A touch to Kolivan's shoulder startled him and he jerked, looking up from the mess of holographic files scattered across the table in front of him and shaking his head to clear his muddy thoughts. "Sorry, what were you saying?" He asked his second-in-command, Teska, who was looking at him from across the work surface with a deep frown on her face.
"She was saying that you need to go get some sleep." Said another voice in his ear. Kolivan's head whipped around, claws curling-it had been just the two of them in here, hadn't it?-and his eyes crossed at the sudden movement. He had to blink rapidly to bring the purple blur in front of him into focus to find Ozleka holding a medical scanner over him with an exasperated expression. When had he gotten here?
"What are you doing here? Is there a problem in medical?" Kolivan tried to lunge to his feet, but Ozleka stopped him with surprising ease and shook his head.
"No, no problem in medical." One ear flicked back in disapproval. "Only a Blade Leader who's been working himself to the point of collapse rather than take proper care of himself. When was the last time you slept?"
Kolivan scowled, well aware of the exhaustion that had been steadily creeping up on him over the last several vargas. Over the last decarotation he'd been using old concentration tricks to keep the effects at bay and keep himself alert to handle the crisis, but that couldn't work forever and he'd apparently reached his limit. But he wasn't about to admit that if he could help it. "I'm fine. It's just been a long day. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Teska, do you have that list of suitable candidates for combat trainers to send with the Icebringers?"
Now Teska was looking as exasperated as Ozleka. "I do. Just like I did when you asked me fifteen doboshes ago, and twice in the five doboshes before that. Which is why I called Ozleka. You're no use to anyone when you're this exhausted, Kolivan." The aggravated look on her face reminded him all too much of her predecessor, Antok, and he found himself wondering whether that was something she'd picked up from her superior back when she was third-in-command to the older Galra, or if the expression just came with the position. He hastily pushed the meandering thought away. Focus.
"And she was quite right to do so. You've been pushing yourself much too hard, especially since the worst of the crisis is long over." Ozleka looked at him sternly. "I am hereby relieving you of duty for a minimum of-when are the paladins due back?" He looked over at Teska.
"Not for another ten vargas or so."
He nodded, turning back to Kolivan. "For a minimum of nine vargas, then."
Kolivan bristled. "You can't give me orders." He grunted, trying very hard to pretend he didn't sound like a petulant cub.
"As a matter of fact I can. In medical situations any senior medic can override the commands of the Blade Leader. It's one of the oldest regulations." Ozleka's lips quirked up in a smirk. "For exactly this reason."
Scowling, Kolivan pushed himself to his feet, intent on arguing the point further. There was far too much to be done for him to waste time sleeping, and if there was an emergency...but his limbs were unexpectedly leaden and his head spun at the sudden change in elevation, forcing him to grab at the edge of the table for support and Ozleka to grab his arm to steady him. Closing his eyes until the dizziness passed, he let out a soft hiss of frustration, as much for the inadvertent display of weakness that his people couldn't afford to see in their leader at a time like this as for the fact that Ozleka was, loathe as he was to admit it, all too correct. "Fine." He grit out between clenched teeth.
Teska sighed, sagging in obvious relief that he wasn't going to argue further. "Thank you, Kolivan. I'll get as much of this done as I can before the paladins arrive." She gestured to the scattered files and gave him a weary smile.
In his haze of exhaustion, Kolivan didn't remember Ozleka steering him back to his quarters, or his head hitting the pillow. Instead the next clear memory he had was when he sneezed himself awake on the dust that had accumulated on the bed from several rotations of disuse.
Snorting to clear his nostrils, he sat up and squinted at the faint glow of the timepiece. Eight vargas, give or take. Good enough. He could still feel the lingering exhaustion deep in his bones, and knew that it would take substantially more rest to truly recover from how hard he'd been pushing himself, but for the moment his head was noticeably clearer than it had been in rotations and his stomach was urgently reminding him that it, too, had been sorely neglected as of late. Swapping his rumpled uniform for a clean one, and running a brush through his fur to neaten it, Kolivan strode out into the corridor and headed for the main cafeteria. The hallways were as crowded as ever, Blades and their families moving this way and that on private errands or working tasks, but there was something subtly different about the atmosphere this morning that made the leader slow his steps, studying those around him as he tried to decipher what exactly it was that had changed.
