Kings, Tyrants, and Demons

A/N: WOo! AFF is back up I see. Well here is the long awaited chatper, I hope it pleases.

Special thanks to Pixelgoddess for beta\'ing

Chapter Thirteen: Exposed

“Watch where you’re going boy!”

Goten hastily side stepped as a rather irritable native shoved passed him. He frowned to himself; he did indeed need to pay more attention to where he was going. He towered over the three-foot tall natives; it was too easy for him to lose track of where they were.

Shrugging he carried down the cramped street being more mindful of the smaller-stature people around him. At least he was off the Hopper. After two and a half weeks of non-stop travel, he was glad to be on the ground. And what a lovely ground it was.

Sigiduneum; it was the nicest planet he’d seen so far, which wasn’t saying much. His prior experiences were Utei (Vegeta was still grumbling about that place) which he hadn’t really seen, and ‘gobbledygook’ with its hairy crickets. Sigiduneum, though it used to be part of the Planet Trade, Vegeta deemed safe enough to land on for supplies.

To Goten’s pleasure he discovered that the planet was lively and in many ways resembled Earth’s Arabian markets. Well, what he’d imagined Earth’s Arabian markets to look like; he’d never been.

Hot and arid, the planet orbited a small sun that was currently shining bright in the turquoise sky. Dazzling as it was, it did not do much for the local plant life. As such, the locals coped with the heat by erecting large tents made from fabric woven in bold contrasting colors such as black and white, purple and green, and blue and yellow.

There were buildings as well, of a deceptively simple looking domed architecture. Considering the height of the natives, the first time Goten had approached one of the red adobe structures he anticipated having to stoop to enter. He was pleasantly surprised to discover the white-tiled archways were designed for someone of his stature; apparently, it was constructed for the comfort of off-world visitors.

These structures were vastly outnumbered by the tents; in the city proper, most were used as places of government. Goten could see some of these structures in the distance, jutting above the tops of the tents cramped along the street. Yet one building absolutely dwarfed the others, sticking out like giant amongst gnomes. It was the largest building the teen had seen on the planet. Though it was domed like the rest of the structures, it was massive; three if not four times the size of the others, finely decorated, and of a brilliant gold and black. It sat in the middle of the city overlooking the other buildings and tents, casting a protective shadow that natives clustered around. The demi-Saiyan used it as a convenient landmark while traveling through the city. He guessed it was the former governor’s abode from the days of the Planet Trade.

This guess was made possible from countless hours spent in front of the P.A.C. Vegeta accused him of channeling his older brother’s bookishness and on more than one occasion had to boot him out of the control room so he could use the machine himself.

What the elite didn’t know was that the Planetary Atlas Command had become the dark-haried teen’s salvation. Before he’d been acquainted with this wonderful piece of technology the youth had been haunted by memories of a life he so desperately wanted to leave behind.

The hours on the Capsule ship during the first month in space had been cold, long, and lonely. His only companion had locked himself away to fence with his own inner demons while he was ignored. Goten never minded this; he knew he was treading on Vegeta’s precarious hospitality. However, it would have made things easier if there was someone else to speak to, if only to distract him from his own personal devils.

He still had the dreams, yet thankfully they were tapering off. Though they started out differently the end was always the same. He remembered one in particular:

He was four years old. Gohan was away visiting Piccolo, for once with their mother’s permission. He could recall wanting to go too, but mamma wasn’t going to be that generous. However, she did allow him to run loose in the yard to chase lizards while she pinned the laundry up to dry. Her charitable mood could be accounted to the weather; it was gorgeous. The sun was warmly shining, the wind was gently blowing, the birds were singing in the forest, and she was humming softly. He knew the song well; she would sing it to him as she rocked him to sleep at night. Not so much anymore though, he was a big boy now and didn’t need to be rocked, or so he told her. Even so he found himself humming along as he half-heartedly chased a terrified gecko. Soon tiring of the pursuit, he caught the small creature with ease and strode back to his mother to show off his prize.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t paying attention. He looked up at her for a long moment; she seemed a pillar of light to him; tall, beautiful, strong, and nurturing. He smiled and in loving adoration—and no small amount of mischief— placed the lizard in the laundry basket and hid behind a nearby cherry tree. Peals of laughter erupted from his small frame when a squeal of surprise broke the air.

