His Majesty's Pet/Brothers

“Package for you, Lord Dodoria. And you as well, Lord Zarbon,” the plumber said.

The man left before either of them spoke. “We have a problem,” Zarbon said. “There’s a guard missing. He hasn’t reported for duty since the day before everyone left.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty suspicious. Who do you think did it?”

“No, Dodoria, I don’t think he’s dead… I think he defected.”

“Eh? So he ran off to join Kiwano’s gang, did he?”

Zarbon opened his box. “Probably. I doubt we’ll ever see him again.”

Then why exactly is this a problem, pretty boy?

“Man, I don’t get it.” He tucked his package into a pocket in his armor, leaning back in his chair, a bowl of space chili with extra eljaar spice cupped between his hands. “Why abandon a decent gig like this for somethin’ they know’s gonna get ‘em killed? It doesn’t matter, heh. They gotta know we’re comin’ for ‘em.”

“Oh, they do.” He pulled a long plastic tube out of his package. “They either don’t care or don’t believe we’re willing to track them to the ends of space so we can wipe them all out. Lord Frieza was wise to call their bluff.”

“That’s the natural way things go, if ya think about, Zarbs. And it’s one way to weed out the idiots.”

“It would be,” Zarbon replied tersely, “if they weren’t murdering or enslaving our outpost garrisons. We’ve lost four planets this week, Dodoria.”

“Yeah, gotta deal with that. Speakin’ of which, how’s the team doing?”

“Last I heard, they were split up. Captain Ginyu and most of his team received significant injuries from a surprise attack from what they described as a monster, but the rest of the team is still actively engaged in the field. Burter sent me a report twelve hours ago notifying me that they were heading to Jeiri to kill Kiwano.”

“That’s where he’s holed up?”

“Seems so.”

“Why?” Dodoria was guzzling his space chili, tears forming at the tips of his eyes. “That shithole of all places? I don’t get it.”

“Their kind have been seen there before. A prisoner spilled the info after Kuriza interrogated him.”

“Hidin’ in plain sight. I was just there three months back, Jeiri. Didn’t see any slavers in the outpost.”

“I wouldn’t imagine they’re operating in plain sight. In the illegal flesh markets, sure. Not here in imperial space.”

“Don’t they need reinforcements?”

Zarbon shrugged. “Burter alone could perform this mission. Kiwano and his gang are way over their heads, Dodoria. They have no clue just how much more powerful we are than them. The Ginyu Force will crush the Slaver and his traitorous crew. Burter was ordered to tell the rest to show no mercy.”

“Hang on, though… I thought Lord Frieza wanted to interrogate some of ‘em.”

“He grew bored with the idea,” Zarbon said quickly. “We’re not letting any of them live. Lord Frieza’s orders. You agree with that stance, don’t you, Dodoria?”

He nodded idly. “Kuriza will step in if there are any problems.” Zarbon was entirely unconcerned. Reading from a small-print instructions manual that had come in his box, he bowed his head as he spoke, “The Nyarins are there too, as is Nailo, and the monkey prince. All of them are elite.”

“Not as elite as the Ginyu Force.”

“This will be good practice for them. That insufferable purple buffoon will have his answer by the end of it.”

“Who’re you rooting for?”

“Is that really a question?” Zarbon looked up seriously.

Dodoria shrugged, not understanding the man. But that wasn’t important. He had no desire to press any further. “Guldo was complainin’ that there’s a feral space-badger stuck in the walls near the dorms.”

“Feral?”

“Yeah, it was apparently mutterin’ to itself about somethin’ crazy or near enough to warrant incineration. Point is, we should do a sweep. See if anything’s up.”

“You can do that, Dodoria.”

“Really, Zarbon?”

“Yes. Go do it now.”

He wasn’t looking up as he fondled the tube with slender, unblemished fingers. “Whatever. I’ll talk to the boss later about all this.”

“Assume he already knows.”

Dodoria stood up angrily, grabbing his package. Setting his dirty bowl on Zarbon’s desk, he left. His first stop was the bathroom, as it had to be. The package’s outer coating was unexpectedly sticky. Dodoria vaporized a hole through it, pulling the little cartridge of shimmering blue-red crystals out. He exhaled deeply, holding the vial up to his eyes. The mirror reflected his focus. I’ll be good on one dose. One dose’s all I need.

Three crystals landed in his palm. Crushing them, Dodoria spread the dust in the air in front of his face. Leaning forward, inhaling deeply, he kept his eyes wide opened, feeling the urgency in his heart beating against his ribcage, the weight of touching it again drawing down across his chest and stomach. Dodoria took a second breath and a third and again until there was no floating dust remaining.

All evidence was incinerated. He washed his hands. Time was running at about ten percent its usual pace.

This stuff keeps me good, keeps me right. I can’t afford to miss my dosages. Malaka told me if I did, I’d be cooked. Still, Malaka had dramatic tendencies, having come from a family of dumb, no-good, dirt-swindling space puppeteers. The captain felt at peace, his heart cooling, his blood slowing, his mind clearing. At once, Dodoria’s rage dissipated and he thought fondly of Zarbon for the briefest of moments before remembering.

Dodoria stepped outside. The plumber was waiting for him. “Evening, Lord Dodoria,” he said cheerfully.

“What do you want?”

