Arusian Crusade: Changing Tides
Chapter 9: Line in the Sand
This is super late, I'm sorry! I have no excuses. Just combat scenes getting in the way of my character drama. Pfft.
Enjoy!
The serpent had failed, as expected. Zarkon couldn't make himself be more than slightly irritated by that fact; on the one hand, the spy had managed to die without taking a single one of the Voltron pilots with him. On the other hand, he was out of the king's hair now.
It evened out.
He had more important things to worry about, besides. He'd spent the last few days going over the potential candidates to become the Ninth Kingdom's new admiral. And there were so many candidates... so many fine commanders who might follow in the footsteps of the fallen warrior, the warrior who had been legendary before his body was cold.
Yurak Lionbane, the one who'd faced Voltron as an equal.
Traditionally, Drule culture did not look highly upon martyrs. The idea wasn't to die for your kingdom, it was to conquer and kill the kingdom's enemies. But traditionally Drules weren't called upon to fight demons straight out of ancient mythology, either. Unique circumstances called for unique tactics, and Yurak had certainly succeeded in that. What was left of his fleet was ready to fight now, and they wouldn't stop until the fragments of Voltron were scattered to the winds. All they needed was a new commanding officer... martyrs, no matter how heroic and successful, did still have the small inconvenience of being dead.
Zarkon was sitting in his study now, scowling at the personnel files. All the candidates were skilled and accomplished, yet they were all so... conventional. He tried to imagine them facing down this enemy unlike any other, and couldn't foresee a lot of success.
"Father."
He sighed and pushed the data crystals across his desk. "How did you get in here unannounced, Lotor? I'll be upset if I have to have my guards beheaded."
The prince chuckled as he entered the study. "Not to worry, Father. I'm sure they'll only fall for the obscure protocol exemptions trick once, especially once you've reamed them for it. But I'm wounded. You surely don't expect me to come in here and stab you in the back, do you?"
No, he didn't. Though that was precisely what he'd done to his own father, when that madman had come too close to bringing the whole Ninth Kingdom down around his shoulders to sate his insanity. Which was... not uncommon for this kingdom's rulers, really. Sanity did not run strong in his bloodline; Zarkon was sharply aware of that fact, but he aimed to break with tradition.
As for his son, there were few mysteries there. "I expect I know what you're actually here for, and I might find the assassination attempt preferable."
Lotor gave a low growl. "Come now. If you had someone else in mind for the Arus assignment, you'd have promoted them already. And I know your other commanders are hardly breaking down the doors to ask for the job."
Which of those idiot courtiers told him that? It was true, of course, but... "You are still a student, remember? Royalty or no, you must earn your place. There is no possible excuse which could justify promoting you to admiral."
"Of course not. But I'm not the least bit concerned with being admiral, Father. I only want to fight Voltron!"
Well, at least he has some grip on reality. That was a more practical approach than he'd expected. Still. "Lotor, you are my sole heir and my only son. This is the single most dangerous mission available at this moment. I would be remiss in my duty to the kingdom if I gave it to you—or have you forgotten that duty plays into this?"
Lotor's eyes glowed and he slammed a fist against the door frame. "I'm quite well aware of that, and I wonder how you expect me to ever take the throne if all you let me do is lounge around in classrooms and cower behind easy missions? I must fight and prove my worth, the same as you did!"
Zarkon barely kept himself from flinching. Somehow he hadn't expected Lotor to spring that particular point on him—perhaps because he'd expected he would see the differences. After all, Zarkon had had two sisters who could have taken over if he'd fallen in combat. Not to mention that insane father, who certainly hadn't been thinking about continuity of government when he'd thrown his fleets around.
That said, the point was not completely invalid... and it irked him that he hadn't seen it coming. "I've half a mind to order you back to Straton."
"You wouldn't."
Sigh. "No, I won't." He shot Lotor a look of genuine displeasure. "I am giving you the acting rank of Commander, and you will take control of the Death Defiant and its fleet. Your mission profile is no more or less than the destruction of Voltron. This assignment is provisional; I'm going to be keeping a close eye on things. If I don't like what I see, you will be back on Straton before you know what hit you. Understand?"
Smiling broadly enough to fully bare his fangs, Lotor gave a deep bow and took two steps back, through the doorway. "I understand completely, Father. I will make you proud."
We'll see about that. "Save your promises, Lotor. Bring me results."
The idea of someone new taking over the Death Defiant was grating. Lirik contemplated this fact as she put the dreadnought's crew through afternoon drills, surprised to find herself thinking that way. It wasn't her nature to be so sentimental... but she didn't think it was just concern over her own potential reassignment, either.
Although that certainly played into it.
Technically, her rank was Master Sergeant In Attendance; she served as chief aide to a fleet commander, and her posting was on this ship. In practice, commanders often brought their trusted aides with them when they were reassigned. When a new admiral was appointed and took over the Death Defiant, there was a better than even chance Lirik would find herself shuffled elsewhere. Probably serving some new commander who hadn't built their own crew yet.
Such was life. Her experience would be most valuable for such an assignment, and it was her duty to give aid wherever her presence was required. If she were reassigned, she should take pride in the new task.
But Voltron would still stand. And she wouldn't even be able to avenge Admiral Yurak, who'd plucked her from the ranks and cultivated her talents, who'd treated his underlings as equals and allies rather than tools to be used. Others would fulfill that mission.
