Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Sole Survivors ❯ Unforseen Complications ( Chapter 14 )

Sole Survivors

By Queen Saiyajin

www.geocities.com/vegetabulmaromance

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen: Unforeseen Complications

 

 

 

 

He stood before the mirror, not liking the image of his father that seemed to stare back at him. He made a mental note never to grow a beard or moustache. The resemblance would be too unnerving. Even the dress armor with the flowing red cape that was more of a nuisance than anything else reminded him too much of Vegeta Ou. In the future he would rarely wear such things. He found a simple flight suit and casual armor much more efficient, and certainly more comfortable. But he knew that for formal occasions of State, some things were necessary. Tonight was such a night. All of Vegeta-sei would judge his ability to be their next King.

 

It shouldn't be so difficult. He'd been taught all his life that strength was the paramount issue. But if that were so, all he would need to do would be ascend to his highest form and impress them with his power. But he knew now that politics were much more complex than that. Some of these old fools were so set in their ways that they would follow his father simply to avoid change. They would deny his superior strength because they found his emotional attachments, and his newfound compassion, to be weakness. He had thought that way himself once. He sighed deeply. That damned woman had transformed him in more ways than he wanted to admit, but he couldn't even bear to imagine what an arrogant son of a bitch he would still be if she had never come into his life. One thing was painfully clear to him, though. Without her, he would still be struggling to become a Super Saiyan.

 

“Hurry up, Vegeta! We don't have much time!” she called from the bedroom.

 

“Then stop nagging at me, woman, and finish whatever is taking you so damned long,” he replied. How long had she been working at her hair and make up? Gods, the woman was so outwardly vain, and yet secretly so self-conscious. He'd told her a thousand times she didn't need that crap all over her face to look beautiful…

 

“I'm all ready!” she called.

 

“It's about time—” he began to grumble as he turned to see her, then stopped dead in his tracks.

 

She was…exquisite. No, even that word failed to describe the vision of loveliness before him. The long shimmering gold gown that seemed like as second skin made her glow as if she were a Super Saiyan. The heart shaped front fit snugly around her breasts, leaving her long blue locks to fall freely about her bare shoulders. She twirled around to give him the full effect, and as he saw that the back was cut almost to her waist, he wondered idly how she was keeping it from falling down. The glittering fabric caught the light as she moved, like a million tiny prisms. He realized that it was utterly insignificant how he looked tonight.

 

All eyes would be on her.

 

“So, do you like it?” she asked expectantly, her blue eyes seeming even wider, her red lips inviting.

 

In answer he moved towards her, taking her into his arms. His lips sought out hers, but she gave him her cheek. “You don't want to go to the party with my lipstick on,” she whispered as he nuzzled her neck.

 

“I knew there was a reason I didn't like that crap,” he murmured as he planted light kisses on her shoulder, getting high on her scent.

 

“So, do you like how the dress looks on me?” she asked as his mouth moved to her cleavage, cupping her breasts through the metallic cloth.

 

“I'd like it better off you,” he responded, his fingers reaching in to pull it down.

 

“Vegeta, stop,” she said insistently, though with a giggle. “Come on, we've got to go.”

 

With a sigh he placed one light kiss on her bosom, then released her. “You look like a Queen,” he told her, his eyes adoring her. “And yes, the dress looks great. Where did you get it?”

 

She looked at him strangely. “Where did I—but Vegeta, I thought you sent it to me!”

 

“Me? Don't be ridiculous woman, you think I was out shopping?”

 

The disappointment on her face made him feel he had said something wrong. “I just…when the messenger brought it…with the note…I just thought…”

 

“What messenger? What note?” She reached over to the night stand to show him the note in question. “For the future Queen,” he read, and frowned. He didn't like mysteries. He looked up at her again, his eyes scanning the dress suspiciously.

 

“Your security checked out the package for explosives,” she said, reading his thoughts. “Even though I thought you had sent it, I did look it over myself just in case. It's just a dress.”

 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose you have an admirer, then,” he concluded, though still ill at ease. “Just make sure that thing stays up, will you?” he added with an evil grin. “I don't want the men there to admire you too much.”

 

The buzzer at the bedroom door sounded, and he called, “Come!”

 

Bardock bowed his head. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Ouji-sama, but I just met with Agurion, and he sent a message from this `Mother' person.”

 

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

 

Bardock handed over a note and a small package. He read the note aloud:

 

“Prince Vegeta,

 

“It is with great pleasure that I welcome you back to Vegeta-sei. Your people need you desperately. The Saiyan race can only survive and prosper under your leadership. On behalf of all those I represent, I offer our support and loyalty. I will contact you shortly. I only regret that I will not be there to see you present your family to your people at the gala tonight. Inside the package I have delivered to Melangianes, you will find a gift for your future Queen. My prayers will be with you both tonight, and I look forward to our meeting.

 

“ Mother”

 

He looked up at Bardock. “She's on our side, then. If this is truly from the leader of the Resistance.”

 

“We have no reason to doubt that it is authentic, my Prince,” Bardock replied. “She sent this through her courier to Melangianes, as she has all their previous communications. Agurion got this directly from his father. I believe it to be real.”

 

Vegeta wasn't sure if it was Bardock's common sense or sixth sense that told him this, but he was inclined to agree. He turned to Bulma. “Open your gift, woman. Maybe this Mother is the one who sent you that dress after all.”

 

She took the package from him gingerly, unwrapping a tiny box. Her eyes opened wide as she saw the contents. Vegeta's face paled as she held up the most unexpected gift of all—a solid gold emblem of the Royal House of Vegeta-sei on a delicate chain.

 

“How would she get that?” he demanded suddenly, grabbing the medallion from his wife. He turned it over in his hand, checking the back for the tell-tale markings. No. It was not a replica! It was real! The inscription in the Saiyan language only confirmed what he had suspected.

 

“What is it?” Bulma asked, hating to be left out of the loop.

 

“It is the Royal Emblem of Vegeta-sei,” he heard Bardock explain to her. “Worn only by the Royal family. The King, the Prince—“

 

“And the Queen,” he whispered quietly, looking at her with shock still on his face. “The last time I saw this—was in a photograph of my mother. It was hers.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma stared at him in astonishment. “Your mother? Vegeta, are you saying this Mother is actually your mother?!”

 

“Absolutely not!” He responded, his face a tortured mixture of anger and regret. “My mother is dead. I told you that. She died in childbirth. But this woman is obviously someone who knew her. A kinswoman maybe.”

 

His mother's demise had always been a sore subject with him. She didn't even want to question him on what proof he had—beyond his father's word—that his mother was in fact dead. But no, even that sick old bastard couldn't be so perverse as to lie to his son about his mother's death…

 

“She's dead, woman. It's a fact,” he responded sharply to her unguarded thoughts. “You were around, Bardock. You should know.”

