Chapter 1: Not as Planned

"It's my latest version of the saiyan armor," Bulma explained. "I used Vegeta's armor as a model and constructed my own version."

"It's stretchier," Gohan noticed, sliding it over his head.

"That's because it's made of a nylon and lyrica blend," she replied.

Vegeta donned his armor as well, nodding in approval. He gave it a light punch. It gave ever so slightly, slowing the force of his blow. That made him crack a slight smile.

"Gohan, I want you to fire a ki blast at Vegeta," she instructed. "Vegeta, don't dodge. Let the armor take the hit." What she didn't mention was that the armor was little good against a blast from someone as strong as Vegeta.

"As if the runt could hurt me to begin with," the Saiyan scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Just take the shot, Gohan," Bulma sighed. With her latest project complete, she was in too good of a mood for even Vegeta to kill it. She tapped her toe, waiting for Vegeta to uncross his arms and leave the armor open for Gohan's ki blast.

The boy lifted his hand, then paused, frowning. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Bulma?" he asked.

"It'll be fine," she sighed, waving her hand flippantly.

Gohan nodded, but his frown didn't go away. He closed one eye, cringing a little as he charged the glowing ball of energy in his palm. His held his breath and took careful aim, pointing his hand at Vegeta. The attack soared through the air in the blink of an eye, then hit the armor and dispersed.

Vegeta flicked at his chest, a smirk plastered on his face. "Did a fly just land on me?" he asked.

Bulma heaved a sigh of relief. Though she was one-hundred percent confident in her creation, it was still a relief to see it perform. "Again, Gohan," she requested. The armor had performed well once, but in the heat of battle, it would undoubtedly need to survive attack after attack.

The young demi-Saiyan nodded. He moved with less hesitation, seeming to be a bit more confident this time. Again, he fired. Bulma waved her hand, motioning for him to continue. Four, five, six blasts Gohan unleashed. Four and five hit Vegeta squarely in the chest, deflected easily by the vest. Six, however, was a different story.

Perhaps it was Gohan's growing confidence in Bulma's latest brainchild, or perhaps it was that Vegeta's mocking insults had finally gotten under his skin, but the sixth and final shot veered off course, heading for the Saiyan prince's face and not his armored vest.

Vegeta's wrist flew upwards just in time. He swatted the glowing ball of energy away lazily, using no more energy than he would to crush a fly.

"Stop, stop!" Bulma called. "Vegeta," she asked, turning to him. "What was that?" Her hand was on her hip, and her toe tapped impatiently as she waited for an explanation.

"The last one was poorly aimed," he defended.

"I thought you said Gohan couldn't hurt you," she sassed, using Vegeta's own words against him. "Why did you block, then?"

"You're being irrational, woman," Vegeta hollered. "I'm not going to take a hit for no good reason."

Bulma was frustrated that her test had been interrupted. It was the real reason behind her snappy attitude. While she might have confessed that fact to Gohan, she certainly wouldn't to Vegeta. To do so would be the equivalent of getting on her knees and begging to be teased mercilessly.

"Glad to know I'm not a good enough reason," she said, storming off. Of course she knew that wasn't what Vegeta was implying. Of course she knew that it was probably a good thing that the Saiyan prince had defended himself. Of course she was annoyed that her test had been interrupted, and that frankly that was probably the real reason behind her frustration. She was being ridiculous, but she didn't particularly care.

The truth was, Bulma had more than one reason for making new armor. She thought her friends could use it against the androids, but there was another person who could use it as well. Trunks, the boy from the future, warned them about the impending android attack. It was why she turned her research to combat technology. In fact, it was the express reason that she made this armor. She owed him the benefits of his actions.

The blue-haired woman headed down to her lab in search of another, much larger invention. It was the refurbished wreckage of a saiyan pod. At one time, this ship had flown through space. With her modifications, it would fly through time. She could use this to bring her future friend some supplies and technology, anything that might help save his world from the androids. It was a thank you gift, of sorts.

