His Majesty's Pet/Who Would Want That? (I Know I Wouldn't)

Sommon was a world of crumbling mountains and fissure-riddled deserts. The sand was all blue, and its sun provided a sweltering, boiling sore in a cloudless sky.

The three of them landed in the city of Sryne. They weren’t wearing armor or scouters, though both Aranya and Vegeta had their wrist-comms. The Saiyans hid their tails under their clothes, which comprised of loose underclothes and light, dexterous armor. Aranya wore the same brown-scaled armor as them. She looks just like a space pirate, he thought.

A wind-storm was coming to town. All of the buildings had put up their metal barriers to protect windows and entrances. There was no one out on the dust-paved streets.

“Even if he’s here, how are we going to find him?”

“We’ll look for him. Ask around. Follow me. I know the place we’ll start.”

“It better have lotsa space girls,” Nappa sighed, following the two younger warriors. “I really need some space girls in my life right about now.”

“Control yourself, Nappa,” Vegeta snapped. “We’re on a mission. If you’re not going to participate, I’ll send you back to the ship.”

“Uh… okay, Vegeta. Sheesh! It was just a joke…”

“Hmph, whatever. Enough with the joking. We’re on a mission, Nappa!”

“As you wish, my prince,” he said sardonically.

Domesticated floating blob animals that shimmered oozy spittle trails were hovering outside a sand-worn building, next to a man wearing a dark suit of armor, with pale indigo skin, almost looking sun-washed in how it had faded away. His face was remarkably wrinkly, and his fingers were large and stubby. He didn’t seemed concerned with the incoming storm.

“Greetings,” Aranya said to him.

“Hello there, Nyarin.”

“Do you know anything about a man named The Surgeon?”

“And what would you three be wanting with him?” The man’s brow furrowed, and he suddenly struck a much more serious pose as he stared at them all, in turn.

“We’re looking for him, that’s all. We have business with him and–”

“You don’t want to have business with a man like that,” the older man replied dryly. “Trust me. Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“We know that. We need to see him anyways. Please… do you know where he is, sir?”

“He’s not on this world, I’ll tell you that,” the man said. “But that’s enough. You two need to stop–”

“No!” Aranya said firmly, stepping up to the man, looking up to him with fire in her eyes. “You listen to me, sir. If you think we’re stupid children, you’re sadly mistaken. Both of us are elite warriors in the most powerful imperial army in the universe. We can handle whatever it is you think you don’t want to tell us. Trust us. We’re just trying to bring an evil man to justice.”

“So you’re hunting him down? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Vegeta admitted when Aranya faltered. Why is she so cowardly sometimes? Is that a flaw, or does it make her a girl?

“You will get yourselves killed if you do. Well, maybe not you,” he said, eyeing Vegeta sharply.

“Wh-what…?!” The boy cocked his head, his mouth slightly agape.

The purple-skinned man ushered his floating blobs along, out of the path of the door he was standing in front of, and turned, getting lost in the whiteness radiating from the sun for a moment, and when Vegeta blinked, he was gone. What the heck… where did he go? What did he mean?!

“We’ll go inside,” Aranya said, “and ask everyone we can what they know. Both of you ask around, alright? We’ll all split up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nappa grumbled.

They followed her into the building, which as it turned out, was nothing more than a space port bar, the lowest, full of the most lecherous locals one could find in the universe. It was here smugglers, pirates, freeloading officers, and all the usual scum gathered to drink away their wages while play betting games of varying degrees of luck and danger.

Vegeta had hated it the last time he’d been forced into one of these places, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to make conversation with any of these swarthy, sneering fellows. They won’t listen to a kid. I could get into a lot of fights. He cracked his knuckles, welcoming the challenge.

“Hey there,” she said smoothly, sliding into a bar seat next to a pockmarked Novalisian who was twice her age, if not older. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Oh, uh, it’s Nivevin liqueur … I’ve got it mixed with a splash of Nhuroggoc .”

“That sounds lovely,” she murmured.

Whatever. The faster I get this over with, the faster we’re out of here. That guy already said The Surgeon isn’t on this planet. We shouldn’t waste much more time here. Vegeta stumbled to the far end of the bar, past rowdy, drunken pirates, to the more luxurious booths where well-dressed galactic businessmen and shady-looking bounty hunters were enjoying moderately-cooked meals.

“Hey!” he yelled at them all, hovering in the air. The bounty hunters all fell silent as their eyes fell upon Vegeta. He wasn’t afraid. Come at me, any of you. I’ll end your pathetic lives myself if I have to. “Has anyone heard of The Surgeon?!”

There was mostly silence, but a few hushed whispers were exchanged by aliens sitting at a table to Vegeta’s left. He decided to approach them, knowing full well what could come next. He didn’t know what drove him on so eagerly. A Super Saiyan fears no one.

“Well?” he asked them gruffly.

“Get out of here, kid,” one of them muttered.

“Got nothin’,” another rasped.

“Get out of here, kid!”

“You sure you don’t know anything?” Vegeta held his ground, waiting for them to come. Just do it. Come on, you cowards. I won’t hesitate to splatter your brains all over the window.

“Yeah, we’re sure.”

“Fine.”

Prince Vegeta noticed Nappa standing at the blinking, hanging Space Karaoke display, cycling through the available songs. He’s done. Glancing at the bar, he didn’t see Aranya anywhere. Nappa had picked a song, and he was approaching the stage. Embarrassing oaf… there may only be two of us left, but I’m not about to let him disgrace us!

Vegeta marched all the way over to the stage, and even as the instrumental came on, he rushed in at Nappa, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him off the stage just before the first lines were supposed to be delivered. Vegeta muttered a rebuke to Nappa and pulled him out of the shack, not waiting for Aranya.

They found her outside, gazing at the approaching wind storm. “It’s hopeless,” she said, not turning to face them. “We’ll have to go. Any idea where?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. We’ll wing it. Guess we’ve been doing that a lot lately. Let’s go, you two. Form up.”

She scampered off with cat-like agility back to the landing pads. Vegeta and Nappa chased her in the boiling, dusty, dry heat. It wasn’t even evening yet. They had maybe three minutes before the storm would get here. And as Vegeta ran, all he could think of was what he had thought earlier. The realization had seared something into his mind, like those wounded fragments you get from staring at the sun. The last two Saiyans.

His heartbeat increased. His breathing became more strained. He didn’t let her see. Just the two of us. W-wait… that’s not true…! Tarble’s still alive! Zarbon’ll never find him! Vegeta grinned to himself, pressing on, the weariness falling from his body like drops of sweat. The comfort he felt from that went almost entirely unnoticed by his pride.

“Heard of this place called Serrokin Pass. Heard from some guys that he goes there sometimes, treats patients and stuff…”

“Sounds like a lead,” Nappa said helpfully.

“The only problem is, it’s beyond imperial space. We’ll be going out to the wild.”

“Did Lord Frieza allow it?”

“Yeah, but we won’t have any support out there, and if we get in a tricky spot…”

“Heh, you sound afraid,” Nappa chuckled. “Are you? How do you expect to lead us if you’re so petrified of a couple space pirates?”

“A-a couple?” she gasped.

“Hey, between the three of us, we shouldn’t be afraid of anyone… even The Surgeon, whoever he is.”

“Nappa!” Vegeta snapped. “Did you read the mission debriefing beforehand like I asked you to?”

“Uh…” Nappa sighed. “Come on, Vegeta. That stuff’s boring.”

“There was a lot of information about The Surgeon in there. It explains how much of a threat he is. You should read it.”

“Yeah, Nappa, you have to,” Aranya agreed emphatically.

“Well, whatever. But we should go to that planet and check it out.”

“Isn’t serrokin a drug?” Vegeta asked.

“Yeah,” Aranya replied. “But this place is outside of imperial space. It’s lawless out there, kid. They do whatever they want.”

Kid? Even from her? “Fine, let’s just go.”

