Chapter 34

It appeared to be a standoff.

On one side of the stadium stood the King. Arms crossed, eyes downcast, he did not seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings. Only the slight, anticipatory curve to his mouth indicated his existence in the moment; contrarily to his indolent stance, the King was very, very aware of what was occurring around him.

On the other side of the stadium was the young Prince. Unlike his father, he was not remaining in one place. Instead he would step to the side or the back, eyes narrowed as he concentrated, widening as a strategy occurred, then he would take a step forward, stop, shake his head and retreat, to repeat the process over and over again.

This had been going on for nearly half-an-hour.

It was the most boring thing Zenza had ever witnessed.

Ever.

Every time she glanced around the stadium, however, she found warriors watching in rapt attention. Once when the Prince stepped forward Youkan flinched and half-raised his hand before catching himself and resuming his military stance. Like before, however, the Prince shook his head and returned to his original position.

She didn't care how badly she was punished. If this kept up for much longer, Zenza was going to scream.

Fortunately for her sanity (and perhaps for her continued existence, since King's Guards were notorious for blasting first and not bothering to ask any questions), the Prince turned to his watchful tutor and complained, "I can't do it."

Without raising his eyes from the ground, the King murmured, "What, not even one little tap?"

The glance the Prince shot towards his father was irritated. Color was high in Trunks' pale face, showing his discomfort. Zenza thought this boring exercise might have some merit if the normally-composed brat was publicly humiliated. "He doesn't have any openings," the Prince said to his trainer, his voice close to a whine. "I can't hit him. It doesn't make any sense to go after him if I can't hit him."

"Sometimes," the King remarked, "you have to force an opening."

Even though she was looking right at the Prince as she enjoyed his embarrassment, what happened next was so quick she didn't see it. One instance the Prince was griping to his trainer, the next his arms were crossed in front of his face as the King's fist slid past his cheek. For a moment the tableau held, the King in a deep lunge in front of his son, the Prince's wide, startled eyes staring directly into his father's. "Good," said the elder Vegeta with a toothy grin. "Very good."

Zarbon commented mildly, "If that had connected, Bulma would have been quite unhappy with you."

"You said he was ready," replied the King as he straightened, resuming his usual arms-crossed-over-his-chest stance. "You would not let me anywhere near him unless he really was ready."

One corner of the liaison's mouth ticked up. "True enough," he allowed.

Zenza did not think the Prince could have blocked the strike without breaking his own wrists in the process. Which meant he had moved fast, faster than she could actually see, and caught his father's blow on the outside of one wrist to push it to the side before settling into the defensive posture he now held.

Scowling, she admitted to herself that the Prince was good. Probably most of the attending warriors (except her brothers who were of course better than anyone else in the Guards) would have been killed by such a blow.

"Did I frighten you, brat?"

"No," replied the Prince, but the word was sharp and bitten off, as if to prevent any fearful warbling.

The King's head cocked to the side. "No?" he repeated with a feral smirk. "We'll have to work on that part next time, then." Beckoning to Zarbon, the King pivoted away and strode towards the arena's exit. He waved off his guards when they tried to close in behind him. "I need to speak to Zarbon. Do not follow us."

Sighing, Zarbon gave an apologetic shrug in Shuriko's general direction, ordered the Prince to continue his sparring with a robotic drone, and fell in step behind the King.

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It was hard work being the pacifist mother of a warrior son when said son was about to square off against his ever-so-deadly father.

Not that anyone on her home planet would ever consider her a pacifist, Bulma reflected. She had invented weapons and personally used them in battle when she was younger. Compared to the Saiyans who thought nothing of fighting to the death over spilled salt in the commissary, however, she was practically a conscientious objector.

Bulma knew that Yamcha would howl with laughter at such a statement. His super-human powers made him a regular semi-finalist in Earth's Budokai tournament, but she had always been the one most likely in their little group to slug first and ask questions later.

