Chapter 33
Vegeta rested his hands on his
knees, panting as he glimpsed the position of the sun in the sky. It was
already day thirty-eight and he thought that he was going to die of exhaustion.
Still, it wasn’t as bad as however many months he had spent with Radditz
screaming away in his skull and so he supposed he could endure it. Zarbon had
been too soft in his opinion anyway, actually allowing them a few hours of rest
here and there. He could feel himself coursing with newfound power and ground
his teeth as he realized that Zarbon’s training had actually helped him quite a
bit. He reached up and rubbed his running nose, coughing a little in the cold
as he watched Zarbon stretch to and fro in the snow. Damn the cold- Zarbon had
thought it would make them less likely to stay asleep, but it just seemed to
make Vegeta even more tired. “Aren’t you ready yet, old man?” Vegeta snarled,
clapping his gloved hands together to warm them.
Zarbon shot him a dirty look.
“Oh shut up. You’re always so hasty! Just goes to show you that river water and
well water don’t flow together.”
“Are you still talking?” Vegeta
shouted. “I’m going to get old and die waiting for you to finish training me!”
“If only I would be so lucky,”
Zarbon murmured, working out a knot in his left shoulder. The cold was biting
through his worn black battlesuit and he wanted to begin again just as much as
Vegeta did. “You know, Vegeta, you shouldn’t just blindly follow in the
footsteps of the masters. You should also seek what they sought.”
“Do you fancy yourself a
master?” Vegeta shot back.
Zarbon tilted his head,
considering. “There are no real masters, only students who know what they need
to learn. But I think for the rest of us, titling me a master is a good idea.”
Vegeta shook his head and curled
his lip. “Then what do you seek?” he asked bitterly.
Zarbon released his tight
shoulder and put his hands on his slim hips, looking past Vegeta at the
swirling snow. “I seek perfection,” he said after a brief silence. “I seek
perfection and happiness.”
“Oh goody,” Vegeta said.
Zarbon raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up a while ago?” Zarbon asked.
Vegeta’s wind-whipped cheeks
stained a darker color of pink. “You shut up,” he growled angrily.
“Fine. Ready to go again?”
Zarbon replied.
“Always,” Vegeta said softly,
and launched his attack.
“Goku, do you want more sauce?” Bulma asked from the grill, waving her spoon in
the air.
“Sure!” he replied brightly,
glancing away from Gohan for a split second and getting promptly smacked in the
head with the ball.
“Goku, don’t be greedy,” ChiChi admonished from a lawn chair.
Goku picked up the ball that had
beaned him and tossed it up and down in the air as he turned to speak to her.
“But I’m not!” he protested. “Bulma asked!”
“Gohan, do you want more sauce?”
Bulma said loudly, slopping sauce around with her large spoon.
“Yes, please!” Gohan chortled,
covetously eying the ball his father held.
“Gohan!” ChiChi shouted,
standing up just as Goku threw the ball to Gohan. Gohan caught it and tossed it
back, hitting his mother in the side of the head. ChiChi uttered an annoyed cry
and fell to the ground.
“Mom!” Gohan screeched, rushing
over to his mother’s side.
“ChiChi, are you okay?” Goku
asked with alarm and was promptly rewarded with a shove from his wife.
“I’m fine,” she growled, picking
herself up and dusting the grass from her clothing. “Goku, why don’t you come
sit down with me,” she ordered.
Goku cast Gohan a guilty look
and bowed his head, shuffling after his wife toward the lawn chairs.
Gohan sighed and fingered the
ball before looking over at the bushes and smiling. “Mister Piccolo!” he
shouted. “Will you play with me?”
Every head in the vicinity
turned and stared at the bushes as a very embarrassed-looking Piccolo emerged
from the vegetation, hastily adjusting his cape. “Uh, sure, kid,” he growled,
not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Bulma smiled nervously and held
up the bottle of sauce. “Um, hi, Piccolo,” she said shakily. “Uh, do you want
me to put another steak on?”
Piccolo shot her a nasty look.
“No. Nameks don’t eat, we only drink water.”
Bulma let her hand drop to her
side and stared at him blankly. “Oh, okay. In that case it’ll only be a few
more minutes before the meat’s done,” she notified her other guests.
