Chapter 62

The parting was a brief one. Piccolo, Goku, and Radditz had climbed on board as the Arlians scrambled to finish the preparations for takeoff. Zarbon stood at the entrance to the ship as Bulma ran to Vegeta and threw her arms around his neck. The startled, semi-horrified look on the Prince’s face was absolutely priceless. The Saiyan’s expression only darkened in a furious blush when she tilted her face up and kissed him square on the mouth, in plain sight and in front of everyone. Vegeta was too dumfounded to react for a moment, then he nearly surrendered, his eyes drooping shut for a split second, just long enough for her to know that he did indeed return her kiss. He pushed her away gently, but his tail wrapped around her waist, and the two exchanged comments too low for Zarbon to hear. Bulma gave Vegeta one fierce last hug and he tightened his grip on her waist before marching onto the ship. Zarbon turned to follow, but felt a hand tug on the hem of his cape. He looked down and saw Bulma at the side of the ramp, her pale fingers wrapped in the fabric. “Hold on,” Bulma said. “Come down here a minute.”

Zarbon leapt lightly from the ramp and stood beside her, staring down at her with his cold, golden eyes. “Yes?”

He was even more startled than Vegeta had seemed when she suddenly pulled him into a rough embrace. “You be careful too, Zarbon. You might be the only hope he has.”

“I pray that you are mistaken,” Zarbon said softly, but he returned her hug. “Best of luck, and don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. I have my scouter with me. Atlia knows the signal.”

“All right,” she murmured, and let him go.

Zarbon tried to smile reassuringly at her, attempting to put on a good front for the deep blue eyes that scrutinized him so thoroughly. He had been wrong to try and keep Vegeta from being with her, he decided in that moment. She was intelligent and incredibly strong. She would see the Empire through this debacle on sheer force of will alone, if need be. His smile turned genuine and he regained his position on the ramp. “Farewell,” he said to her, and snapped a brief salute at Atlia. Then he turned up the ramp, entered the ship, and within moments were well on their way to exiting the atmosphere.

They had only been traveling in hyperspace for a few minutes when Goku trotted onto the bridge, his head swiveling this way and that like a dog searching for a hidden treat. “So? Where is he?” Goku pressed, eyes still darting around the room.

“Where’s who?” Radditz growled from the control panel, scowling down at the monitors.

“Vegeta!” Goku replied, his voice almost a whine. “I thought he and I could train together.”

“Good luck,” Zarbon muttered acidly from where he lay draped across the captain’s chair. “I doubt that stuck-up bastard will fight you.”

Radditz’s scowl deepend as he glanced at Zarbon out of the corner of his eye. Although he hated to admit it, he was becoming increasingly worried about the green-haired warrior. Zarbon’s deep hurt had turned into a deeper bitterness, and he wondered what that would leave the rest of them. He knew of Vegeta’s plan to self-destruct in order to kill Freeza, and the fact that he had conflicting emotions about it made him realize just how deeply Goku and his Earthling ways had affected him. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought had everything happened before they landed on Arlia. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. His Saiyan upbringing told him that Vegeta was doing the only honorable thing. For a warrior to die in battle, giving his life to vanquish his opponent, was the most admirable thing a Saiyan could do. After living with his soft brother for so long, however, he was starting to doubt the honor of Vegeta’s plan and was seeing it more as a fool’s quest. If Vegeta died what would happen to Bulma? To Zarbon? To any of them? Goku felt that Vegeta’s responsibility should be to his family, and Radditz was startled to find himself agreeing. Still, he couldn’t fault Vegeta for his plan. After all, he wasn’t sure he would do it any differently if the situation was his to command. He sighed and tapped another coordinate into the screen, making sure the ship stayed on course. Behind him Goku’s voice reached a near-head-splitting pitch, and he turned around angrily. “Goku, shut the hell up!” he shouted, lip curling in a snarl.

Goku stopped prancing around Zarbon and stared at his brother, seemingly dumbfounded. “What did I do?” he asked, putting a finger to his cheek.

“You’re being too damn noisy!” Radditz snapped. “I have work to do here, and I can’t concentrate with your constant yammering going on in the background.”

Goku looked at Radditz from underneath his bangs. “I’m sorry, Radditz. I just wanted to find Vegeta, that’s all.”

