Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Second Chances for Bardock's Sons ❯ Galactic Hyena and Purple Sword ( Chapter 29 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z. I do own the Idsarjins, Mr. Zocolotto and other fan characters not created by Akira Toriyama or owned by Toei animation Co. Ltd. This is a work of fan fiction, for entertainment only! My apologies for not writing this sooner!

 

Vegeta's Celestial Gambit

Two months after Vegeta and Bulma's tryst on Idsarsei Prime…

 

***

 

Mr. Zocolotto's emporium was one such watering hole for the smugglers and traders living on the edge of Changeling district. Controlled by Lord Bok Choi, the Pyorrhean system was rife with goings on that he hid from his former master, the Cold family. Once under Freeza's rule, it was now up for grabs amongst the remaining children of Emperor Cold. Namely Queen Frosta.

 

For light-years they had traveled, across the inky depths of deep space. Wending their way through the known Galaxy the two travelers had stopped numerous destinations on a tentative trail. At many ports of call they gleaned or coerced what information they could from the locals. Any snatch or rumor of a blue haired genius and a Saiyan Prince were investigated. Literally they could leave no `stone' unturned.

 

More tales circulated among the sleazy ports of call and more reputable trading posts in the known cold empire. From mantissa to Frosta 129 and all the changeling worlds to the fringes occupied by other powerblocks like the Third Zone and the Pirate's league they spread. Word of a new privateer who bartered information for his services. You give him any information regarding the Saiyan Prince and he would offer himself as a mercenary. He would steal your own items of great value for only the cost of a small tall tale.

 

Across from one another, two men sipped their beverages. Sapphire blue eyes peered out from under a helmet, wrapped round with what appeared to be blue cloth. It terminated at the collar of his dark blue jacket and baggy black pants. Across his back was slung a scabbard holding a long sword that few would argue with when he drew it. All who saw the whips of lavender hair poking out from his helmet would fall back in awe and deference. He was not someone you messed with.

 

Nor was his partner, who wore a long cloak, overtopping orange baggy clothes. Instead of space boots simple shoes with white socks poked under the table opposite the yellow space booted ones of the Purple Sword. The Galactic Hyena's scarred visage peered overtop his drink, and he pulled his scarf aside to reveal his smooth handsome face. Long black hair framed the countenance, under a wrapped turban. His bare chest was visible under the cloak's collar, where a gold locket hung by a leather cord. Far daintier then one would expect, it appeared to be a heart shape. But few got close enough to ridicule its owner once the words had passed their lips. It was said the locket held the face of the woman the two sought, a strange being with blue hair and eyes, the same eyes as the Purple Sword.

 

He was the Galactic Hyena, a scavenger who worked with the Purple Sword. A step up from pirates they used their customized Namekain cruiser to run any cargo you wished to any port of call as long as it was fast and close to their next destination. Ten such side smuggling of arms to rebels of the Changeling Empire were already the topic of conversation on the seediest space bars.

 

On the laps of other male patrons sat scantily clad females of many species. Puar had taken on the form of one of the Zocolotto girls earlier, in attempts to find the one they'd established contact with here. Tangelo was his name. Here he wrestled for money. The huge ring in the center doubled as a stage for gyrating dancers in brightly colored cylindrical tanks. Free from the groping hands of male patrons they could titillate. For a fee perhaps one of the interested parties could request a girl to emerge and service his needs. Other females and males from conquered races were sold to the highest bidder. Changeling soldiers rubbed shoulders with mercenary pirates and merchants.

 

“I've gotten us another contract, Trunks,” the Hyena said quietly. He held a small-encoded disc that he placed on the table between them, then pushed it across towards Trunks.

 

“I heard the laughs followed by some screams. You really should stop being so dramatic. All these side trips aren't getting us any closer to finding Bulma,” Trunks answered in a raspy voice. It hovered between boyhood and manhood, the cracking tone of one whom had recently gone through puberty.

 

“I'm in as much a hurry to find her as you are, kid, but if there's one thing I've learned from my past life it's that you need to do these things in steps. We can't let them know we're onto us. Better to get a reputation so when we run into them, they'll want us to join them. You said this Prince Vegeta was a mercenary, right?”

