Ch. 30

“Take off that chestplate,” Zarbon ordered, pointing at the ground as they touched down on the sand.

Vegeta shrugged out of the armor and stared at the older man, listening to the dust-laden wind whip around them in between the rocks. Zarbon had discarded all his jewelry and was instead wearing a sleeveless black battlesuit. Strands of green hair escaped from his braid and blew about in his face comically, but when Vegeta raised his eyes to meet the golden gaze of Zarbon there was anything but humor in their depths. “Now what?” he said testily, wrapping his tail more tightly around his waist.

“Be quiet,” Zarbon said sternly. “You are here to learn. I will tell you when it is time to ask questions.”

“I will not be ordered around,” Vegeta snarled.

Zarbon’s features hardened. “Do you want to learn or not, Vegeta?” he said coldly. “If you do then just listen to me, and to do that you’ll have to let go of that ignorant pride of yours. If you don’t then stop wasting my time.”

Vegeta lowered his chin a fraction. “I want to learn,” he said quietly.

Zarbon stared at him expressionlessly for long moments before finally nodding. “Good. Then I’ll begin by asking you some questions and I want truthful answers, not what you think I want to hear. I’ll tell you right now that I have no expectations other than you will take what I teach you to heart. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Vegeta said with a bob of his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are you?” Zarbon asked suddenly, fixing Vegeta with his cold golden stare.

Vegeta’s scowl deepened. “I’m Vegeta, Prince of the Saiyans and Emperor of the New Saiyan Empire.”

“Wrong answer,” Zarbon said. “Try again.”

“What do you mean, wrong answer? You asked me a question and I told you!” Vegeta protested, uncrossing his arms and curling his hands into fists.

“You told me what you are on the surface. What you’re labeled or titled and what you actually are are two completely different things.”

“Then what are you?” Vegeta snapped.

Zarbon smiled, the expression devoid of any warmth. “I am patience. I am efficiency. I am passionate grace perfected. I am the destroyer of those who oppose my path. Now, Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, what are you?”

Vegeta stared blankly back. “I am none of those things,” he said, mouth hanging open slightly.

Zarbon’s brows drew fractionally closer. “Do you have any idea what you are?”

Vegeta lowered his eyes but did not bow his head. “No,” he said softly.

Zarbon’s expression fell into a full scowl. “Then how can you expect to know your opponent?” he snapped.

Vegeta’s gaze locked onto his and the Saiyan bared his teeth slightly. “I don’t know,” he growled in response.

Another mirthless smile twisted Zarbon’s lips. “Trick question,” he said quietly. “There is no opponent. When you know why that is then you will have mastered everything you need to master.”

Vegeta’s shoulders slumped a little. “What is that supposed to mean?” he said, face distorted a little with confusion.

“Like I said, when you know the answer then you’ve learned all you can with me,” Zarbon repeated patiently. “But your first task is to find out what you are. Send for me when you know,” he said and began to lift off into the air.

Vegeta’s body tensed and he took a few steps forward. “Wait!” he shouted. “I thought we were going to spar or something!”

Zarbon stopped his ascent and turned slowly in the air. “How can I spar with you when you don’t even know what you have to work with?” he snapped. “I don’t want to see hair or hide of you until you know. You are not to leave this desert until you have obtained self-knowledge. You Saiyans are telepathic, so call me directly or through Radditz when you are ready.” With that he turned and was gone in a flash of light.

Vegeta sighed and turned around, looking out upon the vast expanse of rock and sand that confronted him. Get to know what he was. He supposed that was the reason Zarbon had gone through all the trouble of teaching him those meditation techniques. He levitated a few inches off the ground, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes, welcoming darkness and the knowledge it would hopefully bring.

---

“Hand me that, please,” her voice said, muffled by the sheet or two of metal between them. Radditz fished through the pile of tools until he figured out what she meant, then handed it to her. “Thanks,” she mumbled and the clinking sound of metal echoed in his ears. His mind began to wander, imagining her grease-covered fingers nimbly tightening pieces, those pale fingertips tracing the metal. “Hey,” she said, startling him.

“What?” he said, backing up a few inches as she stuck her face out of the hole and blinked at him.

“We should go somewhere,” Bulma said suddenly.

He frowned. “Like where?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. The symphony?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, a music thing we have here on Earth,” she replied. “I just want to give you an excuse to wear a tux.”

