Chapter summary: In which Thace delivers a portion of the news, Keith is pissed, and Lance is not looking forward to this.
3: Fallible
The connection was cut before Subcommander Thace had a chance to fully grasp the implications of the Druid's message. He didn't recognize the Druid at first without its signature bone mask, but those robes and eerie silence were unmistakable.
That message was anything but silent, though. It was impressive how much could be communicated in so few words.
"Onboard Castle of Lions. All Lions accounted for. Only three active. Headed to a Balmera. Sendak dead. Alone. Injured. Hiding. Take me home."
Dead? Commander Sendak was dead? Commander Sendak was one of the Emperor Zarkon's most trusted commanders in the entire Galra military. Dead? What could possibly have happened to kill him? The last Thace heard, Sendak had captured the Castle of Lions and was in the process of flying it to the Emperor's stronghold.
Granted, no one had heard from him since that transmission, but everyone knew flying an unfamiliar ship too careful planning. The Castle of Lions was ancient, predating the emperor himself. It wouldn't be unusual for retrieving something so old and probably glitchy to take while.
But dead?
Then there was that last bit of the message. Druids kept their own council and answered directly to the witch Haggar who had Emperor Zarkon's ear. They were difficult to handle on their own. It regularly took a group of well-trained Galra to take down a lone Druid at the best of times. If they were injured, Druids rarely admitted it and never sought aid from the Galra medics. They preferred their own kind.
For a Druid to not only admit to and injury but hide and somehow sneak a message to the Empire requesting aid was impressive enough, if highly unusual. But what surprised Thace the most was the very last bit of the short message.
Take me home.
Personal messages were frowned on in the Galra Empire. The Druid must be much younger or more inexperienced than Thace thought. Those robes hid much of the Druid's body so as far as the subcommander knew, the Druid could very well be a child. For some reason, that idea disturbed him more than he thought it would.
Not to mention the fact the Druid was still hiding. That meant the Castle of Lions was not under the Druid's control but someone else's; someone strong enough to force a Druid into hiding. Even an injured Druid was a threat. Some Galra would argue an injured Druid was the most dangerous. They stopped playing and started killing.
Too many unknowns, Thace thought as he strode confidently onto the battlecruiser's bridge.
"Commander Prorok," he said loud enough for his commanding officer to hear him. "I received information that requires your immediate attention."
"Indeed," Prorok said, turning to his second with interest.
"Commander Sendak is dead," Thace said without preamble. The stunned gasps from the other Galra in the vicinity filled the room. "A Druid is on board the Castle of Lions but unable to maintain control of it due to a potential injury," he continued, sure he had everyone's full attention. "Before severing the connection, the Druid managed to send me the current coordinates of the Castle. It's apparently enroute to a Balmera, no specifications as to which."
"Lieutenant," Prorok shouted, "scan the space around the coordinates Subcommander Thaces gives you and narrow down the location of every Balmera in the vicinity."
"Vrepit sa, sir!" the haggard lieutenant said, frantically inputting the coordinates handed to him by the subcommander. "Initial scans only show one Balmera in that sector. Balmera X-95Vox."
"Good," Prorok said with a grin. "Have Commander Ylvik's Fleet set a course for the Balmera. Capturing Voltron and the Castle of Lions is his main priority."
"Sir," Thace said, stepping forward. "There's more. The Druid reported that although all of the Voltron Lions were accounted for, the paladins are unable to actually form Voltron."
Stunned, Prorok's golden eyes widened. "What?" he gasped. "Then how…"
Was Sendak defeated?
Thace shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "Apparently, even though they have all the Lions, only three are in active use."
"And yet they still managed to defeat Commander Sendak," Prorok murmured. His forehead creased in thought. "Then they shouldn't be underestimated."
Thace said nothing, but the slight tilt of his head was agreement enough.
"I'll report this to the emperor," Prorok said. "Continue to monitor the situation. If you receive any more messages from the Castle of Lions, report them to me immediately."
