His Majesty's Pet/Get The Message

“No blood,” Zarbon said, wiping his mouth. “Malaka still doesn’t know what killed him.”

“That’s bizarre,” Dodoria was munching on a stable of sweets and savories, and a big bowl of Carmenalian Slug-toes was steaming before his face. It was a glorious assortment of foods, and foodstuffs, and he particularly enjoyed the scope of what he was feasting upon. I’m going to clean out the whole space fridge, he swore to himself.

“We can take Lord Frieza, Lord Kuriza, Aranya, and the monkey out of contention,” Zarbon admitted. He didn’t want to remove Vegeta, Dodoria noted, observing his fellow officer’s tone. Heh, he really does hate the kid.

“We’ll review the tapes, and if I can, I’ll–”

“We can narrow it down,” Zarbon interrupted. “It was either a common soldier, Appule, Orlen, the balding Saiyan brute, one of the Ginyu Force, or a regular guard.”

“We should talk to ‘em all, then.”

“The Ginyu Force have already left.”

The raw, rising tone to his voice told Dodoria all he needed to know. That guard was one of Zarbon’s spies. Another one gone. He could hardly suppress a smile. “In that case, we should talk to everyone else.”

“Yes,” Zarbon agreed, poking at his space salad with mild disinterest. “I’ll handle the regulars. You deal with the elites.”

There weren’t many elites on Frieza’s ship currently. Dodoria lamented the fact that so many supposedly universe-class warriors had fallen in recent engagements. He was a stickler for quality, and what he was seeing now, especially with the most recent bout against Kiwano, was that most of Frieza’s men were soft. Maybe Zarbon likes ‘em that way, but not me. This ain’t good.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to ‘em.” Dodoria sighed, standing up. His meal had not been entirely consumed, but he was feeling tired. He cleared his place, throwing out whatever he hadn’t already engorged. “I’ll find whoever did this,” he promised Zarbon. “We shouldn’t tell Frieza about it yet.”

“Absolutely,” Zarbon concurred. “There’s no point doing that.”

The lights were bright, but lacking in power. Dodoria excused himself and made for the training room, leaving Zarbon behind in a flurry. He didn’t particularly like being alone with Zarbon, but his job necessitated that he often was. While Dodoria had gotten used to Zarbon’s prissiness, his fastidiousness, his over-indulgent anxiousness, that didn’t make tolerating the green-faced man any easier.

Damn nosy bitch, Dodoria thought to himself. I’m gonna get caught if I’m not careful. Stopping suddenly, Dodoria attracted the attention of a nearby patrolling guard, and for an instant, he had an impulse to beat the life out of the alien. Another would draw suspicion. I can’t.

The guard was gone before Dodoria pulled a baggie out of his pocket, ducked around a corner, and inhaled quickly. This is how I got caught before. I gotta be careful. One more slip up and I’m finished.

He settled down slowly by using controlled breathing techniques. There was nothing suspicious about visiting the dorms; he was, after all, set to interview all of the remaining elites. Orlen’s an elite, Dodoria thought to himself, although such a thought was more surprising even now than it should have been to him.

“You didn’t kill that guard, didya?” Dodoria asked the orange-skinned egghead casually.

“L-lord Dodoria… what are you talking about?” the alien with wicked cool fangs responded.

“Case closed,” the pink man grunted. “Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh.”

Dodoria handed Orlen the sealed instructions casually. Orlen took them, wide-eyed. “The Citadel,” Dodoria whispered, making sure no one else was around. The dorms were empty aside from the two of them. Blue paint was peeling off where the wall met the ceiling, Dodoria could tell. He could hear the sound of uncomfortable space rats squeezing their ways through the walls.

“I will not fail you, my lord!” Orlen replied, saluting stiffly, not daring to look him in the eyes. Then, he spun around, and ran out of the room, no doubt running all the way to the space pods. He’ll be out of here before Zarbon’s finished his girly meal, Dodoria thought recklessly.

Up next was Appule, whom Dodoria found talking with Malaka in the rejuvenation tank room. Their words were short. He’s one of Zarbon’s, Dodoria observed throughout the talk. And just about now, Zarbon’s rats have been getting brought to justice.

