1It's back to Lotor on this chapter. Is there anyone reading this? *sounds of crickets chirping . . . * I'd like to know, pretty please! With whipped cream and a cherry on top? Leave a review, I enabled the anonymous reviews. Even if its just one word! Just so I know.
7- Awakenings
His brain was trying to decide on which pain it was going to focus. The physical one, maybe, but it was faint and far removed, and Lotor suspected he was on knock out painkillers. The sadness was also competing in this battle, and furious resentment. Couldn't they just have respected his decision? It would have been so perfect. He had given them everything he knew. What possible use could they have for him now?
As the drugs receded, the physical aspect won. He tried to hold on to his pride but failed miserably and finally let out an involuntary whimper. He could hear with preternatural sharpness, and he detected that someone was instantly at his side when he made the sound. Make those sounds. It took him a moment to realize that he was the one crying like a child and it filled him with humiliation. He waited for the jibe, the sarcastic comment, then remembered his father wasn't here. He tried to open his eyes but felt only one respond, tear filled, and he saw unfocused colours. He recognized those ink black hair and was relieved it was Rose. Having Allura see him like this . . .
"H...Hello, little flower," he barely managed.
"Hi, Snow. Don't worry. I'll get the doc and he'll give you something."
He heard the fleet little ferret run away and waited. What had they done to him? His face hurt every bit as bad as when the crash had occurred. He could hardly speak through the swelling. His shoulder wasn't painful, in fact he had completely forgotten about it. He couldn't move his head at all. He used his only arm to try and touch his face. He was hampered by the IV tubes but finally groped high enough to find a bundle of bandages. They had talked about new cybernetic implants, and he suddenly remembered that they had even asked him permission. He had refused to speak. But he was a prisoner of war now, he reflected, and they had obviously overruled that. He heard steps, someone gently put his arm back in position, and everything went fuzzy after that.
When he woke up again he was able to think through the pain, and when he opened his eye he could actually see rather well. He kind of felt his other eye, but the sensation was . . . different. The facial cybernetic implant also felt strange. He couldn't feel the arm's anchor, or rather, it was as if there wasn't any and he had a real, complete shoulder again. He knew it was impossible. In his years of freedom he had studied every treatment possible to restore tissue. In all the cases it might have worked partially if they had tried that immediately after the initial injury. They hadn't bothered and now it was too late. They had told him once a cyborg, always a cyborg.
Hagar had told him that the only thing that could have worked was dark magic, and it involved making bargains with entities you had better not trifle with. She had shown him a glimpse of those beings and the sensation of disgust he had felt then was so keen, he had refused to hear any more about it.
He remembered it vividly. Hagar was fascinated with those entities and called them Masters. She had brought him to the very bowels of castle Doom, in a room set like a temple. It was so dark he could only make out the silhouette of what looked like canine beasts. Even though he had never seen it before, the room felt strangely familiar. Hagar seemed in ecstasy and mumbled reverences. He had felt those things, or spirits, come lick at his mind, as if disgustingly savouring something they felt about him. This sudden invasion had filled him with revulsion. The place reeked with such hatred that Lotor had become dizzy and literally fled, feeling the spiritual tendrils following him, holding him, desiring him.
He couldn't fathom how the witch could not see how repulsive they were. Even now, ensconced in the Arisian medwing light-years away from that temple, he still shivered just recalling the sensation.
He started violently when someone spoke. Lotor didn't recognize the human, but surmised he was the doctor. He was a small, efficient looking man, if somewhat young. He had brown hair, dark eyes and pale skin. A soldier accompanied him.
"So, how are we today?" He asked. "Coherent, I hope?"
"So do I," Lotor answered, surprised at how weak his voice was.
"I wasn't sure. You looked mortally afraid of something a few moments ago."
"What have you done to me? And what are you going to do?"
