Outlanders

Chapter 49: The Judged


'North Kai… are you serious?'

Krillin's jaw had crashed to the ground with such resonance that it could have been heard halfway down Snake Way. Piccolo, alternatively, shared none of his shock- his hands were drawn into ugly, angry claws. 'A joke?' Piccolo hissed.

'I am wholly serious,' North Kai replied calmly. 'Each of you must make me laugh. And when you tell me your joke, address me as King Kai, please. North Kai is what my coworkers and rivals call me. You two are neither.'

Heat lines, like the ones that rose off of black pavement on a hot summer's day, swarmed around the Namekian. 'This is outrageous! I am a fighter! Not some sort of clown!' Piccolo exploded.

'I expect my students to possess both a sound body and a sound mind. If you can't think of a humorous joke when prompted, then clearly, you aren't worth my time.' King Kai rolled his neck once around, cracking it as he went. 'Now come on! Lay one on me!'

Krillin hardly noticed the stream of unintelligible, angry words that began to roll off of Piccolo's tongue, and instead pivoted his gaze to Kevin Woo comfortably seated in his lawn chair. 'You trained with King Kai, right?' he asked. 'Did you have to tell a joke, too?'

Kevin Woo bristled, as if unprepared for anyone to pay him any attention. 'Of course,' he answered. 'It… wasn't very…' he trailed off, holding back something he clearly wanted to expand upon. 'It's just trial and error. You can do it.' He then fumbled for his drink and took a hasty sip of it.

Krillin's eyes remained on the man. There was something to Kevin Woo that he didn't quite get. Ignoring the comment that he had made to him when he was being rescued, Krillin couldn't shake the air of intimacy that followed the fighter around like a cloud of flies. There was something both utterly familiar and distinctly unknown about the man. Krillin wouldn't have believed that such a feeling could exist if he weren't in the throes of experiencing it at this very moment.

Perhaps it was that he was human- but Krillin would have known of such a strong fighter just by sense alone if they had lived in the same time period. Then again, how old could Kevin Woo be? He could have been dead a thousand years and Krillin wouldn't know otherwise. What had King Yemma said? How long has he been here? Was it-

'King Kai, what do you call a wet napkin?' Piccolo spoke suddenly. His strained face looked ready to break into a hundred pieces.

One of King Kai's brows raised in interest. 'What does one call a wet napkin?'

'A… moist towelette.'

What came next was one of the most excruciating silences Krillin had ever had to endure. It was made worse by the fact that King Kai appeared to be scoring the joke in his head.

'By Kami,' Kevin Woo muttered. 'That was terrible.'

'I'd like to see you do better!' Piccolo barked, shaking a fist at him.

'That wasn't even a joke,' King Kai interrupted them, his voice laced with snootiness. 'That… was just a fact. Truly awful attempt. Got any more?'

'King Kai? I have one,' Krillin said.

'Oh?' King Kai half-turned to him. 'What is it?'

'On my way here I fell into the underworld... You could say it was quite the hellifying experience.'

At first King Kai did nothing, his eyes centered on Krillin and indicative of a mind really considering the meat of Krillin's joke. Then there was a snort. Before anyone knew what was happening, laughter rolled out of King Kai's throat like a dam collapsing, flooding them with a suffocating amount of chortling, giggling, and sound. So much sound. Krillin had never heard so many different sounds be made by one person at once. He had never seen someone roll across the ground like a runaway barrel from laughter, either. The theme for Krillin continued- Otherworld was a place of firsts.

What made the situation unforgettable, however, was the reaction of Krillin's favorite human-hating Namekian. He couldn't tell what was more bewildering to Piccolo- the fact that he had actually fallen into hell and had returned or that that joke had made King Kai laugh - but he would never forget the image of his green face wreathed with indignation, trauma, and despair all at once.

Kevin Woo said nothing. He was laughing, too.

'Wow…' King Kai picked himself off the ground, dabbing at the tears running down his cheeks with the collars of his sleeves. 'You're something else. I haven't heard a joke that funny in a millennium, at least.'

Krillin saw Kevin Woo make a face at this, but he ignored him and said, 'So?'

'Welcome aboard,' King Kai said, his smile glinting exactly like the sun on a clear day. 'Now then,' King Kai turned to Piccolo once more. 'Have you anything else to say?'

Piccolo looked to be a hundred things- betrayed, tired, exhausted- but the fire was still lit in his eyes. Even if it may have been physically impossible for him to tell a joke, he hadn't accepted this. Krillin smirked. Yet.