In fact, now that Dodoria thought about it, Appule was probably the only significant informant Zarbon was still employing on the ship. He’s got a few more of the guards. But they’re nothing–not elites, not like Nailo, heh.

He found Nappa wandering the hallways near the stargazing room talking to himself (but he made it look like he wasn’t when Dodoria drew near). “You didn’t kill anyone recently, did you Saiyan?” Dodoria asked him.

“No, Lord Dodoria,” the monkey replied, abnormally politely. “I’ve just been at my duties–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dodoria interrupted. He had no idea what Nappa’s daily tasks were, but he wasn’t about to ask. They were standing at a bend in the hallway in a dim-lit, artificially-illuminated stretch of desolation. No one else was around. “In that case, you’re going to help me with a Saibaman problem I’ve got.”

The big man looked utterly crestfallen. Stupid monkey. He stinks just like one. Regardless, Nappa could not refuse Dodoria–and he didn’t. He hardly even showed his disappointment. Nodding apathetically, the Saiyan warrior said, “What is it, my lord?”

“Saibamen again,” Dodoria said, eyeing Nappa coolly. His belly rumbled, and his head felt very heavy. That only made Dodoria more excited. “We’ve got one in particular who’s been givin’ some trouble to the rest. But I think he’s too strong for you.”

“Oh, I, uh…” Nappa began awkwardly.

“We used to have real elites around here,” Dodoria said heartlessly. “Real strong men, worthy of bein’ called warriors. Not so many of that kind around anymore. There used to be a guy named Cui who worked here, but he took a post as an installation commander. Shame. I could’ve used him today. You won’t be strong enough to kill the Saibaman who’s the real problem.”

He was blushing, the balding idiot. “I-I… is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

“Yeah,” Dodoria replied grumpily, his mind flying through the memories of Cui like water coursing down stone rivets. This serro’s good. Real good. It works fast. I’ve never felt so alive. Damn, where’s my mind been all these years? “You can deal with the other ones, even if he’s too much for you. Come on, monkey. We’ve got work to do.”

Nappa said nothing. Dodoria turned and marched off to the Saibamen closet, listening closely for Nappa’s footsteps behind him. At first, the brutish monkey remained stuck in place, and then, like a meek space dog, he began to follow. Good, Dodoria thought. He’s not as dumb as he looks.

The ash got everywhere. His fur was a lost cause, but feeling it mushing in his boots, between his toes, was worst of all. The first star was sinking beyond the horizon, while the second was descending after it timidly. There were hours yet left of day.

He shook himself ash-free at the door to Choriban’s Glow, the premiere bar on this tiny outpost. Pocketing his gloves, he entered suavely, as he always did. There were cheap space whores dancing on a lighted pole to a live band behind them. Several miners had gathered around to watch closely. On the western side of the bar, the ceiling lights were pinker, full of rising Nil smoke, sweet and dank. Sharlyk’s throat burned for some Nil.

Even low-grade stuff’ll cost a few months’ salary. He had only been working here for a week. He wasn’t exactly in hiding, as no one was coming after him, but it was good that he had gotten himself out of the slaving business while it was still profitable. Better to go out on top than…

He closed his eyes, remembering the scene in the temple. He had hidden in the shadows, watching for far longer than he should of. The kid killed his partner, Sharlyk thought wearily, sitting down at the bar on the western side. The serving area’s counters ran in a giant loop almost from one end of the bar to the other. A variety of aliens of species he knew and did not were huddled around him, reeking of sweat and ash, mumbling with paranoid fervor to one another. They all have yellow eyes, Sharlyk thought. Like molten gold.

That was the first symptom of the fatal koani-eye infection.

He ordered a glass of cheap pisswater Uu’goc. A couple miners started a sniraak tournament in the corner. On the smoky, muted televisions floating around the serving area, old re-runs of the Galactrix Arena’s Premier League were playing on loop. It gave Sharlyk a headache, but he knew the fastest way out of here was with more money. Kiwano once told me I was the best sniraak player he ever knew.

Tattered orange-laden sunbeams slanted in through the window, overlooking a desolate planet, devoid of native life. Above ground, that is. There’s plenty that lurks in those caves…

He swallowed, standing, making his way over to the sniraak players. Sharlyk took a seat opposite a man with bushy white hair and dark skin wearing a sand mask over his face. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded, observing Sharlyk calmly. Somehow, the space-badger felt as if he had met this man before. The feeling, like remembering fragments of an otherwise forgotten dream, disturbed him, but he said nothing to reveal his inner confusion.

