Two Sides To A Story
Chapter Four
"Sir, I'm sorry to have to report that the Saiyan is dying."
The man paused the microphone long enough to thoughtfully sip at his coffee before resuming his grim dictation; "The date is Wednesday, July 6, of the year 767. The time is, oh… exactly 0846 PST. Recording this transcript is Professor Gerald Willis assigned to Level Two of the Installation. These are confidential notations intended only for the Base Commander, Colonel Bedlam. Sir, my report is as follows;
"There has been a progressive deterioration in the male alien's health ever since his capture by Specimen F, eleven days ago. At the time, the Saiyan was suffering the effects of opiate exposure and was easily subdued. Unfortunately, that manageable state was extremely short-lived and we have encountered problems maintaining it. At the moment, my staff has resorted to a previously untested synthetic tranquilizer. The side effects are cumulative and potentially devastating but honestly, we're all at a loss of how else to cope with this new specimen.
"The few times that the alien has managed consciousness, he has proven to be belligerent and lethal. One of my staff, Doctor Felicia Brevas, made the mistake of approaching him before he was in proper restraints and was disemboweled on the spot. I've since issued the order that the alien constantly remain in his bonds. As of seventeen hours ago, his system has begun to reject the intravenous supplements we've been providing. His internal organs are systematically shutting down one by one. Despite our best efforts to prevent it, he is not expected to survive much- "
He jumped in place when his beeper went off. Pulling it out of the pocket of his lab coat, his morose features paled even further when he read the tiny display. A part of him had been anticipating this call but it was too early, much too early.
It meant that the Saiyan was in his final throes.
Professionalism and propriety be damned, the scientist sprinted from his office to the nearest staircase. He couldn't even spare the valuable seconds it would take for the elevator to reach his level. Pounding down the stairs to Level Two, he ran to the immense steel doors that were at the end of the corridor. Frisking himself for his passkey, he quickly slid it through the slot and entered his personal code. There was the sound of huge locks disengaging in the reinforced metal walls and with a groan, the doors parted on their tracks wide enough for a man to pass through before immediately closing after only a five second delay timer.
Professor Willis squeezed himself through and immediately appraised the situation. A collection of medical staff and guards were milling nervously around one side of the Plexiglas wall.
"What's his status?" he barked.
"It's not good, Professor," a Lieutenant informed him.
The staff and servicemen parted, permitting him through to view the scene personally. Even the scientist's usual stoic expression flagged at the sight before him.
The observation cell was precisely that; a solitary cube in the center of the impenetrable metal room. It was monitored around the clock by a state of the art security system and a cadre of Special Forces personnel. The cube was only ten feet square and enclosed on all sides, the material composed of a transparent, blast-proof metal alloy with the consistency of diamond. The only furnishings were a single cot bolted to the floor and a toilet in the far corner. At the moment, everything was splotched with bright crimson.
Hunkering down beside one wall, Professor Willis examined the contorted figure lying only a mere foot away from him. "Specimen V," he called out, knocking urgently on the glass. "Specimen V!"
Reacting to the human presence, the lone figure's slight form eased its awful spasms long enough to look around. He raised his head and squinted at the man, trying to focus. "M-My… name," he grated out through clenched teeth, "…is-is Veh-Vegeta…" He spat out a mouthful of gore at the face only inches from his own. It splattered against the clear wall and ran down the surface in putrid streamers. As if the mere effort cost him the last of his precious reserves, Vegeta fell limp to the floor.
At the same time, the monitors that displayed his status went flat- line.
Jumping to his feet, the scientist went to the door and proceeded to enter his code to unlock it.
"Sir, you can't do that! I don't have Colonel Bedlam's approval," the Lieutenant objected, trying fruitlessly to dial his cellphone and restrain the scientist at the same time. All of the others were hovering back uneasily, unsure of what to do.
Shoving him away, Willis entered the last number and pulled open the door. "Get it, then! In the meantime, I'll make sure that we all have our jobs by keeping this alien alive!" He entered the room and knelt down beside the stricken Saiyan, feeling for a pulse and finding nothing. Trying to roll the alien onto his back was an impossibility, his hands and forearms were bound behind his back with metal shackles. "I need the key!" he barked out to the Lieutenant.
The officer eyed him with obvious trepidation. "Sir, I'm not sure-"
"!!NOW!!" he screamed. "He's dying!"
Reluctantly, the soldier entered the cell and did as he was told. There was about a half a second of apprehension when the locks were undone and the alien's arms freed. Well aware of the devastating nature of their feral acquisition, everyone held their breath believing that the display was some manner of ruse. Nothing happened. The staff finally became animated and let their training take over.
Hefting the limp alien onto a stretcher, Professor Willis climbed on top of him and began doing steady chest compressions while his medical staff wheeled him towards the exit. "Unlock the door!" he ordered to the Corporal stationed at the control panel. When he got no response, he glared at the Lieutenant.
Taking a deep breath, the officer gave one curt nod to his subordinate who immediately entered the code for the door to open.
No sooner was there the resounding boom of the locks disengaging then Willis glanced at the readout on the crash cart and felt a rush of relief. There was a sudden, jagged blip on the monitor followed by several more. "I have a heart rhythm-"
"That's not all you've got," Vegeta snarled out from underneath of him. The pair exchanged one ironic glance at one another before the Saiyan threw the shocked scientist the length of the room.
Nobody was prepared when the alien jumped from the stretcher and bolted for the exit. The huge doors had already timed through their brief cycle and were sliding closed again. The only one in Vegeta's way was the flustered Corporal who was shouldering his rifle just as the Saiyan tackled him, propelling them both through the exit with his momentum. Behind them, the immense doors slammed shut with a resounding crash of finality.
Dazed, the young guard was trying to locate his weapon when Vegeta leapt upon him and smashed his knee down into the back of the man's neck. The soldier's face collided with the hard tile with such force that his head virtually exploded.
Clarions sounded off and the lights of the Level transformed into a rheumy red. Following that were the sounds of the doors cycling up for another brief opening, no doubt from the staff trapped on the other side. Vegeta located the code-key controls and propelled his fist through the console all the way up to his elbow, hauling out a handful of wires and cables. A different sound was added to the alarms as the doors parted about half a foot and came to an abrupt stop, servos grinding in protest as the cycle was interrupted. Vegeta didn't linger around to gloat. The soldiers were pointing their automatic weapons through the narrow gap and opened fire without hesitation. One slug burned a trail across the Saiyan's thigh before he dove for cover into the stairwell.
Pausing long enough to catch his breath, Vegeta spat out a mouthful of blood and grimaced in pain. He'd had to almost bite through his tongue to generate enough blood to make the false hemorrhaging look convincing. Simulating the heart and other organ failure had merely been mind over matter. A Saiyan in his initial training learned how to control the involuntary bodily functions in order to block out pain and slow blood loss. Even feigning death came in handy, when all else failed.
Despite his seemingly energetic state, Vegeta wasn't anywhere close to being at his usual level and he knew it. His arms were riddled with needle marks from the tests the human's ran on him day and night and the drugs they pumped into him had all but negated his ki. His surroundings threatened to warp and dim from the sedation but he fought the effects. He was hoping that the jump-start to his system would burn the chemicals off but he didn't have any time to wait around for it to happen. The trapped staff was trying to over-ride the commands that had them closed off inside of the Isolation section. The only route of escape was the elevator that was directly across from him. Every time he so much as spared a glance around the doorframe, the soldiers started shooting.
To his surprise, the elevator doors began to slide open and Vegeta sprinted across the corridor, charging into it without a second's hesitation. He managed to throw out two startled soldiers who were cut down by their own fellow's fire. Inside of the close confines of the elevator, the small space was a definite disadvantage for the soldiers who now had to contend with a mad-as-hell alien who was lashing out with everything he had. Kicking and punching out with as much force as he could spare, Vegeta discovered the remaining five soldiers were no match for his speed and ferocity. Only one managed to land a fist on his face and the Saiyan retaliated by ripping the heart out of his chest.
Standing in the middle of the gore wearing only a hospital gown, Vegeta should have felt grim satisfaction at his prowess. For once, he didn't allow the arrogance to cloud his judgement. He was far from safe and he had absolutely no clue where he was. The events since that night the junkie bitch had thrown the powder in his face were hazy and ragged. All he recalled were shadowy faces, pinpricks of pain and hampering restraints. There was no telling how long he had been imprisoned here but he was reasonably certain that it had been more than just a few days.
The sound of footfalls pounding down the staircase caught his attention and he kicked out a body that was stopping the elevator doors from closing and moved to the wall panel. The only light that was on was L2 and above that were L1 and MAIN. Vegeta pressed MAIN and felt the metal box begin its ascent.
Looking around nervously, it occurred to him that the armored humans would be anticipating this maneuver and probably be waiting for him at his intended destination. He hit the emergency stop and then looked at the ceiling for an exit. When he looked at the floor, he finally allowed himself a thin-lipped smile.
Two cadres of Special Forces were arranged in a defensive half-moon posture around the elevator doors on the Main level. There had been one tense moment when the course of the elevator had stopped for about forty- two seconds before it started again.
