Disclaimer: All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.
Chapter Two
"Oshar, what in the name of ending have you brought upon us?"
Goten just managed to make sure that he was close by Trunks's side as they both fought to catch their breath. Stealing quick glances at his friend told him about all that he needed to know. It wasn't necessarily a common look on the half-Saiyan's face but Trunks was trying hard to conceal fear and realization. Goten wondered, though, whether it was just the weight of toppling that building that pushed in on Trunks or the thought of igniting a war. Does he regret bringing us here? Goten crushed the question and the implications it had that he was a victim of Trunks's choice. Finally, he dared to lift his head from his friend's face to the room at large. They were sitting at the foot of a stone staircase. Above, an opening into the streets glowed bright blue, singing with electricity but somehow not letting any of the ash through. The man who had dragged them down into this shelter stood tall enough to nearly touch the low-hanging stone ceiling with his head, while three others were crowded around him, looking askance at Goten and Trunks both.
"Don't forget," the man, Oshar, was saying to another whom Goten recognized as the Saiyan who tried to talk the Defense Force over to his side, "I was there. I saw it and I know what it looked like. This is not it. What this is though," Oshar turned his head back, looking at Trunks with some hunger. "Is this a Super Saiyan?" Trunks seemed to come back to life, pulled back from wherever his mind had been. He lifted his chin and smirked, looking mightily like his father. Goten wasn't inclined to wait for Trunks to speak but he also wasn't exactly kept waiting long. The other men seemed to focus on Trunks, but as he spoke Oshar turned instead and inspected Goten himself.
"That's right," Trunks confirmed, a prideful, boasting voice projecting into the room. Vegeta's voice, not Trunks's at all. "I'm a Super Saiyan. I'm not the only one either." Goten groaned. This sounded like he was trying to antagonize the people sneering at them both. He wiped ash and sweat from his face with the tattered remains of his gi, before tearing off a hunk of cloth that bore Master Roshi's mark and sliding it into his pants pocket. Still, while the others observed Trunks, Oshar watched him as if he was a cornered animal who might lash out. When Trunks said nothing, Oshar said nothing and the other Saiyans said nothing, Goten figured it was probably his turn. The gnawing pain of hunger brought his words out shakily.
"Look, we didn't mean to cause any trouble today. I wasn't paying attention to the guards and Trunks just lost his cool," so far these Saiyans had not all been clones of Vegeta, so perhaps there was plenty to reason with, after all. "We-"
"Cause any trouble?" Oshar replied, incredulously before bursting into laughter. Uncomfortable and vaguely irritated, Goten kept his eyes firmly focused on the man. "Fuck, where are you boys from? No one here cares about causing trouble for the Defense Force anymore. This war has been a long time coming." Goten looked at Trunks whose haughty defiance seemed deflated a bit and this time nodded to him to tell them.
"We're not from here," Trunks finally said, sounding a couple of years younger than he was in his insecurity. "We're half-Saiyan, raised off planet." That was a good way to put it. Goten didn't nod along supportively but did not speak up to offer any other response either. They were stuck on an alien planet, all alone. There was no Gohan, no father, no Vegeta, no one to show up to help them if they got in over their heads. "My name is-" Goten moved, jabbing his friend hard in the ribs, suddenly. He really doesn't understand what just happened here if he was about to introduce himself.
"We're not telling you who we are until we're sure we can trust you," Goten said, speaking over an indignant grumble from his friend.
"How serendipitous," Oshar said, running a hand pensively down the length of a long beard. "I was just thinking the same thing. Have a seat," the man gestured to a bench consisting of a piece of wood laid over a pair of stone blocks. Trunks did not immediately move toward the bench and Goten felt no more inclined. This was no friendly offer to sit down and take a load off, they were going to be held there. "Come on, boys, it doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's going to be a while before the air clears enough to go up to the street. There probably won't be any more of us stopping off here. We could all sit down and get to know one another."