"Ha! Now I know you are lucid. First presentations. I'm Dr. Hausmann. This is Mr. Marnott. Now. We changed the cybernetic implant of your face. It's made of a brand-new material that even hasn't been named yet. Its principal characteristic is to be touch sensitive, but I admit it's experimental. It may not work. I'm sorry to announce that we removed your left eye," he continued without sounding it at all. "By now you must have known it was dying. Your new arm isn't ready, but the anchor is in place. The yellow lion pilot designed both and for some obscure reason insisted that you should be able to remove the limb. As for what we are going to do, I suppose that was not meant in the medical sense."
"No."
"I haven't the slightest idea. You'll have to ask the princess, that being her department. For the moment you are confined here. If you get up from this room, all manners of alarms will go off, but you couldn't if you tried. I told them that but they insisted. That's why this behemoth is following me," the doc said, pointing his chin at the big human with him, armed and looking dangerous. "Tsk," he added.
Lotor felt amusement in spite of his pain. This was the one Rose called Pink Mammoth. He did have loud breathing and his complexion was reddish.
"The princess has been informed you are awake," continued the doctor, "but the V team is on a mission. They should be back before nightfall, I'm told. You just rest and don't try anything stupid. Just to make sure Mr. Marnott will stay right here with you."
The big spy sat grimly on a chair way too small for him; Lotor thought with chagrin that there was no chance he was going to fall asleep on the rickety affair. He sighed as the doctor made his exit, wondering what new kind of monster he now was.
He certainly wasn't going to show weakness in front of this human, so he swallowed that question and closed his eye, pretending to sleep. After a while he gave that up. It just hurt too much and he couldn't concentrate on anything. He looked at his room, trying to distract himself. They had been generous; there was a big window, low enough so he could see outside the forest he so loved.
"How did you do it?" Marnott suddenly questioned.
"D..do what?" He answered, annoyed at his faint voice. He sounded just as vulnerable as he was.
"Retrace our pattern. We change it every day!"
Lotor stared. Figure it out, the look said. The big spy returned a look that said we will . . . eventually. But for Lotor, it was a diversion. Besides, it didn't matter anymore, and every mechanical designer in the galaxy is always proud of his creations. Lotor particularly liked his butterflies. It had been a welcome relief to build something so intricate after years of designing huge robeasts. Lotor looked in longing at a glass of water near the big soldier and he took the hint. For such an intimidating man, he was surprisingly gentle as he helped the prince drink. The spy carefully laid his head back on the pillow, and sat again on the groaning chair.
"Ever heard of spybots?" Asked Lotor, noticing that is voice was still faint.
"We have something to detect them."
"Not those. They don't record images. They trace heat and the data they transmit is just the curve it follows and the time."
"Umm. Not bad, not bad. But wouldn't such a machine record all the squirrels, birds and what not?" Asked the spy, interested.
"All of those are small. My spybots dismiss small heat sources, and will record only subjects as large or larger then a dog. It's a good thing you never used dogs . . . Now that . . . would have made my little visits difficult."
Exhausted, Lotor looked at his interlocutor. He didn't look mean, just intensely curious.
"They're disguised as butterflies," he continued tiredly. "Gray moths. They're likely still recording data on their trees; you might want to remove them. I don't think father can make head or tail of that array of curves and time references, but who knows . . . Your precious patterns were all figured out by five mechanical butterflies."
"And when you escaped, how the hell did you make it? I could have sworn I shot you."
"... I still have to figure that one out. It was like a dream." Lotor's eye suddenly took a reproachful gleam. "You were the one?"
"Yeah, good shooting too . . . I could hardly see you at all and the ground was so slippery." The big spy leaned forward. "Nothing personal. Just doing my job . . . Shoulder, wasn't it?"
"Umhum."
"We're not supposed to kill. Man, you must have run like a rabbit after that! We were on the spot in seconds."
Lotor got a faraway look.
"I d...did run like each second was my last. What I can't understand is why. I should have realized . . . I really had nowhere to go."