Odd to think that even pacifism could be relative…

She briefly considered calling Yamcha, but although her mother gave her regular updates on Yamcha's career in sports and even chatted a little about his social life, Bulma hadn't spoken to her former boyfriend since coming to Vejiitasei. At times she still missed their conversations because, although she was committed to Vegeta (and had come to terms with the true depth of the phrase "unconditional love" where her husband was concerned), no one knew her better than Yamcha.

She paused in her thoughts, glancing at a nearby reflective surface that housed coated components for her engineers. Yes, she looked the same as she had last time she spoke to Yamcha (allowing for hair style and length), but life on Vejiitasei had fundamentally changed her in less-visible ways. She wondered how long a conversation with Yamcha would last before they both realized that they didn't really know each other. Not any more.

It was enough that she realized it. It was why she wouldn't call him.

Sighing, Bulma pushed back from her chair and announced that she was going to her quarters for a break. Negin promptly straightened away from the far wall, where he had been leaning with arms crossed and eyes downcast, indicating without words his readiness to accompany her. Although Radditz had relaxed some of the requirements that once surrounded her with bodyguards even within the palace, she was still not allowed to walk from room to room without at least one ranking Queen's guard in attendance.

After the King's trip to Koorim, Chishan had reassigned his troops in such a way that the King's Guards were responsible for specific areas rather than the King in particular, which in turn meant even Vegeta considered the palace to be safe enough for his human wife to traverse without a huge contingent of bodyguards in attendance. It was a compromise of sorts after Radditz refused to have King's Guards help protect the Queen and the Heir. Convinced that safeguarding the King himself was futile, Chishan concentrated his troops in specific locals frequented by the two other members of the royal family. That Radditz did not feel impinged on his own authority, and so the matter was settled with the bare minimum of posturing between the two Captains. When Bulma left the wing of the palace devoted to her more esoteric projects, it was with only one Queen's officer trailing her rather than the crowd that once surrounded her, while King's Guards snapped to attention as she passed and followed her progress with watchful eyes.

It was a bit better than trying to see what was going on while peering around broad shoulders… but only a bit.

Once in her quarters, Bulma asked Negin to wait in the antechamber, which he of course took as an order rather than a request. Walking into the private section of the King's chambers, Bulma sat down at a communication station. She would be uncomfortable calling Yamcha out of the blue, especially given what she wanted to discuss, but her mother was always happy to chat. A glance at a device near the computer showed that it was late where her mother was, but not so late as to wake her up. Tapping out the access code, Bulma leaned back in her chair and wondered how her mother would react to her news.

"'Sparring'?" Mrs. Briefs repeated with a lilt in her tone that indicated skepticism. "I'm not sure that what the Saiyans do can really be called 'sparring,' dear."

Bulma sighed. That was her own assessment, but — "I trust Vegeta with Trunks."

Her mother 'hmmm'd' in a non-committal manner.

"I do," insisted Bulma, before adding wryly, "More importantly, I trust Zarbon with Trunks. He's going to be there."

"And where is dear Radditz?"

"He's with —" and Bulma paused, suddenly realizing why Negin was shadowing her today instead of her usual escort. "He's guarding Trunks today," she said, a little irritated. "Which means he knew this was happening, and he didn't tell me! No one told me until Vegeta left this morning, and that was more to get a rise out of me than anything else!"

"So Trunks has two very strong young men who would die to protect him where this 'sparring' thing is happening?"

"Well, Vegeta's stronger than either of them, of course, but Zarbon's clever enough to break up any fights and Radditz is, too, when he wants to be."

"Then I'm sure it will all be just fine," said Mrs. Briefs brightly. "What else is happening there? Is that darling little Zenza visiting again?"

Propping her chin up against the palm of her hand, Bulma regarded the pixilated image of her mother. "How do you manage to be so accepting of everything?"

"'Everything' is a lot, dear, although I suppose I deal with things a touch differently than you do because I have faith in the future."

Bulma snorted. "It's hard to have faith in the future when your husband and the guy who's supposed to be protecting you leave out little daily details like sparring matches!"

"No, I mean...the future. The thing that happens after we're all dead and gone, Bulma."

Oh, that future. The thing Trunks may be able to influence. Or not... "I never really think about that. Well, not when Vegeta's around, anyway. When Vegeta's gone, yes, I think about it a lot. Too much, maybe."

