Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein. If I did, there'd have been a lot less Saiyaman. He was silly, and you know it.

Author's notes: So, we're going to be jumping around a bit in regards to the timeline, because I find myself unable to force this story into a nice, linear fashion. Hopefully, things don't get too confusing. Chronologically, this chapter takes place after chapter 1.

Thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed, either on site, by email, or forum-wise. You know who you are, and your support has been great. Thanks so much. *hugs*

 

PRESENT DAY

“Yo Bulma, what'cha doing?” Bulma turned from her desk and smiled as Yamcha strolled into the lab. “Looks complicated.” She twirled around on her chair and picked up a piece of her experiment.

“I'm working on the gravity stabilizer. I thought that maybe if I could increase the gravity in a small portion of the station, maybe it would help you guys train.” She squinted, wrinkles creasing her forehead as she set a tiny screw into its hole.

“Ahh, like weighted clothes, but less awkward.” He leaned over her shoulder from behind, and she nearly gagged at the smell.

“Augh, what the hell, Yamcha? You smell like blood.”

“Of course I do.” He laughed, leaning in closer so that his mouth was next to her ear. “I shot myself in the head, remember?”

Simultaneously, in the other ear, a slick, sinuous voice that washed through her veins, making her sweat. Vengeance's voice. “Codename Sable is dead.” Over and over again, “Codename Sable is dead.”

Bulma whipped around, horrified to see the blood dripping down Yamcha's face. Codename Sable is dead. “Oh my God, Yamcha!” She cried out, one hand flying to her mouth, as though to stop the gagging. Codename Sable is dead.

“Aww, don't be like that, babe. It's fine. See?” Yamcha prodded the area around his forehead, and suddenly there was a gaping hole there, in the middle. He stuck his finger in, wiggling it around in illustration. All of a sudden, the hole was big enough for his whole hand to fit. Codename Sable is dead. “See, look, I can put stuff in here.” He pulled his wallet out of the hole and showed it to her. “Now you won't have to carry my wallet and keys in your purse all the time.” She swallowed bile as he pulled out a keyring and jingled it in her face, blood dripping and spraying from the swaying metal. Codename Sable is dead.

“No,” she gripped the table behind her, desperately wanting to get away. “No!” Codename Sable is dead.

“What's the matter? It's not that bad. Besides, I love you, Blue.” Codename Sable is dead. “We can work through this.”

“Bulma!” A female voice shouted. Bulma felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Her eyes flew open and she gasped to see Chichi, clad in her nightgown, a concerned look on her face. “Bulma, it's okay,” Chichi cooed as the blue haired woman began to sob. “You were having a nightmare. Shhh, that's okay. You were just dreaming.”

“H...How did you know?” Bulma hiccupped, wiping her sodden face on the sheets as Chichi sat back a little. Chichi's room was across the hallway.

“I...” The younger woman looked uncomfortable. “I heard you muttering and yelling. You were just thrashing around, saying `Codename Sable is dead' over and over again.”

*

“Well, here goes.” Krillin said, setting the small canister inside the air lock. He closed the hatch, and closed his eyes for a moment of silence. Everyone else did the same. “We love ya, buddy.” Krillin said, trying not to hiccup as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“Rest in Peace, Yamcha.” Chichi said, through a sniffle, as Krillin pushed the release button, opening the outer airlock and shooting canister out toward the stars. Puar let out a wail as the last bits of his friend were sucked into the vast, dark vacuum of space. Everyone murmured their own goodbyes as they watched the little glass container float off into the darkness. They didn't have his body, or a proper urn, so they'd done their best. A burial at sea, so to speak. A glass jar, pilfered from Mrs. Briefs' kitchen was lined with photos and filled with the ashes of some of Yamcha's favourite things. His baseball glove, though not the one from his career on Earth, of course, a favourite shirt, and all the things he'd had in his pocket, and cherished since, on that fateful day three years ago: three pennies, a gum wrapper, and a hair elastic. None of them had really understood why he kept the gum wrapper, but none of them had ever said anything. They'd all developed their own quirks and habits, their own vices, since Earth's destruction. Things that had never mattered before became immeasurably precious, and things that had once seemed so important were now disregarded like dirt on the ground.

