CHAPTER 6

It was the Vicodian's sleeping cycle, and after witnessing the obliteration of the sacrificial tower on the perimeter of the inner province, the fur-faced fanatics were all trembling safely in their homes. And the dirt-packed streets of the dreary Cur district were vacant.

Except for her.

For being a Chosen, Mo moved through the cluttered roads, and dark alleys of the outer province as comfortably as a snake in a swamp. Her violet cloak flapped about her body like a bat wing as she strode with purpose and haste, reflecting the lazy haze of yellowed lamps that dotted the province. For all her scatter-brained dialogue from earlier, Vegeta found himself wondering if she was indeed more competent than he'd assumed.

Following her had been easy enough. Moving faster-than-sight was simple, but every time the Saiyan would advance, a warm little fuzz ball, snuggled securely against his chest, mewled from fright. He swiveled them around a jagged corner of an alley.

"Shhh." He braced the cub within the folds of his cloak, as he had been doing this whole time. She was shaking under his palm, her nails embedded in his skin. His coarse thumb absently feathered the fur behind her ears until she simmered down. There was something discomforting about her distress, and a part of him was reluctant to pass the child off on complete strangers when for some wild reason, she'd already found comfort in Vegeta's presence.

Him. A xenocide soldier. With more blood on his hands than anyone left in this dimension… "If you had any idea…" he began in hushed tones, but his attention was redirected as Mo's figure veered off to the right.

He watched discreetly from within the black shadows of his hood to watch the Vicodian female turn with a flourish, and vanish down behind some run down tavern not far off.

"So it's there, is it…" The shadows-and-ash structure looked no different from any other – just as sagged and dismal as the rest of the rowed buildings in the Cur district.

But the sound… There was a distinct sound emanating from the tavern walls. Vegeta neared, making sure the cub and his face were well-hidden. Yes. There was a rhythm…a deep bass thrumming that was interspersed with short staccato squeaks of a melodic sort.

Music. Cur music. Much less refined than what the Chosen produced.

But just as irritating.

"Be still," he whispered, giving Cricket a gentle shake. His patience was wearing thin, and stealth wasn't his preferred method of infiltration. Ki reflexively burned in his palms, itching to solve his dilemma with the usual brute strength, but he clenched his hand into a fist.

Damn that planet earth and its inhabitants. They had changed him forever.

En lieu of blasting the door, he grabbed the rusty old handle and walked right in. The eerie melody jumped out and smacked him in the face like a bitch slap from Kakkarot. He couldn't decide what was more torturous. The deep bass whoom, or the whistle-pitched scale on top.

Cold Saiyan eyes assessed the situation with practiced brevity. It was an underground club. That much was clear – dim lighting, a spacious nearly-empty floor, with a low ceiling and musicians practicing on a raised stage to his right… The instruments each had cylindrical horns attached to them to amplify sound. Only a smattering of Vicodians – all of them, Curs – were in the room, collected in small groups chatting loudly over the spine-straightening music.

One of them was so bold as to stride up to him and try to see his face from within the darkness of his hood. "Greetings," the Cur bowed respectfully, but he didn't cower. None of them did. This crew obviously had a higher sense of self-worth than they were supposed to have. "We don't get many of the elite—" was it Vegeta's imagination, or did he draw the honorific out mockingly? – "here. After this night's events, I'm afraid the club is rather dull at the moment—"

To hell with subtlety. "Take me to Vronesh."

The Cur's pupils shrunk, and his lips pulled back momentarily to show a row of sharp teeth. "I…I don't know what you're—"

With one hand securely bracing the trembling cub, Vegeta lanced his other one out and lifted the Cur off the floor. "Take me to—" a quick movement in his peripheral vision distracted him, and he looked over in time to see a frantic Vicodian disappear down a hall at the south end of the room.

Dropping his gasping victim, the Saiyan prince crossed the floor at an invisible speed and followed the fleeing figure. Its erratic panting and scuffling footsteps ricocheted along the walls, easily masking Vegeta's own. The hallway turned to stairs that dropped down and curled to a lower level. They came to a brightly lit room, alive with the mechanical grindings of machinery, and the smell of oils, and inks. Hesitant, Vegeta hung back. So this is where their printing press is…

"Mo!" Oblivious to his presence, the informer scampered in, nearly falling in his haste.

"Ah! Scallywag," Mo's voice hollered over the machine. "Do me a favor and tell the musicians to start playing again. Here they go and stop, right in the middle of a print—"

"S-s-someone's here! A Chosen!"

Pause. "Eh?"

