Chapter 3: The Voyage

— — —

The Voyage

— — —

Moonlight spills across the rocky outcropping where I’ve spent a couple of nights a week for the past few months. I inhale deeply, centering myself. The elderly Namekian, Monaito, sits cross-legged nearby, his weathered green face peaceful in meditation. Before him lies a small fire, its flames dancing in the breeze.

“Again,” he says without opening his eyes.

The silvery light of Cereal’s three moons bathes the clearing below, where I stand, my muscles tensed in concentration. From the mouth of the cave above, Monaito watches, his weathered green face illuminated by the glow. This is one attempt out of many others at what no Saiyan before has tried—to harness the Great Ape’s power without surrendering to its lumbering form.

I stare upward, feeling the familiar surge of primal energy coursing through my veins. My heart pounds against my ribs as my body responds to the trigger—pupils dilating, muscles tensing.

“Remember,” Monaito calls down, his voice steady despite what I’m attempting. “Let the transformation begin, then compress it—contain its power within your own form.”

I grit my teeth as my body begins to change. Fur sprouts along my arms, my jaw elongates, and my muscles swell with power. The transformation has begun—but this time, I fight to direct it inward rather than outward. To compress the tenfold increase into my human form, like gravity crushing coal into a diamond.

“The beast is my bones. Its strength is mine own,” I growl through lengthening teeth. “Flesh, blood, and roar—I am all of it.”

For a moment, the mantra Monaito created to hone my focus seems to work. I repeat it, the expansion slows, and the energy concentrates rather than dispersing. I feel the power densifying within my core, strengthening rather than transforming.

But then something slips—my focus or my control, I’m not sure. The compression falters, and the energy explodes outward. I roar as my body balloons upward, limbs stretching, fur erupting across my skin. In seconds, I stand as a full Great Ape, towering over the ringed wasteland and the forest surrounding it in the distance.

Unlike my untrained brethren, I maintain my consciousness. There is no blind rage, no loss of self—just raw, untamed power contained within an uncompressed form.

“Almost,” Monaito calls from what now seems like far below. “You held it longer this time, compressed it further before it broke. The last step eludes you still.”

With a grunt of frustration, I will the transformation to end, forcing the energy back into dormancy. Usually, this would have been impossible. Common consensus is that the Great Ape form is irreversible unless the source of the Blutz Waves that triggered the transformation is destroyed, or the Saiyan’s tail is removed.

But in the few months I've spent figuring out the intricacies of the form, it’s not at all difficult to stop myself from taking in more Blutz Waves, leading the transformation to end. Unfortunately, the same doesn’t apply when I’m in my regular form. Still, after a moment, my massive form shrinks, fur receding, until I stand once more as a man, naked and breathing heavily from the exertion.

“Enough for tonight,” I tell Monaito as he descends from the cave to join me while I dress. “I’m close, but not there yet.”

The elderly Namekian nods, gathering his few possessions. “Each attempt brings you closer. Remember, what you seek has never been done before. The mind must be reshaped just as you wish to reshape the power.”

Together, we begin the journey back toward the settlement. The night air is cool against my skin, still heated from the transformation. As we walk, Monaito speaks of his theories on the nature of the Great Ape power—how it might be harnessed differently, how the compressed form might someday be achieved.

After an hour of walking to keep the conversation from ending prematurely, we reach a barren landscape fifty miles from the settlement. Even before we crest the ridge, I hear the sounds—the distinctive roar of a Great Ape, the shouts of Saiyans calling instructions.

“Paragus continues his training,” Monaito observes as we look down into the valley below.

A single Great Ape stands in the centre of the clearing, its massive form silhouetted against the natural moonlight. Around it, several Saiyans maintain a cautious distance, while one figure—Paragus—stands directly before the beast, fearless. And why wouldn't he be when he knows he can transform and subdue the beast in an instant?

“Remember who you are!” Paragus shouts up at the creature. “Your name is Nion! You are a Saiyan warrior! Centre yourself!”

The Great Ape roars, beating its chest in a primal display. For a moment, it seems the transformation has consumed all consciousness. Then, slowly, its posture changes—straightening, becoming more controlled, more deliberate.

“I... am... Nion,” the beast rumbles, each word clearly an effort against its nature.

Some distance away, a group of Saiyans rest, clearly exhausted from their own training, and yell encouragement. Their tattered clothes and weary expressions tell the story of previous transformations, the toll of learning control.

I descend the ridge, Monaito following at a distance. Paragus notices our approach and nods, though his attention remains fixed on the Great Ape before him.

