She showered and dressed, remembering to don the alert beeper, and then went down to the kitchen to begin cooking. Halfway into it, she reached for the sesame oil---and sighed in exasperation as she upturned the bottle and only a few drops came out. She'd meant to go to the pantry for more on the day she'd depleted this bottle, but as usual, other considerations had caused her to forget; she believed that might have been the day that Shiatar had fallen through the gate. It was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience; she sighed and made her way out of the kitchen and down the hall to the pantry.
Opening the door, she stepped into the large, vaulted chamber: her "pantry" was actually a vast storeroom, containing the stores of food she and Trunks had scavenged or bartered for in the last few years. Most of the food was not in capsules---she hadn't gotten around to encapsulating anything but the perishable items---but even the crates were organized neatly by category and content; after a brief glance at the diagram she'd posted on the wall, she walked through the mazelike rows of crates to find the oils, climbing up onto another crate to get to the one she wanted. She'd found the bottle and climbed back down when she paused, hearing something near the back of the chamber.
Frowning---the robots were supposed to track down and destroy any vermin that they found---she went back toward where she'd heard the sound, clutching the bottle of oil in her hand to clobber any unexpected little guests. She hated mice; if she had any of Trunks' powers, she'd blast the little bastards to hell whenever she found them. They and their even less pleasant rat cousins were much more prolific these days than they'd been before the Cyborgs.
As she moved through the crates, she noted the signs grimly: a half of an opened capsule lay on the ground, and beside it some grains of cooked rice and scraps of nori. Bulma ground her teeth. They'd gotten bold and smart enough to get into one of the capsules, and had eaten some of her precious perishable food. How they'd done it when the capsules were kept in crates of their own, however, she couldn't figure---Here was an opened crate. The plastic top had been shoved aside, enough for a man's fist to pass through the resulting opening. How in the hell had the mice done that? But then, the little vermin could get into anything, she'd heard, with enough time. And it had been a few weeks since she'd come in here . . . She was still staring at the crate when a shadow fell over it, and her.
She froze. Every nerve, every sense was jangling, setting off warning bells throughout her mind; she hadn't felt such fear since the day she'd first seen the cold eyes and falsely innocent faces of the Cyborgs, back when they'd first appeared. Instinctively, her hand groped for her waist and the alert beeper there, but some rational part of her mind insisted that there couldn't be danger here, without warning, in the heart of the Capsule Corporation; she was just overreacting, jumping at shadows, reacting to her fear of mice---
A heavy hand fell painfully on her shoulder, and jerked her around with fearsome strength. Bulma looked up into a startlingly familiar face---But he's dead! her mind cried---and had enough remaining presence of mind to press the beeper's button, just before the hand cuffed her lightly with the force of a hammer, and she fell unconscious to the floor.
Trunks had wandered into the kitchen earlier than usual, hoping to grab a few bites of food before he left again for the day; they hadn't finished everything at the capitol, and he hoped to go there for an hour or so to mop up a few tons of rubble that they'd missed. He blinked in surprise to find the kitchen empty, half-cooked breakfast sitting in the pan on the stove, but dismissed it; his mother must have just gone to the pantry to find something. In the meantime, he helped himself to the contents of the refrigerator.
Turning with a piece of fruit in his mouth, he spied Shiatar just shuffling in, and nodded in greeting as he moved over to the table and dumped his findings onto it; she yawned and waved her hand sleepily, sitting in her usual place. Trunks swallowed and pushed some of the food at her. "Kaasan must have stepped out for a moment," he said, talking around another bite from the fruit; from boyhood habit, his manners slipped a bit whenever Bulma wasn't around. "This'll tide us over until breakfast is ready."
She nodded absently, and he frowned at her. She looked as if she were still half-asleep. Seeing his frown, she blinked and shook her head. "It's nothing," she said. "I just didn't sleep well last night."
"Restless?"
She nodded again. "I couldn't really relax. I just kept seeing things in my mind---"
"Dreams?"
She shook her head. "Not anything that substantial. It was just . . . an uneasy feeling." She accepted the piece of fruit that he offered, and ate it without looking at it. Her eyes, he noted, were troubled. He'd had a restless night himself, but one tormented more by dreams of Shiatar's light fingers and smile than premonitions of doom . . . He sighed, lowering his eyes, and shook his head at her curious look. He had no intention of confiding that to her.
