(On the Hunt) Chapter 29

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 29

Deceive and Conquer

Even in the daytime, Zandrek was lit in large part by moonlight. It had a dozen moons, many large and close, and in the slight overcast they easily outshone the distant sun. It gave the planet an ethereal quality that was really quite striking.

Flynn was not spending much time appreciating the beauty of the place. He was a bit nervous… just a bit. So much could go wrong here. The museum had just had a damn robbery, and who were they to try to gain access to the details? Alien strangers? It was ridiculous.

Then again, they were an Explorer Team.

All they had to try to make this work were his wits, Hunk's impulsiveness, and a pouch of credit chips that may or may not be of any use. Both cultural and economic factors were in play there, and really, having to worry about multiple cultural and economic factors just to go ask a bug about a bracelet felt just a little off-putting.

Much of the domestic Vex-Cha economy was centered around providing services; it was why bounty hunting was one of the easiest ways for outsiders to gain access. Their Confederacy's place in the broader galaxy was built on trade, sometimes cutthroat, and so they were often seen as motivated by profit. This was not wholly accurate, and could get a traveler in trouble. For example, as a rule they were known to react quite poorly to bribes—but there were those who might be willing to offer their services for a mere fee. Which in such cases amounted to a solicited bribe.

It was considered impolite to point that out.

That led to the other issue, which was that the interstellar economy was a chaotic free for all. Cross-faction currency exchange wasn't really a thing. Different civilizations had different needs and priorities, and barter was the primary manner of trade between them. Whether any given non-Alliance entity would accept alcreds was usually tied directly to whether they had Alliance trade contacts to spend them on.

The museum did accept alcreds as an entry payment. Pidge had reported that. But accepting them from tourists and accepting them under the table were two different things. Would they be willing to accept a fee in a less than ideal currency? Would they be willing to accept a fee at all? Had they actually brought enough if they did? The 686's bribe budget was slim—even an Explorer Team would get some odd looks if 'illicit service payment' showed up too often in their requisition list.

Flynn would rather have been back with the engines.

Trailing just behind him, Hunk wasn't any more comfortable with the situation. All joking aside, diplomacy wasn't a strength. He knew it. And he doubted whoever was in charge of the museum was going to be near as awesome as Manset had been; that seemed like the kind of luck you only had once.

He'd rather have actually been wearing the light-up sombrero.

As it happened, the Repository of Riches looked surprisingly calm for a place that had just been victim of a high-value theft. It was indeed open; the reception hall had a large sign up, with a notice written in several languages.

Due to an overnight malfunction in our power grid, unavoidable infrastructure repairs are underway and several exhibits are inaccessible. Admission has been reduced to reflect this. Management is regretful for the inconvenience.

That raised a lot of questions Flynn didn't dare ask aloud—Hunk wouldn't have the answers anyway, but damned if it didn't take all his effort to keep them quiet. He covered with, "Kind of reassuring that PR-speak is the same everywhere."

"No kiddin'. Wonder what happened?" Hunk shared every one of those questions they couldn't ask.

Shrugging as casually as he could, Flynn looked over the reception desks; each had a sign, most of which were in languages he couldn't read, but a couple of them had ENGLISH listed in bold letters. He headed to the nearest of them, which was staffed by a shimmery gray Vexakila.

"Ah, Earthlings! A rare sight. Admission for two?"

"Please." He picked out a couple of credit chips and handed them over, then tried for a tone that was both confident and slightly urgent. "Would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the curator? We have some information they might find useful."

He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected to that request. What he certainly hadn't expected was for the Vexakila to take it calmly in stride, as if Earthlings showed up bearing news for management every day. "The Docent is a bit busy dealing with the aftermath of last night's power disruption, but she may have time to spare. Let me consult. One moment."

As it turned and clicked rapidly until a comm panel, Flynn and Hunk exchanged glances. "Think she'll listen?" the big man murmured.

"Here's hoping."

After a minute the receptionist looked back to them. "The Docent requests clarity on this information you offer. What it regards, and what is its urgency."

Here goes nothing. "Possibly very urgent, we aren't sure—it's about an artifact in the special collections, a piece from a planet called Altea?"

Again the Vexakila didn't even twitch, and Flynn couldn't help but wonder if the employees even knew there had been a theft. Either way, the answer came quickly this time. "Yes, she will see you. Go and wait by the special service counter," it pointed with an iridescent wing, "and a guide will arrive shortly. We hope you will enjoy the exhibits once your business is concluded."

"We hope so too," Hunk said cheerfully, waving as they went over to the service counter. It seemed almost like an exhibit itself, carved from some kind of smooth, translucent stone with spidery veins of multicolored gemstone running through it. Leaning back against the stone, he exhaled slowly. "That went pretty well, yeah?"

"Better than expected," Flynn agreed. "Which worries me a bit."

"Yeah, can't blame ya."

It didn't take long at all for that worry to prove reasonable. Their 'guide' turned up in about five minutes: a fiery orange Zathreek with an unholstered firearm. "You are the Earthlings who request words with the Docent?" Its voice sounded something like a hinge joint that hadn't seen lubricant in a century.

"That's us." Flynn eyed the gun. The charge pack gave it away as a stun rifle, and at least it wasn't aiming at them, but it didn't seem like the best of signs… nor did the guard's next words.

"Come. And not a step out of line, fleshlings."

"…Welp," Hunk whispered as they followed. "This oughta be fun."

'Fun' was certainly a word, anyway. Not an accurate word. But a word.

The halls of the Repository of Riches were surprisingly tastefully decorated, considering the nature of the place. Gold leaf in graceful patterns ran along the walls; based on what they'd seen elsewhere, Flynn thought he could recognize elements of written Ak-Kila in the designs. They probably said something interesting to a Vex-Cha. Every so often they would pass open panels in the ceiling, with noises coming from above, and in a couple of spots there were Cha-Akor clinging to the ceiling with their wings unfurled as they worked with exposed wiring.

Something told Flynn asking their guide about the situation wouldn't help anything, so he turned back to Hunk instead. "Must've been a hell of a malfunction." What the hell did Pidge do here? He was glad Kogane hadn't come along to see this mess.

"That's for sure," Hunk agreed, and he wasn't nearly so hesitant to ask the Zathreek about it. "Dude, what busted up your power grid?"

"Don't speak, fleshling. What answers you are given will not come from me."

