Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen

Chapter 65

Sacrifice

Malar's long platform slid out from underneath Vegeta's ship and the mechanic heaved a sigh of relief. Her sweaty face was streaked with grease and she'd stuffed her damp hair underneath a bandanna. "Finally! I think that ought to do it for the electrical systems. C'mon, let's see if I got the thing up and running again!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and followed Malar into the ship. She had taken all of a day and a half to comb through all of the electrical wiring, looking for issues to address. She switched on the first panel of lights and they immediately turned on, bright and steady and warm like Vegeta remembered.

They turned appliances on and off, and Malar's grin grew wider as she inspected her work. Everything worked. She couldn't believe her success!

Finally, the approached the computer. Malar's smile faded and she glanced over at the Saiyan. "You wanna do the honours and turn it on?"

"Whatever," Vegeta unceremoniously pushed the start button and heard the entire ship hum and come to life. The computer screen turned on and began running a colour test before the operating screen appeared. Curious, Vegeta scrolled through the menu and brought up the navigation screen, certain the ship wouldn't determine its location.

The navigation not only showed his exact location, but also calculated the estimated time required to return to Earth. He still had several months before the androids were set to show up and it seemed as though he wouldn't have any trouble making it back on-time.

And then Vegeta came realization that he was going to really going to come face-to-face with the woman and the infant. Now, it was almost tangible. Heart pounding, he scrolled through the menu and checked out different programs and features he was already familiar with. Everything worked perfectly.

Malar watched the screen, eyes wide with wonder, and looked over at Vegeta, crouching down so she was eye level with him. "So... does it work?"

"Yes. I don't know how you did it, but it's perfect."

The mechanic heaved another huge sigh of relief and slowly rose back to her full height, legs shaking as she stood. She leaned against the pilot's seat and tried to catch her breath, right hand crossing over to rest against her breast and feel her own pounding heart. When she coughed and gripped the headrest of the chair, Vegeta watched in silence but struggled to find something to say. This could be a medical emergency.

"You aren't going to collapse, are you?"

Malar shook her head and wiped spit from her lips. "No," her voice was weaker, "I just gotta sit down n' ca-" she cleared her throat and gasped again, "catchmybreath..."

She guided herself into the pilot's seat, her frame too tall to sit comfortably, and then her breathing returned to a normal rate. "M'alright... Vegeta, I need you to go to my room and retrieve a bottle with a pink cap. It's on my bedside table. Bring it to me with something to drink, please."

Eyes narrowed and suspicions rolling in his gut, Vegeta wordlessly obeyed the mechanic and went to her bedroom. He discovered her bed neatly made and a small travel pack slung over the back of the chair at her small desk. On her bedside table was a small bottle of what had to be medicine, topped with a pink cap like she had described.

The label had been scratched out, leaving anybody who wasn't familiar with the contents at a loss as to what the medicine was. All Vegeta could read was a set of instructions: take 2 daily with water. Avoid excess alcohol consumption.

He brought her the bottle of pills with a bottle of water, and when she only took a half of one pill, Vegeta cleared his throat. "Ignoring doctor's orders, hmm?"

Malar rolled her eyes and finished the remainder of her water. "It's not a big deal to take one half..." she was breathing normally again and seemed to relax, "...I'll be just fine, Vegeta."

Vegeta suspected she was lying, but he said nothing. Now was not the time to confront her. He needed that ship repaired.

"So, everything inside works," Malar twisted the cap back on her bottle of water and bounced it against a thick thigh, "the next thing we'll have to look at is that damn window. The good news is that it's not a complicated job..."

The Saiyan raised a brow, awaiting the caveat in the plan. "But..." he urged her on, growing more impatient.

"You'll have to help me."

"No," Vegeta's upper lip curled over his teeth and he drummed his fingers against a smooth area of the computer's control panel, "how the fuck am I going to be helpful? I don't know jack shit about window installation, and I did you a favour by prepping the area!"

"Do you want this job finished on-time or what? We both have places to go!" Malar's eyes narrowed and she watched as the Saiyan continued to drum his fingertips, resisting the argue to swallow when she spotted rage flashing in his dark eyes, "I'm not getting any younger and I need another set of hands to ensure the window's installed correctly!" She heaved another sigh and avoided Vegeta's eyes, "there. I said it..."

The impatient finger-drumming stopped and Vegeta looked Malar up and down, trying to place her age. She looked fairly young, perhaps the human equivalent of forty five years old at the most; her skin was still smooth save for a few shallow lines around the corners of her bright eyes, and there was evidence of lines around her mouth, most likely earned through countless peals of laughter. Her hair was thick and dark, her figure feminine and body well-nourished. Then, Vegeta realized that Malar had never once disclosed her age to him, nor had he ever enquired about it, and he wondered if asking a woman's age was a universal faux-pas or simply another Earthling quirk.

He cleared his throat and internally prepared himself for an argument: "how old are you, Malar? In standard PTO years..."

"Nine hundred and forty seven," she replied without missing a beat, "why do you ask?"