The other man never said anything. When the tournament began, a Tameric Shufflebot dealt their cards. The man stared at him uncomfortably. Sharlyk wondered if he had been one of those men he’d spared on Planet Frieza 159. No, I don’t think so. None of them had hair like him.

The game was over five hands in when Sharlyk attempted a bluff the other man simply did not believe. Sharlyk busted and was removed from the table. His opponent raked in the chips, laughing softly to himself. Sharlyk stared dejectedly at him, knowing those lost chips would just mean he’d have to stay here even longer, but the man didn’t look up; his focus was on his new and rising chipstacks. Typical gambler.

He left the Uu’goc and ordered some Nyarin Space Gin, Alahon-Distilled. When the bartender bot served him, the old space-badger downed the whole thing in one rancorous gulp before leaving.

His wallet would feel the strain in the morning. He cursed himself for being so reckless, even as he felt drunkenness, dully uplifting, flood his consciousness and take over reality.

The outpost of Ghulbi-Douhmo was an old pirate’s haunt, but recently, Doctor Boson (a scientist from the Planet Trade Organization), had brought much physical labor work to the planet with some paid digging and excavating jobs. They were in the midst of digging what appeared to be temple spires out of a field of thousand-year-old ash.

It was enough to make the space-badger sick.

There were three places to eat, one shop, and a large sectioned-off area for the hangar bay, which housed all of their ships. Nothing else, save for fields of ash and spires of twisted, fire-blacked rock, stretched out in all directions from this remote outpost. The planet of Vehc Imiol’a was otherwise a barren wasteland.

One sun had fled; another remained, though it was half-sunk beyond the horizon already. He paid the bartender and left, making his way to his post, on the first plateau beyond the outpost, directly east. It would be dark before his shift was over. Sharlyk’s wrist-comm blinked twice to alert him he had two minutes to reach his post or be marked as late, thus incurring a 15% wage reduction for today’s work. Sons of bitches. Fuckin’ impatient louts, he thought irritably.

It was snowing by the time he reached the outpost. Well, snowing was not exactly the correct term. It was raining ash, more like, like vaporous mud, dirty and dark and resounding without hope. The wage he was making here was less than a twelfth of what his salary under Kiwano had been. I just need enough to give myself a little cushion, he kept telling himself, but it cut deep through his pride, and Sharlyk wasn’t sure he would be able to stand it much longer.

They had set up a bridge connecting the two sides of the dig, with encampments on both sides, though the majority were farther below, at the base of the plateau. It was Sharlyk’s job to patrol the bridge as well as ferry items from one side to the other than needed transporting.

It was tedious work, and all they would intrust the new guy with. Sons of bitches.

The first three hours passed with almost nothing notable happening. He transported more bins of ashy shit than he cared to remember. It grew dark and cold, and the items came fewer and fewer. Everyone else went to bed. The stars came out–a fiery veil, all aglow.

He was watching them when someone stepped onto the western side of the bridge. “You know, some would call running away a coward’s move.”

This planet had no moons, but by starlight alone, he could see the proud, erect figure of Captain Ginyu, his hands on his hips, standing on the end of the bridge, staring down at Sharlyk coolly. The starlight glittered uncertainly around his horns.

“But that’s alright… that’s what the Ginyu Force is for, after all!” a squeaky, pitiably voice coughed from behind Sharlyk. There was a green-skinned runt approaching him from the other side of the bridge, wearing the same slick armor as Ginyu.

“You’ve got the wrong–”

He tasted ash on his tongue. The lights flashed, and he tasted blood leaking hot and wet between the pools of sandy ash on his tongue. Sharlyk coughed, spitting. He looked around, dazed. The air popped, went jagged, rippled before his eyes. He felt strikes across his face and body, pushing him back. They hit harder than he expected, but not as hard as he would have guessed from a member of the Ginyu Force. Still, it was enough to push Sharlyk against the edge of the bridge.