"…Oookay then." Suddenly he was reasonably certain this was a bad idea. But running for it would be an even worse one—not to mention definitely not useful—so he exchanged uneasy shrugs with Flynn and resolved to keep his mouth shut.

Finally they reached a back office, and were waved in at stunpoint. The 'guide' closed the door behind them and took up a guard post. Two other Vex-Cha were in the room: a green and blue Zathreek standing at a distinctly alien workdesk, and a drab, fuzzy creature they hadn't seen before. It looked like it could have been a hybrid between a Vexakila and Cha-Akor, but neither human knew if that was really a thing, and certainly neither was going to ask under these circumstances.

It was the fuzzy one who spoke first. "Hello, Earthlings. I am Eklees, the Repository's Common English interpreter. I respectfully present you to the Docent Zathaster, curator of this museum. She would very much like to know what you have to say for yourselves."

…No, definitely not encouraging. Flynn kept his expression even as he nodded a greeting to both the interpreter and the Docent, then took a shallow breath. "We're bounty hunters," he explained, "trailing a criminal from Earth. We have reason to believe he's interested in one of your artifacts." He fell silent, waiting for Eklees to relay the words. He had some confidence in his ability to recover from this poor start; they'd known they would have questions to answer. But there was knowing, and then there was actually trying to salvage the situation in a room full of angry giant insects.

Immediately after the translation finished the Docent fiercely clicked something; her voice wasn't much more pleasant in Ak-Kila than the guard's had been in Common. Once she was finished, the interpreter fluttered her pale wings. "The artifact from Altea, is what you told the worker at the front."

"Yes."

More clicks, and an agitated shuffling from the Zathreek. "The artifact which vanished last night, under cover of a reactor disruption. And you arrive today."

Both of them had been ready for that, and both made the most convincing show of shock they had available. Flynn stepped back, eyes widening, cursing under his breath; Hunk gave a startled yelp. "What d'you mean vanished?"

"Last night? Cevete… we just missed him?"

"But we're gettin' closer, yeah?"

"Maybe. Hopefully. It doesn't help them here, though… but maybe they can tell us something."

Eklees had quietly relayed their whole exchange to the Docent, who buzzed and chittered in a way that somehow sounded skeptical even without speaking the language. "A coincidence, then? Hunters a moment too late is all? You are certain of that?"

"What are you implying?" Flynn asked icily—more a warning than a question. "You've managed to become the curator of such an extensive facility, you surely can't be fool enough to think we would commit a theft and then just come back here the next day? And for what?"

It wasn't technically a lie.

"Seriously," Hunk agreed. "I know we both look like totally super stealthy ninjas and all, but you've got the way wrong Earthlings."

While the Zathreek didn't exactly seem calmed by that, she did at least take a less hostile stance. Her next response was clicked much faster than the others. "Perhaps so… very well, I accept your explanation. The artifact was taken by someone of great skill, through a vector we thought impossible to exploit. Your criminal must be a step ahead of many. We will require what information you have about him, so we may place our own bounties on his head."

They'd anticipated that, too; Hunk crossed his arms and did his best to look threatening. "Whoa, hang on now. We came here to try to help you, we didn't come to get ourselves competition. How 'bout you just tell us what you can about the relic and we'll go find the dude?"

Zathaster became hostile again just as quickly. "We can cooperate or not, Earthlings. Information for information. Else you are too late, and you can leave and find your own leads—there is little to vouch for your abilities in hunting him so far."

…Ouch. Flynn was very glad several of the others weren't here to hear that; he had to fight down his own indignation for a moment, and that was despite knowing there wasn't actually a fugitive for them to hunt. He held up a hand as if to forestall any outbursts from Hunk, and nodded slowly. "Stand down. He's too dangerous. The Alliance needs him removed as a threat no matter who does it, and so long as we had a hand in it we'll get the commission." Turning to the Docent, he nodded and produced a copy of Daniel's wanted poster.

She took it and hissed, and the interpreter took a moment. Flynn had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to remove some profanity. "You have no name for this criminal?"

Flynn blinked; they hadn't anticipated that question. A name? Faex. Now that she said it, of course their fugitive needed a name. Why hadn't they thought of that before? How hadn't it come up before? He flailed for something believable, something—

"Uh, we dunno his name," Hunk jumped in. Before his superior could elbow him, he clarified, "Not his real name. Dude likes his aliases. Even fakes some Alliance officer's identities sometimes, though they usually stamp that out quick-like. Last one we know of was, um… Herbert Wade."

…Not bad, Hunk. Not bad at all. It wasn't as if Wade could hate them any worse, from what he'd heard. And it gave him a moment to get his own thoughts in order to offer some backup. "And the other aliases tend to be hopelessly generic human names. There was even a John Smith once, among our people that's literally a joke. We'll give you a list, for all the good it'll do."

"Bob Jones," Hunk suggested.

"Definitely on there."

"Ivan Ivanovich, Juan Pérez…"

"…I see." They both had the distinct feeling the Docent was still unconvinced, but she didn't have anything to prove them wrong, either. Turning her attention back to the poster, she flicked her antennae a few times as she looked it over. "This face is unfamiliar. Earthlings tend to stand out here, but we have only just begun looking back through the security footage for anything suspicious."

"Dude's good at not being noticed."

"Very." May as well sell the story a bit more. "Honestly he's probably using disguises, but that's the best picture we have. We have his motives, though. He's searching for the planet Altea itself. Can you tell us anything about it? Or where this artifact came from? It might give us an idea of where he'll go next."

Buzzing thoughtfully, Zathaster turned to the console on her desk and gave a series of sharp, commanding clicks. The screen shifted, displaying an image of the Altean bracelet with dense Ak-Kila text scrolling over it. "Our people once had trade contacts with Altea, but these ended many revolutions ago. Jewelry and metalworks were almost unheard of as trade items, so my predecessors were eager to claim such a relic. Bidding was fierce." She paused, letting Eklees catch up with the translation, then continued. "It was acquired from the Scavenger's Exchange on Ixapre. They keep few records, but perhaps there will be those who remember such a contested piece."

Hunk cocked his head. "Scavenger's Exchange?"

"…Ah, yes, you come from far away." The Docent paused for a few moments. "The Scavenger's Exchange is a grand market for goods of… questionable legality, especially those from lost civilizations. I would normally hesitate to tell anyone how to access it. But you have shared your bounty… a small facilitation fee, perhaps three thousand alcreds, would be sufficient to convince me."

