Chapter 33

He put in a call to Sashoki as soon as he reached his quarters, but there was no response. Zarbon was forced to leave a message. He paced around the outer room, noticing things that usually didn't bother him; how sterile it was, how curiously devoid of personality. Previously he considered putting any effort into his chambers to be a waste of energy. The just-concluded excursion, although it had not gone for the full scheduled year, was typical of the missions Vegeta required of him. Vegeta had been using the trips to escape the cloying role of Heir. Now that he had exchanged it for the even more cloying role of King, who knew when either of them would go off-world again?

Vegeta rebuffed him after demanding and receiving the oaths of the major tribal chieftains. The new ruler looked through his aide with empty, dead eyes and said that Zarbon could report to the King's quarters on the morrow. It took Zarbon a few seconds to realize Vegeta meant that literally, that he was going straight to the wing of the Palace that housed his late father's personal rooms. Zarbon wondered that the boy didn't want the comfort of his own quarters. But then — Zarbon glanced around again at his own rooms — like him, Vegeta spent more time on missions than on Vejiitasei. The palace was not home to either of them.

Damn it, where is Sashoki? I don't want to be alone right now.

Vegeta was alone. More alone, probably, than he had ever been...

Zarbon sighed. He will kill me for this. Leaving another message for Sashoki, he made his way to the King's quarters.

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It had been harder to do than he thought. Harder than he ever imagined it could be. And, at the last second, when he almost pulled back, he saw the strange compassion in his father's eyes, felt the unexpected touch of his father's mind, and exploded with a ki blast that left nothing of his parent. He was still reeling from what he glimpsed in that fraction of a second, emotions he didn't know his father could possess, things like awe at his son's stunning power, pride, understanding...

Of course his father understood. He had to do this once. And he knew, had known for years, how hard it would be for his son. So he'd goaded Vegeta, doing everything in his power — as was his duty — to make it easier for his son to kill him.

It would be his own duty, to do the same for his offspring.

Vegeta looked out the window of his father's — of his — quarters, feeling completely empty.

He wanted Bulma there.

If she wanted to go through any of those strange touching rituals humans seemed to find so necessary, he'd let her right now. But she wasn't there, so he wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, pretending she was.

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The two Elites guarding the hallway leading to the private quarters of the King were a bit...jumpy. Zarbon wondered if they were relieved at not attending the late King during his reception, or if they were miffed at missing an opportunity to demonstrate just how loyal they were. Being Saiyans, Zarbon supposed they felt both simultaneously. With the death of the elder Vegeta, their oaths to the House of Vejiitasei automatically transferred to the Heir. Zarbon thought he would recommend that all the current King's Guards renew their oaths, just to be on the safe side. Assuming Vegeta didn't blast him for his own presumption this evening...

"We know who you are, baka," one of them growled at Zarbon, "You don't comprehend plain Standard, freak? No one comes this way tonight."

Perhaps realizing Zarbon was half-a-second away from incinerating both of them and just stepping over the bodies, the other said, "The King said he wished to be left alone until daybreak. He's tasted death once tonight. He'll just kill you if you go before him now."

"Being killed by my King," said Zarbon, coldly, "would be an honor. Pray it is one you are worthy of someday."

The guard looked at him, smiled in surprised approval, and, over the objections of the other Elite, stood aside.

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He had never been in the King's quarters—come to think of it, he didn't think Vegeta had ever been here, either—but the rooms were laid out much the same as in Vegeta's own wing of the Palace, and it was little trouble to track the young Saiyan down. Vegeta was in the outer chambers, standing near the open windows of a top-floor balcony, staring sightlessly over the great capitol city that was now his to rule. After waiting in vain for Vegeta to acknowledge his presence, Zarbon stepped up to the other man, looking at an etched profile that had no emotion on it. His posture, however, was similar to that on board the ship, almost three months earlier, when Vegeta stared out another window with fingers digging into his own flesh, telling Zarbon that he was mated to the human female. He had been far from unemotional then; despite the wooden façade, Zarbon was sure he was far from unemotional now.

Zarbon touched his back, knowing he was courting death. Muscles tensed and bunched under his hand, but Vegeta still did not acknowledge him. "I'm so sorry," Zarbon said, inadequately. I'm sorry you had to do that. I'm sorry it has to be this way. I'm sorry I ever called the King a coward. I'm sorry about your father—

The Prince's — the King's — eyes closed, tightly. "Get out," he said, almost inaudible, barely moving his lips.