Unacceptable.
Unavoidable.
Sighing, she focused on Snuff, who was certainly not doing any of this soul-searching. The helmsman would probably remain on the Death Defiant until either he or it crumbled from age. "That ought to be sufficient."
He pressed a few buttons and the bridge went dark, the simulation over. "Still lookin' pretty good out there, but it's a wonder we ain't had a total chaotic melee yet. Our gunners are itchy, so're the rest of 'em. If His Highness keeps us on Korrinoth much longer, people're gonna snap." He snapped his fingers loud enough to cause a few inattentive crew members to jump.
"Indeed. But we're going to be here for some time yet, I expect."
"Yeah, I know. Politics. Silly. Maybe we oughta have a few sim brawls, forget the maneuvers and just shoot each other up a bit. Let some steam off, y'know?"
Lirik cocked her head. "Not a bad thought." She enjoyed hearing the helmsman talk. He came from Masillon, a rough frontier world on the far side of the galaxy, and still displayed most of the irreverence common to such distant planets. His words were coarse, but the accent was almost songlike and the ideas were never without merit. "Perhaps we'll do that tomorrow."
"We've got incoming," one of the sensor techs called out. Which was patently ridiculous, considering the simulation was over. When most of the bridge crew whirled to give her odd looks, a dark blush spread over the speaker's cheeks. "Apologies, I mean incoming on the ground. I'm opening the front boarding ramp."
Oh. Checking a nearby monitor, Lirik saw what was going on; Prince Lotor was briskly approaching the dreadnought. Interesting. They hadn't seen the prince since Yurak's funeral. Given the way the war was escalating throughout the Denubian, she'd assumed he had been reassigned already.
It took him a few more minutes to reach the bridge, and he immediately sought her out to nod a greeting. "Master Sergeant, always a pleasure." He gave a brief nod to Grayl, clearly for personal reasons rather than protocol, then returned his focus to Lirik. "I'll be direct. I've been given provisional command of this ship and its fleet. Rather than being the admiral's personal command, you are now part of the task force dedicated to the defeat of Voltron."
...Surely not.
In theory it was a terrible demotion. Serving under the Prince Imperial was an honor, but he was largely untested in combat, and certainly the status as a mere task force was a far cry from being the personal guard of the Ninth Kingdom's highest officer. But...
They would still face Voltron.
Nothing else really mattered, did it?
She bowed to their new commander. "We are at your service, my lord."
"'Sir' will do." He crossed his arms. "Is the fleet ready to move out?"
He moves fast. "Not in the least, sir."
"Any of it?"
Lirik frowned, wondering where this was going, but presumably if she answered the question she would find out. "Most of the fleet is undergoing deep maintenance; as you know, it's been some time since we had that opportunity. The Death Defiant itself is complete, as are the Intransigent and the Pride of Ralimar—both destroyers," she explained quickly when Lotor looked to be searching for the names. It was his fleet now, but one could hardly expect him to have memorized the ships yet. "I believe the Six-Winged Shrike, which is a cruiser, will be up to speed within the next two days."
He shook his head. "No need for that. What we have now will be enough. We simply need transport and some firepower as a deterrence; the ships ought not be in danger." Frown. "Before we throw our full might at Voltron, I wish to know the extent of the humans' honor... we will go to Arus, and give them a challenge no worthy foe would refuse. We will learn a great deal from their response."
Snuff's eyes flickered in the dimness. "All due respect, Highness, ain't that puttin' the ships in danger?"
"Not at all. I intend to challenge their commander on the ground."
That was the moment Lirik realized all the rumors about Lotor were not just rumors. He really was idealistic to the point of madness. Or perhaps to the point of being most admirable... many Drule warriors gave lip service to the old ways, but very few seemed to take them to heart anymore.
The prince looked over the bridge, taking in the concerned expressions from the crew. His crew, now. After a few moments of silence he frowned. "I hope that you will all be bold enough to offer your honest advice, as you were with Admiral Yurak before me. If this plan is without merit, say so."
Lirik considered that. It was highly unorthodox... but who was she to argue with that? Yurak hadn't earned the name Lionbane by thinking conventionally. And he was right, the humans had shown some capacity for honor. Maybe the prince wasn't so far off base. Maybe he would be a worthy successor after all, and bring them the vengeance and victory they craved.
Suddenly she felt eyes on her. After all, she'd been the one guiding the Death Defiant in the absence of a new commander. If she expressed doubts, they would trickle down. If she expressed confidence, though, they would follow. This moment would set the tone of their mission... she drew her fist to her chest, saluting with no further hesitation. "Lead and we will follow, Prince Lotor."
He returned the salute, but she could see him fighting down the faintest hint of a smile. "Then we move. Now!"
Things were speeding up. It seemed like they'd barely had time to recover from Bokar—hell, Nanny hadn't even finished digging out the backup china. And suddenly the alarms were sounding again, a new Drule fleet had been sighted, and Keith hadn't even finished his morning coffee.
"I liked it better when we were waiting for the hammer to drop," Lance muttered as the team gathered in the control room.
"I never thought I'd hear you complain about killing Drules."