Flynn suspected they could find the information themselves with some effort, given how casually she'd invoked it at first, but getting it directly from the most relevant source seemed like the best idea. And it wasn't really an unreasonable bribe, all things considered—compared to the Bolt's refueling costs it was pretty much a rounding error. Requisitions could deal with it. "That's fair enough." He fished a few chips out and handed them over.

"Very good." She clicked something else to the console, and a loud humming sound sprang to life beside it. Hunk and Flynn exchanged newly startled looks as they watched what had to be a Vex-Cha printer spooling up: delicate threads being rapidly woven together into the smooth, silky fabric they used for paper, the words woven directly into the sheets.

"Dude…"

"Okay, that's… really cool."

Eklees fluttered her wings in amusement at that, though the Docent looked unmoved. Her clicking might have sounded smug. "Far more permanent and durable than your mashed plant life." The document finished printing, and she handed it to Flynn. "Is there more to be discussed?"

Glancing over the text, mostly to make sure it was actually legible Common—computer translation could be hit or miss—Flynn shook his head. "I don't think so. Thank you."

"Good fortune in your hunt. If you should find this thief, no doubt your Alliance will wish for a wasteful trial? But if you bring us the relic or his head—or both—we will richly reward you. Consider it."

"…Uh, would you accept his head if it's still on his shoulders?" This time Flynn did elbow Hunk, which he supposed he deserved.

The Docent considered that for a moment, flicking her blade-like wing casings open and shut. "I see no reason why not."

"Perfect. We'll… consider it, then."

Resolving never to tell Kogane about that particular offer, they followed the guide back to the reception hall.

*****

Aboard the Bolt, Pidge's return had heralded board games giving way to rather more consequential things. Like sleep. And people actually doing their jobs. Most of the team was actually taking the opportunity to get some rest; who knew what they would run into next?

There was most of the team, and then there was the Viking on the bridge.

Sven knew he was probably being a tad overly cautious, but in the grand scheme of things six different getaway routes—with six separate destinations—wasn't that unreasonable. Especially given the nature of his team and the looming Galra threat. That was a highly volatile combination even without the commander-approved theft via ninja being thrown into the situation. And any interstellar incident they might just happen to commit here would involve more than just this one planet. They'd have to get away from all Vex-Cha territory post haste.

No, six escape routes was nowhere near unreasonable. Creating a seventh probably wouldn't hurt…

Though, he admitted to himself, perhaps he should devise a route for their actual destination before continuing his reasonable amount of getaway routes. What was their destination again? He blinked and cast back in his mind for a minute, back to a time before Galra pursuit and the illegal acquisition of local resources.

Ah yes, the Altean shipwreck… where had he put those coordinates?

Glancing around for a second, he swept the console twice before seeing the numbers. They were on a note taped to his primary monitor, with the words 'Altean Ship' scribbled in his handwriting above them.

Right in front of my face, of course.

He shook his head in exasperation, and then smiled as a new idea hit him: he could make several getaway routes to their destination. Just to be on the safe side. Four should be a reasonable amount. Perhaps five…

Sven did enjoy math.

*****

Daniel wasn't resting either, technically. He was in a rec room glaring at a blank sheet of paper on the table in front of him, as though it had personally offended him. Which it might have.

You should write a comic or something.

Lance had said like it was supposed to be easy.

He really should have gone with the or something option. He'd been trying to leave it open. Backing out would have been much easier before Lance had told everyone he was writing it, though… now he actually had to write it, and he'd been under the very wrong opinion that writing a comic wasn't hard.

Sure, the drawing part was doable, but apparently it took more than the ability to draw to write a comic. Apparently it was necessary to have a storyline to go along with the drawings. Which was insanely unfortunate, because his only idea was still 'Lancey-pants and his magical gunflower' and the longer he though about that the more and more idiotic it sounded.

It also had just a twinge more hero worship laced in than he was comfortable with. That was the last thing he needed. This team already had one fanboy, and its ability to handle two of them was suspect. That and if Cam ever had any actual ammunition to return any of his teasing… Daniel shuddered. He'd have to desert and become an actual bounty hunter. And as cool as that sounded, Cam and Lance had both informed him that he'd be a sucky bounty hunter so that probably wasn't the best plan. Besides, it sounded like way more work than just coming up with a comic plotline.

Though maybe not.

Daniel stared at the blank paper, slowly accepting the reality. He was going to have to go with the Lancey-pants idea after all… he groaned. This was officially going to label him as a fanboy, wasn't it?

Well fuck…

The comms crackled then. Flynn and Hunk were back, and it was time for a briefing, apparently… Daniel pushed the paper aside and shook his head. For once he was okay with it. He could put off his fanboy fate for just a little longer.

*****

Today's conference room had a new decoration: the Altean bracelet was sitting on a plate, which was sitting on a stand above the traditional plate of donuts. It said quite a bit about where the 686 was these days that Hunk had hardly even gotten any strange looks for it.

Keith was pointedly ignoring it, in fact. "Okay. Kleid, Garrett, what did you two learn?"

"Not a whole lot." Flynn shook his head. "Zathreek are very… suspicious."

"Curator took some convincin' we weren't part of the heist, can you imagine?"

"After one of their prized possessions just went missing? Shocking," Cam muttered, getting a side-eye from Keith and a smirk from Daniel. For once it wasn't him getting the Commander's dirty looks.

"How could they be suspicious of you two?" Lance snickered, munching on a donut. "Neither of you seems shifty at all."

Flynn scoffed, then turned his attention back to Keith. "We had to trade our fugitive's picture and… a couple of his known aliases," he smirked, "in exchange for what information we got. The museum acquired this thing through a black market that specializes in artifacts from lost civilizations. We have contact information."

Contact information was good; the first part of the statement was concerning. Keith knew his team. "Do I want to know the aliases you gave them?"

Setting down his donut, Hunk gave the boss his most innocent look, which only confirmed that he'd been right to worry. "One of 'em was Herbert Wade."

Keith stared, and made an attempt to get a response out, but laughter from the others cut him off.

"Bahahaha!"

"Bwah, that's great!"

"You didn't… that's brilliant."

Flynn groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I promise we did not set the Vex-Cha bounty network on an Alliance sky marshal—"

"Thank god."

