Chapter 19

Goku bolted upright, suddenly wide awake. Next to him Chi-chi stirred, wriggled onto her side and settled back down. Glancing frantically around the room, Goku grabbed what clothing he could off the top of Chi-chi's laundry pile; it proved to be a pair of running shorts and a very wrinkled, none-too-sweet-smelling sleeveless sweat top. Poking his head out the window, Goku looked up into the sky at the blue-clad figure hovering over his house.

"I thought you wanted to spar today, Kakarott," said Vegeta. An eyebrow went up behind the lens of a ruby-red scouter. "'For real,' if I remember correctly."

There was a slight noise from the doorway. Turning and leaning with his hands braced against the window's edge, Goku saw his son. Gohan's dark eyes were wide and fearful.

"It's okay," Goku whispered to him. "Tell your Mom I'll be back for lunch, okay? And help me find some shoes."

Gohan went down on his hands and knees, beginning to look under the dresser and the chairs. "Dad, he can find you now," he informed his parent as he pulled out one beat-up sneaker and handed it to his father.

Goku tugged it on, then crawled under the bed to find the shoe's mate. "That's no big deal," he said, reassuringly, wishing he believed it himself. Hopping around as he forced the other sneaker on, he went to the window and vanished from Gohan's sight.

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It was odd that the Earth warriors wore no protective gear during their battles. Vegeta regarded Kakarott's bare legs and arms as the Saiyan (the Earth-Saiyan, he reminded himself; there was little about 'Goku' apart from his appearance that marked his heritage) flew in front of him, thinking that even in a non-competitive sparring match the other man would be covered with bruises in no time. They sped over the strait separating Bulma's island from the nearby continental mass in seconds. Kakarott angled slightly south-west, calling back over his shoulder that they were almost there. Vegeta felt his lips curl slightly in anticipation, hoping the traitor's effectiveness against him the night before hadn't been a fluke.

Kakarott pulled up, turning to face him. Glancing around, Vegeta saw the warrior had led him to an area with sparse vegetation and many rugged flat-topped plateaus, similar to the habitat the Prince faced the traitor's young son in. Apparently such was the preferred terrain for battles on Earth. As Kakarott promised, it was isolated from any of the various sentient species; the Earthlings demonstrated no interested in the extra spice non-combatants could bring to a contest. Floating passively, the Prince crossed his arms. "You go first this time."

Kakarott attacked at a level similar to what Vegeta used the night before, leading with an elbow to the throat that Vegeta easily blocked, then spinning out of the Prince's grasp to aim for the back of his neck. Although Vegeta could easily get out of the way of the blow, he choose to move at the same relatively low level and countered the strike by holding his forearm slightly behind him. Kakarott's blow slid harmlessly away as Vegeta flipped in mid-air, centering himself behind the other man and trying to kick at Kakarott's wide-open side. As before, Kakarott trapped his leg, but this time the Prince had a counter. Hooking Kakarott's ribs with his ankle, Vegeta pulled the other man close and gripped his knees against Kakarott's chest, forcing the air out of his lungs, then brought his elbows down on Kakarott's shoulders just as he released the leg lock. Kakarott went streaking to the distant ground. The soil shattered under Kakarott's feet, but the Earth-Saiyan pushed off back at the Prince, grinning in pleasure, apparently none the worse for wear.

Vegeta watched his approach, thoughtfully. So, there is that much about him that is still Saiyan. Despite what he said last night, he enjoys fighting for its own sake. Let's see what else he can do— His brows pulled together in concentration. The Prince vanished from sight, to materialize a hundred feet below his last position in front of the uprising Kakarott. Before the Earth-Saiyan could respond, Vegeta spun, landing a solid round-house kick that snapped Kakarott's head to the side and sent him careening toward a nearby cliff-side. But Kakarott twisted, tapped the cliff face briefly with one foot, and zipped back toward him, arms outstretched. Vegeta clicked his tongue softly; he can take hits at higher Elite levels; and put both arms in front to block.