'Alright,' Piccolo growled, fixing his face into a composed, if not angry, expression. 'How do you make a horse jump off a cliff?'

'How do you make a horse jump off a cliff?' King Kai parroted back, emphasizing the do and stroking his chin.

'You tell it to get off its high horse.'

A single tortured second hung in the air, similar to the silence that had greeted Piccolo's first joke. But then, miraculously, King Kai's veneer cracked and, just like before, the waves of laughter rode out and trampled every one of them into the dirt.

Again, Krillin's jaw was on the floor- he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even Kevin Woo looked shocked. That joke was worse than mine. But… it was a joke. He actually told a joke. His gaze flickered over to Piccolo, who looked only slightly less shocked at King Kai's laughing compared to his previous attempt. Would his father have been able to do that? Probably not. Huh…

Nothing was turning out as Krillin had imagined. Was this a good thing? Bad? He didn't know. I guess… we both passed. King Kai made a clucking sound like a chicken and zoomed past Piccolo on the ground. Why does everything in the Otherworld have to be so... weird?...

0o0o0

The diner was quiet, typical of the time of day and the sort of clientele that frequented it- because it was one of the closest eateries near King Furry's palace, usually a lot of busy bureaucrats who worked there would quickly run in-and-out around noon for food before sprinting back to work. The rest of the time the small fixture was populated by a few early risers, some retirees, some young people with too much time on their hands, and the regulars who knew the menu by heart. Despite being in Central City, it's proximity near the palace and the public gardens made it a little bit too far out of the way to ever be at full occupancy. It was a quiet, slow place. Puar had been here before, and had liked popping in, each time appearing and dressed different, every once in a while these past few years. Perhaps she should have been more indiscreet.

Across the table from her and Oolong and seated upright in the booth, a woman clothed in nondescript clothing blew on her mug of coffee. Puar wasn't exactly sure how this person had tracked them down and directed them to meet here, and in the midst of considering this, the woman's voice lapsed back into her head.

'... so, we're not saying you'd be on the rolls per se, but, for all intents and purposes, you'd have our support…'

To her left, Oolong was nodding along to everything the woman was saying, an annoying habit Puar had come to know very well during their time together. He always outwardly agreed with what a stranger was saying: no exceptions. Puar nudged the pig in the side and stilled him. 'How exactly did you find us again?' Puar asked, interrupting whatever sentence the woman was halfway through saying.

'It's my job,' the woman answered gruffly. 'And, come on, did you think that the death of nearly every major crime lord on this side of the planet wouldn't raise a few eyes? Any at all?'

'I would have thought you and your people would have been glad to see them gone.'

'Why do you think we're having this conversation?' The woman raised her mug to her lips and took a long, hearty swig of her coffee. She took it black. 'Some of my colleagues, myself included, think very highly of what you've done. It's not often that we see people do five years' worth of work in a single night.'

'That's because it did take five years,' Oolong spoke up. Hearing this, Puar nastily swung her head and glared at him; he immediately clammed up and started to fidget with his fingers underneath the table.

A small smile formed on the woman's lips. 'More proof of your effort and dedication.' Another sip. 'I have to say, you're checking off on all the criterion we have.'

'We have no interest in working with you,' Puar said plainly. 'We're flattered by the offer, but-'

'There are more than just you two, right?'

Puar paused. 'Huh?'

The woman leaned in over her mug. 'I mean, it wasn't just you two who took down King Piccolo, right?'

'I'm not sure what you're getting at. We didn't have anything to do with him.' Which was technically the truth, even if Puar intimately knew the people who did take him down.

'Are you sure?' The woman's eyes bounced back and forth between Puar and Oolong. 'I'll admit that this is an unproven theory of mine around the office, but it would make sense that I would think this, considering that I've spent so much time investigating your case, and that you two have been seen, in some way, shape, or form, with a group of people known to us to have won every World Martial Arts Tournament in the past 8 years, and who were seen fighting King Piccolo-'

'-we get the point,' Puar interrupted her, sliding her open human hand in the air in front of her. 'You've got this crazy theory. You're crazy. We get it.'

The woman didn't look offended. 'You don't have to admit it. Just do me a favor and pass along the offer to your friends,' she urged, pushing the glasses higher up on her nose. 'Your friends would be doing the planet a lot of good by accepting.'

'Hypothetically, I think we already do a lot of good without being tethered down to an organization,' Puar retorted. 'I'm sorry, but I don't see the utility of us joining up with a bloated agency. We seem to do things well enough on our own.'

