Chapter 38

Vegeta wanted to send her and Trunks away—to Earth, to any other Associate world, on a diplomatic foray into Cold's space, he didn't care, just away.

That was enough to make Bulma decide to stay. She had seen the transformation, of course, and it was frightening, but her curiosity was piqued. Curiosity was the driving force in her life. She wanted to find out for herself if Vejiitasei during a moon year was as different as Zarbon claimed.

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Off-world soldiers were allowed the run of the palace with only a few areas restricted against their access, so it was never too surprising to see one or two in the corridors near the wing reserved for the Royals.

One loitering by the door to his personal quarters, however, was fairly uncommon.

Zarbon halted, tilting his head in inquiry. It was a lower-ranked warrior, leaning next to Zarbon's chambers with folded arms and downcast gaze, one leg bent and braced against the wall for balance. There was a faint gray hue to the exposed skin of his arms and legs. A Northerner, then. Do I know any Northerners apart from Tamane? More importantly, are there any Northerners beside Tamane who will give me the time of day? "May I help you?" he asked politely.

The man raised his head, giving Zarbon a long, cool look. He pushed away from the wall, curtly speaking a single word. "Come."

Zarbon stood flat-footed, brows lifted with surprise. There was something vaguely familiar about the other man, true, but he couldn't place the face at the moment (nor was the attitude any clue to identity, it being typically Saiyan) and following without more information was foolhardy at best. Then a half-grin pressed against his mouth — no one on this planet can harm me except Vegeta, and he'd do that as publicly as possible just for the bragging rights — and with a small shrug, he fell into step behind the Saiyan warrior. No words were exchanged at first, although as the warrior passed out of the housing wing into the main common room of the palace he touched the side of his scouter and said, "I'm bringing him, hang on."

"More accurately," Zarbon remarked to the thin air since the warrior did not appear interested in his actual presence, "I'm intrigued and am therefore following this strange person instead of blowing him up so I can go back to my room and get some much needed rest."

There was a distinctive chuckle that just caught the edge of his sensitive hearing. "See? He's reasonable," said a voice Zarbon recognized all too well. The warrior snorted; there was another chuckle before the 'click' of a scouter being disconnected.

His mind blank with astonishment, Zarbon halted in his tracks. The warrior continued a few more steps before realizing he no longer had the alien in tow. Glancing over his shoulder, he lifted thick brows in silent question.

"You're—"

"Yes?" asked the warrior with a dangerous edge to his voice, absurd given the power difference between them.

Zarbon inhaled softly, balancing himself. "Nothing," he said after a pause, but the word was sharper than he would have liked. "I assume this is important?"

"To me, no," said the warrior flatly. "To others, perhaps." The gaze turned sardonic and calculating, a touch of hostility still present. "How important is it to you?"

The urge to snarl was strong. Zarbon repressed it, instead pasting on his brightest smile as he swept out an arm to indicate the other man lead on.

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On the opposite side of the world from the capitol, a meeting was taking place.

It had an element of awkwardness about it, as was the norm with meetings between near strangers forced into close proximity. Added to that was a question of hierarchy. One of the people involved was unquestionably a noble, but the other's position was dubious since, although one of her parents was a noble, social status was determined by the lower ranked parent. But the social lines were blurring, as both participants knew, and it was, in any case, not something that much concerned either of them.

So it was that Nira grudgingly invited her daughter-in-law for a visit to the prefecture's palace since Kimchee was the only current prospect for heirs beyond her own immediate offspring, and Kimchee just-as-grudgingly accepted. As awkward as this was, however, Kimchee thought the following week's meeting with Chieftain Miso promised to be even worse since he had actively opposed the marriage. Nira had not approved exactly, but she also had not fought against the union, and that counted for a lot.

All in all, Kimchee was looking forward to joining the palace guards in the capitol, where she hopefully wouldn't have contact with her in-laws again until, oh, never would work fine for her.

The two had little in common so discussions tended to be curt. Even the one thing they did have in common, Youkan, did not provide much fodder for the two. Nira inquired how her baka son could survive real combat, Kimchee shrugged and said he was surprisingly skilled for a planet-soft noble, and that was that. With little to spark their conversation, Nira was forced into the most desperate of social ploys, a reluctant offer to show Kimchee around the palace. The two were reduced to the most meaningless of small talk during the tour, which made both of them rather crotchety.

"There seem to be fewer servants around," Kimchee offered at one point as they walked down one of the wide hallways.

Most nobles would have bristled at the suggestion that they were not attended by the appropriate number of slaves, but "The Queen has repeatedly stated her opposition to slavery," replied Nira. "As someone she calls 'friend,' it became my duty to release mine."

