Chapter Text
The stench of blood filled in the air, catching in the back of Bulma’s throat. The Capsule hovercraft engines groaned into silence, and the dust settled. Great trenches and craters marred the desert surface, with shattered rocks still tumbling down between the towering buttes and mesas. Undoing her seat belt, she leaned over to the window, her eyes picked out the bright orange of a tattered gi.
Krillin.
“Oh god,” she breathed, heart in her throat. Behind her, the others made to get out, and Bulma spun around in the chair, ripping off the seat belt. “Don’t! Stay inside! We don’t know what’s going on ye—!”
A thunderclap cut through the air, leaving her ears ringing, and another stone pillar splintered into a thousand pieces and cloud of red dust. Down below, between the rubble, someone’s bloody and battered form hauled themself out of the rock, their gi ripped to shreds and black hair now grey with dirt.
“ Goku! ”
Chi-chi kicked the bay doors open, the steel bending, jumping out. Bulma clambered across the seats, landing on the sand stone with a grunt. Chi-chi made to head for the edge, ashen faced, hair flying, but Bulma caught her sleeve.
“Is that all you’ve got, Kakarot?” The question hung unanswered, bellowed out by some small, dark figure, stalking out of the ruin. Bulma’s throat seized, and she dug her fingers into Chi-Chi’s arm. She recognised that figure from the tv, she recognised that cutting voice and mess of black hair—a Saiyan.
“A couple of weakling wretches and your pathetic son? Is this really your planet’s finest?”
Chi-Chi ripped her arm from Bulma’s, her silk sleeve tearing and shrieked, “ Gohan! ”
The figure below looked up, face smeared with blood and dirt, eyes snapping onto them as hard and fast as a dog bite. Bulma’s hands moved of their own accord, dragging Chi-Chi back. “Get back in the plane,” she managed, voice hoarse, her chest tightening in some unseen grip. “Chi-Chi, get back in the plane.”
Static filled the air, sizzling and crawling through the ground and up her spine The rock itself seemed to vibrate, the air too thick to swallow, until with another, ear splitting crack and flash of blue, a man stood before them on the edge of the plateau. The thickness in the air grew again; Bulma couldn’t sense energy but she could taste this on her tongue. She willed her legs to move, but they wouldn’t, her feet rooted to the spot as she watched the man approach, achingly slow, a long, dark tail thrashing behind him.
“Oh, good,” he spat, red flecking the edges of his mouth, one dark eye roving across them, the other blinded. “More useless fodder.”
“Where is my son?” Chi-Chi snarled, cheeks slick with tears. “Tell me.”
The armour barely clung to his body, one shoulder pad blasted clean off. Beneath the blood and dirt and spit his skin was grey. “You’re his mother, are you?” He asked finally, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “I’d say I was sorry about the mess, but I’m really not.”
Chi-Chi started forward, and his hand flew up in an instant, palm open, blue ki crackling between his fingers. Bulma’s teeth ached, and she tasted iron. She’d never seen anything like it, not even Goku could summon something like this.
“Now, now,” he warned, good eye fixed on Chi-Chi. “I’m not done yet.”
“What do you want?” Master Roshi spoke, stepping out from behind the hovercraft, clinging to his staff. Behind him, Oolong and the others cowered.
“To take your blasted Dragon Balls, then destroy your stupid mudball and every one of you fools along with it,” the man snapped. “Enough talk, I’m over this!” He extended two fingers, pointing at them, and the ki surged, flaring white hot blue.
“W-wait! Wait hold on! If you want the Dragon Balls, you can’t kill us!” Bulma blurted, her brain churning words out faster than she could stop them. His expression flickered, the ki receding a fraction, and Bulma took it as permission to continue: “We’re the only people who know about them! I’ve been studying them for years.”
He paused, and seemed to consider her words. He lowered his hand. “ Oh? ”
“I-I know how to find them, I can track them and I know how they work,” she explained, stepping in front of Chi-Chi, the wind ripping at her polo-shirt and shorts. “And if you destroy the planet, then they won’t work, they’re connected to our friend Piccolo.”
“Is that so? And who is that?”
Bulma paused. God how would you describe Piccolo?
“H-he’s… uh… he’s Piccolo! Big, green, mean, uhh—cloak!”
“Ah, the Namekian,” the man said, his lip curling. “Funny, I saw him for a few minutes before my man blasted him.”
“Oh great, now, you’ve done it!” Oolong called, peering out from behind the hovercraft’s legs.
Under his beard, Master Roshi paled, and stammered, “I-if Piccolo’s dead that means Kami’s dead—!”
“What the hell is a Kami?” The stranger barked.
“—and that means the Dragon Balls no longer exist!”