They'd burned up the remnants of his life, each hesitating to put that next item into the flames. Shouldn't we keep it? How will we remember him? By doing this, aren't we just wiping his existence from history? Their hands shook, their resolve wavered. In the end, it had been Bulma's odd lack of sentimentality that kept them from holding onto those things. She'd kept nothing of him but a single picture of the two of them, laughing and covered in dirt and grease, taken shortly after their arrival on Red Station. Strange, for a relationship that had spanned twelve years, a friendship that was strong till the very end.

“Don't you want this?” Chichi had asked, holding up a glove, a ball, a shirt, even a toothbrush. “Something, anything of his, to remember him by?”

“What's the point?” Bulma had replied. “Those are just things. They're not him.” And Chichi had been left stunned, clutching a raggedy pair of sweatpants to her chest. She just didn't understand. Some days, she felt she'd gladly die for even a dirty sock or used Kleenex as a memento of her boys.

As cold as it seemed, as much as it hurt to admit, Bulma was right. Those things were useless, really. No amount of Yamcha's junk would ever bring him back. None of them would ever fill the void he'd left in their lives. And the lack of it would never, ever make them forget him.

And so each of them kept a picture, just one, so that if there were ever children to be had, there would be proof that a man named Yamcha had once lived, and died, for them.

 

*

 

“You've failed me, Vegeta.” Frieza snapped, his tail tapping in irritation against his hover chair. “Again.”

“I apologize, my Lord.” Vegeta inclined his head in a parody of a bow, and Frieza snarled to himself at this show of disrespect. “The agent eliminated himself before I arrived; there was no hope of resuscitation.” Radditz and Nappa kneeled a few feet back, Gohan crouched between them, each one dreading the moment when he might be called forward for interrogation. Or even when the lizard king might so much as look at them.

“Perhaps if you had arrived faster, Princeling, you would have made it.” Zarbon put in, smugly flipping his long braid over his shoulder.

“Forgive my impudence,” Vegeta said, in a tone that clearly indicated that he was not at all repentant, “but given that by the time that we received our orders, he'd already infiltrated our systems, there was no way we could have made it before he finished extracting the data he was after.” He looked pointedly at the exotic beauty, “The fact that he killed himself was beyond our control.” Zarbon huffed, but remained quiet.

Frieza scowled, eyes narrowing into furious little slits. “I see.” He turned toward the last man in the room, a shrew of a creature who looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in years. “And has your team figured out what exactly he was after?”

“N…no my Lord,” the technician sputtered, and Vegeta sneered. Mistake number one: never let the lizard see your fear. “The technology he used is quite advanced. We have been thus far unable to track it in our systems. It is as though it entered and left without a trace. As though it was never even there.” The little man's eyes took on a dreamy quality that made the prince uncomfortable. It was obvious that he was in awe of whatever technology had duped them all. Mistake number two: never show enthusiasm about anything. It meant you cared. “In fact, it was a fluke that we caught it. One of my technicians just happened to be running a system check when the computer picked up the foreign drive.” Mistakes numbers three and four: never admit that your success was an accident, and never, ever give someone else the credit. Vegeta tightened his tail around his waist, reflexively, as he waited for the inevitable.

“So you caught the intrusion but were not able to trace where it had been?” Frieza steepled his fingers together, elbows resting on the sides of his chair.

“We will do better next time, sir.” The technician's already wan pallor seemed to pale by several shades. Scare him any more, and he would glow in the dark, Vegeta thought.

“Not good enough.” Frieza said, and with a flick of his hand, what had once been a man was nothing more than a corpse on the floor. “Next time, you will do better.” He said to Vegeta, before dismissing the band of Saiyans with disgusted wave of his arm.

 

*

 

Vengeance was true to his word. Three days after his first appearance, there was a short transmission waiting for them.

