Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Of Logic ❯ Mavens & Madmen ( Chapter 1 )

"In a false quarrel there is no true valor." - Shakespeare

Free time was difficult to come by for Prime Minister Briefs and so it would have been no surprise to any of her close friends or advisors had they found her curled up on her chaise reading the latest edition of Science Journal. And that is exactly what she was doing; however, those aforementioned individuals would have probably been quite surprised to find their Prime Minister in her underclothes.

"Prime Minister..." came the cautious voice over the intercom. Bulma Briefs had a notoriously foul temper when her free time was interrupted.

True to form, Bulma slammed the magazine onto the table and huffily set her feet on the floor, "Yes?!"

"Prime Minister, Lord Freeza of the Ice Dominion will be arriving on the hour - in 15 minutes to be exact."

"I can very well read time, you ingrate! Ready my personal jet. I'll pilot the damn thing myself. Just get a troop of agents ready...And make sure Chichi brings those reports with her!" Bulma ran an agitated hand through her aquamarine hair.

"Um, which capsule is the jet, Prime Minister?"

"Eight! Now leave me be!" growled Bulma; the intercom audibly clicked off with a screech and series of heinous, grating clicks.

Unceremoniously, and yet with utmost precision, Bulma hopped up and made her way across the room to a full-length mirror beside which hung her outfits for the day. She flipped through the rack.

Finally she found the suit she would wear. She pulled on the skirt, then the sleeveless turtleneck, and finally the jacket. Pinstripes and a black turtleneck. Snazzy, yet businesslike. Perfect. With that, Bulma slipped her feet into a pair of black pumps and removed a set of pearls and a pair of wire-rim glasses from the jewelry drawer to the right of the mirrors.

After adding her accessories, Bulma looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her reflection. She - as usual - looked great, and the ensemble couldn't more pointedly say business.

With that, she headed through her office into her reception area. To her delight, Chichi stood waiting for her; the young assistant looked both delighted and overwhelmed.

"You'll be fine, Chichi," said Bulma as she offered the girl a reassuring smile. "Now, you have those reports ready to go?"

"Yes ma'am. Are you ready?"

"I most certainly am. Let's be on our way to the jet, copilot."

"Actually, Madame Prime Minister, your security team overruled us on that one. But we really don't have time to fight it, so come along."

Amazingly, Bulma followed without so much as a word of complaint.

A frown etched on her lips, the Prime Minister gazed at the descending ship, a shielding hand held against her furrowed brow. She watched as the ship landed, she waited as the ramp lowered. As footsteps rang from the ship's interior, Bulma motioned her entourage forward.

"Prime Minister Briefs!" called out a voice Bulma was all too familiar with.

"Good afternoon, Lord Freeza," replied Bulma in a tone so pleasant as to be completely devoid of the scorn and contempt she felt for this powerful being. She cleared her throat delicately and spoke to the creature in his native tongue: "I hope your flight was well?"

The usually unexpressive face of Lord Freeza broke into a pleased smile. "Quite well, actually. Your command of our language astounds me, Prime Minister."

Bulma blushed ever so slight and smiled at the being. "Good, and thank you, Lord Freeza. I'm sorry to do this, but I must await Prince Vegeta's arrival. My assistant, Chichi, will escort you and your entourage to one of the guest accommodations. She will also debrief you on the week's schedule."

"I see..." drew out the changeling, "Well, I hope the monkey prince minds his manners when he does arrive." With that and a respectful bow, he ushered Chichi forward. Thus commenced the young woman's direction of affairs while Bulma stalked back to her jet. There she settled into a seat, crossed her legs, and began reading through a culture printout for what must have been the 100th time.

It was several hours and a martini later that Bulma heard the roar of Saiyan engines. The Prime Minister set down her martini and collected her jacket before finally exiting the jet. She stalked across the tarmac just as the ship's ramp lowered, barely reaching it before the Saiyans exited.

Before Bulma could extend her greetings, Prince Vegeta spoke out dryly and with little or no true sense of apology: "Our apologies, Prime Minister. We were met with delays in the design of an attempted sabotage. No need to tell you who ordered the attempt on my life."

Bulma stifled a sigh. This was going to be a long week - a very, very, very long week.

Despite the Simian tail, Bulma decided, Prince Vegeta was not an unattractive male. What Bulma couldn't figure out was why he didn't attempt using that to his advantage. Nevertheless, she made a not of that in the margin: beware should he decided to come onto her.