Bulma got inside the pod, her arms filled with armor other various supplies she thought her future counterpart might appreciate. She examined the panel of controls and monitors. Her modifications looked clunky next to the streamlined saiyan technology. The genius shrugged; clunky or not, they should still work. She flicked a few switches and the modified propulsion system roared to life. Another dial, and the wormhole generator did its work. A small, pod-sized wormhole appeared in her lab. The better part of a table and its contents disappeared inside it, sent to her destination. She made a mental note to clear the area the next time she used the pod. She only had an instant to think, for the wormhole stretched to engulf the pod and her with it.

It was pressure like she had never experienced before. When she was a little girl, her father's cat, Scratch, had managed to get himself stuck in a tissue box. She remembered laughing at his eyes, wide with panic, as bugged out of his skull and at his bottle-brush tail which wiggled while the poor creature tried to turn around in the tiny cardboard box. She had never sympathized with the silly animal before, but suddenly had newfound empathy. The pod began to shake violently, up and down, and side to side. Now, Bulma had never tested her pod. The simple reason was that she could send the pod anywhere with little effort, but with no operator, it was impossible to retrieve. With no pilot to send the pod back to her timeline, she would never even know the results and would undoubtedly lose the piece of precious technology. Instead, she assumed that like most of her inventions, it would work. Bulma was beginning to regret that decision; this shaking was rather unsettling.

It was a great relief when everything stopped and the pressure lifted. Bulma tested the pod door. It stubbornly refused to move. She threw her shoulder into it, and of course it gave way, causing her to fall into an unceremonious heap. The scientist took a moment to look around. The floor was polished, sterile white, and so were the walls and ceiling. She could see a window on the far side of the room, but it only revealed darkness. It must be night.

Bulma brought her attention back to the pod when it began to rumble. In her experience, rumbling was never a good sign. She also noticed a small flame coming from the propulsion mechanism. Unintentional fire was also a bad sign. It would probably be unwise to remain near the pod.

Bulma ran as fast as her skinny legs could take her. As it was, she just barely escaped the blast radius as her time machine exploded with a horrible roar. She supposed she should be frightened. She, Bulma Briefs, had built a working time machine and Trunk's mom had built one too. With their combined intellect, it shouldn't be a problem to build another to take her home, right?

She straightened up and looked around, closer this time. This... this wasn't West City, she quickly realized, and those weren't humans staring at her. The ground was ever-so-slightly curved. That darkness outside the window… that was space! This was a ship, and a big one from the looks of it.

The aliens began to overcome their fear, creeping toward her cautiously. Bulma froze in her tracks as one particular alien stood out to her. His green braid and smug face were a dead giveaway: Zarbon. Wasn't he dead? Oh god! Was she dead?! One swift blow to the back of her head and she was falling to the ground. It hurt. Well there was one good thing at least; she was alive.

Bulma awoke shrieking as a deluge of ice water chilled cascaded over her body. She rubbed her head, and found a good-sized lump. No wonder she had blacked out. A quick glance around the room revealed her dire situation. She was in a cage and, judging from the dull mechanical hum filling the room, presumably near the engines. There were a few other cages in the room, none holding prisoners, at least not any live ones. Most frightening of all, Zarbon loomed over her holding a dripping bucket, safely on the other side of the bars.

"Nice of you to finally wake up," he sneered. "Now tell me. How did you get on Lord Frieza's ship?"

Bulma felt the blood drain from her face. She was where?! Lord Frieza was alive?! She could swear he was dead in Trunks' timeline… perhaps she was wrong. It was rare, but it happened. One thing was for sure, this was not good. She took a deep breath and answered her captor's question.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. My ship... something went wrong. I'm supposed to be on Earth."

Zarbon let out a cold laugh. "Don't lie. My lord had that insolent planet destroyed nearly four years ago."

