The Undead Past: Epilogue

Getting Kimchee and Youkan back to their own space was not quite as straight-forward as Yuzun anticipated. Kimchee's time in stasis left her very weak. The med-techs did the best they could with their limited knowledge of Saiyan physiology. Unfortunately the standard chemicals used in the healing tank reacted negatively with the young woman's dense bone structure. If she had been immediately restored to the gravity she considered normal, a very real chance existed that she might break a few bones. It took several days before the various supplements and exercises prescribed by the techs worked to the point where they were willing to let her go

A conscious Saiyan did not make for a good patient. The warrior was edgy at the enforced delay, insisting that she could use her ki to survive whatever stresses the gravity of her home planet placed upon her. It was her mate, Youkan, who kept her under control during this time. He did not care to risk her health on her theories. The concern he felt for her (if concern it was, and Yuzun had his doubts) found expression in belittling comments and growls; the two had screaming arguments about her relative state of fitness more than once. Yuzun shook his head in disbelief as he entered Taurus' private quarters. He would never understand Saiyans. Fortunately, he didn't have to; Kimchee had finally been approved for travel, and this very hour would see the two warriors on their way. In a very short time, the only Saiyan he would have to contend with would be Taurus who was, thank the gods, quite civilized compared to most of the simians.

The main object of Yuzun's thoughts was pulling on dress armor, his expression forbidding. "Being a bit formal, aren't you?" queried Yuzun. "We just have to escort your troublesome brother to the border. No need to get all fancied up, surely. Not that you don't make a striking figure."

The Saiyan did not respond with his usual smirk. "I can't go with you," Taurus told him. "Our master is in a bit of a snit over the whole incident. I'm not sure if he's cross at all of my kind or just me personally, but the upshot is that I'm being sent to oversee some border fracas, well away, alas, from the Saiyan border. It will probably take a couple of years. Eh, no matter. I suppose my brother is thoroughly sick of me by now anyway. You will see him and his little mate off, no?"

"As you wish," said Yuzun, disappointed but not all that surprised. As the only Saiyan in Freeza's military, Taurus often bore the brunt of their master's wrath when he was cross at the expatriate's former homeworld. "I suppose it's absurdly dangerous and there's a distinct possibility that you're going to meet some ghastly demise."

"Yes, it's dangerous and, no, I'm not going to die while on this mission. I'm not about to give anyone the satisfaction. Behave yourself while I'm gone."

"Not a chance," responded Yuzun in his silkiest voice.

Taurus paused in the act of fastening the cloak over one shoulder, regarding the changeling with a narrow-eyed gaze. He smiled slightly, letting the cloak run through his fingers and puddle on the floor. "Ah, well. In that case, I suppose I can hardly get in any more trouble than I'm already in if I make Youkan wait an hour or two longer before you get to see him off, eh?"

Shiruko walked into the communication center still fuming after the recent meeting of the officers of the King's Guard. As a result of his off-world experience, Captain Chishan decided to completely break with protocol and re-distribute the allocation of the Guards. Having seen the King in battle, Chishan believed that personnel resources would be better allocated to the Prince and even, perhaps, to the alien Queen. Fortunately Radditz had his own objections to the latter, seeing it as an attempt to undermine his own authority, a subject he was very sensitive about at the moment. He flatly refused to consider it. Unfortunately recent events had indicated a weakness (as both Captains saw it) with the Heir's protection, and Chishan was going to be allowed to assign perfectly good King's Guards to baby-sit the pale half-breed. Shiruko would have preferred to head to the training rooms to vent his frustration on whatever he could blow up there, but to his surprise the Commander of the Armed Forces requested his presence in the communication center. No matter how irritated one was, one did not refuse to meet with the Commander unless one was tired of living. Although there were moments when Shiruko sincerely felt like he was approaching that point, he was not quite there yet.

"I hear congratulations are in order," said the Commander. "Court duty, eh? And the King asked for you personally. It's quite the honor."

Although he had some cynical ideas about how much 'honor' was involved in his new assignment, Shiruko responded with what a Saiyan would consider appropriate modesty. "It is nothing more than what I deserve, both as an Elite and as the son of two Chieftains."

"True enough," agreed the Commander heartily. He motioned Shiruko over to one of the monitors. "Your new assignment was why I asked you here. Have you seen this? It's the readout from Chishan's scouter. Most of the scouters blew out, but my son's was set high enough to endure the ki stresses. Very entertaining."

