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Tenshin and Chaozu would have taken umbrage at the suggestion they were babbling. But they certainly were talking very fast, together and over each other, as they tried to explain the astonishing strength of the invaders, the twisted, tainted feel of their power. Kami-sama, leaning heavily against his wooden staff, looked back over his shoulder at the corridor leading to the Room of Space and Time as he listened, wondering if they would be able to survive the night, wondering if there would be a populace left to defend when Goku emerged the next day.
Zarbon stared at his opponent. Could what he was thinking possibly be true? Pulling up, he landed on the ground forty yards in front of the native and put his hands on his hips, waiting for the Saiyans to get their sight back and join him.
"Nice day, eh?" the other man called to him, grinning.
Zarbon sighed. Why did everyone want to talk before fighting? "Can't complain so far," he returned.
"I'm glad it's you," said the man. "My girlfriend thinks you're cute. I take that personally."
Zarbon smiled, that hard-edged, strangely unpleasant smirk that looked out-of-place set against his classically beautiful features. "Pass along my condolences; I won't have time for mating before cleaning out the planet. Ah, wait; you won't be able to, will you? You get to die now."
The grin faded from the other's face; he glared. Idiot shouldn't mention his partner and not expect me to be rude about it, thought Zarbon in amusement. His scouter indicated the approach of Vegeta and Nappa; he cocked his head up, watching as they landed just behind him.
"Waiting for something in particular?" Vegeta greeted him. "I thought you wanted this one, baka."
Zarbon looked the Saiyans over carefully. Although the native wouldn't have any way of knowing, he could tell the unexpected flare of light was still affecting the sensitive eyes of his companions. Both Nappa and Vegeta were squinting. "Is that him?" Zarbon asked out of the corner of his mouth. "Kakarott?"
The two Saiyans peered at the young man standing defiantly on the flat grassland in front of them. Dark unruly hair spilled across his forehead and over his shoulders; dark eyes stared under lowered, thick brows. Scars marked his face, one across an eye, one marring a cheek. He wore lose fitting clothes that left his arms bare.
"Low enough power level," said Nappa. "But no tail. That's not Kakarott."
"He looks like he could be Saiyan..."
"The eyes are all wrong," snapped Vegeta.
After another minute of scrutiny, Zarbon nodded. The warrior had large, rounded eyes, not the wide, nearly triangular ones sported by the entire Saiyan populace. But he looked enough like a Saiyan -- like Sashoki, he realized -- to almost pass muster. I think an ancestor of the monkey-tailed freaks passed through here, Zarbon thought, amused. "Just checking," he said. "Wouldn't want to destroy the ostensible reason we came to Chikyuu just because he's gone native on us."
Nappa gave a disbelieving snort. "As if a Saiyan would debase himself by living among these weaklings!"
The tall blue alien -- the one Bulma thought was good-looking, dammit -- turned back to face him. Graceful fingers reached up and touched the side of the machine covering his eye. Yamcha could hear a distant beeping. The alien smiled slightly, and placed his hands on his waist. "You take the first shot," he said.
Your funeral, thought Yamcha, smiling back with narrow eyes. Those things couldn't read Piccolo and Goku right; they probably can't read me either, pal. He put his own hands on his hips, lightly, and concentrated.
He had the satisfaction of seeing surprise flit into the alien's eyes as he moved with blurring speed, smashing the too-pretty face a dozen times in under a second, hearing the solid tattoo of fist against flesh so quickly it seemed like a single sound. The alien fell back under his onslaught. Got him, thought Yamcha. Let's finish him off.
Then blue fingers caught and encased his fists in a surprisingly strong vice-like grip, and Yamcha faced the startled realization that, mislead by the delicate features, he also underestimated the foe. That impossibly high ki he had sensed and dismissed emanating from the alien was real.
Kami help us, he thought again.
