Respite

The planet Myrlon, the most technologically advanced and metropolitan of the worlds in the Seventh Kingdom of the Drule Empire, was not a place that Commander Yurak of Doom had been before. A world of vast ocean surrounding one large continent, it had been highly developed for industry over the centuries in which it had been under Drule rule. It was also the birthplace of the Seventh Kingdom’s current ruler, Queen Merla, but it was not her home except when political business demanded she stay there.

In truth Merla was more at home in her star-cutter searching for new planets to add to her empire than anywhere else, but the place she called home, her sanctuary, was a rustic forested world called Eshai. Eshai was a moon that orbited a lifeless gas planet in a neighboring solar system, and Merla liked it for both its solitude and its subservient natives, the Dwarflings. Merla conducted very little business or entertainment on Eshai, however, because shortly after she conquered and settled that world, the independent young queen enacted a law that forbade any man not native to it to set foot on its’ soil. Many of the nobles, politicians, and travelers within the Drule Empire found the law ludicrous and insulting, but few were foolhardy enough to test her seriousness about it because her reputation as a ruthless conqueror was the only one that surpassed her one of being eccentric and militantly feminist.

On the planet Myrlon where she could meet with males however, Queen Merla’s home fortress was a majestic spire on a private island a few miles off the continent’s west coastline. It was there that she met with visitors such as royalty, diplomats, and politicians to conduct the business of running an interplanetary kingdom, and there that the imposing battleship, originally from Doom, was headed. Commander Yurak was not overly excited about the trip to Seventh Kingdom territory, since he generally preferred battle to political talk, but orders were orders, and he supposed if nothing else, the diplomatic errand would be a welcome change of pace if it did not involve a run-in with Voltron.

Voltron, Yurak thought with a scowl, the accursed lion-robot that came out of nowhere on Arus and managed time and again to make him, his army, and all of Zarkon’s empire look weak. Doom had conquered planet Arus by all rights, razed its cities, executed its reigning monarchs, and enslaved or killed the majority of its population, but that still did not stop the remaining Arusians from constantly rebelling and refusing to surrender. Zarkon’s forces had all but wiped out the last of the planet’s ability to resist when the space explorers landed there and managed to dredge up Voltron. Voltron, who that inept old witch Haggar—as the commander thought of her—had supposedly already destroyed.

Not for the first time Yurak wondered why it was that the old crone who had allegedly defeated Voltron once could not even so much as thwart him these days if her magic was as powerful as she claimed. Furthermore he wondered why Zarkon still bothered to listen to her. True, Yurak had fared no better against the robotic nuisance, but his thought was that if Haggar had done her job right in the first place, Voltron would not be his problem now. He wondered if Zarkon tolerated Haggar because of her long years of acquaintance with him, for they did have history and it was certainly no secret that she was a little too attached to Doom’s king. The way she hovered around him was more than a slight testament to the veracity of that rumor, and the way she fixed her ire upon anyone that got too close to him or threatened her position as his most trusted advisor was not only pathetic in Yurak’s opinion, but also annoying because she constantly used him as a scapegoat to curry Zarkon’s favor and shift blame away from herself.

Well if the old witch screws up and gets her warts handed to her by Voltron this time, she won’t be able to blame anyone but her cat, Yurak thought irritably as a robot informed him that they were cleared to land on Myrlon’s royal grounds. He gave the order to dock the ship, and brought a view of the queen’s spire up onto the view screen. It was an impressive structure, tall and imposing, and guarded at every entrance. The grounds around it were landscaped with waterfalls and fountains, accented with statues of Myrlonian heroes and rulers of note. Plants and vines in varying hues of rich green covered the ground around the tower, and the skyline of the city on the continent across the water was visible behind the grand tower. He had seen more ostentatious castles on other planets, but Merla’s gave an air of classy authority, like a finely crafted blade—nice for display and show, but lethal to cross.

Once they landed he switched the screen off and left the ship, leaving an admiral he assigned to monitor the ship’s security behind while he and a few robots met with the queen on Zarkon’s behalf. The meeting was more of a gesture than anything else; Zarkon wanted him to extend an invitation to Merla to visit Doom in the near future. Rumor had it that Zarkon wanted to feel out the possibility of arranging a marriage of his son Prince Lotor to the Seventh Kingdom queen, but that was only speculation. Any discussion of something of that nature would be done in person and between Zarkon and Merla alone. He was there only to present the invitation—and to make an informal evaluation of Merla’s capabilities through whatever he could glean on a social visit. In the Drule Empire it was customary for a monarch to send a messenger to invite another monarch to a summit in person anyhow. Yurak preferred it when Zarkon asked royal advisors or fleet officers of lesser rank than he to do such business, but he had no real objection to it, aside from the fact that social calls often made for dull duty given that in general a monarch’s favorite subject to talk about was him or herself.

Prior to that Yurak had never met the Seventh Kingdom queen and he did not know what to expect. Though he had seen media images of her, and he knew her to be a fairly attractive woman with the typical look of a Myrlonian—whitish blue skin paler than that of Doom’s half-human prince, yellow eyes with a sharp contrasting black pupil, and pink hair—he knew little else about her. Myrlonians, like Doomites, were a race descended from pureblooded Drules, the blue to violet-skinned, red-eyed beings native to the old planet of the same name. Time, evolution, and crossbreeding with the natives of their colonized planets had created the Drule races found on other planets in the empire like Doom and Myrlon. Their genetics had become specific enough that they did not consider themselves to be Drules any longer, and while races such as the Doomites and Myrlonians generally acknowledged their Drule heritage, the only people they called “Drules” were the ones hailing from the dying planet that was the seat of the Drule Council.

As far as dealing with Myrlonians went, Yurak had little personal experience with them or their customs either. He had met some in passing, but found nothing remarkable about them other than the rumor that some were born with a gift of telepathy. He had never witnessed it personally, so he had no idea if it was true or not. He was not overly concerned with it regardless. He had not been asked to spy, only observe, so he had nothing to hide from any telepath. Only a ruler with no sense would assume that a visiting delegate from another kingdom would not report whatever he saw to the monarch that sent him there.

When he and his entourage disembarked, two petite armed guards—very short Myrlonians or Dwarfling half-breeds, Yurak guessed at a glance—greeted them and led them inside the spire. Inside the building had the feel of a fortress, not unlike Castle Doom except that Myrlon’s royal quarters appeared to be newer. While parts of Castle Doom had existed for centuries with little update in design or functionality, thick walls of dark stone that had silently absorbed its victories, atrocities, and secrets, Myrlon’s spire had a stark and sterile metal feel to it. Were it not for the carpets and tapestries that accented the corridors, one would never guess that it was living space for royalty.

