Chapter 14
-Bardock-
A week had passed since my conversation with Lucifer Morningstar, and I was beginning to appreciate why my uncle preferred having his problems arrive in the form of somebody he could punch. It was considerably easier than thinking about the things one wanted out of life, especially when those things involved commitments that could last for thousands of years.
Unfortunately, I had allowed the Devil to steer our conversation towards precisely that subject, and now I found myself thinking about it whenever I had a spare moment. I couldn't even blame him for it. He had asked a perfectly reasonable question, and I'd been the idiot who answered sincerely. I suspected Kansei would find the whole affair hilarious when I eventually told her about it.
At present, however, I had more immediate matters to occupy my attention. I was sitting cross-legged above the surface of a lake in the small Japanese village, my hands resting on my knees while I concentrated on maintaining a steady circulation of energy throughout my body. The morning was pleasantly warm, and the forest surrounding the village was quiet apart from the occasional birdsong. Ripples spread across the lake beneath me, disturbing the reflection of the trees along its banks. I was hovering about a metre above the water, which was high enough that I didn't have to worry about a curious fish mistaking my backside for something edible.
I'd returned to the village two days earlier, intending to spend a little time away from the cities and the Justice League. The villagers had been rather pleased to see me again. Some had recognised me immediately, while others had needed reminding that the fellow with the ridiculous hair and monkey tail was the same person who had helped them during my first visit.
I had been offered enough food to sustain a small army, invited into half a dozen homes and questioned about where I had been travelling. The village headman had even offered me accommodation, although I had politely declined. I didn't need an extra bed when I could sleep perfectly comfortably in the house I already had here, and I didn't want the villagers feeling obliged to look after me.
The children were another matter. They had apparently decided that my presence was the most interesting thing to happen in the village since somebody had brought home a television the size of a dining table. Several of them had spent the previous afternoon following me around, asking whether I could fly to the Moon, whether I could turn into a giant monkey (it scares me how often that question comes up because I've still never use the Great Ape form here), and whether the green light that sometimes appeared around my hands meant I was secretly a wizard.
I had answered the first question honestly, ignored the second, and told them I was a magician for the third. Unfortunately, one of the boys had decided that this meant I could teach him magic tricks, which resulted in an hour of explaining that levitating a rock wasn't something he could learn by waving his arms around.
I could hear a few of them on the bank now. Their voices were carried across the water by the light breeze, and although they were trying to whisper, their efforts were rather pointless considering my hearing.
...
"He's not moving."
"He's flying without doing anything!"
"Maybe he's asleep."
"Go and poke him, then."
"I'm not going in the water!"
...
I suppressed a smile. A woman's voice interrupted their discussion a moment later, firmly telling them to stop bothering me and find something useful to do. There was some protesting before the children reluctantly retreated towards the village. I appreciated the consideration, although their presence hadn't been particularly distracting. If anything, listening to them had made the morning more pleasant. I had spent so much of my life around warriors, gods, demons and people who could destroy planets that ordinary children arguing about whether a man could sleep while floating above a lake was rather refreshing.
With the disturbance settled, I returned my attention to the energy moving through my body. Divine ki. It still irritated me that I had somehow managed to overlook it.
During my training session with Diana on the Moon, she had asked whether I had attempted to use my divine energy since arriving in this universe. The question had been simple enough, but it had exposed a rather embarrassing oversight. I'd spent weeks struggling to restore the pathways through which my mortal ki circulated, using combat and increasingly difficult exercises to teach my body how to function under this reality's unfamiliar laws. It had never occurred to me that the divine energy I possessed might behave differently.
In my defence, I had good reasons for concentrating on mortal ki. It was the foundation of everything I did, and I'd relied on it since childhood. Divine energy was something I'd acquired much later, after years of training under Whis and the Grand Minister. More importantly, I rarely needed it outside of situations involving opponents whose strength was beyond conventional mortal limits. If an ordinary punch could deal with a problem, there wasn't much point turning into a Super Saiyan God to deliver it.
Still, it had been foolish not to check.
I drew another measured breath and directed my attention inward, following the movement of ki through the channels I'd spent so long refining. My mortal energy flowed more freely than it had when I first arrived, but there were still places where it encountered resistance. The sensation was difficult to describe. Imagine having spent your entire life running with perfect coordination, only to wake up one morning and discover that your legs had forgotten the correct order in which to move. You could still walk, and with enough concentration you could eventually run, but every movement required adjustments that had once been unnecessary.
That was approximately what this universe had done to me.
My divine ki, on the other hand, moved with comparatively little resistance. I allowed a small quantity to circulate through my arms, across my shoulders and down through my chest. It responded immediately, passing through pathways that had remained sluggish when I attempted the same exercise with mortal energy. I directed it towards my legs, then brought it back through my torso and into my hands. No discomfort. No unexpected loss of control. It wasn't quite the effortless circulation I'd enjoyed back home, but the difference was considerable.
The trouble came when I attempted to draw upon it in greater quantities.
I could feel the power gathering, and for a few moments the familiar sensation of divine energy filling my body became almost indistinguishable from what I remembered. Then something interrupted the process. The energy didn't disappear, nor did it violently reject my attempts to control it. It simply refused to settle into the configuration required for a transformation. The more I tried to force it, the less cooperative it became.
I released the excess energy before it could build into something troublesome. The water beneath me shivered, sending another series of ripples towards the shore.
'Still no good.'
It was disappointing, certainly, but I wasn't particularly discouraged. A week of experimenting had already established that divine ki was considerably easier to manipulate here, and that was useful information regardless of whether I could transform. I could circulate it, concentrate it and, with a little care, reinforce my body using it. What I couldn't do was sustain the changes necessary to enter one of my Saiyan God forms.
