Old Heros
By: Lisalu

The Lord Constable Regent of Maiyosh Prime stepped back from the mirror and surveyed his reflection with a broad grin the belied the tense worry he was feeling.

"I'm one damn good-looking old man," he chuckled softly.

The fair-haired, sloe-eyed woman behind him raised one pale brow and turned him gently by the shoulders, adjusting the folds of the worn, slightly threadbare orange gi he wore, smoothing soft hands down his broad chest.

"I've always though so, Jisan," she murmured. With the added height of her stiletto-spiked heels she didn't have to stand on tiptoes to kiss his mouth lightly.

His lips twitched. "'Jisan,' huh?"

She smiled in her cool way but her eyes were warm and full of affection. Her father's eyes. "I should get used to calling you something a little more formal than 'babe.' My parents will be here any minute now. Hopefully before Son-san and the others arrive."

He nodded with an internal wince. "Babe" would probably send her father into a sputtering fit, and her mother would...It was difficult to know what Marron's mother would do under any circumstances, but he rather suspected Juuhachigou would do something pointed and painful if she even suspected he had ever behaved in a less than paternal manner toward her 'little girl'. He snorted. Her forty-two year old little girl. At some point, shouldn't age difference be a non-issue? Certainly after thirty-five. But logic didn't apply, he supposed, when you have been friends with your lover's---or in Marron's case, former lover's---father since he was twelve. He wondered if there was some kind of statute of limitation on sleeping with your best friend's adult daughter. Particularly, when the lady in question had shown you the door more than ten years ago.

A few months after the Sons' brief catastrophic journey to Shikaji, Trunks had come to Chikyuu and hauled him unceremoniously out of a sunny retirement at Kame House which consisted mainly of frozen drinks and girl watching.

"I need you, Yamcha-san," Trunks had said in that soft-voiced, solemn way he had inherited from neither of his parents. "I need a strong man, a warrior, who I can trust to do this job---and he should be Chikyuu-jin."

And by that, Trunks had meant 'human'. Not Chikyuu Saiyan.

He had stared into the boy's blue eyes, Bulma's eyes, and caved in after less than an hour of eloquent persuasion. To this day, he doubted he would have the will to refuse the boy's mother the least little thing she asked of him. It seemed the same applied to her son.

So, he had packed up the few odds and ends he had called personal possessions in sixty odd years of wandering, fighting, skirt-chasing, fortune-seeking, interspersed with occasional bouts of high heroism...and he had taken the duty as Maiyosh Prime's Constable Regent. Marron had come with him as 'special financial relations liaison' between the Corporate Board of Maiyosh House and the Chikyuu-jin Regent the Galactic Parliament had set over the Maiyosh-jin to keep them out of mischief in their Lord's absence. It was a compromise the Corporate Board had gratefully agreed to. For Maiyosh Prime, it meant an end to the galactic trade sanctions imposed after Shikaji. And it was a happy alternative to martial law under the heel of a Trade House competitor such as Avaris House or Serulia. It also had the added advantage of giving the galaxy at large a very misleading first impression of native Chikyuu-jin. Marron's parents had spent the last ten years doing much the same thing on Shikaji, serving as Chikyuu's resident Members of Parliament there, silently promoting the misconception that all of Chikyuu's indigenous population had comparably high fighting power well into their seventies. It was a way of heading off Trade House interests that would have found Chikyuu a ripe temptation for all manner of exploitation otherwise.

The Corporate Board had come to heel a lot easier than expected after greeting him with a smarmy, false friendliness that had been more transparent than a second hand car salesman scenting a sucker. It was ironic that, after long decades of travel to every corner of Chikyuu, the skills that had served him best on Maiyosh Prime had been learned during an orphaned childhood of haggling, swindling and outright theft in the desert bizarres.

"What should we call you, good sir?" The nominal head of the Board had asked him in an oily, obsequious voice an hour after his arrival. "How shall we define your office to our poor, leaderless people?"

And Yamcha had grinned, a quick baring of his teeth, and said something he wanted to say since he was eight years old. "Tell them there's a new sheriff in town!"

It had taken less than a week for the title "Shahreef-sama" to become set in stone.