"Everybody ready," cautioned the Major on duty.
Safety's clicked off of automatic weapons and the soldiers got down on one knee as the elevator reached their level.
"!!FIRE!!" shouted the Major as the doors parted.
The staccato sound of weapon's fire erupted like thunder in the narrow foyer. Bullets perforated the walls of the elevator before the Major called out, "Hold your fire!" He rose and advanced towards the opening, noticing only the bodies of the first cadre he had assigned to investigate the security breech. He glanced at the ceiling and saw that it was intact but couldn't help but notice the hole in the floor. It explained the forty- two second delay. "Shit!" he cursed and immediately reached for his comlink. His booming voice erupted from all of the speakers inside of the installation.
"Major Norton to all Units. Specimen V is loose somewhere on the lower levels. Containment has been unsuccessful. All personnel are to initiate lock-down procedures at once. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! You have orders to shoot on sight!"
Assigning one cadre to secure the level, the Major organized the rest of his men to begin a thorough sweep of the rest of the Installation. For the first few minutes, the remaining soldiers were tense and jumpy from adrenaline but they eventually began to calm down and mill around. Several two-man groups splintered off to begin investigating the level they were on, leaving behind five soldiers.
"I don't like this. I don't like this one little bit," a Corporal grumbled under his breath. "This reminds me of a movie I once saw-"
Around him, the others erupted into loud groans. "Tucker, you always start harping on about movies you see," the Sergeant snapped at him. He shouldered the strap to his machine gun and went into the elevator stall to begin the grim task of pulling out the dead.
"It's always the guys that get left behind who get picked off first!" Tucker shot back. "I hate to break it to you- But that's US!"
"You are so full of shit," muttered the Sergeant.
That was when Vegeta kicked out the escape panel above him and dropped through the ceiling onto the soldier's back. The Sergeant could barely react before hands grabbed either side of his head and twisted with a sharp jerk, breaking his neck.
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!" Tucker bawled as the alien rose and fixed a crazed stare in his direction. He began backpedaling and shooting at the same time, his aim wild and panicked. Several bullets ricocheted and one serviceman screamed out, "Watch the glass, Tucker! For God's sake, watch the fucking glass!"
Evading the volley of erratic gunfire, Vegeta slid across the smooth floor and managed to knock the legs out from the luckless Corporal. Wrestling the gun out of his hands, he wrapped an arm around the struggling human's neck and held him as a living shield as he backed away from the three remaining soldiers.
"Aw cripes, I'm gonna die," Tucker moaned.
"Got that right," Vegeta assured him. "Where am I? What is this place?"
"You- you're in Installation Fifteen."
"That doesn't mean anything to me!"
"It-it used to be a submarine base operated by the Red Ribbon Army," Tucker said in a frantic rush. "Now it's a top secret lab that develops high-tech weapons and studies things l-like y-y-you!"
"Am I still on earth? Are we in space?"
Unable to stammer out a reply, the Corporal raised a trembling hand at the far wall. At first, the view beyond the large window didn't register on the Saiyan's numbed senses. There was only a murky blackness that he originally associated with night and thought it was of no consequence to him. Taking a closer look, he noticed transparent creatures moving beyond the thick glass, clearly attracted to the light the level generated.
They were underwater.
Vegeta's grim visage darkened with this new information but that was about it. "How far down are we?"
"Eighty fathoms," Tucker whispered and when the arm tightened around his neck, he corrected himself with, "That's about four hundred and eighty feet."
"Is that all? I hope you can swim," Vegeta said with a dry chuckle as he raised his free hand at the wall. His fingers started to glow a soft blue that began to grow in intensity the harder the Saiyan focused his power. It wasn't easy collecting the tattered threads of his ki but he was determined to be free of this asylum at any cost. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead from the effort, and his concentration wasn't helped as the soldier he was holding began reciting a prayer.
"Specimen V!" shouted an authoritative voice.
Reinforcements had arrived, sealing off any other avenues of escape but the one Vegeta had chosen. One human in particular seemed to be in charge of this heavily armed group, actually stepping ahead of his subordinates to confront him, both hands empty of weapons. "I'm Colonel Bedlam. I'm in charge of this Installation. If you blow out that window, you'll kill us all."
"What's the downside to that observation?" Vegeta growled.
"You'll die as well."
"Not me. You don't know what I'm capable of." To lend import to his words, the ki in his palm finally coalesced into a compact, deadly ball. At the sight of it, Vegeta's smirk broadened into a cold grin of accomplishment. He locked eyes with the impassive Colonel long enough to prove he was serious before throwing his hostage towards the soldiers. Whirling towards the window, he raised his hand and threw the destructive energy as hard as he could.
The explosion of ki and the hail of bullets were virtually simultaneous.
"I lost nine men to that… that creature," Colonel Bedlam stated gravely, standing in front of an observation window and watching the activity below them.
"It could have been worse," Professor Willis attempted.
"It very nearly was!" the officer bellowed at him. "If his blast had penetrated one eighth of an inch more of the glass, this entire base would have been full of water. Since you're the one who broke protocol, why don't you explain this near-disaster to the Military Council?"
Lapsing into troubled silence, the scientist only maintained his place beside his superior. He more than deserved the dressing-down for his rash actions, he had very nearly cost all of them their lives.
"You were fully briefed of his treacherous nature. Why did you ignore the warnings?" Bedlam continued to hammer away at him.
"I have to discount the validity of Specimen F's statements. I don't think he's to be trusted," Willis said.
"And he is?!" the Colonel barked, motioning to the operating room below them. There was harried movement from surgeons and nurses who were crowded around Vegeta's unconscious form. "At least the other one has never killed any of my men."
"Not yet."
Shelving his initial displeasure, the Base Commander eyed the other man curiously. "What do you suspect?"
"Specimen F is shrewd and manipulative. I know that he's given us invaluable information on weapons design and space propulsion. He has been cooperative and accommodating to both my staff and myself but…"
"The word 'but' is not a particularly scientific observation, Gerald."
"I stand by my earlier statement, Colonel. I'm accepting Specimen F's recommendations with extreme reservations. I'm certain that his motivations are far from honorable."
"I'm just going to worry about the alien who was in alliance with the brute who decimated the Naval Fleet. Specimen V down there owes us for the loss. If I get my way, he'll never see the light of day ever again. That other one is of no consequence to me. So long as he remains cooperative," Bedlam said in an ominous tone. Before the scientist could comment, the officer noticed one of the surgeons stepping back from the operating table. Stepping over to the intercom, he pressed the button. "Report."
"The alien's dense musculature saved him from the worst of the weapon's fire, Colonel," the surgeon said crisply. "Only two bullets caused any kind of significant injury; one ricocheted off of a rib and perforated the left lung. The other clipped a section of the small intestine causing minor internal bleeding. We've retrieved all of the fragments and repaired the damage. Hopefully his regenerative abilities will negate the trauma and help speed recovery."
"Excellent work," Bedlam praised and stepped back, muttering to himself, "He was shot in eleven places and none of them were critical. Unbelievable."
"Specimen V is proving to be more resilient than I could ever have anticipated," Willis admitted, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.
Snapping his head around, the Colonel picked up on that impressed tone and barked out, "No more heroics, Gerald. Not with this one. If he goes flat-line again, he stays in that damn cell until he starts to rot. I won't tolerate another breech of security, is that understood?"
"Perfectly, Colonel. I appreciate your lenience in this matter."
Bedlam grunted. "What other choice do I have? You're the best at what you do and we both know it. Just use your head the next time." Without another word, the man exited the room and returned to his duties. He still had staff that needed de-briefing and had a lot of calls to make. Behind him, Willis glanced at his watch.
It wasn't even noon yet.
One more second, perhaps two and he would have gathered enough energy to shatter the glass instead of crack it.
Vegeta realized that his single chance of escape was gone. The humans were not going to take any kind of a chance with him now. He was reduced to lying face down on his cot, wrists and ankles secured by padded restraints. The logic of this maneuver was to permit the wounds he had received from his thwarted escape, the opportunity to heal. He had turned just as the guards opened fire and the majority of the bullets had punched into his back. Staff came and went around the clock changing dressings, replacing intravenous bags and giving him more of that damned sedation. Vegeta was no longer sure if the time of the escape attempt had been days ago or weeks. He had no sense of time as one day blurred into another. Even the action of moving his head was a taxing effort for him now. His rare moments of consciousness were spent staring forlornly at the closed doors of the chamber he was trapped in. For the remainder of the time he was lost to dreams, nightmares…
…and memories.
"You never asked me," Trunks finally braved himself to speak up.
Vegeta had been absorbed in his sour musings and glared at his son. "Asked you what?"
"How you died in my timeline."
The older Saiyan only stared at him in confusion.
This exchange occurred during the period that they had spent together in the Room of Spirit and Time. The initial standoff between them had lasted for perhaps three weeks before they willingly began to interact. By this time, Trunks was desperately lonely and wanted nothing more than to spend time with the father he had never known. Vegeta's own reasons for socializing were, as ever, known only to him. To his credit, he didn't tell the teenager to shut up when the youth began that enthusiastic babbling that was so much like his mother. Perhaps, in his own distant way, he had been lonely too.
