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The Young Prince
Chapter 10
Zarbon looked at the single occupant pod, looked at Radditz, and came close to walking away.
But he felt he owed the little Prince something, even if it was just a sound beating, so he gritted his teeth, focused on the goal, and just said, "How long to Rigel Seven?"
"About two days, depending on the solar winds in its system."
"And this is the fastest thing you Saiyans have?"
The guard snarled, "It's the fastest thing anyone has."
If Radditz doesn't stop smirking, I'm going to...
Zarbon reminded himself to settle down. "Fine, whatever, let's just get going."
"We can get another one from the Northern Continent in about an hour."
"We've wasted enough time," said Radditz, his grin belying the somber words.
Glaring at him, Zarbon lowered himself into the pod and scooted as far to the side as he possibly could, which wasn't far at all. The interior of the pod was contoured for the comfort of a single humanoid figure, and contours weren't easy to circumvent. There was no way he could avoid contact with Radditz when the Saiyan folded himself into the pod after him. Good thing Vegeta chopped off my hair at the tournament. They'd be nothing but hair everywhere in this vehicle if I had a full head right now...
After nearly getting entangled in strands of Radditz's mane, Zarbon fisted a handful and flung at his temporary roommate. "Keep your hair on your side of the capsule. Hey! Keep everything on your side of the capsule!"
"Sorry. Has a mind of its own."
Zarbon narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the smirking Saiyan. "I'm sure."
He had an hour head start, maybe two if Zarbon couldn't find appropriate transportation and spare scouters at the king's southern palace. That was assuming Zarbon bothered chasing after him at all, thought Vegeta with a smirk. If the numbers reading across his screen were correct, though, he was out of reach of pursuit, and the attacking fleet could only stop him by turning back and intersecting him. He would arrive on the planet several hours after the first wave, and probably several before Zarbon (or who-ever the King sent after him) could possibly catch him.
Vegeta could only hope there was anything left to fight when he got to Rigel Seven. Saiyan squads were very efficient at overwhelming planetary defenses. Saiyan soldiers could move fast enough to avoid most weapons fire and even low-ranking ones possessed enough ki to wipe out a city with a single blast. Generally speaking, a five member team was sufficient and then some for planetary take-over. Which meant the dispersal of (Vegeta counted) at least six squads for one world was either overkill or an indication of a fight worthy of his presence.
What he could find on the race inhabiting Rigel Seven was not promising. The insect-derived species that populated the planet was said to be a pastoral lot that possessed no discernable ki levels. Which, while it made the disappearance of two scouts sent to the planet puzzling, might well mean he was risking severe punishment for something not worth his time.
And there was one other disappointing note; while Rigel Seven had several planetary satellites, none of them were capable of generating the energy necessary for a Saiyan to turn oozaru. Fighting in his transformed state would not be possible.
Settling back into the scouter's padded seat, Vegeta hoped that there would, at least, be something left for him to battle upon arrival. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind and look for the elusive center Zarbon insisted he must possess.
By the fourth hour or so, Zarbon gave up on trying to avoid contact. It was impossible in the confined quarters, and staying balled up on "his" side of the capsule was damned uncomfortable besides. They ended up sprawled all over the confines of the cockpit, arms and legs and hair everywhere, and Radditz was being perfectly controlled and keeping even his tail to himself.
Either he's getting over it, or it doesn't make him do things he really doesn't want to do. Just opens him to--temptation. And if he's really been involved with another of my species before; well, we are a tempting lot...
A light blinked on the console. Radditz flicked a lazy glance at it and said, "Incoming message."
"Oh, like they're going to tell us anything! They are so convinced I'm in cohoots with I-don't-know-who they won't give us any intelligence on Rigel Seven."
"I suppose that translates into, you get it this time." Radditz pushed the button the activated the tiny view screen and said, "Yeah, got anything for us yet?"
The image gazing back at them was not Saiyan.
"Lord Freeza!" gasped Zarbon, automatically putting a hand up to smooth his hair and grasping a handful of Radditz's instead. Oh, I hope this doesn't look like what it looks like, he thought incoherently.
Freeza smiled, a thin-lipped grin of genuine amusement, and said, "Zarbon, my dear friend. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"N-no--"
Freeza made a slight clicking noise and shook his head. "The Saiyan military couldn't spring for a shuttle? You really should come back and work for someone who knows how to treat a valuable mercenary like yourself, Zarbon."
There was a low rumble from Radditz, although Zarbon couldn't tell if it was a growl or suppressed laughter. "I -- this is an honor, of course, my lord --"
"But why am I bothering you? You left a message for Challia to contact you. Her away mission has been extended for some time, and I wanted to make sure you knew. I suspect some of my messages have not been making their way to you as they should, so this time I insisted on speaking to you personally."
"I'm -- I'm sorry you had to go to the inconvenience."
