Chapter 30

Zenza did not understand who the big bald man was, but the way her brother jerked to attention meant he was someone important. As soon as he strode into the classroom, a brush of a thought not her own stroked into her head. You behave yourself, brat. Shiruko never, ever made mind contact with her or told her to 'behave' around the Prince. Zenza sat up straight and tried to look ferocious.

When the bald man threw out the tutors, Zenza informed her big brother that, whoever he was, the intruder was lots more fun than the Heir. Amusement touched her mind, then Shiruko's presence withdrew. Only once did she experience any qualms about the newcomer, when he announced they were taking the Prince's training session elsewhere, but Do not go with strangers was not part of a Saiyan child's conditioning. Any Saiyan child unable to destroy a threatening stranger was not worthy of survival. Zenza peeked at Trunks and, when he made no objection, she did not, either.

During the brief shuttle flight Zenza sat near the Prince, close enough to hear the big bald man describe in expansive detail the upcoming training session, not close enough to interject any of her own comments without raising her voice. Other warriors in the shuttle bay relaxed as the bald man talked, smirking, some murmuring bragging reminiscences of their own early training sessions to each other. Their accounts did sound far more interesting than training with the Prince had been so far. She leaned forward, turning her head to catch a glimpse of the Prince's visage. It was as impassive as that of any adult. Yet Zenza frowned as she settled back. Something about the set young face made her feel that her companion of the last week was getting more tense, not less, as the flight continued.

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As Bulma ran off to harangue the Lieutenants of the Guard about the whereabouts of her son, the others took the more practical approach and sprinted to the communication center. It was not difficult to track the shuttle. Although contact attempts proved futile, the beacon all shuttles were equipped with continued to function. The techs in charge of tracing it quickly triangulated its most likely destination. Zarbon's face was a study in consternation as he leaned over the console and gazed at the trajectory projected by the techs. Flickering patterns from the console sketched different patterns across the fine features. "But why there? What's on the Western Continent?"

Behind his back, the two highest ranked Saiyans present exchanged glances.

"The camps," murmured Kyukon.

"What? Why the camps?"

"That's where Saiyans learn to be Saiyans," replied Radditz, tersely.

"I used to take day trips to the Western Continent when I was learning ki strikes," agreed Kyukon. "It's unusual for the Heir to drill there, but most would say the Commander is within his rights."

"Without the Queen's authorization?" snapped Zarbon. "Without letting me know? I couldn't go anywhere with Vegeta without getting the old King's consent!"

"You were not the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces," Kyukon pointed out. "The King said he would prepare the Heir. With the King off world, Nappa is the official trainer of the Heir."

Zarbon visibly fumed.

Kyukon lifted his gaze from the display showing the shuttle trajectory. "They aren't too far ahead of us. If we take another of the King's shuttles and pour it on, we might even catch them. I'll let the Queen know—"

Radditz immediately protested. "She'll insist on going. We can't take Bulma to the camps. She'll freak."

They both looked at Zarbon.

"You expect me to order her to stay?" Zarbon was incredulous. "She's the Queen. I can't order her to do something!"

"You are the Voice of the King," Radditz reminded him. "Until Vegeta gets back, you're in charge."

Not that simple, thought Zarbon wryly, although of course to the Saiyan mind-set it was that simple. Zarbon's thin brows furrowed together as he considered the problem. "Red herring," he finally uttered, cryptically. He was faced with two quizzical Saiyans. "We tell Bulma that it looks like Trunks and Zenza went to the Eastern Continent. Hopefully she'll just take off without asking any questions. We can move in, extract Trunks, and be abjectly apologetic when she gets back here fuming about her wild goose chase."

"When the daimyo finds out her daughter is missing, we'll have to deal with her as well," objected Kyukon.

"I'd far rather deal with Nira than with Bulma," replied Zarbon frankly.

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Although very little warning had been given, it was short work to make sure everything was in readiness. Officers quickly bullied students into position, snapping at them about the pathetic condition of their armor or accessories; the students obeyed with the sullen, snarling obedience typical of Saiyan soldiers. Surveying the scene with approval, Camp Commander Zaim reflected that it was a good thing that he was used to receiving calls from irritated nobles who decided spur-of-the-moment that their over-indulged offspring needed more practical training. Indeed, during the moon year when nobles were faced with increasingly hard-to-control children such calls were common. It had been a while, however, since he last spoke to Nappa. The Commander rarely paid any attention to the education of his offspring even when Elite-level ki was involved. In any case, it was too soon for his offspring from the previous moon year to have returned from their infant missions.

