Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 48

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: Hello everybody. I'm not actually sure where all the time went since my last update. I think I stepped into a reverse-Narnia, where it felt like a few weeks but actually it was several months.

.Last Time: Radditz lost his shit on Tien for cuddling with cat-form Puar, though the ensuing scuffle helped push Tien back into some semblance of normalcy. Frieza had a spat with King Cold over his handling of the Vegeta situation and returned to his apartments to find his latest companion dead in his bathing chamber. Radditz and Puar make up, and the ship's computers warn our crew that they are approaching planet Tech-Tech.

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“Zoom in,” Bulma commanded aloud, and the viewscreen obligingly zeroed in on Planet Tech-Tech. It was still far away enough to be small to the naked eye, but she'd programmed the ship's computer to alert her with plenty of time before landfall. It would be a few hours before they entered the planet's atmosphere, which gave her a nice cushion of time in which to carry out all the last minute preparations.

Vainly, her first priority had been a shower, though she'd made it quick before zipping up to the bridge with still-wet hair. The autopilot was running but she wanted to stay close to the ship's controls from here on out; the planet's gravitational field and was not very strong, but Tech-Tech boasted a charming little asteroid belt. Obstacles were sparse enough for the autopilot to handle at the moment but Bulma knew she might be required to take over as they entered into the denser parts of the belt.

Her father sat a few feet away, busy running safety diagnostics on the ship. Kitty sat on his shoulder as usual, watching Dr. Briefs' fingers as they tapped away at the keyboard. According to the logs, the part of Red Station that had been Gero's original ship had not made planetfall since the early days of its testing phases, before the old doctor had left Earth for good. Gero had been well stocked, and by the time he'd found it necessary to venture out for supplies, he'd already built a small transport vessel to commute to and from Red. Entering the planet's atmosphere would be rough on the big ship, and they needed to make sure that structural integrity would be maintained in the face of all that pressure and heat.

Bulma herself had already set the previously unused atmospheric sensors to earthling settings. The presence of Vegeta's brother meant that saiyans could survive easily on Planet Tech-Tech, but humans, cats, and pigs were another story. For all Bulma knew, the very air itself could be full of carbon monoxide and they could all be dead within minutes of leaving the ship. She still wasn't sure the namekians would be okay, but she hoped that Piccolo's survival on Earth all those years would mean that they shared similar enough physiology with humans.

Bulma twisted a piece of still-damp hair between her fingers to encourage her natural curl, and thought that maybe she'd make sure that Dende stayed back until they determined it was safe.

“I'm going to grab a cup of coffee, Dad. Do you want anything?” Bulma pushed away from the console and yawned.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” her father muttered, squinting from the screen to an open binder as he double checked some of the figures that were coming up. On his shoulder, Kitty mewled quietly. “But perhaps a dish of something fishy for my friend here,” Dr. Briefs added, without missing a beat.

“Of course, of course.” Bulma shuffled out of the room, her rubber-soled slippers scuffing against the metal tiles of the floor as she went. The kitchen was empty when she got there, and the remnants of the coffee from breakfast were turning to sludge in the pot, so she dumped it down the sink and gave it a quick rinse under the tap. She tossed the grounds from the mesh filter into a bucket under the sink, quickly replacing the steel lid to trap the pungent smell of kitchen waste. Her mother had begun a small composting operation in the conservatory so they'd been saving all of the fruit and vegetable scraps, eggshells, and other assorted bits to contribute to the pile.

Once a new pot of coffee was brewing, Bulma dug in the cupboard for a can of the squishy, fishy mush that they kept stocked for Kitty and, on occasion, Puar. She wrinkled her nose against the smell and breathed through her mouth as she opened the can and scooped some out into a dish. “Euch, how can they eat this?” She poked at the pile with her spoon and stuck out her tongue, but she knew that Kitty would go mad for it.

Radditz walked in with Puar on his shoulder just as the coffee maker chimed. Both of them looked significantly worse for wear. Radditz's chest was bare - he was wearing only his pyjama pants, and on his other shoulder Bulma could see the puncture marks from the previous night. There was a very light shadow of bruising on the left side of his ribs, most likely from Tien's foot or fist, that she hadn't previously noticed. It didn't seem to be giving him any trouble though, and wasn't severe enough that she thought it beyond what he deserved.

Without speaking, Bulma turned away, grabbed a mug, and filled it with steaming coffee. She added cream and sugar, and when she turned back around, she found that Radditz was still standing in the same spot, watching her with wary eyes, while Puar had floated over to perch on the edge of the table. Bulma focused on Puar first, and when she turned her gaze to Radditz, he seemed to shrink back a little. She exhaled heavily through her nostrils, lips pressed together in a thin line as she contemplated her next words.

