Going Native Interlude #3 (ch.28) (Patreon)

“So, none of you are dead yet?” Bardock asked, speaking through Tora’s speaker. It was his usual opening line for the past year since he joined the Ginyu squad, the few times he was able to get in touch with them. Usually, the Ginyu squad was deep in Reach territory, far beyond the limits of the scouters, for headhunting missions. 

“Eh, some of us are a little worse for wear, but none of the team has died,” Tora answered as he flew above the wreckage of a city, his scouter searching for holdouts of resistance. The planet they were on was a mop up -- the Reach was pulling out of the sector, and what forces remained were consolidating to try to put up a fight. Queen Teach went out of her way to these worlds, searching for a decent fight now that she didn’t have a kid in her stomach anymore. “I’m more surprised you have kicked it.”

Bardock chuckled, “I might have if it wasn’t for the Wrath State,” he admitted, and if he was doing that then Tora guessed that his missions were facing a lot tougher resistance than his team was dealing with. “Saved my ass more times than I care to count.” With that, Tora couldn’t help but agree. 

Even a year later, he hadn’t mastered it. No one had. None even came close. Matillo held the record on the team that could maintain the Wrath State, and even then it was five minutes. Queen Teach was in second place, only a full minute behind. During a fight, the pain and wrath tugged at the fragile balance until it slipped one way or the other. After you lost that balance, then it was next to impossible to regain it -- at best, you could direct the destruction at your enemies. 

“The others doing alright?” Bardock asked as Tora’s scouter picked up on an energy signature. A cluster of them in a wreckage of a building. He tossed an energy blast in its direction, killing all of those inside before he answered. 

“The others are doing fine. Borgos still doesn’t like his arm, but I think he’s just digging in his heels at this point. Fasha is flirting with Parslee, Shugesh is panicking a bit about that and is trying to do stupid crap to impress her.” Tora answered, a smirking on his face. The idiot nearly lost his tail trying to impress her more than once. 

“She still has no idea?” Bardock questioned, a laugh in his voice. 

“None. Even Tarble noticed,” and that was one of the weirder conversations he ever had in his life.

“If he doesn’t tell her before we meet up again, then I will. He’s been sitting on it for nearly a decade by now,” Bardock decided, and Tora could practically see his friend shaking his head in disbelief. Then he sighed, and Tora knew what he was about to ask next. “How’s Tarble?” 

“You wouldn’t even recognize him,” Tora answered after a moment of pause. He spent the past year not recognizing Tarble. “He didn’t just take a page out of your book, he stole the entire thing. And he doesn’t spend weeks in the healing pods anymore.” Which was the biggest change for their child leader. 

For years, Tarble was this oddity that they only really saw on missions or training. He did what they told him to do, steadily proving himself to handle greater responsibilities as he grew stronger. Now, comparing him to his old self...it was more like the old Tarble had died and a clone with the same face but a different personality took his place. The difference was that apparent.

“Hm. Is he still teaching the others the Wrath State?” Bardock asked, prompting a small sigh because he knew where the conversation was heading. 

“He is, but the others are too weak to be of any use. Seems like it's easier the stronger you are. I’m up to three minutes, and the others are around the same. Fasha is closer to four, though. But, the low-class are stuck in seconds, with Lotuce near a minute.” Tora answered, knowing that Bardock was closer to eight. “Why?”

Bardock didn’t answer for a moment, “because I haven’t heard anything from Planet Vegeta in awhile. Have you?” Bardock asked, making Tora frown in thought. In all honesty, he barely thought of home at all, but, now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been any news from Planet Vegeta in years. Which was odd since they traveled with the queen. 

“No, nothing. Last I heard that the kids were out of the tank and King Vegeta was staying there, but that was years ago.” Tora answered, frowning in thought as he continued his patrol. He picked up friendlies down below -- what was left of the 501st. They were an alright lot, for aliens, he guessed. They had grit that made them stand out from other aliens in the army. 

“Same. I’ve been getting messages from Gine, but details are sparse about what's gone on back there. All I know is that Kakarot is having a hard time,” Bardock explained. That didn’t explain much because Kakarot was rather weak, all things considered. He might have earned the right to call himself a warrior, but it was more of because of the planet he conquered than his strength. “I think King Vegeta is censoring whatever information comes from Planet Vegeta.”

