The typical response to everything recently, whether it was a beatitude or a request, was their never-ceasing hum. A chant, ageless, and at the same time weathered. Both pleading and fat with serenity.
Neither sentiment, Kibito Kaioshin thought, was impetus enough for the Maidens to say anything new.
Thirteen times a cycle, in line with the waxing moons, the Kaio went to the Oracles of the Spirit to pray for enlightenment. For the past 23 Chikyuu years, the three virgin Oracles sat silent in a circle, the roots of the great Kaiju tree above them, spreading out and reaching farther than mortal eyes would be able to ascertain. Awash in light filtering from above, the maidens' mouths bowed in simple smiles. Their hands folded in their laps, not even the tiniest muscle moved. The offerings from the Kaio piled at the base of their altar—Kibito Kaio recognized a few from years past. There had been no change.
Until two cycles ago. Then the humming started.
And the Kaio were in an uproar as to what this meant. Some thought it a sacred rite being bestowed upon the Shin-jin for the first time. Others—West Kaio in particular—pointed out a number of phenomena occurring in Other World and around other dimensions.
Now, seated far away from the endless drone of the Oracles' song, Kaioshin mused about how many “gifts” and offerings would facilitate the Kaio Council's official answer to the rest of the universe. These days, the right sprinkling of gold and flattery could get whatever answer one would like. Except of course, the right one.
“Lord Kaioshin,” the voice behind him, respectful but not as self-serving as others he had heard recently, brought a smile and focus to his absent stare.
“Come to listen?” Kaioshin asked, tone pleasant.
“To many other things, besides the Divine Song.” There was rustling of grass, and Kaioshin ran his fingers absently through the negligible weeds growing nearest his crossed legs. “May I also speak with you?”
“Of course, Dende. Speak your mind.”
The Kami of Chikyuu sat like a man run ragged in a storm. Kaioshin afforded him a glance, seeing the Namekian's aged eyes and almost ratty robes. Many years had passed after the Black Star Dragons, he remembered, and those years in particular had not been kind to the Guardian.
“Lord Kaioshin, I have once again come to petition for the remand of Piccolo into my custody.”
Kaioshin sighed. “Dende, we have talked about this.”
“Yes, I know, Lord Kaioshin...but the situation has changed.” Dende replied, shifting forward and planting his hands on the golden, ethereal ground beneath them.
“How so?”
“Enma-Daiou has brought to my attention the recent activities in his realm. With the threat of another uprising in Hell, Piccolo's expertise would be invaluable to quash the problem before it starts.”
Kaioshin almost laughed. “Dende, much respect, but we have knowledge of the situation in Enma's realm and there is not enough to point to a major rebellion. Demonkind is without leadership.”
“Precisely why Piccolo is needed,” Dende replied. He struggled to keep the anxious tone out of his voice. “He has dealt with demons before, he has a rapport with them. They will listen to him.”
“West Kaio is our liaison with Enma. He is handling the situation.”
“Yes, of course, but in light of recent events with the Oracles of the Spirit--”
“Dende,” Kaioshin said, an unsaid warning in his tone.
Dende's words died in his throat. A moment passed between them before he said, “Apologies, Lord Kaioshin.”
“...I know you never agreed with Piccolo's detainment--”
“Imprisonment,” Dende said harshly, no longer caring whether or not he cut off the Shin-jin.
Kaioshin paused, letting his eyes slip shut. “His detainment...but that was the terms of the agreement we have with Yamucha and young Trunks.”
“I am aware of that, Lord Kaioshin.”
“Then you must also be aware that it was Piccolo's decision as well.”
A breeze rustled through the field beyond the Kaiju tree. It whistled between the deep roots and stalks of grass that needled their way toward the blue-green sky. And on top of it all, the constant hum of the Oracles.
“You told him to either comply or leave,” the Kami of Chikyuu knotted his face. “He didn't want to play in their 'sandbox' so we locked him away.”
“Yes. We made that choice. And Piccolo made his: To be loyal to his thoughts first and the Kaio second.”
Dende averted his glance again.
“Other than this lone penance you have given yourself...” Kaioshin smiled, trying to inject the conversation with a lighter tone. “...How are matters on Chikyuu?”
“They are well. All is well. Not that I would know much,” replied Dende. “I do nothing while Trunks and the others turn the planet into an empire.”
“Exaggeration,” Kaioshin said, waving a dismissive hand.
“Chikyuu is more developed, more populated, and richer than it ever was in its past.”
Kaioshin turned to him. “And you say this as if it is a bad thing.”
Dende pressed his lips over what was certainly going to be an acidic reply. The Shin-jin ran a hand over a stray, knobby root that broke the earth beside him.
“No war. No disease, no famine. No killing. No suffering. It seems that this agreement has made Chikyuu a mortal paradise. And all in calling the Saiya-jin gods in title. Who would have known? The great thing is that Trunks doesn't seem to mind all of the 'responsibility' of being a god.”
