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Zarbon marched along the marbled halls of Freeza's palace, nodding at acquaintances but not pausing for small talk. He had tendered his request to Freeza through channels; Freeza would either permit him to leave, insist that he stay, or...
Or blow me through the wall for daring to even think about going off on my own, thought Zarbon fatalistically. He knew when he accepted the young Saiyan's offer (if "offer" was the appropriate term) that Freeza might well chose to destroy him.
Dodoria opened the door to the audience hall and smirked his fleshy-lipped, sharp-toothed grin at him. "Guess this is goodbye, pretty guy," he said, sotto voice, as he stood aside to let Zarbon pass.
"One way or the other," agreed Zarbon, dryly. Chuckling, Dodoria exited, letting the door swing shut behind him.
"So," came Freeza's pleasant voice, "you wish to leave my service, Zarbon."
Freeza was not on the dias. Zarbon turned his head and saw his master standing by one of the windows looking out over King Cold's city. Light was streaming in, outlining his body, obscuring his features. It took a moment for Zarbon to realize Freeza had his back to him.
Zarbon decided to respond obliquely; the non-direct route was sometimes the best way to deal with Freeza when you were uncertain of his mood. "I've never trained anyone before, Freeza. It's something I'd like to try."
"Hmmm." Freeza's tone was non-committal. "Normally I would say that someone with your organizational talents and high ki would be wasted in the role of trainer. But we are talking about that powerful little Saiyan, are we not? He does require -- special handling." Turning away from the window, Freeza regarded his personal attaché. The light outlined his helmeted head in a three-quarter profile, but Freeza's features were still shrouded by the brilliant sunlight behind him. "I wonder," continued Freeza, musing, "if you have completely considered the ramifications of returning to Vejiitasei, Zarbon. Are you prepared to deal with the petty little prejudices of the Saiyan mind-set? Unlike myself, they're isolationists; they shun outsiders. Their military is Saiyan only. And this is the time of their religious rites, when off-worlders are especially unwelcome. You may well be the only free alien on the entire planet."
"I can deal with the Saiyans."
"As I recall, they seemed to have difficulty dealing with you," Freeza pointed out.
Zarbon smiled, tightly. "I don't fit any of their narrow gender definitions, Lord Freeza. It's a problem I've encountered elsewhere."
"Ah, yes. Bi-gender races are so -- limited. And in so many ways." Freeza's head turned back to the window. The very tip of his thick, muscular tail began to flick from side to side. "I suppose that's why King Vegeta couldn't see the inherent wisdom of a treaty with us. It only made sense; we're in the same trade, we could accomplish so much more if we joined forces. And if something should happen to the Saiyans -- they have so many enemies, something might at any time -- their entire empire will simply collapse. At least, with a treaty, I could move to protect their interests instead of just being one of a few million claimants squabbling for their sector of space. Ah, well; their inability to plan for all contingencies is of no importance now." Freeza made a beckoning gesture with one hand. Zarbon walked toward the window, felt the heat of the setting sun as he knelt next to Freeza and lowered his head.
Without looking at him, Freeza touched Zarbon's head, then ran his thick fingers through the fine green hair. "Tsk. After you worked so hard on this--what a shame." He stroked a finger down Zarbon's cheek, put it under his chin and raised Zarbon's face. Peering against the bright light, Zarbon saw the pale face outlined with a halo-like aura, a shadow where the dark lips curved into a smile. "You have served me faithfully for twenty years. You will be an asset to the Saiyan Prince. I release you from your warrior's oath, Zarbon."
Zarbon bowed his head to kiss the palm of Freeza's hand, a sign of respect and submission. Standing, he bowed again before leaving the hall.
Outside, he exhaled softly. That was easier than I expected.
"You let him go," came a voice from the hall's deep shadows.
"Hmmm," acknowledged Freeza.
"Do you know what year this is? He won't survive six months on Vejiitasei."
Freeza's shoulders rippled in his version of a shrug. "Probably not," he agreed indifferently. "But if he does, he might prove a great asset. After all, he will always have certain feelings of loyalty to me, no matter what oaths he swears to others. That's something I can exploit."
"You can't trust in that."
Freeza turned his head, flicking a contemptuous look at the hall's other occupant. "I should blindly trust only you? I think not."
There was a grunt of amusement. Then silence fell in the hall as Freeza returned his contemplative gaze to the setting sun.
Zarbon was reminded almost as soon as he set foot on the planet that the Saiyans didn't like aliens. Oh, they had many alien slaves, but they were planet brokers, a trade that required the extermination of sentient species before the planet could be re-sold. Contempt for all other species, who after all existed only until it was time for them to be exterminated, was a necessary component of the Saiyan temperament.
