Metal
Chapter 78: And to Each Person a Plan
No Saiyan could tell you at what point in their life did killing become more meaningful than living. From a young age they were shipped across the galaxy, some unwilling, most not, and wreaked carnage on whatever sentient people they ran across. Hatred and violence was drilled into them from the moment of their birth, harsh utterances and vitriolic, verbal poison, until two thoughts were seared into their heads. First: Saiyans were the strongest of all; their might endeared them superiority in every circumstance and every walk of the galaxy. The second thought fashioned that pride into a weapon. Every other being in the galaxy was not them. So every other being was less than Saiyan and less than worthy to breathe the same air of a galaxy they existed in.
Punctuating his thoughts, the flames around him, swallowing him, swallowed the ruined city in turn, drowning the death he had committed today in obliterating flame.
Prince Vegeta, as expected of him, had carried out those two tenets to their blood-letting end. For him, they were not compulsions. He was not some lower-class trash indoctrinated by bloodless programming. His commitment to the Saiyan race was bred into him by Father. With every action he took, he proved himself ever more deserving of the name Vegeta, just as his father and his father before him had proved themselves worthy of that name. Mother, though she would have been prideful of this, had not lived to see him become the standard-bearer of his race. She had died giving him life. It was only right that he would work to prove her sacrifice was a worthy one.
The fire crackled harsher to his right; he had moved beyond a broken, amorphous pile of stone and wood, slowly being claimed by the fire, into a broad urban road, now nipped at the edges by upturned foundation and flames.
Stepping aside, Vegeta avoided being crushed by a flailing, falling beam of sickly yellow wood. To the young Prince's extreme annoyance, his red crimson cape, embroidered at the edges with royal Saiyan trim, shining yellow-gold, was trapped underneath the beam and caught fire at the bottom. With a grunt, Vegeta lurched away, unclipping his cape, and yanked it out from underneath the burning wood. He drew further back, threw the cape on the ground, and started stomping down on the garment to beat out of the fire.
The others reached him as just as he finished crumpling the garment into a bundled ball in his arms. Even as a ward of Emperor Frieza, a ruler his father served reluctantly, Vegeta was determined to carry his name forward. The multicolored and multi-shaped grunts that filled the PTO's armies were as haughty as they were numerous. They all saw him the same way at first- they saw a 7-year-old kid pitifully fill a set of armor, and laughed at whatever they saw in him fit to mock.
This crew of particular soldiers had flown several missions with him by this point. They knew better.
Vegeta spent a moment studying their ranks. 'Where is Nappa?'
'Here, my Prince.'
Like a slow wave, Nappa's burly musculature rose to the front of the crowd. Vegeta immediately recognized something was off- his father's man, who supervised him on both group and solo missions, was as pale as polished bone.
'Nappa? What is it?'
A face Vegeta had never seen make anything but a snarl or a gloating grimace slowly drew, droop-by-droop, into a frown.
'Prince Vegeta… our planet, it's... gone.'
The wall of PTO soldiers around Nappa went as rigid as the buildings that had stood here an hour ago. Vegeta's head incrementally tilted forward.
'Was Father killed?'
There was a twitch on Nappa's face; his head fell onto his right shoulder, eyes shielded from Vegeta. 'There's something he… you should know, Vegeta… Vegeta…'
Vegeta…
0o0o0
'Vegeta...'
With a flutter Vegeta's eyes opened. Light streamed into the squat room, shining across the metal beam he leaned on to his right. He had fallen asleep standing up.
'Vegeta?' Nappa asked again from behind him. 'Are you awake?'
The Prince pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, warding off his grogginess. 'I am now,' he answered, turning to Nappa. 'What is it?'
Coming out of the dream, Nappa appeared far older than Vegeta would have expected. More than twenty years had passed since the day they had become common cogs in Frieza's army- just another group of soldiers without a planet to return to- and Nappa carried every year of that time on his skin and in his bones. 'The nearby locals finally finished rolling over for us. They're bringing over food and medicine. Apparently word's spreading- leaders this world over are coming over to pay tribute to us.'
Vegeta gazed out a window behind Nappa. Flat, gray plains stretched to the horizon. 'Is that so? To three aliens who've taken residence in a ruined castle?'
'This castle wasn't ruined too long ago, Vegeta- as I'm sure you know.'
Nappa was silent as Vegeta walked past him, pausing at the window and wiping a bare finger across the concave glass. Gray soot and ash stuck to his ungloved skin.
'Turles also wants to speak to you,' Nappa informed him. 'He's been in a bad mood. Worse than usual.'
Straightening, Vegeta brushed the soot off onto his battered armor. They had spent too much time in chipped, broken reminders of their defeat.
'Another indignity…'
'Vegeta? What did you say?'
The Prince turned back to Nappa. 'Bring Turles in.'
With a slight frown, Nappa dipped his head and withdrew, leaving Vegeta alone in the room. This part of the structure had been a physical stop along some kind of ritual washing routine of its former inhabitants. The sentient race that populated this planet sat with their eight spindly limbs wrapped around their bulbous, spherical bodies, and sweated incessantly when each limb was unfurled and was rushing across open areas, depicting their species like some brown, wooly, nightmarish spider. The combined result of all these traits made an unbearably pungent stench that Vegeta had hoped the conflagration would have burned out of the stonework as well as it had done with the castle's previous residents.
He still got hit by clouds of that repugnant stench from time-to-time whenever a gust moved between rooms. A foul smell to match his foul mood as Nappa, escorting Turles, opened and closed a set of mucus-yellow stone doors.
The darker-skinned Saiyan did not immediately speak. His nose twitched.
'Some stench your brooding room has.'
'You brought it in with you.'
For a brief second, Turles seemed to consider threading along this conversation, but he brushed the exchange aside with a sigh and lifted his chin to say something else.
'I'm requesting to leave your crew.'
An eyebrow on Vegeta's face peaked, like a band of black arching through a muted sky. 'Requesting?' The Prince echoed. 'You've demanded in the past- because you recognized the futility of that request.'
Turles eyed him. 'I did,' he replied.
'Then why are we having this conversation?'
Aware of Nappa's looming presence behind him, Turles stepped to the side and towards the room's window. His gaze traveled past the cloudy glass. 'What are we doing here, Vegeta?' he asked, glancing back. 'This planet is barren. The Tree of Might would never take here- if we still had it,' he emphasized, flashing his teeth. 'The only thing I can think of is that we're far away from any PTO base or patrol.'
'So you think we're hiding?' Vegeta, arms crossed, challenged him. 'Because of what that warrior said on Earth?'
Even though months had passed since then, Turles visibly stiffened when that cursed planet's name was mentioned. 'I think,' he said through clenched teeth, head half-turned to Vegeta, 'we lost more than the Tree that day.'
'We lost the battle,' Nappa rumbled from the room's entrance.
'You don't get it!' Turles suddenly shouted, hands clenching like claws. 'We lost our tails- I lost my tail- because of you!' he leveled a heavy finger at Vegeta. 'You, who wanted to settle old grievances instead of waiting until every last easy planet we could find was drained by the tree! You, who slaughtered my men and forced me into your service!' he nearly yelled. His hands were shaking with rage. 'You, who-'
Turles cut himself off and glanced to his left, and saw Nappa's expression had dropped to the ground. 'He sees it,' he resumed quickly, turning back to Vegeta. 'He knows. Without our tails, we're not even Saiyan anymore! We're no better than the space trash that prances around in Frieza's army, waving around our hand cannons like a bunch of morons! For all the pride you used to ooze for the Saiyan race, I would have thought you'd have realized this- but no!' He angrily gesticulated to the castle around them. 'First thing you do after finding a planet to hide on is kill the local rulers and set yourself up as Prince! You don't care about the Saiyans! You only care about yourself!'
His last words echoed in the room, muted by stone and metal. Turles's anger left him through his breath and sweat, and with a final seize, he uncoiled his hands and leaned away.
'Let me go,' he urged, his venom drawing back into him. 'This stop being about the Saiyans long ago. You can do and rule over whatever you want over the rest of your life- I encourage it, actually. But you kept me around because you would make a Saiyan empire, and destroyed everything else in my life to do that. Release me.'
The air in the room slowly stilled again. The only sound present was that of Nappa's deep breaths. The old Saiyan turned to Vegeta. 'Turles has a point. Without our tails-'
A flash of ki, coiled energy rushing across the floor, came from Vegeta, loud enough to silence Nappa and strong enough to shatter the room's cloudy window. Glass shards shot into the outside air, and careened a long way down to the gray plains below.
'I understand what you're trying to do,' Vegeta spoke with intense care. 'You know the rhetoric of elites like Nappa and I- you know we placed value in our tails as the characteristic that made us Saiyans. You would have us think of ourselves as less than what we are,' he accused, his voice sharp like a blade, 'as less than capable to do what Saiyans do. You think I'm spent, don't you? That I'm no longer hungry for a place for our species in the larger galaxy, and am willing to die as a two-bit ruler on a desolate planet like this?'
