Chapter 82
James stumbled out behind him, boots sinking into soil that smelled like nothing from home—rich, damp, alive. He gagged at the sudden assault of scents: clover, something sweetly rotting, the ozone-tang of their still-smoldering pod. His vision swam. Raditz grabbed his collar before he face-planted into the dirt.
Gine emerged last, Kakarot limp in her arms—finally asleep. Her gloves were melted to her wrists. Bardock didn't look at his family. He was staring at the skyline where their ship had been, jaw working silently. Then, distant but unmistakable: the creak of a wooden fence. A human voice calling out in a language none of them understood.
Raditz's tail twitched violently. His hand flew to his scouter—cracked screen flickering—but James caught his wrist. Shook his head once. The older brother bared his teeth, but didn't move. They stood there, alien and exposed, as footsteps rustled through the cornstalks toward them. Kakarot sighed in his sleep. Somewhere, a crow laughed.
Gine saw the human first—smaller than expected, skin like weathered leather beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The man froze mid-stride, his pitchfork glinting in the late afternoon sun. For three heartbeats, nobody breathed. Then the old farmer's gaze drifted to Gine's mangled gloves, Bardock's bleeding knuckles, the unconscious toddler. He lowered his pitchfork slowly, deliberately. Said something that sounded like a question.
James felt it first—the shift in Bardock's ki, the way his father's fingers curled toward killing stance. But before he could act, Kakarot whimpered in his sleep. Just once. The farmer's eyes snapped to the child. His shoulders slumped. With a grunt, he jabbed the pitchfork into the dirt and shrugged off his denim jacket. He held it out toward Gine, nodding at Kakarot's bare arms, blue with cold.
Raditz made a sound like a ruptured engine. James watched his mother's face—the way her eyebrows knitted, the slight tremble in her burnt hands as she accepted the offering. The jacket smelled like sweat and tobacco and something achingly unfamiliar. Home. The thought came unbidden, dangerous. Across the field, the farmer was already walking away, beckoning them toward a weathered farmhouse with chimney smoke curling skyward. Coming. No demand. Just an offering Bardock couldn't refuse without looking his family in the eye.
They followed in silence, boots crushing corn husks into the mud. James stepped where Raditz stepped, matching his brother's footfalls—old survival habit from training drills. The farmer's overalls were patched at both knees. His gait had a hitch, like he'd once taken a bad fall and never fully healed. Details Bardock would catalogue as threats, weaknesses. But when the man glanced back—just once—his eyes lingered on James' split lip. There was no pity there. Just recognition. The look of someone who knew how blood tasted.
The farmhouse porch groaned under their combined weight. Inside, a woman's voice called out—high, reedy. The screen door burst open before they reached it. A human female, shorter than Gine but twice as wide, froze with a cast iron skillet in hand. Her gaze skipped over their armor, their tails, Bardock's scars, before landing on Kakarot bundled in her husband's jacket. The skillet clattered onto a rocking chair. "Sweet Mary mother of—" She didn't finish. Just yanked the door wider, her other hand already reaching for the toddler.
Gine recoiled instinctively. Bardock's fingers twitched. But Kakarot chose that moment to wake—blinking sleepily before unleashing a yawn so wide it showed all his tiny teeth. The farmer's wife made a sound James had never heard before. Not fear. Not disgust. Something soft. Something warm. Behind her, a radio played tinny music. A kettle whistled. The woman wiped flour-dusted hands on her apron and smiled. "Well," she said, in halting but perfect universal trade language, "you all look like you could use some pie."
Raditz's tail stiffened. The woman reached toward Kakarot—slow, deliberate—and plucked a stray leaf from his hair. Gine hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until it burst out in a shuddering exhale. Through the open door, James saw a kitchen table piled high with golden-crusted pies. Steam curled from them, carrying scents of cinnamon and apples. His stomach growled so loudly the farmer chuckled. The sound was raspy, like boots on gravel.
Bardock's voice cut through the warmth like a blade: "Why are you helping us?" The farmer's wife didn't flinch. She tilted her head—studying his scarred face the way James had seen medics assess battlefield wounds—before replying, "Lostfolk feed lostfolk." James blinked. The woman touched her own chest where three parallel scars peeked above her collar. Old claw marks. Deep. Then she pointed to Bardock's armor—the remnants of Frieza's insignia barely visible beneath splattered mud. "Bad blood washes off easier with hot water."
Raditz bristled. But Kakarot was squirming toward the pies now, little fingers grasping for pastry. James caught his father's eye—saw the war in Bardock's clenched jaw, the way his killing grip loosened fractionally as the farmer's wife pressed a steaming slice into Gine's shaking hands. The first bite made his mother's eyes widen. The second made them shine. Outside, the crow cawed again. Closer this time. Watching. Waiting.
The farmer's wife moved briskly, pouring five cups of something dark and bitter. She slid one toward Bardock—not beside, but directly across from her own. A challenge. An offering. Steam curled between them like battlefield smoke. James watched his father's fingers twitch toward the cup. Watched the woman's hands—knuckles scarred from years of labor—rest motionless on the table. No tremor. No fear. Just two predators sizing each other up over tea.
Then Kakarot sneezed. A spray of crumbs exploded across the table. The farmer burst out laughing—a deep, rolling sound that shook his shoulders. His wife dabbed at the toddler's nose with her apron, humming something tuneless. Raditz's tail lashed against the chair leg. But when Gine hesitantly joined the humming—her voice rough from smoke inhalation—the farmer's wife smiled wider. James realized he was smiling too. The radio crackled with static. Somewhere far away, their ship's wreckage cooled in the
twilight.