Vegeta and his battered and bruised charge briskly walked out of their training ground, navigating swiftly through the narrow confines of Frieza's ship back to the tyrant's audience chamber. Having completed this task the two saiyans approached their overlord, and for a brief moment stood face-to-face with the tyrant before lowering themselves down into a kneeling position, head tucked down towards the ground.
"Good day, gentleman," welcomed Frieza, bringing out his most toxic levels of false-friendliness to the table. "I do hope you both forgive me for my conduct the last time we met. Disobedience does need to be corrected, does it not? Thankfully, I know both of you won't harbor any…ill will. Will you not?"
"No," tersely answered Vegeta, trying his best to at least appear to be cordial. Vehemence and insolence were things that Frieza didn't tolerate well, which was extremely ironic because the tyrant dished out such feelings towards others constantly.
Speaking of the tyrant, the deviant was reading the faces of each of his favorite monkeys. What really caught the despot's eyes were the light bruises that covered the brat's face; marks that Frieza knew he didn't make. "Oh I see you've been…breaking in your new partner Vegeta. Do tell me young lad—what do you think of your new line of work?"
Shyly moving his head even closer to the ground, the boy muttered some unknown phrase before quieting down completely, amusing the arcosian to no end in the process.
"Still shy, I see," responded Frieza, watching the child squirm and wiggle wearily with great amusement. "Perfectly reasonable my young lad, but I do hope you revise your opinion over time. I'm confident that you will find me to be very affable when you come to know me better."
"Can we please get on with this?" interjected Vegeta, losing patience with the inanity of his overseer's mind games.
Swinging his eyes from Gohan to Vegeta, the tyrant gasped obnoxiously. "Such enthusiasm! You really are ready to go, aren't yah?"
"Yes, Lord Frieza," muttered the prince, lowering his head closer to the ground like the boy. `I walked right into that, damn it!'
"Splendid," quipped the arcosian, before getting back to the manner at hand. "Due to the negligence of one of my planet brokers, who has been disposed of in the meantime, one extremely valuable planet has been left under the table. Now I've got to snatch up this extremely powerful planet without being able to put my best man on the job; so I hope you understand why I'm so miffed today. Consider this my olive branch for how I treated you last time we met. Do you accept?"
"We do," answered Vegeta, his blood-lust laced smirk on full display. It had been a long time since he had been this excited about one of Frieza's petty purges. He had a feeling that he would be getting significantly stronger by the end of this mission.
"The planet you will be purging is called Zoon," declared Frieza, probing into Vegeta's eager expression scathingly. "Average power level: approximately fifteen-thousand. No known space fleet or intergalactic modes of travel as a species. You have a month to complete your assignment; no zoonian shall be left alive once your purge has been completed," reported Frieza, who seemed to be almost bored reciting information that could be said in almost any dossier in the universe.
Before Vegeta and Gohan could leave the room and head for the hanger bay, Frieza intercepted them with one last comment. "Oh, I almost forgot," mentioned the arcosian. "I'm almost positive that Cooler will have heard about this planet as well. He's probably sent somebody powerful to inspect and conquer the planet. Be ready to murder his expeditionary force; he won't be getting his grubby little hands on land in my territory. Failure to stop Cooler will result in death, if not by his men then by me. Do you understand?"
"Crystal," replied the prince, understanding Frieza's command explicitly.
"Very well then," proclaimed the tyrant, gesturing them to his private arsenal bay. "Take what you need. I want you off my ship in less than two hours; pods are already waiting for you in hanger bay number ten. Farewell."
Without any further ado, Frieza left his two favorite simians to rummage through the finest of his weaponry and protective gear. Intrinsically knowing what he wanted, Vegeta subconsciously moved right to the where the armor was located and began to hunt for a royal blue bodysuit without those bothersome shoulder guards.
Quickly finding his preferred outfit amongst all the other sets of armor, the prince threw on the bodysuit over his training gi. After having did that, the haughty warrior threw strapped on a matching chest guard to his…chest.
Meanwhile, Gohan was in the "weapons" section of Frieza's private armory. The young boy was enamored by the fascinating array of tools and gadgets that his overlord had at his beck and call. Did he want to take the ki sword? Did he want to take the ki gun. Regardless, he should get Vegeta's approval before he did anything.
"Hey Vegeta, should I take any of these thing?" asked Gohan, pointing towards the weapons rack.
Vegeta scowled at Gohan, partially wanting the boy to shut up and leave him at peace but also wanting to berate him for such a disgraceful request. He chose the latter of the two options. "A true saiyan doesn't need any gadgets or gismos to win in battle, kid."
"So I should just use my hands and fist instead?" inquired Gohan, trying to figure out whether he should obey or disobey his comrade.
"If you were anything but cannon fodder, then I would forbid you from carrying weapons. But as you stand now, just take something. Without some kind of pathetic advantage, you won't last less than two seconds and I haven't gone to this much trouble for nothing brat." With that, Vegeta turned his back towards the boy, entertaining no more questions from his charge.
Getting nowhere with his superior officer, the boy randomly selected one ki sword and one ki sniper rifle from the weapons rack. After holstering both weapons to his waist, the boy suddenly grabbed something that was flung towards him. Once the suspicious object was in his hands, the boy noticed that the aforementioned object was another bodysuit with a corresponding chest guard.
"Brat, here's your new set of armor. Put it on—we don't have all day for your lollygagging," barked the saiyan prince, his tone leaving no room for argument or protest.
"Okay," mumbled the young boy, slipping the form-fitting synthetic garb over his head while pushing his arms through its sleeves.
"Then get moving," pressed Vegeta, who was already agitated by all these little intermittent delays. If he wasn't allowed to kill something soon he'd probably lose it.
Unwilling to wait around any longer, the haughty prince sauntered away from the armory, letting his charge run to catch up with him. Soon enough, the aforementioned brat scampered towards him, almost hiding behind his toned calf as he walked out of Frieza's privates quarters.
Vegeta knew that Frieza was a very crafty little crustacean. Throughout the years, the prince became perceptive of his overlord's continual ruses. As Raditz once said, "When Frieza says there's good news—assume one of three things: lies, damn lies and faulty statistics." Granted, Raditz was hardly any scholar—the guy was barely smarter than Nappa, and that wasn't saying very much. But he may've had a good point in that respect.
This Planet Zoon affair reeked of faulty statistics. An average power level of ten-thousand? What kind of horse-shit was Frieza trying to feed them? Planet Zoon was nowhere near that weak. Only the most weak and decrepit zoonians had such pitiful fighting potentials. In fact, most zoonian warriors had power levels that were in the hundreds of thousands, and this wasn't even giving a side note to their fearsome king. Legend had it that he was as powerful as Frieza.
So what was Frieza's game this time? Only an idiot would think that he and his sniveling brat of a partner could take down Planet Zoon, and Frieza was certainly no idiot.
None of this made any sense, but the circumstantial evidence was irrefutable. By signing their names off on this mission, their overlord was effectively signing their death warrants. Without the power of the great oozaru—which was a power his favorite arcosian had the courtesy to deprive him of by ripping his tail out of his hind end—he didn't stand a chance.
"There's something rotten on Vegetasei about this, brat. Best keep sharp," alerted Vegeta almost too himself, startling his faithful pupil in the process.
