Chapter 12

"We're going to have company soon," Piccolo told the other two.

Krillin, having allready picked up the energy signatures moving their way, nodded, his face intense. Gohan's features contorted into that screwed-up expression he made when he tried to stretch his ki into unfamiliar areas. The kid had power and then some, thought Piccolo, but they had leaped over some of the subtle nuances in ki control in their determination to make sure Gohan could fight. And, he continued as he watched the kid's hair blow around, we forgot some of the fine points of good grooming, too; not that Krillin or I worry about our hair getting too long. "C'mere, kid."

Ripping a piece out of his cloak, Piccolo knelt in front of Goku's son, pulling the long hair back in a pony-tail, then tying a bandana across the boy's forehead to keep wayward strands out of the child's eyes. "Remember, they're going to be moving very fast," he said as he worked. "You have to stay focused to see what they're doing."

"Mr. Piccolo, I've watched you and Krillin train for a year. I know fast. I just wish I could do fast."

"You will, kid," Piccolo assured his student, adding to himself, assuming you survive today. Tossing his heavy cloak aside, he took off the turban and cast it on top of the cloak.

Krillin said, soberly, "They're here."

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The natives evidently decided to made their stand in the mountains south of Radditz's landing spot. Following the readings from their scouters, the warriors flew across peaks and the occasional flattened plateau, Nappa once again commenting on the value of the planet as data indicating untapped mineral resources began to cross his lens. But Vegeta was now as disinterested in the planet itself as Zarbon was; only the natives held his attention. He could feel them in the distance now, and tried to lock into their ki levels.

"More small fry," said Nappa. "500 tops. Hopefully these won't use any cheap tricks. I'd like to actually hit something."

500? thought Vegeta. What is Nappa babbling about? The lowest ki he was picking up was more in first class warrior range, and those other two were higher—

Annoyed, he pushed the thought down. What did it matter? None of the strange kis were anywhere near his, which meant he would end up hanging around watching his subordinates battle again. At least his seventh sense was in gear once more.

Zarbon pulled up. "Oh, I hate fighting in confined quarters," he said.

The natives had picked a box canyon, bare of vegetation except for a few thick, twisted trees. The three stood with their backs against the steep wall at the far end; sheer walls rose on either side of them.

"Are they crazy?" demanded Nappa. "We can just bury them from here."

"If they're anything like the last one, they're faster than they seem," Zarbon reminded him. "They'll just get out of the way."

"Then at least we'll be fighting them in open sky. We fight there, we're as likely to bring the mountains down on ourselves as on them."

"Yes," murmured Vegeta, "clever. The last one had very good control, didn't he? And limited controlled strikes will work best in this terrain. Otherwise we all spend the day digging out from under rocks."

"I'll flush them out," said Nappa, rearing back with one sparking hand.

"No," said Vegeta. "Maybe they've developed more ways to humiliate you two. I'd like to see that."

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"Gah," said Gohan, mouth gaping.

Piccolo said, coolly, "The big one got beat up a bit by one of your friends. Looks angry, too. Good. We can handle him."

"Gah," Gohan said again.

"The one with the green hair's strong," reported Krillin. Big sweat drops were being to break against his temple. "He's stronger than anything I've ever felt. Stronger than you, Piccolo."

Piccolo grunted. "That so? We'll see."

Looking at the smaller, third figure that landed just behind the other two, Gohan once more uttered, "Gah." Daddy, he thought. Help me know what to do.

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"Midgets, goblins and big-eyed children," said Vegeta. "Eclectic fighters they have on this planet."

"Namekian," murmured Zarbon, thoughtfully.

"Gesunheit."

Zarbon smiled absently, his eyes focused on the tall warrior in the middle of the trio. "No, the green one; he isn't a native. He looks like he's from Namek, a planet in Freeza's territory. Not worth settling or clearing; unstable atmospherics, I seem to remember. I wonder what he's doing here..."

