Part 4:

(all righty people, for those of you who are braindead, this is a flashback. raise your hand if you didn't know that when you saw the italics)

"Woman, what in the hell are you DOING?" Nappa demanded, crossing his arms as Bulma tinkered with a few bits of machinery and straightened, wiping her grease-and-various-other-fluid-covered hands on her pale khakis.

"Making a bomb," she replied with a grin, tucking the wrench into her back pocket and pulling out a screwdriver from somewhere.

Nappa snorted and leaned against the wall, watching the mechanical genius work her magic. "You constantly threaten to blow up the ship, woman. What makes you think I'll believe you this time?" She only shrugged and knelt, squinting as she dug the point into the screw and carefully tightened it. "You have two hours until docking, woman. Remember that."

The scientist growled and stopped her work for a split second as she remembered what Vegeta had told her:
"You go straight from the trial to the king's chambers, woman." The prince had smirked wolfishly at the thought. /He doesn't care what happens to me./ Bulma thought angrily. /Maybe I should rig the gravity chamber…/

"Yeah, yeah," was what she said out loud, waving a hand at the Saiyan. "Two hours is plenty of time."

"Plenty of time for WHAT?" Nappa inquired suspiciously, obsidian eyes narrowed.

"O chill out," Bulma muttered, rolling her eyes. "It's not like I'm going to chuck this thing on the planet and kill every Saiyan I can find."


~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

"Everything is going smoothly," Zucco said, crossing his arms as the big bulk that was Nappa loomed over him. "You can even see the docking bay from here. There is NOTHING to worry about." As if on cue, the alarm went off, every high-strung tech under the pressure of trying to get the ship to the surface with at least the king, the prince and most of the Elites intact jumping out of their skins.

"NOTHING, huh?" Nappa growled at a sheepishly grinning Zucco before turning his attention to the techs. "Where is the origin?"

"Lab 3," the doctor replied, scanning the stat screens as soon as the information popped up. "Bulma's in there," he said almost as an afterthought. Nappa's jaw tightened and the older Saiyan smiled. Despite everything the big warrior had done to deny his affection for the loud-mouthed human, it was more than obvious he felt like a protective older brother, bordering on father at times.

"Move!" Nappa shouted at the lower-class soldiers, his death glare almost matching that of the prince's. He grabbed Zucco's arm and dragged him along as well.


~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Vegeta growled as he ignored the infuriating noise demanding a code and merely ripped the door aside. "WOMAN!" he barked, seeing her jerk in surprise. Bulma totally ignored the furious prince as he stalked toward her, choosing to stare at the metallic box that sent up a high-pitched beep instead.

/Shit, shit, SHIT!/ She thought frantically, fumbling like a novice with the wires and finally yanking out a green one. The commotion settled just as the prince's gloved hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around. "Ow! Get the hell off me!" she shouted at the glowering Saiyan, smacking his arm with her free hand. Vegeta only smirked and tightened his grip, turning to drag her off. Without thinking, Bulma's fist slammed down on top of the box, a blue light quickly changing to red to indicate the bomb was armed.

"Woman, what the hell IS that thing?" Vegeta demanded, wincing away from the sudden racket that could injure his sensitive ears. In his anger, he wasn't holding back as much as he thought he did, which resulted in Bulma's constant whimpering. "Answer me!"

She only grinned at him through her pain. "You're going down, asshole," she replied weakly.

"Sire, it's a bomb!" Nappa shouted, leaning on the doorjamb, blood running down the side of his face. "She's already blown up the west sector."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he calculated Bulma's plan. /She knew she was going to spend the rest of her short life as the king's pleasure slave,/ he thought quickly, looking over the still grinning scientist, /so she wanted to kill off as many Saiyans as possible before she died as well./ He had to admit that impressed him to a certain degree. /I didn't think the woman had enough courage to die like a Saiyan./ He smirked. /I'll have to prolong her life for this./

"Sire, get out! That is strong enough to kill even you!" Nappa advised, moving toward the prince. Vegeta looked over his ex-trainer and now head bodyguard and nodded. Without thinking, he pulled Bulma closer to him and blew out the side wall. Nappa was shouting orders to the men closing in around the lab to stay out.

Just as the prince crossed to the next hallway, the bomb went off, throwing him off his feet. Vegeta glanced back at the site, feeling a twang of sorrow, his face betraying only a bit of his thoughts. He couldn't say he ever really liked the man, but he was a strong warrior, loyal and even halfway intelligent when the times called for it. The prince would recite the proper ritual for a warrior that died in service of the royal house, but now he glared down at an unconscious Bulma. Grunting, he hoisted her to his shoulder. He had bigger fish to fry.

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Bulma sighed and sat back in her unsturdy chair, cocking her head to look at the picture of Yamcha again. She slowly traced a finger over the laminated surface, blue eyes narrowing. He hadn't been the most faithful man she could've asked for, but she had fallen for him, and fallen hard, believing he felt the same,. /One day I'll break that bastard in half for you,/ she silently vowed, turning her full attention back to the computer. A large ruckus outside her room made her rise and crack the door irritably.