“Hold it, Nion,” he commands. “Five more minutes in control, then release.”

The Great Ape—Nion—gives a rumbling acknowledgement and assumes a fighting stance, practising controlled movements that would be impossible for an untamed Oozaru.

I descend, landing at the edge of the clearing just as one of the warriors completes his transformation back to normal form. My findings, generally, I share with my fellow Saiyans. Weaponising an otherwise unstable power will always be in my interest, especially in a world where a full moon is often a weekly occurrence.

All except the form I pursue. For the time being, I need to keep an advantage to myself because, as far as Saiyans are concerned, strength begets loyalty.

“Bardock,” Paragus acknowledges as I approach. “Just in time. Nion has maintained controlled transformation for nearly an hour.”

Nion, still breathing heavily from the exertion, gives me a respectful nod. His clothes are torn from the expansion of his body, but his eyes are clear and focused—no trace of the mindless rage that typically accompanies the form.

“Well done,” I tell him, genuine pride in my voice.

“He’s the twentieth to master it,” Paragus reports with obvious satisfaction. “The others are making progress. By the next moon cycle, I expect all thirty in this group to have achieved control.”

I nod my approval. “And Broly?”

A shadow passes over Paragus’s face. “His power... it’s unlike anything I’ve seen. When he transforms, the rage is proportional to his strength. It’s taking longer than I anticipated. Each transformation and the following beating to subdue him makes him stronger. I’ve held off on having him master the form for the time being.”

I’m not surprised. In those fading memories of another timeline, Broly’s power was overwhelming, uncontrollable. A weapon rather than a warrior. Here, perhaps, with proper guidance, he might achieve balance.

“His time will come.”

Paragus nods, though I see the ambition burning in his eyes. He wants his son to be the strongest—a natural desire for any Saiyan parent, but potentially dangerous given Broly’s unique nature.

“Any word from the hunting parties?” I ask, changing the subject.

“They returned at dawn,” Paragus reports. “Game is growing scarcer. We may need to expand our territory soon.”

Another challenge to address. The settlement’s success brings its own problems—chief among them, sustainability. Saiyans consume enormous amounts of food, and Cereal’s ecosystems, already damaged by the purge, strain to support us.

“All the more reason to proceed with the Earth expedition,” I note.

Paragus’s expression remains neutral, but I sense his scepticism. He’s never understood my fixation on Earth, a backwater planet of minimal strategic value by Frieza Force standards. He doesn’t share the visions I’ve seen, doesn’t know what that world might become, what it might offer us. It’s a world of no consequences to the Planetary Trade Organisation because of its primitiveness, which is exactly why I want it.

Though it once being my homeland certain is a factor too... not that I remember much of it.

“Have you selected the team who will come with you?” he asks.

“Nearly. I’ll make the final decisions this week.”

Together, Monaito and I make our way down from the outcropping, following a well-worn path back to the settlement as dawn approaches. With no reason to walk, we fly, and as we approach, I’m struck again by how much has changed in a few months.

Where hastily erected shelters once stood, repaired buildings now rise, constructed using salvaged materials. The central plaza features permanent cooking pits and communal areas. Training grounds have been established on the far outskirts, and a crude but effective perimeter defence system surrounds the entire settlement.

More importantly, the people have changed. The rigid class distinctions of Planet Vegeta have not disappeared entirely—generations of conditioning don’t vanish in months—but they’ve softened. Warriors work alongside technicians and service workers to build and maintain their new homes.

Near the communal cooking area, I find Gine, Kakarot strapped to her back as she coordinates the day’s final meal. At six months old, he’s growing fast, his wild hair becoming ever more untameable. He spots me approaching and lets out a delighted squeal, tiny hands reaching toward me.

“There’s my little warrior,” I say, taking him from Gine’s back harness. He immediately grabs at my face, a game he never tires of.

“He’s been asking for you all morning,” Gine tells me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, in his way.”

“Is that so?” I bounce him gently, earning more excited squeals. “And what adventures did you have planned for us, son?”

Kakarot babbles enthusiastically, his tiny fists pumping the air.

“How was your training?” Gine asks quietly, emphasising the word to indicate she knows it was much more.

“Progress,” I reply simply. “Still not quite there. We’ll talk more later.”

She nods, understanding the need for discretion. “The volunteer list for Earth is ready,” she tells me, changing the subject. “More than I expected—thirty-seven production and service class volunteers.”

Surprise must show on my face because she laughs. “Did you think no one would want to join your mystery mission to a primitive world?”

“I thought I’d have to be more persuasive,” I admit.