Zarbon moved his hand in a light rub between Vegeta's shoulder-blades, then stood back and gazed at him. He wanted, more than anything, to put his arms around the new ruler but Vegeta always shunned touching anyone unless actual blows were involved. Yet from the way Vegeta was hugging himself, some sort of contact was clearly what he needed.

Sighing — he hated to do things like this, it reminded him too much of what his kind had once been forced into — he closed his eyes and focused on Vegeta's mate, trying to get the hair tint perfect, trying to remember the skin tones precisely.

Vegeta had just turned his head to ask Zarbon if he was having some difficulty with the concept of 'out' when he saw the bulging and shifting realignment of flesh under the bodysuit and Zarbon suddenly morphed into a form Vegeta had never before witnessed in his aide.

He knew, of course, that it wasn't Bulma, it wasn't anything close to Bulma. All he had to do was feel the inhuman strength of the muscle in the arms that loosely surrounded his shoulders, inhale to smell the unaltered scent of his trainer. It was just a trick, the illusion of pale skin and teal-blue hair in a female form that was, in truth, far too muscular and tall to be that of his mate. But he let himself lean against Zarbon, just for a moment, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the crook of neck and shoulder while Zarbon made oddly soothing soft clicking and whirring noises and stroked hands over his back and shoulders. Then Vegeta tugged away, veering back to the window.

"You have unexpected skills, Zarbon," he said, sardonically.

Zarbon shrugged with well-shaped shoulders that were far less than their usual width and spoke with a voice that was, disturbingly, only slightly different than usual. "You know I'm a changeling, Vegeta. And you always did think I smelled funny, no?"

He hadn't thought that in a long time, Vegeta realized. Zarbon was just ... Zarbon. Although it's a good thing I never saw you like this when I was fifteen; I think I would have been warped for life! After a minute, Vegeta said softly, "If you ever mention this to anyone, I will kill you. Slowly."

The unusually-full mouth stretched into a grin—and continued to stretch as Zarbon's shape pulled back into the well-recognized form of Vegeta's aide. "Mention what?" Zarbon asked innocently.

Vegeta looked at his trainer sideways. Zarbon was regarding him with a slightly softened expression, one that the Prince had actually seen the human woman, Mrs. Briefs, sometimes direct toward her daughter. Affection, he realized suddenly, although that still wasn't quite the right word. And some knot he didn't even know existed in his chest loosened. He had known, of course, since his night in the snow, but what he couldn't know was whether or not the strange, inexplicable, un-Saiyan bond he discovered linking him to Zarbon was mutual. And, apparently, it was.

"Get out," said Vegeta again after a moment, but smiling slightly this time. And this time, Zarbon gave a respectful nod and went.

Vegeta pulled his gaze back out the window. So — I did not come out of this so badly after all. Unlike every other King who has faced this moment in the last millennium, I am not alone. My true parent still lives. And my mate — my mate will be here soon.

Turning away from the window, he began to search for his father's communication station. He had to let Bulma know that the succession was secure. It was as safe as it would ever be for her to come to Vejiitasei. Then he suddenly grinned, realizing he needed to order the Royal Harem dismantled before Bulma got anywhere near Vejiitasei. She had promised to try to respect the traditions of Vegeta's home world — but there were some things, Vegeta knew, that, custom or no custom, his Queen would never tolerate.

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Sashoki was waiting in his quarters. Zarbon opened his arms to her; after a marked pause she walked into them, letting him hug her. Although her hands remained by her side, he felt her tail twine about his hips, a far more intimate form of greeting from a Saiyan. "I don't know about you, but I've had a hellacious time of it lately," he said into her neck.

"It's true, then?"

So much had happened since he had last seen her Zarbon wasn't sure what, exactly, Sashoki was asking about. "The King," she clarified, impatiently.

"There's a new one," he finally replied, closing his eyes and squeezing her harder than he normally would have. "Oh, it was ghastly, Sash. I thought Vegeta was going to shatter."

"Surely that's exactly what the old King did," she said, dryly. He shuddered. Pulling back, she looked into his face, and her expression softened fractionally. "Eh, never mind. Come lie down for a while.