"A Chosen?" Another voice, male.

"He just barged in, and then picked Cephus up like he weighed nothing. He wants to see—"

Vegeta walked into the room, and the informant Scallywag squeaked and scrambled to the opposite side of the wall. The other male – larger in stature than most - tensed into a defensive crouch, and Mo… Well, she went completely rigid.

Identity still hidden from them, Vegeta strode over to the loud mechanism, and picked up one of the yellowed fliers…very similar to the ones Dynast Tweak had shown him just the day before. "The Chosen. A Caste of Liars. Falsehoods Abound," he read the title of the latest issue of the revolt, revealing his voice.

Mo choked. "Vegeta!"

He pulled his hood back, and hmph'd. "Not a bad idea. Masking the sound of your printing press with your detestable music."

The bulkier Vicodian stepped back in alarm. "The alien!"

Vegeta scowled. He'd gone from being deity, to royalty, to simply 'the alien' in just one day. He'd never been demoted so fast.

Mo's tail twitched about her ears, her slanted eyes wide with apprehension. "How did you…" she then grimaced, and smacked her own forehead. "Ugh. You followed me here."

"You were an idiot to think I wouldn't. With such carelessness, it's a shock to think your little uprising hasn't been discovered yet."

"How…how does he know you?" the stronger male asked her. Mo's eyelids swelled timidly, and she started to shuffle her feet.

"Well, I uh…I thought that maybe he could help us rescue Dink."

Scallywag gaped. "What? Him!?" The scrawny, bug-eyed Cur huffed. "Good Ganja, Mo. What made you think...?"

She perked, and her slivered eyes disappeared in a good-natured smile. "It's quite amazing, really. He—"

"Enough," Vegeta barked, far from eager to let the whole Cur district know that the'd rescued the cub. He pointed at their printing press, his finger pulsing with energy. "Vronesh. Now. Or I blow it up."

Mo stammered. They all eyed him nervously, and a barrage of Vicodians burst into the room from upstairs. Bifurcated, furry faces open in an assortment of shocked expressions. Vegeta's pulse quickened with irritation. This was getting far too tedious.

The one he'd assaulted at the front door barreled through them. "Mo! Are you--!?"

"I'm fine, Cephus. We're fine. It's all fine."

Cephus' jaw dropped. "It was the alien!?"

The Saiyan prince's lip twitched. "Mo…"

She gulped. "Right. Uh, brethren? Will you leave us alone for a bit?"

Cephus rubbed his neck where Vegeta had lifted him, and hissed. "Are you insane?"

"I imagine if he came here to hurt us, he would have done so already," Mo said with a placating gesture. Vegeta held his tongue. If he gave into his instincts now, the entire crew by the door would have been blasted to the next dimension. And he doubted they'd be very receptive to the cub if he offed half of them in the process.

After a moment, they started to filter out, some tossing threatening glances in Vegeta's direction, while most stared apprehensively.

"I'll be fine." Mo said, ushering them out. "Really!"

A little more persuasion and the rest of them left, slowly feeding back into the hallway like a withdrawing sea urchin. The scuffling stopped just out of sight, as they no doubt halted in the hallway to eavesdrop. Vegeta ignored them. At least they weren't cluttering his sight.

Mo turned to him, her tail a clear sign of her confused wariness. She thumbed her lips. "And here I thought you'd had it with me."

"I had."

"Then why did you follow—"

"OhwillyoujustgetmeVronesh!" His pitch startled the cub. The cub burrowed into his pecks. His pecks convulsed, the nerves ricocheting all the way to his hand, which twitched on reflex and… Aw, shit. Sparks flew as his unauthorized ki blast pulsed out and soldered a manual clamp on the printing press.

Vegeta swore. Mo yelped and fell back, and the cub went rigid with panic.

'My press' Mo mouthed, and then a choked gurgle. "My printing press…" Her arms dropped, and her voice jumped up an octave and cracked. "MY PRINTING PRESS!!"

Oh, for crying out-- "It's not like I obliterated it."

"You furless brute!" she ran over to it, and started caressing the machine like a wounded pet. "You don't know what we went through to get this thing…"

A high-pitched whimper cut her off. Mo straightened.

"What was that?" Her gaze fixed on his chest. Or more accurately, the moving lump snuggled within his cloak. "What…do you have?"

Dammit… He released his grip on the cub, realizing a little too late that he'd probably been suffocating her. She dropped out by his feet, and rolled on the ground with glazed, sapphire eyes.