In their initial spars, the boy proved that he was tough as nails and resilient but, unfortunately, had a fighting style that was identical to Gokou's; the by-product of being trained by Gohan in his own timeline. The second Vegeta identified that technique, he resolved to correct that imperfection even if it came to the detriment of his own torturous training. There was no damned way that any child of his (an unwanted queer- haired, hybrid bastard he may be) was going to purposely flaunt the fighting style of his most loathed rival.
So, the two clashed until the empathic nature of the mystical room echoed their ferocity and became the consistency of molten lava. Two blond- haired antagonists threw ki-blasts and blows at one another with complete abandon, answering the call for battle that sang in their blood. No quarter was spared for the other, concepts of mercy and compassion were abandoned as father and son pounded away at one another until the blood would fly. Any human to view the savagery that the pair exhibited would dismiss the act as senseless violence. It was abuse at it's most depraved, made even more tragic by the direct relationship between the antagonists. It was insanity. Barbarism. Complete madness.
To a Saiyan: It was a means of familial bonding.
That truth was never more displayed then the day the pair had taken a unanimous day-off from the frenzied pace of their training. Actually, they were both too sore and injured from the previous day's efforts but neither would admit it. Trunks was seated at the table holding an ice bag to his left shoulder which had been dislocated fourteen hours ago. He had set it himself but it was still badly swollen. The same for his nose. There was a Band-Aid across the bridge and he had to breathe through his mouth.
There was a muted curse from the bedroom and Vegeta hobbled out. He made it as far as the kitchen table and collapsed into the nearest chair, propping his right leg up on another one. His ankle was swollen to twice its normal size and a dark purple color around the joint. Without a word, Trunks slid over his ice pack and went to the freezer to get himself another.
For awhile neither of them uttered a word, lapsing into a state that was less of a meditation and more of an exhausted doze. They had really gone at it the day before. The energies released in their mutual blasts would have destroyed the earth a dozen times over. When they had run out of the destructive energy and lapsed back into their human states, they had continued close-quarter fighting until the only thing holding them up was their own will power.
Vegeta had been glowering at his injured foot wondering how much of a set-back this was going to cost him when the boy started his questions, as he knew he eventually would. To his consternation and regret, the older Saiyan had quickly discovered that there were far worse experiences than defeat and death.
It was being trapped in a confined space with a teenager.
"Why should I care?" he parried the boy's question about his death in the future timeline.
Trunks blinked. "Aren't you even curious?"
The thought had crossed Vegeta's mind on occasion but he really couldn't have been bothered to bring up the subject. He offered the teen a vague shrug but passed him a look that the younger Saiyan concluded as interest.
"In my timeline, you left Capsule Corporation shortly after mom got pregnant. You caused a lot of trouble on Earth. The Z Fighters all thought that they were going to have to unite and battle against you again."
"This time, they would have lost," Vegeta sniffed.
Unfazed by the boast, Trunks responded evenly, "Gokou was a Super Saiyan by then and Gohan was on the cusp of the transformation. You never achieved that state in my timeline."
Eyes wide, Vegeta snapped his head around in shock. Seated across from him, his son was smiling but there was little humor in the expression. "Your future self never got the warning about the Android threat and so you didn't have the need to leave the planet and train. You thought the ascension would come to you eventually. You believed that you had decades ahead of you when you really had only months…"
"The Androids…"
"By the time they were done with you, there was nothing left but a handful of ashes. Gohan watched the battle. He said that it lasted all of three minutes."
Vegeta's face filled with hot blood at the mere memory of his humiliating defeat at the hands of Android 18. He had been Super Saiyan when he had battled her and hadn't lasted much longer. "Not in this time. Not like that. I won't be defeated by a pair of over-grown toasters."
"Your ego is unbelievable," Trunks ground out from between clenched teeth. "If you hadn't blown down the door to Doctor Gero's lab we could have planned a strategy-"
"What would have worked?" Vegeta shot back. "If there's anyone to blame here, go and confront Kakarrot. It was his stupidity that allowed the damn maniac to escape and create those abominations to begin with." He observed how the teenager's face flushed with his criticism. "Don't like it when I put down your revered hero, do you boy?"
"Gokou was-is the greatest warrior to ever live!"
"Confined to this pathetic world, I should think so. If not for the blow to his head, he would have been a true Saiyan-"
"-Like you?"
"And what's so wrong with that?"
"What have you ever created but death and destruction wherever you went?" Trunks shouted at him. "You're horrible! Sometimes I wish that Gokou had been my father instead of you!"
At the deliberate insult, Vegeta's lips became a bloodless straight line. "If I'd had my way, you never would have been conceived at all. If you want to blame anyone for the piss-poor origins of the sperm that created you, blame that treacherous mother of yours. I never volunteered for the job."
All of the blood drained out of Trunks face as if he'd been slapped. "Mom… she-she wouldn't have done that-"
"Why do you think I walked out?!" Vegeta snapped, banging his fist down on the table in frustration. "I made it clear to her that I was to remain the last of my line. I trusted her! And she went ahead and-" He visibly grappled with his temper before deliberately changing the subject. "I don't know the circumstances of what happened between the future incarnation of myself and Bul- that woman. All I know is what happened here. In this timeline."
In a small voice, Trunks managed to get out, "What did happen?"
Crossing his arms and looking away, the Saiyan said on a low voice, "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done…"
"Of course it matters! I deserve to know who my father is."
" 'You deserve'," Vegeta sneered. "My, aren't you the special one. What about what I deserve? I was destined to be the King of my people and rule an empire of millions. Not be reduced to a lowly soldier with a handful of survivors. Do NOT whine about stupid demands! No one ever answered my questions when I was your age. I was expected to keep my mouth shut and follow orders. You've been spoiled."
Trunks should have taken the warning that was clear in his father's voice but he pressed on. "You don't have any idea what kind of life I've had. I lost my friends one by one, watched my city and home turn to rubble. Each loss of life transformed my mother into a shadow of her former self. The only one who was like a real father to me was slaughtered and I risked everything to come back here and set things right. Who gives a shit about your loss? The Saiyans were just a race of shape-changing murderers-"
Trunks squawked as Vegeta lunged across the table and grabbed a handful of his collar, hauling him forward until their faces were only an inch apart. "Don't you EVER insult the Saiyan race!" Vegeta hissed. "I will always be their prince, even if it is to just a populace of ghosts. The blood of royalty does not die just because someone wills it so. Frieza slaughtered my people without even allowing them a final battle and I've been spending the remainder of my days trying to catch up to them. At least you are alive, boy," he released Trunks and shoved him backwards with an expression of disdain. "Me? I died the day that Vegetasei was destroyed."
Shaking in his seat, Trunks stared helplessly at the other Saiyan, unable to speak. Vegeta couldn't fathom the reason for the sudden shock on the teenager's face until he wiped away the moisture that had collected on his cheek. He had dismissed it as sweat until he looked down at his fingertips.
It was tears.
Without a word, Vegeta got to his feet and limped painfully out of the kitchen to start the day's training even though he was in no shape for it, physically or mentally. Remaining behind, Trunks couldn't have followed even if he had wanted to, thunderstruck by what he had seen and heard.
"Father," he whispered.
"Trunks," Vegeta croaked.
He buried his burning face into the pillow and let his body shudder with the aftermath of his grief. His son. The boy whose future representation had effortlessly killed both Frieza and his supposedly omnipotent father. The teen-ager had evolved into his Super Saiyan form easily fifteen years before he had himself. Despite the obvious fighting flaws associated with being trained only by Kakarrot's boy, the youth had displayed a stubborn and violent streak that had made his own Saiyan heart surge with pride. During their year together, they had reached a mutual understanding that had been less than a friendship but much more than just a mutual partnership. They had become father and son.
In direct conflict to the teen's destructive nature was a side that was sensitive and emotional. No doubt a by-product of the human taint in the boy's blood and his own desertion in Trunks' timeline. Here, he was alive and the boy was a mere infant. There was no telling how far Trunks could come in his training if he were to shoulder the responsibility.
The question nagged away at him… Did he want to be a father?
"Veh," a little voice whispered into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut at the intruding memory.
He had entered the kitchen during one of his aimless roamings of the compound after his return from the Cell games and found Bulma feeding the brat in his ridiculous highchair. The lavender-haired mongrel was wearing more food then he had consumed and Vegeta sidestepped them and the mess to search the fridge for leftovers.
"There's some pork roast on the bottom shelf," Bulma told him and got a sour grunt for her effort.
Trunks was watching him with rapt attention. "Veh," he spouted through lips smeared with strained carrots. "…Veh? VEH!"
"Doesn't that creature say anything else?" Vegeta asked peevishly. He pulled a couple of plates from the fridge and kicked the door closed as he moved to the counter.
Bulma was watching how the baby never took his eyes off of the elder Saiyan. "Vegeta?"
"Vehta!" Trunks cried out even as Vegeta uttered a reluctant; "What do you want?"
"I think your son is calling for you by name," she said in an even voice, barely able to contain her joy.
