Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 32

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: Geez, sorry for the delay. I'm not quite sure what happened this time. I received some major time-thieves for my birthday, but the writing has just been hard lately. Everything that is not mindless has been hard lately. Words are not coming like they usually do. I'll try harder for the next update. It's an exciting one.

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PRESENT DAY

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Radditz stretched and eyed the empty second bed, a vague sense of guilt creeping over him. He really hoped that Gohan had found somewhere else to sleep, but he it wasn't like he felt that bad. Maybe it'd be a different story if he hadn't gotten any...but tail justified pretty much anything between guys. Well...Gohan wasn't really a guy yet, but he'd get it, Radditz was sure, even if he didn't really get it. The big saiyan grinned to himself, breathing in deeply of the scent that clung to the pillows. Puar had snuck out desperately early in the morning, worried that someone would see him make his walk of shame, leaving Radditz to wallow alone in post coital bliss. He couldn't laze for too long; he'd be expected soon for pre-breakfast training with the others - perhaps he'd apologize to Gohan then - but it was nice to have a moment to relive the night. Plus, if Puar were still in his bed, Radditz wasn't sure he'd be able to leave it in good time.

A knock on the door startled him and Radditz grinned as he bade his rumpled looking nephew to enter. “Next time, maybe you could warn me,” Gohan grumbled, tail lashing as he yanked open a dresser drawer and snagged some fresh clothes for the day. “Or better yet, Puar has his own room.”

“You're up early.” Radditz said, ignoring the kid's scathing look as he reached out to ruffle shower-wet hair.

“Didn't hardly sleep in the first place.” Gohan muttered, yanking off yesterday's shirt and switching it out for a new one. “I'm cranky and I'm taking it out on you today.”

“Bring it on, kid.” Radditz bared his teeth in a saiyan smile. “I feel so good I could take on Frieza today. I'll beat the snot outta you.” He slipped on a pair of shorts and shoved his feet into his boots, then spun in a circle, trying to locate his chest plate. He found it under the bed and pulled it on, adjusting the fit before grabbing Gohan's boots and holding them out to him. Gohan shoved them on and tied back his hair, knowing that was the closest thing to an apology as he was going to get. He rolled his eyes and followed his uncle out and toward the training room. Life as usual, among the saiyans.

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Bulma grimaced down into her coffee, wishing she'd tried harder to sleep during the previous night, instead of letting her mind be overrun by every single little thought and issue that was plaguing her. She'd spent way too long staring at Vegeta in the dark like some creep, willing him to wake up and suddenly be the moral and upstanding man she so wanted him to be, and knowing that it would never, ever happen. And that wasn't even the half of her night. From there, she'd moved on to worrying over Puar and Radditz, Goku and Chichi, Dr. Gero and the odd spell he'd had so recently, coupled with his increasing hermit behaviour. Not to mention poor, harried Sixteen, who looked more and more drawn every time she saw him, which she hadn't actually thought possible considering the fact that he was one hundred percent machine. Maybe it wasn't so much in his looks, she reflected, but his manner. Always quiet, the hulking android had become even more reserved than usual, seeming almost to shrink into himself amidst the boisterous presence of his Red Station cohabitants. And she worried about the resistance, too, about how all those faceless contacts were faring, and about how she and her comrades had done next to nothing for the past several months in terms of anti-Frieza operations aside from the work they'd been doing on the gravity room and ki-imitating weaponry and armour systems, which were long term solutions and no good in the immediate war on the tyrant emperor. And though she had tried to convince herself that devoting all of her energy to those two paths was in the end the best use of her time, she still felt guilty.

Add to that the worry she felt for Guru, whom she had not heard from for weeks now, at least. The raid on his compound was no secret and she'd heard that he had escaped, though why he hadn't attempted to contact either Blue or Vengeance was a bit of a mystery that worried her, and she'd felt even guiltier for putting her namekian friends so far from her mind in her concern over her personal life. If she had been more observant, maybe she would have realized sooner that since Guru had fallen completely off the radar, the leak had also stopped. Nothing of Vengeance's identity, the stolen ki-technology, or their plans for the GR had ever surfaced in the resistance channels or come out of Frieza's camp from their spies.