“It’s the end of the monthly cycle, sir. I was wondering if I could get that money you were promising me. You know, for the–”

“Come to my room at twenty-three cycle.” Dodoria’s voice strained briefly before settling again. “I’ll have what you need by then.”

“Thank you sir,” the plumber said, bowing, pushing his cart into the bathroom. “Oh, don’t wait up. I’ll be a while. Last guy in here always blows the place out. Leaves me a lot to do.”

There were fewer soldiers than usual, and the halls were unusually empty. He met only the occasional guard on patrol on his way back to his room. Really, they’d risk their lives just to get away from guard duty? I don’t get it. Who would ever run away from an easy gig like this?

Just before Dodoria’s room was the entrance to the dorms, leading to a wider spider-like branch of inner rooms where most of the soldiers on Frieza’s ship slept. Select officers such as Dodoria and Zarbon, as well as the Ginyu Force, all had their own personal quarters, but even lower-ranking elites like Appule and Vegeta lived here. It was at the entrance of these dorms that a bloody, black-pelted space-badger lay decomposing. Guldo was wiping sweat from his eyes, wearing nothing but an unflattering black training gi. The deep gash in the wall from where the space-badger had been pulled out of bled sparks and colorful wiring.

“What the hell…?” Dodoria muttered.

“I told you, sir.” Guldo was wheezing, his belly shrinking and expanding like a balloon. “There was one living in the walls, sir. He has a secret exit leading to the kitchen too. I knew he was the one stealing my chili dogs… I just knew it…! I can’t believe he had the nerve… The greedy little vermin couldn’t stop stealing my food!! I shoulda…”

His mistake was believing someone like you wouldn’t notice. “That’s enough,” Dodoria said coolly. “Get rid of that body now. Do you hear me, kid? And get that hole patched. If Frieza sees that, you’re dead. Do you understand me? He’s only going to be sleeping for another four cycles.”

Guldo was quivering in his boots, sweating profusely. “Y-yes, sir… right away, sir!” He ran off. Man, he’s really, really scared. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on him.

But it really doesn’t make sense. Why would a random guard defect? Nah, someone killed him. The question is why? The prospect of a mystery intrigued Dodoria. Zarbon doesn’t need to know. He’s dumb, anyways. He wouldn’t be of much help.

Dodoria stopped at the communications room. The space-badger was dead, and he wasn’t about to go back to Zarbon. He stepped inside, taking a seat at the command console, from which above materialized a holographic display of the universe. Frieza’s quadrant of the Planet Trade Organization was highlighted, many of the planets within it highlighted additionally. He thinks of no one but himself! This map is unusable now… except for helping Zarbon with whatever stupid thing he’s up to currently. Damn pretty boy. Many of the planets were colored red–the color Zarbon used to tally worlds that he knew could not possibly harbor Vegeta’s little brother, Tarble.

I’m impressed. There must be twenty or thirty more that’ve gone red since I checked last week. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Most of the planets were accounted for. Some on the fringe had not been checked yet–pockets of planets, both conquered and unconquered, offering the impossibly tempting possibility of a hidden prince. What Zarbon wouldn’t give for that baby monkey. Heh, what I wouldn’t give for a space duck’s gizzard dipped in space wasabi right about now…

Dodoria ignored Zarbon’s work. It did not concern him. Instead, he focused on three planets: Jeiri, Planet Frieza 149, and Nivevi. A pestering, strained feeling had found its way into his mind, spinning like a halo. Nah, it’s too late to bring it up. I’ll have to look for a new seller. Someone not on Lord Frieza’s radar.

“Nice of you to join us, filthy little ape,” the furry pirate with the big ears said. “I’m Leo, by the way. Welcome to Tech-Tech.”

Vegeta’s vision was splotchy, coming in slow and grey, and the brightness of everything was making him tear up, which in turn made his cheeks darken with shameful heat. He must have looked half mad in that moment. “Wha… ha-happeh…”

“There was a battle,” Asaio said solemnly from Vegeta’s left. “I called in the soldiers. Didn’t matter. We were outnumbered.”

“You didn’t stand a chance,” Leo said casually. He kept looking off towards the exit ramp, as if expecting something out of the ordinary. “Not against the Debabbi. You though,” he said, his green eyes flicking over to Asaio, “you hit like a real motherfucker. You’d do well on our squad, Nyarin.”

“Out with it already…! Where are you taking us?” That was Nailo. He sounded compressed. Say something stupid, lizard-face. Come on, get yourself killed!

“To a buyer.”

“A flesh market,” Asaio interjected. His tone turned even graver. “I hadn’t thought even Tech-Tech could sink so low. Once we’re out of here, Lord Frieza will have to–”

“Haha! You really think you’re gettin’ out of here?! Come on now, give me a little respect,” said Leo bitterly.

“I will kill you,” Asaio swore, “if you don’t let us go. Last chance, pirate.”

Leo, the space marauder and sometimes space tax evader, snorted in amusement. All three of them were bound by electric-blue energy tied around their wrists and ankles, the four burning coils coming together behind their backs, pulled tight, making it awkward to walk. But walk they did. Out of the ship first came Khun, the Broken. The others followed him out in small groups leading the prisoners. The prince recognized a few of the pirates from the crowd in that dark, smokey Puhsa Tnia’ii–especially the buggy alien with scryihl armor.

