The two Rikau-seijin were dressed in the pale-colored shells from their home planet, piercings scattered throughout their faces. Eyes lowered, they waited until the door opened and closed behind them. Heavy boots made long steps to where the taller of the two representatives held a large black folder. Handing it away, the Rikau-seijin both bowed, and shuffled out of the room.
Now alone, Yamucha turned to Juunanagou, who hung in the shadows.
“Showtime.” he whispered.
The thunderous roar of applause bounced around in Krillin's sensitive ears, filling it to an incomprehensible mass. Goten, now walking with a cane, waved and smiled as the Chikyuu-jin Council of Peace gathered in West Capital City for their first official session of the year. Up in the rafters of the Great Hall, the press scrambled to capture the image of Son Goten making his way through the crowd of politicians, shaking hands and exchanging knowing glances until he reached his chair at the left side of the Council floor.
“All of this noise, and all the boy really suffered were a few broken ribs,” Krillin observed.
“That's not the point. Goten has always been popular with the people,” Marron said, not looking up at the direct hyperlink feed on her handheld. “He's handsome, young, easy-going...he's 'that boy' that all boys want to be friends with growing up.”
“And his spine was almost severed in half. You forget how serious that sounds to someone who isn't Saiya-jin nor Meta-human,” Juuhachigou added. She flanked her husband where he stood, near the Foreign Affairs balcony seating.
Krillin mumbled in agreement, and was approached from behind by a Madrani dressed in the blue and black uniform of an intelligence consort. The Madrani leaned forward, his voice low in Krillin's ear. The older man's face went slack, then a frown splashed across his brow.
“What's wrong?” His wife asked, and Marron looked up from her touch screen.
“Gohan just arrived.”
Marron scrunched her nose, puzzled. “That's a problem?”
Her father nodded at the Madrani consort, sending him on his way.
“It's not Gohan that's the problem,” Krillin took his cane, turning to make his way to the Council floor. “It's who he brought with him.”
“Now I will come in and hug Goten first. It's not custom, but we want to send the message of solidarity. And it makes him look like more of a war hero and less of a victim,” Bra walked with Hana taking notes behind her.
“Hello, Bra.”
Bra felt Hana shrink away from her, not daring to speak as her mistress turned around. Their eyes were the same shade, but the older ones, beset with age and dark days, skewered the young Briefs.
“...Videl,” Bra's voice recovered quick. Quicker than the cold sweat that sprang to life just below the hairline of her neck. “It has been too long.”
“Indeed it has. It has,” replied Videl, her sharp voice and stare betraying her grey visage. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and the lines etched around her eyes and mouth reminded the younger woman of a giant, angry cat.
Bra filled the unsettling silence. “I don't think anyone expected you to be here at the Council today,” Her voice softened. “How are you feeling?”
The tone in her voice wasn't lost on its audience. Videl's eyes hardened. “Gohan and I are in West Capital so I can take the shuttle to Capsule's MedCenter Satellite. You all made the decision to treat Pan there. I have no interest in speaking here. Gohan wanted to attend. I am simply...waiting for this to be over so I can go see my child.”
“Ah. I see.” Bra looked visibly relieved. Noticing her response, Videl gave the younger woman a tight smile.
“Don't worry. As I just said, I have no interest in speaking here—not anymore.”
“Where is Gohan, if I may ask?” Bra took a moment to look around, seeming nonchalant.
Videl turned her head, regarding Bra askance. “...You don't know?”
And her gaze, still unflinching, siphoned all the blood in Bra's body to her neck and face. She put both hands behind her back, bowing to end the conversation.
“Safe travels to MedCenter, Videl.”
Videl returned her gesture with a nod, walking to her and stopping until they were side by side.
“What's wrong with you?” Videl asked, her voice chiding. She looked around, noticing the media swirling at a distance with recorders in hand. “...Don't want to give me a hug for the photo op?”
And with that, she walked away. Bra stood like a stone aperture. She still sensed Hana hovering near.
“Why are you still standing here,” she whispered harshly through clenched teeth, and strode briskly towards the Council floor.
Hana bowed, her face anxious as she watched her mistress's retreating form.
“The announcements for the Councilmen are almost finished, everyone should be taking their seats shortly.”
Yamucha's mind was far off when his intelligence consort touched his shoulder. He stopped himself from jumping at the contact.
“Your Grace, His Holy Lord the Throne-son.”
