The most effective training sessions were held in the open-air arena in the middle of Vejiitasei's capital city. Smaller arenas abounded but were in frequent use to settle challenges and determine promotions. The large arena was used once a year for the tournament that culled royal guard applicants; the rest of the time it did little more than host the occasional royal gala. On days when it stood empty, Zarbon and Vegeta took it over. After pulping each other for several hours, they dragged themselves off for food and rest then repeated the process. Although he had asked for the location so the Prince could work on ki attacks without blowing up the palace, Zarbon at first refused to demonstrate any, insisting he needed to assess Vegeta's basic strengths and weaknesses before trying to teach him new ki blasts. Vegeta snorted at the idea of having any weaknesses, but was so pleased with the near-continual workout schedule, and at finally having someone who could hold his own against him, he didn't complain. Much.

On the day Vegeta's father deigned to attend a training session Zarbon announced he had studied Vegeta's fighting techniques as much as he needed to and was ready to show the young Prince his weaknesses. Vegeta howled with laughter, taunting Zarbon. "Oh, come on, sissy boy! You've hardly landed a punch all week! Afraid I'm going to play too rough for you?"

Zarbon systematically thrashed Vegeta within five minutes, ending by slamming him repeatedly into one wall of the stadium until the Prince was nearly unconscious. Through a red haze Vegeta saw Zarbon look up at the King in the viewing stands, turn on his heel, and stride away.

Struggling to his feet, Vegeta gargled out a demand for a continuance. Zarbon halted, paused, then retraced his steps. He leaned into the Prince's face and spoke precisely. "Your father wanted to see how strong I am? Well, now he knows. I'm strong enough to dismantle the most powerful Saiyan warrior produced in the last three millennia. Of course, I wouldn't be able to do very much if the most powerful Saiyan in the last three millennia wasn't getting so cocky about his ki level that he's started to ignore basic blocking techniques. Which is what happened to Jisuu, wasn't it? Some brat from no-where in particular, with a ki well below his, was able to get close enough to him to break his neck. Catch a clue, Vegeta."

Vegeta was more irked than humbled by the experience, but he did get the point. They spent the next several weeks ignoring ki attacks entirely as Zarbon worked on reshaping Vegeta's basic martial arts skills so the Prince could effectively compete against high ki opponents. Any small imperfection in technique, Zarbon insisted, would be hugely magnified given the fantastic, blurring speeds these opponents used when striking. After a month, Vegeta's style had only subtly altered, but fewer and fewer of Zarbon's blows were getting through. And enough of Vegeta's were landing that the Prince began to again taunt Zarbon about needing to transform in order to keep up with him.

Wiping a smear of blue blood from the corner of his mouth after one such exchange, Zarbon looked at the Prince through narrowed eyes, grinned, and adjusted his scouter. "Maybe, maybe not. Let's see what you can do. Power up, Vegeta. As high as you can go."

Vegeta set his legs wide apart and, clenching his fists, began to manifest the power within him, to pull it out of his body and shape it into living energy, snarling as he felt the electric prickle of released ki course through and over his body. Through a strange haze forming in front of his eyes he stared at Zarbon, hoping he could make the scouter crack, or at least pull a startled look over Zarbon's composed face.

"Nice aura," Zarbon called to him, amused.

Holding one hand in front of him, Vegeta saw the haze was actually a steel-blue glow engulfing his entire body. It had done that once before, when he sprinted into the arena to confront Rikuum. Although it hadn't hurt then. It hadn't -- burned.

Zarbon suddenly did look startled — more than startled, alarmed. "Power down!" he shouted.

Vegeta realized he couldn't.

Zarbon moved as a blur, solidifying in front of him, and spoke clearly, holding his eyes. "Vegeta. Put your hands over your head. Concentrate on focusing your energy there."

"I can do a ki blast, baka," snarled Vegeta through lips that felt like they were peeling off.

"Then shut up and show me."

Vegeta wrenched his arms over his head, cupping his hands. He forced his ki into his palms, hearing the cackle of energy as it coursed and burned through his body and rippled up his arms.

"Release it now."

