Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: I'd like to apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I was quite busy making costumes so I didn't have much time to write in the lead up to Halloween. Thanks for your patience!

Back to the present, my friends. Chronologically, this chapter takes place directly after chapter 13. Also thanks for the feedback on Chapter 14. Everyone loves hearing about bowel-shattering diarrhea.

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PRESENT DAY

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“Vegeta told me once, much later, that death can be salvation.” Gohan clasped his hands in his lap and stared, unseeing, at the floor. He was surprised that his voice was so steady, while he felt his insides tremble and shake. “At the time I thought he was simply trying to offer some kind of consolation, but...well it took me a long time to realize that Vegeta isn't that kind of guy.” An off-kilter grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he had to stop himself from laughing at his own naiveté, for fear of what his mother might think of giggling at such a time. “Saiyans believe in the salvation of an honourable death; a quick death in battle or a slow decline after a long and glorious life, but to have one's death muddied by the shame of slow torture, to die with a weak soul , with no pride, is a great fear of theirs...of mine now too, I suppose.”

“So if you'd let that woman and her son live...” Chichi trailed off, not really sure how to phrase her thoughts. She didn't want to think about that monster, forcing her son to murder a helpless woman. Her poor little baby; he'd have been six, possibly approaching seven. She couldn't be sure; his timeline was vague. She remembered the sweet, shy little boy he'd been, wearing the cute dragonball hat that she'd made for him, and felt pain rip through her at the loss of that child.

“They aren't the only ones, you know.” Gohan said, his voice suddenly sharp, as though to prove to her he was beyond her reach. “I've killed others.” This was said defiantly, daring her to turn away as he was sure she would. “And if you think that I'll go the rest of my life without ever doing it again, I'm sure you're wrong.” He looked at her then, his eyes burning with the intensity of his words. He did not like to harm, to kill, she was sure of it, but he would do it nonetheless, in service of that black demon he called Prince.

“Why?” She asked, meeting his gaze with her own trembling one.

“Because sometimes it is necessary. There is no triumph without suffering. Frieza must be destroyed, and if we must damn ourselves to do it, then gladly will we make Vegeta the King of Hell.” Chichi watched as her son balled his fists, pressing them against hard thighs. The muscles in his arms flexed and bulged with effort, as though he would burst into flames if he dared to move. The way the air seemed to sizzle around him, she thought it a very real possibility.

“You would do it all again, then?”

“I would.” Gohan answered, without hesitation. “I don't expect you to understand it, mother.” He said, a little more softly. “But my place is with them. I realized that the moment Vegeta stepped up to face Frieza. I trembled like a baby and didn't say anything when he took the pain that was meant to be mine, and yet he did not really do it for me...not really. Vegeta is...I don't know how to describe it.” Gohan paused with a sigh and a shrug. “He is the legendary. Radditz once told me that he is our sword and our shield; it is his duty to protect us and to destroy our enemies, but it is ours to hold him up. If I must bloody my hands to do so, then I will.”

“I...” Chichi paused. “I won't lie to you Gohan, I wished a different life for you.” She put her hand on his shoulder, “And I don't approve of any of this,” she squeezed, “but I will always be your mother, and I will always love you.” She reached over, forcibly pulling her reluctant son into an awkward hug. Letting him go, she straightened up and smoothed out her clothes, trying to adopt some facade of nonchalance, even while her heart was breaking. She felt that if she let him know how upsetting it all was, she might just lose him forever. “But you'd better know mister, that I'm going to have a talk with those nasty saiyans about what is and is not appropriate!” She shook her finger at him, reminding him of the old days, and he smiled a little.

“Don't be too hard on them mom.” He scooted off the bed and stood as well. “I...I think they wished a different life for themselves, too.” Chichi nodded with great effort and patted him on the head as she had done when he was young, before making to leave. Just as she was going through the doorway though, she stopped and turned back to see him watching her.

“I've never killed anything more than an animal.” She said, frankly, clutching the doorjamb with both hands, trusting its strength to hold her up. “And I never thought much of killing for food. Killing for other reasons...I suppose it isn't so far a stretch if it ensures your survival. I just wondered,” her eyes darted to the ground, hesitating, hoping he wouldn't be offended. “How do you deal with it?”

