A/N: We're really close to the end now! To help myself along, I've started working on all the remaining chapters simultaneously - right now there are five chapters left (although that might change if I decide to split a chapter, which is unlikely.)

Lilo & Stitch's Star Trek
Chapter 59: Escape

Time was of the essence.

They had to run, to get to the co-ordinates Pleakley had supplied them with. There was the only chance of hope, the glimmer of light that Lilo would be safe, that 426 would be with them, that everything would turn out okay.

Jumba glanced at the radar map on his communicator, upon which the co-ordinates of the transport point, transferred from the device Pleakley had brought with him, was marked with an orange cross.

They didn't have long to go.

Their escape with Lilo would have surely reached Her by now. Surely she would be sending her drones to assimilate them. Surely…

Where were the drones?

"We're drawing close," he murmured. "Be cautious."

Around another corner they edged. Jumba's eyes darted across the corridor, and he held his cannon forward – even if shooting at them didn't work, he could always use it as a club.

But there was still no-one there.

"Two-hundred metres," he announced.

No-one else spoke. Whether it was the scene that they just witnessed, whether they were angry at Jumba (and for excellent reason, or so he thought), or if they were just focusing on the task at hand, Jumba did not know. He would not bother them, though – he had his own duties to worry about, mainly the one slung across Pleakley's shoulder.

Internal bleeding, a broken rib-cage, arrhythmia. That was what his scans had told him; yet it hadn't completely hit him until he had heard her heartbeat by ear – the irregular beating fluttering in and out like a butterfly with a broken wing.

Now, her breathing echoing along the halls, amplifying his dread a thousand times more. And he silently begged her to be strong, to continue breathing, to continue living.

"One-fifty."

Scampering claws before him told him that Stitch had climbed the ceiling and was now scouting ahead. He didn't tell him not to – he knew his experiment too well for that.

He glanced at 419. Her face was scrunched into a look of determination, her eyes fixated straight ahead, and her hands awkwardly wrapped around a plasma cannon about a third her size. He briefly wondered what she felt about him now, but that was soon interrupted by another thought.

The scampering had stopped.

Jumba took a short breath, held up his hand to indicate to the others to stop, and, once they had done so, peeked his head around the next corner.

At first there was nothing – nothing but swirling gas from a pipe that had come loose at some point, about halfway down the corridor.

And then came the sound.

Pssh. Pssh. Pssh.

He turned back to the rest of the group.

"It appears that, to be making it to the teleport location, we will have to be making it past them. Anyone who doesn't want to do it-"

"This is the only way," said Pleakley. "Well," he hurriedly added, "there other ways, but the chances are th-"

"They'll probably assimilate us anyway," said 419, with a rather uncharacteristic smirk on her face. "At least this way they can't sneak up on us."

"Alright, then."

He looked at Experiment 419.

"419, you be staying here and guarding Little Girl. See if you can't get some shots in, eh?"

"What? But-"

"If we are not successful, I will be needing someone fast, light and small to be getting to the transport location, and then coming back with backup – but that is meaning you have to be staying out of way until that happens. Here's the communicator" – he threw the device to her – "good luck."

"But-"

Jumba held up his hand, and then turned to Pleakley.

"You are being my secondary. Always be staying about a meter behind me. If things are to go, how-you-say, lopsided, you must be falling back and protecting Little Girl until help arrives. If that is meaning abandoning this location, then so be it."

Pleakley nodded.

"626 and I will be taking point. Is everyone clear?"

No-one answered.

Then, the entire group embraced Jumba in a rather large hug.

"Be careful, friend," said Pleakley.

"You too," Jumba replied. "In fact, to all of you."

"You better come out of this one," 419 teasingly threatened from the general area of his leg.

"Iki chobo nala quatra," came the voice of Stitch (who from the weight on Jumba's shoulders, had landed on his head.)

"No one gets left behind," muttered Lilo in her sleep.

.Jumba glanced at her hanging over Pleakley's shoulder. He owed it to her to get her home.

"Alright, then," said Jumba, backing slowly as to break away from the hug. "We should get going."