Turning in surprise, the Saiyan cast a curious look at the little five-month-old. Bulma held her breath in expectation; it was the first time that Vegeta had ever displayed any kind of interest in the child.
"Vehta!" Trunks called out, stretching his pudgy arms up at his father. "Vehta? Veh? VETA!"
Drawing back with a scowl, Vegeta claimed his plate of leftovers and sneered at Bulma with open contempt. "Quite the prodigy. You must be proud," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He walked out of the kitchen without another word to either of them.
Trunks stared at the closing door with clear hurt in his blue eyes. "…Veh?" he mewled softly.
Vegeta struggled with the bonds that held him down onto the bed. The damned memories were more like flashbacks and he was helpless to stop their course. "No more! Enough! I don't want to see anymore!" he screamed into the mattress. "Make it stop!" Stitches pulled and blood started to flow and he continued his efforts, oblivious that the Major on duty was calling urgently for medical assistance. He was starting to cough up bloody phlegm when the door to his transparent cage opened and humans clothed in white approached his bed. From his perspective they looked ten feet tall and he bared his teeth at them and snapped at empty air for them to keep their distance.
"No," he objected when he saw the glint of a needle. "Not that. No more. Enough is en-" There was a prick of pain and then only a numbing heaviness that weighed down his limbs. He felt hands on his back, treating his wounds but was helpless to react to their presence.
Perhaps… perhaps I deserve this torture; he mused just before unconsciousness enfolded him again. It's a fitting end for someone as evil as I am…
"You're not, you know."
Looking away from the television, Vegeta cast an amused glance at the woman who was sprawled on top of him. They were lying on the living room sofa in the Hammorski suite they shared. A light blanket covered their nude bodies as they relaxed from the aftermath of a passionate lovemaking session they had shared about a half-hour before. "I'm not what?"
"Evil," Bulma said, raising her head from where it was resting on his broad chest. "Remember the conversation that we had two nights ago?"
"I remember that you never did tell me how much longer your ex- lover's cock was than mine," he quipped.
"Not that part, I mean-"
"-And you're still not going to tell me, are you?"
She slapped his cheek lightly. "Hush up. I'm trying to get to something-"
"Don't hit me! You don't see me smacking you around the room!"
"That's what I'm trying to get to if you'd just shut up long enough-"
"Physically AND verbally abusive! No wonder that idiot ex-lover of yours left-"
In an act of desperation, Bulma covered his mouth with her own to silence him for one minute. At first, his lips remained an indignant straight line but they gradually relented to her gentle insistence. The pair shared a brief kiss before she pulled back and said softly, "My point is that it bothers me when you just dismiss yourself as morally corrupt or evil. You're so much more than that."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Vegeta cast her a crafty smirk. "How can you be so sure? Perhaps I'm just putting on a good act for your benefit."
"Oh?" she raised one delicate eyebrow. "What would be your motive?"
The answer was immediate and predictable. "Great sex."
"Vegeta, I have the sneaking suspicion that you could sniff out a good lay anywhere you went. I'm not buying it. Why else would you stay here with me?"
"Riveting conversation."
"Now you're just being sarcastic," she sighed.
"What do you expect?"
"I expect an honest answer. You're not here for the sex or comfort. You're completely healed now, you could leave anytime you wanted. Why are you really staying with me, Vegeta?"
She slipped back and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders as he sat up. The two stared at one another for a moment before he looked away, his heavy brows drawing together in concentration. Bulma sensed that he was searching for the correct response and didn't rush him.
"It's hard for me to come up with an answer that isn't evasive or insulting. That's how I've been conditioned to respond to direct questions all of my life," he finally admitted to her in a voice very different from his usual coarse manner. "I don't know what you want me to say, Bulma."
"Just say the truth."
He spared her a hesitant, sidelong glance before his eyes darted uneasily away. "I… feel safe when I'm with you," he said softly.
" 'Safe'," she echoed.
"It's a stupid answer-" He shook his head in frustration and started to get up.
Bulma quickly grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from leaving. If he had wanted to, he could have shrugged off her hold with ease but instead he relented. He slumped against the backrest of the sofa and bowed his head as if in defeat. His cheeks were flushing slightly and that was how Bulma knew that he was telling the truth. "How many times have you ever admitted that? To how many people?"
"Never. No one," he muttered under his breath.
"Then it was the answer I wanted to hear," she said, smiling. Wrapping the blanket around both of their shoulders, she settled in close beside him. "Don't you understand what I'm trying to get at here, Vegeta? A truly evil person would have used me for what he could get and leave without a care in the world."
"I couldn't do that. Not now." He cleared his throat self- consciously. "Not after what you've done for me."
"And that's why you're not evil," Bulma reassured him. She wrapped her arms around him and settled her cheek against his, whispering into his ear, "That's why I love you."
Unable to respond, he tightened his own arms around her slight form and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck. As close as he was to her that instant, he was sure that he could smell her very soul. It was a unique, heady scent composed of trust, innocence and peace and he tried to will a portion of it into his own darkened heart. He was never sure if he was successful but couldn't discount the contentment that he felt whenever he was near her.
"Everything…everything went downhill when we left the hotel," Vegeta muttered out loud. He stared hopelessly at the closed doors of the chamber and turned his head away when the view warped with bitter tears. "I was safe there… with her. I-I was happy. Where did it go so wrong? I don't… I don't understand-" He muffled his sobs into the pillow, shamed by the display but unable to prevent it. He was terribly weak and in constant pain and the dementia created by the drugs made everything so much worse. "Buh- Bulma, I-I'm sorry-"
"Whenever I catch sight of you, you're in tears," a cold voice mocked by his bedside. "Not a very flattering sight, my little monkey prince. I hate to think what your father would say of this."
Opening his swollen eyes a crack, Vegeta registered that the spoken words were in the extinct tongue of Saiyago, his true dialect. Looking up, he saw the figure looming over him and knew that the memories had finally given way to delusions. "Go away. You-you're not real."
Frieza's black lips twitched in amusement. "If I were a hallucination, I like to think I'd pick better attire."
Focusing past the tears and unsteady surroundings, the Saiyan examined the other alien more closely. Wearing a similar hospital gown, Frieza was without his arm and leg bands or that hideous helmet. He looked strangely naked without his gear, his exposed flesh waxy pale and shiny pink but there was no mistaking his identity. "Not possible," Vegeta said in a hoarse voice. "Trunks… he incinerated your remains. I saw him do it."
"Yes, the boy," Frieza mused, staring down at his nails. "Curious little development, quite unexpected I'll admit. One little piece of me survived in the desert until the humans found me. Their cloning technology is crude but effective. I heard that they started on sheep. Go figure. Can't very well dismiss the end results, can I?" He extended his arms and did one complete circle before Vegeta's shocked, horrified gaze. "There's still a way to go before I'm complete. I've been very cooperative with the humans to get what I want. At first, it was just technology they were interested in. Then, imagine my delight when I sensed your ki and led them straight to you. They were ecstatic to have you in their custody, Vegeta. Apparently, you just make enemies everywhere you go."
"You- you'll never get away with this alliance," Vegeta said in English. "They'll figure out what you're up to."
Pursing his lips in amusement, Frieza arched one brow towards the scientist who had escorted him into the room. "He's irrational," the alien said smoothly. "I believe I'll need to be alone with him after all."
"That's fine," the man remarked and before Vegeta's stunned gaze, he actually turned to leave.
"Wait! You can't leave me here with him!" Vegeta shouted, pulling unsuccessfully at his bonds. "Don't go!"
Before closing the door, the young scientist only looked at him with concentrated hatred. "You killed Felicia Brevas," he said in a tight voice. "She was my fiancée, you son of a bitch!" With that, he slammed the door and swiped his card through the lock, sealing both aliens' in the small cube together.
"No," Vegeta whimpered, even as Frieza cleared the distance between them and knelt down beside the bed. For a long moment, the pale alien simply looked him over, his long tail waving lazily back and forth behind him. Eventually, he reached out and began running his hand over the bandages that covered the Saiyans back. At the mere touch, Vegeta moaned and tried to draw away but the restraints held him firmly down.
"My poor chibi no ouji," Frieza soothed. "It occurs to me right now how much I have missed you."
Feeling that cold hand brush over his tail scar and move slowly lower, Vegeta had never felt so helpless at any other time of his existence. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears spilled down his cheeks until Frieza moved in and licked them from his face. His saliva was like acid and left a stinging welt across the Saiyan's flesh.
"I'm going to enjoy this," the pale alien promised him.
Standing by the exit, the scientist turned to the Major on duty and remarked evenly, "I'm going to get a coffee. What do you say that I treat you and your men for, say… about ten minutes?"
Major Norton looked hesitantly back at the transparent cube. He frowned in disgust at what the ghastly white and pick creature was initiating with the smaller one. His brief concern flagged when he reminded himself of the death of his fellow soldiers only a few days before. "That sounds fine by me," he said and ordered his men to clear the room.
The gigantic doors parted and the staff slipped through for an informal break. When the barriers sealed closed again, they cut off the first of the agonized screams that came from the small cube.
Everyone pretended not to notice.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Five: The inevitable showdown between Vegeta and Frieza!
