Chapter Sixteen: To Tame a Boy

Gohan zipped through the air. The ground beneath had once been a green landscape draped loosely beneath him. Slowly, though, it had transformed into an orange desert populated by rock formations and thorny bushes. The boy had flown far from all signs of civilization and Vegeta's unmoved silence gave Gohan the impression that the plan had worked. for a little while, if only a very little while, Gohan had staled Vegeta's madness. Unfortunately, though, Gohan was only a boy at a tender age and did not bother to think what should do after he led Vegeta deep into the wilderness. It was not as if the little child could take on a Prince, let alone an Eternal one.

So when Gohan felt Vegeta's ki float down toward the ground, he was not entirely certain what to do. If Vegeta simply refused to go any further very little could be done.

Gohan twirled around and, floating high above Vegeta, looked down at the Prince. The Saiyajin had his arms crossed; that was never a good sign.

"What are you doing?" Gohan shouted, "We only have little farther to go till we get to Bulma's land!"

"Oh?" Vegeta twitched a brow. He did not move an inch. Gohan gulped down his nerves.

"I don't get it," the boy shouted again, "I thought you wanted to go to Bulma's land so you could find the Nameks and—"

Gohan thought he might have had an itch in his eye; he thought that perhaps he blinked convulsively. For Vegeta suddenly disappeared into darkness. A split second later, the boy felt something like a horse-powered fist plunge into his face. His body was thrown into the air from the force of the punch and only a moment later, again Vegeta appeared out of nowhere to do deliver Gohan a hard smack in the jaw.

Gohan fell and fell until he landed in the earth, dust billowing around him.

"Now look here, boy," Vegeta growled as he dropped lightly in front of Gohan's still body. The prince loomed over the helpless child, and as the sun cast long, dark shadows, Vegeta had become in Ghoan's eyes the very image of death.

"Do not take me for some gullible Earthling worm," Vegeta squeezed his arms closer to himself and tapped his finders on his forearm, "I know that the Nameks were in that city."

"Hehe," Gohan chuckled, "If you knew then why did you follow me?"

"I need to think."

"About what?" As Gohan said this blood trickled down his chin. He coughed and red splattered out.

"I needed to think about what I should do with you. At first, I thought I might kill you. It would be a shame, you know, to kill a fellow Saiyajin, but I've done it before and will happily do it again."

Gohan saw a flash: the horrifying sight of Vegeta tossing his own trusted comrade Nappa into the air. The boy knew this was no joke.

"But you don't want me dead?" Gohan asked, confusion oozing from his voice. If Vegeta had wanted Gohan dead, the Prince would have already killed the brat.

"No," Vegeta immediately replied, and then after a short pause a nostalgic gloss stretched over his eyes. The Prince peered at Gohan, and the boy could only feel naked and watched beneath those two cutting black eyes.

"Do you know what it's like to be royalty?" Vegeta asked suddenly. He stepped forward, to the boy's side lying prostrate on the ground. Kneeling down, the Prince leaned closer to Gohan.

"You are a god when you are royalty," Vegeta whispered, "You have everything because you are everything." His voice was dull and untouched by opinion; it was as if he were listing scientific measurements and facts. Yet his eyes glimmered with a strange, rueful light.

Then his demeanor morphed in a snap. His stolid face looked amused; his voice seemed almost playful.

"I used to have slaves, you know?" he reached out a hand and slowly twined each finger about Gohan's neck, I killed my last one, and really it's a shame. It is always useful to have a servant to do things for you."

Gohan cringed at the cold touch of Vegeta's fingers.

"I won't serve you..." Gohan kissed. Vegeta squeezed his hand ever so slightly, and Gohan went red, then white.

"Yes, you will," Vegeta nodded, "you know you will. Your father is dead. Your friends are dead. The Nameks will soon be nothing more than my slaves, and this Bulma of whom you speak—if such a man even exists—this Bulma will be dead. I don't have time for games any more. This little world of yours is mine now, and if you resist me, I will destroy every last one of you Earthlings. Do you understand?"

