“...A magic spell is nothing more than information being sent from one point to another. Much like communication. Imagine being able to send messages through environmental interference without lagging, without loss of reception. To execute delicate research operations with drones in a completely different sector of the universe with 100% accuracy. To perform surgery on patients too remote to seek care in a major city or colony.”
Trunks turned, taking a moment to nod past the holo-deck as his intelligence consort ushered in his next guest.
“This technology...it is attractive, My Lord Throne-son. But at least here on Arbatsu-sei...” The merchant executive gestured to the men that sat around him, who grunted in agreement. “...It seems to be far more advanced than we can manage at the moment.”
“And alchemy, while engaging as a hobby My Gracious Holy Lord, is not something even the most liberal-minded on our planet would attempt to use in that manner,” offered another, his jowls quivering as he spoke.
Trunks smirked as he met the cold eyes of the man standing nearest the wall, away from the blue glow of the holographic board meeting.
“Friends! It is like I told you before,” he responded, keeping his gaze steady. “Success is not born from fear of the unknown, but the pursuit of it. And as for advancement... At Capsule, a light year is but one day.”
The young Saiyan picked up a console, sliding long graceful fingers across as different blueprints flared to neon-colored life in the air in front of him.
“These are the latest analytics, courtesy of the young ones at Capsule Educational Exchange. The bulk of this work was their 'graduation project'.” he chuckled.
The holo-deck teemed with gasps and exclamations of wonder. Trunks let his eyes dart again to his visitor.
“Take your time, I'll be sending the finalized versions by data-shuttle in the coming days. Now gentlemen, I must cut this short. I have a full day—the last part of which I look forward to with much gladness.”
“Yes, of course My Lord,” the first executive bowed graciously. The others, quieting down, followed suit.
“Good day, everyone.” Trunks deactivated the holo-deck. The shapes and shades of the Arbatsu Commerce Ministry faded, leaving a faint cyan haze behind. The Throne-son smiled, holding out his hand.
“Juunanagou, I'm glad you came.”
The raven-haired man grunted, stacking his forearms behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders.
“My apologies about the delay. The meeting went over quite a bit. The Arbatsu-jin regime, while loyal, are quite the luddites when it comes to new technology. You'd think they weren't space-faring at all.”
Juunanagou almost snorted. “Well, what can one say regarding 'the company of fools'?”
Trunks laughed in return, sitting in a chrome-colored chair. He saw the cyborg's cool glance go to a large screen that faced them both on the opposite wall of the spacious Capsule conference room.
“What's that?” his guest asked.
“Oh, that? Nothing,” Trunks moved a hand over the holo-deck console and the projectile-shaped image faded to black. “Just some new things I'm working on. Prototype phase.”
Juunanagou made a noise of assent, shifting his stance. The two men let their eyes meet.
“I know you are the type to appreciate straight talk, so I'll just say why I called you,” Trunks leaned back in his seat, crossing his foot over his knee. “I need you on Serulia.”
A pause. “...When?” spoke Juunanagou.
“As soon as you can get there,” Trunks answered.
“Why?” The second question dropped thick, like a stone in a pond.
Trunks took a breath. He stood up, lazily circling his chair in an aimless pace.
“I think you know why, Juunanagou. Serulia's transition of sovereignty has already begun. Capsule and Madran have been working to aid the government in its settling of foreign debt and open transactions. It is coming along smoothly, but at the same time an intergalactic tribunal is being assembled for Seiben's trial. Since he is the first alien diplomat to be arrested on Chikyuu and charged with a crime, it is only fair that the Council allow for a jury of his peers to determine his fate.”
“They put a hole through your wife's chest. Left your best friend almost having to defecate through a tube for the rest of his life,” The cyborg's voice lowered two full octaves. “And you really want to give them the dignity of a trial?”
And the usual gleam in Trunks' eyes hardened. “...No.”
