|
|
Nappa stood for a moment in the emptying Engineering compound, glowering impotently. What had happened here? The King had been unnecessarily endangered, that much was clear. The rest made no sense. Radditz--Radditz!-- ordered him restrained when he went to administer swift retribution. Then Chishan, who owed his very existence to Nappa, had the gall to publicly admonish him. Neither of them held any real power compared to the Commander of the Armed Forces; hell, Radditz, like Vegeta's blue-tinted pet, held no power at all except by the King's whim. The thought of Zarbon made the Commander burn as righteous annoyance intermingled with pique. No wonder Vejiitasei's younger warriors had no idea how to behave properly around their superiors. Nothing had been right since that wretched alien came to train Vegeta.
Grumbling in exasperation, he did not follow the exodus to the military compound's medical center, heading instead for the Commander's offices within the Palace itself. A savage smile split his face when he entered. Here was someone he clearly outranked. "You have a nerve showing yourself here, woman."
"Father," purred Kimchee. "Always a pleasure." She took time to scan him slowly, from pate to toes and back again, taking in the abrasions and slight oozing nicks left from his struggle with the King's (and Queen's) Guard. One thick eyebrow went up. "Chastising underlings again? Or did you accidentally get your hands on a female that could fight back?"
"I'm not in the mood," grunted Nappa, brushing past her to the inner chambers. She followed him, as he knew she would, as they both knew a mere Domestic Guard should not. "Feeling bold today, peasant? State your business, brat. It had better be business."
She tucked her hands through each opposite elbow, the flaring hair that marked her tainted status falling around her shoulders and arms. "The transfer, old man. Youkan and I are waiting. What's the hold up?"
"It is not in Vejiitasei's best interests to waste Elites off-planet," Nappa snapped.
"You can't presume to know more than the King what is in Vejiitasei's best interests," responded Kimchee coolly.
That stung, as the over-reaching little wench knew it would. Nappa felt his duty to Vejiitasei very keenly. The House of Nappasei was unique among the nobility in not having an official allegiance to any continent. Like the other nobles of the Central continent, Nappa's ancestors came from the Southern Continent during the war with the Tsufuruns, when the Saiyans finally attained sole control of the planet. And like the other transplanted Houses, his line always swore allegiance to the Southern Continent. However, during the coming of age ceremony where confirmed warriors had to declare their allegiance, his one of his ancestors refused. "We're all Saiyans," he said, indifferently. "What does it matter?" There was no protocol for such a response, after an awkward hesitation, the ceremony continued. But succeeding generations in the House of Nappasei swore allegiance to no tribal masters, only to Vejiitasei itself. Since the King was Vejiitasei, Nappa was forced to acknowledge that, however much he might disapprove of Vegeta's actions, the King commanded his ultimate loyalty.
The King, however, said nothing about two Elites...
"Tired of Lord Youkan already?" marveled Nappa. "I would have hardly thought you'd be so eager to send your high-born mate away. More proof that low-class females have no staying power."
"What are you babbling about, old man?" demanded Kimchee. "I go with my husband, of course."
"Says who, woman? I don't remember your name coming up in the King's conversation at any time."
She stared for one cold moment. "Don't go there, Nappa. It's a place you won't survive."
"Elites are too valuable to go offworld," Nappa repeated with a wide, nasty grin. "It's enough of an outrage sending one off. I'm not about to send away two."
"You're going to make me fill out forms," she realized, addressing some imaginary spot on the ceiling as her eyes rolled in disgust. "And agitate superiors. And go through all sorts of red tape. Will you take it to the point of challenge? I think you are not ready to die, old man. Well. If bureaucracy is what it takes, so be it. You will not keep me out of the off world forces, Nappa. I will go with my bonded mate."
Disappointment in her relatively placid acceptance was a sour burn in his stomach. "Feh. You aren't worth the trouble of challenge, bitch. You've displayed the ultimate weakness. You must get that from your mother."
"I wouldn't know," she said tonelessly. "She was dead by the time I returned from my first mission."
"She was dead before you left on your mission, minx."
Kimchee shrugged. "What does it matter to me when the pathetic creature died? I will jump through all the necessary hoops, Commander. If you refuse my transfer after that--well. My husband is a noble and the potential heir to two Houses. He can demand an audience with the King. I think the King would not like to be bothered over something so trivial as one tainted peasant's transfer off world. You had better expedite Youkan's reassignment in the interim. After all, the King has already approved that."
She stopped just short of snapping her fingers in his face, although (thought Nappa crossly) the light of triumph in her eyes was taunt enough. No one knows their proper place anymore. He glowered as his daughter ripped a mocking salute off and pivoted with military precision, marching smartly out. But she's right, dammit. The King ordered Youkan's reassignment. I cannot force the high-born brat to remember his appropriate position in the Empire when the King himself is indifferent to it. When he tapped on his scouter to check on the King's current location, he found diplomatic chaos still crowding the eyepiece with frivolous information. "No one is sure where the King is," was the flustered communications officer's response to the Commander's request for information. "Everything's being routed through the liaison right now. Check with him. Sir."
