The palace was familiar, for all of the wrong reasons.

The overall layout was the same. As Femto led Vegeta and Bulma to the Emperor's audience room, the former prince easily figured out their location – the guest wing of the palace, lightly guarded and easy to escape from. And then we get recaptured by the thousands of Saiyan warriors the other me is going to send after us. I can see why he's not worried about containment. The difference was, in a word, the aura. The palace that young Vegeta had grown up in was frequently a place of danger and intrigue, but it was familiar – ambitious nobles and elites jockeying for position. This palace seemed to have the feel of outright murder, a step beyond the restrained competition of the hereditary peers. This palace's servants all cowered on sight, reflexively shielding their eyes. The few Saiyans Vegeta encountered stared at him with cold eyes. As they walked over an elevated battlement, with two suns overhead in a bright blue sky, he heard a shout from the courtyard below.

The two Saiyan warriors in the courtyard were dressed in immaculate armor of the old style, facing each other with looks of mutual hatred and contempt. A loose ring of other warriors alternately stood and sat, watching them intently. The courtyard itself was spotless, an expanse of rock tiles and small ornamental trees. They can afford to keep it looking this way, while hosting duels? This Empire must be quite wealthy.

"Sparring?" Vegeta asked. He stopped to watch, seeing that Bulma had already done the same.

"Oh, no," Femto said, shaking his head. "Milord, this is a duel. I'm afraid only one of them will be surviving this day."

"Fighting to the death," Vegeta said. Not very common when I was a child. I have the feeling that this is a much more frequent occurrence in this corrupted world. The two combatants lunged at each other, a flurry of fists and feet. It was obvious from the start that the slightly shorter one was significantly more powerful. "The taller one is going to lose. Why would he accept this duel if he does not have the power?"

"I do not know, Milord," Femto said, bowing his head nervously. Leaning against the stone railing, Bulma smiled knowingly.

"It's because he can do something the rest of them don't expect," she said.

"Super Saiyan," Vegeta said.

"Bingo," she said, nodding. Almost as if on cue, the weaker Saiyan broke into a golden aura, drawing yells of surprise from the audience and a look of shock from his opponent. A cruel smile came over his face and he cracked his knuckles. Within a few seconds, the Saiyan who had been formerly convinced of an easy victory was being proven wrong in the most painful way possible. The sounds of strikes and breaking bones overlaid with cries of pain echoed through the courtyard, and the pristine white tiles were slowly stained with red. "I… can't stop watching. This is horrific, but…"

"…I know," Vegeta said. Even by Saiyan standards, that was brutal. He gave no quarter at all, literally beat his opponent until he stopped breathing. The Saiyans of this universe are different. Even more dangerous, somehow. They're well-organized, well-disciplined, and ready to die over even petty disputes. In short, this is the kind of Saiyan who forms an Empire.

"Milord, milady, please," Femto said in a pleading tone. "They are expecting both of you. You do not want to keep the Emperor waiting."

"I would think not," Vegeta said. The three of them continued deeper into the palace.

DRAGON BALL EXODUS

Universe 15 Saga VI: Genius and Species

TRUNKS

The great walls of the palace were high, more for the sake of making an impression than defense; any possible opponent was either capable of flight or would come in a disguise. Or, in the case of Trunks, Ganos, and Lavender, teleported into a small garden thanks to a very accurate Kai. In the shadow of the walls, surrounded by ornamental bushes and trees, all three of them clearly could hear voices approaching from one of the many garden paths. Without being told, all three of them went for the nearest cover, just in time for the voices to resolve into figures in all-too-familiar black and red armor.

"Certainly dead," one of the two approaching elites said. Both of them held jugs that smelled of potent alcohol, and were noticeably red in the face. "Those guys were weaklings."

"That hybrid wasn't," the other elite said. "The imposter sure as hell wasn't. Where are these people coming from?"

