Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Kind Words and a Ki Blast ❯ Chapter 1

Kind Words and a Ki Blast

Dislaimer: Dragonball Z was created by Akira Toriyama. No profit is made from this story; it is purely for fun.

The title is taken from a saying my dad used to say: “Kind words and a gun gets more than just kind words.”


Space is big.

Really, space is absolutely huge. Take the biggest thing you can think of multiply it by twelve gazillion, and the universe would still dwarf it. It’s that big. So big, in fact, that a gazillion billion stars, planets, etc., can inhabit it quite comfortably. They swirl around their gravitational centers in an elaborate ballet of physics, never coming into contact with each other.

Well, almost never.

Every once and while, some rogue object---usually an asteroid or comet (they’re just that type, aren’t they?)---will invade another object’s space, usually with disastrous results for both objects and any life that might inhabit them.

Which is why small objects speeding toward planets are causes for concern. Unless the small object happens to be a spacecraft containing a Saiyan warrior as is the case here. Then the small object happens to be a cause for great concern.

Sometimes, though, a planet can catch a break.

Bardock awakened from stasis sleep. He blinked at the blackness out of the pod’s only porthole. He had been awakened early, long before planetfall. There were only two reasons for this: pod malfunction or receipt of a message. A glance at the status panel told him the pod was functioning correctly. That left a message.

Bardock glared at the yellow light that indicated a message was waiting. He had a feeling what the message would be, and was doubly pissed when Zarbon’s patronizing smile appeared on the view screen.

“Hello, Bardock,” Zarbon said. “Enjoying your nap?”

“Fuck you, Zarbon. What do you want?”

“Oh, I think you know what I want,” Zarbon said, “but so far you’ve been so stingy---“

“Cut the crap. Why am I being woken up now? Planetfall’s not for” –he checked the readout–“32 chronoms.”
Zarbon smiled again. “It appears planet M3B’s population has slave potential. The purge has been cancelled.”

“What?!”

“New intelligence shows these beings have technical skills that make them worth keeping around---for a while, anyway. You know how Lord Frieza hates waste.” Zarbon’s voice lowered to conspiratorial tones. “Personally, I think it’s because they look almost Saiyan but without the ki. I think he sees the entertainment potential.” Eyebrows waggled.

Bardock glared at the green face, willing his mouth to silence. He hated Zarbon and his thinly veiled come-ons. “So the purge is cancelled. Why are we still talking?”

Another smile. “That’s the really fun part of the message. No assimilation ship is in your quadrant to take over. You get to explain the situation to the lucky planet’s inhabitants.”

“No,” Bardock said flatly. “I’m no diplomat.”

“Sorry, Bardock. As the highest ranking officer in eight parsecs, you get the job. The rest of your squad’s pods have been recalled in stasis, but don’t think their absence means you can run wild and deny later. This species’ weapons capabilities are well-documented. They are no threat, so any causalities beyond established protocol limits will result in . . . a dressing down, shall we say?“ Zarbon’s lips pursed into moué. “Have fun, Bardock. I’m sure you’ll be able to make M3B’s inhabitants understand what an honor it is to be a part of the glorious Cold Empire. Zarbon out.”

The screen went blank.

“Fuck honor,” Bardock muttered and glanced out the porthole, watching for M3B to come into view. Then more softly, “fuck glory.”

The residents of M3B, while possessing no weaponry that would pose a threat to a Saiyan warrior, did possess technology that allowed them to detect the threat entering their atmosphere. There was panic, of course. An object that size striking the surface at its current speed would greatly disrupt the planet: huge amounts of dust would cloud the sky, blocking sunlight needed for life, and subsequent volcanic activity would only compound the problem. Food shortages would create new balances of power on the planet. War would inevitably follow: lives would be lost, either to starvation or violence.

Then the object slowed, and a new panic ensued. The object was not natural, was clearly of alien origin, and the planet’s inhabitants were about to make their first contact with an alien species. Would he be friend or foe?

Bardock emerged from the pod. Clearing smoke revealed about one hundred of the planet’s inhabitants several hundred meters away. It seems they had designated a welcoming committee. Bardock pressed some buttons on the side of his scouter. Five, three, twelve. Zarbon was right. These beings were no threat if the weapons intelligence was correct.

Bardock lifted off and flew the short distance to the assembled group. Some wore uniforms–perhaps some security force? Zarbon was right on one count---they did look incredibly Saiyan. One of the group stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Welcome to our planet. I am General Tho---“
Bardock waved his hand, cutting the speech short. He might have to deliver a diplomat’s message, but he’d be damned before he’d listen to this planet’s diplomatic bullshit.

“I only speak to whoever is in charge of your planet. Is that you?”

“Um . . . no. I’m General Tho---“

Bardock wanted to punch the man. “I didn’t ask who you are, and I only speak to whoever is in charge of this planet.” He stepped forward and glared menacingly down at the general. Bardock had a good six inches on the man, and it had the desired effect. The man began to stutter.

“W – w - well, we don’t have ---“ Bardock’s eyes narrowed. Surely this man was not going to argue?

Bardock’s glare did the trick. The general immediately shut his mouth and turned to another man in uniform. “Get me the president.”

Moments passed. Apparently the “president” was not an easy man to get in touch with and once contacted, he was an argumentative sort.

“No sir, he doesn’t want to see you, he wants to speak to whoever’s in charge of the planet . . . No, I haven’t. . . He’s not exactly the friendly sort . . . I’m not sure what he was expecting . . . No, I don’t think it would do any good to explain. In fact, I think it would piss him off more . . . No, sir, I didn’t do anything to piss him off; I’d say he was pissed off when he got here . . . No, sir, I don’t know why, and I strongly recommend not asking. I understand that, sir, but it’s the closest thing we’ve got . . . Fine, I’ll arrange transport.”

