Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Second Chances for Bardock's Sons ❯ Trunks and Yamcha to the Rescue ( Chapter 32 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, Akira Toriyama does. This work of fan fiction is meant to entertain and I make no money from it.

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Still the alarm blared at her from all sides, lights blinking. Was it her imagination or did she hear what sounded like more explosions. The entire world was thrown to the left, and she spun into the nearest wall. Struggling to keep her footing the floor rocked back and forth intermittently. Almost bouncing off the walls Bulma managed to stumble to the nearest hatch, which spun open with a quick palm to a panel.

“And where do you think you're going wench?” someone asked.

Bulma spun about, and then hands clamped on her arms. She screamed and kicked at her assailant, only to be slammed into the far wall. A dark shape towered over her, blue skinned with two amber eyes gleaming brightly at her. If not for the different shape of the features, she could almost swear it was Zarbon. Yet the voice was higher pitched and the blue-skinned male was a bit shorter, only towering one head and shoulders above Bulma instead of two. Red sleeveless armor bedecked his chest, and long scarlet leggings and armlets covered his chiseled limbs. Sea blue hair gathered at the nape of his neck in a braid, and a different fashion of diadem from Lord Zarbon's crowned his brow.

“You've given us a lot of trouble, wench. However, little matter. Lord Bok Choi will personally enjoy breaking you in,” he leered.

“Let me go you jerk!” Bulma brought her knee up. He twisted his hips to the side, and she felt her knee erupt in pain.

“You're such a delicate little thing. Not Idsarjin or even Saiyan. What pale ugly skin… and frighteningly disgusting features. You're just as hideous as a Saiyan though, apeling,” he wrinkled his nose.

“I'm a human you twerp! And if you mess with me…”

“I know. You're one of the Prince's little toys. I have his other one already. Bok Choi wanted especially to have any concubines belonging to the Monkey bastard prince himself. A high ransomed for captive goods. Pity they don't specify in what condition you'll be returned,” the alien snickered. Although his voice was smooth as velvet, the evil that gleamed in those eyes made Bulma's stomach crawl. Zarbon was handsome, but this handsome enemy was hideous with only a lovely shell.

“Oh, and I suppose you're going to rape me you coward?” Bulma screamed into his face. “You stupid idiot! You'll get more money for me if you keep your HANDS OFF!”

“Keep screaming. It makes it even more fun. Even though I will have to cover your ugly face to even consider… mmm, maybe I'll just let you have the fun from Lord Bok Choi himself!” Kumquat cackled, tugging Bulma away from the wall. She was dragged behind him as he strode among tables and chairs.

The scouter on his ear bleeped, and he stopped to press a hand to it. With his other, he pulled Bulma close to his body, pressing her tightly to his clammy skin. She stamped her feet, and twisted hard against him, screaming loudly. “Let me GO! DAMN YOU!”

“Shut up or I'll kill you!” shouted her captor. Bulma felt the hand slip around her neck, slowly squeezing. Pressing the button on the scouter side he then murmured, “Kumquat here. Yes, I have one of them… what was that?”

She could just about crane her neck to glance up at the shocked look crossing Kumquat's face. His amber eyes dilated to twice their size, while his whole body twitched behind hers. Her back was pressed to his front, and he chattered rapidly with whoever it was on the other end of his scouter in a tongue Bulma didn't recognize. Judging from the pitch, he seemed panicked.

“You're a lucky bitch. Seems your Saiyan masters have caught onto us. But little matter…”

He spun her to a control panel, and then shoved her to sit down in the nearest chair. Grabbing the leash he clipped to her throat, he wound the other end around the chair's armrest. She was free to try sitting up, but the resistant tug on the leash stopped her from standing. Frustrated, she grabbed at the chain and tugged. Once more, she flopped onto the seat again.

Although the alarm still flashed, the pitch changed into a pulsing series of chirps. The light flashed from red to bluish green and she felt the droning of the new sound even worse than before. Kumquat forgot her, turning to the control panel to his left and right. Circular windows afforded a distant view, but only the flickering screens ticking off in alien ciphers told the story of what was outside. Not in Saiyan script, it was impossible for Bulma to tell what they meant. Only his emotional response cued her in.

Then he pressed more controls to blur the image on the screen into view. A sharp percussive syllable echoed, “DREK!”

“Got a problem?” Bulma couldn't resist taunting.

Snarling he turned on her. “Shut up. Your little friends cost me quite a few guards. But the last laugh is mine because that's no Saiyan ship…”

“What do you mean?”

The hatch hissed open, admitting a creature with red skin and white hair. He anxiously gestured his arms, and Bulma heard words such as Saiyan and Namekian. He pointed to Bulma, and then behind him, his rapid-fire speech incomprehensible. Yet Bulma saw the sneering glance trained of her, and knew it wasn't good for her.