The Corporate Board soon found that Trunks-ouji and old Corsaris had saddled them with a care-taker as wily and devious as any Prince of Maiyosh, who could wheel and deal, straight or crooked, and smell bullshit from a parsec away. Krillan had said more than once that the constant jockeying, back-stabbing and manipulation for power and money, property and money, trade rights and money, and just plain oldmoney would have driven him nuts in less than a year. Yamcha had found it...invigorating. The bio-regen treatment, a medical service as common as a flu shot here in the 'civilized galaxy', had helped things in that arena as well.

He stared into the mirror of the space port authority offices, hearing the yelling outside, the sounds of furious activity, of flyers and supply ships landing and running feet, the fire-cracker pops of hundreds of capsules being expanded at the same time. She stepped a little closer behind him, looping her slim hands around his waist, her face pressed against his back. It was the only sign of fear she had shown in the last two hours, as outwardly cool and calm in the face of this sudden storm as though she were facing down a board room full of Maiysoh-jin nobles. He lay his hands over her, squeezing them lightly. He could hear the kids on the other side of the office doors, arguing over what the exact nature of the emergency might be.

"Maybe the bugs have finally come," Haysel was saying in a breathless little whisper.

"Feh," Prallin snorted. Gods, the kid looked and sounded more like Juuhachigou's brother every year. "All the Saiyans would be here if that were the case. It's something else."

His reflection seemed as calm as hers. His hair was still snow white, his face no longer young. But one standard bio-regen treatment once a decade had reversed and maintained his actual physical age to that of a strong, hale man of fifty. He could maintain the cellular degeneration of aging for another fifty years if he wished, the medics had said. That sounded nice. And fifty...fifty was a good age to be. He had enjoyed
the hell out of fifty the first time around. Not old, but not young enough to ever be mistaken for a kid. He glanced at Marron's smooth-skinned face, hiding a smile. She took a treatment once a year, he knew. She could have easily passed for twenty-five, and she had every intention of staying that way as long as possible.
The comm phone beeped. "Shahreef-sama?" A too-friendly voice piped up, the saccharine tenor of that shifty post pubescent son of Lord Tresha of Turifta Province sounded tense and afraid. It was probably the first unfeigned emotional reaction he'd ever seen the young man display. The Council had foisted the kid on him as part of his official staff. Partly to railroad him into the traditional nepotism he had steadfastly ignored during his tenure. And partly, or course, to have the little weasel spy on him. Yamcha smiled. He had made the boy his receptionist.

"Are they here yet, kiddo?"

Lord Tresha's son did not like the nickname. He had complained to his father about it more than once. But today, he hardly seemed to notice. "Master Krillan and Lady Juuhachigou have just landed on the launch pad atop the Hospitality Grand. They---they have declined to go through customs inspection and the Lady broke the arm of the guard who attempted a standard weapons check. They are---" A shuffling thump, accompanied by the sound of wood splintering. At least, Yamcha hoped it was wood. The Board would be pissed beyond belief if Marron's mother injured the son of one of its highest rollers.

"They are here, Yamcha-sama!" The Maiyosh-jin princelet's voice sounded shrill.

"Yamcha?" Krillan's voice crackled through the phone link, strong and unwavering. He had stubbornly refused a bio-regen treatment until about a year ago. Juuhachigou had finally given up bitching at him about it and told him coolly that when he died of old age she intended to initiate a full system shutdown and die with him. He had made an appointment with the medics the next day. "What the heck is going on?" His friend's voice said worriedly. "The whole planets looks like it's in an uproar!"

"I'm not really sure myself," he said steadily. "We're all over at the south capital space port. Get here as fast as you can, Krillan. Gokou says something big is up."

"We'll be right there." His friend's voice sounded immeasurably grimmer as the comm switched off.

Behind him, Marron was saying softly, "Oh, Mother..."

"She sure knows how to cut through red tape," he said pleasantly. He glanced down at his watch. Ten more minutes. "Did I ever tell you I used to be scared shitless of her?"

"Several times. Constantly when we were together."

