Part Two
"The World Was Set On Fire"

I had a dream last night the world was set on fire
And everywhere I ran there wasn't any water
The temperature increased, the sky was crimson red
The clouds turned into smoke and everyone was dead

Tilla took a deep breath and straightened up, surveying the neat string-measured rows of the field behind her. The weeding was almost done, and the soybeans were growing well in the fertile ground. It was good to see that no one would go hungry this winter. She wondered idly if the southern rice farmers were enjoying as good a season as the soy and maize growers were.

At least there was no longer any danger of the jinzouningen swooping out of the sky and destroying everything in sight. She'd heard rumors that one of the cyborgs had survived, but she wasn't going to believe it until she saw it for herself. Tilla was, if nothing else, a sensible sort.

A sound from the sky made one of her pointed ears twitch, and she shaded her slitted eyes, looking up. First the freak storm that blew up out of nowhere and vanished within minutes in the direction of Capsule Corporation--a storm that blackened the sky and crackled with lightning but produced no wind, no rain--now...now something was falling out of the sky.

A huge projectile screamed down out of the sky and slammed into the ground on the far side of the field, narrowly missing the rows. Tilla threw her hoe to one side and took off at a run towards the landing site. Halfway there she dropped to all fours to increase speed and raced between the rows to her goal.

At first she thought it was a meteor, but when she drew close she realized that it was some kind of...of machine. The surface glowed red and hissed with heat, tendrils of steam rising from the place it came to rest. A scent of ozone tickled her nose, making her whiskers twitch.

A loud pop made her yowl in alarm and jump back, back arching, tail bottle-brushing. Part of the machine--some kind of craft, obviously--flew upwards, and a black shape emerged. Humanoid, yes, but obviously not of this world. It was all flat black metal, featureless and cold; where the face should have been was a blank mask of black glassy material.

Tilla grabbed for the gun her father had left to her and held it out in front of her, trying to keep her paw from shaking. "Don't come any closer!" she wavered, baring her feline fangs. "What the hell are you? Stay away!!"

The blank faceless head swiveled, and Tilla sensed it was looking at her. Studying her. Then it took a step towards her.

"Stay back, I said!" she howled, holding the gun in front of her. "I'll shoot, I swear to Kami I'll shoot!"

The shape continued to advance. With a yowl born of equal parts of fear and rage, Tilla pulled the trigger.

Six shots pinged off the breastplate of the black shape before it reached her and twisted the gun from her. It crushed the weapon in its massive black hand and cast it aside.

Memories of the jinzouningen flashed through Tilla's mind--how her father had tried to stand up to the dark-haired one, firing his gun again and again, and how he had died telling her to run. And now it was happening again...to her...

Confronted with a creature that could have stepped from her nightmares, Tilla did the only sensible thing. She fainted.

The black shape stood over Tilla's motionless form for a moment. Then it shook its faceless head, turned, and took off into the air to begin the search for the one called Vegeta.

****

"...but how could you just let him fly off with the damn things, Dende? Vegeta's the breathing definition of 'loose cannon'. How could you trust him with the Dragon Balls?!"

In contrast to Piccolo's hot-tempered ire, Dende stood cool and quite unruffled before his mentor. "Piccolo-san, you should know well the rules governing such things. Are the Dragon Balls not created to serve whosoever might trouble themselves to find them?"

Piccolo bared his wickedly curved teeth. "Vegeta did not 'find them'," he snarled. "He snatched them right out from under your nose!"

"I don't see that as a violation of the terms, Piccolo-san."

Piccolo snorted in disgust and threw up his taloned hands. "You're impossible. Popo, dammit, can't you talk some sense into him?!"

"What's done is done, Piccolo-san," Popo pointed out. "Anyway, nothing bad came of it. Quite the contrary, so I understand."

"Well, I think Gokou might argue that point with you. Damn, I've never seen him so mad, except maybe when I offed his buddy Kuririn." In spite of himself, Piccolo smirked a bit and shook his head. "I think maybe getting his tail back gave Gokou more backbone than he had to begin with. He really read Asparagus-Head the riot act, chapter and verse."

