Turles cocked a single brow as his mistress laid her palm harshly against her own cheek, then the other. Apparently she was struggling to stay awake, and the Saiyan shuddered to think what she considered important enough to even contemplate missing sleep for, especially when seated in front of anything electronic. He stepped forward, and bleary sapphire eyes, half closed from need of sleep, turned on him accusingly. She punched the "return" key and let her attention wander to the Saiyan.

"Wo-" He bit off the last syllable of that word to prevent himself from addressing his owner in a way that would most likely spite Vegeta into another rampage. instead, he simply inquired, "What are you doing?"

The scientist grinned and tossed her head back to rest of the back of the chair as she slumped down to get more comfortable. "Becoming richer than the king." She opened her eyes to look at her slack-jawed slave. "You don't believe me."

"Not really," he admitted, black eyes narrowing. "How long has it been since you've had sleep?"

Bulma shook her head, faking hurt. "You don't even want to know how I'm going to do it?"

"It's impossible to accomplish," Turles snapped back. "The king has enough gold to cover the entire palace inside and out twice over with rare diamonds the size of your smallest fingernail. And still have enough left over to burn for warmth." He grabbed her by the shoulders and hefted her out of the chair, not an easy feat with his ki all but gone. "You didn't answer me."

"What day is it?" she demanded, even as she glanced blearily at her watch. Counting on one hand, her eyes were locked on the ceiling as Turles directed her toward the bed. "Only forty... two hours? Forty-three?" Her hip collided with the footboard's post. "Hey, what the-"

"BED, master tech," Turles ordered, giving her a gentle shove. Bulma caught herself and straightened, glaring at him. The Saiyan crossed his arms just as stubbornly. "As much as you THINK you may have adapted to longer days and shorter nights, you are still in no condition to go without sleep."

"I thought that YOU were supposed to listen to ME," she argued, though the venom's effect was quickly belied by her yawn. Turles gave her another push, and this time Bulma couldn't fight back. "Bastard," she mumbled even as she slipped under the blankets and made herself more at ease.

The Saiyan rolled his eyes and moved toward the computer. Squinting at the strange characters, he tried to decipher the message scrawled across the screen. He then shook his head and pressed his thumb to the button that turned off the monitor. He studied them once more before the screen went blank, then black. If it was important, Vegeta would already know about it, or find out in the very near future. But in the meantime, it wouldn't do to have the prince know he couldn't read.

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

/Stupid animals,/ he thought in something frighteningly close to glee. His logs had proven very useful, which meant that his slaves weren't as incompetent as he'd before thought. /Leaving their entire system open for anyone to plant a virus or... other interesting information./ Of course it didn't matter if the Saiyans had encoded every computer with unfathomable security -- their networks ran though his master controls that stripped away coding as if it weren't even there. It was also used for the purpose he needed now -- to slip in key words that would leave the prince's favorite slave woman scrambling to get off-planet.

Frieza chuckled darkly as he fed bits of information about Namek into the royal house's network, knowing every computer in the palace was connected to that same server. The vertically challenged warlord allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, heavy tail swooshing along the floor behind him. The woman would certainly find it now, and little by little tempt her off Vegetasei and into his trap. Of course, Vegeta would follow, and the Saiyan empire that he'd allowed to reign for so long would simply fall into his lap after the loss of its ruling family. A project like this required patience and finesse, not two of Frieza's finer qualities. However, this time he was willing to make an exception from his rule of sheer power.

He smirked again and sat back from the machine. /Come, little prince. I am waiting./

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

The scene looked like something out a movie. The couch-chair setup, complete with pillows on the half-reclined back and a soft finish to the padding, supported a seemingly emotional blue-haired woman while the doctor perched on a stool-like item, clipboard balanced precariously in his lap as he scribbled across the page. Bulma seemed to sense it as well and dramatically threw her arm across her eyes. "Woe is me," she muttered, craning her neck over the back of the chair. Zucco raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes focused on his notes. Happily mated he may be, but the strong blood of a Saiyan male also thrummed in his veins. And Bulma -- the damn woman -- didn't know how provocative she was at times.

"If you don't stay still then this isn't going to work," Zucco grunted, glancing over her head at the stats machine.

"All this technology and I can't even sneeze or it screws up," she growled affectionately, settling back into a more normal position. Zucco rolled his eyes at her usual Saiyan-bashing and returned his attention to the paper. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Making sure your blood is compatible with the prince's," he responded dryly.

