Chapter
9
Bulma
slid the needle out of the tube, brow furrowed as Radditz sighed in pain. He
was asleep, and mercifully so, because the pain of the hole in his abdomen
would have been unbearable otherwise. She stared at him numbly, the weeks of
tending to him taking their toll. The novelty of studying an alien had worn off
since she had measured every possible aspect of his skeletal and muscular
structure and even taken tissue samples. She felt as if there were no more
surprises to be had; Goku was dead, and had been for weeks, ChiChi had gone
into a stupor when she got the news that her husband was gone and her son
kidnapped. Krillin had gone off training in preparation for the possibility
that the other Saiyan, Vegeta, would show up. Everyone had left to do their
important things and here she was, alone, tending to an alien that could very
well just stand up and kill her once he was healed.
“Bulma,” a soft voice said behind her. Her eyes widened a little in surprise,
recognizing the voice and hardly believing it. Lips parting, she turned a bit
to see the person standing in the doorway, keeping her hand on the cold metal
railing of Radditz’s bed. The person in the doorway took a few steps toward her,
closing the distance between them, and put a finger under her chin, tilting it
upward. Dark eyes shimmered down at hers, the scars that ran across the eye and
cheek distorting with a smile. “Krillin told me what happened. I didn’t want
you to be alone.”
Bulma gazed back into the scarred face. “Yamcha,” she breathed, relaxing as his
arms folded around her and pulled her close. “I almost forgot that I wasn’t
speaking to you,” she murmured into his shirt.
“Can’t we put all that unpleasantness behind us so we can get through this?” he
asked softly, raising a hand to stroke her silky hair.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “You want me to just forget
that you took other girls out when we were supposed to be together?” she asked
halfheartedly, not wanting to give up so easily.
“You wouldn’t go with me, Bulma,” he reminded her. “You know I really wanted to
go with you. Does it even matter now?” he said, burying his nose in her hair.
“You’re safe, and now that I’m here you’ll stay that way, even if that monster
is in the same house.”
“He’s not a monster,” Bulma protested, squeezing her eyes shut and taking in
his warmth.
“He killed Goku, honey,” he replied.
She shook her head against his chest. “No, Piccolo killed Goku. Radditz was
just...incidental.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t go getting attached to the alien, okay? You
don’t want to make me jealous,” he said, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
He dropped his arms to take her hand, leading her gently away from the Saiyan’s
bedside.
She smiled in response. “I’m worried, though,” she said quietly. “Maybe you
should be out training in case the other one comes.”
Yamcha stopped and gazed at her, his eyebrows coming together slightly. “I’ll
train here for a while. Goku has gone to train with someone in the afterlife,
and after a year of that we’ll wish him back. He’ll be so much stronger it will
make the rest of us insignificant,” he said, squeezing her hand.
Bulma shook her head. “Goku’s a Saiyan too. Who knows what will happen once
he’s confronted with his prince.”
Yamcha smiled and tugged on her arm. “You’re too full of gloom and doom. We’ve
known Goku longer than anybody, and since I know he’d never bail on us you
should realize it too. So let’s go.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed, finally letting herself be tugged. “Where
are we going?”
“Out,” Yamcha replied with a grin. “You’ve been so wrapped up with people from
outer space that you’re starting to forget what people from this planet are
like. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Of course!” Bulma said with a laugh, taking his hand in both of hers and
following him out the door.
“How many did you kill today?” Vegeta asked as Zarbon sauntered through the
cell door.
The green-haired man smiled and tucked some stray locks behind his ears. “Three.
And they were all people I was supposed to fight, no guards,” he replied.
Vegeta grunted and folded his arms across his chest, careful not to disturb the
bandages. “They’re still not pitting you against as many fighters as they did
me,” he growled.
Zarbon sighed and adjusted his sleeve. “I suppose it’s because I don’t look as
sturdy as you do. After all, I’m fair-complected and I don’t have your short
stature...oh, I mean compactness. I imagine I’m not as flashy, nor do I have
your tendency to gloat. I must be far less entertaining...”
