Dragon Ball Z: A Good Man - 11

      Oom’Bagu finished his rounds of Prison Ship 7, receiving various reports on prisoner behavior, security procedures, and over all personnel conduct.  After hours spent sifting through it all, he came across the latest report on Prisoner 0001.  As he read it his muscle tensed and firmly decided it was time to pay the Saiyan prince a visit.  Adjusting the buckles that held his battle baton against his shoulders, he headed down into Prisoner Compound Prime.
      He found Vegeta as he usually did, sitting on his slab with head bowed and shackled arms dangling between his knees, moving little.  Oom’Bagu’s brow lowered as he entered the code to the cell and scanned his palm.  The transparent wall lifted and he stepped inside, the wall lowering again behind him.
      Vegeta grunted and lifted his eyes to see who it was, growling softly when he saw the white fur and woven tunic.  Just what he needed, the bear who liked to play mind games.  As if things hadn’t been bad enough with Nevrrest.  It had been a few days since Goku’s visit and in those days the damn peacock had stepped up her campaign against him.  He hadn’t slept, she’d made sure he got a good zap every time he nodded off.  He’d barely eaten, she’d reduced him to a single meal of hardly a mouthful, just enough to get the healing supplement inside him.  And then there were her visits…
      He looked down from the justiciar and shut his eyes.  When had he grown so pathetic?  When had he become so weak?
      Oom’Bagu studied him for a moment before removing his baton from his shoulders, spinning it around and pointing it at Vegeta’s face.
       “Explain yourself,” he commanded.
      Vegeta’s gaze jerked up again.  “What?”
       “You heard me,” Oom’Bagu returned, his brow stern.  Vegeta didn’t answer, so he reached out and grasped his shoulder.  The prince cried out.  “Indeed, you have fractured your shoulder.  Before that it was a shattered kneecap.  Before that broken ribs.  Bruising yourself, urinating, biting your own tongue – these are the inflictions of a prisoner in full revolt.”  He watched as Vegeta clenched his teeth.  “And yet, every time I have passed by your cell, you are calm, resolute, and still.  Not only this, but the only witness instance of aggression was the bite you gave one of my guards.”  He grabbed Vegeta’s chin and forced him to look at him.  “So, explain yourself.”
      Vegeta’s brow twitched.  “I…don’t have to explain anything to you.”
       “What is it you’re hoping to accomplish?” Oom’Bagu pressed, barking at him, “Venting your frustration?  Vain attempts to break free?  Seeking an audience?  Petty rebellion?  Speak!”
      Vegeta’s face trembled further.  “I…just leave me alone!!!” he screamed, snapping his eyes shut hard.
      Oom’Bagu started, his hand falling from Vegeta’s chin and staring at him for several moments.  “You are…traumatized,” he marveled.  Vegeta hissed, seeming to curl up slightly as his veins bulged and his muscles tensed.  Oom’Bagu’s brow lowered again.  “Look at me…”  He waited.  “That was not a request.  Look at me.”  Vegeta at last slowly raised his head.  Oom’Bagu’s eyes glowed mauve, Vegeta’s eyes shining back as he sensed him out.  “Fear.  Anger.  Exhaustion.  Anxiety.  Frustration.  Grief.  You wish to hide your current state, but I fear nothing is easily hidden from me.  Even if without my empathic abilities, I can see you are utterly unwell.”
      Vegeta snarled, glaring at him.  “I don’t care what you think, just stay the hell away from my mind, you hear?”
      Oom’Bagu hummed, the glow fading from his eyes.  “I had anticipated you would adapt well to your situation…it seems that was an incorrect assumption.   I cannot see what is going on in your head, I am no telepath.”  He leaned in close.  “Still…I would urge you to indeed explain yourself.  Understand, I am as responsible for your well-being as I am for your captivity.  So unless you are so deeply attached to your own suffering, aid me in ending it.”
      Once again, the Saiyan prince was silent.  Oom’Bagu nearly became angry with him, but let it pass and sighed.  “Very well…” Vegeta’s eyes widened as the jaws holding his tail opened and his chains disconnected from the walls, Oom’Bagu taking them in hand.  “Come.  I’m moving you to the infirmary till your trial.  Perhaps we can still managed to get you in proper condition to face judgment…or at the very least some form of it.”
      Vegeta’s tail rose up, finding just enough strength to wrap it around his waist – a great comfort – despite the shackle that still clamped to the end of it.  He was quickly disgusted with his own joy and relief as he stepped out of his cell for the first time in what felt like forever, though walking was difficult as his shattered knee cap hadn’t completely healed.  Unlike the last march, Oom’Bagu was incredibly gentle with him, letting him pause for a rest when he wished and holding him in an attentive gaze.
      Oom’Bagu studied him as they walked, holding both chains in his right hand like a leash, seeing as Vegeta’s lids and jaw hung half open, strength derived from stubbornness with no energy to spare.  He hadn’t been sleeping, that much was obvious.  Had he really been bashing himself against the cell walls every night when no one was around?  And if so, what for?  He had originally thought it was either to be purely rebellious or draw attention to himself, but neither seemed to be the case.  So what then?