"Shouldn't you have done that BEFORE you gave it to me?"

Zucco grinned. "Perhaps." He snapped the folder shut and stood. "But using your son as an example, we assumed that Saiyan blood would be fine to mix with yours. The only problem would be the male's versus female's."

Bulma waved her hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. We went over that already." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the light had faded dramatically from when she'd first entered the room. "Already?"

"Hm?" Zucco glanced up and followed her gaze, brows furrowing as he deduced the reason for her surprise. "Ah, yes. The first tsklisk."

"Should I be afraid?"

He chuckled and leaned back, feeling several discs in his spine realign themselves. "It's only the first fifth of the day. Perfectly normal."

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "First fifth of the day?"

That warning tone in her voice made Zucco want to seriously injure the prince. /Why am *I* the one to explain everything to her?/ He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "The planet spins too fast for our natural waking-sleep pattern so long ago the king simply strung together five "days" to make one."

"That's it?"

Surprised himself at his own succinctness, the doctor shrugged. "Would you rather it be longer?"

"That's quite okay." She raised her arms over her head, bones cracking ominously. Shifting her head from side to side to relieve the stiffness in her neck, she scowled. "So, exactly how long IS a day?"

In keeping with Bulma's character, he had the feeling she wouldn't like his answer and winced before responding. "74 hours."

"WHAT?!" The screech left his ears ringing and several passing guardsmen to banging on the door, making sure the doctor was all right.

Massaging his temples in an attempt to lessen the sudden headache, he dropped his head nearly into his lap. "Would you kindly NOT do that again?"

She didn't look the least bit sorry as she swung her legs over the edge of the chair. "Well, why didn't you tell me?"

"I would think that someone with your intelligence would be able to figure it out," he snapped. "I'm not used to having a patient that doesn't know a damn thing about our culture." The heat in her eyes didn't decrease and he smiled despite himself. "I think that the prince's blood was a perfect match for you."

/Well, that wasn't expected./ She blinked once. "What?"

"Very perfect. Although probably not a good idea," he continued, trying to keep the grin from his face. "After all, male blood, especially that from the royal line, makes one more aggressive and driven."

"Am I being insulted?"

"That's up to you." He rose, the rest of his joints clicking into place, including his tail as it stretched behind him.

Bulma shook her head as the doctor moved toward his desk. The man could easily drive her insane, and yet he was the one person she could call a friend. After being abducted, there had been the tentative... relationship?... with Nappa. Odd, since he was the main cause of her being unknown light years from home. However, after meeting Zucco, Bulma found herself thinking about Yamcha less and less...

The Saiyan was looking at her oddly. "Bulma? You're free to go."

She grinned in reply. "It's the new blood. It's getting my brain cells down to a manageable number."

He exhaled heavily. "Get out of here. You're disrupting my work."

"You? Work? Kami forbid it." He rolled his eyes, but she was already on her way out. She paused, halfway through the door when she suddenly leaned back into the room. "Zucco? When can I see Gohan?"

"I suppose after the tournament. Why?"

"Because I don't know how long it's been since I've seen him." She said it in an offhand manner, but Zucco could see worry in her eyes, even as they were hidden by her bangs.

He gripped a shoulder in each hand. "Bulma, this isn't like you." She scowled and tried to shake her arms out of his hands, immediately regretting her small moment of weakness.

"I was just wondering. Tell me Saiyan mothers don't care about their kids."

"Far from it. To take a child away from its mother would result in a fate worse than death." He released one shoulder to tousle her hair, much as he would a favored daughter. "I'll see what I can do. The prince might be against it..."

"Could I give you a message for Vegeta?" Her head had bobbed up as soon as she'd heard the word "prince" and a mischievous glint was dancing in her eye.

"If it involves doing strange and unspeakable things to himself, then no."

Bulma did her best to look like a child whose dreams had just been crushed. "You take all the fun out of things, you know."

"I'm your doctor," he reminded her gently, shoving her away until she was standing in the corridor. "It's my job to make sure you stay in good health." With that, the door swished closed.

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

"Are you even listening, boy?" Tirran snarled, all eyes narrowing dangerously. Gohan's innocent layers had all been stripped away, leaving a cold Saiyan warrior in its place. Now the half-breed's back was to him, unmoving as the chilling black eyes gazed unblinkingly into the distance. He made no inclination to acknowledge his trainer and the pink being's scowl deepened. Along with his unquestionable power had come the arrogance only a Saiyan could possess and it only served to infuriate the creature further.

