His Majesty's Pet/Broken Bones And Other Really Bad Things

A blue light was blinking on his wrist. Vegeta’s eyes shot open. A lingering headache pressed dully against his forehead. Grimacing, he sat up and noticed that there were fifteen unread messages blinking urgently on his wrist-comm. The boy yawned and pressed a button. His body felt good, and he felt as if he could lie there for the rest of his life, he was so comfortable.

“Get up, monkey,” Zarbon sneered over the comm. “Lord Frieza has granted me access to you for today, for your failure to win the Ginyu Force tryouts.” There was the crackling of muffled laughter over the comm–Vegeta’s favorite. “You will meet me in the guards’ bathrooms at six cycle, do you understand me? You will listen to your captain!”

Vegeta glanced at the hanging digital clock on the other side of the dorms. It was blinking red and white: 11:17. He’s gonna be so pissed. Vegeta’s tail uncurled, stretching. He yawned again, his muscles reacting sluggishly. His eyelids were heavy. It was all he could do not to fall asleep then and there.

Reaching for his armor with one hand, the boy deleted the remaining fourteen messages with his other. He pulled on his gloves, boots, and cape, fitting his scouter on his ear, and blinking the weariness away before marching off to the bathrooms.

The general bathrooms were little more than rows of troughs carved crudely into the ground, and as expected, Zarbon wasn’t anywhere to be found. Great… he’s got something in store for me then. The boy’s fists clenched. He knew he’d have to endure the pain no matter what. It’s not like I can kill him. Not on the ship, that was. If we were on a planet together, I could transform…

He knew he was stronger than Zarbon in his Great Ape form, but he doubted the man would get caught alone with him soon. His vision had gone red, and his back felt hot. Suddenly, the cape annoyed him. The Saiyan Prince stormed off, only to run right into Zarbon, who was standing outside the bathrooms, a look of pure revulsion upon his face.

“Monkey.” Zarbon’s demeanor only grew more flustered.

Vegeta was caught in a bad place. Rage rushed through his veins, and he knew he would have a hard time suppressing his energy. He wanted nothing more than to punch a hole through this fool’s neck. If I do anything stupid, I’m dead. I won’t die–not today. “Lord Zarbon.”

Zarbon held out an old brush, and Vegeta took it. It smelled dank, well-worn, and long unwashed. “You’re going to scrub down everything in there today. Do you understand me, monkey?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man hissed.

“Yes, my lord,” Vegeta said, not looking at him, biting his tongue.

He made Vegeta turn around, shoving him hard. “Get going. We have more to do after you’re done.”

The prince knew of a technique, taught to him by Nappa, to deal with situations like this. Go away inside, Nappa had counseled him. That’s not you if you’re not there, Vegeta. You’ll get through it, trust me. He had always wondered how Nappa knew that.

His gloves and boots smelled foul by the end of it, and he was covered in sweat and shame, the humiliation burning bright in his cheeks. Nothing else remained beside those desolate memories. Zarbon looked down upon Vegeta, spitting on the ground casually. The boy kneeled to scrub the ground clean.

“Good,” Zarbon said. “Perhaps monkeys aren’t entirely worthless. This way, monkey.”

I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he marched after the tall green man, who wasn’t nearly as pretty as he thought he was. His nostrils burned with disinfectant. He wondered why Zarbon was doing this to him. The boy’s eyes teared up, and he wiped them away on his cape.

The worst thing of all was to copy super-important papers. Zarbon put Vegeta on that duty for three or four cycles. By now, the boy’s stomach was growling, and he was hungry for lunch, but Zarbon never let him go. I’ll kill him, I swear it. Nobody mocks my pride!

He survived on his hatred, keeping the pain spinning inside him, hot and jagged.

“Good job, monkey. You’re almost as good as a bot,” Zarbon said sharply, looking over the papers the boy had copied for him. They were alone in Zarbon’s outer room–as far as Vegeta had ever gotten into Zarbon’s chambers. This place consisted of a space mahogany desk in the corner, a boiling spice diffuser in the other corner, various anti-gravity flickering distortions–the newest art craze, no doubt. It smelled pleasant, but all the potted plants were fake.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Silence followed. The boy’s face flushed a deeper shade of purple with choked-upon fury. He for a second grew dizzy with hate and didn’t respond. Zarbon looked up, concern coming to his face quickly. Vegeta stared him down hatefully. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered.

He wasn’t very graceful in his movements, and yet, Vegeta wasn’t fast enough to dodge. He saw where Zarbon was coming from, where he would need to go–he just wasn’t fast enough. It was useless. The man’s fist connected with his chest, and Vegeta gasped, the air getting sucked from his lungs. He collapsed in a pathetic pile on the shag carpet floor.

“Get up, Saiyan.”

“I-I… can’t…” Vegeta gasped from the floor, flopping about uselessly.

“You can’t?” Zarbon laughed. “Are you giving up already?”

Breathe. Vegeta wanted to scream at him, but he was just trying to capture enough air to stay alive at this point. His lungs burned; his throat burned; tears streamed down his face to mix with the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He was seeing exploding lights before his eyes, and his body shuddered with pain. He cried out, regaining his breath, sitting up to look at Zarbon when the man savagely kicked him in the ear so hard that Vegeta went flying into a wall, and didn’t get up.

He lay in a pool of blood, his ear ringing, his hate reverberating in the emptiness of his skull. I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him…

“You’re pathetic, do you know that? At your age, every other elite on this ship had a power level of at least 18,000. And what are you now? 9000? 10,000 maximum?”

