Title: Frieza’s Ambassadors
Premise, or Lack Thereof: Raditz and his new girlfriend become very uncomfortable guests on Earth
Reason for Banishment: Lost steam.

Frieza’s Ambassadors (tentative title)
an alternate universe ‘fic by Dot

= = =

Goku was starting to run out of words to describe how he felt. In the space of a single day, he reunited with a brother he didn’t even know he had, confirmed his origins as the last of an alien race, and learned that his initial purpose in life was to destroy the very planet he now called home.

“Fortunately, Lord Frieza does make exceptions if some place slated for cleansing turns out to have good manpower or technological resources.” Raditz—the alien who claimed kinship with Goku—was saying. He looked around the room and shook his head. “No offense, but if these are the best warriors y’all have, I hope you’ve got some genius-level scientists looking for work.”

Piccolo crossed his arms. “And what makes you think we’ll join your happy little world-destroying crew?”

“Dying in defense of your planet’s a noble sentiment, but once you check out you can’t exactly accomplish anything else.” Raditz turned his gaze back on Goku. “Besides, you’ll have to be trained for at least a year before you’d be ready for any missions. And a lot of things can happen in a year.”

Goku sensed that Raditz had left something unsaid, but whatever it was would have to wait until they were alone. “Piccolo-san is right. I wouldn’t want to hurt other people, even if it would keep this place safe. But—” If he refused the offer, he might have to fight Raditz and whoever else this ‘Frieza’ sends their way. Goku didn’t want to have to kill his brother, not right after he’d met him. “I guess I can agree to the training.”

“What about this whole takeover thing?” Bulma wanted to know. “We all saw how the rest of the world reacted. If Son-kun hadn’t shown up, Rad-kun here would have turned South City into a smoking crater.”

“Rad-kun?” Raditz repeated, raising an amused eyebrow. “As for your respective governments, I’m guessing they’ll want to talk to more diplomatically inclined people,” and here he smirked, “but I can always demonstrate the futility of resisting.”

Before another bickering match could erupt, Mikazuki—Raditz’s silent companion—put a hand on Raditz’ and gave him a reproachful look.

“Sorry,” Raditz answered with a sheepish grin, directing the half-hearted apology to the rest of the group as well.

“Anyway, there’s no point in sitting around here discussing what other people might or might not think.” Bulma stood. “I’ll just have Dad call up the appropriate parties, and let them make their own decisions.”

“And I’ll make dinner,” Chi-Chi volunteered. After the initial shock and rage wore off, she seemed to take this whole mess quite well, or at least was in severe denial. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving,” Raditz agreed. “But first, I’d kinda like to take a bath. I’m pretty sure I reek something pretty powerful.”

“You’re not the only thing in here that stinks,” Piccolo muttered.

= = =

Raditz rubbed Mikazuki’s back with the cloth, tracing over each scar. She’d stopped slapping his hand away whenever he got too close into her personal space ages ago, but it had taken much longer for her to not flinch whenever they made contact.

“I think they liked you better,” he commented as he finished up.

She clasped her hands over her heart and smiled.

“Nice? Naive is more like it. Not even the Namekian thought I was making all that up.” After rinsing off, he helped her out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her. He rubbed her belly. “And how’s my little Kabu doing?”

She giggled, tilting her head to kiss him on the bottom of his chin. He kissed her back on her nose while he dried her off, fighting off the usual wave of panic that arose whenever he thought about their child. She must have noticed, because after she picked up the clothes the humans left for them in lieu of their rather travel-stained armor, she tapped the side of her head and gave him a questioning glance.

“I’m not telling.” He stuck out his tongue as he checked the seat of the reddish-yellow pants. As he poked a hole for his tail, being careful not to ruin the outfit in the process, he forced himself to calm down. No point in getting all worked up about hypothetical situations, not after she stopped looking for reasons to die.

Meanwhile, she had finished dressing. Raditz felt his breath catch in his throat. The fabric was light and thin, almost as if it were woven out of mist. The folds conformed to her curves in a way that accentuated them without making her look indecent, and the trim shimmered with a slight blue-green sheen depending on the way she moved.

She followed his line of sight and flushed a deep red. She twirled a thread button, not looking at him or her reflection in the mirror.

He took her hand into his, answering her unspoken question. “You’re beautiful.”

