Deadline
By Cheezey
Chapter Four: Lost and Found
It was late when Cossack got back to his quarters for the night, for he had spent the better part of the day after leaving Haggar’s lab on a trip to the asteroid Elgoz. Though not habitable without significant technological support, it was home to a lazon mining operation. Cossack was pleased to receive the go-ahead from Zarkon to deliver orders for them to speed up production as much as possible and up their percentage of material shipped to Castle Doom to 75%. It put a squeeze on their personal profits for they needed 16% of their average production simply to run the operation and power the city around the mine leaving a paltry percentage for their own profit—a point which Count Syridon, the noble running the station, whined about heavily—but it was either take Zarkon’s order or be shut down permanently, so like the obedient subject he was, Syridon obeyed grudgingly.
Cossack was pleased with how things turned out, although he was annoyed that it took him holding Syridon over the edge of a balcony above one of the mining pits to get him to comply. He hated it when off planet nobility got all huffy with him as if they had the authority to challenge the mighty Cossack the Terrible, Fleet Commander of Doom. But fortunately Syridon had come around after seeing his life flash before his eyes in a rocky lazon pit, and Cossack had secured a good lazon supply for the robeast project. It was not enough to do the whole job, but with what would come in for the next couple of weeks it would power at least a few of them.
When he got back to his quarters he saw he had two messages and a package from the supply center waiting for him. As he set the package down to open it he absently hit the message button to listen to what was going on. The first was from his fleet buddy Yaklitz letting him know that there was an extended happy hour at the Doom ‘n Gloom because of a recent victory on planet Dargin. Dargin was one of those worlds that Doom had conquered some time ago, but that had an annoying sect of rebels living on it that tried to overthrow Zarkon’s rule every now and again. Cossack was mildly surprised that Voltron and the Galaxy Alliance never bothered to defend them, but he supposed the fact that the natives there practiced cannibalism and considered humans a delicacy and often sold them on the black market as meat meant that they weren’t GA material politically. Zarkon wanted the world for its resources and its slave labor, so a little thing like chowing down on the locals hardly bothered him, especially as they considered meat of Drule-blooded origin too gamey for their tastes.
A quick glance at the clock told Cossack that he could probably stop by if he wanted to, but he decided he was not up to it as he was pretty beat and did not want to start off the next day with a hangover—which he surely would if the booze was cheap. People always bought the fleet commander drinks in a soldier’s bar, and with them inexpensive odds were that plenty of them would be trying to schmooze with him and get on his good side.
He switched on the light sword to slice his package open as the second message played. That one was from his mother, wanting to know if he would be attending noble so-and-so’s wedding to such-and-such with the family the following week. As he listened he muttered “hell no” as he had better things to do than bore himself silly at a formal nobility function, and he shook his head slightly when he heard her ask if he would please give her a call as he never called her enough and she loved and missed her beloved “Terrible Terror” as she called him. Sighing Cossack let the message play out and he slashed at the cardboard box in front of him. It came neatly open in one swipe, and inside was some folded fabric and an invoice. The comments section read:
“Fleet Commander Cossack the Terrible, the replacement for your damaged cape 014MU-XLR is currently unavailable. The custom dye to replace your existing piece is out of stock and will not be available for an estimated 17 standard days. Please accept the following in-stock replacements in your size in other colors complementary to the hues of your uniform until your order comes in. If you desire a different in-stock color, you may contact the extension below for assistance.”
“Yellow dye? They don’t keep yellow dye in stock?” he said incredulously. “Well let’s see what they got here.” He pulled out the three capes, all in the same exact style as he normally wore but in different colors. The first was a drab brown that matched perfectly with Haggar’s robe. “Great. All I need is an ugly mask and I can be her little brother. No thanks,” he muttered, and tossed it aside. The second was a green reminiscent of former Commander Mogor’s favorite color. Cossack winced as he held it up. “You’d think they never heard of bright colors.” He sighed and removed the third. It was a bold scarlet. “Okay, I take that back,” he said, and held it up.
To his surprise, he did not utterly hate how it looked. He unfastened his scorched cape and tentatively pulled the new one around him. It matched the olive pants well enough, and his boots were neutral enough to not clash with any color. The black shirt he wore underneath it, as well as his leather arm and shoulder armor, also matched it just fine. “Heh. Not bad,” he remarked as he looked in a mirror, pleasantly surprised with how it pulled together. “It’s a lot better than pea soup green anyway.” He shrugged and took it off again. “At least Lotor won’t pick on me for this thing again tomorrow,” he said, and cast a final look at his damaged yellow cape before letting out a tired yawn. “And on that note, I think I’m gonna hit the sack.”