The Commander in Chief smiled when Zaim expressed his surprise. Nastily. "This isn't for any brat of mine. The Heir needs to learn how to cook. Make sure he has some meat to practice on. Nothing but the best for the Heir," he admonished, wagging a finger before he signed off.

Although taken aback, personally Zaim thought bringing the Heir so young was an excellent idea. Many of the aristocratic offspring were too old when they made their first trips here. When faced with live targets, some proved unexpectedly squeamish. Fortunately years of experience taught Zaim how to shame them into embracing their Saiyan heritage. His success was why his camp was the preferred one for Saiyan nobility. At three, hopefully the Heir was be too young to have any hesitation because Zaim was not sure he would survive goading the Prince into compliance; most young nobles did not come with a contingent of Elite-level guards sworn to their personal protection. All goading honors he would leave for the Commander in Chief.

The majority of the camp's denizens were easier managed than the occasional underage noble. By the time they arrived, peasant offspring understood what the training was for.

They had survived their infant missions, so they already knew how to kill.

They came to the camps to learn how to kill with skill and finesse.

Nothing but the best for the Heir. Unfortunately that part presented a bit of a problem. There had been no shipments from recent rebellions, so there were no warrior class slaves available for the Prince to hone his skills. Indeed, there was nothing apart from the usual used-up domestics. Zaim was reluctant to offer such poor fare to his own pupils. Sighing, Zaim instructed his second-in-command to try and find some slaves with a little life still left in them.

"They'll be good enough for the Prince's first kills," remarked his second-in-command.

Zaim didn't appreciate having his orders questioned. His response was curt. "Issue a bulletin to the other camps. Maybe someone has something interesting tucked away for a special occasion."

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The Heir was having problems grasping the concept. He kicked his dangling feet as they hung over the edge of the shuttle's seat, a sure sign, Nappa knew, of royal impatience. "Why do you want me to shoot these people again? They haven't done anything to me."

"They aren't people, they're targets," repeated Nappa as patiently as he could, which was not very. It had been many years since he had to deal with someone this young. His own offspring took the ranks of their various mothers, which meant they were shipped off young so he never had to deal with them until they were at least ten. His only real experience with youth involved royalty. He couldn't remember if Vegeta (the present King Vegeta, that was, not the pale young boy questioning him) had asked so many questions. He thought not; even as a youth, Vegeta was more inclined to let loose ki bolts than debate details. Nappa allowed himself a reminiscent grin.

The current Prince Vegeta persisted. He had that annoying human habit of needing everything plainly laid out for him. "But they aren't shooting back, right?"

"They will be running around trying not to be shot."

The boy mulled it over, his face pensive. "Are they bad people?" he ventured. "Criminals or something?"

Nappa chuckled loudly at the idea of 'bad people.' "They aren't necessary, and they aren't Saiyan," he told the boy. "The rest doesn't matter."

The Prince, frowning, lapsed once more into tense silence.

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Zarbon's hastily-concocted plan to distract Bulma worked. Within minutes of him telling her (uncertainly, not meeting her eyes as he spoke) that they thought Trunks and Zenza might have run off to the Eastern Continent for some obscure reason, Bulma was on a shuttle winging her way to Nira's prefecture. To the astonishment of the pilots she booted them off the bridge and flew the craft herself, although no amount of threats or temper-tantrums could induce Negin or Tamane to leave the cockpit. After taking the craft through several unnecessary sharp turns to thoroughly indicate her displeasure, Bulma settled for ignoring her lieutenants. It wasn't until half-an-hour of muttering to herself calmed her down enough to think a little bit that she realized she should call Nira and let the chieftain know that her daughter was missing.

Even though it was deep night on the Eastern Continent, the staff at Nira's palace, once they realized it really was the Queen on the communicator, quickly roused their leader. Nira's alert dark eyes gazed at her from the console. "My Queen, this is a surprise. I did not expect to see you for a couple of days yet."

