Chapter 7

 

Even as Zarbon was shaking off the moisture from his stint in the tank, the King was announcing the promotion of his aide and the creation of the new Queen's Guard to stunned representatives of the various continents. No one dared do more than gape at Vegeta. Most shrugged after spending a few minutes mentally grappling with the issues involved, deciding it was not worth the intellectual effort. Miso was among those. But others clearly found the struggle more difficult, so difficult that the usual Saiyan indifference was being overtaken by an uncharacteristic consternation.

The Chieftain placed Lord Shiruko in the latter group. Miso saw a twist of unaccustomed emotion flash across his heir's face as he stood behind the King with the other officers, listening to the proclamation of new appointments. It was quickly replaced by the grim mask members of the Guard generally kept in place. Concerned, Miso collared Shiruko before the young man exited the audience hall with the rest of the King's Guard, quietly asking if any of the recent promotions were objectionable to him. Shiruko gazed at his father with that delicate mixture of contempt and respect Saiyan offspring were expected to show toward their parents. "Anticipating a few more years if I made Captain? Too bad, Father. Excuse me; I'm on duty."

Miso frankly did not entirely understand why he was still around. He was entering his eleventh decade, which, while hardly the upper level of how long a Saiyan could live, was probably some sort of record for his line. With Youkan flatly stating he didn't want the House of Misei and Shiruko, his declared heir, evidently content with his life among the Guard, it was as if he couldn't give away one of the most powerful hereditary positions on the planet.

All of which, the Chieftain thought as he watched his son march away from him, pointed even more to the need for another offspring eligible to become his heir if necessary. He reminded himself to call Nira.

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The console was beeping insistently when he strode into his private quarters. Shiruko slapped the touchpad, scowling. Then his face relaxed. "It's you," he said. "Good. I was afraid it was Mother. I can't take any more commiseration today."

The image of his eldest brother regarded him with raised brows. "Then I suppose asking 'How'd it go?' would not be a good idea," he said, dryly.

Shiruko snorted.

"He really did appoint the alien? Unbelievable."

"No. Zarbon is now the official liaison to the court. Chishan is Captain of the King's Guards."

"Chishan?" his brother queried on a rising note, as if trying to place the name.

"You wouldn't know him. One of Nappa's over-abundant offspring. Not only am I about to get one as an in-law, now I have to answer to one."

"The King designated a rutting male to the post? Or is Nappa raping women of his own class now? I thought most of the Houses had eliminated the seasonality strain in their lines. There may be the occasional high-born rutting male, but I can't believe there are any aristocratic seasonal females at all."

"A female would have to be out of her head with hormones to let that crass moron anywhere near her," replied Shiruko in disgust. "Of course, a non-rutting male would have to be desperate to go after one of the pathetic creatures in the first place. No, Chishan's mother was a low-class off-world soldier who had the misfortune to cross Nappa's path during a moon year. Ergo, our new Captain does carry the taint. Apparently it's now a requirement for high office. Listen to this: the King decided the alien woman needed her own Guard. He's appointed Radditz to be her Captain. Can you believe it? There have to be less than a dozen rutting males in all the combined Guards, and two of them end up with high ranks!"

"There are no standards any more," mused his brother in a quiet voice.

"This is what comes of Vegeta's off world jaunts," muttered Shiruko. "Alien queens, genetically-impure commoners in power—hmph."

"I suppose there's no reason for you to put off claiming the Chieftain's title now."

"I would have to deal with the King's new 'liaison' on a constant basis," snorted the other. "I couldn't do it, brother." His gaze turned sardonic. "Besides, the first thing you'd do when you decide to come home is kill me. Completely pointless all around."

"Had you realized that before I left, brat, the late King might not have sent me off world in the first place."

Shiruko shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about being the official heir; that was our parents' decision. Besides," he added, frankly, "I did not think you would be a real challenge to me. When you became one of Freeza's guards, though ... well, that's where the candidates for the Ginyuu Squad come from, no? I would hesitate to take any of them on except in oozaru form."

"I don't plan a return anytime soon, so you would have a few years," was the dry response. "If you want to look at something with a bit more longevity, though, there is the House of Tallesei."

"I'm fine where I am. In any case, I'd rather wait and see what Youkan intends to do there," Shiruko told him. "And he can't do anything until he gets back from his off world tour of duty. Oh, you didn't know about that yet? The King made Youkan's acceptance into the Guard conditional on successful completion of an off world stint. If he survives that, Vegeta's willing to overlook the whole 'bonding' issue."

"Magnanimous," his brother commented, the tone skeptical.

Shiruko emitted yet another in a series of snorts. "No standards," he said, unintentionally echoing his elder sibling's comment of a few moments earlier. "None at all any more. You are sure," he demanded, "of your own mind in this? You are the designated heir for Mother's tribe. Youkan would have to stand aside or fight. He's good, but he was never in our league. It was all he could do to defeat Radditz, and that one's barely an Elite. He wouldn't be a real contest for you."

