crater, she ran to stand next to the Prince. She was a blur of motion as she quickly went through the opening motions of the kata, slowing only when she caught up to him. "Be calm," the liaison told her. Zenza glared at him, caught her toe and pitched forward, barely preventing a sprawl. The liaison raised a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Patience, little warrior, patience," he said, wearily. "It will come to you in time if you just relax a bit."

"I'm relaxed," the Prince proclaimed as he smoothly shifted his weight from his back foot to his front foot, easily pivoting his body. "See how relaxed I am? I'm lots more relaxed than you are."

The liaison's mouth curved up. The next second the ground underneath the Heir vaporized. The Prince yelped, flailed, and went down. "Being relaxed doesn't mean you should ignore your surroundings, Trunks," the liaison said dryly as the Prince, red-faced, scrambled to his feet. Zenza snickered as the Prince sank back into the kata, his irritation making his movements more jerky than they had been. "You're falling behind again, milady," Zarbon prodded her. Catching herself, Zenza went through another series of hyper-speed movements until she again could match the Prince.

The exercises passed without any more fireworks between the two, although periodic glares were exchanged. Right on time a squad of guards marched into the gardens to collect the children for the next part of the Prince's day. Usually it was Captain Radditz who came to escort them to the Prince's daily lessons, but today the squad was headed up by her big brother Shiruko. He spared her a nod and a quick grin, but otherwise was very formal when Zarbon released them into his custody. "Radditz and the others are waiting for you in the throne room," he told the liaison.

"Any problems with the transmission relays?"

"I haven't heard of any," replied Shiruko, his tone punctilious.

Nodding, Zarbon paused long enough to remind the Prince to behave for his tutors before taking to the air and disappearing around one of the Palace's turrets. The Heir shrugged into his knee-length white cape, throwing one edge of it dramatically over his shoulder-guard before taking his place at the front of the little procession and leading the way to his classroom.

Zenza had always considered lessons boring. She hated being locked up in a learning module for an hour at a time when what she wanted to learn was to fly and to shoot sparks from her fingertips the way Mother and Father did. As far as she was concerned, learning modules were only good for inducing headaches.

The Prince was apparently too much of an idiot to know about info implants. Everything had to be spelled out for him in excruciating detail, then he had to repeat it back to his anxious tutors. This routine could take hours, during which Zenza stared out the window and wished she could be in the Royal Gardens jumping out of trees trying to catch a strong breeze. When she complained to her mother during one of their nightly transmissions, Nira's response was cold. "Be glad you're not royalty or you'd have to do that for years to come. As it is, you'll need some classroom training yourself soon enough." Zenza wailed her protests in vain. Her mother gave the familiar sardonic smirk. "Nobles have to lead, brat. Indoctrination is enough for peasants, but you'll need to know the 'why' behind the 'how.' 'Why,' alas, can't be implanted."

So she was forced to sit in a classroom listening as tutors threw variables at Prince Vegeta and the Prince, glancing smugly at her, promptly responded before she could even figure out what to enter on her hand-held computer. She glared at the computer, wishing she was with the King destroying disrespectful aliens instead of stuck in this stuffy room watching someone else learn how to be a ruler.

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Bulma had a high level of confidence in her looks that living on Vejiitasei only reinforced. She became aware at an early stage of her life that she was good-looking; almost as soon as she arrived on Vejiitasei she realized that many of the males at her new home, Saiyans and non-Saiyan alike, considered her not only attractive but downright exotic. For years she accepted tributes to her beauty as her right. It had been a very long time since she'd last stared into a mirror wondering if she needed more eyeshadow, if maybe the lipstick was a shade too red, if she looked more approachable with her hair down or more authoritative with it up. She eyed the dress Zarbon helped her choose with apprehension, wondering if the deep navy color was perhaps a touch too much blue when combined with her hair, or if the shimmering silver overlay was too ostentatious. The diadem had large sapphire-colored rhinestones — more blue. She turned it around in her hands, regarding the distorted reflection of her face in the large central stone critically. I may be hideous to Cold no matter what I do, she decided fatalistically. Best to just layer on the paint and hope I sparkle enough to look like I have power.

She knew, in a vague sort of way, who Cold was. She had met with his ambassadors and entertained emissaries from him. When she offered to speak to him she had not immediately grasped that she would be speaking for the Empire of her husband, not merely as a concerned mother who happened to have access to the leader of another nation. She could not simply call Cold, say she was sorry and ask for Youkan's return. This was her first intergalactic contact and as such had to be choreographed with care. The work Zarbon put into her presentation intimidated her. She was to be surrounded by her Guard and all the trappings of Saiyan imperialism; Cold had to know, Zarbon told her, that he was dealing with an equal. All the time she was aware of the undercurrent of tension in him. For all his encouraging words, Zarbon did not consider her the equal of the alien King. Still, she represented the Saiyan empire in all its barbarous splendor. She had to make a strong impression on the other ruler.

Do I want to represent the Saiyans in this? she asked herself with a touch of bitterness. In anything?

