Chapter 8
“What’s wrong, Vegeta? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Zarbon said, putting a hand on the Saiyan’s shoulder and shaking gently.
Vegeta shrugged off the other alien’s hand and glared at him. “Don’t you ever
touch me,” he snarled. After a few moments he bared his teeth in frustration.
“Radditz is alive,” he stated, not glancing over at Zarbon.
“How do you know?” Zarbon asked, leaning forward to try to catch Vegeta’s eyes.
“He just sent me a message,” Vegeta replied.
“What?” Zarbon gasped. “Are you Saiyans psychic or something?”
Vegeta’s scowl became more intense. “We have certain mental powers, yes, but
not a such a great distance unless it is very serious and very urgent. Now shut
up or I’ll rip your eyes out of that fine-boned little face of yours,” he spat,
hunching his shoulders and falling silent.
“Whatever,” Zarbon said in annoyance, not liking to leave his curiosity
unsatisfied, but one glance at the Saiyan prince let him know that now was not
a good time to try and pry out information. He sighed and floated up slowly to
his own bunk, testing out his power.
Vegeta heard Zarbon settle in above him and lay down himself, folding his arms
behind his head and staring at the blank cold stone above his face. Radditz’s
image had been startling and unexpected. He hadn’t even believed Radditz to be
alive, and then his voice ripped through Vegeta’s mind like a knife, screaming
the Prince’s name in alarm. The scream was accompanied by an image, that of a
woman with blue eyes and hair and a creamy complexion, saying the word
“dragonballs”. Vegeta frowned as he wondered what it could mean. The woman was
beautiful; in fact, he had never seen the like in all his travels, and except
for her unusual coloring and round eyes she could have been Saiyan. What was
going on with Radditz, and what were dragonballs? Vegeta felt his hands curl
into fists behind his head, the frustration gnawing away at his stomach. His
resolve to escape from Arlia hardened itself. He would do his damnedest to find
Radditz and rebuild the Saiyan empire or die trying.
“You can’t take him,” Bulma said, cradling Goku’s head in her lap.
Piccolo looked down at her skeptically. “I have to,” he replied gruffly,
awkwardly shifting the wailing little boy’s weight under his arm. “There isn’t
anyone else who can train this boy to harness his power by the time the other
one comes.”
Bulma’s eyes widened as she stared back at him. “Other one?”
Piccolo nodded grimly. “I already told you this because you already asked.
Radditz mentioned another Saiyan, someone called Prince Vegeta, would be coming
after him. If he’s only twice as powerful as Radditz is we’re all doomed.”
“Vegeta?” she said, laying Goku’s head down gently on the soil. “Radditz has
mentioned him before. He sounds pretty important.”
“Whatever,” Piccolo said, glancing away and baring his teeth. Bulma shuddered
as the air thickened around him, veins standing out at his temples and beating
in time with his heart. She flinched as he erupted in a fierce yell, which was
accompanied by a squelching noise, and before she could blink a new arm exited
the skin where the stump had been before. Bulma paled and scooted a few feet
back, staring at the tall green man that held Gohan under his arm like a
football.
“What about Goku?” she said softly, gripping the grass between her fingers.
Piccolo grunted. “Wish him back. I’m sure Kami will make sure he’s fine,” he
replied as he turned his back on her. “One more thing: I’d kill Radditz while
you still have the chance, if I were you. Two Saiyans will be more than we can
handle.”
Bulma swallowed and watched helplessly as he took to the sky, still holding the
little boy. She heard a noise on the ramp of her airbus and turned to face the
small bald man standing there with tears in his eyes. “Goku’s gone, Krillin,”
she said quietly, and gestured him over. “Help me get him into the car.”
Krillin hurried over and bent to pick up Goku when the Saiyan’s flesh shimmered
for a brief moment before vanishing into thin air.
“Kami,” Krillin breathed, looking up at the sky as if to follow his friend
through the clouds.
Bulma stood, hands on her hips, and followed his gaze. “Nothing we can do now.
Help me with Radditz,” she ordered, and the two walked towards the fallen
alien.