A long silence followed, and the wind howled across the desert. The Saiyan settled back on his foot, regarding them with some unreadable expression before he let out a long, rattling laugh. He opened and closed his fingers, the ki arcing between his fingers like lightning until he threw back his head and screamed. The ground shook, rocks crumbling off from the mesa and suspended in the air around him. Chi-Chi grabbed hold of Bulma’s arms, holding on for dear life, as the earth shuddered to its core.
“Alright!” He shouted, the word ricocheting off rocks, splitting skulls. “Let’s try something else—you! Woman, you claim you can track Dragon Balls?”
Mouth dry, Bulma nodded. She opened her fanny pack hastily, pulling out the Dragon radar, the screen dark. “Y-yeah, with this,” she explained.
“Good! Hand it over.”
“No.”
“ No? ” He growled, and the hairs on her neck stood on end.
Bulma stepped forward, closing the distance, legs trembling. “How about we make a deal instead?”
“ How about I just take it from you and then blow your pitiful planet up? ”
“Because you don’t know how the radar works, and if you destroy me, you’ll destroy the radar, and you won’t get whatever wish you’re hoping for,” she hissed.
Blood dripped down his chin, his chest heaving, and she could see his mind race. He stuffed a hand down a pocket on his side, whipping out a thin metallic square, and pressed something. A remote.
“You’re lucky, you know,” he explained, his voice low as thunder. “If the Dragon Balls were made by that Namekian, that means there may be a chance for more on their planet of Namek. So, perhaps, you will serve a use after all.”
“I’m a scientist as well,” Bulma added, hopefully. “I made that radar and I’ve invented hundreds of other things.”
“I don’t care. If you find some Dragon Balls, then I’ll spare this useless rock.”
In the distance, something rumbled, like a plane crossing the sky overhead. Chi-Chi let go of Bulma’s arm, leaving deep bruises on her skin, hissing, “what are you doing?”
“Giving you a chance,” Bulma grunted, keeping her eyes level with the stranger.
“Bulma, you can’t do this,” Chi-Chi warned, taking her hand and squeezing. “You can’t trust him, think of the others, there’ll be another way.”
“This is only way.” Her voice was so hollow and calm that Bulma barely recognised it as her own. “Go get the others, I’ll stay here.”
“Bulma—!”
“Chi-Chi, let’s go! We have to get to Goku and the others now!” Master Roshi called, already making for the pilot’s seat in the hovercraft. Oolong and Korin appeared in the door, urging Chi-Chi to follow. Her grip on Bulma’s hand tightened, her fingers growing numb. The two of them exchanged a look, and Bulma set her jaw with the slightest nod.
“Come back in one piece,” Chi-Chi said, eyes red, before she let Bulma’s hand slip from her own, and jumped into the hovercraft behind her.
The engine whirred, and the wind picked up. Bulma turned back to the Saiyan in front of her, keeping her shoulders back as the hovercraft whirred into life, kicking up dust and stones as it took off, and pulled away. It headed straight for the bottom of the valley, and the entire time, Bulma kept her gaze locked with his.
“I don’t know whether to call you brave, or stupid,” he said, finally.
“I don’t know what to call you either.”
He smirked, straightening himself. “I’m the Prince of all Saiyans, Prince Vegeta, and I just spared your miserable life and planet, so you might want to be a little more thankful.”
The rumbling grew louder, and something appeared in the vast blue sky, a comet, hurtling towards the earth, piercing the clouds and heading straight for them. Vegeta remained still, watching her, his breathing wet and heavy.
“You don’t look so good,” Bulma said.
He glared, teeth bared. “I don’t need your filthy pity.”
Her brow rose a fraction. “It wasn’t pity.”
Something streaked across the sky in a blinding flash, and struck the earth with a low boom, sending shock waves through Bulma’s chest and causing her to stumble. The light faded, and she squinted in the midday sun, until she saw a freshly made crater on the edge of the mesa. A pale sphere lay in the middle of the crater, with the outline of a door and dark, round window.
Vegeta appeared beside her, the ki still billowing from his skin. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” He pushed her forward, nearly sending her flying, and she stumbled towards the crater.
“What is that?” She asked, looking over the edge of the crater at the object, its surface scratched and dented, but its shape still unnervingly alien.
“Shut up,” he grunted, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her down the side of the crater, towards pod. It hissed, and a door popped open, landing with a thud on the still warm earth. Inside sat a single pilot’s chair, with controls and buttons on the arms, the walls padded with some kind of insulation. Bulma’s eyes widened, taking in the respirator hooked behind the chair, the displays hanging from the ceiling near the top of the door, everything about it was unfamiliar, and fascinating—but Vegeta’s rough hand found her shoulder again, shoving her forward and almost into the door. “ Get in! ”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shoved her into the chair’s arm, clambering in beside her, and settling back with a groan. Bulma stuffed herself into the side of the pod, squashed between the seat, the wall, and Vegeta himself, who seemed to be doing his best to avoid touching her at any cost. The pod door slammed shut, and Bulma let out a scream. “Jesus Christ!” She managed.
