Winning Days
Book IV: The Beaten Generation, Part III
By Purrsia Kat
Stepping out onto the balcony of his palace, Zeppo took in the city before him. His eyes scanned the aging structures, once hailed as the most advanced and brilliant of architecture, but now reduced to mere shadows of their former greatness. They were crumbling under the weight of the dying world around it, just as the Council's hold over the people was undergoing an equally rapid deterioration.
He watched the few citizens milling about in the square, noting they didn't bother to notice his conspicuous presence on the balcony. He made fewer and fewer public appearances anymore. Some among the Council murmured that this was because Zeppo knew the sentiment of the people was turning against him. That he was afraid to face their scorn or the assassins in the shadows. Zeppo did not fear his subjects. If anything, he was more wary of those on the Council as far as scorn and sniping went. Thinking about his people – that simply depressed him. Looking upon them was like staring his failures in the face. Even he never wanted it to come to this.
He sighed heavily, his mind drifting back to a different time. A time longer than practically any Drule living now could remember. But he could, thanks to Zarkon's old witch and the anti-aging potions she'd supply him with. It wasn't a fountain of youth, by any means, and surely time had finally put its mark on Zeppo. But it allowed him to still have strength and a sharp mind, and he remembered much. Including back when he was truly young, rather than artificially so.
When he was just a young heir, his father died suddenly leaving him not only to rule an Empire, but also to shepherd their people through crisis. The drought on the surface of Drule was so severe people were suffering and dying by the hundreds of thousands. The conditions there were unbearable and at that time, migrating to a new world was not an option for they didn't have the transport capacity to pull off such a feat.
It was his father that talked of digging deep to find more water and trying to irrigate. But Zeppo took it one step farther. He would move the people underground out of the glare of the searing sun. With time working against them, he enlisted the help from nearby worlds who were willing to take pity on their plight. It was easy in that day, for the Drule Empire was not yet widely feared. They'd kept a powerful influence in ways other than through fear and brute force, and had enough people so that slaves were not necessary to keep things going smoothly. The aliens that came to give aide were, ironically, from a water world and had mastered the concept of hydroponic farming – a concept he later used to feed his people utilizing the great wealth of underground water stores Drule still held. The fact that the soil was nothing but dust had been overcome. A magnificent metropolis was built underground and many were saved, and all too willing to turn a blind eye when his ruling and diplomatic tactics took on a more menacing bent. The only real side effect the Drules suffered, if you'd call it that, was the turning of their eyes from a yellow to a deep red from living so much out of the direct sunlight.
The people adored him, held him in the highest regard. If he stepped out onto the balcony facing the square and one soul was about to notice, it wouldn't be long before it filled with people hailing him, paying homage to their brilliant leader and savior. It was soon after that he began to receive Haggar's gift of delayed aging as a "gift" for his accomplishment and a token of the hope that he would be interested in continuing a beneficial relationship with Doom. Nevermind that Zarkon had neither showed the interest or concern to help the Drules when they were on the brink of extinction. The draw of what the potion promised was alluring, and he accepted it. He was going to live forever, but there was a price. The relative peace the Drules enjoyed would be shattered, but he managed to justify it to the adoring masses. The people were told surrounding worlds sought to take advantage of the vulnerable state the Drules were now in, and they would have to be prepared to defend themselves. Without question, they even happily went to work, building up his machines of war.
Zeppo used them to attack the others and plunder their worlds, taking slaves to do the grueling hard labor that was the real thrust behind their mighty build-up of arms and terrifying robeasts. The slaves also built legions of druids who would carry out the more unsavory war tasks, so that the people at home were never the wiser until it was too late. They conquered the worlds around them and Zeppo thought the bounty would afford him his pick of any one of them to migrate to whenever he wanted. However, they ended up using up many of the worlds, destroying them like macabre stepping-stones in his mad march across the galaxy. And in his arrogance, Zeppo delayed the move for the people were in the dark for a long time, and he liked it that way. He liked that living in that hole underground reminded them that they owed him their lives. So they need not question his motives, his plans. He was their savior. There was always a new excuse, a new reason why they couldn't leave he could feed them, and a new enemy to fight to delay the matter. If he moved them to a new world, what was to stop them from thinking they no longer needed him? He envisioned them turning from him like spoiled children. He needed them to need him. And he always told himself there would be time. Plenty of time to go before it was truly too late.
But then the Alliance came and his war machine met resistance like never before. Even Zarkon had to deal with the meddling interlopers, so there was no help to be had from that sector of the Empire once again. Not to mention, by then, Zarkon had largely broken from the main branch of the Empire and chose to play by his own rules. To Zeppo's dismay, this meant less and less boosts to his youth courtesy of the old witch. Although he supposed it was just as well for people were beginning to talk about it, but he still planned to hang onto his glory days as long as he could. In a way, the Alliance providing a new enemy with which to once again fuel the citizen's since of patriotism – not to mention to stoke prejudicial fear in them – was timely. He had visions of defeating a juggernaut like the Alliance and once again hitting the levels of admiration he'd earned in his true youth.
However, the Drules lost ground, losing fleets upon fleets, lives upon lives, as the Alliance was not as easily deterred or defeated as he hoped. Adding insult to injury was the fact that Drule began to fall apart quicker than expected and the people became skeptical, fearful and restless. He tried to deceive them with comforting assurances and false data but it was becoming harder and harder to pull off. Everyone could feel it now. Time he thought he had to move them was slipping away. Resources he once had were spent fighting the great war – he questioned whether there was enough transport to move their entire population even if he were to lay down arms long enough to address the issue head on. No matter how Zeppo turned it around in his mind, there was no way to salvage it. A once glorious reign was withering.
Now Throk had come to him with this news about Hazar and his working with the Alliance to bring them to Drule. The news was like a blow to the gut for Zeppo. He'd never produced an heir, but he'd long ago taken Hazar under his wing – the man was almost like a son to him. He watched him grow up and become a proud warrior and charismatic leader. Zeppo saw a lot of himself in Hazar – the ambition, the fearlessness, that brazen confidence you have when you feel you're untouchable. But now there was something else in the reflecting pool he'd lost sight of himself, but that he was starting to see in Hazar – a love for the Drule people and a selfless passion to save them, at any cost. Somewhere along the way, Zeppo had let that fall to the wayside and put his own vanity and ego first. Hazar had risen above that, and even though Zeppo recognized the strength that took he hated Hazar for it. He hated that he wasn't able to do so and now…now Hazar was going to steal the love of the people Zeppo had earned so long ago.
Even so, he felt conflicted about Throk's desire to have Hazar shot on sight. On one hand, it was treason – Hazar was consorting with their sworn enemy and giving them confidential information – and it was punishable by death. However, Zeppo could see why Hazar was reaching out. It could very well be their only chance with their own woeful lack of planning. No, his own woeful lack of planning. Zeppo leaned heavily against the railing of the balcony, knowing the wolf pack of a Supreme Council they had would never let the Alliance land on Drule without a fight. All the power he thought he had was a bitter illusion, he realized, for it wouldn't matter what he said at this point even if he wanted to go completely stoic. The bloodlust evident in the higher Council members and their top Commanders, that was once such an asset, would now seem to be their very undoing. Too much had been done and too many things were already in motion to stop the momentum now. The chips would simply have to fall where they may. It was too late for him, and it made him sick to think he was so decisively out of the game. But he had enough compassion left in his heart to hope that no matter what, it wasn't too late for them all.
Lisa was in such a daze it took her longer than it should have to react to Cric's urgent tugging on her arm, coaxing her to back away so that the arriving medics could examine Jeff. As if in a fog, she watched a trio of men surround Jeff and take stock of his injuries. He hadn't moved from the spot where he came to rest after tumbling out of the closet where she and Cric had made the gruesome discovery. She was sure their efforts where in vain. So it came as a shock, and Lisa almost thought she was imagining it, when she overheard one of the men decree he'd found a faint pulse. She watched, slack-jawed, as they quickly placed an oxygen mask on Jeff and loaded him up on a gurney. She'd simply assumed he was already gone and the news that he was yet with them was almost as shocking as her initial assumption.