 

Did Vegeta want Bardock to convince her—or himself? With the diplomacy of always, Bardock replied, “Her death was a major news event. I was not there—it was a private cremation. But your father himself is said to have lit her funeral pyre.”

 

“This is ludicrous speculation,” Vegeta told them plainly. “I will meet this woman, and I will question her myself as to how she acquired one of my mother's personal effects.” He placed the necklace back in her hand.

 

“What should I do with it?” she asked.

 

“Wear it,” he replied dryly. “If nothing else it will unnerve my father sufficiently, and let him know that nothing will stand in the way of your becoming my Queen.”

 

“I would not be surprised if that was what Mother intended all along,” Bardock commented pensively. Bulma looked at him, wondering what he really thought…what he really saw…

 

She got her chance to ask him as Vegeta strode from the room, looking for Trunks. “Bardock, tell me the truth,” she said quietly when her prince was well out of earshot. “Do you think there's any way possible that this woman is really Vegeta's mother?”

 

The seer's eyes bore into hers as he asked, “What do you think, Princess?”

 

“I think it's too much of a coincidence. And I wouldn't put anything past his father.”

 

“Neither would I,” he replied enigmatically.

 

“But what does your gift tell you?” she pressed.

 

Bardock breathed deeply. “It doesn't matter what you think, Princess, or what I see. Prince Vegeta needs to find out for himself. He won't accept anything he doesn't see with his own eyes.”

 

“I just…don't want to see him hurt any more,” she admitted, knowing Bardock was right.

 

“His emotions—both love and hatred—have brought him this far. Both have made him the man he is…and will make him the King he was meant to be.”

 

“I hate it when you don't give a straight answer,” she replied, but with a slight smile on her lips. She'd learned two things about Bardock in the short time she'd known him. He rarely saw details of the future—and those he did, he would often obscure when he felt that a revelation might change the way things were destined to proceed.

 

“And I hate it when you think I have a detailed script before me,” he responded with an amused glint in his eyes.

 

“Fair enough. Just tell me one thing,” she said as she slipped the gold chain and emblem around her neck. “Will I get the chance to smack this Cereza girl who wants to steal my husband?”

 

Bardock laughed out loud. “That, Princess Bulma, is totally up to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I'm counting on you, Kakarot,” Vegeta said, a barely concealed threat in his tone. The thought of Kakarot as a baby-sitter was too ludicrous for words, but Vegeta had to admit that no one save himself or Trunks was better prepared to guard his tiny heir's life.

 

“Vegeta, everything will be fine,” Bulma assured him, taking his arm. The elder girl brought the baby before them, and he looked down at his son pensively as Bulma cooed at him and kissed him goodbye.

 

Vegeta took a deep breath, refraining from his own urge to hold his infant son. He looked up at Kakarot. “I needn't remind you to trust no one,” he warned.

 

“Don't worry, Vegeta. I've got everything under control,” Kakarot said just a bit too cheerily. “Just keep your mind on…political stuff.”

 

The man's eloquence was astounding. He turned to the others, Bardock, Trunks, and Bulma. “All right, then. Let's get this over with.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma's heart was pounding in anticipation as they stood at the door of the main ball room, awaiting introduction. Vegeta's face was like stone, his stance regal, his head held high. Only she knew that his stomach was turning inside. Trunks stood behind them, his nervousness not as well-hidden as Vegeta's, though he was trying his best to imitate his father's demeanor.

 

Bardock had entered first to announce their arrival, and she felt Vegeta tense as their cue came.

 

“All hail His Royal Highness Prince Vegeta, Her Royal Highness Princess Bulma, and their first born son, His Royal Highness Prince Trunks.”

 

Gripping his arm for strength, she walked in at his side, to a crowd of at least a hundred Saiyans. The cheers were loud, enthusiastic, and the faces excited to see the return of their Prince. Only upon a second glance did she notice that the throng of elites was sprinkled with those whose reaction was purely perfunctory. Their faces belied the mistrust and skepticism with which Vegeta would have to contend.

 

The King's dislike for her was barely contained as he stepped towards them in the guise of welcoming his son and his family. For a brief moment he seemed to pale as he noticed the pendant she wore around her neck. But he recovered quickly, turning to his son and saying, “Your people await your words, Prince Vegeta.” Vegeta nodded, releasing her gently and stepping forward to face the crowd, as he motioned for Trunks to stand by his mother's side.

 

“My fellow Saiyan warriors,” he began in a commanding voice. “It is with great pride that I stand before you tonight. Pride and…thankfulness. “ His tone softened with his sincerity. “For twenty years, I was the Prince of a dead race, who lived only to avenge his people. I vowed I would become the Legendary Super Saiyan. I would make Frieza pay for what he had done…to all of us.” He paused, and Bulma's heart broke for him, knowing how difficult it was to think back on that part of his life. “I made him pay,” he continued darkly. “As I made his father, King Kold, pay, for what…he intended to do.” Murmurs from the spectators demanded an explanation, but Vegeta would not satisfy that curiosity just yet.

 

“But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it possible to restore life to our world—to our people. For this, I must give credit to my mate, your Princess, Bulma Briefs of Earth. Without her scientific prowess, her knowledge of the dragon balls, and her help in discovering them, none of us would be here today. It is to her that I owe—that we all owe—our very existence on this plane.”

 

“And to my son, Trunks, who in this time is just an infant, but came to us from the future to warn of the treacherous plot that would have destroyed our planet once more, we all owe our gratitude. Kold would have used and betrayed our people just as his son did. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.” Did Vegeta Ou know that comment was directed at him? There was no doubt as Vegeta went on.

 

“Bardock foresaw the future with his gift—and he was ignored. Just as some of you today would choose to ignore the lessons we should learn from our past. There are those who believe we should follow the same destructive path as before. That the void in power left by the fall of the Tsiru-jin Empire should be filled by the Saiyan race. But none of you can imagine all I have seen and done in the time since the destruction of Vegeta-sei, all I have learned about our galaxy and the creatures who inhabit it. We are the most powerful beings in Universe. I am the most powerful of all. But I am wise enough to know that we need not destroy and subjugate all those who do not match us in physical power. I have learned, above all, that those who appear weak merely have strengths that we have not yet discovered. Strength of intellect…and of character…things that some of our number are sadly lacking.”

 

The mutters of disdain were clearly audible, and he responded at once with, “I know there are those who question my ability to rule…”

 

“No, no, Ouji-sama!”

 

“Never, Ouji-sama!”

 

For every protest there was a silent dissenter who glared at Vegeta, weighing his every word.