He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I missed you," he told her.

"From what I hear, you didn't have time to do anything of the sort," she retorted. "I have a million questions, but they'll wait. You look horrible."

"Ah, and this is my pleasing-to-look-at mammalian form," he said, tiredly. "Imagine how some of my other forms must look."

"Some of your other forms are just fine," Sashoki assured him as she began to tug at the straps of his shoulder guards. She tossed the armor aside, reached up to pull the tie off of his ponytail. Knowing he was babbling, Zarbon still found he couldn't shut up as she walked him into the inner chamber, making him sit in the chair in front of the mirror as she ran fingers through the shoulder-length hair and reached for the brush. His eyes closing, he tried to tell her everything all at once, everything he couldn't mention during their talks in the past couple of months, tried to describe Chikyuu and Bulma, tried to recall precisely what he witnessed in the throne room, the actions of Vegeta and the King, the words spoken between and around them.

The brush paused. Opening his eyes, Zarbon saw consternation cross her face, reflected in the mirror. "Bonded. He said 'bonded?'"

"Oh, yes," said Zarbon with a bitter edge. "Right out in open court. You should have seen the jaws drop. And you should have heard what some of the guards said; they were very determined to kill him, Sash. They didn't want him anywhere near the throne."

She snorted, and resumed brushing. "As if they had a chance."

"There's always a chance. Unfortunately for them, though, I trained Vegeta. They weren't going to surprise or overwhelm him."

Sashoki didn't appear interested in the fight. "Not that surprising, I suppose," she mused. "Most Heirs never leave the capital, let alone the planet. Vegeta was always going off world, mixing with all classes, aliens... It was almost inevitable, just given the sheer number of people he ran into. Who would ever expect to bond with an off-worlder, though?" she added, and there was something introspective in her voice that Zarbon, caught up in the experiences of the day and the sheer relief of finally being able to talk, uncharacteristically missed.

"Feh," retorted Zarbon, sounding very Saiyan for a minute. "I can't believe you let this genetic anomaly just run through your species. Although it must be a recessive gene, to not show up for so many generations in the Royal line, and they are hard to breed out."

"Baka," she murmured, a twist of amusement in her voice. "You sound like one of those obnoxious Southern nobles. Or even Nappa."

"Thanks a lot," said Zarbon, glaring at her balefully.

She tapped his shoulder with the back of the brush, lightly, and set it down. "Eh, I don't mean anything by it, Zarbon. You know that." She wound a few strands of green hair around a finger. "I know you don't want to hear this, but bangs look good on you."

"You Saiyans have no clue how hard it is to get your hair all the same length," groused Zarbon. "Anything happens to your hair, it grows back in five seconds."

"I can't believe after not being with you for ten months all I'm getting is talk about your damned coiffure," she returned, dryly. "Or do you have some Chikyuu native hidden away that I need to kill first?"

He finally grinned at that. Reaching up, he untangled her fingers from his hair and lightly kissed the tips. "You have my undivided attention now," Zarbon assured her.

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He had tried to talk her out of this, Sashoki remembered, when she insisted on the relationship. He pointed out he would be off planet for long periods of time (so would she; not an issue), that his duties to Vegeta made him high-profile (privacy was not something she cared about), that it would make life difficult for her being involved on Vejiitasei with someone who was not Saiyan. Not paying her debt of honor would make life more difficult, Sashoki retorted. He grimaced at that, telling her sternly that sex should never be used as payment for anything. Oh, please, she thought, but his strange morals were clearly what made him come to her aid when she resisted the King's Guards efforts to drag her off to the harem, so Sashoki tried another tact. She half-lowered her lids (she had seen Zarbon do that to Radditz, and it certainly made Radditz flush) and pointed out he had been on Vejiitasei by himself for, what, ten years? Clearly a virile creature like himself needed companionship of a type he wasn't getting from Radditz since the other Saiyan had no interest in fighting for him, so what was the harm? Unless the rumors about Vegeta were true...

"Minx," he said, a note of approval and (she was sure) reluctant attraction in his voice. "I've been called lots of things on Vejiitasei, but 'virile' hasn't previously been one of them." Sighing, he began to shed his armor and clothes right where he stood, tossing things over chairs and tables in the outer chamber, while Sashoki had just been relieved that this, apparently, was his mating form and not that frightening thick-limbed one he morphed into when he defied the King's Guards. He held out his arms to the sides and said, dryly, "Look at me, Sashoki."