Bastard’s fast. Alright, I’ll play your game. He raised his fists, anticipating where the little green guy would be coming from this time. The air popped and he felt pain again. His nose snapped sickeningly, and a trail of raw red blood flew through the midnight air. Ash fell around them. His nose stung. He was going to sneeze, but that was when something hit him in the chest hard enough to crack his ribs and send him flying out into the air.

Catching himself, Sharlyk spun and punched at the green alien, seeing him coming. The hit connected, and the little guy stopped. His had almost as many chins as he did eyes. The four of them blinked at Sharlyk stupidly. He blasted the runt away brutally, purple energy dripping from his paws.

Yes! I got this! I can hurt him! He’s not as tough as he looks. Okay, I’ve got this. I have to take my next opening to escape!

“Who else was Kiwano the Slaver dealing with?” Ginyu said from the bridge.

“I-I… I’m not tellin’ you shit, man.”

“Who was Kiwano’s serrokin contact?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.”

“Who is The Surgeon?!” a voice boomed from behind Sharlyk.

The space-badger froze, a ripple of fear coursing through his body. From behind him, hovering just a few feet away, his arms folded, Recoome emerged from the night.

Oh… so that’s how it’s gonna be. It was very cold all of a sudden, so very cold. My shift’s nearly done. I should go back inside, he thought desperately.

“What did he steal from Lord Frieza?” asked Burter, emerging from darkness on the other side of the bridge, effectively blocking Sharlyk in. Guldo was nowhere to be seen since the last exchange of energy.

He had given the bottle to The Surgeon, who had given it to Bleiku. Shit. I never thought Frieza would have wanted that Chillrose back so bad… Sharlyk’s scream caught in his mouth, where it melted. He was a good soldier. How the hell do they know about that? It was real fear he felt now. “I don’t know, you fuckin’ idiot! Kill me or let me go, but I’m not answerin’ any more of your stupid fuckin’ questions!”

“Fine,” Ginyu said sullenly. “Guldo!”

Sharlyk’s reflexes were universe-class. He had always known that. Light, dominating in its brightness, flooded his vision, and he was falling, blood leaking hard from gashes in his nose and inside his mouth. Light popped around Sharlyk. He reached out, shooting ki blasts, punching wildly, kicking, releasing energy waves, but nothing stopped the relentless display of light. He’s so fast… why is he so fast…?

The space-badger was confused, more than anything else. He felt the pain, barely, like a faint reminder plastered in the back of his mind that he was still alive. He tried to anticipate the attacks. I have great reflexes. My awareness is second to none, he told himself, forgetting the pain, forgetting how seriously he had already been wounded. Those were not his problems now. There ain’t no way I’m going out this easy, he thought to himself, reaching to anticipate Guldo’s next strike.

Sharlyk’s vision exploded with light, and he spun head over heel, feeling sick, and tasting the sandy, course, bitter taste of ash mixing with the blood running freely from his mouth.

“Anything?”

“Nope.”

Blue blobs of what had to be insects were flying around in swarms everywhere. Kuriza was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down on the city. Aranya was kneeling, cleaning her paw, behind the Arcosian. When Vegeta landed, he made sure to not look at either of them.

“This planet’s native species is not space-faring,” Kuriza observed, returning to the group. While he had a boyish, excited look in his face, his tone was sharper, more mature. “There are no ships. We will wipe this last city out together. Aranya, how many did you take out before?”

“Eight.”

“Vegeta?”

The Prince’s ears went hot. “Same.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Then, we have a three-way tie.”

“Whatever!” The Nyarin stood up angrily and marched back to the edge of the cliff, staring down at the city. “Follow my lead, I’ll–”

“No!” Kuriza said in a high, cold voice, interrupting her severely. That was rude, you little Arcosion muuka.

“It’s fine,” Vegeta mumbled. “I don’t care if she–”

“No,” the prince said firmly, silencing both of them. A cool wind blew through the trees. In the darkening sky, growing oranger every moment, disant pillars of blackened smoke were rising into the air, the signs of their previous work. I wonder how many of them know what’s about to happen. Oh well, they have only themselves to blame. “You are to follow me,” he said stoically. “I will observe your forms and report them to Father. He wishes to know how much you two have worked on your battle form harmony.”

