Ch 13
Radditz watched her as she moved
around him, examining monitors here and there and taking readings when needed,
her motions loose and distracted as if she were a white sheet being blown about
in the wind. He studied her closely, watching how the light looked powdery on
her skin as her soft flesh caught it, smelling her as the light warmed her and
released her scent towards him. She sighed and looked at him, her eyes seeming
veiled, the blue color watery instead of its usual crispness. His black eyes twitched
as she accidentally twisted one of the cords running from the machines,
tweaking one of the needles in his arms and causing him pain as it bucked about
in his soft vein. Bulma’s face snapped to him and her expression slackened in
surprise as she immediately remedied the situation. Her hands nimbly resituated
the position of the needle and pressed down the medical tape once again. She
was about to withdraw her hands, muttering an apology, when his huge hand
covered hers. She blinked at him, stunned, and saw his dark gaze glinting like
raw coal. “You’re brilliant,” he murmured, his low voice rumbling through the
room. She didn’t reply, just continued to look at him, aware of the warm weight
of his hand on hers. He was so gigantic- was he nearly seven feet tall? His
hand dwarfed hers, the palm and fingers rough and calloused, but incredibly
warm. Yamcha’s hand had been large, calloused, and manly as well, but not so
worn and not so warm.
She finally withdrew her hand,
using it to tuck her fine hair behind her ear awkwardly. “Thank you,” she said
curtly, and moved away a little to occupy herself with other tasks at the
monitors. Radditz made her uncomfortable, his presence always giving rise to a
cold lump in her stomach. She tried so hard to be nice to him, but he seemed so
pathetic for all his size that she noticed she had a considerable lack of
respect for him.
Radditz shook his head slowly,
his eyes lowering and his great mane of black hair spilling in all directions.
“You miss that earthling man,” he said, not stating it as a question. “But you
knew he wasn’t right for you.”
Bulma turned to him. Maybe she
had underestimated this one. “What? How do you know that?” she said, careful to
keep emotion out of her voice.
Radditz looked at her,
unsmiling. “You mother told me you refused him for your life mate,” he said,
eyes studying her face. “But you don’t miss his love. You miss his friendship.”
Radditz kept staring at her his eyes narrowing. “You miss someone trying to
understand you. He couldn’t keep up with you, though. He wasn’t smart enough,
he didn’t challenge you, he didn’t dissect and interpret you. You want someone
who will give you that sort of intense involvement?” he said, voice never
rising or changing cadence.
Bulma shuddered inwardly. He was
smarter than she expected. She didn’t know why, but she had sort of assumed
that he would be of limited mental capacity, like Goku. “I don’t know what I
want,” she said, dismissing him with a cold wave of her hand.
Radditz smiled at her gesture,
his long arm snaking out and resting his hand against her cheek. “What is it
you look for in a man, Bulma?” he whispered, dark eyes moving over her face
like oil.
She stepped out from under his
hot touch and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure. I hope that when I find it
I’ll know,” she said coldly.
Radditz retracted his hand and
placed it in his lap. He nodded, a slight smile on his face. “You need someone
to make you burn,” he said, not glancing at her as he looked at the white
coverlet draped over his legs. “You need someone who ignites you to your very
core, and is consumed by you as well.” He raised his eyes to her briefly. “You
want to go in a blaze of unholy fire. Do you really think a passionless
earthling would have, or ever will, give that to you?”
Bulma stared at him. He was
right. Absolutely right. Saiyans were a little telepathic; could he be reading
her now, knowing things she wasn’t herself aware of, pulling them from her mind
as she looked at him? Her eyes narrowed a little. He was different, far different
than what she expected. Her eyes met his and she swallowed. What did he want
from her? She thought of that muscular, heavy body moving over hers, wondered
what the rest of his skin felt like, and how far he resembled a human. She
shook her head suddenly, amazed at herself and ashamed. Sure, she really
enjoyed sex, but as she examined him she knew it would come with complications.