The displays burst into life, blinking and beeping, symbols flashing across the screens mixed with graphs and maps. It was all happening so fast Bulma barely had time to think. Vegeta reached out and pressed something, and the pod rumbled. Bulma gripped the back of the chair, face white, and made to hunker down a little more, but the pod lurched, and she slammed back against the wall.
Out the window, the ground fell away, and the scale of the destruction became obvious; the pockmarked earth, new scarred valleys, and entire pieces of land blown away and missing. Shaking, the pod shot into the air and Bulma lifted her head as they broke through the clouds, and she could see the distant outline of cities and roads beyond the desert, and then the hills and mountains, and then the blue curve of the planet’s surface. It passed in moments, too quick to catch, too fast to even register until the pod lurched again, breaking through the atmosphere with a violent shudder, and fell still. Bulma slumped forward, across Vegeta’s side, hot blood smearing across her arm.
In the lull, it felt like a dream. The pod seemed to float, deathly still, the window to the outside now dark, and the glow of the screens the only source of light. Minutes passed in silence broken only by the quiet beeping of the control panel, and Vegeta’s laboured breaths. Something soft and hairy brushed against the naked skin of her calf, and the spell broke.
“This is ridiculous!” Bulma shouted, pushing her back up against the edge of the pod to avoid his tail, nearly kneeing him in the chest.
Bunched up in the seat, bruises blooming on his face, Vegeta snarled, “shut up! I didn’t exactly plan for this!”
“You’re bleeding everywhere!”
“Would you like me to apologise?” He seethed, wiping his face with the back of glove, leaving a dark streak. “Just shut the hell up and stop moving !”
“There’s hardly any room!”
“ Woman! ” Bulma’s breath hitched, his hand around her wrist. His grip tightened, and Bulma suppressed a wince. The glare he gave her was deadly, blood streaming from his blind eye. “Stop moving, or I will snap each of your limbs.”
“Too bad I need limbs to locate Dragon Balls!” Bulma hissed, keeping still. Half sitting on him, half sitting on the arm rest, her knees shook with effort. She held his gaze; even battered and heaving, he was savage. The seconds dragged out, the tension threatening to suffocate, until he let go, and Bulma snatched her hand away.
“You don’t need all of them,” he said, with some thread of what she thought was pain weaved into his tone.
Bulma cast a quick glance to her wrist, opening and closing her fingers a few times, before turning back to him. He’d been a terrifying mirage of death from above, and now he sagged in the pilot seat, every breath coming out in a wheeze. All the bravado and confidence was gone.
“Are you going to be ok?” The words came out automatically, and the second they started to form, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Vegeta rounded on her again, blood and spittle flying. “I am a Saiyan elite! This is nothing! Do you really think you snivelling Earthlings had me?” She heard a grinding sound, and realised it was his teeth. “This is nothing.”
Bulma sucked in a short breath, and picked her next words carefully. “Does this thing fly itself?”
Vegeta let out a sigh, and his whole frame shuddered. He pressed his temple to the side of the pod, leaning away from her, grumbling, “it has pre-set coordinates.”
Bulma risked a look over her shoulder and out the pod window again, but it was an endless expanse of darkness. If it wasn’t for the quiet groan of some hidden engine, she wouldn’t have thought they were even moving. “Where to?”
He was silent, and for a moment, Bulma wondered if he had fallen unconscious, until she saw him reach out, jab a few buttons and bring up a display. “Frieza planet 79, of course,” he groaned. He let out another sigh, and mumbled something under his breath like “I don’t know what I expected.”
“What’s that?” Bulma asked.
“Shut up, woman, enough questions! You’re my prisoner, not a damn tourist.”
“I just want to know what planet I’m going to be imprisoned on, jerk!” Anger swallowed up any remaining shred of fear, and she found herself yelling. “I want to know where the hell I’m going, I want to know who the hell is going to be there, and I want to know how long I am going to be stuck in a fucking ball! ”
“I don’t have to tell you anything! You should just be grateful I haven’t slaughtered you just like your weakling friends! If we weren’t in deep space with no room to move I’d kill you if your corpse wasn’t going to get in my way!” He roared back.
“If my dead body is going to be such a huge inconvenience to you in this bubble, then you might as well tell me how long it’ll take to get to somewhere where it won’t be such a damn bother then!”
“It’ll take no time at fucking all when we’re in stasis!” Vegeta yelled. “The second I’m on Planet 79 I’m going to gut you, vile wench!”
“Not if I kick you in the nuts first, you bastard!”
The baited silence returned, like a room full of gas just waiting for a spark. They glared at each other, trembling with rage, until Bulma cracked, eyes watering, and stuck her tongue out in one last hurrah.
“Your life is hanging by a thread, you’re lucky that I want the Dragon Balls more than I want to blast you into oblivion right now, but you best watch your tongue,” Vegeta wheezed. “I’m the prince of all Saiyans, and I’ll blow up your pathetic excuse for a planet and you along with it if you cross me.”