She paced around him, still more relieved and even pleased with what she saw. Except for the lack of a tail and the tint of his skin and strange texture of his hair, there wasn't much to distinguish him from a Saiyan male — a very impressive Saiyan male, at that. He, however, rolled his eyes. "You Saiyans. Always looking at the obvious and not noticing the details." Taking her hand, he placed it on his stomach, just under the ribs. She felt the ripple of his abdominal muscles; then something that didn't feel right shifted under her fingers. Looking down, she realized that what she had taken to be the midline of his abdominals was actually something else—

"Egg pouch," Zarbon told her, that sardonic note still in his voice. "That's where my young will be carried, when it's time for me to have young."

And Sashoki, who had been to and helped purge dozens of worlds, felt her knees go weak in shock and would have collapsed where she stood if he had not grabbed her by the elbows and held her up. "Still interested?" he asked in amusement.

She pulled away, looked him up and down, and said, "You are not female."

"I'm not anything you can categorize," he told her. "You're locked into bi-gender stereotypes that have no application to me."

Curious, she touched his muscular stomach again, startling an intake of breath out of him. "Like that, do you?"

"Careful, little monkey," he murmured. "I know a thing or two about tails."

She grinned, feeling an unexpected surge of excitement. This debt of honor might actually be enjoyable. "Show me."

He kissed her first, carefully and slowly, using just his lips, until she felt her knees start to go again. Chuckling, he propped her up by wrapping both arms around her. "Sure?" he said against her ear.

"Positive."

He carted her off to the bedroom, and did things with her that she had no name for, and others that she did but had never experienced in quite that way before. Any of the off-world Saiyan males she knew would have been curled up snoring ages before Zarbon even moved much beyond kissing her.

And he had pleased her so much, then and later, Sashoki thought wryly, that he had probably ruined her for any Saiyan male. But her debt was long since paid, and her long-held fear of Vegeta was gone. There was no practical purpose in doing this any more. Shifting against him, she smoothed a hand down that strange, sensitive stomach of his, making his breath catch even in his sleep.

He missed her, he had said. I'll miss you, too, she thought to him, but his alien mind was closed to her. It always had been. Sighing, she settled her head against one of his muscular arms, crossly thinking that if he would let her in, just a little, she wouldn't care about the rest so much. Hell, she wouldn't care about the rest at all...

She wondered if he was as closed to Radditz, then pushed the thought away. Get to sleep, she told herself. You two are going to have a scene, and you'll need to be alert for it.

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He woke up before she could escape, stretching slightly and reaching one hand across the covers, blinking to consciousness when his groping fingers encountered nothing but cloth. "Hey," he yawned, rolling to his back as he peered over at her. "It's hours before either of us need to be on duty. What are you doing?"

Taking the coward's way out, she thought in self-loathing. Then Sashoki shrugged the emotion away. She was Saiyan; no emotion existed that she couldn't master and control. "A call went out a few days ago for a volunteer mission to an Associate World that seems to be wavering in its devotion to the Empire. I've decided to go."

"What?" Zarbon still sounded sleepy and unfocused. "What's your hurry? You just got back from a mission; you can stay planetside for a few months yet. I just got back, and with Vegeta's new role, I'm likely to be here for a long while. Why are you running off all ready?"

Sashoki turned her armor over in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze for a moment, then glanced at him, her expression as empty and impersonal as she could force it to be. Surprise and apprehension flashed into the golden eyes. Zarbon sat straight up, looking far more awake than she wanted him to be. "Look," Sashoki said with the rare, rough kindness that Saiyans occasionally displayed, "we don't have to do this anymore. Vegeta's got a wife. More than that, he says he's bonded to her. That's a powerful statement, Zarbon. It means that, at least for a while, there is no harem. There's nothing for you to protect me from. Vegeta isn't interested in me now."

"Sashoki, he was never interested in you!"

She shrugged. "Whatever. The point is, my debt to you is paid, I don't need your protection anymore, and you don't need to pretend anymore." He was looking both blank and distressed. "Or what-ever you want to call it," Sashoki said, probably more gently than she had ever said anything in her life. Sighing, she set aside the armor and knelt on the bed, wrapping her arms around him, cradling his head. The strong hands slid across her back as he buried his face against her. Her treacherous tail encircled him, pulling him closer. Dammit, this is hard. She stroked that strange, soft hair of his. "Shh, Zarbon, shh. Never mind all that. I want offspring, Zarbon. You do, too, I think. And that is something we can't do for each other, eh?"

