Chapter 6: Cold Efficiency
The metallic tang of blood filled Kakarot's mouth, but he barely registered it. His entire world had shrunk to the blue-skinned woman crumpled on the floor, a dark bruise blossoming like an alien flower on her delicate chest. "Lara!" he rasped, his voice raw, still laced with the primal fury that had flared so brightly, only to be snuffed out by Raditz's superior strength. He choked back a wave of nausea, the pain in his gut and neck a dull ache compared to the agonizing fear gripping his chest.
He pushed himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. His bare body felt vulnerable, exposed, but he ignored the cold air against his skin, ignored the lingering humiliation of his defeat. He crawled, scrambling on hands and knees across the short distance, his vision still slightly blurred. When he reached her, he gently rolled her onto her back, his large hands surprisingly tender as they checked for a pulse. It was faint, thready, but it was there. A small, ragged breath escaped him.
Her eyes were closed, her face pale, a wisp of smoke still curling faintly from the angry mark on her chest. "Lara, wake up," he murmured, his voice softer than he'd ever used it, a stark contrast to the growl he'd directed at his brother moments before. He leaned closer, his ear hovering over her lips, desperate for any sign of life. Another shallow breath. Good. But the bruise was bad, a sickening deep purple already spreading, angry red around the edges. Saiyans could take a beating, but Lara was not a Saiyan. She was fragile, by comparison, her biology far less resilient.
He placed a hand carefully on her forehead, then moved it to her chest, hovering just above the bruise. A faint, golden energy, almost imperceptible, pulsed from his palm, a desperate, instinctual attempt to alleviate her pain, to stir her back to consciousness. It was a technique he'd seen healers use, though he'd never truly learned it himself, more accustomed to inflicting damage than repairing it. He focused, pushing what little he knew, what little care he had, into the nascent energy.
A low moan escaped Lara's lips. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly, agonizingly, began to lift. Her eyes, usually so vibrant, were clouded with pain and confusion. They darted around the room, unfocused, until they landed on Kakarot's face, hovering just above hers. Recognition, faint and bewildered, dawned in their depths.
"K-Kakarot…?" her voice was a mere whisper, hoarse and ragged. A spasm of pain crossed her features, and she tried to sit up, but a sharp wince stopped her.
"Don't move," Kakarot instructed, his grip gentle but firm on her shoulder. "Just stay still. Are you… are you alright? Can you breathe?" His own words felt clunky, inadequate. He wanted to scoop her up, to shield her, to take the pain away. The impotent rage at Raditz resurfaced, a cold ember in his gut.
Lara took another shallow breath, a shudder running through her. She coughed, a soft, dry sound. "My… my chest," she managed, her hand weakly reaching up to touch the bruised area. "It burns." She tried to take a deeper breath, and winced again, a tear escaping the corner of her eye.
Kakarot's brow furrowed. He felt a deep, unfamiliar pang of guilt. This was his fault. His laxness, his careless disregard for Raditz's temper, had led to this. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words feeling alien on his tongue. "I'm so sorry, Lara."
She shook her head, a slow, deliberate movement. "No… no, Kakarot. Not your fault. He's… he's a brute." Her voice was gaining a little strength, a flash of her usual spirit, even through the pain. "Just… just a little winded. And… and the bruise. It'll fade. I'm… I'm fine. Just… give me a minute." She wasn't truly fine, not by a long shot, but she was alive, conscious, and her characteristic resilience was already beginning to assert itself. Her species had a surprising capacity for recovery, though not on the scale of a Saiyan.
A wave of relief, so potent it almost buckled his knees, washed over Kakarot. She was okay. She would be okay. The burning hatred for Raditz, momentarily overshadowed by his terror for Lara, banked down into a cold, hard resolve. He would remember this. Every bruise, every frightened whimper, every tear. He would remember.