Turles's malice didn't shrink. If anything, it grew.
'And you think that I'm selfish,' Vegeta landed on, body rippling with the word. 'Which, I should have known, is to be expected. I was raised to represent and advance an entire race, and even if billions of my kin are now cosmic ash, today I still fight for them. You have never fought for anyone besides yourself,' Vegeta berated, his low opinion of Turles dripping from every uttered word. 'Lower-class Saiyans like you never understood fighting for anything higher. Lower-class Saiyans never could. They fought and ate where they were told. They never considered the value of the who and what they killed.'
'But make no mistake- we are Saiyans,' Vegeta intoned, his dark gaze falling on both Turles and Nappa. 'No matter how many battles we lose, how much indignity is thrown on us… even if we lose our tails,' his focus skipped to Turles, '... that does not make us anything less than what we are.' He paused. 'In a way, I am glad we lost the Tree of Might.'
'Are you kidding?' Turles echoed back in disbelief.
'When we had the Tree, we weren't playing the galaxy,' Vegeta said, gaze drifting. 'More like… we played out our little game planet-to-planet, never once trying to peek our head out beyond the galactic hedge. We grew fat. We grew lazy. We no longer earned power. We received it.'
The Prince examined the broken window. 'I think that warrior had it backward. We were already living as he advised- hiding, scuttling, like bugs- long before we fought him.''
'So- to answer your original question, Turles,' Vegeta said, eyes moving back, 'we are on this planet to recover. We will heal, take what we need to repair our armor and ships, and eventually head back into PTO space.'
Nappa startled at this. 'But Frieza-'
'Frieza may no longer be a concern,' Vegeta said, voice crisp. 'If my guess is correct, at least. And if that's the case, we will have a much easier time moving through space now that there isn't some insane emperor clamoring for our heads.'
'Do you have a plan?'
Vegeta's attention lingered on Nappa. 'I know nothing about the state of the galaxy,' he stated. 'Before I can do anything… I need to change that.'
'You're insane,' Turles spat, legs and arms clenching again. 'If you think I'm going to follow you back out there-'
'And, Turles-' Vegeta interrupted him, '-I will keep you around for as long as I like. If you try to run, I will hurt you. If you betray me, I will hunt you. You are a Saiyan. Start acting like one.'
The malevolence rising in Turles's eyes, thick and churned like ocean spray, washed over his side of the room. Vegeta was uninterested in going any further.
'Both of you- get out of my sight.'
0o0o0
The back room was as gross at the front one; the walls, floors, and ceiling were made of a disgusting prefab material that's surface took on the consistency of glue once it got old enough. Dust, dirt, and dried multi-colored blood from a hundred different alien species painted the room beyond the thin circle of light at its center. There, a black and uneven metal table sat with two chairs. He couldn't understand how anyone could feel comfortable conducting business in a room like this.
Bardock wasn't on a comfort trip, though. If he was, he would have blown up this planet from orbit the moment his ship got in range. Or tried, at least.
'Who is this?' an aging yellow-splotched alien, dressed in a faded brown tunic and pants, cried as soon as he walked into the dim-lit room from the opposite end. 'This is no alien I've ever seen!'
Bardock waited until the cloaked guards in the room's corners gave him the signal to sit down. As instructed, he didn't speak until the yellow alien made a show of sighing and seating himself across from him. 'Well, I can see you are determined,' he relented, adjusting his seat. 'What do you want?'
The Saiyan produced a glass rectangle and pushed it across the table. 'I'm looking for an old PTO base- a place that stores records about twenty to thirty years old.'
The yellow alien picked up the device, and flicking it on, glanced across the screen. 'What business do you have with the PTO?'
'I am PTO,' Bardock intoned, tapping the corner of his white chest plate. He and Kakarot had found some fresh sets, though regrettably, it was from a batch that didn't include hip-guards. 'You're going to give me problems?'
'Lots of people come in here saying they're PTO,' the yellow alien quipped back, peeling the skin away from his bony smile. 'Lots of big shots with fat heads who grabbed shipments after Frieza went East and before Cooler went West.' He nodded to one of the room's corners. A silhouette made the slightest movement. 'Their heads weren't as big after my guards get their hands on them.'
Bardock eyed that corner. 'I understand that. You want to do business with people who won't give you trouble.'
'Exactly!' the yellow alien, bolting to his feet, exclaimed. He glanced around and nodded approvingly to his guards. 'He understands.' He sat back down. 'You seem to know what it's like to be a poor old data broker.'
Bardock played back "poor" and "old" in his head, but made sure not to show how funny he found those two words. 'I just want to close a deal,' the Saiyan said, placing his hands, palms open, on the table. 'Tit-for-tat. Me and my boy, we're professionals.'
The yellow alien held the device between his hands. His eyes, colored like brown-white marbles, seemed to roll around his skull. Without a word, he placed the device down, leaned back in his chair, producing a nasty squeak, and stared at Bardock. 'Mhm.' He glanced at his guards, then back. 'Fine. I'll pass along my request. Do that, and I'll tell you what you want to know.'
Again, Bardock waited for the yellow alien to move first before standing. The four guards, one at each corner, drew from their postings and surrounded the yellow alien as he moved towards the room's exit across from Bardock. He glanced back and over the shoulders of his guard just before going through the door. 'Good luck, Saiyan.'
Bardock made a sour face, but he still made sure to nod as the alien and his guard exited. When he was finally alone, he grunted, cracking his back, and exited the way he came in.
0o0o0
Kakarot was waiting for him across the dirty rock street, leaning against a wall of the same material Bardock had just spent minutes loathing. For all the dead Saiyans…
'Boy!' he shouted as soon as he had punched through the stream of people moving to his left and right. 'You notice that no one else is leaning on this building?'
'Huh?' Kakarot made a confused face, and began to straighten- and found that he couldn't. He made an even dumber face, and tried pulling himself away from the wall behind him, but all he succeeded in doing was producing an unending sucking sound.
So Bardock had to spend a minute scraping his son off of a building wall.
'You stick out like a sore thumb,' he muttered at the end of it, flinging bits of sticky, pasty goo off of his fingers. 'Don't even know which buildings to lean on…'
Kakarot, now freed, pushed away his father, unclasping his armor by himself, and began clearing the gunk from his back. 'Wonder who I have to thank for that? Big-haired idiot.'
'Your hair is the same as mine!'
'That's the point!'
The two Saiyans glared at each other, dripping goo collecting in a puddle beside their feet, until both broke off and grimaced at something else. Once Kakarot finished scraping off his armor, side-by-side, they started walking down the street.
'Well?' Kakarot asked as soon as they passed beyond the space port's inner walls. Slums of tarp and manufactured hide started eating away at solid buildings. 'Did you get what you needed?'
'Not exactly,' Bardock answered, swinging around a handcart. 'I got a promise of what I needed.'
'Promise? Promise for what?'
'Not sure yet. The device I gave him has the ship's comms number. We should receive something from him soon.'
Kakarot sighed and rolled his head in tandem. 'So, probably a waste.'
'It wasn't all bad. He pointed me in the right direction.'
'Yeah?' Kakarot craned his head to him. 'How he'd do that?'
'He recognized that I was a Saiyan,' Bardock said with a vaguely satisfied smile. 'Which probably means he's worked with the PTO, which means a record depot of the type we're looking for is somewhere in space nearby.'
His son grunted as they passed off the street and into an open market. Oddly colored tapestries and roasted food were sold side by side with junk, drugs, and literally people. For what reason they were being sold, however, Kakarot couldn't understand- their chains were wound loosely around their scabbed, worn ankles and wrists, and hung low on their hollow, emaciated frames. Actually- now that he was looking, everyone on this planet looked like they had skipped food for a week.
When they finished their pass through and by some aggressive merchants, Kakarot stopped and glanced back. 'You would think the PTO would have conquered a place like this a long time ago. No one here is strong enough to put up a fight.'
'They're not strong enough because this planet ain't worth anything,' Bardock growled as he shoved a crawling beggar away from his feet. 'They can barely scrape together enough food to keep everyone from starving to death. You think any government on this planet has enough of anything to make an army?'
'The center of town looked better than this.'
'And that's the first and probably only spot the PTO would decimate from orbit.'
'Huh.' With Bardock's tugging, Kakarot began to walk again.
A little farther they went. 'You know, the guy I met was pretty much the ruler here,' Bardock spoke up.
Kakarot ducked underneath a cloud of fumes and glanced at him. 'Really?'
'Yep. Which is why I didn't want to piss him off. Pretty sure he didn't have anyone strong enough in his employ to trouble us… but I wasn't sure sure, you know?'