'Do you think you two are aware of every weird thing that's happening on Earth?' The woman cupped her mug fully, downed the rest of it in one go, and then slapped the vessel back to the table and pushed it to the side. 'There are literally hundreds of crises that people like me have to deal with on a daily basis. Did you know there was a robotic insurrection in North City just last week? Or that some strain of mutant deer nearly feasted on the entire population of a village not fifty miles south of here?' The woman paused and studied their faces. 'Judging by your blank stares, I assume you didn't. Just because these things aren't public doesn't mean they aren't happening. My offer stands. We can give you more pairs of eyes than you can imagine- you offer us your expertise. Just… consider it.'

With that, the woman smoothed out her business suit, grabbed a waiter and paid for her coffee, and departed. A conspicuous card was left on her side of the booth. Puar eyed it for a time, but eventually reached across the table and pocketed it.

'We don't have to decide right now, yeah?' Oolong asked, his eyes tracing the woman strut down the street through the window to his left.

'No,' Puar replied. 'I got the impression that this was an "open offer" type of discussion. She doesn't strike me like the person to bother us with this again. She just wanted to be heard.'

'That's a relief,' Oolong said, letting out a long exhale.

'Well,' Puar sighed, swinging out of the booth and motioning Oolong to the same. 'We better get a move on then, yeah?'

'Are you paying?'

'I have the money, don't I?'

'If I could remember where I put it on me before I transformed, I would pay-'

'I'll add it to the bank of Puar, with interest.'

'Come on!'

Puar left the money on the table and they strolled out, bickering all the while.

0o0o0

The hallway before her stretched on like a neverending maw, much longer than anything Bulma would have imagined existed in a base this small. She didn't want to admit it, but it was increasingly obvious that her extended confinement in a bed had affected her not only physically but also psychologically.

Screw it. She clung to the hallway railing like a baby to their mother, terrified of what would happen to her if she let go. Well, she had a pretty good idea of what would happen. She doubted her body had adjusted to the gravity well enough to the point where a simple fall wouldn't break bones- but this didn't deter her. If anything, it motivated her to move even quicker; the less time she spent out and about like this, the better. Which means…

She focused on the railing, on the kiss of cool metal against her skin, and shimmied forward, making sure to keep her hands clamped and close to her. Her feet would saunter forward, and her body and sweat-slicked hands would cautiously follow after. It was physical work that was utterly alien to her, as was everything else she had so far encountered.

She wasn't sure if time passed quickly in her strained state, or that the trip was much shorter than she had anticipated, but in what felt like no time at all, she rounded the nearest corner and sighted Planthorr chatting with a technician. He saw her, excused himself, and hurried over. 'This isn't what I meant about pushing yourself within limits,' he chastised her while his arms slid under her to help support her weight. 'What are you doing this far away from your room?'

This was the part she had practiced in her head- her execution would have to be flawless. She straightened her face, pushing away any discomfort she felt far away in her mind, and met his gaze. 'I want to start working.'

'Working?' Planthorr blanched. 'Are you kidding? You can barely stand!'

'So? A week ago I couldn't stand at all,' Bulma bit back. 'I'll be out and about like you in no-time- you said so yourself.'

He shook his head side-to-side, as if he was unconsciously denying her claims of what he had said. 'I'm sorry, but while you may be stuck here, it would be a gross violation to let you be anything more than a patient. There's-' he sputtered, '- there are regulations!'

Bulma gave him a nasty look. 'Are you trying to tell me that there are more regulations governing the support staff of the PTO than its army? Because, as far as I can tell, my two human friends were able to enlist without so much as a form to fill out. Do you really expect me to believe that? I can understand if I needed to complete a test, or some sort of certification course- which I'll happily do, by the way- but to think I have no chance-'

'Well- Ve- I was told to treat you like-'

'Like what?'

Planthorr's eyes darted back in forth at something behind her. Bulma didn't have to turn around. Bulma knew there was nothing there. 'Like… I… please, please!' he begged, 'You can't do this to me! I'm so close to retiring, so close to qualifying for a living wage- please!'

He was practically crying onto her now. While Bulma didn't enjoy this part of the process, she couldn't temper her edge when dealing with people who had blatantly tried to hide things from her. She had to be firm and persistent. 'Calm down,' she said soothingly, taking one of his hands in her own and pressing it. 'I don't want that to happen- hey, look at me- I don't want that to happen. But I can't help us- you especially- until you share what was instructed to you. Okay? You need to tell me.'

