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One would have thought, Bulma mentally groused as she drove into the city, that deciding on a course of action would have earned her some element of peace. But she had tossed and turned all night, fragmented dreams involving disturbingly-large monkey-tailed babies and images of herself trying to function as a flattened blob of protoplasm waking her every few minutes. She would take in deep breaths, reassuring herself that she was not being crushed under a relentless onslaught of gravity, force herself back to sleep, and soon be sitting up gasping for air again.
The result? She was cranky. Very, very cranky. Although Bulma was sure Yamcha would claim not to notice any difference from her usual behavior--
Be nice, she reminded herself as she stepped out of the car, compressed it, and looked up at the high-rise security building that housed her ex-boyfriend. She grinned slightly, shaking her head. Yamcha claimed he moved here because the balcony offered him easy air-borne access at all hours, but the truth was, she decided, that Yamcha liked luxury. Idiot shouldn't have passed up the chance to marry the richest woman in the world, Bulma thought dryly. He can only play baseball for so many years, and then where will he be? Maybe I should hook him up with one of the girls in accounting, so he can at least get some advice on a retirement fund...
She could have just called with her news. But Bulma decided she should tell him in person. And, she reminded herself as her hand closed over a small object in her purse, there were some things that couldn't be done over the phone.
She found herself wondering if Saiyan women even carried purses. Sighing, she entered the entry code on the touchpad by the security gate.
Yamcha sat stunned, wondering if he had heard correctly.
Then Puaru, too startled to remain hovering, plopped next to him on the sofa, and he knew there was nothing wrong with his ears.
"I didn't think it would be that big a surprise," said Bulma, a touch caustically. "You seemed to know about this before Vegeta or I did."
"I guess I thought he might stay for a while," said Yamcha, slowly. "Or that you might go there, somehow, in your role as liaison. But I didn't expect anything this--"
"Permanent?" she offered, still with an edge, as he paused. Yamcha winced. How did this happen? When I was sixteen all I wanted was someone to love--and I did love Bulma. I do. But I never could commit, somehow...
"What are you going to do there?" he asked her, still in shock.
"I have no idea. Zarbon's offered to help me make the transition. He's sincere, I think. And Dad--well, if we work out the kinks in his personal gravitational field, I'll have as much freedom of movement there as I do here. As to what I'm allowed to do;" Bulma pulled a slight face; "we'll have to see. I'm sure I'll create all sorts of cultural snafus until I figure out how to blend in."
Yamcha smiled suddenly. Babe, you don't blend in here. You're definitely stand-out material. The Saiyans will never know what hit them. Kami knows I never did.
"Well," Bulma was saying, "I thought I should tell you in person. I don't know when I'm going, although Dad's making noises about a space-craft the engineers have been working on being ready in a month or so. Vegeta can't hang around here much longer. His father is very ill, and Zarbon says he needs to get back home to make the transition go smoothly. But I'll probably be heading to Vejiitasei within the next six months."
"I don't know what to say."
"That's been my reaction to a lot of things lately," Bulma agreed with a sudden grin. "I also thought you should have this." She started digging around in her purse, and held something out to him. "I went to see Kami, and Mr. Popo gave me this. I guess he's been holding it in safe keeping should anything go wrong while the Saiyans were here."
He looked at the compact that contained the dragon radar, looked back at Bulma. "Shouldn't Goku have this?" he wondered.
"If it were just Goku, sure. But Gohan...he's too close to Piccolo, Yamcha. I worry about what he might do."
Yamcha grinned at that. "I think he'll be okay. Piccolo's not having the effect he wants with the this-is-your-planet stuff. Gohan's decided it means he's the super-hero protector-of-the-Earth. He won't do anything unless he's convinced it's the right thing to do, and convincing him enslaving the world is 'good' will take some doing. If Piccolo had hair, he'd be pulling it out about now." Bulma looked skeptical. "Gohan is Goku's son," he reminded her. "Piccolo could be Gohan's sole legal guardian for the next ten years, and he'd never undo Goku's influence. Beside, from what I could gather the other night, what Gohan wants more than anything is a pony."
