DIsclaimer: I do not own Voltron or its original Japanese version Golion. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

The Sindariin

Chapter Two:

The slow stead drip of water from an unseen source was the only sound in the darkness of the prison cell. It was not unlike any of the other prison cells within Demon Castle. It was dark, dank, musty and carved out of the very leaving bedrock on which the prison had been erected. Before the tall towers and gruesome spires had been built in the First Age, the prison's of Demon Castle had been there already. There was no toilet and so the prisoner was forced to relieve himself in a corner like an animal. The scent of living waste wafted about the stagnant air of the room almost unbearably so. A moldy foam mattress had been laid on a narrow cot on the opposite side of the sell, a pathetic excuse for a bed. It was a disgusting and despicable existence within this cell, amid the squaller and deprecation and yet, the room's single occupant refused to give up his pride.

Sincline, former Prince Imperial of the mighty Galra Empire, lay on his moldy mattress on his narrow cot examining the jagged stone ceiling and listening to the phantom dripping of water. It had been days already since his father's guards had barged into his private chambers and none to gently informed him that he was under arrest. And for what? The crime of failure, failure to defeat Golion, failure to recapture Altea, failure to resist his attraction to an enemy leader. And the crime of weakness, his emotional weakness that caused him to make so very many mistakes over the past two years, his weakness against the charms of the young, beautiful, naive princess of Altea. They seemed like such little things when compared to the punishment of incarceration, but for a member of the Royal House of Galra they were unforgivable. Weak failures did not rule the Empire, for the son's of kings weakness and failure were punishable by death.

So why was he still alive, slowly rotting to death in this squalid cell rather then publicly executed with all the theatrics and melodrama befitting a man of his station?

Well, he had Hornerva to thank for that one. After his arrest, when Sincline knelt before the Golden Throne of his forefathers Daibazaal had been more than ready to kill him then. He had even ordered the guards restraining him to escort the fallen prince to the Arena for a public execution so that everyone knew that failure and weakness were not tolerated within the Empire. But just as they were ushering him away the old witch spoke. She reminded the Emperor that the prince still had many supporters on several planets spread through out the Empire. If Daibazaal announced his execution so suddenly it could spark a civil war that would potentially thread the Empire in two before the dreaded Golion ever had the chance to. The Emperor was many things but 'foolish' was not one of them. He would still execute his son but not until after delegates from his supporting planets arrived to witness their preferred sovergngne's death. So now here he was, in a squalid dark cell, a prisoner in one of his own prisons.

But he was not without friends.

Sincline's loyal soldiers, the Red Army, had not been arrested along with him and were even now preparing for not just a prison-break of their prince but also a coup. At least once a day when the guards brought him his daily ration of rotten beastman meat a message would be snuck in to the prince. Details and updates of their plans, overviews of the outside situation, how many could be counted on to support the prince, how many favored the Emperor and most importantly of all Daibazaal's moves. The best time to strike would be just as his father was returning from Altea, Sincline knew. He would be weary from the battle regardless of whether he had won or lost and would be off his guard. If the coup was staged just as he began his journey home then the Prince Imperial could arrest his treacherous father right as the old man stepped off his ship and take control of the Empire in one fell swoop.

The faint echo of footsteps down the corridor drew the prince from his musings. He sat up as they drew louder, coming nearer his cell. It was not yet time for his daily meal, there was no need for anyone to be coming to his cell. Had something happened on Altea? Did they need to step up their plans? A million and one scenarios quickly ran through the prince's mind ranging from the perfectly rational to the utterly ridiculous all within the space of a moment. The guard that had been stationed outside his cell began to inquire as to why the visitor had come but was cut off suddenly and abruptly before Sincline had the chance to overhear the man's name.

"My prince, please step back." General Gibra's voice called to him from through the narrow slitted window in the cell-door.

Sincline was already on the other side of the room sitting on his cot's disgusting old mattress, the General's warning was not necessary. There was the steady humming sound of a lazer-cutter and a moment later the air was filled with the scent of lazon and burning metal. Of course they would have to cut the lock on his cell, quite literally breaking him out of jail. There was only one key to Prince Imperial Sincline's prison cell and Daibazaal had taken it with him to Altea, not trusting any of the guards at the prison with it. But who needed a key when you just as easily break a lock or cut through the door? The lazer-cutter's hum died down and there was the sound of warped metal being stretched and strained and then suddenly the door was ripped from its fame and cast aside into the passageway.