She didn’t want complications yet. So far she hadn’t met a man worth the
trouble. She smiled to herself. That would have to be some man, she said to
herself. He’d have to offer the universe itself to her on a platter for her to
even consider it. “You may be right, Radditz,” she said smoothly. “But I doubt
there is a person in this entire universe born strong enough to convince me to
surrender myself and then able to handle me once I do.” She laughed once,
bitterly, and left the room.
“What will it take for me to be
that man?” Radditz whispered to himself.
As Bulma shut the door behind
her she realized why Yamcha had been so important to her, and why Radditz never
would be. Her hand rested on the cool material, waiting for her mind to return
as she examined herself. Radditz had no humor. No love for himself, and no
humor, which would only make him brittle and breakable. Bulma smiled to
herself, feeling sorry for Radditz, and realizing that the man to make her love
him would have to be unbreakable indeed.
“Vegeta?” the voice crackled
over the communicator. Vegeta looked at the screen in annoyance and pushed the
acceptance key.
“What is it?” he snapped,
rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the grit from his
eyelids working itself against the fabric of his gloves.
“The Rigel 7 inhabitants have
refused to surrender,” Zarbon replied.
Vegeta leaned forward and
sighed, looking out the window of his pod. He planted his hands on his knees
and pressed himself against the glass, straining to see the planet. Finally it
came into sight; a sulfurous ball of yellow clouds with oceans visible beneath.
He wondered vaguely if the Rigelians looked anything like the Arlians. “Then
let’s destroy it,” Vegeta said coldly, leaning back once again into the padding
of his seat.
There was a few seconds of
silence. “Your suggestion of method?” Zarbon said stiffly, his voice a bit crackly
over the radio.
Vegeta sighed and put a hand to
his head. “Can’t you do it?” he muttered testily.
“Listen, I know you’re tired,
and trust me, I’m worried about you, but you need to quit being a baby and
destroy the the damn planet, okay?”
Zarbon said, his voice fringed
with irritation. “If you’re going to prove a point as Emperor, you have to be
the one to do it.”
“Fine,” Vegeta growled in
response, watching as the planet drew nearer. “But first I’ll have one last
go,” he said, and set his hailing frequency for the planet below. He
straightened his cape and hair as the frequency was accepted and an image
flickered to life on his viewscreen. The image was of a heavyset, furry
creature, whose eyes still managed to protrude a little from its head.
“What do you want?” the furry
thing growled.
“I am Vegeta, head of the New
Saiyan Empire. I request your immediate and unconditional surrender in exchange
for eternal protection against Lord Freeza and integration into the New Saiyan
economic system. Understand that in addition to my protection, and as long as
your people recognize that I hold ultimate power, you will be allowed to govern
yourselves and carry on as usual,” Vegeta said, raising his head a little to
soften the effect of the light of the pod on the purple bags under his eyes.
The furry creature laughed. “Do
you know how many times Freeza has failed to defeat us?” it cackled, and Vegeta
could see sharp teeth in its mouth. “We don’t need your protection. What do we
have to fear?”
Vegeta smiled coldly, his mouth
a thin line. “You have me to fear,” Vegeta hissed. “Let me put it to you this
way: surrender or die.”
He thought he could see the furry beast pale a little beneath its coat, but it
promptly continued to laugh in his face. “Surrender? Never!” the beast said,
pounding its fist on an unseen console.