Already wide blue eyes grew to titanic proportions when she saw Orrata thrashing in the grasp of three Saiyan men, all of which who had taken substantial damage. Bulma was about to step into the fray when Nea rose from her half-kneeling position, hand over one side of her face. The warrior next to her grasped her elbow as she stood. The younger Saiyan jerked her arm away, removing her fingers from her cheek. Blood gushed down that side from a deep gouge over her left eye, a burn mark surrounding the injury. Orrata's eyes suddenly went blank and she purred softly, then growled and again attempted to throw the men off of her. Bulma wisely stepped back through her door and left it open only enough to see.

"Let her go," Nea ordered, wiping the blood on her leg. The male warriors hesitated and she whipped her arm over her head, electricity sparkling around her fist. The scientist's eyes widened even more when she felt the power radiating from her guard. It was nearly as high as the king's. /I bet it's a good thing HE doesn't know that./

The men backed away slowly, keeping an eye on their prisoner. Orrata fell forward into her friend's arms, purring again softly and winding her arms around the older woman's neck. Nea smiled gently and brushed her hair back as if she were a comforting older sister, saying something in a language Bulma couldn't make heads or tails of. It was something similar to Pig Latin but that was only speculation. Orrata nodded and laid her head on Nea's shoulder, eyes closed.

"I have it under control," Nea snapped at the confused men. The four Saiyans, for their credit, stood their ground until Orrata flashed her fangs at them. With that wild look on her face, they all but ran. The older woman bopped her on the head. "That wasn't nice."

"They were interrupting," Orrata explained, grinning.

Bulma pushed her door the rest of the way open, pushing her jaw up as she did so. "What was THAT about?" she demanded, scratching the back of her head. /It was certainly… interesting./

"She's going into her first heat," Nea explained, rubbing the back of her friend to keep her calm. /Gods only know what she'll do if she gets riled up./

"And this is… bad," Bulma said slowly, watching the younger Saiyan's tail swing back and forth contentedly.

"For the next 9 days the only things she'll want to do is eat, sleep, and mate," Nea continued, watching Orrata's face for any sign of danger. The other woman seemed to be almost asleep.

"Hmph. Sounds like men on a regular basis."

"Agreed."

"What's with the clowns then?" Bulma motioned toward the absent warriors and Nea blinked, then smirked ferally.

"The only ones safe around a Saiyan going into heat for the first time are his or her chosen closest of kin and his or her mate."

"Guys go 'into heat' too? No wonder Vegeta's so bastardy. He must have PMS 24-7." Then the full impact finally hit her. Those two were definitely NOT siblings, mother-daughter, or aunt's second niece's first cousin's husband's best friend's boyfriend's mother-in-law's granddaughter's stepson's distant relative twice removed. Which left… "So, who's her mate?"

Orrata locked eyes with the alien scientist. "Me."

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The darkness was almost overwhelming. The Saiyan's first instinct was to start blasting in hopes of getting out of this hellhole of black. Somehow he restrained himself and grunted as he sat up. Gohan's eyes snapped open and he tensed at the deep-sounding voice. He felt strangely disoriented, like his body didn't belong to him. Clenching his fist, he felt the raw power, power he hadn't had an hour before, flow through his veins. /What the hell is HAPPENING to me?/ He couldn't seem to really feel the floor under him, or a replica of his father's training clothes against his skin, or even the slight breeze that rustled his hair.

"This is ridiculous," he growled, a faint echo sounding in his ears. "Am I dreaming or what?" His voice was nowhere near his normal boyish squeak. Instead it was more toward a man of twenty. /I wish I could at least SEE!/ he thought desperately, straining to catch any glimpse of light at all. He felt like he was drowning.

Before his question could be answered, his eyes opened a second time, and now he was flat on his back under a light with a monster like none he'd seen before smirking down at him. Straps intertwined around his torso, pinning every part of his body snugly against the ground. The intense power he'd felt only a moment ago had been ripped away and replaced with a weak human body that trembled with the strain of breathing. His dark eyes narrowed, vision dulled, nearly blind and deaf, at the alien. The thing spread its top two arms wide, throwing a green dust over him.

"Welcome to Tirran, boy."

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Vegeta wasn't angry. He was far from being angry. For this he was somewhere between volcanic and nuclear. The only thing stopping him from going straight out to Nea's cabin and ripping off her mate's head and hanging it on his wall was because he was still trying to figure out if Bulma was alive or not. His tail made the air crack as it flew behind him, black eyes narrowed almost to slits, almost as much at himself as at the palace medics who wouldn't let Zucco in to work on Bulma. The prince stopped himself as he realized he'd mentally called her by name.

Shaking his head roughly, his whipped his tail back again before letting it fly in the other direction. /I don't need that wench,/ he reasoned. /I have a hundred techs, all at my command./ He scowled and turned back to face the wall, not allowing himself to pace. Walking in circles never did any good so he'd never gotten into the habit. Focusing on the double doors, he growled once more.

Zucco glanced at his prince out of the corner of his eye worriedly. Vegeta had never been this antsy before in his life. /She sure is a powerful influence,/ he thought. The doctor sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. One hand reached into his coat pocket and tapped a blue button on what looked much like Bulma's dragonball radar. His eyes widened as he tilted it in the direction of the scientist's room. "Sire?"

"Yes," he snapped, curling his tail around his waist elegantly. "Will it save her?"

"You've gotten attached," Zucco accused even as he punched in the code to the hospital wing. Usually he wouldn't have dared to make such a comment, but at this time he was the only one who knew enough about Bulma to secure her safety.

