Author's note: This chapter packed some surprises for me, as a writer. I love it when a character stands up and tells you what to do with yourself. Or writes him or herself into your story. You have to respect a character like that. Anyway. Not much to add. It's late, and I want to get this up before bed. Thanks to everyone who's been with me on this journey so far. I appreciate you more than you know. Warnings: Violence, mild creepiness, language.
Playlist: Great Northern, "Houses," and Ryan Adams, Calexico, Neko Case, Iron & Wine...hee hee... just try and take my music again, go ahead, I dare you... I'm not addicted or anything. I can quit any time I want.
All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.
Chapter Ten:
Strangers and Fictions
Kiari lugged another armful of the carefully cut stone from the pit to the pile. Her arms ached, and her back and neck screamed at her. She dared not show any weakness, though. Not only was it something that went against her own warrior's code, and that of her people's, but to even hint that she was unused to this type of labor would be to reveal herself. The Drule overseers would see her weakness, and see through her carefully cultivated disguise. That would make her plans to rescue Lance's sister, her sister, now, much more complicated. Not impossible, but complicated.
She quickly wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her tattered robes. She had tied her trademark long red hair up carefully underneath a dirty rag of a scarf, and had drenched her hair in mud before doing so, for good measure. She smiled to herself as she headed back down into the pit to chisel another armload of stone from the hard, unyielding depths of Planet Doom. She was sweaty and unwashed, she stank, what passed as her clothing was tattered and torn, hunger tore an aching hole through her stomach, and she was covered with scratches, bruises, and insect bites. In other words, she fit right in. Her plan to gain access to the castle from the slave pits was working, so far. They never suspected that someone might actually want to be a slave here. And once she found an unconventional way in, she would be able to use it to get out. And she would bring Charlotte with her, or die trying.
She raised her aching arms, chiseling into the walls of the pit. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to gain access to the lower levels of the castle from here. The kitchens were a strong possibility; kitchen slaves frequently moved between the slave pits and the castle, bringing food to the guards and scraps to the slaves. The garbage crews were a possibility as well; the place where they dumped Castle Doom's copious waste was not far from here...
Heading back up the ladder with arms laden with stone was tricky, and Kiari stumbled on her way up, almost dropping her load and bringing the attention of the overseer upon her. Inwardly, she cursed herself, trying to grab the ladder with one hand and hold the stones to her chest with her other arm. I should carry them in my skirt, she thought. She had noticed some of the others doing that, using their clothing as makeshift baskets. She couldn't, though. That might give away the dagger she carried, strapped high on her thigh. It was the one weapon she'd brought, the one concession she had made for her safety. She would just have to hang on as best she could, and pray no one noticed...
Suddenly a strong arm from above grabbed her, preventing her from falling even as it steadied her load. She stiffened at the stranger's touch.
"Watch it!" the stranger hissed. "You will bring trouble upon us all!" In the dim light of the pit, she couldn't see who had helped her. He spoke like Lance and the rest of the team, but he had an odd accent, unlike any she had heard before...
What seemed like hours later, as the eternal twilight of Planet Doom deepened slightly, and what passed for evening settled over the slave pits, the guards changed shifts and kitchen slaves appeared in droves, carrying huge vats of scraps and leftovers. Kiari made a mental note. The guards changed at the same time the slaves were fed. Sloppy, she thought. The slaves of the pits surged forward, almost trampling the kitchen slaves in their eagerness to get at the food, and the two shifts of guards laughed and talked amongst themselves. But a good chance for me...
"You are new here." That voice again, the one from the pit, she thought. "You do not belong."
She stiffened. Had she given herself away so soon? Her fingers twitched over her dagger...
"Do not worry. I will not harm you, or tell the guards." He slipped beside her, almost silently, with a careful grace that reminded her of something, or someone... she couldn't place it...
He was dark haired and tall, strong and muscled, and had wild eyes and a thick beard. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Lance, and this man was taller than him, even. She fought back alarm as she remembered this man had helped her. Honor decreed that she do the same, if she could. Following her instincts, she decided to trust him. For now.
"How could you tell?" she hissed. The two of them stood on the outskirts of the mob of hungry slaves.
He smiled bitterly. "For many reasons, but mostly because pretty young women do not last long here. If they don't go to the harems, the gangs get them, or worst of all, the guards themselves. I'm sure I don't have to explain why this would be a bad thing, for you. You are a valuable form of currency. You are in danger, here."
"I'm covered in mud and dirt, and I smell bad," she said stubbornly. "I'm not pretty. And what gangs? What are you talking about?"