Bulma sprinted to the far corner of her cell, a whole four steps away, and retched. Earth was gone. Yamcha, Goku, her parents, Chi-chi, all their friends... Dead. Gone.

"I don't have all day," Zarbon spat impatiently. "How did you get on the ship?"

"I told you! I was trying to get to Earth," the blue-haired scientist insisted. Her vision began to swim as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

The alien flicked his green braid over his shoulder. "Do you think I care where you were headed? I wish to know how your ship managed to crash onto this one without so much as scratching the hull. It's as though it simply appeared from thin air."

"I really don't know," she sniffed.

Zarbon lost his temper and threw his bucket at the wall, gouging the smooth surface. "I despise being lied to," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Bulma's tears of fear and misery began to stream down her face. "I really don't know," she repeated. It was true. She was eighty-six percent certain that she was in the wrong universe entirely, and she had no clue what had gone wrong.

The green alien took a deep breath and calmed himself. "If that is your attitude, then I hope you're comfortable. You'll be staying in this cell until you tell me."

"But… but…" She wanted to insist that she was just as clueless as he was in this matter, but her words were choked off by wracking sobs.

"Don't worry, little mouse. You'll have plenty of time to mourn your precious planet while you rot in this cell," he spat coldly as he turned in place and stormed from the room. Frieza's right-hand minion left her alone, abandoning her to her misery. She was trapped in this cold universe, and everyone she loved was gone. It was now that she truly regretted her earlier temper tantrum. Vegeta had been perfectly reasonable, and she had acted like a spoiled brat. If only she had bit her tongue. She owed him an apology.

The young scientist dried her tears on her sleeve and steeled herself. If she planned on living to apologize, then she was going to have to get out of here and off this ship. First things first: time to get out of this cell. She glanced around, hoping for a key. Of course it wasn't that easy. There wasn't even a key hole. It was a bio-lock. She had only seen them a few times before, as they were new technology in her timeline. Luckily, she remembered their basic construction. They used electricity, and she was still dripping with the water Zarbon used to bring her back to consciousness. Bulma removed her shirt, praying that no one entered the room. She wrung it over the lock and heaved a massive sigh of relief when it shorted out.

Finally free from her cage, the blue-haired scientist took a moment to search the room. There were five other cages, making a total of six. Five stood empty; one held a grizzly corpse. The corpse wore a beat-up, slightly singed leather jacket and a wide-brimmed hat. She shorted out that lock as well, jamming the hat over her cerulean locks. Bulma loved her blue hair, but it was rather noticeable. The less she looked like herself, the better. Cautiously, she tried the door leading from the prison bloc. It was unlocked. She supposed no one had thought that a prisoner might escape from their cell. That made her smile a little; they clearly hadn't captured her before.

"Ship, ship. I need a ship," she muttered under her breath as she glanced upward through her blue bangs. The signs hanging from the ceiling were useless for navigation; they were all in some alien language. Sighing, she picked a random door leading to the outermost part of the ship, or so she thought. She managed to find a mess hall, a medical bay, and at least a dozen private rooms before opening one with promise. This particular dark room held one spacecraft, probably big enough for up to ten people, emblazoned with a red symbol. It was a spiky trident-like shape, with another U-shaped symbol beneath. She had no clue what it meant, though it looked familiar.

It was then that the lights flicked on. She found herself halfway to the ship when people began pouring into the room in a variety of motley disheveled outfits. Only a few wore shoes. None had any technology: no scouters or blasters, or even so much as a communicator. The last two people to enter the room carried themselves differently. Perhaps it was the fact that they wore neatly-pressed matching uniforms bearing the same symbol as the ship. Perhaps it was that they had gloves, boots, and shiny red scouters. Perhaps it was the jet-black hair that defied gravity, or the tails flicking at their waists that showed they were of Saiyan blood. It was clear that they were in charge. Either way, Bulma had no desire to be seen lurking about their ship. The less attention she attracted, the better.

