Ch 16

She knew she was going to crack, she could just feel the tension running through her veins like liquid metal, coating the inside of her and swelling. She reached out and gripped her drink more tightly, sighing as she watched the heat of her skin cloud the surface of the cold glass. She was alone in the kitchen as midnight rolled around slowly, her hands idly picking at the label of the bottle she was pouring from as she barked a short laugh. If anyone saw her in this state they would certainly drag her away to bed. Drinking alone was never a good sign of anything except trouble. She grimaced at her glass and bolted the liquid with a grimace, scowling at the taste as the alcohol rocketed down her throat and set to boiling in her stomach. She didn’t even like to drink, she remembered with a snarl as her knuckles turned white as she gripped her glass, but she did like the way it made her feel all fuzzy, the way it took the edge off of things that would otherwise cut her. Those emotional cuts were what had led her to the kitchen on this night. She had lost her emotional support structure when she got rid of Yamcha. Now she was alone in the house with two delusional parents, an insane, murderous alien, and an ex-boyfriend lurking in the bushes like some sort of criminal stalker. One of her friends had been killed and was on the way back, but it might not even matter, because and even more murderous-sounding alien was on his way to put an end to them all, unless something could stop him. Which, at the moment, it didn’t appear that anything could, for this Vegeta character sounded like the devil himself, if what her mother had told her was true. She hiccupped and eyed the bottle again, gaging the amount of liquid still left inside. Sighing, she refilled her glass and took another gulp, watching the grains in the wooden table until they were vibrating happily. Bulma smiled to herself and put her forehead down on the cool wood, closing her eyes. Why hadn’t she just said yes to Yamcha? He treated her like gold. Sure, there had been times when he had been with other women, but only when she had broken up with him. But she, she had never been with another man. Another man? Is that what she needed? She raised her head, blinking her eyes rapidly until the room stabilized. Her resolve nearly reached levels critical enough to raise her from her chair, but she failed and stared into her glass once again. What if it all had been preordained? she wondered as she turned the cool glass in her hands, listening to the ice cubes clink against the sides. Her whole damn life had centered around the dragon balls. What if the balls were just a tool for god to get what he wanted out of the humans? Her eyes snapped open as she considered it. Yeah, tempt the humans with a wish, their heart’s desire, but instead get them to do whatever you want. The dragon balls had been what had brought Yamcha to her, what was bringing Goku back. Her whole life had been run by other forces. Well, she should do whatever she wanted, she realized with a burp. She blinked and looked around the room quickly, surveying everything rapidly and shaking her head. The sharp corners still weren’t gone. She needed something more to drink.

She wandered into the infirmary thirty minutes later, her slight form clogging the doorway with darkness as she blocked the light from the hallway. The man was still in bed, hooked up to all those machines. Bulma staggered over to the bed and planted her hands angrily on the railing.“This is all your fault,” she slurred fiercely.

Radditz stirred with a moan, turning his head and opening his eyes. The pain was still roaring in his side and protested with every breath he took. He focused on Bulma’s swaying form and wrinkled his nose. The woman smelled strongly of drink, and the scent was violently assaulting his sensitive nostrils. “What are you talking about?” he growled, voice weak and tired.

Bulma raised a hand and slapped him on the bicep. “If you had never come Goku wouldn’t have died. Yamcha might not have asked me to marry him and we would be together. ChiChi wouldn’t be worried because her little boy was kidnapped by a green guy who used to be the devil. My friends wouldn’t be recovering from concussions, and my mother wouldn’t love you more than me!” she sobbed, and slapped him again. “Now some Vegeta monster is on the way and we’ll all die,” she croaked, tears starting to flow from her cloudy eyes.

Her strikes hadn’t hurt him directly, but the ache in his side was still so intense that every little jiggle pained him. “Bulma,” he breathed, finding the strength to extend an arm. He had never seen a woman cry before, except on the shows that Mrs. Briefs watched with him, and he was finding that he didn’t like it.

“Shut up,” she muttered, wiping her eyes with her fists, and she staggered a little to keep her balance. “Vegeta’s gonna kill us all because of you.” She knew on some level that she was stinking drunk, but her resentment of him was so powerful that she kept on talking. “So keep your stupidity,” she snarled, batting ineffectually at his offered limb.

His black eyes, focusing on her through a haze of pain, began to burn. “Bulma, I’ll never let anyone kill you,” he said, voice full of fire. “Vegeta will never harm you, I promise,” he vowed.