“You’re the one who is hanging on by a thread, you’re about to collapse—!”
Vegeta’s hand shot up between them, a tiny ki ball crackling on the end of two fingers pointed at her throat. Bulma slammed her mouth shut, and held her breath.
“Where’s all that bravery now?” He spat each word. Static electricity crawled across Bulma’s skin, the ki ball mere inches from her neck. “You talk big words for someone as weak as you.”
“If I’m so weak, then what I say shouldn’t even bother you,” Bulma hissed between her teeth.
The ki ball went out, and Vegeta threw his hand down, shooting daggers. “We’ll come out of stasis just before we land. When we do, keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shoot it off, and just follow me.” He reached out for the control panel, hand stiff, and Bulma realised he was trying to stop it shaking.
Bulma opened her mouth to ask him what exactly he meant by ‘stasis’, and how that would even occur, but he slammed his hand down on a button, and the last thing she saw before she slumped back against him were the flickering lights on the control panel, fading into nothing.
FIVE MINUTES TO PLANET FRIEZA 79.
PREPARE LANDING SEQUENCE.
STASIS TERMINATED.
ALL VITALS.... NORMAL.
Bulma woke with a start, and an elbow to the ribs. Vegeta gasped, his breathing ragged. In her black out, she’d somehow fallen across him, their heads next to each other. The second the automated message spoke, they’d woken, and tried to push the other off, until they hit the sides of the pod. “Get off me, woman!” Vegeta barked, still bleeding.
She pushed back against him with her knees. “Why don’t you get off me ? Jerk!”
“Because you’re almost standing on top of m— !”
FOUR MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE, INITIATING LANDING SEQUENCE.
“Four minutes?” Bulma repeated. She turned to the glass, bleary eyed, and gaped. The surface of some unknown planet stretched before them, wreathed in clouds and a deep, foreboding darkness. “Oh, god we’re so close.”
“Yeah, four minutes close,” Vegeta rasped.
Bulma blinked, and turned her head to him slowly. Was that an attempt at a joke? The pod shook, and rumbled, lights flickering. Bulma adjusted herself, trying not to knee Vegeta in his chest. “What is this planet, what’s there?”
“Have you not heard anything I’ve said?”
“I’m trying to drown out your screaming,” Bulma grumbled, pushing her hair out of her face. She leaned over him, peering at the lights and displays. She recognised some kind map of the planet, and a larger topographic map; it looked similar to the primary flight display in Earth planes and helicopters, but still too foreign to understand. “Aren’t we coming in too fast?” She breathed, leaning further across him to puzzle at the displays. “Have we hit the atmosphere yet?”
“Get off me, woman, for the last time!” Vegeta snapped, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her back on the arm rest. “If I tell you will you stop clambering over the top of me?”
“Yes! I will, for now!”
Vegeta growled, looking away. “Planet Frieza 79 is a prominent military outpost, we’re going to land somewhere inside it and when we land we’re going to be swarmed with soldiers and you are going to have to shut your damn mouth!” The words all spilled out of him as fast as the pod, and when he finished, he immediately turned back to the displays, jaw set.
“M-military?” Bulma began. “Whose military? What for? You’re part of it?”
THREE MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE.
“Shut up!” He snarled again. “I’m in no one’s fucking military, I’m a warrior in my own right.”
“Ok, ok, fine, I get it,” Bulma replied, her face reflected in the window. The planet surface closed in, achingly slow, the clouds twisting beneath them. The pod shuddered, and Bulma flew forward against the window with a scream. A hand grabbed a fistful of shirt, wrenching her back by the scruff of her neck and against something hard. She realised after a moment, Vegeta had hauled her back onto his lap. Before she had time to think, he wrenched a seatbelt across them both, and gripped the armrests.
“I’m not letting you split your skull before you get my Dragon Balls,” he said through grit teeth, but his voice was hoarse, failing in his throat. Bulma twisted around to look in his face. His head lolled against his shoulder, his eyes flickering.
“Hey, hey don’t pass out,” Bulma warned. She lifted her hand, and hesitated, before she placed it on his arm, shaking it gently. “Hey! Stay awake! What the hell will we do if you’re unconscious?”
She thought he saw the corners of his mouth quirk. “I’d never pass out,” he managed.
“Ok, fine, keep it that way until we land!” The pod hitched with a resounding boom, shaking with turbulence, cutting Bulma short.
TWO MINUTES TO PLANET SURFACE. ENGAGING LANDING SEQUENCE.
The turbulence grew, the pod’s shaking turning into a devastating quake. The planet’s surface closed in, and with a loud, resounding thud, the pod pierced through the atmosphere. Light wreathed the window, a blinding hot aurora that grew with every second.
