Vegeta returned from his hunt feeling far less than his typical formidable self. Red blood in his mouth, the vigor of hot flesh--usually a hunt satiated more than simple hunger for food. But nothing had motivated him now save necessity. Even a Saiyajin couldn't fast indefinitely, and under these circumstances he needed all the ordinary, physical strength he could get. At least holding his ki below perceptible limits was becoming less of a strain as time wore on--because he had less to hide.

He brought one haunch of the goat back to the cave, thinking once mashed to a pulp he might force it into Kakarotto's mouth, and perhaps he could manage the rest himself...

Kakarotto was gone. He had left the other Saiyajin in an unconscious heap in the far corner of the cave, assuming he would stay put for an hour; after all, Vegeta had been none too gentle putting him to rest. It wasn't as if another cracked skull would do the idiot that much damage, especially compared to what he could do to himself awake.

But there was no sign of him now.

Dodging outside, Vegeta took to the air, visually scanning the barren wasteland for any motion as he extended his inner sense. No obvious places to hide, save among the stone and shadow; that was why he had brought Kakarotto here, where there was nothing to destroy. Here and there were the scarce, weak ki of desert creatures, hiding from the heat of the noon sun, but none of the subtly alien aspect, or blinding power, that marked a warrior born on another world.

Saiyajin for the most part resemble humans, but their physiology is adapted for fighting in a way unmatched by any Earth species. Their eyes are slightly larger than humans', and the connection of their optic nerve narrower, so their blind spots are smaller. Nevertheless, they still have them.

And Goku should not have been able to produce a ki blast in his condition, but then, Goku always had excelled at the impossible. It was no where near as controlled or focused as a Kamehameha, but it was still damaging.

Vegeta felt the spike of power like a stinging whip, burning across his nerves with unnatural violence. He spun, but too slowly. The blast caught him across shoulder, slammed him head-first into an outcropping. Dazed, he slid down the sheer rock, smashing into the bedrock beneath the cliff. Gravel rained down on him, and he struggled to find purchase in the shifting stone. Hearing a whoosh of displaced air, the prince forced up his head--

To see Kakarotto hovering before him, fist drawn back, about to land the final blow. Vegeta couldn't move, had only the time to realize the son of a bitch was going to do it. Carry out what he should have ended fifteen years past. Delirious, Kakarotto was more Saiyajin than when sane.

And he was rushing forward, wind screaming with the violating speed, and what an irony that he was the one to finish it, as, fatalistically, Vegeta had always known it would be--

A green and white blur slammed into Kakarotto, crashing him through a ridge of stone. The Saiyajin, his last energies spent, dropped senseless. Piccolo fished him out of the rubble, then carried his limp form over to where Vegeta was trying to stand, with limited success.

"Looks like my timing was perfect," the Namek said wryly. "Now tell me I picked the right man to take down."

Vegeta glared at him with all the indignation of a Saiyajin prince whose life had just been saved, then lost the wrath as he focused automatically on Kakarotto's ki. "Kuso--!" Shoving Piccolo aside, he planted his hands on the other Saiyajin's shoulders and concentrated on raising the last of his own power. If the ungrateful bastard died now, after all this work--

Kakarotto shuddered; then his breathing evened and steadied. Vegeta had just enough time to register the settling of his fluctuating ki, and then his own gave out. He crumpled, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Piccolo blinked; then, with a sigh, heaved the two half-dead Saiyajin over his shoulders and carried them back to the cave.

* * *

"We don't know," had to be one of the least comforting things a doctor could say about a loved one, Bulma reflected, as she watched Chichi cry. Her own eyes felt prickly. Goten looked tiny in the full-sized bed, his black hair in sharp contrast to the white sheets and his pale skin. He looked so much like his father had at that age, right around the time Bulma had met him. And acted so much like him, too, usually, all cheerful energy, for all his love of fighting not a hint of malice in him. To see him lying so still was more than upsetting; it seemed to be denying some fundamental fact. Going against the very nature of the universe, that a Saiyajin could be completely quiet and still be alive.

