Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Requiem in Blue ❯ Chapter Twenty: Ganah ( Chapter 20 )

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

A/N: I can’t believe it, but I am posting the final chapter to this decade old story.  ^_^  This is actually a little painful for me…  Going back to it has brought back so many fond memories for me, and reminded me how much it means to have people who support you.
HUGE THANK YOU to every single person who reviewed this story, and a GIANT THANK YOU to the many people who emailed me/messaged me about this fanfiction or my other fanfictions and told me their honest and true opinions and criticisms, and gave me their undying support and praise.  This is truly what an artist dreams of.
In closing, I’d like to say two things!  The first is that, I do believe I smell a sequel to this story… You’ll see why when you get to the end I think.  When you review, let me know your thoughts on this.  Please also note that I have added a prologue to THIS story, which is fairly new and was written long after I started it initially.  I hope it will bring a certain poignancy to the feel of the whole story.  ^_^
The last is certainly not the least.  Recently, I joined a fabulous community on Google+ for Vegeta/Bulma fanfiction fans, readers and authors.  This fandom has certainly grown in the past 13 years since I initially got into it, and I am so glad to be a part of it!
The We're Just Saiyan... Community on Google+ is fun and phenomenal.  Thanks to all those gals who have contacted me there and encouraged/supported me!  Go visit if V/B is your passion.  ^_~
Alright… I’m gonna stop now.  Finally, after 11 long years.  Enjoy!



In the week since leaving Mizukashi, Bulma had forgotten the humidity.  She stood outside the arena, where Brolli had fought Vejiita that day – it seemed a lifetime ago now.  All those days were like another life entirely; Brolli’s mirth and blissful ignorance of his superiority on Mizukashi, the day of the Summer Festival and the first time she laid eyes on Vejiita…  It seemed that all of these things had happened to another woman entirely.  Had she ever been a Saiya-jin citizen?  Had she really given Brolli the tools to make ki absorbing walls inside this training arena?
Bulma gazed up at the doors, grimly aware of the hulking Saiya-jin guards behind her.  Only six hours had passed since they’d left Yuki-sei’s solar system, and seven since Vejiita had woken from his repose on her bosom to trace the lines of her face with his fingers and smile sadly, to the point of cruelty.  He’d dressed without a word, but then handed her the torn body suit she’d been wearing.
“I’ll make sure they bring a new one.”  He’d said, and wrapped her tunic around her bare shoulders.
With his white tunic on again, Vejiita’s black hair was as deeply contrasted as Raditsu’s but more foreboding.  Perhaps because it reflected the chasm in her soul… The one that only he could see.  She had not said a word, but he had knelt beside her and gazed at her lips.
“Do not forget one thing Bulma-kalzan; I said it to you on Furiza’s ship, in that holding cell while my guts and limbs were burning from plasma poisoning.  I think I could kill you as soon as I would make love to you.  Even if you are spared by the Council, I promise that life will not be any easier than death.”
Bulma felt the corner of her mouth turn up as the doors to the stage arena opened, and she was met with a crowd of at least two hundred displaced, angry Saiya-jin.  The shouts drowned out all other noise in her mind, or in her heart, but she stepped forward with her hands folded neatly in front of her.  A new, soft, dark blue body suit hugged the flare of her body, and she fingered the zipper of the black slave tunic that Vejiita had wrapped so neatly around her shoulders.
The quiet, weak smile on her lips did not fade, even as she continued into the arena.  A makeshift dais was set up toward the east arc of the sparring ring, and though it was probably only a short walk away Bulma thought that perhaps it would be the longest of her life.  She stepped under the west seating wing and stopped.  Raditsu was poised near the pillar under the crowds of his fellow Saiya-jin, watching her.  His face was a strange mixture of sadness, amusement and fury.
Bulma met his gaze with the steady intensity of an Earth cat, and she squeezed her fingers together tightly.  Raditsu crossed his big arms over the expanse of his chest and broke her gaze to nod at the dais.  There were four Council Members waiting for her there – eerily silent, but looking for all the universe like the Four Horseman of her private Apocalypse.
