Bulma sighed as she rested her forehead against the tips of her fingers as she massaged her temples. For the past week, she'd had a dull headache that simply refused to relent. Her senses felt hyper-active; her vision was so acute, colors felt like they were reaching out to stab her eyeballs, she had trouble separating the overwhelming, clashing stenches that were so thick, her skin felt oily, and sounds – even sounds she was certain she shouldn't be able to hear! – reverberated within her skull with such insistence, her teeth ached. She felt strained with the effort of discerning what was what around her with senses that seemed determined to notice everything at once. Her focus was so scattered she found herself easily startled, and then angry that she had been caught off guard.
Many times, she would be in the middle of working on a project and – eventually – realize her mind was wandering. She was disinterested, surly, and restless, and she found that her tolerance was exceptionally low. Half the time she felt like beating the shit out of someone – for absolutely no reason at all - and the rest of the time all she wanted was to be left alone.
"Miss Bulma, as you reques-"
Shrieking more out of aggravation than shock, she shot to her feet and the chair she had been sitting on clattered to the floor. Whirling around on her assistant – the ugly brown one with green and white spots that made him look like bird crap – she just managed to stop herself before slapping him – it - silly. It cowered before her. That more than anything made her pause. She was pitifully frail; even the rodents here could likely kill her had they a mind to do it – and yet, here was this being that should appeal to her scientific mind - mostly because of how utterly gross it was - and it was afraid of her. A week ago, when she had run herself ragged trying to find a way to fix the wormhole, this pile of poo had insisted she rest and eat when she had been too busy to bother with her own human needs.
She waivered and allowed her knees to buckle. She felt so… restless. And angry, and provoked, and like she could take on the whole world if it looked at her wrong… She felt that way… but in reality, she knew she was a bony slip of laughably weak flesh and could blow away in the slightest of breezes compared to everyone around her. It was very infuriating.
The chair, feet away from her and tipped on its side, was immediately righted and thrust under her by her assistant before she fell to the floor. Bulma laughed at herself bitterly, but it came out a strangled cough that sounded suspiciously similar to a sob. Between the two of them, she felt like the bigger piece of shit no matter what he – it- resembled.
It patted her on the back and she drew comfort for half a second before she gave up and allowed her forehead to sink to the hard, cool surface of the work table. She was the asshole and this thing was comforting her. What the hell? With her head still resting against the edge of the table top, she took in a few deep breaths and stared at the ground. Then, feeling pathetic and angry, she sat up and squinted at her assistant who was – of course – standing right under an overly bright light. Damn her sensitive eyes!
"I'm sorry, what did I want?" she said, trying not to sound annoyed. She was in a pissy mood.
It – he..she? However a multi-sexed creature was designated – handed her a scanning device. A few days ago, her other assistant had noticed a deleted file buried deep within the main computer's programming. Bulma had waved it off, but her assistant – the squishy, transparent one – had diligently unraveled what – definitely a 'she' considering the internal reproductive organs were clearly visible - could before requesting help. Bulma had been dismissive at first, but then had finally relented and had taken a real look around the eighth time she was asked. There was a finesse that seemed.. familiar. She had followed the trail it until even she couldn't repair the damage enough to see what the original files where. In the end, she had only learned that someone had accessed the main computers from her lab to order an immediate departure of several ships to direct an assault on a distant, anti-Frieza system. Ok… random…
None of them had done it. And no one besides them could have done it.
Could they?
So, on the fly, she had informed her assistants she would be creating a scanning device that would uproot even the most subtle of anomalies that may be lurking in any of her other programs. Bulma had thrown the thing together a few days ago. They had found another string of code, even more difficult to ferret out than the last – in the healing pod.
Apparently, she had been in it a week ago.
Why she had been in it was a mystery. But the reconstructed programming had revealed something even more alarming. Hidden within her own genetic code was alien DNA.
Huh.
She was undoubtedly human still – but enough foreign genetic material was so seamlessly intertwined with her own that physical and mental changes were most certainly present. She just didn't know how she was effected. Where these changes new? It could explain her wildly sensitive senses and her bitchy moods, but – why was it there? Who had done it?