"I trust you with it," Bulma said.
Deeply touched, Yamcha took the radar from her, promising to take care of it. Then he tried to kiss her, but Bulma turned her head and he only pecked her on the cheek. "Tsk. Making passes at soon-to-be-married women," Bulma said, mock-stern. "You are such a rake."
He kept the smile on his face while she closed her purse and said goodbye to Puaru, then wiggled her fingers at him before she walked out the door, out of his life. "What you are is an idiot," said Puaru after she left, without heat. Yamcha did not argue.
His twenty-four hours were up. Vegeta wondered why the hell he hadn't set a limit of forty-eight or more. He meant to give her all the time she needed, but she kept glancing toward the computer as if it were the most important thing in her life instead of paying attention to him, and suddenly nothing went the way he planned. He didn't know how Bulma was dealing with his arbitrary deadline, but he wasn't ready for this. Especially if she said 'no.'
He poked his head into Zarbon's private quarters before leaving the ship, seeing if the report was ready yet and startling the alien half-to-death. "It's almost done," Zarbon snapped at him. "It would get done faster if people would stop interrupting me!" Grinning slightly (and a touch maliciously as he wondered if Zarbon's temper had anything to do with Radditz), Vegeta withdrew. Nappa tried to corner him in the hallways--Nappa had been trying to talk to him since the return to Chikyuu--but Vegeta snarled and the Commander wisely retreated. Vegeta threw himself out the airlock and sped toward Bulma's island, wanting to get this over with, dreading it at the same time.
He hung outside the window for a few minutes, forcing himself to breathe calmly, forcing himself to stay focused. It wouldn't be the end of the Universe if she said 'no,' he reminded himself. It would just feel that way for a while. He would get over it. He heard that some could get over it.
He had also heard some never recovered from this bond. Their mate would leave, their mate would die, and they continued in that half-living state Radditz taunted him with until death released them.
Vegeta shuddered and folded his arms around himself, closing his eyes and clearing his mind. You are a warrior, he reminded himself. You are the greatest warrior to come of the House of Vejiitasei. You can do this.
The Prince took one last deep breath and went through the window.
He caught her holding the veil in front of her, looking at it with a little scowl in the mirror before she saw his reflection and twirled around. "You could knock, once in a while," she snapped.
Vegeta looked at what she was holding, brows raised. "Funeral shroud," he guessed.
Bulma grinned, a little nervously. "Sort of..." Sighing, she tossed it over the back of the computer chair. "It's my price, Vegeta."
His brows lowered.
"You said you would pay whatever price I wanted," Bulma reminded him.
Vegeta inclined his head, glowering furiously. You could make this easier, she thought, then sighed again. She had not chosen an easy path, or an easy man. "This is it. I'll go through whatever ceremony you want on Vejiitasei, but I want to get married in the temple my parents were married in."
Something in his face lightened slightly, although the scowl remained. "I have a troop ship that needs to be on its way," he reminded her. "How long will this take?"
That startled her. "I didn't mean right this instant, Vegeta. After all, your ship isn't modified to take me back to Vejiitasei. I meant next time you come here, or..."
His face tightened, and he looked away. "There is likely to be a change of government soon," he said. "I may not be able to get away for a long, long time. I would rather everything were settled between us before I left. And besides," he added after a pause, "it's as well we do this now. You wouldn't survive one of our ceremonies."
She put down the veil, touching him on one folded arm. "I'm so sorry about your father, Vegeta."
He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, snorted, and said nothing. Great. He can't even handle sympathy. What am I getting myself into? But I suppose he doesn't need to be worrying about me while he's dealing with his father's illness. And I've already decided, haven't I? "Well, there are advantages to being rich," Bulma mused. "I can throw money around and arrange things very quickly, I suppose. Tomorrow even, if the temple's free. And I can probably make sure it's free with a large enough donation. Geez, and I'm going to have to get a dress to go with Mom's veil..."
