|
|
The Birth of the Super-Saiyan
Chapter 4
The rounds so far had been--clean. A good thing for Bulma, thought Radditz, who was frankly amazed that the Queen's over-sensitive human sentiments let her sit through even non-fatal matches. Bra, he knew, would have been on the stadium floor with the first contest, scolding the participants before trying to distract them with food. Radditz found himself repressing a grin as he tugged on a wrist guard. The Saiyans were uncertain enough about Bulma, who was at least making sporadic attempts to behave herself; what they might make of her irrepressible mother, he didn't know. Radditz was sure Bra could have achieved Bulma's goal of total emancipation for the slaves in a few minutes. "Vegeta, dear, that's just a silly way to do things. Sign this. Then I'll cook a nice, big meal and we'll forget this happened!"
Clean matches made for boring fights. The Saiyan spectators were showing signs of impatience as the tournament progressed, but the stark reality was that this year's tournament was little more than a formality for the upper level Elites. Those defeated in early rounds were still likely to be offered one of the plethora of openings. Even though he was a lower level Elite, with the number of positions available Radditz had not been concerned about his own chances before the tournament's start. Unfortunately the overabundance of opportunities brought out many young Elites who normally would wait another decade or two before trying for the King's Guard. Most of the higher-ranked Elites were fighting with an unusual caution, since they knew that all they had to do was survive without openly disgracing themselves. The result? No fatalities. Not even many serious injuries. Which made it less likely that those on the cusp like himself could work their way in. His position in the finals made it more likely; but only a victory would be a guarantee.
The last chore Radditz undertook before closing up his locker was to tie back his thick hair. He got in the habit of wearing it that way on Earth -- if he didn't, Bra was likely to come after him with a ribbon since she liked him to look 'tidy.' Although he preferred it loose, there were advantages to having it out of the way during a fight.
Besides, Zarbon had remarked on the style. Casually. Something like, "You look good today." A comment Radditz glommed onto with an eagerness that irritated him, which come to think of it could have been nothing more than noting the green and black tribal armor he wore for the tournament.
Radditz scowled at his muted reflection in the locker's ceramic surface. Despite everything, all he had to do was spend five minutes in Zarbon's presence and he became a blathering idiot. Have some pride, he told himself sternly. He set his hand against the pressure pad at the locker's side. After reading his palm print, the locker door obediently slid closed. Absently he raised a hand to the back of his neck, testing the tie one last time. Finding something strong enough to contain the mass of hair through a bout was not easy.
"Prettying up for the alien?" asked a caustic voice. "Maybe we should ask which one, seeing as you're such a friend of the King's mother-in-law."
Raucous laughter from the half-dozen other occupants of the pre-bout room at that. Radditz grimaced. Bulma meant nothing by her little sally, of course; whatever else he thought of her, he knew she was not malicious without cause; but her teasing comment about her mother was following him everywhere. Whenever he set foot in the arena he was greeted by high-pitched cries of "hi!" His fellow competitors were less subtle. So far he managed to concentrated on that strange center of quiet in his brain and did not let the implied insults to Bra make him careless.
Not that he should be a verbal pushover for anyone. "Out of my face, Houren."
"Ho, the almost-Elite gets testy!"
Radditz's eyes narrowed. "I am an Elite, loser."
"Only by Imperial decree," sneered Houren. "The rest of us earned our Elite status."
Radditz's gathering scowl deepened. Bulma had obtained a waiver that allowed him to compete in the tournament for the Royal Guards without going through the process of having his Elite status officially confirmed. It caused no little resentment among the other Elites. And, dammit, it added to a debt first incurred on Chikyuu when Bra's family saved him instead of killing him. His honor was already seriously in arrears where the Briefs were concerned. "If your scouter's out of alignment, don't complain to me," he said to Houren, his lips pulled apart in the cruel Saiyan smirk. "Maybe you'd better turn it on yourself to make sure you're in the right final. The Junior Tournament for recovered infants is just a couple of weeks away."
