Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 26

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: This is later than intended...as usual...haha. Thanks for your patience and for all the kind reviews left on chapter 25.

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PRESENT DAY

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“What do you mean, you want me to attack Guru's compound?” Frieza asked, petulantly frowning at the wine in his glass. “Isn't he that old fool who feeds and medicates my slaves so I don't have to?”

“It's not me who's suggesting it, my Lord.” Zarbon reminded the irritable tyrant as he handed the crumpled sheet containing Ginyu's correspondence. “Ginyu is insistent that Vengeance is currently holed up with some other resistance member who goes by the name `Blue.' She is believed to have been involved in the factory debacle.” Zarbon winced, fearful at the reaction that such a reminder might evoke, but the master was surprisingly focused today.

“What does that have to do at all with Guru?” Frieza demanded, tossing the paper aside as he usually did, hardly even bothering to look at the printed words. He set the wineglass down on the arm of the hovering seat and steepled his fingers, staring Zarbon down over their pointed tips.

“Ginyu feels that if Guru were to be threatened, to be chased from his home, the first place he would go is this Red Station, where Blue resides.” Zarbon explained patiently, even though his nerves were shot right to hell. He'd really underestimated that flamboyant idiot and was worried that he might be paying for it very soon. Ginyu's scheme was unusually clever, and with the worst timing. Vengeance had never before been known to let slip his whereabouts.

“And let me guess, he's too incompetent to find out the coordinates himself, so I'm going to have to go and ruin an operation that's been saving me billions in credit?” Frieza rolled his eyes. “Idiots! The lot of you!” He knocked the wineglass from the arm of his chair with an angry swipe of his hand and it crashed to the floor, spraying Zarbon's immaculate boots with dribbles of red. The green man wisely remained silent, simply stepping backward and away from the worst of the puddle; to complain either about his boots or to insist upon his innocence would just rouse the master's ire. A quick flick of Zarbon's wrist brought a nervous servant from the sidelines to mop up the mess.

“With respect, sire,” Zarbon said, though he tried not to sound too convincing, “finding Vengeance will save you billions in factory repairs, staff training, and research.” It was not a good idea to out Vengeance, but Zarbon had to think of his own safety, his own wellbeing. This was the kind of suggestion that Frieza counted on him to make, and the minute he stopped coming up with such ideas, his position as Frieza's favourite was no longer secure.

“Ugh, pragmatic to the end, aren't you Zarbon?” Frieza flicked his wrist at his subordinate, scowling in distaste. “Go now, leave me. I must have time to mull this over. But have someone send me some fresh wine, good wine, on your way out.”

“Of course, your Highness.” Zarbon bowed respectfully and took his leave, calmly pausing at the comm-unit and contacting the kitchens as he'd been instructed. From there, he strode round the ship in a quick tour of all the departments he had a hand in, just to check up on things and make sure everything was running smoothly. It was only when he finally reached his own quarters that he allowed some of his inner panic to bubble up to the surface. If Ginyu's plan worked and Frieza found Vengeance, shit would hit the fan and the strongest revolutionary that the resistance had ever seen would be cooked, completely and totally. There had never been anyone who'd come so close to Frieza's operations, who'd managed to cause so much damage to the empire, and Zarbon dreaded the idea that he might finally have been caught. When Frieza wanted someone dead, there usually wasn't much choice but to comply. The fact that the universe's mystery hero had remained unscathed for so long was in itself a testament to his obvious cunning and intelligence and if they took him out, how many years until one like him would rise again?

“I could warn him.” Zarbon thought, with sudden clarity. This was why he'd stayed by Frieza so long, so that he could play this part! But he quickly realized that he had no idea how to contact the elusive Vengeance. Aside from his closest allies, nobody really did. Everybody else just spread the word in hopes that it would reach him, and Zarbon feared that doing so would alert Frieza's spies. He couldn't take that chance, seeing as only a handful of people knew about Ginyu's plan in the first place and he wasn't about to put his own ass on the line. He had nightmares sometimes about what would happen if Frieza ever learned of his duplicity.

