The capital of the Ice Empire was bustling with aliens of all shades, sites and races. Somewhere in the melee of buildings, people and sounds, two aliens had met. That in itself was nothing unusual, it happened every second on the multicultural planet. That the two aliens were talking about Piccolo Daimaou wasn't breaking news material, either. The trial was the event of the year, even Emperor Ice himself, the new ruler of the Ice-jins, had come to see the Federation criminal answer for his deeds in court. What made the meeting different was that, unlike the rest of Planet Ice 526's population, the two men planned on freeing the Demon King from his imprisonment.

Lieutenant Son studied the map Vejita had drawn and frowned. “I don't like those ki dampeners.”

“Just teleport in there, get the green pest and teleport out again.”

“I can teleport in...”

“But...?” The Saiyan prince had explained his plan to Gokou and now expected his inferior to go through with it.

“I don't know if I can get out again.” Lieutenant Son had no illusions about his abilities. Federation exobiology scientists had used him as a guinea pig for all sorts of tests after he had wiped out the Red Ribbon Army all by himself. After joining Starfleet, the tests had continued whenever he had reached a new power level. In consequence, Gokou chickened out whenever he got near a syringe. On the upside of the entire ordeal, he had learned a thing or two about ki energy in general and his teleportation technique in particular. “Of course, if I could take out the ki dampeners right when I teleport in... but no. How could I do that?”

“Figures,” Vejita said smugly. “You're helpless like a kitten without me, Kakarott.”

The younger Saiyan just grinned. “Gee, you have any better idea? I thought you wanted to take all the praise for rescuing Piccolo for yourself.”

“Idiot! Stop fooling around and listen...”

x

Piccolo stared out of the window of his cell. He had watched the shadows rise and fall, had listened to the shouts and thought about the events that had cascaded down on him like a bucket full of water out of the blue ever since he had woken up back what seemed to be a lifetime ago. It was amazing how his life had gone from innocence to war criminal in the matter of a few days, but his gut instinct told him that he hadn't reached the end of the rope yet.

The Federation diplomat that had been sent to help him was no help at all. Piccolo's request to learn more about his past had been greeted with a: 'Plead guilty and the Emperor will have mercy. You'll only be sentenced to life term.' Piccolo sighed. If even the Federation lawyer, someone from 'his' side, told him that he was guilty, then he really must be who they claimed he was.

“Gohan,” he whispered, closing his eyes. The name seemed to wrap up all of Piccolo's ill-doings and done what all the Ice-jin evidence hadn't achieved. It didn't matter that the boy had been killed by the bounty hunters, Piccolo admitted he held the full responsibility for this and uncounted other deaths. The images wouldn't stop, memories of atrocities seeped through the cracks in the wall that separated his conscious self from the rest of his life, mixing with frustration and humiliation, to leave him in a fragile state of mind. Should he plead guilty as the diplomat had suggested? He recalled the 'lunch' he had been forced to eat just a few hours ago and snarled, knowing that he would not survive long in here.

No, he wouldn't allow this to happen. He'd rather kill himself before letting those beasts have their way with him. With a sneer, he allowed his frustration to slip out of the rigid grip of self control. Pain shot up his arms when the shackles activated themselves. Piccolo's eyes narrowed to small slits, anguish and exhaustion taking the better of him as he increased his power level, desperately willing back the return of his former self. They wanted to trial the Demon King, and he would give them the Demon King, in color and with all FX. Lightening crackled when the restrains sent even more powerful energy bolts through his system and his entire body began to cramp. With a roar, the Namekian pushed his ki higher, causing light bulbs to implode and nearby electronics to explode, but it still wasn't enough to gain freedom. More, he needed more power, had to break the barrier, had to become Daimaou again. The shackles glowed brightly, sapping his resources like a thirsty herd camel from an oasis dwell. Soon, he fell to his knees, gasping for air and fighting the undeniable end of his hopes. Finally, Piccolo collapsed, trembling and shivering miserably, completely exhausted and painfully aware that he had lost.

“Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 56733.2, supplemental. Commander Tenshinhan has asked for permission to lead a rescue party into Ice-jin territory to return our missing crew members. I had to forbid it, though I'm very worried. It has been fourteen hours since Lieutenant Son went to assist Vejita, but there's no news from either of them.” Muten Roshi paused, his thoughts circling around the same problem he had been facing for some time now. “I'm also worried about Piccolo. His hearing began a few hours ago and it's not looking good. Heck, he's not looking good either! I can't believe that he admitted to do all those things. I mean, he did do it, kind of, with having all the memories of his father and all... But still... “ Another long pause interrupted the log entry and the old man stared at the news coverage recording that replayed itself on the computer display over and over. It probably was the close up of Piccolo's face that had scared Roshi most. The Namekian's intelligent dark eyes had lost their spark. Instead, a strange mixture of emotions glowed in them that didn't herald any good. But Piccolo's mental state would have to wait until he was safely back aboard the Dragonball. Roshi sighed. “The Ice-jins use this mockery of justice for their advantage, of course. The Federation diplomat they sent to defend Piccolo is no help at all, he even played straight into their hands! I get the feeling that this more about finding Emperor Ice a gift to please the Ice-jins than finding out if Piccolo's guilty or innocent.”

x

Explosions shredded the silence of the night. Dirt and debris showered down over running and screaming people. Then the power went out in the entire prison complex and Vejita nodded satisfied. “Your turn, Kakarrott.”

Detonations shook the building and jerked Piccolo out of an uneasy slumber. “Wha-?”

Confused and bleary eyed, he jumped from his bunk when suddenly it was pitching dark in the room. Piccolo stood still, stretching his senses to tax the situation when suddenly the air whooshed away and out of nowhere two strangers materialized in the small cell. Startled, Piccolo scrambled backwards, hitting the wall before he had a chance to escape and was buried under a pile of heavy bodies when his ‘visitors’ lost footing. The mob! Had they found a way in? Stuck in the mass of wiggling bodies, moments stretched to eternity, sudden panic escalated until his survival instincts kicked in and he savagely struggled to get free, sending his opponents flinging into all directions. The emergency light sprang to life and he could make out two intruders in the dim, red glow.

“Piccolo, calm down!” one of the strangers hissed. “It’s just us.”

Piccolo growled, maintaining his defensive position. “Who are you?”

“But... It’s us!” The man looked confused. “Really, Piccolo, it’s no time to turn funny on us.”

“The idiot’s right, Namekian!” the other newcomer, a man with flaming black hair and piercing dark eyes, snarled impatiently. “Kakarrott, you want to grow roots or what? We got what we were looking for so get us out of here!”

“Uh, sure.”

Before Piccolo was able to react, the smaller stranger had grabbed him by an arm with one hand while the other performed some kind of technique. Suddenly, the air blurred and in the blink of an eye he found himself in a different room. “What the...!”

Something told him that he was no longer on planet Ice 526 but on the bridge of a spaceship. His eyes darted around nervously while he tensed, uncertain of what to expect from his hijackers. A dozen people he had never seen before now stared at him like he was a rare insect, and for a moment he wished he was back in his cell.

“Piccolo! Welcome home,” an old, bearded man stepped forward while the ones who had brought him here broke up their close vicinity. “Good to have you back on board. I already thought I had to look for a new tactical advisor.”

Piccolo frowned, wrecking his brain for names, places, incidents... Anything that would confirm that he knew these persons, but they remained strangers. “Who are you?”