After considering possible reasons for the children taking off on their own, Bulma had settled on the only one that struck her as plausible. "It seems Zenza didn't want to wait to be picked up at the end of the week," she told the daimyo, irritation barely held in check. "She and Trunks took off this morning for parts unknown. Zarbon thinks they're headed in your direction. I guess they don't want to be separated."

The thick brows furrowed over Nira's nose. "My Queen, they are not here. Are you saying they are someplace else on the Eastern continent? It's a big place. Still—it's hard to credit someone like the Prince could show up without at least one of the daimyos noticing."

"He did stuff like this when Gohan was here, although he was never gone for too long," responded Bulma, but her tone shifted as she tried to remember, exactly, what Zarbon had said. "I mean...they must be flying there under their own power. I know Saiyans are fast, but it would take them a while to get there, wouldn't it?" Increasing uncertainty crept into her voice. "No one would take them there without letting the rest of us know, would they?"

"Depends on what the Heir ordered them to do." Nira nodded curtly, not in agreement but as an acknowledgment of the situation. "One moment, my Queen. The Heir's ki is on record, is it not? It will be the work of an instant to see if anyone heading this way matches him or my daughter."

"Of course it would," murmured Bulma as the screen went blank. Stupid, stupid—! I'm not used to thinking about tracking ki! How could Zarbon not consider something that simple, though? Or any of the other Saiyans... She swiveled in her chair, regarding her lieutenants steadily. Negin returned the stare without blinking; Tamane, however, appeared very interested in his boot lacings.

The screen flicked back on. Nira's face was grim. "My Queen, while there are several approaching warriors that closely approximate the Heir's power reading—"

"Well, how many? How hard will it be to meet them all?"

"—there are none that match the combined ki of the Prince and my daughter. And, frankly, I would be very surprised if my daughter has improved to the point of flying under her own power, let alone for that sort of distance. When I left her there last week, she was still jumping off of buildings waving her arms trying to at least float a little bit."

"Kami take them all," said Bulma after a moment of blank astonishment. "Nira, I've been had."

"Misinformed, in any case." Nira was clinical, as if this were an abstract problem that did not involved two missing children, one of them her own. "I wonder why?"

"Nira," Bulma began, then continued on a rising tide of panic, "our children are out there Kami-knows-where doing Kami-knows-what — Dammit! Kyukon thought Nappa had something to do with it, but I just listened to Zarbon when he came up with this cockamamie theory! What was I thinking—?"

The mention of Nappa caught Nira's interest, but whatever she thought of the Commander's possible involvement she kept to herself. "My brat can take care of herself, and I assume the Prince is self-sufficient as well. If someone was so foolish as to take them against their will, we might have better fortune if we search for the abductor's remains."

Bulma's thoughts were centered on vengeance. "I'm going to pull his hair out by the roots and see if that is his natural color or not. Then I'm going to confiscate his headbands. Then I'm going to steal his earrings. Then—"

Nira gave her a straight, level look. "My Queen," she said, firmly, "this avails us nothing. The Prince and my daughter went missing in the capitol. I suggest you return there to pick up the trail—and to discover who was so foolish as to send you on this misguided errand." Nira's hard gaze encompassed both of the Queen's lieutenants. After one guilty flash of his eyes Tamane's gaze dropped again to his boots; Negin, as ever, was stoic.

Bulma stared at the controls under her hands and attempted a deep, calming breath. It sounded more like an angry wheeze. She tried again, with better results, and spoke in a more controlled voice. "Zarbon is going to have some explaining to do. Well, while I've got you here, there is some good news. I had a quick chat with King Cold. The upshot is that your boy, Youkan, is going to be released."

Nira's eyes widened. This news disconcerted her far more than the disappearance of her daughter. She began to stammer out an astonished, half-guilty protest insisting that she would never dream of putting the Queen to so much trouble, but: "Don't be silly," said Bulma, waving her hand airily. "I was happy to do it. Our children play together. That makes us friends, right?" The query came out far more wistfully than she intended.

Nira gave a slow smile that held a hint of surprise. "Yes; yes, if you say so, my Queen, then I suppose it does. I will head for the capitol. Hopefully my foolish offspring will put in an appearance by the time I touch down."

