Chapter 3

 

Zarbon came awake all at once, blinking owlishly. It took a moment to get his bearings. He had meant to force his mind back into focus, deal head on with Radditz's death, but while trying to so he had actually fallen asleep. The workings of deep meditation were sometimes strange.

There was an insistent buzzing in his chamber from the communications panel, the pattern indicating a personal call. They wouldn't forward Freeza to a military command and Radditz was -- where-ever he was, so that meant...

Zarbon used his ki to flick the screen on, and, as expected, saw Sashoki's dark eyes glaring into the room.

"Hey," he greeted her, yawning and stretching as he sat up. "You bellowed?"

Normally she would have made some sardonic comment about his state of undress, but she looked especially grim, which giving the inherent grimness of the Saiyan countenance was saying something. "I've forwarded some more transmissions to you."

"More...?"

Sashoki nodded, impatiently. "Radditz's scouter has clicked on twice in the last couple days."

He closed his eyes and that strange tickle in his mind simply vanished. "I knew he wasn't dead. I knew it."

She physically flinched at that, but when he opened his eyes again her face was composed and blank. "Whether he's dead or not, I couldn't tell you from these. But I thought you should know."

He smiled at her, feeling an absolute rush of gratitude. "You're very good to me, you know that?"

"And you're a self-delusional moron," she snarled back, an edge in her voice telling him this was no half-joking parry. His smile fading, he stared at her in puzzlement. "Eh, never mind," Sashoki muttered after a minute, the Saiyan equivalent of an apology. "If more come along, I'll make sure they get to you."

Unsure of her mood, Zarbon settled for, "Thank you."

She waved a hand in dismissal. "Sure, whatever." A slight smile touched her mouth. "You should wear that more often," Sashoki said just as the screen went blank.

_________________________________________________________

It was a communiqué so extraordinary that the communications officer literally took his life in his hands and called the Prince.

The Prince flew, literally, to the bridge and went straight to the video console (much to the communications officer's intense relief). Scowling mightily, Vegeta snapped, "Nappa, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Now, Vegeta," said the Commander in Chief, a few large sweatdrops trickling down his craggy face, "when your father heard that a warrior of first class was killed at Chikyuu, he wanted to make sure an Elite was present..."

Vegeta howled, "Nappa, if you want to live long enough to be my commander in chief, you will not go anywhere near that planet before I get there!"

"...for backup," continued Nappa with rare diplomacy.

Calming slightly, Vegeta stared with narrowed eyes at the screen. "Listen carefully," he finally said. "You are not to go onto the planet. If you do, I will kill you, and then I will track down every one of your voluminous number of offspring, and their offspring, and I will destroy all of your line so thoroughly no one of your blood will ever be Commander after you. Got it?"

"Sure, Vegeta." Nappa gave an indifferent shrug and grinned. "I'll just use the sleep gas and take a nap for a few days. No problem."

Checking with a crewmember to see how long the current journey was projected to take, Vegeta told Nappa the battleship would rendezvous with his one-man capsule just outside Chikyuu's system in five days, ship time. "You are not to go anywhere near the inner planets," he insisted. "Understand?" He made Nappa repeat his orders to be sure -- twice -- before slapping his hand down on the console to disconnect. He glared at the communications officer. "Where's Zarbon?"

Although locating personel was outside of his usual tasks, the communications officer quickly ran the request through the computer and reported that Zarbon was in his quarters. "Still?" muttered Vegeta. "After two days? Unbelievable." He marched out, scowling darkly.

Blowing out the breath he was holding, the communications officer returned to his regular duties.

_________________________________________________________

Kami-sama's meeting was running over, Mr. Popo explained, and the deity would be slightly late. Smiling -- apparently being God involved as much bureaucracy as any other high-ranking corporate position -- Tenshin-Han stood at the lip of Heaven and turned his three-eyed gaze to the mist-shrouded planet below, declining Mr. Popo's polite offer of tea. The brim of Karin's Tower where the life-restoring senzu beans grew was just visible at the edge of his vision. Despite the extra eye, Tenshin lacked the preternatural focusing ability of Kami-sama and his servant. He could not make out any surface details of the planet itself, let alone view the actions of any of its inhabitants.