“You underestimate how much they trust you now,” she says, her expression softening. “Months ago, you were the warrior who saved them from extinction. Now you’re the leader who’s helping them build a future.”

Her words embarrass me, so I focus on Kakarot, who has managed to grab a fistful of my hair and seems determined not to let go. “And you?” I ask without looking up. “Have you decided?”

This is the conversation we’ve been circling for weeks. The Earth expedition will require commitment—months, possibly years, away from Cereal.

“Decided?” Gine’s voice takes on an edge I know well—the fierce determination that first drew me to her. “There was never anything to decide, Bardock. We’re coming with you.”

I look up sharply, searching her face.

“I don’t care. My place is with you—our place is with you. We’re a family. I won’t sit here knowing nothing like I’m forced to do with Raditz.”

“You won’t be,” I protest weakly, knowing I’ve already lost this argument. “And establishing a base on an unknown world is—”

“All the more reason for me to be there,” she counters, taking Kakarot back as he begins to fuss for her. “You think I’m going to let you go alone? Absolutely not.”

The fierceness in her voice makes me smile despite myself. This is the Gine few others get to see—beneath the gentle exterior, a will as unyielding as any warrior’s.

“Besides,” she adds, her tone softening slightly, “someone needs to keep you from becoming insufferable. You know they want to start calling you ‘King Bardock’, right?”

I can’t help but laugh at that. Even as a low-class warrior, Gine never hesitated to speak her mind to me. It’s one of the countless reasons I love her.

“Then it’s settled,” I say, feeling as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. “We’ll need to prepare. The ship will be large, but space will still be limited.”

“About that,” she says, lowering her voice. “There’s been talk. Some are wondering how exactly you plan to obtain this mothership you keep mentioning. The one big enough to evacuate everyone if needed. With what materials and what time?”

I glance around to ensure no one is within earshot. “I have a solution,” I tell her. “I’ll show you.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press for details, another quality I’ve always admired about her. Patience, when patience is called for. Something I lack in spades. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of planning and preparation. I review the volunteer list, surprised by some of the names signed to depart with me—technicians, food workers, medics—all for the sake of hope. A cross-section of our remaining population, united by curiosity and trust in me.

It’s all surprisingly heavy.

The world brightens, and I lead Gine away from the settlement after breakfast, following the same path I’d walked when I first arrived on Cereal. Kakarot sleeps peacefully against her back, undisturbed by the journey.

“Where are we going?” she finally asks as we climb toward the rocky outcropping.

“You’ll see,” I reply, knowing it sounds dramatic but finding no better words.

At the summit, Monaito waits, as arranged earlier. I’m glad he’s taken the liberty of bringing the dragon balls out of his home. The months have done little to thaw out Granola’s grief. On the ground lie two minute, round objects glinting dully in the light—the dragon balls, still stone after the wish I made all months ago.

“Bardock,” the Namekian greets me with a nod. “And Gine. I’m glad you’re both here. What follows is not to be undertaken lightly.”

Gine looks between us, confusion evident in her expression. “What are those?” she asks, indicating the dragon balls.

“Hope,” Monaito answers. “Power. Possibility.”

“Wish orbs.” I step forward, placing my hand over the Dragon Balls. “These are how I brought you all to this planet.”

Gine’s eyes widen as understanding dawns. “Any wish? Anything?”

“There are limits,” Monaito cautions. “They cannot resurrect those long dead. Cannot exceed the power of their creator without harsh sacrifice. But for what you need...” He trails off, nodding toward me.

“A mothership,” I finish. “Large enough for everyone on the planet in case of emergency. Advanced enough to evade Frieza’s forces. Equipped with everything we’ll need—facilities, resources, cloaking features—for the journey to Earth and beyond.”

Gine stares at the stone orbs with new appreciation. “But if they granted your wish before, why are they... like this?”

“They need time to regenerate their power,” Monaito explains. “Normally, a full year.”

“But we don’t have a year,” I add. “Not if we want to establish ourselves on Earth before Frieza has any chance of discovering our survival.”

“So how...” Gine begins, then stops as realisation crosses her face. “No. There’s another cost, isn’t there?”

“Harsh sacrifice,” Monaito repeats and nods gravely. “Life energy to eliminate the recharging time.”

I meet Gine’s alarmed gaze steadily. “It’s a fair exchange. Six months of my very long life to secure our future.”

“Six months?” she repeats, clutching Kakarot closer. “Just... gone? How can you know that’s all it will take?”

“Because I trust Monaito.”

She falls silent, processing this information. Finally, her eyes flash with that familiar fire. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you? No matter what I say.”