The mood, he realized abruptly, taking in the glint of determination in their eyes. They're no longer wounded and afraid. They're ready to fight again.
Blades could keep secrets, of course. They had to. But when something didn't need to be kept under wraps, the information had been known to travel from one end of the base to the other in doboshes. Undoubtedly everyone had by now learned of the events of that meeting, of Kolivan's firm resolution that the Blades of Marmora would continue to fight the battle they had chosen, regardless of the purpose their founder may have intended. He gritted his teeth at the thought of Marmora. That news, too, was most likely all over the base. The fact that their trusted founder had used them, all of them, for ten thousand cycles. That would account for the anger and defiance in their expressions. But anger was preferable to defeat.
He nodded greetings in passing to those who acknowledged his presence and continued to make his way to the cafeteria. It was crowded, groups of warriors and technicians and specialists forming knots of conversation at various tables. As his ears shifted this way and that, he realized many were discussing strategies, weak points in the Empire, or how they could contribute to the newly-expanded alliance of the Blades, Voltron, and the Icebringers. Kolivan allowed a small smile to quirk his lips. Teska had been hard at work, then. Some of the tasks they had yet to complete before Ozleka had ordered him to rest had involved polling their people for volunteers for new types of missions, from providing training for the Icebringer warriors to expand their skills to the infiltration of various types of ships and bases that they never would have attacked directly before. New duties would replace those that had been lost, like the deep cover infiltrations and the regional monitoring bases, and from the sound of it his people were eager to get to work. He hummed in satisfaction.
His good mood lasted just long enough for him to get his tray at the counter, find a seat, and take two bites of his breakfast rations, before his wrist computer vibrated with an incoming message. He tapped the acceptance key and scanned the brief text. The paladins would be coming down as soon as the passageway opened again in one varga and thirteen doboshes. And the Princess reported that the Green Paladin had successfully cracked the files Marmora had left behind, and that he should make sure that anyone who he thought should be privy to the contents should be present for the day's meeting.
Kolivan scowled and closed the message. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that a paladin had succeeded where generations of the best codebreakers the Blades could produce had failed. The Blades were not her true legacy, now that they'd served their purpose. The new paladins, picked ten thousand cycles before they were ever born, were. And that's who her knowledge was intended to serve.
He pushed his tray away, the food suddenly tasting like ashes in his mouth, and rose to his feet. There was work still to be done before the paladins arrived back at the base.
0000000
"I'm not opening a damn thing with all of you hovering over me like this." Pidge scowled around her, hands pressed firmly over the lid of her laptop.
Coran chuckled and exchanged an amused glance with Shiiar'keh as the group clustered around Pidge-consisting of Lance, Hunk, Alejandro, Malrento, and a Blade who had the slightly rumpled look of someone who was more academic than warrior-hastily dispersed to find seats at the long conference table. Pidge continued to glare at them until they were all seated, before turning it on Matt, who had leaned over to peer at her screen when she finally flipped the device open. Her brother just laughed and withdrew, his hands coming up in a peacemaking gesture. With one final irritated look around the room, Pidge's fingers flew over the keyboard, connecting to the room's holoprojector and bringing up several files on the main screen.
"So there are a number of files, but I didn't get a chance to go through them all last night. One was a message for me personally from Marmora, so we'll skip that one. The only relevant information was that it confirms I've unlocked the learning aspect, which gives Green some sort of special scanner that can reverse engineer something without needing to take it apart. That's what was needed to unlock the files, apparently. Marmora designed them that way." Her glance at Kolivan was slightly apologetic before she turned her attention back to the screen. "Um, then there's this one, 'choreography'. I had a look through it and it seems to be the list of what actions she had to take to make things happen the way the paladins needed them to."
