Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 34

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Thanks to all you fabulous people who keep reviewing! Between fanfiction.net and mediaminer.org, Vengeance has a review count of OVER 500!!!!!!!! (Not as impressive as OVER 9000!!! but still pretty damn amazing) So thanks so much; I hope you're all aware of how appreciative I am to know that people are enjoying this fic. Especially since I don't know any of you in person, and you therefore are under no obligation to be nice to me. ; D

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PRESENT DAY

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Vegeta took a deep breath, savouring the scents of the universe as experienced through Super Saiyan nostrils, and let it out slowly. He wished that there could be more triumph in this moment, more time to revel in his own strength and superiority, but there was too much to be done and too few hours in which to accomplish it. The knowledge left him bitter, feeling cheated. The ascension to this state of being was supposed to be like the dawning of a new era, a beacon of hope for his people and a time for rejoicing, but instead there were four bodies to be dealt with - well, three bodies, a brain, and a pile of scrap metal. There was also the complication added by Frieza knowing Vengeance's identity and location, thanks to Ginyu's damnable scouter. They would have to find somewhere safe to move everyone, and if that wasn't a hard enough task, also figure out the logistics of such a move. There were only so many among them that were capable of piloting a small ship, and to transport everyone, likely more than one ship would be necessary. There would also be the twin tasks of gathering everything that they could bring with them and destroying what they couldn't, that would need to be accomplished within hours if they were to get well away before any of Frieza's people began arriving. Vegeta's heart sank at the thought of having to destroy the gravity room after they'd put so much time and energy into its construction, and yet there was no other choice. He looked down at the woman in his arms, watched her snuffle her face further into his shoulder - no doubt wiping her nose on his body suit - and shook his head. She would build him another one, wherever they went. His official accounts would no doubt be wiped out and appropriated by Frieza, in light of his treachery, but Vegeta was no fool. The majority of his assets were tucked safely away, spread over a dozen or more accounts held by so many aliases. Funds, as with the first construction, would not be an issue.

Vegeta sighed and stepped away from Bulma, his urge to get on with their exit plan at war with his reluctance to power down, to release his hold on the magnificence that was Super Saiyan form. This power was something he'd worked for and dreamed of for his whole life, but it would be worthless if someone came along and blew a hole in Red Station. Vegeta was pretty sure that Super Saiyans still needed to breathe, so with reluctance, he began to concentrate on the center of the power, deep in his belly, hauling it back in as one might yank a rope in a game of tug-of-war. It was harder than he'd expected - Vegeta had imagined that once he gained hold of the power, perfect control would be his - but not nearly as painful or damaging as the last two times had been. His veins tingled but did not burn, and his mind was blissfully free of the roaring madness that had nearly consumed him before. It was funny; he'd always thought that turning Super Saiyan would be a permanent transformation, and yet now that he had done it and with no one to tell him anything about it, he knew undeniably that he was not meant to spend the rest of his life as a golden haired god.

Vegeta powered down, felt the energy leaching from him, going down, down into the place within him where it lived, and while it was disappointing, he knew that this would not be his only moment as a Super Saiyan. Where before, the place had been cracked and painful, he could feel it now pulsing slowly within him like a second heartbeat, somewhere just beyond his fingertips. If he stretched, it would be within his grasp again, easily.

“Oh look,” Bulma whispered, reaching up and then sort of flinching, drawing her hand back as though she wasn't sure it would be alright if she touched him. “Your hair. And your eyes.”

“Don't worry,” Vegeta took her hand and squeezed it briefly in his own before dropping it, and lifting his head to address his underlings as well, “it isn't gone forever.” He turned purposefully toward the massive body of Guru and felt something within him shift uncomfortably at the sight. How long would it have taken for him to achieve this power, had the sage not unlocked it? How many more months, how many more years of training, of beating himself into the ground to activate the saiyan healing factor? How many more times would he have balanced on the brink of death and insanity, completely at the mercy of the mad power that lived within him? Vegeta closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the unsettling questions from his mind.