He looked away, putting his fist to his lips. Juunanagou had seen the look on the man but a few times. It was a tic he exhibited when he wanted to punch something.
“If I were my father...I would have broken Serulia apart. And killed their people to the man.” Trunks' voice was a whisper, as if speaking the words could make it happen in reality.
Juunanagou waited, turning his head but not daring to avert his gaze. He felt the healthy swell of ki from the young man in front of him, could hear the heat rising like a dull roar, churning with chained emotions. Trunks stood silent for another moment, and then seemed to physically relax. And finally, his voice found him once more.
“...But I am not my father,” he said. “And we are not a new Saiya-jin Empire, Juunanagou. We do not destroy worlds or races or cultures. We buy them.”
“And so you need me on Serulia to make sure the 'purchase' goes well,” the cyborg rejoined.
“I would go myself, but that would be too much. And I have been gone enough as is,” Trunks mused. “I thought about sending Krillin, but I couldn't. He has your sister, Marron, grandchildren. And his health to think of. Yamucha and Goten both rub Serulians the wrong way, and I need them here anyway. Bra...no. I need someone there who I can trust, someone they will tolerate. Someone for whom they have a lot of respect, and...”
Juunanagou raised his brows as Trunks trailed off. “...Fear,” he finished for his charge. “You want someone they fear.”
Trunks locked gazes with him. “Serulian intelligence knows who you are, and what you do. Plus, you're a meta-human. They don't really know what you are capable of.”
Juunanagou suddenly felt restless, and let his feet take him away from the Throne-son. He threaded his hands behind his nape in a boyish pose, pulling them tightly around the corded muscles underneath the suit of arms that Yamucha had insisted he now wear everyday.
“What about Gohan? Why me, and not him?”
Silence. And the cyborg cut his eyes to look back at Trunks.
“His daughter just recovered. His wife is not well,” Trunks replied. “I can't ask him to leave now.”
The answer came from a steady voice, but Juunanagou could sense the shaking tension from Trunks' hands as he spoke.
“Serulia has condemned Seiben, stripped him of title and rank. They have cut all ties with his house,” Juunanagou put his attention to a large office window. “They want people to think he planned the attack single-handedly and without the Parliament's blessing.”
Trunks stared intently. “And what do you think, Juunanagou?”
Juunanagou turned his nose like it met something unkind to his senses. “There are sayings in the galaxy about trusting the word of a Serulian. They set their beady little eyes on something they couldn't have, and now they've been caught with a hand in the candy jar.”
Trunks nodded, smirking. “...Whenever you decide to leave, I will have a full attendent staff, one intelligence consort, and any needs from Chikyuu waiting for you. You have a cruiser allotted for the trip, and a private villa in Serulia City. Anything else you think you may need—luxury items, personal affects?”
“I didn't say 'yes' yet, Trunks,” Juunanagou's voice lilted, the closest the cyborg would ever get to bemusement.
“Of course you haven't.” Trunks had sat back down, elbows set on knees and hands clasped in front of his face. “Also, if you don't mind, I would like it if Yamucha didn't know about this.”
The other man's brow furrowed. “...Yamucha doesn't know you are sending me?”
“I would prefer it if I was the one who told him. While he will miss your expertise, he will understand the importance of your mission.”
Juunanagou paused.
“...No waiting staff. Just the ship's crew. Provide for me only hyperlink transponders, encryption equipment and surveillance tech. And you can keep your villa as well: I won't be using it.”
Now it was Trunks' turn to frown. “Why not?”
“...Because I don't want them knowing where to find me.”
Trunks eyed the man again in silence. Then, he stood up, and walked to Juunanagou, placing a hand on the cyborg's shoulder.
“I knew I was sending the right man.” He looked over at the console once more. “I'm off. Going to see my sister, and then...I look into my wife's eyes for the first time in months.”
Juunanagou bowed, and watched the Saiyan leave, his face carefully blank.