“You are a fitting sacrifice for them, Bulma-kalzan.”  Raditsu said, his voice weary.  She could just hear him above the shouts of the crowd.
“Indeed, Aash’an.”  Bulma replied and released her hands so that both arms hung loosely at her sides.
She straightened her shoulders, puffed out her ample bosom and looked back into his black, black eyes before reaching up to release the tie in her hair.  The cerulean fell, lock over lock until its lengths rested coolly on her shoulders and back.  This time, Raditsu smiled a smile that she had not seen from him in a very long time; the warmth of it shamed her so much that she looked away.  Now, one of the guards nudged her shoulder cruelly.  Bulma focused her gaze onto the dais where the Council Members sat, and stepped forward again.
By the time she reached the bottom of the dais, she could clearly see each of her accusers.  There were two Saiya-jin male officers, by the looks of them Elite Class.  In between them sat a female Saiya-jin, and Bulma could see by the crest on her armor that she was a Science Officer.  To the female’s left sat a Mizuka-jin MedScan healer.  Bulma resisted the urge to smirk at Vejiita’s diplomatic prowess; surely the Mizuka-jin would have been used to treat wounded Saiya-jin during recent events, and Vejiita could not miss an opportunity to condemn her with this loyal, sovereign subject.  She had thought perhaps that Vejiita meant to save her.  Now she was not sure…
All at once, the hall fell silent.  Bulma’s ears continued to ring from the deafening noise, but not a soul uttered a word.  And then she saw him; Vejiita had risen from his seat on the balcony, among the remaining Elite Guard, and was holding one strong hand up by his chin.  Raditsu had still been in his casual attire but Vejiita…
Vejiita had changed entirely.  He was fully armored now, his Royal Crest blazing red like fire on the breast of his chest plate.  His body suit was black and high-necked.  It hugged the hard, strong lines of his body like a second skin.  She wondered if he knew how much his face had changed in the few short weeks she had known him, or if he knew how horribly handsome he looked in the jewels of his dead father.
Bulma breathed deeply and clutched her hands together again.  A slight, humid breeze drifted through the open arena pillars and fluttered the crimson cape on Vejiita’s back.  He was a king now…  Her flesh tingled at the memory of his touch, his cruel kiss, and she knew; he was every inch a king to the Saiya-jin who regarded him now.  A single tear found its way down her cheek but she smiled, looked back at the Council, and did not think to swipe it away.
Vejiita addressed the crowd formally and, to Bulma’s great surprise, there were even one or two words she did not understand.  Well, she had only been in the presence of royalty a short time, hadn’t she?  The Council stood and saluted him, and then the two hundred Saiya-jin in the crowd did the same.  To her dismay, Vejiita lifted the finger of his elevated hand and pointed it directly at her.
“The Council meets to decide the fate of the Chikyuu-jin slave you see before you.”  His voice echoed throughout the silent arena, and it shattered her to the bones.  Vejiita looked away from her and to the Council members.  “You will read the charges.”
Bulma felt herself blink, but the scene before her did not shift.  She was not dreaming – this was no nightmare.  Reality stretched out before her, sickening and all too clear.  The center male officer on the dais stood, and his armor glinted against the Mizukashi sunlight.  He cocked his chin at her, and Bulma thought she could see a slight tinge of amusement in his black eyes.
“Bulma-kalzan,” he began slowly.  “The Council has been made aware that you once held a sovereign citizenship of the Saiya-jin Empire.  Is this true?”
Bulma breathed deeply, unaware that she would have had the opportunity to speak.  Her usual demeanor of confidence was replaced by a stifling terror, but she lifted her chin and pressed her lips together once.
“It is true, Councilman.”  She replied, one eyebrow raised.
“Then we will consider this during your trial.”  He replied, and took a small holo device from the chair he had been seated in.  He gestured to the crowds.  “We have read the evidence given us by His Majesty, Vejiita-Zarshon, as well as supplemental testimony from Battalion Captain Aash’an Raditsu.  There are also significant testimonies from Galactic Security Squad 5, and several Mizuka-jin citizens.