The throne room, on the other hand, was far more lavishly decorated than its counterpart in Castle Doom. Though Zarkon’s golden chamber was opulent and extravagant, its overall décor was simple. Merla’s on the other hand was as luxurious and colorful as it was elegant, and it was readily apparent to Yurak as he walked in that it was a female’s domain. Aside from the plush carpeting and rich ruby curtains, bone vases filled with arrangements of pretty alien flowers accented the silver-hued room, and decorative wrought-iron posts with skull candle torches illuminated it, casting an aura of mystery and intimidation as one entered. As a final and subtle touch, an exotic floral scent wafted upon the air, one light enough to be pleasant but not enough to be stifling unless one had a very sensitive nose.

The armed escorts led Yurak and his robots to their queen’s throne, and he respectfully knelt before her while the guard to his left introduced him. “Your highness, Fleet Commander Yurak of Doom.”

“Greetings, envoy of Zarkon,” Merla greeted him with a cordial smile. “Welcome to Myrlon.”

“Thank you, your highness. It’s a pleasure.” He straightened and looked up at the Seventh Kingdom queen. Seated in her throne and clad in decorative armor, it was clear that the images of her he had previously seen did not do her full justice. Merla’s ice blue skin was flawless and vibrant, and even though she was young—she had held the throne she claimed at age nineteen for less than ten years—she had no scars for all of her time at the helm of a star-cutter conquering new worlds. Her long pink hair was woven impeccably into a braid that came over her shoulder and rested against her thigh, and her hands were tipped with long, well-manicured azure fingernails. Yurak was not the type to let a pretty face distract him easily from his objective, but he did appreciate a woman that could wear armor so well.

“Likewise, Commander,” Merla replied, evaluating Zarkon’s commander as he formed his first impression of her. She knew Yurak only by reputation and as such she only had a vague idea of what to expect when he arrived. He had the classic look of a Doomite, distinguished from the Drule cousin race by vivid yellow eyes sometimes devoid of a contrasting pupil—though Yurak had only natural eye anyhow—and skin in a richer tone of blue than that of any native to planet Drule. That he had a metal arm and a subtle coat of fur on his skin that seamlessly blended into hair was a bit of a surprise to Merla, although not necessarily an unpleasant one, for Merla appreciated things that were unique or unusual. She guessed the fur was an “old world” trait, a term used to describe characteristics in Drule-blooded peoples that came from parent races not of Drule origin. On Myrlon, one such trait was pink hair. On Doom apparently, there was fur—and huge ears. Merla remembered that Zarkon too had oversized aural appendages, although his were decidedly more fish-like than his fleet commander’s. It occurred to her that Doom’s original race must have been quite a sight to behold before the Drule bloodlines mingled in it to still have such distinguishing traits manifesting so many generations later.

Merla rose to her feet, stepped off the dais upon which her throne sat, and approached her visitor. Up close he stood almost a full head taller than her and she figured that too was an old world Doomite trait, for she was of average height for a Drule woman, which was by no means short. She noticed that Yurak carried a sheathed light blade, but she had not picked up on any aggression or ill intent from him as she opened up her mind to be receptive to whatever he might project—telepathic eavesdropping, so to speak. Right away she got the sense that he was a serious man, gruff and focused, and though she also sensed a strong measure of resolve and ambition in him, it was not the treacherous sort that gave her cause for concern. The visitor from Doom was no assassin or spy, which relieved her considerably. Those had a nasty habit of popping up when they were least wanted, and although her mental abilities were an effective means to thwarting them, it still insulted her whenever someone had the nerve to try it.

Pleased that the social visit from Zarkon’s messenger was not a threat in disguise, she relaxed and took his metal arm in a welcoming gesture. She did so for two reasons, firstly that the armor had caught her eye and secondly, and more importantly, because that would be the hand he would likely draw his blade with if he was so inclined. “Come with me. I’ll show you around while you tell me what business Zarkon sent you here on. I was only told that you’d be arriving today with a message from your king?”

Yurak dismissed the trio of robots that accompanied him, and walked with the queen into the hallway so that they could speak in private. Her stride was light, and her touch surprisingly gentle for one with a reputation as the “Queen of Darkness” as some called her. “It’s nothing complicated, only personal. King Zarkon would like you to visit him on Doom sometime in the near future.”

Merla’s eyebrow rose. That was interesting. For the most part the monarchs of the Drule kingdoms only saw one another at Drule Council affairs or in chance meetings on vacation planets. They rarely visited one another in person unless there was serious business such as war, planetary trades, royal marriage, or territorial disputes involved. She had not had any specific dealings with the Ninth Kingdom aside from minor trade issues in the years she had been on her throne, so the invitation from Zarkon came as quite a surprise. “Did he say why?” She kept her eyes intent on him as she awaited a response.

“No, only that he had business to discuss with you face to face,” Yurak replied as they rounded a corner, into a hallway that had several tall statues. Their pace slowed, and he cast his gaze over several as they passed. He paused a moment to take note of one in particular. It was a marble statue of a leanly built male in decorative armor wielding a short staff with a crystal atop it as opposed to a more traditional battle weapon. The expression on the statue’s face was severe and calculating, and the smile was reminiscent of a bloodthirsty general proudly surveying the carnage of his latest battle. “Ancestors of yours?”

“Yes. This was my great uncle.” Merla stood still, allowing him to take as long as he wished to admire the piece. “He was a great conqueror, and a powerful telepath. They say that his staff was touched by divine favor and made him at one time the most persuasive man on Myrlon, possibly in the galaxy. Not much of a politician, though,” she said with a shrug. “He had the charisma but not the head for it—too reckless and undisciplined. He did much better conquering a world than he did trying to oversee one. Fortunately my grandmother was the elder and the heir.”

Yurak nodded. “I know types like that.” He left it unsaid that he generally found that type annoying, and doubly so when they were individuals that reported to him or advisors that King Zarkon forced him to work with. Even Doom’s prince had those traits to an unfortunate degree, although Yurak never would have insulted the royal house of Doom by saying such.

A sly smile crossed Merla’s blue lips as she picked up the tidbit about Prince Lotor and filed it away for whatever use it might someday serve, even if it was only the entertainment of gossip. “They irritate me, too.”

Yurak’s natural eye blinked, and he looked at the queen in shock. It was as if she had read his mind…

“I did.”

Her spoken confirmation startled him visibly, and he gave her a guarded look. “So the stories about Myrlonians and their telepathic abilities are true.”

Merla nodded in affirmation. “To an extent, yes. Many of us have them, although there are plenty that don’t. My father’s side of the family has it very strongly, and has for generations.”