Yamcha, sitting in a chair by
the lawn table, began to chuckle, but his laughter abruptly faded and he looked
up at the sky, his brows coming together in a scowl.
Bulma looked in alarm over at
Goku, who was joining Piccolo and Gohan in staring up at the sky as well.
“What? What is it?” she asked, glancing from face to face anxiously.
Silence reigned. “Goku, Bulma
asked you a question!” ChiChi said angrily, tugging on Goku’s gi.
Goku snapped back to attention
and stared at her, his eyes still wide. “They’re back,” he said with surprise.
“Who’s back?” ChiChi snapped.
“What’s going on?”
“Zarbon and Vegeta,” Goku
replied. “They’ve been training for a month and some now, but they’re back.”
“Now?” Bulma said, shocked. “But
I’m not prepared,” she began but was interrupted by Radditz shooting out of the
back door and taking to the air. “Now what’s he doing?” she shouted, making an
angry gesture.
“He’s going to help them,”
Piccolo said to her coldly.
“Help them how?” ChiChi
interjected as Goku ran after his brother and lifted off the ground as well.
Piccolo fixed her with a hard
stare. “They’re worn out. They’ve been training for a while now and they’re
using the last of their energy to get here.”
Bulma scowled and went to stand
by ChiChi, shading her eyes as she looked off into the early evening sky. “So
what? So they’ve been practicing. I don’t see why all of you suddenly look like
you’re going to wet your pants,” she growled, swearing as sauce began to drip
down her arm from the spoon she was holding.
“Vegeta’s stronger,” Piccolo
growled from between clenched teeth and Gohan, a look of abject terror on his
face, scuttled over and latched himself onto Piccolo’s leg.
Bulma felt the blood drain from
her face. “That much stronger?” she whispered, watching the Namekian grimly nod
his head.
ChiChi’s face had also gone
pale. “Well, Goku will just have to train harder to beat that man...” she said
anxiously.
Bulma nodded. If it was bad
enough that ChiChi was actually encouraging Goku to train then things could not
be going well. Forcing her unease down into the pit of her stomach she turned
back to the grill. “I think you’re right, ChiChi. Now, do you suppose they’ll
want food?”
ChiChi turned and stared at
Bulma, dark eyes wide. Piccolo barked a laugh, pointing as dark little specks
appeared on the horizon. “I doubt it,” he growled merrily. “They look like all
they’ll want is a decent rest.”
Bulma flipped the meat and
watched as Goku and Radditz set down on the ground lightly, each supporting
another man. Zarbon smiled weakly, giving Yamcha a friendly nod, and gingerly
took his arm from around Goku’s neck. “How are all of you doing?” he asked
pleasantly.
Everyone stared at him, too
uneasy and confused to speak. “We’re fine, thank you,” Gohan said and made a
little bow, he being the only one resilient enough to react.
Zarbon gave Gohan a kind look
and nodded. “Good,” he murmured. “Bulma, are you cooking?” he continued. “It
smells delicious.”
Bulma blushed, wiping her hands
on her apron. “Why yes, I am, thank you,” she replied, a little stunned.
Vegeta shot Zarbon a dirty look.
“Are you out of your mind, man? It smells as if someone flash-fried a tribe of
Onklaks,” he snarled, glaring at Bulma.
Radditz stiffened and blushed
angrily. “Sir, perhaps you just need rest so your senses can come to
themselves?” he suggested as gently as he could.
Vegeta yanked his arm from
Radditz and staggered over to the grill, sniffing cautiously at the meat Bulma
was cooking there. “I don’t need rest to be able to tell that whatever she
makes is going to be absolutely vile,” he said imperiously, staring at her with
hard eyes.
Bulma felt something in her
chest pop angrily and the blood rushed back into her face. “How dare you!” she
exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in a month and have slaved over your damn space
toys, and yet you insult me within the first five minutes you’re back!”
He took a step closer, still
holding her eyes with his like a viper hypnotizing its prey. “I apologize. I’ll
try to make my comments more quickly in the future,” he snarled.