Planthorr grimaced at her at length, his arms ready to spiral into a trembling mess, and a creeping furrow embraced his brows. 'We're both victims, aren't we?' he said at a whisper. 'I thought I was safe from him, from everyone, if I just shut up and followed orders-'

'Who are you talking about?'

He sighed. 'Prince Vegeta told me to keep you separate from any technician, engineer, or doctor. To isolate you totally within reason. So I directed my staff to never converse with you. Make sure to keep you alive and nothing more.'

Bulma dipped her head, processing what he had said. It made sense. 'But you spoke with me before this,' she pointed out. 'Were you violating his orders then?'

'My curiosity got the better of me,' he admitted. 'I have never before been ordered to treat one of my patients as a prisoner. I wanted to find a reason for this- and I found nothing but another inquisitive mind that the universe so routinely snuffs out. About halfway through our conversation, I realized that I was putting us both at risk, and so I removed myself from the premises.' A guilty expression spread across his wizened face. 'I should have just kept to myself-'

'-No,' Bulma gripped him more tightly, steadying him and helping to diminish his shaking. 'You were right to do this. Now that I know where things stand, I can act to save my own skin accordingly. Where is Vegeta now?'

'He'll be gone for the foreseeable future,' Planthorr muttered. 'His ship left here not too long ago.'

'He'll come back, right?'

Something hard slid down over his eyes as if a suit of armor was being pulled over a combatant. 'During my time with the PTO, I've seen many soldiers be consumed by forces far beyond their ability to fight. But that Saiyan does not fail in what he does. He has outlived stronger and better men- he is a survivor. He will return.'

'Good,' Bulma pronounced. 'I look forward to having a word with him myself when he does. Until then… I restate my desire to work for you.'

He looked reluctant, and Bulma imagined that he would say something along those lines, but he surprised her with what he said next.

'Frankly,' Planthorr said somewhat light-heartedly, 'you've given me no choice.'

'What do you mean?'

'I would never align myself against someone as ferocious as you.'

Bulma smiled. 'I like that answer.'

0o0o0

Vegeta's arrival on Arcosia stank of nauseating procession. He had been ferried away from his pod to the palace in a breathtaking amount of time, as in accordance with the customs of being summoned by the Emperor. Arcosia itself was a veritable jewel of the PTO, one of the few planets in its dominion that had never before experienced significant combat or civil conflict on its own soil, but to Vegeta, its association with Frieza could never be wiped from his mind. The flavor was bitter, sickly, something that would claw at his insides until he was nothing more than a husk pulled by strings. He willed himself to see nothing of this world- and so it was until he had entered the palace.

What concerned him more than the tripe ritualism was the eerie emptiness of the reception chamber. He had only been here a few times before, but on each occasion the room had been filled with eager courtiers all yearning for Frieza's favor. In the past, the court had made Vegeta laugh in the better moments of his life and stew in his own hatred in the worse ones. Still, there was something lost by not having them present. Perhaps Frieza had grown bored with the court and had dismissed them from his entourage. Or perhaps he wants me all to himself.

Either way, it didn't matter. His footsteps still echoed against the cold stone floor, foretelling his arrival far before he had laid eyes upon the emperor.

Frieza, seated in a plain gray stone throne and flanked by his left and right hands- Zarbon and Dodoria, respectively- didn't even bother to look at him as he approached. Instead, his gaze was titled up and to the side, peering out into the distant darkness that clung to the ceiling of the chamber like mist. It was insulting; Vegeta had no doubt that this had been Frieza's intention. Impugnities had a way of adding up and festering over the years- their sum was greater than their parts- and Frieza had never bothered to disguise his opinion of him; insignificant, beneath a being as powerful and magnificent as himself. Vegeta hoped the vein bulging on his forehead wasn't visible.

'How are you, Prince Vegeta?' Frieza asked in almost a lazy tone- but Vegeta knew better. A despot as dangerous as Frieza did not dare take their attention off a powerful subordinate, not even for a second. This thought was both flattering and cutting to Vegeta's ego.

He forced his muscles to make the same, rote movement that they had performed hundreds of times before, and kneeled. 'I am well, Lord Frieza,' Vegeta said in the performative tone a courtier would use. 'My mission to HPT012 was a success. I thank you for your patronage.'

