"What the hell do you mean he's not available? Has he turned tail already?"

"Sir, please understand, the king is very busy lately…" Gomen snorted, grateful that this was not a face-to-face encounter; had it been, he would have already strangled Dalwen's stalwart go-between. That coward hadn't the guts to speak with Gomen directly…he had, however, agreed to limited conversation today. Too bad he'd suddenly dropped from the face of the planet.

"Don't toy with me," the Changeling growled. "Is he dead and you simply haven't found a replacement?"

"Ah, no, he's quite alive, but he cannot meet with you at the present moment."

"I'm not asking him to meet with me…I'm asking him to find up a com unit, pick up the line, and explain just how he plans to rectify this situation."

"As it happens, sir, rectification of the situation is precisely what's keeping him busy."

"I see. And what is he doing?"

"Attempting to solve present difficulties, sir, as I said."

"That doesn't tell me a damned thing. What exactly is he doing toward solving this?"

"I'm afraid that's classified, sir." Gomen sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Look, whatever your name is, I've been talking to you for days, I think I've made my position pretty clear. It was, therefore, your responsibility to relay the importance of this to your king, be he absent or dead. Apparently, you have not done so."

"Sir?" The voice now sounded worried.

"If Dalwen truly knew what was at stake here, he would not have chosen this time to go missing."

"Sir, he is well aware of the specifics of this situation…"

"Then he's just trying to find a way to save his hide."

Uncomfortable silence from Rennet's palace.

"You know where he is?"

"Why do you wish to know, sir?"

"I'll take that as a no."

"Please be patient, sir, I'm sure he'll speak with you the moment he arrives."

"No," Gomen said softly, fist clenched on the console.

"Sir?"

"No," he repeated, a little more strongly. "This has gone far enough. Dalwen's had his chance…more chance than he should have had in the first place. It's time to end this."

"Sir, please don't do anything rash, I'm sure some agreement can be reached…"

"Just was," Gomen murmured. "You have finally confirmed my decision, and for that I thank you. I regret that your people will have to die for this…but then, mine already have. If Dalwen is hiding behind you right now, give him my regards and my sentence: I shall spit on his corpse."

With no further ceremony, Gomen cut the connection and braced on the console for a moment, shoulder-length hair spilling over his shoulders. He'd just made his first truly executive decision and condemned an entire planet to death…dear gods, how did Cold stand it?

"Gomen, sir?" He stiffened, drawing himself up abruptly at the sound of Zarbon's voice.

"Yes? Make it quick, boy."

"Sir, the men wish to know how went your talks with Dalwen."

"Do they," Gomen grunted. "And why, then, are you the only one here?"

"The rest are waiting for your orders, sir…we can leave the moment you give the word."

"You're so certain that Dalwen did not cooperate?"

"I am not certain of anything," Zarbon said a touch uneasily, "but the others seemed very convinced that it would come to battle in the end." He paused. "Were they correct, sir?" Zarbon cringed a bit even as he said it; it was incredibly impertinent to pester one's commanding officer in such a manner. Much more of this behavior and Gomen might not let him fight…

"They were correct," Gomen said, expressionless. "Have the men prepare. We purge Rennet as soon as we can land." The commander ground his teeth as Zarbon executed an animated salute and marched as fast as could be managed down the hall, toward the Changeling quarters. Gomen watched him go with mixed anger and regret.

Rennet would bear the stain of Changeling blood before this was done.

* * * * *

Pain was beginning to lose its chokehold on Suiz; heartened—if dizzy—he pressed harder. His only hope was to catch up with them in time to talk some sense into Jeice. Camber would no doubt be there…shit. Suiz had been frankly surprised, not at the strength Camber had demonstrated, but the…determination. He's seemed just as desperate as Suiz felt; a frightening thought, given the fact that Camber still understood so little.

As far as Suiz knew, Camber had no inkling of the impending invasion. More disturbing, though…would he have done anything differently if he had known? Suiz was no longer sure.

Hell had shaped stronger boys than Camber, bending and crushing them into powerfully broken men. Suiz had accepted his fate just as all the others had, consciously or subconsciously. Camber, for all his years and experience, was still fighting.

