Vegeta slowly pushed his way back to consciousness, aware of sensations he couldn't immediately explain. He felt — immersed — yet he was breathing slowly and evenly. He opened his eyes, and blinked rapidly to clear the stinging moisture out of his eyes. The stinging moisture did not clear.

Regeneration tank, he thought, beginning to be alert. He had not been in one for a decade, not since an early training session with Nappa had gotten more violent than the five-year-old could handle. Although he handled the next one fine, and Nappa, claiming the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces had better things to do, assigned other trainers rather than face him again...

Vegeta closed his eyes. He was kneeling in the bottom of a regenerative bath of nutrients (Saiyans were heavy, and didn't necessarily float), a mask over his nose and mouth feeding him air. The bath was being drained. As he felt the liquid pool around his shoulders he shook off the mask and once more opened his eyes.

To look into the faces of Radditz and Nappa, standing with their arms crossed and feet well apart in the manner typical of the Saiyan military. Must be a slow week for the Commander in Chief, he thought scornfully. Then he realized that their presence meant his father had tracked him down.

_________________________________________________________

The young prince had — broadened — considerably in the last few weeks. Radditz ran an appraising eye across Vegeta's frame as the Prince stepped down from the regeneration tank. There was a greater depth to his chest, and his thighs and calves were corded with new muscle.

Bowing his head, Nappa held out a blue battle suit. Vegeta's ki briefly flared as he used it to evaporate moisture still clinging to him. Pulling the suit on, he stood with his arms folded as the other two warriors strapped on and adjusted his armor. Stepping into the boots Radditz set down for him, Vegeta held out a hand. Radditz gave him his gloves. Nappa started to fit a scouter over Vegeta's face, but Vegeta frowned him away. "I don't need that. How long was I in there?"

"Two days," replied Radditz. One of them unnecessary, but the King requested you be kept inactive until we got here, and Cold was happy to do that...

"Zarbon—?"

"Won his draw. There was a default in the next match. He faces Rikuum tomorrow for the championship."

Vegeta looked at his father's warriors coldly. "I will not return to Vejiitasei until after the bout."

Radditz inclined his head in acknowledgement. Nappa started, "Now, Vegeta--"

"'Now, Nappa—'" Vegeta mimicked. "Shut up."

Nappa continued doggedly. "The King insists you return immediately, Vegeta."

"The King is on Vejiitasei. I am right here. Chose carefully, Nappa." Vegeta marched out of the healing facility.

"You were no help," Nappa said crossly as he rushed after Vegeta.

I looked through the scouter while he was still in the tank, thought Radditz. I am not arguing with someone whose ki is 4000 over what it should be even though he's unconscious. And if the King wants to keep his throne and his life for a few more years, he'd better start treading warily as well.

_________________________________________________________

I'm dead.

Sighing, Zarbon closed his eyes and tried to slide into a meditative trance, if only for a few minutes. He was having trouble finding his focus — and it was, he thought wryly, little wonder. He was in the finals because Baata, who normally would have beaten him handily, had been so badly injured in his previous match that a day in the healing tanks didn't come close to putting the big lizard in fighting form. After chasing him around the arena a few times, Zarbon put his hands on his hips and sharply told the reptilian to fight or yield. Looking up into the royal box, Baata got a nod from his leader, Captain Ginyuu, and promptly yielded.

Which left Zarbon facing another member of the Ginyuu Squad, Rikuum, a brute with a fighting ki 10,000 clicks higher than the best Zarbon could muster (and that only by breaking the rules), who was well known for the crowd-pleasing trick of turning pirouettes on the bodies of his victims. Hopefully I'll bleed so much he'll slip in mid-spin and crack his head open.

The state of his hair was not helping matters.

It was not just vanity, although he acknowledged wryly vanity did play its part in his discontent. Without his heavy braid acting as a counter-balance, Zarbon had to adjust his fighting style, near suicide at this stage of the tournament. He was having as much trouble finding his physical center as his mental one. I should have just thrown the match to Baata. It's not like he would have killed me — and Rikuum will.

Zarbon sighed again. He never thought of practical things like that in the middle of a bout. Pity.

Hearing the whistle that proclaimed the start of the match was near, Zarbon made his way to the competitors' entrance. Turning his head to acknowledge someone's shout of good luck, he blinked as his fine hair spilled across his forehead and into his eyes. Great. My hair has never looked worse, it's too short to tie back, it won't stay tucked behind my ears, and I'm going to get killed by the guy with the highest ki in the tournament. What else can go wrong today?

"New look?" inquired a voice just as he started to cross the threshold into the arena, a slight sneer under the polite tone.

I had to ask.