Bulma took in a sharp, indignant
breath, about to combat him but fell into a fit of coughing instead. Holding
her hand in front of her face, she realized that his battlesuit was fairly
shredded and worn and he had numerous scrapes, including a large gash on his
head. “Dear sweet god, you need a bath immediately,” she gurgled, holding her
nose. “And you’re hurt; we’ll have to take care of that.” Reaching out with her
other hand she brushed her fingertips against the wound in his forehead. His
eyes suddenly snapped wide open and he gasped, recoiling as if her touch was
lethal. For a moment it felt as if she were pushed aside in her own brain and
the unbearable brightness of a hot yellow-orange streak of panic raced through
her mind. She was dimly aware of taking her own step back, pulling her hands
away from his hot skin.
He gave her one last wary look
and stumbled towards the house. “Zarbon!” he commanded, lurching through the
door.
“Coming!” Zarbon called after
him, panting a little with the effort. “Terribly sorry,” Zarbon said to the
rest of them, voice low. “I’ll see that he doesn’t disturb anyone for the rest
of the evening.” He cleared his throat and nudged Goku. “Shall we?” he
prompted, fixing his eyes upon the house.
Goku gave him a blank look.
“What?” he said.
Zarbon sighed. “Can we go inside
now and look after Vegeta?”
“Oh, sure!” Goku said brightly,
nodding his head vigorously, and he helped Zarbon inside the house.
“That’s supposed to be my job,”
Radditz growled underneath his breath, and followed his brother inside, leaving
everyone else standing on the lawn, mouths still agape.
Zarbon groaned and hid his head under the pillow as he heard the door creak open
and soft footsteps padded over to the side of his bed. “Get up,” a deep voice
commanded roughly.
Zarbon remained burrowed beneath
the pillow. “Vegeta, can’t you entertain yourself for a few hours?” he growled.
“For the gods’ sake, we trained for almost two months without significant sleep
and now you don’t want me to sleep in?”
“It was your idea not to sleep,
not mine,” Vegeta said, obviously annoyed. “Get up so we can train.”
Zarbon set aside the pillow and
sat up, glaring at Vegeta. “Listen here, boy,” he snarled. “I’ve spent the last
two months training your sorry excuse for a Saiyan ass and now you’re going to
let me sleep in a few hours!” he grated as his eyes, ringed with dark blue and
more than slightly bloodshot, looked Vegeta over with all the warmth of a
glacier.
“I said get up!” Vegeta
demanded, mouth twisting angrily.
Zarbon felt anger rise up in his
chest for a brief moment before he was able to quell it. “Fine, Vegeta. It’s
obvious you can’t live without my assistance for even a few hours, so I guess
I’ll just have to get dressed.”
“What?” Vegeta said, scowl
deepening.
Zarbon, midway through the
action of getting out of bed, looked up at Vegeta wearily. “If you want me up
so bad it’s an indication of your inability to conduct your life without me for
a few hours, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this little weakness of
yours.”
“I have no weakness!” Vegeta
hissed, fists curling into angry balls.
Zarbon gave Vegeta a level look.
“Then why on earth do you need me awake right now?”
Vegeta’s spine stiffened and he
crossed his arms over his chest as his nose raised a few inches into the air.
“You know what, I don’t. You go ahead and be lazy,” Vegeta grumbled.
Zarbon had to use all his
formidable powers of self-control to suppress his smile. “Okay, as your majesty
wishes,” he said with a feigned sigh, plopping back down on the mattress. “You
know, if you’re really bored you could go see how Bulma and Radditz are coming
along on our deal,” he suggested.
“I don’t need you to tell me
what to do,” Vegeta replied sharply. “Just come get me when you’re rested.”
“Will do,” Zarbon said faintly,
listening to Vegeta leave the room, and settled back into his blankets to
return to his dreams.
“So if I just move this here,”
she said, glancing at Radditz for agreement, “then this whole board should work
correctly?”
Radditz nodded, holding the
panel in place by a corner screw. “I think so,” he said. “Just take it to the
left a little, up to that next connector.”