Vegeta shrugged, his smile
parting to show his white teeth. “Then die,” Vegeta said, and left the
transmission open as he pressed a sequence into the computer of his pod, the
one that would create a temporary atmosphere around his vessel and allow him to
open the pod door and stand in space. He angled the ship so it faced the
planet, then opened the door and stepped out upon the platform it made. He saw
Zarbon do the same with his pod out of the corner of his eye. He called his
energy from within, gasping as it filled his veins with blue fire, consumed his
brain and made him feel like a god. A god of destruction. A long cry escaped
his throat as he distilled the energy and focused it, sending it towards the
planet with a mighty scream. The gigantic blue beam rocketed towards the
planet, and he quickly followed Zarbon’s lead of creating a ki shield. The
impact of his beam with the planet was enormous, the force reverberating
through empty space and exerting force on his chest. Vegeta began to laugh
maniacally, his entire body quivering with mirth as he stood precariously on
the edge of his pod’s door, the sound chilling Zarbon to the bone as he heard
strains of Freeza’s glee in the Saiyans voice. The planet broke up into little
pieces, whirling about the two aliens as the fragments blasted away from their
birthplace, the heat from the abused rock causing ripples in the ki shields.
“That was effective,” Zarbon
said coolly as he glanced at Vegeta, still feeling the chill pass through his
bones. Freeza’s upbringing had been thorough, apparently.
Vegeta smiled coldly back, the
exhilaration of destruction radiant in his already-fevered eyes. “Of course.
You should know better than to underestimate me,” he chided.
Zarbon scowled, remembering that
time was of the essence. Vegeta was still powerful, but his body wouldn’t be
able to handle such power if it wasn’t healthy. He needed rest. “Should we get
a move on?” he suggested smoothly.
Vegeta nodded. “Yes. On to the
next system. I think we should take a bit of a respite there, if it proves
nice. I deserve it after such a fine showing,” Vegeta replied, and climbed back
into his pod.
“You’re playing with fire,” a low
voice assaulted her from the side of the house.
Bulma froze in her tracks,
disoriented and surprised in her trek across the lawn from the infirmary to her
house. “Who’s there?” she asked quietly, eyes wide and searching. She located a
place by the side of the building where the shadows seemed thicker, able to
discern the tall shape of a man with unruly shoulder-length hair.
“You should see the way he looks
at you. Don’t pretend that you didn’t return his look,” the voice continued.
“Yamcha, it’s none of your
business,” she said, straightening and forcing the fear out of her voice. It
was strange for him to be sneaking around at night like this, and she knew he
wouldn’t be doing it unless he thought there was a good reason. Then again, she
had broken up with him, and he probably felt as if he was no longer entitled to
accompany her casually, or that he wouldn’t be welcome. Yes, that’s just the
sort of thing he would think, with his bizarre sense of pseudo-chivalry.
“You didn’t turn me down for
him, did you?” Yamcha replied softly, not stepping into the light of the yard.
Bulma shook her head. “Of course
not, but talking to him made me understand a little better why I can’t be with
you.”
Yamcha sighed, the sound sucked
up immediately by the quiet whistling of the night breeze through the
shrubbery. “Ah. Well, Bulma, you’ve never had a very keen sense of the danger
you put yourself in. I’ll always protect you, even from yourself, and having
said that I think it’s only honest that I tell you that you need to stay as far
away from that alien as you can.”
Bulma frowned, knowing better
than to approach him and start making demands. “It may be dangerous, but it’s
still my life,” she said, making an attempt not to sound angry.
“He wants you, Bulma, he’s
strong enough to take you, and there’s not a soul on this planet who can save
you. I’d die trying, but even that wouldn’t be enough. He’s savage and alone,
and you’re understanding and beautiful. Listen, I’m not trying to tell you how
to live your life. If I could do that we’d be getting married. But I can ask
you to be careful. Don’t run to someone else so quickly, okay? It’ll hurt my
pride,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
She
heard the rustle of his clothes as he made to leave. His lurking in the bushes unsettled
her, but she supposed she understood his motives. “I got you,” she murmured,
and watched the light of the stars on the retreating back of his gi as he
walked off into the night.
“Well, that was considerably easier,” Zarbon said as he exited his pod and
stretched, his long limbs reaching for the sky as his golden eyes closed in a
yawn.
