Zarbon disappeared almost as soon as they reached the royal palace on the Southern Continent. Well, not "disappeared," exactly, thought Radditz, squinting through his scouter. That dangerously high ki was easy to trace where-ever Zarbon went on the planet. As near as Radditz could tell, the alien was flying a systematic grid pattern over the King's Forest. He'd made several north-south passes, and was now making his third east-west flight.

There was a crashing sound from the practice arena. Radditz grinned, wishing he could see the no-doubt uneven contest taking place. Although Nappa possessed one of the highest fighting ratings on the planet, he was no longer in Vegeta's class. No living Saiyan was, not even the King. The Commander in Chief would not be able to keep the Prince occupied much longer.

There was a "whoosh" accompanied by a rush of air. From seemingly no-where, the alien floated in front of Radditz. Hands on his hips, he said, "Where's Vegeta?"

"Trashing Nappa."

Zarbon's brilliant smile flashed. "Ah, well, that I won't interrupt. How are you Saiyans at living off the land?"

Irritably, "Don't be an idiot," Radditz snapped.

The alien cocked his head and looked quizzically at Radditz, his unnaturally thin hair blowing about his face, the white cloak snapping behind him. "What, you can't exist without those fine, fine meals they serve in the barracks?"

In spite of his resolve to remain aloof a while longer, Radditz felt an involuntary smirk curve his mouth. Zarbon had caused quite a sensation the first time he'd showed up in the commissary... "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"I'm missing something."

Feh, remembered Radditz. His species coddle their offspring. "If I hadn't been able to live off the land, I wouldn't have survived my first mission. Then I wouldn't be here having this stupid conversation with you."

"How horrible that your successful first mission brought you to this sorry pass," responded Zarbon agreeably, then laughed out loud as Radditz scowled at him. "Oh, your kind is too easy to torment! Settle down, warrior. I've found a training site. We either need to stock up on provisions before we go, or we can just go and take what we find when we get there."

"Saiyans," Radditz growled, "always take what they find."

"Well, then. As soon as Vegeta's finished dismantling Nappa, we can go."

There was a dull, fracturing thud. Turning, Radditz watched impassively as fine cracks spread across one of the walls enclosing the training arena, buckled outward, and collapsed in a fine shower of pebble-sized pieces.

"That would be now, I'm guessing. Let's go get Vegeta."

_________________________________________________________

Zarbon scolded the Prince for using ki attacks indoors as he plopped Nappa into a regeneration tank. Radditz balked at leaving his Commander behind, but Zarbon reminded him that all Nappa had to do was hone in on the two highest power levels on the planet with his scouter and he could find them in no time. Since Vegeta was pacing around the two of them in bored, agitated, increasingly-closing circles, Radditz opted for accepting whatever punishment Nappa meted out later rather than risk being blasted into the next world now by his impatient Prince.

The site Zarbon chose was in a narrow river valley with relatively sparse tree cover near the water and slightly undulating terrain. Setting up camp was simple; without a bedroll between them, it consisted of nothing more than blasting out a swallow depression for a fire pit, something the Saiyans considered unnecessary but Zarbon insisted upon since he planned on cooking his meals. "Just use your ki to flash fry it, then," said Vegeta in annoyance. Zarbon shook his head. The Saiyans had no appreciation of food, and preferred their flesh recently-dead and raw. Wasting time by slow roasting meat was an alien concept. Literally, he thought wryly.

"Make yourself useful by getting some firewood," he said to Radditz. "Vegeta and I will be training over the rise. He'll be in screaming distance should he need protection. Do not come near us."

"Get your own firewood," snapped Radditz. "I'm going to hunt."

"Whatever," sighed Zarbon. "Just hunt toward the east, all right? If you interrupt the Prince's training without reason, I'll have to flash fry you. I have a feeling you're too stringy to be any good, even cooked."

After eyeing him narrowly, Radditz stalked away with a snort. Zarbon looked at Vegeta; he was standing on the sandy river bank with his arms crossed, drumming the fingers of one hand against a bicep. The work-out with Nappa had not noticeably tired him; if anything, Vegeta was edgier than ever.

