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Of all the strange, strange transmissions they had intercepted from the planet (most of which, thought Vegeta, indicated that the Chikyuu natives had way too much free time), the one forwarded to his quarters by an alert officer in communications was the most interesting. Apparently broadcast while Vegeta was shivering over one of Earth's mountains, it showed Bulma being interrogated by a sometimes-flattering, sometimes-hostile male. Both sat in chairs that looked over-soft, both wore conspicuously insincere smiles. Bulma turned aside questions about the purpose of the aliens' visit to Earth with a skill that suggested she had faced such interrogations many times before, replying that the Saiyans were just potential customers and were being treated as such. She shrugged when the man demanded to know why the visitors were only dealing with her, responding that was a question best addressed to the Saiyans themselves. She declined to say anything about where 'they' were from or what 'they' were like. The interrogator, apparently restricted by time, dismissed her by saying, "That was President of Capsule Corporation, Bulma Briefs. Thank you for your time, Bulma."
President, thought Vegeta, stopping the recording. He touched one finger against the screen, next to her frozen face. That was usually a high-ranking title and, while there were clearly still higher authorities who were requiring her to publicly account for her actions, her refusal to answer many questions directly spoke to her confidence in dealing with those other leaders. And she was the only one who seemed to know why the Saiyans were here; she certainly wasn't sprouting any of that peace nonsense. In addition, she had twice grabbed at his tail, she made rather astute (if insulting) observations about the technical comprehension of his people, and she kept one of his warriors alive despite a wound that should have, obviously, been fatal. President Bulma Briefs knew much more about Saiyans than she was letting on...
She rubbed her wrist as anger and defiance began to filter through the terror in her blue eyes. "I've never seen one of those on an adult before..."
Much, much more than she was letting on. Could she be the reason Kakarott's original mission had failed?
Vegeta decided to find out just what else she knew.
When her father wasn't at breakfast and her mother simply batted her eyelashes after Bulma asked the location of her other parent, Bulma knew she might have a relatively short amount of time to act. Grabbing her coffee, Bulma ran to the infirmary. Sure enough, her father was there, a small black cat perched on his shoulder, both looking with interested expressions at the waist-high panel that controlled the regeneration tank's operation.
"Absolutely fascinating," he greeted her. "Your friend is much better."
"Where's Zarbon?"
"He's been up all night with this young fellow, so I suggested he needed a break. He went out to do some kantas and take a quick flight. I told him to stop by the main house for breakfast when he was done."
Bulma stepped up to the tank and looked at Radditz. Even though his mane was still tied back, hair was floating everywhere. From what she could glimpse through the shifting strands the wound was much smaller, perhaps even half the circumference it had been before. Enough internal repair had taken place that she could no longer look straight through him. Although you can see a few things that would probably make Mom divorce Dad on the spot--Bulma, you idiot, you're gawking...
She turned back to her father, fixing him with a grim-eyed stare. "You are, of course, not messing with the controls?"
Dr. Briefs wrapped his lips around his half-smoked cigarette and made a slight, non-committal sound.
"You've already messed with the controls? Dad, what did you do?"
"I just wanted to wake him up for a while and see how he feels."
"Dad, you accidentally kill him, we're in trouble. Apart from the fact his military buddies are just waiting for an excuse to exterminate us, he's -- a special friend of the big blue guy. I talked to Yamcha last night, and he says Zarbon is really powerful. Possibly more powerful than anyone we have on our side. We do not want to tick him off. Understand?"
Dr. Briefs, not meeting her eyes, said, "I know what I'm doing," a bit huffily.
Bulma, having nearly thirty years of experience that told her otherwise, rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to Radditz, hoping she wouldn't have to break into the tank to revive him.
If there was one good thing about being in the tank, thought Radditz, it was that he didn't have to smell that infernal weed extract the old man liked to inhale. At least when the oxygen tent had been up Dr. Briefs extinguished the thing before coming into the room; since then, however, Radditz spent most of the doctor's visits practically gagging on the smoke.
"How are you today, young man?"
"Wet," replied Radditz, pleased to hear his voice was less raspy. "Very, very wet."
Bulma leaned on the far wall, her arms crossed, a cup held by two fingers tilted at a precarious angle, her expression faintly disapproving. Radditz looked her over carefully. He assumed, when he first tracked down his brother on this planet, that she was Kakarott's wife; now, it seemed fairly clear that who-ever his traitorous sibling was mated to, it wasn't this sharp-tongued creature. "Where's Kakarott?" he asked her, just to be sure.