'Sorta like when we stole our ship?'
'My ship,' Bardock corrected him. 'Mine. I fly it. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?'
They passed beyond the final edges of the town and emerged onto a wide, flat rock shelf, dyed sun-bleached black, and stopped, scanning the hundreds of little vehicles and ships parked across the open run of land.
'When that makes sense, to me,' Kakarot said before they spotted their ship and set off again, 'I guess.'
0o0o0
With a resounding crack, Launch straightened her back and began to windmill her arms. 'Well! I think that was a good session!'
Tien and Chiaotzu, laid up on their backs, took turns trying to get themselves off the ground without pulling a taxed muscle. 'Launch… this is you going easy?' Tien muttered, rubbing his shins.
'It is.' Launch strode over to them. 'Need a hand?'
In a single motion she swayed back and pulled both of them onto their feet. The sun was nearly setting, and as they collected their weighted training gear strewn across the mountainside, thin, yellow-rose rays of light shined down the land's edge. One advantage to training at such a high altitude- an advantage they were already very familiar with- was that they could look forward to a picturesque flight after the session was done. Earth always looked more beautiful, more appreciable, by the time they returned to their shack.
Even their home had a certain charm to it that Tien forgot about when he spent enough time away. It was as barebones as three martial artists needed. Nothing except for some wooden fixtures, some bedrolls on a floor, a wood stove for cooking, and a few trinkets they had acquired over the years. Tien's tournament-winning Zeni, still bound to its check, was framed on one wall. Launch's burlap-white sacks- and they were just sacks to Tien, as she never let him peak into them- filled one of the building's corners. Chiaotzu's carved wooden figurines were sprinkled around. He liked to use his telekinesis to make intricately fine cuts to his work, which was a good approach for small-scale pieces and disastrous for the misshapen and uneven furniture they had around the house when he inevitably lost patience or sneezed during a long carve.
The thought of him not being here to enjoy all this drew Tien into a quiet sort of thinking, sometimes. He usually woke up earlier than everyone else, and when he did, he took that time to wander outside and wonder what he was doing in a different timeline. One, he was dead. Another, he was still killing for Shen and Tao. Another, the Earth had ceased to exist long before now. It would be interesting to know if his soul would be any different in those realities. Who he was wouldn't be any different- only the circumstances.
Sometimes he was guilty of falling into this thought after training too, and because it wasn't his day to cook, he was allowed to lay on his bedroll, back to the ground and head in his palms, as Chiaotzu and Launch hashed out culinary logistics.
'I'm going to make a quick run to the village at the mountain's base,' Chiaotzu informed them, slinging a pack onto his shoulders. 'Grab some fresh veggies for the pot. You want anything in particular?'
'Pumpkin,' Launch decided, eyes searching through an entirely different plane of reality for tasty meals. 'I'm in the mood for pumpkin.'
Chiaotzu nodded. 'Tien?'
He waved his question away.
'Alright. I'll be back soon.' Tien listened to his footsteps receding, and after the shack's door swung and closed with a crank, he turned his head to his right and looked sideways at Launch.
'Not going to accompany him?'
Launch slid into a rickety chair near the room's corners. 'Nah.' She began to undo the laces on her boots and grunted as she freed her feet. 'Not in the mood.'
'Usually, you're pretty keen to pick out your vegetables.'
'Because Chiaotzu isn't good at picking unblemished ones.' She settled into her chair, angling her body diagonally against it. 'But… I guess I'm too much in a mood.'
'Yeah?' Tien sat up. 'What kind?'
Launch flattened her nose. 'Dunno. Can't place it.'
'Well, what are you thinking about?'
'Guess it's a couple of things.' Her chair legs wobbled as she pushed her toes against the wooden flooring. 'First off, it's a shame you and Chiaotzu aren't stronger. You especially.'
Tien rubbed his jaw. 'I'm… sorry, I guess? Not sure I had any control over that.'
'You know what I mean,' Launch grumbled. 'It's never fun to be the strongest person out of all your friends.' Exaggeratedly, she held her hands up like she was lifting an imaginary boulder. 'It's a boost to my pride, sure, but it ain't a happy rank. You're expected to do crazy, unbelievable shit when things get bad, and it's harder for you to train compared to everyone else, because you can't inspire yourself to hit your own level of power-
She let the boulder drop with her arms. 'You know what I mean.'
'I know what you mean- though-' Tien stood and stretched his way to Launch's end of the shack, '-It's not like you can't make a rival out of the time traveler or the Saiyans?'
Launch shot air out of her nose and shook her head. 'How am I supposed to rival a giant-freaking-gorilla?' she asked. 'Or a crazy-golden-storm, huh?' Tell me that.'
Tien paused, eyes thinking. 'To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't already.'
The wooden chair creaked furiously as Launch shifted forward and propped her head on her hands. 'Me too, if I'm being as honest as you are.' She stood suddenly, as if to walk off how she felt. 'Those Saiyans are bugging me. I'm pissed off that they got away.'
'Join the club,' Tien commiserated, 'but that won't change history. Even ignoring that they've had several months to re-hide themselves in the wider galaxy, it'd be dangerous to chase them.'
Launch grunted. 'For you, maybe.'
Tien, humorless, stared at Launch. 'And it wouldn't be for you?'
'I didn't say that.'
'Ok.' Tien sat down in a janky chair across from Launch. 'Alright. Go.'
Launch, grinning a fraction, began to pace back-and-forth. 'Alright, here's what I'm thinking- the guy who beat the Saiyans is back in his time, yeah? He needed his crazy technique to beat the Saiyans' crazy technique. But Suno told me that Vegeta and his crew can't turn into giant monsters now that they've lost their tails. To top it off, I've gotten a bit stronger since then, and I'm pretty sure that I can take that thug Vegeta one-on-one. I'm thinking I should do it.'
'Do what?'
'Go into space and fight them.' Launch smiled at the thought. 'Good idea, right?'
Tien frowned at her. He frowned like the old, grumpy man he would one day become. Launch was unprepared for such a severe expression.
'That's a horrible plan.'
'Sorry-what's so horrible about it?'
'Did you forget Vegeta has his lackeys? Two more Saiyans you have to defeat, even if you trade even with him? Did you forget about the fact that we know nothing about his current whereabouts, and that you could spend Kami-knows-however-long it takes to figure out where he is? And, most importantly, did you forget about the multiple impending crises set to hit the Earth at, you know, any possible time in the future? Those that could hit while you're off cruising around in space for a joy-fight?'
Admittedly, Launch felt a little ashamed under the weight of Tien's extraordinarily chiding glare. 'I didn't forget,' she stated, quiet.
'What we need to do now is continue what we've been doing,' Tien said patiently. 'Training for what comes next. What you're describing is the exact opposite of this.'
'Well-'
'I'm not entertaining this any further. End of story.'
They appraised each other. Launch's mouth slowly wormed its shape into a frown.
'I hope Chiaotzu didn't get the bad-friggin-pumpkin.'
0o0o0
Suffering a setback was nothing new for Bulma. She was a scientist; for every successfully applied idea she had, there were ten others, half-complete and fundamentally imperfect, languishing in her mind or a dusty storage box. Failure was a part of her life. What she struggled to do recently is recognize that failure wasn't her life. She tried to remind herself that this was a setback, not a sentence.
For all the good it did her. She couldn't shake the feeling of gross incompetence as the days, weeks, and months passed after she had discovered the disappearance of Raditz's body. Some events stick on you long after they occur. Your mind refuses to move on until it's been resolved or addressed in some way. Try as she might, Bulma couldn't refocus on significantly more important matters- coordinating her research team's long-running work in reverse-engineering PTO tech- without approaching her work with a distinct sense of inadequacy staining her hands.
It bothered her that she didn't know what had happened to Raditz's body. It bothered her that someone had taken it. And it bothered her that she didn't know why that person had taken it. From what she could tell, she found Raditz a few hours after he had died. Dried, crusted blood patterned him like splashes of paint, and had spread across the stone slab beneath his back like a swelling red sun. The capsule and eventual tank she had him placed in arrested his decay but did not revive him. What use could someone get from a corpse?
Her mom, and later her dad, had given her some solace in the immediate days after. Mom had hugged her without knowing anything beyond how upset she was. Dad had sunk into his chair, hands folded in his lap, and listened attentively as she recounted what had happened. She had needed both.
'I see.' Her father, like a laborer shrugging off a heavy load, receded into his chair. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'He was dead.' Bulma said, sighing into her cup of coffee. She had been leaning in the doorway to his lab. 'I checked with every diagnostic at our disposable. I just don't understand- who steals a corpse?'
'Witches and warlocks?' Her father offered.
'Who has a plausible reason to steal a corpse?'