Did she do it?
It was her lab, and the records proved that, besides her two assistants, her code was the only one to have been used on the computers – or to enter and exit the facility - since the inception of the lab. On top of that, she had apparently locked everyone out for a period of two days about a week ago, just before she had used the healing pod….. just after the door had malfunctioned and had opened and shut several times of its own accord.
Strangely, that was also around the same time all of her projects had been destroyed. Had someone somehow entered exactly when the door malfunctioned, destroyed her projects, and injured her?
…And then put her in the healing tank just before creating random orders sending ships to the front line of a war. Riiiight.
So. She must have done it herself. There just wasn't any other explanation. Forget the door – it didn't fit with any theory so it likely didn't factor in. That left destroying her own stuff. Maybe she injured herself in the process. Then, for some reason, she woke up and created the orders. But that didn't explain the alien DNA.
Alien DNA….
She should have been terrified. Or excited. Something..! But the discovery felt bland. Maybe it really was the reason her mind – and her memories – seemed so jumbled. But over the past few days, she felt she had improved, and solving the mystery didn't seem as pressing. After all, she wasn't suffering from nearly as many lapses. She was getting better.
But according to the newest scans her assistant had just handed her, she was getting worse.
Her brain patterns were changing.
She rubbed her temples again. This couldn't be right.
She tapped the scanner again and wanded herself briefly before staring at the results on the screen. It beeped confirmation.
Angry, she stood up and threw the scanner across the room. Abruptly, she twirled and stormed to the regeneration tank, stripping as she went. Throwing her tanktop to the floor, she looked over her shoulder at bird-doo. She really should try to remember his – its - name. Diggle? No. Squiggle? Definitely not, though she couldn't help a corner of her mouth tug upwards. The name fit…
She cleared her throat, and forced her morbid sense of humor to the side. Just to be safe, she turned back towards the healing pod so she couldn't be distracted by it. Him. Raising her voice to compensate for her head facing away, she started barking orders.
"Run a full genetic diagnostic. I need to see if this alien DNA is invasively repatterning my own, and if it is, I need to know what chromosomes are or will be effected. I mean – will I still be me in a week? Will I suddenly grow gills? Sprout a tail?" She paused briefly as she spoke and couldn't help twisting her body so she could see her ass reflected on the glass of the tank as she imagined a furry monkey's tail. Shrugging to herself, she continued her diatribe and used the pod for balance as she pulled off her boots, one at a time.
"If it's a viral infection, I have to see if it's naturally occurring and curable or if it's bioengineered. If so, what is it programmed to…"
She paused, her jeans half way down her hips, and stared at her reflection. It was a surprise every time she saw herself – like she wasn't the self she expected to see. She was… different. Her eyes were larger and more slanted. Her irises were much bigger, and the thick black ring that surrounded them barely seemed to keep the feral blue fire within them contained. There was a slight silver sheen covering them that made her seem a little more animalistic and exotic. Her cheekbones were more pronounced under those wild eyes, which gave her a more striking, predatory look. Instead of a button, her nose was regal and straight above full, heart-shaped lips that covered teeth that were definitely sharper than they should be. Even her hair was thicker as it tumbled down her back in silky waves that gleamed, and her skin was a soft ivory that almost glowed iridescently.
She released the breath she had sucked in. She looked like herself, but… didn't. It was spooky. And then, if the rest of it weren't enough, there was the tattoo. The strange, swooping pattern seemed mysterious and otherworldly. It was beautiful. It made her seem enigmatic and mythical and tribal all in one. Like she were an elusive Amazonian huntress fresh out of the wilds, searching for a feast of blood to feed her power.
It was completely unique and she had no idea what it meant. All she knew about it was that she remembered getting it; knew everyone else treated it as a slave tattoo that marked her as property. And yet…
And yet… it seemed more alive than that. Or maybe she just wanted it to be.
She shook her head and kicked her jeans away, feeling foolish for feeling sad over a damn mark on her chin. Climbing the ladder, she peered at - Peggle! His name was Peggle! And nodded at him. Her. Whatever.