"Yes sir," Thace said. "What of the Druid, sir?"
"What about it?" Commander Prorok said warily.
"Should we inform Haggar of the situation?" Thace said.
The commander grimaced. "I doubt she won't know anything the emperor does," he said. "But I'll mention it. Better to let those things deal with their own."
Better them than us, indeed, Thace thought wryly.
"You have your orders, Thace," Prorok said.
"Vrepit sa, sir," Subcommander Thace said, saluting. Without another word, he turned and left the bridge. This would be interesting.
"Anything?" Hunk called hopefully through the Yellow Lion's loud speaker.
"Maybe we should wait a little longer for the Black Lion to notice to all the other Lions are present," Keith said.
"Or we just accept that because the Blue Lion doesn't have a pilot yet, that the Black Lion isn't coming out," Pidge said.
"We can't give up hope," Keith said fiercely. "We've come this far. I'm not going to give up just because we basically have a weak Wi-Fi connection."
Pidge's snickers carried over the radio. "Good one, Keith," she said.
"He has his moments," Hunk added, his grin audible in his voice.
"Paladins," Allura said, cutting into the conversation. "Please be quiet while Shiro tries to connect with the Black Lion."
"R-right, sorry," Hunk said, chastened.
The silence hung heavy in the main hanger bay. Standing alone on the hanger floor was Takashi Shirogane, the paladin chosen by Princess Allura to pilot the Black Lion. Keith in his Red Lion, Hunk in the Yellow Lion, and Pidge in her Green Lion stood behind Shiro in full support of their friend and team leader. The Blue Lion, however, remained silent and still behind its shining blue particle barrier.
Thus, the door sealing the Black Lion in the Castle remain shut.
"It's no use," Shiro said, sounding weary. "I can feel the Black Lion's presence, but I can't… It's like something's blocking me."
"Um, that would probably be the hanger door."
"Pidge, this is serious," Keith snapped, his grip on his Lion's controls tightening. "If Shiro can't free the Black Lion, he can't pilot it. If we can't pilot it, then we're still down two Lions and we still can't form Voltron."
"Sorry, man," Pidge said in mild irritation. "But I have to find humor in this somehow or I'll have nightmares."
"We may not have a choice," Hunk added. "If the Black Lion's not responding to Shiro even though the connection is there, then that means its probably waiting for us to find a pilot for the Blue Lion."
"But tha-"
"Hunk's right."
"Shiro!"
"Keith, it's okay."
"No, it's not!"
"We'll find a way to deal with this," Shiro said, turning so he faced the Red Lion. "We can do this. We took down Sendak once. We can free the Balmera and free Shay and her people. We can do it. We have to." He turned an encouraging smile to the Hunk in the Yellow Lion. "The paladins of Voltron keep our promises."
"Yeah, we do," Hunk cheered.
Keith's jaw tightened in frustration and he glared at the closed door keeping the Black Lion locked away. They needed the Black Lion to win. Hunk and Pidge may be able to overlook their declining odds and fight in the name of hope, but Keith couldn't. He was a realist. He saw things as they were. And right now, they sucked. Big time.
There was no way just three Lions could free an entire planet, even with Shiro's impressive skills in a pod. They simply didn't have enough firepower. Worse, Keith suspected Shiro was also aware of the looming problem. But Shiro was the leader; he had to keep the team's morale up. If they lost what little morale they had left, then they would lose without a fight.
That was unacceptable. Keith may be expecting to lose, but he was not going down without taking a hell of a lot of Galra down with him. They took Shiro from him once. He would make them pay for what they did.
"We're approaching the Balmera," Coran announced over the Castle's loud speaker. "Any luck with the Black Lion?"
"No," Shiro replied. "Nothing. I'm sorry Coran. We'll have to find a way around this."
"I see."
