Chapter 5

 

"You're what!?"

"Shhh! I don't want my parents knowing yet. Especially Mom. In fact," Bulma glanced furtively over one shoulder, "I don't want anyone knowing yet."

"I don't know whether to say 'congratulations' or 'what the heck are you thinking,'" Chi-chi confessed after a moment.

"This is sorta an oops."

"'Sorta?'"

"Well, we sorta talked about having kids, but neither of us were in any tearing hurry, so we were sorta going to wait, and we were sorta careful—"

Chi-chi arced a skeptical brow.

Bulma's face tinted pink. "Well, we are newlyweds," she muttered. "What d'you expect?"

"Common sense?" suggested Chi-chi. "Like 'sorta' waiting until you were sure this was going to work?"

"I was sure I was going to work at it before I came here."

Not the same thing, thought Chi-chi, but given Bulma's delicate condition, which was likely to make her even more volatile than usual, she didn't say it out loud. "Why do you want me there? Wouldn't you rather have your folks? My dad was a big help when I was pregnant with Gohan. All Goku could do was stand around and look apologetic."

"My folks are the last thing I need here. My parents have the common sense of a microbe. That's between them. Dad will forget the gravity harness, wander outside to look at something 'interesting' and get squished; Mom will say, 'oh, that silly thing," run off with Radditz, and before you know it I'm an orphan. They'd be totally helpless here. I'd wear myself to a frazzle trying to keep them alive."

"Your mother," Chi-chi pointed out, "is not nearly as helpless as she pretends to be. Especially around big, strapping, half-naked men."

It was some indication of her friend's state of mind that Bulma did not promptly tear into her for the remark. "You've been through this," said Bulma in a small voice. "She hasn't."

Chi-chi's skeptical expression relaxed slightly. "She did give birth to you, didn't she?"

"Are you telling me you had a child that was half-alien and there weren't any problems?" asked Bulma, hopefully.

After a long pause Chi-chi said, slowly, "Actually, I haven't thought about it in years, but things got very dicey about the fourth month. There were weird chemical imbalances that no one could figure out. My father was flying in consultants from all over..." Bulma gave a small squeak of alarm. "Everything was fine a couple of months later," Chi-chi hastened to add. "I just never made the connection between the problems I had with Goku's being Saiyan before. Of course, it's barely been a year since we found out Goku was from outer space, and I really haven't had much time to contemplate what that means." Bulma was beginning to turn shades of white Chi-chi didn't know existed. "Don't they have doctors on Vejiitasei?" she demanded in sudden alarm.

"No," said Bulma, miserably. "No-one ever gets sick, apparently, just injured, so all they have here are med-techs, and all they do is throw people in regeneration tanks. Women don't even give birth, they— Oh, it's too awful. But I'm not going to do that."

"Bulma, I can talk you through it. Or I can get in touch with my obstetrician, see if she wants to do some long-distance consulting. But there's no way I can pull Gohan out of school for, what, six months?"

"It would be closer to seven," said Bulma, dropping her eyes. "And a half. I think. And it would take a month to six weeks for you to get back after. But," she added in that over-bright, too-cheerful way she had when she knew she was asking too much, "Gohan's about to let out for the break, anyway. This would be a real learning experience. He would be the envy of his classmates, and of his teachers, too."

The thought of Gohan being the envy of all around him was tempting. Chi-chi reminded herself she was being manipulated by an expert and repressed the stray surge of motherly pride. "You sure you don't just have the flu?" she asked, a touch sternly.

Two spots of color suddenly appeared on Bulma's chalk-white cheeks. "Yes."

I was really anemic, wasn't I? thought Chi-chi, her concern resurfacing. That was the first sign of trouble. But that was a lot later... "Are you eating okay? Lots of spinach, or meat, or whatever they do for iron on that planet?"

"Oh, I'm beginning to eat like a pig," responded Bulma in irritation. "Or a Saiyan, according to Vegeta. Meat's the main ingredient in just about every course here. Saiyan metabolisms seem to need lots of protein to keep going. I'm going to be the size of a horse at this rate. Bigger."

"You'll feel absolutely humongous before it's all over," Chi-chi told her. "Your legs will get the size of tree trunks, only your belly will be so massive you won't even see that you still have legs."

Bulma glared at her.

"But that's a ways off," Chi-chi quickly added with rare tact. "I gained most of my weight in the sixth month, after I stopped being sick. Has Vegeta noticed anything yet?"

"Yes," Bulma admitted, "although he hasn't figured it out. He keeps thinking the gravity or the stress is affecting me."