Zarbon paused by the competitors' box. The little Prince was standing there in full armor, flanked by two other Saiyans that towered over him. I thought I remembered them as being much taller. One of the Saiyans was a solid-looking stocky man, surprisingly bald with a moustache framing his jaw and a cruel, full mouth. The other -- had all his hair, thought Zarbon ruefully, looking at the riotous, unruly mane of spikes that was pushed behind broad, bare shoulders and cascaded down muscular thighs. He meet the other's assessing eyes and smiled. The Saiyan fixed him with a hard stare, then smirked that non-amused Saiyan smirk, showing his canines. Ah, those charming Saiyan social graces.

Zarbon transferred his smile to the Prince. "If you and your friends want to play, little Vegeta, it will have to wait."

The bald one started, hotly, "You will address the Prince—"

"Nappa, enough," said the Prince in a bored, automatic tone indicating a conditioned response. A slight curve creased his mouth as he looked steadily up at Zarbon. "I do like the hair. We'll have to see what else I can do to improve your appearance next time."

Impossibly, five minutes before the match Zarbon knew would be the death of him, he found himself shaking with laughter. Ah, if the Prince of the Saiyans only knew--

He leaned into the competitors' box, pulling his lips back as the Saiyan guard had, and watched Vegeta's eyes fractionally widen. "Bring your big monkey-tailed friends, boy. You'll need them to hide behind."

Feeling absurdly relaxed, Zarbon walked into the arena to face Rikuum.

_________________________________________________________

Nappa was blustering about nerve and what Zarbon's entrails would look like wrapped around his pretty neck. Ignoring him, Radditz tipped his head down to look into his Prince's face. Vegeta's expression was closed, but he still had a slight smile as he followed the alien's progress into the arena.

"Nappa, enough," Vegeta said. "Despite the package, he has a fighter's heart. He will be worth killing once I am strong enough."

Radditz smiled quietly. He had met Zarbon's kind before, and the race was inherently devious. They did have other qualities... Shaking off the memories, Radditz listened with half an ear as Nappa continued his protest. It took another minute before his Commander finally shut down. Radditz was convinced it took that long for the slow-firing synapses in Nappa's brain to tell his mouth to be quiet.

Looking across the arena, Radditz eyed Zarbon's opponent. Rikuum was a huge, beefy humanoid male, broad and bulky with wild red hair. His face was square and flat with a nose that had been hit so many times even a regeneration tank could no longer restore its shape. Radditz reached up to turn on his scouter.

"Better calibrate that first," said Vegeta without looking at him.

Radditz paused — had the Prince developed eyes in the side of his head as well as dramatically increasing his ki? — but made the adjustment. Flicking the machine on, he couldn't prevent a small intake of air. "There's no sport in this. It's a mis-match."

"Zarbon's played beyond his seed," agreed Vegeta. "Of course, so did I, but I was unseeded to begin with." He seemed fixated on Zarbon's back. "Maybe not a complete mismatch," he said softly to himself.

Radditz glanced at his prince, wondering what he meant, then his eyes rounded as the still-functioning scouter fed back a reading of 22,000. Vegeta was radiating a ki that closely matched him with Zarbon, although neither the Prince nor Zarbon was in the big brute's range.

My 1500 power level makes me a warrior of first class, and I have to train constantly to maintain that, Radditz thought. No wonder the King thinks Vegeta might be the one.

_________________________________________________________

Zarbon should have killed me when he had the chance. I owe him a hard death now.

Yet looking at the man, Vegeta felt — uneasy. Although the Prince had never heard of anyone sensing ki without using a scouter, some corner of his brain was convinced he was doing exactly that. And the same twisted corner was saying there was something hidden about Zarbon, something Vegeta did not understand. That slap Zarbon gave me rattled more than my teeth. Maybe I should have stayed in the tank a bit longer.

Switching his gaze to Rikuum, Vegeta felt his eyes close in an involuntary blink as a feeling of raw power swept through him. If this is ki, then I'm catching up to Zarbon. But neither of us is anywhere near that monster.

_________________________________________________________

The odds-makers ended up paying out a lot of money over the Zarbon-Rikuum match. For one thing, a very composed Zarbon landed several blows in the first two minutes, including a blistering flash of ki energy right in the stronger man's face that knocked Rikuum back several yards, making those few people who bet he could strike the Ginyuu Squad member very, very wealthy. For another, Zarbon lasted over ten minutes, twice as long as the most generous odds-maker had given him.

The match could have lasted still longer if Rikuum had not gotten impatient. Martial arts clinics were fine, but once Rikuum ran through his repertoire of straight-legged pirouettes and poses, he felt there was not much point to the match. He'd demonstrated his style, he'd given the audience (if not the odds-makers) a cheap thrill by falling down once or twice, and he was ready for a snack. It was time to end it.

Vegeta kept his eyes on Zarbon, following his flight as Zarbon swooped close to Rikuum, dove under Rikuum's outstretched arms and through his legs, grabbing an ankle and dragging the bigger man several yards into the air. It looked like a reasonable move -- but as Rikuum flexed his stomach muscles, twisting his body up to deliver what appeared to be an attempt at a mid-air head butt, Vegeta felt again that strange pull in his mind and found himself thinking hard at Zarbon. Beware. If you think I was exceeding power limits...

