Winning Days
Epilogue
By Purrsia Kat
A/N: This part ends the story arc for Winning Days. However, there is going to be a sequel so as they say…keep your fork, there's pie ;)
For the time being, Outpost 9 was utilized as both the surviving Drules' and Rilons' temporary home. In the weeks since the catastrophe on Drule, the survivors and rescuers alike had been busy trying to set up adequate shelters and keep supplies coming in for such an influx of people. It hadn't always been easy, especially with local diplomatic relations so slow to mend, but most were simply grateful to have their lives to complain too much. The plan was to find larger, more suitable worlds for the refugees, but until then all were making due with what they had on such short notice.
One refugee in particular couldn't let anything temper her mood. Keira had not only been reunited with her people, but luck had it that her parents were among those survivors.
"At least there's a happy ending," Jeff mused as he watched Keira escort her parents through the crowded lounge inside the Explorer. The ship drifted once again on a lake, giving everyone a front row seat to an impressive array of aquatic life. During a brief break from the day's work, everyone seemed to be migrating to the lounge. But even amid the chaos, Jeff felt a real sense of peace. "I'm glad it turned out for her," he added, and meant it. As upset as he had been with Keira in the past, he held no lasting grudge against her and he supposed, she was only human.
Lisa placed her hand on top of Jeff's and gave it a squeeze. "That's not all. Look, there's Hutch."
Jeff's eyes followed the path Lisa pointed out, and indeed Hutch was there, looking healthy as ever. He was standing near the bar talking to Sven. "How much do you want to bet Hutch is trying to one-up Sven with harrowing space stories?"
Lisa giggled at the notion just as Chip plopped down on the bench seat across from them. He dropped a box full of stuff on the table in front of him with a few stray pieces of paper floating out with the impact.
"I've been looking for you guys," the little guy said, taking a moment to adjust his glasses which had turned askew on his face during the effort he exerted carrying a box of that size. "Have you seen Sven?"
Lisa pointed him out while Jeff craned to see what as in the box.
"Moving out?" Jeff half-joked. "What is all that stuff?"
"It's for Pidge, my brother," Chip explained. "I was hoping to catch Sven and give it to him before he leaves tonight, so he can deliver it for me."
"Better tell him to add an extra gas tank – he'll need it with the added weight."
Lisa laughed at the jest, while Chip simply stuck his tongue out at Jeff before heading over to Sven.
Jeff scanned the room and caught sight of Sandu sitting by himself, and frowned. "Sandu ever find anyone he knows among the refugees?"
Lisa sobered quickly and shook her head. "Not that I know of. But, we're still discovering planets and outposts where the Drules sent away some of their more vocally opposed citizens, so there's still some hope to find more survivors. Shannon says Sandu's pretty worried. If his family is still in one of those prisons, it's not going to be a pleasant piece of news. The conditions in some of them---"
Lisa trailed off and shuddered for effect.
"Can't blame him. I bet he's got to wonder if anyone he knew could have been aboard Newley's ship, too. We still haven't accounted for who might have been aboard because we just didn't have time to take a census beforehand. It could turn out he'll never know for sure what happened to them."
Lisa nodded. "It's sad."
Jeff's thoughts turned to those that fell in the last big battles, but most of all, he thought of Newley. He, too, had witnessed the man's last transmissions from his own ship, and it still haunted Jeff. He knew it affected nobody as badly as the Commander. Newley was his right hand and it was apparent by Hawkins' demeanor in the time since that it wasn't easy for him. Jeff knew Newley was one he would never forget.
Lisa must have been worried by the shift in Jeff's mood because when he looked over at her, her expression was awash in concern.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I was just thinking about Captain Newley."
Concern was replaced by somber understanding. "He will be deeply missed. I still can't believe we lost him like that. After everything we'd been through together…"
In the ensuing silence, Jeff fidgeted with the chain to the moonstone, which hung around his neck. In fact, he hadn't taken it off since the exodus from Drule.
"Oh, you're still wearing it," Lisa took note.
Jeff pulled on the chain until the gem popped out from under his shirt. "Yeah. I still don't know if I believe in all the luck stuff, but I like it," he admitted.
"Keep it then," Lisa replied. "For love. Never mind what Cliff says about it either – he's just jealous."
He smiled a little, looking down at the stone, and couldn't help but think he was the luckiest guy after all.
That night, Cric was exhausted from another day of hard work. It was with great relief he sought out his bunk inside the Explorer, looking forward to some well-earned sleep. He had no reason to expect anything but restful slumber for he hadn't any feelings, visions, or vivid dreams since the collapse of Drule. He dared hope that with the close of that chapter of their struggle, he'd be spared any further cryptic notions.