He did not answer her question. "I am surprised they have not come at you yet," he said. His eyes darted all around them, watchful, and she noticed that he held himself tense, as if ready to spring. "You should surrender yourself to the harems. Most pretty young women jump at the chance. It is the easiest life available to you here." He had edged closer to her, she noticed, and she found herself tensing for some kind of action, even though she didn't know what.
"I would die before I went there. And I'm not pretty," she hissed again.
"Reese's gang thinks differently," he hissed back, dropping suddenly into a half-crouch. "And here they come."
Six heavily muscled slaves ringed them suddenly, appearing out of the mob of the starving behind them. "Found yourself a new toy?" one of them asked the stranger contemptuously. Three against one, provided this strange one can fight at all, she thought absently, preparing herself to spring.
"You can tell your thug of a boss that this one's under my protection," the dark haired stranger said fiercely.
"I don't think so," one of them said. "Reese is sick of you interfering around here. He wants to teach you a lesson, and this pretty one here will be a nice bonus." Kiari hissed when he called her pretty. He looked at her, amused. "When we're done with her, we can trade her to the guards."
"That's not going to happen," her companion hissed. "And you can tell your boss that I am sick of being bothered. How many times must I tell you all that I just want to be left alone?"
"Then why don't you just crawl back to your hole in the Pit of Skulls and stop making a nuisance of yourself?" Kiari inched herself right up against the stranger, assuming a fighting stance, so that the two of them would be fighting back to back.
"What do you know? Kitten has claws!" one of them laughed.
"Careful, traitor to your kind and defiler of women, or soon your throat will bear a new smile," she growled.
"Do not draw your weapon unless it means your life," her companion whispered. She was stunned by his keen observation. How does he know I have... "I will take them out with my bare hands," he told her.
"Half. Half of them are mine," she whispered back. She had no doubt, now, that she had somehow stumbled upon a warrior, here in the gods-forsaken slave pits of Doom. She thought he smiled, and she sent a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the gods.
"If you insist." She felt, rather than saw, the flurry of movement at her back. Her own hands were full as she flipped one of her attackers to the ground. She stomped on his throat. Cries of pain and the sound of bones snapping as bodies hit the ground came from behind her. She swept the legs out from underneath another of the thugs, kicking him in the jaw and the side of the head until he stopped moving. The exhilaration of battle sang through her blood as she whirled, fists raised, to face her last attacker, but all she found was her mysterious, self-appointed protector, standing over four bodies with a look of deep satisfaction.
"I said three each," she huffed.
"Couldn't help myself." He grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him toward the entrance to a cave. "Come. We don't have much time before our actions are discovered. The guards will not pay much attention to another slave scuffle, but the gangs will." The cave, once inside, was much larger than it appeared from the entrance. It was dark and damp. Something about it made her shiver, but this man seemed comfortable here, and her instincts told her to trust him... "Your dagger. If you had used it, the guards would have noticed the injury, and would have torn this place apart looking for an armed slave." She nodded, understanding. She ran behind him for a while, and they reached a smaller cave off the main cavern. The stranger's eyes were dark, and almost invisible in the blackness. "I was partially wrong about you. You aren't just pretty. You are a fighter. I meant no insult. Please. Tell me your name, and why you are here."
She owed him at least that much, but she would guard her purpose as best she could. She didn't trust him that much. "My name is Kiari of the Red Dawn Clan. I have come here to rescue a kinswoman. I would be honored to know your name, as well."
The dark haired stranger sank down against a rock. "I wish I could tell you," he said, sad and confused. "I simply don't know. I don't remember my name, or where I came from. I only remember a great deal of pain, a burning, and bad dreams, like nightmares, and then, I was here." His face was grim in the darkness. "I think it was something with an 'S' sound to it, like Steven or something... sometimes I hear it in a dream, but I always wake up having forgotten it. I call myself Dark, because that is what my memories are. My dreams, as well. I think I must have been a fighter of some kind, because killing people seems to be the only thing I do well. It has kept me from having to join a gang. They are all afraid of me..." His haunted eyes stared into hers, and her heart tightened. This man was dangerous, possibly mad, even though he had chosen to help her. "Welcome, Kiari of the Red Dawn Clan, to the Pit of Skulls, the place I now call home."
She looked around her and shuddered. "I owe you a great debt, Dark. When I retrieve my kinswoman, perhaps you can come with us. We will always have a need for warriors such as yourself, as long as Zarkon continues his reign of terror."
The man called Dark shook his head sadly. "This is my home now. I am unfit to live any other way, to live around normal people. I wouldn't know how. This all I know."