As they spoke, Lavender whined almost inaudibly and sucked in his gut, carefully edging around the thin tree he was using as a hiding space. The intoxicated Saiyans seemed not to notice that one of their trees had grown a tail. From his own secure spot behind a large hedge, Trunks shook his head. Please don't get us caught. He glanced upward, to see Ganos perched on a high branch. He'd seen the agile agent's jumping ability in the forest as well. Both of them, honestly, pretty handy. Harmira too – they really should resurrect the guy after this.

"Not sure. Don't care, honestly. I'm more worried about electing the next General," the first elite said. The two of them continued down the path, oblivious to the aliens hidden around them, loudly comparing the virtues of different candidates and who was likely to be victorious or dead in the coming few weeks. With a surprising lack of noise, Ganos touched down next to Trunks. Only a soft cloud of dust marked his impact.

"These people are very dangerous," Ganos said quietly. All trace of cockiness and humor were gone from his expression. With a nearly silent lope, Lavender joined them behind the hedge.

"I can smell your parents," the coyote-man said intently, but quietly. He got an odd look. "Oh, yeah, that makes sense. They're very close to the Emperor now."

"How do you know?" Trunks asked.

"Because he smells almost exactly like your father," Lavender said. He sniffed the air again, and then shot a coy, sharp-toothed grin at the boy. Trunks looked at him expectantly.

"What?" the young half-Saiyan asked.

"I think we're being watched by the other you," Lavender said. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply. "The place is definitely on high alert. Dozens of guards and elites are patrolling. You can smell the tension. If we are being watched, then we should split up."

"And let ourselves get picked off, one-by-one?" Ganos asked.

"No," Lavender replied. "We're all capable of watching our own backs here, this isn't the Tournament where suddenly half of the opponents have god power. But we need to keep the smallest possible profiles, and then means running solo."

"That's… actually a good argument," Ganos conceded. "But how do we keep in contact?"

Trunks dug into the pockets of his battle armor, newly repaired by Atua. I'm glad Mom brought these, didn't think I would need them. Prototype Mk III Scouters from Capsule Corporation. Collapsible units that fold up so small you don't even need a capsule. Silently, he handed one over to each of the aliens and then hit a small red button on his own, a compact little sphere. Within a few seconds, it had expanded into a lightweight scouter, using holographic projection instead of an eye lens. These weren't even supposed to happen. Gohan just offhandedly mentioned the idea to Twelve, who reported it to Mom, who ordered prototypes built, which then just kind of sat there. Good that they're seeing use, I guess. We really need to work on follow-up though.

"This is actually fairly comfortable," Ganos said, as the light headset had settled on his brow. A second later, he gasped. A holographic display flickered into existence right in front of his eye. He turned and looked at Trunks. The scouter made a soft beeping noise. "Huh. It automatically configured itself, I can understand the language on the display."

"Same here," said Lavender. Almost as if it had a form of judgment, the scouter had estimated sight distances based on the alien's muzzle and adjusted the display accordingly. "Pretty slick. Not going to lie. If this was back in my universe, I'd probably just pawn it."

"Yeah, I'll need that back when we're done," Trunks said pointedly. Ganos snorted with amusement. "Hey, what did you mean by 'other me'? I have an analogue here, same as Dad?"

"It smells like it," Lavender said, shrugging. "Doesn't quite smell like you, but it's you. Once again, you primates really depend on your eyes too much. You're missing out."

"Whatever," Trunks said. "If he's anything like me, he'll be willing to talk first and fight later. I'd be curious to see what he has to say."

There was a moment of silence, where all three of them surveyed the area quickly, as if expecting his words to summon his multiversal double. When they were answered only by the wind and noise coming from the nearby palace, Trunks felt slightly disappointed.

"We can't let this slow us down," Lavender said. "You gotta be quick in missions like this, can't stay still."

"I agree. I will head toward the north end of the garden. One of you should go toward the south end, and the other should take the maintenance entrance through the wall," Ganos said.

"What entrance?" Trunks asked. Ganos gestured toward a section of masonry overgrown with roots and partially hidden by a tree. Sure enough, there was a grimy and worn door. "I'm probably the best choice to go into the palace – I actually look like a native."