The Blade who'd been trying to peer over her shoulder earlier straightened, leaning forward eagerly. "May I get a copy of that file? I'd like to compare it to our records from the early days of the Blades of Marmora and see if I can get some idea of just how far the influence of her actions spread."
Pidge nodded and grinned, copying the decrypted file back into the Blade computers. "Sure thing. Make sure you send me a copy, I'd like to know too!"
"Gladly." The Blade replied distractedly. He'd already pulled out a data tablet and started perusing the file, making notations with quick fingers, and Malrento leaned over curiously to observe.
Shiiar'keh made a soft whuffing noise of amusement through their nostrils. "Historians." They muttered to Coran, tone fondly exasperated.
"They never do change, do they?" Coran murmured back, not bothering to hide the laughter in his tone. "Alfor informed me I was just as bad, though, whenever I discovered something to my interests." The number of times he'd been completely distracted from diplomacy or danger by the appearance of some exotic new creature...his lips quirked in fond memory of many incidents. Although in his defense, there had been more than a couple of occasions where a recently-befriended animal had ended up coming to their rescue after things had gone out of orbit, (even if Coran's distraction had been the reason they'd gone off in the first place).
"We all have our vices." Shiiar'keh chuckled before going silent as Pidge turned her attention to the next set of files.
"These ones are basically...biographies, I think," she was saying. The files now in the foreground were labelled Aven, Loh'raakkar, Kobar, and Ilexam, and Coran's heart twisted painfully. "Something to remember them by. We'll need to go through them later, in case there's anything important, but not right now. They're too long for that."
"Makes sense." Lance commented, resting his chin in his palm. "What's this one?" He pointed up at a file in one corner of the screen. "Zarkon is a...I can't pronounce that, but I'm guessing it isn't very nice." He grinned, obviously approving.
"It's not." Matt laughed. "Katie, your predecessor had an even dirtier mouth than you do."
Pidge huffed in mock annoyance. "My language isn't that bad, Matt, go fuck yourself." She clicked over to the file in question, ignoring Shiro's despairing groan and the laughter from some of the others. "I haven't actually looked at this one yet, so your guess is as good as mine."
The chatter faded as she expanded the file to fill the screen with the contents, every set of eyes in the room starting to scan the lines of text on one side or the other, the precise glyphs of Galran or the odd blocky shapes of English based on whatever language each individual understood. Coran's mental comparison of the two alphabets faded abruptly from his mind as he registered the meaning of the words staring back at him.
Koltarma.
This was a recounting of what had happened on that awful, awful day, when Zarkon and Acalli had turned their backs on the universe once and for all.
He found himself frozen in his chair as, at a quiet request from Shiro, Pidge began to read the document's contents aloud. All he could do was close his eyes and let the words wash over him. As she read, her voice turned to another's in his memories as a shocked and shaken Alfor recounted the tragedy to a Coran only a few periods younger and still cycles more innocent.
"I should have known." Alfor's voice shook, hoarse from shouting and raw with grief, as he paced back and forth across the bedroom. "I should have known something like this was coming. Should have seen it. He's always been-fixated-on his people, on their welfare, on how they'll benefit from everything that happens in the universe. He loves his people so much. Too much. I should have realized. We went there to make peace and instead...he learned how to make war."
Coran's eyes widened. He reached for Alfor, trying to pull him down onto the edge of the bed beside him where he could offer comfort, but his husband pulled away to continue pacing, one hand tugging at his silver hair in agitation and Coran relented, his chest aching at the sight of his beloved so distraught. "Start from the beginning, love. You're not making much sense. What happened out there?"
Alfor sighed, then nodded. "Zarkon assigned himself to the Molkra faction, the most warlike of the regions, and I didn't question it. The Galra still have a tradition of combat amongst themselves, I thought he'd be better able to relate to them than a member of a more peaceful race like the Olkari or the H'ress. He certainly seemed to get along with them just fine. And I had enough on my mind trying to soothe the Lomari. They were...afraid of some of the other factions. With good reason, as it turns out."