"See, chief, it's like anything else. More enjoyable after a good breakfast." He was still nibbling on a piece of toast as Coran pulled up the monitors. "So what's the story?"
"They've jumped into low orbit over the western mountains. Only three ships, that's odd... ah." The advisor frowned and looked up. "We're being hailed by the Death Defiant."
It had been quite some time since the Drules wanted to talk before shooting. It might be a good sign... they could hope, anyway. "I'll take it." Settling into the command chair, Keith hit the blinking icon which indicated an incoming transmission. "Voltron Force responding. This is Commander Kogane."
"Good morning, Commander." He recognized the low voice immediately. "I am Lotor, Prince Imperial of the Ninth Kingdom; I believe we've spoken before. Your honor has been noticed by the Supremacy, and I now challenge that honor. I invite you to a duel. You will choose a neutral location, and I will set the terms. Come alone. My fleet will not intervene, nor may your lions."
A duel? The Prince Imperial is challenging a lowly human to a duel? Keith drew back, startled, and shot a glare at his team to call for silence. Most of them looked as shocked as he felt. "Hand to hand, then?"
"Indeed. Bring your melee weapon of choice." A brief pause. "You are within your rights to refuse this challenge, Commander. We will depart, and know you for a coward—and proceed accordingly. Accept, and you will be respected as an enemy of courage and honor. However... should you attempt to take advantage of us, know that we will return dishonor with dishonor. My fleet is currently positioned over the largest settlement we have detected on this world. Slaughtering innocent civilians out of spite would be dishonorable indeed."
A chill cloaked the control room with those last words. "He wouldn't," Lance snarled.
"Quiet, Lance." There was no sense pointing out that Lotor most certainly would carry out the threat; he knew his friend was speaking out of anger rather than thought.
A chuckle came over the comms. "Ah, but of course, you have your companions to consider. The Drule Supremacy is generous; I will give you fifteen minutes to make your decision."
Keith nodded though there was no video link, and cut off the comms, leaving the chair and pacing around it. His mind was made up. "I'll accept, of course. We've taken inventory in the armory, haven't we? I'm going to need a couple of swords." He kept his tone calm, matter of fact, hoping to display that he wasn't going to accept any argument.
Not that that really ever stopped anyone.
"Keith, you can't be serious!" The only surprise about the objection was that Allura beat Lance to the punch. "You're not really going to go out there and fight that monster alone, are you?"
"Monster might be a bit strong—"
"—Don't start that." Her eyes flashed with blue-hot venom. "He talks about how dishonorable it would be to kill innocent civilians, but look what the Drules did to this planet! You can't possibly believe he means what he says."
This probably wasn't the time to try to explain the nuances of Drule culture; an attack of conquest was seen as something rather different than killing out of spite, but the princess wasn't likely to find that a convincing argument. Besides, Keith wasn't in the mood to defend logic he himself disagreed with. "I believe him, and I'm going to fight him. Do you understand the alternative? If we're branded as cowards, that puts us somewhere below animals in the Supremacy's eyes. Things will get a lot worse."
"Well you're sure as all the hells not going alone," Lance growled.
"Of course I am. Unless we want that settlement reduced to ash."
"At least let me come with you, he'll never see—"
"No, Pidge." Keith crossed his arms and looked over his team. "For the last time, no. Listen, he's not going to double cross me. Drules value honor too highly. A rank and file warrior, maybe it'd be more of a threat, but he's a prince—the Prince Imperial, no less. If word got out he had to cheat in a duel against a human, he wouldn't be able to show his face for a year."
"Are we sure he's a prince?" Hunk asked, sounding casual, though there was a faint shadow in his eyes that Keith would've called bitterness in anyone else. The big engineer was still kicking himself a bit over the last 'prince' they'd encountered.
It wasn't a bad question, anyway, and the commander nodded. "Yes, I've heard of Prince Lotor. The Alliance doesn't know much about him, but he was supposedly off Doom studying when we deployed; I'd imagine he's been recalled to help deal with the war."
Lance arched a challenging eyebrow. "And are you sure you aren't putting a little too much stake in this Drule honor thing? I mean, you told us robeasts were always lobotomized aliens, too."
...Fair point. He sighed. If the challenge was legitimate, breaking the deal would have terrible repercussions. If it was a trap, he would likely end up dead. Balance. There had to be a balance.
"Okay. Here's the plan. I'll keep my comms open." He stopped pacing and held up his wristcomp to emphasize the point. "I'll fight him along the beach, it's far enough away to be neutral. Blue Lion should be able to move down the river and into the ocean without being detected, and can be in position to back me up if necessary."
His second didn't look too happy with the arrangement. "And the rest of us are supposed to do what, exactly? Sit around listening to the inevitable disaster?"
"I appreciate your confidence, Lance. No. Here, look." He pulled up a map of the coastline and pointed to what the outdated display still believed was a city. "Allura, the ruins are still abandoned here, correct?"
The princess nodded. "So far the rebuilding is centered around the mountains, not the coast." Of course he'd really known that already. They all knew it. Including the Drules, apparently. "We've had salvage teams in there, they report the remaining structures are at least mostly stable."
"Excellent. The rest of you, hide in there. Don't even think about making a move unless Lotor moves first." He swept his best glare over the team, making sure they understood he meant business. "If we break this deal, they will raze that settlement before we can do anything about it, and you know it. So don't give them any excuses."
