The nutrition portal chimed pleasantly as the conveyer belt delivered his sandwich, accompanied by a small digital message reading 'Please enjoy your meal'.
"Not likely," Dr. Tottle angrily grunted back as he snatched up the plate. He turned to give yet another death glare to the four marshals that stood about his quarters, their red stripes an insult amidst the calming blue décor. As he sat down with his sandwich, he seriously pondered throwing half at the one standing nearest to him. He imagined it smacking the brute right in the eyes, the sauce making it stick as it slowly slid over those oversized cheekbones. But he soon decided it would be a waste of a good half of sandwich.
Instead, he obstinately stuck a large bite into his mouth and chewed like it was the only thing worthy of his time. But in reality, he had never felt more disturbed than he had these last several hours. Conspiracy. Corruption. Murder. And to think he, Dr. Betatom Tottle, had been involved all along without even realizing.
The incident in his infirmary. The events that had insinuated Vegeta's coming execution. Upon examining the evidence gathered by Dr. Leaton it had all suddenly made sense. So, he had done the only logical thing – gathered all evidence into a report and taken it to the highest authority available: Justiciar Nevrrest herself.
When he had seen Nevrrest walking at the back of the execution procession, he was relieved to have arrived just in time.
"Justiciar Nevrrest," he had stated firmly, holding out the tablet, "I'm afraid you've been had."
Nevrrest eyed him briefly with that cold, hard gaze of hers and took the tablet with a short grunt-whistle. "More data on the imposter?"
"Unrelated, but just as significant." He remembered how tenuously he had eyed the other members of the procession. The culprit could be in that very group for all he knew. So he kept his voice very low, touching a finger to the top of the tablet. "It involves Prisoner 0001."
She cocked one of her heavy brows at him and turned to examine the data on the tablet as it swam by. She lowered it. "I am very aware of the contents of Vegeta's stomach, Doctor."
"Did you consider the fact that the consumed flesh was raw?"
Her gaze turned still. "Is that supposed to be significant?"
"On the surface, no," he quickly replied, "But I happen to know more about Saiyan culture than I'd like." He folded his arms and leaned forward. "Do you know why Saiyans will consume the flesh of the defeated?"
She began to look over the information again. "To mock them, I suppose."
"Wrong!" he declared, actually making her jump a little, "The practice is based on the superstition that by eating the flesh of a foe you can absorb the strength's that person had in life."
"So he was trying to get stronger," she flatly offered.
"I would entertain the idea if it weren't for one thing," he sharply replied, once again glancing to make sure no one was listening in, "That the meat in Vegeta's stomach hadn't been roasted first."
Nevrrest rolled her eyes at him and held out the tablet. "Doctor, I'm certain he didn't have means nor opportunity to cook the bodies."
"Then he wouldn't have bothered," Dr. Tottle retorted, pushing the tablet back, "You think the Saiyan roast the flesh as a nicety? Ha! Saiyans don't believe in niceties." His brow lowered. "No. The sole reason a Saiyan cooks the flesh of his foe is to burn the weakness out of it. Otherwise, they'd absorb the weaknesses with the strengths." She rumbled and he held up his tough, old hands. "Don't you see? A Saiyan who believed in the practice would rather eat poison than meat that was raw."
Nevrrest glanced back at the procession and fully turned her back to it, folding her hands over the tablet, her claws overlapping. "The evidence is absolute, Doctor. The flesh of his victims was found in his stomach, raw or not."
He sighed. "I'm aware of that. But look through the rest of the evidence. There's more."
He watched her read the rest of it, her eyes moving swiftly over the tablet's surface. "This is all circumstantial," she at last stated.
"But worthy of investigation!" he insisted.
"You are suggesting I post-pone the execution?"
"By the old gods, yes!"
He watched with raw disbelief as her eyes narrowed slightly and she once again turned the tablet over to him. "I will not let a few coincidences get in the way of my responsibility to this fleet…Doctor…" Her eyes shifted down briefly to the tablet. "Tottle."
Dr. Tottle's jaw hung as the tablet fell back into his hand and she turned away. Then his green face turned purple as his cheekbones puffed out. "Oh damn you, you self-centered, egotistical brat!" he snapped at her, causing her to freeze, "I know you know after reading this that someone has been manipulating all the events around Triple-Zero-One! And just because it happens to be in your favor, you're just going to ignore it!" He waved the tablet angrily around. "I know Vegeta's innocent—I helped him save those people! So quit this foolish nonsense and do the right thing, damn you!"