Thinking that the day was already as bad as it could get and even a visit to Zarbon could not worsen it, he went in search of the creature. He found his assessment of the day's decline over-optimistic. Vegeta was in route to the Southern Continent with his mate, leaving organizational chaos in his wake. Zarbon was expressionless as it told the Commander where the King was, but Nappa had been around the creature enough to detect the subtle tone of a gloat in its voice. Then Zarbon cut the meeting short, stalking away as it made a point of saying the King had left no word for the Commander but required its presence immediately.
Nappa stewed for a day, waiting for Vegeta to remember to call for him, waiting for Radditz to apologize for acting like his peculiar position held real authority, waiting for Chishan to realize that he had mis-assigned the Guards and request advice. Nothing along those lines happened. Even hours after the King's arrival on the Southern Continent only a skeleton crew protected Vegeta while other members of the Guard scrabbled through the wreckage of the Engineering compound as if there were some great mystery about what had occurred there. Then more organizational chaos occurred as Chishan, dropping everything at a call from Bardock's brat, abruptly raced to the King's location without so much as a courtesy call to the Commander of the Armed Forces, absconding with one of the King's personal shuttles even as he left most of the King's Guard behind at the capitol.
Fortunately, the Commander thought sourly, some people remembered who was really in charge. Nappa commandeered another King's shuttle and a company of Guards. Although it didn't bring the contingent of Elite Guards at the Southern continent up to the number required by regulations, it was not too far below what it should be -- as long as no one took a head count. Nappa was sure that was a responsibility that belonged to the King's Captain, but the way things had been going the last few days he was likely to somehow take the brunt of the blame should the discrepancy be discovered. He glanced over at Lord Shiruko, glad that it had been his company on duty when Nappa went looking for a contingent to take with him. Shiruko did not waste time clearing the Commander's request through proper channels; he saluted and snapped at his underlings to make haste. The Guard could use more people like him, the Commander decided as the shuttle approached the Southern Palace. Ones that knew their place in the grand scheme of things.
Standing at the base of the gently-sloping landing ramp, Nappa turned to watch Shiruko and the other Elites disembark, ready to bark out their assigned posts in the palace. He never completed more than a few syllables. From the gardens behind the palace came the unmistakable whine of a ki strike. Nappa and Shiruko stared at each other, eyes widened and mouths agape. Then both took off, followed by startled company members, at top speed toward the unexpected noise.
Chi-chi spent a few heart-felt seconds after the King's exit wondering if crass thoughtlessness was a genetic trait in Saiyan males that all Earth woman should be warned about before ever getting involved with one. Looking down into her friend's wan face, she snapped back to the present as she saw the sheen of unshed tears in Bulma's eyes.
"It's a little close in here," said Bulma, her voice weak and wavering now that Vegeta was out of the room.
Chi-chi said to her brother-in-law, very sharply, "Maybe we can clear some of these people out?"
There was a prolonged silence, as if Radditz did not hear Chi-chi. Then Radditz glanced at Bulma, brows raised. "I'd like that," she said.
There were expressions on the Saiyan guards that indicated misgivings. Several of them glared at Goku, Gohan, the medical team, herself, clearly loath to leave outsiders with Bulma. Radditz ignored the other Earthlings but frowned slightly at Goku. "You, too, brother."
"Um," said Goku. He had been frozen in place, one hand still clamped to the back of his head, since Gohan's stark pronouncement, as if unsure what to do.
"He stays here. Please," said Bulma, her voice shaking.
Despite a puzzled air, Radditz inclined his head in acquiesce. 'Puzzled' was a good word to describe the general attitude of all of Bulma's guards, decided Chi-chi. To a person they stood with brows lifted slightly, as if not sure of what they heard, or how they should take it. Whatever their thoughts, once Bulma spoke they became an obedient lot. On some silent signal from Radditz the half-dozen men filed out. Even though Chishan remained by the door and the medical team still hovered around Bulma, just the removal of a few very large, broad Saiyan males did make breathing a little easier. Bulma was silent for a few minutes, shifting as the doctors asked her to, letting them take her pulse and listen to her heart, holding her hand out so they could prick her fingers for blood samples, rolling her too-luminous eyes and promising to see to the other samples they wanted as soon as her body felt like producing those. Chi-chi again looked into those over-bright eyes and put the brakes on the more intimate procedures the doctors were interested in undertaking. "Don't you have enough to analyze for a while? Go look at all your samples. Then we can decide what else you need to do for Bulma."
Bulma submitted to a vitamin shot and asked to have the IV removed before they left; she claimed to be feeling better and the needle was burning her a little bit. A bristling Chishan suggested the Queen had been tortured enough for the time being, shooting a knife-edged glare at Radditz as he did so. Radditz responded with a barely lifted lip, but hinted the Captain could make himself useful by helping the Earthers set up their lab. That brightened up both the medical team and Captain Chishan. There's another one that's more interested in the technical folks, thought Chi-chi as still more people filed out.
"Where do you think Vegeta went?" asked Bulma, the tremor back in her voice. "He was really ticked, Chi-chi."
"He's out in the gardens," Radditz reported as he gazed out the open balcony doors.
"What's he doing?"
Radditz raised one shoulder. "Standing."
