Chapter 5
Zarbon’s eyes fluttered open, barely needing any time to adjust to the dim light of the cell as his vision cleared. He tried to sit up, but found that his broken ribs still hindered him. “You’re a slow healer,” he heard a gruff voice say from somewhere in the cell.
“Actually, I’m considered a very quick healer,” he retorted, the whole
situation of the underground cell and temperamental Saiyan prince coming back
to him quickly. “I’m just not as quick as you, apparently.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be as good as a Saiyan,” Vegeta said coldly, not
moving to help Zarbon at all. He had been doctoring the damn alien for quite
some time, he would say about two weeks, although he had no accurate way of
marking the passage of time in the underground dungeons, and he was at the end
of his patience.
Zarbon scowled and let himself continue to lie on the floor. “So how are you?”
Zarbon asked acidly, frustrated with not being able to get up and examine Vegeta
for himself. The Saiyans had always been barbaric, and he really didn’t trust
Vegeta’s methods of sanitation.
“I’m nearly well,” Vegeta snapped from his place on the stone pallet, watching
Zarbon’s chest rise and fall rhythmically. He reached down and fingered the
wound on his leg gingerly. Although he had escaped infection he was sure it was
going to leave a nasty scar.
“I must have been far more damaged than I thought,” Zarbon wondered, squeezing
his eyes shut to take away the grainy feeling. He had supposed that he had only
broken a rib or two, but apparently there must have been a fair amount of
internal damage. Vegeta’s blast had certainly been something else. But he had
to wonder why the Saiyan was taking such care to keep him alive. Clearing his
throat, he turned his head so he could at least see part of Vegeta while he
spoke. “So why are you bothering to nurse me back to health?” he asked,
watching carefully for any clues flickering across the prince’s face.
Vegeta’s lips curled into a smile. “Why, Zarbon, you just might be the best
decoy in the universe,” he said, cold humor twining around his voice.
Zarbon’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?” he said quietly, heart
rate beginning to rise.
Vegeta blinked, the smile not disappearing from his face. “I don’t plan on
staying here indefinitely,” he replied. “When the time comes you are actually
strong enough to survive against them for a bit while I enact the rest of my
plan.”
“Plan?” Zarbon said faintly, liking Vegeta’s thought pattern less and less.
A small chuckle escaped Vegeta’s throat. “Of course! All work and no play makes
Vegeta a dull, and cross, boy. This planet was given an ‘A’ rating, and we were
sent to clear it. No reason we can’t have a little fun with them, eh?”
Zarbon thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head in disbelief. Did the
Saiyan have a death wish? “How in the hell do you propose to get past all those
weapons?” he snapped. “Have you forgotten how easily they killed Nappa? How
easily they captured us? A whole hell of a lot of good you being the strongest
of the Saiyans did us then!”
Vegeta’s smile wavered for a moment, and his perpetually plunging brows scowled
even more. Zarbon caught his breath and waited tensely for a death blow, but
after a few razor-filled seconds Vegeta’s face relaxed and a little smile
graced his lips once again. “Don’t you know the reason Freeza fears us,
Zarbon?” he whispered, leaning towards the other alien. “Saiyans heal quickly
from mortal wounds, and once they do they’re automatically stronger. I
guarantee you that it will take twice as much to defeat me next time.”
It was Zarbon’s turn to harden. “You’re a fool, Vegeta,” he grumbled, watching
the Saiyan’s face turn into an angry mask. “Even if your power doubled it still
isn’t close to mine. Yet look how easily I was defeated.”
Vegeta’s mouth twisted in rage before settling once again. “Give up now, if you
want, but I have revenge to deal and a universe to rule. Just say the word and
I’ll let you die here like the piece of trash you are.”
Zarbon sighed as he marveled that he was still alive. Usually the Prince’s
temper was far worse. “Unlike you, Vegeta, I value life. Besides, I have my
missions to fulfill as well.”
“Then we have an understanding,” Vegeta mumbled, crossing his arms over his
chest and flicking his tail impatiently.
“Don’t be too hasty to regain your health,” a voice said from across the hall.
Zarbon watched Vegeta’s eyes lift under his heavy brows to look at the speaker.