They'd almost completed their appetizers when Trunks stiffened, sitting bolt upright at the table. Shiatar frowned at him, putting her glass of juice down; the pale-haired demi-Saiyin looked as if he'd just seen a ghost. "Trunks-san?" He looked down at his waist, and plucked the alert beeper from his belt; it was vibrating rapidly. Shiatar gasped; he'd explained the beeper to her after the last time it had gone off. Bulma-san was in trouble---? She jumped up at the same time that he did. "Where is she? Can you tell?"
He shook his head, putting the beeper back on his belt absently as he turned, his eyes unfocusing. She could feel him casting about with his senses, searching for his mother's ki; she tried to do the same, but she'd never been good at finding humans that way. His face had fallen again into the lines that reminded her, unnervingly, of Prince Vejiita, but the determined concern in his eyes was all Trunks.
Abruptly he caught his breath. "I found her," he whispered, so focused on his inner sight that she suspected he'd forgotten her presence and was simply talking to himself. "She's in the pantry. But she's very weak." Abruptly he lifted off of the ground and shot toward the door, out into the hallway. Shiatar almost didn't react fast enough, squinting as his departure blew wind into her eyes; and then she was flying after him only a heartbeat later.
Trunks flew at the highest speed the narrow corridors permitted, rounding corners with absolutely no regard for momentum or the laws of physics; Shiatar had never flown at such speed in such close confines and trailed along behind him. When he got to the pantry, he ignored the cargo-sized doors as if they didn't exist and simply flew through them, blasting one completely off its hinges and leaving the other dangling by a screw, swinging precariously. Shiatar cursed inwardly; he was so concerned about his mother that he wasn't exercising caution. If there was some danger in the pantry, he was flying right into it . . .
She discovered how right she'd been when, as soon as he'd blown through the doorway in front of her, she heard a swift, hollow shoop and a thud; then there was a shout from Trunks, and a second heavier thud as his body flew out backwards through the opening he'd just made, slamming into the corridor wall.
Shiatar gasped and skidded to a halt, sliding to a landing near his form. "Trunks!"
He sat up immediately, face contorted with rage---and Shiatar gasped again, seeing what was now around his neck. A thin, flat band of silvery-black metal, perhaps two centimeters wide and shaped perfectly to the contours of his throat, as if it had been painted onto his flesh . . . Shiatar took an inadvertent step back, a flash of memory almost paralyzing her, and she stared at the band in horror as Trunks climbed to his feet, fists clenched.
"A restraining collar," she whispered aloud, and he turned, scowling at her.
"What?" His voice was savage, and she blinked. She didn't have time for stupidity; the collar could only mean one thing, and Trunks didn't know the danger he was in. She opened her mouth to explain, and stopped, feeling thin needles of ice thread their way through her spine, as a harsh laugh sounded behind her. A terrifyingly familiar laugh . . . Slowly she turned, and felt the blood drain from her face. She stepped back once, then a second time, as recognition hit her like a blow. Recognition . . . and fear.
"No," she whispered, unaware of Trunks' swift glance at her. "You're dead. I killed you . . ."
"Hello, Shiatar." The voice was exactly as she remembered, deep baritone with a cruel, repellent edge. He stepped up to the threshold of the door, reaching out negligently with one hand to knock the dangling door away from the opening, and smiled at her. Behind him, she could see a larger figure, also familiar, grinning at her; her eyes barely registered his presence. It was the one in front of her, whose tail lashed like a stalking cat's as he regarded her, who held her shocked and terrified eyes. Staring into his face, she was flung back to a night four years before, when this man had engineered the torture of her mind and the mutilation of her very spirit . . .
Radditz licked his lips, his eyes alight with unholy glee. "Didn't you miss your beloved mate?" he asked her, grinning. "I missed you, Shiatar."
Her mind was frozen in panic. Radditz's voice in her ear, close and soft: "You will learn to appreciate me," he'd whispered. "Soon you'll miss me when I'm gone . . ."
No! She clenched her fists, her voice shaking. "You're dead!" she cried. "I saw your body---I killed you myself!"
He chuckled, holding out his right hand, and she started, seeing the gleaming metal limb. Now she noticed his other scars, most noticeably the horrible slash through what had once been his eye, marring features that had once been handsome in the Saiya-jin fashion. "No, little one," he said, almost gently. "You came very close to killing me, I'll give you that. I didn't expect you to be such a little hellcat. But you didn't finish me off while you had the chance, and I recovered. I'm a lot stronger now. You won't surprise me again." He flashed his teeth in something other than a grin. "You did me a favor, really. So I've come to pay you back."