"It's something you need to consider," responded Mrs. Briefs, her tone less flighty than usual. "You're in a position to affect it more than most people. From what I hear, you've already done a great deal of good."

Not enough, thought Bulma. As long as the purges continue, it will never be enough. "If Radditz is telling you how much 'good' I'm doing, you might want to consider the source. You asked about Zenza? She's here, although she's heading back home soon. Nira should be picking her up today. You would hardly recognize her, Mom. She's almost as tall as Trunks is now."

Her mother accepted the change in topic without a blink, and the rest of the conversation was neutral and pleasant.

_______________________________________________________

When Bulma returned to the antechamber after ending her call to Mrs. Briefs, she found it more populated than it had been when she left. Chieftain Nira was there to pick up her daughter, along with several of the chieftain's personal guards. Bulma brightened considerably. Nira was the closest thing she had to a friend on the planet. "The children aren't back yet, and I have some time. Let's sit for a bit while we wait for them."

Nira nodded, curtly telling her guards to wait as she followed Bulma deeper into the personal quarters. Just like Negin, Nira took anything Bulma said as an order even though Bulma had told her, more than once, that invitations were not commands. The social hierarchy that the Saiyans lived by created a barrier between the two that Bulma was unable to breech because Nira was unable to forget. Even though Bulma had asked Nira to not call her "my Queen" all the time Nira refrained from doing so only in private. She still used the formal title when anyone else was around and never availed herself of Bulma's name despite repeated requests. And even though this was the private quarters and they were out of sight of their respective bodyguards, Nira still politely waited until Bulma sat down before taking a seat opposite her. "The King is not here, then? I thought he reserved this balcony for his personal use."

"He won't get too angry, don't worry," said Bulma with an airiness that would have greatly amused her mother. She was rewarded with a small smile from Nira; the eastern chieftain respected Vegeta but had never appeared especially afraid of him. It was not the first time the two women had waited for their children on 'Vegeta's' balcony. "Vegeta's going to the training session today. He told me he's going to spar with Trunks, if Zarbon lets him."

"Really?" Nira's thick brows raised in surprise. "The Prince is, what, five now? I would have thought him a bit young for that."

"My point exactly," grumbled Bulma.

Nira gave her a shrewd look. It was risky business being a confident of the Queen, especially when Bulma wanted to vent about the King's behavior. She opted for a dry observation. "I'm sure Liaison Zarbon will place appropriate restrictions on the King. Of course, the King himself was very precocious and participated in full bouts years before the norm. I believe he was not even eight before the King ordered his fights restricted. He was killing off too many trainers."

Bulma winced.

"Not that either of them would hurt each other much at this stage," Nira amended, reflecting that it was also a difficult business negotiating around the Queen's tender human emotions.

"No, I suppose that would ruin the show," snapped Bulma, then paused and took a breath. "I mean—traditionally, that happens after Trunks is an adult. Right?"

After a level and calculating stare, Nira said flatly, "You are concerned about the succession."

It was one of the things Bulma appreciated about Nira. All Saiyans could be painfully direct, but Nira was one of the few willing to be so to the Queen's face. Well, apart from Radditz, but so much of what he said echoed her mother in a more strident form that discussions with him were often more confrontational than necessary. "Not concerned, exactly. Let's just say that this has reminded me of the succession."

"The King is young yet," said Nira dismissively. "I do not expect another Battle of Succession in my lifetime."

And things that happened after one's own lifetime were things that did not concern the average Saiyan, Bulma reminded herself. It was a disturbing counterpoint to her own mother's talk of a future beyond all their lifetimes. "Were you in the capitol when ... when Vegeta …?"

Nira nodded. "Yes, I was here for the festivities, but I was not present for the battle between the two. I'd had enough of courtly courtesy and left for the night." Her smile turned into the mocking Saiyan smirk. "I have regretted missing the 'show,' as you call it, ever since, although my husband was present and he did give me a grand account. You would not have liked the old King," she told Bulma. "He was very harsh towards the present Vegeta when he was young. And since Miso tells me the fight was sparked by his objection to your union with Vegeta, it is likely he would not have cared much for you either."