Bulma winced. "Maybe I can distract him for a while," suggested Goku, a little over-eagerly. He finally dropped his arm from behind his head and moved closer to the bed.
"I don't want you sparring with Vegeta," said Bulma.
"Why not? It'll put him in a better mood." He grinned down at Bulma. "Fighting always puts him in a better mood."
Chi-chi frowned at him, but Bulma voiced her own concerns perfectly. "Because you enjoy it too much. That may even be why you came here, eh?"
Goku, abashed, flashed one glance at his wife and lowered his eyes.
"My father and I went to a great deal of trouble to come up with a training aid that should keep Vegeta busy while you're here," Bulma told him. "It would help a lot if you don't tempt him. And try to keep Gohan away as well, okay?" The sideways glance she directed toward her little protector was a touch ... nervous. "Vegeta's half-convinced Gohan would be a better training aid than anything mechanical. He wouldn't need a lot of encouragement to get into a fight with him." She addressed Gohan directly with the next comment. "So don't go challenging him anymore, Gohan. Please?"
"I'm not going to let him hurt you or the baby," Gohan said earnestly. "I have to protect Earth people. Mr. Piccolo says so."
Chi-chi thought it highly probable that what Piccolo said was going through selective filters in her son's mind. "I thought you were afraid of Vegeta?"
Gohan did not deny the words. He folded his hands in front of his body, tapping his thumbs together as he looked down at them. "That doesn't mean I can't defend Bulma and the baby," he said.
"Gohan," said Bulma gently, "look at me. I'm not afraid of Vegeta."
"You're afraid for the baby. Mom said you were. That's why we're here."
Chi-chi cringed faintly at that. Bulma looked at her for a moment with her fine brows pulled together. She leaned back into the pillows, gently patting the bed with one delicate hand. She's too thin, thought Chi-chi again, feeling as if she could see the blood oozing in the blue-traced veins around Bulma's wrist. Gohan clambered up onto the bed, crawling what seem like feet before he reached Bulma and sat back on his little heels, gazing up at Bulma earnestly. "I'm concerned for the baby," Bulma told him. "They don't have them here. So we have to make them see that there's nothing wrong with having babies, that this is a good thing they don't need to fear. I was afraid that I couldn't do it by myself. That's why I asked your Mom and Dad to come here. For moral support, Gohan. Not because I thought Vegeta might hurt me. And I wanted you here because this is going to be a very special baby, Gohan. Special the way you are."
There was a strange tenseness to Gohan. "He does hurt people," the little boy said in an odd, quiet voice. He twisted around, his eyes going toward his father. There was, thought Chi-chi as she followed the boy's glance to his father's face and then Goku's own gaze, a lot of staring going on all of the sudden. Goku was looking grimly toward Radditz, who in turn was gazing out the open doors of the balcony. Radditz touched a finger to his scouter, speaking too quietly for her to hear. "It's okay," said Goku to Gohan.
"No, it isn't," said Gohan.
"It's too late to do anything, Gohan," responded Goku, grim finality in his voice.
Gohan's face fell. He leaned forward, resting his head for a moment against Bulma's arm. "If you do get scared of him, I'm here," he told her. "I won't let him hurt you. Ever."
A disgusted snort came from the direction of Radditz. Bulma's face suddenly crumbled. She caught Gohan up in her arms, sniffling, hugging the startled little boy. Gohan's arms waved frantically. He gaped wide-eyed at his mother, mutely begging for help. "Your little personal guardian isn't going to be much use if you strangle him, Bulma," Chi-chi said, grinning and wishing she had a camera. Gohan just looked so precious when he was flustered...
Bulma loosened her death grip on the struggling child, looking over Gohan's head into Chi-chi's eyes. Tears were beginning to run down her face in a steady stream. "Chi-chi," said Bulma in wonder, "I'm going to have a baby." She sniffed inelegantly. "I'm having a baby, Chi-chi."
Gohan scrambled away as quickly as he could, but Bulma was abruptly (and thankfully) more interested in crying than in squeezing him to death. Mom patted her on the back, saying things like "there, there," and "we're here now, it's okay." He hopped off the bed, bewildered, wondering what he had done wrong. He looked up at his dad, and felt a little relieved when he saw that Daddy looked as confused as he felt. Babies might be fun, but people about to have them are not.
If this was how Bulma acted when she wasn't scared of someone, Gohan didn't think he wanted to see her really scared. She would be scared, if she could experience the flash of sensation he had just experienced. It scared him.
He tugged determinedly on his father's pants leg, until Daddy picked him up in his strong arms and grinned into his face. "We have to keep an eye on Vegeta," Gohan told him.
A small grimace chased across Dad's face. "We're guests here, Gohan. We stay out of everyone's way, okay? Especially Vegeta's."
"But he's stronger than he was. Daddy, he's as strong as you now."
"I got a lot stronger, too, right after I married your mother," Daddy told him with a cheerful wink. "I nearly doubled in strength by the time you were born."
Gohan felt even more troubled. "If he does that, when the baby gets here he'll be lots stronger than anyone."
Dad blinked in surprise, the smile fading, his brows slowly slanting down. Daddy didn't think about that, realized Gohan in concern. He glanced back over his shoulder, at the sobbing Bulma (who was nonetheless assuring Mom she was very, very happy), and the silent, scowling Uncle Radditz as he continued to stare out the window. Feeling very small and helpless, I don't like it here, he decided.