General Gibra, commander of Sincline's own Red Army stood framed in the now open doorway. The prince rose to his feet and the general went to his knees.

"My prince," the General began with his head bowed, "Daibazaal is, as we speak, returning to Galra."

Sincline raised one chalky white eyebrow. That was quicker than he had expected. Had he been leading a mission to Altea it would have taken him twice as long. Had Daibazaal been defeated so easily? Or was his father really just that much better of a tactician than he? The prince felt momentarily inadequate as both a leader and a soldier but the feeling passed and in it's wake he wanted nothing more than to prove his great quality. He was a son of kings capable of great deeds. He would show his father and the Empire that he was not weak, that he was more than worthy to wear the crown and succeed his father as Emperor. And then Gibra spoke again.

"... And he is returning with the Altean princess as his hostage."

"Fala!" Now the prince paused. Daibazaal was returning with her as a hostage? Did he already suspect a coup from him and was taking precautions ahead of time to prevent Sincline's treachery? Princess Fala of Altea was his one true weakness, if the Emperor were to use the threat of slaying her as a deterrent for Sincline's coup would the prince still go through with it? Daibazaal did not usually bother with hostages, preferring instead to kill any possible nuisances before they had the chance to come to head. This changed everything! Now that Fala was involved, Sincline had to move twice as fast and be twice as careful. He could not risk his beloved's well-being. Perhaps he truly was weak, as his father had accused and his weakness would always ultimately lead to his failure. But he could not worry about that now. Now he had to act the part of the confident leader, he had to be a confident leader, lest his fears come to pass.

"How many under my banner?" Asked the prince as he strode out from his cell.

"At least some thousand." Was the General's quick response. He stood and fell into step next to his chosen sovereign.

"And my father...?" One thousand on-planet supporters was good but that meant nothing if Daibazaal was bringing more than that back with him from his campaign on Altea or already had them here on Galra. The number was also meaningless if he, Sincline, couldn't find anyone else in a position of command to back him like Gibra was. The Red Army was loyal to him but they only numbered a little over five-hundered. Was Gibra counting them in that figure of one-thousand? How many Generals and Admirals could Sincline count on to join his cause? How many would fight for his father? And how many of them would sit on their thumbs and wait to see who came out victorious?

"The Reds are taking care of those in the court that support the Emperor's stay in power. He lost quite allot of grunt fighters to the Lions on Altea so we're not expecting much of a fight. His only real supporter now is Hornerva." The General supplied. He opened his mouth as if to speak again but then closed it, thinking better not to ask the prince about the one factor that he thought was their only real problem. Gibra waited for the Prince Imperial to comment on the status of the situation or issue his orders, when he didn't the General assumed he must be contemplating the wrench in their plans, the Altean princess. He once again wondered if he should ask Sincline what he planned to do about her. If Daibazaal used her against the prince to force a surrender then not only Sincline but all those that supported him would also perish under the Emperor's rage. The princess was a problem.

"And what of... his hostage?" The prince finally asked at length.

The General inhaled. It was a bit of a public secret that the Prince Imperial's interest in the Altean princess was deeper than that of a simple conquest. Sincline had a rather extensive harem of pleasure slaves, his 'Collection' as he called them. Before the prince had ever been given command over the Empire's Altean front everyone knew that he would want the beautiful blond princess for his Collection, she was just his type. But after two years of campaigning and hampering himself for fear of hurting her it became painfully apparent to everyone that what Sincline felt for her was not his usual lust but rather arda. Arda an intense, almost violent, passion and devotion. The humans had a similar word for it but Gibra did not know it. After a prolonged pause the General remembered that his prince had asked a question and was still waiting for an answer.

"It appears that the Emperor took her for a hostage in an attempt to force a surrender. He wants Altea to submit to him, he doesn't want to destroy the planet if he can avoid it. It doesn't appear that he took her to use against... that he took her for any ulterior motive. He does not yet seem to know about the coup." Gibra had almost said, '...to use against you'. That would have been a fatal mistake. To be aware of the prince's weakness was one thing but to throw it back in his face like that was just plain foolish.