She then turned her attention to the changeling, her lips pursed in her attempts not to scowl. She felt there was something he was withholding, something that gave him a distinct advantage over the Saiyans.

She grabbed for a post-it and quickly scrawled out a note, folding it after and printing clearly a name. She placed a hand on Chichi's arm. Her assistant looked up and she pressed the note into her hand. "I need you to take that," she mouthed.

Chichi nodded and was off like a shot, looking most determined. No one thought on it; it wasn't unusual for an assistant to leave on a task, after all.

Stifling a sigh, Bulma returned her attention to the session, catching the tail end of some changeling trader's rhetorical verbiage. Bulma looked down at her agenda: a captain Isacuve's testimony. Next would be a Saiyan captain Kukubre's testimony on the same instance.

Outside of diplomatic hearings Bulma would secretly imagine two male dogs in a territorial pissing match. Though she felt mild regret as the thought was a byproduct of her disillusionment, the thought actually relieved some of that bitterness.

Bulma stifled a yawn. Oh, goody! Isacuve's testimony was finally ending. The only problem was that his testimony had been no more enlightening than the previous. Maybe Kukubre's would be more useful?

Hah! Nowhere near likely! Bulma stopped herself short of drumming her fingers on the table, opting instead to chew on the end of her pencil and look interested rather than irritated.

"Chichi, this is the most irrational problem we've been called on to mediate," groused Bulma. She pursed her lips before sipping on her brandy. She flipped a page and rolled her eyes. "'Egregious transgressions against the Saiyan Trade Federation' my ass! And what about this? 'Blatant disregard of the Ice Dominion's Sovereign borders.' They know damn well there are no borders outside of systems and only loose policing permitted within." The latter words were spat contemptuously.

Chichi eyeballed her Prime Minister. "I...think you've had enough of this..."

"Bah! My liver and kidneys!"

"If this was on your own time, your liver and kidney functions would not be my concern. However, you're mediating tensions of superpowers and it ISN'T your time. Hence, your inebriation and alcohol level ARE my concern!"

"Damn it all. Can't beat syllogistic reasoning, can I? Why won't Aristotle just die?"

"He is dead, ma'am."

"Oh, you know what I meant!"

"Yes, but it's fun to give you a hard time."

"I hate logic."

"You're drunk. You wouldn't like it, particularly at the bottom of a glass."

Bulma sighed, "I suppose it's back to work then..."

"Yes," said Chichi as she stashed and locked away the brandy.

"I think I'm just going to send in the Nameks," said Bulma thoughtfully, "or at least suggest it."

"Sounds like a plan, ma'am."

"You'd think our intelligence would be superb."

"Yes..."

"Well, it isn't. That file you brought? Nothing spectacular."

"Which is why you're willing to send in the Nameks?"

"Yeah. Freeza has something up his sleeve. I can just tell it. Yet, we have nothing more than the basics and circumstantial evidence at best - besides the fact that it amounts to nothing. The Saiyans have all their cards out...but the Ice Dominion has a trump card. What that trump card is, I'm not sure...but I'm certain it's there. So...yeah, the Nameks had best go in."

"What if one side refuses?"

"Vegeta won't - he has nothing to lose. Freeza might, however. We'll just have to wait and see. Oh! Or, convince him we're promoting trade and good behavior. Or some bullshit like that."

"I'll get someone working on good, solid reasons," said Chichi.

"Thanks."

"I will accept these tenets on behalf of the Ice Dominion," said Freeza.

Bulma barely managed to conceal her utter surprise. "Truly? You will? Fantastic! And you, Prince Vegeta? Will you accept the terms?" Her gaze shifted to the Saiyan.

"Yes," said Vegeta stoically, "The Saiyan empire accepts the terms as presented."

"Good. Now, sign in Galactic Standard and also with the seal of your government," said Bulma. The two diplomats did so. When all was said, done and signed, Bulma stood. "These proceedings are now adjourned."

Lord Freeza bowed deeply to Bulma, "It was, as always, a pleasure, Prime Minister Briefs. I must depart for my home world." With that the changeling brushed past Vegeta without so much as a nod.

Vegeta bristled at Freeza, snarling quietly until Bulma cleared her throat. "It's been a pleasure to resolve this issue with you, Prince Vegeta."

Vegeta scowled at her, "It has not been resolved, Madame Prime Minister. This has only stalled the inevitable." With that, the Saiyan Prince bowed and turned quickly on his heels.

Bulma gaped after the Saiyan as he stalked out of the room. As the shock wore off, she sunk to her seat and buried her face in her palms. He was right. He was all too right and she knew it.