Chapter 37

Bulma was never one for keeping to a strict schedule when it came to waking up in the morning. Only pre-arranged performance tests ever seemed to trigger her internal alarm. Her engineers knew to expect her when they saw her. Of course, if a problem especially intrigued her once she arrived in the engineering section, Bulma would stay all day and all night without noticing the passage of time. No one could ever accuse her of shirking her work, not that any of the engineers or programmers would ever dare mention it even if it were true. So she did not feel the need to rush when she awoke very late that morning.

Poking her head into the closet, Bulma pushed the button that rotated her wardrobe, grabbing the first casual clothing that swished by. Yawning and stretching, she made her way into the bathroom. "Bathroom" did not fully convey the expanse of the room. Saiyans were fond of water and the King's bathroom was more accurately termed a "spa" when compared to the utilitarian Earth equivalent. She glanced in the full-length mirror, touched her mussed hair with a moue, thinking that she would have to wash it. It had become long enough to be a pain to wash; she would have to think about cutting it back to her shoulders again. Starting to shrug out of her robe, she paused as a shadow caught her eye. Surprised, she pulled the neck of her robe to one side and stared. Between shoulder and throat there was a distinct bruise. Bringing two fingers up Bulma touched it gingerly. It was wide enough to still show around her fingers. How in the world did I do that—?

He pressed his teeth against her throat, his tongue against her jugular, feeling the pulse of blood as she shuddered her release. He licked her neck as she gasped for breath in his arms, moving his mouth to her ear and gently taking the lobe in his teeth. "More?"

"Yes," moaned Bulma. "Yes."

Bulma pulled her mind back to the present, tugging the neck of her robe around her branded throat, frowning. Vegeta never hurt her — well, that hadn't hurt, not one bit — he never marked her, then. It was a point of pride with him, she knew; despite his incredible strength, he was always cognizant of how fragile she was in comparison. But he had been getting a little — nippy — lately. Not only in bed...

What are you complaining about? Bulma wondered in amusement. Most couples married for as long as we have are trying to figure out how to be spontaneous, and you're worried because your husband can still surprise you sometimes? Geez. Get a grip.

She did remember to exchange the tube top she originally grabbed for a high-necked blouse, but after the change in wardrobe was made Bulma forgot about her branded neck.

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Life would be so much easier if it were all just school and training.

Alas, there was more to being the Heir than just humiliating Nappa and shooting big ki bursts off into the stratosphere. Once in a while there was audience day when Trunks was forced to stand silently in the great hall watching nobles complain to his father about stupid things. Sometimes it was really stupid things, like who should be credited with dealing the killing blow in a hunt. Today (so far at least) it had just been weird tribal infractions, with a host of minor nobles squabbling over who had access to the public lands on the Southern continent. The Southerners contended that visitors should be cleared through them first, while the Easterners protested that no one had ever needed permission to go to those lands before and why should they change the way things had been done for untold generations? "Why indeed," murmured the liaison, one of those sotto voce comments he made deliberately loud enough to irritate people. It was an obvious poke at the Southerners, generally considered the most traditionally bound of all the tribes, and it generated the usual number of glares from the usual people brave enough to glare at the liaison in the King's presence. The King appeared indifferent except when one Southerner argued that all visitors to the King's Forest needed to be cleared through Chieftain Miso first. "If it were the Chieftain's Forest, that would make sense," Vegeta agreed blandly. Zarbon concealed a smirk behind a hastily-raised hand, the noble retired in sputtering disarray, and the issue of who had access to the Southern continent's vast tracks of forests was summarily dropped.

It was pretty typical stuff, and just as boring as always.

Trunks was glad he had caught a glimpse of the latest warp drive revision on his mother's work computer. It enabled him to mentally test alloy stresses by going through calculations in his head as his father dealt with this latest petty transgression of the Southern tribes. It was the only way to keep sane during these dull-as-death tribal meetings.