Not one of them was a coward–that was clear enough. They flew all the way to the planet over the course of five days. Again, they took aliases, wore space pirate clothing, and made no mention of their true allegiances to anyone. Landing at Serrokin Pass, which was a quaint snowy outpost located between two tall mountain peaks. The city extended to both sides with energy bridges extending between the peaks, connecting the two halves in a colorful, arrogant display.

“Split up again…”

“Aw, come on,” Vegeta pouted. “I’m sticking with you. Lord Frieza said we had to work together!” he said, annoyed. I don’t want to have to interrogate a bunch of strangers alone again, he thought to himself. No way I’m going to do that. She can’t make me! “We need to work together. Send Nappa off on his own… he’s useless. But I’m staying with you,” the boy said, determined.

“Whatever.”

It was snowing on the fake wooden walkways spread out, built into the side of the mountain. Nappa disappeared into the snow almost at once, leaving Vegeta and Aranya to their own devices. I have to impress her, the boy knew. I have to make her think I’m worthy of being her partner. I have to earn my rank. I’m not going to be weaker than her forever–I’ll exceed her power level too!

“Target people who look like they’re here on business. We don’t really care about locals that much.”

“Alright.”

The snow was curling down the great wooden walkway, leading in snaking branches towards town, where more walkways split off, connecting other buildings and areas of the town. It was a raging blizzard towards the energy bridges, and Vegeta knew he would rather fly than try to walk his way through that miserable, slippery, cold experience.

They were approaching a cluster of buildings when a man in tattered clothes, glittering gold in his hair and layered across his green face, came stumbling out of a shop, pulling up his pants, and making his way hastily towards the docks behind Vegeta and Aranya. As he approached them, the Nyarin called out:

“Sir… please, do you know anything about a man named The Surgeon?”

“The Surgeon?” the green man stopped when he reached them. He’s a Jolean, from Cooler’s region. What’s he doing all the way out here, I wonder…

“You heard me.”

He laughed at her spunk. “Look, cat-girl, I don’t know who you are, so I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re leaving?”

“That’s right. Do you want to fight?” He sneered at her, a green aura appearing lightly around him. He grimaced at her, and it grew brighter. The Saiyan’s partner froze, her wrist-comm beeping. His power level is over 60,000. She has to back off.

“No. My apologies, sir. We were just leaving.”

“I thought so.”

“You have to stop being so impatient!” Vegeta chided her, after they gained enough distance from the man. “You’re going to get us killed if you keep this up.”

“Whatever. Follow me, kid. It’s not your place to question me.”

So that’s how this is gonna be? His ears were singing with heat. He grit his teeth and followed after her. Fine, be that way. I won’t forget. But I’ll prove you wrong.

“Hello sir, we were wondering,” she began that time much more politely, “if you had ever heard of The Surgeon before?” they asked a crocodilian space pirate who was swaying drunkenly outside of the nearest building, looking dangerously over the walkway’s railing at the sheer rock and snowy emptiness that awaited him down there.

“Heard of him?” the man spat. “Guy ran a serrokin line outta here a few years back. Dunno if he’s still keeping up with that.”

“Seems likely,” Aranya said quietly. “There have been reports…” she trailed off, silencing herself. “Anyways, sir, do you know if he’s here right now?”

“Ah, hell, I dunno where he’d be. He’s almost never ‘round these parts, though. Haven’t seen him here in years, honestly…

“I understand. Thank you,” she whispered, slipping him some space coin.

They questioned a few more men, but most were drunk, and either didn’t say anything, or simply made sarcastic remarks at Aranya. Vegeta didn’t understand why they did that, and she didn’t seem in the mood to explain it to him.

They entered a marketplace overwashed with snow, lines of smoke rising up from many of the stands, where food sat in boilers, simmering with savory heat. Vegeta felt his mouth watering. Everyone was all bundled up, the blood rushing to their faces. The boy and his fellow were still wearing dexterous pirate clothes, traveling as light as possible. He would not shiver in front of her.

Pausing in front of a fruit stand, Aranya took an orange fruit in her hand. “You’re serious? This is fresh? How do you get fresh isaki all the way out here…?”

Vegeta kept his eyes peeled. He didn’t like this place. It looked too normal to be full of this many bounty hunters. Serrokin’s an illegal drug. There’s bound to be lots of bad people around here. We have to be more careful.

“Come on, Aranya. Can we go?”

“Just let me pay, you impatient Saiyan!”

They were off again into the night, the blue-furred Nyarin munching on an isaki fruit beside him.

A man who was pissing into the snow told them that The Surgeon wasn’t real, but a myth made up by superstitious space pirates. An Inovian scar-faced marauder told them how The Surgeon had operated primarily in Frieza’s region, but maintained outposts in several planets around near-imperial space. However, the man never came up here anymore. He was in Frieza’s region, somewhere. But when the man was pressed, he couldn’t pin down any specific locations. How useless, Vegeta thought. What good is that information? We already knew that.

Inside a baker’s shop, they met a four-armed Vhezkit who told them The Surgeon used to come by himself, ordering large quantities of raw meat, although in recent years, he had started sending an assistant whenever he was on planet. When Aranya pushed him to explain why the man needed so much meat, the butcher shrugged and went back to chopping up something that looked rather bloody and rather tasty to Vegeta.

It was teasing him, and he didn’t appreciate it. His stomach growling, Vegeta led them back to the snow-winds, and they were walking again.

There was a pink-faced pilot, wearing everything but his helmet (which he was swinging casually about in one hand). He was smoking from a long Nil stick, encasing himself in smoke and heat amidst the snowstorm. The two approached him.

“Hello sir, do you mind if we ask you a few quick questions?” Aranya asked politely, bowing.

“Sure,” he replied slowly, stopping in front of them. Vegeta wondered which species his was. “Well? What do you want to know, pretty girl?”

“Do you know a man named The Surgeon?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Me and The Surgeon? Aw, hell. We go way back.”

“You do? You’ve worked together before?”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Are you currently employed by him?”

“I was a spice runner a few years back, but not anymore, no sir, I’m free now, yeah!”

“Sir… please, can you please tell us everything you know about The Surgeon?”

“Nice guy. He genuinely cares–that’s what I got out of meeting him, heh. He’s one of those old-school surgeons, the kind that loves to take chances to save his patients whenever he can. Hell of a guy. Deserves a couple medals for his work, and if I ever see him, it’s a free space beer on me. You can count on that!”

“Okay…” She turned to Vegeta, rolling her eyes. “What do you suggest we do?” she muttered in his ear.

“See if he’s lying.”

“He is.”

“We don’t know that Aranya…”

“Whatever.” She turned back to him. “Alright, sir, that sounds wonderful.”

“Wonderful? The fuck? The fuck did I say that was wonderful?”

“Oh, well, nevermind. Thanks for your time. We’re sorry for–”

“Sorry for bein’ shit?!”

He swung his pilot’s helmet at them suddenly. She stumbled back, slipping on the ice on the walkway. Vegeta lunged forward. He could have caught her, but instead, he rushed the man, slamming him in the stomach, and jumping back so that he could high-kick the man upside the chin. As the pilot bled, staggering, struggling to remain upright and conscious, Vegeta charged him once more with a flying fist that cracked against the man’s chest and sent him flying off into the night.

Vegeta did not pursue him.

“You idiot!” she snarled at him. “Are you so consumed by battle-lust that you went to attack him and let me fall over?”

He shrugged. “I thought you’d land on your feet.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“I have no idea,” he replied to her sarcastically. “But this whole thing is pointless! Don’t you see it! We aren’t getting anywhere asking random people out here!”

“Is that so?”

“What have we learned?”

“We-we… we’ve learned that he runs a drug trade out of here–”

“Which we already knew,” Veget interjected, annoyed.

“Whatever,” Aranya whined. “Where do you suggest we go?”

Vegeta shrugged. “This whole stupid chase is leading us nowhere. We don’t have enough information. We can't do anything! It’s useless! I’m tired of this useless space trash! It’s a waste of my time!”

