By Purrsia Kat
Jeff’s spirits were at an all-time
low as their journey came to a close. It had been a long, miserable trip and he
knew the worst was yet to come. They’d all been transferred to dank,
well-guarded cells that were windowless and cramped some time ago. The only
positive side was he was no longer bound and could at least move around a
little. For the most part they’d been kept apart, though he did manage to talk
a little to those in adjoining cells between guard shifts or when one or two of
the flesh variety would fall asleep. What little food they were offered was
awful and almost inedible – it actually made Jeff nostalgic for Sammy’s
cooking. Little torments, such as the guards eating succulent meats outside the
cell doors, the mouthwatering aroma wafting in to him, really got to Jeff. The
little things that had been taken for granted before mattered so much to him
now - a warm meal, a soft bed, a bar of soap, the sunshine on his face, and
most of all, Lisa’s heart-warming smile.
He had lost all sense of time,
really. But he knew they were close to Doom thanks to the eavesdropping on the
guards, who were excited to be returning home. It had to have been some decent
amount of time though, knowing what he did about the distance to the Denubian
Galaxy and the fact that his crash injuries, though nothing major in the first
place, had long-healed. A few weeks, maybe more he’d figured.
Hazar had been kept in the cell on one side of him,
with Cric on the other. Cric, Jeff thought, tried almost too hard to seem
upbeat. Like he knew something to the contrary but dared not dash any last
remnant of hope. Hazar, on the other hand, made no effort to sugar coat the
fate likely had in store for them. Of course, being at one time allied with
Zarkon, Hazar had to contend with routine abuses none of the rest of them had
had to endure on the trip. If his sister was suffering the same indignities and
cruelties, it was hard to say. None of the women were kept within the same
cellblock, and Jeff’s heart ached especially, wondering where Lisa was at and
what may be happening to her.
So he spent his time trying to choke
down the sludge they called food, and doing whatever exercises he could in his
cell – anything to try to keep up his health and strength for he was going to
need every ounce of it if they tried to make a break for it on Doom. He wasn’t
going to give up yet, he’d finally decided. Though, he wondered what the
***
Weeks earlier, rescue teams scoured
the planet where the attack took place on the Explorer and her Vehicle Teams,
finding little but chunks of the obliterated Explorer and the odd
unidentifiable body part here and there. It was a gruesome, violent scene with
little hope of finding survivors. The Voltron teams and their ships were fully
unaccounted for, and word was sent back to Galaxy Garrison. Those back at GA
headquarters were quite concerned, although they almost seemed most worried
about the missing vessels than the people that piloted them. The teams were
officially listed as MIA and it was strongly suspected it would need to be
updated to prisoner of war status. It wasn’t a pleasant option to consider and
yet, it was at least better than finding bodies, and that at least gave the
teams’ friends and loved ones a little hope.
The settlers who had been en route
to the planet when the attack occurred were hastily re-routed to a space
station in the vicinity, which was more fortified and able to protect them
given it was built back when hostilities were at their height between GA and
the Drule Empire. What little defenses were built up on the planet had been
obliterated in the surprise attack, the Alliance having sorely underestimated
the need for more – the lull of peace with the new planet Drule and passage of
time had dulled their skills, was the word back at GA headquarters. Even with
the enemy fleet gone, reports from Drule were not encouraging and therefore
nobody’s safety could be guaranteed outside the base. Throk had been released
from prison and put in charge of the planet, intelligence had gathered, and
he’d wasted little time going back to the old ways despite the general
population’s protest. The Doom forces that had initially attacked there stayed
on to help protect the conquered world, reclaimed in the name of Zarkon. They
no longer had an ally in the region.
The
Eventually, the rescue mission was
called off with few survivors to show for it. Doom had been thorough by not
sparing the lives of anyone they happened upon who’d survived crashes – many
such potential survivors had been found slain execution style. The few that
were found alive had managed to stay hidden long enough to save their lives.
And so it was officially deemed a clean-up mission.
