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They felt him before they saw him.
The warriors of Earth turned as one, gaping incredulously as Goku emerged from within Kami-sama's Inner Sanctum and stepped onto Heaven's platform. There was a physical component to the difference in him. Goku was always muscular but slim; now, his shoulders and neck seemed to require twice the space, his chest was deeper, his legs thickened. The stance he took -- straight-backed, chin lowered, powerful arms locked by his sides -- exuded confidence.
Yet his astonishing new physique was nothing compared to the non-physical component that impressed itself on the Earth warriors. Goku's ki had increased tenfold, more than tenfold. He was at least a match for the tall blue warrior, and maybe for the powerful little Saiyan Piccolo, Krillin and Gohan ran from. Perhaps even -- more than a match.
"I'm ready," he said.
But God paid no attention to his champion.
Kami-sama, standing at the edge of Heaven's platform with Mr. Popo, held up one hand without even looking at Goku. Piccolo, in his usually contemptuous posture drifting just outside Heaven's border, also ignored his arch-foe. The three were staring down wide-eyed, fixedly, as if stunned by what-ever it was their preternatural senses picked up on the planet's distant surface.
"Wait," God said. "Wait."
Requiring only a few minutes in the tank to heal, Zarbon presented himself in Vegeta's chambers when ordered to share a meal with the Prince, his face wooden and his manner brittle. Amused, Vegeta forced him to stay much longer than normal, enjoying the alien's rare (but hardly unheard of) attack of childish petulance. His pleasure evaporated when Nappa, also newly healed, showed up; Zarbon was upset enough over Radditz to be goaded into just about anything, and Vegeta was not in the mood to mediate between the two warriors. Sending Zarbon away, he deliberately retained Nappa for a few minutes to allow his trainer time to escape to the safety of his own quarters, then ordered Nappa out when the Commander once more pressed for sending down troops to clear out the planet. "Natives too much for you to handle?" the Prince scornfully queried, and Nappa scurried away, scowling.
About to retire, Vegeta went through some of the transmissions from Chikyuu, astonished at the tone of welcome most of them took. Are they total morons? he wondered. As if any alien race comes in peace! Oddly, it put him in a good mood, and he slept the sleep of the just -- a sleep no Saiyan had any natural right to expect. Waking, he ordered Nappa and Zarbon to meet him in one of the airlocks. The ship was near enough to the planet's upper atmosphere that they did not need a shuttle. If they just flew out of an airlock, the natives -- and their strangely effective fighters -- would have no warning before they showed up planet-side.
Drifting in the upper atmosphere as he watched the planet spin beneath his boots, Vegeta pointed to an elongated island that formed a comma against one of the planet's major continents. Zarbon and Nappa both took readings; Nappa frowned but Zarbon's eyes widened as he recognized something about the energy signature playing across his lens that identified Raddtiz to him despite the too-low ki level. "Let's go," was what he said.
Grinning at his aide's eagerness, Vegeta motioned to Nappa and the three dropped.
Yamcha popped by, briefly, to wolf down a sandwich her mother made for him and report that they fought the Saiyans to a stand-still. He wouldn't meet her eyes square as he said that, though, so Bulma knew there was some element of untruth to the comment. Whatever the truth might actually be, they weren't being stomped on by giant monkeys so she didn't call him on it.
Standing outside the main building on the Capsule Corporation grounds, Bulma looked up into the sky. The news was full of the aliens (and included comical news footage of U.S. troops scattering like lemmings when the encircled shuttle abruptly folded its legs and zipped off), with associated talking-heads commentary on what this might all mean. Governments worldwide were broadcasting messages of goodwill and peace directed at the large spacecraft chugging silently around the Earth; there had so far been no response.
There were also reports on the strange tectonic activity that collapsed a mountain a few hundred miles away from the aliens' landing spot. Not even the most paranoid of the talking-head "experts" connected the two events.