ONE MINUTE TO PLANET SURFACE. IMPACT IMMINENT…
Vegeta stiffened, digging his fingers into the armrest, almost ripping the heavy duty fabric, and Bulma’s grip on his arm tightened.
IMPACT IN 30, 20, 10…
Bulma braced herself, slamming her boots on the edge of the control panel, keeping her knees and legs bent.
5, 4, 3…
The ground rushed towards them, full of mountains and valleys, with clusters of lights and buildings.
2, 1…
They struck the ground with a bang, and Bulma lurched forward forward the seat belt cutting into her chest. The pod wobbled, and fell still.
LANDING SUCCESSFUL.
GO GET ‘EM!
Bulma caught her breath, hair in her eyes, her hands white. She reached for the belt buckle, her fingers fumbling with the clasp until it released, and she fell forward. Vegeta groaned behind her, and moved. Something popped, and with a hiss, the front of the pod came loose. Stirring and pushing her aside, Vegeta kicked the door, and the front of the pod flew open, cold air rushing in. Bulma gasped, and Vegeta knocked her aside, getting to his feet. Bulma made to follow, squinting against the sudden light, but Vegeta’s iron grasp caught her under the arm, and threw her out of the pod.
“Vegeta? Is that you?” Someone called.
“Fuck off, and stay out of my way!” Vegeta barked, jumping out and landing next to Bulma on stone tiles. Bulma lifted her head, brain swimming, and blinked. The sky above was dark, scattered with distant stars and a menacing near-by moon. Sleek white buildings, all curves and round edges rose up out of some dark and rocky plane, and Bulma scrambled to her feet, forgetting the pain in her side. Dozens of people closed in, of all shapes and sizes, some barely clinging to the description of ‘people’, each wearing the same severe shoulder padded breast plates and armour as Vegeta.
His hand found her arm again, and he wrenched her close. “Get back!”
The other soldiers paused, eyes wide, and stepped back. Even bloody and at death’s door, Vegeta’s presence commanded respect. Chest heaving, he pushed Bulma in front of him, and spoke, his voice ragged. “This here is my prisoner, understood? Touch her before I get her to Frieza and I’ll paint the floor with you.”
“V-Vegeta, where’s Nappa?” A bearded man asked.
“Dead,” Vegeta replied, steering Bulma forward, making her trip.
“Who killed him?” Asked a thing with a frog’s face, hobbling after Vegeta for a few steps until he gave them a withering stare.
“ Me .”
Shouldering people aside, he plowed through the group, steering Bulma across the flagstone floor towards an opening in the building. Everything was white, brightly lit and searing. Control panels, displays and screens filled every inch of round wall, with lights flickering and machines buzzing. People milled around the room, all dressed in armour, each wearing the same headset Vegeta had when he first arrived. Bulma felt them watching him, watching her, their eyes slithering across her back.
His fingers bit into her arm, but she could feel them faltering. Out of the corner of her eye, Bulma saw him, back straight, shoulders down, and head held high with dried blood cracking over his cheeks and jaw, giving off the air of some great returning warrior. But underneath his mouth trembled, and his jaw twitched.
He turned her down a corner, down a hallway, and then around another corner, his grip loosening with each step, until he pushed her roughly into a large, round room that was darker than the others, and bathed in some mysterious cool glow.
“Vegeta? Sir?” A voice hazarded as the door slid shut behind them. Vegeta’s hand slipped from her arm, and he stumbled against the wall. “Sir! You’re injured!” A figure rushed forward, and Bulma suppressed another scream.
A lizard, bent double, and dressed in white robes rushed forward, reached for Vegeta to hold him upright, but he pushed them away with a snarl. “Don’t touch me! I’m fine! I just need time in the isolation chamber.”
“R-right, quickly, come this way, I’ll set it up,” the lizard said, rushing towards the control panel of a great glass dome, filled with liquid. The room had a dozen or so glass chambers, all giving off an eerie blue light, each with its own control panel and set of stairs.
Vegeta took a few steps forward, Bulma just behind, before he turned and snatched up her wrist again. “Don’t leave this room,” he said, firmly. “Dr Malaka is no threat to you, but if you leave here, others will be, and I’m not responsible for their actions.”
“The chamber’s ready,” the doctor called over his shoulder.
Hot blood seeped between Vegeta’s fingers and onto Bulma’s wrist. “The second I am done, you and I are going to Namek to find those Dragon Balls. If you so much as think of betraying me and trying to escape, I’ll blast you to nothing.”
“So you keep saying. I’m not going anywhere,” Bulma replied, slipping her hand free. “Where the hell would I even go?”
He smirked, dipping his head in a nod. “Hmph, well, I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason instead of running your mouth.”
“Just get in your stupid fish tank!” Bulma spat, earning another thin smile.