“You flew here?”
Bra lifted a silver cover from the trays of tea and food set down earlier for her brother's arrival. Trunks hadn't left the Serulian day bed he had flopped in. His suit wrinkled around the sleeves.
“It was refreshing, like a jog,” he replied. He looked at Bra as she served him a snifter of wine.
“I haven't flown in...years. Since Poppa was still here.”
“Hm,” Trunks observed, raising his glass. “You should try to practice. Once it's gone, it takes ages to come back to you.”
Bra laughed. “And give half of Chikyuu a heart attack? I'm surprised you got here without an entire arm of the military 'escorting' you the remainder of the trip.”
Trunks smiled while still eyeing the snifter's dark liquid. He was lost in its sanguine depths when he finally noticed how quiet it had become. Bra was sitting across from his chair, watching him like a hawk.
“Trunks...did you really hear from Poppa?”
“Bra, of course I did--”
“The truth, Trunks. Please.”
He pressed his lips together. And his sibling knew that look for what it was. An admission.
“Trunks--”
“Before you say anything,” Her brother spoke, sitting upright. “Understand that the Rikau-seijin had to be coerced to give me the evidence I needed against Seiben. They probably have more still. Our father's name is the only thing they respond to hearing.”
“Goten told me you had a plan...I didn't think it was flat out lying to trillions of people.” Bra hissed.
“It wouldn't be our first time, now would it, Bra?”
And the Holy Daughter of the Throne chose not to answer.
“Enough about that. You called me here, which is why I flew instead of waiting for a motorcade.” Her brother stretched his legs out, sliding his boots along the marble tile.
“And I wouldn't want to waste any more of your time,” Bra remarked dryly. “This is simply...a discussion about our terms of agreement.”
Trunks grinned, almost chuckling. “Oh? And what are these 'terms', I've seemed to forgotten them.”
“What they have always been, Trunks. After the Arjunians I stepped up as intergalactic figurehead of Capsule. While you presently prance around with Madrani and Farolians and the like, it was I who blessed you with the clean and charming image that Capsule—indeed, this entire family—now enjoys throughout the known universe.”
Trunks' grin did not fade. “True. Go on, my dear sister.”
“And after Capsule had established itself, you took the reins back from me. I retired here to West Castle, and I was glad of it. I sat waiting for the moment you would need me again. And then Pan was attacked. And once again, I helmed the company when you were not able.”
“An act for which you will always have my gratitude. It was not an easy task, and as I have said to the state press and the Council, you were a superb leader in my absence.” Trunks stood, refilling his glass as he spoke.
“Finally, this last performance at the Council Hall. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew that whatever the outcome looking divisive would be to our detriment,” Bra's eyes narrowed with pensiveness. “Despite what I now know, I would say that I have more than fulfilled my duties to you as a sister, to my planet, and to the furthering of Capsule's interests.”
“And I would agree, completely,” added Trunks, now leaning towards her on the day bed.
“Chikyuu will be protected from those who would want to destroy her. Terrorists have been brought to justice. We strengthen our hold on the interplanetary markets, as well as increase our reach and influence through Serulia and its territories.”
“And now, you want something in return.” her brother concluded, meeting her eyes.
She looked up at Trunks. “Yes. I have played my part, and I have played it well.”
Trunks paused. Then he grinned again. “It is not for me to ever doubt your resolve. What would you like, my darling sister?”
Bra's eyes became distant. “There is only one thing in existence that I want.”
Trunks observed the look on her face. “...If that is the case, I thought you already had it well in hand.”
Bra didn't reply.
“Has he chosen another bed to lie in?” Trunks pressed.
“No. He still visits when he can. When the harpy lets him out,” Bra replied.
“And what has Gohan's wife done now, to earn such derision?”
Bra laughed, her voice bitter. “Does a bee need to but exist, to annoy a person?”
“Harsh words, for someone so removed from you.” Trunks pointed out.
