Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter Thirteen: Asufaru’ka ( Chapter 13 )

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

The edge of the Saiya-jin warship Kuraoh was slowly illuminated as it approached Yuki-sei.  The Aisu-jin planet’s atmosphere soared high above its surface, though the planet itself was smaller even than Chikyuu, and it glimmered brightly:  visible from precisely one light-year away.  The composition of its atmosphere, Bulma discovered, was roughly similar to that of Chikyuu with slightly more carbon dioxide.  This accounted for the heaviness she had felt in Furiza’s ship.
Yuki-sei was also about one hundred fifty million miles from its sun, producing a realm of ice and snow that disinterested, or rather averted, most invaders from ideas of occupation.  After all, who wanted an ice-box of a planet with little to no sunlight?  Who would be able to live under such adverse conditions but the Aisu-jin themselves?  But, Bulma mused as she gazed out her chamber window, the Saiya-jin were not here to occupy or even to invade.  They were here to purge - as they had done to Chikyuu those five years ago.  And if the Aisu-jin could not produce a convincing enough argument that they were not responsible for Vejiita-sei’s destruction, well… The Saiya-jin would do it.
Bulma watched Kuraoh approach to the left of the mother ship she had occupied on the journey here.  Kuraoh was aptly named:  a Saiya-jin word meaning “conquer”.  And she could not see the other ships from here but from what Vejiita had told her, the Kuraoh and the Shujya’nehm - meaning exalted son - would be the first ships to lead the attack on Yuki-sei if war commenced.
Each one contained five battalions of warriors who were ready, and more than willing, to begin the purge.  It would only take one warrior, Vejiita had said, to destroy Yuki-sei.  With one finger any Saiya-jin warrior with a strength level of over fifty-thousand could turn a planet three times the size of Yuki-sei into a burned out cinder.  But the idea was to conquer, not just to purge; Yuki-sei was far more precious an article of trade for boosting the morale of the Saiya-jin.  Bulma had been tempted to ask Vejiita if they’d still be able to do it were she to slice all of their fingers off.
But she hadn’t, Bulma realized as she hugged both arms around her bare arms.  Her waning aggression of late had even begun to stir suspicion in the King, who had been her unwavering supporter from the beginning; oblivious monkey that he was.  Bulma’s brow furrowed, and she turned from the window to search for her discarded tunic.
She slid the softer material of the clothing Vejiita had acquired for her over her thermal body suit.  That had also been a gift from Vejiita; she would come to treasure it, he’d told her, as her body would begin to tolerate the coldness of space less and less.  She had not told him that before reaching Vejiita-sei for the first time, the Saiya-jin had nearly left her to freeze in her bunk cell.  The quarters she occupied now were warm as Mizukashi in comparison.
Bulma sat wearily at her new desk.  On it were thousands of notes she’d kept in preparation for the rebellion; still she had not thrown them away - still she had hope.  And the last time she had spoken with Iriyon, it seemed as though the Mizuka-jin had not given up hope either.  Bulma sighed and drew a finger over rough schematics she had drawn herself:  concept drawings and plans for her plasma rifle, the cannons and even the encapsulation devices.  All of them had been a success, and the cannon had been only days away from completion when she’d been ordered to Yuki-sei.  Since losing communication with her contacts on Ten’rili, Bulma had no way of knowing if it would be finished or not.  She prayed to return to Mizukashi, though to whom she did not know.
Her communication panel blipped, and Bulma quickly covered her evidence.  On top of it, she threw dozens of notes on Saiya-jin lung structure:  another project she had undertaken for the King in order to help her better understand how their bodies would react to the conditions on Yuki-sei.  So far, it seemed that Saiya-jin lungs could process nearly every breathable element on the table.  Was it even impossible to poison the beasts, Bulma fretted?
She stood as the key sequence to her door was entered.  It was Vejiita; only he knew the codes and had not even given them to his father.  The door slid open, revealing the face she expected.  He came into the room without pretense and armed only, as it seemed, with that damnably handsome smile.  There was something strange about the way he had courted her, as it were.  Bulma thought that even Brolli had not been so utterly unreadable:  so completely mysterious.  Something about Vejiita’s eyes was different.  Something frightening...
“We’re about to make contact with the Aisu-jin mother ship,” he said matter-of-factly.  He was pulling the white gloves of his battlesuit off by each individual finger.  “I expect we’ll be ‘negotiating’ within the hour,” he paused and tossed both gloves on her desk as he came to her.