= = =

The group of his brother’s friends, who had been in some sort of quiet but intense argument, stopped in mid-sentence as they noticed him and Mikazuki re-enter the living room. He was, however, more occupied with looking at Mikazuki, who was in turn very interested in the little boy running around the room.

She tugged on Raditz’s elbow, pointed to the boy, and drew a circle in the air.

“Hm, I dunno. I’ll ask. Oi, Goku.” His tongue balked at the strange name Kakarot preferred, but he was determined to get along with his brother.

Kakarot looked up from behind the couch. “Yes?”

“Your kid seen his first full moon yet?”

“No.” Kakarot blinked, while the others blanched. “Is that important?”

Raditz groaned. “Figures you wouldn’t know.” He turned to the small bald one—Krillin, if he could trust his memory. “I take it you’ve seen him go ape?”

Krillin nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times. During Goku’s first tournament, Master Roshi—” and here he paused, as if he was going to say something, but amended himself, “—removed Goku’s tail so it wouldn’t happen again.”

Kakarot just managed to look more confused. “Wait, what?”

“We Saiyans turn into, for lack of a better term, giant killer monkeys at the sight of the full moon if we still have our tails.” Raditz uncurled the appendage from his waist to emphasize his point. “It’s one of the reasons we put up with such an obvious weakness.”

“So I was the monster that killed grampa,” Goku muttered, realization dawning.

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill anything else,” Raditz pointed out. “Even a trained warrior can’t always control himself on a Moonrage.” He raised his shirt, showing them the odd lump on his chest where the bones did not quite knit together. “This happened five years ago. If it hadn’t been an accident, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

Meanwhile, Kakarot was lost in his own thoughts, running a hand through his son’s hair. “If I just pulled it off, would it hurt?” He asked, keeping his eyes distant.

Raditz recalled a teasing conversation with a doctor between shifts. “Just grab it as close to his rear and yank in one, quick motion. He’ll never miss it. Or that’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

Kakarot regarded Raditz with some astonishment. “You’re okay with this?”

“Well, if you have to ask, then no.” Raditz shrugged. “But he’s not my kid.”

“Oh.” Some sort of understanding seemed to pass between the two men. Kakarot bent down and whispered into Gohan’s ear, and the boy steeled himself.

The impromptu amputation happened in the blink of an eye, Gohan yelping just once in surprise as he faced the sudden need to readjust his center of balance. Raditz allowed himself a mental sigh of relief, glad that the doctor had been right. Just like that, the tail was gone; there hadn’t even been any blood.

Kakarot’s woman chose this moment to reenter the living room, smelling of spices. “All, right, everyone, dinner’s ready—ohmygodGohanwhathappenedtoyourtail?” She whirled on Kakarot, furious. “You—it was you, wasn’t it? I can’t believe you actually did this!”

Kakarot winced. “But I thought you hated that tail, Chi-Chi.”

“You could have at least asked me first!”

The others filed out as if nothing was wrong. Raditz watched for a few moments before following suit.

“Earth women are strange,” he muttered just loud enough for Mikazuki to hear.

Her response was to gesture to herself and whirled a finger around her temple.

Raditz chuckled. “Point.”

= = =

The least civilized eater at the table was Son being his usual all-consuming self, not his brother, who to Piccolo’s surprise commanded the use of chopsticks quite well.

Piccolo watched Son’s brother throughout the meal. So far, he’d behaved himself and shown no signs of hostility, but Piccolo wasn’t ready to let his guard down yet. Even if Son’s brother wasn’t dangerous, Piccolo had no doubt that the employers were. (Genocide and world domination were supposed to be his fields of expertise. Who did this bunch of aliens think they were?)

“Goku!” Son’s wife berated, looking horrified. “It won’t kill you to slow down a bit!”

“But I’m hungry!” Was the mouth-full-of-food reply. “And everything tastes so wonderful!”

“It helps to chew every once in a while,” Son’s brother offered, snatching a morsel before Son could get to it.

Son pouted, which of course made him look even more ridiculous. “I was going to eat that.”

Piccolo tuned out the rest of the conversation and began scanning everyone again. Son was, as always, straightforward to the point of stupidity, although he’d also started masking his true strength now that there could be a hostile extraterrestrial takeover on the horizon. His wife, on the other hand, was as vapid and shallow as her ki. And the brat—pfeh. Weak, both in body and mind. Piccolo still couldn’t believe that the simpering little crybaby had any of Son’s blood.