“Is she yet removed? She insults me at every turn. She does what she can to undermine everything that our family has done for her—that you have done for her.” Bra spat through gritted teeth. “If it wasn't for your words to the public she would have been as ostracized as her father for all the lies he told and the wealth he stole...all from the family of the man she calls 'husband'.”
Trunks was silent, an unreadable expression on his face as Bra raved on.
“We all walk on eggshells in her presence. We are considerate of her age and her 'condition'. When the real culprit is her own hypocrisy. Nervous breakdown? The only nerve that broke, finally, is the one impinged on whatever self-effacing, delusional tripe her family used to justify years of hiding the truth...and she uses that addled and selective mind of hers to control everyone around her.”
“Well,” said Trunks after a moment of quiet tension. “Tell us how you really feel.”
Bra, eyes focusing onto a point on a faraway wall, nodded. She picked up a glass and took an unladylike gulp.
“I have the suspicion that you didn't call me just to vent.”
Bra hesitated, and then...slowly, carefully...threaded a hand through her brother's.
“What happened to Pan took a toll on all of us. Her parents and Goten most of all...I know that Videl was being kept in a private villa on Madran. Her health is fading. It has been for many years now. But maybe...her daughter's brush with death is what tipped the scales.”
“Bra--” Trunks began.
“We can say it was stress from the oncoming conflicts with Serulia and the Arjunians. Or that it was an accident,” His sister was looking away. “Hell, we can even say she did it to herself.”
“No, Bra.”
Trunks took both of Bra's hands in his. He started to speak, but thought better of what he was planning to say and chose to run a finger through his sister's loose blue hair.
“You know anything you ask of me is yours. And that I would do anything for you,” he started.
Bra nodded.
And her brother tapped his finger on her tiny nose with each syllable as he said: “...Except that.”
He rose from his seat, while Bra still sat stunned. She shook out of her stupor.
“Look at me and tell me she's not a danger, to herself and to all of us!”
“She's an old woman! And she hasn't posed a political danger to me in years. Nor any to you. Look at you,” Trunks guided his sister's face to a nearby mirror. “What woman could possibly compete with you? Her husband has obviously made his choice.”
But Bra's eyes went flat and hard. “He will not leave her.”
Trunks' jaw worked as he searched for words. “You knew what you were getting into, the moment you started with him.”
“Of course. Forgive me,” Bra's words dripped with bitterness. “I thought your loyalty lay with your blood, not someone else's.”
Now it was her brother's turn to give a stony expression. “My loyalty lies where it always has—to this family, this planet, and our mother and father's legacy.”
“So we are all 'family' now, are we?”
“Yes. Whether you agree or not,” he answered. “The moment I married Pan, the two families became one. My responsibility is to her blood as well as mine. And I will not see everything we have done go to nothing on accord of you and a desire you cannot fulfill.”
The two siblings stared each other down, the room coming to a silent stalemate.
“I thought I had someone on my side,” Bra hissed. “Here's to hoping your little wife remembers her last trip to a regen tank.”
Bra turned away, walking toward the fine bottles on her silver lounge tray. Trunks watched her retreating form, closing his eyes. When he opened them, the look in his pupils ever so slightly darkened.
He took brisk steps behind Bra and, before she could react to his proximity, became a blur. The entire castle shook to its sturdy marble and Shikaji-steel foundations as he slammed his sister into the nearest wall. The impact was such that a normal Chikyuu-jin would have been unconscious. Bra made a high-pitched noise of surprise. He put his hand on her throat—a loose grip, but the message was clear.
“Now you listen to me, you selfish little child,” Trunks spat.
“Trunks—!!“
The doors to the chamber swung open, and three attendants, led by Hana, breathlessly flowed into the room. And behind them, several guards stood with weapons drawn. Hana absorbed the situation, and took one step forward.
Trunks simply cocked his head to the side. “Leave.”