"Is there something another member of my staff can help you with, Zarbon? Another one of the trainers, perhaps?"
"I -- no, sir, thank you. I just wanted to consult my former sensei about a personal matter. It's of no importance."
"Of course. I'll leave the message for her return, then. I trust the Saiyans are treating you better this time around?"
Zarbon smiled and felt himself relax. "The Saiyans don't change, Lord Freeza." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Radditz raise a sardonic eyebrow. "Of course, I don't have to be on my good behavior this time."
Radditz grinned, and Freeza chuckled softly. "I'm sure that's very liberating for you, Zarbon. Please let me know if you wish to return to my service. You know, I've had three personal attaches since you left; I'm finding you very difficult to replace."
"Yes, sir. I'll keep you posted."
"And if you need any help with that impressive young Prince -- I trust his training is going smoothly?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Of course. I would expect no less of you. Do keep me informed."
Freeza dimpled again, and the screen went blank. Radditz said, "Well, that was weird."
The Saiyan was regarding him with a hint of suspicion, as he might well be, thought Zarbon. "I tried to get in touch with Challia before going to the Southern Continent," he said, an unwarranted defensive note creeping into his voice.
"Understandable. The confusing part is why Freeza himself would want to talk to you."
Having no explanation for that, Zarbon chose silence. After a minute Radditz chuckled softly. "I see there is someone who flusters even you."
"Shut up. Or I'll transform right now and we'll see how you are at breathing when I suddenly take up twice as much space."
"Oh, you don't want to play I-transform-into-something-bigger-than-you-transform-into with a Saiyan." Radditz's tone held a sharp-edged warning. "Trust me on that."
Vegeta was sure he had not yet discovered his center (although how he would know it when he found it was something he needed to ask Zarbon), but locking himself into his own mind made time spin by remarkably fast. When the computer informed him that it was an hour to Rigel Seven, he opened his eyes in surprise. He flipped on his com, and promptly switched the frequency; it contained a very annoyed broadcast from his father demanding his immediate return. He picked up snatches of transmissions that weren't in Standard, and might have been in the native tongue of Rigel Seven; when the computer couldn't translate the signals, he moved on. He couldn't find anything on the usual frequencies the Saiyans used, either in Standard or in any of the tribal dialects, that indicated a major military operation was going on nearby. Tell me they didn't cancel the whole thing when my father found out I was coming!
He tapped a few commands into the computer to direct his capsule's window toward Rigel Seven, which was one of the system's inner planets. He should soon be able to get a good fix on it and perhaps see if anything like a military action were taking place on its surface. Rounding a gas giant that had blocked his view, Vegeta suddenly pursed his lips and blew out silently. Either there was a massive electrical storm covering the planet the computer identified as Rigel Seven, or--
--or there was a battle going on that included detonation of high atmospherics.
I will see some action, thought Vegeta gleefully. The real question now is, do I accept the punishment my father will mete out to me, or do I just take the throne when I return?
Considering his options kept him occupied for the rest of the flight.
He had never made a hard planet landing before, and was surprised at how much he was thrown around in the capsule. Rubbing a shoulder, Vegeta popped the hatch and stepped out, finding himself at the bottom of wide, deep impact crater. He could hear the whine of energy weapons nearby -- as if weapons of any sort were useful against Saiyans! He started to charge up slightly, then decided against it; he had landed on the night side of the planet, and charging would make the ki field surrounding him glow. Zarbon said you should observe your opponents...they don't need to observe me back!
He floated up until he was several yards above the crater, gazing out on a darkened landscape. His large angular eyes, adapted to low-light levels by night-living ancestors in the pre-historic past, could easily make out the shadows of long, thin-trunked trees, some unnaturally askew. He began to cast about with that strange seventh sense he had developed, seeking out ki levels, turning this way and that until something in his mind zeroed in. Drifting slightly north-east, Vegeta was sure he was picking up four or five separate entities that his mind assured him possessed ki consistent with warriors of third class. Starting toward the soldiers, he heard again that annoying whine and this time saw a flash through the treetops, definitely north-east of his own landing. He speeded up slightly, half-smiling; wouldn't the two of them (who-ever they were) be startled to see their prince drop out of the sky...?
Two?
Vegeta halted. Hadn't there been more?
That whine again. Couldn't the natives of this worthless rotating rock put a silencer on their damned weapons...?
Something in Vegeta's mind severed cleanly. Suddenly there were no ki levels for him to lock onto. Hovering indecisively, he lowered to the tree canopy and set his feet on a branch. His seventh sense had failed him; there were no Saiyan foot soldiers here. All this center stuff short-circuited my brain, he thought in disgust. That's what I get for listening to some green-haired freak of an alien.