The air lock opened with a gentle, familiar hiss. Freeza floated out in his hover-car, smiling benignly at the honor guard that awaited him. "How very nice to see you all again," he said. "I trust the King is ready to receive me?"
Scraping bows were his answer. Freeza turned his head just enough to check that Dodoria was at his shoulder, that his own guards were in position, before continuing along the familiar corridors toward his father's throne room. He had not brought a large contingent of warriors with him. Considering the topic he wished to discuss with his father, he was not entirely sure he could trust all of his guards. Some species were strangely attached to their home worlds, with even expatriates often discovering a reservoir of patriotism when it become necessary to eliminate the planet.
The loyalty to floating hunks of rock puzzled him. This massive ship marked the center of the empire's government, was where Freeza and his older sibling Cooler were raised, was where King Cold himself, despite having an official residence on the same planet that hosted the tournament, was most at home. Freeza barely remembered his own birth system. When Cold decided that his family, and his family alone, deserved to be the strongest in the Universe, he removed the only other entities capable of achieving such power levels by eradicating their planet of origin. Of course, he also removed their capacity for reproduction, but they were so long lived, what did it matter? And should it appear the Universe would be inconsiderate enough to outlive them; well, there was always cloning...
The impressively-tall doors, emblazoned with the emblem of the Cold clan, slid back. At a gesture from their master, Dodoria and Freeza's guards stopped. Freeza stepped carefully out of the hover car, walking over the threshold into his father's throne room. Courtiers melted away into shadows as he walked along the long, long strip of red carpet that lead to his father's throne. Reaching the half-way point, Freeza stopped. He raised his eyes to the throne, and the level gaze of his father.
"I've come to discuss the Saiyan situation."
"Is there a Saiyan situation?" wondered his father. King Cold rested his chin against one massive fist. This was the body all the universe was used to seeing the ruler in, one that was twice the size and breadth of his offspring, with long, smooth curved horns the width of Freeza's hover-car. Some took that to mean the younger members of the Cold clan were juveniles. Their mistake; although Freeza and Cooler were young compared to the King, they were adults, and could also obtain the awesome form their father habitually lived in. "There are the usual scuffles along the borders, of course, but nothing I would characterize as a 'situation,'" King Cold remarked, his chiseled black lips parted in a smile of genuine amusement. "Unless you continued to be miffed at young Vegeta's persistent refusal to fall victim to your traps?"
"The idea of someone with Vegeta's power running loose around the Universe was not to be tolerated, especially when you consider the increase in ki the transformed state grants a Saiyan," Freeza replied. "When the little Prince became King, however, I thought the main thrust of his threat over. Saiyan Kings remain on Vejiitasei; what did I care about a planet-bound powerhouse? I've since received news about his mate, however, that concerns me."
"The little Earth creature?" queried Cold. Freeza blinked his big eyes in brief surprise, then found a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. Cold regarded him sardonically. "Yes, you really should be ashamed of yourself, assuming I did not know of her existence," he admonished his youngest offspring. "She makes interesting playthings. For example." Cold held up two fingers. Freeza narrowed his eyes. What his father held between his knuckles appeared to be something along the lines of a pill, ridiculously tiny in the King's massive hand. There was a strange 'pop.' The King tossed the pill near his son's feet.
When the pill morphed into a small domed structure, Freeza took an involuntary step back. After surveying it for a moment he acknowledged, "It is a nice toy. Should I ask how it made its way here?"
"Some Saiyan scouts strayed too close to the borders. They are --were-- using these portable shelters," replied Cold. "There are other things manufactured by her planet, equally trivial. Why would the Earther's ability to compact things bother you, Freeza? It's a silly magician's trick, nothing more."
"Have our scientists been able to unravel this technology?" asked Freeza as he paced around the little structure, hands clasped behind his back.
"No," said the King, a twinge of annoyance just coloring his voice. "I've had to give up executing them over it. Sooner or later, Earth will be under our control, and then we can extract the method from the natives."
Pausing with his back to his father, Freeza said over one shoulder, "You hit upon my concern, papa. What else might this creature come up with? Saiyan ships are making excursions to places they haven't been able to reach before. Soon they may be able to cross the magnetic field in their galaxy's western quadrant, something time and fuel constraints have previously prevented them from doing. Technically that is their space according to the treaties, but it's an area they've never previously been able to access or to exploit. And there is one more concern. This female's father was also a genius by her race's standards. If this is something genetic in her family line, then her offspring may also be above average intelligence."
"It does not take much to be above the average Saiyan's intelligence," his father mused, but Freeza could hear the arrested note as the King picked up his concern. "I really do not wish a war with the monkeys," his father finally decided. "War between Empires is a great destabilizer with even the winner becoming weaker for the experience. Likewise, there is no profit, and a great deal of potential loss, if the Saiyan Empire falls apart and their portion of space erupts into a fireball of petty conflicts. As long as we have no claim on their Empire, Freeza, there is no point to openingly provoking the Saiyans or their little King. Get me a solid claim to their Empire should it fail...then we may have this conversation again."