Her talons on her hand twitched, slowly slipping in and out of their sleeve. "How unfortunate for you…considering he already confessed."
"Unfortunate for me?" he said with confusion and disbelief. He stared past the Grand Marshal into the procession ahead. As if sensing him, Vegeta had briefly turned and caught his eye – that black gaze hardened and empty. And in a matter of seconds, it had all clicked for him. Justiciar Oom'Bagu's arrest. Vegeta's bond with him. All the events that he had linked together. But most of all, the way Kakarot had once said the name 'Nevrrest.'
"…Oh my gods," he had said into the silence, "It's you."
From there, Dr. Tottle could only recall a white rage and Nevrrest's glorified thugs dragging him away. That had been hours ago, and the four marshals in his room had been guarding him since.
After a moment Dr. Tottle realized he had stopped eating his sandwich and deftly shoved another bite into his mouth. He honestly didn't have much of an appetite, but he need to eat if he was going to be a nuisance. And a nuisance of himself he did intend to make. He was sure Nevrrest had some kind of plan for shutting him up. But since it hadn't happened yet, that gave him the advantage. He chewed sourly for a moment and drank the rest down with a glass of vegetable juice.
With that salty, tart taste, he had made up his mind. "I need you to escort me to my lab," he stated loudly, "There is work to be done."
The marshals stirred like he had interrupted a nap. "You what?"
"You're ears are quite functional, I assure you," he replied, getting up and pushing in his chair, "We are still in the midst of a crisis, are we not?"
The four marshals gave each other hard, questioning looks. "Our orders were to keep you detained until further instructions are given."
"Absolutely!" he assured them, "I would expect none the less from the Justice's finest." He nodded twice and put his knuckles to his hips. "However, the attack left my lab in horrid disarray and there is work to be done. Are you incapable of detaining me there as well as you are here?"
Bingo. He saw one of them scrunch up his nose slightly. "What would you be doing there?"
"Trying to get my supplies back in order for one," he replied, "We'll need the extra equipment, believe you me."
They exchanged looks for a long moment. "Alright. But you're not going anywhere without an escort."
Dr. Tottle gave them his best smile. "Of course."
(**Scene Break**)
Laswe half-hoped it wouldn't be those two standing there. But wishes rarely come true. The guards locked in formation in front of the exiting hallway, the two detainees standing with eyes sharp and stance spread. He could feel Horkion quaking angrily and nervously next to him.
Laswe tried to calm his internal fluids. It's okay. You got this. He landed on his tail and gave the Saiyan and Gregorik a calm, confident look. "Gentlemen."
At least it got Goku to relax. His muscle loosened under his green prison garb and he straightened up a little. "You're not going to attack us?" he asked with surprise.
"Now why would we do that?" Laswe answered, trying to keep his tone as conversational and reassuring as possible, "You two aren't a couple of mindless thugs. I know you must have a good reason for coming all the way out here."
"We do," Oom'Bagu answered. He wasn't looking as relaxed. "But the reason does not matter to you, Laswe."
"Maybe not," Laswe shrugged, refocusing on Goku, "But it mattered enough to you two that you were dumb enough to be wandering around out here."
Of course, Laswe knew why they were doing this. He'd spent enough time around Goku's ideals and Oom'Bagu's resolve to figure it out. He just had to get them to admit they were 'trying to stop Nevrrest'. From there, he would easily be able to show them the futility of the idea. As long as he could get at least one of them to listen, he was confident he could end this without violence.
Goku glanced between Oom'Bagu and Laswe. He straightened up firmly. "We're here to save Vegeta."
Laswe hadn't been ready to hear that one. And with his ill-expectation came a strong sense of guilt. He could tell similar guilt had swamped Horkion as well, though the poor guy didn't deserve to feel it. After all, he had nothing to do with what happened.
Laswe prepared himself for what he had to say. But shockingly, Horkion beat him to it. "Goku…I'm sorry," Horkion said mournfully, gripping his empty arm socket, "Vegeta's dead."
Laswe expected a reaction, but instead of he got Goku's serious eyes zeroing in on Horkion's wound with shock. "Horkion," he gasped, pointing, "What happened to your arm?!"
Horkion's head bent slightly. "I tried to stand up for what was right. So Nevrrest took it." Oom'Bagu growled, full set of teeth showing.
"B-but didn't you both hear him?" Laswe sputtered, "Vegeta's already dead! There's…there's no point in trying to save him."
Goku's gaze fell on Laswe so sharply he sputtered. "I know that's what you think, Laswe."
