Son Gokou sat in a holographic replica of the Mt. Paotzu plateau area where he had grown up and tried to relax. For days, he had searched the vastness of space for a sign of Piccolo’s ki, but it was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. He could locate Vejita easily, but even by using his fellow Saiyan as a lighthouse, Gokou's heightened empathic senses were unable to track the Namekian down. Lieutenant Son sighed. The only way to get Piccolo back was to teleport himself to Vejita's location and pick up the trail from there. Of course that would mean violating a direct order from Starfleet... Not that Gokou minded much, but ChiChi would certainly throw a fit. His wife wasn't very fond of Piccolo's presence aboard the USS Dragonball and an illegal search wouldn't do anything to improve her opinion about the green skinned tactical advisor. He lightly tapped a finger against his communicator. “Son Gohan, could you come to the Holodeck for a minute?”

“I’m in the middle of studying, dad. Can’t sparring wait?”

Gokou smiled. His son was preparing to enter Starfleet Academy, following the footsteps of his parents. “I'm going to pick up Piccolo and Vejita from planet Ice 526.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ll be there in a minute!”

It took the boy less than a minute to cover the distance between the family's quarter and the Holodeck. The twelve year old wasn't even out of breath from his record run. “When do we start?”

“I'll start in a few minutes,” Gokou stopped his overly enthusiastic son. ”You'll stay here.”

“But dad...”

“No.”

“Piccolo-san is my friend. I have to help him!”

“The best way to help him is if you stay here,” reasoned the older Son. “We don't know what the Ice-jins did to him, and Vejita knows that planet better than any of us. He'll know what to do.”

Gohan pulled a face, but he knew his father was right. The encounter with Lord Frieza still was vivid in his memory, and he didn't even want to think about facing more members of the Ice-jin race.

“Isn't there anything I can do?”

“Vejita said that Piccolo’s ki was extremely low. How about if you wake Yamucha?”

Gohan frowned. “Piccolo-san won't like going to sickbay.”

“You know that we ran out of Senzu beans last month,” Gokou reminded and concentrated harder so that he didn’t lose his bearings. “Don't worry. Piccolo's tough, he survived worse.”

With an encouraging nod, the Saiyan placed the tip of his left index and middle finger to his forehead. Power crackled through the room and formed a sizzling cocoon around Gokou. “I'll count on you.”

Before Gohan could answer, his father had disappeared and a with a soft breeze, air filled the vacuum he had left. For a moment, the boy was mesmerized, then he stirred to action and dashed out of the Holodeck.

x

Piccolo listlessly shuffled over to the small window in his cell and stared outside. How he hated to be locked up in here, unable to go where he wanted or do as he pleased. The electronically enhanced shackles did their part to make him feel miserable, but they weren't the only reason for his foul mood.

By now, he fully believed what the Ice-jins had told and shown him. Too much of it felt real, too many fragments of memories had surfaced to confirm their accusations that he could deny that it really had happened. He was a murderer of innocents, a ruthless dictator and non-feeling monster. Piccolo cringed at the thought, desperately wishing that someone stepped out of the shadows and told him this was all just a bad dream, that it had not been him who had slaughtered hundred thousands of individuals.

The miracle wouldn’t happen, just like nothing would bring back the foolish kid who had tried to rescue him.

“Gohan,” Piccolo whispered. “I’m sorry, kid...”

Images of a small boy with intelligent eyes and unruly, black hair, badly beaten up and crying, memories of how the kid clung to a cliff, looking up to him and begging, just to plunge down the chasm with a horrible scream when Piccolo stepped on the boy’s tiny, fragile fingers. And he recalled the scathing words that brought hurt to the same child’s eyes.

'All the pain I caused him, and Gohan still... cared? Who right in their mind would care for someone like me?' Piccolo wondered, then winced as a new wave of images poured into his aching mind. 'What lies have I told you that you were willing to die for me?’

Sadness surged in him, adding to the guilt and shame that he felt. Piccolo knew that these emotions soon would be swallowed by the steadily increasing, remorseless evil that grew in him. Soon, Daimaou would awake and the fact that his escape plans became more violent with every hour that passed had him worried what kind of uncontrollable monster would emerge from behind the wall that separated him from his merry recollections of the past.