“Shut up,” Vegeta interrupted. “I’ll warn you once to watch your tongue.”
Zarbon pressed his lips together for a moment before replying. “As you wish,
sir.” His amber eyes narrowed as he studied the Saiyan, noticing Vegeta’s eyes
ringed at the bottoms with purple. The Prince didn’t seem like he was getting
much sleep, and it was becoming apparent in his countenance.
“What in the hell are you staring at?” Vegeta snapped, his black eyes flashing
with fire.
Zarbon raised a fine eyebrow. “Have you been resting?” Zarbon countered,
tapping a blue fingernail on the skin of the opposite bicep.
Vegeta’s lip curled in a snarl. “That’s all I’ve been doing with these damned
ribs. The facilities here are abominable. They don’t even have a tank.”
Zarbon shook his head imperceptibly before replying. “You’re still lucky. I
broke fewer ribs and it took me how long to heal? You’ve only been out a few
days, I think.”
“Few days? It could be weeks. We have no way of knowing down here,” Vegeta
growled.
“Besides, Vegeta, very few planets outside of Freeza’s empire have the
technology that we do. You really couldn’t expect a planet like this to have
the same level of gadgetry.”
Vegeta’s mouth twitched downward as he glared at Zarbon. “And why not? They’ve
got the technology to create cities under the ground, ki-piercing weaponry,
these damn cell bars, and have you seen some of the communicators the people in
the crowd wear?”
“Well, no, I was sort of busy,” Zarbon admitted grudgingly, not liking to be
shown up by the upstart Saiyan.
Vegeta raised his nose in the air a little and snorted. “That’s what makes us
Saiyans the perfect mercenaries. Our vision, hearing, and olfaction are
unparalleled. Nor do we need the sort of supplies that other races do- we can
eat just about anything, and have no qualms about killing things for
sustenance. Do you think your delicate stomach could handle consuming one of
these Arlians?”
Zarbon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I can’t imagine stooping to such a thing,”
he admitted in distaste.
Vegeta nodded. “Inferior, all around. But I won’t be. When I build my empire, I
will ensure that its technology far surpasses that of Freeza’s.”
“Empire?” Zarbon chuckled. “Vegeta, you know I can’t let you do that.”
Vegeta glared at the standing man, eyes blazing. “And you know I can’t let you
stop me. You can’t win, Zarbon. If you kill me, you lose your life by Freeza’s
hand. If you can’t kill me, you lose your life by my hand. If I kill myself, or
am killed, you lose your life again. There is only one scenario in which you
are permitted to live, and even this depends on your ability to answer a single
question: how much of Freeza’s empire were you actually running?”
Zarbon blinked in surprise, his hands slowly lowering themselves to his sides.
“What?”
Vegeta bared his teeth. “You heard me.”
“I suppose I ran quite a bit of it, really. I oversaw a lot of the
interplanetary trade, rosters, battle formations, repairs, and I did most of
the diplomatic missions myself,” he replied, putting a finger to his chin as he
thought.
“And what about that useless Dodoria?” Vegeta urged, eyes quieting a little.
Zarbon laughed out loud, putting his arms around himself. “You’re right on,
Vegeta. Dodoria is absolutely useless. Freeza keeps him around because he likes
pink. Dodoria is also physically intimidating, what with all the horns and
sweat and whatnot, and is a very demanding taskmaster to boot. He keeps troops
in line effectively, I suppose. There really were more troops than one officer
could handle.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Do you think you could run an empire on your
own?”
Zarbon smiled again, shaking his head as he closed his eyes. “I already did. Do
you think Freeza cares about details?”
It was Vegeta’s turn to smile, although his was completely devoid of mirth. “I
think not. It shall be his undoing.”
Zarbon sobered immediately, putting his hands on his narrow hips. “What are you
thinking of?” he asked, voice cautioning.
“You and I will have to fight soon for the championship,” Vegeta said. “Only
then will you see my plan.”
“This is ridiculous!” Zarbon said, throwing one of his hands in the air.