At that moment Vegeta turned his head, fixing Zarbon with a gimlet stare that should have impaled him. "I do not need protection, and I am not going to be screaming."

"You might be surprised. Are you ready to start, or do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

Vegeta took to the air before the question was finished, heading toward the ridge Zarbon had pointed out to Radditz.

_________________________________________________________

Zarbon should have joined the diplomatic corp, thought Vegeta as he hovered at the ridge's apex to survey the area the alien selected. Unfortunately that high ki of his would have been taken as an unstated threat and undermined any diplomatic missions he participated in. It was one of the reasons Vejiitasei didn't utilize its diplomatic corp very often, since every Saiyan whelped had a fighting-level ki. The other, of course, was that the Saiyans simply over-ran planets they wanted. The negotiators were only sent in if there was some sort of technology the Saiyans might be able to use -- and if the Saiyans could figure out how to use it without the help of the native species, well; that was the end of negotiations.

Zarbon had obviously considered the King's concerns as well as his own training requirements. The training area was close enough to the camp that raised voices would easily carry, but made private by a low hill with a gentle, sloping rise. Vegeta and his trainer would be only just out of sight, with Nappa and Radditz seconds away should anything go wrong. A very diplomatic arrangement indeed, although ultimately a useless one, since the other two Saiyans were virtually powerless compared to Zarbon. I'd have to protect my protectors, thought Vegeta in cold amusement, although it would be more interesting to see what Zarbon could do to them...

Hovering next to him, "Do you have any idea why I've brought you out here?" asked Zarbon.

Shrugging, Vegeta automatically regulated his ki, slowly sinking to the ground until he landed with barely a sound.

The alien blew out another sigh -- Zarbon had been sighing constantly the last hour, thought Vegeta in annoyance -- and settled a few yards in front of him. "I brought you here to find your focus. Your center of being. Your reason for existence."

After a solid minute of staring without comprehension at Zarbon, Vegeta announced, "This is a waste," and started to levitate away.

"Vegeta. Down."

Ignoring him, Vegeta headed toward the crest of the ridge that separated them from the camp. There was a cackle of ki energy. He had only half-turned when a solid blast hit him in the hip, driving him face-first into the side of the rise. Spitting dirt mixed with blood from a cracked lip, Vegeta raised narrowed eyes at Zarbon, who was floating a few feet away, ki energy sparking and crackling around one hand.

"When I say 'down,' Vegeta, I mean down."

Finally, he's going to show me some ki attacks. Wiping the blood away from his curling lips, Vegeta found his feet, sliding them apart until his stance on the hillside was stable. His fists clenched as he began to access his power. He felt the burning glow surround him again, felt the ground beneath him begin to crack in response to the energy he was gathering--

--heard the alien heave another one of those damnable, long-suffering sighs. "Vegeta, settle down, you're going to blow up the entire planet. Not that I care, but at least let me get off it first."

"Coward," laughed Vegeta, feeling power course through him. "Sissy boy! Pervert! Coward!"

Any true Saiyan would have been on him with the first insult. Zarbon put his hands on his hips and made a small moue of irritation. "You can't beat me because you don't know who you are, little boy. We're too evenly matched for brute power to work. Although if you're so determined to show off your big ol' ki, go ahead. It's not like you won't be doing the universe a favor by eliminating a few million Saiyan terrorists when you blow up your homeworld."

"I don't care about Vejiitasei!"

Another sigh. "Why am I not surprised?" muttered the alien.

"I know who I am, Zarbon! I am Vegeta," screamed the Prince, "and I will destroy you!" Raising his hands, he shot a series of rapid-fire bursts. Zarbon folded his arms and hovered, unmoving, as the ki strikes passed within inches of his body, his hair and cloak whipping this way and that as the blasts blew past him toward the open sky. "Not today," Vegeta said, his voice low. "But your life is mine."

"Second time you've pulled that little trick," said Zarbon, his tone indicating nothing more than professional interest. "Got a name for it?"