      As it was anywhere else in Prison Ship 7, they had to pass through several scans and blast doors in order to reach the ship’s infirmary.  Vegeta lifted his head and took a brief look around.  Like with the rest of the ship, he was impressed by the quality of the place, all the medical equipment was the latest in technology.  Though, it was surprisingly small and empty, no more than a few patients could be fit in here at a time and currently there were none—which lead him to believe this was but one section of the infirmary and the rest were equally cut off from each other.  Wouldn’t want to crowd too many low life’s into a single medical center.
      A wrinkled, tough-skinned man who resembled a shell-less turtle came out to meet them, smiling at Oom’Bagu and immediately scowling when he saw who was collared on the end of the chain in the justiciar’s hand.  “Oh by the old gods!”  he whined, almost pouting at the much taller being, “Warden, please, why me?  I know it’s my shift, but you know how I feel about Saiyans—”
       “Does this make you incapable of doing your duties?” Oom’Bagu inquired, raising a brow at him.
       “Well no, it doesn’t, but—ack!”  He clicked irritably, shifting his neck about.  “I mean, of all the brutes who used to pass through my hospital back in the day, those Saiyans were the worst.  Couldn’t keep their filthy mitts off anything, and don’t get me started on the smell—”
       “Then you had better plug your nose, hadn’t you?”  Oom’Bagu intensified the look he was giving him.
      The doctor finally relented and sighed heavily.  “Oh all right.  This one was their prince, maybe he’ll actually have some manners, surely they expected that out of their royalty at least.”  He approached Vegeta, giving him a glare as he reached out a hand toward him.  “Now don’t you bite me, Saiyan, or I swear by the ancients I’ll give you a rectal exam.”  Vegeta grunted with annoyance, his sharp eyes followed the hand as he manually checked his pulse, passing a scanner over him and scrutinizing the results.  “Huh…I’m surprised you’re checking him in, Warden, he’s a bit worse for wear but hardly anything the computer can’t treat.”
       “I have my reasons,” he assured, glancing at Vegeta as his gaze fell to the floor.
       “I won’t question it then,” the doctor held up his hand, sitting the scanner aside, “I can have him patched up and back in his cell in a few hours.”
       “No,” Oom’Bagu answered, startling him, “You can treat him, yes, but that is not what require from you.  I wish you to keep him under a mild sedative and allow him to rest for a few days.  Keep him under constant observation.  I’d like you to run a few tests on him as well, just make sure he’s well and sound.”  His eyes shifted to Vegeta again.  “And if he says anything… let me know.”
      The doctor gave him a questioning look, finally just shrugging.  “Can do that, should be simple enough.”  He went over to a cabinet, rummaging for a short while before returning with a bottle and a syringe.  He watched Vegeta as he filled the syringe, who just stood there and watched back.  “I’ll say one thing, Saiyan, you’re a lot quieter than the rest of your kind.  Most of you were so damn noisy.”  Vegeta growled a little.  The doctor set aside the vial and held up the needle.  “Now if you start thinking about biting me, remember to concentrate very hard on those two words:  rectal exam.”
       “Oh for God’s sake!” Vegeta finally snapped, “I’m not going to bite you so just shut up already!”
       “Oh gods, go back to not talking, your voice sounds like a bone grinder!”  The doctor grunted gruffly and took one side of Vegeta’s neck, inserting the needle into the vein so precisely he almost didn’t feel it.  Vegeta welcomed the sedative, feeling his muscles relax as he slowly grew light and airy.  Oom’Bagu held his good shoulder as the prince wobbled and nearly toppled over.  “There.  Just take him to the shackler over there and I’ll get a bed ready for him.”
      Barely conscious or aware of himself, Vegeta let Oom’Bagu sit him in front of a similar device to the one that had originally bound him, placing his arms inside.  There was a hum and Vegeta twitched and hissed a little, but when the device pulled back his arms were free of the shackles.  Vegeta stared at his fingers like they were brand new, flexing and moving them.
      Oom’Bagu grunted as he lifted him up again.  “Enjoy.  It’s only for the duration of your stay, all prisoners are routinely de-shackled as part of medical inspection.”
       “Otherwise they’d eventually lose use of their hands,” the doctor added in agreement.
      Vegeta stumbled.  “Just…get…”  He about flopped over on the floor again and Oom’Bagu finally just lifted him up under his arm, the proud prince too subdued to care.
      Oom’Bagu laid him on the medical bed, restraints snapping over his wrists and ankles.  No sooner was Vegeta on the soft mattress then he completely let it all go, his head falling to the side and passing out.  Oom’Bagu stood over him, Vegeta’s hair as wild as ever against the pillow, his mouth hanging open slightly.  Oom’Bagu reached down and gently closed his jaw – it wouldn’t be fitting for a prince to drool.  He took a moment longer to inspect him, pausing abruptly with a grunt as he heard some sort of hissing behind him.  He looked over his shoulder.