“So I don't really want to have to say this,” Bulma took a sip of her coffee and narrowed her eyes at the saiyan, “and I really shouldn't have to do it, because last I checked, I didn't agree to babysit a bunch of grown men.” She felt a little hypocritical, given Vegeta's attack on Zarbon, but she pressed on, set her mug down and put her hands on her hips. “What happened last night cannot, under any circumstances, happen again. You were way out of line, Radditz. I don't know what set you off, and I don't care. You need to learn to control yourself.” Bulma crossed her arms across her chest, cocked her hip to the side, and prepared for an onslaught of saiyan anger.

Radditz bristled; the fur on his tail stood on end and Bulma could see the tension spreading through bare, bunched muscles. To her surprise, Radditz remained silent. He crossed his arms and glared down at the floor, then up at Bulma, who stood her ground and glared right back. He bared his teeth at her and Bulma felt her knees get a little wobbly, but he made no move to attack.

“Look, I'm sure you've already talked about it, got it worked out between yourself” she tried again, a little softer this time, “but as Captain of this ship, the safety of everyone aboard is my responsibility. We all know I can't keep everyone in line by force, so I have to depend on you guys to police yourselves. I need to know I can trust you. We're a team, Radditz, all of us.” Bulma smiled gently, encouragingly, but felt herself falter the longer Radditz went on without a response. It was unnatural. He should have been swearing a blue streak.

“Vegeta's mother was the strongest woman on Vegetasei,” Radditz said, finally. “The queen before her was a bloodthirsty warrior, and every single one down through our history a strong, powerful female.” He cocked his head, eyeing Bulma's soft, curvy body and friendly face. After showering, she'd changed from her coveralls into a sundress that exposed her thin, pale limbs and emphasized her lack of musculature. “You are not like your predecessors, and I do not know what to make of you.” Radditz turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen without breakfast, leaving both earthlings staring after him, slack jawed.

“Did he just...insult me?” Bulma turned toward her feline friend. Radditz could be incredibly crass and rude, but he was generally complimentary to her.

“I...I'm not sure,” Puar replied, miserably. “I think so.” He was so embarrassed, he wanted to crawl into a hole and just die. “He, uh, called you a queen though,” the cat added. “I think that was maybe him agreeing to follow orders?”

“Yeah, except I think he also said I'm the shittiest queen there ever was.”

Puar looked at Bulma's downturned eyebrows and the thin, compressed line of her lips. His attempt at appealing to her sense of vanity had obviously not helped. “I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed.” He cringed and tucked his tail tightly around himself, as though he could disappear if he simply made himself small enough.

“Nothing for you to apologize for,” Bulma sighed in frustration and dumped another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Fucking saiyans,” she muttered, stirring hard so that the spoon clinked loudly against her ceramic mug. “Who even said I wanted to be their queen? Could you imagine? It'd be all, Here's a crown made of the bones of our enemies!” As usual, her Vegeta impression was bad. “And besides that, can you ever see Vegeta getting down on one knee to pop a ring on my finger?” She waved her bare left hand at Puar. “Hah! As if.” Bulma took her mug and plopped down in the chair next to where Puar was sitting. “If he ever did, I'd be so paranoid it was another Ginyu-type in his body that I wouldn't even be able to say yes.”

“I don't think wedding rings existed on Vegetasei.” Puar swallowed thickly. “I think we're sort of married to them simply by virtue of them deciding they want us.” He paused, frowning. “To be honest, I'm torn between being incredibly flattered and incredibly insulted by the thought.”

“Ha!” Bulma snorted and pounded the table with her open palm. “Welcome to womanhood. I feel like I've stepped back into caveman times, and I refuse to count myself lucky that I haven't been dragged off by the hair yet.” She reached up and twirled another section of hair around her fingers before letting it go, allowing the curl to spring gently into place. “Radditz once told me that if I ever hooked up with anyone else, Vegeta would probably rip their heart out their asshole.” Bulma groaned and rested her chin in her hands, elbows braced on the table. “At the time I tried to convince myself that he wasn't speaking literally, but I was really just fooling myself.”

“I don't know how to stand up to Radditz very well,” Puar admitted. “I think I let him off the hook too easily.”

“Same boat.” Bulma nodded and reached out one hand to pat Puar on the head. Puar flushed beneath his fur, thinking of what Radditz had said about that but Bulma's heavy tone changed the direction of his thoughts quickly. “I sometimes think that Vegeta is an awful person,” Bulma said, quite bluntly. She sighed and Puar crept closer as her fingers found a sweet spot behind his ears. “But it doesn't seem to matter, somehow. I think about what he's done in the past, and I should be revolted. He should make my skin crawl, but I can't seem to stop myself when it comes to him. God, it's so cliché that it's embarrassing. I bet this is how mob wives feel.”

“Are we bad people?” It wasn't the first time Puar had asked himself such a question. He'd been plagued by feelings of self-loathing since his early days, when he and Yamcha used to rob unsuspecting travellers. Yamcha's conversion to the good-guy team had been a huge relief for Puar, but the doubts had come back full force the moment he'd accepted his second drink from a certain saiyan.