Chapter Four
"Sir, I'm sorry to have to report that the Saiyan is dying."
The man paused the microphone long enough to thoughtfully sip at his coffee before resuming his grim dictation; "The date is Wednesday, July 6, of the year 767. The time is, oh… exactly 0846 PST. Recording this transcript is Professor Gerald Willis assigned to Level Two of the Installation. These are confidential notations intended only for the Base Commander, Colonel Bedlam. Sir, my report is as follows;
"There has been a progressive deterioration in the male alien's health ever since his capture by Specimen F, eleven days ago. At the time, the Saiyan was suffering the effects of opiate exposure and was easily subdued. Unfortunately, that manageable state was extremely short-lived and we have encountered problems maintaining it. At the moment, my staff has resorted to a previously untested synthetic tranquilizer. The side effects are cumulative and potentially devastating but honestly, we're all at a loss of how else to cope with this new specimen.
"The few times that the alien has managed consciousness, he has proven to be belligerent and lethal. One of my staff, Doctor Felicia Brevas, made the mistake of approaching him before he was in proper restraints and was disemboweled on the spot. I've since issued the order that the alien constantly remain in his bonds. As of seventeen hours ago, his system has begun to reject the intravenous supplements we've been providing. His internal organs are systematically shutting down one by one. Despite our best efforts to prevent it, he is not expected to survive much- "
He jumped in place when his beeper went off. Pulling it out of the pocket of his lab coat, his morose features paled even further when he read the tiny display. A part of him had been anticipating this call but it was too early, much too early.
It meant that the Saiyan was in his final throes.
Professionalism and propriety be damned, the scientist sprinted from his office to the nearest staircase. He couldn't even spare the valuable seconds it would take for the elevator to reach his level. Pounding down the stairs to Level Two, he ran to the immense steel doors that were at the end of the corridor. Frisking himself for his passkey, he quickly slid it through the slot and entered his personal code. There was the sound of huge locks disengaging in the reinforced metal walls and with a groan, the doors parted on their tracks wide enough for a man to pass through before immediately closing after only a five second delay timer.
Professor Willis squeezed himself through and immediately appraised the situation. A collection of medical staff and guards were milling nervously around one side of the Plexiglas wall.
"What's his status?" he barked.
"It's not good, Professor," a Lieutenant informed him.
The staff and servicemen parted, permitting him through to view the scene personally. Even the scientist's usual stoic expression flagged at the sight before him.
The observation cell was precisely that; a solitary cube in the center of the impenetrable metal room. It was monitored around the clock by a state of the art security system and a cadre of Special Forces personnel. The cube was only ten feet square and enclosed on all sides, the material composed of a transparent, blast-proof metal alloy with the consistency of diamond. The only furnishings were a single cot bolted to the floor and a toilet in the far corner. At the moment, everything was splotched with bright crimson.
Hunkering down beside one wall, Professor Willis examined the contorted figure lying only a mere foot away from him. "Specimen V," he called out, knocking urgently on the glass. "Specimen V!"
Reacting to the human presence, the lone figure's slight form eased its awful spasms long enough to look around. He raised his head and squinted at the man, trying to focus. "M-My… name," he grated out through clenched teeth, "…is-is Veh-Vegeta…" He spat out a mouthful of gore at the face only inches from his own. It splattered against the clear wall and ran down the surface in putrid streamers. As if the mere effort cost him the last of his precious reserves, Vegeta fell limp to the floor.
At the same time, the monitors that displayed his status went flat- line.
Jumping to his feet, the scientist went to the door and proceeded to enter his code to unlock it.
"Sir, you can't do that! I don't have Colonel Bedlam's approval," the Lieutenant objected, trying fruitlessly to dial his cellphone and restrain the scientist at the same time. All of the others were hovering back uneasily, unsure of what to do.
Shoving him away, Willis entered the last number and pulled open the door. "Get it, then! In the meantime, I'll make sure that we all have our jobs by keeping this alien alive!" He entered the room and knelt down beside the stricken Saiyan, feeling for a pulse and finding nothing. Trying to roll the alien onto his back was an impossibility, his hands and forearms were bound behind his back with metal shackles. "I need the key!" he barked out to the Lieutenant.
The officer eyed him with obvious trepidation. "Sir, I'm not sure-"
"!!NOW!!" he screamed. "He's dying!"
Reluctantly, the soldier entered the cell and did as he was told. There was about a half a second of apprehension when the locks were undone and the alien's arms freed. Well aware of the devastating nature of their feral acquisition, everyone held their breath believing that the display was some manner of ruse. Nothing happened. The staff finally became animated and let their training take over.
Hefting the limp alien onto a stretcher, Professor Willis climbed on top of him and began doing steady chest compressions while his medical staff wheeled him towards the exit. "Unlock the door!" he ordered to the Corporal stationed at the control panel. When he got no response, he glared at the Lieutenant.
Taking a deep breath, the officer gave one curt nod to his subordinate who immediately entered the code for the door to open.
No sooner was there the resounding boom of the locks disengaging then Willis glanced at the readout on the crash cart and felt a rush of relief. There was a sudden, jagged blip on the monitor followed by several more. "I have a heart rhythm-"
"That's not all you've got," Vegeta snarled out from underneath of him. The pair exchanged one ironic glance at one another before the Saiyan threw the shocked scientist the length of the room.
Nobody was prepared when the alien jumped from the stretcher and bolted for the exit. The huge doors had already timed through their brief cycle and were sliding closed again. The only one in Vegeta's way was the flustered Corporal who was shouldering his rifle just as the Saiyan tackled him, propelling them both through the exit with his momentum. Behind them, the immense doors slammed shut with a resounding crash of finality.
Dazed, the young guard was trying to locate his weapon when Vegeta leapt upon him and smashed his knee down into the back of the man's neck. The soldier's face collided with the hard tile with such force that his head virtually exploded.
Clarions sounded off and the lights of the Level transformed into a rheumy red. Following that were the sounds of the doors cycling up for another brief opening, no doubt from the staff trapped on the other side. Vegeta located the code-key controls and propelled his fist through the console all the way up to his elbow, hauling out a handful of wires and cables. A different sound was added to the alarms as the doors parted about half a foot and came to an abrupt stop, servos grinding in protest as the cycle was interrupted. Vegeta didn't linger around to gloat. The soldiers were pointing their automatic weapons through the narrow gap and opened fire without hesitation. One slug burned a trail across the Saiyan's thigh before he dove for cover into the stairwell.
Pausing long enough to catch his breath, Vegeta spat out a mouthful of blood and grimaced in pain. He'd had to almost bite through his tongue to generate enough blood to make the false hemorrhaging look convincing. Simulating the heart and other organ failure had merely been mind over matter. A Saiyan in his initial training learned how to control the involuntary bodily functions in order to block out pain and slow blood loss. Even feigning death came in handy, when all else failed.
Despite his seemingly energetic state, Vegeta wasn't anywhere close to being at his usual level and he knew it. His arms were riddled with needle marks from the tests the human's ran on him day and night and the drugs they pumped into him had all but negated his ki. His surroundings threatened to warp and dim from the sedation but he fought the effects. He was hoping that the jump-start to his system would burn the chemicals off but he didn't have any time to wait around for it to happen. The trapped staff was trying to over-ride the commands that had them closed off inside of the Isolation section. The only route of escape was the elevator that was directly across from him. Every time he so much as spared a glance around the doorframe, the soldiers started shooting.
To his surprise, the elevator doors began to slide open and Vegeta sprinted across the corridor, charging into it without a second's hesitation. He managed to throw out two startled soldiers who were cut down by their own fellow's fire. Inside of the close confines of the elevator, the small space was a definite disadvantage for the soldiers who now had to contend with a mad-as-hell alien who was lashing out with everything he had. Kicking and punching out with as much force as he could spare, Vegeta discovered the remaining five soldiers were no match for his speed and ferocity. Only one managed to land a fist on his face and the Saiyan retaliated by ripping the heart out of his chest.
Standing in the middle of the gore wearing only a hospital gown, Vegeta should have felt grim satisfaction at his prowess. For once, he didn't allow the arrogance to cloud his judgement. He was far from safe and he had absolutely no clue where he was. The events since that night the junkie bitch had thrown the powder in his face were hazy and ragged. All he recalled were shadowy faces, pinpricks of pain and hampering restraints. There was no telling how long he had been imprisoned here but he was reasonably certain that it had been more than just a few days.
The sound of footfalls pounding down the staircase caught his attention and he kicked out a body that was stopping the elevator doors from closing and moved to the wall panel. The only light that was on was L2 and above that were L1 and MAIN. Vegeta pressed MAIN and felt the metal box begin its ascent.
Looking around nervously, it occurred to him that the armored humans would be anticipating this maneuver and probably be waiting for him at his intended destination. He hit the emergency stop and then looked at the ceiling for an exit. When he looked at the floor, he finally allowed himself a thin-lipped smile.
Two cadres of Special Forces were arranged in a defensive half-moon posture around the elevator doors on the Main level. There had been one tense moment when the course of the elevator had stopped for about forty- two seconds before it started again.
"Everybody ready," cautioned the Major on duty.