Yurak glanced at the statue beside them again and guessed, “His side of the family.”

“Yes. My father, my grandmother’s son, was Balan’s nephew,” Merla explained, using the name on the statue’s golden plaque. She smoothed her hand along the metal on Yurak’s forearm and followed his gaze to the statue. “Do you have an eye for fine artwork, Commander?”

“Not personally. There are members of my family that do, though,” he said, thinking of the vast collection of paintings, portraits, statues, and busts in his family home back on Doom. Most of the manor houses of Doom’s nobility were a testament to excess in one way or another, and that of his mother, Lady Kuryaki, reflected the fact that she was an enthusiastic art collector. Her collection was one of the largest on Doom, second only to what was housed and displayed in the vast treasure chambers of the royal family in Castle Doom.

“Your mother?”

He frowned upon realizing that his thoughts had been read again. “Your highness, I don’t want to be rude, but—”

Smiling back at him, she remained silent in voice but sounded loudly in his consciousness. This bothers you, doesn’t it? Me visiting your mind?

When he heard her voice in his head as clearly as if she had spoken, it froze him to the spot. It was eerily close to a supernatural experience, and thanks to years of working with Haggar he was at best dubious of that or anything related to magic. By instinct he did not trust what he did not understand, and knowing that the Seventh Kingdom queen could hear anything that crossed his mind set him very much on edge.

But there’s no reason for you to be on edge, Merla’s voice assured him telepathically. I already know you’re not a threat to me. I figured out that much from the first time you spoke. That’s how good I am at this, she informed him on a boastful note. You don’t have anything to hide from me, do you? Her mental tone was curious, if not a bit smug and coy.

Of course not, was Yurak’s first thought. I just don’t like having my head invaded.

The silvery sound of Merla’s laugh echoed through his awareness, but the pink-haired queen at his side remained vocally silent. See, there you go; I heard that loud and clear! Now isn’t this a fun way to chit-chat?

I’d rather talk. What are you looking for, anyway?

“Anything that catches my interest,” Merla answered aloud, and gave his arm a tug. “Come with me, Commander. You should see the view off the south balcony. It’s spectacular.”

“All right.” He fell in step beside her, wondering what it was that she would find interesting.

That depends, Merla thought to herself, but she refrained from projecting it or letting on that she had read that unspoken aside as well. She could tell that Yurak was getting huffy, and although she was hardly concerned with his feelings, there was nothing to be gained in offending Zarkon’s representative. Toying with him, however, was a different cluster of stars and quite entertaining. “So now that you know where we stand, I’ll ask you again—why did Zarkon send you here?”

“I told you,” Yurak answered gruffly as they turned down another corridor. “He wants you to visit him at Castle Doom.”

“But why?” Merla pressed. “I know you said he didn’t tell you, but I want to know why you think he sent you.”

Falling silent again, Yurak debated for several moments about how best to answer knowing that she would probably try to telepathically figure it out if he did not answer, and that Zarkon would not be pleased if it got back to him that he was spreading rumors about who he wanted to marry his son off to on his visit. Finally he replied, “To answer that would put me in a very unpleasant position, your highness.”

“Would you rather be evasive and spend your trip home worrying about what I might or might not’ve heard you think about in not answering my question? Besides,” she added slyly, “you didn’t say a word about Prince Lotor or marriage, now did you?”

Once again, Yurak stopped dead in his tracks, just in front of a pair of double doors that led to the balcony they were en route to. He was not happy that she had picked up on that, and although he supposed she could sense that too, if she did because she was still reading him, it only made him more inclined to be so. “King Zarkon never said anything about that either.”

“Now now, stop being so defensive,” Merla purred, amused by his reaction. “I like you, Yurak, and even though you’re being cranky I wouldn’t want to see you in trouble with your king over such a little tidbit of gossip. You’re probably hearing enough from him about that embarrassing Voltron business on Arus as it is. Besides, do you really think that Zarkon could’ve kept it a secret from me once he and I were alone together anyway?”

Yurak grumbled under his breath, both at the way he had been had and at the mention of that damned robot on top of it. “I suppose not.”

“And it’s only what you believe—not a verified fact, right? So you’ve told me nothing, just like you were told.” She reached up and patted his head. “Such a good boy.”

Looking at the Seventh Kingdom queen bemusedly as she led him out onto the balcony, Yurak felt as though he had just been trumped in a game that he was not even trying to play in the first place.

That’s why you didn’t lose, Merla’s voice pointed out with a gentle whisper in his mind. If a little interplay like this has someone like you, a loyal servant and a seasoned battle general, so riled up, what do you think it does to those of more treacherous inclination and lesser confidence?

I don’t want to know, Yurak thought back in honest response, eager to end the telepathy game once and for all. He joined his hostess’ side by the railing and followed her gaze out over the landscape where a vivid Myrlonian sunset was in progress, reflected beautifully upon the waters of the ocean and outlined by the buildings of the mainland city skyline. “It’s sunset already on this world?” That caught him by surprise, for on Doom time it was still early afternoon.

“Myrlon’s got one of the shorter rotations in this system, only sixteen hours. You arrived late in our day.” She stared at the sunset for a few more moments, and then turned back to him. “Just in time for dinner, actually. Come along with me. It wouldn’t do to let the designate of one of my peers on the council leave without enjoying some hospitality first.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Yurak turned his gaze from the distant skyline back to her, and fell in step beside her as she took his arm again.

She eyed his gauntlet curiously. “Tell me, is this a weapon or merely armor?”

“Both.” Yurak’s gauntlet had the ability to discharge energy as well as increase his natural strength, which was why he wore it. That information sprang to his mind automatically in response to her question, and Merla was able to pick up on it, although she let his spoken answer stand without indicating that she had gleaned anything else from it.

“I suppose that makes it difficult to disarm you… so to speak,” she mused with a pleasant smile.

It was Yurak’s turn to smile. “It’s an advantage.”

She slid her fingers down to the back of his metal hand. “But you lose the sensation of touch. Oh yes, I know these things are advanced and allow you to sense something, but they don’t compensate for the ability to feel and experience like flesh does. While that might be fine for battle, I’d think it’d get cumbersome in some aspects of life.”

“You mean like a shower?”

“Yes, like that.”

“I’ve worn it through worse.”

Merla was about to ask what, but his choice of words roused her curiosity in another way. “It’s removable? I thought it was a replacement—that you had lost your arm in battle or something like that.”

Yurak shook his head. “It’s a high-tension titanium compression gauntlet designed to look similar to the full cybernetic equivalent. The metal is relatively thin and lightweight for what it does and the circuitry inside it, but actually it fits over the arm and locks into place. There’s nothing wrong with my arm underneath it, other than it doesn’t get much air and I have a couple of scars from circulation impulse shock malfunctions.”