“CODENAME BLUE,” it read, “I PRESUME THIS IS THE INFORMATION CODENAME SABLE WAS AFTER. THE FOLLOWING FILE HAS BEEN PASSWORD ENCRYPTED, IN THE EVENT THAT THIS REACHES THE WRONG HANDS. THE PASSWORD: SABLE'S LAST WORD. NO CAPS. I THINK YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS ONE.”

“That's cold, man.” Krillin said, reading over her shoulder, as Bulma's shaking hands typed the word `blue' into the computer. A pleasant chime sounded, and the coveted information spread itself before their eyes.

“It's cruel, is what it is.” She responded, scrubbing at her eyes with her hands before she continued. She'd nearly begun to bawl after receiving the transmission, and had had to take a moment to collect herself before calling in the others. “It's mean and nasty and low, but it's smart. God damn him, it's smart. Our line with Yamcha was secure. No one but us could possibly have known the answer.”

“I just wonder how he managed to get the files off the drive.” Dr. Briefs put in, one hand absently stroking his chin. “The security on that thing was pretty top notch.”

“What I want to know is how he found us.” Puar had floated into the room, and was glaring at the radio as though it was Vengeance himself. “Is he going to come kill the rest of us, too?”

“He doesn't know where we are, in space.” Bulma said, trying to tamp down on her own bitterness. “The information needed to contact us was on the drive, for Yamcha, in case he had to disconnect. It's all on there, if you know where to look.”

“Which, apparently, he does.” The doctor said, appreciatively. “Must be quite clever, this Vengeance lad.”

“He's probably a technician or something.” Krillin was studying another of the little drives on Bulma's work desk. “That's how he got past the security systems and figured out how to hack into our communication channels. I sure as hell wouldn't know what to do with this thing if I found it.” He poked the device, and Bulma slapped his hand away, her irritation at the situation plain on her face. She picked up the object herself, glaring at it.

“It doesn't matter who or what he is. If he found a way, someone else could too. It needs to be better.” She snapped.

“Perhaps we could ask Dr. Gero.” Her father suggested, and Bulma shivered. The man gave her the creeps. There was something about him that seemed off, though she couldn't place it. “I'm sure he could take a moment out of his research to give us a hand. Always helps to have a pair of fresh eyes looking at the matter.”

“Sure dad, we'll do that.” Bulma smiled at her father; it seemed nothing could faze the old man. “But for now, I think I'd better review this information.”

“So you trust him, then?” Puar squeaked out, plainly unhappy with this development. Bulma sighed and reached out to scratch behind his ear.

“You heard the transmission, Puar. Yamcha trusted him with the ghost drive, when he could have destroyed it instead.” Even as she spoke, Bulma felt herself bolstered by her own words. “Yamcha trusted him. That means that we should too…for now.” The little cat nodded gamely, though he was still plainly unhappy with the new development. He floated closer to drop down on the back of Bulma's chair.

“I'll try.” He said, “But I refuse to like him. He killed Yamcha, when he could have let him live.” Bulma remained silent. She did not want to press the fact that Yamcha had, in fact, killed himself. Yamcha had pulled the trigger. Vengeance had given him the option, and Yamcha had pulled the trigger, damn him. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Bulma made a conscious effort to unclench her fists, before any of the others noticed. She forced herself to look at the screen, to concentrate on the next goal. If she looked forward, she couldn't see her feet stumbling beneath her.

“Where is this?” Krillin asked, pointing at the blueprints displayed on the screen.

“Weapons factory on Benthal Six.” Bulma replied, setting the computer to print the document so she could review it and make notes later. “It's a rock planet with massive amounts of easily mined metals. No native life there, not even plants. Everything has to be brought in from elsewhere.”

“So what makes this one special?” Krillin asked. “Why was the information on this one so heavily guarded?”

“Experimental weapons division.” Bulma said, frowning at the newest page to pop out of the printer. “They're working on Ki-zapping weapons. Armour that absorbs Ki attacks, and this awful little number,” she tapped the paper as she pushed it across the desk to Krillin and Puar, “a Ki-dampening headband that would remove the ability to use any Ki whatsoever.” Krillin grimaced - it was a nasty looking piece of work. The temple-screws bothered him particularly.