All that was about to change. Hours later he awoke with a start, sweat matting his hair onto his forehead. The room was dark and quiet, his bunkmates blissfully unaware of the terror he saw in his mind's eye.
He remembered much. He remembered being trapped in the strange, desolate land where the monolith of a gnarled hand reached up through the foggy sky. The smell of decay hung thick in the air as he stumbled over human skulls to get away from an enemy unseen. His teammates were long gone, and he was alone, afraid and helpless. And then he fell endlessly, never reaching an impact, the whole while feeling as though he could not breathe. Drowning, yet with no water to be seen.
It seemed so real he sat there gasping for air. Once again he was overcome with the sense that time was fast running out. A sense that this fog shrouded nightmare would soon manifest into a horrible reality. Still, he had no idea what he could do about it. He never saw faces or heard names in the dream, nor did he recognize the creepy silhouette that reminded him of some sort of mangled claw. Cric squeezed his eyes shut and cursed this gift that seemed so obtuse and useless to him at most times. It seemed so warm to him in the room, he felt as though he couldn't breathe for real. So, tossing soaked sheets aside, he sought the upper deck and the comfort of the open, cool night air.
While Cric grappled with his nightmares, Throk was treated to a late night visit. The light flicked on in his holding cell within Outpost 9's base, putting a harsh end to Throk's slumber, as well as that of his cellmate, fellow Council member Durak.
Raising his arm to shield his eyes from the offensive light, Throk squinted up into the visage of Hazar. Seeing the man made him both angry and ill. Throk sat up and swung his legs around so that they hung off the side of the bunk he'd been sleeping on and set scornful eyes upon Hazar.
"What do you want? To pour salt in my wounds?" Throk barked.
Hazar was quiet a moment before he spoke. "I thought you might like to know your trial starts tomorrow."
Throk scoffed, and he could hear Durak snort and roll over on the bunk above. "I bet you have front row seats to that circus."
"I won't be there."
Throk eyed Hazar suspiciously. "Oh? Too busy with your coronation?"
Hazar shook his head. "The people will elect their leader, and it will be the people that judge you tomorrow. Not me."
Throk rolled his eyes. "How very noble."
He had little doubt the Alliance would have their noses stuck in, if not playing puppeteer to the whole charade, and he was not surprised that Hazar was blind to their manipulations. If Throk thought he could get away with it, he'd leap up and try to choke the life out of Hazar such was the contempt that burned in his heart. Everything about Hazar irritated Throk to the very core and he vowed that somehow, someday Hazar would pay for all he'd done.
"You're lucky," Hazar said coolly as he turned to go. "I'm sure the people will be far more kind to you than I would have. Either way, your winning days are over."
Don't do me any favors, Throk thought glaring at Hazar's back as the man disappeared through the cell door. The heavy door shut, and the sound of the lock's tumblers falling into place echoed in the small chamber as if to taunt Throk.
A faint smile formed on his lips as he thought of something he was sure Hazar and his band of traitors overlooked. And that was the fact that Keezor was not accounted for. Not because he'd met some horrible fate on Drule, but because he'd been sent out on some diplomatic matter before things really went sour and had not returned by the time Drule met its end. In the commotion of those last days of the old Empire, he doubted anyone noticed and just assumed Keezor was among the casualties.
No, he didn't expect Keezor to free them all and restore the Empire to its former glory. But he knew there was no home planet for Keezor to return to and he had a hunch where his comrade might turn given the Alliance was swarming this part of the galaxy – and that was to Doom. Yes, word would have probably reached that part of the Empire eventually, but now there as a likely chance of news getting there much sooner than it otherwise would. Zarkon, he didn't figure, would let this go unchallenged. Not Hazar's disloyalty or the Alliance's invasion. In fact, he was sure Zarkon would have little choice but to act, or risk his hold in the Denubian realm losing ground. Throk knew there was another Voltron that Zarkon had to deal with, so the thought of two joining forces on him – which was totally possible now that Hazar's spineless brigade was clearing the way for the Vehicle Team to have little else to do – would likely force the King to act.
Throk leaned back on the bunk and chuckled softly to himself. He would bide his time and wait for the real show to begin. The winning days, he mused, have just begun.
The winning days are gone
Because I know just where I'm seeing
Was given eyes I know
I can hear
Cause underneath there's gold
I need to get around to find it
And when I want to go
I can dream
I've been trying
All my time
I'm just seeing it rise
Cause it could be the land that's over me
So I just wanna let it breathe for now
Get up and go outside
It can help your mind too
Get up don't hide away
Cause I know where there's gold
I didn't know when I was flying
I'm sinking like a stone
I can't breathe
I've been trying...
--Winning Days, The Vines