 

“I am not my father. And I have not lived among you since I was nine years old. But I am the Prince of all Saiyans. I am the Legendary Reborn. My loyalty and vow are to my people, and I will fight with my dying breath to protect the Saiyan race. But I will not allow an ignorant few to drive us to our demise. Change is essential if we are to survive.”

 

“You speak quite eloquently, Ouji-sama,” a man said from the crowd. “But you can not change the nature of the Saiyans. We are what we are. We crush those who are weaker than we are, or we take them to serve us. We take what we wish. You yourself destroyed countless worlds when you served Frieza! Who is to say that we can not do the same for our own benefit?”

 

 

Bulma could feel Vegeta's ire rising, and knew somehow it was more than the man's words.

 

“I say that we can not, and will not!” Vegeta retorted angrily. “You have been dead for twenty years, Melecot! What do you know of the galaxy beyond your own delusions of superiority? I did what Frieza bid me to because I knew no better, and I was not strong enough to defy him. But now I do know what is right, and I am strong enough to crush anyone who endangers the future of the Saiyan race!”

 

“And what if you yourself endanger the Saiyan race?” the man said stupidly. “You come here boasting of a power we have not yet even seen tried, and presuming to change the traditions and practices that have made our Empire great—“

 

Bulma wasn't sure if the man was just a fool, or if he was purposely baiting Vegeta at his father's bidding. Either way, Vegeta would not take this insolence. With a burst of energy that shook the room he was Super Saiyan, the power of his transformation sending real shock waves across the great hall. But if the man had been counting on making Vegeta lose his control and appear irrational, he was to be disappointed. Without advancing a step, his voice low and calm, the Prince replied, “I challenge only those practices and traditions which compromise our honor or threaten our very existence. To possess power does not mean to use it irresponsibly, or to destroy needlessly.” He raised his palm, an evil smirk on his face as he aimed at the now shaken man. “Unless, of course, someone or something poses a true threat…”

 

“Vegeta, please,” the King said suddenly, stepping forward. A nervous chuckle betrayed how seriously he took his son's warning. “Melecot meant no disrespect, I am sure. And I am equally certain that he has already imbibed too much wine for his own good. Why don't we retire to the dining hall? Our celebration dinner awaits.”

 

Vegeta was not a good liar, but the feigned smile on his face was impressive as he lowered his hand and powered down. “Of course, Father. I was merely trying to prove a point.”

 

Some of the Saiyans laughed uneasily, but as Vegeta extended his arm to her, she knew that he was satisfied. He had indeed made his point. Without blasting a soul, or destroying a single wall. He had shown them his power.

 

And I wasn't even trying, he laughed in her mind.

 

 

 

 

 

He strode confidently to the banquet table, his woman on his arm, his son at his side. Let them challenge him! Let them question his choice of mate, or his heirs! He had shown them a mere fraction of his power. And that obnoxious bastard Melecot had nearly shit in his pants. Did they have any idea whom they were dealing with?! Did they know what he would do if they dared insult him again? If they provoked his anger, even looking at his woman or son with anything but utter respect?

 

He'd wanted to blast Melecot. But scaring him was probably a wiser move. Not to mention a lot more fun. He glanced around now—the coward was nowhere in sight. He'd probably gone to change his underwear, Vegeta thought, chuckling to himself. Well, he was sure that would at least put an end to Melecot's annoying insistence that he take that Raditz-girl as his mate…

 

“Good evening, Ouji-sama.” The freakish girl in question had been strategically placed in a seat not far from his. The audacity of his father annoyed the hell out of him. Did he still think to pursue this foolish betrothal?

 

“Lady Cereza.” He gave her a slight nod, fully aware that Bulma was watching the interaction and knew precisely who this girl was.

 

“I must commend you, Prince Vegeta. I have only seen my father truly afraid twice in my life—earlier today, and tonight.”

 

“He would have nothing to fear if he would not question me or my ability to rule my people,” Vegeta replied.

 

The girl laughed. “You mustn't take him seriously, Ouji-sama. He is simply disappointed that he will not be able to connect himself to the royal family.”

 

Vegeta was incensed that she would even allude to the betrothal in front of his mate. “I am glad that you at least recognize that any arrangements my father made were ludicrous to begin with,” he responded, enjoying wiping the spurious smile off her face.

 

“Vegeta, where are you manners? Are you going to introduce me to this little girl?”

 

Vegeta smirked at his wife's remark, the insult so subtly hidden behind a sweet smile. “This is Lady Cereza, Melecot's daughter. Lady Cereza, may I present Princess Bulma.”

 

Cereza was not so skilled at hiding her contempt as she said, “It's a great honor to meet you, Princess. All of Vegeta-sei is anxious to know the woman who captured our Prince's heart so thoroughly that he would balk at his own father's wishes and Saiyan tradition.”

 

“Some traditions are meant to be broken,” Vegeta said tersely. “And if my father's wishes were carried out you would be dining with the Tsiru-jins tonight.”

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you too, Lady Cereza,” Bulma said, breaking not so subtly into Vegeta's words, then added, “I'm sorry I had to ruin your wedding plans.”

 

“Not at all,” Cereza replied defensively, taken aback by Bulma's frank response. It was clear the Saiyan girl had hoped to unnerve the Earth woman, but things had turned out quite the opposite. “Besides,” she added, glancing up as Trunks came to sit beside his mother, “I had no idea you had such a handsome grown son. Perhaps we can work out some other arrangement to fulfill the King's promise to our family.”

 

Trunks looked at the girl in puzzlement, having no idea who she was or what the conversation had been before he'd sat down. But his father spoke for him. “I think Prince Trunks already has his eye on a future mate. In any case, I would no sooner subject my son to a political marriage than I would myself.”

 

Trunks' embarrassed flush confirmed Vegeta's suspicions about the elder servant girl, and Vegeta made a mental note to question him on it further later. If Trunks had honorable intentions towards the girl that was fine, but he certainly would not allow his son to be perceived as using a servant girl in a dishonorable fashion.

 

It's okay, he really likes her… Bulma spoke in his mind, reading his concerns. And she likes him. Besides, I would never let my son go out with this little—

 

…little `girl'? he asked, chuckling at her earlier remark.

 

That wasn't the word I was thinking of, she replied.

 

At that moment, a kitchen slave came by with a huge plate of meats to place on the table. Vegeta excused himself from the table and called the slave over to speak to him privately.

 

“Yes, Ouji-sama,” the young man said with his face turned downward in respect.

 

“Look at me,” Vegeta instructed. The man looked up at him in surprise, and Vegeta said, “The Princess has enemies within the palace. I will hold you personally responsible for any food that is brought to her from this day forth. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Ouji-sama,” the slave replied wide-eyed.

 

“If anything at all happens to the Princess because of food that is tampered with, your life will be forfeit. Do you understand?”