He turned and the doctor busied himself helping Vegeta remove his damaged armour. Bulma drifted towards the wall, careful not to lean directly on any control panels as she slid down and onto the floor. She pulled the fanny pack on her hip around to the front, rifling through the contents for the Dragon radar and capsule storage box. She flicked the radar on, and the screen turned green, powering up. Letting out a relieved whistle, she turned her attention to the box. She turned it looking for damage to it or any of the capsules inside but it seemed fine despite the rocky landing.
There was a hiss and heavy, booming thud, and Bulma jumped. The doctor poured over the control panel, his claws clicking on a keyboard as blue liquid filled the sealed tank. Inside, Vegeta settled, electrodes to his temples, and a breathing mask over his mouth and nose. The liquid reached the top of the tank, and the doctor stepped back, something akin to worry across his broad face.
He seemed to remember Bulma, and wheeled around. “Who are you?” He asked.
“If you touch me or try to kill me, Vegeta will blow your face up!” Bulma said, stuffing the locator and storage box away.
“I’m not going to kill you, I’m a doctor not a soldier,” Dr Malaka explained with a half smile. “I’m fully aware of what he’d do.” He shuffled across the room, and offered a scaly, clawed hand.
Bulma hesitated, but reached out, and shook it. “I’m Bulma,” she said, quietly. “I’m a scientist.” Well, an inventor, her brain corrected, but really, what did it matter?
“What use would a scientist be to Vegeta of all people?” The doctor asked, shrewdly.
“Maybe you should ask him?”
The doctor laughed, low and hissing. He wiped something from his eye, and offered her a cock eyed grin. “Well, you’re certainly feisty! I’m sure he’ll get good value out of that.”
“How long will he be?” Bulma asked, suddenly.
Dr Malaka looked over his shoulder back at the healing tank, inside, Vegeta’s hair swayed slightly in the liquid, and the control panel beeped rhythmically. Bulma recognised one of the displays as a vital signs monitor, measuring cardiac rhythm and breathing. “Not long,” the doctor concluded. “Saiyans are a tough and stubborn race, it’s built right into the fabric of their being. He’ll be out of there in half an hour, if that.”
“Was it bad?”
Dr Malaka turned to her, eyes narrowed, before saying slowly, “like I said, they’re tough and stubborn, but they are not impervious to harm.”
“So it was bad, then?”
“To put it simply, yes,” the doctor grumbled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He returned to the control panel by the tank, and the sound of clicking keys filled the deserted room.
Bulma sank back onto the cool tile floor, everything aching. All the adrenaline had started to wear off and she didn’t realise just how exhausted she was until now. She reached up, running her hands through her hair, before dragging them down her face with a groan. Her shirt and shorts were crusty with sweat, dirt and blood that wasn’t hers. She rubbed off the dried blood on her arms, and the thoughts churned out.
What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this? Clearly she couldn’t, there was nowhere to go, and no way back to Earth. At least, not any way that was feasible right now . She didn’t understand alien technology, but, maybe, if she studied it closely—but that could take months!
She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her phone. The lock screen flashed, and her throat went tight. It was just a picture of her dad’s cat, all black with big green eyes, but it represented everyone back home. She saved them, at least. That was her one consolation, she’d saved them before anymore of her friends could die, and if she played her cards right, if she could somehow, some way, make a wish before Vegeta, she could bring them back. She could make it right again.
She fingered the edge of her phone, digging her nail between the hard case and screen. Yamcha might even stop being a jerk if she brought him back to life, she thought, falsely. It brought a weak smile to her face at least. With a sniff she looked up at the tank again.
She’d been so caught up with the fighting, and the screaming, and the arguing and the threatening, that she’d never realised how small he actually was. For some reason, in her mind, she had thought he was huge, but in reality, he must have only been an inch or two taller than her, if that, it was only his hair and the deadly energy that radiated off him that made him feel so much bigger. Suspended in the tank, eyes closed, still scowling, he looked almost harmless.
Almost.
Bulma got to her feet, her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room, tentatively approaching the tank. “How do these things work?” Bulma asked.
The doctor didn’t look up, peering critically at Vegeta’s heart rate on a monitor. “Artificially grown cells suspended in a liquid matrix,” Dr Malaka explained with a wave of his clawed hand. “They repair and regenerate lost and injured tissue.”
“Like stem cells then, but on larger scale,” Bulma remarked, taking another step closer. The tank was huge, with wires and pipes clustered around the top leading into some unknown area in the ceiling. Inside the tank, she saw Vegeta’s brow twitching, and his scowl deepen. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Dr Malaka grunted in response.
“I thought he was going to die at a few points,” Bulma continued, her voice clipped. “Crushed under rocks, shot in the chest, blown to smithereens but somehow he kept coming back.”
“That’s how Saiyans are,” Dr Malaka confirmed.
“It was a nightmare.”
Dr Malaka paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the keyboard. “Yes, it’s like that.”
