Human Hospitality
by pureleaf
Chapter 19
Closing In
Author's Note: As always, I really appreciate your lovely comments. I hope you've enjoyed the frequent updates because I'm going to have to slow down for the next while. Don't worry- I'll still update on a regular basis and reply to PM's.
Some of you have contacted me about another fic I was writing- never fear, it's just being re-worked right now. The first chapter of the revised story will be up within a few weeks.
On the twelfth day of continuous travel, Vegeta tuned into the two soldiers called Dinja and Kivi and listened in on their conversations while eating dried fruit directly from the package. The Saiyan was pleased to discover he'd underestimated how much food he'd really purchased and figured he could easily last another nine or ten days before he would be required to land somewhere and find more food. He was starting to miss coffee and tried to think of anything similar he may have once tried. Nothing came to mind.
"Yo, Kivi. How 'bout we go to Planet 90 for a while? That mission sure paid decent, huh?"
"Not too bad for such a quick mission. What were you thinking of doing there?"
"I dunno, man. The place is frickin' huge. Let's check into one of them hotel suites that just opened up and take it from there. I'm gonna hit up Madam Red's, for sure."
"You're gonna leave the planet with a red dick if you go to that whorehouse!" The one called Kivi snapped at his partner. Vegeta laughed out loud when he heard that and only caught the tail end of Kivi's continuing remark, "...get a double room and take off separately."
The two soldiers remained silent for many seconds and Vegeta started to wonder if he'd lost the connection when the soldier called Kivi finally said: "Dinja, I just got the weirdest feeling in my gut..."
"You're probably feeling a bit cooped up in your pod, Kivi. Nothing's wrong. Go into stasis if you can't take another few hours. Let's land at Station 6- it's the biggest city on the planet and I hear it's a blast."
"Eh, you're probably right... I'm gonna go into stasis. See you when we land, brother! Remember, you owe me lunch since I saved you from falling into that crevice!"
"Sure thing, bruh, I'm gonna sleep too. And lunch anywhere you want. Night night."
Vegeta disconnected, leaned back in the pilot's chair, yawned contentedly, and then set the coordinates for Planet 90's Station 6. He'd been to Station 6 several times in his life and had occasionally spent his shore-leave on the planet. During his visits to Station 6, Vegeta rotated between a hotel suite, solitary meals at the best restaurants in Station 6, and a training chamber. He rarely saw his comrades during those times and they sometimes went for weeks without actually speaking. If Vegeta did see his comrades in the hotel room, they were usually passed out or with prostitutes.
Once again, Vegeta would find himself all alone in Station 6. This time, however, he was very much looking forward to spending some time in the city. He decided it would be best to land far away from the city gates and keep his ship deep in the wasteland surrounding the metropolis.
"Computer, how long until we reach Planet 90?"
"Estimated travel time is ten hours, seven minutes."
"Computer, set the ship to land approximately one hundred and fifty kilometers outside District 6."
"Confirmed."
Vegeta was set on packing a small bag before taking a nap when the familiar buzz of an incoming call rang through the ship. "INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VID-"
"Oh, you have to be kidding..." he accepted the call and started to speak before the video connection had been established. "Bulma? What's going on now?"
"Hi, Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs' image popped up on the screen and she beamed at the camera. She appeared to be in the kitchen. She had her hair up and wore a periwinkle shift dress, pearl earrings, and sunny yellow apron.
The Saiyan was confused. He wasn't necessarily angry that Mrs. Briefs had apparently contacted him out of the blue, but he was surprised nonetheless. "Uh, hello? Where's Bulma? Did she need to speak with me?"
"Bulma's not here right now- she went out of town with Yamcha and won't be back until tomorrow. But I'll tell her you asked for her! I know you've been so busy with your travels, honey, but I've been baking all morning and just wanted to talk to somebody, so I called to check up on you!"
"Check up on me?" Vegeta felt his face growing hot.
"Just making sure you're doing alright, sweetheart. Are you eating well?"
He really had no idea why Mrs. Briefs insisted on calling him "honey" and "sweetheart" all the time; he wasn't entirely sure what she meant when she called him these things. "Uh- yes, Madam."
"Always so polite!" Mrs. Briefs' smile grew wider and she picked up a large pink bowl and started to mix something using a large wooden spoon. "Call me Bunny- I insist. And don't worry about being so formal! Have you been sleeping well? Bulma said the last time she called, you didn't look so good. Were you ill?"
Vegeta sighed. For whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to yell at Bunny, so he repeated his story about being up too late and drinking too much, struggling not to turn terse as he spoke to the woman.
"Your clothes look clean. Are you taking good care of yourself every day?"
"Yes, Mada- Bunny."