Vegeta scowled as he crawled out
of his own vessel, blinking at the sunset of the alien planet. “What did you
expect?” he snarled, gazing about at the dense vegetation. The new planet,
which the inhabitants called Kijar, was in the Rigel system as well, but had
surrendered almost immediately to his demands. He smiled to himself, knowing
for certain that destroying Rigel 7 had been the right decision. It had apparently
shown the other planets in the system that he meant business. As he watched
Zarbon stroll around the clearing, he realized how grateful he was that this
entire planet, like Arlia, was ruled by one person. Zarbon looked at him, pale
green face expectant, and Vegeta summoned the power to rise into the air,
seeing his companion follow his lead out of the corner of his eye.
He looked around, a little
disoriented by the solid expanse of trees that stretched in every direction. He
had never seen such a densely vegetated planet, and he began to wonder a little
if there were any inhabitants to speak of. It would annoy him if they had
wasted their time in claiming a planet with only a million or so inhabitants.
“Shall we?” Zarbon’s voice said,
piercing his thoughts.
Vegeta glared at him angrily,
ashamed that he had been caught in his distraction. “Shut up. We’ll leave when
I’m ready,” he snapped with a curled lip.
Zarbon shrugged and turned in a
slow circle. “No hurry. I can’t see anywhere to go anyway,” he muttered,
crossing his pink-sheathed arms over his chest and finger the fine stitchery of
the fabric.
Vegeta snorted in disdain and
trained his keen Saiyan senses on the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing a
finger at the distance. He could faintly see the tall, graceful spires of a
city reaching up into the syrupy light of the sunset.
Zarbon shaded his eyes with a
hand and squinted into the light. “What? I don’t see anything?” he said.
Vegeta smiled that odd
half-smile of his. “That’s because you’re useless,” he said haughtily, and
began to drift in the direction of the city. “Now stop sitting on your thumb
and move your freakish green ass.”
Zarbon scowled in annoyance.
“Civil as ever, I see,” he mumbled. “Aren’t I fortunate to have such a lovely
traveling companion.”
“Enough of your complaining,”
Vegeta said. “Thanks to me you’ll sleep in a fine bed tonight,” he growled, and
took off toward the city in a blaze of light.
“Thanks for nothing,” Zarbon
snorted, and followed his prince.
The city was gigantic, its
sparkly ivory towers reaching gracefully towards the sky, the round windows
filled with pointed little faces staring at them as they lowered themselves
into the town square. Vegeta planted his feet on the pale pink paving stones and
glared around the square, trying to keep from keeling over in exhaustion. His
body ached from his ki usage of earlier, and he narrowed his eyes to dispel the
tunnel vision. He felt a slight nudge against his back and turned to Zarbon.
“Don’t you ever touch me,” he snarled quietly as people began to gather around
them.
“But look,” Zarbon whispered,
making a minimal gesture towards a contraption in the square. Vegeta frowned
but raised his eyes, an eyebrow raising a little when he saw what Zarbon was
looking at. It was a streamlined vessel, and if he wasn’t mistaken it looked
very advanced and possibly space-ready. It seemed that they had found their
source for intergalactic transportation, if any importance could be assigned to
appearances.
“Yes, yes, very nice,” he said,
voice patronizing, not wanting Zarbon to be able to claim any victory of
discovery. “Where’s your leader?” he asked the crowd, not responding to the way
Zarbon’s eyes narrowed. The crowd didn’t answer, but a few people pointed
towards the southern end of the square, motioning up the long path to the large
structure built at the base of the hill. The building was made from the same
graceful, arching architecture as the rest of the city, constructed with the
white, shimmery stone used in all the other buildings, but had tall spires
topped with some sort of banner. “Let’s go,” he said, and took to the air,
Zarbon close behind.
Vegeta didn’t bother knocking
but barged right in, pushing people out of his way until he had burst into the
chamber that seemed to serve as a throne room. “Where is your leader?” he
demanded, impatient and tired.