“What do we do with him?” Nappa asked, coming to stand beside Vegeta. He jabbed Guru's slack, pudgy arm with the toe of his boot and Vegeta snarled and slapped him in the arm. “Ack, hey!” Nappa grumped and stepped back a little. “Well he's dead, what the hell do we do with him? And the other namek and the old man, for that matter?”

“We'll have to put them out to space before we go.” Vegeta said, “Respectfully.” He added, with a glare at Nappa.

“Before we go? Where are we going?” Bulma asked, loudly, and everyone turned to look at the saiyan prince.

“I don't know yet, but we have to get out of here. Ginyu's scouter will have been transmitting our conversation and location straight back to Frieza's mothership. Men will be on their way.” Vegeta looked around the room, tallying up bodies and mentally translating that into food and supplies. “There's no time to waste, we have to gather up everything we need, and destroy anything we intend on leaving behind, including the station itself, if we can.”

“I cannot allow that.” Sixteen's mechanical voice cut across the hangar and everyone turned to see him, carefully gathering up the body of Dr. Gero. He'd retrieved the brain and set it back inside the broken casing even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. Too long outside its protective bubble, the last part of his father had died during the remainder of the fight. Sixteen wasn't quite sure what to think, but he dutifully gathered up the remains and lay them next to Guru's. “Dr. Gero's experiments must not be disturbed, and I will not permit you to destroy them.” He intoned, and Bulma felt a shiver run up her spine as she thought of the two half-formed bodies, floating away in complete ignorance in Gero's lab. She looked at Sixteen, wondering if he knew what to do with them or whether she and her father would be required to step in. Bulma wasn't sure that she was comfortable playing Prometheus, but she knew that Sixteen would be devastated if they were forced to destroy the twins.

“There's got to be a way,” She said softly, “to take them.”

Sixteen shook his head, not even bothering to look up at her as he arranged Dr. Gero's arms. “No, the power source to the tanks must not be interrupted.” He stood, looking down at his erstwhile father. “Besides, it is not necessary.”

“What do you mean?” Vegeta snapped, growing impatient with the slow, methodical way in which the android moved and spoke. Time was of the essence. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Red Station is a ship.” Sixteen straightened and looked Vegeta in the eye, before turning to Bulma to explain. “The core of the station is the ship that my father built on Earth. As he expanded it over the years, he upgraded the propulsion systems as well.”

“What?” Bulma shrieked, just as her father, several feet away, was mumbling “Hmmm, interesting.”

“The last of the upgrades was completed before you arrived,” Sixteen continued, “and while the station has not moved under its own power in at least a decade, I am confident that it will work. Though we may have to jettison the eastern storage deck. It was not meant to be a permanent fixture and may not hold up during travel.”

“What can we do?” Bulma asked, reaching out to grab Sixteen's hand. “My father and I will help, just tell us what to get done.”

“A moment, please.” Sixteen sighed, and looked around at all the people he'd be dooming if they weren't able to get the ship running. He turned to Vegeta, only because it seemed that everyone else would listen to what the prince had to say. “Red will not be the fastest of ships, you need to know this. There is no guarantee that we'll be able to outrun anyone on our tail, but my father feared persecution, even out here. We are heavily armed - moreso than the average battle cruiser in Frieza's forces. I am confident in our chances should it come to a fight.”

“How long to get running?” Vegeta asked.

“With the help of Bulma and the Doctor, two hours at most.”

“Make it one. Now go!” Vegeta barked, and turned to his men and the rest of the station's inhabitants, firing out orders as Sixteen and the two Briefs hurried away. He'd give them their hour, and at the end of it if Red Station wasn't lumbering its way across the galaxy, he'd throw everyone into the available transports and give the order to scatter. “Saiyans, you will clear out anything of value from the eastern deck, and make it fast. Kakarott's mate, you will go with them to make sure nothing important is left behind and that we do not take on needless junk. Old man, pig and cat, you will monitor the radios and inform me at once if you hear anything important. Three eyes, you will go with them and keep watch for incoming ships. Baldy and assorted Nameks, you will dispose of these bodies in a fitting manner. Everybody understand? Good.” Vegeta nodded in satisfaction as everyone hopped to their tasks, even those who were not at all accustomed to following his orders. As for himself, he intended to check on Bulma's group before the rest. He knew what Briefs were like when confronted with new technology. Even the threat of imminent torture and death wouldn't get in the way of their combined curiosities.