“What in the hell are you babbling about?” Vegeta snapped, unfolding one of his
arms and flexing his fist.
“Once you’re healthy they’ll make you fight in the arena, remember?” the voice
said again, and Zarbon finally recognized the speaker as Atlia.
“And what makes you think I should worry about that?” Vegeta replied coldly,
slowly returning his arm to its former position.
“Vegeta, if we never had anything to worry about on this planet we wouldn’t
have ended up in this dungeon,” Zarbon chided. Vegeta’s eyebrow twitched in
annoyance and he pointedly ignored the alien.
“The green-skinned one is correct,” Atlia continued. “The new king’s guard
doesn’t need the weapons that the others do. They can do virtually the same
thing themselves.”
Zarbon shifted in surprise and tried again to sit up. “What?” he gasped as he
winced, finally managing to prop himself up on an elbow and stare at the alien
across the hall. “Are you telling me the king’s guard can use ki-piercing
attacks?”
Atlia blinked, or rather did the equivalent of blinking, and stepped back from
the bars of his cell until he faded into the darkness. Vegeta snorted and swung
his legs over the side of his slab, wrapping his tail carefully around his
midsection. “As if that would bother me,” Vegeta murmured.
“Have you cracked?” Zarbon exclaimed, turning his head to stare at the Saiyan.
“Let me remind you once again of our current situation.”
“You’ve been unconscious a long time, Zarbon,” Vegeta said quietly and examined
his hands. “You’ve missed out. Our friend across the way likes to talk for
hours on end about the evil new king and the way he runs things.”
“Like what?” Zarbon blurted, collapsing back onto the floor as the strength in
the arm that was propping him up gave out.
Like I’m going to tell you now while everyone else is listening! Vegeta’s
voice snapped in Zarbon’s head. Zarbon’s jaw slowly dropped.
“You’re telepathic,” Zarbon whispered too low for anyone else to hear.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about Saiyans,” Vegeta said gruffly, turning away
and letting the tip of his tail lash back and forth in the air. “Rest while you
can, Zarbon,” he warned, and before long was drifting off himself.
“Dear god, Bulma, this thing is gorgeous!” Dr. Briefs whistled as he ran a hand
over the smooth surface of the pod.
“Isn’t it though?” Bulma beamed, standing with her hands planted on her hips.
“Is it dangerous?” ChiChi asked from where she stood, Gohan propped on her hip.
“Not unless Dad accidentally blows it up,” Bulma replied calmly, and smiled as
the other woman took a few steps back. She liked ChiChi fine, but sometimes the
woman was just too paranoid. Gohan was a cute kid, but ChiChi overestimated his
worth in the grand scheme of things. After all, it wasn’t as if the pod was
sent from space with the sole purpose of destroying her son. Bulma sighed;
maybe she was just jealous. She wouldn’t mind having children someday, but the
idea of marriage just didn't appeal to her. It would take quite a man for her
to even consider it, and she hadn't met that man yet.
“Bulma?” a voice wavered, knocking her out of her reverie. “Are the machines in
the hurt man’s room supposed to make all those noises?”
Bulma focused on the figure coming towards her and realized with mild surprise
that it was Goku. “What are you talking about?” she asked urgently.
Goku shrugged and watched his wife swaying with their son on her hip. “It’s
just that the machines in the alien’s room are making all sorts of weird
noises, that’s all.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me?” Bulma snapped, glancing at her father,
who nodded, and raced out of the room.
“I just did!” Goku said, eyebrows lowering in confusion. Bulma growled and kept
running, sliding into the infirmary room a few doors down. The brainwave
scanner was going crazy, the waves peaking and dipping erratically in patterns
she had never seen before. Was he waking up? Bulma looked around quickly and
grabbed a syringe. A bottle was nearby, and she quickly filled the syringe and
stuck it into the man’s arm. A few moments later the waves calmed and once
again assumed a sleeping pattern. She sighed and drew a wrist across her brow,
closing her eyes in relief. The bottle caught her attention and she examined
it, making sure she had injected him with the right stuff. Sure enough, the
bottle had contained a strong sedative, and she winced as she realized what
could have been in the bottle. She should have known better than to inject
without looking. A cough sounded behind her, and she turned around to encounter
her father in the doorway.