“Oooh Goten!”

Instantly she was there and he found himself scooped up in her arms and swung around in dizzying circles. They were both laughing now. He held his arms out for a hug and suddenly he was pulled into a comforting embrace. It was soft and reassuring and she squeezed him harder… and harder still until he felt like he was caught in a vice. Scared, he tried pulling away but the arms around him were like bands of iron. Shoving with all his weight he broke free and his mother fell back with a terrible red splash.

He picked himself up from the ground now buried under two feet of snow. All the breath left him as he found himself in front of the family’s wooden sauna. It towered over him forebodingly as if it were going to devour him at any given second. Steeling himself he placed his hands on the edge, pulled himself up, and stared fearfully over the edge.

A yellowed piece of notebook paper floated in the still water. He reached in and pulled it out. Messy black scrawl tattooed its faded blue lines.

“A child’s kaleidoscope.

Red and sparkle and swimming with white shell and gray catching the light...all swirling together.
Peeking through the ribbon edged ice forming new facets, dimensions.
The snow coming down...falling on the water, catching on her eyelashes.
Like a china doll, glass eyes catch the sun, crimson floating from her hair… like satin.
Suspended in a tube held up to the eye; turn her and maybe more will appear.
The scenery is always changing.
... I never knew blood could preserve such beauty.”

Not very good if you asked him. But then it dawned on him; He wrote this…somehow he knew he did. And then suddenly it all came crashing upon him; the piece of soppy parchment clutched in his four-year-old hand was the poem he wrote after his mother’s death. He stared at it in horror until a bubbling sound from the sauna broke his concentration.

With a rising sense of dread, he slowly turned to face it.

The water was bleeding.

Massive ruby bubbles exploded from the wooden confines of the spa. Rising by the second, they boiled over and from the churning depths a body floated to the surface.
The scarlet liquid receded and all too soon he was greeted with wide black staring eyes, framed with snow crusted lashes.

They glittered in the light like stardust, her eyes however fixed on him—through him—were flat as if they never once beheld the light of day. He tore himself away from their soulless depths, but not from her. His eyes locked on the silken ebony strands of hair floating in the crimson water. It was beautiful; her hair was always so pretty when she let it down. And her skin was different; pale. So pale…like porcelain.

But the hole; it looked so out of place as if someone had inconceivably taken a bite out of the china doll’s head. He suddenly felt very sad. This poor broken toy with its stuffing and bits floating in the water to be forgotten; it was such a shame. His eyes drifted and he blanched. Gore and hair stuck up from the side of the sauna, but it was the piece of whitish grey bone sticking a half inch from the bloody clod that smashed the illusion. His mother was dead.

The weight of a hundred mountains fell upon him…he screamed.

The painful shriek wrenched from his chest in bitter intensity but it was cut short.

“Quiet Goten!” someone suddenly snapped, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Yeah Goten, can’t you see we’re busy?” another voice chided, “Damn you’re such a fricken pussy.”

He turned his head in shock to see his father and his best friend not two yards away rutting like swine in the mud. They were stark naked; Trunks bent at the waist leering up at him as if he had just won a sparring match. His father was directly behind, grunting with each rolling thrust of his hips, glaring at him in annoyance. Finally, the elder man looked past him to the sauna that held his dead wife. Peevishness fled his features as a look of overwhelming relief flooded his face.