Bulma pursed her lips and
concentrated, slowly moving the wiring over. The second the two metal parts
came into contact the air erupted with sparks, throwing her backward. She
yelped in surprise and covered her eyes, expecting to feel the cold, hard floor
of the lab beneath her shoulder blades as she fell, but instead two strong,
warm hands supported her. “Are you demolishing my technology?” a low voice said
into her ear.
She righted herself immediately
and turned to face him, rubbing at a spot of grease on her cheek and hastily tucking
stray strands of hair back under her hat. “No,” she growled. “What do you
want?”
Vegeta took a step past her over
to the pod and looked down at its innards, then shot a look at Radditz. “I just
wanted to make sure that things were going smoothly, but it’s obvious that they
aren’t. Tell me, Radditz, have you had much success?”
Radditz reddened and executed a
little bow from his kneeling position. “Not really, my lord,” he mumbled.
Vegeta made a little noise of
false understanding and turned back to Bulma. “That’s too bad. Is it because
this female is incompetent?”
“I am anything but incompetent,”
Bulma snarled. “If you’re so smart why aren’t you mass-producing this stuff
yourself?”
Radditz paled. “His majesty
isn’t trained for such a thing, Bulma,” he said gently. “Prince Vegeta has more
pressing matters of state to attend to, I’m sure.”
Vegeta looked at Radditz with
annoyance, disliking the fact that the third-class soldier had needed to come
to his defense. Well, perhaps not so third-class any longer; the training with
his freakishly strong brother was doing him good. “If I wanted to I could
assist you better than him,” he said coldly, gesturing with his head at
Radditz.
“Vegeta, you need a brain to be
able to learn,” Bulma said impatiently. “Now get the hell out of here.”
“I have a perfectly sharp mind!”
Vegeta protested.
“Right. Then how come you aren’t
doing this instead of me?” she countered, raising an eyebrow and putting her
gloved hands on her hips.
Vegeta ground his teeth together
angrily. “Maybe I will,” he snarled. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”
“I wouldn’t be so lucky,” she
replied, smiling devilishly as he stormed past her out of the room.
How dare her! he thought to himself as he marched down
the hall to his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. I’m just as
smart as everyone else, especially her and that damn Radditz! He pulled out
his hidden trunk of alien devices and pulled out the portable communicator,
setting it on the dresser and quickly entering in Atlia’s private code and
tapping the console impatiently as contact was made and the static cleared. The
hailing sounds were made, but there was no answer. “Dammit, Atlia, answer!”
Vegeta howled, smacking his fist against his opposite hand. Finally, after
several minutes, the screen’s image changed and Atlia stood in front of the
communicator, insect face unreadable. “There you are,” Vegeta snarled. “Where
were you?”
“Lord Vegeta,” Atlia said
calmly. “What an unexpected pleasure to hear from you. I apologize for your
wait; it’s early here and I hadn’t risen yet.”
Vegeta scowled and lowered his
chin to his chest. “Hmmm. I wasn’t aware of the time difference,” he mumbled.
“What can I do for you?” Atlia
prompted gently.
Vegeta raised his dark eyes to the
screen. “Do we still have the tech data hacked from Freeza’s systems?” he
asked.
Atlia nodded, antennae bouncing
up and down. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “But it’s still unreadable. It was
encoded and none of us have been able to break it yet.”
“Send it to me immediately,”
Vegeta commanded. “Send me everything you’ve got.”
“That will take a little time,”
Atlia replied. “The files are quite large.”
“Then terminate the picture and
use the extra space in the transmission for the files,” Vegeta suggested.
“As you wish, sire,” Atlia
replied, and the picture went dark.
Vegeta sighed and sat on the
edge of the bed. “So how are things?” Vegeta asked idly, examining the backs of
his gloves.
He heard Atlia’s grating laugh.
“Well, quite well,” Atlia replied. “Nappa was convinced that his proper place
was at the head of the fighting on Tournrak and so he’s been off-planet ever
since his last conversation with you. That particular rebellion was put down
and the Commander is currently at work on quelling others.”
Vegeta laughed himself.
“Excellent. Wonderful work, Atlia. You remind me once again why you’re the
right person for the job.”
“Thank you, sir. The
transmission will commence in a few minutes. So how is the technology
production going?”