“Well, this ship isn’t exactly huge,” Raddtiz snarled. “Go find him and leave us alone!”

“You should be training, too,” Goku said quietly, and it seemed to Radditz as if he shed the skin of his idiocy far too easily.

“I’d like to, but the way you’re carrying on I’ll never have the time because I’ll never get this work finished!” Radditz growled. “Now go!”

Goku’s demeanor changed back to that of the harmless fool and he shifted his weight from foot to foot in front of Zarbon. “Please?” Goku whined.

Radditz rose with an enraged noise coming deep in his throat, darting over to Goku and picking him up roughly by the back of his gi, raising him until his feet dangled several inches above the ground. “Get out!” he shouted, carrying Goku to the door of the bridge and literally kicking him out. He pressed the button to close the door and keyed in a locking code. “That should take care of him for a while,” he muttered to himself. “I swear, sometimes he’s worse than a child.”

“Good job,” Zarbon said, still lounging in the chair, his long braid almost touching the floor over the armrest.

Radditz grunted in reply and sat down at the console once again, punching in numbers with a vengeance. He heard Zarbon rise, his cape rustling noisily, and come over to stand behind him. “What?” Radditz snapped.

“Goku’s right, you know.”

“About what?”

“About training. You should train. I imagine that you’re aware that Goku’s nearly as strong as Vegeta, if not exactly as strong.”

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

“Think about it. Goku shows abnormal strength for his class, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, you come from the same blood that he does. Your father was exceptionally strong as well, so if Goku is there’s no reason you shouldn’t be as well.”

Radditz snorted in disdain, shaking his head. “Impossible. Goku’s after Vegeta, so he’s out of the question, and I wouldn’t dare ask the Prince for anything. He’d just kill me anyway, or beat me to a pulp for my impudence in even asking. The Namek just seems to want to sit and meditate, and to tell you the truth, I don’t think I’d mess with him either.”

“What if you could do something more than spar?” Zarbon’s cool voice said, the tones edged with something that Radditz couldn’t identify.

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning around and meeting the man’s cool golden gaze.

“I was a commanding officer in Freeza’s army for many decades. I could teach you quite a bit.”

“You’d train me?” Radditz, said, eyes widening. Zarbon was far stronger than he let on, and he was a clever fighter. He wondered if Vegeta knew that Zarbon could still give him a thrashing once in a while. Of course, if it came down to raw power, Vegeta and Goku, and probably even the Namekian, would crush him, but what Zarbon lacked in insane amounts of energy he made up for in precision and style.

“What else are we going to do?” Zarbon said nonchalantly, tossing his braid over his shoulder with a shake of his head. “Keying in all those numbers will only take so long, and then it’s pretty much on autopilot until we reach Freeza’s empire.”

“I suppose,” Radditz said, still not able to really believe what he was hearing.

“Besides,” Zarbon continued, “You need to be able to assist in fighting the Ginyu force, don’t you? Wouldn’t it be better if you made it out of this alive?”

Radditz exhaled through his nose, glancing out the window at the stars speeding by. “That goes without saying,” he said after a while. “But why are you doing this? Is it so you can beat the living daylights out of someone to alleviate your anger at Vegeta?”

Zarbon’s face tightened and the golden eyes became even colder. “It comes from a genuine desire to see you live,” he said. Radditz thought he could almost see the ice falling from the man’s voice. “We’re a squad, right?”

Radditz sat back in his chair, black eyes studying the flawless face intently. Zarbon may have been crafty in the past, but he had never lied. A sigh left him and he rubbed at the back of his neck as he thought it over. Zarbon had proven that he was a ruthless and skilled warrior.

Although his way of fighting was not the Saiyan way, it had made Vegeta so much stronger. Goku had also trained with non-Saiyans, and he was nearly as strong as Vegeta. Perhaps he had the potential locked away within him as well. After so many decades of fighting, Radditz figured that Zarbon would be a pretty decent teacher. “All right, then,” he said softly. “I’ll train with you. I don’t want to die. I’d like to see Gohan grow up and Goku grow old, even if that’s not the Saiyan way. Sometimes, I think, we want things for others that we wouldn’t want for ourselves.”

A tight smile stretched Zarbon’s lips and he nodded once. “Excellent. What do you say to beginning after the evening meal? That should give us more than enough time to attend to our respective tasks.”