As Vegeta spoke he never ceased nodding slowly and confidently and soon Gohan found himself nodding docilely, too.

"So you will be my servant, won't you?" Vegeta asked.

Gohan nodded.

"And you will do as I ask, won't you?"

Gohan nodded.

"Now," Vegeta stood up. Gohan hanging from the Prince's grip, "I will ask you to do something for me now, and you will do it, won't you?"

Gohan nodded.

"Because if you don't, I will find your mother, and I will murder her, but I'll do more than just murder her, won't I?"

Gohan's eyes moistened; veins bulged and glowed red as tears collected.

"I will break her. I will make her endure such nauseating pain that she will crawl to me on her knees and grovel like a dog. She will beg for death, and I will not give it."

Tears openly teemed down Gohan's cheeks, and Vegeta released the boy so that Gohan fell on his feet in front of the Prince.

"I will break her again and again and again until she has lost even her will to beg for death. And then, and only then will I free her from her misery. But you don't understand what I mean, do you?"

Gohan sniffed.

"Do you? Of course, you don't. You're just a boy after all—an infant, really. But you can tell, can't you? From the look in my eyes, you know," Vegeta kneeled before Gohan so that their eyes were level and locked hard together, "I am dead serious."

Gohan focused on the black twinkle in Vegeta's eyes. It was something of a joyous wickedness in the Prince's eyes, and it frightened the boy.

Vegeta sensed the fright. Like a wolf, he tasted it in the air and reveled in it. He wanted to roll in the dirt and slip a gnawing, gripping belly laugh. The fear, the squirming, the tears—all of it delighted him.

Only one thing would have made all of it that much sweeter.

He felt a yearning to shout, "What I wouldn't giver for Freeza to be here! What I wouldn't give for Freeza to be in this stupid little brat's place! Let's watch you squirm, Freeza! Let's watch you writhe like the worm you are in the dirt beneath my feet. Let's watch grovel before me and serve me day and night. Let's watch you, and let's laugh like you laughed at me!"

But he did not shout that. He did not even think it or feel it. The words caught in a crevasse hidden beneath the shadow of a thought and like an open wound they festered there, silent but deadly, mutating into a larger, hungrier beast each second they went unspoken.

"Now!" Vegeta bound up on his feet once more, "Don't think it'll only be your mother! Don't think you'll get off that easy! I will find your friends. I will find your relatives, your neighbors, and I will torture and kill—"

"No! No! No!" Gohan screamed. He could no longer stand it. Pushing himself off the ground with his foot, Gohan rocketed forward headlong.

With a wave of energy, he shot toward Vegeta. The Prince crouched a bit to brace himself. When the boy arrived, the Saiyajin grappled Gohan by the hair and whipped the boy around to try to wrestle him into a headlock. Gohan floundered in rage, feeling hair tear from its roots.

"I hate you!" He bellowed, ripping his throat from the vehemence of his cry, "I hate you!"

Gohan's slipped out of Vegeta's grip. The boy once again charged toward the Prince—but in vain.

From behind Vegeta locked his arms around Gohan's and used a knee in the back to shove Gohan in the dirt. The boy strained and struggled. The rage erupting so wildly from so small a child—it was a beauty witnessed only by Saiyajin.

"Ha ha!" Vegeta rumbled as he shoved Gohan more firmly into the dirt, "I see your clown father in you, that's for sure! You really are a Saiyajin! You might even be called worthy to be my slave!"

"I'm no Saiyajin! I'm no slave! I hate you!"

"Boy," Vegeta whispered into Gohan's ear, "You can hate me all you want, so long as you fear me more. You fear me more, don't you?"

"I hate you!" Gohan squirmed.

"Yes! Hate! Despise! Destroy! Kill! Kill! Like a Saiyajin should!" Vegeta sneered.

"No!"