Vejiita’s eyes shut slowly, and his chin rose into the air with the graceful movement of a cat.  He inhaled deeply.  Bulma’s palms closed tightly over the edge of her desk; what in all the gods’ names had come over her?  Could it be possible that she was afraid of him, even now, even after all that had happened--!
“Ah, Shall’la,” he whispered, his voice generous with worship.  “You smell marvelous.”  Vejiita’s eyes opened, and he tilted his chin downward.  “If only you knew what the scent of fear does to my sex-drive.”
“I do, Zarshi-kalan,” Bulma said after a moment.
The past week with him had proved that much at least.  His love-making had not grown just more intense, she thought, but more dominant.  To her dismay, though, she always found herself shaking like a cowering bitch-cub in the wake of his desire; often times Bulma found that his quiet, sing-song reassurance in the afterward calmed her terror.
“Perhaps you do,” Vejiita said finally.
His thumb came to trace the outline of her bottom lip.  He pressed it into her chin lightly and pushed it upward until her throat was bared at a slight angle.  Vejiita’s fingers trailed downward, lingering at her pulse for just a breath before he was touching the high collar of her tunic.  Without warning his hand slid all the way down to her waist, and then onto the desk behind her.  His body was pressed to hers, every inch of it but for his lips touched her.  Vejiita’s forehead moved gently against hers when he breathed in.
“Why are you afraid of me, Bulma?”  He asked.  Bulma’s blood-pressure plummeted.  Any moment she would surely lose consciousness, she was sure of it.  Blinking, Bulma gripped the desk behind her even harder.
“Because it pleases my ka’fuu,” she replied uneasily.  Bulma placed pungent emphasis on the Saiya-jin word for ‘master’ to make it sound more respectful, more indulgent.  Vejiita chuckled deep in his throat.
“What a clever answer,” he growled amusedly.  Vejiita kissed her once, deeply with his tongue and lingered on her top lip.  “You are unaccustomed to pleasing Saiya-jin royalty, is all,” he said, pushing away from her.  “You will grow used to it, in time.”
Vejiita sighed deeply then, took his gloves from the desk and turned away.  He headed toward her bed which was admittedly more lavish and inviting than the one she’d made for herself in the lab.  His distance was a bit more reassuring, Bulma told herself; the further he was from her notes, the better.  He already knew too much...
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for a war, Zarshi-kalan?”  She asked.  “Why have you come here?”
“I want you to be at the negotiation, Bulma-kalzan,” Vejiita said unceremoniously as he sat on the edge of her bed.  He leaned on his knees and pressed his chin into his hands.  Bulma stared at him perplexedly.
“What has a slave to offer the Empire?”  She wondered aloud at him.  It seemed she had not lost all of her will.  “Do you believe I would negotiate in your favor?  You really have overextended your trust threshold, have you not--?”
Something in his eyes made her stop:  something she had never seen in Brolli’s eyes, or even in Raditsu’s.  It was a promise, Bulma decided.  There was a promise in his gaze that went beyond threat; it was wholly lethal in itself.  He never did threaten with words, though.  Only with a look - a glare of absolute contempt for her disobedience.  Bulma looked away.
“Bulma,” Vejiita’s voice was a mere fraction above a whisper, “come here.”
Bulma shut her eyes and breathed out deeply; this would not end with a simple apology.  She moved toward him and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.  Vejiita’s hand was extended toward her now, it waited for her compliance; nothing else would do.  As she took it, he did not force her so much as guide her to her knees before him.  He cupped her cheeks in both hands and caressed her skin with a tenderness so unexpected that Bulma shivered.
“You’ll do it, Bulma, because I am asking you to.  I am not forcing you, though I could.  You understand that, don’t you?”
“Whose brilliant design is this?”  Bulma hissed in reply.  “Brolli’s?  Yours?”
Vejiita chuckled at that.
“You are always so quick to assume that there is some greater evil to my plans, aren’t you?  Won’t you trust my judgment this once?”
“Trust?”  Bulma whispered the word with longing.  “Your kind burned it out of me years ago.”  He startled her by kissing her forehead.
“Then let me rekindle it, won’t you?”  He asked.  “I do hate the look of bitterness in your eyes.”
The Saiyago words on his tongue were different, somehow, than the way most of his kind spoke.  They were softer, she thought, and slower.  He spoke with a tenor of nobility that Bulma assumed must be a kind of elite speech; there were even times when she barely understood him.  A note within it made her bones quiver.