It was all the boy could do to sit up. The man’s words were coming like shouts from underwater, streaming past him too fast and slow to hear properly. The Last Super Saiyan was overwhelmed by his pride. It drove him to his ruin, he heard his father murmuring in his fractured mind.

“You set them up to do it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, my lord.” Vegeta’s breathing was slowing. Blood was leaking warmly out of his ear, but he ignored it. The ringing wasn’t so bad anymore.

“That is a baseless accusation, monkey.”

Vegeta shrugged. “You know I’m stronger than Guldo. I’m a–”

“Quiet, monkey!!”

Zarbon lunged at him, hitting him several times in the face, neck, head, ears, and chest. The boy screamed bubbling blood as he was thrown into a second wall, before collapsing again. He felt his bones break as Zarbon came at him again, slamming him hard in the chest with a toe poke lunge.

“Get up!”

“N-no…” the boy was choking on his blood. With all of his remaining energy, he rolled onto his back. A burning pain shuddered through his body, and his bloody hands were shaking uncontrollably. “K-kill me…”

Zarbon stood over him. The smell of disinfectant was back, burning through Vegeta’s nose, ravaging his wounded lungs. He’s a demon. I’ll cut off his head and show it to Frieza… I’ll make him suffer if he…

“No, too easy.” He chuckled humorlessly to himself. “Know this, Vegeta. Do anything like that again, and I’ll make sure not even Lord Frieza finds your body.”

Zarbon spun his heel across Vegeta’s, body, spinning him up into the air. He caught the weary prince by the back of the neck, ripping off the boy’s cape with his other hand. In one motion, he flung Vegeta into the air before crashing down upon him with his elbow, sending Vegeta’s near-lifeless corpse slamming back to the unyielding carpet. Every part of him was screaming with pain. He was slipping in and out.

Cruelly, he extended his foot again, this time swinging it in violently, kicking Vegeta in the cheek. For the boy, it almost felt like he lost consciousness before Zarbon made contact with him. He never felt it. He won’t insult my pride, the boy thought in that last moment, tasting the red rush of his blood flowing through his sore mouth. We’re not monkeys–we’re the greatest warriors in the universe. It’s his mistake, daring to provoke a Super Saiyan like me.

He was bouncing on his feet, pushing her to the edge of the stage easily. She had to work to stay in-bounds. There, he thought in exasperation, that must be enough!

Landing on one foot, Aranya smiled lightly. “Nice try, Saiyan.”

Her form split into fiv, circling around Vegeta, fading out quick. He ducked and released an explosive wave. She was already jumping away in the other direction, safely landing in the center of the stage.

“You overthink things,” she said to him sternly. “Go with your instincts, Vegeta. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid!” he snapped at her.

“Whatever, kid. I guess, we’ll pick this up tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure, whatever.” He folded his arms, looking away.

She was gone.

The sparring room was empty save for the Prince. His wrist-comm was blinking with threats from Captain Zarbon. He better be careful. I’m not going to put up with him much longer.

A shudder of pain struggled through his body, familiar and chillingly alien. He felt suddenly weary as he toweled off and left. Father would have wanted me to beat her. He would have pushed me to, Vegeta thought in shame. He knew he was getting lazy. He was too tired to stay and train any longer.

Outside, he ran into a youthful-faced man wearing a small, neat set of armor. His hair was grey, and Vegeta saw a little Zarbon in him. He smells just like Zarbon.

“Oh, hello,” the man said courteously. His eyes narrowed. “What’s that, is something wrong? Do you smell something?”

The prince shook his head uncertainly.

“Ah well, that’s okay. If you ever do smell something funny on this ship, like as not, it’s a dead space rat in the walls, or Zarbon’s just used the bathroom.”

He smiled innocently, patted the boy on the shoulder, and walked off.

What the…?!

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or put up his arms to block an incoming attack. This could definitely be a trap. I won’t let Zarbon get what he wants, the boy decided. He returned to the dorms, which were surprisingly empty for that time of day. Usually, many of the guards were on lunch break around this time. Nappa was indeed eating a big bowl of Granny Joo-bibi Geimu-geimu’s big dikdik poured savory over a bed of exotic tartare. He had been alone before the boy had entered.

“Hey, Vegeta,” Nappa said nonchalantly. “What’s up?”

“Not much, Nappa.”

“You talk to Dodoria about the Saibamen?”

“N-no… why?” he replied in surprise.

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” Nappa shrugged. “I just thought he’d have gotten you to take out that real nasty Saibaman by now.”

“Is that so?” He knew instantly who it was. “Why didn’t that fat oaf deal with it himself?”

Nappa’s face flushed with shock. “V-vegeta… quiet down! What if someone hears you?!”

“Hmph, I don’t care. So what if they do?”

“You’ll get in a lot of trouble. You have to watch what you say if you wanna keep your skin!”

“Yeah, yeah, Nappa,” the boy replied grumpily. His body was sore, and he wasn’t in the mood for this right now.

He poured himself a glass of space milk and sat at the table across the kitchen from Nappa.

“So,” Nappa sighed, slurping his soup noisily.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been hearing from some of the soldiers that Zarbon’s huntin’ down all the remainin’ Saiyans who weren’t on Planet Vegeta when the comet hit…” he said, his voice lowering to a whisper as the sentence progressed.