Her shoulders raised in a bare shrug. Dr. Briefs asked her who they were talking about. "He means Goku," she answered.
"Oh, he's found his little boy and they're all back at home," Dr. Briefs said, cheerfully. Bulma glared at him. Radditz smiled grimly under the breath mask. "He'll probably come by in a couple of days, when you're all better."
"Dad," hissed the woman, while Radditz murmured, "I'm sure he will."
Dr. Briefs looked between the two of them, clearly wondering what all the tension was over. "Anyway," he said after a minute, "I wanted to let you know that I've been working on the space pod -- the one you came in? It's practically fixed--"
"Dad!" snapped Bulma. "He doesn't need to know that!"
The last he had seen of the pod, it was flying apart in several chunks as Kakarott's brat powered out of it. Then something pierced him between the shoulder blades, and that was all he could recall for a time. "Oh, I'd like to hear all about how 'fixed' my craft is," Radditz assured Dr. Briefs.
"Well," Dr. Briefs continued as Bulma glared futilely at her father's back, "It's in one piece again. You had a pretty inefficient energy delivery system, though, which severely affected its overall speed and response time. And you have your ship set to a very non-optimal gravity, which negatively affects how some of the components operate. But if that's how you want it--"
"It's the natural gravity of my home planet," Radditz informed him.
"Well, then. There are ways to compensate."
"Your planet has ten times Earth's normal gravity?" Bulma demanded.
"About, yes."
She pulled a face. "There goes my out," she said in a self-mocking tone. "Oh, well; who wants to live the life of a camp wench?"
"Anyway, I fixed all that. Only one problem: while you can go about twice as fast in the pod now, the materials you've used will never stand up to that sort of friction. Unless--"
The old man paused, the dangling weed-stick hanging off his lower lip, his brow creased in concentration. Bored with watching someone think (although perhaps it was the sort of thing that Zarbon would find diverting), Radditz began to peruse the room, double-checking possible escape routes should he need to leave in a hurry. Glancing toward the door, he felt his eyes widen.
The Prince was leaning casually against the frame, one curved hand covering his lips and nose as he struggled against the smoky fumes puffing out of the old man's mouth.
"I've got it!" said Dr. Briefs suddenly. "Bulma, I bet if we coat it with that new polymer we were using for the deep-sea submarines--"
Bulma had also noticed Vegeta. She was looking at him with scant welcome as she absently answered her father, "That's to combat pressure, Dad. We're talking friction, here."
"But I bet--Yes, I'm sure! Just a bit of a modification!" Veering toward the door so quickly he almost dislodged the cat, he raced out, pausing only briefly to pat the Prince on one shoulder as he went by. "Glad to see another of the lad's friends dropped by. Does him good to get visitors."
The Prince turned his head, looked down at his armored shoulder as if considering amputation, gave an almost imperceptible shudder and stepped fully into the sickroom. "Who was that insane person?"
"My father."
"Ah." He looked at her enigmatically. "I see the resemblance."
"You have a reason for being here, Vegeta, or are you just trying to annoy me?"
"Yes," the Prince promptly responded, smiling maliciously at her answering scowl. "I was looking for my trainer--"
"Going to put on another show for the media hounds? You should charge admission."
"--but I did have one or two questions to ask you."
Bulma waved the cup at him, a gesture that evidently meant 'go ahead,' as she took a sip from it.
"No one else on the planet seems to know these things, but you are remarkably informed. So I thought perhaps you could tell me what had happened to your moon."
Her face poised over the cup, Bulma gave him a sideways look and took another sip. "What moon?"
"The one that left a rather large debris field in an elliptical orbit about 200,000 miles from your planet, woman."
"Oh, that." She blew across the cup's rim, casually lifted a shoulder. "It was blocking the view of some of the outer planets, that's all. Had to go."
"It will take a few centuries for the debris field to clear up enough for your astonishingly primitive optics to get a good look at anything."
"By which time our optics won't be so primitive, with they?" Bulma smiled at him, although her eyes were hard. "We humans plan ahead."
The Prince crossed his arms, looking at her steadily. "It won't work," he told her, softly, after a minute.
"Well, maybe if we work out a trade agreement once the truce is up, you can include some 'advanced' optics in the package..."
"It won't," Vegeta said, "prevent us from transforming."