Pleakley nodded and let Lilo down, propping her against a terminal; 419 crouched in front of her, leaning on the cannon that she held.

By now, the group of drones were visible, marching in that unervingly perfect unison that made Jumba feel as if he'd swallowed a bowling ball. Nothing should move that way. Nothing.

He quickly did a headcount. There were only seven, but any number of drones were that many too many.

He gathered his wits together. True, their chances were slim, but he thought he could manage it. If their shields were weaker than the more "important" drones. If they were as slow in reacting as they were walking. If…

He turned to Pleakley. "Let's go."

He didn't know how long it took to get within range of the drones, but it seemed like the longest twenty meters he'd ever had to travel.

Once there, he knew what he would do. His finger tensed the trigger in antisipation.

Just a meter more…

TWANG TWANG TWANG

Jumba fired a volley of shots at the drones in the lead; they soared through the air, billowing like balloon buffeting in the wind, across the space between him and his target.

SPLIFCH SPLIFCH SPLIFCH

They splattered across their shields, and the beings continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Jumba started – things were already unravelling. Maybe if-

"AKA TOOKIE!"

From above, the figure of Experiment 626 flung down; he grabbed the head of one of the drones and brought it crashing to the floor. It did not attempt to move.

Two more drones collapsed from below, and sickening cracks indicated exactly what had been done to their necks.

Stitch quickly scrambled to, and then up, the wall, most likely to get a better position, but-

SLAM.

One of the drones had pinned Stitch against the wall, and was now reaching his other hand towards him-

"NO!"

Anger rose from the pit of his stomach - they'd contorted 628 into a monster, forcibly taken control Lilo, and they were about to do it to Stitch as well-

No, he couldn't let them, couldn't let them harm anyone else, couldn't- he must stop them here.

And Jumba charged the drones, raising his weapon like a sword.

"Jumba!" squealed Pleakley, but Jumba did not heed.

With a swift swing of his arm, he brought his cannon on top of the head of one of the drones; to his great surprise, the being fell to the ground. Perhaps they had misjudged his strength?

With renewed vigor, he rushed to the next drone, preparing to throw as much as he could into the swing.

He flung his arm towards the drone's head, hurling his weight so as to get as much power to the punch as possible.

But before the gun made contact, his arm stopped.

The drone held it still for a second, gripping it like a vice.

And in one swift motion, it twirled Jumba around, and he found himself found himself pushed against the wall.

He'd failed. There was nothing else to it – he'd failed everyone. He'd failed to get them all to the ship. He'd failed to protect Lilo from harm. He'd failed to return them home. The last few hours had been nothing but failure.

Well, he wasn't going to drag everyone else down with him.

"Pleakley, 419! While they're busy – there's only one to be getting around!" he shouted. They had to help themselves. They couldn't save him.

However, the two were now shooting down the corridor around the corner - apparently, a collection of drones were coming in from behind. He couldn't see if they were having any success, but from his own attempts, he doubted it.

"They are not mattering! Hurry up and- ah!"

Something sharp, long and wire-like pierced the back of his neck. The scene before him, perfectly clear before, became a blurry blotchy mess of gray and green and yellow and pink, and drowsyness swept over him.

It was over, it was all over…

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a blue flash of glimmering light. Probably just his brain dealing with the sensory overload of whatever the drones had injected him with, though-

"Okay, people, rotating frequence, on my mark – fire!"

No, it couldn't be… could it?

Everything around him sounded as if it was being filtered through an especially old radio now, warbling and muffled, so it was easy for Jumba to suspect that he was hearing things, especially since he was facing in the wrong direction to see what was going on.

But then, the sound of an energy weapon making contact rang close – so close that he could feel its heat radiating from the beam – and the drone that was holding him to the wall crumpled before him.

It must be happening.

Jumba felt gravity take its hold over him, felt the ground impact against his left arm. As he watched, unable to move for how heavy his body felt, blotchy black figures with red and yellow sholders rushed towards him.

"Doctor Jumba, I presume?" the familiar voice of Captain Jameston asked.

Jumba nodded and smiled. Now that he was safe, he could finally sleep.