“Maybe.” Bulma sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hand stilled on Puar's neck. “Maybe not. Sometimes I think that no matter what else Vegeta does, if I can change his attitude just a little bit, or stop him from killing just one person, I can justify myself.” Bulma pushed back her chair and stood abruptly. “Or maybe I'm just delusional,” she added, hoping to get a smile out of the cat. He looked so serious, so torn. She remembered her own shock and horror at seeing Vegeta drive his fist through the Arlian's chest, sticky slick fist protruding out the other side. In that moment, he'd been a monster, and the way her heart still beat for him had made her sick to her stomach. Even now, months later, the memory sent shivers down her spine. Puar was new to the game and it would take time before he could effectively balance his affection with his guilt at feeling it.

“I took my humanoid form so I wouldn't look so harmless,” Puar wiped at his eyes with fuzzy paws, “but it didn't make me any stronger. I'm so weak, not just physically.” He cried as Bulma gathered him close, cuddling his furry little body against her breast. “I'm a cowardly person, Bulma. I hate it.”

“You're not. What you did last night, jumping in there and trying to help Tien, that took some serious courage. You don't have to have muscles to be strong, you just have to stand up for what you believe in.” Bulma stroked the back of Puar's neck and patted his back. She snagged a napkin from the center of the table and handed it to him so he could dry his tears.

“But I don't. Not enough.”

“Do you think all those saiyans were born so freakishly strong?” Bulma asked. “You and me, yeah, we're weak. Our bodies will never be as tough, but our spirits…there's no limit.”

“You're so corny, do you know that?” Puar was sniffling and smiling at the same time, and Bulma grinned as he buried his face in the napkin.

“Gotta be, my fuzzy friend,” she grinned and gave him a noogie, “or I would go completely insane.”

“Hey, hey!” Puar squirmed away from her, putting his paws protectively up on top of his head. He scampered across the table top and turned to glare once he was safely on the other side. “Corny and a jerk.” He preened, licking his paw and bringing it up over his head to try and restore order to his fur. “I'd never mess with your hair.”

“Aww, I'm just trying to lighten the mood, Puar. I'm kind of nervous to meet Vegeta's brother, you know? What if he doesn't like me? What if he's like Nappa?” She made a face and Puar laughed.

“I don't know, from what Radditz says, I think he's pretty different from the others.”

“Radditz actually talks about Tarble?” Bulma sat forward, interested. “Vegeta clams up and goes mute whenever I try to ask about his brother.”

“He doesn't say a lot.” Puar shrugged and stopped grooming himself. “I get the impression that they don't associate with him all that much.”

“Maybe Tarble and Vegeta don't get along very well.” Bulma sipped her coffee. “Then again, Vegeta doesn't get along well with anybody, not even his own crew. Not even me.” She glanced at her watch and sighed, before hauling herself up and out of her chair. “Anyway, I'd better get back up to the bridge. Kitty will be waiting for his fish mush.”

“Don't knock it till you try it.”

“I'd rather die.” Bulma topped up her coffee mug and, holding the foul brown goo as far from her nose as humanly possible, scuffed her way back up to the bridge.

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“Is there a reason you're pacing back and forth behind my chair?” Bulma was growing sick of the rhythmic click-clack of Vegeta's boots against the metal floor. They were alone on the bridge; her dad had made a quiet exit several minutes prior, under the pretense of checking something in the engine bay. It was a transparent excuse; Bulma knew he probably just wanted to escape the tension that happened when she and Vegeta were stressed out and in the same room together.

“When will we arrive?” Vegeta demanded, ignoring her question as he came to a stop beside her chair and took up a rigid pose, hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. He stared straight ahead at the big viewscreen, where Planet Tech-Tech had grown quite large. Unfortunately, so had the asteroids surrounding it.

“We'll be entering the atmosphere in about a half an hour.” Bulma tapped out a quick command sequence with her right hand as her left remained on the control bar. “That is, if someone lets me concentrate long enough to get us through this minefield.” She pushed up on it just a fraction of an inch, smoothly guiding the bulky ship between two asteroids. “It's like trying to drive a motor-home down a go-kart track.”

Vegeta ignored what he suspected to be another of Bulma's bizarre Earthling references. He got the gist of it even if the specifics were unclear. “Yeah, well try not to kill us before we get there.” His tail was twitching back and forth behind him, a sure sign of his agitation. Bulma resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers over the coarse fur, knowing it would only piss him off more to be treated like a surly housecat.

“Gee, thanks for the advice.” Bulma rolled her eyes and fired the forward facing thrusters, slowing the ship's momentum so that she could manoeuvre around another giant cluster of rock. “What's got your bodysuit all in a twist anyway?” she asked, once they were clear. “The closer we get to Planet Tech-Tech, the moodier you get.”

“Nonsense,” Vegeta snorted, and Bulma wanted to scream aloud as he resumed the annoying pacing. Not for the first time, he reminded her of a caged predator in the zoo, pacing back and forth, restlessly imagining the day he broke free.