His brow creased further. “If that’s what you want, then okay. What for?”
A lazy smile crossed her face and she lowered her eyelids. “Well, Vegeta had one made when we went to the opera day before yesterday, and when I saw him in it he looked pretty good. I just thought that you’d look even better in one.”

Radditz felt his heart leap into his throat. “Really?” he said, scratching at his forearm nervously.

“Really,” she said, leaning forward even more.

“All right. When do you want to go?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice calm and his knees steady. His eyes traveled down her neck and into her chest, where her crossed arms were pushing the flesh of her breasts together to create a beguiling valley.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

He jerked his gaze up to her eyes. “Come again?” he replied.

“I asked if you were free for a fitting tomorrow. You’ll probably have to get the whole thing made, since I really doubt they make things in your size. In fact, when the tailor comes make sure he measures you for all sorts of different clothes. We really can’t have you running around in battle armor all the time, right? I mean, what if we want to go out to dinner or something?”

Radditz swallowed hard. He had seen this sort of thing on TV. Apparently if a man and woman went out to eat in public together it meant that there was potential for a relationship. He couldn’t believe his luck. “You’re right. I’ll see to it tomorrow,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

“Good,” she murmured, ducking her head back inside the pod and tossing out a panel of metal. Radditz dodged to the side nonchalantly, the panel barely missing slicing open his cheek. The metal clattered on the floor behind him, the sound ringing out and echoing off the walls. Bulma’s head shot out of the hole where the pod’s window used to be, a look of horror on her face. “Oh my god,” she said, staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay? Did that hit you? Oh, I’m sorry!” she gasped, the words tripping over each other as they dashed from her mouth.

Radditz blushed and cleared his throat. “No, I’m fine,” he said softly. “It missed me.”

Bulma crawled out of the pod and knelt in front of him, examining him. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I’m so clumsy sometimes.”

He shrugged. “Don’t concern yourself with it,” he murmured. “I have good reflexes.”

She smiled up at him, hands on her knees. “Your reflexes didn’t save you from getting your face dirty,” she said with a laugh, reaching up to brush away a spot of grease on his cheek without thinking about it. The skin of her finger came into contact with his warm, unbelievably smooth skin and she paused, forgetting what she was doing as she the perfection of his skin took her over. Suddenly she felt his gaze pulling at her and let her eyes slide over to meet his, her hand still pressed to his cheek. He lowered his eyelids a little and leaned into her touch imperceptibly, still holding her with those dark Saiyan eyes. She suddenly snapped back to reality and jerked her hand away, feeling the air between them tremble with awkwardness. She barked an insincere laugh and scrambled back into the safety of the pod’s bowels only to reemerge seconds later. She noticed he still had that intense look on his face that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. His skin was unnaturally smooth, she had realized. “Radditz?” she asked timidly, trying to maintain the illusion that he wasn’t already giving her more attention than she was comfortable with.

“Yes?” he replied, not taking his eyes from her.

“Do you ever have to shave?”

His features fell immediately, but the reaction was so slight she barely caught it. For some reason or another her question wasn’t what he had expected. “No,” he said firmly.

She scowled, considering. “Why not?”

His frown deepened slightly. “Third-class warriors don’t grow facial hair, ever. Neither I nor Kakarott have ever had to shave in our entire lives, and never will. Personally, I don’t envy Vegeta and Nappa their ability to grow facial hair.”

Bulma nodded. “Yes, I don’t really like men who have it,” she said absently. “So Vegeta and this Nappa fellow have to shave?”

Radditz looked at her askance, not really understanding her curiosity of facts he took for granted. “Yes, Nappa has to shave every so often and so will Vegeta once he hits physical maturity.”

Bulma started at that. Vegeta hadn’t reached Saiyan adulthood yet? He had a figure that would bring the house down and he wasn’t even a grown-up? “Do you mean to tell me that Vegeta isn’t even adult yet?” she blurted.

Radditz smiled. “No, it’s not like that at all. Saiyans reach sexual viability at a very young age compared to you humans, most likely for our propensity to die in battle. However, our actual maturity comes much, much later. Look at the difference between me and Kakarott, for example. I’m older than him by roughly an Earthling decade, but even I would be considered young. Even though Saiyans are able to reproduce early doesn’t necessarily mean they do. Our father probably didn’t whelp me until he was a good five solar decades old. Of course he only looked about half that age when he died, I suppose. Anyway, I digress. Prince Vegeta will probably come into his beard at the same time he begins to actually realize the bulk of his power. That’s all that means,” he finished lamely, casting his gaze at the floor.