“Absolutely,” Radditz replied, and returned to his work at the control panel.

---

Goku spent hours wandering around the ship, hardly able to believe that he was in space yet again. Before he’d left Earth he didn’t think he’d ever be able to fly through the stars he watched so intently as a child, and yet he had accomplished it. He supposed he had actually done it long before that, but he decided not to count the trip he took as an infant. It didn’t matter unless he remembered it. Pressing his face to the porthole, he stared out at the stars zooming by, the speed of the ship so great that many of the stars resembled lines of light rather than dots. Goku took a deep breath and savored it, thinking how beautiful outer space was. It was too bad that his beloved ChiChi wasn’t there to share it with him. He sighed and rested his forehead against the cool pane of the porthole, closing his eyes and bringing to mind the image of his beautiful wife. Only a few weeks had passed since he had seen her, and yet those weeks seemed like years. He longed for her touch, to hear her voice, to feel the weight of her body slide into bed next to him before he went to sleep, or any contact with her at all. He even wouldn’t mind her screaming at him and trying to beat him with a frying pan, as she seemed to like to do on occasion. It was good for her stress, he figured, and it certainly didn’t bother him to be hit with the pan. He had, after all, experienced far worse pain.

He opened his eyes. Yes, there were worse things than the frying pan. Watching everyone around him fall apart was one of them. His dark gaze fixed itself once again on the endless depths of space outside the ship, and for the first time in his existence felt fragile. His life was tiny in the vastness of space, and it could end in a moment if something happened to the ship. The heart hidden deep in the protective expanse of his chest would cease to beat and he would die, far away from his son and agonizingly distant from the loving soul of his wife. He noticed his breath fogging the glass of the porthole and he smiled, wondering if the others ever worried about such things. It was the first time in his life he had ever worried about anything, and he found that it sort of made him feel ill.

A sudden realization struck him. Was this how Vegeta felt all the time? Was this horrible uncertainty the emotion that he lived with every day? Radditz had told him about Vegeta’s past, shared with him mentally the images of Vegeta being dragged away by a horned purple man, Nappa being struck down as he tried to aid his Prince, the feeling of Radditz’s arms twisted behind his back as he was also restrained. Vegeta’s young, frightened face lit by the harsh lights of the hall had been burned into his brain by Radditz, and now whenever he looked at Vegeta all he could see was that terrified child. Was the boy inside the man dictating that Vegeta make such a sacrifice to defeat Freeza, or was it something else? Goku sighed, realizing that the child inside of the Prince had lost faith a long, long time ago. He straightened and pushed gently away from the wall. Well, there wasn’t anything he could do about that. There were few things he could change, in fact, and he knew it. He could train, however, and make sure that Vegeta train as well. Truth be told, he was excited to train with him. The thought of confronting such awesome power and skill, both just the smallest notch above his own, made his blood race with excitement. Finally, someone that would be a match for him! Not that Radditz was a bad sparring partner, but he just didn’t believe in his own strength. A slow smile stretched his lips, making his innocent face seem slightly older and a touch crafty. Well, hopefully Zarbon would be able to change that. After all, once he had suggested to the golden-eyed man that Radditz might harbor as much potential as himself and Vegeta, Zarbon had become intrigued. Goku was almost positive that Zarbon had already spoken to his brother. If only things were so easily arranged between Zarbon and Vegeta.

---

Vegeta lay on the small bed in his cabin, arms crossed behind his head as he stared blankly at the featureless ceiling. A thousand thoughts swirled through his brain, and he moved one of his hands so that he could stare at it. Moving his skin into different positions and angles, he found he could still see the hairline scars on his wrist. They had never gone away, nor would they. Nothing could change the past, he realized that now. In fact, when he tried to remember the past, a good portion of it was a blur, based more on emotions than actual images. All he could recall were hate, humiliation, helplessness, and anger. Fear, however, was in the mix as well, and it was that same, age-old fear that crawled up his spine at the moment. Only a relatively short time ago he had been in the service of that bastard Freeza, and soon he would be facing him again. When he was in Freeza’s forces, the burning hatred for all things that he had held inside him had kept the fear at bay. Now, however, he found that the fear was bubbling to the surface again.