“Shit.” Zarbon cursed, throwing himself into a chair in frustration. His fingers sought out the tip of his long braid and he pulled the ribbon from it as he reached for a brush with his other hand. Zarbon had at least twenty hairbrushes, all scattered in strategic places around his quarters so that there would never be one far from reach. In a basket on his living area table, under the kitchenette sink, hanging on a hook by his front door, at least three different types of brush sat neatly lined on the vanity table in his bedroom; the list went on. Vegeta trained relentlessly, Ginyu choreographed endless ridiculous gymnastic routines for his squad; everyone had a release and for Zarbon that was brushing his hair, his small escape from the world around him.

Outwardly calm, Zarbon ran his hands down the smooth braid, slowly unwinding the heavy strands before running the brush through them, stroke after stroke, until his arms ached and his glorious mane gleamed like spun silk. Breathing deeply, he gathered his hair at the nape of his neck and slowly plaited it, his fingers moving deftly with no need of a mirror, though he'd certainly make sure to look at himself before leaving the apartment again, in case of missed strands or bumps in the hair along his scalp.

“Okay,” he breathed, tying the freshly redone braid off again with his favourite pink ribbon, “I will figure this out. I will do something about this.”

But what?

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Radditz awoke from an unintended nap, grimacing at the stiffness in his legs from having stretched out on the too-small couch. There were pins and needles in his feet, which had been left to dangle over the armrest so that the rest of his body would have a fighting chance at fitting. “Ugh, what time is it?” He wondered aloud, though there was no one in the room to answer him. Someone had turned off the television, obviously having caught him sawing logs, and he wondered how long he'd been asleep. It wasn't his fault, really. The blonde woman, Bulma's mother- what was her name?- had been watching some trashy soap or another and Radditz was left with nothing better to do than sit down and watch with her, seeing as everyone else was occupied with something else. She'd kindly filled him in on the exploits of the show's characters and he'd nodded politely and pretended to listen, but only because she was such a good cook and always so intent on feeding him that he felt a small spark of affection for her, even if she had tried to pinch his butt a time or two. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded, but he had Puar to think about…if only he could ever find the stubborn bugger.

Grumbling to clear his throat of sleep-induced phlegminess, Radditz made to sit up and was suddenly surprised by the sight of something blue and furry curled up on his stomach, fast asleep. His first instinct was to throw the cat off, or maybe snap its neck and enjoy a little snack, but something about its fuzzy little face and the soft purr rumbling out from its throat stayed his hand. He thought the thing was cute, dare he admit it. “Hello there.” He said, laying back against the cushions and reaching out a tentative finger to scratch the thing behind one ear as he had seen Bulma do to the little black kitty that hung off her father's shoulder. The cat stiffened and opened its wary eyes, looking surprised at having been caught. Radditz felt its legs tense against his stomach, claws flexing against the fabric of his shirt as though gaining purchase to launch itself away and take flight. “Don't go,” he whispered, tentatively moving his finger to scratch its little chin. It shifted again and a familiar wave of scent hit his nostrils, one which Radditz had been doing his best to ignore. EVERYTHING seemed to smell like Puar, so why get his hopes up every time?

Gradually, Radditz felt the little fuzzball begin to relax and he actually smiled as it began to purr in earnest, rubbing its head against his hand every time he stopped petting it. He felt the fragile bones of its skull beneath his fingers, knew that he could crush its brain with no effort whatsoever, and was surprised to find himself revolted at the thought of killing the friendly little creature.

“You remind me of someone.” Radditz said, and for a crazy second he could have sworn that a panicked look crossed the cat's serene little face. “You're the same colour as my…” he paused, feeling stupid, “as someone I know. Someone I miss.” He added in a whisper. He closed his eyes, fingers tingling as he ran one hand over the cat's little head and down its back, the texture of the fur feeling exactly as the thin strip of hair down Puar's spine had. His eyebrows knitted together and he scowled, opening his eyes to glare at the ceiling as visions of his one-night lover danced in his head. “He was…” Radditz began, and heaved a great sigh, “I just want,” he tried again to vocalize his thoughts, finding a little comfort in saying the words aloud, even though it was just to an animal. The hand that wasn't busy petting squeezed into a fist and he tried to keep that tension from spreading to his body, lest he alarm the little friend he'd made and send it scurrying.

