Galactic King

I have watched a great many events from this throne of mine, most of them unpleasant, but at this point of my life I thought I had seen it all, or at the very least that nothing could surprise me.

Then I watched Frieza die, the Golden Child of the Cold Clan, and the entire universe turned upside down.

The recording reached my headquarters a few days after the incident according to our intelligence report, and by the time it crossed my desk it had already been seen by half the universe, maybe more.

This was unprecedented… 

King Cold, Frieza, and Cooler, were the members of the strongest family in the universe, The Cold Clan, beings so far out of reach that my Patrol could never hope to reach them, let alone kill them, even if we wanted to, and believe me, we wanted to...

I want to be honest about that, because there's no use pretending otherwise inside my own head. For generations the Galactic Patrol watched King Cold carve up this galaxy and we did nothing, because we could do nothing. We wanted to make the universe better, but the reality is… my people were mortals, and he was a god-tier monster with an army that outnumbered the stars. 

So we did the only thing that we could, we tried to make the universe better in our little corner of the galaxy, and we looked away to the suffering of others under Cold’s reign. We policed the petty criminals we could actually arrest and we told ourselves that it was all we could do.

And now a child had killed him.

A Saiyan child of all things, wrapped in gold light, standing over one of the most powerful beings in the known universe victorious, and just like that, the balance of everything we thought we knew had just shifted, and I did not yet know in which direction.

So I sent for the one officer whose judgment I actually trust, our rising star within the Galatic Patrol.

Merus.

Merus arrived within the hour, and stood before my throne the way he always stands, straight, still, hands behind his back awaiting my orders with that unbothered calm that is characteristic of him, one that some often mistake for arrogance, but that the members of the Patrol know it isn't. 

He is the best officer I have ever had. 

"You've seen it," I said.

"Everyone has seen it, Your Majesty."

I suppose that’s true…

I doubt there’s a being in the universe that doens’t know about Frieza’s death.

"Then you know why you're here." I gestured one tentacle at the frozen image still hanging in the air above my desk—the golden Saiyan. "This one. The new king of the Saiyans, Escarot." I turned the name over. "You've met him, right?"

Something almost like a smile touched Merus's mouth, then vanished. "I have. Briefly."

"You captured him, according to your report, right?"

"Yes, I did, but that was a long time ago," Merus replied with a nod. "It was not difficult, at the time. He was strong, but predictable… that said, it appears he has grown far beyond my capabilities to handle…" A glance at the gold light. "Far beyond."

I drummed three tentacles against the armrest of my throne. "Do you think he would work with us?”

Merus did not answer right away, instead he took a deep breath and with a smile gave me his answer.

"My time with him was short," he said finally. "I want to be clear about that, Your Majesty, because I'm about to give you an assessment built on very little, and you should weigh it accordingly."

"Noted. Continue."

"The first thing I noticed from our encounter was that he was not like the other Saiyans." Merus's eyes settled on the image. "I’ve read every report about them, every book, every piece of information we have about them. They are depicted as a prideful and cruel race that conquered others not because they were ordered, but because conquering is the only thing they truly enjoy. He had the pride part, but the rest of it was... off. He cared about his team, not as assets, or soldiers—as people, as comrades. When I had them, his only concern was them, their safety, getting them out… needless to say this puzzled me."

"A sentimental Saiyan, perhaps? There’s always outliers in every race,"

"I suppose, but I wouldn't call him soft. I'd call him..." Merus searched for the word. "Unique."

"Then would he join us?"

"No." Merus replied without missing a beat, "Or—I doubt it. It's hard to say with certainty from so little. But no, I don't believe he would. He doesn't strike me as a being who hands his loyalty to an institution. Not ours, not anyone's." Merus tilted his head slightly. "But, Your Majesty, I'd gently suggest that's the wrong question."

"Is it." I am not always fond of being corrected. From him, I allow it. "Then ask me the right one."