Despite what he had told Bulma, he doubted he would come back alive. He was actually considering making an effort to beat his former master without killing himself, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A part of him told him that she would just have to come to terms with the honor of the situation, and they would meet again in the afterlife, if he didn’t get sent straight to hell. He would live and die as he chose, and no other living being should have an influence on that. On the other hand, an honorable warrior kept his vows, and despite how he felt about her, he had given her his word. Dammit, why had things become so complicated? It had all been so cut and dry before the woman and that thrice-damned Zarbon entered his life. He could have fought Freeza and destroyed them both, leaving the universe a better place for it. Now, however, things would not be so easy. The best thing for him to do, it seemed, was to disregard everything but his goal. The others were just weaknesses, after all, and should be treated as such.

He sat up with a snarl, reaching towards his side table and snatching up his gloves. Shoving them on roughly, he flexed his fingers beneath the fabric, feeling the material strain over his knuckles as strength coursed through his arms. He refused to let that abominable Freeza bother him, refused to admit the fear he felt because of the tyrant overtake him completely. Looking around at the sparse little room, he decided that barren quarters made for barren thoughts, and so he stormed out of the room into the hallway. The smooth, metal corridors almost seemed worse, in a way, and he looked about, his lips parted in a snarl. The stars raced by the porthole directly opposite from the door to his chamber, and he went over to it, slamming his palms against the walls as hard as he could, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to the porthole in frustration.

“What’s your plan?” a gruff voice said from behind him, and he whirled violently, pouring all his emotions into a burning scowl.

His eyes came to rest on a stern green face and he clenched his teeth. It seemed that the Namekian hadn’t learned to leave him alone yet. “It’s none of your affair,” Vegeta growled, glaring at the taller man.

“I disagree. You’re the undisputed leader of this mission, whether you deserve that distinction or not. Regardless of the choices you make for your own life, your actions and decisions affect the rest of us.”

“As if I’m going to listen to a pathetic creature like you,” Vegeta spat, trying to step out of the way.

To his annoyance the green man actually had the gall to smile. “Pathetic, eh?” he replied, moving slightly to block the Prince’s path. “What makes me more pathetic than you?”

“Your very existence,” Vegeta hissed, standing his ground and staring hatefully into the other’s eyes.

The Namekian closed his eyes and shook his head, leaning against the smooth metal wall of the corridor as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you once that you and I were alike,” he said calmly. “I still believe that to be the case.”

“Oh?” Vegeta sneered, planting his hands on his hips. “What makes you think that I, an emperor, have anything in common with the likes of you?”

Piccolo opened an eye and smiled slightly, his sharp canines coming into view. “Some time ago I was known as Piccolo the Demon King to the residents of Earth. I was feared and powerful, oweing allegience to no one and seeking only control over others. I was evil, pure evil, and loved it. My only goal was to be the strongest, to dominate, much like your goal.”

“Hmph. As if you have any idea what I’m about.”

“Well, we both somewhat enjoy having others fear us, do we not? But after a while things change.”

“If you had been true to your nature you would not have failed.”

“Interesting you should bring that up. What is your nature? Are you truly the suicidal type, or do you want to live?”

“I want to win, and if that means dying, then I am prepared to do so.”

Piccolo smiled and shook his head. “I understand,” he murmured, pushing away from the wall.

Vegeta’s fists curled at his sides. “What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re afraid.”

“I fear nothing, especially not that bastard Freeza!”

“I didn’t say it was Freeza you feared, did I? You think caring for others is a weakness.”

“If a warrior cares for someone, his enemies can use that person against him,” Vegeta replied sharply, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.

“And this is how you and I are alike: we both believed that caring and love were weaknesses. I know I believed that for a long time, but in the year that Goku was dead I looked after Gohan. As much as I hated to admit it, I grew to care deeply for that little boy until he was almost like my own son. Then, when the time came, my love for him drove me to new heights of strength just to keep him safe.”

“I have no interest in your mushy little story,” Vegeta snapped.

Piccolo shrugged. “You should listen to other people once in a while and learn from their mistakes. It might keep you from making your own.”

“You are wasting my time.”

“Fine, fine,” the tall man growled. “I just wanted to tell you this, since you hold the lives of people I care about in your untried hands: because you and I are so alike, you need to accept the love you feel for certain people and use it to your advantage. The way you care about Bulma and Zarbon will give you the strength you need to defeat this Freeza guy.”