He helped her slowly, carefully, to sit up against the side of the bed, cushioning her back with a discarded pillow. "Stay here," he instructed, his voice flat, emotionless. He reached for his uniform, which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, kicked there by Raditz's boot. He dressed quickly, efficiently, the familiar weight of the armored shoulder pads and battle-suit material a comfort, a second skin. As he secured his scouter to his ear, he glanced back at Lara.
She was watching him, her blue eyes still wide, a mix of fear and concern. "Kakarot… be careful," she whispered.
He didn't respond verbally. He simply gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture that conveyed both his acknowledgment and a promise of vengeance. The playful, carefree Kakarot was gone, replaced by a cold, coiled tension. He had a mission. And he had a debt to collect.
He stepped out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him, sealing Lara away, a painful memory already fading into the background of his immediate objective. The corridor was stark, sterile, the polished metallic floor reflecting the overhead lights. He walked with a purpose, his boots echoing softly. He could feel Raditz's power signature, strong and impatient, emanating from the direction of the pod bay.
The walk was short but tension-filled. Each step Kakarot took felt deliberate, a conscious effort to compartmentalize. The anger, the humiliation, the worry for Lara – all of it was pushed down, locked away in a chamber he chose not to open. He couldn't afford a repeat of his earlier rage. Not when Raditz was stronger. Not now. He would play the part. The indifferent, slightly lazy, but ultimately compliant Saiyan.
He found Raditz already standing by his personal attack pod, his arms crossed over his chest, his long, spiky hair almost brushing the ceiling of the hangar. The pod bay was massive, filled with dozens of the spherical craft, but only two were currently activated, their hatches open, waiting. Raditz's scouter glowed faintly, his face a mask of impatient contempt. He didn't even bother to look up when Kakarot approached.
"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you, Kakarot?" Raditz sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Took your sweet time. Don't tell me you needed a lullaby to put your little pet back to sleep."
Kakarot stopped a few feet from his pod, his back to Raditz as he began to climb the retractable ramp. "Relax, big brother," he said, his voice flat, utterly devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to his earlier infuriating casualness. Now, it was just… empty. "I'm here, aren't I? No harm done." He didn't look back, didn't acknowledge the barb about Lara. It was as if the incident, the fight, the assault on Lara, had never happened.
Raditz scoffed, a deep, rumbling sound. "No harm done? You think Prince Vegeta will see it that way? When we're late because of your… little escapades?"
Kakarot settled into the cramped cockpit of his individual Saiyan attack pod, the seat molded perfectly to his physique. He ran a hand over the smooth, cold controls. "He'll understand," he repeated, the same words he'd used earlier, but now delivered with a deadpan certainty that was almost unnerving. He powered up the pod with a sequence of practiced movements, the internal systems humming to life, diagnostics flashing across the main display.
Raditz just grunted, clearly exasperated but finding no purchase for his anger against Kakarot's sudden, uncharacteristic placidity. He stomped into his own pod, the hatch hissing shut a moment later. Kakarot heard the mechanical whir as Raditz's pod sealed, then the faint thrum of its engines powering up.
A small comm light blinked on Kakarot's console. He put his scouter up to his ear, activating the internal comm. "Ready when you are, Raditz."
"Just get us there, Kakarot. And don't screw this up. Vegeta's patience is thinner than usual, even for Frieza's orders," Raditz's voice crackled through the comm, still laced with irritation. "This planet, PX-723, is a potential goldmine. Frieza wants a full assessment, and if it checks out, we clear it for sale. Our cut depends on how quickly and efficiently we do it."
Kakarot nodded, though Raditz couldn't see him. "Understood. PX-723. Grade-C, low tech. Standard procedure." His tone remained utterly devoid of any personal investment, sounding like a fully automated flight computer.
The massive hangar bay doors, reinforced with layers of heavy alloy, began to retract with a low groan, revealing the inky blackness of space beyond. Pinpricks of distant stars glittered like scattered diamonds on black velvet. Kakarot initiated the launch sequence. The pod vibrated, a deep rumble starting in its core, growing stronger, coursing through his very bones. A surge of power, contained and controlled, propelled the pod forward.