“Umm, what can I do?” Mrs. Briefs piped up, just as Vegeta hit the door. He turned and glared, squinting at her through narrowed eyes.

“Make dinner.” He snapped. “I'm fucking hungry.”

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“So,” Bulma huffed as she climbed the ladder, trying to hurry up because Sixteen was practically flying through the corridors. She looked back to see her father, puffing his way along with Kitty clinging fast. Good, they hadn't lost him yet. “Uhh, Dr. Gero, huh? Umm, when?” She asked bluntly.

“You retrieved a package for him once, and he was very upset with you for coming back late. Do you recall?” Sixteen slowed his pace a little, allowing Dr. Briefs to catch up. “That package contained necessary parts for the brain tank's filtering system. I begged him to wait to begin the procedures until you got back, but he would have none of it.”

“Oh boy.” Bulma put a hand to her stomach, feeling a little sick. “So he constructed a new body and...”

“He transferred his brain into it, yes.” Sixteen finished the sentence for her, seemingly unbothered by the knowledge. “My father's dream was to become a perfect android, but he could think of no way to implant his consciousness into a completely artificial body.”

“What did you do with...with the body?” Bulma was sure she felt sick now, with the unfortunate mental picture in her mind of Sixteen cutting into Gero's skull, carefully lifting out the brain... “Euch.” She muttered, swallowing back bile.

“We put it out to space,” Sixteen shrugged carelessly, “with the garbage. My father did not feel any sentiment for his flesh-made casing.”

“And you,” Dr. Briefs asked unexpectedly, “did you care?” Bulma watched as her father made brief eye contact with the cat on his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of significance as though asking for the animal's opinion. Kitty yawned.

“I was...bothered.” Sixteen said, as clinically as though he were discussing the mechanics of his big toe. “Father could not be persuaded otherwise. He did not want any of you to know what he had done.”

“No wonder!” Bulma snapped, and her father simply tutted.

“Gero was at times bordering on mad, but my, he was a genius. Why just look at yourself, young man!” He patted Sixteen on the arm, would have gone for the shoulder if he'd been able to reach, and the big android felt an odd rush of warmth go through him. It had been years, years, since his own father had looked at him with anything resembling pride. “And then to do...well, that to himself, that must have been a feat indeed.”

“The process was not perfect.” Sixteen said softly. “His behaviour became...erratic. You saw so yourself on more than one occasion, Bulma. His outburst today was not an isolated incident. We were working to resolve the issue, but could find no concrete source of the irregularities.” He shook his head. “Enough talk. We must get Red's engines running. Come along.” Sixteen turned abruptly away and gestured for Bulma and Dr. Briefs to follow.

“Irregularities?” Bulma panted as she jogged along beside the oversized android. “You call all those freak outs irregularities? What kind of nut goes and sticks his own brain in a mechanical body without working the bugs out first?” She glared up at her friend, but he resolutely ignored her, so she shot her father a wide eyed look instead. He merely shrugged - apparently he was nowhere near as surprised as she was that his old colleague and friend was capable of such insanity.

“All through history, my dear daughter,” he intoned, “men have done crazy things for science.”

“Am I the only one who is bothered by this?” Bulma demanded, and Dr. Briefs chuckled in that way of his, the one that said he'd semi-detached himself from reality again, and Bulma could only roll her eyes. She was on her own.

“Come, the engines can only be accessed through the computer in my father's lab,” Sixteen was saying, as he typed out a quick code on the door's lock. “We can change this easily, once we gain access.”