"No one asked my opinion on which title I wanted, or whether or not I would be satisfied with one paltry Eastern tribe when I could command all the tribes of the King's own continent. One would think the first born of the House of Misei would at least be offered first refusal. Pity, isn't it? Ah, well. At least from here I don't have to witness any of this degradation of tradition. I suppose it must be very hard to have to stand by and watch it."

"Some of the chieftains are having a difficult time containing themselves," Shiruko allowed. "You can see them getting more scandalized by the hour. Actually, it's a bit funny watching them turn purple with indignation during meetings. When the King announced Zarbon was going to be liaison..." In spite of his discontent, Shiruko started to chuckle. "Oh, the faces. It was all I could do to keep a straight face myself."

"And no one objected? Did Father?"

"Please. What a witless moron."

"Did you?"

"It is not my place to object to anything," Shiruko reminded him, his tone irritated. "That's supposed to be the job of the Chieftains. Not that any of them seem to recall that is part of their duties. I tried reminding Father the other day, but all I got was 'the King is the King.' Feh."

"Don't confuse 'witless' and 'loyal,' little brother. Although when it comes to intelligence, little Miso was probably the smartest of all of us," said the other, dispassionately. "He would have been an excellent Chieftain. Brat just didn't have enough ki to survive a challenge. Shame. Which of the other Southerners are having difficulties containing themselves?" he persisted.

"Which of the daimyos aren't?" replied Shiruko with a shrug. "They don't like change."

"Considering the current Southern hierarchy arose as the result of the civil war, that's a touch ironic. Perhaps it makes them understand how dangerous 'change' can be."

Shiruko looked at him in sudden suspicion. "Planning to instigate any changes on Vejiitasei? Are you coming home to challenge Father? It would be good to see a Chieftain that dared remind Vegeta of his duty to Vejiitasei."

"Don't be absurd," the other replied after a pause. "Since you are the designated heir, I would have to kill you before challenging Father. Even if I succeeded in killing him as well, there is no guarantee an undeclared heir would be permitted to become Chief. No one cares if Chieftain Miso dies at this stage of his life, but the entire reason I was sent off world in the first place was to prevent a struggle for the succession in the House of Misei. Yet if you think I am what the Southern Continent needs in a leader, I suppose I could return. Are you prepared to die, little brother?"

Shiruko smiled the slow, dangerous Saiyan battle grin. "The Guards have all been trained to go oozaru at will, so it might not be so easy to kill me," he said. "No matter what your ki is, warrior. If you want to have a battle that would destroy the continent you're interesting in inheriting, by all means come back and try to claim the leadership of the Southern Tribes. We'll see what's left to claim when we're done. And how interested the King is in hearing any of your excuses for the destruction, assuming you survive long enough to offer any explanations."

There was a long, assessing look between the two. "Settle down, Shiruko," the other said, evenly. "The point where the death of any more of my siblings works to my advantage is long past. In any case, there is more power in being one of Lord Freeza's guards, little brother, than in being the leader of all the continents. Although Mother is looking for me rather intensely these days. I suppose both our parents are beginning to feel the pinch of time. No word to them about any of our little conversations, eh?"

"Of course not. If they don't have the wit to find you when you hold a public position in a neighboring empire..." One final snort expressed Shiruko's opinion of his parents' acumen.

"Saiyans aren't very good with the obvious," agreed his brother in amusement as he signed off.

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The main mess hall in the warriors' barracks was never that empty a place at any hour of the day. Shifts were staggered and ended at inconvenient hours, so even in the middle of the night as the rest of the capitol snoozed the warriors' quarters was alive with activity. Nor did the fact it was a place for the warriors to take their meals mean it was at all quiet. Off-duty warriors, even Elites, consumed their share of alcohol, which made ever-volatile Saiyan tempers that much closer to eruption. The room was already in an electrified state, abuzz over the unexpected appearance of the former King's Captain, who coolly flashed a clearance pass when her right to be there was challenged. The murmuring her presence caused was just beginning to die down when the King's new liaison walked in, causing another upswing in the noise level as two tables of Saiyan warriors near the entryway suddenly leapt up to greet the alien.

In a distant corner of the room at a small circular table crowded with Palace Guards, "What is all the commotion this time?" demanded Butsunin in irritation. "Can't a man get a drink in peace any more?"

After observing the scene critically for a few seconds, "Some of Shouga's officers," Aemona reported, her voice ridiculing. "The Naval captain who headed up the King's flagship? Zarbon's served with them."

"'Served' is probably apt." Butsunin scowled at the scene as a smiling Zarbon greeted old colleagues and waved off congratulations on his recent promotion. "Hmph. Look at those off world morons fawning over him. Those multi-gender species are never too picky. Not that the off-world soldiers are."