He had paused by the Tower on his way up to Heaven, to be told by the ever-bad-tempered Yajirobe that, no, this year's crop was not going to be ready by the time the Saiyans got here, and in any case it was going to be a small one, no more than half a dozen beans, which probably wouldn't be enough to do more than prolong the inevitable anyway. The senzu beans could bring one back from the edge of death, but they couldn't restore the dead, Yajirobe reminded Tenshin petulantly before stomping off to what-ever his duties were on the Tower.

Tenshin's smile became a quiet grin. No, as miraculous as the healing properties of the beans were, they couldn't revive the dead. That took something on a considerably larger scale.

"Did you witness the fight with the Saiyan?" he asked Mr. Popo. "Tell me about it."

A small, rotund figure stepped next to him. Clasping his dark hands behind his back, Mr. Popo also looked down at the planet below where most of the inhabitants went about their daily lives without any inkling of the disaster heading toward them. "I did not see the entire battle," he answered, his voice rippling like a stream. "I was tending the garden. Kami-sama called to me, because he feared Goku was about to be killed and he thought he might need my help retrieving the body before the spirit left it." Tenshin looked at him quizzically, but Mr. Popo did not explain why Kami-sama wanted Goku's soul trapped in a dead body. He continued, "When I focused in on the battle, I saw Goku and the alien next to a great impact crater, battling. The Saiyan was huge, Tenshin, very broad and muscular. He was a head higher than Goku, maybe taller. I could sense his power; he was stronger than Goku. And I could see his heart; it was cold, set on doing evil. Goku was outmatched. I understood why God feared for his champion.

"Then I saw something I did not expect to see. The Demon King, Piccolo, was off to the side. He had been sorely injured, and the alien no longer considered him a threat."

"We would not make that mistake."

"No," agreed Mr. Popo. "I think the Saiyan did not entirely realize what Piccolo is... In any case, Piccolo was building up a tremendous amount of energy, more than I knew he could command. I mentioned to Kami-sama that we might end up in Piccolo's debt after this, but God said the alien was about to sense his danger and move out of the way of Piccolo's blast. Then..." Mr. Popo paused, carefully sorted his memories, and continued, "Then something that God did not foresee happened. Goku's little boy, Gohan, was in the crater, locked in the alien's spacecraft. He--exploded with energy. He shattered the craft and flew up, confronting the alien and startling him. That was when Piccolo fired. He unleashed this great, twisting stream of ki energy, the likes of which I've never seen before, and blew a massive hole through the Saiyan's body."

In spite of himself, Tenshin winced with momentary sympathy. Piccolo did something similar to Goku five years earlier when the two fought each other at the Budokai for the world championship. The idea that he had refined that piercing attack into something even more devastating was frightening. But... "And the alien survived? He's at Capsule Corporation?"

"So I understand. He claimed to be Goku's brother, you know. And, in any case, Goku does not destroy his enemies."

Tenshin nodded. Goku's code prevented him from taking a life unless it was absolutely necessary. After the Budokai, in fact, Goku gave Piccolo a senzu bean over the objections of God himself. Tenshin once again regretted that, this time, the senzu beans would not be available to them. But then, Goku would have unquestionably given one to his supposed brother and by now the recovered Saiyan could have decimated the planet. "Did you see any of the alien's attacks?"

"No," Mr. Popo said regretfully. "They were exchanging blows when I saw them. I did not see the Saiyan's ki attacks, so I can not tell you what abilities his comrades might have. I can tell you he moved with great speed, he was faster than Goku, but nothing more."

"Too bad. I'd ask Goku, but since he's still chasing Piccolo and Gohan all over the globe..."

Mr. Popo's broad lips folded together into an enigmatic smile. "That will change soon," he said obliquely as he turned away and went back toward the carefully-tended gardens of Heaven.

Tenshin stared after him, narrowing two eyes and widening the third to see if Mr. Popo's aura would give any clue to the meaning of his mysterious comment. But he could read nothing, and after a moment he turned his gaze once more to the distant planet he would, if necessary, die to protect.

_________________________________________________________

 

It would be completely inappropriate, Vegeta told himself impatiently, for a Prince of the House of Vejiitasei to stand in the hallway knocking on the door of an underling like a beggar craving attention. Even though Zarbon's quarters were on the way to his own (turning down an extra hallway was "on the way" for all practical purposes), the proper thing to do would be to go to his own suite and summon the alien to him. What would his father say if he saw the Heir standing outside of Zarbon's door requesting admittance like a common soldier...?