Stress isn't good for the baby. "You're going to have to tell him soon," Chi-chi pointed out. "I mean, I know he's Saiyan and all, but even he's going to notice it when you suddenly put on twenty pounds in a matter of weeks."

"I haven't put on too much weight yet. I am kind of...bulgy. That's normal, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. Water weight. You'll have swollen ankles one day, swollen wrists the next. You'll need about three different bra sizes, too." Bulma was beginning to look cross again, which she tended to do when a situation was out of her control. "Isn't there anyone there you can talk to?"

"One of my guards is female. I asked her if she had any children. You know what she said? None that mattered. Apparently she's sent three babies off on missions. They haven't come back yet. Until they do, it's like they don't exist for her."

Chi-chi shuddered. Her son was the most important thing in her life. She could not imagine such callousness where one's own child was concerned. In fact, she couldn't imagine such callousness where any child was concerned. "Kami-sama, Bulma, come home. Get away from that horrible place."

"Come here," countered Bulma. "Just for a while. It would be a life experience for Gohan. For all of you."

You're pushing. Chi-chi emitted a frustrated sigh. Then her brows forked down, a sign of burgeoning anger. Bulma spoke hastily.

"Chi-chi, I know I'm asking a lot. But I'm scared. I'm scared of being pregnant, I'm scared of being here, I'm scared of what it might do to the baby if I travel back home to have it, I'm scared of what Vegeta might want me to do when he finds out. It would be so much easier if I had someone here, someone practical, someone who wouldn't try to coddle me to death like my parents, someone who's done this before. Please?"

Chi-chi's just-gathering fit of temper evaporated. It was hard to flatly turn down such a direct plea, especially knowing what it must have cost Bulma's pride. Mentally kicking herself for offering even a smidgen of hope, Chi-chi promised to think about it in a tone of voice that meant 'no,' but agreed to come back to the Capsule Corporation the next day to permit Bulma another chance to talk her into it. Leaving the communications room Dr. Briefs set up for transmissions to Vejiitasei, Chi-chi said goodbye to her hostess. "I hope you girls had a nice chat," said Mrs. Briefs brightly. Chi-chi found an honest reply hard to come by, and mumbled a non-committal response.

Driving back to her little cottage by the woods, she found herself wishing that she had fewer responsibilities. Taking off to another planet for a few months would be an adventure. But, Chi-chi reminded herself, she had her share of adventures as a teenager, twice seeing her father's palace reduced to rubble in the process. By the time she reached adulthood, adventures lost whatever appeal they once held for her. They were time-consuming and non-productive. And dangerous, she reminded herself as she pulled the air-car into its spot by the little house. Don't forget dangerous. You have a child now. You can't do dangerous anymore.

She hoped Gohan wasn't having any trouble with studying for his last day of testing. Tying an apron on, she began to bustle about the kitchen, humming, thinking a little snack with lots of calcium might be a good thing for her little scholar. As she poured milk and arranged cheese and fruit on a plate, Chi-chi relegated the idea of visiting Vejiitasei to a distant corner of her mind.

_________________________________________________________

The meeting was not going well. Vegeta clearly felt like he had already put in a full day at the tournament, and was displaying the signs of outright boredom that meant he would soon bring the meeting to a summary halt. Zarbon looked over to the Secretarial Minister and gave a slight shake of his head. Recognizing it as a signal to close the irate Minister of Finance down, the Secretarial Minister rose to his ponderous feet and announced it was time to collect the personal vids for the recording of the minutes. Nothing shut up a Saiyan faster than parliamentary procedure. Within instants the Ministers all surrendered their vids and sprinted for the door before the Secretarial Minister began annexing members of their staff — or them — for assistance. The Secretarial Minister gathered the vids, flashed a surreptitious "V" sign at Zarbon, and waddled his massive body out. Stifling a sigh, Zarbon leaned his shoulders against the wall and mentally gathered himself. It was becoming increasingly difficult to corral Vegeta for these meetings. Especially the afternoon ones; the closer it got to early evening, the more impatient Vegeta became to return to his private quarters and his new bride. As far as that went, it was hard to keep him away from Bulma during day hours. Vegeta was constantly sneaking off "just for an instant" to check on his wife. Zarbon would track him down hours later, to find the young King leaning against some wall watching the clueless Bulma from a distance, a gleam in his eye and his tail flicking back and forth.

Which would all be rather cute and sweet and darling, Zarbon supposed, if there wasn't an Empire to run whose chief decision maker kept lifting his shoulders and walking away. There were more and more issues that the young King settled by snapping, "Whatever, just get it done!" He was lucky, thought Zarbon wryly, that his aide's previous experience with Freeza gave him the organizational skills to deal with commands like "whatever." The tournament for the new Elites was a good example. It should have been months earlier, but Vegeta couldn't be bothered with the arrangements until after Bulma's arrival. Zarbon did not blame Bulma for the King's inattention; he was sure that Vegeta would have found some other reason to avoid his duties without her presence. I tried to tell him he wasn't ready for this.

