Lotor hated the way the icy tentacles of Salaan wind managed to slip through every chink of his armor—armor that, by the way, was supposedly sealed for surviving the black void of space. The wind on this backwater planet was more tenacious than space, it appeared.

Lotor also hated having to put up with the Altean princess who hadn't stopped chattering at him since he'd capitulated about working together to make it to the port, which might or might not be where he'd seen it last. She was as pernicious as the Salaan wind and just as annoying.

But most of all, Lotor hated the precious time he was wasting marooned on this forsaken rock of a planet when he needed to be stockpiling enough quintessence to get him to the alternate reality the comet had come from. Every delay could put him back decaphebes in his quest, and it galled him that this particular delay was caused by his own thoughtless idiocy in going back to rescue the rebel cruiser from his father's forces. If he hadn't gone back and gotten clipped by that stray laser bolt, he could have—

"How can you be sure we are going the right way?"

Lotor's shoulders tightened painfully. At this rate, they'd be all the way up to his ears by the time they reached the port. Still, he managed to refrain from delivering the acid response he wanted to. Arguing took energy neither of them could spare.

"It must be farentholds below the freezing point of water, accounting for the wind chill. Why don't you change into something warmer?"

Change into something warmer? Was that some sort of joke? Lotor whirled to lash her with that sarcastic comment after all, but shock stole his words as he took in her appearance. She indeed had changed into something warmer—'changed' as in transformed. She was roughly the same size and shape, but her features were flatter, her eyes narrower with a translucent lid covering them, and her skin had sprouted soft fur of a color that blended into the snow-white landscape.

"You look surprised," she observed. "Cannot you alter your body to better interact with your environment?"

"Of course, I can't alter my body. Galra don't do that. I don't know of any sentient species that has that ability."

"Alteans have. Had, I should say. And you…" She stopped herself, a lengthened canine carefully pinching her lower lip.

"And I what, Princess?"

"Well, I mean. I assumed you were Honerva's son as well as Zarkon's. You have Altean features and—"

"I am not Altean. I am Galra."

"Okay, okay." She held up her hands, which more closely resembled paws at the moment. It would be a useful ability, he had to admit. "I didn't mean to offend."

He snorted and turned on his heel, pressing on through the knee-high drifts.

"Maybe I should be offended that you are so offended," she muttered after a few too-short moments of silence.

"Must you talk at all?"

"Now I am definitely offended."

His shoulders tightened further, and he grumbled to himself to drown her out as he continued walking. At least she hadn't mentioned his grievous lapse in judgment in going back for her in the first place.

If he were a lucky person, he would hope that she just hadn't noticed. But he wasn't lucky, not in the slightest. And he never had been. He made success happen despite his fate, not because of it. Present situation included.

He sighed, warming his hands under his arms. The port could not appear on the horizon soon enough.

Half a varga later, they stopped to gather and melt snow for drinking.

"We won't have to worry about dehydration," the princess said, evidently having let go of their earlier standoff. "That's what Hunk calls a 'silver lining,' though I don't really understand why. Apparently, it has something to do with weather patterns, but also a good thing inside of a bad? Earthlings are very odd."

"Talking wastes energy," he said. Well, grunted was probably more accurate. He was trying to conserve, after all.

"Talking is the only thing keeping me from foaming at the mouth."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. Anyone would. He wasn't weak.

"Thank you for that mental image," he said. "I will treasure it always."

"I live to serve, my lord," she said, rolling her eyes.

"What do you have for rations?" he asked after enough snow had melted for the pair of them to drink and store a liter each in their suit reservoirs.

"Not much," she admitted ruefully. "Four bars of protein and three packets of freeze-dried strawberries."

"Strawberries?"

"They're an Earth delicacy."

"They sound wretched."

"I wasn't planning on sharing."

Lotor found that he rather liked her lack of fear of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone who knew who he was and yet was perfectly comfortable thwarting and needling him. Even his father was a little afraid of him. But this random princess from an extinct race wasn't afraid of him in the slightest. He should try to change that. He should. But maybe it could wait until they were off planet.

"We should keep moving—cover more ground before nightfall," he said. "If you think this is cold, wait until the sun goes down."

The princess shuddered. "Do you have any rations?"

"Of course."

"How much?"

"Enough to last me three days."

"I may need to borrow some."

"Borrow some?" he said, incredulously. He may need to inspire proper fear more immediately after all.

"This body requires higher caloric intake to maintain heat levels. Four bars of protein might last me half a day."

He stared at her, thinking she must be joking this time. But she simply stared back, waiting.

"Unbelievable," he said, pulling a slightly mashed regthu pouch from the utility compartment just over his ribs.

She took it from him, smiling (at it more than him), but she didn't have the dexterity to remove the cap with her transformed paws. She handed it back, sheepishly.

Lotor sighed as he popped the cap and passed it to her again. She slurped the contents and belched when finished. Then she had the nerve to give the empty pouch back to him. He took it from her paw and buried it beneath the snow.

The princess volunteered to break their trail for a while. Lotor didn't love this idea. She didn't know where she was going, for one thing. For another, she didn't know the warning signs to watch for—the cracks in the crests of drifts that heralded hidden crevasses, the slithery tracks that indicated a nearby pack of hunting koti, any of a million other hazards that Lotor barely remembered himself after a thousand-decaphebe absence from the planet. He could hardly expect a person sleeping for the greater part of ten thousand decaphebes to have the slightest idea how to interpret impending danger. But her body adjustments did make her better equipped to break through the crusty surface of the snow, and he would need to give himself breaks whenever possible if he wanted to make it to the port on half-rations.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked over her shoulder after twenty glorious doboshes of leaving him to his own thoughts.

"No."

"Why did you go back?"

"Back where?"

"Back to the base. You had a strong lead and the sentries' focus was torn between our two ships. You could have easily jumped away, but you came back. You finished what I couldn't—you blocked the hangar exit so only the sentries who were already out could engage. There was no tactical advantage for you to do that. So why? Why did you come back?"

So she had noticed. Wonderful. He wasn't sure he should answer the question at all, let alone how to do so if he did. He remained silent for several doboshes as he thought about it. In the end, he decided that honesty probably wouldn't hurt his long-term plans.

"I recognized your ship as a rebel cruiser. Not everything is about tactical advantage."

It wasn't a complete explanation, but it would suffice. He had no motive to manipulate her, so he didn't really care what effect his answer had on her. Besides, every time he opened his mouth, ice coated his tongue, making pronunciation difficult. The last thing he wanted to do was debate with her the finer points of strategy versus instinct.

His answer, brief as it was, seemed to satisfy her curiosity, though. She didn't say another word to him for the rest of the afternoon.