"I think I know who this one is," the man from the square said, dawning recognition on his face as he stared pointedly at Trunks. "Hair and eyes are a bit off, but that's not impossible to do. Look at his face, his eyes nose, jaw, the shape of his eyes, Oshar. Look at how he sneers at us low-class trash. We've captured ourselves royalty here, we're in the presence of Prince Vegeta." Goten would have chuckled at any other moment, he couldn't keep the smirk from his face. "What's so funny, boy?"
"You haven't captured anything," Trunks yelled over Goten's attempt at a diplomatic reply. "Do you honestly think you can take us?" Despite the angry outburst, the smile that followed was firmly Trunks's, he looked happy at the thought of the challenge and Goten had to say he wouldn't mind it under any other circumstance. "Just try it! Four of you against a pair of Super Saiyans." Again Goten groaned but while the man who was just talking showed a sign of irritation, Oshar simply stroked his beard and chuckled.
"You know, boy," Oshar said, turning to Trunks, "You could bear to pay a little bit of attention to your friend. He's smart. He knows what not to say and why not to say it, don't you, kid?" Goten leveled his best poker face on the suddenly taciturn man whose face bore his age in lines and scars. "Alright, alright, we don't need any trouble. Iskar, calm down." This time, as he was turning to the other man, Goten saw the family resemblance. Brothers. "The first thing I did when I came back to myself was contact the Rustere resistance. You know what I found?" While speaking, Oshar moved to the other side of the small room, leaning against the wall and surveying absolutely all of them. Perhaps this was a sign of decreasing hostility.
"They were gone. I finally got a message from Qir. He was on his death bed, so it was a rather heroic effort to contact us. Their revolution ended years ago. Planet Vegeta has been gone, all of us have been gone for almost a generation of his species. About thirty-eight of their years." Iskar looked very disturbed which impressively did little to abate the anger in his eyes. "Prince Vegeta was off-world when this happened. Apparently, everything is a matter of record now. King Vegeta attempted, at the last, to show a bit of a spine and Frieza killed him personally before he destroyed our world. Prince Vegeta would be a man nearing middle age, this boy isn't him." Goten breathed a sigh of relief. "But here's the thing, boys," Oshar stood straight and approached them. "Iskar and I were raised alongside King Vegeta when he was a Tuffle whipping boy," Oshar pointed firmly at Trunks. "You are of his line and you look far too much like him to convince me otherwise."
Goten and Trunks shared a look in silence. Oshar was, whatever else, not one to be easily fooled. Even having showed a surprising amount of patience, he did not seem like the kind of person one wanted to try to fool. Wrapped around his waist, the man's tail was twitching, aggressively. Perhaps they were in a more dangerous position than either of them thought. "Alright," Goten said when Trunks finally gave a nod of agreement. "We can give you some answers." Oshar relaxed. A moment ago the man looked like a cat ready to pounce and suddenly they could be friends having a conversation over dinner. "My name is Son Goten. When my father was an infant, he had an accident after landing on our planet. He forgot the training the pod gave him and forgot who he was. After a lot of time, another Saiyan came to the planet looking for him, apparently his brother." Goten chose his words carefully. "I'm not going to tell you any of their names," he admitted when Oshar raised an eyebrow at his pause. "Eventually, Vegeta came to the planet. He and my father became, friends" Goten knew that was most likely true at its core, but they often had clashes.
"And my father is Vegeta," Trunks raised his chin again, eyes focused on Iskar. "But neither of us have anything to do with whatever your problem is with his dad and neither does Goten." The secret firmly out of the bag, Goten gave up any semblance of maintaining an air of mystery. The only upper hand they had now was that, physically, he believed they had the upper hand.
"And your fathers took your tails," Oshar muttered. "In other words, they chose lives of peace."
"Mostly," Goten admitted. "We're not really sure how it happened. No one will tell us, but this Frieza guy? We think they killed him."