* * *
That night Cossack did not have the unpleasant Voltron dream again. Instead he had a strange foggy dream of waking up shortly after going to sleep and stopping in front of his mirror. He remembered looking into it for a long time, first staring at his reflection and then into the darkness beyond it, as if searching for answers to questions he could not even recall when he woke up. Aside from that hazy dream however, as far as he knew he slept solidly through until morning when his alarm pierced through the deep slumber like a gladiator beast’s spear into the belly of an opponent. With a loud groan the commander rolled over and flailed in the general direction of his clock, feeling surprisingly exhausted for someone who had gotten a full night’s sleep.
The alarm clattered to the floor where its buzz mixed with the jittery motion of it bouncing against the rug. Reaching groggily with his foot, Cossack rolled it upright and stepped on the “off” button with his big toe. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wondering why he felt like he had only just gone to bed an hour ago. He searched his memory for a moment to make sure he had not changed his mind and met up with Yaklitz after all and just drank enough that he forgot, but he was pretty sure that was not the case because he would have had a killer hangover if that were true. Hence, he reasoned he was just tired after all.
Which meant he needed coffee, lots of it, right away. Slowly getting to his feet, Cossack shuffled over to the intercom and grunted an order to his slave to get him a fresh pot of the high-test stuff, and made his way into the shower. That at least woke him up a little bit more, and by the time he emerged from the bathroom he was pleased to see on his nightstand a fresh pot of coffee and some doughnuts—ah, that slave girl of his was good!—including some powdered ones with chocolate cream inside.
After gulping down some coffee and a couple of his breakfast sugar bombs, the commander got dressed, complete with his new cape and both the electrolash and light sword on his weapons belt, one on each side as Lotor had suggested the day before. Once he had his helmet on, the last thing he usually put on before grabbing his access badge and comm unit, he reached for where he usually tossed the aforementioned accessories on his dresser… except they were nowhere to be found.
“Aw, what the hell?” Cossack muttered, looking over and finding the top of his dresser empty. He looked around hastily to see if he’d left them on the nightstand or tossed them on another random piece of furniture, but again, he did not see them anywhere. “Shit, I don’t need this,” he growled under his breath as he peered behind the furniture, and then bent down to look and see if they fell underneath something. When that yielded no result, he stomped out into the main room of his quarters to see if they were out there.
Unfortunately before he got a chance to look he walked straight into his coffee table, banging his shin hard against its edge. The sudden stop caused him to trip, and he fell ass over helmet across it and onto the floor, landing in a completely undignified heap with his leg throbbing where he’d hit the table.
“Almika!” he hollered his human slave’s name in a furious roar when he sat up and realized the reason he tripped was because the coffee table had been moved sometime during the night. Instead of its usual place wedged haphazardly between a cushy recliner and his couch, it was right in his usual path to the door. He noticed at least three other pieces of furniture had been moved as well, including his couch, which was at a completely different angle facing the rearranged coffee table. “Almika, get in here now!” he shouted again.
The slave girl ran in quickly upon hearing the harsh bark of her master’s voice. Usually Cossack was not a difficult master, despite the impression his title might give, and generally he was easy to keep satisfied so long as his needs were met and she met them pleasantly, preferably while wearing a skimpy outfit. “Yes, Master?” she said meekly as she entered the room to see him getting up off of the floor.
Pointing accusingly at the coffee table, he gave her a harsh glare. “Why did you move my furniture?”
She blinked. “I didn’t, Master. It was like that when I came in this morning.”
Further irritated by the denial, Cossack’s gaze narrowed at her and a low growl built in his throat. “Well I didn’t move it, and no one else was in here last night, were they?”
The slave shook her head. “I—I don’t think so.”
“So then you’re either lying, or a ghost moved my stuff. And since I don’t think the green screamer or the shoe chick,” he said, naming two of Castle Doom’s more well known spooks—the first of which was a prince of a few generations past that appeared screaming his death throes in the courtyard wearing the green outfit in which his wife had murdered him, and the second of which was a woman whose footsteps haunted Cossack’s corridor for it was upon the stairway at the end of where she had tripped on her too-high heels and fallen to her death years before, “have any immediate plans about remodeling, I’ll ask again. Why did you move it?” His gaze was stern and deadly serious.