Vegeta stood proudly in the sand of the arena, breathing slowly as he soaked in
the sunlight. He sniffed the air deeply, inhaling the rare scent of fresh, warm
air as he looked at the clouds slowly passing in front of the sun. He hadn’t
seen the sun in what seemed like years, and suddenly the scene of peace above
him seemed so absurd that his face cracked in a bitter smile. Here he was,
standing in the bloodstained sand of a battle arena, contemplating the
quietness of the sun, the clean wind, and peace. He scowled, feeling the wind
stir the hairs on his arms, for his sleeves had been used for rags long ago,
along with the fabric of his boots and gloves. Vegeta felt oddly vulnerable,
standing there in the eyes of thousands of bugs wearing only a sleeveless
bodysuit. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at the crowd, digging
his bare toes into the sand and awaiting his opponent to enter the
battleground. Soon he was rewarded; the sound of gasping rippled through the
spectators and thunderous clapping filling the arena. Vegeta looked up and had
to clench his jaw to keep it from falling open. Standing at the opposite end of
the battlefield was the largest bug he had ever seen in his entire life. It
stood roughly twenty feet tall with huge segmented hands the color of rye and
large, red, multi-lensed eyes. The realization that this was the champion hit
him with the force of a space missile, and he knew that if he didn’t win this
fight he was dead for sure. It wasn’t going to be a simple matter of
dismantling his opponents for fun as it had been in the past, this would be a
fight for his life. Unless, of course, the giant turned out to be incredibly
slow and unskilled, but Vegeta could tell from the way it was flexing its arms
that he had no such luck. Glancing around at the guards he searched for any
weapons he could seize to aid him in his cause. All the guards, however, were
holding the ki-piercing weapons, and all of them were aimed right at him. He
gritted his teeth, knowing escape was impossible, and if this was the champion
he wouldn’t be allowed to use ki attacks, even though his opponent would. A
snarl passed over his lips. Atlia had warned him about this; apparently the
elites favored this particular champion because of its freakish size. It had
been some sort of petty criminal, thrown into prison mainly because it was a
misfit, but in the arena it had found a purpose for its huge size. Vegeta’s
thoughts were interrupted as he heard a noise that signaled the beginning of
the match and his instructions were shouted out to him by a guard: no ki
attacks.
Vegeta was still cursing when the giant hand swung towards him. He dodged to
the side, feeling the wind from the swipe tugging at his skin as the air was
displaced. Rolling across the sand, he stood hurriedly just to encounter
another gigantic hand coming at him. Vegeta smiled coldly and licked his upper
lip, bringing his hands up and bracing himself as he came into contact with the
fingers of the giant. He grit his teeth as he was pushed backward forcefully,
the sand searing the bottoms of his bare feet with friction. His toes dug into
the sand, slowing his motion until the two of them came to a dead stop. The
giant emitted a raspy roar, and Vegeta planted both his hands on the giant’s
longest finger, vaulting up onto the giant’s arm with a smile and scrambling
it’s length until he reached the shoulder. The creature turned its head to look
at him, and he drew back a hand, pressing the fingers together like a blade. A
large hand hovered at the edges of Vegeta’s vision, and he laughed as he buried
his arm to the elbow in the giant’s eye. The Arlian screamed and clutched at
its head, and Vegeta hovered nimbly out of its way, his arm dripping with
fluid. He spun up in the air and above the Arlian, brows plunging and smiling
wickedly. He may not be able to use ki attacks, but that didn’t mean other
sorts of attacks weren’t allowed. Vegeta began to spin in the air, one arm
outstretched with the hand of the opposite arm bracing the elbow, until the
resistance of the air to him limb began to produce a whining sound. He could
see through his blurred vision that the Arlian was facing him, and he whipped
his body around, releasing his arm and clapping his hands together violently.