Vegeta screamed as a pulsing series of fireballs left his hands — left him — and spun into the pink-tinged sky over Vejiitasei's capital. They tattooed a series of explosions a mile overhead, merging into a leading shockwave of energy that spread the impact of the explosions underneath the enveloping cloud layer from horizon to horizon.

Neat! thought Vegeta for the first — and last — time in his life.

As he held the pose, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on his gloves. His charred, tattered gloves, under which he caught glimpses of blistering flesh. Lowering his arms, Vegeta saw wisps of smoke rising from his scorched battle suit.

Zarbon's clear eyes were ice-cold, his voice glacial. "Vegeta, who are you?"

Vegeta blinked, once — what had just happened? — and said in irritation, "What kind of stupid question is that?"

"One you had better be able to answer."

Annoyed, the Prince snapped, "I am Vegeta, Crown Prince of the Saiyans, future ruler of Vejiitasei."

"And...?" prompted Zarbon harshly.

"Do you want me to go through all my father's titles? Future Dictator of the Crystal Cluster, future Emperor of the Seven Galaxies, future—"

"Shut up," Zarbon said evenly. He looked the Prince over, his face closed. "You've got some nasty burns. Half an hour in the tank, then come to my quarters. We need to make some plans."

"I want to keep training—"

"You will do what I say or I will be on the next shuttle that goes toward King Cold's space," returned Zarbon, his voice stripped of all emotion. "I'll see you when you get out of the tank."

-_________________________________________________________

He had no sense of who he was.

Zarbon strode along the corridors of the palace toward his quarters, his face a blank mask, but his mind a jumble of shocked and dismayed thoughts.

The Prince — that dangerously powerful teenaged boy — had no sense of self. Oh, he had a perfect idea of what he was, as his ability to rattle off titles showed, but he had no focus. No point of self-awareness. No "center," as his own trainer in Freeza's forces called it. That was why Zarbon never saw the boy meditating. It wasn't that Vegeta preferred to do it in the privacy of his own quarters, as Zarbon assumed; he just didn't do it. That someone filled with such overwhelming confidence didn't know his own heart — but it wasn't confidence, Zarbon reminded himself. It was arrogance. Period.

I'm in way over my head. I'm a warrior, not a sensei. How can I possibly help one of these brute Saiyans find his bloody center?

He walked past his quarters. Hissing like his reptilian alter-ego, he retraced his steps.

Going into his bedroom, Zarbon shrugged off his cape and sat on the edge of his bed. Absently he ran a hand through his hair, caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror opposite, and grimaced. Damned hair is still too short. It'll be six months before I can tie it back. Assuming I'm alive in six months.

Shaking his head, Zarbon took a deep breath and, just for a minute, cleared his mind by focusing on his own center.

Closing his eyes, he began to mentally assemble what needed to be done.

One of the first things to do was determine where one might look for the soul of a spoiled young Saiyan Prince. Zarbon's own sense of identity stemmed from his technical skill; battles were just a way to demonstrate his mastery. Vegeta, however, had no interest in the technique itself except as a means to an end; he worked to improve his skills only to fight stronger and stronger opponents.

The conflict was what Vegeta lived for, Zarbon decided. Not his eventual kingship, not the worlds the Saiyans had conquered or would conquer under his leadership, but the physical thrill of one-on-one combat with someone who had a shot at beating him. In that he was not much different from the rest of the Saiyans, who all seemed happiest when they were knocking each other silly and who did, indeed, seek out others of similar power levels to bash.

But no-one else on the planet even approached that dangerous power level the Prince himself sported. It was fine for most of the Saiyans, the best of whom still had a ki reading well under 10,000, to wake up in the morning, knock each other about all day, and turn in at night with nothing more dangerous than loosened teeth. Vegeta, however, with no ultimate control over his awesome powers, could blow up the planet in one careless moment.

Which he had very nearly done earlier, when his ki had gotten away from him and he'd almost imploded in a globe-demolishing burst of energy before Zarbon's eyes.

And which was what had happened, if Zarbon understood the stories correctly, with the last very powerful Saiyan warrior. The one they called the Super-Saiyan.