One of the departing medics inadvertently kicked a small gem, and it caught Lisa's eye and snapped her out of her state of shock. She scampered after the moonstone, plucking it up off the floor once more.
"He's alive," she said as she turned back to look at Cric, her voice cracking with emotion. "Let's go!"
"Lisa, wait!" Cric cried after her.
But it was no use. She was already dashing off after Jeff, the hand that clutched the moonstone held close to her heart. The shock gave way to a sweet elation that made her feel like she was floating on air. However, when they reached the sick bay she, along with a growing number of gathering team members, were turned away.
"Give us room to work on him," one of the medics politely requested before disappearing inside the room, leaving Lisa to worry out in the hall. But she was amid good company.
Most of the team was there by now, along with a mix of curious staff and crew drawn to the commotion. Cric had also caught up and stood once more by Lisa's side, putting his arm around her and squeezing her shoulder in a show of support.
Cliff pushed his way out of the crowd. "Is it true? You found him in a supply closet?"
Cric nodded. "Word travels fast," he noted.
"How bad off is he?" Cliff pressed.
"Let's just say," Cric began carefully, "he was on the brink when we found him."
Ginger, standing nearby, suddenly punched Shannon hard in the arm causing the man to cry out.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded.
"Who feels silly now?" Ginger shot back. She proceeded to remind him, in a mock imitation, of how he blew off their initial concerns about Jeff's absence.
Shannon shrunk back a bit and shrugged. "It seemed like a perfectly logical explanation at the time."
Cliff shook his head. "I'm willing to bet Jeff got himself into this situation by doing something typically hot-headed. I just hope he's lucky enough to pull through this one."
"You don't know that," Lisa blurted, feeling the urge to defend him even if she knew what Cliff said was likely true.
"True, but I know Jeff," Cliff reasoned. "And one of these days, he's going to go off half-cocked and get himself killed."
Lisa felt Cric's grip on her shoulder tighten briefly again, and she wisely stifled a curt reply. It would do little good.
"Has there been any news about the identity of the jet pilot?" Cric asked, deftly changing the subject.
"They're still analyzing the bone fragments and remains. Keira never was able to point out anyone, although she didn't get a chance to hear everyone either," Cliff explained. "Hopefully, Jeff will be able to tell us who attacked him and our mystery will be solved."
Before anyone else could add their two cents, Commander Hawkins strode through the crowd and straight into the room where Jeff had been carried without a word. Before the door slid shut behind him, Lisa couldn't help herself and slipped into the room as did several of the others.
Hawkins conferred with the medics, but Lisa hung back as not to crowd them. They had Jeff lying on a bed in a semi-reclined position, with most of his clothes removed. Indeed his body was mottled with ugly bruises. He still wore the oxygen mask and his eyes remained closed, although it brought Lisa great comfort just to be able to hear the gentle rhythm of his breathing.
"Jeff," Hawkins said in a firm, even tone. "Can you hear me? Who did this to you?"
Hawkins repeated the request several more times until finally Jeff flinched and his eyes opened briefly in response. There was no logic to his movements and no lucidity in his eyes, so it was anyone's guess how much Jeff could comprehend at that time. It was like the Commander was disturbing a man who was enjoying a deep sleep and wanted nothing more than to sink back into it.
"He was choked," the doctor explained while pointing out the marks on Jeff's neck. "But for whatever reason, the assailant didn't finish the job – perhaps they were interrupted. The choking was enough to render Jeff unconscious, but it was the blow to the head he took that kept him out. The conditions inside the small, poorly ventilated closet didn't help matters. If he hadn't been found when he was, it might have been a different outcome. Finding an unconscious man in a closet on a ship this size is incredible. He's very lucky."
Lisa squeezed the moonstone tightly in her hand, and had no doubt it was the luck of the charm that helped save him.
"Will he fully recover?" Hawkins asked.
"We'll have to run more scans to assess the extent of the head injury but I'm optimistic. Most of the other wounds are superficial. However, he'll need plenty of rest and time to make a full recovery."
Hawkins nodded and turned to go only to be greeted by the sheepish faces of many on the Voltron Force.
"Will he be well enough in time for our mission to Drule?" Cliff boldly asked.
"It's hard to say," Hawkins replied with a wry smile. "But if not, I can always play stand-in."
Cliff's cheeks flushed a bright red. "Love…to have you, sir," he choked out.
As soon as Hawkins walked by, the group erupted into silent gestures and facial expressions that made it clear they didn't want to repeat that experience.
Later that evening, as the Explorer neared Outpost 9 – the somewhat small planet where the Alliance had been constructing an as-yet undetected base of operations – Jeff had been moved to the same recovery suite that Hutch occupied. Most of the Land Team was there already, as news came that Hutch was not only alert, but off the vent and could speak somewhat. His voice was low and raspy, but he had a lot of questions about the time he'd spent ill and bed-ridden.
The remainder of the Air Team had been sent out ahead to the outpost, so it was Lisa and Cric who kept vigil at Jeff's bedside. Any wakeful moments he had so far were fleeting and for all practical purposes, unresponsive. He was still in a semi-reclined position and nearly nude, but they had afforded him the modesty of a blanket for his transport to recovery. Not that he would have noticed.
There was nothing to do now but wait for Jeff to wake up in a true sense of the phrase. Lisa and Cric stood over Jeff, watching his still form and listening to the rhythmic whoosh of air filter through the oxygen mask, the noise of which muted the lively conversation the Land Team was having across the room.
"Have you had any of your feelings lately?" Lisa wondered, for sometimes she knew Cric kept things to himself and there was so much that troubled her now. If he had any misgivings, she'd rather know now and be prepared.
Cric's visage turned thoughtful. "I've been having this strange, recurring dream since that battle where we destroyed the robeast and thought Sandu and Keira were still inside," he confessed. "But I don't know what to make of it. It's so different from how I normally sense things, I doubt it has anything to do with what's going on now or what will go on in the near future." He shrugged. "So the short answer is no."
Lisa agreed that a symbolic dream would be unusual for Cric, who normally just sensed things in more of an abstract way. But the dream intrigued her. "Oh? Do you remember any of it?"
Before he could answer, Jeff began to stir again and Cric directed Lisa's attention to it. This time his eyes stayed open and he actually looked around the room a bit. His expression was that of confusion, like a person waking up in a strange land and wondering how he got there.
Lisa, still clutching the moonstone, felt a renewed rush of hope. "Jeff, you're okay," she assured him. He looked at her and she could tell he recognized her this time.
"Do you remember what happened to you?" Cric asked.
The Land Team, taking notice, filtered over to Jeff's bedside. All but Hutch, who was still not quite well enough to walk around unassisted.
Jeff blinked, looking momentarily perplexed as if he couldn't recall what it was Cric was asking about. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he clutched at the oxygen mask to move it aside so he could speak. Lisa fought the urge to replace the mask, his breathing sounded so ragged and labored without it.
Jeff moved his lips in vain at first, for nothing but dry, unintelligible whispers would issue forth.
"Maybe we shouldn't push him to speak so soon," Lisa worried aloud afraid he would try to do too much and suffer a setback.
Cliff disagreed. "No, he really wants to say something. Cinda, go get the Commander."
Cinda nodded and headed out, while Cliff leaned over, his ear close to Jeff's face. "What was that again?" Cliff urged him.
The rest of the group waited quietly, until Cliff stood upright again and addressed them. "It sounded like he said…Sparks."
Jeff nodded as vigorously as he could manage, and tugged at Cliff's arm so he would come closer again.
"Oh!" Lisa gasped, her mind going back to her encounter with the traitor. The eyes…the voice! It all made sense now, especially given Sparks was one of the crew members still unaccounted for. Being one of the navigators on the Explorer and working on the bridge would explain how he always knew so much about their plans and where they were going. It may have made sense, but it was still hard to believe. This was a man they all knew well – or thought they did. As shocked as Lisa was at the revelation, she was more shocked that she never put it together before, the saying about hindsight notwithstanding.