The air seemed to shimmer for a split second and Vegeta rocketed away from the
blasting zone as the sound waves hit the Arlian. A thunderous cracking noise
echoed throughout the arena as the sonic attack exploded on the side of the
Arlian’s head, blowing apart the exoskeleton and letting fluid rush out the
side of its head. Vegeta landed softly in the sand a few meters away, a smug
smile resting on his sharp features as the Arlian toppled to the ground and lay
still. A murmur ran through the crowd as the giant lay in the sand, making
Vegeta snort a laugh. His eyes roamed over the crowd, resting on the royal box
and examining the royal couple. An Arlian clad in white and scarlet robes sat
on a stone throne, a circlet of golden leaves serving as a crown. By its side
sat a different sort of Arlian, one with long, curling antenna and graceful
wings. Vegeta raised an eyebrow as he realized it must be a female. She was
slender, which was only accentuated by the gauzy pink robes in which she was
clad and held in front of her face. He could tell with his keen Saiyan vision
that around one of her arms was wound a golden bracelet, which reached from her
wrist to nearly her elbow. The male didn’t have one, and he frowned as he
puzzled over its significance. Suddenly cold fingers wrapped around his waist
and slammed him into the ground, and as he glanced around he realized that his
opponent wasn’t dead. The Arlian stood up slowly, holding the little Saiyan in
front of its face, and it emitted a grating laugh as it squeezed. Vegeta grunted
as he felt his ribs bend in upon themselves, and he planted his hands on the
Arlian’s fingers, trying to pry himself free. If a rib punctured a lung he was
done for. The other hand came up and took Vegeta’s left arm between its
fingers, pulling slowly. Vegeta shouted in pain as he felt the shoulder bones
separate, and desperately kicked and squirmed in his efforts to escape. There
was no way he was going to allow himself to be picked apart by an overgrown
insect. The Arlian chuckled again, but swayed a little on its feet as fluid
continued to pour down the side of its head. Vegeta inhaled as deeply as he
could and gathered his energy, his aura flaring to life around him. The Arlian
wavered, and Vegeta took to the air, hauling them up hundreds of feet above the
arena and into the clouds that had begun to gather. The Arlian’s grip on him
tightened, and he felt the black fringes of unconsciousness flitter in his
brain as his air supply was further cut. Finally their combined weight was too
much to support, and they plummeted towards the sand, Vegeta dimly hearing the
Arlian screech through his haze of pain. The sand appeared a few feet below him
and he swerved upward with all his remaining strength, breaking the Arlian’s
grip as it crashed onto the ground with a crunch, its own weight causing its
exoskeleton to cave in on itself. Vegeta landed heavily a meter away, falling
on his knees and gasping as fluid leaked from the Arlian’s ruined body onto the
sand. “A bigger enemy only means a bigger mess,” Vegeta chuckled to himself,
and stood slowly, facing the silent crowd and the ring of soldiers that began
to move toward him slowly.
“Don’t make a move,” one of the soldiers warned him.
“You’re lucky, you all get to live today,” Vegeta snarled, and the pain from
his broken ribs rippled up his spine and into his head. He gave the soldiers
one last glare and collapsed to the sand, unconscious, as the crowd went wild.
Bulma sat by the bedside, staring at the bandages that were over the gaping
wound in Radditz’s abdomen. His heartbeat and breathing rate were normal, and
she shook her head in disappointment. He would most certainly live, and she
sort of wished he wouldn’t, not after what he did to Goku. She had to remind
herself, however, that it wasn’t Radditz who killed Goku, but Piccolo who had
done the deed. Moving a hand up to her forehead, she considered picking up the
phone to call ChiChi, but she wasn’t stable enough herself at the moment. She
had known Goku for so long, and now he was dead. A tear rolled down her cheek,
but she didn’t bother to wipe it away, continuing to stare at the prone alien.
They could bring Goku back no problem, but what awaited them when this Vegeta
character showed up? If he showed up, she reminded herself, and wondered anyway
what sort of person he had to be. He sounded terrifyingly strong, but at the
same time it didn’t sound like that was why Radditz was so incredibly loyal to
him. A few more tears fell, and she realized that it didn’t really matter to
her. She didn’t understand Saiyans, and didn’t suppose she ever would. Even the
way Goku worked had never really been clear to her. Was a sense of honor
genetic? Was violence? She got out of her chair, realizing it had grown late,
and walked over to Radditz to check on him one last time. She gazed down at the
hard planes of his face, wondering what events had sharpened his handsome
features. Pity suddenly spread through her, and she realized what a horrible
mess the whole situation was. It wasn’t really Radditz’s fault, he was just
doing as his desperate situation dictated, but Goku’s reaction wasn’t abnormal
either. Bulma winced as she realized she had probably been the main factor in
Goku not helping Radditz and causing the mess to begin with. She pushed that
thought away and remembered Piccolo, who had been the one who killed Goku, and
kidnapped Gohan, but he was also just acting in a self-preserving manner. She
rested a hand on Radditz’s bare arm and patted it lightly. “I’m so sorry for
all of this,” she whispered to no one in particular, and shut the light in the
room off on her way to bed.