Tirran growled lowly, an obvious warning before his temper snapped. Gohan only blinked, a cruel smirk crawling across his face in response. His blood called for a fight, although it was still incredibly difficult to win against the more experienced warrior. The demi-Saiyan had long ago surpassed him in power, but over 500 years of battle had prepared Tirran for almost any trick an opponent could think of. All of this ran through his mind so quickly he hardly noticed it and instead focused on the alien's unique ki signature.

The two arms of his right side snapped back as he launched himself silently at his student, three sets of lips drawn back in a soundless howl. Gohan's posture straightened as he swiftly gathered energy, hair brushing his forehead as the man-made wind gushed across the open training area. Tirran's top fist was hovering only inches over his head when the hybrid's eyes opened wider and his shield materialized around him. The blow was stopped short as it solidified around Tirran's wrist, immobilizing that arm.

"WHAT?" In all his years, he'd never known one powerful enough to catch, let alone stop, a moving object in a shield. He yanked on the trapped appendage, hissing when it refused to yield. The bottom fist hammered on the invisible bubble, to no avail even as his feet gained purchase on the slippery surface. Beneath him, Gohan was still starting to shimmer in the red aura. Meaty fingers latched onto the swaying locks of hair within reach and tried to yank his student's head back. "BOY!"

The teenager smirked and closed his eyes as his ki roared to life inside the protective shell. Biceps bulged to an obscene level, every muscle under his shirt could be seen as it was stretched to the limit, and his tail swished excitedly around overly developed thighs and calves. Tirran noticed as well. /His TAIL. How?/ The brat was going to be more trouble than he'd accounted for. His three heads bobbed anxiously as he found himself unable to be freed, and his opponent growing more powerful every passing second. The chunks of hair that he'd grabbed had long ago been pulled out, and Gohan hadn't even noticed.

As suddenly as it had started, the near-hurricane halted. The tip of his tail wagged once more before it was wrapped in the customary position around his waist. Gohan turned, nearly grinning as he looked up at his teacher. /His control is astounding,/ Tirran admitted. It took serious effort to collect so much energy in such a short amount of time, and even more so to deal with another outside ki force. He tapped the creature's knuckles with a childlike curiosity.

"You're too predictable," he muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I knew you would go for my head. It was too simple."

"So what are you going to do now, boy? Chat?"

Gohan's lips curved upward in an almost smile. "Talk solves nothing." He stepped back with a slow deliberance until his shoulder blades were pressed against the curve of the shield. "I was thinking more along the lines of a demonstration."

Tirran's brows drew together in confusion as Gohan placed his hands together. His eyes closed, and the gold color of dangerous ki peeked through his fingers. Suddenly, a beam shot upward to penetrate the center of the shield. Tirran's middle head was following its path when a second crashed through the side just under his feet. He nearly toppled as a third broke through at the demi-Saiyan's eye level to his right.

Finally he drew his hands apart, the shining sphere almost too bright to look at. All three heads snapped down to glare incredulously at Gohan as Tirran suddenly realized his intent. White teeth shone in the brilliant light, bared in a superior, bloodthirsty smirk. The ki had been built up and contained long enough: Gohan let his control over both the energy in his palm and the shield vanish. Tirran's fist felt the brunt of the attack, but the combustion sent him several hundred yards away. Unlike Gohan's earlier fighting methods, nothing had been pulled. This would leave a little more than blisters.

The demi-Saiyan cringed as he pulled himself to his feet. He had been a split second too slow in outrunning the blast and ended up with a scorched shoulder and stiff leg. /Better than him, I suppose./ The bloodlust was sated only because of his injuries. Gohan straightened, unwilling to let Tirran see him in this state after he'd used both hands to get a strangling grip on victory. And he wasn't ready to relinquish that yet.

As he came upon his trainer, he felt suddenly sick. Tirran's trapped fist had been blown off completely, as had his arm to the elbow. All sets of legs were in a mangled state and his chest was a crosshatch pattern of blood from the exploding shield. He bit his lower lip, the upbringing of a human overpowering the blood of a Saiyan. Too late, he noticed, as he knelt by the broken being.

The eyes nearest him opened drowsily. "You've won, boy." The voice was choked with surprise as Gohan leaned over him. "You're ready."

"For what?" All this time, and he'd never known the reason for his training.