Kimchee raised her thick brows in mild surprise. Between fighting with off-world mercenaries by her side and dealing with her husband since 'the incident' she had developed a high tolerance for suspect verbal expressions, but it was odd to hear a word like 'friend' from someone who had never been off-planet, especially when that someone was nobility. "That must have been expensive."

"On the contrary. I have fewer servants, yes, but they do a great deal more work as free beings than they ever did as slaves. Being paid instead of coerced appears to make them more willing to work. I discussed it with Youkan when he first returned. He was … surprisingly accepting, considering he has designs on becoming daimyo. The argument could be made that I was liquidating his future holdings."

Kimchee paused, appraising Nira with a keen glance. Youkan as a subject had already been disposed of, or so she thought. "You have concerns about your son?" she asked in her direct manner.

"Always," was the cool response. Nira smiled tightly. "You'll discover that concern about offspring is an occupational hazard of becoming a parent, once you have surviving offspring yourself."

A small crease folded between Kimchee's brows. It was an obvious probe for information, but offspring were a bit of a sore subject. For reasons she didn't pretend to understand, Youkan was not interested in reproducing. The excuse he used was that he didn't want his offspring sent off planet, something that would become moot if he became a chieftain since he could then petition to have his mate promoted to his own rank. Personally Kimchee thought going off-world as an infant would be an advantage for any of their surviving offspring, but the normally-amiable Youkan could prove bull-headed at times. He refused to discuss any thought of offspring at the current time.

And if he proved serious about not having offspring until he became chieftain of his mother's tribe, then Nira's "concerns" were of no importance because Nira would be dead before any were conceived.

"I'll have to take your word on that for now," Kimchee finally responded with rare diplomacy. Nira's mouth ticked up in an unamused smirk, as if she perhaps already knew what was delaying the appearance of grandchildren, and the tour continued without any further mention of her youngest son.

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It had not been a fight, precisely, and sharp words were routine between Saiyan siblings. Yet it bothered Youkan, so much so that sleep didn't come and he was too restless to even pretend to rest. Instead he left the warriors' quarters, wandering the halls until there were no more halls to wander, then wandering the few sections of the gardens that were open to the public this time of night. Eventually he looked up, and realized his pacing had brought him to the very edge of the wall that separated the King's grounds from the city proper. Briefly he considered going into the capito. It was a military town and there were places available at all hours of the night for soldiers to frequent but, sighing, he turned away. He was a King's Guard rather than a regular soldier now, and getting in a drunken brawl just because he was bored was beneath the dignity of his new position.

Except he wasn't bored. Not really.

Youkan wasn't sure what he was at times. His sense of entitlement as a noble had been well rattled during his time with the off-world troops. On the other hand, he had hardly become a commoner. Kimchee's situation was similar, albeit reversed, as a commoner with a noble parent, she never quite fit into the hierarchal Saiyan social order to begin with. At least, not until Nappa had offspring with a woman of his own class, which would destroy the noble aspirations of all his current children.

What Youkan could identify was faint sense of melancholy, which was not a new emotion to him. It had almost overtaken him a few times after battles. He remembered one instance where he stood in front of a great temple carved into the side of a mountain, all but hidden in the pile of bodies of those who died to defend it, and felt no triumph but just sadness at the waste of it all. Then he wondered, what waste? Someone new will be here. Yet, although he could put it out of his mind temporarily, the sensation of something wrong never entirely left him.

He expected an improvement once he no longer participated in purging missions, but so far being on Vejiitasei did not alleviate his melancholy. And it seemed nothing would silence that irritating mental voice that he had no control over. Sighing, Youkan resumed his directionless wandering, trying to keep his mind as blank as possible.

Eventually he made his way to the apex of a hill near the palace's port. Sitting down, the young man tipped his head, staring without purpose into the inky Vejiitasein night. Before reporting to his current post he had visited both his parents when he first returned to the planet. He found Miso to be as blustery as ever. Nira, however, had changed. She smiled more easily these days, and it was not always the hard Saiyan smirk that was more threat than indication of amusement. The change wasn't unpleasant, just unsettling. He wondered if he had finally grown up enough to see both of this parents as individuals rather than just beings with labels of "mother" and "father," or if it was something deeper.

He wondered why he should care about 'something deeper.' It wasn't a very Saiyan concern to have.