“Very good Nappa. You understand what kind of a…” Vegeta looked around this time, sudden suspicion ringing in his ears. The paranoia persisted to such a degree that he never finished the sentence, simply shrugging at the Saiyan General.

“Yeah, well anyways… What if he comes for us?!”

“He won’t.”

“But Frieza doesn’t care.”

“Frieza doesn’t care.” Vegeta eyed Nappa coolly, like a poor child lost in the rain. Sometimes he can be so naïve. He surprises me. Oh well, it’s not like he was ever very smart… “Lord Frieza protects me, and that protection extends to you, Nappa. We’ve been over this.”

“O-oh… oh yeah!”

“Hey Nappa, did you see that there’s another guy who looks like Zarbon…?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Chukberry,” Nappa said majestically, standing up suddenly and wiping his mouth to point at the ceiling dramatically. “He’s pretty, heh, close with Zarbon, if you know what I mean.”

The prince cocked his head to the side. “Wha…?”

“Eh…” Nappa glanced at Vegeta worriedly. “Uh… don’t worry about that. It’s, uh, nothing.”

“Well anyways, I want you to ask the plumber to get me more of that bluish elixir he provided me before, Nappa.”

“Oh yeah, did that stuff work?”

He nodded curtly.

“I’ll let him know. But he might ask ya to pay this time.”

“That’s no problem. I am one of Frieza’s chosen elites, after all.” I’m Super Elite. I’m a Super Saiyan. Zarbon, Frieza, Dodoria… the others… they won’t know what’s hit them when I’m through with them.

“I was just thinking today about how my father and I used to hunt wild cohugar together… Ah, those were the good ol’ days, back when the Tuffles huddled in their tiny cities, and…”

“Alright, Nappa, that’ll do,” the prince said in an authoritative tone. “I’m going to get some rest. See you tomorrow.”

“U-uh, sure… see ya…”

He better pull through for me, the Saiyan thought wildly. I need more of those vials. They dulled the pain. They were the only thing that did… I need that. Vegeta shuddered again, feeling the familiar burning sensation cascade through his bones. I’ll never become a Super Saiyan so long as I’m afflicted like this…

He sighed, pulling off his armor, boots, and gloves, and slid into bed. At exactly that moment, his wrist-comm blinked red–the color it would only if Lord Frieza was attempting to contact him. Vegeta’s heart suddenly started to pound. His breath caught in his throat.

“H-hello…?”

“Is that you, Vegeta?” Lord Frieza asked in a bored tone.

“Y-yes, my lord.”

“Good. Meet me in my room in five minutes. I have some things to tell you. That is all.”

He cut the communications.

Vegeta blinked the tiredness from his eyes. Disbelief spilled into his consciousness like fresh blood. I wonder if he invited Aranya. The boy felt shame again bearing down on him. His father’s disappointment weighed most heavily of all–he wasn’t quite the warrior King Vegeta would have wanted… not hardly–but Aranya’s approval mattered to him too. She was the strongest elite left on Frieza’s ship. She was, in effect, his rival. She was who he wanted to be. She was an idiot. She didn’t know the power she held. She didn’t appreciate it.

His neck was glistening with sweat. Vegeta tried to clear his mind, reaching for his chest piece again, and failed.

“I am surprised to be addressing you alone,” the tyrant said coldly, staring down upon Vegeta from his floating hover pod.

“My apologies, Lord Frieza. I tried to–”

“Be quiet.”

He bowed politely.

“The Ginyu Force were meant to take on the mission I’m about to give you,” he said, eyeing Vegeta seriously. How ironic, the boy thought sardonically. Is this just another test? “Well, you and Aranya.”

“If she’s gotta come, I want Nappa too.”

There was silence. The short Arcosian jumped out of his hover pod to pace in front of the space viewing window. Starlight glimmered on the far wall, where a door leading to Frieza’s inner sanctum no doubt led. The boy stood rigidly at attention. He felt as if he were a scarecrow in in a frozen, desolate field.

“Aranya is your partner, Vegeta. Are you putting conditions upon me?”

“I could use his presence,” Vegeta said, folding his arms awkwardly. “He may not be as strong as us, but he offers me good tactical advice on the field of battle. My father made him my battle strategy teacher. I cannot learn if he’s not around, my lord.”

Frieza gave him a curious look and then waved his hand in the air. “Whatever. Do it.”

Vegeta bowed.

“You are to find and kill a man known as The Surgeon,” Frieza said suddenly, in a deep, threatening voice, like a devil out of hell.

“The Surg–”

“He has the ability to camouflage himself in open daylight as well as to render his entire body invisible in low light. His species’ name is the Nukaro. Research them if you wish. As to where you’ll find him… I can’t tell you that. You’ll want to devise a plan with Aranya over how you’ll find him. The Ginyu Force will be prepping a report debrief, based on the information they have gathered so far. Are you following me, Vegeta?”

“Yeah… my lord.”

“Excellent,” Frieza smiled. “You will leave first thing in the morning.”

“I understand, Lord Frieza. Will we be taking any additional warriors with us?”

“No. The three of you are plenty enough. Nappa is more than I wanted you to take along anyways, but even with him, you will not stick out in a crowd,” Frieza mused to himself, flicking his tail randomly about as he paced before a deepening pool of starlight. The room’s own artificial lights were turned low (most of them off), producing a dim, foggy, blue sense inside the ship. “The Ginyu Force are mercenaries. Though they would act professionally, I cannot entirely control them. You and Aranya are partners now. You will show me the results of your training together. I have great expectations for you two.”