“Fascinating. So theoretically one could cover themselves in armor like this head to toe and become almost a living robot?”

“Not unless they wanted to be very uncomfortable.” He flexed his metal covered fingers. “These things take getting used to. Circulation impulse voltage stings until you get used to it, and when you first put it on you feel like you’re in a vice until the nerve endings adapt.” He paused, and then added, “And I could tell you about an admiral who thought wearing compression pants was a good idea until he drank the native water on the wrong planet on duty. There’s a reason I only wear a chest plate aside from the arm piece.”

Merla’s features wrinkled in distaste. “I can imagine,” she said as they entered a chamber set up like a dining room. It was too small to be a banquet hall; rather it was a quiet room with a moderately sized table filled with selections of food for no more than a handful of guests. A Dwarfling servant poured an amber beverage into two goblets while another slave, a human by appearance, pulled a chair out for the queen. “It’s just you and I tonight, Commander. You’re my only visitor today, which is a nice change I must admit. I’ve had political meetings all week and it’s nice to not have to eat in the banquet hall for a change,” she said as she sat down, and indicated for her slaves to seat Yurak just as hospitably.

Another servant, an alien from a world Yurak could not place immediately, came in with a large bird on his arm. It was not an attractive or ornamental avian, but a brown vulture. The slave bowed and extended his arm with the bird on it. “Your highness.” The vulture immediately flew over to Merla’s chair and perched on the back of it. Yurak watched the bird for a moment, and it watched him back. It then let out a small caw, flapped its wings twice, and affectionately rubbed against Merla’s head.

“My pet,” Merla introduced proudly, and offered it a block of strong-smelling veined cheese. It gobbled the treat happily, and then resumed watching Yurak. “He’s from Eshai—very loyal to me. We have quite a bit in common.”

Not your looks, Yurak thought as he beheld the unattractive creature.

The queen let out a hearty laugh and fed her pet another piece of cheese while it squawked indignantly in Yurak’s direction. “Yes, his manners do need some work, but I think he was just complementing me,” she told the vulture in an affectionate tone, and patted him on the back as he finished his snack.

Yurak sighed and picked up the goblet set in front of him. It figured that her bird was a telepath, too. “So you and your pet have some kind of psychic rapport?”

“Yes. Scavenger birds are common on habitable worlds, but his particular breed is the only one I’ve encountered so psychically attuned. I built my home on Eshai on the mountain he hatched on. He and I have been companions for years. He’s very protective of me, and vice versa.”

“So I see.” He took a swallow of his drink, which tasted similar to wine. The flavor was strong yet pleasant, and it soothed him. After his recent string of humiliating defeats at the hands of Voltron, a chance to relax, no matter how brief, was welcome.

Picking up on the shift in his mood, Merla mused aloud, “Voltron, yes, he is quite the thorn in your side, isn’t he?”

Yurak’s natural eye narrowed, for although he was growing accustomed to Merla’s constant probing of his thoughts, Voltron was a very sore subject with him, and as a result his response was suitably gruff. “To put it mildly.”

“I won’t lie, that mess on Arus doesn’t flatter Doom or Zarkon in the least. He’s always had one of the more feared reputations on the Drule Council, but the fact that a backwater planet like Arus with its technology in ruins can still—”

“Most of its technology is in ruins. Voltron and the Castle of Lions are exceptions,” Yurak cut her off, grimacing. He had been there the day the longstanding symbol of the few rebelling Arusians was blasted into smithereens, only to have a highly advanced technological fortress sprout out of the very ground beneath it to replace it when it fell. Explaining that defeat to King Zarkon had not been one of his better days and it put him in a foul mood just to think about it.

“We destroyed Arus years ago and we’ve been capturing their citizens on slave raids ever since Zarkon defeated Alfor and claimed it. Until Voltron resurfaced, Arus might as well have been ours. The Galaxy Alliance didn’t give them much support until their space explorers wound up there. I wish we’d thrown those five humans in the arena with the rest of the slaves we captured on that run. The gladiator beasts would’ve enjoyed tearing out their entrails,” he finished bitterly. Although Doom’s forces had since exacted revenge against one of the explorers, the Arusian princess subsequently taking the former blue lion pilot’s spot made that victory far less significant.

Merla’s brow furrowed thoughtfully as she considered Yurak’s summary of the events. “I wonder… could Zarkon be seeking an alliance with me for help with the Voltron problem?”

Before he could stop himself from following her train of thought, Yurak considered the implications of what she said and he did not like them at all. If Zarkon was interested in Merla’s forces because of Voltron, then it meant that he was losing confidence in his own. As the leader of those forces, it was just a short step to assume that Zarkon was as fed up with him as he roared that he was. In his many years of service to Doom’s king, Yurak had learned that Zarkon stormed and threatened loudly at even the slightest failure, but for the most part he gave those he entrusted a fair chance to redeem themselves if things went wrong. Zarkon was a ruthless tyrant, but he was a well seasoned one and he knew the folly of making snap decisions in the heat of anger. However, Yurak also knew Zarkon well enough to know that he had a limit, and if what Merla surmised was true then he was fast approaching it—and that would likely not only spell the end of his career as Zarkon’s fleet commander, but likely the end of him. Zarkon probably would not have him executed for failure alone—that was generally a punishment he reserved for traitors, rebels, and lawbreakers—but if he banished him from Doom to live out the rest of his life in miserable obscurity, a shame to the noble house he was born in, to his family and to his mother…

That won’t happen, Yurak vowed to himself with steely resolve, clenching the goblet in his natural hand with all his might. I will either destroy Voltron or die trying.

Your dedication is admirable. Wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, Yurak had forgotten that he was sitting with two telepaths, even if one could not speak, until Merla’s feminine voice sounded in his head.

“If you don’t mind, your highness, I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice was thick with emotion, both at the insidious thought that Zarkon might already be seeking to replace him because of Voltron, and because Merla had telepathically witnessed it.

“I understand, Commander.” Though her tone was even, she had found Yurak’s reaction to her theory quite interesting. She had heard the rumors about Zarkon’s forces being defeated by Voltron and the whispers that the Ninth Kingdom might not be as strong as it once was, but hearsay was not reliable. Anxious speculation from someone in his inner circle, however, was another story. In light of that, a visit to Zarkon might indeed be worth it, especially if an arranged marriage of herself to his heir meant a merging of their forces for a combined empire that could rival the strength of even the immense First Kingdom.