Bulma exhaled on the breath she’d been holding.  Trust, she wondered?  Was Vejiita really so naïve of her intentions, or was he insisting on this in order to trap her and prove his superiority once and for all?  Vejiita’s eyebrow was arched expectantly; he was waiting.
“You leave me with no choice,” she told him, “how can it be that you are not forcing me?”
Vejiita smirked, and his hands left the flushing surface of her cheeks.  He stood and reached for his gloves.
“You know you have no choice because you will not say ‘no’.  If you really were averted to being at the negotiation, Bulma, I would not force you to go.  You know that...”  He slid one glove on his hand, and then the other.  The latter paused in the air as he gazed at her, and finally crouched to her eye level.
“You wouldn’t want to displease me anyway, would you?”
“Threats, Zarshi-kalan?”  Bulma’s smirk matched his from only a moment ago.
“It’s the only thing you understand, after all this time.”
“Perhaps only because the Saiya-jin reputation for cruelty precedes you.”  Bulma spat.
Vejiita smiled; this time it was not a smirk.  He stood and chuckled airily.
“Ah, Bulma-kalzan.  You’ve no conception of true cruelty, I assure you.  Not the kind I am capable of.”
Without another word, Vejiita turned from her and made his way to the door.  Bulma remained by the side of her bed, horribly at a loss for words and admittedly terrified by his response.  The door slid open, and Vejiita paused in the archway.
“The guard will escort you when the time comes.  I hope you’ll have taken what time you have to brush up on your Aisugo.”

Brolli stood patiently by the air vent at dock fifteen.  The cool air was cascading over his bare chest and rustling the velvet hair on his coiled tail.  He brought his arms closer to his chest and squeezed his fists together.  The guards near him became more alert each time he shifted, as though his very movement startled them into awareness.  After all, Brolli had left his chambers nearly half an hour ago and had been waiting here ever since.
There was movement down the corridor to his left, and round the corner he could see Prince Vejiita approaching with some of his elite guard.  The prince looked singularly self-satisfied, if that was the way to word the expression on his face.  Brolli sneered at his approach.
“You look like you’ve been sparring, Zarshi-kalan.”
“I have,” he replied wryly, “with your Blue Goddess.  Though, as I told her, a more appropriate comparison would be Kalahd’Nihr.”
Brolli huffed irritably.
“She is a champion sparring partner, is she not?” He said, and sparks of his aura panged painfully into the heels of his folded hands.
“Indeed,” Vejiita replied, “in more ways than one, yes?  You seem a bit edgy, Kassha’hal.  Do I sense jealousy?”
“You might,” Brolli snapped, “I told you before she was mine.  This little game of yours is lasting much longer than you made it seem, don’t you think?”
“And I told you before, Kassha’hal:  that female is no one’s.  You must learn to accept this or everything we’ve done thus far will be for naught.”
“What exactly have we done?”  Brolli wondered aloud.  The boom of his voice startled even the guards, who eyed him warily before he tightened his arms about his chest and growled.  “We are no further along than when we started!”  He hissed more quietly.
“You think so only because you have not seen her as I have,” Vejiita explained hastily.  He paused to lower his voice.  “You should see her in the throes of fear and dread when I mate with her, Kassha’hal.  It would do you good.”
Brolli snarled in reply and felt the tiny, fine hairs on his tail stand on end.  Gods, what he wouldn’t give to rip that vain little smirk from Vejiita’s face!  The chuckle afterward did nothing to calm his rage.
“I would rather watch a myr cat mate,” he said in Vejiita’s ear.  The prince’s vanity ruffled only slightly.  Brolli took secret delight in even that small victory.  “Besides,” he continued, “you know nothing about her involvement with the resistance anymore than you did weeks ago, in the beginning.”
In that moment, the King’s party turned the corner at the end of the corridor.  It was followed closely by another train of guards, who contained none other than the Blue Goddess herself.  Brolli’s lips parted only slightly with his disbelief, until he shut them quickly to avoid embarrassment.
She walked with the same grace she’d had since the moment he’d seen her on Mizukashi with Raditsu; Bulma had lost none of her pride, despite whatever Vejiita had seen in her.  For it was either her pride, or an exceptional talent for a guise of it that gave her the stride of a princess.  Brolli thought that perhaps it may be both.
“We’ll see about my knowledge and yours, Kassha’hal,” Vejiita said finally.
Brolli looked down on him with the regard he would give the small myr cat he mentioned moments ago.  His eyes were drawn to the king though, and he pressed his palms together in salute.  The guards around him repeated the action.