“Good,” Bulma snapped, peering with distrustful eyes around the interior of the lab, lest another weird and unseemly experiment be lurking in the shadows, “because this place gives me the creeps. I don't want to have to do much of anything in here until I get it gutted and cleaned up.” She crossed her arms and glared at her dad. “Dibs, by the way.” She said, and then had the grace to be ashamed of herself. “Umm, if that's okay with you, Sixteen.”

“I have no objections.” The android answered, unruffled as usual. Truth be told, the lab was no longer a place of happy memories for him. He was pleased to think that Bulma might be able to wipe away the taint of his father's final weeks, and was glad to let her move in. “You may do as you will with my father's things, so long as you promise to help me bring Seventeen and Eighteen to completion.” Sixteen paused, looking around at the bits and piles, the half completed projects, safely stored under drop cloths, and felt a pang for the man who'd created him. “Though I hope you will not simply trash everything. My father's work was not all bad.” He added shyly.

“I know.” She smiled radiantly up at him, and he was glad to have her in his father's stead. “He made you, right?”

“Ahem...anyway. The engines.” Sixteen turned abruptly toward the computer, plopping his huge form down into a chair and scootching into place. His big hands flew over the keyboard with the speed and accuracy of any machine. “I can access them from this computer myself, but there are some tests and checks that need to be done before we start them up, and I thought it would go more quickly with two extra pairs of hands. Ahh, there!” Sixteen sat back for a moment and a chime sounded from the speakers. In the distance, Bulma heard the familiar hiss and whirr of a hydraulic system moving a heavy load.

“What the heck?” She muttered, watching the android spring from his seat and head toward the back of the lab, where he pulled aside a tarp and shoved a pile of crates out of the way to reveal a door in the floor.

“I've disabled the locks on everything for the time being,” Sixteen explained as he lifted the hatch and began making his way down a ladder. “Once we get moving, we can reprogram the system to operate from the station's control deck and reset any necessary passwords.” He stopped at the bottom and waited for the Briefs before leading them down a narrow little passage which opened up to reveal the engine room. Secretive as Gero had been, neither Bulma nor her father had ever been down here.

“Well, the old fellow was no slouch, that's for sure.” Dr. Briefs let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hand along the nearest piece of machinery.

“I still don't understand why he had to keep it all a secret.” Bulma pouted, enviously eyeing the quality of the work surrounding her. “Especially about the propulsion system. I know the smaller ships are probably more efficient, but why wouldn't he have wanted us to know the station could be used as a ship?” She resisted the urge to plant her foot in the side of what appeared to be the water heater.

“My father was not social by nature.” Sixteen led them deeper still, toward the back wall. “So much changed for us with your arrival, and I think he feared what you might do with the knowledge. It was his trump card, his last hope of control over Red Station.”

“Feared? Feared?” Bulma squawked indignantly as she followed the two men through the dimly lit space. “What is there to fear about me? Why, I'm the model of a good guest, of a polite and ladylike - holy shit.” She stopped in her tracks and stared. Three massive thrusters faced them, jutting out from the wall like pipes to nowhere. “Why is it inside?”

“The panel rotates.” Sixteen patted one of the massive cylinders. “For easy access. Ingenious, is it not?” He pushed a button and the whirring sound of machinery echoed around the room as the wall lifted out from the bottom and spun to reveal yet more room behind. “This panel is also mounted on tracks. Two feet back it seals and forms an air lock, after which the very back wall will open up and this will slide into place, with the thrusters on the outside of the ship.” Sixteen graced them with a rare little smile. “Father did not like to go outside of the ship to do maintenance, if he could avoid it.”

“Seems an awfully complicated way to avoid the cold.” Bulma snapped, but the men could hear the note of admiration and awe in her voice, as she stepped forward to examine the machinery, the tinge of jealousy at someone else's superior design. The rudimentary ship she'd built back on Earth, the one she'd been so very proud of, was like a child's toy compared to Gero's Red.

“You may study it as much as you like, later. For now, we must get it operational.”