He had her with that. Radditz saw a flash of consternation cross her face, then Bulma became riveted on the contents of the cup. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she muttered, a patent untruth.
"Oh, I don't think you want me to demonstrate here. Come outside."
"Zarbon will kill me if I leave his precious Radditz alone."
The Prince turned his head, impaled Radditz with a hard-eyed stare. "I'm fine," Radditz hastily said. "But, my Prince..."
"I didn't ask for your input on anything, warrior." Vegeta turned his gaze back to the woman.
But I have to tell you about Kakarott! And I know who destroyed their moon! He met a solid mental wall as Vegeta effortlessly blocked him out. Irked, Radditz bit the inside of his cheek. Zarbon seemed to be the only one who could talk back to Vegeta and survive--although, come to think of it, the human female wasn't doing too badly in that regard. He looked at her again, thoughtfully. Could anything the natives possessed really be so valuable--?
Bulma was indicating her determination to stay put and finish her coffee. Vegeta reached over, flicked the cup out of her hands, and turned it upside down. "You finished whatever noxious fluid was in this before I entered the room," he said. Then he gave that Saiyan half-snarl that one usually only saw before a battle. "Come outside," Vegeta said again. "I want to show you how futile your so-careful preparations were."
Throwing up her hands, Bulma muttered anything was worth shutting him up and stalked out of the room. Vegeta looked after her with narrowed eyes, smiling dangerously, his tail loosening from his waist and beginning to lash.
Wide-eyed, so startled he gasped out loud and nearly dislodged his breath mask, Radditz watched his Prince track after the woman. Yeow, he thought, amusement briefly shutting off the pain of his injuries. Wait until Zarbon hears this!
She stopped in the doorway, leaned back against the frame with her arms behind her head, and said, "I assume what-ever it is you've got to show me can be seen from here."
"Oh, absolutely," the Prince assured her as he strode by. "You won't be able to miss it."
This was going to be good, Vegeta thought as he took up a position well in front of her, checking quickly for clearance on all sides. This would show the arrogant little human witch that her much-vaunted intelligence was nothing compared to Saiyan strength. Holding his cupped hands in front of him, he began to concentrate on the precise wavelength needed...
She said, her tone bored, "My ex-boyfriend can do that, Vegeta."
His eyes closed to near-slits as he stared at her. "Really?" he drawled softly after a minute. "We'll see." The soft, clear light was beginning to shimmer, the rays striking her blue hair, reflecting back in the blue eyes... Vegeta blinked, gave his head a tiny shake, and released the ki sphere. He gazed at it steadily, beginning to smile ferally as he felt the trigger in his brain switch, and looked back at her.
"It's very nice," she told him as she gazed up, her brows slightly arched. "You must be a big hit at disco parties." She transferred her faintly ironic gaze back to him--then an expression of total, abject terror crossed her face, and he could tell that she knew and understood what was happening to him--
So, the Prince thought a second later, looking coldly down at her cowering form in the doorway, you have seen this before. And, somehow, you stopped it, didn't you? One of those so-clever contraptions of yours? He folded his arms, rapping fingers against a furry bicep. Or just sheer luck? Whichever. I am no mewling infant, woman; I am the Heir. And you will not find me so easy to stop.
Bulma pulled herself back to her feet, not taking her eyes off him, but beginning to calm down slightly. After leaning against the building for a minute, evidently gathering either her wits or her courage, she stood away, crossed her own arms, and shouted up at him, "You've made your point, Vegeta!"
He laid his ears back against his head and made sure all of his teeth were exposed. "Have I?" he growled.
"Yes, dammit," she said in a normal tone. No, not normal; abstracted. There was something calculating in the way she was examining him now, craning her face back, her forehead creased in thought. Vegeta cocked his head at her, wondering what bizarre human ruminations were contaminating her mind now, then growled again -- what did he care? Turning his muzzle up, he spit ki at the sphere in the sky and exploded it, and again stood before her.
She looked him up and down, almost as if seeing him for the first time. Then she stepped around him, examining him closely, her gaze mesmerized. Well, let her look, Vegeta thought, smugly. Let her get an eyeful. It's not as if the males on this planet are anything to see. He watched her out of the corners of his eyes, smiling faintly, his tail slowly swaying back and forth as she paced about him.
Bulma completed her circuit of him, stopping in front of him again, fingers raised to her lips as if she couldn't quite grasp the magnificence of what the Prince was capable of doing. After a second, she reached out and tapped a nail against his chest plate.