Two crewmembers, in the course of going deep into a forested area, came upon a
small vessel detected by their own ship’s scanners. It had crashed there at the
bottom of the mountainside opposite of where the Explorer went down, and laid
hidden there by the thick foliage until they happened upon it. Most of the
rescue ops concentrated on the main battlefields, and this location was a
distance from that. The two recognized it as an escape capsule, and rushed to
look inside, though neither expected to find a survivor. Nobody was inside, but
it had looked like someone had been living in the damaged and disabled pod for
survival gear was scattered about – first aid, emergency food and water stores,
and the like.
A haggard voice coming from behind
them startled the duo. They turned to see an officer standing there holding a
canteen and looking as if he was going to fall over at any moment despite
resting heavily against a tree. They rushed to his side.
“Hawkins, by god!” One said as he
lent his support. It was obvious to them Commander Hawkins was in a lot of
pain.
“Out of water,” Hawkins explained,
his dry voice cracking. “No radio…”
“Hang on, sir. We’ll get you to a
medic,” the other man assured him as they both led Hawkins to their transport.
They, however, didn’t want to answer his queries about the Teams and Voltron.
It was best, they thought, that the man recovers before getting such grim news.
***
Whatever Hawkins may have feared happened to the
Voltron Force, he likely couldn’t have envisioned quite the reality of it as he
recovered from his own ordeal in the weeks that followed.
On Doom, Hazar led the pack of prisoners as they
marched toward the castle. It was a dark building, with its twisted finger-like
spires towering high up into the misty sky. Vultures circled above, as if
sensing the opportunity for fresh meat was nigh. He only looked up briefly,
preferring to keep his eyes on the ground the rest of the way. But then Prince
Lotor stepped before him, right before he was to cross over the threshold into
the castle. The crowd of prisoners stopped, as did the troop of guards, all
waiting to hear what Lotor had to say.
“I would bid you welcome to my
home,” Lotor said to the prisoners. “But none of you are really welcome here.
Particularly, you,” he added, as Hazar chanced a look only to see the hatred
and disgust in the Prince’s eyes.
He cared not that Lotor lacked any pity or
understanding. One man’s revolution was always another man’s betrayal. And
while Hazar thought ever since his people declared their independence and
allied with the Alliance there could always be a backlash from Zarkon’s camp,
he never anticipated it would be this relatively soon and on this scale. That
miscalculation he was willing to take full responsibility for. He’d failed the
people he was elected to lead and had promised to protect. His only hope now
was that the Drule ties to the
Lotor seemed aggravated with Hazar’s
passive silence. “Don’t you have anything to say for youself?” More silence
ensued, with Hazar once again casting his gaze to the ground. “You’re going to
be an example for what happens to people who spit on the Empire, for those who
treat loyalty to my father like it’s an option you can take or leave.”
Hazar scowled deeply, fearing he
could no longer hold his tongue. He supposed at this point, he had nothing to
lose. “You’re a fine one to talk of loyalty and service.” He brought his eyes
up to meet Lotor’s glare. “Where were the forces of King Zarkon while Drule
fell apart and my people needed to evacuate? Did he send vessels or supplies to
save us? No. He was just like the council, always making excuses and
downplaying the situation. All of you prepared to sacrifice us so you could get
what you could from us without having to put yourselves out. You were going to
let your own kind perish for your own selfish ends. It was our so-called
enemies, the
Lotor had heard enough and
backhanded Hazar savagely. Hazar reeled back, touching his face to find his
fingers turn crimson from where he now bled. Looking up, he saw Lotor draw his
laser saber and wave it menacingly.
The air team’s Jeff lunged forward
as if to stop what was to come, but he felt the sting of Cossack’s whip across
his back for the effort. The girl, Lisa, helped him back on his feet.
“Fall back in line, slave,” Cossack
warned, though a tinge of amusement was present in his tone. Nobody else dared
move as they waited anxiously to see what Lotor’s next move would be.
A figure appeared behind Lotor from
within the Castle.
“Your father is waiting, sire.” Only the yellow eyes
of the witch shown in the shadows, but thankfully her reminder seemed to snap
Lotor out of his rage and the Prince relaxed, replacing he saber in the sheath
at his side.
He turned to go into the Castle, and
Hazar followed quietly with the sullen procession behind him. Inside the
Castle, it wasn’t nearly as dreary. The full riches and splendor – the spoils
of Zarkon’s conquests – were on display in the form of the fine wares and
construction that was evident. Impressive, perhaps, if Hazar hadn’t known it’d
all been plundered – wrenched from the cold dead hands of some unsuspecting
fool.
