The King eyed his son's image with displeasure. The Prince was dressed, as he usually was on missions, like a common soldier, this time wearing a sleeveless black bodysuit and white gloves with no sign of rank about his person. The brat is around third-class warriors so much he's beginning to resemble one, the elder Vegeta thought sourly. That alien thing he tolerates looks more like royalty. This is what comes of letting the Heir go off-world. "Another successful purge, I assume," was what he said.

Vegeta gave his head a slight shake, looking at his parent from under lowered brows. "Chikyuu has not been cleared."

The King rested his chin on his fist, glowering steadily back. "I assume you have a damn good reason for that, brat."

Yamcha landed at the compound, hit the ground sprinting, and raced to the front door of the main living quarters. Bursting in, he started shouting for Bulma, Dr. Briefs, anybody?

"Sheesh," said Bulma as she ran down the stairs and into the living room. "What is your problem? And," she added in irritation, looking at the wide-open front door, "why haven't I revoked your security clearance yet?"

Yamcha grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" he screamed in her face.

"Don't mess the suit up, I have a meeting in ten minutes! Yamcha, I'm fine. What are you hysterical about?"

"Kami said the Saiyans were here." Releasing her, Yamcha began to look around the living room in suspicion and bafflement, as if wondering why Saiyans weren't leaping out of the woodwork at him. "They aren't here now--there's Radditz, and there's--" he stopped as his senses crossed a familiar ki signature nearby.

"Yep, the guy with the green hair. Zarbon. He's waiting while they bring some equipment back from the ship."

After a minute he muttered, "Tell me he at least has a black eye from yesterday."

Bulma grinned, a touch maliciously. "Not that I can see. In fact, he looks really sharp. He's wearing these little bikini briefs and thigh-high boots--"

"Get out."

"Seriously. And pink evening gloves. He's dressed to kill. Well, not literally, thank Kami, although he scared the hell out of me for a moment. Anyway--" Bulma took Yamcha by the arm and marched him outside, "--I'm fine, my folks are fine, my dad's beasties are fine, my workers are fine, and I have a meeting that, with the world not ending immediately, I have to take seriously. Although no one said anything specifically about you guys, you showing up here is probably a violation of the truce and I don't want my folks' yard scorched up with a battle."

Incredulous, he stared at her. "You--you expect me to stay away from you?"

Bulma looked back at him, sardonically. "All of the sudden that's so hard?"

Yamcha flushed, scowled, and lifted off without another word. Tapping her foot, Bulma watched him fly in the direction of the city, then walked toward the main offices.

After a moment, a man-sized piece of the building next to the still-open door shifted, then detached itself to step onto the grass. There was a disorienting swirl of colors that slowly replaced the bland tones of the structure, aligning themselves into solid patches of blue and green.

"Well," said Zarbon, an arrested note in his voice. "What are the odds?" He also stared after the distant speck that was Yamcha, checked his scouter and pursed his lips. Then he went back to the sickroom to resume his silent post by Radditz's bed.

Unlike the too-dense Nappa and the too-preoccupied Zarbon, the King immediately grasped the implications of the Chikyuu technology. "You are saying," he demanded of his son, "that the natives have a method that not only decreases objects in their physical size, but in their mass?"

"Yes."

"Amazing. We could store huge quantities of food, other provisions on our troop ships. We would no longer be limited by our fuel reserves to year-long missions; we could go much further from Vejiitasei. And the decrease in weight alone would mean we could travel further, faster." The King's dark eyes sparked. "Vegeta," he said, "we could expand the Saiyan Empire to every corner of the Universe."

The Crown Prince inclined his head.

"Do whatever it takes," his father ordered, "to get this technology."

While no one outside of the compound noticed the earlier visit of the alien trio, the appearance of a hovering disk-like craft that lowered itself into the central courtyard of the Capsule Corporation did not escape attention. Within seconds (it seemed to a fed up Bulma) phones were ringing off the hook, the media was trying to climb the fence, and her meeting became totally superfluous as everyone ran out onto the balcony to gawk at the ship as it gently touched down. Sighing, she nodded at her father and went out to greet their visitors.