A faint tremor ran through him, but Zarbon continued to protest. "I understand if you want to reproduce. That doesn't mean we can't be together. I won't... Sash, just grab a male. I won't ask any questions, I wouldn't hold that against you!"

Ah, he was making this hard. She closed her eyes, playing on his aversion for Saiyan conventions he found offensive. "Zarbon, I've decided to call a tournament."

"You're kidding," he said in revulsion.

Even though she was trying to turn him against her, Sashoki found she was a little offended. "Do you think I wouldn't get a respectable turnout, even an Elite or two? Females are rare, Zarbon. I do not carry the taint, so I can afford to look among powerful males for a mate. Why shouldn't I? I want offspring that are going to survive."

"You could have your pick of males," Zarbon replied, angrily. "Deciding something like a life-partner by fighting is just so—barbaric."

Sashoki cast her eyes to the ceiling and got off the bed. "Is there anything on Vejiitasei that doesn't offend your delicate sensibilities? Maybe I don't especially care who my husband is, Zarbon, just that I get viable offspring out of him. In which case, a tournament is as good a way as any other to pick a spouse." She raised a brow at him; he was still looking equal parts scandalized and upset. "You have to promise me that you will not interfere in this. Fat lot of good my picking a mate does if you're just going to show up and blast him."

Zarbon started to laugh, then cut himself off. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering in any of your quaint Saiyan rituals," he said, something self-mocking and harsh in his voice. "These are your decisions, Sash. It's your life."

She had seen that hard-edged, cold look on his face before, during public bouts, during the missions they had been on together. She never expected it to be directed at her. Steeling herself, Sashoki insisted, "I want your oath on that, Zarbon."

"I will accept any choice you make, and I will not rip apart any partner you choose, by whatever method you choose him," he said, his tone formal and unemotional. "Good enough?"

Weakening, she held out a hand, meaning to comfort, but he tiled his head away and her fingertips just grazed a few strands of hair. "Zarbon..."

"If you say we should always be friends, I will get very angry, Sashoki."

Dropping her hand, "What would any true Saiyan need with friends?" Sashoki queried with deliberate cruelty. "You have me mixed up with that pathetic Radditz." She picked up the chest-plate, took her time shrugging into it, and left without looking back.

Outside of Zarbon's apartments she cursed herself for her weakness, turned on her scouter, and put in a call to Radditz.

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The tone at his door sounded twice. "What?" Zarbon hissed at it, then sighed; the computer wouldn't recognize that as a command. "Yes, come in," he said more evenly.

The door slid back and Radditz stepped into the room. Zarbon grimaced in irritation. "If you're here to complain about getting whacked over the head—"

Radditz shrugged. "There are worse things than being alive. Although this friggin' headache you've left me with may be one of them." Zarbon exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound close to a Saiyan snort. "What's wrong with you?" demanded Radditz.

Zarbon made a huffing noise and put his chin back on his pulled-up knees. "What?" insisted Radditz.

After a pause, Zarbon said, "I'm not sure how it happened, but I think Sashoki and I just broke up. Which on top of everything else that's happened lately has put me in an exceptionally nasty mood."

Radditz nodded once, thoughtfully. He walked behind Zarbon's chair, put his hands on the other man's shoulders and after a minute leaned the side of his face against Zarbon's neck. Zarbon glanced at him sideways, screwed his eyes closed and said out of the corner of his mouth, "If you even think of putting a move on me right now, I will hurt you so bad..."

Radditz chuckled, his breath warm against Zarbon's skin. "You two were never really together."

Zarbon, annoyed, shrugged hard, but Radditz just slid his arms around the wide blue shoulders and refused to be dislodged. "You are such a comfort when I'm depressed."

Radditz said, quietly, "I'm sorry you're upset about it."

Zarbon turned his head, his eyes mock-wide. "Excuse me? Did I just hear a Saiyan say 'I'm sorry'? Can I get that in writing? Is there a recording device around here?"

Radditz moved one hand to slap him on the upper arm. Hard. "You're such an idiot."