Something in his spine stiffened. He was Vegeta, he was the future ruler, he was the strongest Saiyan warrior to ever live, and anything he did was proper. He paced back to Zarbon's quarters and rapped lightly on the door with one knuckle.

The door slid back immediately. Stepping into the half-lit chamber, Vegeta saw Zarbon tapping away on a touchpad as he squinted at a monitor. "Yes?" he said without looking around.

Vegeta looked at Zarbon's scouter, casually discarded next to the touchpad, crossed his arms and said dryly, "If I could have a minute of your so-valuable time?"

Zarbon vaulted out of the chair, turning in mid-air and landing on his feet facing Vegeta as his long, unbraided hair spun in a fan shape behind him. His oblong eyes were as rounded as they could go. "Vegeta! I'm sorry -- did you want me? I haven't checked my messages, " he added, looking with consternation at his communication console. "Did I miss a training session?"

"No,baka. In fact, I told you to stay away from me until you were --" Vegeta realized he didn't have a term for the peculiar emotional state Zarbon exhibited after Radditz's death and went with "--functional again."

The startled look faded, to be replaced by one of faint puzzlement. "That's how I remember it, too."

"When the hell are you going to be functional again? It's been three days."

At that, Zarbon smiled and Vegeta felt himself relax. He must be better. Maybe I'll get a fight out of him today... Zarbon asked, a little smugly, "Bored, my Prince?"

"What do you think?" growled Vegeta.

Zarbon didn't respond for a moment, looking at him thoughtfully. Then he lifted one of those long-fingered hands and waved Vegeta toward the monitor. "Come look at this for a minute."

"Zarbon--" Vegeta rumbled, warningly.

"It's relevant," Zarbon insisted as he sat back down.

It had better be, thought Vegeta in irritation. He stepped over to Zarbon and glared at the monitor over the alien's shoulder--and blinked. "What is that?"

Through the green cast of a scouter's lens, a metallic device was holding out a cup with steam coming out of it. A humanoid hand came into view and took the cup with a word of thanks.

"I'm not sure what it is," said Zarbon as he touched the screen to point out the scrolling time and date, "but it's something Radditz's scouter picked up two days ago." He began to tap away again as the screen went blank.

"He's alive?" Vegeta muttered, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Another routine purge, then. Tedious. Being King couldn't be more dull than this.

Zarbon did not look up, but his face hardened slightly and Vegeta saw -- whatever it was -- in the blue features that disturbed him before. "I'm not sure. I can't really tell from this; all I can say is someone has his scouter and is using it. But here's the interesting bit." He touched the keypad and a new green-tinged image came up, not dissimilar from the previous one, showing a room with a rounded wall and a table with indescribable devices on it.

Vegeta glanced at the screen's corner for the date. "It's garbled," he said, disinterested.

Another emotion flashed across Zarbon's visage. This, Vegeta recognized as he looked at his aide with the jaundiced eye of fifteen years of deciphering the alien's unfathomable moods, was the one Zarbon displayed when he thought Saiyans were being exceptionally dense. "Look again," Zarbon said, his words edged. "Think, Vegeta."

Vegeta placed a hand on the back of Zarbon's chair, close enough to grab the alien by the neck and break it should he feel the urge, and said evenly, "You are the only person who talks to me like that, Zarbon."
"It's how you pay me to talk to you, Vegeta. Besides," Zarbon added with a hint of amusement, "some day you'll get to kill me and that will be the end of all my impertinence, eh? Maybe today, if I can't get out of the way fast enough."

Vegeta acknowledged this with a half-smile, narrowing his eyes at the disjointed characters scrolling across the sides and the bottom of the screen. Then the audio suddenly kicked in. "Eureka! I did it!" A sing-song chant started -- "I did it, I did it, ha, ha, ha!"

"We will clearly be doing the arts a service by eliminating a species that yodels like that," noted Vegeta. Zarbon smiled politely, but he was still focused on the screen.