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Krillin grunted and fell backwards with a yelp as his sweaty palms slipped and he lost his grip. Grimmacing, he wiped his hands on his sore butt and took hold of Guru's arm again, cringing at the slack, rubbery feel of dead flesh beneath his fingertips. Whatever happened to people just fading away, he wondered as he heaved once more, desperately trying to move the massive body of the old sage all by himself. He glared at the huddled group of sobbing nameks, all apparently too distraught to help him. “Why,” he tugged the namek an inch, “me?” Another two inches. “I always get the shit jobs.” He dropped Guru's arm and paused to wipe his sweaty forehead. Almost there.

“Have some respect, Krillin.” Piccolo's voice snapped from a few feet behind him, and the bald human turned to see the former god standing in the doorway to the airlock, giving him a look that could curdle milk. Piccolo had already lain out the remains of Dr. Gero and Snare, the namek that Ginyu had killed.

“Well he weighs a ton.” Krillin hissed, with a sidelong glance at the mourning nameks, a flood of guilt rushing through him as he realized they'd undoubtedly heard his complaints, followed by irritation that he was made to feel guilty when none of them could even be bothered to help.

“Geez Krillin, have some respect.” Krillin whirled back around, this time to see Gohan and Radditz, each carrying in a pile of supplies from the eastern deck and wearing identical expressions of disgust.

“It wasn't...I didn't...” Krillin sputtered helplessly as the two saiyans set down their loads and came to do his job for them.

“It's pretty bad when even saiyans have better manners than you.” Piccolo said, once they had hefted Guru's body between them and tottered off into the airlock. He grabbed up Ginyu's body and followed them, leaving Krillin to sputter and stammer, shamefaced, as the nameks looked on.

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Bulma looked up as the distinctive sound of saiyan boots on ladder rungs echoed through the cavernous engine room. She grinned, watching Vegeta's royal posterior descend from the upper level of Gero's lab, and rose to meet him. He hit the ground, turned, and cocked his head to stare at her as she came toward him. “By the Gods, woman, how do you manage to get so filthy?” He asked, taking in the black splotches on her clothes, and the streaks that marred her face.

“Oil pan on the left engine was cracked.” She swiped a hand over her cheek, simply smearing the grease more, and shrugged. “I was unfortunately underneath it, checking the bolts, while dear dad over there was filling it. No worries though, we've patched it up and it should hold find until we can find another.”

“How long until we get moving?” Vegeta peered past her, trying to understand exactly what was being done.

“Half hour, tops.” Bulma tossed her oil-coated hair and made a sour face. “As much as I hate to admit it, Sixteen was right. Gero built a good system and beyond a little neglect, it's pretty much in peak condition. So don't worry your pretty little face over it.” She reached out and patted his cheek, purposefully leaving black smudges, and he scoffed and stepped out of reach.

“Vulgar creature.” Vegeta muttered, rubbing at his face with the back of one gloved hand, sneering at the mess. “You've ruined my gloves.”

“Pfft. You ruined them yourself. And besides, it's not like you don't have ten more pairs upstairs.” Bulma stretched out one finger, tried to tap him on the nose, but he caught her arm in his hand, whirled her around and sent her stumbling a few steps back in the direction of her father and Sixteen.

“Back to work.” He snapped, and was up the ladder and away before she could plant her dirty hands all over his rear end.

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Goku hefted yet another box into his arms, waddled ten feet, and set it gently onto the `keep' pile, all the while aware of Chichi's gimlet eye boring into his back. He'd made the mistake of tossing the first box onto the pile - how was he to know it was full of Dr. Briefs' spare beakers and glassware? - and she'd been watching him like a hawk ever since. He worked his neck painfully from side to side and rubbed at his left arm as he went to grab the next item for inspection. Nappa had the good job; sorting out the junk and piling it up, nobody cared if he broke anything. Goku briefly considered asking the older man to switch with him, but one look at Nappa's face convinced him otherwise. It looked like he was having fun breaking things, and Goku didn't want to make Chichi go head to head with the grumpy saiyan.

