Credit where Credit is due:The Saiyan Language is used with permission from MegaKat.

Words and phrases used in this chapter:

fri'va - weakling

ve'ho m'yo - my prince

Vegeta stared out the window of the speeding transport and fretted. Usually, he admired the stark beauty of bone white land and pitch black sky, but not now. He was too nervous to appreciate the view. Instead, he jittered one leg up and down with such rapidity that it made the seat shake; several patrons murmured their discontent.

Several sent angry glances in his direction, but none dared to actually say anything to him. One ebon glare complete with bared teeth was enough to silence any protests.

Except for Raditz, of course. The tall adolescent leaned over and bowed his head so that he could speak with Vegeta. "Ve'ho, can you not? You're shaking me off the seat, and you're making me nervous."

In a moment of pique, Vegeta turned his black stare on his fellow Saiyan. He did not respond for a few seconds as he struggled between the need to assert his dominance, and the desire not to draw too much attention to themselves.

Then he grumbled, but did not stop what he was doing. The anxiety was too much, he had to move, and he could not pace the small cab effectively. "We're going to be late. I swear to gods if we miss this ..."

At that thought, his stomach began doing slow flips. He had to choke back the bile that rose in his throat and threatened to spew forth. No amount of slow breathing seemed to do the trick, or reciting his mantra, not even playing with his talisman. Oh, how he wished that he had brought some of Nappa's medicine packets with him, the ones that put a warm calm blanket over his senses.

The last few years of his life had been a glut of emotions, stress, and constant mental and physical battles. Frieza continued to increase the pressure on the young prince in an attempt to mold him from within and without ... and Vegeta, being Vegeta, continued to fight for all he was worth. Not even Raditz or Nappa knew all of the things that Frieza had said or done to him. The psychological warfare continued unabated; Vegeta had little escape from outside of sleeping, fighting, and (sometimes) the drugs that Raditz brought home.

He could have told them, let them in, but he was too proud, as always. Pieces of his memory had gone missing, and he could not tell anyone. He was the strongest of them all, he should not need any help. His face turned pale as his lunch threatened to make a hasty exit.

Raditz noted his obvious signs of distress, but did not make a public fuss about it, much to Vegeta's relief. "Well, shaking the car apart won't help us get there quicker. I still think we should have waited for Nappa to return."

"Hn. Well, waiting never did us any good. Nappa's gone for at least a week, and I want to get my payment before someone else fucks it up. If he didn't want us to meet the contact, he wouldn't have left his tablet behind. Besides, the planet's going on the market, and you know they'll want anything premium. Hell, we earned it."

They lapsed into silence that lasted for the rest of their journey as each was caught up in his own worries. Neither wished to share.

The pub was already crowded when the two Saiyans walked in and scanned the dimly lit common room. This was their first meeting on their own with Nappa's mysterious contact, a man known only as "Skitter" - to both Raditz' and Vegeta's amusement. The younger Saiyans knew him by sight, and scanned the room for his willowy form.

"I don't see him," Vegeta hissed. "He's already left, I just know it." Anxiety exploded in his chest and spread through his body like a deadly blossom. Every moment that they held onto their ill gotten goods increased the risk of trouble, and after his last run-in with the Ginyus, Vegeta knew they would not just take his things and call it a day. No... payback would be a bitch.

"Don't panic yet, ve'ho. We're only a few minutes late."

"I'm not panicking! Has he said anything? Check the tablet."

Raditz sighed, and did as asked. "There's no new messages, Vegeta, but I can't just contact him, you know."

"Why not? Why the hell do we have communicators if we can't use them to communicate? After this, we're getting our own guy. I'm tired of relying on Nappa's old and busted things."

"Okay, ve'ho." Raditz raised both of his hands up, a gesture of placation that seemed to be second nature. "We'll figure it out later."

"Fine," Vegeta huffed. "If we can't send him a message, why don't we just ask the barkeep if he's left. That seems simple enough."

Raditz mouth dropped open; he stared hard for a few seconds before recovering his composure. "... You really don't understand how this works, do you? We can't just wander up and ask."

"Why the hell not?" Vegeta hated the cloak and dagger act. He just wanted something to be straightforward, for once.

"Just ..." Raditz squinted and crinkled his eyebrows, then glanced around the crowded room. "Just trust me on this one, ve'ho. I deal with these kinds of people all of the time, and they're really fickle. One wrong more and you can kiss years of work goodbye. And let's face it, Vegeta. We can't afford to lose any allies, no matter how dubious they are. It's a lot of talking and negotiating, all things I know that tax your patience. Not everything can be resolved by hitting it."

Vegeta grunted. "Negotiate this," he mumbled, and clasped one fist. Almost anything could be resolved if hit hard enough. It was the Saiyan way.

The bar proper squatted in the back of the tavern, foul and dingy, the plexiglass top dented. Patrons of varying species perched on stools in various stages of repair, nursing their drinks. Smoke from nicsticks, blunt, and gods knew what else writhed in fetid clouds near the ceiling and created a haze that make his eyes smart. The place stunk of smoke, sweat, and secrets.

In short, nothing had changed in years.