Vegeta sighed. “Slow, lamentably
slow. These Earthlings have the proper facilities to meet all our
mass-production needs, but we’re unable to figure out all the components of
Freeza’s gadgets,” he grumbled.
“Hence the need for the tech
data and blueprints,” Atlia added.
“Exactly,” Vegeta confirmed.
“Now we just wait until the woman finishes her job and we’ll be returning soon
after.”
“Ah,” Atlia said, raspy voice
rising a little. “Has the Emperor found a mate?”
“What?” Vegeta said, confused.
“This female at work on the
technology, is she your new mate?”
Vegeta’s jaw worked uselessly as
he tried and failed to express his horror of Atlia’s suggestion. “Absolutely
not!” he gasped. “She is the worst, ill-mannered, hideous, contemptible,
stupid, reprehensible creature imaginable!”
“It sounds like your majesty has
spent quite a bit of time thinking about her,” Atlia said, voice becoming sly
as the communicator began to beep, signaling data transmission.
“It’s not like that at all!”
Vegeta protested angrily. “I should have you killed for such assumption!”
There was a stony, uncomfortable
silence in the room for long moments before Atlia spoke again. “My apologies,
sire,” he said softly. “It is unfortunate that the female is such a lowly
creature. Having a mate offers so many pleasures and possibilities.”
“Very well, Atlia, your
ignorance is excused,” Vegeta replied coldly.
“Thank you,” Atlia said. The
silence stretched on and on as the console continued to beep softly with the
transfer of data. After what seemed like an eternity the beeping stopped and
Vegeta jumped eagerly towards the screen.
“Your assistance is
appreciated,” Vegeta said haughtily.
“I’m happy for it,” Atlia
replied. “Best of luck with the decoding and don’t hesitate to contact me again
if you need anything else.”
“I won’t,” Vegeta said, and
terminated the signal abruptly. Packing up the console, he tucked it under his
arm and scanned the room to be sure he had all the necessary parts. He knew he
wouldn’t be able to crack the code himself, he didn’t have the training. He
also refused to ask the woman for help; she would enjoy his helplessness too
much. But she wasn’t the only one who could help him, he realized suddenly, and
with a triumphant smile on his face he closed the door to his room and started
off down the hall.
“Oh, can I help you, my boy?”
Dr. Briefs said through his moustache as Vegeta barged into his private lab.
“I have here some information
that needs decoding,” Vegeta said, setting the console down on the table.
“What is that, a laptop
computer?” Dr. Briefs asked, his attention immediately seized, and came over to
the device, poking at it.
“No, it’s a communication
device,” Vegeta replied. “It allows people to see and speak to one another
across vast distances in outer space.”
“Well I’ll be,” the old man
mumbled, moving it around in his hands. “It’s so compact. As you can see, we
here at Capsule Corp. appreciate the compact.”
“Yes, well, it doesn’t have any
external storage devices so you’ll have to take the information directly from
the machine,” Vegeta said coldly.
“I’m sure it won’t be a
problem,” Dr. Briefs said merrily. “Can you start it up?”
Vegeta did as the older man
asked and showed him how to retrieve the data. “Can you do this task?” Vegeta
demanded.
Dr. Briefs adjusted his glasses
and patted the cat perched on his shoulder. “I think so. Shouldn’t be too hard.
It almost looks like a straight programming language. It appears that this is
the program that should be run, and once it is implemented the information you
seek should be easy to access.”
Vegeta clenched his teeth. Leave
it to Freeza’s techs to hide the key to the information in plain sight. “Then
access it,” Vegeta ordered. “And tell me what you’re doing while you’re doing
it.”
“Okay,” the old man agreed, “but
it would be a lot quicker if you’d just give me a minute to fetch Bulma.
Usually the two of us get it a lot quicker that just one would.”
“No!” Vegeta snarled. “She is
not to know about this under any circumstances!”
Dr. Briefs smiled underneath his
moustache. “Oh, a surprise, is it?” he said slyly. “I completely understand.
Nothing like new technology to win Bulma’s heart.”
“What?” Vegeta said in alarm.
What was wrong with everybody today?
“Oh, never mind,” the old man
said, and settled down to work.
32 / Bulma’s Hideout / 34