Turning his back on Vegeta, he walked over to the bars and stood looking out,
his shoulders hunched and his brows knitted.
Vegeta laughed softly, the sound menacing as it wound through the damp air. “It
depends on who dies,” he replied.
Zarbon scowled and shook his head. “You’re insane,” he growled, not turning
around to see the smug smile he knew would be resting lightly on Vegeta’s
finely chiseled mouth.
Vegeta grunted in reply and swiveled on his bunk to lie down. He watched
Zarbon’s tattered cape flutter in a random damp draft, the empty smile still on
his face. He wasn’t completely sure what the other alien would do; everything
depended on his reaction. Vegeta only had a vague idea of what he was going to
do, and he hated vagueness. Unfortunately everything centered around Zarbon’s
conduct in the final battle. Vegeta was fairly certain he had covered all the
possibilities, but he had to remind himself never to underestimate a seasoned,
intelligent fighter like Zarbon. His eyelids grew heavy and slid over his dry
eyes, enveloping him in the warm, velvety blankets of sleep. He felt himself
sink ever deeper into slumber, feeling it getting ready to completely absorb
him when the voice ripped across his brain once again, jarring him awake with
such force it was accompanied by a physical spasm. He grunted as he landed
heavily on the stone slab, and before he knew it Zarbon was at his side,
holding him down and eying him with concern.
“Vegeta, are you all right?” he asked urgently.
“Spare me your pity,” Vegeta hissed as his muscles spasmed once again, almost
pulling both of them into the air with its force.
Zarbon grit his teeth and held Vegeta’s shoulders down with all his might.
“Tell me what’s going on!” he growled, his amber eyes cold and unyielding.
Vegeta swallowed but didn’t let the snarl leave his face. “We have to find
Radditz. He keeps calling me and I can’t escape from it,” he replied roughly.
“Then what in the hell are we still doing here?” Zarbon asked anxiously. “We
have to get you out!”
“Shut up!” Vegeta bellowed, sitting up and pushing Zarbon away. “If you want to
leave, go ahead. The grate in the upper left hand corner is loose. It’s big
enough for you to crawl through, and if you follow it for long enough it will
take you outside.”
Zarbon blinked, retracting his hands and staring at the prince. “What? How long
have you known about this?”
Vegeta scowled and glared at Zarbon. “Since the beginning. I had a lot of time
on my hands while we were healing. I imagine the grates aren’t guarded because
you need levitation to reach them. The Arlians don’t seem to have much of
that.”
“Why didn’t we just get the hell out of here?” Zarbon said angrily, voice
rising.
“Because that would interfere with my plans. Leave if you want to,” Vegeta
grumbled.
Zarbon stood up slowly, hanging his head in defeat. “Fine, Vegeta, I admit it.
You are far more twisted than I ever imagined and there is absolutely no way I
can understand what’s going on in that Saiyan mind of yours. You’re either the
most insane or the most brilliant mammal I’ve ever met.”
“We’ll see which soon, won’t we?” Vegeta said icily, and allowed himself a
small smile.
“You’re awake,” a soft voice said as he opened his eyes slowly. The lights had
been dimmed, presumably to save his eyes, and as he blinked rapidly he
appreciated the gesture. Soft footsteps found their way to him, and he turned
his head a little to encounter a petite woman with blonde hair piled high on
her head, eyes closed in a smile and head tilted a little to the side. Radditz
scooted groggily to a sitting position, only to feel a gentle hand on his
shoulder pressing him back down. “No, you’re not strong enough for that,” she
said quietly. “Just rest for now.”
“Who are you?” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt
to clear his head.
“I’m Bulma’s mother,” she replied pleasantly as she dabbed at his face with a
cool, damp cloth. “But that doesn’t really matter. What’s important is that you
heal up.”
Radditz tried to move an arm, but could feel the tender skin around his wound
tighten with the motion. “Why do you do this? Your daughter’s afraid of me and
your husband doesn’t trust me, and both of them are justified. Are you mad or
just a fool?” he snarled.