"Awww, you guys were so cool for a second there."

"That would've been fucking amazing."

"—though he might get some strongly-worded warnings about how a known criminal is using his name. Or worse." Shrug. "It would be a real shame, but our criminal is a tricky one."

Keith sighed. "Alright, alright. This contact information?"

His second pushed the sheet of information over to him. "It's on a planet called Ixapre, which isn't a Vex-Cha world—it's well spinward. We're going that way anyway, aren't we?"

"We are," Sven confirmed. He actually remembered seeing the name Ixapre on a couple of his charts. "It's not all that far from the planet with the Altean vessel."

"Add it to our route, then." Keith frowned. "Actually, put it next on the list—I don't think there's any urgency to investigating the crash."

"Yes sir."

"So, a market for ancient relics, huh?" Lance kicked back. "Sounds very Indiana Jones."

Jace glared. "Every time you fuckers mention Indiana Jones we all end up regretting it."

"Hey!" Their pilot was immediately upright again. "Do not blame Indiana!"

"I'm not blaming him, I'm just saying things never fucking go well when he gets involved."

Feeling a shiver run through him at the memory of the temple and the ice water, Keith decided he actually agreed with the medic on this one and cleared his throat for silence. "Alright. So now that we have our next stop, what are our plans for returning the artifact?"

Several people eyed him skeptically. "Returning?"

"Are we returning it?"

"Kogane, we all know you didn't want to steal it, but… shouldn't we worry about what we can learn from it before we worry about giving it back?"

"Yeah, Kogane. Don't you know we just collect potential bioweapons?" Daniel narrowed his eyes. "I'm honestly asking, 'cause I didn't know that was our thing. Interstellar incidents are supposed to be our thing."

Keith took a long, slow, steadying breath. He knew they needed to discuss their ill-gotten clue, he'd just have felt better having a plan first. His irritation ultimately fell on Daniel, manifesting as an icy glare that the gunner just barely managed not to answer by flipping him off.

"Oooh, that's a look I've not seen him give you before," Cam whispered. Daniel did flip him off.

Vince, on the other hand, braved the discussion on Daniel's side, pointing to him with a concerned frown. "What he said."

"I'd like to know more about this 'bioweapon' issue also," Pidge agreed quietly. His roommate had been freaking out for most of the day, and for once he couldn't entirely blame the mechka for it.

The underlying question was fair enough; Keith sighed heavily. Again. "Alright. Doc, tell us what you can about our tailored bioweapon."

That got an immediate glare. "Fucking… honestly, all I said was we never ruled out out, I didn't say it definitely was one."

"I said potential," Daniel said quickly.

"Fine." That really hadn't been the point, though he'd also kind of thrown the medic under the bus there. He knew Jace didn't have an answer; they'd already have heard about it if he did. "Whatever it is, what does Vince's reaction to it mean?"

"Fuck if I know." The frustration in his voice was palpable. "The readings were the same as when he does his normal sparky thing. Almost exactly the same. I don't have a fucking clue what knocked him out, there's no good reason for it that my equipment could pick up." Shaking his head, he added irritably, "Go on, tell the kids about the crazy-ass metal. May as well."

"Does seem relevant," Lance agreed. "I mean other than turning Vince into a fucking sparkler, this is just bling."

That was true enough. Keith reached out and picked up the bracelet, focusing on it for a few moments; he felt nothing. Passing it to Sven on his left he considered where to begin. "Alright. On our last mission, we found a couple of scraps of strange metal. One black, one red. Both with unusual, maybe impossible, properties."

"And someone sparked?" Vince asked hopefully.

The commander gave him a sympathetic look, but shook his head. "Not the way you did. But any time I touched the black metal, I felt something like static electricity. When I touched the red, nothing."

Lance nodded. "And if I touched the red one I felt heat… warmth, really." Home. "But nothing from the black piece."

"And none of the rest of us felt anything from either," Flynn added.

Daniel nodded, more in acknowledgment than understanding, because obviously understanding this wasn't a thing for anyone. "That's weird."

"Fucking weird," Lance agreed.

The Altean artifact had reached Hunk—after Vince was very careful to not touch it, pressing back against his chair as it passed by. As he picked it up he paused, feeling suddenly unbalanced… he couldn't quite explain the sensation, and wouldn't even have put money on it being real. He looked at the yellow rune for a moment, blinking, then shook his head and pushed it away. He didn't really want to be in on whatever was happening.

Keith took a moment to sip some water, then continued. "They called the two of us to a research lab on Earth to do some scans, and said that we'd actually had the same reaction to both metals. Some sort of…" He cast about for the technical term and couldn't remember it. "…Magic."

"…See, why didn't you guys say magic instead of bioweapons?" Daniel shot Jace a scowl. "Magic is way less scary sounding." He didn't believe in magic, but it was definitely less scary sounding.

The medic shrugged, and Keith shook his head. "They're both guesses, really. All the Alliance's technology and yet was their best guess… magic."

"Logical," Pidge said completely without sarcasm, and nearly everyone in the room turned to him in disbelief. "…What?"

Cam was the first to find the nerve to answer, maybe because he was genuinely curious despite it being, well, Pidge. "How is magic logical?"

"Not magic in itself. Ascribing unexplained but replicable phenomena to magic."

"…Ah." That had cleared exactly nothing up. "Okay."

The ninja gave him a sullen look, then swept it around the table and rolled his eyes when he noticed the explanation hadn't really helped anyone else either. "Magic is understood as a branch of metaphysical science with well-documented occurrences, can we get back to the point?"

Lance shrugged. "Yeah, let's." Pidge's explanation sounded similar to what Turoa Tek had told them, just in ninja-ese. But just calling it magic sounded cooler.

"Still feels scary to me," Vince muttered, "whatever it is." Still the only one causing weird sparks…

Wincing in sympathy, Daniel looked over at him. "You feeling okay now?"

"I'm fine… a bit weird still, but fine."

"That's good." He could have said a few things about Vince being weird. The opening was right there. But he figured the engineer didn't need any splash damage from a Kogane death glare just now, so he skipped it.

Keith instead gave him another look of sympathy. "Given how violently you reacted to the artifact…"

"Not so good with that."