"Chief, I know this might be hard to believe." Hunk crossed his arms and gave him a moderately insulted look. "But we actually don't just sit around waitin' to break all your orders for giggles. I mean, most of us don't. Maybe Lance, but that's all."
"Thanks, big guy."
"Any time."
Keith couldn't suppress a brief chuckle. "Okay, fair enough. Just be careful..." He paused a moment as something new occurred to him. He had to actually get to the coast at some point. Launching Black Lion was out of the question, but walking to the battle site would take far too long, not to mention leaving him in poor shape for a duel. "Um. Do we have some kind of shuttle around here?"
A wince from the princess. "No. No, we don't... the two we've managed to repair are both delivering supplies to the settlements."
"Take Bokar's ship," Pidge suggested. "We'll pile in the cargo hold and sneak out into the ruins after you land."
Not a bad solution. It would also be seen as a calculated insult; the traitor's craft had been the property of the Ninth Kingdom, after all. It would irritate the prince, perhaps throw him off balance. He nodded. "Okay. Everyone, quiet." His gaze lingered on Lance briefly, then he returned to the console. "Prince Lotor? Commander Kogane. I accept your invitation, and am sending my chosen location. I'll be arriving in a light Sennecite transport."
Was he mistaken, or had he heard a faint snarl when he announced the ship he'd be bringing? "Very well, Commander. I look forward to our battle. Lotor out."
Lotor's shuttle was the first to reach the chosen site; he'd expected as much. He found the location quite reasonable, actually a bit closer to his fleet than to the Arusian castle. As his shuttle came down, he studied the beach and sought out any potential ambush locations. There were ruins in the distance, and a rock formation along the river at his back, but all in all visibility was good.
Nodding his satisfaction, he picked up a rock and drew a wide circle with it in the sand. And then he waited.
About two minutes later, a low whine echoed over the beach, and a narrow-winged transport craft threw its shadow over the sand. Lotor scowled. He knew perfectly well how the humans had acquired such a ship... and really, it was unworthy to be so annoyed. They'd won it from its previous pilot quite fairly.
Still, he was looking forward to landing a few extra blows for the insult.
A dark form vaulted from the ship's cockpit. For an instant, he thought he also saw a shadow move at the rear of the transport, but it was gone a moment later and he decided it must have been a trick of the light. Arus was such a bright planet. So unlike the constant overcast of Korrinoth or the far-distant, nearly invisible sun of Straton. Looking at the burning orb in the sky, he wondered if he should've waited until nightfall. Hopefully the brightness wouldn't prove distracting.
Hindsight was what it was.
Turning his attention back to the ground, Lotor studied his foe carefully. He'd never actually seen a human in person before; the upstart apes had so rarely interfered in Denubian affairs until now. Even with the images sent by the fallen spy, he had rather expected something smaller and filthier... the enemy commander was nearly as tall and muscular as the prince himself, and that surprised him.
It also pleased him. Perhaps this would be a good fight after all.
He bowed. "Commander Kogane."
The human returned the gesture warily. "Prince Lotor."
Gesturing to the circle around them, Lotor drew his sword. "I'd prefer a fight to the death, but I suspect you'd be averse to accepting it, and my father would be most annoyed with me. We do both have politics to worry about. So we will set this line as our boundary, and whoever steps outside it will lose the fight. Acceptable?"
Kogane considered this for a moment, drawing his weapons as well. Two blades, shorter and broader than the laser blade Lotor wielded. "Acceptable enough. What are your terms?"
"If you win, I will return a hundred slaves taken from this world." He had, in fact, traced one hundred Arusian slaves just in case—women and children, of course. Weaker laborers. Humans seemed to consider women and children more important to protect, so it was really an ideal arrangement. "If I win, you will hand over Princess Allura."
That got him a frown, and he was certain a reflexive refusal nearly followed it. Then the icy blue eyes lit with something very close to amusement. "I couldn't promise the princess if I wanted to, Prince Lotor. You assume she'd come quietly, and that's not a very safe bet."
Of course. He liked hearing that. To be piloting a lion, he'd known the lovely princess must have spirit; the commander's words confirmed it. "Then if you lose, I shall take her."
A few more moments of consideration, then the human removed a device from his wrist and tossed it outside of the circle. "Just a computer," he explained when the prince arched an eyebrow. "It would get in my way, and surely you want the best fight possible?"
A competitive soul. Good. Nodding, Lotor saluted with his blade. "We shall see if your skill matches your courage, human. Prepare yourself!"
"I'm ready."
Niceties were done; no need for any more discussion. He sprang.
Keith recognized his opponent's style of swordsmanship from the first moment: Gar Strasis, the Art of the Predator. It was pretty easy to identify, all told... it was a no-nonsense style of relentless advances and brutal, stabbing strikes. Defense was a minor consideration, because the idea was to keep the opponent on their heels, and for Lotor's first few attacks it worked precisely as advertised. Keith had no choice but to give ground as his opponent bore down on him, blade flashing with such swiftness that even a graze would be crippling.
Sure, this wasn't technically a fight to the death. He could always flee the circle. But a mortal wound would be mortal no matter what the terms, and he certainly hadn't been expecting the prince to pull any punches.