“Jya’nehm,” Vejiita-Zarshon said to his son, “I am not sure this is prudent.”  He meant Bulma’s presence.  Surely, even a third-class moron could see that.  The King’s voice was just above an enraged whisper.
But the prince only grinned:  with private victory no doubt, thought Brolli.  He wondered what must have taken place - what Vejiita must have had to offer Bulma in exchange for her presence at the negotiations.  The thought only made him angrier, even as he tried focusing on more important matters.
“You do not have faith in my most trusted kalzan, Father?”  Vejiita asked of him.  Brolli saw Bulma’s eyelids narrow; even now the sound of kalzan made her cringe.
“It is not a question of my faith,” the King replied, “but rather a question of her safety, Vejiita.  You do remember, don’t you?  You do know who we are negotiating with.”
“Of course, Father,” the prince said rather easily.  “But Bulma-kalzan is more proficient than you or I in Aisugo.  I thought that, perhaps, since our friend Furiza is so averted to speaking our distinguished tongue that we might rely on her for more accurate interpretations.”
Brolli had to contain the bubble of awkward laughter that threatened to crawl from his throat.  His body made a slight start instead, and he gazed at Bulma with a great measure of shock.  He had expected to find a look of self-righteousness on her face, but rather found that she looked as stunned as he.  What the hell was Vejiita trying to pull?  The Prince was chuckling again:  that infernal sound!
“Ah, Bulma-kalzan,” he said, “don’t be so modest.  I’ve heard you practicing in your chambers.  She has quite a propensity for learning languages don’t you think, Kantak?”  He glanced up at his father.
The King, for the first time Brolli noted, regarded Bulma with confusion.  The prince still smiled, harboring his secret victory - whatever it may be.  Bulma folded her hands together in front of the soft mauve tunic she wore.
“I - I thought it only prudent, Your Highness.  Naturally, as this conflict continues to run deeper we must be prepared in all ways.”
Brolli had never seen her at such a loss for words.  He was filled suddenly with near pity as he recalled Vejiita’s words only moments before.  Indeed something, though small and more or less indistinct, had changed about her.  Yet it was not a good change, Brolli thought.  Some part of what he had fallen in love with was lost forever to her.  He recalled now what Vejiita had said to him at the beginning of this little game; I am more ruthless and twice as unforgiving as she is, Kassha’hal, and I will tear her soul apart until she has not the will to fight me any longer!
“A wise conclusion, indeed, Bulma-kalzan.”  The King’s voice snapped Brolli out of his thoughtful reverie.  The king still seemed a bit puzzled by his son’s confession, yet he looked away from her and began to address the rest of them.
“Very well,” he began, “yet as most of you here know we intend these negotiations only to be a formality.  Any time that we can waste distracting the Aisu-jin while we prepare for our assault will aid our endeavor.  Our back up squads are preparing the Kei-jal’a as we speak, so it would do us some good to keep Aisu-jin attention away from the Kuraoh.”
Brolli saw that Bulma’s face had twisted with incomprehension.  It was not often that she did not understand what was being said to her; as Vejiita had put it she had a remarkable affinity for foreign language.  But he could see now that Bulma had never heard of the Kei-jal’a, and she was afraid of this ignorance.
The Kei-jal’a were special devices used by the Saiya-jin for more years than Brolli had been alive.  Yes, he recalled, even before his ascension the Saiya-jin had used the devices to produce a replication of Vejiita-sei’s moonlight in order to transform into the mighty Oozaru.  They also aided and amplified the use of ki in a general sense.  Brolli could see Bulma’s mind translating the words.  The look of incomprehension disappeared.
There was an alarm-like sound coming from the entrance doors.  The Aisu-jin fleet ship was docking.

“I did not know Saiya-jin zalak-sha rilak so hospitable...!”
Vejiita’s ears perked with the sound of Aisu-jin speech.  He did not recognize all of the words, but he knew enough to hear the sarcasm in them.  The sound made him snarl under his breath, and although the slimy lizards had probably not heard it the other Saiya-jin had.  One of Vejiita’s guards chuckled softly at his obvious sign of disapproval, and Vejiita saw that the newly arrived Raditsu was also grinning.
The Aisu-jin guards were forming a semi-circle about twenty feet from where the Saiya-jin stood, waiting with arms and palms tense like livewire.  Bulma was further forward than they, only by a few feet, and Vejiita waited for the moment when Furiza exited his cold, icy hell of a ship.