Bulma felt sick, recalling again the realization she'd made in the middle of the night, and worried anew at Guru's silence. She didn't believe for even a second that the old sage himself was behind all the leaked information, but someone in his camp certainly was. If that person was Ginyu disguised, as Vegeta believed, then it meant that Guru was in grave danger and maybe not even aware of it. “He's Guru,” she said aloud into her coffee-dark reflection, “of course he knows. Doesn't he?”

“Doesn't Guru know what?” Puar asked, sitting down across the table from Bulma, looking a little self conscious in his humanoid form. “That a new pot?” He gestured at the coffee and when Bulma nodded, he got up again and poured himself a cup.

“Not much sleep last night?” She asked, smiling into her mug as Puar sat down again. He glared at her, cheeks turning pink, and she grinned outright before answering his question. “The leak, I figured it out last night. Well, not exactly who...but anyway, I'd suspected for a while that maybe it wasn't someone on Red Station. Last night I realized all the leaked information was stuff that we'd learned from or shared with Guru, and nothing's gotten out since his communication with the rest of the universe. It's someone in his camp.” She cocked her head and sighed. “And I'm worried because Vegeta thinks it's Captain Ginyu disguised as one of the nameks.”

“Ooh, that's bad.” Puar frowned and took a huge gulp of his coffee, pulling a face at the bitterness, and got up to grab some sugar.

“Ah, sorry, I made it really strong.” Bulma laughed. “I didn't get so much sleep either.” They sat together in silence for a moment, each waiting for the caffeine to kick in and resume normal functioning in their tired brains. “Soooo,” Bulma looked slyly up at Puar after about a minute or so. “How's Radditz?”

“...Persistent...energetic.” He shifted, wincing, and Bulma nearly burst out laughing. “Bossy.” Puar added, and she couldn't help the giggles that followed.

“Yeah, they're like that, saiyans. But things are okay, right?”

“I think so. Pretty sure, at least. He didn't freak out, if that's what you mean.” Puar shrugged, still embarrassed despite the fact that Bulma was privy to pretty much everything that had gone on between them, thanks to all those emails he'd made her read. “Does Vegeta ever bite you?” He blurted suddenly. “Or is Radditz just weird?”

“All the time.” Bulma rolled her eyes. “I feel like I'm in a national geographic special, with that and all the growling that goes on. Goku does it too; Chichi told me.”

“Goku? For real?” Puar laughed and took a gulp of his coffee. “I guess I can see that, though I'm not sure I wanted to know. I won't ever be able to look at him the same way.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I haven't been able to look at him the same way since I found out Chichi was pregnant with Gohan.”

“Hey,” Chichi happened to be standing in the doorway, catching them both as Puar had caught Bulma earlier. “No talking about Goku while I'm not here.”

“Well apparently you were here, so we're fine.” Puar tossed back, and gestured toward the pot of coffee. “Caffeine?” He grinned, seeing the bags beneath her eyes.

“Oh yes, please!” Chichi let out an emphatic groan. “I was up waaaay too late last night.” It was her turn to grin, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. “Doing exactly what your dirty minds are thinking right now?” She waited until the laughter died down before pouring her cup, lest the tremors running through her body cause her to spill.

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Guru slumped in his chair and closed his eyes, feeling the strain of tiredness running through him. He'd been more or less alert since the day they'd escaped from Frieza's forces and though as a namek he didn't really sleep, he hadn't had a chance to rest his mind and restore his spirits. He was troubled, certain of what was to come and yet worried for his tiny flock, worried for little Dende, who was the only one among them who would be truly capable of inheriting all his knowledge and responsibility. The boy was a marvel; it hurt Guru's heart to think of all that the child could have achieved, had he the chance to grow up on Namek, and still perhaps this challenge and upheaval would be the backbone of Dende's future greatness. Guru himself had grown in peace, learned the ways of patience and kindness, but Dende would be shaped by different forces and would either become strong, or fail entirely. Guru had seen this in his meditations, and while he ached for the tender little boy he'd come to see as his own son, he also saw the intelligence, the depth of potential and power in the child, and knew that he would be all right.

The people of Red Station were good and kind, they were strong of mind and heart, and Guru had no doubt that Dende would be well raised among them. Though still, as any parent, Guru wished he had more time. There was still so much to be done, and it saddened him that he would not see his life's work completed. All he could do was to trust in those around him, that they would do as he thought they might.