There was an important distinction between possessing a source of energy and being able to use every technique associated with it. Whis had made that point often enough during my training, usually immediately before demonstrating how little I understood about some supposedly familiar ability. I had learned to appreciate the difference, particularly after he'd knocked me through a mountain for attempting to compensate for a flaw in my technique by simply using more power.
It was rather annoying how often his lessons turned out to be useful.
I opened my eyes briefly and looked across the lake. The sky was clear, and the village stood beyond the trees on the eastern bank. A few rooftops were visible between the branches. Somewhere in the distance, somebody was using an agricultural machine, its engine just loud enough for me to distinguish it from the other sounds of the morning.
There was no immediate reason to rush my recovery. The Grand Minister had warned me that returning through the breach could kill me, and no amount of impatience was going to change the danger. I'd made significant progress since the incident, but the damage to my energy pathways was still there. I needed to understand how my powers interacted with this universe before I tried anything that might put me back in the same position.
More importantly, my situation wasn't nearly as hopeless as it had initially appeared.
During the past several weeks, I'd spent a considerable amount of time training away from Earth. There were plenty of uninhabited worlds and moons in the systems surrounding Sol, and I'd made good use of them. Some had stronger gravity than Earth, others had difficult atmospheric conditions, and a few were simply convenient places to practise without worrying about accidentally demolishing somebody's house. I'd found one barren planet with a particularly unpleasant combination of high gravity and violent electrical storms, which had made it an excellent location for endurance training.
I had also discovered that my body was adapting. The improvement wasn't dramatic enough to make me feel as though I'd suddenly advanced into an entirely different class of strength. There had been no miraculous leap in power, no convenient awakening of a new transformation and certainly no sudden discovery that I could now punch a hole through the universe. My base form was simply stronger than it had been when I arrived, and the difference was substantial enough that I could recognise it during training.
That was an encouraging development. Back home, increases in raw power had become increasingly difficult to achieve without relying on transformations or more specialised training. At my level, the improvements were often incremental, and extracting the maximum benefit from them required a good deal of discipline. I could still make progress, of course, but adding another measure of strength to a body that had already been pushed through so many extremes was not something that happened overnight.
Here, the process had been complicated by the damage caused during my passage between realities. I had initially been forced to spend most of my effort recovering control over strength I already possessed. Now that the pathways were beginning to function properly again, I was noticing improvements that couldn't be attributed entirely to recovery.
It was rather satisfying. I'd spent most of my life training under people who could beat me senseless whenever they felt like it. Having an opportunity to work through some of the fundamentals without somebody standing nearby and telling me I was doing everything incorrectly was a pleasant change. Not that I would have admitted that to Whis. He'd probably take it as an invitation to devise an even more unpleasant training regime.
I closed my eyes again and allowed my divine energy to settle. Once it had returned to a comfortable rhythm, I began circulating my mortal ki alongside it, taking care to keep the two streams separate. Their differences were fascinating when examined so closely. Mortal ki responded readily to intention and physical movement, while divine ki required a different sort of attention. It wasn't necessarily more difficult to control, but careless handling tended to produce much less useful results.
I had once compared the distinction to the difference between swinging a hammer and using a surgeon's knife. Whis had informed me that this was an insult to surgeons, as most of them possessed better coordination than I did at the time. I was still convinced he'd been exaggerating.
Meditation helped with these things. It was one of the few forms of training that Kakarot had never properly appreciated. My uncle could spend days attempting to master a difficult technique, happily working himself to exhaustion if he believed it might help him overcome a stronger opponent, but asking him to sit quietly and examine the movement of his own energy was considerably more challenging.
He could meditate, of course. He'd done so during his training with Kami and Mr Popo, and he understood its value well enough when he was properly motivated. The trouble was keeping him interested once he'd decided there was something more exciting he could be doing. If he could achieve a similar result by punching a training dummy for six hours, that was generally the option he'd choose.
Vegeta was little better, although for different reasons. He didn't lack discipline. In fact, I suspected he could maintain a training routine through sheer bloody-mindedness longer than almost anyone I'd ever met. The problem was that Vegeta regarded most things that didn't involve direct exertion as an inefficient use of his time. He'd learned the importance of refining his energy control, especially after obtaining divine power, but he still had a habit of treating meditation as something to be endured rather than appreciated.
I found it useful precisely because it wasn't a contest.
There was no opponent to defeat, no machine to break and no audience whose expectations needed satisfying. It gave me an opportunity to become accustomed to changes in my own power without the distractions of combat. An increase in strength was only as useful as my ability to control it, and I'd learned from experience that moving faster or striking harder than expected could create problems if I hadn't adjusted properly.
A few days of quiet practice after a period of improvement had become something of a personal habit. It had served me well over the years, particularly after my more violent encounters during Time Patrol assignments. Those missions could involve fighting enemies whose abilities followed rules that made little sense outside their own timelines. Returning to a familiar routine afterwards helped me establish precisely what had changed and what remained reliable.
It also gave me time to think. That, unfortunately, brought me back to Lucifer.
I hadn't forgotten our conversation, although I'd made an effort not to dwell upon every detail. There was little point worrying about whether he genuinely intended to visit my universe if the breach ever became large enough to accommodate him. If he was capable of doing so, I doubted I could persuade him otherwise, and the Grand Minister was better qualified than I was to consider what his arrival might mean.
The business about therapy was another matter. I still hadn't decided whether to accept his recommendation. The idea of sitting in an office and explaining my problems to a human psychologist seemed a little strange, particularly when the problems included being trapped in a foreign cosmology and preparing to inherit responsibility for destroying planets. On the other hand, Lucifer's doctor apparently knew what he was, and anyone who could regularly listen to the Devil complain about his life without losing her mind was probably more capable than most.
Perhaps I'd look into it. What occupied more of my attention was the question he'd asked me towards the end of our conversation. What did I actually want? What was it that I desired?