“Gine—”

“No,” she interrupts, shifting Kakarot to one arm so she can jab a finger into my chest. “You listen to me, Bardock. You’re going to do this because that’s who you are—a stubborn, thick-skulled moron. I understand that. I even love you for it.” Her voice softens momentarily before hardening again. “But you’d better not lose more than those six months, do you hear me? Our sons need their father. I need you.”

The ferocity in her voice makes me smile despite the gravity of the moment. “I promise,” I tell her, meaning it more than any vow I’ve ever made.

Monaito steps forward. “Then let us begin. Place your hands upon the dragon balls, Bardock, and focus.”

I do as instructed, feeling the cool surface of the stone orbs beneath my palms. Immediately, I sense a connection—a pulling sensation, as if the dragon balls are pleading or otherwise starving to feed from me.

“Now,” Monaito intones, his voice taking on a ceremonial quality, “offer freely what is asked. Life energy to restore that which slumbers.”

Pain flashes through me—not sharp like a wound, but deeply fundamental, like part of my being is being unravelled. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out with Gine watching. The sensation intensifies, a burning tide washing through my veins. Through half-closed eyes, I see the dragon balls beginning to change—the dull stone exterior cracking, golden light spilling through the fissures.

They pulse in unison with my heartbeat, growing brighter with each passing moment. And then I release the dragon balls, staggering backwards. Gine is at my side instantly, supporting me with her free arm while still holding Kakarot.

“Are you alright?” she asks, concern etched into every adorable crease and dimple on her face.

I nod, though my body feels strangely hollow, as if something essential has been scooped out from within. But in time, I’ll recover. “It’s done.”

Before us, two small but perfect dragon balls gleam in the sunlight, their surfaces smooth and reflective, black stars glinting within their depths. Restored to power by my sacrifice.

“Now,” Monaito says, stepping back, “you may do the honours.”

I straighten, drawing on reserves of strength I didn’t know I possessed. With Gine beside me, I watch as Monaito murmurs the password required to summon the dragon before he retreats and joins us.

The orbs levitate, spinning in a tight circle before shooting straight upward. Clouds forming from nowhere to blot out the sun. Lightning flashes day into night, striking the ground around us as a massive shape begins to coalesce above—serpentine, immense, radiating power beyond mortal comprehension.

Kakarot awakens, startled by the commotion, but instead of crying, he stares upward in wide-eyed wonder as Toronbo takes form—a dragon of epic proportions, its silver scales gleaming, eyes burning like twin suns, serpentine head crowned with wisdom.

“You, who have summoned me. What is your wish?”

I step forward, feeling insignificant before this manifestation of ancient power, yet determined. “I wish for a mothership capable of housing all inhabitants of this planet in case of emergency. It must be equipped with advanced facilities for training and sustenance, and most importantly, stealth capabilities to hide from those who would hunt us.”

The dragon’s eyes glow brighter as it contemplates my wish. For a moment that stretches into eternity, it says nothing. Then:

“Your wish is within my power and shall be granted.”

Light erupts from the dragon’s eyes, shooting downward to a point near the base of the outcropping. The ground trembles as something massive takes shape—metal gleaming in the darkness, a structure so large it dwarfs any vessel I’ve seen outside of Frieza’s.

With those words, Toronbo’s form dissolves into light, streaming back into the dragon balls. They rise high into the air, spinning faster and faster until once again, I reach up and capture them in my fist.

“They scatter after granting a wish,” Monaito explains to Gine as he takes the stone orbs from my hand.

I barely hear him, my attention fixed on what now stands below us—a mothership unlike anything I could have imagined. Sleek despite its size, with a design that seems to absorb rather than reflect light.

“Bardock,” Gine whispers, awe in her voice. “It’s amazing.”

Together, we descend toward the ship. As we approach, a ramp extends from the side, inviting us inside. The interior lights activate automatically, revealing corridors and chambers that put Frieza’s ship to shame.

“This will take us to Earth,” I say, more to myself than to Gine. “And house our entire people if necessary.”

“The dragon was generous,” Monaito observes as we explore the central command area. “This vessel possesses technology beyond even what I anticipated.”

He’s right. The control systems are intuitive yet powerful, designed for a small crew to operate efficiently. Separate areas house living quarters for hundreds, food production facilities, high-ceilinged rooms to spar in, and medical bays with rejuvenation tanks.

Most importantly, the stealth systems are beyond anything I could have hoped for—actual visual cloaking, making the ship virtually undetectable to all but the most sophisticated scanning equipment. It won’t help against scouters, but it is better than nothing.