Sincline did not comment on his General's veiled implication that Daibazaal might have brought Fala along as a weapon against him. The thought had already occurred to the prince and he was already thinking up possible solutions to this newest of problems. Instead he asked, "When is the Emperor due to arrive?"

"He sent a message to the palace just as he was leaving. So, we have maybe a few hours to prepare."

...

Sincline's preparations included, but were not limited to, a very long hot shower followed by a steamy luxurious bath. He didn't care that he was limited on time, the prince had just spent several days in his own squalor and was going to cleanse himself of it even if that meant facing the Emperor in nothing more than his sword-belt and a towel. The mental image was amusing to him and he allowed himself a small smile. He leaned back in warm bath-water content in the knowledge that at this very moment his father's supporter's all over the capitol were suddenly having fatal accidents or meeting the wrong people at the wrong place. By the time Daibazaal returned he would find that his power-base had been reduced to only those that had been on the ship with him during his absence. Namely Hornerva. Soon he would have everything he ever wanted, the throne, the Empire, Altea and Fala. Ah, yes, Fala...

For once it would be he that would be her heroic rescuer and not irksome knave, the pilot of Black Lion, Kogane. Finally, she would see that he was a million times better than that filthy slave could ever hope to be and she would fall willingly into his arms. This fantasy he indulged in longer, his smile broadening. Fala would finally be his, he would make her his Empress and she would rule by his side. The Galra Empire had not had many Empresses in its long history, not since the Second Age and the reign or Empress Fingaal ni Undomil. The Galra were by nature a patriarchal society, succession passing from father to son and few Emperor's took formal wives so obviously there were few Empresses. Most of the kings of old had kept several lovers, any of which might bear his heir. The term 'bastard' was not a stigma on Galra but rather just another state of one's birth. Formal marriages were usually only for financial or political alignments or if a man wanted the offspring of aparticular one of his lovers to be formally acknowledged as his heirs, forsaking any other children he might have from other women.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Fala was to young to have her beauty marred by motherhood so soon. Not to mention he certainly didn't want any brats underfoot as he was trying to solidify himself as Emperor.

And that thought brought his momentary indulgence in fantasy to an end, Sincline's thoughts returned to the hear-and-now and his coup to overthrow his father. The original plan had been simple, greet Daibazaal at gun-point just as the man was stepping out of his ship. Don't give him a chance or the option to fight back. Take to the Arena and publicly execute him. It was simple, easy almost. But Fala introduced a wild-card, she was an unaccountable variable in the situation. At worst she would be his father's shield against him and the instrument of his defeat because they both knew that the prince would risk no hurt to the Altean princess. But then Fala herself might act to free herself and disrupt both of them, she was after all a very tenacious woman and did not take kindly to being held prisoner or used as a bargaining chip. She might try to escape in what ever confusion might arrise from his coup and then she'd be loose on the planet and him with limited ways of tracking her. If she were to somehow meet up with her cousin's terrorist cell...

Well, that was a contingency he might have to plan for, but he wouldn't think on it now. Now he had more immediate worried to keep his mind adequately occupied.

There was a knock on the bathroom's door and Sincline slid his hand beneath his neatly folded towel that had been laid by the side of the slightly-smaller-than-a-swimming-pool tub and grasped the knife that he had concealed there before begging his bath. Just about everyone within the palace now was loyal to him, but there was no need taking foolish chances. "Enter."

Gibra stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He respectfully bowed at the waist then spoke frankly. "My prince, Daibazaal's ship has just passed the Ort Field and is due to land in little less than a half-hour."

The Prince Imperial nodded and stood with little modesty for the fact that he was on full display to his General. Water droplets traveled down his lean but muscled frame, their courses zig-zged by the silvery-white hair that salted his chest, pubis and legs. Sincline stepped out of the tub and padded himself down with the towel. Two slave-girls from the prince's Collection entered through a servants' door carrying a fresh change of clothing, his helmet and sword-belt. They set to work dressing him in his normal blue and black prince's raiment. Sincline smirked smugly when one of the girls bent down to fasten his belt while the other knelt to buckle his boot. Had there been more time the prince probably would have taken one or both of them to bed and worked off some of the residual tension from his short stay in prison. But such an activity wouldn't be practical at the moment. When his slaves had finished he replaced his knife on his belt opposite the lazon sword and placed his helmet on his head. Not quite ready to face his father yet, but still willing to do so he turned to Gibra.

