Space is on Fire
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of its characters
Note: Nameks are hermaphrodites in this story, there are no pairings currently so it isn't relevant in that context but it will be mentioned.
Warnings: swearing, violence.
Chapter Two
That diamond cuts deep
The blonde lieutenant docked at one of the decommissioned ports on the underbelly of the large, old imposing ship. It wouldn't help them hide from sensors, but it would stop a young eager Saiyan hybrid from spotting the police cruiser's sharp silver and blue paint against the worn out black of the warship out of a porthol. They would have to decloak to open the air lock, and they couldn't leave the Alira floating in space. Piccolo released the lock and looked at Eighteen.
"I'll go alone, you should stay in case something goes wrong"
It was weak, but he couldn't help it. She smirked, she had seen this coming but hadn't expected it quite this last minute, they were about to step onto Saiyan's soil.
"And if one of us gets captured, the other can continue the mission"
"I could make that an order"
She opened the door and oxygen filled the transition pod between the ships.
"You'll have to"
He smiled in a rare display and followed her. The fact that they may die soon, or not see eachother again, was ever present in the back of his mind. When did he become so sentimental? It would take a few minutes to break the code for The Bardock's access port and Piccolo removed the panel, leaving Eighteen to stand anxiously but confidently, with one sure hand on her gun. A few painful minutes passed by and with a click, he replaced the metal. Her voice was full of fun and fear.
"Heads up space dust"
Piccolo raised an eyebrow as he withdrew his own weapon. She chuckled at his response.
"My dad used to call me that, it's the only thing I remember." She paused before asking, trying to delay their departure perhaps. "Didn't you have a nickname when you were a kid?"
Creasing his brow, he loaded the gun and braced his hand against the access panel. He thought of his strange parents.
"Hellspawn"
She gave him an incredulous look and tried not to laugh, biting her lip.
"Oh"
Piccolo hit the button and the door opened, struggling as it did. The corridor was empty and Piccolo breathed in silent relief. The walls were damaged and in need of repair, dim with emergency lighting. They moved quickly, having studied the ship's internal specs enough to have a rough idea of where to go, but with no idea who was on the ship and where, their chances of success were not as high as they'd like.
Their mission: Find the Warship Bardock and arrest Kakkarot, Son of Bardock. Arresting his sons was a secondary agenda, although they both had the opinion they posed a far more significant threat. There was a school of thought at Headquarters that the brothers may kill each other in a fight for the throne. One could only hope.
The dark metal felt cold as they leaned against either side of the door, this one would lead to a functioning part of the ship. There was no reason to think Gohan wasn't already on board but Eighteen had learned to hope for the best, to save from drowning in fear. She remembered so clearly being revived after Dr. Gero's arrest; the encompassing terror and confusion. Piccolo nodded and they pressed the door release, quietly thankful that the Saiyan's were not keen on automated systems.
The next corridor was alive with crew and civilians, it wasn't much information to go on but it would be enough to choose their disguise. He shut the door quickly. Eighteen activated her clothing device, to create a hologram, and Piccolo did the same. Since Saiyan crew uniforms would be a little more difficult to believe for a human and a Namekian, they pressed again for the simple black outfits of the civilians. Krillin certainly had done his research. Their own uniforms sat, still present inside the photon's protective blanket, made from materials hard to replicate and incredibly resistant. They also contained a distinct mineral lining that Bulma had engineered deliberately, in order to track their own personnel on missions exactly like these. The defensive vest would still do its job, hopefully.
Long black fitted trousers, and a black long sleeve shirt, Eighteen thought they looked good. She smiled wryly. She gestured with a deceptively delicate hand towards the door.
"After you then, hellspawn"
Deep tones grumbled at the comment. Holstering their weapons, they passed through the door into the busy wide corridor, hoping to blend in. Eighteen was striking looking for a captured human, and Piccolo tried not to think about how a Saiyan might just like to keep her for themselves, as they had done with so many humans. And Nameks. He scowled.
