Chapter 29

 

After her third trip to the laboratory that housed the satellite monitors, her father called Bulma to the side. "The ship is still there, Bulma," he told her, slightly acerbic. "I don't know when it's going to leave, but Radditz is in the living room with your mother, and I don't think he's staying forever. So try and relax for a while, eh? Here." He handed her a computer disk and a print-out. "I've been working on this, but I still can't fine-tune it to where I think it's one hundred percent safe. Maybe getting your take on it will help."

Bulma looked at the print-out and suddenly flushed. "What now?" asked Dr. Briefs.

"I—Dad, why were you doing this?"

One corner of the moustache tugged upward. "We will need to send personnel there, eventually," he pointed out. "Fat lot of good it'll do anyone if they get smashed flat soon as they set foot on the place."

She carefully read through the report. Then, galvanized, Bulma raced to her workroom, turning on the computer and settling in to crunch numbers and scan specs. The full spectrum of her father's plans startled her. It was a simple idea, one she wouldn't have ever considered. Unfortunately, though, it only worked up to a point, and that point would still be difficult for humans to tolerate. Tapping away on the keyboard, she began to consider alternate approaches, soon completely losing track of time.

She might have stayed for a while if a sliding noise didn't startle her. Bulma turned, and found Vegeta with one knee on the windowsill, hands braced on either side of the frame. About bloody time! she thought in almost-immediate irritation."In or out," she said. "You're letting the cold in."

He stepped down, folded his arms and stared at her.

"So," said Bulma after a moment, "you want to talk about the other night, or are you just going to stand there and scowl at me?"

His brows lowered.

"Why do I bother asking?" she wondered out loud. "Vegeta, I'm trying to get some gravitational specs together for my dad. It's kinda critical. Either talk or go."

He paced past the computer, taking up a position with his back to her. "Come to Vejiitasei," he said after a moment.

Bulma's jaw dropped. What game is he playing now? Settle down, girl. You don't know why he wants you there. "Do you think you'll need me to set up a factory or two?" she asked, pleased her voice didn't reveal any of the shock she knew was across her face. "We're not to that point yet. We're not even sure all of our equipment will work under your planet's gravity; that's why getting precise gravity tolerances to test it is important." He said nothing. That was it, she decided, inexplicably depressed. "You don't need me for that, Vegeta. We have a vice president or two who will leap at the chance to work a new branch, even if it is half a galaxy away."

His head turned, slightly. She caught the flash of his eyes as he glanced at her. "I mean to make you my Queen, Bulma," he said.

Slowly, Bulma reached up with one hand and tapped herself on the cheek. She seemed to be awake. "Come again?"

There was a short exhale through his nose. "You heard me," Vegeta snapped, impatiently.

She experienced one moment of bewilderment, wondering what she missed along the way. But then, Bulma thought in sudden annoyance, what hadn't she missed? Everyone around her expected something to happen between her and Vegeta; they were the only ones who didn't know. Although this was something completely outside of her expectations... "Two questions," said Bulma; "well, a question and a comment. First, how many queens do you get to have?"

He smiled, an unamused, self-derisive curve. "I only plan to marry once," he replied. "You would be it."

The ramifications of that statement were — boggling. Bulma decided not to deal with them right that second. "Ooo-kay. Well, the gravity thing; we're still testing the equipment, of course, but I seem to remember you were around when we tested me. Any ideas on how I'm supposed stand up under ten Gs?"

"You are not the only alien to ever set foot on Vejiitasei," he told her, loftily. "We have several rooms in the diplomatic wing for off-worlders with specific gravity requirements. We would just make sure the Imperial quarters had the same equipment."

"And if I wanted to leave the Imperial quarters?"

"I would be a very young widower," the Prince said, coolly. "Aliens with gravitational intolerances should stay in one place. Although expecting you to have anything related to common sense—" He glanced again over his shoulder at her, saying in sudden suspicion, "How were you expecting your vice presidents to survive, Bulma? Do you have some ideas on this?"

"Combination of factors," Bulma replied, her tone automatically going practical. "We have some saurian employees; turns out they have much thicker bone and muscle mass than any of our mammalian ones. Ten Gs is a bit much for them, but they can function in half that very comfortably. In addition," she tapped the computer screen, "my father's come up with the idea of a gravity harness, something that might be able to set up a short range personal gravitational field. Right now, though, its parameters wouldn't help a human much, although it should be fine for saurians."