Shuriko was startled. Usually scouter information was only given out to relatives after the owner died. Wishful thinking where Chishan was concerned, he acknowledged to himself, his mouth twisting. His commoner brother-in-law had a charmed life. "No, I haven't seen anything relating to the King's mission. What's on it?"

"Vegeta's fight with the native that was giving the off-world troops such fits. Here." Nappa nodded to the tech, who entered a few rapid commands on a touchpad. "See what it is that you have the honor of protecting."

And so, Shiruko became one of only a handful of Saiyans to witness Vegeta's encounter with Puipui, an honor that left him very shaken. He could hardly believe the ki readings of either warrior, yet the attacks the two used against each other gave credence to the machine's accuracy. At the end, as he watched Puipui evaporate under Vegeta's outstretched hands, a thought that might be construed as a very strange one for a King's Guard to have slithered through his mind: He's not Saiyan. He's some sort of non-Saiyan monster.

A hard, proud smirk spread across Nappa's face. "Our King is impressive, no? I wonder how long it will be before the King's brat can do that."

Saiyans were not known for their patience, and both Kimchee and Youkan were ready to attack the first moving object when Yuzun finally showed up at the docking station. Freeza's attaché was a little out of breath and looked very self-satisfied. He ran through their instructions in a perfunctory manner, his mind obviously elsewhere. They were not to be given scouters, and the communications in their pods had been disabled during their original capture, or so Yuzun claimed. Yuzun assured them that the "appropriate authorities" had been informed of their release, but could not (or would not) pass on any messages or offer any directives. "Eh, never mind," growled Kimchee as she glared at the changeling, already halfway into her space pod. "We'll stop by Koorim just in case they need us there. It's closer than Vejiitasei. If nothing else, we can hook up with mop-up squads and use their communications."

If Yuzun had any information that indicated a trip to Koorim was unnecessary, he did not see fit to pass it on. Instead, he blandly agreed that was, indeed, a plan of sorts. Disgruntled, Kimchee mentally projected images involving Yuzun and various blunt implements; Youkan was hard put to keep a straight face. Instead, he climbed into his own pod and gave a thumbs up signal indicating his readiness.

They were physically tracked as far as the border (at least, what Yuzun assured them was this week's border) by a small cruiser which hovered at the boundary as if to prevent them from turning back. Must be expecting us to steal the silver, Youkan thought to Kimchee.

There was the characteristic Saiyan snort, unmistakable even in mind-speak. I'd rather collect a few skulls. That pretty lizard's head would be a nice addition to my collection.

Grinning, Youkan programmed in the coordinates for Koorim and informed his spouse that he was going to sleep for a bit. Kimchee's curt response was that she had had enough of sleep.

They landed at the site for their original mission, next to the temple at Koorim's north pole. Or, at least, where the temple had been. The vids Youkan saw before the mission showed an impressive structure, carved into the living mountains, lit by multi-tiered lava pools that sizzled gently in the ice fields. Nothing could be called "living" here now. The mountain had been half blown away, leaving the inner sanctum of the temple exposed. The site was strewn with fresh-hewed boulders and scattered piles of debris that resembled dead leaves. The smell of death filled the air.

"Too late," said Kimchee in disgust, looking around. "Nothing left to kill."

"They did a sloppy job." The skin around Youkan's nose creased slightly in distaste. One thing Kimchee had discovered about her young husband was he preferred quick, efficient strikes that left no traces other than smoking craters. He derived little pleasure in playing with doomed natives nowhere near his power level, which was why he was eyeing the scorched areas with irritation. The small, discolored patches indicated individual ki strikes where natives were hunted down singly. Youkan considered that wasteful. Commanders commended his efficiency; the third-class soldiers rolled their eyes and grumbled about high-powered nobles ruining their fun.

Youkan nodded his head toward the jagged ruins. "We should take that out, so that who-ever settles this place next doesn't set it up as a monument." He began to work his way between piles of dry leaves. He barely flinched when one pile of dry leaves moved. He stepped back carefully, taking in a deep breath through his nose. Not leaves. Blood-matted fur. Alive...something smells alive, but barely...