"What landing pad?"

...

The Angband, Emperor Daibazaal's flagship, docked with on of the landing runners of the pales' main docking pad. The ship's pilot cut the sub-atmo engines and let the landing runner pull it the rest of the way into dock. There was a snap-hiss as hydraulic clamp closed themselves around the massive star-ship, locking the behemoth in place. Another snap-hiss announced the opening of the ship's main gang-plank and the Emperor stepped out.

"What is the meaning of this!" Were the despot's first startled words.

"You dare point guns at your Emperor!" Came Hornerva's raspy voice.

Two dozen of Sincline's own Red Army soldiers as well as a hand-full of other from different divisions stood in a semi-circle around the open hatch of the Angband, effectively blocking the soon to be former Emperor of the Galra Empire from disembarking. They stood with their feet planted and their guns poised, ready to fire at the slightest sign of resistance. Not a one of them said anything in response to either Daibazaal's or Hornerva's questions. They remained stoically focused on their point-blank targets, index fingers resting on the triggers. A smug laugh drew the Emperor's attention momentary away from the weapons pointed at him and he focused on what must be the source of this mutiny.

"Sincline!" He roared.

The Prince Imperial swaggered up to the gang-plank of the Angband, the General Gibra Red Army Commander at his right hand. His silvery white hair looked damp and clung to the sides of his neck leaving dark wet splotches on the shoulders and back of his otherwise immaculate blue and black raiment. He appeared to have just gotten out of the shower. Sincline stopped just short of his father, planting his feet and crossing his arms over his chest he smiled a smug imperious smile. "Welcome home 'Emperor' Daibazaal, or shall we all just call you Daibazaal now?"

On the outside the prince projected an air of calm confidence, on the inside he was sick with relief. He did not see Fala exiting the Angband with his father, that meant that the Emperor hadn't planned on using her as a hostage against him to begin with. However, that did not mean that she was not in danger. Since she had not yet been brought out then she must still be locked in the detention level of the ship and still under Daibazaal's power to use against him. Sincline had to diffuse this situation and neutralize his father (and Hornerva) as soon as possible to ensure that she was not dragged into his power struggle. The Prince Imperial did not want his future Empress endangered.

"What is the meaning of this treachery, Sincline?" Daibazaal demanded.

"'Treachery'?" The prince echoed. "You were the one who betrayed me first, dear father. Or do you not remember announcing to execute me before lucking me in a cell beneath Demon Castle? 'Treachery', no. This is 'just deserts'."

Daibazaal bit the inside of his cheek while he studied the guns pointed at him and the soldiers holding them. All were perfect shots, the Empire's finest and at this close range there was not a chance of any one of them missing. They were all loyal to his son and would not be swayed by any appeal he might make. The Galra Emperor turned his focus from the soldiers and their guns and turned it back to his treacherous son. Daibazaal studied this man that had once been his heir and only offspring. Of all his concubines, lovers and pleasure slaves over the years, he had never expected a human slave to give him his heir. A hybrid between Galra and humans wasn't even supposed to be possible, reptiles like the Galra and mammals like humans weren't supposed to be able to inter-breed. And yet Sincline had been born none the less.

His doctors and scientists had been unable to explain it, his priests had proclaimed it to be the will of the gods, that the God King Menagroth had decided that the next Emperor of Galra should be of multiple races because the Empire encompassed many races. Daibazaal had rejected this idea not believing the gods actually existed and had turned to occult-science to give him the answers needed. In end, even Hornerva's occult-science tests were inconclusive and for lack of a better explanation, the Emperor had been forced to accept the 'will of the gods' theory. Was that what this was now? Was it the will of the gods, the will of the God King that Sincline now succeed him as Emperor? Daibazaal was about to submit to what could only be 'the will of the gods' and accept death at his son's hands (because he would never live under the rule of another) when Hornerva spoke, reminding him that he still had an ace up his sleeve.