 

Shaking with fear, the slave nodded. “Yes, your Highness.”

 

Vegeta thought for a moment, then said, “What is your name?”

 

“P-pravdo,” the slave replied.

 

“And you have a family on Vegeta-sei?”

 

The man was trembling as he replied, “Yes, your Highness. A wife…and two sons.” The man had been a slave long enough to know that not only his life but those of his family would be forfeit if he failed to safeguard the food brought to the Princess. “I promise you, Sire, no one will tamper with the Princess' food. Please…do not harm my family—“

 

Vegeta closed his eyes. As a husband and father of two sons he could imagine the man's terror. “I have no intention of harming anyone as long as you carry out your duty to me,” he said in a softer tone. “I merely meant to tell you that your loyalty will not go unrewarded. Once our enemies in the palace have been vanquished, I will free you and your family and provide you safe passage back to your home world.”

 

The man's jaw dropped open in disbelief, but the sudden light in his formerly lifeless eyes was unmistakable. “Your Highness? Are you…serious?”

 

“You protect my family, and I will provide for yours,” Vegeta told him simply. “Do we have an understanding?”

 

“Yes, your Highness!” the man told him, gratitude in his eyes. “Yes!”

 

Vegeta nodded, taking his seat once more. Intimidation worked—but kindness in return for loyalty was much more effective. He'd given the man real incentive to take his duty seriously. Undoubtedly, word had gotten around already of his compassion towards the Creas-sei-jin girls. Once he kept his word to release Pravdo and his family, other slaves and servants would gladly give their loyalty to him.

 

“You chose well, Prince Vegeta,” Bardock said cryptically as he took his seat on Vegeta's other side. Bardock could not have heard the conversation, so Vegeta was convinced that he had just fulfilled some prophecy the man had foreseen.

 

“Good,” Vegeta replied simply. “Let's just hope the rest of the evening goes as well.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Things seem to be going great,” Bulma said cheerily as her husband sat once more beside her. She had no idea what he had spoken to the servant about, but he looked somehow pleased with himself.

 

“Oh really?” he said smiling at her with his eyes. “Having a good time, are we?”

 

“Oh yes, especially ever since Lady Cereza excused herself after you left. Was it something I said?” she asked innocently.

 

“Dad, I can't believe they actually tried to fix you up with her,” Trunks put in with an amused whisper as he looked over from his mother's side.

 

“Just be glad I don't believe in political marriages, boy, or I might have had to agree to let her marry you,” Vegeta teased, though with an utterly straight face.

 

Just then the servant who had been talking to Vegeta interrupted with a small dish of meat and vegetables that he set before her. “Excuse me, Oujo-sama, but I thought I would bring you something I had acquired myself.”

 

“Uh, thank you,” she said, glancing at Vegeta. She hadn't really expected to partake in any nourishment outside of the stores they had brought with them. At least not as long as the King was alive.

 

“It's all right, Bulma, eat it,” he told her. “This is Pravdo. When we are dining outside of our suite you are to only eat or drink whatever he brings to you personally.”

 

“It's not that I questioned the other food on the table, Sire,” the man explained to Vegeta. “I simply thought it safer to—“

 

“Thank you,” Vegeta said, dismissing him.

 

She looked at him narrowly, “You didn't threaten his life, did you?”

 

“Of course I did,” he replied matter-of-factly, then, in a lower voice intimated, “He and his family are slaves. I promised them freedom and safe passage home in exchange for his loyal service.”

 

Bulma couldn't help smiling at him openly as her pride in him welled. “You're a good man, Ouji-sama. Soon everyone will know,” she said softly.

 

Not too soon, I hope, he replied in her mind. If I don't come across as a dangerous bastard, they might think me weak.

 

As absurd as that sounded, she knew that in this society, it was accurate. Scare a few more assholes like Melecot, and you'll do just fine, she assured him.

 

He had already begun to concentrate on his dinner, as the other Saiyans did the same. She cut a small piece of rare meat from the plate before her and tasted it.

 

It might not be poisoned, but it sure tasted vile. No wonder Saiyans always seemed so pissed off. She'd have to take the cook some recipes of her own.

 

 

 

 

 

“Not again!”

 

The girl had such a disgusted look on her face that he started to laugh. What did she expect? He couldn't eat all that yummy food without it coming out sometime… Although, the way Kakarot was eating, there would be nothing left!

 

“Cordera! Please! It stinks!”

 

“I can't, Arnaki! I'm warming up his bottle!”

 

“Okay, okay…” She picked him up and he wrapped his chubby arms around her neck, flashing her a big smile. He liked her. He really did. And when she smiled back, he knew she wasn't really mad. She just didn't like the smell of his poopies.

 

“Hey, I really don't mind doing that for you,” Kakarot said jumping up from the table. Wow! He left the food! What a nice guy! No wonder Mama liked him so much! “I used to change my son's diapers all the time. And they were pretty stinky.”

 

You don't know what stink is, buddy, Trunks said as the big man lay him down on the changing table.

 

“Just be careful, Kakarot. He likes to pee when you take off his diaper.”

 

“No, he just does that to Vegeta mostly…Vegeta's not an expert at this like I am…”

 

Hey, watch it. That's my Papa you're talking about! And he's a lot stronger than you! The nerve of this guy—didn't he have any idea what this whole peeing thing was about? What, did he think that the big people could actually control who got attacked? Maybe he couldn't make lights come out of his hands like Papa, or make things go boom like Papa and Big Trunks. But he knew how to hit his target. He'd shown Papa lots of times, and Papa was impressed. But if this big guy was going to make believe he was better than Papa, then Mama's friend or not, Trunks would have to teach him a lesson!

 

“Got it!” Kakarot was so pleased with himself as he shielded the oncoming stream with a clean diaper. You think you can outsmart me, huh? Trunks waited until Kakarot lowered his diaper shield, then quickly peed right on his shirt!

 

“I told you,” Arnaki said as she handed him another diaper. Hah! That will teach you to make fun of the Prince of all Saiyans….

 

He sat in Arnaki's lap until the older girl brought him his bottle. He reached out for her to take him, and snuggled in her arms, drinking thirstily. Mmmmmmmm. She'd gotten it just right. He really liked her. And he was glad to have all her attention right now. Whenever Big Trunks was around she seemed always to pay attention to him…

 

Suddenly the bell that announced when someone wanted to come in was ringing, and Kakarot moved towards the door. Did he still have the pee on his shirt? He hoped it was Papa—he would be so proud of him for getting in a strike. But no, it wasn't Papa or Mama. He could feel when they were close. It was someone else. Someone who didn't feel nice…

 

Don't open the door, Kakarot! He tried to make the words come out, but as usual, no one was listening. Didn't they understand anything but a peepee attack?