“But that would make some of the strongest fighters in the Universe…” Puar marvelled.

“Weaker than kittens, I know.” Bulma finished. “Which would be awesome if someone could get one of these on, say, Frieza, or one of his high-ranking officers, like Zarbon, Vegeta, or Ginyu…any one of those guys would be great. Unfortunately, it's gonna end up on all the strong guys who are on our team. We need to take out all the research and make sure that thing never hits the markets.”

“How the heck are we going to get in there?” The monk asked, pushing the circlet designs back at Bulma. He didn't want to even think about anyone drilling holes in his skull and forcing that thing on him. “I imagine security is pretty tight.”

“Don't be silly,” she smiled back, in a way that made his stomach drop. He knew that smile and whatever followed was almost never good. “We've already been invited, of course. You and I,” she reached over, grabbed a surprised Puar by the scruff of the neck and held him up, wiggling and squirming, in Krillin's face, “and my body double.”

 

*

 

“Ugh, tell me again what we did to deserve this?” Radditz groaned as he watched the technician fumble with some gadget on the table. The man seemed nervous, though Radditz couldn't say why. Having three pissed off Saiyans in the same small, small room with him certainly couldn't be that nerve wracking.

“Frieza wants us to see this silly presentation,” Vegeta repeated for probably the fourth time since they'd received their assignment, “so that we might report back on his investment.” Radditz opened his mouth again, and Vegeta gave him the glare; a look that stopped grown men in their tracks, and sometimes caused unexplainable heart failure in children and small animals. “And if you do not shut your big fucking mouth, and stop asking questions, I will tear out your spleen and cram it down your throat. Even your tiny little brain should be able to comprehend that.”

Nappa snickered, and Radditz nodded sullenly, wondering why the technician seemed even more afraid. It wasn't like the threat had been directed at him anyways. Besides that, if Vegeta killed him, Radditz reasoned, then the technician would only be in a room with two pissed off Saiyans. Much less frightening than three.

“What I wanna know,” Nappa grumbled, “is how the brat got out of this.”

“The cub is of no need to us on this mission.” Vegeta said, dismissively, as he leaned in to take a closer look at the ki-draining circlet that the technician was currently working on. Nasty, dirty, fucking underhanded thing that it was.

“Besides, Gohan is studying.” Radditz said, sounding every bit the doting parent. “His Saiyan grammar stinks like fresh shit on a hot day. When it's humid.” Vegeta and Nappa shared a look, each looking as unimpressed as the other. Radditz's analogies always seemed to involve shit.

 

*

 

“So tell me again, how the hell you got us into this…whatever it is?” Krillin asked, nervously tugging at his shirt color for the tenth time in as many minutes. Security looked tight…really tight…almost as tight as his shirt collar, which felt like a noose around his neck.

“I told you, it's a presentation on the ki draining headband, among other things, to show Frieza and the other intergalactic assholes their progress. Word in the network is that Frieza is not exactly the patient type. When he's shelling out resources for something, he wants it done fast. The other participants in the presentation are black market types, mainstream weapons manufacturers, and the like. Men and women with power and money, who are always looking for a way to get more power and money.” She fluffed her hair and checked her lipstick in her compact mirror. “And as for how I got us in, don't be silly.” She tucked a rather suspicious second tube of lipstick into her purse.

“I know, I know, you worked your computer wizardry and hacked us out some invites.” The bald monk sighed, glad at least that he wasn't trapped in Bulma's purse like poor Puar. Rather emasculating, he thought, to be masquerading around as a tube of lipstick. “But do we really have to go by these names?” He whined.

“Of course we do.” She patted his bald head, dropped her compact into her purse, and strode over to the security desk. “They're printed on the invitations.” She turned to the guard at the security desk, gave him a dazzling smile, and said, “Malibu Barbie and Mr. Clean, checking in.” He scanned the guest list with four round eyes, challenging Bulma's ability to keep smiling as each eye rolled a different direction.

