Ch. 28
“But other than that things have
been peaceful,” Nappa said with an angry sigh.
Vegeta let his mouth twist in a
small smile at the Commander’s disappointment. “I’m not sorry to hear it, Nappa.
You don’t seem to understand that we’ll need a unified empire when we fight
Freeza. To me this altercation on Tournrak is most distressing. See that it is
taken care of at once,” he said sternly.
Nappa’s eyes widened, his heavy
jaw dropping a little. “Well, Vegeta,” he growled from the communicator screen,
his cheeks beginning to stain with pink, “Most of our troops are either on
Wharlo or Urstece. There was an uprising against the ruler we dealt with
there.”
Vegeta’s features darkened. “Was
that where the entire system was already under one command?” he asked quietly.
Nappa nodded his shiny head.
“Yes, sir, that would be the Vemben system. Vemben Five and Six.”
“And exactly why wasn’t
this uprising put down by our troops right away? In fact, Nappa, why wasn’t the
ruler deposed as soon as we realized its popularity was gone?”
Nappa stared at him for a few
moments before bowing his head and mumbling an apology. “I’m sorry, Vegeta,” he
rumbled, not raising his eyes.
Vegeta looked down and saw that
his arm was shaking with the force with which he was clenching his fist. “Is
this what I can expect from you, Nappa?” he hissed quietly. “Is this complete,
total, and utter incompetence the norm in your performance?”
“N-no, sir,” Nappa stammered,
features going white.
“Then, dammit, Nappa, see that
this is taken care of immediately!” Vegeta shouted, bringing his fist down on
the console, bending the metal and sending sparks into the air. He watched as
Nappa’s jaw worked noiselessly, the big Saiyan’s meaty face pale and blank with
fear. Vegeta snarled and made a spitting gesture in his disgust. “All right,
Nappa, that’s it. I’m sending the ship to Tournrak right now.”
“But, Prince Vegeta, what about
you and Radditz?” Nappa blurted.
Vegeta clenched his teeth,
hissing through them as he spoke. “Zarbon, Radditz, and I will take pods back
to Arlia when our business here is finished,” he spat. “See that this sort of
thing doesn’t happen in the future!”
“Yes, sir,” Nappa stammered,
moving his arm across his chest in the Saiyan salute, and Vegeta angrily
terminated the signal. Sparks were still flying from the console where he had
hit it, casting strange, warped shadows in the well-lit room. He stared at it
for a few moments, almost forgetting what had caused them before he came to
himself enough to look about for a servant. One of the downfalls of having a
full communicator setup in his private quarters was he had to actually go
search for someone to clean up after him. He stormed into the hallway and
barked orders at the nearest soldier to take care of the communicator damage
and headed down to the bridge.
Once there he accosted a bluish
saurian who had been serving as the commander of the vessel. “You are going to
take this ship and go to Tournrak at once,” he ordered sharply.
The saurian bowed and spoke
without standing upright. “Yes, sir,” it said, “But might I respectfully remind
His Majesty that this ship is low on supplies and armaments for such a
mission.”
Vegeta scowled and crossed his
arms over his chest. “What? What sort of pathetic excuse is that? Why isn’t
this ship battle-ready at all times?” he demanded.
The saurian continued to bow.
“Your Excellency and Master Zarbon were all the weapons we needed, Sire,” it
said gently.
Vegeta cocked his head to the
side. “Oh, of course. Well, then, what’s the nearest planet under our control
between here and Tournrak?”
“Orec, Sire,” it replied, slowly
straightening up.
Vegeta nodded and turned his
back. “Very well. Stop at Orec and pick up whatever supplies you need, on my
official orders. We don’t need bureaucracy at a time like this. Once you get
there radio Atlia and let him know you plan to continue on to the battle zone.
Have him inform the Commander of your actions. In the meantime, have someone
gather Zarbon’s and my things. Deposit them, along with three pods, on the lawn
here in front of the ship. Leave a portable communicator and tell Atlia to only
contact me in dire emergencies. I can’t have my work here go to hell just because
Nappa calls every time there’s a fistfight.”
The saurian clicked its heels
together and saluted. “Yes, sir,” it replied. “Right away.”
Vegeta turned and looked the
saurian up and down, the smallest hint of a smile twisting the corner of his
mouth as he watched the ship commander start to tremble slightly. “Very good.
