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There was a visible flash of consternation across the Earth warrior's face.
Then Yamcha's brows lowered as his mouth curved. He raised off the ground (garnering more screams from the human cattle; one would think Earthlings had never seen flying before) until he was even with Vegeta, looking steadily into the scowling Prince's face. "I don't fight in crowds," he said.
Vegeta snorted. "None of your weak kind do. Me--" the aura began to visibly charge around him --"I like crowds."
"Oh, if you're going to fight me, you have to ditch the bystanders. Heck, you're going to have to catch me first." Yamcha reached out and tapped him on the nose. "Tag. You're it." Vegeta felt his mouth drop, stunned at the effrontery. Then, smirking very much like a Saiyan might, Yamcha took off in a streaming blaze of ki energy. He was well away from the city before Vegeta snapped his jaw closed and gave chase.
Standing on a bluff overlooking a sparse desert landscape, a caped figured suddenly raised its head as unexpected ripples of power struck its senses. Well. What's set him off, I wonder?
Mr. Piccolo!
Gasping, Piccolo whirled around, seeing nothing. The urgent cry came again. Mr. Piccolo!
The kid sounded like he was feet away. Piccolo took in a breath and centered himself, closing his eyes as he reached out. There was a flash of the yard by the Sons' kitchen. That had happened before; if he thought of it, he knew exactly where the kid was, even what he was feeling. But actually hearing him...that was new. What's set him off? Vegeta's no where near him. Unless--Vegeta's what he's sensing, too...
Calling to his companion to shake the lead out, Piccolo took to the air, already running scenarios through his mind as he tried to determine how this could be used to remove the Saiyan threat from the planet.
I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead--
Yamcha pulled off his cable-knit sweater as he flew, scowling as air currents ripped it away from him. Dammit, that's a designer label. It cost over 500 zeni! First my girl, then my clothes--grrr. I'm sending Vegeta the bill for this! The bulky material would be a hindrance in battle, getting in his way and providing Vegeta with handholds. Like he's gonna need any help! Yamcha did a quick scan for ki, frowning when he didn't sense anyone following him. No! Did he really stay behind to massacre the crowd? I thought for sure he was cheesed enough to follow-- His head whipped to the front as something massive flicked across his mind --me...
He slowed down, then stopped and hovered.
"What kept you?" queried Vegeta from a dozen yards ahead of him, his aura-highlighted features calm, but still with that dangerous, angry glint in his eyes.
Help.
The little boy was beside himself. Almost literally, thought Piccolo. Gohan was hopping from foot to foot at increasing speeds, beginning to blur at the edges as he did so. "But why won't you go?!" he wailed. "Vegeta's out there!"
"Vegeta's out there every morning playing with your dad, kid."
"He's all charged up and I can't feel Daddy and he's mad. He's really, really mad, Mr. Piccolo. He'll kill Yamcha!"
"Even if I cared -- and I don't -- what do you expect me to do, kid? I gave Vegeta everything I had last month, and he cleaned my clock. It'll be a while before I'm strong enough to take him on and actually have a shot at winning."
Gohan grabbed the cloth of his loose-fitting trousers, looking up at him earnestly. "You can do it. I know you can do it."
"With time and an endless supply of senzu beans, maybe. Bummer crop this year, remember? Karin already gave one bean up for me. I don't think the little fur-ball would let me have another one. Nope, your buddy Yamcha's plum out of luck, kid, unless you can get your Dad to rescue him."
"But Daddy's gone!" wailed the little boy.
Piccolo lowered his eyes, suddenly comprehending. Gohan had already said he couldn't feel his father's presence, which meant that Goku was in the Room of Space and Time, beyond the ability of anyone in this dimension to reach. That's why he keeps heading off to Heaven. What is he doing in there, I wonder? This could be a more difficult task than he originally thought, far more dangerous for Gohan than he at first anticipated. He gazed down into the desperate face, considering whether or not to abort. I won't let him kill you, he mentally promised, although you're likely to get roughed up a bit. "Sorry, kid," was what he said.
Releasing him, the little boy stood back, his dark eyes somber. "I know what needs to be done. I know what Daddy would do if he were here."
"Do you?" asked Piccolo, casually. He raised his eyes, just enough to make contact. "Why aren't you doing it, then?"