"I understand, papa," said Freeza smoothly even as one talon-tipped fist slowly clenched.
The King smiled at him. "Don't pout, my little one. It's unseemly. If it amuses you to continue to annoy the Saiyan pests, do so. I don't care about that. Do not push them too far, however. I am not ready to push the Empire in that direction. I have a half-a-dozen galaxies still under occupation that may revolt if we turn toward expanding another border. Hold on to your frustration. You may take it out on the descendants of the Saiyan King and his too-clever mate. After all, mere genius is inadequate when it is set against our strength."
Zarbon was beginning to be particularly annoyed with Vegeta. Yes, he understood the King was going through a rough time (although frankly it looked like Bulma was going through a rougher one). It was no excuse for shirking his duties as head of state. Instead of participating in the series of transmissions he set up for the King to assure high-ranking off-world officials that the inquiry revealed a simple technical miscalculation and not an active act of terrorism, Vegeta simply vanished, undoubtedly heading back to harass his poor mate once more. Zarbon smiled and made official apologies and accepted best wishes to be passed on to the royal couple, all the time calculating the number of useless reports he could generate for Vegeta as pay back for leaving him alone to handle a diplomatic crisis. As the image of the final dignitary faded from his screen, the smile swept off Zarbon's face. He flopped back into his seat, scowling and absently puffing away strands of hair that strayed across his face. I thought looking after him was hard when he was just the Heir to the throne...! I swear that boy is going to be the death of me. He groaned as his scouter, resting on the communication center's console, beeped insistently. No rest for the wicked, Zarbon. Sighing, he picked it up with one finger, scowled at it briefly, then fit it over his ear. "Yes?"
"If you're not looking for Vegeta, you should be," said Radditz, quietly and without preamble. "He's in a temper. A bad one. While it is my duty to throw myself in front of Bulma should he turn on her, I would rather not have to do that."
"Do I even want to know what's happened?"
"He's in the garden," was Radditz's terse response. "You can't miss him. Look for the smoking pile of organic matter." The earpiece went dead.
Go calm him down before he trashes the place and everyone in it, Zarbon paraphrased. Oh, great. Sighing again, he took off the scouter, tossed it back onto the communications console, got up and went to one of the oval windows. He pressed the side gently. The seamless panes rolled back into the walls. Zarbon floated out and went up, hovering over the top of the spiky spires of the palace, trying to figure out which direction in several acres of 'the' garden the King might be. He glanced down between his feet, brows curving up slightly. Judging by the flock of just-landing Elites under him, Vegeta was very close to the building. Zarbon regulated his ki, sinking to land gently at the back of the group. Members of Lord Shiruko's company, he realized as he glanced around, apparently just arrived from the Central Continent. And, at their head -- just what I needed -- Nappa. Maneuvering to peer between the big bodies, he caught a glimpse of Vegeta standing with his back to the Elites, well in front of the group. As Radditz's transmission implied, there was something smoldering on the ground behind the King. Zarbon looked at the pile of ashes and repressed a groan. Someone had gotten too close to the King when he was angry. Terrific. Zarbon could spy no armor in the remains, so hopefully it was one of the slaves responsible for the garden, and not anyone Bulma knew well enough to miss.
He picked his way through the ranks of the King's Guard, paused briefly when Shiruko hissed a warning at him, then steeled himself and stepped into the no-mans-land of empty space between the guards and Vegeta. He stopped a good yard from the King's ramrod straight back. Vegeta's head tilted. The fingers of one gloved hand beckoned slightly. Zarbon closed the distance, standing just behind Vegeta, touching the smaller man's shoulder lightly as he gazed at Vegeta's profile in concern.
"The Queen," said Vegeta, "is pregnant."
"And this has made you especially murderous because...?" prompted Zarbon after a blank pause.
"Let me rephrase in such a way that even your pea-witted reptilian brain can grasp," said Vegeta, unemotionally. "Bulma is about to whelp my assassin. Years before we agreed she would so. This lops a good decade off of a life I already knew was going to be far shorter than that of the average King."
"You said," Zarbon pointed out after another pause, "that you knew this, that you were prepared to give up years of your life."
"I was. I am. I find," said the King, bitterly, "that the extra decade is harder to let go than it should be." He exhaled sharply, the sound between a sigh and a snort, and turned his head away. "My longevity aside, this is a boneheaded thing for her to be doing. She is so uncaring of her own safety that she has, apparently, allowed this to proceed to a stage where plopping the brat into a tank will not be easy for her. And she has," he continued, a cold spark of intense anger weaving into his voice, "deceived me by telling the Earthers first, by bringing them here to attempt to continue the deception."
Zarbon moved, positioning himself in front of Vegeta so that he could see the young man's face clearly, shifting his hands to grasp the King's shoulders firmly. "Are you worried about Bulma?"
There was a small, disgusted, "tah" noise from the King at that.
Zarbon thought he might have a line on the crux of Vegeta's strange mood. "That must be why she was so insistent on having the Earthlings here in the first place, Vegeta. Several are medical types Bulma doesn't even know, right? She's preparing to give birth the way Earthlings do it, and she wanted her friends around her."
