Chapter Two - Usurper.

Our ship, the SSJ 9000+, made landing just in time for breakfast. Being Saiyans, there was a dining hall just off the landing bay and we'd called ahead for the meal. We children had been lethargic for the last leg of the journey as infinite blackness seemed to sludge by our windows, but the moment we touched the gravitational pull of the planet we'd become excited and alert. By the time the door had opened and we were cleared for unboarding we all but burst from the belly of the ship. Half of us were stampeding in excitement, while several others tried to be dignified and proud. I settled for beaming giddily but not running ahead.

Besides, what was the point of getting to breakfast first if we still had to wait for Father, who would never disgrace himself by making a fool of himself over a simple meal, to arrive at the table before we could eat? I was the only one of my fathers children who'd washed up before sitting down, I didn't have to double back and then be reseated. Which meant I made sure that I got a good seat, plenty of meat and fresh produce within reach.

My fathers soldiers entered after that and took their seats. Saiyans aren't much for small talk, and the soldiers were always careful whenever one of us were around, they couldn't, well, rather they didn't, dare to be disrespectful or make crude jokes within our hearing range, lest we repeat it and gladly credit who'd ever taught us to say filthy things.

I had just enough time to become irritated at the fact that Father was taking his sweet time to get there before he arrived. His hands and face still slightly wet from where he'd washed them.

"After a good trip, a good meal." he announced, then proceeded to eat, which was the all the cue we needed. Most Saiyans aren't much for words, and being royalty doesn't exclude you from the basic characteristic of Saiyan nature. Besides, a hungry Saiyan has little patience for words.

There were about 20 Saiyans all told and servants near every door, working overtime to remove dirty plates and refill low dishes. We ate heartily that day, more food than I was used to but it was delicious. The seasons had just turned and the fruits and vegetables were all perfectly ripe. We Saiyans didn't generally cook produce, fruits and vegetables were almost always eaten raw. Cooked meat was something of a delicacy, but we ate alot of it at the palace, I thought everyone ate cooked meat all the time.

After breakfast, we were dismissed; we were given the rest of the day off. I was at a loss about what to do, I dawdled in the washroom for a bit, wondering what to do, then I peeked out to see what Father was doing. He was talking quietly to a messenger. He waved me off subtly as I approached him, so I just kept walking. Then, realizing I couldn't take not bragging a minute more, I ran off to find my mother.

Normally, my mother liked to sit in her garden, beneath a large tree and enjoy the day. At this time of year, the garden trees were practically dripping sweet fruits. Mix food with a favored past time and almost no Saiyan would pass it up. I wasn't sure what to make of the fact that no one but some servants were in the garden. I asked about my mother and they informed me she hadn't been in the garden for a week.

We Saiyans are a hearty breed and sickness rarely crossed my mind, especially in those days. My mother was very strict about education; she was always talking with my tutors and having them adjust my curriculum accordingly. We spent a couple of days a week in the palace library, (My mother came from a family of scholars) so I went there next. A few people were there, none of them my mother. I was getting annoyed now. I thought maybe she was training then and went to the royal training grounds. A few of my father's concubines were there, so were many of my siblings. Those who'd accompanied father on his trip were bragging and exaggerating the tales of their exploits to those who'd been left behind.

I was getting fed up so I marched up to Kakara, and asked about my mother. "She isn't in the library, the gardens, nor is she here." I informed her. No Saiyan takes that long to eat, she knew we'd be arriving so why hadn't she come to me? I wondered

"I suspect she's in her chambers," Kakara told me shortly, I frowned at that. Kakara was never impressed with me and she didn't bother to hide her disapproval of my attitude.

"In her chambers?" I repeated.
"That's what I said." Kakara replied, I waited for her to say more, but she didn't.

"What for?" I demanded. As far as I knew people were only in their chambers for sleep. Both of my parents were early risers and I didn't like the idea that in my absence mother had become a sloth.

"Run along child, I'm busy." Kakara said, waving me off. I grit my teeth at her then went to find my mother.

I told myself Kakara had sent me on a fools errand because mother was never in bed during the day. I was used to seeing her in bed in the evenings, sometimes I'd sit with her and talk until it was time for me to go. Whenever Father came to her chambers, I had to leave immediately, and I was too young to even know to ask questions about the reasons why.

I was surprised and excited when I made it to her chambers and despite the fact that breakfast had come and gone, she was still in bed. I hurried to her, so excited I forgot that I was puzzled about her being here. She embraced me and I nuzzled her neck and wiggled in her arms, coating myself in her soft fragrance.