Guru looked at the flight pattern on screen and felt his heart grow slow and heavy. They were almost upon Red Station, which meant he surely did not have much longer in this dimension. He would miss it, he thought suddenly, even though he'd grown old, grown fat and weak and pained by life. He would miss it all.

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Goku wheezed and dropped to the floor like a stone, clutching his stomach as his brother crowed with laughter in the air above. Training with the Saiyans was the worst, he thought as he watched Gohan evade an attack before swiping out quickly with his foot to catch Radditz in the knee. They were brutal, mean fighters, giving no quarter to an opponent, even in mock battles like this one. If everyone wasn't at least bleeding by the end, they didn't consider it a good training session. Gohan and Radditz had tried to explain the healing factor to him, and looking back at his own life, he knew it to be true, but he still didn't like it. Grandpa Gohan had taught him that training was for bettering one's technique, so this philosophy of `beat each other like hell so that we'll jump in strength as we heal' was foreign and strange to him.

And secretly, though he didn't like to travel down this unflattering train of thought, Goku was simply not used to being the weakest. On Earth, he'd been the guy that everyone else looked up to, the one who called the shots and saved the day. He knew now that it was because he'd been a saiyan in the midst of humans, but against these other saiyans, he felt like a lump. Even Gohan seemed to have surpassed him, and while he was beyond proud that his son should prove so powerful, it was embarrassing to be knocked to the ground, over and over, by an eight year old. Especially awful was the look on his son's face, the apologetic wince, mingled with a horror at seeing how weak his father really was. Goku felt shame pool in his belly as he uncurled, panting, and watched the twin blurs of his son and brother, bounding back and forth as they sparred. Gohan didn't need to be partnered, he was holding his own easily, even though Radditz did seem unusually spry this particular morning, as though he'd drunk testosterone for breakfast.

Goku felt his brother's power, picked it out from the other three in the room, and knew that he could be that strong and more, if only he could surpass the strange wall that seemed to have sprung up in his body. He could feel the potential in himself, knew that given time he could best even Nappa's strength, but when he pushed hard, it felt as though his body was shutting down around him. His chest ached, his limbs grew tingly, his vision blurred, and he'd be left gasping for air, as he was now, while the others fought on without him. Chichi saw how he struggled of course - he'd forgotten how perceptive she was - and begged him to talk to someone about it, worried for his health. He'd refused, embarrassed, and she'd nagged for a time, until he'd growled at her - an honest to goodness, animal growl - surprising both of them and maybe scaring her a little so that she'd stopped talking about it. He felt a bit guilty about that, but was so relieved that she'd stopped bothering him that he'd just let the whole thing be. He didn't like thinking about it and when he did, simply categorized it as another challenge that he could, and would, overcome.

Goku got to his feet, trying to hurry his achy body along, and shook the numbness from his limbs. He took a deep breath, firmly ignoring the pain that lanced through his collarbone, and launched himself back into the air.

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“Bulma! Bulma come quick!” Oolong panted, leaning his pudgy little form against the door frame. He cast Puar a surprised look, shaking his head as he realized who he was eyeing, and got back to the matter at hand. “There's a weird ship approaching, and it won't respond to any of our hails. Hasn't made any attempt to communicate with us, but the computers say it's headed straight for us. We think it intends to dock here.”

Bulma was out of her chair in about five seconds, ushering the pig down the hallway, with Chichi and Puar following right behind them. “Your dad said to come get you, and even that old kook Gero agreed.” Oolong puffed out between breaths, the importance of the situation lending him more stamina than he was accustomed to, though still not enough that he could walk so briskly and talk comfortably at the same time. “Thought you might recognize the type, maybe know where it's coming from.”