Nor did he intend to do so himself.
The greatest strength of Gar Strasis was in fact its most glaring weakness. Every ounce of the swordsman's power went into the blows; the strikes were suicidal to try to block and devastating when they struck true, yet fast enough that a miss didn't leave any significant openings to exploit. But it left the wielder quite unbalanced. So long as they controlled the direction of combat, that was of no concern—but losing that control threw it all off.
The second problem wasn't really the technique's fault at all. Drules simply had a tendency for tunnel vision.
Lotor was exceptionally skilled; his dance was intoxicating, drawing Keith into closer and closer dodges, forcing him steadily back toward the boundary. If one focused on Keith's weapons, the prince was clearly winning their fight.
Weapons weren't everything.
He was playing along intentionally, letting his opponent believe he was falling into the rhythm. But he was biding his own time. And just when it seemed like he'd run out of room to maneuver, that he would have to either fling himself from the circle or let the blade pierce his chest, he made his move.
Lotor lunged, eyes lighting with triumph, and Keith twisted under the driving strike and slide-tackled the Drule's legs right out from under him. The prince went down with a startled yelp, jumping up just short of the boundary as Keith returned to the middle of the circle. "Clever, human." No hesitation. He charged again.
It took Keith a moment to realize his opponent had switched tactics—expecting another stab, he nearly failed to parry the slash which would have ripped right across his chest. As it was his block was clumsy, leaving no possibility of a counterattack, and he pulled back to seek out another opening.
The prince backed off as well, taking a wide stance and holding his blade level with the ground. A new form, without doubt... Gar Rusoros, the Art of the Defender. Despite himself, Keith was impressed. The two styles were pretty much as different as it was possible to be—to slip so seamlessly from one mindset to the other was no small accomplishment.
Of course, that assumed Lotor had actually transitioned mentally. Let's test your defenses. This time he sprinted forward, giving no quarter himself, both blades flashing even faster than the prince's predatory strikes.
No openings.
"Not bad," he admitted quietly, switching tactics and falling into a more defensive stance himself. In most cases Keith preferred to be defensive, to let the opponent make the mistakes and focus only on the counterstrikes. But after what he'd seen so far, he wasn't too sure he count count on Lotor making mistakes. Matter of fact he was quite certain he couldn't.
And then, he switched arts again. Drules only had three major sword techniques—their cultural emphasis was on discipline and perfection, not creativity. This was the most complicated, the most dangerous... Gar Kotsar, the Art of the Gods. A very aptly named sword style, one which wove ghostly illusions in with its vicious strikes. His first attack was nearly invisible in the morning sun, as the glow of his blade reflected the light and left afterimages seared into Keith's vision.
He blocked, but not completely; a burning gash opened up in his arm, and he'd never even seen the sword connect.
That's it. This has to end now.
He was only going to get one shot at this, and if he botched it heads would roll. His head, in any case. Darting in with his blades raised, he blocked the next strike directly. The laser sword carved through his weapons easily, but it was clear his opponent hadn't expected to actually land the blow—as the metal yielded, Lotor stumbled, momentarily off balance again.
Keith dropped the broken hilts and grabbed for an arm. Got you! Whirling around, he threw the prince with all his strength, hard enough that he fell to his own knees as his victim went tumbling from the circle.
Lotor was on his feet quickly; it took him a moment to realize what had just happened. Looking down at Keith, still crouched on the ground, his eyes widened for a moment. Were it not for the brilliant sunlight, they would certainly have been visibly glowing. Then the prince laughed. "Well played, Commander Kogane. Well played indeed. But your own control leaves something to be desired."
...Don't tell me. He knew what he was going to see before he even bothered to look. And sure enough, when he lowered his eyes, he saw one knee had come to rest just beyond the boundary of the circle.
Human logic would say that Lotor had exited first, that Keith was barely out of bounds, and after all, it had been his maneuver in the first place. Human logic would be to grant Keith victory because it just made so much sense that way. Drule logic didn't work like that. In fact, an argument could be made that his tactic backfiring on him made him the loser...
Better to head that off. "Looks like a draw."
"So it appears." Lotor sheathed his sword and nodded. "I do not impress easily, Commander. But I am... intrigued. We will depart for—"
Before he could finish the sentence, the howl of a Drule warship engine rang through the sky, washing over the beach from the mountains. One of the destroyers had broken ranks, flame erupting from its weapon ports as it bore down on the settlement.
Goddammit!
Keith glanced back in time to see Lance charging from the ruins. His second drew his pistols, taking a single shot that went high as Lotor threw himself to the ground. He was screaming, presumably at an active comm crystal, though the words weren't audible; it should be no surprise that he'd taken his own precautions. More than precautions.
Double-crossing bastard.
Kneeling and grabbing his wristcomp, the commander looked up just in time to see the ocean rippling off to his left. Blue Lion erupted from the water, turning on Lotor and firing several ion darts in his direction, but the lions weren't really designed to attack such small targets. The shots impacted harmlessly in the sand around the prince.
"Just get that destroyer, Allura."
"On it."
He regretted the order as soon as he gave it. Targeting problems would only have saved the prince for so long, and getting rid of him would have been a huge victory. But he shook it off; they were here to defend the people, and that had to come first.