"Think?!" he cried, "I saw it happen!"
"You made it happen," Horkion said in a low voice.
Laswe's jaw snapped shut, his underlings shifting uncomfortably. He could feel that sour guilt burning his insides, threatening to break him down. But instead, he turned it into rage. He clenched a fist at his side and blue lighting sparked up his arm. "Yeah," he stated flatly, "I did. And I'm putting you two back in a cell – quietly or not. I've got a job to do, and unlike some people I'm not screwing it up."
"You have a duty to the people," Oom'Bagu corrected, glaring, "Not a job with the Justice."
"Don't you lecture me!" Laswe snapped, jabbing a finger, "You screwed up the system, not me!" He realized he was losing it and pressing his hands tightly together, pausing. "Vegeta is dead. There's no one to save. If you haven't done anything wrong, the system will sort you out. Just sit tight. Okay?"
"We don't have time to do that, Laswe!" Goku protested, "I'm…" He looked down a little. "I'm sorry for whatever Nevrrest made you do. But I just know Vegeta's alive. So I can't stop. I made a promise."
Laswe rolled his eyes. "Oh here we go again." He look at Oom'Bagu. "Are you really buying this?"
"I am," Oom'Bagu assured.
"Well great," Laswe snarked. He bounced back on his tail and buzzed his wings, a second crackle of energy flashing over his body. "Guardians. Detain them." He finished by giving Horkion a harsh look.
The guards moved in.
(**Scene Break**)
Dr. Tottle's section of Seven's infirmary was just as bad as he remembered it. Supplies and equipment were scattered everywhere, a lot of it damaged or completely broken. All the bottles had been shattered. It was a very good reminder of how much he didn't like Saiyans. They were always breaking things, would turn any disagreement into a fight, and gave off that horrid stench from their trademark hair-wax and constantly getting sweaty. Not to mention arrogant, rude, ill-mannered, and loud. And yet, here he was, about to get into all this trouble because the last Saiyan had died. He ought to be celebrating. Life was certainly full of surprises.
"I don't really see how you could get any work done in here," one of the marshal accused.
Dr. Tottle snorted at him indignantly. "Young man, there is nothing but work in here."
The young marshal grunted in response and Dr. Tottle had to hold in a snicker. If what he was planning really worked, it would not only give him the chance to do something right in this mess, it would be incredibly cathartic. The four marshals assumed similar positions about the lab as they had in his room as Dr. Tottle got to work.
"What an awful mess," he muttered to himself, getting a broom and starting to sweep up the broken glass. As he did so, he carefully inched his way towards his computer.
Please still work. Please still work. Gods damn it, Vegeta, if you broke it too I'll…I'll find you in the afterlife and fiercely complain about it! Defiler knows I'll be seeing you soon very likely if this doesn't work. Dr. Tottle swept around it a bit, glanced at the console briefly, and pressed the power button. He waited. It flickered and came on. Yes!
"What are you doing?" one approached him.
"Checking on my equipment!" Dr. Tottle snapped. He pressed another button and the laboratory roared to life, sending sparks flying everywhere. "Gah!" he yelped, ducking a sparkling orange spray, "You see?!"
The marshal's eyes shifted to the side with annoyance, but he backed off. Dr. Tottle took some time to do some more sweeping – to show he was in no extraordinary rush to get to the computer – before he returned and got to work doing a service check on the system he needed. With the kind of destructive power Vegeta put out a few days ago, it wouldn't be surprising at all if he broke it. Damn Saiyan.
Still, he remembered how incredibly alive he'd looked that day. There was nothing in the universe that meant more to one of those monkeys than fighting. But he had never before witnessed a saiyan preparing to fight for any other reason than his own satisfaction. But for Vegeta, it had been more than that. He had wanted Kakarot's death to mean something.
Perhaps now…he himself wanted Vegeta's death to mean something?
Pah, what's the matter with you? Dr. Tottle chastised himself, You're doing this for yourself and no one else. You best remember that.
Reassured of his own personal bigotry, Dr. Tottle activated the emergency safety protocol. He thought he would have at least a full second before Nevrrest's marshals realized something was wrong. They didn't even give him that. Luckily, the room's blast doors were just as fast. One of the marshals put a dent in the doorway as their shoulder slammed against the shielded plating. Orders were barked as another came at him. Of course, that's when the gas started, and Dr. Tottle was already holding his breath.
He was almost tempted to chastise them for not knowing the infirmary protocols. But that would mean opening his mouth, and he wasn't about to do that. Three minutes. That's how long he had to hold his breath.