“Perhaps that's because he thinks he can do a better job,” Dende muttered.
And Kibito Kaioshin's face turned dangerous. “Some here would say you are overstepping with your comments, Dende.”
“And some would say it is Trunks who treads over the Kaio without concern.”
“Then I would advise you to choose wagging tongues more carefully,” Kaioshin snapped, reaching the end of his kindness. “Why do you despise this treatise so?”
“Because it is a farce. The Kaio-shin are the only true gods. Trunks and his ilk lead with just as much fear as they do inspiration. They threaten, bribe, intimidate, and even kill to make Chikyuu into what it is slowly becoming.”
“And that is?”
Dende paused. “...Their own personal Heaven.”
Silence.
“These are very strong accusations,” The Kaioshin's only betrayal of his emotions was the slight widening of his eyes. “Do you have evidence?”
“...No. No, I do not.”
Kaioshin gave a small nod of his head. “Very well then.”
Dende made a gruff sound, surprising to Kaioshin when juxtaposed to his usual collected disposition. The Kami stood up, bowing.
“I take my leave of you, My Lord. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
Kaioshin hesitated, then turned. “I understand your concern, Dende. But Trunks has been nothing but honorable to us.”
Dende met Kaioshin's eyes with his own flinty dark gaze. It gave Kibito Kaioshin a slight chill.
“The Oracles foretold the return of Son Gokou, My Lord.”
“Yes,” The Shin-jin grinned warmly. “And his return shall be soon. Perhaps this is the reason behind the Oracles' song.”
“Perhaps, Lord Kaioshin. Or perhaps, it is a warning.”
Krillin swore, for the third time in the past hour, at the holopads spread about his desk. This morning the Council had forwarded the declarations sent by the temporary government of Mjisranth, one of Arbatsu's former mining outposts, requesting recognition by Chikyuu as its own sovereign planetoid. In his last visit there, he had advised the unregistered colony's fledgling politicians to 'leave out no detail' in their petitioning. The Mjisranthian parliament had sent 2,471 declarations.
“They told me you were busy.”
Krillin didn't look up at the voice's source, still enthralled by the mass of screens. He made a noise of acknowledgement. Yamucha strode from the doorway to stand over his friend's shoulder.
“And I see they weren't lying,” the taller of the two whistled at Krillin's workload.
Sitting with his hands spread out on his desk, one holding his glasses, the monk's loud sigh filled the office.
“So much for a nice, calm evening at home,” he said.
Yamucha made a face. “If I were you, I wouldn't look forward to telling Juuhachigou that you'll be working late. Again.”
Krillin turned, frowning up at Yamucha. “Of course, you have the luxury of not being me.”
Chikyuu's Lord Secretary of Informational Exchange walked away to the nearby vista, pouring himself a short glass of brown liquid. He paused, and then filled another.
“Feel like quitting, Mr. Foreign Affairs Minister?”
Krillin's jaw bounced at the word quitting. “You always say that. And I always say that I--”
“--Keep my promises, I know,” Yamucha echoed his friend, his voice chiding yet kind. “But lately this is a lot of work for you, considering.”
“'Considering'?”
“...That you're not young anymore, Krillin. Neither of us are,” Yamucha handed him a glass. “You are a grandfather now, twice over. You have your leg, your health to think about. Not just nights of sitting at home ogling your beautiful wife.”
Krillin smirked, knowing his mentioning of Juuhachigou was meant to rile him. “Didn't realize you were that jealous, Yamucha.”
He snorted, taking a sip from his cup. “This is not jealousy talking here.”
The seated of the two paused. “When we first started it was fun. Jet-setting off to different planets, meeting new races and cultures. There were lots of people, all types, that needed help. They saw us and they wanted to be like us. To be free from whatever dictator, or alien monster, or mystical creature they had plaguing their lives.”
“No one is ever satisfied with just a taste of liberty,” Yamucha nodded as he spoke.
Krillin's voice faltered. “But now...now I'm schmoozing with politicians. I used to help build hospitals, schools. Now I'm having breakfast with kings. What happened, Yamucha? We had a mission: To spread peace. To spread Gokou's ideals. What happened?”
Yamucha held Krillin's eyes. “Mission complete.”
If Krillin had a reply, he didn't offer it.
“Yep...Mission complete,” Yamucha repeated. “Maybe we should just be happy. Just live our lives.”
“Maybe. If we didn't have so much to hide.” answered Krillin.
Yamucha had formed his lips to speak when an attendant rushed through the double doors.
“Lord Secretary—Your Graces,” the servant was gasping as if he had ran the length of the Capital building.
“What has happened?” Krillin asked, seeing the harried nature of the man's stance.
“It's Lady Pan...She has awakened.”