Vegeta exhaled softly through his nose, an amused note to the sound. "Saurians can be surprising, can't they?" he murmured. "You should always have one or two around for emergencies."

"Well, it doesn't do those of us who aren't reptilian a lot of good. And we might need to send human specialists to Vejiitasei eventually. That's another reason for perfecting the gravity specs."

The Prince flicked a contemptuous sideways glance at the monitor. "I'll leave you to your computer, but I need an answer."

Bulma found her back stiffening. "You haven't asked me anything," she pointed out, sharply. "You've just told me what you intend to do."

He finally faced her. She was surprised to see a spot of color on each high cheekbone. "Baka," he growled. "I've made my intentions clear. You need to make a decision."

"You're getting huffy."

"Woman, I do not 'huff.'"

"You are such a jerk sometimes! I can't believe I'm seriously considering this," Bulma said, crossly.

Then she bit her lip, vexed, wishing she could take it back as the light of victory flashed into Vegeta's eyes. One side of his mouth curved up. "Would it help speed your decision if I issued threats? I could destroy your planet, enslave your world, blah, blah?"

She glared. "No, it wouldn't! Besides, Goku would stop you."

The slight smile faded. "Would he?" the Prince asked softly. "How misplaced is your confidence in him."

She had touched on some part of that dangerous Saiyan pride. Bulma back-pedaled furiously before he suddenly took off through the window to demonstrate how misplaced her confidence in Goku was. "If I do agree — that's an 'if,' Vegeta, stop looking so bloody smug — what the hell do I do all day? I can't imagine sitting on a throne twiddling my thumbs for hours at a time."

"No," the Prince agreed. "It's not what I see for myself, either. There will have to some—changes to accommodate both of us, I think. I'm not sure what your official duties would be, or if you would need to have any at all," he continued, thoughtfully. "I can promise you worlds and worlds of alien technology to tinker with. You can give your planet off-world travel all the faster, and solidify your alliance with a powerful Empire."

"Trying to buy me?" she asked, dryly.

"Trying to be 'practical.' That's what you humans are, no?" he growled. He approached her, putting a hand down next to the computer and leaning on it, looking her square in the face with some unfathomable spark in his dark eyes. "Can I buy you, little one? Tell me what your price is, human, and I will pay it," he said, his tone edged.

Bulma stared back, not sure if she should be tremendously flattered or mortally insulted. She was beginning to feel too—overloaded—to be able to decide. And he was too close to her, which wasn't helping her thinking process a bit. "I have to consider this," she finally said.

"What's to consider? It's yes or no."

"It's leave-my-own-planet-to-go-to-some-barbaric-place-that's-ruled-by-moon-cycles, or stay here where I understand what the hell's going on," she snapped in return. "That's not something I can decide on the spot. You're damned lucky I'm not turning you down flat, Vegeta."

"Twenty-four hours," said Vegeta, straightening.

"Considering what you're asking me to give up, you're being awfully cavalier about this."

"What I'm asking you—?" He gave a short, unamused laugh. "Woman, you get the throne of one of the largest empires in the known universe. You give up nothing."

"You are very used to getting your own way, aren't you?" Bulma asked, rhetorically. The color in his cheeks flared across the bridge of his nose; he glared at her. She sighed. "Comes of being a prince, I suppose. Fine, sure, twenty-four hours. Now, shoo; I have work to do."

He was out the window almost before she was finished talking. Bulma pushed away from the computer, wondering if she had just experienced some sort of waking dream or if Vegeta had just asked — demanded — that she marry him. The strange energy that seemed to spark when he was around drained away from her. She looked at the computer, and for the first time since she was a very small child, numbers on her screen ran together in a meaningless jumble.

_________________________________________________________

He stopped in the hall in front of the unmarked door, feeling the tension in his shoulders, his neck. Feh. What if Vegeta did tell him? Any fool could have seen it before this. And it's not as if he even understands what it means—

He touched the pad next to it. The door immediately slid back. Baka. You depend a little too much on that high ki of yours to protect you, eh? He stepped into the outer chamber of Zarbon's quarters.

"What?" asked Zarbon, his tone abstracted as he peered at a monitor. The he glanced over his shoulder, yelped, and flew at Radditz. "Where the hell have you been?" Zarbon hugged him, but his words were cross, almost petulant. "We've been here for hours, I put out a call for you right away, and you only now deign to let me know you're even alive? Hmph!"