"Our foolish offspring," grumbled Bulma. "If this is some prank, then Trunks is grounded for life."

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Within seconds of Bulma's liftoff three men sprinted for the landing station behind the palace, hastily conferring amongst themselves as they ran. Zarbon managed to mortally insult Kyukon by suggesting he do "the mind thing" to contact Nappa and order him to return. The Northern Chieftain responded with frigid indignation. "We share no links of blood, passion or camaraderie. There's no reason I should be able to contact him even if I wanted to."

"Then you're useless," snapped Zarbon. "Stay here and monitor communications. If Bulma gets back before we do, stall."

Grimacing, Kyukon skidded to a halt and reversed direction. "That was nasty," observed Radditz, amused in spite of his concern. "When she realizes what happened and turns back, she's going to tear into the first person she sees."

"Better him than us," retorted Zarbon waspishly. "Besides, if he doesn't have the sense to be more afraid of her than of Nira, it's time he learned." He scowled at the shuttle that was ready and waiting for them. "This is all taking too long. I'll meet you on the Western Continent—"

Radditz grabbed him by the elbow and nearly dragged him on board. "You'll be weaker than an infant right out of the tanks," snapped the Queen's Captain. "Don't give Nappa the satisfaction of being able to knock you down once or twice before you pulverize him. You'll never be able to maintain your authority as liaison if you do."

"This doesn't undermine my authority?"

"You have no control over the Heir, Zarbon. I mean, those of us at the Palace know you train him, but there's nothing official. You do not want to challenge Nappa over this without the King's backing."

"He will back me up!"

Shoving him into one of the shuttle's seats, Radditz blandly agreed. "If he were here, yes. If he were here, though, Nappa wouldn't be doing this. Zarbon—think. You can't kill Nappa over this. The nobles are very cliquish. They will demand your head, Vegeta will ignore them, and all your hard work becoming liaison will vaporize. So far, this is a trivial misunderstanding. Don't give any of the hard-liners ammunition over this."

"I hate it when Saiyans tell me to think." Grumbling, Zarbon strapped in as Radditz sent out a general broadcast demanding any information on the whereabouts of the Heir.

They had not been in the air five minutes before Zaim's second-in-command responded with exact coordinates.

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About the time Bulma pulled her shuttle into a U-turn so sharp the air molecules surrounding the craft shrieked unnaturally, the Royal shuttle containing her son touched down on the fringes of Zaim's camp. Pacing onto the ramp after Nappa, Trunks halted and cocked his head, peering with the ease of long practice between the legs of the guards encasing him.

"Come, boy," Nappa snapped.

Rather than immediately respond to Nappa's summons, Trunks stepped in front of his guards, pausing on the slanted ramp of the shuttle to get a sense of this new place he had been brought to. Black spread before him as if ants covered the ground, stretching beyond his field of vision. It was a sea of kneeling Saiyans. Row upon row of dark armor gleamed in the muted light from the suns, with the occasional touch of color from those who had survived the required rituals and could don tribal hues rather than the training armor. They knelt like warriors did before his father in the throne room, one fist flat on the ground, heads raised.

To the young boy, they all appeared as big and as impressive as Kabu's gathered warriors when he arrived on the Eastern Continent. The adults surrounding him had different perspectives. There was a soft exhale of breath behind him. "Doesn't this bring it back? Best times I ever had were in this camp."

Trunks could hear the smirk in the response. "Pretty much peaked then, eh?"

The replying growl was cut off as the ranking King's Guard, one of his father's lieutenants, turned his head enough to fix the two with an impersonal warning glance.

There was warmth at his back. Weaving nervously through the guards, Zenza stepped close enough for the sensitive hairs on his tail to fluff in reaction to her body heat. Trunks instigated a low level ki field, just as Zarbon taught him when there were lots of people around; not enough to trigger any of the scouters, but enough that Zenza would get a dreadful shock if she were stupid enough to touch him.

"Hiding behind the stronger warrior, brat?" The lieutenant lifted a brow.

"No!" Zenza stepped well away from Trunks.

Nappa called again, impatiently. Trunks swept his gaze across the field of black again. Then, his stride measured, he marched down the ramp.