"Hey Vegeta, what's Vegetasei?" asked Gohan, never having ever heard of the place before. It sounded important by the emphasis his prince subconsciously placed on the aforesaid word.
`Oh god help me,' groaned Vegeta internally, having half the mind to punt the kid through the hall like a football. Couldn't that kid ever shut up? Even for a few seconds?
"Nevermind," snapped the older saiyan, scowling fiercely into Gohan's peripheral vision while not breaking stride at the same time. He would not be entertaining any more discourse on his home planet now or ever again.
Both parties agreed to keep the peace until they reached the hangar #10—or the hangar of death according to the grunts whom were stationed there. Only the roughest and most powerful elites in Frieza's army were privileged to even grace these doors. In fact, there were only five soldiers who used the hangar of death consistently: Ginyu, Burter, Jeice, Recomme and Guldo. Why? Is that necessary to answer?
"Is everything prepared for takeoff?" barked out Vegeta rudely, glaring from one distracted, flustered lackey to another. One more delay and he would blow somebodies head clean off.
"Yes, my lord," answered one of these lackeys, who scurried to the closest control desk and started to rattle off a consecutive string of computations and consent forms. "Just one moment monsieur."
"Fine," grumbled Vegeta, pacing towards his pod and sitting down on the tarmac his vessel was resting on. Suddenly, a beeping sound emanated from behind him, causing him to leap back and attempt to lash out at his adversary. Upon discovering it was just his ship, the prince let down his guard.
"Sorry about that," clarified the grunt, who was still typing command into his computer incessantly. "Should warned yah about that."
"You should of," admitted Vegeta, looking crossly at the bumbling buffoon of a lackey. "But I don't have the time to deal with your incompetence right now."
With his insult quota met for the day, the prince climbed into the cramped confines of his padded pod. Once the door was locked, he tried to relax as the distinct and familiar voice of the pod's computer beeped into life.
"Coordinates set for takeoff: prepare to leave the atmosphere," responded the machine, unaware of the fact that each discourse on leaving a planet was slightly different than the last.
`Whatever,' mused Vegeta, absentmindedly looking over the physical coordinates that were sent to his screen.
`Wait what is this?' muttered the saiyan within his own mind. `This isn't the code for Zoon. I've got to—'
Suddenly, a white bang went off in his pod, disorienting the older saiyan terribly. To make matter worse, as he was being distracted, some clear liquid was sprayed into his mouth, eyes and nose that instantly knocked the prince out cold. He would never get the chance to phone in for help.
And that was the way the people who orchestrated the ruse wanted this to go down.
Back on Frieza's warship, Malaka was furiously scribbling down commands into his computer's terminal. Everything went according to plan, but the scheming doctor still had to cover his tracks. One wrong move and he'd be executed without his non-existent right of habeas corpus.
Checking to see if they're was anybody around that could overhear him, the dinosaur slowly flicked on the transceiver part of his scouter. "Is this line secure?"
"Of course it is," responded the mysterious voice on the other end. "I wouldn't be talking to you if I had even the inclination that we were being eavesdropped on!"
"I see," muttered the doctor, continuing his incessant typing on his end. "Any chance of Frieza catching wind of our ruse?"
"Hardly," scoffed the other person. "Frieza's too prideful and arrogant to bother verifying the Planet Zoon situation. He's going to be as blind as a baby. Anyways, did you sabotage the coordinates for the Zoon mission?"
"Yes," reported the dinosaur. "When are you going to arrange my extradition? I'm not comfortable staying under Frieza's nose continuing my treasonous activities."
"Soon, very soon," assuaged the voice, trying to smooth the legitimate worries of his subordinate. "Any complications I should know about?"
"Vegeta figured out that he had been duped," replied Malaka in a serious tone. "I hope that isn't a serious issue?"
"Not at all," affirmed the other speaker. "I kinda expected Vegeta to figure out what we're doing, but he'll be too late to do anything about my plans. Good work, Malaka; I'll make sure your put in no more danger. Goodbye." With that, both conspirators ceased their conversation.
"My lord, your guest is waking up," yelled Rasin, saluting his leader with his right hand. "Permission to bring him in sir?"
"Given," replied Turles anxiously, while messing with his hands to mask his state of visible excitement. "Be back on the double."
"Yes, sir," answered the meddling warrior, running back to the hangar bay to retrieve the other saiyan.
Turles had been almost stunned into silence when the news of Raditz being captured was brought to his attentions. For all intents and purposes, he and his Crusher Corps were only on this planet to test something important. Just recently, he had been able to track down one of the few remaining seeds that remained from the Tree of Might—a legendary bio-organism that was said to be created by the gods themselves.
Quite frankly, how he was able to procure this seed was nothing short of a miracle. After weaving through at least two asteroid belts getting to where this treasure was kept, he and his Crusher Corps were forced to evade ten patrols of demonic warriors that were at least double their strength. Fortunately though, their stealthy efforts were successful and they were able to escape with the seed undetected.
Since then, Turles had used the tree's extract to revive Lakusei and Rasin while consuming the fruit that the tree reaped to feed himself and his lackeys. In all reality, there was only one explicit purpose for their existence on Argos: to plant another Tree of Might.
When Raditz was brought aboard his docked ship, Turles couldn't express his shock. The presence of this second saiyan changed every single one of his plans—and in a good way. With the Tree of Might by his side, along with a competent sidekick, who knows what they could do? Take over the universe? Sure. Resurrect the glory of the saiyan race? Certainly.
Suddenly, a voice chimed through Turles's thoughts, abruptly ending Turles's internal monologue. Whoever this voice belonged too; it was smart enough to halt its speech until his master's attention was refocused.
Once Turles attention had been focused, Lakasei—the name the voice belonged too—continued speaking. "Sir, we've found Raditz. May we bring him in?"
"Yes you may," affirmed the space pirate, who nonchalantly dismissed his lackey to bring in their prisoner.
Lakusei did as he was told and brought Raditz into the room with his brother Rasin there as well for an added bit of security. Not like the two of them were actually needed if Raditz became hostile.
Peering into his fellow saiyan eyes, Turles could immediately deduce that Raditz hadn't been having a good day, week or month. It seemed that there was a large black cloud hanging over his head judging by the dreariness of his countenance and the haggardly way he composed himself.
"Kakarot?" mumbled the long-haired saiyan, gazing straight at the other lower-class saiyan absentmindedly. The poor fool couldn't even see the forest from the trees.
"I'm not your baby brother, Raditz," stated Turles, who was still observing how his fellow saiyan was waking up after having been ambushed by two of his most trusted lieutenants. "I'm Turles, remember. Another lower-class warrior that was sent off planet before Planet Vegetasei blew up."
For whatever reason, the pale saiyan's suave tone was able to jolt Raditz out of his delirium and back into the reality that he lived in. What were once blurry images became sharply defined pictures and at once Turles's hidden identity became clear.
"So brother?" inquired Turles, lifting his hand into the air and waiving it across the entire room as if he was holding the entire world in his hands. "What do you think of what I've done? Impressive isn't it?"
"How'd you survive?" asked Raditz, gawking inattentively at his surroundings without wonder or any form of belittling condescension. "Didn't you die on that mission?"