      The doctor froze, a can of air freshener in his hand.  “What?”
      Oom’Bagu sighed.  “I’ll return later.”  He exited the infirmary, leaving the prisoner to sleep.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

      A dark shadow passed over Goku as he lay helplessly in his bed.  He could feel the shadow loom over him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He grunted and twitched as a creature with the glowing red eyes crawled over his chest.  It held his face in its tiny hands, his lids twitching, wanting to open, wanting to awaken – but he could not.  He trembled as shiny long fangs extended from the creature’s mouth and plunged into his neck.
       “N-aaaaaah!” Goku screamed, bolting upright, sweat running down his face and chest.  He looked about his suite, slapping a hand to the side of his neck and rubbing uneasily.  “Oh boy…what a nightmare.”  He itched at the spot, swinging his legs out of bed and going to the mirror, just to reassure himself it had really been just a dream.  He turned his head about, searching for marks.  Nothing.  “Whew…I’m exhausted.  I guess I didn’t sleep very well.”  He scratched at his neck again and went to put on his clothes.
      Today was the day things had to get serious.  He’d spent the last few days preparing himself, training his body to help his mind think better.  That had led to him deciding that before he tried speaking to any of the justiciars, he needed to do his homework first.  Luckily his monitor connected him to a computer who would answer just about any questions he had.  But taking in information had always been difficult for Goku, so to remedy this he’d trained while listening, which had helped him concentrate greatly.  He’d also spent some time talking to various workers and guards on The Hammer.
      He’d learned a lot during that time.  It seemed Frieza had been worse than he ever knew – apparently the entire galaxy had been under his thumb.  The amount of destruction he had caused in his life was unfathomable, and that was excluding what those under him had done.  If Frieza had caste his gaze on you, there was only three things you could be – a servant, a slave, or a corpse.  The rest were just one of those three waiting to happen.  Vegeta had been deep in that system, a prize given to that tyrant in order to ensure the Saiyan’s loyalty.  And Frieza had made good use of that prize.  The amount of people Vegeta had hurt in that previous life…it was painful to even think about.
      But Goku embraced that pain, forced himself to hold it tightly in his chest.  It was necessary.  If there was any hope of turning things around for Vegeta, he had to carry that pain inside him.  He had to know what he was up against – cause it was that pain that was his foe.
      He’d also looked into the history of The Justice as well.  As Oom’Bagu had said, that originally had been the name of Nevrrest’s fighting force, six warriors battling to protect the weak and drive out the villains and thugs from the worlds.  They were heroes, every single one of them.  And Nevrrest…she was the greatest hero of them all.  The number of planets she’d saved during the period of chaos after Frieza’s defeat rivaled the number Vegeta had destroyed.  It really put things into perspective for him – what stood to be lost if Nevrrest’s hate was allowed to flourish.
      Today was different, though.  Today, he was going to start turning the justiciars’ hearts in Vegeta’s favor.  He couldn’t get them all the way there – Vegeta would have to do that himself – but if he could get them started on the right path, maybe there was a chance that come the trial they’d be merciful.  There was another problem, though, that he had yet to solve and still racked his brain.  Originally, he had intended to contact everyone he could think of who would be able to testify to all the good Vegeta had done since coming to Earth and to how he had changed with time.  That was the plan when he thought he’d at least have a few weeks to work with.  But even though Oom’Bagu had managed to push back the trial a few days, it still wasn’t nearly enough time to gather people.  Right now, the only option he could think of would be to make a plea for the The Justice to somehow gather these people for him.  But would Nevrrest allow it?  That was the real problem.
      Not a problem he could solve right now though, it would have to wait.  Tightening his belt and pausing to scratch his neck again – which was quite itchy for some reason – he headed out to The Hammer’s training center.  There he knew he’d find the two justiciars he needed to see – Horkion and Laswe.  From what he’d learned, at the end of the trial the six justiciars would have to agree on the conviction and sentence.  Getting Oom’Bagu and Misado to vote in Vegeta’s favor should be the easiest, Nevrrest and Nettelish the hardest.  But if he could get Laswe and Horkion leaning in Vegeta’s favor too, then Nevrrest and Nettelish would be forced to move in that direction as well.  It was the best bet he had.
      He didn’t need the computer’s help this time to figure out where he was going, he’d been to the private training rooms enough times that he already knew where the combat training classes were held, which was where the two Grand Guardians would be, unless he’d been told wrong.  Upon arriving in the training center, he had a couple guards point him to the right room.  The room was so crowded that no one even noticed when the door opened and he walked in, the dozens of aliens gathered in a circle around another circle, painted red on the floor.  And within that red circle stood the two justiciars he was looking for.