"Just let me know if there's any reason I should be worried." She grinned and ducked into the tank as it started to fill, but paused before closing the lid. "I mean, any more worried."
It – 'he' she decided for the sake of simplicity - nodded at her.
She tightened the straps of the mask around her face and blinked to adjust her vision as the liquid covered her head. She wasn't healing this time, so she hadn't included the sleep inducing drugs. She'd be awake and would be able to hear everything Peggle told her as he interpreted the data.
While she waited, she let her mind drift and floated serenely in the pod. She enjoyed the sensation so much, she closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to fly… the wind in her hair, the sun on her back… flying through clouds so fast, they chased her as she pierced through one side and burst out the other. Something in her chest tightened, but she escaped exploring what it was by opening her eyes and knocking on the inside glass of the tank to get Peggle's attention.
He looked up and nodded at her, then adjusted a clip to fit over his ear so he could speak through the attached microphone.
"One moment, Miss Bulma, and I'll activate the microphone in your mask."
He typed commands into the consul and glanced up at her briefly before dropping his gaze back to his work.
"It appears the foreign DNA is stable and will not advance further, or alter your genetic make-up any more-so than it has already. It seems to have effected your chromosomes in such a way that they are enhanced in random areas – "
"Enhanced?" she asked. "I can live with that."
Peggle glanced up briefly, but continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Enhanced, yes, especially if we compare your carbon-based, simian physiology to other, similar bipedal life forms. But enhancements may not be preferable. For example, your hyper sensitive senses.."
Bulma made a sour face. He had a point. The recycled air was so nasty, she felt nauseous all the time, the artificial lighting was murder on her eyes, and she'd claw out her ear drums if it meant she could have peace and quiet. But… she could learn to control it. She'd have to.
Peggle continued.
"There may be other side effects. In the middle of space, your immunity is effective because very little out here has been exposed to your genome, and has not had an opportunity to evolve to exploit vulnerabilities. Any immunity the alien DNA offers simply provides a way for pathogens to recognize and attack your otherwise untouchable human genes. A simple virus that wouldn't harm either genetic structure by itself could find an easy target with the two genomes are spliced together."
Ok. She was convinced. Maybe enhancements weren't all that great after all. Maybe there was a way to reverse this.
Again, he glanced up, but this time he remained silent. Bulma glared at him through the mask.
"And?" she prompted.
"The DNA has fully integrated with your own. Removing it would be impossible if you are to sustain life."
Bulma frowned. Well that was that.
She sighed. "It can't have been pleasant having my entire genetic make-up reform whether this is a naturally occurring thing or if it was designed - although if it was created, maybe there was a process that made integration simple and painless with few side effects. Can you tell if it was engineered? Did someone create it specifically to fuse with my shit? Or, despite my invulnerable, unrecognizable human immune system, is this DNA a spectacularly awesome brand of flu that could have killed me but somehow I miraculously survived? That will hopefully have way cooler side effects instead of nasty ones?"
Peggle stared at her blankly. Had she spoken English or something? Or did he not understand her slang? Hmm. Maybe it didn't translate well into galactic standard.
Oh. Maybe he had thought she was being literal when she mentioned shit.
She laughed, and an explosion of bubbles escaped through the mask. An odd sense of Déjà vu came over her, but she ignored it.
Peggle looked uncertain for a moment, but elected to dismiss the odd behavior.
"It is not consistent with an expected bio-engineering pattern, which would target specific areas of chromosomes and force precise alterations in the way the genes express. Instead, there are numerous genetic markers here that produced a random expression in every chromosome. This leads me to believe the DNA is from a living donor."
He paused, reading more data. "It would seem…"
Surprised, he looked up.
"It would seem the foreign DNA was specifically used as scaffolding to reinforce your own, degrading cellular structure." He frowned. "Such technology is very advanced. Few would be able to conduct such a procedure with such precision."
Bulma blinked. Well that explained the part of the why. She – or whoever – had introduced the new genetic material into her body to save her life. What it didn't explain was why she had needed this… transfusion.. in the first place. Or when it had been done. Or how.