She did not, as it turned out, have a clue as to the origins of the weird, spiky, white craft. She tried hailing it again, despite her father's assurances that he'd done so several times already, and again received no response. Dr. Gero sneered, the `told you so' strong enough in his eyes that he didn't have to say it. In any case, Sixteen's hand was resting firm on his shoulder and the grim look on his face told Bulma that maybe the old doctor wasn't so in charge as he liked to act. “Damn.” She cursed, fingers flying over the keyboard as she ordered the computers to run a full scan. “They're running some kind of communications block, judging from the readings I'm getting. Likely our attempts aren't even getting through.” She tapped her nails against the console, thinking hard. “Someone go get Vegeta,” she said, and when they all looked at their shoes and pretended not to have heard her, she pointed at Krillin, who'd just walked in the door to see what all the commotion was about. “Krillin, go get Vegeta.”

“You kidding? The saiyans are training, man. He'll kill me if I interrupt.”

“Krillin, just do it. See this ship?” Bulma pointed at the screen, “We have no idea where it's coming from, but it's going to dock with us in...oh, say ten or fifteen minutes.” She snapped, jabbing the display now and leaving smudgy fingerprints. “So. Go. Get. Vegeta.” She finished with a glare, and Krillin slunk off, muttering about how he always got stuck with the crappy jobs. He didn't have to go far, however, because he ran into the troupe of saiyans, Vegeta in the lead, on their way up from the training deck.

“What's going on?” The saiyan prince demanded, without preamble. “There is something out there.” He glared at the nearest window port, as though willing whatever it was to come into view, and Krillin noticed that all five of them were tense, though Vegeta fairly crackled with nerves. “Something strong. I cannot place it.” He frowned down at Krillin, who could do no more than shrug, his heart thumping as Vegeta's uneasiness began to infect him as well.

“Mystery ship.” He said, turning back the way he'd come and gesturing for them to follow. “Bulma sent me to get you; she thought you might recognize it or maybe know of its origins.” Vegeta grunted and they trailed back to the ship's control center in silence, Piccolo appearing from somewhere and falling into step beside Goku just as they were walking in.

“Nothing I can recall.” Vegeta said, his frustration evident as he examined the ship on the screen. His tail was twitching restlessly around his calves, a sure sign that he was unsettled. “It is so familiar...” he muttered, no longer looking at the screen but appearing to be focused completely on something inside, and Krillin realized that he was talking about whatever power he could feel radiating from the ship. Krillin understood his frustration - he could feel it too, but for whatever reason, he could not place it. Perhaps it was the distance, or something to do with the communications blockage engulfing the ship, but he could tell just by looking around the room that it was making everyone a little nervous.

“It is...” Piccolo paused, and the Earthlings could hear the ripples of whatever remained of Kami in his voice, “It is a namekian ship.” He was frowning at the screen. “So very old, like the one I used to come to Earth.”

“Guru!” Bulma gasped. “It must be Guru and the others.” A cheer went up around the room, relief spreading through the small crowd that had gathered, but Bulma's face remained tight. If she'd been right in her musings last night, it was entirely possible that the mole, that Captain Ginyu, was on that ship.

“That's who it is!” Krillin laughed, slapping his own forehead with one open palm. “It's Nail!” He let out a whooshing breath, as though it contained all the tension and fear he'd been holding. Beside him, Vegeta stiffened.

“That,” he said quietly, but in such a firm, terrifying voice that everyone stopped to listen, “is not Nail.” Bulma was watching him and felt her guts curdle at the look of dawning horror that had crossed his features. The pieces were falling into place, and now he knew why the power level was so familiar and yet so difficult to place. He hadn't seen the other man since before he'd learned to sense ki.

“Of course it is.” Krillin insisted, though he sounded completely unsure of himself. “I met him...who else could it be?”

“Ginyu.” Bulma breathed. “Oh shit, it was him the whole time.” She shrieked as a tremor rocked the floor beneath her feet and knew that the namekian ship was docking, even as they spoke.

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Ginyu trembled with anticipation, waiting for the airlocks to finish their business and close up so that he and the annoying green fleshbags around him could finally get off the damn ship. He had his scouter tucked securely in his pocket, one hand ready to grab it out and slap it on the side of his head at a moment's notice if need be. Vengeance was out there, he could feel it in his bones, and not a moment too soon. He was ready to explode with all the endless waiting he'd been doing on board that archaic, useless piece of shit starship. He was itching for a fight, absolutely raging for some bloodshed, for some resolution to this damn, boring-as-all-hell assignment.

