Brother
Episode 4: Enter the Miscalculation
Disclaimer: I don't own Toryama-sama's characters, just James, Ed, the TCA, and the Skeemdians (well, there's more, but that would be spoiling the later parts of this story).
Warning: Sharp language (somewhat sharper than DBZ), violence, gore (more than DBZ), and maybe a little sexual innuendo. I would rate this fic a heavy PG-13, but not R. Enjoy!
The sky of Korindoth was colored a gentle blue, a blue that held a delicate green tint as a summer breeze would hold the smell of fresh cherry blossoms. Trees reaching over one hundred meters into the sky, just tasting the fog that forever teased the roof of Korindoth's planet- wide forest. Little moved the moist, earthen air that hung nearly stagnant throughout the lowest parts of the forest, hovering over the ground plants like a living cloud, depositing life giving moisture on the sun-starved ground cover.
The sheer absence of sound seemed to enclose the area, as if the plants, forest, earth and sky were all inside a sealed environment millions of miles away from civilization. Not a single animal, not an insect, not a reptile moved. No indigenous life, save for the billions upon billions of over-sized plants.
Without a doubt, the most stunning arboretum in all of the galaxy.
And they spoiled it.
James went flying, between two trees the size of tractor-trailer rigs, in a graceful arc that terminated with a bone-rattling impact. He was off the ground a split second later, the low fog spreading away from the impact site in a lazy shock wave that had the opacity of a wedding veil. A crater of soft plants retained his body's shape, crushed flat by the "landing" he had made.
A Skeemdian fighter, a tall and gangly one, if such a thing could be said to exist, landed in James' crater with a snarl. The assassin had disappeared into thin air by the time the tall, six-limbed alien entered the clearing in pursuit of its prey. The Skeemdian had long red markings that ran down its front; two parallel lines from shoulder to groin. A cluster of what appeared to be feathers was attached to its organic armor in the place where a human would have a neck. It looked as if the decoration was pinned to the side of the alien's squashed head. He snarled a challenge into the warm air, his guttural cry absorbed into the thick forest with disturbing ease.
James answered the cry with a shout of his own, leaping from hiding to a tree truck, which he bounced from like a mad pinball. The rapid trajectory change temporarily confused the Skeemdian. The alien almost sprinted the wrong direction, falling for the feint. James dropped to the ground in a near-vertical arc, landing easily and sprinting for the alien warrior at top speed.
The two meet in an explosive clash. James attacked with a knee/elbow combination, curling up his body and twisting to the side, hitting the Skeemdian like a battering ram. The alien took the charge straight on, and both were knocked back only a few feet. They instantly closed on one another with animal fury, punches and kicks exchanged at lightening speed. Neither gained the upper hand for several seconds as Skeemdian and human fought for the simple right to survive, a battle only meaningful from the time it began until the time it stopped.
They broke away for an instant. James wiping blood from his lip, leaving a clean streak on his dirty and sweat-slicked face. The Skeemdian gave its upper right arm a solid shake and flexed its fingers, the limb slowly regaining feeling from a lucky hit James had got in. Both had eyes for only the enemy, but their ears listened for any attacks sprung from behind, their danger sense operating at its maximum.
Both were tired. The tingle of exhausted muscles ran well past their recommended mileage ran over James' body like an army of ants. The Skeemdian's posture was slumped, his hulking and surprisingly agile frame heaving slowly in time with its deep breaths.
Without warning, they both attacked at the same instant, some instinct buried deep within the ancient part of their drastically different brains reacting to the same chemical trigger. The Skeemdian attacked with two double-arm blows. James dodged the first and blocked the second with amazing strength. The Skeemdian flinched for a second, leaving the former assassin an opening. James kicked the Skeemdian in the mid- section, his foot bouncing hard, as if he had just kicked a solid concrete wall. The Skeemdian twisted to the side, though, clearly hurt and wary of a second blow. James raised both of his hands over his head and narrowed his eyes, clearly ready to end the fight post-haste.
The Skeemdian blocked by trying to grab James' fist, but the sore right arm was not cooperating and James' left hand went through its defenses, scoring a hit on the face. James' hand turned into a claw and his fingers bored into the alien's eye, chewing through the soft organs and shooting straight for the brain. The Skeemdian jerk away with a howl of pain, its lower arms grabbing James as it kneed the ex-assassin, trying to break the man's legs even as the two tumbled to the ground.
James' brain went into over-drive when the two hit the forest floor. Close-up combat with a Skeemdian was known through the front lines as the fastest way home--in a box. Plus, times were few when James ever had to fight a person for this long. Had he ever fought a person for this long?