Her father stilled. Uncharacteristically, he took off his glasses and rubbed its lenses with his lab coat. 'Well- what reason did you have?'
Bulma's gaze lifted from her drink. 'What do you mean?'
Dr. Briefs put his glasses back on. He stared at his daughter. 'Sweetie… why did you hold onto him in the first place?'
Bulma's mug of coffee grew as still as her. 'I… I don't know,' she admitted. At first, I wanted to make sure no one else got their hands on him… but I could have incinerated his body as soon as it was in Capsule Corp.' She sighed, thinking further. 'Sometimes I get the feeling that whatever can help me, should help me, you know? I had no idea whether keeping onto Raditz would be beneficial, and I think, implicitly, I decided to keep him around until I could answer that question… before it slipped my mind, I guess.'
Her father gave the slightest nod of his head. His white mustache bristled with flecks of gray. 'I am familiar with that feeling. The potential- you got wrapped up in it, right?'
'Yeah.'
Dr. Briefs groaned as he stood. 'Let me give you some advice that was once given to me, then.' He reached Bulma and took her by her shoulders. 'A scientist is only as good as their restrictions. How we define our research, and what lines we decide not to cross. Without that self-limitation, we're nothing better than sophists flinging theories into the wind, waiting to see if our ideas swing back and smack us in the face.'
Bulma cocked an eyebrow at him. 'Sophists? Never heard you use that word before.'
'You don't know it?'
'No... ' Bulma's expression brightened some. 'Just surprised.'
That was months ago now, and even though her father had supported her investigation since then, they were just as clueless about what happened to Raditz's body then as they were now. She and her father agreed that the thief must have come from the company ranks, but it was difficult to grill someone on their whereabouts when the crime in question happened in a part of the complex that didn't officially exist. This also meant that they had to be very vague with their questioning, as giving even the slightest hint that there was a secret sub-basement would quickly spread among the staff and ruin the asymmetry of knowledge Bulma was trying to isolate. Her father suggested that it may have been someone who had worked with the company years ago and had left, but without a specific timeframe or characteristic to sort by, she simply couldn't dredge through the files of the tens of thousands of the various researchers and contractors that had been on-site in some capacity over the past couple years. The only concrete thing she knew was that, at some point over the past four or so years, someone went someplace they shouldn't have in the building. Beyond that, she had nothing.
0o0o0
So, as per usual, she was in her lab late at night, head resting on its left side, right hand clicking through an electronic Capsule Corp, employee database as a mess of gears and circuitry sat ignored to her left. Less usual, however, was the fact that her lab phone began to ring.
She checked the rounded analog clock at the other corner of her desk before picking up the corded handset.
'Whoever this is, it's 2AM.'
'And?'
Bulma frowned and hunched over her workbench. 'Launch? Is that you?'
'Yep.'
'Your place doesn't have a telephone.'
'So what? I'm assembling a team.'
'Sorry- what?'
'This is Bulma, right?'
Bulma checked the clock again. 2:01. Time seemed to be working as it should, so she wasn't dreaming. 'Are you alright, Launch? Do you need something?'
'We'll talk more in the morning. This is a heads-up.'
'What? Heads-up for what?'
The line clicked. Bulma drew the handset away from her head and stared at it for a few seconds. 'Okay.' She stood, placed the handset down, and started closing down the lab for the night. Guess tomorrow's going to be one of "those" days. Time for bed...
0o0o0
As Piccolo strode across the Lookout, a cold breeze tore across its length and tried to rip his cape away from his body. He growled, shooting a mist of white vapor into the air, and wrapped his cloak around him for the duration of his walk. He never enjoyed his trips up here, but, well- it was that time of the month again.
He had settled into a routine since the Saiyans' arrival. He alternated between training on an empty, rocky island he had discovered in the Southern Seas and visiting the humans for sparring sessions. It seemed that he was the one who was going around the most- which surprised him. He wasn't the most sociable of their circle. He simply cared about getting stronger. Exposing himself to as many different fighting styles and techniques helped along that goal.
Too stubborn, Piccolo decided. They like to keep to routine. Train with those they've always trained with. Live where they've always lived- even if that puts them halfway across the planet from each other.
Piccolo would have openly criticized them if he felt it would have done anything. But in every place he went, something or someone was distracting them from putting their full effort into getting stronger. In that, he didn't blame them. Piccolo certainly wasn't immune to that.
The wind fell away as Piccolo stepped into the half-rebuilt central dome. Korin and Yajirobe had put their all into rebuilding the ancient place as they remembered it. The new stone-and-brick shined when placed alongside the older walls and sides, but given enough time, its vibrancy would degrade to match the sun-washed palette that surrounded it.
Piccolo released his cloak as he stopped a few feet into the chamber. The wind echoed here, swerving into the room from the opening above, and weighted the air with a deep-set cold.
'Piccolo?' Mr. Popo's head popped out from behind a circular curtain surrounding the room's center. 'You're back already?'
'It's been a month,' he replied, eyes sweeping the room. Something had changed since he'd last been here. 'Where's Korin?'
Mr. Popo creased their mouth. A moment later, Korin's whiskered face poked through the curtains beneath them. Patches of his fur were damp and flat. 'You'd better see this, Piccolo.'
Something in the Namekian's chest dropped as he moved forward, hearing tuned to the soft pats his careful footsteps made on stone. Mr. Popo and Korin fell back behind the curtain, and with a certain rancid taste in his mouth, Piccolo joined them.
The weight of the air enclosed by the circle told Piccolo everything he needed to know before he had even seen it. Squinting, he made out a pale black sphere, surface gossamer and shifting like currents of molten metal, pulsating around an unconscious, bed-ridden Kami. The old Guardian breathed easily inside. He seemed to be unaffected by...
'What is this?' Piccolo asked, turning his head to the left. 'When did this appear?'
Korin shrugged. 'It appeared a few minutes ago.'
Piccolo's gaze sharpened like a knife. 'Minutes? Are you sure?'
'Do you know anything about this?' Mr. Popo asked, voice and face not indicating if they were alarmed or disturbed by this event.
'No…' Piccolo turned back to the shell- a shell. It has to be, considering... 'I didn't feel anything at all…'
Before any more questions could be asked of him, Piccolo stepped forward, hand outstretched, slowly moving his palm to the sphere's surface-
'I wouldn't do that,' Korin advised with a hint of worry. 'Didn't go so well for us before.'
'Why? What happened?'
Glum, Korin stepped around Piccolo and circled to the sphere's other side. Piccolo followed him. Yajirobe, dozing off, was sprawled unnaturally across the floor. Almost like he had been struck.
'He touched it,' Korin told him. 'Sent a shock through him- and then he fell asleep.'
'Is he alright?'
Korin nudged the human with his staff. Yajirobe muttered and curled a little further into a ball. 'Think so.'
Scowling, Piccolo swept his gaze back to the sphere. The colors warping across it weren't random-a few specific shades were repeating, over and over again, as they battled for dominance across its surface. Swathes of green; darkened, browned, and verdant.
He extended his hand in a similar manner as before.
'Hey, whoa!' Korin thrust himself in front of Piccolo. 'Hold on! Did you forget who's laid up behind you?'
'I didn't,' Piccolo curtly replied. 'And I haven't forgotten what's in front of me, either.'
'Meaning what?'
'This is not Kami's doing. This has to be related to what happened to the dragonballs a few years back. It's another layer separating us from talking to Kami and getting answers.'
Korin's gaze hardened. 'What makes this so special?'
Piccolo's gaze hardened in turn. 'What do you mean?'
'Not once did you approach Kami since he entered his coma,' Korin noted. 'You refused to even touch him. What's changed?'
It was a good question that Piccolo would have asked if he was in Korin's position. He wasn't sure what the answer was. Perhaps he was being selfish; perhaps reaching out to Kami now would explain why he had acted as he did in the other timeline. Thankfully, he could think of a more obvious answer.
'Because this has to be him,' Piccolo decided, eyes watching bands of color dance before them. 'This has to be Katas.'
'Your… dad?' Korin said, trying to remember.
'The creator of the being that split into my creator,' Piccolo both clarified and complicated. 'If that makes sense.'
'Give me a day, and it will,' Korin grumbled. 'But- you think this'll help us get answers?'
'It can't hurt. I'd worry more if something had changed with Kami.'
Korin turned and glanced inside the sphere. 'And nothing has… alright.' he stepped aside. 'Go ahead.'
Piccolo gave a small nod, and bracing his right hand, slowly edged his palm forward. He held back an inch away, gazing again at the march of colors across his vision. He braced his body. 'Here goes…'
His palm pressed against the sphere. To his surprise, nothing happened. Frowning, Piccolo lifted and placed his hand back. Again. And Again.
'Anything?' Korin questioned. 'Anything at all?'