"My son has returned to me," she said happily. "I was worried you'd forget about me after having been to battle like a real soldier."

"No, mama, of course not." I assured her, then I informed her that I was a real soldier.

"No, of course, you aren't. No son of the Kings is a mere soldier." she told me.

"I took out the gunmens assistants. All by myself." I told her. "We marched through the cities one at a time, father killed the rebels. Their gunmen had good aim and electro shields. Their assistants kept giving them more ammo and I took them out." I fished in my pocket. "Its my first trophy," I showed here a string of dull grey rock looking things. When I saw her puzzled expression. "I took a tooth from every one I knocked out. Its for you."

My mother smiled and embraced me once more, she patted my head and told me what a fine job I had done.

"See, I am a soldier." I insisted."

"No my son, you are a warrior." She replied, "Soldiers are just fighters, they take orders and do what they can to complete them, soldiers are little more than armed servants. A soldier must be trained to be a fighter and rarely are they any good at it. Soldiers are uncouth men and women who hire out for money or are so weak they allow themselves to be scripted into the service of another. But we Saiyans, we are a warrior race." She said to me, and I was transfixed by her voice, her beauty, her scent. At that moment I was aware of my love for my mother.

I have never, ever forgotten the words that followed her declaration. They weren't especially profound, not as fancy as some great speeches delivered throughout time. But it was the most profound thing I had heard up to that point and I had no way of knowing it, but her next words would be the fuel that sustained my soul through my darkest hours for many years to come.

"A warrior is not a soldier. A warrior is born, not made. Saiyans are warriors. We warriors are greater than the battles we fight or the hardships we face. We are strong, proud and independent. We are free, because we cannot be tamed, and we are civilized because we live by our own code, because we choose to be free. When things go badly, we do not regress to mere looters and deserters, as do most soldiers, we steel ourselves and embrace challenge. Warriors are to soldiers as wolves are to a wild dog. No matter how matted its coat, how thin it might grow in the winter, a wolf remains a noble creature. Even if only in its soul."

I smiled at my mother and nuzzled her again, drinking in her scent. I wished I was big and strong like my father at that moment, so that my chest could swell in pride and she would know how much I loved her. A breeze blew in through the open windows and a servant hurried to close it.

My brow furrowed a moment later as I noticed something odd about her scent, I sniffed her a few more times and sat back to take in her appearance.

"Mama?"

"Yes, my son?"

"Why are you in bed?" I asked, and, noticing it for the first time, "all propped up on pillows and stuff."

Like I said, Saiyans weren't given to fluff and fanciness, many times my mother took her actual rest in her garden. She enjoyed being outdoors. Now she was sitting propped up in bed, under a blanket with her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Mother laughed softly. "I'm rather tired, Vegeta." she told me. "Didn't you hear?"

"Tired? So come to the garden, its warm out." I told her. My instincts told me something was wrong then and it was only then that I noticed it. A strange, faint scent.

"They didn't tell you?"

My spine stiffened as I scented the air, I turned and looked and there, in the corner, about 10 ft from mothers bed was a strange little bed-type contraption I had never seen before.

"Mama?" I asked distractedly, "what is that thing?" I went to confirm with my eyes what my nose had already told me. There was something in the contraption. Something alive and weak.

I peered in and saw a naked, scrawny, little baby lying in the bassinet, sleeping quietly.

"He," she emphasized the word. "Is your brother."

I gave the thing a critical look. Scrawny...wrinkled...ugly...pink...limp haired...it had a strange scent. I didn't like the smell, like the insides of a body. I felt for its ki, not very impressive. I shrugged.

"Why is it here?" I asked. She shot me a look and I repeated myself, "Why is he here" I corrected myself.

I had a ton of half-siblings roaming around. They worked out in a pinch, if ever I needed a sparring partner or a playmate but we weren't a very close-knit troupe. Even in the days before they decided they didn't like me. We each went to our separate mothers and we all vied for fathers attention and favor, but I almost always won.

I was my mothers first and only child. I had no ill-will against my fathers other concubines, they didn't like me, but I didn't care what they thought. They had to defer to me because I was not just a royal bastard but a prince. The prince. I saw no reason my mother should be bogged down with the brat of another woman. I had plenty of things to do, but my mother was always on call for me when I wanted her to be.

"Where should he be?" mothers tone was amused. I shrugged...Outside, in a nursery, a cage. I didn't care, anywhere but here.

"Somewhere else." I told her.

"Why?"

"It smells weird."

"All babies have that smell for a few days."