Was Tarble just another cage to Vegeta?

Bulma frowned and the ship juddered as an asteroid scraped its side. “Concentrate, woman!” Vegeta snapped, over the creak and groan of steel and the far-off yelps of panic from crewmates on other levels.

“I AM,” Bulma snarled back, wanting to shoot him a look but too afraid to take her eyes of the screen. At least the shock of the asteroid's collision with their ship had stopped Vegeta's pacing. “Though if you would like to drive, be my guest!” She waved her hand at the control panel and then swept her arm out in a wide arc to encompass the veritable minefield on the viewscreen. Vegeta glowered at her but said nothing, so with a self-satisfied smirk, Bulma turned her attention back to steering. Vegeta was a serviceable pilot, but like most of the ground crew in Frieza's forces, he'd spent most of his travel time as a passenger. He couldn't claim nearly half of Bulma's depth of experience, and they both knew it.

“See that you get us to the ground in one piece,” Vegeta said, unwilling to let her have the last word. “I have fought and won far too many battles to die as a result of your incompetence.”

“Oh, I don't need to get us to the ground,” Bulma said, sweetly, banking hard to the left, only for the pleasure of knocking her surly boyfriend off balance. His tail straightened as he shifted his weight to accommodate, but didn't stumble, much to her disappointment. “I'll at least get us to breathable atmosphere before I trash the ship. I'm sure you'd survive the fall.”

“Conniving wretch.”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Cranky butt,” she retorted, and the usual indignant snort was his reply. It wasn't exactly how she'd imagined the final moments before meeting this long-estranged brother of his. She'd had visions of hand holding, of smiling reassurances from Vegeta that Tarble would love her, that she'd adore him, and they would all be one big happy family.

Who the hell was she kidding? She'd probably just end up with two Vegetas to deal with, one of whom wouldn't even be making up for his rudeness by bedroom attention. Threesome fantasy number two had begun with learning of Vegeta's brother, and ended with learning of Vegeta's brother's wife, the mysterious and much maligned Gure. Bulma wasn't sure what to expect from the other woman, as Vegeta flatly refused to speak of her, or anything regarding his brother. The other saiyans seemed to only make fun without providing any real details.

Bulma really hoped they would be friends. In addition to her sappy, hand holding, happy family scenes, she also imagined that sisterly affection between herself and Gure might bridge the gap between Vegeta and Tarble.

Yeah right, Bulma thought as she snuck a peek at Vegeta. He'd taken the seat next to her and though he'd finally shut his gob, he'd initiated a tense staring contest with the viewscreen and was glaring so hard she was worried for the structural integrity of the ship itself.

Annoyed with herself and him, Bulma huffed out a sigh, blowing the bangs up off of her forehead. Visions of happy-family-anything with Vegeta were too farfetched to even qualify as fantasy; they were out and out madness. On Earth, under different circumstances, there might have been a chance, but out here, on the run? Never.

“Approaching planetary atmosphere,” the ship's computer interrupted Bulma's maudlin train of thought, its tinny voice crackling out from each speaker on the ship. “Entry estimated in five minutes.”

Bulma checked her safety straps, giving each one a healthy tug before she clamped herself in. Beside her, Vegeta buckled his own belts. Bulma flicked a switch on her control panel to engage the ship-wide intercom system. “You heard the lady,” she announced. “Everybody buckle in. Things are going to get bumpy.”

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Bulma stared, open-mouthed, at the figure bounding toward them across the grass. She cocked her head, trying to judge the distance, and wondered if her depth perception had recently deserted her. She turned her gaze to look at the pack of Saiyans standing out at the end of Red Ship's ramp, Gohan and Goku included. Then she turned back toward the figure, now standing in front of Vegeta, reaching out as though to clasp hands in greeting.

It wasn't that there was something wrong with him. He was fully in proportion, with the spiky hair and tail characteristic of his kind. He had a handsome face, a nicely shaped body...but...a very tiny, nicely shaped body. He made Vegeta look tall. Next to him, Radditz and Nappa were skyscrapers.

So that was her brother in law. Bulma frowned as she watched him, hoping a serious expression would suppress the giggle that was building up in her throat. Tarble was vibrating with excitement at seeing the others, who looked on him with a combination of strained tolerance and disdain. He'd moved from Vegeta and was now shaking hands enthusiastically with Goku and Gohan, professing wonder and excitement at the presence of two previously unknown saiyans.

“The brat is a half-breed,” Nappa was saying, and to that Tarble blinked in surprise and turned back to the boy. They were nearly the same height.

“Fascinating!” Tarble said, smiling brightly. “Gure will be terribly interested to know that interbreeding is possible. He looks so very Saiyan! Tell me, Gohan, is it? Is your mother here?” Tarble glanced toward the crowd just visible within Red Station's hangar door, but his attention was quickly drawn back to his kin.

