"Come on, let's go."
At Dr. Brief's voice, Rhode gestured for Bulma to follow and stepped back through the Space Gate. The little girl, after one last, contemplative look at the vast, timeless chamber, scurried out after him.
Dr. Brief stood just outside the shimmering portal, peering in with a mixture of scientific rapture and bewilderment. At his feet, his constant companion—the small, mysteriously long-lived black cat—watched with detached feline interest.
"You are...?" Dr. Brief began, his eyes squinting behind his glasses at the tall, unfamiliar young man. But then, recognition dawned as he traced the familiar lines in the stranger's brow and the set of his eyes. "Rhode? Is that you? My word, you've... matured!"
"It's me, Doctor. It's good to see you again." Rhode wasn't surprised he was recognized. The familial resemblance to his younger self was there, and Bulma's quick wit would have already connected the dots for her father.
Dr. Brief could only shake his head in wonder, taking in Rhode's new height, his sharp yet calm demeanor. "Oh, yes, yes! A pleasure!"
His scientific mind, however, quickly pivoted to the matter at hand. "Rhode, about your spacecraft... I've developed a few prototypes based on its systems, but—"
"Patents and licensing?" Rhode finished for him, having been prepped by Bulma.
"Yes, precisely!" Dr. Brief's face lit up with hope. "Do you have the authority to grant it?"
Rhode offered a helpless smile and shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Doctor. That ship is a common, mass-produced model in the galaxy. It's like... trying to patent the wheel here on Earth. The technology is ubiquitous."
"I see..." Dr. Brief's shoulders slumped, his expression one of profound disappointment.
Seeing the genuine regret on the good doctor's face, Rhode reconsidered. "Doctor, I think you're worrying too much. Anti-gravity tech is a universal standard, like public-domain knowledge. Earth is isolated from galactic trade and law. Using this technology to benefit humanity here won't impact any cosmic civilization. Frankly," he added with a slight shrug, "I don't think anyone out there would notice or care."
Dr. Brief stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "You... do have a point."
"Speaking of which," Rhode continued, "I brought back some technical data from other planets—things Earth doesn't have yet. I was hoping you could put them to good use." He stepped briefly back into the Time Chamber and returned with a compact data drive, handing it to the scientist.
Dr. Brief's eyes widened as he scanned the files. His disappointment vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated excitement. "Remarkable! This is... this is invaluable!"
He looked up from the device, his expression growing earnest. "Rhode, the knowledge you've provided—first letting me study the ship, now this data—it's an immeasurable gift. In return, all I did was build you a single Gravity Chamber. It feels... wholly inadequate." A flicker of professional guilt crossed his features. He was a man who believed in equitable exchange, and the scales felt drastically unbalanced.
Dr. Brief's expression grew solemn, the weight of his decision clear in his eyes. "Rhode, for someone of your… capabilities, material wealth is likely meaningless. But beyond my intellect, the only resource I possess in abundance is capital. Therefore, I have decided to transfer twenty percent of Capsule Corporation's shares to you. I hope you will accept."
This was no impulsive offer. Dr. Brief had long wrestled with the imbalance. The value of the technology Rhode had provided—first through his ship, now through this new data—was incalculable, potentially worth far more than the entire corporation. Meanwhile, Rhode had asked for so little in return. For a man of Brief's principles, such a one-sided exchange was untenable.
Rhode couldn't help but let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "Doctor, that's truly unnecessary. I have no need for it."
His refusal was genuine. With his current power, Instant Transmission, and the Recovery Technique, acquiring wealth would be trivial, should he ever desire it.
"It's settled," Dr. Brief stated with finality, a rare note of insistence in his voice. "The transfer documents will be prepared. I would offer more if not for the other shareholders." The matter, in his mind, was closed.
"…Alright." Seeing the unshakeable resolve in the older man's eyes, Rhode relented with a nod. Accepting this gift would bring the scientist peace of mind, and that, in itself, held value.
Shifting the topic, Rhode returned to the earlier mention. "Bulma told me an alien has arrived on Earth?"
"Ah, yes," Dr. Brief confirmed, adjusting his glasses. "My eldest daughter, Tights, contacted me. His name is Jaco, a so-called 'super-elite' of the Galactic Patrol. His spacecraft malfunctioned, and he requires my assistance." He peered at Rhode curiously. "Are you familiar with this 'Galactic Patrol' organization?"
So it is him. The image of the silver-suited, helmeted Patrolman came to mind. "I know of them," Rhode acknowledged. "The Galactic Patrol is essentially the galactic police force, led by the Galactic King. Their stated mission is to combat crime and maintain peace."
He offered the standard description, though his internal assessment was less charitable. In practice, the Patrol dealt with minor threats; any truly powerful cosmic menace was far beyond their purview, often pawned off to higher authorities like the Kaioshin. Their "peacekeeping" also had a dark side—Jaco's original mission, after all, was to sterilize Earth, a planet the Patrol collectively viewed as too primitive and barbaric to matter.
"I see," Dr. Brief mused, a look of relief washing over his face. "Then this Jaco fellow must be one of the good ones."
A good person? Rhode's expression remained neutral, offering neither agreement nor dissent. The question lingered unspoken: Is someone whose primary mission was to assassinate a baby—even if that baby was Kakarot—truly a "good person"? The morality of the Galactic Patrol, like much in this universe, was painted in shades of gray.
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