"Tomorrow is acceptable," he grunted after a moment. He reached out and lightly touched the veil, frowning. "This is involved somehow?"
"I wear it."
Vegeta pulled a face. "Do not expect me to wear anything like that."
"Just show up here in your best armor and Dad will get you there."
He gave her another one of those enigmatic stares, then nodded and made a move toward the window. Bulma reached out and wrapped her fingers around his arm. He stopped as if he ran into a wall, and again flicked a sideways glance at her, his brows pulling together.
"You know, you don't have to run off," Bulma said, fighting to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She wrapped her arms around his waist and forced a smile, feeling his hard body unmoving under her hands. Leaning back a bit to look into his eyes without crossing hers, she saw no emotion on his angular face. She patted the small of his back lightly, just above the tail, and was rewarded with a blink. Ha! He's not so unaffected. Feeling herself relax, "If this is going to work, you're going to have to hug me back, once in a while," she teased.
She felt a loose warmth curve around her waist. Grinning, she reached down to stroke what she though would be his forearm--
--and touched soft fur. His arms were still by his side.
It was to Bulma's credit that she didn't yelp or pull away. That strange alien tail, which he usually kept tucked tidily around his waist, was a reminder of how different he was, how -- inhuman. Experimentally she moved her fingers along the fur, and received another blink. "Is it okay for me to do that?"
One corner of Vegeta's mouth quirked. A smile? A nervous tic? "It doesn't hurt."
Was his voice a little rougher than usual? Ah, perhaps she'd found something he actually liked. Her other hand was still in the small of his back--she dropped it slightly and stroked the base of his tail with one finger. There was an intake of breath and a fractional tightening of the warmth around her waist, then Vegeta's hand slipped under her arm and flattened between her shoulder-blades, pulling her in tight. He lowered his head into the curve of her neck, cheek against her hair, and inhaled slowly. She turned her head enough to lightly kiss the side of his mouth. He had such warm, smooth skin... Then, suddenly, there was a twisting through her hands and he was by the window, his eyes wide. "I can't do this now," the Prince said, sounding slightly frantic. "I--there's a report I'm expecting from Zarbon."
"Vegeta. It can wait, can't it?" She held her fingers out to him. "You can...stay for a while, can't you? I don't know what your customs are, but if we're getting married tomorrow..."
Vegeta's throat worked for a second. "Ye gods, no," he said, almost faintly. "It certainly can not wait." Then the curtains were flapping in a non-existent breeze, and Bulma was by herself.
"What do you need all this mortality stuff for?" demanded Radditz. "It's completely depressing, Zarbon. It's as if the natives never die in battle; they all go to medical processing plants and get tortured to death. Yeech."
Zarbon had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from mentioning Bulma. Vegeta did not say discussing her with Radditz was acceptable, even though (thought Zarbon crossly) the warrior had actually been there and, dense as Saiyans tended to be, he must have noticed something. Instead, "We're going to be having some Earthlings on Vejiitasei," he said. "They aren't enemies, Radditz, not right now. We'll need to know what to do for them if they get ill on us. And going by some of these numbers," he added in faint alarm, "that's likely to happen a lot."
Snorting, Radditz finished keying on a small hand-held screen and gave it to Zarbon, who was at the main terminal. "There's that batch. I have to take a break, Zarbon. I'm getting completely suicidal doing this. If I haven't had enough tedium with all the treaty tripe! Do not tell anyone I can passably read the Earthers' writings; I'll get locked into the diplomatic corps so fast--!"
"There aren't that many Saiyans actually in the diplomatic corps, Radditz."
"You think the ones that are there went voluntarily? No, someone mentioned they had an unexpected skill and they were drafted. You do that to me, and I'll never--"
The door slid open. Radditz cut off in mid-sentence. Glancing toward the door, Zarbon saw Vegeta pause just inside it. The Prince looked at Radditz, eyes narrowed, smiling unpleasantly. What the--? Turning his head toward the table, he watched Radditz get slowly to his feet, bow with one hand over his breast, and stalk past Vegeta, his own face completely expressionless. The door slid closed.