"Well, looks like you found an alien after all," said Kimchee. "Lucky you." The irony of calling the dying native an alien when they were, in fact, the strangers on this planet did not occur to either of the warriors. They were both Saiyan; anything that wasn't Saiyan was alien.

"Experience," whispered the native almost inaudibly, raising trembling claws toward him. "Experience...the truth..."

Contemptuously, Youkan flattened his palm, using it both as a focal point for his ki shield and the conduit for the killing ki strike. The energy from the dying alien, however, did not hit him with any force. To Youkan's astonishment it thinned and streamed through his ki shield. Too late Youkan brought up his other wrist, crossing it over his face in a hasty block. Still no force; nothing to block.

To Kimchee it appeared that nebulous, pale tendrils encased her husband's head before being sucked into his skull through every conceivable orifice: eyes, mouth, nostrils, ears. Clasping his hands to his eyes, Youkan opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. He spun once, clawing at his face, before teetering over and collapsing heavily.

Coolly, Kimchee cupped her hands and aimed her palms toward the ruined temple. Everything between her and it, including the alien who had dared to assault her husband, vaporized instantly. She regarded the mushroom-shaped debris cloud that cast the bright day into shadow with narrowed, suspicious eyes, daring anything to come out of it alive. Only when she was sure nothing remained did she turn to discover Youkan's fate.

He did not respond to her first sharp call. When she repeated his name, though, a shudder ran through his body. Slowly he jerked onto his knees, almost as if the different body parts weren't communicating with each other, then lurched to his feet. He stood still, swaying slightly, head down, eyes staring.

From where she stood, Kimchee could not see any obvious wounds. Youkan was acting as if he had been hit hard on the head, she decided; perhaps there had been more force behind the native's odd attack than had been evident at first. "Come, if you're all right," she said, crossly.

But Youkan's gaze remained transfixed by something on the ground. "Beautiful," he said softly.

Reaching her husband's side, Kimchee glanced down but saw nothing that could be so described, jut smooth pale pebbles encrusted with ice crystals and organic debris from the recent slaughter. Brain damage. I knew it. Kimchee had a black moment where she seriously considered putting them both out of Youkan's misery. That would be an upper-class response, she knew; any deviation from the norm, and termination by family members was the most likely action. It was fortunate that, despite her high-born father, she was not a noble herself and did not have to consider family bloodlines. And they were stationed off-world; off-world soldiers were far more tolerant of battle fatigue and other forms of mental damage. She gently took Youkan's hand. "Yes," she said, tripping a little over words that felt foreign falling from her mouth, "it's very-- very pretty--" Ug, she thought, I can't believe I said that! "Let's go, Youkan. We need to find someone, make a report."

His cloud-shrouded gaze transferred to her face. For a moment he did not recognize her. Then his eyes sparked and focused. Reaching out, he hooked one hand into the curve of her armor at the throat and pulled her close. The corner of his mouth slid up. "You're very pretty," he told her.

Kimchee felt herself flushing in embarrassment and guilty pleasure. Smiling at her rare consternation, he bent down and gently kissed her. "You're beautiful," he whispered against her ear, and Kimchee wondered if any Saiyan had ever died from terminal blushing. He pulled back enough to study her face, grinning as color flamed in her cheeks. "And I lo--" He paused, swallowed, and started again. "I'm very glad you decided you could put up with me."

Her eyes went as round as they could go. He nearly said it. He nearly said--

His hands dropped away from her. "Feh. This place isn't so pretty I want to spend the rest of my life here," said Youkan abruptly, sounding much more like her husband and less like -- whoever he had just been.

"There's a big smoking crater from my perspective," Kimchee commented with automatic sarcasm, "although from a purely strategic standpoint, I suppose you could call it 'pretty.'" Beginning to regain some of her composure, Kimchee propped a closed fist against her hip and proudly viewed the destruction she had caused. "In fact, victory is downright beautiful, eh?"

Youkan peered over her shoulder, his eyes widening as he took in the settling dust, the fact that no trace of the once-mighty temple remained at all. His thick brows pulled down over his nose, and a flicker of some un-Saiyan emotion brushed across his face. "Let's not get carried away."

Kimchee gave him a sharp look. Again she thought she heard something unfamiliar in his voice. If she could put a word to it she might have termed it 'regret.' But when she met his eyes he grinned at her and winked before turning away, and she soon dismissed any lingering unease that she felt.