Son’s brother, that vegetable-named fellow—a true Saiyan indeed, Piccolo thought with a mental chuckle—also hid his ki, but could not quite contain all of his savage wildness. Perhaps he had not yet been hit on the head hard enough.

Mikazuki—even Piccolo could tell she the woman of Son’s brother, although she hadn’t been introduced as such—lived up to her name as well. She was content to be in the shadow of Son’s brother, who always hovered over her like a hawk. Piccolo had been suspicious of her, at first, but watching her interact with Son’s brother had put his mind at ease. One could not feign the kind of closeness they showed with each other. And even if parts of Mikazuki’s story had been fabricated, her numerous scars—the most prominent being the jagged one across her jugular—testified that it was rooted in truth.

Son’s short, bald companion, Krillin, was watching Son’s wife. His eyes kept darting back and forth between the screeching woman and Son’s brother, who only looked more amused by the minute. Piccolo almost laughed as well. Did the little man think that Son’s brother was stupid enough to try killing the harpy? Son might not rip someone’s arm off for looking at his wife crosswise, but he would still never permit any harm to come to her.

The three-eyes named Tien still kept all of his attention on Son’s brother. He was not ready to let his guard down, not just yet. With their true enemy being vague, abstract, and possibly unbeatable, Tien focused his frustrations on Son’s brother, who was much more tangible.

Son’s blue-haired traveling companion, Bulma, a genius in some respect and a complete bubblehead in others, was acting more like the latter, engaging in a small tiff of her own with her beleaguered boyfriend Yamcha. He sat last, and very much so least, far away from the action, always an accessory, a side-note, a secondary. He wasn’t even the designated red-shirt; that task fell to Krillin, who always seemed to be the first to get injured, more often than not on his bulbous head.

Dinner came to an uneventful close and Son’s wife exhausted her long litany of insults soon after. Mikazuki helped clear the table despite Son’s wife’s protests, while Raditz entertained the brat, also despite Son’s wife’s protests. Son’s friends exchanged a few pleasantries all around, even with Piccolo, and everyone retired for the evening.

Piccolo, after making one final check, excused himself from the room, giving Son a joking threat about killing him later, but both knew his words were empty.

They now had a common enemy. And as the old saying went, the enemy of one’s enemy was, despite everything, a friend.

= = =

“Hey, Veggie!” Zarbon waved, grinning, as his annoying feminine features graced the screen. “How are the negotiations going?”

Vegeta decided to let the nickname pass without comment. Best to pretend that it didn’t bother him, so he wouldn’t be goaded about it nonstop later. “The Sentonians have made some concessions, but they haven’t agreed to a full alliance yet.”

Zarbon made a dismissive gesture. “Ah, don’t sweat it! Those Sentonians are tough nuts. I actually would have been suspicious if they green-lighted everything right away. Keep up the good work.” He leaned forward. “So how’s Raditz doing?”

Vegeta crossed his arms. “Doesn’t your little spy tell you?”

Zarbon pouted. “For the last time, Veggie, Mika-dearest isn’t a spy!”

“You didn’t just ‘give’ her to Raditz out of the generosity of your heart, if you even have one.” Vegeta went on before Zarbon could protest. “And I don’t believe her sob story for a minute, so don’t bother rambling about how tragically depressed she was before That Fateful Day.”

Zarbon sighed with melodramatic flair. “You don’t have a single romantic bone in your body.”

Vegeta resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “Fine. I’ll give you a full, written report later, but here’s the short version: Raditz made contact just before I called; he found Kakarot, except the idiot apparently hit his head as a baby and thinks of himself as the defender of that dirtball he was sent to cleanse.”

“Good thing he didn’t do his job, then, don’t you think? We would have missed out on many great discoveries.”

Vegeta scoffed. “I take it that means you’re going there yourself, eventually?”

“Of course! I could use a good vacation.”

Zarbon was, of course, hiding something, but Vegeta knew better than to ask. He wouldn’t get any straight answers, and he did trust Zarbon that much, at least. “Well, I hope your trip will turn out better than this pathetic waste of time.”

“Keep an open mind, Veggie!” Zarbon admonished. “You’ll only find something worthwhile if you look in the right places.”

Vegeta couldn’t quite stop his eyebrow from twitching. “I’m hanging up, Zarbon.”