A sense of pride welled up in his throat seeing Khun’s arm in a cast. They were marched into town briskly–a dusty, humble town, rural and without a single one of its mud-crafted huts rising higher than two stories.

The Tech-Techs of the town were blank-faced, green-skinned creatures with oblong-shaped heads, most no taller than Vegeta. Leo was already engaged in a high-stakes bargain with one man (a space salaryman if Vegeta had ever seen one) who looked none too pleased in his gentleman’s glitter-rimmed hat and who leaned nonchalantly on a crooked cane.

“Oy, Nyarin, get over here.”

Asaio waddled forward. More words were exchanged; they were too far away for Vegeta to make out anything properly. Two of Leo’s pals stepped forward, and in a flash, they had deactivated Asaio’s energy bindings, preparing to move him over to a new pair fit for everyday use as some kind of hard laborer. But in that split second Asaio had been let free, he spun on his heels, flashed his fists to the sides, creating a sonic blast powerful enough to cause both the pirates and the Tech-Tech client to be knocked to the ground, and fired twin finger beams at Vegeta and Nailo that homed in on them, curling around their bodies, and exploding against their bindings’ core. The energy bindings dissipated, and Vegeta’s wrists were loose, free, and infinite possibility awaited him. What a bunch of space trash! Why’d they deactivate his bindings? What did they expect? I guess these pirates really are as dumb as they look.

Asaio used hand motions to signal Nailo to the right and Vegeta to the left. They obeyed immediately. So long as he was in the midst of battle, Vegeta would not question the Nyarin. We’re in this together. If I want to survive, I have to trust them for now.

Tech-Techs were fleeing, some with their hands over their heads. Leo and his men had rushed Asaio. The Nyarin held his own against the three, using unpredictable agility to break through Leo’s guards’ blocks, hitting them each with several homing energy balls and blowing apart their faces.

Khun was in the air, charging feet-first at Vegeta. The Saiyan dodged the incoming attack easily by flipping over him, spinning in a backflip just enough to get around Khun’s destructive lunge. As the man crashed into the ground, forming a crater, with his toe-poke, Vegeta spun his body around with serpentine urgency, aiming his gloves for only half a breath before releasing a torrent of energy. Khun’s backside was bathed in light green energy balls that chipped through his light fur armor and deep into his skin. Blood spurted into the air, spiraling and pooling in the dust of the unpaved Tech-Tech roads.

Staggering, the aging corsair made an afterimage, evading Vegeta’s Dirty Fireworks. When the man dodged to the right, Nailo appeared, venomous green energy surging from both hands, striking Khun so brutally in the face that his head and neck tore from his body, bouncing bloodily down the road.

Vegeta pounced on Leo, coming down on the back of his neck with his boot. Leo slammed into Asaio, who punched him back with the precision of an assassin, coming in hard with his fists over and over again, until Vegeta was sure Leo had to have been reduced to a catatonic state.

But he wasn’t. Not bad. He has a true warrior’s spirit. The wounded pirate spit up something dark and bubbly, at the same time releasing an energy wave that forced both Vegeta and Asaio back.

Nailo was bombarding the buggy alien from the sky with tons of ki. The weaker pirates were either dead or fled. Leo was not backing down. His polished black-and-crimson armor was splattered with his bright reddish blood, but still he stood to face them both, looking entirely unafraid.

Three gloved fingers bade them come forward. The closest Tech-Tech building, which appeared to be a home, had been blown open by the last explosion, and Leo stepped back into the house, inviting the two to engage him in close quarters.

“Stay close to me, and don’t overpress,” Asaio muttered to him. “Be aware of his speed. He’s unpredictable.”

“He doesn’t scare me.”

“He shouldn’t.”

The went together, one purple aura, one blue one. Crashing into the house, they pushed Leo back as he defended with a series of quick hand blocks and dodges. The pirate was more powerful than he had appeared, but even so, he was nothing Vegeta should fear. I’ve faced tougher Saibamen than this prideful fool, he thought.

Leo threw invisible ki blasts at them that materialized only the moment before impact, forcing pinpoint instinctual dodges. Asaio’s block was broken first. Vegeta stepped in, engaging Leo in a storm of traded blows, pushing the taller man back. His form was just beginning to overwhelm the pirate when Leo attempted a second explosive wave. Wrapped in burning heat, Vegeta was thrown into a wall.

Seeing black, he blinked his vision back to reality, willing his consciousness back from the brink, and there was Asaio again pressing on Leo, the taller feline bleeding bad from his nose and mouth, resisting Asaio’s advances admirably, limiting the Nyarin’s speed with sharp footwork and deft hands jabbing as often as blocking.

Vegeta aimed a finger at Leo and fired. Bang. When the man realized what was coming, he attempted to block; Asaio saw that as the perfect opportunity to slam his fist into the man’s nose. Viciously, both attacks hit Leo at the same time, one splitting his armor, causing blood to spray out the cracks; the other pushed him to the ground, courtesy of Asaio’s rather deliberate blindside paw-stroke. Groaning low and stumbling back, Asaio’s spinning backhand stunning him, Leo’s stance collapsed, and he no longer even tried to block his foe’s assault of punches and kicks. He was, in that moment, no better than an amateur. The Nyarin was humiliating Leo.