Ignorant to his musings, the door creaked opened and his warden entered, clattering a metal kettle behind him on the floor.

“Your lunch. Eat it now.”

Disgusted, Piccolo stared at the bowl of rancid smelling stew that the warden had placed in front of him. “I'm not eating this.”

“Eat now, I said!” the warden barked, grabbing him by the neck. “Eat, or I'll force it down your throat!”

“No,” Piccolo choked out, dreading what was about to come. It was the same ugly procedure every few days since he had regained consciousness on the bounty hunter’s ship.

“Bliz, give me a hand here, will you? And bring Flake with you. The fool's not eating again!”

The offensive bowl in his hand, the Ice-jin waited for his companions while Piccolo stubbornly crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to defend what little dignity they had left to him. Outside his cell, he could hear the mob demanding his head, screaming obscenities and throwing stones that would've hit if not for the force field that surrounded the complex. Piccolo tried to ignore the shouts, but each word cut through his weakened defenses and slandered his self respect. With a bang the cell's door slammed into the wall and popped the Namekian out of his thoughts.

“Now, is your green friend giving you trouble?” A tall Ice-jin entered the room, followed by a bulky guard Piccolo remembered vividly from his earlier encounters with the food bowl. Tense and desperate, the Demon King staggered a step back, his entire being focused on the bowl of stew in the warden's hand and the knowledge of what was coming.

“I'm not going to eat that crap,” he stated defensively, not willing to surrender to the inevitable just yet.

“Flake, hold him.” Bliz grinned and grabbed the chain of Piccolo's hand shackles. Pulling the Namekian face to face, he sneered: “And you better open your damned mouth or I'll break every bone in your body.”

“No!” With a rapid move, Piccolo shook free of Bliz's grip and slammed his fists into the Ice-jin's face. Behind him, he heard Flake laugh before the huge guard tightened his grip around Piccolo's chest and squeezed the air out of his lungs.

“Bastard!” Bliz glared murderously at his prisoner and scratched the stew from his uniform back into the bowl. “You know what that means, don't you?”

Something solid and metal smacked hard into Piccolo's face several times. The world exploded into a myriad supernovae and the taste of blood in his mouth made him almost gag. But the beating was nothing compared to the high pitched tone from the dog whistle that tormented his ear drums. He desperately tried to shut out the pain, the sound, the entire fact of his existence, but it was no good. The whistling drilled into the core of his very being with vehemency until he had the feeling his brain boiled. “Stop!”

“Eat,” Flake's voice seemed to come from a far away world. “Eat and he'll stop.”

“No... no!”

The noise continued, driving him close to insanity.

“Eat,” Flake's voice ordered again.

“No.” The agony had long ago surpassed any of Piccolo's tolerance thresholds. Purple dots danced in his vision as the world around him slowly faded to gray.

“Eat.”

“N-no.”

“Eat!”

Someone whimpered and the guards laughed, but Piccolo had no idea who was the source of their amusement. Feeling sympathetic for whoever was the unfortunate victim of his torturers, he clenched his teeth together, determined that he wouldn't give Bliz and Flake the satisfaction of screaming. The whimpering became pain filled yelps.

“Please,” a tiny voice begged, and the Ice-jins exchanged looks.

“What was that?”

“Please... I'll do what you want but please stop...” Piccolo heard himself plead. But... but... No! That couldn't be true. Eyes wide with unabashed shock, Piccolo listened to more ranted begging, realizing that they had finally torn down the last of his defenses. Even his own body betrayed him, grinding the last grain of self respect to dust.

Bliz took the whistle from his mouth and smiled. “I knew you'd be smart. Flake, let him go.”

“But,” Flake protested.

“Let him go, I said. That piece of Namekian shit has learned its lesson. Right?” The guard slammed Piccolo to the ground, obviously expecting an answer. “Right?”

“Right.” His own voice had become nothing more than an unrecognizable rasp.

“That's 'Right, Sir!'” Bliz emphasized.

“Right, Sir,” Piccolo repeated mechanically. How much he hated himself for his weakness.

“Good. Now, eat.”

And Piccolo ate.