Vegeta looked at the smoke curling from his gloved palms, turned his hands over to study the backs. "Gamma Gun," he replied shortly. He'd pulled back on his power level, stopping just short of the blistering pain he had experienced in the arena. It still -- hurt.

"Look, do you know any meditation techniques at all?"

Meditation...? Vegeta's reply was through a jaw so tight it almost didn't move as he spoke. "I can keep my temper and calm down when I have to. What a surprise; I'm doing that right now."

"Oy, if that's keeping your temper..." There was another sigh from the alien. "Fine. We'll start from the absolute basics. Which means, Vegeta, that today I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. Maybe tomorrow we can try actually sitting still and finding a focal point for you."

A curl of scorn twisted Vegeta's mouth. "Next we'll be chewing flowers and chanting psalms to the eternal cosmos. I am not meditating."

"When I say meditate, you meditate."

"What's the point?"

"Patience."

"But you won't even tell me the point!"

"The point," said Zarbon, "is patience." His tone was weary; evidently, thought Vegeta contemptuously, his trainer's own 'patience' reserves were running low. "Vegeta. Remember when you thought you had no weaknesses in the practice bout your father attended, and I shredded you even though we're closely matched in power? This is a far more dangerous weakness."

Vegeta looked at Zarbon, his implacable face, his unemotional eyes. "You do this, then?"

"Yes. I was trained young to control my power, Vegeta. Self-knowledge is part of the control."

"And who are you, then?"

The beautiful mouth pulled into a humorless smile. "Let's see; what was it? Coward, sissy, pervert? Trainer of a spoiled brat Saiyan prince?" The smile faded. Taking a deep breath through his mouth and softly blowing it out through his nose, Zarbon crossed his wrists under his throat. His open eyes looked through Vegeta, detached, unseeing. He floated down until his pointed toes just brushed the ground.

Zarbon said, "I am the technique. I am the slide of perfectly-formed muscle. I am the fist, stinging when it connects . I am the blocked blow turned back. I am the planned assault, the calculated surprise of sudden change, the moment of shock before ruin and despair, the systematic demolition of the foe." With a sudden blink, Zarbon focused on the Prince, frozen in a half-crouch on the hillside, his jaw slack. The next comment was wry. "And you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"That last statement is correct," Vegeta said, his voice faint with surprise and revulsion.

"That's the problem." The alien looked him over, gave another one of those annoying sighs, and said, "Enough. Consider what I've said here, Vegeta. We'll try actual techniques tomorrow."

_________________________________________________________

Well, someone's had some success, thought Zarbon as he drifted over the ridge. Next to the fire pit were two large, recently-dead, hoofed mammals and, to his complete surprise, a half-dozen large branches. Landing next to the pit, Zarbon tested the end of one branch and clicked his tongue. Green wood. Radditz must have simply broken off a few branches during his hunt rather than gathering dead, dry wood that would burn with a minimum of smoldering. I guess I'll smoke my meat instead of roasting it.

"You're back," grunted Radditz. He was hauling a great fish up the river bank. "Nice fireworks."

"Oh, that was Vegeta's doing," said Zarbon, his tone ironic. Pacing around one of the carcasses, Vegeta glared at him. "Thanks for getting the wood. You'll be a fine provider for some lucky Saiyan girl one of these days."

"Saiyan women provide for themselves." Radditz dropped the fish next to Zarbon and marched across the encampment. "What part of this animal did you want to ruin by searing it?"

"I'll have a haunch."

Radditz wrenched a hind leg free and tossed it at him. Zarbon threw up a ki shield; the leg went "splat" a foot away from him in a shower of gore and sinews, then sizzled as it slid down the shield to the dirt. Raising one thin brow, Zarbon vaporized the remaining air-borne blood and flecks of flesh. He eyed Radditz's smirking countenance. "Thanks."

Radditz shrugged, turning back to the kill and making his own selection, tearing a chunk out to eat raw. Vegeta dragged the other mammal a short distance away, then began to tenderize it by methodically thrashing the remains.

They're less than barbarians, thought Zarbon. They're barely removed from the food chain themselves.

He wondered again if there was any way he could force the Prince into self-knowledge before Vegeta simply lost control and blew up the planet.