Safety's clicked off of automatic weapons and the soldiers got down on one knee as the elevator reached their level.
"!!FIRE!!" shouted the Major as the doors parted.
The staccato sound of weapon's fire erupted like thunder in the narrow foyer. Bullets perforated the walls of the elevator before the Major called out, "Hold your fire!" He rose and advanced towards the opening, noticing only the bodies of the first cadre he had assigned to investigate the security breech. He glanced at the ceiling and saw that it was intact but couldn't help but notice the hole in the floor. It explained the forty- two second delay. "Shit!" he cursed and immediately reached for his comlink. His booming voice erupted from all of the speakers inside of the installation.
"Major Norton to all Units. Specimen V is loose somewhere on the lower levels. Containment has been unsuccessful. All personnel are to initiate lock-down procedures at once. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill! You have orders to shoot on sight!"
Assigning one cadre to secure the level, the Major organized the rest of his men to begin a thorough sweep of the rest of the Installation. For the first few minutes, the remaining soldiers were tense and jumpy from adrenaline but they eventually began to calm down and mill around. Several two-man groups splintered off to begin investigating the level they were on, leaving behind five soldiers.
"I don't like this. I don't like this one little bit," a Corporal grumbled under his breath. "This reminds me of a movie I once saw-"
Around him, the others erupted into loud groans. "Tucker, you always start harping on about movies you see," the Sergeant snapped at him. He shouldered the strap to his machine gun and went into the elevator stall to begin the grim task of pulling out the dead.
"It's always the guys that get left behind who get picked off first!" Tucker shot back. "I hate to break it to you- But that's US!"
"You are so full of shit," muttered the Sergeant.
That was when Vegeta kicked out the escape panel above him and dropped through the ceiling onto the soldier's back. The Sergeant could barely react before hands grabbed either side of his head and twisted with a sharp jerk, breaking his neck.
"Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!" Tucker bawled as the alien rose and fixed a crazed stare in his direction. He began backpedaling and shooting at the same time, his aim wild and panicked. Several bullets ricocheted and one serviceman screamed out, "Watch the glass, Tucker! For God's sake, watch the fucking glass!"
Evading the volley of erratic gunfire, Vegeta slid across the smooth floor and managed to knock the legs out from the luckless Corporal. Wrestling the gun out of his hands, he wrapped an arm around the struggling human's neck and held him as a living shield as he backed away from the three remaining soldiers.
"Aw cripes, I'm gonna die," Tucker moaned.
"Got that right," Vegeta assured him. "Where am I? What is this place?"
"You- you're in Installation Fifteen."
"That doesn't mean anything to me!"
"It-it used to be a submarine base operated by the Red Ribbon Army," Tucker said in a frantic rush. "Now it's a top secret lab that develops high-tech weapons and studies things l-like y-y-you!"
"Am I still on earth? Are we in space?"
Unable to stammer out a reply, the Corporal raised a trembling hand at the far wall. At first, the view beyond the large window didn't register on the Saiyan's numbed senses. There was only a murky blackness that he originally associated with night and thought it was of no consequence to him. Taking a closer look, he noticed transparent creatures moving beyond the thick glass, clearly attracted to the light the level generated.
They were underwater.
Vegeta's grim visage darkened with this new information but that was about it. "How far down are we?"
"Eighty fathoms," Tucker whispered and when the arm tightened around his neck, he corrected himself with, "That's about four hundred and eighty feet."
"Is that all? I hope you can swim," Vegeta said with a dry chuckle as he raised his free hand at the wall. His fingers started to glow a soft blue that began to grow in intensity the harder the Saiyan focused his power. It wasn't easy collecting the tattered threads of his ki but he was determined to be free of this asylum at any cost. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead from the effort, and his concentration wasn't helped as the soldier he was holding began reciting a prayer.
"Specimen V!" shouted an authoritative voice.
Reinforcements had arrived, sealing off any other avenues of escape but the one Vegeta had chosen. One human in particular seemed to be in charge of this heavily armed group, actually stepping ahead of his subordinates to confront him, both hands empty of weapons. "I'm Colonel Bedlam. I'm in charge of this Installation. If you blow out that window, you'll kill us all."
"What's the downside to that observation?" Vegeta growled.
"You'll die as well."
"Not me. You don't know what I'm capable of." To lend import to his words, the ki in his palm finally coalesced into a compact, deadly ball. At the sight of it, Vegeta's smirk broadened into a cold grin of accomplishment. He locked eyes with the impassive Colonel long enough to prove he was serious before throwing his hostage towards the soldiers. Whirling towards the window, he raised his hand and threw the destructive energy as hard as he could.
The explosion of ki and the hail of bullets were virtually simultaneous.
"I lost nine men to that… that creature," Colonel Bedlam stated gravely, standing in front of an observation window and watching the activity below them.
"It could have been worse," Professor Willis attempted.
"It very nearly was!" the officer bellowed at him. "If his blast had penetrated one eighth of an inch more of the glass, this entire base would have been full of water. Since you're the one who broke protocol, why don't you explain this near-disaster to the Military Council?"
Lapsing into troubled silence, the scientist only maintained his place beside his superior. He more than deserved the dressing-down for his rash actions, he had very nearly cost all of them their lives.
"You were fully briefed of his treacherous nature. Why did you ignore the warnings?" Bedlam continued to hammer away at him.
"I have to discount the validity of Specimen F's statements. I don't think he's to be trusted," Willis said.
"And he is?!" the Colonel barked, motioning to the operating room below them. There was harried movement from surgeons and nurses who were crowded around Vegeta's unconscious form. "At least the other one has never killed any of my men."
"Not yet."
Shelving his initial displeasure, the Base Commander eyed the other man curiously. "What do you suspect?"
"Specimen F is shrewd and manipulative. I know that he's given us invaluable information on weapons design and space propulsion. He has been cooperative and accommodating to both my staff and myself but…"
"The word 'but' is not a particularly scientific observation, Gerald."
"I stand by my earlier statement, Colonel. I'm accepting Specimen F's recommendations with extreme reservations. I'm certain that his motivations are far from honorable."
"I'm just going to worry about the alien who was in alliance with the brute who decimated the Naval Fleet. Specimen V down there owes us for the loss. If I get my way, he'll never see the light of day ever again. That other one is of no consequence to me. So long as he remains cooperative," Bedlam said in an ominous tone. Before the scientist could comment, the officer noticed one of the surgeons stepping back from the operating table. Stepping over to the intercom, he pressed the button. "Report."
"The alien's dense musculature saved him from the worst of the weapon's fire, Colonel," the surgeon said crisply. "Only two bullets caused any kind of significant injury; one ricocheted off of a rib and perforated the left lung. The other clipped a section of the small intestine causing minor internal bleeding. We've retrieved all of the fragments and repaired the damage. Hopefully his regenerative abilities will negate the trauma and help speed recovery."
"Excellent work," Bedlam praised and stepped back, muttering to himself, "He was shot in eleven places and none of them were critical. Unbelievable."
"Specimen V is proving to be more resilient than I could ever have anticipated," Willis admitted, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.
Snapping his head around, the Colonel picked up on that impressed tone and barked out, "No more heroics, Gerald. Not with this one. If he goes flat-line again, he stays in that damn cell until he starts to rot. I won't tolerate another breech of security, is that understood?"
"Perfectly, Colonel. I appreciate your lenience in this matter."
Bedlam grunted. "What other choice do I have? You're the best at what you do and we both know it. Just use your head the next time." Without another word, the man exited the room and returned to his duties. He still had staff that needed de-briefing and had a lot of calls to make. Behind him, Willis glanced at his watch.
It wasn't even noon yet.
One more second, perhaps two and he would have gathered enough energy to shatter the glass instead of crack it.
Vegeta realized that his single chance of escape was gone. The humans were not going to take any kind of a chance with him now. He was reduced to lying face down on his cot, wrists and ankles secured by padded restraints. The logic of this maneuver was to permit the wounds he had received from his thwarted escape, the opportunity to heal. He had turned just as the guards opened fire and the majority of the bullets had punched into his back. Staff came and went around the clock changing dressings, replacing intravenous bags and giving him more of that damned sedation. Vegeta was no longer sure if the time of the escape attempt had been days ago or weeks. He had no sense of time as one day blurred into another. Even the action of moving his head was a taxing effort for him now. His rare moments of consciousness were spent staring forlornly at the closed doors of the chamber he was trapped in. For the remainder of the time he was lost to dreams, nightmares…
…and memories.
"You never asked me," Trunks finally braved himself to speak up.
Vegeta had been absorbed in his sour musings and glared at his son. "Asked you what?"
"How you died in my timeline."
The older Saiyan only stared at him in confusion.
This exchange occurred during the period that they had spent together in the Room of Spirit and Time. The initial standoff between them had lasted for perhaps three weeks before they willingly began to interact. By this time, Trunks was desperately lonely and wanted nothing more than to spend time with the father he had never known. Vegeta's own reasons for socializing were, as ever, known only to him. To his credit, he didn't tell the teenager to shut up when the youth began that enthusiastic babbling that was so much like his mother. Perhaps, in his own distant way, he had been lonely too.