"Frieza would think I did, that scoundrel," muttered the rogue, glaring angrily into outer space in the general direction of where Frieza's star cruiser was. "He knew that sending me to that planet with just twelve other men would be a suicide detail. And he was right, except for one little detail: I didn't die. That's going to be a mistake he won't live to regret!"
"You intend to kill Frieza," scoffed Raditz, turning his attention morosely towards his fellow saiyan. "None of us have the power to kill that demon. You'd be wasting your life foolishly by doing that. Survive, survive while you still have the chance to live."
Turles snort contemptuously at Raditz's self-depreciating drivel; just what kind of crap had the Cold Family been feeding him all these years. "Tell me," Turles began, drilling the other saiyan menacingly. "When did Frieza make you so spineless and weak? Where's your pride and honor, my brother? What kind of self-respecting saiyan speaks like that?"
"You don't understand!" growled Raditz, feeling anger radiate out from within himself. Why did he have to be so weak and pathetic when it mattered most? "He'll laugh as he kills you and soils your dreams. Direct confrontation is impossible; not until Vegeta becomes a super saiyan."
"Vegeta," sneered Turles in an amused fashion. "That little brat doesn't understand true power or leadership. As long as you follow him, you'll be destined for a life of bitter resentment and hellacious servitude either under Frieza's foot or his own if you continue to believe this inane notion."
"So I mutiny then," scowled the long-haired saiyan, his left hand pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I join up with you and go after Frieza on a suicide detail. With all due respect, I don't think you know who you're dealing with."
"Come with me, Raditz," sternly advised Turles, his tone giving his pseudo-ally no room for argument or protest. "There's something you should see," added the space pirate, beckoning the other saiyan to leave the room and follow him somewhere by the resolute wave of his hand. Seeing no way out without using force he didn't have, Raditz consented to Turles's demand.
As the fellow low-class saiyans walked through the halls of Turles's main star cruiser, the rogue saiyan started to speak once again. "Did you read the dossier on Argos before being sent here?"
"Yes," muttered his lanky consort. "Wasn't this place supposed to be full of rainforests and massive rivers?"
"Correct," affirmed the rogue space pirate, flashing a bloodthirsty smirk at his pseudo-comrade. "Argos was a very luscious planet before we arrived. It was a perfect environment to plant the Tree of Might."
The former soldier of Frieza's army lifted his eyebrows up in surprise and skepticism at Turles's confident words. "Tree of Might? Is that a variety of flower?" mocked Raditz, dearly hoping this wasn't some form of joke.
Turles growled at his consort dangerously; he wouldn't be disrespected on his home turf. "The Tree of Might is not a run-of-the-mill weed, Raditz! Best give the Tree of Might the respect it has earned before I make you!"
Thankfully for Raditz, this portion of their conversation occurred right before they reached the ship's viewing platform. Once the orange-tinged hue of Argos was spotted on the horizon, Turles forgot all about his threats; who could remember such petty details when a dazzling sight like the Tree of Might was on display.
Whatever pre-conceptions Raditz had of the infamous tree were snuffed away when he saw the tree for himself. The organism transcended massive; it was so large that it jutted out of even Argos's orbit. Even from the sky, its underground root network could be noticed by the fissures and cracks that it left on Argos's crust. The Tree of Might was a very surreal thing.
"Do you see now, Raditz?" cackled the rogue. "With the power of the Tree of Might we can do anything. Look at its power; ponder what we can do with it. The universe is up for the taking as long as we wield its power."
"It's…big," stated the lanky saiyan seriously. "But Frieza could vaporize a planet with his pinkie. Where are you getting this 'rule the world' thing from?"
"You still don't get it, do you?" scolded Turles obnoxiously. "The beauty of the Tree of Might isn't in its immense destructive power; it's from the fruit it reaps from the land it deprives life from." Pausing dramatically, Turles tossed a piece of fruit at his fellow saiyan that he had stashed in his outfit.
Raditz nonchalantly caught the wayward piece of fruit, while staring at his comrade bewilderedly. What was he supposed to do with it?
"Eat it," commanded Turles, watching his prospective ally like a hawk. "Take the piece of fruit as a sign of good faith. Believe me—you'll thank me for it later."
An awkward pause settled over the scene. Raditz genuinely didn't know if he ought to take the offering; it wasn't an easy decision. Part of him was curious to know about the effects of the fruit, along with Turles's intentions that came with this olive branch. But another part of him was shouting at him to chuck that piece of fruit as far away from him as possible.
Ignoring the loyal, cautious part of his mind, the long-haired saiyan dug into the fruit, tearing through the skin and sucking its juicy nectar into his mouth. Almost instantaneously, the former weakling felt his power swell and explode from within, rising to exponentially high levels. In all reality, he had never felt anywhere close to this powerful in his entire life.
A beeping sound knocked him out of his triumphant reverie, coming courtesy of a smiling Turles. "A power level of ten-thousand. Congratulations, you're the third strongest saiyan in the universe now. How does it feel?"
"It feels amazing," stated Raditz, still in shock of the nirvana running through his veins. "I've never felt so powerful, so in control…."
"So in control of your surroundings," finished the rogue saiyan, smirking like a Cheshire cat. "That you're a warrior of refute, a true man in charge. Did living with Frieza ever give you this sense of power and importance?"
"Well…." Raditz was drawing a blank about even finding a time where his services were appreciated by any of his superiors. Nobody had ever given a farthing about his growth or potential; he was just their grunt to push around and he had begun to accept that fate unconsciously. What kind of saiyan was he?
"And yet you maintain some piddling sense of loyalty to your prince. Think about what you could be if you joined my crew? Think about the power you could wield and the respect you can gain. Maybe you will progress to be my partner instead of my subordinate, and we could rule the world together. Two former peasants become intergalactic rulers. That has nice ring, doesn't it?" assured Turles, trying to coax the power-hungry nature out of his visitor.
For all his life, Raditz had been a nothing soldier. No poor adjective could describe his disgraceful behavior. Calling him cowardly, dopey or pitiful were nowhere even close to sufficient enough to convey the travesty that was his life. But why did he feel so inclined to resign himself to this fate of failure and inevitable disappointment?
Here he was: given a new chance to make something out of his life and he wasn't chomping at the bits for it. Any self-respecting saiyan would've jumped at this opportunity: to make their own name and become feared throughout the universe for their merits. He would bet even that sniveling brat of a child would've taken this opportunity without hesitation. At least he was a chained bird that would jump at the chance to be free.
Raditz began to snarl outwardly, but his mind was still obviously in a war of wits with itself. Turles smiled at his visitor's inner struggle. `One more push and he's mine.'
"Vegeta is an arrogant fool, Raditz. He only cares about living up to his royal title, and will sacrifice anybody—including you—at the slightest hesitation if you diverge from his desires by even an iota," stated the rogue, feeling Raditz's resolve starting to tear asunder. "He'll keep you as his nothing; the boy who'll lick the sole of his boot without even thinking twice about it. I've given you more in five minutes than Vegeta has in your entire life, remember that!"
What was once clear and set conviction had been eroded into a ragged precipice. When he was first dragged into Turles's throne room, the long-haired saiyan believed he could resist any form of torture to protect the dignity of his prince. Now, on the other hand, things had become much trickier. Turles was right on all accounts about Vegeta. The guy was an arrogant prick who cared only about his ego. But why was it so hard to just take the plunge?