Zarbon, already in front of the craft, made no objection as she stood next to him, watching a door on the ship's side slide back into the hull and a ramp with a gentle slope descend. Two large shadowy figures stepped down, revealed in the sunlight to be really, really big Saiyan warriors (the only size they seemed to come in, reflected Bulma, apart from their obnoxious leader). Both wore the flaring chest plates, one with extra armor protecting his flanks, the other with loose-fitting dark leggings. They greeted Zarbon, asking where the tank should go. Zarbon gestured, and the more-armored one followed him to the infirmary. The other one looked at Bulma with a slightly intrigued expression, drifted over and began to ask her questions that seemed harmless enough: what was her name, did she live here, was she a warrior, was anyone in her family a warrior. She answered absently, trying hard not to stare at his tail, which unwound from the warrior's waist as he spoke to her and slowly swung back and forth behind his legs, rather like one of her father's cats when they were considering whether or not something was worth pouncing on. Returning, the other Saiyan uttered a comment in a lilting tone that made her new friend blush slightly and race back up the ramp. "What did he say?" she asked Zarbon.

Zarbon lifted a shoulder. "That was the Northern dialect. I only speak a few words of the Southern tongue." But he was smiling slightly, and she knew he wasn't being completely honest.

"You're not Saiyan, then?"

"Absolutely not," he replied, amusement in his voice.

"Well, we have all types of different people on our planet. I thought yours might be the same."

Zarbon turned his head, looking toward the balcony where most of her executives were now gathered, observing both the different skin tones and the occasional furry visage. "Mine is. The Saiyans' is not." Then he tilted his head to one side as he looked down at her, amusement spreading across his face, and added, "Daizu likes you. His comrade was telling him not to get too attached just yet."

"Oh, he was just being polite and making conversation."

"He was checking out, what, military experience and the like? He's deciding if you could handle some of the conditions the troops have to deal with."

"You're kidding?" Nothing in the blue features appeared derisive. "But we literally met five minutes ago."

"Since only about twenty percent of the population is female, Saiyan males get very serious very quickly once they decide they're interested in someone," Zarbon told her, a wry self-mocking note in his voice that she didn't understand. "And, unlike the domestic guards and the nobility, the off-world troops aren't concerned with 'appearances' when it comes to mates."

One corner of Bulma's mouth twisted. "I'm not in the mood to be anyone's 'mate' at the moment."

"You might want to keep him in mind if the truce fails," said Zarbon, evenly.

Bulma looked at him sharply, but the Saiyans appeared at the top of the ramp again, both balancing impossibly-large metal-enclosed containers on their shoulders so she said nothing. She did make sure she smiled at the one called Daizu, however, as she walked with them to the building that housed Radditz. "I was never in the military," she told him, "although I did do what you could call mercenary work about ten years ago, when I fought against Emperor Pilaf..."

He was bored. There was a planet to purge, with native Elite-level warriors yet, dammit, and he couldn't touch it. What I get for putting duty ahead of pleasure, the Prince thought in irritation. And my father thinks I have no notion of duty! Feh.

Vegeta again tried going through some of the messages from the planet, but gave up after a few minutes. The "Earthlings" (as they called themselves on the transmissions) were raving lunatics. Their leaders were still broadcasting messages of peace, apparently oblivious to the several battles the Saiyans and some of the Earth natives fought on the planet's surface the day before. That blue-eyed female they dealt with earlier knew more about what was really happening than any of the planet's several governments.

About to turn away from the console, he noticed a personal message had come in. What the hell does my useless father want now? But, to the Prince's surprise, the message was a brief one from Zarbon that suggested the woman they confronted was more than she seemed. The fighters that the Earth governments knew nothing about apparently answered to her; one of them showed up at the compound, his aide reported, but went away when she ordered him not to jeopardize the truce.

Well, that was interesting, thought Vegeta. Apparently that defiant creature possessed a high rank on the planet. Some worlds did have civilians in charge, after all. Perhaps that was why she held Radditz rather than the military. He might get a shot at one of the native warriors by heading back to her compound.

Then he sighed. Now that he had direct orders from the King to bargain with the natives, challenging any of the 'Earth' warriors was impossible, at least until the Saiyans figured out how their technology worked. But, the Prince thought, smirking as he regarded Zarbon's message, there was one entity on the planet he could always demand a contest from...

It was hard to do anything with Zarbon hovering over her. At least the Saiyans gave her some room to work with, watching interestedly as Bulma pulled hollowed, specially-constructed needles out of Radditz's flesh, used to deliver the various compounds her father determined the warrior needed to survive his wound. "That's nasty," said Daizu as she carefully tugged the bandage off to reveal the hole through Radditz's breast. "How did that happen?"

