Shael sighed, idly cracking his knuckles. Halfway through his twenty-third watch and not a damn thing happening. He was rapidly growing weary of the predictability of his lifestyle, but he knew better than to complain too loudly. The monotony was beginning to tell on every one aboard, but especially their squad leader. He'd already killed two of the crew for "insubordination"; their only crime was being near him when he was in one of his foul moods, but they should have known better anyhow. Shael had been successful in avoiding the surly captain so far, and had his fingers crossed that he'd be able to keep it up.

Scraps of old meals--bones and dried bits of flesh--littered his console. He frowned and brushed them to the floor. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the console, claws clicking rhythmically against the metal. He leaned back in the chair and was about to doze off when an electronic screech from the computer jerked him back to consciousness. His eyes scanned the screens with practiced speed, instantly focusing on the anomaly that had triggered the sensors. His fingers flew over the console, bringing up the information he needed. Could it be, could it be--yes!

"Got you, you little bastard," he muttered, triumphantly stabbing the keys. A moment later the computer bleeped: target found and locked--tracking sequence initiated.

Adrenaline raced through Shael as he ran toward the squad leader's quarters. The doors were closed, of course, and outside, slumped on the floor, lay Fespa, asleep and drooling. He was one of the lucky few whose presence their leader tolerated, so he acted as a go-between for captain and crew. Shael kicked him awake. Fespa blinked groggily.

"Hm? Huh--what?"

"Fespa! Wake up, you fool, we've got him! Tell the captain, damn it, he wanted to know the moment we locked on." Shael was nearly dancing with excitement. "You understand me, Fespa?! We've finally got the sorry son of a bitch!!"

Fespa lurched to his feet, much surprised, and plunged through the chamber doors to break the news to the squad leader. It was a tense moment for Shael, waiting outside the doors; Fespa's voice was too soft for him to hear, but suddenly he heard the rude bellow of Koretz's laughter. The grinning squad leader burst through the doors and pinned Shael with a triumphant gaze.

"We've * got * 'im!"

*****

Mordrig scribbled furiously, filling page after page. The pen kept running out of ink no matter how fiercely he jabbed it in the inkwell. Suddenly it wouldn't write at all.

"What the hell?" Mordrig upended the inkwell. It was empty. Again.

Cursing loudly, he rifled through cabinets and drawers, fumbling with the latches. "Damn clumsy hands," he snarled. This was almost more trouble than it was worth. At last he gave up, and, holding the pen in his writing hand, stabbed his other arm until the blood flowed warmly off his fingers. With a sigh, he held the inkwell beneath his dripping hand, catching enough blood to fill it.

"About damn time!" He flicked his hand irritably, spattering droplets of blood over everything in the immediate vicinity. He wrinkled his nose in distaste; he hadn't meant to do that. Oh, well, carry on.

"So it's not the tidiest record in the universe," he muttered to himself as he continued writing, "It's good enough for me. It'll be plenty useful when the time comes." He smiled for a moment, letting the dream overtake him, then forced himself back to his page.

"Only five more hours in this one," he hissed. "Work, damn it, work!"

*****

Takira's head was reeling. It was almost too much, all this revelation: super Saiyans, fusion, androids, creating and destroying worlds with little more than a word--incredible. The power wielded by even just the three that sat with her was beyond her wildest dreams, and to hear them talk of Kakarot--and Vegeta. Heroes in their own ways, but now both destined to fade into legend.

'Oh, Vegeta,' she thought, 'If only I could have been there with you.' Hastily she pushed such thoughts aside. It was useless to make wishes about the past. Wishes for the future were the only ones with any hope of coming true--ah, yes, there was that also.

Dragonballs, magical spheres that could be used to summon Shenlong, the eternal dragon, for any wish in his power. He could even raise the dead. If not for that power, Vegeta would not have survived the battle against Freiza.

The implications were staggering. Yet here these young half-Saiyans sat, placidly dictating these events as if they were just so much humdrum daily activity. If what they said was true(and in a way she hoped it was), any one of them could have killed her any time they wished, with minimal effort. The fact that she was still alive could mean that they did not intend to kill her, which would be a hopeful sign. Of course, they could just be toying with her, and would kill her when they got bored, but if that was the case, she had might as well enjoy what was left of her life.

Her mind was moving a mile a minute. If she could persuade even one of them to accompany her on her search for Koretz, oh, how glorious it would be. She'd make sure his screams were heard galaxies away! She--

"Takira?" She came back from her daydream with a start.

"Huh? Were you saying something?" Trunks sighed.

"I said, why don't you come with us and we'll show you around my mom's place, Capsule Corp. It's huge. There's some very interesting technology there, some of which think would be of considerable interest to you."

Too much, it was all too much-- 'Focus! Can't trust them, not even an inch--'

"All right," she said wearily, "So long as I can leave whenever I want."