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. Vegeta at least found himself stuck to a woman that he saw on a semi-regular basis, why did he have to go and attach himself to a one night stand that he had next to no hope of ever finding again in his whole life? They'd exchanged a lot of messages, but every time he hinted at another physical meeting, Puar always seemed to shy away, his replies coming later than usual and full of excuses. Thinking on them, Radditz fought down panicky thoughts that perhaps their night together hadn't made the same impression on the other man, or perhaps that he was already attached somewhere and while he didn't mind a few naughty emails, he really had no interest in meeting up again. Radditz didn't know what he'd do if that was the case. Kill himself, maybe?

“Oh Raaadiiitz!” A voice bubbled from the direction of the kitchens. The cat tensed and bolted from its perch before he could convince it to stay. “Diiiiner!” It was Mrs. Briefs, he could hear her shoes tapping against the floor as she came in search. “Oh, there you are dear. Finally awake, I see! Anyway, come on, dinner is getting cold and you don't want those other boys to eat it all before you get a chance to fill your tummy, do you?” She smiled at him, wooden spoon waving in one hand as she spoke, splattering sauce on the floor and the walls nearby. She didn't appear to notice the mess she was making and Radditz wasn't about to mention it, lest it delay her serving of his dinner. Suddenly catching a whiff of roasted meat and savoury spices, he realized he was starving. Oh well, now that the cat was gone, nothing was keeping him on the couch. Mrs. Briefs waited while he hauled himself up and straightened his clothes. He paused at the entrance to the hallway, gallantly gesturing for her to go first. She had fingers like a vice grip, did that woman, and he didn't want saucy evidence of her appreciation for a nice looking man all over his backside.

Radditz entered the kitchen and snagged a spot at the saiyan end of the table, where all his squadmates were clustered together. He noticed that Vegeta had taken the spot closest to the platter of roast and grinned to himself at his commander's ingenuity. Vegeta was always thinking, always on the ball, and few details escaped his notice. Radditz was a bit surprised to see that Bulma wasn't sitting next to him, but rather a few seats down, though he spared little thought for it once the mingled scents of dinner hit his nostrils.

“Glad you could finally join us.” Nappa sneered, reaching out to spear a slab of meat with his fork. Radditz shrugged and grabbed his own fork, about to load up his plate when it was suddenly whisked away by Mrs. Briefs, only to be plunked back down a moment later, heaping with a generous sample of everything on the table.

“There you go, dear.” She beamed around the table as Radditz tucked into his meal, pleased to see her cooking so enjoyed. Why, Nappa and Vegeta were already on their third helpings! “Goku dear, is something wrong?” She asked, watching her daughter's friend glumly shove the food around his plate with his fork. It was only his second plate and she'd never known him to leave scraps behind. “Can I fix you something else?”

“Ahh, no thank you.” Goku looked up sheepishly, scratching the back of his head in that way he always did when he was embarrassed or confused. “It's great. Everything's delicious!” He shovelled a forkful of meat and gravy into his wide open mouth, chewing enthusiastically. “Awesome!” He gave Bulma's mom a big thumbs up. A few seats down, Chichi grimaced. She hadn't known what to do or say, so she'd been avoiding him all day and really wished that she'd had some excuse to not show up at the table. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him, it was moreso that she didn't know what to say to him, and especially didn't want to end up making a scene in front of everyone. She'd cried a little bit, oddly touched by the drawing she'd found under her door that morning. Artistically, it was awful, but the gesture was obviously heartfelt.