Bulma hiccupped and swayed, clutching at the bed rail to steady herself. “I might lose everything because of you,” she said, voice a quiet wail.

“I’ll fight for you to keep everything else,” he said, fingers finally grabbing hold of her by the cloth of her shirt. She was too drunk to resist as he pulled her close, and the action took almost all of his strength. He managed to get her onto the covers next to him, stroking the back of her head as she cried onto his chest. “I’ll do my best to make sure than when Vegeta comes here he just leaves peacefully.”

She was crying too hard to reply, all her frustration and pain leaking onto the skin of the person who had become her agony’s focus. She slapped an open palm against his shoulder and frustration, not noticing as he winced in pain.

“If you want me to stay here when he leaves I’ll stay,” he said softly, reveling in the feel of his fingers running through her fine, silky hair. He could smell her even through the scent of alcohol, and his entire body wished that he was healed enough to take her. As it was, all he had the strength to do was move his hand awkwardly over her again and again. He listened to her sobbing diminish, and tried frantically to imagine his life removed from Vegeta’s service. Fighting was so important...but Kakarott would be a good sparring partner. The Namekian would be as well. Little Gohan could be properly trained in the Saiyan fashion, as well as any other children Bulma would bear him. Maybe Kakarott’s mate would have more children as well. He could be the professional trainer of the half-Saiyans, he realized suddenly, and relief washed over him. He could still serve his prince and benefit the cause, satisfy his desire for battle, and have Bulma at the same time. He turned his head a little to offer his plan to Bulma, but she had fallen asleep on his chest and was quietly snoring away. He pulled her a little closer to his side and nuzzled the crown of her head with his nose, feeling his eyelids grow heavy as well. His awareness dwindled until he was only certain of the pressure of her body next to his, and then sleep ushered him away to dream of his future.

---

Vegeta awoke and promptly shoved Zarbon away from him. “Get the hell off of me,” he growled.

Zarbon rolled over, blinking his eyes as sleep released him as well. “Get the hell off of you?” he asked, confused. “Why don’t you get the hell off of me?”

Vegeta sat up and rubbed his head. “Don’t talk back to me,” he said dangerously.

Zarbon rose to a squatting position, examining Vegeta painstakingly. “You’re in no position to do anything about it right now,” he commented carefully. “Your condition isn’t any better, you know. Being unconscious isn’t exactly good rest.”

Vegeta kneaded his eyes with his fingers and snarled. “I take it we survived the upper atmospheric?” he said, anxious to change the subject.

Zarbon nodded, eyes casting about for his makeshift waterskin. “That would be correct. What a smart little monkey you are,” he said absently as he reached around him and grabbed the pouch.

“Shut up, you ugly green freak,” Vegeta spat, reaching out and snatching the waterskin from Zarbon. “How long have I been out?”

The taller man smiled coolly. “Long enough that I was almost worried about you. With you unconscious for days on end it’s easier to forget what an asshole you are and feel sorry for you,” he replied. “Long enough for Nappa to be arriving tomorrow.”

Vegeta was about to reply to the insults and blast his aide into oblivion when the name caught his attention. “Nappa?” he breathed in shock.

Zarbon nodded, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the ground. “That is correct. Our old friend, the man with a head as bare as the rock that serves for his brain, the Commander, Nappa. Did the atmospheric make you deaf?” he said crossly.

“Nappa’s dead. He’s been dead for nearly a year. Is your stupid braid too tight, or are you really so stupid that you forgot that?” Vegeta countered, his temper rapidly rising.

Zarbon’s golden eyes narrowed. “Little prince, you have no right to insult me until you can defeat me in battle,” he said dangerously. “And for your information, Nappa apparently isn’t dead. He may have been at one time, but he certainly isn’t now.”

“How do you know this?” Vegeta demanded angrily.

Zarbon glanced in the direction of his pod. “I radioed Atlia for backup. Nappa was there, sitting in the office as pretty as you please. He was furious when he found out you were alone with me, but I think Atlia probably handled the situation well. Consider yourself lucky that Nappa didn’t just wake up and blow the whole planet, and thus your whole scheme, into nonexistence.”

Vegeta’s scowl deepened and he shook his head, trying to listen to Zarbon past the voice screaming in his head. “Just my luck to have Nappa come back and nearly destroy everything,” he muttered.

Zarbon stretched lazily. “Like it or not, he’ll be here tomorrow, as I said earlier. You might as well make use of him. He may be a temperamental dolt, but he’s experienced with moving masses of troops and coordinating attacks. I don’t like the fellow in the least, and I’m sure he feels the same, but at least this way it’ll save you the trouble of having to find someone with not only the knowledge but also the loyalty to you. Admit it- that’s a plus,” he said smoothly.