He waited for Furiza’s reaction to Bulma, and likewise for any changes in Bulma’s scent.  Frustration boiled in him, though; he could not decide which would be more satisfying:  to see that there had been an alliance between the Mizuka-jin and the Aisu-jin all along and to know that Bulma had been a force behind it, or to put such a possibility far from his mind.  Vejiita had grown rather fond of the way Bulma’s eyes looked when she was not angry or bitter...
Vejiita ground his teeth together.  There was an Aisu-jin elite guard raising his arm.  Every Saiya-jin tensed for a brief moment, until the brutish animal started to speak.
“Furiza-lak will enter now,” the apparent male declared.  Gods help him, but Vejiita could never quite discern the sex of any of the bastards just by looking at one.  The guard lowered his palm and pointed with a powerful arm toward Bulma.  “Who is the blue one?  She is no Saiya-jin!”
Several of Vejiita’s comrades waited dazedly for an interpretation.  Vejiita stepped forward just a couple of paces; he was warned from going further with an imperceptible shift in his father’s ki.
“She is Bulma:  a servant of Vejiita-sei’s royal house.  She will serve as interpreter.”  Vejiita told him.
The elite guard sneered.  His sharp teeth gleamed brightly in the artificial light only for a split second before reddish ooze crept through them.  He licked it off of his blood red lips.  Vejiita’s stomach did flip flops, and he was sure that he heard some of the others make soft sounds of discontent.
“Vejiita-sei.”  Someone chuckled.  The voice came from the docking ramp of the Aisu-jin ship.  Vejiita had heard it one or two times before, and by now Raditsu surely knew it well enough to have nightmares of it.
His voice was like the slow keening of a dying animal:  a wail of desperate realization.  But it was not a sad sound, no.  It really was the opposite.  So much mirth danced in that bastard’s voice that it was difficult to distinguish one emotion from the next.  Furiza did not sound like a man or a woman, but more like some grotesque combination of the two.  And each time he spoke, the fine hairs on Vejiita’s tail stood on end.
Furiza came out of the bright, cold lights and stepped heavily down the corrugated metal.  His guard followed him closely, and Vejiita could see six or seven other Aisu-jin warriors in pursuit.  Vejiita looked from Bulma to Furiza, from the Aisu-jin emperor back to Bulma.  For a moment, it seemed as though Furiza had hesitated at the sight of her.  Vejiita’s eyes narrowed.
“Vejiita-sei?”  Another slow, murmuring chuckle.  It was almost a moan.    He said something that Vejiita did not understand, but it did not sound polite.  Furiza kept coming toward them, and his comrades chuckled cruelly.
He was ignoring Bulma now, and staring at Vejiita with a cautious contempt.  Furiza spoke again, this time as he did so he crossed both pale, metallic arms over his small but robust chest.  Vejiita wanted to tear his face off; it looked so bloody smug.
Bulma faced the Saiya-jin and took a deep breath.  Vejiita saw that even now, while she held her head high, her nerves were spiking like a fever.  Her deep blue eyes were shimmering with distant fear.
“Furiza asks why you have requested his presence.”  She told them.
Vejiita’s father growled low in his throat and glanced around him.  Raditsu made a slight nod of approval.
“Tell Furiza that we know of his involvement in the destruction of Vejiita-sei; that it is no longer a secret.  We wish to discuss potential alternatives to conflict.  If he can agree to our terms, we can spare the lives of many Aisu-jin citizens.”
Bulma spoke to Furiza, and even Vejiita was now surprised at how proficient she was.  He had spoken the truth when he said he’d heard her practicing in her room, but still her ease and skill with the language startled him.  He wondered how she could possibly say something like it when she knew how preposterous the idea was.
Furiza snarled aloud after Bulma was finished, and Vejiita felt Brolli’s volatile aura surge behind him.  The same, viscous liquid spewed nastily from Furiza’s lips, and the brutal noise turned swiftly to a disgusted chuckle.  He replied, without looking at Bulma, and spoke at length.  When Bulma turned back to the Saiya-jin, she looked uncertain.
“Do not fear the words,” Vejiita told her, “they are not your own.”  But, Vejiita thought, deep down inside Bulma’s soul she would have loved to say the same.  She nodded to him, and though there was no expression on her face now, there was an odd sort of contempt in her eyes.
“Furiza asks why you think him so stupid.  He says that he would be a fool to think that you would negotiate for Aisu-jin favor, or that you would be a fool for trying.”