Yurak meanwhile took another heavy swallow of his wine and set his now empty goblet on the table, determined to banish the ill thoughts from his head for the time being. He refused to talk—or think—about Voltron until he was back on Doom where he could do something about it, while Merla stood and strode over to where he sat. “When are you expected back on Doom?”

“Whenever you dismiss me.” Though Zarkon had not stated so explicitly, political missions like that one rarely had timelines. When he was dispatched it was with the understanding that he would stay until the message was conveyed and Merla sent him on his way, unless he received new orders to the contrary.

“Good. You’ve got nothing pressing then,” Merla said with a renewed smile. She decided that if Zarkon had no immediate plans for his commander, then she would keep him a while longer. It was rare that her guests were interesting enough to keep probing, for usually she found their idle thoughts boring or disgusting. Yurak’s on the other hand intrigued her, partly because of her newly ignited curiosity about Zarkon’s motives and partly because Yurak was not a typical sycophantic diplomat, pretentious idiot, or sleazy pervert, all of which she came across entirely too often in her station. Someone who was all business, who got to the point, and who did not waste her time with excess fluff and flattery was a nice change. While her ego enjoyed the latter well enough, she was not foolish enough to take it as a valid sign of respect.

“No,” Yurak answered her with a shake of his head, and she in turn laid a hand on his shoulder.

“A mineral bath would do wonders for your stress. I know it does for mine. I want you to stay and enjoy one, and perhaps stay the night as a guest—a courtesy of the Seventh Kingdom to the messenger of the Ninth.”

“That’s very gracious of you, your highness.” A night on Myrlon would not set him that far back in Doom time anyhow, and he would not mind a bath and night in a real bed as opposed to a nap on a cot or a snooze in a battleship command chair.

Her smile broadened. “Excellent. Trust me; you’ll be glad you stayed for it.” She motioned to the male Dwarfling attending the meal in the room, who came over quickly as bidden. “Show Commander Yurak to the guest quarters and have one of the attendants take him to the mineral bath when he’s ready, and have his companions notified that they won’t be departing until the morning. Have his ship refueled as a courtesy and allow the soldiers and robots access to the common rooms for the evening.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the servant replied, and gave her a bow. Yurak did the same and thanked her again.

Merla then beckoned to her vulture, and it left its perch to settle upon her shoulder as she headed through the door. On her way out she said mysteriously, “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

Half an hour later Yurak was escorted to a spacious private room with cream-colored stone walls and an open steaming bath in the shape of a crescent moon in the center. Its water was not clear, but a translucent milky green, and it bubbled invitingly with a refreshing aroma that wafted through the air off its steam. The Dwarfling that escorted him to the bath set out his towel and gestured for him to step in. Yurak slipped out of the robe he had borrowed from the guest suite he had been taken to and stepped into the water. Its temperature was perfect; hot enough to stimulate the skin but not enough to scald it. Whatever minerals caused the water to have the strange appearance soothed his skin on contact, adding to the relaxing effect.

Glad that he had opted to go through the hassle of removing his gauntlet—as sometimes he slept in it as a precaution when he stayed on a foreign world on political business—he exhaled with pleasure as the spa waters worked their magic on the often-covered skin. As someone who rarely took the time to relax in such ways, he truly savored the first several minutes of it, and sank comfortably in the pool up to his chin. The gentle vapors of the mineral additives in such close quarters soon lulled his senses into a comfortable bliss that was disturbed only when he heard the door to the chamber open a short while later.

Thinking it to be one of the queen’s servants checking on him, he was surprised when he glanced over and saw Queen Merla herself standing there. He was doubly surprised when he saw what she wore, which was considerably less than she had on when they had met earlier. Her decorative armor was gone, shed in favor of a light floor-length shimmering ice-blue robe tied loosely enough around her that it afforded an appreciable view of her cleavage up top and her shapely legs below. Her pink hair was unbound from the braid and it cascaded behind her shoulders and down her back to where it hung just below her backside. She still wore the silver crescent crown upon her head, but that was the only thing she seemed to be wearing other than the robe and a pair of slippers that matched it perfectly.

Startled, and more than a little embarrassed to be walked in on by the queen of the Seventh Kingdom while he was soaking nude in her mineral bath, Yurak sat upright and faced her. “Queen Merla.”

“Glad to see you’re making yourself comfortable, Commander.” Her eyes lingered deliberately on him as she replied for the simple enjoyment of watching him squirm. Not that she minded doing so, for she appreciated any man with muscles like his. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked as she approached.

Yurak’s natural eye blinked as he fumbled for an answer. It was not every day that a beautiful queen and seat on the Drule Council offered to climb naked into a spa tub with him. “No, of course not. It’s your bath.”

Gracefully slipping out of her slippers, Merla walked over to the water’s edge and stood just above Yurak to dip her toe in. Although the water was murky enough to preserve a modicum of modesty, he still shifted a bit as she approached, which amused her. She kept her eye on him and when he met her gaze, she smiled coyly. “Really, Yurak, for someone who can read the intimate thoughts of those around her, physical modesty is comparatively minor, don’t you think? Besides,” she added, untying her robe, “in here I’d say we were on even ground as far as that goes.”

Merla then pulled her robe open, dropped it onto the floor, and stepped into the tub without a second thought. She moved slowly and fluidly, both to savor the pleasant sensation of the mineral water on her skin, and to allow her companion to take a long look at her naked body. She loved to bask in the admiring looks of men who appreciated her beauty as much they enjoyed looking at her.

Yurak’s reaction did not disappoint her. Though he remained silent, he took in every detail of her feminine physique, from her supple breasts to the tiny azure birthmark on her upper left thigh. “I would say so.”

“So what do you think? Relaxing, hmm?”

“Yes, very.” He straightened a bit more, and made a concerted effort to keep his eyes on her face. It was not out of shyness or lack of interest, but because he was not sure just how much leering Merla would tolerate, and he had not been sent to offend her on Zarkon’s behalf.

His forced nonchalance amused Merla endlessly. “Then why do you look so tense?”

“You caught me by surprise.”

“I can tell.” She leaned forward and grabbed a large bath sponge in a marble holder in the seat of the crescent of the tub, and Yurak had to force himself not to stare as her top half rose from the water right in front of him. He found it incredibly difficult not to look at the enticing way the droplets of water clung to her breasts, or the stark contrast her cerulean nipples made against her pale blue skin. Had it been anyone other than a queen of a Drule Empire kingdom he might well have succumbed to the temptation to help himself to what was so brazenly being laid out for him to sample, but for all he knew, her behavior was a part of some head game or test of wills.