"I wonder what he tastes like," said Nappa, grinning viciously and licking his lips. "Let me take them, Vegeta."

"Vegeta, he got taken out by a doll's fancy trick," protested Zarbon, turning to the Prince. "At least I got hit with something."

The two warriors were both eager to avenge their disgrace — and still grossly underestimating the foe. Frowning at the trio facing them, Vegeta said slowly, "There's enough for both of you. Go ahead, Nappa."

"All right!" Noticeably brightening, the Commander strode forward, beginning to shout insults and taunts at the silent enemies awaiting him.

Under the noise of Nappa's blustering, "If you would just let me get some Saibamen from Freeza, you could stop sending the Commander in to test the enemy," complained Zarbon softly.

"Zarbon, if we didn't want to fight ourselves, we could just bombard the planet to dust from the atmosphere. Besides, do you know what Freeza charges for his little vegetable constructs?" Vegeta's smile took on that slightly cruel edge Zarbon often saw on the King's face. "Nappa's much more expendable."

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Krillin's about to crack, thought Piccolo, regarding the human with irritation. Why the hell did I want him here again? The little monk had always been a strange combination of courage, bravado and nerves; nerves were winning as the big Saiyan marched toward them. "Get airborne," he said, sharply. "Don't go over the lip of the canyon. Keep an eye on the others and tell us if they start to make a move."

Unvarnished relief in his eyes, Krillin nodded and lifted straight up.

"Oh, don't leave!" shouted the Saiyan. "The fun's just starting."

Krillin snarled back, "I can see you get disemboweled better from up here!"

The Saiyan laughed at that, an approving note in the sound, and turned his eyes back to Piccolo. "Well, green man? Anything clever you want to say?"

Piccolo shook his head. "Just come on," he said, quietly. "Get behind me, kid."

Gohan said, "No," and took several steps, planting himself firmly in front of his sensei.

"Kid —!"

The Saiyan roared. "Oh, leave the brat alone, green man. He gets to die clean this way. He gets to die—" the figured blurred, and all that was left was the sound "—now!"

Gohan wavered and with a yelp dove to the ground, covering his head. Laughing, the flickering figure materialized long enough to leap over him, heading for Piccolo. "Maybe you should have left the brat in daycare, green man!"

Maybe, Piccolo silently agreed. They had drilled endlessly, but only real combat could tell the tale. The kid wasn't ready for it yet.

Behind the speeding Saiyan, Gohan suddenly sat up and spun around, brows drawn as a ki sphere flung from his hands. Whoa, strategy! thought Piccolo, pleased. But the Saiyan barely reacted as it hit him in the back, only stumbled slightly and kept coming. Good try, kid; just not enough juice. Then the Saiyan was on him, and it was time to fight.

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Gohan looked at the flurry of arms and legs in dismay. He thought to knock the Saiyan off balance enough to give Piccolo the first blow, but the man was — denser, somehow, than he expected and he had not used enough power. He couldn't do anything now without getting in the way...

"Kid, up here!" shouted Krillin, urgently.

Gohan gathered his legs under him and jumped high enough for Krillin to snag his wrist; long leaps he could do, but flying required the sort of delicate control that was still beyond him. Looking down, he saw the dust storm where Piccolo and the Saiyan were battling, and beyond them the two silent, still watchers. "Should we try to fight them?" he wondered.

Krillin shook his head. "If they want to fight us one at a time, let them. Let's wait and see if Piccolo needs us."

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I have Saiyans on the brain. Zarbon looked up and frowned slightly at the dangling child. First, I think that sports-minded warrior resembles Sashoki; then, I see Radditz in the hatchling. Feh, mammals; they all look alike, anyway.

Vegeta interrupted his thoughts by saying, quietly, "Nappa's met his match. I wonder if any of his offspring are fit to be the next Commander."

Zarbon's brows shot up. He took a reading and looked back at Vegeta, mystified. But Vegeta was concentrating on the battle and said nothing more.