“Junk, junk, junk.” Chichi was saying to herself when he found her again, shoving things in Nappa's general direction for him to come and take away. “Hmm...I'm not sure what this is, so we'd better keep it.” She shrugged and pushed an odd looking contraption the other way, just as she saw Goku. “Here's your pile!” She said brightly, and Goku couldn't help but to be amused by his wife's love of organization and her easy head for direction. “Chop chop, Goku! No dawdling now.” She clapped her hands as he looked the thing over - a steel frame with a tangle of wires and doo-dads hanging off it - trying to figure out the best way to get a grip on it.

“Hey dad, how's it going?” Gohan was just coming into the room as Goku emerged from behind the junk pile. Radditz came in a moment later, and Goku grinned and handed off his unwieldy burden to his brother.

“What is it?” Radditz asked, and Goku shrugged. “Then why are we keeping it?” He asked, and Goku shrugged again, his right hand coming up briefly to grip his left shoulder. “Whatever.” Radditz turned and left with the thing while Gohan stared just a little too hard at his father.

“What's up, kiddo?” Goku asked, dropping his arm.

“Are you okay dad?”

“Yeah, of course.” Goku chirped, but it sounded fake even to him. He wiggled his tingling fingers and grinned widely. “Why do you ask?” It would go away soon, he knew. It always had in the past. Gohan's eyes flew to his fidgeting hand, and he quickly moved it behind his back, gripping it tightly in his other.

“No reason.” Gohan met his father's gaze. “Take it easy dad.” He said, even though he wanted to demand a list of whatever symptoms his father was experiencing and rush it right off to Nappa, who knew the most about the wasting that was plaguing his father. Something was going on, Gohan was sure of it, and yet any time anyone mentioned it or even looked at him for too long, his father would clam up, get all cagey and quiet like a wounded animal. It was frustrating, to say the least, and Gohan was quickly tiring of it. He wondered if Radditz would be willing to gang up with him and maybe beat some information out of Goku. Family was family, after all, and they had to look out for each other.

In the meantime, there was progress to be made, and Gohan could feel Vegeta's ki signature moving their way. The prince was no doubt coming to check on them and he didn't want to disappoint. They'd made a good sized dent in their task already, but one quickly learned that in Vegeta's opinion, things could always be better.

A shiver ran down Gohan's spine as he thought of Vegeta, causing his tail to stiffen behind him, all of the hairs standing on end so that it looked twice its usual girth. The prince had actually done it, and the transformation had taken Gohan's breath away and squeezed his heart in his chest so that he thought it might stop up and die at any second. Tears pricked his eyes as he recalled the feeling of Vegeta's power, the waves of strong, pure ki that had rolled out from him like waves in the ocean. Gohan had felt as though he was looking upon a god, and wondered if Vegeta was so far from it. Kami and Piccolo had both been gods of a sort, and they were far less impressive according to the half-saiyan.

“What are you staring at, brat?” Vegeta snapped, his tail flicking agitatedly from side to side as he strolled into the room. “You've got work to do. Hurry the fuck up.”

“Uhh, yes sir! Of course Prince Vegeta!” Gohan stammered, grabbing up the nearest thing and rushing past Vegeta with it. Vegeta's power wasn't the only thing that was legendary; his temper and his attitude were a fine match for it.

“We're almost done.” Chichi appeared with a frown on her face, Goku trailing behind, both of them stooping to deposit armloads of stuff in the pile to be kept. She held back the sniping comment she wanted to make, only because she knew that Gohan would not appreciate it, but it rankled her to see the way he ordered her son about. She sniffed and turned her head, only to see that Nappa had joined them, and was looking at her with just the barest hint of a grin. Chichi sniffed and turned the other way.

“Just a bit more.” Goku put in, and Vegeta cast him a glare.

“Fine.” He said, and his gaze swept the room before he whirled back toward the door, apparently satisfied with what he saw. “Move faster.” And then he was gone, stomping off toward the control room to check on the radio team. Chichi watched him go with narrowed eyes, before huffing and turning to her two saiyan companions.

“Well?” She snapped, shooing at them with her hands. “Get moving! He has a point!”