A look of panic flashed across the girl’s features. “I didn’t master, I swear it!”
Cossack’s patience wore thinner and he felt his temper flare. “Then who did?”
“I don’t know,” she answered meekly, trembling at the dangerous look in his eyes.
His hand fell to the hilt of the light sword at his side. “You don’t know,” he repeated accusatorily. “Does that mean you let just anyone in my quarters when I sleep, slave? High security quarters? Do you know what we do to security risks?” His fingers tightened around the handle of the blade.
“No!” she gasped. “I’ve never let anyone in without your permission, Master! Ever! Please believe me!” Fearful tears filled her eyes. She knew of Cossack’s title and his reputation for mercilessness when angered, but she had never seen it manifest in such a way and never at her. She took care to avoid riling her master’s temper as for a slave in Castle Doom she had a relatively easy position and she did not want it any worse than she already had it being a slave.
With his left hand he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him roughly. “Slaves that lie to their masters aren’t much more useful than security risks.”
“I’m telling the truth, Master Cossack, I didn’t move anything! I can’t even move that couch without help! It’s too heavy!” Cossack’s glare remained fixed on her as she pleaded her case, but he made no further move to harm her while she went on with her explanation. “I get two others from housekeeping when I have to move it to clean your rug, Master, please… I know you’ve been here when I’ve done that. You know I can’t!”
Cossack’s expression changed to a frown as he did recall one afternoon in the not too distant past that he’d spent bumming around his quarters off duty while a bunch of maids in skimpy outfits, including his servant, bent and twisted into positions that fueled his imagination while they cleaned. He forgot sometimes that most humans did not have a Doomite’s natural strength and a couch that he found heavy to move on his own would likely be impossible for a slight human slave woman to maneuver without aid. Realizing then that she was telling the truth, his rage fizzled and he released her. She looked back up at him, visibly shaken. “You believe me, Master?” she asked timidly.
“Yeah,” he answered, and sighed as an uneasy feeling settled over him. If his servant had not moved his things and he had not, then who did? Suddenly his earlier crack about the ghosts was not at all amusing. He was not afraid of things that went bump in the night, but he did not like the idea of them interfering with his domain to the point that it caused him to bump into things in the morning. The thought of otherworldly entities brought to mind the remark he had made to Haggar the night he had been struck by lightning about her energy rip being a great way to get pissed off ghosts in her rafters. Oh great, he mused irritably. She’s the one screwing around and her ghosts wind up in my rafters. Thanks heaps, old witch.
As if that was not enough, Cossack was still tired, still missing his badge and comm unit, and he had nearly skewered the dutiful little slave who brought him coffee and doughnuts every morning because he was grumpy. “Sorry about nearly axing you there, babe. It’s been a shitty morning. I’m tired as hell, I banged my shin on that damn table coming in here, and I can’t even find my communicator. You seen it?”
She shook her head. “No Master. I can look for it if you wish.”
He sighed. “Yeah, do that, ‘cause I’m supposed to meet up with Prince Lotor and King Zarkon and give them an update.” While she set about searching the main room, he wandered back into the bedroom, where he was sure he remembered setting it down. He was almost ready to give up when he heard its distinctive buzz coming from the direction of his dresser.
“What the…” Frowning as he realized that came from inside one of the drawers, he vaulted the bed, and took two fast strides over to it. Up close he heard the buzzer from inside the top left drawer and sure enough when he pulled it open there it was, with his access badge right beside it. “Weird,” he muttered as he picked it up and answered. “Yeah?”
“Well hello Cossack, I hope I didn’t interrupt your beauty sleep,” the tiny image of Haggar sneered sarcastically on the other end. “It’s about time you picked up.”
“I’m so glad you called, Haggar! You helped me find this blasted thing. I’ve been looking all over for it.”
“Oh, so is that why you’re late again?” she said with one yellow eye wider than the other as she regarded him. “I knew your cleaning excuse was more full of it than Coba’s litter box.”
“No, I’m serious. I woke up and I couldn’t find it and my access badge anywhere. They were stuffed in a drawer of all places. Who’d put it there?”
“A toad pond born idiot who spent the night with Sam Adams and forgot that he put it away, perhaps, somewhere it wouldn’t get lost?” The sarcasm in her voice was obvious.