He had never been on the Western Continent before; until recently, he had never been out of the capitol. The light's different, he thought to himself, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. The area that met his gaze was open; the camp was built in the midst of a great sea of tall grasses. There were no trees or tall buildings. When he was older tutors would teach him about different habitats, not out of any sense of ecological concern but because knowing the characteristics of grasslands versus mountains was important for battle strategy. He was interested in exploring the unfamiliar terrain, and would have if Gohan had been present, but Nappa was identifying the wide man just getting to his feet in front of them and Trunks knew what was expected of him. Behind him stood the second-in-command, muscular arms folded, head appropriately inclined in respect. Trunks' gaze lingered on him for just a moment.

While he didn't entirely understand the word, Trunks knew what 'smug' looked like. He saw 'smug' often in his father's court. Zaim's second in command was looking very 'smug' beneath the veneer of respect. He knows something the rest of us don't.

He scowled with fierce disinterest as the Camp Commander assured them both that this was the best camp on the continent, well suited for the Heir's training.

"We'll be the judge of that, eh, Vegeta? What do you have for him?"

There was no fidget to the Camp Commander as he smoothly explained that recent Saiyan military exploits had been so overwhelming that quality practice slaves were hard to come by. "Disappointing," grunted Nappa, eyeing Zaim speculatively.

Although his voice did not alter, a faint sheen beaded on Zaim's temples. "There are several scores of basic training fodder awaiting the Prince's pleasure in the training corral."

"Well, there's something to be said for quantity, isn't there, boy?"

Is there? Zarbon always told him skepticism was a healthy trait in a warrior. Trunks tried to pull his face into "skeptical." He was sure it came out as a typical Saiyan scowl. I need to practice that...

"Let's go investigate." That note of false joviality was really beginning to grate on Trunks. "Over there? Come, boy."

He was also getting tired of being called 'boy.' It was okay for his father to pretend to forget his name, but not this guy. His scowl deepening, Trunks managed to keep pace with Nappa's stride without appearing as if he were running to do so. Zenza wasn't so talented. Trunks could hear the small catches in her breathing as she stuck close behind him, her diminutive legs pumping several times for every single step the Commander in Chief took. She had more trouble weaving her way through the ranks of kneeling warriors as well; every few feet there was a 'thump' as she stumbled across yet another student. Having grown up dodging guards, Trunks could move smoothly through crowds without even glancing at his path.

"Zaim, you sell yourself short." Nappa sounded more cheerful; alarming. "This is a pretty diverse group. Come see, Vegeta."

Moving to stand next to the Commander, Trunks regarded the "basic training fodder" with a critical eye. The prince saw a lot of aliens in the capitol, so the sense of difference most young Saiyans felt at this moment was absent. His thoughts were clinical. He's right, they aren't Saiyan. Tritons, I think, and Aldoneans? Papa was mad at the Aldonean ambassador about something last month. I should've paid attention, but it's so hard to stay awake during court. There's bunches here I've never seen before, though. I wonder where they're from?

They weren't running around trying not to be shot. A lot of them turned their heads away. Some of them stared right through him. No one looked at him.

"What are you waiting for, boy?"

"I'm not sure what to do," replied Trunks, which was nothing more than the simple truth.

"These are your first kills, Vegeta! All you have to do is enjoy them."

Staring at the huddled group, Trunks fervently wished that he was just about anywhere else than right here. "This isn't any fun," he complained. "I'm hungry. Can't we go hunting instead?"

"Some of these will be very tasty, boy."

Ick. "I'm not that hungry."

"The Heir needs encouragement." Nappa gestured to Zaim. "Is there someone who can provide him with some?"

Zaim beckoned toward the first rank of kneeling students near the corral. From the front rose one warrior. He bowed toward the Prince, but his eyes were on the slaves.

Studying the hooded gaze, Trunks thought to himself, He does look hungry.

"This is Rurutip of the Eastern Continent. He's almost ready to report to Chieftain Kabu for his first duty."

Nappa had one caution. "Let the Heir make the kills."