Exhaling softly, Radditz pressed his forehead against the side of Zarbon's face and raised one arm to squeeze back, briefly. Then he stepped away. "I had my scouter off, baka. And I had things to do on Chikyuu before reporting back to the ship."

"Oh, I'm sure saying goodbye to Mrs. Briefs took hours."

Radditz found an involuntary smile curving his mouth. "A while, anyway. She did some serious cooking when she realized I was heading off planet. It would have been impolite not to eat everything. Jealous?"

"Did you bring me some chocolate?" demanded Zarbon.

"You don't like chocolate," Radditz reminded him.

"Not the point."

"Ah, well. I'll save you a bit next time. I also had to deal with Kakarott. He's really not coming home, Zarbon. I don't know if it's because they removed his tail or what, but apart from enjoying the occasional scuffle, there isn't anything remotely Saiyan about him."

Zarbon gave him a thoughtful look. "Are you okay with that?"

Radditz shrugged. "Eh, one traitor in the family or two, what does it matter?"

"Well, maybe he can come for a visit or something," said Zarbon in a conciliatory tone.

Radditz looked at him incredulously. "Your new hairstyle make you lightheaded? All I need is my tail-less traitor Earthling of a brother to show up right before the tournaments. Even if I survive them, I'll be disqualified from the King's service for sure." With a twisted grin, Zarbon wound one of the wispy locks next to his face around a finger, brows slightly lifted. "Eh, I noticed. There's pounds less of it, Zarbon. I couldn't miss it. What happened?"

"Ki blast to the face. Absolute ton of energy, all focused on my hair. Then Shouga started clipping, completing the disaster."

Radditz personally thought the Captain did a good job. Zarbon hated bangs since he couldn't wear his tiaras and headbands, but when combined with the loose tendrils around his face, with the rest of it pulled back into a too-short-to-braid ponytail, the effect was somewhat ethereal, complimenting the strong lines of the alien's cheeks and jaws. 'Ethereal.' What a stupid word for a Saiyan to use. I better get out of here before I start spouting poetry. "It looks all right," Radditz told him, his tone indifferent. "I'm heading toward one of the weight rooms. Wanna come?"

"Love to," said Zarbon, wistfully, "but I have something I have to complete for Vegeta. Don't even bother looking interested, Radditz; I can't talk to you about it. I'm sorry about Goku," he told the warrior, "but he does have a mate here, y'know. Although I wouldn't be too surprised if the boy, at least, didn't come to Vejiitasei at some point. He talked to me about it while you were in the tank. And at least he has a tail," he added, his tone deliberately light.

"Feh," snorted Radditz as he left.

Out in the hall, he paused for a minute with lowered head, taking deep, even breaths. He doesn't know. Vegeta didn't tell him. Everything's just like it was before. We're 'friends.'

He told himself, angrily, not to be so disappointed.

_________________________________________________________

Bulma did something she was not normally inclined to do when faced with a difficult decision. She went to talk to God.

She did not mention Vegeta's sudden, strange offer — as much as it disturbed her when she thought about it, she knew Kami-sama saw everything that happened on the planet — but just asked bluntly if she could make a difference if she went to Vejiitasei.

God, predictably, responded with a question of his own. "What would you try to change if you went there?"

"I'm trying to decide if I can live with their insane kill-everything-not-Saiyan policy. I mean, I'm sure I would be some sort of figurehead no-real-power consort, but wouldn't that still count as tacit approval? And I don't approve. I can't."

Kami-sama replied much as he had answered Tenshin-Han and Goku. "There are some things that take more than a single human lifetime. The Saiyans have lived like this for all of their known history. I would be loathe to encourage you in unrealistic expectations. You have helped to save one doomed planet," Kami told her, "and that means a great deal."

"That's not a 'no, you can't change anything,'" Bulma pointed out. "Mind you, it's also not a 'yes, you can change everything.'"

Kami-sama gave an enigmatic smile as he leaned on his staff.

Bulma eyed God narrowly — he doesn't know himself, she decided, then hoped he wasn't actually listening to her thoughts right that second — and went on to her next concern. "If I turn him down, I'm worried that Vegeta might take it out on the planet."

"He could," Kami-sama acknowledged. "He considers violence as the ultimate solution to everything."

"Yet I'm not afraid of him," Bulma said, as if to herself. "He should scare me to death, the way Piccolo does — but I'm not afraid."

There were times it behooved a deity to be silent. This, Kami-sama deemed, was one of those times.