"Maybe I could disguise as an alien servant?" Ganos mused. The two of them stood quietly in thought, and then turned to the coyote-man.

"Nothing fancy here. I'm just not going to get caught," Lavender said, jaw open in a canine grin.

CABBA

The first blow struck Casavo front and center, impacting on his impressive belly. It was followed by a dozen more, just as fierce. Smirking, the mob boss watched Cabba with open amusement.

"If you're interested, I'm sure we've got an opening for a masseuse somewhere," Casavo said. You're kidding me. I'm hitting him full strength. Broly would have at least felt these. The next move almost caught Cabba by surprise - the criminal's counterattack was surprisingly fast, given his size. Cabba evaded, the blow missing by centimeters. Wait, why am I punching him where's he's almost invincible? As a second powerful blow came in, Cabba whirled, slipping the punch by a good margin, and then kicked the larger man in the knee. Casavo staggered for a second, wincing with pain. This time, he was not amused. "Oh, you're getting serious already? Okay then, let's get this show started! CRUSH WAVE!"

A massive pulse of ki flared out from the hybrid, slamming into Cabba and knocking him back. Two of the pillars of the fighting ring fell almost simultaneously.

"First ring destruction at thirty-point-two seconds! All bets within half a second, report for your winnings!" a cheery female announcer said over the loudspeaker. Taken aback, Cabba stared up at the gamblers rushing the betting table on one of the elevated floors. He didn't notice the crime boss stepping into his blind side. Suddenly, the world was nothing but a delirious blackness marked with waves of crowd noise. When he came to, Cabba found himself lying on his side with the taste of blood in his mouth.

"You're that easily distracted?" Casavo asked. He shook his head. "I could have killed you there, son. Be lucky I've still got profit to make."

Disgusted with himself, Cabba leapt to his feet and transformed once again into the second form of Super Saiyan. Within a second, the two of them were locked in melee combat. The crowd roared in appreciation as the two clashed from floor to ceiling, sending out bursts of energy. After hundreds of strikes were thrown, both fighters landed back in the ring, breathing heavily. How in the hell can someone that fat fight like this? This is unnatural. Casavo's breathing was already evening out, but the rivulets of sweat running down his face betrayed his strain. Cabba felt energized, as if he'd finally finished warming up. The fat hybrid grinned at him, and then raised both of his arms in a signal to the audience. This guy is ridiculous. What is he up to now?

"He's taking off the gold! Our most notorious boss is taking off his gold! That's three-point-five minutes into the fight. Betters, you know what to do!" the announcer proclaimed. The crowd cheered, and more than a few started throwing bits of refuse at the fighting ring. Casavo grabbed the mass of chains and plates he was wearing, enough gold for a small nation to live comfortably on for weeks, and casually tossed it off to the side of the ring. It cracked the floor where it landed. Beneath the veritable shirt of precious metal was even more fat, and even more muscle. Free of the weight, the barrel-like mob boss got up on the balls of his feet and shadowboxed for a moment, much to the delight of the audience.

"Are you done?" Cabba asked. Casavo raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?" Casavo asked, cupping a hand around his ear. The noise from the crowd was only increasing. Rolling his eyes, Cabba stepped closer. Before he could speak, a fist shot out and rammed into his stomach, catching him off guard for the second time. The Saiyan staggered back, fighting off the urge to vomit. When he looked up, he saw Casavo with his arms up once again, urging on the audience. Cabba gritted his teeth, his sudden anger making his aura flare like a great golden flame. Okay. Now it's personal. When Casavo finally turned around, he saw his opponent with both arms crooked to the side, a ball of energy forming between his hands. Cabba would never admit his satisfaction at the criminal's shocked expression, but it was there all the same.