"What was that?" asked Zarbon after a moment of blank astonishment.
"Someone remembering his place," replied Vegeta, coolly. "It wouldn't hurt you to remember yours, once in a while. I hope you have that report near ready, Zarbon. Apparently I'm getting married in a very few hours. I'd really like to see it before then."
Zarbon begged an hour to organize everything, but actually took less than that. Most of the time he spent tearing through his own wardrobe, breathing a sigh of relief when he found he had packed something green. It was not what he considered a formal outfit, but at least it was the appropriate color for a life ceremony. He ran one of the pale arm sheaths through his fingers, feeling...strange. Eh, so your little hatchling is all grown up and ready to make hatchlings of his own, he thought, self-mocking. Get over it, idiot. What this really amounts to is a plot to assassinate the current ruler, with you as one of the chief co-conspirators. If anything goes wrong, we're all in big trouble... Setting the sheath down, he tapped a few commands on the touchpad, picked up a data crystal and went to Vegeta's stateroom.
"Ye gods," Vegeta said blankly a few minutes later, looking at the screen, the graphs, the terrifying numbers. "I knew they were fragile, but this..." He lowered his head, eyes screwing closed. "This is impossible, Zarbon. I'll kill her."
Zarbon touched his shoulder, resting his hand lightly on it when, for once, Vegeta did not seem inclined to pull away. "My Prince, I've been trying to drum control into you for half of your life," he told him. "You're just going to have exercise it in ways you never expected, that's all."
"I am not," Vegeta muttered without looking at him, "going to discuss this with you."
"Vegeta," Zarbon said gently. "This isn't unprecedented. Think."
After a minute during which Zarbon could almost see the spark of firing neurons, Vegeta snarled, "I am not going to discuss this with Kakarott, either!"
"You don't need to," said Zarbon, trying to keep the humor out of his voice. "You just need to realize it isn't all that impossible. I mean, if some third-class warrior can take an Earth mate without killing her--"
After delivering a fierce glare, Vegeta again turned his head away and, belatedly, shrugged Zarbon's hand off. "Vegeta," said his trainer, sympathy and amusement in his voice, "you'll just have to learn a different mating system, that's all. It's the curse or the blessing of my gender to need to figure several systems out. Learning a new one is not that difficult, really."
Vegeta snorted. "Oh, that should be easy enough. It's not like I have anything to unlearn."
Hardly had the words left his mouth than the Prince suddenly flung himself out of his chair, the fall of his footsteps indicating he had gone toward the circular viewing port in his chamber. Zarbon stood where he was, open mouthed, began to put his hands on his waist, dropped them, started to turn, paused, blinked a couple of times, then, resolve suffusing his face, followed the Prince to the port.
A lavender-clad arm thrust in front of him, braced against the recessed side of the viewing port, but Vegeta did not look at Zarbon. His aide's voice was diffident. "Vegeta, do you want to -- ask me about anything?"
"Perhaps why you're blocking my view of the planet?" Vegeta suggested after a moment.
"All right," said Zarbon after a pause, his voice determined. "How about if I talk, and you can tell me when to shut up. Will that work?"
Vegeta said nothing.
"Right, then," Zarbon said. "Sex itself is just...technique, Vegeta. But there are always emotions involved as well, even between casual partners..."
Her parents were amazing, thought Bulma. She had told them at dinner the night before, bracing herself for any number of outbursts. "Hmmm," said Dr. Briefs. "Tomorrow afternoon, you say? Better cancel that meeting with the patents division."
"I suppose what I wore at the New Year's party will be okay," mused Mrs. Briefs. "It's not too spangly. And red is considered an appropriate wedding color in some cultures. What are you wearing, dear?"
"So far, just your veil."
Mrs. Briefs grinned at her, brightly. "Well, that will be different, won't it?"
"There was the Rubenstein wedding," Dr. Briefs remarked.