 

“Kakarot, Princess Bulma asked us to bring you this food from the banquet,” the man said holding out a plate. He wore a fighting uniform just like that nice man Bardock, and the other Saiyans. Why would a fighter be bringing food?

 

Kakarot's face lit up. It didn't matter that he'd already eaten everything the girls had made. “Wow, that's awfully nice of Bulma. Thanks!”

 

Did this guy ever think with anything but his stomach?! Couldn't he tell that there was something bad about this man? Trunks began to cry, hoping to get Kakarot's attention, but the big dummy just reached onto the tray and picked up a big piece of meat. Couldn't he tell it smelled bad? And why would Mama send food when there was so much here!? He cried louder as Kakarot bit into the food, struggling to get out of the big girl's arms. No wonder Papa called this guy stupid all the time! Couldn't he tell that this bad man was only there to hurt them all?!

 

“Trunks, Trunks, what is it?” Cordera asked, holding him up and trying to soothe him. He pointed a chubby finger at the food Kakarot was eating, and, misunderstanding him for the millionth time she said, “Oh, are you hungry, baby? Do you want to eat too?”

 

He stopped crying in shock at the loud thud as Kakarot dropped to the floor, asleep. Suddenly there were more fighters, rushing into the room, grabbing the girls and making them scream. Trunks had never been so afraid, and began to wail as the man tried to take him from Cordera's arms. He was clutching at her neck, and she was holding him so tightly that the man finally gave up.

 

“Bring them,” one of the bad men said. “Let them take care of the brat while we're holding him. Besides,” he said, grabbing Cordera by the chin and looking into her face with a mean grin, “we should show Vegeta Ouji what you're supposed to do with alien trash.”

 

Feeling the girl's terror only made Trunks more afraid. “Papaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” he cried at the top of his lungs.

 

He screamed at the sharp pain in his arm. And then he felt nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

His father was introducing him to the various members of Council that were at the gala. In front of him stood Melangianes, the Prime Minister, whom he already knew to be on his side. Then there were Repolo, and Anginado, two older Elites that Bardock had singled out as staunch supporters of the King. Even without Bardock's insight and Intelligence, Vegeta would have known where they stood. They had shot more than one unkind glance in Trunks' direction, and if one of them dared say a cross word about Bulma he was prepared to blast them.

 

“So where do you stand on the slavery issue, Ouji-sama?” Anginado was asking. The question itself had been asked quite casually, but Vegeta could see the other Elites in the group watching intently for his answer.

 

“I stand where any being of conscience should,” he replied plainly. “No being, no matter how powerful, has the right to enslave others.”

 

“With all due respect, Ouji-sama, you realize that is not a very Saiyan perspective,” Anginado said with his eyebrows raised. “Nor is it likely to be popular. Slaves are an integral part of our economy.”

 

“As paid servants they would be just as integral, and a great deal more content. Not to mention less likely to rebel.”

 

“Then you think the insurgents are discontented slaves?” Repolo asked dubiously.

 

“I have no idea who the insurgents are,” he lied, knowing very well that several of them were standing in the crowd. “Perhaps they are merely Saiyans who don't approve of the King's policies. Patriots who do not wish to see their race led to ruin again.”

 

“You sound sympathetic to them, Vegeta,” the King said suspiciously. “They destroyed ships belonging to the Royal Forces.”

 

“Ships that were on their way to purge another innocent planet,” Vegeta shot back.

 

“We have always taken from the weak,” Vegeta Ou replied. “That is our way. This very planet was wrested from the Tsifuru-jin.” Murmurs of approval from the King's supporters were a reminder of just how many Saiyans still thought as his father did.

 

“And before he destroyed our planet, Frieza used our entire race as his slaves, exploiting our talents for his own miserable ends. And do you know what, Father? When Vegeta-sei was destroyed, no one cared. We had become such vile, destructive creatures that we were loathed throughout the galaxy. No one thought us great except ourselves. Is that the image that we want to create now that we've been given a second chance? Do we want to be respected, or held in contempt?”

 

“Ouji-sama, power has its privileges,” Anginado pointed out. “Our superior power gives us the right to subjugate those who are weaker than we are.” His glance at the Prince's family was all too obvious.

 

“My son could defeat you in battle with very little effort,” Vegeta spat back. “And in intelligence my mate is as far above you, as you are above an insect. But that would not give them the right to take you as a slave, would it?”

 

Even Vegeta's staunchest opponents had to laugh at how neatly he had put the pompous Elite in his place. Flustered, Anginado responded, “The difference is that I am a Saiyan!”

 

“And so am I!” Vegeta replied, his fury rising. “But that did not stop Frieza from enslaving me for most of my life! There is no greatness in living off the labor of others, no honor in treating everyone weaker than you as a slave!”

 

Vegeta Ou held up his hand. “Gentlemen, these issues can be discussed in Council. This is a celebration after all. There's been entertainment planned in honor of my son's return. Why don't we all leave these debates for another day?”

 

“Yes, Ou-sama,” Anginado said, restraining himself from responding further. He looked at Vegeta. “No disrespect was intended, Ouji-sama.”

 

Vegeta merely glared at him, before turning his attention to the entertainers who were being brought onto the dance floor. His stomach clenched in dread as he saw the two dozen or so young women, scantily clad, being led into the room. A large Saiyan walked out behind them, clearly their overseer. He knew very well what this was, and his rage at his father for subjecting his family to this spectacle warred with his humiliation over what they were about to see.

 

“By order of His Majesty Vegeta Ou, I present to you the Royal Pleasure Slaves. In honor of Vegeta Ouji's return, his Majesty has generously invited all Elites to partake in the pleasures of his favorites…” The man's voice was lost in the lecherous howls that emanated from the Elites present. Music began to play, as the women began a seductive dance that would only lead to a debauchery worthy of Frieza himself.

 

It was to be an orgy.

 

Fuming, he turned to his despicable sire, even as a young woman pressed her nearly naked body against the delighted King. “What's the matter, boy?” the King said in a low voice, fondling the girl. “Have you forgotten how to have fun?”

 

“Congratulations, Father,” Vegeta snapped at him. “You've finally sunk to a level even Frieza would envy.”

 

“A King must be a man,” his father replied blandly, his attention now more drawn to the girl who was reaching into his pants.

 

Vegeta looked away in disgust, only to see that his father was far behind some of his warriors. Anginado was lost in the pleasure of the girl on her knees servicing him, while Repolo was busy pounding himself into a young woman whose screams told him that this was her first time. The memory of Nappa and the women he had raped to death came back to him, making him shudder within. But even Nappa had carried out his cruelties in private. What had become of his race? Where had all sense of honor and decency been so utterly abandoned?