Gohan smiled, a little sadly, and thought for a moment. He'd known this would be hard on her, but he hadn't quite realized the toll it would take on his own mind. He felt as though dozens of tiny cracks had spread through him, so fragile that even the gentlest bump could shatter him. “I remember their faces, you know. I think perhaps that is why Frieza's soldiers are so fond of killing from a distance. Sometimes when I close my eyes and see them there, I think the knowledge of what I have done will crush me.” He was looking at his hands, drifting away in memory. “But,” he said, forcibly snapping himself back into the present and looking at the other bed in the room, “I know that I am not the only one to be haunted by such memories, and it gives me comfort.”

Chichi nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you,” she said, not sure she understood his sentiment or conviction, but pleased and comforted that while her son, her baby, was a killer, he was not without remorse. She had not borne a monster, and that was enough for her.

*

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“Oh, for the love of Kami, Vegeta, will you quit staring?” Bulma slammed the ki-imitating rifle down on her workbench and glared at him. He'd followed her into the lab after that awful scene with Nappa and perched on the stool right across the table from her, his dark eyes following her every movement.

“I am not staring at you, woman.” He snapped, sneering at her as though she were the ugliest creature he'd ever seen. It was a look she'd never received in her life before meeting the arrogant prince, and a testament to his temperament that she was quickly growing used to it.

“I never implied that you were!” She shot back, pleased with herself. “But I can't get a damn thing done with you watching me like a hawk! Look, my hands are shaking! You make me nervous, which is not a good thing to be when working with such a volatile device!”

“There is no charge in it.”

“Ugh, are you stupid, or just slow to catch on? The core is still dangerous without any charge.” She glared and he shrugged, leaning forward to look at the little cylinder she was pointing to, its muted glow illuminating the tip of the screwdriver in her hand. “Ugh, no wonder no one's caught on to you. Vengeance seems a lot smarter.” She muttered, carefully leaning in to extract one of the tiny screws holding the core in place. The Saiyan's frown deepened, but he chose to ignore her remark for the time being.

“What are you doing to it?” Vegeta sat back and allowed her the space to work, though he still continued to watch her every move.

“Like you said, it ran out of charge too quickly. I can't make the core stronger without increasing its size, but I can try and reduce the resistance in the circuits so that they don't eat up as much power. I hope to make it more efficient so it doesn't drain the core as quickly.” Vegeta hummed his understanding, and despite her best intentions to ignore him, her curiosity was piqued. “Did you look at the blueprints for this thing?” Bulma asked, not looking up as she plucked a pair of padded forceps from the table beside her and slipped the glowing little cylinder from its brackets. He hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't staring at her. He'd glanced at her - a lot - that was for sure, but mostly he'd watched her hands as they carefully disassembled the rifle. She could also tell he was reading the notes that she jotted down, his eyebrows knitting together every so often with the effort of deciphering her scrawl upside-down.

“I have studied the schematics quite extensively, yes.” He answered, his tone matter of fact. “Is it really so volatile?” He asked, gesturing at the secure case that she tucked the core into, before closing and locking it away.

“Yes, this little baby could blow us all to smithereens if it's not handled carefully.” She grimaced at the black case. “Yet another drawback to overcome. I doubt anyone will have the chance to be concerned about shaking it up too much, in the heat of battle. I'd like to make it more stable, as well.” She stood and carried the case to the secure vault that she kept her most dangerous experiments in. After the debacle with Roshi, Oolong and the GRAV system three years ago, she wasn't taking any chances. Their mistake had saved them all from Earth's destruction, yes, but no way in hell was blowing up the station going to be good for anyone. “I'm a little surprised that Frieza's scientists didn't bother to stabilize the core before designing the gun. The way it is now, it would do more damage than good in the average man's hands.”

“The safety and comfort of his foot soldiers was never high on Frieza's priority list.” Vegeta pointed out, amused by the dark look that crossed her face. “To catch one strong enemy, he'd gladly sacrifice a thousand weak subordinates.”

“That's awful.” Bulma sat back down, frowning at Vegeta's disinterested tone.

“That is what we are dealing with.” The Saiyan shrugged, uncaring, and more than a little irritated with her. “Condemning his depravity amongst ourselves will do nothing to change it, so what does it matter if Frieza is sick or simply oblivious? The goal is the same.”

“Do you have to be so pragmatic?” Bulma huffed. “It's hard to trust you when things like this don't bother you at all.”

“Do you have to be so emotional?” Vegeta shot back. “How can I trust you, knowing your sentimental little heart rules your pathetic brain?”