But Raditz's mind was set in its path now. As long as he was corruptible, he would go with wherever the power went. And if that meant switching sides then so be it.
"I agree to your conditions," replied the long haired saiyan, eyeing the other saiyan seriously. Just because he agreed didn't mean he wasn't weary of his new ally.
"Good, you won't regret your wise decision," assured Turles, putting out his hand in a friendly gesture. "I'll make sure you get a high ranking in my Crusher Corps. Once you get really powerful, maybe you'll be second-in-command someday soon I hope."
Suddenly, Rasin and Lakusei barged into the scene and bowed down to their lord hastily. Their nerves were on edge and their eyes were sharper than a dagger. "Master, something urgent has come up!" they both yelled in unison.
"Can't you see I'm busy with another saiyan," growled their leader, who wasn't exactly appreciative of being interrupted.
"Cacao has been killed, my lord," shouted Rasin, trying to keep his cool. Whoever was responsible was going to probably hunt them next, and neither he nor his brother wanted to be catatonically frozen again anytime soon.
"Oh really," replied the rogue, turning towards his new comrade. "It looks like you've got your new mission, Raditz. Are you ready to roll?"
"Yes," stated Raditz, who was sweating bullets inside. There was only one other outsider that could've possibly did this, but it made no sense. He couldn't have done this; it would defy logic, rationalization or even logical possibility. `Baby brother; don't tell me you didn't stir up the hornet's nest? You may've just doomed us all!'
Back at the citadel of nomadic tents, Baden was waiting in his father's personal drawing room once again. Having disembarked on Ruhr, the pre-teen had quickly stampeded through the planet's pleasant atmosphere towards his family's pop-up city. For one of the first times in a long time, the pseudo-genius was actually excited. He couldn't wait to see his new comrade in person, and evaluate their competency. Maybe if they were really good, he could start enacting some of his more audacious plans. Regardless, it would be nice to not be as alone as he normally was. Loneliness can do some crazy things to yah.
The boy turned his head swiftly when the doors to the sitting room swung open, revealing the strolling form of his exasperated father. The poor king had bags under his eyes and his face looked haggardly and disheveled; it was like he hadn't gotten any sleep in a week.
"You look like shit father," Baden pointed out, before turning his gaze back to the floor. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going to lead.
The king snorted half-heartedly at Baden's proclamation, and took a seat beside his son. "Finding your consort was much harder than I expected. Most of my men don't want to be led on a suicide detail, and especially one not lead by me personally. Ironically, there were only six…warriors that fit your requirements that were even interested."
"But they agreed right? Why are you being so dramatic about this father?" asked Baden, genuinely curious about his resigned posture. "You've sent men on suicide detail before? I know it's hard, but you'll get over it!"
Baden's father couldn't help but scoff at Baden's accusation. He had no idea how hard this was on him, but Baden wouldn't understand why for at least another decade. "They're leader is waiting outside this room, Baden. Do you want me to send for him in to join us?"
"Bring him in," assented the pre-teen. He was curious about who his father had selected as leader for his strike force. Hopefully, the pre-teen wouldn't have to immediate revoke his selection though. His father wasn't always the best judge of character and talent in his military meritocracy.
"Very well," responded the king, raising his hand in the air. "You may come in…my son."
Whomever Baden was expecting to be nominated for his squadron clearly wasn't there. In fact, the pre-adolescent was stunned into silence by even the mere sight of the warrior his father had chosen for him. He wasn't expecting a warrior of Putzen's caliber.
In the saiyan army, there was only one person that could outrank Putzen: God himself. Nobody else—not even the king—ever defied one of his irrevocable decisions. And that was good because he was right ninety percent of the time; the other ten percent of the time was somebodies else fault.
The really startling fact about Putzen's meteoric rise to fame was that he was barely a man, and that is only if you consider seventeen year olds men. Many claimed that Putzen's only claim to fame was his royal name, and that he was both too inexperienced and too weak to be the leader of the saiyan army. After three months in office, they were all quieted; some by force, others by bribery and a select few by genuine respect. Whatever the case, Baden never expected a truly ambitious soldier like Putzen to volunteer for what was most likely a suicide detail.
"May I sit down?" Putzen asked, his Athenian facial features exhibiting a certain degree of cold politeness towards his superior officers.
"Yes you may," responded the king, getting out of his chair and offering it too his other son. "You can use my chair. I've got other work to do so I'll be retiring to my private study. You can find me there if you need me."
Neither Putzen nor Baden bothered trying to start another conversation for some time. The two ambitious youths mutely scrutinized each other, their eyes racing across each other's form looking for any physical defects or abnormalities, nervous twitches or tells that could be useful in a political pinch. After doing this for almost ten minutes, the two parties began to get down to business.
"So who are the other members of my task force?" inquired Baden inquisitively. If Putzen was on his squad, he was almost excited to find out who everybody else was.
"Hmph, let's see," replied Putzen, pulling out a briefcase and flicking it open. Casually grabbing a piece of paper, he began to recite the other names. "Interesting. This pamphlet states that are other members are Spiesen, Machen, Traje, Erinnern and Merken. That's quite the family connection, don't yah think?"
"No kidding," Baden muttered, whispering a small apology to his father for his callousness. "Every single person on that list is either my brother or my first cousin in Spiesen's case."
"They all wanted to rectify a wrong Baden. Most of the royal family has been hostile to your father since he gave you up, and this animosity spread to most of the children and teenagers in the royal family. You've developed quite the fan-club."
"If you say so," answered Baden, not caring one way or another if he had garnered sympathy for his plight amongst his own people. "But that doesn't explain you. I refuse to believe that you'd fight for me without an ulterior reason."
"And what makes you say that, Baden," rebuked Putzen, smirking like a politician that had been kept in the loop. "How can you say for sure I'm not joining for the same reason?"
"Banter like that may work on most fools Putzen, but not on me. You need to find a better excuse," retorted the pre-teen, snorting loudly in the process. "Let's be honest, Putzen: you're ambitious and pragmatic, but not altruistic. There must be a reason you went on this detail, even after attaining the highest position in the saiyan army. What is it?"
Biding his time a bit to Baden's frustration, the other teenager then started to smile hungrily at Baden. "Ambitions don't die when you start attaining them brother, they just keep getting stronger," responded the general, his stern expression almost giving a hint of a warning rather than a proclamation. "I've already outlived my ambitions with our little colony; there's nothing left to grab. Now I'm compelled to spread my legacy even farther; expand my power and influence throughout the galaxies. With you in control, I feel I'll have the ability to do just that."
`Well, that wasn't an answer I wanted,' mused Putzen's brother, scowling internally at his brother's reason. `I can't say I'm surprised by them though. Overthrowing Frieza, Cooler and Cold would be one hell of a way to advance your legacy and real-life power.'
"Anyways," muttered Baden, crossing his legs and hunching forward to cup his chin around the inside of his right palm. "Who are my other allies?"
"Spiesen, Traje, Merken, Machen and Erinnern you mean," questioned Putzen, trying to piece together Baden's request in a coherent fashion.