My first prepared answer had been simple enough. I wanted to return home, find Trunks, recover the Super Dragon Ball and resume my life. Those were all things I intended to accomplish, and I wasn't about to abandon them simply because I had found myself in an unfamiliar universe. I had responsibilities, and people were depending on me. But Lucifer had been asking about something more personal.
A family of my own. It sounded straightforward when I put it into words. I wanted a home, a wife (maybe wives), children and the opportunity to spend time with them without constantly wondering when my next assignment would arrive. I wanted the sort of ordinary happiness I'd seen Kakarot enjoy with Aunt Chi-Chi, despite his rather questionable understanding of how marriage and fatherhood was supposed to work. I couldn't imagine myself becoming quite as hopeless around domestic matters as my uncle.
For one thing, I knew how to cook. That was already a considerable advantage.
I'd spent enough time with his family to understand what such a life might involve. Aunt Chi-Chi complained about Kakarot's training, Kakarot complained whenever he was forbidden from training, and Goten had learned to exploit the resulting arguments whenever he wanted something. Yet for all their disagreements, there was something genuinely comfortable about their home. They could argue over dinner one evening and be laughing together the next morning, and none of it threatened the affection they had for one another.
It was a kind of stability I'd rarely experienced while growing up.
My childhood had been spent in Hell, surrounded by people who were either dead, dangerous or both. I had learned to fight before I properly understood what a family was supposed to be, and for a long time my only meaningful relationships had been with people who wanted to kill me. My deadbeat father amongst that number.
Finding my relatives had changed that. Meeting Kakarot, becoming acquainted with his family and discovering that there were people willing to welcome me into their homes without expecting something in return had given me experiences I hadn't realised I was missing.Aunt Chi-Chi had been particularly determined about the matter. Apparently, discovering that her husband's nephew had grown up without anyone properly looking after him was an offence she intended to correct personally. She'd fed me, fussed over my clothes, demanded to know whether I was sleeping properly and generally behaved as though I were another one of her children.
I'd never had the heart to tell her that I was considerably older than she was from a subjective point of view. Not that it would have made a difference. I suspected she would have continued treating me exactly the same way. The thought brought a smile to my face. I missed them. I missed sitting at their table while Auntie Chi-Chi complained about how much food she had to prepare, and I missed helping with the farm while Kakarot invented increasingly transparent excuses to escape his chores. I even missed Goten asking me whether I could teach him something his father hadn't shown him yet, usually while attempting to conceal the fact that he was supposed to be studying.
It wasn't that I regretted becoming a Time Patroller. Far from it. The opportunity to travel through history, explore unfamiliar places and fight opponents I would never otherwise have encountered was something I treasured. I'd seen extraordinary things, met people whose names would never appear in the history books and helped prevent disasters that would otherwise have destroyed entire timelines.
I wouldn't have traded those experiences away. But there was a difference between enjoying adventure and wanting adventure to consume every part of one's existence. For most of my life, I'd been free to go wherever I wished. My responsibilities had grown over time, particularly after accepting the prospect of becoming a Destroyer, but I'd never really stopped to consider what that meant for the sort of family I might eventually want. Kansei complicated the matter in the best possible way.
She understood my duties better than almost anyone. As an Angel, she had obligations of her own, and she knew perfectly well that becoming a Destroyer wasn't an occupation that allowed someone to retire after a few decades. If everything went according to plan, we would both remain in service for an extraordinarily long time. Neither of us would have the excuse of growing old and deciding that the work was better left to somebody younger. That raised questions I hadn't yet discussed with her.
Would she want children? Would her position as my future attendant even permit it? I knew Angels were capable of forming personal attachments, whatever they might say about remaining impartial, but I wasn't entirely certain how far those allowances extended. Kansei had never been particularly shy about discussing the physical side of our relationship, yet we'd spent surprisingly little time talking about what we intended to do together in the distant future. Perhaps that was partly my fault.
I'd been content with the arrangement we had. We enjoyed each other's company, trained together whenever circumstances permitted and generally made good use of whatever privacy we could find. There had never seemed to be much reason to ask whether she wanted something more permanent. After all, we were both effectively young by the standards of our respective kinds, and neither of us was likely to run out of time anytime soon. But eternity was a rather long period to leave important matters unresolved. I knew I wanted her in my life. That much wasn't in question.
What I hadn't considered was whether I wanted to spend that life continually travelling from one crisis to another, returning to an empty home between assignments, or whether I wanted something more substantial waiting for me when the work was finished. The answer was becoming increasingly obvious. I wanted both.
Adventure would always be part of who I was. I'd never be content spending every day doing the same things, and I wasn't prepared to abandon the responsibilities I'd accepted simply because I fancied settling down. But having a family wouldn't necessarily require me to give up either of those things. Kakarot had managed to raise two sons while spending half his life training or saving the universe, although I had no intention of using him as a model for responsible parenting.
Vegeta was probably the better example…which was a sentence I never expected to find myself thinking.
He was still an arrogant bastard, but he cared about Bulma and their children, and he'd learned to make room for them in a life that had once revolved entirely around surpassing Kakarot. If the former prince of a race of murderous conquerors could manage that, I doubted the task was beyond me when I was an unquestionably greater Saiyan than he we was, princely title be damned.
There were practical difficulties, certainly. Destroyers spent considerable amounts of time travelling, and the work could be dangerous even for someone of my strength. Mortals had a tendency of becoming stronger than their Destroyers these days. The Grand Minister might also have opinions about a prospective Destroyer raising children with his Angel attendant. I rather hoped he'd keep those opinions to himself, although experience suggested he was unlikely to do anything of the sort.
