Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Errant Exile ❯ Strong Medicine, Part 1 ( Chapter 27 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter 26 - “Strong Medicine, Part 1"

“Meet me at the Lookout at noon.” – Khri

Piccolo scowled at the note, written in Khri’s precise print on hotel stationery. He’d found it taped to the glass door of her hotel room, her temporary home while the damages to her house were being repaired.

A stiff breeze rustled his cloak as he studied at the street far below. Khri stayed in a different hotel every night: none of them had been the Satan City Continental, much to his relief. This time she’d chosen a small, plain room with a tiny balcony, but it still had a terrific view of the city skyline. He turned to take in the distant sparkle of the ocean and almost knocked over an oversized topiary. There was barely room to move let alone get comfortable, but comfort hadn’t been a consideration when Khri rented the room. Why would she care about comfort when she’s never here, he mused, resisting the urge to kick the defenseless pot.

Piccolo sighed. Deep down he knew that Khri’s odd behavior over the past week wasn’t an attempt to avoid him. Sure, he’d broken her jaw, but felt no traces of fear or resentment from her when she’d mended his fingers, talked about her nightmares or relaxed against his chest when he’d held her. He growled and shook his head, shoved aside that last memory, and tried again to make sense of her recent activities.

The dinky hotel room had been a precaution, one he agreed with in spite of his own discomfort. The unobstructed view from the thirty-second floor made stealth attacks a little harder and, Khri had wryly remarked, the hotel staff wouldn’t fawn over a cheap guest. She kept an erratic schedule, often leaving in the afternoon and not returning until just before dawn. That made sense too, Piccolo admitted reluctantly, as did the drab suits she wore to look like a business woman. What he didn’t understand, however, were her distant stares and evasive answers to his questions. What the hell are you up to, Khri, he wondered often over the past week, uncomfortable with her distance and his growing worry.

She’d turned down his offer to house her at the Lookout. ‘I’m to live on Earth, not above it,’ she’d said, adding, ‘if I go into hiding then Traeger wins. That’s not an outcome I will allow.’ Piccolo had admired her determination then, but now he had second thoughts. Dende was keeping watch constantly, and Gohan, Goten and Trunks had marching orders to watch out for any signs of abnormal chi. Vegeta and Goku, always itching for a good fight, were probably crossing their fingers they’d be the first to sense trouble. Even Bulma had gotten in on the act by volunteering staff to monitor the radio and television channels for news. Maybe Khri’s changed her mind, he thought. Maybe she’s going to stay at the Lookout after all, at least until we come up with a better plan than this stupid cat and mouse game.

Piccolo read the note again. It was still more than an hour until noon and he had time to kill. The balcony was too small to let him meditate comfortably and there wasn’t enough time for a split-form sparring session elsewhere. A long, slow flight would calm his thoughts, help him think. He shot up from the balcony into the sun, leaving the crumpled note behind and an overturned plant in a pile of pot shards.




Dende was waiting for him.

“It’s good you’re here a little early, Piccolo,” he said quietly the moment Piccolo’s feet touched the platform. He looked nervous and had a white-knuckled grip on his staff. Mr. Popo stood beside him, hands clenched around a large, empty glass jar, shifting from foot to foot.

That’s never a good sign, Piccolo thought, scowling at the intrusion of Kami’s memory even though it was a useful one. “Is Khri here yet,” he asked, eyeing the Temple but not attempting to feel for her. There was no sense risking a headache if he didn’t need to.

“Yes. She was hoping you’d be early because she wants to talk to you.” He nodded towards the temple. “She’s in the Fire Hall.”

Piccolo’s eyes widened in surprise. The Fire Hall was a relic of ancient times, forgotten except in a handful of dusty scrolls and crumbling tablets, when supplicants were allowed to visit the Lookout for one day every ten years. Vaulted ceilings hidden in darkness, walls steeped in shadows and wide doors of hammered gold were designed to intimidate, but the creativity didn’t stop there. Two lines of oil-filled braziers, each the size of a short, fat man, flanked a blood-red runner that led to a massive throne. Nothing humbled the wishes of the self-important like a long walk through a blazing tunnel of fire, the ancient kamis reasoned. The practice was abolished and the hall had been converted to a storage room many centuries before Piccolo’s splintered self took office. Rather than waste time quizzing Dende, he simply nodded his thanks and climbed the steps into the temple.