"You could learn."
He laughed, short and bitter. "Perhaps. But it is not your job to teach me, Kiari of the Red Dawn. You must rescue your kinswoman. I have been here for so long, it would take months, maybe years, to teach me to tolerate the company of others for long. And that person would have to be used to madmen..."
She shivered at his words. "As you wish. You have helped me much, but perhaps you can help me more. Do you know a way into the castle? A way only servants and slaves would use? I had thought about the kitchens..."
"I do. The kitchens are a good idea, but perhaps I know an even better way. One that will get you out, as well," he said. "But you make me wonder about your sanity. No one tries to sneak into Castle Doom. They always try to sneak out."
"I plan to do that as well," she assured him. "But not without my kinswoman."
"She must mean a lot to you."
Kiari thought of Lance, of being in his arms, of his quick wit and fierce loyalty, of the pain in his face when he watched his little sister when he thought no one was looking. "Very much, Dark. She means very much to me, and to others I care about."
VVVVV
"Ok, Pidge, classify it for us," Keith said sharply as Black Lion swooped around the fully emerged Robeast in an arc.
"It's a walker, obviously, with multiple arms, but the bulge at the throat indicates that it might be a screamer, and its one eye almost certainly means that it shoots..."
"Lasers," Lance said grimly as Red Lion narrowly avoided being hit.
"Take it easy, Lance. I want you strong and steady, nothing fancy. If you injure yourself one more time, Dr. Gorma's going to kill us all," Keith ordered, weaving Black Lion in and out of the Robeast's swinging arms.
"You're one to talk," Lance muttered darkly, but he confined himself to low, steady swoops around the creature. To be honest with himself, his still-healing burns were screaming at him in pain. The skin across his chest where the harness held him was already rubbed raw through the Derma Gen patches, and his burned hand was cracked and bloody from its grip on the control bar. But he wouldn't, couldn't, stop now. "Does anyone else think it's an odd coincidence that Zarkon sends a Robeast just when we're getting ready to crash his castle for a rescue party?"
"If he thinks he can hide behind a Robeast, he's got another think coming," Hunk said, Yellow Lion slashing at one of the Robeast's legs with the blades extended from its mouth.
"Then let's focus, team, and get rid of this thing so we can get on our way," Keith said. "Allura? Are you picking up anything 'special' about it?"
"Not so far, Keith," she said, Blue Lion flying sharply around its head. She reached out with her mind, trying to tease out any dark magic...
And winced as the Robeast let out a piercing scream. "Yep, it's a screamer," Lance said. "Good thing the new castle has blast shields...no breaking windows this time."
"Hunk! How did we fight the last screamer?" Keith yelled, joining Yellow Lion in slicing at the thing's legs.
"Sven shot a torpedo down its throat," Hunk said, and schematics of that battle appeared on everyone's vidscreens.
"This is for Sven then," Keith said as he pulled Black Lion up and fired down the Robeast's throat. It looked surprised, and scratched at its neck like it was choking, until part of its throat exploded outward. He pulled Black Lion back sharply, heading for the southern wastelands, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw it following.
"I'm adding slow and stupid to the list, Keith," Pidge said.
"It's following us," Allura crowed. "That will keep it away from the castle. Thank the goddess."
"Keith, " Lance said almost pleadingly.
"Yes. Right. Rescue mission to get to...ready to form Voltron, team?" Keith asked, but they were already climbing, he was already calling out the familiar commands:
"Activate interlocks!
Dyna-therms connected.
Infra-cells up;
Mega-thrusters are go!
Form feet and legs;
Form arms and body;
And I'll form… the head!"
"It feels good to be back," Allura said, almost reverently.
"No kidding," Hunk seconded.
"Quick and efficient, guys. We haven't got all day," their commander said. "Ready? Form Blazing Sword!"
The Robeast looked stupidly at the giant robot, still grabbing at its throat with one of its arms, as it swung wildly at Voltron with its other three. A sudden burst of laser fire from its single eye hit Voltron across the shoulder as the robot defender raised his mighty weapon, hitting Red Lion as Lance brought the sword down through the middle of the Robeast's body.
"Aw Hell! That hurt!" Lance swore as he struck. The Robeast looked down, as if surprised to see its guts spilling out.
"That's it. This one's definitely going in the 'stupid' file," Pidge announced.
"Lance! Report!" Keith barked. It was unlike his second-in-command to complain about pain. But then, he'd been burned to a crisp just recently... Keith was worried about him. Very worried.
"Fine. Just fine. Can we go now?" Lance said through clenched teeth.