"I'm getting really tired of constantly hearing that from you Saiyans. You can leave any time."

"Oh, I think I'll just stay here and stare at the wall."

"That's a moronic thing to do," Zarbon grumbled.

"It's what you're doing," Radditz pointed out. "I'm sure there's something fascinating there." Zarbon refused to look at him, remaining fixated on the wall. After a minute, Radditz lifted a hand to run a fingertip across Zarbon's jawline, down the smooth throat. Zarbon's head turned away. "Why are you always fighting me?" Radditz asked softly. He pressed his mouth gently against a patch of skin bared by Zarbon's sleeve-less top. Zarbon shivered and felt neck muscles start to relax, the head falling back slightly against Radditz's shoulder. Why not? It's been so long since I've been held by a male, and I don't want to be alone. Radditz... "That's it," murmured Radditz. Fingers traveled lightly down the torso, pressed delicately against the side. "Let me take care of you for a while." Fingers moved slowly, caressingly across the abdomen; Zarbon drew in a breath. "I know what your kind like, Zarbon," Radditz said softly. "Let me show you..."

Zarbon's mind went clear with pure, crystal fury, and the half-instinctive transformation halted before it completely began. "And I know that you'd rather die than have me separate you from your tail, monkey-boy. So get your hands the hell off of me."

Radditz's grip loosened. He twisted around to look into Zarbon's face. "Now what?" he demanded, the confusion sounding genuine.

"I do not know or care who you think I am or who you want me to be," Zarbon responded, the words clipped, "but I am not anyone's stand-in, Radditz."

"Stop talking as if I'm on the rebound from something that happened a decade before I met you," said Radditz, annoyed. "All it really meant was that I knew what I was getting into when I realized I was attracted to you."

"You weren't attracted to me. You were in rut, and I was around. That's all."

"I was a total klutz because I was in rut," Radditz growled. "But I was attracted to you right away, before the moon came and I had to start fighting my damned chemistry. I meant to wait until after the moon left, but then the King sent us all to the forest and there wasn't any way to avoid you and—well," he said again, angrily, "I was a klutz. Bloody hell, are you going to hold that against me forever?"

Zarbon's gaze was cold. Radditz finally dropped his hands away, scowling. "You say you know my kind, Radditz?" asked Zarbon, the tone cool and rhetorical. "Then you know, don't you, that those of my gender were used as concubines and sex-slaves for decades. Centuries. We had no choice, not until Cold came into our system and finally liberated us."

"Zarbon, that was eons ago, long before either of us were born. And with your ki, it wouldn't have happened to you—!"

"Even then," Zarbon continued, as if Radditz had not spoken, "our options were limited until his son Freeza opened the military up. And when some idiot Saiyan comes up to me, wraps his tail around my calf and says he 'knows' about my kind, what do you expect me to do? Think, 'Oh, goodie, someone who knows how professional we are in harems'?" Zarbon focused on Radditz, his clear gaze cool and impersonal. "Eons ago, you say? Why does it still follow me everywhere, Radditz? Every planet I go to, even here, even Chikyuu, I run into that look; the one that says, 'I know what you really are.' I've told you before, I'm not here to indulge anyone's taste for the exotic, and I'm not interested in this uncontrollable hormonal stuff. And you aren't in love with me, you just have a fetish. Give it up, Radditz. And get out of here before I forget that we're friends."

Radditz was silent for a moment. "I will always honor you," he finally said, quietly. Standing up, he added, coldly, "But you are amazingly dense when you want to be," and left.

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Epilogue I
Freeza's planet, two days later (Standard Galactic Calendar)

Freeza frowned over the information on the data screen presented by Dodoria, his expression indicating bemusement. He lifted one hand toward the shadows where his nearly-invisible guards stood. A tall, caped figure stepped to the foot of the dais. Dark, angular eyes looked up at Freeza from under spiky bangs. Lazily, Freeza motioned permission to approach. The figure mounted the steps, standing in front of Freeza's hover-chair. Freeza passed the data screen to him. "While all this is fascinating reading, of course, there seems to be something I'm missing. Perhaps you can explain it. What does this mean for Vejiitasei?"

The figure took a minute to peruse the data screen. Then a soft chuckle echoed around Freeza's throne-room. The man handed the screen back to Freeza, his mouth twisted up at one side, thick brows lowered as he smirked.