“Vegeta, stop it. Calm down,” Aranya said suddenly. “We’re on a mission here. You’re not going to lose your head under my command, do you understand me?”

“Hmph, whatever. We gotta leave. This place is a dead end. And the weather sucks.”

“Suck it up, kid.” She looked him up and down, shaking her head. “All you do is whine. I would have thought someone as strong as you would have had a little backbone.”

Someone as strong as me…?

He stopped in the middle of the walkway. Floating lights hovered almost without moving ten feet above the ground. Beyond their reach was pitch black. The snow flurried in blue from a sharp angle. The prince’s breaths came in equally-paced: Aranya shifted in the light just as the snow caught around her ears, landing delicately in her hair, and almost instantly melting away to running streams swimming down her tear lanes. She’s right, he thought wildly. I’m a Saiyan! I’m not afraid of anything! I’m not going to let anyone beat me… especially not someone as lame as this Surgeon guy.

When he awoke behind the glass, Malaka was nowhere to be seen. The medical bay was entirely empty, save for Lord Frieza, who was sitting on a chair in front of Dodoria’s tank, his legs folded, a frown upon his face. Uh oh. Shit, I gotta think up somethin’ fast.

It was a horrible moment for him: in the realization that he was conscious again, that Frieza was before him, Dodoria simultaneously recalled the events of last night, wherein he and two other officers had gotten insanely drunk on smuggled Arcosian Chillrose wine against Frieza’s orders. It would’ve been past curfew too. He didn’t know how much Frieza knew. Dodoria distinctly remembered Zarbon and him having an argument over the color of Zarbon’s hair braids, and he even recalled Zarbon throwing a bottle of the expensive space wine at him. But he didn’t remember anything else. Shit.

“Good morning, Dodoria,” Lord Frieza said in that thin, cool voice of his–that one that he used when he was most angry. Dodoria had seen Lord Frieza fry more than a few of his servants when he was in this mood. He’ll threaten to blow, but so long as he holds back, it almost feels worse.

“Mornin’, Lord Frieza.”

“Do you mind explaining to me how you ended up in this tank, Captain?”

Right to the point. I shoulda known. “Heh, I don’t remember much from last night–”

“Spare me the lies, Dodoria. If you wish to continue living, you will be completely forthright with me.”

“Y-yes… Lord Frieza!”

“Gichamu is dead. Killed by Zarbon, most likely. You were found unconscious in a pool of your own blood. Zarbon was not in much better condition. I want to know what happened to three of my most senior officers last night. Well?!”

“Gichamu…?” Dodoria gasped, stepping out of the tank, and reaching for a towel. Frieza looked away heedlessly.

“That’s right. You were also found with several bottles of contraband.”

“O-oh, that… Lord Frieza, did ya talk to Zarbon yet?”

“That’s right,” the tyrant whispered. He’s begging me to lie. He’s begging me to give him an excuse to kill me. I have to be careful… but at the same time, I can’t reveal too much.

“Well, I, uh… it was all his idea, sir. Didn’t he tell ya?”

“He did, actually.” Frieza’s legs switched, crossing to the left now.

“Yeah, well, he arranged everythin’. I didn’t know the wine was gonna be an illegal kind–but I wasn’t gonna not drink any, ya know.”

“You were getting drunk while on duty, Dodoria. That’s dereliction of duty, isn’t it?”

“I-I, uh…” Dodoria stammered. His mind ran blank (well, he was always thinking of bowls of space chili), and he felt a cold sweat descend from his spine. Think, you stupid idiot! He’ll kill you if you don’t think of something! “We didn’t do anythin’ until after twenty-four cycle, my lord. At that time, every elite and soldier, save for the night shift, was in bed. It was the dead hours, my lord, and–”

“And you three thought you could take time off without asking me.” There was a long pause of silence. Dodoria was wiping himself off still, as sweat was pouring down his forehead into his eyes. “How did it happen?”

“We were arguin’ over somethin’ stupid. I don’t remember what. He punched me once and I went out cold. That’s all I remember, Lord Frieza, I swear!”

“That still doesn’t explain Gichamu,” Frieza said, narrowing his eyes to think more deeply. “He could be lying.”

“I don’t think he’d kill Gichamu, Lord Frieza,” Dodoria said quickly. “Zarbon wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. No way!”

“Then who killed him? As I said, Malaka is sure it was a significantly-powerful attack, perhaps even one of Zarbon’s own signature moves, that took out Gichamu.”

“I don’t believe it sir, and you can ask me that a hundred times and I’ll say that every time! No way that Zarbon killed Gichamu, no matter how drunk he got. I’ll stake my honor on that, Lord Frieza. Zarbon is innocent.”

“If he’s innocent, you’re going to have to find who killed Gichamu.”

“U-uh… okay, Lord Frieza…”

“Anyways, don’t do that again.” The tyrant stood, flexing his back and neck, cracking the bones with loud pops. I may be in the clear. I just have to ease this one out to sea, so to speak. I gotta be calm and respectful, showing no sign of weakness. “If I catch either you or Zarbon in such a state again… you will not just be demoted, Captain.”

“I understand, Lord Frieza.”

The door slid open on its own, in a swish of recycled air. Frieza was gone. Dodoria slid a new set of armor on and found his scouter. If that’s true about Gichamu… I suppose Zarbon could’ve done it, but what reason would he have? And wouldn’t he know that he’d be caught if he did it…? It seems too conveniently laid upon his shoulders. No, Zarbon wouldn’t kill him, even if he was drunk… I don’t believe it! He would never do something so stupidly reckless!

His thoughts carried him all the way to his room, where he found Orlen waiting for him. “Boss,” Orlen hissed.

“You’re back early. What are you doing here?”

“Shipment’s in.”

“Oh, was there anyone there to meet you?”

“The Surgeon himself,” Orlen muttered.

“He’s going to die soon. We’ll have to find a new client. How much of it have you distributed?”

Orlen tilted his head, motioning to the boxes piled next to him. His arms were folded. “I haven’t done any of that yet.”

“I’ll get my other men to do it then,” he growled. “They’ve done it before. I trust them. You’ve done well, though, Orlen. Your pay will be coming tomorrow at lunch break. You’ll find your haul in your lunch bag–the one you keep in the kitchen’s refrigeration unit.”

“Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.” He bowed low and long. “But that’s not all. I also have this, sir,” he said, handing Dodoria a piece of paper. “This is the full list of spies Zarbon’s still employing. The number’s lower than usual, due to recent events…”

“Nailo would have been on this list,” Dodoria noted. Scanning the torn, crumpled piece of paper, Dodoria spotted four names: Appule, Malaka, the plumber, and Tiriku, the Captain of the Guards of the soldiers. He crumpled up the paper, threw it in the air, and incinerated it with a quick ki blast. “Very well. You will go to Appule. I’ll deal with the others.”

“What should I say to him, sir?”

“Don’t say anything. Pretend like you don’t know. I’m keeping him. I don’t want Zarbon to lose everyone quite yet,” he explained, “otherwise, he’ll be forced to find new spies, and I won’t know who they are. I know who this lot is though. Three is a large number for a ship such as this. I’m going to do something about the other two.” Besides Appule, he’ll try to make new spies, but that’ll be harder, especially with the small number of current elites. I’ll be able to control who he can pick off from the guards more easily after I take out Tiriku, too.

“Are you, sir?”

“I’m going to transfer the plumber to another station in the empire… replace him with someone competent, and trustworthy…”

“And what of Captain Tiriku?”

“I’ll be paying him a visit. In fact, Orlen, you should come with me,” Dodoria said. “Bring a box of the goods.”

“Yes sir!”

“Don’t make it obvious.”

They went to the barracks, on the way stopping at the officers’ communications array. Dodoria reassigned the plumber from there. After he was done, he stood in the room, looking around at the emptiness. Worker bots already cleaned the place up. Gichamu’s body too. I’m sure Malaka has that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. He didn’t know if he needed to. Still, there was something disquieting about being alone in there, and he didn’t linger long.