That sounded likely, from the sound of it. Tora got more than a few messages from Gine and they could best be described as walls of text. “Why would he do that, though?” It seemed like a lot of work for no real gain. Not many saiyans cared about the state of Planet Vegeta.

“Dunno, but I don’t like it. It means he’s up to something,” Bardock pointed out, and he was probably right. 

“Does it matter, though?” Tora asked, shifting his flight path towards the HQ. “Even if he does something like brainwashing the kids to obey his every command, it’s going to be over a decade before they’re strong enough to be a challenge.” The secret that Bardock discovered about gaining strength from watching Tarble fight saibamen years ago still remained a secret. 

Some had noticed the same thing that Bardock had years ago -- that there was a steady gain in strength after being beaten by a powerful enemy, but surviving the wounds. However, most of them died in the process. Healing pods were rare, only a handful of them sprinkled about the fleet and they were reserved for higher class saiyans. 

“And by the time they do hit their prime, we’re all likely to be elite-class,” Tora pointed out. None of them had the explosive growth that Tarble did, but all of them had seen steady increases in their strength. In about twenty years, they would all be elite-class, that much was certain. 

“Hm,” Bardock hummed, agreeing with him, but Tora knew his friend well enough that he was still worried about the subject. “Unless this war drags on for long enough,” he pointed out. “Just keep an ear out if the Queen says anything.” 

“Will do,” Tora agreed easily enough, his own curiosity peaked. If King Vegeta was going through the effort to censor information, then it was clearly something big. The only thing that came to mind were the millions of kids that now roamed the planet. “What do you want me to do with Tarble?” He asked bluntly, knowing that the issue had to be brought up eventually. 

“Just keep going as you are. Sounds like he finally grew a spine, so as long as he isin’t making stupid calls, listen to him,” Bardock answered, and he didn’t fail to notice that Bardock didn’t say about the biggest issue that Tarble’s presence created. He was only going to grow stronger and they put it off for too long as it is. 

“Don’t try to recruit him,” Bardock said after a moment. “And don’t tell him about the coup. It’s too late for that,” he said, echoing thoughts that Tora had more than once. “I’m pretty sure that he would side with us, but there's that chance. Tarble’s a weird kid, so we can’t expect him to act like a normal saiyan.” 

“And,” Bardock continued, “from what I’ve heard, Vegeta might push him to our side himself. Just continue as things are. Keep getting stronger for when the time does come.”

“Right back at you,” Tora shot back, getting a huff from Bardock. With that serving as a goodbye, the call ended so Bardock could reach out to one of the others while he could. All the while, Tora flew back to the HQ, aiming to the highest power level in the area, even in his base state. 

It was a real hard pill to swallow that it was a kid that wasn’t anywhere close to his first growth spurt. Tora found him on a lone hill that offered up a decent view of a ruined city, green grass and a greener ocean in the distance. He wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t training either.

Tora spotted the boy staring hard at a holovid for a long moment, the sheer amount of frustration on his face a warning to everyone to steer clear of him. Non-saiyans couldn’t understand the Wrath State, but they knew that it was torturous. Which made it that much more terrifying that Tarble could remain completely calm in that state for days at a time. So, if his face was twisted in a grimace, it was a good sign to take off running. 

“Play!” Elery, the daughter of Queen Teach, shouted before she launched a small energy blast at Tarble. Her hair was a shaggy mane of spikes, drifting just past her shoulders, with a single lock of hair that drifted downward towards her eyes, similar to Tarble’s. She was smaller than Tarble -- normally, she would be in a gestation tank for another three years, but for whatever reason, Queen Teach decided against it. 

Tora didn’t really know what to think of her yet. She seemed like a normal saiyan kid -- aggressive, quick to laugh or cry, and demanded attention. Elery was born into the elite-class, and she still had years until she was the same size as a saiyan that got out of a gestation tank. So far, every kid that Queen Teach had was proving to be a freak of nature. 

Tarble glanced up from the tablet, the attack washing over him like water. For a single, irrational second, Tora thought that Tarble was going to blast the kid, but instead, he let out a small sigh as he formed an energy ball in his hands about the size of his fist. Which didn’t exactly disway his thought that Tarble was going to blast the kid if he was pissed enough to look pissed, only for him to drift the ball over to Elery slowly. 