The minutes passed in silence, except for the sound of the doctor moving between panels, adjusting things, monitoring displays, and all the while, typing notes. Bulma slumped down on the floor, back to the nearest empty tank, resting her chin on her knees and staring at intensely at Vegeta’s profile.
She may not have liked him, and didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, but at the moment, he was all that stood between her and the everything else around her. She felt confident in the knowledge that she was too valuable for him to kill, she had the upper hand when it came to knowledge of the Dragon Balls, and if he wanted them that badly, he would be a fool to get rid of her and his only chance of getting them—but still, the fear lingered, somewhere deep inside her.
Something chimed, and Dr Malaka looked up. He pressed a few buttons, and the healing tank gurgled, and started to go down. Bulma shot to her feet.
The liquid drained, and Vegeta’s body sank, his hair still standing on end. Dr Malaka punched in a code, and something metal inside the tank clunked, the front opening up. Dr Malaka lifted the door, and Vegeta stumbled out, ripping the electrodes off, and snatching up a towel from Dr Malaka’s waiting hands. All the blood was gone, no bruises or lacerations, and his eye by the look of it had healed entirely.
“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Bulma announced, half jeering and folding her arms.
Vegeta threw a glance her way, and ignored her. Scars littered his back, taut silver skin built over the top of each other in a violent crosshatch, and the sight of them caused a shiver to run down Bulma’s spine.
“Seems like you ran into a lot of trouble, Vegeta,” Dr Malaka said, inspecting the almost shattered breast plate. “This armour is high quality, and you’ve reduced it to tatters.”
“Hmph.”
Vegeta started pulling on the fresh leggings that Dr Malaka had laid out on a table. Bulma bobbed her head from a distance, trying to see what was going on but not daring to move closer or give away her piqued interest. Something about the fabric wasn’t quite right, it looked thick and rubbery like a wetsuit, but it stretched with ease. “Tell me, where is Frieza?” Vegeta’s voice cut through her thoughts like a rusty knife.
“Off planet. He departed recently.”
Vegeta worked his arms through his over shirt, before reaching for a brand new breastplate, gleaming in the half light. “Tch. Sick of this place already, is he?” He caught Bulma watching, and glared. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Hardly,” Bulma replied.
“Good, because you shouldn’t be,” Vegeta said, working on another pair of fresh white gloves.
The doctor cleared his throat. “There was a message from Cui as well while you were out, he said as soon as your treatment was done he needed to speak with you about something in the training room.”
“Is that a fact?” Vegeta asked slowly, his mouth lengthening into another sour sneer. “Well, you can tell him I’ve got nothing to say.”
“You could just tell him yourse—”
“ Woman! ” Vegeta barked, jumping to his feet, his stance once again cocky and regal. “Wipe that look off your face, we’re going.”
“Wait—sir, you’re forgetting your scouter!” Dr Malaka started after them, holding a strange headset with a dark green visor.
Vegeta’s eyes darted between the scouter, the doctor and then Bulma, before he announced, stiffly, “ah, of course. How foolish of me.” He took it, but didn’t put it on, and headed for the door with Bulma in his wake. The second the doors closed and they were out into the deserted hallway, he shoved the scouter into Bulma’s hands. “I have no use for this.”
“Gee, thank you , who knew you’d be so generous,” Bulma drawled.
Vegeta’s smirk returned, canines breaching his lip. “I am very generous, aren’t I? Just look at how I let you live despite how annoying you are!” He took hold of her wrist again, and dragged her down the hallway, his tail thrashing.
“Hey! Hey, slow down! I can’t put this into my bag if you keep dislocating my shoulder dragging me around!” Bulma started.
Vegeta’s grip grew, and he wrenched her forward a few steps, making her stumble. “Shut the hell up!”
Bulma did her best slip the headset inside her fanny pack along with everything else, trotting after Vegeta. They passed by soldiers pushing trolleys of gas canisters and armour, and the occasional long soldier stalking up the hall. They all paused for a moment, with dubious expressions, before continuing on. It seemed like everyone thought about saying something, but then thought better of it.
“Yo, Vegeta,” growled a voice, and Bulma walked straight into Vegeta’s back. He barely flinched, eyes fixed on a tall, blue skinned alien, with a face like a fish, complete with catfish whiskers. “Beaten to a pulp on some backwater planet, with Raditz and Nappa dead. To whom do the supposedly invincible Saiyans owe the pleasure of this grief to?”
“Get lost, Cui,” Vegeta said, tilting his head. “I don’t have time for your drivel.”
“Hold on there.” Cui’s hand found the edge of Vegeta’s shoulder pad, and the alien eyed the two of them with a wicked grin. “I heard Frieza is mighty unhappy with you for running off to that planet with your fellow monkeys. I’m sure it’ll only gets worse if he finds out you’re harbouring illegals as well. Just what were you planning to do with her, then?”
“Creep!” Bulma spat.