"Okay," said Trunks. It seemed like an odd request, but was probably just her way of ensuring that she had a way out if the situation got too much for her. "Let's go."

Flying, it would not take long to reach Capsule Corp. headquarters, cutting through the city to its outskirts where the compound lay, but Gohan insisted that they only fly to the edge of the city and walk the rest of the way so as not to cause any undue confusion among the general populace. Takira grumbled about having to spare the sensibilities of pathetic, weak-minded earthlings, but nonetheless landed with the other three and walked with them. Her eyes never stopped moving, taking in every detail. Goten couldn't help but notice.

"I thought you worked in the city, Takira?"

"I do--I mean did. Why?"

"Well, you're staring at it like it's all so new." Takira shook her head.

"I've just never seen it by daylight before. I did all my work at night." She kicked at dandelions as they walked through the park in the center of town, scattering pigeons.

"What sort of work did you do?" Gohan asked. Takira snorted derisively.

"I killed people. It was the only job in which I had considerable experience." Gohan stared at her. He'd suspected as much, of course, but hadn't expected her to admit it so easily, and without the slightest trace of remorse. He was about to take issue with that when Takira interrupted.

"Spare me your preaching; these were no innocents that I killed. I'm a little surprised that you'd be so squeamish, though, you're half Saiyan, aren't you?"

"That may be so, but I don't share that race's lust for carnage. I have fought, and killed as well, but not for a living and certainly never for fun," Gohan answered darkly. Takira made no comment. She was busy unbraiding her hair.

"What are you doing?" asked Trunks. She slipped out of her scabbard and handed it to him.

"Here. Hold this for a minute. I'll be right back." She dashed over to the fountain that stood in the center of the park, and stood under the falling water, using her hands to scrub her face and hair. Hopping out, she spun in a fast pirouette, scattering water in all directions.

A few of the locals, sitting on park benches, peered curiously over their newspapers at her, but decided it was better not to ask, and returned to their reading. Pulling her hair back into its braid again, she rejoined the group, taking her scabbard from the bewildered Trunks and slipping it over her head.

"I figured if I were going to set foot in your home I'd better clean up first. This is the most convenient shower in town." She grinned at their confusion.

"Um, okay," said Goten, "Let's get going, then; we're not that far now. Hey, Gohan, is Pan going to be there?" Gohan shook his head.

"She's staying with Chichi and Videl back at home. She asked to go, but Chichi and Videl both said no. I guess they wanted the company or something." He shrugged.

Goten was disappointed. He'd hoped that Pan would be there. She was just fun to be around. She was like a little sister to Trunks and him. He'd wanted to tell her about Takira when he told Gohan, but decided against it. Takira had seemed peeved that he'd even told Gohan, and Goten didn't wish to antagonize her.

"I guess it'll just be Bulma, Bra, and Yamcha," Trunks said. Yamcha had come to live with Bulma shortly after Vegeta's death. In a way, he was like a member of the family now.

"These are other warriors?" asked Takira.

"Yamcha is. Bulma and Bra--not exactly." Trunks smiled as he tried to picture his mother or sister in battle gear.

"Don't let him fool you. Bulma's brought many a valiant fighter to his knees," Goten snickered. "She has her own brand of power." Takira looked skeptical.

An enormous complex loomed ahead of them, dwarfing the people who walked past it. Trunks led them around to the back entrance. Once they were inside, it didn't look quite so huge, but was still a sizable structure by any standard. Hallways and elevators led to different areas around the main atrium.

Two blue-haired women came forward to greet them. One was younger than Trunks; the other was older. Aside from the disparity in age, they might have been twins. Trunks introduced them and to his surprise Takira even shook hands, though it looked forced. In the face of two such outgoing bubbly personalities, Takira looked like she wanted to be sick. Bulma turned and yelled at the man who sat by a window, reading a magazine.

"Yamcha! Where are your manners? Get your sorry tail over here, we have a guest!" Yamcha looked startled.

"What? Oops, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you guys coming in. What's up? Hi, I'm Yamcha," he said with a smile at the newcomer, "and you are--"

"Takira," she supplied. "Some place you've got here."

"Thanks," said Bulma. "It's my daddy's, actually, but he and mom are gone for a week on a cruise, so I've got the place to myself. I'm thinking of holding a huge party, you know, a few hundred of my closest friends and music fit to shake the chandeliers. Cool, huh?"

"Um-hmm." 'Vegeta married * this *? Maybe he sustained a head injury while on Namek. Maybe returning from the dead changed his personality,' Takira thought to herself.

"You look thoughtful, kiddo," said Bulma, "What's on your mind?"

"I was just thinking of how happy you and Vegeta must have been here," Takira lied. She was pretty sure Bulma didn't want to hear what she was really thinking. Bulma, however, was still surprised.