The derisive laughter turned against Houren, who flushed with anger. "Having one of your disgraced line here is an insult to all of us," he snapped. "If you aren't bonding to what-ever happens to be breathing, you're going so native you can't even remember your real name, or what planet you owe your loyalty to."
"But I'm right here on Vejiitasei," said Radditz softly. "And I could take your candied ass anytime."
"You've been staring into the suns again, haven't you? My hair's not green. Or does your taste run to blue now?"
There was an abrupt cut-off in the merriment. One of the other warriors said, sharply, "Watch your mouth, Houren, when you speak of the Queen."
"Did I mention the Earth woman? Although we would have to specify which alien we're talking about here; Radditz hangs out with so many of them. It's a wonder he remembers how to fight Saiyans anymore. Or," added Houren, mocking, "that he even is Saiyan."
Don't let yourself be goaded into a fight...
There was wisdom in Zarbon's advice, Radditz acknowledged. But he was Saiyan. Wisdom only went so far. "Bra," he said coolly, "has blond hair." Then he struck.
"Stop it," came a stern voice from the entrance. Releasing Houren's jersey, Radditz turned and started to go down on one knee before his tribal leader, but Nira irritably waved him up. "Don't do that in the capitol," she said to him as she stepped in, looking coldly at the other Elites as they stood back with heads bowed respectfully. "Do not," she added to Houren, who was wiping one hand across his split lip and eyeing Radditz with anticipation, "play with my son's breakfast, warrior. Not unless you want to face me."
Radditz glanced over her head to see Lord Youkan, his chieftain's youngest son, lounging in the doorway. He flashed that toothy Saiyan smirk at Radditz, his eyes watchful. It had been years since Radditz last laid eyes on the brat. Maturity gave the chubby little boy Radditz recalled a strong resemblance to Nira; slim with a mass of short black spikes pushed back from his forehead, covering his ears and neck but not reaching his shoulders. Service in the King's Guards was a tradition in Youkan's family; but then, it was a tradition in his family, too, Radditz reminded himself. And, even if he did not like to acknowledge her, his line included Nira's former commanding officer. Genetics were on his side.
Not that Youkan had been cursed with defective genes. While he was years away from achieving his projected full ki, he was still strong enough now to be just a few clicks below the next Elite ranking. All of Nira's brats are stronger than they should be, Radditz thought sourly before carefully blotting out bad memories. He was going to have quite the battle on his hands; he could not let old resentments get in the way. I have to win, he reminded himself. It's the best way to insure I'll get in.
Vegeta was in a grim mood. Zarbon at first thought it was because he hated watching other people fight, or even because Bulma kept the entire entourage standing in the hall while she dealt with some last minute fashion conflict, but it quickly became clear that it was not waiting for his wife that the King minded. Almost as soon as she showed up Vegeta growled, "I told you not to wear that!"
Zarbon looked at Bulma's outfit, brows slightly raised. White wasn't a color he personally would have picked for her, but he couldn't see anything glaringly inappropriate about it either. And since when did Vegeta care about "appropriate?" He had to be nagged to wear the "official" armor on "official" occasions; half the time he was likely to show up to meetings wearing a battle suit and a scowl. But Bulma crossed her bare arms and set her bare legs wide, rather like a Saiyan standing at attention, and snapped back, "Come off it, Vegeta. Like half the Saiyans aren't running around in their undies no matter how formal the occasion! You're the only one with a compulsive need to cover up in public."
Vegeta grimaced and pivoted away with a nasty-sounding crack of his cape. Zarbon regarded the carefully-blanked-faced guards, grinned faintly and offered his arm to the Queen. "He is finally relaxing a bit, isn't he?" Bulma said cheerfully.
Zarbon gazed at the pale color-tipped fingers against his sheathed arm, then glanced up to meet Vegeta's grim glare. I'm going to get pounded next match. "Oh, he's ever so much calmer where you're concerned," he said dryly.
