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Bulma stalked into the main building of the Capsule Corporation's living quarters and yelled, "Mom, where are you? The guy who's going to kill you in a week wants to make sure he has the right target!"
There was a clattering noise. Mrs. Briefs leaned on the bar that separated the kitchen from the main living room, looking at her daughter with bright curiosity. "That whole honorable death thing, right?" she guessed.
Bulma's jaw dropped. "You--you knew about this?"
"Of course, dear. That nice young man in the infirmary mentioned it to me. Did you get the special equipment set up for him? I should go make sure he's all right..."
Bulma brought her teeth together so hard they made a clicking noise. "Mom, you can't possibly be okay with this!"
"Well, 'okay' isn't the word, but;" her mother shrugged; "an honorable death has to better than a dishonorable one, right? And it seemed to be important to him, so I didn't really protest. When he's better, though, I'll have a few words with him. You really can't go around saying things like that to people, it just upsets them."
"Are you sure you aren't the one who's an alien?" Bulma queried, her voice faint.
"You're just too intense, dear. I have no idea where you get it from; must be your father's side of the family." Mrs. Briefs ducked her head slightly, looking past Bulma. "You didn't say we had company, Bulma."
She felt the warmth of the Saiyan Prince and stepped away from it, her brows twitching together in annoyance as she looked over one shoulder at him. He was not actually that close to her, but like all Saiyans he seemed to radiate heat. It caused some alarm with Radditz until her father figured out the warrior's hyper metabolism raised his base body temperature several degrees above what a human would consider normal.
Vegeta was looking around the curving, bright interior of the living room, an expression of mild disinterest on his haughty face. Zarbon stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the sunlight behind him, apparently waiting for an invitation before stepping into the dwelling. Bulma's mother looked at the latter and smiled. "And here's the one you thought was so good looking."
Bulma turned her head away, scowling and blushing. "I've changed my mind," she muttered. "Big time."
Ignoring her, Mrs. Briefs waved a hand at Zarbon, gesturing for him to come in. "I was just making lunch. Why don't you come have some?"
About to politely refuse, Zarbon saw the Prince looking toward the cooking area with an absorbed expression on his face and mentally groaned. Something in the kitchen was tickling Vegeta's delicate nose. And while Zarbon had no pressing moral objections to sharing a meal with people he would, most likely, have to kill in a week, he did lack the cast iron constitution of a Saiyan. He liked to check alien food out very carefully before consuming it. But clearly Vegeta was getting hungry just at the idea of eating, and standing between a Saiyan and a potential meal was a bad, bad idea. He said, resigned, "Is there something I can do to help?"
"Oh, certainly! How nice of you to ask. You want something, too, I assume?" she said to the Prince, who gave one of his curt half-nods. "Hmm, I better throw together a few more things, then. I'm sure your appetite is just as big as--"
"Mom!" hissed Bulma.
"--Radditz's," finished Mrs. Briefs after a bare pause. "It's all that exercising, I suppose."
Zarbon lifted an eyebrow. Radditz was seriously underweight at the moment, so whatever the humans had been feeding him, it clearly wasn't enough. Going into the kitchen, Zarbon was shown plates and several utensils. Looking at a pronged one, he thought it not unlike those used on Vejiitasei and other worlds, although the table-manners of the Saiyans left something to be desired, he reminded himself in amusement, every seventh year. He took everything into the room Bulma indicated, setting the table in the Saiyan fashion with the knife and the fork laid across the top of the plate.
Vegeta was leaning with his elbows on the counter when Zarbon returned to the kitchen. The women both had their heads in the refrigerator. "I suppose I could throw on another pot of noodles," Mrs. Briefs was saying uncertainly.
"That's not going to be nearly enough. Look, we have two loaves of bread, and some cheese and ham, and tomatoes..."
"Sandwiches! What a good idea." The women began to pull copious amounts of food out of the refrigerator. One would think they fed Saiyans all the time, thought Zarbon. Smiling at Vegeta, Mrs. Briefs placed a cutting board and several red fruits in front of him. "Why don't you slice the tomatoes?"