“The humans are very similar in appearance to us,” Vegeta cut in gruffly, as Gohan nodded. “Much weaker, of course, though even their cubs could probably best you in a challenge.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, overhearing this part of the conversation, and decided that it was time for the rest of the crew to disembark. Vegeta was a great face for the revolution, but he wasn't exactly stellar at interpersonal relations. She didn't want to get kicked off the planet before they had a chance to see and review whatever medical information might have travelled with baby Tarble away from doomed Vegetasei.

She needn't have worried. Tarble laughed and grinned even wider as he saw the crowd descending the ramp. “No doubt, big brother, though I'll have to take your word for it. I doubt I'll be getting into any death matches with your friends.” Bulma could see Vegeta bristle at the last word and was again unsure of how to present herself. This wasn't a typical meet the family set up where she'd be introduced to the curious parents, passed from relative to relative to be questioned and scrutinized. She was meeting the semi-estranged little brother of the universe's most emotionally closed-off man, someone who hadn't even made it clear to her what was going on.

Just what was she supposed to do? She was getting closer and closer to the end of the ramp, out in front of a pack of rag tag refugees and wishing she'd thought this part out. Tarble was at the bottom of the ramp, hand extended to take hers and she was surprised to find it rough, work hardened. He was such a cute little guy, much softer around the edges than even Gohan. Bulma watched him take a breath and pause, a surprised look coming over his face. Quizzically, he turned to look at Vegeta, who only glared, arms crossed in his typical, pissed-at-life pose. Tarble turned back to Bulma, eyes shining with pleasure, and shook her hand enthusiastically. “I'm Tarble,” he said, and she nodded dumbly.

“Bulma.”

“Bulma,” Tarble repeated her name as though trying it out, and his grin was of Goku-esque proportions. “It is very nice to meet you. Vegeta has not told me anything about you.”

“He's, um, very private.” Bulma shrugged her shoulders and Tarble nodded, moving on to greet Krillin.

“Did he know?” Bulma hissed to Puar, who settled on her shoulder in cat form after his own greeting. “He knew. How did he know?” She walked out into the sunlight, too distracted to notice the odd, downy texture of the tall grass tickling her calves or the way the clouds seemed to shimmer in Planet Tech-Tech's sky.

“He smelled Vegeta all over you. Didn't you realize?”

“I had a shower! He hasn't touched me since!”

“Sorry, I forget sometimes that human noses aren't so strong, but I didn't know they were that weak.” Puar shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Shower or no, you pretty much always smell like Vegeta.”

“For the love of...” Bulma muttered, and Puar laughed. To her, Vegeta's scent was all musk and sweat, and while it appealed to her on a base level, it wasn't exactly her idea of a great perfume.

“If it makes you feel better,” Puar added, “he carries notes of Bulma wherever he goes, too. And it's probably not detectable to the others, especially if you haven't noticed that I smell like Radditz.”

“You don't. Only when I catch you coming out of your room after some hanky panky.” Bulma reached up and poked the cat in the side. Puar yelped and was about to make a retort but they both shut their mouths as Seventeen and Eighteen came to join them.

“Tarble is very small,” Seventeen said, bluntly.

“It is not so unusual, is it?” Eighteen's question was directed at Bulma but her eyes darted to Krillin, who stood with Tien at the base of the ship's ramp. Bulma caught the furtive glance and made a mental note to review Gero's notes on the two androids. Then she made a another mental note to talk to Eighteen about the birds and the bees.

“Oh, you are just adorable!” Mrs. Briefs' high voice trilled across the clearing where they'd landed, and to Bulma's mortification she watched her mother bend down to pinch the little prince's cheeks. “You're like a tiny Vegeta, oh how cute!” she burbled, clapping her hands. “I'm Mrs. Briefs, but you can call me Mom, just like everybody else!” Her hands were on him again, petting his hair and once again finding his cheeks.

At this, Tarble's eyes widened and he once again sought his brother's face. He could not, in a million years, imagine his stoic older brother calling this woman “Mom”. In fact, he was beyond shocked to find out that his brother even associated with such a bubbling fountain of effusive good cheer.

It was time for an intervention, Bulma decided, as she watched Vegeta's scowl deepen. “Nobody calls you Mom but me.” Bulma gently pulled her mother's fingers from her new brother in law's face. “This is my mother,” she added to Tarble, who actually took a step back after he'd been freed from Mrs. Briefs' grip. Bulma sighed. Leave it to her mother to make the universe's friendliest Saiyan uncomfortable. “This is my dad,” she pulled forth her hitherto silent father, who muttered a hello from somewhere beneath his moustache.

“Don't forget Kitty, here,” Dr. Briefs said, with much more enthusiasm than he'd mustered for his own introduction. He reached up to pet the cat that was, as usual, clinging to his shoulder.

“Yes, this is Kitty. He bites,” Bulma warned as Tarble made to reach out and pet the little furball. She placed a hand on Tarble's shoulder and steered him quickly away to meet the Dende and the nameks.