Limbs were swatted aside mercilessly, some getting through, some being stopped by a last-moment defense. They struggled for the right to live, all sense of balance and beauty inherent in their mastery of combat gone, leaving only the desperate last gasp for life and the cold, acid sting of fear in the back of their throats.
As it happened, James pulled an arm free. With the flick of his wrist, a pistol appear in his hand, a custom-made handgun that served as James and Ed's last resort weapons. He placed the gun right at the opening his finger had smashed through mere seconds ago and pulled the trigger.
Three small, high-powered fragmentation bullets tore out of the barrel and shredded the alien's brain in the blink of an eye.
He pushed aside the lifeless arms as he took to his feet, drinking in the sweet air. A "thump" alerted him to the new group Skeemdian soldiers that had found him.
Let them come. He thought. I will not die today, not on this rock.
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Vegeta was getting frustrated. It did not make sense, he was thinking as he slaughtered yet another Skeemdian with the casual movements of an experienced butcher, that he could not simply fire a single ki blast into that blasted shield and end it all in one shot. Yes, that would make this entire trip worthwhile. These things may be relatively dumb and aren't terribly powerful, but they're damn annoying in these kinds of numbers. I suppose it is only the thick ground cover that is keeping them from mounting a serious offensive.
Vegeta put an end to a trio of would-be attackers before they came close enough to actually do him harm, and leapt into the air with a ki-powered jump, easily clearing the tops of Korindoth's tallest trees. There, only a few kilometers away--so tantalizingly close, but so very, very far away--was the shield that protected the Skeemdian's landing area. Bizarre ships, in organic shapes like gigantic planetary warts, sat in a cluster near the center. Power cables ran from eight of the parked ships directly into a squat tower at the center of the shield; obviously the well-protected shield generator. Ten ships. Ten thousand troops per ship. This was no minor operation; the Skeemdians wanted this planet.
And where the hell is Nappa?!
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Nappa was beating off Skeemdians with a stick. Well, not a stick actually, but a limb from one of the aliens.
Where he was... looked like a forest.
"Hey, get down!" Shouted a voice from his right. One of humanoids, the tall one with all the big weapons, was running right at him, arms wide. His words didn't make any sense, but what his face had to say was clear: big explosion coming.
Nappa complied with the request by raising a ki shield to ward off whatever was coming. The tall man was behind the shield in a flash; betting life on the barely-visible barrier. The explosion was minor but colorful. An excellent display, knocking over about two dozen trees. The shock wave rolled over the hills, gone by the time the echo came back to the pair. Nappa lowered the ki shield and took note of the plants around him--particularly at how they were bent away from the explosion.
That should have been bigger. The humanoid said.
Nappa gave the man a twisted smile. He liked this guy's style. The Skeemdians, however, did not approve of the humanoid's actions. To say they were offended was an understatement that was not worth contemplating.
Ed and Nappa turned on the tide, ripping into the Skeemdian ranks. Nappa went into the fray like a boxer two minutes into round thirty of a prize fight; tired but still in the game. Ed charged the horde like a man with nothing to lose, a crowbar cutting one way and a machine gun cutting the other. He waded into battle with a grim and unforgiving stare that promised death for any Skeemdians he put in his sights.
Weird people. Nappa thought to himself between exchanging punches with Skeemdian soldiers. Today would be... interesting. I wonder what Vegeta is up to.
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"Die! Die! Die! Die! DIE!" Ed shouted. The last was reserved for a stubborn bastard who had parted with this plane of existence, minus hand. The appendage was still stuck to the make-shift bayonet he had fastened to his MB-666, wagging about like some obscene bloody dog's tail. Ugly thing, but what could he do to remove it? He was too busy using the gun to keep his own hide in one piece. Damn never-ending Skeemdians. Are they fuckin' multiplying at that base or something?
At this rate the slowly warming barrel would work the Skeemdian flesh up to a moderate sizzle before he could pry the crap loose. What a mess. "Die TWICE, you mother-fucker!" The crowbar was also a handy weapon. Ed didn't exactly appreciate blunt instruments; possibly on account of how he had witnessed James use them time and frightening time again. Projectile weapons were more his style, but using the crowbar was far less exhausting than carrying his backup MB-666 under the other arm. The crowbar didn't exactly excel at killing aliens, but once they lost a pound of flesh to the over-sharpened claw and failed to connect with anything solid through Ed's melee defenses, they pretty much gave up the point-blank attacks.
