"Damn it, why won't they pick up?" Dolmit grumbled. "Who the hell's in charge over there?" He started guiltily as he realized he was supposed to be the contact on Geo. 'Dereliction of post, that's enough to get me exiled--except they couldn't spare me.' Dolmit sighed with a self-depreciating smile. 'How nice to be indispensable--'

"Who's there?" rasped a voice from the console. Heart in his throat, Dolmit spoke quickly.

"Whoever this is, put me through to King Deoge immediately; this is a matter of dire importance."

"Well, now," the voice drawled, "What's going on there that's so direly important?"

"That's not your business, worm! If you don't put me through this instant I'll have your hide for a doormat! I must speak with King Deoge!"

"I wouldn't get my hopes up for that, if I were you. He's in no condition to talk right now." Dolmit felt like a stone had dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. The voice from Geo's palace lost its lazy tone and turned hard and deadly.

"We have him. We have the whole damned palace under our control. He's in bad shape now, but if anything happens to Lord Degradu, he dies. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Who are you?"

"Just one of the masses, friend. Fealty has its place, but in matters of life and death, I choose to live. Now tell me," he snapped, "is Degradu still alive?"

"Yes," Dolmit answered, though truly he had no clue.

"We'll find out if you're lying or not; we're sending a few, ah, diplomats to visit you. They'd better find Degradu alive and well." With that, the transmission cut off. Dolmit put a hand to his aching head, then shook it off and ran, launching into the air from the edge of the palace, systematically running through every expletive he knew.

*****

Azher stared, certain Dolmit hadn't mentioned that one before. He would have remembered anyone so--distinctive. The short spike-haired man didn't seem to bother the two Earthlings, which made Azher curious; had they been expecting him? Azher directed the airspeeder a bit closer, nearly jumping out of his skin as a strange voice interrupted his thoughts.

"No closer, if you value your life." Azher whipped around to see a man seated on the ground, leaning against a displaced boulder, watching the others as he spoke. "You don't want to interfere." Azher maneuvered closer to him and lowered the vehicle.

"You're one of the ones from Earth, aren't you?" Interpreting the disgusted look he received as a positive reply, Azher pressed further. "Who's the one with the halo? Where did he come from?" The other hesitated, and Azher remembered that this warrior had no reason to trust him. Evidently deciding otherwise, the Earthling spoke again.

"His name is Vegeta. He's the father of the male warrior there: Trunks."

"He acts like he knows the girl," Azher commented, and was rewarded with a worldly glare.

"He does," the stranger said shortly; Azher needed no further explanation. "As to where he came from, that's debatable, depending on your ideology; how he got here is more confusing to me."

"Debatable?" Azher asked, puzzled. He stared at the halo. "Is he dead or something?"

"Very astute. Yes, he's dead, which is why I can't figure out how he got here; it's not common for worlds to cross over like that."

"Maybe it's a special dispensation," Azher suggested. "Perhaps he got permission--" The warrior chuckled.

"I don't think Vegeta has asked permission for anything in his life; he's not likely to start just because he's dead. No, he must have discovered some loophole and slipped through." Azher wasn't sure what was so amusing, but didn't comment.

"Why is he here?"

"I can only assume it's because of Trunks or Takira. I hate to say it, but whatever his reasons, I'm glad he showed up." He paused and looked critically at Azher. "Why are you here?"

"To see how things turned out; to offer my help, and my life if necessary, to the defense of my people."

"I don't see any of your people here, do you?" Azher snorted at his impertinent tone.

"No, but it's not far to Geo, and their lives are at stake now that Denatu's involved. Why is he still fighting?"

"What do you mean?"

"He came to kill Degradu; I'm assuming he's done that by now. Why don't you call a truce?" The Earthling's eyes narrowed.

"When Takira refused to bend to his will, he promised to annihilate your race. I should think you'd be glad we're standing against him."

Azher held his peace. The news was not entirely unexpected, but it still hit hard. The Roc were in dire straits already; now it looked likely that they would soon be extinct. Unbidden, unwelcome, images of death and destruction played across his mind, closely mingled with those of his family. He sighed. He hadn't seen his wife and child for many weeks; this was the first time it had really struck home that he might never see them again. He stared vacantly ahead.

"Can they do it?" he asked quietly.

"They must. They will."