“Wait, Veggie!” Zarbon exclaimed in mock horror. “I haven’t said how much I—”


= = =

“—love you yet,” Zarbon finished, despite the connection being broken. He put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Oh, woe is me, my darling does not return my affections!”

He smiled as he heard the muted snickers coming from the other side of the wall. They could call him Pretty Boy and Limp-Wrist as much as they liked. The more the lie was repeated, the more inclined Frieza would be to believe it, despite very good reasons not to.

Zarbon kept smiling, humming a happy tune to himself as he packed. Revenge, as the old saying went, was a dish best served cold. And, after all those years, it didn’t hurt to wait a little longer.

= = =

Raditz gave up trying to stop Mikazuki from doting on him, but he wasn’t about to quit complaining. “I’ve lived through worse,” he grumbled as she wiped the blood from his split lip. “Besides, Goku says he’s got something great that will ‘fix me up right quick’.” He eyed his opponent, who was being examined by his creators and an awestruck Bulma.

She followed his gaze, frowned, and shook her head.

“Yes, yes, no rematches, I know.” Raditz sighed. “But damn. That thing packs quite a punch. If Frieza—”

She put a hand on his mouth, eyes widened in alarm and fear.

Raditz nodded back, not saying anything further. He didn’t think Frieza had ears here—not yet, at least—but it never hurt to be careful.

“I’m back!” Goku shouted, landing with a bag in his hand. He rummaged through it and tossed something at Raditz. “Here you go!”

Raditz caught the object—a rather misshapen bean—one-handed and examined it. “This is the ‘great thing’ that you went to get?”

Goku grinned. “Just try it! You’ll see!”

Raditz gave Goku a quizzical look, but ate the bean nonetheless, gave it a few quick chews, and swallowed. He had to bite his lip to keep from bellowing as he felt his broken bones knit back together at an amazing speed—and then the lip itself mended, along with Raditz’s more superficial injuries, leaving him exhausted and feverish. A moment later, that feeling, too dissipated, and he was not only healed, but invigorated as well. Raditz stared at himself, then at his brother. “Woah.”

Goku beamed. “Yeah, Korin’s senzu beans are totally cool, aren’t they?”

“I’ll say.” Raditz found himself marveling more and more. What other secrets did this planet hold?

= = =

Bulma watched with rapt fascination as Dr. Gero continued to fine-tune Number Ten’s circuitry based on the feedback he received from its spar with Raditz. She couldn’t believe that this frail-looking old man was the very same mad genius that Son-kun had defeated ages ago.

Gero paused for a moment to regard Bulma with his off-kilter gaze. “You’re one of Son Goku’s friends, aren’t you?”

Bulma suppressed a shudder. There had been no intonation in Gero’s voice at all. “Yeah. Son-kun and I go way back.”

“I see.” Gero returned to his work. “You’re also Professor Brief’s daughter.”

“Yeah—now that you mention it, I think Papa’s talked about you before.”

Gero shook his head. “I was referring to your mother. You bear a remarkable resemblance to her.”

Bulma blinked. Mama, a Professor? “Oh,” was the only thing she could think of saying.

“A shame she had to give up her calling, in order to serve the whims of a man who barely understood the beauty of her soul.” Gero adjusted a tiny bolt. “The world should not stand for such injustice.”

Bulma flared, but kept silent. If she pointed out that Mama was happy as she was, it might just infuriate Gero and convince him that Mama was wronged somehow. And since he couldn’t get the woman he wanted, he settles for taking over the world instead. Figures.

She refocused her attention back on Number Ten, and shuddered again as she realized that Gero had built it in the form of the child that he and Mama might have had, if they had married. Ten was watching its—no, his, Bulma corrected herself—surroundings with an air of disinterest, unfazed by the fact that he almost killed a Saiyan more than twice his size and his creator was now poking into his body with some very strange looking tools.

And we’re going to sell him to some really nasty aliens in exchange for our lives, she thought, feeling both tremendous guilt and fear at this thought. Even if the promise to spare Earth was kept, Bulma couldn’t help but wonder if their concessions would be too high of a price to pay for their security.

= = =

Mikazuki nodded at the warriors gathered before her and pressed her fists together so her knuckles touched.