"How did you know about Vegeta?" Takira, realizing her error, had to think fast.

"Um, Trunks told me. I was commending his fighting skills and he hold me he'd gotten them from his father."

"Oh." The answer seemed to satisfy Bulma.

"How long were you married?"

"You know, that's kind of funny," Bulma said, "We were never legally married. We lived like it, of course, but Vegeta had some sort of mental block against it. I asked him why and he gave me this," she reached under her shirt and drew out a necklace. "He said when I found another like it, I would have my answer." She shrugged. "He seemed kind of upset by it, so I didn't ask questions after that, though I did wear the necklace. Want to see it? Here." She pulled it over her head and held it out.

Takira took it gingerly, as though it might break. It was quite simple, no more than a round stone on a coarse string, but the stone itself was stunning. It seemed to reflect every color at once when the light hit it.

"A dragontear," Takira whispered, letting it rest in her palm.

"What?"

"This stone, it's a dragontear," she said softly. "They're very rare."

"Wow, how about that. Where do you suppose Vegeta got it?" Bulma mused. Takira shrugged and handed the necklace back to her. In reality, Takira knew exactly where Vegeta had gotten the stone.

Freiza had been secretly fond of visible wealth, and had a small hoard of precious jewelry that he kept aboard to the spaceship. As a child, one of Vegeta's assignments had been to stand guard over the jewels, and from a string of dragontears, he had managed to remove two without anyone the wiser. One he wore around his neck; that was the one Bulma now possessed.

The other he had given to Takira as a reminder of the tears they'd shared. She had worn it close to her heart until her death. It seemed that Vegeta had intended to do the same.

"Yeah," Bulma sighed, "Trunks gets his fighting skills from Vegeta. I couldn't win a fight against a punching bag, myself. You'd think it would be easier with weapons, right? I tried lifting Trunks' sword once; I could barely get it off the ground! Those things are so hard to maneuver."

"I think she knows that, mom," Bra spoke up. She'd walked around behind Takira and was peering intently at the swords. She reached out to touch them. "May I?"

"For your own safety, don't," answered Takira shortly.

Bra sighed in frustration. "Just like Trunks. What is it about swords that no one will let me near them?"

"Like she told you," Trunks said, "It's for your own safety."

"You mean you don't want her to cut herself, or you'll kill her if she touches your weapons?" asked Yamcha with a sly grin.

"Both," Takira and Trunks answered in unison. Goten laughed.

"Well, that's convinced me," he said, "I'm not going near 'em." Bra was not so amused; she pouted. Trunks decided to change the subject.

"Mom, is that time chamber still functional?"

"I think so, why?"

"Well, Takira is looking for new ways of training, and I'm fairly sure she's never tried anything like that."

"You sure she's up to it?" Gohan asked. Takira glared at him, and he hastily explained, "I mean no offense, Takira, I just mean it's not something humans use to train."

"Well I don't see why it wouldn't work," Bulma said thoughtfully. "I could recalibrate it for your strength." She looked critically at Takira. "We'll have to measure your power level somehow. I'll bet I can whip something up. We'll need a ballpark figure, though--" She cast a sidelong glance at Yamcha, who began to back away.

"Why me?" he wailed. "Let one of these young bucks take her on."

"Why? Are you scared?" asked Takira, with a mocking smile. Yamcha shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

"Well, no, but--I just don't see why I automatically get volunteered."

"It's a matter of percentages, honey," Bulma explained. "You're the only 100% human here who knows how to fight."

"So?"

"So if you go instead of the half-Saiyans, it's more likely to be a fair fight."

"You mean she's more likely to win. I'm no spring chicken these days, but I'm way too young to die."

"Yamcha, you have my vow that I will not kill you," Takira pronounced solemnly.

"Thanks," he said uneasily, "You mean until just now you were going to kill me?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Takira answered, then grunted as Trunks elbowed her in the ribs. "What?"

"Well," Bulma interrupted briskly, "Let's get this project going. Takira, you and Yamcha can stretch and warm up while I see if I can dig up that old scouter. With a few quick modifications, I'm sure it'll do nicely." She bustled out of the room.

"Just to be sure we get a fair reading, Takira," Goten said, "I'd suggest you work without benefit of your swords." Yamcha nodded emphatically in agreement.

"Sure, why not, they've already had their workout today." She smiled at Trunks.

"What do you mean? You fought with Trunks? When was this?"

"Earlier this morning," she said to the confused Yamcha, "which is why I don't really need to warm up now."

"Ah. So who won and who ended up dead?"

"In the end, I was dead." Then she grinned. "But Trunks was dead * twice *."

"Huh?" Yamcha looked at Trunks, who shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. Come on, let's see what mom's got up her sleeve."