Saiyan hybrids walked by, within inches of them, and they kept their heads down whilst simultaneously looking everywhere. The patrolling crew passed with purpose, their thick, wild dark hair and plated armour making them stand out from the civilians. Saiyan tails were wrapped securely around their waist, and many of them were taller than Eighteen had seen before, and some were mixed with races she also didn't recognise. They quickened their pace a little, and Piccolo accidentally made eye contact with a young Namek coming in the opposite direction. His little face was bruised with violet, and his ears dropped down when he saw the older Namekian. A gentle sadness filled Piccolo and he clenched his jaw with indecision. He let the boy pass, on to his miserable fate. The corridor had opened up now into a large circle with a majestic tree in the middle, shops and stalls lining the room's interior. He turned around, not able to stop himself, to see the back of the boy's head as he slowly stepped on. It hurt.
Whipping his head back round, he came face to face with a Saiyan, ebony eyes on fire and inches from his own. He couldn't help the gasp that left him and he flickered his vision slightly, Eighteen was moving ahead unfazed. Good.
"Designation, Namek"
The deep, angry voice echoed in the room and a lot of the nearby hustle stopped, including Eighteen who used the opportunity to turn around in mock surprise. She frowned, entertainment must be lacking here. This hybrid was almost as tall as her partner, and broad, reeking of energy and violence. More notably he wasn't wearing Kakarot's crew uniform, and she quickly surmised he must belong to Gohan's ship.
Piccolo said nothing, having no idea what a designation would even mean. He opened his mouth but was thankfully cut off by a childlike voice.
"He only speaks Namekian"
The young boy stood by his side, grabbing his hand. The Saiyan looked down with disdain at the youngster, waiting for an explanation.
"I'm child 17 and he is adult civilian crew number 21, he works for his Majesty's engineering detail"
The hybrid seemed to contemplate this. Eighteen waited with held breath, trying to look inconspicuous, the kid had quick thinking. He laughed, hollowly.
"I wish you all couldn't talk"
He walked on, shoving Piccolo as he passed. His own dark red eyes met with Eighteen's in quiet relief and he placed a hand on the boy's head. The crowd returned to their trade, whispering in ruined black clothes and exchanging currency.
"Thanks kid. What's your real name?"
"Dende"
The child smiled sadly, and Piccolo sighed. He was likely alone on this ship, and in trouble, and he would have to stay that way. He made a silent promise. If we succeed, I'll pick you up kid.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Vegeta watched on with dark eyes from where he leaned on the bulkhead, with muscled arms crossed. The namek and the android, of all people. He didn't doubt their abilities, not at all, if anyone could pull off whatever laughable plan they had hatched it was them two. But they wouldn't pass unrecognised for long, they probably didn't realise that their police cruiser had already been spotted, three minutes ago. He grimaced deeply, he also wasn't sure that they would take his presence here among his Saiyan brethren without a scene and if they survived, would be telling the humans all about it. And Bulma. Not that he cared.
Both of them continued on, leaving the child behind to face whatever grim fate the universe had in mind, and he raised a thick dark brow at that. Losing your human touch Namek?
Piccolo thoughts whirred in his head, they would need to find Kakarot quickly, if Gohan was already there they would have to take both. The chances of that were slim, their combined power would overwhelm their own to the extent that it might even be embarrassing. He wondered if they'd made a mistake. They moved through the crowd quickly, unaware that Saiyan patrols were already hunting for them, and courtesy of Gohan, they now knew exactly who they were looking for.
Vegeta stepped after them quietly, ignoring the odd feeling brewing deep in his gut. They were walking into a trap.
Gohan sat back in his father's chair, enjoying the feel of the strong metallic arms under his fingers. The taste of victory already felt delightful on his tongue. He had been tracking the Alira for some time and had stomached some criticism from his brother for letting it get this far, but Goten wouldn't understand. His younger kin was a keen, calculated strategist, and he didn't appreciate savouring the flavour of his prey. Neither did his father, really, Kakarot just wanted to be king and spend his free time bothering his human mother. That was unfair. He also loved battle, especially the long fight, and had trained his sons well. Smarter than he looked, and a lot more perceptive than he acted. But not more so than his offspring, as he would eventually find out.