"Yeah," he tried not to wince. "I guess I never stopped worrying about your mom tearing me limb from limb. Or about how hurt your dad would be." He met those lovely ice-blue eyes and saw no reproach. But still... "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I wasn't what you needed me to be---"

"Be quiet," she said mildly, those pale cat-eyes narrowing. "You were all I could ask for. I love you, Jisan. I've loved you my whole life, from that day when I was three years old and I asked you to wait for me to grow up so I could marry you. You were my friend after Castor left me and you've been a good father to the twins. It's not your fault that you're just...in love with someone else. And have been my entire life." That brilliant, clear gaze grew veiled and she spoke the last softly. "Maybe I was guilty of that as well."

Early in the spring before that fateful summer that had brought Gurasia to Chikyuu, Yamcha had seen Trunks and Marron together. He had simply happened upon them by accident in a candlelit restaurant somewhere in the artsy district of West Capital. The look on both youngsters' faces had told him without words that neither set of parents knew they were dating. He had kept their secret, but a month later Marron had arrived at Kame House with some rich investment exec on her arm, her smile bright and brittle. She had greeted his curious gaze with frigid silence that spoke more eloquently of the deep down hurt of the recently dumped than a river of tears.

Seeing her like that had opened up a wound inside him he thought had sealed and scarred over decades ago. He knew that hurt. Gods, did he ever. And wished he could have told her that it would ease up in time, that empty, aching feeling of having been unceremoniously tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper. Trunks had been honest at least, and honorable. He had told her simply, gently, that he didn't love her. He had tried, thinking it would come naturally as they went through the paces of a dating relationship. He had realized how wrong and unfair it was to stay with her when he could never give her what she deserved, and he had broken it off, quick and clean.

Something twisted inside Yamcha's gut. Infinitely better than being jerked through the meatgrinder of an off and on series of fights and reconcilliations, of never knowing when you were on or off---then being accused of cheating after you'd been told it was over and kicked out on your ass. After you'd picked up some girl whose last name you never learned, taking her to bed more out of hurt spite than anything else. And then, in the end, being told she'd already traded up on you for the crown prince of all sons' of bitches without even bothering to break it off with you first.

And in spite of it all...gods, in spite of everything, you still, to this day, loved the ball-busting, demanding, bitchy woman so much your chest ached when you looked at her.

So, Marron had nursed her wounds and nursed her hope--small and pitiful as it was---that Trunks would come around. Then Gurasia had come to Chikyuu and set in motion the events that had bound Trunks and little Pan-chan together for all time. And all Marron's hope had died on the hot summer night. She had never gotten over it, marrying corporate investment guy out of anger and hurt. The ill-advised union had lasted less than a year, leaving her heartsick, if not heart-broken, when it was over. And leaving her pregnant. Corporate investment guy had left her with a simple terse statement, "I'm not a family type man," and gone his merry way.

Funny thing about that. Corporate exec guy had taken a hunting trip to the Great Northern Forrest shortly after that, never to be seen again. He'd just dropped off the face of Chikyuu. It hadn't occurred to Yamcha until several years later that Marron's ex had been vacationing in an area call Raptor's Vale when he disappeared. Less than twenty miles from where Juuhachigou’s reclusive brother made his home. Corporate guy, Yamcha had concluded with a chill, had messed with the wrong family when he freed himself of Marron and the inconvenience of impending fatherhood.

The spark of ki, a sense of Krillan approaching quickly, broke into his memories. No more time to reflect on the past. Something big was about to happen, Son-kun had said. He shifted and flexed his muscles, sifting through the constant inner flame of his own ki. He had put his old gi on, bearing the insignia of the Kame Masters on one side, the sigil of a warrior of the gods on the other. Whatever was on its way, he had sensed deep in his bones, that today he must be a warrior, not a politician. He turned in her arms, leaning down to kiss her, a sweet lingering memory of what they had shared years ago. "It's time, sweetheart."

He led the way out of the offices, collecting the kids as they went, emerging into the bright morning sun and acrid scent of capsules and ship exhaust. Krillan and Marron's mother hit the ground beside them as they moved through the organized melee of preparation around them.

"Hi sweetie!" Krillan moved forward and hugged his daughter quickly before taking one grandchild in each arm in a quick embrace. His eyes met Yamcha's over the kids' heads, his face etched in lines of worry beneath his smile as he saw Yamcha's gi. He clapped a hand on Yamcha's shoulder. "What's going on, buddy? Is it...is it time? Are they here?"

Yamcha shook his head. The message had been simple and terrifying in its vague brevity.