"If Gokou-san is truly that upset, why doesn't he simply recollect the Dragon Balls and wish his wife older?" Dende wondered aloud.

"Yeah, well, how long will that be? A year? Six months at the inside? Till then he's stuck with a first-year junior high schooler as a wife. I don't know what Gokou's moral standards are, but I think puberty's probably a prerequisite to intimacy. There's gonna be a lot of cold showers taken in the Son household till the Balls recover."

"The Dragon Balls are still active, Piccolo-san."

Piccolo blinked. "Huhn?"

Dende smiled at him placidly. "Vegeta-san only used two wishes--to make Bulma-san young, and to make ChiChi-san young. There's one wish left before the Dragon Balls become inactive for half a year's time."

"Damn." Piccolo's voice was not without admiration. "Three wishes? That's some kind of high-octane Dragon Balls you made, Dende."

"I had a good teacher, Piccolo-san."

"So will you tell Gokou the good news?" Popo asked.

Piccolo thought about it, and grinned wickedly. "Maybe eventually...but not right now. Let 'im take it out of Vegeta's hide for a while yet."

Dende smiled indulgently--then stiffened, eyes widening, antennae twitching just perceptibly.

Piccolo noticed the change at once. "What's up?"

Dende held up a hand and walked to the edge of his courtyard. He looked down, and his eyes went wide. "It's begun," he whispered.

"What?" Piccolo was at Dende's side in a moment. Following the younger Namekseijin's gaze, he saw a large, bulky armored form gliding across the horizon near the surface. "What the hell is that?!"

"A visitor." Dende's voice was so soft even Piccolo could barely hear the words. "Trouble for Vegeta-san, and for the rest of you as well."

"Well, as much as the little jerk deserves all the trouble he gets, I guess I better go run interference and at least see what's up." Piccolo could not have failed to miss the concern furrowing Dende's features. There was a threat going on here to a lot more than one troublesome Saiyajin. He knew better than to ask stupid questions. Dende had already revealed all he could...perhaps all he knew himself.

Piccolo jumped off the edge, righted himself in the air, and flew off to catch up with the armored stranger, his cape dazzling white against the blue of the sky.

Dende sighed softly as Popo came to his side. "So it begins..." he whispered.

Solemnly, Popo nodded.

****

The armored stranger pulled up short at the sudden appearance of a white-robed green figure. Piccolo stood in midair, his arms folded, his turbaned head bowed, a sardonic half-smile on his face.

The stranger paused, the noonday sun reflecting off the featureless visor. "A Namekseijin." The voice was electronically enhanced--hollow, sexless. "On Earth?"

"We get around." Piccolo drifted closer. "Just call me the Welcome Wagon."

"You might be able to assist me, actually." The stranger extended a hand, and a holographic image flickered to life in the gloved palm--a very familiar figure, ten centimeters high and in perfect detail. Vegeta, as he'd appeared when he first arrived on Earth, in full Saiyajin armor, smirking and defiantly self-confident. "Have you seen this man?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I do."

"Do tell. Mind explaining why?"

"Look, I don't want trouble." The stranger snapped the gloved hand closed and the hologram of Vegeta vanished. "I'm just here to do the job I've been paid for, and if you know where Prince Vegeta of the Saiyajin happens to be hiding, I'd appreciate you giving me that information before I have to beat it out of your sorry green hide."

The smile on Piccolo's face grew dangerously wide. "I'd like to see you try," he said, bringing two fingers to his brow.

****

ChiChi lay in the bed she shared with her husband, finally asleep. Long black lashes lay on her cheeks, and she breathed deeply as Gokou continued to gently stroke her soft black hair. She now wore a deep blue dogi that had belonged to Gohan as a child--sentimental to a fault, ChiChi had never discarded any of her only child's belongings, not even his outgrown clothes.

Gokou sensed someone behind him and turned his head. He managed a smile for his son. "Ossu," he said quietly.

"How is she, Otou-san?" Gohan whispered from the bedroom doorway.

"Resting now, I think. She wore herself out crying."

"Poor Okaa-san." Moving as silently as possible, Gohan drew near the bed. "You know, she really was--is--a cute little girl..."

