Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Playing Raditz's Game ❯ Bump-and-Run ( Chapter 6 )

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

Bulma devoted the next week to trying to avoid her arrangement with Raditz. The effort proved futile; there was no one left to help her now. Master Roshi's entire island was a wasteland and it proved impossible to find any of her friends. Krillin, Yamcha,Tien... everyone was MIA. Probably literally, but Bulma refused to focus on that. She didn't dare venture to the Lookout to verify for the fear of exposing it and Kami to Raditz. She still had the vague hope of finding Goku and Gohan and escaping back to this ravaged earth with them, bringing back the four star ball with them and righting the wrong Raditz had caused.

It was a long shot, but she hoped.

On the seventh day Bulma returned to the little house in the woods and waited. She wondered if there was anything she needed to pack or if packing would just make her look silly. On the one hand she was certain there would be no luxuries where she was going and if she wanted nice things she would have to bring them herself. On the other she was aware that proving herself to be as frivolous as she looked probably wasn't be the wisest thing she could do. In the end she decided it was best to go without. She didn't really need any of her trinkets or gadgets out there in space, anyway. They probably had technology out there that would make her inventions look about as advanced as a caveman's club. Instead she took a long bath and pampered herself one last time (because who knew when she'd have the next opportunity?) and then dressed in the simplest outfit she could find. As intended, the blue tee shirt and khaki shorts she chose fit her frame loosely. She didn't want to stand out wherever it was Raditz was taking her.

She didn't want to catch anyone's eye.

Her hair was still dripping and wet when she felt him. Raditz's presence was nearly a tangible thing to her now, horrible and overpowering. He waited semi-politely outside of the house for her to emerge and only put one small dent in the wall when she didn't appear as quickly as he would have liked. Bulma rushed through the lacing of her boots, eager to get out before he brought the whole thing crashing down upon her.

“Calm down,” she berated, stepping out into the bright sunshine. She noted that worry flickered over Raditz's features for a fraction of a moment and wondered what it could mean.

“Bulma,” he said flatly. “As promised, I have not destroyed your planet.”

She looked around the still forest. There was no way for her to verify that, but she decided to take his word for it. “Uh... thanks.”

“My pod has arrived to return us to my home,” he continued. “When we arrive you are to tell anyone who asks that you alone are the sole survivor of this planet.”

That sounded reasonable enough. “Okay, but what about when they come to sell this place to the highest bidder?”

“They won't,” Raditz said swiftly. He looked almost nervous. “I've already filed a report with my superiors labeling this planet as insufficient and unsuitable for habitation.”

Bulma's eyes went wide with shock. “You... what? You mean they won't come back here?!”

Raditz nodded, “Not for a long time... I cited that my second Oozaru transformation damaged the...”

“I don't care what you did,” Bulma gushed, flinging herself towards him. He stiffened as she wrapped her arms around his thickly muscled body. “Thank you.”

He awkwardly patted her back. “We need to go now.”

“Whatever you say,” Bulma chirruped, allowing Raditz to pick her up off the ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, preparing herself for flight. She didn't even care, she was so happy. Raditz had lied for her and hidden her planet from whoever and whatever was controlling him. He was as good as golden in her eyes in that moment. Earth would be safe for a while yet and she could focus on bringing Goku and Gohan back home. Heck, maybe Raditz would even help her achieve it. He jolted into the air and she clung tighter to his frame, burying her face against his chest.
 
As they flew, Bulma didn't allow herself to think too hard about Raditz's character. If she had she would have become concerned with the glaring inconsistencies he presented. One moment he said he would kill her, the next he lied to save her planet. First he exposed himself to her leering, and now he shied away from her touch. With her eyes closed and her head on his chest, she could feel his every breath, every beat of his heart. It was easy for a moment to forget he was a murderer and that he was stealing her away from her home. But only for a moment, then she mentally shook the false security his arms brought away.

This was all just a part of his game.

They landed in a desert on the precipice of a large crater. He sat Bulma down and she clung to his arm for fear of falling. A ship waited for them in its center – he had called it a pod – and she frowned. It looked awfully small. Hardly the kind of thing she wanted to be traipsing off into the unknown bowels of the universe inside of, that was for sure.

“It looks small,” she blurted.

“You're not very big,” he replied bluntly, lifting her again.

He tucked her under his arm and jumped into the crater, keying in his entry. The door slowly lifted open, revealing a bare and functional interior. Bulma was unimpressed. She crossed her arms and he placed her back on her own two feet to settle down inside of the pod. She had half a mind to make a run for it. As if he saw the thought cross her mind he snapped his arm back out, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her down into his lap.

“No you don't,” he growled in her ear. “You're not going anywhere, little woman.”

Bulma felt very small then as he held her still. The Saiyan began to fiddle with the controls and the door shut tightly, the airlock hissing menacingly. The sunlight that filtered in through the window was tinted red by the glass and Bulma suddenly felt the fullness of her constriction. The reality that there was no going back now hit her and she wiggled against Raditz, struggling for some semblance of freedom. He could at least let go of her now; there was no possible way for her to escape anymore. She stopped moving when she heard him chuckle and blushed when he asked her why she stopped.