“Finally,” he sighed after a particularly harsh jerk of his pelvis— which caused Trunks to moan noisily— “some peace and quiet.” He regarded Goten, “Clean that up and finish the laundry. You should know that Trunks is going to be your mother from now on, so you’d better mind what he says.”

“That’s right little Goten,” Trunks jeered, “Better do as I say or you’ll get a spanking.” He chuckled and raising a lavender brow added, “Why don’t you come here and suck me off? It could be good…well for me at least.”

They both started laughing at him and as he was still a small child there was nothing he could do about it. Even though he was gifted at a young age, his small fists were simply no match for the two grown Super Saiyans.

In absolute anguish, he fell to his knees in the icy snow crying bitterly for his mother who would never again comfort him.

He was alone…alone and powerless.

He awoke from that dream sobbing loudly. It took a long while to calm down and remind himself where he was. When he finally did settle into the sweat-soaked blankets he chastised himself for being so loud, certain the elite had heard him and certain he would be chucked out or at the very least severely reprimanded. But the next morning Vegeta never mentioned it. Later he found out why.

The very next night while staring up at the ceiling fighting away sleep and the horrid dreams that came with it he heard a strangled cry from the next room. Startled, he nearly went to investigate but quickly analyzing Vegeta’s ki, realized that the older man was sleeping. Apparently, Goten wasn’t the only one suffering from nightmares.

His nightly torments, however, were receding; he could not say the same for the prince. If anything, they were becoming worse with time. The proud Saiyan would not welcome any sort of query into his emotional state, so Goten never brought it up, hoping, like him, he’d improve with time; for this Vegeta appeared grateful.

As the older warrior’s nighttime horrors continued, Goten learned to sleep through the anxious yells and cries. His own visions of saunas and perverted parental figures were fast being replaced with fantastic visions of star fleets and armies fit for a Hollywood movie. He dreamt of an Empire, the workings of which he discovered more and more about each day.

The Planet Trade, though drenched in blood, had become his obsession. The star systems and planets themselves were mildly interesting, but the Trade was an extraordinary world in and of itself. He studied it for hours, sometimes forgetting to take meals—to which his host commented on his slipping sanity. But in reality it was quite the opposite. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Frieza’s Empire. For the more he learned the less he was plagued by these night visions and memories of Earth. He was starting to move past the sorrow, hurt, and anger. He was starting to feel normal again.

The sweeping gold crest of the governor’s abode was a reminder of this. He smiled to himself and took another moment to admire its grandeur before continuing down the lane.

People shouted at him through the open tent flaps as he passed, trying in earnest to sell their slapdash wares to unsuspecting foreigners like himself, and there were many; Sigiduneum had a reputation as a modest trading hub. He glanced at the vendors’ colorful displays but did not pause in his meandering steps towards the town center. He was saving the small amount of money Vegeta had given him for a decent meal.

Speaking of the Saiyan Prince, the teen quickly checked his watch to make sure he had plenty of time left before he had to be back at the ship. He smiled, realizing he still had a good hour and a half to himself while the elite bargained for supplies. Humming softly, he turned down what appeared to be a charming little cobblestone street winding up a gentle hill. Earlier, he had seen a few space travelers heading that way so figured it was well worth exploring. He disappeared up the alley… only to run back to the street three minutes later, beet red. Of course, meeting a local who pulls down their trousers, waving their bits, and chanting, ‘Five credits? Diddle, diddle?’ will do that to a person.

Looking over his shoulder Goten flushed even further as he caught sight of a two young girls giggling at him. Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, he walked— rather hurriedly— down the street towards the town center without any further misadventures.

He was away from the tents now and the cooling shade their awnings offered. Squinting under the sun’s bright rays, he pulled off the dark brown vest and shoved his sleeves up over his muscled arms. He really wished he could wear something else. He had seen several men wearing much more form-fitting clothing he knew was for the purely warrior class. Though it looked good on the warriors, he didn’t know if spandex would be so flattering on him.