The slender wrists flexed, and Yamcha gasped as he was forced inexorably to his knees. The alien looked at him with thin green brows arched. "Not bad," he said quietly, his tone intrigued. Raising off the ground, he dragged Yamcha after him and began to spin, faster and faster, until Yamcha gritted his teeth and hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself by losing his lunch. Released with a disorienting suddenness, Yamcha tumbled head over heels until putting on the mid-air brakes. He found himself floating upside down. The alien drifted a few dozen yards away, the black-clad arms once more akimbo.
The alien flashed a perfectly-charming smile that Yamcha irritably felt was completely uncalled for. "Show me what else you've got," he said.
The native's technique, while it contained certain elements common with other martial arts, was one Zarbon had never run across before. The straight-handed blows were especially interesting. Zarbon watched the follow-through and the snap-back into the ready position, flexing his own hands in anticipation of trying the moves out himself, even as he casually turned his head this way and that to avoid being physically struck again. It was a pity the native didn't have the ki to back up his technique, although for someone with just a 400 level power he did hit bloody hard.
Zarbon's earpiece crackled. "Will you stop playing with your food, already?" came a snap from Nappa.
Eech, thought Zarbon in revulsion. But the Commander was right; as educational as this all was, it put him no closer to finding Radditz, nor did the native show any sign of being a worthy match for Vegeta. It was time to end it.
When one of the fists again flashed by his head Zarbon seized the elbow and reached through an attempted block with his other hand, fisting a handful of the native's loose-fitting top. Pulling him so the snarling face was only an inch from his own, Zarbon asked, gently, "Got anything else you want to pass on?"
The dark eyes he mistook for Saiyan ones -- and now that he had the native close he could tell it was a stupid mistake -- flashed. Then the native grinned, suddenly, widely. "Oh, yeah; I've got one more thing. It's a ki attack--you'll have to let me go and give me some room."
Amused at his presumption, Zarbon said, "You don't have enough ki to hurt me with an energy attack."
"Then whatcha scared of, blue boy?"
Eyebrows lifting slightly, Zarbon untangled his fingers from the other's garments. He floated back, folded his arms, and waited.
As he observed the bout, Vegeta continued to stretch out with his extra ki-reading sense, reminding himself that the last time he thought it was on the blink, all those years ago on Rigel Seven, it had been working just fine. He kept his eyes on the distant specks, watching as the two combatants pulled apart.
Next to him, Nappa rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable. Zarbon's going to give that thing another free shot. Why waste time with the weak creature?"
"He's not bad, Nappa," said Vegeta as the native went into some strange, high-kicking gyration. "No Elite, of course, but not--"
He stopped, blinking once as he again brushed something that shut off almost as soon as he sensed it. He is an Elite. I'm sure of it. No-where near Zarbon's league, but more dangerous than he appears. Out loud he said, softly, "Careful, Zarbon."
"So," called the native, "you into sports, pretty boy?"
He was putting some distance between them, but nothing about his posture or attitude indicated he was about to bolt so Zarbon let him. "Who has the time?" he answered.
"Well, we have something on this planet called 'baseball.' It's a team sport, involves cooperation and trust between the players -- but I guess you guys wouldn't know about that, would you?"
"This technique involves boring me to death?"
The other laughed. He seemed very cheerful for one moments away from termination. "Well, it all revolves around a ball that one person throws--the pitcher. So -- " he brought both hands over his head, then kicked one leg out in front of him "-- keep your eyes on the ball!" His torso leaned forward, and the trailing arm suddenly whipped around, releasing a fast-moving ki sphere that headed right for Zarbon.
Interesting, conceded Zarbon as he tipped his head sideways, letting the small ki ball pass harmlessly over his shoulder, but he's telegraphing what he's doing. Too bad. Despite some entertaining points, the native wasn't nearly powerful enough to give Vegeta a work out, so he might as well be eliminated now. The good news was that the planet would never send their top warriors for the early confrontations, so maybe someone on Chikyuu would yet be able to put up enough of a fight to take the edge off of Vegeta...
The scouter crackled, and Nappa spoke in his ear, smugly. "Vegeta says that you're getting careless."