"GALLIC RAILGUN!" Cabba shouted. The beam went straight toward Casavo's center mass, leaving a trail of ionized air and shattered tiles. The hybrid braced himself and put both hands out, arresting the beam's progress. They struggled, and then Cabba cried out and poured even more energy into the attack. The mob boss' feet sunk into the tiles, shattering them, and then he was slowly pushed back. The audience went crazy, howling and pumping their fists. Through the spiraling haze of power, Cabba could see Casavo's face… and the man was smiling. Shit, he's playing this out for the crowd. A red ball of power formed between the criminal's ring-adorned hands.

"MIDAS BEAM!" Casavo crowed. The smaller, denser red beam began to push back against Cabba's attack. Already winded from having sustained the assault, the Saiyan found himself unable to hold against the new threat. The red ball, spitting sparks of gold and crimson, was slowly and inexorably approaching. Gritting his teeth, Cabba reached deep into himself, into the place where something primordial lurked, a shadow with a tail and a taste for blood. Primal rage tore through him and forced its way into his form, and he roared as the transformation took hold.

"What is this? A new Super Saiyan transformation? Could it be… Super Saiyan Three?" the announcer squealed. At this, the audience stopped, staring at the sparking golden aura that was singing a ring into the stage, at the massive waist-length hair, at the formerly slender Colonel who now looked like a beast-turned-man.

"Enough, Casavo," Cabba said, his voice much deeper. The huge man stared at him in disbelief. With comparative ease, Cabba began to slowly force the crimson ball back toward its rightful owner. "Tell me, do you think anyone bet on a third transformation?"

"Nope," Casavo admitted through gritted teeth. Sweat poured down his face and arms as his own attack bore down on him. He got an odd look on his face, halfway between nerves and annoyance. "Okay, so I'm gonna lose… but would you mind taking it easy? I'm sure I'll be more useful to you alive."

"Sounds reasonable. I'm sure you want to survive to enjoy your new wealth," Cabba said. Right before the moment of detonation, he cut power to the beam. As Cabba watched with surprise, Casavo was still launched into the air, and then embedded into the bulkhead far above them so firmly that only his legs could be seen. Holy crap… he forgot to depower his own attack. Well, I kept up my end. Cabba found himself chuckling as he let the transformation fade, shrinking back into his regular appearance. Weariness instantly swept through him, as it always did after using such a powerful form. He found himself glad that the fight was over.

"The winner by uh… ring out… is the vigilante Cabba!" the announcer proclaimed. This was met by a loud chorus of boos from the audience, followed by a hail of half-finished drinks. Being jeered at by thousands of gamblers, splattered with unidentifiable liquor, and with his former opponent hanging out of the ceiling, Cabba couldn't help but start laughing.

VEGETA

The audience room was tall and wide. Skylights built into the higher walls let in just enough daylight to make the room seem casual. All of this was as Vegeta remembered. The paintings on the walls. Different people, but the placement is identical. The curtains are the same color. The grand table in the middle of the room is made of a slightly darker wood. The King's Seat looks about the same, with my father sitting in it as always. And th- wait. Unerringly, Vegeta's eyes snapped back to the man on the throne. Wearing a well-trimmed goatee and dressed as befitting royalty, he looked to be the near image of Vegeta's father. But he's too young. Yes, this is definitely me, if I had actually assumed the throne.

"This is weird. He looks almost exactly like you," Bulma whispered to him.

"Of course he does. He is me," he replied.

"It is unseemly to whisper in front of your Emperor," the man on the throne said. His voice was nearly identical to Vegeta's, but with an undertone of utter control. This man was a being who lived his job, and would not compromise it. "If you are who I believe you are, then you have little to hide. Come forward."

Vegeta saw immediately that his wife was frozen. Doubtless trying to figure out the correct diplomatic protocol. I know what it is. I just don't care. Without any genuflection, he approached the throne and stood in front of it. The Emperor slowly broke into a grin, looking almost villainous on his goateed face.

"I'm not bowing to myself," Vegeta said.

"An analogue then," the Emperor replied. He leaned back in the throne, surveying Vegeta with a cool gaze. "That was one of the possibilities that my consort mentioned."