      It was the first time he’d actually seen Lawse with his feet touching the ground, which he noticed, also for the first time, where like a lobster’s, clustered around his fat, smooth tail – and when he moved he bounced like a rubber ball on these limbs and tail.  Goku had to hold his breath not to bust up laughing at the sight.  Horkion stood nearby, his thick, stone arms folded and black pebble eyes glancing over their students, nodding occasionally as Laswe spoke.
       “All right, let’s get started!” Lawse said as he bounded, his wings at last lifting off his back and buzzing, hovering now as he usually did, “I’d back away from the door, all you, cause past this point if anyone walks in late they’re getting webbed.”  He spat out a ball of sticky webbing on his palm to demonstrate before flicking it away.  “Pay attention and welcome!  Most of you are fresh recruits – unless you failed this class the first time and am taking it again – I’m looking at you, Popera!”  He spun around, pointing at some poor alien in the middle of a row, who’s face turned blue.  “Now I know what’s going through most of yours heads right now ‘nah! I’m not even a guard, why do I have to take combat training?!’”  He glanced at Horkion and then jerked his gaze back to the crowd with a shrug.  “It’s a valid question.  Hey!  You!”  He pointed to a random guy in the front row.
       “Uh, yes sir,” the man swallowed.
       “Where you applying to work?”
       “Uh, maintenance?”
       “Ah…a grease junkie, huh?  Fun.”  He flew up to him and put his hands on his waist.  “All right, grease junkie, you’re cleaning up some God-forsaken shaft and suddenly you run into prisoner trying to make an escape…what do you do?”
       “Uh…”  The man sweated a little.  “Wouldn’t the security systems stop that?”
       “Security system’s bugged today, computer’s on the fritz – what do you do?”
       “Um…call for help…or run?”
       “WRONG!” Laswe shouted, about blowing the whole column over, “You kick his ass!!!  Then you run.  And calling for security would be good once you’ve gotten away too, yes.”
       “Oh man!” Goku gave a wide smile as he watched, “This is serious!”
       “Now you’re wondering, ‘But justiciar!  Why wouldn’t we just run?!’”  He gave them all a snide look.  “Right, cause that always worked so well on these types in the past, right?  Just run away and they’ll leave you alone!  Ha!”  Horkion was smiling.  “‘But justiciar!  Some of these guys are big tough killers!’”  He snickered.  “What…you mean like THIS?!”  He threw down his arms and screamed, the whole room shaking and the floor cracking as blue energy blazed around him, his muscles bulging.
      Horkion laughed as the onlookers drew back, looking down at the cracks on the floor.  “And you wonder why maintenance hates you.”
       “Shut up,” Laswe snarked.  Still blazing with energy, he pointed a finger at the crowd.  “Most of you have been led to believe that dying is the worst thing that can happen to you.  I’m here to tell you right now that’s a lie.  Dying pathetically, dying horribly, dying squealing while someone you care about watches, that’s the worst thing that can happen.  Why can’t you just run?  Cause some louse put it in most these guys heads that killing’s fun.  And if you run, they’ll find it even more fun.  That’s why you’re being made to take these classes.  I can’t promise you that what Justiciar Horkion and I are going to teach you will stop one of these low lives from taking your life.”  He raised a fist and blazed hot with energy.  “But take what you learn to heart, and I can guarantee you’ll give them hell before they do!!!”
      Some in the crowd started to applaud and cheer and Goku clapped with them.  Laswe raised his hands, the energy fading around him as he waited for them to quiet again.  “But, I know there’s still something else that’s troubling you – another lie I will today dispel.”  He twisted about, his muscles retracting to their normal size, landing on the ground again and stretching his iridescent wings.  “Hey Horkion, if you had a scouter on you, what would you say my power level is right now?”
       “Hmm…”  He rubbed a finger against his stony chin.  “Probably like thirty something.”
       “Maybe fifty?”
       “Maybe fifty…seventy at most.”
       “Below one hundred for sure.”  Laswe narrowed his eyes, looking over the crowd.  “Ooh…we got a couple here at one hundred at least…that’s new.”  He started to look in Goku’s direction, but then turned to a large reptile like man on the opposing side.  “You there!  Come into the circle please.  I know your species, no wonder you’re so tough, the Malths are quite the sturdy people, I hear.  I’m surprised you’re not in the guardian section.”
       “Fighting isn’t really my thing,” the big guy admitted as he approached, “But I can bust a few heads if I have to.  I’m trying for the medical staff.”
      Laswe laughed squeakily, almost like a horse whinny.  “A doctor who can bust some heads, I love it!  Okay, doc, I need you to do a favor for me.  All I want you to do is to hit me.”  He turned.  “Pay attention, all of you!  In my current state my power level is below the good doctor’s and I will not be raising it for this exercise.”  He turned back and smiled.  “All right, doc, go for it.  Come on, slug me!”
      The lizard man cracked his knuckles against his palm.  “All right, whatever you say, just don’t hurt me too much, please.”