They ambled down the hall until they
reached a pair of tall, heavy and ornate doors that swung wide to reveal the
throne room. At the other end, Hazar could see a steep staircase draped in a
red carpet. Atop the staircase was a grand throne, with the King seated there.
Other Doomites filled the expansive room, many appearing as though they held
some kind of higher social status judging by the fine clothing that adorned
them. Their faces held a bloodlust he did not care for. Hazar had spent the
journey steeling himself for this moment, but all the preparation in the world
didn’t save him from feeling scared. Zarkon was never known as a charitable or
forgiving man, and Hazar knew full well what the punishment in the Empire was
for treason. He did not want to die.
Lotor looked back, annoyed at
Hazar’s hesitation. “Come on, traitor.”
It was then that Dorma was pushed up
through the crowd of prisoners by a guard, to walk beside him. He looked at her
and saw the raw fear reflected in her eyes, though they said nothing.
“This is being shown to the entire Empire and to the Galaxy Alliance,” Cossack casually told the prisoners as they filed into the throne room, the throngs of Doomites parting to form a narrow gauntlet for them to walk. “So don’t forget to smile for the cameras.”
Hazar had no doubt what that meant.
Doom liked to broadcast executions of traitors – it was supposed to remind the
subjects to consider betrayal carefully. As they walked, Hazar looked with envy
at the sword sheathed at Lotor’s side and entertained a brief thought of trying
to grab it. Odds were he’d just end up getting himself killed faster but the
thought of getting one good lick in before that happened anyway appealed to him
for but a moment. However, there were others with him and he couldn’t risk them
suffering such wrath. He wasn’t sure why they’d kept the Vehicle Force alive
this long either, but perhaps they’d have a longer reprieve and hence, a better
shot at escape if he kept his cool.
He spent the trek to the bottom of
the stairs trying to ignore the jeers and taunts of those Doomites around him,
in favor of trying to prepare himself for what was next. But how does one
prepare for an untimely end when he had so much to live for?
The journey ended, Lotor stepped
aside and ordered just Hazar to go up the steps. The room fell silent as Hazar
left the other prisoners at the bottom of the staircase and began drawing
closer to Zarkon with each step up the red carpet. He thought at one point he
could hear Dorma’s soft cries, but he decided to hold his head high. He wasn’t
ashamed of what he’d done, and he’d do it over again if given the chance. Those
few years of peace and freedom – not to mention surviving the destruction of
their old world – were worth it all. One thing he was thankful for was that his
dear parents weren’t alive to see this. They’d passed on the year prior,
knowing nothing but relief and peace. It would have broken their noble hearts
to bear witness to this now.
Finally, Hazar reached the top and
stood before the throne. Zarkon rose to his feet, and Hazar couldn’t help but
feel impressed and intimidated by the man’s size. He was even taller than one
might assume in person and was built quite powerfully; this was the first time
he’d met with the King face to face. Even so, Hazar looked the King in the eye,
ignoring the twisting knots in his stomach and the knees that threatened to
buckle. If Zarkon was going to use him as an example, he was going to be his
own example. If his people were watching, he’d hope they would see him go with
dignity, pride and showing no fear. And he hoped this would inspire them to
once again be free.
“Kneel,” Zarkon commanded.
He hesitated a brief moment before
slowly doing as told. It was then he realized why Zeppo had preferred to die
with the old planet Drule rather than face such a fate as Hazar was now.
Without taking his hateful glower off Hazar, Zarkon
reached his hand out and the old witch, who was once again at his side, put a
sword in that hand. It had a long, glistening blade with a slight curvature to
it. When Zarkon looked out at the gathered crowd, Hazar bowed his head slightly
and closed his eyes tightly shut. His instincts were to flinch, to run, to
fight for his own life. But he willed himself to remain still. He knew, at
least, the Empire did not execute women in this manner, so what they had in
store for Dorma he could not be sure. He simply regretted that she would
witness what was about to happen.
