(On the Hunt) Chapter 38

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 38

Battle Tested

The thought of trying to sleep in a Drule slave dungeon had seemed absurd, in the abstract. After a gladiatorial battle and a stretch of impromptu combat training, it had come more easily than expected… not easily, objectively speaking, but more easily. It didn't stop every single member of Explorer Team 686 from hoping to wake up somewhere else. Anywhere else, really.

No such luck.

Jace cracked an eye open, looked at the stone floor, and cursed prolifically—even by his standards. "You know, I'd gotten used to having an actual fucking bed."

"I miss bed," Vince said sadly. He wondered if he'd ever see one again.

Cam groaned, stretching out a little and regretting an awful lot of his life decisions. "I miss coffee."

Similar complaints began to circle the cell as the team gradually regained consciousness. "I miss donuts."

"I miss toast."

"I miss my engines."

"I miss beer… and my guns."

"I miss my battle axe. And my books."

Shaking his head, Keith stretched his legs out and rolled his shoulders—he'd slept sitting back against the wall, and that had been a mistake. "Okay, okay. How's everyone doing?"

"Missing things, sir," Pidge offered flatly. He missed his throwing stars. And having a functioning chameleon suit—that would have been really helpful right about now.

"Fan-fucking-tabulous," Daniel grumbled in a voice that dripped sarcasm, staring at the ceiling. "Sir." It got him a look of mixed relief and confusion from Lance; the sarcasm was reassuring, but he'd still used the word sir.

"Could be better, could be worse," Sven said with a shrug. They could all be dead already. Perspective was important.

Next to him, Jace finished stretching and stood, looking suspiciously around the cell. "Everyone's bandages still on? Know what, no, I'll just check." His options if the answer was no would be limited, but at least it was something to do.

"Is it bad I was hoping yesterday was just a bad dream?" Cam asked quietly, attempting to get at least slightly comfortable. It wasn't working.

Vince snorted, though his expression was sympathetic. "I've been wishing I'd wake up from a coma dream for weeks."

"Illogical," Pidge muttered. "But understandable."

"Alright." Keith silenced them with his best command tone, then stood and stretched a bit more. "While Doc makes his rounds, we need to prioritize. Survival first. Then we need a plan." Survival wasn't enough. Survive, evade, resist, escape. The ship had pretty well sailed on evasion, and options for resistance were limited. Escape?

If anyone could do it, his crazy team could. That much he had to believe.

"Looks like they brought us food again," Hunk observed, pointing to the door. Ten cups of water and a plate piled with, well… something… were waiting. Formless lumps of dull beige whatever. He approached to get a closer look, poking one of the lumps, which had a doughy texture. "…If you can call this food."

Lance eyed it and made a face. "Looks like something I wouldn't feed a pet."

"Looks efficient," Flynn mused; it didn't look wholly unlike what they'd had on Dathreil. Growing up on highly efficient ration wafers was where he'd picked up the lack of tolerance for flavor that the flyboy always seemed so distressed by.

As if reading his thoughts their pilot looked up at him and waved dismissively. "See, him saying that is bad."

Better than overpriced brunches. Sven just kept that to himself—either it wouldn't be appreciated, or worse, it would be. There would be thoughts. So many thoughts.

The food certainly didn't look encouraging, though Keith noted the portions were surprisingly generous. Perhaps, given what they'd been forced into here, that made sense. "It's probably not great, but if it's at least edible, we've got to keep our strength up."

"Yeah." Jace was checking Daniel's bandages. "Pretty sure we can rule out them poisoning us if they're sticking us in fucking gladiatorial combat, so let's try not starving. You've all been eating giant donut dude's cooking, this can't be that much worse."

Being in a dungeon was no reason to let that challenge slide. "Kinda like eatin' the Doc's cooking!"

The medic flipped him off and went back to poking at Daniel's wound; the kid gave him a resentful look. "Am I still alive?"

"If you're not you're damn good at faking it."

"You're alive, kid. Stay that way."

That got Lance the resentful look too. "Yeah yeah, I know, it's one of those annoying expectations you have."

"I do love to annoy," he agreed with a smirk, then bit into a piece of the so-called food and blanched. "Alright, know what, I officially miss Jace's sandwiches."

"His sandwiches aren't even that bad…"

"They're wonderful, and definitely better than this."

"They are better." Hunk shrugged as he took another bite. "Who'da thunk?"