The Earth warrior did not dismay easily. There was, again, a flash of alarm, then Yamcha grinned and began to power up.
If this is his true ki, I was right. Elite level. But no where near me. Not even near Kakarott. I can finish him in two minutes. Less.
"If fighting's what you want to do, Vegeta, you should at least let your opponent fight."
Vegeta considered it for about a minute, as the aura around Yamcha grew and flared to its full strength.
No, Zarbon. Not this time. All I want from this one is his death.
When Chi-chi opened the door to call Gohan in, she experienced one instant of rolling shock. Then the calmness of utter terror cleansed her mind. Stepping outside, she said, "Gohan. Come here. Now."
Gohan whirled around, his expression surprised, guilty, resolved. "Mommy. I'm sorry. I can't."
Chi-chi stared at Piccolo, whose downcast eyes were glued to her son. She never heard that the great Demon possessed mesmerizing abilities, but who knew what supernatural powers he maintained? "Release him, Piccolo."
The eyes arched enough to look at her. "I'm not holding him," Piccolo pointed out, his rough voice curiously soft.
"I have to do this," the little boy told her. "It's the right thing to do." And, in a swirl of wind, her son blurred out of sight.
Chi-chi took a step, then another, then one more, until she stood in front of Piccolo, looking up into the impassive face. "You," she said. "I thought it was because he saw Goku going off to fight every day. But you're why he's become defiant and disobedient. I should have seen it. You've turned my son into a delinquent."
"Not a delinquent," corrected Piccolo. "My heir. The future leader of this planet, assuming the Saiyans don't destroy it first." One corner of his mouth turned up. "Who did you think trained him? You knew it wasn't Goku."
"Goku said--he was in the Room of Space and Time with Krillin."
"Ah. I was there, too. He didn't tell you that part? No, I see that he didn't. He works so hard not to worry you, doesn't he? Even lies, when he has to."
"He can't lie to me."
"A lie of omission is still a lie," Piccolo told her. "Did he tell you about the first time I saw Gohan? It was last year, when Garlic kidnapped him for the dragonball on his cap. I saw the power in Gohan then, the raw potential. Goku didn't mention it was Gohan who destroyed Garlic? What else has he failed to mention, I wonder?"
For a moment the doubt intruded. Then, "I know what you are," snapped Chi-chi. "You will not turn me against my husband. You can't have my son."
"He's already mine," returned Piccolo with devastating simplicity. He smiled at her, quietly, a much more frightening sight than his usual fang-bearing smirk. "Don't look so dismayed. He will be the strongest of us all, that one. Perhaps by the end of the day, even he will realize it." One of the taloned hands reached out. Chi-chi flinched, fully expecting to die, but he just touched her cheek, gently, before dropping his fingers. "You do look like him," he marveled. The dark red aura curved around him, casting unnatural light across the high cheekbones, the inhuman eyes picking up the color, glinting like fresh blood. The force of it hit, but Chi-chi was strong and stood her ground in the gathering wind. "You're stubborn like him, too," mummered Piccolo in amusement. The cape flared around him as he vanished from sight.
No thought crossed Chi-chi's mind. Then, like a litany, Goku's name began to repeat, over and over, until it felt like it was echoing off the sides of her skull.
Over the Son house, "I hope to hell you know what you're doing," said Krillin, his voice shaky.
"You and me both, runt," grunted Piccolo. "You get to Karin's Tower and tell that over-grown house cat he'd better give up some senzu beans or I'll be sporting a fur turban for the fall line. I'm going to make sure the kid doesn't get killed before Goku shows up."
The polite thing to do, thought Yamcha, is to give the guest the first shot.
He looked at the enveloping steel-blue aura, the snarl that bared teeth, felt the ki that far out-distanced anything he ever faced before.
Naw.
He went for surprise first with his Wolf Wind Attack, knowing that some opponents actually saw the aura distortion around him take on the appearance of a wolf's head. But Vegeta blocked first the flat-handed blow to the face, then the high kick meant for the jaw. "I was trained by someone who changes form," he said, contemptuously. "Do you think a mere psychic illusion will make me drop my guard?"
Oooo-kay...