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“Boooooring!” Roshi sighed, slumping back in his chair and allowing his head to flop back. He kicked his feet out and propped them on the desk, at the same time yanking off his headset and dropping it in his lap. “Nothing but static over here.”

“Trashy talk radio.” Oolong snorted, his tail quivering as he adjusted his dial. “Check it out, this chick is sleeping with two guys, right, and one of `em is some kinda squid monster. Ladies love tentacles, right? Anyway, she's thinking about leaving her husband for him `cause she can't get enough, but he's some kind of jailbreaker and her old man's a psycho bounty hunter or some shit like that. So she's all -”

“Oolong, what the hell?” Puar interjected, cutting the pig off as he dialled down his own volume. “You're supposed to be listening to the news, not trolling the airwaves to fulfill your own pervy fantasies.”

“Oh, you're one to talk, cat. Speaking of pervy fantasies, who do you think I saw sneaking out of Radditz's bedroom this morning, huh? Dude, you were a dude. Not even a chick.”

“Shut your snout, before I shut it for you.” Puar hissed, his face hot beneath his fur. “That's none of your business!”

“Oh ho, what's this?” Roshi waggled his brows. “Why didn't you just turn yourself into a girl? With big, round,” he broke off, wiping a string of drool from his chin, “mmmm.”

“I'm gay, you old fart; I don't want to be a girl!” Puar yelled, though the serious impact was lost a little in his cat voice. “Now both of you shut up, and don't you start in with them either!” Puar shook his little fist at Tien, who'd thus far remained silent, listening intently to his own headset.

“Wasn't going to. Wouldn't want to risk getting on a saiyan's bad side.” Tien shrugged, tuning his radio to a different channel, having found nothing on the previous one. “They scare the shit out of me, our side or not. I heard stories, man...stories to peel the meat right from your bones.” He shivered a little, eyes faraway and obviously thinking of another time and place. He shook his head abruptly, blinking hard and forcing a few deep breaths through his lungs. “Scary as hell, but glad they're on our side.”

“I feel you there.” Oolong snorted. “Not like this guy.” He jabbed a thumb toward Puar.

“Oolong, I swear...” Puar growled, brandishing his tiny claws.

“Ooh, scary.” The pig laughed, though not for long as Puar's arms morphed into long, thin limbs with huge, razor sharp blades at the end.

“He's rubbing off on you, not just against you, I see.” Roshi observed, cackling with glee at his own wit.

“Enough, enough.” Tien insisted, his tone uncharacteristically bold. “We're supposed to be paying attention to the radios here. I'd rather not let Frieza's troops get the upper hand, because I'm telling you idiots, I am not going back into a slaver camp.”

“Finally, a bit of spine from you.” Vegeta scoffed as he walked into the room, having heard most of the conversation on his way down the hall. Tien shrunk back in surprise at this direct addressing, and Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Too much to hope for, I suppose. Any news?” He asked, changing the subject, “Or are you all too busy with your tripe and your trash?”

“N...nothing to report yet.” Puar volunteered. “There are ships heading in our direction, but the closest is still several hours off. I don't think it's become public knowledge yet.”

“The news will break soon. Even if he doesn't intend it, someone in Frieza's camp will slip up. And at that time we will become either a rallying point for the resistance, or the universe's biggest target. Quite likely both, actually.” Vegeta shrugged. Neither idea phased him as they might have, short days ago. It was hard to worry with the power of a legend running through his veins. He would destroy Frieza, and he would worry about the rest of it later.

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“That's right you slimy lizard, it was me!” Vegeta's voice rang through the control room, all the more recognizable in the dead silence. The operators watched their lord, each one too scared to move, even to breathe too loudly, for fear of igniting the beast's rage.