After a minute, Bulma gave a rueful, self-mocking little grin. "You know, of course, that the problem is I can find all sorts of reasons to say 'no,' but I want to say 'yes.'"

"You must do what is in your heart, my daughter."

Bulma sighed. "I knew you were going to say something like that..."

_________________________________________________________

When the door slid open again a few hours later, Zarbon crossly wondered how he was supposed to get anything done with all of these interruptions. Then, "What the hell are you doing?" came the Prince's aggrieved voice.

Sighing, Zarbon rotated in his chair. "Your report, Vegeta. I've been hacking into medical databanks and..."

"What? Why don't you just grab a couple hundred females and take them apart?"

"I considered it," replied Zarbon. "But we'd have to involve a fair number of warriors to do that—"

"So?"

"—and," continued Zarbon doggedly, "that's the sort of thing that someone would make a point of telling Bulma should she come to Vejiitasei. Do you imagine she would shrug off the deaths of that many Earthers? You're not thinking, Vegeta."

"Eh," Vegeta grunted after a minute, looking cross but not arguing. "How much longer?"

"I'll have to get Radditz to help me with some of the translating, but I should have it for you in another day if we hold interruptions to a minimum." Zarbon gaze at the Prince somberly. "Vegeta, you do know, don't you, that humans are ephemerals? They have very short life spans, generally well under a century."

"Yes, baka.I did discover one or two things while I was on that cursed planet. Which brings me to the reason I came here. When you're done with your current project—that comes first, Zarbon—I want you to research something else. Find everything you can about the Super-Saiyan."

Zarbon uttered a sharp, unamused laugh. "From what, your pathetic data banks?"

"You might try talking to Radditz. He is an Easterner, isn't he?"

"Not if he's going to start doing that chanting thing your people call 'singing,' thankyouverymuch. Besides, the stories the Easterners tell don't match with what the Westerners say. As far as that goes, there's not much correlation between one storyteller and the next, no matter what their continent. And if you happen to wander into a bunch of carousing Saiyans arguing about which tribe was responsible for what victory during the war; oy. None of them agree with the other on any historic detail. If you're going to pass everything down orally, Vegeta, you should at least have someone memorize it accurately."

"Feh. What's the appeal of a static history? There's no point in that, Zarbon."

"Not unless you decide researching some aspect of it has unanticipated merit," Zarbon remarked, a touch caustically. "What's do you need that for, anyway? I thought you were the Super-Saiyan."

"Oh, no. The Super-Saiyan is the strongest fighter in the universe, and I am not yet that, am I?"

Agreeing with Vegeta on this point could be dangerous. Zarbon did not. Instead he asked, "Why the sudden rush, Vegeta? You are thirty years before your prime as a fighter, and that will last for another several decades."

After a pause, Vegeta hooked a chair with an ankle, pulled it to him, and sat down at Zarbon's table. Vegeta folded one hand on top of another, rested his chin on them, and stared steadily across at Zarbon. "Zarbon, you have already discovered that humans are ephemerals with a very limited life span. I've been considering the ramifications of that. In thirty years my proposed mate will be past breeding. I will be having a brat or two, and soon. Not immediately, you understand, but likely within the next few years, when normally I would not consider reproduction for four or more decades."

"Congratulations," said Zarbon, a sardonic note in his even voice, "but I don't make the connection."

"Ah. I suppose not. For all your insistence on thinking, you still can't think like a Saiyan, can you?"

Thank the gods for small favors. Zarbon lifted his brows at the Prince, saying nothing.

Vegeta sighed. "Zarbon, I am going to become King by killing my father. And soon enough, in twenty years, thirty, fifty, it will be my offspring's turn to kill me. So you see, I do not have nearly the time I originally expected to have. If I am to become the Super Saiyan, I have to stop assuming the power will come to me in my maturity. I may not live to full maturity, Zarbon; I have to actively seek the power out if I am going to become the Super-Saiyan before my death." He smiled grimly at Zarbon's shocked face. "Didn't you realize when I told you I was mated to the human female that everything was going to change? It's not just petty court protocols and the much-vaunted royal gene banks I'm sacrificing to wed her, Zarbon. It's my very life." The smile curved into the familiar mocking Saiyan smirk. "Don't look so tragic! I understand this; I accept this. As long as I have the power before my death, there is no tragedy here. Now, if she says 'no;' well, that could be tragic. For everyone. I've never been very good at accepting 'no,' have I?"