“This will keep us safe,” I tell Gine as she examines the nursery area, already imagining where Kakarot will sleep. “From Frieza, from anyone who might threaten our new beginning.”

She nods, then turns to me with a penetrating gaze. “How do you feel? Truly?”

I consider the question, taking stock of my body, my energy. “Okay.”

Gine steps closer, shifting Kakarot to one arm so she can place her free hand against my cheek. “Don’t make a habit of sacrificing yourself,” she says softly, the fierceness returning to her voice. 

I cover her hand with mine, savouring the warmth of her touch. “I know. This was necessary, but...” I gesture around us at the ship, at the future it represents. “Now we have what we need. No more shortcuts.”

She smiles, the worry in her eyes ebbing. “Good. Now, when do we tell the others?”

I look out through the ship’s main viewport at the settlement in the distance where our people are rebuilding, evolving, and preparing for a future they never expected to have.

“Tomorrow,” I decide. “We’ll gather everyone and explain the next phase of our journey.”

As we explore our new vessel, Kakarot drifts back to sleep in Gine’s arms. Looking at him, I feel certainty crystallise within me. I flex my hand, remembering the feeling of that compressed power I accessed the night before. Not yet perfected, not yet ready to be shared with the others, but growing stronger each day.

Beside me, Gine chatters excitedly about the ship’s features, her natural optimism infectious. Monaito observes with quiet wisdom, occasionally offering insights about the technology before us.

The day of departure arrives with a flurry of activity. The ship stands ready, gleaming in the morning light. A crowd has gathered around the base of the ramp, Saiyans and other conquered races alike, watching as final preparations are made.

As I oversee it all, Monaito approaches, his weathered face thoughtful.

“An impressive vessel,” he observes, gazing up at the ship. “Worthy of your journey.”

“Come with us,” I suggest, surprising myself with the invitation. “Your wisdom would be valuable on Earth.”

The elderly Namekian shakes his head, a gentle smile on his face. “My place is here, Bardock. With the last of my people. And...” he hesitates, “perhaps now that you depart, Granola will be more receptive to my words.”

There’s not much I can say to argue against that, so I don’t. Monaco stands beside me, leaning against his staff. The boarding process is remarkably orderly for Saiyans. Production class families settle into their quarters first, followed by warriors and technicians. Of the surviving people of Planet Vegeta, forty-eight have volunteered for the Earth expedition, a number that still surprises me.

As I move through the crowd, directing the final preparations, I hear it first from a single voice, then picked up by others:

“Hail, King Bardock!”

The cry spreads, growing louder as more voices join in. “HAIL, KING BARDOCK!”

I suppress a grimace, raising my hand to acknowledge them and hoping the gesture will end the chanting. But the cry continues, faces beaming with hope and admiration that I’m not certain I’ve earned. It’s unsettling, this faith they place in me—a burden heavier than any battle I’ve fought.

Paragus approaches as the chanting finally subsides, an amused expression on his face. “Final checks are complete,” he reports. “Navigation systems are locked on Earth’s coordinates.”

“Good,” I reply, scanning the manifest one last time. “I notice Broly isn’t on the passenger list.”

Paragus’s expression grows serious. “He’s staying behind. His power is... still too volatile for this mission.”

“We’ll manage without him,” I acknowledge.

As the last of our people board, I find Gine at the top of the ramp, Kakarot strapped to her chest in a carrying pouch. The boy is wide awake, taking in everything with those curious eyes that remind me so much of Raditz’s.

“Ready?” she asks, excitement evident in her voice.

I nod, turning to offer a final salute to Monaito. The Namekian raises his hand in farewell.

“Launch sequence in five minutes,” the ship’s automated system announces as we seal the entry hatch. “All personnel, secure for departure.”

The bridge is a marvel of efficiency—designed, like everything else aboard the ship, for optimal function. I take the captain’s chair, with Paragus and our chief technician, Cado, at the navigation and systems stations, respectively.

“Final checks,” I order, more out of formality than necessity. The dragon’s gift is flawless, but old habits die hard.

“All systems green,” Cado reports, his fingers dancing across controls that would have baffled him weeks ago. “Stealth systems active. We’re invisible to any conventional tracking.”

“Estimated travel time to Earth is six standard days,” Paragus adds.

I nod, feeling the weight of responsibility settle more comfortably on my shoulders than it once did. “Begin launch sequence.”

The ship lifts off with barely a tremor—no roaring engines or violent acceleration, just a gentle ascension that belies the enormous power of the vessel. Through the viewport, I watch Cereal recede beneath us, its scarred surface healing slowly.