“Initial here.” He said simply, handing his clipboard first to Bulma and then to Krillin, who dutifully scribbled `Mr. C' beside the x. The guard waved them through without issue, all four eyes rolling skyward. Goddamn scientists. Always with the inside jokes. At least these two seemed decent enough about it. He smiled, patting the box of latex gloves on the counter top with one beefy hand. Too much sass and they'd be getting to know each other a little more personally.

Krillin gulped, watching the man's four eyes glaze over as he patted the box, lost in some dreamland of his own. “Er, is that all, sir?” He asked, meekly, and breathed out a great sigh of relief as the guard nodded.

“Through that door.” The alien grumbled, waving them through before the next visitors stepped up.

*

Vegeta's eyes snapped up as a gorgeous girl and a little bald guy stepped into the already crowded office. She made a small, surprised `o' with her mouth, as though she hadn't expected such a crowd, while her little companion scanned the faces around him. He had the look of a warrior, and Vegeta's scouter pinned him at a fairly decent power level, despite the small stature. Her bodyguard, perhaps? But then, who was she? Her power level was negligible, lower than that of a third class Saiyan newborn, but she was quite pretty, with an attractive body and big boobs; she didn't look like she'd understand a word of the presentation. Vegeta knew the equation: the bigger the tits, the smaller the brain. Probably some underground weapons mogul's moll, here to protect her sugar daddy's investments. He was willing to bet a sizeable chunk of his fairly sizeable fortune that the little bodyguard was the one taking all the notes.

Vegeta himself was actually quite interested in the presentation about to be given. The idea of ki-reducing technology was both fascinating and terrifying to him, given that Frieza would more than likely be the one to wield that power. He was eager to learn everything he could about it. Like everything else in his life, he felt that if he knew enough, he could overcome it. He imagined himself training, teaching his body to circumvent the technology, rendering it useless. Frieza would think himself safe, with the Prince of all Saiyans' power under lock and key, and he would let his guard down…and then, and then…

“Sire,” Vegeta was dragged out of his daydream by a nice, discreet elbow to the side, courtesy of Radditz. Nappa paled as the air went out of their prince in a puff, only to be replaced with a gasp. People were looking, and the murder of Radditz was about to become public spectacle.

“My Prince,” he interjected, before Vegeta had a chance to do anything violent, “we are being asked to follow along.” Vegeta's lip curled back in a royal sneer, but he played along, refusing to meet either of his subordinates' eyes. In avoiding their gazes, he did accidentally lock eyes with a beautiful pair of baby blues, framed by thick lashes and creamy skin. He shook his head, irritated. Bimbo.

-

Ten minutes into the presentation, it was clear to Vegeta that he'd underestimated the blue haired female. She hadn't said anything to make him change his mind, hadn't spoken at all, in fact, but he watched the way that her eyes roved around the room, taking in every last detail on their little tour through the labs. He noticed them narrow in concentration as the technicians explained what they were working on, watched them glaze over as they expounded on concepts she already understood, and watched them brighten as the group passed a washroom.

“I have to pee.” She whispered to her companion a little too loudly. She flushed, sheepishly, as everyone turned to look at her. “Err, sorry.” She apologized, taking two steps backward, toward the clearly marked ladies' room. Turning, she fled through the door as a few quiet chuckles rippled through the group.

-

“Puar,” Bulma hissed, “my ass is not that big.”

“Maybe not to you,” the cat shot back, comparing his image in the mirror to the woman at his side. “Take a look, we're the same.” Even the voice imitation was pretty good, though not spot on.

“Try not to talk while you're out there.” Bulma said, straightening a stray hair on the back of Puar's head. “This is really weird.” She said, staring at the real, live doppelganger before her. “You ever been me before?” She asked, playfully.