And yet at the same time, it reminded her of all the missed birthdays, the forgotten anniversaries, the way thoughts of her always seemed to just slip his mind. If she took him back, was she dooming herself to a life of being second best to every whim that passed his mind? Chichi wasn't prepared to live like that again; she refused to be an afterthought while she spent all her time and energy devoted to his care.

From his spot between Radditz and Goku, Gohan watched his parents avoid each other's gaze. He wasn't sure what had been said last night, but he knew that his father had bunked up with Krillin and that his mother had fled alone to her room looking more furious than he could recall ever having seen her, and that was saying quite a bit. His mother's anger was usually like a force of nature, destructive and all consuming, but there hadn't been a single smashed vase or plate, no holes in the wall from her raging fists, no screaming or yelling. She'd been deadly silent and that had been the most frightening part of all.

Gohan looked down to the end of the table where Sixteen was sitting quietly, eating his dinner. He hadn't said anything all through the meal, though Gohan knew from his last visit that the giant rarely spoke unless he had something important to say. He frowned, watching the android lift a piece of meat to his mouth, the fork looking so tiny in his humongous hand. Why had the big man even bothered to show up to dinner? Surely there were other ways to refuel his power cells! Why did he have to be here, making things all awkward?

An elbow in his side startled him from his thoughts. Gohan looked up to see Radditz looking quizzically down at him. “Eat.” His uncle said simply, and Gohan complied, picking up his fork and shovelling food into his mouth in imitation of his father's kin. He wished he could talk to someone about his parents, but he didn't think any of the saiyans would understand the problem. Romantic entanglements weren't their thing, but he didn't know that he felt comfortable going to anyone else.

“Why Gohan, I had no idea you were so hungry!” Mrs. Briefs reached over to fill his plate again. “Why, you've polished off a whole helping already. There you go, eat up!” She chirped, encouragingly. Beside him, Radditz snickered. A moment later, a second serving landed on his plate too, but unlike Gohan, he was pleased to see it there. Radditz grinned up at Mrs. Briefs as she moved on, dumping twice the load on Vegeta's plate. “And for my future son in law, can't have you starving!” She tittered, oblivious of the stricken look that passed over Vegeta's features.

Future son in law? Vegeta stiffened. What did that mean? Had Nappa been telling tales again?

“Mo-om!” Bulma moaned from her place beside Chichi, blushing bright red. “It's not like that!” She protested, and Vegeta grunted, sounding irritated.

Not like that? The prince frowned. What did she mean by that? Wait a minute, wasn't that what he'd been thinking only seconds before?

Goku looked up in surprise, watching as an awkward look passed between his old friend and the ruthless man who called himself Prince of the Saiyans. Were they…together? Why hadn't anyone told him? Goku looked around the table, wondering what other crazy things had happened during his imprisonment. Everyone else's lives had gone on without him, he saw with sudden despair, and they'd have continued in this vein even if he'd never been discovered and rescued from the camp. Despondently, Goku looked over at Vegeta, wondering if it was a bad thing that he'd been rescued. Perhaps Vegeta and the others should have just left him there to die…

“Goku,” Chichi's voice was soft as she pushed her chair back from the table, “come find me when you're finished dinner. I think you and I need to talk.” She stacked her utensils on her plate and picked it up along with her glass without looking at him, but something in her voice filled Goku's veins with hope, made him realize that it wasn't over yet. His surprised eyes followed her as she brought her dirty dishes over to the counter, neatly stacking them for someone else to take care of. He sat, stunned, as she left the room, his desire to eat suddenly nonexistent.

“What are you waiting for?” Bulma hissed, kicking his leg under the table. She jerked her head in the direction that Chichi had gone and waggled her eyebrows intently. “Go, you dummy!”

“Oh…okay!” Goku shoved his chair back, nearly tipping it over backwards in his haste. He pulled his dishes together with a clatter, slapping his plate on the counter, wincing as his fork went flying to land on the floor. He stooped to pick it up and tossed it on the counter, then slammed down his glass so hard it cracked up the side. Of course, being Goku, he didn't notice it at all.