"For whatever the prince deems you worthy of." Tirran snorted. "I've made you into a fine warrior, boy. Other than Vegeta, there is no one you should bow to." He grinned, an odd look on the usually humorless face. "Take me to my cabin." Gohan's confusion showed in his eyes as he tried to figure out how to hold the unusual body in his arm. "I didn't survive for as long as I have without some tricks, boy." He nodded, hefting his trainer half over one shoulder before turning his steps away from the barracks.

At Tirran's request, he laid him just inside the door. "Do you want to keep this body?"

"What?"

"When you came here, you were 5 years old. Now you are 14. Which body do you want?"

Gohan licked his lips nervously as an image passed through his mind: /Mother. I have to protect Mother./ He raised his chin slightly. "This one."

"That makes my job easier," Tirran muttered. "You have three more hours before you are required to return. Do whatever you like until then. Whenever you are ready, go to the unopened door in the barracks."

"Why?"

"Do you want to go back or not?" the being snapped and Gohan's eyebrows raised. "Find Nappa or Bardock. Use them as your only confidantes until you're allowed off-planet on your own. They're the only ones you can trust for more than a damn week."

"I'm ready now." Gohan was surprised at the resolve in his voice, the hard edge of a teenager balancing on the edge between childhood and becoming a man.

"Then do as I have told you, boy." Tirran scowled. "And don't die on your first mission. My heads will be served to the king on a platter if you do."

"Tempting," he shot back, rising to brush the dust from his knees.

Two hours later, after a refreshing nap and quick meal of some unnamed meat, Gohan paused at the door. The muscle in his jaw quivered as he clenched his teeth together so hard he was surprised one of them didn't pop out. His fist closed on the brass knob and turned. It hadn't even gone a quarter of the way around when the barrier flew open, leaving the demi- Saiyan with one foot on the timeless training field (1) and the other on the firm soil of the Vegetasei palace.

1-just in case you haven't guessed, the place they were training is like the room of spirit and time on earth

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

"Too bad betting wasn't invented 2,000 years ago," Bulma murmured in her friend's ear. "We would all be wealthy right about now."

Zucco trained his gaze down into the arena. The prince was just landing in the sand, looking as bored as the doctor felt as his opponent -- an unknown from the south -- was carefully carted away. The bright blue of the medics was a sharp contrast to the red-tinted golden brown of the battle floor. Mindless bloodshed didn't capture his attention as it did the warrior Saiyan, but as a servant of the royal house, he was required to attend the event, even participate if necessary.

"So, why haven't you been roped into healing the poor suckers?" Bulma inquired, fighting back a yawn. At home, martial arts tournaments had kept her riveted, if only because the outcome was always between three different people, one being the love of her life and the other two her best friends. To have a battle where the winner was already known was more than boring.

"I'm not needed. The prince is careful about how much damage he inflicts. Throw them all into a tank for a few hours and they'll be fine." He stretched his arms over his head before locking his fingers behind his neck.

"How generous of him," Bulma muttered, glancing down as the next set of fighters entered the arena.

She smiled slightly as the slim man in black appeared. Judging from the hair, it could only be Bardock. However, the warrior halted and turned, scanning the crowd with cunning black eyes. His gaze locked with Bulma's and he smiled although she couldn't quite see him. Even from that distance, she knew without a doubt the identity of the man in front of her.

"Gohan..."

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

"What's HIS name?" one Saiyan hissed to his partner, palm clenched over the voice amplifier at his throat. "I've never seen him before. When was his presentation?" The man squinted at the new fighter, cocking his head slightly.

"One from Bardock's line, that's for sure," the other barbarian muttered, squeezing the black box resting on his own Adam's apple. "A third son?"

"Doubtful. He broke the mold by having two already. I don't think he could find a woman willing to give him another."

"The whelp of his youngest son, Kakorrot," a deep voice growled from behind. The two men glanced at each other painfully then slowly turned to face the prince. Vegeta's arms were crossed disdainfully and he regarded each of them with a frozen sneer that sent the tiny hair at the nape of each neck standing on end. "The brat has a HUMAN name." He practically spit out the word "human" and looked sick even mentioning it.

"Then we find him a more... appropriate name, sire?"

"If you value your lives, yes."

The first announcer slid the amp from his throat to resting halfway down his chest. "Shall we name him for his grandfather? Barsri (1)?"