“Pfft, pathetic?” She shook her screwdriver at him. “Just over an hour ago, you were calling me a genius.”

“Momentary insanity.” Vegeta rolled his eyes as she stuck her tongue out at him, before returning her focus to the disassembled device in front of her.

“So,” she changed the subject after a moment of silence passed between them, her earlier curiosity having returned. “You said you looked at the blueprints. How much did you understand?” She was blushing a little bit as she asked the question; for her, asking a good-looking man to display his intelligence was like asking him to take off his shirt. She carefully avoided eye contact by pretending to be absorbed in the details of her notes, turning her face down toward the papers to hide her flushed cheeks.

“I understood much of what was written.” Vegeta said, frowning at her. Was she trying to insult him? He didn't think so; he couldn't detect any malicious intent in her voice, though her scent suddenly belied a nervousness she strove not to show. “The finer details pertaining to the core were more difficult.” He admitted, not liking the flash of disappointment that crossed her features. “I have not had much time with them. I am certain that I would understand, given more time to study the diagrams and notes.”

Bulma shook her head. “There's a lot of complex science here, and the notes aren't complete. They're meant for people who already have the knowledge base to work with. There are gaps in the calculations that even my father and I struggled to fill in.” She sighed; there would be no passionate discussions of physics lasting long into the night. Then she brightened. “But the fact that you understood most of this is impressive enough.” She gestured to the scattered parts that littered the table. “I don't mean to be rude, but I really wasn't expecting it.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she struggled to explain herself. “I...you know, most people wouldn't.”

Vegeta cracked a smile, well a smirk, really, and she realized she'd been played. “It doesn't hurt to keep something up one's sleeve, so to speak.” Vegeta shrugged and shifted his gaze from her red face to the scattered papers around them. “These aren't all for the gun, are they?” he asked, “What else have you got in here?”

“Hey, hey, don't!” Bulma shrieked, reaching to bat his hand away as he rifled through one of the piles. “You'll mess everything up!”

“It's already a mess, from what I can see.”

“Ugh, I have a system, Vegeta.” Bulma rolled her eyes and made to snatch the sheaf of papers he held. He moved too quickly for her, and she missed, half-falling over the table. “Give those back.”

“What is this?” Vegeta had stopped smirking and was staring intently at the blueprints drawn on the first page. When she didn't respond, he flipped to the next page, eyebrows lowering in thought as he skimmed through the notes written there.

“It's something that dad and I have been working on.” Bulma shrugged, reaching again. “No big deal.

“But this is...” he dodged her grasp again. “This is...” he looked over at her. “If I had this at my disposal, I could be strong enough to defeat Frieza in no time!” He shoved the papers at her. “Build it.”

“What? No, I've got other projects.” She took the blueprints back and turned away to file them. “Besides, the gravity chamber is still in the planning stages. There's easily months of work left to be done before we begin constructing a prototype, and no telling what sort of problems we'll encounter before perfecting it for use.”

“Ugh, woman, how hard can it be? You've already got artificial gravity systems on this station; your only task would be to increase the level of that gravity.” Vegeta crossed his arms across his chest, the tip of his tail twitching where it lay curled about his waist.

“And figure out how to keep the high gravity contained to one portion of the ship, and build a room strong enough to withstand the increased pressure, and design some fail-safes to ensure that it doesn't go overboard, and a million other things.”

“If you build it, I'll buy you another regeneration tank.” Vegeta said, watching as her eyes bulged.

“Like you could afford that!” She snorted, but he could see that the idea had taken hold in her mind.

“You have no idea what I can afford.” Vegeta said flippantly.

“You owe us one, anyway.” Bulma countered, “Since you broke ours beyond repair.”

“That was your fault, as I recall it.” Vegeta snapped, unhappy to be reminded of that embarrassing and altogether too revealing event. “Anyway I'm not going to argue with you. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine, deal.” Bulma said, but was quick to add her own conditions. “But the GR stays here where I can monitor it, and you be careful with it. If it breaks while on the station, you could be putting us all in danger.”

“Isn't that what fail-safes are for?” Vegeta rolled his eyes, but his tail had uncoiled and was swaying lazily behind him, a clear indication of his pleasure at having gotten what he wanted. “When will it be complete?”

“I don't know.” Bulma shrugged. “Probably a few months at least. And that's if I shelve all my other projects and-”

“Do it.” He cut her off, ignoring the frown that claimed her pretty lips.