Yamcha! Son-kun's voice, distant, ringing clear in his head, had woken him from a sound sleep less than three hours ago.

Son-kun? He had been awake in an instant, his mind sifting through the names and faces of everyone they both love, wondering with faint terror who had died, who had---

"That's all he said," Yamcha said. He was leading the way through the mob of medics and transpo techs setting up triage and evac stations in concentric rings around launch pad 781.

One of the best qualities the Maiyosh-jin people possessed was the ability to organize and improvise on their feet. The entire service caste as Yenna, Maiyosh Prime's capital city, had marshaled themselves to rise to this challenge. It was a point of honor to get the job done, to get their charges taken care of, when someone, anyone, was placed in their care. He had given them their head and let them run. And by the gods, they were ready, ready to treat, place and house in excess of two million people in less than two and a half hours. Incredible people.

"How much longer?" Marron asked, none of the coiled tension he could feel in her body showed on her face.

Yamcha glanced down at his watch, the watch he'd refused to trade out for a micro-second chronometer. He'd bought this piece of junk second hand in Satan City fifteen years ago and it hadn't missed a tick in all that time. Still two minutes to go.

"He's coming!" Krillan said softly.

Yamcha felt it too, the rush of ki like a standing tidal wave a power, the sense of Son-kun drawing near. Son Gokou flickered into being less than five meters away, two finger pressed to his forehead, one hand locked around a shaken looking Skoy of Madran.

"That's not a good way to travel, Jisan," the smaller man said unevenly.

Yamcha liked the younger man, liked both of Gokou's Madrani nephews. Just went to show that even an asshole like Raditz could do one or two good things in his life.

"What's about to go down, Gokou?" Krillan said anxiously.

The worried frowning expression on Son's face was not a good sign. He'd seen his old friend pull that grim face a handful of times in all the long years they'd known each other. And it had always heralded apocalyptic disaster.

"We cut it close, Jisan---really, really close!" Skoy cut in before Gokou could reply. The Mastertech was pacing back and forth, a tiny, strange-looking comm link in his hands, muttering calculations under his breath. Yamcha wondered if the younger man was only like this under stress or just over-caffinated in general. He finally stopped and pulled a while marker from his belt and drew a straight line, twenty meters long, stopped, checked his math again, tapping one foot and nodding.

"This is it," he said. "This is the spot. We probably need to back up. A lot."

The comm in his hand beep shrilly. "Skoy? Skoy!" It was Trunks' voice. "We're ready!"

"Bring them over, Trunks!" Skoy shouted into the crackling static of the link.

"Everybody get back!" Gokou said.

The air above Skoy white chalk line shimmered, turning white, then gold, framing and filling an arch more than ten meters high. The gold light flickered, bright and blinding, then faded slowly, leaving only the radiant edges of the great arch visible, glowing steadily like solidified light. And inside the arch...

It was like looking through an open window. Darkness poured out of the 'doorway', a harsh contrast to the sunny Maiyosh-jin morning around them.

"Must be night there," Skoy muttered.

"Where?" Yamcha almost screamed.

But there was no time for an answer. The sound of running feet, of voices babbling in terror, grew to a roar. The only sound Yamcha could compare it to was the wave of noise from a cheering stadium crowd. Then the first of them ran through the doorway. They were Chikyuu-jin, they were Maiyosh-jin, they were dozens of races Yamcha could place and many others he could not. And they kept coming. And coming.

They stood back and let the Maiyosh-jin do their thing. Geldo, Master Concierge of the Hospitality Grand, was marshaling his people like a traffic cop at the intersection of Broad and Main in downtown West Capital. With each burst of refugees, a new squad of service caste and medics stepped forward, like waves of soldiers going into battle, guiding the haggard, exhausted new-comers away with skilled professionalism. The first spurt cleared out quickly. The second wave...

The second wave was wounded, nearly all of them. Some were only clawed up or mauled, some were half gutted or missing limbs. Some were on fire. Yamcha began moving, seeing Juuhachigou lift both of the twins, carrying them away from the sight of what was emerging through the gateway now. He launched into the air, scooping up people who were literally falling through the portal, ferrying them back to the triage units Geldo had erected around the launch pad. Somewhere in the madness, he caught sight of Haysel's little tear-streaked face, of Marron soothing her, of Prallin handing a medpack to one of the trauma medics, his young face blank with shock. Dammit, the kids shouldn't have had to seen this! And there was still no time to ask anyone what the hell was going on!