Cliff straightened after listening closely to Jeff a second time, but it was his turn to look confused. "Hawkins? What are you implying Jeff? Did Sparks choke the sense out of you?"
Jeff shook his head in frustration, unable to muster the breath or power of his voice to explain. Luckily, Cric had thought ahead and presented him with a pen and paper. Jeff took them gratefully and began writing as Hawkins and Newley came into the room, followed by Cinda.
"What's going on?" Newley asked, just as Jeff handed the paper off to Cliff.
"For starters," Cliff began, "Sparks is our Inter-galactic Man of Mystery." He paused, his eyes sweeping over Jeff's shaky writing. "Secondly, Sparks apparently made reference to the effect that Hawkins is living on borrowed time before they fought."
Jeff sank back into the bed, relaxing more now that he'd been understood, replaced the mask and looked far too tired for Lisa's comfort. She was also stricken by how Hawkins and Newley didn't look that shocked at the news.
"We were just coming back from the lab when Cinda ran into us," Newley explained. "Indeed it was Sparks in that jet, so whatever threat he posed is gone with him."
"Are you sure he was working alone?" Cric asked. "There are others still missing."
Hawkins looked grim. "Not anymore. Two more of our crew didn't get as lucky as Jeff when they crossed paths with Sparks during his attempt to flee. We got the bad news while we were in the lab with Professor Page."
A flurry of murmurs rippled through the small crowd.
"Furthermore, other than his conning Keira into stealing Ginger's fighter jet, there's no evidence he was in league with anyone else on the ship, though we're having his quarters thoroughly searched to be sure," Newley added. "But I think the fact that he went as far as to use a scared and inexperienced girl in the first place points to the idea that he worked alone otherwise. She was just a tool of opportunity for him. Luckily, she's been cooperating with us, divulging anything she knows about his interactions with her. She has yet to implicate anyone else."
"But what about that threat," Cliff countered.
"He did try to take out the bridge of the ship, where he knew Hawkins would be, with those missiles," suggested Marvin. "Maybe that's what he was talking about."
Jeff looked alarmed at the conversation, given he'd missed many of those events.
"We'll take some precautions just in case he left us any parting gifts," Newley assured them. "Let's just hope this ordeal is over, so we can concentrate on the mission ahead."
With that, Hawkins and Newley exited after bidding Jeff and Hutch get well wishes. The Land Team resumed their happy reunion with the improving Hutch, leaving Lisa to catch Jeff up on all that had happened since he'd been missing.
The Explorer gently set down on a large lake upon Outpost 9, the base there barely visible amid the heavy vegetation high among the bluff on the south end of the lake. Keira waited anxiously by a window on the upper deck, taking in the sparkling water and the sunlight as though it was the first time she'd witnessed such wonders.
Her eagerness didn't go unnoticed. "Anxious to go outside?"
Keira looked over to see it was Cric standing nearby who spoke to her. She nodded vigorously, making no attempt to mask her excitement. The alien man was one on the team she felt particularly at ease with. Perhaps it was because she never felt, even during her most conflicted times, like he ever really judged her.
"Come on then, let's go outside," he said with a smile.
She followed behind him as he led her to the outer deck where the ships would normally launch or do their landings. Being in space so long had given Keira a unique case of cabin fever, and she only fully became aware of how deep it was when the sun's rays hit her skin, the fresh air filled her lungs, and a gentle breeze tickled her skin when they emerged onto the deck. She stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. The world they landed on was different than the one she'd called home but the basic elements were the same – things she'd long taken for granted.
Keira sighed with satisfaction. "Thank you," she said meekly, grateful he showed her the way. It'd taken her forever to figure her way out on her own, for she never had quite grown accustomed to the sheer size of the Explorer.
Cric, however, had his attention on an area of the deck that was blackened – an ugly crater bashed in the center of it – and Keira followed his gaze to it. The Land Team leader and Sandu joined them on the deck at that point.
"We've got a lot of work to do, just to repair that," Cliff remarked, indicating the impact site of the spy's fateful flight.
Cric nodded. "We're lucky that's all the damage it did."
"It seemed to be disintegrating even before it hit – I'm sure it lost a lot of velocity," Cliff mused. "For once, Marvin goofing up worked in our favor."
Keira felt awkward listening to the team leader's exchange. She didn't feel like she belonged in the conversation and she also didn't like to think about the spy and her involvement in the whole mess. She merely wanted to enjoy the sun and rest.
"You two," Cliff continued, looking from Sandu to Keira, "have something to be happy about at least."
The pair looked to him expectedly.
"As you know," Cliff explained to Sandu, "we're going to your home planet in the hopes of saving the people there. If we succeed, you can go home again – well, sort of."
Sandu smiled. "I know what you mean. And I thank you. If there's anything I can do to assist, let me know."
"Actually, we were going to leave the two of you here before heading out to Drule," Cric added, taking note of Sandu's crestfallen expression. "You'll both be safer here. And we also thought that maybe Sandu could help in persuading the rest of your people to land here," he finished, indicating Keira.
"You've found them?" Keira asked, her eyes lighting up with hope.
"What's left of them," Cliff came back before thinking, to which Cric quickly shoved an elbow into the Land Team leader's ribs as chastisement. "Right, well – " he sputtered, trying to gain his composure. "They're not listening to us so well. But they trust the Drules."
Keira felt for Sandu, being asked to be on such duty when she knew his heart was in helping his own kind. "But what about me? They'd listen to me. Let me send a message to them."
Cric looked thoughtful. "We'd thought of that, too. But there's a chance they'd think you were under duress and it was some kind of trap."
"Oh." Keira hadn't thought of that.
"It's okay, I'll stay and help," Sandu assured them all, to which Keira felt eternally grateful. She only hoped the Alliance mission was a success and he would also soon enjoy a happy reunion. "The Alliance helped me once when nobody else would. I'm happy to return the favor."
Keira beamed at the prospect of her people having their scary exodus come to an end, and dared to wonder who might be among the survivors. Perhaps, even her own family.
Days later, as the Explorer was due to depart Outpost 9, Lisa went to check on Jeff. He was finally feeling well enough to be up and about, and Lisa had a clean uniform for him to wear. She was still rather concerned that he was trying to do too much this soon, so she'd put a new chain on her charm, which she wanted to give back to him. He needed the luck, she'd decided, to get him through his recovery not to mention the mission ahead. She just wouldn't let herself think too much about the mission, for even with the spy out of the way and that worry lifted, there was so much more to worry about now. Lisa preferred to try to stay as positive as she could manage.
She entered the recovery room to find Hutch sleeping peacefully. The water the Explorer floated in cast a soft light through the windows in the room, illuminated by the golden rays of the setting sun. Jeff was indeed awake and about, emerging from a shower hair damp and disheveled, and clad in only a towel around his waist. The air held a mix of steamy mist and the fresh smell of soap drifting out of the adjacent washroom.
There was a time when Lisa might have felt embarrassed to walk into such a scene, but his state of semi-undress wasn't much of an issue for her. Perhaps because she'd already seen him in just his underpants the day before as he was being cared for following his rescue. Or maybe the sight of the youthful and fit body of the man she was falling in love with was a welcome sight. Whatever the case may be, she didn't second guess her presence there.
"Oh hey, Lisa," he said in greeting, seemingly unfazed to see her there. His body still bore the signs of the attempt on his life, though now it was at least so obviously on the mend.
"Feeling better I see."
He nodded, though his eyes scanned the room for some object unseen. He definitely seemed distracted.
"I brought fresh clothes for you," Lisa said, laying out the crisp Air Team uniform on the bed he'd occupied earlier. When he failed to respond, she peered closer at him in the ripples of fading amber light. "Are you alright, Jeff?"
"Yeah," he replied with an air that was a little too nonchalant, while he reached around her for the clothes. Without a hesitation, he unceremoniously dropped the towel from around his waist with his free hand and got to the business of dressing. Lisa only caught a glimpse before turning away and suddenly becoming very interested in Hutch's sleeping form across the room. Though it wasn't as though she'd never seen a naked man before, it did catch her off guard. She felt a bit of a warm glow creep into her cheeks, for now it felt more like privacy was necessary.