The image swung around as who-ever was wearing the scouter (and doing the screeching, thought Vegeta, wincing as the voice started another chorus) turned about. Another metallic figure, this one with treads and bright lights for eyes, came into view. There was a familiar series of beeps as the scouter tried to read the machine's ki, but the resulting symbols were garbage as far as Vegeta could tell. "Rats!" came the voice. "It zeroed out on me again. Isn't there anything in here that will give me a reading?" The wearer of the scouter started to scan other objects, making noises of annoyance.

"Unless he's sustained a severe groin injury, that is not Radditz," Vegeta murmured, amused. Zarbon nodded in agreement, his face composed but that trace of some un-Saiyan emotion still across his features.

"Oooo-kay," came the voice from the screen, sounding petulant, "this thing isn't very useful. I was hoping I could get elemental compositions out of you," a burst of static as someone slapped the scouter in annoyance, "but it looks like you're not good for anything but fighting levels. The Saiyans must be total morons as well as unprincipled jerks."

Vegeta's brows went up. "Ah, this is what you wanted me to hear," he said dryly. Zarbon's face was studiously blank.

"Well," said the voice from the monitor, "might as well save the batteries until I visit my belligerent friend with the fighting lev--"

The screen went blank. Vegeta placed a hand next to the touchpad and leaned against it, staring at the blank screen. Zarbon looked up at him, a question on his face. Nodding once, Vegeta said, thoughtfully, "So--someone modified Radditz's scouter so it would use symbols they could understand."

"Someone with advanced robotics. Someone who speaks Standard."

Vegeta snorted at the latter. "It's a very corrupt form. I could only understand every other word."

"But it was intelligible," pointed out Zarbon. "And the machinery was odd for a planet that is supposed to be only in the beginning stages of technology. Free-moving robotics are usually a sign of a technologically advanced culture. The indigenous life forms are more than what the scouting report claimed."

Vegeta quirked a brow. Zarbon was trying to make him think again, the strange "know your enemies" school of warfare Freeza's warriors were taught. The Saiyan philosophy was more direct: don't attack from the front, kill everyone not immediately useful (and everyone else once their usefulness ended), and eat anything that moved. "Zarbon, I don't need to be interested in the indigenous life forms. In a few days, nothing will be left of the indigenous life forms but a few smears. What's the point of studying the extinct?"

He watched as Zarbon smothered a sigh, grinning slightly. Zarbon was good at hiding his frustration, but Vegeta could always bring it out of him. Not with the peculiar accuracy Radditz achieved, but, the Prince thought, he did all right. "Vegeta," the alien said now with marked patience, "something stopped Kakarott twenty-odd years ago. He was just an infant, of course, and a low powered one at that, but he should have been able to clear out the planet and send the retrieval signal if the scouting report was accurate. If our technologically-minded informant's belligerent friend is Radditz--well, Radditz is no infant. He's a first class warrior. And if it is Radditz, they've not only defeated him, they've found a way to restrain him."

Zarbon's point was valid. Radditz was one of a handful of warriors taught Bardock's dangerous technique. A planet that captured a fully trained Saiyan warrior who could go oozaru at will was a worthy challenge. And it could even provide him with leverage now...

"You are willing to send your Prince to such a dangerous place half-trained?" marveled Vegeta. "Tsk, Zarbon. I begin to wonder if you have an alliance with the indigenous life forms yourself."

"Bitch," muttered Zarbon under his breath, all wide eyed innocence when Vegeta sardonically glanced down at him. "On the transmission, don't you think? It sounded somewhat female."

"You tread toward ever dangerous ground again, Zarbon," the Prince told him soberly, but with an amused glint in his eyes.

Zarbon looked longingly at the screen but gave in with a good grace. "I'll meet you in your training room in half an hour."

"Why don't we annex the warriors' training center?"

"Because your chamber is shielded. A fine trainer I would be if I let you head off to Chikyuu without honing your ki skills."

Vegeta grinned outright. "Ah, Zarbon. You live for another day."

Still grinning, Vegeta walked out of Zarbon's quarters and straight into a pack of Saiyan warriors hurrying to their shift. They snapped off startled salutes as they marched by with carefully vacant faces. Great, thought Vegeta sourly, his mood nose-diving. More rumors. Exhaling in annoyance, he headed toward his too-small training room with the extra shielding, promising himself that Zarbon would pay with his blue blood for this latest indignity.