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Bulma rubbed her temples and smiled gratefully at Gure as the little grey alien set down a glass of water. “Thank you so much,” Bulma said as she picked up the glass and drained half of it. SiHo would have been nice after the herculean task of organizing the residents of Red Station and overseeing their introduction into Gure and Tarble's village, but getting blind-drunk in front of her new inlaws probably wouldn't have made for the best introduction.

“Vegeta and Tarble are set up downstairs with the computer. Vegeta is working to find the information that you came for in the disks that were sent with Tarble. Vegeta's grasp of the language is much better than my husband's, despite the training system that was installed in his pod.” Gure paused as she poured her own glass of water, less than half the size of the one she had given Bulma. “Tarble is very pleased to see Vegeta and the others. They visit so rarely.”

“Thank you for allowing us to come here,” Bulma said, studying the tiny creature across the table. They were in Gure and Tarble's house and Bulma felt like an adult in a child's playhouse, all scrunched into Gure's tiny chairs, with her knees bent above the level of the kitchen table. She was in Tarble's chair, the biggest of the four in the room, but she had half a foot on him and her legs were significantly longer. Still though, she imagined the poor saiyan, small as he was, must spend a lot of time ducking under low doorways and squeezing himself into small spaces. Then again he'd grown up here and was used to living larger than the local scale.

Maybe saiyans were like plants, she mused, only growing as big as their containers allowed.

“It is no trouble.” Gure picked up her tiny pitcher and refilled Bulma's glass of water, nearly as big as it was, and that was when Bulma realized she was drinking out of a flower vase. Gure noticed her scrutiny and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry,” she said, “but we are not used to guests. Tarble is the largest resident our village has ever had. Last time the saiyans visited, many years ago, Nappa could not even get through our doorway. They came in space pods and all three had to sleep outside as we had no beds big enough.”

“Don't worry, we'll all be bunking in the ship.” Bulma smiled, amused at the idea of Nappa, trying to wedge himself through the tiny doorframes, but her amusement didn't last long. “Regardless, I feel I need to warn you that by allowing us to stay here, you are putting yourselves in danger. Frieza's reach is weak this far from the center of his territory, but that doesn't mean it's completely safe. We travelled under strict radio silence and I'm oh, say ninety eight percent sure that we didn't lead anyone here. But there's always a chance.”

Bulma watched Gure's placid little face, so hard to read, and worried. “We'd never have come if we didn't need the information disks,” she added, guiltily.

“We might live in relatively free space, but that doesn't mean that we don't know what's going on in the rest of the universe,” Gure said, her tiny hands fisting nervously in her tunic. She was obviously much less comfortable with her guests than she let on. “We made this decision as a group; our culture is peaceful, but we believe that no one is free when any one of us is oppressed. We will offer what assistance we can. And besides,” she sighed, “Tarble really is awfully pleased to see his brother, nevermind the circumstances.

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“Fuck!” Vegeta snarled as his hands slipped on the tiny keypad again, mashing seven buttons at once with his index finger alone. “You live in the land of the gnomes! Eject the damn disk,” he demanded of his brother, who quickly danced forward to do as he was told. “We're taking it onboard Red, where there are keyboards designed for real saiyan hands.”

“Umm, okay,” Tarble nodded quickly, trying to please his brother, “but I'm not sure you have anything that will be able to read it. This computer had to be designed specially, out of the wreckage of my pod. It's based off of saiyan technology.” Tarble snatched the disk as it slid slowly from its drive and scurried to catch up to Vegeta, who was already stomping away.

Vegeta stopped, glared, and stalked back toward the unit. He yanked the plug from the back of it, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and turned back the way he had come. “Bulma!” he hollered, taking the miniature stairs three at a time as he made his way from the basement workspace. He burst through the kitchen door, startling poor Gure, who was unused to dealing with obnoxious saiyans. “You need to hook this up to our systems. Immediately.” The computer was plonked down on the table with a thump, and shoved across toward her.

Bulma sighed at Vegeta's tone, but pulled the machine toward herself. She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned forward to examine the connectors on the back. “Hmm, I think I can make that work.” The piece was a bit of a Frankenstein's Monster, constructed from other machines, if the wear and differences in materials were any clue. “Hey, is that saiyan?” She wiped a bit of dust away from a scorched piece, noting that the symbols imprinted there looked remarkably similar to what she'd seen in Gohan's language notebook.

“Our technologists built this computer with salvaged parts from Tarble's space pod. It was heavily damaged on impact,” Gure explained, “but they were able to piece it together well enough to run the disks that were encased in the pod.”

“My parents sent me in a specialized pod, outfitted with saiyan technology rather than that of the empire. I suppose they wanted me to know where I came from as much as possible.” Tarble smiled shyly, and beside him Vegeta bristled and clutched the backrest of a tiny chair so hard that Bulma was worried he might snap it.

“How nice for you,” he sneered, and the happy glow faded from Tarble's cheeks as he realized his mistake. “They sent me off into the pits of hell without so much as a have a nice day.” Roughly, he grabbed up the computer again and stormed out, ducking just in time to avoid smacking his head against the doorframe. “Come on. Now!”