Keith sighed. Lance was going to drive himself into an early grave until they could get to Doom. "Good work, team. Quick and easy. Let's separate out and get back to the castle to prepare for a deep space run."
Red Lion beat them all back to the docking bay, so Lance was the first to bear the brunt of Dr. Gorma's wrath.
"Oh, hi, doc," Lance said nervously.
"How are you, Lance?" the doctor asked. "Do you have any knife-wielding companions with you today?"
"Uh, no, fresh out of those, I'm afraid," he tried to joke, but Dr. Gorma wasn't smiling.
"Commander Kogane!" Keith stood frozen, half out of his Lion, looking as if he badly wanted to crawl back in and fly someplace far, far away. "If it isn't my second least favorite patient. And here you are, with my current least favorite patient, Lieutenant McClain here, together. What a surprise."
"Hi, Dr, Gorma," Keith said sheepishly. "If this is about sneaking out of Med Center, I'm sorry, but we really don't have time for..."
Dr. Gorma was wearing a scary smile. "You don't have time, I know. You need to fly and fight and generally abuse your body when you are still healing from three cracked ribs. At least the head trauma and broken arm are fixed, even though it took me two fibron plates and three hours of surgery." He turned on Lance. "And you, lieutenant McClain. So burned you can't even wear a flight suit. You look ridiculous, by the way." Lance stood in docking bay wearing the loose Academy sweats that didn't chafe against his burns so much. His uniform was still too tight for that. "Nor does it protect you very well. Look at yourself. You're bleeding again."
Lance looked down and saw the bloody outline of his safety harness soaked through the sweat suit fabric like a gruesome logo. My skin must have split when that Robeast blasted me...threw me up against the harness...
Allura gasped, horrified, seeing Lance's chest.
"So we're the worst patients ever. I'm sorry. We have to get to Doom, Doctor Gorma. There are two young women there who are going to be in much worse shape than me..."
"I know that," Dr. Gorma said with a sigh. "Which is why I am here. If you won't go to Med Center, then Med Center will come to you." Suddenly Keith and Lance were swarmed with nurses and technicians, both of them flat on their backs on gurneys while they were poked and prodded. Lance groaned as a nurse pulled his sweatshirt off him, pulling against his newly split open burns. It also meant the rest of the team could see the real extent of the damage.
"Jesus Christ, Lance," Hunk swore, staring at the burns across almost every inch of his friend's chest. Nurses moved quickly to remove the old Derma Gen patches and spray him with topical omnibiotics and analgesics before slapping fresh patches on him. Lance cried out against the pain; he couldn't help himself, and that scared the team even more than the Robeast had.
Dr. Gorma shook his head as he looked over Keith's bioscan. "You realize your ribs are barely healing. The wrong kind of impact against that harness could break them again, perhaps puncturing a lung this time," he warned, while Allura cried out again in alarm.
"We don't have a choice," Keith said, his teeth clenched as nurses poked and prodded him.
"Please, Dr. Gorma," Allura began to plead.
Koran rushed into docking bay, out of breath. "We have an incoming transmission from Doom," he huffed.
"They'll have to see it in here," Dr. Gorma said. "I'll use force, if necessary, to give me just ten more minutes with these young men."
Koran's eyebrows shot up higher than Allura had ever seen them go. "Very well," he said. Hunk hit a touchpad on the wall and a vidscreen blinked suddenly to life.
Suddenly, there were not enough hands in the whole docking bay to hold Lance down. He was up in an instant, wearing nothing but his sweatpants and Derma Gen patches, rushing the screen. Keith was up in seconds as well, trying vainly to hold his friend back.
Lotor gloated at them from the screen, looking as happy and content as Lance had ever seen him. And at his side, not even as tall as his shoulder, stood his sister. His baby sister. She was doing her best to stand straight and tall, to be brave and strong, but Lance knew her so well. He knew she was really frozen with fear, and her eyes looked wide and haunted. Her eyes looked dead.
She was dressed provocatively, in the style of women of Doom; her sleeveless white dress was almost blindingly bright and hugged her every curve. It was very sheer, as well... She was heavily made up, and she wore some kind of circlet across her unnaturally curly hair. She was beautiful. When did she grow up so fast? he thought numbly. Out loud, he growled, "Lotor, you disgusting son of a whore, what have you done to her?"
"Lance!" she cried, moving towards the screen as if she could touch him through it. "My god! What happened to you?" she said, taking in his burns.