"You can't help it boy! It's in your blood!"

"Let me go!"

"You are my slave, boy!" Vegeta laughed, "Accept it!"

"No! My dad will beat you!"

"Daddy is dead," Vegeta snapped.

"Then Kururin, Piccolo..."

"They're all dead, boy," Vegeta loosened his grip on Gohan. The boy was so overcome with grief, he did not even notice. He collapsed on the ground and curled into himself like a fetus, sobbing and moaning with despair.

Vegeta let go of the boy completely now and stood up while crossing his arms.

"You're all alone, boy," Vegeta snickered, "all alone."

For a while, Gohan did nothiong but weep, and Vegeta let him. Yet the Prince's patience eventually dried out, and Vegeta decided to make his last move to seize the boy's shattered mind.

He walked up to Gohan, bent over, and offered a hand.

"Take my hand, and I will spare you," Vegeta said.

Gohan wiped his tears and galnced up at the dark figure stooping over him like a vulture.

"I wish I were dead," Gohan muttered. Vegeta knelt on one knee and curled his hand into the shape of a gun. He let a pulse flicker at the tip of his forefinger as he pointed it in the center of Gohan's forehead.

Gohan's eyes grew large, intently following the movement of Vegeta's hand.

"You're gonna kill us all anyway, right?" Gohan sniffled with a grim smile spreading across his face.

"In time," said Vegeta.

Gohan laughed quietly to himself. He felt the warmth emitting from Vegeta's finger burning into his skin and it tickled.

"Give me the order, boy," Vegeta ignored the child's hysterics and made the dare in a calm and nearly kindly voice, "and I'll do it. You won't feel a thing."

Gohan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted his daddy; he knew Piccolo trained him to be strong, but he did not care. He wanted his daddy.

"But don't think you'll go to heaven," Vegeta taunted, burning his finger deeper into Gohan's forehead, "That's a vain superstition, especially for someone like you, someone who killed his one friend and master—the green man. Maybe your father got lucky and wiggled his way out of punishment, but us? We live on blood.

"You heard yourself: 'You hate me! You wish you were dead!' You thrive on death and violence, boy! What've you been doing non-stop since your little uncle went to pay you a visit? Fighting! Fighting! Killing! Killing!

"You're a Saiyajin! You're life is death, and your death is your undoing. When you die you will burn for what seems like an eternity, and when the gods finally decide to vomit you back into the universe, you'll be little more than a dung beetle. Is that what you want? To be a dung beetle? I guess you aren't much bigger than one with the way you've been bawling!"

"Stop it!" Gohan leaped onto his feet and turned his back to Vegeta. The boy covered his ears with his palms and began battering his ears repeatedly.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" He screamed maniacally.

Vegeta forced Gohan's hands off his ears an spoke softly, "Face it, boy. You have no other option but to do what I tell you."

"I can kill you..." Gohan spat out loud.

"When you're older, let's see, but now?" Vegeta raised a brow, "Ha. Besides, you know I'll just come back again. If you don't obey me, I'll kill your friends and your family. I'll kill everyone and everything. I have all of eternity before me. I don't have to fear punishment, and I enjoy watching people die."

That was not entirely true. He had been trained not to enjoy the death of ants or of enemies. Indeed, he had been trained not to enjoy anything at all; pleasures were for the peasants, and he was royalty. Yet the moment called for such words.

It worked. Gohan loosened his muscles. Vegeta let the boy turn to face him.

"And if I do what you say? You won't kill everyone? At least for a little while?" Gohan asked. His voice was high-pitched, like the coo of a dove.

Vegeta smirked, "Does a child get suddenly stronger, faster, better for killing ants? No. And neither do I. Killing your humans contributes nothing to me if they aren't first presenting some obstacle to my goal. If anything, their industry will probably help me?"

"Industry?" Gohan echoed. He was uncertain what the word meant, though he had heard it before.