"You want to know if he's a threat. Whether the galaxy that survived Frieza now has a new Frieza to survive." He let that sit. "And my honest read—again, from very little—is no. I think he'll stop them."

"Stop whom?"

"His own people. The Saiyans. I think he intends to end the conquering. The raids, the planet-brokering, and all other work they did for Frieza—I think he means to pull them out of all of it." Merus's gaze didn't waver. "Have you noticed, Your Majesty, that the Saiyans recently scattered their infants across a dozen weak worlds? And that in the last few days they've begun quietly recalling every one of them?"

I had, in fact, noticed. My officers police exactly that sort of thing—Saiyan cubs dropped on defenseless planets. "I had reports. I assumed it was the usual. Seeding worlds for future conquest."

"It was the opposite, they sent their young away because they feared they would lose to Frieza and be exterminated. Now that they've won, they're bringing them home." He said it plainly. "That is not the behavior of a race preparing to inherit an empire or start a new one for that matter. That is the behavior of a King that wanted to protect the future of his people because he thought they might die, and is now, cautiously, choosing a new path, where would this path lead? Not sure, but the reality is that someone changed their direction and I'd wager it was him."

"So he reforms them," I said. "He turns the galaxy's most hated species into—what? A peaceful people? Farmers?"

"No." Merus almost laughed. "Let's not get carried away. They're still Saiyans. I doubt very much he turns them into a benevolent force overnight, or ever. You don't rewrite an entire species' nature in a generation, and I don't think he's foolish enough to try it all at once." He paused. "What I think he'll do is pull them inward. Isolate them. Reform them from within, on their own world, away from the rest of us—because that's the only place he can actually do the work without the galaxy interfering or the galaxy getting hurt while he does it."

"A king who turns his back on the universe."

"A king who has decided the universe is not his problem unless it makes itself his problem." Merus replied evenly. "Which leads me to the part you'll probably like least, Your Majesty. Don't expect help from him. If something threatens the Saiyans directly, he'll strike, and from what I saw on that recording, nothing in this galaxy will enjoy being on the other side of it. But for anyone else? For our problems, our crises, the worlds we can't protect?" He shook his head. "He won't lift a finger out of charity, if he involves himself at all, it'll be because there's something in it for him or his people. He's not a hero. He's a king, and we aren’t his people."

This was certainly a development I hand’t expected… It’s not a bad development, but it's certainly beyond my expectations.

It was, I had to admit, both a blessing and an inconvenience… You cannot ally with him. You cannot rely on him. You cannot, heaven forbid, fight him, but as long as you leave him alone he will leave you alone.

"You know, Merus," I said slowly, "By every measure that should matter to a leader, what you've described is a frustration from a political point of view."

"It is."

"And yet I find I'd take a hundred of him," I said, "over one more day of Frieza."

I had no doubts many would come to demand we had the saiyans pay for what they did under Frieza, now that Frieza was dead, but that was a problem I rather had, instead of Frieza…

Son Gohan

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Gine asked, for the third time, baby Kakarot balanced on her hip.

"Not at all," I said, and I meant it. "You've been cooped up since you landed. Go on, see the world a little. Raditz looks like he'll burst if he doesn't get to run around."

Raditz was already at the door, arms crossed, doing his best to look like he didn't care while very obviously caring a great deal. I think this is what the kids call an edgy phase. 

"I'm only going because Mom's making me," he muttered.

"Of course you are," I said.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone I can kill with a finger,” Raditz growled and I ignored him.

Gine smiled and kissed the top of Kakarot's head, and the baby gurgled and reached for her face with both chubby hands, beaming the kind of smile that could end wars, this alien baby was adorable. He was a darling thing. Round cheeks, wild black hair, it truly made me wish I would’ve had kids so that I could’ve been a Grandpa by now. In the few days they'd been here, he'd done nothing but coo and nap and grab my beard with great affection.