"Obviously not," agreed Aemona, viewing the scene with revulsion.

Konny regarded Butsunin in sardonic amusement. "You're still miffed because his little third-class toy stopped the tournament before you got a chance to strut your stuff."

Butsunin snorted into the suds of his mug. "Bitch," he snarled. "Why'd she choose a loser like that gray-skinned second-class—"

"Tenacious," remarked Konny with a shrug. "He kept picking himself back up after he was well and beaten. Good survivability for the offspring in that."

"'Offspring survivability' is all you females ever talk about," grumbled Butsunin. "You think genetic material is the only thing males are good for. You got the short end there, though, didn't cha? If you ever decide to upgrade..." He leered at Konny.

She flicked the single earring she wore with a forefinger. "I'm perfectly happy with my tournament, baka. I didn't get sentimental about early round losers; I bagged an Elite."

"One with a defective allele or two," sneered Aemona.

Konny regarded her fellow guardsman with narrow-eyed scorn, "One who is now Captain of the King's Guard. Not that you'll ever be an Elite, so don't bother cluttering your mind up with the reminder."

"You must be thanking all of Kami's great warriors that your tournament was before the Queen arrived, eh?" Aemona shot back. "Chishan would have never fought for you after she got here. He probably wouldn't fight for you now."

Konny started to spit out a response, but there was another outburst of merriment from the warriors surrounding Zarbon, distracting her. She regarded the alien with narrowed eyes before a slow grin curved her mouth. "Eh, he's not bad on the eyes," she conceded after a moment. "Probably not bad anywhere. His kind are supposed to be... versatile."

Butsunin snorted again.

One of the other males said, thoughtfully, "At least he restricts himself to one mate at a time. If he started gathering a mating colony or whatever his kind call it, there would be nothing but brawls everywhere."

"And that would be a bad thing because...?" Aemona prompted after a moment.

"I don't know," the other admitted after a brief period of intense thought. "I need another drink," he decided, waving at one of the serving slaves.

"Who says Zarbon is so picky, anyway?" sniped Butsunin, his attention tracking to another part of the cavernous room. "Look over there. The Queen's new Captain. Now we know what the freak is doing here."

"Zarbon has to eat, too," said Konny, mildly. "I assume, anyway."

Butsunin acted as if he did not hear her. He was getting a little loud, although not enough to make a dent in the din of the dining hall. "Now there's a puzzle," he said as he waved his mug in Radditz's general direction. "The genetic reject loses his match, needs his mommy to pull his tail out of trouble, and somehow not only gets into the King's Guard, but ends up running part of it."

"He did make it to the finals of his draw," another of the males pointed out. "The lowest Elite grade had the most entries, so he needed to fight through a lot of warriors to get there. Although the rest is — strange."

"He's been to Chikyuu," said Konny with a shrug. "Someone who has actually dealt with humans has a better chance of anticipating the Queen's strange starts."

"It's a wonder he didn't stay there. His treacherous line of bonders seem to find Vejiitasei too much to handle." Butsunin was beginning to be belligerent, something some of the warriors greeted with tight anticipatory smiles, expecting they might get a fight out of him soon. "Can you believe the luck Radditz has? Eh, who says 'luck' has anything to do with it?" He directed another scornful glare at the alien just beginning to disengage from his well-wishers. "After all, Radditz isn't the only one on the planet with a taste for aliens. Or even for Zarbon. The King can't make a move without his sleek blue catamite nearby. The only skill Radditz needs is to make sure what ever orifice he's plugged into isn't already occupied."

This borders on treason. Dark scowls greeted Konny's quick glance about the table, indicating Butsunin had gone too far — not that Konny cared, but engaging in terminal clashes without issuing proper challenges first was a good way to end up with hours of demerit time, and that she didn't want to endure. You're drunk, Butsunin, she started to say. She never got out more than a hint of the first syllable. There was a 'swish' of whirling air and suddenly Konny was blinking Butsunin's drink out of her eyes. Zarbon was beside the small, crowded table, holding the bug-eyed Butsunin so tightly by the throat he couldn't utter more than desperate croaks.

"I know," Zarbon said conversationally to the struggling warrior as he was hoisted high over-head, "that you Saiyans are always bragging about how superior your eyesight and your smell and your hearing and all your various senses are compared to every other species in the Universe. You would do well to remember, however, that sound is made up of vibrations, and reptiles feel vibrations with their entire bodies." There was a sharp cracking sound. Zarbon dropped the limp body back into its seat. "If you could remember anything, of course." He smiled politely at the grim-faced, silent companions of the dead man, and turned back to the table where Radditz and his two Northern officers watched.