Her tone completely enraptured, "What material is that?" Bulma asked. "And how do you manufacture it to expand and contract without any cracking or thinning?"
Vegeta's hands fell to his side, and he stared at her for a second with his jaw dropped as far as it would go. Oh, for a camera, Bulma thought, momentarily distracted from the armor. I bet he doesn't look like that very often!
Then he raised his arms over his head and pulled the chestplate off, his movements distinct and brittle. Holding it out to her with one finger under the shoulder strap, he snarled, "Here. Consider it a down payment on the trade agreement."
Bulma took it from him, running her hands over the smooth, plastic-like material, stroking it again with a disbelieving finger. They were interested in the capsule technology, and they could make something like this that didn't even need the encapsulating process? But then, she thought, surveying the frayed neck of his unitard, maybe the method couldn't be applied equally to all materials. "Thank you," she said, sincerely.
Vegeta curled a lip at her. The aura suddenly flared into life around him, and he vanished with a great rush of air that whipped her hair around and blew up grit. She blinked dust out of her eyes, then shrugged--who cared what put the little guy in such a foul mood all of a sudden? Clutching her trophy, Bulma thought, Dad will love this! and ran to find her father.
Zarbon looked at the controls with faint surprise, then walked to the tank. Leaning over the tank's steps, he tapped on its clear exterior. Radditz's eyes opened, winking in the stinging liquid. Then he saw Zarbon and sneered his most fierce sneer at him.
Zarbon was not intimidated. "And why are you awake?" he asked, sternly. "You'll heal twice as fast if you're out, you know."
"The old man wanted to talk."
"Oy." Zarbon's tone indicated sympathy. "They'll talk your ears off, these humans. I just endured the morning meal with Mrs. Briefs. Can you believe it? She's trying to set up a dinner party for tonight. I tried to tell her Vegeta loathes official functions." Zarbon's masculine stance suddenly dissolved as he put one hand on a hip and bent a leg forward. His facial muscles flexed almost imperceptibly. "'Oh, this isn't official," he mimicked Mrs. Briefs' voice in a slightly lower key. "'Just a few friends over.'"
"You be very, very sweet to her," Radditz warned as he struggled not to laugh. Even in the tank, which thankfully deadened the excruciating pain he had endured the last few weeks, laughing hurt.
Zarbon resumed his usual wide-legged, hands-on-hips posture, though he half-closed his eyes and half-parted his lips as he gazed back at Radditz. "Oh, I'm sweet to everyone, warrior."
"Tramp," said Radditz, grinning a little weakly.
"Hardly. Shame for you, I suppose, eh?"
Radditz snorted, sending a rush of bubbles up from his mouthpiece. "Anyone who would tease a poor, sick man in a tank..."
Zarbon, one corner of his mouth curving, turned away.
And stopped. Radditz saw the etched profile harden subtly. Tipping his head to see what had riled Zarbon, he saw Nappa glowering in the doorway.
"What is going on?" demanded Nappa.
"I'm about to tuck Radditz back in," said the alien in that inflectionless tone it used around him. "Did you want to kiss him good night?"
"Baka," snarled Nappa. "Vegeta went oozaru. It overloaded half the scouters on the ship. I caught up with him in the upper atmosphere, and he almost took my head off when I asked what happened. Why did he do that? Did the natives violate the truce?"
The alien shrugged. "I don't know why you Saiyans do anything, Commander. I just train the Prince."
Radditz spoke to the alien, his amused voice hoarse and echoing slightly. "He wanted to impress the female."
"What female?" demanded Nappa, wondering which of the third-class soldiers had caught Vegeta's eye this time and where he was going to stash her until she could be properly altered for concubine duty.
But Zarbon said in surprise, "Bulma? You're joking."
"He likes her," insisted Radditz. "If 'likes' is the word..."
Nappa begin to chuckle. "The human? That pale, scrawny creature?" He roared with laughter. "Oh, right! That weakling barely registers on the scouters!"
Radditz jerked his chin toward Zarbon. "Vegeta likes him, and he's pale and scrawny."
Zarbon lifted one delicate brow at the Saiyan in the regeneration tank. "Oh, but I register on the scouters. So come say that over here, monkey-boy, and experience the unique pains and pleasures of being a pretzel."
Radditz, properly, flashed that dangerous Saiyan smirk, although (Nappa thought in displeasure) there was always something in the warrior's eyes when he looked at Zarbon that completely undermined the threat.
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Seventeen
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