Yamcha grabbed him by his loose-fitting, sleeveless top, planted his feet flat against Vegeta's chest, and used the Prince as a springboard, trying to put enough distance between them to start filling the air with ki spheres. But Vegeta moved with blurring speed, so fast Yamcha couldn't even start to re-direct his attacks before the Prince relocated again, and again, until there was a sudden high pitched sound and Vegeta was right in front of him, arms crossed. Yamcha cupped his hands by his hip, starting to gather energy for a Kamehameha blast, but Vegeta did not give him the seconds needed to charge up for the powerful attack. Arms still crossed, Vegeta brought one leg straight up, mimicking Yamcha's earlier high kick.
This one connected.
There was a moment of complete disorientation, when Yamcha wasn't sure where he was in space, wasn't quite convinced he was still alive. His ki shield saved him from a broken neck, but whiplash (he thought) was a distinct possibility. He saw Vegeta's brows raise slightly. Then, his arms still folded, Vegeta spun, whipping one leg out straight, driving through the ki shield as if it didn't exist, snapping Yamcha's upper arm so cleanly it took a moment for the pain to register. Then Vegeta spun the other way, striking out with the opposite leg, hitting Yamcha on the other side. That arm broke above the elbow before Yamcha consciously realized what happened to the first one.
Vegeta cocked his head, smirked. "Looks like you've been disarmed," he said. Then he tucked his knees in, close to his chest, and struck out with his feet flattened. Ribs buckled as he thrust into Yamcha's midriff. Unable to maintain any semblance of control, Yamcha plummeted to the ground.
This scotches the treaty, thought Vegeta in annoyance as he looked down at the crater made by Yamcha's impacting body. Curse it. I'm just going to have to grab the woman and torch the planet, and hope she wants to stay alive badly enough to give up the plans for the technology once I get her to Vejiitasei. So much for my career as a diplomat! My father is not going to be happy about this. Feh; what do I care? If he's really unhappy I can just usher him to hell. Grimacing, he regulated his ki, sinking toward the ground. He didn't unfold his arms until he met the hovering cloud of dust over the impact site. Then he untucked one hand to wave it crossly in front of his face as he dropped through the dust, landing softly by Yamcha's body.
Yamcha's kneeling body. Somehow the other man maneuvered enough to land in a crouch. Vegeta met the Earth warrior's eyes, seeing a grim determination.
"Why are you doing this?" Yamcha demanded through clenched teeth.
Vegeta considered for a moment. "Clearly you are not the challenge I hoped for," he acknowledged. "So it must be that I don't like you, eh?" Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of cloth and hauled Yamcha up, slapping him casually across the face, watching clinically as the cheekbone shattered. Heh. Even humans with Elite-level ki are very, very fragile, aren't they?
"Bulma," said Yamcha, thickly, "will not forgive you for this."
His grip tightened, little tears beginning to fan out from his fist. How dare he? "Shut up, fool."
"You don't know," wheezed Yamcha, incredulously, squinting up into the Prince's face. "Everyone on the planet knows--but you don't." A strange gurgling, gasping sound squeezed out of his throat.
The Earthling was laughing at him. Impossibly, on the verge of death, Yamcha was so amused he was spitting blood between chuckles. There was nothing hysterical in the sound. "You are a coward, Vegeta," the Earth warrior gargled with a gory smirk. "An emotional coward." Sheer contempt filled his eyes. "Bulma will never tolerate that," he said.
Vegeta released him. The Earthling fell limply, screaming as the edge of one of the broken arms caught under him. Then he laughed again, so little breath left in him it came out a chortle.
"You die now," Vegeta said.
I can never leave well enough alone. Not that that's news to anyone.
Vegeta stared down at him with burning eyes, arms crossed. No smile lurked on the Saiyan's face now. One foot came up; Yamcha got a clear look at the soles. Oh, this is absurd. I'm going to be killed by someone wearing shoes I endorse. There was a bruising pressure on his chest. Yamcha felt the breath jerk out of his body. Looking up through fading eyes, he saw Vegeta's lips draw back in a primal snarl. What a sight to take to the next world. He closed his eyes as the cupped palms came up and centered on his head.
He heard the grunt and the release of the weight on his chest, but he was too far into unconsciousness to tease out what either might mean.
Vegeta pried himself out of the rock face the unexpected ki blast embedded him into, scowling in annoyance at the distant figure that had knocked him the mountain's side. "What the hell are you doing? This is none of your concern."