He turned his head toward the window and didn't speak after that. Marnott had other questions, but stashed them for later. Lotor was looking at the trees with longing, and noticed that on the table at this side of his bed, there was a vase filled with astilbes. White ones. That would be Rose, for the ferret didn't like pink, and most astilbes are pink. For a second there he had thought maybe Allura . . . he sighed. He had never truly stood a chance. And he fell asleep like that, in despair, looking at the white feathery flowers until they blurred.
***** ***** *****
Later in the spies' headquarters,
"I know it's crazy, but you know what? I think the guy would actually be a good spymaster. Think of how easily he always evaded us. It's just too bad he isn't on our side."
"You're crazy, Marnott. If the Count hears you he'll fire you."
"That idiot is bound to fire me sooner or later . . . " answered Marnott. "Man, I so dream of working for someone with a backbone, you know? How could this sack of rotten genes have ever fathered Rose?"
"Well . . . " the other smiled impishly, "maybe he didn't . . . "
"Hah! Good one, Martin. Yeah. Rose's real dad must be some unknown genius."
"I'm pretty sure her mom went to the sperm bank, just to make sure she would have anything but her husband's . . . "
"Yeah," Marnott snickered. "Tell me Martin, how come idiots always get to be bosses?"
"Opportunism, lineage, plugs, licking, f..., you name it."
"What about competence?"
"Pfah! Now that would be a first," laughed Martin. "Wake up man, we're peasants. We should do our shift and shut our mouths."
"So, fellow peasant, shall we go hunt for those insects?"
"Let's."
"Maybe we should tell the Count . . . " said Marnott in a sarcastic tone.
"Hey, we're on our free time. Besides at this time of the day he's looking for new ways to make us miserable. He'd probably give us some stupid assignment just to remind us there's him, and then there's god."
So the spies Rose called Pink Mammoth and Fidget put on their spy cloaks and went for a walk in the woods.
***** ***** *****
"That was fun!" Said Pidge joyously.
"Speak for yourself, you did all the work," retorted Lance. "What a boring mission."
They were heading back to Aris after a visit to Amalgamus. The sentient robot and the diminutive computer wizard had traced most of Zarkon's sources of revenue. They didn't destroy them, for they wanted to keep an eye on Zarkon's activities by tracking the transactions. It gave them quite a load of work to do, but that was cyberspy work. The Voltron part would come later. Allura recalled she did have a bunch of experts at financial fraud. They didn't have much to do on Aris. She would have them work with Pidge. That would occupy them for some time.
The green lion pilot smirked, thinking of all the annoying bugs that he had created to make Zarkon's accounts entertaining. Not enough to make one think of cybernetic tampering, just your normal, bug filled day. The kind of day when you have to reboot all the time for the stupid thing freezes on you. Pidge looked like a satisfied cat with his eyes narrowed and a faint smile playing on his lips. Being a hacker sure had its moments . . .
When they finally reached the castle, Allura wondered if she should confront Lotor just now. She felt tired and didn't want to hear "you will be my bride!" for the nth time. Still, being a leader did come with responsibilities, and she gathered her courage. She thought that bringing company would be nice. Keith and Lotor . . . bad idea. Pidge was occupied sorting his data. Lance was usually fiery and fun, but he was sometimes in a somber and brooding mood and she detected that in him today. Hunk was perfect. He was nice to everyone, and had succeeded in getting out of a tight situation by negotiating with the prince. He was a little surprised but took it in stride and accompanied Allura.
***** ***** *****
Lotor had woken when the guard had been changed. Now the same rickety chair swallowed the smallish Marble. The prince sighed. He wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't find sleep after that, and he fought black despair. He knew the guard was there to keep him from trying again. He swallowed painfully. His throat hurt; he knew that part of it, an internal part, was artificial. In fact, except for the brand-new cyberimplants, everything artificial in him hurt. Perhaps his body was rejecting all of it. That was his hope, so he tried to hide the rising pain. If he were fortunate, they'd be too late to do anything about it.