“I care nothing for that green-haired freak,” Vegeta snapped.

“Think what you want to,” Piccolo grumbled, waving a hand as he turned. “I just don’t want to see you screw this up because you’re afraid to admit to yourself that you’ve become close to someone. I’m not going to see the people I care about destroyed because of your damn arrogance.”

Vegeta spluttered inarticulately as the Namekian disappeared from view. How dare that man for assuming so much! He alternated between fury and astonishment for quite some time. He might care about his wife, he could admit that much, but it was Zarbon’s fault he had been put in such a position in the first place. He didn’t want to be responsible for others, he only wanted to win. He had to win, and realized that the Namekian had made at least one point- he must not make a sacrifice without first making sure the others were safe. He reached out mentally briefly, checking on his wife, but the distance between them had become too great for contact. “I will succeed,” he muttered to himself and stalked off towards the dining area of the ship.

---

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine,” Bulma said for what felt like the eighteenth million time. “There was a little bit of trouble, but Vegeta went off to fix it. He’ll probably be back in no time, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Please just call him and tell him to come over. I need to talk to him.”

Her mother’s eyebrows furrowed as Bulma looked at the communicator screen. “Okay, honey, if that’s what you think is best. I just feel that it might be strange for Yamcha to travel to the seat of the empire of the man that took his lover away.”

“Dammit, Yamcha didn’t own me!” Bulma snapped, angrier than she planned on being. “Are you going to call him or not, Mom?”

Mrs. Briefs sighed and scratched her temple. “Okay, dear. I’d better make a list. ‘Call Yamcha’. Is there anything else?”

“Call him NOW!” Bulma wailed, resisting the temptation to smash the console of the communicator. She loved her mother dearly, but sometimes wished the woman seemed a little more aware of dire circumstances. “You need to call Krillin, too. One of them will be able to round up Tien, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure you’re not in trouble, honey?”

“I’m fine!” Bulma shrieked.

“Is that my little girl?” she heard a voice say in the background.

“Dad?” she asked. “Finally! Dad, I need to talk to you!”

Her father’s face appeared over her mother’s shoulder as he pushed up his glasses with a finger. “Hello, Bulma!” he said brightly. “How are things?”

“Dad, I need you to get Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien here on the double.”

Dr. Briefs’ face crumpled into a frown. “Is there trouble?”

“Not yet, but there could be.”

“Goku got there okay?”

“Yes, yes, he’s fine. He’s off with the others right now. I’m worried a war will start, though, and so I need you to send the guys here as soon as you can.”

Dr. Briefs exhaled slowly and rubbed his chin. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything. I put most of the parts I needed into Goku’s ship.”

“Please, Dad! This is sort of important.”

Gravity took hold of her father’s face and he nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Bulma sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Thank goodness. The enemy troops could appear any day, and we’re going to need all the people we can get who can use ki. It’s war, Dad.”

“Your mother will start calling people right away. We’ll get back to you when they arrive, all right?”

“Okay,” Bulma breathed, terminating the communication. Vegeta hadn’t been gone long at all and already she felt worn thin.

“Are the other warriors coming?” Atlia rasped behind her.

Bulma swiveled on her stool and nodded. “Yes. They should be here in just over two weeks. Are the labs being readied?”

“Yes, Milady. We’ve managed to salvage a good deal of our facilities and they should be ready for you by nightfall tomorrow.”

Bulma stood and went over to her wardrobe, pulling out a worn gray set of coveralls. “Then I guess I’ll start to drawing on plans for the shield,” she muttered. “Thank you, Atlia, that will be all.”

Atlia nodded and exited the room silently. Bulma quickly folded up the coveralls and placed them on the table. So far, so good. She’d feel a lot better when the others arrived. Not that she couldn’t handle things by herself, but it would be nice to have familiar faces around. Speaking of which, she hadn’t see Gohan in a little while, having told him to run off and play as she started to get things rolling. Then she had called her parents and completely forgotten the child. Well, perhaps he had gone to his room. Bulma pulled open the door and stepped into the hall, marching down the corridor a few dozen feet and stopping in front of a heavy door. Her knuckles wrapped sharply upon the portal, but there was no answer from within. “Gohan?” she asked, leaning towards the door and listening. Only silence met her ears. “Gohan!”