Vegeta snorted, "Now, I know they'll try to resist me, but with you as a servant, I'm sure they'll be easy to tame. Far easier to tame than you, boy."

Gohan looked down at his feet submissively.

"What will I have to do?" Gohan said.

Vegeta raise his brow higher.

"For you?" Gohan said. There was little he could do to resist his circumstances.

"Everyone will live who does not inhibit me. Know that first. As long as you obey me, they won't die," Vegeta assured the boy.

Gohan nodded faintly, "Okay..."

"I want you to tell me what's really going on, boy," Vegeta glowered.

Gohan swallowed down his tears.

"The Nameks are in the city. I don't know what's going on really. I've been away. But Bulma, she—"

"She?" Vegeta interjected.

"Yes, Bulma is a woman. She and her dad own a lot of buildings and things like that. They make robots and stuff. They made my d—my dad a spaceship. She's the one that trapped you in that mini-gravity room."

Then Bulma was the blue-haired one, the one Vegeta must kill.

"Go on," Vegeta said.

"I think, they're—" Gohan stammered; Bulma had kept him in the dark, "making something."

"Go on."

"I don't know," Gohan shrugged, "I don't know anything. I was away. The Nameks are in Bulma's buildings. Muri and Dende are trying to make more Dragon Balls. The buildings they're in have guns and robots guarding it."

"And?"

"I don't know," Gohan whispered.

Vegeta frowned impatiently.

"What do you want me to say?" Gohan yelled, tears budding out of the corners of his eyes.

"Tell me," Vegeta stroked his chin, "who's in charge here?"

Gohan blinked blankly, "Here?"

"Here," Vegeta stated blandly, "on Earth."

Sweat wriggled down Bulma's forehead as heat poured down from the lamp. In front of her was a desk with a clipboard on it. Papers laden with ink shuffled beneath Bulma's hands as she shifted papers here and there.

Progress was good, as good as it could get under the circumstances. Her father was working on the gravity rooms; she was working on the spaceship; and Dr. Gero (who finally found the time to fill out his paperwork) was working on the combatant robotics.

"You've always been like this, ever since you were a little girl," a warm old voice spoke gently behind her. So soothing was the voice that Bulma did not jump, though she was surprised. She looked over her shoulder with an intense expression on her face. She had been concentrating for what felt like hours now.

"Daddy," Bulma said with a slight frown, "you should go back to work. We need to get everything done as fast as possible."

A lurid red bled through the windows and possessed Bulma's surroundings with a heated sorrow, akin to crying tears of blood.

Dr. Briefs smiled with his eyes and with a wiggle of his mustached said, "Even when you were little you would get so absorbed in your work whenever bad things ha—"

"Dad, I don't want to her this now! Get back to work!" Bulma snapped. The room went silent around her, and then gradually the quiet hum of industry returned like the gradual speed of a chugging locomotive.

Bulma sighed and slammed her pen on her clipboard. With both hands, she pushed herself away from her desk and off her chair. She stood up; her once white lab coat was smudged with grease, and her feet were visibly red from walking and standing endlessly ever since the project began earlier that day.

Bulma rested her hands on her hips. She let her eyes droop penitently.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" she cried, and then without notice her whole front dissolved into tears. She threw herself into her father's already open arms and cried a muffled cry on his shoulder.

"It's alright..." Dr. Briefs said peacefully to his daughter as he stroked her blue hair.

"No!" Bulma pulled away from her father so she could look in his eyes, "No, it's not! I've been yelling all day! I yelled at Piccolo; I yelled at him and now he's dead! Everyone's dead, Daddy..."

Dr. Briefs smiled sadly and wiped away his daughter's tears.

"Except Gohan," Bulma continued, "and with the way I've been, he probably hates me now."

Bulma's eyes roved sporadically around her in angst, "That poor baby boy! His dad is dead. His friends are dead. And I had to go and yell at him. I was awful. Oh Kami! I'm an awful person!"