Speed be with you,” he mumbled, and strode off the bridge.
Two hours later the belongings
and pods were deposited on the lawn and the ship was taking off, leaving Vegeta
standing there alone in the grass with luggage piled around his ankles. The
ground shook as the vessel rose into the air, quickly disappearing from sight
with a thunderous clap as the sound barrier was broken. A few moments later
people came running from the house and outbuildings, shading their eyes as they
stared up at the sky. After throwing cursory glances at the man and his luggage
nearly everyone went back inside, apparently having decided that the excitement
was over. Vegeta scowled in disapproval and looked around, not having a clue
what to do next but not wanting to admit it.
“What in the hell was that?” a
shrill voice sounded through the air, and he turned to see the blue-haired
woman storming over to him. “Vegeta, what is going on here?” she demanded.
“Well, woman, if you had half a
brain you’d see that my spaceship has taken off,” he said snidely.
Her blue eyes widened, chills
running over her skin like insects. “What?” she gasped in disbelief. “It took
off without you on it?”
His mouth twisted into a sneer.
“That would seem to be the case, wouldn’t it?” he retorted. “I can’t believe
you’re the human who managed to alter Radditz’s scouter. With your mental
capacity I’m surprised you can even say my name.”
“And I’ll curse your name too,”
she growled. “How in the hell are you going to get home?”
“So eager to be rid of us
already?” he said with a smile. “Well, maybe we’ll just leave now and take our
technology with us.”
His eyes narrowed as she broke
out in a grin. “And how do you propose to do that?” she snickered, pointing to
the massive amounts of luggage surrounding him.
He growled under his breath and
silently cursed her when something occurred to him. “Well, you’ll just have to
encapsulate it all if you want to be rid of me, won’t you?”
She crossed her arms tightly
over her chest and scowled at him angrily. “I’ll have to start work on that
straightaway,” she growled to herself, her glare full of daggers. “So where do
you intend to stay until we’ve finished with each other?”
Another evil smile unfurled across
his sharp features and he raised an arm, making a slight gesture at the main
building. “Oh, I think you’ll just have to figure something out,” he replied
quietly.
Her eyes widened as her jaw
dropped nearly to her chest. “You’re going to stay here?” she gasped. “But you
can’t stay at my house!”
He raised an eyebrow and
continue to smile. “Radditz is already staying there and you seem to have more
than ample room for Zarbon and me. Are you honestly going to give a third-class
soldier better lodging than the Saiyan Prince?” he said softly, taking a few
steps toward her.
Little prickles of apprehension
traced themselves up her spine as he approached. “Fine,” she growled, eying him
warily. Who knew what would happen, but she feared the worst. She was absolutely
positive that her home would be a smoking pile of rubble within the week. “But
I’m not carrying your luggage.”
His smile twisted a little and
he nodded. “You’re too puny for it anyway,” he replied, his dark eyes locked
onto hers.
For a moment she forgot where
she was, the endless black of his gaze sucking her up, coating her with
darkness. “Uh, whatever,” she replied absently, and turned toward the house,
unable to believe her bad luck. “Follow me.”
He scowled and stood his ground,
planting his hands on his hips.
Sensing that he wasn’t right
behind her she turned to him and scowled right back, her full lips turning down
at the corners in displeasure. “What?” she snapped.
He waved a hand at the equipment
surrounding him. “What about this? Don’t you have servants to take care of this
sort of thing?” he said imperiously.
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes,
they’re called garbage men,” she growled, then snorted as she surveyed the
sheer amount of parcels. Her eyes flickered back to his displeased expression, the
mouth a little puckered in his sour face. “Well, I suppose I can come up with
something,” she began, but then something occurred to her. “Since you can’t
handle them yourself,” she finished, running her tongue over the back of her
front teeth in anticipation.
Her words worked like a charm.
She watched as Vegeta’s spine stiffened and his eyebrow twitched in some
unexpressed emotion. Snarling silently he turned and glared at his belongings,
making her gasp as they slowly rose, one by one, into the air and hovered there
in a line behind him. “Get a move on, woman,” he snarled.
She shut her mouth, which had
been hanging wide open, and smiled to herself. Her little plan had worked like
a charm. Idly she wondered if he could pick up heavy machinery- maybe he or
Radditz would be of use in the old machine shop. “Glad to see you’re able to do
something useful,” she said lightly, and sauntered toward the house.