"Why the hell are you still here?" demanded Vegeta. The King had promptly shrugged off his cape and had it tossed carelessly over one shoulder. He did not hesitate to walk through the public rooms like that; indeed, he would probably be tugging off the hated ancient jeweled ornament that marked his rank as King long before he reached the Imperial wing of the Palace, swinging it from his fist like a toy. Zarbon's frequent admonitions that a casual attitude in the commander would translate to a casual attitude among his underlings were falling on indifferent ears.

"Because we aren't quite done yet, Vegeta."

The King snorted. "I'm done, baka. If you want to stay and talk to the walls, fine. Although if I were you, I'd get an early night. I think I will need an especially strenuous bout after all that sitting around watching other people fight."

Where did I go wrong? wondered Zarbon for one absurd moment. Then he smiled faintly at himself. His job had been to train the most awesome fighter Vejiitasei spawned in the last three millennia and that he did well. Too well. Little wonder Vegeta expressed no interest in any other part of his duties. "Vegeta, we really must get moving on the Elite appointments. Most of the officers died when you became King. We need to establish a chain of command, accountability, a new Captain. Right now there's just a mob of Elites with a handful of junior officers. Nappa is making them all report to him until everything's official. Could there be a greater recipe for disaster?"

Vegeta shrugged. "I was going to make you Captain."

After an amazed pause, "I hope this isn't too blunt," started Zarbon.

The King flashed one of his rare, genuinely-amused grins. "Oh, why worry about that now?"

"But you shouldn't push your luck, Vegeta."

"Luck? I am King now, Zarbon. 'Luck' does not enter into it. You are well qualified for the position, you have the highest ki after myself on the planet, and you won't bother me with every stupid little thing like what Elite gets which appointment. So. That's that. Start selecting your officers."

After a long, grim stare, Zarbon slowly raised one hand and placed it flat against his own chest.

"Heartburn?" queried Vegeta with a slight sneer. "You're as delicate as Bulma sometimes."

Zarbon spoke in an unemotional, ice-edged voice. "Fair warning, Vegeta. You may not care about your reign, but I do. I will not allow you to do anything so detrimental to it." A faint glow surrounded his hand. "I will die first."

Vegeta's eyes widened. For a moment it was a face-off, Vegeta trying to glare Zarbon into backing down, nothing in Zarbon's unflinching stare indicating a bluff. Finally the King folded his arms and cast his gaze to the floor. "Feh," he snorted. "Must you turn everything into a melodrama? If you don't want to be Captain, fine. We'll continue to use you as a diplomatic trouble-shooter. Although considering your power, I don't know how 'diplomatic' you will appear to any of the alien ambassadors."

"I am your trainer first and foremost, Vegeta. While I've been happy to help out, filling both roles has been hard. You need to appoint a permanent liaison between yourself and the court."

Vegeta kept his chin tucked, but his eyes rolled up, a serious expression in them. "Baka. Have you not realized it yet? You cannot continue for much longer as my sparring partner, Zarbon. I am ... beyond you. Far beyond you. I have to pull my punches as it is now, even when you're in your highest ki form. I will end up killing you. And, while your life does belong to me, I would prefer not to end it like that."

Zarbon took in a breath. The stark words did not startle him, not as they would have a few short months earlier before Vegeta's jump in ki, but they were still...painful. He spoke formally. "I will serve you in whatever capacity is appropriate, my King. But your liaison, like your Captain, should be Saiyan."

"My liaison is what you've been for over a decade," Vegeta pointed out. "Did you think I missed that little by-play earlier? The Ministers have gotten used to you over the years. You have forged alliances and coalitions with many of the Chieftains and their daimyos as well. The outworlders see you as a mediator between themselves and their Saiyan overlords. Would you rather go through a period of uncertainty with a new person trying out the role? A Saiyan? Saiyans are unsuited for diplomacy, Zarbon, especially when other Saiyans are involved."

In spite of his annoyance, Zarbon found a corner of his mouth tugging upward. Vegeta, seeing it, nodded briskly and said, "That's agreed, then."

Oh, hardly, thought Zarbon, but remembering his own words about luck pushing, let the subject drop. Instead he said, "I hope you have another candidate for Captain."

"I could care less," was the indifferent response.