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In one distant corner of the room, "Still miss your old post?" Bardock asked Riiki, pointedly.

"I never missed it, baka," his mate replied. "What I miss is having someone of my blood in the Guard. My line has always served there." She regarded her eldest son, grimly noting the blue-silver accents on the new armor that proclaimed him and his companions to be part of the Queen's Guard. Her mouth twisted. "We're going to be late for our meeting with the Earth woman," she said, standing up.

Bardock looked at the chronometer, set high on the wall of the dining hall. "No, we aren't."

Riiki leaned over him and repeated, "We are going to be late for our meeting with the Earth woman."

"Where does the time go?" wondered Bardock after a beat. He picked up his spike-rimmed mug, swallowed its contents in one long draught, and followed his scowling mate out of the mess hall.

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He knew about Zarbon, of course, but this was his first good look at the King's liaison in action. Tamane watched the alien snap the neck of a first class warrior as easily as a carrot stick, then drop the body and turn in their direction as if nothing untoward had happened. He slid his eyes sideways to look at his Captain. Radditz did not look very happy, his fingers rapping against the tabletop, a scowl that was dark even by Saiyan standards across the narrow-featured face.

"Oh, you are so suited for the role of diplomat," he said with marked sarcasm as Zarbon sat across from him at the round table. Tamane tried not to flinch at the critical tone. Even without the alien's new rank, Zarbon still had that awesome ki that demanded caution if not respect. While the Captain had a rank that was similar, his ki certainly was not.

"Part of the trick is knowing the species you're dealing with," replied Zarbon. "Now look at his friends over there; you don't see them complaining any more, do you?"

"I didn't see them complaining in the first place," Radditz pointed out. "Is there any point in asking you what the hell that was all about?"

Zarbon drew in a breath, held it for a minute, exhaled. Then he smiled slightly, his heavy-lidded gaze falling to the table.

"Fine," snapped Radditz, "but keep your scaly paws off of my Guards."

Zarbon raised his eyes enough to flick a glance first toward him, then toward the silent Negin. "Not my type," he said. "You know I don't care for mammals, Radditz." The Queen's Captain looked even more cross. "You got possessive of your little troop in a hurry."

Tamane found himself gazing at the long blue fingers that peeked out from the alien's arm-length violet sheaths. No scales, just smooth, soft-looking skin. He glanced up, finding the alien's cool yellow eyes on him. He repressed a sudden urge to gulp, instead staring back with a lip scornfully lifted. "Are these your new officers?" asked Zarbon in a gentle voice. "At least one of them needs to be taught some manners."

"Negin, a transferee from the King's Guards," said Radditz, nodding toward their tablemate. "Tamane." Zarbon was still looking at him, brows beginning to draw down as if puzzling over something. "Tamane was in the tournament," said Radditz, evidently identifying the source of the alien's idle curiosity. "He won the highest Elite grade, in fact."

"Rapid promotion is all the rage these days," remarked Zarbon.

Tamane bristled. "I have one of the highest fighting powers on the planet," he snapped.

The long blue fingers moved, tapping the side of the scouter. "Not bad," said Zarbon, "for a Saiyan. How odious it must be for you to take orders from someone with half your ki."

"Tamane," said Radditz, dryly, as Tamane's short hair began to spike, "demonstrated a good grasp of what the Queen considered... acceptable."

"Ah, yes. Now I remember; you took out the obnoxious Southerner. Heron? Houren; that was it. Well done."

Tamane felt the start of a blush against the sides of his face, startled at the unexpected compliment. He looked at the delicate features and found himself thinking that the creature was actually rather... attractive. Surprised at himself, he averted his eyes.

"Stop teasing my officers, baka." Radditz regarded the alien with a hint of long-suffering in his face. "I can't take you anywhere," he said with a mock sigh. "You're never on time, you always have to make an entrance, you flirt with recruits, you kill perfectly good guardsmen..."

Zarbon's head inclined to the side before the etched mouth parted in a white smile. "Well, now that I've run through my repertoire of quaint alien behaviors, I suppose we should try to get some work done," he said. "I've got Vegeta's schedule with me. When did Bulma say the equipment she wanted to demonstrate for him would be ready?"

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Bulma found herself in yet another quandary when it came to Goku's parents, not sure what to say to them, not sure what Goku wanted her to say to them. She tried broaching the subject to her long-time friend during one of the daily transmissions from the approaching Earth ship, asking if he wanted to set up meetings with his relatives. "Radditz is there, isn't he?" queried Goku after several of his characteristic blinks. "Your chief of police or something? Sounds like we won't be able to avoid each other even if we wanted to."

"I didn't mean Radditz," Bulma replied. "You have other family here, Goku."