Yamucha's head snapped up—to see Trunks staring at him with mirth.
“Yamucha,” he said with a smile.
“...Trunks,” the older man stood, grabbing the other in a bear hug. Yamucha held him close to say in his ear, “If you were truly a god, I would thank you for answering my prayers.”
“And those prayers were?” Trunks asked.
“That you would be here,” Yamucha replied, echoing Trunks' grin.
Trunks held him by the arms, pulling him back to look at his face. Yamucha vaguely heard, felt, the media's cameras and recording drones humming into a frenzy around them. He focused on Trunks, who looked all the world like a man greeting a long lost friend after a terrible ordeal. The Throne-son had timed their initial meeting just when all of the active press transmissions would be on the Council floor—just when the feed would be on Yamucha himself.
Never let it be said that the boy can't play the game, he said with an inner smirk.
“Did you retrieve what I asked for?” Trunks turned his head, seeing his sister and Goten approach each other in his peripheral vision.
Yamucha patted his desk. “Everything is ready.”
Trunks nodded his head, turning to see Bra place both hands on either side of Goten's face, kissing him on the cheek.
Goten smiled, taking Bra's arm in his and walking her to her floor seat.
“Well,” his voice was low and mocking. “That wasn't completely contrived. Good job.”
“The fact that you stood long enough to receive it is unbelievable,” was Bra's acerbic reply. “Just how is it that you happen to both look and smell like warmed-over garbage all at once?”
“I don't know what you're talking about, and neither do you,” Goten growled.
“Please. I can practically feel the wine in your blood,” she spat back. “And you look like you haven't slept in days.”
“Thanks for your concern, My Lady.” Goten said dryly. “Just say that I've been anticipating this day too much for sleep.”
They reached Bra's seat, and she held out her hand for Goten to kiss in proper tribute.
“Why would you anticipate a session of Council? You usually skip out early to coddle with whatever Madrani barmaid you meet in the Hall Courtyard.”
Goten shook his head slowly. “Usually. But not today. Not with what's going to happen this session.”
Bra frowned. “What do you mean?”
Goten leaned forward to whisper in her ear. Bra's eyes widened, and her head jerked to look up at him.
“He has a plan,” he said, voice still hushed. “Wait for your cue.”
Goten kissed her hand, and Bra sat down as if she was an automated doll, her face pensive.
Trunks walked up and took the center seat, Yamucha flanking him on his left. As the crowd became hushed, without a word of announcement nor fanfare, the 15 members of the Chikyuu-jin Council of Peace entered the large Hall. Their seats ringed around the center of the room, and beyond them sat the many representatives from other planets, territories, protectorates, militaries, and non-partisan committees.
Councilwoman Bairsh, a thin but steely-eyed figure with pale hair, stood in the center, and bowed to Trunks and the seats behind him before taking her seat. The others did the same.
“With the blessing of the Divine and the Throne, we do call this session of the Council to order.” Bairsh's voice bounced off the walls, surprising in its strength.
“Before we begin,” the councilman to Bairsh's left spoke up. “The Council has been informed that there is one amongst our Lords that wishes to address the gathered directly.”
“That would be The Divine Firstborn, His Holy Lord Gohan,” Yamucha said, looking around. “It seems, however, that the Firstborn is—“
“Present.”
Both Trunks and Yamucha turned to see Gohan, who walked with slow and measured steps from a corner entrance to the Hall's center floor. A soft murmur floated through the crowd.
“I am present,” Gohan reiterated, stopping to stand in front of the Council with his hands behind his back.
Bairsh gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “My Lord Firstborn may state his concern at his leisure.”
Gohan lowered his gaze. “Of concerns I have but one. I wish to know about the investigation behind the attempt on my daughter's life. Has any new information surfaced? Are we any closer finding the ones responsible?”
The Council paused to look at one another. One councilman, a Madrani Yamucha recognized as being called Temerin, stood and bowed deeply.
“Your humble servant Temerin of Madran wishes to speak, Lord Firstborn.”
“You may,” Gohan replied.
“I cannot speak for the procedures anywhere except Madran. My people have, as Chikyuu's sister planetoid and foremost protectorate, conducted a thorough search of our ports as well as our technological institutions. In the beginning we had a few leads from reliable sources, but since...” Temerin's words died on his lips.
“Much like the case on Chikyuu, the trail has run cold, My Lord,” Yamucha cut in.