Sighing, Bulma mentally ran through her schedule. She didn't have anything really urgent for a couple of hours (although how urgent was dealing with one of their top stockbrokers in the face of the upcoming de-population of the planet?), and she had already checked on Radditz. He was in bad shape after his escape attempt the day before, but she had seen him in worse. If he hadn't totally depleted what-ever healing reserves Saiyans were blessed with, he would be just fine. Eventually.
Nodding, she reached into her pocket. There was enough time to go into the nearby city, blow copious amounts of money on totally frivolous things, and still get back in time to look professional for her meeting. Shopping was not what she usually did when nervous, but what with the end of the world and all (Bulma thought dryly) maybe it was time to get some of those more-outlandish things the President of the world's largest and most successful corporation really didn't need, but always wanted. Like a really, really big pearl necklace or something equally superficial...
Pressing the top of the capsule, she tossed it a safe distance away, wondering absently where the sudden breeze blew up from.
Almost as soon as they hit the ground, bizarre things started to happen.
There was a shout. Turning his head, Vegeta saw a native, blue eyes wide, begin to yell what sounded like a warning, then stop dead as she got a good look at them. She took a startled step back.
Then Zarbon yelped. Whipping his head the other way, Vegeta saw his aide suddenly enfolded by a floating, broad, rectangular shape that appeared out of literally nowhere. Despite having no apparent point of origin, the object seemed solid enough; its metal side impacted Nappa's hip with bruising force, and the Commander irritatedly batted at it, sending it careening toward the native.
But Vegeta was faster. He stepped in front of the native and the contraption hit solidly, its metalwork crumbling against his ki shield. He stared at it in bafflement for a moment, then fixed his hard-eyed glare on the native.
She knew all the fighters on the planet who could move that fast. Which meant the olive-skinned young man with the wild upsweep of hair and the black unitard had to be from -- somewhere else. Someplace, apparently, where young men came equipped with tails.
Saiyans. Bulma's thoughts crystallized in terror. The Saiyans are here.
He was frowning at her, dark brows drawn together and folding deep creases between large, nearly triangular eyes. The tail. If I could get the tail--it used to drive Goku to his knees when he was a kid...
As her hand darted toward his waist, something in her mind noted that, while this guy was no taller than she was, he definitely was not a kid. The muscles highlighted by the unitard left little doubt about that...
He grabbed her by the wrist, the grip momentarily painful then just viselike. "Sorry," Bulma babbled. "Never seen one of those on an adult. Umm, do you understand me?"
The dark head inclined. Barely.
"I really do know better than to grab strange men's tails," Bulma assured him even as some sane part of her mind told her to shut the hell up. "Well, not unless they ask. Umm..."
He raised a thick, dark eyebrow at her, and uncurled his fingers; she snatched her hand away. I'm hysterical, she thought, rubbing her wrist. I'm history...
"How did you do that?"
"Do--?"
"Make the..." he turned, narrowed his eyes at the car, then continued "...the vehicle appear."
"Nice interior," came a comment from inside. A pink-encased arm stuck out of the convertible, grabbed the windshield's edge, and began to pull. The green-topped head of one of the other aliens came into view. "Ah, Vegeta." His tone held regret. "Looks like you broke it. Right when I was thinking I found the perfect souvenir."
One corner of the firm mouth quirked slightly. "Too big for your quarters, baka," the man in front of her said. He spoke to her again, a note in his accented voice telling Bulma she was pushing her luck. "Where did that thing come from?"
They're going to kill us all anyway, Bulma reminded herself, the thought bringing a strange calmness. She reached into her pocket and palmed a capsule, hoping it was something big and painful. "I'm not telling you anything," she spat.
The blue one tugged himself around until he was perched on the edge of the convertible, booted legs dangling. His head turned as beeping noises came from the machine fitted over one eye. "She doesn't need to, Vegeta," he said. "I have a vector on him."
"Just kill it and let's go," said the bald one impatiently.
