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(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.
============================================
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."
============================================
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."
============================================
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.
============================================
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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