Ginyu looked around the room at all the excited faces of his companions, all of them eager to be free of their confinement, all feeling as thought they'd escaped Frieza's clutches once more, and tried to decide what order he'd kill them in. Dende first, he mused, imagining the boy's delicate neck beneath his crushing fingers, and then thought better of it. First he'd take out Guru, disgusting old fool, and he'd make the boy watch. He'd make all of them watch, and then pick them off one by one and leave the annoying brat for the very last. “See,” he'd say as he broke each bone in the kid's body, one by one, “you were right about me all along, and look what good it did you.” A hideous grin spread across his face as he fingered the scouter in his pocket. A ship full of dead nameks, and Vengeance taken care of all in one day; he couldn't wait to get back to Frieza and his precious squad. He'd left Burter in charge of choreography while he was gone, but in the end he really didn't trust anyone but himself to finalize their moves, and he'd grown rusty in his time spent on the ship.

Had he been paying attention to his surroundings instead of fantasizing about the imminent deaths of every single one of his travel companions, Ginyu would have seen that Dende was watching his every move, every gesture, every little twitch of his eyelids and taking note. Dende's suspicion of Nail had grown with every minute spent on Guru's antique of a space ship, and he was determined to speak to Guru once there was some privacy to be found. He just hoped that things didn't explode beyond his control before that happened.

Guru's hand lay, suddenly and heavily, on his little shoulder and he turned, startled, to find that his master was also watching the twitchy, wound up form of Nail. “Dende,” he rasped, tearing his eyes from the man to settle them on the boy, “you must tell them that I am sorry.” He said, softly enough so that none around them could hear. “That there was no other way.”

“What do you mean, Guru? Tell who?” Dende felt a strange sort of dread arise within himself, feeling with complete certainty that his life was about to change forever. He grasped at the old sage's hand, imploring, as though Guru had the power to stop whatever awful thing was hurtling toward them, even as he saw that the old man had resigned himself to this fate, whatever it was. “Guru, please!” He hissed, recognizing even through his panic that it was important to keep this from the ears of the others. “What's going to happen?” He asked, though Guru simply smiled and patted him on the head.

“I apologize to you as well, my boy.” Guru whispered. “I know you will do well.” He said, and then there was no more time for talk, as the doors sprang open with the protesting creak of machinery long dormant.

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Vegeta rushed into the docking bay just as the namekian ship creaked open, Bulma right on his heels even though he'd expressly forbidden her to follow. Behind her came his men and Red Station's own contingent of fighters, and behind them the old Doctor, with a crazy look in his eyes that Vegeta didn't quite trust, but ignored for the moment due to the urgency of the situation. Breathless with the speed of their movement, Bulma was explaining to the others what he'd told her about Ginyu's body-snatching ability, cautioning them not to trust anyone that came out of the ship, even though they knew it was most likely Nail who was actually Ginyu in disguise. He could have, as Vegeta had informed them, easily stolen another namek's body.

“How does he do it?” Gohan asked suddenly, surprising everyone except his three saiyan guardians, Goku not included in that number, with the calm way he spoke.

“I'm not entirely sure.” Vegeta admitted, keeping his eyes on the slowly opening doorway and tugging his gloves more firmly onto his hands. “It's some kind of beam; it shoots from his mouth, connects to his victim also through the mouth.” At this Radditz sniggered and Gohan elbowed him in the ribs. “I'm not sure if you have to have your mouth open for it to work, or if he can get in anyway. Either way, just dodge that fucking beam when it happens.” He stepped forward, tensing up as a shadow appeared in the ship's doorway and Nail stepped out, scouter clapped to the side of his head. There was no more doubt.

Vegeta took off like a shot, screaming toward the green man, who bounded backwards and out of the way as the other nameks streamed out of the ship, right into the saiyan's path. “Over here!” Bulma called and they scrambled toward, her, frightened eyes glued to the laughing Nail, all wondering if the oddness that they had sensed from him was in fact something much more sinister. Vegeta cursed a blue streak as he was forced to halt his path to let the confused and frightened nameks scurry out of harm's way. Only Guru and Dende were left in the ship's doorway, the child clinging to the robes of the elder, watching the conflict unfold with wide eyes.