"Yes," clarified the pre-teen, groaning from the obviousness of what he was implying earlier. `Putzen better have been pulling my leg with that comment.' Truthfully though, he thought Putzen was dead serious.
"They are all competent if that's what you want to know," stated Baden's brother, his countenance turning crest-fallen for just a second. "But I think they're over their heads. Quite frankly, they don't know what living like fugitives is like and I fear that will come back to bite us in the end."
Baden's expression shifted from thoughtful contemplation to deathly serious in less than a second. Every single one of his plans needed almost an inhuman level of precision, and any flaws in his soldiers needed to be expressed. "Start talking, Putzen. I need to know who I'm dealing with!"
"Fine," fired back Putzen, exhibiting no change in emotion from Baden's voice fluctuating in its tone and pitch.
"Machen is a competent warrior; he does as he's told and is great diversionary target during covert missions. But he had two fatal flaws: one is his libido and the other is his propensity for alcohol," recited Putzen, as if this wasn't the first time he had to explain Machen's faults.
"There have been multiple jokes circulating about Machen's exploits with the fairer sex, or the lack thereof to be more precise. He attempts to flirt and ends up getting slapped for his troubles." Almost a sliver of a smile slid up Putzen's face. Watching his brother get turned down time and time again never got old.
"The poor guy; he must be hornier than a three-balled rabbit," joked Baden crudely. "But I don't see how this is much of a problem. Granted, we'll need to do something about his raging sex drive if it becomes a liability on a mission."
"Unfortunately that isn't the real issue," stated Putzen with a great deal of conviction. "It what happens after he's rejected. I've seen this story unravel more than once: he feels depressed, he goes to his favorite bar and gets hammered drunk, and then spills his guts about everything that going on in his life."
Putzen paused to catch his breath before completing his character assessment. "When he starts talking, he also revealing any valuable information we may have given him. To be honest, I didn't know about this flaw until I was caught him in the same bar I was drinking at a few months ago. Safe to say, I berated him endlessly about it and demoted him from being a brigade to a company commander. I can't empathize this enough to you Baden: he can't be trusted with valuable intel. You will regret it."
"Good to know," replied the pre-teen, his eyes focused on the matter at hand. "I'll make sure he doesn't learn anything valuable until right before we move."
"See that you do," responded the other teenager, who was staring back at Baden with an equal level of concentration.
Baden scoffed at his friend, rolling his eyes like a bratty child. "Done and done. Let's start talking about the deficiencies of everybody else, albeit I wouldn't mind hearing a typical story of how my other brother gets slapped. There isn't enough cheap comedy in the world these days."
"Perhaps another day," answered the general, his tone flat and dead. "Anyways, on to Traje. Next to me and you, he's the most powerful warrior in our group, and that isn't even mentioning that he's probably the smartest. I'd reckon—"
"You're not making any sense," interrupted the impatient eleven year old, while hoisting his right leg onto of his left knee. "Power and intelligence are good things Putzen; what could be wrong about this picture?"
"Laziness. Traje is very smart and powerful but he doesn't ever desire to apply it. To get him to do anything, you need the written consent of a superior officer along with an appropriate probable cause. Even then, you only got a fifty-fifty shot at convincing him to work alongside you. The kid is a living headache," replied Putzen, choosing to ignore the irony that he was calling somebody who was only two years younger than him a kid.
"He sounds like a pain in the ass," muttered Baden, "but I'm not concerned. I've always got probable cause and I am the superior officer. Anything else to add?"
Putzen's smirk just got wider after hearing Baden's unwavering arrogance; he didn't know who he was dealing with. "As a matter of fact, I do. Even when he does consent to doing something, it's rare that it isn't half-assed. I'm sure you know how dangerous a quality such as that is."
"Your right—he is a pain in the ass. I guess you'll just have to accompany him whether he goes on a mission to close up any of his loose ends—cover up his shortcomings, per se." If Baden's triumphant grin would've been any more demeaning, he would've been a good carbon copy for Frieza. The pre-teen couldn't believe that his contemporary had forgotten rule number one of political rhetoric: be careful with your words or they will come back to haunt you.
"So be it," sighed the former general. `I'm going to find a way to make you pay for this, Baden.'
Baden's not-so-silent victory in political banter was very short-lived. More work had yet to be finished. "Anyways, what's wrong with Spiesen?"
"He's a fat-ass—that's it," answered Putzen, jerking his head around in a circle due to a progressing feeling of boredom he felt about this conversation. Reciting information he knew by heart was very boring.
"That's…it," uttered Baden, stupefied by the seriousness Putzen used to hammer out this point. Of course being morbidly obese was bad, but some layer of girth was actually somewhat useful depending on the style of fighter you were.
"That's it," reiterated Putzen, after ceasing to spin his head around on an invisible axis. "You would have to see him to believe it."
Choosing not to comment on Spiesen any longer, the pre-teen commander continued on to the topic of his final two charges. "Merken and Erinnern. What do you have to say on them?"
"Nothing that you wouldn't gander at first sighting," muttered the former saiyan general, who seemed to be shying away from the subject.
`Oh this seems to be good. Time to pry a bit deeper,' mused Baden, sensing a little weakness or hesitation in his ally's expression. "Oh what do you mean by 'nothing that you wouldn't gander at first sighting?' I'm dreadfully curious about your intent when you said that."
Putzen scoffed rather loudly at Baden's accusation; not liking how his partner was wording it one bit. But it wasn't his call to protest it. "They are barely older than me if you combine their ages; the only thing could really be a problem is their experience. Other than that, Merken and Erinnern have very few flaws. In fact, their growth and development is remarkably similar to—"
"Tread no farther, Putzen. There has not and never will be somebody like them again. Don't utter such blasphemy in front of me again!"
"Whatever," rebuked the other teenager, subtly rolling his eyes at his "superior." "None of my business anyway; that is if you want to make your personal issues my business. Nevertheless, regardless of the path you choose, here's a hint of advice: you can't keep burying the past. One day it will bury you."
The other child chose not to verbally answer Putzen's warning right away. Instead, the hyperactive pre-teen leaped out of chair and encroached on his ally's personal space. "Burying the past is my prerogative; you won't dictate when or if I forget such a traumatic memory."
"I never said I would," muttered the other teenager, feeling his lower body sink farther and farther into the padded cushion of his seat. He closed his eyes and let out of relaxed breath, dissipating some of the foul tension in the room. "But I won't recall my suggestion; it is something you need to consider doing."
Baden crept closer into his brother's unfazed face, glowering at the stalwart teenager as if he was trying—and failing—to intimidate him. "Don't preach on something you don't understand. What happened those years ago is something that should be never forgotten, not by you, me or the rest of the saiyan race."
By then, the temperature in the room had dropped by as much as the tension had exponential increased. Baden could practically see the whites in his brother's eyes, that is if Putzen's eyes were actually open, which they were not. Suddenly, the former saiyan general flicked his eyes open and lifted his head up so he could touch his younger brother's nose. "Personal space, brother. I'm sure you don't want our first verbal correspondence to end on such rocky shores. Such belligerence is very unlike you."
Consenting unconsciously to Putzen's warning, the eleven year old distanced himself somewhat from his older brother. But that didn't stop him from glaring mercilessly at the saiyan general. "I agree, Putzen. Just don't compare Merken and Erinnern in such a manner again and an engagement like this won't happen again."