The barracks was swarmed with guards on lunch break. Dodoria flared his aura just enough so as to blind all of the cameras, those prying eyes Zarbon so relied upon, that peppered the inside of the barracks. There would be no record of what was about to happen. This happened to be Dodoria’s only break for the next eight cycles. “Captain Tiriku,” he said, making his way to the center of the crowd. Orlen came behind him. He turned and whispered into the orange man’s ear.

“Close the doors and quiet down, all of you! Orlen barked.”

The guards stopped at once. They know they have to listen to me. And Orlen’s an elite. They know better than to scorn us. The barracks had fallen silent as several dozen guards (most of them, from Dodoria’s reckoning) gathered around him, Orlen, and the afore-called Captain Tiriku.

“What do you want, Lord Dodoria?” the captain, a tall, bearded stick-like man (he was very sticky-looking), asked. He was thinner than Dodoria remembered him. The captain shifted uncomfortably in his boots. “You’ve been Zarbon’s secret man, haven’t you?” He let the implication stretch further than the truth.

A few soldiers murmured to one another, chuckling lightly. They think I mean something else, Dodoria thought, bemused. Pity that’s not actually true. I could’ve turned Chukberry against him… He spat a few words without thinking, goading the man.

“What do you mean by that?” the captain roared.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Dodoria countered, stepping right up to him, closing the distance between them. Try anything and you’re dead, old man. “You’ve been a spy–an informant.”

“Informant?!” he spat, his voice breaking in surprise. “What are you on about, Dodoria…? I have no idea…”

He raised his spiky arm, and pink energy flew from his fingertips to consume the captain’s entire body. His eyes lit up instantly, and he never even had time to scream. As his body illuminated from the inside, a second beam tore through the captain’s body, ripping to shreds as it exploded from the first blast, vaporizing to ash.

“Not a word about this to anyone,” Dodoria said to them all. He whistled, and Orlen came forward. This will tell me all I need to know, Dodoria knew. Anyone who wasn’t on board with this would make it abundantly clear with facial reaction. He peered around, watching all the soldiers intently. If they hate me or if they’re just going along with it… I’ll kill them, he told himself. “Orlen, give them each a free pack.”

“L-lord Dodoria… these are worth three months’ worth of paychecks each…”

“I am aware, Orlen, just do it.”

And he did. Five men challenged Dodoria and were reduced to ash as well. Another seven had strange looks upon their faces, and he killed them too. The rest were allowed to remain, all telling the same story of how Captain Tiriku and several mutineers attempted to leave the ship and get the rest of the crew to join them, but were beaten back valiantly and executed for treason. It was a beautiful, almost theatrically ridiculous story, but Dodoria liked it for the way it laid its idealistic tone so bare.

The man gave everyone else a pack of serrokin free. Most of them will have never tried it before. “This goes without saying, but if anyone of you is caught on that stuff on the job, I will kill every single one of you.”

Silence replied. Hmph, that’ll keep them in check. They’ll all play nice, or they’ll all die. A few of the guards exchanged worried looks, but Dodoria told them not to worry, promising them more prizes in the future if they remained loyal. A few murmured they would remain resolute to his cause. I have them, he thought. Now everyone’s accounted for except for the Saiyans and the Nyarin. I’ll get to them before Zarbon. Hah. If only monkeys are left for Zarbon, he’d rather had no spies than them. It was an excellent situation to be in.

Gleefully, Dodoria marched off, Orlen at his side. “Well, Orlen, how about that?”

“Zarbon’s power has significantly waned, I’ll give you that, sir. But there’s one thing I haven’t mentioned.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the Saibamen. They’re acting up again, and Zarbon successful convinced Lord Frieza earlier to make you deal with it. He’ll be messaging you about it any time now.”

Dodoria bit his lip and swore. Typical Zarbon. He won’t go down without a fight. What a petty man. Fine. Well, in that case, I’ll show him just how little I care. All you’ve done is angered me, pretty boy. “That’s fine,” he said, smiling. “However, I think Zarbon would be wise to refrain from wasting his fellow officers’ time in the future. That may have… drastic consequences… and not just for him, I fear.”

“I’ve got something,” she said at last. “From Jeice. He said we should check out a planet called Nivevi. I’m adjusting the flight plan. We’re moving there now.”

Her voice rattled in the ear he wore his scouter on, though the boy had been sleeping. He woke, halfway, thinking of her, but seeing only his father. The boy’s pursuit of perfection was everything. I will be the strongest warrior in the universe–I’ll become a Super Saiyan, the first one in a thousand years!

Another voice nagged deeper in his skull: Your species is extinct. There will be no more Super Saiyans. The might of that race has faded.

It was chilly in that pod, but the weirdest part was that he never felt like he was moving, especially when he was sleeping.

They arrived on the farming world of Nivevi sometime later. Vegeta slept a few times on the trip and he lost count of the days. He spent a lot of time brooding, which he often did, and they arrived before he expected it. Nivevi was mostly unexplored, save for the northern hemisphere, his scouter told him. In the days of old, a tribe of wild Namekians had invaded the planet, wiping out its native species. They too had perished not long afterwards, and by the time Frieza found it, it had been barren. It had been an easy gig, coming here with Ledas, discovering no sentient life, and handing it into Frieza. Two days before the deadline. He smiled. Frieza looked so surprised. I bet he still doesn’t know that last bit. Besides, the guy he sold this place to is probably The Surgeon.

Nivevi was a neutral world located within imperial space, but still, they did not wear their armor. Vegeta much preferred his companion in the tight-fitting pirate attire, however. He didn’t know why, but he did. There was only one outpost out here. The planet was supposedly maintained by a diligent hive of contraband worker bots. Vegeta’s scouter, blinking red, advised him that a population of 1100 was all that was maintained in this singular outpost of Phethin.

There was one big building, built on a raised platform that towered over the rest. They went there first. “Jeice said to remain on guard. This guy got them with a sneak attack. They don’t know who he is though. We’ll have to ask around.”

“Yeah. Good thing they didn’t destroy the planet back when they were here…” I’ll find him myself. I’ll find The Surgeon and kill him and…

Vegeta’s hands were shaking when he reached for the door to open it for her. She noticed. He grit his teeth, bowing his head, as she stepped inside before him. Why now? He winced again, as a tremor of pain flashed through his body. Lately, they had started coming in waves, and it was all he could do to not scream in public as he followed Aranya inside.

The place was, for lack of a better word, a space port where many different aliens congregated in bunches, some clustered around a stage of dancing girls, others sitting at tables and feasting, others playing games, and others mingling on a dance floor with a purple and black strobing light. In the center of the room, an information desk, shining bright, loomed over them.

She had her eye on the the dancers. “Stay here,” she commanded him. “I’m going to take a look at something.”

Did she see him? There wasn’t much to ask. Vegeta looked up at Nappa, who was likewise watching her silently disappear into the crowd under the blinking lights.

“I don’t get it,” Nappa said. “How can anyone think this crap is fun?! Where’s the wrestling stage? What about the meat eating competitions? And don’t forget about public executions, those are my favorite–”

“Nappa!”

“Oh, uh, sorry Vegeta!” he stammered, going red.

Vegeta was sneering openly at him. “Hold your tongue, Nappa! If you disgrace me like that again, I’ll leave you here.”

“B-b-but I’m one of Frieza’s soldiers!” Nappa pouted, shocked at Vegeta’s venom.

The boy’s chest was bursting with excitement. His little heart was pounding away in his ears again. A second tremor slipped over him and passed, and he didn’t so much as betray a groan. “You can’t be serious,” he laughed. “What, did you expect I’d leave you here alive? Psh…”

“Vegeta! That was rude!”

“Come on, Nappa, we’re going. I’m not just going to wait around for her like some idiot.”