"I got to get to that meeting with the Commander and the other Team Leaders. Got a lot on my mind," he added casually, reaching around her again for his shirt. Lisa felt it was safe to look once more and noticed him wincing a little as he tried to slip his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It was apparent to Lisa he was still rather sore.
"Here, let me help," she offered, gently helping him ease into the garment. It was then she noticed the dressings on his hands, which covered his battered knuckles, were saturated with both blood and water – he'd showered with them on. "That should be changed."
She walked over and rummaged through the stand next to his vacated bed and found some sterile gauze and tape. She motioned for Jeff to come closer, and he did so somewhat reluctantly.
"Don't be that way," she teased. "This will only take a second."
"Don't be what way--- Ouch!"
She'd taken his hand and yanked the old dressing quickly, without realizing it'd stuck to the wounds on his knuckles causing him pain.
"I'm sorry!" she said with a gasp.
Jeff shook his offended limb, as if trying to shake out the stinging. "I guess you weren't a healer in a past life," he joked, which made Lisa feel relieved. At least the amusement in his tone told her that he wasn't mad at her.
"No but we have a crystal on my planet that is said to have the power to heal." She coaxed Jeff into giving her his hand so she could put the fresh dressing on.
Jeff smiled which made Lisa's stomach do an odd little flip. "You're really killing me here. Your people have a crystal that heals but you brought the one on board for luck?"
Lisa couldn't help but smile herself as she finished up the task. "I thought that maybe if I had good luck, I wouldn't need to be healed. But I guess it doesn't always work out that way."
"Next time you get mail from home, have them send you one of the healing stones. We're gonna need it."
She still wasn't sure if he really believed in such things, but it comforted her to give him her stone. "Oh, speaking of moonstones…" she dug into her pocket and produced the repaired necklace. "I thought you might like to have this back."
When he didn't protest, Lisa gently latched the chain around his neck, the luminous, semi-transparent crystal coming to rest on his bare chest. Her eyes were drawn to it, and then to all the bruising his open shirt showcased. "It's so hard to believe Sparks did this to you," she said quietly. He'd taken an awful beating and it showed most painfully.
Jeff became agitated and quickly buttoned up his shirt and tucked it in. At first, she thought he might just storm off without another word, leaving her to wonder what brought on the mood swing. Not this time.
"You know what bothers me?" he began in a near-whisper. "That we thought we knew that guy so well. We laughed together, shared stories about home – fought against the Drules together. But he had us so snowed, Lisa. Of all the people that I thought I'd find when I came around that corner, I never thought it would be him. It was almost as bad as finding one of the team standing there talking about destroying us to the enemy. But what I wonder most of all is, why? Why did he do it? How could he do it, to people he knew, people he served with. How could he think we're the enemy?"
He paused and looked away for a moment. She felt helpless, not knowing what to say or how to comfort them. They were all in shock about Sparks, but it seemed Jeff was taking it particularly hard.
Jeff looked at her again, and she could see the fear and sadness in his eyes. "How well do we really know anybody, Lisa? And here we are trusting Hazar going into something that's more dangerous than we've ever faced before. You think you know someone, and find out he's been stabbin' you in the back the whole time. Or you barely know someone, and you trust him with your life. I don't like any of it."
"People get a lot of crazy things in their head, Jeff," she offered. "Unless we find something he left behind, we may never know what Sparks was thinking or why he betrayed us." She reached out to gently stroke his arm. "But you shouldn't let this make you second guess everyone around you. And Hazar, he's proven to be honest with us before. Also, we have confirmed his home world is indeed in peril. Regardless, we would have an obligation to help the people on that planet."
Jeff slowly nodded.
At a loss for anything else to say, Lisa simply planted a soft kiss on Jeff's lips. Just as Jeff put his arms around her and drew her closer to him to really savor the moment, a groggy decree shattered the mood.
"Oh man, get a room! Preferably, not the one I'm stuck in."
Lisa broke the embrace and whirled around to give Hutch a piece of her mind. But instead, she picked up the bundle of leftover gauze from the bed and whipped it at him. As the gauze bounced harmlessly off Hutch's forehead, the trio erupted in good-natured laughter. It felt good to laugh again, even if only for a moment.
When Lisa turned to look at Jeff, he was using the nightstand to brace himself with his other hand pressed against his head. "What's the matter?" she asked with due alarm.
"A little…dizzy," came his short and strained reply.
She went to his side and helped him onto the bed. "You should lie down. You're pushing yourself too much."
At first he started to relax, but then sat back up as if he intended on going someplace. "I gotta go to that meeting," he insisted.
Lisa put her hands on his shoulders, stopping him from rising.
"Is everything alright?" Hutch asked.
"It's fine. Jeff is just going to rest," Lisa replied to which Jeff laid back and audibly groaned as a response.
"The women, they're always right, Jeff," Hutch remarked. "They remind us often enough of that."
Lisa shot Hutch a mock glare. "Oh you be quiet or I'll have the doctor sedate you when he comes in to look at Jeff."
"Shutting up," Hutch vowed.
To Lisa's dismay, Jeff sat up and worked his way past her determined to go to the meeting and resume his duties no matter what. She looked helplessly after his departing form and wondered at the wisdom of his behavior.
Hazar got word of the Alliance rescue fleet's arrival just as the dust was settling following the URF's storming of the palace. The fleet was locked in battle against the Council's resistance above the surface. The presence of Steele's fleet only energized the rebels below despite their losses while taking the palace of the Emperor. Hazar knew this was not a fight they could afford to lose, and although part of him still found it strange to be striking against the establishment he'd long been a part of and even believed in, the larger part of him knew this was the only way. There was no more time for heartfelt speeches and pleas for reason. Those who refused to see the writing on the wall would have to have their hand forced. There simply wasn't time to be diplomatic about it. He just hoped when all was said and done, the people would understand and not think of him as a traitor. The rebellion definitely found the Alliance's arrival reinforcing, but the common citizens, he noticed, appeared to have a mixed reaction. There was panic in the streets, but then he wasn't entirely surprised. These people were reacting based on the propaganda they'd been fed about the Alliance for years. Not to mention they were already frightened about what was going on with the world around them.
Hazar hoped that once the palace fell, he and Dorma could reach and calm the masses before hysteria caused them to try to destroy those who had come to save them. His eyes scanned the rubble and the bodies – belonging to brave URF fighters and Imperial Army soldiers alike – and assessed the situation. They'd definitely won the building but it hadn't been as full of high-ranking Council members as he'd hoped, even with the Council Building in shambles. Odds were they were above, waging war with the arriving Alliance fleets one last time, especially given there were so few field commanders left to lead the fighting for them. Win or lose, Hazar was confident it was the last battle for them. Which, he had to admit, gave them more credit than he originally afforded them. He'd at least expected Throk and maybe Durak to be here, cowering in relative safety while underlings carried out their mad orders. But then, there weren't too many underlings left after the prior battles and wars dwindled the numbers of their young men, and their android factories couldn't even keep up with the rate of loss either. Either way, they would have to find a way to ensure who was where and taking the Palace was the first step in doing so. It was important that the warmongers were rounded up and silenced before they could cause any more trouble.
But most of all, Hazar wondered where Zeppo was. He turned to Dorma, who'd just ended a transmission with Commander Steele.
"It's bad up there," Dorma informed him, worried. "There's just the one fleet, with two others lagging behind. Including the one that Voltron travels with. Throk and Twila, they're pulling out all the stops. The Alliance is losing so many ships and men…" She trailed off, her eyes large with fear and worry.
He simply nodded, not knowing what more they could do with limited men and resources but try to take strategic strongholds on the ground. The battle in the air – the Alliance was on their own, though he wondered why the Explorer – and Voltron – wouldn't lead the fight.
"At first, I worried they wouldn't come," Dorma confided. "But now, I'm worried it's not going to do any good. They're asking for help, what do I tell them?"
Hazar laid a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder. "Tell them, we're all praying for a miracle."
Dorma hung her head, and Hazar turned away not wanting to see her cry as he suspected she may. "Have the men raid whatever supplies they can from the palace, but be on guard – there's a lot of people unaccounted for," he added.