"Oh, but that was the flower power decade, dear. No one does things like that these days. I'll make some calls tonight and see what I can dig up," Mrs. Briefs told her gape-mouthed daughter. "This is going to be fun!"
Which brought her to where she was now; in her bedroom with her mother and Chi-chi, looking at two dozen probably-designer gowns that had arrived first thing (money was nice to have), wondering why she just hadn't eloped. Although, really; this was close to an elopement... "I don't care," she said to Mrs. Briefs for the third time. "If you weren't two sizes smaller than me, I'd just squeeze into your old gown and be happy."
"What do you think about this ivory one? It doesn't have that scratchy high neck..."
"Mom," said Bulma, nearly in tears, "I've already made as many decisions as I can stand making. Really. All I care about right now is that the news media doesn't catch wind of this. If they got in the way Vegeta would blast the lot of them, and there would go all the world-wide good will toward the Saiyans! Which, come to think of it, they really don't even deserve. Oh, just pick something that doesn't clash with the veil and let's get this over with."
Chi-chi and Mrs. Briefs looked at each other. "Bulma, why don't you just go ahead to the temple and we'll get this all sorted out," suggested Mrs. Briefs.
"Or lie down or something," said Chi-chi, a bit more sharply. "You're getting on my nerves."
What doesn't get on your nerves? Bulma mentally snapped. But she held her tongue and went outside to calm down, sitting on the bench by the pond, trying not to think about anything at all until Chi-chi came to get her, saying it was time to go.
"You look like a plant," growled Vegeta.
"And you look like a Prince, for a change," Zarbon responded, amused.
Vegeta scowled. He was wearing the wretched formal armor that was too thin to actually be any use in battle, with the thick, heavy cloak that would trip him up if he did have to fight. And once I'm King, I'll have to wear something like this all the time. And that stupid rock-sized necklace the second Vegeta took off the neck of the first one. Feh. Maybe I should just change that, too... "I'm ready," he said.
"Are you sure? Any more--?"
"No!" Vegeta all but screamed. "Dammit, I've had all night to think about it, and what I've decided is that I never want to discuss sex with you again!"
Zarbon held up a hand, clearly fighting back a grin. "Well, if you call all that glowering a 'discussion...' Oh, stop making faces at me, Vegeta. You'll be fine."
"Shut up," the Prince muttered. "Let's get this over with."
Dr. Briefs greeted them cheerfully, saying that 'the girls' had been calling every five minutes for the last hour and he, for one, would be glad to get this over with. "We're all agreed there," said Zarbon. But Vegeta balked briefly, taking the old man aside and talking to him earnestly for a few minutes. Getting a second opinion? Zarbon wondered in amusement. Dr. Briefs nodded a few times, disappeared into the main building, and came out a few minutes later, handing something to Vegeta. Then he expanded one of those topless vehicles, motioned them in, and took off at speeds Zarbon didn't know anyone without ki could endure.
There was a moment at the temple when Zarbon thought it was all going to come to a screeching halt. Vegeta looked at Bulma in her ceremonial garb, raised his brows and drawled, "I'm marrying a marshmallow?"
"You," came Bulma's cross voice from someplace inside the all-encompassing outfit, "are damned lucky I'm here at all. I expected you a couple of hours ago."
"Ah, that is you in there. I wondered if the Earthlings were pulling a switch. You gave me no time, woman. You just said, show up. I'm here."
"Can we do this?" asked Goku, plaintively. "Chi-chi's been cooking all day and she won't let me anywhere near the food."
You're more Saiyan than Radditz gives you credit for. There was some shifting about as the Earthlings arranged everyone in some sort of traditional order. Zarbon glanced around quickly as he entered; he had not worn a scouter, since that would be rude; but it was a small group and, apart from Goku, none of the other Earth warriors were present. He stationed himself in the back, shaking his head with a smile at Mrs. Briefs as she motioned him closer to the front; he needed to keep an eye on all entrances, just in case, and there were an alarming number of ways to get in. The ceremony was very brief, consisting of words like 'honor' and 'cherish,' although that one word Vegeta forbade Zarbon to speak cropped up. Vegeta flushed purple, lowered his eyes and nodded curtly. Zarbon found himself hiding a grin behind a green-clad hand, thinking one of them should have gone over the vows ahead of time--but he wouldn't trade that moment for anything.