Bulma was astonished. "Your husband was there? I had no idea."

"It was a public event," shrugged Nira. "It usually is."

Every time she thought she was beyond being shocked by anything the Saiyans said or did, reflected Bulma, she was proven wrong. "Vegeta never talks about his father, or what happened. He's only mentioned it to me once, right before Trunks was born. I never realized it was something Vegeta did in front of witnesses."

"The death of a King is an important event," Nira pointed out. "I cannot say what happened, exactly. Indeed, I've heard several different versions from people who claim to have witnessed the fight. I chose to believe my mate's version because it is as likely as any other. Do you wish to discuss it with Miso? I can arrange that for you."

This was already more than anyone had ever told Bulma about the fatal confrontation between her husband and his father and, she realized, it was also already more than she wanted to know. Bulma hadn't known that her late father-in-law was aware of her relationship with Vegeta, let alone that words about her had been exchanged that fatal night. She shook her head to indicate she didn't need a meeting with Miso, then heard herself ask, "Did you have to do that?" Almost immediately Bulma clapped both hands over her mouth, aghast. I can't believe I just asked Nira if she killed her parents!

"No," said Nira, to Bulma's relief, which was immediately extinquished when the chieftain calmly continued with, "my brother was heir, and he was the one who killed my father. Fortunately for me, he was injured so badly he died himself within hours. So I became chieftain without any blood-letting, although I immediately had to defend myself against several distant relatives who thought they might be stronger than I." She smiled, the grim Saiyan battle smirk. "They were wrong."

"What about your mother?" asked Bulma.

Nira tilted her head, indicating she didn't fully understand the question. "She lives on the Northern continent with her current mate."

Giving the prevelance of offspring killing parents, Bulma was a little surprised that Nira had a living mother. She was also dismayed to realize that, in spite of their 'friendship,' Nira had never once mentioned her mother was still living. "Did she have to watch that?"

"Have to? No. Did she? I believe so, although I've never asked. Do you want to talk to her rather than Miso?"

"NO!" snapped Bulma with more force than she meant to. Nira's brows went up in puzzlement. "Sorry, sorry, it's just—" Bulma waved her hands ineffectively in her frustration—"I can't imagine going through that. I can't believe Trunks would harm his father, or that Vegeta expects him to. It's so different from how we do things on Earth. I wouldn't take over my father's position by challenging him and killing him. If he reached a point where he felt like he couldn't do the job anymore, he'd just retire."

Nira appeared mildly surprised. "He would retreat from the battle?"

"He wouldn't need to. It would never come to blows, let alone a fight to the death. Where I come from, we don't kill our parents to take what they have. My father would just stop doing that particular job and start doing hobbies or something. Things he couldn't devote time to while he was working; gardening, genetic engineering, stuff like that."

Abruptly Nira looked away, her bangs falling across her face in such a way that Bulma couldn't see her expression. "I knew someone, when I was young and foolish, who was always writing. He was interested in everything around him. He had a very quick mind. I suppose he is someone who would like to 'retire' to concentrate more on what interested him and less on fighting."

"You loved him?" Nira took in a sharp breath and did not answer. After waiting a moment to see if the other woman would speak, Bulma grinned wryly and continued. "There was someone like that for me when I was just a girl. He was strong and handsome and very shy, at least at first. He got over that pretty fast, unfortunately. After I met Vegeta, though — well. Everyone seems like a shadow compared to Vegeta. No one else has that level of intensity."

Nira turned back, a small smile playing about her mouth. "What a pair we are. I, too, would not trade in my current mate for my former one. In fact, I am extremely grateful to Miso for many things, not the least of which is his indulgence in my youthful indiscretions. Not many nobles would do for me what he did."

Bulma blinked a bit at that, for she did not have the impression that Saiyans were prudes in any way, but Nira went on to talk about her daughter's schedule in the upcoming weeks and Bulma lost interest as she eagerly set up "playdates" for her son and Nira's daughter.