“Of course not,” Puar scoffed, blushing. Damn pale human skin! Okay, so maybe once or twice after one of their many break-ups, he'd cheered Yamcha up with a crass imitation of Bulma, but he'd never used it to his own gain…not that he'd never thought of it. Shaking his head to clear it of unhealthy thoughts, he focused once again on retaining his shape. “You have everything you need?” He asked, and she held up her little ghost drive, smiling as she stuck it in her pocket. “Okay, good luck then. I'll see you back at the ship.” He straightened his skirt and picked up Bulma's purse, before flouncing out the door.

Left alone, the real Bulma could do nothing but sit and review her plans while she waited.

-

Radditz's nose twitched to life as the blue haired woman re-joined the group. She smelled different, didn't she? He looked at Nappa and Vegeta, to see if either of their senses of smell had suddenly danced into center stage, but neither seemed to be paying any attention. He leaned toward her, as unobtrusively as possible, and took a deep breath. Had she put on perfume or something? She definitely smelled different. Almost animal, somehow. Like prey. Yum.

-

The Bulma-shaped Puar crowded a little closer into Krillin when he felt the long haired Saiyan's eyes on him, felt his heart beat so fast he thought it might burst. He'd known that men would look at him differently, but given the situation, it was really making him nervous. When the big man leaned in to take a whiff, Puar thought he was going to shit himself and die, right there on the spot. He'd known Krillin was along because the mission would be dangerous, and he'd been warned that they would probably come into contact with some rather unsavoury characters, but no one had said anything about Saiyans.

Puar resisted the urge to mewl like a scared kitten when he was scented again, hoping to whatever God was listening that the Saiyan wasn't sniffing out his next meal.

*

Ten minutes after Puar left, Bulma peeked out the door, glad to see the little tour group had moved on. She slunk out and ducked into a service corridor, stopping only to check the number on the wall against the memorized blueprint she had in her head. If she followed this hallway, she'd find a computer lab, and from there she'd use the ghost drive to hack into the system and destroy all of the files relating to the ki weaponry and armour…not before making copies for herself, of course. Ideally, she would have liked to send in Puar, who could shapeshift to get easily in and out, but the security systems in this facility were such that nothing less than an expert could get through, and the ghost still needed human direction. She'd thought, more than once, about asking Dr. Gero for help in that area, but something about him still put her off.

After a few nerve wracking moments, she reached the lab and was relieved to see that no one was inside. She'd been relying purely on luck for that stage of the plan, not that she'd ever admit it to Puar, Krillin, or any of the others waiting back on Red Station. They'd kill her themselves for being so foolish.

After locking the door from the inside, she strode over to the nearest computer, pulling out her little drive and plugging it in. She sat, waiting for the ghost's programming to initialize and start the steps that would allow her to hack into the research team's databases.

*

Vegeta was gone, and Nappa was irritated. One second, his prince had been standing there, idly looking over the various little creations, probably the only one of the three of them to understand anything about them, even if that understanding bored him to tears, and the next, he was gone, leaving Nappa all alone in his misery. Radditz was technically there in the physical sense, but he hadn't stopped staring at the blue-haired girl, nor had he allowed himself to be separated from her by a distance of more than three steps at any time, and she was obviously not enjoying the attention.

Poor, fool boy, Nappa thought, as he watched Radditz trail after her like a brat after its mother, all the while pretending not to stare. Did he think he was being subtle?

*

Bulma pulled the drive from the computer port and pocketed it with nervous fingers. So far, her little wonder-device had only been used to sneak in and copy information undetected, never to sneak in and wipe out massive amounts of data undetected. She was fairly confident that someone would notice the loss before she and her companions were safely back at Red Station; that was okay with her. What would not be okay is if someone noticed the loss before she and her companions were safely out of this research facility. That would definitely not be cool.

Either way, the task was done, and she was in possession of the only digital copy of the documents. Vengeance had assured her that he would see to the physical; all the prototypes and any existing paper documents would be destroyed. He hadn't said how, and she hadn't asked.

Taking a deep breath and trying to look as though she belonged there, just in case anyone was around, Bulma opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

What she did not expect was to turn a corner and come face to face with one of Frieza's top henchmen, none other than Vegeta, the Prince of Saiyans.