There were a couple more blinks. Then the heavy brows drew down, his face taking on a grim cast that served as a reminder that, where-ever and however he was raised, he was Saiyan by blood. He abruptly turned the monitor over to Chi-chi, giving Bulma the distinct impression he was uncomfortable with the concept of 'other' family. She absently endured the usual peppering of questions from Chi-chi and the medical team coming with her to Vejiitasei, concerning her dizzy bouts, her over-stimulated appetite, the alarming information that she still wasn't gaining any weight even though she was, by her own calculations, probably entering her second trimester. The doctors considered that a major danger sign, urging her to cut back on appointments and work hours, to spend a lot of time with her feet up, to take it easy until they could get to her.

Bulma had a mental flash of the fetus-filled tanks in the military compound. Thanking the medical personnel for their concern, she folded one hand over her slightly-curved abdomen and silently promised her baby that Mommy was going to make sure he or she did not end up in one. No matter what...

Switching the monitor off, Bulma went to the outer chambers, smiling at the guards there before sitting down at the computer so she could work for a time on her father's new robot design as she waited for her next appointments to show up. She had expressed her concern to her father (although not to Chi-chi for fear the other woman would turn the space craft around) about Vegeta's alarming plans for Gohan. Dr. Briefs responded, as she hoped he would, with an idea that might keep her husband from dismantling her guests. She studied the specs, converting measurements to compensate for Vejiitasei's gravity and trying to come up with a way to make the contraptions producible en masse. Kami knew, Vegeta would go through the things in a hurry.

She was, Bulma knew, seeking to distract herself. Not just from her impending motherhood, or from her rapidly-approaching guests, nor even from the fact that she still had not shared one or two important things (well, one thing in particular) with her family. She was about to meet Goku's parents, and she found that she was very, very nervous about it.

Part of the problem was that she felt unprepared. It was nearly impossible to find out anything on either of them. The records of the warriors were sealed, and although she was supposed to have access to the archives, there was another one of those computer glitches that prevented admittance. This was not something Vegeta was inclined to fix for her, snapping that there was no reason for her to be snooping into the personnel files. Bulma had a feeling that he didn't want her to know where his soldiers were going or what they were doing; and, frankly, she didn't want to know that, either. Vegeta was not much more forthcoming than the computers on the subject of 'Riiki,' displaying a marked aversion to talking about her. She resigned in disgrace, was all she could pry out of Vegeta. He was more forthcoming about Bardock; as forthcoming as he ever got, that is. "You'll recognize him the instant you see him," the King said, his voice malicious. "In fact, you won't be able to mistake him." None of which aided her nerves in the least.

Bulma stared unseeing at the squat cylindrical design spinning in different orientations on her computer.

"Squad Commander Bardock," one of the guards said, snapping her out of her reverie so abruptly she jumped. Then, with a curled lip, "And Riiki," he added, his tone poison. Bulma swiveled the chair at his voice, bracing herself, then wondering if Bardock and Riiki were somewhere behind Goku and Radditz, why the heck Goku would be bowing to her, when did Radditz decide on bangs.

The series of thoughts were so nonsensical it took her a moment to tease out the reality of what she was observing.

Bulma did a slow, wide-eyed scan of the two Saiyans before her, beginning to pick out the differences between who they resembled and what they actually looked like. While it certainly was Radditz's uncontrolled knee-length spikes, the body encompassed by the hair was not Radditz's. This warrior was a head shorter than Radditz, although a head taller than the other Saiyan, and, while the physique resembled an Earth body-builder, was more smoothly muscled than the new Queen's Captain. And female. Bulma had been briefly deceived not only by the hair and the well-defined muscles, but by the horribly-scarred face. The flesh was pulled into unnatural ridges about the mouth and throat, disguising anything feminine about the facial features.

As startling as Riiki's resemblance to Radditz was, nothing, not even that one cryptic utterance of Vegeta's, prepared Bulma for the stunning mirror-image of Goku that bowed to her. The only difference she could see between the two was the deep, star-like gash on Bardock's left cheek. She found herself wondering if Saiyan offspring usually resembled one or the other parent so strongly. Then she thought of Gohan, the thick Saiyan brows over the wide Earthling eyes, and knew she could have no preconceptions where her own child was concerned.

"My Queen," said Bardock, his Goku-toned voice prompting. There was a faint twitch across Riiki's face, almost a moue, before it locked again into stern lines.

Trying to make small talk (trying to distract herself so she wouldn't openly stare at Bardock), Bulma addressed her initial comments to Goku's mother. "I understand you used to be Captain of the Guards here."

"Captain of the King's Elite Guard, yes," said Riiki.

"It must have been quite a change for you, joining the army and traveling around the universe."

"Yes," agreed Riiki.

"Did you miss it?"

"It was just as well," Riiki said, something ironic in her tone. "Between Zarbon's occasional fits and the new King's ascension, there have been quite a few guards disposed of in recent years. I likely would not have survived the purges."