Bulma murmured a non-committal reply, aware of Zarbon's sardonic gaze. "It was worse," she said, "and he tried to get away the other day, which didn't help. But --" she looked at the large, clear tank they set up in one corner of the room after she helped them tear down various banks of medical equipment "--with any luck this doo-hickey you've brought will finally do the trick."

Daizu looked at her with real respect, apparently impressed that Radditz attempted to escape and, somehow, didn't. Well, if the planet goes, looks like I might have an out, Bulma thought wryly. It was not at all a comforting thought.

Then Radditz's lids fluttered and opened, and Zarbon simply picked Bulma up bodily and put her gently to one side.

Sliding one knee on the bed, Zarbon leaned over Radditz and touched his face softly. "Everything's all right. We're getting you into a tank."

Radditz stared at him fixedly. "I called you. Did you hear?"

Zarbon blinked, wondering if he meant the scouter transmissions, then realized the Saiyan was more likely talking about those strange, weak mental powers his kind possessed. "I'm here, aren't I?" he answered, indirectly.

The warrior's eyes closed, his expression tight. After a moment, "Not," muttered Radditz hoarsely, barely audible, "to sound like that moronic melodrama you made me go to on Tsuintake, but the humans are more than they seem."

Zarbon gazed at the woman, who looked back steadily. "We noticed."

"Kakarott..."

Zarbon laid his hand lightly against Radditz's mouth. "Shhh. There's a truce right now. No one's fighting; no one's in a hurry. Plenty of time to tell us everything. Just rest."

His lips moved for a second against Zarbon's fingers, then he was still.

She was used to thinking of them as evil, near-demonic scourges. But watching as Zarbon tenderly lifted the Saiyan, carefully placing his hands to not catch Radditz's hair, Bulma was aware of a shift in her opinion. There had been compassion and concern in the delicate face as Zarbon spoke to Radditz; there had been more than that in Radditz's return gaze. Mom's going to be disappointed, she thought wryly.

Bulma observed Radditz struggle back to consciousness as Zarbon set him in the tank. The Saiyan grabbed the other man's wrist, turning his head away when Zarbon tried to fit the mask over his face. "You want to get better or not?"

"The woman..."

Zarbon turned to look at Bulma.

"Not that one. The other--her mother. I promised her an honorable death."

Bulma was so startled that she didn't even protest at first, convinced she had misheard. Both the Saiyan warriors paused, folding their arms and looking at Radditz as if he had said something important. After a minute Zarbon said, gently, "If it comes to that and you can't, I'll make sure of it."

Radditz's eyes closed again. "Thank you," he whispered, and let Zarbon put the mask on him.

Bulma felt her chin drop. What was I thinking? They're animals! And after all she did for him! No-one's going after my mom!

Zarbon barely straightened to his feet before the human female crashed into him. He looked over one shoulder at her in surprise; she was pounding the back of his armor, snarling. "You are not going to hurt my mother!"

"You are going to hurt yourself," he told her, torn between amusement and annoyance. He could barely feel her through his ki shield, which didn't make her any less bothersome. The Saiyan warriors were both staring; the one who had been flirting with her raised his brows at Zarbon slightly, grinning, a clear offer of help. Zarbon gave his head a single shake, and tried to ignore the woman as he stepped around Radditz's body making some final adjustments. It wasn't easy, and become less so when she grabbed his braid and started pulling. "Hey--!"

There was a furious shriek, and the woman's presence was gone.

Zarbon turned and blinked. The Saiyans were at attention, arms crossed and legs set wide. Little wonder; Vegeta had a foot inside the tank, and was holding the female off the tank's floor by the back of her garments, one brow raised. "Why is this woman always hitting you? Is it some sort of native ritual I shouldn't interrupt?" he inquired of Zarbon.

"Ask her."

The woman swung her arms and made frustrated hissing noises; Zarbon for a second looked at her with real interest, wondering if she was some part reptile or if this was just an expression of anger. Looking into the single-lidded blue eyes, he sighed; all mammal. Pity.

"Do you need her for anything in here?"

"Ye gods, no."

"Fine." Vegeta turned, bent his elbow and flexed his wrist, and suddenly the woman was dangling over one shoulder, being carried out of the room like a duffel bag, her expression outraged.