The smell of food pushed all thoughts of clothing from his mind. With his Saiyan instincts kicking in, he threw the vest over his shoulder and steadfastly followed the delicious aroma stoking his appetite.

The fragrant air brought him to a large canopied canteen. The tables and benches inside were jam packed with travelers and locals alike whom were talking loudly and feasting comfortably in the shade. Platters of meat and bowls of stew covered the tables invitingly. Goten’s mouth watered.

He moved to the bar to better survey the area for a place to sit and after a moment scowled. Apparently, this place was a local favorite, as he couldn’t find a single vacant seat. It was obvious he would have to eat elsewhere if he wanted a leisurely meal and still be back to the Hopper on time. Sighing in disappointment, he made a move to leave the canteen when a voice stopped him.

“Steady your jets, lad, something’ll open up in moment.”

Startled, he looked around him finding nothing but patrons who were eagerly eating, drinking, and otherwise ignoring his presence entirely.

“Down here,” the disembodied voice said, amused.

Looking down at the source of the voice, Goten saw a little old man with shining black eyes smiling wryly at him behind the bar while absent-mindedly scrubbing a pot. He was certainly a native given his size and coloring. Sprouts of yellowish-white hair sprung up from his russet scalp in pocks and when his wrinkled face broke into a grin, he didn’t appear to have any teeth. Overall, he had the appearance of an old potato forgotten in the cupboard.

Being mindful not to be overly friendly, he greeted the native politely but coolly. Vegeta had warned that an over abundance of affability was an open invitation to be swindled. Yet his composed exterior was shattered when the brown face below him creased as the old man crossed his eyes, flipped his thick lips inside out, and bore his shiny purple gums between which a pale tongue waggled at him in a drool-covered enthusiasm.

No one could keep a straight face at that; certainly not Goten who let out a rather loud bark of laughter.

“There we go, that’s better,” the native said chuckling at the demi-Saiyan’s lack of poise, “knew that would give you a giggle. The wife calls me muttonchops, says I scare the grandchildren. They always like it though; think it’s a hoot. Reminds them to clean their teeth before they end up like their pappy. Always good to educate I say.” He threw the scrub brush in a basin of water and proceeded to dry the saucepot with the damp maroon apron tied around his waist.

“Well let’s see now,” he placed the cookware aside, which was still dripping, and pulled himself up on a stool to look over the counter.

Goten wondered why the counter was so high if the natives were so short. Yet, it didn’t seem to bother the odd little man as he peered over the bar. The teen followed his gaze; the tables were still overflowing.

“I don’t think anyone looks like they’re going to be finished any time soon,” the teen commented, overly aware of the time he had left.

Still staring into the crowd, the short elderly man abruptly narrowed his eyes and made a grumbling noise before ducking back under the counter. The demi-Saiyan wondered what was going on when suddenly the old geezer popped back up on his stool, this time armed with his scrub brush. He lobbed it at a portly local who was spread over two chairs at a table not far from them. It hit the occupant smartly on the back the head causing the large pasty man to splutter into his soup. Broth dripping down his nose he turned irritably to face his assailant.

“What was that for?”

“Klube” the barman snapped, “how many times do I have to tell ya? Balance that great backside of yours on one chair! Now bring the extra up to the bar, or I’ll piss in your stew the next time you’re in!”

Klube shook his head grumpily like an impertinent child, his jowls wobbling as he did so.

However, a second knock on the head from a projectile bar of soap changed his mind. Grousing under his breath and rubbing his yellow haired noggin in indignation he did as he was told and shuffled up to the bar with the extra chair and slammed it moodily on the ground before the bewildered teen.

“Thanks,” Goten said hesitantly.

Klube sneered up at him with his squinty dark eyes before wobbling back to his seat. When he attempted his precarious journey up the lone chair that was nearly twice his height he lost his balance and tumbled over taking the tall wooden seat with him in a rickety crash. His pudgy limbs waved through the upturned legs haplessly which started a laughing fit throughout the entire establishment. Goten laughed too, and then covered his mouth in haste, lest he cause offence.