“What was that?” he asked as he stepped into the room. “I’ve never seen brain
waves act like that before.”
“He was waking up,” Goku said as he entered the room. “He was calling for
someone named ‘Kakarott’.”
“How do you know?” Bulma snapped, scowling at the unconscious man.
Goku blinked at her. “He was practically screaming it,” he replied, obviously
surprised by her question.
“Goku, my boy, he never said a word,” Dr. Briefs replied, and Goku’s mouth
opened.
Bulma’s eyes grew wide as she looked at her father. “Do you think?” she
whispered, looking back to the man in the bed.
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” her father said, walking over to the man’s
bedside.
“He is an alien, after all,” Bulma commented quietly. “He could do all sorts of
things we can’t.”
“He has a tail,” Goku volunteered from the doorway.
“Yes, Goku, very good,” Bulma said absently.
Goku frowned and took another step into the room. “I mean maybe he and I are
from the same people. If that’s true, then I should be able to do whatever this
guy can.”
Bulma tore her gaze off of the massive injured man and looked at her childhood
friend. “I guess it’s possible. If you are from the same race it would explain
why he was here, sort of.”
“Maybe he’s looking for you, Goku,” Dr. Briefs offered, turning away from the
bed.
Bulma shook her head. “Okay, say that Goku and this guy are the same race. It’s
really not too hard to believe that Goku’s an alien. It would explain the tail.
But you’ve never shown signs of telepathy, have you?”
Goku shrugged and walked over to the bedside. “I don’t know. ChiChi usually has
most of the same dreams that I do,” he replied, but everyone’s attention
returned to the machines as the heart monitor blipped.
“Oh, I hope I didn’t screw up the dosage,” Bulma said, and reached her hand
down to check the pulse in the man’s neck.
“But you’ve never been able to say anything to your wife directly from your
mind, have you?” Dr. Briefs said, continuing on their previous topic.
Goku shook his head. “Well, no, but I’ve never tried.”
Bulma sighed, something she noticed she was doing a lot of. “But Dad,” she
began, then screamed as an iron grip suddenly encircled her wrist. She looked
down in horror, realizing the alien had a good hold on her and was looking at
her with hard black eyes.
“Kakarott,” the alien growled, squeezing her wrist tighter.
“Goku!” Bulma screamed as she desperately tried to pry the man’s fingers off
her wrist. Goku was in action at once, speeding to Bulma’s side and grasping
the man’s hands with his own.
“Let her go,” he warned as he looked into the man’s face.
“Father?” the man said, the expression in the eyes wavering. “Why are you
speaking Standard?”
Bulma felt the grip relax and tore herself away, jumping back to huddle next to
her father as if the little older man could protect her from the brute lying in
the bed. Goku looked at her in relief before turning back to the man. “I’m not
your father. I’m Goku,” he said, trying to decipher the look in the other man’s
black eyes.
The man’s eyes opened wider and he gripped Goku’s wrist with both hands. “I
guess the dosage you gave him wasn’t enough,” Dr. Briefs whispered to his
daughter as they watched Goku’s muscles tense in anticipation of a struggle.
“Brother!” the man breathed. “Kakarott!”
Goku sighed and tried to gently remove the other man’s hands. “Listen, I don’t
know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are or who you’re looking
for, but you seem to be pretty delirious and I don’t think who you want is
here. Maybe you should just try to rest.”
The man scowled and tightened his grip. “What game are you playing, Kakarott?
You look just like our father, there’s no mistaking it!”
Goku’s features drained of color and he ceased resisting the man’s grasp.
“What?” he gulped.
“Don’t you remember anything?” the man moaned. “I’m Radditz, your older
brother!”
“I don’t have a brother,” Goku protested. “And my name is Goku, not Kakarott!”
Radditz sat up gingerly and scanned the room behind Goku, spying Bulma and her
father. “Why didn’t you fulfill your mission?”
Goku was starting to feel panic at the fringes of his awareness. “What are you
talking about?” he asked, voice rising in pitch. “What mission?”