Most of the nobles were more interested in talking about what had happened the previous day. They congratulated his father on the Prince's excellent ki skills (managing to sound surprised that the Prince had ki skills), and some even spoke directly to him. In general he wasn't supposed to speak unless addressed by his father or mother, so all he could do was nod in acknowledgement since the King hadn't given him permission and his mother wasn't present to prompt him to thank all the nice people giving him compliments.

While it was nice that people had noticed his success in generating a high-level ki strike, being complimented interrupted his calculations and he would have to start over from the beginning. Glancing over his shoulder at his father's face, Trunks was relieved to see the unmistakable signs of boredom. The King had one elbow propped against the stone arm of his throne so a flattened palm could act as support for his chin, eyes half-lidded as he stared at some undefined point over the latest supplicant's head. The Heir switched his gaze sidelong to check the liaison. Zarbon was standing properly with his hands behind his back, but one of those hands cradled a recording device. When Zarbon started recording the audience, that was a good sign; it meant the King's indifference had shifted into boredom and the weekly audience would soon be over. Then a faint frown crossed the liaison's face. Zarbon cast his eyes towards the throne room's double doors, which were open for the public audiences. After a pause, he stepped to the Heir's side, surreptitiously pressed the recording device into the Prince's hands, and made his way as inconspicuously as possible behind the supplicants along the wall to the exit.

Great. Something interesting was happening, but it wasn't happening here. Trunks bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a sigh — sighing during the session was a good way to get whapped upside the head by his father — and started running the calculations for the alloy stress parameters through his head again.

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It was Radditz rather than either of the Lieutenants waiting for Bulma outside the royal chambers. He took great delight in reminding her it was audience day. Her presence wasn't required (indeed, many of the nobles who came for the King's justice refused to speak if she attended), but he followed that up by announcing that her department heads were running behind schedule, the specs from her father had yet to arrive, and there was nothing else for her to do for the next couple hours.

Manipulating her into doing her duty was something Radditz excelled at. Her mother was good at running her life as well, of course, but while Mrs. Briefs' meddling always invoked a sort of exasperated affection, Bulma's primary emotional response to Radditz's interference was a strong urge to kick him in the shins. She snuck a peek at her watch, reassured by how late it was. Vegeta would respond favorably to a request for a lunch break, and by the time that was over her father's new theoretical specifications would have finished transferring and she could safely drag her reluctant bodyguard off to engineering.

Bulma's barely-contained irritation (and Radditz's smug air) meant there was minimal discussion during the walk to the throne room, which was why she was so relieved to see a familiar face when they turned the corner a corridor away. Well, that and the fact that she might be able to avoid going into the throne room at all... "Chishan, hello!" She waved madly to get his attention, not noticing the tightening expression her own Captain displayed.

Stationed in the corner that connected this corridor with the throne room, Chishan's face brightened. He loped down the hall towards her, smiling widely. "My Queen, good morning!" Even though Radditz was standing protectively close to Bulma, Chishan wedged himself between the two, facing the Queen. Briefly there was a visible tic against Radditz's temple, but he took a deep breath and settled for lifting his lip in a snarl at Chishan's back.

Oblivious to Radditz's posturing, "I wanted to let you know that there might be a hitch in my plans for tonight," Bulma told the King's Captain. "I was expecting some data from my father, but Radditz tells me that the download is taking longer than expected. I'm hoping Trunks and I can pop by tonight to help restore your new aircraft, but I won't know for sure until I look over Dad's notes. If we can't make it, you're welcome to come by Engineering, of course."

"He has somewhere else to be," said Radditz just as Chishan responded with, "I'll be happy to drop in."

There was a beat of silence between the two men. Radditz stared at the back of Chishan's head; the King's Captain refused to turn and acknowledge him. Radditz's lips spread in an unamused smile that bared most of his teeth. "I'm sure," the emphasis on 'sure' was subtle but strong, "the Captain has training set for tonight. That is what's on the schedule."

"I wouldn't dream of turning down an invitation from the Queen," retorted Chishan, smiling at Bulma. "The training for the new guards can be handled by one of my Lieutenants. Lieutenant Lord Shuriko is always complaining that throne room duty isn't challenging him enough. Dealing with the recruits for an hour might give him new appreciation of the honor bestowed upon him by the King."