'Oh, dispense with the niceties,' Frieza piped up, finally setting his gaze on Vegeta. 'We've known each other for long enough. I remember a time when you were a tiny baby, coddled in the arms of your father,' Frieza waxed, as if he was trying to mimic a tone of voice people with hearts used when recalling a pleasant memory. 'You were so vulnerable then. You see, Prince Vegeta, because I've known you for such a long time, I'm concerned about your wellbeing.' Frieza's eyes glimmered with sharpened attention. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes, Lord Frieza.'

'I become concerned when my subordinates withhold information from me. Do you understand, Vegeta?'

'...Yes, Lord Frieza.'

Frieza's head turned to his left. 'Zarbon?'

Without missing a beat, the teal-skinned alien cleared his throat and began. 'It has come to my attention that one of your own, Raditz, died recently on LPT076. But the report does nothing more than to state this fact. It lacks context, in a word. So Lord Frieza has called you here directly to set the facts straight.' Zarbon paused, and used one hand to flip his single braid of hair over his shoulder. 'For this is a grave mistake to make.'

The floor might as well have fallen out from under Vegeta. This was the worst possible reason for which he could have been summoned; he was to be chewed out by the sickest- and most powerful- being in the universe. The complaint was tacit bullshit- functionally, there was nothing wrong with submitting a report like that, even if it technically wasn't allowed- but no-one ever made a big fuss about the rules covering submitting after-action reports unless they wanted to target a particular person.

Fuck. He was that person. Zarbon must have specifically rooted around in his files until he found a suitably "unfit" report. Frieza couldn't be made aware of the Earthlings- not while he was still trying to determine what had happened to Raditz-

'Vegeta,' Frieza spoke in a deep and cutting voice. 'It is because of our long history together that I do not kill you where you stand- braver warriors have stood where you are now and have died for the same offense. So, I command you under the threat of death; be a dear and clear this little administrative error up for us.'

'I… I erred in submitting my report, Lord Frieza.' Vegeta stated, keeping his gaze level with Frieza's feet. 'I apologize profusely for my mistake. Would you like to hear my full report?'

Frieza made a gesture on the edge of Vegeta's peripheral vision. 'Please, go on.'

'Raditz had approached Nappa and I with a hunch- he had thought that his brother, Kakarot, had been residing on LPT076 for the past two decades. He convinced us to allow him to travel to LPT076 to retrieve his brother.'

At this, one of Zarbon's eyebrows rose. 'Where would he get such an idea from, I wonder?' he mused. 'There is nothing in our records that indicate any Saiyan child would have been sent to LPT076 before the destruction of Planet Vegeta.'

'Though- remember-' Dodoria spoke up in a husky voice, '- at the end there were a few pods unaccounted for. Remember?' He stressed this last word especially.

'Hmm?' Something glazed over Zarbon's eyes and he quickly nodded. 'Yes, yes. I remember.'

'I do not know what knowledge Raditz possessed,' Vegeta resumed, 'but I do know that he was convinced of its accuracy. He had decided to pursue Kakarot, and set off for LPT076 shortly after informing us. He then died on LPT076.'

The last sentence hung in the air, its residency drawn out by the lack of conversation that followed it. 'It strikes me,' Frieza said, 'that this is a very nice story- but it does not explain why you omitted this little tidbit of information from us.'

The moment of truth. 'Lord Frieza…' Vegeta began,' it was an embarrassment for a Saiyan to die in such a manner, so I thought to erase the details of it altogether. Raditz died to combatants far below his own level, and failed in what should have been a simple mission. That is why I didn't report any further details of the matter- it would be the last strike upon his name, the last blow on his Saiyan pride to ever be recorded. I wished to spare him and us that dishonor.'

'Saiyan pride?' A twitch seized the emperor's face. 'Saiyan pride!' Frieza laughed, his voice trilling against the walls of the palace. 'Of course! Of course! It always comes back to pride!' The sound of Frieza's laugh was bitter and accustomed to these walls, and threw such a shade upon the entire room that Vegeta hadn't noticed at what point did Zarbon and Dodoria join in it.

The Prince, fixed in a kneel, checked his own rage as Frieza went on.'You silly monkeys can be proud of the darndest things, can't you? So, of course, you wouldn't be proud of one of your own dying on a backwards planet… of course. Everything is so clear now, Vegeta. You wanted to salvage whatever pitiful amount of pride your race has left! It always comes back to pride!'

