Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter Sixteen: Da’shemm ( Chapter 16 )

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

Furiza felt his pulse quicken almost immediately with the vibration.  An explosion, he thought without question.  Somewhere in the east wing of the ship...  A few of his officers grunted in concern, and one turned to face him.  With a nearly imperceptible nod, Furiza indicated that someone should investigate.  The officer nodded, spewing acidic saliva as he shouted orders to idle guards standing near the entrance of the bridge.  Furiza shifted in his chair and tapped a few buttons on its arm; the bridge was getting too warm for his tastes, and he adjusted the temperature.
Probably by now, he suspected, the female Chikyuu-jin had betrayed him.  It had become evident to him that even though he had promised her many things in return for her loyalty, the creature was too like those filthy Saiya-jin to ever abandon them completely.  She only lacked the tail and physical strength really; otherwise she was a match through and through for their primeval mentality.  Their stinking, warm-blooded bodies...  Furiza shuddered and turned the temperature down one more notch.
With Vejiita-sei destroyed and its prince and most powerful warrior in captivity, Furiza’s preparations for Videon domination appeared to have begun with smooth ferocity.  But the explosion worried him...  What had she done?  He had expected Bulma-sha to lose her will completely and allow herself to be controlled by the monkey Saiya-jin, but how far had she gone in her quest to save that monster, Brolli?  What steps had she taken to free that hot-blooded little bastard Vejiita from his ki-dampening cell?  Furiza felt a suspicious snarl come crawling up his throat as the guards returned.
“Divine Emperor!”  One of them knelt before him.  “An explosion, Sire, in the med dock.  The two techs who had been preparing rejuvenation tanks are dead.”
“An accident?”  Furiza asked quietly, tapping a frigid finger against his sharp front teeth.
“It appears, Divine One.  The techs were not otherwise injured but for the fatal pulse damage from the tanks’ power cores.”
“Send a few investigators, nonetheless.” Furiza told them, and rose from his chair.
The guard saluted, and left.  Furiza stalked toward the vid screen and stared out into the vast, starry sky of the Videon.  He watched the Saiya-jin war ship Kuroah and cursed under his breath...  He had underestimated the Chikyuu-jin, but he would not underestimate those brainless monkeys.
“Kallak,” he said to his colonel, who approached him with a salute.  “Inform General Shak-za that we will be turning our attention toward the mother ship.  The Saiya-jin will not attack from Kuraoh...  No...  The bastards learn quickly.  You see, Kallak?  Even monkeys can be taught.”
The officer chuckled and agreed, saluting again before he turned to leave.  Furiza inhaled the frosty air around him and called the officer again.
“Before you do that...  Find Bulma-sha.  I’m sure you’ll find her near the holding wing.  Bring her to me, please.”

Bulma stifled her breath as the Aisu-jin guard stared her down.
“Ri-shal’lak--!  ...Shafuri sha-za...!”  Though she barely understood the creature, she could gather by its tone and by picking out certain words Iriyon had taught her that she was not allowed in this section of the holding wing.  Probably it was because Brolli’s aura was so volatile that the littlest disturbance could mean impending doom for all of them.
“I have numbing agent,” she stuttered feebly in Aisugo.  The guard snarled at her.  “I will speak to him,” she said, referring to Brolli, “for Furiza-lak.”
The guard spat a few more words to her about the importance of security, then swiped a hand across its spittle covered lips.  The creature seemed to have conceded though, because it reached toward the key pad -- access to Brolli’s cell.  Bulma’s chest swelled gently with determination.
But the pride died quickly when she heard other voices calling urgently down the corridor.  They shouted at the guard to apprehend her.  Gods...  This meant that Furiza had already anticipated her treachery.  How she had prayed for more time!  When the guard looked on her with sudden realization, Bulma acted quickly.  She drew the pulse gun.  Eight charges left -- !
The pulse traveled quickly to the chest of the guard, and the monster shuddered violently against the wall behind it, dead in seconds.  The two guards rushing down the corridor had already begun to shriek with fury and had charged their plasma rifles.  Bulma ducked as the first charge from one of their guns flurried by, hot as magma.  The air around her surged with heat, and she held her breath.