"No," Vegeta said softly, almost as in a dream. "Remind him of his heritage. He is only the son of a third-class weakling that couldn't even stand up to his own brother." The prince scowled. "Saiyan, yes. But barely."

"Kakorrotsu (1)?" the scorekeeper suggested.

Vegeta's head snapped toward him. "Kakorrotsu..." His eyes looked into the distance past the younger Saiyan. "Indeed."

1-basically because this wouldn't fit into the dialogue very well, a mark of honor is to be named after someone and use 'sri' as a suffix. to be named after someone and use 'su' is like mocking the family. 'tis how it works in my strange little world

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

Bulma collapsed back into her chair as Gohan nodded once before turning to face the open gate. Zucco rigorously twisted one finger in the ear nearest to the scientist in hopes of reviving his hearing. The language used to abuse his eardrums wasn't familiar, but judging from her expression, that was so much the better. He grimaced as the attention of other spectators was drawn away from the beginning of the fight to the oddly-colored woman stomping about in the noble's box. The doctor finally seized her in the rare moment she stopped to take a breath -- luckily also pausing in her constant motion -- and forced her into the seat beside him. If she had been just a bit stronger, there would be bloodshed worth watching in the stadium's highest tier.

Zucco was taken completely off-guard when a language he understood broke through. "What the hell did they DO to him?!"

The Saiyan resisted the sudden impulse to throw himself into the ring. Gohan and his opponent would be much more merciful than she. Bulma often commented that she was only a "normal" woman, but Zucco was of the opinion that normal women did not remind him of the devil incarnate and have fire shooting out of their eyes. "They trained him." He then grimaced, as much from anticipation of Bulma's explosion as from Gohan's sudden backhand swipe that sent shockwaves through the stadium and washed the first tier in sand.

Just as the scientist opened her mouth, Zucco clapped a hand over it. "Let me explain." She nodded and the doctor slowly eased his palm away. "All Saiyan children are presented to the king for assessment on the next full moon after their first birthday. Gohan is no exception to this rule, and Bardock was designated as his trainer. However, he could not get him ready in time, so he was sent to a creature called Tirran. This being ages a Saiyan's body into its prime in order to gain the most power possible. At the end of training, the warrior is given the option of returning to the younger body, but most retain the form Tirran had chosen for him or her."

"How?"

Slightly surprised she hadn't gone into an uproar -- and even more suspicious because of her calm demeanor -- Zucco shook his head cautiously. "No one is permitted to tell what goes on during their training, and I've never had to face it."

The sudden roar from the crowd drowned out Bulma's response as the pair glanced down at the arena. Gohan bowed once to the fallen warrior and stalked toward the gate without a backward glance.

Both announcer and scorekeeper were speechless as the medics scooped the western crown prince onto a stretcher and wheeled him away. Zucco hid his face in his hands as Bulma's indrawn hiss sounded in his ear. She'd figured out the danger of the next fight.

This match would decide Vegeta's opponent.

And Vegeta would show no mercy.

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

"You know what's coming, don't you boy?"

Gohan didn't acknowledge the unfamiliar voice, then glanced out of the corner of one eye. Sitting on the stone bench with twined fingers resting across his knees, he was a bit surprised to find gravity-defying hair not too far above his head. If he stood, he would have towered over the intruder. About to dismiss the stranger, he caught a glimpse of the face and Tirran's last words rang ominously 'Other than the prince, there's no one you should bow to.' And from what he remembered from the hells of his capture, this was indeed Vegeta. And as pissed off as usual.

He nodded coolly. "Prince."

Vegeta's brow twitched: he'd almost enjoyed the time away from the brat simply because he didn't know if he could take such insubordination from them both. The only upside to this situation was that he wasn't a whiny 5- year-old anymore. Now he could see a cold indifference and that same sparkle of sharp intelligence that Bulma possessed burning in his gaze. The Saiyan suddenly got the distinct feeling that whatever hell he had considered his life to be before, it was about to become much, MUCH worse.

"Answer me, brat."

Gohan's eyes narrowed. He might have rivaled Vegeta in power, but to challenge him -- at least openly -- at this point would forfeit his life. Nodding once, he tried to keep the patronizing tone out of his voice. "Of course. It's a tournament. The winner of one round fights in the next. It's not complicated."

The prince scowled, arms suddenly crossed over his chest. "It is when two... warriors" -- the word was barely choked out, almost painful to admit that Bardock's line was far too successful for his taste -- "of the same line are about to fight each other."