He had followed her up several staircases and down numerous hallways before
finally arriving at a destination. “These will be your quarters,” she said,
pointing to a moderately-sized room with an adjoining bathroom. “Just put your
stuff wherever you see fit.” He glared at her without saying anything and
several of the containers floated into the room and settled on the floor. She
glanced behind him and noticed a long line of belongings still left. “What
about those?” she asked, pointing.
Vegeta grimaced. “Zarbon’s,” he
grumbled. “You’ve never met a worse clotheshorse.”
Bulma smiled. “Well, he does
always look great. Unless, of course, you count the times when he comes back
after you’ve tried to kill him.” Vegeta grunted and turned his head to the
side. She shrugged and smiled to herself. She was starting to enjoy goading
him. Perhaps she had found a new hobby. “So I suppose we should get a room for
him, too,” she said softly, thinking aloud as she tapped herself in the cheek.
“Okay, how about here?” she said, going a few doors down.
Vegeta peeked in the room. “This
room’s twice the size of mine!” he declared, his eyes widening in surprise.
“How dare you give him a bigger room!”
Bulma shrugged. “He has more
stuff than you do. I thought you were a warrior, Vegeta. Aren’t warriors not
supposed to care about the material?”
Vegeta narrowed his eyes and
took a step closer. “Are you implying that Zarbon is a less-than-model
warrior?” he said quietly.
She tried to ignore the ice that
raced up her spine as he approached. “Of course not,” she replied, her courage
rapidly running out. She must remember in the future not to toy with him for so
long unless she wanted to get hurt. “After all, he beat you to a pulp.”
Vegeta’s face twisted and she thought for a moment that he was going to strike
her, but instead he just turned his gaze away. “Listen, if you really want the
bigger room you can have it, but you’ll have to go down the hall to use the
bathroom. I just thought you’d prefer privacy over space.”
He turned his attention to her,
his dark gaze a little puzzled. How would she know something like that? “My
accommodations are just fine but don’t ever presume to know what I’d prefer,
Earthling.”
She shrugged again. “Fine. I
just figured that you’d want some time alone, being an emperor and all. I’d
imagine you don’t get much time alone. After all, I certainly don’t, and I’m
only the president.”
He inclined his head, not taking
his eyes off of hers. He had forgotten she held such an important position on
this planet. Diplomacy, he almost heard Zarbon say behind him. “Then
these will do very well for us,” he said coldly.
She nodded, feeling the coldness
in her spine slowly melt. Disaster had been averted once again. “Okay, great.
Radditz is about three doors down the hall, but he’s at Goku’s right now. If
you need anything just help yourself. You know where the kitchen is and your
room is stocked with clean towels and linens. Anything else?”
He glanced at her for a brief
moment more and slightly turned his nose up in the air, watching as Zarbon’s
belongings floated past them and into the room. “No,” he replied.
She sighed. “If only you were
that useful all the time,” she said, watching him stiffen. “Well, like I said,
just make yourself at home,” she continued, looking him over. “You know,” she
said, “You’re filthy.” Leaning forward, she sniffed him cautiously. He was
stinky, no doubt about it, but underneath it all was a smell that tugged at her
abdomen and did funny things to her knees. She was close enough to him to feel
the body heat radiating off of his strong neck and she watched for a moment as
his heart beat slowly and steadily away in the artery she saw there. Backing up
hastily she put her hand to her face and stared at him, blushing. “Uh, go take
a bath, stinky” she murmured with a giggle, poking at his chest, feeling something
inside her quail as her finger encountered rock-hard muscle. The color rose to
her face even further and she glanced up into his eyes, his expression softened
in his confusion. Suddenly it felt as if the room was closing in on her and she
felt the urgent need for fresh air. “Gotta go. Have fun,” she muttered, and
turned to walk down the hall as quickly as she could.
He watched her retreating back
in utter confusion, not understanding why her mood had changed so suddenly. One
moment she was being combative and the next she was blushing and halfway
batting those big blue eyes of hers...was she healthy? Was something wrong with
her? He scowled suddenly. He didn’t care whether or not anything was wrong with
her; he only cared if he got his technology. Muttering curses in her direction,
he returned to his room to take a shower.