"Sou." Gokou nodded. "She was pretty good fighter, too, till she gave it up to marry me."

"How about you, Otou-san?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay now?" Gohan shifted from one foot to the other and ran a hand through his black crop of hair. "I've never seen you so mad before. Not even when you fought Vegeta when he was trying to destroy the Earth."

"Saaaaa..." Gokou looked down at the form of his sleeping child-wife and sighed. "I wouldn't've been so mad if I didn't know how upset ChiChi was gonna be. Me, I don't care what age she is, I still love her. But see it from her side--how she's gonna be a good wife and everything as a little girl? 'Specially since she's still a grown-up woman up here?" He tapped his forehead with a finger.

Gohan nodded. "I understand, Otou-san. Maybe we can look for the Dragon Balls and wish her back--" His eyes snapped wide and he straightened, a look of alarm on his face.

"Gohan?" Gokou rose to his feet; ChiChi murmured in her sleep, but didn't stir.

"Piccolo-san," Gohan whispered. "Something's happened to him."

Gokou nodded once. He felt something, too--a strange disturbance that had big and green and Namekseijin stamped all over it. "You go see what's going on. I want to stay with ChiChi to make sure she's okay."

"Hai, Otou-san." Gohan turned and ran out of the room, launched himself through the door and was airborne before his foot hit the doorstep.

****

Vegeta stood brooding against the far wall, glaring at the bedroom closet. Soft little murmurs and giggles sounded from within as the occasional bit of clothing came sailing out to join the haphazard pile on the bed. "No, can't wear that, it's miles too big...oh, this is still good...ha! I didn't know I still had these!! Goody!...Eww! When did I ever wear this thing? Toss!--"

"Bakana," Vegeta snarled. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Yes, I think that's everything I can salvage." Bulma bounced out wearing a Capsule Corporation T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and ankle boots. Her hair was gathered up into the topknot ponytail she'd worn the first time she'd been sixteen. "How do I look?" she asked, posing.

Vegeta sneered. "Uglier than I expected."

Bulma put her hands on her hips, leaned forward and stuck out her tongue at him. "Rude!!"

"I'll show you rude." Vegeta covered the distance between them in three strides and reached out for her. Showing a nimbleness she'd never displayed before, she evaded his grasp. "Not so fast," she admonished. "I'm going into town with Juu this afternoon to get some new clothes. I have almost nothing to wear anymore."

"You'd rather spend the afternoon with that wind-up doll than with me?!" he asked incredulously.

She turned and slapped him on the shoulder as hard as she dared. It didn't even sting, but it did make him blink. "You are such a brute! I don't know why I even bother with you." She spun on her heel and stomped out of the bedroom without so much as a glance back.

Vegeta stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. "I've created a monster," he muttered, then turned and leapt from the window and was gone.

****

Gohan picked up speed, struggling to get a fix on Piccolo's fading ki signature. "Hold on, Piccolo-san," he murmured, his hands clenching into fists. "I'm coming."

As much as he deplored conflict, he could feel his blood starting to sing in anticipation of the battle to come. It was part of him, the Saiyajin love of warfare, and he could no more deny that than he could deny his other, human nature--the part of him that wanted nothing more than to find a nice girl, settle down and raise a house full of beautiful children.

One down, two to go, he thought, then carefully sealed those dreams away so he could have a clear head for whatever needed to be done.

He was over the wilderness now, the long stretch of monster-roamed wildlands he'd spent the sixth year of his life in while training for the coming of the Saiyajin. He could feel Piccolo more clearly now, very close, very weak--

There! He saw a crumpled field of white and crimson and dropped from the sky to the top of a barren mesa. His sensei lay sprawled there, motionless, arms outflung. If he hadn't been able to sense the faintest of ki from the Namekseijin, he would have thought Piccolo dead.

"Piccolo-san..." Gohan searched the skies, but saw nothing. Nor did his senses reveal any enemy nearby, but he was still on his guard--he'd spent most of his life fighting the jinzouningen, who had no ki signatures to speak of. He knelt down. "Piccolo-san, I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here--"

A green hand closed around his wrist, the grip tight enough to hurt. Gohan gasped, and Piccolo's eyes slitted open. "Go...Gohan..." Blood, or something like it, seeped from one corner of the Namekseijin's mouth.