The girl lunged for it, flying up into the air as she chased it, laughing all the while. Tora watched with some amazement as Tarble led Elery on a chase as he turned his attention back to the tablet. Tora knew that Tarble was getting some lessons from the old man, but it caught him off guard how fine his control was. There were reasons why most attacks were straight shots -- Tora knew from experience how difficult it was to change the direction of an attack after he launched it. 

Yet, Tarble made it look effortless, the same as the Wrath State. 

Tarble really was a terrifying kid. Not for the first time, he feared for the future. If there was ever a chance to tell him about the coup, then it had passed them by. Because now Tora wasn’t sure who he would side with, and if he chose the royals then...then they would clash. And one of them would die.

As things were right now, Tora didn't even entertain the notion that it would be Tarble. 

"Is something wrong?" Tarble asked, looking at him, though Tora was certain. That he hadn't given away his presence. He guessed that Tarble kept an eye on his scouter for threats. Not that there were any left. 

"No, just here to report that my patrol was clear," Tora answered with a shake of his head. A question of if Queen Teach had mentioned anything about Planet Vegeta weighed on his tongue, but Tora didn't ask. Tarble nodded to himself, satisfied and unsurprised. "What are you working on? I haven't seen you that frustrated in a while," Tora pointed out. 

Tarble opened his mouth to answer, only for an energy blast to hit him in the back of the head. Elery screeched with bubbly laughter up above, almost drowning out Tarble's sigh. Though, he still continued to lead the girl on a chase with the blue energy ball. 

Once she was distracted enough, Tarble answered. "I'm studying biology," he said and, of all the things that Tora expected, that wasn't on the list. 

"...why would you do that?" Tora asked, bewildered. Tarble was weird by every definition of the word, but...studying…? "Wait, are you trying to create another technique?" He asked, recalling that he felt a similar disbelief when he caught Bardock studying Blitz waves.

"I am," Tarble said, sounding surprised that he had guessed right. Because of course, he was. It wasn't like Tarble had created enough techniques already. "I'm learning all kinds of stuff -- like, did you know the Mitochondria is the powerhouse of a cell?" 

Tora didn't. Mostly because he didn't know what a cell was. 

"Why would you need to study biology? Unless...are you trying to make yourself grow taller?" Tora asked, making Tarble go still. It was obvious that, at least, the idea had occurred to him. 

"No," Tarble said a tad too quickly. "And I'm trying to make a technique that heals people," he quickly continued, catching Tora off guard. "It'll act similar to the Power Ball, but instead of producing Blutz Waves, I'm trying to produce...healing waves?" He tried, frowning down at the tablet. 

"You can do that with light waves?" Tora asked, his mind racing. He could see the utility. Now they could heal in the middle of a mission when they were away from a healing pod. It would be even more convenient than bio-foam, which served as a substitute. 

Tarble nodded, "maybe. I'm trying to find a way to stimulate the body’s natural healing rates, and the easiest way to do that would be exposing it to some kind of light wave. So, I'm trying to study biology to figure out what exactly the technique would need to work." He explained with a small shrug before he frowned. 

"Too many soldiers die before they can get medical attention. If this works, the life-threatening injuries can be treated in the field by tossing up a…Healing Ball." Tarble said, and at the very least he seemed to understand how big of a game-changer that technique would be. Because, now, if used right, a Saiyan could heal himself in the middle of a fight. 

Tora pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head -- first the Wrath State, then this. 

"Well, if it works, then I'm betting you'll get employee of the year again," Tora commented, getting a wide grin in response. It was a shockingly innocent smile, all things considered. 

It really didn't belong on such a terrifying kid. 

…

"Commence operation," Koter spoke, his voice grave as he interlocked his fingers, there was no one to hear his words except for six screens before him, all of them granting him a slightly different view of the same thing. A luxurious citadel that floated around a binary star system -- a popular tourist destination in the past for the wealthy. Now it served as the capital for a petty warlord that had earned Frieza's favor for his cruelty. 

More importantly, it served as a high-security prison for important prisoners for war to be tortured for information...or, in one case, for making an unfortunate remark about Frieza's height when King Cold had announced his retirement and introduced his successor. The Rus’gun heir had backed Cooler, the eldest brother, and tried to snub Frieza with a passive remark. Koter wondered if that remark was what triggered this entire war. 