Bulma thought that was an odd way to speak of employee turnover; but then, she reminded herself, Saiyans' casual conversation often included war metaphors. "I suppose you have lots of questions about Goku. 'Kakarott,' you named him, right?"

There was no discernable change in the expression of either face. "He was named that," agreed Riiki.

"It's a traditional name in my tribe," said Bardock. "The attending technicians thought it appropriate."

"Goku's very nice," Bulma assured them, wondering what it would be like to have an adult son that you had never met coming for a visit.

Riiki and Bardock looked at each other. "Is he a strong warrior?" asked Riiki. "I heard that Kakarott and the King trained together on Chikyuu; I could hardly credit it until the King himself confirmed it at the tournament."

"Goku's the strongest fighter on Earth. He was in the World Championship final several times, and won the last time. And you heard correctly, he and Vegeta fought daily when Vegeta stayed on Earth. Vegeta will never say this," she lowered her tone conspiratorially, "but they were closely matched. Vegeta used to come back in tatters after their bouts."

There was no response again, apart from another exchange of glances between the two. "Is he part of your military?"

"We have lots of 'militaries,' but, no, Goku isn't in any of them. He just fights for fun."

Another pause. "Fun," Riiki finally repeated.

"'Sparring,' he calls it." Bulma ventured a smile in the direction of the other woman. "I know, it's not my idea of fun, either."

There was no answering smile. How do I talk to her? Bulma studied Goku's father. The cold expression set oddly against Goku's features. They are completely...Saiyan, she thought, some part of her distressed. They haven't asked about Gohan or Chi-chi. All they want to know about is Goku's fighting power. There's nothing of Goku in them. There's nothing of them in Goku.

"What about the brat?"

Disappointment made Bulma's voice sharp. "Weren't we talking about the 'brat'? That is what you call your children, isn't it?"

Riiki's eyes narrowed at the tone. "Among other things. Kakarott," she said, a slight stress on the Saiyan name, "is my brat. I meant his brat. Gohan?"

Bulma's emotions did a one-eighty turn. They are Saiyan, she reminded herself again. They can't express emotions. They have them — Vegeta is proof of that — but they don't know what to do with them. Vegeta's proof of that as well..."Gohan's very nice, too," she assured Gohan's grandmother. "He's stunningly well behaved, most of the time, and very disciplined. He's a very strong fighter as well," she added, knowing that would be of more interest to Riiki than the fact the boy was several grade levels ahead of his age group. "Um...he still has a tail," she said, her tone over-bright as she tried to come up with more things that would interest Saiyan relatives.

Riiki folded her arms, looking far, far more fierce (thought Bulma) than Radditz ever did. "Does he? And why doesn't Kakarott?" Bardock watched her out of the corner of his eye, his expression faintly alarmed.

Saying 'because he kept turning into a giant ape and nearly destroying the planet' probably was not a good response, especially since that was what Goku was sent to Earth to do in the first place. Bulma frantically tried to come up with something plausible, but found her usually-fertile brain was drawing a complete blank.

Then the guards by the door snapped to full, formal attention and Vegeta, tugging crossly at the chain about his throat, strode into the Imperial quarters.

Vegeta braked to a halt as Goku's parents hit the carpet, knuckles against on the floor, heads bowed. Bulma saw him scowling down at Riiki, blinking for a moment as if he were... disoriented. Abruptly he pivoted on the ball of one foot and strode back out of the room.

Well. Bulma put her hands on her hips, staring after her husband in vexation. That was rude even by...actually, by Vegeta's standards that was perfectly normal. "I'm sorry," she tried to say to Bardock and Riiki, whose heads were just raising to watch the King's exit. "Vegeta's sometimes—"

"The King," snapped Riiki, "owes us no apologies." She stood with one smooth movement, beginning to also exit the chambers. Her path was blocked. Bulma's guards suddenly stood in front of the doorway, glaring at Riiki with menace in their dark, dangerous Saiyan eyes.

There was a moment of bristling confrontation that, to Bulma, made no sense whatsoever. Then Riiki turned back and, stiffly, as if the movement pained her, bowed. The guards stood aside. Bardock watched his wife exit, as if making sure she was well out of the Royal chambers, before bowing himself and thanking Bulma for her time.

________________________________________________________

"Well?" asked Bardock after a moment.

After a pause, Riiki briefly raised one of her shoulders. "It sounds like Radditz may have been right about Kakarott," she said. "And that the King had good reason for declaring Chikyuu off-limits to Saiyans, if it somehow turns Saiyans into sentimental saps."

"Eh, give the boy a chance," said Bardock. "Both of the boys. They've never been to Vejiitasei, after all. They may yet remember who they really are."