As she stared into the sapphire it was as if her reflected image briefly elongated and tinged green. For a moment she again faced Kami on Earth and heard her own words from years earlier — I'm trying to decide if I can live with their insane kill-everything-not-Saiyan policy—

Blinking, Bulma set aside the dainty crown. I think I overloaded my blue receptors. She closed her eyes, resting her brow against the palms of her hands, breathing deeply. I lived with it by ignoring it, she admitted to herself, grimly. I can't ignore it anymore. Vegeta and the others won't change...but maybe I can do something about the future.

She slowly dropped her hands, gazing at her counterpart in the mirror. A calm, glittering creature she only just recognized gazed back at her. With steady hands she reached for the diadem and placed it carefully in the crease above her bangs. She teased out a few locks with her fingers, combing them over the ends of the headpiece, turning her head and nodding in satisfaction. Yes, I can do this. A smile curved her mouth. "He'll never know what hit him," she assured the reflection.

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Freeza was surprised when he motored into his father's throne room and found his elder sibling in attendance. Cooler's sprawling principality was on the other side of the Emporium, so far away it took a considerable amount of time for Cooler to make the journey. "I confess, I did not think anything so serious had happened that your presence was required in this sector."

Cooler waved a languid hand from his own hover car. "I was in route for the tournament next week," he declaimed in his soft voice. "Salza, here," he indicated the tall pale blue figure next to his hover car, "feels that his squad needs new blood. We thought we might scout out some possibilities."

"Had I known your apex warrior was present I would have brought Ginyuu. He's been itching for a pose-off with someone worthy."

Salza preened. "We'll be here for a while," responded Cooler. "Plenty of time."

"What does Papa want us here for?"

"I have no idea, although some sort of conference appears imminent." Cooler nodded toward the small rods set up at the end of the throne room. The devices were commonly utilized during interstellar gatherings. "I can't imagine why Father wants both of us for this. No one needs to be impressed that badly."

A rumbling voice came from a darkened corridor just off the throne room. "Perhaps I simply want my offspring about me once in a while," suggested King Cold affably as he strode into the room. Dress armor covered his broad chest; a thick purple cloak was pushed over one shoulder. Pausing in front of his throne, he sighed, shaking his head at the hover cars both of his sons were using. "Honestly. Must you two take those contraptions everywhere? Ah, well; no matter." A flick of his fingers sent Salza scurrying for the shadows. With a flare of his cloak, Cold seated himself on the great throne. He gestured for Cooler and Freezer to join him on the dais. Exchanging glances, the two younger changelings maneuvered their hover cars so that they flanked him, one on each side. Cold inclined his head at the technicians, who swarmed about the rods making adjustments.

"Papa, what's going on?" asked Freeza.

The King smiled benignly. "Oh, I just thought you might want to behold the face of your enemy."

On the last word there was a flash of light as energy coalesced between the rods. A series of small "ftzzing" noises echoed. Colored particles congregated into discernible forms. A life-size tableau took shape in the opposite end of the throne room. A group of grim, caped warriors wearing Saiyan armor with blue and silver accents faced the Cold clan. In their midst rose a tall dais. Freeza was astonished to see his former attaché, Zarbon, standing on one of the lower steps, his bare arms folded across his chest, his perfect features serious. At the top of the dais were two thrones, an empty stone one he recognized from his long-ago trip to Vejiitasei's capitol, and a more-delicate silver one that was occupied. Blue sparkles shimmered as a small humanoid woman placed a delicate, pale hand against her shoulder and inclined her head. A bright smile flashed. "King Cold, thank you for agreeing to this meeting on such short notice. These must be your children? Lord Freeza, Lord Cooler, an honor. I am Bulma of the planet Earth. Zarbon tells me there is a problem that needs to be addressed. What may I help you with?"

Freeza was hard-pressed not to gape at the glittering creature as Cold described the transgression and reiterated his demand for an apology. Bulma promptly complied. "It is, of course, extremely regrettable that your sovereign space was violated. I designed the navigational beacons that are used in that sector, so any responsibility for their failure must lay with me personally. Since this is the first report of any malfunction, I would very much appreciate the return of any wreckage so that we may examine it and take steps to prevent a reoccurrence of this unfortunate incident."

In his hover chair, Freeza made a sudden, nervous shift.

Cold smoothly expressed regrets that it would not be possible to return any of the Saiyan debris. "We have a very strict recycling policy."

"Very commendable," chirruped the Saiyan Queen with another of her bright smiles, displaying no dismay at the destruction of evidence. "I've been working very hard to get an effective recycling program going on Vejiitasei. Old ways are hard to change, as you may imagine."

"May I congratulate you on the recent technical advances of Saiyan Empire? Rumor has it that some of that may be traced to your influence. The miniaturization process, for example, has my scientists very intrigued." Suggestion was heavy in Cold's polite voice.

Dimples pressed into the face of the Queen of the Saiyans. She leaned forward and said, her tone confiding, "Well, I believe in an open exchange of scientific information, but my husband isn't so liberal. He would be upset if I jeopardized the Earth/Saiyan monopoly on the miniaturization process."