"We miss you. You know, I didn't get your sense of humour at first, but after a while you made me laugh, honey. My husband spends a lot of time golfing with the Namekians, but he still talks about you. I know Bulma misses you an awful lot..."
"She has her boyfriend."
Bunny gave Vegeta a tiny shrug. "You're right, she is with Yamcha, but I'm sure you know those two have been on and off again for years at this point. I really don't know how much longer those two can last... just between you and me, I'd love to see my daughter meet somebody a bit more mature. She isn't sixteen any more, you know!"
"Mm," Vegeta started to think about food again, "it's her life. What she does is of little consequence to me."
"See, that's exactly what I mean! You seem to be much more mature than Yamcha. How old are you, Vegeta?"
The Saiyan was certain he'd gone red. "Look, I need to go..." he went to disconnect but didn't press the button.
"Alright, Vegeta. You be careful out there, okay? And please come back soon."
"Good bye," Vegeta disconnected and turned away from the ship's control centre. He stared into nothing and lost track of time for many minutes until he suddenly regained a sense of where he was, shaking his head in surprise. A dreadful empty feeling ached in his chest, and his eyes began to sting with tears.
He suddenly recalled the peonies Mrs. Briefs had left on his desk.
"Those humans are persistent in their asking me to return to Earth. They're probably working together, trying to lure me back so I won't have any chance of coming upon Kakkarot as he trains and grows stronger... I need to stop talking to them unless it's a real emergency."
He went down into his living area, shut off the lights, and slept for five hours.
It took close to an hour to fly into Station 6, but Vegeta was reluctant to use his power lest he notify PTO soldiers that something was closing in and fast. The land surrounding Station 6 was dry, brutally hot during the day and near-freezing at night. Station 6 sourced its water from a huge freshwater lake hundreds of kilometres to the North, making it a rather valuable commodity. He carried the intact payment card plus the chip he'd taken from Jabuka's card, the thick gold chain, and five different vials with him.
The plan was to spend enough time in the bustling city that people began to notice him and started rumours through PTO communication systems. Vegeta also knew of a black market that specialized in forged documents (amongst many other things) and intended to pay it a visit.
"Hmm, maybe I should go to Madam Red's. It's been years..." he mused aloud as he approached the outskirts of the city.
The first place Vegeta went was a generic diner that catered to those looking for a decent and filling meal that didn't cost too much. He took a seat at the counter and signaled for a menu.
"What looks good, my man?" A waiter not much taller than the Saiyan with spiked yellow hair and a silver ring through his thick septum tapped his stylus on the cool acrylic counter.
"Number eight with double meat and extra greens. Herb tea to drink. Just put hot water in the pot and let me add the tea myself."
"You got it."
When the waiter returned with a stainless steel pot filled with boiling water and the tea leaves in a small cup on the side, Vegeta spent several minutes checking the leaves and figured they had to be harmless. He let the mixture brew for close to ten minutes before finally pouring a small amount into his cup.
It was refreshing, light-bodied, somewhat sweet, and produced a wonderful cooling sensation in his mouth and throat. He felt invigorated after his first cup and knew he wanted more right away.
"Number eight, double meat!" The waiter placed a huge blue and white bowl filled with springy thin noodles, piles of slow-roasted meat, pungent vegetables, and cooked greens, all topped with a fragrant broth and a drizzle of a very spicy red oil.
The food was so good that it made Vegeta feel at ease. Nobody seemed to notice who he was (and if they did, they very wisely chose not to say anything) and he was more than happy to listen to people conversing in Galactic Standard. He'd grown used to speaking English and while the language hadn't been a serious issue, it was so far-removed from what the two languages he'd spoken his entire life that it only exacerbated his feelings of isolation.
Earth was a paradise... a deeply flawed paradise. Yes, I was reasonably safe, had all the food I could eat, a wealthy family that seemingly liked me for some totally bizarre reason, and a gravity chamber, but face it, Vegeta, you can't stay on Earth. Human hospitality made you feel good but it made you lose sight of who and what you are: you are a Saiyan, a prince, and a killing machine without remorse! Your mission is to track down Kakkarot and challenge him to a re-match. Go to a whorehouse and get your mind off that girl on Earth.
He swallowed the last of the broth and set the bowl down on the counter. The meal had been good, but he wondered how long he'd be able to go without eating again.
The waiter approached Vegeta. "That item's our biggest seller. Did you enjoy it?"
"Very much. I want another bowl."
Belly close to bursting after two huge bowls of meat and noodle soup and a pot of tea, Vegeta set off in search of the secret market where one could buy forged documents, exotic spirits, obtain the services of psychics, or find powerful narcotics.
It took close to two hours of walking through dim alleyways, eyeing suspicious side-doors, and asking young-looking, low-ranking soldiers for the best place to find "documents". The Saiyan was directed down an alley only five feet wide and was told to look for a a narrow steel door painted orange. Vegeta found he door and discovered it opened to a steep stone staircase that descended into a long, low hallway lit with flickering blue and red light bulbs.