With the arrival of the King's party the last rounds of the tournament that vetted potential King's Guards could commence. The eight finalists for the different Elite grades marched out and smartly saluted the King, the flat edge of their hands snapping to opposite shoulders as the crowd roared and shouted out the names of their favorites, or derided their least favorites. There was a rather impatient nod from the King, and six of the Elites smartly marched off the field. The remaining two, challengers for the lowest Elite grade, eyed each other with pre-battle hostility and set themselves. The crowd roared again. The finals were underway.
This was a nasty situation he found himself in, thought Radditz sourly. Tricky enough fighting a noble; the upper class could be petty about things like tournament deaths; but it would have to be Nira's brat. There were all sorts of complications here (most of which the brat himself was blissfully unaware of), not the least of which was how miserable Nira could make his life if he did end up killing one of her potential heirs. Eh, who cares? King's Guards answer only to the King; if I make the Guards, there is nothing Nira can do to me even if I do off her brat. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent. And I wouldn't mind offing one of Nira's brats... he added with an unexpected viciousness. Then he took a breath and banished the thought. That was a long time ago, he reminded himself, and it wasn't this one, anyway. But he's here...he'll do... Heh. Ironic if I ended up doing this one in, no?
"Attacking in anger is fine. Attacking without a plan is not."
Recalling the instructions once given to Vegeta by his trainer over a decade earlier, Radditz felt himself relaxing and calming. Find his weaknesses. Don't be careless. The Saiyan smirk split his face as he heard the tones that announced the match's start. Be patient, and you'll soon see if a noble's blood is as red as everyone else's...
This was irritating.
He did not take Radditz for granted, exactly; Radditz fought above his ki ranking for the entire tournament; but, dammit, his ki was practically 1000 clicks above Radditz's, and he shouldn't be having this sort of trouble with him. He would be able to cleave through Radditz's ki shield like butter if Radditz would just keep still and let himself be hit. Radditz was anything but still, constantly twisting out of the way so that he only got in glancing blows. And Bardock's guardsman son was landing blows. Lots of them. Somehow Bardock's brat was pounding away at his left side, constantly connecting with breath-jarring kicks under his arm. Youkan wasn't sure how he was getting through. Then another blow with the foot firmly set against his ribs punted him a dozen yards. Growling, Youkan picked himself up and glared at his opponent. Peasant. Doesn't he know who he's dealing with?
Fine, decided Youkan, snarling narrow-eyed at his grinning, low-born opponent. You don't know enough to keep your hands to yourself, Radditz, then a distance attack it is. We can't use high ki attacks in the tournament; but there are things other than ki...
Nobles, thought Radditz in contempt, watching Nira's young son pick himself out of the dirt with an indignant expression on his face. Too much training, not enough fighting. Vegeta was smart to go off-world. Youkan set his legs apart, as if bracing himself against a ki backlash. Oh, please! Any energy attack high enough to hurt me is going to blow up half the stands and get you disqualified, 'milord.' Won't that look nice on the family resume?
"Sonic-shock striiike!" screamed Youkan, snapping a flattened palm in front of him.
Sonic-whatis? wondered Radditz microseconds before the leading edge of a narrow sound-based shock wave hit him with a dull booming noise. Ye-OWW! The scouter shattered across his face; he impacted the side of the arena with bruising force.
O-kay, the chieftain's brat has a clever variation on the basic air-wave attack-- Radditz managed to yank one arm out of the retaining wall before he saw the hazing lines of compression that went with displaced air. Aw, shii--! He threw his free arm across his face, felt the near-shattering impact of a fist against his forearm guard as Youkan materialized. Radditz sharply straightened out his arm, hitting Youkan hard in the base of the throat with the heel of his hand, trying to drive through his opponent's flesh. Youkan staggered back, his higher ki saving him from decapitation, but fell to one knee, hands reflexively going to his neck as he choked. Radditz finished tugging himself out of the stadium's side and stepped onto the field of combat to finish off his opponent.
And reeled.