“I don’t have to admit anything to you,” Vegeta said coldly and turned his back on Zarbon.

The older man sighed. He should have expected such behavior from Vegeta, but it was still unpleasant. He would have figured that with all their time spent together the Saiyan would not only grow to tolerate him but even perhaps to like him. Stupid Saiyans and their refusal to form any emotional bonds. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered, and gently rescued the waterskin from Vegeta’s grip.

---

Bulma sat once again in the kitchen, cradling her head in her hands as her brain tried to leap out of her skull, crawl across the counter, and drown itself in the sink. She was so incredibly hungover. “So why weren’t you in your room last night?” she heard someone say, and she raised her eyes slowly, forcing them to focus.

“Yamcha,” she said, almost groaning. He was the last person she wanted to see. “How are you feeling?” she asked, trying to distract him. She certainly didn’t want him to know that she had spent all night stinking drunk on Radditz’s bed, waking in the morning to his large, brawny arm wrapped around her tightly. As she had thought, nothing good ever came of drink.

Yamcha rubbed his head and smiled. “All right, I think. That bastard really clobbered me yesterday,” he said with an uneasy chuckle.

Bulma smiled painfully in response, her head still throbbing. “We’re lucky he didn’t kill the lot of us, and that he managed to wish back Goku in the process,” she said.

Yamcha rolled his eyes. “Yay, lucky us. Boy, he’s sure a decent guy,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, lucky us,” Bulma muttered, looking back at the counter top.

“Now we have to deal with this Vegeta, sounds like,” Yamcha said. “While you were gone all night and this morning I was up at Kami’s lookout. ‘Course he knew what happened and everything, and he did a little scouting. Turns out this Vegeta guy is about twenty times stronger than Radditz, and he’s apparently not alone. We were training hard before, but now it looks like we’ll have to turn up the heat even more. Might even need to use the room of Spirit and Time,” he drawled, sitting down in a chair and propping a knee against the table.

“How long?” Bulma asked suddenly. She knew it would take Goku a while to get back.

Yamcha scowled and tapped a finger on the table as he thought. “Hmm...he said the Saiyan’s occupied at the moment, but Kami’s estimating two months.”

“Goku should be back by then, hopefully,” she replied, squeezing back the cold fear she felt gathering in her stomach.

Yamcha nodded slowly, adjusting the lapels of his sport coat. “So do you have any more questions in attempt to distract me or can we get back to the meat of your whereabouts last night?” he said casually, flicking away a stray ball of lint.

Bulma scowled. “You’re not my boyfriend,” she cruelly reminded him. “It’s none of your business where I go.”

Yamcha stiffened at her venomous tone but did his best to shrug it off. “Fine. Your mom will tell me anyway,” he said, standing. “She tells better stories than you do anyhow.”

“Fine, Yamcha,” she snapped. “I got stinking drunk, told Radditz it was all his fault and started blubbering, then passed out on the bed next to him. Satisfied?”

Yamcha’s eyes grew wide and he blinked for a few moments in shock. “You went to the alien? Good God, Bulma, did he take advantage of you?” he said in alarm, going over to her.

She turned to face him. “He’s got a hole the size of a volleyball blown through him. Do think he’s in any shape to take advantage of anyone?” she growled.

Yamcha’s eyebrow rose. “He was healthy enough to get out of bed, kick all our asses, and then make his wish,” he reminded her harshly. “I think that’s adequately healthy to do whatever he wanted to your drunk little self.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Bulma said grumpily. “He’s got some sort of weird honor when it comes to females, I think. I’m not sure he really knows how to deal with them.”

Yamcha’s flashing smile sparkled into existence across his handsome face. “Who does?” he countered slyly.

Bulma scowled and reached out to smack him, Yamcha evading her strike easily. “It’s you men who are impossible,” she said, returning her hand to her forehead.

“That’s why you love us, or most of you do,” he said, still bombarding her with charm.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she replied. “We only like you because we like children. Now go back to training or whatever. I don’t want to die in a couple months,” she said, standing and ushering him to the door.

He turned in the doorway and smiled at her again, this time more seriously. “It’ll all be okay, Bulma,” he said quietly, and before she could reply he kissed her gently on the forehead and was gone into the shining blue sky.