I would have to speak to Kansei about it when I returned. Not immediately, perhaps. I didn't intend to greet her after months of separation by announcing that I'd decided we should start producing children, assuming we even could. She'd probably laugh at me, and then I'd spend the next week wondering whether she'd been amused by the idea or by my delivery. No, a proper conversation would be better. Preferably after dinner. And perhaps a few hours spent 'making up' for lost time.
I felt my concentration slip and let out a quiet breath through my nose. Apparently, considering domestic arrangements was considerably more distracting than mastering divine energy. That was another thing I'd never tell Whis.
I redirected my attention to the steady flow of ki through my body, allowing my thoughts to settle. The exercise had already lasted several hours, and I could feel the benefits. My mortal energy was responding more smoothly, particularly when I moved it through the areas that had given me trouble during my last training session. I made a small adjustment, lowering the amount circulating through my shoulders before increasing the flow towards my hands.
The lake beneath me remained still apart from the gentle ripples produced by my hovering. For a while, I was content to sit there. Then I sensed something approaching.
At first it was no more than a distant presence moving through the atmosphere at considerable speed. It was unfamiliar, strong enough to distinguish from the people living in the surrounding countryside, and accompanied by an unusual mechanical signature that suggested some form of propulsion. I kept my eyes closed.
There were plenty of beings in this universe who could fly, and I had no particular reason to assume that every unfamiliar energy signature represented a threat. The Green Lanterns travelled through space regularly, and Superman seemed to spend half his time crossing continents. If somebody happened to be flying overhead, that was their business.
Then the presence changed direction. It was coming directly towards the village. I frowned. The next moment, something struck the surface of the lake. An explosion sent a column of water into the air several metres to my left, followed almost immediately by another impact near the opposite bank. I opened my eyes as a third blast hit the ground beyond the trees, throwing dirt and splintered branches across the footpath leading towards the village.
People screamed. I rose from my seated position, turning towards the source of the attack just as a fourth projectile struck the lake behind me. Water sprayed across my back, soaking the upper half of my clothes. That did not improve my mood.
The attacker came hurtling out of the sky on what appeared to be a motorcycle designed by somebody who had never encountered a safety regulation he couldn't ignore. Its body was covered in heavy metal plating, oversized exhaust pipes and various pieces of equipment whose functions weren't immediately apparent. Flames roared from the thrusters mounted towards the rear, leaving a trail of smoke behind it as the machine descended towards the village.
The rider was even more ridiculous. He was enormous, easily taller and broader than most humans, with chalk-white skin, long black hair and eyes that glowed red beneath a heavy brow. Black markings surrounded his eyes and extended across portions of his face. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket covered in metal studs, heavy trousers, reinforced boots and enough chains to suggest that he'd robbed a particularly unpleasant hardware store. A cigar protruded from one corner of his mouth, and he was grinning like a lunatic.
He also smelled terrible. Even from a distance, I could detect the odour of alcohol, smoke and several other substances I had no desire to identify.
"YEEEE-HAW!"
The alien bellowed something else as he came closer, but the words were lost beneath the roar of his machine. He swung one arm overhead, revealing a length of heavy chain with an enormous metal hook attached to its end. I glanced towards the village. The people who had been working outside were running for cover, and several of the children I'd heard earlier had disappeared behind their parents. Fortunately, the blasts had landed away from the houses, although that appeared to have been more a matter of poor aim than consideration.
I turned back towards the approaching idiot. "Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He answered by hurling the hook at me. The weapon came spinning through the air with enough force to tear through a substantial chunk of rock. I caught it in one hand before it reached my chest, the chain snapping taut between us. The alien's grin widened.
"Gotcha, ya juicy little bastich! That bounty's all mine!"
My tail slipped free from the folds of my clothing and lashed irritably behind me. I looked at the hook in my hand, then at the man still sitting on his motorcycle.
"Juicy?"
He laughed, braced himself against the handlebars and pulled. I didn't move, the chain just pulling taut between us. His expression changed slightly. I gave the chain a sharp tug. The result was considerably more entertaining than I'd expected. The alien was dragged clean off his motorcycle, his arms flailing as he hurtled towards me. His cigar flew out of his mouth, and he managed one startled curse before my fist connected with his face.
The punch produced a thunderous crack that echoed across the lake. His head snapped backwards, and the rest of him followed. He shot away from me like a cannonball, crossed the lake in an instant and tore through the forest on the western bank. Trees exploded into splinters along his path, their trunks snapping under the impact as he continued into the hills beyond the village.
A moment later, I heard him strike a cliff. The resulting crash dislodged a considerable amount of stone. I looked at the chain still hanging from my hand. The hook had been torn free of his grip, leaving me holding several metres of heavy metal links. I dropped it into the lake, where it disappeared beneath the surface with a splash.
His motorcycle continued forwards without him. I caught it with telekinesis before it could reach the village, holding the machine in midair while its engines continued roaring. The thing struggled against my grip for a few seconds before I located what appeared to be the controls and shut them down. The sudden silence was rather welcome. I lowered it towards the shore and set it down on a patch of empty ground.
A few villagers had emerged from their hiding places. They were staring at the motorcycle with understandable apprehension, while others watched me as though they were trying to decide whether it was safe to approach.
"Stay back from that thing." I called. "I don't know what else he's got attached to it."
The village headman, who had apparently taken shelter behind a low stone wall, nodded and began ushering the curious onlookers away. I waited until they were moving towards the houses before turning my attention to the cliff where the attacker had landed. I could still sense him. He was very much alive. That was interesting.
I teleported. The forest disappeared around me, replaced by a narrow clearing beneath a steep rock face. The cliff had acquired a new crater roughly the size of a small house, with cracks spreading through the surrounding stone. Broken branches and fragments of rock littered the ground beneath it. The alien had apparently been embedded several metres into the cliff before gravity reclaimed him. As I arrived, the last of the loose stones were still falling, and he was dropping headfirst towards the ground.