Or –
Bulma's blood froze.
"Peggle.." she whispered.
He waited for her to continue.
"You said 'carbon-based,' 'simian physiology,' and 'bipedal.' Just… how many aliens match that description in the known universe?"
"There are twelve known races that match that description," he stated immediately. "Nine of which are compatible with your genetic coding."
"And… how many out of those nine are, um, available in this region of space?"
Peggle opened his mouth to answer, and then clicked his jaw closed. He frowned, deep in thought. He started to speak twice more before finally committing.
"Your own species was unknown to us until recently. Though you are the only being of this new race whom I have ever encountered, albeit scattered, your race continues to exist. However, others of your kind must be excluded because the DNA in question is foreign to your own."
He paused to weigh her reaction. She was too busy holding her breath to respond so he continued.
"One species is photo-aquatic and requires both gamma radiation from sunlight and water to synthesize oxygen. Though most forms of radiation are harmless to you unless ingested, gamma radiation would eradicate your cell structure – not reinforce it. Plus, you are not submerged in water. Six species have been eliminated by Frieza, four of which have been utterly exterminated and only exist in memory; the other two races are extinct, however individuals survive as.. trophies.."
He cocked his head and walked over to the tank to address her through the glass.
"The last species exists in a phased dimension juxtaposed with our own. They can interact with us on this plane, but cannot remain long in our environment. Despite any capability or desire they have to linger here, they simply.. phase back to their own dimension after a time. It's completely automated and they have little choice in the matter. I would assume any genetic material would undergo the same transition."
Bulma nodded. "So that means my donor is a survivor of one of the two species Frieza destroyed."
She stared at him through the green tinted liquid, and felt his heavy gaze in return.
"Which of those two are more likely?"
Peggle shuddered. "Better to have been allowed to die than choose between.."
He seemed to realize what he had said and abruptly returned to the consul to avoid her. He instructed the tank to drain. Bulma sat in silence, torn between wanting an explanation and not wanting one. When she had climbed out, dried, and dressed, her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she walked over to where he still stood, typing fervently. She crossed her arms and stood silently, waiting. By ignoring her so blatantly, the awkwardness seemed even more obvious. The minutes seemed to stretch. Finally, his eyes flicked to the side, but he didn't turn to look at her. He sighed.
"I will run more diagnostics. The genetic material is completely integrated with your own; it will take time to separate them. Once I have done so, I can instruct the program to reconstruct the two distinct genomes, enabling me to distinguish the likely donor species. Will this satisfy you?"
She nodded, not trusting her vocal chords. In the few minutes she had been standing there, she had started to doubt. What if it really had been her own doing? And what if she had been the one to destroy her lab and design a method to change her brain patterns? Granted, she probably would have been more thorough and would not have left the residual programming that alerted her to all of this in the first place. Unless, of course, she had left something behind to be found. After all, she knew better than anyone that sometimes she didn't correct flaws right away because allowing them to exist had benefits. There were times she even programmed flaws into her work. Especially if she meant for herself to utilize the flaw no one else knew was there. But what if she hadn't meant for herself to discover this flaw? After all, if she were honest – she hadn't been the one to discover it. Uncharacteristically, she had even argued against looking into it. Maybe that was a part of the original idea, to prevent her from discovering any flaws she couldn't completely hide from herself.
If she had been the one to do this – there must have been a reason. Should she trust herself and let it go?
Assuming she had done this in the first place!
She caught herself nervously chewing a nail. Well, trying to chew a nail. Apparently even her nails had been effected by this whole alien DNA thing. They were stronger than ever, and had a shiny, blue-black tint that was actually quite pretty now that she had noticed.
Exasperated – with her lack of focus, her explosive, uncontrollable senses…. her uncertainty and doubt… She spun on her heels and walked towards the exit. Swallowing her suddenly overwhelming desire to either claw her eyes out or sit down and cry, she tossed her hair and spoke in her most nonchalant voice.
"I'm sure it doesn't matter in the end. It's not like it will change anything, right? Um.."