He stomped off to the information booth, Nappa in tow. If she does find him, what will I do? “Hello,” Vegeta said angrily to the blue-faced man wearing robes almost as white as the desk’s glowing surface. He kicked off into the air to hover at eye-level with the man. “My partner and I came here looking for a man named…”

Vegeta groaned that time as the tremor hit him hard. He wobbled in the air, a bit of spittle running down his chin before he caught it. His eyes nearly bulging out of his head, he gripped his chest with one hand, breathing heavily and slowly, trying to calm himself.

“Are you okay, sir?” the man from behind the desk asked calmly. His golden eyes were wound-slits, observing him patiently as a Nidrazi lying in ambush. Vegeta’s reaction was instantaneous and cold, and he shivered uncontrollably. Doesn’t Nappa see it? he wondered, looking back at the man on his left, but Nappa just had that same dumb expression on his face as always.

“Whatever, it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing, sir,” the man said persistently, rubbing his hands in a weird, vertical way that made Vegeta feel like he was watching a space mime pretending to be a space chef.

He’s a total idiot. He reminded Vegeta of those city Saiyans who always tried sucking up to him, who loved to engorge upon his scant praise of them like his words were drugs. They longed for his praise, practically begged for it, and were undignified in how they needed him to say certain things to bring them happiness. And what did they ever say to me? Empty, vague praise, undirected and unrefined. They didn’t care about me, but wanted me for their own pleasure. I was being used by them, just as I was by Zarbon–well, that was different.

He sneered at the man, but did not hold his tongue. “It’s a pain that I’ve been feeling for weeks now,” he said at last.

“Huh, Vegeta, really?!” Nappa gasped in surprise.

“Nappa, be quiet!”

“Oh, uh, right.” Vegeta could almost feel Nappa’s painful, awkward grin from behind him. It made the inside of his ears tingle.

“What kind of pain?” the man at the counter asked. His voice was firm and focused, though he he was standing in a casual pose and not daring to look Vegeta in the eyes.

“It felt like there were a bunch of burning worms inside my veins, wriggling up and down, burning me. It all happens quickly, almost like a shiver.”

He didn’t know why he was spilling so much information, but his upper lip was tingling. I’m tired of this pain. If this guy can help me out, whatever.

“I see. And these… pains, they come in waves, do they?”

“Yeah. It used to be pretty infrequent–like once or twice a day. But it’s gotten worse recently.”

“Tell me,” the man said sharply, “do you know any Nyarins?”

“Wh-what?” Vegeta was confused. How did he know that? “What are you on about?” he asked, lowering his tone, narrowing his eyes, becoming instantly suspicious of the desk clerk.

“I mean,” the man began professionally, completely ignoring Vegeta’s blatant rudeness. I dared him on, and he didn’t take the bait. Interesting. That makes him even more suspicious. “Your symptoms make it sound like you were bitten by a Nyarin and are infected with their poison right now. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive, to be honest. I thought Nyarin poison was fatal–at least for my species it is.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Vegeta said, in a stunned, hollow voice, looking around, making sure she wasn’t listening in. She can’t know about that, he thought, waves of poisonous anxious shaking through his body with almost the force of a tremor. She can’t ever know. “B-but… don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry about that.” The man’s hands were brown and padded, though up to his wrists, his arms were covered in black fur with distorted, unconnected, wild crimson stripes. “But, hey, would you like me to cure you? Those symptoms sound like a bitch. By now, they should have killed you already.”

His tone was almost like that of a doctor’s, like the ones back on Planet Vegeta who liked to measure his power level and watch him destroy Saibamen with ease. Father liked to watch too. I think he was jealous. Vegeta smirked to himself. “I’m not easy to kill,” the boy boasted. “But what are you talking about? What would heal me?”

“It’s just a pill. It’s actually the same pill I prescribe for space rabies. Want one? You’ll notice the difference almost immediately, I promise.”

“Okay. Make it quick.”

“A-are you sure about this?” Nappa asked boldly after the man’s chair descended into the floor, to be replaced by a cover overhead. No doubt he was in the floor below right now searching for the medicine. It’s a bit odd, I guess. But these kinds of places do this stuff all the time. I know they do. He’s just a clerk trying to help.

The blue-faced space marsupial returned not a moment later, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses hanging loosely on his snout. He handed a little orange container with one long red pill in it. “There,” he said. “If I’m right, that’s all you’ll need, sir.”

Vegeta popped open the canister and swallowed the pill like any normal boy should be able to do even at the age of five (in this action, the prince was no prodigy, bless his heart). Should I trust him, though? Father probably wouldn’t have. But Asaio did bite me… He thought back to that day. It had been hot, and humid, and there had been so many Tech-Techs down by the beach that it had made the baby prince all that more obvious.

He went right to Zarbon. He betrayed me. He knew who Tarble was… He stretched his neck, thinking back to when Asaio had bit him. All these weeks after, and the pain of that has stayed with me…

“Well, how do ya feel?” Nappa asked him, laughing weakly.

Vegeta swallowed. He felt good. His focus was intense, and his heartbeat was loud in his ear. He glanced about tenuously, taking in the spaceport like a mute sponge. There were so many of them, most of them travelers, adorned in armor and fine, brightly-colored clothes. The smells of the world came to him, of a thousand different travelers and their various scents, and he was spiraling further down.

This is a strange reaction, Vegeta thought. But so far, it doesn’t seem to be anything sinister. His focus continued to drive him, and he was a helpless passenger. His tongue itched. He had a better sense of smell than most of the people on the ship, especially Dodoria, but he’d never tell them that. He had better hearing too, and better instincts.

I’ll kill them all one day.

“So how do you feel?” the man asked, repeating what Nappa had said what felt like to Vegeta a lifetime ago. His face was tingling slightly too, as were the tips of his fingers, but he knew this was just a side-effect of the medicine. “Well?” the man asked him, leaning in. “How do you feel, kid? That flesh flushin’ bright again, eh?”

I wonder if he thinks I’m a space pirate, Vegeta thought suddenly. Some of the aliens were wearing Planet Trade Organization armor, but he doubted many of them were actually loyal officers. Most are probably pirates with stolen armor or defectors like big fat Kiwano…

“Hello there, Surgeon,” Aranya whispered quietly, teleporting between Nappa and Vegeta and closer to the information desk than either of them. The blue-furred Nyarin leaned in, smiling, her wrist-band beeping. “Found you.”

“Pity.” He looked truly troubled for a second, almost like he was going to cry, and then everything exploded.

Vegeta went flying, awash in heat and burning energy, sapping his stamina quickly. When the light cleared, the boy found that he had been thrown against a wall on the far side of the huge space port, underneath a half-collapsed wall. Using a ki wave to incinerate the rubble on top of him, he jumped up, looking around for his foe. You fool. Space trash! Idiot! I’ll kill you!

He looked around, his body aching. But at the same time, he felt good. It felt like something soundless clicked in his vision, and a weight was released from his shoulders. What the heck was that? Vegeta wondered.

Around him, smoke rose from the wooden floor, which had been almost entirely charred black. The entire building was destroyed, and none of the walls more than a foot or so above the ground, remained. The ceiling’s gone. Everyone’s gone… everyone’s dead. He killed them all like that.

Vegeta looked around. There were steaming piles of ash and tattered, burned clothes, but no other people… no one except for Aranya and The Surgeon, whom he could see trading blue, yellow, red, and green ki on the far side of the building. The information desk had been vaporized, as had almost all of the other chairs, booths, and areas of the building. As it was now, there was ash, and some twisted metal, but the building was almost entirely bare, like a sparring stage back on Frieza’s ship.

His power level’s over 20,000. I have to help her! His wrist-comm blinking with the raw numbers, Vegeta gathered his aura about him and prepared to dash off, when more rubble nearby, to the left of him and behind, on the corner of the building, Nappa appeared, his hair singed and mostly gone. He looked dazed as he stumbled about, looking for any signs of the enemy. He called for Vegeta three times in a hoarse, guttural voice before collapsing again.

He’s out for the count. That doesn’t surprise me. I can never count on Nappa. Oh well, I gotta save her myself. He clenched his fists. Somehow, this was just how Vegeta wanted it to be.