'No…' Piccolo sought out Kami's face. He looked peaceful. What's happening to you?...
0o0o0
Dr. Briefs knocked on a wooden table closest to the kitchen's entrance to get her attention. 'Sweetie?'
Wearily, Bulma lifted her head from a plate of eggs. 'Yes, dad?'
'She's here.'
True to her word, the sun had barely inched above the horizon when Launch had barged her way into her lab, examining her projects with a mix of interest and confusion. Bulma trailed behind her and silently ate her eggs.
'Quite a workshop you've got here,' she commented, setting down a composite armor Bulma had been testing. That particular mix of alloys and fabric had resisted bullets, lasers, and molten lava, but for whatever reason, it tended to explode when hit with enough kinetic force. For obvious reasons, Bulma had to nix that make.
It wasn't actually that far-off from the composition of a typical set of PTO armor. Initially, she had treated most PTO tech as obviously superior to whatever alternatives Earth had, and as a result, she had based her first armor designs off the PTO model. Only later did she realize that the PTO armor had the stopping power of tissue paper. She was still confused as to how the largest armed force in the galaxy had made such shoddy material standard in all it's uniforms. It was almost like they had done this purposefully- which, now that Bulma thought about it, made more sense than it should have.
'I try,' Bulma replied absentmindedly.
Launch put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room at large. 'Damn. Wish I could invent stuff like you.'
Bulma quirked an eyebrow. 'Really?'
'Not really.' Launch, nose twitching, turned to her. 'Where's your phone? I need to make a few calls.'
With some direction from a gesture of Bulma's egg-plate, Launch padded over to her workbench and sat down. 'Do you know Chi-Chi's number?'
Bulma tapped a notepad on the side of the desk. 'All in there. What's this about, again?'
'Told you- I'm putting together a team. I'm going into space to hunt for the Saiyans.'
'Huh?' Bulma nearly dropped her plate, and was about to ask an extremely important follow-up question, when Launch waved at her to be quiet and started chatting to someone. Thinking that it'd be best to have her hands free, Bulma finished her food and set the plate down on an empty table behind her.
Launch got a few lines out before she frowned, grunted once, and set the handset down. 'Damn. No dice. Yamcha and Chi-Chi said no.'
'Sorry,' Bulma said quickly, almost springing forward, 'did I mishear you- did you say you're going into space to hunt down the Saiyans?'
Launch paused before dialing another number. She cocked her head at Bulma. 'That's what I said.'
'But- did you think to ask me-'
'Shush!' Launch wagged a finger at her and held herself motionless like a puppet suspended on strings.
'... Krillin! Nice to hear your voice! Question; do you want to go to space?'
For whatever reason, Krillin's voice was loud enough that Bulma could hear it from the handset.
'No.'
'Come again?'
Silence for a moment. 'I don't want to leave the Earth right now. Sorry.'
There was a click. Launch stared at the telephone, then at the handset.
'He hung up,' she said, even after speaking trying to understand what had happened. She gripped the bottom of the workbench as if to flip it. 'Master monk of the coward arts-'
'No badmouthing our friends, please,' Bulma said, grabbing the handset away from Launch. 'And, also- no more badgering them with your lunacy with my telephone!' she snapped, glaring. 'What you're suggesting, if not crazy, definitely appears that way!'
'What's so crazy about it?'
'No sane person would agree to go into PTO space with you! And that's ignoring the fact that you're presuming I'd give you a ship-'
Launch's fingers snapped with the aural strength to shatter a nearby beaker.
'That's it!' she exclaimed as Bulma, cursing, scuttled over to a pile of glass shards. 'I need people who are just as crazy as me!'
'What?' Bulma replied, baffled, as she nudged the glass shards underneath a desk. She'd have to clean that up later. 'What are you talking about?'
'I need people who understand what I'm trying to do,' Launch said, setting her head into her hands like an ancient thinker. 'People who share my vision. And- and I need people who aren't you, Tien, and Yamcha, so that we wouldn't get recognized.'
'And also people who are available,' Bulma half-suggested, half-mocked, 'and people who can pilot a ship, and people who are willing to go off into space for a few months while you go searching for a death brawl. So, you know, none of our friends.'
'You don't sound very supportive.'
'I'm not!' Bulma shouted, stomping her feet. 'You barged in here, harassed our friends with my telephone, and broke my shit! I don't support your plan, and I'm definitely not going to give you my ship!'
Launch, face still caught in consideration, shifted forward as she pressed the tip of her hands against her chin. 'That all you got?'
'Does Tien know about this?'
She held her gaze. 'He approves. You know what?' She stood, bending her legs forward and backward. 'I'll level with you, Bulma- I'm friggin' crazy. I acknowledge it. I own it. And it's that craziness that's telling me this is a good idea.' Swinging like a weapon, Launch's clenched first appeared in front of her. 'It's like a little person inside my head telling me- hey! Go! Find those Saiyans! Beat their skulls in!'
'How is this supposed to convince me?' Bulma replied, amazed.
'My point-' Launch refocused. 'My point is that I'm going to wreck shit, and if there are any survivors- who's going to spend time figuring out where some whacko roaming the intergalactic streets comes from?'
'Meaning, who's going to spend any time tracking you down?'
'Exactly!' Launch held up a finger, eyes narrowing. She thrust it forward once. 'Exactly. And it's not like I look like a typical human with my blue-and-yellow hair. Actually- if I really wanted to blend in, I would take non-earthlings with me into space, and… hmm…'
Bulma thought about this, then shook her head. 'Hold on. You're assuming that I agreed to this already.'
Launch turned to her, eyebrows lifted. 'Can you give a reason why I shouldn't do this beyond it being "crazy"?'
'Well… it's not safe, for one.'
'Neither is the Earth anytime in the future, from what we know,' Launch parried back. 'Next.'
'We might need you on Earth.'
'When?' Launch raised her upturned hands. 'Where? We know nothing. If I knew anything concrete about what's coming up, it'd be a different story. I'd stick around.'
Bulma bit her tongue- mostly because that, of all her friends, Launch would probably be the likeliest one to hit her if she divulged what had disappeared from Capsule Corp. premises. But it also wasn't like she had anything concrete to say beyond she had made a massive mistake. 'Okay…'
'But this mission is also to collect information,' Launch stressed.
'Seriously?'
'Yeah! Sure!' Launch said eagerly. 'Beyond wanting to bash the Saiyans' skulls in- which I freely acknowledge I want to do- I bet they'll be able to fill in some gaps in our knowledge.'
Bulma narrowed her eyes. 'Gaps like what?'
'Whether the wider PTO knows of us, for a start,' Launch argued. 'It's one thing if the Saiyans came here. It's another if an entire army crashes down on us. And the Saiyans were the only ones to know what planet we're from, so… they would know, obviously, if they snitched that to anyone else.'
'Alright, sure… anything else?'
'We'd learn some details- important ones.' She met Bulma's gaze. 'Like, for example… information that might explain why you in another timeline went with them.'
One of Bulma's hands, hidden behind her right thigh, clutched and balled the fabric on her leg. 'You think so?' She said in a forcibly calm voice.
'We won't know until we try. And, honestly- I just want to know what we're fighting,' Launch admitted, rubbing her forearms. 'I'm getting antsy waiting around knowing that something's coming. Training is a good use of my time, but I feel like I'd be doing even more good by getting information out in space.' She gestured to show her hands were empty. 'Honestly. I'm the strongest of us all right now. That won't stay true forever. Until it isn't, I think I should try and get some mileage out of that.'
Launch was dangerously close to sounding reasonable. Bulma, on another level of her mind, recognized the danger in that, but she couldn't deny the promise of her mission. If it was a calculated risk- and it was a risk, make no mistake- and if Tien thought it was a good idea, and she was able to keep tabs on Launch so that she wouldn't wreck the gravity ship...
'I have some conditions,' Bulma said. 'One: you have a set amount of time to comb the galaxy. Something like- I don't know- six months. Once that's done, you're to come right back to Earth.'
'Sure,' Launch nodded. 'Sure.'
'Two: you're going to be supervised by Bez on the trip. He'll be my eyes and ears to make sure you're not wrecking the ship or acting like an idiot.'
'He's okay with that?'
'He will be after I talk to him,' Bulma groused. 'Third and last: you're to tell me everything the Saiyans say, verbatim, and... ' Bulma frowned in thought. 'Make sure they tell you about Kakarot and Raditz. Everything they know.'
Launch cocked her head. 'Any reason for that?'
'My curiosity.' Bulma crossed her arms. 'Those are my terms.'
In typical fashion, Launch, beaming, shook Bulma's hand in a far shorter amount of time than a normal person would have taken to consider the deal. 'I agree. So, it'll be me, Bez- you got anyone else?'
An odd expression spread across Bulma's face. 'Well…'
0o0o0
This was not who Launch had in mind.