With a whoosh, his pod shot out of the station. Raditz's pod, a twin sphere of polished metallic gray, angled away from the station's gravitational pull almost immediately, a small, distant point against the backdrop of the planet below. Kakarot followed, swiftly accelerating, the stars blurring into elongated streaks of light as they engaged their hyper-drive.
The journey was long, several days in their high-speed pods, traversing the vast stretches of intergalactic void. Kakarot spent much of it in a contemplative silence, broken only by occasional, terse communications with Raditz. The comms were always initiated by Raditz, usually to reiterate some minor detail of the mission, or to once again express his profound disappointment in Kakarot's perceived laziness.
"You know, Kakarot, if you keep this up, Frieza will just discard you. You're only useful if you're pulling your weight. Vegeta has enough on his plate without having to babysit you," Raditz harped one cycle, his image appearing as a blurred hologram on Kakarot's display.
Kakarot merely grunted, staring out at the swirling vortex of hyperspace. "Don't worry about me, big brother. I'm fine." His voice was still monotone, but there was a subtle undercurrent now, a faint edge of controlled steel. He was fine. More than fine. He was calculating. He was learning. He was remembering.
The mission parameters replayed in his mind. PX-723. Located in the outer rim of a desolate spiral arm, a planet rich in rare minerals and unexploited bio-diversity. Frieza had deemed it profitable for a quick conquest and sale to a lesser galactic empire looking to expand. The inhabitants were primitive, barely past rudimentary iron-age technology, their power levels negligible. An easy, almost dull, chore for Saiyans. Usually.
For Kakarot, it was just another job. But this time, it was different. This time, there was a score to settle. He would do his duty, perform as expected, perhaps even exceed expectations. He would prove Raditz wrong, not with words or pleas, but with cold, efficient action. He would earn the right to deal with his brother on his own terms.
After what felt like an eternity, the swirling colors of hyperspace snapped back into the familiar starscape. A verdant green and blue orb, wreathed in soft, white clouds, hung before them. PX-723. Kakarot felt a flicker of something in his chest, not excitement, not even anger, but a cold, almost predatory anticipation.
"We're here. Planetfall in T-minus five," Raditz's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Vegeta and Nappa should be on the ground already. Don't dawdle, Kakarot. We're already late."
Kakarot merely nodded to himself, initiating the atmospheric entry sequence. The pod shuddered violently as it plunged through the upper layers of the planet's atmosphere, the heat shield glowing cherry red. He expertly maneuvered, controlling the descent, guiding his pod through the clouds, searching for any sign of his fellow Saiyans.
As he broke through the cloud cover, a vast landscape of ancient, towering forests and winding rivers spread out before him. But there was also smoke. Plumes of it, black and thick, rising from several spots across the otherwise pristine landscape. Destruction.
His scouter suddenly flared with two immensely powerful readings. "Power levels detected. Vegeta and Nappa. They're already… active." He didn't need to say more. The smoke and the readings told the story. The 'scouting run' had already turned into a full-blown assault.
He aimed for the highest power readings, guiding his pod down through a dense canopy of colossal, broad-leafed trees. His landing was precise, soft, barely rustling the leaves. He disembarked, the ramp hissing down, revealing a humid, earthy smell, thick with the scent of unfamiliar foliage and a faint, acrid tang of ozone and burning wood. The air was heavy, alive with the chirping of unseen insects and the distant, terrified screams of the primitive inhabitants.
Raditz's pod landed a short distance away, crashing through a cluster of smaller trees with far less finesse. He emerged, his scouter already scanning, a sneer on his face. "Wasting time with a soft landing, Kakarot? Pathetic. Let's move."
Kakarot simply walked past him, his eyes fixed on the direction of the highest power levels. He moved through the dense jungle, the huge, brightly colored plants brushing against his armored legs. The ground was uneven, roots and vines crisscrossing his path, but he navigated it with an almost ethereal grace, his senses alert.