________________________________________________________

One of the last individuals any of the scientists in the Hall of Genetics ever expected to see was the new King. He had, after all, opted to bypass their services entirely when he brought his alien Queen to Vejiitasei. However, they did not question Vegeta's intent or purpose when he burst into the Hall and ordered all of them out. They simply ran.

Left to himself, the young King stood for an instant with lowered head and clenched fists, forcing slow, calming breaths. He raised his chin, his face grim and determined. Striding to one of the restricted terminals that contained the genetic information for generations of Saiyan rulers, the King began to search out answers to a question that had never previously occurred to him.

Vegeta did not know what he would have done if Bulma rejected his offer on Chikyuu, or if the forbidden feelings between them had proved one-sided. But, as he stared down at the dark head bowed before him, experiencing confusing, vague emotions that were not his own, all at once he had a piercing suspicion why glimpses of Kakarott's mother triggered the sleeping, fragmented memories of the late King implanted within his brain — and an almost paralyzing fear of what his father might himself have done in the aftermath of rejection.

He soon found his mind eased. Scanning the records he called up, he found no mention of Riiki in the list of maternal contributors to his own DNA. Good. I could not have tolerated sharing blood with that weakling Kakarott or that wretched Radditz. Then a new scowl formed as he took in percents and notes of delicate genetic slices that he could not fully understand. What it amounted to, though, was that he actually did have something like a female parent, someone whose genetic contribution was only minimally modified. The records identified his primary mother as an officer in the King's Guard three Kings ago who fought so furiously when the Heir came to claim the throne that, after killing her, the new King ordered her genetic material preserved in the Royal gene banks. The late King hand-picked her when he decided it was time for an Heir. On impulse Vegeta checked for any images of her. A holograph whirled into existence over the touchpad. His brows pulling down in brief surprise, Vegeta found himself facing a miniature representation of a woman, wearing primitive singled-strapped chest armor, whose thigh-length spiky hair gave her a strong resemblance to Riiki.

Feh. So this is why they needed to cobble together DNA from several donors, 'mother.' No wonder you were so fierce; you were 'wild,' as Bulma says. One chromosome away from being seasonal, eh? That bit, at least, the geneticists kept from being expressed in me. Pity the 'bonding' genes remain so elusive. A slow smirk curved his mouth. Not that being bonded is as horrible as everyone makes it out to be. I was going to set the geneticists on that problem, wasn't I? I think not. It is not such a dehabilitating genetic defect after all.

The dark eyes flamed in the dim light as she looked up at him, her face set in lines of defiance and resolve. "That is why I prefer the company of the off-world troops to that of Elites, sire. They do not delude themselves with witty words..."

Vegeta took an involuntary step back from the computer terminal. I know that, he thought, displeased at being forced to acknowledge as much even to himself. I may be the only planet-side Saiyan who does, dammit. I don't need some fuzzy memory from a dead man to underscore it for me! Deliberately he took a calm, clean breath, closed his eyes, and spent no little time carefully tracking down and eradicating every last vestige of his father's psyche in his brain. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking straight at the image of the centuries-dead woman who had so much to do with what he had become, and who meant as little to him now as she had before he knew of her existence. Extending one gloved finger, Vegeta terminated the program, turning away as the hologram dissolved pixel by pixel.

There were no more flashes from his father after that. And, while he would occasionally remember the late King, thoughts of the other major contributor to his genetic make-up never again crossed Vegeta's mind.

________________________________________________________

Vegeta was relieved to find no trace of Kakarott's parents when he returned to his quarters, but annoyed when there was also no sign of the Queen. The guards indicated she went into the inner chambers to make a call to her home planet. Muttering — he was always tracking the woman down, it seemed — Vegeta paced through the King's quarters and into the Queen's, heading this time for the communications area she used for personal transmissions. Asleep again, he decided when he found her with her head down, her face buried against her palms. "Bulma?" he said softly, just checking.

Bulma raised her head from her hands. Vegeta saw the red streaks marring her pale skin, the swollen eyes. She blinked rapidly, and fluid squeezed from under her lids and trickled down her cheek.

"Woman, what ails you?" the King shouted at her, the undercurrent of alarm he felt for the last few weeks suddenly overtaking him.

She flinched before jerking to her feet and flinging herself against him. Vegeta's arms went around her, more a reflex action to keep her from collapsing than a sign of affection. "There is something wrong with you," he said, angrily. "The gravity harness isn't working correctly, right? That's it. You're staying in the imperial wing of the palace."

Her body was shaking uncontrollably, but the head moved in a negative motion. "My mom," she choked out.

Is that all?

"The old man finally do her in?" Vegeta inquired. "The gods know she was always getting on my nerves."

"Don't be a moron!" Bulma spit out, slapping ineffectually at his chest armor. "I..." She pulled away, rubbing at her running nose, at her streaming eyes. "She's mad at me, that's all," she said, her voice small and hurt. "She yelled at me. I don't remember her ever raising her voice to me. Ever." She sniffed, a pathetic sound. "I think I know where the temper comes from now," she said. "I did wonder, sometimes."