"Your fathers chose to shield you from the hells of war? Perhaps Frieza taught Prince Vegeta a painful lesson."
"Or maybe they're just weak," Iskar interjected. "I bet I could handle the both of you right now, tailless half-breeds."
"That's enough," Oshar replied, dark eyes narrowing at his brother, whose deflation was immediate.
"It's alright, he reminds me a little of our friend Yamcha when he gets fired up," Trunks quipped, eliciting a smile from Goten.
"I don't know who this Yamcha is, but he sounds disappointing." Iskar's frustration seemed to be enough to seal the deal, Oshar returned to his position against the wall without attempting to seat them again. "You may be right. It is possible that even in closed quarters, with four of us, we could not handle you, if you are both, in fact, Super Saiyans but you're here and we're here and I don't think it's a coincidence."
"You're right," Trunks admitted, and then he looked toward Goten.
"Ah, you're learning to trust your friend's instincts, then, son of Vegeta." Goten ignored Oshar.
"Trunks used something very powerful to bring you all back." Then, before Goten knew it, he was hearing a little about what drove Trunks's odd behavior.
"We grew up hearing about the Saiyans, a great race of fighters, conquering the galaxy. My father's always talking about how strong they were, how weak the people on our planet are. He talked like I," Trunks choked, voice catching, "like we would never be as strong as we could be if we were pure Saiyans. I just..."
"You what, came to see these monsters of your father's stories? You're going to be disappointed, child." Iskar did not seem to like his brother's words, but Oshar spoke on. "Our people weren't the scourge of the galaxy traveling to far away planets to conquer and pillage, not really. We were slaves. That's all we've ever been, we break one shackle and another slips over our necks. We beat the Tuffles, and King Vegeta decides to become a tyrant, wipe them out, control the weak-minded and the scared. He commits genocide and used the poor and the hungry to do it. Then, before he's even done wiping the blood from his hands, in comes another tyrant who beats him into subservience and we're slaves to this deviant called Frieza." Oshar was no longer calm, his voice was tinged with passion, passion that was slowly slipping to rage. "Your father probably grew up listening to his father's propaganda as fact... and in turn passed it onto you both. You want to know what the Saiyan race is, go up there in a few hours and watch. We're not conquerors, we're slaves bouncing from one rebellion to another: Tuffles, Vegeta, Frieza, it doesn't matter. There's always a tyrant looking to use us." When Trunks didn't speak, Oshar roared.
"What? Do we disappoint you?" Trunks tensed beside Goten. A tense buzzing sounded from a forcefield stretched across the entrance to the shelter they were hiding in. Goten didn't bother to see if someone was at it.
"Sir," Goten's heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he stepped forward, as if to block Oshar's glare from his friend. "You realize that you've just told us both everything we were ever told by his dad was a lie? Do you think we shouldn't feel anything about that?"
"I don't give a damn what you feel," Oshar said, just as forcefully. "I care what you plan to do. What was your plan, boy?" He was looking past Goten to Trunks. "Show up, impress everyone, take your grandfather's throne and send us out to take over planets for you? Build an empire?"
"You shut your mouth! You don't know a thing about him." The implication that Trunks wanted to use them to take over other planets made him angry, the implication that Trunks was anything like Vegeta, or even the late king was offensive. The warmth of his rising ki as it poured into his skin and out into the air around him only added to the approaching rage. "You don't know what he's done, Trunks has helped our fathers save our planet. He's saved lives, he's saved my life. He wouldn't hurt anyone for no reason."
"And do you always speak for 'Trunks' when someone challenges him? Does he have no tongue?" Oshar was still looking past Goten. It made no sense. He was doing the same thing to Goten he had done to Trunks, refusing to look at him when he talked to him. "What say you, Prince Trunks? Is your tongue cut out?" It might have been enough to push Goten over under any other circumstances but he did stop and turn back toward Trunks, eyes asking the very same question. What are we doing here? Trunks, for his part, stayed quiet for several tense seconds, during which all they could hear was the steady hum of the forcefield above blocking the dust and debris.