“We will not disappoint you, Lord Frieza!” Vegeta cried pridefully. For an instant, even he believed it. We’ll work together perfectly. Aranya will be my best training partner of all!

“Be that as it may,” the sharp-eyed tyrant began, clearing his throat, “The Surgeon is unlike any foe you have faced before. He is stronger than either of you. I am curious to see how you deal with that… if you survive him, that is. That is the biggest question of all, I suppose. Make sure you read the report on him, my dear boy.”

“I’ll lay his corpse at your feet, Lord Frieza!”

“Both of you will,” the tyrant corrected Vegeta. “You must work together, Vegeta.”

“I-I know…”

There was silence in the still, odorless room. “More information–anything we can give you–that will come later. For now, prepare as you wish, Vegeta. Be ready to leave tomorrow.”

He promised, bowed, and got out of there quickly. His head spinning, Vegeta immediately marched back to the sparring room, intent to practice by himself if he couldn’t get Aranya to show her face again. As it turned out, she was already there. As were Guldo and Burter, and the rest of the Ginyu Force… and Salza, Dore, and Neiz–the legendary warriors of Cooler’s Armored Squadron. Ginyu and Salza were having a heated conversation, their faces inches apart from one another, flushed from shouting. They looked like real men, like warriors his father would have been proud of. They oozed confidence, and he could feel their power from where he was.

Aranya wasn’t alone in watching this fight unfold–Appule, Orlen, the plumber, Nappa, and even Dodoria were all in attendance to watch. Dodoria’s fat pink face was flushed, and he was swaying a little bit. Vegeta meant to say a few things to the plumber, but the fight got underway right then, and he forgot, so breathlessly swept up in the carnage was he.

The young boy watched in awe as Salza shouted, “You insolent space pig rat man with tiny horns, shpshahh!”

“I’m not scared of anyone with as lame a pose as you,” Ginyu said, spinning and flipping around and falling hard, hitting his chin on the floor and cracking a tooth. Hobbling to his feet again, Ginyu grinned widely and pointed at Salza. “You’ve got spunk, kid. I’ll give ya that. But there’s one thing you don’t have that we do…”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Jeice cried helpfully, punching the sky.

“Recoome smash!” Recoome said prematurely.

“We’ve got style!” Burter said, just in time (not really–he was horribly late).

“Guldo, that’s right!” Guldo screamed madly.

“Hah! Style is nothing compared to elegant and precise power,” Salza smiled. He whistled to his men, who dropped into pretty sweet poses behind him.

They looked cool. Vegeta couldn’t help but feel a welling up in his throat, a sense of jealousy pulling him towards each side. They were all so cool, and he hated them all the same. That didn’t change how he felt, which only made him more ashamed and miserable.

“When I was ten, I had sixty-five teeth,” Recoome declared proudly. “I can’t even count to twenty.”

“You’re all brawn and no brains,” Salza replied savagely. “Do it then. Come at me. I’ll put you in your place! I won’t even need to charge up!”

Recoome bristled at that. Vegeta stood in awe, his skin tingling. This is amazing. I can’t believe he’s about to knock out Recoome. If anyone deserves a good quality knockout, it’s that guy.

Anyone with half a brain knew that Salza, Lord Cooler’s finest warrior, was a far superior warrior to Recoome. He was someone Vegeta would eventually surpass. When I’m a Super Saiyan, not even the captain of the Armored Squadron will be able to stop me. His chest hummed pleasantly with the thought.

Recoome thrust himself at the smaller man. He was a hulking giant compared to Salza’s thin purple-clothed frame. Recoome looked like a monster–he was big and muscly and fearsome as a cohugar. He punched at Salza three times, but his fists just went through the man’s form. He’s using Afterimages. He’s so much faster than Recoome, he’s toying with him. How arrogant.

One uppercut was all it took, but Salza followed that up with a spinning side kick that sent the unconscious Recoome flying into a wall, not to get back up. It was four versus three then.

“You messed up,” Ginyu growled. “That’s gonna cost ya, Salza.”

“Oh, is it? Why don’t you make me pay, Captain?”

And so they danced. Every one of them sans Guldo moved too fast for Vegeta to track with his eyes. His scouter beeped shrilly, threatening to overheat and explode, so he turned it off. Vegeta stood in silence with the others (who, judging from their confused silence, couldn’t see the fighters attacks’ either), hearing sounds, seeing flashes of ki, but gaining nothing from these scant bits of crumbling information.

Guldo spun from the training mat, landing unconscious next to Recoome. Fool. He disgraces the Ginyu Force. His pose wasn’t even cool. He’s so lame… what did they see in him?

An explosion went off, followed by several more in quick succession. A hard sonic blast went through the room, blowing weakly through Vegeta’s hair.

Everything was still and silent for a few moments following, as the smoke cleared. Dore, Neiz, Burter, and Jeice all lay unconscious on the floor. Ginyu and Salza were locked in close combat, Ginyu holding onto Salza’s fists at the moment, as the latter pushed the former back to the edge of the training mat, threatening to throw him out. That would be the ultimate humiliation for someone like Ginyu, Vegeta thought. He’ll try something desperate–anything. Salza should have heightened defensive awareness right now, but he’s going to mess up. I know he will. He’s just like that.

Ginyu spun to break free of Salza’s grip. They exchanged a few quick punches, each hitting the other in the face, neither flinching, nor blocking, just pressing forward, always on the offensive.