"When Zarkon and Acalli arrived at the negotiating table after the learning period, something felt off. Even I could feel it. Kobar and Torlast were on edge from the moment they walked in the door alongside the Molkra and Itro leaders. Zarkon, Acalli, they were...relaxed and tense at the same time. The same way they always look in anticipation of a fight. I thought it was just anticipation of potential conflict between the leaders. I should have...I should have known better."
Alfor paused, seeming to search for his next words. His hands shook, curled into fists at his sides as he stared unseeing towards the window, beyond which a flight of hastily-retrofitted ships was taking off. Anything that could be made to carry an armament was being modified as the entire planet struggled to shift to a war footing for the first time in several hundred cycles. When he spoke again, his voice was thin and strained. "It happened so fast."
"One moment Aven and Fiorin were directing everyone to their seats, the next Zarkon stepped forward to the head of the table and told them 'that won't be necessary.' Stars, Coran, he sounded like he was laughing even as he said it. He said that he and the Molkra leaders had come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, which would take effect immediately. And then..." He swallowed hard. "Suddenly his bayard was active in his hands and Loh'raakkar was staggering back with their throat sliced to the bone."
Coran's stomach twisted sickeningly at the mental image. He fought down the nausea, imposing iron control on himself. Now was not the time to fall to pieces. "And then?" He prompted.
Alfor let out a slow breath that carried the ghost of a bitter laugh. "Aven jumped toward him, I think. I don't know what he thought he would achieve aside from his own death, but that's exactly what he got. That poor, brave boy." Tears were gleaming on the yellow paladin's cheeks, grief for his kind-hearted apprentice. "And even as Aven was struck down, Acalli opened fire with her quintessence, striking down several of the Koltarman leaders, including the Itro leader she'd spent the last decarotation with. Zarkon just laughed as they screamed. 'Congratulations,' he said, 'on being the first planet to join with the Galra Empire.' And he was looking at me as he said it, Coran. I could see in his eyes that Altea would be next." He shuddered.
"Kobar kept her head the best, I think." He continued after a moment. "She ordered the rest of us to get to the Lions, to get out. She was always a fast thinker, she must have realized that with Loh'raakkar dead Zarkon's bond to the Black Lion was completely unopposed and stars help us if he turned her on the rest of us. She leapt to deflect a killing blow directed at Torlast, and told me to take the other apprentices and the Lions and go, while she and Ilexam held them off. She...she threw me her bayard. And Ilexam did too."
Coran's breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, giving a single, sharp nod of understanding. Against Zarkon and Acalli, the two strongest fighters in the team, even the entire rest of the group would have stood no chance. Kobar and Ilexam had gone willingly to their deaths to grant the remainder a chance at life.
Alfor's gaze was haunted as he opened his eyes again. "What else could I do?" He begged, pleading with his tone for reassurance of the impossible choice he had made. "Zarkon and Acalli would have cut us down like mown saddath grass. Loh'raakkar and Aven were already dead, and Torlast badly wounded by Zarkon's next blow-he was toying with us, Coran. If he wanted to we'd all have been dead before we even knew what was happening. And the Lions could not be allowed to fall into their control. Ancients, a conqueror with that kind of power at his control..." The idea was beyond horrific, and they both knew it. His breath shuddered in his chest, the heel of one hand pressing to his eyes as if that would stem the flow of tears, the shame and the grief that Coran could see ripping the king apart from the inside out. "So I...I went. Marmora and I grabbed Torlast, with Fiorin to cover our retreat, and we ran. We did exactly as Kobar ordered us to do. And left."