He hit with an unpleasant crunch. For a moment, he remained motionless. Then one enormous hand twitched.
I folded my arms. "Right. Now that I've got your attention, perhaps you'd care to tell me who the hell you are and why you've been shooting at a village full of civilians."
The alien groaned and slowly pushed himself upright. His face had taken the worst of the punch, leaving his nose flattened and several teeth scattered across the ground. Blood ran down his chin, though the injuries were already beginning to repair themselves. That was considerably more interesting. He spat out another tooth, examined it with an expression of profound irritation and then looked up at me.
What followed was a stream of words in a language I didn't recognise. I tilted my head. He continued speaking, growing increasingly animated as he gestured towards the damaged cliff and then at his own face. I understood none of it, although the tone suggested he was expressing several deeply personal opinions about my ancestry.
"English," I told him. He stopped. I pointed towards myself. "I speak English. Japanese, too, if that's any help. A fair number of other languages, actually, but whatever you're speaking isn't one of them."
He stared at me for a second before letting out an irritated growl. Then he reached towards a small device attached to his belt and pressed a button. Something emitted a sharp electronic chirp.
"—an' when I get done with ya, they're gonna need a fraggin' microscope ta find what's left of yer miserable little ass!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, good. Now I can understand you."
The alien blinked. Then he grinned, revealing that several of his missing teeth had already grown back. "Ha! There we go! Stupid translator musta got knocked sideways when ya sucker-punched me."
"Sucker-punched you?"
"Yeah, ya sneaky bastich! Yer supposed ta struggle a little when the Main Man hooks ya! Makes the whole thing more entertainin'!"
I stared at him. He stared back.
"Are you drunk?"
"Only a little!" he declared proudly. "An' I was havin' a real good buzz goin' till some pointy-haired punk tried ta rearrange my face!"
"You were shooting at people."
"Was shootin' at YOU, dipstick! If a few locals got in the way, that's their fraggin' problem."
I felt my expression harden. He seemed to notice, although it didn't discourage him in the slightest. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and rose to his full height. Up close, he was even larger than he'd appeared on the motorcycle. His arms were thick with muscle, and there was a peculiar density to his body that reminded me of several particularly durable opponents I'd encountered during my travels. His injuries continued healing as we spoke.
"You've got one chance," I said. "Tell me your name and explain why you're here."
He looked genuinely astonished. "Ya don't know who I am?"
"Should I?"
"Should ya?" He threw his arms wide. "Frag me sideways, what kinda backwater rock've you been livin' on? I'm LOBO! The last Czarnian! Scourge o' the cosmos! The baddest bounty hunter this side o' the Source Wall!"
He paused, apparently waiting for an appropriate reaction.
I gave him one. "Never heard of you."
For the first time, he looked offended.
"Never heard—?!" He jabbed a thick finger towards his own chest. "I'm the Main Man, ya dumb bastich! When some big-shot space creep needs a job done, they call Lobo! When somebody wants a king whacked, a warlord flattened or a whole damn army turned inta dog food, who ya gonna call?"
"Ghostbusters?"
I did enjoy the movies. One of the best things I watched when crossing over to America. He laughed.
"HAW! Got a smart mouth on ya, don'tcha? That's all right. I like a little attitude in my targets. Makes it more fun when I knock their teeth down their throats."
I looked him over again. He was unmistakably alien, and the fact that he'd survived my punch with relatively little lasting damage suggested that he was considerably stronger than the ordinary criminals I'd encountered on Earth. His healing ability was impressive, too. The damage to his face had already disappeared, leaving only a few traces of blood around his mouth.
He might actually have been interesting to fight. Unfortunately for him, he'd chosen a particularly poor method of introducing himself.
"You said something about a bounty," I reminded him.
"Damn straight!"
"On me?"
"Nah, on the fraggin' Emperor o' Space!" he snapped. "Course it's on you! Ain't nobody else on this mudball worth the trouble. Least, not fer the kind o' cash somebody's throwin' around."
I frowned. "How much?"
He grinned, showing a full set of newly restored teeth. "Now that'd be tellin', wouldn't it?"
"Who put it out?"
"Don't know."
"Whoever hired you didn't give you a name?"
"Didn't need one. Contract came through the usual channels, payment's guaranteed, an' that's good enough fer the Main Man." Lobo reached down and retrieved a crushed cigar from somewhere inside his jacket. He examined it, decided it was beyond saving and tossed it aside. "Besides, it's more dough than I've seen in a while. Could buy myself enough booze ta keep the whole fraggin' galaxy drunk fer a month."
I considered that. Somebody had placed a bounty on my head, and it was apparently substantial enough to attract a bounty hunter who could travel through space independently. That wasn't particularly reassuring, although I supposed I should have expected something like it eventually. I'd made no effort to conceal my activities since arriving here, and my encounters with the Justice League had attracted considerable attention.
There were plenty of people who might want me captured.
Amazo's creator came to mind, as did the many criminal organisations I'd eviscerated during my time here, though I don't see how any of them could have contracted an alien bounty hunter. I also suspected that several governments were still trying to determine what to make of me. Then there were the less conventional possibilities: alien warlords, cosmic entities, or somebody who had learned about the breach and decided that capturing an outsider might be profitable. I wasn't particularly interested in entertaining all those possibilities without further information.
"What's the contract say?" I asked.
Lobo scratched at his chin. "Bring in the target, dead or alive. Preferably with enough o' the body left ta prove it's the right guy. Client don't much care how the job gets done."
"And how do they identify me?"
"Description, energy signature, some fancy readings I ain't bothered lookin' at too close. Yer the right bastich, though. Cuz ya got the tail on ya. Ain't much chance o' mistakin' ya fer somebody else."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Fine, fine. Contract calls ya 'the Outsider.'"
I went still. Lobo didn't seem to notice. He was busy searching through his jacket for another cigar, muttering about how much trouble it had been to find the right planet.
