Gohan sighed and glared at the heavens as though they were somehow responsible. Six months had passed and the inevitable acceptance the doctors had promised still eluded him. Every night he awakened in a cold sweat as his dreams turned inevitably to his brother's death. Tonight he'd determined that he would not fall asleep; Videl and Pan deserved a full night's rest for once. Videl had been more understanding than even he had anticipated, but the strain of his curious affliction was beginning to tell on the marriage. Videl felt unimportant and ignored; Gohan was driven to distraction by his inability to reach her.

Then there was Pan. Lately Gohan had noticed her spending more and more time away from home…away from him. She slept over at Capsule Corp. with Bra all too often, to his way of thinking. He could imagine what the two girls talked about late into the night. Pan and her crazy father…he'd spoken with Videl about it, but she refused to intervene, claiming that Pan needed the social interaction and the house was too small for Bra to sleep over, wasn't it?

The logic was innocent enough, but Gohan saw through it, and the thought that his own daughter felt unsafe around him was terrifying. Had he really gotten that bad? He hadn't harmed anyone(physically, he reminded himself bitterly)since Takira, and she'd disappeared the morning after they'd arrived: no explanation, no message or even a simple goodbye letter. She'd simply taken the pod they'd come in and left.

They'd all approached Trunks with their questions, but he'd closed up completely, muttering defensively that he didn't know, why the hell should he be so privileged to have special information? Gohan had then mentioned something about an unusual power signal showing up that night, and Trunks withdrew even further.

There was a tracking device located on the ship, of course, which evidently Takira had not yet managed to find and destroy. She'd put the visual communications system out of commission and though the audio was left intact, she responded to no transmissions. Eventually, they'd given up, at Trunks' request. No one dared to argue with him.

Tenshinhan and Chaozu still hadn't been found, and the search parties were becoming increasingly sporadic. Yamcha led most of them; Krillin joined when he could, but his heart wasn't in it. He had other matters on his mind.

Juuhachigou's condition had not improved, and after an episode that had left her shrieking and pounding her head into a wall, Krillin had taken her to the hospital. The medical staff couldn't help because of her mechanical components, and Krillin refused to let electronics technicians tinker with her because they didn't know how to handle living beings. Once, Krillin had thought of reviving Dr. Gero to see what could be done, but that damned vow restrained him. In desperation, he moved Juuhachigou to Capsule Corp. and begged Bulma's assistance; Bulma, burnt out and supporting a pack-a-day habit, had wearily agreed to see what she could do. Bra and Pan babysat Marron.

The stars above flickered, or so it seemed to Gohan's tired eyes. He could sense Trunks hiding in his forest, but made no move to join him. Trunks was probably stewing over Takira, and Gohan secretly wished he could break her neck and free himself of this torture. He and Trunks rarely saw eye-to-eye anymore.

Gohan scuffed his boot in the dirt. His world was crumbling around him and he, hailed as the most powerful being in the universe, did nothing. He growled; enough was enough. He sneaked back into the house.

Scrawling a hasty letter to Videl and leaving it on the bedside table, he took off to find Piccolo.

* * * * *

"You return to us so soon?" Takira shrugged.

"I hardly call it soon, sire. It feels like a long time to me." Deoge nodded and eyed her.

"Yes, apparently you've been somewhat busy since last you were in the area…" Takira glared and made a dismissive gesture.

"A minor inconvenience, sire, nothing more. It won't impede me much."

"Even so, I'll not let you work alone. My current agent could probably use the assistance, no?" The Agent, a rather striking man standing next to Takira, grunted in thinly veiled dissatisfaction.

"Sire," he said smoothly, "there are a few things which could help me carry out my orders; a gravid Saiyan is not one of them." Takira snorted but refused to look at him.

"Whatever her condition," Deoge replied, "she still has skills which cannot be overlooked. Bear in mind you've never seen her in action; she vanquished one shape-shifter, and managed against all odds to survive a battle with the strongest of them." Another grunt.

'Articulate, isn't he?' Takira thought ruefully. 'I can't believe I'm stuck working with this. Still, it's employment, and I need to eat. If he gets too onerous, I can always kill him.' She smiled at the thought and suddenly felt his eyes on her.