“This is what happens when you defy
King Zarkon,” the King announced, his voice booming and powerful, the words
echoing in the massive chamber. “And Arus, I know you’re watching this. A
similar fate will befall your beloved Vehicle Team if you do not surrender,
along with all your allies.” As if on cue, Cossack’s whip lashed out and caught
the little bespectacled one known as Chip, and the boy cried out in agony. “I
will execute them in groups for every twenty four hours that go by without your
surrender and delivery of the Lions to me.”
Zarkon turned his attention back on
Hazar. “Hazar, for committing treason against the Empire and consorting with
the enemy, you are hereby sentenced to death.”
Hazar could feel the breeze created
by the quick motion of Zarkon’s arm, and he could hear the whoosh of the sword
blade as it sliced the air. There wasn’t even time to feel pain. A moment
later, it was over for Hazar. His body fell with a thump at Zarkon’s feet while
his severed head did a gruesome bounce down the steps, spared the roar of the
cheering crowd and the horrified cries of his sister and allies.
***
Hawkins watched the whole gruesome
scene from the control room inside the remote space station where he had been
recuperating. Words could not adequately describe the emotions he was feeling.
Ever since he’d been rescued he
couldn’t stop thinking about the fate of the others. At least with the Explorer
crew, the remains recovered were some kind of an answer. He would have been
among the dead had the other officers on the bridge not put his injured body
into the escape capsule just in time, refusing to let him go down with the
ship. But the Teams and their missing ships disturbed him greatly, and while in
a way it was good to know their hunch that they were all taken prisoner was
true and so they had at least survived to this point – they were in the hands
of Doom.
Now he saw the wisdom in the bridge
crew’s actions, for it appeared he was the only one willing to act. He had lost
a lot of men in the long war against the Drule Empire, many of whom he called
friend. The death of Captain Newley during the harried escape from the dying
old planet Drule still stung even with the passage of years. He was not about
to lose more, and in particular, this bunch. The Vehicle Team was made up of
some of the bravest young men and women he’d had the privilege to know and
command. He owed them his life on more than one occasion and he was not about
to let them down now. If the
“Sir, where are you going?” someone
asked as Hawkins stalked toward the door.
Hawkins turned briefly, his
expression one of utter determination. “I’m going to get my teams.”
“B-but sir, alone? If you wait,
you’ll have the support of a fleet behind you.”
“Don’t you understand? There’s no
time for that!” Hawkins scowled, further showing his disagreement with the
Garrison’s slowness in putting together an attack and rescue plan. None of them
could afford to wait any longer.
Without another word, he headed to
the launch bays of the base, optimistic he could make it to Doom before Zarkon
made good on his threat. Luckily, he’d been transported to a base that bordered
the Denubian galaxy which was better equipped with medical equipment and staff,
and with a fast machine it wouldn’t take him long to reach his destination.
Reaching the bay, he surveyed his
options of transport.
“Wait,” he heard someone bark from
behind him. Turning, he saw Colonel Carver standing there.
“Before you try to stop me—” Hawkins
began.
“I’m not going to stop you. I helped
train the Voltron Force. I’m not going to sit around waiting anymore than
you’re willing to. I’m coming with you.”
***********
Throk raised his wine glass with
gusto, causing some of the liquid to spill over. “Good show,” he shouted
followed by rousing laughter.
His glass then clinked harmoniously
with Durak’s, and the two shared in more joyous laughter.
“Agreed. I hope they parade his head
around Doom on a spike,” Durak added. “And let the vultures pick it apart.”
For Twila’s part, she sat inside the
reconstructed palace on New Drule with her male comrades and pondered the video
feed of Hazar’s fate quietly. No, she did not feel pity for Hazar. That fool
got what he deserved. However, some people were getting things they very well
didn’t deserve. Or more to the point, things she deserved instead. Throk had been put in charge when New Drule
was liberated from Hazar’s rule, and Twila was incensed at that development.
Zarkon hadn’t even acknowledged her role in the conquest with a due reward. Why
he put this fool in charge, who had spent the last few years idling in prison
and was nothing more than a sadistic drunk, miffed her to the core. The only
conclusion she could come to was the same old Boys’ Club bullshit getting in
her way again and it made her fume.
She’d been the one who had survived
that final battle. She had been the one who went undetected by the
It was fair to say she was more than
a little bitter.
“Come now, Twila. Join us in a
toast,” Throk coaxed her, gesturing to the wine bottle near to him.