"Heh, heh, heh... You've made one mistake, Sincline." She rasped. "We have Princess Fala of Altea as our prisoner, if you make one more move against His Eminence she will suffer for your insolence."

The prince schooled his features into a mask of boredom. If he could convince them that Fala meant nothing to him anymore then they might not try to use her against him. Of course, knowing his father, he might just kill her out of frustration. Fear tightened in his belly but Sincline refused to let any of it show on his face as he said in as mild a tone as he could manage, "Oh? And why should I care if she suffers? What's one human woman to me when I have a almost a full Collection of them already."

Daibazaal studied his son's impassive face, he would have almost believed the prince's ploy had he not noticed the tightness and tension behind the younger man's eyes. He was concerned for the princess, more so than he should feel for a mere bedroom conquest. She was his ardan, perhaps not yet in practice but certainly in feeling. The Emperor could use that feeling to his advantage and force Sincline into submission as he was going to force Altea. The prince's arda for the girl truly was his undoing, his one true weakness. Daibazaal's lip curled. "Well then, you wouldn't mind if I had one of my guards escort her out here, would you? She is, after all, a guest of this Empire..."

He let his words hang in the air between them, the father studying the son's reaction.

To his credit, Sincline gave nothing away. He remained impassive, not letting his true feelings show through his mask of board indifference. Behind the Emperor, Hornerva pulled out a small hand-held communicator and ordered the guards to bring out the princess. The Prince Imperial martialed all his self-control not to rush on board the Angband and free Fala himself. On the outside he might have appeared calm and collected, but on the inside his heart was hammering against his chest and his stomach was doing flip-flops while his mind ran through every possible scenario of how this situation could possibly go wrong starting with something as simple and mundane as a person tripping and firing their weapon indiscriminately all the way up to things as spectacular and ridiculous as an act of the gods.

Silence hung over the assembly. Sincline's Red Army stood as steady as statues with their weapons still trained on the Emperor and his single supporter Hornerva. Daibazaal looked calm, almost bored but not quite as he stood on the gangplank of the Angband. A hint of amusement would flicker behind his eyes every now and again as he studied his son's all to perfect expression of sheer apathy. The sheer fact that he looked so very uncaring was proof enough for the old despot that while the prince was the one with the Army and the guns, they still met as equals because the Emperor had just as powerful weapon on the prince as the prince had on him. So long as Daibazaal had Fala, Sincline was helpless.

Hornerva's com-link beeped and the old hag listened to whomever was on the other end of it for a moment or two before exclaiming, "What!"

"What is it, Hornerva?" The Emperor asked over his shoulder, not bothering to look at her.

"Princess Fala..." The occult-science witch began. "... She's escaped."

"What!" Both Daibazaal and Sincline echoed her earlier exclamation.

The Emperor moved as if to turn back and run into the ship. If the princess escaped then he would have no hostage to use against Altea to force their surrender and no weapon to use against Sincline and put an end to his foolish schemes once and for all.

"Don't move!" The prince barked. He was finding it hard to breath but he remained firm all the same. "Men, if he makes one move reenter the ship shoot him and shoot to kill!"

This was not how he had planned it, this was not how he had wanted it, but if his father made one move towards Fala he would kill him. He had to die one way or another, after all, it was a coup; you can't force your way to power without eliminating the previous sovereign permanently. But Sincline had wanted it to be a public execution, something that could be televised throughout the whole Empire to show how complete and absolute the Prince Imperial's power was. But if Daibazaal made one move towards Fala Sincline was resolved to kill him right here and now. His hand closed over the grip of his sword and he glared daggers at his father, daring him to move.

When the attack came it was not from the Emperor but rather Hornerva. The occult-science witch raised her staff and sent a jagged beam of violet magical energy strait for the prince. Sincline managed to bring his sword to bear just in time to block the attack but not do much else. The violet energy wrapped itself around the glowing blue blade as if it were trying to choke it and the prince was glad the attack had not hit him directly. All around him guns now blazed. The air was filled with the ra-ta-ta-tat of rappid-fire rifles or the pizuum-shuum of lazer-pistols and the acrid scent that always accompanied such weapons.