Both were startled by a mild tremor that shook the building. When it passed, Hazar looked at Dorma and was glad to see she was not teary eyed but looked determined. She nodded, and having spotted Baki across the room, dashed over to confer with him.
Hazar had a plan of his own. Working his way to the center of the building, Hazar cautiously entered the circular throne room. At first glance, it was empty save for a scattering of tumbled stone columns that were likely evidence of damage done by the increasing tremors. He moved in a little more – not that he had expected to find Zeppo out in the open, but he did know the palace was full of secret passages and hidden corridors, and Hazar figured there had to be one leading from the throne room.
Still ever-cautious Hazar made his way slowly up the steps that led to the ornate throne at the top, side-stepping debris along the way. Just as he was almost to the top, the wall the throne was resting against began to move, and Hazar drew his pistol in anticipation. The wall rotated around, the other side containing an identical throne – but this one occupied by Zeppo.
"Hazar," Zeppo said coolly, setting his eyes fixedly upon him. "How has it come to this?"
Hazar lowered his pistol, but still kept it in hand, just in case. "It's over," he replied simply.
Zeppo shook his head sadly. "You brought the Alliance here. I don't understand. We could have done this on our own. We don't need them."
Hazar felt his temper flare. "Our people face extinction and all you care about is pride? I've been pleading with the Council for months, trying to handle the evacuation internally. But yes, that did include making peace with the Alliance so we could stop fighting long enough to save ourselves. But all that got me was exiled. I was left with little choice but to ask the only people willing to listen for help. They have the resources we've wasted on a pointless war to get us off this dying ball of dust. Survival – it's all that matters right now. Don't you get that?"
"How dare you," Zeppo seethed. "How dare you talk to me like that? I have seen what's going on. I'm not blind! You're the one with pride issues, having to do it your way or not at all!"
Hazar took one step closer. "You're pathetic."
Looking upon the Emperor, whose glory days had clearly come to pass, stoked a pang of pity in Hazar. It had to be hard for him to let go of those days, to want to cling to a time when things weren't so dire or complicated. But Hazar also knew living in the past wasn't going to save their people.
Zeppo glared at him and his hand move as if he were going to reach for something hidden in his robes and Hazar tensed. He saw pure hatred in the man's eyes, but he wondered if it was aimed at Hazar or at himself – or both. As much as he disagreed with Zeppo now, he did not want to harm him if he didn't have to. They had a long and storied history together and it caused Hazar to want to spare the man. But fate intervened as another tremor, this more violent than the last, shook the palace. Stone rained down, a large chunk hitting the Emperor and injuring him badly.
Instinctively, Hazar rushed to his aid, to which Zeppo weakly resisted. "It doesn't have to be this way," he urged his once-mentor. "Come with us. Start over with us. We can forget the ambitions of the Empire and live in peace." Having had a second chance given to him by the Alliance, Hazar thought it only right he extend the olive branch in kind.
Zeppo once again tried to push away, and seemed to be laughing a bit. "You don't understand," he strained to say. "One does not just 'forget the Empire'. Not when it owns you. Leave me. Leave me here."
"No," Hazar replied adamantly, starting to pick the injured man up. "I can't leave any Drule here to die with the planet."
Zeppo fumbled and produced a pistol of his own, pointing it at Hazar's chest. "I said…leave me." Hazar slowly set Zeppo back on the throne sure he was going to be shot besides. "Get out."
Hazar backed away, Zeppo's gun still pointed at him ominously. He made it down the steps when another tremor rocked the building. Hazar nimbly avoided some heavy stone that came down from the ceiling, but Zeppo was not so lucky. Or perhaps, he was. Hazar watched until the dust cleared, staring for a long time at the stone slab that stood where once Zeppo sat. He'd tried to give the man one more chance, but this was what he chose. Hazar could not hold himself accountable.
And with that, he turned to go back to his mission of finding whatever remaining rogue leaders he could round up.
News reached the Explorer about what Steele's fleet was going through on Drule, and Hawkins couldn't help but feel frustration that they weren't there to help. They were on their way, but the repairs to the ship caused by Sparks' crash landing took longer than expected, and Steele insisted on heading out anyway. Newley had to wait on supplies and the rest of his fleet, so he too was behind and could not assist. Data they'd received told them Drule's planetary situation was escalating at an alarming rate, and Steele didn't want to risk waiting for either of them.
"Come on," he growled at the bridge crew. "I want these engines at top speed."
"Sir," spoke up on ensign. "They are at top speed. We push them any farther and they'll burn up."
"What's our ETA?"
The ensign turned and briefly consulted the monitor in the panel before him. "More than five hours."
"Damn," Hawkins cursed under his breath. The resistance on Drule was stronger than they'd anticipated. He didn't think Steele could hold out that long, especially since anyone else nearby that might lend a hand was still leery of the Alliance thanks to all that happened with Rilo and the Drule Council's propaganda machine keeping the fear going. He was sure some of them probably saw the Alliance's presence as he'd heard the Council had – as an invasion, not a rescue mission. There was only so much Hazar could do to counteract that, he knew, but he also wished Hazar could do more to help their efforts. The only luck they could hope for now was that those nearby worlds would stay out of it altogether, and not add to their woes by aiding the rogue Drules in fighting back.
It was then the ensign got brave enough to put a voice to what he and his colleagues were likely worried about. "Sir...you don't suppose Hazar's luring us into the ultimate trap, do you?"
Hawkins knew there was no way to say for certain. It was hard to say what anyone was capable of – Sparks had shown them all that. He had no doubt that Sparks' betrayal only added to the crew's paranoia. But Hawkins had met with Hazar once briefly, before he ran into all the trouble with his home world government and got exiled, and there was a true sincerity Hawkins sensed. "I hear what you're saying, and I understand it. But I think we can trust him. Our own intelligence confirms that his assessment of conditions on Drule is not an exaggeration. So, we'd be on this mission regardless, for humanitarian reasons."
The ensign nodded slowly, though he didn't seem any happier about it than anyone else was. "I just don't understand them. We're coming to help and they're attacking us?"
Hawkins sighed. "They're scared. And some of them don't know any other way but with us as the enemy. We'll have to be prepared for anything."
"I just hope Steele can hold out until we get there."
"Me too. Me too."
Elsewhere on the Explorer, some of the Voltron Force was gathered, trying to relax as much as they could. Ginger, Cric, Sven and Cliff sat in a booth within the lounge doing little more than moving the food on their plates around with their forks.
"I have to admit, I don't have much of an appetite," Ginger confessed.
Cric nodded, eyeing the food on his plate warily. "Me either. Too nervous."
"How do you suppose Steele's fleet is doing?" Cliff wondered. "I'm sure it didn't look good to the Drules that the fleet had its share of fighters and ammo as well as transports."
Sven sat back and looked thoughtful. "They couldn't just go in there unarmed – Hazar warned us there would be a resisting faction. But I see what you mean."
"Last I heard, Steele's message of peaceful intentions wasn't met in kind," Ginger added gloomily. "But nobody has been up on the bridge lately to get an update. I wish we could have left with his fleet."
"Can you blame them?" the Land Team leader countered in regards to the avoidance of the Explorer's bridge. "The Commander is in one of the most foul moods I've seen him in since…ever."
Cric tried to muster a reassuring smile. "We still have our fleet, Newley's, and Voltron – let's hope it will be enough. Hopefully Steele can hold out until we get there."
"One advantage," reasoned Sven, "is the Drules have got to be running low on droids, munitions and other resources including soldiers of the flesh variety. They can't resist us all."
"That's given they don't get help from elsewhere," Cliff said gloomily. "Plus we have our own disadvantage - a battered leader who can't stay on his own two feet for long, insisting on flying this mission. As much as you disliked the role, Cric, I wish it were you instead of Jeff that was going to be commanding the teams on this one."
Ginger bristled at first, but even she had to admit it was a risky move. "I'm a little surprised the medics cleared him for flight. Maybe they figured there wasn't time to sort out alternatives."