It wasn't going to be easy.
A fist struck him across the face, sending him bouncing through the rubble that was his lab. "Bastard," coughed the only marshal still standing, stepping over his three sleeping companions.
Gods damn it! Dr. Tottle thought as he scrambled to his feet, his cheekbone throbbing, Of course a Tamorin would resist toxins!
He resisted the urge to squeal as the bubbly skinned marshal hooked his arm under his chin. "Turn it off!" he shouted, "Turn it off or I swear I'll break your neck!"
Not breathing! he coached himself as his hand lit up with pink energy and slammed the marshal right in the gut, And not losing to this fellow either!
Dr. Tottle's beak-like nose bled as he and the Tamorin grappled and exchanged blows, slamming once into the ceiling and another time into the wall. But he could feel his foe weakening from the gas. His grip loosened a bit and Dr. Tottle took the chance to slam the marshal's face right into one of the vents. He gave a rattling gasp as the gas flooded his throat, at last going limp. Dr. Tottle stumbled back to keep the man from falling back on him, his own face turning blue from the lack of oxygen.
There's got to be at least a full minute left before the gas vents, he realized, clutching is throat with both hands, Gods, when did a minute become so long?!
Though it probably wasn't the best for preserving oxygen, the only thing he could think to do to keep himself from breathing was flounder all over the place, flapping his arms like a moron. His next brilliant idea is to start banging on his desk. Apparently after that, a wobbling dance was in order. Finally, he resorted to falling on his back on the floor and watching the ceiling spin as his vision turned grey.
Come on then! he thought desperately, If that Saiyan somehow broke the vents I swear I'll—
There was a sharp whistling sound, bits of dust and paper fluttering up into the air as the gas was vented, fresh air filling the room.
"Geeeeeeeaaaah!" Dr. Tottle squealed as he let the new air fill his lungs as his vision momentarily went white. He sat up, allowing his breathing to slowly return to normal. And then it was time to laugh. "Haha, got you!" he pointed at the unconscious marshals, "That will teach you to lay your hands on Dr. Betatom Tottle!"
It was then that he noticed the alarms going off, seconds later realizing they had been going off for a while now. His heart leapt into his throat. Had the computer somehow caught onto him? Was that even possible? Shaking a little, he touched his fusion wristband, bringing up the alert. He let out a deep sigh of relief. Yes, it was a security breach on Seven, but it had nothing to do with his own little insurrection.
"Fantastic," he declared, getting to his computer. He touched another spot on his wristband and swiped, moving the necessary files to the computer and unpacking the data. He smiled wryly. It was lucky Nevrrest hadn't considered the fact that he might have kept a back-up of his report on his band. "You're never as smart as you think you are…" he smiled as he pressed a button, sending out a mass message to every trusted contact he had. It wasn't much, but it was a seed. Hopefully, some of them would see through Nevrrest's lies.
This simple but potentially fruitful task complete, Dr. Tottle shut down the equipment in his lab for what he knew would be the very last time. He removed his lab coat from his shoulders and started to fold it, but thought better of it, putting it back on. After all, he was still a damn fine doctor and a proper doctor should never be without his coat. He even took his emergency care belt. He figured, after all the years of good service he'd given, he could write that off as a much deserved bonus. Besides, till he found a new place in the galaxy, he might be able to use it to save someone's life.
As he turned to leave, he realized he had abandoned his shrine to his various gods back in his room. His fist clenched with frustration at the thought, but he let it go with a sigh. "Oh well damn me," he grumbled, fishing some of his spare candles out of his desk and stuffing them into his coat pocket, "Our Eternal Supreme Lord Whis will have to forgive me."
At last, he declared himself ready and moved for the door. But as he left the infirmary and the blaring of the alarms grew louder, something made him pause to wonder. What was the cause behind the new breach on Seven? He could hardly believe anyone would attempt something so soon after the breach a couple days ago. He had to admit, he was curious. And not even curious in a practical way – curious deep in his stomach.
But, Dr. Tottle was a professional and not one to entertain foolish ideas. So, he moved forward quickly, determined to find an available shuttle and leave the Justice forever.
AUTHOR NOTE
Thank you all so much for being patient with me. My sickness and college really took a bite out of my writing and it's taken extra efforts to try to catch up. But now that I'm on summer break I can hopefully start uploading chapters more frequently again. We're getting closer and closer to the final showdown you all know is coming and I can't wait to deliver. Love you all and hope you enjoyed the update :)