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"Quetta! Jocser! Help me get him out of this suit and sitting up now. He's suffocating and needs fluid drained from his lungs. His resistance is down. He can't hurt you."
She couldn't believe her eyes. He had aged visibly, but he still appeared so…young. His facial expression was stony and serious. That had not changed. Yet he looked as peaceful as a man like him could ever be.
After carefully lifting the stranger's eyelids, Jocser said, "His pupils are dilated, Shana." Quetta reached to check his pulse. Eerily, across his chest and shoulders, the debilitated man's top skin layer appeared semi-transparent, exposing snake-like tributaries of blood vessels and veins.
"Be careful," Shana warned, observing powdery purple residue on his neck and face. "The poison dried quickly, which means it's mostly neutralized, but use this cloth to touch him there anyway."
She punctured his back with a needle, drawing fluid out. Worrying about an infection would come later. "You bastard," she whispered in her language. "You're not dying on me today. Not after all these years."
Quetta and Jocser stared at her curiously. Neither had seen her curse at anyone before. Oblivious to their concern, she spoke to the stranger telepathically, in his native tongue. Mortals across the universe could communicate outside of their own languages – a gift provided by higher powers. Shana wanted to keep him alert enough until they could stabilize him for transport.
"Can you hear me, Vegeta?"
"Yes," he replied in Saiyan dialect. He understood.
By the gods. Relieved, Shana inhaled. His vengeance outlived them all. Seeing Vegeta lay waste to his opponents would have been a fine gift, but now wasn't the time to dawdle in bloodlust fantasies - though her former lover might have been amused. Vegeta's definition of "lover" diverged from when they first met, but time apart may have changed that.
Jocser's kind voice interrupted her reverie. "Who is this person? He is fortunate to have you here."
Frowning, Shana felt Vegeta's forehead and clutched his hand gently. "He is… a man who lives for challenges. Let's go quickly. It might take more time to lower his fever."
XxxxOOOxxxX
Shana and Vegeta had sex secretly each time he visited her planet, when Frieza's Planetary Trade Organization was at its height of colonial dominance in Universe Seven. As a longtime soldier, Vegeta's violent, choleric reputation preceded him. Others may have been physically stronger, but he wielded his Saiyan fighting talent and smarts like a gifted surgeon.
Worlds had been subdued, sold to other powerful planets, or just became Frieza's extended, lifelong playgrounds. Inhabitants, if they weren't slaughtered wholesale "for useful and necessary purposes," adjusted to his authoritarian leadership. When called to serve in the military, one did. "If you can't beat him, join him," many thought. Basic trade and education continued. Many mortals lived tolerable lives and were permitted self-governance on their planets, and even spiritual worship - until they couldn't, like the Saiyans, whose strength, growing population, and agitation threatened the status quo.
Shana was no fool. Vegeta's warrior race had its own galactic folklore. Indeed, they were fearsome and exceedingly powerful. How did a handful manage to survive, including their king's then seven-year-old son, when everyone else died in an explosion? Frieza likely devised a genocide, Shana thought, which Vegeta probably suspected. Broaching the subject with him would've been madness, though, so she didn't.
Over time, she asked Vegeta to teach his language to her – not much, but just enough. His enigmatic, penetrating stares were distracting, but he never refused her requests. He was an efficient instructor. She was a quick learner. He even left a recording of words and phrases. Shana figured he opened that small part of himself because he faced belittlement constantly, despite his intelligence.
One day Vegeta had been furious after Dodoria, a burly, pink-skinned alien general and one of Frieza's right-hand men, hurled a vulgar insult about his heritage. Vegeta's face froze while others snickered. Silence kept him physically safe - mentally, not so much - but the risk of fighting outweighed the benefit. Plus, he had a long, merciless memory.
Despite his brutality, Dodoria was known for being good to troops. He also considered himself a thorough, understanding trainer during the orphaned prince's childhood. Thus, he doubly resented Vegeta's haughtiness and disdain. Yes, the prince had suffered pain and humiliation as a child, and his people were exploited. Others had too. Sink or swim. Saiyans weren't renowned for excessive sentiment anyway. Vegeta's father knew his son would be a talented "swimmer" from infancy, and the prince had made it this far. That should have been enough validation, Dodoria believed.
Shana later found an excuse to enter the Saiyans' austere living space, derisively called "the monkey's cage," to leave something for Vegeta. She mainly worked with plants and flowers but also had outside duties when top army officers visited. The Saiyans weren't elite level, but they had some privileges.