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The Saiyan was all brute strength, battering ki, muscle without technique. I can see where this loser might have given some of those weak humans a fight, Piccolo thought, and a year ago — correction, a month ago — he would have pushed even me. Now, he's toast...

"When are you going to fight back, green man? Are we just going to waltz all day?"

"I don't waltz," replied Piccolo, breaking through a block and grabbing the other man around the waist, squeezing hard as he lifted the Saiyan off the ground. "I'm strictly a tango kinda guy. And it's time for the dip—" Freeing one arm, Piccolo put his forearm across the big shoulders, pushing back hard, trying to break the other's spine. Every muscle in the Saiyan tensed and bulged as the big body refused to bend. The Saiyan struck Piccolo over the ears with both hands flattened; wincing as the sound reverberated in his head, Piccolo released him and leaped back. The Saiyan staggered, trying to get his feet back under him on the pebble-strewn ground.

Now, thought Piccolo. He put two fingers to his forehead, concentrating his energy there, feeling the swell of power gathering, visible sparks of energy beginning to leap around his head and hand. Snapping his arm forward, he shouted, "Ma Kankou Sappou!"

A great twisting beam of ki energy headed for the Saiyan, centered on his chest. But Piccolo saw the smirk cross the thick lips, and knew he had miscalculated.

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Zarbon turned his head, watching a mountain past the open mouth of the box canyon disintegrate into pebbles, his brows twitching together in bemusement. "He shouldn't be able to do that," he complained, then looked at Vegeta, touched his scouter to take a reading and shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with my scouter. Yet they've all been doing things they shouldn't be able to do." The Prince's face reflected equal parts concentration and puzzlement. Zarbon asked, reluctantly, "What are you picking up?"

Vegeta said, slowly, "I can't get a good fix on him. He's all over the place, yet he doesn't seem to be out of control. Could he be concealing his ki, Zarbon?"

"I don't know how." Zarbon was beginning to sound piqued. "You need to have a physical state of lower or higher energy to transform to in order to do that."

I wonder, thought Vegeta.

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Blast it! thought Piccolo. Got to find a way to do that without spending so much time charging up first.

Although his charge-up time was now seconds instead of minutes as it had been when the technique was first developed, his enemy possessed the presence of mind to recognize a ki attack was coming, and the speed to wait for it to actually launch before moving. The strike ripped beneath the warrior's levitating feet, and the warrior himself unexpectedly slammed down over Piccolo's outstretched arm, wedging it under his, trapping it against the hard armor plate covering his side. The Saiyan wrapped fingers around the green and pink bicep and twisted. Piccolo screamed as he felt something rip. An elbow pressed against his neck with steady pressure, forcing him to his knees. Piccolo snapped his sharp teeth at the Saiyan's tail, but the big man laughed, uncurled it from his waist and waved it back and forth, just out of range. "Go on, try for a taste," he taunted.

Piccolo dropped his head back, an attitude of defeat.

"You're no fun anymore," complained the Saiyan.

Snapping his head forward, Piccolo hit the Saiyan in the groin with his forehead as hard as he could, startling a pained whistle of air out of him. His good hand opened against the Saiyan's chest; ki spat and the Saiyan flew backwards between his watching comrades toward a collision with a solid-looking tree.

Got him, thought Piccolo, letting satisfaction pool through him.

Then the Saiyan's hands came together in front of him as ki energy flared from his palms, and Piccolo was briefly aware of impacting pressure against his chest before blackness encroached and then completely enveloped him.

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"Drop me," said Gohan.

"Kid—!"

"I know what to do!" he insisted, urgently.

Knowing there was no time for discussion, Krillin complied. Gohan spread his arms and legs out as he fell, then tucked his feet in and landed in a deep knee bend in front of Piccolo's prone body, glaring at the Saiyan who hurt him. Nappa, gaining his feet next to the shattered tree, exploded into laughter and held his arms out to the boy. "Ah, brat, did I break your toy goblin? Come over here and let Uncle Nappa give you something to replace him with."