"Oof," said Daizu with a wince. "She has pride, that one; she's not going to like that."

She was trying for his tail again. Vegeta could feel the scrabbling of her nails as she reached down with her fingers, scraping them against the small of his back as she tried to stretch her arms as far as they would go.

Unfurling the tail from his waist, he pulled his wrist a little higher and got her positioned so she couldn't even reach the base of it, reminding himself she couldn't really know about this one Saiyan weakness -- Radditz would have never told her even if he were in shape for extended interrogation -- and, anyway, even if she grabbed his, thanks to Zarbon's training it wouldn't hurt that much. It was just like Zarbon's braid, a tempting target.

After he stepped down the two steps that led from the infirmary's building onto the green lawn next to it, Vegeta rotated his arm, flipped his wrist so the human's angry blue eyes snapped in his face, and carefully lowered her, releasing the jacket when her feet hit the ground. Crossing his arms, he told her, "I know half the species in the galaxy are overcome with the desire to throw themselves at Zarbon as soon as they lay eyes on him, but he really doesn't like it. You're lucky he's under orders not to destroy anyone at the moment."

"He said he was going to kill my mother!"

"Don't be an idiot. Didn't I just say he can't kill anyone right now? Zarbon will not harm anything on this planet until either the truce is over or I," the Prince smiled, dangerously, "order him to do so."

"Then tell him he can't hurt my mom!"

"Woman, why would he want to? What did she do to him?"

"Radditz told him to!"

"Radditz," he said to her, dryly, "is a low ranking solider who can't 'tell' Zarbon to do anything. Repeat what was spoken to me, and perhaps I can translate it for you."

Bulma was too angry to get the words even close to right, but when she spat out 'honor' Vegeta nodded his head in understanding. "I'll try to use simple syllables even your primitive brain can comprehend. For whatever inconceivable reason, Radditz promised this creature a clean, painless death. Zarbon agreed to take the task on himself in case Radditz can't. Although--" the Prince shrugged, "--Radditz will be out of the tank by the time the truce is up, so he shouldn't have any problem keeping the vow personally." Vegeta watched, intrigued, as the woman went through remarkable facial distortions and color changes, wondering if humans were one of those species that spontaneously combusted under the right conditions. When it appeared nothing that interesting was about to happen, he added, caustically, "Anything else I can clarify for you?"

A Saiyan would have respected the tone of his voice and not pushed their luck. The woman scowled at him and demanded, shrewdly, "If we're so primitive, why are you interested in our technology?"

"We are evaluating it. Nothing more, nothing less."

She gave a very Saiyan-like snort. "How can you morons possibly 'evaluate' anything? Saiyans have the intellectual and technological capacity of insect larvae. The only thing you're any good at is fighting."

His brows lowered. "And how would you surmise something like that about Saiyans, woman?"

There was a strange flick to her eyes, although she answered promptly (and sharply) enough. "There are some things so blatant even 'primitive' minds can grasp them."

Vegeta exhaled, hard, through his nose and, mindful of the truce (which he didn't give a damn about, but he did care about expanding his future Empire to previously-undreamed-of bounds), pivoted and stalked several feet away, stopping with his back to her. He heard her breathing in frustrated little gasps which slowed as she brought her temper under control.

Then she made that hissing noise between her teeth again. Glancing toward the building, Vegeta realized Zarbon, emerging after the two Saiyan warriors, once more held her attention. One of the warriors stopped by her on his way to the shuttle, saying something that sounded vaguely apologetic. Vegeta looked at the soldier's attentive posture, the dangling tail flicking back and forth at the tip, and made an annoyed mental note to restrict travel to the planet's surface until it was time to purge it.

Had he been able to view the scene himself, he might have noticed his own alert, straight-backed stance and slowly twitching tail-tip mimicked the warrior's almost perfectly.

The woman looked up at the warrior, wryly lifted a hand. "Not your fault," she said, addressing the third-class commoner with a much more respectful tone (Vegeta thought in increasing irritation) than she accorded the future King of Vejiitasei. The warrior grinned down at her, then caught the Prince's hard-eyed stare. His own eyes widened. He took a hasty step back, then held his ground long enough to say farewell before heading into the shuttle.

Zarbon stood in front of her, patiently waiting for the Saiyan to leave. The woman put her hands on her hips, glaring up at him defiantly. "Bulma, isn't it?" he said. "Is your mother around? I'd like to meet her."