"Yes, sir!" Zarbon said quickly. Stay cool, stay calm…grabbing his weakly-protesting charge, Zarbon marched toward the ship. For such a puny little guy, Jeice was awfully heavy…

"Never mind him!" Gomen snapped, eyes darting. "Get in, boy, before I have to—"

"Well, isn't this interesting," burbled a strange voice; an enormously round alien descended between the Changelings, looking smug. "I don't recall orders for evacuation." Gomen stepped forward stiffly.

"Zarbon, go," he murmured, never taking his eyes from the grotesque pink blob.

"But, sir, I should--"

"Now!" Gomen shouted, charging into the alien with sufficient force to knock him aside. The blob looked started; he would only be caught off-guard once, though…barely thinking, Zarbon flung Jeice roughly into the ship and turned to the fight.

The fat pink thing was surprisingly agile for his bulk, circling with—Zarbon's eyes bulged. Gomen had been replaced with a thick-bodied blunt-faced reptile. What the hell had…he was hideous. For a moment Zarbon's mind refused to accept what he was seeing; Gomen would never, never look like that. The lizard took his eyes from his opponent long enough only to glance at Zarbon—it had Gomen's eyes.

"Zarbon, I said go. That is an order."

"Sir…you don't have to--"

"Do not defy my orders again, boy!" Zarbon edged toward the ship and the alien lunged for him, bellowing suddenly as reptilian teeth buried themselves in his shoulder. Throwing Gomen aside, he whirled to charge Zarbon again…only the shut hatch of Gomen's capsule met him. Engines flared; the blob prepared to blast the craft out of the sky and found himself face-to-face with a deathly determined Changeling. Gomen roared and attacked: strength, fury, and absolutely no self-preservation. By the time Dodoria was able to look up again, the ship was gone.

* * * * *

Zarbon paced in spite of the disturbingly frequent turbulence: aimed, apparently, at throwing him to the ground. He stepped gingerly over Jeice, noting only briefly that Jeice had fallen unconscious again. In the grander scheme of things, that was less than important.

Gomen was gone. Zarbon was not enough of a blind optimist to believe his commander alive. He had to reestablish contact with the Resistance, tell them what had happened…but what had happened?

'We're too late…'

What did it mean? They'd been ahead of schedule when they arrived…hadn't been racing anything to the best of Zarbon's knowledge, though there was obviously some other faction interested in Rennet--whatever it had been that employed that fat ugly thing…a splinter group? Not likely…Cold's forces were too intimidating for anything less than the Resistance to handle. It had come to the point that every being in range was part of one army or the other.

The meant the new force on Rennet had belonged to Cold. It therefore meant that Cold was here. He wasn't scheduled to touch this quadrant for another three months…gods. The situation, to put it plainly, was not good.

Regrettably, clear thought beyond that revelation did not come easily to Zarbon. This wasn't supposed to happen, not to him, not to Gomen, not to the Resistance, not his first mission. The injustice of it all was infuriating, enough so that a groan from Jeice nearly earned him a largely undeserved kick in the head. Fine, then. Focus on the damned prisoner…maybe he knew more of what was going on. After all, it was his planet at stake.

Kneeling, Zarbon rolled Jeice onto his back and slapped him once, lightly across the face. Jeice's head lolled to the side, eyes half-open and blank. Zarbon growled and stood; well, there was always the old standby…snatching a canteen from the provisions closet, he neatly dumped half its contents over Jeice's face.

The result was as expected; Jeice, after a moment's shock, coughed and sputtered, waving his hand weakly in front of his face and attempting to roll to his side. Zarbon sat on the floor next to him for the simple reason that the combination of now-slippery floor and jarring turbulence made it difficult to stand. Jeice glared at him the moment he became aware of the Changeling's presence.

"Yes, me again," Zarbon said mildly, shifting to get comfortable on damp tile.

"Wh're…are we?" Jeice slurred, lips swollen.

"Leaving. How much did you know about your planet?"

"Did…?" Jeice frowned. The hell did he mean, did?

"Did. How much. Did. You. Know," Zarbon pronounced slowly, slightly condescending. Jeice scowled.

"Not yer business," he muttered, annoyed at the sound of his voice.

"Well, it won't even be yours soon enough the way things are looking. Go ahead and be stubborn."

"'d be less stubb'rn if you'd untie me.."

"So you'd have a better chance of attacking." Zarbon gave him a faintly chiding look. "Really, Jeice, I know your head hurts, but show a little common sense." This was okay, talking with the prisoner, being the superior; not thinking of failed plans and failed people…

"Fine," Jeice said thickly. "Then I don' talk." With that, he shut his mouth as firmly as his offset jaw would allow and glared.