His aura shone brilliantly blue. She was in distress, being pushed back. The man’s power level surged to 30,000, then 40,000. Aranya’s peaked at 16,000. She fought valiantly, but it wasn’t enough. A lump formed in Vegeta’s throat as he pressed on, now as fast as he could. He was at his own maximum power level. I don’t think it’ll be enough, he thought madly, pressing on faster still.

I’ll have to try something else… something Father taught me…

He swooped in on them. The Surgeon, he could see now with his naked eyes, was pushing Aranya back with lazy energy beams, walking up to her casually, his guard unraised. He fired blasts at her, and she tried to block, but they came so fast and green and smoking hot, that she was unable to. Her fur was singed and bleeding in places. Aranya stumbled back.

Vegeta hovered there for a second, getting déjà vu. I’ve seen this before, he thought, I’ve seen these wounds before. He shivered, waiting for the tremor that never came. Already, his excitement and battle-lust was overcoming the mild tingling in his face and fingers, and he was ready to taste blood. Vegeta was breathing hard, his chest heaving, looking down on them.

The Surgeon was calmly pushing her back with green energy bullets, his aura burning golden around his body, greatly overpowering Aranya’s in brightness and size. It also looked like flames and less like pure energy–and the flames ran with golden, popping electricity. Vegeta shuddered. If he were a Saiyan, I’d think he fulfilled the Legend…

Paralyzed momentarily, Vegeta read his wrist-comm’s scanner again. 44,000. He’s a beast. But so am I…

Vegeta was grinning with sinister delight, raising one of his palms into the air, when she screamed. He saw it happen, too. His laughter caught in his throat like bloody ashes.

Aranya screamed louder, blood seeping from her face as she fell to her knees. No, no, no! He had seen the pop, seen the explosion, purple and white, and had known instantly. He took out her eyes. The coward! “You bastard…!” Vegeta screamed at the man, his aura flaring, and he raced towards the man.

As the Saiyan Prince flew, his gaze found Aranya, whose arms had fallen to her side. She was kneeling there, breathing hard, looking utterly dazed, the blood leaking down her face and into her fur like dyed tears. Her eyes were gone, two wet, gory black holes, and he wouldn’t look at them. Her head turned towards him as he approached, and then it swung unconsciously the other way, and she was falling.

The Surgeon smiled with glee. “Just me and you, kid! You still comin’? You want this?!” he screamed maniacally, sending a chill over Vegeta’s skin. “I have uses for that body of yours! Come quietly and let me experiment on a fresh sample!”

Sensing a hunt, The Surgeon jumped into the air and sped off, creating energy in between his claws, which he would no doubt be throwing at Vegeta momentarily. It was midday on the farming world–a greyish-brown, passive day. Not too hot, not too cold. Nothing special about it. Sweat clung to the prince’s neck and back like a cape.

The boy dashed on, not to the man, but to Aranya, the Nyarin. He caught her before she fell, holding her in his arms. She wasn’t there. But her heart was beating. Her eyes were seeping blood, and he felt like throwing up. “Aranya!” he called once, but she wasn’t waking up. She’s going to die if I don’t get her help.

He’d been taught on his first mission how to heal nasty bleeding wounds, to save his own life in case–for instance, if his tail was cut off by a clumsy attack. His father had shown him himself, practicing on one of that world’s natives. Vegeta could still remember his screams.

The prince pointed two gloved fingers at her face, cauterizing the wounds quickly with tiny, yellowish finger beams. When the bleeding had stopped, he looked up into the air at The Surgeon, who had already flung numerous emerald-radiating ki balls at him. Vegeta scoffed, throwing up his free arm as he stood, the unconscious Nyarin slung over his shoulder, and created a crimson energy shield to protect him from the hail of incoming energy.

Where The Surgeon’s blasts hit, the ground vaporized. After the second wave, what remained of the building collapsed in on its weight, falling into a pool of rubble, from which a weak brown trail of smoke began to rise. Vegeta could hear the man’s feral cackling carrying on the wind. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you myself!

Vegeta spun about and flew the other way, all the way to the port on the other side of town. There he quickly dropped Aranya into her pod, sending her off to Planet Frieza 106 immediately. They’ll have a rejuvenation tank for her there, he told himself. But it’s not like that will regrow her eyes…

He shuddered. No. Don’t think about that. You have to kill The Surgeon. Don’t think about that!

The black-furred man, whom Vegeta had read the report on (and whom he knew was insane in the most colorful use of that word) and knew was a fearsome foe, had pursued him to the port. He watched the space pod go, and when he went to fire a blast at it, Vegeta shot a finger beam at him, disarming the ki from his hand and causing it to fall, exploding against the ground.

. He did not fear any man. I’m a Saiyan. I fear no warrior in this universe!

“I’ll kill you first, then,” the blue-faced alien sniggered. “You’re rather reckless, even for a kid. I’m surprised. You’re stronger than you look at least.”

“I’m a Saiyan!” Vegeta said passionately, flying up into the air to face the man. “I am Vegeta, the Prince of All Saiyans!” he screamed. If he screamed loud enough, he wouldn’t have time to cry.

“A Saiyan? Heh, I thought all your kind were wiped out by–”

“And this is a Power Ball,” Vegeta sneered, raising his palm again, bright white energy pooling into a ball above it. “This serves as an artificial moon.”

“Oh.” The Surgeon’s smile evaporated.

“Do you know much stronger that’ll make me?” the boy asked him.

“I do,” he said in a deep voice, folding his arms, studying the boy for a moment. “That’s quite unfortunate.”

He smiled warmly again, a friendly, deceptive look in his eyes. Vegeta caught the venom in his look, the kind most others wouldn’t see. As he went to speak, The Surgeon vanished, and his power level disappeared. By the time Vegeta realized what had happened, he was tracking the man’s power level leaving the planet rather quickly in a fast little ship.

Coward, Vegeta thought, returning to the destroyed building. Pedestrians and travelers alike had gathered around it to speculate, wail, and eat space popcorn. He pulled Nappa out of the rubble by his left wrist, doing so in a motion that reminded Vegeta of pulling yasaio vegetables back home.

The man was asleep, but didn’t look to be as wounded as he had earlier. When Vegeta woke him, he had enough energy to fly on his own. “Hey Vegeta, what happened?” he asked first.

“The Surgeon was that man who we were talking to,” Vegeta said carefully.

“Yeah, I remember that part… I mean where is he, and where’s the Nyarin…?”

“They fought and he hurt her, so I sent her to the nearest outpost to be healed. The Surgeon ran.”

“F-from you?” Nappa asked. I’m not sure if he’s in awe of me or mocking me with that look.

“That’s right.”

“What are we gonna tell Zarbon?”

“Nothing yet. We’re still chasing him. Aranya’s not coming back,” the boy said, his voice quivering, though he did well to mask it, he thought, “so it’s up to us, Nappa. Let’s show him the might of the Saiyan race! I’ll find The Surgeon myself and kill him!”

“Yeah!” Nappa said, punching the air.

You really are a helpful, productive member of the crew, Vegeta thought, looking at him. Even when it was me and Ledas instead of Aranya, you always knew how to blow a lot of air.

Even so, Vegeta was feeling invigorated. Aranya’s situation distressed him, and he didn’t want to think about that. Focus on what I can control. I’ll hunt that bastard down and lay his corpse in front of Lord Frieza’s hover pod. I’ll do it for Aranya!!

“Come on, Nappa, we’re leaving!” he snapped at the big man, whose hair really was almost completely gone now. And it’ll never grow back, the boy thought. That’s a shame.

They were just looking for signs of a fugitive space criminal, or so the story goes.

Nappa and Vegeta were traveling through space when suddenly, in a supposed dead region of space, their space pods flagged several abnormal power levels.

“1100, 850, and 355,” Nappa read out. “That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Bah, it’s far too low to be that creepy furry guy!”

“What if he can suppress his power level?”