*****

Vegeta arched one eyebrow as he gave Denatu a critical once-over. He sighed softly through his nose.

"This is what's been causing all this trouble?" he asked in disgust. Denatu bristled.

"Little one, I don't know where you came from or why," he hissed, "but I would advise your expedient return." Vegeta's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"I came for a fight. I'll leave when I get one. That's assuming, of course," he spoke loftily, "that there's anyone here worth fighting."

'Must be royalty,' Denatu grumbled to himself. 'No one else could be so arrogant. Fool.' Denatu allowed himself a little smile. 'It will be a pleasure to put him in his place.' Vegeta shifted on his feet, obviously growing impatient.

"Well, what's the holdup? Are you going to make a move or just stand there?" Denatu's smile broadened.

"I was just thinking of how much I'll enjoy making you scream." Vegeta returned his smile.

"You, thinking?" he snorted. "That seems unlikely. If you're quite done, can we get on with this? I've already wasted too much time talking to you."

"Let's get to it, then." The Saiyan began to rise into the air. "No. We'll fight here." Vegeta shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Trunks--" Trunks snapped to attention, still in super Saiyan form, though he had relaxed to level one. "Get Takira out of here." Trunks gingerly lifted the injured warrior, drawing forth an involuntary cry of pain.

"Gently, damn it!" Vegeta snapped. "I didn't come all this way to save her just so you could kill her!" Trunks winced and muttered an apology. Takira shushed him with a shake of her head.

"I'm--fine, really," she gasped. "Let--your father--do his thing." Trunks nodded and flew carefully away with her. Vegeta watched them go, then turned back to Denatu, who snorted in distaste.

"That's your son? No wonder he's such a pitiful fighter." Vegeta's expression shifted from mocking to deadly.

'Hmm, that struck a nerve,' Denatu thought with satisfaction. 'If looks could kill--'

"Baka," Vegeta said coldly, "You didn't have to give me a reason to kill you, I was going to anyhow. All you did with that little remark is assure yourself of a slow, painful death." Denatu blinked, and suddenly all he could see was Vegeta's clenched fist coming for him. The was no time even to flinch as the Saiyan's fist met Denatu's face--going through his face--passing harmlessly out the back of his head. After a moment stunned silence, Denatu broke into a delighted cackle.

"You're a ghost!" he howled, "You can't touch me! Oh, this is just too perfect! Tell me again how you're going to kill me!" Denatu was nearly doubled over laughing; Vegeta held perfectly still, but it was plainly a strain on his self-control to do so.

'Shit! What went wrong? They must have discovered me; is this their idea of punishment? Damn it! What now?' Vegeta's mind raced furiously--abruptly he relaxed and broke into an evil grin, watching Denatu struggle to recover from his terrible mirth. 'If this works, that giggling fool is in for the surprise of his life; the last.'

*****

Gohan used his good arm to help lower Takira to the ground. He'd known she was badly hurt, but now that he saw her up close, she looked even worse than he'd expected; he was amazed she was still even partially awake. Her blood stuck to Trunks' shirt and jacket. Trunks stared at the stains with helpless fury, and knelt at her side, checking her pulse and breathing. Gohan turned to the Roc, speaking softly enough that Takira couldn't hear if she were awake.

"I don't want to move her any more than necessary, but if things get ugly, I want you to stuff her in that hovercraft of yours and get out as fast as you can. Understand?" Azher gave him a curious look and nodded.

"I'll do it as a favor to you, but if I may suggest something," he murmured, leaning closer to Gohan, "she's not long for this world, if you ask me. It may be kinder just to--"

"No," Gohan interrupted, his voice quiet but still intense. "She's strong; she may yet pull through." He glanced at Trunks, who was speaking softly with Takira. "Besides, he wouldn't let you. Neither would I. The only reason any of us came here was to save her. If she dies, she does it without outside interference."

Meanwhile, Trunks had removed his jacket and rolled it up beneath Takira's head as a pillow. She murmured a breathy thanks before slipping into a sleepy semi-consciousness. Trunks laid his hand over her deathly pale one, knowing she couldn't feel it.

"Don't die," he whispered harshly. "For kami's sake, Takira, don't die."

A burst of noise came from the battlefield, and Trunks turned to see his father looking positively stupefied; Denatu was laughing and shouting something about ghosts.

"What the hell?"