And suddenly realized why his first clue when Youkan moved in front of him was seeing light-waves refracting rather than hearing the pop of displaced air that usually came with fast-as-light maneuvers. He couldn't hear. He couldn't even stand up. Something wet was running down his jaw, dripping against his neck and shoulders. Blood from ruptured eardrums.
For a moment of blank terror, he didn't know what to do. Fighting in pain was one thing, but fighting with complete physical disorientation was a situation he never trained for. Then something made him pull his ki in, encasing himself, feeling where he was spatially through senses that were other than physical. He was able, briefly, to move with something like normalcy, to block and counter, to fight back against a largely-uninjured opponent with higher ki. It was surprising that he could do it; had he been able to listen, he would have heard shouts of approval and encouragement from the same crowd that mocked his first appearances. Unfortunately Radditz did not have either the strength nor the skill to sustain his unusual ki application for long. Youkan began blurring in and out around him, punching, jabbing; without his hearing, Radditz had trouble keeping track of where his opponent was. A killing strike went toward his neck, but Radditz felt the wind from it and twisted, his shoulder snapping under the blow. Radditz went to his knees, his vision beginning to tunnelize, before another blow drove him into the hard stadium floor. Victorious, Youkan stomped on the back of his victim with one booted foot and, smirking, held a flat, glowing hand over the back of Radditz's head.
"What happened?" Bulma demanded, grabbing Vegeta by the arm. "Is he hurt? What happened?"
"Radditz did well," replied her husband, indirectly. "It took great presence of mind to recover so quickly and strike back against a stronger opponent. Without his scouter to tell him precisely where his opponent was, though, there wasn't much else he could do."
There was a strange noise from the back of the box. Glancing over her shoulder, Bulma saw Zarbon tensed up and frozen in a posture that suggested he had started to move forward. One blue fist clenched. Nappa was watching him rather than the finish of the bout on the field, his expression gleeful and contemptuous. "What's wrong?" demanded Bulma in alarm.
Vegeta's brows pulled down. Bulma saw the still-standing blob move back from the prone blob with a sudden jerk, the body swinging around to look up toward the royal box before falling to one knee. There was in increase in the volume of shouts and yells from the crowd, most of which Bulma couldn't make out. "Vegeta?"
Her husband's attention shifted from the arena floor, suddenly tracking slightly to his right, into the stadium crowd. "Well," he said, "someone seems interested in livening things up."
The series of cries and yelps did seem to be eminating from one section of the grandstands and were, Bulma suddenly realized, unrelated to what was happening on the stadium floor. There was the flaring sound of energy, as if an aura had ignited into battle mode. One glowing blob separated from the indistinct crowd, shooting straight up into the air well over the arena, compacting into a somersault before landing in a kneeling crouch beside the prone blob. The bright aura shut off. There was a rustling around the Queen as the King's Guards began to tense, but Vegeta raised a hand and the Guards held their positions, although Chishan moved fractionally closer to Bulma.
Bulma, squinting into the pit, for a moment wasn't sure if something was making her see double before realizing that the new person's mass of spikes created the illusion of two Radditzes. That in itself was not so surprising; she lost track of the number of times she turned a corner in the palace and thought she was face to face with Goku or with one of her guards. Yet, even given the similarity of hair coloring and features most Saiyans shared, some instinct told her this warrior's resemblance to the fallen Radditz was more than coincidence.
"Who is that?" demanded Vegeta.
There was a shifting among the guards. Finally coming forward, Zarbon draped one wrist over the back of Vegeta's chair. Anyone looking into the Royal box at that moment -- which, giving the drama beginning to play out, was almost everyone in the stadium -- would see the disturbing sight of the Saiyan King framed by non-Saiyans, the blue-skinned Zarbon leaning over him, the blue-haired Bulma with one arm resting against the arm of her husband's chair, her body inclined toward his. "Riiki," said Zarbon, his tone resigned and relieved.
Vegeta blinked and scowled. Bulma asked, "Who?"