The doctor had found no signs of a diagnosable disease, except for Goten's fever and unconsciousness. The fever wasn't dangerously high, and he hadn't suggested much more than the standard cold remedies, plenty of rest and liquids. It wouldn't do any good to explain that Saiyajin normally didn't contract colds, common or otherwise, and therefore this couldn't be a regular bug. She wondered if they should consider quarantine, but Chichi was unlikely to budge from her son's side for any reason, and Trunks...

Trunks seemed to be trying to make up for his friend; he couldn't sit still--not that he ever could, but now he circled the room, unwilling to stray far from Goten but unequally unable to deal with his unconscious state. Bulma had at least convinced him to keep his feet on the floor when the doctor was present. He also oscillated between silence and rapid questions, fired at Goten, his mother, Chichi, the doctor, and the walls. "Ne, Goten, what's wrong? You too lazy to get up? Why don't you just stick and needle in him and wake him up? How come he's sick? When's he getting better?"

Bulma soon gave up trying to appease her son. He was a bright boy; he knew no one could answer. He only asked because he didn't know what else to do. If there were anyone to blame Trunks would have beat him bloody by now, but the lack of any clear target was eating at him like acid.

That came as much from his mother's side as from his Saiyajin heritage. Bulma knew she had to be doing something, or else she would start ripping her hair out at the roots. She wasn't a medical doctor, but she was a problem-solver, and a failing body was like a failing machine: there had to be a cause. Goku's disappearance might be related...and what of the probe? Vegeta had reacted to it, certainly. Could it emit something which affected Saiyajin?...no, not reduced to its component atoms, it couldn't.

So, something else. Something which lingered, and Vegeta had wanted to know who had had contact with the probe. As if he were worried about contagions. And Goten was sick...

Bulma felt a stab of fear for her own son. If Vegeta had known what this thing was, then it could be a Saiyajin disease, and if Goten had contracted it then hybrids were vulnerable. But she couldn't think of any way to keep Trunks from his friend. Explaining the situation wouldn't help; he would understand, but wouldn't fear the risk. And there wasn't any way to physically keep them apart; she had yet to construct a barrier which could repel a Super Saiyajin attack.

Up to her, then, to find a cure before it could hurt her son, or her friends' son...or her friend. Or her husband, if Vegeta had contracted it.

She put that thought aside, concentrated on the problem at hand. No obvious physical cause, but the doctor had no way of examining the life forces which ran so powerfully in a Saiyajin. But Goten had said he had felt something wrong with Goku's ki, and Gohan had mentioned Goten felt strange, before he had left to find Kuririn and the others. Bulma didn't have their natural senses, but she had her own ways to measure ki levels.

"Trunks," she said, catching her son's arm, "I need to go to my lab. You stay here and look out for Goten and Chichi, all right?"

"Got it." Trunks bobbed his head.

"And Trunks--if you're feeling sick or strange in any way, you have to tell me right away. Okay?"

"Mama, I feel fine--"

"It's important, Trunks."

Trunks sighed. "Okay."

Bulma gave him a quick hug and a peck on the forehead, then hurried to her lab. She had already taken out the basic ki monitors to help in the hunt for Goku and Vegeta, but what she had in mind needed finer calibration than a simple directional locator.

It felt good to have something to do, something to focus on. Something to take her mind off the boy in the medical wing, and the missing warriors, and especially the cause of the problem. If it was the probe that had caused this--if it had been sent deliberately to spread an infection...This wasn't a threat they had faced before. And even after all the enemies that had threatened Earth, it still was a chilling thought.

Biowarfare.

Whoever these villains were, they weren't just spoiling for a good old-fashioned fight.


More to come, soon as I get in gear to write it.

Big thanks to Dreamwraith (I'd keep writing without reviews - once I start something I like to see it through - but they definitely inspire me!) and Sholio (this is actually your fault - your fantastic stories are what got me back into DBZ! Please continue them!) for letting me know someone's still out there.