Radditz sighed and fell back on his pillow. “You were sent here as a baby from
our headquarters to clear this planet of life so we could sell it to our
employer,” he said. “So what happened?”
Goku stared at him in shock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he
replied.
“You’re a Saiyan, Kakarott!” Radditz protested. “There’s no way you could
forget!”
Goku armed himself with a dopey grin. “Well, I did suffer a serious head injury
as a child. You should see the scar!” he chuckled.
“You don’t remember anything?” Radditz said in wonder, staring at his brother.
There was no way he could be mistaken: the voice, the hair, everything was
exactly the same as their father’s. This Goku person had to be the long-lost
Kakarott.
“Nope,” Goku beamed. “Not a thing.”
“Then how do you explain the tail?” Radditz hissed, feeling frustration bubble
up in his abdomen.
Goku turned and showed Radditz his rear. “No tail,” he said calmly, not
noticing how Radditz paled. “Lost it when I was still a kid.”
“Brother,” Radditz breathed. “How can you allow yourself to live like this?”
“Listen here, buster,” a high, sharp voice cut through the room, and Radditz
turned his head towards the speaker. It was a female, with fine blue hair and
eyes, cream-colored skin and quite a build. “Goku has lived here his entire
life. I don’t know what you are or where you come from, but he is, for all
intents and purposes, an earthling.”
“He is a Saiyan,” Radditz replied. “He has to be. How do you explain the tail
he had?”
The beautiful woman shrugged. “There are such things as genetic mutations, you
know,” she said. “Are they totally ignorant on the planet you come from?”
“Bulma,” Goku warned. “We don’t know this guy’s story yet.”
Radditz was about to reply when a little boy burst into the room and wrapped
himself around Kakarott’s legs. “Daddy!” the boy yelped, clinging to his
father’s clothes. “You went away so fast Mama thought something bad happened!”
“It’s okay, Gohan,” Goku replied, reaching down to pat the boy’s head. Radditz
stared as a little tail snaked out from underneath the boy’s clothing and
lashed back in forth in happiness.
“There’s your proof, Kakarott,” Radditz growled, pointing at the boy’s tail.
“You’re a Saiyan and Saiyans have tails, so therefore if you weren’t a Saiyan
your son wouldn’t have a tail.”
“It doesn’t matter what I was born as. I’m an earthling now,” Goku replied
gently as he bent to pick up a squirming Gohan.
“And it’s going to stay that way,” another high voice commanded, and Radditz
noticed that another woman had entered the room. He had to blink, for she would
have been the spitting image of a Saiyan if her hair wasn’t so straight, her
eyes so round, and lacking a tail. Her dark eyes seemed to glitter dangerously,
and Kakarott trotted over to her side, handing her the boy.
“She’s human?” Radditz asked, still not really believing it. “Saiyans can
interbreed with humans?”
“Guess so,” Goku chuckled, bouncing Gohan a little and making the boy laugh.
Radditz’s eyebrows twitched. That was interesting information, and he was
processing it when a spasm wracked his body, sending him crashing back onto his
pillow. “That’s enough,” the first female voice said, and the blue-haired woman
leaned over him once again. “He’s still not healed and we’ve bothered him enough.
Now all of you leave. After all, it’s not like you can’t just come see him
again tomorrow.” Radditz watched her every exquisite move as she shooed the
others away, finally coming over to him and reinserting the tubes in his arms.
“Now sleep,” she ordered. “You’ll have lots to tell us later.”
Radditz barely remembered nodding at her as darkness flickered at the edges of
his awareness and he fell asleep.
“Get up,” a harsh voice growled, startling Zarbon awake. He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes, realizing he must have been very deeply asleep if someone could enter the room without him noticing. He sighed and rolled over on the hard stone slab, wondering what was transpiring.
“Get your filthy hands off of me,” he heard Vegeta hiss, and he hurried his
movements to the edge of the stone. As he looked down and realized with
surprise that he was on the top bunk, out of the muck of the cell floor at
last, and he felt remarkably better. Surely Vegeta couldn’t have done something
so kind?
“What’s going on?” he finally ventured, strands of green hair falling in his
face as he peered over the edge.