Within minutes, the sounds of battle became clearer. The earth trembled faintly with distant impacts. Explosions ripped through the air, followed by the sickening crunch of collapsing structures. He pushed through a final curtain of thick, purple leaves and emerged into a clearing, and the scene before him was one of utter devastation.
A village, built of wood and mud, its conical huts thatched with woven broad-leaves, was in ruins. Flames licked at the remaining structures, and the air was thick with smoke and the cries of the dying. And in the center of it all, two figures stood like gods of destruction.
Prince Vegeta, his short, spiky black hair rising like a crown, stood atop a mound of rubble, a cruel smirk on his face, his armor gleaming in the dappled sunlight. His scouter glowed an angry red. Around him, several of the blue-skinned inhabitants, their faces marked with tribal paint, lay scattered, broken, their simple spears and bows useless against the Saiyan might.
Beside Vegeta, Nappa, a behemoth of a man, bald and scarred, let out a booming laugh as he casually backhanded a fleeing native, sending them flying into a crumbling hut with a sickening crack. His broad shoulders twitched, and he flexed his massive arms, clearly enjoying the slaughter.
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Vegeta drawled, his voice bored, his eyes flicking to Kakarot and Raditz with a dismissive air. "About time you two showed up. We were beginning to think Frieza had finally decided to replace Raditz with a more competent lackey. And his little brother… I suppose he needed assistance locating his own ass."
Raditz immediately moved forward, bowing his head slightly, a forced, obsequious smile on his face. "Prince Vegeta! My sincerest apologies for our tardiness, sir. Kakarot here… he had some… personal difficulties and delayed our departure. I tried to impress upon him the urgency, but he remains… obstinate." He shot a venomous glance at Kakarot, a desperate attempt to shift all blame.
Kakarot, however, merely walked forward, his expression unreadable, his eyes calm as he surveyed the devastation. He stopped a few feet from Vegeta, hands clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed, almost too relaxed. "No problem, Prince Vegeta," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any stress or apology. "I'm here now. Ready to proceed as ordered."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his regal features. He hated insubordination, hated excuses, but even more, he hated Kakarot's nonchalant attitude. "No problem? You think being several hours late for a mission, especially one under Frieza's direct scrutiny, is 'no problem,' Kakarot?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"Lord Frieza instructed us to assess the planet for conquest and sale," Kakarot replied, ignoring the specific slight, focusing instead on the mission details as if nothing else mattered. "It appears the preliminary assessment has already begun. We can finalize the report and proceed with the clearance." He gestured vaguely at the burning village. "These primitive types won't put up much of a fight. The planet will be ready for auction within the cycle."
Nappa guffawed, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. "That's one way to put it, runt! 'Preliminary assessment!' Ha! These soft-bellied worms broke quicker than a twig! Vegeta here just got a little impatient." He grinned, a wide, brutish display of teeth.
Vegeta merely scoffed, ignoring Nappa's comment. His gaze lingered on Kakarot, a spark of suspicion in his eyes. The younger Saiyan was acting… strangely. Too calm, too detached. He was usually more of a slacker, prone to complaining or some infuriating quip. This new, cold efficiency was almost unsettling.
"Indeed," Vegeta said at last, deciding not to press the issue for now. Frieza's orders were paramount. "Let's not waste any more time. Raditz, Nappa, you two sweep the Northern continent. Kakarot, you take the South. Any strongholds, any resistance, eliminate it. Ensure there are no survivors above the basic genetic population Frieza requires for bio-resource assessment. I will personally oversee the central regions." He gave a predatory smile. "And try to keep up, Kakarot. Don't make me come looking for your mangled corpse because you were too busy admiring the local flora."
Kakarot met Vegeta's gaze, his own eyes holding a depth that belied his casual stance. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "Understood, Prince Vegeta." His voice was still even, but the smirk, the unspoken promise in his eyes, was a silent challenge. He turned, without another word, and launched himself into the air, a blur of motion streaking towards the southern horizon, leaving behind the smoke, the burning village, and the simmering tension with his brother and his Prince, a silent fury burning cold and hard in his core. This mission was just the beginning.