Tiny fists clenched. "This is my planet," announced Gohan. "I have to take care of it. Which means I'm not letting you hurt anyone here."
Vegeta snorted, a corner of his mouth sliding up. "You have no planet, you genetic aberration. You have no business existing at all. The only reason you continue to exist is because of the treaty. Run home to your mother, boy, and I'll forget you came between me and my prey."
Gohan's mouth set firmly. "You aren't hurting anyone," he repeated.
"You want to fight, half-breed?" queried Vegeta. "How very Saiyan of you. I can't imagine where you get it from. But I don't have time to play right now." He held cupped palms out as energy began to cackle around his arms, coalescing in his hands. "I suppose eliminate one Earthling or eliminate two, it's all the same. The Saiyans lived without your precious technology before, brat. We'll survive just fine without it now." He released the energy as a stream of sparking ki, shouting out the name of his most powerful assault: "Big Bang Attack!"
A pure white shield flared into existence around the little boy as he screamed wordlessly. Gohan leaned into the leading edge of the attack with a lowered shoulder--and did not instantly disintegrate. Vegeta's annoyance morphed into astonishment as the ki strike engulfed Gohan, wrapping around his aura without affect. The brat screamed again. Vegeta's attack split, curved around the shield, raced past the boy without injuring him. Gohan hung in mid-air, scowling at the Prince, defiant.
"There's no way!" Vegeta exclaimed. "You don't have the ki--!"
Zarbon sitting at the base of the regeneration tank, precariously balancing a plate of food as he manipulated the unfamiliar chopsticks--"He's powerful, Vegeta. Stunningly powerful."
How powerful? I can't read him. As strong as Kakarott? Stronger?
Then the feral Saiyan battle smirk curved against the Prince's mouth. What does it matter? To turn that aside, he has to be at least in Zarbon's class--and that makes him worthy of me.
Stepping out of the Room of Space and Time was like stepping into a solid psychic wall. Goku stopped dead, momentarily simply overwhelmed by sensation. Chi-chi's distress impacted him hard. It took a few seconds to adjust, to consciously shut it out. There was only one thing that could drive Chi-chi to such a state...
Power building up. Gohan. Vegeta. And power fading. Yamcha.
Goku sprinted out of the building, down the long marble-inlaid path toward Heaven's edge. Without looking back, Kami reached out with a clawed hand. "Hurry. We are almost undone."
Goku locked his fingers around Kami's forearm. Then God swung him forward with force. Streamlining his body, Goku let himself be flung into Earth's atmosphere, homing in on the ki signature of his son.
Yamcha was surprised to find, when the shadow fell over him and he opened his eyes, that he was not on the other side. The little bastard. He wants to play some more. Does Bulma have any clue how sadistic this jerk is?
Then he managed to focus, just for a second, on what was actually casting the shadow. "Great," he croaked. "It needed only this."
Piccolo smiled down at him, coldly. "Not dead yet, coyote-boy? Too bad." His gaze tracked upward. Squinting against the pain even slight movement caused, Yamcha turned his head just enough to see what had attracted Piccolo's attention. What was left of his blood ran chill. "No. Piccolo--stop this. He'll be killed."
"He who?" countered Piccolo, a note of surprise in his voice, eyes narrowing as he watched the contest. Yamcha found he didn't have strength to answer.
Kakarott's misbegotten brat was good.
--elbow against elbow, flat-knuckled blow blocked by flat-knuckled counter--
Better than Kakarott, perhaps. The technique, though, was not like that of the Saiyan traitor.
--outside strike by a foot met with an insole, knee against thigh--
Piccolo. It was similar to the Namekian's fighting style.
--crossed wrists turning back skull-cracking blows to the face--
He had dismantled Piccolo. Why wasn't the kid's guard collapsing?
--little foot sliding under his arm whoof!--
The air pushed out of his lungs as Gohan's boot sank into his diaphragm. The other foot shot up, striking under the imperial jaw. Vegeta's head snapped back, the salt flood of blood filling his mouth. His body arched back into an involuntary flip. Righting himself, he wiped a hand across his lips -- I wasted my time with that brain-damaged dolt? --and started to race back to where Gohan waited, arm stretched in front of him, thick pulled-down brows making the hybrid look very Saiyan for the moment.