---

Vegeta stood, arms crossed over his chest and lip curled slightly as Nappa knelt before him, head bowed. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Vegeta said gruffly. Zarbon sighed; leave it to the Prince to make his subjects feel inferior for having been brought back to life. Only Vegeta was capable of turning dying during an ambush into a sin.

“Nothing, sir. I don’t understand it myself. One moment I was dead, the next alive and wondering what was going on. That’s all, Vegeta, I swear it,” Nappa replied without raising his head.

“Hmph. I should have expected such ignorance from you,” Vegeta said coldly, turning his back on the bald man. Zarbon had to keep from sighing again. Vegeta was also uniquely gifted at alienating his own men. It was a wonder that the Saiyans had put up with him for so long.

“My apologies,” Nappa rumbled, and Zarbon could detect a note of annoyance in the large man’s voice.

“I hate to interrupt this tearful reunion,” Zarbon interrupted, “But I was wondering where the backup troops are, Commander.”

Nappa stood up, asserting his height advantage over the pale blue-green skinned man. “Don’t overstep your bounds,” Nappa growled, leaning close enough that Zarbon could see the individual whiskers of the Saiyan’s moustache. “I only take orders from the Prince.”

Zarbon waved a hand in front of his face. “Whew, I can tell you were dead almost a year,” he said with a mock choking sound.

Vegeta’s mouth curled in a half-smile. “Zarbon could vaporize you with a glance, Nappa,” he cautioned. “I advise you show the proper respect.”

Nappa bowed curtly to Vegeta. “As you wish, sire,” he mumbled, fixing his black eyes on Zarbon with hatred.

“Good. Now answer the question. Where are the troops?” Vegeta said quietly.

Nappa pointed a finger at the sky. “They’re orbiting the planet with the supplies, sir,” Nappa replied. “All are eagerly awaiting your orders.”

The half-smile graced Vegeta’s mouth once again. “We won’t be needing them. I feel like having a little fun,” he said with a snort. With a whirl of his cape he turned to look at Zarbon. “So which side should we join?”

Zarbon scowled. “You shouldn’t join any side in your condition,” he scolded. “I don’t want to have to drag your sorry Saiyan rear all over creation once again.”

“You...” hissed Nappa threateningly.

“Nappa, enough!” Vegeta snapped, throwing up a hand. “If you’re going to pick at each other I’ll have you both sent to the ship,” he said, waiting for either of the two to protest. Silence filled his ears. “Good. Now I believe that I shall join the side that’s already fighting for planetary unification. Why do things the hard way?” he said with a short, mirthless laugh. His black eyes locked with Nappa’s. “Now were you able to get a fix on where the front lines were?”

Nappa nodded. “Yes. If we head about two hundred and thirty miles to the east we should be right on top of it,” he reported.

Vegeta smiled again and raised a few feet off of the ground. “Then I’ll see you there,” he said, and sped off. Zarbon and Nappa eyed each other for a moment, each resenting the other’s presence, before following their lord.

Vegeta had arrived at the front lines and waited for his two subjects to show up, arms crossed impatiently and mouth turned down at the corners.

Zarbon pulled up a few feet short of the Prince and looked at him with concern. It was a shame that Vegeta was always so sullen and angry, he thought, for the Prince could be strikingly handsome when in a good mood. Zarbon’s fine eyebrows creased a little. Nothing could distract from the dark circles underneath the black eyes. Vegeta wasn’t strong enough to use up a whole lot of energy without consequence, and although Zarbon could see the joy of battle descending upon both the Saiyans, he vowed to himself that he would keep his head and watch the young man like a hawk. “Let’s begin our fun,” Vegeta said menacingly. “This peaceful takeover business has been incredibly tedious.”

“Yes, sir!” Nappa rumbled, tugging at his borrowed armor.

Zarbon said nothing, just folded his arms and drifted to the side to watch.

Vegeta began to power up, the air around him starting to shimmer as his aura flickered into visual existence, the tendrils of silvery-blue winding around his limbs as he let loose his battle cry. Having gathered the necessary energy, he swooped close over the heads of the soldiers at the very middle of the battle, smiling at they stared up at him in shock. He barked a laugh and spread his arms wide, releasing the energy in all directions. There was an incredible explosion and bits of sod, vegetation, and soldiers of both sides went sailing through the air. Screams and sounds of weapons being shouldered rang out through the din and dust, and Zarbon frantically scanned the groups to see if any of the weapons would be a threat. Nappa swooped down himself, spitting out a bright beam of ki and mowing down an entire line of troops, cackling madly as he killed them. Vegeta was avoiding the weapons easily in the meantime, actually catching the bullets aimed at him, compressing them, and throwing them back. The soldiers on both sides were thrown into a frenzy, trying to crawl over each other to escape. Vegeta fluttered over to Nappa, who was blowing holes in the ground and watching the people next to them go flying, and smiled. “Seems we have them on the run,” Vegeta said. “What do you say we do a little old-fashioned Saiyan dancing, my old partner?”