She shoved open the door and found the room very tidy, the sheets folded on top of the mattress of the bed. Cold dread stole over her as she rushed to the bureau, opening drawers in a frenzy. Some of Gohan’s clothes were stored within, but she noticed the distinct lack of his battle outfits. No, he couldn’t have. . .

Bulma stepped back into the hall and shrieked for a guard, feeling the blood leave her face as an Arlian clattered towards her. She gestured for the guard to follow and wound her way through the compound. When they neared the makeshift command center she pointed, the tone of her voice tolerating no excuses. “Find out if there was a pod launched in the past 6 hours,” she growled, storming down the hallway to the room where the large, intergalactic communication screen had been hooked up. She pointed at one of the technicians and barked commands, waiting patiently as her orders were followed.

“There was a single-person pod launched about two hours ago,” an Arlian rasped, entering the room and handing her a sheet of paper.

“Thanks,” she said, practically snatching the sheet away from its bearer, eyes devouring it as she clutched it tightly. The readout confirmed what the Arlian said- a pod had been manually launched a couple of hours before. Apprehension gripped her spine and she felt a chill steal over her. Gohan was always so obedient, certainly there was no way. . .

“Bulma, what is it?” an anxious voice said, interrupting her thoughts, and she looked up at the communicator screen into Zarbon’s golden eyes.

“Oh, Zarbon,” she choked, fighting back tears of dread. “I’ve lost Gohan.”

---

Freeza turned away from the communicator screen, a half-smile pulling his purple lips askew. “You heard the man,” he purred at the warrior at his feet. “Vegeta’s making his move.”

“Yes, sire,” Ginyu replied, head down.

Freeza walked slowly to the window of the bridge, his tail lashing about behind him as he stared out into space and swirled the wine in his goblet. “Who would have thought the monkey would be so useful?” he muttered. “It is too bad we had to silence the undercover operative before we had a chance to thank him.”

“It’s a shame,” Ginyu agreed.

“Still, this turn of events isn’t entirely unexpected, is it?” Feeza said, voice going from lilting to a hiss. He turned on Ginyu and threw his goblet down, scowling as it shattered into a thousand pieces.

“Dodoria has paid for his failure, sire,” Ginyu said softly.

“But how? How did that damn Saiyan manage to overcome my forces?” Freeza bellowed, clutching at the console in front of him. “Dodoria didn’t even manage to destroy Zarbon!”

“I’m sorry, sire. We’ll get them this time around.”

Freeza hissed through his clenched teeth, breath ragged as he stared out into the stars that sped by. “That’s it, I am finished with this foolish game,” Freeza snarled. “Ginyu!”

Ginyu rose and stood at attention, eyes fixed on his master. “Yes, sire?”

“Dispatch troops to Arlia at once. I want that planet destroyed, do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And no more mistakes! Send four times the number that we released before. I want even the memory of that misterable empire destroyed!”

“Absolutely, Lord Freeza.”

Freeza curled his hands into fists and brought them down on the console, Ginyu’s eyelides fluttering by way of a flinch. “This is unacceptable!” Freeza shrieked. “That miserable Zarbon will not beat me at my own game! Damn the day I conscripted him into service!”

“But what about Prince Vegeta, sire?” Ginyu asked, swallowing hard.

Freeza’s shoulders stopped shaking and he turned, eyes glinting as he looked at Ginyu. “Oh, I want him brought back alive. I’ve missed my favorite puppet. Perhaps the little monkey will dance for us again, eh?”

Ginyu forced a smile. “As you wish. And your orders?”

Freeza’s scowl deepened and his tail lashed back and forth violently. “Vegeta and his crew are on their way to intercept me. You and your men are to ambush them on Ruuksei. I don’t care what it takes. I want Vegeta subdued and Zarbon’s head on a platter by the time I arrive there.”

“Yes, sire,” Ginyu replied with a brief salute. “We shall be on our way at once.”

Freeza nodded and watched Ginyu’s retreating back. “Oh, captain,” Freeza called out.

Ginyu turned at the door. “Yes?”

“Make sure he suffers.”

Ginyu nodded. “No one betrays my Lord Freeza and gets away with it. Rest assured that he will know no mercy and will go the way of the rest of his species.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Freeza muttered, and turned back to his perusal of the stars.

---

61 / Bulma’s Hideout / 63