“W-we were just made partners…” Aranya said in disbelief, rolling her eyes. “We haven’t had a chance to–”

“You better be quick learners then.” Frieza’s son gave them fierce looks, showing that while he was a kid like them, he wasn’t one of them. He thinks we’re just his slaves to boss around. Whatever. He’s not half as scary as his father.

At Prince Kuriza’s signal, Aranya and Vegeta got behind him, falling into battle poses. “Power up to your maximums right now.” They did so. “Okay,” Kuriza said, observing them now with his scouter. “Vegeta, Vegeta, Vegeta,” he said coldly, a look almost like unbloomed hatred coursing through his face. The Saiyan Prince was taken aback. “Very well. I will power down for you.”

He strained and his aura grew dimmer. Vegeta bit his tongue. It’s not fair… I’m a Saiyan, the Prince of the greatest warrior in our species history… I have to be a Super Saiyan… I have to be so much stronger… why am I so weak?!

“Very good, sir,” Aranya said mockingly. “But that city isn’t going to blow itself up.”

“Heard. Let’s go.”

They were like trained Cyrens, fluttering through the air, following in a tight formation, rolling into the last city on this cursedly humid planet like a tide of fire. Kuriza favored crimson red energy. Aranya’s tended to be lavender. Vegeta’s was usually a harsh and virulent blue.

When they fired off energy at this rate, there was no way to hear the screams.

The three warriors shot through the stone-built city like homing finger beams, firing indiscriminately, wiping out thousands of fat-faced aliens with brown, insectoid and segmented bodies with every flick of their wrists. Vegeta made sure he kept up, made sure there would be nothing for Aranya to complain about. He fired off energy in between her shots, blanketing the world in a constant stream of deadly energy.

Energy washed over a park, reducing it to ash, momentarily hanging like a footprint in time, and then the wind came and blew all those horrible ash people to distant dust, and he forgot again, and he was okay. The energy overwhelmed his senses, blinking with colors too fast to discern, but pleasant in their variety. Kuriza was using many colors now. Aranya’s attacks had picked up their pace. Vegeta was sweating, feeling his body straining as he tried to keep up. He’d never had to fire this much energy before in his life, it seemed. He could’ve easily vaporized this stupid city from overhead with one attack, he knew. This way makes things ten times harder.

His ankle hurt; his body felt heavy with constant strain. He fired energy blasts, their potency dropping with every breath, but no one would notice. They were still lethal at this level.

Kuriza brought them to the town square, at which point he ordered them to go to work. Aranya and Vegeta professionally worked together, spinning around Kuriza slowly, shooting off energy in arcs, leveling the buildings and natives within sight. They all ran screaming away. Don’t look at them. If you don’t look at them, they aren’t there.

The boy was smiling, indulging in this. Vegeta had once felt that, when he had done this with his friend. Kuriza’s smile grew wider, until a flash of light appeared before his face and suddenly disappeared. A group of natives were running from the group down the central road, when suddenly, boiling white energy appeared above them and fell over them, vaporizing them slowly.

Vegeta shut his eyes. It was all too much for him. He took two breaths, and the city exploded.

“What the hell?!”

“If you’re gonna do that, warn me first,” Aranya shouted grumpily, swatting smoke out of her face.

Around them, everything had become fire and smoke, and the entire city had collapsed into a ruin, melting into nothing, like flecks of floating gold over a crater of liquid metal. “I didn’t do it!” Kuriza said, seething between his teeth, not backing down from her advance.

Their eyes briefly fell to Vegeta. But they didn’t believe it, and both turned back to one another.

It was a humbling feeling, being as impotent as he was in the presence of greater warriors. His face burned with shame. I want to die, Vegeta thought suddenly. It was an earnest thought, like his heartbeat, lingering with certainty. I want to die. I’m not good enough. He didn’t feel particularly sad. The realization was undeniably true, but he was beyond caring about stuff like that.

That was the last city, Vegeta reflected. Now we absolutely have no way to get off this planet. He wondered what Kuriza’s end-goal was. The Prince was arguing with Aranya. Vegeta felt hot again, thinking it over. He butted it, telling them to stop.

“It’s nearly night,” he said, annoyed. “We have to figure out what our plan is.”

“I have a plan, Prince Vegeta of the Saiyans,” Kuriza said coldly and suddenly. He was hovering in an awkward, childish way, looking down on Vegeta from above. “Follow me.”