"I suppose that's an agreement I can get behind," smirked Baden's older brother, getting out of his comfortable lazy-boy. "How about we meet the others? They ought to know their first assignment before we proceed any farther, don't you agree?"
"I guess so," conceded Baden, while shrugging his shoulders to give his approval—or apathy; nobody really knew how to differentiate the two. "Lead the way I guess."
Putzen grabbed hold of his brother's arm and teleported out of the room, only to reappear in a room inconspicuously similar to the one they left in the first place. Thankfully, for Baden's sanity, Putzen was correct in regard to the whereabouts of all of Baden's other underlings. They were all sitting—or sprawling in the case of Traje—down on the sofa and chairs of the room.
Upon first sight, Baden's little strike force was quite the eclectic bunch. Convincing anybody that all of these eccentric souls were related would be a hard sell, but alas they were and that was how it would stay. One big happy, dysfunctional pseudo-family.
Like one big happy, dysfunctional pseudo family, everybody—with the exception of Traje and Putzen once again—started to pester Baden for questions.
"Baden, what's working for Cooler—" chimed in Spiesen, interested in knowing what life was like in Cooler army before he was cut off. Was starvation used as tool? He sure hoped not!
"How'd you get so strong?" chirped in Erinnern, amazed by the power he was sensing from his brother. He couldn't even fathom how he had gotten so strong so fast.
"What'd do you need from us?" quipped Erinnern's brother, exhibiting a reasonable level of caution toward his wayward brother's plan. After all, their father had been coerced into eliciting their support. There was a good chance that this was going to be a dangerous assignment.
"Did you get any—" Well in Baden's mind, the pre-teen was glad that he interrupted Machen's question before he could finish. It was either something humiliating or erroneous…most likely both though.
"Hey guys, one question at a time," gesticulated the overwhelmed eleven year old, trying to lower both the volume of everybody's voice along with number of questions each person fired off rapidly.
Meanwhile on his patented armchair, Traje spoke up, stunning everybody in the room. "Come now fellas. Let the guy have his space; nobody likes a volley of bothersome questions."
All the din and clamor over Baden's arrival immediately halted after Traje uttered his strange declaration. During the silence, Baden scanned through the room, dissecting and psychoanalyzing his cadets.
Baden's eyes almost instantly locked onto Spiesen's blimp-like form, and what a unique form it was. Justice had not been served when Putzen mentioned his weight as a possible detriment; he wasn't just a bit chubby or stout, he was morbidly obese. The poor bastard looked like he wouldn't be able to move up a flight of stairs, let alone fight against one of the strongest beings in recorded history.
`How…does that happen?' muttered Baden to himself, still flabbergasted by what he was seeing. Saiyans weren't exactly known for their slow metabolisms, and becoming that portly should've been impossible for a battle-ready saiyan. Quite frankly, how Spiesen had become so fat was nothing short of a medical miracle; a phenomenon that could never be explained.
Swinging his eyes to the far right, Traje came into Baden's sight. Although his appearance wasn't nearly so shocking as his cousin Spiesen, the lazy bastard could definitely stood out in a crowd. After all, very few saiyan's actually could claim a Mohawk hair style.
Machen was the next person that was unknowingly scouted by Baden's merciless eyes. For somebody who loved to flirt and screw around, the young male sure looked like a spaz. Spiky mullets had not nor ever been popular with the fairer sex. Unfortunately, it was doubtful that the dolt had ever been notified about that factoid, judging by the constant wavering of cologne from his persons.
Erinnern and Merken were the final two to be judged by Baden's scathing glare. At first glance, Baden could find nothing wrong with either of the two. Yes they were both young, but not younger than him when he was first employed by Cooler. From a battle perspective, they both looked skillful and deadly.
But for some reason that Baden didn't fully understand, the pre-teen commander just knew he was going to dislike those two.
Pressing his finger into the bridge of his nose, Baden cleared his throat rather loudly to get the attention of every other saiyan in the room. Once he had their full and undivided attention, the pre-teen commander began his welcoming speech. "Well, let us begin."
"To begin, I would like to thank all of you with the deepest conviction in my heart about volunteering for this grand and glorious enterprise. Hopefully, your faith will be rewarded handsomely when all of this is said and done, but I can't promise you that—and I doubt you expect me to be able to either."
Suddenly, Traje interrupted Baden's welcoming interception with a disgruntled groan. "Nobody cares about these pleasantries, Baden. With all due respect, please get to the point."
"You're out of line, Traje!" barked Putzen, intervening on his superior's behalf. "It's not your jurisdiction to dictate how Baden chooses to deliver his introductory speech."
By the time Putzen was done lambasting Traje for his disrespect, the aforementioned Mohawk adorned lad was already feigning sleep in his lazy boy. Needless to say, just about everybody in the room sweatdropped rather severely by the apathetic boy's antics. For a split second though, Traje opened his eyes again and muttered a "whatever" at Putzen's stern warning.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Baden silently went over the second part of his speech before verbalizing it. Once he was satisfied, the pre-teen continued his thankless endeavor. "The saiyan race is almost extinct; only living in fractured clusters on the fringes of existence. We all live on a razor's edge; one tiny mess up could mean the difference between the life and death for everybody that we love."
"Is this any way to live!" roared the pre-teen, his cheeks flushing red from the amount of embattled passion that was coursing through his veins, urging him to continue onwards. "Every day we live in fear of what the future will become. Our lives have become a continual game of cat and mouse, where failure has become a synonym to imminent death. Intergalactic society has reduced us to the role of a pariah, condemning us for acts that we've never committed. They've decided to punish us for a world that we had little hand in creating."
`Damn, I'm on a role!' smirked Baden from within himself. His well of inspiration was just gushing forth, supplying him with an inspiration speech that was both enthralling and empowering. Except for Traje, everybody seemed to be falling into a delusional fervor.
"Gentleman, we stand here at dawn of a new day. The Cold Family would like us to believe we are powerless; that we don't have any power or control over our destinies. And unfortunately for most souls, they're correct. But we are different. With enough spirit and devotion, we have the ability to change the world; to make the world a more hospitable place. By our hand, we can and will be the downfall of the entire Cold Family regime! When the next dawn comes, the world will be a better place!"
A brief round of applause ran its course through the room, and in the case of Erinnern and Spiesen in particular, hoots and hollers. Baden looked on at the scene contently, like he was relishing the reception his rousing speech got. He had a feeling that this would be the first of many great successes in the very near future. If these souls were worth even half their reputation, Cold, Frieza and Cooler would be dead within half-a-decade.
"Yes, yes Baden. That was inspiring and all, but what are we supposed to do?" inquired Traje rudely once again. He really wanted all of this prompt and pleasantries to be over. Getting his job done quickly was all he desired. Was that so much to ask?
`Somebody has got to teach Traje manners. One day, he's going to say something disrespectful to the wrong person, and then we will all be screwed,' mused Baden, staring at his dull-faced brother critically. "Nothing much; today was mainly going to be an introductory meeting anyway. Nevertheless, I've got to meet the king of Uyyasid again on a political issue. He's going to need my help."
"Pardon my nosiness, but why are you rendezvousing at Uyyasid?" asked Putzen, looking at his superior office skeptically. "What is there that warrants your attention to that degree."
