“The landing itself was a disgrace.” Zarbon’s voice was light, like a melody. “It’s a good thing all witnesses are dead now, lest they speak of it.” His words somehow intertwined perfectly with the beat in Vegeta’s head. “You’d think that no Saiyan has ever tried to land a pod manually before.” The vaulted space of high ceilings, filled with frigid air, felt like it was pushing down on him; cold and overbearing. Yet the drum inside the Saiyan’s skull pushed back in relentless rhythmic waves, merciless and strong.

The tyrant had moved its court from the ship to this cavernous palace on Frieza 15, an old and frozen planet, in all likelihood to give the long-braided elite a better stage for its one-man play. “I’m confused, though, because Technical assured me the act was so simple any primate could have done it.”

As a commander, Vegeta found himself in the middle of the line flanked by his Saiyans, four on either side. All nine Saiyans stood at attention, forced to listen as Zarbon perverted the recount of their latest mission into a farcical play, for the double audience of Frieza at their front and a gathered crowd at their backs. Landing on a planet like this, with an actual city, was rare. However, the main ship was scheduled to stay planetside for the next year, and Vegeta grown to hate everything about this rock already. It was cold, dark, covered with snow, and inhabited by all kinds of freaks that had flocked in to witness his latest public debasement.

Vegeta breathed out slowly when Zarbon paused, and stared straight at Frieza through the clouds of his breath. The tyrant looked away as if embarrassed, as the beings behind the Prince chuckled softly at each punchline. Vegeta could see clearly now. This setup was no coincidence: it was deliberate, a crested magpie of lies meant to shame Vegeta into acquiescence.

In front of the throne, Zarbon started to pace, its step still springy on account of the planet’s low gravity. “To my surprise they did manage to regroup, though it took over half an hour. But, what do you think our monkeys did first thing when they found each other? That’s right, they all got lost and separated again.”

This time the crowd at Vegeta’s back laughed a little louder, now assured that no punishment would occur for it. The Ice-lord itself seemed to miss the whole joke, its eyes off to the side somewhere.

Vegeta kept his feet planted firmly and lifted his chin another inch, anything to keep his hands behind his back from clenching. There were too many monsters waiting to catch any tell of weakness, and the Prince had never missed his cape so much. That little measure of privacy would have meant a lot right now against these vultures, as he could expect no protection from their ridicule by the lizard emperor. But holding his temper was probably important, though the blood-drums in his head suggested a different path.

Zarbon continued its tale like some bard, so engrossed and pleased by its own voice. Vegeta tuned it out and listened to the song in his blood instead while he studied the lizard. That bored front, that feigned indifference to the whole show. Yet this was likely another part of the game. A game Vegeta would lose just by giving in and accepting the Lizard’s offer to leave his command and join its entourage instead. A game Vegeta had no idea how to win. A game he knew he hated. All he could do was hold on, not give in. But the song strumming inside him sang of explosions instead, of blowing off as many heads of those cowards at his back as he could— too cowardly to laugh at his face. It sang of launching himself at Zarbon or even Frieza; just tearing off a chunk for the road and seeing what would happen if Vegeta quit playing...

The voice carrying across the room again joined in with the thumping blood in his ears, and Vegeta could not help but listen: “—so that’s how we ended up with seven Saiyans panicking and running after their commander across an empty desert, while one engaged the capital alone and had to flee for his life.”

That’s not how it happened. That’s not how it happened, that’s not how it happened! The phrase was like a chorus in his head. Their scouters had not functioned, an effect caused by the planet’s magnetic fields. Vegeta had anticipated interference but working without communication devices, maps, or any way to detect positions of enemy and friendly troops alike had been hard. Maybe they had lost their way a few times, but at least he had made provisions to find each other if separated. It had just taken more time than usual to clear the planet, but that had hardly been a surprise. Vegeta had even asked for extra time before they left. Unsurprisingly, his request had been denied.  

This time even Frieza hid its mouth behind one hand to disguise what was obviously a chuckle. No; this was part of the game too. What would happen if Vegeta just blasted away some random people, told Frieza to go fuck itself, and left? He needed to know, and the moment to find out had come. In the silence that followed Frieza cleared its throat, pretended to be uncomfortable. It was all for show, Vegeta could see that now.