 

“Vegeta!” Bulma's voice resounding in his mind even as she cried aloud. He turned to her, mortified as he saw the rage and humiliation in her eyes. This was what his father had wanted all along. This had been his true plan.

 

“Don't worry. I will end this now,” he promised her. He looked for Trunks, who was trying to politely detach one of the pleasure slaves who had taken a fancy to him. “Trunks!” he called. The boy gratefully came to his side. “Take your mother out of here. I'm going to stop this disgrace if I have to kill them all.”

 

“If you think I'm leaving you alone in here—” Bulma began.

 

He was about to berate her for even thinking not to trust him, when a young pleasure slave danced her way into their circle, baring her breasts to him. He wanted to swat her away, but knew that the pitiful creature was only doing what his father had bid her to do. In a burst of fury he growled a warning at the girl, unconsciously ascending to Super Saiyan. The girl cowered in fear, and he turned back to his wife. “I do not want you to witness another moment of this spectacle,” he told her quietly. Did she really think that he could in any way take pleasure in any of this? “Nor do I want you to see what I will do to these fools—“

 

He stopped mid-sentence as the cry reverberated through his very soul.

 

Papaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

 

In sudden horror he knew what the true reason for this disgusting diversion had been.

 

“What is it?!” Bulma cried, seeing the fear in his eyes.

 

“The baby,” he said simply.

 

Without another thought to the humiliating display, he took her hand and stormed from the room, praying that his instincts were wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

She had to run to keep up with him as he pulled her from the room. She grabbed onto his neck as he swept her into his arms and flew the rest of the way to their suite, Bardock and Trunks at their heels. Her heart was pounding wildly with fear, and she was glad he didn't take the time to put the combination into the door lock. A blast of ki and they ran inside.

 

She gasped as she saw Goku unconscious on the floor. “Trunks! Cordera! Arnaki!” she called uselessly. Even without being able to sense ki, she knew the awful truth.

 

They were gone.

 

“There's no one else here! Fuck!” Vegeta cried, coming to the same conclusion. Bardock had bent down to rouse his son, and before Goku could even speak Vegeta grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet. “What the fuck happened, Kakarot?! I entrusted my son to you, you fool!”

 

Still disoriented, Goku looked at him stupidly. “The last I remember…I was eating the food Bulma had sent to me—”

 

“What are you talking about, Goku!? Why would I send you food?!” she yelled, not believing that even Goku would be so thick.

 

“Argh! You idiot!” Vegeta tossed the barely conscious Saiyan towards Bardock in disgust. “They poisoned you! I didn't think even you would be stupid enough to be deceived like that!”

 

“What now, Father?” Trunks asked coming up to them. Bulma could see him struggling to remain calm despite his own fury. “Can you sense Chibi's ki?”

 

Vegeta closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he reached out with his mind. “No,” he said finally, seeming on the verge of desperation. “Nothing. I heard him cry out. I felt his ki spike, as if he were afraid…and then nothing.”

 

“Like when he has a nightmare, and then falls back asleep?” Bulma asked, knowing that her husband had been sensitive to the baby's ki before.

 

He nodded grimly. “If only it were that simple,” he murmured.

 

“So if you can't feel his ki—does that mean that he's—?” She couldn't even voice her worst fear. Gods, no…not my baby…not again…

 

“Whoever took him most likely sedated him,” Bardock broke in.

 

Vegeta glared at the Seer. “You knew, didn't you, you son of a bitch? You knew this would happen and didn't warn me!”

 

The pain in Bardock's eyes was evident as he said, “I didn't see this, precisely. But I knew some attempt would be made to take the child away.”

 

“You knew?!” Bulma cried in disbelief, feeling utterly betrayed.

 

“And you didn't warn us! What good are you to me if I can't even rely on you to let me know when my family is in danger!?”

 

It was clear that the burden of his gift weighed heavily upon him as he carefully replied, “There are things that must come to pass, my Prince. But I assure you, the baby will be safe in the end.”

 

“That's little comfort now, Bardock,” she told him, feeling her voice choke with her emotion. “They have my son!”

 

“I'm tired of your cryptic advice, Bardock,” Vegeta warned impatiently. “If you know where my son is, I want you to tell me now!!”

 

Her heart leapt with the hope that Bardock knew the answer, then fell as he replied, “I am sorry, Ouji-sama. I truly do not.”

 

It was then that she lost the battle with the tears that had been threatening to fall. This was a nightmare. They couldn't lose him. Not again! “Gods, Vegeta, what are we going to do?” she whispered shakily.

 

“Bardock may not know where he is,” he told her. “But I'm betting there's someone who does.”

 

 

 

 

He crashed his way into the ball room in a rage of Super Saiyan fury. The charade was over. The pretenses were over. Once more, and for the last time, his father had stepped over the line.

 

This time he would pay.

 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Vegeta Ou boomed as even his guards backed away from the enraged Prince.

 

“You know damned well what this is about,” Vegeta accused in a menacing voice. “My infant son has been kidnapped!”

 

There were murmurs of shock in the room, but the king's expression showed no surprise whatsoever as he said, “That is unfortunate, but I assure you I knew nothing about this.”

 

“You're lying!” Vegeta retorted. “You have done nothing but insult and plot against my mate and my child since the moment you came back from the dead! And I promise you, Father, I will send you back to the other world without a second thought if you do not tell me where he is immediately!”

 

“You weak, emotional fool!” his father sneered. “At least now your people see how truly pathetic you've become! Reacting this way over a little half-breed brat!”

 

The hatred within him swirled with the rise in his ki, shaking the building to its foundations. His father watched in astonishment and horror as the transformation took place, his golden hair flowing down to his waist, his power soaring to limits never before seen on Vegeta-sei. “Trunks!” he called his son in a voice suddenly lower than his own. “Why don't you show them just what the son of a Super Saiyan is capable of!” Give it all you've got, Son, he projected into his mind. No less than Super Saiyan Two!

 

The crowd gasped as Trunks stood by his side, his eyes blazing emeralds, his lavender hair brilliant gold and standing on its ends in the heat of his ki. The shy, polite young man they had seen was gone, transformed by fury and indignation into their worst nightmare. Vegeta Ou had fallen to his knees in utter awe, his face pallid and eyes wide in fear. Vegeta smirked evilly at his father's terror. Good. He deserved it. He deserved to see that he was nothing compared to this son he had sacrificed and grandson he had sold into slavery…

 

“Do you still dare to insult my heir, Father?!” Vegeta boomed. “Or will you tell me now where my son and the two servant girls are?!”

 

“I… I don't know…” Vegeta Ou said, still in shock over the incomprehensible power of the beings who stood before him.

 

“You don't know?” Vegeta mocked. “Do you deny that you're the one who had them abducted from my suite?!”