No one moved. The guards lowered their plasma rifles, looking at one another. Hana locked eyes with her Mistress. Bra struggled to keep the fear off of her face.
And Trunks...slowly...took the hand that seized his sister's neck and turned it towards the door. His outstretched palm carefully morphed into a closed fist, and he stuck out his index finger.
A tiny sparkling light played on the tip.
“Leave,” the voice deepened in its tenor.
At his command Hana visibly shook, and after one last look at Bra, bowed. The room emptied once more.
And all this time, Trunks never broke his gaze that lay bare his sister's face.
“Everything you have in this life...is because I say you have it,” The Throne-son began.
He fell silent suddenly, and his sister's hitching breath was the only sound in the room.
“...I have known about you and Gohan for a long time. You are good at keeping secrets, Bra. But your lover is not: The men of the Son family have never been good liars. I have almost always known.”
Moving his hand towards Bra's face, he frowned even deeper when he saw her flinch. He placed it on her forehead, pushing her hair back from her cheek.
“I turned a blind eye, all this time, because it made you happy. And I thought you wouldn't...you wouldn't allow yourself to come to this point. But I can see my line of logic was far off. And I made a mistake.”
Trunks whipped away from where she still stood against the wall, quickly turning his back.
“A mistake that I will be correcting, effective immediately,” His steps were slow, cold. “You are to leave this castle when you are summoned and not for a moment otherwise.”
And a pit fell out in the bottom of Bra's stomach. “No...”
“I will be installing Capsule standard-issue surveillance equipment, and recommissioning all of your personal guard to replace them with my own.” He ran his finger over the rim of a nearby vase. “All of this will happen in the next 72 Chikyuu hours.”
“...No...” Her voice became more firm, even though she shrank as her knees buckled.
“Yes. And Gohan is to never have an audience here, alone, ever again,” he finished.
His body started to lift from the ground, rotating in air to where his upper body led his feet towards the balcony of the room.
“I'll tell everything.”
A pause, and Trunks turned back around to see his sister, now standing with her hand braced on the marble wall. Behind her form there was a small, light indentation where he had pushed her. His eyes lingered there for a moment, then focused back on the blue-haired woman speaking to him.
“I will tell everything,” she repeated, voice thick with tears. “About the Arjunians. About the war. About Pan. About Gokou and Poppa and Momma. I will tell everyone. Everything. I will tell them the truth!”
Trunks stared for what seemed like hours. Then he simply hovered closer to the curtains, catching some the billowing fabric in his hands.
“I am their God, Bra. I am their Truth.”
Bra's eyes dilated, her already pale skin issuing a second burst of white. Trunks turned his face towards the setting sun.
“And if I ever hear you speak of this again,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the curtain. “I will come back and burn this place down to the ground while you watch.”
He flew up and out, never looking back.
The crowd at the Daishenkan was dense, and it didn't hold the air of a formal gathering like the Council Hall. Instead, politicians walked around where merchant union leaders could whisper in their ears, and diplomats drank their fill of whatever the attendants offered. Intelligence consorts congregated in dark corners, possibly sharing information or gleaning it from foreign sources. What form of relevant data could be gained from a place so loud, Yamucha didn't know. He stood alone with his hands on the balcony railings, overlooking the podium where the hyperlight commlink was being set up—Tonight, Pan would address the public for the first time in months.
“A wonderful idea, to have the speech here.”
Yamucha didn't turn at the voice, merely craned his neck to get a better view of the center stage.
“Yes, I am lucky to have had Krillin helping me with all the arrangements. Especially considering how long it took me to calm everyone down today.”
Trunks frowned, leaning on the railing beside him. “ 'Calm everyone down' ?”
Yamucha finally cast a sideways glance at the Throne-son. “That little stunt you pulled going to West Castle?”
“Ah!” Trunks exclaimed, realization dawning upon him. “Was it that bad?”
