Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Golden Saiyan: Part I ❯ The Golden Saiyan: Part I ( Chapter 1 )

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

The Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not under any circumstances or in however many parallel universes own anything remotely related to Dragonball Z. That brainchild belongs exclusively to the masterful imagination of Akira Toriyama. All I’ve got is a terrible addiction to the fanon possibilities of Goku and Vegeta gettin’ it on.
Rating: Hard R all the way up to a delicious NC-17. Give me the souls of your chaste.
Pairing: Eventually Kakarott/Vegeta–as for any others, you’ll just have to read and be surprised. ^_~
Genre: It started as a romance and grew to become an epic action/adventuresque-romantic thing. Regardless, I think it's better this way.
Author: BlackDeath (former lurker turned fanfic writer)
Summary: Kakarott and Radditz get more than they bargain for when vengeance and plots go awry inciting them to abduct a Saiyan prince during his coronation ceremony. Featuring nefarious intrigue, a messianic Saiyan prophecy, very evil galactic overlords, talking vegetables, and an assassination of the Japanese language courtesy of a gaijin using an online translator.
Author’s Note: I began this story years ago–probably when I was in later middle school, during the height of what appeared to be the DBZ yaoi craze. I never really knew where I was going with it before, so I stopped after the first five chapters or so. Since then however, I have returned to it again and again, each subsequent time watching as my writing has steadily improved. After having finally figured out where I wanted the story to go in the first place, I must apologize to those of you that may remember this and saw it before it was extensively overhauled, originally entitled “The Prince and the Pauper.” As it currently stands, I feel that the decision to revise it was better in the long run, since I am now able to give my audience a more sophisticated story than would have been possible for me in the past. For your benefit (and to test my own dedication) I made a decision long ago that this new version of the original story would not be posted until I had completely finished Part I, which I have done. Please look for the second installment in the coming months.
I have always loved DBZ, especially the history and culture of the Saiyans that Akira Toriyama alludes to but never goes into detail with. My interpretation of the Saiyan race is far from canon (of course, what fanfic IS canon?) in that it differs in the way in which he depicts the Saiyans as completely hard, emotionless bastards. Even the Spartans of Greece (and believe me, they were ultra badasses of the Ancient World in their own right) experienced the finer aspects of civilization and weren’t fighting all the time. So I thought to myself one day: you know, I’d really like to see someone develop an epic AU that is yaoi and involves Goku and Vegeta on their home world. Needless to say, I foolishly took up the torch.
Lastly, there are a number footnotes throughout the chapters that I have included that define some things I think are relevant to enriching the reader’s understanding, and give insight into what was going on in my head during the time I wrote this. Many of the invented names I use are in Japanese (for example, I adore Akira’s use of pun and the fact that all of the Saiyans are named after Japanese words for different vegetables) so I apologize in advance if the terminology is wrong, but I do not know the language so I am forced to make due with the online translators that are available. If anyone could be so good as to help me out that IS proficient in Japanese (and its use of pun) I would love to hear from you and get corrections and/or confirmations that these terms are indeed appropriate.
If you have questions, comments or constructive criticisms (I will NOT tolerate idiotic flames) I would love to hear what you have to say, and they are welcome. I want to make this story all that it can be, so if something seems amiss to anyone, please feel free to tell me.
Oh, and one other little itty-bitty thing: Reviews are what we authors eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Please review once you’ve read–even if it’s a simple “I liked it” or “I didn’t like it”. After all of this hard work (that has taken the better part of a year and slightly longer) I do hope for some kind of compensation. Since it can’t be of a monetary form, my ego will be quite happy to settle for some of the pleasant bolstering that words of praise can bring. Hey, at least I’m honest.
Now on with the show!
~()~()~()~

Prologue: The Stars
“There is a belief among our people that there once existed a being so luminous that the very stars called him brother. Some say that he was a demon that had the power to crush whole worlds with a single thought; others hold that he was a fallen god, cast out from the heavens for his bloodlust.
Despite the many interpretations that a tale as ancient as this one has been subjected to throughout the millennia, there is yet still a single, uniting truth that all our race has kept with: that it was a Super Saiyan that gave birth us.
His name was Brolly, or ‘Burorri’ in the ancient tongue. My father once told me that the reason why Saiyans are so quick to passion is because great-grandfather Burorri was born in the depths of Mt. Tane, which endowed him with liquid fire for his life-blood.”
“Really? He had lava flowingin his veins? Wouldn’t that have killed him, ‘Tousan?”
The King paused in his narrative and smirked down at the wide, interested eyes of his daughter, who was now clutching his forearm with her tail in her anxiousness to hear what his answer would be.
“No, Koshuo. He was an immortal, a great being. Nothing could kill him…nothing but himself.”
The little Oujo ‘harrumphed’ and folded her arms over her chest, a spark of pride igniting in her father’s breast when she gave him her best imitation of a glare.
Now I wonder where she picked that up? The King snorted.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Believe what you want, brat, nobody really knows if it’s the truth anymore. I never said that this was all going to be fact–so do you want to listen the rest of it, or not?”
Hearing the irritation in her father’s voice, the princess snuggled down further in her nest of furs and effected her best innocent expression, smiling up at him.
Glaring good-naturedly, theOu carried on with his story.
“Anyway, as I was saying, that was how he came to be. The strongest immortal of all, Grandfather Burorri was created with the destiny of bringing the cosmos together under his rule. It is said that he loved nothing better than a good battle and reigned for eons content in the knowledge that he was the greatest warrior in existence. Yet over time, a heavy restlessness overcame him, and he found that there simply weren’t enough peoples to conquer, or skilled warriors that could issue him a challenge. So seeking another that could best him in a fight, Burorri traveled the galaxies for many years, only to discover after countless fruitless searches that there was no other being that was his equal–he was alone.
This knowledge tormented Burorri–pained him so greatly that he flew to the most distant and radiant stars, begging for their help to fashion a mate for him.
‘We cannot’ they whispered sadly, ‘for since you were crafted from eternal flame, you can bear no seed while your flesh resists the touch of death.”
Despairing at their words, Burorri returned to the bellows of Mt. Tane. Choosing oblivion rather than eternity, he leapt into its burning mouth, willingly relinquishing his spirit and his rightful claim to the throne of the universe.”
“Why, Papa? Why would any Saiyan give up such a thing?”
“Because he had no one to share it with.”
Koushou gazed up forlornly at her father, tiny hands grasping at his red cape. The Ou took the hint and scooped her up into his lap, tucking her unruly head of black spikes beneath his chin.
“But if he died, how were we created?”
“Shh, I was getting to that, chibi. Don’t be sad now, just listen, yes? No more interruptions, I’m almost finished. Then I promise you will know.”
Nodding, she buried her face in his chest.
“As he fell into Mt. Tane, legend has it that his body did not burn, but instead shattered into thousands of black shards of obsidian. Weeping to see their beloved brother come to such an end, the stars took pity upon his miserable plight, and drew up the pieces of stone. From each they summoned forth a Saiyan, the first of the generations of our race, and the mightiest. Yet there was one fragment discovered amidst the others that even the stars themselves could not stir to life. For inscribed upon it was the last prophetic words of Burorri before he passed from this realm. Words that are said to foretell the coming of the Saiyan that would one day return as Burorri in mortal form to take his rightful rule over our world.”
Blinking, Koushou wrapped herself tighter among her nest of furs.
“Do you really think there is such a prophecy, tousan?”
“Mmh. What I believe…is that it is your bedtime, brat, and that any further questions will have to wait for tomorrow night. As it is, you’ve exhausted my patience enough for one evening. Hurry now, and get comfortable before I turn off the lights.”
“But I’m not tired!”
Crossing his arms over his chest, the Saiyan monarch gave his daughter his best look, which incited her to scramble into her bed. Wrinkling her nose when he bent to brush a stray lock from her forehead, Koshuo sighed and did her best to relax. She knew when not to push her luck.
Shutting the door behind him, the Ou stifled a yawn and decided that it was about time that he got himself to his own chambers for the night. The day had been long and tomorrow would be even longer.
Climbing into bed, he reached out for his sleeping mate, who was already snoring softly on the other side, no doubt exhausted from another diplomatic conference. He shook his head and curled his body around the larger frame, burying his nose in the musky, familiar scent. His last coherent thought was of the prophecy he had come to know five years ago, five years before his world was turned upside down and stopped, only to begin all over again.
~()~()~()~
Tane in Japanese means “seed.” I thought that this name was appropriate for Brolly’s place of birth
Koshuo means "pepper."
*I hope you all liked the creation myth of the Saiyans. I’m a student of anthropology, and I just love the creation stories of different cultures, so I figured I’d try one out for myself.
~()~()~()~
PART I
“Here’s to the throne of Vegetasei, and the closest I’ll ever come to it,” Nappa thought bitterly, wiping the spittle from the side of his chin with his leather gauntlet. He belched and simultaneously drove a dull knife through another barrel of the Ou’s wine, watching it sputter its contents through the slit and onto the sand below. By now the petty theft gave him little satisfaction, but he’d take what he could get these days.
Nappa and a small crew of merchant ship hands had been stationed on Vegetasei’s moon for the past month since interplanetary guests had begun to arrive for the Saiyan Ouji’s coronation that was barely a week away. Though promised a landing five days ago, from the looks of things they would be trapped on this wasteland for another several weeks until port traffic cleared and every single one of the wealthy alien dignitaries had availed themselves of it first.
Coughing, Nappa cupped his giant palm and caught some of the escaping fermented liquid, bringing it to his mouth. If he peered just so into the shadow of the violet planet, his eyes could plainly see the large ships and shuttles that were milling about and touching down like a thousand tiny insects. The former general felt a cutting twinge of envy when he thought of the political intrigue and hastily forged alliances that would soon be taking place without him. Oh, how he missed those days.
Indeed, life was pretty dismal at Nappa’s end of the spectrum, and every moment he thought of the circumstances that had led him here, he hated himself a little more for it, vowing to rectify it through revenge on those that had put him on his current path to self-destruction. He still remembered the black rage and horror he had felt bubbling to the surface when he’d been caught by one of the servants raiding the Ou’s private stores. Nappa had always had too much of a fondness for fine drink, and if he had not been intoxicated beyond reason, he would have managed to silence the squealing steward for good if his impaired reflexes hadn’t betrayed him in the end. Yet none of those regrets could do anything for him now. The slave had escaped to announce his treachery to the king, ruining his life, his career, and his prestige all in one deft blow.
Standing before the Ou, he had fully expected torture and imprisonment, even death to be his ruling–for that was the Saiyan way to punish such offenses. From where he currently was, he now understood that all of the above might have been far more preferable to the humiliating fate the Ou had in mind for him at the time.
When the guard had not immediately blasted him or thrown him into the prison cells, Nappa had grown terribly anxious.
“Am I not to die, My Lord?” he had asked before the Ou, eyes fixed on the polished granite floor in disbelief.
“No, not at all,” the King had spoken almost kindly, dark eyes glittering like beetle carapaces. “Though your transgressions have been severe, and perhaps deserving of no less a fate, I’m feeling particularly generous right now. It is therefore that I have decided that if it is truly my drink that you have found so much to your liking, then from now on you shall have every available access to it…”
After his audience with the Ou, Nappa had been stripped of his titles and given the lowly position of overseeing the shipment and transference of His Majesty’s personal vintages from their nursery planets to Vegetasei. For a Saiyan of his former stature, this was the worst condemnation of them all.
Closing his eyes, Nappa forgot the elder Vegeta for a moment and brought to his thoughts a pleasanter vision of the younger. Tantalizing images immediately began to swirl behind his eyes as he recalled some of his hungrier fantasies of the Prince Vegeta: black eyes like snares, begging to be taken; a full, irresistible mouth set in a sharply defined face. Nappa’s jaw grew slack as the phantoms disappeared from his imagination as quickly as they had come, elusive as tendrils of smoke dispersing through air.