“So suspicious,” Merla remarked in a soft tsk-tsk tone as she arched her back and dripped the aromatic water down her neck. It dribbled in gentle streams over the curve of her breasts, just even with the water line in that position.

“Am I wrong?” He relaxed slightly, but still remained upright against the wall of the tub as he watched her. Game or not, she was quite a woman…

She was not fazed by the challenging edge to his voice knowing that it came more from formality than feeling, and she turned his question back on him. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he said, his gaze following her as she twisted to enjoy a second stream of water on the opposite side of her neck, “that you’re enjoying this.” He left it unsaid that he meant both the bath in the literal sense and watching him squirm in the figurative.

Upon picking that thought up she laughed lightly. “You’re sharp.”

A small frown tugged at the edge of his mouth as he tried to decide whether she was being sarcastic or not, but he decided that rather than pursue it he would just change the subject to something less loaded. “What’s in this water, anyway, your highness?”

Merla the sponge down and settled into a position similar to his own across from him. “It’s a mineral composition that naturally occurs in the volcanic hot springs on Eshai. The Dwarflings call them ‘healing pools’ because of their regenerative properties. You can probably feel the positive effects on your skin and circulation just sitting in it now and it’ll last you for days. It’s especially good for blemishes, cuts, and bruises, that sort of thing. Anything on the surface of the skin,” she paused and added, “Or fur, in your case.”

Yurak lifted the arm that he usually wore his gauntlet on out of the pool and flexed it, and then closed his fingers into a fist. He could almost feel the healthy flow of the blood in the limb up to the very tips of his fingers, and his skin tingled pleasantly as it breathed in the air. “Yes, I do feel a difference.” He then rubbed his shoulder, which had been out of the water long enough to dry a bit. The light azure fur covering it was a touch softer than usual. “Interesting. You said this treatment is from Eshai?”

Merla nodded. “We have spas built around the best of the natural hot springs of this type there. Very relaxing.”

“I’ll have to recommend it to my mother for her next vacation.” Considering I’m not allowed to visit, he added silently as a test to see if she was still reading his thoughts.

She was. “That has to be the most controversial law I’ve ever made,” she declared with a smirk. “All you men take it so personally, even though it’s not in place because of any one of you in particular. All my home world is, is a place for us ladies to be ourselves without the complications you men add to our lives. Contrary to what you might think, we don’t even abuse the male Dwarflings that live there.”

“Heh, it’s been my experience that women can complicate things beautifully on their own without any help from us.”

At that Merla chortled. “I’d guess that your wife inspired that remark, except that I don’t see any adornments on you.”

“No,” Yurak replied with a shake of his head. “I’ve never been married.”

Her eyebrow rose. “I thought over on Doom they tried to marry everyone off before they were twenty.” Though arranged marriages and a stress on the importance of heirs was typical of the nobility on most planets in the Drule Empire due it being originally a Drule custom, Doom had gained a reputation for being particularly pushy about it. Ironically, Doom also had the reputation of being one of the more hedonistic cultures among the Drule-settled planets, with its oversized harems, bloodthirsty arenas, and fine wine consumed like water. The logic went that a Doomite could freely indulge his or her vice of choice so long as it was done in the constraints of a legal tie to someone with the right bloodline, and that he or she found time somewhere in the busy days of indulgence to produce some noble progeny to properly populate the next generation.

Upon hearing Merla’s remark it was Yurak’s turn to laugh, for the stereotype was true enough that he saw the humor in it rather than any insult. “They do, but they don’t get too bent out of shape about it until you pass thirty.”

“And you are…?”

“Thirty-six.”

Merla eyed him curiously. “Any particular reason you never took a bride, or is it just that you prefer the company of men?”

Yurak frowned, more taken aback by the personal nature of the question from someone he barely knew rather than what she specifically asked, but he answered anyway. “Preferences have little to do with it back home, your highness. There are men in Doom’s nobility as homosexual as they come, and they still have wives and children, conceived in a lab if they find the notion of sex with their spouse to repugnant to consider. It’s just how it’s done.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He met her pointed gaze with one of his own. “I’d think a mind-reader would know whether or not I find women attractive when she stripped and climbed into a tub with me.” To drive his point home, he deliberately eyed her bathing body.

In response to that, Merla reclined a bit more in her seat and sank deeper into the murky mineral water, obscuring more of her flesh in detail but simultaneously allowing him a more nebulous view of her submerged curves. In the midst of her shifting her calf brushed against his, and through that fleeting touch he learned that her skin was indeed as soft and supple as it looked. “That wasn’t the question I meant,” Merla pressed. “Why didn’t you marry? Surely you’ve been betrothed or offered?” At that point she was genuinely curious, not because she cared for any personal reason, but because it struck her as unlikely that a Doomite of high station that was not particularly odious in appearance or personality would have any difficulty finding a willing prospect.

“I don’t have the time to devote to maintaining a woman. They need far more attention than I have the time to give,” he responded frankly. What ventures he had made into the realm of romance in the past generally ended when his lover discovered that time and sex with her ranked below the soldiers and robots that reported to him. Yurak’s opinion was that a relationship, when going well, was nice, but his ambitions were conquest for the glory and supremacy of Doom, not in the bedroom. As a result, most relations he had turned sour, jealous, and resentful and became a burden rather than a pleasure.

“I was engaged three times, and by engaged I mean my family made arrangements that I didn’t automatically refuse or refuse after meeting the woman. Two ended very quickly after we became involved, and the other,” he fell quiet for a moment at the unpleasant memory it stirred as he thought of the best way to phrase it. A moment later he added, “She died two weeks before I was supposed to marry her.”

“How? Illness? Battle?”

Yurak shook his head. “Freak accident. She caught her heel on a rug and fell down two flights of stairs in Castle Doom. On her way to see me, no less,” he finished with a rueful smile.

“Ooh,” Merla remarked with a slight wince. “Did you love her?”

“I was fond enough of her. I would’ve gone through with it.” He sank a few inches lower into the relaxing water and savored the pleasant aroma of the mineral steam. “What about you?”

She had not expected a personal question in return. “Me?”

“Yes, Queen Merla. Unusual as it is for a Doomite like me to still be single at my age, I’d think a young queen of Drule blood would be under considerable pressure to take a husband and produce heirs, and have plenty of suitors lining up for the job. It can’t be a lack of selection keeping you alone on your throne.”

She pushed a strand of pink hair aside from her cheek where it had begun to cling from the humidity of the bath. “Selection, hah, you obviously haven’t taken a look at the princes on the Empire’s planets these days.”

“No, I can’t say I’ve evaluated them as marriage material,” he replied dryly, and then added as an afterthought, “But if Prince Taybor was one of them, you can scratch him off.”