Vegeta looked at the fruit, brows raised.
"I'll do that," said Zarbon in amusement.
"There is no end to your gifts, Zarbon," drawled Vegeta.
"At least I have gifts, my Prince."
Vegeta gave him a straight-edged glare that promised retribution. Grinning, Zarbon started slicing.
"Goodness, he certainly has a man-sized appetite, doesn't he?"
"He's Saiyan, Mom," Bulma reminded her mother as she rinsed off another plate. "Nothing to do with his size. Obviously."
Her mother took the plate from her and put it in the rapidly-filling dishwasher. "Well, he eats as much, but his table manners are better than Goku's. Isn't much for polite conversation, though, is he?"
"Mom." Bulma's undertone was insistent. She looked out the open door, where Vegeta and Zarbon were standing on the lawn, talking. Zarbon offered to help clean up, but Vegeta started glowering and Bulma was happy to usher both of them out of the kitchen. "We don't know what kind of hearing they have, okay? They don't know about Goku yet, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Well, they'll know about him soon enough," her mother pointed out.
"Radditz is still too out of it to say anything."
"Radditz?" Mrs. Briefs put on her most innocent expression. "Well, I'm sure he has lots to say about his brother--"
"Mom! Shhh!"
"--but I was talking about tomorrow night."
Bulma almost dropped a plate, and had to do an elaborate juggling act to keep it off the floor. "What have you done?" she demanded, her tone fatalistic.
"Oh, nothing much." Mrs. Briefs waved a hand, putting Bulma further on her guard. "If the end of the world is coming, I just thought we should have a few friends over, invite Vegeta and that charming Zarbon so they can have relax and meet some people and think twice about what they're doing. I've already called Chi-chi, and she said it wouldn't be any problem for her to come and help prepare everything."
"Mom, if we're trying to give them reasons not to destroy Earth, shouldn't we take them to the Louve or the Smithsonian or something?"
"Now, dear, really; I would think after all these years of dealing with Goku you would know the way to distract him was by plying him with food."
"Mom, don't even say his name!" Bulma hissed.
"And," her mother continued blithely, gesturing with a spoon toward the open door, "I think it worked with that one, too. No harm in trying it again."
Bulma again turned her head to look at the warriors. She paused as her gaze crossed that of the Saiyan Prince; his brows lowered, but his eyes did not falter and she turned away first. "It's going to take a lot more than food to distract that particular Saiyan," she muttered.
It's just like a Saiyan, decided Zarbon, to want to get beaten up right after a meal. Fighting and eating were the only things that mattered to the little monkeys. It was a wonder any member of the race remembered to breed once in a while.
"Zarbon," the Prince was saying, his voice ill-natured, "I didn't get the fight I was expecting on this planet and you've spent so much time in regeneration tanks I've hardly even sparred with you lately."
Whose fault is that? thought Zarbon, his mouth curving wryly. "Just let me tell the humans so they don't think we're breaking the truce, all right?" He gave Vegeta a hard stare. "We are sparring, right? No ki attacks?"
"Right, whatever." Vegeta was frowning, impatiently tapping a finger against his upper arm. Zarbon poked his head back into the Briefs' dwelling, to be told by Bulma almost exactly what the curve-tossing Earth warrior (Yamcha?) had been told, not to mark up the yard. Grinning, he promised to do his best and went back out. Vegeta was looking through the fence, scowling at the seething horde of individuals there, most of whom were waving frantically and shouting out questions.
"Who are all these people? Petitioners?"
"Media, mostly."
"Ah, so that was a media craft we spotted before. And I thought Radditz was the reason you got all dressed up."
Zarbon fluttered his eyelashes and simpered exaggeratedly.
"Don't trifle with me, baka," the Prince said, amused. "Your fancy clothes won't protect you from my fearsome wrath."
"And apparently neither of us will be safe if we harm the greenery." Zarbon pointed up with his thumb; the Prince nodded.