"Hold your fire!" The prince shouted over the din. Slowly, the gun-fire died down, the confusion giving way to clarity as Sincline observed what had once been Hornerva the Occult-Science Witch. Her body was a broken and pulpy mass of bullet-riddled meat that only just barley resembled who it had once been. A sizable pool of dark violet blood oozed out from the body on all sides and trickled off the edge of the gang-plank or flowed down the rest of the way. Sincline focussed her eyes back on his father whom looked a little shell socked but otherwise unharmed. "Now will you surrender?"

The Emperor starred at the body that had once been his most trusted advisor and loyal supporter, he glanced up at his son whom was once again wearing his mask of bored indifference. Daibazaal wouldn't see a way for him to fight Sincline and win. Not now at leas. There was only one option left to him, he got down on his knees.

"I yield to Menagroth's Chosen."

"Good." The prince finally aloud himself a triumphant smile. He motioned to two of the soldiers that surrounded them. "You two take him. Put our recently deposed ruler in the 'VIP suit'."

The two Red Army soldiers that now escorted Daibazaal to the same prison cell that Sincline had been locked in.

"Gibra, come with me." Sincline began climbing the gang-plank onto the Angband intent on seeing Fala. "The rest of you, wait out here for further orders."

...

Fala detested the Galra Empire. She never had any great love of the Empire to begin with, after all they had invaded her home world when she was just an infant, murdered her parents and enslaved her people. But that had all been done on the orders of their Emperor, Daibazaal. It was he whom she hated. But now her distain extended to the Empire as a whole. And 'why' you ask? Because their on-ship detention cells did not have toilets. Seriously, she would have settled for a bucket, but no, she got nothing. She had to go in the corner. It was an affront to every habit of personal hygiene and general cleanliness that had been taught to her since infancy. When she thought of all the horrible things that might be done to her once on Galra she decided that none of them could possibly be as bad as this. They could beat her, they could rape her, they could enslave her, hell, they could load her live body into a cannon and shoot her at the Lions if they wanted to, but for the love of God give her a toilet!

She had tried her best to stay clean in spite of her deplorable surroundings. Her pride as a princess and as the last surviving member of the Royal House of Altea would not allow her to face her captors looking like the gutter whelp of a destitute, she would hold her head high and proud, an equal to her fell captor, not his subordinate.

But beyond pride an appearance she had to figure a way out of here. Fala would not allow her home and her people to be taken over by Galra a second time. But as long as she was held as Daibazaal's hostage Raible was handicapped and wouldn't be able to fight them back. Kogane and the other Lion pilots would fight but how effective would they be without Blue Lion? Would they find another pilot to replace her as she had once replaced Kurogane or would they mount a rescue attempt for her? Regardless of what the other's back home tried to do she couldn't count on them, she had to escape on her own. She had played 'damsel in distress' enough times to know that siting and waiting for rescue solved nothing. She was on this ship now. She was surrounded by enemies all of which carried weapons. Weapons which, if she could get a hold of one, could bring her one step closer to freedom. She wasn't very familiar with this specific Galran ship, the Angband, but she had been on Sincline's ship the Narsil enough to become familiar with its layout. If the two were similar she was confident that she could navigate her way off of it. If she could just get out of this cell...

They had already landed on the Galran capitol so she didn't have to worry about escape pods or air-locks. However, it did mean that she now had an entire planet of enemies between her and any form of true escape. Her best bet, after getting off the ship was to find Amue's rebel group. Maybe they would have a ship capable of getting her back to Altea. Her mind made up she sat back and waited for her opportunity. Someone wold have to come to let her out of her cell at some point, to move her into a more permanent jail at the very least. It wouldn't due to have their special 'guest' stay in the ship indefinitely. She decided that her best opportunity would be when they opened her cell door. She would wrestle a weapon from one of the guards and take out the other. Then find an emergency hatch or some sort and high-tail it out of there! Meet-up with Amue, and get back to Altea as fast as she possibly could. The Lion team needed her.

She got her opportunity all to soon it seemed. Two of Daibazaal's soldiers approached her cell not long after the fell Emperor and his witch had disembarked from the ship. One of them kept his lazer-pistol trained on her while the other keyed the control panel by her cell to release the bars.

"Move." Ordered the one with the gun in highly accented Altean.