He was also unused to hearing quite so well. At the Garrison hospital, they had only covered the side of his head, saying they wouldn't go through the trouble of grafting a new ear since he needed only one to hear his sentence. Now he could hear again from his left side, and every sound came so clear and vivid it actually bothered him. He could even hear the faint humming of machines in the next room, and the annoying conversations of faraway nurses.
So he heard her long before she came to his room. And he felt near panicking. Rejection he could deal with, but pity . . . She looked liked a goddess when she came in, and he turned away, trying to look at the moonlit forest. It was no use, by now the window was an empty, ink black rectangle. He heard Marble rise from his chair.
"Visitors," announced Hunk's voice.
Allura was uneasy, and the prince didn't speak. His head was turned toward the window, and she could only see the white bandage and the white hair. They had braided it to keep it out of their way. Marble placed his chair near the bed and wordlessly offered it to the princess, then he tactfully retired.
"I demanded that they transfer your custody here on Aris," she said. "They accepted, so at least, you can forget Bastille 12."
He didn't turn, but after a while stuttered "T..thank you" in a broken voice. Not really knowing what to add, she got up and contoured the bed, trapping him neatly. He was so thin! Most of the swelling was gone, but his face was still patched in the darker shade of capillary bleeding, and his golden eye shone in the blue-black skin.
"How in hell did you find me?" He asked. "My plan was flawless."
His voice worried Allura. It was changed, soft and faint. Something was wrong, and it wasn't only the defeated tone or the lack of arrogance.
"Believe it or not, you owe your life to my father. He showed me where Rose was and she guessed your intentions."
What a neat vengeance, thought Lotor. 'My father killed you, not I,' he thought helplessly to the absent spirit, 'why couldn't you let me have peace?'
*You have to stay. You shall help us.*
Now what was that voice? He had felt it . . . in his head? A presence, not unlike the dreadful things Hagar had shown him, but these radiated kindness and light. Maybe he was insane. He must have imagined it. He stayed silent, observing the adored figure of his beloved.
"You are safe here. I hope you know that. Maybe safer than you'd wish," she said with a slight smile. "Father must have had a reason for this. I just don't know what it is . . . yet."
"I know it's no fun being a cyborg and all that," said Hunk in a conversational tone, "but it wasn't hard to improve on what you had. By the way, there is a law against using war prisoners as a source of experimenting, so I guess you can actually sue us. That is, it would pass the time. You'd probably win, at that."
"I'll pass," said Lotor tiredly.
"Well, if you want all the specifics on your new implants I'd be overjoyed, but it'd take quite some time. We tried a lot of things, new materials, wiring all that to your nervous system . . . "
Allura smiled. It made her face so enchanting.
"You were in that operating room for Lord knows how many hours, and Pidge and Hunk almost drove me nuts describing their creations."
"Yeah, Pidge did all the programming, of course. What we wanted was a way to make the movement as natural as possible. We had to study weight, balance, how to wire the thing . . . Actually we bored everybody to tears with our 'cyberorgans'. But they'd make a good bedtime story."
"Well, said the prince in his wan voice, I hoped you enjoyed it. Surely all the galaxy will crucify you for having spent credits on a suicidal convict."
"I'll deal with the galaxy," stated the princess, frowning and not noticing the enormity of this statement. "What they put you through with those cheaply wired robot parts is not defensible. Even for a criminal. You can be sure I'll have some inquiries made to find out how the other Drules prisoners were treated."
"Y.. you will?" He said with the first glint of interest they'd seen so far.
"Of course. It should have been done already. And there are lots of refugees. I refuse to believe that a race is entirely evil."
"How did you know I cared at all?" Lotor asked, genuinely curious.
"You did want to pass all your considerable fortune to refugees, didn't you?"
"You read the letters," he accused.