She turned towards the exit, not knowing what else to do but wholly wanting to be anywhere else right now.
"I'm going to go get us some food."
She made it half way down the hallway before she noticed she had practically ran away from her own lab without wearing shoes. She stared at her bare feet a moment, but steadfastly refused to go back. There was no reason to feel infuriated, out of place, absent minded, disinterested – or any of the other things she had been displaying the last week. And she'd be damned if she would show evidence of these behaviors by returning for something she clearly shouldn't have forgotten in the first place.
She tore her hand away from her mouth, remembering it was futile to chew on her nails. Obviously she had kicked the habit at some point because they were uncharacteristically long for her. Either that or she had been unable to chew them due to their unbreakable strength.
She stopped again in the middle of the hallway, frowning. How long did it take for nails to grow out? Certainly longer than a week?
Something grabbed her from behind and hauled her in what felt like a single swoop to a hidden niche. Flung and pinned against the wall by her throat, her feet were left to dangle below her. She was too shocked to comprehend what was happening. It wasn't until an enormous, deep, blood-purple eye with a slit pupil blinked with an amber-colored second eyelid that she noticed something had grabbed her. The eye blinked again as it studied her. The face it belonged to was so close to her own, she couldn't make out features or details. This allowed all of her focus to dwell on the full weight of the omniscient eye peering at her.
No words were spoken, but something excruciating stabbed her right behind the eyes. A presence bloomed there, and with total fear, she realized her mind was being violated by the animal pinning her to the wall. She struggled in vain, thrashing her limbs and trying to block out the putrid sensation of his disgusting rape of her mind as he oozed over her thoughts. He picked through her brain slowly, relishing her humiliation and helplessness as he rifled through her memories. She sensed his astonishment and felt him circle and probe. And then he pressed just… there… and a burst as something crackled just before a flood of overwhelming sensations, pictures, and associations tore up through her unconsciousness like a tsunami obliterating a dam.
Somehow through the torrent, something furious and primal surged forward and took control. She swam above the crashing waves of memory, surviving them only by instinctively resisting their pull on her consciousness. Like watching through someone else's eyes, condemned as a witness, she felt her mind wrap around itself in a cocoon of protection, gather focus and strength, and then… scream outward in an explosion of telepathic terror to attack the invasive mind within her own.
She forced it from her mind and into the skull of its owner, but she didn't stop. Even as he lost strength and dropped her, collapsed and shrank away from her in fear, she poured into him with violence fed by rage. She recognized this mind. When she had first arrived on Frieza's flag ship, she had been awoken by the mental probing of this.. feeble nothing. She remembered his telepathic strength offensively – and she remembered his utter lack of defense. She burned through his mind like a firestorm, pulling from his mind his own memories and information. Since she had arrived, he had been probing her for weaknesses he was determined to find – no one had ever been able to prevent his probing before! - but he hadn't found any until now. He had believed it was a species trait that allowed her immunity. He hadn't known she was telepathic until he had just triggered it from a buried memory. He hadn't realized he would awaken latent memories even she hadn't been aware she possessed….
It was almost a pity, seeing him writhe in agony as she seared his synapses and boiled his brain. She looked down at him impassively, watching the blood burst from his nostrils. It wasn't until an eye loudly popped, startling her, that she truly took in what she was doing. Thick goo seeped from a newly imploded socket and oozed down his cheek to drip to the floor. Revolted, she withdrew from the corpse's decimated mind and fled.
She had to get back to the lab. It wasn't far – only a few steps away – but she could already feel the memories slipping away… she couldn't forget why it was so important for her to hold on to them for just a few seconds longer.
She burst into the lab and flung herself to the nearest work table. In her desperate search, she threw aside anything and everything that wasn't the object of her hunt. No. Nonono! She needed to remember! So much counted on it..
In frantic relief, she uncapped the pen with her teeth and scribbled like a mad woman on the closest surface. Already, she couldn't remember everything she had wanted to tell herself.. she needed to know… she had to tell herself…
Peggle gently gripped her shoulder and pulled at her until she allowed herself to turn and face him. His eyes were full of concern.