'...Didn't this guy, you know, try to commit genocide, or something?'
Past the glass wall Bulma and Launch stood behind, the Capsule Corp. gym was typically empty- the scientists at Capsule Corp., Bulma included, sadly conformed to the stereotype and rarely did any physical exercise- except for two figures occupying a benching station in the far corner. Launch couldn't make out the shaggy-haired muscled man who was standing over the press. As for who he was spotting though- one does not simply forget someone like Recoome.
'Yes,' Bulma acknowledged, 'he did… but the Namekians numbered around 100 people, so, personally, I wouldn't call it a "full-throated" genocide.'
'He also tried to kill us.'
'So did Piccolo, once upon a time.'
'Yeah, but like, this guy really tried. Also, he was more recent.'
'I never claimed to like the guy.'
'Bulma, he's dressed in Capsule Corp. company clothing.'
'Yes, he is.'
'And he's working out in the company gym.'
'Yes- he is.'
'And, and I may be imagining this one, but it looks like he's got brand-stinking-new prosthetics in place of where his legs used to be.'
'...Yes.'
Launch snorted. 'And you said I was the crazy one.'
'Alright!' Bulma exploded, releasing her stored anxiety across her entire body. 'Alright!… I... ' she shook her head. 'I know. I know he doesn't deserve any of this, that his actions make him a monster… but… seeing him in his cell all alone was weighing on me. I had to free him for myself.' Bulma sighed. 'It was selfish.'
Launch rocked her head left-and-right a few times. 'Alright. Reasonable, I guess. I'm not a judger.'
'If it makes it any better, I gave him the prosthetics recently.'
'Mhm,' Launch grunted. 'Who's that other guy with him?'
Bulma opened the door to the gym. 'Go find out for yourself.'
With Launch in front, the two of them wound around rowing machines, treadmills, and bench presses towards the room's far end. Recoome saw them from a long way off, and as he set his barbell back into its hooks above him, the other man met them a few feet away.
'Hey!' Mark Satan exclaimed, white teeth gleaming. 'Bulma! How's it hanging?'
Bulma had a slight visceral reaction to the comment, but it seemed Mark didn't notice. 'Good…' She glanced at Launch. 'Good- my friend here wants to talk to your friend.'
'Yeah?' Mark glanced up and down Launch. 'You look like a real-friggin-warrior!'
Launch made a pinched expression. 'Bulma, who is this man?'
'Please,' Mark gestured to Bulma, 'allow me. You are talking to none other than Mr. Satan, Champion of the Seven-Six-Two Central City Rumble Zone!' He flexed. 'Huah!'
'Pro Wrestling?' Launch guessed. 'You're a wrestler?'
'Martial Arts is my first calling. But wrestling makes me the money, you know?'
'Yeah. No, I don't.'
'Hey, Bulma!' Recoome, who stood about two feet taller than his work-out buddy, roped his massive right arm around Mark's neck and playfully shook him. His laughter rang with good-natured fun- Mark's sounded significantly more nervous by comparison. 'Long time no see!'
Capsule Corp. was slowly accruing metamorphosed aliens. In the past few years, and under the steady gaze of Mark, Recoome has pulled himself from his hospital bed, first without legs, then with, and built his glorious muscles back to the ridiculous size they held on Namek. A lot of was due to Mark. As much as Bulma disliked the man, she had to give him some credit- he had turned a non-verbal double-amputee into a gym rat.
'Long time no see,' Bulma greeted back with an easy smile. Take away the bloodlust, and the man had a charming simplicity to him. 'How're the prosthetics?'
'Great!' Recoome lifted a leg, showing off the part; it wasn't quite bionic, but it looked significantly more sophisticated than anything you'd find in a typical hospital. 'Might need some adjustment soon, but otherwise, it works like a dream!'
'They get him places to places,' Mark elaborated. 'Point A to Point B. You know.'
'Damn right!'
Launch was quiet at her side for a moment. 'This will work,' she said aloud. Her head turned to Bulma; a fashionably manic Launch smile was on her face. 'This will work.'
Bulma glanced to Recoome and Mark. Recoome's arm was still around Mark's neck. 'Recoome, what would you two say to a months-long trip on a spaceship with a gym?'
The red-haired alien's eyes lit up. 'I would set yes-' His face froze. 'But-'
Suddenly, he yanked Mark up, making the poor man's eyes bulge out of their sockets and his tongue shoot out of his mouth before releasing his grip and setting him down. 'He comes with! Me and my gym buddy stick together!'
Mark steadied himself before speaking. 'That's… that's right,' he agreed, rubbing his neck. 'We're in this… together… though I'll have to get my baby girl to her aunt before I go…'
'So… yes?' Launch asked again. 'Because I've got no problem with you coming.'
'Yes,' Mark answered, regaining some of earlier bravado. He faux-punched Recoome on the shoulder. 'Yes.'
0o0o0
Even as she made the preparations and instructed Launch, Recoome, Bez, and Mark on the ship's basics, Bulma reflected on how bad an idea this was. People usually made a bigger deal than warranted about group cohesion for team projects, but in this case, she wasn't sure these four could cook breakfast together, let alone share a ship for six months and defeat three homicidal Saiyans. Bez had said as much to her. Still, she liked the idea. And, out of a growing sense that he owed a substantive debt to Bulma for everything she'd done for him, Bez couldn't bring himself to say no to her request. Green light is a go.
It was almost like she was in a trance; she just wanted to see this idea to the end. She had spent so much recent time thinking about her past mistakes, or her alternate self's choices, and she was tired. She usually relished having complete control over what she did, who she talked to, and what path she struck for herself. Today, though? As morning wore into the afternoon, she was more than happy to let Launch take the gravity ship, even though she had promised it as a training aid to Suno and Retu once they returned from their brief trip north.
There might have been something in her eggs. She shrugged.
'Hey? You feeling alright?'
Snapping back to reality, Bulma shouldered off Launch's arm and straightened. Launch was in her shipwear, an orange-and-black jumpsuit that had an ugly front zipper for easy access.
'I'm fine,' Bulma replied, glancing past her. Near the ship's ramp, Mark and Recoome were adjusting their suits for each other. Bez must have already gone inside. 'You?'
Launch's face soured. 'Don't try to turn this around on me. This was my idea, not yours. If you've got a problem with this idea, this is your last chance to say it.'
Bulma glanced back at her. 'You're prompting your sponsor for doubts?'
'Like I said; last chance.'
She thought for a moment- or did something with her brain. 'No, I… I think this is for the best,' Bulma said. 'I can't really explain why I think that, but that's what I think.'
'Lost your chance. Now, my concerns- can I trust that guy?'
'Mark?'
'No! Recoome!' Launch whispered. 'This guy was PTO, wasn't he? I appreciate having another person around to help if need be- but what are the chances that he turns us in if given the chance?'
'Zero. He wouldn't do that to Mark.'
'The wrestler?'
'Who do you think we're talking about right now?' Bulma asked, exasperated. 'Those two are pretty much inseparable. Recoome moved into his house!'
'What? Why?'
'I don't know! They could be in love for all I know, because they certainly act like it!'
Slowly, Bulma and Launch looked back. With a big blubbery smile, Recoome zipped Mark's suit up and down; Mark was doing the same for him.
'You see what I mean?'
'I see it.'
'Just talk to Mark if you're worried about Recoome,' Bulma advised her, 'and go easy on both of them, if you can. Mark's obviously never been in space before. And it's been a long time since Recoome's had any kind of real freedom.'
'What's that mean?'
'He's never left West City, and before that, he was imprisoned in a cell for about a year.'
Launch blinked. 'You put him in a cell? For a whole year? What the hell, Bulma?'
'Didn't you say earlier you aren't a judger?' Bulma growled.
'It comes and goes- alright,' Launch shook her head. 'That's all I got. If you've got nothing else…'
Bulma did think of one last thing.
'Do you not trust that time traveler anymore? I ask that because, well- he said we didn't need to talk to the Saiyans.'
'I don't give a flying pterodactyl about him,' Launch cursed. 'Like I said before- this is for me. Fighting my battles and getting my information. Nothing else to it.'
Bulma nodded. 'Alright. Good luck then. And…'
'Huh?'
Bulma smacked into Launch and hugged her. She was stiff for a moment, then let the embrace happen.
'Stay safe, space cowboy.'
'Uhh… okay.'
'You don't hug enough.'
'I hug just as much as I need to.'
0o0o0
Bulma finally figured out what had happened to her common sense a few minutes after the gravity ship had launched. Tien, a flaming bullet streaming through the skies above West City, landed with a colossal quake and grabbed her by her clothes.
'LAUNCH? WHERE IS LAUNCH?'
Puffing her cheeks, Bulma verbalized a long sighing sound. '...Well…'
'She took the ship?!'
