Vegeta coughed and sputtered. By some miracle, Commander Son had managed to pull him aboard his own pod, an antiquated thing from Legacy's small fleet. There was room for two, and Vegeta found himself in the co-pilot's seat as the commander expertly maneuvered through the debris blocking their path at every turn.

"Lieutenant, that explosion knocked us way off course, but I finally have a visual on Nimbus," Goku announced into the short-range.

"Acknowledged," came Lieutenant Piccolo's staticky reply.

Vegeta rubbed his throbbing head. How long had he been out, anyway? "Why aren't you using subspace?" he asked, shifting to get a better view of the starship in front of them.

"Communications are spotty. How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" Goku replied, his usual happy-go-lucky manner replaced by a clipped, no-nonsense tone.

"Like I'll survive," Vegeta replied, squinting into the distance. "What's all that debris from?" He turned to look at the commander, whose face was set into a deep frown.

"Sir?" he pressed after a long moment of silence.

Goku sighed. "The evacuation pods. The Ice-jin hit the evacuation pods."

"Legacy evacuated?" Vegeta asked first, incredulous that Bardock had actually gone through with it. Then the horror set in as he understood what Goku was saying. "How many were destroyed?"

Goku shook his head. "I don't know. I can't tell from here, but Nimbus looks like they're already receiving the first of the convoy, so at least some must have survived the assault." He took a deep breath in through his nose and closed his eyes. "Those poor people."

"Our poor people," Vegeta corrected, his frown matching the other Saiyan's. A great sense of loss struck him right through the heart as another shockwave tossed their pod into the field of debris.

Roshi stood solemnly and surveyed the wreckage of the Legacy. He had watched helplessly as her captain sacrificed himself to prevent the further massacre of his people, the transporters unable to gain a solid enough lock on him to pull him out in time before the generation vessel rammed full-force into the Ice-jins.

Half of the Saiyans were already aboard, including Bardock's wife Gine. More evacuees arrived every second, but as news of the pods' destruction spread, Roshi could almost feel the crushing weight of their collective pain at the center of his very being.

"Were there any survivors aboard Legacy?" he asked quietly, hoping against hope not to hear the answer he feared.

"Negative, sir," came Yamcha's forlorn reply.

"I can't see anything through the debris, Captain," Yamcha said. "The sensors were all knocked out when Legacy crashed. They'll have to rely on visual contact to find their way back."

Roshi nodded his acknowledgement as he watched through the viewscreen for any sign of movement, willing his officers back to the Nimbus-if they were alive at all. The shockwave had sent everything within a 500-kilometer radius wildly off-course. He only hoped they hadn't been demolished by the wreckage and that their rations and air supply would last until they found their way home. With all but the most vital systems non-functional on Nimbus, he had no way to scan for life-signs, acquire a transporter lock, or even communicate with any nearby vessels.

As the minutes dragged into hours, Roshi couldn't help but mentally prepare what he might say in a eulogy should any of them not make it back alive.

He knew Commander Son would receive posthumous accolades for his incredible service to Starfleet. Even as a cadet, he showed incredible promise, and after the academy he had climbed steadily through the ranks, twice receiving field promotions for heroic effort and excellent leadership during crisis situations. He was the youngest first officer in Starfleet, maybe even the Federation, and his loss would ripple throughout the quadrant.

Lieutenant Vegeta was a valuable member of his crew as well. As the first Saiyan royal born after the warrior race joined the Federation, he was chosen to pursue a life among the stars. He was headstrong and proud, but fiercely loyal and followed orders as easily as he gave them. He often hid his complicated feelings from all but those closest to him, and even they were lucky to get a glimpse at the maelstrom that swirled inside the prince's head. The loss of his stalwart presence aboard Nimbus would leave a hole in the old captain's heart.

And then there was Lieutenant Piccolo. The stoic Namekian was a man of few words, but Roshi's respect grew for him each time they had served alongside one another. Often the most level-headed of his officers, the lieutenant could be counted on for the same wise advice any of his brethren would be willing and eager to bestow, but delivered in as monotone a voice as possible. He was different from the rest of the Namekian race, not quite an outcast (since the Namekians didn't believe in such things), but not quite one of them, either.

It was the families that Roshi didn't want to face most of all. It was never easy contacting the parents and siblings of a fallen crewman, but when the relationship was as personal as it was between the captain and his officers…

He never was good at maintaining his decorum in those situations. His hope was beginning to stretch thin. Quietly, he requested the status of their system repairs even though he knew it would be another day at least before they were well-equipped enough to begin a proper search.

Roshi had fallen asleep in his chair, choosing to remain on the bridge until there was news. The communications officer on night duty nudged him gently awake.

"Sir," the young woman said. "We have communications. We're back in touch with the Junpak't."

Hundreds of lives lost, and the fate of the rest uncertain. Bulma squeezed Chichi's hand as the captain reported the dire situation. The worst was over, but now they were in crisis management mode, and he didn't have time to give them any details except that they still hadn't heard back from Commander Son or Lieutenants Vegeta and Piccolo.

Even Chichi's dependable optimism was suffering, though she tried to hide it. A tear slid down the empath's cheek, and she turned toward Bulma with big, bright eyes. "They're gonna make it," she whispered. "Right?" Bulma knew that she had to deal with her own emotions on top of everyone else's in the Junpak't, so she just nodded in response, taking her turn being the strong one.

But then panic struck and pierced the thin veil of her courage, breaking down the wall that separated her inner feelings from the calm she aimed to project and causing her to retreat back into herself. If Vegeta didn't make it, she wouldn't just lose the father of her unborn child. She would be losing her oldest friend, the one person in the universe who understood how torn she felt, having a foot in two different worlds.

She'd be losing the love of her life, and she didn't want to imagine her future if he wasn't in it.

Bulma screwed her eyes shut, praying to any higher power that was listening that he could feel her through their bond when she pleaded for his safe return. Please, Vegeta. I need you. I love you. Please come home.

A surge of emotion washed over her-feelings that were like hers, but that didn't belong to her. She opened her eyes to glance over at Chichi, who was still staring out the window forlornly, then over at Launch and Rabi, who were busy piloting the ship and preparing to render aid to any pods that were stranded from Nimbus. Then she felt it again: an overwhelming sense that things were going to be okay. She locked eyes with Chichi, who gaped back at her.

"You feel it, too?" she whispered, quivering lips turning upward into a tentative smile, then a full-fledged grin before she started crying from sheer relief.

Of course she would have a bond with her own mate, too.

Bulma leapt forward to envelop her friend in a tight hug as Roshi announced that they'd found the pods.

Vegeta was coming home.