Now there was regret. Ever since he had first set his sights on the Saiyan no Ouji, he had been laid low by desire. The way the little Prince teased him with his body when Nappa would spar with him, the manner in which he studied his opponent in the heat of the fight, trying to gauge the next move. Nappa had promised himself that he would have the Ouji, promised that one day he would know the forbidden pleasures of his supple body writhing beneath his own…
Unable to dull the hopelessness of his situation with more wine, Nappa suddenly felt a horrible kind of nervous claustrophobia grip him, incensing him with a wild, lunatic urge to move, to simply walk through the sands of the desert moon and lose his mind in the ill hope that he would forget the proverbial grave he had dug and find himself a real one. Standing, the burly Saiyan ambled down the barge’s planks, noticing that the rest of the company was gathered around a small fire in the distance, sharing ale and laughter without him.
They’re nothing but a flock of third-class nobodies anyway. What need have you of their companionship?
Though the sky was brilliant with stars as he made his slow, drunken progression through the shifting ground, the darkness in his heart seemed to make the darkness of the night outside complete. He walked for he knew not how long until the alcohol rose in his blood, stirring fresh hallucinations to the surface of consciousness until at last all of his logic and the familiar sight of camp left him. Even as he continued to trudge on, he was vaguely aware that he had never before wandered so far alone.
Minutes passed like hours and hours like minutes when at last Nappa began to sober and his blood cooled. By then, he hadn’t any idea of how far he’d walked, and the faintest traces of a glow were beginning to creep over the mountainous horizon. It was then that one clear, poignant thought came rushing up from the recesses of his subconscious:
Morning has come.
Nappa’s eyes grew wide as he dragged the memory of what that meant out from the depths of his mind, staring at the finger-like points of light that were approaching with surprising speed in the distance. He cursed and twisted around, seeing nothing but desert surrounding him as far as the eye could see. Dropping to his knees, he tried desperately to bury himself in the cool sand like a burrowing animal, and reached for his scanner and comlink, intending to notify the crew of his distress and call for immediate rescue. He felt the blood seep from his face when he patted his jumpsuit and his pockets turned up empty.
You idiot! You left them back at the ship!
Faced so abruptly with the unexpectedness of the imminence of a real death, indulging himself in self-pitying romanticizing had lost all of its original appeal for Nappa. Shahar’s deadly sunrise was known for coming with unusual swiftness, bringing with it soaring temperatures that incinerated everything in its path. If he couldn’t find his way back to the protection of the shuttle and its powerful shields, he would surely be dead.
Making one last-ditch effort, he concentrated, summoning his ki to take to the skies and attempt to out-fly the dawn.
Nothing happened.
Growling, he tried again, grinding his teeth. Sweat prickled on his brow as waves of uncomfortable heat began to descend upon him from the direction of the sun’s rising. What the hell was wrong with him?
I’m calm, I’m not panicking; I’m focusing my energy…
Unable to unlock the familiar tug of his power at the edge of his awareness, Nappa almost soiled himself as out-and-out panic reared its ugly head as another forgotten tidbit of information overtook him: Shahar’s lunar mass was exceptionally small. A small moon meant that it probably lacked sufficient magnetism generated in its core, and without magnetism, ki did not have a medium to travel through. At that rate, he couldn’t even set his thumb on fire.
I’m dead, he thought, dumbly. Finished.
It was in that moment of complete understanding of the futility of the fate that was rushing toward him that Nappa resorted to the last remaining option he had–the only option that millions of individuals the universe over had left to them when all others had deserted.
He ran.
~()~()~()~
*The word “Shahar” is Arabic for “moon”. I thought it sounded very Saiyan, and have always loved the way it rolls off the tongue.
~()~()~()~
Lord Frieza was not a patient master. Over the years, Zarbon had witnessed just what kinds of things happened to those foolish individuals that would commit the grievous error of making their master wait for anything–which was exactly why he now raced to the ice-jin’s side, mouthing a silent prayer that his usual punctuality would remain with him on this occasion.
He hadn’t meant to lose track of the time and fall asleep. The last purging mission he was assigned had been particularly taxing, and he was exhausted beyond all physical limits. By the time the little mental reserve he had left had urged him back to wakefulness, he had only two minutes to dress for the audience with his master and four minutes to reach the other side of the ship.
Catching his breath outside the entrance doors to Frieza’s reception hall, the blue-skinned warrior released a nervous breath and forcibly stilled his nerves. Punching the yellow switch that controlled the air-locking doors, he stepped inside.
“Ah, Zarbon, only two seconds to spare. I must say that I’m a trifle disappointed–I almost had you this time.”
Zarbon didn’t need to look up to know that Frieza’s eyes were sparkling with undisguised mirth at the ‘joke’ he had just made at his expense. The warrior knew better than to do that anyway–one did not look Lord Frieza in the face unless one were told to do so. To act otherwise was impudence–and one never wanted to be viewed as impudent by one’s master–particularly his master.
Straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, Zarbon brought the steel-plated heels of his boots together and bowed, waiting for Frieza to bid him closer.
Two minutes of fearful silence dragged by before the ice-jin bothered to give him further acknowledgement. So he feels like teaching me a lesson today, Zarbon thought, fighting to keep his teeth from grinding together in annoyance. A small eternity seemed to pass before Frieza finally tired of watching him squirm, chuckling as he waved his henchman forward with a flick of his wrist.
“Tell me, what news do you bring of the Drega System? Have all of the habitable planets been cleansed for my personal use?”
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Zarbon collected himself and replied: “Yes, Lord. There was nothing inhabiting the outer planets, and I quickly dealt with the inner terrestrials. You will no doubt be pleased to know that it took us less than seventy-two hours to exterminate the native vermin that we discovered there. Everything else is in order and undergoing the necessary preliminary inspections for colonization.”
“Most Excellent. Knowing your finesse with these situations, it must have been brilliantly executed...” Clapping his hands, Frieza shook with silent laughter at his pun.
Zarbon’s was very skilled at feigning amusement.
Coming back to himself, Frieza leaned back in his throne and smirked at his henchman, letting his eyes run over him in a cursory evaluation of his battered physique. “Those wounds on your arm–they need attention, do they not? I give you permission to avail yourself of the healing tanks in the hospital ward as soon as you have finished attending me.”
Zarbon inclined his head, bowing once more. Inwardly he was letting out a relieved sigh, already thinking ahead to the blessed mending his abused muscles would soon be receiving. “My Lord is most generous and considerate.”
Flicking his tail from side to side in a slow half-circle, Frieza’s smile widened at the obligatory flattery, ruby eyes glittering with a reptilian cunning. “Yes, I suppose I am. That is why I am also generously considering you for another assignment. This one is to the planet Vegeta.”
Nearly forgetting himself, Zarbon almost lifted his head to stare at his master in open-mouthed surprise. “M-my Lord? So soon after I have just returned?”
“Why yes, Zarbon. Surely you would not deny me further use of your talents,” Frieza all but purred, though it was a question that brooked no room for argument. Accustomed to this cat-and-mouse dance, Zarbon cleared his throat, knowing full well that if he didn’t answer correctly he would be treading on dangerous ground.
“No, of course not, My Lord. I was merely thinking of Dodoria–why not send him? He was not involved in this last purging mission with me, so I would assume that he must be experiencing an inordinate amount of restlessness by now.”
Shifting in his seat, Frieza threw his head back and laughed, unconsciously exposing the snowy white of his throat.
“Oh, you always make me laugh so, Zarbon! How very considerate of you, thinking of your fellow comrade! It would be enough to bring tears to my eyes if I could weep. No, actually, I am sorry to inform you that I cannot accept Dodoria in your stead. He simply lacks the past experience with Vegeta no Ou’s court that you possess. Besides, Zarbon–he is not the clever creature that you are. I need someone charismatic, someone that can conceal his true intentions, if you will. That someone is most certainly NOT Dodoria.”
“I-thank you, Lord, but I don’t–“
“Come closer, Zarbon.”
The commanding lilt to Frieza’s sing-song voice caught him off-guard. Without a word, Zarbon did as the other bid, keeping his body from fidgeting in his anxiety.
“Now–look at me.”
Sliding his eyes away from the spot on the floor they were currently fixed on, they came into abrupt contact with the cold, appraising ones before him. Exiting from his seat, Lord Frieza stalked toward him, white flesh appearing flawless and deceptively vulnerable beneath the artificial light. He began to circle Zarbon, as though determining the best place to strike to bring down his quarry.
Zarbon shivered when he felt the cool breath on the back of his neck.
“I need an envoy inside the Saiyan court. I want to know about Vegeta–any information pertaining to his power level that you can gather.”
Vegeta no Ou? Whatever for? “May I ask why, My Lord? I was under the impression that he didn’t pose a threat to us– he has already lost in battle to you once before, thus proving his weakness. Having allied the rest of his people with our ambitions in the face of the alternative, I would assume that you would have unfounded cause to worry about an uprising. With all due respect, Lord, the Saiyan Ou is many things, but I don’t believe ‘suicidal’ or ‘foolish’ fit among the list.”
Frieza chuckled.
“I concur with you, Zarbon, but you misunderstand me. When I say that I wish for you to gather information on Vegeta, it is not the Ou that I refer to, but his son.”
The puzzlement at his master’s words must have shown on Zarbon’s face this time, because in the next instant Frieza smiled indulgently and began to explain:
“I have heard rumors circulating among a number of sources that Vegeta no Ouji is very close to surpassing his father in power–if that is so, he’ll be the strongest on their planet, as well as have the potential to be one of the strongest in the universe. He is also young; given those two qualities, this makes for a very good opportunity to add a valuable asset to my collection, wouldn’t you agree? After all, what use do I have of an entire race of disloyal inferiors when I can mold the real thing for myself? With the rest of his kind exterminated, he would have no choice but to be loyal to me. It would break him.”
Speechless for a moment, Zarbon would later wonder how he had managed to find his voice again to respond:
“I believe that I see your reasoning, Master, but wouldn’t it behoove us to keep the rest of the Saiyans around for a while longer while they continue to purge the outer reaches of the territory? Disloyalty or not, surely you can see the benefit of their continued existence?”
“I can indeed, Zarbon, but perhaps you are not as familiar as I am with the old saying of ‘it is better to have one loyal servant than a thousand of questionable allegiance that would strangle you in your sleep?’ Besides, the purging of the outer reaches is nearly finished. What I need now requires those warriors that are capable of enforcing my law–those primarily comprising yourself, Dodoria, The Ginyu Force, and if you discover the rumors to be true, our little Monkey Prince.”
Letting out a breath of air he didn’t know he’d been holding, Zarbon nodded his understanding, unhappy with the circumstances of his next assignment but also knowing he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
“Your wishes are always my first priority, Lord Frieza. I will send for the cargo hold of my vessel to be readied. Will I remain here and finish my usual leave of five days, or do you wish me to depart early?”
“Early would be preferable.”
“Excellent, I shall have everything readied in three days–“
“No.”
Zarbon blinked, dumbfounded. “No, My Lord?”
Raising a brow, Frieza turned his back on him and began to walk away, opening the airlocks with a flick of his serpentine tail before gliding through them, throwing over his shoulder:
“Didn’t I tell you? You will be leaving within the hour. I’ve already anticipated replenishing the supplies on your vessel, so I suggest you make quick use of those healing tanks we were discussing.”
~()~()~()~
The sun was nearly bearing down upon him now, and Nappa was running for his life. As valiant an effort as he gave, the slinking sand slowed his every step, reducing his speed as surely as if there were thousands of grasping hands among the dunes that were trying to drag him down.