His eyes locked with Asaio’s. The Nyarin’s head tilted ever so slightly, and his gaze relaxed. Vegeta nodded. Smart idea, he thought, shooting around behind Leo and kicking him at the other elite. Asaio’s fist caught Leo hard, sending him up into the air. Sweat clung to the back of Vegeta’s neck, and he just wanted it to be over with already. A flying kick sent Leo back towards Vegeta. The Prince of all Saiyans was not a slow learner. He elbowed Leo hard in the stomach with his right and hooked him hard with his left, sending him back at Asaio.

Leo’s blood had sprayed unceremoniously upon Vegeta’s face. He wiped it from his eyes as the pirate came tumbling back at him. Vegeta lunged at him once more, this time with his boot, and their pace became blindingly quick as the two kicked Leo back and forth with such ferocity and precise handling that it was a wonder his body hadn’t exploded into a pile of gore already. Asaio dashed in forcibly on his last kick, angling Leo up into the air. Without thinking, Vegeta flew up after him, and using a spinning kick, he instantly and painfully changed the pirate’s trajectory. Because that move was only slightly cool, Vegeta followed it up with a trailing beam of energy, which impacted against Leo’s back in a bluish-green explosion exactly as he belly flopped against the ground.

Nothing moved from the crater that remained. Nailo was standing on the other side of the Tech-Tech marketplace, his arms folded.

“Everything good, Nailo?!” Asaio called after him.

“The pest got away.”

“Don’t let him!”

“As you command.” The man’s green aura formed around him suddenly, like a whoosh of flame, and he was shooting off into the forest.

“The other slaves they were selling ran off into the forest too. There was only one group of them. We should find them…” the Nyarin was saying. “They could die out there if we don’t save them.” Vegeta said nothing. Asaio knelt beside a pirate, pulling his scouter off his bloody head. Wiping the earpiece on his pants, Asaio said, “You did really good today, Vegeta. When you listen to me, you can be unstoppable. We can work well together. I know we can. I have no doubt that we’ll become one of Frieza’s best planet-clearing duos in the entire empire before long! You’re already nearly as strong as me, and if we can sync up our attacks even more than this…”

Every pirate ship exploded.

Smoke rose in the yellow morning sky. “Failsafes,” Asaio muttered. “Must’ve been with the pilots.”

“So we’re stuck here?” Vegeta looked around. “Aren’t there any other ships?”

“We’ll have to look around, visit the other cities. But we can’t leave yet. Not until Nailo returns.”

“No way. I’m not waiting,” Vegeta said arrogantly. “Psh. Use that scouter to find him if the lizard-brained fool gets lost. We need to make sure there’s a way off this rock. Otherwise we’ll have to contact Zarbon.”

“I will,” Asaio breathed. He did not look pleased to do that. “No, we’ll wait to contact Zarbon until we know for sure we can’t get out of here on our own. But you’re right: we have to go… to Jeiri. That’s where Kiwano is. We cannot delay much longer. Lord Kuriza and the others are waiting for us. They will not wait forever, Vegeta.”

“Jeiri?” Vegeta asked, tilting his head. “Why there?”

“Don’t you remember? Did you have your scouter turned off again?” Vegeta shrugged. “Well anyways, Burter sent the message. Kiwano and his gang are on Jeiri. We’re moving on them. We have to get out of here. I’m not waiting for Zarbon. You’re right. We need to find ships. Let’s go.”

Vegeta followed him into the air. Clearly there were no other spacecraft in this meager town. I wonder if there are slave markets all across the planet, or just in these rural places hidden out in the jungle. Does anyone else even know this is going on?

They flew over the carnage, chasing a distant power level Asaio swore was a city. Vegeta admired the destruction he beheld–all wrought by the three of them. There was something satisfying in knowing they had dealt with such an arrogant band of pirates so efficiently and so thoroughly. Maybe Asaio’s not half bad, Vegeta thought to himself. But I’ll never be friends with Nailo. I’m going to kill him. He’ll never see me coming. Even now, as the Saiyan followed the Nyarin, he no longer felt ashamed that Asaio had been given the promotion instead of him. The boy was older than him, naturally, and he was a clever tactician too. Vegeta could learn a lot from him. He’ll never know about Nailo. I’ll never tell him.

There was a difference between this partner and the last, and much of that was a consequence of Lord Frieza choosing Vegeta’s new training partner for him. Back on Planet Vegeta, his friend had been a Saiyan–a boy his age, a friend from the palace. Asaio would never be any of those things to Vegeta.

His eyes found themselves glancing to the sky for no reason other than to hope just a little longer. Vegeta’s eyes stung. Stupid wind, he thought. Why’s it gotta be so strong?

“I haven’t heard from them in a day,” Burter complained. “I’m getting impatient. We can’t wait forever.”

“Maybe their scouters are malfunctioning. We should wait,” Aranya said gently. “Sir, your scan of the planet indicates that there are hundreds of soldiers stationed there. Not to mention the higher power levels we sensed…”

“Lord Kuriza,” Burter interrupted, “you are stronger than all of those traitors do–”

Kuriza’s green eyes flashed–or at least he imagined they did (and Kuriza had a wonderful imagination, a really beautiful one crafted from the loins of the best God Emperor in the universe (also known as Daddy)). “Be that as it may, Burter, I am here to observe, not to step in. Father wanted me to do so only under dire circumstances. I need not remind you why you’re really here, do I?”