She took another step back, her heart pounding in her chest---and jumped when a hand fell upon her shoulder. She jerked her head around to look into Trunks' concerned face, and the sight returned to her a measure of control. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. "Shiatar," Trunks murmured. "Is this him? Radditz?"
Mutely, she nodded, and she was momentarily shocked by the sheer malevolence that flowed suddenly into his normally calm blue eyes. He nodded to her slowly. "I'll take care of him," Trunks said softly.
Fear made her grab his arm before he could turn to face Radditz. "No! Trunks, the thing around your neck, it's a restraining collar! It cuts your power by more than half!"
He frowned, reaching up with one hand to touch the metal band at his throat, and Radditz laughed, making them both turn to stare at him. "So, Shiatar, you've been cheating on me, is that it?" the Saiya-jin warrior laughed. "And with this scrawny little boy? When did you get into humans, girl?"
Trunks bristled, ignoring Shiatar's warning hand. "I am neither scrawny nor a boy nor human," he snapped.
"Hmmph. You look human. Whatever Saiya-jin fathered you must have had weak genes, then, if they're so hard to see in you."
Trunks made a snarling sound that Shiatar had never heard him make before and crouched low, but Shiatar's spirit was rallying rapidly. She reacted angrily, jumping to his defense. "His father's the Vejiita of this world," she snapped at her erstwhile mate. "You just insulted your own liege, you bastard."
"And I don't need my father's looks," Trunks spat beside her. "I've got his power. And then some!" He summoned his ki, gathering a tremendous blast between his hands---
---and a small fireball, weakly fizzling, spun from his fingertips at Radditz. The Saiya-jin laughed, batting the ball aside negligently, where it spattered against the wall and fizzled out. Trunks straightened, his eyes widening in shock, and he looked down at his hands as if they'd suddenly betrayed him.
Shiatar grabbed his arm. "I told you, it's the collar," she snapped. "It keeps your physical strength and your ki at a low level, so that even the weakest Saiya-jin can manage you. It's how they controlled us, back in my world!"
"He's too stupid to be a son of Vejiita," Radditz said, amused, stepping through the doorway and to one side. "Maybe it's his human half. He looks like the one we caught; is she his mother?" He gestured through the door, and both Shiatar and Trunks gasped in shock.
The larger of the two warriors was walking toward the doorway, negligently swinging the limp form of Bulma by her hair. Thankfully, she seemed to be unconscious; her ki was weak, but present. And Shiatar tensed, falling into her own crouch, at the sight of the one who carried her. "Nappa," she growled.
"Commander Nappa to you," growled the giant of a warrior. "Little demi-Saiyin upstart. His Highness Prince Vejiita ordered us to come and punish you for your presumption. Radditz, of course, as master of the Inquisitors, will handle the actual details. I will bring whatever is left of you back to the Prince when he is done. Your body will be displayed as an example for the other slaves."
Shiatar tensed, darting a glance at her ex-mate. Radditz smiled. "Did you really think we wouldn't find you? Vejiita-sama didn't hit you nearly hard enough to destroy your body, and he saw the little rabbit-hole you used to flee into this other world. He got the scientists to figure out what had happened, and they built an interesting little gadget for us. We did some exploring while we were searching for you; there's an infinite number of Earths out there just like this one, all ripe for the picking."
Shiatar gasped in horror, and Nappa smiled, swinging Bulma again. Beside her she heard Trunks snarl again, but he did not move. Of course, he can't attack, she realized, startled by the realization. If he does, that bastard might kill Bulma . . . Inadvertently Nappa had found Trunks' weakness. And between the collar and his concern for his mother, her former sensei would be nearly helpless . . .
"The Saiyan empire will spread to a thousand million worlds," Nappa said loftily, his eyes bright with fanatical zeal. "We will control every Earth in every dimension. We will rule not just our own universe, but every universe!"
"And you," Radditz said, his voice soft and malicious as he gazed at her, "showed us the way."
Shiatar gasped, as the full impact of what he meant struck her. If she hadn't fallen into Bulma's gate, they would never have had a need to develop the dimension-crossing technology. Now the evil that had infected her world would spread; a thousand, a million, infinite times worse. And it was her fault . . .
"You will spread nowhere," Trunks snapped, his voice pulling her from the rising cloud of her guilt. "You will die, here, on this Earth. And I will go with Shiatar back to your world to stop your empire there!"