“Taybor? Zarkon’s nephew, right?” Merla knew the man in passing; they had met once at a conference, and the aura of sleazy and sycophantic behavior had oozed off of him like a repulsive slime. She never would have considered him, for not only was Taybor a human with no Drule blood whatsoever, he was not in a position high enough in the Drule Empire to be worth her while. His biggest claim of importance, aside from being planetary royalty, was a relation to Zarkon through his marriage to the late Queen Altora, the mother of Prince Lotor, but he did not stand to inherit anything significant from the Ninth Kingdom monarch. “No, not a consideration.”

“Good, because I killed him on a mission to Nemone last week.”

“Ah yes, I heard something about that come to think of it. Another Voltron incident, he attempted to free the planet?”

“Free the planet,” Yurak snorted, his features darkening at the mention of the hated robot’s name. “Voltron showed up, destroyed one of our more profitable mining operations, and set us back weeks as far as rebuilding goes all because that idiot let a slave escape and get in contact with the Voltron Force. The hypocrisy of Voltron invading one of our planets in the name of the Galaxy Alliance’s idea of justice doing the same thing that they call us evil for doing never fails to amaze me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Evil is such a relative term. Only the ignorant and naïve believe otherwise. Still,” she remarked with a shrug, “I can’t say Taybor will be much of a loss. He wasn’t much of a credit to Zarkon’s house. I’d pity the unlucky princess or duchess forced to live with him. Fortunately being the queen of a Drule kingdom lets me be as selective as I want. And until I find a prince or king worthy of sharing my title, I have my pick of lovers to keep me amused.”

As she finished speaking, Yurak felt her toes trace teasingly along the edge of his thigh, and suddenly the water felt several degrees warmer. He sat up straighter and placed his hand on her ankle, smoothing his fingers over its delicate structure. Ordinarily he would not presume to touch a queen with such familiarity, but Merla was anything but ordinary, and she touched him first. Besides, if how she playfully flexed in his hands was any indication, it was just what she wanted. “I’m sure you do,” he murmured as it occurred to him just how long it had been since he had been so close to a fine woman like her.

Pleased at how he responded to her flirtation, she slid closer so that his hand in turn slid up her calf, and he caressed that with just as much interest. “I do,” she purred seductively. “Slaves, the most exotic and attractive from planets I’ve conquered. Willing servants who go out of their way to please me for whatever pleasure I give them in return.” She maneuvered into a kneeling position in front of him, and his hand fell aside while her knees landed on the spa seat right between his thighs. In that position she towered a head’s height over him, giving her even more of an aura of superiority. “But slaves bore me after a while. I’m sure you understand what I mean?”

Yurak nodded wordlessly. He did, and he rarely bothered with pleasure slaves himself for similar reasons. To him, taking a slave was little more than interactive masturbation. When the urge struck, he preferred to share his bed with individuals of better breeding than that.

“That leaves the nobles and common folk who catch my eye,” Merla went on, and smoothed her hands up along the damp fur of his arms until they came to a rest upon his shoulders. “So many choices—travelers to the galaxy, prisoners who’ll do anything for a merciful judgment, governors from my planets, advisors in my court, interplanetary diplomats, royal suitors good for little else—”

“Messengers from other kingdoms,” he interjected, no longer concerned with whether or not she was toying with him. He knew that she was, but it was clear that she wanted him to play along, and he saw no good reason to not indulge her. Of course, the fact that she was beautiful, naked, willing, and practically on his lap factored heavily into his decision. He clamped his strong hands on her hips and rubbed his thumbs against her skin while a victorious grin spread over her features. There was a thrill in the act of seduction that no other could quite match, and the fact that her mark was a designate of one of the other Drule kingdoms gave her an extra measure of satisfaction. Not that her motivations were purely political—Merla found Zarkon’s fleet commander attractive on a personal level as well, and she was truly curious if Doomites were as lusty as they were reputed to be.

“Yes, Commander, them too,” she confirmed in a sultry whisper, and tilted his head up toward hers to kiss him aggressively. He yielded with no protest, and as their tongues tangled he drew her naked body against his, circling his arms around her while they settled into the mineral water together, steam rising around them.

When they broke apart, Merla murmured softly into his ear, “I take it you’ll be staying on tonight?”

“It’d be my pleasure, your highness,” was his distracted response as he savored the exquisite moment of having the queen of the Seventh Kingdom of the Drule Empire in his arms.

Merla kissed at the underside of his jaw and wriggled in his lap. I expect it’ll be good for both of us, she replied telepathically before seeing to it that their expectations were met.

* * *

By the time dawn broke over Myrlon, Yurak was fast asleep on a plush bed in a suite that was not his guest quarters but not Merla’s bedroom either. After their interlude in the tub, she had brought him to a private suite that she sometimes took lovers in, a cozy room not far from the mineral bath that was ideally suited to finishing what they started in the water. The evening turned out to be a memorable one for them both; Merla had learned that Doomites were indeed as good in bed as their reputation in the Empire would have one believe, and Yurak had the guilty pleasure of sex with a woman that could read his mind for every erotic desire he had, and while he was on duty to boot.

Merla slept beside him, facing the arch-shaped window on the west wall. It was open at the top to allow the fresh air from the ocean breeze in, and just as morning came it brought her pet vulture with it. He knew where to find his mistress, and he did not wake her, but he did keep watch over her and her companion until one of them woke.

The first to rise was Merla. Since she did not have to make any adjustment to interplanetary time, she awakened around the time she usually did, and sat up silently. Before doing anything else, she smoothed her pink hair down and reached for her crown. As she shined a smudge off with the edge of a sheet, she glanced over at the sleeping Yurak with a complacent smile. Zarkon’s commander had been a fun distraction, and she hoped that it was an omen that her future dealings with the Ninth Kingdom would be equally satisfactory.

After placing her crown on her head, Merla climbed off the bed and slipped into her robe. She walked toward her vulture with her arm extended, and he immediately flew onto it. “Good morning, my pet,” she said fondly. “Did you have a good night?”

Over on the bed, Yurak stirred and propped himself up on his elbow. Glancing in Merla’s direction, he rubbed the sleep from his natural eye as he tried to focus. When they heard the movement, they both turned toward him. Sitting upright somewhat groggily, he said, “Queen Merla?”

“Good morning to you too, Commander,” she greeted back. “I hope you slept well. That bed is very comfortable, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He then realized that he was still naked and pulled the sheets up a bit. Though he was not particularly shy, especially in light of how intimate he and Merla had been the night before, in the bright light of morning it still felt awkward to let it all hang out in front of the queen of the Seventh Kingdom. “I don’t suppose you know where my clothes are?”