Radditz's expression was not encouraging, although Chishan couldn't observe his fellow Captain's visage since his gaze was riveted to Bulma. Despite the tenor of the words, so far the conversation was not sharp enough to attract Bulma's concern. Saiyans were, after all, always sniping at each other; for her, it was just the usual static that occurred whenever Saiyans were in close proximity to each other and therefore easy for her to tune out. Around the corridor, however, other Saiayns took note, some blatantly stopping to watch from a safe distance.

Bulma's personal comm device chose that moment to give a soft 'beep'. Pulling it from its usual spot on her waist, Bulma flipped it open, brows arching at the information scrolling across her screen. "The download is almost done. Well! That was faster than I expected." The latter was uttered in conjunction with a suspicious glance at Radditz. Her Captain ignored her in favor of glaring at the back of Chishan's head. Shrugging, she returned her attention to the screen.

"Are you off to engineering, then?" queried Chishan, all solicitous concern. "I'll escort you."

Bulma nodded absently, not really permission since she was paying more attention to what was on her screen than what was going on right next to her, but "You will not," snapped Radditz. "Escorting the Queen is my duty, not yours."

For the first time, Chishan turned his head, directing a grim stare over his shoulder. "You should stop passing your 'duty' off to your lieutenants so often, then."

Radditz snarled, an audible growl issuing from deep in his throat. The dreaded battle-smirk pushed a corner of Chishan's mouth up as he started to turn, one hand fisting in anticipation.

"Whoa, whoa!" Zarbon popped between them. "Aiee, what is the matter with you two? I could hear you in the throne room! The King and the Heir will be heading this way soon, so you had better calm down!"

"Zarbon? Is it over, then? Drat," said Bulma with patent insincerity. She flipped her communication device closed. "Well, that settles it. I guess I just have to go straight to engineering, then."

"It's not quite over," replied Zarbon as he looked from Chishan to Radditz and back again, thin brows pulled together in puzzlement, "although without me there to force Vegeta to stick to the agenda, it probably will be soon enough. You need to go in since you're this close. It'll cause comment if you don't."

Bulma's disappointment was visible, but it was the two Saiyan officers that held Zarbon's attention. Bulma remained oblivious, frowning as she replaced her personal communication device, muttering that she'd rather be in engineering. Somehow it escaped her notice that Chishan was almost in full 'spike' mode and, judging by his puffed-up tail, Radditz was getting there. Zarbon had no idea what to make of the situation. He hadn't heard of any friction between the Captains apart from the usual posturing between Saiyan males of the same rank; indeed, Chishan and Radditz worked exceptionally well together considering they were both Saiyan males of the same rank.

"I was just about to escort the Queen to her destination," protested Chishan.

"He was not," growled Radditz.

Bulma chuckled, waving a hand aeirily. "Boys, boys! No need to fight. There's plenty of me to go around, don't be silly! I'll pop in to see Vegeta and Trunks, and then we can be on our way."

It was a typical Bulma comment, and Radditz reacted as he typically did, with a roll of his eyes. Zarbon was even more startled, however, to watch as a wave of red wrapped around Chishan's neck, just stroking his cheekbones with a blush of color. Something very strange is going on here… "I suggest," the King's liaison said coldly, "we get one of the Lieutenants to 'escort' the Queen where ever she needs to go. We have a meeting."

"We do?" queried Radditz in mild surprise, touching a hand to his scouter to check his schedule at the same moment that Chishan snapped, "No, we do not."

"Yes, we do," insisted Zarbon between set teeth. "Now."

"Right, then." Bulma wasn't really listening to them, having heard the distinct, faint 'thunks' that indicated several people nearby had suddenly fallen to their knees. "Sounds like Vegeta is heading this way. I'll go touch bases with him while you guys get your schedules sorted."

And Bulma ran down the hall without either Captain in attendance, waving as she saw the escort that included her husband and son turn the corner from the throne room.