       “Hurt you?” Laswe laughed, landing on his fat jiggly tail, “What are you talking about, I’ve got the lower power level, you’re going to destroy me for sure.”  The doctor shrugged and took a swing at him.  Somehow it didn’t hit, Laswe moving his head microscopically out of the way.  “What’s wrong?  You’ve got the higher power level, now slug me!”  He gently dodged several more blows and then waved a hand, yawning.  “Come on, you’ve got to have at least thirty levels on me, so hit me!”
      The students watched with intense curiosity as the lizard man tried again and again to hit him without even remote success.  Goku smiled.  “It doesn’t matter if the one guy’s stronger,” he said aloud, drawing the attention of those around him, “Laswe’s got the better training.  It’s no surprise he can’t touch him.”
      The lizard man really hauled this time and struck hard.  Laswe bounded up in the air and delivered a kick to his chin, knocking him flat.  “Ow!” the doctor complained, sitting up.
       “Don’t worry, you get extra credit for this.”  Laswe held out a hand to him and helped him up.  “Give this brave doc a hand, class!”  They applauded as he returned to the group, Laswe and Horkion giving each other glances.  Laswe lifted into the air again on his wings.  “According to the logic that was so deeply ingrained into all our heads, our doc here should have beaten me easily.  Higher power level equals better fighter, right?  Wrong!”  He folded his arms and buzzed.  “There’s a couple phrases I wish to pass onto you that I have taken to heart.  The first is this:  power levels are bullshit.  Say it with me, class!  I want to hear all of you!  Power levels are bullshit!”  Some snickered as they recited with him.
       “While it’s funny to say, it’s true,” Horkion added, holding up a hand, “All a power level really is is an estimate of a fighter’s energy output, nothing more.  It’s not a win all and it’s not what determines a battle.  Power levels can change at a drop of a hat, one of you might have potential strength right now you never imagined you had – you only need to know how to tap into it.”
       “Which is why we’re here, to teach you how to discover your own personal flavor kick-ass.”  Laswe spat a web, over the student’s heads, making them duck, the sticky white thread yanking a couple of combat poles into his hands.  He tossed one to Horkion.  “Fun fact:  little Horkion here has the lowest power level of all the justiciars,” he said as Horkion spun with the pole, “But his technique is by far the most refined.  He is the finest warrior his people could offer, trained by the very best of his race.”  He rested the other pole over his shoulders and snickered.  “I’ve always believed in learning by doing, so for your lesson today you all will be fighting Horkion.  So…any volunteers?”
       “Can I fight him?”  Horkion and Laswe froze, looking over to where the voice had come from.  Goku smiled softly as he walked through the crowd, the students staring and murmuring as they parted for him.  “I know I’m not a student, but I’d really love to see what he can do, especially if his techniques are as good as you say.”
       “Ek…” Laswe twitched and then laughed, buzzing up to Goku’s face, “Well, well, look who decided to barge in on us, class.  If it isn’t the Legendary Super Saiyan.”
      Goku laughed cheerfully as the class stirred greatly, their voices clamoring about the training room.  “No need to say all that, I didn’t want to interrupt.  It’s just when I see a great fighter I just can’t help myself.”
       “This isn’t your personal playground, you know,” Laswe cocked a fuzzy white brow at him.
       “Oh Laswe, there’s no need to make a fuss,” Horkion assured, his body somehow looking shinier, “I’d be honored to spar with him.”
       “I’m sure you’d be honored to have his autograph too, Horkion,” Laswe shot back, “But we have a class to teach.”
       “If you want, I could help out,” Goku offered, holding out his hands, “I know lots about fighting.”
       “Just think, we can have the students watch and study our techniques,” Horkion added, his pebble eyes turning as sweet as a puppy.
       “Oh fine,” Laswe finally relented, flicking his hand twice with annoyance, “You two shovel heads can have your fun, just don’t take too long about it.”
      Goku laughed, holding his gut.  “Wow, you’re really grumpy, aren’t you?” he smiled at Laswe, “Must be a prince thing.”
       “Grrr, and what is that supposed to mean?!” Laswe squeaked at him, shaking a fist, “I am not grumpy, I’ll have you know I am merely vigorous!”
       “He can be kinda a grouch,” Horkion whispered, putting a hand by his mouth.
       “What was that?!”
       “Can I fight him or what?” Horkion returned, pouting at him.
       “Pak!”  Laswe snorted and tossed the training pole to Goku.  “Just make sure he understands the rules, no blowing up the ship or whatever Saiyans like to do.”
      Goku caught the pole expertly and looked at Horkion expectantly.  “Alright,” explained Horkion, “We need to demonstrate basic fighting technique so no energy manipulation.  And keep your power level at minimum, if we move too fast they won’t be able to see what’s happening or learn anything.”
       “Gotcha, that should be easy.”
       “Really?” Horkion blinked, “You sure?  Keeping your energy under wraps can be tricky during a fight.”
       “Don’t worry, I’ve done it plenty of times before,” Goku assured.  He spun the pole around and grunted, snapping into a fighter’s stance, “You ready?”