With a heaving chest and a heart pumping harder than it was accustomed to working anymore without the advantage of ki, the former general of Vegeta no Ou’s Elite Guard allowed himself to succumb to lost hope. He was no longer the Saiyan that he used to be–too many years out of service had given way to a sluggish, sedentary lifestyle. He knew as sure as he had ever known anything that there was no salvation from the fate that was swiftly coming to meet him now.
Panting, he dropped heavily down upon his back, deciding that he would rather confront his merciless killer rather than die with his face buried in his arms. Turning his head toward the light, he beheld the scorching rays as they drew closer to his body: ten meters away, five meters away, closer–
He felt the sand lurch beneath his weight.
Before he knew what was happening, the sand started to move beneath him, collapsing with a hissing sound as though through a sieve. Nappa gave a frightened yelp as the earth yawned and swallowed him whole, sending him plunging down with it into total darkness just as the sun enveloped the patch of sand his flesh had been mere seconds before.
He landed with belly-flopping impact on an abrasive, cool surface some forty feet down, the reverberation of his heavy bulk hitting the ground and causing more sand to displace from the walls of the pit he had fallen into. Grunting, he sat up holding the back of his skull, emitting a low, guttural groan of protest. What the hell had just happened?
The sand continued to pour into the lightless space that had providently saved his life, irritating his nostrils, eyes, and mouth. He sputtered and rubbed at them with his sausage-sized fingers, covering his face with his fists to wait out the cloud of angry dust and grit.
When everything finally began to settle again, Nappa opened his eyes and assessed his surroundings; he couldn’t make much of anything out yet, it was too dark.
Isn’t that what you were begging for not five minutes ago? An ungrateful, inner voice mocked. He grimaced.
Searching for an object that could aid him in this mess, Nappa patted his uniform and felt a metal tube protruding from his utility belt that he had not noticed before. Pulling it out, he held it balanced in his palms, listening as liquid sloshed back and forth in the center. At least he had been doing something right in carrying that on him.
Of all things I could have brought with me, the one thing I pack is a cheap break-light. So much for being prepared for everything eh, Nappa?
Hell, at least he’d be able to see.
Snapping the tube against his thigh, he redirected his attention above him. There was a scant bit of brightness he could see higher up, which he supposed was the opening of the cavity. Nappa figured it would take some exploration to figure out how he would get out of this pit later when the sun went down. There didn’t appear to be any crags he could dig his feet and hands into to climb back.
Though he wasn’t dead, which was certainly a step up in his book at that point, Nappa couldn’t quite conceive of a way he could possibly be more fucked. He could only pray that one of the worthless bakas aboard the shuttle had enough presence of mind to notice his absence.
Swinging the light around, he gasped when he beheld a moderately-sized subterranean cavern looming before him, limestone formations spiraling in every direction like rows of uneven teeth.
Who would have thought that something like this would be around here? Although Nappa reckoned that a moon as modest as Shahar had few secrets, this cavern was probably one of the best kept. The air within was stale, with a distinctly untouched quality, although he knew there had to be oxygen flowing from a gap or crevice somewhere if he hadn’t collapsed from noxious air yet.
Are those crystals over there? Stepping lightly, Nappa went over to investigate an area that seemed to sparkle some few meters ahead of him, though his curiosity ebbed as he closed in and realized that it was merely a pool of water. As he was about to turn away and continue his search for an escape from the cavern elsewhere, the corner of his eye captured an object in the middle of the still water. Something was over there–perched on top of a jutting stone just abreast of the pool.
Nappa squinted at the thing–it looked Saiyan-made, and didn’t fit with the atmosphere of the cave. Deciding to get his feet wet, Nappa trudged through the murky water, reaching out for the unknown object. When he touched it, an immediate shiver went through his body from the tips of his fingers, leaving him with an overriding sense of energy. Did he dream the flutter of raw power that seemed to emanate from the object? For the briefest of moments, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched by some unseen presence–but that couldn’t be. Nobody was down there except for him.
It looks like some kind of parcel–what’s inside of it? Wrapped in deteriorating hide, it appeared like it could be a collection of documents. But who could have put it here? Why?
Perplexed, Nappa grabbed his discovery and moved out of the water. After ten minutes of more hunting around for a way out without any luck, he figured that the best possible thing he could do to increase the chances of his recovery would be to go back to the base of the pit where he had fallen.
Finding his way back, the former general sighed and hunkered down for a rest. Putting his light between his teeth, he began examining his find with more than the perfunctory interest he had treated it with before. Opening the flap, he unfolded it and pulled out a bumpy, smooth fragment of volcanic glass. Strange symbols littered one side, scrawling across horizontally in what was obviously some form of written language.
Although he could not understand the writing, every money-grubbing instinct in Nappa whispered to him that he could haggle with the antiquities dealers and fetch a pretty fair price for it at the Namekian Trade Post. Placing it back in its protective covering, he went to pull the flap over and lace it around once more when he gasped as he noticed a tiny, previously missed symbol that was only too recognizable jump out from the rest of the filthy brown skin like a blemish on a pretty face.
The little image was shockingly unexpected–it was a noble crest, one he knew better than he knew his own. It was the one every Saiyan knew better than their own. Staring at it as if it would disappear, Nappa traced the image with his finger. It was that of two snarling oozaru locked together in deadly combat beneath the sway of a full moon; beneath, only a single name:
L’en Veges Shen’Vir–
House of Vegeta.
Dumbstruck with amazement, at first Nappa didn’t know what to think. Then it suddenly became clear that while he had no idea what the information was that this artifact contained, it surely had to be worth a great deal if it was covered in the modern seal of Vegeta. Knowing that the coat of arms he was looking at had been reinvented some sixty years ago when the current Ou rose to power, it meant that someone close to the current Ou knew that this was down there, very likely even the Ou himself.
But why hide it, King? What dirty laundry does it contain that you fear the exposure of?
Hours must have passed and the day with them as Nappa contemplated the can of worms his discovery had potentially opened up. So when a clump of disturbed sand once again landed on his head from far above and interrupted his calculating thoughts, it was accompanied by the welcomed sound of an irritated, gruff voice calling his name from the surface.
“Nappa? Are you down there? We scouted the last several kilometers from the shuttle and found this hole–you alive?
Relieved beyond all reason, Nappa sighed. “Would I be answering you if I wasn’t?”
There were some grumbles and hushed whispers from above him as the sound of his voice echoing up from the cavity in the ground assured them of his presence.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t. Not that we wouldn’t be thrilled to leave you here, but we can’t lose your labor, since it would mean taking a pay cut for all of us.”
“I’m touched at your concern for my welfare.”
More sounds from above and then what he wanted to hear: “Alright, no more screwing around. We’re going to toss the rope down now.”
It was then that Nappa knew his future was looking much brighter.
~()~()~()~
He heard it on the rain.
The sign that had been promised to Bardock had finally arrived after many years of his despairing that it would ever come; and to think–he had nearly overlooked it.
So the promised message is delivered to me on the rain. He snorted, still incredulous. Not in a vision or a dream, but in the guise of something so ordinary.
The tall Saiyan silently watched for a while longer as the heavens continued to pour down their nectar, water beading on the ferns and dripping from the trees that surrounded his jungle home. Stepping away from the porthole, his ears caught at the familiar sounds of his children breathing at the far end of the hall. He listened as their slow exhalations reassured him they were still asleep. It was daybreak and his eldest would be rising soon as was his usual custom. He knew that his youngest could sleep on for another five hours if there wasn’t anyone to disturb him.
Lazy cub, Bardock mused, grinning as his thoughts strayed for a moment to his other son.
It was difficult to believe standing there in the den that he had built for his small family that their lives would be forever changed today. Bardock had awoken agitated and in a strange mood, unable to shake the nagging suspicion that something very important was alluding him before the pitter-patter of the storm had fully registered to his irritable mind. That was when he had known, and it had hit him like a blow to the face.
And here it is. It is finally time for me to set the path that another will walk.
Shaking his head, Bardock selected a dry strip of meat hanging from the rafters and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully.
When Radditz wakes, it will begin.
~()~()~()~
Space Pirate’s Alley was the unofficially sanctioned economic center of Vegetasei where business of any sort of the illicit variety could be found taking place at all hours within the squalid stalls that lined the streets. Yet it was not merely the miscreants of Saiyan society that made their homes in the underbelly, but the impoverished, forgotten immigrants that still kept the small, inexhaustible hope burning that a better life on the violet planet was on its way.
The tired young Namek that was currently sipping boiled water beside the hearth of his drafty hovel counted himself among the second group of individuals that resided in the alley. Six months had passed for him since he had left his mother planet, and despite all of his extensive training and honest skill, his education had yet to engender any opportunity for advancement.
When he was still practically an infant, his grandfather Kami had begun instructing him in the scholarly arts, and at an unheard-of eight years of Namekian age, he was considered a master thoroughly versed in the extinct languages of Namekkugo and Saiyago. Because his own father had fallen at the hands of Frieza’s minions during the conquest of his world, he had been placed under the sole guardianship of the elderly Namek. Misfortune was swift to strike once again, however, as Kami succumbed to the decrepitude of old age and his sight finally failed him, forcing him to discontinue his work of translating the ancient texts that had hitherto supported a lifestyle of relative comfort for both of them.
“It is now your time to take my place as master, young one,” he recalled his grandfather insisting to him, demanding that he leave their devastated planet and seek new prosperity upon their sister-world of Vegetasei. “Nameks and Saiyans are as distant relations, Grandson. We are two cousin races that have always been tolerant of each other. It is therefore with this in mind that I tell you to leave, as much as it pains my old heart to say. Go, child; go forth to King Vegeta’s world and see if fate will provide you with more than the inevitable starvation and despair of the heart that is the only thing you will find in abundance here.”
Since then, the Namek had traveled to the planet intending to send half of the wealth that he earned back to his grandfather once he found affluent clients with money to spare. That hope now struggled to stay aloft as he carried on his fruitless search for employment, discovering along his pit-fallen journey that the harsh truth of the matter was that a grievous shadow known as the Cold Empire had finally fallen over the Saiyan people as well, shifting their priorities as the ever-present threat of war and famine persisted. It now appeared that the only available source of work that was still to be had for a scholar of his expertise was in the Ou’s personal court.
Sadly, however, despite the fact that such a coveted position would have been more than acceptable to him, all of his highly esteemed references, resumes, and personal letters of accomplishment sent to the King’s Scholars were denied. In the end, the only reply that he had received in regards to his desires for employment was an icily polite written correspondence that declared that Vegeta no Ou already possessed every authority on the two ancient languages that he required. Nonetheless, he had more than suspected that the true obstacle he faced was less a matter of need than it was a controversy over his youth, an unavoidable frustration that would follow him wherever he went until he ultimately settled into maturity, whatever the truth of his qualifications may be.
Which was exactly why the Namek was speechless with the first jolt of excitement he had felt in months when a potential customer stepped over the threshold of his door.
He was a large Saiyan; that much was obvious upon first impression. The bald crown of his head was shiny and light bounced off of it like the polished, reflective surface of a mirror. A brown mustache clung to the patch of skin beneath his bulbous nose like a furry animal that was afraid to let go, and his physique had clearly seen better days. Besides these initial observations, however, the Namek could easily see that the Saiyan was dressed well enough; he wasn’t filthy like most of the unsavory characters one came into contact with in the alley, which was as good an indication as any that he had the reasonable means to pay for his expenditures.
Collecting himself as he recovered from his initial shock, he listened as the Saiyan spoke first.
“Do you know of the whereabouts of the one called Master Dende?”
Straightening to his full three-feet eight-inch height, the so-called “Master Dende” replied:
“I am he of whom you are searching for. How may I be of help to you?”