She tried to keep her lip from
curling in disdain. “No thanks. I’ve got things to do.”
With that, she stalked out of the
room trying to sort out this building resentment and what she was going to do
about it. No, she couldn’t go up against Zarkon. That would be foolish and
she’d end up not much better off than that poor sap, Hazar. Taking Throk out
wasn’t a much better alternative – not since Zarkon appointed him to his
position. Messing with Throk would be in an indirect way, messing with Zarkon.
No, she’d have to come up with something better than
that. There had to be a way she could finally and truly get the recognition she
felt she was entitled to.
***********
Back on Arus, the stunned Voltron
Force was gathered outside under the starry sky, grappling with the brutality
they’d just witnessed that had been broadcast from Castle Doom. Pidge was the
most visibly upset, but Keith supposed he couldn’t blame him. It was good to
know all the Vehicle Team was accounted for, but so difficult to hear Zarkon’s
decree and see poor Chip take the brunt of a blow from Cossack’s whip. It
wasn’t to say the rest of the group wasn’t anxious.
“What are we going to do?” Allura
asked, her voice thin and worried.
Keith stood at the edge of the
bridge and watched the moon reflecting off the water below for a long moment.
He wasn’t sure what they could do.
Zarkon really had them all by the balls this time.
“Great,” Lance huffed in
exasperation. “Where are the leaders around here? Galaxy Garrison has done
nothing but give us the ‘we have to come up with a plan’ speech, which we all
know is code for they don’t have the slightest idea of what to do – and now
you’ve got nothing Keith. That’s just fantastic. Hope the Vehicle Team’s
updated their last will and testaments.”
“Lance!” Allura admonished as she
gathered the increasingly distraught Pidge closer to her. “Please.”
Keith turned and regarded his
teammates solemnly. “It’s not that simple, Lance.”
Lance’s response was to laugh.
“It isn’t? Oh, yeah, I guess it is
simpler to just sit on our collective asses while Zarkon turns the universe
upside down for us and executes our friends.”
Keith’s eyes grew stormy as Lance’s
attitude grated on him. “I suppose if you were in charge, you’d just storm up
to Doom and do what? Get them all killed anyway?”
Lance shrugged. “So far your way is
going to yield the same results. You heard him. We’ve got twenty four hours
before the first of them gets it.”
“Maybe he’s bluffing,” Allura
offered hopefully, if weakly.
“Are you going to really take that
chance, Princess?” Lance asked her pointedly, turning his glare on her. “Of
course you would. They’re not your
friends up there.”
Keith hated to see the hurt look on
Allura’s face. “That’s enough, Lance,” he warned, stepping closer to the Red
Lion pilot. “Lay off the Princess.”
“The captain has spoken,” Lance
retorted with ample sarcasm. “I’m glad you can show a little authority now and
then.”
“Both of you, knock it off!”
Keith and Lance turned their
attention to Hunk, who had to that point, quietly suffered the petty
squabbling. Keith knew what Hunk was like when his temper flared, and he was
apt to take the suggestion to heart. They were getting nowhere arguing, that
much was certain.
Keith drew in a deep breath.
“We haven’t been doing nothing.
We’ve got Romelle and Sven on Doom right now. They know how to get onto Doom
undetected and they know the slave pits better than anyone. They’re on a
mission to see what they can do for our friends. In the meantime, we still need
to sit tight, maybe make Zarkon think
we’re getting ready to surrender. But you all know we can’t do that. If we give
ourselves and the Lions up, that’s it. For everyone. I think we all know he’s
going to –” Keith paused, glancing sympathetically at Pidge. “He’s going to
dispose of them no matter what, even if we do exactly what he wants. Our
holding back and stalling is the only chance they have to stay alive until Sven
and Romelle can get to them. Once we get word from them that they’ve got the
Vehicle Team secured and in safety, that’s when we can fight back. If we do
anything aggressive before that, we’ll lose them for sure.”
He surveyed the rest of the team for
reactions. Nobody seemed too enthused, but at least none of them looked up to
arguing about it either. They had accepted it with a sort of somber silence.
That is until Pidge interjected his two cents.
“Waiting sucks.”
Keith found he couldn’t argue with
that. He simply hoped the plan worked.
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