Suddenly Pidge appeared in front of Lotor. Keith had no idea how he'd gotten there, but was reasonably certain it meant the young warrior hadn't been hiding in the ruins at all, and he was going to get a nice lecture on following orders later... but first they all had to live through this, which might be easier said than done.
In fairness, it certainly hadn't been Pidge's hiding place that had set all this off.
Lotor pulled to a halt, clearly startled by the small form that had appeared in front of him. In truth he wasn't all that far away, but as Blue Lion screamed through the sky and opened fire on its target, the noise drowned out anything the prince might have said. All Keith could be certain of was that if Lotor had said anything, the young warrior didn't respond. He just lunged.
The prince was quick, very quick, as Keith had learned the hard way. But Pidge was quicker. As he darted forward Lotor made an attempt to counter, with a maneuver that was well-chosen and technically sound... except by the time he was in position he didn't actually have his sword anymore. It was on the ground ten feet away, and Pidge was standing over it looking exceptionally pleased with himself.
By rights, being disarmed by an alien half his size ought to disorient a proud Drule, at least for a moment. It didn't. And clearly Pidge was expecting at least a brief hesitation too, because he jumped back much too slowly when Lotor charged him. While he was moving he threw a couple of shuriken, which stuck in the prince's shoulder but didn't seem to actually deter him at all.
In a single fluid motion, Lotor retrieved his sword and landed a slash to the young warrior's ribs.
"Pidge!"
More plasma bolts shot out, Lance no longer worrying about little things like careful aim—if he had anything more on his mind than not hitting his teammate, it wasn't too apparent. Under the sudden explosion of fire, Lotor clearly decided pressing his advantage was less important than getting to shelter. He turned, sprinting for his own shuttle.
The distraction came just in time for his would-be victim; the engineer was crouched and grimacing, the side of his dark uniform becoming stained darker by blood. The wound looked much worse than the one Keith had taken, but the slice down his own arm probably meant he should stay off the front lines now.
Every so often, commander or not, he could sit back and let his teammates handle things. "Lance, stick with him. I'll get Pidge."
"No problem. I'd bring you his head on a plate, if Coran hadn't broken all of them."
Snorting in reluctant amusement, Keith broke off his pursuit and knelt beside Pidge. "How bad is it?"
"I'll live. Your arm's a mess, did you know? You should get that looked at."
Typical. "Shut up about my arm and let me see your side. By the way, where the hell were you hiding out when you were supposed to be in the ruins?"
"That's for me to know and you not to know." He raised his arm to reveal the long but shallow cut down his side, and flinched when his commander started pulling shreds of seared cloth from his uniform out of the wound. "Stop that!"
"No. You'll get an infection."
"Fine, then when you get done let me yank stuff out of the oozing bloody scar you've got, and then we'll be even."
"Also no. I'll have Dr. Gorma tend to mine. Command prerogative."
Pidge swatted the back of his head, lightly, and muttered something that was unintelligible but undoubtedly not polite.
A whine of engines and a burst of swearing—this time in crystal clear English—distracted them. Lance hadn't caught up with Lotor, and the prince had made it to shelter. That was... suboptimal. The fact that his shelter had engines and weaponry was even less optimal.
Lotor had piloted a standard Drule shuttle to the Arusian surface. Not a fighter, merely a small transport. But in this day and age, every ship that was the slightest bit spaceworthy carried point-defense weapons—light guns which could at least rip up asteroids or debris that threatened the craft in flight.
Naturally, such weapons were also perfectly capable of tearing people up on the ground.
As the shuttle lifted off, two streams of glittering tracers and heavy slugs pounded into the beach right next to Lance, who threw himself to the side and started running for the water. Good choice, undoubtedly the first thing that came to mind in the heat of combat. Of course, even if he made it to the water his teammates would still be sitting ducks.
Maybe they should think about moving.
Before he could give the order, something hit the shuttle and rocked its whole chassis. Not too violently, but noticeably. As the small craft stabilized itself, a second impact left a visible dent in one wing. Keith frowned, trying to make sense of it. He and Pidge were down comparing injuries, Allura was otherwise occupied in Blue, Lance was scrambling for cover, and Hunk...
...Hunk had an impractically gigantic rifle that he considered a sidearm. Right. That would explain it. "No worries, guys!" the big pilot announced over their wristcomps, sounding as casual as anything. "I've got this."
Militaristic as their society was, Drules didn't tend to armor their light shuttlecraft; a third impact nearly pierced the cockpit, and Lotor seemed to decide he'd had quite enough for one day. The shuttle pulled an impressively tight turn and departed, though not before Hunk landed one more shot to its hull.
"Nice shooting, big guy." Lance had stopped perhaps ten feet from the ocean. "And nice timing. I really didn't want to go for a swim today."
"Yeah, yeah. You just didn't want to ruin your jacket."
"Which is an entirely valid thought process, thank you very much."
Keith rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Lotor's shuttle. It was heading back to the small Drule fleet at full speed; the destroyer which had broken ranks had returned, and the Death Defiant was already orienting to deploy a jumpgate. "Allura, what's your situation?"
"The destroyer retreated as soon as it saw me coming," the princess reported, sounding a little disappointed. "I got in a few good hits, but didn't really think you would want me trying to face off with the dreadnought alone, so I stopped to survey the damage instead. It seemed wiser."