That response seemed to be met with one of perplexity from the Saiyan, who in fact actually had the audacity to smirk down the length of his nose at him. Dende felt his face flush purple with anger. If he hadn’t been so desperate, he would have told him to vacate his humble premises for such rudeness.
“Nice joke, kid, but I’m not the one to play games with. I’m looking for a scholar that can translate a bit of Saiyago for me.”
Dende didn’t flinch. “Then you have come to the correct person. I realize that my youth may appear strange to you, but it is in no way a hindrance to my professional experience. I have had an extensive education in Old Saiyago and Namekkugo, and my services do not come for free.”
His statement must have ruffled the Saiyan somewhat, because his face had screwed up slightly, and he appeared to appraise him more closely than before. After a lengthy period of time, he apparently came to a decision, because he quickly mollified his previous behavior and inclined his head respectfully.
That’s more like it, Dende thought, inwardly rejoicing at his little victory.
“Very well,” he said evenly. “First let us agree upon a price. Show me the artifact you wish for me to translate.”
The Saiyan pulled out a black glossy object from beneath the dull yellow armor protecting his chest. Dende absently filed away that bit of information, recognizing that his customer wasn’t naïve to the presence of the urchins and pickpockets that overran the alleyway like an infestation of so much vermin.
As the Saiyan placed the object in his smaller palm, Dende felt that its smooth surface was glass-like to the touch. Studying it, he realized that it was a sizeable sliver of obsidian.
Dende turned it over. As he held it just so in the weak light of his single-roomed shack, he could clearly make out the deep, telling etchings of Saiyago script.
He cleared his throat sharply. “It appears to be poetry of some sort–which I’ll warn you now, is never cheap to decipher, not to mention time-consuming. It’ll cost you three hundred gold Vegetas: you won’t find a better deal than that.”
“Three hundred!”
Dende grimaced. “Do you want the translation or not? I apologize, but your ancestors did not have the foresight of choosing to create an easily transmutable language, and it doesn’t always happen overnight.”
A nerve in the Saiyan’s jaw twitched at his explanation. Sighing, he wore a distasteful expression, obviously impatient for the job to be done. “Alright, three hundred. But how long would you keep it? What’s more, how can I guarantee that it will be safe with you?”
Dende snorted.
“I’d say approximately three days…and to answer your latter question with a question you’ll find answer in: how can I guarantee my safety from you if it is not?”
The Saiyan apparently liked this point of view, because almost as soon as Dende replied, he gave the Namek a fearsome grin full of teeth, unconsciously rubbing his chin with pleasure. He knew Dende’s face and he knew where he kept; thus, not much more was required to hunt him down should the need arise. Which it won’t of course, Dende waspishly thought, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. He rested them instead upon the figure towering over him, mentally adding to himself: what a stupid, ill-mannered oaf.
“We have an agreement, then.” They carefully shook hands.
Grumbling, Dende’s portly client dug into his chestplate afterward. Removing a tan skin sack, he began counting out each individual coin and dropping it on a tiny chipped desk that was kept nearby. Relieved that the Saiyan was obviously accustomed to the way business was carried out in the alley (which saved him from a potentially unhealthful argument over transactions being divided up before and after a service was rendered), Dende relaxed. Not tearing his gaze off of the money until he was certain that every precious gold piece had been accounted for, Dende finally nodded his approval, signaling that all was as it should be.
Studying the rock once more in his hand as the Saiyan made to exit, Dende couldn’t help his natural curiosity, and forced a question from between his lips before he could think about it. “Not to pry, but out of curiosity, how did you come upon such a specimen? I have no doubt that it is of substantial worth.”
Waiting for an answer, he glanced up; the Saiyan was gone.
~()~()~()~
“The second article of treaty explicitly states that Lord Frieza will leave Saiyans to deal with Saiyanaffairs. If that is so and he is not violating the negotiations agreed upon, how exactly can you explain your presence at the moment, Zarbon? And please don’t tell His Majesty again that you’re here for the pleasure of court life.”
The bureaucrat that was currently hissing and spitting at Zarbon looked like a withered turtle draped in turquoise robes and out-dated armor. Wondering if the old monkey still had a full set of teeth to chew the delicacies set out on the tray near his lap, Zarbon smiled and ignored his hostility, casting a glance at his nails.
“I already told you what my business here is, Senator. It does not bring me any unease if you choose not to believe it.”
“Preposterous! Do you really expect the Ou to accept your intentions at face value! We are not fools, you–“
Vegeta no Ou held up his gloved hand and interrupted the escalating scene before him, glaring at Frieza’s henchman. He and the old man had been going at each other’s throats for thirty minutes now and frankly, it would get them nowhere. As much as he was shamed to admit it, no matter how his people struggled against the chokehold Frieza had upon them, the ice-jinn continued to hold their lives in his clutches and could do whatever he wanted, any previous ‘agreements’ made notwithstanding if he chose to breach them. Thus, if he decided to send one of his toadies to keep an eye on him, then so be it–but it didn’t mean that he had to make it easy for the damned icicle.
“Your concerns are valid ones, Masshuru, but we must accept whatever explanation for his presence he gives to us for now. Allow me then to extend the so-called olive branch and welcome you to court, Zarbon. Just be certain that the shields surrounding your chamber are activated at night, for as I’m sure you can see, there are those here that are not entirely happy with your unannounced visitation.”
“But of course, King Vegeta. I am certain that Lord Frieza will be quite thankful that you have given me such sound advice upon the means that I may go about court without becoming assassinated.”
Eyes narrowing beneath heavy brows, the Ou frowned at the transparent threat of the blue-skinned warrior. Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath and returned his attentions to the haphazard pile of official documentation in his lap that was to be reviewed that morning.
Just as business was about to resume, there was a heavy groan as the reception hall’s door opened, slicing through the thick air of animosity in the room. All eyes turned curiously to see the bowed form of a servant sweeping into view.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Your Majesty, but a letter has just arrived for you.”
~()~()~()~
“Masshuru” means “mushroom” in Japanese
~()~()~()~
Kakarott’s eyes flew open as he shot out of bed, all thoughts of slumber instantly forgotten the moment he felt the explosive energy of a ki blast rip through the air past his head, singeing his black spikes.
Snarling with heated annoyance, he grabbed a rumpled blue gi pooled on the floor and stepped into it, grimacing at the sadistic grin his assailant was wearing. “What the FUCK, Radditz? That’s the fourth time this month. Why can’t you just shout at me like a normal brother if you would have me awake?”
“I did,” the long-haired Saiyan laughed, calmly waving Kakarott’s morning temper off like an overly sensitive child. “It never works. Besides, otooto, you’ve been sleeping in too often as it is, and if you intend to spar with me before I go into Katei Saien today, I suggest you get your lazy ass up.”
The scowling eyes that continued to spit fire at Radditz brightened slightly with the mention of a spar, though that didn’t distract Kakarott’s ears from picking up on the rest of what his brother had said.
“We’re going to the village this morning? What business does father have for us there? I thought he had just made a trip three days ago.”
“He did, but he forgot to bring the doobu calf he promised to the Kyabetsu clan. Since they’ll be at market today, he asked me to drop it off. Also, it’s not a ‘we’ today, little brother, it’s a ‘me’–I’m to go alone.”
“Oh?” Kakarott’s brow quirked up in confusion.“Is there a reason why he doesn’t want me to go with you this time? He’s never been bothered by my joining you before.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Radditz offered a wry grin and clapped him on the back. “The only reason he gave me was that he had some things for you to tend to here. He said that the north field of bloodroot needs to be turned before the floods come; if somebody doesn’t get to it soon, we won’t have much of a crop to speak of next spring–and since the Gods know that ‘tousan can’t be put upon to stop his training and take up a hoe, and since I’ll be away for most of the day, that leaves, well…that leaves you.”
“What? No fucking way. If he wants it done he can get out there and help me himself. Those evil little plants have thorns that might as well be fangs, and I refuse to do it all by myself again this year and come out looking like a swollen piece of fruit. Seriously, it isn’t as if that’s the only pasture that they are growing in. It can wait for a few more days. Besides, I could use a trip to the city–it’s been far too long since I’ve had any tail.”
A toothy grin broke out over Radditz’ face.
“Likewise, brother, but I told him I wouldn’t let you go. The old bastard will force me to do circuits ‘round the canyon if he suspects later that I didn’t keep you in line. Just bite your tongue this time and do what he asks, will you? I’ve got too many other things on my mind right now than to worry about keeping you from pissing ‘tousan off.”
Knowing this ‘responsible’ behavior to be very uncharacteristic of his brother, Kakarott’s eyebrows drew together for a minute before he was seized by another thought, a gleam of sudden comprehension that hadn’t been there before showing in his coal-black eyes.
“These ‘other things’ on your mind wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Toraka-san, now would they?”
Radditz didn’t answer right away, though he didn’t need to. It was written as clear as a sign across his face. Turning to the side, he folded his arms over his chest in a defensive stance, curling and uncurling his tail in unconscious vexation. “Of course it doesn’t have anything to do with Toraka-san! I’m going to give the doobu to her father, nothing more. I was referring to the shit we have to worry about here!”
“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose the fact that you have a good chance of seeing her today would give you any cause for concern, right? You know, I heard somewhere that she’ll probably be coming into season this year…maybe you could still claim–“
“Oh, shut the fuck up, otooto! You have no idea what you’re going on about. Let’s just drop it and go spar already before it gets any later. Please just tell me that you’ll begin what he has asked you to do without any incident today? I’ll help you finish it all when I return, I swear.”
Hearing the hint of pleading in Radditz’ voice, Kakarott ended his teasing, nodding his head in acquiescence.
“Alright, thank you. I’ll just go get my armor–meet you out front in a minute.”
Kakarott’s eyes followed Radditz as he strode back in the direction of his own sleeping quarters. Shaking his head, the younger Saiyan shut his door and clamped on his wrist guards. After he had finished readying himself for their exercises, Kakarott chuckled at the memory of his brother’s flustered face at being confronted with his awareness of the no-so-secret torch he carried for the female Saiyan. If I ever find another that I would be willing to take to mate, I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to stay off of them, Kakarott thought impishly.
~()~()~()~
“Kyabetsu” means “cabbage” in Japanese
“doobu” is my shortened version of “doobutsu” or “creature” in Japanese
“otooto” means “Little brother” in Japanese
“Katei Saien” is my made up city for which the boys live closest to. It means “vegetable garden” in Japanese.
~()~()~()~
It was when both brothers had worked themselves into a satisfying, sweaty fatigue and they had finished the spar that Radditz finally decided to leave. Grunting a perfunctory goodbye to Kakarott, he fetched the doobu calf and disappeared into the dense ferns that partially concealed the path to the village of Katei Saien.
Still frustrated by Radditz’ usual victory, Kakarott gritted his teeth and decided to get to work on the field. Although he had long since learned to control his sense of anger and pique at his constant losing to his elder brother, he still adamantly refused to accept the possibility of never progressing past his current power level. He’d been at a kind of “plateau” since he was sixteen, and despite his efforts–he often trained until the very blood vessels burst beneath his skin and he made himself ill with exhaustion–Kakarott couldn’t seem to advance any further. It was as if there was some kind of intangible barrier in his mind that he couldn’t breach–one that held him back, to his greatest frustration and humiliation.
Feeling the overgrowth sting his hands as he pruned the bloodroot, Kakarott winced and thought back to the look of disappointment and pity on his father’s face after he’d tested their ki readings with the scouter when both brothers had reached puberty. His father had done it once before when they were children, although that first time had never seemed as if it had raised any doubts in his mind like the latter had.
“Your power is just taking a little longer to manifest, Kaka, that’s all,” Bardock said, patting his chibi son reassuringly on the head.