“Namekian? I don't suppose you know any Namekian do you, wench?” Kumquat demanded.

“I don't know what a Namek is... unless you mean Piccolo!” Bulma sneered back. She remembered that Tomic had called Piccolo a Namek.

“You do know them! Tell me have you made any secret deals! Considering the Nameks have no spaceflight and their planet was scourged 2 centuries ago!” Kumquat grabbed her neck and shook her.

“I don't know! There was only one Namek on my home planet and he had no idea what he was!” Bulma snouted back defiantly.

“Seems they have a ship. No matter. We'll blow them away!” Kumquat harshly spat back. Bulma felt herself flop once more to the chair, then saw the odd ship blowing up to a larger view on the screen to his left.

He shouted commands to the red-skinned underling, who moved over to another panel. Other red suited soldiers came in, sitting at other console chairs. She guessed they had been busy dealing with her friends, and shuddered to think of their fate. Her eyes narrowed at the white spiky ship on that screen, wondering why Kumquat was suddenly worried despite his boasts.

A harsh shout from the red skinned being snapped them to attention. Fingers flew across panels, and a bright cherry red light flared shortly behind the window. However, her chair rocked with the resulting shudder of the entire world. Lights flickered and angry shouts sounded. Sparks exploded from a nearby panel, and Bulma grabbed at her leash.

“Drek,” cursed Kumquat. He grabbed Bulma's leash and untangled it. Pointing to his station, he motioned one of his underlings. Then he tugged the leash, forcing Bulma to follow him as he exited.

“What's happening!” she shrilled as they rushed along. Steadily he tugged and jerked the leash, pulling her torso forwards and almost choking her on their trek through the ships halls.

“You're going to be put in a very special cell while we deal with these troublesome Nameks. And you're going to tell me everything you know and stop making up stories!” Kumquat threatened, swinging her by the chain and dragging her to the left.

Bulma stumbled again, landing against him as another jarring earthquake rocked the floor. Seeing him teetering she shoved him hard, grabbing the leash with her hands. It tugged free of his hand, and Bulma managed to break away in a fast run. However, she felt a sizzling blast narrowly avoid her. Then something slammed into her back, knocking her down. She felt a stinging slap in her face, and her hair fell around her face. Rolling over she stared up at her attacker crouched over her. Bulma saw his hand flickering with ki. Throwing her hands before her, she felt the shaking of the ship growing worse. Distant shouts and rumbling sounded ever closer, and sparks sizzled from a wall behind her attack's shoulder.

“Stupid wench… that will teach you,” he snarled.

She squeezed herself into a ball, praying to Kami. “No, don't kill me! If you do, the Prince will blast you to atoms!” she cried through her arms folded over her face. Curled into a fetal position she shivered, awaiting the blast or the hit that would follow.

“I don't care… you've given me enough,” Kumquat shouted.

Ki increased in intensity, sizzling brightly. Bulma screamed loudly, waiting for the end. Blood spattered around her, soaking her clothes. Someone howled with pain, amidst her screams. Then something heavy slumped against her. Nothing but the sound of more distant explosions answered, and she realized she was still alive.

Slowly she lowered her arms and then turned her head to see a body leaning against her. Yelping she pushed it aside then saw it flop to the floor. Kumquat's amber eyes stared up at her, blood dribbling from his lips and from many wounds crisscrossing his body. She kicked fiercely, backing away as Kumquat rolled over with a moan.

A smoking sizzle covered it, and Bulma saw a shadow creep into view behind it. Only blue ki crackling around it revealed its form, blood drippi8ng from a shining object clutched in one hand. As the figure approached, she scrambled on all fours away, kicking Kumquat's body. Kumquat couched up blood, reaching out his hand to clench her ankle. Despite the many burns on his body, he was still alive.

Blood spattered Bulma all over, soaking into her slave girl outfit. She whimpered as someone slid his or her arms around her and lifted her up. Gently the figure cradled her, and then held her aloft off her feet. She clung tightly to his neck, sobbing.

“It's all right, you're safe now,” he whispered. Bulma felt silky hair; human textured and stared up at the person holding her. Two human eyes, blue as hers gleamed with concern, hidden behind a fringe of lavender hair.

“Who… are you!” Bulma gasped.

“Don't worry Bulma, I'm here to help you,” he urged.

“P… put me down!” she gasped.

Low snarls came from around them. Bulma yelped and then squeezed the stranger around the neck as he held her securely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Capsule corps logo stitched to the shoulder of his jacket and gasped in shock. He was an earthling, she realized dumbfounded. What also floored her was his flawless use of her language, with the same inflection as her home in West City.

