Control Seat to Passenger Seat

Still holding his hand over his head Vegeta gripped a fistful of Gohan’s shirt to dangle the young Saiyan above. Even though this put him at a higher level than Vegeta, the impact was the same as if Vegeta were glaring at him from a great height. There was a disparity in their positions now regardless showing Vegeta’s royal status.

Vegeta then lowered Gohan to the floor, and released his shirt. Gohan dropped to his knees before the Prince and made no effort to stand. Rather he continued to kneel there, and inclined his head so his eyes did not meet Vegeta’s. The sign of deference caused Vegeta’s ki to steady in its intensity, and he lost the golden sheen of his Super Saiyan form.

“Look me in the eye, Gohan. And tell me everything you know,” Vegeta answered, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

“Here or elsewhere?” Gohan asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me now,” Vegeta commanded.

“I have certain abilities the Kais trained me in, that I didn’t develop over the past few years,” Gohan began, rubbing at the back of his head. A red mark had formed on the back of Gohan’s neck because of the cloth biting into his skin a second ago. Now he eased the shirt down and tucked it back into place.

“Make it simple, Gohan. And direct. I’m not a patient Prince right now,” Vegeta chided him.

“I got a telepathic message from Pan earlier today. And she was screaming for help,” Gohan said, coming to the point.

“Unexpected, but impressive,” Vegeta murmured. “I figured the girl had the requisite power. Yet to cross a universe and send her thoughts that distance…”

“I was really surprised too. I asked her if…”

“Show me,” Vegeta answered. He tugged off his white glove, and then revealed his hand underneath. Soft skin touched Gohan’s forehead as Vegeta pressed his palm there. Instinctively Gohan knew what he had to do, and focused his thoughts. As Goku had read Krillin’s mind long ago on Namek Vegeta absorbed the thoughts that Gohan now organized for his perusal.

For only five minutes it seemed that Vegeta stood there with his hand on Gohan’s head, his eyes shut. Gohan breathed deeply, his mind clear and calm with its mental viewing, knowing the Prince would only look where he was permitted. He felt Vegeta’s mental probes reaching out with detached efficiency, only sifting what Gohan showed him.

“Enough,” Vegeta grunted. Gohan opened his eyes and raised his head to look into Vegeta’s dark eyes. They were filled with disdain and disgust, but Gohan knew he wasn’t the target, rather the beings who had kid napped Trunks and Pan.

“You know them don’t you?” Gohan asked.

“Indeed I do. They call themselves Quetzalcoatl. At least that is the closest equivalent in earth language. They fought back, but my scouter had seen a few escape. But since they were such cowards to run than meet their fate as proudly as the others, I thought them beneath my notice.”

“And Freeza just let you let them get away? Why? That doesn't sound his style at all,” Gohan asked.

“Humph, Freeza had a more important assignment for Nappa and I. He was going to send lower class soldiers to ferret the survivors out in time figuring they had sought another world that could be colonized later,” Vegeta explained. “My duty was not chasing vermin.”

“And what of Trunks and Pan?” asked Gohan.

“My son and your daughter can handle this matter, though Kakkarot as usual will steal all the credit for himself. I worry more for the pathetic fools foolish enough to capture a Saiyan Prince,” Vegeta laughed harshly.

“So what do you propose we do?”

“Nothing. But wait and see if they make contact again,” Vegeta answered, glancing down at Gohan. “And as for you, I’d return to training as you have seen fit to do. And spar with me more often.”

“That’s it then?” Gohan nodded.

“Do you think your daughter incapable of such a cowardly foe? How little faith you have in her warrior abilities. I thought you would know better Gohan. I expect that your mother would place little priority on the martial arts, but not you. But I shouldn’t be so surprised since you’ve all but turned your back on training,” Vegeta snorted.

“I do care Vegeta,” Gohan protested.

“Then do her the honor of trusting in Trunks and her as you said you would. And leave this matter to them,” Vegeta answered.

***


Across a galaxy and light years away distance suddenly factored into an insolvable equation. Having shouted out to her father regarding their current status, a daughter now dropped into sheer exhaustion. She barely had an idea how she bridged the gap, and now she was paying the price. After she had lost the tenuous link she tumbled into blackness and painful unconsciousness. Something had rudely seized her and yanked her out of the shared space in mind and spirit her father forged.

Shame and fear filled her, floating in the blackness. Belief was part of the thing that sustained the forged link, and now Pan lie weighted down by it. She doubted if she could move or even make a muscle fiber twitch any more. Sheer exhaustion had claimed her and robbed her of any strength except to weakly listen to sounds wrapping around her. The only other thing she could do was struggle to process the sensory input that had been reinstated. She could feel the solid flat surface covered with scratchy fibers that poked at her bare skin. Also Pan felt the warmth of Trunks body and thighs cradling her head and shoulders. His strong hands gently shook her.

"Pan, say something wake up," he urged. Cool droplets touched her sensitive lips.

I want to, but I can't move a muscle. She thought towards him, hoping the bond they had forged would allow him to understand she had no energy. Shifting in her torso's position indicated he must be laying her down. Her neck arched over something else soft, and then she perceived the orange haze of her eyelids was blocked to blissful blackness. Now she could see the underside of her eyelids. After another minute she could wrestle enough oomph to open them. Through her lashes she saw Trunks looming over her. Concern wrinkled his features.