      Horkion stared at him for a long moment and then bust up in a gravely laugh.  “I gotta honest, I’m going to love every minute of this.”  His fist tightened around his pole, his brow crackling as it lowered.  “Yeah, I’m ready.”
       “Pay attention, all you!” Laswe piped at the baited-breath students, “This isn’t a show for spectators, I expect you all to have a written report delivered to me on your observations by the next class period!  And it’d better be more than ‘wow, that was amazing!’ or I’ll web you and the report right to the wall!”
      Horkion chuckled, holding Goku in an intense gaze.  “Your move, Son Goku.”
       “No,” Goku smiled wily, holding his opponent in the same gaze, “You first, please.”
       “Oh boy…” he chuckled again.  He slide his foot back.  “Well…if you insist.”
      The air filled with out cries and grunts as Horkion leapt and spun at Goku, the earth-grown Saiyan flicking his pole wildly to block Horkion’s rapid and merciless blows.  Finally Goku pushed through the assault, flipping over Horkion’s head with a backward strike, the two poles clattering together as the little rock man blocked.  Goku’s heart exploded with joy as they clashes again, this time he going on the assault while Horkion parried every blow.  He felt like he was a boy again, fighting at the world tournament or out on adventures, defending his friends with his Power Pole.  Laswe was right, Horkion’s technique was amazing!  His fighting style was akin to the martial arts Goku had been trained in on Earth.  It would be a challenge beating him without raising his power level.  Such a challenge couldn’t be more exciting.
      Their blows became like the rhythm of a song – the clacking of the poles, the wild cries and grunts, the whistling of the air as they twisted and kicked.  The students leaned in close with gaping mouths, their hands upheld in fists as murmurs and cheers erupted in spurts.  Suddenly, they broke apart, Goku flipping backwards from Horkion, planting his pole against the training floor.
       “You’re holding back,” he stated.
      Horkion blinked his ridged lids.  “What?”
       “I know you look up to me, so you’re afraid of embarrassing me by making me look bad,” Goku continued with a little smile, “You’re holding back, you got more than this.”  He flew at him again and their poles locked against each other, arms quivering from the strain.  “I want to see the warrior your people trained to save them from Frieza.”
      An almost frightened look entered Horkion’s tiny black eyes, his jaw clenched as he heaved his weight into the lock.  “I could never have stopped Frieza.  I would have died without a thought.”
       “I don’t buy it!” Goku shot back.  He shoved downward, his feet clamoring over Horkion’s guard and leaping over his back, the rock man spinning to protect from the Saiyan’s oncoming strike.  “You would have fought him till your last breath, just like my friends did!”  Several students were nearly knocked over from the gust that came from the collision of blows.  Goku braced his arm against Horkion’s pole, his held tensely behind him, his brow lowered.  “You’ll never know your true strength until you find a little pride in yourself.  A good friend of mine taught me that a long time ago.”  He flipped his pole around and started jabbing the head of it at Horkion viciously.  “So show me it, Horkion!  Show me your people’s strength!  Show me their pride!!!”
      Horkion twisted to the side and clamped his thick hand down on Goku’s pole.  He roared, yanking Goku forward and seizing him by the back of the head, slamming his face straight into the floor.  The floor shattered and cracked, a tiny crater appearing around the Saiyan’s cranium.  The students gasped.
       “Hey-whoa-what?!” Laswe squeaked, “That’s not…now you’re breaking the place!!!”
      Horkion didn’t waste a breath, driving his pole into the center of Goku’s back and pivoting with the motion, his fingers stiffening like a spear head and jabbing all over Goku’s spine.  He landed on the other side of him and turned about, his pole at the ready.  For a moment, the other warrior didn’t move.  But slowly Goku got his arms under him, lifting his head and shaking the rubble from his spiky hair.
       “Now that was something,” Goku praised, grasping his pole and getting back up.
      Horkion laughed intensely, watching him.  “Hey…what do you say we take this to the next level?”
       “Sounds good to me,” Goku agreed with equal enthusiasm.
      They tossed their poles aside and extended their fists.  “Ha!” they screamed in unison, white energy bursting out and swirling around either of them.
       “Hey-whoa-no!” Laswe protested, gaping at the two of them, “Energy manipulation is a whole different course level, what are you doing?!”
      The students were screaming as Goku and Horkion flew at each other again, this time attacking with pure kicks and fists.  Their power levels were still low enough that the students could easily see what was happening, but each tapped into the true strength of a martial artist, shocks and pulses of energy flying as fists collided, most of the blows not even landing as they dodged back and forth in an extraordinary rhythm of motion.  Goku jerked up his knee and Horkion hit the ceiling, hitting him again as he fell and skidded across the sparing circle, sliding to a halt just within it.  He got up again and charged.