"She is the best technician I have," the prince admitted sternly. "I want her alive at any cost." Zucco nodded and Vegeta grabbed his arm. "ANY cost." The doctor swallowed, suddenly understanding the magnitude of the other Saiyans words. He was willing to sacrifice his pride, and possibly his birthright, for the human woman. /O, damn./ Vegeta pushed him through the half-open doors. "I will find you. Get to her."

Zucco shot down the hallway and skidded through the next set of doors, and finally turned a sharp corner into a seldom-used sector of the wing. Narrowing his eyes in the dim light, he walked forward slowly. He knew the others had put her back here, but exactly what room was a mystery. It would take him hours to search the entire sector, and Bulma didn't have that kind of time available. Gritting his teeth, the Saiyan let his tail swing free to snap back and forth in worry and annoyance.

The doctor closed his eyes, breathing deeply and holding it to focus on his ears and nose. A raspy sound echoed down the corridor, and the tangy scent of blood was easy to follow. Zucco followed the trail, brow furrowing as he strained to hear anything else. Finally he pinpointed the room and took off at a run. Grabbing the doorjamb of Bulma's room, he shoved back into the chamber and his jaw dropped. The scientist was draped over a cot, wounds untreated. Even the blankets were filthy from a patient before her.
"Outrageous," he hissed, making his way toward the still form. He easily slipped a black band over her head and tightened it, taking a wire from the wall and placing it in the tube sticking out of the side. A display board lit up behind her as he moved to bring his tools nearer. He studied the red numbers closely as he poured alcohol into a pan, setting each pointy object in a certain order inside. Finally he pulled a cloth from the cabinet and placed it under Bulma, one small piece at a time. It wasn't perfect, but it would stop her from catching any infection the blood on the other blankets could be carrying.

Vegeta appeared in the doorway, his face blank. "Well?"

"They just left her here, sire," Zucco reported, holding a needle up to the overhead light and biting his lower lip as he tapped a vial above it, carefully counting the drops. Finally he injected the serum into Bulma's arm and held it there, reaching behind him for a roll of tape. Grunting, he slipped one finger over the edge and inched it close enough to grab. "She needs more blood, but this should wake her up enough to tell us exactly what condition she's in."

"Will it work?" the prince demanded, crossing his arms, eyes narrowed. He knew Bulma's practical immunity to Saiyan drugs.

"It worked on her son, sire. I'm hoping it will with her as well."

Vegeta cocked an eyebrow. He'd almost forgotten than Gohan wasn't Bulma's true son. /Hmph. They're enough alike. Loud, obnoxious, and hold no respect for those who are more powerful than they./ He would never admit it even to himself, but Vegeta was slowly learning that power wasn't everything. Bulma and Gohan had both showed incredible strength, even when the scouters could barely pick up the scientist's ki. /I will ask the king for her,/ the prince decided suddenly. /She belongs more to me than to him as it stands now./

Bulma grunted as her eyes fluttered open, then yawned and tried to focus her gaze. It was harder than she thought. "Vegeta?" Zucco paused and glanced back at the prince.

"Here, woman," he growled.

"I hate you," she commented absently, yawning again. "Damn, I'm tired. And hungry."

"Now you're starting to sound like a newborn," Zucco said as he pulled the stopper from a bottle.

The sound made Bulma's glazed eyes snap into clarity. She looked at him and smiled, then sniffed at the alien concoction in his hand. "What the hell is that?"

"Something that will clear the infection out of those cuts," he replied, strapping her arm down at the wrist, elbow and shoulder. "My great, great-grandmother invented it when her brother returned from his first off-planet mission." He grinned and knelt by the cot so he could easily see how much was going into the wounds. "It's called Mother's Fire."

"Now what kind of name--" Bulma never got to finish her sentence. The flesh around the injury started to quiver, fire lacing up and down her entire arm as the liquid burned its way down into the core of the cut. Tears ran freely down her face but, remembering Vegeta's enjoyment at seeing her pain before, refused to make a sound. Every cell in and around her arm shouted at her to scream like all hell, but she stubbornly kept her mouth clamped shut.

Zucco was quite impressed at the scientist's reaction. He himself had an experience with the drug, and was quite ashamed to say he nearly fell to his knees and bawled like a baby. Vegeta, likewise, was watching intently, seeing how Bulma kept her chin up proudly even as she couldn't force her eyes to stay open because she was crying so hard. /So strong, especially for a female of such a weak race./ He grunted to himself. /He's right,/ Vegeta realized, looking at Zucco. /I'm getting attached to the damn woman!/

Bulma nearly choked as the incredible burning stopped and a cooling sensation, like a soft cream being spread, replaced the fire. Taking in a few hiccuping breaths, she opened her eyes to see that the wound had started closing already. She looked at Zucco in amazement.

"As you can see, very effective," the doctor commented, tapping the cork back into the vial and dipping one finger into the sealing wax. He turned to the prince and replaced the bottle to its rightful place. He glanced at the screen and his expression became grave. /I wasn't fast enough!/ He favored Vegeta with a hard stare. "Sire, she needs more blood."

"The banks." Even before he said it, Zucco was shaking his head. "Then what do you propose?"

"Someone nearby. There's not enough time for even you to run to the other side of the complex and back and still have her alive. The only reason she's even still awake is because of the serum."

"And THAT I'm ready to kill you for," Bulma growled, testing her arm against the restraints.