Vegeta felt his blood run cold. He realized his jaw had dropped open and he closed his mouth, teeth audibly clicking together. The Saiyan recalled the foolish, flighty feelings he'd experienced during teen years and suddenly felt both very embarrassed and horrified with himself for having ever felt them, and he was very grateful he'd apparently gotten over most, if not all of those feelings before their chance meeting.

Then he realized that while he found the mechanic good looking, she had never produced the sort of reaction and feelings in him that Bulma did, and now that his hormones had entered a long period of relative stability, there was absolutely no physical attraction there. He felt his face burning and knew he must have developed red cheeks.

"Uh, no reason. Just wondering what your... uh... life span might be..."

"Fifteen, maybe sixteen hundred years, if I take good care of myself. I ain't gonna live to see two thousand, though, that much is for sure. The last few years have been hard on me, if not physically, then surely mentally..." Malar looked like she was on the verge of tears for a second before she recollected herself, "but at least my face still looks good! C'mon, I need to take a break and eat something proper before we get started on your window..."

Bulma let herself in through the front door and immediately went to the nearest couch in the front room to lean against its arm so she could pull off her too-tight high heeled shoes. Sighing with relief, she rubbed the arches of her feet before continuing further into the house, stopping again at the kitchen, where she discovered her mother at the cooking range and Trunks on the kitchen table, fast asleep in his portable bassinet.

"Hi, Bulma! My handsome grandson missed his mama today! But he also ate well and finished all the fresh milk in the 'fridge, so I'm thawing out some of the surplus now."

The engineer took a seat at the table and smiled at her son. He stirred in the bassinet, opened his eyes, and his chubby face spread into a joyful smile when he recognized his mother. Squealing with happiness, he reached up to meet his mother's hands as she gently picked him up and cradled him.

"Were you a good boy for grandma, Trunkie? And you're hungry," she couldn't help but laugh as he pulled at her shirt, looking for a way to access her breast, "okay, buddy," she unbuttoned her blouse with one hand and undid the special maternity bra she forced herself to wear (she thought they weren't very stylish) to begin feeding her son, "geez, you really do have your father's appetite..."

"Speaking of Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs turned down the heat on her simmering pot of sauce and turned around to look at her daughter, "have you heard anything from him?"

"No," Bulma rolled her eyes at the mention of that name, "haven't been able to make any contact with the ship for a while, either. I hate to say this, mom, but I'm beginning to consider and accept the possibility that he might be dead."

"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Briefs put a hand to her heart and shook her head, refusing to even consider the idea, "maybe he's just having some technical issues! I'm sure he can take care of himself..."

Bulma shrugged as best she could while not disturbing her son, "it's a possibility. Last time he tried to call here, he wasn't able to establish a connection and disconnected after a few seconds. If he's not dead, then something's seriously wrong with the ship and he's stranded, and at this point I'm alright with that."

The older woman sighed. "I hope not... I want my grandson to know his father..."

Bulma hissed with derision, a sort of wordless response she'd unconsciously picked up from Vegeta. "Maybe you should think about how the mother of your grandson feels for a change!" Before her mother could answer, Bulma stood up while continuing to cradle her son and went upstairs to his nursery, leaving her heavy briefcase and purse behind.

Belly comfortably full after several bowls of a remarkably spicy take on a basic noodle soup with fermented vegetables, Vegeta worked in silence beside Malar, assisting her in the complicated process of welding the hole left by the broken window back together using panels from the ship the pirates had arrived in. It was small and barren inside (Vegeta had practically torn the interior apart looking for anything worthwhile and had found nothing) but the ship's body was remarkably strong and appeared to be the most suitable of all the ships remaining at the station. They had decided to scrap the idea of installing a new window, mutually citing concerns of issues arising during take-off or landing.

Malar was precise and ordered Vegeta to always follow her directions. The process of welding metal from another ship onto the capsule ship was not easy. It took six hours to weld the metal together from the outside and another three to refine the seal, constantly checking for any sign of weakness in the seams.

The mechanic finally extinguished her flame, powered down her huge collection of tools, and pushed her mask up. "Wasn't that fun? So... when do you want to begin to process of ensuring the seams are consistent from the inside?"

"Uugh!" Vegeta pulled his heavy welder's mask up, "how long is that going to take?"

"Not too long," Malar smirked, "you'll be doing the work. I'm gonna sit in a chair and tell you what to do."

Unable to object, Vegeta rolled his eyes and hissed at her instead.

Laying back in the restaurant booth with a cup of tea in his hands, Vegeta struggled to keep his eyes open and thought about all the surprisingly gruelling work he'd just completed. The Saiyan hadn't any idea Malar's work was so complex and physically demanding, and he had a new-found respect for mechanics.

Malar had gone off to take a shower and nap for a few hours. "We'll have something to eat when I get up," she had said. He had unconsciously started standing guard over the desolate station after she'd retired to her quarters. It had been close to six hours, and Vegeta was beginning to wonder if something was wrong. I'll give it another hour, he decided, if she doesn't get up by that time I'll go check on her...

