Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter Eleven: Magatehk’na ( Chapter 11 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Bulma watched as her breath collected in the air against the glass.  It was chilly tonight, as it had been for three days since the departure from Mizukashi.  It was the first time she’d been off-world since leaving Vejiita-sei two years ago; she had forgotten the loneliness and desolation of outer-space.  And as they traveled further through the Videon Galaxy and closer to Yuki-sei, it simply got darker and lonelier...
She gazed out the full-length windows in her science lab.  It was not as large, nor as well-equipped as her lab on Mizukashi, and the constant hum of the ship’s machinery made concentration difficult.  But, she thought, it was better than those box-like slave quarters she’d traveled in on her trip from the slave ship to Vejiita-sei eight years ago.  At least she had been able to make this lab her sleeping quarters as well.  And it was comfortable enough.
Bulma thought back on the hours before leaving Mizukashi, and how recently she had been entertaining the thought that she would never see it again.  In a way, the thought made her quite sad; Bulma had grown to like Mizukashi quite a bit and had fostered close friendships with its natives.  Luckily enough, Iriyon had been commissioned her assistant on this journey and had accompanied her along with a few of his most competent scientists.  But Bulma knew in her heart that she would never feel at home again – not for a moment.  And though she tried desperately to accept this feeling of complete alienation, it was indeed difficult.
Bulma sighed and turned from the dark window.  The lab was bright against her eyes, and she squinted.  Her latest attempt at replicating the containment device Furiza had given her had failed, and she was beginning to get the impression that it was what he’d wanted.  Damn him, she thought.  She would finish the device if it killed her.  The Saiya-jin had more or less commissioned her to advance the tech knowledge, knowing it would aid in their defense against the Aisu-jin.  If only they knew where she’d obtained the prototype.  Stupid monkeys…  Curling her upper lip, Bulma sighed in disgust at the heap of tech lying on the cold metal counter.
The lab door swished open, and Iriyon entered with his chief plasma specialist, Kiyak.  Kiyak was beautiful, for a Mizuka-jin, Bulma thought – and brilliant by Mizuka-jin female standards.  There weren’t many female scientists.
“Shaji Bulma,” Iriyon greeted her with something akin to a smile.  “I’ve brought Kiyak.  She thinks she may have found a solution to your problem!”
“Oh, Iriyon,” Bulma said, on the verge of hopelessness, “I do hope so.  Kiyak, I’ve been trying to calibrate the plasma stabilizer for at least ten hours.”
The young Mizuka-jin female approached the counter and bowed to Bulma slightly before blinking her fish-like eyes and reaching out to it.
“Shaji,” she began quietly, “what happens when you attempt to seal it?”
“The containment field collapses,” Bulma explained, using the Saiyago word by accident.  She cursed.  “I’m sorry Kiyak,” she said miserably.  “The containment field, it collapses.  If there were actually plasma in there, we’d have been dead hours ago.  Gods, it infuriates me!”
“No need to worry, Shaji,” Kiyak said reassuringly.  “If you let me look at it for a few moments, perhaps we can find a solution together.”
Bulma nodded, smiling tiredly to her and placing one coolly sweating hand on her shoulder.  Sighing once more, Bulma stepped away from Kiyak’s light and smiled at Iriyon.  Her older, taller friend smiled back and touched her hand.
“We can complete the device, Shaji, even without the lab on Mizukashi.”
“And the factory on Ten’rili?  The capsules?  The resistance won’t get very far without the information I had intended on acquiring.  Now that we are half way to Yuki-sei on a Saiya-jin fleet ship, I have doubts, Iriyon...  Perhaps we will never see Geishan again.”
Iriyon put both of his thickly-skinned hands on her shoulders and squeezed.
“You must believe in our people, Shaji.  If you can get them the Aisu-jin cloaking codes, we will have but a few more steps to take.”
Bulma put a hand over his and nodded.  With one deep breath, she composed her doubt for the time being and bit back what she thought may have been a well of tears.  They gathered in her throat and made her breath feel thick.  But Bulma was resolved; she would not let her friend see tears now.