He shot back to the gateway, flying low toward the mouth of the arch, sensing rather than seeing Gokou and Krillan at his shoulders, coming back to carry more wounded to the medics. A golden figure came barreling out of the night on the other side of the portal, spinning in the air, hurling a titanic blast back over the heads of the refugees limping, stumbling and crawling through the glowing doorway.

Trunks...

"Gokou-san!" The younger man screamed. "They came faster than we thought! The planetary shield has been breached and they're coming!"

Something blacker than black, an animate piece of darkness, came chittering out of the gateway and everyone began screaming. Many of the Maiyosh-jin left their stations and fled, recognizing the black things for what it was. It sank down on top of a man who had fallen to the ground in the blind shoving melee. It hooked barbed pincers into the flesh the man's back and---

Trunks shouted with rage and bulleted toward the obsidian thing, slamming a foot through its bulbous head. And as he did, one of the razored claws speared him through the gut, tearing out the other side of his back. They were all on the thing in an instant. Yamcha tore the clawed leg off at the joint and Trunks ground his teeth, tearing the pincer half out of his body with a shriek of pain.

"Get it out of me!" Trunks gasped, falling back into Krillan's arms, his bloody, matted lavender hair falling out of the ponytail he'd bound it back in. "Yamcha-san...they'll breed inside me if you don't take it out!"

Yamcha nodded grimly, dimly aware that Gokou had snatched up the slashing black thing---Arrak-jin, his mind whispered in horror---and thrown it like a missile back through the gateway. Krillan was gripping the younger man's hand. "Brace yourself, kid!"

Yamcha set his jaw and pulled the hooked pincer out of Trunks' body. The boy bucked in agony, his tanned olive skin blanching. The medics were already there, nearly elbowing Krillan and himself out of the way.

Behind them, Skoy was speaking to Gokou frantically. The Madrani Saiyan was kneeling over a cube-shaped piece of machinery he had just decapsulated. "This is a copy of the same shield she designed, Jisan. As long as it is powered, it won't let anything without ki through it. All living things have ki. The bugs don't. They're sort of anti-life. I'm going to lay the shield in the mouth of the gateway to keep any more bugs from coming through, but you have to pour your power into it to power it!"

"Okay," Son-kun said quietly.

A hand gripped his arm. "Portal," Trunks croaked weakly. Gods, what had happened to the boy? He was filthy, is hair encrusted with old blood, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. The bug would never have been quick enough to spear him if the kid's energy wasn't almost completely tapped already.

Yamcha blinked, staring down at the younger man, feeling like a slowwitted fool. Trunks...this Trunks had no tail. "Mirai Trunks?" He whispered.

Trunks nodded, gripping his arm painfully. Even utterly spent, the boy was still strong enough to break Chikyuu-jin bones with one hard squeeze. "Yamcha-san...the portal. Doorway to our timeline. It has to be closed! The shield will only hold as long as Gokou-san's strength. You have to close it from the other side! Kassan is with the portal generator...She's still...help her!"

Yamcha drew in one deep breath. And let it out, feeling good. Feeling utterly calm and sure. There were only a few times, even in a very long life, when the best course of action was so clear, so simple. He smiled down at the younger man and gripped his bloody hand with a firm affectionate grasp. "I’ll take care of it, Trunks."

Trunks sighed and sank down into Krillan’s arms, unconscious. As the medics began fussing over him, Krillan met his eyes. "What are you about to do, Yamcha?"

"Gonna go see an old girlfriend." He gripped his old friend’s hand in a parting gesture that was woefully inadequate to express all he wished to say. Then he turned and flew toward the open mouth of the doorway to Trunks’ time.

Marron and the kids…

They were back at the refugee processing evac, the kids far removed from the danger and the sight of the wounded. And there was no time to find them. If he didn’t make it back…

If he didn’t make it back, they knew he loved them. He had told them, shown them, in every way he knew how.

He halted in the air just above where Gokou stood like a golden torch, channeling his power into the shield, his face set with strain. How much power did the damn shield need if it taxed a man as powerful as Son-kun like this?