With a broad, proud smirk, the student rose over the corral, cupping his hands in front of waist. As ki sparked and coalesced against his palms, he straightened his arms. A series of small energy spheres struck in a line in front of the slaves, tossing up earth and rocks. They scattered under the barrage, but there was no real urgency to their movements. Trunks flinched as sensations bombarded him: despair, dull anger, hopelessness. Lots of hopelessness. There was no way out for these people.

The dust stilled as Rurutip ceased his bombardment. Trunks glanced up at him as he floated overhead. The young warrior was still grinning proudly. Trunks wasn't sure making a bunch of people who couldn't fight back run around like idiots was something one should have pride in. He turned his gaze back to the corral and contemplated his options. They're already dead inside. So it's no big deal if I kill them...right?

Gohan smiling at him brightly, satisfaction from having outsmarted his four-legged opponent flowing out of him..."You shouldn't kill things without a reason."

Trunks sucked on the inside of his cheek. Gohan wouldn't consider anything he offered as a good reason. Neither will Mom. But there were all those eyes on him, expectant... How could he get away from here? Papa would know. Papa was good at getting away from things he didn't want to do. Trunks folded his arms across his chest and mimicked his father's most disinterested mien. "This isn't any fun. If you don't want to hunt, then let's go home."

"Take care of the meat first and we'll be back in no time."

"They aren't going to fight back. This is just dumb."

"Perhaps the Heir needs his appetite whetted," remarked Nappa to no one in particular.

The next seconds were a blur. Dust flared up around him, twisting him sideways with force. Something solid whacked him in the stomach. He heard an 'oof!' from Zenza as he flailed into her. They both went sprawling, a tangle of small arms and legs. No one quite dared to laugh. The smothered sniggers, however, echoed loudly in the Heir's ears. Trunks immediately scrambled to his feet, shock mixing with burgeoning anger as he just began to realize that that had been a ki attack—and where the ki attack had originated from.

His smirk nearly splitting his face, Nappa fisted his hands low on his hips. "Hungry now?" he grinned. He swept an arm toward the doomed slaves. "Enough of the appetizer, boy. Feast."

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Since her brief objection at the capitol, Konny let events sweep by her. She was more than half convinced, however, that Nappa's insistence on secrecy boded ill for this little expedition once they returned. The Heir's stubborn insistence on hunting over mere slaughter was making her more nervous still. Besides, she conceded a certain furtive sympathy for the Heir's predicament. These were pathetic examples of a first kill. There would be better sport from deer.

Perhaps if he brought back some appropriate training material, Chishan's foolish off-world expedition could yet be worthwhile.

She sidled up to the ranking King's Guard, speaking softly, hoping only he would hear. "Milord, if the Heir wants to leave..."

"Shut up or die," replied Shiruko in a disinterested tone.

"Careful. That's Chishan's mate."

Shiruko hissed between his teeth. "No wonder she doesn't know her place."

It was right then that the Commander snapped off two quick ki strikes, one that struck at the Heir's feet, the other slapping the boy square in the stomach, right at the edge of the armor so it was only partially blunted by the protective covering. Gasping out loud, Konny started forward, meaning to spring to the Heir's defense.

Without turning his head, Shiruko held his arm out straight. It struck Konny across the shoulders. Wrapping her hands around his hard forearm, she tried to push through. She might as well been pushing on a wall. In fact, she would have had better success against a wall, which would have crumbled under the force she exerted. Shiruko didn't budge.

"He'll hurt the Heir!" she protested.

"He is within his rights to hurt the Heir," retorted Shiruko coolly. "We only interfere if it looks like he's about to kill the Heir."

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Zarbon keyed the code that popped the hatch as soon as the shuttle pulled up over the camp. Radditz couldn't utter the first syllable of a protest before wind whirling about the cabin let him know the alien had bolted. Sighing, he put the craft in a locked hover and raced after the King's liaison. Shaking the hair out of his eyes as competing air currents grabbed at it, Radditz ducked out of the hatch. Zarbon was a blue streak that came to an abrupt halt even as Radditz watched. More leisurely, the Queen's Captain followed, pulling up next to Zarbon and tucking his arms across his chest. "Hovers are damned unreliable," he grumbled. "You'd better hope there aren't any gusts before we get back." He glanced down, taking in the tableau. "Oh, great; slaves to be eliminated. Bulma's really not going to like this." He slid his eyes toward Zarbon. The alien was absolutely still, gaze locked onto the sprawled Prince, a faint line between his brows. "I can get Trunks if you want to take out Nappa." He smiled, a predator's grin. "I'll swear to the King it was self-defense."