"Your consort?" Bulma blurted out.

"Yes. Your analogue, certainly," the Emperor said. Vegeta bristled as the other man subjected her to a slow visual inspection. Is he… mentally undressing her? That's my wife! Vegeta cleared his throat. "Do not be jealous. My consort is physically very similar to yours."

"Wife, not consort," Bulma said. The Emperor blinked, and then raised an eyebrow at Vegeta.

"Our home planet was destroyed. The monarchy is no more," Vegeta said. Embarassing. And yet, fate keeps bringing me back to that moment, again and again.

"Destroyed? What foe dared commit this atrocity?" the Emperor demanded.

"The former Emperor of our Universe: Frieza," Vegeta replied. The Emperor made a surprised noise and shook his head.

"Frieza? That same two-bit mutant that I killed fifteen years ago?" the Emperor asked. "Short, effeminate, transforms too many times?"

"That's him," Vegeta said. I wonder… "How long has it been since you discovered the Super Saiyan transformation?"

"A year or so before Frieza's demise. My brother forced me into it," the Emperor said. He pulled off a black glove to show a burn-scarred hand. "Tarble was always the more aggressive of us. When he thought he saw an opening, he challenged me. He almost killed me. And then, I became the first Super Saiyan in hundreds of years. As you have already seen, many others have followed."

"Tarble? My little brother is nearly a pacifist by Saiyan standards," Vegeta said.

"Mine is definitely a pacifist now; he's dead," the Emperor said. He stood and approached his analogue. "Back to a more important matter – why have you come here? The report said that you and a group of aliens were attempting to approach through the forest to the west, deliberately staying concealed. Choose your next words wisely, and do not consider lying to me."

Vegeta met his double's eyes, and saw the exact same ruthless certainty that looked him in the mirror every morning. I do not give idle threats. Neither will he. However, I do not need to tell him everything.

"I have come here at the behest of High Priest-sama and the Gods of Destruction," Vegeta said. He refused to look away. "We are here to retrieve an item that belongs to a divine being."

"The shard," the Emperor said, nodding. "A curiosity in my collection for as long as I can remember. That mirror you were carrying matches it. An interesting coincidence. Care to tell me how you acquired it?"

"I was fighting a god in the World of Void. After I won, it flew out of nowhere and almost struck me in the head," Vegeta said. The Emperor stared at him. "I looked at it, it broke, and the shard flew off. This happened just over two weeks ago, my time."

"Meanwhile, I remember having the shard since I was a boy," the Emperor said. He turned his back on Vegeta and slowly paced back toward the throne. "The reports also mentioned that you had a sniper, and someone who used poison. You came here expecting resistance. Those are agents, not an entourage."

"The gods consider Saiyans to be dangerous," Vegeta said wryly. "I can't imagine why."

"Don't prevaricate," the Emperor said sharply, turning back. Bulma watched in fascination as the two Vegetas glared at each other. "I give you the shard, what happens?"

"I don't know," Vegeta replied. "Even the angel who created it doesn't know."

"I feel as though I'm missing some information," the Emperor said. He cleared his throat and looked expectantly at Vegeta. "Tell me what you know. All of it. I'd prefer not to have myself interrogated, but I will do so if my hand is forced."

Vegeta regarded him coolly while his mind raced. How in the hell do you tell someone that they're a figment of a dead universe's corrupted mind? If I heard this, I would… not react well. Alcohol. We need alcohol.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Vegeta said, with a mock bow. The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "My wife and I have traveled a long distance, and are thirsty. For this story, strong drink would be a good idea."

"It's that bad?" the Emperor asked. He sighed. "Fine. It will get me out of this afternoon's council meeting, at the least."

TRUNKS

The maintenance tunnel was dingy and dimly lit, with small LED panels emitting a weak yellow light every few paces. The floor was beaten into smoothness by the steps of many feet, and the walls were nothing but rough stone reinforced by old, dry timber. He hadn't seen a single face since entering the tunnel, leaving Ganos and Lavender behind to find their own way. Before him lay nothing but a length of further tunnel, stretching into the distance.