      At this point someone had tapped into the ship’s security feed, watching the fight from afar.  They forward the feed to a friend.  And from there it spread.  Soon, all over the fleet, personal devices and screens were lighting up with the classroom’s feed.  Then the words flew through the grape vine:  ‘Horkion’s fighting the Super Saiyan!  Horkion’s fighting the Super Saiyan!’  Then it was in prison cafeterias, recreation rooms, training halls, living quarters.  They crammed around the screens, shoving each other for a better view.  Oom’Bagu came across one such gathering during his rounds, pausing to watch with a curious smile.  Sepis had it forward to him by one of his fellow techies.
      He sent it to Nevrrest.
      The Blecha’s tropical plumage rose as she leaned close to the screen, watching as Horkion and Goku locked arms, blazing with energy.  She grimaced.  So he’d finally found a way of announcing himself to the entire fleet…it was only a matter of time, she supposed – she’d known it when she’d conceded to allowing him on board in the first place.
       “The entire fleet is watching this, aren’t they?” she trilled, glancing up at Sepis’s image, also displayed before her.
       “Practically at this point,” Sepis confirmed.
       “Of course they are…” she purred.  She leaned in close, stroking the back of her talons against Goku’s image.  “How could they not?  He is…magnificent.  It’s fitting, he’ll be the last Saiyan once Vegeta’s been dealt with.  Heh, the three of us will have something in common.”
       “He’s strangely…innocent,” Sepis remarked, thinking about his visit to Goku’s quarters, “And very kind and sincere…much like you, friend Nevrrest.”
      She let out another trill, leaning back and crossing her arms, watching as Goku laid down a heavy assault on Horkion’s guard.  “I cannot fathom what madness possesses him to oppose us.”  Her brow pinched intensely.  “In any case, he’s making his first move.  Horkion’s heart is soft he sees our guest as nothing short of a hero.  But he’ll have a harder time with Laswe I think.  He holds an enthusiasm for justice that at times surpasses even mine.”
       “And the fleet?” Sepis hesitantly asked.
       “Leave that to me.  Come the trial, their disgust for the saiyan prince will be so intense they’ll hardly be able to contain themselves.  I’ll make certain of it.”
      Sepis’s antennae twitched.  “I could cut the feed,” he offered.
       “And what would be the point of that?” she gently chided, “It would only look suspicious to everyone, like I have something to fear from him.  I don’t.”  She shut her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest where long ago a bleeding hole had once been.  “I haven’t been afraid of anyone for a long time…”
       “What should we do then?”
      She chuckled, opening her eyes.  “You can do as you wish, Sepis.”  She pulled up a chair with her tail and took a seat, resting her cheek delicately against her fingers.  “I, for one, am going to sit back and enjoy the show.”
      Goku and Horkion weren’t touching the ground half the time now, but rose into the air over the training floor, punches and kicks wildly being exchanged back and forth.  Laswe was still squawking at them, but neither of them heard him.  Horkion hugged Goku’s waist, heaving and slamming him against the floor.  Goku rolled with it and drove both his boots into Horkion, putting him into the ceiling again.  Horkion leapt off it, his fist planting in the floor where Goku’s head at just been.
      The din the training room was incredible; even more people had crammed in there with the students to watch, shouting and even making bets.  Goku and Horkion both kicked, their legs colliding, the energy burst cracking the floor under them even worse.  They screamed as they came at each other again, breaking into another series of blows and dodges, breaking apart, circling, and bodies crashing again.  Their hands locked, pushing against each other, their feet braced against the floor, which shuddered and buckled under them.
      Veins bulged and muscles tensed.  There was a flash of brilliant blue light and they were blown apart.  Both landed outside the red ring.  Laswe panted, the blue energy still running up and down his arms like electricity.  He clenched his fists, dissipating the left-over charge and glared at everyone.
       “Match’s over, get out!  All you!”  The crowd groaned and booed.  He shot an energy bolt at their feet.  “NOW!”
      Someone decided it was time to cut the feed.  Nevrrest smiled and leaned back as she saw her screen go dark.  “Well…that could have gone better for him.”
      Horkion and Goku warbled, staring sheepishly as the room emptied.  Laswe turned on them, his wings buzzing loudly.  “What part of ‘demonstrating basic technique’ didn’t you two addle-brains understand?” he demanded.
       “But…” Goku stuttered, blinking up at him from the floor, “That was basic technique—”
       “Idiot!”
       “Please, Laswe,” Horkion pleaded, holding up a hand, “I’m sorry, it was my fault.  I let us get carried away—”
       “You think?!” the translucent alien cried.  He jabbed an arm down.  “And you were making remarks about me damaging the classroom!”
       “But,” Goku protested, “We kept out power levels really low, just like you asked.”  Laswe started snarling like a little dog.  “So what do you really have to be angry about—hymm!” he cried as a sticky white web slapped over his mouth.
      Laswe jabbed a finger in his face, blustering.  “Okay, shut up and listen, Saiyan.  I think all you know we are—no, start over—I know very well all we are is a big joke to you.  I’m only tolerating you because Oom’Bagu vouched for you – and goddamn it, I have lot of respect for the guy.”  He pinched his fingers.  “I have about this much for you.  So you managed to pound Frieza’s face in.”  His eyes narrowed.  “That doesn’t make you a hero.  As far as I’m concerned, that makes you little more than an overpowered brute.”