“You are accused of high treason and covert conspiracy against the Saiya-jin Empire, Bulma-kalzan.”
She pursed her lips further and shifted her shoulders.  They would not be charges to dispute, Bulma thought.  Her heart pounded inside its heavy cage and set a pulse to choke at her throat.  The Councilman continued.
“It is the understanding of this War Council that you, under the privilege of Saiya-jin citizenship, plotted to overthrow and destroy the Empire’s reign with help from Aisu-jin Emperor Furiza and a small resistance of Mizuka-jin rebels.  Therefore, the Council has no choice but to add to your charges: which include the abetting of the assassination of Vejiita-Zarshon’s father, and the death of Shakan Brolli, Kassha’hal and revered warrior of the Elite Class.”
Bulma’s lips parted softly.  She had expected the charge for Vejiita’s father.  But somehow, the accusation that she had caused Brolli’s death (though in fairness she probably had) was more devastating than any of the other charges.  Brolli’s words of devotion, twisted as they had been, welled inside her chest until they formed a quiet gasp of air.  When the sound echoed in the arena, some of the Saiya-jin there murmured in astonishment.  She imagined that they wondered where her sorrow had come from.  And so did she wonder…
The Councilman took a deep breath of his own and put his holo device back on his chair.  He took one step down from the dais, and then gestured to the other Council members behind him.  When he looked at her again, the amusement had returned to his accusing eyes.
“For the sake of form, Bulma-kalzan, I must ask you: what is your plea, against these accusations that we have laid before you?”
Outside the arena, Bulma could hear the soft breeze and the sweet song of a Mizuka sea bird flitting about around the beams.  These reminders of the life she still possessed were all the more crushing when she lifted her eyes to look at Vejiita.  He sat, staring directly at her, his chin resting lightly between his thumb and fingers.  Raditsu had come to stand by the Elite Guard, and he regarded her with much the same intensity.
“Councilman,” she said steadily while she locked eyes with Vejiita.  “Councilman, I’m afraid that I must plead guilty.”
The arena burst into a flurry of murmurs and disturbed whispers.  Vejiita broke her gaze and pressed his thumb and forefinger against each temple.  Surely he knew, Bulma thought, that this would not mean her redemption.  But perhaps in this she could show them all… She could show them how a deep, vengeful rage had softened to a desperate bid for survival.
“Bulma-kalzan,” the Councilman interrupted the murmurs of the crowd.  “The Council will record your plea.”  He gestured to the female science officer behind him, who pressed a few buttons on her own holo device and regarded Bulma with a disturbed curiosity.
“We have been asked to review the case of your fate.”  The officer on the dais continued.  “And so I must require that you answer us:
“You came to Vejiita-sei eight years ago, the property of the fleet ship Ghana, where you had been placed by soldiers under a garrison headed by Aash’an Raditsu.  Is this correct, Bulma-kalzan?”
She nodded, remembering very suddenly and with remarkable clarity the freezing cells on the fleet ship.  Her teeth ground together at the memory of those long hours – at the memory of her first master and the way she had fought to keep her dignity among the animals aboard that ship.
“According to the Aash’an Raditsu, it was on the slaver ship Mahelka that you were finally transferred to science quarters and discovered constructing plasma rifles.  It is his testimony that he purchased you as a house slave, and that you dwelt in his household for six years.  The Aash’an testifies that you were, for your part, an obedient house slave and loyal shal’gata who did not deny her master as a slave lover.”
Bulma could not help the flare of her nostrils, the quirk of her mouth, or her glance at Raditsu.  The tall Saiya-jin was regarding her now with a heavy glare, though no malice could be detected.  The fool…  He was trying to save her, too.
“If that is the opinion of Aash’an Raditsu,” Bulma said pointedly, “I will not contend.”
The officer snorted quietly, threw one glance toward Raditsu and then back to her.  She saw that Raditsu had not stopped looking at her, but that his glare had turned dangerously satisfied.
“In fact,” the Councilman declared, “it seems that your true quest for rebellion did not truly begin until your arrival on Mizukashi.  Since Shakan Brolli is not here to testify, I will elaborate;
“You were given willingly to him by Aash’an Raditsu, and as his lover the Kassha’hal granted you your citizenship via his sovereign rule on Mizukashi, yes?”