Zarbon thought that, on an instinctual level, Vegeta himself understood something vital was missing. It was, most likely, what drove the boy to King Cold's tournament in the first place.

I have to get Vegeta alone for a while , Zarbon decided. Either an isolated place on this planet, or another planet. A nearby moon would be perfect, but there aren't any. Vegeta has to find out who he is. He can't do that when he's surrounded by reminders of what he is.

Sighing, Zarbon locked his fingers into his hair again. "Right," he said out loud. "I'm going to go to the King and say: 'Oh, hi, Veggie. I'd like to abscond with the royal heir to the second largest empire in the known universe. That would be your son. Now, I know that you think I'm a spy for Freeza, and to top it off I disturb you and everyone else on the planet by not fitting into your narrow bi-gender roles of acceptable sexuality — but, really, it's for everyone's good.' Right. This is going to work."

_________________________________________________________

Radditz rapped sharply on Zarbon's door before shoving it open. Vegeta scowled at the warrior  — this was his palace, and he did not need to announce his presence — and swept past him into the sterile antechamber of Zarbon's quarters. "Zarbon!"

Zarbon stepped out of the bedchamber and looked at Vegeta, his expression unreadable. For a startled moment Vegeta wondered if the alien had been in mid-transformation, then realized that, except for Zarbon's sojourn in the regeneration tank, he had never seen him without his cape or his arm-length gloves. With his muscular arms and wide shoulders bare, Zarbon suddenly seemed much more — male — than usual.

Then he sighed and raised one graceful, long-fingered hand to brush back the hair in his eyes, and Vegeta was thrown into his customary scorn. "So sorry -- did we interrupt your toilette?"

"No." Zarbon looked him up and down, then over him at Radditz and Nappa, who had taken up positions next to the door. "Do we need the watchdogs?"

"They stay."

Zarbon lifted one shoulder, carelessly. "As you wish. What did the med techs say?"

They had been appalled -- and, actually, so had Vegeta been as they cut away his skin-tight battle suit and revealed the extent of the burns on his body. Fortunately the regeneration tank soothed the pain away, leaving Vegeta to wonder why he had been disturbed about his injuries at all. "Nothing. Get on with it, baka ."

"Very well. There has been a major hole in your training, Vegeta, one that I'm frankly not sure I'm qualified to address. But I'm willing to try."

"The catch?" demanded Vegeta suspiciously.

"We'll need extended isolation. No contact with your father. Off-world is best, but if there is someplace on-world we can go without being disturbed, that's fine."

Nappa immediately started to form a protest; Vegeta just-as-immediately shut him up, eyeing Zarbon in mistrust. "What gap?"

Zarbon met his gaze squarely. "Don't you know, Vegeta?" he asked quietly. When Vegeta just scowled at him, he sighed again and said, "I'll deal with that when we get where we're going."

"My father will never permit me to go anywhere alone with you, baka ."

"Bring your pets. If they interfere, though, I'll kill them."

I want to go , Vegeta thought, surprised.

He knew, however, that it was impossible. "No," he said, turning to leave.

Another shrug from the alien. "Fine. I quit."

Vegeta whirled on him, furious. "You may not leave!"

"Who will stop me, little Prince? You?"

"You're the only one —" Vegeta started, then stopped, flushing.

"Yes," said Zarbon quietly. "I am the only one on this planet who can challenge you, Vegeta. The only one in your power class. It's a very rarified class, little Prince. If I leave, you'll have trouble finding a replacement, won't you? That's assuming your father even allows you to try and replace me."

Vegeta's tail uncurled from his waist, lashing behind him in anger. "I will destroy you for this, Zarbon," he said between his teeth.

"You can't. Not yet. You're more likely to destroy yourself trying. Come with me for a month, Vegeta, and I'll give you the key to more than just my destruction. I'll show you how to destroy anyone you think needs destroying."

For a moment Vegeta stood frozen, fists clenched against his sides. He nodded stiffly. "I will inform my father. You will pay, Zarbon."