“Shut up, prisoner,” the harsh voice said, and Zarbon saw that three
insect-like guards stood in the room, one of which was trying to hoist Vegeta
to his feet. The Saiyan prince was being mildly disobedient, but by the look on
his face Zarbon could tell he was amused rather than angry. Vegeta finally
seemed to tire of the tug-of-war and stood up, although he yanked his arm out
of the guard’s grasp.
“Yes, do shut up, Zarbon,” Vegeta said mockingly, a thin smile spreading across
his lips. “I’m not the one you should worry about.” With that he strode out of
the room, the guards scurrying behind him with a scraping noise as their
exoskeletons came in contact with the rough stone floor. Zarbon watched their
shadows disappear down the long corridor, and realized with a start that they
had left the door to the cell wide open. He extended his arm and tried to pull
himself to the end of the slab, but found he was still too weak. He groaned and
rolled over onto his back once again, staring at the black ceiling in despair.
“They’ve taken him to the arena,” Atlia’s voice proclaimed from across the
hall. “He has healed completely, and so they took him to fight.”
Zarbon’s mouth pressed into a tight line. If anything happened to Vegeta Zarbon
might as well count himself as dead. He needed Vegeta’s help to escape, not to
mention the consequences of letting down Freeza. He ground his teeth together
as he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could do. “So what happens
if he loses?” he asked Atlia, who always seemed to love spouting information.
“He dies,” Atlia replied. “The matches are always to the death.”
“Then what about the winners?” Zarbon asked halfheartedly, not really believing
Vegeta to have any sort of chance.
Atlia made a strange gurgling noise, and Zarbon wondered if it was laughter.
“Then he lives like a king. He’ll still be a prisoner, of course, and not
allowed to mingle with the higher classes, but a prisoner who wins
consistently, and therefore lives, is rewarded handsomely for his entertainment
value. The longer he lives the more he’ll get, especially since he’s an alien
and therefore exotic. People will pay extra to see something like him.”
“Will he have to fight the current champion?”
“Not right away,” Atlia replied from the darkness of his cell. “He’ll have to
fight other prisoners first, ones who have won a few battles themselves but
don’t have the potential of the champion. They’re sort of like a test for new
warriors.”
Zarbon sighs. “What sort of chance does Vegeta have?” he wondered out loud.
“If he reaches the champion, none,” he replied, and retreated back into the
dark.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Zarbon murmured, and began to take stock of his
injuries once again.
The guards gave Vegeta a long steel stake and a shield before pushing him out
into the sand. He blinked at the sudden brightness, the light almost painful
after the darkness of the dungeons. When his eyes finally adjusted he realized
he was standing at the bottom of a coliseum-like structure, the arena being
made of sand with stone bleachers stretching away from him in all directions.
The seats were filled with thousands of the bug-people, all with their beady red
eyes focused on him as he turned to take in his surroundings. He snarled and
wrapped his tail around him more tightly, doing his best to remain regal
despite his torn and dirty clothes and cracked armor. A buzz ripped through the
audience and he realized that the other competitor had entered the arena. It
was, of course, one of the bug-like Arlians. Vegeta wondered vaguely what the
other fellow was in prison for. One of the guards that had escorted him to the
arena stepped out into the center and began to shout the rules: no other
weapons, no biting, no ki attacks, and only one survivor. A smile crept across
Vegeta’s face, but the clicking laughter of the Arlians in the stands filled
the arena as they looked at Vegeta’s tiny size. He couldn’t tell if his opponent
was smiling or not, since he couldn’t locate the Arlians’ mouths, but he was
certain that he was being sorely underestimated at that very moment. “Don’t you
ever underestimate a Saiyan,” he whispered as the guard shouted the command to
begin.
They circled one another immediately, Vegeta quietly testing the heft and
balance of the strange weapon. He was tempted to discard it altogether, but
then the other fellow would surely have the advantage of reach. He clutched his
stake more tightly and made sure his tail was neatly wrapped around his waist.
The Arlian stabbed viciously with the stake, Vegeta dodging to the side and
letting the metal rod scrape against his shield. Giving the Arlian’s weapon a
shove to the side he darted in and drove a knee into the Arlian’s midsection.