"Radditz! You said I could pick!" the taller, female, Saiyan whined, carrying on an argument from the hallway.

"Quiet, Cale!" the other barked. "I said you could help."

"Let me help then," she pleaded. "We need a woman this time."

"Please," Radditz sneered. "A woman wouldn't be strong enough to hold her own on our ship. The prince would probably kill her off hand."

"Shows what you know," she scoffed.

"Well that's what happened to the last one!"

Bulma felt shivers creep down her spine. These people bore more resemblance to Vegeta than Goku. They were cold killers in Frieza's employ. She was starting to miss her nice, safe prison cell. Ducking low, she snuck behind the last row of... were they prisoners? Their hands and feet were shackled, and they certainly weren't very prosperous. Most of them smelled like urine and body odor. Clearly none of them had fallen unconscious... She made it safely to the last prisoner. Only two people remained between her and the door: the saiyans. She slid along the wall, hoping she was out of their peripheral vision. She was, in fact, out of the Saiyans' line of sight, though not out of the prisoners'. A few watched as she made her daring escape.

Radditz's arguing died out as Cale continued to bicker. His head turned ever so slightly to the side while he stared into the unwashed masses. He turned, following the stares, and looked straight at Bulma.

"Cale, I think I've made my decision," he said, still staring at Bulma.

"What? You haven't even inspected any of them!"

"I see one who stands a chance." He pointed at Bulma, who gulped nervously. Cale glanced around her companion.

"Oh ho!" she exclaimed, flying over to Bulma and placing herself between the human and the door. "Making a break for it, are we?"

"No shackles," Radditz noticed, hovering just inches away from the Earthling. "Must have gotten 'em off somehow. Clever girl." Bulma shuddered. She could feel the saiyan's hot breath brushing the back of her neck.

The Earthling found her legs shaking a little as the saiyans invaded into her personal space. The female yanked her hat off.

"Look at that pretty hair, would ya?" she remarked. Radditz chuckled. In the quiet room, it sounded positively maniacal.

"We'll never lose her in a crowd," he teased. Cale nodded in agreement, laughing as well. She inspected the human closer, from her fashionable shoes to her tiny hands to her terrified face.

"She has the softest hands," the woman remarked. "Probably a housewife."

"She's a human, probably from Earth like the rest of these poor saps. Probably doesn't have a family anymore."

Bulma noticed the spasm of pain that crossed both of the saiyans' faces. She guessed that it meant that Frieza had indeed destroyed Vegeta-sei in this timeline. Unfortunately, it looked like she would have plenty of time to find out if she was correct.

"Okay, okay. You picked a good one, Radditz," Cale admitted. "Wanna take bets on how long she'll last?"

Radditz picked up Bulma's slight frame, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of dirty laundry. The stubborn human wasn't about to be taken away that easily. She clamped her teeth onto the shorter Saiyan's ear, biting with all her power. She knew it was mostly futile and just likely to piss him off, but it made her feel better, like she actually stood a chance against two seasoned warriors. Radditz head-butted her in one swift move, and she spat out his ear.

"With an attitude like that, I give her a day before someone kills her," he bet.

"Two weeks!" Cale declared. "So it's a bet then?" Radditz nodded. Bulma struggled a little, trying to escape the alien's overgrown muscles. If he was anything like the saiyans she knew, she was horribly outmatched. If they only gave her two weeks maximum to live, then why not go out with a fight? Radditz rolled his eyes.

"Cale, I think we had better tranq this one." He nodded in Bulma's direction.

"Yeah. I got it," she grunted in agreement, reaching into a pocket. She pulled out a little yellow canister containing one little yellow pill. "Eat up, honey. Nighty night," she chuckled, shoving it in Bulma's mouth. The young scientist tried to spit it out, but the saiyan held her mouth closed. "Behave, and maybe I'll win my bet," she said with a winking. "That's better," she crooned as Bulma lost consciousness.