There was a rush of wind in front of him as a form flickered, then solidified. Scowling, Vegeta pulled up to stare into Kakarott's grim visage.
"Finally," grunted Piccolo.
This is not good. But Yamcha did not have the strength to voice his misgivings out loud.
He had never seen the Earth-Saiyan charged up before. Kakarott was engulfed by a clear red-tinged aura that seemed to generate its own currents, whipping the traitor's hair this way and that. The odd thing was that he could feel nothing, no ki whatsoever. Then Vegeta grinned slightly. I'm going to have to figure out how they do that. As if it matters, Kakarott; after two months, I know your strength. It's nowhere near mine.
The grim eyes centered on Vegeta, but when Kakarott spoke it was over his shoulder to his son. "Gohan. Go help Yamcha."
"But, Daddy--"
"Now, Gohan."
"But we can make it so he doesn't hurt anyone ever again!" wailed the little boy.
"It's not that simple," said Kakarott after a pause. "Don't argue with me, Gohan. Go."
The little boy looked rebellious for just one second. Then he glanced down, uncertainly, toward the barely-seen figure of Yamcha and the tall form standing over him, and dropped about half-way to the ground. He drifted there indecisively, his gaze jerking back and forth between where Piccolo stood and where his father hovered.
"Jealous of the brat, Kakarott?" Vegeta taunted. "You should be. He outranks you, traitor. Perhaps I should take him back to Vejiitasei as a training aid before dismantling this planet, no? Or just to entertain my father in the arenas for an hour or two before I destroy the hybrid."
There was a scream of defiance from the brat.
Kakarott--smiled. Vacantly. "I think you should let him ripen a bit," the Earth-Saiyan said. "Given a few years, Gohan might be a real challenge for you."
Vegeta snorted. "In a few years, Kakarott, I will be far beyond the reach of any of you. I am the Foreseen One, the strongest Saiyan in the last three millennium. No matter how 'ripe' the brat gets, he will never be in my class."
"Then there's no point in destroying him. Or are you afraid Gohan might outdistance you if he survives the day?" the Earth-Saiyan asked, his tone mildly interested. "I didn't think anything frightened you, Vegeta. But if one small boy is such a threat--"
Vegeta snapped out a hand that, just for a second, seemed to hit against Kakarott's aura without effect. Then the ki shield evaporated under the force of his blow. Vegeta grabbed the other man by the neck, shaking him until the breath rattled in Kakarott's throat. "Do not presume, Kakarott," Vegeta snarled into the other man's face as he shook him. "I can still destroy this paltry planet, simpleton. That would mean your insipid mate, that half-breed abomination--"
"Bulma," said Kakarott, between shakes.
Vegeta pulled him close and spit out, "Don't ever mention her! You are not worthy--!" Then he stopped, wondering at himself, and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed the other man dozen of yards away from him.
Righting himself, Kakarott called to him, "Why do you care what I say about Bulma, Vegeta?"
"Don't be an idiot," muttered Vegeta, turning his back and crossing his arms. "Why in hell is everyone throwing that woman's name at me?" he growled under his breath.
But, Earth-raised though he was, Kakarott still had Saiyan ears. "Think about it," he heard the traitor say, then the 'whoosh' that indicated air had been violently displaced. Feh, the weakling. He's gone to help that other weakling. What an insane planet. Don't they know that the weak should die?
Vegeta considered his options. As he gazed down at the crater watching the Earth warriors gather near their fallen comrade, he found fighting was no longer one of them. Even the thought of continuing the battle with Gohan left him...empty. For a moment he heard Yamcha's voice again, rasping that Bulma would never forgive him for this. He shook his head, cutting off the memory. I've been here too long. I'm becoming as passive as the natives. As passive as Kakarott, even! At least that cursed Yamcha tried to fight.
For the second time that day Vegeta thought, There's nothing left for me here. Charging up, he headed off in a random direction, paying no attention to where he was going.
Looking upward in disbelief, "Well, that was worth the price of admission," said Piccolo with heavy scorn. "I must be losing my touch. I can't even set up a fight between a couple of Saiyans. Sheesh."