He was still wondering what was
wrong with her when he got out of the shower, drying off with a burst of ki
after glancing at the plush towels hanging to the left of the shower. Looking
around the bathroom, he decided that perhaps the towels were worth something
after all and he snatched one, balling it up and wiping water vapor off of the
wall-length mirror. Leaning over he examined his collarbones carefully,
searching for the hairline scars only he knew were there, the two identical
slits equidistant from his supersternal notch. Two more of the same sort of
scars ran across the rise of his pectorals, so small that they could barely be
seen except for when the light hit them just right. Turning, he examined his
wrists and above his knees, moving so that the light fixtures’ product hit them
so that the scars were visible there as well. He slammed an open hand down on
the counter and glared at himself in the mirror, watching the flames of hell
burn in his own eyes as he stared at his reflection. “Freeza will pay,” he
snarled to himself, and gave the scars one last look before opening the door
and sliding out of the bathroom.
The colder air of the bed
chamber hit his bare skin like a slap as he entered the room, but after being
confronted with the disarray he encountered in the center of the chamber he
barely noticed the chill. His frown intensified as he realized that all his
worldly belongings were stuffed into the space crates, and he didn’t even know
what was in them. Certainly more than he would have brought if he would have
packed it himself. Casting around he found one he thought would be useful, but
upon opening it he realized it contained his ceremonial armor and the heavy red
cape he had taken off the Arlian tyrant who had preceded him. He took it out of
the box and laid it on the bed; it was just as well they had packed it, for if
the woman really was some kind of president he was sure he would have to use
it. Opening another crate he found a portable communicator, some Arlian
weapons, and a few more technological odds and ends. He smiled; he would have
to keep the woman’s pale fingers out of this crate for sure. He could already
see her blue eyes twinkle devilishly at the thought of new gadgets. The smile
fell from his face immediately. Damn her, she always seemed to be in his head
one way or another, whether it be her clear eyes, her white skin, or that
peculiar, changeable scent of hers. He couldn’t wait until she had fulfilled her
purpose and he could kill her. He locked the crate again, resetting the locking
code, and set it aside. Just let her try and break into that one. Someone on
the ship had packed a whole crate of gloves, another of boots, and two more of
armor, not to mention the plethora of different bodysuits he found himself
faced with. Sighing, he picked out a soft black one that was a little more
loosely-fitting than his usual, tossing on a chestplate to go with it and
grabbing a pair each of gloves and boots. No reason to go running about the
house a mess, he supposed. He located a closet and put everything away, making
sure the gadgets were hidden, but in a spot that he could see from anywhere in
the room. That would hopefully foil her if she ever worked up the nerve to
ransack his room. He sort of hoped she would, for that would give him a
concrete excuse to blast her into the next dimension. In a matter of moments he
had everything stored and sat on the edge of the massive bed, looking around
the room. Now what? Zarbon was in a tank, Radditz was off with his traitor
brother, and the woman was off running errands or something, so he couldn’t
even torment her. What else was there to do? He stood up and paced the room a
few times before becoming agonizingly bored. He supposed he could meditate like
Zarbon was always nagging him to, but the thought just wasn’t appealing.
Snorting, he opened the door and stuck his head out, looking in both directions
before stepping out into the hall. Cautiously opening his senses to weak ki, he
realized that most of the private wings of the house were currently unoccupied.
So, exploring it would be, it seemed. A twisted smile wound its way across his
face and he started off down the hallway.
He padded softly down the
hallways, levitating when he thought his boots would click against the floor
and create unnecessary noise. His eyes searched out every nook and cranny, his
warrior’s instincts taking over as he mentally mapped the premises. Doors
passed by on the right and left and he counted them, peeking in when the doors
were open a crack and taking note of the rooms’ contents. Many of the rooms
were merely quarters for guests and others were obviously storage, but he had
realized that the woman had not led him astray; his and Zarbon’s accommodations
were among the best, his being the most private indeed. He felt his brow crease
as his scowl plunged deeper and he spun away from the vacant rooms with a
growl. Racing down the hall he managed to push most conscious thought from his
skull until he found himself stopped in front of a familiar door. What strange
impulse had brought him here? Closing his eyes for a second, Vegeta took a deep
breath and exhaled slowly through his nose, placing his hand on the door and
pushing it slowly inward. Light brushed against his eyelids and he lifted them,
staring straight ahead at the floating form of the tank-bound Zarbon. The
alien’s slanted eyes were shut, the lashes making dark shadows on his cheeks as
the light played across his perfect features in the near-motionless water. A
glance at the status screen told him that Zarbon wouldn’t be out for another
day or two- it seemed that Zarbon had indeed paid for his arrogance, although
he was wounded so badly because he had pushed himself too hard when tired.