“You are right, Iriyon,” she agreed finally.  She did not look at him though.  Instead she gazed back out into space, wondering how long it would be before her heart looked just like that empty void.  Iriyon’s grip tightened again.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Shaji,” he began, more quietly so as not to disturb or concern Kiyak.  “You have not been yourself.  Are you well?”
Bulma wondered at his words.  Had she really been so distant and cold as she felt?  Perhaps her eyes were already starting to look like the void of space.  She looked back at him; Iriyon cocked his head and blinked his wide eyelids.
“Just tired, Iriyon,” She said definitively.
She thought on her situation for a brief space of time.  She thought of how much she had lost in becoming a slave again, yet how much she had gained in no longer being considered a threat.  But it was in the bargaining that she had lost so much...  So much...
“Just tired,” Bulma said again, sure of her answer at least, if nothing else.  Iriyon did not need to be burdened by such things.  As she watched him, Iriyon’s ears twitched a bit, and his large black eyes shifted from side to side.
“They are coming, Shaji.”  He said matter-of-factly.  His voice was tinged, though, with just the slightest bit of fear.  Bulma watched the lab’s electronic door until it slid open.
Imperial guards entered, destroying the serenity of the lab and Kiyak’s quiet concentration.  Bulma’s eyes narrowed, and she released Iriyon’s hand as it fell from her shoulder.  The guard who had entered first eyed her from head to toe and smirked.
“Bulma-kalzan,” he addressed her using her old title.  It meant nothing more than “slave”, and even Raditsu had called her that, all those years she had lived in his house—lain in his bed.  Bulma blinked and folded her hands together.
“You are being summoned by His Highness Vejiita-Zarshi.  Would you accompany me?”
Ignoring the quiet, nearly imperceptible chuckles of the guard and his comrades Bulma patted the back of Iriyon’s hand, barely noting the difference between the soft pads of her fingers and his hard, scaly skin.  It was strangely more comforting than the humanoid appearance of the Saiya-jin.  Bowing her head slightly, Bulma nodded.
“Suukah,” she said in acknowledgement of his rank.  It would not have been so less than a week ago, you monkey bastard!
She turned to Kiyak and smiled at her.  The young female nodded and sat back down in front of the unfinished containment device.  Squeezing Iriyon’s hand, Bulma left his side and followed the Saiya-jin guard out of the lab.  They surrounded her as she exited the doorway.  It was as though their very bodies were her prison.

The halls of the fleet ship were a bit warmer than the lab; the lab needed to be kept cooler to keep their plasma stock at bay.  Bulma tugged at the harsh material of her linen tunic.  Kami-gami!  What she wouldn’t give for her satiny gowns and dresses on Mizukashi.  Even the soft, cotton-like material of her Saiya-jin dress had been better than this slave garb.
But her pride would not make way for much else than this degradation.  It would be worse to beg for her title to be restored:  especially to Brolli.  She wondered briefly where he was; she had not seen him since they’d left abruptly for Yuki-sei, and would not admit openly that she was curious about his whereabouts.  He had not called for her since the day he’d made her a slave.  And even after her tryst with Vejiita, she had not given the prince her answer as to whether or not she would be willing to let him become her owner.  He had been surprisingly complacent since then, and it unnerved her.
And even now, standing outside his chamber, Bulma had reservations.  For no matter how gentle he had seemed, no matter how adequate and considerate of a lover he had been, Vejiita was still Saiya-jin.  And the mere fact of his ancestry was enough for her distrust.  The guard in front of her touched the call button on the ID pad.  There was a soft blip, and Vejiita’s voice came drifting through.
“Shallan,” he said, denoting his high rank.  Bulma shuddered involuntarily at the sound of his voice; lately she found great distress in how he affected her.
“Suukah,” the guard replied, “I have brought the slave Bulma, Zarshi-kalan.”
Vejiita did not reply, he only entered his code and the door whooshed open.  Bulma breathed deeply; the air from Vejiita’s chamber was abnormally fresh compared to most of the ship.  The guards around her saluted and bowed dutifully.  Vejiita was at his desk, tapping on a vid screen, and he lifted only a gloved hand to wave them away.