In response to his words, the scarabs took off towards the citadel. They were new models that just entered production -- colored a dull red, the scarabs operated at a masked frequency that would allow them to go undetected by the scouters that the Frieza-force used. The first type of stealth-class scarab, known as the Wraith. A pun, since they were meant to be ghosts. The development team really did have too much time on their hands. 

“Engage optic camouflage,” Koter ordered, leaning forward as the scarab's reactive armor blended into the background. With it, they would be untraceable -- their armor was cool, so they couldn’t be picked up on thermal, and even motion detectors would be unable to notice the scarabs in stealth mode. “Activate phase shifting.”

The scarabs slowed as they obeyed the order, continuing with that momentum and the screens blurred for a moment as they phased through the thick armored outer shell of the citadel. Once the blurriness cleared, the cameras revealed three different hallways -- teams of two to complete three objectives. Without his need to say so, the scarabs began their task as Koter watched, the silence heavy, without even a gentle hum of the small shuttle ship he resided in. 

One team progressed upwards, while the other two went down. The phasing tech wasn’t perfect -- strong electrical currents disrupted the mode enough that things would be left behind in what they phased through. Worse, energy blasts, both artificial and natural like those saiyans produced would interfere with it, so it couldn’t be used in battle. For the most part, at least. 

Team one made its way upwards, silently ascending up a set of stairs that overlooked the casino area. It was lavish by his own standards, almost to the point that it was sickening. Rare minerals used as decorations, exotic slave dancers, every type of gambling there was -- from cards to fights, to machines, to races. It was a den of debauchery, the patrons drunk on their wealth. 

Koter paid no mind to it as team one continued upwards, towards the VIP area while the other two teams continued downward. Team two broke off from team three -- while the former made its way to the security center, team three continued down. Within a minute, all three teams were in position to begin the next phase of the plan. 

“Team two, secure the command counsel,” Koter ordered, the team of scarabs obeying instantly. They phased through the door, their arms shifting as they did so. There were over a dozen aliens manning the security, and all of them died within a split second. The room itself was covered in screens that cycled through feeds that covered the entirety of the citadel. The scarabs moved the bodies, the legs of their scarabs stretching down to hook themselves into the security center. 

The scarab brought up two important video feeds while the other took command over the communications with a voice synthesizer. He had voice samples of everyone on the security team thanks to a greedy now deceased chief of security. The fool probably thought he wanted to rob the vault or something. One video feed displayed a reptilian alien -- large, deep green scales covering its body, gills etched into its neck, hints of webbing between its fingers.

A common warlord. One of many that were sprinkled throughout the Trade Organization controlled territory. This warlord, however, was remarkable only because of a single connection that Koter wished to exploit. The Trade Organization was a massive conglomerate, millions of branches set up throughout the galaxy and they dabbled in every single market in existence -- as powerful as Frieza was, he couldn’t possibly run such an organization single handedly. 

There was a board of directors that answered directly to Frieza. Three hundred members in total -- some were heads of certain branches, others were prominent figures in various markets, leaders of divisions and so on. Some were undeniably more important than others, but they were the ones that controlled the Trade Organization, and Frieza was the one that controlled them. 

This petty warlord was being supported by a member of the board, used as a proxy to harass a rival. Rival managers of bordering sectors. 

The second video feed was of a cell. Koter was no friend of the Rus’gun heir, but he felt nothing but pity for the captured heir. He was strapped into a chair, a medical machine keeping him alive, and it was cruel. Sections of his chitinous skin were removed, his faceplates peeled away, his body a fraction the weight it should be. It looked like he was tortured for a year because of the petty whims of a tyrant. 

Frieza hadn’t bothered to respond to the offers of randoms. Others thought it was because of the personal slight, but Koter knew better. Frieza didn’t take the offers because he already intended to take everything that the Reach had. 

“Teams one and three, proceed,” Koter ordered as the teams headed towards their targets. Team two communicated patrol information provided access codes, and in no time both teams were nearing their targets. 