I looked at her as something clicked. "You've been holding it!" I accused her. She was surprised by that.

"Thats the smell...that bad stench." It wasn't really a bad smell, but I was livid that in my absence my mother had been coddling and fondling some other kid.

"Now, Vegeta," she began.

"Get it out! Now! I dont like that smell...you should take a bath mama." I said, "before father finds out." I added menacingly.

Even if it had been someone else's baby, my father wouldn't have cared that my mother had held it. But "before father finds out" was the argument one could make to coerce someone to do just about anything. The threat of King Vegeta finding out was enough to make everyone straighten up. Soldiers, children and servants alike. I hoped it worked on mothers also.

"Quit being absurd." she told me in a stern voice. "This is your brother, he can and will stay here."

"Why?" I pouted, I couldn't remember a time when mother had ever denied me anything before. "I dont want it here."

"He," she said pointedly, "is your brother."

"So? Sparga is my brother and Mato and Turpin!" I said. "They don't have to stay in here!"

I think I was in denial at this point. I refused to accept the idea that she'd had another baby behind my back, I didn't even let it cross my mind.

"Vegeta, come to me." she said gently, sensing this was going to go badly no matter what she said or did. Being a mother, she decided on a nurturing, gentle path.

I stalled by the crib, then I cast it—the usurper—an angry glance and stalked away from it, but I stopped short of sitting on mothers bed. It had been on the bed, polluted the bed with its nasty stench which grew more unbearable by the second.

"Come here my son," Mother coaxed me "Don't be defiant."

I was contemplating the matter when my father came in, I looked at him desperately. Surely he'd have this...this...abomination put on the balcony (or in a prison!) or in the garden, (or in a cave!) or in the servants quarters. Or in a hole. A very deep hole! Then we could build some big heavy statue over the hole to cover it up. I was counting on him to talk some sense to mother. To make her see the folly of this nasty little brat living in her room with her.

"Ah," father said to me, "I see you've met your brother."

'Its no brother of mine.' I thought. But all I said was "Father," in a pleading tone.

My father did something rare then and picked me up, as he approached the crib. I didn't want to go back over there, but I was trying to make sense of this being carried business and then I found myself staring down at it once more.

He looked….ugly. Wrinkly and thin, his hair was lacking stiffness. Only females were supposed to have limp hair.

Father frowned. "He is weak." he said, I had never heard that tone in his voice. It was a mix of sadness, disappointment, and...I dont know what else. It was like he was sorry, his voice sounded the way I felt when I failed to do something right.

Mother didn't comment. And we three were silent for a moment,

"Is his lord displeased?" my mother asked finally. No one was ever casual with my father.

Father sighed, "It cant be helped," he said quietly.

"Will you name him, my lord?" she asked after a moment. It was another one of my fathers quirks that he named all his children individually. He visited each of us after birth and watched us for a while before pronouncing our name. Most Saiyans were named by their mothers, but my father wanted us to each have a fitting name and insisted on naming his children himself.

Father was silent.

I could think of several things I might like to call this, the usurper. But I wisely kept my mouth shut.

King Vegeta was a good father by Siayan standards but he was still a Saiyan and he believed strongly in discipline and corporal punishment, I was a minority among his children in that he'd never struck me, I never did (or rather I was never caught doing anything) worthy of a beating. With my world suddenly pushed out of orbit I wanted—needed, something to stay the same.

"What was his reading?" Father asked after a long time.

Mother stiffened a little, but her voice was firm. "10" she said. I grew still at that. I knew that was bad. That wasn't just bad...it was horrible.

A special system is used to measure a Saiyan childs power level. You read their resting power level, their actual power level, like you do for anyone, and there is a formula used to calculate their power level within 5 years. When we're born we are stimulated to an agitated state so that our natural power level will show it's self. Usually you just yank the tail sharply and the child will react. Then they measure our power level.

When I was born, my resting power level was 56, my actual power level was 125. My adjusted power level was calculated to be 700.

The average baby has a power level between 35-50. 55-75 is 2nd class. 76-90 is first class. 100+ is elite. It's extremely rare for a baby to be born of Elite class. Below 30 and your low-class. Beneath 15 and your a 3rd rate, low class. Beneath 10 and your practically a no-body.

All my fathers children had been born 2nd and 1st class. I was the only to have been born an elite. Now, this...brat had come along—seemingly out of nowhere as far as I was concerned—and not only stunk up my mothers room, or tricked her into caring about him, but he was an embarrassment. Not just too our family, but to our race.

He smelled.