In their initial spars, the boy proved that he was tough as nails and resilient but, unfortunately, had a fighting style that was identical to Gokou's; the by-product of being trained by Gohan in his own timeline. The second Vegeta identified that technique, he resolved to correct that imperfection even if it came to the detriment of his own torturous training. There was no damned way that any child of his (an unwanted queer- haired, hybrid bastard he may be) was going to purposely flaunt the fighting style of his most loathed rival.
So, the two clashed until the empathic nature of the mystical room echoed their ferocity and became the consistency of molten lava. Two blond- haired antagonists threw ki-blasts and blows at one another with complete abandon, answering the call for battle that sang in their blood. No quarter was spared for the other, concepts of mercy and compassion were abandoned as father and son pounded away at one another until the blood would fly. Any human to view the savagery that the pair exhibited would dismiss the act as senseless violence. It was abuse at it's most depraved, made even more tragic by the direct relationship between the antagonists. It was insanity. Barbarism. Complete madness.
To a Saiyan: It was a means of familial bonding.
That truth was never more displayed then the day the pair had taken a unanimous day-off from the frenzied pace of their training. Actually, they were both too sore and injured from the previous day's efforts but neither would admit it. Trunks was seated at the table holding an ice bag to his left shoulder which had been dislocated fourteen hours ago. He had set it himself but it was still badly swollen. The same for his nose. There was a Band-Aid across the bridge and he had to breathe through his mouth.
There was a muted curse from the bedroom and Vegeta hobbled out. He made it as far as the kitchen table and collapsed into the nearest chair, propping his right leg up on another one. His ankle was swollen to twice its normal size and a dark purple color around the joint. Without a word, Trunks slid over his ice pack and went to the freezer to get himself another.
For awhile neither of them uttered a word, lapsing into a state that was less of a meditation and more of an exhausted doze. They had really gone at it the day before. The energies released in their mutual blasts would have destroyed the earth a dozen times over. When they had run out of the destructive energy and lapsed back into their human states, they had continued close-quarter fighting until the only thing holding them up was their own will power.
Vegeta had been glowering at his injured foot wondering how much of a set-back this was going to cost him when the boy started his questions, as he knew he eventually would. To his consternation and regret, the older Saiyan had quickly discovered that there were far worse experiences than defeat and death.
It was being trapped in a confined space with a teenager.
"Why should I care?" he parried the boy's question about his death in the future timeline.
Trunks blinked. "Aren't you even curious?"
The thought had crossed Vegeta's mind on occasion but he really couldn't have been bothered to bring up the subject. He offered the teen a vague shrug but passed him a look that the younger Saiyan concluded as interest.
"In my timeline, you left Capsule Corporation shortly after mom got pregnant. You caused a lot of trouble on Earth. The Z Fighters all thought that they were going to have to unite and battle against you again."
"This time, they would have lost," Vegeta sniffed.
Unfazed by the boast, Trunks responded evenly, "Gokou was a Super Saiyan by then and Gohan was on the cusp of the transformation. You never achieved that state in my timeline."
Eyes wide, Vegeta snapped his head around in shock. Seated across from him, his son was smiling but there was little humor in the expression. "Your future self never got the warning about the Android threat and so you didn't have the need to leave the planet and train. You thought the ascension would come to you eventually. You believed that you had decades ahead of you when you really had only months…"
"The Androids…"
"By the time they were done with you, there was nothing left but a handful of ashes. Gohan watched the battle. He said that it lasted all of three minutes."
Vegeta's face filled with hot blood at the mere memory of his humiliating defeat at the hands of Android 18. He had been Super Saiyan when he had battled her and hadn't lasted much longer. "Not in this time. Not like that. I won't be defeated by a pair of over-grown toasters."
"Your ego is unbelievable," Trunks ground out from between clenched teeth. "If you hadn't blown down the door to Doctor Gero's lab we could have planned a strategy-"
"What would have worked?" Vegeta shot back. "If there's anyone to blame here, go and confront Kakarrot. It was his stupidity that allowed the damn maniac to escape and create those abominations to begin with." He observed how the teenager's face flushed with his criticism. "Don't like it when I put down your revered hero, do you boy?"
"Gokou was-is the greatest warrior to ever live!"
"Confined to this pathetic world, I should think so. If not for the blow to his head, he would have been a true Saiyan-"
"-Like you?"
"And what's so wrong with that?"
"What have you ever created but death and destruction wherever you went?" Trunks shouted at him. "You're horrible! Sometimes I wish that Gokou had been my father instead of you!"
At the deliberate insult, Vegeta's lips became a bloodless straight line. "If I'd had my way, you never would have been conceived at all. If you want to blame anyone for the piss-poor origins of the sperm that created you, blame that treacherous mother of yours. I never volunteered for the job."
All of the blood drained out of Trunks face as if he'd been slapped. "Mom… she-she wouldn't have done that-"
"Why do you think I walked out?!" Vegeta snapped, banging his fist down on the table in frustration. "I made it clear to her that I was to remain the last of my line. I trusted her! And she went ahead and-" He visibly grappled with his temper before deliberately changing the subject. "I don't know the circumstances of what happened between the future incarnation of myself and Bul- that woman. All I know is what happened here. In this timeline."
In a small voice, Trunks managed to get out, "What did happen?"
Crossing his arms and looking away, the Saiyan said on a low voice, "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done…"
"Of course it matters! I deserve to know who my father is."
" 'You deserve'," Vegeta sneered. "My, aren't you the special one. What about what I deserve? I was destined to be the King of my people and rule an empire of millions. Not be reduced to a lowly soldier with a handful of survivors. Do NOT whine about stupid demands! No one ever answered my questions when I was your age. I was expected to keep my mouth shut and follow orders. You've been spoiled."
Trunks should have taken the warning that was clear in his father's voice but he pressed on. "You don't have any idea what kind of life I've had. I lost my friends one by one, watched my city and home turn to rubble. Each loss of life transformed my mother into a shadow of her former self. The only one who was like a real father to me was slaughtered and I risked everything to come back here and set things right. Who gives a shit about your loss? The Saiyans were just a race of shape-changing murderers-"
Trunks squawked as Vegeta lunged across the table and grabbed a handful of his collar, hauling him forward until their faces were only an inch apart. "Don't you EVER insult the Saiyan race!" Vegeta hissed. "I will always be their prince, even if it is to just a populace of ghosts. The blood of royalty does not die just because someone wills it so. Frieza slaughtered my people without even allowing them a final battle and I've been spending the remainder of my days trying to catch up to them. At least you are alive, boy," he released Trunks and shoved him backwards with an expression of disdain. "Me? I died the day that Vegetasei was destroyed."
Shaking in his seat, Trunks stared helplessly at the other Saiyan, unable to speak. Vegeta couldn't fathom the reason for the sudden shock on the teenager's face until he wiped away the moisture that had collected on his cheek. He had dismissed it as sweat until he looked down at his fingertips.
It was tears.
Without a word, Vegeta got to his feet and limped painfully out of the kitchen to start the day's training even though he was in no shape for it, physically or mentally. Remaining behind, Trunks couldn't have followed even if he had wanted to, thunderstruck by what he had seen and heard.
"Father," he whispered.
"Trunks," Vegeta croaked.
He buried his burning face into the pillow and let his body shudder with the aftermath of his grief. His son. The boy whose future representation had effortlessly killed both Frieza and his supposedly omnipotent father. The teen-ager had evolved into his Super Saiyan form easily fifteen years before he had himself. Despite the obvious fighting flaws associated with being trained only by Kakarrot's boy, the youth had displayed a stubborn and violent streak that had made his own Saiyan heart surge with pride. During their year together, they had reached a mutual understanding that had been less than a friendship but much more than just a mutual partnership. They had become father and son.
In direct conflict to the teen's destructive nature was a side that was sensitive and emotional. No doubt a by-product of the human taint in the boy's blood and his own desertion in Trunks' timeline. Here, he was alive and the boy was a mere infant. There was no telling how far Trunks could come in his training if he were to shoulder the responsibility.
The question nagged away at him… Did he want to be a father?
"Veh," a little voice whispered into his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut at the intruding memory.
He had entered the kitchen during one of his aimless roamings of the compound after his return from the Cell games and found Bulma feeding the brat in his ridiculous highchair. The lavender-haired mongrel was wearing more food then he had consumed and Vegeta sidestepped them and the mess to search the fridge for leftovers.
"There's some pork roast on the bottom shelf," Bulma told him and got a sour grunt for her effort.
Trunks was watching him with rapt attention. "Veh," he spouted through lips smeared with strained carrots. "…Veh? VEH!"
"Doesn't that creature say anything else?" Vegeta asked peevishly. He pulled a couple of plates from the fridge and kicked the door closed as he moved to the counter.
Bulma was watching how the baby never took his eyes off of the elder Saiyan. "Vegeta?"
"Vehta!" Trunks cried out even as Vegeta uttered a reluctant; "What do you want?"
"I think your son is calling for you by name," she said in an even voice, barely able to contain her joy.
Turning in surprise, the Saiyan cast a curious look at the little five-month-old. Bulma held her breath in expectation; it was the first time that Vegeta had ever displayed any kind of interest in the child.