The old man, if anything, laughed harder.

“Sit and calm down, lad. Klube’s a regular…a bit too regular if we’re being honest. No need to take him seriously.”

Pulling the coveted chair to the bar, the teen sat and before he could ask, a plate of meat and a bowl of stew were placed in front of him.

“Not much choice, I’m afraid,” the chatty little man said, “though I’ve not had any complaints. Where you from? I can tell you haven’t traveled around much. What’ll you have to drink?”

“Water will be fine—wait, really?” Goten asked, his face falling once he absorbed what the little man had said about him being un-traveled.

The old man chuckled. “Don’t take offence, but yeah, I can see you’re a rookie. Been trained up well I suppose, but can’t fool me. I’ve been serving at this bar for sixty years now, learned how to read people pretty damn well. Name is Kafrebis, people call me Kaf.” He looked at the youth expectantly.

“Oh, pleased to meet you. My name is Goten and I’m from…” he trailed off, feeling he had all ready said too much.

“Can’t tell me can you?” Kaf cut in, apparently noticing his discomfort. “On a secret mission?”

The demi-Saiyan fidgeted in his seat.

“Erm, you could say that.”

The old man nodded as if he heard that all the time, which in retrospect he probably did.

“Fair enough, Goten, pleasure to meet you all the same,” He pointed at the stew in front of him, “Now you eat up. Fare is simple I admit, but you won’t find better.”

“Thanks,” the teen uttered and needing no further prodding dug in with gusto. Kafrebis wasn’t joking, the food was fantastic. After two and a half months of a slim selection of ready meals the vegetable stew and platter of meat (from what animal he didn’t know or care) was like ambrosia. He finished it quickly and held his plate out for seconds which was filled between the little man’s chattering and his waiting on other customers. It was on the fourth helping that the native really took notice.

“I say, lad, you have the appetite of a Saiyan!”

The meat-laden fork paused momentarily on its journey to the youth’s mouth. He placed it back on the plate and cocked his head slightly.

“I do?”

Kaf nodded and grinned, “That you do, my boy, I guess since you’re new to space travel and all you’ve not been hearing of the Saiyans much?”

Goten carefully arranged his face in a thoughtful expression.

“Hmm, they sound familiar,” he said slowly and then with a sheepish grin added, “but no, can’t really say I have.”

“Eh, doubt there are any left. Warriors they were, damn good ones too. Bottomless stomachs though, run a man right out of business!” He chuckled to himself at some lost memory.

Goten smiled politely and continued into his meal without a fuss. He was very pleased with the way he handled that. Vegeta would be proud of him, especially for subtly changing the subject.

“That was wonderful; best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he said pushing his empty plates aside with a satisfied sigh. “You’re right,” he admitted, “I haven’t traveled a lot but I’m glad I got to come here. I wasn’t expecting Sigiduneum to be so colorful and friendly, not to mention having such great food.”

Kaf smiled, “Kind of you to say, lad, very kind.” Then he unexpectedly sighed, “Should have seen it about twenty years ago though; truly marvelous when we were under the Trade. Guess from looking at you, you weren’t born then were ya?”

That caught the demi-Saiyan’s interest.

“Nope, I’m afraid not. But,” he asked with a spark in his eye. “What do you mean? What was it like then?”

The old man’s thick lips turned down in a frown.

“Dead sight better than it is now, that’s for sure,” he said sharply then at Goten’s startled expression added, “Sorry, lad, things are a bit hard now especially considering how we were before the Trade broke up.” He started washing a stack of dishes to diffuse the situation.

The teen wasn’t sure if he was going to continue but while staring into the soap suds the little man began speaking.