Nobody could really blame him there, and silence fell around the room for a moment. Then Flynn leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, frowning. "But the metal pieces were pretty rough. Armor scraps, or something similar. Nothing like this." He indicated the relic, which had made its way all around the table and was sitting by the donuts again. "So is this magical robot lion armor that somehow got turned into jewelry, or are we going with all Altean metallurgy being magic now, or…?" Shrugging helplessly, he trailed off.

"It's gotta be connected to Voltron somehow, yeah?" Hunk asked. "Same symbol from the temple." He remembered that symbol very well—not as well as the blue one that had nearly killed them, but it had been on the pedestal his lion statue had gone to.

Sven tilted his head thoughtfully. "We don't actually know that the symbols refer only to the… robotic lions." Saying that still felt bizarre, but what around here wasn't? "They could just be some kind of general Altean cultural reference."

"Viking's got a point," Jace agreed. "Maybe it just says 'yellow', or 'lion', or I dunno, 'don't fucking touch on pain of death'…"

"That is true. It was in the temple, but we can't be certain that means this relic is related to Voltron."

"It's connected somehow, though."

"It has to be, doesn't it? It's too much of a coincidence. The color, the symbol, the metal…?"

"And elements…" Lance blinked. "Wait, Vince, did you feel an element?"

Feel an element? He wasn't even sure what that was supposed to mean. "Um. Sparks are electricity?" Though he wouldn't have described it as him feeling electricity. Certainly not the way Keith had described.

The question jogged Hunk's memory; he looked at the relic and paused. Much as he didn't really want to get deeper into this… he reached out and touched it again, feeling the unbalanced sensation, as if the ground were shaking beneath him. "Earth…"

Lance spun on him, eyes widening. "Fucking really?"

"How do you feel earth?" Daniel asked.

"…Dunno. Might just be thinkin' I feel it? Confirmation bias, yeah?" He was certain he felt it. But again, not in a way he could explain. "Just kinda off-balance. But back in the temple, the whole yellow section was rocks and sand and stuff."

Just kinda off-balance? "Oh sure, but it zaps me unconscious," Vince grumbled.

"Maybe it likes you more?" Daniel suggested.

"I don't think that's an expression of 'like'. If it is I'd prefer something a bit more amicable."

"Probably right."

Jace caught Sven's eye and made a face. "Nobody wants to hear that it might be a bioweapon, but this is totally what you'd do to old jewelry to scare off tomb robbers or some shit…"

"You may be right," the navigator agreed—he wasn't sure how he felt on the subject, but it was easier than objecting. "But it doesn't seem to be killing anyone, so let's try not to stir them all up again…"

Too late. "I thought you didn't want to bring up Indiana Jones?"

"Is he a tomb robber?"

"Well, if you wanna bring in Lara Croft…"

"What does any of this tell us about where or how to find the weapon?" Pidge interrupted.

"Well, doesn't it kind of mean we're on the right track? I mean granted, it's not telling us much about where to go next, or about where the weapon is, but…" Cam lowered his voice as he realized he'd gone into this without quite thinking it through. "…I'm just trying to be helpful?"

"But you weren—" Pidge fell silent as Flynn shot him a glare and hissed under his breath.

"It's alright to have the thought… remember?"

"…Yessir."

Cam blushed and hung his head; Daniel patted his shoulder, and Vince shook his head slightly. Sven opted for somewhat more direct support. "It doesn't tell us where to go, but it may help us understand the weapon a bit more, and understanding it may help us find it." Even if they found Altea, they had to find these lions on Altea somehow.

"Personally I'd rather go in with all the facts we can get," Lance agreed. "Even if they're fucking weird."

"Crazy metal or not, maybe if we take this thing to… Ixi-pray?… we'll have a better chance findin' someone who can tell us about it, yeah?"

"Possibly." Sven frowned slightly. "Though should we be showing it around? We did steal it."

Hunk blushed. "Oh yeah."

"So we tell people we're Herbert Wade."

That earned Lance a scandalized look from Daniel. "I'd rather confess to stealing it than ever call myself Herbert Wade!"

"It's probably not a good idea anyway," Keith pointed out. "Especially if the Galra are there."

"I'm not afraid of the Galra."

"I'm not afraid of them either… but seeing as they kicked most of our asses," Daniel waved his cast, "I vote we avoid them."

"Well you won't be near them," Lance snapped, his protective instincts kicking in before he even quite consciously registered it.

Jace shook his head. "I'm not scared of the Galra, I'm scared of you two being idiots…"

"He's injured, he doesn't get to be an idiot," their pilot insisted; Daniel glared daggers at both of them.

Clearing his throat, Keith attempted to get things back on track… again. "We can't show the artifact itself, but we can take a couple of images to show around. We maintain that we're looking for… our Wade."

Flynn smirked. "We did technically accept a bounty to retrieve the thing." Keith slowly turned to stare at him. "What?"

"When were you going to tell me that?"

"I thought it was implied?"

"We were already lookin' for the thief," Hunk agreed, "were we not gonna accept it?"

"…Good point."

"Fucking brilliant." Lance shot Flynn a wink.

"But we shouldn't take it back too soon, right?" Jace frowned. "Be kind of suspicious if we magically brought it back today with no fugitive. We could bring it next time we pass through? Hey, no thief but look what we found?"

"You really missed your calling as a criminal," Sven said casually.

The medic shrugged. "I've been told I don't have the charisma."

"That's true. You don't."

Looking between the two, Vince found himself wondering yet again how he'd even gotten into this situation. Maybe someday I'll wake up and find out I was in a coma this whole time. That sounded unpleasant, but it would explain an awful lot.

Pidge didn't help anything with his next comment. "The doctor is right, it's better that way. I could possibly sneak it back in before we leave, but assuming they've increased security, I can't guarantee that I could do it without killing anyone."

"…That won't be necessary." Keith sounded physically pained. "Gregory's plan is fine."

"Yeah, only Galra deaths are acceptable here."

Looking uncomfortably between Lance and Pidge, Flynn found himself briefly wondering how he'd gotten into this too. Across from him, Daniel looked at Lance and rolled his eyes. So he can kill Galra all he wants, but I have to stay locked away like a princess in a tower… I can be around Galra if I want to be around Galra!

Addressing that subject again didn't seem worth it, so Keith turned to Sven. "Alright, Holgersson, plot our course. We're neck deep in this now."

"Yes sir." As if he hadn't been plotting courses all day, though the new destination would require some tweaking.