      Goku watched Laswe intently as he spoke, reaching up once he was finished grunting as he ripped the webbing free.  “Yick!” he spat and then stood up, looking evenly at the hovering justiciar, “First, you didn’t have to do that; I would have listened anyways.  Second…you’re right.  Defeating Frieza doesn’t make me better than anyone else here…and I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”  Laswe cocked his head and grunted.  “You’re wrong about me thinking you’re all a joke.  I don’t think that at all.  I think you’re amazing.  Every one of you.”
      Horkion got up as well, rubbing his head and sighing.  “I’ll…get things cleaned up.  I’m sorry, Laswe.  It won’t happen again.”
      Laswe grunted irritably and waved him off.  “Fine, I accept your apology.”  He gave Goku a last glare and turned away.  “Now if you excuse me, I have a flood of assignment missives to go through.”
       “Wait,” Goku called out.  Laswe stopped.  “I’m really sorry if I ruined your class.  Can’t I make it up to you somehow?”
      Laswe hummed, folding his hands behind him.  “Oh I suppose…”  He gave a wheezing sigh and landed on his jiggly abdomen, and crossing his arms.  “Though I doubt you have anything you could possibly offer me.”
       “Uh…”  Goku stopped and scratched his head.  He had to admit, he couldn’t think of anything either.
      Laswe suddenly busted into one of his squeaky laughs.  “Oh I know what’s fair…you can be my errand boy for the day.”  He snickered.
       “Okay sure!”
       “Eh?!” Laswe gaped.
       “What do you need me to do?” Goku continued to chirp.
      Laswe’s wings gave a pathetic twitch.  I was just mocking him; I didn’t think he’d take the offer seriously.  What kind of Saiyan agrees to run errands for a Ponachi?  “Uh…” Laswe stuttered, “Well…well fine!  Come by my quarters in two hours – suite 33792 – if you’re really serious that is.  I’ll put you to work.”
       “Great,” Goku smiled, “Maybe then you can tell me your story.”
       “Hmm?”
       “Your story,” he restated, “Sepis told me you’d want to be the one to tell it.”
      Laswe blinked and lifted into the air.  “Ooh…that story.  Yes, good of Sepis, I would be very cross if he told it for me.”  He looked at him strictly.  “I assume that is the story you’re after, yes?  The story of how I died?”
       “Ah,” Goku’s jaw dropped.  While he was no stranger to resurrection, it still wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.
       “Hehehehe…” Laswe chorted, “Oh yes.  All right, Super Saiyan, see you in two hours.”
       “I’ll be there,” Goku promised.  As the two justiciars left, Goku went about his way, wondering what he should do with himself now.  He itched at his neck.
       “Uun’raso, honored Goku,” said the most familiar voice he knew in the fleet.
      Goku turned about a big smile.  “Hey, Oom’Bagu!” he greeted the horned bear, “Been awhile since I’ve seen you – in person anyhow.”
       “I keep myself quite busy,” Oom’Bagu assured, “And I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”
      Goku’s expression fell.  “Oh no…something’s wrong again, isn’t it?”
       “Walk with me,” he beckoned.  Goku followed his lead.  Oom’Bagu sighed, rubbing his tired brow.  “I am in need of your help.”
       “Anything.”
       “It’s not a favor, but your help I need all the same.”  He looked at him, his gaze tense with concern.  “According to the records you’ve only had one visit with your fellow Saiyan.”
       “Yeah, I’ve been busy trying to prepare myself for the trial,” Goku affirmed, looking down at he walked, “It’s been tricky for sure.  Why, is he upset I haven’t come around?  I’m gonna soon—”
      Oom’Bagu held up a hand and shook his head.  Goku’s mouth slowly closed.  “I need you to talk to him, and I will explain why.  According to strong evidence he has been…harming himself.”
       “What do you mean?” Goku gaped.
       “Over the course of the last few days, he’s managed to break three ribs, shatter his kneecap, and crack his shoulder and collarbone.”
       “What?!  How?!  What has he been doing?!”
      Oom’Bagu adjusted one of his cuffs.  “That’s the trouble, we don’t know how or why.  He wouldn’t be the first prisoner to harm themselves, usually by slamming against the cell walls, which is what the injuries would indicate.  But he hasn’t done anything openly and he refuses to explain himself…my only theory is he’s been doing it perhaps to relieve stress, but those who harm themselves for that purpose are usually more methodical…Goku?”
      Goku’s face had gone dark, his head bent forward so that his black locks hung over his face, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides.  “Nevrrest.”
       “What?” Oom’Bagu looked at him.
       “I need to see him.”
      Oom’Bagu continued to look at him. “I personally had him moved to the infirmary.  I’ve already modified your permissions to let you visit him there.”
       “I need to see him now, Oom’Bagu,” Goku continued in that same dark tone.
       “Very well.  I will go there with you.”