When Vegeta and Raditz entered, everyone glanced up, assessed them, then pretended to return to their own cups. No one wanted to get involved in someone else's mess if they did not have to. The barkeep fixed his black eyes upon them. He folded two of his four arms and regarded them with a sneer. He was the same species as Teff, but the two could not be any more different. Where Teff was jovial and personable, this being was pinched and radiated an aura of malevolence.

"Let me do the talking, Vegeta," Raditz cautioned as they made their way towards the bar.

"Tch. You think I can't handle it?"

"Of course you can, ve'ho. But they know me here."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. He should not have been surprised. "In this bar specifically, or in the Unincorporated Zone?"

"Both, actually. I've been doing a lot of work for Master Zarbon lately. They won't give me any real shit ... fucking with me is like fucking with Master Zarbon, and no one really wants to get on his bad side."

The evocation of the teal aide's name made Vegeta twitch, and the knowledge that Raditz willingly associated with him - still - made him twitch again.

"You know that Tinkletoes is just using you, right?"

"He's not using me, Vegeta. I'm his assistant. It's just part of the job."

"Riiiiight." Vegeta drawled, then rolled his eyes. " 'Assistant'."

Raditz gave Vegeta a dark look that the Prince gleefully ignored. "For now, let's get a drink and sit down. We're attracting attention just standing here in the doorway."

With casual indifference and a sense of assurance that Vegeta did not normally associate with him, Raditz strutted up to the bar. The older male had filled out, and cut an imposing figure with his long mane and broad shoulders. He towered over most individuals and dwarfed Vegeta, of course. An adult Saiyan could overpower most beings if pushed, but their reputations as savages with hair trigger tempers tended to keep most people at bay ... except for the occasional asshole who wanted to prove a point. Such situations usually ended did not end well for the provoker.

Raditz leaned on the counter, nodded to the taciturn barkeep, and ordered a beer. Vegeta clambered up on one of the rickety old stools next to the older Saiyan, just so he could be at eye level with them. As they waited, Raditz made stupid small talk with the owner, laughed and joked about current events.

Because Vegeta was all about the life of a warrior, he was not used to thinking of Raditz as competent. However, as he watched the long-haired male interact with the cranky tapster, Vegeta had to admit that not only did Raditz seem to be in his element, but he exuded an odd sort of charm. Raditz had people skills, and Vegeta ... did not. It came with the territory of being Zarbon's bitch, Vegeta supposed, but it still annoyed him that Raditz was capable of things that he was not.

As expected, the bartender did not ask Vegeta if he wanted something to drink, did not acknowledge him at all, and that rankled the Prince. Even after years of coming to this hellhole, Vegeta got no respect. Irritated and insulted, he scanned the room yet again.

"Where is he," Vegeta grumbled, and crossed his arms over his chest. Nervous tension ate through his body and made him jumpy; when he realized he was swinging his feet, his cheeks flushed, and he glanced around in embarrassment. Way to make myself seem mature...

The barkeep poured a draft with practiced ease, then slammed the cracked stein down in front of Raditz, and the foam spilled over the rim onto the counter. He made no attempt to clean the mess up. "That's 20 credits. And tell Zarbon his shipment is in."

Raditz pulled a cred stick from one of his chest pockets, checked the balance against his tablet, then slid the narrow cylinder towards the man, who pocketed it. "Here's fifty. Keep the change."

The man grunted, but did not say 'thank you' ... not that Vegeta expected him to. With a dismissive grunt, he turned his back towards the Saiyans in favor of his usuals; it was obvious their exchange was complete.

Raditz took a sip of the foul liquid, managed to keep a straight face, then tipped the mug in Vegeta's direction. "Believe me, Vegeta, you're not missing much."

Well, that was true. The last time he had taken a sip off of Nappa's beer, he had immediately spat it out. "I didn't want any. Besides, how can you drink that swill?"

Raditz shrugged. "I've drank worse on missions, ve'ho. We all have. Anyways, they'll get pissy if you don't order. At least the alcohol is sanitized - it's a safer bet than the food. If you want, I can order you something to eat."

The thought of what type of food might come from an establishment such as this gave him pause. Vegeta had eaten the flesh of fallen enemies and still cringed at the thought.

"Ugh. I'd rather eat my own arm."

"You sure?" Raditz grinned in good humor. "I hear the fried rat is excellent."

"Hmph. As if I'd lower myself. You can yap with the locals later on. I want a good seat to watch the door." Vegeta punched Raditz in the arm, a good natured exchange common for Saiyans, then hopped off of his stool. When he felt the soles of his boots stick to the floor, he scowled.

Their usual booth in the back was occupied by a gaggle of off-duty PTO soldiers with shifty eyes who hunched over their drinks when the Saiyans approached.

"I think you're in our seat." Vegeta spoke in a regal tone.

"Don't see your name on it," said one of the men, and laughed along with his cohorts. It was obvious they were on their way to drunken oblivion.

Vegeta growled, and clenched his fists. All he wanted to do was punch someone, and this arrogant piece of rubbish had just moved to the top of the list.