Zarbon stared blankly. The depth of the sacrifice his Prince was making for Bulma was only now beginning to be clear to him; he could still not grasp all of it. I should not have let him stop me when I wanted to kill her. This raging, involuntary hormonal stuff is all so — meaningless. He looked into the Prince's amused, steady dark eyes and blurted, "Vegeta, do you at least love her?"

There was a subtle shift in the Prince's features. Looking down, he put his forearms flat on the table. Slowly his fingers folded into his palms; the Prince regarded his hands in faint surprise, as if wondering how they became fisted. "You ask really meaningless questions sometimes, Zarbon," he finally replied in a low voice. "And completely impertinent ones, too. Do not ever speak that word to me again."

That had not been a meaningless reaction, although Zarbon could not begin to fathom what it meant. Oddly, though, it gave him some hope. Whatever primitive hormonal reaction sparked this mess, Vegeta cared about the little human's response, more strongly than he was letting on; that had to mean something, didn't it? Probably nothing more than damaging his pride, Zarbon decided as he looked into the Prince's composed face. And yet... What ails the woman? Zarbon thought in sudden indignation. The catch of three galaxies throws himself at her and she says 'I'll think about it?!' Hmph! He rotated to the computer screen, turning his back to Vegeta, willing the Prince to leave. Report or no report, he had something he needed to do.

_________________________________________________________

As someone who had grown up the only child of the richest family on the planet, Bulma was used to a certain lack of privacy.

When she walked into her bedroom and found Zarbon leaning by the window (the open window; she was going to have to start closing the damn things and make Vegeta bloody come in the door), she began to realize that 'privacy' would be a real issue if she went to Vejiitasei to become Queen.

Then Zarbon looked at her with those cool eyes and said, in that cool tone, "We really need to talk," and she suddenly remembered that, while Vegeta hadn't frightened her in a long time, this one still did.

_________________________________________________________

Bulma stayed by the door, ready to make a quick exit — although what good that would do when she was dealing with someone who could move at the speed of light she hadn't yet determined. But Zarbon was polite, if a bit pointed, and remained on the opposite side of the room near the window, for all the world as if he might want to escape rapidly himself. She gradually relaxed, listening as Zarbon began to talk about Vejiitasei, about living as an alien in a closed culture. And after a while, Vegeta's trainer also relaxed a bit as she began to ask questions about the role of the rulers, about the hierarchy of the society. It turned into a long session that Bulma finally ended by holding up a hand and claiming information overload. Zarbon grinned faintly at that. "Obviously we're not set up to take you back now, if you decide going to Vejiitasei is what you want," he told her. "But I can show you how to work the communications set-up Vegeta's been using before we leave. If you have questions, call me. We'll figure everything out."

He had one hand on the window sill, ready to go out when Bulma blurted, "Are you happy there?"

"It's my home now," he said simply. "But it is a challenge. Constantly."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Oh, tons. Especially during the moon year. But am I sorry that I came, that I decided to stay? No." He gave her a small, slightly lopsided grin and Bulma realized that, somehow, she had passed a test. "Vegeta said he decided to take the more challenging course when it came to you. He's like that, you know. I think I'm beginning to understand...you're like that, too. If you decide to do this, Bulma, we'll find a way to do it. It won't always be comfortable," he said with a bit of wry understatement, "but it will be workable." He put two fingers against his temple in a brief salute and left.

She sat quietly after Zarbon's visit, going over everything he had said in his sharp, polite voice, taking it apart, putting it back together. He wants me that much. She had asked about Vegeta's sudden urgency; after a pause, Zarbon told her that Vegeta's father did not have long to live and that Vegeta had to return to the planet to ensure that the transfer of power went smoothly. Moreover (said Zarbon, sternly) the Kings of Vejiitasei only rarely took wives; the Prince was according her an honor no Saiyan female would even imagine. I'm sure I love him, although I can't begin to say what he feels, she thought. But can I stand him on a permanent basis? And to go so far away, to live such a different life... Yet; he wants me that much — sheesh. It would be nice if Vegeta told me some of this...but then, he wouldn't be Vegeta if he did, eh?

Going to the window, she leaned out to look into the darkening sky, wondering if what queens did was all that different from what corporate presidents did, if she really dared expose herself to the near-constant physical risk of living under 10 Gs, and which of those many, many flecks of light in the night heavens belonged to Vejiitasei.