Kakarott's body flickered and vanished. There was a rush of wind at Vegeta's back; Vegeta whirled but the blow came under his hands, striking the armor protecting his abdomen. Vegeta let out a breath with a whoosh, brought his palm up under Kakarott's chin and, digging his fingers into the face, flung the other warrior away from him. He can hit at higher Elite levels, too, he thought, a touch ruefully. And his speed—that's close to how fast Zarbon moves... Was it possible? Could the son of a third class warrior obtain that class above Elite, so rare on Vejiitasei it had no name?

Vegeta tensed every muscle, charging up slightly, doubling the level he had been fighting at, and tore after Kakarott's just-righting figure. Kakarott's forearm came up, catching Vegeta's blow; his free hand locked against Vegeta's fingers. The two hung in mid-air, pushing futilely back and forth. Vegeta looked into the other man's eyes, and saw the light of battle, the near-Saiyan smirk. His own thoughts were cold. He can read ki without a scouter; otherwise, how would he know what force to use against me when I upped the power? And, even though I can't sense him properly, the fact he can counter this means he controls the sort of planet-destroying energy no other Saiyan save I possess...

The scouter, which was feeding him ki readings far below what it would take Kakarott to do what he was doing — and lower than what his own senses were beginning to tease out — suddenly flared to life with a new set of signals. Dammit, thought Vegeta in annoyance, gazing at the symbols crossing his lens. This was the price he paid for wearing the thing. His father was once more demanding an update, holding (impatiently, no doubt) on the ship for his son's account. But the Prince had the information he sought when he challenged Kakarott. As impossible as it seemed, Bardock's Chikyuu-bound son was in Zarbon's league, making him the second-most powerful Saiyan in recent history — and worthy of the Prince's attention. Which, given the reports from the techs assigned to decipher Bulma's miniaturization process, might make the traitor useful in Vegeta's just-crystallizing plans for the near future. After that — Vegeta smiled politely at the Earth-Saiyan as he broke free, expressing his regrets and his hopes for a rematch — well; no one was essential forever.

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There was one perfect day when nothing happened. No Saiyan Princes turned into giant simians on her lawn; no blue-tinted aliens threatened her father with dire consequences should Radditz's tank again be approached. Vegeta met Goku in the unpopulated desert of a nearby continent's center for a sparring match and was, Goku reported unhappily, frigidly cordial. Despite Goku's obvious disappointment at a contest that disintegrated no mountain ranges, Bulma felt a sense of normalcy about her life that was, after the trauma of the past several weeks, eerie. She went about her duties as President of the Capsule Corporation as if imminent doom didn't hang over the planet and a horde of media didn't camp on the company's front doorstep.

But the day after that Bulma looked out her bedroom window early in the morning and saw a Saiyan shuttle settling on the lawn near the building that hosted Radditz. Sighing, she pulled on some clothes and went to see what was about to disrupt her life this time.

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Over a small, whitewashed house with a rounded exterior floated a caped figured, watching as a window opened and a small boy crept out. Looking up, the boy gestured toward the nearby dense forest; the figure nodded curtly and descended, carefully controlling his cape as he went through the thick canopy so that branches would not snag it. He landed by the trunk of one broad tree, and leaned back against it with folded arms and downcast eyes. Running footsteps were heard. "What is it?" asked Piccolo without raising his head.

"Uncle Radditz is waking up," responded Gohan, urgently. "Dad says not to worry about it, but—"

"Kid, with all the powers running around the planet right now, your Uncle Radditz is strictly small fry," said Piccolo, frankly. "Heck, you can beat him with one hand tied behind your back. What are you worried about?"

"Because," said Gohan, intensely, "it's personal with him."

Piccolo's eyes arched. "A valid point," he conceded. He held out one arm. "Hop up, kid."

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Bulma stood in front of the shuttle as the ramp slowly extended and tried not to feel like she was in a black-and-white "B" movie about monsters from outer space. Glancing at her tinted nails, she grinned slightly; at least she was still in color. Looking up, she saw a shadowy, spiky-haired shape at the top of the ramp she recognized as Daizu. The somber Saiyan cast of his face brightened when he saw her, and Bulma found herself thinking that whole gravity thing was just a total bitch, really. "Good morning," she greeted him. "What's going on?"

"Radditz is done healing," he told her. "Zarbon wants a med tech to go through the draining procedure, just in case something shorts, I guess. I've already instructed him on the preliminary stuff, but he still wants me here. He's a bit anal, that one."