“But why can Radditz perform kamehaeha and I can’t? He’s only two years older!” Kakarott cried, wiping the drying tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic.
“I don’t know, son, but it doesn’t mean anything. Trust me--this just happens sometimes with boys your age. Don’t worry, though. You’ll be grown soon enough and then you’ll be beating your brother just as regularly as he bests you. I promise.”
But he hadn’t started beating his brother. In fact, there were very few Saiyans that could beat his brother, and he certainly wasn’t one of them. As much as Kakarott felt the thrill of bloodlust like any regular, healthy member of their species did, he knew that he wasn’t a strong fighter. As the years passed by and he and Radditz had both grown up, previous lack of concern on his father’s part had given way to confusion and disbelief when Kakarott’s ki reading remained remarkably low, presenting little indication of progress. This in turn caused tremendous exasperation and a determination in Bardock to see his son ascend by using harsher, more difficult attack patterns that Kakarott couldn’t possibly hold his own against, try as he might. Yet when none of it had ultimately succeeded, countless injury after injury later, Kakarott knew that the hope of him becoming any kind of warrior began to extinguish in his father’s heart, though he had never admitted to it aloud. If he were honest with himself, it no longer even bothered him that Bardock had stopped initiating sparring sessions with him.
He may have lost faith in you, but ‘Ditzu hasn’t, he thought. This was true: his brother had always believed in him, had never once given him any indication of pity. “You’ll do it when you’re ready,” he had said countless times before, often going so far as to defend him when some of the sons of the warriors in Katei Saien would laugh and try to hassle him on the occasions that he and Radditz went into the village together. Once the elder of the two had acquainted them with his fists, however, and knocked out a few teeth, they’d shut up and keep their distance whenever Kakarott was around; not that it didn’t utterly piss Kakarott off whenever Radditz decided to “help out.” It was one thing to know that he was weaker, yet it was another having his older brother always coming to his aid at the first sign of trouble.
But it was also because of such protective loyalty that Kakarott knew he would do anything for his brother. Therefore, he never let it affect his better judgment whenever he noticed the easy closeness that Radditz shared with their father. It was painful seeing the naked pride in Bardocks’ gaze whenever the traders that traveled through their territory would politely ask after his eldest, knowing that he himself would never inspire a similar attitude in his sire.
The thorns of the bloodroot bit into his flesh again, distracting Kakarott enough to pull his attention away from his sour musings. Disgusted, he shook off the offending plant and wiped the perspiration from his temple. His hands were aching badly–it felt as though he’d just done a full day’s work and he’d barely started.
Bringing his attention back to his task, he peered over the field and was shocked when he found that most of it had been cut and only about a third of it remained to be done.
“Gods! I didn’t realize that I cleared that much so quickly,” he exclaimed, nearly dizzy with the surprising realization of what he had just done.
Whoa. How long have I been out here? Spinning about, he stared at the shadows of the trees cast by the sun. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, whereas it normally took him two hours to complete if he were going at a comfortable pace. That’s really crazy–I didn’t even realize how quickly I must have been working. Maybe I just had some excess energy to burn or something, and thinking about other stuff must have helped.
Wiping his palms across his dirtied pant legs, Kakarott’s thoughts drifted wistfully to the city once more. Surely Radditz hadn’t arrived yet, and at this rate, he could be finished with the field in another twenty minutes then catch up to join him. He’d even have the smug satisfaction of telling him that he had finished it all with record-breaking speed, though Radditz probably wouldn’t believe him until he saw proof of it for himself.
“Well, at least this is something I can do better than anyone else,” Kakarott said aloud sarcastically, scratching his head.
As he settled back into the rhythm of his labor, a bird that had been curiously observing his behavior from high atop the gnarled branches of a neighboring tree began preening itself, feathers rustling in the quiet of the day. If it had been a Saiyan that were watching in its place, they would have seen an extraordinary sight that defied every possible explanation: an average-looking Saiyan moving rapidly across the field, blinking in and out of sight, faster than the eye could perceive.
~()~()~()~
“Damn it, Kakarott, don’t sneak up on me like that unless you want to get decapitated! What are you doing here, anyway?”
Kakarott’s feet touched the earth as he bowed his head sheepishly in his brother’s direction. “Sorry, I should have announced my presence before while I was flying above the canopy. I didn’t even think about it. I was just trying to get here before you arrived and I lost sight of you in the crowds.”
Radditz nodded and started walking again, tugging on the rope around the calf’s neck to urge it on. “There’s no way you could have gotten that field done already–you told me that you would obey what ‘tousan wanted to keep him off of my back.”
“But I did! You may not believe me, brother, but I finished that whole field in forty minutes. Forty minutes! Wait until you see it for yourself.”
“Mmph, whatever. Just know that I’m not looking forward to having my ass reamed because of you–serves me right for thinking you’d listen to me.”
“I told you: wait and see. Soon you’re gonna eat those words.”
“Riiiggghhht–anyway, you said that there were crowds at market? What’d it look like from above?”
“Like a milling hive. I’ve never seen so many people–why do you think it’s so busy?”
Radditz gazed at him with a quizzical frown. “What hole have you been living in these past months? It is barely a week away from the Ouji’s official coronation. Most sane people that have any consideration for their clan’s standing are looking for gifts to pay tribute to the future sovereign.”
“I guess our family’s not sane then. Or has ‘tousan already gotten a gift that we’re not aware of yet?”
“No, he hasn’t. Why would we need one, anyway? It’s not like we plan on attending the coronation. Everyone around here knows that ‘tousan’s a borderline hermit. You know how they whisper about him–if it wasn’t for us, he’d probably be living purely off of the jungle by now and would never have anything to do with society again.”
They walked for another five minutes or so before they came into a sunlit clearing and sited the first few mud-brick buildings that resided on the outskirts of Katei Saien. When they reached the market square, they were immediately overwhelmed with the hustle and bustle of eager customers and hordes of alien venders touting their wares.
Kakarott took all of it in with wide eyes, breathing deeply of the spicy air. He almost liked the crowds of people–after all, it wasn’t everyday that this village was so rife with activity. Everywhere he turned, he was confronted with delicious smells and the sounds of harsh voices arguing for better deals.
“It seems like the winds are strong today,” Kakarott observed to Radditz, thinking it odd that business wouldn’t be slower because of it, coronation or not. Yet wherever he looked, there were Saiyans dallying at armories and clothing stalls, haggling at produce stands and conversing animatedly with apothecaries.
His brother looked at him and tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly. “Apparently the world can turn on its head when the royals are involved. Come on, let’s not stand here any longer.”
“Pfft, if it is this difficult to get around right now, I’d hate to think of the day before the actual ceremony.” Kakarott muttered, following as Radditz weaved a path through the masses.
Kakarott was just beginning to get pissed off at a tall Saiyan in front of him that was trudging at a sloth’s pace when Radditz turned completely around and all but ran back to him, elbowing a number of people in the ribs as he did so which initiated a number of screamed curses and threats.
“Shit, Toraka is over there, Kakarott! She’ll see me–what should I say?”
Craning his neck up to try and glance over the immensity of the crowd, Kakarott felt the blood suffuse his face with color as soon as his gaze touched on the figure of the female Radditz was panicking about. She was arguing with a vender about the questionable ripeness of his fruit, leaning over the stall to intimidate the man, which only succeeding in making her breasts practically fall out of her chest-plate as her aggravation increased. Radditz trod pointedly on his foot when he caught what he was staring at.
“Ow!”
“Watch it, Kakarott.”
“Yeesh. You expected to see her today, remember? We are selling the doobu to her father, after all. Besides, I don’t know why you don’t just make a move already. A beauty like that isn’t going to be available forever, you know.”
The long-haired Saiyan growled, lips pulling back into an irritated snarl. “I see that, otooto. You, however, are ignoring some obvious facts.”
When Kakarott simply raised an eyebrow at that, Radditz sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward.
“First of all, you only initiate a claim if you are ready, Kaka. Since I am not ready, it would be foolish and disgraceful to even try. Secondly, be serious here–she is a Second Class, I am a Third. There is nothing that I have that she does not. What could I ever give her?”
The fact that Radditz was referring to their class situation as well as their impoverishment caused a lancing ache in Kakarott’s heart. Sometimes he forgot that his brother came into the village more often than he did, making it impossible for him to ever forget the reality of their social standing, even for a little while. In a world that valued autonomy and individuals that could provide well for their kin, those such as themselves would always be the underdogs: pure and simple.
Studying Radditz from the corner of his eye, Kakarott felt a fierce rush of affection and respect for his sibling. The older Saiyan hid his grief well–and grief it was. Kakarott knew that he would leap at the chance of having Toraka if things were different.
“Look sharp, Kaka, she’s spotted us!”
They watched as the object of their conversation sauntered over with a confident swagger, her face wearing an attractive, crooked grin. Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled in the midday sun as she greeted them both.
“I haven’t seen you bakas in awhile, been keeping yourselves busy, huh? Is your father well?”
Wearing identically infatuated grins, Kakarott and Radditz nodded in courteous acknowledgment.
Great, now I’m drooling over her, Kakarott inwardly berated. It doesn’t help that she’s the only female of childbearing years within several hundred kilometers. Sometimes I honestly wonder how the Saiyan race survived long enough to evolve before we invented artificial wombs.
“Ookusan’s fine, you know how he his. All he does is train day in and day out, fighting invisible enemies. Ask him to do something else for an hour and its “train, train, train. I must train.” He’s actually pretty dull.”
Toraka laughed, her sable tail flexing in its curled position around her waist. When Kakarott’s eyes strayed helplessly down to glance at it, Raditz promptly slapped him on the back of the head.
“Ooh, hey, sorry there Kaka. You had this huge gray insect on the back of your scalp. I think it was about to bite you.”
Kakarott rubbed his bruised head and shot a glare in his direction. “Yeah, thanks.”
“By the way, Toraka-san: here’s that doobu my father promised yours. She’ll give good milk when she’s grown.”
The female took the rope that hung around the calf’s neck from Radditz’ outstretched hand, fingers brushing over his with apparent casualness, although Kakarott thought it appeared a little too rehearsed.
“Thank you, he’s been looking forward to getting her. By the way, if you don’t mind my asking, what has your father decided to buy for the Prince as tribute?”
Both looked at each other, discomfort reflected in their posture. “Uh, we sort of aren’t going”
Toraka eyed them with some amazement. “Really? I’ve never heard of anyone not attending a coronation before. It’s expected that everyone be there–um, regardless of your class.”
“Yeah, but you know how our father is–he doesn’t get out very much.”
“Well, if your family decides to go, it is one offering per clan–there will be a detailed record taken for every family member and every item that is brought.”
“Thanks Toraka-san, but I don’t think that will happen.”
“Alright, alright,” she backed off, touching Radditz’ forearm with unmistakable warmth. “I’m just saying–if he does happen to change his mind, as unlikely as it is, I’d just as soon buy something now before the best merchants have left planet. It is said that those that bring the greatest gifts stand better chances of currying the Ouji’s favor. New titles and territories will most certainly be given out, that kind of deal. I’d really like to see you there, boys.”
With that, she spun around and threw a wink over her shoulder at Radditz, finding her way back to her clan waiting impatiently in the distance.
Radditz let out a long breath and moaned, raking his hands over his face as she walked away. “I am in so very, very much trouble, Kakarott. So much trouble.”
Quirking up the corners of his mouth, Kakarott affectionately gripped him by the shoulder and started leading his love-sick brother through the crowd.
“You only now just realized that?”
~()~()~()~
They had decided to stay awhile at market and peruse the stalls after they had dropped the doobu off with Toraka. Yet at some point in their wanderings there was a great commotion that divided the heretofore undividable masses, causing everyone to pause in their goings on and take note of a swiftly approaching vehicle, which was paving its way through the Saiyan traffic like it owned the open lanes.