“Bairsh said the generals in the East, West, and South Quadrants wanted to go to threat level Omega Three. Don't tell me you didn't notice every press vehicle for fifty miles following you.”
Trunks mustered up enough pity to look guilty, but humor still shone in his eyes.
“At least we know military response is up to par,” he said.
“What happened at your sister's, anyway?” Yamucha asked.
“...Nothing. Nothing that I couldn't handle,” Trunks replied, turning his back on the stage area below. “Her personal affairs have run amok, and I reined them back to the farm.”
Yamucha's lips pressed together before he spoke. “So you 'forbade' her to ever breathe in his direction again, I take it.”
Trunks was silent. The crowd flowed around them, drowning out their conversation to anyone but the closest ears.
“You didn't know that I knew, did you?”
“...All the more disturbing is that you didn't tell me,” Trunks muttered, anger at the edges of his voice.
“I wasn't aware of how Gohan was spending his free time until well after you knew. I figured it was better to let sleeping dogs lie than to rile you.”
The Throne-son set his jaw, nodding. “It doesn't matter now. It's over.”
Yamucha shook his head and sighed.
“Her brother, or her father, Trunks. One or the other—you can't be both.”
The younger man issued a harsh laugh, letting it die down to a chuckle. He stopped as Yamucha turned to him, meeting his eyes.
“It's true. You can't be both. And if you try...if you try...it will come back to haunt you.”
And Trunks let a chill run its course through his spine at the man's words.
A tense second rolled by, then Yamucha's attention snapped back to the podium.
“She's starting,” he said.
Both men turned their focus to the center floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen here tonight on Chikyuu...and everyone watching all around the galaxy...I want to thank you,” she said, turning on her heel as she spoke. “For all of your support, and all of your prayers and kindness.”
Son Pan let her gaze pierce the hyperlight comm the intelligence consorts stacked in front of the podium. She had almost forgotten how intense the coaching sessions could be for these. Hours before, she had made a sheepish entrance into the Daishenkan, expecting the type of reprimand from her advisors that a child would expect from their school teacher. But the group of them had just bowed, and presented her with a detailed account of where the universe was and how it had moved politically since the night a hole had been blasted through her body.
The scarring was minimal. It didn't matter. Despite how many of these speeches she could do, would do, in the years to come, Pan would always feel that everyone could see right to her core.
“The outpouring of love and friendship that I have experienced for myself and my family is something I will truly never forget. Just like one cannot forget the state of things...As I believe I must address you on the topic of loyalty, I also must address your doubts.”
The crowd felt as if it was holding its collective breath as Pan spoke.
“The Arjunian Threat is real. They are returning to our galaxy, they are maneuvering. And they will attack again, of this I am sure,” said Pan, pausing as the crowd in the Daishenkan started to hum with concern. “Our ability to protect ourselves is only limited by our willingness to educate each other and work together.”
There was loud applause all around, and Pan looked up to meet piercing blue eyes on the center balcony. He hadn't joined the Councilmen on the main floor. He stood half behind a pillar, as if he was...afraid she would look at him?
She breathed deeply, waiting for the raucous to die down, and continued her speech.
The people had been ushered out briskly; even the intelligence consorts that liked to hang back in dark corners, still not satisfied with the amount of gossip done earlier in the night. In less than forty-five minutes, the Daishenkan was empty of all but one.
She ran a hand on the center emblem where she sat, her legs monotonously swinging like a child's above the circular fountain. The design was elegant, bold in the hues of black, red, purple and blue. And in the center, the Two Dragons twisted around one another, not dueling...and yet not giving one inch to each other.
They took up the majority of the image with their winding bodies. One was black, carved of the darkest obsidian the artists could find, probably. The scales were distinguished from one another with fine lines of diamonds. Its teeth held oak and ore, symbols of both war and industry. It stared into the eyes of the other great serpent. Its twin, golden all over, long tusks buried in the shell of a turtle, faced his other half not with a snarl. But with the closest the fearsome beast could come to a small open-mouthed smile.