Radditz, just beginning to struggle to an elbow behind the kneeling warrior, moved one bloodied hand over his eyes in a posture that suggested...mortification. "Mother," he hissed in what was probably meant to be an undertone. Without the ability to judge sound levels, it came out more as a shout.
His mother...? Bulma narrowed her eyes the way Vegeta did, but nothing could make the furry form on the field resolve into a recognizable female outline. Then the other implication hit her. "Is that Goku's mom?" she demanded.
"The same."
Bulma crossed her arms over the box's edge, beginning to lean out at a precarious angle as she tried to get a better look at the warrior. "Is she protecting Radditz? What does she want?"
"Let's ask," said the King.
The King stood, resting his gloved hands on the tapestry-covered edge of the Royal box. The suns caught the burnished gold of his shoulder guards, casting reflected light against his angular face. Rolling her eyes up while keeping her head appropriately down, Riiki saw the Earth woman stand as well. She was a pale one, thought Riiki, although the strange play of light against the King's face made him, for a minute, just as pale, just as alien, as his mate.
The King did not raise his voice, knowing that it would carry well enough for Saiyan ears to catch even a whisper. "What is the meaning of this, woman? A late entry? You are no longer qualified to be a King's Guard, whatever your ki."
Shrimp, thought Riiki viciously. She heard Bardock's urgent contact, reminding her that she was already playing a dangerous game, to be careful. So she kept her low voice emotionless as she said, "I crave a boon, my King."
"You are being very bold," the King said, "to ask a favor from the son of the man you betrayed, warrior. Although if you wish to sue for the life of your son, you're a bit late. The match is over. He lives or dies by Youkan's grace, not mine."
"Not of you, my King. I wish audience with the Queen."
There was a tide of sounds at that, gasps and murmurs and comments in which she could catch syllables of her youngest son's name. The Queen blinked her blue eyes and glanced at something on her wrist. "Well, I can't today, obviously, but I have some free time at--"
There was an interruption. "Curious about Kakarott? I can tell you all about your Earth-Saiyan brat," said Vegeta, contemptuously. "I trained with him on Chikyuu. He--" The Queen shifted closer to the King; closer, really, than protocol allowed anyone to be to the King in public, Riiki noticed, her old guard instincts flaring up. A flick of expression crossed the King's visage. "Why are we wasting bout time with this?" he demanded in irritation. "You may approach us after the tournament, woman. Clear the field now so that the matches may continue."
There were a few moments of confusion while Radditz grimly weaved and staggered off the field, refusing any aid from his parent, while Youkan bowed to the King and saluted the Commander, while Riiki vaulted once more into the stands and found her way to her husband, whose posture at that moment very much resembled Radditz's. Vegeta sat back in his throne-like seat, impatiently tapping his fingers against the wide arm, as Bulma continued to hang over the balcony's edge to try to catch a glimpse of Kakarott's mother. She finally gave up, plopping down in her own wide chair with something like a flounce.
"I cannot believe," said the King out of the side of his mouth, without looking at her, "that you pinched my tail. In public. Do you know how many levels of treason laying hands on the King is? If anyone had seen you..."
"Oh, if laying hands on the King is treason, I'm already in a heap of trouble, aren't I?" his mate said with that sweet tone in her voice that was anything but.
Vegeta's mouth quirked. Then he sighed. "That's the only interesting match we've had in the entire tournament," he said. "From what I've seen of the remaining fighters, it's all downhill from here."
"And you wouldn't let me bring a book. The least you can do is give me a play-by-play."
Grumbling that he wasn't here for her entertainment, the King nevertheless did as she asked.
There was a brief ceremony at the end of the tournament, with the division winners coming to the box to kneel before the King and swear their oaths. It did not, yet, make them official members of the King's Elite Guards, but it was a step that certainly made it more likely that an invitation to join the Elite Guards would follow.
