Vegeta was so soundly asleep that he didn't awaken until the intruder had actually entered the cave. Of course he hadn't yet taken his second step when the Saiyajin sprang up, his instincts superseding a waking reaction. Full alertness came only half a second before he put his fist through the potential attacker's chest.

Or where his chest would have been, but Piccolo had wisely thrown himself to the side. Vegeta glared. "Don't sneak up on a Saiyajin, Namek."

"I wasn't," Piccolo rumbled. "How's Son?"

"Better. Worse. How the hell should I know? I'm no doctor."

"You know more about this than any human could. How exactly are you ministering to him?"

Piccolo's straightforward tone made the insinuation all the more insulting. Vegeta snarled, "I'm no nursemaid, to serve some third-class--"

And then the Namek had slammed him against the stone. Had he been human the punch would have crushed his jaw. Piccolo usually kept himself under such tight control that Vegeta had almost forgotten his strength nearly equaled a Saiyajin's. A Super Saiyajin, and the Namek's ki was riding so high now that he cast a faint glow over the cave's shadows, a trembling haze visible to the naked eye. "What is the method, Vegeta? How do you save someone infected with this plague?"

He sounded calm, but there was rage in that flickering aura, and more, fear. Piccolo was less apt at hiding his feelings than he believed himself to be. And Vegeta was more observant of emotions than most would give him credit for. There was little that could frighten a former god and devil in one, and only one obvious answer to his present state. Vegeta pushed himself off the supporting wall, spat the blood from the Namek's blow and wiped his mouth. "Gohan as well, then," he said.

Piccolo's composure was forced, his ki still agitated, but his bass didn't waver. "Both of Son's children."

"Hmm. I'd have thought I'd notice a couple cities being blasted off the face of the planet."

"Goten only collapsed, without warning. And Gohan's violence was...swifter than what I witnessed of Son." There was something raw in Piccolo's dark eyes, naked feeling too intense to name.

Dangerous, in a being so powerful, and this awareness made Vegeta speak quieter than he might have otherwise. "This world's dragonballs could resurrect him. Both of them."

"If necessary." Piccolo blinked, as if belated realizing that thought might actually be sympathy.

Vegeta wasted no time disabusing him of that notion. "It might be preferable to you weakening yourself. With Son's progeny down, this damn planet is fast running out of protectors. The dragonballs will be active in a season--"

"Just tell me how to help him."

The resigned sigh escaped before Vegeta could prevent it. He covered it by brusquely launching into an explanation. "It's not too difficult for a practiced warrior, but the level of control needed is...draining. Give too much and you only fuel the kaji; too little and the ki is not sufficiently replenished."

"It requires close attention to the patient, then. And a fine awareness of his normal state," Piccolo deduced. Which was to be expected of someone so accomplished in ki manipulation, but his glance over Vegeta's shoulder at the unconscious Kakarotto was altogether too knowing. Vegeta was irritated without even grasping why. Of course he knew near every aspect of Kakarotto's life energy; half his life had been devoted to defeating that awesome power. It was only to be expected that he was sensitive to the most minute fluctuations.

With no other recourse, he ignored the Namek, but before Vegeta could expound on the finer points of ki sharing, he was cut off by a most unlikely interruption. From outside the cave came a shout, "Piccolo! Vegeta! Son-kun? Piccolo, I know you're here!"

Piccolo's eyes narrowed as Vegeta's widened, though both pairs reflected disbelief. "Sounds like--"

"How could that--"

Vegeta's ears registered the thrum of an aircar's engine, and then a silhouetted figure marched into the cave, fists on hips, blue hair blowing free of its bun. "So there you are."

Vegeta couldn't speak immediately, and wasn't sure if it was from surprise, or anger, or simple unpreparedness. Usually he had more warning before engaging in this particular combat. "Wh-What are you doing here, woman?"

His brain caught up with his mouth in that second, and offered the obvious conclusion. But Piccolo didn't back down from his glare, only shook his head. "I said nothing."