Zarbon leapt down from his bunk as the guards dumped Vegeta on the floor of the
cell. The cell door scraped shut and Zarbon knelt by the unconscious prince, putting
a hand on his neck to check for life. The Prince’s pulse beat strongly but his
breathing was shallow and labored. Making sure he was unconscious before
touching him, Zarbon felt gingerly at Vegeta’s ribs, pressing his mouth into a
line as he realized nearly all of them were broken. What kind of force had been
able to do that to someone as strong as Vegeta? It was a miracle his lungs
weren’t punctured. Zarbon’s hand continued to probe for broken bones, and he
shuddered as he encountered the shoulder. He gritted his teeth and was glad
Vegeta was unconscious, otherwise he would never have been able to pull it off.
He took the Prince’s arm in his hands and stabilized it, then popped the whole
shoulder back into place with a grinding crunch. Vegeta shuddered even in his
unaware state, and Zarbon exhaled with relief, glad that the pain hadn’t
startled Vegeta awake again. “Your friend’s the champion, you know,” a voice
said across the hall.
Zarbon raised his amber eyes to encounter Atlia. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s alive, so he must have beaten the champion,” Atlia stated dryly.
“Therefore he is the champion now.”
“Whole hell of a lot of good that does me,” Zarbon grumbled, returning his eyes
to Vegeta.
Atlia shrugged. “He will be treated better. If he chooses to remain here with
you, you’ll reap the benefits as well. But you’ll have to fight him, if you’re
strong like he is and make it through all your other matches. If it comes to
that, I don’t expect it will be any different than any other match, and one of
you will have to die.”
Zarbon scowled. “I can’t kill him. I’ve been ordered to bring him back alive to
my master,” he growled, getting tired of Atlia’s constant interrupting.
“I have a feeling he won’t hesitate to try and kill you. How much is your life
worth?” Atlia replied.
Zarbon sighed and laid and hand on Vegeta’s shoulder. “It’s forfeit either
way,” he said quietly.
Vegeta awoke some time later, the stone bottom of Zarbon’s bunk coming into
focus slowly. He tried to sit up, but found that his fractured ribs wouldn’t
even let him move. Even breathing was difficult, for someone had bound his
chest very tightly to restrict rib movement. “Zarbon?” he snarled, waiting for
the alien’s smooth reply. Only the constant sounds of the dungeon reached his
ears. “Zarbon!” he demanded angrily, upset that he wasn’t answered right away.
“He’s off at a match,” a voice replied.
“Atlia,” Vegeta hissed. “What in the hell is going on?” he spat as he turned
his head to look at the Arlian.
“Zarbon saw to your injuries after you were returned here. You’re the champion,
and so they furnished him with whatever supplied he needed to ensure your
readiness for further matches. Then, since he is fully healed, they sent him
off to fight, just like they did with you so long ago.”
Vegeta blinked at Atlia through his pain, realizing for the first time that one
of the Arlian’s forearms glinted with a gold decoration. “What’s that on your
arm?” Vegeta asked, his curiosity piqued.
Atlia turned away from him. “A promise,” he replied gruffly.
Vegeta smiled. “Oh, really? I saw a female with a thing just like that on her
forearm during my last match,” he said slyly.
Atlia spun around. “What? A female with a promise ornament?” he said.
“Why, yes, she was a dainty thing wrapped up in pink sitting in the royal box,”
he replied, white teeth showing as he smiled evilly.
“Lemlia...” Atlia breathed.
“A friend of yours?” Vegeta probed.