When it came right down to it, Youkan supposed he had more in common with Taurus than with his other relatives. Although their enforced time together had its share of brittle moments, they had both chosen paths outside the norm for their rank and species. But he was here, on Vejiitasei, in the King's Guard, his career restored despite his non-traditional choice. Taurus was still banished, unable to return without risking death, likely to be accused of treason should his position in Freeza's forces become more widely known. That was why he never mentioned that they met during Youkan's incarceration, despite both of his parents searching so earnestly for information on their missing son. Things like that had a way of getting out, and Youkan did not think either would be comforted by his elder sibling's position in a foreign military.

Not that a true Saiyan should be thinking about what should or should not comfort anyone…

Youkan sighed again. Leaning back on his hands, he absently watched the streaks of light that arched up from the port, tracing their paths as they vanished into the deep black night.

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Not too far away, two figures moved through the streak-punctuated darkness. The path they took was not straight, for the terrain was dotted with numerous tiny capsules, some surrounded by small groups, some attended only by harried med-techs keying in commands. One of the figures glanced sidelong at a darkened platform set up nearby. In the past, a member of the royal family would have supervised from there. The current King, having done this many times when he was the Crown Prince, felt he had suffered enough tedium in the name of tradition and abolished the custom. What had been a grand occasion carried out several times a year (several times a month during the moon year) had become a series of smaller commemorations attended by family members, if anyone bothered to attend at all.

Although not straight, the path the two took was far from haphazard. The leader's stride held purpose, although he had to pause once or twice for the other man to catch up. Saiyans saw better in the dark than most species. Even though the intermittent launching of capsules offered brief splashes of light, the darkness that followed gave the trailing man pause. Finally, however, the leader stopped by a capsule that was flanked by two other indistinct silhouettes, jerking his head towards one to indicate that attention needed to be directed there. The new figure stepped forward just as a capsule nearby was launched. The light revealed that both those waiting were female. It also clearly illuminated their features.

"Zarbon. Thank you for coming," said Sashoki.

Not sure what was required of him, Zarbon gave a brief nod. The other man stepped protectively closer to Sashoki. Turning to face Zarbon, he crossed his arms over his chest as he adopted an aggressive stance, feet set firmly as if ready to repulse a charge.

Mine. Do Not Approach.

Awkward.

Making sure the other woman was between him and Sash, Zarbon stayed where he was.

Sashoki gave him an appraising look. She was standing in a characteristic pose, fist resting against her hip, weight centered over one leg in a manner that gave a sinuous curve to her stance. She tilted her head towards at the male who had brought Zarbon to this place. "My husband, Nikushoku."

"Charmed."

One corner of her mouth curved up. She nodded at the woman next to him. "My mother."

Zarbon blinked at that, and slid his gaze sideways. Not only had he never previously met Sashoki's mother, he hadn't known that she had a mother. The Saiyan warrior looked back at him without any discernable interest.

"Welcome to the sending ceremony."

As soon as he set foot on this section of the tarmac, Zarbon had suspected something of the sort. He looked at the capsule at their feet. Dim lights from the vehicle's interior limed the small form of an infant. Zarbon could just make out the shadow of an arm crossed over the chest, fist placed against the mouth.

"Kokusho," said Sashoki.

Going to one knee, Zarbon narrowed his eyes in an attempt to examine the infant critically. Between the faint light and the baby's insistence on sucking its thumb, finer details were not possible to discern. "Where's his mission?"

"Arcosian quadrant in the Crystal Cluster."

Zarbon repressed a wince. Although her tone was dispassionate, it was a harsh assignment. The Arcosians had been purged a millennium ago, but many of the systems still seethed with unrest, sometimes battling each other in contests that did not much concern their Saiyan overlords, occasionally banding together in periodic bids for autonomy. The survival rate for infants sent there was low. "I didn't think any one still observed the ceremonies."

Sashoki shrugged. "A few of us do, most of us don't. I didn't go through all of the trouble of spawning offspring without letting him know someone is waiting for him to come back."

Her husband snorted. "He's too young to know anything," he said derisively.

The woman that Sashoki claimed as her mother nodded her head in agreement. "I did this for you, and you came back," she said flatly, without any emotion. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried," said Sash coolly. She gave a pat to the clear window over the baby's sleeping visage before returning to her husband's side.

Nikushoku spoke in his native dialect. It took a moment for Zarbon to realize that he was speaking directly to his son. Despite what he said to Sashoki before, the cadence of the words did not sound perfunctory. Then Sashoki spoke in the Eastern dialect Zarbon was more familiar with, telling her son to be strong and to deal death without mercy (as near as he could make out; there were more words, but that seemed to be the gist of the message). Her mother spoke in Common, as coolly as she had before: "Retrieval is not necessary for the dead. So do not die."

Then all three of them looked at Zarbon.