Cold's thin black lips pulled back into a smile. He, too, leaned forward, fostering the illusion of intimacy. "My dear, there is much we would like to discuss with you about this process, but of course barter between our states has always been complicated. I doubt even you could ease the situation."

"I understand that border issues makes trade between the Saiyan Empire and your Emporium difficult," responded the Queen. "I think a one-time exchange would be permissible, however. We currently have the technology in place to miniaturize unarmed space pods for the Saiyan fleet. I understand your forces use pods as well."

"We would be interested in that, of course," King Cold acknowledged. "I fear, however, that given the present state of Saiyan technology, we would have little to offer in return."

"We would not have to exchange technology. I hear there were a couple of survivors from this unfortunate incident. One of them is a Saiyan noble?" Bulma prompted when Cold's expression suggested nothing more than mild puzzlement.

"You must mean Lord Youkan," said King Cold, genially. "He is a guest of my youngest offspring, Freeza. Of course he is free to return to his homeworld whenever he pleases."

"As thanks for the safe return of Youkan and his companion, I would be happy to authorize a limited number of pods be made available for your forces. It was an entire legion of Saiyans who impinged on your space, correct?" At Cold's nod, Bulma gave another bright smile and closed one of her blue eyes in a conspiratorial wink. "I think a legion's worth of pods might be appropriate recompense. Don't you?"

It was easy to believe this woman saved her planet through trade. His father was allowing himself to be charmed. Even Cooler had a small smile playing about his face as he watched the Earth woman. "That is a very generous gesture," said Cold, "although of course totally unnecessary."

"Oh, please let me do this for you. I feel so terrible about the entire incident. I'm always so careful with the technology that comes out of my labs. I take it personally when something goes awry."

King Cold graciously allowed himself to be persuaded. "My dear Bulma — may I call you Bulma? — Bulma, I would never permit such a charming young woman to waste a moment of time fretting over something so trivial. Of course, if it eases your mind, I will be happy to accept this from you."

The Queen clasped her hands together. "Thank you so much! I feel better already. Hopefully Youkan will be able to return soon. His mother is so worried about him."

"I will suggest to him that it is time to return home."

The Queen offered another engaging smile, Cold yielded a few more platitudes, and the meeting concluded with an utterly false air of goodwill and sincerity. Freeza stared at the cool gray metal wall of his father's spaceship for several long seconds after the transmission from Vejiitasei evaporated. "That is a very dangerous creature," he said, softly.

Cold replied, indulgently, "You worry too much, my little one." The massive horned head turned toward him. Cold's ice-eyed gaze belied his gentle tone. "I have some interesting news from Koorim. The Saiyan purge was successful and their King — after some minor mechanical difficulties — is on his way back to his home planet. I don't mind you playing with the monkeys, but you pushed this one a little close, Freeza. Very foolish of you to manipulate a planet so far inside the Saiyan border." He stood, flicking the heavy formal cloak behind him. "I suppose I should be thankful you didn't send someone who was easy to recognize, like Captain Strong or even Captain Ginyuu. I expect to hear of Lord Youkan's successful repatriation very shortly." With another charming smile at his youngest offspring, King Cold strode from the room.

Cooler propped an elbow against the rim of the hover car, regarding Freeza with amusement. "Really, little brother. When are you going to learn that nothing gets past our father?"

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As the last pixels representing the Cold Clan faded from the wall opposite her throne, the false smile dropped from Bulma's lips. Great, she thought bitterly. I'm now an accessory to mass murder in TWO empires. But there was hope for the future. There was Trunks. Sighing, Bulma pushed up from her seat, ignoring both Zarbon's sincere words of praise and Radditz's disapproving glower. "I'm going to see what Trunks is up to."

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Kyukon spent most of his non-court days in a luxurious office that overlooked the Royal Gardens. Some minister of something-or-another had been rooted out of it to make room for the Voice of the King while Vegeta was off-world. Like most Saiyans with high government posts, the official's reaction was one of relief rather than outrage. As far as Kyukon knew, the former tenant had taken off for an extended hunting trip on the Southern Continent. That, he thought as he surveyed the mound of work that awaited him, was exactly what he was going to do once the King returned and his role in the government was no longer needed. Sighing, he set to work, sorting through cases, setting aside those he thought Zarbon needed to handle.

He had barely started when the door flew open and the Queen raced in, followed closely by the King's liaison. Kyukon almost didn't recognize her at first. She was dressed far more elaborately than he was used to seeing her, plus she had that spark of reckless fury about her that made some Saiyans think Earthers were not so different after all. Obviously there was a problem. We're probably at war with the Emporium now. Eh, it will liven things up... Kyukon was grateful that it wasn't a throne room day. The Queen, he knew, had no hesitation in interrupting audiences when she was riled — and with the real Voice of the King, Zarbon, backing her up, the public charade might crack. The Chieftain got to his feet. "My Queen, this is a pleasant surprise. How may I—?"

He was cut off. "Where is my son?" Bulma demanded.