In order to keep curious petitioners from doing a bit of sight-seeing, the kami responsible for constructing the Fire Hall had built it near the temple’s main entrance. Piccolo turned down the hallway and noticed a faint, burning smell. Motes of dust sparkled in the sunlight from narrow windows and spider webs fluttered near the ceiling as he passed by. The doors at the end had been thrown open and the air shimmered from the heat and light that poured out. Smoke tickled the back of his throat. So, the damn things still burn after all this time! He cleared his throat and stepped inside.

Twelve braziers, many still linked by thick nets of cobwebs, had been moved to form a wide circle and then set on fire. As far as he knew, the oil had never been replaced: flames smoked, sputtered and burned low. With no windows to let in light and fresh air the hall was hot and stifling. When he wiped the sweat beading on his forehead, he saw a figure at the center of the fiery circle.

Eyes closed and face calm, Khri moved through a series of slow stretches. Large splotches of grey dust smeared her uniform trousers and boots, and a lighter dusting discolored the black tank top that left her scarred arms bare. She’d piled her hair on top of her head but a long strand had worked itself loose. Piccolo watched, fascinated, as it swayed back and forth across her hip and thigh as she lunged forward, stretching her left leg.

Khri didn’t seem to notice him. She bent over, palms on the floor, and executed a perfect handstand. He’d done the same move himself many times before, but there was an easy grace in the way she shifted her weight and balanced on her right hand. It’s all about control, he reminded himself with a small grin, and she’s a master of it. Khri smoothly returned to a double. Her legs trembled as she took a shaky breath, steadied herself, then eased into a left handstand.

Her shoulder suddenly buckled. She fell hard onto her arm and side, her elbow and hip smacking painfully against the tile. Piccolo froze, fighting the urge to pick her up, brush her off and run back to Dende for a quick healing if she needed it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her further by bruising her pride.

Khri grimaced in pain as she slowly sat up, rubbing and rotating her left shoulder. “Damn.” She wiped the blood from her elbow, then casually looked up at him. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” He offered a hand up, which she accepted. “You all right?“

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping the dust from her hands on her thighs and leaving fresh smears. “Dende’s a gifted healer, but even he can’t turn back time.” Khri bent over and retrieved her jacket from where she’d draped it on an unlit brazier. One that burned a few feet away abruptly belched a cloud of smoke and nearly went out. It found enough oil to stagger on for a little longer: just a wispy handful of flames licked the sooty rim. “Popo warned me they wouldn’t burn for very long, if at all, but the heat felt good while it lasted. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to stretch out that shoulder.” She winced as she shrugged on her jacket.

“Khri, why did you come to the Lookout?” He hadn’t meant to blurt out the question, especially in such an anxious tone. “Have you changed your mind about staying with Dende?”

She pulled her loosened hair out from her collar, not looking at him. “No.”

“Then why did you want me to meet you here? Dammit, Khri, tell me what’s going on! How am I supposed to watch out for you when you won’t tell me where you’re going, what you’re doing? Keeping secrets could get you killed!”
Khri’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed to glowing slits. “I haven’t told you anything because there’s been nothing to tell ‘til now,” she snapped. “All I had were guesses! I had to know first, to get more information, because I had to be absolutely certain there were no other options!”

“Options? Options for what?” He clutched her shoulders, felt her tense, but didn’t relent. “What the hell is going on? “

“If you will be silent, I will tell you!”