Then another one occurred as the presiding official, beaming, said, "You may kiss the bride," and Vegeta turned an absolutely incredulous gaze to him. Bulma leaned forward and smacked the Prince on the cheek, making him jump. "Close enough," agreed the official, cheerfully, closing his book as he announced that the two were officially wed.
"There's a reception back at the Capsule Corporation," Mrs. Briefs told Zarbon, stopping by his station. "Will Radditz make it to that at least? I was hoping to see him before you left."
About to reply in the negative, Zarbon heard a yelp from just outside. He ran out to see Bulma being held off the ground by a determined-looking Vegeta, pulling at her hair. What the hell--? She finally tugged off the flimsy netting she wore over her face at the start of the ceremony, balling it up and tossing it to her mother. "Apparently we're leaving right now," she said, sounding a little flustered. Vegeta lifted off the ground; Bulma yelped again and grabbed him around the neck. "I'll-be-back-tomorrow-bye!" she shouted as the Prince picked up speed and disappeared with his bride.
"It's all right," Zarbon heard Dr. Briefs say to his wife. "Young Vegeta had someplace he wanted to show her. They'll be fine."
Goku was displaying a small, rectangular box to his wife. "I got some great pictures," he said happily. "The look on her face when Vegeta grabbed her! Oh, that's going to be the best one."
Zarbon, watching the fading trail of ki energy as Vegeta vanished in the distance, suddenly snapped to attention. Pictures? Vegeta will kill me for this... Grinning, he went to ask Radditz's brother if he could possibly get copies.
Bulma had been flying with Goku years ago when he was a little boy, but he never went this fast. The pins had pulled out of her hair ten minutes earlier. She tried to gather the strands in one hand so it wouldn't whip in Vegeta's face, but, "Leave it alone," he said. "We're almost there." Trying not to think about how many tangles there were going to be, she again put her arm around Vegeta's shoulder and squinted against the wind, wondering where he could be taking her.
Vegeta suddenly swooped down. Bulma squeaked, seeing the ground rush towards her, but he came to a smooth halt and drifted down lightly. "Coward," he said softly. "Did you think I brought you here to hurt you?"
She rapped her knuckles against his armor and he released her legs, making sure her feet touched the ground before letting her go. Bulma looked around. There was a small, rapidly running stream and lots of smooth grass climbing over gentle inclines and dips. And one big, burnt trunk within a grove of scorched trees, next to the stream. Bulma raised her brows; the faint smell of smoking wood still lingered.
"This is where I was," he said, "when I realized--"
And he stopped and looked away, that faint color again running along his cheekbones. Bulma, glancing at the nearby blasted tree, said dryly, "I can tell this place has happy memories for you."
"It was where I realized I couldn't see a future without you in it," Vegeta said, flatly, still not looking at her.
Bulma found a relieved grin curving her lips. Every time she started to wonder what the heck she was doing, the little guy said something like that and she was once more sure she was on the right path. "Well, I don't know about you, but what I see in my immediate future are grass stains ."
He smiled faintly at that, reached into one glove and pulled something out. "I did learn something while I was here," he told her. There was a slight popping noise, then Vegeta made a tossing motion and a capsule house expanded next to the blackened trunk.
"Deluxe model. I'm impressed."
"The old man gave it to me," Vegeta said.
"Going to carry me over the threshold?"
"What the hell for? Or can't you walk in all that material?"
"It's a tradition."
Sighing, he lowered a shoulder, and Bulma suddenly found herself draped over it in a fireman's lift, her mouth full of his cape as he stepped into the house and kicked the door closed behind him. "You have insane customs," he muttered as he swung her down.
Read The Chikyuu Contaminant: Chapter Thirty-One
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