“Of course not, my lord! You’re right… that was stupid of me, aheh!”

“The rest of the Ginyu Force is healed by now, aren’t they?” Kuriza asked boyishly.

“By now, I’d think so. I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Tell them they are not to come. You and I will observe. The rest will fight.”

“L-lord Kuriza… is that wise? We could lose several elites. It’s a costly strategy with no upside…”

The three of them were drifting slowly around a gas giant that was orbiting beyond Jeiri in the same solar system, staying out of range of the pirates’ scouters. “Do not make me start a private channel, Burter.”

“As you wish, Lord Kuriza. I’m sorry for doubting you!”

“We will wait for them to get here,” Kuriza declared, gazing out at all the stars from his pod’s window, his eyes having trouble maintaining focus. Even now, he was thinking about a ‘get well soon’ dance he had to come up with (as a present for Ginyu) that he’d probably record for the captain later that night in his pod. “In the meantime, Burter, would you kindly recount for me the tales you have heard concerning Kiwano–before he became a slaver, of course?”

“Kiwano the Slaver?”

“Yes, very good, Burter. He is indeed the man I wish to know more about.”

“You want to know all about him, eh?”

“We may yet take him alive,” Kuriza sighed. “And if we do… this time, I will not fail.” Father can be cruel without even trying. It’s nothing for him to make someone confess. He will be expecting much of me. I must not fail Papa. “Even if we cannot, I would like to take at least one pirate back home for practice. Please leave one alive, Aranya, if you can.”

“Heh, I’ll try Lord Kuriza,” she replied from her scouter, her voice crackling. “Wouldn’t you rather stick to your paintings, though, my lord? Or maybe the dancing? You really like the prospect of interrogating as much as those?”

“Yes,” Kuriza answered with sudden earnestness, a strange fluttering feeling rising up in his chest. “Even so, Father taught me from a very young age that I can’t always get what I want.”

“Well what is it that you want, sir?”

Her breathlessness excited him. You silly girl. “That will be all for now, Aranya. Get some rest please, but stay alert and keep your wits about you. You must be ready to assault Jeiri at any time, whether they get here or not. We don’t know when your brother and the others will arrive, after all. Sleep well, and goodbye for now,” he said awkwardly and more than a little robotically, his etiquette training going up in torn ribbons before his waking eyes. Kuriza killed the comm channel before she had a chance to reply. I’m such an idiot. Why can’t I be as calm and charismatic as Father? Life would be so much easier if I could just stop caring about what other people think.

The prince’s cheeks flushed in the nearly-dark space pod; his body hummed with heated expectations. What this meant–what was the proper way to have reacted to this unforeseen and unpracticed social situation?–he did not know. Manners failed him. Kuriza shuddered. The urgent force behind this raw, unquenchable feeling throbbing from one end of his head to the other was cleansing as truth. He was not overwhelmed–the same efflux of thought and feeling that was his shame utterly buried it when his mind focused, even fleeting, upon her.

Vegeta regretted not taking a scouter from one of the corpses. Asaio led them to a large city just a little north of the town. This settlement was loads more advanced than that miserable, muddy village, featuring taller buildings, metal complexes, a grid structure, and a much wider variety of forms and types, architecturally-speaking. There were thousands who called this place home. The city was located on the banks of a well-proportioned river on one side with wild jungle growth creeping in on the other two. An impressive stone-paved road stretched from the city out into the jungle, no doubt eventually leading to other Tech-Tech cities.

As they were flying over the river, the two began angling right to break off and split up above the metropolis’ southern gate, at which point they would search for a space-faring vessel that could take them to Jeiri. It was midday; the planet’s sun had reddened the skies, darkening the river’s surface color to almost sapphire.

The most spectacular skyscrapers were more than one hundred stories tall. Most buildings did not reach ten. He had been eyeing the tallest of the high-rise clusters when Asaio came to a jerked stop in front of him, his scouter beeping shrilly.

“Well, uh… that’s weird. Really weird,” he said, his voice rising. I’ve never heard him sound so uncertain. “Getting an unusual power reading. Let’s check it out? Could be that buggy-looking pirate…”

Vegeta shrugged. “Alright. If it is him, I call dibs on fighting him first.”

“We’ll fight him together if it comes to that,” Asaio responded firmly.

Descending to the ground, where a sloping hill led from the city’s edge to the rushing river, Vegeta and Asaio looked over the masses of Tech-Techs sunbathing, swimming, washing clothes, playing games in the pinkish seaweed grass that covered the hill. The two of them landing in the middle of this Tech-Tech swarm elicited little reaction. They’re used to aliens. This is an intergalactic market planet. It has to be. They must have ships stored somewhere. But where? Slavers wouldn’t be here if this place was completely backwater.

Young Tech-Techs were chasing each other, giggling in delight. Their happiness made him impatient. Vegeta grit his teeth. That was when he saw what Asaio had just seen: Past several groups of sunbathing Tech-Tech youths, a meager family was knee deep in the river, having a vigorous conversation about something very important and probably, as Zarbon liked to say, erotic, while splashing each other playfully. There was a man and a woman, and at least two Tech-Tech children. That wasn’t the strange part.