Gohan couldn't help but smile. "You mean we've screwed with history enough already?"

"Not quite." Vegeta couldn't help but again notice the uncanny resemblance between the demi-Saiyan and the woman. He knew they weren't biologically related: it seemed he alone could smell it on them. Perhaps it was a warped sense of humor joined with disdain for authority that created a sarcasm unique unto them. And yet, after the enjoyment he had taken in discussing just this issue with his father, he felt the beginnings of a smirk at his own lips. "It's been decided that you will both fight me at the same time."

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

"WHAT?!"

Vegeta shook his head as nearly the entire planet shouted the same word in unison. He knew the announcement wasn't going to be taken well, but the resulting commotion made his ears ring. Eyes swinging left and right, hoping to find something to turn his attention on until he could hear again, the finally landed on the fighters. His two opponents were standing a small distance off, and for a moment he had trouble telling the difference between them. He knew that Saiyan sons resembled their fathers, and Kakorrot seemed to have passed that trait onto his son. Vegeta himself was often told had he allowed facial hair to grow, he could have been mistaken for the king.

Simply because the small riot had yet to settle down, he continued to study them. Bardock had been quite formidable two decades ago, and hadn't even reached his prime. Now the warrior before him had been planet-hopping for 30 years since their last spar, and Vegeta had no idea what to expect. One couldn't travel that long and pick up no new techniques. He also couldn't remember the older man's strength: Bardock may have been stationed as third class, but the missions his team were sent on required the power of an elite or better. With his wealth of battle experience and the power to make the fight last, Vegeta was sure the big man would pose a mild challenge.

The boy on the other hand, didn't have any of his grandfather's finesse or off-worldly knowledge. He hardly had any power at all considering the strength he showed before his training, and not many that stayed under Tirran's hand for so long came out as weak. Gohan smirked at him, though he quickly returned his eyes to the stands. Vegeta followed his gaze and found that Zucco had been left to fend for himself inside a box that contained a raving Bulma. While none of the three combatants could actually hear her -- shocking, despite the noise -- it was evident just what she had such a problem with. Gohan narrowed his eyes as if trying to see better and grinned. Apparently being part human didn't interfere with his Saiyan senses, as he could easily read what she was saying.

Bardock stepped forward, one step farther from his grandson. "My prince? May I have a word with you?" Vegeta's glare nearly sent him back. "It's important, I assure you."

The younger Saiyan blinked slowly. "Speak."

"My prince, I have to say that I must allow the boy to fight alone."

Vegeta went entirely rigid: never had ANY warrior given up the honor or a spar, and most elites would have given their tails for a fight such as this one. "What are you doing?" he hissed in return, covering the distance between them in three quick strides.

"Having us fight together is a disadvantage to us," he replied calmly, lowering his gaze so it rested on the vertical line of tension between the prince's eyebrows. He smirked slightly, letting his eyes travel the length of the stands before returning them to their previous position. "It would make more sense to finish the tournament the way it started. And the way legend has it written."

Gohan looked over curiously. "This entire thing is only legend?"

Bardock nodded as Vegeta's scowl deepened. "I'm not about to go back on my word," the prince growled, glaring at them each in turn. "And I refuse to let you make a fool of me by deliberately losing."

"How would that make a fool of you?"

The commander couldn't help but admire the boy. When that burning gaze fell on him, he simply met the prince's eyes, no fear, no cowering. Simple acknowledgement. "The immediate conclusion of a Saiyan is that the winner of such a fight was afraid. I am afraid of no one." His eyes narrowed. "Understand?"

Gohan held Vegeta's glare as an extremely nervous announcer worked his way to Bardock's side. "My prince?" His grunt produced another stuttered sentence. "The fight is about to begin."

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

Zucco winced as he finally exerted the majority of his much-contained strength to hold his ranting charge firmly in her seat. Any normal person would have been on the ground from exhaustion long before this point. Bulma, on the other hand, was only getting warmed up. However, his attention -- much like the eyes of every other person in the stadium -- was riveted on the three figures in the arena's center. Teeth bit into his lower lip as Bardock lowered himself to one knee before his prince, bowed his head and strode off the battlefield. The Saiyan was leaving his grandson to spar the prince. This being the last fight, Vegeta was even less likely to hold back as much as he had before. The doctor shivered and glanced at Bulma from the corner of his eye. In a split-second decision he arched one hand over her shoulder and into a precice place on her neck with just enough controlled force for the scientist to halt mid-sentence, blue eyes roll back in her head, and slump into waiting arms. If she threw this much of a fit before being certain of Gohan's fate, he didn't want her awake to see him pummelled into the ground.