"No need," Bulma said, and then reached up to Piccolo's collar. She wasn't especially fast, but she moved so deliberately that he made no immediate motion to evade her, and by then she had plucked something from the folds of his white cloak. Between her fingers the tiny tracking device glittered merrily. "Just because I can't trace a ki with my mind doesn't mean I'm totally helpless."

"I never thought so," Vegeta muttered, as Piccolo eyed her with deep suspicion. Oblivious or uncaring of the Namek, she strode past him to Kakarotto, knelt beside him while Vegeta argued, "There's nothing you can do here, woman--"

"And not a hell of a lot you can, either," his mate shot back. "I follow that you brought Son-kun out here for our safety, but he's not much a danger now." Gently she stroked the sweat-dampened bangs off Goku's forehead, measured his pulse against her watch. "He's worse off than either of the boys. Burning or freezing his ass off in the desert can't be good."

"The climate is the least of his problems."

"Yes, the poor nutrition and worse hygiene are probably more important. Not to mention the nursemaid," and she gave Vegeta her most charming smile, the one guaranteed to scratch at his nerves like nails on slate. It did little to hide the bags under her eyes, or the lines on her usually youthful face. And the smile fell too quickly. "We have to get him back, get him under real care. And you, too."

"I can manage my own needs, as well as Kakarotto's."

"Vegeta?" Bulma stood, faced him squarely. "Can it. There's no time for this. There's a more at stake here than your pride. Or even Son-kun's life."

"Woman--"

"What do you mean?" Piccolo said, the soul of measured reason, as if he hadn't been in a state to shatter rock mere minutes before.

"You think I followed you out here for a lark? It wasn't because I don't trust you, Vegeta. But we need your help now. And your knowledge."

She was scared. He could smell it on her, an unfamiliar scent, she who was so often freaked but so rarely truly frightened. "What?" he asked, folding his arms.

"According to what Piccolo told me you said, the people who sent these probes are all dead. Did anyone else use them?"

"That design of probe was unique to them, and they refused to sell the secrets of their craven success."

"And you killed them all off?"

"The Saiyajin and Frieza wiped out the Waizugaijin to their last colony and ship. Over forty years ago."

"I'm afraid you--they--missed one."

Piccolo leaned forward, until he was looming over the woman. "What do you mean?" he hissed.

The bastard Namek knew there was trouble, Vegeta realized. He had probably picked up from Dende that something was wrong. "Explain, woman," the prince snapped.

To his irritation Bulma didn't even spare him a glare, much less a kick in the shins, as she was sometimes wont to do. "I've had my computer analyzing all the data I got from the probe before you blew it up. It would've been easier if you hadn't blown it up to begin with--"

"Bulma...."

"According to the analysis of the hull, the level of meteor scarring and molecular decay--that probe couldn't have been launched more than two years ago. Likely less than that."

"Impossible!"

"Wait, it gets better. In the middle of my scan, the probe released an energy burst. At the time I thought it was a reaction to the gamma waves, but I put my best machine to work crunching the output, and from what I've learned, I didn't set it off . It did that all on its own."

"Did what?" Piccolo asked warily.

Bulma rubbed her hand across her face, further smudging the last remnants of mascara. "A subspace signal. A faster than light transmission, specifically directed toward a particular quadrant, containing a string of code and, as far as I can tell, coordinates. For Earth. In other words, before it was destroyed, the probe phoned home. And I doubt it was calling in just to say what a wonderful time it was having.

"Which is why, Vegeta, we need to get you and Son-kun healed up and back in action as soon as possible. Because unless I'm totally wrong--and you know I never am--we're going to have company soon, of the worse kind."

---

Not dead yet, nor have I abandoned this. Anyone still reading? No? Good, then I can let this go! Or not...there will be more. Eventually. Meanwhile, thank you Dreamwraith (have I lost you yet? ^^), Brios201 (sorry this chapter isn't a good deal longer), and Ebi for leaving a review which reminded me this exists - wouldn't have gotten off my butt to finish this part without that push! (Also, concerning grammatical errors - I'd prefer not to have any, major or minor, so if you notice a mispelled word or a lost period, please do let me know!)