Sixteen sat rigidly in his chair, watching as Goku ran off after Chichi. His eyebrows drew together in concentration as he tried to understand the strange fizzing sensation that was running through his circuits. Was this jealousy? Anger? Fear? He looked up and saw that Gohan was staring at him, an intent and thoughtful look on the little boy's face. Wordlessly, Sixteen looked back down to his plate and concentrated on the fuel before him. He had not been ingesting much energy rich organic matter as of late, and had twice been forced to hook himself up to Gero's alternate power supplies for an extra boost between meals. He tried to ignore the sudden silence and the surreptitious glances that were being cast his way. So they all knew, then, that something was going on. A fine situation, that, when he didn't even know himself. Resolutely, Sixteen lifted a forkful of meat to his mouth.

Most surprisingly, it was Nappa who broke the silence. “He's bonded to her, machine man.” The biggest saiyan said between bites, in his usual gruff way. “And whatever she thinks about it, even if she chooses you, he'll kill you for it or die trying. Won't be able to help himself.”

“Nonsense.” Bulma piped up, though her eyes darted uneasily to Vegeta, who continued to shovel food into his mouth as though the conversation wasn't happening. “Goku would never kill someone.”

“Want to bet?” Gohan piped up in response, though his gaze was directed solely at Sixteen, whose eyes remained stubbornly on his plate. Bulma felt a chill go down her spine at the raw aggression in his tone. The boy turned to meet her eyes. “Ask Mr. Piccolo.”

“What's bonded?” Mrs. Briefs piped up, her hands clasped together over her bosom, a starry look in her eyes as though nobody was talking about their friend Goku's part in the potential murder of Sixteen.

“It's bullshit.” Vegeta said darkly, hardly even bothering to look up from his dinner. The other saiyans clamped their mouths shut, but Bulma caught Nappa watching Vegeta before his eyes fell on her. The bald saiyan looked quickly away when he met her gaze as though unwilling to give away a grave secret.

*

Chichi was quite literally shocked when she heard the knock on her bedroom door, knowing in an instant that Goku would be standing on the other side when she finally worked up the courage to go and open it. She'd not expected him to come so soon, especially considering that he hadn't even made it through two full servings of dinner when she'd left the room. Nervously, Chichi straightened her dress, running her hands down over her stomach and thighs to straighten imaginary wrinkles, before crossing the room to open the door. As expected, Goku stood in the doorway looking more anxious and nervous than she'd ever seen him. Here was a man who sailed through life, and he was practically trembling before her.

“That was quick.” She said softly, and Goku scratched his head.

“I…um…wasn't hungry.” He replied, noticing the odd, almost concerned look she gave him before stepping aside to allow him entrance.

“Well, come in.” She said, awkwardly, and he followed her over to a small table in the corner of her room, where two chairs stood waiting to be occupied. Goku glanced around as he sat down, idly noting that Chichi's quarters were bigger than Krillin's tiny cell, with enough space that she had the place neatly divided into a bedroom and the small seating area that they currently occupied. He caught sight of her bed, neatly made in the far corner, and he suddenly realized that he was well and truly alone with his wife for the first time in three long years. His mouth went a little dry, wondering what she'd do if he suddenly tossed her onto the bed and pinned her there.

“So…” Chichi cleared her throat, seating herself in the chair opposite Goku's.

“So.” He repeated, tearing his attention from the bed in order to look at the woman he called his wife, she who'd filled his thoughts for so long. The stupid picture that he'd drawn was sitting atop a low bookshelf just a few feet away and he blushed a little to see it there in the light of day, looking so pathetic, so childish.

“I've decided to give you another chance.” Chichi said, succinctly. She never was one to beat around the bush. “Mind you, things are going to be different this time, or you can kiss me goodbye right now.” She continued fiercely as Goku stared at her, hope building in his chest. “I am not your servant or your property, and I won't be treated as such. From this point on, I am demanding the respect that you never gave me on Earth. I deserve it, Goku, and I won't settle for anything less. Gohan and I come first.” She stated, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“And Sixteen?” Goku asked, even though he knew he shouldn't.