Atlia grunted. “We were engaged to be married, but during the war she was taken
from me and given to the new emperor.”
“That’s interesting,” Vegeta said nonchalantly. “So do you want her back very
badly?”
“Of course. But that doesn’t seem like something you’d understand,” Atlia said,
voice filling with distrust.
“What is she worth to you?” Vegeta asked coldly.
Atlia moved closer to the bars. “Everything.”
“I can get her back for you, if you’d like,” Vegeta said with a weak gesture of
his hand.
“What do you mean?” Atlia asked urgently.
“You can be together forever, for a small price,” Vegeta said, pretending to
examine his nails.
“Let’s hear your price,” Atlia replied skeptically, and sat down in preparation
for discussion.
“Awake, sweet prince?” Zarbon asked as he entered the cell and sat on the edge
of Vegeta’s bunk.
Vegeta slid his gaze to the alien’s pale green face. “Thanks to you. You did
such a poor job of wrapping my ribs that I can’t possibly rest,” he snarled.
“Oh, and pleasant as ever, I see,” Zarbon said with a smile. “Would you like to
know how my day was?”
“Shut up,” Vegeta replied.
“Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you,” Zarbon continued with a wave
of a hand. “I won all my matches and don’t even have a scratch because I didn’t
try to wipe out all the guards afterward.”
“Just wait until you have to fight the champion,” Vegeta hissed. “Then you’ll
wish the guards had killed you swiftly.”
Zarbon patted Vegeta’s shoulder, which earned him a venomous look. “We’ll just
have to wait and see, won’t we?” Zarbon chirped, reaching up to fiddle with one
of his earrings. He turned his back to Vegeta and sat for a while, picking at
the fabric of his leggings. The dungeon was fairly quiet, the only sounds the
distant strains of conversation and the dripping of water, and the only motion
was that of the flickering torches and a glimmering in Atlia’s cell. He sighed
and swiveled his torso to face Vegeta once again. “Honestly, Vegeta, why are
you awake? You should be resting.” he said quietly, trying to get the pitch
black eyes to meet his.
Vegeta shook his head. “Because I want to be,” he replied testily, not wanting
to admit that every time he closed his eyes he heard Radditz’s voice screaming
his name and saw a pair of bright blue eyes. Those strangely pale eyes, staring
into his...he knew she had been looking at Radditz, so why did it feel as if
she had been looking into him? What did she know about Saiyans? His stomach
felt odd when he thought about it, almost as if he was apprehensive. He
realized Zarbon was still looking at him, and finally locked the amber eyes in
a cool gaze. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Zarbon shook his head, little loose tendrils of green hair waving about in the
air with the motion. “I have a problem with you not getting rest, not that you
want to be awake,” he replied gently. His eyes roved over Vegeta’s face,
searching for anything other than hostility. He didn’t necessarily like the
little prince’s personality, but he did pass for company in the dank dungeon,
and Zarbon didn’t like conflict. “You know that we’ll end up fighting each
other,” he said, looking away.
Vegeta smiled, sharp white canines bright in the dim light of the cell. “I’ve
always wanted to kill you, from the first moment I saw you,” Vegeta said, humor
filtering into his voice. “I can’t wait to show you your place when we’re in
the arena, provided you last that long.”
Zarbon scowled but did not meet Vegeta’s sneer. “What makes you think I won’t
last? You did, and I’m not only stronger but have more experience. I came away
without any new injuries.”
Vegeta turned his head and spat on the floor in disdain. “I am Prince Vegeta,
the strongest individual of the strongest race in the universe. There is no
conceivable way that you could be stronger than me,” he replied coldly.
Zarbon planted his hands on his knees and stood up with a sigh. “If your race
is so strong, how come they’re all dead?” he said quietly as he floated up to
his bunk.
Vegeta heard Zarbon settle down for a nap, the rustling of clothing finally
giving away to steady breathing. Only then did Vegeta relax his guard enough to
show his angry snarl, feeling all the pain and loneliness of a lifetime of
knowing his race was doomed rise to the suface and exit in hot waves from his
skin, only to be carried away from him by the rancid drafts in a dungeon hundreds
of feet below the crust of an alien planet.
*~*~*~*~*