"He's just eaten, so he should sleep most of the time," Gine said, handing him over. He settled into my arms like he belonged there, looking up at me with enormous innocent eyes. "He's really no trouble at all. Honestly the easiest baby I've ever had."

"I can see that," I said, and the little angel yawned.

"We won't be long. Thank you, Gohan." She ruffled Raditz's hair, ignored his protest, and the two of them set off down the mountain path into the morning sun.

I stood in the doorway with the baby, watching them go, and Gine disappeared around the bend in the trail… Kakarot stopped smiling.

I want to be precise about what happened next, because I have lived a long life and trained in many disciplines and I have never witnessed a transformation so complete or so fast.

The instant his mother was out of sight, the warmth drained out of that little face like water out of a cracked cup. The big innocent eyes narrowed as the gummy smile flattened into something else entirely… he looked up at me—slowly—and I swear on my ancestors, the baby grinned.

It was not a nice grin. I dare say… it was evil.

"...Kakarot?" I said.

He bit me.

Right on the hand. Hard. He has no teeth to speak of and it still nearly took a finger off, because apparently Saiyan gums are forged in the same furnace they make swords or something. I yelped and he let go and laughed—a delighted, wicked little laugh—and then he punched me in the jaw.

And I felt it.

I'm a martial artist! I have trained my whole life! I have faced bandits and beasts and things that crawled up out of the dark, and I dropped flat onto my own porch because an infant cross-countered me.

"Now see here—" I started.

He shrieked with joy and fired a ki blast at my face.

I dodged it. Mostly… It singed my eyebrows clean off and blew a smoking hole in the doorframe behind me as Kakarot clapped his little hands together, thrilled with himself, and immediately wound up to do it again.

I have to be honest. I panicked.

Because here was my problem, and it was a serious one: this baby was, by all measures, weaker than me, and sure I could have stopped him in an instant.

But you cannot fight a baby!

You simply cannot! There is no version of me that throws a punch at an infant, no matter how many ki blasts that infant fires at my face. So I was reduced to defense, catching tiny fists, dodging tiny energy beams, all while holding him at arm's length while he kicked and clawed and laughed with evil delight, trying to murder his babysitter, all while finding the whole thing tremendously funny.

"Kakarot, no—Kakarot, we do not bite—KAKAROT, NOT THE BOOKS—"

He destroyed my books...

I tried setting him in his little crib, he bounced out of it like a rubber ball and tackled me. I tried wrapping him in a blanket, he chewed through it, I tried gentle, soothing words in the voice I'd used to calm frightened animals my whole life, and he responded by blasting a crater into my floorboards and cackling at the smoke.

At one point I held him over my head at the full length of both arms, the only safe distance in the house, and he hung there, kicking the air, grinning down at me like a tiny black-haired devil who had finally found his life's true purpose.

This went on for an hour.

An entire hour… I am not too proud to say I considered, briefly, simply leaving. Walking off the mountain. Starting a new life… I hear East City has a nice weather.

But before despair could take hold, I heard it—footsteps on the path followed by Gine's voice, distant, calling back to Raditz about the view.

The baby froze in my hands.

He cocked his head. Listened. And then, before my very eyes, the demon evaporated.

The eyes went big and soft again. The murderous grin melted into that warm gummy smile. He let out a small, sleepy, contented coo, snuggled down into my battered arms, and—this is the part I still can't wrap my head around—closed his eyes as if he'd been peacefully napping the entire time.

Gine came around the bend, glowing from her walk, Raditz trudging behind her.

"How was he?" she asked, delighted, somehow ignoring my house was almost completely destroyed.

I looked at her. I looked at the ‘angelic’, slumbering infant in my arms. I looked at the smoking craters on my floor, the chewed blanket, the hole in my doorframe, my missing eyebrows.

The baby opened one eye, looked right at me. And I understood, with total clarity, that no one would ever believe me.

"...Good as gold," I heard myself say.

"I told you!" Gine beamed, scooping him up, he nuzzled into her shoulder, the very picture of innocence.