Ginyu hit Salza in the neck, staggering the other man. As he went in with a quick left hook immediately following it, Salza lowered his shoulder, slipping to the left, ducking between Ginyu’s fists, and rushed in at the man’s unprotected face, headbutting him mercilessly.

Ginyu groaned in pain, leaning to the side, rubbing his forehead. Salza gave him no courtesies. Saying something proud and indistinct, he raised a glove, created a purple energy beam, and hit Ginyu point-blank with it, destroying the captain’s armor. Ginyu fell over, unconscious.

The onlookers stood in choked silence. In one moment, the Ginyu Force had been reduced to a pile of ash. They’re mortal, all of them, Vegeta thought. He suddenly wasn’t so scared of the five aliens. They’re not as cool as I thought.

Salza looked to them, flicking his hair. “This is the true power of Lord Cooler’s army! We are Cooler’s Armored Squadron, the deadliest force in the universe!”

He jumped into the air, landing on a knee. It doesn’t look nearly as cool without his random lackeys there to pose with him. In fact the whole posing thing looked lame to Vegeta. His cheeks flushed with battle intensity. He suddenly wanted tomorrow to come, for the moment they found The Surgeon to come. I’ll be ready, he knew. I’ll kill him. I’ll show Lord Frieza my worth! Aranya and me’ll become the best team in the Planet Trade Organization! We’ll be better than Zarbon and Dodoria and the Ginyus… and even Salza and his gang! We’ll surpass them all when I become a Super Saiyan!

They were clapping, all except Orlen, who was rubbing his elbow. He looked like Vegeta felt–impatient. At the first excuse, he found himself getting out of there, while the rest moved in to congratulate Salza and ask him super important poser questions. It would be erroneous to say that he hadn’t gained anything from watching this fight–Vegeta had picked up on a few more elite mannerisms and battle strategies that he would try out in his next bout. But he was bored and impatient and not one to fawn over other warriors. Vegeta was the Prince of all Saiyans. He had a warrior’s pride.

“You know, when I your age, I wanted to be a spaceman,” the plumber said, staring out the the nearest window into space. He stopped in the starlight to gaze pensively.

“I went on my first mission when I was three,” Vegeta whispered. “My father took me–just me and him.”

“Ah, that sounds like fun. What did you guys do?”

“We wiped out a whole planet.” I did. All by myself… after he left me there…

“Oh…”

“Well, I don’t remember it,” the prince admitted. “But my dad used to tell me about it before…”

Idiot. Think before you speak! “Well, ah, anyways,” the plumber sighed, shuffling his weight as if he were stretching like a bird, “I don’t know if they’re in there now, so you should use your scouter.”

Three readings, Vegeta realized, startled. For once, he was lost for what to do. “Th-there’s three of them in there. I-I–”

“Do you know who they are? And what are their power levels?”

“6000… that’s… Dodoria?!” Vegeta cocked his head, nearly raising his voice to a dangerous level. He quickly scanned about, but no guards were approaching their position just outside the officers’ communications room. His scouter was flashing with known power levels, at such a close range as this, and it was sure that one of the power levels was Dodoria.

“That’s rather low for him.”

“Psh, I know that…” Vegeta clicked his scouter, reducing its range further, but the signal held. “10,500… that’s Zarbon!” Now a cold shiver befell Vegeta. He knew he couldn’t go in there.

“And the third?”

“2200.”

“Ah, that’s Gichamu, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” There was no data on that last person, but 2200 was indeed Gichamu’s power level, so it was likely him. “But I don’t get why their power levels are so low…”

“Maybe they’re wounded.”

“Wh-what… how?!”

“I don’t know. Maybe they can raise and lower their power levels at will…”

“No way. Nobody has that power. That’s ridiculous to even think that someone could do that!”

“Well don’t worry about it. I’ll devise a way to get them out of there. Don’t worry kid. You may only have a few minutes, though. Do you know how to do it?”

“Nope,” Vegeta replied confidently. “It shouldn’t be too hard. If Zarbon can do it, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“Alright. Wait out here. If any guards come by–”

“I know,” the Saiyan replied quietly.

The plumber pushed his cart up to the door, knocking casually. “Cleanin’ services. Anyone home?”

The door stayed shut. Vegeta tracked them with his scouter. None of them have moved. They didn’t react to him knocking. The anticipation was killing him. Finally, the Novalisian cautiously made his way inside, turning his own key into the door to unlock it. It’s airtight, Vegeta knew, trying to calm himself through the reminder of how safe this whole thing was. If they were alright in there and just hadn’t heard him, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Vegeta wouldn’t be caught; the green-skinned man would simply have to lead them out for a few minutes, and he could do what he needed to do.

He was inside for all of thirty seconds.

“Vegeta, get over here!” the older man whispered as he stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind him. His face was covered in a pale sheen of sweat. “Hey, Saiyan!”

“What?”

“There was a fight or something. Zarbon and Dodoria were both knocked senseless…”

Is this for real? “And what about Gichamu?” Vegeta asked from behind bared teeth.

“He’s passed out. Looks like he drank himself to sleep. Probably before it happened. I didn’t stay long enough to see.”

“Very well. Leave it to me. Stay behind me, and lock the door behind you,” he commanded the man. “Are they both knocked out?”

“Dodoria is. Zarbon’s still awake, but he’s disoriented…”

“Understood.”