Mentally sighing, Zarbon persisted. "How about Shiruko?" Vegeta gave him a blank look. "Chief Miso's heir? He's a noble, has a high ki, is the highest ranking of the surviving officers."

Vegeta, after making a visible effort to recall who it was Zarbon was discussing, snorted. "He's a brat."

"Well, of course. He is Saiyan."

"Baka. I mean, he can't stand you. If you are to be liaison, Zarbon, we'll need someone you can work with. Besides," the King added, carelessly, "he is only likely to be an Elite Guard for another decade or so. Miso is far past his prime, and ready to be challenged."

There weren't too many other high-level King's Guards available, and even fewer that were officers under the late King. As for Saiyans he could work with; well, there were none...

Dark brows rising in surprise, then a gaze of acceptance before the Elite stood aside to let him into the new King's quarters...

"Chishan?" offered Zarbon. "He's young for the role, but he doesn't seem to have a problem with non-Saiyans."

"Nappa's son? Bulma is rather fond of him," said Vegeta, disgustedly. "She can talk to him about, I don't know, springs and coils and mechanical stuff. He's a rutter, though, which means he'll want to go on leave every moon year. On the other hand, Nappa has no offspring by women of his own class. Chishan is the strongest of his brats. He could well be the next Commander. He'll have to get special dispensation from me to do it; but, hell, I might well make someone who rid me of Nappa my Heir."

"Chishan's married," Zarbon reminded him. "Radditz is the only other rutting male I know, but I understand already having a mate makes a difference."

"Basically it means someone has a vested interest in tackling him if there's a seasonal female around," said Vegeta, dryly. "Although he will be less likely to lose focus if he has an outlet for the rutting urge, I suppose. Radditz has trouble staying focused around you whether or not he's in rut. You're the same around him, sometimes." He looked at his aide with lifted brows, but Zarbon could think of nothing to say and did not respond. After a moment, "If you think you can work with Chishan, then Chishan it is," the King said, indifferently. "It will prepare him for being Commander in Chief, if that is his fate. It will be more experience than that empty-headed father of his ever had. I don't care about the officers; the two of you work it out."

"You shouldn't be so casual about this," said Zarbon, annoyance making the words clipped.

"I shouldn't trust my liaison to have my best interests at heart?" drawled Vegeta. "Here's something I am less casual about, then. The Queen's Guard. Don't blink at me, baka. Bulma will need her own Elites, her own Captain. I was considering Chishan for the role before the tournament. But I have reconsidered. That is what I will appoint Radditz to. He fought far above himself. Your doing, I suppose."

"There were a few things he had to do for himself first, Vegeta. Self-knowledge is difficult for any Saiyan, as you well know. I confess, I sometimes think your entire race would be far stronger if something wasn't holding all of you back."

"We're strong enough, baka. So you got him to take the whole meditation thing seriously? Good. I did not realize that, but it makes him even more suited for the role of Captain of the Queen's Guards. Radditz owes a life debt to Bulma's entire family. He is bound in more ways than I could possibly get out of him with a mere oath to protect her to the death."

Or, if he can't prevent it, to make sure she has a clean one, thought Zarbon dryly, recalling when Radditz asked him to kill Mrs. Briefs personally should Chikyuu be cleansed. After a moment of consideration, though, he found himself agreeing with Vegeta's assessment. Apart from the King himself, Radditz was the only other Saiyan on the planet with any sort of personal stake in Bulma's well-being. Although the political headaches likely to ensue once it became known that a relatively-low-born, inexperienced King's Guard was going to be given such a potentially powerful position would probably keep the new liaison busy for weeks. Whomever that turned out to be.

_________________________________________________________

In a small dirt-floored clearing within a thick forest, pinging noises echoed between trunks. Unnatural rustlings jerked branches back and forth. Wood snapped. There was the solid 'thwack' of flesh hitting flesh. A large form materialized from nowhere, heading for the ground at fatal velocity. At the last minute arms and legs whipped under the body, absorbing the impact as it struck ground, then acting like springs as the body rebounded to an upright position. A green fist scrubbed against a green cheek, where fluid oozed from a newly-opened cut.

"Not bad," said Piccolo.

Another high-pitched 'whir' bounced off the trees. A small body floating several feet off the ground popped into existence. The dark eyes were concerned. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," said Gohan worriedly.

"Do I look hurt, kid?"

Gohan blinked, and stared at the wounded cheek.

"Love tap," sneered Piccolo. "Gonna faint at the sight of a little blood, kid? Get used to it. There will be all sorts of blood spilling before we come to power."

His own complexion turning faintly green, Gohan turned his eyes away. The boy landed, his head hanging down as he kicked the dirt. Piccolo sighed. "If you've got a problem with the agenda, out with it."