"Don't speak, Piccolo-san."

"...behind you...!"

Piccolo released him, and Gohan shot up into the air as a beam of blue-white energy seared through the space he'd occupied moments ago. The Namekseijin coughed twice and lay still.

Gohan spun in midair. For a moment, there was nothing there; then, as he watched, a form shimmered into existence--easily as large as Piccolo, the figure was black-armored with a blank visor over its face.

"Ittai dare ka?" Gohan snapped, feeling rage build up inside him--and welcoming it as necessary for what he would have to do. "Who the hell are you?"

"A Saiyajin. How interesting, I didn't think there were that many left." The hollow, inhuman voice held a touch of sarcasm. "Your green friend wouldn't tell me where to find Vegeta. Maybe you'll cooperate, seeing what happened to him."

"I asked you a question." Gohan lowered his head, eyes narrowing. "I expect an answer."

"The Namekseijin was defiant too. You can see where it got him."

"If you're trying to scare me, it won't work."

"I know better than that. Saiyajin are too stupid to be scared of anything." The black stranger raised a hand, the hologram flickering to life again. "Let's keep it simple. I'm looking for this one. Prince Vegeta. Tell me where to find him and I'll let you and your buddy off easy."

Gohan was about to answer when movement caught his eye, far behind the stranger. Even from such a great distance, he recognized Vegeta, who evidently had taken no notice of them at all, and was on his way to Kami knew where.

Stall, Gohan, he told himself sternly. He had to keep the stranger talking so Vegeta could remain unnoticed. "If I knew where this 'Vegeta' was," he said, folding his arms and cocking his head, "why would I tell you?"

"Because you won't like what happens to you if you don't."

"Brave words. Words never won a fight, though."

"Agreed." The stranger extended an arm, but Gohan was gone before the bolt could hit him. He reappeared behind his attacker, hands cupping at his side. "Kaaaa-meeee-haaaa-meeee-HAAAAA!!!"

The stranger took off upwards to escape the blast; Gohan arced it to follow and it seized hold of the black-armored figure, driving it into a wide arc before finally slamming it into the ground below the mesa.

Gohan let the blast fade, dusting his hands off, and drifted down towards the impact crater. "As I said," he intoned, "words never won a fight."

The debris at the center of the crater stirred, and the stranger stood up. The armor was a bit dusty, but unscathed. "I've got a lot more than words, little man. As I'll be happy to show you."

****

Trunks' high brow creased slightly, and he cocked his head to one side. "Did you hear something?"

"No." Sitting on the high tree-branch beside him, Juuhachi-gou leaned her head on his shoulder. "And don't change the subject."

"Gomen." Trunks gave the top of her head a small smile. "Ano...what was the subject?"

"I asked you why you cut your hair short again."

"Oh." He chuckled and ran a hand through his fresh-cropped bangs. "Papa said it made me look like a woman."

Juuhachi-gou gave a very unladylike snort. "I might have known your father would have something to do with it."

Trunks sighed. "You don't like him much, do you?"

"Oh, I don't have a problem with Vegeta. He's the one who has a problem with me. And no, I don't blame him for it. Mostly, I just try to keep out of his way."

"Papa's not very forgiving." Trunks slipped an arm around Juuhachi-gou's narrow shoulders.

"Well, I'm glad you take after your mother as much as you do."

Trunks blushed lightly. "Ah...arigatou."

She raised her head to look at him, studied his face for a moment. Then she tilted her face up to him and closed her eyes. Tiny patches of sunlight picked little white-gold glints out of her hair. Her lashes, light-colored but long and lush, lay against her smooth creamy cheeks. Her small pink mouth was as perfect as a rosebud. She held still, waiting for...what?

It took Trunks a moment to grasp the significance of her action. Then his blush deepened and he swallowed hard. He took a slow, steadying breath and leaned closer. He could feel his natural grace deserting him; the first kiss he gave her would be as awkward as a schoolboy's--

With his mouth nearly touching hers, he sensed it again. Not a sound this time, not even mistakable for one; a tugging deep inside him, an echo in response to another far distant. And it had a name.