A warm, rushing eagerness was building in his chest. He couldn’t stand to wait another second. Vegeta threw the door open and ran inside. The older man did what he was supposed to, locking the door behind them. Well, he wasn’t lying, Vegeta thought, looking about at the carnage in the room. There were burns on all of the walls, and several of the video screens had been cracked. Dodoria was on his stomach, a shattered glass of Arcosian Chillrose wine in his hand. Other bottles had been flung against the walls, painting them in dark crimson tides.

Gichamu was leaning back in his chair, his mouth agape, snoring loudly, a half-empty bottle of Chillrose wine cradled in his lap.

Zarbon was leaning up against a table next to a half-melted chair that had collapsed on top of his cape. He was bobbing his head, groaning in a whiny, high-pitched tone. There was a trail of blood leaking down the side of his mouth. His eyes were wide and white, the pupils rolled to the back of his head. He’s not all there. I could kill him if I wanted to. I could kill all of them.

He gasped in excitement, looking around, bobbing on his toes, his fingers tingling in anticipation of creating execution beams. I should do it, he thought ferally, he tried to kill me. Every one of them is evil. They’re all bad, I should wipe them out, make it look like they all killed each other in a drunken argument gone wrong…

“What are you going to do, Saiyan?” the plumber asked him. “We gotta move fast, either way.”

He was lost, being torn in one direction, and yet, being held back by a firm, fatherly voice in his skull. You can’t kill everyone. You can’t kill anyone on the ship. What if Frieza is watching you now? What if he’s waiting for you to make a move so he has an excuse to kill you?

“Just watch the door,” Vegeta murmured, moving to Zarbon.

His mind was blanking. Rushes of blood blinded him for spots of seconds. His fingers were trembling. Raising an elbow above Zarbon’s head, he suddenly came down hard upon the man’s head, knocking him unconscious instantly. He won’t remember that. It won’t feel any different than it did before when he wakes up, so he won’t be suspicious.

Vegeta was gritting his teeth, despite the logic of his action. It left a sour taste in his mouth. A large part of him was still screaming for him to kill Zarbon. Kill the bastard at least. He’s tried to kill you. He has to die. He has to-

“What are you doing in here, Saiyan?” Gichamu asked in a strained, hoarse whisper. His chair had spun around, and now the old gangly, wrinkly-skinned engineer was staring rather sharply at him, despite still clearly being drunk. You knew about Zarbon’s plot to find my brother and didn’t care. Vegeta hated Gichamu more than most, and now that he had been caught, his fury was about to boil over.

“We heard a noise–obviously, look what happened. The plumber and I wanted to see what happened and–”

“Clearly,” the old man rasped. “Is that why you elbowed your superior over the head so savagely, monkey?”

“Oh, you saw that.” His cheeks instantly flushed, and the blood-hum of battle-lust overwhelmed his senses. He was okay with it. He offered to help Zarbon find him. It was like he was dropped into the zone, like time was moving slower, like he could see better, clearer, faster, with more intuition and less doubt.

Vegeta loved this feeling more than anything.

Smirking deviously, he said, “Stand back, man,” to the plumber, and fell to a knee next to Zarbon’s unconscious body. “I think he called this one ‘Shooting Star Arrow’. Pretty lame name, if you ask me.”

Grinning still, Vegeta raised his right hand, instantly forming an orange-gold ball of energy in his gloved palm. Drunkenly, Gichamu squawked, and tried to stand, but he was so drunk, he could hardly move. He reached for his white scouter. I’ve always wondered why his was white. Is it cause he made them himself? Is that the most advanced model out there?

If it was, then Vegeta was slightly annoyed he’d have to destroy it. In the heat of the moment, he didn’t have the time or patience to think about that. “Bang,” he whispered, lowering his hand and shooting the orange ball in a jagged wave that instantly washed over Gichamu’s elderly frame. He shrieked for only the blink of an eye before the energy consumed his head and upper torso, melting it all away. That’s for my brother, you wrinkly old bastard. The headless corpse fell against the chair, his armor melted and charred black, the bottle of Chillrose wine still cradled gently under one arm (the other, having been extended towards the scouter, was vaporized in the blast).

Steam rose from the corpse. Vegeta took a seat next to it. “A-are you sure that was a good idea…?” the plumber asked him. “Shouldn’t we get rid of the body… and are you killing the others too…?”

“No.”

He clicked the buttons he had clicked before, and easily found Zarbon’s starmap of the universe. There’s more planets crossed off since last time. Not as many as I thought there’d be… This isn’t the first time that Zarbon’s disappointed me with his laziness. Tech-Tech was scheduled to be visited soon, but the nearest group of Zarbon’s scouts had been delayed at Planet Nitro 194 for three weeks due to unattended-to critical infestations of space parasites in their bowels. There were no other groups within a week’s space ride to Tech-Tech besides the Ginyu Force.

It’ll look suspicious if a random group suddenly deals with that planet… But, as Vegeta observed the starmap, an idea suddenly popped into his mind. He quickly marked Tech-Tech as having been searched with no sign of Tarble. The mission report, which Vegeta clumsily wrote himself, was signed by Captain Ginyu, of the Ginyu Force. That’s right, Vegeta thought angrily and happily, there’s no way Zarbon would doubt Captain Veiny Forehead.

The Ginyu Force were relatively close to Tech-Tech. However, they were not currently on a mission, if the starmaps were to be believed. When Zarbon sees this later, he’ll want to employ the Ginyu Force again. But if I assign them to a mission on the other side of the empire, he wouldn’t bother…

“Hey, can you get me into Lord Frieza’s computer terminal over there?”