The hard ice in her voice cut through his anger and he jerked his hands away. Taken aback, he mentally scrambled for the memory of the last time he’d seen Khri this furious. Then he had it: it was the night assassins had blasted her out her windows and shot her full of bullets. She’d dispensed personal justice using that terrible, cold tone, the same one she now used on him. I think I’d be happier if she just screamed at me, he thought, taking a small step backward. “Allright. I’m listening,” he said quietly.

Another brazier flared and went out, leaving the hall a little darker. Piccolo wasn’t sure if the loss of light made her eyes appear brighter or if some other emotion overpowered her anger. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “This . . . this is very hard for me. I can’t put this off any longer, and it’s something you need to know. I . . . “ she trailed off and swallowed.

Worry gnawed at Piccolo, especially when a thin line of sweat trailed down her jaw. He reached out again, but this time it was to gently touch her cheek. He didn’t need to see the sudden surprise in her eyes to confirm the fear that seeped from her skin into his fingertips. “Khri, what is it?” he asked quietly, closing the distance between them. “Tell me.” Trust me!

Khri slowly nodded, her fingers closing over his own. “I didn’t tell you everything that Pym, the Brioux scientist, told me that day at the tournament. It’s true, there’s a threat to Earth because of hunters wanting the bounty on me, but there’s something else you need to know and why I haven’t . . .”

Bright as sunlight and nearly as hot, a wave of chi seared through Piccolo’s senses. “Vegeta? What does he want?” he growled in annoyance. Years on Earth hadn’t improved the Saiyan’s rotten sense of timing or his complete disregard for the sensitivity of others. Vegeta was a blowtorch with infinite fuel always turned on high. “Stay here and keep warm while I find out what he wants. I’ll be right back,” he assured her, turning away.

“No, Piccolo, wait . . . “

“This should only take a minute.” He left the Fire Hall and its oppressive heat, distantly aware that Khri was following him out of the temple.

Vegeta stood on the marble edge of a flowerbed stuffed with violet blossoms, arms crossed and the corners of his mouth turned up in a mocking smile. He wore the Saiyan-influenced armor Bulma had made for him: a rare thing during peaceful times unless he’d been sparring with the boys or wrecking the gravity room. He never came to the Lookout unless there was a big problem on Earth, but Piccolo couldn’t sense any pre-battle tension from him today.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” Vegeta said with a barely respectable nod at Dende and Mr. Popo. He stepped down from the flowerbed and walked up to Khri. “Are you ready to get this over with, Leonid, or are you having second thoughts?”

“I am, but you’re early,” she said, tacking her loose hair back into its knot and avoiding his gaze. “I haven’t had the chance to explain the situation to Piccolo.”

“Situation?” Resentment boiled through his irritation. She’s talked to Vegeta but not to me? “If somebody doesn’t tell me what’s going on here . . .”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Khri said, stepping in front of him. “And Vegeta is here because I asked him to be.”

Piccolo stared at her in surprise. “Why?”

Khri’s expression was carefully neutral. “Vegeta used to be a soldier. He’s trained and experienced in combat techniques other than using chi, like piloting and machinery repair.” A hint of strain leaked into her voice. “He also has an area of expertise I don’t, and I need his help.”

Piccolo snorted. “Experience in what, planet demolition?”

She didn’t laugh. “Field surgery.”

Vegeta’s smile was just as humorless. “It seems your friend here has some very determined enemies. Enemies who resort to dirty tricks rather than an honest fight.” His frown at Piccolo deepened. “She hasn’t told you about the Paracelsus tracker, has she?”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Illegal in most of the galaxy with good reason,” Khri replied. “It’s a type of engineered parasite. Once implanted in a victim’s body, it immediately starts transmitting a coded homing signal. It starts growing, using tissue from the host, and as it grows the signal gets stronger. The target can then be tracked from vast distances down to the nearest meter.”

“Even Freeza didn’t like to use them,” said Vegeta, shaking his head. “They were expensive because they’re rare, and after a while they kill the host. He liked to kill his targets personally. Handing it off to an implanted worm wasn’t his style.”
“It’s almost impossible for anyone to know they’ve been implanted until it’s too late.” Khri rubbed her weak shoulder. “Since they have the DNA of their host, they don’t show up on standard medical scans.”