There was no movement until she was well away. The two Saiyan males remained in a state of brisling confrontation as Zarbon stood between them. "What is wrong with—" he started, but Chishan brushed by him to step close to Radditz, close enough that their noses nearly touched. Zarbon was startled anew. Although Saiyans scoffed at the concept of 'personal space', the hierarchal nature of their society meant they had a good idea of what it entailed; violating it was usually the precursor to a fight. The King's Captain spat out a low-toned rapid-fire series of phrases in one of the Eastern dialects. It was far too fast for Zarbon to follow, although one word was repeated several times and even through the growling he could tease out—

'Woman'? They're fighting over a woman?!

"Don't," growled Radditz, very cold and controlled. Then he did something that further alarmed Zarbon; he grabbed Chishan by his shoulder guard and hauled him still closer. Zarbon prepared to launch himself between the two to break up the impending fight. Rather than strike Chishan, however, Radditz bit off a clipped phrase into the other man's ear: "Wrap yourself around a tree until you're over it."

Chishan reacted as if to a blow, head snapping back and pupils dilating. It was, Zarbon knew, a particularly foul insult that implied an emotional lack of control, not one heard very often, and certainly not something he ever expected Radditz to snarl at Chishan. But instead of flaring into a battle aura and attacking, Chishan abruptly pulled away, spun on the balls of his feet and stalked off, fluffed-up tail lashing as he strode in the opposite direction that the Queen had just taken.

There was a beat of silence.

"Meeting adjourned," Radditz noted, his tone sardonic. He started to trot after the Queen, but Zarbon grabbed him by the elbow.

"What was that about?" hissed Zarbon angrily.

Radditz muttered "Baka" as he shook the liaison off, turning again to follow Bulma.

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The King and her son were surrounded, as always, by a host of very large Saiyans, so it wasn't as if Bulma could just walk up to them. Sighing, she tried to weave unobtrusively between the guards, which never worked since they scrambled away to make sure there was no accidental contact. It created a few collisions in the hallway as she worked her way towards her husband since there were an unusual number of guards. Probably trading off between the throne room specialists and the regular contingent. The thought was confirmed when she caught sight of Nappa. He did not always attend the throne room audiences but he was usually in the vicinity since sometimes his expertise as Commander in Chief was required during disputes. He was off to the side chatting to a couple of warriors, both King's Guards by the armor, who looked amazingly alike even given how much Saiyans tended to resemble each other. There was a pause in the conversation as she neared. Nappa grinned at her, that toothy smile that Bulma privately thought of as 'smarmy.' "My Queen."

"Hey, Nappa," Bulma said as she walked by. "Guys."

The one on the end went into a formal military stance and gave the full-head, respectful nod; Nappa gave the same nod without the stance. The tall warrior in the middle didn't move except to barely tilt his chin forward, what she privately thought of as the if-it-weren't-for-Vegeta-you'd-be-lunch salute. She grinned and winked at him, cheerfully continuing on her way. Silly boys and their silly Saiyan pride.

Something made her glance back right before she reached Vegeta. The respectful one — he was new, she decided, she would have to ask Zarbon about him — was saying something to Nappa that made the Commander look after her with another grin. But the tall warrior in the middle — one of the throne room guards, she thought — was just looking, his face closed and stern. An inexplicable shiver touched her spine. She hurried towards her husband and son.

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All of his duties were boring to different degrees, but few things tested his limited patience more than audience day with the nobles. Vegeta was tempted to condemn any noble who brought frivolous charges (which would be most of them) to a multi-year stint off-world to give the pampered fools some perspective. Although Zarbon blandly agreed that would be a lot of fun, and would even make life easier on Vejittasei, he refused to actually implement the plan. "You'd have a revolt on your hands," he said, and responded to Vegeta's interested expression with, "and that would be a bad thing, Vegeta, so don't even think about it!" Vegeta mildly pointed out that fighting on Vejittasei would at least keep him on-world, something almost everyone he was personally involved wanted; Zarbon replied by pointing out that there wasn't anyone on Vejiitasei who could last more than a few seconds against him, and wasn't the reason he kept heading off-world to fight stronger warriors? That, Vegeta acknowledged, possessed a certain logic even a Saiyan could appreciate. Zarbon rolled his eyes, Vegeta smirked at him, and the conversation ended.