"Hunk and the Doctor both make perfectly serviceable food," Pidge muttered irritably. "Except the chili. Is this relevant?"

It probably wasn't, but at least complaining was making the tasteless mush a little easier to stomach. Vince nibbled his and shook his head. "I'd rather eat burned basil." And he ought to know that one. At least it was better than mushrooms… probably.

"Tastes like nothing whatsoever." Flynn caught Lance's eye. "I like it."

"Of course you do."

Daniel was not eating. Now that he'd made the mistake of mentioning it, he wanted toast. He really wanted toast. Only toast sounded good, and the stuff the Drules had left them was definitely not toast. Unfortunately for him, he had a medic still paying close attention to him, and not eating was not going to be an option. "Hey, fallen angel, don't make me force-feed you like you're a Viking on Dradin."

Sven looked mildly affronted by that.

"You know," the kid grumbled, looking at the arm where his angel emoji sat, "I actually feel worse than the morning after I got that tattoo, and that's kind of impressive."

Lance shook his head. "Eat, kid. Just pretend it's toast."

Sighing, he tried a bite, and his expression twisted in disgust. "No amount of mental bullshitting is going to make this taste like toast."

Cam looked at him worriedly. "Just… try to eat, Daniel. Please?"

"When you use that sweet, worried, almost motherly tone, it makes me want to smack you."

"Well, if it would make you feel better…"

"Kid, don't smack Cam."

"But it would make me feel better!"

Finishing off his food—it was calories, and right now that was what mattered—Keith cleared his throat for attention and stood. "Alright! That's enough. We need to figure out a plan."

"What do we have available, exactly?" Flynn leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing in thought. "They got everything I tried to sneak in."

"The food?" Lance suggested. "I mean, this shit is dense."

"I have two knives," Pidge volunteered. "My suit is damaged, I can't use stealth. I can cut the power cell out if it would be useful, but it's all inert capacitors and passive biothermoconversion. Nothing combustible."

Hunk looked over at him. "Internal or external biosource?"

That had not been the person the ninja had expected that question from, and he blinked. "…Hybrid."

"Ah, yeah." Their bomb tech gave his best Big Dumb Hunk grin. He could have rigged something up with a cell that took fully external fuel input, but elaborating was just going to ruin his reputation. "Can't use that for much. I've still got that blastin' cap, for what it's worth—ain't enough to blow that lock on its own, though. Not even close. We need somethin' that can make a bigger BOOM, even if it needs a little help."

Keith considered that—the parts of it he'd understood, at least—and started pacing. "We could potentially overpower the guards. We have the numbers."

"Bossman, they have guns."

"Yeah, and they'd probably be expecting us to try to overpower them, wouldn't they? I'd think prisoner escort is when you're on the highest alert."

"Then we need something else…"

It shot through Vince like a sudden shockwave as he finished his tasteless food. "Salt."

"Huh?"

"Say what?"

"Halite… rock salt." He spoke hesitantly, not quite sure where he was going with this, but remembering the salt on his lips and finally putting together just what he'd been seeing out there on the floor. "The arena is full of it. Those bits of gravel. It's all halite."

Hunk perked up, and Flynn looked over at him with interest. "Salt. Sodium chloride—that salt?"

"Yeah. Halite is the mineral form."

"What are you thinking, Vince?"

He looked at Keith and shook his head slightly, then looked to Hunk for help. What was he thinking? Pure sodium was explosive. So what? This wasn't that. It was table salt, for crying out loud. It was a totally innocuous everyday substance, it didn't help them—

"—Okay so we've got two knives, a blasting cap, a biowhateverthefuck power cell, and some clay dishes that break easy." Jace had taken plenty of chemistry; he saw where this was going. But much like Vince, he couldn't find the way through. "How do we get the sodium out of the salt with that?"

Hunk looked between them and nodded slowly. He also got where they were going. But there were easier ways… if one was well-versed in the ways of BOOM. "Might not need to. They gave us water, yeah?"

"Yep." Lance picked up one of the cups and took a sip. "Why?"

"If you dump melted salt in water, you get a serious KABOOM."

"Seriously?"

"It's something." Keith frowned. "You'd have to heat the salt somehow…"

"The arena floor wasn't just salt." Pidge was frowning too. "That would be absurd. It must be in the local stone, but a lot of the floor also seemed like… wood shavings and sawdust and such, kir sa tye?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And you can set that kind of material off with hardly a spark…" Flynn looked at Vince, who looked at his hands and shook his head slightly, then thought better of it and turned to focus on Hunk instead. "…Or a blasting cap."