"Yamcha?" Gokou glanced up, his face covered in a sheen of sweat.

"I’m going to help her shut don the gate!" He called.

Gokou nodded grimly. "It needs to be quick. Be careful!"

He steeled himself, mind and body, for whatever nightmare visions he might find on the other side of the portal---and he flew through. It was night. The warm air was stagnant and humid, but in no way terrifying. Then he glanced upward.

The stars were gone. There were…there were holes in the sky, and inside

the holes…There was no way to describe it. It was absence. It was nothing in its truest sense. There was only one light. A tiny candle of brightness in a dead universe, and it was straight ahead. He flew toward it like a beaconing moth and slipped through the bluish shield that encased the lone spark of life left in this deadness, in this place that was dead in a sense more absolute than he had ever imagined possible, feeling a tickling rush, like blowing air, as he passed through it. It was another ‘bug shield’, about ten meters squared.

There were Nameks and Maiyosh-jin lying everywhere, dead without a single mark of violence upon their bodies. One last Maiyosh-jin, a haggard-faced man of middle years, stood poised over what must be the shield generator cube, just as Gokou was standing over the cube at the portal’s mouth, directing all his energy into it. The man’s red face was gaunt with strain, his knees beginning to buckle.

"Kami…" A soft voice said.

She was old in this timeline. The blue of her hair was faded to silver. But gods, she was still so beautiful.

"Hi, babe," he said softly.

"Yamcha-kun," she smiled, so full of amazed pleasure at the simple sight of his face he heart flip-flopped in his chest. She stepped toward him slowly, as though it were an effort to walk. He closed the distance between them, catching her as she nearly collapsed. "Is everyone through?" She asked quietly.

He nodded. "Trunks said you need to collapse the shield. What do I have to do?"

Behind them, the rigid, sweating man who stood forcing the last of his life force into the shield around them, sighed and fell. Yamcha didn’t have to ask how any of the men on the ground around them had died. They had spilled every last drop of their ki into the generator so the others, two million people, could escape through Bulma’s gateway. The bubble around them flickered, its last living battery dead and still on the ground beside it. And as it blinked, its blue aura rippling above them, seconds from dissipating, Yamcha saw them. They were all around the shield bubble now, clattering and chirping in the endless night that was more than darkness. The steely sound of their scissored claws sang tonelessly, like a monstrous chittering swarm of metallic cicada. He lay one hand over the shield cube and sent a steady stream of power flowing into it. The shield turned blue and healthy again.

"The shield and the portal are both powered by this cube," she told him. The deep blue of her sea-colored eyes was swimming in tears. "Everyone here died to open the doorway. They didn’t have enough energy to keep their own hearts beating afterward." She shook her head sadly. "I sent Trunks out to keep the Arrak-jin off the people until everyone got through safely. I lied to him. I told him I could move the shield bubble through the portal as I deactivated the doorway. But the portal and the shield are one engine…and the portal must be collapsed from this side, Yamcha-kun."

He nodded slowly, touching her face. "Okay," he said simply. "Let’s get you to the portal first."

"You can’t," she said. "If you stop feeding the shield with your ki, they’ll be on us in seconds. And I’d never make it through alone."

He shook his head angrily. "No! I came here to save you, Bulma! You’re not going to die! You’re---"

She put one hand over his lips and stepped into his arms, the tears finally trailing down her face. "There’s no other way." She smiled up at him. "My son is alive and safe. We saved as may people as possible. My fight is finished." She kissed his mouth softly, as sweet as the first one she’d given him a lifetime ago.

He nodded sadly, lost in her eyes, in the simply happiness of having her in his arms like this. There was a lot more he wanted to do and see, but Kami, this…holding her like this was worth dying for.

"My sweet Yamcha-kun," she said, smiling up at him through her tears. "I missed you so much."

"I love you, Bulma," he whispered. "All my life. I never stopped loving you."

She kissed him again and lay her hand on the hand he held pressed over the portal cube. He reached inside, into the deepest part of himself, as he held her in his arms, one last perfect moment suspended in time like a summer flower caught in a crystal paperweight. Then he ignited his own ki, burning away the portal, the shield and the Arrak-jin clustered around them. And he and the woman he loved left the realm of living souls hand in hand.

* * * * *