Trunks scrambled to his feet, looking both mutinous and a little frightened. It was too high up for Radditz to hear exactly what the Prince snapped at Nappa, but there was an intake of breath from Zarbon just before Nappa raised one hand and, deliberately, flicked his fingers. Trunks' head snapped to one side. The smirk dropped from Radditz's face; his lips pressed into a single, angry line. "Never mind. I'll take out Nappa. You take out everyone else."

Pale blue fingers wrapped around his upper arm, holding him in place.

"No," said Zarbon, softly. That same hard, assessing expression Radditz remembered from Vegeta's training days, before Zarbon's defeat and oath of fealty, was set on the smooth features. "We let this play out."

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Although it didn't hurt, exactly, it did sting just a bit, enough for Trunks to know that Nappa had really struck him. His first impulse was to raise fingers to his face and rub the burning spot on his cheek. He half-lifted his hand before recollecting that pain was not something the Heir could acknowledge. He covered by folding his arms and glaring at the Commander.

"You fight them or me, boy." His head cocked, and the mocking smirk deepened. "Maybe your little shadow would like to play."

Trunks swung his head around to meet Zenza's startled, wide-eyed gaze. She had managed to get to one knee, but she was still trying hard to keep herself out of sight, behind Trunks. Slowly she rose to her feet. She stood there, blinking at the Commander, uncertain what to do.

"Come, milady." Nappa's exaggerated courtesy was shot through with mockery. "Don't you want to show the Heir how it's done?"

Dragging slightly, Zenza took the few steps that closed the distance between herself and the Prince, stopping when she was aligned with the Heir's shoulder. She was pretty sure she couldn't step in front of the Heir without getting into a lot of trouble. She tried to look around the big man toward the open gate of the corral where the prisoners were, but she really couldn't see much of anything.

Then the man stepped aside, and she saw far more than she really wanted to.

"Go ahead, we'll let you take first crack," the big man said jovially. "See how many you can take out with one blow. Then we'll see if the Prince can match you. Right now, I don't think he can."

Zenza was shocked, very. It was one thing for her to talk like that to the Prince when it was just them and Zarbon, but in front of all these people...! And the Prince was getting angry. She had seen him angry at her lots of times in the past week. Not like this, though. This was ... quiet. This was scary.

I'm Saiyan. I'm going to be a tribal leader some day. I can't be scared.

Scowling, Zenza raised her hands toward the cowering slaves. She was fighting faint tremors. She hoped the big man couldn't tell, but the Heir was close enough to see the twitches in her fingers as she stretched them out. Screwing her little face up as she concentrated, she began to feel the burn of gathering ki up and down her arms.

"No," said the Heir, quietly.

"No," he said again, more stridently.

He slapped a flat palm sharply against her wrists, redirecting the ki sphere towards her own feet. She barely had time to gasp before she was looking at the resultant explosion from the other side of the compound. Hooking two fingers into the back of her armor, the Prince had moved so fast she wasn't even aware of it except as an unsettled sensation in her stomach and a loud popping noise in her ears. He does that just like a grown-up, she thought, awed.

"We don't have to do this." He was speaking to himself, not to her.

"I don't mind," protested Zenza as she stared at the fading dust tendrils of the explosion she had generated. Some of the King's Guards were brushing off their shoulder pads, the expression on their faces ranging from irritation to mild surprise. She was impressed herself; she had never done anything so big, ever.

She wondered what one of the slaves would look like as it blew up.

"We're not doing this," the Prince insisted. "It makes Mom sad."

"She's not here," pointed out Zenza.

"Papa's not here, either, and what he's doing is making her sad."

She tried to tug free, couldn't, and settled for waving her arms and screaming at him over her shoulder. "But everyone does this!"

The Prince shifted his grip on her armor, closing his fist around the shoulder strap. Zenza was aware of a tug, then of her stomach turning over again as the planet fell away from her. Casting her eyes toward the ground, she was amazed to see she was so far up that even her Saiyan eyes strained to discern individuals as anything other than indistinct specks.