“Yes, Councilman.  The Kassha’hal was most kind to me.”  Bulma said with emphasis.
“He entrusted you with scientific development on Mizukashi, for the benefit of the Empire’s expansion efforts and the protection of its citizens.”
“Yes, of course, that was his intention--?”
“But you subverted these efforts, unbeknownst to him, and used your citizenship to conspire against the King, his crown prince and the Kassha’hal – who had graciously given you this gift!”
“You misunderstand all of my efforts, Councilman—!”
“Do we misunderstand your malice, Bulma-kalzan?”  His voice rose until it echoed off the ki absorption walls she had commissioned herself in this very palace.  “Your off-world base on Mizukashi’s moon for the construction of your encapsulation technology; your covert meetings with Aisu-jin Emperor Furiza and your Mizuka-jin rebels; your plasma containment devices designed to melt insides and overwhelm Saiya-jin power?  Do we misunderstand those efforts, Bulma-kalzan--??”
“NO!”  She shouted the word so loudly that he own voice boomed off the walls and around the dome of the arena.  “No…” She said it again quietly, as though the word would somehow seep into the floor beneath her and disappear.
No one spoke then.  Bulma dared a glance at Vejiita, who watched her with the same anxious anticipation as he had moments ago.  Raditsu stared hard at the floor.  When she looked back at the Council, they regarded her with anticipatory disdain.
“Yes,” she said finally.  “Yes…  I conspired to rebel against the monsters who destroyed my world and left me to freeze to death on their fleet ship.  I wanted nothing more than this vengeance – I was steeped body and soul in its fruition, and everything I did in that regard was without thought to the consequences.  I never dreamed that…?”
Bulma stopped and looked at the floor.  She could feel every black eye in the arena boring into her with such anger and confusion that it nearly paralyzed her.  But she looked back to the Council when the officer began to speak again.
“You never dreamed, what, Chikyuu-jin ku’fuu?”
Her nose wrinkled.  No one had called her that in many years.  No one had referred to her as an inferior refugee from a dead planet since her institution on the slave ship, whispering it cruelly in her ear or spitting the slur at her feet.  Bulma ground her teeth together before she let her lip curl openly.  Dimly, from the corner of her eye, she could see that Vejiita was now standing.
“I never dreamed that I would shed tears of remorse as I watched Brolli dying – defying the Aisu-jin ki-dampening orbs and destroying himself from the inside out.  All so he could save me…”
She paused, and noted that the members of the Council were still waiting.  Bulma swallowed, but her throat convulsed and rejected that comforting reflex.  They waited…  They all waited, those ridiculous, stupid monkeys!!  A ghostly smile came and went so quickly on her face that it had hardly been there at all.  Bulma took one more deep breath.
“I never dreamed that in my own eyes I would see the same murderous tyranny I sought to defeat.”
Silence again flooded the arena, and the officer who accused her was looking at the other Council members behind him.  He picked up his holo device again, and looked back to Bulma.  This time, the hateful amusement in his mouth was not so cruelly defined.  She blinked finally, unaware that her eyes had been open for a long moment.
“Yes, you mention this remorse…”  The Councilman continued.  “According to Aash’an Raditsu you were instrumental in the rescue of Vejiita-Zarshon, and in the de-cloaking of the Aisu-jin fleet ships; resulting in the termination of Shafuri.
“The King himself has testified that you defied Emperor Furiza’s direct orders to you, and that you attempted to save the Kassha’hal Brolli.  Squad Commander Bardock, despite that he mourns the death of his son Kakarot, has also issued statement in your favor.”
Bulma folded her hands again and glanced back at her feet.  She thought of the Commander, his fallen son…  Of Raditsu and of the day he confessed his love for her.  She remembered Brolli, and how her name had been the dying plea of a legendary warrior.  She thought of Vejiita – the one who had unmasked her and… had he claimed her heart in the process?  Perhaps…  Yes, perhaps.  And maybe that cruel realization was the most difficult acceptance…
“Councilman,” she said finally, after a long pause.  “You know my plea.  It is true I have sinned against you; the Empire, and Vejiita-Zarshon and that I lament these sins. And now I will tell you, that I have never wanted so very much to live.  Even if I must spend my life in penance, to live amongst the Saiya-jin would--?”