Cossack made a face. “First of all, I’m Sam Adams and Yaklitz is Bud Wiser,” he corrected her, using the aliases derived from contraband GA beers that he and his friend went by in the soldiers’ pub when they did not want people like Yaklitz’s wife or any number of individuals on Cossack’s list of annoying people to find them. “And I didn’t go out last night anyway, I crashed ‘cause I was beat and I still am. Secondly, why would I put it with my socks? I usually leave it with the important stuff where it can’t get lost. By the remote.”
“Well you ought to stick them in that helmet of yours. It’s not like it’s got competition for the space with your empty head! Now shut up and get down here!”
“Fine, don’t get your warts in an uproar, you batty old witch,” he retorted grouchily, all of a sudden very irritated by her nagging. The old crone’s eyes narrowed at the commander’s abruptly snappish tone, and she began to voice an equally snide response, but he hung up on her before she could get it out.
Stuffing his communicator and access badge into his pockets, he headed back out into the main suite where his servant girl was looking in the cushions of a chair for his missing stuff. “Don’t bother, I found it,” he called over to her, and gave her a tired smile. “Just go fix it up in there for now. And I didn’t get a chance to finish ‘em, so have a doughnut on me.” He smirked as he eyed her low neckline while she bent over his chair. Taken literally, that statement might be entertaining, he thought, but he didn’t have time to leer at the slave in the skimpy maid uniform at the moment as he had more important things to do.
He turned to leave and promptly walked right into the back of the still out of place couch. “Ugh,” he groaned, and then added, “and call your pals up here to move this thing back to where it belongs, okay?”
* * *
Fortunately for the commander, Cossack was not all that late when he showed up at the throne room. King Zarkon had been in conference with some off-world delegates until just a few minutes prior, and Prince Lotor had only arrived a few moments before he did. He and Haggar were on their way in when Cossack caught up to them. Flashing the witch a superior smile he greeted her, “See, I’m not that late!”
She was about to make a witty retort, but she and Lotor were both caught off guard at the change in his appearance with the bright red cape. “Just in time to save the day, it’s Super Moron!” she quipped, finding his new look amusingly similar to something one might see in a comic book.
Lotor snickered at that and turned toward Cossack. “And what, may I ask, inspired this new look? Red’s not your usual color.”
Ignoring Haggar, Cossack bowed in greeting to the prince. “It was what was in stock to replace that one she fried in the lightning storm. Who knew the robots in supply don’t stock yellow dye?”
“I didn’t fry it; I’m not the one wandering around with a lightning rod on my head,” the old witch pointed out as the three of them approached the foot of the throne.
“Well well, if it isn’t the triumphant trio,” Zarkon greeted them, his scaly blue chin resting on one hand as he regarded them. “I’m ready for my update. I’ve been listening to the Demos governors droning on about the state of their affairs all morning, so please give me some good news to wake me up. How’s the ten robeast project coming?”
“I’ve got one fully constructed and in stasis, two more in near final stages that should be ready to go in tonight and tomorrow, another in incubation, and I’ve got the basic design down for the fifth,” Haggar informed him. “There’ll be some lag on number five as I need some biological parts from off planet, but it shouldn’t be too difficult, just time consuming.”
“And the lazon?” Zarkon queried.
Lotor spoke up next. “Planet Guldrin in the coral quadrant has a moon that’s rumored to have lazon in its core. I’m taking a strike force and a mining setup crew out there tonight. Should it go well, we’ll have a supply from there.”
The king’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Guldrin is near
Glowering at his father’s vocal lack of confidence and respect for him, he replied sourly, “It will be yours by tomorrow, Father, and all of its lazon.”
Without bothering to reply, he turned to Cossack. “What about you? Are you making yourself useful by handing Haggar robeast body parts or tagging along with my son for a joyride? This grandiose plan was your brain child, wasn’t it?”
“Amazing it got out of the playpen,” Haggar said under her breath.
Ignoring Haggar, Cossack smiled proudly at Doom’s king. “Yes, sire! I’ve been working the lazon angle of it. I went and convinced Count Syridon of Elgoz to up their percentage of lazon coming here to just about all of it that they don’t need there. He bitched about it a lot, crying that it wasn’t much to profit on, but I convinced him that he made the right decision opting to donate said profits to the noble anti-Voltron effort.”