As he took his own seat he wondered if he shouldn't do the same to himself.

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

Vegeta snarled as his combination failed him, the one open spot he'd forgotten to cover instantly detected and a sole punch thrown into his ribcage. The resulting crack made him wince, but the pain was not immediate, held at bay by adrenaline brought on by fury. He hesitated a split second, long enough to glance over the boy once more before renewing his attack. It wasn't often he underestimated an opponent, and that Gohan was so formidable a rival at such a young age brought his heated blood boiling to the surface.

The demi-Saiyan leapt back as the prince came crashing into the place where he'd stood less than a second ago. He wasn't given time to recuperate as Vegeta's arm whipped into one knee, shattering the cap and making the boy double over just as his weight shifted and a suddenly free leg swept into Gohan's face. To his credit, the younger fighter didn't show any emotion, any pain, as he toppled back. Vegeta chose to claim his victory in the way of the Old Saiyans. He grabbed the tip of Gohan's tail and ripped, jerking the appendage from the boy's body and holding it aloft.

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

/Strangle the bastard./

That sole thought breached her consciousness, and with it an ache that throbbed from deep within one particular muscle. Glassy blue eyes fluttered open and immediately into a glare. A cool fabric passed over her forehead again and this time was left to rest, the corners dragged along heated cheeks. This was NOT the Saiyan way to awaken someone, she thought idly, trying to bring her vision into focus. It was quite a bit harder than she'd thought.

/Guess he's not such a pushover after all./ Mentally groaning, she tried pushing herself to her elbows, but a firm hand on either shoulder prevented any movement. "Bastard," she hissed at the blurry Saiyan, eyes narrowed as much in anger as from trying to make out the offending male. She'd had enough of waking up in strange places with more modifications than she knew what to do with, and waking up with another stranger standing guard over her was enough to make her explode... if she could manage to sit.

"Watch your language. There are children about."

A snarl was about to break when she blinked suddenly. While certainly deeper and with a colder edge to it, the voice was unmistakably that of Chi Chi's son. "Gohan?"

"Of course. Who else would bring you coffee?" The familiar scent of home wafted under her nose. Bulma blinked again, the circulation finally returning to her brain. Zucco knew damn well what he was doing, and the scientist rubbed the bruise in irritation. Gohan grinned, and in that moment he looked like himself again. Simple, carefree, just a kid who wanted nothing more than to be out on a sunny day despite his newly acquired body of 14. Zucco had promised to explain the physics of that one, although quite truthfully she wasn't sure she wanted to know. The demi- Saiyan's expression faltered when she didn't answer. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Putting both hands over her head, she winced at the sudden lancing pain. "Or I will be as soon as I beat a certain medical advisor over the head for leaving me unconscious in a chair." This time her narrowed eyes were suspicious. "What about you?"

"Well... it was kind of a draw..."

The roar of fury-inflamed agony ripped through the crowd, accompanied by a burst of power that threw Vegeta into the stands. Gohan blindly took to the air, a primal rage that sent every hair on the prince's body to standing on end washing over the half-breed. Slitted eyes turned on his opponent, bared teeth issuing an unmistakable challenge: kill or be killed. The bloodlust that sang through his veins couldn't be stopped as he dove, visible only as a blur. Vegeta barely had time to step out of the way and Gohan's swoop emptied the immediate area of sand. The tsunami crashed into the arena walls, snapping most of the barriers in half.

And the Saiyans loved it. This was what they had come to see.

Vegeta's fist tightened around the boy's tail in furious desperation. Never had a Saiyan's power INCREASED upon the loss of so dear an appendage. Perhaps his human side was working to his advantage. The prince let loose his control and felt his own ki flare in response. "Then come to me, boy!"

So Gohan did. In a flash of light he had the prince's neck in his hands, then he shattered both shins until only his left hand was supporting his foe. Near-paralyzing shots to his back continued until Vegeta felt faint, trying to cough up blood but Gohan's fist allowed no room. For the first time, the Saiyan was staring death in the face and felt a tremor of fear.