Bulma looked him over carefully, taking note of what she saw. She could see a breadth and depth to Radditz that Goku lacked, a thick cording of muscle and heavy definition. She was surprised that battle hadn’t aged him more, but who was she to second-guess the norm for alien races? She smiled and shrugged. “Hey, thanks,” she said, then became embarrassed for her lack of words.

“Uh, no problem,” he replied, looking away self-consciously.

Sighing, she turned her head to look back at the badly-ravaged innards of the pod. “Thanks for all your help, Radditz,” she said gently. “Without your knowledge this would take a heck of a lot longer.” He nodded and began to fish around for another tool, recognizing that the subject had been changed. “You know what, let’s take a break,” she said, hopping out of the pod once again.

He stood, offering his hand to help her up. She took it, her palm feeling small and fragile in his massive grip, and wondered vaguely what those large hands would feel like on other parts of her body. He lifted her up effortlessly and positioned himself behind her like a bodyguard, ready to follow her. “Uh, great,” she murmured, starting to walk away and unnerved at how closely he followed her. “Let’s go.”

---

Goku stared out the window, his elbow propped against the top of the casing and the edge of this thumbnail between his teeth, his face blank as he stared out at the spring rain. A soft touch on his arm distracted him and he glanced down to see the slight figure of his wife at his elbow. “Goku, honey, are you okay?” she murmured.

He returned his gaze upon the rain-soaked forest. “I’m fine,” he said.

He heard her grunt her disapproval beside him. “You can’t fool me,” she said sternly, pushing her way in front of him and crossing her arms over her breasts. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

His face broke out in a huge grin an he sat on the sill, his large hands reaching out and wrapping around her waist, hugging her briefly. “Can’t get one over on you,” he said incredulously.

She smiled back, the expression genuine but strained. “So?” she asked.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“What are you thinking about?” she urged, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hmmm...thinking about,” he muttered, brow creasing to try and remember. “Radditz,” he said.

ChiChi scowled immediately. “What about him?” she snapped.

Goku sighed. “I know you don’t like him but he’s still my brother,” he protested. “He’s the only link I have to my roots.”

“You have all the roots you need right here,” she decreed.

He smiled at her again, this time sheepishly. “I know, but it’s still nice, you know? But the thing is that he won’t be here forever. That Vegeta guy is going to drag him off any day now and I’ll never see my brother again.”

ChiChi sighed and leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder, her own eyes fixed on the rain pouring down outside. “You’ve become attached to him,” she murmured.

Goku’s gaze had returned to the rain and he nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed, lifting the arm she leaned against and pulling her to him.

ChiChi looked at the ground. “This is the only time I’m ever going to say something like this, Goku, but why don’t you just beat Vegeta? Then he can’t take Radditz from you.”

Goku’s face twisted in an uncharacteristically bitter smile. “I can’t beat Vegeta, he’s just too strong,” he said quietly. “And I think Radditz would go along willingly anyway. Vegeta’s his lord, after all. He loves and hates Vegeta at the same time.”

ChiChi scowled. “I know how he feels,” she growled, but the comment was completely lost on her husband.

“Gohan’s attached, too,” Goku added, his large black eyes rolling over to her.

“I know. Speaking of which, where is he?” she said, a worried crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Goku smiled broadly. “With Piccolo,” he said brightly.

ChiChi’s mouth opened and shut uselessly for several seconds before she erupted in anger. “What?” she shrieked, pushing away from her husband. “He’s with that monster?”

Goku laughed and caught her back up in his arms. “Yeah, does that bother you? Piccolo would give his life for our son, you know. Who would have thought that he was such an ideal babysitter?” he said with a chuckle.

“How can you be so calm about it?” ChiChi cried, face completely conquered by panic.

Goku shook his head. “Because Gohan’s as safe with Piccolo as he can get. Gohan’s the only person he cares about, so nothing will distract him from taking care of our son. Besides, Piccolo’s almost as strong as I am, so Gohan’s as safe with him as he is with me.”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled.

“You make me laugh,” he said, hints of chuckles at the edges of his voice. “Are you really going to complain about having more time alone together?” he murmured, kissing her on the temple.

ChiChi blushed and lowered her eyelids. “Well, I suppose not. I guess I’ll just have to trust you,” she said softly.