“L-Lord Frieza’s…?!” the plumber stammered.

“That’s right. I need to get into it, or we’re both dead.”

“Alright, but make it quick,” the plumber said. “Not even Dodoria knows I have the passcode for that.”

“Very good,” the Saiyan Prince replied, smiling deviously again. “I’m surprised you have access to it, but I guess I shouldn’t be.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” the man said firmly. His face had gone pale green, like newgrowth on the first day of spring. He looked like he was about to throw up. “You’re the only one who knows, kid… and this better be serious, what you’re going to do. Hang on, you gotta tell me that. Tell me what you’re going to do before I unlock his computer for you.”

Vegeta was bemused. Simply knowing that the plumber knew Frieza’s password meant he held great power over the man. He was overeager to trust me, the fool. If this wasn’t so serious, I could have easily blackmailed him with that information. “I’m going to re-assign the Ginyu Force to the other side of the empire on some meaningless mission. That way Zarbon won’t question them about Tech-Tech.”

“I see. Very well then.”

Frieza’s computer was easier to manage. He evidently didn’t spend a lot of time on it, so there were only a few files from which to modify orders from. Vegeta quickly found the Ginyu Force’s number. Knowing that the order came from this secure channel, the Ginyu Force would never question it. It’s airtight. I’m good. Stop shaking. You’re a warrior. You’re the Prince of all Saiyans. You’re not afraid of anyone. Nobody in the universe scares me!

Still, as he typed, his fingers trembled ever so. He put in the orders, and found the mission up for grabs that was the farthest away from Tech-Tech. It’s all the way in Nitro’s region, Vegeta thought. Nitro was Frieza’s younger brother. Cooler’s his older brother. And Cooler was on the ship, evidently, given that his Armored Squadron had been sparring with the Ginyu Force earlier. Both might be gone by now, he thought. The Ginyu Force clearly were. But he didn’t want to run into Cooler. As much as Lord Frieza terrified him, there was something colder and even more ruthless about his older brother. I don’t want to run into him. I don’t want to talk to him.

The planet was full of space worms, which caused Vegeta’s stomach to twist. That’s awful. This is the worst mission ever. He grinned, though, knowing that he’d be sending Guldo to this awful planet. It looked like it was infested by a semi-sentient group of super-large ki-capable worms. Vegeta typed in orders for the Ginyu Force to clear the entire planet by themselves with no additional help, and signed it in Lord Frieza’s name.

“That’s it,” he told the plumber. “Don’t tell anyone else about this, alright?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that twice.”

“Anyways…” the prince jumped off the chair, powering down the computer. “I’m going to head off to bed. We’ll leave these three here like this. The attack I used on Gichamu is one of Zarbon’s. If they question anybody about who killed him, it’ll be Zarbon they suspect.”

“Sounds good,” the plumber said gruffly. “You really thought this through, kid. I’m impressed!”

“Hmph, that’s child’s play. Now, I assume Nappa talked to you earlier?”

“H-huh? About what?”

Vegeta’s eyes suddenly went wide, and he was lost for words. “I-I… well, those vials you had earlier. I want more of them.”

“Those are expensive,” he said, “and I only gave them to you because you were in pain.”

“I’m still in pain!” the boy said, his voice rising high. He felt tears coming to his eyes, but blinked them away hastily. “My body hurts everyday! There’s pain I feel that not even the rejuvenation tank can heal me from! It was only when I drank those things you gave me that the pain seemed to dull at all.”

The man gave Vegeta a reproachful look. “Is that so?” he said coldly, almost as if he didn’t believe the boy.

“Yes,” Vegeta sneered. He was acting so raw only because he had bared his true emotions to the man.

“Sleep on it, kid. We can talk about this tomorrow,” the plumber said in an unwilling tone. “We’ve done a lot today. We need to get some rest, alright? We’ll talk later.”

“Whatever.”

The boy’s face flushed with shame. He walked suddenly out of the door, not checking for guards first. As he stormed back to the dorms, well past curfew, Vegeta’s thoughts swam with the faces of Nappa and Zarbon and the king, and he knew that, despite all he had done, he had failed in his father’s eyes. He knew he had. Whether it was being too weak or too cowardly to act, there was much his father would have reprimanded him for.

But Vegeta was getting tired of those thoughts. Blinking tears again from his eyes (this time it was much harder), he fueled his despair into anger. I have to focus. I’m going to find The Surgeon for Frieza, he thought. I’ll prove my worth to him and her, he thought madly, as he walked through the dark halls as fast as he could, not attempting to quiet his footsteps, almost daring a guard to approach from the darkness and give Vegeta a reason to act.

No such guard ever appeared. He returned to the dorms by twenty-four cycle and collapsed into the dark, swirling realm of sleep before Serindë found him.

Nervously, the prince folded his arms behind his back so they wouldn’t see his fingers shaking.

“How was it?”

“Very good. I learned a lot, especially from Mr. Burter. He is an excellent mercenary, far better than the ones I had read about at the Academy.”

“What did you learn?”

“Mortality.”

“Continue,” his uncle said in a low voice.

“I-I witnessed several of my father’s elites fall during the mission. I would not have expected so many deaths…”

“Is that so? Did you think they always survive? Even the stronger ones are fodder for the empire. It has always been so.”

“It has always been so,” his lord father echoed, taking a serene sip of ice wine.