"Vehta!" Trunks called out, stretching his pudgy arms up at his father. "Vehta? Veh? VETA!"
Drawing back with a scowl, Vegeta claimed his plate of leftovers and sneered at Bulma with open contempt. "Quite the prodigy. You must be proud," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He walked out of the kitchen without another word to either of them.
Trunks stared at the closing door with clear hurt in his blue eyes. "…Veh?" he mewled softly.
Vegeta struggled with the bonds that held him down onto the bed. The damned memories were more like flashbacks and he was helpless to stop their course. "No more! Enough! I don't want to see anymore!" he screamed into the mattress. "Make it stop!" Stitches pulled and blood started to flow and he continued his efforts, oblivious that the Major on duty was calling urgently for medical assistance. He was starting to cough up bloody phlegm when the door to his transparent cage opened and humans clothed in white approached his bed. From his perspective they looked ten feet tall and he bared his teeth at them and snapped at empty air for them to keep their distance.
"No," he objected when he saw the glint of a needle. "Not that. No more. Enough is en-" There was a prick of pain and then only a numbing heaviness that weighed down his limbs. He felt hands on his back, treating his wounds but was helpless to react to their presence.
Perhaps… perhaps I deserve this torture; he mused just before unconsciousness enfolded him again. It's a fitting end for someone as evil as I am…
"You're not, you know."
Looking away from the television, Vegeta cast an amused glance at the woman who was sprawled on top of him. They were lying on the living room sofa in the Hammorski suite they shared. A light blanket covered their nude bodies as they relaxed from the aftermath of a passionate lovemaking session they had shared about a half-hour before. "I'm not what?"
"Evil," Bulma said, raising her head from where it was resting on his broad chest. "Remember the conversation that we had two nights ago?"
"I remember that you never did tell me how much longer your ex- lover's cock was than mine," he quipped.
"Not that part, I mean-"
"-And you're still not going to tell me, are you?"
She slapped his cheek lightly. "Hush up. I'm trying to get to something-"
"Don't hit me! You don't see me smacking you around the room!"
"That's what I'm trying to get to if you'd just shut up long enough-"
"Physically AND verbally abusive! No wonder that idiot ex-lover of yours left-"
In an act of desperation, Bulma covered his mouth with her own to silence him for one minute. At first, his lips remained an indignant straight line but they gradually relented to her gentle insistence. The pair shared a brief kiss before she pulled back and said softly, "My point is that it bothers me when you just dismiss yourself as morally corrupt or evil. You're so much more than that."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Vegeta cast her a crafty smirk. "How can you be so sure? Perhaps I'm just putting on a good act for your benefit."
"Oh?" she raised one delicate eyebrow. "What would be your motive?"
The answer was immediate and predictable. "Great sex."
"Vegeta, I have the sneaking suspicion that you could sniff out a good lay anywhere you went. I'm not buying it. Why else would you stay here with me?"
"Riveting conversation."
"Now you're just being sarcastic," she sighed.
"What do you expect?"
"I expect an honest answer. You're not here for the sex or comfort. You're completely healed now, you could leave anytime you wanted. Why are you really staying with me, Vegeta?"
She slipped back and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders as he sat up. The two stared at one another for a moment before he looked away, his heavy brows drawing together in concentration. Bulma sensed that he was searching for the correct response and didn't rush him.
"It's hard for me to come up with an answer that isn't evasive or insulting. That's how I've been conditioned to respond to direct questions all of my life," he finally admitted to her in a voice very different from his usual coarse manner. "I don't know what you want me to say, Bulma."
"Just say the truth."
He spared her a hesitant, sidelong glance before his eyes darted uneasily away. "I… feel safe when I'm with you," he said softly.
" 'Safe'," she echoed.
"It's a stupid answer-" He shook his head in frustration and started to get up.
Bulma quickly grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from leaving. If he had wanted to, he could have shrugged off her hold with ease but instead he relented. He slumped against the backrest of the sofa and bowed his head as if in defeat. His cheeks were flushing slightly and that was how Bulma knew that he was telling the truth. "How many times have you ever admitted that? To how many people?"
"Never. No one," he muttered under his breath.
"Then it was the answer I wanted to hear," she said, smiling. Wrapping the blanket around both of their shoulders, she settled in close beside him. "Don't you understand what I'm trying to get at here, Vegeta? A truly evil person would have used me for what he could get and leave without a care in the world."
"I couldn't do that. Not now." He cleared his throat self- consciously. "Not after what you've done for me."
"And that's why you're not evil," Bulma reassured him. She wrapped her arms around him and settled her cheek against his, whispering into his ear, "That's why I love you."
Unable to respond, he tightened his own arms around her slight form and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck. As close as he was to her that instant, he was sure that he could smell her very soul. It was a unique, heady scent composed of trust, innocence and peace and he tried to will a portion of it into his own darkened heart. He was never sure if he was successful but couldn't discount the contentment that he felt whenever he was near her.
"Everything…everything went downhill when we left the hotel," Vegeta muttered out loud. He stared hopelessly at the closed doors of the chamber and turned his head away when the view warped with bitter tears. "I was safe there… with her. I-I was happy. Where did it go so wrong? I don't… I don't understand-" He muffled his sobs into the pillow, shamed by the display but unable to prevent it. He was terribly weak and in constant pain and the dementia created by the drugs made everything so much worse. "Buh- Bulma, I-I'm sorry-"
"Whenever I catch sight of you, you're in tears," a cold voice mocked by his bedside. "Not a very flattering sight, my little monkey prince. I hate to think what your father would say of this."
Opening his swollen eyes a crack, Vegeta registered that the spoken words were in the extinct tongue of Saiyago, his true dialect. Looking up, he saw the figure looming over him and knew that the memories had finally given way to delusions. "Go away. You-you're not real."
Frieza's black lips twitched in amusement. "If I were a hallucination, I like to think I'd pick better attire."
Focusing past the tears and unsteady surroundings, the Saiyan examined the other alien more closely. Wearing a similar hospital gown, Frieza was without his arm and leg bands or that hideous helmet. He looked strangely naked without his gear, his exposed flesh waxy pale and shiny pink but there was no mistaking his identity. "Not possible," Vegeta said in a hoarse voice. "Trunks… he incinerated your remains. I saw him do it."
"Yes, the boy," Frieza mused, staring down at his nails. "Curious little development, quite unexpected I'll admit. One little piece of me survived in the desert until the humans found me. Their cloning technology is crude but effective. I heard that they started on sheep. Go figure. Can't very well dismiss the end results, can I?" He extended his arms and did one complete circle before Vegeta's shocked, horrified gaze. "There's still a way to go before I'm complete. I've been very cooperative with the humans to get what I want. At first, it was just technology they were interested in. Then, imagine my delight when I sensed your ki and led them straight to you. They were ecstatic to have you in their custody, Vegeta. Apparently, you just make enemies everywhere you go."
"You- you'll never get away with this alliance," Vegeta said in English. "They'll figure out what you're up to."
Pursing his lips in amusement, Frieza arched one brow towards the scientist who had escorted him into the room. "He's irrational," the alien said smoothly. "I believe I'll need to be alone with him after all."
"That's fine," the man remarked and before Vegeta's stunned gaze, he actually turned to leave.
"Wait! You can't leave me here with him!" Vegeta shouted, pulling unsuccessfully at his bonds. "Don't go!"
Before closing the door, the young scientist only looked at him with concentrated hatred. "You killed Felicia Brevas," he said in a tight voice. "She was my fiancée, you son of a bitch!" With that, he slammed the door and swiped his card through the lock, sealing both aliens' in the small cube together.
"No," Vegeta whimpered, even as Frieza cleared the distance between them and knelt down beside the bed. For a long moment, the pale alien simply looked him over, his long tail waving lazily back and forth behind him. Eventually, he reached out and began running his hand over the bandages that covered the Saiyans back. At the mere touch, Vegeta moaned and tried to draw away but the restraints held him firmly down.
"My poor chibi no ouji," Frieza soothed. "It occurs to me right now how much I have missed you."
Feeling that cold hand brush over his tail scar and move slowly lower, Vegeta had never felt so helpless at any other time of his existence. He squeezed his eyes shut and tears spilled down his cheeks until Frieza moved in and licked them from his face. His saliva was like acid and left a stinging welt across the Saiyan's flesh.
"I'm going to enjoy this," the pale alien promised him.
Standing by the exit, the scientist turned to the Major on duty and remarked evenly, "I'm going to get a coffee. What do you say that I treat you and your men for, say… about ten minutes?"
Major Norton looked hesitantly back at the transparent cube. He frowned in disgust at what the ghastly white and pick creature was initiating with the smaller one. His brief concern flagged when he reminded himself of the death of his fellow soldiers only a few days before. "That sounds fine by me," he said and ordered his men to clear the room.
The gigantic doors parted and the staff slipped through for an informal break. When the barriers sealed closed again, they cut off the first of the agonized screams that came from the small cube.
Everyone pretended not to notice.
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Chapter Five: The inevitable showdown between Vegeta and Frieza!