A tiny twist in time

        Turles
surveyed the data sent by the probe, and the rest of the data scrolling in on
various screens. He turned his attention to the viewport, negligently tapping
the scouter fastened over his eye. Several unusually high readings met his
inquiry. One stood out, and he knew without a doubt that he’d found one of the
Saiyans that had come to the planet.

        He
tucked a finger in his pocket, stroking over the seed that rested there. Only
one reading high enough to be a Saiyan, but the reports indicated three surviving
Saiyans. The reports could be wrong, and a smirk twisted his lips as he
recognized the plain truth of the idea.

        Turles
chose to leave the crew on the ship, and went alone to investigate the highest
signal. Another Saiyan sat in front of three oddly shaped rocks; rocks he soon
realized were inscribed with two of the three missing Saiyans’ names. “Where is
Nappa?” he asked.

        “He
is buried on the battlefield where he died.” Dull black eyes met his. “Are you
here to try to destroy this world too?”

        The
absolute lack of anything living in those eyes chilled him. “If I am?”

        “Then
I’ll bury you, too.” A hand reached to touch one of the stones. “My son won’t
be here to help me this time, but my brother and our prince won’t be able to
help you.”

        “Your
son?” Turles studied the other Saiyan more closely. They were very, very
similar, but there was a lack of spirit about the other that made him seem
already dead. “You went native?”

        “Went
native? I was an earthling, as far as I knew. I only found out about my arrival,
and the accident that took my memories, after Raditz came. Gohan was four years
old before I learned I was Saiyan. A year later, I had no family left.”

        Turles
had noticed the braids by then. “Whose hair have you braided into your own?”

        One
hand crept up to touch first one braid, “Vegeta,” and the other, “my brother,
Raditz.”

        He
was too late, then. Jaded and empty as the Saiyan seemed, he had already
claimed the kingdom. This man had felled three Saiyans, one of them the Prince
himself. Turles knew himself no match for the other, even in his current
listless state. “My king.” He dropped to one knee, arm crossing over his chest
in a salute. “My ship awaits your command.”

        “Ship?”

        “My
spaceship. We are ready to leave at any time, if you desire to rescue the last
of our race from Frieza.”

        “Frieza?
I thought the Saiyans worked for Frieza?”

        Turles
snorted. “You don’t, and I’m a space pirate. I work for whoever provides the
best fee. But this other, Brolli, has been taken as a slave by one of Frieza’s lieutenants.
From all reports, he has been made a pet. A pleasure slave.”

        “Do
you know where they are?”

        Ah,
so this new king would not leave a subject enslaved. Turles watched the king
uncurl and rise. “They are on Frieza’s flagship, headed for the planet Namek.”

        “You’ll
take me there.”

        Turles
approved of the steely determination in his voice and the fighting glitter that
had filled his eyes. “Of course, my king. I am Turles.”

        His
king frowned, looking at the graves. “Vegeta and Raditz called me Kakarot. I am
more used to the name Goku.”

        “Goku
is not a Saiyan name.”

        “No,
it isn’t.” The man looked around him. “Everything I care for is here.” He bent,
picking up a small satchel. “Where is your ship?”

        “Follow
me, King Kakarot.” Turles stifled a chuckle at the king’s wince, and took off
for the skies. He let the seed fall where it would as the king followed him to
his ship. There was one free room, and Turles soon had his new king quartered
and fed. He left the new Saiyan king sleeping. The tree bore fruit the next
day. He gathered it, checked the still sleeping king, and ordered his crew to
Namek.