Mrs. Briefs just shook her head. “You’re going to be difficult, I see,” she
said. “Oh well. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with difficult youngsters before-
just look at Bulma.” She laid a hand on Radditz’s shoulder and he growled,
trying to shake it off. She shook her head at how weak his motions were.
“You’re never going to get better unless you get a real meal in you,” she
muttered, folding her hands in determination. “I’ll be back in a bit with some
food,” she said, smiling brightly at him.
His eyes grew a little wider underneath his heavy eyebrows. What sort of people
were these, he wondered, if they would extend hospitality and care to their
enemies? Mrs. Briefs patted him one more time and glided out of the room, her
apron strings waving in the wind created by her motion. He waited, breathing
slowly and staring at the wall until she reentered the room with a tray heaped
high with steaming food.
“Hungry?” she asked cheerfully, placing the tray on the bedside table as she
helped him sit up. He didn’t reply, but ran a hand gently under the corner of
his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling.
“A little,” he mumbled, eying the food greedily. Mrs. Briefs smiled and placed
the tray delicately across his thighs. He glanced at her for a moment before
attacking the food and consuming it as quickly as he could.
“Don’t forget to chew,” she cautioned him, her eyes opening slightly in
surprise. “You don’t have to hurry. There’s plenty where that came from.”
Radditz snarled as he continued to stuff food into his mouth. The textures and
flavors were wonderful, and he felt his stomach rumble in appreciation. “Good,”
he growled between mouthfuls, continuing to gorge himself until he was
satiated. He sighed in bliss and leaned back against the pillows heavily, hand
over his abdomen. With so much food in him his wound seemed to pain him less.
He exhaled again in satisfaction and glanced over at Bulma’s mother, wondering
vaguely what the strange woman would do next.
“Do you like television?” she asked as she walked across the room and switched
on the television set that hung suspended from the wall. “It’s almost time for
my talk shows.”
“Talk shows?” Radditz said, frowning in confusion as the box flickered to life.
He was confronted with pictures of people sitting in chairs in front of an
audience, apparently arguing about something.
“Yes, dear,” she replied. “Just sit back and relax. Trust me, it won’t take you
long to catch on to what’s happening.”
“So you know that Mom keeps tampering with Radditz,” Bulma growled to her
father from the other side of the pod.
Dr. Briefs grunted as he sent a shower of sparks flying in every direction.
“You know your mama,” he mumbled.
Bulma scowled and concentrated on the circuitry she was trying to extract. The
damned alien was expensive, what with the costs of the medical equipment and
treatment necessary to keep him alive, and she was sure that if his appetite
was even half of Goku’s they would be in for high bills. She sighed and put
down the metal plate she was holding, staring blankly at the side of the pod.
“What is it?” her father said, hidden from her view by the spacecraft.
“Aren’t you worried?” she asked, examining her grease-covered hands.
“About what?”
“About this Vegeta fellow,” she said impatiently.
“Mmmm,” her father replied, and she could tell he had stopped listening. The
pod had completely attracted his attention, and she couldn’t really blame him.
The ship was a miracle of design, and she was beginning to think that there
were aspects of physics she wasn’t aware of. Somehow the vessel managed to
travel at unbelievable speeds, and yet its design didn’t seem to be incredibly
friction-free. The circuitry was absolutely amazing, and she was certain that
if she could figure out how it worked she could copy it, and once again Capsule
Corporation would be at the forefront of a technological revolution. She felt a
smile creep across her face; she was certainly glad she wouldn’t ever have to
worry about her parents’ retirement costs or even her own, for that matter. She
gripped a screwdriver and examined it absently as her mind raced through
calculations. Capsule Corp. was probably the richest corporation in the world
at present, which would actually make her more wealthy than most princesses.
Bulma watched her reflection smile as she fancied herself a princess, just like
she had wanted to be when she was a little girl.
“What ‘cha thinking about, dear?” her father said, poking a head around the
curve of the pod.
“Nothing, Dad,” she said, and began to concentrate once again on the task at
hand.
*~*~*~*~*