Human Hospitality
by scoutergreen
Chapter 72
The Beginning of the End
The blue wind-up alarm clock Vegeta had learned to rely on within the hyperbolic time chamber went off at what he'd decided many weeks prior would have to serve for seven in the morning, and the Saiyan prince yawned and reached his arms above his head, stretching out his limbs as he lay underneath the thick pile of blankets he'd come to rely on during his sleeping hours.
As he eased back into consciousness, the realization that it was the final "day" within the time chamber bubbled up into his first active thought of the day, and the Saiyan sat up and heaved a sigh of relief.
For what it was worth, the Saiyan had managed to hold it together (for the most part) after his strange outburst early into the year-long period inside the time chamber. The voices still insulted and nagged at him, but he did a far better job of ignoring them, at least most of the time. There were moments when he'd talk back to a voice (usually telling it to "fuck off") but Vegeta made a point of keeping focused on his training.
Trunks had effectively given up on finding enough common-ground with his father in the hopes it would ease the hostility between them. The most Trunks received from his father in the way of paternal leadership and guidance were a few sketchy anecdotes about his earlier life (the stories always centred around conflict) and bits of advice that was nothing short of questionable.
"Never let a bitch get the upper hand," Vegeta had started speaking one evening during a shared dinner after several days of icy silence, "women specialize in getting under your skin. Don't let your guard down around one for even an instant."
"Is that how you went about treating my mother? You're way out of line."
Vegeta scoffed and picked the crispy skin off his piece of chicken. "Just some advice, kid. First your mother fucks around with my head, and then that mechanized cunt gets just a fraction of a second in on me..."
Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to scream in disgust at what his father was saying, but before he could stop himself a torrent of words seemed to spill from his mouth: "don't speak about my mother that way, you asshole! She didn't "fuck with your head", but you sure did a fine job of leaving her a devastated single mother barely into her thirties! That's your speciality, isn't it? Ruining people's lives? Or is it ducking responsibility? It sure is a good thing that I love her and she loves me, because you obviously have never shown or given anything resembling kindness, let alone love, towards any living creature! You are full of hate and ugliness, and I can't wait to be out of here so I can get away from you!"
"Oh, calm down, you bitch," Vegeta continued picking at his chicken drumstick, "I have no time for your whiny melodrama. Besides, your mother didn't think I was so ugly when she slept with me."
Rising from the table with a frustrated scream trapped in his throat, Trunks struggled to remind himself that his father was particularly talented at saying exactly the right thing to push somebody over the edge and at throwing punches.
It had been at least one week since their last encounter, and Trunks hadn't spoken a word to his father. Vegeta didn't really care either way, he had taken to training by himself during his waking hours and had little use for the boy.
The Saiyan pulled his tattered leggings on, wiped some sleep from the corner of his eyes, and went into the kitchen for something to eat. As he sat down at the tiny table with a plate of fresh fruit and a thick slice of toast, the huge hourglass by the door leading back into the real world had almost run out, after endless months of watching endless grains of sand pouring through the tiny neck at in ultra-slow motion, each grain glimmering in the white void like raw sugar crystals.
He could not wait to get out of the time chamber. Vegeta wanted to sleep in his own bed, he craved at least two dozen different dishes, wanted a fresh change of clothing, he needed a good fuck, and above all else he was raring to destroy the androids.
When I emerge from here, I will have progressed beyond my wildest expectations and I will destroy those metal nuisances, once and for all! And then there will be nothing to get in my way!
The Saiyan bit down on a fresh grape and the smile that spread across his face was tinged with his growing need to kill something. He needed something to be at his mercy, and the boy would simply not do.
Still, there was just enough time left for Vegeta to take a final shower, get dressed (his clothing had been reduced to tatters and armour almost too fragile and fractured to wear by that point) and maybe even take a twenty minute nap. He planned to make a point of setting his alarm clock and double checking to ensure it would go off.
Planet 1280 was a tiny blue sphere that orbited a warm and slightly distant star, mostly covered by shallow salt water seas and dotted with tiny islands that boasted lush vegetation and colourful fauna. The planet was a bit out of the way from major trading hubs, but its relative isolation was one of its most attractive qualities. The planet catered the wealthy and powerful who were seeking a bit of privacy (what little they could get in the PTO) and a place to relax. Depending on her reputation and hoping the planet's shop owners hadn't heard anything too negative about her old station, Malar had visited the few repair shops on the planet, eventually getting hired by a shop that was desperate for a skilled mechanic who could work on different kinds of vehicles.
Fully healed from her surgery, Malar had moved onto the planet a few weeks prior and had been quick to settle into her new, self-designed daily routine: she awoke early in the morning and swam in the sea, ate breakfast, repaired land vehicles, space ships and boats at the shop for roughly half the day, before finally retiring to the small beach-side hut she'd rented for a modest sum to nap, swim some more, and sunbathe.
It was a wonderful life, and Malar continued to struggle with the realization that it really was her life.
One morning, as Malar inspected the engine of a small boat, the roar of a sophisticated, high-speed spacecraft coming in for a landing filled the shop, startling the mechanic out of her relaxed mindset.
She jogged outside and her jaw dropped open when she laid eyes on the menacing black ship designed for a single traveller. It was no ordinary ship, with its sleek frame, gleaming opaque windows, and numerous gun barrels mounted on the front, back, and sides of the ship.
The door swung open and out jumped a pale woman dressed in dark leather trousers and a cropped black top, heavy leather backpack slung over one shoulder as she approached Malar, her mouth already fixed in a smirk.
"Hey, you Malar?"
Malar felt a creeping dread begin somewhere beneath the soles of her feet and it rose up her legs and into her guts at an alarming rate. "I am," the mechanic took a deep, controlled breath, "can I help you? Beautiful ship you're piloting! What seems to be the problem?"