“Vegeta?” The false namek crowed, tossing his head back to laugh. “Oh shit, Vegeta, you cocky son of a bitch, you've really got into it this time, haven't you?” He tapped some buttons on his scouter, reading Vegeta's power level with some surprise, and then a smirk. “Well, well, gotten a bit stronger, have we? Good, I was looking for a challenge!”

“Get out of here!” A raspy old voice crowed, and Vegeta was surprised to see crusty old Dr. Gero step up beside him, the old man cracking his knuckles as though preparing for a brawl.

“Get back, old fool!” Vegeta commanded, but Gero didn't even spare him a glance, and Vegeta found the other fighters stepping forward too. Fuck it, he thought. If the old man had a death wish, who was he to deny it?

“Oooh, dissention among the ranks?” Ginyu taunted and sprang forward a little, striking a pose with one arm in the air as he landed. “Well then, other folks, I don't believe we've met!” He twisted, bringing one leg up in a painful looking stretch, holding it there with his other hand. “My name is Captain Ginyu!” He moved again, this time executing a graceful backflip and landing on the tips of his toes. “And I am here to - FUCK!” He swore as Vegeta ploughed into him, completely ruining his choreography and interrupting his introduction. “I'll kill you for that, monkey boy!” He snarled, recovering his balance as Vegeta came at him again. “And not only that,” he dodged the oncoming blow and struck out with his foot, knocking the saiyan backward, “I'll kill all your little friends, too.” He grinned and fired a beam of ki, striking the nearest namek through the head, and showering those around him with dripping, purple blood. The others screamed and trembled, clutching at each other with wide, terrified eyes, as though clinging together could save them from the same fate.

“Snare!” Dende shrieked from inside the ship's doorway, and he streaked across the hangar toward the fallen body, crumpling to the floor in a crying heap as he realized he was too late to help. Even his healing abilities, powerful as they were, could not bring men back from the dead.

“C'mon, get up!” A voice was saying and he looked up, belatedly realizing that someone was tugging at his blood-soaked robes, urging him to his feet. It was the smallest saiyan, looking calm and deadly even though he appeared hardly older than Dende himself. “You have to go in there, where it's safe.” He was gesturing toward the open doorway and gently trying to push Dende toward it, to follow the others, spurred to action by fear and horror. Sixteen was quite literally shoving a protesting Dr. Gero through the door. Bulma latched on from the other side and hauled him through, while Sixteen doubled back quickly to grab the body of the dead namek.

“No,” Dende managed, tugging himself away from Gohan's propelling grip. “Guru's still out there. I won't go without him!” He broke away and tried to run for the ship, but found himself halted after a mere two steps.

“Don't be a dumbass, kid!” A gruff voice snapped and before Dende could do anything about it, he was being hefted up by the back of his robes and quite literally tossed through the door by Radditz, who was certainly a lot less polite about it that Gohan. “You'll just get in our way and fuck things up!” He snapped, turning away even as he spoke. Dende landed with a thump and sprang back up, just in time to see the door slammed in his face by a tall namek he did not recognize.

“We'll keep him safe.” The stranger said, an odd mix of kindness and impatience in his voice as though he didn't quite know which feeling to act upon. He'd gone quickly then, the door shutting and everyone on the other side ignoring Dende's little fists hammering against the metal, his choking sobs as he threw himself again and again at the door. Bulma came over and put her hand on his shoulder as he sank against the barrier, drew him away from the door and onto a nearby chair, where she cradled him against herself like the child he was, whispering reassurances and trying to convince him that everything would be okay. She said, over and over, that Vegeta and the others would save Guru, but Dende knew that she was wrong. He knew that they would try, and he knew that they would fail, all with a certainty that frightened him beyond belief. Guru had often spoken of fate, of meditating in order to see the path before oneself, and Dende suddenly understood the odd and frightening conversation he'd had with the old man as they had docked. Guru would not survive to see the end of the day, and he'd known it all along. Dende had never felt more helpless and more useless in his life, knowing that the man who'd cared for him since he was a hatchling was about to die, and he could do nothing about it.

He sat in Bulma's arms and listened to the muffled screams and shouts, his antennae twitching with each burst of power, wondering if that would be the one to end his master's life. He sniffled and cried, not bothering to hide his tears, and prayed that it would be over quickly.