"This must go almost to the center of the palace," Trunks said to himself. His voice echoed down the hallway. He gritted his teeth. I need to be quiet. That was really stupid.

"You really should be more quiet," a voice said from behind him. That sounds almost like… me. But, higher pitched. "That was really stupid."

Trunks turned, and stared. His jaw hung open.

"What? Is there blood on my clothes?" the girl in front of him asked.

"W-why would you have blood on your clothes?" Trunks asked inanely. I was not expecting this. I was not expecting this. I was not expecting this. I was no-

"Hey, snap out of it!" she demanded, scowling at him. Dark glittering eyes, almost identical to his father's, stared out from a face that looked like a young version of his mother. She had a shock of short, spiky light blue hair, almost a perfect fusion between the Saiyan form and the Briefs color. "Yes, I'm a girl. I certainly was not expecting a male analogue, or whatever Mother calls it."

"You had time to adjust to it," Trunks said defensively. "If you were going to introduce yourself, why sneak around?"

"I was curious as to your motivations, other than trying to rescue your parents," she said. She's dressed in pretty fancy clothing, all shades of dark red and burgundy… but it's all covered in a thin layer of dirt. I don't think she's the passive princess type. "What is your name?"

"Trunks. Trunks Briefs," he said. Should I offer to shake hands? Kami-sama, this is really weird.

"Garter. Someday to be the first of my name," she replied.

"First of… you're the heir?" Trunks asked.

"Yes. I'm their only child. I'm sure Father would have preferred a boy, but honestly, I wouldn't have," she jested, wearing a slight grin. "No offense. But then, you're technically not in my line of succession."

"I'm not technically in any line of succession. My father was never crowned," Trunks said. Well, that felt weird to say. Yeah, I'm technically royalty. That and five zeni will get me a burger capsule.

"Actually, that's not a bad thing. If the Saiyans of your universe are like those in this one, the throne is not an easy place to sit," Garter said. The two of them had resumed walking, side by side. To Trunks, it felt strangely familiar.

"If the throne is that dangerous, why would you want it?" Trunks asked.

"First, it will be mine by right," she said. "Second, I want to be Empress; I believe I am well-qualified to learn the role. Third, I actually rather like danger."

"You can't enjoy ruling if you're dead," Trunks said, eying her. She's not quite like me. She was literally raised to be the heir, in an extremely dangerous environment, not like Ea… well, not counting Beerus, Majin Buu, Cell, Frieza, Frieza's Dad… okay, we both grew up in dangerous environments. I guess the major difference is that…

"Some people are born to rule," she said. Trunks suppressed a shiver; it sounded eerily like the words and expression of his father, projected through this girl that he had only just met. The little smile she was now wearing, the open challenge in her eyes directed at anything and everything, the proud and nearly condescending tone, it all came from one person. How is it that a female version of me is almost exactly like Dad? I almost feel like I'm the butt of a joke here. "Those people accept the danger, and welcome it."

"I see," Trunks said. "Well, it's all yours. Even if I had the chance, I don't think I would want it. Too much responsibility, too little freedom."

"Interesting," she said, with a hint of disapproval. "And what is intended for your life, then?"

"Well, I would probably…" he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. He could feel the heat of her inquiring gaze. "…end up inheriting the family business, which is responsible for about a third of Earth's GDP on its own, and become the CEO."

"Too much responsibility," she said drily. "Too little freedom."

Trunks opened his mouth and then shut it. Yeah, I don't have a comeback for that one. They walked in silence for a little while. Another door, grimy but not nearly as foul as the entrance from the garden, was finally within view.

"This tunnel exits in a hallway adjacent to Mother's laboratory," Garter said. "Since you've come all this way, would you like to take the tour?"

"S-sure," Trunks said uneasily. The way she said that was… kind of strange. What is she about to show me?