Under his hands the Imperial shoulders hunched. "Disgusting," Vegeta grumbled.
"Well, if you semi-simians weren't so big-brained at birth, it would be a lot easier," teased Zarbon, beginning to relax slightly. "Now, if I were the one that were pregnant, I would just go lie down for a couple of hours, greet each of the hatchlings as they broke through the eggshell and popped out of the pouch--" Vegeta was giving him a very strange look. "What?"
"I don't ever want to hear another word about how your perverted kind reproduce," said Vegeta, faint revulsion in his tone.
"We were talking about birth processes, not about reproduction per se," Zarbon reminded him, amused. "But you had better start learning about how humans give birth, Vegeta. If I understand the problem, Bulma plans on actually giving birth, doesn't she?"
"We hadn't gotten that far in the conversation," grouched Vegeta. "And, no she isn't, anyway."
"You'd better go tell her that, then. Nothing is getting settled with you moping out here."
The King's back went even straighter. "I do not mope," Vegeta informed his aide. "This is not moping."
"And you would call it what, then?"
"I think the human term is 'hissy fit,'" replied Vegeta, deadpan.
Zarbon's clear eyes widened. Grinning, he slapped one hand against Vegeta's upper arm before dropping both, placing them akimbo at his waist as he presented the young ruler with a mock-stern expression. "You're fine," he said. "Stop stalling and deal with Bulma. If she's pregnant, and if you just pulled your usual disappearing act instead of trying to talk things through, she's going to be both hormonal and very angry. A lethal combination, Vegeta."
A gleam of amusement shot through the dark eyes. "Why do you think I'm still out here?" retorted the King.
Shiruko strained his ears, but the King and Zarbon were used to holding quiet conversations around Saiyans and, despite obvious intensity on the part of the King, he could not make out any of the words that passed between the two. Unexpectedly Zarbon moved, putting his hands on the King's shoulders as if to hold him in place. All the guards tensed, as they tended to do when Zarbon was over-familiar with the King, but they had learned not to move against Zarbon unless ordered.
And there was no one to order them to do so. Chishan was not there, once again opting to stay with the alien woman rather than protect the King. The Commander was present, his thick-lipped mouth pulled down at the corners as he watched, but he made no move to interrupt the two. Suddenly Zarbon pulled one hand back slightly, actually striking the King hard enough on one upper arm to make a flat, fleshy noise. That's it! Amidst growls from some his warriors, Shiruko started to stride forward, one fist clenching.
The King laughed.
As if he had walked into something solid, Shiruko stopped.
The King turned away from the alien, a white smile cleaving his face.
"I suppose I could run interference for you," Zarbon remarked, his tone openingly mocking.
"Ye gods, Zarbon, stop mothering me," the King said, striding through the Guards as if they were invisible. Despite the sharpness of the words, there was no heat in Vegeta's voice.
There was a strange shiver up his spine when Shiruko heard the alien oath from the King of Vejiitasei. Zarbon, grinning, finally dropped back to a more appropriate position, trailing the King back to the palace. Still feeling --'shocked' was too mild a word -- Shiruko turned his head, watching the King and his liaison march back to the palace. His startled gaze crossed the Commander's grim one. The Commander turned his face away, grimacing.
>"Zarbon keeps a tight rein on him," said Nappa, his tone quiet and frigid. He did not look at Shiruko when he said it; Shiruko pretended not to hear.
The Commander pivoted away, pausing a moment before motioning to Shiruko they, too, should follow the King.
The King wasted no time. He strode into the bedchamber, ignoring the hovering, concerned Earthlings, nodded curtly at his mate, and said. "So. An infant. I'll have the med-techs prepare a tank for the brat."
"You will not."
"Are you insane? You are far too much of a weakling too possibly--"
"Hey," said Chi-chi, sharply. "I managed, didn't I?"
Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her, but continued to speak to Bulma. "You're already in a state of collapse. There's no way you can see this through to an actual birth."
"You are not taking my baby away," Bulma stated. She had more color to her; whatever the Earth med-techs had done, it seemed to be helping. "You are not sending my baby away."
Vegeta blinked. "Where would I send the brat?" he queried in irritation.
"Well, I ended up on Earth," pointed out Kakarott, an unusually cold note in his voice.
"Goku," murmured Chi-chi reproachfully, but her arms tightened protectively around Bulma. Bulma's expression was defiant and determined. Vegeta felt another blink coming on and ruthlessly suppressed it. Did they seriously believe my brat would be sent off world? Looking at their faces (their accusing faces), they evidently did. This is why she wanted them here--to protect the brat from me? How could she think--? "Bulma, don't be a raving idiot. The Heir will not be sent on a common mission. The Heir will not leave the planet," snapped Vegeta.
There was throat clearing. The loudest came from Zarbon's direction, but it seemed to Vegeta that more than one throat was cleared...
"Without my permission," clarified Vegeta after a minute, feeling very cross.
"What if I want to send "the Heir" to summer camp on Earth or something?" demanded Bulma.
"Woman, why would you want to send the brat there?"
"Because he or she is going to be part Earthling, Vegeta. Maybe our child will want to live there rather than here." The look Bulma directed at him was bright and cold. "Kami knows, that looks very attractive to me right now."