“...Captures them perfectly, doesn't it?”
The baritone almost made Pan jump, her legs stopping their endless movement. She had thought everyone gone...she should have known better. She looked up at her husband with a neutral face.
“If there was ever a time either one of them cared about art, I'm sure they would appreciate it.”
Trunks chuckled. “My father was not one to frequent museums, that is certain.”
“No. A man like him would be bored too quickly,” agreed Pan. “Not to mention Grandfather. All his concern would be in the Daishenkan's banquet hall.”
They both laughed. The noise was hesitant. And it died before the echoes of it left the rafters.
Silence.
“Trunks--”
“Why won't you come home, Pan?”
Her face reddened, and she turned away. Trunks pressed forward with both his steps and his words.
“Why won't you come home? To our home?” his voice lowered, almost pleading.
“I wanted to spend time with my mother, Trunks. She's doing better, but between the wedding and the attack at the festival she hasn't seen me in months.”
“You are avoiding me.”
It was not a question. And Pan didn't bother trying to deny it.
“Pan,” Trunks called her name as she looked away again . “I did not leave your side for weeks after you were put in stasis. And even after I came back to Capsule, I still saw you every week.”
It was true. Pan had heard the whispers of the chamber-servants at her mother's villa on Madran. How the Throne-son had forsaken food and water to watch her day and night as she lay at Death's door. But still...she couldn't just...
“You asked for me to keep my distance. And I have,” Trunks was saying. “I let you come back to Chikyuu with Gohan and Videl, amidst all of the talk. Talk about how wife was shunning husband, punishing him for...for what?”
“I think you know, Trunks.”
Cold sweat seized the Throne-son at Pan's words.
“All these years have passed, and you still aren't honest about what you and Yamucha are really doing.”
“P-pan...” Trunks stammered through his words. “You are confused. You don't know everything--”
She cut him off mid-sentence. “I know enough.”
Trunks lowered his head, unconsciously holding his breath.
“Why are you and the Kaio keeping Piccolo prisoner? Why? Just because he doesn't agree with you and Yamucha making us all gods?”
Imperceptible to Pan, Trunks made a small sigh of relief. A moment passed, and when he turned his eyes back up to look at his wife, they sparkled in the dim torch-lit temple.
“...I'm sorry, Pan. I thought you would know, but...you are just like your grandfather. He never assumed the worst in people, either.”
The Holy Throne-son walked to the nearest large window, looking at the starry night. The crest on his suit of arms spilled small halos of light on the marble dais.
“Piccolo betrayed his oath to the Kaio to stay out of Chikyuu's affairs. They gave him a choice. Stay on the planet and be kept in isolation, or leave with Uubu, Tien and the others. He chose to stay.”
“He chose his home. Chikyuu is his home,” was Pan's retort.
“It is also his responsibility, as it says in the oath of service to the Kaioshin, to not take action against the will of the Kaio nor involve himself directly in the governance of the galaxy.”
Pan leaned against the dais behind her, the snout of the Dark Dragon statue hovering near her left ear.
“It still doesn't make it right...he is our friend. Fought alongside our fathers. Sacrificed his life time after time--”
“I know everything that you know about him, Pan,” Trunks cut into her words. “I went to Dende and asked him if I could help smooth over the situation. But Kibito Kaioshin would not be moved. They said that he was a threat to the new peace.”
“...The peace that we made. When we were made gods.”
Trunks paused. “Yes. When Yamucha, the Kaio and the Council made us into gods. I tried to talk to Dende. Do you know what happened next?”
Pan shook her head.
“...Neither do I,” said Trunks. “That was the last time we spoke. Dende left the Lookout and never came back. And he took the dragonballs with him.”
“How do I know you are telling the truth...not just your version of it?” mused Pan, trying her best to stay guarded.