The Prince flexed his arm, bringing her nose to nose with him. "Don't argue with me in front of the guards, little girl. If you do, I'll drop you. Think you can learn to fly in two seconds?"

Zenza glared at him. "I hate your guts," she hissed.

"So? I'm still boss of you."

"They'll think we aren't real Saiyans if we don't do this!"

The smile that curled the boy's lips was as cruel as that of any adult. "Dropping you would be pretty Saiyan."

I'm not that high up, Zenza comforted herself. She peeked at the ground again. Well...yes, I am. Even if the fall doesn't kill me, Mom will for arguing with the Heir in front of everybody. She bit her lip and glared again.

She didn't answer fast enough. She felt the fingers against her shoulder loosen. "Fine, okay, you're the boss!" she snapped. She added, just for good measure, "You wait until I get big, though. I'm going to be lots bigger than you are."

The Heir shrugged, indifferent, and dropped, dragging her down after him so fast she felt like she was in free-fall. A few dozen yards above the ground he released his grip. Startled, Zenza tucked and spun, managing to land in a credible-enough crouch that cracked the ground under her knee. In front of her, the Prince touched down gently, exhibiting a fine control that she could only envy.

The entire scene played out in under a minute, barely long enough for most of the guards to react with anything more than surprise. Facing Nappa, the Prince folded his arms as he directed a stony stare toward the gape-mouthed Commander in Chief. "I do not chose to do this."

"You want to have fun, Vegeta? This is fun for a Saiyan!"

"I don't have to do something because you tell me to."

"Blood is the heritage of all Saiyans. Revel in your heritage, Vegeta."

"Zarbon says you look like a really big fish, sometimes," the Prince shot back. "He forgot to say it was a really stupid-looking big fish."

Some of the less-diplomatic members of the King's Guard laughed out loud at that. The tension in the air was shifting, from the inherent satisfaction of witnessing wholesale slaughter to the anticipation of a fight.

They were doomed to disappointment—although many would brag about "being there" for years to come.

Far above the unfolding drama, as yet unnoticed by the participants, two figures watched silently. Radditz cocked his head toward Zarbon, tapping a questioning fingernail against the side of his beeping scouter. "Yes," murmured Zarbon. "Yes. I'm getting it, too."

The Heir turned his back on Nappa — and the slaves — and walked away. The Commander chased after him before he went more than a few steps, bellowing obscenities, remonstrating, trying to force the boy back. The Prince looked up at Nappa, the heavy pale brows pulled deeply over the nose, the young brow furrowed. The clear voice was sharp, disdainful, cold. "What part of 'no' did you not understand?" Then, casually, the Heir waved one hand slightly, as if brushing away an insect.

Nappa spun around so fast he was a blur.

The Heir lifted two fingers.

Nappa yelped as some unseen force compressed his body into an impossible near-flat configuration.

The Heir dropped his hand, palm down.

Nappa plowed into the ground face first, hard, enough for fine lines to fan out from the impact and the ground to buckle under the Commander's body. He remained in the ludicrous position, hips hitched high in the air.

Zarbon pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "Great. One minute, nothing, next minute, whamo."

"Just what we need; a miniature Bulma with killing level ki." There was no mockery or sarcasm in Radditz's words. Indeed, he sounded more awed.

They were speaking too quietly for anyone to possibly hear them, but Trunks' head snapped back. He stared almost straight up, right into Zarbon's cool golden eyes.

He had noticed them. He wasn't wearing a scouter, they had done nothing to attract attention to themselves, and yet...he knew they were there.

The two men glanced at each other, then dropped. To those present, it was as if they fell from no-where. They landed softly behind Nappa's contorted body, in the wide clear area in front of the corral. The Heir watched their descent, almost the only one in the entire enclosure who gave no indication of surprise at their presence. "Come," he said over his shoulder to Zenza. He then walked forward, taking a big step across the lip of the crater to balance on Nappa's broad behind, marching down the slope of his back, stepping off at the neck. Eyes wide, Zenza copied his path exactly, although she cast several wary glances down at the adult under her boots as she marched.

"I've been wanting to do that to Nappa for years," Zarbon remarked when the Heir reached him.

Trunks said, his voice firm, "Take me to my Mom."