One of the first things the Saiyans learned about Zarbon was that insulting him was not a good idea. The first royal guard who saw Zarbon sneeringly called him "Vegeta's pretty slave boy." He immediately disintegrated into a heap of blood and shredded muscle before the startled gazes of his comrades. Zarbon stepped over the steaming carcass, his white cape wrapped around one arm to prevent contact with anything unseemly, and pleasantly asked, "Anyone else?"
The Saiyans didn't like aliens, but they deeply appreciated power. The surviving members of the royal guards looked at Zarbon with cool, appraising eyes and stood aside.
Glancing back, Vegeta said irritably, "Try not to kill all my father's guards, baka. He's annoyed enough as it is."
"Annoyed--? But you did very well at the tournament."
"I went there without his knowledge."
"Ah, he thought he was finally rid of you and he's upset to get you back in one piece. That I understand."
That earned a glare from Nappa and one of those strange watchful stares from Radditz. Vegeta laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Today is not the day I walk into the throne room to take his crown, so my mere return can't upset him too much. But I left without permission, I didn't return when ordered, and I have you in tow. He's going to do some serious vocalization."
Ah, that's right; the King also pitches major temper tantrums. Stifling a sigh, Zarbon followed Vegeta through a series of well-lit, curving corridors.
Throne rooms were designed to impress, and the throne room of the King of Vejiitasei was no different. Built in a narrow wing of the palace, the room was lined with tall windows on both sides. A narrow gold carpet lead up to a steep, half-circle dais. Courtiers and attendants gathered at the base of the dais, but to set foot on its steps without permission was to court death. The great, cracked stone throne, which was brought out of the Southern Continent by the first Vegeta millennia earlier, was the only piece of furniture in the room. It was, the Prince knew from the time he'd snuck in at night to perch on it, wretchedly uncomfortable. Yet it seemed to be his father's favorite place.
Vegeta strode down the thin gold carpet leading to the throne, flanked by Nappa. Radditz stopped by the door, and grabbed Zarbon's cape when the alien started to follow the Prince. Uncertain of the protocol, Zarbon stepped next to him. Vegeta's gaze went indifferently over the various members of the Elite Guard. Male and female, the height requirement meant they all towered over him.
Like Vegeta, the man on the throne would not come close to making the height requirement -- although he sat on the damned dais looking as if he did, thanks to a dozen extra steps he'd added as a booster seat when he'd become king.
Vegeta regarded his father coolly, and was rewarded with a thunderous glare under brows tightly drawn.
"Tell me," the King drawled in his deep, harsh voice, "why I shouldn't beat you until you can't even crawl."
"You may be ready to die," said Vegeta in a tone very similar. "I am not ready to rule."
The King snorted, and crooked a finger. Vegeta, his face tight but unemotional, mounted the first few steps on the dais, and stopped when he was eye-level with the King.
"Closer, brat," said the King softly. He leaned forward, his hands clasped above his knees, twisting the signet ring on his left hand. Feh -- he's heard about my increased power and he's nervous, thought Vegeta scornfully. As if he were in my class before I left! He climbed the few remaining steps, stopping on the last one, and folded his arms across his chest as he stared down at his father.
Although he had been fighting with warriors in their prime, the older man's speed still caught Vegeta unprepared, largely because he assumed the King wouldn't dare strike him. Battle-honed instincts almost brought him off the floor, but Nappa's boot came down hard against his neck and Vegeta remembered where he was -- who he still was--
Fingers gripped strands of his hair. Vegeta locked his jaws shut so he wouldn't be gaping like a landed fish. The King hauled him off the floor, holding him above it by the hair, and snarled into his son's defiant eyes. "That was for abandoning your duties here." The King backhanded him again; Vegeta felt flesh rip and open on his other cheek as the signet ring bit deep. "That was for not winning. And this;" Vegeta was swung by his hair, released and crashed against the throne room door; "is for bringing that freakish blue-skinned Freeza lackey here when Saiyan trainers are more than enough."
Vegeta heard Zarbon's polite voice even as he felt something cool cover his back and thighs. "You're welcome to try me, sire. Any time. Although I hit back."
Turning his head, Vegeta saw Zarbon kneeling next to him, his white cloak partially covering him. From that servile position, the alien managed to feel positively deadly. Vegeta glanced up at his father -- did he have the scouter switched on, didn't he know Zarbon could blow him to atoms with a fraction of his power? I am not ready to rule! he thought crossly at Zarbon, but as before got no answering glimmer of response.
But apparently the King had had enough. Turning his head, the elder Vegeta spat on the throne room floor, pivoted on his heel, and stalked back to the throne. "Just get that offal who shares my blood off my floor."
Zarbon started to put a hand under Vegeta's arm. Vegeta shook him off; he wasn't actually hurt, as Saiyans measured injuries, just very angry; and got to his feet. After a contemptuous stare at his father's back, the Crown Prince marched out of the throne room.