“You know it is the truth. Because if it wasn't,” he walked behind her, speaking in tones low enough for only her ears. “If it wasn't, then wouldn't Dende and the Kaio go to your father? Wouldn't they have gone to you?”
She shook her head, this time to clear up the fog that had suddenly filled her mind. She leaned even more on the dais.
They were both silent for a few breaths more before she spoke.
“...She said, when she got sick, that she wanted to be as close to Grandpa as she could in the end. By then, Great Gran was dead, so we thought of sending her into space.”
Trunks realized that his wife was talking more to herself than him. He stayed, looking uncertain of what to do next.
“But Father said...it would be too lonely. And Chikyuu is...was...her home. So we agreed to keep her here. To bury her in the forest. Simple. Only it wasn't.”
The Throne-son moved closer, frowning. “We had to keep the media from knowing anything.”
“Yes. From knowing that she was dead. Which was surprisingly easy. You know she hated all of this. She hated any kind of attention, but it was more than that. She was an Old Believer. The people in her mountain village worshipped the Kaio. She thought...”
“...That we were blasphemers.” finished Trunks.
“She kept to herself a lot. I think my father blamed himself for not knowing until it was too late. Not knowing about the cancer.” she paused. “When the time came, you said that this was best. And that here, we could all visit her and not forget her. I think that is what convinced Father. He didn't want to forget her, to leave her alone again.”
She turned her back to Trunks, and he almost had to strain to hear her words.
“This,” she touched the dais, her hand trembling and heavy. “...This is my grandmother's tomb. But we have to lie. We have to lie and say she 'ascended', that she is not really dead. But she is. She's right here. Cold. Alone. And I can't even pay proper homage to her. I can't even cry.”
“Pan...”
“Was it worth it, Trunks?” she asked, unmoving. “To keep us safe, to defend Chikyuu, this pretty lie. Was it worth it?”
“Yes.” came the answer, without hesitation.
She shook even more, this time the quaking sank into her shoulders. And now, Trunks was right behind her.
“Pan, the festival,” he said her name again. It sounded like he was praying. “I almost lost you that day.”
She heard the faltering note in his voice. A cracking. Her brow wrinkled. Was he...crying?
“Tell me this: Does this fake history change how wonderful we are, as a family? And that's what we are. A family. That is what we have been and always will be.” He held her shoulders gently and turned her around. “And I will do anything to protect it.”
“Trunks, you don't...”
“...'Love me'?”
She tried to hide her surprise as he finished her sentence. His self-effacing laughter echoed through the atrium.
“I thought us Briefs were supposed to be the know-it-alls. Pan--” he started, paused, and spoke again. “I knew you didn't want to marry me. I knew it. I proposed and you accepted because you wanted to be a good daughter. You wanted us—all of us—to stay together. You have the same sense of duty to our family as I have.”
Her lips parted. What...what was this?
“It's something I have always admired in you. All the way back to the Black Star hunt. And travelling across the galaxy. And Baby. I've always seen it. And aspired to it.”
“Trunks--”
“All my life I've been tailored, groomed...to lead. To take the helm of my family's company. There was no time to fall for just any girl. No time...except to see things more clearly. To see what was right in front of me for years,” he stated. “So maybe you are right. And maybe...you are wrong.”
Everything was going differently than what she had expected. This was, was—she thought of her father's face, fighting the Arjunians. The eerie emptiness of the deserted Lookout that she had, almost on a whim, climbed up to explore many years ago. Vegeta and Bulma leaving Chikyuu, how sad Trunks had been as he pulled his sobbing sister from the launchpad.
As if reading her mind as one would read a book, Trunks wrapped his arms around hers.
“I've done many things. Some good, some not. I know you did not want to be a wife to me...but please...let me be a husband to you.”
She looked into his eyes, ones that glittered now and swallowed everything around them, and lost herself.
And she kissed him.