“When? How?” Yamucha was asking the Medical Chief, walking briskly. Krillin cursed roundly behind him, and finally focused his ki and began to levitate just above the ground. He politely refused the Med Center attendant that offered him a hover chair.
“Just under three hours ago. Lady Pan came to consciousness inside the tank. No one wanted to say for certain until her vitals reached levels consistent with her medical profile. Apparently, she is communicating with the doctors and specialists on staff.”
“'Apparently'?” Yamucha bristled. “I waited until we reached Med Center for a real-time evaluation of her state—You mean to tell me you have not seen her directly?”
“...No, Your Grace.”
“Where is Trunks? Gohan, Videl?” asked Krillin, now flanking his friend.
“His Lord Firstborn and Lady Videl are en route from their villa on Madran. His Lord Second-born travels with them,” the Medical Chief hesitated.
“And Trunks?” Yamucha pressed.
“His Holy Lord the Throne-son is here, Your Grace.”
They reached the secured level of Med Center, and a quick bio-scanner opened the door before them. Trunks stood, speaking in low tones with a team of Madrani, Arbatsu-jin, and Chikyuu-jin clothed in the white and blue cloths of their profession. Trunks quickly looked up at the sound of the door opening, the medical staff bowing and retreating.
“Yamucha,” he uttered, and the older man crossed the room as fast as Krillin could blink, placing a comforting arm around the young Saiya-jin.
“Is everything all right?”
Trunks nodded in acknowledgment to Krillin before responding. “They have moved her to Rehab status. She is up and talking.”
Krillin smiled. “The best news I've heard all day.”
“They just sent in an attendant, one of Gohan's he left behind to deliver word of her condition while he took Videl to Madran,” Trunks saw the confused look in Yamucha's face. “Videl...doesn't do well in space for long periods. Otherwise, he would have stayed himself.”
Yamucha gave a brief nod. “According to the Med Chief, they should be here within the hour.”
“Heads up,” Krillin said, and all three turned their attention to the young man, dressed in the purple and black shades of his masters, that now stood in the center of the room.
“Lady Pan first conveys her gratitude to the staff at Med Center for her successful recovery,” the attendant placed his hands behind his back. “She looks forward to seeing her Father the Divine Firstborn and her mother once they arrive and get settled.”
“I will tell her how thankful we truly are, to have her back,” Trunks, his eyes bright, took a step towards the attendant, about to pass him.
“...My Lord Trunks...”
Trunks looked down at the source of the voice, now small and jittery.
“...My Lord, I apologize...But Lady Pan has asked that no one see her until Lord Gohan and Lady Videl arrive.”
Trunks' beaming grin faded in an instant. Yamucha stiffened.
“...What?” came Trunks' voice, incredulous.
The attendant, blinking his shadowed eyes. “I can only do as commanded.”
“She wants to see her family first, Trunks.” Krillin's voice had a tone of warning.
“I am her husband,” Trunks replied in embarrassed anger. “I am her family.”
The monk looked up at his life-long friend. Yamucha nodded, and stepped towards Trunks.
“Trunks...do not take this as offense.”
The Throne-son arched a brow, his nostrils flaring. “How should I 'take' it, Yamucha?”
Yamucha looked at the gathered attendants, a silent command in his eyes. They all bowed, and turned away. Once more, he put an arm on Trunks' shoulder, guiding him towards the foyer.
“She does not seek to undermine you.”
“And yet she does. Faithful husband, who spent sleepless nights watching her recovery, denied entry to her bedside?!” Trunks spat, his voice rising with every syllable.
“Calm yourself,” Yamucha's tone was half-pleading. “There is more at stake here. Remember what the Yardrat elders said about trauma and memory.” His voice was a whisper with the last few words.
Trunks froze. And one of the attendants, not close enough to hear the conversation but having a good vantage point, would have sworn that the Holy Son of the Throne went pale.
“Indulge her,” Yamucha held the young Saiyajin by the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. “Ply her with expressions through the mouths of others. Continue to be as faithful as you have been. We will find her reasons soon enough.”
“And if...if she...” Trunks, in a move so unlike him, chewed on the inside of his lips. “...Do you think she--”
“No,” Yamucha cut him off. He looked back to Gohan's attendant. “I do not. Honor her wishes. Seek caution and see reward.”
The two men were silent for the swiftest of moments. The attendant from before cleared his throat to speak.
“My Holy Lord Trunks, I beg for your apology...If you wish for me to inform Lady Pan that you come to see her--”
“...No,” Trunks uttered, his face now relaxed. “It is fine.”
Yamucha turned, falling into eye contact with Krillin. They held each others' glances, as if one were daring the other to look away.
“Could you convey my joy and the happiness we all feel...to my wife?” Trunks looked down at the floor. Gohan's attendant bowed.
“Yes, My Lord Throne-son.” He exited the secured deck.
“So many good deeds,” Krillin said under his breath, turning to the foyer. “So much to hide.”