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“Ugh, Roshi, you know Bulma and Chichi will kill us if we don't get everything on this list.” Oolong complained, watching his old friend bypass the `feminine hygiene' aisle. Who would have thought they'd have tampons in space?

“You go get that stuff then.” Master Roshi wheeled the squeaky cart around the corner with some difficulty. The right front wheel was sticky and had to be carefully coaxed into turning. Oolong grimaced, looking once more with pained eyes at the list. Max-flow tampons and ultra-thin pads WITH WINGS. It was written just like that, in red ink, capitals and everything. What the fuck were wings, he wondered, his little piggy ears trembling with trepidation. Sure, he liked the vag, but he'd carefully avoided gaining any more knowledge about that sinister time of the month as possible.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Oolong edged carefully into the aisle. “To boldly go...” he muttered, bitterly thinking that this whole trip to space had been a waste. Sure, if he'd stayed on Earth he'd likely have been blown to smithereens, but at least he wouldn't be in this situation, wheeling a cart around with Roshi in some intergalactic supermarket, staring at a wall of shudder-inducing packages, promising all sorts of lovely, blood-related sentiments. God, why were there so many? He scanned the packages, desperately searching for what the women had written down, nervous sweat rolling down his forehead. If he'd only known what was written on the list, he'd never have volunteered to do the shopping. He'd only agreed in the first place in order to escape the station for just a little while, to get away from those damn Saiyans and their endless muscles. They all reeked of testosterone and masculinity, and Oolong had felt the need to get away from the sausage party for a little while. They really needed more chicks on Red Station. Maybe they could score some hotties in the veggie aisle, he mused.

“Hurry up in there!” Roshi shouted from the end of the aisle, breaking Oolong from his reverie. The pig snorted and hurriedly grabbed the first acceptable package he saw, trying to avoid reading about its promise of freshness as he hurried back toward Roshi and buried it in the cart under a few bags of chips.

“What's next?” He asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Meat.” Roshi replied, grimacing at the amounts Chichi had written down. The saiyans had been on Red Station for a little under a week, and they'd already managed to consume a month's worth of supplies. No one knew when they were leaving; Vegeta was vague about it when pressed, and Bulma, de facto head of Red Station since Gero didn't seem to give two shits, didn't seem in any hurry to kick them out. She almost seemed to enjoy their presence, odd as it seemed! Women were strange creatures. Seeing Gohan was good though, Roshi supposed, despite the fact that he'd become a frighteningly strong little half-alien in his absence, and they didn't really know where his allegiances lay. He'd attacked the uncle to save his mother, yes, but beyond that he obeyed orders to a fault.

“Damn Saiyans,” Oolong muttered as he hefted a shank into their cart. “I would be seven hundred pounds if I ate they way they did.”

“Pfft, did you see the big one?” Roshi shook his head as he gathered up several packages of ground meat. “I bet you he weighs eight hundred, as is!”

“Weird that he listens to that little guy.” Oolong shook his head.

“That's because that little guy could crush him like a bug.” Roshi said, the seriousness of his tone surprising. “He doesn't look like much, but his power level is amazing. I nearly shat my pants when I felt it the first time. Even injured, he could have beat Goku in a heartbeat.”

“Speakin' a Goku,” Oolong hesitated, “Since Gohan is alive...maybe ya think...?”

“That Goku is too?” Roshi smiled at the memory of his best student. “I think it is likely. That boy was tough. I feel like I would know it, if he had died.”

Oolong nodded, his ears flapping against his head. “I think so too.” He said, firmly, as though that would make it true. “Now what's next?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Three tins of Glorax's Sprigot Powder, and that's the last of it.”

*

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Puar edged carefully toward the open door, his back to the wall. The big bald Saiyan rested inside, shit-eating grin on his face as Radditz grudgingly changed his bandages.

“Oh, Radditz,” Nappa cooed, mockingly, “you missed a spot.” He wriggled his toes, pointing with one finger down at a speck of blood that had been missed by the alcohol wipe. Radditz rolled his eyes and reached for another of the disposable cloths, seriously wondering if Nappa was weakened enough that he could possibly take the big Saiyan out without much of a fight. His fingers itched to wrap around that beefy neck and choke the life out of the smug bastard. “And I'm out of pudding.” Nappa grinned at the low growl that rumbled unbidden from Radditz's chest. The oaf was enjoying it a little too much.