Vegeta wasn't sure if Frieza had intended him to respond, but he had no confidence that his voice would sound anything near calm when he next spoke, so he kept himself mute for as long as possible. It proved to be the right decision- much like the Saiyan, Frieza took his time regaining his former composure. 'You may rise, Vegeta,' Frieza stated in the lazy tone he had used at the beginning once the laughter had fallen away, piece-by-piece, until only the cold regard remained. 'Your answers are satisfactory, and so I thank you for coming here on such short notice. You have, and always will be, a great asset to the PTO.'

A thin smile graced Vegeta's face. 'It is an honor to serve, my lord.'

And then, with a simple wave of a hand, Vegeta was dismissed from Frieza's presence. The Saiyan knew the distance within the chamber between himself and the door was devoid of any prying eyes, so on his walk out Vegeta threw caution to the wind and let a vindictive feeling, comprised of equal parts rage and sick joy, consume him. He didn't dare imagine what his face looked like.

The bastard would eventually get what was coming to him- he would die one day. Vegeta simply wished that, when that day came, he would still be alive to hear of it.

0o0o0

Yamcha struggled to control his breathing. He hadn't known about one of the worst features of the ships the PTO rode into battle on- they were liable to bring their occupant out of sleep just before entering a planet's atmosphere, right before a series of terrifying and outwardly cataclysmic events would occur within a space not much larger than a small closet. This small world would rattle, shake, and burn as the ship beyond it would plunge through the air, leaving a red-hot tail of fire and smoke in its wake. There was nothing pleasant about being in a ship that had to land on a planet after just exiting interstellar travel.

In fact, it was-

Awful. If Yamcha was forced to sum up his current predicament with one word, he would say that. Awful. The shaking became so bad that Yamcha thought he would slide right out of his seat and jostle around the cockpit like loose change in a washing machine. It didn't come to that, though- the straps laid across his chest were firm, and kept him encased in his display case.

He wasn't sure what had caused him to be in such a mood- maybe it was because he was drugged and then undrugged to sleep- but a few things were apparent to him.

They would never get back to Earth. He and Tien would be forced to work as contractors for bloodthirsty Saiyans- and the people pulling their strings- until they were nothing more than shadows of their former selves. They had promised Bulma that they would buy her time- but the weeks flew by and, while Yamcha was pretty sure she would be up on her feet by now, she- they all were- were swimming against the current. The PTO consumed sentient beings like a mill grinds grain-

And now the pod around him shuddered and beeped, foretelling him of an imminent landing on a foreign world where he would be expected to scythe through alien lives like wheat. It was some cruel, malicious order, and one which Yamcha was convinced was indicative of what kind of operation the PTO ran. The report he read had stated that the race on this planet had only interacted with aliens only twice before: the first encounter occurred when an errant ship crashed-landed on the planet. The natives had repaired the ship for the sole survivor and sent them back into space. The second encounter came when the PTO landed an expeditionary force on the planet, leveled an entire city as a test of the natives' military strength- to gauge the strength of their military response- and left.

That was how the difficulty ratings for these contracts were assigned- through the use of random, senseless destruction as sophisticated as figuring out how painful it would it be to get honey out of a beehive by kicking it. It was sickening. It was expected.

The pod gave a great and final shake, sending the strongest vibration through the walls of the ship by far, and swept away all the sound and fury that had become such an essential part of it. The silence that settled on the cockpit was quickly pierced by the hissing of the ship's hatch. In the same measure, the straps holding Yamcha to his seat automatically unclicked and fell away.

He- a quick glance to Yamcha's right confirmed there was an identical plume of dust in the air similar to the one above his own ship- they had landed in what looked to be a jungle. By the time Yamcha had staggered out of the crater, his muscles clumsy and weak from disuse (though the planet, thankfully, had the same gravity of the base), Tien was waiting at the top. With a small gesture of his head, Tien set off in a direction. Yamcha fell in behind.

At first, they were concerned with familiarizing themselves- this was an alien world, after all- but the jungle was quiet, and if their coordinates were correct, was much closer to the edge of civilization than the dark recesses of the wilderness. So they looked through the mass of multi-colored vines and twisted trees rather than at, and they walked instead of running or flying, because they didn't know where or when their mission would start.

'You read the report, right?' Yamcha asked when they had put in a good distance between themselves and the landing site.

Tien was walking side-by-side with him. 'Of course,' he replied in a businesslike manner. He then paused. 'I'm surprised you found the time for it, to be honest.' he added.

'Why would you say that?'

'Nevermind,' Tien said, trying to end the conversation with as much tact as a kid holding back a tantrum.

'So you want to hash through what you brought up at the landing pad, right? Is that it?'

'At this point? No.'