As the other guard readied its first charge, Bulma fired her pulse gun again.  It hit the gun of the guard who had already fired.  But before she had a moment to curse in frustration at her poor aim the pulse bounced fluidly off of the swirling core of the plasma gun and directly into the other guard’s temple.  The Aisu-jin’s body seemed to lose all control then, and it cried out in pain.  This was different, she observed.  The dying guard clutched its head and fell to the floor.  Bulma watched with horrified amazement as viscous purple fluid dribbled from his eyes and nose.  Aisu-jin blood?
The guard who still stood, watching the other die what looked to be a horrible death, was frantically attempting to recharge its plasma rifle:  to no avail.  Bulma watched curiously for a fraction of a moment before she stood, straightened her spine, and aimed directly at the struggling guard.  The Aisu-jin shrieked once more as if to lament that it had tried to depend on technology instead of ki manipulation, and lunged toward her.  Bulma fired.
The guard dropped to the floor when the pulse hit it in the chest, and it was still.  Bulma, still marveling at her own skill with a weapon, crept closer to the body of the guard who had been hit by her errant fire.  She stood over it, observing its skull from a short distance.  Until now, she had never actually observed what her pulse gun could do to its victim; she had only assumed its effects based on the physics of its make-up.  And of course, the four Aisu-jin she had already shot directly with the gun had died as she expected.  Though she knew nothing of Aisu-jin genetics, all living creatures indeed must have a brain and the pulse was designed to create a surge in synaptic activity that would trigger immediate rigid paralysis.  This of course would cause death, and the pulse was strong enough to cause it almost instantly.
But, gazing at the skull of the one who had been hit by accident, Bulma was amazed.  She lifted her boot and nudged its shiny white head gently.  Bulma gasped as her boot left a small indentation in the side of his skull.  She fell backward over the second guard’s body and stared in wonder.  Had the squishing noise been its skull?  She crawled back over toward its body and tried desperately to control her breathing.
Bulma reached out and poked the guard’s skull with her gun.  She stifled a cry when the gun left another indentation, and more of what appeared to be Aisu-jin blood oozed from its lifeless eyes.  Great, merciful gods...  The pulse had liquefied its skull.  But why?  Because it had hit the plasma core of the other’s gun?  And then she remembered how the second guard had not been able to recharge.
Bulma scrambled back to the other gun and wrenched it free of the dead guard’s hands.  Observing it, she saw that the core had gone dark.  Had a mere bio-electric pulse wave stolen all the energy from the plasma core?  It was the only explanation and yet Bulma was terrified to believe such a thing.  She dropped the gun and shakily pushed herself to her feet.  Once Bulma had caught her breath, she rushed back toward Brolli’s cell and the guard who had collapsed there.
Now that the monster was dead there was no way to know his override codes for the cell lock.  But Bulma had seen electronic keys on several of the guards who merely used it instead of a code.  She prayed that this one had the same device as she searched him.  He wore a utility belt full of small weapons, and Bulma heaved his body on its stomach to search the rest of it.  She grinned with relief as she recognized the key, a small rectangular object with glowing green tubes protruding.
Bulma stood shakily and opened the lock panel on the wall.  There was a slot for the key, and she pushed her find into it only to see the control panel light up.  Bulma closed her eyes and whispered a final prayer to whatever gods were listening, then reached up and saw that her hands were clammy with sweat.  She pressed the override key...
The panel blipped and sounded a warning that the door was opening, and it flashed a brilliant green.  Bulma laughed softly with release and retrieved the key from the panel.  She stepped into the cell and let the door swish shut behind her.
From the doorway, she could see Brolli laid out on a med stretcher.  He had been placed on his stomach, and on his bare back Bulma could see burns from where the plasma fumes had come in contact with his skin.  Vejiita probably had not suffered these, as he had been wearing a battle suit.  Even now she could see what she had feared ever since seeing Brolli alive after the attack; he had been the most severely injured, and was probably still incapable of walking let alone ki manipulation.  For a moment she felt pity for him.  Brolli was the strongest Saiya-jin in the known galaxy, and here he lay:  prostrate on his stomach and unconscious.  Useless to anyone...
Bulma searched the room quickly and spotted an empty container that had once contained vials of reviving serum.  They had used all of them on Brolli before he finally woke, she remembered.  Though by the time she had last seen him the poisoning had worn off; he had been barely alive or cognizant of anything but anger.  She wondered what would happen now...