"I wanted to come here and learn about the Saiyans and I... wanted..." Trunks looked away from Oshar and locked his eyes on Goten's. He felt his insides warm up again at the sight of genuine care on the prince's face. "I wanted to prove that it doesn't matter we're half-blooded."
"So you brought back what you thought was a race of blood-thirsty killers to prove your father wrong?" Oshar's terse question irked Goten.
"Yes," Trunks said, "Yes I did!"
"I have often wondered when my friend Vegeta forgot that kind of courage and chose to become a coward behind palace walls." This was not exactly what either Trunks or Goten were expecting. "It's good to know that it was still buried somewhere in his line." Oshar looked as if he was amused by the Earthlings and his two as of yet unnamed friends were relaxing finally. Iskar, hair peppered and not yet completely showing his age, seemed to not want to join them on that front. "Alright, 'Prince.' You stay out of the way of our fight and we stay out of your way. Better than that, we keep your secret."
Goten looked at Trunks, who seemed conflicted and then spoke while he thought.
"Is there anywhere safe we could go?"
"Safe?" Oshar shook his head, still smiling as if let in on some great joke. "Planet Vegeta may have been destroyed years ago but in a few hours it's going to explode. War, kids, have you ever really seen war?" Goten shook his head.
"We've seen worse." Oshar inclined his head as if in thought or mourning.
"I'll show you worse as soon as we can get out of here and then we'll part ways."
Though they were brought into the shelter under dubious circumstances, Trunks and Goten left it as free men. The force field across the entrance grew silent first and dark second and Trunks climbed to the top step alongside Oshar, Iskar and Goten following right behind. They emerged from a dirt, dark stone shelter below ground level into a city choked in what was far more ash than dust. Morning had come while they sat in their tense peace and with it came people cleaning up. Several were trying to use their ki to softly blast the dust into piles and away from their shops, houses. The city told Goten that Oshar was right: Vegeta was mistaken about the Saiyan race. "There may be a million rebels spread throughout Lure but right now there are just people trying to recover from last night. Look at them, boys." Goten did. Sure, most every member of the race that they met did seem to have a stronger connection to their ki than humans but there was no battle going. These people were not losing their minds in anger or rushing their enemies, perceived or otherwise. They were cleaning up.
Oshar and Iskar lead them through the city, out of the realm of ash and dust. Often eyes were drawn to them and sometimes Goten saw fear directed at Trunks. Usually, though, there was a respectful distance maintained that Goten did not quite understand. Probably Oshar. He seems to be in charge around here. Goten observed several children trailing them from a short way behind them and was reminded of the children of the village back on Earth, who had watched Trunks come and go and then come back to observe him. A slow, daring curiosity of strangers seemed to drive these Saiyan children to trail them through the streets of what he thought should usually be a very crowded massive city. "They're wondering why you don't have tails. Those children will have never seen a Tuffle, never seen a primate species without a tail."
"So they're all gone, these Tuffles?" Trunks's question seemed to catch Oshar off guard.
"Not completely," Oshar murmured in response. "I know two myself. Honestly, they can pass for one of us with very little effort: a false tail, a little manipulation of their energy. I like to pretend there are some grouped together somewhere, working to preserve their race. That feels like hopeful thinking most days. King Vegeta had the hungry and the desperate kill three billion people. There was a time in this city where you did not eat without turning in the head of a Tuffle." Goten wondered if that meant Oshar had gone along with it, too. "The people who had the courage to stand up for them were killed, starved to death or learned to steal. Fear is the most powerful tool a leader can levy against his people. The first generation of free Saiyans were angry, the second terrified and brainwashed and the third simply don't know any better. I lost 13 friends in a single raid on the royal food stores. Most of them were doing it for their children. We who fought the Tuffles to win our freedom remembered well what it was to starve. We knew how to tighten our belts."
"No one stopped him?"