"I know," murmured the alien, a strange note of weary irony laced through his voice. "Believe me, I know."

_________________________________________________________

If you had to find anything to admire in the alien other than his fashion sense, the King supposed his promptness would do.

He had barely sent the curt message demanding Zarbon's attendance when the alien presented himself in the throne room, kneeling at the foot of the dais with one fist on the floor in an appropriately servile manner — and head upraised, staring straight into the King's face in a manner that definitely was not servile. Standing up so that Zarbon would have to crane his neck painfully back to maintain eye contact, the King smiled his slightly cruel smile and said, "So -- here we are again. And this time, you mean to take the Heir off world."

"No, sire. I mean to have him isolated for special training. If that can be done on world, that's fine."

"And what is this training that requires such — isolation?"

The alien seemed to chose his words carefully. "The Prince is — very powerful, sire."

"Baka . I have a scouter. I don't need a freakish green-haired thing to tell me that."

"He does not control his power properly. Sire."

"You are suggesting that Saiyan training is inadequate?"

"Sire, I'm not sure my training is adequate for this," said the alien, a grim tone in his voice. "Since you've looked through your scouter, I'm sure you've noticed the dramatic improvement in his ki. I think he can go much higher, Sire. Much higher. He will become one of the most powerful warriors in the universe."

The King said flatly, "He will be the Super-Saiyan. Our line carries the gene. He is the most powerful warrior to come of that line in forty generations."

"The last Super-Saiyan vaporized himself and the planet he was supposed to be conquering," returned the alien, unemotionally. "In the training session yesterday, Prince Vegeta came within five seconds of emulating that feat. But if that's what you want for your heir and your home world..." Zarbon lowered his head in a bow, then stood and turned as if to leave.

"You were not dismissed, alien. You still have a problem with that, I see."

Turning back, Zarbon folded his hands behind his back, his race's version of standing at attention. There was no discernible expression on his cold, perfect face. "I came when Lord Freeza came, and I left when he left. Sire."

Sitting back down on his throne, the King propped his chin on his hand and studied the alien for a moment. "Odd you should mention Cold's brat. I've had a message from Freeza, offering more "special training" for Vegeta."

The alien promptly said, "King Cold and his sons have the best trainers in the known universe. They are used to dealing with very high ki levels in their military. If you don't mind sending the Prince into Freeza's territory for a year or two, that might be--"

The King snorted, slashing a hand through the air to cut the alien off. "Freeza's trying to use my son to forge an alliance with us. He's been angling for a "mutual cooperation" treaty for two decades. But as I told him then — you may remember this — we are Saiyans; we need no allies for conquest. Perhaps you could remind your former employer of that conversation next time the two of you talk?" Staring at Zarbon, the King was pleased to get a blink; it was as much of a reaction as he could expect from the mercenary. Grunting, he settled back into the throne and waved a hand. "Besides, Vegeta is the Heir. His duty, like mine, is to protect the planet; he can't do that unless he's on the planet. So, Zarbon — you think you can do in a month what Freeza says will take several years?"

"No. But I hope to show the Prince how to control his power before he kills himself with it."

The King regarded the alien with deep suspicion. "If you do anything to my son on this little jaunt of yours—"

Zarbon blinked again, and a sudden smile twitched against his lips. Looking up at the King's scowling countenance, he quenched it. "I won't do anything the Prince doesn't want, Sire — well, that's not true, I'm going to make him do a lot of things he's not going to want to do. But cross-species mating rituals will not be involved."

The King grunted, strangely pleased that the alien could speak plainly enough when he had to. "Feh. Take the brat to the Royal Forest on the Southern Continent. I will not interfere unless I get a report from Nappa or Radditz that makes it necessary."

"If they interfere, I will destroy them."

Plain speaking, indeed. "Kill them or don't; they are nothing to me. Permanently damage the heir, and I will eradicate you and every member of your race." He smiled, thinly. "Genocide is a Saiyan specialty. Remember that. Get out of here."

"Sire."

The King stared, tight-lipped, at the alien's departing back. Fool. They won't need to interfere. In less than two weeks, Vegeta will kill you himself.