"Miss Bulma?"
She blinked up at him, lost and confused.
"I…I," she swallowed.
Shaking, she allowed herself to be lowered to the chair just behind her. She fought to compose herself. She felt – panicked and nauseated, like something vile and inhuman had desecrated her. Her face crumpled as she gasped, her body rigid with unshed tears. Peggle patted her shoulder, at a loss. She groped at the much needed comfort and grabbed his three-fingered hand in her own, squeezing it between her hands like it were a lifeline.
After she had managed to somewhat calm her breathing, Peggle squeezed her hands and she loosened her death grip on him. She looked up and he smiled at her in reassurance.
"You weren't gone very long, but it seems I didn't need much time to discover from which species your donor belonged…"
She sucked in a breath and stared at him wide eyed. She nodded almost imperceptibly, but he understood.
"I was hoping for the species that reproduces by forming a parasite that gradually swells until the host bursts, releasing a clone; though it would be painful, it would at least be manageable. After all, Frieza is amused that a single survivor can self-replicate in such a manner indefinitely. He's kept the same one for almost a century."
She pressed her lips together in a line. He was hoping for that? That meant something was worse? She made an exasperated, strangled noise from the back of her throat. Peggle's body went rigid, and his pallor paled. She frowned and made the noise again – only this time, she startled herself because she noticed that it sounded remarkably like a growl. Peggle pulled his hand away from hers and stepped back. Hurt, she glowered as he retreated.
"What am I, Peggle, that you suddenly fear me?"
He put up his hands to placate her.
"Miss Bulma, in retrospect, you've been remarkably controlled this past week, considering what I know now that I did not know then."
She drew in a breath. She'd been a downright, cast-iron bitch this past week. And that was considered controlled?
What was she?
He fidgeted. "The last species was likely the only one that deserved extinction. Frieza destroyed it because that race was ruthless, aggressive, violent, very powerful, and telepathic. They used their telepathy to enhance their other… skills. Frieza used them initially as warriors, but they grew so powerful and out of control, even Frieza feared what they could be capable of. Miss Bulma, there is only a trace amount of this DNA in your cellular structure, but I fear the potential influence of even that miniscule amount over you. I can't imagine why this DNA was chosen, except to make you a weapon. I implore you, never look at a full moon. Though I doubt any great transformation would take place, it's possible any control you have over yourself could be lost to you. Stay yourself. Don't become a weapon."
Bulma closed her eyes, but his words scalded her ears. She should have felt afraid. Instead, she felt such a strong, deep pang of nostalgia - soft and familiar yet raw and hungry – it was dizzying. Peggle must have mistaken her pained expression of longing for one of dismay because when she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with sympathy. He couldn't understand that she knew very well which species he spoke of. What he couldn't know is that Goku wasn't like that. He was always gentle, always in control – unless there was a reason, and he chose to act. She was certain that even in full moonlight and a tail, Goku could never hurt anyone ever again. The loss of his grandfather had done that. And telepathy? Ha! Goku was anything but! He had an instinct for someone's nature.. but he was too damn gullible to be more than intuitive.
No. DNA from that Saiyan could never be dangerous.
But the last time she had seen Goku was – months ago. Right before she lost him forever in that black hole that sucked him into the unknown. She wanted to smile. It would be so like him to save her life and then completely disappear, never to be seen again. She wanted to smile, but she couldn't.
She looked down, dejected, and was surprised to see a pen in her hand.
Her eyes snapped to the work table. How had she forgotten her frantic need to write a message to herself?
There, written in English block-letters, were words that froze her to the core. Not because she knew what it meant, but because she didn't. And yet – clearly - moments ago, it had meant everything to her.
SAVE VEGETA
093.75r
093.75r
That was the planetary system where those ships had been ordered to go.
Frieza's front line.
She looked up at Peggle. He was peering over her shoulder, but looked perplexed. He couldn't read the letters.
"Who's Vegeta?" she whispered.
When Peggle snapped his head up to look at her, horrified, she knew.
Vegeta was a Saiyan.