Vegeta paused to think. That’s true. He seemingly did that against Aranya and me. When I was talking to him before, his power level was not even above 100… and then he raised it to 44,000… It doesn’t make sense. Could such a power really exist? Not even Zarbon or Dodoria can do that… and neither can Frieza!

Even so, the evidence for The Surgeon being able to conceal his power was overwhelming. The boy could not ignore it. “Sure, whatever. Let’s go check it out. That planet is supposed to be empty anyways. He could be hiding out there.”

The planet was half a light-year away. On the journey there, Vegeta scanned it with his computer, learning the history of it from his shipboard AI:

“Planet Frieza 281. Currently: for sale on the galactic market. No offers have been made yet. Planet is tropical, covered mostly in dense forests, rivers, and island-filled oceans. Was cleared of all life in the 737 Age by a group of low-class Saiyan children–”

“Nappa!” Vegeta called out over the intercom. “Have you seen the history of this world?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Not a clue, Vegeta.”

In that case, I’ll let you be surprised, the boy thought. “Very well. Prepare our final descent. I want to land as close to those power level readings as we can.”

“Understood, Prince,” the Saiyan General replied, whistling to himself. “Starting our final descent now!”

The last time Nappa was in charge of pod landing maneuvers was the day Planet Vegeta was hit by a comet. He was supposed to come with us, Vegeta thought suddenly, his eyes brimming with tears. The boy’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he blinked them away. N-no, he was weak! Father was weak! They were all weak! Getting killed by a comet like common space trash! They all deserved it!

“We’re here,” Nappa said a moment later.

The pods slammed into the mud violently, spraying dirt and grass into the air. They got out in a whisper, glancing about. Nappa and Vegeta were both wearing scouters now (they had left them in their pods before), and used those to find the three power levels.

“Just as I thought,” Nappa said coolly, “Three sentients with trash power levels. Hey Vegeta, can I kill them?”

“Nappa, we don’t even know who they are yet,” the prince replied, looking around. It truly was a dense forest, and though there was a beast trail nearby, the visibility was extremely poor. We won’t be able to see who they are until we find them. “Stay alert and watch yourself.”

“Aw, come on, Vegeta, I wanna use the Saibamen!” he said. “Dodoria gave me a whole batch to use on this mission! He said I’m supposed to thin out the herd a bit, heh.” Nappa held up a little capsule holding all the unplanted Saibamen. “Come on, Vegeta, I wanna see ‘em rip some space pirates to shreds!”

“Fine,” Vegeta said. “If they turn out to be space pirates, you can unleash your pets upon them.”

“Pets…?!” The man’s eyes shone with wonder. “They aren’t my pets… they’re my… heh, subordinates,” Nappa said, crouching down, brushing his thumb across his upper lip, and turning his head to the side, trying to look all cool and such.

“Whatever.”

Vegeta led them down the trail until they could hear voices.

“Y-yeah… please…” they heard a boy’s voice say. The two paused. There was a curve in the road leading left, right to the voices. Vegeta raised a glove and made a motion for Nappa to remain utterly silent. “It happened just after my dad came, like I said… there was another warband. He went so fast, he must’ve missed them. They attacked us and blew up the ships…”

“Go,” he whispered to his long-time companion.

Nappa barely suppressed a gleeful roar as he jumped to the ground and planted his Saibamen.

What’s the matter with him? They’re mindless beasts, barely even worth training with… Why is he so happy? Vegeta became annoyed. He didn’t like how happy it made Nappa to plant Saibamen. He didn’t know about this side of Nappa before, and now it disturbed the boy because it meant that Nappa, indeed, did have a heart, however black and small and twisted it necessarily had to be. He can care about things. Amazing.

Vegeta thought about that day all those months back–Space Christmas, Nappa had called it. He put on a show for everyone–even Frieza. He stopped me and Kuriza from fighting, the boy recollected. He cares about me so much. The boy’s eyes once again simmered with heat as he thought of Nappa wearing that stupid beard and pretending to be Space Santa. He gave me a Saibaman doll as a present, the boy thought. Every night, Vegeta clung to that doll, after Serindë was finished, often crying himself to sleep with it in his arms.

Nappa has no idea.

So the boy stood back and let the man have his fun. His hair’s falling out, besides. He deserves a little happiness. Nappa’s hair looked ridiculous as it was, with large patches missing from the front sides, and lower left side on the back. His hair was wispy and collected neatly atop his head in a way that made it look like what remained of it could be blown off by a strong gust of wind.

It looks like a sleeping baby Nidrazi, he thought, like a really young one that still has feathers…

“Oh, I can’t wait, I can’t wait,” Nappa whispered, stamping his feet and jumping in the air, whispering eagerly in Vegeta’s ear with giddiness that was unbecoming of a man with as many muscles as him.

“Enough, Nappa!” Vegeta whispered, blushing slightly in embarrassment. But for some reason, he couldn’t be mad at Nappa right now.

He had dug a little poked-out hole (with his index finger, of course) for each Saibaman, depositing a seed into each hole. He’s usually not so thorough. He must really like them.

“Hey, Vegeta, Vegeta, look… Vegeta!” Nappa whispered desperately.

Five cracks formed in the middle of the game trail, from which the Saibamen almost immediately and simultaneously sprung up from, landing acrobatically in a perfect line before the Saiyans.

“They’re brainless, crazy monsters,” Vegeta noted, folding his arms. He knew he had to look unimpressed, but he had always admired the ferociousness of these beasts. That’s cause the Saiyans created them. The Saibamen were leaning forward, spittle running from their open mouths. They were breathing quickly, waiting for the signal. It’s no wonder. They can smell the others.

“Oh, Vegeta, they’re so cool! That one, I’m naming Lil ‘Getes, and that one I’m going to call Priyep, and that one–”

“Send them off!” the prince whispered again, making sure not to alert the talkers to their presence yet.

Now someone else was talking. He had a nasally, high-pitched voice, and he was saying, “How do I know that you didn’t kill everyone here and got stranded after the fact… as far as we could tell, you’re the only life-form on this–”

“Gruuh!” a Saibaman, presumably Lil ‘Getes screamed as it bounded around the corner at Nappa’s command, jumping onto the nearest sentient, latching onto his back, and biting hard into the back of his neck.

The other four Saibamen swarmed the other two, and a battle suddenly erupted out of nowhere on that humid, muddy day. Vegeta and Nappa stayed back, basking in the carnage. “They’re Galactic Patrolmen,” Nappa observed, pointing at the two nearest them–the two being swarmed by four of the five Saibamen. “I recognize their uniforms.”

“Who are they?” Vegeta responded. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“They’re a hopeless, pathetic, weak, spineless organization that stands up to Frieza sometimes. Heh, whenever they do though, they end up massacred. They think they can just police the universe on their own! Where’s the justice in that?! Who gave them the authority?!”

“Exactly,” replied the boy in a low, trembling whisper.

The two Galactic Patrolmen were aliens of separate species. One was short and pink-skinned with a streak of yellow hair running down his head and spine. The Saibamen tore his throat out, but not before he blew a hole through one’s eye.

The other Patrolman held a laser gun, shooting it wildly at the beasts. As they closed in and overwhelmed him, he knicked three of them, taking two in vital spots and causing them to bleed out almost instantly. The third fell away. But there was a fourth, as there always seemed to be, and that one latched onto the man’s head and tore it in half, cracking it open like a space coconut. The man had been of a tall, slender alien race with pale yellow skin, a bald head, and thick, monkey-like shoulders.

One last Saibaman remained, and he charged the final quarry–a feral-looking biped who looked a lot like Nappa if Nappa had had a full head of hair. He had long, oily, spiky, messy hair. Though he was short and perhaps no older than Vegeta, his muscles were more defined than the Prince’s and he was, if anything, half a head taller than the boy. That wasn’t what interested Vegeta though–it was the fact that this dirty-looking boy, who was shoeless and wearing extremely dirty, muddy, torn, messed underclothes, had a brown, furry tail. It was wrapped around his waist, for good measure.