Hurrying, Bulma picked up the empty container and placed it by the med stretcher.  She reached into her battered, dirty tunic and found the vials of numbing agent.  He must be awake though, before she could use it.  She did not guess that she would need reviving serum, so to search for more would be fruitless.  Bulma crept closer to his body and reached out.  Perhaps if she could only shake him a bit.
She gasped when Brolli’s arm shot out from his side and gripped her wrist painfully.  Bulma instinctively gripped his hand in return to try and pry it loose.  She was rewarded with a groan and movement from the med stretcher.  Bulma gasped again in pain as his groan turned into a deep growl.
“Brolli!”  She hissed.  “Brolli, it’s me!  Let go--!”
The Kassha’hal stirred and thrust his other arm underneath himself so he could attempt to push up.  He managed to twist himself toward her, but his grip had not loosened.  She clawed at his hand.  Though she could see that his open eyes were now full of anger and even fear, recognition flitted through his volatile gaze.
“Shall’la?” His voice was a ragged whisper.  Bulma nodded, and saw something else dart around the corners of his mouth.  It was not anger.  His grip on her arm slackened, and he collapsed crookedly back onto the med stretcher.  Bulma reached for the empty container she’d found and held it under his head.
Presently, Brolli vomited a milky fluid into the container and groaned again.  Bulma waited until she was sure he had settled and set the container a few feet away.  Hurriedly, she reached into her tunic and retrieved one of the numbing agent vials.
“Brolli?  If you hold still I can ease your pain a little.”  Her voice was gentler than she would have liked it to be, and she bit her bottom lip.  Brolli’s brow creased, and though his face was still pressed against the stretcher, he frowned.
“Ease my pain?”  Now there was a despairing smile.  “You’ll have to...  try very hard.”  He winced, and Bulma guessed that it was because every time he moved the ki dampening orbs twisted a new kind of pain through his body.  Brolli’s aura was too volatile.  How could she control it?
Bulma reached out for him and pushed a stiff lock of hair away from his ear.  She applied a few drops of the numbing agent behind his ear, and then retrieved her bioScan.  Perhaps if she could get a crude reading of his power level, she may be able to coach him out of the room without much pain.  A reading would be difficult without a scouter, though...  Brolli growled low in his throat and shifted a bit on the stretcher.
“Brolli...”  Bulma kept her voice low.  “Listen to me!  I have to get you out of this cell.  The Aisu-jin are--!”
Startled, Bulma choked on her words as Brolli darted from the stretcher.  He pounded her back against the far wall of the cell, his breath ragged in his chest.  Bulma guessed, through her panic, that the numbing agent had made his pain bearable enough to remember how much he wanted to kill her.
“The Aisu-jin--!”  Brolli gasped.  “Your cohorts in betrayal, Shall’la?”
“I am no one’s cohort!”  Bulma told him, glaring through her fear that he would strangle her before they had a chance to escape.
“You make good play of it--agh!”  Brolli raged at her, but through his anger she could see the pain weakening his grasp already.  His arm shook as it held her by her collarbone against the wall.  Bulma reached out as far as she could and snagged a handful of his hair.
“If you don’t listen to me we’re both doomed!  The Aisu-jin are after me now!  No matter what you may think of my actions, if you don’t get out of here with me Furiza will make us both wish we were already dead.”
Brolli pushed against her once more even as she tugged at his hair.  His eyes flashed a brilliant blue for only a fleeting second, and he cried out in pain.  Brolli’s arm released her, and Bulma went crashing onto the hard metal floor beneath her.  She gasped at the shock it sent up her spine, and writhed for a moment before pushing herself to her feet.
“Idiot!”  She hissed through residual pain.  “If you don’t control the jal’a, you’ll die!  This entire wing dampens your aura.  I know you can control it, so do it now or I’ll kill you myself!”  In desperation, she stole the pulse gun back from her tunic and pressed it against his temple.
Brolli growled again and fell to one knee, grudgingly.  He gripped her free arm as he did so, and Bulma had to steady herself so she would not lose her footing again.  In the silence, all she could hear was his ragged breathing, and finally a sad and ache-ridden laugh.  Bulma pressed the gun harder into his temple, as she had done to Vejiita.  The Kassha’hal gazed up at her finally, all traces of blue gone from his eyes.
“Kill me now, Shall’la.  Save Furiza the trouble...”  In his voice she heard something she’d never heard before:  defeat.  She gripped a handful of his hair again.