Kakarott and Radditz joined the interested onlookers on the sidelines, straining to see beyond the other heads in front of them.
“What is it that’s coming through, Kakarott? Can you tell?”
Thankfully he could: it was the curious pomp and ostentatious spectacle of an expensive royal cab speedily jetting down the road, its driver flying the craft ridiculously low to the ground.
“It’s a cab, a royal one from the looks of it.”
“A wha–a royal cab? Why the hell would they be going through Katei Saien–we’re hundreds of kilometers away from the hubbub at the capital. Either way, who would have someone deliberately drive it through market when you could just avoid the crowd altogether? They must be idiots.”
“Or idiots that want to be seen. Where do you think they’re going?”
“My only guess is the summer palace in Hanna, but its only spring–the Ou will be living at the winter palace still. I wonder who could be in that thing?”
Me too, Kakarott thought.
~()~()~()~
*Hanna in Japanese means “flower”
~()~()~()~
Kakarott was right about Nappa–he was most definitely intending to be seen as his driver hurried them to his destination. He also had an undisclosed, private audience with the Ou in twenty minutes.
The overweight Saiyan leaned back and relaxed his bulk against the plush interior of the vehicle, taking what remaining time he could to fortify himself against the onslaught he knew would soon be coming.
Just think of it this way, Nappa. You will one day look back on this moment as a prodigal return of sorts–coming back to regain what they once took from you.
Clutching the King’s reply to his letter in his hand like a spoil of war, Nappa smirked, rereading it for the fiftieth time and relishing the fear that he could see that was expressed between the lines. He himself almost didn’t believe the impending reality of his total victory over the King–it was almost like a dream he hadn’t awoken from.
Everything will change. Generations from now, when my house is remembered as the greatest in Saiyan history, my descendents will thank me and say amongst themselves, “yes, this is how he did it. We have our forefather to thank for today’s fortunes.”
The note itself didn’t mince words. But then again, Nappa didn’t suppose he would either if he were in the Ou’s boots.
It read simply:
Nappa,
It has been too long since we have spoken in person. Therefore I would like to extend to you an invitation to my court and welcome you into my presence as soon as possible. You need not worry about the cost of transportation, as all will be taken care of when I send one of my private coaches to fetch you to me. I believe we have much to discuss, you and I.
Vegeta no Ou
Yes, he had the king right where he wanted him: tail between the legs, backed into a corner. Now it was just a matter of time before he had the means to manifest his ambitions. Power was so close he could taste it; it was his favorite flavor.
Tipping his head to gaze out the window, he espied one of the palaces rising like a specter over the hill as the coach crested it. He pressed his forehead to the glass and his eyes fluttered shut in longing.
I missed this life.
~()~()~()~
“Sire, your servant is recently arrived with the large one. Should I send for him?”
Vegeta no Ou did not look at his steward; instead he remained as he was, calmly surveying his kingdom from the terrace as he had done countless times before, back rigid and hands clasped firmly behind him.
“Yes, do not keep me waiting long. Also, I wish no disturbances with this particular audience tonight, Totepo–none.”
With that the steward nodded, bowing and backing up three steps before turning around and making off quickly through the double doors. When he closed them, they shut with a resounding echo that alerted the King he was once again alone with his ruminations.
Fate had taken a decided turn in the last forty-eight hours for the Ou. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to hear word from the fat former general of his Elite Guard after having stripped him of his status. What’s more, he would never have soberly considered for one instant in time that the fool would make an attempt at blackmailing him and have enough credible material to actually do it with. How had one spiteful drunkard managed to force him, Vegeta no Ou, to concede to listen to his demands? This was certainly a historical first–and last, if he had anything to do with it.
He had torn the blasted letter up into shreds the first time he had read it in the presence of the senators and that loathsome parasite that Frieza had sent. Before his anger had time to boil to the surface, he had abruptly called the meeting to an end, needing time to assess a way of dealing with it. As his eyes had skimmed over each hateful, mocking sentence Nappa had written, he wondered how it could possibly have happened. How had the idiot found the thing’s hiding place to begin with? After tearing the letter up, he had thrown it into the fire, glowering as the flames flickered and licked at the parchment.
It had been then, when he was looking into the fire that he had made the decision to call on him in private at the empty summer retreat in Hanna, bringing with him only his most trusted attendants and Elites. It was best to prevent any more tongues from wagging than was strictly necessary.
I just hope there’s enough gold in the royal coffers to keep the idiot silent, he prayed.
~()~()~()~
Euphoric was the only word to describe Nappa’s mood at the moment as he was escorted into the king’s throne room. He couldn’t disguise the triumph that was etched clearly across his features even if he wanted to.
Now why would I do that?
The steward before him eyed him from his peripheral vision, nose cocked up in the air as though he smelled something extremely distasteful within his vicinity. Nappa made sure to knock him off balance as he brushed past him to stand before the waiting Ou.
“I–ah–bring you the formerly decorated lieutenant general Nappa, Your Majesty.”
The King remained seated, not speaking at first as his eyes flitted from servant to blackmailer. When they finally chose to rest on Nappa, the servant was dismissed with a wave of the King’s hand and left their presence immediately. Thick, almost tangible tension could be discerned in the air between them.
It was then that the Ou finally spoke.
“You are looking as grossly overweight as ever, Nappa. The years out of service have not been kind to you. Now what do you want?”
“My stipulations are quite simple, Majesty. I want my former title and estates back, with the addition of a few new ones.”
The muscle along the side of the Ou’s jaw twitched slightly at his words. He had a murderous air about him, which thrilled Nappa to no end.
“What additional ones, precisely?” he gritted out.
“I wish to return as a full Major General to your Elites and be made an Earl.”
At that, the Ou threw is head back and laughed. “How comical you are, Nappa. That is impossible–you are out of shape and out of favor, you could never be a Lord. When you were banished from court, everyone knew what happened. Your reputation was torn to ribbons. Yet you still wish to be a general of my best and most loyal warriors? Your leadership ability has seen better days. My forces would have chronic migraines and their formations would be in shambles were they to fight under your guidance now.”
“Your personal feelings aside, King, these are my stipulations nevertheless. If you do not meet them, I will have no choice but to take action against you.”
Vegeta stopped laughing and leaned forward to steeple his fingers beneath his bearded chin. He took in Nappa’s unflappable demeanor, his stare penetrating and critical, searching for any signs of weakness. After some time, he sat back and reclined upon his throne, the light having gone out of his eyes.
“It is done, then–give it to me.”
Nappa couldn’t stop himself from laughing then, his generous stomach quivering with each spasm as he heard the seriousness and expectation in the monarch’s voice.
“What an absurd thing that you demand, My King. Do you really think that you’re in any position to give me orders right now? Do you really think me such a great fool that I would simply hand over the sole object that now secures my continued health and safety for mere promises from you? Of course I will not give you the prophecy: I never will.”
Gripping the veined marble arm of his throne, Vegeta no Ou had to clench his jaw shut to keep from grinding his teeth together in rage.
“So I am to buy your silence–with the understanding that as long as I attend to your desires you will keep your mouth shut and the thing hidden from prying eyes indefinitely.”
Nappa smiled. “Of course.”
Pausing, the Ou studied him once more, sighing when he apparently didn’t find what it was he was looking for. Nappa inwardly rejoiced as he watched an expression of anxiety flicker across the imperial visage.
Clearing his throat, Vegeta no Ou nodded. “Alright, then, Major General, Nappa. You shall have your pound of flesh, but I trust that you will remember well the bargain that you have made here, because nothing will stop me from slaughtering you if I ever know this information has leaked out from that forked tongue of yours. I shall announce to the current Major General in my employ that he is ‘retired’ from active duty. You may then take up his post in the barracks behind the palace’s sparring arena–“
Before the King could even finish his sentence, he was interrupted by his flustered, out-of-breath steward flinging the doors to the throne room open. Red in the face with his tail swishing about in an agitated arch behind him, he looked fit to fall down at any given second.
Furious at the intrusion–he had given explicit orders not to disturb the privacy of his audience tonight–Vegeta snapped.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”
The steward’s eyes widened with stark terror at his outburst. “Forgive me, Majesty, but it is Prince Vegeta. He has just arrived.”
Vegeta’s eyes narrowed angrily. “WHAT? Did you not tell him that he was NOT to visit me while I was here? I will have your head for this Totepo–!“
“He broke power level, Majesty! He came here knowing your wishes–the prince was simply too excited to quell the impulse to give you the news himself!”
Staring at his now trembling, prostrated servant on the floor, Vegeta no Ou was stunned. His son had broken record? Temporarily forgetting that Nappa was even in the room, he could do nothing but goggle in astonishment at the news.
“What was the level?”
“Eighteen thousand.”
“EIGHTEEN THOUSAND!” riveted to the spot, he sat backward, head hitting the back of the throne behind him with a loud crack.
“My son has reached eighteen thousand–and at such a young age! I didn’t reach eighteen thousand until I was twenty-six! Surely–surely this is a sign. Surely it must be that he will be the one to ascend–”
“Majesty?” the steward flushed, beginning to feel the awkwardness of his situation as Nappa treated him to a dirty-look for the interruption.
Vegeta came back to himself just as abruptly as he had been distracted. He waved the servant off with a flick of his wrist. “Yes, yes. You may go now–just see to it that you tell my son that I shall speak with him when I have finished. As I do not know when that will be, make certain that he is comfortable.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Grateful to leave with his head still intact, as soon as the servant scuttled out of the room, Vegeta wasted no time in wresting his thoughts back to the situation at hand, the surprise at his son’s recent accomplishment fading to the back of his thoughts for the time being. Opening his mouth to continue their conversation from where they’d left off, the Ou was stopped cold when Nappa decided to cut in, eyes shining with sinister amusement.
“That reminds me: there was just one other little thing that I wanted to discuss with you before we call it a night, Your Majesty…”
~()~()~()~
Fragments of splintered wood that once resembled benches and melted sparring equipment littered the floor of the Royal Training Arena. There were even a few unconscious bodies of the Elite Guard that had been practicing sprawled out among the damage, most likely having sustained concussions and a few broken bones. No matter, though–it didn’t pierce through Vegeta no Ouji’s peace of mind as he rejoiced in the electrifying sensation of his newfound strength.
Father will be so proud when Totepo tells him of what I’ve done, he reflected, chest swelling at the thought. He had felt like a god for those few split seconds as his power climbed, holding that vast amount of energy together within his body. It was a miracle of nature that his atoms hadn’t flown apart when he had hit the peak of it.
I can’t believe that I still had the energy to do it again when I came here, he thought. It seemed that once he had struggled to reach that level of force, he could now recall it anytime that he wanted, and with much less effort.
Bending over, the younger Vegeta picked up a white towel and draped it over his neck and shoulders, cracking his neck with a sigh of fatigue. He’d never needed a bath so much in his life–his body was exerted beyond all limits and he reeked.
Taking the time to rest, he thought of the risk he had taken at risking his father’s anger by coming to Hanna. He knew that he had been specifically told that he wasn’t supposed to follow him, but he couldn’t wait to deliver the news of what he had accomplished–it was too momentous an occasion.
Vegeta no Ouji had made his passion the pursuit of power–he more than anyone under the tutelage of his father knew that class and strength meant everything in the Saiyan Empire. It could either make or break one’s status in life.
Ever since he was old enough to pick up a bow and be trained by the masters, the Prince had been molded for greatness. His father had never shown reserve in telling him that he was destined to be the next Super Saiyan, and he fervently believed it. It was what he lived and breathed for.
The Ouji was at the age of twenty-four, the most powerful being on the planet excluding his father. It was only right and universally expected that the next legendary warrior of Vegetasei be its future ruler as well. Anything less would be…impossible.