He was pathetic.

He was a loser.

He barely qualified as a "somebody"

and worst of all, he was my brother.

It took almost a week for my father to decide what to name the new kid. By then, every one of my siblings new about it. About him. About his...condition.

Everyone was gossiping about him. I didn't care, but it was annoying. People had thought that my father and mother were the winning combination. I had been the first baby in ages to be born an elite. I was a prodigy in all things martial and academic. I was on par with children much older than me. I'd figured out ki on my own when I was a year old. I was a whiz in math and had become a fluent reader almost the first day I was taught to read. For the most part I was even well mannered and I had a great memory.

Apparently, I was the only one caught off guard by the arrival of my mothers 2nd baby.

Saiyans have very unique growth patterns. We tend to have about 4 growth spurts during our entire life time. During these times we experience a very rapid growth over a several weeks, going from one physical phase to the next.

The first one is in the last few weeks of pregnancy. Where we go from being a little blob of ki and flesh in our mothers womb to being tiny babies, perfectly formed but practically to small to be believed, in the last few weeks of pregnancy the Saiyan fetus grows from about .5lbs to 15lbs.

As a toddler, I had just finished my second growth phase. I had finished my growth spurt a short while before going on the mission with my father. Before I'd stood little more than a foot tall, even though I was intellectually and physically about 5. Now I had nearly doubled in size, at 2' 7" (NOT counting my hair), this new body had been bought at the cost of every fat store my body had, but I now lived in the more capable body of a child. Secretly I was thrilled because, I was so much taller!

The rapid growth made you feverish and clumsy but it only lasted a couple of months at most. During the growth phase it seemed that I was always, always hungry. I was eating four Saiyan sized meals a day and had stripped every bit of fruit from my mothers gardens. I'd even eaten some of the rations that were stored for long distance missions.

My hunger pangs had faded just in time for me to be in shape to go on the mission with Father, but I had spent all the time leading up to the trip eating, think about eating, wishing I were eating and wandering around hoping to find something to eat until my next meal.

But, where was I...Oh yes, the brat.

Much to my annoyance, father named him Tarble. I especially hated that it was paired so naturally with my own. I didn't want to be his brother. I didn't want to be associated with him. I didn't want to be pegged with him and I especially didn't want our names flowing together out of people's mouths.

"Vegeta and Tarble." Polar opposites, one great, the dream child of every parent. The other pathetic, every parents nightmare. I tried to think if it would be so bad if he were the son of some other woman, if I'd be as bothered him if we didn't share the same mother.

Its not like I'd been the baby of the family up until then. I had four siblings younger than me before Tarble.

Vegeta Tarble.

It didn't matter. I hated the idea of him existing and I couldn't justify why exactly. I didnt like that his scent had taken over mothers chambers or that she breastfed him. That she bathed him and giggled when he blew spit bubbles and worried about him when he was unwell. (He was a sickly infant. Saiyans were rarely ever sick!)

Vegetarble

I didn't like that my father didn't dis-like him, or if he did, he kept his dislike secret. I knew that Father would never tell Tarble that he didn't like him. A part of me was afraid that father would actually like him.

Vegeta and Tarble...Tarble and Vegeta...

I complained about the name to my father, but he didn't care and he told me as much.

"I give each child their name as I see fit." He said, "When you have children, one day you will understand and then you can name them whatever you like, or not at all."

"I still dont like it." I insisted, one of the earliest signs of the impudence I was to develop later in life.

My father gave me a look that made me regret my words and in that instant I knew that I was about to be hit-by my father, King Vegeta,-doubtless, it would hurt. But I didn't back away from him, and I think it was that single fact that saved me from being struck, my refusal to back down or let my fear make me weak. Father turned away from me, "I still dont care."

I was dismissed. Everything about his posture and his tone told me as much and I left quickly. I was shaking a little as I replayed the scene in my head over and over again. I couldn't face father after that for a long time.

I spent my time as usual, between lessons and training and every moment I was hating Tarble.

Tarble, the weakling, the embarrassment, the stinker. I couldn't admit that I was jealous of him. I mean honestly, who could honestly envy him?

He was special only in the fact that he was somehow strong enough to survive his own birth.

Did I mention that 10 was his adjusted power level?

Rounded up?

Because it was.

When they performed the calculations they discovered that his projected powerlevel in about 5 years was expected to be 10. He'd been born with a rare defect that made his power level unstable. His resting power level was in a constant state of flux. The MedTechs had checked it twice a day for a week and it shifted between 2.8 and 3.4. The defect was not uncommon in Ki-weilding races but extremely rare in Saiyans. Normally a baby born with this defect died soon after being born, if they'd even been born alive.