Cliff grumbled with dissatisfaction. "I know I said earlier Jeff's attitude was going to get him killed someday but I stand corrected. His attitude is going to get us all killed someday – and one that's coming sooner than we'd like."
Ginger's frown deepened. She didn't like Cliff's tone and while she was already well aware that Jeff's romantic interest lay elsewhere and she'd made her peace with it, there was always going to be a part of her that was stubbornly loyal to him. "As much as I agree it's risky, we have little choice. We can't wait for a replacement pilot nor do we have time to wait for Jeff to heal completely. If he can last long enough for us to form Voltron, it'll be better than nothing at all."
Cliff snorted. "If it were up to me, I'd put Hutch back in action before I would Jeff – I don't think he should be flying at all let alone in command. I'd even have Hawkins on board again, and then put Sven here in the command ship. His work so far has been impressive enough – I think he could handle it. We can play musical ships all day for that matter – anything would be better than letting all our lives rest in the hands of a man who just recently had the sense beat out of him. That ship of Jeff's is one of the most integral ones, in case you've forgotten."
Cliff brushed off Cric's attempt to stop the heated conversation and went on. "We can't just switch Jeff on auto pilot and take over the way we did for Hutch. You can't do that with a team leader's ship – it's limited. Yes, Voltron would be whole but he wouldn't be at full capacity if Jeff were to black out on us in battle – and on a mission like this one, that could be disaster. You weren't in that meeting, Ginger, and you didn't see how out of it he still is. So yes, I would prefer someone perhaps more inexperienced but conscious in the driver's seat, thank you. But then, my assessment isn't clouded by my being in love with him either."
Ginger gasped at the accusation while Sven shifted uncomfortably in his seat in the silence that ensued.
Ginger studied Cliff's face for a long time, trying to figure out why he seemed to have it so in for Jeff, and furthermore, why he had to go and make it personal. Finally, she pushed her plate away and shook her head. "Jeff's not the only one around here with an attitude problem." She had no idea what Cliff's real problem was, but she was sick of trying to figure him out.
Cliff leaned in and opened his mouth as if to speak, but this time Cric stopped him short by being more assertive. "I really don't think this is the time to be fighting among ourselves. We need to be a united front more than ever. We'll have to make the best of the orders we were given."
Cliff sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, but remained silent.
Cric regarded Sven with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, we're not normally quite like this."
Sven offered a slight smile of his own. "I understand. It's a lot of pressure to be under. We had our moments on the other Voltron Force."
Ginger didn't find any of the exchange comforting. In her opinion, stress was no reason to act like an ass, which was her assessment of Cliff's behavior. It was one thing to have concerns, but she got the sense there was some kind of grudge or resentment there that went beyond that. Now was the worst time to be petty about anything.
Twila sat with a satisfied grin on her face from the bridge of her command ship. She knew their pleas for peace were bogus when she saw the size of their fighter fleet. Hazar was a horrible imbecile for believing the Alliance was coming to save them. More accurately, Twila thought bitterly, coming to enslave them. And with that knowledge, she took great pleasure in answering the Alliance's commanding officer's message of peace with laser fire.
She did find it odd the Explorer wasn't among the first wave, so she and Throk decided to hold back the best of the defenses they had remaining, as a little present for the Explorer and Voltron.
To her delight, her fleet seemed to be able to handle this first wave of attackers well. And after hours of some of the fiercest fighting she'd ever been in, her grin was well earned. It widened as she scored a direct hit herself on the fleet's command ship. She watched with glee as it veered sharply and plummeted toward the surface of Drule. It blew into space dust before it even broke the atmosphere. Furthermore, no escape pods were detected exiting the doomed vessel. Twila's heart swelled with pride for making such a coveted kill – and such an unusually high-ranking Alliance commander, at that.
What few ships were left in the Alliance fleet scattered. The first battle was theirs! She called up Viceroy Throk on the ultrawave.
"Sir, I've downed the command ship in this wave," she announced while beaming from ear to ear. "How are things coming on your end?"
"Excellent, Twila. I must say your performance tonight has been the most impressive I have ever seen. I commend you," Throk replied, looking relieved that there was finally some good news.
His sincere tone made her heart sing for he spoke what she long waited to hear from someone on the Drule Council. She'd finally proved she was just as good or better than her male peers. It took years of tenacity and hard work but she'd finally proved herself. And unlike Dorma, she didn't have to sleep with a single soul or be born into her position to achieve it.
"We need a little more time down here," Throk continued. "Hazar and the rebel forces are really making things difficult."
Twila's attention was drawn to the radar, which showed another much larger incoming fleet or fleets. She split the ultrawave image and saw it was more ships from the Alliance and glared when she saw Voltron break from the pack to lead the way. "They're here, sir. The Voltron Force."
Throk looked shaken but for a moment, before his jaw set in solid determination once more. "We'll be ready."
"I'll buy you a little more time," Twila assured him. Her fleet, what was left of it, was already battle weary. But she had a pair of robeasts left for Voltron to play with and would use what she had left to give the rest of the fleet hell for as long as she could. True, in her heart she knew it was a suicide mission. She simply hoped Throk and the history books would not soon forget her bold sacrifice.
Throk nodded his approval before she cut the communication. "Forward," she ordered her crew as Voltron drew closer. "For the glory of the Empire!"
The first to clear of the asteroid belt that surrounded Drule, Jeff could see the planet looming ahead of them as he helped guide Voltron ahead. In between them and the planet, however, was a relatively small Drule fleet. With the information supplied to them by the few ships in Steele's fleet that remained, this was probably the same squad that snuffed out Commander Steele and this was what was left of them after the battle. It galled him to know they were mere minutes too late to save him. The thought made Jeff harden his resolve. He may be beaten, but he wasn't down and he planned to meet any resistance head on.
He turned Voltron toward the command ship of the Drule fleet, dodging its laser fire all the while, intent on mowing it down as his first order of business. They'd shown themselves a hostile force in the face of the Alliance's desire to help them, so he felt not even a pang of doubt or guilt. So far, his anger made it so he could ignore the ache in his head well enough to focus ahead. But then as they neared, not one but two robeasts were released from the ship's front compartment. Jeff quickly realized the command ship would have to wait.
Even with the blazing sword brought out as the first line of defense, two beasts were tough to deal with. He soon found Voltron making a dizzying plummet toward the surface of Drule below, both Robeasts handing on for the ride. Try as they might, the Voltron Force couldn't shake the beasts until well after they'd broke through Drule's atmosphere. Even so, they barely had enough time to right themselves, luckily sparing themselves the pain of plowing into the planet's barren and dusty surface.
Even in the blazing late afternoon sun, Jeff could see a fleet of Drule ships rising out of an opening in the planet's surface nearby where Voltron landed and he knew it was another wave of attack ships. They're mad, he thought. They're going to destroy the very fleet that's come to evacuate them.
Aloud, he called the fleet's presence to the attention of his teammates.
"We've got bigger problems right now," Cric replied. "Those robeasts have also gotten their bearings – look out!"
Jeff blinked and saw robeasts closing in on both sides of Voltron. The machines were precise and fast, and he couldn't help Voltron avoid them both. The larger of the two tackled Voltron hard, slamming him onto the rocky earth beneath them. The impact was jarring, and Jeff faded out of consciousness for a moment.
"We've got to move, Jeff."
He heard the shouts of his teammates and strained his eyes to focus. His vision clearing, he could see the robeast was on top of them with the spikes on its armor coming dangerously close to piercing Voltron. Before they could work themselves loose of its grip, the beast shot some sort of blast into them. It sent a jolt through Voltron that short circuited the controls temporarily and gave its pilots and unpleasant shock.
It was much harder on Jeff than the others, and he struggled to keep his thoughts in order. He was vaguely aware of the frantic voices over the radio but he could scarcely make sense of them over the pounding of his own blood in his ears.
"Uh-oh, here comes more trouble," he heard Sven say. Jeff took note of the second robeast coming to join the fight.
"Blazing sword," Jeff muttered.