"Zarbon's just worried about his friend, that's all."

Daizu pulled a slight face that she couldn't interpret. "I suppose so," he said. "Eh, different strokes," he added with a shrug, grinning at her suddenly. He was attractive, thought Bulma; most the Saiyan males she had seen were, in a stern, grim sort of way. Even Vegeta, if one could get past the Prince's near-constant scowl—

Wondering where the hell that came from, Bulma blocked off the thought and grinned back at Daizu cheerfully. "Well, let's not keep Zarbon waiting, then," she said.

"Oh, let's," said Daizu softly. Bulma was on the verge of being flattered when she heard the sounds from his scouter and knew they were about to have visitors.

Yamcha landed first, materializing just over their heads with a high-pitched sound then touching down softly right next to her. "Hey," he said, smiling a hard smile at her while he eyed the Saiyan (the really, really big Saiyan, Bulma thought in burgeoning alarm). "You didn't say anything about visitors, Bulma."

"This is Daizu," Bulma said, speaking too fast. "He's a medical technician; he's here to get Radditz out of the tank." But she saw the hardening lines of Daizu's face, and remembered that, what-ever else they might do, all Saiyans were warriors first. "This is Yamcha," she told Daizu. "He's my — uh, he's a friend of mine," she finished, lamely. "He lives way too close to here," she added with an edge in her voice, glaring at Yamcha.

Yamcha gazed back with his most innocent look as Daizu's features fractionally relaxed. "Ah, well," said the Saiyan. "I already knew you were worth fighting for." One corner of his mouth slid up. "And you are worthy of fighting," he said to Yamcha.

Yamcha put his hands on his hips and said, "My schedule's free."

"Stop it right this instant," said Bulma sharply. "Truce and all that."

Both warriors looked disappointed. Then the scouter beeped again and both turned their heads up at the same angle, tracking something that Bulma didn't see until there was a big 'thud' on the lawn and Gohan stood in front of them, his brows knotted as he glared at the Saiyan warrior.

Daizu pursed his lips at what-ever the scouter was telling him. He went to one knee in front of the boy, unselfconscious, apparently not especially interested in why a child was falling from literally nowhere. Bulma craned her neck, looking for Goku, but caught Yamcha's scowl and suddenly realized she didn't want to know who had brought Gohan here. "Hello, there," Daizu said, grinning. He looked up at Bulma, eyebrows raised. "Yours?"

"No," said Bulma, adding in exasperation, "You should not be here," to Gohan.

"It's Saturday. I'm not missing school," Gohan assured her, his tail undulating anxiously behind him.

That tail was hard to miss when it was whipping around. Daizu's brows went almost to his hairline. Oh, great, thought Bulma as she said, "Look, this is Daizu, he's in the medical field, and he's here to help Radditz, okay? He's not here to hurt me or anyone else. So you can go home and not worry about it."

Gohan glared at her, turned on his heel, and marched toward Radditz's building. Bulma gaped after him in surprise. "Did you see that?" she demanded of Yamcha. "He turned his back on me! When did Gohan turn into such a brat?"

"He's keeping suspicious company these days," replied Yamcha. "A lot of us are," he added, staring pointedly at Daizu.

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Zarbon had been like a brood hen all morning, and it was beginning, obviously, to get on Radditz's nerves. "Look, all you have to do is push half-a-dozen buttons and I'm out of here," the Saiyan was snapping, the filters in the tank's speakers not disguising the petulant undertone. "What the hell is the hold up?"

"Do I look like a med tech?" Zarbon said, a sharp edge to his voice.

"Oh, you don't want to get me started on what you 'look' like—"

"Boys," said Mrs. Briefs, gently. She patted Zarbon on one of his silk-covered arms, then took advantage of his slight start to slip past him and stand in front of the tank, smiling at Radditz. He scowled at her then, almost imperceptible, his face softened. "Zarbon just wants everything to be done right," she told him. "He's been taking very good care of you. Can you blame him for not wanting to rush things now?"

Radditz subsided, but muttered something in a language she didn't understand. Mrs. Briefs looked at Zarbon; the alien was grinning slightly. "He can blame me," he translated, dryly. The scouter over his eye beeped and his grin widened. "We're going to have a full house," he told Radditz. "Daizu's here; Yamcha, and—"

There was the sound of a heavy tread, and Gohan stomped in, stopping just inside the door and glaring equally at all the occupants.