"Pan," he said hoarsely. His fingers stroked her cheek, and then dripped cool water onto her lips again. She managed to extend her tongue to lap the water, and it was heaven on her parched throat. Again he repeated the process and Pan licked the water from his dripping wet hand. Then he lifted a container to his lips and sipped, before bending down and bringing his mouth over hers. Water dribbled into her mouth from his attempt to share the liquid through a kiss. Instead it spilled and trickled over her neck and chin,

She spluttered and couched up to him, "What are you trying to..."

"I don't want you dehydrated," Trunks rasped, his voice hoarser than ever. "It's the only way to get you water. Just relax and let me try again."

Once more Trunks sipped a mouthful of water. This time Pan cooperated, opening her mouth to let him transfer a precious volume of liquid to her dry sandpapery tongue. About five times he did this until Pan had swallowed enough water to feel somewhat rejuvenated. The last time he drew back Pan noticed his chest was bare. The collar circling his neck was comprised of gold interlaced with silvery wires that seemed to penetrate his skin. Periodically it gleamed, and she realized that it was what inhibited their powers.

"It's no use taking them off yet. Till I figure out the mechanism. You really scared me Pan. What in hell were you doing?"

"I was trying to call Grandpa telepathically, but for some reason... I... I heard Dad's voice,” she weakly explained.

"Your father’s voice?" Trunks answered in shock, his angular eyes broadening. "How?"

"I followed it, and then I was able to see him and communicate with him. Didn't you do a same thing with your own dad?"

"Yes, but that was years ago! The last thing I'd want is my father to have access to my thoughts!" Trunks grunted. "Yeah we forged a link but it's only used when he wanted to telepathically yell at me! When I got older we shut it down. It's only used for emergencies... or to communicate to others to give orders!"

"Sounds like something your dad would say, Trunks," Pan cast him a sour look. "My dad and I practiced that just like my dad and grandpa. But what I don't get is why I can't get hold of grandpa?"

"The link between parent and child's more primal," said Trunks. Carefully he slid his arms under pan and lifted her up. With ease he set her into his lap, cradling her there and keeping her warm with his body heat. Pan let herself be held, drawing strength from him.

"I didn't have trouble before. But you and I..."

"Can communicate without trouble," Trunks finished her sentence.

"Daddy said so... he said that was why," Pan whispered. "But you and I..."

"That’s simple, Pan," Trunks answered softly. "It's because the link between... mates is the strongest bond there is."

"Mates," Pan repeated, glancing up at Trunks with a question. Her throat clenched and joy radiated through her body. In his own way he had affirmed the relationship without directly saying it. Out in the depths of space they were as good as married, judging from the scabbing scar on his shoulder. It was similar to the one she'd seen on her mother and father, or grandfather and grandmother.

"Pan, don't be scared. I won't let any of them harm you, I swear," Trunks promised.

"Like I'd let them have a chance in hell of that," Pan snapped back.

"That's my woman, you're getting your strength back," Trunks answered.

"You're really starting to annoy me with that 'woman' stuff," Pan griped. However she continued to enjoy it because it was further proof. Considering how his father called his mother 'woman' often, though through the years it became more of a term of endearment than anything else.

"You and I could still communicate telepathically even with these ki blockers. And you and dad could communicate as well. But talking to other Saiyans is close to impossible. I don't know how you could with your father," he murmured.

"Maybe because I've got a different relationship with mine than you do with yours, or it's because I'm a girl?" Pan asked slowly. "You know Bra told me she and her daddy had no trouble communicating."

"That’d make sense. Mom always did claim girls were better at communicating. Your mom would say it was sexist bullshit, but there are differences in Saiyan females. Since you and my sis are the only Saiyan females..." trailed off Trunks.

"Speaking of communication, you really blew it with those guys in there! What were you thinking?"

"I don't have to answer to anyone who makes themselves judge and jury and executioner without a fair trial Pan. They captured US, remember?" Trunks said with a deadly gleam in his eyes. "And they endangered you. I can't let that go unpunished."

"You looked just like your father when you said all that," Pan informed him. "It scared the hell out of me."

"I don't know if I should take it as an insult or a complement. But I know dad would have been proud of me," Trunks said.

"But your father did do all those things," said Pan.

"Maybe so, but he was manipulated by Freeza into doing so. Maybe by human standards that doesn't justify what our race did, but one way or another he's been paying for that for years. That was his choice, and his challenge as a warrior to carry. He answers for it alone. His choices to fight and survive were met as a true Saiyan warrior," Trunks said.

"Saiyan standards," Pan whispered. "But think of all the people they killed!"

Trunks face dipped into shadow momentarily as he leaned back against the cage wall. He said, "Hundreds of innocent lives perhaps? But Saiyans are predators Pan, don't you see?"

"Yes, but we're not like that anymore. We're part human too," she reminded him. His body was a solid strong anchor now from which she continued to derive strength. More of his warmth seemed into her body, reinvigorating hers.

Trunks laughed gently, "Can we say humans are any less guilty for wanting to go into space and conquer worlds of our own? Did the settlers of West City ask that when they founded the settlement and drove out the native populace?"

"Maybe not, but you're not Vegeta. You're you. I'm me. We make our own destinies Trunks. We live in the shadow of our fathers’ maybe, but we aren't them. Even though part of them is in us," Pan murmured, her dark eyes capturing his. Sitting Indian style Trunks had Pan's bottom and back sitting in the triangle of his thighs now. His muscular bicep pillowed the back of her neck while his other arm wrapped around her hips to hold her there. However he held her not with the affection of a small child but a man who wanted to shelter and protect his woman, while she gave him a reason to fight and protect. Even though she could fight herself.