Zarbon glanced around Vegeta's private quarters, raising an eyebrow at the elaborate draperies along the walls. Vegeta didn't put this together. In fact, no Saiyan had a hand in this. He followed the Saiyans as Vegeta stomped through a door into an inner chamber.
Vegeta tramped over to his bed, fisted a hand in the gold-embroidered white coverlet, and swept it into a pile in the middle of the floor. He paced in a tight circle on the cloth, once, then sat down, cross-legged, in the midst of the fabric.
As I thought. Evolved to the point of stealing the trappings of other civilizations; not evolved to the point of developing much of their own.
Despite his posture, the Prince was not meditating and glared at his Saiyan guards balefully. Zarbon waited to see if he was about to throw his version of a royal temper tantrum, and when no outburst seemed forthcoming, asked, "Is there warm water around here? I'll clean your cuts."
"I don't care about them," snarled Vegeta.
Zarbon took him by his pointed chin and turned his face up; Vegeta batted his hand away. After a quick, professional assessment, Zarbon warned, "Those are likely to scar."
Vegeta snorted. "I don't care," he said again.
"Oh, but I care. I can't stand looking at ugly things, Vegeta. Those look like they may be especially repulsive."
"Feh. Radditz, show him."
Radditz jerked his head. Zarbon obediently followed him through a door that opened into a bathing chamber easily the size of the bedroom. They dug around looking for a basin, then Radditz showed him how to work the facilities to produce hot water. Grabbing a couple of soft cloths, they went back into the main chamber.
Nappa was kneeling before Vegeta talking to him in a low tone, but stopped when Zarbon returned. "Do you want to do this?" asked Zarbon.
Nappa growled, getting to his feet.
"Out of my way, then. I'm sure there are other young boys on the premises you can hold down for beatings."
"You--!" started Nappa. Vegeta, an amused cast to his gory face, shushed him. Zarbon wondered if Nappa ever got to complete a sentence around the young Prince.
"Nappa was just reminding me that it's not my place to resist my father. Not unless I mean to kill him. I'm not ready to rule."
"And I'm not likely to be passive next time," said Zarbon coldly, kneeling in front of Vegeta. He wrung out one of the cloths. "This will sting. Radditz found some antiseptic liquid, so I tossed it in."
Vegeta did not wince. "When do we start training?"
"Tomorrow's fine. You could spend thirty second or so in a tank, and these would just close up."
Another snort from the Prince. "It takes five minutes to fill up, and another couple to drain."
"And your schedule on your first day back is, of course, much too full."
Vegeta closed his eyes as Zarbon drew the damp cloth to one cut's apex by his lid. "You're dangerously impertinent."
"I've sworn no oaths to you, Vegeta. You aren't my prince."
"Hmph."
Zarbon's brows folded together as he worked. The first cut was not deep or jagged, but the one that marked the second blow was still streaming blood. The King had been more deliberate with that strike. "He's laid open your cheekbone," Zarbon said evenly after he'd stanched the blood flow and finally gotten a good look at the damage. "I'd really suggest the regeneration tank. Otherwise I'll have to stitch this up."
"You're full of homely talents," sneered Vegeta.
"I'm a mercenary. Needlework is a handy skill. Never know when a cape might need hemming in the middle of a firefight."
Vegeta's eyes flew open, and he looked at Zarbon blankly before the side of his mouth quirked. "I'll sit in the bloody tank," he said, his tone annoyed, but Zarbon had seen the smothered grin. "Zarbon," Vegeta added as the other man started to get up. "Be careful about challenging my father."
Zarbon tossed the towel into the basin. "Your father is a coward," he said coldly.
"Shut up, baka," snapped Nappa, and even Radditz gave a warning grunt.
Vegeta smiled dangerously. "You call the King a coward? In front of witnesses? You surprise me, Zarbon."
"I don't care if he kills you cleanly," returned Zarbon, his voice ice. "I don't care if he tortures you to death because he can't get the name of your girlfriend out of you, and then destroys her city to make sure there are no heirs. But to hit you just because he can, knowing you can't hit back -- feh. It's the mark of a coward."
"Are you such an infallible judge of character?"
"Not at all," Zarbon promptly returned. "If I were, I would have kept my cushy assistant's job with Freeza. Instead I'm stuck on this barbaric planet with a homicidal brat and his murderous parent. Clearly I am no judge of character."
There was a choking sound from behind him, probably from Nappa. Vegeta actually chuckled. "You'll have more fun here. Radditz, show my suicidal trainer to his quarters. Zarbon."
"Vegeta."
"You are a good judge of character," the Prince said softly. "But leave my father alone. His life belongs to me."
Zarbon inclined his head, and followed Radditz out.
Read The Young Prince: Chapter Five
Return to Vejiitasei Ascendant
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