“Get up, the gods damn you!  Get up!!”  Her voice was damp and dead in the cell, but even she could hear the desperate plea contained in it.  Brolli squinted at her.
“This time, you really want to live.  Don’t you?”  He asked her.
“I swear, Brolli,” Bulma told him, “I give your god Vash’halla my soul if you can find the strength to walk out of this cell with me!  I am your only hope for survival!”
She could scarce believe the words that came from her mouth.  Could she really be so desperate to save the monsters she had once hated more than feared?  The animals responsible for the death of her planet?  Her home?  With painful resignation, she knew it was true.  In them, she saw her only hope for belonging.  Her only hope for some kind of affection...  Some kind of love -- terrible as it may be.  Vejiita’s words echoed in her mind:  How many times did it happen on your own world, Bulma?  Did you condemn your people as you condemn us?  Had she looked away--?
Brolli had reached up for the hand that pointed her pulse gun at his head, and was grasping her wrist with real indignation.  He pushed it away, and Bulma could only watch, remembering a time when this same creature before her had granted her a freedom she desired more than anything.  Bulma felt the weight of anger and resentment lift, if only for a moment, and she knelt beside him.
“Brolli,” she said quietly.  “Get up.  Walk out of this cell and help me.  I don’t ask you to trust me--I beg you.  I have no reason, no desire, to want anything else of you.”
She remembered suddenly that Vejiita had told her she had given up everything for revenge.  And without knowing how, all that she had given up had gotten her nothing but the icy presence of Aisu-jin breathing down her neck.  Bulma clenched her jaw with bitter realization.  Brolli looked at her again, this time with sympathy.  Bulma still clung to his hair and tugged on it roughly, shaking her head.  Even now she could not accept his pity.  The hand that held the pulse gun lay limply at her side, and Brolli reached for the other.
“If only you knew how long I’ve waited for you to beg...”  He said.
To Bulma’s surprise, his mouth cracked a smile.  She saw that his eyes and mouth were still swollen just a bit from the plasma poisoning, and without thinking Bulma released his hair and studied the black-brown eyes of the Kassha’hal.  How had she let him fall in love with her?  However brutish, had he deserved the same heartache she had suffered?  Bulma cupped his cheek.  On some buried, subconscious level, Bulma knew she would give anything to have back the life she’d known with him.  Brolli had taken her face in both hands.
“Shall’la...”  He whispered.  And this time he meant it.
When he kissed her, she could feel the weakness in him.  That the Kassha’hal would let himself betray a disadvantage--that he would let it overpower him, was terrifying.  Even Bulma’s residual desire for him was overpowered by her need for survival.  She pushed at him, and was startled more when his body wavered beneath her resistance.
“Brolli...?”  Bulma prayed to whoever was listening that he would hear the sincerity in her voice.  Finally, wonderfully, Brolli stretched out his hand to her and looked away.
“If you help me, perhaps I will walk.  My legs are still...”
“Yes, I know.”  Bulma told him.  She took his outstretched hand and watched him begin to struggle to his feet.  “You will walk.  You will.”

Brolli’s voice caught in his throat as they continued down the holding wing corridor.  Bulma wondered just how painful it was for him to move.  Even after she’d applied the numbing agent, it seemed as though his poisoning had affected him more deeply than had Vejiita’s.  She could tell from the feel of his skin that he still had a fever, and when he had finally stood straight--besting her with his near seven foot height--she reached again for the bioScan in her tunic.
“Hold still just a moment.”  She said, reaching up to place the scanner under his ear.  Brolli’s breath was heavy, and his eyes fluttered a bit with the effort it had taken to stand up and walk this small distance.  When the bioScan had finished its reading, she gazed at it.
“Gods...”  Bulma whispered.  “Your body temperature is nearly one hundred eight.”
She’d noted years ago that a Saiya-jin’s normal body temperature fluctuated from around one hundred degrees to almost one hundred five.  But Brolli, especially at the height of his transformation had topped the bioScan reading at one hundred eleven.  At this temperature, she realized that she could tell how elevated his levels of jal’a were.  It was no wonder he was still in such pain.
Slowly, but steadily, they continued down the corridor toward the cell where she had left Vejiita.  Bulma watched the Kassha’hal support most of his weight against the wall to his right; she would never have been able to support him entirely.  His strength was returning, she thought with a measure of relief.  Eventually his sweat would cleanse the rest of his body from the toxic plasma, but the icy air of the ship was making it difficult to induce perspiration.  Brolli’s grip on her shoulder tensed.