Ignoring the human woman, Vegeta tore off his sleeve from the elbow down. "Sire?" Zucco's hand started shaking as he absently stretched the tourniquet. Royal blood was held in high regard. The king would have both of their heads for this. "MALE blood?"

The prince glanced at Bulma and nodded, bending his arms onto the table. "She will handle it." Zucco took a deep breath and steadied his limbs.

"I hope you're right," he whispered.

============================================

The most striking thing about Gohan's six-legged, eight-armed, three-headed captor was that the being was pink. Bring, blinding, neon pink. Each of the twelve jelly-like eyes were a different color, some of which the young Saiyan had never seen before. The hybrid carefully studied the alien. Its heads were teardrop shaped, the pointy end stuck into a collarbone that was nearly as wide as Gohan himself. Broad shoulders supported four arms on each side, the muscles there not particularly bulky, or even defined. A strong chest heaved up and down, like taking in air was simply a habit, not a necessity. The waist was narrowed to almost the width of the middle head, two legs jutting down from slim hips, splitting in half about a quarter of the way to the knee, the other set of legs springing from behind, almost like a tail. The creature grinned, revealing three rows of silver, sparkling teeth in each mouth. Gohan suppressed a shudder.

The thing narrowed the four glittery eyes on the right head, and Gohan's restraints were gone. He sucked in a deep breath and almost choked when more green dust was thrown over him. He glared at the alien, clenching a fist weakly. Apparently the straps had nothing to do with his missing power because he hadn't regained it yet. "To keep you alive, boy. There is MUCH less oxygen here than on your world. This will get you used to it in time to begin your training. I don't have time to waste." Before Gohan could comments, a set of clothes were thrown at him. The collision almost knocked him backward. For such underdevoloped arms, the monster was still quite strong. "You will wear those until your training is complete. Get used to them now."

Gohan glanced down at the clothes, then realized his own were shredded. "What… what HAPPENED?"

"I force-grew you, boy. It's impossible to train a Saiyan of 5 standard years and expect him to retain that power." The creature shrugged, a very unsettling sight. "After you complete your training, you will be allowed to return to your younger body if you so wish. The strength you acquire here will be dormant until you come of this age again. And that power you felt while in the transfer stage is exactly one half of your potential. Remember that. We will execute drills to bring you to at least that level."

"When's your birthday?" Gohan muttered absently.

"What?!"

"I was gonna get you a dictionary. You don't have a big enough vocabulary," he said with a smile. When the alien did nothing but state at him, he grunted. "What should I call you?"

It looked at him with an expression of pure annoyance. "Tirran."

============================================

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Turles could hear his own heartbeat over the breathing of the guard chained to him. He couldn't remember ever committing those crimes, the acts he'd just witnessed on the Player -- a little black box the size of his palm that captured a person's memory and projected them in a 3-D block. /What the hell HAPPENED to me?/ he wondered in disbelief. It was like he'd been possessed: watching had made him sick to his stomach. His eyes shot up to the prince as the soft click indicating the Player had been turned off echoed through the room. Vegeta's face was made out of stone. Turles knew he was screwed coming into this mockery of a trial, but to look at the older man made his heart sink further. If Vegeta had anything to do with the sentence, it would be death by paralysis. Nothing was more dishonorable than a warrior too weak and injured to fight for his life. He'd be paralyzed then left in the southern wilderness with food and water only feet away and still unable to survive. Any assistance from another Saiyan would result in the same fate. He shivered and looked away.

The king rose, his beard moving slightly as his jaw unclenched. Killing off weaker species was expected, their job. But even Saiyans were not known expansively for their torture. Finally he nodded to his son. "You will choose his penalty." The king was slowly but surely turning power over to his heir, readying him for the trials of kinghood.

Vegeta smirked at the warrior and Turles stared back stonily. If he was going to die, then he was going to do it with pride. Two sets of black eyes met and the prince's smirk widened. "He will live," the older man announced. The strong voice commanded silence, but there was no shortage or surprise from the gathered Saiyans. Crossing his arms, the prince glared down at the condemned soldier. "Public castration, then he will serve the slave woman he tried to rape." Finally the court muttered amongst themselves, mostly about the exact meaning of castration.

Turles remained quiet, still glaring at the prince. Vegeta had just sentenced him to ultimate humiliation: living his life as the slave of a slave. He gritted his teeth but didn't trust himself to speak. First the loss of his tail, marking him as a weak warrior, then this. He would rather die than lose his honor, but to kill himself would dirty his name forever. Dying in battle was one thing, but suicide was the coward's way out of a situation. He raised his chin a few centimeters. /I will not be known as a coward. Someday, Vegeta…/

The heir to the throne turned his back to the crowd. Glancing at two guards to his right, he scowled. "Put him back in a regeneration tank. Let him heal fully. I want him to know utmost defeat tomorrow." Vegeta then looked back at Turles, staring long and hard as he was escorted back to the palace hospital. Finally he pressed his forefinger down on the Player's power button, holding it up to the light. The king looked at him curiously as he slowly crushed the box. Memories other than the one needed to convict Turles were in there. He couldn't let Bulma's secret out now. Not when things were going to get so much more interesting.