Vegeta made a stink after they arrived. He did not raise his voice, though. With an icy glare, he twisted Shana's arm and said, "Improve your spying skills." Then he pushed her out. His companions stared coldly, as if they were waiting to make her disappear forever.
Vegeta cornered Shana later that night as she walked home, which she expected. She waved her hand to create a protective sound barrier as they moved within a willow tree thicket. Spiraling leaves swayed around them. They didn't speak until arriving at a clearing in the middle.
"What you did today was stupid and selfish," Vegeta snapped. "I thought you were smarter."
"You're calling me selfish, Vegeta?"
"OK. Let's settle on stupid. I'm not above killing you without remorse to save myself first. Never forget that. Whatever you were doing wasn't that important."
"So I should also be ready to kill you without remorse then," Shana replied flatly. "Got it, commander."
"I would prefer it."
Vegeta observed her before they kissed passionately. One hand covered her mouth while he tore her undergarments. His dick's entry inside of her was hard and unyielding – and different. Shana moaned as he laid her flat on the grass and continued until she was covered in sweat. He grunted softly as his thrusting accelerated. Carnal pleasure overtook all senses until Shana's mind fogged during orgasm.
Afterward, hoping to break Vegeta's detachment, Shana moved down to fellate him. Eyes emotionless, he turned away, shaking his head.
"We're done," he said, speaking in Saiyan. "You know what I am. The safest place for you is here."
Against her better judgement, Shana lifted her chin confidently and asked, "Will you come back?"
Vegeta cocked his head. "Why would I do that? You don't mean that much to me. No one ever will."
Ignoring his scoffing, she replied, "He… will not rule forever, Vegeta. His family won't either."
"No, they won't," the prince said darkly. "That time may be sooner than many believe." He flew away before Shana could say anything else. She had become another distraction.
XxxxOOOxxxX
Vines sprouted from every direction imaginable, so much that the sky above the forest blackened. Vegeta had not feared the onslaught, but the twining tendrils' attempt to subdue him was exceedingly aggressive. However, he knew these attackers weren't sentient and capable of reasoning. Many planets had touch-sensitive plant species. He just had the misfortune of triggering a particularly difficult one. He didn't increase his power level, though. Fighting in his base form should be sufficient to overcome the problem, he thought. Restraint was necessary to avoid wholesale disruption of the ecosystem.
His wife Bulma had designed a sleek, enhanced battle suit - a godsend, unsurprisingly. He snaked through bluish-green corkscrews like a professional navigator but the hostile vegetation was relentless, delaying important business. Enough of this, his inner critic scolded. He smirked. That's what you get for testing this overgrown house plant's strength - but this is just who you are.
His gloved hands formed circular, saw-edged light beams. Torrid, searing teeth lacerated the vines, which fell in large flopping splinters. Frustrated and shaking his head, the prince soared above the mess. Fortunately, his optical camera implant recorded everything. Bulma's technicians also equipped his suit with nanotechnology for biochemical testing, logging all organic compounds he encountered.
Vegeta had hoped the outcome would satisfy those who sought his and Bulma's help. He visited the gorgeous planet, Aurora, while serving in Frieza's intergalactic army. His former commander and wicked chief officers once considered the place more of vacation home than an operations base.
Why am I so sweaty? He wiped his forehead and looked around. Atmospheric temperature barely topped seventy degrees. His vision blurred with cloudy halos and zig zag lines. Then he had trouble breathing. Those vines aren't native to this planet. I remember now. Shit. How did they get here?
XxxxOOOxxxX
Frieza had been fickle allowing access to Aurora's amenities to Vegeta and his Saiyan attendants, Nappa and Raditz. Rather, he preferred seeing them envious. Vegeta appeared not to care. By then he knew "Lord Frieza" had likely murdered his father, after successfully orchestrating the prince's "perfect" abduction. A lifetime of servitude, fear, rage, power, bullying, and torture soiled his soul, but he wouldn't forsake his Saiyan legacy. He had to believe, proudly and defiantly.
Aurora's humanoids, the Celini, were fine caretakers despite their so-called "visitors" snootiness. The people understood their planet's value and did everything possible to preserve it. Frieza, as despotic as he was, genuinely liked their home and preferred it pristine, like his beloved red wine.