The Arlian doubled over but didn’t fall, and Vegeta nearly shattered his
kneecap on his opponent’s exoskeleton. Hopping away, Vegeta glared at the
Arlian as it rose slowly, shaking off the injury. Vegeta scowled as his
weapon’s limitations sped through his head. It was far too long to be of use in
close range, so what else could he do? He could throw the damn thing, but then
he would be left wide open. As he stood thinking he saw the slow drip of fluid
coming from the Arlian’s midsection. The Arlian hadn’t fallen, but its
exoskeleton had cracked under the blow. Vegeta smiled as something came to him.
He made a noise to get the Arlian’s attention as he sped towards him, changing
the grip on his stake. The Arlian gripped its shield and held it in front of
itself to block the attack, but Vegeta gathered his strength and jumped for all
he was worth, sailing over the Arlian’s head and kicking the shield out of its
hands. He spun in midair, the back of his heel connecting with the Arlian’s head.
The Arlian stumbled forward, planting the butt of his stake in the sand for
balance. Vegeta took that opportunity to dash around to his opponent’s front,
taking his shield and bringing it up under what he supposed was the Arlian’s
chin. He smiled coldly as the Arlian went sailing backwards, landing with a
thud on his back. Vegeta followed its movement, tossing aside his shield and
grasping his stake with both hands and raising it above his head before ramming
it into the Arlian’s already-cracked midsection. The crowd gasped as the Arlian
screeched in pain, grabbing the stake and desperately trying to pull it out. A
laugh escaped Vegeta’s throat and he picked up the Arlian’s lost stake,
nonchalantly tossing it a little in the air as he strolled to where the Arlian
lay. The Arlian looked up at him in terror and begged for mercy. Vegeta merely
smiled and drove the stake in between the Arlian’s eyes. The crowd went
absolutely silent as the Arlian gurgled and twitched its last, Vegeta drawing
the stake out when he was sure it was dead. He raised the stake in the air
above his head and laughed once again, eying the crowd with contempt. They were
silent for a few moments more, then erupted into screaming applause. Vegeta
regained his composure and quietly strode back to the doorway through which he
came, silently taking note of how many guards there were, how many seemed to
have weapons, and where they were stationed. The guards that had escorted him
to the arena closed in on either side of him, and before they had time to blink
he had buried his stake in the heart of one of them, grabbed its weapon, and
stabbed the other as well. They both fell dead on either side of him, raising
clouds of sand as they hit the ground. He heard the crowd go wild behind him
and entered the darkness of the dungeons by himself.
“You’re back,” Zarbon exclaimed as he entered the cell, peering over the edge
of the slab.
“You thought that I would lose?” Vegeta asked as he planted his hands on his
hips and unwound his tail from around his waist, looking up at the green-haired
alien. Zarbon was considerably healthier, although still looked lamentably
weak.
Zarbon’s fine eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I wasn’t sure. They could
have fought you with those strange weapons of theirs. I assume it went well,
then?”
Vegeta shrugged. “I suppose. It was disgustingly easy. We were given metal
stakes about five feet long and shields made of the same stuff. No other
weapons, no ki attacks, just hand to hand.”
Zarbon sighed and placed his hands under his chin as he looked down at Vegeta.
“Did they tell you when you’d fight next?” he asked, turning his head to the
side.
Vegeta shook his heads. “No, I killed them before they had a chance,” he
replied.
Zarbon’s eyes widened, golden irises glittering in the dim light. “You killed
them and came back here?”
Vegeta looked away, studying the open door. “Some of the other guards had those
weapons,” he said angrily, and Zarbon realized it must have hurt the Saiyan’s
pride to not be able to escape. “And besides,” Vegeta continued, “I want to
have some fun while we’re here. You’re not well enough to go anywhere, so I
might as well entertain myself in the meantime. Trust me, Zarbon, when the time
comes we won’t have any difficulty escaping.”
Zarbon nodded and Vegeta disappeared from sight as he sat on his bunk. Zarbon
sighed and rolled over on to his back, slowly stretching his muscles to get
them back in working order. He had seen a plan forming in Vegeta’s eyes, but
wasn’t sure what it could be. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to
know.
*~*~*~*~*