Since Vegeta had been dedicated to ducking his duties when he was Crown Prince, Zarbon had never attended one of these ceremonies before. He had no idea if the words were ritual sayings (judging from the rhythmic tone of Nikushoku's comment, he rather thought they were) or just off-the-cuff remarks. He knelt by the capsule, spreading his hand over the viewport as if he could touch the baby. "Come back alive," he said, "and I'll get you a position in the Guards. Now how can you resist that?"

Since he was looking at the baby Zarbon couldn't see any reaction from the others, but when Sashoki chuckled he felt he had acquitted himself well. He gave a pat to the glass, much as Sashoki had done, and stepped away.

Within seconds one of the techs was by the capsule, running through diagnostics quickly on a hand-held device before nodding and stepping away. Touching the side of his scouter, he gave a quick word of command to the unseen port operator. A faint hissing sounded, then a glow gathered around the base of the capsule. Even though he knew the small spacecraft didn't give off much heat when launched, Zarbon took a couple steps back. The capsule rocked slightly as the various boosters fired, appeared to lift slightly off the ground, then suddenly its ties to Vejiitasei were broken and it flared into the sky, becoming just another streak that curved towards the outer atmosphere. It was beyond his sight in under a minute, although Zarbon was sure the more-sensitive Saiyan eyes of his companions were still capable of watching it. He glanced around. Sash's mother was still looking into the sky, although her indifferent expression had not changed, Nikushoku was looking at Sashoki, and Sashoki was…

Sashoki was looking at him.

The other male's eyes slid towards him. Nikushoku snorted. "You can find your own way back," he said, and strode away.

"As I said earlier," murmured Zarbon, "'Charmed'."

"Afraid of the dark?" asked Sashoki's mother, her words sardonic. "I can take you back as far as the warrior's quarters, if need be."

"I know the way."

She shrugged, inclined her head towards her daughter, and likewise strode away in the night.

For a moment the two stood looking at each other, (or 'towards' in Zarbon's case, since all he could really see was Sashoki's outline). Then Sashoki closed the distance between them. Placing a hand for balance against his shoulder, she pecked him lightly on the cheek. Such a public display was unusual. Zarbon watched her carefully, not sure what would be required of him next.

She was close enough that, when she grinned at his confusion, he could see the white flash of her teeth. Sashoki followed the kiss with a pat that was hard enough to sting a little. "Thank you for coming, Zarbon."

"Thank you for inviting me," replied Zarbon, a little surprised to realize he meant it sincerely.

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Within the palace itself, a furtive conversation was taking place. Except, as far as both participants were concerned, their discussions were so commonplace that any hint of the forbidden had been deadened by the monotony of repetition.

"Are you adjusting to the return of our little brother?"

Shiruko grimaced.

"That bad, eh?"

"He's very different than he was before."

"Off-world service does that to a person," noted Taurus sardonically.

"I can't decide if he'll be better or worse once his mate gets here," grumbled Shiruko. "She might make him behave more like a Saiyan or, if off-world service has made her just as crazy as he is, he'll be even more odd."

"I thought they returned together."

"No, her squad was delayed about a week, then our parents demanded she spend some time with them or else. She's been stuck with our mother the last few days."

"'Been stuck with'? Surely it's the other way around."

"Oh, all this weirdness is catching. Mother's been as peculiar as any off-world soldier the last few months. Can you imagine? The Earth woman has publicly proclaimed that our mother is her 'friend.' Feh."

"No," said Taurus thoughtfully after a long pause. "I can't imagine it and never expected it."

Shiruko cocked his head. His brother often peppered his conversation with nonsensical cryptic asides, which he attributed to the corrupting influences of constant alien companionship. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Taurus replied, his voice soft and dangerous, "that I will not be able to trust her."

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They eventually reached a compromise of sorts, one that didn't sit very well with either of them (which did, Bulma acknowledged wryly, mark it as a true compromise rather than one or the other giving in to avoid more yelling). Vegeta insisted that, if she were to remain on the planet, then she would have to go to a less-populated area such as their lands on the Southern continent. "You think I'm in danger in the capitol?" Bulma demanded, incredulous.

"Woman, this is the moon year," snapped Vegeta. "There isn't a safe place to be had anywhere, which is why you and the brat should go to Chikyuu! Your mother is always complaining that you don't ever visit her."

At that point the argument threatened to become circular. Fortunately Bulma put an end to it by agreeing to stay at the palace on the Southern Continent. She might have added a mental rider such as "for now," but although the King considered her mind to be disturbingly open he couldn't actually read her thoughts, and so took her capitulation at face value.