Understatement of the century. "Good call."
"Thanks." Her voice became low, subdued. "Several fatalities at the settlement, but it could have been much worse. I have two badly wounded civilians in Blue Lion and I'm taking them to the castle."
Standing and pulling Pidge to his feet as well, Keith headed for the Sennecite transport. "We're heading in also. Pidge got himself a nice cut to the ribs." He didn't bother to mention his own injury, and his companion elbowed him a little harder than necessary. "...I might've gotten a bit of a scrape too, but it can wait."
At his side, green eyes raised to the heavens with a long-suffering sigh. "Chief, you are even more obnoxious than your sidekick sometimes."
"I heard that, squirt."
"I was transmitting on purpose, Lance."
"You're all obnoxious," Keith retorted, shutting them up. Briefly. He knew it wouldn't last, and he knew he deserved what was coming next. Not that he intended to take it lying down. "And Lance, don't bother saying it."
"Don't bother saying what? That I told you so? Oh come on, Keith. Just because I told you so, I would never dream of actually saying I told you so."
"Yeah. I know you wouldn't."
It had been awhile since the medical wing had three patients at once. At least Gorma had a staff these days—a staff that consisted of exactly one nurse, but it was better than nothing. The two wounded peasants from the mountain settlement were in bad shape, but he'd expressed confidence that both would recover.
The nurse had rushed over to tend to Pidge, much to the little warrior's intense displeasure. The last Allura had heard before they vanished into a treatment room, she'd been threatening to tie him to a cot to keep him still. Good luck with that, Nurse Sharmila. You're going to need it.
That left Keith sitting in the waiting area, frowning and holding a damp cloth against the bloody slice on his upper arm. The princess studied the injury; while she was far from trained in medical arts, she'd patched up more than a few survivors in the days immediately following Doom's attack. "Keith, I can probably wrap that for you if you like."
He reddened, but recovered quickly. "Uh. Would you mind? I mean, I'd do it myself, but it's kind of... you know... on my arm."
Allura giggled. "Oh, I understand. Come on." She led him to an empty room, washed her hands, and poked through the cabinets to find some disinfectant. "This might sting a little."
"No disrespect intended, princess, but I just got my arm sliced open by a laser blade. It already stings. A little disinfectant surely can't make it worse."
She shrugged and opened the bottle, grimacing a little as the sterile floral scent washed over the room. It brought back memories—not all of them unpleasant. Memories of scraping her knee during some ill-fated adventure in the castle catacombs, of her father taking time from his busy royal schedule to dote on her as if she'd actually broken something. Memories of discovering some peculiar fuzzy creature in the gardens, only to be introduced to its razor-sharp teeth when she got too close. And of course memories of walking among the dead and the dying, looking for anyone who could yet be saved...
When she started rubbing the oily substance into the wound, Keith gave a howl that was not very soldier-like at all. "What is that?"
"Disinfectant." She fought back a smile when he growled in annoyance, and took pity on him after spending another minute on the wound. "It's a traditional formula made from amala root. Extremely effective. I did warn you it would sting."
"There is a difference," he muttered sullenly, "between 'sting' and 'burn like all the fires of hell', just so you know." The princess could feel the embarrassment rolling off him, but was actually impressed that he'd only cried out once. It was a nasty wound, and amala disinfectant really did inflict its own special agony on an injury.
"You have to promise me you'll come get this looked at for real later. I highly doubt it merits stitches, but you can't be too careful."
"Yeah." Keith watched her as she found a roll of cloth to dress the wound, but when she pulled a sling out of a supply cupboard he shook his head vigorously. "Hey! Don't you think that's a bit much?"
"Not really. No arguing or I'll go get Nanny to handle this."
Flinch. "Okay, okay." He took the rest of the treatment without another word, then stood and tugged at the sling. "Ugh. Lance won't let me live this down. ...Hell, forget Lance. Pidge won't even let me live this down."
She laughed. "Pidge has his own problems. Sharmila really will tie him to a bed if he doesn't cooperate."
"Might be good for him. Come on, let's get back to the control room... we've got a few things to discuss." His eyes narrowed as he focused on her, and the princess had a sneaking suspicion she knew what he was wanting to talk about.
In all the chaos that had erupted afterward, she'd nearly forgotten about Lotor's terms for the duel. And while they made her uneasy, she understood full well that Keith had had to accept... and why such a demand would be necessary. After all, robbing Arus of its last heir would be a crippling blow to morale, even if they didn't know she was flying a lion.
Understandable or not, Allura was quite certain of one thing. She didn't want her guardians to know the prince of the Ninth Kingdom had been calling her out by name. "I think it's best if we not mention that in front of Coran, actually."
He hesitated, blinked once. "...Okay, hadn't really thought about that. You're probably right." But his eyes narrowed as they started down the hallway. "But Drules are persistent. If he's decided he wants to get his hands on you, he's not going to stop. At least promise me you'll be careful."
"Of course I will. As careful as it's possible to be while flying a robotic lion into mortal peril on a regular basis..." Keith's eyes darkened and she realized maybe that had been more than she'd needed to say. "Forget that last part. I'll be careful."
He sighed, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth debating any further. Probably wise.
As they entered the control room, an alert sound went off as if on cue. Not the attack alarms, though. Just a warning of an incoming transmission... Keith stepped forward. "What is it now?"