So Vegeta amused himself during the audience by imaging how pathetic the various nobles would be in real combat, and was as relieved as his son when Zarbon's early exit meant he could summarily announce the end of the session and follow his liaison out, although not right away because the guards had to scramble to get into formation around him, which meant navigating a way through them took time.

Vegeta walked briskly along the corridor. Turning his head to address the boy, he started to see him floating after him at shoulder level. He stopped. "No flying inside, brat."

"I can't keep up with you otherwise," panted the boy.

Vegeta pointed a finger down. The boy landed. Vegeta tapped him, hard, on the temple. The boy didn't flinch. Good. "Do not question me. If you have to sprint to keep up with me, sprint. It'll improve your wind."

"Mom says that asking questions is the way to learn," the boy protested.

Vegeta's lips tightened. He hated that his son had a natural aptitude for math, that he could read those strange diagrams that Bulma drew on the computer. It wasn't a warrior's talent. "You may question your mother all you like. What I have to teach you does not require questions. Only survival. So. We'll just have to see if you can survive the next training session with me."

The boy's eyes lit up at the suggestion that there would be another training session with his father, which considerably improved Vegeta's mood. As long as the Prince looked eager at the mention of a fight, the King thought there was little to worry about when it came to the boy's other interests. But the boy noticed his mother approaching, and Vegeta stopped and waited for her. This was not out of any real consideration but because he always enjoyed the ballet that ensued when Bulma disregarded protocol to plough through the King's guards and they were forced to scramble out of her way.

Bulma waved 'hello' to her husband (this, as usual, garnered a snort) and hugged her son. "Did it all go well this morning?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question because she immediately continued with, "There's a ton of new stuff from my father and my team is calling for me, so I'm off to Engineering."

"The boy wants lunch with his parents," said Vegeta in a bored tone. His son looked at him in surprise, which he quickly masked.

Bulma sighed and turned back, grumbling a little. Vegeta smirked at her. Oh, she yelled at him for not spending enough time with the boy, but when something came up in Engineering it was all right for her to vanish for days. Little wonder their son spent too much time on the computer and with machines. So far it hadn't interfered with his training, but Bulma had supposedly been a fighter in her youth and he did not like to think of his son becoming so soft with time.

Not that he minded in the least that Bulma was soft, when the circumstances were right…

The boy was saying that he knew Mom had work to do, looking envious rather than wistful as he spoke, which turned Vegeta's mind back to his earlier thoughts. "Fine, we'll meet at dinner, then," the King said abruptly, "after Vegeta's training," he added to avoid any hint that the boy should accompany his mother to Engineering.

He tried not to be irritated at either Bulma when she promptly agreed that it was a fine idea, or at the Prince for looking as if he couldn't make up his mind whether he would rather be training with his father or off in Engineering thinking with his mother.

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It had been a tiring week. Not in terms of physical exertion, planet clearing was far more exhausting than court duties, but Youkan's initial exposure to the difficulties of navigating the political factions within the palace had been trying, and he was as drained as if he had cleared an entire planet by himself without going oozuri. Having been raised in a chieftain's household, and especially because the succession in his mother's fief was not entirely clear, it was not the first time he had been involved in political infighting. The powers in the capitol, however, were far more dangerous than any on the Eastern continent, and without much knowledge of the factions involved a misstep would be all too easy.

That no one in the stadium during the Prince's public training moved to help the young boy (not, thought Youkan in amusement, that the Prince had needed any help) was peculiar to him, for the protection of the King and the Heir was one of the primary duties of the old King's Guards. From what he understood of the new order, the Queen's Guards were reserved for the Queen's protection and did not involve the Heir himself. As he thought it over, however, Youkan realized there was a contradiction in his standing orders. The instructions given to him by Captain Chishan when Youkan assumed his new post indicated that King's Guards were to stay informed on the Queen's movements at all times, ready to fly to her aid at the slightest hint of trouble. In all this rearrangement of duties, Youkan didn't know who, precisely, was in charge of the Heir's protection, although the Queen's Guards acted as if they were primarily responsible for that as well.