Goku smiled and ushered her away from the window. We’ll have to make the best of the time we have, love, he thought to himself, setting his jaw. We don’t know how much of it is left.

---

Vegeta stared off into the distance at where Zarbon had gone. Damn him! What in the hell was he supposed to do all alone in the desert? Vegeta snarled and kicked a rock angrily as the wind swirled sand around his ankles. His armor lay discarded on the ground several feet away and his wrath rose as he spotted it. No wonder he didn’t need it- he wouldn’t even be fighting anybody! He raged for a few moments more before realizing all he was going to do was tire himself out. Levitating a few feet in the air he crossed his arms and legs and scowled, considering his options. He could go back to Capsule Corp., but then he would look like a weakling. He could also go elsewhere, somewhere more hospitable, but that wouldn’t make him look good either. Was there even anything to eat in this cursed place? A snarl ripped across his features and he scratched absentmindedly at his cheek, stare unfocused as he contemplated. He wondered what Radditz was doing. Most likely working on the technology deal with that horrible woman. Honestly, he didn’t know how the third-class warrior could tolerate her. After all, she was loud, obnoxious, temperamental, rude, disrespectful, puny, weak, and terrible. Unfortunately he realized she would be the one to make or break the success of his empire with that mind of hers, the sharpness of her brain so apparent in those sparking blue eyes of. He popped out of his relaxed position and growled aloud as he became aware of what he had been thinking. That stupid wench had wormed her way into his thoughts once again! Would he never be rid of her? He took a few paces in the sand, staring at his dusty boots and doing his best to ignore the heat. He blamed Zarbon for this, for making him stay in such an isolated place until he found an answer to that stupid question. It was Radditz’s fault, too, for botching the plan in the first place, then getting stranded on Earth and sending the psychic scream that had put the woman’s blue eyes in his head in the first place. He kicked again, sending sand flying. Damn all of them! Damn this stupid planet!
His anger fled when he realized he was just wasting his time. He remembered how he used to hate it when Freeza refused to take responsibility, instead leaving the punishment for others. Like when the implants had gone terribly wrong, leaving Vegeta to destroy half the equipment in the ward, and the techs had taken the heat for it even though the design had been made faulty by Freeza himself. None of this rage would help him find the answer to Zarbon’s questions. What was the difference between what Zarbon called labels and what he really was? How could he find out?

“If I am not a prince, or an emperor, what could I possibly be?” he wondered aloud, his words whisked away by the wind. “What is left?”

---

Zarbon landed lightly outside the main building of the Capsule Corporation compound and sauntered towards the door, a satisfied smile on his face. Figuring out that riddle would take Vegeta forever. That was all right; he figured he had earned some vacation time from the little Prince. He stretched lazily in the weak spring sunlight and opened the door, practically dashing to the kitchen. Just as he had suspected; Mrs. Briefs was there, whipping up something that smelled delicious. He took a step into the room, his boot clacking against the tiles and alerting her to his presence.

“Hello, Zarbon, dear!” she chirped, holding aloft a pan. “Don’t you look dashing in that suit.”

He smiled sheepishly and looked down, remembering that he wasn’t wearing anything but the full-length bodysuit and boots. Black wasn’t even his color, but that had nothing to do with the fact that the suit left absolutely nothing to the imagination. “Thank you very much,” he said politely, wandering over to the counter and sitting down. “How are you this fine day?”

She smiled brightly and set the pan down on the counter. “Just wonderful, thanks. Been keeping busy. Yamcha’s visiting us today.”

Zarbon scowled. Yamcha? Oh yes, the Earth warrior with the scars, the one who had tried to help him after he and Vegeta nearly killed one another. “Oh really?” Zarbon said casually. “Does he come around often?”

A sad look crossed her face for an instant. “Not as much as he used to, not since what happened between him and Bulma.”

Zarbon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and what’s that?”

She sighed, taking a spatula and scooping up things from the pan. “I’m sure Radditz can tell you. He was here when it happened.”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” he said firmly, leaning forward on the counter.