“My relationship with Sixteen is my business.” Chichi frowned at Goku across the table. “He has been a good friend to me these past years and I wish to continue that friendship, if he is still willing.” Chichi paused, a sad little frown passing over her features as she thought of the pain she was causing the gentle android and the possibility that he would no longer want anything to do with her, now that Goku was back in the picture. “You're just going to have to accept that. I won't see you treat him poorly.” She looked Goku in the eyes, watched as he appeared to struggle, his entire body rigid and tense. “Goku,” she said, “you have nothing to worry about from him. He is my friend and I love him, but you are my husband, the one I love the most.” She swiped at teary eyes. “The only person who could destroy that feeling is you, Goku, if you continue to take me for granted.”

“Chi…” Goku whispered, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Chi, I never meant…” he faltered, thinking suddenly of all the times he'd ignored her, left her alone, forgot about her. “It'll be different.” He promised, stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb, aching to reach out and hold her, but not sure if she'd let him.

“Well,” she sniffled, pulling her hand away and standing up abruptly from her chair, “okay. That's settled then.” She grabbed a tissue from a box on her shelf. “You may move your things out of Krillin's room then.”

“Done.” Goku shrugged, standing up and stepping closer. “I haven't got anything to move. Chi, these aren't even my clothes.” He gestured to the slightly baggy shirt and pants he wore, again borrowed from Radditz who was closest to his size amongst the saiyan troupe.

“Oh…well.” Chichi faltered, no longer sure how to act or behave. “We'll have to do something about that, I suppose.” She put out a hesitant hand to tug at the fabric of Goku's shirt. “This is much too big for you. Perhaps Tien has something that might fit better.” She said absently, studying his frame, so much skinnier than she remembered.

“Tien?” Goku asked in surprise. “I thought he wasn't coming to the launch! And I haven't seen him yet.”

“Tien is…odd around the saiyans. We hardly see him when they show up. And he didn't come; he was captured...like you. We found him several months back in a slaver camp and I don't think he's really all there Goku. Something in him seems a little broken. I think that the saiyans might remind him of his captors, being of Frieza's army and all.” She grimaced, seeing the stark look that crossed Goku's face.

“I know what he feels like, in that case.” He said softly, and Chichi had the feeling that some part of him was with her no longer, momentarily gone away to some other place. “To be honest, they make me kind of uncomfortable too.” Goku scratched the back of his head, “Though maybe…” he paused, “maybe that's because I'm supposed to be one of them.”

“Don't say things like that out loud.” Chichi smiled wryly. “I'm trying very, very hard to see that being `one of them' is not such a bad thing.” She tugged again at the too-big shirt. “For Gohan's sake.”

Inwardly, Goku breathed a sigh of relief. Ever since the black rage had come over him the previous day, he'd been feeling more and more like he was less human than he realized, and he was trying very hard not to be bothered by that.

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Dende screamed as the first of Frieza's soldiers burst into the little dome of a house, pink cape fluttering behind his shoulders. “Hurry!” Zarbon hissed at the surprised child. “Get your old sage and get to your ship! I will hold off the others but I cannot delay them for long without suspicion.” He reached out and shoved the little namekian in the direction of the central room, but Dende stumbled, his legs frozen in place, and fell to his knees. Outside his brother nameks were being slaughtered, their last little refuge finally found out and attacked.

“Dende!” Nail skidded to a stop as he came charging down the hallway, warily eyeing the soldier who was pulling the child to his feet.

“Take him to your ship and go!” Zarbon hissed again, pushing Dende in Nail's direction. He locked eyes with the adult Namek and saw wary recognition there before the green man grabbed his charge and fled. Zarbon felt his stomach drop as he watched the two run, completely unable to do something about it without outing his own traitorous tendencies. The older Namek was Ginyu, he was absolutely sure of it. Something in the man's eyes, the flash of recognition without confusion, had made him certain of it. Given the plan though, at least Ginyu would have no reason to be suspicious of Zarbon's motives.