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Breathing had never felt so… easy. Powerful lungs sucked in air out of reflex, not out of need. Blue eyes snapped open as little by little, the tiny changes in her body became more evident. She felt a pleasant warmth burning from the inside, though from the looks of the dank room she should be cold with only a light sheet. Cracks that hadn't been evident in the dim light the night before were now brought into focus, voices down the hall almost formed intelligible words. There was something, a scab almost, that the waistband of her pants was rubbing against. Bulma squirmed a little as she slid off the bed and tried to ignore it. She had to find something to do before she went crazy.

Zucco grinned and flicked on the lights. Bulma hissed as her eyes closed, still too sensitive to deal with the harsh brightness. "They'll adjust better if they're open," the doctor advised, going back to the shelf and methodically pulling down several items. "And if you can't handle this, what are you going to do when you go outside this afternoon?"

"I'm not," she stated plainly, one lid opening a slit. When she wasn't forced to close it immediately, both eyes blinked so she could look at the Saiyan.

"Yes you are," he replied, holding a needle up to the light as he filled it with some sort of clear liquid. Placing the vial down, he motioned for Bulma to come closer. "You wouldn't want to miss what Prince Vegeta has planned for Turles." Before she could reply, he jabbed the needle into her shoulder, holding it there until the contents were emptied.

"I'm sure I do. I don't want to have any more to do with him than I have to." He jabbed the instrument in a little farther and Bulma growled. "Ow, knock it off!"

"I know as well as you do that that didn't hurt," Zucco muttered, pulling a cloth from the sterilization pan and wiping the blood from the needle's tip before laying both back in their proper places. "This will keep your energy down long enough for you to learn to control it. Otherwise you might boil yourself alive."

"Do you have to be so morbid this early in the morning?"

"It's noon."

"Still too early," Bulma muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at the Saiyan. He only pulled a jar from his pocket and handed it to her. "What the hell is THIS?" She sniffed the contents then threw it on the bed like she'd been burned. "And why does it smell like something died?"

"Because something did," Zucco answered with a shrug. "It's salve made of intrethit entrails. For your back."

"You know, next time I ask a question and the answer is something that will possibly make me want to throw up, don't answer it." Then she glanced back at him. "What's wrong with my back?" In answer, he pulled on her pants and placed his finger on the scab. "Yeah, what IS that? And what's a… a intra--thing?"

Zucco chose to answer the first question. "A tail spot." Bulma looked at him strangely and the doctor sighed. "Saiyans have tails. When they lose them, the scar remains."

"Yeah, that's SAIYANS. What does this have to do with ME?" She crossed her arms, and the doctor knew that his answer was probably going to get him killed.

"You were given blood, Bulma. You may be as much as one sixteenth Saiyan." The scientist's face went blank, then her lower jaw dropped. When she remained silent, he continued. "And an intrethit looks like a cross between an Earth deer and wolf. Very nasty things they are, but provide much of our medicine."

Bulma still didn't speak, so Zucco poked her in the stomach. She blinked, her eyes rolling back in her head. The Saiyan managed to catch her under one arm before she hit the ground. Hoisting her up, the doctor balanced her on one side while using his free hand to reread the label on the sedative. /I think I used too much,/ he thought with an inner roll of his eyes. /Of all things she has to react to./ Slipping the jar into his pocket, he threw the unconscious scientist over his shoulder. He had the feeling that they were going to have to put her under a few more times before the eve was out.

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Winded, he leapt back to draw a deep breath even as he pushed off his with his back foot, right fist pulled back to deliver a punishing blow. In mid punch, his other hand swept under his opponent's guard, connecting solidly with the other man's stomach. Tirran didn't double over as expected, but Gohan's knee caught his center head just the same. The pink being used his bottom left hand to swipe at his student's head. Though it hit, the demi-Saiyan barely flinched and rose into the air. The eyes on Tirran's center head widened: he hadn't taught the child to fly yet. Gohan used his teacher's preoccupation and brought his hands together at his waist, eyes narrowed in concentration. Tirran saw what was coming a moment before the Saiyan let loose a ki blast, point blank at his foe's barrel chest. The alien deflected it with ease, then immediately found himself flat on the ground, Gohan's knee pressed into his collarbone, opposite fist embedded to the wrist in the ground between his center and left heads.

Gohan looked stunned as he levered himself off the other man, offering his hand. Tirran accepted, then threw the boy toward the spot he'd just occupied. The Saiyan easily caught his balance in a handstand before dropping to his feet. Ignoring the teaching moment, he turned to face Tirran. "I could have killed you."

"That was the point, boy," he snapped, cracking the knuckles of all four hands. "And I have to say that you're the only one that's ever gotten me on the ground." It was a compliment, but again he ignored it. Gohan opened his mouth, and Tirran stepped closer. "If you're ever going to be a warrior, boy, you have to get rid of that soft side. It will kill you in a real fight." He poked his student in the chest for good measure, then turned away in dismissal.

Gohan was halfway back to the barracks when he heard his teacher's question. "Where did you learn that?"

The Saiyan glanced around, but saw no sign of his pink master. "Learn what?"

"How to control your ki, boy. Where did you learn it?"

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

Tirran was silent. /The more danger he's in, the more his ki grows. It blinds him./ Finally he spoke again. "Never mind, boy. That's something to save for another day." He smirked, though Gohan couldn't see him. It would be very interesting to see one of his students with more power than the entire royal family.