"The Outsider." I repeated.
"Yeah. That ring any bells?"
"A few."
"Well, good fer you."
He finally produced a fresh cigar, bit off the end and began looking for something to light it with. I watched him for a moment while I considered what he'd told me.
The Outsider. That was the name the Grand Minister had used when explaining my circumstances to the Justice League, and Lucifer had addressed me by it during our conversation at Lux. I didn't know how widely the term had spread, but I doubted it was common knowledge among Earth's ordinary population. Most people still called me Wukong, much to my irritation.
Whoever had issued the bounty knew enough about my origins to identify me by a designation associated with the breach. That narrowed the possibilities somewhat, although not nearly as much as I would have liked.
"Did the contract include any other information?" I asked.
"Yeah. Said yer dangerous."
I looked at him. "Anything useful and not already obvious?"
"That is useful! Means I get ta have some fun before I cash in!"
He found a lighter, ignited his cigar and took a long drag. The smoke drifted directly towards me. I wrinkled my nose.
"Do you always smell like that?"
"Like what?"
"A distillery that's caught fire."
Lobo threw his head back and laughed. "HAW! I like you, kid! Yer a mouthy little shit, but I like ya!"
"Charmed, I'm sure."
"Don't get too sentimental. Lobo's still gonna haul yer ass in, an' if I gotta peel ya off the ground with a shovel, that's what I'm gonna do."
I regarded him thoughtfully. "How did you find me?"
"Does it matter? Tracked ya, didn't I? Had ta do a bit o' legwork, but the trail led straight ta this place. Wasn't hard once I got close enough."
"So you followed me all the way here?"
"Yup."
"From space?"
"Where the hell else would I come from? Ya think I rode my Hog outta somebody's garage down the road?"
I ignored the question. "Does anyone else have the contract?"
His grin widened. "Not anymore."
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean, not anymore?"
Lobo took another drag of his cigar before answering.
"Means the other bastiches ain't gonna be collectin' no bounty. Had a bunch o' two-bit hunters sniffin' around the same job, all thinkin' they were gonna beat the Main Man ta the payday. So I took care o' the competition."
"How many?"
"Hell if I know. Enough ta make a decent mess."
"You killed them?"
"Course I killed 'em! What'd ya think I was gonna do, buy 'em all a drink an' wish 'em luck?" He snorted. "One bunch tried ta jump me at a refuelling station. Another pack o' idiots figured they could blow up my Hog while I was sleepin'. There was even this one dumb bastich who tried ta sell me a fake set o' coordinates. Almost felt bad splatterin' him."
"Almost?"
"Nah."
I sighed. There were days when the universe seemed determined to remind me why I was generally more comfortable dealing with warriors than ordinary people.
Lobo seemed proud of himself. He'd apparently murdered every rival bounty hunter he encountered simply to ensure that nobody else could collect the contract. The fact that he'd done so while pursuing a target he knew almost nothing about didn't appear to trouble him. I couldn't say I was surprised. I'd met plenty of people like him during my travels. They considered strength a licence to do whatever they pleased, and they rarely bothered considering the consequences until someone stronger came along to demonstrate them. In that respect, he reminded me rather unpleasantly of certain Saiyans I'd encountered in Hell.
The difference was that Lobo seemed to regard the whole business as one enormous joke. I looked towards the direction of the village. We were far enough away that any immediate fighting would be unlikely to harm the inhabitants, but I had no intention of spending the afternoon entertaining a homicidal bounty hunter who'd nearly blown up several houses. There were more productive uses of my time.
"So," I said, "you don't know who hired you, you don't know why they want me, and you've killed everyone else who might have been able to tell me anything useful."
"Pretty much."
"Wonderful."
"Hey, don't mention it."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Yeah? Well, yer welcome anyway."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. He was beginning to give me a headache. Lobo apparently decided that our conversation had gone on long enough. He dropped his cigar onto the ground, crushed it beneath his boot and rolled his shoulders. The leather of his jacket creaked as he flexed his arms.
"Right then, kid. Been fun shootin' the shit, but the Main Man's got a payday waitin'. So how 'bout ya make this easy an' come along quiet?"
I looked at him. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"You just watched me pull you off your motorcycle and punch you through half a forest."
"Yeah, an' it was a pretty good shot, too." He grinned. "But ya ain't gonna put Lobo down with one lucky punch, ya little bastich. I can do this all fraggin' day."
I believed him. His healing ability alone suggested he could endure punishment that would kill most opponents. Under different circumstances, I might have been curious to find out just how much he could withstand. A durable sparring partner was always welcome, and there were plenty of techniques I could have tested against someone with his particular abilities. But he'd attacked civilians. That rather spoiled the appeal.
"I'm going to give you some advice." I said. "Take your motorcycle, leave Earth, and forget about the bounty. Whatever they're paying you isn't worth the trouble."
Lobo stared at me for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.
"HAW! HAW! Oh, that's rich! The little punk thinks he can scare the Main Man! Listen up, ya pointy-haired runt. I don't give a frag who ya are, where ya came from, or how many fancy tricks ya got stuffed up yer sleeve. Somebody paid good money ta have yer ass delivered, an' Lobo always finishes the job!"
He cracked his knuckles and stepped towards me. "Now, ya gonna come quiet, or do I gotta beat ya stupid first?"
I considered him for another moment. Then I shrugged. "Suit yourself."
I vanished from his sight. There was no elaborate preparation, no extended gathering of energy and no need to announce what I intended to do. I simply used Instant Transmission to appear directly behind him, moving into the blind spot created by his enormous shoulders.
Lobo had barely begun turning when I struck. My fist connected beneath his ribs, driving upwards with considerably more force than the punch I'd delivered over the lake. I put enough strength behind it to make the point unmistakable, while keeping the impact directed away from the ground and the nearby village. The resulting shockwave tore through the clearing.