Tarble.

His heart froze. The man was holding little Tarble, a young boy not older than a year and a half to two years old. His hair was wild and black, big and bushy for such a shrimpy-looking baby. Vegeta could hear nothing but his breaths, which came shallow and fast. His skin was covered in goose bumps. He shivered violently and tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.

The Nyarin was frozen, a finger to his earpiece, scanning Tarble. Vegeta could see the power level in the reflection: 51. Shame burned his cheeks. Vegeta looked away, feeling the panic building inside him. He didn’t know what to do. He breathed in and out, Tech-Techs reveling in laughter and careless fun clawing at his ears. Don’t do it, Asaio.

The Nyarin vanished, teleporting in a flash over to the family. Vegeta followed instantly, watching the boy. What’s he doing? He hasn’t said anything to me… hasn’t even looked at me…

For a fraction of a second, Vegeta was face-to-face with a startled family of Tech-Tech aliens. They looked dumbly up at the boy hovering over the water. Tarble stared up at Vegeta too, his mouth agape, his eyes red and raw (but he wasn’t crying). He’s grown, the boy thought. He’s still so young. Hmph. Whatever. He won’t remember this. And his power level’s a disgrace, even if it is way higher than the native species’ average. He’s embarrassing! No brother of mine would be low-class trash.

The boy’s face twitched, recoiling at the thought. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind between heartbeats, and yet, the simple truth was that Vegeta was stunned to see his long-lost brother–his only sibling in the entire universe–as one of the three Saiyans to survive that stupid comet and Zarbon’s purge. It almost seemed too good to be true. His emotions wavered, but he didn’t want to give in. He couldn’t. Not yet.

It had been a long time since something had gone the prince’s way, so he was all the more skeptical. A warrior doesn’t get hung up on stupid thoughts! They just act… they win! I have to be decisive. I have to be able to do it now! Think! Panicked thoughts such as these, as well as numerous half-baked battle strategies, passed through Vegeta’s eyes like bursts of binary code, hot as lightning, briefer than even the good doctor himself.

The Saiyan’s ferocity was great and all, but Vegeta had no plan. There was nothing going on in the battleground of ideas that was his mind–an overwhelming, undefined emotional feeling welling up from the pit of his stomach that he knew was coming now because he wouldn’t let himself be moved. Not yet, he thought to himself. I have to deal with both of them first… Until the low-class crybaby’s out of harm’s way… Overload resulted in stagnation, so he tried not to think at all. It was useless–all these feelings taking hold of him in the blink of an eye, rising dramatically, falling in cruel heartbreak, and all disappeared again forevermore before taking another breath.

“Lord Zarbon, I’ve found–”

“No!!”

His foot connected with Asaio’s right ear, hitting him so hard, he went tumbling unconsciously into the river, leaving a messy, spire-forming splash to shoot up from the river as he shot to the bottom. The laughing stopped almost altogether; the Tech-Techs were standing around him, some speaking in hushed whispers, most just staring at him with blank, unrevealing looks. He didn’t like them. Were this planet not Tarble’s home, he would have already wiped out the natives and put it up for sale on the galactic market.

Tarble yawned. Vegeta’s eyes were blurring from the heat. He bit his lip, bending over to pick up the scouter he’d knocked off the Nyarin’s head. “Asaio…?! Asaio?! Are you there? What was that? Repeat, over!”

Vegeta brought the scouter to his ear, taking a deep breath. “Sorry about that, Lord Zarbon.”

“Vegeta?! What are you doing on this channel?”

He had a private channel with Zarbon. The righteous energy building in him was burning through every fiber of his being. Vegeta’s hands were shaking. “We’ve been attacked by space pirates, Lord Zarbon!” Vegeta shouted into the scouter, faking breathing hard, as if he were in hard combat. “They got Asaio…! Nailo and I are falling back… I’ll keep in–”

The Saiyan crushed the scouter in his glove, dropping the smoking device to the grass. The Tech-Techs were looking at him like he was absolutely insane. They’re just clueless space aliens. I don’t care what they think.

The man holding Tarble was staring at Vegeta too. Tarble was whining and reaching for something in the water, not looking up. Vegeta took another deep breath. He’s just a weakling. Swallowing, he kicked off, rushing at the river. The blue space rat had surfaced already on the far shore, stumbling through the mud, shaking blood from his ear.

So callously (some bitter trash people like Zarbon would say cheaply, but even Captain Ginyu knows there are no rules in war, and only someone who’s going to get what’s coming to them would try to gain an advantage with that kind of pathetic, petty rule-making) and unrestrained had Vegeta’s attack come that Asaio’s eyes had ruptured and gone red. Blood dripped down his cheeks like tears. Blood was slowly dripping from his nose along with dirty river water. His ear-wound was the worst one of the lot, and it alone had caused much of Asaio’s neck, upper back, chest, and shoulders to be stained purple.

“You were Zarbon’s lapdog the entire time,” Vegeta said quietly, landing in front of Asaio. Asaio jumped back awkwardly, almost falling over. He’s dazed. What a fool.

“W-we had orders…” He spit blood, trying to catch his breath. “I… I didn’t think you would react l-like… Vegeta… please…”

“What do you want from me?!” the Saiyan Prince screamed at him, his voice carrying across the water.