Mo startled. "Oh!" She took a step back. "You brought her here…"

Vegeta looked painstakingly down at his cargo, and then back at Mo. Ah, screw it. To hell with Vronesh. Besides, from what he'd seen, Mo apparently was far from an underling in the radical ranks. And that should be good enough. "I'm leaving this backwards hell hole of a planet. The cub is yours."

The ship's console blinked up at him through the bleak darkness of the ship. Vegeta studied the buttons, and contemplated the coordinates logged in its system. He hadn't meant to come straight here. At least he should have gone back to his quarters, and stocked up on what was left of the food.

But leaving the cub in the hands of strangers wasn't as cut and dry as he had anticipated. It confused him…conflicted him, and he rushed back here in a near panic. It wasn't that the rebellion was unwilling to take the cub in… They were. It was just that when the little critter tugged on his cloak, and looked up at him like that, with those melancholy, cerulean eyes…

Vegeta shook himself. No dignity. These people taught their children no dignity. Even Trunks knew better than to show his tears. The boy must have swallowed them down more times than Vegeta could count…

Agh… That annoying pang in his chest flared up again. I've got to get out of here.

His fingers bounced away on the pad almost frantically, blipping up maps and logs. His eyes scanned over them. Dr. Briefs had entered in the coordinates of every alien planet he'd learned about. They weren't many, but one of a particular interest caught his attention.

Yadrat.

Home of the creatures who had taught Kakkarot that cursed Instant Transmission trick. That would definitely be a skill worth his time to acquire. And it couldn't have been that bad of a place. Even the goody goody Kakkarot had abandoned his wife and son for years to live there.

He plugged it in as the destination. Vicodin was no longer conducive to his training regimen. It was simple. An easy decision to make. Which is why his unease with leaving was so frustrating. As though he were running away…

Vegeta gritted his teeth, and pounded his knee with his fist. There's no enemy, here. No tangible threat to my strength. Nothing to flee FROM, "I'm NOT running away!," he mouthed in a strangled whisper.

On some demented cue, a pleading black-furred face with eyes so like his son's surfaced again on the backs of his eyelids. He barred it. The cub's well-being is not my problem

The engines fired up loudly. Mercifully. Welcoming the thought-halting noise, Vegeta leaned back and strapped into the seat. He'd been in such a hurry to leave, that he'd slipped into the ship without drawing notice from the nearby Chosen. So needless to say, the few that were stationed about the launch pad were shouting and running about in a panic, no doubt wondering who the hell was stealing the Servant of Ganja's ship.

"Good riddance," Vegeta muttered, not feeling half as indifferent about his departure as he would have liked. He closed his eyes as the thunderous vibrations of the machine escalated…and escalated…and escalated…

And stopped.

Hn? The engines…the revs had lost momentum. Vegeta sat forward, and glared anxiety at the console. He tapped the start up button repeatedly, nearly puncturing the fiberglass in the process. It did nothing. The jets petered out, and died.

"You've got to be kidding me." Vegeta slapped the orange blitzing light on the console. A mechanical voice lilted through the chamber with the last thing the departing prince wanted to hear.

"Energy low. Energy low. Energy—"

He shut it off, swore liberally and ran his hands through his hair. "Great…" The tension in his neck left knots that nearly touched his earlobes. Psychologically, he was beginning to wonder if he was leaving in a worse mess than he'd arrived in. One thing was for sure. This planet hadn't helped him any. He'd just been here barely two cycles, and had already lost his focus. He hadn't really thought of Kakkarot since…since the cub…

Feh. His hand jerkily reached out and slapped the communications nodule to Capsule Corp. He didn't realize until after it started beeping that Bulma might be the one to pick up the receiving end. He held his breath, and exhaled relief when an elderly, moustached face popped up on the monitor. Dr. Briefs.

Smile. Nod. "Ah, Vegeta. I had anticipated you'd be calling sooner than later."

"It needs to be recharged."

"I know, I know. It wasn't fueled up, and you left here in such a hurry, that I forgot to show you how." Dr. Brief's constant good cheer had never ceased to amaze Vegeta. Here he was, chatting amiably to the man who had just abandoned his only daughter and grandson without so much as an apology. Vegeta only wished his brain were that simple.

Wait, no. He looked at the doctor more closely. There was agitation. It was slight. The avoidance of eye contact…an extra sag to his wrinkled cheeks. Finally, some emotion in the old geezer. Hn. Leave it to me to bring it out in him.

"So...does it need fuel?"

"It needs charge, which you can get from solar energy. There's a latch in the roof of the pod, that opens up a battery tank up top. Do you see it?"

Vegeta craned his neck back. It took a moment. "I see a panel, with a red-handled crank."