He thought of Piccolo, the Namek who had eluded him for so long. He leaned back in the throne, thinking of those dark ruby eyes wide with horror, the forest green skin streaked with violet blood. The scent, metallic and flowery. He also remembered that moment when he felt sorry, how the dark Prince had fallen in line with those humans and their delusions. Things could have been so different. And that young Lieutenant of his would be a nice addition to his army, once his engineers reprogrammed her. An assassin, perhaps, the one he would use to kill his father. Goten watched his brother from his position on the bridge, basking in the throne's glory and grimaced, finding Gohan had an air for the dramatic that he didn't appreciate. He was obsessed with that Namek, and this messing around was putting a lot of their work in jeopardy.
The patrol units lined up in the corridor ahead of the two intruders, and Vegeta neared their position. The majority of his consciousness agreed that he should let them be captured, killed, and relax in the knowledge that he could carry on uninterrupted. So why couldn't he? He swore under his breath, and as the door opened, Piccolo heard it, recognised it and stopped short. Eighteen walked through the door confidently but the Namek was pulled backwards roughly. The door closed, leaving his young Lieutenant on the other side, just a flash of her white blonde hair in his eyes and she was gone. He was roughly pushed to the side and viciously grabbed the attacker, hearing the ambush on the other side of the grey metal. Eighteen shouting in protest. Vegeta shoved Piccolo inside the alcove of the bulkhead as the door opened again, everyone's attention focussed on the violent display between Eighteen and the Saiyan crew.
He pressed himself against the writhing Namek, a strong tanned hand clasped firmly over jade lips. He hissed.
"Be quiet"
Piccolo stopped, considered his position, and narrowed his eyes with burning questions. The Saiyan stayed, both squashed into the narrow space tucked behind and between the walls. He had been quietly grateful that there were no hiding, stolen children here, as there usually were. He didn't enjoy the proximity, and knew for a fact that the Namek likely hated it even more. At this distance he could smell the faint combination of his own sweat the Namek's excessively laundered clothes. He released Piccolo's mouth and the larger man shifted, Saiyan armour digging into his chest unpleasantly. This was unbearable. The sounds of Eighteen being beaten and dragged away echoed strongly in his long ears. Anger consumed him so much that the Saiyan questioned his decision.
Vegeta put a finger to his lips. Not yet.
He cursed himself for this impulsive decision, if they hadn't been seen it would be a miracle. He'd known Piccolo for some time, although their relationship had been strained, if non existent altogether. The number of Namek's he'd killed in cold blood made this close position a dangerous one for the Saiyan, and although he was stronger and Piccolo was severely outnumbered, he knew more than most that a burning desire for vengeance was a strong motivator. The patrol left, most likely dragging Eighteen along with them, and Vegeta breathed out, not knowing he had even held his breath.
"What the fuck is going on Vegeta?"
The Namek bit out his name, and moved to step out of the enclosed space but Vegeta held him there, pushing him painfully into the metal struts on the wall. He whispered.
"Not yet, they're looking for you"
And for some reason I care, but don't ask me why. Please don't ask me.
Vegeta's broad chest heaved, feeling the lack of oxygen in the small space. Patrols moved back and forth behind the wall and for a moment they came close to narrow opening. They must have dismissed it, too small perhaps. Thankfully Vegeta was well aware how lithe and sinewy Nameks can be, it hadn't taken much effort to squeeze the tall jade warrior in here. Despite their harrowing situation, his own body being flush against the other's, the heat and small space, the excitement of the chase, it was making him feel very uncomfortable. Minutes rolled by and the Saiyan cursed the tiny space. Piccolo noticed the Saiyan's shifting around and rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly, whispering.
"Stop moving"
Vegeta shot him a warning glare.
"Shut up, Namek"
He didn't reply, his mind on his captured partner, although he did spare the smaller man a contemptuous glance. The voiced reply was vicious.