“You don’t… know why…” Asaio began slowly, sucking in a breath after every word.

He was never my friend, never my partner. He’s just as bad as Nailo. In one instant, everything had been lost. The Prince of All Saiyans felt nothing. He would not be a slave to his emotions. The sun was too bright, reflecting annoyingly off the river’s surface. He blinked quickly, pacing in front of the Nyarin. “You were going to give my brother to Zarbon. Don’t you know what he would have done to him?! I know you’re stupid, Asaio, but you’re not that dumb.”

Vegeta could no longer contain his emotion. He barely cared to try anymore. “We all have that order,” Asaio explained. “The scouter feed would have caught him, and then I would have had to had explained myself to Zarbon…”

The Prince shook his head furiously. “You could have destroyed the scouter!”

Asaio went to speak and caught himself. He paused, doubt coloring his face. “Vegeta…”

He didn’t have to think about it. It was not a question of weighing the good versus the bad. Vegeta was but a young boy–a willful, emotional, prideful boy, lionhearted prodigiously for his age. He leapt upon Asaio, battering him into the mud, punching the Nyarin until he no longer screamed. He tore off his gloves and cast them into the river.

Asaio struggled at first, blocking and punching back, his form impeccable, his strikes sharp, accurate, and carrying unexpected force. Vegeta caught the attacks he had once been unable to, anticipated the strikes he had once failed to in the presence of Lord Frieza.

The Saiyan felt no pain. When Asaio punched him, he was not stunned. If anything, the feline alien’s stinging swats made his anger more palpable, the energy inside him surging excitedly beyond his control. The boy screamed as he pinned Asaio in the mud, the Nyarin biting him on the arm, just under his armor at the same time. Vegeta slammed him against the ground a second time, breaking the Nyarin’s teeth, tearing his own undersuit in the process. Blood pooled around the wound; Vegeta headbutted Asaio before quick-jabbing the older boy’s head several dozen times to bring him to submission.

The Nyarin’s fur had been dirtied. The Prince of all Saiyans split his knuckles on Asaio’s face. He felt teeth come loose, felt fresh blood stick to his skin, felt a body convulsing against his fist. Still he punched, still he pressed on. Asaio begged at first, but the more Vegeta punched him, the less coherent he got, until all he could utter were gutteral moans and whimpers.

Only then, his face, hair, and neck sprayed with Asaio’s purple blood, did Vegeta look up, ferally shake his hair dry, and grip the Nyarin around the shoulders. As he began to scream, their bodies were wrapped in blankets of indigo energy. As soon as the energy touched the older boy’s skin, he shrieked horribly, his voice rising above his sister’s range and breaking; recoiling hard, fighting with everything he had left, Asaio put up a valiant effort. He’s no coward. But that doesn’t matter. He deserves to suffer. The five year old boy held onto Asiao’s shoulders tight, forcing him to endure it. Scream, Vegeta thought, his heartbeat giving rhythm to the numb echo chamber his mind had become. Scream like a girl.

He did. Asaio screamed all the way until the end. He fought against Vegeta until his last breath, but his strength had been taken from him. The prince’s surprise kick to the ear attack had done the trick. I told you I’d beat you, he thought passionately, feeling Asaio’s body dissolve away in between his grip. I’ll see you in hell, space rat.

A warm summer wind blew across the river, rustling the treetops. Vegeta looked out over the water. The crowd of Tech-Techs was still there. He could not make out Tarble from this distance. Zarbon will never find him now, Vegeta thought to himself,. I have to get back to the ship. I’ve won.

The warm feeling of purpose flooded his veins. The boy wiped blood from his lips and spit into the mud. He gazed up at the sky, thinking an old thought–a memory he hadn’t felt the need to return to in a long time.

You left us here. An image of his royal father came to Vegeta’s mind: the familiar harsh look, goatee, averting eyes, and elegant posture. His father had always spoken with conviction. Here we are, Vegeta thought, and again his eyes were watering. He was too tired to fight it this time. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go.

Several deep breaths calmed the prince. He grimaced, averting his focus from those thoughts that were shooting through his mind like energy bursts. The pain was building, but so long as he averted his eyes, it could not overwhelm him. He swallowed it whole–a monster engorging upon his own grief until nothing else remained.

He would not cry. A Super Saiyan never cries. Vegeta glanced once more at the far shore, thinking that he could tell that one of the little dots was black, not dull whitish-green like all the rest. But so what, even if that was true? I am a warrior. I am the Prince of all Saiyans. I will be the next Super Saiyan. I promised them all…

How easily shame returned to him in its many flavors and severities. Vegeta shook dried mud from his hair and dove into the river.

“If you aren’t gonna beg, I won’t waste anyone’s time.” Kiwano the Slaver leaned over his desk, peering down at the two-foot-tall banker. His pinkish face had flushed with deeper color than the elegant crimson robes he was wearing.

“M-my lord…”

“Sharlyk!”

“My lord!” Sharlyk cried out, performing a double front flip to close the distance between him and the banker. He kicked the banker once across the face, and the man’s skull fractured into a hundred pieces, brain matter splattering across the back of the wall.

Kiwano coughed deeply, sucking a long pipe of imported Ghulmi Ulmi spiced Nil that had once belonged to that corpse. “Is this not risky, my lord? If we provoke a second empire–”

Kiwano smiled broadly, scratching his neck around a recently stitched-up scar. “The Surgeon thought not.”