CAULIFLA

"Here's the ticket," Caulifla said. She showed the stub to the cashier, who immediately scanned it at the ornate terminal he was manning. Behind her and to either side were other lines of gamblers, holding their tickets and alternately looking hopeful or enthused. Those who hadn't won their bets had already abandoned their tickets and left for less expensive environs.

"Ma'am," the cashier said, eyes widening. "I uh… don't think I have the authorization to… uh…"

Caulifla reached over the counter and easily picked the man up one-handed.

"Then get someone who does," she said, and then put him down. He vacated his post at speed, leaving the line behind her to start complaining vociferously. Many of them went to other lines, glaring in her direction. Caulifla stood her ground, grinning. After a moment, a man wearing a suit literally seamed with gold, flanked by two very large, very blue, very rugged looking aliens, approached the terminal. It was the same man who Caulifla had placed the bet with, a man whom Casavo would describe as one of the few incorruptible men in his command.

"Well, this looks like a legitimate bet," the head cashier said. Briefly, he looked up at her and winked. When he glanced back down at the terminal, his face paled. "T-that much? How much did you bet?"

"Everything I had, and everything I could borrow… and steal," she said.

"That's more money than this entire ship is worth," he said faintly. With a crazed look in his eyes, he leaned over the terminal and spoke to her in a fierce whisper. "This is more than I agreed to. If I take any of this, they'll find out. They'll kill me."

"If you don't finish this up quick, I'm going to kill you," Caulifla said. She cracked her knuckles on one hand.

While the head cashier started frantically moving money around and some of the auditors upstairs began to panic, two of Casavo's henchmen were in the process of pulling their boss out of the ceiling. The man had managed to wedge himself in to the point where his upper third was sticking out of the deck above the casino, most inopportunely right outside of the women's bathroom. Even the normally unflappable criminal had felt obligated to excuse himself several times, while mentally cursing his luck. It took another ten minutes for the hirelings to clear away enough of the ruptured bulkhead for the depleted hybrid to shake his way loose. Managing a barely controlled drop, he landed with a somewhat graceful stagger in the middle of the now empty and ruined fighting ring. He expected to see one of the many cashiers, croupiers, or other employees coming with a drink, or at least an offer of one. What he saw instead instantly turned his expression dark, almost murderous. Caulifla was waiting for him.

"Caulifla," he growled. Oh look, he remembers me. How nice. "I owe you a little payback."

"Nah, we're square. The ship is already mine," she said. He stared at her. She brought out the deed she had been freshly handed, holographically stamped and legally binding. "I placed a bet you couldn't cover."

"Not possible. Only the head cashier has the authority to issue freeform bets, and he knows better than to try anything stupid," Casavo said.

"Your head cashier already got his tip and is halfway across the galaxy. After he authorized my bet that Cabba would reach the third transformation. Three hundred thousand to one odds," Caulifla said, smirking at him. "I put so much cash in that the payout was more than your entire business had."

Casavo turned his head, to see Cabba talking with Kale by a group of brightly colored gambling machines. He closed his eyes and cursed quietly, and then turned back to Caulifla.

"You two set this up from the beginning," he said accusingly.

"Nope. Cabba didn't even know I was here," she said. "But I know what he's like, and how much you like provoking people. I didn't really know if I would win, but it was worth a shot."

"You put up tens of millions of credits… on a 'shot'?" Casavo demanded. She simply nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "This is the most epic gamble I've ever actually seen, possibly also the most epic act of extortion. I really can't get angry. This is only one asset. I mean, my other businesses are still thriving. Uh… they are, right?"

"I guess. I don't really care about them at all," she replied. "Honestly, this wasn't even aimed at you. I just… saw an opportunity, you know?"

"No kidding," Casavo said. The bombastic man was wearing an uncharacteristically sober expression. "You two have some serious chops, and I've already heard what your friend Kale can do. I'm beginning think you just might end up winning this."

"Yeah," Caulifla replied. She glanced over at her friends and grinned. "I think we just might."