Fala nodded, keeping here eyes down-cast trying to project the image of a demure and defeated woman and stepped closer to the one holding the gun. When she was less than an arms length away from him she snapped up, ramming the heal of her hand into the man's chin, causing him to bite his tong. The princess took advantage of the man's shock and wrestled his gun from him, getting off two quick shots at the other whom was hurriedly reaching for his own gun. In the speed and heat of the moment her aim was off and she only managed to hit his shoulder and thigh, they were not killing shots but she did succeed in stalling him from drawing his own weapon long enough for her to shove one of them back into her cell and slam the bars shut on him. The one remaining she shot and sure she killed this time. She raided the body for anything that might be useful to her, a spare energy pack for the lazer-pistol, a knife, and flashlight; everything else she either didn't think she would use or couldn't identify in the first place, alien technology and all.

She slipped the Galra lazer-pistol in to the empty holster on her belt, her own pistol having been confiscated when she had been taken prisoner. There was no time to look for it now. The flashlight and knife she likewise found places for on her belt, they fit awkwardly but seemed secure enough as to not fall off and trip her when running and she would be running. Her little skirmish with the guards had not been a quiet one and reinforcements would be arriving soon. She sprinted down the corridor to the main (and only) exit of the detention center... and came face to face with three other guards.

Her commandeered pistol was back in her hand in an instant and she managed to take out one of the Galran soldiers before they could point there weapons at her. She dove behind a console of some sort to avoid getting hit by the other two. The one she had locked in her cell was shouting from down the corridor in the guttural language of the Galran people, Fala had no idea what he was saying but she assumed he was begging his fellows to let him out to join the fight. Unless they chose to take him up on that offer both he and his cries weren't important. She focused her attention back on the remaining two soldiers that stood between her and whatever freedom she could find on Galra.

One of them had taken cover just as she had behind the still open door to the detention center while the other one held his blaster poised to shoot anything that came out from behind her chosen console of cover. She was trapped. The one crouched behind the open doorway was muttering into the palm of his had. A communicator of some sort? If so, then she would have more than just the two to worry about. If she could manage to take out the one calling for back-up would she be able to duck back behind cover before the other one got in a kill-shot? Probably not. But they were both blocking the one and only exit out of here! (Unless she somehow managed to find a garbage shoot or something... But what practical minded Empire would have open grates leading to their garbage shoots out in the open on a prison level?) It seemed there was really only one option left open to her if she wanted to get out alive.

"I surrender!" She called over the console. "I give up."

She pulled the battery pack from her lazer-pistol and slid both it and the gun across the floor to coast to a stop at the feet of the one standing with the gun. She also slid over the spare charge pack and the flashlight. The knife, however, she slipped into her sleeve hoping it would stay inconspicuous until she was ready to use it, it wouldn't be long. The soldier with the gun barked something at her but she didn't understand it, but she jot the jist. Fala stepped out from behind the her cove with her hands on her head, her right wrist turned at an odd angle to try and hide the fact that there was a knife in her sleeve. She took a step closer to the man with the gun, hoping to close a little more distance between the two of them. When she was just within arms reach of him she pulled the knife out of her sleeve and slashed across the man's throat. Dark purple blood spurted out and spattered itself over her arm, chest and face.

His companion gasped in shock and tossed his com-link aside to go for his gun but Fala, already on her feet with reflexes adrenaline enhanced, had already snatched up the dead one's gun. This time her aim was better and she landed a bulls-eye right in the man's chest. HIs body convulsed for a few moments, spasaming as he died. When he no longer moved she gingerly stepped over him and out of the detention center. Phase one of her escape was complete.

Fala found a lift that would take her to another level of the ship easily enough and she had a vague idea of how to operate it from watching when they had first brought her down to the prison level. She keyed the lift to take her to, what she hoped, was galley which should be empty of personnel at the moment. Unfortunately for her, she had no idea how to read the odd characters that made-up the Galran writing system and so for all she knew she could be walking right onto the bridge.

She almost wished it had been the bridge the lift had taken her to. When the door slid open it was not the galley she found herself in, nor was it the bridge or any other recognizable part of the ship. But while she didn't recognize where on the ship she was, she did recognize who she suddenly found herself in the company of.

"Sincline!"