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Zucco smiled fondly as Bulma twitched, the drug's effects starting to wear off. It was fast-working, but lasted only three hours. That same dose to the prince would keep him out at least a day. The human woman cracked on eyelid, then opened the other slowly. Zucco had remembered her new sensitivity to light and had moved her into the shade. Sitting up from her slightly reclined position, the scientist rubbed the spot where the sedative had been inserted.

"Where am I?" Bulma winced as her nails grazed the hole from the needle and glared at the cause of her pain. "And why am I here?"

"Prince Vegeta ordered me to bring you," he said simply, using one hand to push her back down. "Rest. The presentation will be soon."

"What presentation?"

"The prince is giving Turles to you as a slave. He told you that, didn't he?" Though Zucco would have no problem believing it if Vegeta had overlooked telling his head tech.

"Probably," she muttered, covering her face with her hands. "Kami, what did I do to deserve this?"

"You don't want him?" Zucco sounded surprised, and Bulma spread two fingers apart so she could see him. Making sure he noticed, she narrowed her visible eye and snorted. "Why not?"

"After what he did to my best friends? And my parents? I never want to see the bastard again." She bent one knee to make herself more comfortable and sighed, bringing her hands down to rest on her stomach. "And I thought whores weren't allowed to own slaves." Her voice was strange, almost as if she were trying to put bitterness in instead of trying to keep it out. The doctor mentally heaved his eyes skyward.

"Have you been used yet?" Zucco demanded sharply. Bulma jerked at the wording of the question, then slowly shook her head. "Then you won't be. Prince Vegeta has put you under his own personal protection for a reason. The gods only know why, but he has and therefore you will be safe."

"He's getting soft," she muttered, hooking one arm behind her head. "I have the feeling that before I came along, he would've came up with some pretty creative ways to kill someone who constantly defies him, insults him, undermines his authority, and killed off a truckload of soldiers." Before Zucco could agree, she continued. "And why does he still have my notebook? It's not like I can build his little gadgets for him from memory. At least not yet."

Deciding to follow the change in subject, Zucco cocked his head thoughtfully. "Which notebook?"

"The one you gave him while we were still on the ship. At least I ASSUME you gave it to him because he doesn't strike me as the kind of guy that would pick up something out of curiosity."

"You're correct." Zucco sat back, his tail swinging leisurely beside the chair. "And I don't know. Perhaps he might not even have it anymore."

"Well either he still does or he memorized my plans for a training chamber." A clanking of chains brought her upright. "What the hell is that?"

"That would be Prince Vegeta and Turles," the doctor replied, slipping out of his chair and winding his tail around his waist. Bulma absently wondered how much practice it took to be able to do that without tangling it in his loose medical jacket.

"Joy," she muttered, rolling her eyes before closing this. "How long do I have to suffer through this?"

Zucco smiled dryly. "As long as the prince drags it out."

"Double joy." Swinging her legs to the same side of the chair, she crossed them at the ankles. "What do I have to do?"

"I'm not sure. I've never been a witness before."

Bulma felt the strangest urge to start banging her head on something. But before she could actually get up and act on it, the two Saiyans came into the light. The blue-haired woman took one look at Turles and felt her stomach churn violently. He was on his knees, wearing only cuffs that bound his ankles and wrists together and a more extravagant version of a loincloth. Not a square inch of him was left unmarked, sometimes to the bone. Vegeta was behind him, smirking.

"What the hell did you DO to him?" Bulma's hands squeezed the sides on the chair in a white-knuckled grip until her arms shook.

"Set him against transformed warriors," the prince answered, a shrug in his eyes. He tossed a chain-link necklace at Bulma.

The moment she touched it, she nearly fell out of her chair. Zucco put a steadying hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." She blinked a few times. "What IS it?"

"A ki dampener. So you can control him."

Bulma nearly dropped it. "A collar?"

"Call it what you want, woman, but put it on him. It's your right." Vegeta's surly voice broke through her thoughts.

"What if I don't WANT him?"

The prince shrugged. "Then he will become a palace slave. We don't have time to debate this, woman. Are you taking him or not?"

Bulma slowly stood and slipped the collar over her slave's head. As if made for him, it fit perfectly, a small silver disk nestled in the hollow of his throat. She could feel his power greatly reduced, almost to where hers stood. She felt so much lighter now that her ki was no longer restricted. The new Saiyan blood had also given her better tolerance to the planet's higher gravity.

Vegeta nodded. "Good. I will see you at the full moon ceremony. Kakorrot's whelp will be presented to the king then." He was gone before Bulma realized he'd moved.

"Hey! What about my notebook!"

============================================

Bulma was jerked rudely out of that state between light dozing and sleep when a hard body slid across her lap, taking her off the other side of the bed with it. Growling through the pain that shot through her back at the unwelcome contact between wall and tail scar, she raised herself to her knees in order to see over the bed. Whatever idiot had enough of a death wish to get her up before she was good and damned ready to was going to get a rather large helping of what she thought about them.

The speech died in her throat as Nea slashed out, leaving four bloody lines down the man's chest then whirling around to catch his neck with her knee. Somehow maintaining perfect balance, the female warrior squeezed her fellow Saiyan's neck between thigh and calf until his eyes rolled back in his head. Leaving the unconscious man slumped on the floor, Nea turned her attention to Bulma.