He forced himself to calmness, or at least, the appearance of it. It was hard. Very hard. But he didn't want to upset her further. "It's nothing, little sister," he said, but his eyes sparked hate as he took in Lotor. "I'm fine. Everything's fine here." Her shocked blue eyes darted quickly around the room, trying to take everything in, to see all she could.
"All of you? You're all ok? The princess too?" she asked anxiously. Lance narrowed his eyes. Something was strange...
"Of course I am, Charlotte, and I can't tell you how relieved we are to see you," Allura said, stepping forward. "Although I can't say the same thing for your companion, I'm afraid."
"Allura. Charming as always," Lotor said. His voice was chilly.
"Are you hurt, Charlotte?" Pidge asked anxiously, stepping up beside Lance. Inside, he seethed. He had never wanted to hurt someone so badly as he did Lotor, right at that moment, but he, too, could see the fear in her eyes, the nervous way she held herself away from Lotor's grip, and he wanted to tread very lightly with her.
"I'm alright," she said flatly.
Pidge knew she was lying.
"What do you want, Lotor? An exchange? Me for her?" Lance almost begged. "Name your price. I'll meet it. Whatever it is," he promised darkly.
Lotor laughed. "You flatter yourself. Your sister has proven to be a most charming and...stimulating... companion. Why would I want to exchange her for someone as loathsome as yourself?" Charlotte frowned at him. "I'm sorry, my dear, but it's true."
"Then what do you want, Lotor?" Allura asked wearily, preparing herself for the old demand, the same one he always made, to trade Lance's sister for herself. She felt Keith tensing behind her, his hand gripping her arm, preparing himself for the same offer.
"Why, nothing, Allura, except your congratulations." He draped a leather-clad arm around the fragile-looking young woman, who shivered at his touch. "Lady Grayson-McClain signed the contract a little past midnight last night, as soon as she turned seventeen. That's the legal age of consent, you know, in her home country."
Lance's stomach sank like a stone. "What contract?" Pidge asked warily.
"To become my first official concubine. The position of Queen is already spoken for, as you well know, Allura," he purred. "She'll retain her title, and I'll give her another one, something from Doom, of course. She'll live in luxury, as befits her station, and any offspring..." Lance lunged at the word, only to be hauled back by Keith's fierce grip. "Any of our offspring will be acknowledged princes and princesses of Doom, although they will not inherit. That honor will be yours, Allura."
"Lucky me," she mumbled.
"And in return," Lotor said, "I get complete and total control of anything she owns. Lands, assets, and her company." Lotor's eyes flashed. "All of it. The weapons, technology, research, minerals, contracts with the Alliance... if any Alliance planet, or even Galaxy Garrison, wants anything from the McClain corporation, they will have to go through me. It's all legal, an airtight contract. I've already sent copies to every involved Alliance planet."
"Is this true, Charlotte? Did you agree to this? No one will honor a contract you were forced into signing," Lance pleaded.
"It's true," she whispered. She couldn't meet his eyes.
"We won't ask you why," Keith said, stepping forward, as if trying to shield the group behind him. "It doesn't matter. We know there was a good reason. We just want you back. Back home. And we'll get you back, don't worry." He could feel Lance quaking with rage behind him.
"If only you hadn't gotten yourself disinherited, slave," Lotor said, addressing Lance again. "You would be in control of your family's company, and none of this would be happening. Funny thing, though." He ran his hands across Charlotte's shoulders and down her arms, where Vivienne had hurt her, holding them out for all to see. "She's in much better shape now, after spending some time with me, than she was when I found her. After she had been under your dubious protection."
"I'm going to kill you," Lance said.
"How unoriginal. I'm sending you another present. And then another, and another, until your planet is dust again, Allura, and Voltron is destroyed." Lotor looked down at the young woman in his arms. "I find that I rather enjoy your little sister's company, Red Lion pilot. I hope to keep you too busy to even think about taking her from me." Right before the image blinked out, Lance had one last chance to look at Charlotte, and to him, she looked like she was six years old again, crying into her mashed potatoes, except this time, he wasn't there to stop the blows. For the first time, he prayed not just for Kiari's safety, as well as his sister's, but for her success, as well. It's looking like I may be a little delayed...
The castle alarms started blaring at full blast. Koran consulted his comm. unit. "We've got coffins, I'm afraid. At least two. If you'll excuse me, I must get back to Castle Control." He paused long enough to place his hand gently on Lance's arm. "My deepest sympathies, Lance. I'm sure she'll be alright."
"Just try not to bang yourselves up too badly," Dr. Gorma called as all five of them climbed wearily back into their Lions. "But I'll be here when you do," he added softly as they flew away.