Coran's disappointed voice made Keith growl. Even though Keith knew Coran wasn't judging or blaming Shiro for any of this, it still irked him. Why? Why would the Black Lion respond? Unless…
"Hey Coran," he said suddenly.
"Yes, Keith?"
"Do you think either you or the princess could pilot the Blue Lion?"
"What?"
"I know it's not a permanent fix," Keith said quickly, "but maybe the Blue Lion could tolerate it just long enough for us to free the Black Lion, free the Balmera, and get our asses out of here without getting ourselves killed. If we die, so does Voltron."
"I…I couldn't," Coran said reluctantly. "I'm not that kind of a pilot."
"I could try," Allura said. "But if the Blue Lion won't lower the barrier protecting it, then even if I could pilot it-"
"It wouldn't matter. Yeah, I get it," Keith muttered. He frowned.
"Look," Shiro said, gaining the team's attention, "let's just discuss our plans to free the Balmera on the bridge for now. Allura can try coaxing the Blue Lion's shield down while we get our armor on. If she can't do it by the time we get back down here to launch, we'll call it and I'll take another pod."
"But Shiro, that's-"
"Keith! We'll find a way out of this," Shiro said firmly. "I promise. Let's just deal with one problem at a time."
"Just a few more spans," Lance muttered breathlessly. "Just a few more. You can do this. Brea-ah!"
His entire body stiffened, quivering as pain lanced through his leg again. He grit his teeth as the tears pooled in his eyes. It hurt. Dear quiznak, it hurt. It was driving him to distraction. And he was still so thirsty.
At least he'd been able to contact the Empire. That was one point he could claim for himself. Feel free to applaud whenever. Or not.
The climb back up to the open vent on the bridge level was excruciating. He never realized how much he used his foot until he suddenly couldn't anymore. Ladders were evil. But, then again, better ladders than figuring out how to climb up and down a smooth vent. Ladders were evil, but handholds were a blessing.
He hardly made it to the living quarters level before giving up and just settling in for the night. The open bridge vent could wait. The Galra would find them soon, he would be rescued, and finally, finally he could go home. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his blankets and pillows and just sleep the pain away.
He deserved it.
Two more turns, a brief yet agonizing slither, and he was back in the little, mini-nexus of air vents almost directly below the central hallway where the Castleship's small crew lived and slept. When it was quiet, which was often during what he assumed was nighttime in particular, he could hear the crew's footsteps on the vent ceiling. He wondered briefly if this made him a creeper, but dismissed the idea. Survival wasn't creeping. He could creep while surviving, but he couldn't creep to survive.
Sort of.
Kind of.
Technicalities.
Shaking his head, he flopped onto the vent floor. The cool metal pressed against his robed chest, offering some relief from the warm air flowing languidly thought the vent. Without bothering to lift his head and look, he reached out and felt around for his bottle of water. He almost sobbed when he found it.
Water. Sweet water. It flowed over his parched tongue and down his dry throat like a cool balm. But it wasn't enough. He couldn't drink as much as he knew his body needed. Lance had no way of knowing when he would have another chance to sneak out of the vents and refill the bottle, especially now that his leg was broken.
He could not be caught.
The Castle's crew would kill him.
Sobs bubbled up from his chest, spilling from his lips and into his muffling hands. He curled his aching body into a ball of misery and wished with all his heart that he was back home. He wanted out of these brightly lit vents, out of this brightly lit Castle, away from this matched group of intrepid idiots, and back in his own bed with his family. At this point, he would even settle for his bed in the Druid barracks.
Although, he wasn't looking forward to his report. Because Commander Sendak had been involved in this misadventure, Lance would have to give his report to Haggar directly. The fact the Lions of fraking Voltron had been involved, Lance would probably have to give his report to Emperor Zarkon. Did he want to talk to Haggar and Emperor Zarkon? He'd rather bite off his own hand.