That strange corner of his mind that fed him erroneous ki readings was again clambering for attention. Annoyed, he glanced down. Shapes that would have been indistinct to other than Saiyan eyes were skittering silently through the underbrush. He could make out several body types, two and three segmented, ranging in size from two to four feet in height. Glimpses of profiles as some of the creatures turned their heads in divers directions revealed mandibles, some broad and horn-like, others delicate, barely protruding. Only a couple wore scouters, and those, since the entities were ignoring his presence, were obviously turned off. The insectoids moved along on either two or four appendages; the upper pair of appendages were modified, gripping claws. Most of them held nothing, but two of the largest ones had long-barreled weapons, gleaming metallic in the faint starlight, with a wide brace at one end. They chittered at each other in a pitch beyond that of mammalian hearing, although Vegeta could pick out several notes. Kneeling, he assessed their positions and was ready to leap out at them when he again heard Zarbon's voice, wearily saying, "Patience." That idiot's ruined me, the Prince thought, but he floated upwards and, using the canopy for cover, silently tracked the dozen or so figures.
It seemed the insectoids were doing some tracking of their own. Pulling up in surprise, Vegeta hovered as they approached the edge of the blast crater his craft made as it hit. Were they crazy? Why would they be seeking him out? They had no ki to speak of, although he had no scouter and right now he wasn't sure he could trust his senses...
They had scouters.
And one of them was just moving an appendage up to its head in a gesture that, although the joints moved differently and no fingers were involved, Vegeta recognized all too well.
His power burst from him as his aura flared into white and blue light, casting elongated shadows around the creatures as they turned to find him, exploding their scouters as he manifested a ki level far above that of a warrior of third class. He pulled his hands apart, feeling the charge of ki channeling through his arms, exploding through his fists. He began to laugh with the glory of it. "Gamma Gun! Take that, bug boys!" he shouted as the rapid-fire bursts of ki exploded from him in small, spreading fireballs.
The two largest of the insectoids swung those long barreled weapons up and, bracing the wide end against their upper carapaces, fired back. Vegeta laughed again as his first barrage hit, churning up dirt and plants, insectoid parts flying as they exploded --
And stopped laughing when the wide beam of red-tinged energy from those strange weapons met some of his blasts in mid-air and, after a second where his bright bursts of ki and the red light seemed to merge and entwine, exploded together. The spreading blast field buffeted him and threw the surviving insectoids to the ground.
Squinting past his crossed wrists as he blocked as much of the explosion as he could, Vegeta noted that the insectoids seemed as surprised as he was. There was no projectile weapon he knew of, energy or otherwise, that could stop a ki attack; apparently they thought there was no ki attack they couldn't overpower with their weapons. And if I were a warrior of third class, I'd be dust motes about now...
The insectoids were already recovering and were targeting him again. Vegeta waited until they fired, then dropped under where the blast should hit; the energy wavered and reformed, following. Dammit, heat-seekers! With his high Saiyan metabolism, he was probably generating more heat than the night-cooled surface of the planet itself.
I'm dead, thought Vegeta, snarling and starting to bring up his hands for a futile counter, knowing it would take several seconds -- seconds he did not have -- to charge up for another full-power ki attack.
Then, inexplicably, his mind went absolutely pure, as if clarified by a magnesium flare of white light.
Instead of blocking, his hands locked to his sides as he made his body as streamlined as possible, whipping back under the approaching blast, feeling the heat curve after him as he dove like a torpedo toward the crater and the forms scattered along its edge. Zipping between the two weapon-wielders and shooting up at a ninety-degree angle, Vegeta heard the roar of collision as the ray of energy couldn't make the turn and impacted against the ground. The leading fringe of the explosion caught his boots; rather than fighting against it, he flattened his feet and let the explosion push him higher, turning only when he felt the energy began to dissipate, and looked back to see what sort of devastation he had wrought.
His vision filled with oncoming red-tinged death. One of those creatures had squeezed off a last blast before its destruction.
No conscious thought invaded Vegeta's mind. Bringing his hands together, he flung a massive ki ball at the energy beam. Even before it struck he could tell it wouldn't be enough; the ki ball was only going to negate about half of the beam, the rest would still reach him. He stretched his arms in front of him, spreading his fingers as he concentrated his ki into a curved shield a yard ahead, braced in mid-air for the impact.
Though weakened, it struck with a force that made him gasp and grimace, bending his elbows and wrists painfully back, threatening to overwhelm him. Snarling, he pushed back, feeling the ki shield buckle and stretch, holding it together by sheer will as streaming plasma rushed past him into the upper atmosphere, where it thinned into oblivion.
It was almost over when he felt one fragment weaken and tear, and a bolt of energy, no more around than his finger, broke through. It neatly punctured his armor, piercing his upper torso. Half-fainting, Vegeta dropped one arm, screaming as he pushed outward with his remaining ki to ward off the trailing end of the energy; then, without even enough ki left to hover, he felt darkness close in as he started to fall.
Read The Young Prince: Chapter Eleven
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