The general put down the communication device and returned to Bardock.

“I’ve been instructed to transport you to the United Nations. Please come this way.” He waved toward large transport device. Bardock entered the machine, bumping his head on the too low door. If he didn’t get to kill someone soon, he was going to explode, but since the population was being cooperative, he was unlikely to get an opportunity.

The ride to the “United Nations” was mercifully short. Pods were notoriously uncomfortable, but since most of the trip in a pod was spent in stasis, they were tolerable. For the last part of the trip here, however, Bardock had been painfully awake, and his knees were screaming at being cramped again so soon after landing.

There was an even larger crowd of the planet’s inhabitants waiting to greet Bardock when the transport landed. Some cheered, some carried signs, the messages on which he could only guess. Bardock wondered if his resemblance to the planet’s populace had lulled them into some kind of idea that his visit was friendly? He smirked. He might not get to kill them, but something told him this lot was the idealistic sort, and trashing their dreams of “galactic brotherhood” or some other nonsense would be almost as rewarding.

Bardock was ushered into a large assembly hall, crammed full of what he assumed were the planet’s leaders. A smiling man greeted him, extending his open hand at waist level. At Bardock’s perplexed stare, the man actually leaned forward and grabbed his right hand and placed it against his own, gripping it. He pumped their joined hands up and down in the air twice, then let go, all the while speaking greetings and welcomes that Bardock had no interest in. The man’s title was “Secretary-General,” a combination of administrative flunky and military might that must put him in charge. He turned to the assembled group and touched his scouter again, reading as the prescribed speech scrolled across his lens.”

“I am Bardock. I have been sent here to tell you that the Cold Empire has decided to allow your planet to be a part of the galactic community. Your labor and resources will now be a part of its glorious empire. Rejoice and be glad.” Bardock ground out the last part, clearly intended to be spoken by someone with better acting skills.

A confused silence fell upon the chamber, and the planet’s leaders glanced at each other, wondering if they’d just heard right.

After a few moments, the man who had grabbed his hand earlier spoke up. “Let me see if I understand. We,” he gestured to the people in the room, “get to be a part of this empire and contribute to its ‘glory.’ That appears to be a rather one-sided offer.”

Bardock chuckled. “It is.”

The Secretary-General glanced around the room again, reading the looks on his fellow leaders’ faces. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid we must refuse.”

Bardock blinked at the man. “Refuse?”
“Why, yes. We see no reason for our planet to be a part of an empire when there is no advantage for our people. Surely you understand.”

“Understand?” Bardock said and quickly calculated just how many “casualties” a mere refusal warranted. His eyes never left the other man’s while he raised his right hand (the one so eagerly grasped by the man earlier) and sent a ki blast flying.

The explosion filled the air, followed by screams and cries of pain. Somewhere a weapon discharged. Bardock quickly followed the projectile’s path with his scouter and caught the tiny object in his hand. He opened his palm and looked at the small bit of metal someone had thought would stop him. He flicked it back at the assailant, hitting him in the eye and killing him instantly.

“Let me explain to you what I understand,” he said. “If you don’t elect to join the Cold Empire I get to kill people until you do. So go ahead, discuss some more.” Bardock raised his glowing palm and surveyed the cringing crowd. “I could do this all day.”

“No, no!” the Secretary General insisted. “We accept, we accept!”

Bardock tried to hide his disappointment. These beings did scream quite well. He had hoped they would put up a little more resistance. “Hmmmph. I thought you might.”

After that there wasn’t much else to do. He informed the Secretary General that an Assimilation Squad would arrive to take charge of the planet and its resources, and decide how to redistribute the population throughout the Empire.

“We don’t get to remain on our own planet?” the Secretary General had asked, alarmed.

“You do if you’re dead,” Bardock had answered, and that had been the end of the questions.

Bardock exited the building and looked up into the sunshine. The cheering crowd had quickly dissipated at the blast and the remaining inhabitants quickly shuffled out of his way, heads down to avoid his glare.

All except one, a female.

She leaned against the wall and watched him approach. There was an amused glint in her brown eyes, far from the fear he’d been expecting. Her brown hair was long, curling all the way down to her----ye gods! Were those breasts? They were huge, and the neckline of her shirt was low enough to allow a tantalizing glimpse of their globular glory. He’d never seen such . . . pillowing perfection. Bardock shook his head slightly, as if to knock such uncharacteristically poetic thoughts from it. His eyes met hers again, and he knew that somehow she knew exactly where his thoughts had been.

“What?” he asked, irritated.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said lightly. “I was just thinking of something Lady Carolyn Lamb once said.” She tilted her head to the other side, and a curl draped artfully across her face. “So, do mad, bad, and dangerous boys like you get hungry?” she asked.

Bardock’s jaw dropped, and he could only stare as her lips tilted upwards again before she turned and walked away, her hips swaying in invitation.

Bardock hesitated, but only for a moment. Another offer was being made, and this one wouldn’t be refused either.

Fin


This story was an entrant in the DBZ Fanfic Salon’s recent contest, which had the theme “No One Refused the Offer.” This story tied for second place. I’m not sure how that happened since it’s really an elaborate set up to write Bardockgurl into a story with Bardock. I tried to be subtle about it---so subtle Barb wasn’t quite sure it was supposed to be her! *sigh* Oh well, so much for subtlety. Barb and Bardock forever!

There. Obvious now, ain’t it? :D

Thanks for reading. Comments appreciated. All the the entries are archived at Pixelgoddess’s Closet and most are much better than this one. Please stop by and read the rest.