Vegeta also had been one of Frieza's favored pirates, more or less, but the boss couldn't risk liberating his "pet" from beneath his ruthless thumb. Vegeta raw talent and strength, though extraordinary, had not been fully realized. Frieza practically salivated over sculpting the prince's mind for total submission. With a suspicious eye, he would ensure that the restless boy entered adulthood emotionally deadened.
Vegeta's raging hands, and unadulterated brutality once had generated ample fear and suffering across the galaxy. Entire mythologies emerged, in fact, but Frieza's real, deplorable acts overshadowed them –and always would. "Remorse has no place among the powerful," he often said.
Vegeta learned otherwise. Innate power from the best within him had become nearly unstoppable, beyond his wildest dreams. More, he married a remarkable woman who believed the best had been there all along, and their two children were destined to surpass him, both in character and strength. One day he would die smiling with pride, knowing that a proper, honorable inheritance was left for them.
That's all he wanted now.
Damn it. I should have listened to my wife. His eye camera shut down, indicating reduced brain function. A poor defense method, he thought through increasing drowsiness. Animalistic noises assaulted his hearing, confusing his direction. His mind couldn't regulate the sound vibrations anymore. Fortunately, Bulma equipped his suit to regulate body temperature, lowering his sweating and emerging fever.
Thank the universe for that – for her.
XxxxOOOxxxX
Good stories eventually spread about Vegeta over decades. He had been a fierce protector of worlds, a stellar warrior, and a loyal friend to several, becoming a giant among mortals. Others received word that he and another powerful Saiyan, Son Goku, bravely fought more than once to save the universe.
Wherever forgiveness could be offered for the prince's misdeeds, someone mustered the will to extend it. No society among the living was exempt from evil's trappings or soul-crushing anguish.
None.
Vegeta simply had been grateful. People gave what they could. As an older man, he didn't ponder his destiny as much anymore. Others did the work for him, apparently. A few loose-lipped, lower-level deities among the divine kais likely planted favorable stories with some mortals to nurture intergalactic stability, while avoiding broader disruption of the universe overall. They couldn't interfere too much.
Universe Seven's deities knew what they knew, recognizing the gift they had in the prince of all Saiyans. Evildoing always would be among them, and the kais had witnessed their own fall short of grace too.
Vegeta's flying weaved erratically. His baseline strength was intact, but the plant toxin was potent. He suspected that ascending to Super Saiyan power levels might worsen his condition. Symptoms: rapid heart rate, breathing difficulty, drooping eyelids, agitation, and irregular sensations in more limbs than preferable.
The poison was attacking his central nervous system.
Vegeta sighed. I'm in shock. Well, what comes next? Searing pain or do I pee and shit all over myself?
He had to find humor somewhere. Facing death numerous times did that to a person. His arms, legs and chest were on slow burn. He closed his eyes, wondering if unconsciousness would take him out first before the nerve pain exploded.
Having an exceptionally high tolerance for physical agony and exhaustion usually bolstered his confidence, but now his body neared the limits of his pain threshold. The speed alarmed him most.
He tried ignoring negative thoughts: He had traveled alone, with his team scattered elsewhere. He didn't send a distress call when the vines attacked or power-up suitably for a protective barrier. But he was no weakling. He believed steadfastly that years of body conditioning would keep him alive.
He shook his head. What does Bulma say? Hope and faith? Yes. She always does. Must slow down. His hearing device opened contact with an off-planet spaceship.
"It's Darren, sir. Your vital signs are off, according to the on-site ship. Is everything OK?"
Vegeta coughed heavily and said, "Stop asking questions you… you already know the answer to, kid."
Though nervous, the prince's toughness and wit inspired the young responder. "Your away team is coming, sir. I suggest remaining quiet. Land where you are."
"I know what to do," Vegeta said calmly. "Use the images I… I… I transferred to review the vegetation. This is... a big planet, so tell the team to haul ass and...and be careful. Also, tell my wife… that I love her."
Darren swallowed and looked up. "I would prefer you telling Dr. Brief in person."
With that, Vegeta's eyes rolled backward as his body dropped from midair. Worried gasps filled the ship's control room when everyone heard the crash.
Darren stood. "Can you hear me? Vegeta? Talk to me, please."
Looking grim, a few lieutenants dressed quickly to join the team on Aurora. Within three hours everyone on the ship learned that Vegeta's body had vanished. His ki was untraceable before he hit ground.
There would be no divine intervention this time.
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