"Gohan-san!" he shouted, tearing himself away from Juuhachi-gou and launching himself out of the tree into the air.

Juuhachi-gou blinked, startled, then recovered herself and took off after him. "Trunks! Baka! Nanda yo?!"

"It's Gohan," he gasped over his shoulder to her, gaining speed. "Someone's attacking him--and I think he's losing...!"

There was fear in Trunks' voice, an old fear. Juuhachi-gou didn't have to read his thoughts to know what he was remembering. She nodded grimly and kept pace with him as they flew towards whatever threat awaited.

Trunks rocketed through the air, feeling the surge and pull of energy ahead of him. Gohan's he knew; the other he didn't. It didn't matter. There was a fight, and he was needed, as he'd been so many times before. He glanced to one side, saw Juuhachi-gou with him, and felt a little better. Between the two of them, they should be enough to give Gohan-san the backup he needed.

And Trunks was willing to bet Gohan would welcome the help.

There! Two figures, circling in the air, brightening the sky with spirit's fire. Drawing his sword, he arced up, then flew into a power-dive out of the sun, using it as cover for a first strike.

As he swooped in, the dark figure's head snapped up, and Trunks gasped as he saw no features. Then he shook his head--a helmet of some kind-- and continued in.

"Trunks! Trunks, iie! Yamero!!" Gohan's voice called after him, but he was already up on the figure, sword swinging in a cut that should lay open his target's side--

Should.

Instead, as the blade swung in, the figure's side seemed to ripple and hump up, catching the tip of his sword and holding it and at the same time an arc of power leapt up the metal blade. Trunks screamed as it hit him, burning into his nerves. He tried to let go of the swordhilt, but his fingers, his muscles, refused to obey him, only juddered and spasmed on the grip.

"TRUNKS!" Juuhachi-gou flew forward, slamming a shoulder into him. The energy surging from the armored figure caught her too, but her momentum carried the pair of them, her and Trunks, free of the field. Behind them, the sword fell free as their attacker turned. "More Saiyajin?" a voice echoed. "Damn, they breed like ryohkis..."

Shaking off the paralysis, Trunks steadied Juuhachi-gou. "Are you all right?" he said in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the stranger.

"I've felt better." A shaky laugh.

"What was that?"

"An electrical charge. A powerful one. A few seconds more and my internals would've shut down to avoid burnout." Juuhachi-gou swept her hair back from her face. "Be careful. There's enough voltage there to kill even a Saiyajin."

Gohan flew up to join them. "I was trying to warn you," he said softly. "You can't touch it...him. And ki blasts don't have any effect either. The armor has some kind of deflection or absorption ability. I threw a kamehameha at him and he shrugged it off like nothing..." the young man threw a worried glance downwards. "Piccolo-san didn't have any better luck."

"Kuso," Trunks snarled. "What does he want?"

Gohan drew closer still. "Vegeta," he whispered.

"Papa?!"

"Sh! Trunks-kun, keep your voice down!" Gohan put a hand to Trunks' shoulder. "We can't let him know we know anything about--."

"Enough stalling." The armored head cocked upwards and one hand swung up. The trio tensed, then relaxed slightly as once more the hologram materialized in one metal-sheathed palm. "I'll ask you one more time. Have you seen this man? I'm warning you, refusing to divulge any information you have could have serious legal ramifications."

"Legal...?" Juuhachi-gou murmured. Raising her voice, she asked, "What do you mean, 'legal'? Just who are you anyway--and why are you hunting that man?"

"Simple enough." The figure folded arms heavy with armor plating. "Prince Vegeta is a wanted man. The Saiyajin race is responsible for the extermination of countless intelligent lifeforms all across the universe. As the leader of that race, Prince Vegeta is liable for their actions. Plus, I'm given to understand he himself was personally responsible for the destruction of several worlds and the population thereof. I've been hired to bring him in...dead or alive." Somehow a current of amusement crept into the amplified tones. "Can't say I'm fussy right now about his condition when I do bring him in...the pay is the same whether he's breathing or not."

"Bounty hunter," Trunks gasped.