"Ah," the woman giggled, "no issue with the ship. Nah, I'm looking to talk to you about, ah, a mutual friend."
"Excuse me? Who are you, exactly?"
The woman did not identify herself. "You seen Vegeta recently?"
Malar felt the cold spread to her stomach. "Who?"
"Oh, please, do not play dumb with me! I already looked you up- you lived on Planet 79 at the same time as Vegeta, and I know you service PTO spacecraft and have for years. You know who Vegeta is."
"Ah, I haven't seen him, him, in years," Malar stammered and shivered despite the warm breeze rustling the tall trees around the shop, "I left Planet 79 at least fifteen years ago and have lost contact with Vegeta. True, he was a client of my shop, but I never associated with him or his comrades. If you are looking for him, I regret to tell you that I have no idea where he is or what he's up to. He may even be dead by now."
The pale woman rolled her bright eyes and grumbled. "What did I just tell you?"
Although growing sick to her stomach as fear coursed through her, Malar opted to stand her ground. She was bigger than this strange, pale woman, but she also knew that the stranger was armed. She would have to be as calm and cool as she could possibly manage.
"I already told you, I haven't seen Vegeta in years. What more do you want me to say?"
The woman sighed, let the thin leather strap of her bag slide down her arm, and retrieved a hand-held scanner from an inner pocket. "Could you please let me see your eye?"
"What the hell is that thing?" Malar was frozen in place.
"It's a retinal scanner. Now, please. Kneel down and keep your eyes open. If you have nothing to hide, then you should have nothing to fear."
Slowly, without breaking eye contact with the pale woman, Malar bent down on one knee, just lowering herself enough for the considerably shorter woman to hold the scanner to her left eye. On a small display screen came up basic information about Malar: she was over nine hundred years old, a skilled mechanic, worked aboard PTO spacecraft and had a very good working relationship with prominent members of the PTO, had no criminal record, and had recently been in hospital for a surgical procedure.
Without a criminal record, Kohara could not detain Malar, let alone shoot her in the head for only providing sketchy information when prompted.
"You just has some surgery, hmm? How are you feeling, Malar?"
Malar wanted to spit on the woman for being so intrusive. "What business is it of yours?"
The pale woman eyed the shiny vertical scar in the centre of Malar's chest as the taller woman rose and she put two and two together. "Heart surgery? Wow, that's pretty serious, isn't it? And expensive- I mean, I'm guessing you don't have decent health coverage, considering your last venture went bust and all..."
"I paid for my surgery fair and square, entirely out of pocket with my savings from my business, which I chose to shut down after several successful years, thank you very much, if you're trying to suggest I used stolen or misappropriated funds in any way. What exactly do you want?"
The woman giggled again, unmoved by the towering mechanic's sudden anger, and pushed a stray braid away from her face. "Oh, this has already been enlightening, Malar. My name is Kohara, and here is my contact information," the pale woman reached into her bag once more and retrieved a small piece of rigid piece of holographic plastic, roughly the size of a business card and handed it to Malar, "look at it in a dark room. Feel free to call me if you ever see a spherical white ship with small round windows and black lettering on it. Well, I'd best be on my way before this planet bores me into a stupor! Ugh, how can you even live on a planet like this? Nothing but water in between little sandboxes for islands and constant sunshine. Ugh! Good bye, Malar!"
Kohara returned to her ship, slammed the doors shut, and promptly took off, vanishing into space with a twinkle.
A bit stunned by everything that had just happened, Malar staggered back into her workspace and eased herself into the chair by her small desk. The holographic plastic card still in her hand, she held it up and inspected it, unable to suppress a bemused smirk as the card revealed the image of an upside-down humanoid stick figure enclosed within a narrow rectangle that flared out towards its top- a universally understood symbol representing death within the PTO.
She put the card in a drawer and sighed. Hopefully Vegeta was well out of harm's way and he would remain that way for years to come.
Bulma paced back and forth across the square white tiles of the lookout, puffing on a cigarette and trying to swallow a growing lump in her parched throat. Vegeta and her son (the future version of him, anyway) would be emerging from the time chamber in a matter of seconds. What would they look like? Had they made any progress, or had their perceived year the chamber been nothing but a waste of time?
She took one final drag before extinguishing the spent cigarette in a potted palm, ignoring Tien's grumbling entirely.
"Oh, God, what if Vegeta went completely batshit crazy in there? What if this was just a waste of time and they've killed each other? What if-"
"Shh!" Tien cut Bulma off, "you'll find out soon enough! Why are you so worried about Vegeta, anyway? It's not like he's done anything to help you raise your child..."
"Oh, whatever," Bulma had to physically stop herself from reaching for the half-empty pack of cigarettes in her back pocket, "I'm doing just fine with this single mother business."
Tien rolled his eyes and leaned against an alabaster pillar, waiting for the doors to the time chamber to crack open once more.
Bulma looked over at Goku, who was patiently waiting (a rare thing for the exuberant Saiyan) alongside Gohan. If Goku was nervous about seeing Vegeta, he certainly didn't show it.
She approached Goku and sighed, knowing it could prompt a response from the man. Naturally, the sigh was enough to catch Goku's attention, but instead of asking Bulma what was wrong, the Saiyan was quick to reassure his dear friend: "don't worry, Bulma! Vegeta and Trunks did just fine in there! I know it!"
"How can you be so sure? What if- what if-" Bulma shuddered and went to reach for her cigarettes once more when the deafening crack of the gigantic ivory doors leading to the hyperbolic time chamber opened up once more.
As an otherworldly white light flooded through the growing crack in the doors, Bulma forgot about her cigarettes and, along with everybody else, awaited for the two warriors with bated breath.