Besides, he thought, smirking. The Gods don’t have that great a sense of humor.
He had broken his record when he had been training alone as he normally did. A year had passed since he had sparred with a worthy opponent. It was unfortunate that there simply wasn’t any warrior left that he knew of that could offer him a challenge anymore. Oh, on rare occasions his father had an opportunity to fight with him, but it wasn’t regular enough to be satisfying. Dividing his attentions between diplomacy, public appearances and legality, Vegeta no Ou had very little time for his son.
Slipping his blackened gloves off of his hands, Vegeta slowly became aware of how quiet it was in the arena. “It seems I scared everyone off with my firework display!” he exclaimed aloud, snickering as he imagined the guards fleeing for their lives as his power had exploded into a vibrant yellow and orange inferno.
He was just about to stroll off and have that bath he was seeking when the steward returned to him, presumably bearing a message of congratulations from his father.
“Your Highness, I have seen your father and he speaks well of what you have done. He’s magnificently pleased with your efforts.”
Vegeta preened at the compliment, purring low in his chest.
“Your father also said that he will see you after he has attended to the matters he came here for...although he does not know how long they will take.”
The Saiyan Ouji frowned, pursing his lips. “Oh? Well, I suppose that I have no choice but to wait, then. No matter, my excitement has ebbed slightly and I could use the time to bathe and eat something. Gods, I’m too famished to think.”
“Certainly, Your Highness. I shall have a bath drawn and waiting for you in your quarters when you have finished dining.”
“Very good. Oh, and Totepo? Did he–did he happen to say anything else?”
The servant inclined his head respectfully, care for his young master lending a fondness to his words. “Yes, Your Highness, he did. He said that he believes you will surely be the next Super Saiyan, as do all of us.”
~()~()~()~
Later, after he had refreshed himself and the last fingers of daylight had surrendered to the darkness of the evening, Vegeta no Ouji made an impromptu visit to the library.
Trailing a hand through the thin layer of dust that had settled atop his favorite writing desk, he was gripped by sudden yearning. It was a rarity for him to have the opportunity to read anymore. With Frieza’s presence, the Saiyan people had become especially desperate in their need to believe that the royal family would eventually deliver them from the evil that they had tarried under for so long. As a result of the unrelenting pressure to live up to his heritage and become the embodiment of the perfect “warrior prince” he was required him to be, his love for academia had suffered.
Choosing a plump, comfortable blue chaise to lounge in, an hour passed before he was interrupted from his pleasant solitude by a firm knock outside the doors.
“Enter.”
Gold regalia reflected the orange and red of the fire in the library’s hearth as Vegeta no Ou stepped in, mantle rustling behind him. Just before he was fully in the room, the Ouji could not help but observe an exceedingly anxious expression pass over his features. Yet even as it had been there, it was gone again in one smooth ripple, like a wary fish hesitating to surface from deep water. It was just enough for the prince to almost question his normal view of his father as a reserved, immovable entity that was immune to the lesser worries of the common world.
“You’ll have to forgive me, for I wish I could have congratulated you personally on your achievements sooner. Unfortunately there were other obligations that couldn’t wait, as you knew before I left.”
Vegeta snapped the book shut that he had been reading. “It’s alright, father, I didn’t really expect to get an immediate reception. It was my choice to come despite what you had made clear to me. In the mean time, I’ve just been enjoying the luxury of having some time to myself.”
The Ou nodded.
“Excellent. I think you could use some time away from the arena. At the rate your power is increasing, I’ll have to step down before you’re thirty.”
“Pssh--that would never happen.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” the elder Vegeta smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
Prince Vegeta knew that there was something that wasn’t being said. Clearing his throat, he made to speak, uncertainty lacing his words.
“ I…thank you for coming down here to congratulate me, but did you have something more on your mind? Please excuse me for saying so, but you seem…troubled.”
The set of Vegeta no Ou’s jaw tightened slightly. What do I say? I cannot tell him the truth yet–he’ll try to flee from the damnable situation.
Feigning a weary air, he relaxed his posture and sat down. “Yes, I suppose you could say that I am ‘troubled’ as you put it, but merely with the usual concerns. Frieza has sent a new emissary to keep an eye on us–I do not know what this means for our people, but his influence will be even more suffocating now that we have one of his own at court.”
“What can we do about it?” the prince asked out of habit, already knowing the answer.
“The same things that we have been doing–nothing. Oh, we can make his time here a little miserable, but there is not any true action that we may take against him without being severely punished by Frieza. Gods, how I wish that hateful snake would just fall dead tomorrow, Son.”
The Ouji cackled. “Ha-ha-ha! If only we could say that to his face–now that would be worth seeing.”
Feeling a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth, the king refrained from making a similar outburst.
“You know as well as I that these are difficult times that we live in. Our generation does not have the same luxuries now that those that have gone before us did. Even so, I wish for you to know how proud I am to call you my heir.”
Such praises were minimal from the Ou, and his rebukes common. So hearing this, Vegeta no Ouji felt suitably humbled, although inside he was positively thrumming with satisfaction.
A companionable silence stretched between them for a few fleeting moments before Vegeta no Ou rose, preparing to retire for the night. “Now I shall leave you as you were before, brat. Don’t lose track of the time and stay up reading into the daylight hours, understand?”
“I won’t, father.”
Knowing his offspring’s ways better than that, the king shook his head and departed, leaving Vegeta to his own thoughts once more.
No sooner had he shut the doors to the library behind him than he had clapped his hands together. Almost as if on queue, a tittering servant rushed to his side, awaiting his orders.
“How may I be of service to Your Majesty?”
“Send word to the Namek–you know the one of whom I speak–that the Ou urgently requests his particular services. I need him here at the palace within a fortnight; sooner, if possible. These dealings are not to be made publicly known on pain of death, do you understand me?”
“Y-yes, Majesty.”
“Good. Now leave me and get on with it.”
Watching the servant scramble away from him, Vegeta no Ou thought of the trust and elation he had seen on his son’s face when he had spoken well of his successes. Do not fear, my son. I have no intention of letting you to the lusts of that disgusting fool. Not now, not ever.
Noticing a vase full of fresh blooms attached to the wall nearby his right arm, Vegeta no Ou plucked one out and sliced the head of it off with his nail, smiling grimly.
He’ll soon be gone.
~()~()~()~
Nappa was experiencing the high of his life as the resplendent cab raced over the road back to the winter palace where he would find his new lodgings and his new life waiting for him. As he once again passed through the small, inconsequential village of Katei Saien, an attractive whore that was standing outside of a seedy tavern caught his attentions. Ordering the driver to stop, he gazed at the comely figure of the male before opening the door.
This calls for a night of celebration, he grinned.
~()~()~()~
The sounds of smashing glass and the general discord of a brawl greeted Kakarott and Radditz’ ears as they argued on whether or not to enter the shabby tavern on the edge of the village. Within lay the inviting glow of lamplight and the lure of alcohol that had already persuaded Kakarott for his part. Now he just needed to convince his brother.
The two had lingered at the market much longer than they had expected, and now the younger Saiyan just wanted a drink before returning home. It wasn’t helping his cause that Radditz didn’t believe him about finishing the field, and was fully anticipating that they would be receiving a beating when they went back and Bardock realized that Kakarott had followed Radditz against his wishes.
“I don’t feel like delaying the inevitable right now, Kakarott. Besides, if I’m to get shit for you coming after me and not finishing your chores, I’d rather I be sober enough to defend myself when ‘toosan tries to kill me.”
Kakarott rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it all. “I realize that you don’t believe me, but as I told you before, you’ll just have to see for yourself once we return. Father should be pleased that I finished it, so there will be no reason for him to be angry that I decided to catch up with you after.”
When Radditz kept peering at him with doubt, Kakarott groaned. “Come on already. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a tankard or two. If I don’t get something soon, my throat will be as dry as our coffers.”
At his brother’s helpless expression, Radditz finally relented. “Alright, already–you win, we can go in. But only for a few minutes.”
Kakarott laughed, and slung his arm around the other’s neck. “Thanks. You’re too good to me sometimes.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Shoving Kakarott away with a laugh of his own, Radditz steered them into the tavern.
Happy to get his way, Kakarott trailed obediently behind. Instantly seeking the bar, he strolled over and planted both elbows on the counter, murmuring his order to the burly-looking owner of the establishment. Radditz watched as the big Saiyan poured the drinks, narrowing his eyes when he saw him pour the fourth, the seventh, and then the tenth without missing a beat. This would take awhile if that were any indication of the extent of his otooto’s “thirst.”
Taking a seat, Kakarott became aware of a prickling sensation as multiple pairs of eyes roved up and down the length of his body. Glancing to his left, he noticed three resident male prostitutes batting their eyes in his direction and caressing their flesh coquettishly. He basked in the attention and grinned, gifting them with an appreciative, lecherous wink.
Unaware of the exchanges that were taking place beside him, Radditz goggled at the assemblage of frothy tankards that were pushed toward them, sliding across the wood and leaving wet marks. Picking the handles of three up together, he knocked all of them back at once, grimacing at the strength of the aftertaste. Slamming the first few down and taking up two more in his grasp, he slid five his brother’s way. “Drink up, Kakarott, you’re the one that had to be here.”
Tearing his eyes away from the prostitutes’ considerable charms, Kakarott focused on what his brother was saying again. “Oh–yeah, sure. Shouldn’t we make a toast or something? How about to putting more fur on our chests.”
“Among other things,” Radditz deadpanned, lifting the slopping brew to his lips with a flourish.
Some hours later, after losing track of the number of drinks they had imbibed and finding themselves teetering somewhere on the brink of alcoholic bliss and stupidity, each brother could no longer stand up straight.
“Bastard–one day I’m gonna fight you and win.” Kakarott whined, poking Radditz solidly in the bridge of his nose with a fingertip. Radditz went cross-eyed and scowled at him, tilting his head back and guzzling another tankard down.
“Maybe when you go through puberty,” the elder quipped, earning an unintelligible curse from the younger and a sidekick to his shins beneath the counter.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Uh-huh.”
Kakarott lifted his hands and covered his ears, forehead wrinkling as though in pain.
“Who’s yelling and making all that god-awful noise? They sound like a doobu in breeding season.”
Radditz guffawed at his brother, listening to the annoying bellowing that was coming from somewhere across the room. His world spun for a moment before his head caught up with it and he was able to look around for the source of the terrible sound. Finding it at the other end of the dim tavern, he saw that it was actually coming from the mouth of one of the most unattractive Saiyans Radditz had ever seen. The individual composed an odd scene with his considerable bulk hiding most of the stool he was perched on from view. Observing him whispering into the ear of a whore who sat giggling on his lap, Radditz almost gagged as his fat hands traced obscene pathways along the whore’s well-defined thighs. Over thirty tankards littered the floor at his feet, and he had a protruding gut from what must have been too many years of overindulgent drinking.
Vague recognition fluttering at the back of Radditz’ drunken mind gave him pause to wonder. Nudging Kakarott, he asked, “Isn’t that the Ou’s former general?”
Kakarott twisted in the stool and nearly fell off of it. “Ack! Hmm…looks like it might be. Wasn’t his name ‘Nappa’, or something like that?”
“I think so. Heh, by the looks of it, I bet the poor bastard won’t even remember who he is by the time this night’s over. Weren’t there rumors that he was discharged for misconduct and raiding of the Ou’s wine stores? I thought that he was banished off-planet.”
Kakarott thought back for a minute before nodding, dredging up some scattered memories from the years prior. “I’m pretty sure I remember hearing mention of some gossip or other about that. Either way, you’ve gotta wonder whether it takes an idiot’s bravado or a sincere death wish to dare show his face on Vegetasei again if the rumors are true.”