 

“I gave Melecot leave to proceed however he wished,” the King replied, standing and trying to regain his lost dignity.

 

“You're lying!” Trunks roared suddenly, his rage driving him past the point of self-control. Years of hatred for what Vegeta Ou had done, sins this version of the King could not even imagine, came brewing to the surface as Trunks' new world seemed about to come unraveled. Chibi's fate—his own—was the major part of it. But there was something more. Trunks had seen the perversions of his own people. The thought of those girls—that one girl in particular—in the clutches of these animals, was more than he could bear. He unleashed his fury in a blast that sent his grandfather flying across the room, then in an instant flew to grab him by the neck. “Tell me!!! Where are they?!”

 

“I don't…know, boy!” the King gasped, trying futilely to wrench the young man's hand from his throat.

 

Vegeta merely watched, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. If Trunks kept this up, the King would either lose consciousness or piss in his pants in fear. Or both. In his peripheral vision he could see the palace guards and Elites alike, watching motionless, as if paralyzed by their own fear. Good boy, Trunks…

 

“You lying son of a bitch! I know what you had planned for me and my mother!”

 

Even as he struggled for breath, Vegeta Ou looked wide-eyed at his grown grandson, as the realization hit him. At once he knew for certain what he must have suspected all along—that this young man truly was the child he had sold into slavery to King Kold. That he had suffered every pain and indignation possible, and had come back to warn his father of the King's evil pact with the Tsiru-jin monster. And as Vegeta walked towards them, his eyes burning with as much rage as his son's, he knew that Vegeta's pretenses at civility had been just that all along. “So this…is what you…intended,” he rasped with more stubborn pride than a man inches away from death should.

 

“This was all of your design, Father,” Vegeta spat at him. “Did you truly think I could forgive what you did to my mate and son?”

 

“Then finish it,” Vegeta Ou challenged him. The bastard hadn't a hint of regret in his eyes.

 

“Not until you've told me where they've taken my child!” Vegeta roared.

 

“I don't know!” he repeated, still trying in vain to free himself from Trunks' grip.

 

“Ouji-sama, if I may—”

 

“What is it, Bardock?!” Vegeta yelled, his eyes still on the despicably pathetic creature trying to struggle from Trunks' grasp.

 

“I really don't think he knows.”

 

Vegeta looked at the Seer. “Is this prophecy, or your opinion, Bardock?” he snapped, anxious to have it over with.

 

“A bit of both,” Bardock replied coming to face him. “The King is not the one who will lead you to your son.”

 

“Let me finish him, Father,” Trunks pleaded, still filled with rage and yet ready to take his father's command.

 

It would be so easy. To finish it now, to exact his revenge…and yet somehow the thought that he might make a martyr of the old bastard was too irritating to bear. How many loyal Elites would see Vegeta and his son as arrogant killers if they finished the King now? No. Mercy was what was called for.

 

For the moment.

 

“Release him,” he told Trunks before he could change his own mind. “Let him live for a while with the shame of having been proven so pathetically weak.”

 

Trunks threw the King down in disgust, smashing him into the ballroom floor. I hope you're sure about this, Dad… he said in his father's mind.

 

Patience, Vegeta told him back. We've shown the people what he is. You've done well, my Son.

 

Trunks' eyes met his, and Vegeta nodded his approval to him.

 

When Trunks was clear, Anginado, Repolo and some of the other Elites ran to the King's side. “Are you all right, Ou-sama?” Anginado asked, reaching out his hand to help the fallen monarch to his feet.

 

“Of course I'm all right, you cowards,” he reprimanded them, shaking off their assistance. He straightened his armor as he looked at his followers, who had stood by like frightened children, with utter reproach. “So is this what you want, all of you? Will you follow an arrogant brat and his half-breed son simply because you don't have the courage to stand up to them?”

 

“Your Majesty, perhaps this is not the time to discuss this,” Repolo said nervously, glancing at Vegeta. The Prince glared at him until he looked away in fright.

 

“This is precisely the time!” the King was foolish enough to say.

 

“No it is not!” Vegeta spat, ending the pointless debate. “We'll settle this after I have recovered my son!”

 

“Vegeta Ou!! Vegeta Ouji!!! You must see this!!!”

 

The servant had come running up to them, and now activated the huge view screen on the wall. The face of the female reporter from the Saiyan News Service appeared, as she stood with the palace itself in the backdrop.

 

“….only moments ago. This video was sent to our main offices and is being fed to you live. Again, we are following reports that Prince Vegeta's infant son has been kidnapped…”

 

“What the hell is this?” Vegeta began in rage, but Bardock put a hand on his arm.

 

“It is the media, Ouji-sama,” he explained.

 

Suddenly the face on the screen was that of the arrogant elite who had been foolish enough to challenge Vegeta less than an hour ago. “Melecot! I will kill him!” Vegeta growled at the smirk of satisfaction that glared back at him.

 

“Prince Vegeta, by now you will have realized that your half-breed brat and your pretty little servant girls have been taken. Don't even attempt to track the brat's ki. He's been sedated, and will remain that way until you have fulfilled our demands.”

 

Vegeta cursed under his breath even as he felt Bulma step closer to take his arm. She was terrified, and feeling her pain only enraged him more.

 

“It's very simple, really. I represent a rather large contingency of the government that will not allow you to disgrace our Saiyan heritage by making this little half-breed bastard your heir. You have ridiculed our traditions and turned your back on our ways. Your affection for your little alien whore has weakened you, and made you unfit to rule our people!”

 

The room was silent as Vegeta's ki blazed with his rage. Anyone who might have sympathized with Melecot's rebellion had witnessed far too much in the last few minutes to even think of questioning the Saiyan Prince. Melecot seemed a fool to all as he went on.

 

“We do, of course, recognize that you are truly powerful. You've just been…misled, in your absence from us. For that reason, we propose the following: We will return your son to you unharmed, and allow your elder son to take him from Vegeta-sei where they will both live in exile, renouncing any right to the throne.”

 

“Fuck you,” Vegeta muttered to the unhearing video.

 

“To spare the child's life, as I suspect you will wish to, you need only do one thing to show your loyalty to your people—put down your alien mate, and take a Saiyan warrior as your Princess.”

 

Beside him Bulma took in a breath, but inside her he could feel a rage and indignation that rivaled his own.

 

“The choice is yours, my Prince. As you can see, your little group is still unharmed. For now.” The camera angle widened to show the two Creas-sei-jin girls sitting on the floor, the older clutching Trunks in her arms, while the little one huddled close in fear. “But I don't know how long I can keep my men from those lovely unused pleasure slaves of yours. You should have broken them in yourself when you had the chance…”

 

Vegeta could hear Trunks growl, and knew his son would show no mercy for anyone who touched the girls. The video ended abruptly and the face of the reporter appeared instead.