The gentle breeze that normally flowed over the Lookout stilled, and the weights on Piccolo’s head and shoulders felt strangely heavy. “Khri, you . . . you have one of these trackers.”

Khri nodded once. “The only time one could’ve been implanted was roughly two Earth years ago. I had minor surgery to improve the function of my shoulder. Someone on the medical team must have been paid very well to sneak this in. It couldn’t have been before then or I’d be dead by now.”

“Can you get rid of it?” he asked urgently. “And what about Bulma and Trunks? Isn’t there something they can do at Capsule?”

“It’s not that they can’t, it’s that I won’t allow it,” she said quietly. “I haven’t even asked.”

To Piccolo’s surprise, Vegeta nodded in agreement. “The Leonid is right. After she approached me with her little problem, I did some research. Capsule’s medical facilities aren’t as advanced as Freeza’s were, but they could remove the tracker.” He scowled but there was no trace of either anger or arrogance. “The problem is that Bulma and Trunks aren’t Capsule’s sole employees. There have been several instances of scientific espionage lately, especially when it comes to technology that can be used for less than peaceful purposes. That tracker, if sold to the right buyer, would make someone a lot of money and cause a lot of problems on this mud ball.”

“I want it out,” Khri growled softly, reaching inside her jacket. She withdrew a small black box and passed it to Vegeta. “I want it out and destroyed. Every bit of it. “ Her eyes blazed so brightly they lit up her face in spite of the sun. “And it may take some time, but I will find the son of a bitch who did this to me.”

Vegeta opened the box and smiled. “You certainly came prepared, Leonid,” he said as he picked up the largest of several knives and held it up for inspection. Sunlight ran along the sharp edge as he tilted it back and forth. “I should be able to remove it with these.”

“You?” Piccolo gasped. “Here? And now?” He glared at Dende. “I can guess what your part in this is!”

The younger Namek jerked his chin higher and didn’t look away. “I don’t like it either, Piccolo, but there isn’t any other choice. As soon as Vegeta’s done . . . um . . . removing the tracker, then I’ll step in. And you know I can work fast.”

Instant healing. She won’t suffer from blood loss or more scarring, once this is finished. “Good to know you’ve got this all figured out,” he said scornfully. “So what do you need me for?”

Fists clenched at her sides, Khri moved to stand close enough so she had to tilt her head back to look at up him. “Piccolo, I need you to . . . to hold me down. You’re the only one I trust to do that,” she rushed, not giving him time to object. “There’s no way I’ll be able to keep still through this!”

“I can’t believe you’re going to let Vegeta play surgeon.” He folded his arms, mostly so he wouldn’t grab her and try to shake some sense into her. It helped keep his hands from shaking, too. “And I can’t believe you want me to hold you down while he cuts into you!”

“I like it even less than you do! But the last thing I want is for Vegeta to slip because I’m struggling, wait for Dende to heal me, and then have to start all over again!”

Piccolo was struck with a new thought. “Hold on . . . you’re planning to go through this awake? Are you crazy?”

“I offered her a punch to the jaw, Namek, but she refused to take me up on it,” Vegeta said with a shrug.

Khri regarded him with a mixture of determination and disbelief. “Piccolo, would you choose to be unconscious, knowing Vegeta was coming at you with a set of surgical knives?”

He stared a her for a long moment, then finally gave her a bitter smile. “You’ve got a point.” His smile faded but he couldn’t look away. She’s afraid, and there’s nothing I can do about it. What I can do is help her, do what she wants, make sure nothing even worse happens, let her know she’s not alone . . . “I hate this. But I’ll do it.”

Her face softened in gratitude, then she was all business again. “If you gentlemen are ready, I’d like to get this over with,” she said as she stripped her jacket off, tossed it aside and sank to her knees. “Remember, no matter how tempted you may be, don’t use chi! And Vegeta, please make sure you get all of it so it doesn’t grow back!”