“I'll cut out your tongue, I swear it.” Radditz grumbled, viciously tightening the bandage he'd been wrapping around a nasty burn on Nappa's leg before having been interrupted. “Let's see you enjoy your fucking pudding when you haven't got any taste buds left.”

“I think you're supposed to be playing nursemaid, Radditz, not butcher.” Nappa grunted at the tight pinch of fabric around his calf. “Did you forget Vegeta's orders?”

“What will he care if I cut out your tongue, so long as I dress the wound after? I'm sure Vegeta would promote me, to shut you up for good.”

Puar peeked around the doorframe to watch Radditz work, the bare muscles of his arms bunching and flexing ever so slightly as he tied off the clean cotton bandage that protected Nappa's leg-wound from exposure. The room reeked of blood and alcohol, sharp scents which overlaid the more earthy musk of Saiyan skin, a scent Puar remembered well. He shivered as tingle racing up his spine at the memories of his one night with the beast.

What am I doing? He wondered, his eyes tracing the contours of Radditz's thighs; he remembered pulling one of those red bands off with his teeth. I shouldn't be here, he told himself, all the while unable to move. All he wanted was the chance to look at the Saiyan, to add fuel to his hazy, semi-drunken memories of their one night together. It was pathetic, he knew, and reeked strongly of a teenaged crush, but he couldn't help it; he was downright infatuated. Had he been more confident, he'd have changed into “other” Puar right at that moment and strolled on in, but he simply wasn't. He'd taken that form a few times since talking to Bulma and his friends had been supportive and even excited at the idea of a secondary form, but beyond that he hadn't really shared much information with anyone else. He was pretty sure that before appearing before them as the human-shaped Puar, most of his friends probably thought of him as pretty sexless. The shock of his looks had been enough, he thought, to set their heads spinning. Being willingly mauled by Radditz in the hallway was sure to give them all heart attacks. But the big Saiyan was there, at least, a mere few feet away, and for now that was enough.

Puar sighed happily as he settled in to watch the object of his infatuation, trying to stifle a purr as the heat vent across the hall switched on, blowing warm air directly onto him. He wished the vent were on his side of the hall so that he could snuggle up to it and be all toasty warm; moving to the other side of the hallway would put him directly in Nappa's line of sight. Oh well; the current of hot air was still pleasant from his position, sliding over him, ruffling his fir with its slightly dusty scent.

Radditz had turned away from Nappa, Puar noticed, and was busy preparing the giant's snack when the first wave of warm air gusted in from the hallway. His head snapped up, nostrils flaring, and Puar watched with growing horror as the Saiyan threw down the piece of bread he'd been buttering and stormed into the hallway. Puar panicked and tried to scamper away on all fours, not having sufficient time or inspiration to change form before the big Saiyan was on him, grasping him roughly with one hand and lifting him up by the scruff of the neck, wriggling and squirming.

“What the shit?” Radditz snarled, inhaling the cat's scent. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” He moaned, bringing his other hand up to run down one side of his face. The saiyan looked stressed and angry, so Puar did the only thing he could think of; he meowed. “Fucking cats,” Radditz examined the straining blue ball of fur in his hand, noting with surprise that the colour and texture seemed familiar. “I'm sick,” he said aloud, looking into the cat's wild, terrified eyes. “I'm seeing him in a fucking cat. I've finally lost it.”

“Mrooowwwwl.” Puar yowled and resumed his struggling. Was he about to become Radditz's mid-afternoon snack? If only he could get purchase on the man's arm, Puar thought, slashing about with his claws unsheathed, then he could latch on and bite, and hopefully startle Radditz into letting go.

“Ugh, fine,” Radditz bent over and put the cat down, “you're no use to me anyway.” He said, all the while wondering why he was even bothering to insult the little animal. What good would it do? Well, it did make him feel a bit better, actually. He watched, drooping a little, as the cat scampered away, tearing down the hall and around the corner.