“Play it again.” Frieza said, his voice surprisingly calm while bright pink spots of rage glowed on his cheeks. The radio operator cringed and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he queued the sound clip and pushed play. It was definitely Vegeta's voice, unmistakeable even without Ginyu's preamble, and though the prince had a reputation for flagrantly disrespecting their lord and master, no one had ever thought he was stupid enough to actually go and turn traitor. Add to that the fact of Zarbon's presence in the dungeons, charged with the very same crime, and a bolt of unease was shaking every creature in the control room to the core. The loyal knew fear and the burning question of how many more were traitors, how quickly would they rise up? The vast majority felt a cautious sort of hope, wondering the same things, mingled with a sense of regret, wondering how long they'd served, how long they'd toiled in misery while some of the strongest among them held such secrets.

Frieza tapped some buttons on the arm of his chair, and Vegeta's voice rang out again, and again. It was me. It was me. It was me. “That fucking SNAKE!” Frieza shrieked the last word, slamming his fist down into the arm, smashing right through his control panel so that it began to spark and sizzle, unnoticed by the furious tyrant. “I want every available man after him! Right now!”

“Sir, is that wise?” Said the man at his left, a creature he'd brought up from the ranks to replace Zarbon as his aide. So far, he was a disappointment in all but looks and the diminutive tyrant hadn't even bothered to learn his name. Frieza glared, fire in his eyes, and he panicked, backpedalling quickly. “I um, meant no disrespect, my lord.” He stammered. “It was only, I thought it might gain support for the cause if it is known the resistance has such a strong leader.”

“Vegeta,” Frieza spat the word out, like an unappetizing piece of gristle in his meat, “is a lowly little worm compared to me. And the resistance is a pathetic band of weaklings and children. Are you honestly insisting that I should be afraid of them?”

“N...no sir. Absolutely not, sir.” The replacement-Zarbon simpered and bowed, and Frieza sneered. Traitor or not, at least Zarbon had voiced his thoughts. Truth be told, Frieza knew that this one had a point - the number of turncoats and traitors would swell in the wake of such news, but Frieza was looking oh-so-forward to crushing them even more because of it.

.

.

“It's out!” Puar shrieked, just as Vegeta was about to leave the room. “The order just went out; every available ship is to get it's ass on over to our coordinates. Not long before the public begins to hear about it.” Vegeta frowned, looking at the clock on the wall, just about to open his mouth and give the order to evacuate, when a great, bellowing groan came from beneath their feet, followed quickly by a bang and a judder that set them all reeling for a moment. Vegeta cocked his head, listening to the muffled shouts of joy coming from the deepest bowels of the ship.

“They've done it!” Roshi cheered, clapping his hands. “They've got the engines going, right?”

“All of you but the cat,” Vegeta ordered, “to the eastern deck, NOW! We have to finish emptying it and get a move on before anyone catches up with us. Cat, continue listening.”

With the addition of Vegeta, Roshi, Oolong, and Tien, the job in the eastern deck was finished in about fifteen minutes, even if that meant the `keep' pile was strewn about just inside the door of the ship proper to be dealt with later, much to Chichi's consternation. Once they were well and away, she knew Vegeta would no longer give a shit what was where, and it would be up to her to bully some of her shipmates into helping her clean up the mess. Sixteen raced up to the control room to input the command for the airlock to close off the eastern deck, and everyone watched the view screens with awe as the joints were sprung and the huge chunk of Red Station drew slowly away. Sequestered away in Gero's lab, Bulma and her father fired up the engines and set course before joining the others upstairs to they could watch as Sixteen fired on the piece that they were leaving behind.

“Where are we going?” Chichi asked, as bits and chunks of their home scattered off into space.

“Away.” Bulma shrugged and pushed her hair back, thinking also of the bodies that they had cast off, and wondering what would happen to them. “For now, at least. I figured we could pick an actual destination once we got moving.”

“Sounds good.” Chichi sighed, looking around at all the new faces. “We are really going to have to figure out some new living arrangements though, until we get wherever it is we're going.”

“Don't worry too hard, Chi.” Bulma patted her friend on the shoulder. “At least we won't have to do any extra cooking. Nameks only drink water.”

“Well,” Chichi wiped her hands on her apron, preparing to take charge of things, “thank goodness for that!”