Cutting into the fourth line of Skeemdians that charged him like doomed soldiers trying to clear a machine gun nest, Ed wondered if there was a backup plan. The tall guy they'd run into before was looking agitated. The language James had used with him seemed to get through, but Ed had learned long ago that fighting and talking was a bad idea; speaking in an unfamiliar language and fighting was suicide. It surprised him quite a bit to see that the fuzzy thing about the warrior's waste was, in fact, a tail. They'd crossed paths a few times, zigging and zagging through the woods with a dozen divisions of Skeemdians on their collective asses. A tail. He actually has a tail. Pause thought process to cut apart half-dead Skeemdian with bayonet. Resume. I wonder where he came from. His short friend has a similar tail.
Circular thinking. Consequence of too much combat.
He shrugged and concentrated on blasting more bad guys, with a few insults and cuss words thrown into the mix for variety.
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"NAPPA!!!"
Vegeta sucked in his breath, the scream still echoing through the valley he floated above. The big oaf should have heard that. Nappa didn't get lost very often, but when he did, it always under the worst circum- stances, such as he was in right now.
Where is he?!
"Vegeta-sama! Over here!"
Pan down and too the right. Nappa was jumping clear of the trees as well, transitioning haltingly into flight. He looked beaten, but far from out of the fight. Vegeta knew all too well the weariness etched into his features.
"What say we end this right now?" Vegeta asked his second in command.
"The moon sphere?"
Vegeta shook his head slowly. "Not now. It would be a major waste of power."
"We don't know that for sure. I mean, we don't even have our scouters right now." Nappa protested.
"What I'm thinking, Nappa, is that you cover me and I'll Final Flash the whole lot into ashes." It was not a suggestion, it was a command.
Nappa raised his guard and nodded once. Wordlessly, he dropped to the forest floor, his mouth a taunt line across his face.
Partly down, he ran into James. The two collided rather hap-hazardly in the air, resulting in Nappa just barely righting himself before landing, and James plowing into the ground yet again.
Nappa took stock once his footing was secure. No Skeemdians around him. He waited, but he could hear nothing save for James clambering to his feet. What happened to him?
"That is harder than it looks." He said, looking at Nappa.
"Excuse me?"
"Altering the flow of energy in your body to resist gravity. Neat trick."
"Trick?" Nappa's mind re-wound the last few minutes. That man in mid- air, no Skeemdians nearby to put him there. He wasn't flying earlier. "You just learned how to fly?" He asked.
"Well, more or less hover, but it's not that hard." The man said, still smiling faintly.
Sometimes the most obvious yet stupid answer was the correct one. "Who are you?"
"I'm James Rahn, of the Terra Cor Alliance. The language you speak, it's an old tongue where we come from."
"It is?" Nappa didn't want to hear a linguist yak about Galactic Standard any more. His people had spoken the language of those planet brokers since long before he was born. Well, to the introductions, it seemed. "I'm Nappa of the planet Vegeta. I'm the second-strongest Saiyajin in the universe."
Riiight. Ed, come out please. James said.
The second humanoid walked out from behind one of the large trees, idly picking at some plant waste lodged in his newest weapon.
"You can call us earthlings." James continued. "That one is Ed Flemming. We're from the planet earth."
"Earth, huh? Never heard of it." Nappa said.
"You probably never will, either. It was all but destroyed not long ago. Attacked by these six-arm alien bugs we call the Skeemdians." James explained.
"Ah." Nappa said. "Speaking of which, where are they?"
"A long ways back." Ed said, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder. "They're massing for another assault."
"Vegeta-sama will take care of them." Nappa said confidently.
"Speaking of which..." James said, looking up, his eyes scanning the tree tops for any sign of the short fighter. His eyes suddenly widened. "What the hell is he doing?! STOP!"
Hey! What's going on? Ed asked James.
"That guy--Vegeta--can't you feel his energy? It's focusing into one spot!"
"That means he's going to blow something up." Ed realized with a smile.
"Yes, but he's defenseless during the charge-up." James said flatly.
"Oh."
"That's why I'm supposed to protect him." Nappa said.
Two pairs of eyes locked on the Saiyajin. The three fighters gathered under the great trees of Korindoth just stared at one another for a second, a silent communication taking place.
They would have to rely on one another to get off of this planet alive.
Overhead, long tendrils of visible electricity began to gather around Vegeta, like spires of living lightning stretching from body to the ground below and to the clouds above. The sky darkened, and the air began to taste of ozone. A chill moved through the humans; they felt it, deep in their bones. An ancient power was slowly being awakened.
They could only guess at the destruction it might bring before them.
- TbC