"Important business," replied Baden, who was getting more and more annoyed by being questioned constantly. "Anything else you wanted to add, I've got—shit why is my pager beeping!"
The abruptness of Baden's declaration threw every other saiyan in the room for a curveball. What could cause their leader to shriek so unexpectedly? Putzen probably said it best. "What just happened, sir?"
Almost quicker than the speed of light, Baden plopped down a portable computer on the room's main table, turning the machine on and started to fly through a litany of password encrypted screens and security firewalls. The boy started to sweat profusely, and his eyes were glued to his portable screen. Soon enough, Baden started to cuss out loud when he realized what was going on.
"Oh eff this shit. You got to be kidding me!" he snarled, almost willing to throw his laptop out of the room. "This could potential derail everything!"
"What's wrong Baden?" inquired Merken, waltzing through a plethora of his brother's into the foreground of the scene. "Maybe I could be of assistance?"
"I just got a page from one of my contacts in Frieza's military. Raditz's ship just blasted off without any kind of notarized consent, neither by Frieza nor any one of his numerous lieutenants'. That idiot is going to get himself killed!"
"Raditz," muttered Merken, pausing to dissect the scene for the problem that Baden was freaking out about. "If my memory serves me correctly, isn't he that saiyan runt that works as Frieza's whipping boy? Why is his loss such a blow to you? Surely there are other fighters that could take his place?"
"Merken," growled Baden, glowering at his young charge furiously, "Raditz isn't in that ship. My contact all but confirmed it when he conducted a cursory scan of the entire ships fuselage. No, the situation is far direr than that!"
The younger boy shrugged his shoulder and cocked his head to the side like he was confused. "Then what's the issue? I'm not seeing the necessity in freaking out over this yet."
"If my suspicions are correct, and they always are, the person who stumbled onto that ship is integral to my plans. Without him, everything becomes at least one-hundred times more complicated. Eff your naivety Goku!" cussed the pre-teen, cursing both the idiot saiyan and his computer for not being able to track his location.
"Do you need me to find him?" requested Merken, while putting his hand on Baden's shoulder, like he was trying to placate his superior. "I'm kind of a whiz kid as far as technology goes! Maybe I could find him for you!"
Baden immediately vacated his computer and gestured his younger brother to his impromptu seat next to his laptop. "Knock yourself out. I'm not good with computers; they irritate me like nothing else."
"Okay dokie," smiled the young soldier, taking Baden's invitation with a child-like earnestness. Quickly hacking through at least ten interfaces, twenty firewalls and a dozen antivirus programs, the kid finally brought up the interface that regulated the transportation logistics of Frieza's army. "Tell me the manufacturing number on Raditz's ship. I should be able to root out his final destination along with the hangar he'll be redirected too."
"The manufacturing number of his pod is #3245098. Does that satisfy you?" recited Baden snidely, still in a very bitter and anxious mood over this entire debacle. "Are you done yet?"
"Hold your horses, I'm almost done," retorted Merken, who was typing in the pod's manufacturing number and triangulating its final destination in the same motion. "He's heading for Frieza's main star cruiser; hangar bay #27 to be exact."
Baden let out another chain of curses before shutting up again. Things had not been going well for him today, and he couldn't do shit about it. He had to be on Uyyasid in a week; there wasn't time for this shit.
"My plan's ruined," sighed Baden inconsolably. "That idiot is going to be captured and killed like a dog, and the news will surely make it back to Uyyasid. All of my clever planning, it's going to be all for naught if I don't find a way out of this shit quickly!"
Merken and Putzen approached their panicking brother from both sides, each of them placing their hands over Baden's densely packed fists and speaking in perfect synchronization. "Slow down Baden. You're speaking in riddles; nobody knows how to help you until you get ahold of yourself."
Quickly averting his gaze towards his two rather brazen siblings, Baden raised one of his eyebrow above his furrowed brow, expressing his dual feelings of skepticism and confusion with that simple gesture.
Sensing his brother's discomfort, Merken removed his hand from Baden's shoulder and return the wayward hand to his side. "Baden, you should tell us what's wrong. Until you do, we can do nothing to rectify this situation for you. Let us help your endeavors Baden."
"I suppose so," muttered the pre-teen tersely, feeling himself calm down somewhat. He knew he was at the verge of another panic attack, but he couldn't let himself fall into such a state again; not when his entire plan was hitting a crucial phase. There was no time for a screw up of epic proportion now.
Baden toke a deep breath and exhaled slowly, contemplating trusting his comrades the vital intel that this mission demanded. If there was even one mole in this room, they were all doomed. But he needed their help now; he couldn't withhold information. "At this time, I'm trying to recruit a potentially strong ally to our cause. Unfortunately, I've just learned that this ally's father is the one in Raditz's space pod, heading for Frieza's star cruiser where he will be surely executed. My client holds his father in extremely high regard, he'd drop our cause in a second if he learned his father died due to our negligence. This is not good."
"So what's preventing you from retrieving him?" asked Merken, who was still confused by why Baden turned so jittery so quickly.
But that wasn't the response Baden was looking for, and his over-the-top feelings of desperate anxiety pushed him into another conniption fit leveled straight at his younger brother. "Do I have to repeat myself again? What part of `I have to be at Uyyasid' did you not apparently understand?"
"Calm down," answered Merken sternly, moving his hand up and down in a calming gesture to cement his point. Once Baden had calmed down somewhat, the younger boy turned towards Putzen and muttered to his former commander. "Do you have an idea about how to help Baden retrieve this `figher?'"
Putzen simply smiled like he was a part of an inside joke. "Of course I do, but that doesn't mean that I'm not privy to the fact that we are thinking of the same thing."
"Planning without all the fact is dangerous, Putzen," snarled Baden, glowering at his two associates angrily. Being kept of the loop was not something that Baden enjoyed, especially by the soldiers that were under his command. Mutinies and dissent were the only things that came when underlings were allowed to conglomerate without their leader's approval. After all, that was what Baden was doing against Cooler. He knew best.
"You need us to retrieve this fighter, correct?" snapped Merken, who didn't exactly appreciate having Baden snarl at him without just cause. "If not speak up. We need to know if you want us to do something about it!"
In a fit typical of a pre-teen, Baden rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "Not correct," he muttered. "I need him to just escape the compound alive. I couldn't give less of a crap where he goes; his presence just better not be felt or rumored about. Happy?"
"Yes," smirked Merken haughtily, staring at Putzen with his classic knowing smile. "Make sure I'm hearing this right: this Goku is vital to our leaders plans. As we speak, this "Goku" is heading towards Frieza's spaceship and there is nothing we can do about redirecting his path. To make sure Baden's plan stays on course, we need to provide a distraction so large and all-encompassing that nobody in Frieza's star cruiser will even see this "Goku." Putzen—you thinkin what I'm thinkin?"
Throughout Merken's abridged summary of the mission, Putzen couldn't help but snicker at where Merken was leading. Blood was going to be spilled, he could just feel it. "I think I do."
"What in the name of God are you talking about?" roared Baden, almost all out of patience with his younger brother and his conniving older brother.
"Nothing at all," smiled Merken, while trying to feign ignorance terribly. Dramatic irony was a beast that was very hard to tame at times. "I just figured out how to solve your little dilemma for you."