"That's about it. Matter of fact, you might as well call me 'Hunter'...it's pretty close to what my name would mean in your language anyway." Hunter raised a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not here to run wild on the planet. But I'm also not going to brook any opposition. Anyone who helps Prince Vegeta is aiding a known criminal. A murderer on a celestial scale."

"And you're any better?" Gohan clenched his fists. "You attacked Piccolo-san!"

"Look, I'm sorry about your friend, the Namekseijin? But he'll regenerate. Should be healing up right now, as a matter of fact, and he DID fire on me first. I was a little jumpy, I could've been a little more diplomatic. I'll apologize to him later. I'm not here to make friends. I've got a job to do."

"But the Saiyajin race is gone," Trunks said. "The planet, Vegetasei, blew up, along with most of the Saiyajin. Isn't that enough? They met the same fate you're saying they dealt to other people. Why can't you let the killing end with that?"

"I'm aware of that. Obviously SOME survived..." a slight chuckle. "You're proof of that. But there haven't been any documented incidents of Saiyajin invasion for over 20 years, and if a few of you decided to settle down and mind your own business, I'm going to be the last one who'll stop you from living a peaceful life. Doesn't excuse the fact that Vegeta is legally and morally responsible for the previous actions of his people as well as his own. He's been found guilty; I'm only carrying out the sentence. Now...DO you know Prince Vegeta? Did he make it here? You can save a lot of trouble if you'll just tell me the truth."

*What do we do, Gohan-san?* Trunks asked silently. *We can't-!*

*Na, Trunks-kun, don't worry. I dont have any intention of leading this 'Hunter' to Vegeta-san*, Gohan answered the same way. *I...it's true, what he says about your tousan...I'm sorry...but Vegeta died trying to protect Chikyu. In his own way he's making atonement for the man he was. I believe that. More than that, I don't think MY Otou-san would put his faith in Vegeta-san unless there was some good in him, some worth, that outweighs his past and makes him worth honoring with a second chance.*

*You've sold me...even if he wasn't my father. But how do we convince Hunter??*

*I don't know, Trunks-kun...* Aloud Gohan said, "It's true, we're part Saiyajin. My tousan came here as a baby, but he was raised as a human--um, one of this world's people. He only learned we were any different long after he'd grown up. We don't want any trouble."

"We've already had plenty." Juuhachi-gou gestured around. "As you can see, the planet's in a period of reconstruction."

"Quite the little local disaster, I take it."

"Oh, it was. Trust me. I was there." Juuhachi-gou's voice was perfectly calm, but Trunks caught the flash of pain the words cost her in her eyes. "In any event, this Vegeta person you want isn't here."

"Have you heard of him?"

"I think he dropped by a few years ago. Some band of warriors drove him off."

Hunter paused. When the modulated voice sounded again, it was full of surprise. "That's...interesting. You mean to tell me there are people here who can actually match a Saiyajin warrior? That must have been a hell of a battle. --Wait...you--" the gloved hand pointed at Gohan. "What's your name?"

"Gohan. Son Gohan."

"Gohan. You said your father is a Saiyajin. Did he help drive Vegeta off?"

"Ummm...anou...." Gohan swallowed. "Hai. He did."

"I want to talk to him, then. He might be able to tell me which way Vegeta headed."

"Aa--" Gohan broke out in a sweat. Beside him, Trunks groaned almost inaudibly.

"Um, that's not such a good idea," Juuhachi-gou broke in as the two young men tried to come up with some way of politely refusing Hunter. "Gokou--that's Gohan's father--was dropped on his head when he was a baby. He's, you know..." one finger drew circles in the air beside her temple. "He's a great fighter, all you really have to do is give him a firm push in the right direction, but he's been known to talk to people who aren't there. Just ask him some time about his little chats with God."

"Really?" Hunter's head cocked to one side.

"Oh definitely. He's a numbskull. A nitwit. An absolute space case. An addle-pated lout. Completely and blissfully free of the ravages of intelli--"

"JUUHACHI-GOU-SAN!" Gohan whirled. "That's my OTOU-SAN you're talking about! He's not THAT stupid!"

Softly, through gritted teeth, Juuhachi-gou answered, "Yes he IS, Gohan. ISN'T he, Trunks?"