“Zarbon, sir!” One of his subordinates was crashing through the door.

“Through here.” He waved them forward; it had to at least look real if they were going to scare Guru enough to make him run for it. “Be on your guard, the nameks are fierce fighters, for all their claims to pacifism.” No sooner than he had stepped forward, the ground began to rumble beneath his feet, the tiles of the odd namek dome cracking and forcing upward as a massive ship began its ascent to the sky. “Shit!” Zarbon jumped back as the ship blasted up with a burst of power, the flame from its propulsion system scorching his subordinates who had not been so quick to move. Zarbon grimaced and moved further back so that the smoke from their burning corpses would not settle in his clothes and hair. A few moments later, he left the small house and gave orders for the ships to pursue the vessel. In a few hours or days, he would order the ships to drop back, allowing the green men to think they had eluded capture, after which they would hopefully fly straight to Blue, with Ginyu's tracking device leading them right to Vengeance.

Inside the ship, Ginyu could barely keep his glee to himself. Luckily for him, to the other nameks on board it simply looked as though he was exhilarated by their escape.

“Their will be time for celebration later,” one of the elder escapees laid a hand on Ginyu's shoulder. “For now we must mourn our fallen brothers.”

“Of course,” Ginyu nodded, managing to look suitably chastened. The small ship held only about ten nameks, including himself, but it felt completely packed and had he not needed to keep up his charade for just a little bit longer, Ginyu would have taken great pleasure in tearing every single one of them to pieces.

“Guru, have you finished with the safety measures?” Another escapee was bent over the old sage's shoulder, examining the controls. The ship was ancient, probably as old as Guru himself, and most of those present had no idea how to pilot the strange, four legged craft. Ginyu knew that Nail was supposed to have known, and he really hoped that nothing happened to the old geezer because he'd had a look at the pilot's panel himself, it was a complete jumble to him. In inheriting Nail's body, he had not been left with the other's memory or knowledge, and he'd been doing a damn good job so far of not letting on that he could neither read nor speak the Namekian tongue. It was very lucky for him that, like so many races that had been so displaced, they spoke mostly in standard. The way their culture was, relying on their long lived elders as they did, they had little use for books or recordings before their planet's destruction, so he'd not come into contact with their written word more than a few times since stealing this body.

“Yes, all external devices should now be deactivated.” Guru sounded pleased as he slumped backward in his chair. “And I have activated the electromagnetic shield that will prevent all outward communications. Even if one of their men managed to toss a device inside these walls during our escape, it will be rendered completely useless until I input the command to turn the shields off. Once we are out of their sight, we will be well and truly away.” Guru smiled around the room and this time Ginyu did not have to fake the crestfallen look on his face.

*

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Zarbon felt a sense of profound relief as he gave the orders to fall back and allow Guru's little ship to escape, and yet beneath it all he was still clutched in the grip of unease. He was alone in his quarters, anxiously waiting for his comm-link to boot up and connect to one of his secret accounts. He'd selected a trusty acquaintance, a man he'd never met in person, but who could be counted upon to do the job. “Urgent message to be passed on to Vengeance at whatever cost.” He spoke urgently into the microphone, too unsettled to remember to disguise his voice. “Beware the Namekian refugees. Ginyu hides among them.” He sighed and sent the recording, wishing that he was able to give his contacts more information. He did not know the name of the Namekian that Ginyu was impersonating, nor had the man had any particular feature to distinguish him from the other adults on board, for there were surely more than the child and the old, fat sage. They all looked the same to him anyway.

Zarbon turned off the comm.-link and sat for a moment, staring at the still, blank screen. He could feel the tension in his body, every muscle strung tight on the framework of his bones. He'd never been so wired, he was sure. He was playing a dangerous game, gambling with more than his own life, and while it was a thrill it was also a tremendously reckless thing to do.

Zarbon's hands were trembling as he reached for his nearest hairbrush.

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