'Imagine what a warrior he'd be if he actually had a valid cause…'

The scent of water snapped Suiz back to attention; flying low over a lake, he'd begun to lose altitude. Growling in short breaths, he forced himself higher, feeling every bruise, gash and fracture in his beaten body but simply unable to do anything about it. Pain, duly noted, was disregarded with equal care. No time to patch himself together now.

'Is he feeling this same pain? Has his temporary victory dulled his senses and allowed him to press on? He wasn't looking much better than I when he hit me that last time…and for all he won, he's the one running from the fight. Poor Camber…always fighting for what you believe so strongly.

'Does it hurt so much to admit that you were wrong?

'Dangerous, yes, but not the way you want to be…you're striking out blindly, snapping at anything in reach like a mad dog. You see a foe in everyone; you need no true enemy, and you have none. You'd have to stand for something before someone could attack you for it. Automated rebel, you'll die never knowing that for which you were sacrificed. A waste, all of this, such a waste…'

Suiz sighed, then grimace, breath catching, as agony shot around the curve of his ribs. Through slitted eyes he saw the tree in time to veer, resetting his course as it became plain he was listing. He shook his head to clear it, groaning as his headache intensified. This was unacceptable…he had to be able to concentrate.

So long to go before he could rest.

* * * * *

"He wants what?"

"He wished to relieve you of Jeice, sir." Mojak eyed the messenger with ill-concealed skepticism. This was altogether too perfect…all his plans for a revolution, and now Dalwen just offered to step down?

"And to what purpose is this?" he muttered, still glaring.

"Sir, I am told that you are likely to know of the king's dilemma…"

"That's a polite term for it," Mojak snorted.

"…he seeks a successor who is likely to have more widespread appeal."

"He wants someone to put their head on the chopping block for him."

"No, sir," the messenger said a bit stiffly. "Dalwen does not anticipate intercultural tensions with the appointment of his nephew."

"Intercultural tensions…you're full of clever terminology, aren't you? I'm sure Dalwen was not inspired enough to come up with that on his own. Tensions, indeed…what you mean to say is he hopes Gomen will delay attack long enough for him to get his sorry ass to some other part of the galaxy?"

"If the attack can be avoided, sir, the means or side-effects are hardly of primary importance."

"Aptly put; and I will not be implicated in any of this should the deal go sour?"

"You'll be granted whatever immunity you choose…you'd be surprised what can be arranged without public knowledge." The messenger's attitude was now crisply professional; objective in reach and mission soon to be completed. Hardly a satisfying job…picking up some poor bastard to take Dalwen's fall; well, one did what one had to.

"Sounds like you've got this all planned out," Mojak muttered with an odd humorless smile.

"Not much to plan, sir, it's not a complicated arrangement."

"I'm afraid you're wrong on that account."

"Oh? Do tell, sir…what have I missed?" The messenger nearly sneered…he'd unearthed every damn fact about this case…he knew the situation inside out. He'd left the palace with a perfect plan and now this grungy warrior dared to imply that he'd overlooked anything?

"Quite a bit, all told, but just for fun let's go over the main points, shall we? First and most importantly, Jeice isn't likely to want to come with you. What do you intend to do about that?"

"If he resists, I knock him out and he enters his reign with a slight headache," the messenger replied with a shrug. Mojak chuckled.

"He could kill you, idiot. You think you've been sent after a child? He's one of the strongest fighters to come out of this camp in decades."

"Then I persuade him through other means," he grumbled with a narrow-eyed glare at Mojak. "After all, we do have Cheada at the palace."

"A prisoner?"

"Essentially." The messenger smiled…nothing like a little familial leverage.

"That's useful," Mojak drawled. "Jeice hates Cheada and Cheada refuses to recognize Jeice as his son. How, pray tell, do you think that will convince our reluctant prince?"

"I can still pull 'future of our planet' on him…what would you do, were the fate of Rennet in your hands?"

"Pointless question," Mojak answered shortly. "It's not. Stupid comparisons aside, you're still overlooking a very important piece of information."

"I hadn't counted on you being a complete ass about it?" the messenger snarled.

"Well, if you didn't count on that, you're making mistakes left and right. No…this is something more central to your purpose. You're set to get Jeice…well, for all of me, you can have him. That is…" Mojak grinned. "…if you can find him."