"Ha-hai!" Trunks nodded frantically. "Just ask MY father! Papa's always saying how much of an idiot Kakarott is!"

"Ah, so your father is also a Saiyajin." Hunter nodded. "I thought you two, Gohan and you, might be brothers at first. Well, maybe your father can help me--Trunks, is it? Hm, odd name, but I can hardly make remarks..." a chuckle.

Juuhachi-gou's face fell with an almost audible psychic thud. "Way to go, murasakige," she muttered.

Trunks just covered his face, wondering when the intelligence his mother'd bequeathed him had decided to take a vacation without prior notification. "My father is on an extended trip," he said, hoping the same was true. "He often disappears for days at a time."

The Hunter's helmet shook slowly from side to side. "Why do I get the idea you people don't want me talking to anyone around these parts?" he said, more than a hint of accusation in his tones. "All right, fine. I'll just have to make my search a little more extensive."

"There won't be any need for that." A figure dropped down between the young Saiyajin and Hunter, arms crossed, a familiar smirk on his features.

"Papa," Trunks gasped, eyes widening. "Shimasen--"

"You wanted me?" Vegeta continued, as if he hadn't heard Trunks. "You've found me." The smirk deepened, becoming at once both cruel and eager. "But you're a long way from celebrating your victory."

"We'll see about that." Hunter stanced, sunlight gleaming off the ebon armor. For a moment nothing stirred but the breeze. Then Vegeta charged in, one fist cocking up and back for the first blow. Hunter's hand snapped out with equal speed to clasp Vegeta's wrist, and the air cracked with a discharge of energy. Vegeta bellowed in surprise and pain, snarling as the electricity poured through him.

"PAPA!" Trunks yelled, shooting forward. Gohan grabbed for him, snagging the back of the younger warrior's jacket. "Trunks, NO!" he shouted. "You'll only give Hunter something to use against Vegeta-san!"

"Gohan-san, let me go! Let GO!" Trunks strained against the grasp. The fabric of his jacket parted and he flew in, slamming a kick at Hunter's head. Again Hunter matched the Saiyajin speed, his free hand grasping Trunks' ankle and sending a charge through the boy as well before whipping Trunks like a rag doll down towards the ground, hard. The sound of his impact echoed over the plains like distant thunder.

Juuhachi-gou and Gohan exchanged glances, then raced up and outward in opposite arcs, coming around to strike at Hunter from opposite sides. Releasing Vegeta temporarily, Hunter extended both arms, whipstrands of metal extruding from the palms to catch each of them in a web. "I'm really not enjoying this," Hunter said as power surged along the threads, jolting the pair. "Why don't you three run along and let me finish my business with Vegeta? It'd be a lot less painful."

"Y-you c-can't have V-Vegeta-san," Gohan gasped, convulsing. On the other side, Juuhachi-gou trembled and grew still, face going blank as the current forced her systems into a protective shut-down.

"Don't interfere, wampaku-kozo," Vegeta growled, firing a ki bolt. "Go home and take my son and the jinzouningyo with you."

"Your son..." Hunter's head turned to consider Trunks, who was already launching himself into the air again. "I'll have to remember that. Could be useful."

"Bakayarou! Shiribachi!" Vegeta clenched one fist. "Your quarrel is with me, not with two children and a mannequin!"

Retracting the mesh around Gohan and Juuhachi-gou, Hunter nodded once. "You're absolutely right."

And reached for him.

****

Gokou leaned on the windowsill and watched the leaves flutter in the day's breezes. Behind him, ChiChi slept on. So tiny in their big bed, she was. He shook his head, putting the thought away before it sparked another burst of irritation. Not that he thought it would; he was over that now, Vegeta had only been trying to be nice to him, he knew that now.

But at the time he'd been so angry. And that just wasn't like him!

Saiyajin's strength is his rage. Vegeta's angry all the time. Raditz too, what I saw of him. Am...Am I becoming like that too? Did Bardock wake that up in me, that all the time being furious with the whole world? Aa, I don't want that! I just want to be plain me, Gokou.

(We are the bringers of death and fear. Accept your heritage, Kakarott!)