Bulma’s voice faded on the final word.  To think that this raw emotion would be so easy to admit!  That the words would come with such fluidity!  The realization flooded her with relief.  Her eyes flitted back to Vejiita, who had crossed his arms and now regarded her with a gaze so apparent in its intent that she could scarcely finish her the words that had come so quickly before.  Bulma looked back at the council and, though it hurt in so many ways, she slowly dropped to her knees.  The crowd in the arena came alive with urgent whispers and gasps.  Without looking she knew, without doubt, Vejiita would be smiling sadly.
“I beg this council for mercy.”  She said; the words were like fire in her throat.  “And I beg mercy from His Majesty, Vejiita-Zarshon, without whose leniency I would already be dead…”  Bulma paused, and she closed her eyes to the contemptible sound of her own voice.
“Mercy… Mercy.  Suukah…”

Mizukashi’s vast oceans were bluish-green, calm and very ancient.  They were not like the oceans on Vejiita-sei.  Those oceans…  They were a deep sapphire blue, and they were younger.  The crests of monstrous, surging waves crashed ceaselessly into the jutting cliffs of the Kadrani Mountains.  From the palace in Capital City Karsus, one could be lulled to sleep by the endless symphony of the surf.  Vaguely, Vejiita realized that he would never again be soothed to sleep by those waves.  Nor would he ever lay eyes on the Capital, or sprawl lazily across a shaDraka stone recliner and gaze up at the many moons on a clear night in his courtyard.  This crippling regret had not quite registered in him until now, when the initial haze of rage and the urgency of blood lust had left his body.
Vejiita breathed deeply and rubbed both hands over his face, shutting out the scenery of Mizukashi from where he waited at his seat in the arena.  It had been almost three hours since the War Council left the arena to deliberate on several matters, not the least of which being the fate of one Chikyuu-jin slave with hair the color of Mizukashi’s oceans.
Bulma stood in the very same spot she’d occupied since entering the arena at the beginning of her trial.  She was exquisite and determined in her stance, and at once the picture of humility and pride.  Two guards stood diligently to her side, just behind her.
The gods damn her…  Even now, when Vejiita looked at her he felt his chest grow warm with some sick combination of hatred and desire.  She was a proven traitor, a masterful liar and quite the accomplished manipulator and yet… Yet, some part of him still wanted to possess her above all things:  to prove to her that she could not break him, as he had promised her he would.  And then there were the tears she had shed – the ones she had shed to him shamelessly in that cell on Furiza’s ship, and the ones she had shed for Brolli as he lay dying.  Vejiita shook his head furiously.
Could he have demanded that she be given over to him as his slave again, and saved from the trail of death merely because he wanted her to be?  Naturally, yes, the rule of the Saiya-jin Royal House was absolute in these matters.  But Vejiita knew the power of the mob.  If he acted against common consensus, as his father had done too many times to count, then his rule would be one filled with distrust and wary respect.  No… No, he wanted something more.  In this time of war with a formidable foe, Vejiita would need absolute loyalty and unquestioning obedience in all things.  
“Vejiita-Zarshon?  Suukah.”  One of his guards was addressing him.  “The Council, Sire… They have returned.”
Vejiita watched as they entered the arena and returned to their places at the east arc.  Somehow, there was the faintest hint of hesitance in their steps.  The officer who had questioned Bulma earlier remained standing as his comrades took their seats.  Vejiita could feel the tension in the arena, thick as a bowl of stew.  The murmurs around him made frazzled, broken endings of his nerves; and the longer he stared at Bulma, at his blue-haired, beautifully wicked Chikyuu-jin lover, his all too present irritation exploded around him.  
Vejiita stood abruptly, the jal’a flaring around him in a dome of blue fire.