Somewhere, deep in her chest, Bulma was devastated by the apathy in his action.  But pride had numbed her deepest emotion long ago; she swallowed hard and bit back the flood.  The guards were leaving, and she stood at the doorway, gazing intently into Vejiita’s chambers with all the hate she could muster.  Vejiita stopped tapping and looked up.  He laughed once; it was a cruelly sarcastic noise.
“You look like Kalahd’Nihr, the blood goddess,” he said amusedly.  Bulma bit her tongue to keep from telling him that she would gladly take a sacrifice in the goddess’s name.  He stood and stepped away from his marble-like desk.
“Well,” Vejiita said with a curiously inviting tone, “won’t you come in?”
Bulma waited.  It would be better for him to think that she was not yet as obedient as he would have her.  But, she did cross both hands behind her back then, and step over the threshold of the doorway.  Sensing that she had moved, the beam blipped softly out and the door slid shut behind her.
Vejiita came toward her without hesitation, and Bulma realized very suddenly how uncomfortable his forwardness made her.  She stiffened involuntarily, and her eyes widened.  Vejiita smiled, and his eyebrows arched reflexively.
“Shall’la, you are oddly beautiful when you’re frightened,” he said, with an irritating lilt of sensuality.  And anyway, she wasn’t frightened, she--!
Vejiita stretched one arm behind his back, and held the other out toward her, palm facing up.  The gesture was rather submissive, Bulma thought.  Vejiita cocked his jaw to the side and said, “You know I won’t hurt you.”
“Do I?”
“It wouldn’t kill you to put some trust in others, Shall’la.”
“Why should I?”  She snapped, unable to control the shake in her voice.  Bulma wanted to curse.  Vejiita smiled handsomely and stepped away from her.  He headed toward his desk.
“I suppose you have your reasons,” he said softly.  There was a pause, and he seemed to be contemplating as he sat back in his chair looking at her.  “I hear you’ve been working quite a bit, occasionally late into the night.”
“How would you know that?  You haven’t seen me for three days.”
“Does that matter?”  Vejiita shrugged and folded both hands on his lap.  “Surely, you aren’t putting yourself out so much for the Empire?”
There was a period of silence again until Bulma thought he realized that she would not answer.  It seemed that he would not press the issue further, thank the gods. She was nearly too tired to think of excuses now, anyway.  Absurdly, the sight of Vejiita’s oval-shaped, and very large bed was making her eye lids blink heavily.
“All for the glory of the Saiya-jin, Zarshi-kalan,” Bulma said airily.
Whether or not Vejiita could sense her indifference, Bulma did not know.  But he did smile knowingly and bowed his head before standing again and coming back to her.  As always, his stance demanded more respect than did his height or build.
Vejiita was built just like Brolli, or any other Saiya-jin; he was strong and rock solid.  He had broad shoulders and wide palms, long fingers and legs as sturdy as tree trunks.  But Vejiita was shorter than warriors like Raditsu and Brolli by several inches.  And he was shorter even than his father, the king, who only bested Bulma in height by about five inches.  Vejiita’s shoulders barely inched past hers - but Bulma found that in all her time with these human-like beasts, Vejiita was the only one of them who had managed to frighten her as he did.  But she would never admit that to him, or let him see it.
“The glory of the Saiya-jin,” Vejiita repeated what she had said only moments before.  He chuckled softly:  sadly.
And then he lifted a gloved hand to her face.  Bulma found that she did not like the armor as much as she had when she’d first seen it.  The traditional clothes suited him much better.  And besides, the armor made him look like the war-hungry animal she knew him to be.  But the material of his glove was soft, skin-like, when it touched her skin.  She had not expected that.
Bulma became aware that Vejiita’s mouth was very close to her cheek - so close that she could feel his breath.  He kissed her once, gently, and then used his other hand to lift her chin.  He pressed his lips firmly on the throbbing point of her pulse and breathed out heavily.  The gesture was so consuming that Bulma began to feel eaten alive.  Her pulse sped up considerably, and she felt a rush of blood in her throat.  She began to feel as though he could kill her at any moment, but would he?
Vejiita stopped kissing her neck and leaned into her ear.  His hand dropped to her waist and finally to the dip in her back.
“You can’t imagine how I want you, Shall’la...”