“We desire an audience,” Zarbon
said quickly, trying to smooth things over, and sent a glare full of daggers in
Vegeta’s direction. A few of the people in the hall scurried to and fro,
apparently relaying messages, while the others rushed about gathering food and
drink. Zarbon caught a few of the maids glancing in his direction, the pale
purple of their cheeks darkening when he happened to catch their gaze. He edged
a little closer to Vegeta and looked at the inhabitants of Kijar. They were all
of them petite, and apparently bi-gender although not strikingly so, for the
men were thin and delicate just like the women, although they lacked
certain...assets, Zarbon realized as his gaze moved down the throat and chest
of one of the maids. They all had soft-looking pale purple skin, with different
pastel shades of thick hair on their heads, the men wearing it in soft
mohawk-styles. They only seemed to have three fingers to accompany their thumbs
on each hand, and their ears were long and pointed, the tips even with the
crown of their heads. Zarbon shuddered as he met one of their gazes head-on,
for although the Kijarans seemed delicate and soft, their large, almond-shaped
eyes were hard and black, and there was no distinction between whites, irises,
or pupils. It looked as if someone had just transplanted black, shiny orbs
right into the sockets. He quailed as one of them blinked, for although they
looked roughly humanoid and mammalian, the eyelids came from the corners of the
eyes rather than from the top and bottom. He was still contemplating them in
disgust when one of the maids came over and offered him a silver tray that held
glasses filled with some sort of liquid. He was about to decline when the
female picked up the glass and pressed it into his hand, her warm, thin fingers
brushing against his skin. He blinked in surprise and looked down at her,
suddenly noticing the narrow, graceful lines of her neck and following them
until he realized his eyes were locked in the depths of her substantial bosom.
He looked into her eyes and she smiled with a giggle, showing perfect white
little teeth between full dark lips, her cheeks deepening in color as she
blushed. He raised a fine eyebrow in curiosity and took the glass from her,
watching as she walked away, her ample hips swaying with the movement. It was
then that he noticed that several of the maids seemed to be looking at him in
that covetous, beguiling way, and it occurred to him that it was time to put on
the manly charm. He flashed his most brilliant smile, earning him quite a few
giggles. “They seem friendly,” Zarbon said as he raised the glass to his lips.
Vegeta’s heavy brows did not
lift. “I don’t care,” he growled, frustrated that he hadn’t really understood
the strange exchange between Zarbon and the maid. Suddenly the sound of doors
being thrown open echoed throughout the hall and through them drifted an
entourage. A slip of a woman stood at the center, and as they entered the room
she parted them with a gesture and approached the two aliens.
“You are the Emperor?” she said,
her Standard a little broken as her high, melodious voice carried through the
hall.
Vegeta nodded. “Yes. I am Prince
Vegeta of the Saiyans, Emperor of the New Saiyan Empire. You are the one who
issued the surrender?”
The woman nodded, apparently studying his face. “We received word of what you
did to Co...er, Rigel 7, as well as your accomplishments on Arli...Rihon 8.”
Vegeta straightened his posture
a little and nodded. “You have made the right decision. You understand our
terms clearly?” he said, his voice taking on the tone of demand rather than
inquiry.
The woman, presumably the queen,
nodded. “You’re strong, aren’t you?” she asked, taking a step closer.
Vegeta fought down the urge to
raise an eyebrow. “Of course. We are the only ones capable of protecting
you...from...Freeza,” he said, voice trailing off as the female approached him
and laid a little hand on his bicep, running her fingers down his deep clefts
of muscle.
“Very strong,” she said, looking
up at him with liquid black eyes.
Vegeta glanced over at Zarbon,
who had sprouted a wicked grin. Vegeta felt the blush rise unbidden to his
cheeks. What is going on? he thought frantically at Zarbon.