Bulma got up, biting her tongue against the snappy reply to his bossiness that was just itching to get out. Vegeta was still unpredictable to her in many ways, but she knew him and his issues well enough to know that a sarcastic “yes, your majesty” would not go over well at the moment. She chafed at the indignity, but it wasn't worth the fight.

“Oh dear,” Tarble muttered. “Do you think I've made him angry?”

“I'm going to take a wild leap on this one and say yes.” Bulma gulped the last of her water and set her vase/glass on the table. She straightened her dress and fluffed her hair. “Give us a bit of time, will you? Don't want this reunion to end with him killing his only living relative, do we?” She felt mean, tacking on that second part, but knew it needed to be said. Vegeta's bitterness was misdirected, yes, but not unfounded. Unfair as it was, Tarble would need to learn to step a little more carefully around his big brother. “Do you have any specs I might find useful?”

“Um, I could grab you all the documentation we have.” Gure led Bulma back down the stairs to a series of filing cabinets standing against one wall. “The computer was created shortly after Tarble's landing here; I was hardly more than an egg. I know enough about it to use it, but have had little cause to bother. My grasp of the saiyan language is very, very basic. I have done some studying of the modules provided on the discs in order to give Tarble someone to converse with, but they are designed to teach the infant brain. Adult brains are much less flexible.”

Bulma smiled as she watched Gure dig though the cabinets, all the while babbling about language acquisition and neural plasticity. It might not be her subject of choice, but it seemed she'd found something of a kindred spirit. “You and I are going to be good friends,” she said as Gure leafed quickly through a worn file, quickly scribbling some numbers on a piece of paper.

“I think so too.” Gure smiled as she handed over the paper. “These documents are written in our language so they won't be much good to you, but here are some of the important numbers in Standard; energy requirements and such. I'll get the rest of this translated for you as soon as possible.” She tapped the file folder with tiny fingers and tucked it under her arm.

“Thanks.” Bulma led the way back up the stairs. Back in the kitchen, Tarble sheepishly handed her a small, rectangular disk.

“Um, Vegeta didn't take this when he left.”

“Thanks.” Bulma stuffed the disk into her pocket, along with the stats that Gure had translated. “And try not to worry too much. He'll calm down.” Maybe, she thought, but didn't say. “Anyway, it looks like it's starting to get dark here, so maybe we'll try again tomorrow. It will take me some time to fashion us a plug and it will take Gure some time to get those notes translated anyway.”

Bulma said her goodbyes and crossed the small yard to the road, smiling and trying to appear friendly to all the little tech-techs who crossed her path. She and her shipmates were such a big group, and with so many volatile personalities among them, she felt she had to try very hard to make a good impression. It was an uphill battle.

.

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Seventeen and Eighteen sat side by side on the grass, watching the sun go down. Neither had ever been planetside before; the closest they'd ever come was Harbour Colony's fake outdoor market. Even in their limited experience, they could both tell that this was much better.

Eighteen kicked off her shoes and wiggled her bare toes in the grass, marvelling at the soft, cool texture. The thin blades tickled her feet and the barest hint of a smile graced her thin lips. Beside her, Seventeen was slowly undoing the laces of his own high top sneakers. He'd rolled up his pants and there were imprints in his pale skin from where his legs had rested on the ground. A smear of green decorated his calf. Eighteen reached over and swiped her finger across it, frowning when it did not come off.

“There is grass blood on your leg,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

“Plants do not have blood.” Seventeen licked his finger and rubbed the grass stain away, as he'd seen Mrs. Briefs do while working in the conservatory. “Plants have sap.”

“Oh,” Eighteen said, and rested her arms on her drawn-up knees. “Why did I not know that?”

“I do not know. I did not know until Mrs. Briefs referred to it as such.” Seventeen slipped off his shoes and socks and laid his legs down again. He plucked a blade from the ground and rolled it between his fingers.

“Odd. I wonder what else I do not know.” Eighteen bent forward, bracing her bodyweight as she considered this. She knew, from whatever information Dr. Gero had implanted in her brain, that plants were different from animals. Both were alive; they grew and respired, though animals moved and had consciousness, while plants did not. Computers, even those that moved, were not alive; they were not conscious. She and her brothers were treated like human animals by their shipmates, but she did not understand the difference. Sixteen was a sentient computer; he did not breathe, grow, or age, but he had thoughts. Was Sixteen alive?

Eighteen considered her own body, each cell a tiny microcomputer so that she mimicked human biology to perfection. She was flesh and blood but created instead of born. She was conscious, but could not tell where programming ended and sentience began. Bulma would know, but she was very busy, and Eighteen did not want to bother her. The mother was meeting her new family, the tiny saiyan called Tarble, who was Vegeta's brother, and the tinier tech-tech called Gure, who was Tarble's wife.