“You had me before,” Bulma whispered in reply.  “You can have me again.”  To her surprise, she knew that she was more than willing.  Because what did it matter?  He could fuck her until the stars fell...  As long as she could get what she needed from him, none of it mattered.  Bulma was startled to find that Vejiita was gripping her chin very tenderly.  He turned her face back so that she was looking right at him.
“You’re right of course,” he said plainly.  She saw his lips dancing to the tune of that old song - the one where he would tell her that he could have anything he wanted...  Instead though, Vejiita smiled rather warmly and stepped away from her.
“Go to see Brolli.  It would be good for you,” he paused and headed back toward his desk, “and good for him.”
Vejiita sat down and resumed his study of the material on his desktop.  Bulma was horrified to see that his expression was somewhat disappointed.  She stood, transfixed, in the spot where he had left her.  Desperately, she tried to see his motive, and she surfaced from her dive empty-handed.  How he infuriated her!  Bulma crossed the room slowly until she was standing by his chair.  The Prince did not move.
She reached out and touched the papers in front of him, noting that they were schematics of Aisu-jin star rovers.  He was memorizing them in order to know specific targets, no doubt; so that he knew exactly where to fire a ki blast.  Bulma pushed them up toward the tip of the desk and out of his vision.
Vejiita lifted his head, but still he did not look at her.  She reached out to him and laid a cool hand on his shoulder - dragged it to the dip of his collar bone.
“What do you want from me?”  She asked him.  Bulma traced a line from the crook of his neck, across the silky spandex to the collar of his chest plate.  “You didn’t summon me here for nothing.”
“I summoned you here because you haven’t given me an answer, Bulma-kalzan.”  Vejiita said suddenly.
He stood so that he was facing her again, and so that she would feel intimidated, no doubt.  Bulma did her best to hide the tremble of her lips.  His face was difficult to read... She did not like that at all.  His brow arched and he caught the side of her face in his large hand.
“You can’t drag me around on a string like you did the Aash’an Raditsu,” he told her.  “You managed to bring the greatest of my race to his knees, Bulma...  You made the Kassha’hal mad with desire for you, haven’t you had your fill of deceit--?”
When he stopped, clearly, he looked as though he hadn’t meant to say any of it.  Bulma gazed at him, brow creased with uncertainty and frustration.  Vejiita was making a play of this, surely, she thought.  Her eyes scanned his for signs of dishonesty, but when she could find nothing - not even sincerity - she realized suddenly that she was now in a more perilous position than she had ever imagined.  Allowing herself to be seduced by Vejiita-Zarshi was now probably the largest mistake she had made yet.
But Bulma did not know now what she must do.  She had always known just what to do, ever since her decision to seduce Raditsu!  Her palms sweat with anticipation; what was his motive?  There must be one!  For he was right, she thought.  She would not be able to wrap him round her finger as she had done the others.  And so what did he want... What did he want--!
Vejiita reached out to grab her waist and take her flush against him.  He bent to kiss her, and Bulma took both sides of his face in her hands.  When he stopped, her heart raced ever faster.  Still, she could see nothing in his eyes - nothing!  Not even real desire!
“Come into House Vejiita, Bulma.  There, you will forget that you are a slave!  I can make it so that you never want for anything.”
“I don’t understand you,” Bulma hissed finally.  “I don’t understand you!  What is it you need from me?  There is something, isn’t there?  You can’t just want me, you can’t just want my loyalty or my promises!  What is it you want--!”
Bulma gasped with the desperate caress of his hand as he spread his fingers wide over her stomach and finally over the gentle curves of her breasts.  He touched her with that same gentleness as he had the first time; it was as though the very action brought him joy.  The thought of this brought her back to Chikyuu, and it terrified her.
His hand came to a slow stop, and as he watched her Vejiita’s mouth closed into a soft frown.  His eyes were half-lidded.  Still, nothing...  Bulma swallowed the great ball of fiery sorrow and fury in her throat.
“You are so convinced of my villainy that perhaps it is better for you to remain Brolli’s slave.  You don’t know it, but you’ve become just like him.”  He said.  Bulma blinked at his words.  He released her and subsequently looked away.  “Do as I told you and go to him.”
Vejiita went to his desk and pressed his palm to the communicator.