"The end of everything," he said. "Tradition, class structure, and a thousand years of suffering silence—poof! And, if this interbreeding part is accurate, eternal contamination of the Royal bloodline. How bitter and strange this must be to the nobles. Especially," he added, a peculiar harsh note briefly invading his voice, "the Southern nobles, who are the most closely related to the House of Vejiitasei and who must be taking this very ... personally."

"Really?" murmured Freeza in his soft, pleasant voice. "And how personal is it, my friend? How likely are the nobility to ... tolerate this? Especially the Southerners?"

There was a long pause. "What you are suggesting, Lord Freeza, will take time. Years of it."

"I am very patient, warrior. And games that take years are the most satisfying in the end, no?" The thin black lips parted in a wide smile. "These new possibilities in dealing with the Saiyan situation promise to be very...entertaining, my friend. I trust you will enjoy the upcoming contest as much as I will."

"If it results in the fall of Vejiitasei's current order," replied the figure, "I will enjoy it very, very much, indeed, Lord Freeza."

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Epilogue II
Vejiitasei, three months later (Saiyan Imperial Calendar)

Two months after the coronation ceremony, members of the King's Guard — those Vegeta felt he could trust not to disgrace themselves by open shows of surprise or distaste — stood in honor formation on the landing platform outside the Palace, waiting for the arrival of the Queen's craft from Earth.

She looked like a blue flame as she stepped down the ramp of the rounded craft that bore the logo of her Earth corporation, flanked by four huge saurians. Vegeta knew the beasts were employees of hers, here to scout out locations and recruit a workforce. The other Saiyans, however, would see an alien ruler surrounded by dangerous-looking bodyguards. That belief suited the King's purposes. By the time anyone realized the creatures were, in fact, harmless the new Queen would have the most dangerous bodyguard of all at her side. Himself.

Vegeta, glancing around, saw rounded eyes and slightly dropped jaws. He smiled faintly. Clearly there were now those in his personal guard who would be prepared to take to the tournaments to avenge any slight insult to their new Queen. She was stunning, exotic even. And how like her to make no attempt to hide her difference, to in fact play up her alien looks with that sparkly dress that matched her hair and eyes, with the strange paint humans sometimes put on their faces that she, in fact, rarely wore.

Bulma stopped in front of him, hands on hips. He looked her over slowly, and realized she wore her gravity harness in plain sight, over the dress. Made of the same material, he at first thought it decorative. It strapped across her chest, between her breasts, and fastened around her waist. He could not tell where the controls were; hopefully any lurking assassin couldn't either. "You tested that thing yet?" he asked, one brow raised.

A shrug. "In the gravity chamber, sure, but this is the first field test."

Vegeta exhaled softly, and shook his head. "We had better get you into the Imperial wing before you implode."

She grinned, and startled him almost out of his wits by wrapping her hands around his upper arm. After pausing a minute to see what she was going to do next, Vegeta started toward the palace entrance. She fell into step next to him, not letting go, smiling cheerfully at the Saiyan guards, some of whom forgot themselves to the point of actually smiling back. I may have to fight some of these idiots in the arena myself, thought the new King, scowling.

"Miss me?" Bulma murmured to him.

"Don't be asinine, woman."

"I didn't miss you, either," she assured him cheerfully. "Where's Engineering?"

"Tomorrow."

"You promised me a complete Engineering department, Vegeta. Lots of alien do-hickeys to play with. I want to see it."

"Tomorrow," the King said again, crossly. "I have other things for you to see first."

"I bet."

An involuntary smile, hastily repressed, curved his mouth. She was so completely incapable of letting him have the last word.

Bulma paused just inside the palace, looking around with arched brows, muttering that she just knew Vejiitasei was going to have an Early Torture Chamber motif. Vegeta responded sarcastically, although he again found himself repressing a grin. He glanced at the odd little female, with her bizarre coloring and her unending mouth, feeling strangely protective. Even if he were trapped on Vejiitasei for the rest of his life, just the challenge of keeping up with her would keep him battle-sharp enough to take on Freeza himself, if the misbegotten lizard ever made the mistake of showing his horned head in this sector of the Universe.

It's worth it, Vegeta thought. It was all worth it.

Although I will never in a million million years admit as much to her.