“I know I must be careful. They are all so trivially weak though, uncle. I hope you understand. I was never actually afraid on the mission. I knew none of them could hurt me, even in this form.”

“You’re just like your father,” he said. “Restrained forms are not my style, Kuriza.”

Lord Frieza rolled his eyes. “Oh, Cooler, stop showing off. Is that all you came here to do?”

“Where are you headed next?”

Father didn’t say… Kuriza’s eyes went to him, but the man, who sat comfortably in his hover pod, sipping ice wine, didn’t so much as look back at his son. “I-I… I don’t have any plans, Uncle.”

“You should be training,” Cooler replied haughtily. “If you want to become as strong as your father and I–”

“I haven’t trained a single day in my life!” Frieza boasted coldly. “And I’m the most powerful being in the universe!”

“Frieza, quiet down,” Cooler said in a strained tone.

“No, you! You quiet down, Cooler! This is my ship, my rules! I get to say whatever I want! I’m the Emperor of the–”

“Must I get Father involved again?”

Kuriza breathed in sharply. Grandpa Cold… he gets drunker than even Father sometimes. He had only met his grandfather a few times, but in every single instance, his grandfather had been drunk on ice wine, or Chillrose, or something similar. If we see him again, does that mean there’s going to be another feast?

“Hah Cooler, you’re just scared of my power! Let’s go then, shall we? But don’t be surprised if I kill you!” Frieza goaded him, wobbling drunkenly as he stood in his hover pod. He hiccuped really loudly.

Uncle Cooler’s arms were folded. “You look like a fool, brother. Sit down and drink your wine.” Frieza continued to mumble incoherent threats and vague conspiratorial notions. Kuriza had never seen his father so drunk before. He stood poised, graceful, slender and youthful, betraying no fear to his uncle. Cooler was staring him down like a half-starved wintaar. “We’ll talk more about what you learned later. I want you to be specific, Kuriza.”

“I understand, Uncle.”

“Whenever you want, you may come with me to my Stomping Grounds where I’ll spend some time teaching you several different fighting styles and tactics. Of course, you’ll have to be in your final form, Kuriza…”

“I can do that, Uncle Cooler,” he smiled politely. Uncle Cooler training me… that would be a dream! I would become so strong, so formidable… I bet even Father's jealous! Well, Father was actually just mumbling to himself between sips of his cup.

“Good. I should remain here until you are ready. However, I really must see you transform, Kuriza. I need to know you can before bringing you along.”

“I understand, my lord.” Kuriza pulled off his chest-piece armor, his scouter, and cape, and piled them neatly in the corner of the room.

They were all three of them in the outer room of Frieza’s extensive manse, which took up a large part of the ship. This room was where he met with most people, and where Cooler had asked to meet with them. It was a bare room, blue-tinged and low-lit, with windows on either side, wide as the walls, peering off into space.

He hadn’t transformed in three years. He had never even been pushed in his current form in those three years to feel the need to transform. If anyone was peering in on their meeting with scouters, their scouters were about to break. Oh well. Father’s never seen me do this either. Here goes nothing.

The boy’s aura flexed white around him, turning a deeper shade of crimson, growing like blades of fire. Here and there, flecks of emerald green danced through his aura. The same color as my eyes, Kuriza thought. He hadn’t seen the emerald before. Does that mean I’m stronger? As far as he had known, his father’s aura had never changed color over his entire life.

Calling forth his energy, the Arcosian Prince felt it pool at the base of his spine before rising up towards his shoulders. The pressure was building in his body. It was a warm, loosening feeling. The room was becoming whiter and brighter, and now both his father and uncle were paying close attention.

The air rippled before Kuriza. He let out an exhale, clenching his fists, feeling the pressure spread through his body in snaking flames, covering him in blinding white. He shut his eyes. The familiar, loosening feeling pressed across his body. It tickled at first, then loosened, and his tail grew a little, as it always did, and he liked that feeling, or rather, remembering that feeling from before.

The pressurized feeling tracked across his body, pounding his form quickly and warmly, almost pleasantly, into a new form. The light began to die, and the tingling, pressurized feeling slowly faded away. Kuriza landed on one knee and looked up at his uncle.

“Very good, Kuriza,” Lord Cooler said. “You show precocious tendencies.” He turned at last to his brother. “Brother, may I take him with me to train him?”

“Do whatever you two wish,” Frieza replied drunkenly, slurring his words a bit. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care, Father?”

“No.”

“I’ll go then,” he said, maintaining a passive stance. “Now… I’ll come with you whenever you wish to leave, Uncle.”

“I see.” Cooler glanced about the room. His expression had changed to a minute degree, and Kuriza thought he saw the briefest flare up of fury in his uncle’s eyes. But then it was gone, and he was uncertain he had ever seen it at all. He’s harder to read than Father. I don’t think he’s likely to ever get this drunk, either. He could teach me much and more, and I could become quite the warrior if I wanted to. But that was just the thing–Kuriza wasn’t sure he wanted to be a warrior. His father wanted him to be a warrior, a tyrant-in-training, if you will, but Kuriza was more taken by other fancies, in actuality. “Come then, Kuriza. We’re leaving. Goodbye, Frieza.”

The Arcosian placed his untouched glass of ice wine down on the table, flicked his tail in the air, and walked out, and Kuriza didn’t have time to do anything but catch his breath and scamper after him. It was duty that drove him, a love of the unknown, but doubt clung to him steadily as well, like fear to the bones, and the prince knew that he wasn’t quite ready to give up on either dream just yet.