Zarbon didn’t reply, but his
grin widened at seeing Vegeta’s discomfort. It was too amazing to see Vegeta
embarrassed. The thought of Vegeta being coquettish and flirtatious suddenly
burst into his brain, and he laughed out loud. Vegeta shot him a look of cold,
slow death, and his memory immediately raced through everything he knew of
Rigel 3, or Kijar. Ah, yes; the inhabitants of Kijar were few, and as such the
populations in the city tended to be inbred, for some strange custom insured that
they only bred within neighborhoods. The inbreeding seemed to cause most of
their males to be sterile and impotent, which was most likely the reason that
the woman were eying him and Vegeta so furiously. He didn’t know about Vegeta,
but he personally didn’t see any reason not to take advantage of the situation.
Vegeta cleared his throat, angry
that Zarbon hadn’t even attempted to reply. “Then you understand our terms of
domination. You are allowed to rule yourselves, but I make certain dictations
that will be followed. Disobedience will be punished with death. As my first
act as your sovereign I must ask you how your space travel technology rates,”
he said, voice cool, although there were still traces of pink on the bridge of
his nose.
The woman smoothed out the skirts of her gown and blinked up at him. “I suppose
our space travel is fine,” she replied. “Air transportation is important here.”
Vegeta nodded, thinking back to
the dense forests outside. “Yes. At any rate, I would like to know if you have
any designs capable of carrying large numbers of people and how fast.”
“I am Queen Anpane, at your
service, Lord Vegeta,” the woman murmured. “If we do not have such ships at our
disposal I will make certain some are constructed,” she said, her high voice quieting
as she drew a soft finger up Vegeta’s throat, over his Adams apple, and let it
come to rest under his pointed chin.
Zarbon watched Vegeta’s cheeks
redden, although his surly expression did not change, and his posture became
even more guarded. He realized with amusement that Vegeta had no idea how to
deal with females, which he supposed only made sense since Saiyan females had
been exterminated long ago, and Freeza’s legions kept women out of the
fighting. A shame, that, Zarbon mused, for some of the most powerful fighters
he had known had been females. His golden eyes flickered up and saw that Anpane
was about to touch the Saiyan again, and he decided impatiently that enough was
enough. He turned with a snap of his cape and strode over to the Queen, deftly
stepping between her and Vegeta.
“My Lady,” he said, deep voice
even lower and laced with danger, “No one is permitted to lay hands upon His
Majesty.”
She took a step back and blinked, her lavender eyelids sliding over her shiny
black eyes. “Oh, my apologies,” she said coldly. “And who might you be?”
“I am Zarbon, His
Majesty’s...personal aide,” he replied, taking an edge of his white cape in his
hand and bowing deeply.
Don’t you presume to protect
me, Vegeta’s voice
hissed in Zarbon’s mind. Stay out of this.
Zarbon scowled, wishing he
possessed his own telepathy so he could answer Vegeta, but looked at Anpane
once again. “Please don’t rush a space vessel on our account, my Lady,” Zarbon
said, voice honeyed as he could make it to cover the annoyance he felt. A
glance at Vegeta told him that the Prince was utterly helpless in this
situation.
“Then what would you have us do,
Master Zarbon?” the Queen said icily, folding her thin hands across her waist.
Zarbon glanced at Vegeta. “Have
the ships assembled and sent immediately to Arlia,” the Saiyan commanded, his
coloring back to normal, or as normal as it could be considering the dark
circles under his eyes. Zarbon scowled, resigning himself to keep the females
away from Vegeta so the Prince could rest. That assumed, however, that the
Prince even knew what to do with them. “And one more thing,” Vegeta said, the
faintest of smiles flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Have your people
assemble somewhere so we will be visible to all. I will meet you there in one
hour.”
“As you wish, Sire,” Anpane
said, and fluttered out of the hall, followed by her retinue, some of her
handmaidens casting longing looks back at Zarbon.
When most of the people had left
Zarbon exhaled in relief. “Well, they’re not shy, are they?” he said, tucking
loose strands of hair behind his ears.