Lobo folded around my fist for an instant, his boots leaving the ground before the rest of him followed. Then he was gone, propelled straight upwards at a speed that produced a tremendous crack as he broke through the sound barrier. I watched him disappear into the sky. Several seconds passed before the disturbed air settled around the clearing. A few loose stones continued tumbling down the cliff, and somewhere above the trees a flock of birds scattered in alarm.
I lowered my hand and examined my knuckles. "Fragging idiot."
I could still sense him, although his energy signature was rapidly becoming more distant. He was travelling across the atmosphere at an impressive speed, following the trajectory I'd given him. The punch had been stronger than the first, but I hadn't put nearly enough force into it to kill someone of his durability. He'd probably survive the landing. Whether he'd appreciate the experience was another matter.
I remained where I was for a little while, tracking his progress as he crossed the Pacific. His energy continued to move steadily eastwards, occasionally fluctuating as he encountered changes in atmospheric pressure. I couldn't tell whether he was conscious, but the fact that his presence hadn't diminished suggested he was still in reasonably good condition.
Eventually, he crossed the western coast of North America. I followed the trajectory for another few seconds, then raised an eyebrow as I realised where he was going to land. Nevada. Well, that was convenient. There was plenty of open desert out there. I heard his impact only through the distant disturbance of energy rather than sound. Even so, it was clear that he'd hit the ground with considerable force. His signature stopped abruptly, remained motionless for a moment, and then began fluctuating again. Still alive.
I nodded to myself. "Good. Maybe that'll teach you some manners."
I doubted it would. Still, it had been a satisfactory punch. And somewhere in the Nevada desert, several thousand kilometres from the Japanese village he'd attacked, Lobo—the self-proclaimed Main Man, scourge of the cosmos and apparently the galaxy's most expensive bounty hunter—had just landed headfirst in the dirt.
-+-
-Lobo-
The first thing Lobo became aware of was the taste of sand. The second was the fact that some miserable little desert critter had apparently decided his face was a perfectly good place to sink its fangs. Neither was particularly welcome, although the Main Man had endured worse landings. He'd once been knocked clean through a moon by a particularly irritable Khundian warlord, and that bastard hadn't even had the decency to buy him a drink afterwards. Still, there was something profoundly undignified about being buried headfirst in the middle of a desert, especially when the bastard responsible was a pint-sized freak with a monkey tail.
With an aggravated grunt, Lobo planted both hands against the ground and hauled himself upwards. His head emerged from the sand with an enormous spray of dust, followed by his shoulders and the rest of his battered body. A rattlesnake dangled from his cheek, its fangs buried in his flesh, and it seemed rather determined to hold on despite the sudden change in circumstances.
Lobo reached up, caught the reptile behind its head and tore it free, taking a little piece of his cheek along with it. The wound closed almost immediately, leaving him looking down at the offending animal with an expression of deep personal disappointment.
"Well, ain't you a feisty little sonuvabitch?"
The rattlesnake writhed in his grip, its tail rattling furiously. Lobo inspected it for a moment before opening his mouth and biting the creature's head clean off. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed and tossed the remainder over his shoulder.
"Not bad. Could use some salt."
He spat out a fang, then set about getting the sand out of his clothes. His boots were covered in the stuff, his hair was full of it, and the heavy leather of his jacket had acquired a fine coating of dust that seemed determined to work its way into every crease. Lobo brushed himself down with increasing irritation, muttering a succession of Czarnian obscenities as he discovered more sand inside his collar.
"Fraggin' miserable mudball. Fraggin' desert. Fraggin' little spiky-haired bastich!" He gave his jacket another furious slap, sending up a cloud of dust. "Ya got any idea what this leather's worth, ya little shit?! Genuine Thraxian hide! Took me three friggin' weeks ta track down the bastard I skinned it off!"
The whole business was starting to piss him off. He'd been expecting a decent scrap when he accepted the contract, especially considering the ridiculous amount of cash the client was offering. Most bounties didn't pay enough to cover his bar tab, never mind make him sit up and take notice. This one had been different. Enough credits to keep his Hog fuelled, his guns loaded and his belly full of booze for a good long while. He'd figured the target was probably some big-shot cosmic warlord, maybe one of those pompous god-types who thought being able to fart lightning made them untouchable.
Instead, he'd found some black-haired punk floating above a pond in the middle of nowhere. The punk had then proceeded to punch him across a fraggin' ocean. Lobo flexed his jaw, pleased to find that all his teeth had grown back. The kid packed a serious wallop, he'd give him that. It'd been a while since somebody had managed to send the Main Man flying quite that far without using a spaceship, a superweapon or a particularly large explosive. Under different circumstances, Lobo might even have offered to buy the little bastard a drink.
After he'd beaten the living shit out of him, naturally. He was still trying to work out how far he'd travelled when the air shifted behind him. There was a sudden rush of displaced wind, strong enough to scatter the dust around his boots, and Lobo turned to find a familiar figure hovering several feet above the desert floor. Blue suit. Red cape. Big yellow emblem across the chest.
"Oh, fer frag's sake."
Superman descended slowly, his expression already set in that particular mixture of disapproval and exasperation that Lobo remembered all too well. The Kryptonian had evidently been in the neighbourhood, or perhaps somebody had called him after noticing a pale-skinned lunatic falling out of the sky. Either way, he was here now, and Lobo wasn't in the mood for another lecture about property damage, innocent lives or the importance of following the law.
"Lobo." Superman said. "What are you doing on Earth?"
Lobo spread his arms and flashed him a grin. "Well, if it ain't the Big Blue Boy Scout himself! Been a while, Supes! How's tricks? Still flyin' around savin' kittens an' kissin' babies?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Aw, don't be like that! Ain't ya even gonna say it's good ta see the Main Man again?"