“Atmospheric exit in thirty seconds,” Cado announces. “No anomalies detected.”

The ship breaks orbit with the same effortless grace with which it left the ground. Stars fill the viewport as Cereal shrinks to a distant sphere behind us.

“Set course for Earth,” I command. “Maximum speed.”

The stars blur as we accelerate to speeds I’d never imagined possible. In seconds, Cereal’s sun is just another distant point of light.

“Course locked,” Paragus confirms. “Autopilot engaged. We’re on our way.”

— — — — — — — — —

The six-day journey passes with remarkable calm. Training continues in the specialised chambers, meals are shared in the communal areas, and strategy sessions occupy most of my waking hours. Despite my fragmented memories, I know very little about Earth except that my son grew up there.

By the time Earth appears on our sensors, we have a comprehensive plan—or so I believe.

“Approach vector calculated,” Paragus reports as the blue-green planet grows larger in our viewports. “Sensors indicate minimal technological development. No space-based defences. No detection capabilities beyond simple radio astronomy.”

“Perfect,” I murmur. “Maintain stealth protocols and establish a stable orbit. I want detailed scans of population centres and power readings.”

“Already underway,” Cado responds. “Preliminary data suggests this planet has a super-continent land mass. The population clusters here, here, and there, with mostly sparse life signs throughout.” He indicates areas that I reckon are cities.

“That’s where we’ll land,” I decide. “We’ll take a small team. You, me, and three others. Your choice as to who. The rest remain aboard the ship until we’ve secured proper arrangements.”

“And if these Earthlings prove... uncooperative?” Paragus asks, the old Saiyan mindset evident in his tone.

“Then we’ll reconsider,” I answer firmly. “But not before diplomacy has been given its chance.”

Gine joins us on the bridge, Kakarot asleep against her shoulder, gazing at the planet below. I follow her gaze, wondering what might have been in that other life—the one where Kakarot was sent alone, where our world perished, where everything unfolded differently.

 “We descend in two hours. I want you and Kakarot to—”

“Stay on the ship,” she finishes, giving me a look that suggests argument would be futile. “Just don’t take too long.”

I smile a tight-lipped smile. “Once we come back, I’ll let people stretch their legs and explore.”

Dawn breaks over the capital city as we descend through wispy clouds. The stealth systems ensure we appear as nothing more unusual than morning haze to any observers below.

“Resourceful,” Paragus acknowledges grudgingly. “Though inefficient.”

I say nothing, focusing on the pilots guiding our ship to a secluded landing zone in a forested area near the city’s outskirts. As the massive vessel settles onto the soft earth with barely a whisper, I instruct them to activate the final stealth protocols—adaptive camouflage that will render it completely invisible even to direct observation.

“Remember,” I tell my small team as we prepare to disembark, “we’re here to observe and assess. No demonstrations of power unless absolutely necessary. And try to blend in, like we did when infiltrating planets for bounties.”

Nion, Paragus, Celipa, an alien technician named Kombu, and Totapo nod their agreement, though I catch the sceptical glances they exchange. Blending in is a tall order for five Saiyans on a planet of humans.

“Our first objective,” I explain as we exit the ship, the morning air crisp and clean in a way that reminds me of Cereal, “is to acquire local currency. Without it, gathering information will be... challenging.”

“We could simply take what we need,” Celipa suggests, not aggressively but matter-of-factly. “These humans couldn’t stop us.”

“No. We do this properly. Besides, I have a plan.”

The walk to the city’s edge takes less than twenty minutes, during which I brief them on Earth’s customs as best I understand them from what I see around us and my fragmented memories. By the time we reach the first busy street, my companions are at least theoretically prepared for the experience.

“So many smells,” Nion whispers, his nostrils flaring as we navigate a crowded marketplace. Our attire draws looks, but when bipedal animals roam the streets, those looks are few and far between.

The aromas wafting from countless food stalls are indeed tantalising. My stomach growls in response, reminding me that no matter how my priorities have shifted, I remain a Saiyan.

“Currency first,” I remind him. “Then food.”

Most Earthlings, however, seem too preoccupied with their affairs to pay us much attention.

“There,” I say, spotting exactly what I need—a bustling plaza with a central fountain, surrounded by cafes and shops. Street performers entertain small crowds, collecting coins and paper money in upturned hats.

“What are we doing?” Paragus asks as I lead them to an empty space near the fountain.

“Collecting,” I reply. “Kombu, find a sturdy table or surface. Something that won’t break easily.”