 

“Saiyans are planet brokers. At least that's what my Grandpa's files said,” Trunks grunted. Yamcha reached for his mug and drained half the bluish green grog bubbling inside. Strange beverages were becoming easier for him to stomach, and the Spican brew was something that reminded him of a good West City Beer. At his hip hung a scimitar, something he had traded a few gems for. Its edge was just as sharp as the sword Trunks carried, and he could channel the full strength of his arm through it to make it an effective tool.

 

“This is the Flameblood run. A cargo of Flameblood ale to be run to a captain by the name of Turles. He's supposedly a Saiyan. At least that's what Mr. Zocolotto said. The owner of this joint's been pretty reliable so far,” said Yamcha.

 

“I know, but we keep coming back here, and each time we find a lead it's either bogus or just another crumb. Are you sure this Turles is any different? My Gramps records mention a Turles but he was killed on Earth years ago by the Z warriors when his tree…”

 

“A tree of might. And he's a Saiyan. And if he's a Saiyan, then he has ties to Vegeta. He pays top dollar for Flameblood Ale. And if we run this cargo and somehow join his crew, maybe he can lead us back to this Prince Vegeta guy,” Yamcha whispered.

 

“I don't know…” Trunks bit his lip. “So many things are different already in this time line. I've got half a mind to call Earth and ask for help…”

 

“You know the answer to that. Dr. Briefs is still working on a new ship, and its weeks from being ready. Isn't that why we took that old Namekian crate anyhow?” Yamcha wondered, watching Trunks wipe froth from his upper lip after he swigged his own Flameblood. The reddish liquid sloshed viscous with the consistency of syrup but had a kick like cayenne pepper. Instead of depressing like ethanol it buzzed like caffeine loaded Hetap Dew soda. Trunks had burned through his capsules full of Hetap in the first month alone.

 

“I gotta stop drinking so much of this,” Trunks mumbled, feeling his heart pounding. He was no closer to finding Bulma then Yamcha was, and his gut told him that time was running out. If Bulma weren't on Earth soon, time would irrevocably change. But if she was really with Prince Vegeta, then it couldn't be all bad. Yet should he tell Yamcha the truth, considering that Yamcha was still much in love with Capsule's heiress?

 

“Kid, you're right. Too much isn't good. I'm grateful for all your help and info, but you're still holding out. I haven't pried till now, but exactly how DO you know Bulma? I mean you said you were from the Future, and you were related to Bulma…”

 

“I'm sorrier I can't tell you that. If I did… it might change things too much. And already coming with you has ramifications I can't tell. But Bulma and I are really closely related. That's all I can tell you. And if she dies I'm history,” said Trunks.

 

“I'm not sorry you ended up here. But I guess I've got to respect that. For all I know she's your aunt or grandmother…”

 

“A lot of records were destroyed in the Android war,” said he. “That's all I can tell you. You and everyone else including my own father died.”

 

“Your father sounds like some man. And you say he fought with the Z warriors? Do you know which one of us he was?”

 

Trunks evasively glanced away, and admitted, “I never saw him face to face. He died before I was old enough to remember. My Grandma and Grandpa Briefs raised me. And Bulma was around too. She and I were very… close.”

 

“Trunks, level with me. I can't help you unless you tell me HOW you're related to Bulma… your last name is Briefs…”

 

Trunks inhaled deeply. While he dreaded this, he knew he had to tell the truth. Yamcha would either curse him or not. “I… well… Bulma's my mother. I didn't want to tell you, for the sake of risking my not being born.”

 

“Your MOM?” Yamcha blinked. “Holy crap… you mean…”

 

“I didn't want to tell you… but that's why I've got to find her, Yamcha.”

 

“If you're her son then that must make me…” Yamcha trailed off. He reached over and grasped Trunks hand. Nervously the youth blinked back.

 

“I…”

 

“Don't say another word. I can see why you brought me with you,” said Yamcha softly. “Damn…”

 

“My grandparents told me not to ask much. Whenever she tried talking about Father… she'd get angry and quiet. They said her heart broke the day he died. And she didn't want his name mentioned,” said Trunks haltingly.

 

“But did you ever KNOW his name?”

 

“Yamcha!” squeaked a small voice. Both of them turned their heads to see a tall slender female stride up to them. For a second she shimmered and blurred, before popping back in a puff of smoke into a small floating blue cat.

 

“Puar, your timing stinks!” Yamcha cursed. He was sure that Trunks was about to admit something important, but his friend had ruined it.