"Vince, you said you were alright? Pidge, your injuries?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." Vince wasn't entirely lying. Just eternally frustrated by the fact that I'm a walking sparkler.

"I'm fine." Pidge's tone was flat. He had a limp and it hurt to breathe too deeply, but those were minor inconveniences.

Disputing that didn't seem worth it either, no matter how doubtful he found it. "Alright, I'll take your word for it." Turning to Flynn, he couldn't keep down a small, wry smile. "First my two bridge brats get hurt, now yours… what's with this trend?"

"Yours learned from the best," Flynn retorted, "not sure what excuse my wrenchlings have."

"…The best?" Keith repeated, earning a very pointed look from his second until he realized and reddened slightly. "Oh. Right."

"Hold up." Daniel narrowed his eyes. "Bridge brats? Since when?" It wasn't that he minded the title—the commander calling him a brat seemed like a much greater achievement than Cam constantly calling him one, anyway—but this seemed like a development he should have been made aware of.

Cam looked equally confused, if for different reasons. "Technically wouldn't it be three of your bridge brats?"

"Wait, there's a third one of us?"

"First me, then you and Lance… we're all technically his bridge brats, right?"

"I am not a bridge brat," Lance protested.

At exactly the same time Daniel turned to him, grinning. "I didn't know you were considered a bridge brat."

"I'm not!"

"A likely story… wait!" He spun in his chair and looked at Sven. The Viking met his gaze, utterly deadpan.

"No."

"Damn."

Keith could not, for the life of him, figure out how this had gone so off the rails—oh, yes he could. "You're not bridge brats, but if you keep it up that might change."

"You just called me a bridge brat!"

"You know," Flynn muttered, "I'm certain I got in trouble for calling anyone a bridge brat…"

"No, you got in trouble for favoritism." And scaring the hell out of your commander.

At the reminder of that incident, Pidge shifted uncomfortably. "Are we finished here, sir?"

"Yes," Sven seconded quickly, "are we finished?" He wanted to get back to his maps, and preferably before this discussion went any further.

Grateful for the interjection, Keith nodded—perhaps a little too emphatically. "Yes, we are. Dismissed."

"But I'm still confused," Daniel complained as the team started to disperse. "Who is and is not a bridge brat?"

"You and Cam are the brats, kid."

"That seems exclusionary. I feel like we're all bridge brats. Except Keith, he doesn't get to be in the group…"

The debate was still going on as the commander all but fled the room.

*****

Their shuttle had docked with the dreadnought Raven's Shadow nearly an hour ago. Though even the largest Drule capital ships were capable of landing on a planet—something Romelle still found quite remarkable—the fleet had already been arrayed in deep space, and sending its flagship to Korrinoth for two passengers would have been silly. Captain Ostsol had given his Prince and future Princess a full tour of the vessel, a Ny'thra-class command cruiser, before bringing them to the bridge. Now Romelle strapped herself carefully into one of the observation seats, as promised; she had no desire to be tossed around by whatever they were about to encounter.

The harness seemed off somehow, and she looked to Lotor with some worry. "Sincline, do I have this right?"

He leaned over to examine the fastenings, then nodded. "Perhaps it is uncomfortable now, but when you need them you'll understand why they were designed that way."

"Oh. Thank you." She nodded in return. It was clear Lotor was comfortable on the bridge—more comfortable than he usually appeared in the throne room, without question. "I'm nervous, but also excited. Is that normal?"

"Very normal, dear a'kuri," he chuckled. "Adrenaline before battle is natural, and to be embraced."

Romelle made a noise of acknowledgment, looking around the bridge in wonder. She'd never been on a proper warship before. "I apologize if I ask too many questions. My father didn't think it was the place of a princess to be in war situations."

At that the prince gave a derisive snort. "Your father has many opinions, and most of them that I'm aware of are wrong."

Reflexively she bristled at that; her father had once been loving and protective, up until the moment he'd sent her here. But then… the new side of him she'd seen since the alliance with Korrinoth was not loving, protective, or defensible. "If I may be honest with you… I sometimes feel the same. But I would never openly admit that to him."

Should she have admitted that to Lotor? The thought ran through her mind as he eyed her. But then he reached over and patted her shoulder. "You will have the opportunity in time, and he will see his foolishness. Now, shall we move on to better things?"

"Yes, please." Her father couldn't ruin this adventure for her. She wouldn't allow it. "How was it determined which ship we would be guests on?"

He chuckled again. "The captains of the fleets made a wager, or so I've heard. The Raven's Shadow will fight with extra pride and ferocity for our presence, and rumor says the Deathrattle's captain is most displeased and seeking vengeance." He bared his fangs. "It will be a glorious battle."

That certainly sent adrenaline rushing through Romelle again; she checked her harness and laced her fingers together in hopes of hiding her nervousness. But she didn't have long to wait.

"My Lord and Lady, battle will be joined in two minutes."

As Captain Ostsol spoke, the warship's main displays came to life, new monitors coming up to surround the primary viewscreen. Romelle's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to Lotor. No doubt he could explain it all, if he wished.

Noting her curious expression, he smiled and gestured to the front. "The primary screen shows the conventional view, what lies before our vessel. The set of monitors above and below show monitors from other sides of the ship. To the left is the radar: gold icons for our allies, silver for our enemies."

The various outside monitors became dizzying all too quickly, and Romelle found herself focusing on the radar. It seemed the most important, and the most interesting. "It must be difficult at first, to learn to process so much information at once…"

Now the prince was definitely amused. "It is a skill to be developed. The military schools have whole classes on sensor interpretation; don't be discouraged if it makes little sense at first."

Captain Ostsol began yelling orders before Romelle could respond. The bridge was suddenly alive with activity, the crew calling out information she could only grasp in fragments, orders she didn't quite follow… and then the ship shuddered, a wave of fighter craft sweeping past and landing several solid shots on their deflector arrays.

Romelle gasped as she was rocked against the harness—though much less than she'd have thought from the impact. Nobody else on the bridge seemed overly concerned by the attack. "That… that wasn't too bad, right?"

"Minimal impact," Lotor confirmed, indicating another of the auxiliary screens. "The ship's damage readout is to the right of the main display. It has quite a few nuances, but most simply darker areas indicate damage."