The technician looks confused but nods, scanning the area before approaching a cafe owner with a friendly smile. Minutes later, he returns with a small but solid wooden table.

“Perfect,” I say, setting it up in our chosen spot. “Now, watch and learn.”

I position myself behind the table, one elbow planted firmly on its surface, hand raised in the universal gesture of challenge. Paragus’s eyes widen as understanding dawns.

“Arm wrestling?” he asks incredulously. “That’s your plan?”

“Simple, effective, and guaranteed to rake in funds,” I confirm. “We demonstrate strength, but not superhuman ability, win consistently but not suspiciously, and collect our earnings.”

Celipa, catching on quickly, steps forward with a showman’s flair I didn’t know she possessed. “Come one, come all! Test your strength against the champion! Beat him and win double your wager!”

The combination of novelty and the promise of easy money works exactly as I’d hoped. Within minutes, a small crowd gathers, curious onlookers watching as the first brave challenger steps forward—a burly man whose muscles suggest regular physical labour.

“4,000 zeni says I pin you in under ten,” he boasts, slapping his money on the table.

I verbally match his wager with money I don’t actually have, then take his hand in mine. The difference in our strength is laughable, but I’m careful to mask it, applying just enough resistance to make the contest seem genuine.

Ten seconds pass, then twenty. Sweat beads on my opponent’s forehead as he strains against what he perceives as an immovable force. At precisely thirty seconds—long enough to draw a larger crowd but not so long as to seem impossible—I allow his hand to move mine outward before steadily forcing his down to the table.

“Close match,” I commend him as he stares at his defeated hand in disbelief. “Another try?”

He declines, but others quickly take his place. Word spreads rapidly, drawing more challengers and larger wagers. I’m careful to struggle occasionally, just often enough to maintain credibility and encourage bigger bets. The café’s owner provides us with another table when Paragus pays him a thousand zeni, and our earnings accelerate.

By midday, we’ve amassed a respectable sum of local currency and attracted quite a following.

“Enough,” I decide after three hours. “We’ve drawn too much attention already.”

We pack up our impromptu setup, returning the tables, and move deeper into the city, our pockets heavy with Earth money and our mission proceeding exactly as planned.

“Now,” I announce as we pass a particularly enticing food district, “we eat. And learn.”

The restaurant we choose is modestly priced but packed with locals—always a good sign. The proprietor, a rotund man with a perpetual smile, seems unconcerned by our appetites as we order virtually everything on the menu.

“You boys must be athletes,” he comments, watching in barely concealed amazement as we demolish plate after plate. “Training for something big?”

“Something like that,” I reply between mouthfuls of what the menu called “super deluxe ramen.” The flavours are unlike anything on Planet Vegeta—richer, more complex, with a harmony that suggests centuries of culinary evolution.

“This is incredible,” Nion mumbles around a mouthful of grilled meat. “We should bring some of these recipes back to the ship.”

Even Paragus, normally indifferent to the pleasures of food beyond its nutritional value, seems captivated by the experience. “These Earthlings may be weak,” he admits quietly, “but they understand sustenance.”

After paying our bill, leaving the owner ecstatic at what must be his largest sale of the month, we continue our exploration of the city. Our next discovery proves almost as captivating as the food: an arcade, as the glowing sign proclaims, filled with gaming machines that test reflexes, strategy, and coordination.

“Research,” I explain to Paragus’s questioning look. “Understanding a culture’s entertainment reveals a lot about their psychology.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but follows anyway as we enter the noisy, flashing establishment. Young Earthlings crowd around various machines, their excitement reflected in the lights of the games they play and charges the air with a contagious electricity.

“This one,” Celipa calls, pointing to a combat simulator where players use joysticks and buttons to control fighting characters on a screen. “It’s like training, but...”

“Recreational,” I finish, watching with interest as two humans battle it out in digital form.

When they finish, I step forward, inserting the coins from some of our newly acquired currency. The game, called ‘Hyper Fighter II’ according to the cabinet, proves surprisingly engaging. The controls are simple enough, but the strategy and timing required for mastery are impressive.

“Let me try,” Paragus says after watching me lose several matches in a row. To my surprise, he takes to it immediately, his tactical mind quickly discerning patterns and counters.

“Not bad, old man,” Celipa comments as Paragus executes a particularly devastating combo.

Before Paragus can respond, a new challenger approaches—an orange-haired human teenager with an air of confidence that suggests regular victories. “You guys are pretty good,” he says, studying us with interest. “Tourists?”

“Just passing through,” I reply casually.

“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” he challenges, taking position at the controls opposite Paragus.