Tarble, being a Saiyan, despite his laughable power level, was just strong enough to survive his own weak, power.

How ironic.

Truth to tell, it was only blatant jealousy I felt. I was used to seeing my mother maybe once a day, sometimes less, sometimes as much as 3 times a day. Saiyan infants mature fairly quick and we dont breastfeed beyond 3 or 4 months. By the time we are a year we are able to walk, run, jump and play. At a year and half, we could reasonably live in the wild on our own and not perish, provided there was food to be gotten to.

I couldn't explain why I was jealous. I didn't need or want mother to feed me and hold me the way she did Tarble. I took communal baths with my brothers and on my own. I was the only child who had his own room. I was still fathers favorite, even if my poor attitude toward Tarble disappointed him. Despite all this, I was jealous, fiercely jealous. I had gone from not liking him, to hating him. I recall carrying the secret wish that he'd succumb to his defect and die.

Mother had tried to console me, she sent for me a few times and tried to talk to me about normal mundane things like we used to, but Tarble was always near by. She wanted me to get used to his presence, to relax and see what a nice baby he was. I wanted him dead, gone, forgotten and dead. In that order.

At first I stubbornly ignored him while being very stiff with Mother until she was forced to just dismiss me. Later she tried getting me invovled. "Your brother is trying to stand up." she told me once. "Come, hold his hands and watch as he pulls up." She tried to sound cheery about it but I wasn't having it.

She gave him one of my baby toys and I had a fit.

"Vegeta, you never even play with this old thing." She said to me.

"It's a baby toy," I argued. "I don't need it."

"Tarble does, he's a baby."

I frowned at that logic. "He's too weak," and I snatched the weighted block away before he could drool on it.

Mother didn't like to dwell on Tarble shortcomings. I didn't know how she could have possibly over looked them. The list was bigger than he was. Did I mention he was a runt?

She tried to get me excited about being a big brother but I was having none of it. Once she asked me to look after him while she did something in another room. He was a docile baby, he didn't cry or get into mischief. I had hoped if I put him on the floor he'd crawl into an air vent and get lost, but instead he sat there grinning at me happily with wide, innocent eyes the whole time. I used my feet to half roll him, half kick him toward the air vents. He started to sob a little, (I'm sure it hurt) but then I heard mother coming and literally tossed the baby back on to the bed and retreated to the corner. Wiping my hands on my pants. Tarble righted himself on the bed and look at me with confusion.

Mother asked me if I'd played nicely with him.

I sniffed and stormed out.

She tried once more to subtly trick me into caring about him. But after she caught me trying to throw him out the window when he was only a month and a half, she stopped trying to force a bond between us.

When my father learned of the incident, he decided that I had too much energy and too little control. He announced that it was time I had a more rigorous training program. He had the instructors take my training up a notch and it proved to be just what I needed to work out my new found aggression.

My siblings thought it was hilarious (and a little pathetic) that Tarble upset me so much.

Pargus, the brother who'd been charged with looking after me on more than one occasion when I was an infant said it was Karma coming back to get me for all the hell I'd caused him. He refused to sympathize with me.

"He's an ugly, horrible little runt!" I complained once. "Mother's crazy about him! She carries him around like a toy. I hate it. I hate him! He's an embarrassment!"

"Hey, I know," Rhye laughed, "give him half your power. Then he wont be such an embarrassment anymore."

"I wouldn't give him a bucket of bloody bile." I yelled.

Those present thought it was hilarious and laughed riotously.

I screamed in frustration and I fired two ki blasts in rapid succession. They blew up a tree and set the yard on fire. We all ran like the little hellions we were when we heard the staff coming, yelling and cursing at whichever little fool had blown up the courtyard-again!

Time passed and my behavior was getting worse. I honestly can't explain why Tarble upset me so much, but what I'm trying to portray is that I was out of control. My bad attitude was beginning to get in the way of business as usual. I began showing out in class, I was overly aggressive in sparring matches and while I'd never been a favorite among my father's children, I began to drive them away with my bad attitude, nasty temper and poor sportsmanship.

It took a little while before I was being completely shunned by them and then I acted out even worse. It was a horrible, miserable cycle and in my minds eye, the only thing driving the whole, unpleasant business was that little runt, Tarble.

CH word count 5,134. So thats chapter 2, whaddya think?

Sorry that its taken so long to update and a big thanks to all those who reviewed and added me to their faves.