She looked to that display, noted the line of slightly grayish damage across the centerline armor, and nodded her understanding. For awhile she remained silent, just taking in the battle and the chaos around her, trying to guess from the radar what might be coming next. When another wave of fighters came in, the Raven's Shadow was ready; barely any of the tiny ships escaped its return barrage, their icons blinking out, though they were still visible on the main screen as they detached from the battle.

"How do the fighters know they've been destroyed for the purposes of the game?" It was probably a small thing, but she found it intriguing nonetheless.

"Their instruments will tell them so. The same for any vessel, even ours." He grinned as the dreadnought shuddered under a new attack, then turned to her again and gestured to a cluster of larger gold icons. "The Captain is bold; he's leading with his battleships. A risk to place the fleet's most valuable assets in the front, but it also draws attention so the rest of the fleet can operate with relative impunity."

Romelle didn't fully follow that explanation, but she got the general idea. "That does seem like quite a bold move." A slight blush sprang to her cheeks. "I apologize for so many questions…"

He shook his head. "You mustn't apologize for wanting to learn, a'kuri."

She studied him carefully. It was clear he was in his element here; there was a lightness to him she'd rarely seen before. It filled her with hope, but also a strange dread… why?

Because he'll want to celebrate, and you will have no choice, as usual. The same thing that inevitably crept in to ruin any optimism she dared feel. She wasn't really an equal here…

Forcing herself to shake that off, Romelle bowed her head. "Thank you for being so patient and understanding. I do want to learn well and be an asset to the kingdom."

"And you will, I have no doubt." He smiled and nodded back to the radar. "Watch how the line shifts. It's easy to move around a fixed position in space, so they constantly move to keep the enemy guessing."

Almost the moment he finished the explanation, a heavy blast struck the Raven's Shadow and rattled the bridge. Now Romelle did understand the design of the harness; it kept her in place without straining any one part of the body too greatly. Next to her, Lotor himself was thrown against his restraints, and gave an exhilarated laugh.

"…You really enjoy this, don't you?"

"I do," he agreed. "Battle is honest. Courage, skill, and instinct. No nonsense about prettying up your words, saying things you don't mean to please some old fool with connections."

It did ring true. "Diplomacy isn't needed in battle."

"Precisely. Any deception is a tactic which will either prove its worth or be countered within…" He trailed off, golden eyes sharpening. "…Do you see the cruisers gathering off our stern?"

It took her a moment. But several of the allied icons were indeed beginning to cluster around the Raven's Shadow, a pair of larger vessels attempting to shroud their movements. "Yes. What are they doing there?"

"Preparing a flanking maneuver. The Deathrattle is using a more traditional tactic—destroyers as a screening force, battleships bombarding from range. It leaves them vulnerable if their opposition can slip into their back lines."

Romelle nodded her understanding, watching the flanking force coming together. Their fleet's battleships were driving powerful attacks straight ahead, trying to scatter the 'line'—not a wholly descriptive term in space combat, but it got the point across. At the same time, a set of enemy destroyers was pulling back and starting to range well beneath the main battle.

Something looked familiar about the move… wait… "Sincline, isn't that… it looks like the other side is doing the same thing? Or am I mistaken?"

Truthfully Lotor hadn't been paying that much attention to the enemy, busy as he was explaining the immediate situation. After all, he was only here as an observer. Now he followed her gaze and his eyes widened.

He didn't get the chance to respond. More accurately, Captain Ostsol did it for him. "Counter-flanking at position 3-03-5! Engage broadside batteries! Fighter screens, break the formation!"

Immediately the whole fleet reoriented, fighters sweeping in to disrupt the Deathrattle's attempt like a flock of golden fireflies. Watching the screen, Romelle found a shocked giggle escaping her. "I was right… wow, I…" Pity Father wasn't here to see that.

"Impressive." Lotor gave her easily the warmest smile she'd seen yet. "Few would learn to read a battle so quickly. Perhaps a new calling for you?"

"Perhaps…" She forced herself not to let overconfidence get the better of her. It had only been one maneuver. "Though I think I would like to know more before being called on. That may have been… beginner's luck?"

"We will see soon enough, I imagine."

That they probably would… as the battle continued, Romelle found the radar display making more and more sense, and she was starting to identify certain maneuvers within each fleet. Though in time it was beginning to resemble a series of duels more than anything as more and more forces were lost. And finally they were bearing down on the opposing flagship itself…

"The Deathrattle is acknowledging its defeat, sir."

"Excellent. They fought well." Captain Ostsol gave a small smirk. "But we fought better."

Lotor was unfastening his harness, clearly thrilled by the battle; Romelle found herself smiling. The prince's excitement was contagious, and her own confidence was high. Maybe she did have some skill with tactics. It could only help…

That optimism lasted about until the Captain approached, his eyes on Lotor. "Your Highness, perhaps you would address the fleet? We have after all borne you to victory. My warriors would surely be appreciative of your notice."

The prince's joy seemed to wither; he blinked and his gaze was suddenly cold. He didn't want to be here as a prince at all, he certainly hadn't asked to be reminded of it. "I wasn't told politicking was part of this wager, Captain. You have triumphed and won yourselves great honor and glory—I suggest you do nothing to negate it."

Blinking herself, Romelle turned a stunned look on her sincline; probably mercifully, he wasn't looking at her. Captain Ostsol didn't look nearly so surprised. In fact, he scowled right back, a look she'd only ever seen Zarkon dare to turn on the crown prince before. "I respectfully remind you, my Lord, that you are a guest on my bridge."

"Indeed, and we are grateful for your hospitality." Venom seeped into Lotor's tone. "Does your crew require validation from its guests?"

Concerned, but still confident, Romelle saw the opportunity and took it. Xalinan had suggested she be a good influence; what better time? "With all respect, Prince Lotor, it is a common tradition for a royal guest to address a fleet after such a victory." She blushed as they both turned to her in surprise, but continued on. "Especially if the Captain requests it, as he is the lord and master of his vessel…" Lotor was glaring, and she cringed but didn't back down. "…Even above the royal guest."

"A'kuri…" His furious hiss trailed off as he noted that he had not only the captain's attention, but several of the bridge crew. And perhaps more importantly, he knew the tradition just fine. "…Yes, you are right." Studying her carefully, a thought occurred to him and he cracked a smile. "In fact… perhaps, Captain, you might allow my a'kuri to address your warriors in my stead? I believe their skill made quite an impact on her."