Gokou shook his head again, harder this time. No. I'm not like that. I won't be...I can't be like that...can I? One hand ran into his hair, fisting on the black locks and tugging hard as his thoughts chased themselves round and round. Finally, with a little groan, he let his hand drop and lifted them both to the ceiling, palms up, closed his eyes.

This was his secret, and he'd shared it with no one; not because he felt he needed to keep it, but because no one had ever bothered to ask. If they had, Gokou would cheerfully have admitted that when he was troubled he would put out his hands and touch the world's ki, just as if he was summoning the Genki Dama. In order to do that, he had to be at peace with himself, and reaching that state always cleared his thoughts.

A few faint sparks of light drifted up from everywhere and nowhere, setting Gokou's aura alight as he let himself pass down into that quiet place inside him, where the voice of the Earth was a clear, warm song in his heart and soul. He was the ocean, rolling to the shore, and each of the animals in it, from greatest to smallest; he was the wind, and the birds and insects that soared in its embrace. He was the oldest tree in the forest, roots spread deep in the soil and leaves lifted to the sun; he was the mountain at whose base that forest lay; he was--

Pain and rage, fading, familiar, and triumph, strange, and the feel of Gohan, and oh, Tousan, we need you--

Gokou's eyes snapped open. The first two fingers of his right hand slammed instinctively to his forehead and he teleported, sunlight bursting in on him as he emerged mid-air in the middle of a battle.

One glance told him things were bad. On the ground: Piccolo and Juuhachi-gou, neither moving. In the air to his side: Gohan and Trunks, neither very steady. In front of him: a great hulking form wrapped in metal, and in its relentless grip Vegeta, gasping and twitching as electricity poured through him, burning out his life.

"What the--" The voice was hollow and echoing, but the surprise couldn't be mistaken. Very slightly the stranger's grip relaxed, and that was all Gokou needed. His aura flared like flame as he shot forward, fists extended. "KAIOUUUU-KEN!"

"Tousan! DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Gohan shouted, but Gokou's fists were already slamming into the armored figure. Instantly the stranger grabbed at him as the impact drove them all three backwards, lightning arcing around the limb, obviously meaning to treat Gokou the same as Vegeta. But off balance from the strike, the hand missed its grip, and Gokou's hand didn't. He grabbed the attacker's other wrist and wrenched it free of Vegeta, who dropped like a stone. Doubling his legs up between them, Gokou kicked out/thrust off from the metal-plated chest like a springboard, driving the invader further back as he himself changed direction and flew down to catch Vegeta. "Gohan! Karin's! NOW!"

"Demo--" Gohan stopped himself. No time for questions, only trust. "Hai, Tousan! --Trunks-kun, help me. You take Juuhachi-gou-san, I'll get Piccolo-san."

"Hai." Trunks looked back, watching as Gokou shot up and away, the Hunter in hot pursuit. "I hope Gokou-san has an idea..."

"I know he does." Gohan laughed briefly. "I just don't know what it is."

Above, Gokou glanced back, measuring his pursuer's pace. Too fast. He put on a burst of speed, extending the distance between them--though not by much.

"Give it up, whoever you are," the hollow voice called. "Listen, this flying, it's really impressive, but you've got to be expending energy to do it. I'm not. I can keep this up without effort. You're going to tire out eventually. Just give me Prince Vegeta and we can all go home happy."

"Sumimaisen! Can't do that," Gokou called back cheerily. "If I let you take Vegeta, who's going to beat me up every morning? I don't have good day unless I get a regular spar!"

"Are you some kind of idiot?!-- Waaaait a minute, wait....Your name wouldn't happen to be 'Gokou', would it?"

"Hai, that's me!" Gokou looked back again and saw that Gohan and Trunks were well out of sight with their 'passengers'. He slowed, turning to face the oncoming Hunter. "And I got one thing to say to you. Anou...really it's two, but I don't count so good, you know?"

"What's that?"

"Bai bai!" Reaching up, Gokou touched his forehead. "Shuken Idou!"

As he disappeared with Vegeta, Gokou was SURE he heard the stranger mutter, "Must be Thursday. I could never get the hang of Thursdays."

****