Vegeta was very different from his brother, Eighteen thought as she felt the prince's power level spike in the distance. Beside her, Seventeen peered in the direction of the village as well. Krillin had been teaching the twins to sense ki, though it was slow going. Both were having difficulties with anything other than sudden jumps; detecting a level ki or a small one had eluded them both thus far.

A few moments after the spike, Vegeta came storming down the path toward the ship. He carried a blocky machine beneath one arm, and wore a thunderous expression on his face. Neither android attempted to make conversation, and Vegeta ignored them both in turn. They did not think to be offended; it was the usual state of things with the saiyan prince. They had begun to take note of social graces, and had both learned that Vegeta had few to spare. Most were reserved for Bulma, and observed only if one happened to stumble upon the couple when they thought they were alone.

Eighteen had never given much thought to Vegeta before; beyond his fighting prowess and leadership role, he was simply the mother's...what? The saiyans called them mates, Krillin called them boyfriend and girlfriend, though Goku and Chichi were husband and wife. So were Doctor and Mrs. Briefs. Eighteen wondered about the distinction. So far as she understood, both terms involved enjoying physical intimacy with each other, and couples of both distinctions seemed to live together. Both of the married couples had children. Perhaps that was the distinction? Once a man was able to impregnate a female, they were married?

Eighteen frowned. She had so many questions, and every moment there were more. No matter how many answers she gained, the list kept growing and growing.

Bulma came walking down the path at that moment, looking much more serene than Vegeta had. She appeared deep in thought and both androids could hear the slight humming sound she made, which usually accompanied intense concentration.

“Hello Mother,” they said in unison, startling her. She gasped and put a hand to her heart, as though to steady the quickened organ.

“Hi guys. Yeesh, sorry, you startled me. I didn't even notice you sitting here.” Bulma laughed self-consciously and swiped her hair behind her ears. On the ground, Eighteen did the same. “What's up?”

“We are simply observing the setting sun,” Seventeen said.

“We have never seen a setting sun,” Eighteen added.

“Pretty magnificent, isn't it?” Bulma smiled and turned away from the twins to appreciate the view that they were seeing. Tech-Tech's sun was huge in the sky; it was closer than Earth's had been but was actually smaller and burned much colder, so the tiny planet did not bake. “I wish I could stay and watch, but Vegeta's probably about to blow his top in there.” She turned back to face the twins and hitched her thumb in the direction of the ship.

Eighteen watched Bulma roll her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Eighteen did not understand how the mother could be irritated and amused by Vegeta at the same time, but knew that she was.

“Well, see you later,” Bulma said, and with a little wave she was walking down the path once more. There was a spring in her step and one hand reached up to twirl a strand of her hair.

“Do you think Vegeta and Bulma are sad that they have not yet managed to reproduce?” Seventeen asked his sister, after the mother was out of earshot. “They seem to engage in intercourse very often, with little result.”

Eighteen blinked in surprise and looked sidelong at her brother. He was still watching the sunset, seemingly oblivious to the sense of shock he had created in his sister. Eighteen squirmed and pressed her thighs together as a familiar tightness formed in her core. From discussions she had overheard, and comments made that the other women thought she would not understand, Eighteen had been given the impression that there was more to it that simple procreation, and she was curious.

Did Seventeen not feel the same? Eighteen could not comprehend this; she and her twin were supposed to be the same. Was he defective in some way, Eighteen wondered, or was she?

.

.

Bulma found Vegeta huffing and puffing inside her lab, pacing back and forth between the piles of notes and half-finished projects. “What took you so long?” he snapped, the second the door shut behind her.

“You were in such a hurry that you left without this.” Bulma pulled the shiny disk from the pocket of her dress and waved it beneath his nose. She blinked innocently, batting the sweeping fan of her eyelashes above pouted lips. “You know, going off prematurely never used to be a problem for you.”

Vegeta growled out something she was pretty sure was a saiyan curse word, judging by the frequency and tone of its use. An image of his hands, on Gure's chair, white knuckled in a battle between strength and restraint, flashed through her mind and she remembered that she was going to try and be nice.

“So,” she dropped the ditzy act and set to examining the back of the machine, “Tarble really gets your goat, huh?”

“My...goat?” Vegeta sputtered, baffled and put off by another of her earthlingisms. He knew what a goat was - Bulma had described it to him as resembling a sybian quarnak but with only two eyes, which he thought was just plain weird. What it had to do with his brother, however, Vegeta had no idea.

“It means he irritates you. He upsets you.” Bulma's voice was soothing, though the smile on her face was impish and Vegeta knew at once that she'd chosen her words deliberately to throw him off. He narrowed his eyes at her, and uttered his own favourite human phrase.

“No shit.”

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That's it for today, folks. Hopefully I won't go so long without updating again, but in the meantime, have you checked out the “We're Just Saiyan” group on Google Plus yet? It's fairly new but growing every day, AND the group's creators do DBZ and B/V related podcasts with guest authors. I was on one! Check them out on youtube, or through the google plus community.