“Let the slave go, boy and we'll not kill you,” hissed the voice of one of the underlings, the one with red skin. She guessed it was Kumquat's second in command.

“Make me,” the boy smirked. “I don't think you should have harmed her. And you won't even TOUCH her while I'm around.”

“Who are you,” Bulma whispered.

“Hold onto my neck,” he whispered. “I'm going to have to use one hand to fight.”

Bulma did so as he shifted the majority of her weight to one arm, and then reached back over one shoulder to grasp the handle of a weapon there. With a quick rasp, he drew it, and she saw the gleam of light on a very chikyuujin sword in his left hand. Snickers emerged from the other teammates as the boy swung it menacingly.

“You seek to fight US with a primitive weapon like that?” sneered Kumquat's lieutenant. She was shocked because she didn't realize they spoke her language. Yet the scouter's uvt circuit would have helped that.

“What's the matter, scared?” the boy sneered.

“Keep them busy, Trunks!” Shouted another voice Bulma recognized.

Right before them dropped a cloaked figure, brandishing a scimitar like sword as his boots touched the deck. Bulma's heart thumped in her throat as she saw the long black hair fluttering around his collar, about the same length as the lavender haired boy's that was holding her securely. At his hip bounced a sheathed scimitar, balanced by a holstered pistol of one sort on the opposite hip. Laced boots reached to the middle of his legs, the pants thrust into their tops, and puffing out a bit like Goku's did on earth. Dark human eyes fixed into Bulma's, their scar faced owner beaming at her.

“Right Yamcha,” he nodded.

“Get her out of her Trunks. To the ship. I'll hold these swine off,” Yamcha said.

“Yamcha!” Bulma yelped. “How… where…”

“Later Bulma. I didn't chase across the galaxy to lose you now!” Yamcha turned his head to look at her, his face scarred and tanned. His eyes gleamed brightly and she felt her heart stop.

“You came for me,” she whispered.

“Hold on, Bulma,” Trunks instructed.

Suddenly they levitated into the air, and Bulma clutched the Capsule jacket tightly. Simultaneously ki blasts flickered from dozens of guns, and His sword flashed back and forth to deflect the blasts. Around them reality streaked, and Trunks rocketed through the flight deck over the heads of the foot soldiers in red armor. Behind them Yamcha swung his sword in glistering arcs. Energy crackled along its blade, sending arcs of glistening ki slicing in at a 360-degree radius. His cloak billowed around him as he sliced into the soldiers, blood, and gore flying all directions. Trunks sword also slashed back and forth, and then she felt him landing.

“What ship is that?” She asked, pointing to the strange craft on four spikes that loomed overhead like a spider.

“Piccolo!” shouted Trunks. She saw a square platform descend and then Trunks lifted her onto the platform.

“What the hell is going on? You're from earth… but this ship…”

“Trust me, Bulma,” the boy urged. She held tightly to him as the platform shot up, and then stopped inside a gleaming interior. The cabin was moderately sized, fitted with alien and earthling technology bearing the capsule logo. A strange pod shaped vehicle was connected to the rear, taking up a good part of the rear cabin. It was cylindrical, with engines bearing a numeral 1 on the side and a glass-domed cockpit.

“What about Yamcha?”

“He's on his way!” Trunks said as he set Bulma into a seat and buckled her in.

“But… who are you and where…”

“I'm Trunks, and I'm from Earth,” he said. “But the rest will have to wait.”

Sheathing his sword he then sat down before the front console and started to punch buttons. The ship slowly lifted off, levitating on its own power. Bulma saw through the front port how it glided through the interior of the craft she recognized as Kumquat's freighter orbiting bound towards Pyorrhea. Gasping she suddenly felt the ship again touchdown, and the hatch opened in the floor.

The loud buzz of energy sounded, heralding the rise of a cloaked figure through the hatch. When Bulma saw Yamcha's dark hair dangling from the helmet, and the orange and red garments peeking from the cloak's opening her heart stopped. She got a much better look at him now. Yet how could it be, Bulma wondered. Yamcha carried something over his shoulder that looked like a sack. Then the piece of hatch fused with the floor seamlessly and Yamcha let the sack drop. He strode over to where Bulma sat, and then unbuckled her to haul her up.

Dizzily she spun around in his arms, lifted above his face as he crowed with joy. Bulma squealed with mingled joy and shock, “Yamcha! How in Kami's name…”

“Bulma! It's me! I found you!” Yamcha shouted, lowering her to her feet. Arms wrapped around her he hugged her tightly. She gasped when he pulled back, tipping her chin up with his hand while his other wrapped her around her waist.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she breathed deeply. He was so handsome standing there, fierce and proud like when she had first met him. Around his throat gleamed a chain, from which hung a familiar locket. He had kept it, she wondered. Reaching up she fingered it.