“SILENCE!”  He bellowed out into the arena.  Each pair of black, Saiya-jin eyes came to him in wide-eyed anticipation – in apprehensive awe.  They all stood and saluted him, and as he allowed his aura to settle around him again Vejiita glared menacingly at the officer.
“S-suukah, Vejiita-Zarshon.”  The officer stuttered out, and as the rest of the Saiya-jin subjects seated themselves he cleared his throat.
“Bulma-kalzan,” he began slowly.
Vejiita’s eyes narrowed at her, as she had become suddenly so very attentive that there was even a small spike in the reading of her jal’a.  Her jaw was set in a square of resolute apprehension.  Dimly, his legs burned at the sight of her – at the memory of her thighs pressed up against them.  He nearly growled aloud.
“Bulma-kalzan,” the officer said again, “we have been meticulous in the review of your case:  your plea for mercy.”
Vejiita could see Bulma’s chest rise and fall heavily, her lungs no doubt full to the brim with precious oxygen.  Yet in her large, cerulean eyes he could see a desperate hope.  She opened those poisonous lips to speak.
“I am at the disposal of this Council,” she said, almost quietly.  “And of Vejiita-Zarshon.”
All the gods damn her…  Every curve of her body, every wave of her alien, exotic hair and every glint of brilliance in her gaze made Vejiita suddenly aware of the most crushing reality; he wanted her alive.  There was no doubt in this, and it set his skin on fire with rage.  His fingers slowly clenched into a fist, and he pressed it down into the arm rest of his seat until he thought it would cave under the pressure.
“Very well.”  The Councilman finally replied.  He glanced briefly up at Vejiita, and then back to his charge.  “Of course you know, Bulma-kalzan, that in light of your plea and the evidence against you we have no choice but to find you guilty on all charges.”
There were murmurs again from the crowd, but Vejiita noted with some surprise that there were a few hisses of disappointment.  Bulma’s hands were clutched tightly in front of her tunic, and her fingertips were white.  Vejiita’s own fist was beginning to prickle from blood loss, but he continued to press down on the arm rest until he felt his skin begin to bruise.
Could he live with her death sentence, he wondered?  If the Council declared her sentence to execution, would he allow it?  Vash’halla… The idea of her fate being anyone’s decision but his--!!
A crack ran down the stone arm rest that Vejiita had pressed into with his fist, and one of the guards spoke his name in uneasy inquiry.  Say it!  He willed that self-important, pompous bastard officer standing on the dais.  Say it and be done with it!!
“However,” the officer continued, “our deliberation continued longer that we had anticipated.  In review of testimonies from Aash’an Raditsu, and in light of your efforts to protect and serve your masters despite your treachery, we have decided that you are to live, Bulma-kalzan.”
Vejiita’s fist came unclenched.  His legs stopped burning and the odd feeling of heaviness left his chest.  Suddenly the fog of his gods-damned emotions cleared.  He saw then that Bulma, usually so careful to hide, was smiling.  She was smiling a real smile that tore across her face like a silken ribbon.  She was gasping now, and her hands had come apart.  They grasped for something in the empty air around her, and as she lost her footing one of the guards behind her reached out to steady her on her feet.  Only then did Vejiita note the shocked thrum that echoed through the crowd – the soft purr of awe.
“Further--!”  The Councilman had raised his hand to the crowd.  “Further, Bulma-kalzan, you will be reinstated as a servant to the Saiya-jin Empire under the Royal Household.  There, as the property of Vejiita-Zarshon, he will decide your status in his house.”
Above the din of the crowd, Vejiita watched her.  And though the world was spinning around the both of them, she looked right at him.  It was only the two of them, and when she found a stronghold in his gaze, her breath calmed.  She was relieved, was she?  Relieved…  Vejiita held her gaze for a monstrously long moment, and Bulma pressed her lips together as though she had seen it coming all along.
Vejiita stood and crossed both arms over his armored chest as he gazed at her.  His mouth quirked, turned up, and he smirked.

Much later, when the fever of her death haze had calmed and the strong beat of her heart had slowed to a resting pace, Bulma stood at the balcony inside the Governor’s quarters of the palace.  The salty, humid air from Mizukashi’s western sea caressed her skin.  Though the evening was quite warm, the sun had set and only small waves of light danced over the endless crests of ocean.  Her skin turned to gooseflesh, and the tunic she wore did little to contain her body heat.