Romelle's jaw dropped, but she covered it quickly and bowed her head. It was probably only right that she should perform such tasks sometimes, and she had interjected herself into the matter. "I would be honored to speak on your behalf, Prince Lotor. If the Captain will allow it?"

Captain Ostsol looked about as surprised as Romelle herself had been, but he looked between them and nodded. "To be addressed by our future Princess would be a rare and welcome honor."

Nodding, she stood and followed the Captain to the comm station, mind racing. She wasn't really sure what to say, what might be expected of a royal address… she'd heard plenty of them, but none in this context. But then, the few times she'd been asked to give a speech so far, she'd always been told to go with what her own culture would find appropriate. The people knew she was an alien, and perhaps they found that exotic and interesting. She could hope…

Looking back at Lotor and receiving a nod, she turned to the captain and took a deep breath. "If you would open the channel? I'm ready."

Turning to the comm station, he flipped a switch and barked into the speaker. "All warriors at attention!"

Here went nothing…

"Mighty warriors of the Raven's Shadow, I am Romelle, a'kuri to the Crown Prince Lotor. Prince Lotor and I are both proud and grateful to have been with you to witness your victory over the Deathrattle and its fleet; it is an honor to speak to you on his behalf." She was aware of Lotor's eyes on her; rather than focus on that she put it aside, trying to imagine instead the warriors she was addressing. "Be assured we will carry the memory of your valiant triumph. You have earned great glory for yourselves, the Ninth Kingdom, your king and Crown Prince…" She hesitated a moment. It felt like the right time to invoke one of the deities she'd learned about. The god or goddess of war, perhaps, given that it had been a wargame. But what came out was something she felt more deeply. "…and above all to our beloved Goddess of Honor, Kistrial."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lotor's shocked expression. Just for a moment. And then he smiled, and her choice seemed like the correct one.

Captain Ostsol, too, seemed to approve; he bowed his head to her. "As we were honored to fight before you."

She returned the nod and concluded, feeling a bit more calm. "Take pride in your victory, warriors, and carry our thanks to you and your valiant captain for your skill and hospitality."

Stepping back, she found herself exhaling deeply, her nerves tight… but she felt good about the words. The Captain took the comms. "Raven's Shadow Armada, engines to full! The victory celebrations await." He turned back to her and Lotor as he closed the channel. "You will join us for the victory banquet, I hope?"

Romelle eyed Lotor nervously, but he nodded, recognizing it for the peace offering it was. "As long as you don't expect any speeches, we would be most pleased to join you in celebration."

Maybe that wasn't so bad after all…

As the fleet began to head for Korrinoth, Romelle sank back into the observer's seat and closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a smile. It had been a good day, if perhaps a bit overwhelming, But it felt like she'd made progress.

"A'kuri." Her eyes flashed open, the smile fading. Lotor's tone was stern. "You must not contradict me like that before others."

…Oh. Swallowing hard, she nodded her understanding. "I apologize for my overreach, my Lord…"

He calmly nodded his acceptance. "All is forgiven. Simply remember in the future."

Oh, there was no question of that… sighing, she nodded in return, trying to keep hold of at least some sliver of her newly gained confidence. Confident she might be… but comfortable she couldn't dare. That she would also remember. "I will."

*****

The return to Falastol had been mercifully uneventful, long stretches of mud aside. Miralna braced herself as she helped Lady Hys down the last part of the steps to the tunnels. While the area had taken damage in the initial attacks, and later skirmishes, it showed signs of significant settling and now appeared to be mostly stable. Still, it was a relief once they reached a more level pathway. It was an even greater relief to hear that the paths between shelters had been opened up more since the governess left.

Being a knight, Miralna was immediately treated with deference by the local elders. Nobody was about to doubt her word. Soon they were heading for one of the smallest, deepest tunnels, where Captain Sherion was watching over a small cluster of survivors.

The shelter was clearly low on resources and the air was noticeably musky. Despite being connected to the other tunnels, it had a strong feel of still being closed off. Almost as if the air itself was trapped. Nanny frowned as she studied the cavern; she was certain this was no place to keep the young Prince. Scanning the shelter for the captain, she found him by a nook in the far wall, haggling with a man over rations.

"Captain Sherion, a word with you!"

Sherion was shocked at the familiar voice—he'd never expected to hear it again. "Lady Hys! You've returned! We had thought you among the dead."

She snorted and brushed it aside. It takes more than that to kill a loyal servant of the Honored Mother, especially one with duty yet to uphold. "I hope that in my absence, your charge has done well in your care?"

"Yes, Governess." Embarrassed, he took a few steps back, motioning for her to join him at a narrow corridor. "I've… done the best that was possible with what was available here. Come, I'll take you to him."

The young Prince Tanner was asleep in an isolated chamber. Even in the poor lighting of their lanterns, they could see a paleness across his skin, his cheeks sunken from the small amounts of food the survivors had to make last. Miralna and Nanny spoke in whispers as Nanny carefully inspected Tanner's condition. It was immediately clear that telling him news of his father wouldn't be in his best interests at this moment…

"Captain Sherion, why are you still here?" Miralna asked quietly. "Once the tunnels were opened couldn't the Prince have been taken to a better shelter? Were there troubles?"

Watching Nanny wake Tanner and offer her own rations, Sherion motioned for Miralna to join him at a slight distance. Near the tunnel entrance, he lowered his head and sighed.

"I panicked," he confessed, flushing with shame. "I was trained to protect, to avoid risk! Give me any battle above ground and I would know what to do, but we came down here into these tunnels and…" He shook his head in frustration, seemingly pleading for her to understand. "There's been so much suspicion, so little known about some of these shelters. There could have been traps or spies around any corner. So we remained. To keep him safe… but my people are warriors, not caretakers."

Miralna nodded, not at all unsympathetic. "We have all been forced into roles we were unprepared for." The weight of the sword slung over her back was reminder enough of that. "But now—"

"—Prince Tanner must be moved." The governess had approached them, worry in her eyes. "He is not well, he must be taken to the castle shelter. If anywhere is left that will have medicine to help him…"

Sherion nodded, looking between her and Miralna. He was sworn to his task. Perhaps freezing in the overwhelming circumstances was understandable, but now that there was guidance, he would face down his fears. "So be it. I'll get my people ready to move as soon as possible. We will bear him to safety, on the honor of the Crown."

Nodding grimly, Nanny and Miralna moved to aid in the preparations. They would all do what they must.