Oh-oh. Zarbon's brows pulled together. Nothing on his scouter indicated another attacker--
Something impacted, hard, between his shoulder blades.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You took your eye off the ball." Yamcha dropped his hands to his sides and clenched them. "Strike three, you're out. Let's see if Bulma thinks you're so gorgeous in five seconds." Grinning, he sped up and vanished over the horizon.
He throws curves, thought Zarbon clinically as he struggled to get out from under the sphere of ki energy that was driving him toward a messy, explosive meeting with the uprushing ground. I didn't think his ki high enough for that. I can survive this, but it'll hurt--
Twisting one shoulder under his body and focusing his ki to push as hard as he could in a single direction, Zarbon flipped his body out of the ki ball's way. He was far too close to the impact, however, and was caught in the backlash of energy. He crossed his wrists and ducked his head behind them, but he could feel the shock of a million stinging flecks of grit and the occasional pebble. Lowering his arms, he scowled at the newly formed crater below. "Damn," he said. "Damn, damn, damn."
"You're still alive," mocked Nappa's voice in his ear. "Too bad."
Zarbon blew green strands out of his eyes, and whiffed a familiar burning stench. "Worse than bad," he said, regret and annoyance mingling in his voice. "My hair's a total disaster."
They found Zarbon standing on the edge of the impact crater, his head bent forward, his long hair spilling over his face as his fingers ran through it.
"What are you doing?" demanded Vegeta, hovering at his shoulder.
Zarbon's response was muffled through the curtain of hair. "Rebraiding. He took about an inch off my hair with that ki sphere." With the ease of long practice, the alien finger-combed his hair into three ropes and started twining them together.
"Congratulations," mocked Nappa. "You just got beaten by a warrior of third class."
Zarbon's features tightened, then a look of reluctant admiration crossed his face. "I underestimated his craftiness," he agreed ruefully. "And he was very crafty. Crafty enough to get away somehow," he added with faint puzzlement. Nappa threw a look of disgust at him; catching it, Zarbon queried, "Expect me to throw a temper-tantrum because my own overconfidence nearly got me killed?" He finished tying off his hair, looked regretfully at the split, burned ends gathered together at the braid's base, then tossed the braid over his shoulder. "I was in Freeza's forces for 20 years, Commander. I had to be crafty a few times myself to survive encounters with much stronger warriors."
"Yes, yes, we all can tell you're no candidate for the Ginyuu Squad--"
"None of us are," said Zarbon calmly as he clicked on his scouter and began to sort through readings. "We're all very good, Nappa, and your Prince is the pinnacle of Saiyan perfection, but Freeza has an entire echelon of troops with ki higher than ours. And Freeza's in a class by himself..."
Vegeta said sharply, "I'm sure Freeza's the pinnacle of what-ever horned-headed species spawned him, but let's keep focused on this sector of the galaxy, shall we?" He heard the peevish note in his own voice and took a minute to smooth it away before speaking again -- he hated to be reminded that there were still stronger entities in the cosmos. By the time he entered his prime, that would all be changed... "What did your scouters say about this one?"
"550 right at the end," Zarbon reported, "when he tossed the ki sphere at me."
"Oh, so it was a warrior of second class," sneered Nappa. "My apologies."
"Nappa, stop baiting Zarbon," ordered Vegeta, his tone absent, his brow furrowed as he thought. "He could disintegrate you with a thought, y'know."
"Oh, not when he's this close," Zarbon promptly returned. "I'd get completely splattered, and I hate it when that happens." He smiled at Nappa, half-lowered his eyelids and purred, "Just stay right next to my side, Commander, and you'll be completely safe."
Nappa curled his lip, snarling at the alien. Vegeta smiled slightly -- that's why I let Nappa come along, he's always good for a laugh --and wondered why the scouters continued to pick up ki levels of lower class warriors when his own senses were now insisting that Zarbon had, indeed, just faced off against an Elite.
"More that way," said Zarbon, pointing. "Three. Second and third class warrior levels. You up to it, Commander, or are you still seeing spots?"
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Twelve
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