She carefully wiped the blood from her hands and wrapped her tail around her waist. The Saiyan blinked at Bulma's fierce expression but otherwise didn't move. "I am sorry. I overestimated his strength." Which the scientist took to mean she'd hit him just a little too hard, though she didn't look the least bit apologetic about it.

Bulma's nose crinkled at the all-too-familiar scent of blood. As far as she knew, it wasn't coming from her, and certainly not from Nea. Turning, she glanced at the still form of the Saiyan that had been tossed haphazardly over her. Turles wasn't moving and Bulma felt sick. He still hadn't been to a healing chamber, and the latest addition to his injuries looked like it might have killed him.

Instead of trying to walk around the body, she leapt nimbly over the bed, her lower back protesting. Gritting her teeth in an attempt to battle a groan, she turned her full attention to Nea. "What was that about?"

"I wanted to make sure that I didn't kill you," came the straightforward answer. Even as bluntly put as that, Nea had the grace to blush, if only slightly. Bulma didn't think it was a normal Saiyan reaction. Still keeping her dignity, the Saiyan continued. "He was just standing over you half-naked, and you weren't moving." Bulma was about to comment when Nea spoke again. "And the prince would never forgive me if someone killed his prized technician."

/Well there goes any hopes she checked on me because she CARED,/ Bulma through dryly. "Well now you can sleep knowing that you aren't responsible for my death. And if you were, I think that Vegeta would have turned you into kibble already. Possessive bastard."

The tip of Nea's tail flicked as she contemplated the unfamiliar phrase before looking like she suppressed a shrug. "Not necessarily. That would prove to the king that Prince Vegeta is attached to you and that you are a liability."

"It's not like he has to be afraid of his father. Prince Lawn Dart can take care of himself." Bulma noted the blood on her clothes and mentally sighed. It was so hard to get out, and she was swiftly running out of outfits she would wear. "Besides, his dad likes him. Maybe even proud." She could see that comment nearly floored her Saiyan audience. "You don't see the way the king looks at him? He's proud. Can't show it because otherwise Vegeta would have his head on a platter before anyone could see him move, but it's there. He just wants to keep pushing Vegeta to get stronger, and the only way to do that is piss him off. Which is actually quite easy, I might add."

"The last thing Vegetasei needs is an emotional king," Nea muttered. Had Bulma not acquired her improved Saiyan ears, she might not have heard the comment.

"Saiyans don't seem to think that anger is an emotion," Bulma reflected casually. "Hate either, for that matter."

Her statement got a quirk of the lips from Nea, the nearest thing to a smile she'd seen on the other woman. "They're not. They're actions."

"O, that explains EVERYTHING," Bulma said dryly. Then she glanced at Turles and grimaced. "Would you mind doing me a favor?" Nea's raised eyebrow indicated she was listening. "Help me get him to Zucco."

"Why?" She ran her eyes over the unmoving body. "He's just a slave."

"He's MY slave and he isn't worth very much to me if he's DEAD!" Bulma snapped, crossing her arms. The corner of Nea's mouth twitched at the smaller woman's outburst but hoisted Turles over one shoulder. "Thank you."

"Can you keep up?" Nea demanded, stepping onto the blue squares to take even some of the load off.

Bulma snorted. "After all this? I don't think so."

"You're still not healed?!" Nea looked like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Of course not. Do you honestly think I'd let them put me in one of those tank things so anyone and anyTHING walking by can get a free peep show?" From the Saiyan's expression, the answer was yes. "Me thinks not."

"Humans and their modesty," Nea muttered, shaking her head and adjusting Turles more comfortably on her shoulder. Bulma winced as his injury scraped across her armor; she'd been in that same position enough times to know the discomfort. Even unconscious he seemed to be in pain. "I'll never understand it."

"And there are plenty of things I'll never understand about Saiyans, but I'm not going there. I don't have enough time." She dug her precious watch from around her ankle and studied the dial. She'd long since disable the emergency button that led straight to the current hideout of refugees and was now installing a little device similar to that that was in the charm Turles had strapped around his neck. "Starting with why Vegeta wants ME to oversee the construction of SOMETHING when he KNOWS I'll do everything in my power to make sure it blows up in his face."

Nea was about to comment, but Bulma punched in the code to Zucco's current office and stepped in, grinning. "Tired of seeing me yet?" The doctor only looked at his new patient and sighed.

============================================

The women lounged easily side-by-side, the calmer of the two hooking her arms behind her head to stare up at the stars. "I thought the moon was supposed to be full like a month ago," she muttered, more to herself than her companion. "And I can't even see the damn thing."

The guard chuckled, tail curling elegantly around her waist. "And you won't, probably until Midwinter." Leaning toward Bulma, Nea stuck her head right next to the human's and pointed to a faint light spot just above them. "That's where the moon is now. It IS full, but our atmosphere is too thick to see it until Midwinter. Then, you can see clear into the next galaxy."

The scientist turned a little to get a better view of the Saiyan. She looked almost at peace as she described the closest planets to her home world. "I didn't think Saiyans enjoyed stargazing," she said at last. "I would think you're more interested in conquering."

Nea's exhalation held a strong note of exasperation. "Don't judge many by a few. Yes, I'm certain that many would like to rid themselves of those worlds just for the sheer sport of it, but there are also many like me who have been there. They are beautiful, unlike here. Even the king has become fascinated with them and has ordered that they not be touched." Nea's and unconsciously stroked Bulma's hair as she spoke.