“Yamcha and Bulma have been dating for quite some time, since they were teenagers. They loved each other very much, but they had been fighting of late. I thought everything was going to be okay until Radditz showed up, and he seemed to throw Bulma off a little. I think he reminded her that there were other fruits to be tasted. At any rate, Yamcha and Bulma went to a party and the next morning he proposed marriage. She refused, but he hasn’t given up just yet. He’d be hanging around even more except that Radditz makes him uncomfortable and Vegeta threatens him outright, and he loves Bulma so much that he doesn’t want to make life difficult for her by causing problems. He saw what happened to my daughter the last time she tried to defend him against Vegeta. Now, I know Vegeta doesn’t really mean her any harm,” she said, suddenly pausing and giving him a surprisingly level look with her blue eyes, “But his behavior scares Yamcha and he’s not willing to take any risks.”

Zarbon frowned and rested his chin in his hands. Was Vegeta’s hatred for Yamcha a partial transmission of Radditz’s feelings, exchanged when the warrior had cried out for his prince? “Well, he doesn’t have to worry about Vegeta for a while,” he muttered.

Mrs. Briefs was arranging the baked goods from the pan on a little platter, her slim fingers deftly shifting the pattern as she listened to him. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Zarbon allowed himself a chill smile. “He’s taking some time off for self-discovery. I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”

“Oh good,” she replied. “It’s always good to know one’s self.”

“I agree,” Zarbon said warmly.

“Hello?” a voice cried out from the hallway.

Mrs. Briefs stood up straight and broke out into a huge grin, hurrying to the doorway and wiping her hands on her apron. “Yamcha!” she cried, waving. “You’re so early! I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of hours!”

He came into the kitchen, a broad smile on his handsome scarred face. “Yeah, I got done with my workout early. Do you mind if I use your shower?” he said.

“Of course. Brunch will take a little while anyway,” she replied, and bustled over to the cupboards once again.

Yamcha turned and noticed Zarbon, smiling and extending his hand, which Zarbon took gingerly. Yamcha gave it a vigorous shake and slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, how’s it going?” he said brightly. “You look better.”

Zarbon raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said with reservation, starting to like Yamcha but still not trusting him. “You’re looking well yourself.”

Yamcha chuckled and sat down at the counter. “Thanks. Yeah, I suppose I’ll look all right until the next time Vegeta tries to kill me,” he said with a nervous laugh, obviously trying to hide his apprehension.

Zarbon looked at him levelly, his cold golden eyes glittering. “Yes, you’re taking quite the risk by being here.”

Yamcha shrugged, drawing on the counter top absentmindedly with a finger. “I know,” he said calmly. “Can’t help myself, though.”

Zarbon finally smiled. “Well, don’t worry. He won’t be around for quite some time.”

Black hair fell to the side as Yamcha cocked his head. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“I’m training him and he’s on an assignment right now. It’s the hardest one he’ll have to learn and I imagine it’ll take him quite some time. He’s very stubborn and his arrogance is just going to get in the way,” Zarbon said, examining his nails.

That brilliant smile of Yamcha’s appeared once again. “Let me guess; there is no opponent.”

Zarbon’s eyes widened fractionally. “You’ve got it,” he murmured.

“We have martial arts masters here too, you know,” Yamcha said.

Zarbon rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Everybody thinks they have masters. All that they really have are teachers, who are just older, more experienced students.”

Yamcha sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agreed. “So what are you going to do in the meantime? I mean, I don’t really see you hanging out with Goku or Radditz and you scare Bulma. Are you gonna stick around and watch talk shows or what?”

Scratching the side of his nose Zarbon shook his head. “Haven’t the faintest,” he mumbled.

Yamcha’s smile turned mischievous. “Why don’t you come out with me tonight?”

Zarbon’s brows drew together in a slight frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we could go shopping for some clothes and then later we’ll go to a club,” Yamcha said, shifting in his chair and throwing Bulma’s mother a glance over his shoulder.

“Club?” Zarbon asked.

“Yeah, you know, a place where we can get a few drinks, find some dancing partners, etcetera,” Yamcha said, placing emphasis on the word ‘partners’ and giving Zarbon a significant look.

Zarbon swallowed hard. “I would love to go,” he said.

“Great. We can get you some suitable clothes after brunch,” Yamcha said absently, looking back at Mrs. Briefs again. “How long do I have for my shower?” he asked her.

“Ten minutes,” she replied, looking at a timer on the stove.

Yamcha shrugged and smiled balefully. “Guess I’ll have to take another one later if I want to do my hair,” he said with a sigh and stood, saluting Zarbon as he left the room.

Zarbon watched him go and let a smile spread across his face. This was the best vacation he had ever had.

---

29 / Bulma’s Hideout / 31