Nappa’s smile flashed beneath his moustache. “Sounds like a great idea,” he laughed, stretching his limbs as Vegeta formed the moon-sphere and sent it up into the sky. Zarbon shuddered as the two began to expand, hair sprouting all over their bodies.

“Let’s dance,” Vegeta boomed, and the two giant monkeys began to scoop up enemy soldiers and squash them in their mammoth grips, the blood running out of the bottoms of their fists like juice. Their gigantic feet, in the meantime, trampled the masses to death as the soldiers ran screaming.

Zarbon’s lip curled in disgust; there was absolutely no finesse in such a fighting style. The soldiers on the side that wasn’t being destroyed looked on in amazement, mouths hanging open and weapons dropped harmlessly to the ground. A small smile replaced Zarbon’s snarl. The Saiyans’ style might be barbaric, but it was certainly frightening and effective. Seeing two giant monkeys destroy their enemies so easily was definitely going to reduce the resistance of the people Vegeta was trying to conquer.

A few moments later the battle was over, the soil soaked with the blood of squashed soldiers, the Saiyans idly catching a stray between their thumb and index finger and rubbing it out of existence like an insect. Vegeta rose from the crouching position he had taken and yawned, stretching his arms towards the sky and examining his bloodstained gloves. “Zarbon,” he said casually, and the green-haired man nodded, sending a thin ki beam towards the sphere shining in the sky. The sphere exploded in a shower of silvery light, and the Saiyans immediately began to shrink back to their normal state. Vegeta picked up the edge of his cloak so it wouldn’t drag over corpses and floated over to Zarbon, nodding in satisfaction. Zarbon cleared his throat and gestured at the masses of soldiers huddled together, a line of fire having blocked their retreat.

“They tried to get away, so I stopped them,” Zarbon said nonchalantly as his golden eyes watched pillars of black smoke rise into the sky.

Vegeta nodded in approval for a moment, then scowled harder. “This planet better have some damn good resources. The natives are puny and weak and their weapons are pathetic.”

Zarbon shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll make do. I think we’ll have plenty of time,” he said, eying the cowering soldiers. “They don’t seem like the rebellious type.”

Vegeta smiled a little. He was in a rare good mood. “Sir, the other battles?” Nappa reminded him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, we’ll take care of them in a moment. Study the uniforms of these soldiers carefully, Nappa. I don’t want you killing off all the people I want to rule,” Vegeta replied, and the two took to the air, speeding towards the next battle.

Zarbon sighed and looked at the troops. “Don’t go anywhere,” he cautioned them, and sped off after the Saiyans.

The next three days had restored Vegeta’s spirits, being filled with constant battle, which was really nothing more than a slaughter of natives by the Saiyans. Zarbon had remained aloof the entire time, watching and ensuring nothing went wrong. By the time it was all finished, the opposing forces had almost been entirely wiped out. “Nothing smells like blood in the morning,” Nappa said with a chuckle as he breathed in the dewy air.

Vegeta snorted in reply. “Yes, we’ve had our fun, haven’t we?” he said.

“Now to finalize things,” Zarbon reminded him. “I was told the capital isn’t too far from where we are now.”

Vegeta stood, brushing himself off. “Oh yes, there is that little business to attend to,” he muttered, checking to make sure there were no tears or holes in his flowing red cape. “Very well,” he said, looking up. “Let’s go.”

“Then follow me, if you please,” said Zarbon, who rose into the air and led the others straight to the troops’ base of operations.

Vegeta stormed into the brick building, knocking people down left and right as he barreled towards some sort of chamber at the end of the hall. A few guns were aimed at his back, but Nappa and Zarbon always stepped in, snatched the weapons, and either snapped them in half or bent them, which always left the would-be attacker’s mouth hanging open in shock. When they reached the end of the hall, Nappa batted the guards away and Vegeta raised a hand to the doors, blowing them off their hinges with a little blast.

The creature behind the desk stood, sputtering, but Nappa reached over and shoved it back down into its chair. “You might want to stay sitting down,” he growled, removing his meaty hand.