As impossible as it seemed, Vegeta felt the strings of his temper tighten further. Then his gaze dropped to Gohan's big-eyed visage.Vegeta's tension eased. "Eh, he -- or she -- won't want to go," he said. "The brat will be raised here. Even if it does wander off to Chikyuu," he smirked unpleasantly at the hybrid, "Saiyans always return to Vejiitasei." He stared mockingly at Goku. "It's in their blood."
Looking at the tableau in the room; Goku stationed by the bed, Gohan glaring up at Vegeta with his dark Saiyan brows beetled, Chi-chi actually on the bed with her arms around Bulma while Radditz scornfully stared out the window as if this had nothing to do with him; Zarbon decided everyone needed a gentle hint. He went down on a knee, speaking to the one person out of the lot of them that possessed the merest smidgen of common sense. "Gohan, Vegeta and Bulma need some time alone. Why don't we go outside and let them talk about this without us hanging over them?"
After a noticeable hesitation during which Gohan scanned him intently, the little boy stepped forward and accepted his proffered hand. Blowing out softly in relief, Zarbon stood up and turned to leave, trusting the others would have the sense to take their cue from the child. Gohan pulled him to a stop next to Vegeta. "I'm going with him because he means well," the hybrid informed Vegeta, an adamant note in his voice, "but if you hurt Bulma I'll be back here really fast."
"Don't be an ass," snapped the King without looking at him.
Much as he had studied Zarbon, Gohan tilted his head back to study Vegeta. Whatever he gleaned from his perusal, however, did not seem to comfort him. The boy's fist tightened around Zarbon's fingers. Zarbon gave a little tug, praying that would work. The boy held firm, looking back at the bed. "Zarbon's right," came Bulma's voice. "Vegeta and I need to discuss... things."
Vegeta snorted, but Gohan, satisfied, allowed himself to be led from the King's bed chamber into the King's private quarters, which were (thought Zarbon in annoyance) anything but private at the moment. The Earther med-techs were along the walls, looking through magnifying oculars and swishing various fluids around in clear tubes while speaking to each other in an incomprehensible technical jargon. Members of the King's and Queen's Guard were in the center of the room. Several of them had made out Gohan's words, judging from the glares being directed at the little boy. Zarbon heard Goku's voice, cheerfully congratulating Vegeta on the good news, followed by a dull 'thud' that meant the Earth Saiyan had probably slapped Vegeta, hard, in an inappropriate place. There were some audible growls. It said something for the events of the last few days that Goku wasn't pounced on as soon as he left the bedchamber; the Guards, Zarbon realized, weren't entirely sure how many liberties the King allowed the Queen's guests. Closing his eyes briefly, Zarbon hoped Goku retained enough working brain cells not to push his luck with Vegeta's indifference.
There was the sound of a door sliding closed. Finally daring to glance back, Zarbon saw with relief that Chi-chi and Radditz had also vacated the room. Radditz had sealed it behind him, giving the young couple the privacy they needed to discuss this unexpected turn of events.
Goku blinked at the mass of glowering Saiyans in the chamber. "More family?"
Rolling his eyes, Radditz stepped around him, coming face to face with Zarbon and his little charge. Radditz tucked his chin, smirking down at his brother's offspring. "What, no hug for your old uncle Radditz?" the Queen's Captain asked softly.
The little hybrid snarled. A low chuckle rumbled out of Radditz's throat. He waved a careless hand at Goku. "Come. I'm sure Zarbon will find a hole to stash you in until the Queen is ready for you again."
Vegeta had never noticed how huge this bed was. He stood near the entrance of the room, simply observing for a moment the slight form of his wife huddled under the covers surrounded by pillows that were almost the same size she was, thinking absently the bed would comfortably accommodate half the Queen's Guard. His father had always gone for oversized accruements. I'll have to find something a bit more...homely. I wouldn't want to lose my wife in here...
It was here as well. Stronger than when he first sensed it weeks earlier, but still...nebulous. Unformed. Yet, unquestionably, present.
He finally raised his eyes to meet Bulma's gaze. Her face was set coldly. Although she looked both angry and defensive, the blue eyes were limpid, liquid-filled. She had been crying again; that's where the color in her face came from. And he was frightening her. He could see the edges of fear lurking in the blue depths. Little fool. You can't possibly think I would harm you. She didn't hear him, of course, although a brief flash through his brain showed what he looked like to her; the impersonal intensity in his face, the gaze blanked and burning. He stepped to the bed, reaching for her, feeling the flinch when his gloved fingers touched her. He turned his face away from hers, pulling her up by the shoulders, pressing his forehead into the crease between her body and neck, inhaling slowly but not moving until her tense body started to relax. Then he began tugging at clothing, his and hers, until there was nothing but skin between them. He pulled the sheet over them and held her, still feeling a certain clinical detachment as he folded one hand against her neck, the other against her waist, threading his tail loosely through her legs. He took another deep breath, stretching out his senses, imprinting himself with the subtle differences in his wife's ki when she was in this...condition. After a minute he opened one cautious eye, peering at her warily. "You won't be able to lie to me again," he said, finally.
"It wasn't a lie!" came the defensive response. "I was going to tell you."