Yamcha hustled forward and swung into Tien's path. 'Alright. You want to know what I was doing?' When Tien made an empty gesture, he went on. 'I was digging around for information.'

Tien's mouth curled up in irritation. 'What are you talking about?'

'I've been spending every waking moment of free time trying to figure out how this-' he swept his arms over the jungle around them '-came to be. Why we're here. Why the PTO habitually purges planets for the highest bidder.'

'You're that curious, are you?' Tien said scornfully. 'Should you have been figuring out where Namek is?'

'Shouldn't you have been doing that? Or, really, anything else to help?' Yamcha barked.

Tien narrowed his eyes. 'I've been spending most of my time training because I recognize that any one of our "fellow soldiers" is inclined to kill us at the first opportunity.'

'You're worried about the other soldiers? Really?'

'They're-'

'They're in the same ship as us,' Yamcha interrupted him. 'They didn't choose this life. This life chose them. Do you know how many soldiers at that base are the literal last of their kind? Entire races have been reduced to nothing because of the PTO. Those who survived these purges had no skills, no familiarity with the wider galaxy except through an organization that had just eradicated their entire civilization. So is it any surprise that those who were strong enough to survive would join up with the PTO?' Yamcha cast a dark look at Tien, almost through him. 'When everything you care is dust beneath your feet, and the only truth that can be gleaned from such indiscriminate annihilation speaks to the undeniable strength of violence, wouldn't you embrace it, too?'

Tien kept his gaze steady on Yamcha. 'Monsters are still monsters, Yamcha, regardless of their motivations. I'm not going to debate the morality of men who have all been, to varying degrees, willingly complicit with an organization that commits genocide.' He set off again and passed Yamcha. 'Their involvement condemns them to any punishment that awaits them in the future, either in this life or the next. And, until then, we have to keep an eye on them, because the type of people who commit genocide are dangerous.''

Yamcha didn't move out of Tien's way- he refused to back down. 'And when we're done with what we're about to do, we'll have to say the same about ourselves, right?'

Tien looked at him, and then swerved to Yamcha's right, passing him, and continued to plow forward through the jungle. Yamcha waited for a few breaths, but when nothing else was said, he resumed walking.

More time passed. They continued to traipse through the undergrowth. Yamcha couldn't explicate how he knew this, but he felt both himself and Tien calm down. Maybe it was because walking was a good way to cool off. More likely that they both knew they were close now, though. 'We got sidetracked,' Yamcha spoke up.

'What?' Tien replied without turning or stopping.

'Do you want to know what I found out through my efforts? Besides what I've learned about the general soldiery, that is.' Yamcha asked as he ducked underneath a vine.

'Since you seem eager to share, go ahead,' Tien said with a hint of condescension. 'Something earth-shattering, I presume?'

Yamcha smirked. 'Something like that. Did you know that our Saiyan friends aren't of the same status as the other soldiers?'

'Their armor always looked slightly different from the pieces worn by other soldiers- or our own, for that matter- if that's what you're getting at.'

'No- you misunderstand. They have a special privilege within the PTO- they're allowed to maintain a mercenary group and can hire or dismiss soldiers at their leisure, us included.'

'Yeah? And? What about that is noteworthy?'

'From what I've learned about the PTO, that's a very weird allowance to give to regular soldiers. Typically someone has to be employed within the PTO for years until they're granted the right to assemble their own group. So we can assume that Vegeta and Nappa have been doing this kind of stuff for a while.'

Tien briefly got his foot wedged in a tangle of roots, but with a slight grunt he freed the limb and soldiered on. 'If you had spent any time with them when they were interacting with the other soldiers, this wouldn't come as a surprise,' Tien said bluntly.

'Tien, we know that the PTO is bigger than it seems- soldiers are constantly cycling in and out of the base, we hear of other outposts and planets, which implies that the scope of its operations is massive. I'm not surprised that Nappa and Vegeta have toughed it out longer than most- they seem like the type to thrive in this kind of system; I'm concerned about who they might know. What connections they might have.'

Tien froze, and Yamcha could see that he finally understand what he had been driving at. 'Do you think,' Tien said slowly, 'that they can figure out that our story is a lie?' He half-turned to Yamcha.

'Dunno,' Yamcha admitted. 'I don't know enough about the larger PTO to answer that. Let me ask you something; do know who Frieza is?'