Inside the room, Nappa frowned. He'd heard the whole one-sided exchange, of course. Radditz had been a little different ever since that night after the weapons factory debacle, when he'd come back reeking of lust. The kid had been preoccupied a lot, was spending a lot of time alone in his room. Nappa groaned. First Radditz had taken to mooning after some stranger, and now the prince was spending every spare second with that blue-haired, blue-eyed witch. He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, not looking forward to the events that were sure to come next. He remembered, of course, what it was like to be young, to experience the first tugs of the mating dance, the all consuming and damn irritating need to be around that one particular person. Nappa had been there, long, long ago. He'd done his time, put that embarrassing, awkward stage of his life behind him. He'd had his forever mate, fathered brats by her, and grieved their deaths in Vegetasei's passing. He felt like an old man, watching those two young fools, both going through the steps without even realizing it. Of course, neither had been of an age to understand any of it when they'd been drafted into Frieza's forces. Radditz, just having entered puberty, was far too occupied with the carnal aspects to even think about the more permanent, practical ones, and Vegeta, at a scant five years old, still thought of females as a different species. Nappa frowned again, wondering if he'd failed to impart the importance of the mate. With his own dead and the loss properly grieved, he'd felt no obligation to turn away from the whores on offer, and wondered if his obvious skirt-chasing had led his young charges to devalue the desire for the forever mate that was certainly ingrained in their biology.

But then again, he thought, watching Radditz shuffle back into the room, the two of them seemed to be figuring things out okay on their own. He didn't relish the idea of having the “birds and bees” talk with two fully grown, sexually experienced men, especially not if one of them was going to be Vegeta. Nappa shrugged to himself and laid back on his pillows. He wondered if his sire had felt this way, this strange sense of fatherly pride and guilty amusement, watching him during his mating time.

*

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Zarbon frowned at his computer screen and tried once more to contact Vegeta. The tracking device on the Saiyan's pod showed that it was in movement, and Zarbon knew that the prince rarely used the available sleep-inducing gasses unless the trip was to be particularly long, so there was no reason why the little bugger should not be answering his hails. It was fishy, to be sure; even Vegeta wouldn't ignore a direct order to communicate that had been sent from Frieza's control room.

Luckily, the overgrown lizard wasn't present, as Zarbon wasn't yet sure that he wanted to share this little bit of intrigue with his master. Everyone, even Frieza, knew how much the prince hated the yoke of servitude, though the tyrant was far too pompous to even entertain the thought that the Saiyan might someday be a threat to him. Zarbon was smarter than that, however, and had seen the potential in the young prince for years. He wondered if he might benefit from whatever mischief the little monkey was dabbling in.

No, Zarbon thought, he wouldn't tell Frieza. He'd already given the lizard enough of a hand in suggesting that Ginyu be sent into the heart of the resistance. He only wished he knew who Ginyu had chosen as his new body, so that he could warn his own contacts in the resistance and have the captain taken out, once and for all. Ginyu's refusal to tell, as he suspected a leak in Frieza's top forces, had thrown a major wrench into Zarbon's plans. Even Frieza didn't know, which Zarbon thought was uncharacteristically clever on the part of the showboating clown. This way if he fucked up, Frieza wouldn't know who to kill.

Breathing out a world-weary sigh, Zarbon began the tedious process of covering his tracks, carefully deleting moments from the ship's communication archives and inserting fake queries so that if Frieza, or anyone else, did happen to look at the logs, it would at least appear as though he had not been loafing off. It was not likely that anyone was checking up on him, Zarbon thought, but one could never be too careful when playing this dangerous game.

“Hey, you,” he called over to the one other occupant of the room, once he was done altering his history. “Come over here.” Likely the man did not harbour any suspicions, but still...

The navigator jogged quickly over, pleased at the momentary reprieve from the boring task that was keeping the ship's motion on track. “What can I do for you, sir?” He asked, stopping to salute.

“Well for starters, you can call me a clean-up crew.”

“For what, sir?” The puzzled soldier looked around, not seeing any mess. Nevertheless, he punched in some numbers and requested that some slaves be sent down. He stiffened when he felt Zarbon's palm atop his head, heat seeping through his skin into his skull.

“The mess I'm about to make.” Zarbon said, stepping back at the last moment to save himself from being drenched. He couldn't avoid some of the splatter, however, and scoffed in irritation at the blood specks that dotted his pristine uniform. Without a second thought, he swept away to bathe and change, trusting that the crew would figure out what needed cleaning without his help. Briefly, he stopped at one of the many comm units dotting the ship and delivered orders for a new navigator to be sent down.

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Radditz swears a lot and Oolong is a perv, but we love them, right? We also love Glorax's Sprigot Powder, even if we don't really know what it is. Why are we referring to ourselves as we? Not sure, but one thing, we know: We love hearing what you thought, so please leave a review.