Thanks to WEP for letting me play in their world.
Note: Updated chapter to correct a couple of errors.
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Viewpoint
4 months after the team arrived on Arus
I stop in the open doorway as I hear Keith speaking.
"Look, I have one of my pilots flying with a concussion, two with breaks or sprains, and no resources to train anyone on planet. Unless you want to see this mission fail and the technology fall into Zarkon's hands we need help, yesterday. I do not know how many more times we can state this, but at the rate of deterioration, this planet will fall in the next six months at my most optimistic estimates. Admiral Graham, I am begging you for help."
I hear his voice fall silent and listen to his pained breathing. He forgot to mention to the Admiral he had broken four ribs, one of which punctured a lung. With our medical technology not long out of the stone ages, our medical staff, such as it is, can only do the most primitive of fixes and hope that Doom gives us a long enough break for the pilots to partial heal before their bodies take the next beating. It does not help that the boys strive to shield me from the worst of the damage. With the destruction of the hospital on planet Ebb, the permanent loss of Sven, the team lost cohesion. I have only the most basic of skills in flying, although Keith has me training in a simulator cobbled together by Hunk and Darrel. The force has suspended most of the live training to try and heal and give me as much theoretical and practical training as they can shove down my throat as quickly as possible. Right now, they keep me out of the dog fighting and only have me launch Blue to form Voltron. For good reason. They cannot afford to have a rookie in the skies to protect when they already fly injured.
A few of my people have started emerging from the caves as the Force gives us breathing room from Doom and Zarkon, but many stay, huddled in fear. Too many deaths. Too much destruction. We have sent word out for any people with technical skills to help repairing, rebuilding, anything to help fight against Zarkon. Farmers to grow food. Basic skills of cooking without modern conveniences. I thank She and He Above for reenactors. They are the only reasons we have staples like bread. They knew how to harvest and cook without machines or technology. Surprisingly, they started making an alcoholic beverage first. For the yeast they explained. The force says it reminds them of a 'Stout' from Earth. Rich in calories and minerals. If it makes my people feel a bit better and sleep better, all the better.
"Stop hovering, Princess. I can hear your brow furrowing from here."
His voice sounds pained. I know he does not sleep well right now. Our pilots do not like to use the narcotic pain medications that would let them sleep, and without sleep they do not heal well. We put the call out to the wise women and men of the planet and those with knowledge in herbology, but communications take weeks and months. How much we had taken for granted. Hunk has started teaching people to make communication devices out of scavenged parts, but we need an infusion of technology and people with knowledge or my planet may never recover.
"Allura!"
Starting, I walk around the corner. Keith looks terrible; pale, with his eyes closed, and pain lines radiating around his mouth and eyes. He holds one arm over his ribs and breathes shallowly through his nose.
"Do you think they will send help, this time?"
He grunts without opening an eye. I wait patiently, because I know he waits to gather breath to speak.
"I pray they do. Zarkon has held off for a week this time, but we need more time to heal and find help. I can only assume something has distracted his forces, so he will have to redirect from elsewhere to continue to harry Arus. I can only hope he has to call in from the far side of the galaxy. It will take the message at least a month to reach Garrison through the relay stations, and even if they launch help the same day the message arrives, it still takes three months transit time to arrive from Earth. In fact. . ."
I listen as he tells me the information I already know. I watch as his arm tightens around his chest as he distracts himself by reciting facts. Fighting back tears I hope do not show in my voice, I feel the need to interrupt.
"Keith. Did you eat today?"
He pauses. "Maybe?"
It breaks my heart to hear. My people have worked hard to provide food for our most important defenders. They cannot heal without enough calories, cannot fight. I know that some of my people have gone hungry to make sure to provide what our defenders need and doing their best to never let them know. Keith knows. He watches.
"If I bring you a Little Beer and bread, will you eat?"
"I can try." He says the words so slowly. When your every breath hurts, eating becomes secondary.
"Will you try and sleep while I fetch a tray?"
"Do I have to move?"
I have to smile. He has not opened his eyes once during our conversation, which just shows me how much he truly hurts, but he still tries to make light. Lance taught him that, I think. Something about positive ions bouncing around the negative pain ions and obliterating them like a video game. I did not understand the explanation, but the boys try to project positivity.
"Can I lower your chair, then?"
He grunts at me, and I walk over and carefully lean the chair backwards. His breath hisses out on a low note, his nostrils flare and teeth clench at the change in position.
"Maybe tonight, you take one of the pills. You need sleep. Your eyes look like you went three rounds with a Huffer and lost."
One side of his mouth crooks upward as his breathing slows. He does not immediately dismiss the idea, which gives me an idea of just how much he hurts right now. The hand not across his ribs reaches up to pat mine where it lays on the chair near his shoulder.
"Maybe you are right."
"Maybe I am." I pat his hand right back and grab one of the blankets we leave around the castle for when power fails and put it over him. He grunts his thanks, body already relaxing into sleep. I let my fingers drift over his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead.
Walking out into the corridor, I close the door behind me quietly. Beckoning one of the pages, I start to give him instructions regarding not just Keith but the other three pilots. I will go check on them myself, but if Keith is passing out sitting up from exhaustion, pain, and mostly likely hunger, the other three probably need some cossetting as well. These four men stand between us and the obliteration of my planet and my people. My people know this, and we will work to give them everything we have. I know there will never come a day we do not remember how five men fought for and took the chance to save a people and a planet. But that is a tale for another time. Right now, I have a handsome pilot to cosset.
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Over the last few days, since I have had to sit because I injured my knee, I have gone through and reread any number of Voltron stories. Then I watched a couple of the episodes, like the Summit meeting, Give me your Princess, and something else. Readers have often asked "Why do you have it in for Keith?"
I have come to the realization that I only follow the original story. How many times did Lotor slash or stab him? Throw him down a cliff? Or other injuries, mostly protecting the Princess. Thus it must have sunk into my psyche that Keith takes the brunt of the attacks, mostly because he stands out in front.
This time, I had a slightly different take. Putting myself in the position of a person on a planet which went from a center of technology and learning, to the stone age in a matter of months or years. Then after somewhere between five and ten years later, finally a ship comes. But only five people. Enough to restart the resistance. Enough to bring hope. But it would take time for that to overcome the fear. I would do anything to help.
Thoughts? Comments? Do you want to hear more? Normally I do not tell first person stories or stories more or less in the present tense, so this proves interesting.
Oh, all mistakes are mine as I did not have a Beta.