"Are you deaf? Ve'ho m'yo asked you to move. I suggest you do so. Now." Raditz loomed tall, folded his arms and fixed them with his best warrior's scowl. Raditz could be intimidating, on occasion. For added measure, he waved his tail in a lazy arc for all to see.

Once they realized what they were up against, the men offered up half-hearted apologies and grabbed their drinks. As they scuttled away, they sent evil glares over their shoulders and mumbled, called them 'monkeys'. Normally, Vegeta would have retaliated, but here and now, their reputation worked for them, instead of against. The two took the seats so recently vacated and faced the door.

"Look at this, Raditz. I told you they never wash anything." Vegeta pushed an overflowing ashtray to one side and pointed at a marking on the dirty surface: the familiar symbol of the Saiyan royal crest. "I drew this two years ago, when we were getting rid of the Pate-sai contraband."

Raditz nodded in agreement, then took another sip from his drink and coughed. "You don't have to convince me, Vegeta. I know this place is disgusting."

"Well, Nappa never believes me. Says I'm being oversensitive."

"Yeah," Raditz mused, then rolled his shoulders. "Nappa's got a hard-on for this hellhole. Me ... I deal with it."

"Well, when we get our own contact, we're getting a new meeting place. One where they understand how to use fucking soap." Vegeta shuddered, and resisted the urge to draw his legs up against his chest to avoid further contamination. "I need a shower, dinner, and a good grooming after this."

Ten minutes into their vigil, Skitter had not yet shown his face, and Vegeta started to fidget again. He drummed his fingers on the table while Raditz nursed his drink. When Raditz wandered back up to the bar to refill his piss water and chat up the other patrons, Vegeta snatched up Nappa's tablet and obsessively checked it while he waited, to no avail.

Thirty minutes later, it was clear that they had missed the window of opportunity. People were starting to stare and whisper behind their hands. The beings driven from their seats could be seen at the bar, pointing and talking rapidly.

Raditz eyed the activity, and the tip of his tail twitched once, twice. He shook his black mane and pushed his mostly empty swill aside. "Uh, I think it's time to leave soon, ve'ho. It's obvious he's not showing, so there's no reason to stick around."

A rolling mountain of flesh came towards their table, a cigar clasped between his black lips. His furred hide was barely covered by his dented black and silver armor. He spoke in a grating voice that sounded like distant thunder, and jerked one clawed hand towards the exit.

"Hey, nothing personal, but the bossman says if you're not gonna buy anything else it's time to get the fuck out. People got business to take care of." For emphasis, he folded his hands together and cracked his knuckles in a rapid series of snaps. Conversations faded away as the other patrons started to take notice.

Vegeta rose to his feet and fixed the man with his best intimidating glare. In the back of his head, power whispered in its seductive voice. The oily scent of hostility rolled off of him, and the pupils of his eyes widened. He was itching for a good brawl to release the internal turmoil he felt. It would be so satisfying to feel the crunch of bone beneath his fists and watch the crimson spray of blood.

"I will not be ordered around."

"Let's just go, Vegeta." Raditz spoke in a level tone. He rose from his seat and placed one hand on Vegeta's shoulder. "Now's not the time or place to fire up."

"Why not? This is the perfect place for it. Is it that you're afraid of a good fight?"

Raditz scowled, and looked to one side. "Look ve'ho, you have to understand. This is where both Nappa and I do business, and we don't need to be banned on top of losing our payday. Okay? Please don't screw this up for me."

"F'ri'va," he spat. Damn that Raditz for being sensible. As much as he wanted to be in charge, and not to back down, Vegeta knew that choosing his battles was the better choice. Making enemies here might cause problems later on, and he would have to listen to Nappa and Raditz bitch.

He just was not in the mood for it, he decided. Besides tussling with such weaklings was beneath him. But he had an image to keep, so he glared up at the bouncer.

"Count yourself lucky," he hissed. "Come on, Raditz. We've got better places to be."

As if it had been his decision to leave all along, Vegeta swept out in a regal manner, leaving Raditz to follow in his wake.

Chrizzii: Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm glad that you're enjoying the story enough to leave multiple reviews. Yeah, Nappa was forced into 'fatherhood'. He tries. Really, he does, but Vegeta certainly doesn't make it easy. I struggled with Arcosian/Ice-jin, and in the end I decided to steer away from it. Ah, those pictures. Well, it was just the beginning, and they were the tip of the iceburg. The Trictic arc was tricky to write for sure, and once again the Saiyans end up paying for others mistakes.

Vetygas Rath: It's nice to see your name again! It's always good to know that folks are still following along, and any review, even if it's just "I'm reading" is important and worthwhile. You don't need to write a long dissertation. Glad you are a Berra fan - she's picked up quite a few. I'm glad I surprised you with Frieza and Zarbon's game ... I know he's usually hands off, but Vegeta is his person project, after all.

Vegebulluv: Thank you! I was worried that the exam was too detailed, glad to hear you didn't think so. I wanted to also show that, as he's aged, that Vegeta and Raditz relationship has gained different dimensions, and that Vegeta can (sometimes) have a sense of humor. That, and it's just so much fun to pick on Raditz.