I know what to do, Gohan thought again, grimly. He spread his arms out to the side, and concentrated with everything he had.

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Zarbon watched the numbers scrolling across his eyepiece, his brows slightly arching. Vegeta was right; the kid was suddenly building up power to Elite levels and even beyond. He heard Vegeta snarl at Nappa to be careful, then the kid raised both hands over his head, palms together and outward, and shouted, "Magic Flash!"

Zarbon stood unmoving as the ki strike flared past him, the concussion whipping his cloak and his braid around. He ignored Nappa's yelp of surprise and pain, concentrating on the kid, watching as the boy sagged, his arms falling leadenly to his sides.

"Nicely done," he said softly as null symbols paraded across the lens of his scouter, "but you've got nothing left now. Too bad." Holding up a flattened palm, Zarbon braced himself against the backlash of energy he was about to unleash. One quick strike, and the surprisingly-dangerous Namekian and that too-erratic, too-powerful child would be ash—

Vegeta, an edge of barely-controlled fury in his voice, screamed his name. Now what—?

Turning his head, Zarbon's eyes widened as he saw a broad, flat plate of spinning energy heading for him. His mind cleared, shutting out the scouter's frantic blipping. Twisting away, trying to push against the ground for a quick take off, Zarbon gasped as he felt the blade-like edge catch his shoulder guard. Something bit deep into his arm; before he could recover and react , something else exploded near his head. Zarbon was flung, face-down, into the dirt.

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Idiots, thought Vegeta, his mind a jumble of disbelief, cold calculation and growing glee at the coming challenge. I'm surrounded by idiots.

Whatever power was behind that streaming ki strike by the kid, it had enough on it to shatter Nappa's chest armor and probably a few things under the chest armor Nappa would rather not have shattered. The Commander in Chief was down, swearing impressively and making solemn vows as to the eventual fate of every miserable flea on this misbegotten mudball. Whatever it was that speedy bald-headed runt threw, it sliced cleanly through Zarbon's shoulder armor and, from the spray of blue blood it sent up, hit some vital artery within Zarbon's flesh. He knelt next to Zarbon, checking to be sure the alien was breathing before turning his hard-eyed gaze toward the natives. Fortunately for them his aide would likely recover, but had he not moved partially out of the energy disk's way there would have been neatly sliced Zarbon pieces everywhere — and Vegeta would have been put to the considerable bother of finding another high ki sparring partner.

These natives are beginning to border on the inconvenient, the Prince thought.

Although the kid's ki plummeted after he threw the energy sphere, he had recovered enough to toss a ki sphere at Zarbon and was charging up a third time, face contorted in agony as he tried to draw enough power from depleted resources for another strike. The small adult landed next to him, holding his hands flat and down as if trying to calm the boy. Most importantly, the Namekian was on his knees, shaking his head as he slowly regained his feet. The most dangerous of Chikyuu's defenders was back in the fray.

Vegeta glanced back at the writhing, cursing Nappa, then down at the unmoving Zarbon. A smile parted his lips, narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the Chikyuu warriors. They are worthy, he thought. And they're all mine.

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Something was happening with the short one.

Resting a hand on Gohan's shoulder as he told the boy to save his power, Piccolo regarded the small Saiyan who remained aloof during the previous combats. Across the valley the man was sliding his feet apart, holding clenched fists away from his body—

"Oh, oh," said Krillin.

—and beginning to charge up.

"Time to scram," Piccolo said grimly.

"But I haven't even fought yet! We can't just let him—" Krillin started. He cut himself off, watching wide-eyed as a blue and white aura began to shimmer around the black-clad form.

Piccolo felt the leading edge of the power buildup strike his senses. Krillin gasped, taking an involuntary step back. "You were saying...?" Piccolo asked him in harsh amusement. "I'm hurt, the kid's spent. That one's fresh. And he's powerful. He's more than powerful. You wanna take him on by yourself?"