"Oh fuck off"
Piccolo hissed under his breath, the scent of Vegeta heavy in the air. He had spent a long time around humans and Saiyans, and most of them male, forever surrounded by a sea of testosterone and sweat. It had been a gentle relief to assign Eighteen to his ship. He didn't advertise his being a hermaphrodite but he had a suspicion Vegeta was aware now if he wasn't before, Saiyans had a keen sense of smell and probably able to detect pheromones; his own at this proximity must be perplexing.
Vegeta did already know, not that it mattered except for the unfortunate violations some Namek's had experienced in the hands of curious Saiyan officers. Said officers had been disciplined, Saiyans were monsters is many ways but they did not torture their victims for no reason, they killed them, or enslaved them for work or reproduction. Kakarot had little interest in wasted efforts, and at least that Vegeta had respect for. He thought of Bulma, and how close they had come to taking her. His temper darkened.
Enough time had passed, and Vegeta leaned back to let the Namek out, albeit with some difficulty. Piccolo folded out of the space much like the ballet dancers moved at the lengthy theatre shows Bulma had forced him to attend. He marched to a control panel on the bulkhead wall and grabbed Piccolo's arm roughly. Before their position could be reported, they both appeared on Vegeta's ship. It was brightly lit and extremely advanced, it practically echoed with Bulma's appropriate smugness.
"Stay here"
Vegeta's words were barely out of his mouth when Piccolo, his mind sharp and his anger sharper, promptly hit Vegeta, hard. The Saiyan hit the floor with an anticlimactic thud. He wasn't unconscious for long but he didn't hear the Namek's words before he disappeared.
"I don't think so"
The Saiyan sat up too late, the image of fading emerald forever bored into his vision.
"That ungrateful fucker!"
Gohan blinked in thought, they had captured the Android officer but the Namek had eluded capture. Again. He tapped careful fingers on the panel before him. And where was Vegeta?
Goten's soft voice caught his attention.
"Patrols are not returning anything useful. They keep bringing the wrong Namekians"
Idiots.
"Nevermind, put them on high alert but return to normal duties. I'll find him"
Gohan grabbed a long, decorative knife, sliding it into its sheath at his waist. This game was quickly losing its entertainment value, what had been an interesting hunt would soon become an embarrassment. He would even have to reschedule his afternoon tea with his mother, who he had grown very fond of in his adulthood. Thoughts of how his father treated her, dismissively and tormenting, were pushed down as he exited the bridge of the warship. Black and silver armour clung to his frame, and he thought the scar made him all the more menacing as he walked briskly down the corridor.
Vegeta slammed both firsts down on the computer display. The situation was rapidly getting out of control and he realised that he would need assistance to avoid this blowing up in his face completely. He barked at the computer, swiping away black locks that had become plastered to his forehead.
"Open channel to 12, 5, 8, 16, encrypted"
Krillian's concerned face appeared on the viewscreen and it paled considerably. Vegeta did not make house calls.
"Your Lieutenant has been captured, and the Namek is on the ship looking for her. It won't be long before they realise i'm involved"
Krillin frowned.
"I thought you were tracking Gohan's ship"
He sneered, spittle landing on the tiled floor.
"I was"
He nodded.
"Right, I'll send whoever I can"
Krillin closed the channel, he leaned forward with his head in his hands. Eighteen. His first thought was for the young, energetic woman who had a lifetime ahead of her. His second, for the irritable Namekian he called a friend.
He stood, grabbing his worn brown jacket and his rarely used weapon from the top drawer of his antique desk. There were only two units between his outpost and the ship, and he would make a third. Throwing on a vest, he secured it tightly, his hands sweating more than he would like. It was a while since he had left bureaucracy behind to go after bad guys, that was Piccolo's area.
Leaving the office, white tiles passed beneath his feet and in the open room he looked for his friend. He placed a small, strong hand on Tien, who was seated working on some complex cold case file, a file that might even seem preferable now. The cyclops looked around, all three eyes narrowing in question. Krillin's words were laced with determination.
"I need your help, bud"
Eighteen kicked, her boot flying sharply and almost grazing the Saiyan hybrid regarding her. They had deactivated every device they could get their rough hands on, and she was now tied securely in her torn burgundy uniform, staring viciously with cold blue eyes.