"He's not solid," Gohan said dully. "He can't lay a hand on Denatu. You'd better get ready to fight, Trunks." Trunks wasn't listening. He met Vegeta's eyes, and, nodding once, flew forward to meet him. Confident that Denatu wouldn't understand the significance of their actions, they took their positions for the ritual dance.

"What do they think they're doing?" Azher muttered; he'd never seen anything so ridiculous. Looking down, he saw Gohan watching, rapt.

"Fusion," he said in unison with father and son.

*****

Fluro stood at attention as best he could. In truth, he felt unspeakably foolish. He was no soldier, and neither were any of the others, save Malak. None of them really knew what they were doing, but circumstances forced them into action before they could adequately prepare. 'And now this rag-tag clutch of civilians stand against Denatu?' He held back a sigh. Degradu had promised them all safety if he rose to power--and death if he did not. Fluro shuddered; from what Malak had told them, Degradu was entirely capable of making good on that threat.

"Is he awake yet?" Malak snapped, jolting Fluro from his reverie.

"He awoke for a brief period, sir, but fell unconscious again." Malak gave a dissatisfied grunt.

"Pathetic. Even the lowest-ranking soldier would be up by now. Weakling." With an irritable growl, he turned to face Fluro. "Did he say anything while he was awake?"

"Nothing important. I think he was delirious; he started thrashing around, yelling something about Proteas, and fate. When he came fully awake, he didn't seem to know who or where he was. We explained it to him and he calmed down. We were going to bring him to you, but he passed out again." Malak rolled his eyes and resumed pacing.

"Throw him in the rejuvenation tank. This is taking too long."

"But, sir--"

"But what?" Malak pinned Fluro with a distrustful stare. "You have your orders, now go. Once he's healed I think he'll be wise enough to see reason. If not--we beat him down before, we can do it again."

"Yes, sir," Fluro muttered. He left to carry out his instructions, privately wondering how their self-appointed leader could be so damned confident. Weak as he was, King Deoge had nonetheless managed to kill two of his assailants before he succumbed. Their forces lacked so much in strength and numbers that any loss was deeply felt. They couldn't afford to lose more just because Malak wished to speak with their former ruler. Sternly reining in his emotions, Fluro tried to concentrate on the mission.

Malak was doing no better. The rebellion was under his control, their forces were miniscule and not one of those fools knew a damn thing about fighting. They looked to him to pull a miracle out of the air and save their pathetic hides. He sighed heavily. If by some strange twist of fate they won, it would be Degradu's victory; if, as seemed more likely, they failed, the deaths of the civilians as well as their king would weigh upon Malak's shoulders. He didn't care if he died; he just didn't want to die in disgrace.

Marching over to the console, he tried again, getting the same result he had for the past thirty attempts. Whoever he'd spoken with on Abeter wasn't answering anymore. Malak rubbed the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. He'd promised that observers would soon arrive on Abeter; it seemed someone was calling his bluff. With a last hard glare at the stubbornly silent console, Malak strode out the door and headed for the transport pods.

Some kid in ill-fitting armor(probably his father's)was standing guard. He glowered suspiciously at Malak. Malak glowered back, trying to remember if he'd ever even met the youth before.

"Who goes there?" the guard asked, attempting to sound official. For a moment Malak toyed with the idea of killing the brat just to help his own mood, but decided against it, instead merely shoving him aside.

"I'm your commanding officer, dolt. Out of my way," he barked rudely, plopping into the nearest pod. The kid raced up to him.

"Wait! You're Malak? Sir, I'm so sorry, I didn't know--"

"Save it, kid."

"Where are you going?"

"Abeter. Now stand back before I gun the afterburners just to get you out of my face." The guard backed away, wringing his hands.

"But, sir, who will be in charge while you're gone? What if you--" he bit his lip.

'If I don't come back?' Malak thought. 'If only I were so fortunate. It's not like a leader's going to do these weaklings any good--'

"Tell Fluro he's in charge until further notice." With that, he shut the hatch and blasted off, reflecting momentarily on his executive decision. He didn't like Fluro; his had simply been the only name Malak could think of off the top of his head.

'If there were any justice I'd be executed for running such a half-ass operation. Of course, this whole situation is clinching proof that there is no justice anymore--' Malak hastily cleared his mind and began to mentally prepare for the struggle ahead.