“Yamcha how did you find me?” she gasped.

“I had help,” Yamcha panted, then leaned down. Bulma yelped before his lips claimed hers, and his grasp tightened. Not questioning anything, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly.

So unexpected was it that she thought nothing of it at first. Until something shuddered through her body, screaming in alarm. An angular face popped into her thoughts, frowning. Dark eyes of a different harsher quality than those of her love burned with fury. Bulma pushed on Yamcha's chest, breaking the kiss. He parted, thinking only that she was catching her breath as he beamed down at her.

“I'm only just glad that I've found you babe,” Yamcha sighed.

“But Yamcha there's something you should know,” Bulma protested. Not listening Yamcha scooped her up in his arms before he sat down. Planting Bulma on his lap, he buckled the belts around them.

Trunks pressed more buttons, and then shouted what sounded like commands in a strange language. The ship shifted forwards and then Bulma was crushed to Yamcha's chest tightly. Space seemed to warp and blur around them shortly. Then finally it slowed and she felt herself clinging to Yamcha tightly once more. She glanced up at him, and melted inside.

“Bulma,” he whispered.

“Yamcha,” she sniffled, and then felt his lips close over hers. In his arms, he felt her flinch, and then pulled back.

“What's wrong babe?”

“My friends… we can't just leave them there!” Bulma protested.

“Who?” asked Yamcha, blinking at her in confusion.

From next to them, Trunks interrupted, “Excuse me, but where to now?” asked Trunks.

“WE should make for earth,” Yamcha answered.

“No, you can't… they'll look for me!” Bulma gasped, squirming on his lap.

“Who?” asked Yamcha, holding her in what he thought was a comforting hug.

“The Saiyans!” she gasped. “Prince Vegeta will come after me… you can't take me away.”

“Who the hell is prince Vegeta?” Yamcha snorted. His face twisted in disgust because he remembered the name well enough.

Strangely, it wasn't Bulma who answered first; it was the lavender haired youth. He said grimly, “Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans. Someone you don't mess with.”

“How do you know about him?” Yamcha asked suspiciously, seeing the menacing gleam in those blue eyes.

“Yes, how do you?” Bulma asked.

“He's widely known throughout the universe,” Trunks answered.

“The Saiyans are purgers, remember,” Yamcha chimed in. His dark brow knitted with his frown, stunning Bulma. She felt her face flushing hot with guilt.

“Purgers… yes... I know they're planet brokers but...”

“Bulma, I learned a lot since you've been gone,” Yamcha sighed. “It's been almost a year since you have been missing. And for that whole year we've been flying around space looking for you.”

“A year? But it doesn't seem like that!” Bulma protested. “Unless you consider the theory of relativity.”

“That's right,” Trunks nodded soberly, his eyes reflecting great sorrow. It was the expression of someone who knew far more then they let on. Only a war hardened soldier or a disaster survivor would possess such a look, not a young boy barely on the verge of manhood.

“Bulma, what is this stuff about this alien Prince anyway? Was he the guy who kidnapped you?” Yamcha demanded.

“Yes… but it wasn't like that!” Bulma answered.

“Like what?” Yamcha said, not liking what he was hearing.

“He… and I… worked out a deal to save earth. If you take me he'll blow it up for sure!” Bulma protested.

Both Trunks and Yamcha exchanged a worried glance. Slowly Trunks shook his head, pressing his hand to it while Yamcha gritted his teeth. Anger poured off his body in waves when he stared down at Bulma with an expression that twisted her with guilt. He gritted, “Bulma, what are you saying? I chased halfway across space for you and you're telling me this?”

“It means Yamcha that you have to take me back. That ship was already kidnapping me. What 's more, my friends on that ship need my help. You can't just run off without helping them! They could be dead!”

“She's right,” Trunks, answered, causing Bulma and Yamcha to both turn to face him. “There were many more kis I sensed on that ship…”

“Please Yamcha we have to help them!” Bulma pleaded. Yamcha drew in his breath sharply and sighed.

“All right, but I don't know I we can fit anyone on here… it's cramped as it is,” he relented.

“Not to worry. We can rig this ship to tow them, or maybe I can fix the ship so it can follow,” Bulma brightened up. A small smile momentarily flashed over Trunks face, and she realized how much nicer he appeared when not frowning as much. Something about that glare of his reminded her of a Saiyan. Yet his coloring was all wrong.

“We'd better hurry then. I want to get the hell out of here after we play rescue,” Yamcha nodded.

“But we can't leave… he'll come after us!” Bulma protested. Yamcha again cursed.