Vegeta walked up to the dying Saibaman even as the kid and the last healthy Saibaman clashed. The little green guy had a big gash in the side of his head leaking blood. He croaked up at Vegeta, his red eyes blinking rapidly.

The Saiyan Prince squashed the soldier like the bug he was.

“Aw Vegeta, come on, now you got guts all over your boot! You’re gonna track that into your pod and it’ll get in Frieza’s ship, and…”

“Enough, Nappa. Look at this. The last prey is a Saiyan.”

“No way!” Nappa walked closer too, and when the kid turned to parry a blow from the Saibaman, his tail became more apparent in the sunlight. “H-he’s… one of the few survivors!”

“Yes, that’s right, “Vegeta replied. “But his power level’s only 355.”

“Aw, crap. He’s low-class.”

“Barely better than one of your Saibamen,” Vegeta mused, watching the fight unfold.

“That’s not fair, Vegeta,” Nappa said breathlessly, coming up to him. “These Saibamen were just born when Dodoria gave ‘em to me. They’re totally raw–they have no battle experience. Heh, I don’t think a single one of them has a power level above 600.”

“That’s a shame,” Vegeta said. “It’ll give this one ideas that he’s something special. Oh well. I’ll make sure he knows how things really are.”

And so it went. The Saiyan was pushed back by the Saibaman’s advance, but he blocked well, and he showed some intelligence in his stance. He’s fought with others before. He’s not totally useless. He was taught how to fight by someone. That much is clear. Probably a low-class adult leading a group of children.

Vegeta had heard of such things before, but he thought they had been more common amongst Super Elite and Elite families who didn’t send their children to distant planets as babies. The Saibaman was, if anything, less experienced than this low-class boy. Dirty as he was, he held his own, blocking the thing’s attacks, and when it wore itself out, he wiped it out with a double white-and-pink energy beam that incinerated it from the collarbone up.

When the Saibaman corpse fell over, carried by a faint gust of tropical wind, Nappa let out an anguished cry.

All Vegeta had to do was tilt his head slightly, though, to make the big man adjust his composure. He’s learning. He can learn. That’s a good sign.

“State your name and rank,” Vegeta snapped at the boy as soon as the fight had finished.

“Oh, I… uh, wh-who are you?” he asked. Vegeta’s and Nappa’s tails were concealed by their space pirate attire, so Vegeta used his tail to poke out from his jacket and uncurl, showing the kid. That’s right. There’s more of us out here. That’s two now, he thought with glee. That’s two you’ve missed, Zarbon. When he learns about this, he’s going to be so pissed…

“That’s your prince, you fool! Bow to your prince!” Nappa commanded him savagely.

“I-I, uh…” the kid said, looking at them uncertainly, not sure if this was a joke or not.

Vegeta pointed. “He’s Nappa, General of the Saiyan army.”

“Oh.” The kid with the bushy, long hair, fell to a knee in front of Vegeta. “Th-thank you, my prince for saving me… I’ve been stranded here for years…”

“I heard. There were others with you?” Vegeta asked, lording over the boy, not allowing him to stand quite yet.

The boy’s head was bowed still. “Me, Legumie, and Cilantio were sent here to clear the planet for Lord Frieza a long time ago… I’ve lost count of how long ago, I’m sorry… When we were clearing the planet, there was one last army who appeared that we hadn’t seen, and they ambushed us, and destroyed our space pods.”

“I assume the others were killed in the battle?” Vegeta asked stoically, leaning in.

He nodded sheepishly.

“Rise, and tell me your name, soldier.”

“R-raditz… I’m Raditz, sir.”

“I am Prince Vegeta,” Vegeta answered solemnly. “You already know Nappa.”

“Yes, my lord. H-how… how did you find me… how did you know I was here?”

Great. He hasn’t got a clue. That’s the worst of all. I’ll leave it to Nappa, he thought, glancing at the man, tilting his head, and softening his brow. Nappa understood at once. “Nappa will tell you later. For now, you’re going to join my crew. We’ll fly to the nearest outpost, get you a space pod, and then you’ll join us on our hunt.”

“H-hunt?” Raditz asked, looking up at him. Despite him being taller, Vegeta was standing on a corpse, so he held the absolute high ground.

“Heh, that’s right kid,” Nappa growled. “This is gonna hurt a lot for you… cuz you’re low-class, ahahah! Vegeta and me are Super Elite! We’re the strongest Saiyans in the universe!”

“We’re the only Saiyans in the universe,” Vegeta corrected him. “Or so I thought.”

“Wh-what… hang on, hold. Prince Vegeta, my lord, uh…” He clearly was never taught how to approach his superior with grace. “I don’t get it. What do you mean? Are all the Saiyans dead?”

“That’s right,” the prince replied coldly. “You will have to live with that. There are only us three.” They don’t need to know about Tarble. For all I know, Nappa or this kid could slip up and tell someone at any time. No… it’s too much of a risk. They don’t need to know. Besides, he’s having a better life this way. He won’t ever know us; we won’t ever know him. He’ll grow up with loving parents, and…

“Vegeta, are you okay?” Nappa asked, looking down at him weirdly. Is that disgust?

“Ye-yeah… anyways. Everyone’s gone. It’s just us. You’re on our team now,” Vegeta said. “If you refuse, I’ll kill you. I don’t care if you’re low-class. You’re going to be put through a tough training regime. I’ll make you earn every inch of that low-class body of yours. You’re going to be the strongest low-class Saiyan in history!” Vegeta declared passionately. This is what Father would have wanted. Vegeta’s own impulses told him to kill the boy. He’s weak. But… so is Nappa. And Vegeta could never foresee himself killing Nappa, for as much as the big man could get under his skin. No, I have to preserve as much of our species as I can. I’m the Prince of all Saiyans. I’m going to be a Super Saiyan… I have to be a leader, a Saiyan for all the others to gather around and respect. Even if he is a low-class kid, it’s better than nothing. The irony of that was not lost on the prince.

One thing Vegeta knew–he’d always be the strongest Saiyan. And his kind respected strength. I will lead this pack.

“O-okay… who are we hunting?”

“A little furry devil known as The Surgeon,” Nappa chuckled. He’s stronger than all three of us combined, I think.”

“As we are,” Vegeta said in stifling tone. He looked around at them slowly. “I have a plan for him. The same one that made him run before–only this time, we make sure he’s marooned first.” Vegeta smiled, looking at Raditz. Perhaps this low-class trash won’t be trash forever. He’s already helped me with one thing… “Then we’ll all turn into Great Apes and eat him!”

“V-vegeta…” Nappa began, “sh-shouldn’t we leave a body for Lord Frieza?”

Nappa is surprised at my battle-llust. Good. He needs to think I’m unpredictable if he’s to fear me. Vegeta knew fear. He knew Frieza and he knew Zarbon and he knew The Surgeon. One of those is not like the rest. His cheeks burned.

“The scouters’ll pick up the footage,” he said, tilting his head to stretch his neck. “You probably don’t know how to control your Great Ape form, do you?”

“M-my… what?” Raditz asked.

“Great.” Nappa sighed, looking around. “Hey, you know, we could always cut off his tail if we need to.”

“No,” Vegeta said. “If Zarbon’s to know he’s a Saiyan, he has to have his tail. Speaking of Zarbon…” Vegeta smirked darkly again. You damn fool. You stupid bastard. You don’t realize that you made me into this. If you hadn’t been like this, well… “I’ll let him know about Aranya and about our newest member of the crew… Raditz, wasn’t it?” Vegeta asked.

“Yes.” Raditz looked utterly bewildered. He’s about to be thrown into the fire. If he’s a real Saiyan, he’ll come out stronger on the other end. And if he’s not… oh well. It’s kill or be killed.

Vegeta smiled more broadly this time, as the message was relayed to Zarbon’s personal channel. “Hello, Captain Zarbon?” Vegeta began in an innocent tone. “I wanted to let you know that you missed one.”