Team one reached theirs first. Without any prompting on his behalf, they entered the room after team two deactivated the security measures. The warlord jerked in his chair, going towards the panic button, but it was too slow. The scarabs crossed the distance between them and grabbed the alien. It shouted petty threats that Koter didn’t bother to listen to, only to be silenced as one scarab slapped a hand onto its face. 

Nanites flooded the warlord, sliding around its eyes towards its brain. Some took residence inside of its eyes, serving as a camera that Koter would be able to access while the others condensed into a small chip. A mind-control device. A crude one, but effective. It wouldn’t do for the long term because it was rather easy to discover, but it would more than suffice for what he needed it. 

With a few keystrokes, Koter disturbed the warlord’s short term memory, effectively erasing the past thirty seconds. All the while, the second scarab downloaded spyware into the warlords terminal, granting Koter access to all of the information within. His AI helper flagged several files, and he would look them over soon enough. 

Then, with their mission completed, team one left the warlord alone, vanishing much like their namesakes. Through a new video feed, Koter watched the warlord stare blankly ahead for a few seconds, then realized that it was staring blankly ahead. It glanced around, blinking a few times before it returned to its work, completely unaware of what happened to it. 

By that time, team three reached their target. Rus’gun was dead to the world, he barely seemed to notice as the scarabs cut through his bindings, spraying his wounds with a sealing solvent that would prevent any further damage as he was placed in a containment suit. His body was a mess of scars and disfigurements -- they could be healed, but Koter doubted the mental scars would ever fade. 

“Ventilate the room,” Koter ordered, narrowing his eyes as the scarabs obeyed the order. The prisoners held captive didn’t know anything too important, but after his latest blunder, Koter wasn’t taking any chances about vital information leaking into enemy hands. Hundreds of captives suffocated as the air left the prison, the alert failing to get out because he was in control of the security.

And because he was in control of the security, the extraction was as flawless as the rest of the operation. All three teams made their way back to his shuttle without incident, boarding and taking Rus’gun to the medical bay. Koter breathed a sigh of relief, only take in a deep bracing breath for what came next. This was something that he had to do himself. Otherwise, he would have been content to let the Wraiths handle the entire operation. 

“Ve’sk?” Rus’gun croaked as he entered the modest medical bay, a medical bot tending to his wounds. His eyes blinked at him, powerful drugs coursing through his veins. “You...you saved me…?”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t allow a member of our species to suffer in Frieza’s hands. I can only apologize that it took me this long to find you,” that last part was the truth. Koter had assumed that the heir was dead. His family thought as much as well when their pleas for his release were answered with silence from the Frieza-force. 

“You...you have...my thanks...I...I...I owe...a...great debt…” Rus’gun muttered, the drugs taking their toll as he drifted into blissful unconsciousness. Koter watched him sleep for a moment before his gaze drifted towards the medical bot. He considered dismissing this plan. It was risky, but the payoff would be more than worth it.

“Do it,” Koter spoke, watching as the machine thoughtlessly obeyed. A device was secured over Rus’gun’s head, a device that began the long process of brainwashing the heir to the Rus’gun family. Physical means of mind control would be noticed when his family reconstructed his body, so he had to go with a far subtler method. 

A simple command that he be susceptible to Koter’s suggestions. 

Because, for his plan to work, to save the Reach Empire, he couldn’t afford to be tied down by petty ancient squabbles. And the only way to rise above them was to have the complete support of the families. 

“I am sorry for this…” Koter spoke, though he knew there was no point. With this, he took the first step to the destruction of his own family. A risky gamble that would only succeed simply because it was so foolish and short sighted that none of the families would suspect him of it for a moment. One day these sins would come to light, and the Reach will tear him to pieces. His family will fall, reduced to a footnote in the Reach’s long history. But, so long as the Reach empire survived long enough that the Ve’sk name could be forgotten about, then that made it worth it. 

“Hm...I suppose an apology does ring rather hollow when I’m planning to murder your parents,” Koter muttered more to himself than to Run’gun. He let out a small sigh as he walked out of the medical bay, heading towards the cockpit as he started his next task. 

It was impossible to defeat Frieza in force of arms.

However, it was possible to defeat the Trade Organization. One director at a time, he would bend them to his will and sweep the entire company out from underneath Frieza’s feet. 

...