"You know, I gave up the pouting method when I was a child. You ought to consider that."

"Shutup," Jeice growled. Zarbon was sorely tempted to growl back; stupid kid was pressing the issue…by rights, Zarbon should attempt to beat the information out of him now. The Changeling sighed. He didn't want to deal with this right now…he'd had his fill of beating on things for the interim.

"Well, I guess you'll talk when you get sick of the silence," he said lightly, getting to his feet and almost immediately toppling in a manner most undignified as the craft bucked and shuddered again. So much for the damned autopilot…Zarbon scowled and made his way to the control console; expert he was not, but surely he could fly smoother than the damned computer seemed to be doing.

Jeice was aware of the turbulence only as another distraction, much like his supremely annoying captor. It was comforting, in a way, to have such persistent distractions. Through pain and confusion Cheada was ignored, Suiz, Ghud, and Camber forgotten, Rennet left behind—the fact that he was in a spacepod should have indicated a more literal meaning to the last thought…Jeice, however, was in no condition to deal with such knowledge. The solution, then, was simply not to think about it.

* * * * *

The age-old low-class ritual of bowing and scraping was not unknown to Dalwen; after all, he'd had to curry favor with his father for several years to get close enough to kill him. However, once power had been tasted, it was suddenly difficult to return to that demeanor. Freiza found it amusing only the first time Dalwen defied him; a brief manifestation of Freiza's power(at the expense of some weak soldier or another, as an example)was sufficient to keep Dalwen in his place…well, for the moment.

A learned opportunist, Dalwen set his mind to the task of a new plot, not for conquest this time—even he had to be realistic in times like these—but for safe escape. The situation was certainly the worst he'd encountered, but resourceful he was, and confident that given sufficient fawning and wheedling, he could secure himself a better position. If nothing else, he could turn Rennet over to Freiza's control(hell, the planet was beaten anyhow)and act as Freiza's agent there…to keep the peace, of course. Yes…that would do nicely.

Something like a chill skittered over Dalwen's skin as he caught sight of Freiza strolling down the hall toward him, apparently royally bored. 'Well,' Dalwen though, steeling himself, 'no time like the present to establish relations…' Ignoring his roiling gut, he stepped forward and bowed.

"Greetings, Lord Freiza." Gods, it felt stupid to talk like that.

"Dalwen," Freiza returned; a sudden smirk. "I have something to show you. Come." Turning fast enough that Dalwen had to hop to avoid his tail, Freiza marched off, leading the way to one of the conference rooms that ringed the ship. As Dalwen entered the room, Freiza pointed to the planet hovering dimly in the window.

"Rennet," Freiza mused. "Your planet, is it not?"

"It's yours now, sir, but yes, I came from there." Mental note to practice saying 'sir' while suppressing gag reflex.

"I admire loyalty, Dalwen," Freiza continued, still pointing and waggling his finger distractedly. "Your first duty is to your own kind…old connections; your treasured race and homeland. Of course I know this loyalty. It is only natural." Dalwen merely nodded in reply, wary. This could go any number of directions…

"So long as you hold such things dear, I can not be perfectly sure of your loyalty to me or my cause," Freiza concluded sharply.

"But sir, I have—"

"I would not ask you to renounce your people," Freiza interrupted coolly. "I am not so cruel. See, then, my very simple solution to the problem. Simple solutions are the best ones, are they not, Dalwen?"

"Ah…of course, sir," Dalwen forced himself to reply. Somehow these assurances were not putting him any more at ease…

Freiza turned back to the window, pointed finger aimed accusingly at Rennet He lashed his tail once and a pinpoint of light formed outside the window. A smile spread over the Retsujin's lips as the tiny orb grew, swelled…then contracted back to a point, its glow intense enough that Dalwen dared not look at it; in the back of his mind he was growing sure that he didn't want to see what was to follow, either.

With a glance to make sure Dalwen was watching, Freiza flicked his finger down; the too-bring sphere shot away, its glow dimming with distance as it sped toward the dull brown planet. A flash marked its strike; Freiza's smirk broadened. A moment later a web of burning cracks swept over the surface…another ten seconds, a blinding burst of light and a silent cacophony of explosion; a hanging curtain of rubble served as marker and elegy for the planet.

Dalwen stared, transfixed and silently praying to every deity he could think of that this was a dream or a ruse. Freiza, apparently satisfied, turned on his heel and sauntered out.

"Problem solved," he announced as he left, "Your loyalty shall no longer be divided." Point made, he shut the airlock on Dalwen's hoarse scream.