Rumors of the public argument between the Captains further confused him. No one seemed to know or care why they were arguing; apparently they usually got along well enough that the argument itself was considered the big news rather than any reason behind it. There was no way, Youkan realized, that he could work out all the ramifications of his new duties without more information. Tapping out a code on his scouter, Youkan arranged to meet his brother for a meal when their shifts were over.

He was not entirely sure it was a good idea. The two of them had never been especially close, but before Youkan's time in the off-world forces they at least had been used to each other. There was a strangeness between them now. Awkward pauses increasingly punctuated their conversations, and Youkan more than once wondered since his return to Vejiitasei what it was, exactly, that had changed the dynamic of their relationship.

You're what's changed, the voice that insisted upon the truth said between his ears.

Youkan closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pushed it back into the recesses of his mind.

At first the conversation went smoothly enough since Shiruko proved more expansive off duty than he had on duty. The two sat in the mess hall, Youkan plying his older brother with questions, Shiruko answering most with grim sarcasm. Youkan didn't remember Shiruko being quite so bitter before his off-world tour, a fact he finally mentioned. Shiruko rolled his eyes. "What you've had to deal with the past week? Try doing that for six freakin' bloody years. Kami, it's a miracle any of the King's Guard are still sane."

"You don't have to be at court," Youkan pointed out. "You've been here for years, far longer than your original post mandated. You can resign without anyone thinking less of you and go live with Father on the Southern Continent."

"Seeing as he expects me to kill him any second, taking up permanent residence might be a touch awkward," drawled Shiruko. "What is your problem? The work isn't complicated. You just go where you're told to go and stand around until your shift is over. That's what the King's Guards do these days."

"The Captain said—"

Shiruko snorted. "Which captain? I have trouble keeping them all straight any more."

"Chishan said to be aware of the Queen and the Heir. The Heir I understand, but doesn't the Queen have her own guards?"

"The Captains," there was a faint scornful inflection on the word 'captains', "have their disagreements about who is in charge of whom. Radditz believes both the Earth woman and her son are his to protect; evidently, Chishan thinks that as well. No one pays much attention to the King any longer." The look he gave his younger brother was sardonic. "You used to go on hunting trips and the like with Chishan before he came up in the world so dramatically. Shouldn't you be clarifying all this with him?"

That was a good question, one Youkan didn't know the answer to yet. Their paths had crossed once about a year ago, when Youkan had been assigned to the same ship as the King during a purge that was expected to be troublesome. Startled and pleased, Youkan had raised a hand in greeting, but Chishan just strode by him without any hint of recognition. The Elites accompanying the King during purges tended to act as if the off-world forces were invisible. Youkan still didn't know if Chishan hadn't seen him or if, conscious of his own position, the Captain just couldn't afford to be seen with the disgraced son of a minor noble. Chishan had been pleasant enough during their initial Guards meeting a week earlier, but Youkan still felt the slight and had been formal and stiff in his own responses. The training session later tonight might answer some of those questions. Or not… "A lot has changed," he finally said.

"Tell me about it," grumbled Shiruko. "Don't worry, it's not as if any of us will actually be assigned to the Earth woman. They don't let Southerners close to her." He added derisively, "We're not respectful enough."

"The King's a Southerner," remarked Youkan.

There was a 'hmph' from his older brother. "The House of Vejiitasei has not lived on the Southern Continent for three thousand years. Like the other nobles of the Central Continent, the King has become something else entirely. I certainly wouldn't call him a 'Southerner' any longer."

There were very disturbing undercurrents in this conversation. Trying to lighten the moment, Youkan said cheerfully, "Well, we're all Saiyan, in any case. That's the important thing."

Shiruko eyed him with ill-concealed annoyance. "'And all Saiyans are equal under Kami's eyes'? That's the sort of ridiculous statement I would expect from an off-worlder," he snorted.