Bulma dove her face back into her father's comforting shoulder once more.

"Now, now, we al have our good days and our bad days," Dr. Briefs began.

"But this day is awful! Everything's just awful!" Bulma exclaimed, "We saved him! We helped him! We defeated Freeza with him! And then he goes and kills people—he kills our people, Daddy! Our co-workers! Danny! Freda! They were your friends, right?"

Dr. Briefs nodded, "But we must not hate those who do us wrong."

"But I do hate him, Dad!" Bulma shouted and pushed herself away from her father, "I want to kill him like he killed Piccolo!"

"Now, Bulma—"

"And Mr. Morrow, the civil engineer! He had two kids. And Robby—Robby! Remember him?"

Dr. Briefs hunched over his shoulders and nodded, "We are better than this."

"And Izawa and Carmen and—by Kami!" Bulma choked down a sob, "He's killed so many! We should've left him in space to rot! That bastard!"

In a flurry, Bulma swirled around and slammed herself back onto her desk. Immediately, she began furiously scribbling. She was back to work.

"You see?" Dr. Briefs smiled, "It's in your nature to work when things get rough! That's good! It means you can be trusted in disasters."

Bulma let her eyelashes flutter a little, like she always did when Daddy paid her a compliment.

"Now," Dr. Briefs slipped behind Bulma and gave her shoulders a gently squeeze, "Let me tell you one more thing before I leave, and then I promise, I'll get back to work!"

Bulma stopped scribbling as loudly and perked an ear up.

"There was once an old monk on pilgrimage shuffling down a stony path. For every step he took, he bowed on his knees and then stretched out prostrate on the ground, with his prayer beads in his hand. Now as he came to a bend in the path, a youth approached him. The monk smiled and blessed the youth, but the youth spat at him and cursed him. For every good the monk did, the youth did tenfold bad. So the monk tried to move on, but the youth would not let him pass.

"The youth was a robber, and he beat the monk, stole the prayer beads and the monk's robe, and left the old man naked there in the mud. So the old monk despaired and raged in his sorrow. He cursed the youth and wished the youth dead. Not long after, night came and the old monk died of exposure. His Buddha Amitabha later came and scooped him up into the warmth of the Pure Land, and there was the old monk reborn. And as the monk lay beside Amitabha, the old monk looked to his master.

'At last!' He said, 'I have lived a life without blame so that I could return to you, my lord!'

'Ah!' said Amitabha, 'Indeed you lived a life blameless except for one wrong.'

'And what wrong is that lord?' asked the monk.

'You cursed and wished your slayer dead!' Amitabha said.

'But surely, lord, there is no blame in that!' cried the monk, 'The youth spat on me, robbed me, killed me!'

'Verily, he did such things,' Amitabha agreed, 'and the horror of his sins weighed so heavily upon him that he repented and made a new way for himself. He was a Prince, the son of a great King and would have saved many lives and fed many mouths had he been allowed to live his new life. But you, you did curse him and wish him dead! And the spirits heard you and returned on him what he had done to you, so that now he is dead. Many lives now shall not be spared and many mouths now shall not be fed because you would not forgive.'"

Bulma had been resting her cheek in her palm and was listening quietly to her father's story, just like she had done at bedtime when she was a girl. Bulma smiled with sorrow still harrowing her face. She leaned offer her chair to peck her father on the cheek.

"It's a sweet thought, Daddy," she said, "but stories are stories. People who kill other people like Vegeta does—they just aren't capable of anything but killing. He killed so many people, and he doesn't even care. The only way is to get rid of him, to send him away in the Pronto."

Dr. Briefs nodded understandingly and went his separate way.

Bulma was left alone with her work. There was so much to do and yet there was such progress over so short a time. The reason was, of course, because so many plans had already been prepared. It was hard for the governments throughout the world to stick their heads in the sand while Goku ran amok as a boy. They tracked the strange occurrences and pinpointed that boy as the cause. They also pinpointed the teenage girl Bulma in the process.