The short one's head turned toward his companions, and she saw a chance. Pulling the capsule out, she pushed the button on the top and slapped her hand against his throat. He looked back at her, brow arched, gaze slightly sardonic. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked, cold amusement in his voice.
Bulma watched the capsule lodge against the lip of the chest plate, half in, half out of the armor.
"Gotcha," she said.
Zarbon wasn't sure what happened, just that it all happened very quickly. That defiant little female was looking at Vegeta with an inexplicable gleam of triumph in her eye, then something exploded out of the Prince's armor, the expanding top of it catching Vegeta under the chin and snapping his head back.
"Vegeta!" he and Nappa both screamed, starting toward their Prince.
The Prince went down, back arching as his arms flailed underneath the sudden mass of...of...
Of a big rectangular box that was planted square on the gasping Prince's chest.
Nappa gripped it by an edge to fling it off Vegeta. Somehow, the thing suddenly gaped open, and Nappa was pelted with strange items as it spun away. Blinking, Nappa stuck out his tongue and licked at something on his cheek. "Not bad," he conceded.
Zarbon kneeled next to Vegeta, who was holding his ribs and roaring. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern, his brows drawing together. The Prince's ki field could support massive amounts of weight; he couldn't image that Vegeta was more than knocked off balance by the surprise appearance of that thing.
Grabbing him by the shoulder, Vegeta levered to a sitting position, gasping. "That one doesn't need ki, eh?" he wheezed between chuckles.
Zarbon exhaled, then glared. "Next time you decide to collapse in hysterical laughter, let me know first! You scared me to death."
"Look at Nappa," insisted Vegeta, chuckling again. "This is priceless, Zarbon."
Zarbon glanced over at Nappa, who was beginning to examine his hands and arms with real interest. He was covered with myriad colored blotches that he sniffed and tasted, looking increasingly pleased.
"Ew," said Zarbon, wrinkling his nose.
"Zarbon, she hit us with a food containment device," said Vegeta. "Can you imagine?"
"How?" wondered Zarbon. He started to pull the Prince to his feet and had his hands slapped away. Stepping back, he watched Vegeta gather his legs under him and stand up in one smooth motion. "She doesn't have the ki to fling something like that; she doesn't seem strong enough to lift it without ki. And where did it come from?"
Although he retained a slight smile, Vegeta's gaze hardened. Looking into his face, Zarbon saw the hastily-concealed realization that, as ridiculous as Nappa appeared, the Prince's dignity also suffered in this little episode--and that was something the Heir to the House of Vejiitasei was not likely to tolerate. "Find the vulgar, low-born creature and I'll ask her," the Prince said.
Bulma started running as soon as the capsule began its expansion, positive she wouldn't get more than a few steps. But the other two ignored her and rushed to the aid of their downed colleague, making her think she might get to the storage area and pull out some of the weapons that once proved so effective against Emperor Pilaf. I should have designed stuff to take out the likes of Piccolo, she thought as she sprinted. But it's been so quiet these last few years, who knew--
She collided with something solid that simply flickered into existence before her. Hands caught her elbows and kept her from falling. Bulma looked up into the face of the tall blue man, and marveled that she ever thought that sharp-edged visage remotely attractive.
"We still have some questions for you," he told her with no particular inflection in his smooth voice.
"Yeah!" called the bald one. He pointed to a splotch on one of his forearms. "What's this and where do I get more?"
The blue one closed his eyes in a barely-perceptible grimace. "Moron," he said under his breath, although the even tone of his voice did not change. "First, Radditz," he said to her. "Where, exactly?"
"I'm not--" Bulma started with fierce determination. Something clamped onto the back of her neck; she was pulled against a body hard and inflexible as marble.
"You are," a voice said gently in her ear. Gloved fingers shifted, curving around her neck, touching her so softly it was almost a caress. "Or you end here, little one, and we still find him. We may have to dismantle a few other beings to get to him, of course..."
She tried shoving an elbow into his stomach, and thought some part of her own arm might snap. "Choose now," the voice said, cold and disinterested.