"Oh have you?" sneered Baden, posing his taunt in the form of a question. "How exactly are we going to prevent one billion people from seeing one man?"
Unfortunately for Baden's frayed nerves, his growls and sneers were just goading Merken on. "Simple really. Goku needs a distraction; six extremely powerful warriors attacking your space ship is one hell of a distraction."
"This is bad!" If there was either an understatement in the world, that was it. After having been gassed, both Gohan and Vegeta had awoken in unusual surroundings. Wherever they were, it most certainly wasn't Planet Zoon.
Even more mysteriously, there were no signs of a crash landing or any technical issues going on with their pods. Just one moment doing Frieza's bidding, and the next moment ending up on some backwater hellhole with no way out. Not exactly the start that they were envisioning for their important solo mission.
But deep within his own head, Vegeta had very legitimate doubts about Frieza's intentions. Beyond even his feigned-politness and his manic underlying hatred, Frieza was a coward. Unnecessary genocides were committed everyday solely to eliminate the possibility of even trivial uprisings amongst species with no fighting ability. For somebody so powerful, Frieza was besieged by more fear than most of the subjects that lived under him. Abandoning some of his best on some backwater planet wasn't beneath him, and Vegeta knew it. `So this was Frieza's ploy. He's preventing us from completely our mission, and then he's going to use this fabricated proof to execute us. That's just like him.'
"Brat, get your things," barked the prince, yelling over to his comrade, whom was still lying in the dirt patiently. "We are getting out of here now!"
"Okay," chirped his charge, before rummaging through his pod looking for his ki weaponry. Once the weapons were re-holstered, the boy walked to where his prince was stationed. "I'm ready sir."
Vegeta snorted contemptuously at Gohan's politeness, taking it as a form of unnecessary flattery. "Good. Be ready to move now."
The two allies blasted off into the sky with almost perfect synchronization, soaring through the planet's troposphere like hawks looking for a piece of prey. Unfortunately for the two predators, the planet's orange expanse of clouds shrouded the ground very well, masking the cities and settlements of this world from their predatory eyes to Vegeta's rather blatant frustration.
After having conducted his tenth cursory scan with his scouter, and finding nothing each time, Vegeta was practically coming unglued from the frustration of not finding anything on this barren moon of a planet. "Why would Frieza abandon us on a planet with no people to kill? None of this makes any sense!" Apparently, Vegeta had already forgotten about Frieza's ploy already.
Unbeknownst to the two frustrated explorers, their presence on the planet had already been noticed; appropriate precautions had been implemented to curb their influence. And as the two saiyans kept on flying, two shadows trailed them like peregrine falcons from above, haunting their every move.
Hours past and Vegeta and Gohan were at standstill. It was growing dark and they had found nothing of interest on this planet. So Vegeta unilaterally chose to find shelter for the night, lest he lose his mind trying to find something in the dark. Wordlessly signaling his comrade to descend, the two saiyans descended through the cloud cover and a startling site befell them.
It was city, and one of the largest ones either saiyan had ever seen. Granted, Frieza's star ship was thousands of time bigger, but the sight of a city this big was a good sign. The chances of them being able to procure a ship were extremely good. For once in the last god forsaken week, Vegeta had a reason to feel jubilant.
"Brat, stay behind me. We're going to rifle through this town," smirked the prince haughtily. He was finally going to be able to kill something. Dreams do come true after all!
Suddenly, a voice resonated through the clouds spooking the two uptight saiyan warriors. As the voice descended through the cloud cover, it revealed itself to Gohan and Vegeta in equal kind. "You will do no such thing!"
The being that was impeding their path was didn't resemble anything Gohan had ever seen before. Every single crack and crevice of its skin looked a shattered glass window pane, and the skin that wasn't noticeably cracked or fissured was almost translucent in how it reflected light from its smooth aqua-green hue.
"Oh, what are you going to do to stop me?" taunted Vegeta, easing into a fighting stance. He wasn't expecting a challenge so soon or so menacing. His saiyan blood pulsed and raced oxygen to his extremities, adrenaline keeping the hothead alert and ready to fight. This was going to be a lot of fun.
The glass-paneled being cocked his head to the side before flashing a smirk. "Nothing, but I recommended that you watch your head. You never know what's just above you."
Without warning, another of these glass-paneled beings raced down towards Vegeta and smashed his descending foot into the base of Vegeta's neck, propelling the saiyan prince into the ground. Vegeta's body was already unresponsive before he hit the ground.
Equally as quick, the original glass-paneled being closed the distance between himself and Gohan and wrapped his hand around the poor child's slender neck. Following his comrade in arms, both sudden combatants descended back down towards the ground to pick up Vegeta's out cold body. As they approached the surface of the planet, another strange being greeted them and this being wasn't exactly in a somber mood.
"What in the name of myself is going on here!" this strange roared. This was the second time in a week his private training ground had been the sight of an impromptu confrontation, and by now the charade had gotten old.
The two glass-paneled beings quickly got onto their knees and bowed to this strange, both hollering in union. "We're sorry, your majesty. These two vagabonds were discussing destroying our capital and we were forced to intervene. I humbly apologize that this use of force must've occurred on your property; it was a travesty."
"Whatever," mumbled their king, glowering at his two prisoners wrathfully. These two saiyans didn't look like much; one was a toddler who couldn't have been older than six, and the other was knocked out cold in one kick. Neither were threats to him, so why was he looking at them so fascinatingly. Then it hit him.
That kid fit the dossier Baden gave him perfectly, right down to his silkily black hair and charcoal eyes. `So this was the captive that Baden ordered me to treat as a royal family member. Baden, I'm going to find a way to kill you one day for these perpetual mockeries.'
"Abdullah, throw the older saiyan into the prisoner of war camp. We'll let his little friend decide his fate," ordered the uyyasidian king, still exhibiting a rather abnormal level of unmitigated anger. He hated being forced into anything, especially when just about everybody he knew worshiped him as a god. "Release the brat, Abdullah; I'll deal with him from now on."
The other uyyasidian did as he was told and released Gohan from his hold, gently. The kid ran into pocket of space in between the two and tensed up his guard, ready to fight or flee at a minutes notice. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Nothing," responded the king, scowling seriously at the child during his rebuttal. "Welcome to Planet Uyyasid kid. Your life with Frieza is over."
Thanks for reading the seventh installment of Cognitive Dissonance. As always, reviewing gives me the inspiration to churn out these chapters faster, so if you enjoy I implore you to review. Anyways, I do have to admit that things haven't been the best in recent times; just going through the motions. I just hope that you can't sense this via my fanfictions. I'm definitely in the dog days of January.
I. Review Responses:
Super Vegetarott: thanks for the constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the last.
VLS: being compared to Cold World is a honor. I hope you come to enjoy this story almost as much.
Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: the robot in chapter six is not related to C47; I think you'll learn his real identity in this chapter. As for Vegeta's Zenkai, I'd say he's about Zarbon pre-monster form, give or take a couple hundred.
Ky111: I hope some of your questions have been answered now. I hope you enjoyed chapter seven!
pointer39: chapter four does have one heck of a twist at the end.
That's all for now. By the way, I've left a few quotes in this chapter. See if you can find them. Tally-ho!