Unable to stand it anymore, Coran rose to his feet and pulled Alfor into his arms, allowing his husband to bury his face in his shoulder and weep for the betrayal, the helplessness, the grief, and the fear. "Shh, shh. It's alright. You did what you had to do. You saved four lives, and protected the Lions. And even more importantly, you made it out to warn us of Zarkon's plans. Altea may have been peaceful for many cycles now, but we weren't always, nor were many of our allies. Whatever delusions of conquering the Koltarmans may have convinced him he could achieve, we'll soon put a stop to them, once and for all."
Fools. What utter fools they had been.
A deep silence had fallen over the room as Pidge's shaking voice trailed off on the final lines of the file. Coran realized he'd missed most of Marmora's version of the tragedy, and wondered what had been included and what hadn't. The careless flick of Zarkon's whip that had gashed Alfor's cheek nearly to the bone as he strove to get out of range? The blast of Acalli's abilities that had almost taken Marmora's legs out from under her as she ran, cracking off armor and singeing fur? Torlast nearly bleeding out in their arms even as xe was carried from the Red Lion and rushed to the healing pods deep inside the Castle of Lions? The mocking laughter as the four combatants faded from view, their utter surety that even if the remainder of the group was allowed to run, they could never hide themselves or the Black Lion from Zarkon's grasp? From the chilled looks on the faces of those around him, it was likely all of that and more.
A clawed hand on Coran's shoulder made him jump. Shiiar'keh was looking at him with deep concern in their four black eyes, an expression so similar to the ones Loh'raakkar had worn whenever they knocked someone down in training that it made his heart squeeze in his chest. "My deepest sorrows for your losses, Coran." They murmured in a low voice. "And for such appalling betrayal."
Coran could only nod, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. So many innocent lives shattered by just two people. His eyes were burning, and he abruptly realized his cheeks were wet. Unacceptable. He was supposed to the the anchor, the rock, for the paladins and the princess all so much younger than him. He could not fall apart over something so simple as a memory, even one of the beginning of the end of all he'd known and loved. "Excuse me a moment." He managed to force out as he rose to his feet. Before anyone else could say a word he slipped out into the hallway and leaned back against the wall with a hand over his eyes as he struggled to regain his composure.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, fighting against the flow of tears until they finally subsided to sticky trails on his face. But he was left in peace to do so and for that he was grateful. He needed to be strong, but right now that was proving harder than expected. The wounds of Zarkon's betrayal-a man who had been a brother to himself and Alfor in all but blood for many cycles-and Acalli's-Alfor's own sister, for all they'd often been at odds with each other-had cut him to the very heart. They had, without hesitation, turned on those who should have been siblings to them and torn them apart for their own gain.
It was a betrayal that had been cycles in the making and Coran, his soldier's instincts blinded by unswerving loyalty and boundless trust, had never seen it coming.
If he had, maybe things would have been different.
The sound of the door opening beside him interrupted his thoughts and he glanced over to find Alejandro regarding him seriously as he stepped out and shut the door behind him. But the expected questions didn't come, only a silently-proffered handkerchief he recognized after a moment as Allura's. Coran took a deep breath and accepted the thin square of fabric, wiping carefully at his cheeks and dabbing around his eyes.
Alejandro waited patiently, his demeanor calm and unjudgemental as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leaned against the wall. Even so, as Coran glanced over at him, he was reminded that out of all those who dwelt aboard the Castle, the two time-travellers were perhaps best-equipped to understand his pain. The agony of loss, and the feeling of failing those who had been close to you.
The silence stretched between them, until Coran sighed and straightened. Alejandro did so as well, offering him a thin, wry smile that twisted the scar jagged across his cheek. "You think you know a guy, huh?" He commented quietly.
"Unfortunately not nearly as well as I believed I did." Coran agreed with a sigh. "The fleet he launched against Altea was not built in the handful of decarotations it took for him to assassinate King Olvektin, consolidate his power over the Galran homeworld, and secure the Molktra faction's rule over the rest of Koltarma in his name. Nor was the total, systematic disappearance of most of the amvel nayeta from Altea orchestrated so quickly."
"Yeah. That's about what I figured. The trouble with the most dangerous liars is they're usually really, really good at it." The scar twisted again with another bitter smile, and Coran winced in sudden understanding.