What?! Shiatar turned, shocked, to stare at Trunks. Had he actually meant that?
Both Radditz and Nappa looked at each other, and laughed. "He says he's Vejiita's son," Radditz told his companion, "I think by that human offal in your hand. The Vejiita of this world must have had no taste!"
Nappa looked at Bulma; his hand was as big as the human woman's head. The massive warrior snorted. "Vejiita's son or not, he's half human. The low blood cancels the high. No demi-Saiyin can stand against full Saiya-jin warriors." He took a last glance at Bulma, and then tossed her body aside negligently. Trunks cried out and started forward; Bulma slammed into a pile of crates and sprawled among them as they scattered, unmoving. Shiatar caught his arm.
"Wait; her ki is still there," she told him. "She's alive."
Trunks relaxed, but only marginally, and even in spite of the collar she could feel the shock-wave of his fury. He smiled, and Shiatar saw a flicker of recognition in Nappa's eyes; when Trunks smiled like that, his resemblance to his father was indisputable. "Good," he replied, his voice soft. "Now I can avenge her."
And, she realized, his fury was on a level with her own. Now that the shock of seeing Radditz alive was passing, all of the accumulated hatred of the past few years came racing back to her. Years of hiding, the loss of her friends . . . Then she had come to this world, made new friends, found a new chance for hope and new power to make it true; how dare they come here to undo all that she had worked for! Bulma was alive, but who knew what condition she was in; the treatment that Nappa had given her was more than enough to kill a human. Bulma-san . . . Shiatar remembered the hug that the woman had given her, and how that simple gesture had made her feel. She looked at Trunks, ready to fight even with the collar crippling him, and suddenly she recalled that he was a Super Saiya-jin; the collar halved power, but half of Super Saiya-jin was still more than enough to kill these two. And she was not crippled at all.
Her fear was gone now, replaced by a scathing disgust as she stared at Radditz. This man had been the architect of her nightmares; he had hurt her as no one else ever had, broken her. But like him, she had reason to be thankful to this adversary. She was stronger, too, because of what he'd done to her---in both body and spirit. She'd once wished for this chance, and it seemed that some higher power had heard her desire: it was time for Radditz to taste the pain and humiliation of defeat. It was time for her nightmares to end. It was time for him to die, once and for all.
Trunks looked at her, and she shared a smile with him. He was more than her comrade; he was her friend, one of the only ones she'd ever had in her short life. He had done so much for her . . . and now she could begin to pay him back. As he smiled at her, she was suddenly struck by how handsome he was; with his pale hair and eyes and the chiselled lines of his face he was like an ice sculpture, beautiful and yet crystal-hard. Regal, she realized. He was a true prince, in nature as well as blood; she never would have thought that Vejiita's genes could produce someone like this. For a moment, the epiphany almost distracted her from her opponents, then she nodded to him, her resolve strengthening. He must not come to harm on this day, and if Bulma was truly injured, she would never forgive herself. She would not hide this time while her friends fought; this time, it would be her enemies who cowered and died.
Nappa and Radditz faced her. "We'll be home by sunset," said Nappa. Radditz only smiled, his eyes fixed on Shiatar. A hunger for vengeance burned in his eyes. Shiatar returned his smile; they would see whose vengeance was paid.
Her fists clenched, and she moved to stand beside Trunks. "Well, then, gentlemen," she drawled, sarcastically using the word Trunks had taught her. "Let's go outside, so that we can īdiscuss' things. I think we have a lot to catch up on."
Nappa raised his hand, and swirls of energy gathered in his palm; Shiatar and Trunks straightened as the energy coalesced, glowing with white light. Then the massive warrior pointed the first two fingers of his hand upwards at the ceiling, and a blast of energy shot from his fingers. When the smoke and falling rubble cleared---none of the four flinched as pieces of ceiling fell around them---a wide hole had been blasted through the ceiling and every level of the Capsule Corporation headquarters above them, all the way to the open sky.
Without another word, they all flew outside, into the arena.
Nappa and Shiatar's nemesis, Radditz, have arrived to bring Shiatar back to her world; they will kill Trunks, the defender of this Earth, if they can. But Shiatar and Trunks are Super Saiya-jin; the battle will be over quickly. Or . . . will it? In the next episode: ALL-OUT POWER ASSAULT!! IT'S UP TO SHIATAR!!!