"You're wasting your time, you won't find him"
The Saiyan rolled his eyes, not really interested. She recognised him, his quiet countenance a considerable contrast to his brother. Goten turned to face her, coolly.
"It won't matter either way, I have no interest in the Namek"
He looked at her form thoroughly, not like she was an attractive woman, but like she was an interesting specimen. Eighteen's chest tightened painfully but she had promised herself she wouldn't be scared. Her Commander would not find her here, cowering and crying, she would die with dignity or not at all.
"What is your interest then?"
Her words didn't crack and she was proud. Digging deep, she brought forward those buried dark thoughts she had upon waking in the lab, and fought to keep it at the forefront of her mind.
"Wouldn't you like to know"
For a warrior race, she found them to be overly wordy, beating around the bush at every opportunity. It was extremely annoying. His Saiyan tail whipped around, not tied securely as they usually were. Ego whipping around with it.
She scowled, looking around. There would be a way out, and she would find it.
Piccolo stormed down the corridor, slamming his fist surely and relentlessly into every Saiyan hybrid he came across. Crimson blood lay heavy under his claws and if he hadn't been so intensely mad, he would have found it disgusting. His Commander's uniform was now on display, not feeling the need to masquerade anymore. It gave him a purpose he wouldn't ever admit to. Another patrol rounded the corner and he flew at them, his large frame impacting loudly into the first two. On his knees, he pounded into the chest of a young man, surprised eyes wide with having no real idea why he was fighting. Piccolo's fist drove through the bone, cracking and shattering, blood and tissue moving around his hand in a vile display. The light in his black eyes died quickly, and if he had time, Piccolo might have even regretted it. The other Saiyan had fallen unconscious at the first collision, thankfully.
The third Saiyan was stood there, looking down at the other two a little shocked, unmoving and clearly poorly trained. Younger this time. They were running out troops. He stood, covered in blood and panting, sharp canines bared in barely contained violence. A name, written on her uniform, sounded strange and familiar at the same time. Pan. In fact, it sounded very human. She stood there, not scared, but definitely teenaged and unsure. Like she had bitten off a great deal more than she could chew. Time ticked by, more than he had to spare, he'd have to kill her. The sickness from killing the boy laying at his feet felt deeper than it should and he realised something. She looked like him. Gohan, or maybe even Goten. Maybe she would make a good hostage.
He grabbed her, dragging her along the hall. She had a lot of power, and he could feel it swimming in the pale skin gripped beneath his bloody hand, but still she didn't act. She was conflicted, and he used the opportunity to throw her into one of the wall's many depressions. She might not come willingly. He withdrew his gun and rammed it into her small, sweet face. He couldn't take her, but would he kill her? He swore, loudly, and instead brought the gun down to the back of her head, she fell. She would be awake in seconds, Saiyans didn't fall for long. He ran to the next door and sparing one quick glance backwards, keyed the door open.
Gohan felt the energy of his daughter dip and he stopped dead, looking to his right, eyes seeing beyond the bulkhead. She clearly hadn't put up much of a fight and he scowled, a too human temperament courtesy of her intelligent, disobedient mother no doubt. He suspected Pan had a hand in Videl's escape, and might have even left herself had things gone a little differently. Still, he loved her, and she'd learn. He picked up his pace, not able to blast through the wall as he'd like, due to Bardock's paranoid reinforcements.
It wasn't long before he came across carnage, almost Saiyan in its raw, disembodied trail. Blood, tissue and broken bones, smashed, crushed faces. Gohan blinked, feeling mildly surprised. Piccolo was generally very exact and controlled, preferring skill over brute force, and he smiled. Finally, it's getting to you is it Namek?
Piccolo stopped just short of the next thick, worn metal door. His dark violet jacket was wet and dotted with things he couldn't even begin to describe, but that was all just details now.
Eighteen was ahead. He could hear her charming accent, faint, and laced with sarcasm.
Gohan was behind. But not for long.
Until next time,
W.