Piccolo’s shoulder weights thudded on the tile. “What do you mean, ‘grow back’?”

“It’s an engineered parasite, remember?” Vegeta knelt next to Khri as she pulled the left shoulder strap of her tank top down her arm. “They’re supposed to be hard to remove. If you leave any behind it will grow again, so I’ll have to cut out surrounding bone and tissue, just in case. This,” he added as he slipped a hand inside his chest plate, “has been re-calibrated so I can see what should go and what should stay.”

“Your old scouter?”

Vegeta chuckled as he slid the screen into place. “I had to hunt through the junk in Trunks’ workroom and fix some of Bulma’s tampering, but it still works.” He tapped a few buttons and moved slightly so Dende could get into a closer position.

“Today, if you please,” Khri muttered, bending over so her forehead pressed against the floor.

Piccolo knelt in front of her, locking his hands around her wrists. “We’ll start with this,” he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I won’t let you move.” Her fingers, gripping his forearms tightly, were cold and trembling. “Hold tight.” He peered up at Vegeta, glared a silent warning, then nodded.

Khri tensed at the knife’s first bite. She hissed and clenched him tighter, and he ignored the realization he’d have more than a few broken bones before Vegeta was through. Blood trickled down her neck and shoulder, pooled on the floor and soaked into the legs of Piccolo’s gi. Instinct warned him before she tried to wrench herself free and he tightened his grip, feeling her own wrist bones crack. “Dammit, Vegeta, hurry!”

“You want to finish this, Namek? It’s wrapped around her collarbone and it takes time to saw through it!”

When a small wad of tissue splashed next to his elbow, Piccolo braced her good shoulder with his forehead. “Scream, dammit! Nobody will care, so scream if you want to!”

Her body lurched as Vegeta gave a sharp tug and tossed something thin and gleaming white aside. “Her? Scream? Oof.” There was another small splat. “If she’s who she claims to be, you won’t hear a sound. Isn’t that right, Leonid?”

There was no sign Khri was listening. She was, however, going into deep shock. Hold on,pushed into her mind. Fight! You’ve done this before, you can do it again!

“That’s it!”

Metal twanged and Dende jerked back, narrowly avoiding a pale, misshapen lump that flew across the Lookout’s deck and smacked into the base of a flowerbed. “Wh . . . is that it?” Dende gasped, his face yellowing with nausea.

Serrated knife in hand, Vegeta jumped aside. “Yes, now get in here and clean up this mess!”

Piccolo felt a shadow fall across the back of his head, the edge of a sleeve tickle his ear. He held his breath as the familiar, healing warmth worked its way through Khri’s body and flowed from her hands into his. Fractures closed, tendons knit themselves back together, bruises faded and new skin closed over it all. He waited for the warmth to completely fade and Dende to back away before he raised his head.

“Khri?”

Moving like an old woman, she pushed herself up and sat back on her knees, as if waking from a long dream. Her shirt was soaked through and there were few areas that weren’t coated in blood. Having come loose again and fallen in the puddle, Khri’s hair dripped and stuck to her arms. “I’m . . . I’m all right,” she said softly, but her voice wavered. Her right hand flew to the opposite shoulder, fingers probing old scars yet not finding new ones, and she shook her head in amazement. Piccolo got to his feet first and watched to make sure she did the same without slipping.

She was unsteady, but Khri managed to stand on her own. “Vegeta, did you get all of it?”

A ropy mass dangled from Vegeta’s outstretched arm. “I assume you mean this,” he said, watching in disgust as the thing twisted and writhed between his pinched fingers. A slanted red eye stared at him in visible hate, furious at having been extracted from its dark, warm home. “It’s all here, plus a little extra.” Mr. Popo nudged him, passed him the glass jar, then headed for the temple to search for a mop and bucket. The tracker plopped to the bottom, squirming in protest of the cool surface.

Khri picked up her jacket, looked down at her clothing in distaste, and folded it over her right arm instead. “It will live for a few hours outside a host so before you destroy it, please make a false trail for the bounty hunters to follow. They’ll figure out what I’ve done, but it will help send the message I’m not to be taken lightly.”