There was a good amount of chuckling from the Saiya-jin in response to this.  Vejiita himself couldn’t help the mirth in his belly.  Alas, how were any of them to respond?  Furiza had proven his intelligence right then and there, yet still a pretense must be maintained until preparations were complete.
“Please tell Furiza,” the king said finally, “that we do not mean to insult his intelligence.”  He paused and looked amused, the way a child does when it picks up its first toy.  “Tell him that our terms are simple and that, given the Aisu-jin crimes already committed, he should be obliged to accept.”
Vejiita saw Bulma’s jaw tighten.  Something about her scent was not right, and he wondered if anyone else (particularly Brolli) could tell.  Despite that, she turned again to the Aisu-jin freaks and spoke.  With his small knowledge of the barbaric language, Vejiita could tell that she had said what his father had wanted; she would be foolish anyway to have tried differently.
There was a moment of silence during which Vejiita wondered if the lizard had understood Bulma.  But he quickly discerned that all the Aisu-jin had understood, and that they merely looked shocked at the idea of compliance.  Vejiita saw Furiza’s purple-black eyes shift toward him; the Aisu-jin lord squinted and breathed in deeply.  On the exhale, Furiza snarled again as he had before.  This time, though, it sounded more delighted that it ought to.
“Saiya-jin ought to be more polite,” Furiza said abruptly in heavily accented Saiyago.  He shook a finger at them.
Every warrior that Vejiita could sense was abruptly filled with tense aura that made his fingers ache.  Brolli’s ki was surging so, that Vejiita thought he felt it on his back - hot as a flame.  He looked to Bulma, whose mouth was open in such a daze that his confusion mounted further.  Who had known that the lizard could speak Saiyago?
“You come here to negotiate, shalak,” Furiza began, tripping on the words but being understood nonetheless.  He laughed quietly, apparently only to himself.  “But Furiza know truth, yes?  You have been stupid, Saiya-jin shit-eaters.  Very, very stupid...”
For a split second, Vejiita’s anger was too great even for him to see properly.  How dare that slime-infested lizard make insults in the Saiya-jin tongue, when he could barely speak it!  But the red haze of his fury lasted only a second longer.  Furiza raised his arm above his head and shouted a single phrase in Aisugo.  Vejiita did not recognize it.  Everyone looked around at each other in stupefied frenzy until Bulma’s teeth clenched visibly.
It was as though the deck had entered a vortex of slow motion.  Bulma turned, crouching low and spreading her arms wide.
“DOWN!”
Her hands went to her ears, and Vejiita barely had time to recognize the command before he reached for his father’s collar and dove on his belly.  The following explosion was unlike anything he had heard before.  It was a dull, crushing sound - as though he were underwater.
The Saiya-jin guards fell on top of him and his father.  Vejiita squinted and glanced under their bodies to see that Brolli was being dragged toward the dock entrance by his own guard.  Another explosion shook the deck, and the only other audible sound was that bastard’s laughter...  Vejiita growled at his inability to act against Furiza, and subsequently realized that he was frantic to see what had happened to Bulma.
The chaos on deck prevented movement, and though Vejiita knew that he had not been hit directly by whatever was attacking them he could feel the atmosphere around him growing soupy with smoke and heavy fumes.  He tried shoving the guards off of him, but was forced down even harder.  The guard begged him to stay down.
Another explosion, and after this one Vejiita found that his senses were being clouded; he had the distinct sensation of being thrown into a tunnel of darkness.  He opened his mouth to protest to the guards but no sound came out.  He choked on the air, his fingers curling with the agony of its heat.  It was the strangest and most frightening feeling he had ever known...
...The guard was moving, and Vejiita saw light again.  Had he gone unconscious?  Surely not!  The stifling air receded only a bit, and when the guard moved from him he saw faces.  Vejiita reached out with his hand - yet he could not see it!  He could not move!  There were voices above him...  They spoke Aisugo.
“Give the prince his own, special quarters,” one voice said.  It was eerily familiar, even in his haze of thought.  The next words he could not understand.
No!  He wanted to shout to them.  Gods, was the stench around him a result of the explosion or from the Aisu-jin lizards themselves?  He gagged again and slammed the back of his head against the deck floor in frustration.
“Take Bulma-sha to the infirmary - fusha ri...  She will have many questions...”
Vejiita gagged once more on what could have been vomit, he was not sure even of its taste.  Oh, gods, if he got out of this alive he’d eat that woman’s heart out while she still lived - !  He tried getting up once more, and struggled when his feet and arms were lifted.  When Vejiita’s head hit the floor again, though, the impact sent him into darkness.