There was no response. Apparently whatever latent talents Zarbon's race possessed didn't include even the rudimentary Saiyan version of telepathy. The Prince clenched his fists -- if you get killed before I have a chance at a rematch, I will track you down in hell -- then Rikuum screamed "Eraser Gun!" and a phalanx of sheer energy spit out of his mouth.

It was too close for Zarbon to form any sort of counter attack. But right before the strike hit—

—something happened—

—and the broken thing that fell to the ground, scarce feet in front of Vegeta, while it bore the blasted remains of Zarbon's garments, did not resemble him in the least.

"Aw," said Rikuum, hovering in mid-air over the twisted, smoking husk. "Guess he can transform, the coward. Looks like I win! Looks like you lose." Laughing, he held out a flat palm.

Vegeta, gaping in open astonishment, simply moved—

—and found himself in the arena, feet firmly planted on either side of Zarbon's (or whoever's) body, just charging energy suffusing his body and beginning to be manifested as a visible blue aura.

Rikuum lowered his hand, puzzled. "What is this, a tag team?"

Turning his head, Vegeta glared at the tournament referee, who suddenly remembered to raise the black card disqualifying Zarbon for transforming. Disappointed, Rikuum stared down at Vegeta for one more second, glanced at the other Saiyans as they leaped out of the competitors' box to protect their prince, and turned toward the royal box at the other end of the arena. Vegeta slowly reabsorbed his power, feeling a strange, unfamiliar tingle along his arms as he did, and looked at Zarbon.

A very scaly, thick-limbed Zarbon whose delicate features had been obliterated by a broad, blunt protruding snout that took up most of the lower half of his face, and whose eyes were almost lost in enclosing wads of blue-scaled flesh. The meat of his shoulder had been virtually vaporized by the ki attack. Blue fluid soaked the ground beneath him; one arm was barely attached, the sheared edges of tendons and muscle fibers jerking.

Vegeta was aware only of a near-blinding fury. Those watching him instead of the presentation across the arena finally saw the Saiyan's tail snap away from his body, the fur puffing out as it lashed back and forth.

He did not fight me at full strength. He dared hold back on me!

"Take this," he snarled at Nappa and Radditz, "to the healing center. If it looks like it might live, come get me."

_________________________________________________________

Standing in front of the domed regeneration tank, Vegeta examined the — thing — the medical technicians confirmed was Zarbon.

Blue did seem to be the creature's natural color, although whether its natural state was scales or skin was difficult to ascertain. It never lost the fine green hair, but Vegeta was only now, after it had spent nearly four days in the tank, able to pick out the features of the mercenary who had defeated him. Currently it was an oddly disturbing combination of reptilian and mammalian characteristics, with the mammal slowly asserting dominance as it healed. Even as he watched, it seemed to Vegeta the area under the now-oversized breath mask smoothed again as the edges of humanoid cheekbones became evident.

Yet clearly the reptilian form housed the greater ki. What was the point, Vegeta wondered, of concealing ki in this weaker form?

"Can it talk?" Vegeta demanded of the nearest technician.

"He should be strong enough to speak, yes. But he can't leave the tank yet."

"Wake it."

I'm not dead?

Zarbon tentatively opened one eye.

Aiee, I wish I were—

He saw the Saiyan Prince through a haze of chemicals and partial transformation. Vegeta, whose expression normally ran the gamut between dour and grim, looked positively thunderous.

"You," the Prince bit out, "did not fight me at full strength."

Trust a Saiyan to resent you for not reducing him to paste. "Were you so eager for death, little Prince?" Zarbon rasped, his harsh voice due as much to his incomplete transformation as his physical injuries.

"You," continued Vegeta as if Zarbon had not spoken, "will come with me to Vejiitasei. You will train me. And — " the boy's lips pulled back into a snarl — "you will not hold back. Understood?"

"I'm not a sensei, Vegeta."

"You don't need to be. I am the best on Vejiitasei. I will be the best in the Universe. Once I defeat you, I will be that much closer."

Zarbon discovered smiling was damned painful, and flattened his mouth out. I'm an idiot if I agree to anything while I'm in this state, he thought.

And was unsurprised when he heard himself rasp in response, "I will train you, little Prince. But do not presume to tell me how I will train you."

Vegeta bristled with imperial fury, then took a deep breath and visibly calmed. "Very well." Then he stepped close to the tank to make sure Zarbon could see his bared canines. "And stop calling me 'little.'"

Zarbon concentrated for just a second, and felt the eerie stretching sensation as his face morphed. Pulling back his mouth in an approximation of a grin, he showed Vegeta his own inch-long, needle-sharp fangs. "Mine's bigger. And sharper."

"Oh, don't count on that," returned Vegeta. "We Saiyans transform too, you know." He nodded to the medical tech, and Zarbon felt the cosmos blur and fall away again.

Lord Freeza won't like this, was his final conscious thought.