The waves went out and came in again, foaming orange in the afternoon light. The air was unusually warm, smelling of salt and sand. Kuriza landed on the shore, with his back to the sea.

The two soldiers landed in front of him. “Adequate jobs. Your endurance was somewhat lacking, however,” he said, eyeing Vegeta in particular.

The boy landed hard on his bad foot and tried not to wince openly. Kuriza mistook that for a sign of weakness. “I never ran out of energy…!”

“You were lucky the natives were as weak as they were,” the other boy replied. “Had they been any stronger, you might not have left this place alive.”

“Is that a threat?!” the Saiyan boy asked, his voice rising.

“Father was most surprised when he learned you didn’t win the position.” Silence followed. The heat in Vegeta’s body evaporated as an ocean wind blew against him with numbing force. “Really… against lowly Guldo? I mean, he knew you were weaker than the Nyarins, and of course probably even Orlen and Appule… but Guldo… his power level isn’t even 10,000.” The young Arcosian looked very pleased with himself. He was smiling an orange smile. The waves came in and went out again.

“H-he wasn’t…”

“Father was right,” Kuriza continued boldly, eyeing Vegeta like a madman. He really is insane. He better watch his mouth. “You are just a bunch of stupid monkeys. I thought you had more potential, but apparently, even mediocre–”

Vegeta lunged, spewing sand into the air, punching Prince Kuriza hard across the jaw. The Arcosian stumbled back in the sand, his heels hitting an incoming wave. Vegeta raised his hand and grit his teeth. Homing finger beams released instantly, and though Kuriza put up both hands to block, the beams were too fast. They exploded against his flesh, tearing through his royal cape, creating a smoking cloud around the boy for a moment, only to be blown away by the outgoing sea breeze.

“Y-you… you insolent worm! You peremptory, foul-tempered space-monkey!” Kuriza’s face sparked with insanity, the usual boyish calm vanishing, and something terrifying, resembling his father, replaced it. That’s it. Get a little angry. Maybe if you start acting like a normal person, you’ll start thinking right.

“I’m going to–”

“No, quiet!” Kuriza screamed. “I am ashamed of you, Vegeta! You should have won the Ginyu Force Competition! I made it so you would! I made it so no one stronger than you entered! And this is how you repay me…?!”

The air tasted sweet. The faintest breeze was on Vegeta’s neck. It was like with Guldo, only cleaner. The wind blew, light displaced itself, and Kuriza moved faster than Vegeta could see, hitting him ruthlessly in the chest and sending him flying.

H-he wanted me to win… but then why did Burter…?

“Get up, you lazy idiot!” Aranya whispered to him. She was not standing far away, but her arms were folded now like Kuriza’s, and she seemed more on his side than the prince’s. His ankle hurt. His body shuddered from another intense full-body tremor. The boy cried out in pain, trying to stand, though, despite it all. Why do I want to impress her so much? Why do I care?

He couldn’t answer that. His body was all adrenaline. He felt nothing else. Pain was a memory and a fear, but nothing he ever consciously felt anymore.

Vegeta’s head was spinning. He could taste blood and knew that with his ankle how it was, he was already done. It was merciful that when Kuriza approached him, he let up as soon as he saw the state Vegeta was in. Landing beside Aranya, he looked with disgust down upon the Saiyan. Vegeta had never felt so much self-loathing in his life. Why am I not stronger? It was a simple, stupid, unreasonable question, he knew, but that meant nothing. Still, it persisted, burning a cold trail of shame through his mind.

His knee buckled, and he fell to the sand, sweat dripping before his face. Vegeta’s mind wandered. I wonder who’s going to buy this place. I bet it’s going to be a businessman. He’ll cut down all the forests and replace them with factories, far as the eye can see…

It was a beautiful view from the shore, reminding him, in its primal, raw beauty, of home. The prince attempted to stand again, his pride pushing him on.

Leering, Kuriza said, “You were supposed to win. That was our plan for you, kid. What now?! What now, you stupid monkey?!”

Aranya held her emotions well. Her face was a passive shield, like the surface of a body of water. Vegeta’s emotion came to him suddenly, and he needed her, but she wasn’t there. This isn’t happening.