 Shayera Thal looked out at the depths of space, a thick plane of glass separating her certain death of the great void. Even still, she found it calming to look at -- unlike most, the sheer nothingness that made up the majority of the galaxy was a comfort. Because, as hectic and as crazy as being a Thangarian cop proved to be, all of it was...so small. A fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent.

It was a reassurance that no matter how bad things got, the grander galaxy was better. Acts of science that could be called miracles, tales of heroism and self-sacrifice from billion of different races...it was a reassurance because no matter how vile the crime she witnessed, no matter how careless and callous of a people she encountered, she could tell herself that the galaxy itself was good. That no matter how it might feel like at times, the good guys outnumbered the bad, that justice will prevail, and heroes knew no gender or race.

“You’re up early,” Katar Hol spoke, announcing his presence behind her. Shayera glanced behind her to see her husband leaving their bed behind to approach her. They were married young, and they still were young, but she never grew tired of seeing him. He was a rare man that was more intimidating outside of his armor than in it -- a few scars scatter about but did nothing to detract from his powerful muscles. His shoulders were broad, serving as an excellent perch for his grayish-white wings.

“Hm. I couldn’t sleep,” Shayera said with a small shrug as she turned her attention back to what laid on the other side of the pane of glass. However, she watched her love approach with his reflection. Katar pressed himself against her back, her wings shifting to allow for more contact with his skin. She savored his warmth, leaning into him and letting out a content sigh.

“Thinking about the war again?” He asked, his breath tickling her ear as her head rested on his shoulder. He was right on the mark because it was the war that weighed heavily on her mind.

And there was no mistaking which war Katar spoke about because there was only one war that the galaxy itself seemed to be watching with eagerness and fear.

“The Frieza-force has been expanding towards our tributaries. It’s not going to be long before we share a border, and do you really think that Frieza won’t attack?” She asked a question that weighed heavily on her mind, even during their recent deployment down on a potential client state planet called Earth. Though, from what she saw in the past year, Earth might not need their guarantee of independence. Every day, it seemed more unique characters crawled out of every nook and cranny -- from kryptonians, to speedsters, to amazonians and so on.

They already had a new Green Lantern overseeing the sector that was a human. So, as far as a race’s first steps into the galactic stage, the earthlings took a strong step forward.

“Frieza has his hands full with the Reach. It might be centuries before that war ends. He’s a...what's that saying...a vulture. He picks off weaker races and primitives because they're easy targets. He’d be a fool to challenge Thangar’s might when he already has his hands full with the Reach.” Katar refuted, his voice soothing.

Even still, his words didn’t lessen the worry.

“He destroyed a planet with a gesture. I don’t think he thinks much of Thangar’s might,” Shayera pointed out, letting out a soft sigh. Frieza had struck fear into people’s hearts with his display of power, and now, a year later, there had been nothing from the frost demon. No trail of destroyed planets, nor did he single-handedly end the war by cutting bloody swaths into the Reach. He simply resumed what he was doing for the war -- subduing and enslaving planets in the name of the Trade Organization.

Then, as if to prove her right, a ship jumped into view. A saucer based ship -- marking it as a Frieza-force ship. Shayera flinched at its sudden appearance, the moment that she and her husband shared lost as Katar noticed the ship as well. Immediately, they exploded into action, shrugging on their armor and weapons in moments, rushing to the cockpit of their cruiser vessel.

“Their weapons are hot,” Katar pointed out, taking control of the ship as she took command of the cruiser's weapons defense. “Hailing them now,” he said as Shayera prepped their weapons, shields and double-checked that their point defense was ready for battle. The Frieza-force responded by another dozen ships jumping into the system. So they were outnumbered. Great.

“This is the Katar Hol of the Thanagarian elite special forces-” Katar started to hail them again, giving her a perfect shot at the ship that served as a flagship. He was interrupted when the enemy accepted the connection, a blue-skinned alien that almost appeared to be Thangarian appeared on the main screen.

Despite him clearly taking aggressive measures, Shayera took one look at the man and felt her heart swell with pity. He looked like he never had a single night's rest in his entire life -- his expression was set in a grimace, anger simmering in his eyes but it was overshadowed by defeat.

“For the crime of attempt of theft from Prince Tarble of Planet Vegeta, you are to immediately surrender to Trade Organization custody,” the alien spoke as if he were reading from a script. What he said made Shayera recoil in shock -- theft? Who was Prince Tarble- wait, wasn’t he that child in the propaganda videos that the Frieza-force started to produce?