 

“No one has heard Prince Vegeta's response, but we're live outside the Royal Palace waiting for word…”

 

Vegeta's ki blast to the screen silenced the circus that mocked his pain.

 

The entire room seemed to hold its breath in fear as he turned away from the smoldering wall where the monitor had been.

 

“Who the hell does he think he is?!” Bulma cried in fury, stunning those who had thought her a meek and frightened woman.

 

“A dead man,” Vegeta growled.

 

“Father, we've got to find them!” Trunks broke in, his anger crackling about him in waves of energy.

 

Vegeta turned to the crowd of Elites, murder in his teal eyes. “Here me now!” he called, looking them in the eyes one by one. “If anyone amongst you can lead us to my son, you will be handsomely rewarded, and have my undying gratitude and trust. But if any man here corroborates with those fools, I promise you will die a painful death.”

 

The King's laughter seemed grotesquely out of place, and Vegeta stepped towards him, ready to snap. “Look at you!” his father said in disgust. “Ready to bestow riches and kill for the sake of what? Do you think killing Melecot will change anything?! Why not come to your senses and simply rid us all of your weak little whore!” Without warning the King raised his palm towards Bulma, and Vegeta flew like lighting to attack. But in less time than it took him to reach the treacherous older man, the King fell paralyzed to the ground.

 

“What…have…you…done…?” the King gasped, still reeling from the pain.

 

It was Vegeta's turn to laugh as the crowd looked to the source of the attack. With fierce hatred in her enchanting blue eyes, Bulma stood still poised with the ki-disruptor in her hand. “Do you still think her weak, Father?” Vegeta mocked. “With a device of her own invention, she has rendered you helpless. And she bore me a son who would have easily killed you if I had not told him to stop.” His pride in her was evident as he finished, “I challenge anyone to find a more fitting Saiyan Queen!”

 

There were open cheers from the warriors who might otherwise have been afraid to voice their support for Vegeta and his family. The Prime Minister himself, Melangianes, stepped forward and bowed on one knee as he said, “Ouji-sama, I am at your service. I will help search for your son.”

 

Taking his lead, others followed, until a full half of the room had bowed before the Saiyan Prince with a pledge of loyalty. Vegeta nodded his gratitude to his people, taking quick note of those who still silently declared themselves his enemy. He would deal with them later.

 

He turned to leave the room, only to see Kakarot, still weakened but prepared to fight. A part of him still held the clown responsible for this all. Yet he knew it had been gullibility, and not lack of loyalty, that had been his weakness.

 

“I'm here to help, Prince Vegeta,” Kakarot said, surprising him with the use of his title for probably the first time. The man's eyes betrayed his guilt, and desire to set things right.

 

“Very well, Kakarot. I trust you will curb your appetite until after my son has been found?” It was his way of granting forgiveness, and the big oaf smiled dumbly, but responded with respect.

 

“Yes, Ouji-sama.”

 

“Bardock!”

 

“Yes, my Prince!” Bardock was at his side in seconds.

 

“Have you had any vision that might lead us to the baby?”

 

“I don't know where they have him, Ouji-sama. But someone will come forth to lead you to him.”

 

As if on cue, Agurion stepped forward, a perplexed look on his face. “Ouji-sama,” he said too quietly for the others to hear. “I've just received a transmission from Mother. She wishes to meet with you. She says…she can help you find you son.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bulma's eyes widened in confusion. Mother? The leader of the revolution?

 

“Is she responsible for this?” Vegeta questioned, glaring at him.

 

“No, your Highness. But she says she may be able to help. She requests you meet her at the Summer Palace.”

 

Bulma felt the inner turmoil even as her husband tried desperately to shield it from the others. Was this the lead Bardock had foreseen? She glanced at Goku's father even as the older man gave Vegeta a slight nod.

 

“All right,” Vegeta agreed. “Bardock, you come with me. Trunks?”

 

“Yes, Father?”

 

Vegeta's tone was confidential as he asked his son, “Do you think you could track that girl by her ki?”

 

“I…don't feel it from here,” the young man admitted. “It's too weak. But I suppose if I got closer I would recognize it…”

 

“Then you scout around and try to locate them that way,” his father told him. “Kakarot!”

 

“Yes, Vegeta?” Goku seemed so anxious to help. She knew he felt responsible for having let the kidnappers get to Trunks.

 

“I want you to use this palace as your base and organize search parties. Question everyone who might have any idea.”

 

“I won't let you down this time, Vegeta,” Goku promised, then hurried over to the crowd of warriors who had pledged their help.

 

“I'm coming with you,” she told Vegeta. He looked at the determination in her eyes, and she knew that he had his doubts about taking her along. But he nodded and held his arms out to her. Her hands slipped around his neck to hold on as he lifted her up.

 

I wouldn't trust anyone else with you, he told her silently.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Summer Palace was not as grand as the one in town, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Vegeta-sei's sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a brilliant swirl of red-orange haze. Unlike the King's formal residence, there were no government buildings here. It seemed isolated from the rest of the world, a peaceful haven hewn of pinkish-grey stone not unlike the granite back home. It stood at least three stories tall, a simple banner of the royal house waving in the cool evening breeze. Surrounded by beautiful gardens that had been well-kept, it seemed an idyllic spot that would otherwise have been a lovely home for the Saiyan Prince and his family, had it not held the memory of its painful history. For here, in this seeming paradise, Vegeta had been born.

 

And his mother had died giving him life.

 

He'd never come here as a child. She could feel his body tense as they neared the site he'd avoided like the plague. In his mind he was cursing the Revolutionary leader for insisting they meet here. But aloud he said nothing. He could not. The pain of the loss of the mother he had never known haunted him even more than Bulma had ever realized. She kissed him lightly on the cheek as he prepared to set down.

 

“This is no time for affection, woman,” he grunted in a not-so convincing tone. But she could feel her presence calming him in a way he would not put into words.

 

They landed in the garden just steps from the palace. An Elite whom Bardock seemed to recognize said, “She is inside, Ouji-sama. She awaits an audience with you.”

 

“Oh really?” Vegeta grumbled sarcastically. “And what right does this woman have to enter the Royal Palace and request my presence?”

 

Bulma and Bardock followed close behind as Vegeta stormed through the door. “I am here! Now show yourself and tell me what the hell you know about my son?”

 

A woman stepped from the shadows, a beautiful woman with raven hair and eyes as black as night. And the realization hit them all at once, Bulma gasping, the blood draining from Vegeta's face, even before the woman smiled kindly at him with tears coming to her eyes and said, “I know only that he is my grandson, and I must help you find him.”

 

 

 

[Coming in Chapter Fifteen: is this really Vegeta's mother? How deep does the King's treachery run?]