"What the hell are you grinning about?" he growled softly. "If you get in my way once, just once…you and whatever vegetable you've got growing in there will be dead in a heartbeat." Takira smirked.

"We'll see whose face gets messed up first, pretty boy," she hissed as they were dismissed, chuckling as he struggled to restrain himself from attacking. There was no quicker way to anger an employer than by accidentally demolishing his palace.

Once they were clear of the royal reception chamber, their one-Roc escort turned to them, gesturing down a nearby corridor.

"Your quarters are that way, separate quarters," he added quickly, "as requested. Takira, I understand it won't be long until you, ah…"

"Just over a week now."

"Er, yes. Anyhow, King Deoge thought perhaps it would be better for you to stay in the palace until that's out of the way, and then you and the Agent can approach your next mission together."

"Sounds fair. With your permission, warrior…" Malak nodded and Takira brushed rudely past her ill-chosen partner, breezing down the hallway toward her room. The Agent sighed.

"Maybe you can clarify this, Malak," he murmured. "Exactly when the fuck did I say I needed help?" Receiving no answer, he left to fill out a leave of absence request.

* * * * *

Azher entered his quarters with a faint groan. Somehow, even when there was nothing to do, his job felt like too much work. He sank into a chair, willing himself to relax. It was no good to be tense; Deoge would notice, and then he'd suspect. Azher shuddered to think of the sort of punishment that would follow. The whole business with the shape-shifters aside, the Roc were a race built on strength, unity, and above all loyalty. To have it know that you distrusted your lord and sovereign was akin to a death sentence.

Yet still Azher couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He didn't know what, precisely; that was the infuriating thing. He could sense it in the recesses of his mind: something important, direly important, dancing just out of his reach.

He sighed, utterly exhausted. What did it matter anyhow? All he had to look after was himself and his family, and that was easy enough; he was already in the king's favor for his help during the Abeter fiasco. Now he and Dolmit were high-ranking advisors, with all the status and worldly goods they could want. Dolmit seemed satisfied with his life, and he had every right to be so. He'd grown up in a poor family; this was his idea of heaven.

Azher's family line belonged to the peripheral nobles, however, and he knew the darker side of the monarchy. He'd heard whispers of things so unspeakable that at the time he'd dismissed them as overblown gossip. Now he wasn't so sure…

Checking his mail, he found a message from his wife, thanking him for his visit the previous week and keeping him informed of his daughter's development. The palace had a thousand rooms standing empty, but King Deoge refused to allow the families of his underlings to stay there. 'Probably some old protocol,' Azher thought distractedly. 'So many stupid rules we follow just for their own sake…'

One more message, this one from Malak, tersely requesting an audience with Azher as soon as was physically possible; Azher frowned and pulled himself to his feet, heading off toward the officers' barracks.

Perhaps his premonition was right.

* * * * *

With the recent upheaval of the spirit world to think about, unexpected visitors were the last thing on Kaio's mind. He walked the narrow path around and around his tiny planet, muttering to himself as Bubbles and Gregory played tag in front of the house. Normally he kept his two assistants informed of such unusual events, but he didn't wish them to worry; besides, he didn't understand what was going on, himself, so there was truly little to tell. He'd heard a rumor a while back that Goku was thinking of trying it, but Kaio thought he'd taught the impulsive Saiyan a little more sense than that.

The longer Kaio watched, though, the less sure of himself he because. Even as a god, he didn't expect omnipotence, but there were certain abilities he'd come to depend on…

…and he hadn't been able to contact Goku or Gohan for months. He sighed, struggling to regain his perspective. None of this affected him personally, but somewhere along the line he'd managed to et himself caught up in those warriors and their affairs. It was a source of excitement and often great happiness to him.

Other times, like now, he found himself wishing he could be an impartial deity again.

A shriek from Bubbles caught Kaio's attention just as the visitor arrived. For one blindingly hopeful moment, Kaio thought his questions were at last answered, but as he came closer, he realized things were only getting worse. Doing his best to maintain his cheerful smile, he approached the newcomer, armed with his favorite joke.

"Hey, Goten, did you fly all the way here? I'll bet your arms are tired!"