Sheer luck saved his life. When the demi-Saiyan paused for breath, the adrenaline-induced frenzy collapsed, the power expenditure too much, and Gohan crashed to his knees. Fingers fell away from Vegeta's neck long enough for the prince to draw in a mouthful of air before his systems shut down. The older warrior looked almost at peace curled up on the bloody stadium floorboards, sneer gone and eyes closed in rest. Even in unconsciousness he was content. He'd had the spar of his life.

"You IDIOT! You could have been KILLED! Do you know what they DO to people stronger than the prince?!" Bulma's heart was in her throat, fists pounding on the boy's shoulders. "Good KAMI!"

Gohan in no way attempted to stop her abuse. In fact, he looked rather sheepish. "Well, if I'm the strongest one on the planet then I don't have to worry, right?"

"Not if the whole fucking damn planet is against you! Don't you THINK?"

"Not really. That's what I have you for."

Bulma screamed in frustration and gave him one last hard thump across the back of the head. Then she paused. "If you both took that much damage, how long have I been out for?"

He kissed her forehead with an ease that made her draw back. "Only a few hours. Vegeta let me use his personal healing chambers. You'd like it in there. There's buttons."

'And only a few hours ago he was a cold-blooded killer bent on mass destruction. Vegeta, I'll kill you for what you've done to him. And if Chi Chi ever finds out...' She shuddered, running an unconscious hand through his hair. "Damn you."

"You should get ready. You don't want to miss my presentation."

"Your WHAT?"

"To the king. So he knows who I am." Gohan's warrior smirk was already in place. "As if he doesn't already." He tapped in the code and glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting Mother."

Bulma could only stare at the closing door. /Mother? He thinks I'M his mother?/ Once again the movie played, the movie that had been set on pause for all this time, the movie of mother and son in their last embrace, the movie of Chi Chi's horrendous death, the movie where, in an act of cowardice, she'd hidden less than 10 feet from the carnage and allowed it to happen. The movie of her past. That Gohan would look up to her, honor her with that name... She could only close her eyes and let the tears come.

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

A stiff, formal nod was all the motion he allowed himself as he paused before the king, Bardock as his sponsor a mere half step behind. After the fight of the century, little had been needed to draw the monarch's attention to him. In fact, he could sniff out a small measure of fear in the old man. But what brought his temper to the surface once more was his grandfather's explanation of his new identity. /Kakorrotsu, indeed,/ he fumed, clenched fists barely hidden in his baggier training clothes. /After that display they still have the balls to name me after my bastard father who couldn't even defend himself./

He barely suppressed a snarl as the king's gaze trailed over his almost- casual attire with a "He will do." Gohan felt his nails bite through skin and Bardock sighed heavily, a warrior's sigh that was usually accompanied by some speech about the importance of patience.

"Sire, as the boy's sponsor, may I also request a ranking trial."

Vegeta, seated at his father's side, glanced at the duo out of the corner of his eye. Bardock obviously thought his sovereign couldn't refuse, but the prince could see he was about ready to do just that. Whatever his answer, Vegeta couldn't change it. The Saiyan narrowed his eyes, almost hissing at the older man to get his attention.

Rumors about Bardock's intelligence told that he was quicker than most and he jerked his head up to meet the king's eyes. "And a Guardsmanship challenge at the honor of our prince."

The younger warrior mentally raised an eyebrow. While that was exactly what he'd expected, it was enough of a save to push his opinion into a position to counter his father's. If he deemed the boy worthy of becoming part of his honor guard he would have to be tested to find his true strength. Through a new rank.

The king, as if knowing something had gone on under his nose, directed his glare at his son. "The boy is yours to do with as you see fit. Although you might find it difficult to kill him." Vegeta scowled. A warning in disguise. His new slave but the royal snoops would be watching. He nodded once to Gohan and Bardock, dismissing them and at the same time waving the next Saiyan down the aisle.

Once as far from the king as protocol would allow, Gohan whirled on his grandfather. "What the hell just happened?"

Bardock grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "I do belive we just weaseled you out of a life doing grunt work, my friend. Vegeta gives his personal guard the best assignments. Not to mention the best rewards." The boy could read a small hint of envy in the other man's eyes. "And I daresay he likes you."

Gohan acknowledged this by barely missing Bardock's boot as he spit to the side. "Isn't the point of the guard to KEEP him from harm?"

"Look at it this way: you might get chosen as his sparring partner. Then you can beat the hell out of each other and get paid for doing it." Bardock cocked his head to the side. "And the more time you're at the palace the more time you can spend with Bulma."

Now the brat looked interested.