“If he’s not here, then he can’t gripe about it,” Vegeta replied, shaking Cui’s hand off. He leaned back on his heel, turning ever so slightly to block Bulma.
“What’s the rush?” Cui asked, lip curling. “Off to Namek are we?”
Bulma eyed Vegeta’s hands, and how his fists tightened. “Come again?”
“Frieza has been in a good mood since he found out about the Dragon Balls, in fact, he might even be lenient towards you for letting him know about how he can use them to gain immortality.”
Vegeta’s shoulders squared. “What?”
“He heard you on the scouter,” Cui explained, taking a step forward, his shadow falling across them. “I wonder just how much he heard—?”
Before Cui could finish, Vegeta’s fist slammed into his gut. Cui stumbled, groaning, and in the second it took for him to gather himself, Vegeta grabbed Bulma around the middle, threw her over his shoulder, and bolted.
Bulma clung to his pauldrons, the wind knocked out of her. Vegeta’s arm dug into her middle, almost crushing her, and she spluttered, “what the hell is wrong with you?”
Vegeta skidded around a corner, Bulma’s head narrowly missing the wall. His tail flew out behind him, and he sprinted down the hall. “I won’t let him do this! I won’t let him! I won’t let him!” Vegeta howled.
“Vegeta! Come back here!” Cui screamed after them. Bulma lifted her head in time to see the blue alien burst out from the corner behind them.
“ I won’t let him steal my wish! ” Vegeta shrieked, hurtling out the archway entrance and onto the landing pad, making a b-line towards the banged up pod.
“Vegeta, put me down!” Bulma wheezed, clawing at his armour. “I can’t breathe!”
Vegeta kicked the pod, screaming, the door flying open with a thud. He threw Bulma inside, and she hit the pilot’s chair hard, coughing and gasping for breath. Vegeta leapt in, pushing her aside and slamming the pod door closed, half rabid. “You filthy fucking bastard! Immortality is mine!”
“You’re going to break something!” Bulma coughed, bent double on the arm rest.
“ I’m going to break his neck! ” He screamed, his hands shaking as he punched in co-ordinates. Energy crackled in the air, the hairs on Bulma’s arms standing on end.
She pushed her back against the padded wall, trying to keep as far away from Vegeta as possible as he cursed and spat, displays flashing. Being stuck in a cramped pod with him while he was half unconscious was one thing, but this was crawling inside the atom bomb, and telling everyone ‘surprise me’.
Outside the window, figures moved, running towards them, shouting. She recognised Cui among them, nursing his stomach. The pod rumbled, and the displays blinked.
MANUAL OVERRIDE CODE ACCEPTED. COORDINATES RESET.
Vegeta threw himself into the pilot’s seat, the leather tearing under his iron grip.
COORDINATES 9045XY TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED.
LET’S GET TO IT Y’ALL!
The pod shuddered, and lurched forward, throwing Bulma back against the wall as it blasted off.
“ I won’t let you get away with this! ” Vegeta yelled, voice hoarse.
The pod hitched in the air, turning, and hurtled forward towards the edge of the atmosphere and the unfathomable blackness beyond. Vegeta’s breathing slowed. The vein in his temple still throbbed, threatening to explode, but he sucked in a sharp breath.
They sat in silence for a moment, Bulma keeping deathly still, not even risking turning her head to look out the window at the fast approaching stars, lest Vegeta notice. He seemed to forget she was there, still shaking in his seat. After a long minute, Bulma dared to move, inching her legs out from being wedged between the arm of the pilots seat and the control panel.
His head whipped around, eyes fixed on hers. Licking his lips, and pointed at her with a trembling hand. “You better hope your locator works,” he said. “Because if we get to Namek, and you’ve been telling lies, there is not a thing in this galaxy that will save you from me.”
“It’ll work,” Bulma assured, holding his gaze. “It worked on Earth; it’ll work there too.”
He ripped the leather off the seat, turning back to the control panel. “That fucking bastard! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! ”
“Hey, careful,” Bulma began, instinctively reaching out towards his shoulder.
“Don’t tell me to be careful! Don’t tell me what to do!” Vegeta shouted, every word ricocheting off the pod walls. “I am nobody’s slave! I’m nobody’s fucking lackey !”
“You’re not a slave, it’s ok! I’m not telling you what to do!” Bulma said, hands up. “I just don’t want you to crash this thing!”
“I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him!” His shoulders started to shake again, sweat forming on his brow. “I will make my wish and I’ll kill him!”
“Which button is the stasis button?” Bulma asked, leaning forward.
“Oh, I don’t know!” Vegeta mocked, rage building. “Maybe the big one clearly labeled ‘STASIS’?”
“Ok, cool.”
Bulma’s hand shot out between them, and hit the only button on the control panel that had any sort of writing above it. Vegeta opened his mouth to shout something, Bulma lifted her hand a fraction, wondering if she’d pressed the right one, before everything winked into blackness.