“No!”  Bulma was shocked to hear the desperation in her voice when she called out to him.
“Suukah,” the voice on the other end said.  When Vejiita made no answer, the officer on the other end said, “Zarshi-kalan?”
Vejiita watched her for a moment, apparently judging what he should do next.  Bulma was unsure why she had stopped him and was implicitly horrified by her unpredictability.  All this time...  Control was all that mattered!  All the time she had spent perfecting it must not go to waste.  So why was it slipping from her fingers now!
“It’s nothing,” Vejiita told the communicator, “shallan.”
Once there was silence, Bulma felt the blood rising in her ears again.  No!  She could not break; not now, she could not break when there was so much at stake for her - for the Mizuka-jin.  It did not matter how much she wanted to...
Vejiita was facing her again.  He crossed both arms over his broad chest and sighed; clearly, he was frustrated.  But what was next, Bulma wondered?  Leave Brolli and become Vejiita’s slave, to what end?  In either case, she was still a slave with no title, no freedom and no access to what she truly needed.  In her mind, Bulma heard his words that night; I think you know, Bulma, just how different things would be with me...
“I am patient,” Vejiita said suddenly.  “But even I have my limits.  I’m sure I don’t have to remind you not to test them.”
“I can’t understand why you don’t just take what you want!” Bulma told him.  “You can take it anyway - I don’t need to be your slave!”
Vejiita smiled at her, and to her disgust it was a warm and friendly smile.  It did not look anything like she was used to seeing:  not on his face or any of these monkeys.
“I told you, didn’t I?”  He asked.  The voice was soothing and caressing, like his hands.  “I told you I would make you forget everything you know about Saiya-jin.”  He came to her again, this time with a stance not so intimidating.
“I’ve had you, yes.  But only because you wanted me, too, and who am I to deny you what you want?”  He lingered on the words for a moment before lifting his chin and smiling again.  “I have made my choice, Bulma-kalzan.  It is time for you to make one.”
Vejiita uncrossed his arms and held out one hand to her, palm upward and outstretched.  If she took it now, what would it mean?  Where to go from here?  Bulma felt a cold sweat inch down her spine; how could she be so indecisive now?  She hesitated for a moment, and then lifted her hand to take his.
But Bulma stopped.  Suddenly a lock within her clicked and intensified her feelings of doubt and distrust.  She squinted at Vejiita.
“I--?”  She paused and lowered her hand.  “Allow me to speak with Brolli.  And then I will give you my decision.”
The prince regarded her with some measure of suspicion, and lowered his hand.  He will say no, she thought.  He is too selfish and possessive; his real motive will be revealed to me in an instant.  Vejiita then shrugged, and his upper lip quirked.  Bulma couldn’t help cocking her head to the side in curiosity as he returned to his desk and pressed the communicator again.
“Very well,” he told her.  The voice came over the intercom again and Vejiita told his officer to come and collect her so that she could be taken to Brolli.
Bulma looked away from him and turned.  How could he have agreed?  She had thought that surely, he would have refused.  Bulma ground her teeth together; was there anything that made sense now?  It seemed that everything she knew no longer made sense, and for the first time in a long time Bulma was afraid.
Vejiita’s gloved hands were touching her shoulders now, and they grazed along her arms until he was gripping them strongly.  But it was not a fierce grip, she realized.  He leaned into her ear and breathed deeply.
“You’ll see how wrong you are, Bulma,” he whispered sadly against her cheek.
When the communicator on his chamber door blipped softly, Bulma stepped away from him.  With ease, he released her.  She did not look back as she headed toward the door to meet the guards.  The door slid open, and the same guards who had escorted her to the quarters were waiting.
“Shaji Bulma?”
Bulma stopped short when she heard him address her in Mizukago.  Her brow furrowed, and she looked back at him with wide, questioning eyes.  Why should he use Mizukago?  Why?  How had he discovered her fluency?
“I’ll expect you to keep your word,” he said.  Bulma, unable to stand the look on his face, turned away again and continued out the door, never indicating that she had understood.
The guards gripped her arms and forced her to face the door before it shut.
“Suukah,” she said to Vejiita, slowly in his own language.  The guards echoed her.  He nodded and smiled handsomely.
“Shallan.”