 

“But Yamcha… there's someone named Tangelo who says he knows exactly how to arrange a meeting between you and Captain Turles… he says he's got to talk to you!” said Puar excitedly.

 

“Fine,” Yamcha relented.

 

“I guess he liked the way you impersonated an Idsarjin female,” Trunks joked, thankful to Yamcha's friend to change the subject. Still frustrated, Yamcha pounded the table with his fist.

 

“Why did you change back?”

 

“I might be better then Oolong at this, but even I have my limits, Yamcha,” Puar apologized. “He's coming over here now!”

 

“Better change then,” Yamcha said. Puar sat on his shoulder, curling her purple tail around Yamcha's neck lightly. Through the cacophony of sounds, a dark shape cast across them, causing them to glance up into the face of a tall figure. Black hair with silver streaks fell around his humanoid face, covered with red tiger strips. The same strips decorated his bare arms and chest. He wore a kilt and loose mesh tank top over his almost bare chest, his feet covered in calf height black boots. Chains and spikes decorated his studded belt and shoulderpieces, and he snorted at them.

 

“You're the Galactic Hyena?”

 

“The same. You're Tangelo?” asked Yamcha, pushing back his cap and glancing up at him.

 

“Sir,” Trunks inclined his head. “You said you had a mission for us?”

 

“I've heard that little Namekian beauty you have is fast. And that you'd be willing to deliver to anyone who had connections to a Commander Turles?”

 

“That's right… Puar told you?”

 

“She did. Where is that minx?” asked Tangelo, licking his lips.

 

“Right here,” Puar squeaked.

 

“A shape shifter. Hmm,” Tangelo muttered. “Lucky bastard.”

 

“Now wait a minute!” Yamcha spluttered, blushing profusely. “Puar is my mate I mean she's just a friend I mean…”

 

“Can you help us?” asked Trunks impatiently, straightening up. He indicated an empty chair. Tangelo pulled it out and lowered himself to sit. Resting his taloned hands on the table he glanced from Yamcha to Trunks.

 

“If you're as fast as you say, I've got your shipment. And I know where you can find him. In fact I'm a member of his crew. I'm just here on shore leave…” said Tangelo.

 

“You look like a bouncer here. You must get a lot of customer info,” said Yamcha, swallowing hard to maintain his composure. Puar chose to float over to Yamcha's left, then morphed into a fan blowing cool air on his flushed face.

 

“Between you and me and the tanks. So, if you can fly to the Archalis system, I'll be happy to hook you up. The cargo's ten cases. He always likes to stop there to sell whatever he's gotten from his missions. If you're interested we can leave tonight. But there's a catch…”

 

“You're part of the cargo too?” asked Yamcha.

 

“Yes. And there's a chance if he's not satisfied with his merchandise…”

 

“Oh we'll be there,” Yamcha said. “Does he work for… the Prince?”

 

“He might or might not be willing to tell. There's a high chance he'll know where he is. Turles doesn't give his secrets lightly. And I'm not privy to my master's plans, except when I give him my shipments and my own contacts,” said Tangelo.

 

“Then you're an informant,” Trunks said. “Good then. We'll take your offer. We'll be your taxi…”

 

“Taxi?” Tangelo blinked.

 

“Never mind. Our ship's over in the dock. When are you interested in leaving?” Yamcha asked.

 

“The sooner the better,” whispered Tangelo. He glanced back and forth, and then drummed his hands. Yamcha and Trunks nodded, then glanced down at their mutual drink flasks, hoping this wasn't another dead end. Just because Turles was a Saiyan didn't mean he was loyal to Vegeta. He had encountered other Saiyans who were loyal to someone else. A man named Broli, the Master of All Saiyans. Supposedly he had gone mad with rage, and was subdued by Queen Frosta herself. The entire Saiyan second homeworld of Alvegasei was supposedly destroyed and only a handful of survivors remained. Broli had escaped, but Frosta herself claimed he'd turned on his own people.

 

“I don't think so,” Trunks thought to himself. From what he knew of Broly, the Legendary would never bow to any mere Changeling. If Broli was sane and in charge of the Saiyans in this timeline, then why would he have reason to go mad? Something didn't add up, Trunks thought. While Yamcha and Tangelo finalized their plans, Trunks grimly prayed he could get to the bottom of this. He cursed himself for almost telling Yamcha the other part of his past. AS reluctant as he was to admit Bulma was his mother, and lead Yamcha to the inevitable conclusion, it was necessary. If Yamcha suspected that Trunks was his own son… then it was for the better. At least till the truth was uncovered. Better they assume he was an Earthling then not. But if they knew the truth of his Saiyan blood.

