Flash Forward 1: The New Heir

 

Fifty Years After the Birth of the Super-Saiyan

The geneticists were more than usually nervous as they stood before the dais of the Saiyan King. One male in the center of the group, the only Saiyan amongst them, clutched the latest candidate, his face pulled taut with fear and yet defiant. The other geneticists stood as far away from him as they could without leaving the gold carpet that led to the great stone throne upon which the King sat. "Eh, don't bother," said the King in irritation. "I can tell you've managed yet another failure."

The Captain of the Guard, standing at the foot of the stairs, touched the side of his blue-tinted scouter. The thick brows rose inquisitively.

The head geneticist finally spoke, nervously. "The ki is well above the minimum you required for your Heir, Sire."

"Finally," growled the King. "What the hell is the problem, then?"

No-one seemed willing to answer. The Captain approached the group and, although some individuals flinched, there were no objections. It would be the Captain's job to terminate this candidate, as he had terminated the other unsuccessful ones; he did not represent the true threat. The scowling figure perched dozens of feet away did.

"He-er," stammered the head geneticist, finally.

The Captain reached out a thick-fingered hand and drew back one corner of the cloth covering the infant's face. He stared for one electric moment.

"He doesn't have a tail," the head geneticist finally blurted. "There was a problem during development, and it had to be removed."

"Feh," snarled the King. "Why did you even bother taking this one out of the birthing chamber? I'm tired of having my time wasted. Get rid of it, Captain."

The Captain took the baby from the man holding it, who looked as if he desperately wanted to speak. But instead of simply disintegrating it, the Captain held it carefully in the crook of one muscular arm and gently stroked a finger down the tiny cheek. "Open your eyes, little one."

The King propped his chin against his fist. "Getting sentimental in your old age?" Scorn dripped from his voice. "Or is there some aspect of the order that's beyond your third-class mentality, Captain? Do it. I have other matters that require my attention."

The Captain seemed transfixed by the little bundle. He gave the Saiyan geneticist a piercing look. The other man folded his arms and glared back. Then, unbelievably, the Captain turned toward the dais with the baby. He knelt before the steps leading to the throne, and held the child up to the King, his own head bowed.

"I perceive," the King remarked in a bored tone, "that I will shortly be needing a new Captain." He stood up, his expression annoyed. "And before your eldest is even close to taking your place! But then, emotionality was ever a problem in your line, warrior. If you choose to die with the brat, 'tis no concern of mine." Energy began to give the compact, muscular body a slight glow.

The Captain made no response, did not even raise his head, but the infant itself made a tiny gurgling noise and the King's gaze was involuntarily brought to it. His head jerked, and the gathering ki simply snuffed. He stepped down from the dais, reached out with a gloved hand, and, much as the Captain had done, tugged away a corner of the cloth near the child's face. He stared into the tiny, scrounged-up newborn visage with its blinking, unfocused eyes. Its unfocused blue eyes.

When he quietly spoke, everyone except the Captain cringed away. "Who has done this thing?"

Like an ameba, the pool of geneticists flowed away from the Saiyan scientist at their center, leaving him alone and defiant. The man went down on one knee, his fist flat against the carpet like a warrior. After a long perusal, "I know you," mused the King.

"Daizu," the man identified himself. "I was part of the Chikyuu mission, Sire. When-"

"I know," the King said, coolly, "what happened on the Chikyuu mission, scientist. You are responsible for this...event?"

The spiky head ducked in acknowledgment.

"I see that we will have to be more careful in screening who has access to the gene banks," remarked the King. He walked past the Captain, who finally lowered the infant and cradled it against his broad chest. Daizu did not look up as the King halted in front of him. "An act of supreme arrogance, scientist," the King commented. "But arrogance is something you scientists are known for, isn't it?" Quick as lightning he moved, the gloved hands clamped on either side of the dark head; he spun once and released. Daizu's body crashed with force against the far wall, leaving an imprint that, for a moment, encased him before gravity took over and he peeled out of the cavity, striking the floor unconscious. "The price for impudence."

The head geneticist hastily said, "He acted alone, Sire. We had no clue until a week ago, when we began to notice genetic-anomalies. It was past the point when we could terminate without your permission, Sire. We had no-"

The King, his expression disinterested, raised one hand in a single smooth motion. Ki energy flared. "It would seem I no longer require a full contingent of geneticists," he remarked. "Daizu will fill the role quite nicely." The Captain stopped by his shoulder. Turning, the King took the bundle from him, tucked the infant against his hip in a manner that suggested previous experience with carrying babies, and ordered the rest of his appointments that day canceled. He strode over the several scorched, ashy spots on the carpet, crossly adding that there had better be some serious cleaning in the throne room before the next week's audiences. The Captain trailed after him at a respectful distance, through the center of the Palace's public rooms, into the King's personal quarters, even into the private chambers where no one else was permitted at all, not even domestics. The King paused in the doorway of his bedchamber, his first hesitation since taking the infant from the Captain. He shifted the child from his hip, cradling him in both arms, gazing down into the tiny face. "Eh," he said after a second, "he's about half a second away from screaming, I think. He has that look."

Hardly had the words left his mouth when a shattering wail erupted from the blanket. "I already regret this," sighed the King, but his expression as he held the screaming infant was anything but regretful. It was introspective and almost...tender. Then suddenly his face changed, and he grimaced. "Ugh. I just remembered another in a series of astonishingly inconvenient things about infants. And I'm sure we don't have a damned thing here to change him with."

"I can take him to-" the Captain started, but the King fixed him with a baleful look over one shoulder and he promptly shut up. The King took the boy into the bathing chamber, stripped him of the soiled blanket, efficiently cleaning him up and replacing the blanket with one of the soft towels. Then he carried him back into the bed chamber, his eyes riveted to a door that had not been opened in many, many years.

"We can set something up in here," said the Captain, sympathy he couldn't quite disguise in his voice.

"Your job is to protect me from physical harm, baka," snapped the King. "You do not even try to protect me from the past."

The Captain was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, it was with a note of rebuke. "I have no wish to deny the past either, my King."

The King gave no indication that he heard. Once more propping the complaining child against his hip, he squared his shoulders and opened the door that led to the Queen's quarters. He looked neither to the right or the left, but headed straight for a room that had been unused for decades. And, while other sections of the Queen's quarters were thick with dust, here the specially-designed ventilation systems still ran, and, evidently, the mindless domestic robots that had long since been deactivated in the rest of the suite still performed their tasks. The King set the baby down in the barred bed the Queen designed. The infant promptly went from sounds of mild discontent to another barrage of wails. "Shh." The King stripped off one glove. Watching from the doorway, the Captain saw a brief gleam of gold on one of the King's fingers. The King gently laid a warm hand on the baby's stomach, rubbing. The wailing stopped. The baby began to kick its tiny feet and coo, tiny hands trying to grab at the King's thumb. "He looks like he has a good grip," remarked the Captain, a bare shard of humor in his tone.

The King gazed down at the baby, but his eyes were unfocused, looking far into the past. "Trunks," he murmured softly. "Trunks."