“Eh?” Vegeta said, raising one
eyebrow and looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
Zarbon was puzzled, but didn’t
comment. “I just don’t want you staying up late tonight with the women. You
need all the rest you can get, and that Anpane looks like she’d move mountains
to get you into bed.”
Vegeta’s scowl deepened and he
turned his head so that Zarbon was confronted with his sharp profile. “I have
no idea what sort of idiocy you’re speaking of,” Vegeta snorted.
Zarbon’s eyes widened. “Surely
you’ve...?”
Vegeta turned to him then, eyes
ablaze underneath his heavy brows. “Shut up,” he hissed.
Zarbon looked around, remembering
that they were in a public place. He scanned the hall quickly and located a
door that looked as if it led to a study. He gestured at it with a jerk of his
head and bowed, motioning with his arm to let the Prince precede him. Vegeta
snorted and strode towards the room with a whirl of his red cape. Zarbon
followed him into the room and closed the door. He leaned against it with a
sigh and examined the Prince. “You mean to tell me, although I realize you’re
still quite young, that you’ve never taken a mate?”
Vegeta snorted and closed his
eyes, raising his nose in the air disdainfully. “Saiyans have better things to
do,” he said.
Zarbon chuckled. “Don’t give me
that garbage, Vegeta. All the Saiyans I ever knew were always in rut and
looking for a piece,” he said with a shake of his head, his earrings quivering
with the movement.
Vegeta’s mouth turned down at
the corners and he stared at the floor furiously, red beginning to steal back
into his cheeks. “I am the Prince. Fighting is all that holds meaning for me,”
he growled.
Zarbon smiled. Of course.
“Sorry, Prince Holier-than-thou. What are you going to do when some female
enchants you? Just sniff around her and leave?” he sneered. Vegeta was wearing
his patience thin. Suddenly Vegeta darted towards him, and before he had a
chance to dodge the back of the Saiyan’s hand had connected viciously with his
face. Zarbon staggered a little under the force as little yellow lights
exploded in his vision and the side of his face began to throb.
Vegeta withdrew his hand and
fussed with the glove, pulling it so it was tight against his fingers once
again. “Oh, did I just ruin your chances with the ladies?” Vegeta sneered,
casting an evil glare at the pale-skinned man. “Don’t forget your place,
Zarbon,” he said coldly. “And I will never be enchanted by a mere female.”
Zarbon cupped his stinging
cheek, battling the violent anger that was building up inside of him. Vegeta
might be stronger than his mammalian form, but if he transformed he could beat
the Saiyan for sure. No- he had to remember his mission and stay alive. “Yes,
sir,” he growled, knowing that the blow was going to leave a horrid blue
bruise.
The fealty oath ceremony had
gone well. The Kijarans seemed to take to Vegeta’s policies easily, and the
manufacturing of space vessels would be underway within the week. Anpane had
even behaved herself, although Zarbon still stood at the inside of the doorway,
guarding the chamber as Vegeta discarded his armor and cape. “We leave
tomorrow,” Vegeta growled as he slid into the bed.
“As you wish,” Zarbon said
coldly, his face a prefect granite mask. He opened the doors, and four or five
maidens immediately glommed onto his sides. “Then I shall retire,” he said,
turning to look at the Prince over his shoulder. One of the females pressed
herself to him more fiercely, and he smiled down at her. He turned his golden
gaze to the Saiyan once again. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he mouthed
silently to Vegeta.
I don’t care, Vegeta thought at him scornfully. Zarbon
shrugged and closed the door behind him. Vegeta fell back into the mounds of
pillows and sighed, closing his eyes and trying to sleep, but the second
darkness was about to overtake him the scream cut loose inside of his head and
those clear blue eyes stared at him. He sat up, covered in sweat and breathing
heavily, feeling his body shudder from the deprivation of rest. He plopped back
down and blinked into the darkness. He couldn’t last much longer, but he had
to. He had to find Radditz and stop his voice, or face his own destruction.
12 / Bulma’s Hideout / 14