The monster spoke again, its voice kind and sad. “So, I guess it didn't turn out too well. I am glad you are hale, my little Prince. But, we can all see this could have turned out much, much worse. Perhaps it’s time we... put an end to this, ah, farce? It’s degrading, and you would come to rights so much better at my side…”

Frieza smiled at him, and Vegeta felt his face twist in answer. To suggest again, and in company, to become one of its lap dogs. Another Zarbon, standing at its side, playing retainer… like some servant. Just the idea pushed him past reason, and Vegeta resolved to take no more. He would go for the jugular, rip that purple lizard to shreds. Or just die trying. Probably die trying. Vegeta let his mouth open to a silent snarl as he stared back at the tyrant.

The lizard just sat still and blinked down at him from its hover chair. Vegeta could feel the Saiyans at both his sides fidget, even Raditz, who had been calm as ever during the entire debasement. Still the Prince stayed frozen, unwilling to back down. Even as the crowd started to murmur. Vegeta looked on, unimpressed, as the tyrant slowly lost its kind smile. Another slow blink, and the pink ice-jin raised one hand to inspect its immaculately manicured nails. Perfectly clean, not a speck of blood left on them. Vegeta got the hint, but why not call its bluff? With the drumbeat in his head still singing, it seemed worth the risk.

It wasn’t worth it, logic dictated. He would die, just like his father. Yet his heart disagreed, and the drums drowned out that voice of reason. If these were his choices right now— taking a piece out of that pompous monster, or begging for another mission which was bound to end in failure once again— why even bother? The only reason he hesitated to act was that attacking Frieza now would be the same as admitting failure. The game was rigged, though. Vegeta would never get acknowledged for a job well done. So it was just stubbornness keeping him going. Well, the Prince was honest enough to admit he had more than enough stubbornness for one man. But he had more pride still, and he would not lower himself to—

“Please give us one more chance, Master Frieza, I know we can do it!”

Vegeta cursed out loud and turned to his left, nearly exploding at the audacity, the betrayal. Raditz! Out of all of his squad, the only one he’d thought he could count on was Raditz. And now, he was just… kneeling to that monster, again. This time, Vegeta did snarl, but it was a wordless sound. What else could be said to the third-class now, except that Vegeta hated him for opening his mouth.  

After another long stretch of silence, Vegeta realised something was expected of him. He wasn’t going to play the game anymore though, so instead he gave the tyrant a defiant glare. It had the decency to look uncomfortable and actually fidgeted a bit. “I see you have a problem with insubordination, Vegeta. Would you like some help with that?”

As riled up as the Prince felt, he realized Raditz had ticked the monster off. Which, at the moment, seemed ridiculously funny. Oh, so Frieza thought a third-class Saiyan should not even be allowed to address the emperor? Well, Vegeta happened to disagree there. He grinned up at the creature and took one step forward. Perhaps if he could close the distance without putting the tyrant on guard he’d be able to tear that piece off. He was interrupted once more though.

Nappa stepped in front of the Prince and dropped to one knee next to the third-class teen. “Vegeta is the best commander I ever had, Lord Frieza.”

His words stalled Vegeta’s advance. Because damn... they were buttering him up, stroking his ego. And worse, it was working. The drums faded and reason popped up its useless head.

Nappa was insistent: “If anything went wrong it’s probably because the rest of us are too stupid to follow where he leads. Please let us try again.”

This gave him pause, because Nappa was too stupid to lie. Too stupid, therefore he probably believed what he said. Vegeta didn’t really understand, and perhaps that was what pushed back those weakened drumbeats in his mind as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Raditz was clever enough to lie, but he’d never been dishonest to his prince. Why was he speaking up? Was he afraid to die? They’d probably all be goners if Frieza decided to end the Prince. Yet somehow that didn't seem right.  

“Well…” Frieza spoke, as if surprised. Vegeta couldn’t help but whip around and turn his attention back to the monster. “Well, if that’s how you —you all feel.”  

It looked at Vegeta again, but the prince couldn’t return the gaze. He opened his mouth once, twice. Then from the corner of his eye he noticed the remaining Saiyans drop to one knee. It was funny; even with all their commentary, with all the complaints, they had his back. He had at least eight Saiyans that still believed in him, and right now that was enough.

Frieza frowned, not unkindly, and said, “Vegeta, you feel the same way I suppose?”