"Mr. Piccolo," said Gohan, hesitantly, "I know you want me to be...somebody. Somebody strong and big and smart, like you. I want to be like that, too. Really. I think I know how to do it." He flashed a glance up, then dropped his head again. "It's maybe a little different than you'd do it," he mumbled.

"And you would do 'it' how...?"

Gohan took in a deep breath and suddenly lunged to one side with a deeply bent knee, his arms unnaturally straight and held rigidly over his head. What the hell--?thought Piccolo, staring, briefly wondering if his protege were in the midst of an epileptic fit.

"I would be the powerful—" Gohan lunged to the opposite side "—the awesome—" he went down to a knee, arms angled to the ground "—the supernatural —" he shot up, balanced on one leg with the other bent in front of him "— Great Super-Demon Kid!!" He held the pose, glaring balefully from under drawn-down brows. "I am the protector of all humanity! See me, evil, and flee!"

There was a moment of stark silence.

Sweatdrops began to appear against Gohan's temple. His body trembled with the effort of holding the unnatural pose.

Finally, Piccolo reacted. He slowly raised one hand to his face, covering his eyes, hiding the involuntary twitching of his lips. "Oh, Gohan. Kid, you can't strike terror into the hearts of your minions when they're hysterical with laughter."

Gohan blinked, and dropped his hovering leg to the ground. "Why would I want to scare people?"

Why, indeed? Piccolo looked at his protege ruefully. The kid's raw potential was awesome, especially when coupled with the far-above-average intelligence. The problem was not so much that he lacked the killer instinct--that could be instilled--but that he did not have the heart of a conqueror. Gohan would defend anything from tiny woodland creatures to the entire populace of the planet to the death, but he was not interested in power for its own sake. He would always need a reason to fight, and a damn good reason at that. Eh, I guess I'll have to do the strong arm stuff and leave the diplomacy to the kid. I'm not any good at making nice-nice, anyway. He cast one eye up at the sun. And while we're on the subject of nice-nice... "What time did you say your Mom was going to be home again?"

Gohan pulled back the sweatband that covered his watch and gave a sudden, high-pitched squeal.

"Tomorrow," Piccolo reminded the swirling dust cloud that kicked up. There was a distant shout of acknowledgment.

_________________________________________________________

She stood just outside the door of the small white-washed cottage with the rounded roof, her arms folded, one foot tapping, tapping, against the ground.

She was not happy.

The small boy tried with exaggerated care to sneak past her. He flattened himself against the curved wall, casting frightened little glances at her rigid back as he scooted toward the open door.

"Your milk," said Chi-chi, without turning around, "has gotten warm."

Gohan froze, as if he were a wild animal caught in sudden bright light.

"I'm pleased to see," continued Chi-chi, "that your math workbook is done. Otherwise you would be in very, very big trouble."

There was an audible gulp from the child. Then Gohan, dragging his feet, shuffled to a position just in front of her. He seemed to be finding something on the ground very interesting. "I was training," he told the dirt path. "It's important for me to train," he assured it, earnestly. "I don't know how to do everything so everyone's happy," her son concluded, miserably.

Chi-chi gazed at the sky, her sharp eyes picking out the fading ki trail, then down at the little boy who would not look her in the face. That was happening a lot lately. Her brows drew together, giving her face an expression that was stern and severe.

"Where's your father?" she demanded.

"He said something about getting fish for dinner."

Her mouth pursed. Of course Goku would be off making sure there were enough provisions for his ever-ravenous appetite, instead of seeing that Gohan didn't wander off with his dangerous mentor. They had been quarreling about that lately, if one could call it "quarreling." Goku would just get that wide-eyed look (rather like the one Gohan was wearing right now, in fact), put a hand behind his head and say, quizzically, "But he's doing a good job of training Gohan," as if Piccolo's proficiency in the martial arts made up for the trash he was putting in their boy's head. They had been going around and around in circles with the discussion.

Circles could be broken. Especially when the consequences of not breaking this one could be dangerous for her son. And not too long ago I was thinking going would be the more dangerous path! It may yet; who knows what is on Vejiitasei? But despite what they say about the Devil you know, I am not putting up with this any more! Besides, Bulma's right; travel can be educational. And there's a lot of good that could come out of this. Maybe going into space will make him want to be an astronaut. Or maybe seeing the baby will make him want to be a doctor.

"After dinner," said Chi-chi, "I want you to pack all of your books." The boy's wide eyes spread until they took up most of his face. "Don't get your hopes up," Chi-chi said dryly. "They aren't going into storage. We're going on a trip. A very, very long one."