"Fine, dammit, fine, let go!" She was released, and turned her head to glare into the dark eyes of the short one; he seemed completely unharmed by his encounter with the refrigerator. "You have a nerve calling me little," Bulma snapped, then pushed by the blue alien and led the way to the infirmary.
There was a tender spot under his jaw where the sharp edge of the contraption caught him unprepared, and another against his collarbone where the armor snapped back, hard, after expanding. I owe you for this, Vegeta promised the creature as he followed her. And for that 'little' comment. And, he thought, narrowing his eyes at her back, one or two other remarks as well. But she was far too delicate to be any sport. She never would have survived the impact if the vehicle Nappa swatted at her actually struck, and she was still holding her wrist as if it pained her when Vegeta hardly touched her. He had to handle her with extreme care when he had her neck in his hand; he thought the fragile bones might fracture before he found out what he wanted to know. And, damn it, he still didn't have the information he wanted; Zarbon asked about that idiot Radditz, and the Prince was tagging along after him and the native obediently when he could care less about one of the bloody royal guardsmen.
She entered one of the domed buildings near the compound's periphery, and opened a door that swung back on some sort of hinge. "There's your pal," she said, her voice sharp and angered. "Although why you would want such a complete jerk back is beyond me."
Vegeta looked at her again, wondering if death was so trivial for her kind. She had been very frightened at first, but since then she acted with such indifference towards self-preservation that killing her would bring no pleasure whatsoever.
Zarbon pushed past her into the dimly-glimpsed room beyond as she glared back at the Prince in open defiance. Vegeta saw his aide's already-straight back stiffen. Then Zarbon whirled on the creature, a spark of complete fury in his face.
Oh, great, thought Vegeta in exasperation. Now what's set him off?
"What the HELL are you doing to him?!"
Bulma blinked, not sure what she was seeing. There was something suddenly different about the green-haired man's face. As if it were -- broadening?
"Zarbon," said a voice behind her, sternly. "You're always telling me to think. Think. These are healing machines."
Zarbon took a deep breath, blew it out softly through his mouth, turned and looked again at the equipment around the room. "How primitive..." Glancing at her, he smiled slightly and said with what seemed to be ingrained politeness, "Sorry. I saw him hooked up to tubes and wires and things and jumped to the wrong conclusion."
The uncertain light in the room wavered across his features--his finely molded, darned near perfect features. Bulma blinked again, nodding in acknowledgment. I hope I don't need glasses like Dad already...
Examining the equipment, Zarbon muttered, "How do we get him detached from these things...?"
"He's critical. He shouldn't be moved." Bulma protested. "He tried to get up yesterday and practically killed himself."
"You are not keeping him here," Zarbon said, his tone civil but disinterested as he tugged gently at the I.V. tubing. "He doesn't do you any good as a hostage anyway; he's just a low ranking soldier."
Bulma didn't think about what she was doing. She took two steps into the room and, much as she had done with Goku when he annoyed her as a child, smacked the alien on the back of his green head. His face whipped around, the braid nearly catching her face, his eyes wide in surprise as he reflectively moved a hand to rub his scalp. "A hostage?!" she snapped. "Excuse me, buddy, but you guys have been running around the planet for a couple of days terrorizing everyone, and have we once said anything like--'cut it out, or the guy with the hair dies?' No! Hostage...feh." She crossed her arms, glaring into the startled golden eyes. "Don't judge us by your worthless standards. I've been working my tail off, and so has my father, keeping this loser alive and you aren't ruining that now by moving him when he's still too weak to be moved!"
"He should be in a regeneration tank..." Zarbon started, then stopped with a little moue as if wondering why he was explaining himself.
"You're not moving him and that's final!"
The voice from behind her spoke again, edged. "He doesn't need to be moved. We can bring a tank here."
The alien in front of her was struck speechless, his mouth forming a startled 'O.' Turning, Bulma glared at the alien in the door, the short one who had nearly broken her wrist. "I don't know what this tank thing is, but if you think you're bringing some bizarre extra-terrestrial contraption in here..."