“Vash’halla!”  He spat with pain, and Bulma saw that a surge of ki had washed over his face.  They stopped walking.
“Damn you!”  She cursed him.  “Stop letting it surge!  I’ve seen you control it, Brolli.”  Bulma tugged on his arm.  “Keep going!”
After what had seemed like almost an hour, they reached Vejiita’s cell.  Bulma released Brolli’s arm, and he backed up against the wall to avoid falling.  What a fool Furiza had been to give her the override codes for this cell, she thought.  For all of his wit, he had not seen through her enough to know how or when she would betray him.  Only that she would...
Bulma flicked open the control panel and entered the manual override.  The keys flashed a familiar green, and the cell door swished open.  She gazed into the cell, but did not see Vejiita.  She’d kill him if he had escaped without her.  But perhaps the worst had happened; had Furiza gotten to him before she could?
From the ceiling of the cell, she watched as Vejiita coasted down and settled on both feet.  He’d been perched up there, hiding, she realized.  His arms were crossed across his powerful chest, and one eyebrow was raised in suspicious inquiry.    Bulma tilted her chin to the side and squinted at his irritating entrance.  Vejiita chuckled.
“I was beginning to think you’d never come, Bulma-kalzan.”

Onboard the Kuraoh, Aash’an Raditsu paced nervously across the dock.  His father’s pods should have been here by now.  He stopped and tapped a few fingers on the tensed muscles of his arm.  His officers were waiting nearby with looks of apparent trepidation, but none said a word.  None even looked his way as he turned irritably toward a small podium and portable vid screen.  Gods, if he could afford to he’d beat one of their heads in just to alleviate his exasperation.
“What in the name of Kalahd’Nihr is taking so long?”  He snapped aloud and gripped the sides of the podium.
The officers shifted, startled.  As if on cue, the vid screen Raditsu had been gripping came to life.  A call was coming through--it was the dock operator.  Raditsu touched the “Accept” key on screen and sighed aloud.
“Give me good news or I’ll tear your face off, Daikon!”  He told him.
“Suukah, Aash’an!  Intergalactic pod dock will commence in fifteen seconds.  It is Squad #5, Aash’an.”
“Thank the gods...”  Raditsu heard the officers behind him offer prayers of relief.  He ground his teeth together and swiveled to face them.  “Shut up!  If you think we are saved you may yet be wrong!”  He reminded them.  They were silent.
Finally, the sealed lock of the inner docking doors opened.  The sound echoed, booming down the long and vast corridors of the dock.  The pods had settled into the depressurizing divot and hissed when their doors slid open.  Raditsu, before he had become an officer, had spent many a grueling mission cooped up in intergalactic pods.  He could see the remaining discomfort on the faces of the squad members as they disengaged themselves from the tiny seats.  Bardock was the first to step out, and he made his way without hesitation towards Raditsu.  He did not salute.
“Jya’nehm,” he said with a grin. “My son, the honor is unexpected.”
Raditsu allowed a smile to slip from the corner of his smirking mouth.  He and his father were the same height now.  The last time Raditsu had seen him in person, he still had not reached his father’s gaze perfectly.  His twin brothers, who were still taller than both of them, approached with as much swagger as their father.  But both saluted him.  Raditsu returned the gesture.
“If we could have had this reunion under better circumstances...” Raditsu began.  Bardock shifted his weight and held up a palm.
“That is a discussion for later.”  He told his son.  The twelve other members of Squad #5 had come up behind him.  When Bardock crossed his arms again, his men saluted Raditsu.  Turles and Kakkarot cracked their knuckles.
“Where is Furiza?”  They asked in unison.  Raditsu chuckled.
“If you’ll follow me to the briefing deck, I’d be more than happy to show you.”
The Squad #5 soldiers sneered and chuckled their delight, and some even licked their lips.  Raditsu turned and motioned to his officers, who saluted and began to follow.  The warriors behind him could already smell the violence to come.
The brief moment of giddy blood-fever was abruptly interrupted by a transmission on the east wall of the dock.  Raditsu squinted in the direction of the shrill noise, and then raised an eyebrow.  This communicator was part of the maintenance channel and was rarely used unless work was being done on the dock itself.  Raditsu could hear the awkward shuffle of his father and the squad.
