Naigus' stern face was upturned in discomfort.
Across from him, Warlord Vos unconsciously ruffled the fur on his nape in similar irritation.
Instead of concentrating on the nervous newly promoted warlord, Naigus turned his attention to the bowels of the ship. His gold eyes moved over the sleek interior of the legendary ship.
The Professor had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the ship held an almost spiritual appeal. It hummed with energy and life of its own. Beneath the shallow level of hearing humans possessed, the Lion purred with readiness as if crafted for galran warfare. The heavy lilt of its roar reminded Naigus of fury-leaden battles and the songs of blood his ancestors sang long ago during secret military rituals.
Naigus wondered how long the ship had been so thoroughly infused with such essence. It was nearly feral in strength tempered with all nobility of the creature that the original creator had based the design on.
He had never once imagined himself inside the Lion of Voltron, less so the fabled Black Lion. Yet here he was, sitting in the jewel of Galra lore. He wondered if the paladin knew the significance the Lion held to the two men huddled within the cargo hold.
Shiro's voice echoed off the sparse interior from an intercom. "We've hit another sandstorm. Hold on." The connection clicked off abruptly as if to deter any complaints.
Naigus held no wit for the man but Vos had seemingly taken a liking to teasing Shiro. It appeared to lessen the Warlord's anxiety. "What's to hold onto?!" He called up the corridor.
The professor noted a miniscule lowering of the other's ears when no response came. Moments later the ship was thrown into violent shaking.
Naigus grit his teeth and his ears flattened back in sullen acceptance when the turbulence subsided for only another breath. "Sandstorms are decent cover. If they remain through our landing, we will be making different opinions on their nuisance."
Vos only grunted before the two were forced to braced themselves against a bulkhead.
The professor's words rang true several long minutes later, however. They braced themselves for landing and weathered the rough shaking with only mild curses.
Shiro stepped from the cockpit seconds later. A detached expression deadened the man's eyes, and Naigus raised an eyebrow at the distant tone in Shiro's voice. "Professor, lead the way."
Naigus snorted and reached for his rebreather, which hung from the old leather belt drooping over his tunic. A centuries-forgotten buzz was rising in the back of his mind. It reminded the professor of his youth. The high was not unwelcome even if very unexpected. A slow smile spread over his hidden face. "Keep up, young ones."
Outside, the world was a howling, hazy, kaleidoscope of sand and whipping shadows. The wind tore forcefully at his clothes, grasping with incredible strength. The sand pelted their goggles with a serpentine hiss. Naigus took a moment to orient himself and glance at the small holographic map on his gauntlet before he pointed in a direction and pushed against the wind.
"Onto the drudgery of soldiery," Naigus spoke but the words were stripped by the wind. Still the complaint distracted him from the toil it took to march through the heavy, rising sand dunes in the streets. The wind did nothing to cool him through the heavy gear and armour.
Naigus moved with strength and familiarity through the hostile weather. He leaned into the wind's hard grasp and plastered his large ears hard against his head. Shiro fared surprisingly well also. The young human only faltered once when he dropped through loose sand and sank all the way to his hips. Vos, having taken to the rear, hoisted him up with little effort countering the wind and moving over the shifting footing.
The path was winding and rocky under the loose currents of sand that snaked over the landscape with the mighty wind. Finally, the group caught a glance of a hazy shape resembling a squat dwelling. Seconds later, Naigus' boot stumped into the threshold of a business. He looked up. The sign on the door was directly in front of him and read 'Torv's Hot Shack'. A grinning red-skinned female with black horns rode a wave of white foaming liquid below the words.
Naigus had to yell in order for the two huddled men to hear him. "This is the place. Get in quickly!"
The establishment was smoky, dim, and crammed with shelves upon shelves of random plumbing equipment. The professor slid his goggles onto his forehead and lowered his mask. The others did the same, taking in the seemingly empty room.
Vos made a distasteful face. "Not what I expected," he commented dubiously.
The professor ignored the warlord. "Anyone home?!" Naigus bellowed over the goods. There was a short pause before he detected a shuffle coming from the back where a slanted table heaped with papers divided the public and the employee's transaction section.
A hobbling creature with glowing amber eyes and four long spindling arms came into view. The alien scrambled over a smelly mop sitting in the corridor and waved one of his hands. "Ah, how can I help you?"
The stranger held a distinct rolling accent that took Naigus back through many violent years. Outwardly, the elder Galra greeted the creature with a diplomatic nod. "Don't tell me you've forgotten our history, Torv."
An unmistakable air of distrust suddenly intensified the atmosphere. The creature, Torv, scratched his head and crossed his other arms. "Should I know you?"
Naigus glinted his fangs and raised an eyebrow. "How unfortunate that you don't recall the Battle for Corgei."
Realisation dawned over Torv's face. "…Professor?!"
Shiro stated the obvious. "You two friends?" He hazarded. Vos, standing quietly beside the human looked suspicious.
Naigus, not removing his gaze from Torv, nodded. "Indeed, Torv Rhiff was a fighter on Corgei. He was also an engineer for the Galra war machine."
"I am a merchant now, selling water," Torv interrupted the Galra before he would reveal anything else. His beady eyes searched the professor's companions quizzically, landing for several beats on the insignia glinting under Vos' dangling respirator.
Naigus glided over the interruption smoothly. "I am calling a favour."
Torv's knuckles popped. "We were clear last time I checked," he defended.
Shiro watched the tension between the two men rise, unmoving. Beside him, Vos evened his weight on both his feet lest a fight ensue. Shiro wondered how well the Galra could manage in a fist fight.
"Not from my counting. And I am never wrong," Naigus spoke unequivocally.
Shiro was struck with how much the older Galra resembled Lotor with the display of arrogance. Or perhaps it was the opposite. The idea further darkened his mood. "We need to find Kyrax's headquarters," Shiro broke in.
Torv scowled. "Kyrax! Like the radicaliser?!"
"Yes," Shiro responded. "You must know this city well or Naigus wouldn't have brought us here, so help us."
Naigus speared the alien with a pointed glance. "You should listen to Voltron."
Torv's green tongue licked his pebbly lips indecisively before he replied, "Where do you need to get to?"