He would have to defend his position and he wasn't sure how to do that. Commander Sendak was dead, or, at least, Lance was fairly certain Sendak was dead. The emperor would question Lance about his actions, or inactions. Why didn't Lance fight the paladins? Why did he let Commander Sendak die? Why did he hide like a coward after the fact instead of stage his own takeover?
The Druids were a force to be reckoned with in the Galra Empire. Lance had worked hard to be the best Druid he could be. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. He knew what to do to survive in tough situations. Quiznak, he was even learning how to create a Robeast. Granted, he hadn't succeeded in creating anything other than a palm-sized pygmy-puma-thing, but it worked! For all of five tecks, but it still worked! He would be an alchemist yet.
As long as he continued to progress or continued to be useful, his family was safe. No one messed with a Druid's family. Druids don't have family. Any Galra would tell a willing listener that Druids appeared from the deepest, darkest Void of space for the sole purpose of wreaking sanctioned havoc on the universe under the cruel hand of Haggar and Emperor Zarkon.
What a load of stinky feet and wet Galra smeg.
Despite himself, weak chuckles mixed with Lance's tears. He still remembered the first time he'd heard that theory. He'd snorted behind his mask and had to dismiss himself from the Galra practice ring where he'd been assigned to observe and cackled madly back in the safety of his barracks. The Master Druid he had been serving under had given him a thorough verbal lashing, but it had been absolutely worth it.
The memory warmed his heart and eased some of his tears. The pain in his leg didn't go away and neither did his homesickness, but he felt better. His shaking had eased and his breathing was calm and somewhat under control again.
The arm air moving through the vent was cooling a bit now so he pulled his legs as close to his chest as he could. He tucked his brown robes around his hands and feet and tugged his hood as far over his face as possible. He needed to stay warm and awake. The pain in his broken leg had ebbed, but he should probably bind it to keep the swelling down and hold the bones in place.
He should, but he was so tired.
That realization had him bolting upright, blinking blindly. He choked on a cry when the sudden movement jolted his leg. He'd started to fall asleep without being aware of it. Oh, this wasn't good. He was in shock.
He had to stay awake. He had no guarantee what would happen if he fell asleep in the state he was in. He needed to do something, to distract himself.
With a heavy sigh, Lance leaned back against the vent wall, hunching over so his head didn't hit the roof. He ran his fingers carefully over his brown robes, feeling for the tears he knew were there from when Commander Sendak's battlecruiser had crashed. He still wasn't sure how he survived that, by the way. Then again, it was probably for the best that he didn't.
Sure enough, there was a significant tear near the hem of his robes. It was larger than he remembered. He couldn't imagine why. His blue eyes rolled in annoyance. Oh well. He gripped the torn fabric and pulled with all his might, only managing to rip a little further. You know, there were times when he was very glad Druid robes were strong and durable. Now was not one of those times.
Drawing on his quintessence, he formed the sharp nails he'd used to pry the lift doors open earlier and sliced right through the fabric all along the bottom hem. Then he pulled the strip loose and took a deep breath. This was not going to be pleasant.
With the upmost care, Lance lifted his right knee with his free hand and stuffed his left foot underneath it, propping it up. Then he tugged his robes up and looped the strip of fabric around his injured leg. It was already impressively swollen. At least he didn't have to see the bruising on his skin that was no doubt there through his brown pants. He didn't really want to see it.
Something dripped from his lip as he tied the fabric into a knot as tight as he could manage. He leaned back against the vent wall and rubbed his chin, gasping in tandem with the pulsing pain in his leg. There was blood on his fingers. Oh joy. He must have bitten through his lip. Fabulous.
Thirsty.
Tired.
No!
He could not sleep. He had to stay awake. He needed to do something. So thirsty. Maybe he could go look for water. It would give him something to do. Besides, he did still need to find his bone mask. He knew when he lost it and there were only so many horizontal vent tunnels that branched off from that area.
Sighing, he took one last sip from his water bottle before tucking it beneath his robes and push himself away from the wall. This wasn't going to be fun, not one bit.