"No good," countered Cliff irritably. "One, we dropped that when this thing hit us and two, you can't sword fight when your opponent has you pinned down. Come on, Jeff, you wanted to be a hero. Get us out of this."
Jeff gritted his teeth and willed himself to get his mind clear. He worked to help Voltron maneuver a foot into the robeasts' gut and gave it a mighty shove upward. The move worked, allowing Voltron to go airborne again.
"Let's see how he likes some turnabout," Jeff growled before hitting the offending robeast with a dose of electro-thermal blast. The beast was damaged and stunned, but the victorious feeling didn't last long.
Robeast number two approached from behind Voltron and wrapped a length of chain around Voltron's waist. Another excruciating shock of current was sent through the chain and into Voltron, as the robeast whipped him around for good measure. After a dizzying ride, Voltron was finally released only to fall into a graceless heap onto the parched ground.
Jeff may have joined his teammates in crying out in shock and pain if he had any awareness. He sat slouched over and motionless in his seat, blissfully unaware of the impending doom about to befall them all.
Dorma paused as she followed Hazar down the darkened staircase deep below the Palace, and pressed her fingers to the earpiece in her ear.
After listening intensely for a moment, she reached out and grabbed Hazar's arm. "They're here," she whispered. "Voltron is up above."
Hazar nodded. "Let's hope they'll still have enough room to carry us all. And that Baki and the others have had success in calming the people and getting them organized."
Dorma looked grim. "Let's also hope Twila and Throk have expended their resources. If the same thing happens to this fleet that happened to the first, we're doomed."
Hazar turned and looked back down the darkened stairwell. "If Baki's information is right, you and I will soon put a stop to Throk's interference."
They'd gotten word that Throk was indeed hiding out and the hope was that they could close in on him before he could aid Twila any further.
The robeast had them pinned again and Jeff was still not responsive. Voltron wasn't entirely helpless, but things were made much more difficult with Jeff being out and Cric knew they couldn't hold out much longer waiting for him to come to. Especially now that an area of the robeasts' stomach opened to reveal a very menacing pointed, spinning apparatus that would bore a devastating hole in Voltron if they didn't do something fast.
"Disengage," Cliff urged, panic evident in his voice. And who could blame him? He could possibly take the fatal brunt of this attack. "C'mon guys, it's the only way – disengage!"
"That'll leave Jeff a sitting duck," countered Chip.
"So we all die together, is that your plan?" Cliff shot back.
Lisa also resisted the idea. "There's got to be something else we can do," she pleaded.
Sweat trickled down off Cric's brow. They'd tried to wrest themselves free and hit the robeast with whatever firepower they could muster – none of it worked. With Jeff out, Cric was in command and the decision was ultimately his. Cliff was right.
"Disengage," he said with some measure of regret, and Voltron separated into his 15 parts and scattered deftly avoiding imminent disaster.
The force of the separation did cause Jeff's unit to shoot somewhat clear of the scene as well, though he still didn't answer calls and remained grounded. They would have to regroup and do their best to protect him and simultaneously survive against the robeasts without Voltron.
To Cric's relief, part of Newley's fleet broke away from the fight above and came by to lend a hand. It bought them some time at the very least, although he had to wonder how much more the Drules had to throw at them and how much more they could take.
Jeff flinched, as something in his sub-conscious responded to his name. But as he moved, it was the sensation of an unusually cold crystal against the flesh of his chest that really coaxed him awake. Coming out of the mire of unconsciousness, he was greeted with Cric's frantic visage on his telescreen. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what he had been doing. He didn't remember Voltron disassembling and was shocked to find himself sitting alone out in the open and so vulnerable.
"I'm here," he said, grabbing his ship's controls with determination.
"Helluva time to take a nap," Cliff quipped. "But welcome back."
He took off just as another violent tremor shook the planet, the ground he had been resting on opening up into a jagged gash. One of the robeasts wasn't so lucky and fell into the dark crevasse, although Jeff wouldn't count it out just yet. For now, he was simply glad it wasn't him taking the fall.
It was the perfect opportunity to try Voltron again and try to vanquish the second robeast while they had the chance. Jeff gave the order, all the while trying to ignore just how ill he felt.
Deep within the catacombs below the Palace, Throk was holed up watching the battle within a hidden room, decked out with surprisingly modern gadgetry. It was made for just such an occasion. Throk simply hoped Hazar would be too preoccupied with the chaos above to try to find him there. The exhilaration he'd felt earlier was gone following the launch of the last fleet. He could see more would have to be done to deal with Voltron after watching the wretched robot destroy one of the robeasts Twila had given him to play with. Luckily, the last quake didn't bring the whole city down on top of him. There was still time for him to act.
Perspiration dotted his brow, for even he hoped it wouldn't come to this.
"Twila," he said as her image flickered onto the screen before him. "It's time."
The image was grainy and he could tell the battle she was locked in was a mighty one.
She nodded. "I regret we couldn't hold them back but at least now, if we must go we can go with our pride. And take them with us."
The screen went dark and Throk took a moment to reflect. She knew full well she'd be caught in the blast range, but then so would the Explorer and its fleets – and Voltron as well. If ever there was a sacrifice worth making, this was it. The Drules were too proud to be taken over and enslaved, and most of all not at the hands of the Alliance.
Over my dead body will that ever happen, he thought with firm resolve.
Even though this was the clear directive, it galled Throk that he hesitated, for it meant he too would be lost. That last pang of self-preservation he managed to quell long enough to begin. Once he punched in a sequence on the numbered control panel on the console before him, a catastrophic chain reaction would happen not unlike what had happened on Rilo, except faster and more violently given the already unstable planet. But when he thought of life under Alliance rule, the prospect scared him more. It was the only way.
Throk pressed the first number and closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath and pressed the second number in the sequence. It wouldn't be long now.
He froze, however, when felt the barrel of a pistol against the back of his head. But then, he quickly reasoned, what did it matter?
Ignoring Hazar's warning to stop what he was doing, he quickly put in more numbers. But to his dismay, he couldn't complete the sequence for Hazar blasted the panel – and his hand – right along with it.
Throk cried out and fell from his chair, writhing in pain. His right hand was seriously seared, the burning under his glove agonizing. Through it all, he thought to reach for his side arm with his good hand but was thwarted by Dorma. She placed a heeled boot on his chest after kicking his pistol out of his reach.
"Get up," she ordered after relinquishing her weight from his chest.
He fumbled to his feet, incensed that they found him – and before he could finish what he'd wanted to do. Their capacity to undermine the Empire astounded him.
"Traitors," he hissed at the siblings, looking to each with much contempt. "You'll pay for what you've done when--"
"Shut up," Dorma spat back, silencing his threat. "You should be more worried about what's going to happen tonight."
Throk chuckled in spite of himself. He'd love nothing more than to backhand the woman. "Why don't you just shoot me, Hazar. You know you want to."
"No," Hazar replied. "I want you to live to regret what your leadership has done to our people, and to see for yourself that you've got it all wrong about the Alliance."
Dorma nodded. "You'll be put on a prison transport along with everyone else on the Council we've rounded up to be tried for war crimes once we get settled on a new world."
Throk laughed as though he'd heard the best punch line of his life. "You're both delusional. When we're all enslaved building up the planets in this solar system for the Alliance, I'll remind you of that."
"Come on," Dorma said to Hazar, ignoring Throk's claim completely. "Let's get this traitor secured and see how Baki and his crew are doing with preparing the people for the rescue."
Throk bristled at being called the traitor. He wasn't the one that gave the enemy a free pass to come take over, dire circumstances or not. If anything, the fact that they were desperate and vulnerable made the transgression worse. But he would go quietly. For now.
The robeast disposed of, and with Newley's crew keeping any stray fighters at bay, Jeff saw a chance to go below the surface of the planet – which is where Hazar had told them they would needed to go – and took it. As Voltron flew below and neared the city, Jeff was taken aback by what it was like down there, so unlike what he would imagine. It was modern and sleek, showing the innovation of a people with a will to survive. It was such a stark contrast from the dusty ruins of the landscape above, although Jeff imaged that at one time Drule might well have been a sight to see on the surface, too. He had to wonder why they hadn't used their innovation and intelligence to simply abandon the world all together long before it came to this.