Kneeling with the other three division winners as they waited for the King, Youkan found himself going over that strange, strange second at the end of the match, when he heard the King's voice in his head ordering him to stand down. If that was what he heard. Maybe in the fury of the match or the confusion of Riiki's sudden appearance, he just imagined it. And, now that the battle heat had cooled, he was relieved not to have killed Radditz. Bardock was a loyal tribesman, and had done much more than any of the other off-world tribals in the futile searches for his missing older brother. He did not need to have his dedication to the tribe repaid in such a way.
The King paused for a moment to talk to the Northern warrior who defeated Houren, the tournament's only fatality. It had been well and subtly done, thought Youkan. He was not sure what transpired before he walked into the locker room to find his mother interrupting a fight between Houren and Radditz, but apparently something was said that Houren's opponent took offense at. He ordered the defeated warrior to apologize for slighting the Queen's honor; Houren spit out his refusal. The Northerner hooked two fingers through Houren's nostrils and generated a low-level ki strike that fried the other warrior's brains, making it look like Houren passed out rather than dropped dead. A clever way to deceive the woman whose honor you were defending, noted Youkan, and a tacit admission that the delicate little alien might not appreciate having her honor defended so fatally. Earthlings were said to be pacifists, although the stories circulating among the various Guards he had contact with during his stay in the capitol made Youkan think Queen Bulma's pacifist tendencies, at least, had been exaggerated.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he briefly forgot what should be his true concern. But the Commander gave him a grim, faintly scornful look before bending his neck to whisper in the King's ear. Youkan saw the Imperial brow camber up, and, flinching, cast his eyes to the marbled floor. He knew what information Nappa imparted to bring that twist across the King's face...
Booted feet stopped just within his circle of vision, then the cool, deep voice addressed him. "Youkan, youngest son of Chieftain Miso. You've managed to shock Nappa. That's not an easy thing to do, warrior."
Youkan had no idea how to respond, and decided bowing his head still further might suffice. There was a breath of amused sound. Then the King said, "Your cleverness qualifies you for the King's Guards, warrior, but your other failings cause Nappa to question your ultimate priorities. So this is what I will require of you. You will spend five years in the off-world forces. Perform your duties there adequately, and you will prove yourself worthy to join the King's Elite Guards. Fail; well, failure means death in the off-world troops, boy. Or you can return to the Southern Continent as the pampered offspring of a powerful noble, and we'll all pretend this never happened. Chose now, son of Miso."
Speechless, he still possessed sense enough to open his mind to Kimchee and ask what she wanted to do. The answer came from the other side of the planet in a flash, as clearly as if she were standing next to him: Are you crazy?! Take it! So it was with seemingly little hesitation that Youkan spoke, accepting the King's surprising challenge. The King looked at him with a sardonic expression across his face, said dryly, "You will learn to fight without cheap tricks, lordling," then swept past as members of the King's entourage began to exit the royal box. Youkan found himself, just briefly, looking up into the face of the Earth woman, the new Queen.
She smiled brightly at him, briefly closing one of her vivid blue eyes. "Woman, what's keeping you?" came the King's aggrieved voice. Youkan dropped his astonished face as the Queen, with no particular hurry to her gait, walked up to her husband, smiled just-as-brightly in his glowering face, then tucked one arm against an Imperial elbow.
They strolled out through a corridor made of flesh, the warriors who competed in the tournament forming the first rank, standing with heads bowed as, behind them, others craned their necks for glimpses of the royal entourage. Radditz was there, flanked by his parents and, Zarbon noticed, trying to act like he was not with them. He was standing on his own, although none-too-steadily, with blood still marking his jaw and neck and one of his arms folded against his chest at an unnatural angle. Zarbon wondered if his hyper Saiyan metabolism was all ready healing him, or if he would need tank time before the day was over. His high-planed, austere face, at least, was unmarked--that would have been a shame.
Don't go there, Zarbon reminded himself.