From here, the lights in Geishan were blinking to life.  The city sparkled with all the intensity she knew from her time here and, though it was difficult, she desperately tried to put Brolli’s crumpled, defeated form to rest in her mind.  It was easy, when Vejiita was near to her – his presence seemed to wash away regret and replace it only with a vehement desire to survive in his world.  Was he a comfort?  No, certainly not, as he had told her before.  But something in his countenance, his unyielding aura, made her afraid of her own shadow.  Perhaps this was because, for so long, her shadow chased after her for the peace of death.
Mere hours had passed since the final decision of the Council in her case, and now they deliberated still on the next course of action in this unprecedented war with Yuki-sei.  Where was Furiza, she wondered?  So far, no Saiya-jin technology had been able to track him down.  Squad 5 had returned to its post despite the protestations of Bardock, who had wished to remain on Mizukashi and take up arms with Raditsu and Turles.  His pain was evident, even if he did not admit to it outwardly.  His face was so like Raditsu’s that she had seen the hurt there even as he argued his position.  Not long after that, Vejiita had sent her back here to wait…
When the security panel blipped in the room behind her, Bulma did not look back.  She did not prostrate herself, as a proper slave should, and she did not even greet him with a customary “suukah”, to show her status below him.  He was behind her in less than a moment.  She could feel that his armor was gone, and his hands were bare when they gripped the balcony railing on either side of her body.  His chest pressed against her back, and the heat he gave was enough to calm the gooseflesh on her bare arms.  Vejiita’s voice came with a throaty sigh, and his cool breath on her neck suddenly sent shockwaves of need through her.
“The Council will remain until late in the night.”  He said with flat affect.  Bulma nodded.  The sea breeze sent locks of her unbound hair coasting over his shoulders.
“There is much to be done.”  She said in reply.
“So, my little Chikyuu-jin,” he said quietly.  So quietly that it tickled her ear.  This time his voice was full of an emotion she could not name.  But it was dark…  Dark and unpredictable.
“Where do we go from here?”
Bulma gulped down the sob that had inexplicably crawled up her throat and lodged itself there.  How she wanted to answer him!
“From here, Vejiita-Zarshon?  I could not say.”
There was finality in this, she thought.  There was finality in the words she spoke.  She noted that there were pods taking off from the starport near the west wing of the palace, and their departure was somehow symbolic.  Those pods… They were the small remnants of her vengeance.  So small, and becoming distant as they left the evening sky and broke Mizukashi’s atmosphere – yet they were there, a symbol.  A reminder.  Bulma sighed, and she turned to face Vejiita in the dying light.  There were, yet, no lights coming from the chamber, and his heavy gaze was at once frightening and relieving.  Her reluctant salvation…
Vejiita breathed against her mouth and leaned closer.  Why so handsome, she thought?  Why did he make her want to live, though his goal had been to destroy her?  Unthinking, she reached up to touch the hard line of his jaw, and then the curve of his neck.
“From here,” he said, “I will become a King.  You will see, Bulma-kalzan.  By the time we find Furiza, I will have gained the strength to defeat him.  There is nothing to stop me this time.  Not even you…”
Bulma smiled sadly.  Yes, not even she could stop him even if she wanted to.  Damn his soul to hell and back!!  And though her soul rebelled, she remembered her desire for life.  Perhaps in enough time, she may even gain back her status as a citizen.  But that would take time.  And work…  She tilted her chin upward and kissed him on the lips, once, lingering there for a moment.  And what work it would be…
When Vejiita returned her kiss more urgently, and left her mouth to come to her neck, his hands gripped the balcony railing harder.  Bulma heard the quiet click of stone pieces on the floor under them, and she smiled against his kisses.
“Yes, Vejiita-Zarshon.  Not even me…”
“Do not forget my vow, Shall’la.  I will not make this easy on you.”
Dear gods above, she hoped not.
“I know that, Vejiita.  I know it.”