The burly bartender that had been attending them leaned in over the counter, having overheard their conversation. “His driver said that he was being reinstated as general at the palace. Beats the hell out of me how someone as disgraced as he was got back on the Ou’s good side. Something like that gives the rest of us hope.”
“You’re shittin’ me!” Kakarott and Radditz exclaimed almost at the same time, exchanging looks of mutual shock. Stealing from the Ou was a capital offense–it was a miracle in itself that the bastard was still breathing. Now he was being reinstated? It was unheard of.
Their drunken curiosity piqued, both continued to watch the inebriated Saiyan. It wasn’t long before he started shouting his babble again, causing Kakarott and Radditz to break out in sniggers of amusement. “Nappa” seemed to become louder the more he drank, and eventually every customer in the tavern could hear his speech.
“And I said to him: “Hey, this is what I want. Like it or not, Ou, this is how it’s gonna *hic* be. I want my title, my money, and my title. Erm, yeah, thass wha I *hick* that’s wha I said. Then I ask for hisss son, an it’s the bess moment of my life when I watch in his eyes–but I got him anyway. On the colon–uh…I mean the–the colon-a-tion, he’s gonna announce it to everyone. Mark my words.”
The whore didn’t seem to be listening to Nappa’s blathering, Kakarott and Radditz saw to their further entertainment. Yet Nappa carried on anyway, too intoxicated to realize it.
“–and then I was there, surrounded by pitch blackness. Jus too much sand on tha moon, too much sand. The cave was dank, but when I saw the *hic* when I saw the thing sittin’ there, I say to myself “now, how do you suppose this got ‘ere?” Nappa grinned, jowls jiggling with excitement as he made a furtive gesture and attempted to gain the uninterested whore’s notice, who was currently too preoccupied admiring the gold.
“It was the Ou, you see. He shut the Saiyan Prophecy up there! He didn’t want anyone to find it out, ‘cause it’s bad propaganda. Says his clan isn’t s’posed to rule, or some shit. Personally, I don’t buy in to all those myths. But, hey, it all works out for me in the end–there are ‘plenty others out there that do.”
“What’s he going on about now?” Radditz asked his brother, slurping some of the froth from another brew.
“Heh, he’s spouting that the Ou has the Saiyan Prophecy and he’s been keeping it hidden all this time because it claims that the House of Vegeta aren’t the rightful heirs to the throne of Vegetasei. Hell, as far gone as he is, he probably start claiming that Frieza wears pink underwear.”
Radditz grunted, gazing into his drink as if he could discern the mystery of life in its depths. “Now that is something I’d like to see.”
Just then, a stricken sound escaped the back of Kakarott’s throat, causing Radditz to snap his attention back again to the spectacle across the room. Their mouths slackened in astonishment when Nappa began extracting handful after handful of gold Vegetas from the money sack at his waist, scattering them indifferently across the planked floor of the tavern. The whore that had remained glued to his lap until that moment leaped up from his position at the sound, clamoring to retrieve the coins before anyone else could.
Dazed and feeling ill, Radditz shut his jaw with his hand before an insect could fly into it. “I’ve never seen so much gold in my life.”
“You’re telling me,” Kakarott was thunderstruck himself.
Kakarott and Radditz were not the only guests of the tavern whose interested eyes had been drawn to the sound of dropping coin. The atmosphere changed as a number of rough faces started talking amongst themselves in low whispers and kept flashing unfriendly glances at Nappa’s purse, no doubt planning an assault as soon as the fool ventured outside. In his present state, he was far too gone to have any chance of defending himself. Counting the number of murderous-looking faces in the room, Kakarott decided that then was probably the best time to make a hasty exit. As much as he knew that his brother loved a good fight, they were too drunk to effectively participate.
Draining the last of the liquor from the vessel he nursed, he stood up and motioned for Radditz to follow. Stepping out into the fragrant night air, the two Saiyans took to the skies.
“I bet you two halfcrescents that they’ll rob him in the alley behind the tavern and the barmaids will find him wallowing in his own vomit in the morning.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Kakarott yelled, talking over the rush of wind in his face as they flew home. “Why would I make a bet that you’re sure to win?”
~()~()~()~
*Vegetas and halfcrescents–Saiyan currency
~()~()~()~
Arriving home, Kakarott touched down first in the field he had just pruned that day, rubbing irrefutable evidence in his brother’s face.
“I told you I did it, ‘Ditzu,”
Radditz blinked twice, unable to believe what he was seeing. The whole field had been finished, just as Kakarott had said–apparently he had done what he was supposed to do for once.
“Okay, I give. Now tell me what the hell your secret is so that I’ll know next time ‘toosan decides to make me do this. I don’t believe it. How the fuck did you do that in such a short amount of time?”
“Talent, I guess.”
Chuckling good-naturedly with each other, Kakarott and Radditz sauntered back towards the direction of the den until they paused in their steps upon seeing their father’s inscrutable face peer out the porthole window as they approached.
“Shit, he doesn’t look very happy,” Radditz hastened, drawing closer to Kakarott. “In fact, he looks pretty pissed off.”
The younger scoffed. “I don’t see what he has to look so rabid about, everything’s been done.”
“Yeah, well, you know ‘toosan.”
“Apparently not,” Kakarott muttered, mustering his courage and walking through the entrance first.
Just as he crossed the threshold, his brother directly behind, he felt two hands seize him by the cloth of his gi and slam him against the nearest wall. Cracking his head against it, Kakarott stared dazedly into his father’s stony face, realizing that Radditz was wrong: his father wasn’t just pissed off. No, his father was pissed off.
Bewildered by Bardock’s uncharacteristic show of aggression towards his brother, Radditz clapped a hand on his father’s shoulder, pulling back hesitantly and urging him to release Kakarott. “’Toosan? What’s come over you?”
Bardock didn’t reply, but instead shrugged his eldest away. Fixing a glare on Kakarott, his eyes had a cold, sharp edge that neither son had ever seen before.
“Do you realize that you could have ruined everything tonight?” he asked, the tone of his voice curt and deceptively calm. Kakarott and Radditz could feel him powering up, his ki jumping dangerously close to the surface.
“Father, I don’t know what you’re talking about–“ Kakarott was cut off as Bardock brought up his forearm and pressed it into his throat, effectively cutting off the rest of his response.
“’TOOSAN!” Radditz shrieked, appalled. Panicking, he powered up and was able to remove his father’s offending arm from his brother’s throat without injuring either. Managing to twist Bardock’s arm behind his back, Radditz shoved him away some distance and made to stand protectively in front of his gasping brother. He’d never seen his father so angry before. He looked crazed.
Blue and purple veins were bulging down the musculature of Bardock’s chorded neck and arms with barely-contained power as he glared at Kakarott. “Do you realize that EVERYTHING that was set in motion today could have been RUINED because of YOUR INTERFERANCE?!”
Shocked and unable to process the situation, Kakarott and Radditz couldn’t understand what was going on. What was their father ranting about?
Just as unexpected and sudden as Bardock’s anger had been, the furious light that had animated him went out of his eyes. Shoulders slumping, he dropped to his knees in defeat.
“You foolish, foolish child,” he whispered, raking big, weary hands through locks that were identical to Kakarott’s.
Realizing that his brother was no longer in the line of fire, Radditz slowly approached Bardock and squatted down before him.
“’Toosan?”
Bardock didn’t answer.
“’Toosan?”
At last Bardock looked back up, gaze flickering between each of his stunned sons. Radditz was glad when Bardock seemed to recover himself, standing up from the floor and waving a tired hand for both of them to join him near the hearth.
Kakarott and Radditz glanced at each other in uncertainty, but followed.
“Did anything strange happen when you were at market today, Radditz?”
Frowning at the abruptness of the change in his father, Radditz opened his mouth, and shut it, not knowing what to say. One minute he was about to pulverize his brother for some supposed offense, and the next he was passively asking him questions, not even offering up an explanation for his behavior.
“’Toosan, are you sure that you’re alri–“
“Yes, I’m fine, Radditz. Just answer the question. Did you see anything out of the ordinary today while in Katei Saien?”
He and his brother exchanged another baffled glance. Kakarott stood some distance to the left behind Radditz, probably more hesitant to come closer out of fear of unintentionally provoking this new, unpredictable side of their father again.
“No. Not that I see how this has to do with anything. Explain yourself, ‘Toosan. What the hell was all that back there? Kakarott hasn’t done anything wrong. Why were you about to beat him senseless?”
But Bardock wasn’t listening. He appeared to have retreated into himself, walking around a small stone-hewn stool and plopping down heavily upon a thick fur, cradling his head in his hands.
“Gods, maybe it was all a dream. I’m such a fool,” he muttered to the room at large. “Such a fool. Everything’s ruined.”
Radditz tried again, but didn’t go to Bardock’s side this time. He hoped that despite all appearances, his father really wasn’t going crazy.
“What strange things are you talking about, ‘Toosan? Kakarott and I are not understanding you.”
Kakarott threw up his arms in exasperation, frustrated with his father. He just wanted to go to bed. “Unless he’s referring to seeing the crowds of Saiyans, a ton of doobu dung, and a drunken Saiyan raving to a whore about finding the Saiyan Prophecy, I’d say that he’s going to be disappointed by our answers, ‘Ditzu. That was all pretty average for a day in Katei Saien.” he laughed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Bardock’s head shot up at the words of his youngest. In two heartbeats, he had stood up and crossed the room to stand before Kakarott, peering at him with feverish, interested eyes. “What did you just say?”
Taken aback, Kakarott sputtered. “Oh–yeah. Um, the streets were just full of shit today–“
Bardock rolled his eyes. “No, baka! The part about the drunk–you said that he found something?”
Kakarott nodded, nearly snorting again at the memory of the drunken Saiyan general carousing in the tavern. “Yeah, he was sitting in the bar slurring his words, relating the whole thing to a whore that wasn’t even listening. He claimed that he had found the ‘lost prophecy’, and that it was proof that Vegeta isn’t supposed to be king or something along those lines. ‘Ditzu and I were laughing our asses off to hear him go on about it–he sounded so convinced.”
“Did he happen to look familiar?”
“Yeah,” Radditz chimed in, interrupting Kakarott. “It was the Ou’s former general. His name is–”
“Nappa,” Bardock hissed, firelight catching the tips of his fangs.
“Yes, actually–the one that was caught stealing. “ Radditz confirmed, exchanging a quizzical glance with an equally bemused Kakarott, who just shrugged in helplessness.
Strangely enough, their words seemed to put their father in better spirits. He was grinning unabashedly now, looked as though he was seeing something far away, black eyes shining like a demon that was dreaming. Kakarott shook his head, just relieved that he seemed to be coming back to his normal state of mind.
“Father, can you now explain what all of this is about?” Radditz groused, still as much at a loss as before.
“What? Oh, yes, yes I can. Come sit with me, you two. I’m about to tell you something that you may not believe at first, but may the Gods strike me dead if it isn’t true.”
Kakarott groaned, a mulish frown marring his features. “Can’t we just call it a night already? ‘Toosan, you could always–*yawn*–always just explain whatever it was that was driving you toward the brink of madness tomorrow, right?”
“Very funny. I’m afraid not, though. This is something that cannot wait to be heard. Trust me, by the time you two have learned of everything that I’m about to tell you, you’ll be glad it didn’t wait until the morning. But before I can explain to you why I–well, why I was trying to strangle you, Kakarott, I have to start from the beginning. Sorry about that, by the way, son.”
“Oh, sure.” Kakarott retorted, wondering if his father was really joking about the “strangling” business.
“Tonight, boys, after waiting for so many years, the Gods of Vengeance have finally opened their arms to receive us.”
~()~()~()~