 

Sometimes resembling his mother was a blessing, not a curse. Despite what she had told him about his father's opinion. Urgency filled Trunks heart at the thought of seeing Saiyans alive. If they learned his true nature then what ramifications would that have?

 

“Hey, Trunks, wake up kid! We're going!” Yamcha snapped his fingers. Jerking awake, Trunks pushed himself out from his table and followed Yamcha through the noisy tavern.

**

“Time to wake, Nappa,” came an electronic voice. Slowly two large eyes snapped open, behind a blue scouter. Their owner yawned deeply, his eyes adjusting to the starry field barely visible through the round porthole before him.

 

Light-years away, two space pods sliced through the upper layer of atmosphere of an unsuspecting planet. Thundering through the viridian skies, they whistled past the spires of what appeared to be a large city, before blasting over a cracked plane of scorched desert. Later they checked their progress over lush fields laden with spiky succulent plants. Far below in one of the spired cities, two blue eyes looked up from her work and she yawned deeply in the twin suns light.

 

“Bulma, pay attention,” came the voice of her coworker. She blinked over at the long tresses curling around the hair of the Idsarjin.

 

“Bharbera, I am,” Bulma swallowed.

 

“Don't be too hard on her,” grunted another voice leaning over a long worktable. Pieces of an intricate device were being assembled under his watchful eye by the two females, one human, the other Idsarjin. The laboratory was high in the Idsjarin Central research station, and for what seemed like two months, Bulma had finally come close to achieving what they all wanted. What the Prince had demanded.

 

“Finally I get allowed to TOUCH my own work and you're still bitching,” Bulma wiped her forehead off with one hand.

 

“That's not what I'm complaining about, Milady,” said Bharbera. “You should be aware of the time of day.”

 

“He's coming back,” Bardock said, peering at her through the green lens of his scouter. Other scientists, Saiyan and Idsjarins and tensed up, hearing the voice of their Weapons research director.

 

“Who?” Bulma asked.

 

“You know what I mean, lady,” said Bardock with a sobering look. “Two months standard. He asked us to give you what you needed… we've only just finished the first GR chamber… and his Majesty's due back today!”

 

“Oh shit I forgot,” Bulma cursed, her shoulders tensing. For the longest time she had lost herself in the intricacies of building a vast Gravity chamber for the soul purpose of training the Saiyan Prince. Things had barely been done when this bit of news crept back. That would mean HE would demand her attention. Ever since that night she had struggled to forget, Bulma dreaded a face to face. After rejecting his Highness attentions she had found her world turned upside down.

 

Bulma had crept back to her room, only to find Raditz there patiently waiting. In soft tones he had explained he was escorting her to a new duty. Nervous she had been ordered to pack her things and leave the Prince's chambers. She followed Bardock's elder son to a set of small rooms where Bardock and his mate lived, and was told that this was her new place. Serving him as an assistant. The Prince no longer had need of her services.

 

At first Bulma was relieved Vegeta had not killed her. She knew that pissing off the Prince was treason. Yet he must have decided she was no longer concubine material and had relegated her to a slave. Surprisingly Bardock allowed her to touch the electronic plans she had drawn up, and even bade her due most of the work.

 

“You're far better at electronics than I'll ever be. I'm just a fighter who can see circuit panels,” he huffed that day. “What do you think I use Bharbera for? She's my real technician, as are the whole crew. And as long as nobody else knows or cares, you should be the one getting your hands dirty since Tomic's gone.”

 

Raditz wasn't far away, standing guard outside the chamber door of his father's research unit. Only Nappa and Vegeta had gone on another mission, with some of the other Saiyan units. Bardock's team leader position had been given to Fasha, and she had proved herself a capable leader in his place. Tora, Shughesh and Borgos were aghast that they were led by a female, but better it be Fasha then anyone who was a stranger. Inside her stomach Bulma felt a knot tensing, wondering what Vegeta would say and think if they were brought face to face. He had not bothered to see her after Raditz escorted her and summarily whisked her from his service. Except his cold indifferent gaze when she saw him the next day in her lab. He had gone past her, his face twisting up in an angry frown demanding her to defer. Then he was gone.