"—and the little warrior. In a fine mood, from the looks of it."

"I'm just trying to do what's right," Gohan informed Mrs. Briefs, indignantly. "Bulma doesn't have to yell at me about it."

Mrs. Briefs sighed. "Sweetheart, she doesn't always realize she's yelling."

"I wasn't yelling!" came a snarl from the hallway behind him. "You want yelling? This is—!" She cut off in mid-sentence, then Yamcha yelped. "I'm going to need a tetanus shot now," Mrs. Briefs heard him mutter.

Bulma's mother looked down at the boy, recognizing the subtle signs of hidden guilt that she had seen too often in her own child. "Does your father know where you are?" she asked him.

"Dad always knows where I am," said Gohan, obliquely.

"Does your dad have a tail, too?" asked the big Saiyan just stepping into the door.

"Not anymore. He did."

Daizu went to the main control panel by the tank's side, glanced at it, and asked too-casually over his shoulder. "Does your mom?"

"No." Gohan continued, artlessly, "She's human. Dad's not."

"Really," murmured Daizu, turning his head at that. He looked with renewed interest at Bulma, who was just entering the room. Yamcha, shaking one hand vigorously, could be glimpsed behind her.

Zarbon gave a heartbroken sigh, and looked woefully at the tank. "Ah, my darling Radditz. As backward as this planet is, I don't think we can hide our little love-child here much longer."

"Baka. Told you it would never work," said Radditz. "Don't be an idiot," he added, apparently in response to Daizu's startled expression. "It's my brother's half-breed brat."

"I'm going straight home after Uncle Radditz gets out," Gohan told Mrs. Briefs, earnestly. "I want to make sure he doesn't do anything mean."

There was a grunt of amusement from the tank. "With you here? As if I would do anything that might harm my own flesh and blood!" came Radditz's augmented voice.

Gohan's brows came down, giving him that Goku-like cast to his face. "Watch it," Zarbon told Radditz. "I don't know if the little hybrid reads minds or what, but he seems to know when what you're saying doesn't match what you're thinking."

"All right." Radditz corrected himself, affably. "While I have no problem contemplating dismantling any number of blood relations, I have no plans to do so today. How's that?"

Gohan, after a moment of consideration, nodded curtly. But he stepped slightly in front of Mrs. Briefs, as if determined to protect her, when Daizu began draining the tank.

"Well, look at you!" said Zarbon in pleased admiration as Radditz, shaking moisture out of his hair, stepped down from the tank.

Indeed, thought Mrs. Briefs. Whatever near-mystical chemicals were used in the tank certainly improved the Saiyan's all ready-impressive physique. Radditz had filled out through the chest and shoulders, and those thighs — Mrs. Briefs stole a glance at her daughter's scowling face and wondered what was wrong with the current generation.

But Zarbon was not, apparently, enthralled by Radditz's body. Reaching a hand up to the side of his face, Zarbon popped off his scouter and handed it to Radditz. Then, as the Saiyan carefully fitted it under his still-dripping hair, Zarbon put his arms around the other man and hugged him.

"I'm sopping wet," warned Radditz as Zarbon slapped his palms against Radditz's back, making damp fleshy noises. But he leaned down and put his chin on Zarbon's shoulder, just for a moment, and there was briefly something sad and desperate in his face that wrung Mrs. Briefs' sensitive heart.

"Oh, I don't care," said Zarbon cheerfully. "I have been so worried about you! Don't ever do that again. Ye gods, man, you're the only planet-side Saiyan that's halfway decent to me. If anything happened to you I would have to make friends with Nappa or something."

Radditz snorted and disentangled himself, tapping the scouter to view the reading displayed there. "Well," he said, a surprised, pleased note in his voice.

"You're an Elite now, Radditz," Zarbon pointed out. "How did that happen?"

"Barely," said Radditz with another snort. "No reason, Zarbon; it just occurs when you get out of the tank, sometimes." He handed the scouter back, looking at Zarbon with amusement. "You're soaked, baka. You could have waited five seconds for me to power up and dry off."