'Yep.'
'You gave it to her!?'
'Yep.'
'The PTO shuttle?!'
'I deconstructed it.'
'For parts!?'
'Yep.'
'And the soonest you could make another ship?!'
'About a month.'
Tien dropped Bulma. After a moment of stunned silence, he apologized to her and curled into a fetal position on the ground.
Thankfully, Bulma's mother had been pruning the gardens at that exact moment, and had rallied Tien off the grass with the promise of a specialty mood-boosting meal. Bulma was back in her lab digging through employee records just under two minutes. If Launch was going to be poking around up there, the least she could do is keep poking around down here.
0o0o0
Chatter floated around Salza as he walked the length of the bridge, passing technicians, officers, and terminals with a billow of his clipped purple cape. Cooler's flagship was different from the vast majority of other PTO command ships. Whereas most vessels were circular and isolated the commanding officer from the bridge, this ship, The Crystalline, more resembled a black and angular pike, stabbing forward into space, and had a bridge crew overlooked by a higher platform reserved for the ship's captain.
There was only one stairwell, ascending first away and then back towards the bridge, that connected the upper platform to the rest of the ship. It was designed such that, with every step Salza (or anyone else, for that matter) made towards his master, he would be watched.
Once level with the austere, vertical command chair, he knelt and ducked his head. 'My Lord.'
Cooler sat rigid, almost unsatisfied with his own posture. 'An update?'
'Negotiations with the Vrakeens are proceeding well. They are prepared to purchase ten more planetary contracts from the PTO.'
The Emperor of most of the known galaxy seemed uninterested by this fact. 'Anything else?'
'Your father wishes you his sincerest, happiest tidings on your birthday.'
A groan escaped from Cooler's thin lips. 'Of course he does. Half this ship's memory cores had such a message at one point or another.'
Salza did the smallest survey of the space around them. 'I am aware, Lord Cooler. It is an old ship.'
'From another time,' Cooler mused, propping his elbow on the chair's right armrest and setting his head into his hand. 'Before the PTO was what it is today, and wars were fought instead of battles. Ships then had to be built for durability, not firepower.'
'It is fortunate you were able to keep ahold of The Crystalline when taking back the reins of the empire,' Salza said. 'I think the crew appreciates the familiarity.'
'Well, it's my empire now, is it not?' Cooler's eyes lifted to the ceiling. 'Regardless of how many birthday wishes my father sends from his retirement.'
Salza paused. 'Permission to speak freely, lord?'
Cooler glanced at him. 'Go ahead.'
'You seem bored.'
'With running the galaxy?'
'Compared to when you were patrolling its edges, yes.'
Cooler straightened. 'Running an empire shouldn't be fun,' he stated, cursorily tensing his muscles. 'It should be monotonous. Problems are easily found and time-consuming to solve. But I am luckier than most to get some small joy out of it.' His expression brightened for the briefest second. 'Administering the galaxy well, day-in, day-out, is a daily affront to Frieza's past incompetence in this position. If current trends continue, the PTO will have purged as many planets in five years as it had done in the five decades before that.'
'I understand,' Salza said, dipping his head in recognition. 'Though it seemed you were more engaged with day-to-day business when we were far away from the galactic center.'
'I was hungrier,' Cooler said. He looked past Salza. 'Do you have anything else to report? If not, I'd like you to return to the bridge.'
'One last thing,' Salza straightened and cleared his throat. 'We may have a… lead of a lead. Do you remember Zarbon, my lord?'
'Frieza's right hand,' Cooler recalled. 'What about him?'
'I have just received intel that seems extremely pertinent to his testimony of the FP083-Namek incident.'
A subtle, tightening shift in Cooler's posture distanced him from his chair. His gaze narrowed to a point. 'Zarbon's record has remained uncorroborated for more than three years. What has changed?'
'Do you remember the Saiyan agent of ours? Raditz?'
'i did not remember his name, but I remember who he was.' Cooler frowned. 'We lost contact with him, did we not? What, did he contact us?'
'No.' Salza pulled a device from his pocket and scanned it. 'His final message, however, mentioned that he was leaving his group and going to find his brother- a Saiyan named Kakarot.'
Cooler frowned further. 'And what does this have to do with Zarbon's account? I thought he had said that no Saiyans were ever on this hypothetical planet Namek.'
'Well, sir…' With a flick of his finger, an image moved from his device and filled the space between them. It was blurry, grainy, but there was no mistaking two sets of distinctive, matching hair between two scared, lightly-tanned humanoids. Salza gestured to the one on his left and Cooler's right.
'We believe this is Kakarot, and, well… Sir?'
Salza's voice fell away as Cooler, almost in a haze, stood and advanced on the projected picture. He studied the person on the left. 'I know that face. I saw that face. I saw- I saw him die,' Cooler realized, expression lost in an old memory. 'On Planet Vegeta, all those years ago. That man is Bardock.'
The Arcosian turned on Salza, natural armor glistening in the artificial light of the bridge. 'Is this some sort of trick? Explain.'
Salza steadied himself before speaking. 'This is my theory; in Zarbon's testimony, he briefly mentions a set of artifacts with an unspecified power. Something endemic to Namek. And while it may be the case that Zarbon never encountered any Saiyans on his mission… the reappearance of Kakarot with someone who appeared to have died decades ago suggests they have some association with the artifacts on Namek and what happened there.' Salza paused. 'Or, at the very least, they have some connection to Raditz, and could explain why he has not contacted us in four years,' he offered, downgrading his theory.
'You think all of this is connected? The FP083-Namek fiasco, Raditz's disappearance, and the resurfacing of a dead man?'
'I think these events are large gaps in our understanding of what transpired under Frieza's watch,' Salza elaborated. 'And I think it's dangerous for us to have used them to undermine him without subsequently trying to understand them ourselves.'
'Hmph.' Cooler looked again at the image. 'Your source is reputable?
'I can confirm there's been no manipulation of it. Of course, there may be species we aren't aware of that resemble Saiyans…'
'This is a risk to my rule,' Cooler decided, dismissing the picture with a swipe of his hand and moving back to his chair. 'I vowed to my father I would tie up all the loose ends of Frieza's mistakes. I would look weak if I did not investigate this further. Do you know where Bardock and Kakarot are currently?'
'They're on the move, from what we can tell,' Salza informed him, checking his device. 'But, for the most part, they've stayed beyond the fringes of Empire near the Prax system.'
'Good. Once we've wrapped up our affairs with the Vrakeens, I want you to set a course for that system- though not directly to it,' Cooler specified. 'I don't want to tip off these Saiyans that they're being looked for. Choose an empty system near Prax and keep the ship there until we have a firm idea of where they are. We will wait for them to reappear again, and then we shall make our move.'
Salza nodded. 'Should I recall the Armored Squadron, then?'
'Do so.' Cooler's gaze swept past Salza again, and glimpsed the bridge below to his left and right. Loyal crewmen traversed back-and-forth beneath his view, tending to his ship with a seasoned and steady confidence only years of competent leadership could produce. For all the tediousness of keeping the galaxy under one power- his power- and the small joy he got from outdoing his brother, there was another, potentially greater, redeeming joy to it all. He was first and foremost an efficient, effective ruler, had the PTO do what it was supposed to do better than anyone else, and seeing such a well-run ship- and, hopefully one day, a well-run galaxy- gave him a certain type of satisfaction.
There was a real chance the PTO's long-running aim of ruling over the entire galaxy would be brought to fruition during his lifetime, and the thought of that day, when business and administration ran like perfect mechanisms- that was something Cooler looked forward to.
'Whatever felled my brother will not do the same to me,' Cooler spoke, looking back to Salza. 'Mark my words.'
As a gesture of acknowledgment and parting, Salza bowed. 'I will personally ensure so.' And with that, Cooler was left alone on his perch.
0o0o0
Retu, standing amidst a frigid and icy village, shuddered for warmth as another cold breeze cut into his flesh. In theory, accompanying Suno for group trip as a break from training seemed like a good idea. He remembered what she had said. Get a chance of scenery. Refresh. Rekindle with your family. Revitalize your spirit. All that sounded like bullshit now that he was waiting for her to hurry up and finish with her business so that they could leave. Though it would be unfair of him to blame her for the fact that Jingle Village had run out of wood recently, and none of its houses were heated, and it was as cold inside shielded by the wind as it was outside warmed ever-so-slightly by the sun. So it didn't really matter where he chose to tough it out. Outside, at least, he could study the village- and see exactly when the door Suno had entered through opened again.
'Hey,' Suno greeted, zipping up her parka. 'You okay?'
'I'm freezing my ass off. I'm somewhere between fair and bad.'
She started trudging forward. Retu followed her. 'Use your ki if you're so cold,' she suggested.