Radditz’s attack hadn’t helped, he’d heard. Vegeta found himself shaking his
head slightly as it dawned on him that if he hadn’t possessed Saiyan healing
factors his own recovery would have been much, much longer than Zarbon’s. Most
likely a week or more. That bastard had nearly killed him. A smile flickered
across his face; he most likely deserved it. Well, that would all be taken care
of when Zarbon was recovered. Vegeta would make sure that there would never be
a reason for Zarbon to be able to win against him ever again, and what better
way than to be taught by the opponent? Vegeta slowly extended a hand and
touched the cool glass of the rejuvenation tank, feeling its smooth surface
beneath the fabric of his gloves. He narrowed his eyes as he peered at Zarbon through
the blue liquid, the green hair spreading out like spider webs from behind the
stately face. “What should I do now, Zarbon?” Vegeta whispered, still scowling
at the floating form. He gently reached out with his mind but met only silence.
Zarbon was very, very unconscious. “Damn you,” he whispered again, dropping his
hand, and turned on his heel to leave the room.
After seeing Zarbon he realized
he didn’t really feel up to breaking into rooms and snooping about and so he
merely wandered the halls, waiting for an opportunity to entertain himself. As
he stalked about he passed a room that was filled with electronic equipment,
sleek and black in fitted cases, shelves abounding. That sparked his interest
and he scanned the room, finding it empty. There was a comfortable-looking
piece of furniture placed in front of the main case, piled with little
cushions. The color didn’t suit him, but he figured for once that beggars
couldn’t be choosers. He entered the room cautiously, glancing about for any
sort of surveillance devices, then went over to the cushiony thing and sat
down, leaning back with a sigh as the cushions folded his body into themselves.
In the case in front of him was something that resembled a communicator screen
but had several cables running out of the back and appeared to be connected to
various pieces of machinery. Once box in particular seemed to be of importance,
its position directly below the screen. The box was fairly narrow, with a slot
in the front and blinking numbers on a little screen beside it. Glancing at the
cushion next to him he saw what he assumed to be a remote control. He had
possessed enough remote controls in his lifetime to recognize one, and so if
the thing next to him wasn’t a remote control he figured he’d have to destroy
it to erase all proof of his ignorance. Picking it up, he balanced it in his
hand, feeling its weight and wondering to what degree of advancement its
components were created from. The remote was absolutely teeming with little
buttons that had all sorts of little names written above them, like VCR, TV,
CD, DVD to name a few. Shrugging, he saw a button marked ‘power’ and pushed it
with his thumb. The screen flickered to life, images of people dashing to and
fro, including not a few scantily-clad women. Frowning, he pushed the TV
button, then the power once again. The screen went black. So the screen-box was
the TV. He pressed the VCR button and the power button. The thinner box whirred
to life but nothing else happened. His scowl intensified and he turned on the
TV once again. He was about to throw the remote aside as useless when he noted
that one section of the device was set aside for VCR function. A right-pointing
arrow was set at the center of it and so he pressed the button. The VCR made a
faint grinding noise and suddenly the images of the scantily-clad women
disappeared, an image of a vehicle exploding replacing it on the TV. His
curiosity aroused, he tried the other buttons. The images sped up, slowed down,
paused, or stopped altogether depending on what button he pressed. So the VCR
was some sort of recordable device. Interesting. He pressed one last button,
one with an upward-pointing triangle with a line under it. The VCR made a
dreadful sound and out popped a black box, apparently some sort of cassette.
Vegeta slid off the couch and reached out to grab the cassette, hefting the
black plastic gently. His gaze slid over to another shelf and he saw that many
similar items lined the shelves, all in colored paper sleeves, some with
pictures and some with just decorations. Standing, he moved over to the shelves
and picked a few of the things up. “Most outstanding film of the century! A
plus!” the text on the back of one sleeves read. So, these things were films,
made for entertainment. Zarbon was right, the Earthlings had far too much time
on their hands. Glancing around the room he sighed. He also had too much time
on his hands. Perhaps he would give the TV and VCR a try. Going back to the
couch he began to flip through TV channels, sampling sports, sitcoms, movies,
cooking shows, cartoons, and immensely bored with it all. When he was
thoroughly tired of the programs he shot a look at the window, surprised to see
how dark it had gotten. He checked his senses- the blonde’s energy was in the
kitchen, the old man’s in some far-off room, and the blue-haired woman’s was
nowhere to be found. So he was still on his own, it would seem. He sat up and
rubbed his eyes with a gloved hand, nearly at the edge of his endurance. He
wandered back to where the films were and selected one at random, shoving the
cassette into the slot of the VCR. He returned to the couch and reclined,
putting one arm behind his head as he eased down into the cushions and raising
the remote to point at the VCR.