“Aash’an...?”  One of his officers spoke hesitantly.  Raditsu held up a palm.
“I will answer it.”  He answered, surprised at the quiet candor of his own voice.
When he stepped over to the communicator, Raditsu wondered who had sent a transmission through this channel and whether or not the message would be welcome.  He paused for only the space of a few breaths before lifting his hand to the touch screen.  After touching the “Accept” key again, Raditsu shut his eyes.
“Shallan...?”  The end note of his voice was dripping with sarcastic curiosity.  The voice that responded sent ripples of shock coursing through his spine.
“Suukah, Aash’an Raditsu.”
Raditsu’s eyes shot open.  So numbed by fury was he at the sound of her voice that he reached out and gripped the vid screen with both hands.  The veins in his hands and arms swelled with the pressure of restraint.
“Bulma-kalzan,” he growled deeply.  The sound was barely recognizable as a voice.  “What an unmitigated pleasure!  Tell me why I shouldn’t jam this frequency right now and send a prayer for your slow painful death at Aisu-jin hands--!”
“Normally I would invite the chance at a verbal spar, darling, but I’m sure there are more important matters at hand.”  Bulma’s voice had lost none of its venom, but Raditsu noticed a small change in its candor; as though someone had reached inside her breast and carved out a handful of the biting insolence that had once resided there.
“Aash’an Raditsu,” a new voice startled some of the ire from his throat.  Bulma had stepped aside slightly from the vid screen to allow the voice’s owner some visibility.
“Zarshi-kalan!”  Raditsu confirmed the prince’s appearance.  Relief seemed to wash over the dock, and surprised murmurs came from the groups of men behind him.  Even the members of Squad #5 seemed to shift comfortably.
“It is indeed a relief to hear your voice, Sire.”  He said.
“I am indebted to your loyalty and support, Aash’an,” the prince replied, “now you will make good on your oath to my crown.”
“Without hesitation, Zarshi-kalan.”  Raditsu told him.  “I have enlisted the help of Vejiita-sei’s most feared warriors.”
“Ah...”  The prince breathed deeply before nodding.  “Squad #5?  You must convey my gratefulness to your father, but only after he gets me off this filthy, freezing hell hole.”
Raditsu grinned lopsidedly and thanked Vash’halla for this small measure of mercy.  So the prince was not so badly injured that he had lost reason or purpose.  No trace of Vejiita-Zarshi’s personality had been lost either.  Suddenly Raditsu’s grin fell.
“Prince Vejiita, what of the Kassha’hal?  What of Brolli?  Does he live?”
Vejiita’s eyes shifted downward, and then to his left, where Raditsu could still see Bulma’s searing blue eyes.  She squinted and peered back into the vid screen.  Raditsu felt his grip on the screen contract again at the sight of her poisonous mouth.
“The Kassha’hal lives, Aash’an,” Bulma told him shortly.  More murmurs of relief made their way through the soldiers behind him.  “But he is badly injured, and weakened by plasma poisoning.  His metabolic rate is slower than a pyuce rat in hibernation, but I can only fix that with Saiya-jin tech.  The Aisu-jin are far too alien in biology for me to make any use of their med tech--!”
“Can you save him or not?”  Raditsu snapped, trying desperately to let anger to the surface rather than trust or camaraderie.
“I can,” Bulma said, “but I will need your help.”
Raditsu sighed a great sigh and let his chin drop toward the floor for a moment.  He glanced backward at his father and studied the look on Bardock’s face.  Kakkarot and Turles had both crossed their arms in perfect mirror image of one another, eyebrows raised on both brows.  Raditsu pondered this dilemma.
To trust Bulma meant that everything he knew about her to be true:  every lie, every deception and every treachery that lie tangled within the silken web of blue hair on her head would need to be ignored.  Every splintered memory of her sweet voice, the one that had broken his steel heart, would need to be forgotten.  Worst of all, her betrayal would be forgiven for a space of time -- much longer than she deserved.
But without her help, this time...  This time the fate of his people was placed very neatly in the palm of her hand.  He growled quietly and looked back to the vid screen.  Bulma’s eyes did not look quite so wicked this time.
“Very well.”  Raditsu consented.  “Tell me where to begin.”
“Good!”  Bulma’s voice turned urgent.  “Then you must listen.  And you must listen carefully, Raditsu.”