Zarbon studied the room quickly, noting the number of natives standing around the office. All of them seemed to be male, with dark green, bumpy skin, but with a plume of purple hair-like stuff at the crown of their heads. They looked at him with brown or yellow slitted eyes, their green beak-like mouths hanging open. None of them seemed to be a threat, or even a nuisance.

Vegeta cleared his throat and neared the man at the desk. “You’re the leader?” he asked grumpily. His favorite part of the game was over.

The thing at the desk nodded. “Yes,” it hissed, sweat starting to form on its forehead.

Vegeta nodded as well and straightened his chest plate. “I am Vegeta, ruler of the New Saiyan Empire, and I demand your unconditional surrender to my terms,” he stated simply, staring down the green man with his black eyes.

The native shuddered a little. “What terms would those be?” he asked timidly.

Another native stepped forward, frowning and shaking a finger. “Now hold on a minute, we’re on the verge of creating a single government for peace,” it began.

Vegeta moved so quickly Zarbon could hardly follow him. The Saiyan’s glove closed around the native’s neck and began to squeeze. “And who do you think put you on that verge? I defeated all your enemies on this entire planet in three days with no troops. Do you seriously think you can stand up to me?” he hissed.

“But we didn’t fight just to become part of some cracked space-pirate empire!” the thing squeaked.

Vegeta’s eyebrows twitched and he released the native, who promptly grabbed at its throat and heaved breaths of relief. Suddenly Vegeta’s hand reached out, wrenching open the green beak-like mouth and grasping the pointed red tongue inside. With a mighty jerk he twisted his wrist and off came the tongue in his hand, the native howling a wordless scream of agony and falling to the floor in horrified tears. Vegeta sneered and tossed the tongue onto its owner, the detached muscle making a wet whapping noise as it hit the native’s trembling back. “Anyone else object?” Vegeta said coolly, turning to another native and wiping his bloody glove on its clothes. His dark eyes scanned the room as all the other natives regarded him in silent shock. “Good,” he said, returning to the desk and looking levelly at the leader. “Now these are my terms. You will be allowed to govern yourselves, so long as you continue to submit to my ultimate will. I will make economic and military demands of you in service to the empire. In return you have my protection from Freeza as well as the benefits of the Empire’s economic structure. Sound satisfactory?” he said calmly, eying the leader.

The leader nodded, its hands shaking on the desk. “Yes,” it said, voice quavering. “So we still get to build our global government?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replied. “And you can still be its governor, although I’ll be its supreme president, king, ruler, or whatever you want to call it. Each planet is more like a state in my empire, with me overseeing them all. Just be aware that rebellion will not be tolerated,” he warned coldly.

“I understand, sir,” the leader said quietly.

“Good,” Vegeta said, voice devoid of emotion. “Now assemble all those who don’t wish to be destroyed to watch you and your cabinet swear oaths of fealty to me. Understood?”

“As you wish, sir,” the leader said, voice high with fear.

A smile finally touched Vegeta’s lips. “Excellent. See you in two hours.”

“Two hours? We can’t possibly gather everyone in the city in two hours!” another aide began to protest.

Vegeta’s mouth twisted into an angry line and he blasted the aide out of existence. “Two hours,” he spat, and stormed out of the room with a whirl of his cape.

Once they were outside the office Nappa whistled. “Just like his dad,” he whispered.

Zarbon smiled. “Not in the least,” Zarbon replied. “Our little Vegeta’s smart.”

Nappa scowled for a moment. “And damn effective,” he finally agreed.

The oaths of fealty had gone well, just like they had on every other planet. The leader and his cabinet members signed the paper, which Vegeta handed to Zarbon to tuck away for safekeeping. “And that’s how he conquers a planet,” Zarbon whispered to Nappa as he returned to the Saiyan’s side as Vegeta made his closing speech about protecting the populace from the evil Freeza.

“Not the way I would have done it, but I’m not the prince,” Nappa murmured back.

Zarbon smiled. Maybe Nappa wouldn’t be so bad. “True,” he responded.

“If I were, I would have destroyed your useless green ass a long time ago,” Nappa whispered.

Zarbon stiffened. He was wrong, Nappa was going to be just as difficult as Vegeta. No, more difficult, because Vegeta had enough intelligence to see reason. He was distracted with his own thoughts when Vegeta approached him. “Have the troops sent down to occupy the planet,” Vegeta told Nappa. His black eyes focused on Zarbon, the dark circles nearly extending over his cheekbones. “You and I are off to Earth.”

---

15 / Bulma’s Hideout / 17