The two warriors levitated until they were well over the compound. Zarbon folded his arms, smiling slightly, waiting for Vegeta to take the first blow. The feral Saiyan smirk beginning to curve his mouth, Vegeta flickered and vanished. Zarbon held up one arm perpendicular to his body, fist clenched, blocking the kick to the head effortlessly, then straightened his arm out and rapped the Saiyan on the chest with his knuckles. Laughing, Vegeta flipped away. "Oh, you're going to pay for that," he said, and the two closed in earnest.
Although he was miles away, Yamcha could sense the subtle shifting of ki energy as soon as the enemy took to the air. Closing his eyes, he shut out everything else, concentrating on identifying who was flying around. It was that really powerful green-haired pretty boy, Zarbon, and--
Vegeta. The really, really powerful one that Bulma thought was in charge of the whole deadly gang, that reduced Gohan almost to incoherence, that even Piccolo hesitated to take on at anything other than full strength. The Prince of the Saiyans.
Calling out a quick farewell to Puaru, Yamcha ran out onto the balcony and took off toward the Capsule Corporation.
One of the Chikyuu warriors was nearby.
Vegeta, who had Zarbon in a stranglehold, raised his head, frowning. There had been a brief sensation of one of those strange, flickering kis, approaching fast, then shutting off. But it had been close, very close. Was one of Bulma's guards around? He began to scan the area.
Thunk.
Zarbon's head came up under his chin with such force Vegeta's jaws closed painfully on his own tongue. Then Zarbon tucked, reaching back with his hands, grabbing Vegeta behind the neck and flinging the Prince head-over-heels away from him. Righting himself with a snarl, Vegeta was outraged to see his trainer laughing.
"Tsk, my Prince," Zarbon called to him, his tone ridiculing. "And you called me a third class trainee? Don't get so busy posing for the cameras you forget to fight."
It was nothing that different than what Zarbon had said to him in thousands of training sessions over the last decade and a half. Yet, somehow, hearing the derisive note in the smooth voice, Vegeta felt an unexpected flash of pure fury. Without any thought behind what he was doing, he put his hands together and the fury took form and exploded from his cupped palms.
The last time it happened, Zarbon had been inches away in a small chamber with no room to react. But here, he was in the wide open sky with dozens of yards between himself and his attacker. His battle senses took over before he even consciously understood what was happening.
One fraction of a second to throw his arms and legs out, force the transformation into the higher ki state--
Another fraction to concentrate the energy field around him into a shielding sphere, glowing red, sparks crackling as he braced for the impact--
And one more fraction to push his hands out against the awesome, nearly overpowering blow when it hit, fracturing but not shattering his shield, his palms burning against Vegeta's energy strike, forcing it up away from the planet, watching as it streamed into the upper atmosphere and away into space. Aiee, I hope I didn't just vaporize the ship! But the explosion, when it came, was just a distant flash in the sun-drenched sky. Zarbon sighed in relief, and only then began to tease out what had occurred.
That hurt. Frowning, Zarbon blew on his hands, then closed his eyes, deliberately powering down, locking away a portion of his ki as his body smoothed once more into its humanoid form. That could have killed me--it would have killed me if it got through the shield, and it almost did. Was that for that 'gift' crack I made earlier? He looked over at Vegeta in exasperation. Oy, he's been tetchy lately. How can I keep his skills honed if he's going to be this short-tempered? But then his brows drew together as he took in Vegeta's startled eyes, the subtle signs of surprise about the Prince's posture. Nothing about Vegeta indicated anger. In fact, he looked as shocked as--
And, suddenly, Zarbon knew.
Zarbon fixed cold, cold eyes on him and crooked a finger. Vegeta abruptly felt he was that sullen, arrogant teenager again, about to receive a harsh dressing down from a trainer with barely enough patience left to endure him.
Vegeta drifted over to Zarbon, eyes downcast and head slightly averted. Putting his hands on his hips, Zarbon said, frigidly, "And how long have you been having these control problems?" Vegeta didn't answer. "Is that what happened to me on the ship? Not that you were careless with your power, but it got away from you for a second?"