Gohan pressed against Piccolo's leg, turning his face away, whimpering. The Saiyan's strength was overwhelming Goku's son, Piccolo noted, and the pointy-haired runt hadn't even reached full power.

"Let's not give him the chance to destroy the planet just because he's tee'd off at us," Piccolo continued. "Hit and run, remember? This is the 'run' part, boys." Reaching down with his good arm, he snared the back of Gohan's clothes and hauled the child up. "Get ready — get set—" Gohan hid his face against Piccolo's chest, the chubby fists clenched into the torn cloth of the Demon King's top. Piccolo cupped his hand protectively against the boy's neck. "—You did good, kid — GO!"

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"NO!" screamed Vegeta in disbelief as his three victims suddenly lifted off the ground, heading straight up with awesome acceleration. "Cowards! Come back here!" He took off after them, but by the time he cleared the first mountain peak his senses could no longer discern them. It was as if they vanished into thin air. Could they really be so much faster than he was? Even if they were that speedy, he should still be able to track their kis where-ever they went on the planet. Yet no matter how far he cast his senses, no matter which direction he turned, there were no traces of any familiar kis other than Zarbon, Nappa and—

—and Radditz. He could just whiff a faint, weakened Radditz in the distance.

Sighing in disappointment, Vegeta headed back to the battle field and his fallen comrades. We might as well deal with him. At least it will make Zarbon happy...if I let him live after this disappointing performance.

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Pulling back to slow-moving consciousness, Zarbon mentally assessed the damage to his body. Nothing too serious, apart from the artery in his upper arm. He would have to either tie off the arm or get to a regen tank for just a few minutes — which he was permitted to do depended on Vegeta's mood, which after this latest debacle was not likely to be good...

Something made rib-crunching contact with his side, forcefully expelling air. Zarbon squeezed open one eye and saw gold-tipped boots stop next to his head. Right, then; no regen tank for a while. Which is a pity because now I really need one... Forcing himself to a sitting position, Zarbon squinted up at Vegeta's stern visage. After painfully pulling air back into his lungs, "Got away, eh?" he wheezed.

"Yes. Absolutely no trace of them anywhere on the planet. Tell me, Zarbon; what is the use of being able to transform when you don't bother to do it?"

That had the ring of rhetorical about it. Zarbon briefly considered asking Vegeta why he wasn't a fifty-foot tall monkey if transforming in the middle of a fight was so bloody practical, then decided he wasn't in so much pain he wanted to be put down. Gripping a handful of his tattered cloak, he ripped a piece off with his teeth and worked to make a tourniquet for his arm. Vegeta watched impassively for a minute, then reached into his chest plate and pulled out the recall remote.

"I've had enough for one day," the Prince said crossly. "The only warriors worth my time have literally vanished, and you two performed like third class trainees. We'll see what this planet can throw at us tomorrow."

"Maybe we should send down some troops who can go oozaru?"

"Oh, no. They have some surprising fighters here, Zarbon, and I haven't had a chance to measure their worth against mine yet. I don't want any of them trampled underfoot before I decide which of them should be offered your position. Besides," the Prince added, casually, eyeing his trainer from under half-lowered lids, "I know where Radditz is. If you want to take a break from getting creamed, we can pay him a visit tomorrow."

Zarbon looked up with sudden eagerness, but saw the Prince regarding him with that shadowed, hard-eyed look that meant Vegeta was feeling especially spiteful. Even knowing that, he started to say, "I can go now..."

"Zarbon. I said, tomorrow." Looking into the sky as he waited for the shuttle, Vegeta held up an arm, flexed a wrist, and was suddenly holding a spinning flat disk of energy over his head, much like the one the native had thrown at Zarbon. "Well, at least I got a new ki technique out of this," the Prince said, his tone marginally less cross.