"That's it."

"How long will it take?" He crossed his fingers.

"If it's low enough to give you the warning signal, then approximately 504 hours to fill her up…three earth weeks, give or take."

"So long!?"

"It's actually quite efficient, if you consider the circumstances of being on a primitive planet."

Vegeta swore. What could he do? And then he realized, "Primitive planet? You've been keeping track of me…"

Dr. Briefs looked down, and started to frown at his hands. An awkward moment of silence passed between them. So the doctor had secretly been monitoring his travels. It opened up venues of Vegeta's heart that he'd shut off when he left. Making him remember. Making him wonder… "I imagine they're better off without me there…" It was as uncomfortable to bring up as it was to think about. What was he doing?

Something flashed across Dr. Brief's face, too hidden behind facial hair to interpret. The elderly man looked up and exhaled heavily through his nose. "Only time will tell, Vegeta. But…" his expression grew hard. "It did take a while for the boy to stop crying."

Vegeta closed his eyes. Ugh…so damn uncomfortable. His reasons for leaving were valid, dammit. Besides, it was for the best. He'd seen what earth considered good parenting skills, and he had none of them.

"Royal Saiyan blood runs through Trunks' veins. He'll survive."

Nod. "Yes, I'm sure he will. As will Bulma, though I don't know that she'll ever forgive you for leaving them."

Vegeta's eyes widened marginally. It wasn't like the doctor to be so blunt. "I never expected her to understand."

"At least your absence here has been alleviated somewhat by Goku, who seems to be back to his old self."

A hissing intake of breath. Kakkarot…? Then, more soberly, Fool. Of course he would be there. The goofy lout is probably giving Trunks and Bulma more attention than I have in the past five years.

His lips thinned with the pangs of jealousy – not unlike the anger he felt when he'd shown up at Roshi's island to find them in each other's arms. But this time…something was different. Vegeta frowned, trying to pinpoint it. Interspersed with his primal, territorial indignation was an odd, strange…sensation of…relief? As though an unacknowledged burden had just been lifted off his shoulders. It made no sense.

Hn. It's not like they wouldn't have pulled through. My father was killed when I was five, and I was stronger because of it.

But yet something was easing his conscience. He couldn't deny it, so he forced himself to acknowledge the vibe. "Tell…" his throat tightened, and he swallowed down his pride. There were no better hands for Bulma and Trunks to be in, than his old enemy's. "Tell Kakkarot to take good care of them."

Dr. Brief's eyes widened in momentary surprise, and then after a moment, softened. "I will."

The doctor's face faded and blitzed out, as Vegeta abruptly cut the transmission short. He leaned his elbows wearily on the control panel with his head hanging between his shoulders. So many thoughts were pingponging around in his mind, he couldn't have trusted himself to make another coherent statement. Trunks…Bulma… Kakkarot… Mixed feelings abounded. It almost left him questioning exactly what he hoped to obtain while out here. It was supposed to be the strength to finally beat his nemesis.

Is it still that simple?

He sighed heavily. Feh. It sure used to be.

Now he couldn't help but to wonder if physical training wasn't the only way to regain a sense of dignity. That there might be better venues for rebuilding who he was.

His eyes trailed out to the horizon that bisected the bubble glass window. Dusk was about to peak again, already growing faintly orange amidst the blues and purples. This planet, and these people…he'd be stuck with both for the next three weeks. He could ignore the planet's political unrest and forget about the cub's woeful sapphire eyes, or Mo's valiant, but clumsy attempt to revolutionize Vicodin's social structure, as he trained out in the desert.

But then he'd be alone, with no distraction from this vortex of confusion that was his mind. And when he wasn't alone, he'd be pestered relentlessly by that moron Tweak and his self-important acolytes. The destruction of a sacrificial tower wasn't something they were going to get over. And since the Chosen were convinced that Vegeta was the direct link to their great God, Ganja…

He was getting a headache, just thinking about it.

The Saiyan stood to his feet, and rubbed his forehead vigorously. A part of him couldn't believe he was even considering the last option… But joining with Mo most certainly wouldn't be boring. And it would give him the upper hand in something, which would be a welcome change of circumstance since the rest of his life seemed to be spitting all over him…

Besides, he thought with a mental smirk, I'd like to see the look on Tweak's face when his world is flipped upside down by the insects at his feet.

"Alright then, Vronesh…you elusive, enigmatic son of a bitch," he cracked his knuckles and straightened his spine, looking decisively out over the low gray buildings of the Cur district. "You just got yourself one hell of an ally."