Tien eyed him. 'I don't. I-'

A rapid blast of air swept through the forest, shaking tree limbs and blowing leaves in a whiplash-like pattern across the landscape. Yamcha brought up his arms to shield his face from the wind, and as he did so, his scouter finally registered the source- a massive uptick in energy had just appeared at where their objective, the city, awaited them. Tien seemed to have seen the same reading as Yamcha had, because he briefly glanced over to Yamcha, nodded, and sprinted off. Yamcha quickly followed in his wake.

The remains of the city turned out to be much closer than they thought. Fire, smoke, and ruinous sound moved in one unending motion just a few miles away, consuming what had once been an eminently alien and impressive settlement. Yamcha fought against two concurrent feelings- one of dread, one of relief. Their job had been done for them… our job...

Yamcha's scouter beeped, telling him what he was too distracted to notice- three people hung in the air just above them. They were close enough to be seen- and familiar enough to be recognized. Yamcha's nails dug into his palms. No...

'You!' Tien yelled from Yamcha's side.

With an air of insufferable smugness, Bez slowly descended from the sky, flanked by two other purple aliens who, all together, looked to be of the same race. 'You have my gratitude,' he mocked, emphatically sliding one arm across his body towards the ruined city, 'for letting us get in on the fun. Like I said before,' he conspicuously stared at Tien, 'contracts are on short supply at base.'

'Yamcha…' Tien nearly choked, his anger physically affecting his throat, 'You told this guy we were coming to this planet, didn't you?'

Yamcha was silent- he was feeling way too much, all at once- and could do nothing but maintain a glare towards the three aliens hovering in the air before him. This wasn't supposed to happen- he hadn't wanted to draw any more attention to them, or add any difficulty to their already difficult task- I just needed more information!...

'You'd be surprised how many new soldiers make the same mistake you made,' Bez said, his voice dripping with arrogance. 'They just wanted to get a handle on things, make the spinning around them stop for just long enough to get their bearings, and then make the best of what they had. So many…'

He shook his head. 'Anyway,' Bez went on, 'now I get do to what I do best- steal other people's contracts right out from under them! The bounty on your heads will be a nice bonus!'

'Bounty?' Tien exclaimed.

'Don't you understand?' Bez raised one hand towards them, his fingers spread apart ever-so-slightly. 'Each and every one of us- our respective species- represents the last remaining item to complete on an old contract.' Light burgeoned in his palm, obscuring his wild, angry features from them. 'I intend to collect!'

Then the jungle burst into flames.


A/N: You may have noticed that I, like Piccolo, am horrible at puns. I extend apologies to all who need one.

Also! I hate to end my chapters on cliffhangers, but in the vein of getting back to a weekly update schedule, I punted a fight scene I had planned in this chapter to the next. Sorry about that- just another week more and you'll get that and a bunch of other cool scenes!

Also, terminology! You may have noticed LPT and HPT being thrown around when discussing planets. LPT stands for "Low Priority Target", and HPT stands for "High Priority Target". The more ya know.

Reviews:

KagariAsuha: Earlier in the story I decided (slash kinda inferred?) that Saiyans grow their tails back in times of great distress- so just because Gohan's tail is coming off now doesn't mean it's going to be gone forever. It will come back in the future. Probably.

Also Saiyan tails are such a cool plot device! I would have to be bonkers if I didn't try to feature them more!

Luke: It is getting a tad bit difficult, but I think that's the way these type of stories (the big, sprawling ones) typically go. I remember at the end of Break Through The Limit, for example, that there must have been like fifty characters all running along full-speed towards the end of the story. That is a horrifying number of people to keep track of. It is also a realistic one :/.

But I, the humble author of a DBZ fic, relish the challenge! Having so many characters also makes it easier to experiment, bounce around, and generally write scenes- the same old faces aren't always staring back at you.

As to what you said about Kakarot? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Next chapter will have some more answers for you, bud.

OneofTen: Oohoohoo, I hope you enjoyed this chapter then. I aim to never disappoint the original brigade of ten.

Kizzy: Organic is a great way to describe a story. Happy to hear that's the vibes you're getting from this fic.

We got a bit more info on how this life is treating Yamcha (spoiler; not well).

I love writing Nappa. Such a cool mix of impatience, baseness, and humor. I feel like, in canon, he was all three more because Vegeta didn't really reign him at many points during his fight with the Earthlings. Nappa is being kept around Vegeta much more in this story so far, so there are fewer chances for him to diverge from the way Vegeta would like to run things, but things may change soon…

I tried my best at puns. I really did.

LWexe: Glad to hear it! I had missed you and your accompanying reviews the last few chapters!