"That depends on why you're here."
Lobo snorted. "Relax, Cape Boy. Ain't here fer you today. Got myself a nice fat contract, an' I'm just takin' care o' business. Nothin' personal."
Superman's eyes narrowed. "A contract on whom?"
"Some little bastich callin' himself the Outsider. Funny hair, monkey tail, thinks he's hot shit 'cause he can throw a decent punch. Ring any bells?"
Lobo had expected the Kryptonian to start asking questions, perhaps demand that he hand over the contract or leave the planet immediately. Superman was always sticking his nose into other people's business, especially when somebody was liable to get hurt. It was one of the things that made fighting him such a pain in the ass. The guy could take a punch, sure, but getting him to stop preaching long enough to enjoy the fight was another matter entirely.
Instead, Superman looked sharply towards the western horizon. Lobo followed his gaze. Something was approaching at tremendous speed.
"Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
A tremendous impact shook the desert a short distance away, sending sand and loose stones flying in every direction. The resulting dust cloud rolled across the ground, obscuring the crater left by the arrival. Lobo planted his boots and grinned as he watched the cloud spread towards them.
"HAW! Looks like the little shit came back fer seconds!"
A figure emerged through the drifting sand, walking towards them with his fists clenched at his sides. It was the same black-haired punk from Japan, although his expression suggested that he'd become considerably less interested in polite conversation since their last meeting. His brown tail swayed behind him, and his dark eyes were fixed firmly on Lobo.
"Superman," Bardock said, "get out of my way. I've got unfinished business with this idiot."
Superman turned towards him. "Bardock, hold on. I know who this is, and—"
"Then you know he's a bounty hunter who's been shooting at civilians."
"I know. But we need to handle this carefully. Lobo's dangerous, and if someone's hired him to come after you, we should find out who issued the contract before—"
"I've already asked him. He doesn't know."
"That doesn't mean we should simply start fighting him in the middle of Nevada."
Lobo barked out a laugh. "Hey! The Main Man's standin' right here, ya know! If ya two lovebirds wanna argue about who gets ta kick my ass, at least have the courtesy ta—"
"Stay out of this," Superman told him.
Lobo's grin turned nasty. "Make me, ya overgrown altar boy."
Superman ignored him and continued addressing Bardock. "Look, I understand that you're angry, but he's my responsibility as much as yours. We can take him into custody, question him properly and figure out who's behind this. There's no need to escalate the situation."
Bardock stopped walking. For a moment, Lobo thought the kid might actually listen. Superman had a knack for talking people down, and the Main Man had seen plenty of tough guys lose their nerve when the Kryptonian started giving them that earnest, disappointed look.
Then Bardock turned his head. Lobo caught the briefest flash of green in the kid's eyes. Superman stopped speaking. It wasn't the ordinary hesitation of somebody reconsidering an argument. His entire body went rigid, his arms remaining slightly raised as though he'd been interrupted in the middle of a gesture. His expression changed from concern to surprise, and then to something Lobo hadn't expected to see on the Man of Steel's face.
Alarm. Superman tried to move. Nothing happened.
"Just stay there for a moment, Clark," Bardock said. "I'll be done shortly."
Lobo stared.
He knew what Superman was capable of. He'd fought the Kryptonian often enough to have a healthy appreciation for just how much punishment the big blue bastard could dish out. The guy could lift mountains, fly through warships and hit hard enough to make even the Main Man feel it. Yet there he was, hovering a few feet off the ground, looking as though somebody had just welded every joint in his body together. All because the kid had looked at him.
"Well, frag me sideways." Lobo's grin spread from ear to ear. "Ya see that, Supes? Kid gave ya the stink-eye an' turned ya into a fraggin' statue! HAW! That's beautiful!"
Superman's jaw tightened, and Lobo could see him struggling against whatever was holding him. It clearly wasn't some ordinary paralysis beam, and there wasn't a weapon or machine in sight. The kid hadn't even raised a hand. Now that was a trick worth knowing.
"Hey, runt!" Lobo called. "Gotta admit, that's one helluva party trick ya got there! Never seen anybody shut Big Blue up that fast before. Usually gotta punch him halfway through a planet ta get five minutes o' peace!"
Bardock turned his attention back to him. "Are you finished?"
"Not even close, ya smug little bastich."
Lobo reached down to his thigh and pulled his blaster from its holster. It was a beautiful piece of work, a heavy custom-built weapon with enough stopping power to turn an ordinary human into a fine red mist. He'd modified it himself, adding a few improvements that would have made most weapons engineers shit their pants. The thing was practically a cannon, and he loved it almost as much as he loved his Hog. He checked the charge and pointed the barrel at Bardock.
"Now, I gotta say, kid, yer turnin' out ta be a helluva lot more fun than I figured. Ya punch like a runaway asteroid, ya got tricks even Superman ain't seen before, an' yer worth more credits than I can shake a fraggin' stick at!" Lobo laughed, his red eyes gleaming. "The Main Man's gonna have a real good time takin' ya down!"
Bardock glanced at the weapon. Then he looked up at Lobo's face. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?"
"HAW! Make me!" Lobo started to squeeze the trigger.
He never got the chance. Bardock sprang forwards, crossing the distance between them before Lobo could follow the movement. His fist connected squarely with the Czarnian's face, driving his head backwards with a crack that sounded like a gunshot.
The blow lifted Lobo clean off his feet. He had just enough time to realise that the little bastard had done it again before the back of his skull struck the desert floor. His head punched straight through the hard-packed earth beneath the sand, burying him up to his shoulders as the impact sent a fresh cloud of dust billowing across the surrounding ground. His blaster discharged harmlessly into the sky.
For the second time that day, the Main Man found himself headfirst in the dirt. And this time, he was really getting pissed off.