'I am!' he said. 'But it takes a lot of fine ki control to warm my body uniformly, and if there's anything worse than being uniformly cold, it's having one part of your body on fire while another part is frozen solid.'
Suno grunted. 'You're weird.'
'I just want to get to our next, warmer stop,' Retu rationalized. 'Also- where are we going?'
'Not going to ask about my Mom?'
'How is she?'
'We're going to a field office,' Suno answered his earlier question. 'Mom told me that some company had moved in recently looking for workers used to working in sub-zero conditions.'
'But how's your mom?'
'She's fine. Bit of a cold from the wood shortage, but otherwise okay.' Suno went silent for a moment. The sound of wind and boots stomping snow served as conversation.
'I spotted a fringe of gray going through her red hair,' she spoke up eventually. 'To be honest, it sorta freaked me out.'
'Happens to all of us, eventually,' Retu said in a subdued voice.
'Yeah.'
'Yeah. So- why are we going to this field office?'
Before Suno could answer, they rounded a corner around a building, and spotted a brown-gray tarp draped over a horizontally long wooden booth. Scores of villagers, dressed in colorful red and blue parkas, crowded around the booth's front, clamoring to talk to an unseen person. What jumped out to Retu much more than that, however, were the two guards, assault rifles resting in their arms, who were positioned at the booth's flanks and were watching the crowd.
'Oh,' Retu said. 'They look… militarized.'
'They look familiar,' Suno growled, resuming her walk forward, stomping now instead of treading. 'And not the good kind, either.'
Retu struggled to keep up with her. 'Now, Suno-'
'Hey!' she yelled, rattling the people who had lined up at the booth's front. 'Whoever the hell set this thing up, I want you to come out and speak to me right now about why you have armed guards!'
The villagers looked at her, cheeks flushed from her outburst and the cold, and with some unseen prodding, they began to split apart, forming a narrow path to the booth. Before Suno could march forward, however, a bald, decrepit old man walked out, white lab coat lined with fur, hands in his pockets and elbows bent away from his body. Once beyond the crowd, he stopped, looked them up and down, and broke into an unabashed smile.
'Hello!' with a gray-as-death hand, the old man gave each of them a firm shake. 'Pleasure to make your acquaintance! My name is Doctor Kochin.'
A/N: This chapter ended up being more table-setting than I thought it'd be. Oh well. Nothing wrong with that.
Reviews:
Sigmakleim: Thank you for the review! As for young Gohan, even if he doesn't have a super important role in this Volume… by no means does that mean he's not going to be super important down the road.
Transformers g1's-Prime: Shenanigans are Androids' specialty.
Piccolo's a ripe ol' paranoid bastard. Doesn't mean that he's wrong. Just means that others see him that way. Could be wrong… could be right.
Hah, true! I tried to characterize her forgetfulness of Raditz so that it was somewhat more believable than it would be at first glance. That being said, putting that scene in is def me seeing a good way to link together past parts of the story and give more added depth to previous chapters. We already knew that a) Bulma led humanitarian work in West City after Raditz's attack, and at the same time was also combing the ruins for PTO tech, and b) Gero got Raditz's body. So, it would make sense that Bulma got her hands on Raditz's body first, only for Gero to snatch it from her sometime later. It's sorta like a natural bridge between those two events, and more importantly, setting that in stone enables me to do cool narrative things in the future that I couldn't do otherwise. Win-win :^)
And, as for how Gero got Raditz out… some questions should be raised about that…
TienFan99:
Glad you're liking the Bulma/Raditz idea! I talked about it more in-depth in the review above.
Your idea for a flashback chapter worked so well that I immediately put a part of it into the plot. Thanks for that :^) And thank you for the review!
Anonymous:
Thank you for the review! And, I agree- things are getting wild! Just the way I prefer it :^)
You're right on the money with your comment with Vegeta. Compared to canon, he's had a whole lot more honor and success to his name. Keeps him arrogant instead of arrogant/insecure.
Future Gohan has seen a lot of shit. Also, in terms of your question about his scar, read and find out. Though it is interesting that you assume that a mass genocide occurred on Earth in his timeline...
That tension with Gohan's fighting ability was definitely a part of what I was going for. Though, admittedly, I was going more for the angle that he got lulled by his Saiyan side while transformed and started fighting for the sake of fighting instead of fighting to win. He did so because he was in a battle where it wasn't so life-or-death or unwinnable. He felt in control the entire time. This might say something about his timeline...
Fair point about the tier system. I should note that just because it's around power levels will stop being discussed. It's more so an omni-tool I can use when I have to cover a lot of juggling powers at once and individual dialogue can't capture completely the nuance of the difference of power between everyone.
For sure, the PTO isn't going to stop using and talking on and on about power levels :^)
Lol. Piccolo in the S-tier. That would be the day. Thank you for the review!
Cityracer:
Traveler stirred the discussion pot and no one was quite prepared to keep it going. I think you captured the differences within the group very well. I think I literally wrote (paranoid bastard) for Piccolo in my notes for that chapter, and the humans on a whole are too trusting for their own good. The only people I'd say is the exception to this would be Tien/Launch/Chiaotzu, though in this circumstance, l think they chose a reasonable approach whereby, if they didn't have any information to contradict what was told to them, the best they can do is take the big points from Traveler's revelations and train for the big day. IMO, Piccolo def seems unreasonable doubting someone when he has no concrete proof to use.
I realized recently how gamey some of Bulma's reverse-engineering could be, so I've been trying to lean into their limitations to correct that.
Lol. Piccolo refuses to be the friend of anyone! He's a demon, not a Namekian! Though that reminds me- the point where the fic switched from referring to Piccolo as "the demon" to "the Namekian" is very specific. Wonder if any readers know where that is :^)
Glad I was able to sell you on Yamcha X Chi-Chi! If I had known from the very beginning this is where they would end up, I would have put in more one-on-one scenes of them earlier in the fic, but a late-blooming romance is never a bad thing.
I listened to that song! I thought it suited the scene very well, though I must give a disclaimer that I find most music suits most scenes if I pair one song with one scene for long enough. You're a fan of symphonic rock, then?
Bonus fun fact about Yamcha and Chi-Chi's relationship; I initially had it that they had gotten together off-screen in the time jump between Chapters 72 and 73, but after some reflection, I decided that I needed to build up to it a little more before making that happen. So, instead, we have them on the verge of being in a relationship for most of Visions, and the events of Visions pushes them into that relationship. This decision also worked out much better for the paralleling I'm doing with something else :^)
Friend, you know I want to answer your question about Rush, but that's a RAFO question if I've ever seen one. You know me; I like leaving my clues early and often.
See the discussion I had about the Gero/Bulma scene above. The only thing I would add is that I'm constantly trying to deepen this story on a re-read by referencing forward and backward and making past events more significant than they appeared at the time. Linking Bulma and Gero, while it wasn't something I had thought of back around Chapter 42, was a way of doing that.
You're out here shipping Yamcha X Chi-Chi- I'm out here shipping Gero's old man body and Wheelo's bloating brain.
Been a while since I've done a "what am I reading?" segment. As of late I've been reading more standard fiction (which is odd, because usually I default to fanfiction due to its comparative ease of entry for me) so I thought I'd note some published works alongside the fics.
The Undying Fire by Boogum
I've included this fic in this segment before, but damn! Do I love this friggin' ATLA thing! Zuko is my special boy! It's finished now, too, so it gets bonus points for that.
Empire's Son by blank101
Star Wars. Gotta love/hate the Star Wars. Especially when its fanfiction has arguably outpaced everything "officially" produced (except for prob The Clone Wars) over the last decade. In this fic, Luke is thrown into court intrigue on Coruscant as the Emperor's Hand, Leia is trained by Obi-Wan, and Han is a norm-breaking Imperial adjunct. It's really good.
Dragon Ball: New Days by CosmoCatte
One of the reasons I started writing Strength of Many was because there was such a dearth of finished DBZ stories of humans taking the reins of their fate. This story seeks to explore that, has a solid premise and foundation for the story going forward, and, of course, is well-written. Give it a try!
Earthling Chronicles by FinalFlashX
The actual inspiration for this fic. I was so goddamn invested in this back in the day, and then it ceased, never to be resumed, when things were really starting to get good. That isn't to say that 2020 me loves how it's written- but come on, a covert infiltration by Tien and Vegeta of Frieza's ship? Damn! What more could you want?
Exhalation by Ted Chiang
A sci-fi writer that I'm dipping into for the first time. This book is a collection of short stories. They're exceptionally well-crafted and resonating. Don't read them after midnight.
The Painted Drum by Louise Edritch
I don't particularly like this book. It's written in a style that actively pulls me out of the story. So, in other words, I'm learning a lot about writing by reading through it.
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
This book is wild. That's really all I have to say about it.