Youkan's eyes hardened, and for a startled moment Shiruko saw him as he must have been in those dozens of nameless battles he had fought in over the years. "You find that piddling things like class and tribal affiliations become completely meaningless in the middle of a fire-fight, brother," he said, coldly. "Or race, as far as that goes. The King knows this, having fought in off-world battles himself with only Zarbon to guard his back since no Saiyan is strong enough to defend him. You do not. You have no clue, Shiruko, what a real fight is about." A sliver of contempt shot through his gaze. "You never will. On-worlder."

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Only a reminder from Zarbon that her son was expecting her at dinner tore Bulma away from the data supplied by her father. They were so close to a breakthough on the warp drive she could taste it, but apparently dinner was ready and waiting, as was Trunks with tales of his day training with his father. That latter information caught her attention, as Zarbon knew it would, so she relunctantly left the precious data with her engineers before running back to her quarters to make sure her son was still in one piece.

Her motherly concern proved unnecessary. Trunks was exhausted but uninjured. Evidently Vegeta had worked on speed drills rather than actual sparring, and the boy was chagrined to admit he couldn't begin to keep up with his father. "I'll get faster," he assured his mother as she joined them at the dinner table. Once her concern over his well-being had been satisfied, however, Bulma barely listened to her son. The meal itself caught her attention.

There were some aspects of Saiyan cuisine that Bulma simply couldn't appreciate. The consumption of dripping raw meat was one of them. She would eat things that were identifiable as pre-existing living creatures, she would eat things with eyes, she would even eat uncooked seafood if it were prepared certain ways, but she had to draw the culinary line somewhere and fresh gory raw meat was it.

Since Bulma was blunt about things she disliked everyone in the palace knew that she didn't want to see, smell, or especially taste the stuff. About a month previous, however, raw meat began to be placed with the other dishes on the table during private meals in the royal quarters. At first it was small quantities set discretely near the King's setting, consumed so quickly by Vegeta that it took a few days for Bulma to realize what it was that her husband was eating so ravenously. Later the portions graduated to a size that made it hard for her to ignore since, at least on Vejiitasei, raw meat came with a distinctive smell that tended to kill her own appetite. Still, Vegeta started each meal by wolfing it down so quickly it was gone before she could complain about it, so Bulma filed it with 'annoying things about your spouse you just have to tolerate' and ignored it as best she could.

As it happened, Trunks shared her distaste for the smell and would wrinkle up his nose, not beginning his own meal until the last of it was gone. Tonight, however, Vegeta had waited for them before starting on his plate of raw meat, which meant the odor had time to permeate the room and was even stronger than usual. Trunks held his nose as he sat down between his parents. "That stinks," he announced.

Bulma found the idea of eating raw meat equally repulsive, but she did want her son to learn to at least tolerate Saiyan customs, even those she did not tolerate herself. And, besides; how different was it from eating sushi? Well, except for the oozing blood part... "How do you know you won't like it if you won't try it?" she demanded. Picking up her own fork, she speared a piece of the gory flesh off of one of Vegeta's plates. "Here; try this bit."

With a harsh growl, Vegeta turned his head and snapped his teeth at her fingers. The fork fell as she snatched her hand back, hitting the white tablecloth with a spray of red fluid. "Geez, Vegeta! If you're that hungry we'll order up another slab of meat!"

Vegeta's eyes widened. He shoved back his chair and stalked out.

—the hell—?

"I didn't mean to make Dad mad," said Trunks. "I'll eat it," he continued, looking at the closest of Vegeta's laden plates with revulsion.

"Trunks, honey, you don't have to," said Bulma, absently. "In fact, just go straight to dessert." Ignoring his yip of pleasure as he leaped from the table and ran in search of the promised treat, Bulma wiped her fingers and stood up. Something was strange here—

She found Vegeta on one of the balconies that looked out over the gardens. Which was also odd; Vegeta liked looking out over 'his' city, but the gardens held no appeal for him. And on one of Vejiitasei's pitch-black nights, there was nothing to see. Yet Vegeta seemed to be looking intently at something in the night sky, his chin tilted back, his dark eyes searching the dark expanse of space that enveloped the planet. "What was that all about?" demanded Bulma.

There was a long pause before he turned to her, gaze troubled. "The moon is coming."