It was not as though she had a choice—especially since they could use so many vulnerable spots in Capsule Corp's monopolistic business practices as leverage. Bulma would occasionally be summoned by the government to report on Goku. They did not ask or much; she just talked about what she did on a day-to-day basis with her friend Goku. She was so young at the time, she did not entirely grasp what they were about, but later on, when she secured her position as a world famous scientist, she was made privy to just what the government was planning.

They had determined early on that the boy Goku could be nothing less than a dangerous mutation and nothing more than a hostile alien. They had a team design scores of space shuttles loaded with combatant robotics in an attempt to ship Goku off into space. Bulma was older, though, at that time. She only had to flip her phone open and make a dare:

"Which of us do you think pays our lawyers better? The pauper bureaucrats or the multibillion-dollar corporation? Hmm..." She tapped her chin teasingly, "Hard question!"

It did not matter much by that time, however. The governments realized how absurd it was to think that a child was an alien, much less an alien responsible for various, disjointed phenomena occurring throughout the world. They determined Goku was harmless; they did not bother Bulma again, except on rare occasions with long deserts in between—like now.

Having a hunch that Bulma would know something, they called her immediately after Vegeta started to attack Orange Star City and demanded information. Not long after, the Pronto Project was up and running. To be honest, it was merely a continuation of the project the government had started for Goku all those years ago.

As Bulma scribbled, she felt somewhat relieved, as though thousands of loads were being lifted right off her shoulders the more and more she worked. She did love to work. It was an escape from all the horrible things that had happened. She did not have to worry about anything except scientific calculations. It was better that way. For the first time all day, Bulma almost felt at peace.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

An alarm suddenly flashed red. Then it flashed again. A deafening siren pealed in the air; it roared and roared and blistered the eardrums.

Bulma made her way into the lab. Everyone was buzzing back and forth in panic.

"What is going on here?" She bellowed over the sirens, "What's happening?"

"Someone is breaking into the complex! Into the buildings!" someone shrieked, "Into the labs!"

"Breaking in? What do you mean breaking in?" Bulma was flustered, "It's not as if we bar all the windows. All you have to do is walk through the open doors and down a hallway to get here."

"No!" Dr. Briefs hollered from a far corner, "Someone is shooting at people!"

"What?"

"Come over here! We've got cameras!" Dr. Briefs waved his daughter over, and Bulma came dashing. For once, she was glad her architect got lazy and slapped the camera room right next to the lab—regardless of how many times she had asked to put it somewhere "more secure."

There was a wall of cameras. The hallways. The lobby. The stairs. The lab itself. Every major room and access route that was not used as the personal space of the Briefs—it was all there on screen.

"You see?" Dr. Briefs pointed out a familiar face marching through the lobby and into a hallway.

"Vegeta..." Bulma wonder aloud, "How did he—wait! Who's that?" She tapped a finger on the screen atop a stunted little character waddling in an obedient daze at Vegeta's side.

"Gohan, what're you doing?" Bulma felt tears swirl in her eyes as Gohan reluctantly shoved a man in a lab coat aside at the Prince's command.

"Where do you think they're headed? Not for us—they're going the opposite direction," the camera operator speculated.

"That's right," Dr. Briefs affirmed, "Nothing that way but the stairs to our temporary rooms when we stay the night—and it opens up to the causeway leading to our house."

"And the stairs to the underground bunker," the camera operator revealed.

"Where all the people are!" Bulma exclaimed. She darted out of the camera room.

"Bulma!" her father shouted after her, "Wait for some help!" But what could help her stop something unstoppable? She did not know what she would do but she was determined no one else was going to die because of that ape. She did not know how should would enforce such a mandate, but she was resolved on getting it done.

Nimbly, she raced across the lab, out into the hall, through the lobby. She could hear distant screams and raucous clanging below her feet. They must have already been in the bunker—doing what, she didn't dare to imagine.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please share your input!