"There isn't enough ki in this quadrant of the galaxy to dry out your hair," retorted Zarbon. He turned, raising an eyebrow at Gohan. "Although maybe the little warrior can help you out there."

"I think not. The brat's what put me in the tank in the first place."

Zarbon gazed steadily at Gohan, his face still and deadly. "I didn't shoot him," Gohan said.

"No, it was that green creature with the ears. After I took off his arm, I figured he'd just bleed to death. My mistake."

"Dammit," Zarbon said in annoyance. "The Namekian? I had a clear shot at him, and I didn't take him out."

"I did shoot him," Gohan informed his uncle. Zarbon cast his eyes up at that, but didn't add anything to the statement.

"Ah, well. Maybe we can all get a rematch soon, eh?" Gohan didn't answer. Smirking, Radditz pulled on a brief body suit that left his arms and legs bare, obviously just to provide some padding against the black and tan plate armor Zarbon held out to him. But Radditz suddenly locked eyes with Mrs. Briefs, and the smirk softened. Bulma shrank back at his approach, stepping on her mother's feet, but Radditz ignored her. Laying one of his warm hands over her shoulder, Radditz embraced Mrs. Briefs gently. Thinking she wouldn't be able to reach around the wide body, Mrs. Briefs reached up and patted his lean cheek. "I have been cooking all morning," she said, cheerfully, "so I hope you're especially hungry."

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Despite Mrs. Briefs' insistence that everyone was invited, several members of the group tendered their regrets. Apparently satisfied that Radditz wasn't going on an immediate rampage, Gohan said he had to get home right away. "What, no hug for your old Uncle Radditz?" asked the Saiyan in a indolent drawl. The boy gave him an incredulous stare and took off from a deep crouch, easily clearing both the compound's fence and the ever-present contingent of media. Daizu, reluctantly, indicated he had to return to the ship immediately — orders had come from on high that dire consequence awaited him should he linger. Zarbon put up his fine brows at that but made no comment as Daizu re-entered the shuttle and the media went into a frenzy trying to get the best possible shots of the craft's lift-off.

Zarbon actually made it as far as the entrance to the main building before his scouter blipped. Tapping it, he looked at the symbols crossing the lens and sighed. "Vacation's over," he told Radditz. "There's something on the ship Vegeta wants me present for, pronto. Nice of him to wait until the shuttle left," he grumbled.

"He must think you need the exercise after lazing around here."

"Ingrate."

Radditz asked, still in that lazy, indifferent tone, "Do we have a schedule?"

After a pause, Zarbon said coolly, "Word is, one way or another, we leave within the week."

"Ah." Radditz smiled at the humans, showing most of his teeth in the smirk. "I'll eat fast, then."

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"There is something really weird about that guy," Yamcha said to Bulma in an undertone.

Bulma looked over the sofa's back to the kitchen, where her mom was giving a plethora of pots a last-minute stir before serving. Radditz was standing off to one side, watching Mrs. Briefs with an amused, indulgent expression. "Besides the tail, you mean?"

"Not Radditz. The blue one. The way he moves — it's just not right, somehow."

"You've never gotten over the fact I thought he was good-looking," said Bulma, an edge of sarcasm in her voice.

Yamcha exhaled sharply through his nose, looking cross. "Oh, yeah, he'd be a drop-dead gorgeous woman. I thought you thought he was gay, anyway."

"What are you two talking about?" a voice asked, and Radditz leaned with one arm against the sofa's back, his hard, curious gaze going back and forth between the two of them.

"Oh, Zarbon," said Yamcha, seeing and ignoring Bulma's frantic signals for silence. "Bulma thinks he's good looking."

"I said I don't anymore, all right? Geez, you just won't let some things go..."

"I won't?!"

The two glared at each other. Radditz said to Yamcha, "But you think he'd be fine as a female?"

"That's not what I meant," said Yamcha.

"Explain what you mean by 'gay,'" Radditz instructed, which Yamcha (over the now-vocal objections of Bulma — she had a mouth, that woman) promptly did. Radditz crossed his arms on the back of the sofa, rested his chin against one wrist, and started chuckling. Then he began to laugh uproariously. "Doesn't...really...apply," he finally gasped out.

"What, he's bisexual...?"

Radditz howled. "Hardly! He's got more than just two mating forms!"