Zarkon laughed. “Good. If he whines again, tell him to think of it as a tax deduction. I was going to raise them for that operation anyway, since he’s such a greedy little worm.”
The conversation was interrupted when a robot carrying a packet of papers came in and approached Cossack. “Commander Cossack, this just came in for you from accounting.”
As he took the paperwork from the robot his pleasant look faded and morphed to one of outrage in an instant. “Fucking cheap-ass officious pencil-pushing pricks!” he exploded, clenching the packet in his hand, which was his most recent requisition to use royal funds to contract a lazon operation on another one of their worlds. It had a bright red “rejected” stamped across the top with a scrawled note from the head of accounting stating that his forces had already exceeded the approved lazon budget by 30% and no further requisitions would be approved without express written consent from King Zarkon.
“I’m so tired of their bullshit!” he continued to rant, and while he crumpled the paperwork in one hand he drew the light sword with his right. “I’m going to go down there and take that overzealous bean counter and hang him by his toes while I gut him and stuff his internal organs down his throat, followed by his gods-damned paperwork—in triplicate!” He swung the light sword around dramatically to emulate the motions of the painful evisceration he fantasized about performing, and ended it with a loud snarl of fury and thrust the weapon into the floor. It made a metallic thwack as it embedded, and wobbled back and forth for a few moments while everyone else just stared at him.
Zarkon was the first to speak, and an amused grin crossed his lips. “Oooh, I haven’t heard a rant that good against accounting in years! Not since,” he paused as he searched his memory, “well, Lotor’s tantrum about not getting the platinum and velour suite for his ‘soon-to-be’ bride Princess Allura was pretty good, but it didn’t have your venom. In fact it was rather pissy,” he said with a glance at the prince, who scowled.
“No Father, I simply have more decorum than Cossack.”
“So do half the toads from his pond,” Haggar added, while Zarkon ignored them both.
“Still, I think that was the best one I saw since they cut Yurak’s weapons budget on him.” Zarkon sighed. “Though it was unfortunate that we had to train three replacements for the front desk after that mess. Of course, that’s the reason they handle things by mail these days.” He twirled his scepter casually.
Cossack sighed, trying with considerable effort to keep a handle on his temper. How the hell was he supposed to beat Voltron when his own side insisted on hog-tying him in red tape? “With all due respect, Sire, I—”
It was Zarkon’s turn to sigh, and he beckoned for the commander to approach. “Hand it here, Cossack, and I’ll sign off on it so you can get the lazon. Don’t take it personally. They’re only doing what I underpay them so well for.” He took the rumpled paper and fished a royal pen out of his robes to scribble an “approve or else” note on it. Before he handed it back he added in a tone that one might use as if speaking to a misbehaving pet, “Now don’t go killing my nerds when you drop this off. I need those ‘cheap-ass officious pencil pushing pricks’ as you so eloquently called them to keep my royal treasury nice and full.”
“Fine. I promise no one will get killed,” Cossack agreed.
Zarkon raised an eyebrow. “No gratuitous bodily harm, either.”
A sullen frown crossed the commander’s lips as the king sewed up his loophole. “Okay,” he agreed grumpily. “I won’t beat anyone up either.”
“Good boy.” He handed the paper back to Cossack and settled in his throne. “So are we all set?” Cossack nodded, and Zarkon turned to the other two. “What about you two?”
“Everything is going according to schedule, Father,” Lotor assured him.
Haggar also nodded. “Before long Voltron will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory!”
Not as optimistic as his court, Zarkon only tapped his foot as he waved them away to dismiss them. “We’ll see. I’ve heard that one before.”
Once out in the hall, Lotor caught up to Cossack, who was still muttering under his breath about accounting. The prince was fairly sure he heard him mutter something along the lines that maybe he couldn’t beat anyone up since he’d promised, but if Captain Arzhatt just happened to put a few of them in traction after being ordered him to deliver the newly overridden requisition to accounting for him, well that wasn’t him doing it…
Lotor spoke up beside him. “Father won’t be swayed by that reasoning, I’m afraid. Besides, even if he did, I wouldn’t let you get away with it.”
That caught Cossack by surprise. “You wouldn’t? But I thought you hated accounting too, Sire.”
“I do,” Lotor admitted, and smirked. “But if I can’t get away with abusing them and I’m the prince, I’m not going to stand there and let you get away with it. If anyone gets first crack at them, it’s me.”
To Be Continued
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