"One man tried," Oshar said, quietly. "That's not true, lots of men tried but only one man surpassed the title of 'man' in his fight." The city began to grow more and more industrial as they walked, allowing them a lot more in the way of a straight path. It took only an hour of walking before the sheer weight of the past few days struck them. Goten had been, in silence, eating into his own reserves of ki to keep going. Uncharacteristically he had not even thought of how Trunks was still standing until he collapsed in the middle of the road. "What is it?"
"It's been days since we've eaten," Goten admitted. Trunks's eyes were closed when Goten pushed past Iskar to kneel beside him. He felt shaky just kneeling so he certainly understood how this might have happened to Trunks. The tech-mogul's son came to almost immediately and when he realized he was on the ground, his hand started to slide toward a bag tied to his belt. "We're going to be here a while, Trunks. It's better to save that." Goten knew what was inside the bag. However many were in there, there was no renewable crop of senzu beans in the vicinity. He leaned down and eased Trunks's arm over his shoulders. "We can keep going without it for a while," he murmured in his friend's ear.
"I think it's important you see what I'm going to show you," Oshar was saying as he glanced down at them. "Before we part ways, you need to understand the world you're a part of now." The elder brother looked at the younger while Goten and Trunks got back to their feet with an embarrassing amount of effort. "But maybe there is more than one side of the world you need to see and I know the place for it. I would ask if you could fly, but I don't imagine your bodies can handle much more effort." They paused for several seconds on the street, the gaggle of children following them getting closer than before as if finding more courage in their momentary collapse. After Trunks found himself capable of standing on his own, Goten turned to look at one of those kids. A small boy, close enough to be capable of touching Iskar on the leg, kept his eyes on Trunks as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Goten wondered if the story of the Super Saiyan was making its rounds across the city. If so, it wouldn't be long before the Defense Forces came looking for Trunks for blowing that building down.
"Hi there," Goten said, smiling as he crouched down to the boy's level. At his mother's insistence, Goten had once spent a summer helping at a martial arts school for children. Though his job had been mostly in the realm of being demonstrated on and correcting stances he had learned to deal with the kids a little better than the sensei of the dojo ever had. "What's your name?"
"Fiss," the boy responded in a quiet enough voice as he clutched at something that looked to be a bottle of water. If he were a human, Goten would have to assume he was only about six or seven and in his current state he was either homeless or maybe had joined his friends in a jaunt through the ashy center of the city.
"I'm Goten," he told the boy. He nearly reached out to shake the kid's hand before he realized the gesture might mean nothing to him. Instead he offered another grin and pushed to his feet, watching the child run from them back to his friends.
"Let's go," Oshar didn't seem to begrudge them the rest but he definitely had some sort of timetable in mind. Everything he said lead Goten to believe the city was going to be a battle ground. Goten only hoped they were out of the city by then. There were going to be people hurt, there was no doubt and he wasn't sure there was anything he and Trunks could do in the shape they were in. If a real war breaks out, is there anything we can do at all?
As time passed, the roads began to grow more and more crowded, as one might assume they normally were. No one really talked to them or looked at them for too long, but then none of them really spoke to each other, either. The four of them backtracked into the city, though, toward the part of it that was still very ashen. The occasional vehicle passed by, a very sleek hovercar. A small, worn down building they must have passed on their way out seemed to be their destination, because Oshar walked in without any hesitation. While the outside was inconspicuous (and hard to describe since it, like everything else, was covered in ash) the inside was dark and looked deceptively large. Down a set of stairs into a circular room, Oshar strode with confidence until a couple emerged from behind a long counter.
"I thought I might find you here," Oshar said, amicably. "Mind hosting a private party for a while?" The pair exchanged a quick and, Goten supposed, meaningful glance with each other before greeting Oshar.
"Well then, you were right. War or no war, there will always be copious amounts of food here, go ahead and sit down."