“My Lord Firstborn, Umlakk of Arbatzu-sei wishes to speak,” A bulbous gray-skinned man dressed in opulent robes bellowed for Gohan's attention. “As His Lord may have heard, Arbatzu-sei declared a Day of Mourning, that has been observed every two moons' passing since the attack on Lady Pan the Sentinel. Unlike His Grace Temerin and his constituency we have applied resources toward the underground markets, pressuring trade houses to divulge their dealings with—“
“You have done nothing of the sort, Umlakk!” Temerin countered, bracing his hands on his seat. “And your 'mourning' declaration isn't anything but a ploy to garner favor with the Council and the Divine!”
Umlakk sneered. “Watch your tongue, Madrani, lest I relay to our good masters your delegation's hesitance to reign in their own underground organizations!”
Some of the other tables behind Umlakk began to hum discontent, and all of the Madrani representatives in attendance stood, each making their individual pleas to speak. The din grew louder with each passing second.
“Come to order!!” Bairsh shouted over the crowd to no avail. “You will come to order--”
“Councilwoman Bairsh?”
The smooth baritone of Trunks' voice blanketed the Hall with renewed silence.
Bairsh looked at the main floor. “...Yes, My Lord Throne-son?”
“I pray that I may be given the floor.”
“At...at your leisure, My Lord,” she stuttered.
Trunks stood, circling his table before addressing Gohan.
“I know all you seek is justice, Gohan. As do I,” Trunks placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder. “But the Council is...fractious. Oftentimes, petty.”
He cast a sparkling gaze at Temerin, then Umlakk.
“I'm sure that neither of you would disrespect the Council, or our Families in such a way without just cause.”
Both men, with averted glances, all but mumbled their assent. They silently reclaimed their seats.
“Gentle men and women in attendance today,” Trunks' voice swept the chamber. “In times like these, it is the easiest thing to brandish a sword at an ally. Much easier than finding where our real enemy lies.”
Gohan regarded Trunks with open suspicion. “Our 'real' enemy?”
“I mean to say, that sometimes the best of our actions bring out the worst in our number.”
Nervous shifting and whispers wafted through the gathering.
“...Trunks, if you know something, don't speak in riddles.” Gohan replied, patience wearing thin in his voice.
“Of course,” was the younger Saiyajin's reply. He walked over to his seat, picking up a flat screen dossier.
“Proud Master Seiben, of Serulia.”
Silence, then more hushed talk from the crowd. The middle-aged Ambassador, clearly taken by surprise, stood to his feet in the Serulian seat.
“...My Lord Trunks?” Seiben inquired.
Trunks looked up from the dossier, staring right into the ambassador's eyes before smiling.
“I apologize for not speaking with you sooner. I know how much you have been wanting an audience with myself and the Council—concerning the trade tariffs Chikyuu has passed on your home planet.”
Seiben, jaw slack in further bewilderment, recovered his tongue. “Yes-yes...Yes. Capsule products are a cornerstone of our economy. My Lord Throne-son now enjoys over 50% market share of communication technology on Serulia-sei.”
“And a further 72% share of transport manufacturing.” Trunks added, looking at Yamucha who nodded in confirmation. He turned his attention back to Seiben. “It seems that the strategy of your kinsmen to outperform Capsule has fallen short as of late. Many of the merchant houses and factories intended to make up for poor sales by setting up shop here on Chikyuu.”
“Yes, My Lord Throne-son. But the passing of the tariffs has made it more cost-effective to sell...elsewhere.”
“ 'Elsewhere'. Meaning other planets besides Chikyuu and Serulia. But areas like Madran and Shikaji are accustomed to less expensive equipment. And Shikaji in general really doesn't have a need for Serulian automated technologies with its developed infrastructure.”
“...My Lord?” Seiben asked, brow furrowing.
“What My Holy Lord means,” Yamucha spoke up. “For Serulia, selling to anyone other than Chikyuu would necessitate Serulian factories lowering their prices and cutting their profits in half.”
“You're losing money because of the tariffs. Because of Capsule. Because...of me.” Trunks took a step with each sentence, stopping to lay a hand on the Council's seat.
“I do not think I like what My Lord Trunks is implying,” Seiben said, eyes glinting.
Trunks and Seiben stared each other down in a tense moment.
“Neither do I, Seiben. I do not like making accusations anymore than you like hearing them.”
Trunks looked down at his handheld and pressed the screen. Dozens of monitors, one for each seat in the massive hall, lit with life. All, it seemed, with the same image.