“It doesn’t matter how much you can hit them with,” his father had once said to him, in a clear, commanding voice–one fit for a king. “How much you can take without going down… that’s what really matters. You’re going to take blows that’ll knock you out, Vegeta. You’re going to take hits that will hurt so much you will feel like giving up. You’re going to feel like surrendering…”

He remembered the next part. Only a coward gives up. Pain is fleeting. A coward’s heart weighs on him forever. It was an old lesson, one of Nappa’s first. Vegeta grit his teeth, trying to stand again. His pride wasn’t there anymore. The fight between Guldo and himself flashed before his waking eyes at high speed, playing on eternal loop. He saw his father too, talking, looking down on him, his whispering voice just quiet enough to be masked by the crashing of the waves.

There. He tried to pause his memory on the exact moment, but he was too tired. But regardless, he had found the spot where he could have taken out Guldo much quicker. His memories continued to flash before his waking eyes like broken glass, tinged gold. I could have ended it faster. Burter wouldn’t have had time.

When his memories turned to Burter, his skin prickled and rushed with icy shame. No matter what Vegeta thought, he knew he was simply slower than Burter, that the Ginyu Force elite could easily have killed him had he wanted to. Vegeta hadn’t done anything wrong reacting to Burter–he could see that plainly right now–except not be strong enough. A Super Saiyan wouldn’t have lost to Burter, he thought bitterly.

Vegeta let out a scream, his voice echoing across the beach. With all of his might, he stood up. Wiping sweat from his brow, he looked around, trying to pass off the act as something of little effort. Kuriza stepped up to the prince. He looked like a demon, the way he moved.

“Good job, Vegeta. You have some fight yet in you.”

He smiled like a psychopath in the orange light and headbutted Vegeta so hard that all he saw and felt was black.

It was the blinking of his wrist-comm that woke Vegeta. He stirred, sitting up, looking around, and finding the familiarity of it more disorienting than anything else. What the heck… how did they do this to me? He was in his bed, Aranya’s bunk above him. But she wasn’t there. The bunk across the room built into the other wall was also empty. No one else was sleeping except him.

The message was marked as urgent from Zarbon. Screw him, Vegeta thought wearily. He can wait a little longer… oh, I bet he likes that. Vegeta went to rub his ankle, but when his hand brushed against his leg, he realized suddenly that his wound had been healed. Huh? I guess I’ve been in the rejuvenation tank.

A tremor ravaged Vegeta’s body, and he fell crying against his pillow. I don’t get it. What’s going on?! Why does it hurt so much… the rejuvenation tank should be healing me, not letting something like this through… He thought about going to Malaka, but Malaka was one of Zarbon’s most loyal friends. He would tell Zarbon all about this, and that was something Vegeta could not afford to let happen.

He thrashed his head uncomfortably against his pillow when, in a moment of painful clarity, Vegeta remembered. Oh yeah… that’s right. The plumber gave me that stuff…

He thought back to the start of the mission, how he had felt good, how his entire body had been aglow with warmth and energy, and even those tremors had seemingly weakened. I remember thinking that at the time. It has to be true. It was true. I know it was!

Without thinking, without waiting, Vegeta reached into his pillow, grabbing the two remaining vials, and pulled them out. He downed one in a breath, wiping his mouth. His wrist-comm blinked bright blue. The room’s lights weren’t on. That was nice. He liked it better like this. Vegeta’s body felt heavy, but almost at once, as the medicine coursed through his veins, it began to feel hot again, and he felt good again. It wasn’t just physical either–the burdens of anxiety likewise vanished.

His father flashed before his vision, preaching about a warrior’s heart and perseverance. Vegeta could visual the comet just as easily.

He waited until the next tremor shook its way through his body, wrapping him up in its cold embrace. It hurt–but not as much as before. Still, it hurt too much. He was tired and desperate and no one would ever have accused Prince Vegeta of having an impeccable memory.

The pain was overwhelming and his plea came ferally, nakedly true. Vegeta popped open the second vial, downing it in a single gulp. When he was done, the boy immediately collapsed into bed again, his skin tingling as if it had fallen asleep, his mind racing, his body radiating heat and pleasure, and he felt good for once. His wrist was blinking, and he ignored the urge to make it stop.