"Trunks, Goten," Oshar said, as Iskar returned from locking the door they just walked by. "This is the couple I was speaking about earlier. The Tuffle survivors." If they were worried about being outed, the couple didn't show it. The man, who walked as if his leg had been damaged once upon a time, simply nodded his head once, a kind smile on his face and then disappeared into the back. "Ewa, these are a pair of friends of ours from off-world. Half-Saiyans, come to learn about their Saiyan halves."That was oversimplifying it, but then, how did one tell the whole truth? "They're also very, very hungry. If ever a time has come to call in a favor, I believe this is it."
"Very well," the woman replied, her face softer than a moment before. She still seemed to exceptionally quiet as she went about her business filling several glasses with something thick and dark. Neither footsteps nor glasses being sat on the table made much noise, but when she placed a glass down in front of Goten, she spoke. "Come in any time and we will feed you as best as we can. Call it a debt repayment. I don't imagine you will learn much about your people that will be pleasant in the coming days, but they do have quite a taste for beasts great and small cooked in any number of ways." Trunks thanked her and was the first to take a long drink from the glass. The first cough was instant and sounded painful. It was also embarrassing to watch as the liquid spread across the table from between his pressed lips. Iskar's response was a disdaining click of the tongue but Oshar and the Tuffle woman, Ewa, laughed. Patting him on the shoulder, Goten turned and took a sip himself. It might have looked like it but it tasted nothing like soda.
It tasted like Vegeta's beer, only it burned. The burn was strangely welcome on his empty stomach and Goten drew deeply.
"He may have the blood, but I have to say boy, you have the fortitude," Trunks, momentarily red in the face, didn't say anything. Goten wasn't sure what to say to either brother, so he turned to Trunks.
"We have a year, here, Trunks." This was something he had been meaning to bring up with his friend for a long time. He would have preferred to have the discussion in private but this seemed to be as private as they were going to get. Ewa pulled up a chair to the table and brought a glass herself. Goten welcomed her company, if not as much as he welcomed the smells that were beginning to sneak out of the back.
"What do you- oh, yeah."
"One year, then they could wish us back home... unless Dende..." Goten shook his head.
"He wouldn't," Trunks said. "Well, unless our mothers got to him."
"Don't suppose you want to let us in on what you're talking about?" Oshar asked, his glass rapidly emptying. Goten, in answer, raised his own and drained it to match. It was a silly sense of pride that motivated the action. Oshar had been entirely forthcoming with them but, despite the fact that Vegeta's take on his race (it's ours too, at least in part) had been clearly exaggerated if not out-and-out wrong, Goten felt some disturbance at the idea of giving away anything about their home planet. "Very well, then. Listen, boys. Once Iskar and I leave you, my advice is to leave this city. I don't know where you should go, I don't know where you could go to be safe but one thing is for sure: this city will be bloody. This city will be the battleground. The Defense Forces will level it, they don't care as long as the palace remains defended."
"Why does that matter, if my grandfather is dead?" Goten didn't have the energy to sigh. There were many things to appreciate about Trunks, normally his straightforwardness might be one of them but since arriving in the city of Lure, Trunks had not been thinking straight. "Why does the palace matter?"
"Tarble," Goten replied, quietly. "Your father and uncle are both still alive as far as they know, off-world but alive."
"Correct, Vegeta and Tarble were both off-world when King Vegeta died. If they knew about you, you'd be one more reason. Vegeta and Tarble are theoretical heirs, you are an actual heir whole and living and in the capital city." Trunks grew quiet and took his second attempt at the liquid in his glass.
The relative peace of the (enormous) meal that followed was a stark and dark contrast to the days to come. Goten and Trunks didn't ask what the meat they were being fed was from and Ewa and her husband Pitra did not offer an answer. By the time they followed Oshar out of the restaurant, tracking more prints through ash and dust, Goten and Trunks were heady from the beer, full from enough food to feed a small village for several days and felt as if they could take on an army.
That damnable Saiyan pride.