“My Lord,” a councilman sitting to the far side blurted out. “This is...these are...”
“They are Escrow documents from Rikau-sei.” Trunks looked up to the slack-jawed Seiben. “Do not act surprised, Master Seiben. They are the galaxy's most respected financiers—You didn't think they were recording everything?”
The murmurs around the hall were getting louder by the second. Seiben looked around, wildness playing in the corners of his eyes.
“Documents in Escrow from Rikau-seijin banks fall under Serulia's private treatise with their government and are not under the jurisdiction of this Council!”
“Unless they were volunteered to us as evidence,” Yamucha's voice echoed over Seiben and the increasing clamor of the crowd.
“Please, everyone, come to order! Quiet down!!” a Councilman bellowed.
Trunks paced around the main floor. “The Rikau-seijin delegation came to me privately, of their own volition. They gave me these banknotes and statements of intent, which I will invite the Council to scan for authentication.”
The Throne-son handed his dossier over to a nearby intelligence consort, who hurried to the Council tiers.
Gohan, silent during all of this, finally spoke up. “Trunks...I understand that this is important. But what does this have to do with Pan?”
From her seat, Bra saw her brother's face darken. She gripped her chair to stand, when a hand closed over hers. She turned, and met with Goten's stare. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head once. Slowly, Bra eased back down.
“What, indeed?” Trunks' eyes narrowed to slits, and he turned his attention back to Seiben.
“All that these documents prove is that Serulian trade houses were seeking more funds for fair trade competition!” the portly ambassador cried.
“They were not 'seeking' any longer, Seiben. The capital was released well before we received these documents,” Yamucha pointed out. “And a large portion of it was dedicated to research and development, according to the signature from your Commerce Ministry. Development...of a new programming language that Serulia would presumably market against Capsule code. This new code has the capability to run Artificial Intelligence.”
“My sister,” Trunks' voice picked up after his Secretary. “She knows what this means. The codec found in the drone that attacked my wife and her uncle. It's identical.”
Silence, like the eve of a volcanic barrage, fell onto the gathered Council.
“Impossible,” Seiben was murmuring, his cheeks burning with indignation and fear. “That is impossible...”
“The Rikau-seijin were coming to share your illegal activities with me, for me to share with the Council in turn. That is why they were coming to me on the night of the attack.”
Seiben was furiously shaking his head, sweat pouring down his high forehead to pool in his eyes. “This is a mistake...a-a mistake, Serulia is innocent—I am innocent! I—!”
“Traitor!” Umlakk was standing, and others were joining him. “Murderous traitor!!”
In the midst of angered and shouting representatives, Bairsh was yelling to the strain of her natural tenor. “Take Master Seiben into custody, immediately!”
Chikyuu soldiers, three on each side of the Serulian seat, materialized seemingly from nowhere. Seiben struggled from their hands, his opulent robes billowing about him.
“L-Let go of me!! I am innocent! Serulia is being framed!!”
“Let his press core examine the notes as they wish,” Trunks countered. “All of it is true.”
The Council itself, who during the exchange were talking amongst themselves, nodded for their speaker to stand.
“The Council of Chikyuu and its protectorates decrees here and now that the Serulian consulate be temporarily suspended from their planetary duties, as we will be conducting an investigation into this matter. We shall inform Serulia's government that if they do not comply with our inquest, we will go forth with prosecuting Master Seiben as a foreign terrorist—and we will see their refusal as an act of aggression.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the gathered in the Council Hall. Seiben was still screaming his innocence, now from outside. Bra listened as the sounds of his struggling and lamentation receded.
Trunks breathed slowly, as if a load had just dropped from his shoulders. He blinked slowly, and turned to his side.
Only to see Gohan staring back at him.
“The Rikau-seijin are notoriously neutral in their political leanings,” Bairsh was saying, as the ruckus had calmed. “My Holy Lord Trunks, how is it that you received their aid?”
Trunks and Gohan held each other's gazes for an intense moment. Neither man was awash with relief, nor satisfaction.
“They felt that since the information in the documents suggested that Serulia was breaking interplanetary law, they had to act. At least that is what they have said. They also were called upon to meet with me by someone very influential in their social circles.”
Trunks' eyes made an abrupt break from Gohan's. Bairsh and the other council members looked at one another.
“I'm sorry...By whom?”
Trunks' face cracked into a tiny, somber smile.
“By my father.”