The blue-haired woman didn't think anything of it until she remembered the guard's sexual preference. She went stiff. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Nea finally seemed to realize that she was treating Bulma much as she did in tender moments with her mate, fingers stilling in the aqua locks. "Forgive me. Orrata and I do this quite often. It seems I've made a habit of it." She smiled dryly.

Bulma sat up, head still tilted back to the sky. "At least I know you're not flirting with me," she teased. "I don't think Vegeta knows how to compete with the opposite sex."

Nea misinterpreted her wry humor for seriousness, upper lip curling slightly. "You shouldn't worry. Saiyans mate for life." Bulma cocked a brow, curious. "Most Saiyans don't go through puberty until nearly their thirtieth year because of the long life span. By then we've also been around long enough to know what we want in a mate and also who fits our life. Once you claim a mate, you can't change your mind. Once you're claimed back, that seals the relationship. Even if one partner dies, the other will go the rest of their life without ever taking another."

Bulma grinned. "So THAT'S why our little princey got in trouble with Daddy," she reflected. Glancing down at her watch (adjusted to Saiyan time, of course), she sighed. "Think Zucco is done with Turles yet?"

"He was hours ago," Nea yawned, getting to her feet in an effortless hop. She tentatively offered Bulma her hand.

The smaller woman grinned broadly and accepted the help up. She held on a moment longer than Nea thought appropriate. "We're friends, aren't we?" It sounded like Bulma herself was amazed at the prospect, though the question sounded more like a statement.

"I don't know," Nea admitted quietly.

"I think we are." Bulma released the Saiyan's hand and nodded before turning toward the palace. Nea remained outside until the human woman was well out of sight.

Bulma sighed as she stepped over the puddle of blood waiting just inside Zucco's office. /Warriors,/ she muttered mentally. /What idiots./ She visibly brightened as Zucco's tired face came into view. He acknowledged her with a kind smile, though seeming a bit harassed by the seemingly important official behind him.

"If he's entering, I need to know where he's from!" the officer barked almost anxiously.

"And I KNOW that!" Zucco growled back, rubbing his temples. "Do you honestly think I can remember the clan of every Saiyan that passes through here?" From the look on the higher-ranking man's face, the answer was yes. Zucco's tail puffed out as he growled. Bulma had never seen him this agitated before. "Stone Mountain, I believe."

"That's to the north, isn't it?"

The look Zucco directed at the man obviously screamed he thought the officer was an imbecile and deserved to be treated like one. Fortunately, he had enough tact not to say that to a senior member of the king's guard. "We have a database for a reason. This would be one of them." So saying, he shoved the bundle of papers on his desk into the other Saiyan's arms. "Go use them before I get angry." The man swallowed and nodded, color drained slightly from his face. When the door swished closed, Zucco flopped down in his chair, head in hands. "Thank the gods."

Bulma pulled a chair from along the wall and pressed the back to the front of Zucco's desk, straddling her seat. "What's up?"

"Prince Vegeta has decided on the entertainment for the full moon festival."

She traced grooves in the wood-like material with an idle finger. "I thought that was supposed to be a good thing."

"It would be, except I'm expected to supply the clan names of every competitor when we have an open database for even the commoners to use."

"Ah. So, what's he planning?" Bulma paused, cocking her head thoughtfully. "And I thought Saiyans didn't use last names."

As usual, Zucco chose the easier question to answer first. "Saiyans are identified by the place they came from, where their entire family is settled. I am from Central City, or the capitol. Those living here or in the service of the royal family or Lord Frieza are referred to only by their name." Bulma nodded understanding, waiting for the second question. From long experience with the doctor, this would take a bit more explanation. "And Prince Vegeta has chosen to reenact the tournament that led to the rising of the Righteous Kingdom." Seeing that Bulma was confused, he smiled. "Are you comfortable?" She squirmed a little to settle herself, then nodded. "Good.

"About 2,000 years ago, the Saiyan race was entirely leaderless and divided like we've never seen before or since. When war was about to break out, the Super Saiyan of legend -- the one with the power and wisdom of a god -- made himself king. He exterminated the weak and the opposition until a core group of loyal followers were formed. Out of that group, he gave kingdoms to his three most trusted friends. One to the south, one to the east, and he to the north. His leadership was so intense, his followers named him Vegeta -- at the time meaning 'empowered by gods.'

"Vegeta's plan wasn't working, however. The rival kingdoms were on the verge of war, much as they had been before the kings' reign. Vegeta called for a tournament to settle the dispute and give Vegetasei only one royal family. The current ruler and the crown heir were to attend. Vegeta and his son won. Legend has it that the runners-up challenge his descendants and won the throne for themselves. But it is only legend. Now, if the crown prince is worthy, his father will name him Vegeta, after the first king, the first Super Saiyan.

"All male members of the royal families look so much alike it's hard to tell one from another. But legend also has it that Vegeta was not a normal Saiyan. He had blond hair and blue eyes, a thing I've never seen in a Saiyan."

"Is that the tournament you were talking about with Big and Crusty?" Bulma wondered, indicating the absent guard. When Zucco nodded, she bit her lower lip. "Who is entering from the north then?"

"Bardock." Bulma's eyes widened and Zucco grinned. "I think that Bardock will take your son with him as the crown prince."