He stepped forward, speaking into Vegeta's ear as he asked permission to check on Radditz. "Do I care what you do?" wondered the King. Smiling slightly, Zarbon stopped to let the entourage and the Guards flow past him, then approached Radditz and his family. Radditz smirked at him, then cocked his head to the side with a small shake. "Still can't hear, eh?" asked Zarbon in sympathy. "Sonic attacks are nasty. Borderline unfair, in fact." He reached out, touching the tips of his fingers against Radditz's gore-splattered cheek. "You did well," he said, hoping one of the Saiyan's glowering parents was passing the comments to Radditz telepathically. "Vegeta was very impressed."
Radditz gave him that look. Zarbon hastily dropped his hand. Why do I do this to him?
A stern internal voice demanded, Why do you do this to yourself?
Alas, he knew the answer to that. And without Sashoki's feelings to consider, he was finding it harder to behave around Radditz. Then something in him hardened. You are not a toy, Zarbon. You don't do fetish...
Scowling after the King, Riiki missed the brief interaction between the two. "Is she always grabbing at him?" she demanded in disapproval.
Nothing, thought Zarbon, ever escaped Radditz's father. Bardock looked at him with hard eyes, even though the response he gave to his wife had an indulgent tone to it. "You're always grabbing at me."
Riiki snorted. "You aren't the King. Just some low-class loser I got stuck with."
Bardock grinned, but Zarbon felt something cold shiver against his spine. The curse of bonding... Then the Squad Commander's gaze crossed his again, and the Saiyan's smile lost every trace of amusement.
"I've got something for you," said Bardock, bring one hand up and making a flipping motion with his thumb. Zarbon smoothly snatched the projectile aimed with near-fatal force at his forehead. "Good catch," said Radditz's father, irony laced through his voice.
Zarbon opened his palm. His thin brows folded together in bemusement as he stared at the data crystal.
"Radditz tells me," said Bardock, "that you're having trouble with a research project. As it happens, I've been doing some research of my own over the last, oh, four decades or so. Transcribing old tales, songs, oral bits that claimed to be passed down for a few generations. So...that's what I have on the Super-Saiyan."
Zarbon closed his fingers around the crystal, the mystification increasing. "Thank you--but why?"
Bardock shrugged. "It's a hobby."
"Why give it to me?" Zarbon clarified calmly after reminding himself that Bardock liked to make him lose his temper.
"Why not? After all," Bardock showed his teeth in what a non-Saiyan might foolishly take for a grin, "you're practically family, aren't you?"
Either his hearing was clearing up or that was one comment Riiki was happy to shunt to her eldest son. For the second time that day, Radditz looked like he wished the ground would just swallow him up.
Overall, her public debut had gone well, she thought. Bulma kicked off her flats as she entered the royal quarters, flexing her toes against the throw-rug. She needed to change her clothes. Drat it all, even short gowns with sequins got heavy after several hours.
Unfastening the gravity harness, Bulma went through the outer chambers into her own quarters. The thing had been a nuisance at first, but now it was just another piece of clothing she routinely put on in the morning. She shrugged out of the dress, pulled on a shoulder-baring tube top and jeans, scowling when the top button wouldn't fasten, and went to the computer station that took up most of her suite. She only slept in here a couple of times, when she had been working late and didn't want to disturb Vegeta. As it happened, he was more disturbed when she didn't sleep with him; both times she awakened to find him dozing, fully dressed, on the covers next to her, arms folded, ankles crossed, tail loosely draped over whatever part of her body happened to be closest. After that, the Queen's suite simply became her at-home office; the Queen made sure she went to sleep in the King's room, no matter how late it was, regardless of whether he was actually there or off having one of his oh-so-secret bouts with Zarbon.
And that, thought Bulma, certainly had its consequences as well. She couldn't believe she hadn't been more careful...
The communication console, set at right angles to her computer station, began beeping. Bulma saved the modified design to the gravity harness she was working on and tapped the touchpad. "Hi, there."
"Hi, yourself," said Chi-chi. "Your mom says you are absolutely frantic to talk to me. What's up?"
|
|
|