“What he does is experimental, my lord. Have you even had enough time to rest…?”

“No. But that’s what makes this fun. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair if I wasn’t a little ginger, hah!”

“My lord, it’s rumored that the Ginyu Force is part of the strike force being sent here. With all due respect, you have no chance of–”

“Everyone out!” Kiwano roared, jumping up and stomping his feet. “Not you,” he said coldly, pointing to Sharlyk. “You stay.”

The other guards escorted the remaining prisoners out of the hall. This place had once been an outpost of the Galactic Bank. Kiwano would burn it by nightfall. They had already emptied the vaults. The bankers had been taken unawares. They hadn’t even had guards posted anywhere on the planet. What fools. I wouldn’t have expected those greedy fuckers to be so lazy. If the Bank has always been gullible, how has it managed to survive more than four million years as the universe’s wealthiest intergalactic monetary lender?

It didn’t matter to Sharlyk. He was willing to chalk this one up to simple incompetence. Most fuck-ups could be, he thought. It was a safe bet.

“What if they break through, my lord? What then?”

“Then we enact your plan, Sharlyk.”

“We don’t have much time,” he pointed out. “I put the information out earlier today. Frieza will know soon enough, and he’ll send his men at us any day now.”

“Aye.” Kiwano bit into a juicy fruit that had been left on the banker’s desk, spitting out the seeds one by one in a disgusting display. “They’ll scan us before attacking. They’ll make sure we’re there. That’s why I have to be there too, Sharlyk.” He stood up, walking over the wall where a magnificent portrait of the dead banker was hanging crooked. Pulling it off, he gave the craftsmanship passing respect before tearing the painting in two and tossing it aside. “The Surgeon promises me a power level above 50,000. He recommended two weeks of rest. It’s already been half a week and–”

“What if he’s wrong? Have you measured your power level recently, sir?”

“Do it, then. I am stronger than anyone on the Ginyu Force,” he said defiantly, “except for the captain. But you and me together can take him out.”

Sharlyk clicked his red scouter’s scanner on. It read Kiwano’s power level in less than five seconds: 21,000.

“Not too bad, eh?” the man grunted. “Considerin’ the pain I’m in…”

“Sir, we don’t have two weeks before they attack… you asked me to bring Frieza’s men to Jeiri now…”

“Surgeon took longer than expected. He never recommended me more than five days recovery time before. Guess this time was more significant. Who the hell knows? He really went to work on my neck, Sharlyk…” the man said, scratching at his wound again.

“In that case, I request permission to activate the sonic emitters at the battle’s onset. Get yourself to a rejuvenation tank and hopefully you’ll approach 40,000 at worst.”

Kiwano gave him a foul look. “Get out of here, Sharlyk. You have an army to lead.”

“Are you coming, sir?”

“I have some prisoners to execute first,” he said sourly. “Frieza’ll blame this on space pirates, but the Galactic Bank won’t like it either way. They’ll never know it was us.” He flashed a devilish grin. “Oh, how I would love to have a ghost’s ear in on Frieza’s room when he learns about this, hah!”

Nil smoke rose in the cramped, stale room; neither one of them laughed.

Sharlyk bowed and left Kiwano to cough and suck. All of this for our freedom, he thought stoically, walking down the thinly-carved stone halls lit by torchlight. The rest had no doubt returned to their ships, save for the guards holding the prisoners. Sharlyk returned to his pod, lost in thoughts. At his landing pad outside, irregularly-shaped hail was pelting his space pod. The air was filled with a staggered, low rumbling. Maybe my plan is just crazy enough to work. And if it doesn’t, we’re all dead anyways, so what does it matter?

Sharlyk sighed, stepping into his pod, closing the door behind him. He wiped half-melted hail from his shoulder. I’m sure most of us wish we had never left in the first place. But now that we’ve had a taste of freedom, there is no way back. I will never be enchained to another man. My servitude is my own choice. They all believe the same. Kiwano more than most. He is the King of Freedom. Our cause is righteous. We cannot be beaten by Frieza’s fear-driven dogs. I won’t let it happen. I can’t. If there’s any justice in the universe, they’ll fall before me like the worms they are!. It is long past time that the Ginyu Force was formally disbanded.

He felt a smile creeping onto his face, and he struggled to contain it. As insane as it is, this will be our best chance… at least until Frieza decides he wants to show up.

Sharlyk had a plan for Frieza too, but that one was less defined, more hazy in his mind. It would require more than a little luck, too–more than a bottle of frozen ice wine. He would have to go The Surgeon for help too, something Sharlyk was not looking forward to. He didn’t much like that psychopathic son of space whore. It won’t take much to kill them all. They underestimate us. Using that misguided sense of safety, I will entrap them and destroy them all.

He had two hundred forty-five men. Most were no better or worse than an average soldier serving a life sentence on one of Frieza’s numerous slave outposts A few were slightly more elite, but none could rival Frieza’s most famous elites, such as Nailo and Appule. At full power, the space-badger could take on anyone, and he feared no one save for Frieza and Captain Ginyu. Sharlyk was confident he was stronger than everyone else. I won’t need to use Plan B, he thought. Not if I end all their miserable lives at the same time.