"You're crying," Vegeta finally noted, his tone amazed.

"You are so observant."

"Because your mother yelled at you?" he wondered. "Woman, I yell at you all the time. You just yell back. What is the problem here?"

"Men," grumbled Bulma in a tone that indicated the single word was meant to convey a universe of meaning. Vegeta stared blankly at her. "Frankly, she has the right to be mad at me," Bulma said after a minute, sitting back down and putting her head back in her hands. "A lot of people do. I just didn't expect her to actually be that upset." She peeked through her fingers at him, then lowered her head again. "I went about this all wrong," she said, as if to herself. "Too late. I'm stuck on the path now. I have to see it through to the end."

Vegeta scowled, having no clue what she was rambling about, having no idea what she was expecting of him. Bulma wiped at her streaming eyes again, sniffed again, and changed the subject. "We have that diplomatic dinner tonight, right? I better show you what I was planning on wearing, then. Covers the legs up, but leaves the shoulders bare. Is that going to be a problem for any of your sex-deprived guards?"

"If you need a fashion consultant, talk to Zarbon," the King snapped, feeling badly shaken by the last few minutes. Humans. Totally cracked.

___________________________________________________________________

One of the many perks of his new rank was a stunning multi-chamber suite near the Imperial Wing of the Palace. Having lived most of his life in barracks and common quarters, the privacy was a little...unsettling. Radditz wasn't entirely sure what one person was supposed to do with so much space. Then the new comm station in the corner demanded his attention, and Radditz wryly decided that 'privacy' was a relative thing.

"Bra!" he said in delight after answering. "Got my message with the new code, eh? Wait, let me patch the scouter signal in and I'll give you a tour. This place is incredible!"

"Radditz," Bra started. Then she ripped out with a series of syllables that made absolutely no sense. Radditz, in the process of tapping out the code that would link his scouter to the signal from Chikyuu, slowly raised his eyes to look at the woman's visage, studying it carefully as if it were completely new to him. She was angry, he decided after taking a few seconds to inventory the expression. Very angry. And she looked magnificent in her fury, with color flushing her face and her usually-sleepy eyes wide open and sparking. No wonder Vegeta's always picking arguments with Bulma, he thought with a slow smile. "Calm down," he said, "and speak clearly. You know I can't understand you when you talk too fast. What's upset you?"

Bra did not calm down, but her speech slowed. In fact, it became punctuated with emphatics. "I want you," she said, "to keep an especially close eye on Bulma. I want to know every time she feels faint, or nauseous, or has a mood swing, or— I want to be kept abreast of everything."

"She is ill, isn't she?" said Radditz after a pause. "There are starting to be rumors about that. Most of her color seemed to be UV-derived, though. I thought perhaps she wasn't getting as much solar radiation here as on Chikyuu, and that's why she appears...whiter."

"Not ill, exactly," said Bra after a visible search for words. "Drat it all, it's not my place to tell you what's wrong with her, but it wasn't her place to keep it from me! The one time my over-independent daughter needs me, and she makes it so I can't possibly get there! Ooooh!" There was a flat noise, as if one small off-screen foot had just been forcefully stamped.

"If she's in danger, I should know about it," insisted Radditz, his faint sense of amusement vanishing. "If I'm to know how to protect her—"

"Oh, it's too late to protect her from this," snapped Bra. "Not that she needs protection. Not that I could get a straight answer out of her, either!" The Earth woman regarded him for a moment, her expression assessing before turning sly. "The total amount of time for her to be 'better' should be about nine months," she told him, an arch note in her voice.

Terrific. Word games. "Some sort of cyclic illness, then?" he offered, hesitantly. "Viral? Or is this a human hormonal cycle? Some of us have to endure those."

After one long stare, "Bulma said she wasn't crazy about the way Saiyans did things there," remarked Bra. "I think she meant more than just the way you treat your employees. That might explain... Never mind what the exact problem is, Radditz. Just...I'm concerned about her, and I have reason to be, I think. Please keep a very close eye on her. For me?"

"Of course," he replied. "Anything for you, Bra. I'm honor-bound to you. Anyway, looking after your loud-mouth offspring is my full-time job these days," he added, ruefully.

She smiled, the face relaxing back into its usual cheerful lines. "Oh, 'honor,'" said Mrs. Briefs, waving one hand carelessly. "That doesn't matter to me. I feel so much better just talking to you," she admitted. "I'm glad you're there to look after her for me, Radditz. Now, what were you saying about showing me your new apartment? Does it have lots of dreary browns like that dreadful barracks place you were in? I could send some nice color swatches with the next supply shipment that might help you decide how to brighten everything up."