What follows is unexpectedly intense—the young human proves extraordinarily skilled, pushing Paragus to his limits. For a brief moment, I see the old warrior’s competitive instinct flare, his power level rising slightly before he catches himself.

“Impressive,” Paragus acknowledges after narrowly claiming victory. “You nearly had me.”

The teenager grins, apparently unbothered by the loss. “That was awesome! You’ve got to teach me that counter technique.”

For the next hour, our mission takes an unexpected detour as we immerse ourselves in the arcade’s offerings. Nion discovers a dancing game that tests reflexes, Kombu becomes fascinated by a puzzle simulator, and even I find myself drawn into a racing game that captures the thrill of high-speed pursuit.

“This is research?” Paragus mutters as he masters yet another fighting game.

“Cultural immersion,” I correct him, watching the easy interaction between our team and the local youths. “And valuable intelligence. These games reward quick thinking, adaptability, and competitive spirit without actual combat. Interesting approach for a supposedly peaceful world.”

Finally, reluctantly, I signal that it’s time to move on. Our primary objective—meeting with this world’s leadership—cannot be delayed much longer.

“Kombu’s identified their governmental centre as ‘Central City,’ which is where we are now,” I explain as we leave the arcade, our understanding of Earth culture significantly expanded.

“And then what?” Kombu asks. “Do we simply walk in and request an audience with their king?”

I smile at the question. “Something like that. First, though, we need more appropriate attire.”

The clothing stores of Central City offer a bewildering array of options, but we eventually settle on what the helpful salesperson assures us are “business suits”—formal attire appropriate for official meetings. The expense is considerable, but our arm wrestling earnings cover it comfortably.

“I feel ridiculous,” Paragus complains as he adjusts his tie for the third time. “How do humans fight in these constraints?”

“They’re not designed for combat,” I remind him. “And today, neither are we. Diplomacy, remember?”

Outside the shop, I gather the team for final instructions. “The governmental complex is at the centre of the city. King Furry’s palace is the largest building in the compound.”

“And we’re going to request an audience?” Kombu asks, scepticism clear in his voice.

I smile. “Request? No. We’re going to force one.”

Night has fallen by the time we approach the palace—a strategic choice. The government complex is well-lit but significantly less populated. Security appears minimal to our eyes—a few guards patrolling the perimeter, simple surveillance systems that can’t detect us at our speed.

“Remember,” I caution as we hover above the palace roof, “no casualties. We want to impress them, not terrify them.”

Paragus nods, though I can tell the restraint chafes at him. “No casualties. But a proper entrance?”

“Absolutely.”

We locate King Furry easily enough—his energy signature stands out among the weaker humans around him. He’s in what appears to be his private study, reviewing documents late into the evening.

The plan is simple, direct, but controlled. Paragus and Toma position themselves outside the windows while Nion and Kombu secure the corridors. I take the most direct approach, landing softly on the balcony outside the king’s study.

The doors are locked, but that’s hardly an obstacle. With a gentle application of pressure, I slide them open, stepping into the warm, book-lined room where Earth’s leader works, unaware of my presence. King Furry—a canine monarch, according to our research—looks up sharply at the sound of the doors opening.

His eyes widen, but to his credit, he doesn’t immediately call for guards. “Who are you?” he demands, rising from his desk. “How did you get in here?”

“Your Majesty,” I reply with a formal bow, “my name is Bardock. I come from beyond your world, seeking an audience on a matter of mutual importance.”

His paw moves toward what I assume is an alarm button, but he pauses, studying me with remarkable composure. “Beyond our world? You claim to be... an alien?”

“I do. And I can prove it, if you wish.” On command, my tail unwraps from around my waist, beneath the suit jacket, and waves at him.

The king’s whiskers twitch with what might be curiosity or alarm. 

I nod, appreciating his calm reasoning. “Let me be clear: this is a simple demonstration of respect for your position. Had I wished harm, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

”‘We’?” he asks sharply.

On cue, Paragus appears at the window, hovering in midair three stories above the ground. The king’s composure falters slightly at this, but he recovers admirably.

“I see,” he says, returning to his seat with deliberate calm. “And what exactly do you want from Earth, Bardock from beyond our world?”

I meet his gaze steadily. “We’ve fled from a tyrant who would destroy your world as readily as he’s destroyed ours. We have much to discuss, King Furry, about the universe beyond your skies—and about how we might help each other face what lies ahead. And let me be clear…”

Extending my hand until it’s about six inches from his face, I gather a ball of energy so hot he shrinks back.

“We could just conquer your world, but I’m here to talk instead.”

— — —