"It's a medical device," the short one said. "It will heal Radditz completely in a matter of days, a week at most." His lip curled in scorn. "It's far more civilized than any of these things you have him hooked up to. Far more advanced," he added, his dark eyes narrowing at her.
"Oh, I'm sure everything you Saiyans have is more 'advanced.'"
He frowned at her again -- again? He had not stopped frowning. One gloved fist was clenched at his side, the other hand rested on the door jam. After a minute of staring at her, he crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the frame, rephrasing the question he asked her earlier. "How did you make the vehicle -- and the containment device -- appear?"
"They were encapsulated, I just..." Bulma stopped. Was it possible...?
One of the tenets of the business world was to look at everything as a possibility...
"Which one of you do I talk to," Bulma said briskly, slipping easily into her president-of-the-board mode, "about an exchange of technology?"
Bulma took two of them outside (the blue one, Zarbon, refused to leave the sick room) and, showing them the capsule in her hand first, expanded it into one of the temporary units called a "capsule house" on the lawn. The short one lifted an eyebrow; the beefy bald one looked bored. "We can encapsulate just about anything," Bulma told them. "The biggest things we've done have been satellites for various governments; the reduced weight and size makes them easier to handle and tremendously increases the payload capability of each shuttle flight."
"Vegeta, we don't need this technology--" the bald one started.
"That is yet to be determined," interrupted the short one (Vegeta? what kind of name was that?), who, despite being the smallest and the slightest of the trio, seemed to be in charge. He fixed her with a black-eyed stare. "We will require several of these," he stated.
Bulma put her hands on her hips and stared back, unblinking. "In exchange for...?"
"Your life," Vegeta replied, coolly.
She didn't flinch. "Since you already plan on killing everything on the planet, that's pretty meaningless. One week truce. Seven days with no fighting," Bulma clarified when all she got in response was another steady stare. "You can decide if you need our technology; we can decide if you're going to get it.
Vegeta's head cocked toward the bald one; he seemed to be listening, although Bulma didn't hear any words. Then he shook his head slightly at his comrade and turned the black, black eyes back to her. "Agreed," he said. He reached a hand out, hooked one finger into the fabric of her sleeve, and flexed his arm, dragging her a step closer to him than she really wanted to be. "Incidentally," he said softly, "scouters do give elemental compositions of non-organic objects. But you have to possess enough native intelligence to hit the button twice." Releasing her, he turned on his heel and marched back into the building housing the sickroom.
"Jerk," Bulma hissed after him, but under her breath.
The beefy one turned back and stared at her with murder in his eyes. "If you are granted the honor of speaking to the Prince in the future, you will moderate your tone," he told her.
Oh, great; royalty, she thought, her displeasure increasing. Just like that arrogant munchkin Emperor Pilaf. Explains a lot.
Goku's eyes were blank with shock. "I don't get to fight...?" He stared at Kami-sama, not comprehending. "But I've trained to fight. I'm ready to fight." His voice took on a high-pitched, slightly petulant tone. "I want to fight!"
Something pressed against his leg. Looking down, he saw his son. Gohan wrapped his little arms around one of his father's big thighs and looked up, earnestly. "Fighting's no fun, Dad," he assured his parent. "I had to do it. It was really scary."
"There's a truce," Kami-sama reminded him, "a truce, Goku, not a peace. The Saiyans are interested in Dr. Brief's capsule technology. If they decide they need it, the planet may end up with a trade agreement. If not; well, hostilities resume."
"We shouldn't treat with them," said Tenshin hotly. "I saw their auras, Kami-sama. They radiate with the blood of entire species. They deal in genocide."
Kami-sama looked down at the planet and smiled slightly. "Things change," he said. "Not over night, not even in one human lifetime. But things are changing even as I watch, Tenshin, in ways I could not have foretold."
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Fourteen
Return to Vejiitasei Ascendant
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