"Only the black one. You're alive, aren't you? I haven't touched mine. Should I?"
"No. Please . . . don't."
"What's wrong with your voice?" She asked gently.
"N...nothing."
By now it was a whisper and the prince seemed to have difficulty breathing.
"I don't believe that."
She put her hand on his forehead and became alarmed. He flinched. He felt so cold that his teeth chattered.
"Hunk, get somebody. He's burning up. You should have said something," she admonished Lotor.
"Whatever... for?" He managed to ask.
She sighed, trying to think of an answer. She went back to the chair and took hold of his hand with both of hers while she waited for the medics. He enjoyed that. Her hands were so soft, and that small part of him wasn't incased in ice anymore.
Allura looked at him. Gone was the enraged prince wishing to force her into marriage. What was left was just a feverish, exhausted drule, worn out by years of rage and conflict. Having abandoned his anger, he was suddenly fragile. He just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask? Did they have the right to steal this decision from him? She wondered. Well, as long as someone loves you there is hope, she thought. And little Rose loved him. She had brought flowers and she spoke only of the day when they'd be back at annoying the castle spies . . .
"Rose. You're important to her," the princess answered him after a pause. "She was ever so lonely. Her father is a Count who thinks his rank allows him to get away with everything. It's no wonder you could evade the spies, he's their leader. We can't fire him; it would create havoc among the nobles. Rose wants desperately to become a spy but he won't hear about it. He wants her to marry some noble friend of his thrice her age. She now refuses to even see him. Surely you can relate to that . . . Her mother died two years ago. We all like her, but nobody seems to have time for her. She sees you as her best friend ever; she only talks of her Snow . . . I kept the gifts, you know. It made her so happy. It would hurt her so . . . "
Allura looked in the black rectangle of the window.
"Besides . . ." she added in such a low voice that she didn't think possible he would hear it, "it would hurt me, as well."
Bionic ears are merciless. He heard, and it gave him a faint glimmer of pleasure, so he held onto that small light even though he knew it was absurd, while an army of medics began a flurry of activity around him. He gratefully drifted off in drugged sleep, hoping he wouldn't wake.
***** ***** *****
"He's rejecting all his old cybernetic implants," Dr. Hausmann was saying. "Since they'd been efficient for years, we didn't monitor that. We'll have to move through this faster then we thought."
"What do you mean, old implants? You changed all of it, no?"
"We changed the most obvious ones. The arm and the face will be fine, but he has others. Part of his throat was remade, part of the rib cage, and the hipbone was modified to accommodate the partly artificial right leg and foot. I read the reports of the surgeons who first worked on him. Their mandate was to keep the patient alive for his trial, and have him able to walk in. They didn't expect him to live for very long and didn't waste their time in niceties and finishing touches. Now it's failing on him all at once. It's almost like an attack. We wanted to do this by stages, but now we have no choice."
"Will he make it?" Asked Allura in a tiny voice.
"Sincerely, I don't think so. But then he shouldn't have survived the crash in the first place. His recovery was not expected. Drules are though, maybe he'll surprise us again . . . "
And with that Hausmann joined his colleagues in surgery. Allura didn't want to pace this one out. She headed for her garden and sat on a bench, admiring the stars. Maybe they had only delayed the inevitable. She couldn't sort out her feelings for the drule prince. The idea of his being gone forever filled her with sadness. She reflected that it was such a waste. She knew that deep inside, he did have a heart, and that his love for her was genuine. 'Hang on, Lotor, there must be some reason father saved you. Don't leave us . . . me . . . now that we have a chance of showing you your life can be different . . . '
"There you are, Princess."
She heard the soft steps of the Commander behind her. He covered her with a blanket he had brought.
"May I?" He asked, showing the empty space next to her.
She nodded and they sat in silence. Keith could be so understanding. She didn't need words right now. Just to be reminded she was not alone.