Something whipped Piccolo's cloak to the side, and suddenly Gohan was hovering at the wide shoulder of his sensei, his expression a strange combination of anger and self-satisfaction. "I could've done it," he said.
"Duh," responded Piccolo. "I trained you to do anything you needed to do, Gohan. Stop doubting yourself."
But Gohan was staring at Yamcha, his eyes wide with horror as he saw the Earth warrior's injuries close up. "Piccolo...?"
"Krillin's almost here with the senzu beans, kid. Although I didn't really plan on using them for this loser. Maybe I should start a bean collection?"
There was another rush of air, and Goku appeared. Yamcha squinted up at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked, conversationally.
Goku looked at his son, brows drawn down. Gohan turned his head away, refusing to meet his father's gaze. After a pause, Goku knelt next to his friend and said, "Where else would I be?"
"I thought you were finally having it out with Vegeta."
"I sent him away," replied Goku, a little sadly. "I told him to think about it."
Piccolo snapped, "Goku, you've been wanting to fight him flat out since he got here. You've been doing Kami-knows-what in the Room of Space and Time preparing for it. Why the hell are you holding back?"
It appeared he would not answer. Then, "It's not necessary," Goku said with obvious relunctance. "If Vegeta had fought me when he first came to this planet --" Goku stopped, a wistful cast to his face; then he shook his head and sighed. "Well, it would have been a great fight. He would never have rested until he did beat me, though, or until he turned Earth into a cinder trying. But Kami-sama was right. He saw the potential for it immediately. It may take years to see what the outcome of this is--"
"Right about what!?" Piccolo all but shrieked. "None of this makes any sense! Once they get the capsule technology to Vejiitasei, Earth becomes redundant! Vegeta's their strongest warrior; take him out and we have a shot at keeping them away." He glared at Goku. "I don't understand why you won't disintegrate the arrogant little pest!"
Yamcha smiled faintly, closing his eyes. "I understand," he croaked. "Dammit."
"He saw Bulma first," Goku told Piccolo. "And nothing's been the same for Vegeta since."
Vegeta drifted aimlessly, not really thinking, just letting his mind wander as he gazed down on the countryside below. Nappa was right; when you got away from the city, it was a nice planet. This particular part of it was green and gently rolling, with periodic large shade trees and small, loose fences that couldn't possibly keep anything out. They must be decorative, Vegeta thought, like those strange stuffed beasts Bulma kept on her bed. The denizens of this planet were into useless accessories. Bulma herself wore necklaces and earrings, and those thin-strapped tops she liked often had symbols on them that meant nothing in particular...
Dammit. Vegeta brushed irritably at his nose, recognizing the tickle that announced the onset of another nosebleed. Sighing, he regulated his ki to sink down, landing next to a shallow running brook that hosted a grove of high-crowned, spreading trees. He laid back under one, folding his arms across his chest and crossing his ankles, staring straight up into the branches, idly wondering what ailed him. There couldn't possibly be anything on this wretched planet that was making him ill. Saiyan immune systems were proof against most viruses; indeed, against virtually all toxins. If anything, it must be Chikyuu's puny gravity. He would lose muscle tone if he stayed here much longer. It was a good thing the ship was coming back; at least on board, he could train in Vejiitasei's normal gravity. Closing his eyes, he listened absently to the running water, letting himself drift near a trance, but feeling too comfortable to actually bother meditating.
I'll have to make sure we know what viruses affect humans before I take her back. Feh; they're so delicate, she's probably threatened by everything on Vejiitasei. He carefully touched one finger to the bridge of his nose--the nose bleed seemed to have stopped before it began. One corner of his mouth slid up; he recrossed his arms. How annoying; she's right about something. Just put your head back and it stops. He wondered idly what she was doing, then an image of a computer screen and a steaming cup of coffee edged into his brain. Her mind was alien to him, he couldn't begin to tell what she was thinking or feeling, but he watched complex mathematical symbols form as her fingers flew across the keyboard, and saw the transparent reflection in the screen as she frowned to one side of the computer, scowling down at the cup. She drinks that vile stuff this late, she's going to be up all--
His stomach muscles clenched. He sat straight up, his eyes wide and staring.
No, he thought. No.
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Twenty-Seven
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Piccolo's failed to comprehend the complexity of relationships times since 5/2/99!