“Theft?! You dare accuse us of theft?” Katar snarled, his face twisting into a ferocious glare. “And what is it that we have attempted to steal from this prince?”

“The planet of Earth is the personal property of Prince Tarble,” the alien clarified. “As the Thangarian empire has insisted on turning Earth into a client state, the Thanagarian empire as a whole is being held responsible for this gross injustice. So, please surrender now into our custody where you will be given a fair trial by Prince Tarble.”

Shayera scoffed, her eyes narrowed into slits as her mind raced. “A roundabout way to say the Trade Organization seeks a diplomatic incident,” she shot back. It didn’t have to lead to a war, but Frieza could use this to extort confessions from the Thanagarian empire. And it was obvious what he would ask for -- to revoke guarantees, to transfer vassalage, to weaken the empire.

Worse, they would have a leg to stand on legally. Shayera hadn’t known that Earth was the direct property of anyone directly, but the Thanagarian empire had known Earth was in Trade Organization controlled space. However, it was so far out there that the noble class figured that the Trade Organization wouldn’t notice if they uplifted a race to take control of the sector before making the long play of vassalizing them.

“I take it that you won’t surrender?” The alien deflected, his gaze narrowing. “We will use force to ensure your cooperation,” he threatened. Meaning that Frieza wanted them as hostages under the pretext that they were the ones that discovered Earth and acted as liaisons between Earth and the Thanagarian empire.

“We refuse,” Katar answered, ending the transmission. He turned to her, his face grim. They were facing bad odds, but it was hardly the first time. Shayera nodded at him, supporting his decision before she turned her attention to the weapons system as an alert appeared that the Frieza-force were firing on them. Trusting Katar to fly the ship, Shayera took aim and fired.

Their space cruiser was hardly an ideal fighter -- it had weapons and powerful shields to fend off criminals that would try to rescue their leaders after they were captured. Tornado missiles fired out as Shayera fired off light-reflecting gas at strategic locations, giving Katar cover to work with. A dozen enemy ships broke off into groups of four, the missiles she fired tracking one group as she lined up a shot with the main gun.

A blast of yellow light punched through the hull of a ship like it wasn’t even there. A commonly known fact about the Frieza-force -- for all of their wealth, their armies were outfitted with outdated crap. No personal shields, weak weaponry -- the only thing decent that they had was their one size fits all armor and scouters.

“Nice shot, honey,” Katar cheered for her, making her smirk despite the situation.

“Honey?” She asked, firing, lining up another shot as the hurricane missiles continued to chase the enemy ships. Their rapid spinning made it difficult for point defense systems to shoot them down, and even if they did manage to, it wouldn’t set off a chain reaction. With their slow ships, it was only a matter of time before the missiles caught up with them. All the while, the other ships returned fire -- Katar deftly avoided lasers, using the cover she gave him masterfully while offering her shots to whittle down the enemy numbers.

“Heard it back on Earth. Do you like it?” Katar asked, forced to accept a blow but the shields absorbed the worst of it. Shayera fired another set of hurricane missiles, locking on to the same group that the first set tracked. They broke off, slitting up, and Shayera made them pay for it. Missiles slammed into them, their formation broke up, and with another shot, she took down one group.

“Hm. I do,” Shayera admitted, lining up another shot. They were still outnumbered, but the odds were a lot better now. There was a reason why Frieza-force fleets had to outnumber the enemy ten to one. Perhaps with a less experienced crew that didn’t thrive in these odds, maybe things would be more dier. “But if you’re going to call me honey, then I’m calling you hubby in public.”

Their flirting helped distract her from her spiraling thoughts as she took out another ship, their hulls unable to stand up to their main gun. It was overkill on most ships, but on Frieza-force ships, one-shot punched through them with enough force that she hit another one with the same shot.

In the end, the remaining Frieza-force ship made a hasty retreat when only four of them remained, so as far as battles went, it was rather anticlimactic. Shayera watched them flee, leaving behind only wreckage behind. The battle might have been won, but it tasted bitter in her mouth.

Because, in the end, Frieza got what he wanted. A diplomatic incident.

Now, all she could hope was that this didn’t lead to a war.