“She wants to watch us fight,” Chiaotzu explained. Her mind brushed against his, still trying to adjust to the idea of telepathy. Chiaotzu smiled as the next thought bubbled to the surface. “And she’s sorry about Raditz; he can be an ass sometimes.  Her ‘words’, by the way, not mine.”

“He can’t be too bad, if you like him,” Yamcha replied, causing Mikazuki to blush. Under his breath, Yamcha added, “lucky bastard.”

Tienshinhan uncrossed his arms and settled into a loose stance. “Let’s not waste any more time with blather, then.”

“Right.” Krillin smiled and mirrored the stance. “Just like old times, eh?”

They held back just enough so that the engagement would not cause any permanent harm. Each man wore a different expression on his face: Krillin was grinning like a maniac, Tien was scowling in concentration, Yamcha had a relaxed, vacuous look, and Chiaotzu kept his face blank.

Then Mikazuki struck.

She wasted no movements, dodging with the slightest of sidesteps and attacking with surgical precision. Her first hits were light tags, at first, tentative and testing.

After that, she played hardball.

= = =

Raditz sprawled on the ground. “Damn, you’re better than I thought.”

Goku landed next to him and offered him another bean. “Yeah, but you had to take on me and Piccolo at the same time.”

“And if we were trying to kill each other, Son, I have no doubt he would have succeeded.” Piccolo, in the meantime, regrew the arm that Raditz blew off with a lucky shot. “Are all Saiyans this scary?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been catching up, but Nappa can still beat me to a pulp any day. Vegeta—” Raditz shuddered, “—always looks at me like he’s planning to kill me and write that off as an accident someday. And then there’re people like the Ginyu Force, General Zarbon, and of course, Lord Frieza himself, who are so beyond even Vegeta’s league it gives me nightmares just thinking about it.”

Goku’s eyes danced with excitement. “Really? That’s awesome.”

Raditz groaned. Despite the amnesia, his brother was still a Saiyan in this respect. “I guess that means we’re going to be doing a more training.”

“Of course!” Goku beamed for a moment, and then looked worried. “Although you were kind of not all there today. Something the matter?”

“No,” Raditz lied. It’s just that my pregnant wife is putting herself and my unborn child at risk for a bunch of people who would in all likelihood just die horribly if the shit hits the fan. Seeing the strange looks he was now getting from Piccolo as well, he pushed his worries aside for the moment. Mikazuki was a strong girl. She could make it through this. “You guys up for round two?”

Goku’s grin became even wider despite his face already having seemed to reach its limit earlier. “You bet.”

= = =

A week later, the official entourage arrived. The spaceship landed at the Capsule Corporation’s private air field among countless cameras and reporters all jostling to land the biggest scoop ever: Earth was making First Contact! Waiting to receive the extraterrestrial visitors were representatives from each nation, along with a small army’s worth of security guards to keep the uninvited from storming the area.

Raditz headed the welcoming committee, standing at stiff attention in full combat gear. When the doors opened, he dropped to one knee and bowed until his forehead touched the ground. “General Zarbon.”

A blue-skinned alien with delicate features stepped out onto the runway alone, its movements equal parts elegant grace and menacing precision. “Oh, skip the formalities.” Seeing the cameras, it waved and blew winking kisses as innumerable flashes went off. “Hello there, people of Earth!” It greeted in almost flawless English, and then repeated itself in a few other languages.

Bulma, watching the event from the live feed in the relative safety of the main corporate building, couldn’t help but admire the specimen. “Wow, this Zarbon character’s pretty hot.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Yamcha groused, wringing his hands; it was obvious that he was not breaking out in a cold sweat by sheer force of will.

“It’s called a joke, dumb-ass.” Bulma crossed her arms. “Why do you have to make everything about you?”

Krillin, for his part, was about as pale as Chiaotzu. “Do you think he’s letting that much ki show on purpose, or he’s just so powerful that he can’t contain it?”

Goku, of course, was bursting with excitement. “Wow! Radditsu wasn’t exaggerating! I can’t wait to spar with him!”

This got a short but genuine chuckle out of Mikazuki, who up until this point was wound even tighter than Radditsu had been, pacing with her arms clutched across her body.

Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:
So, I’ve spawned another one of those new characters. I don’t have the heart to cut her out of the plot just yet, since she’s pretty much how this particular alternate universe crystallized in the first place.

Name puns, in alphabetical order –
Kabu = Turnip
Mikazuki = New Moon