"You're certain there is nothing alive on this planet?" Malak pressed. Considering the king was in such immediate danger, he didn't like how casually the Agent seemed to be taking his work.

"I already said it, didn't I?" the Agent snapped. "We've been over the whole damned planet twice and found nothing. There is not a living being on this planet apart from the five of us."

"You said it was all cleared before, and there was one left," Malak pointed out gruffly. The Agent bridled a bit, but Deoge cut in before he had a chance to retort.

"If he says the planet is secure, the planet is secure, Malak," he said calmly. "I am as safe here as anywhere else. What we must now do is investigate the situation on Geo. I expect you and Takira to leave as soon as possible, Agent." The Agent jerked a stiff nod.

"As soon as I can fin her, we'll leave," he murmured. No telling where she'd run off to; she'd managed to duck out of a "court appearance" by claiming she wanted to make a last check of the broken palace's lower halls. The Agent was almost envious…this whole "court" idealism irritated him. The court, at this point, consisted of the only building in the Changeling capital left standing; it appeared to be a temple of some sort. It seemed a bit odd…the Changelings were not on record as having any sort of religion. Perhaps it was just a cult that got out of hand.

"Report all you find," Deoge was saying, "We won't be able to maintain contact with you except through the pod Malak brought here, which is a bit inconvenient. For all intents and purposes, you're on your own; find out what you can…reinstate the peace if necessary and possible."

"Of course." The Agent executed a quick bow. "With your permission, I'll go get things under way…" He turned to leave, running square into Takira. Shoving him aside, she addressed Deoge.

"Sir," she gasped, looking slightly winded, "There's something here."

* * * * *

"Gods, I really let myself go," Gohan panted, wiping beaded sweat from his brow. Trunks raised an eyebrow but apparently declined from comment. The only evidence that he'd exerted himself at all was the fact that he'd now removed his jacket, tossing it casually aside. Glancing at him, Gohan paused, brow furrowed.

"When did you get so battle-scarred, Trunks? That wasn't all from Abeter, was it?" Trunks frowned and spared a glance for himself.

"Sparring," he replied with a dismissive shrug.

"Sparring? Who have you been sparring with? It looks like you got into a knife fight or…"

"Or, indeed," Trunks grunted. "Are you ready to train again or do you still need to catch your breath?"

"I'm fine…I thought you two had a no-blood rule."

"Well, we did when you were watching since you were so squeamish about it. What's your point?"

"I don't know," Gohan murmured, looking away as though embarrassed. "Just…looks like she really hurt you is all…you know?" 'And I'm what drove her away, made her hurt you…' Trunks glared at him for a long moment before grabbing up his jacket and putting it back on.

"If you truly must try to make me feel better, Gohan," he hissed, "Just shut up about her. She left her share of scars on me and I on her and there's really no point in discussing it. You're tired. Why don't we take a break…Goten won't be happy if you arrive half-dead from training too hard." He turned to leave and Gohan caught him by the arm.

"I wasn't trying to…I didn't mean to bring it up just to hurt you, I just…" He sighed and released Trunks with a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry." Trunks managed a cold chuckle at that.

"Sorry for what? Sorry that we were all fool enough to trust her? Yeah, I'm sorry for that, too."

"That's not what I meant."

"Too bad. Probably makes more sense than whatever you thought you meant."

"You mean to tell me it would make no difference to you if she'd stayed?" Trunks growled softly.

"She would not have stayed. I'm sure she was bent on leaving from the moment she arrived."

"Then why did she hang around so long?" Gohan asked gently.

'She was waiting, waiting until I could swear all sorts of foolish passionate things for her so she could have something to giggle about while she's looking for the next poor baka to mess with.'

"How the hell should I know? I don't want to know the way she thinks."

"But she…"

"Look," Trunks cut in, looking agitated. "I don't ask you why you tried to kill her, you don't ask me about whatever I did with her. Period. Finished. Let. It. Drop." Quietly he added, "Please." Gohan nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. Trunks was gone so quickly Gohan barely saw him move.

Trunks returned to the bridge, trying to distract himself by investigating the control panel. Labels littered the console; it had taken Bulma nearly a day to figure out where all the important functions were located on the alien craft, but once discovered, the layout was fairly simple.

They were making excellent time. It had been a real stroke of luck to find Mordrig's old ship, hidden as it was and in mild disrepair. It had required a bit of cleaning, fine-tuning, and a couple quick additions(outfitting the library with a gravity machine, for example), but once they'd gotten under way, it proved faster and more reliable than the Capsule Corporation prototype. Not entirely surprising…the shape-shifters had no doubt possessed the technology long before Dr. Briefs had altered a Saiyajin pod to make a craft for Goku so long ago…he listened to stories of those old adventures and couldn't help thinking they'd lived such simpler lives then. These days, hell…

Idly Trunks trailed his fingers over the sleeve of his jacket, following the lines of scars without looking. Yes, she'd hurt him; and he wanted, more than anything else, to be able to hate her for it. He'd tried…he'd so far managed to convince everyone but himself. It was perfectly logical, after what she'd done, to hate her. He'd tried so hard, but…

He just couldn't.

She'd accepted him…not as Vegeta's son or the chibi version of his illustrious mirai counterpart, not as half-Saiyajin freak of nature or wanna-be warrior, just…as himself. There had been times, plenty of them, when he had been unable to accept himself that way. She'd seen him through it, supported him…made it feel good to be him.

He couldn't think of anyone else who could do that.

It was stupid, he was constantly reminding himself it was stupid, but a tiny persistent corner of his mind kept wondering why…really…she'd left.

* * * * *

'Destruction no longer interests me…revenge pales beside my purpose. I could have built and empire and instead destroyed it, all for the greater good. I have seen the future…and it does not exist. I prolong the inevitable, perhaps, but there are other reasons to want them dead…they can pick whichever pleases their narrow little minds.

'I feel somehow responsible…my father, in a sense, started this wretched arms race. By him they aspired, rose to the challenge and began pitting themselves against each other…even death could not stop them. Rising from the ashes ever stronger, they've pushed this to the brink….their race has never known when to stop.

'Now it is left to me to make amends. I am no chosen one, no prophet, and no dark angel. No god guides my hand, no fate assists my efforts. I need no such crutches…mere mortals spawned destiny's children, and mere mortals will at last destroy them. It is my…our…only hope.

'My son attempts to derail my work, striking out against what he does not know, only feels. He is determined not to let what twisted fates created him choose him again. He has nothing to fear, but in striving for peace he only assures himself greater suffering. I can not help him, can not touch him…and he shall not live to see the one thing that could give him hope….my death. There is nothing I can do for him but ease his exit from this world into which he was so unfairly introduced.

'My assistant little realizes the importance of that which he helps to arrange. It is acceptable that he seeks his own ends in this. I expected no less of him when I first enlisted his help…and of course he knows nothing of my cause. After all, what has he to lose? Life cannot mean much to one such as he, I am sure.

'I hear whispers, idle chatter and grave discussion alike, and it only serves to confirm my suspicions. That which was meant to be dead lives again, scattered, untouchable; after all, who could notice destiny's touch in a child? These are merely rumors, unsubstantiated…and there will be time later to deal with them. Far greater risk lies in that which we now manipulate. Even as my plans take shape and solidify before me, I am afraid. It would take so little to dismantle this, a simple ill-judgement or attack at just the wrong time…

'I can not hope to explain it to them…they would understand, yes, and even accept…and then attempt to avoid the end by the very means which have brought them to it, optimistic fools that they are. Damn their race for its tenacity….damn mine for its arrogance.

'By the time this is finished, we will all be damned one way or the other.'