Settling into the chair before the monitors, Coran glanced over the instruments and cocked his head. "We're receiving a broadcast from deep space; it's tagged as originating with the Death Defiant. No encryption, full video. Bringing it up now." He typed a few commands and let the monitor flicker to life.
Prince Lotor was standing in a small room, empty save for a second Drule who was chained to the floor beside him. "This transmission is being broadcast to friend and foe alike," the prince declared coolly. "I wish there to be no mistake about my intentions. My warriors will behave with discipline, or they will suffer the consequences." He turned to his prisoner. "This is Varkor, formerly commander of the destroyer Pride of Ralimar. On Arus, he chose to disobey my direct orders, and broke an agreement I had made with the defenders of that world. In doing so he brought great shame upon the Ninth Kingdom, as well as nearly costing me my life."
"Shame it was only nearly," Lance muttered. "I almost had that haughty bastard."
The prince's eyes glowed fiercely. "Honor and discipline are the most critical founding principles of the Drule Supremacy. They are the bright lines drawn between men and animals. If we cannot keep our word, no matter who it is given to, what right do we have to rule?"
Hunk frowned and leaned on the back of the command chair. "He sure likes to hear himself talk."
"I don't think the talking is for our benefit," Keith countered softly. There was a glimmer of anticipation from him. A dark anticipation that was not quite nervousness... the feeling only intensified what was running through Allura, something much colder and stronger.
Dread.
She knew what was going to happen. She wasn't so sheltered. And while the rest of the team might not be thinking that far ahead, their commander knew it as well.
Lotor turned from the camera. "Those who prove themselves animals are fit only to be slaughtered." With a fierce shriek of scraping metal, he drew his sword—a ceremonial blade, not the laser weapon he'd used to fight Keith—and brought it down squarely on the bound Drule's throat, severing the head in a single blow. "Such is the price of insubordination. Such is the price of dishonor!"
The transmission cut out.
"...Okay then." Even Lance was gawking at the blank screen in disbelief. "So uh, chief. You remember what you were saying about how we've been fighting the wrong war?"
"I remember."
"I think I liked that one better."
Entering for his afternoon session, Kylos found his patient sitting in bed, which was unusual enough to worry him. Lately the human had been pacing around his room quite a bit, as if he wanted to prove he was capable of walking—regardless of whether such action was intelligent or not. Finding him resting and taking care of himself could only mean something terrible had happened.
"Sven, is something wrong?"
"Not at all. I just want to talk."
It took Kylos a moment to believe what he'd just heard. Finally. He stepped forward and took a seat, trying not to look too pleased, lest his patient reconsider just to be contrary. "Of course."
"Tell me about Ebb."
...That was not what I was hoping for. It was still a start, he supposed. "What do you wish to know?" Ebb was a curious planet, in the galactic order. Few worlds focused so strongly on a single pursuit. And no other world had so successfully claimed true neutrality... among all the Denubian Galaxy, many worlds might escape the war as it intensified, but only Ebb managed to maintain trade contracts with both the Alliance and the Supremacy. These were all fascinating points in theory, but patients rarely cared about them.
Perhaps Sven didn't either. "Geography."
That was an awfully broad request. He gave it a try. "Ebb has some similarities to your homeworld—you are from Earth itself, are you not?" He'd done a bit of background research on the human homeworld, but not any of the colonies it maintained in its own galaxy.
The human nodded. He did not offer any more information.
Fair enough. "There are twelve major continents on Ebb; we are on Haurvatat, one of the smaller, very near to the equator. As a whole our climate is somewhat milder than Earth's. Some eighty percent of our world is covered in water..."
"Are we near the water?" Sven interrupted.
Kylos hesitated. He suddenly knew where this was headed. "We... yes. We're quite near the Kenta River."
"Can we go there?"
They stared at each other for some interminable period of time. Kylos didn't care for the idea. His patient was still weak, and far too stubborn to take care of himself even in the confines of his hospital room—let alone going outdoors.
Yet... there was something about the water. Something that made a spark of life appear in Sven's midnight eyes.
Part of being a sanahar was knowing when to push, and when to acquiesce. He decided to issue a test now. "If we are leaving this building, I must insist we take a wheelchair."
He'd been anticipating the flare of icy fury, and was ready for it. Such wild emotions were easy to neutralize when they were expected. How important is this to you, Sven Holgersson? Is the call of the water so strong you will submit to the care of another?
A long silence. Caring for this patient had resolved itself into a dark tapestry of hostility and silence, and he was no longer unduly disturbed by such moments. His disturbance now rested solely where it ought to be: concern for the effects of these shadows upon the human in his care.
When Sven spoke it was a struggle thoroughly unrelated to his injuries. "If we must."
It was a breakthrough, a victory, and Kylos smiled as he revealed the full extent of his test. "I said we must take a wheelchair," he clarified. "To be safe. If we need not use it, so much the better."
Sven's entire demeanor changed in an instant. For an instant. But the gratitude that washed through him was unmistakable... as was the flicker in his eyes, a flicker of disbelieving wonder. For that moment, perhaps for the first time since waking on Ebb, he was looking at Kylos as something other than an enemy.
The sanahar was pleased. Finally... finally... they were making some progress.