Yamcha was getting annoyed; Bulma was beginning to show the first glimmers of understanding. "You mean; 'he's' not really a he?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say he isn't male," Radditz gasped as his laughter began to degrade back into chuckles. "But he —" Radditz started laughing again, and repeated the word, stressing it, "— he doesn't have to be."

Puzzlement writ large on his face, Yamcha asked, "What, he's a shapeshifter? I have a friend who's one; he can imitate a woman, but that doesn't make him female."

That brought more amusement from Radditz. "He's not a shapeshifter, exactly. What he calls himself is a 'changeling.' He has a dozen or so forms he can switch between, but apart from things like skin color the forms are genetically pre-determined and he can't alter them much. He uses the one you've seen because it gives him the most precise control over his power. No, that's not what I meant. Zarbon's race is multi-gender," he told the two humans, "which means Zarbon himself is something we Saiyans just don't have a word for. We call him 'male' because, in this form, it's what he resembles. If he decided to live in one of his other forms, we would start calling him 'female' for the same reason. In his natural state, neither of those terms apply. To those of us from bi-gender species — well, most planet-bound Saiyans find him very disturbing, and the rest;" Radditz's tone became self-mocking; "some of us hang around him more than is really healthy..."

"Which rest, male or female?" asked Yamcha, beginning to look slightly intrigued.

"Zarbon could have his choice of either—" Radditz chuckled again "—I should say, any gender. And across multiple species, as well. For a long time his planet was routinely raided by slavers and his kind sent off to serve as concubines and the like. Although his former master put a stop to that, Zarbon's still considered very rare and exotic. "

"Vegeta said something to me, the first day we met," Bulma recalled as Yamcha tried, with limited success, to imagine Zarbon's muscular form decked out in a harem outfit, "about Zarbon hating to have people throw themselves at him."

"Oh, he does. He's very—fastidious, I suppose." Radditz made a face. "Emotion plays a big part in what he does and doesn't do in his private life."

"Surely that's true of everybody?"

A haughty expression pulled across Radditz's visage, giving him a strange, passing resemblance to Vegeta. "Saiyans feel nothing," he said, "except joy at the destruction of the enemy."

"What pathetic, empty lives you must lead, then," said Bulma, tartly.

The Saiyan's brows lowered, but Mrs. Briefs called from the kitchen and Radditz, after one fearsome stare, stood up and obediently padded off to eat what she had prepared for him. And Yamcha found himself considering the warrior Zarbon in a way he would have found absurd just a few short minutes earlier.

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Zarbon was met just outside the airlock by a glowering Nappa, who jerked his chin at the alien and turned away, obviously expecting the other man to follow. A wry twist to his mouth, Zarbon trailed after him, down a level to one of the big storage hangers. To his surprise Vegeta was there, along with the ship's captain and some of the other ship's officers. Vegeta crooked a finger at him, then nodded to Nappa. "Go ahead." In an undertone, the Prince updated his aide. The efforts of the Saiyans to figure out the Earthlings' miniaturization process had not gone well, and the techs had been forced to admit failure. Vegeta was here to witness the final attempts to unravel the technology; Nappa had come along because he was convinced an Elite could succeed where third class warriors had failed. Sure he was present because Vegeta knew he would hate to miss Nappa's almost-definite failure, Zarbon folded his arms behind his back and prepared to be entertained by the Commander's efforts.

Normally pirating technology was fairly simple. It was taken apart, and everyone took turns trying to put it back together. Usually after a few tries, someone cobbled enough knowledge of the device to make a close-enough (for Saiyans, anyway) working model. Of course, generally speaking, the device you were trying to take apart didn't suddenly change mass, size and shape as it morphed into something else entirely. The hanger area, normally used to store the shuttles and the one-entity pods, soon included amongst its inventory three hovercars, a strange-looking mechanical suit that looked pressurized, a high-altitude aircraft of some sort, and seven—

—fsst—

Eight of those box-like refrigeration devices the Earthlings seemed so fond of.

Then the number was back down to seven as an annoyed Nappa blasted the latest addition into scrap.

"Enough," said Vegeta, who amazingly enough sounded as amused as Zarbon felt. "Nappa, we aren't shielded here. Restrict your ki blasts to the practice rooms." He added, aside, to Zarbon, "Can you believe the frivolous uses the Earthlings put this technology to?"