"Oh, this isn't creepy at all..." he muttered. The hallway ended in another doorway.
RING BELL AND WAIT FOR BUZZER BEFORE ENTERING
He rang the bell. Fifty seconds passed before a sharp buzz nearly stung Vegeta's sensitive ears and he pushed the door open. He walked into a warmly-lit, air-conditioned apartment.
"Hello? Anybody in here?"
"Come on through! I'm in the office!" A woman's voice, low and smooth, called from somewhere at the far end of the apartment.
Vegeta ventured through the apartment and entered a small home office, crammed with computer monitors, scanning and copying equipment, printers, and two tall rotating bookshelves. Seated at the desk (which took up two walls of the room) was a very young woman more than six and a half feet tall with a willowy frame and large, thin hands, skin like alabaster, violet eyes, and closely-cropped silver hair. She wore a loose cream cardigan over a black thermal top, green leggings, and black boots.
"May I help you, friend?"
"Yes," Vegeta produced the intact card and the chip, "I was told you may be able to assist me with documents and bank cards. I'm hoping you know how to transfer the funds on these chips into a blank card or something similar."
The woman snapped her thin fingers together and nodded, understanding the request. "Oh! I call them "ghost cards" myself. Not the most frequent request, but I'd be more than happy to help you. I can have the job finished in about ninety minutes. My commission is fifteen percent of the total funds I am required to transfer."
The Saiyan quickly calculated the sum and figured she was asking for more than three hundred and thirty thousand credits. "No way! Forget it!"
"Mm, that's unfortunate. I'm the only one around here who can get the job done quickly and without detection..."
Vegeta rolled his eyes and sighed. "Get on with it, then. Greedy girl..."
"Alright. But now I'm going to ask for twenty percent, just for that last remark."
The Saiyan felt his temper flaring and he snarled at the woman, upper lip curling over his sharp teeth. "That's highway fucking robbery. Do you know who I am?"
The woman leaned over, maintaining eye contact with Vegeta, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on her desk. "You're Vegeta. Congratulations on not dying. I guess those reports were fabricated after all!"
"And yet you still intend to extort me?"
"Look," she placed a cigarette in between her lips, snapped her fingers and produced a small flame, "I've gotta make money just like everybody else. I can't fight you, and I know you could easily kill me. If you want to to kill me, then go ahead and do it, and best of luck finding a credible person who could make you a ghost card in this city."
Vegeta couldn't help but be impressed by her stoicism. "Twenty percent is a lot. I have a proposition: I'll give you twelve point five percent commission and this," he reached into his armour and fished out the thick gold chain, "to make me a ghost card. It's gold."
"Hold this!" She passed her cigarette to Vegeta and pulled the chain out of his hands, inspecting it closely. "It sure is gold! Very nice."
"Do we have a deal, woman?"
"Sure, man. We have a deal," she slipped the gold chain over her head and adjusted it around her neck, "and my name is Sahar. Since you're going to be here for a while, would you care for some tea? You seem wound up. And please, do take a seat."
Two hours later and short a stolen gold chain and close to three hundred and thirty thousand credits, Vegeta was back on the main streets of Station 6 with two copies of his ghost card. He kept one in his right shoulder pocket and the other in the left breast pocket- and the minute he was back on the ship it was going to be hidden somewhere safe.
The sun was setting and the city lit up with millions of multicoloured lights as the temperatures dropped. The beginnings of hunger combined with the cold compelled Vegeta to find Galactic Suites Inn, the upscale hotel where he'd stayed many times prior in his younger years.
Check-in went more smoothly than Vegeta had anticipated; the portly, ageing clerk at the tall marble service desk recognized the Saiyan on-sight and greeted him warmly, if not with some nervousness present in his voice. "Welcome back, sir. Good to see you are looking so well. Single bed with private bath, sir?"
"No. Give me a suite."
"Ah, expecting guests this evening, sir?"
"That's my business. How much for a suite?" Vegeta pulled out his card and started to tap it on the desk, growing impatient.
"We have a junior suite with bedroom, private bath, kitchen and bar, living area... it's five thousand credits per night."
"That will do." He passed the card to the clerk. The payment went through immediately. That girl knew what she was doing, thought Vegeta, maybe that commission was worth it...
The clerk handed Vegeta his key card and wished him a pleasant evening. "If there is any way I can be of assistance, sir, please do not hesitate to call me."
"Sure," Vegeta pocketed the key card and turned away from the clerk, "I'll keep that in mind." He moved swiftly through the opulent lobby towards the elevators and went to his room on the sixty-seventh floor.
To Be Continued