"But not until back-up got here, eh?" he said, quietly but with the edge of anger still coloring his voice. "Baka. You can't possibly believe yourself to be in danger from me."
"If it were just myself," she answered, "I wouldn't care. But if what you think is best for the baby is different than what I think is best for the baby...well. I knew I would do anything to keep the baby safe."
He snorted. "What do I care for some unborn hybrid brat? I would do anything to keep you safe."
"My point exactly," Bulma said, sardonically. "Pregnancy isn't inherently dangerous, Vegeta."
His fingers tightened against her side. There was a flicker from the alien ki. Vegeta forced his hand to relax. The sensation of the other presence subsided. Heh. We were both right, Zarbon. Bulma's developed measurable ki, and she has a parasitic presence feeding off her. Responding to her...to me... Are you in there, little assassin? No response. The brat might have ki, but there was no hint of awareness yet. Vegeta turned his head to inhale the familiar scent of her hair, sorting through unfamiliar scents that were apparently associated with her pregnancy. "I know what this feels like now," he told her. "Next time, I'll probably know before you do."
There was a sigh from his mate. She tucked her head underneath his chin, lids drifting closed. "Let's get through this one first before we start talking about 'next time,'" Bulma murmured, tiredly. "Right now I feel like I never want to do this again."
He was startled anew. Saiyan Kings of the last millennium only produced a single offspring, of course; more than that invited uncertainty about the succession. Why was he blathering about 'next time' as if they were going to spawn multiple offspring like any third class pair? Because you want it all where she's concerned, said that part of his brain that forced him to be wholly honest with himself. She makes you want things no Saiyan should want.
He felt the fluttering, indistinct ki of her -- of his -- offspring under his hand. Let's get this one here first, he found himself mentally agreeing with his mate. Then we'll deal with the rest of it.
No one seemed to have any idea what the King's schedule was, or when he would have time for his Commander of the Armed Forces.
No one, that is, except for Zarbon.
Nappa was getting very tired of hearing "Check with the liaison, sir," when it came to the simplest requests for a moment of the King's time. He did not want to check with that bizarre alien creature about the King's schedule. He did not want to check with that bizarre alien creature about anything. But when several hours poking at underlings in the Southern palace did not produce the required information, Nappa armored himself in his pride and stalked off to demand some answers of the King's liaison.
Zarbon was in the quarters it had commandeered for its offices while in this hemisphere, its face expressionless as it glanced up from a computer screen at Nappa. "What can I do for you, Commander?"
"I still need to see the King," snapped Nappa.
The alien gave a wan smile. "You and me both... I have a call into him, Commander, but until he sees fit to emerge from his private quarters there's not much I can do."
"And what can you do once I do emerge?" wondered the King from the open doorway. "Apart from rescue me from the flood of messages you've left, Zarbon." Nappa spun around to salute, at the same time frowning at the King; Vegeta was wearing a plain black battle suit with no armor. A quick glance behind him confirmed he somehow again given the slip to his guards and was wandering around the palace without any protection. Zarbon also got to its feet. Evidently its thought patterns were running along similar lines. "Where's Chishan?" it asked the King.
"Oh, he was having so much fun with the Earth techs I didn't want to disturb him," the King said, sardonically.
Zarbon grimaced slightly. "I'll have to have a talk with him," it said under its breath, as if jotting down a verbal memo. "Is everything else okay?"
The King shrugged, but there was a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it," Zarbon told him, smiling back. "Do you want to draft an official announcement, or--?"
"What the hell for? It's not anyone's business, Zarbon."
The alien sighed. "Vegeta, it is everyone's business. This is an event that is going to impact the future of the Saiyan Empire, now and forever. Some of the guard know about it now. We need to release a statement before rumor and innuendo run rife."
"Eh," the King grunted, irritation in the single syllable.
"Nappa also has a matter that's of some importance," Zarbon told him, a touch sharply. "Lord Youkan's transfer is ready for approval."
"Who?" queried Vegeta before he nodded and answered himself. "The one at the tournament who dared compete in spite of being bonded; I remember. Why is he still even on planet? That was months ago."
"For one thing, the Commander has had a hell of a time tracking you down for your approval, Vegeta." Zarbon was beginning to have a rare edge of exasperation in its voice, a turn of events Nappa rather enjoyed.
"Zarbon. What do I pay you for? You deal with it. Then come have dinner with me. Bulma is insisting she wants to eat with her 'friends.' I am not putting up with Kakarott's prattle or the hybrid's accusing pout for an entire meal."
Zarbon stared at the King's retreating back, its pale features impassive, but with a faint crease folded between its brows. It held a hand out for the touchpad, only swinging its gaze to Nappa when the Commander, scowling, didn't hand it over. "Is there a problem?"
"The disposition of Elites is for the King to deal with."
"He has," said the alien, coolly. "He ordered me to handle the transfer. Are you questioning Vegeta's order?"
"Of course not."
The alien's brows lifted quizzically. Feeling as if he were somehow betraying his planet, Nappa handed over the touchpad, watching helplessly as Zarbon approved (in the King's name) the transfer of an Elite to the off-world forces.
| Read The Birth of the Super-Saiyan: Chapter Eleven |
 |