But all that was academic now, and he could see the strain the tremors had put on the architecture. A few more of those, and no structure would be safe. It would be up to the Voltron Force to make the first overtures of peace among the Drule here, and they sat down in the street in the middle of the city. Jeff scanned the area and had his guard up – not a soul seemed to be around.
Then Cric pointed his attention to something coming over a rise in the road ahead. Jeff tensed, not knowing what to expect until he realized it was a group of ordinary Drules carrying white flags of surrender.
"Well, let's disassemble and go down there," Jeff decided.
Cliff resisted. "You mean, get outside our ships? What if it's a trap? We've been duped by the Drule before, and that wasn't a welcome committee we just fought our way through."
Jeff studied the crowd as they neared, noting many looked warn, tired and scared. He supposed Voltron's presence wasn't comforting for them, as much as they were likely taught to fear it. Breaking apart and letting them see the people inside would be a good way to show their trust and goodwill.
"I agree with Jeff," Cric finally weighed in. "Their planet is definitely in ruin and they're in need of help. Those aren't soldiers down there, but ordinary men, women and children. But most of all, I feel strongly we can trust Hazar."
"Hawkins just confirmed," added Ginger, "that Hazar has reported the city secure and Throk has been taken into custody. With Twila gone, that's the last of the remaining rogue Drules on the planet."
That seemed good enough for Cliff.
Almost as soon as they climbed out of their vessels, an older man beckoned for the team leaders to follow him. Though his guard was still up, Jeff followed the man inside a building down the street a bit. When they crossed the threshold they were met by a much older Drule.
"Thank you, Baki," the older man said to their escort. He then turned his attention to the team leaders. "Welcome. I am Chancellor Mozak."
The team leaders glanced at each other, unsure of what Drule protocol was for meeting for the first time. Should they bow? Shake hands? Nobody seemed to know.
Mozak didn't seem to mind either way. "Hazar will be here shortly to speak with you. I cannot thank you enough for coming here."
"Any idea how much time we have left?" Cliff asked, getting straight to the point.
"Hours – at best."
Cric grew grim. "We lost many ships fighting our way down here, but we're hoping we've still got enough room for everyone."
Mozak nodded appreciatively. "We'll do what we can. We tried to stop Throk and Twila but it wasn't easy. I know it cost you much and I deeply apologize."
Mozak then excused himself, explaining he would go see what was keeping Hazar. An awkward silence ensued as they waited on Hazar, and Jeff saw fit to seat himself on a nearby bench. He was getting lightheaded again, and was content to sit with his elbows on his knees so that his hands could support his head.
"You alright Jeff?" Cric asked quietly.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gotta rest."
"Hmmm, hydroponics," Cric mused, to which Jeff looked up to see him indicating a wall lined with what looked like aquariums. But these had fruits and vegetables growing inside them. "Just like home."
Jeff resumed resting his aching head before he continued. "I thought your people came up with that."
"We did. We also tried to help the Drules once by sharing this method of harvesting with them…and were rewarded with slavery. A lot of my people have served in the Alliance forces to ensure that never happens to us again."
"One good thing about today is, it's over no matter what."
Cric looked thoughtful. "It'll be a mix of joy and sorrows. Take it from someone who lost a world, that's never easy. But if we make peace with the Drules, there'll be peace in this part of the galaxy for the first time in ages."
"It's a wonderful thought."
Cric sat beside Jeff, regarding him with due concern. "I'm sorry I left you back there out in the open. But—"
Jeff lifted his head and waved off the explanation. "Don't apologize. I understand. And for what it's worth, Cliff was right."
This got the Land Team Leader's attention. "Oh?"
Before Jeff could elaborate, Hazar made his appearance, trailed by Dorma. The team leaders stood to attention. This would be their first time meeting in person. Jeff felt a little nervous, but he stepped out ahead of his teammates to take Hazar's outstretched hand to give it a firm shake.
After the introductions, the group got to the business at hand. As they talked, Jeff also sensed how genuine Hazar was and so became more at ease. Although, Jeff was becoming certain the fighting was over, he wondered if the hardest part didn't still lie ahead of them.
Chaotic hours passed as the panicked masses were organized and boarded onto ships, their hysteria growing with each increasingly violent tremor. Attempting to separate the men from the women and children proved to be a true nightmare, for it inspired an impulse from the men to panic and nearly stampede toward the waiting ships. But the crews of the Alliance, along with Hazar's reassuring guidance, averted disaster and the crowds settled down. It was close, but they'd got the Drule population all aboard. Liftoff couldn't have come a moment longer with the surface of the planet starting to crumble just as the fleets began to clear it.
Hawkins sat with Hazar on the bridge of the Explorer, serving out some tense and nerve wracking moments during their departure. They left Drule's atmosphere with the planet already a fiery ball below them, and Hawkins was relatively sure they would make it clear in one piece. With any luck, Newley wasn't far behind. There was some delay and his vessel was lagging, Hawkins knew, but they were still in communication. It seemed some falling debris caught Newley's ship before exiting the underground but his initial reports indicated the damage wouldn't prevent them from clearing the planet. Hazar and Hawkins both shared a moment of relief, for the vessel carried many citizens of Drule.
That relief was short-lived when Captain Newley's face – grainy and flickering in and out of focus – came over the Explorer's ultrawave. Even with the shaky audio, Hawkins could read on the man's face the news wasn't going to be good. What could have gone wrong now, he could only guess. He supposed the signal to the ultrawave was gaining interference thanks to Newley's vessel being still so near the dying planet.
"I'm sorry." Those were the first words Hawkins could make out of the communication. "Jets…damaged…no speed…won't clear atmosphere…can't make it."
Hawkins hung his head for a short moment, his shoulders going lax. He desperately searched his mind for something they could do even as the glow of the dying planet Drule increasingly lit up the Explorer bridge, harkening that the inevitable had arrived. But it was all he could do to save the lives aboard the Explorer to keep the jets going at full speed. Turning back now would not be an option, and he suspected Newley knew this as well. The call, then, was to say goodbye - not to get help.
Hawkins gritted his teeth and looked up and met Newley's eyes one last time. He wouldn't have thought less of the man if he'd looked frightened, but instead Hawkins saw what he thought was a calm acceptance of his fate reflected in Newley's eyes, and not a hint of regret. The image on the ultrawave went clear for a moment as Newley gave a crisp salute.
"It's been a pleasure to serve with you," Newley said clearly as everyone on the bridge drew silent and somber.
Hawkins jaw worked as if he were to reply, but instead, he simply returned the salute, once again standing rigid and tall before the communication flickered to blackness. He remained in that stance for a long moment afterward, until Drule became such a fiery mass it was too bright not to have to look away. Silence fell heavy on the bridge in that time of shocking loss.
Hawkins turned, catching Hazar's eye, and realized in that moment just how much they had in common. There were two men who had fought hard for a cause, and lost much along the way. Men who had suffered betrayals, triumphed over lies, endured the loss of friends, and stood up to staggering odds. They were both part of some beaten generation. Now they stood at the threshold of forging something new and enduring out of the ashes of it all.
When you cast your eyes upon the skylines
Of this once proud nation
Can you sense the fear and the hatred
Growing in the hearts of its population
And our youth, oh youth, are being seduced
By the greedy hands of politics and half truths
The beaten generation, the beaten generation
Reared on a diet of prejudice and mis-information
The beaten generation, the beaten generation
Open your eyes, open your imagination
We're being sedated by the gasoline fumes
And hypnotised by the satellites
Into believing what is good and what is right
You may be worshipping the temples of mammon
Or lost in the prisons of religion
But can you still walk back to happiness
When you've nowhere left to run?
And if they send in the special police
To deliver us from liberty and keep us from peace
Then won't the words sit ill upon their tongues
When they tell us justice is being done
And that freedom lives in the barrel of a warm gun
The beaten generation, the beaten generation
Reared on a diet of prejudice and mis-information
The beaten generation, the beaten generation
Open your eyes, open your imagination
--The Beaten Generation, The The