Somehow he made it through the
entire film. It was some long, drawn-out story about how two people who hated
each other to the core ended up falling in love. He had nearly been bored to
tears, but when he glanced at the clock he realized it had at least made two
hours go by pretty quickly. How strange that humans sat around watching made-up
stories instead of going out and making their own. Oh well, if they were all as
bored as he was he supposed it made sense. He returned the cassette to its
place and chose another at random. This one didn’t have any sort of markings on
the sleeve other than what he assumed to be the brand name of the cassette
manufacturer. The actual cassette had no name on it either. Scowling, he popped
it in the VCR and rewound it, swinging his foot back and forth over his
opposite knee of his crossed legs as he waited. Finally the machine was
finished and he pressed play, scowling as the film began.
The movie started normally
enough- he thought at first it was going to be another love story, with the boy
and girl making eyes at each other in school. The girl’s skirt seemed unusually
short, but he dismissed that as some sort of fit of fashion that probably only
Zarbon would understand. Then the boy stopped by the girl’s class after school,
picked up her books, and the two began to walk home. Vegeta suppressed a yawn,
pressing the back of his glove to his mouth. Then, as the couple passed a
hedge, the boy threw the books on the ground and turned to the girl, taking her
shirt and ripping it open to expose her breasts. She gasped in surprise and he
pushed her to the ground, ripping her clothes and throwing them aside as he
spread her legs and worked himself in between them. The girl began to moan and
clung to the boy. Vegeta’s eyes opened wider and he felt the blood rush to his
cheeks as he realized what he was watching. Earthlings even made shows out of
their sexual rituals! He couldn’t believe it, forgetting to blink as he stared
at the screen in a mixture of horror and fascination. Was this the norm for the
planet? The boy was grunting and sweating and the female certainly didn’t seem
to be having a good time. Was this what Zarbon had done with all the Kijaran
females? Was that all that sex was- unconcealed violence? Suddenly the lights
in the room turned on, breaking him out of his shock. “Are you a big fan of
porn flicks?” a quiet voice said from behind him, the sound soft with humor as
it floated around the room.
Vegeta turned and felt his
cheeks go even redder. Of course it had to be the damned woman, with his luck.
“Is that what you call this? You humans have far too much time on your hands,”
he accused, standing hastily and stopping the program.
She shrugged, an amused smile winding its way across her full lips. “Hey, not
my problem. That tape must be one of Yamcha’s. Never understood the appeal,
myself.”
Vegeta snorted and shook his
head, tossing the remote down on the couch. “I’m not surprised. That man seems
a rather base individual,” he said coldly.
Bulma scowled at him. “Think
whatever you want. Yamcha is a kind-hearted and lovely individual,” she
snapped, dashing over to the VCR and snatching the cassette. She rammed it into
its case and replaced it on the shelf. “Anyway, I’m back with the groceries and
Mom’s halfway through with making dinner. Be downstairs in about fifteen
minutes, okay?”
Vegeta didn’t reply, only
stiffened as she brushed past him on her way out of the room. Once her
footsteps receded down the hall he let his face break out in a feral snarl,
cursing his horrible luck. Of course it would have to be her that caught him
watching that movie! He boiled inside as he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it
for several days. Dammit! After a few moments he felt himself calm, the blood
slowly leaving his cheeks and his head clearing. Oh well, at least Zarbon would
get a kick out of it. He seemed to like just about everything that had to do
with humans. He found them annoying, but Zarbon was genuinely amused with them.
Vegeta thought back to what he had seen on the tape. If the opportunity arose
once Zarbon was better, he had some questions he wanted answered. He leaned
over the couch and turned the TV off and smiled to himself in anticipation,
leaving the room as the smells of dinner wafted down the hallway to his nose.
27 / Bulma’s Hideout / 29