"Spoken from experience, I take it."
"Some, yeah." Alejandro nodded. He didn't offer any further explanation, and Coran didn't press. "Ready to go back inside and figure out how we're gonna kick some traitor ass?"
A firm weight of angry determination settled into Coran's chest and he nodded firmly. "Quite." What was done was done. Time to move forward.
0000000
Pidge grimaced, biting at her nails as the others talked in low voices while they waited for Coran and Alejandro to come back. She was such an idiot. She should have checked the files more thoroughly, known what they all were, so that nobody got blindsided by bad memories like that. When she'd looked up and realized that Coran-solid, dependable Coran-was crying, it had left something feeling sick and wrong inside her. It was like...like...like after Kerberos, she realized after a moment's thought. The first time she'd ever seen her mom cry. And it hurt.
The door opened again, Alejandro holding it open for Coran, and she found herself on her feet before she'd even realized she was moving. Coran stumbled as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight and mumbling an apology with her face buried in his chest. "I'm so sorry. I should've known what that file was so we didn't have to go through it here."
After a moment he seemed to recover from his surprise, strong arms wrapping around and a hand patting her on the head. "There now. It's quite alright, number seven." He said quietly, voice thick with warm affection. "No harm done."
Doubtful, she pulled back and searched his face. A little puffy-eyed, but calm and resolute. Alejandro offered her a thumb's up over Coran's shoulder and she nodded before letting go. "Still gonna make it up to you later." She muttered, rubbing at her own eyes, and he chuckled.
"I look forward to it. For now, though, we still have work to do." He ruffled her hair, blue eyes sparkling fondly.
Pidge nodded and dropped back into her own seat and pointedly ignored the disapproving look on Kolivan's face. If he didn't like that the paladins showed their feelings instead of bottling them up and glaring at everyone like the Blades did, tough. That was the whole reason they worked so well together. Because they bonded. The fact that they all considered each other family only made them stronger fighters as far as she was concerned.
After a moment the Blade Leader scowled and turned back to the others. "If you're all ready to continue...I took the liberty of scanning through the file designated 'Useful Information' while we were waiting. Most of it is unfortunately out of date as far as strategic value is concerned, but there are some technical designs that may serve as a basis for new equipment if the engineers can bring them to life, and some sections that appear to have to do with quintessence manipulation that may be of use to Princess Allura. The sections on the capabilities and fighting styles of Zarkon and Haggar are also, unfortunately, out of date and likely to be of little use. I recommend we move on directly to determining what our overall strategy will be going forward."
"Continuing to try to cripple their ability to wormhole troops and supplies with impunity would probably be a good idea." Shiro said thoughtfully. "Do you have statistics on the number and distribution of the druids in the Empire?"
Pidge found herself spacing out again as the discussion turned to combat ratios and risk-payoff discussions. Math was her specialty but this particular sort she found kind of tedious. Talking to death the probability of being able to take out a particular target and whether or not the probably cost in terms of resources and manpower was worth the strategic gain. That was more Shiro and Lance's specialty, as well as Coran's. Letting the words flow past her, she turned her attention to the last file, the one with the information that Kolivan had declared to be not very useful after all.
Scrolling through it, she couldn't help agreeing with his assessment. Most of it was ten thousand years out of date, which even Marmora acknowledged in her notes. But here and there, bits and pieces might be helpful-those not-very-detailed suggestions for cloaking device, for example. If they worked, they might make for some much-needed upgrades to the one she'd designed and installed in Green.
Near the bottom, she almost missed it. The word 'aspects', near the top of a small section in between a paragraph on the shortcomings of the first generation of Galran sentries and a few lines about how Acalli generally reacted to needling (aggressively, as if there'd been any other possibility). She quickly jumped back to the top of that section, reading it over again, then grinned and sat back in her chair. Once this meeting was over and they went back to the Castle, they'd all have to have another meeting of their own.