"That was the first time," muttered Vegeta, still without meeting his trainer's eyes, still feeling as if fifteen years had suddenly been stripped away. "I didn't have any problems when I charged up against the Chikyuu natives, so I thought it was a fluke."
"But the last two times you fight me, you almost fry me?" Zarbon regarded the Prince somberly. "Do you have some deep sub-conscious need to see me dead all the sudden?" he wondered out loud.
Vegeta did meet his eyes then, glaring. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Don't start with that weird alien psychological clap-trap."
"You are meditating? More than once a moon?"
"Yes," snapped Vegeta.
Zarbon raised a hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his brows folded together. "Here's where being a sensei rather than a warrior would come in handy," he said, as if to himself. Then he crossed his arms, folding his seared hands under his biceps Saiyan-style, and considered Vegeta grimly. "Forgive me, my Prince, if I think we should end this session now," he said, his voice cool and formal.
Struggling against an inexplicable sense of -- what, exactly? -- the Prince gave a brief nod. He watched as Zarbon dropped back to the compound below to walk into Radditz's room, and again felt--
I'm Saiyan, Vegeta reminded himself harshly. I am the Prince of the Saiyans. I feel nothing.
Except, still, that faint, nearby impression of one of the Earth warriors. And, without Zarbon distracting him, it was fairly easy to track down where, exactly, the other fighter was located.
Vegeta narrowed his eyes at the floating speck in the distance, the one Zarbon's scouter apparently did not pick up, and focused in. It was wearing loose fitting orange clothes -- sported a scarred faced -- the warrior that cost Zarbon a few of his precious green locks had stopped by to watch the contest. Evidently perfectly aware he was under observation, the man raised two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute. The Prince stared a moment longer, then, pointedly, turned his back, charged up and took off in the opposite direction.
Yamcha waited until he felt the other man's presence at his shoulder. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.
Goku said, "He's awesome." There was a wistful note in his voice. "I'd love to spar with him."
Yamcha looked at him slightly askance; but then, Goku's own power was so much more than it had been, perhaps it was not that suicidal a wish. "He can't be too awesome; he didn't even sense you."
"He doesn't know how to hide ki like we do. And he's never met me, so he doesn't have anything to lock onto where I'm concerned. You he picked up right away."
That was hardly a comforting thought. "What was that big ki blast for?"
"He lost control," replied Goku, absently, his brow creasing. "He's unsettled about something."
Yamcha grunted. "How can he have ki like that and not be disciplined? The power should just burn him up from inside."
"Oh, he has discipline enough," Goku assured him. "And he's physically strong enough. But he's slightly off-balance, emotionally. There's something he's refusing to deal with. No big deal yet but," he shrugged, "it could be if he doesn't handle it in the near future."
Yamcha regarded him, puzzled. "How are you getting all that? Are you reading his mind or something?"
"It's in his aura," Goku said matter-of-factly. Then he looked sideways at Yamcha, and glanced away.
"I don't want to know what my aura has to say," Yamcha said, a touch testily.
Vegeta flew around the planet two times before he found what he was looking for -- the single most uncomfortable spot on Chikyuu. He landed on one of the planet's highest peaks, shivering in the cold, hating the ice-crusted snow under his boots. Carefully taking in a few breaths, he found the air was much too thin to breathe normally. Levitating, he crossed his arms against the chill, regulated his breathing and closed his eyes, locking out everything around him, locking himself inside his own mind.
The Prince floated over the mountain top throughout the night. The sun was edging into the sky before he opened his eyes -- not, he thought wryly as he shrugged ice off of his battle suit, that the local star did any good warming up this particular spot.
There was no question. His focus had -- shifted. He could not pinpoint what had happened exactly, the reasons skittering away as if they were afraid to be brought to light. But there was definitely something different in his mind now. Something--alien.
The sooner I get off this accursed planet, the better, Vegeta thought. Then he scowled, wondering why he was blaming Chikyuu for something that clearly started before he ever arrived on it.
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Sixteen
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