Observing this from a distance, Lance decided to let them be, and instead went in the moonlit forest. By daylight, the forest was Rose's enchanted realm. By night, it was Lance's mysterious territory, as any lone wolf likes to have one. Besides, he was not in a chitchat mood. He had one of his flares of nostalgia, and the dark forest reflected his thoughts, a sombre place fringed with silver where one has tread carefully, for the very silence can hide a predator. Those were the moments he burned to get in his lion, fly alone to castle Doom and strangle Zarkon. Lance had a fiery nature. But he was not an idiot. When that mood was on him, he would either hide it or isolate himself until it passed. The forest was ideal brooding ground: owls didn't uselessly try to cheer you up. He came upon his favourite lake and sat, listening to the loons.
In the garden, the chill was starting to get to Keith and he wished he had brought a blanket for himself as well.
"Keith!" Exclaimed Allura suddenly, "Dr. Hausmann said that this was almost like an attack. Zarkon did have a tracking device implanted in Lotor's arm . . . What if it was him? Maybe he has a way to make the robot parts fail . . . "
"It would explain the weird synchronicity. And that would be revenge in the Zarkon classic style... Hunk and Pidge could know if it's possible. But even if it were so, there's nothing much we can do about it now."
"I wish there were."
"I know. Don't worry though, drules are though. I don't think we'll get rid of Lotor so easily."
He saw her shivering.
"It's getting cold, princess. I don't think he'll be out of there before morning. Why don't you catch some sleep?"
"I think I will. Thanks, Keith."
"Anytime."
The Commander stayed in the garden. Allura had given him the blanket and he was contemplating the diamond filled indigo sky. He had seen Lance heading in the forest, but he knew his temperamental teammate sometimes liked just to be left alone. He would have given all he possessed to rid Lance's soul of that lingering sadness he hid so well. How does one deal with seeing his entire village destroyed? With having no family left, and owing it all to Zarkon, the son of which they were now trying to save? How does one justify that noble hearts like Lance and Pidge were orphaned by war, while the hateful beings responsible still had relatives? He had no answers, so he tactfully left Lance pace his territory in the company of bats and crickets.
Keith thought with a vague smile, if Lotor really did change sides, how the monarch would writhe in fury! Could it really happen? Allura had never ceased to believe it could. He wasn't so sure . . .
He started badly when someone sat on the bench beside him. He realized he had fallen asleep, and now Lance was there with his usual, sarcastic smile.
"Good promenade?" He asked sleepily.
"Great. I spotted three owls and heard a fourth. That has to be my record."
"You ok?"
"I guess. So . . . do you think the tin head will once again escape Lady Death?"
"You know Lotor. He always was an escape artist. You punch him down a hole and he pokes out of the next. Do you wish it?"
He hesitated.
"I'm vaguely curious to see how he can deal with having lost everything."
There was an awkward pause and then Lance became his old self again.
"Well, it's freezing. I bet you'll have caught a major cold, falling asleep like that. You should have kept your pretty heat source nearby . . . "
"Shut up," Lance, said the exasperated Keith, just before he sneezed.
"Hah! I knew it. Well, a cold has some advantages, I'll bet that when you're stuck in bed, someone's bound to come in and adjust your blankets . . . "
Well at least his sombre mood seemed to be gone, thought Keith as he sneezed again. They both went to their quarters. Lance slept very well, but Keith had caught a cold.
In the morning, when he didn't show up for breakfast, Lance stated the obvious reason and the Commander received the info updates in bed. Their prisoner was still in surgery, but so far had made it.
Keith had the unexpected pleasure of being awakened by Allura, who delivered this news herself. The aging Nanny accompanied her. In spite of her arthritis she would never let her princess enter a man's room alone. Well, it was still a nice surprise. To his delight, and true to Lance's prediction, Allura did adjust his blankets, looking very concerned for his health when he let out a small giggle. So she stayed with him and sat worriedly on his cushioned chair. The princess made a charming tableau, framed as she was by the single window in his room.