Half an hour later, Vegeta was awakened by the sound of Malar pulling a large pot off her gleaming cooking range. "You hungry, Vegeta? I heated up some stewed meat!"

"Mm," Vegeta got up onto his feet and stretched, flexing his fingers and yawning, "that sounds alright... when'd you get here?"

"Eh, twenty minutes ago?"

"Huh," Vegeta rubbed his eyes, "I must be tired if I slept through somebody cooking..."

They ate in relative quiet, both aware that they were going to have to part ways again.

"So... you said you're headed somewhere... where might that be?" Vegeta set his spoon down and noted the mechanic's narrow eyes widened a bit.

"Does it matter?" Malar barely touched her food, instead taking shallow sips of tea. "Where are you going?"

"I dunno," the Saiyan shrugged and took a long sip of hot herbal tea, "there's planets yet to be explored, and bases for me to drop in on."

The mechanic's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Uh-huh. You know there's a pretty huge bounty on your head, right?"

Vegeta reacted to this news by cackling with delight and slapping the table with the palm of his hand. "That's amazing! How much? Oh, I hope it's a big one... what are the charges?"

Malar was not impressed. "You're wanted for desertion from PTO forces, many counts of murder, vandalism, assault... the charges against you are endless, Vegeta. This isn't a joke. Any bounty hunter powerful enough to kill you and bring your head to the remaining authorities- and both are out there, my friend- is set to have ten billion credits transferred to their account for the trouble. Be very careful."

The Saiyan smirked and had another sip of tea. "I'm not really worried about that. But it's good to know I was appraised at such a high value..."

Malar pushed her half-full bowl of stew away, "I'm just warning you. Be careful."

They were quiet for many minutes before Malar spoke again: "I'm going to see a doctor about my heart. A few years ago I caught a terrible illness that left me with a weakened heart. Apparently... and I don't really get medical stuff, but I understand that you can catch the virus and have no idea about it for a long time, but when you finally get sick, you get really sick. For the two and a half years I've been relying on a prescription drug to keep me feeling well and keep my heart functioning normally, but it's clear the damage has been done. I need to get a valve replaced and that means I'll need to get surgery, but I have no real idea how I'm gonna pay for it. My best course of action is to get a job on a planet with decent medical infrastructure and save up again..."

"Oh," Vegeta began to wonder if he'd ever been exposed to this mystery virus, "how much does the surgery cost?"

Another mournful sigh and lingering sadness in her grey eyes. "Probably one hundred... maybe 'hundred twenty five thousand credits by the time all is said and done... the surgery, the recovery, all the drugs and medications, the nurses and doctors... it ain't gonna' be cheap, but until I can afford the surgery, I can just keep on with my medicine. If I get a job somewhere else, maybe on a planet, the prescription won't eat up as much of my income..."

Huge tears began rolling down Malar's plump cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. Vegeta muttered something about needing to use the washroom and moved fast down the hall, shutting himself in the room he'd been sleeping in.

Rifling through the small gym bag he'd left in the bedroom, Vegeta found both copies of his ghost card and stared at them for many minutes, stomach twisting in knots and hard lump in his throat seemingly growing by the second. He had over two hundred thousand credits remaining; more than enough to live on for many years, and enough for him to live well at that. He had nobody to answer to and all the resources he could possibly need.

A life of endless travel and new challenges, he thought, how wonderful it would be to leave all my troubles behind...

He thought about the bump in Bulma's belly and how angry he'd been when he had left Earth. He had been filled with rage at the time that he almost wanted to pray to to gods to keep him away from that planet and those people for the rest of his days.

Then he thought about Malar's health and knew she was much sicker than she left on. He wondered how much longer she really had left to live should her heart problem continue to go untreated.

Finally, Vegeta thought about the strange young man who wielded a sword and warned him of a looming crisis on Earth, and suddenly remembered why he had left in the first place: to realize the legendary Super Saiyan form so he could do battle with the deadly androids set to kill him. If Vegeta won the battle, it would mean the woman and the little baby he'd helped bring into the world would survive and thrive.

He looked at the ghost cards in his hand once more and heaved a sigh. When this is over, I will be utterly destitute and without a home or an ally anywhere in PTO territory, he thought, and the only place left for me to go is Earth...

Vegeta walked back to the restaurant, gym bag slung over his left shoulder, sat down in the booth he'd been sharing with Malar, and slid the two ghost cards across the table.

His fate was sealed.

"There is no name connected to these cards, so you need not worry about arousing suspicions should you choose to use these. These will give you just over two hundred thousand credits to work with, so be sure to spend it wisely. It's all I can give you. I do hope that it will cover the cost of repairs, food, and lodging."

Malar clapped a huge hand over her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and shed several more tears in the process, and weakly nodded. "Thank you," she croaked, "but why? Why are you being so nice to me?"

Vegeta shrugged. "I should ask you the same question, but I do need to be on my way now."

The mechanic dipped her head in acknowledgement, wiped her eyes, and stood up to her full height. "At least let me see you take off... c'mon, I'll direct you out to the docking bay."