"You should see their entertainment programs," returned Zarbon. Leaning over, he opened the nearest refrigeration unit, examined the contents, then pulled out a can and silently offered it to the Prince. Vegeta's mouth quirked, but he shook his head. "It's alcoholic, Zarbon. I'm in training." After looking the can over, Zarbon pulled a tab, sniffed delicately at the contents, and sneezed. Vegeta actually chuckled. "Alcohol of a very low quality, at that. Well, they did it."

"Sir?"

Vegeta said simply, "Chikyuu lives."

This earned a groan from Nappa, who clearly wanted to take his frustrations out on something. Vegeta grinned at him. "Nappa. Go train. Hard."

Zarbon took a cautious sip of the bubbly liquid in the can, and exploded into a fusillade of hard sneezes. When he could half-way catch his breath, he wheezed, "Do you want me — to send for — the negotiators?"

"Not yet, Zarbon. Chikyuu would just confuse the hell out of them. I'll handle it myself." He grimaced. "Some of that artful diplomatic dealing-with-aliens tripe you and my father are always nagging me about. Could life be any more tedious?"

"You do have aliens in your Empire, my Prince. In fact, there are a lot more aliens in the Saiyan Empire than there are Saiyans."

"And I've totally neglected my duties as a future ruler since I've devoted my time to the military arts and going off world, I know, I know. I hate it when you sound like my father, Zarbon."

Zarbon looked faintly alarmed. "Ye gods, I would hate that, too. Kill me if I ever sound like him again."

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"No." Bulma's tone brooked no argument.

Vegeta's visage did not reveal any of the surprise he felt at the flat refusal. "What more could you want, woman? Associate Worlds are protected. The alternative is purging."

"Earth," Bulma responded, "is a free world. This is a free system. We are not joining any Empires. Especially not any run by the likes of you."

"Bulma, there are no such things as 'free worlds.' There are worlds that haven't been annexed yet, and worlds that have. There are too many planet-hungry Empires out there for any planet developing this late to be 'free.'"

Crossing her arms, Bulma stared at him coldly. "Purge us, then."

Vegeta was tempted, just to shut her up. But his father said to do whatever it took... "We'll discuss this more," he told her.

"I thought you guys were heading out soon."

Not all of us. Clearly there was more to this negotiation stuff than just issuing edicts about what was and wasn't acceptable. But then, the Prince mentally continued as he looked into the cross, pale face, he all ready knew anything involving President Briefs was likely to be complicated--and far more challenging than any routine planetary purge. A bare smile just creasing his lips, Vegeta repeated that they would talk again and took his leave.

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Once more on the ship, Vegeta tracked Zarbon down, finding him in one of the weight training areas. He looked around casually; within seconds the various other occupants had grabbed whatever they needed to grab and fled the room. "You keep terrifying the third class troops," said Zarbon in amusement, wiping his delicate brow with a towel.

"You could train in my room, baka."

"I like the off-world warriors, Vegeta," Zarbon replied. "They accept me. Well, more or less," he added, grinning. "At least I can always find someone to spot me, since you're never interested in doing something so plebian."

"Glad to hear you enjoy the lower classes so much," murmured Vegeta, thoughtfully, no mockery in his tone. He folded his arms, and turned his head to one side. "I'm not continuing with the mission, Zarbon. I'm staying on Chikyuu."

Zarbon looked at him in surprise, and found himself thinking, Radditz is right. It's that female...

"What are you staring at, baka?"

"My lord and master," Zarbon promptly replied.

Vegeta grinned. "Oh, well; as long as we both remember that, we won't have any problems, will we?"

Zarbon smiled back, and stood up. "The ship will swing by here on its way back to Vejiitasei, so it's not that big a deal, I suppose. You'll need the dress armor, in case there's some sort of formal diplomatic ceremony you need to attend as part of the treaty agreement. I'll start gathering your things. Are we staying anywhere half-civilized on the planet, or do I need to get survival gear as well?"

Vegeta untucked one hand, straightened it out, gazed at it as if it were completely absorbing. "You," he said, "are not remaining with me, Zarbon. I have other plans for you."