“If they could see you now, they wouldn’t dare,” Piccolo muttered.

She gave up looking for a clean spot on her pants where she could wipe off her hands. “I want to clean myself up, but first things first . . . please lower your chi.” Blackfire curled around her outstretched arm and coalesced in her palm. Its core brightened from a deep violet to a white lavender before she released it. The pool on the floor vaporized, as did the clumps of removed tissue and bone, leaving behind a slight haze of smoke and a sooty spot on the tile. She turned back and bowed respectfully to Dende, then to Vegeta. “Thank you both for your assistance. Destroying the tracker won’t stop them, but it should make their search desperate and clumsy. If we’re lucky, it may be easier to find them first now.”

“I still wish you’d stay here.” Dende didn’t look happier but his skin was the right color. “I’m not convinced it’s safer for you on Earth.”

“She’d be a sitting target up here,” Vegeta said. “If she didn’t die of boredom first.”

Khri ignored Vegeta’s opinion of the Lookout. “It’s not about safety, Dende. If I stayed here I’d be admitting I was afraid. Remaining on Earth makes them worry, second guess their plans and forces them to wonder what sort of trap I’ve laid for them. Now that the repairs on my house are finished, I’d like to go home.” She suddenly looked away. “It was also, you remember, my father’s last order that I live down there.”

Dende sighed, then nodded in understanding. “I can, however, offer you a place to clean up.”

She smiled. “That, I’d be most happy to accept.” She shot Piccolo a meaningful look before turning away.

Piccolo gazed after Khri, watching her retreat into the temple. There will be time to talk later. Now, however, he was aware that drying blood on his gi was acting like glue and the fabric was sticking to his skin. Blood never bothered him, especially his own, but he’d seen far too much of hers lately and felt responsible for a lot of it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Vegeta watching him. “Weren’t you going to deal with that?” He inclined his head towards the seething tracker in its prison.

“I will when I choose to. I’m no errand boy, but it’s been a long time since I was treated with the respect due a Saiyan royal. Granting such a wish . . . amuses me.” Vegeta cocked his head. “Since I’m feeling so magnanimous, I’ll give you a bit of advice.”

“Humpfh. No thanks.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it, Namek! You might be grateful for it, and soon.”

Curiosity nibbled at him. “Make it quick.”

Vegeta smiled but his eyes were serious. “You need to take care around that Leonid woman, Piccolo. She’s dangerous.”

He snorted. “You think I don’t know that? She’s been dangerous to be around since the moment I met her!” It doesn’t matter that we met all those years ago . . .that hasn’t changed!

“This,” Vegeta shook the jar, “is only a small part of that danger. She’s a female, Namek, and all females have weapons they hide and use against you. Some can be more . . . pleasant . . . than others, but they’re weapons all the same.” He tossed the jar into the air a few times, agitating the tracker even more. “It might not make sense to you right now but remember it later. Don’t let her get too close or you’ll regret it.” He turned and headed for the edge of the Lookout.

“Not much risk in that,” he shot back. “You’re the one she told about the tracker, not me.”

Vegeta paused long enough to smirk at him over his shoulder. “Sounds to me like she’s used one on you already.” Before Piccolo could demand an explanation, he was gone.

Alone on the platform, he looked across the Earth far below. Female weapons. It was an idea he’d never heard of before, and to hear of it from Vegeta made it all the more puzzling. What sort of weapon could Bulma possibly wield against Vegeta, one that he’d take seriously? Piccolo whirled around to stare at the temple with a growing sense of alarm. If Khri’s got one, whatever it is, I think I’m going to find out, and soon!

To Be Continued . . .



AN: Thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers, who’ve stuck with me even though it’s been a YEAR since my last update! This chapter nearly drove me stark raving mad, and I wouldn’t have been able to finish it without you.

Coming Soon: Chapter 27 - “Strong Medicine, Part 2"