Merla nodded. “I’ll have one of my Dwarflings bring you your things. I imagine you want to leave for Doom as soon as possible.” She gave a second nod to her bird, who flew out the window to deliver the message.

“Yes. King Zarkon will wonder what business kept me here this long and I’m sure you’d rather I not fill him in on all the details.”

At that Merla laughed. “Please. As if King Zarkon hasn’t shown his own brand of ‘personal hospitality’ to envoys from other kingdoms that catch his eye. Besides, I doubt he’d care. The prince might if your theory is true though.”

At that his posture stiffened. “It’s not my theory. It’s a ru—”

“Rumor, yes,” she conceded with a knowing smile. “And don’t worry; I didn’t hear it from you.” He only grunted in response while she walked over to the bedside. “Ordinarily I’d stay and chat a bit, but I have business to attend to. If you need anything before you leave, ask the Dwarflings.” She traced a finger along the edge of his face. “It’s been fun, Commander. Give Zarkon my regards, and tell him I’ll be in touch to make arrangements soon.”

He nodded. “Will do, your highness.”

Merla turned and walked over to the door. Just before leaving, she paused and said, “Safe journeys. Until we meet again, Yurak.” Before he had the chance to answer, she was gone.

* * *

Half an hour later Yurak was back on his ship. He entered the bridge with a brisk but noticeably relaxed stride and took the command chair, vacated by the officer in attendance upon his arrival. The admiral, a long time associate of his named Vardash, gave him a curious look as he approached. “Is all the business completed, sir?”

Yurak nodded affirmatively. “Yes. Set course for Doom and get us back there as soon as possible.”

Vardash shouted out the order to the robots at the controls and turned back to the fleet commander. “And how did it go? How was the Queen?”

“She was fine,” Yurak answered with just the slightest hint of a smile. “Zarkon will be pleased with what she had to say.”

Taking note of the oddly upbeat mood of his usually stern commander, he remarked with a strange look, “It took long enough to say it. What did she have you doing all that time?”

Merla’s suspicions were right; Yurak was indeed not the kiss-and-tell type. Even though he was on what most would consider friendly terms with the admiral, he only settled back into his seat comfortably and replied in an even tone, “Just the standard interplanetary relations.” He then ordered the navigator to bring up the map and give a report on the local conditions, and nothing further was said in regards to the matter.

* * *

After the ship docked back at Castle Doom, Yurak made his way from the landing bay to the throne room to give his report to Zarkon. On his way passing through the lower levels, he noticed two officers engaged in a conversation as they leaned against a wall, apparently off duty. One wore the uniform of a force captain and the other that of a lieutenant, and as he approached he recognized them. It was hard to miss the loud and obnoxious voice belonging to quite possibly the most annoying report he had ever had the misfortune of being saddled with; the toad-pond born loudmouth Cossack of Aldar’ach, who had made the force captain rank over a year prior. The lieutenant at his side was none other than his cohort in stupidity, Yaklitz. Unaware of Yurak’s presence, the two were engaged in a conversation that he could not help but overhear as he neared them.

“No wonder Zarkon was pissed,” Yaklitz was saying with a shake of his head. “King Alfor? She got her ass kicked by a ghost?”

“In a freaking painting. Can you believe it? A possessed painting. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

Yaklitz laughed. “I dunno, man. They keep weird shit in that Castle of Lions. I mean, they keep a spare castle in the basement of the castle! At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a whole planet ready to reform if we blow it up the way things have been going on Arus.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe that one when I heard it either. I was stationed out in the azure quadrant and I thought the captain who told me that was messing with me,” Cossack said, echoing Yaklitz’s earlier head shake.

“So what did Zarkon say?”

Cossack glanced in the general direction of the throne room and shrugged. “I only heard it from the robots at the command center who heard it from the robots stationed up in corridor six who got the scoop from a couple of guys on the royal guard, but apparently he tore old Haggar a new one, said she should arm her robeasts with turpentine and garlic and said that being defeated by the Voltron she destroyed and a guy he already killed was a new low. Oh and, uh…”

His voice trailed off as Cossack noticed Yurak standing there, having stopped as soon as he heard Haggar’s name and the news that she had bungled something badly enough to steam Zarkon. The force captain winced, hoping that he did not just earn himself some kind of trouble for gossiping about the old witch in front of the fleet commander who worked with her on an almost daily basis and who had never liked him much in the first place. Immediately and Yaklitz both stood straight at attention in the presence of their superior officer, and Cossack greeted him with a suddenly serious, “Sir.”

“Force Captain Cossack,” Yurak said, glancing from him to Yaklitz with an impassive look on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh, nothing really, sir,” Cossack answered somewhat nervously. “I was just telling Lieutenant Yaklitz here about some stuff I heard the robots talking about in the command center, but you know how they are; they don’t always get the story straight…”

“Enlighten me anyway.”

Cossack glanced at Yaklitz, who remained silent, and then elaborated as ordered. “Well sir, they were talking about the witch Haggar and the solo mission she took to Arus.”

The commander’s gaze intensified. “Oh? What did they report?”

“That she, uh—well—”

“She kinda failed, sir,” Yaklitz interjected, bailing his buddy out.

Cossack nodded. “Yeah. According to what I heard, she infiltrated the Castle of Lions under a disguise, but the Voltron force figured her out and a painting of King Alfor zapped her while she was holding ‘em hostage or something like that.”

“A painting?”

“Oil and canvas,” the force captain confirmed. “Haunted by a dead king. As you can guess, King Zarkon wasn’t really happy about it…”

“A painting,” Yurak repeated, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “She was defeated by artwork…”

Both Cossack and Yaklitz nodded, and the look on Yurak’s face spread into a thoroughly amused sneer. “They uh, said it shot laser beams out of its eyes and messed up her magic.”

The statement combined with the mental image it conjured caused Yurak to erupt with an unexpected roar of laughter. “A painting! She got her warty ass handed to her by a painting!” Not expecting that reaction from their usually gruff fleet commander, Cossack and Yaklitz exchanged surprised looks while he nearly doubled over. Learning that the witch who took every opportunity to blame him for failures she had a wrinkled old hand in was humiliated in such a way was a perfect ending to a surprisingly good trip.

After a few moments Yurak regained his composure although his smile lingered. “Thank you, Force Captain; Lieutenant,” he said with the gleam of smug satisfaction still evident in his natural eye. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week. Dismissed,” he said with a wave of his gauntleted hand to the two subordinate officers, who watched in surprised silence as he headed off into the heart of Castle Doom with the most relaxed stride he’d had in months. It was a fitting end to a fine trip indeed.

The End

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