A computer spoke to them – initiating launch sequence, and before Bulma had time to even think about how such an odd contraption as the pod would fling itself into space, they were moving. Raditz sank further into the seat, creating more room for Bulma. She tried to shift out of his lap as best she could only for him to yank her body back towards his, securing her to him with both arm and tail. Whatever  qualms he had had previously about contact, he seemed to be over them now. She craned her neck back to get a look at him and in the dim light she could just make out his face. His eyes were closed and his face was peaceful, as if he were resting.

“The air filtration system will put you into artificial sleep before we leave the atmosphere,” he explained before she could ask. “It protects our bodies by placing them in suspension for the duration of our travels.”

Bulma nodded – she was already feeling sleepy. “How long does that take?”

“Approximately two months,” Raditz answered.

Two months?! That was outrageous! She wanted to protest, wanted to complain, but whatever gas that was in the airstream was doing a number on her awareness, making her less and less alert by the second. Her eyelids drooped  and her head lolled to the side, eventually resting upon Raditz's shoulder. She felt the Saiyan's breathing just beginning to even out as consciousness left her, traded for dreamless sleep.


Goku had not seen Gohan since he and Nappa had begun training. His new mentor kept telling him that if he was good and if he performed well that something could be arranged, but Goku was beginning to believe Nappa was lying to him. Every day Nappa collected him from the room where he slept with some thirty or so other warriors and they went to the third training arena so that Nappa could beat him within an inch of his life. He would then be taken to the regeneration tanks – horrible machines, all of them – and be released from the infirmary in time to make the end of the lunch hours. His afternoons were devoted to pretending to learn things like the code of conduct expected of soldiers serving the Cold Empire, or how to use the scouters and other machines utilized by the warriors.

Goku endured all the teaching patiently and did everything he was asked for the chance to see Gohan again as soon as possible. Yet there he was, three weeks into his stay on 2414, and he had yet to lay eyes on his son. He didn't know how that was even possible; the station was tiny, barely housing the 500 or so men assigned there. How they managed to conceal Gohan baffled him. If he focused he could feel Gohan's energy throughout the place, flickering up or down with emotion, but it was difficult to pinpoint him. His senses were dulled by constant use of the scouter, and even if he could locate Gohan's precise location, Goku knew he couldn't just rush in and take his son back from these people. This was their world and he had to play by their rules. They were still much, much stronger than him and Goku wasn't a fool. Naive maybe, but not foolish.

“Get up, Kakarrot, we're not finished here.”

It was the middle of the morning and Nappa and Goku were training. Already Goku's armor was dented and cracked, and the skin tight fabric of his uniform was torn around the knees. Nappa's training was  relentless and as much as Goku resented it, he relished it. He played along for Gohan's sake, but it would be a lie to say he wasn't beginning to enjoy himself. Training with another Saiyan gave Goku opportunities to test his limits like he had never had before. It was a challenge he could appreciate.

“Get up,” Nappa snarled, kicking him roughly. Goku coughed at the impact and pulled himself together, standing on wobbly legs. Once he was up Nappa took the go-ahead and laid back into him, fists connecting with his gut and jaw with such raw tenacity that Goku could only block half of what was thrown at him.

Nappa was an incredible opponent.

He had just split his lip when Nappa called off training. Goku wiped his mouth, wincing slightly as blood trickled down his chin. He could taste it, raw and metallic and not entirely unpleasant. Nappa smirked at him.

“You're improving, Kakarrot,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Goku's knees buckled, “Thank you, sir.”

“Still not good enough to see your son, though.”

The words were still ringing in his ears when Nappa lifted him by the shoulder and tossed him into the arena wall. Goku hit head first with a loud crack, and more blood splashed against the pristine white of the wall. At first he couldn't move; he was certain that he was dying. But then something lit inside of him, an absolute and final rage. He made himself stand up again, woozy from blood loss as the wound in his head flowed, and crouched into a feral battle stance. Now Nappa truly smiled.

“There you are, Kakarrot,” he boomed. “I was beginning to think you'd never come crawling out of there.”

Goku attacked him blindly.

After that his memory blanked until he was waking up from the regeneration tank. The smelly goo was draining around his feet when he regained consciousness and he ripped the breather from his face, glaring at the doctors. They remained unimpressed at his temper tantrum, but the tech assistant released him nonetheless and he stepped out of the tank where Nappa was waiting. The larger Saiyan stunk of regeneration gel, too.

“How are you feeling, Kakarrot?” he asked as the doctors fawned over Goku, passing him a towel first and then clothes.

Goku wiped gel from his face and squeezed it from his hair, “Fine. I feel fine.”

Nappa nodded. “Are you ready to see your son?”

He considered it, dropping the towel and pulling on the fresh uniform. He hadn't seen Gohan since his arrival three weeks ago, that was true, but it just didn't seem all that important anymore. He dug a finger in his ear and flicked the droplets of regeneration gel he pulled out away from him.

After a while he answered, “I'd rather train.”

Nappa's face contorted to a contented scowl. “Excellent.”