“Sigiduneum was a grand place then. Not this dirt hole you see now,” he grumbled, “Sure we’re not at war like Antolinafri or Eorid or a slew of other nearby planets and we’ve avoided killing each other off or being taken over by a someone else, should be thankful I guess but… so grand we were…so grand,” he breathed.

“Streets were paved with marble,” he raised his eyes, “Listerian marble at that,” he stressed. “Were no riffraff like you see on the outskirts either. Trade officials took care of them, ran them right off. Look at them now, sitting out there like vultures in their tents selling the demons know what rubbish to idiot tourists—no offense.”

“None taken.”

Kafrebis continued his belligerent tirade, while furiously drying a chipped mug, “Had order then— justice, now you’re lucky to walk down the street without anyone skirting away with your purse. Good irrigation system too,” he motioned around himself, “wasn’t always like this. Desert planet we are, but we did have some vegetation back then. Water is scarce nowadays, who knows when it’ll dry up. Had more buildings too. Shouldn’t complain, though…at least we survived.”

He suddenly smiled and pointed outside towards the massive black and gold building.

“The Estate; at least that’s still standing. Governor Moshreti lived there, fine man. Killed off by his bastard brother Loshreti, ha, old Lo didn’t last long after that though. People didn’t care for him the way they did his brother, ripped him limb from limb.”

Goten was unfazed by the comment. He had spent the last couple of months with Vegeta who had a strange if not morbid sense of humor. Turning to regard the elegant building in the distance he asked, “Who lives there now?”

“Not a soul. Used for commerce now, ain’t it? Scum.” Agitated, he picked up a plate he had just dried and dumped it back in the tub of water to be scrubbed again. “Such disrespect. You know Lord Zarbon once visited us, stayed right in that hall. Such an honor. You do know who Lord Zarbon is?”

“Of course.” Goten said, pretending to be offended. He failed to mention that his traveling companion had been the one responsible for ‘Lord Zarbon’s’ demise.

“Good, not totally ignorant then, again no offense lad,” he amended with a toothless grin.
“Anyways, that was a long time ago, better times as it was.” He sighed heavily, “Now,” he nodded towards a group of red and green clad warriors “we have posers like those maggots over there, Rijux they call themselves. Leader is a spineless dimwit, least it’s better than the fodder before. Though can’t say I’ve much faith that they’ll be able to pick up the Illustrious Lord Frieza’s torch. Bless them for trying though, maggots they may be.”

The teen was not embarrassed to admit that he utterly confused by that last tidbit of information. It showed clearly on his face. Kaf looked at him expectantly.

“Wait,” he said, “you mean they’re trying to start up another Planet Trade?”

Kaf scoffed, “Or something like it. Were around while the Planet Trade was up and running, didn’t get much business though. Think the Illustrious Lord kept them around as joke rather than burden himself with spending the energy to blast them. Now, that he’s gone—rest his soul—these idiots are trying to take his place. Ha! The nerve…but have to admit; almost want them to succeed if it gives us a shred of what we had. Alas.”

Goten eyed the warriors at the table, making a note to look them up later on the P.A.C.
He opened his mouth to speak when he felt a spike in Vegeta’s ki, followed immediately by an explosion in the distance that deafened all sound.

“—Nine hells??” his sharp hearing heard Kafrebris shout.

Over his shoulder, he saw a small mushroom cloud billow up from the south side of the city. On cue his communicator went off.

“Hopper NOW!” an angry voice shouted, “I’ve been spotted!”

Without further delay he threw down a wad of money at the shocked bar keeper and vanished from site.


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A/N: Right, guess what? I\'m moving back to the states. YaY! I love the UK but after nearly two years I\'m kinda missing my home, not to mention I \'should\' have a better shot at a job (no work visas, etc). Needless to say I\'m busy busy busy, but the move takes place in mid-July and hopefully sometime after then I should have sometime to write (sadly not before).

Thank you guys so much for your patience and all of your very much loved support! *Huggies to all*