"So while we're fighting for our lives in the arena, we need to collect bits of gravel and wood chips from the floor?" Keith repeated that sentence in his head and thought it already sounded insane, but that was nothing new from this crew, and maybe talking it out would make it seem less crazy. At least a little. "That's going to be difficult, but not impossible."

Daniel shifted a little, trying to follow. He felt like he was back in school—boring school, not Lance's fun type of training. But he did like explosions and he definitely wanted out of here, so he didn't tune it out. Not too far from him, Sven was already planning combat collection tactics. It wouldn't be that hard. A few rolls out of the way, ducking from a blow…

"Just fall down a few times, we can handle that." Hunk gave a huge grin, though it didn't stay for long. "Only problem is, how much can we bring back? We're only gonna have one shot at this…"

Lance frowned, looking at his badly battered jacket. "I have pockets."

"Me too." Daniel had never been so happy to have his hoodie.

"Same. We can't be obvious about it, though." Flynn looked at his work jacket and shook his head slightly. "Unless we want to bet on them seeing us bringing back pockets full of the arena floor and figuring it's just harmless souvenirs."

Nobody was remotely willing to bet on that. "How much of this stuff will we need?"

That question fell to Hunk, who considered it and grimaced. "Fair bit. We need enough salt for a big enough kaboom, and enough wood to sustain a fire long enough to melt it. Ain't gonna be just a handful or two. We may need more than one go out there…"

"Good thing we did combat practice first, then."

A round of nods answered that, and Cam exhaled slowly. He didn't feel he had much useful to add here. "This is a weird plan you're all hatching, but if it gets the job done…"

"Weird as fuck, it's our specialty." Jace saw another issue. "Who's gonna carry the melted salt around?"

Pidge looked over at the dishes. "…Clay."

"Is that gonna work? You saw that shit disintegrate when I threw it."

"Heat resistance and impact resistance are completely different functions," Flynn pointed out, and elaborated when the medic gave him a skeptical look. "It's a thing. Early spacecraft used heatproofing tiles that were so fragile you could break them with your bare hands."

Things were shaping up… Keith looked over at him. "So you think the clay can handle the heat." At his second's nod, his frown of concentration deepened. "So we'll gather as much salt and wood in our pockets as we can without being conspicuous. You think we could get them to give us a pitcher or a bucket of water, instead of just these cups?"

Lance remembered the grudging respect the guards had seemed to show after their fight. "Maybe if we win?"

"Worse case we'll just pool what's in the cups." Hunk grinned. "Pun totally intended." A round of weak chuckles went around at that; they could use whatever amusement they could wring from this mess.

It still seemed crazy. Even by their standards. And wedding themselves to a single plan couldn't be wise. "Alright. This is one option. Before we move forward, do we have any others?" He stepped a little closer to Flynn. "For that matter, do we really believe this one will work?"

The team exchanged looks, and silence fell as they scrambled for other options. "No windows. The arena itself is no help. We have to either open that door or get away from the guards out in the corridors—they're the only options."

"It's an electronic lock and the panel is outside. No way to hack or disable it."

"We did squawk panic. But that signal could take days or even weeks to get from Calidar to any Alliance station that can do something with it, and there's no guarantee there's anything they can do with it."

Uneasy silence fell over them. If there were any further options, they weren't presenting themselves; finally Jace pretty much spoke for everyone. "I mean, if it's either we sneak shit out of arena melee fights to build some crazy-ass molten salt bomb, or we try to bring down half a dozen armored Drules with guns with our bare hands… the bomb seems less stupid."

"I always side with less stupid." Lance got more than a couple of doubtful looks and scowled slightly.

"And at least it's something to do." Flynn shook his head. "Having a crazy plan that has to run flawlessly is better than just sitting here waiting and hoping the Alliance comes through."

"We sure as fuck can't count on them."

"Especially if intel is involved. I say we MacGyver this shit."

Keith sighed and waved to silence that discussion; it was a testament to the stakes that the discussion actually stopped. "Alright. This is our plan, then. It may not be a great one, but it's ours. We'll give it a go." What they would do after getting the door open would merit further discussion, but they really didn't have enough information for that yet. They would pay more careful attention on their way to the arena next time, and go from there. Although… "I wish we had some more weapons than a couple of knives to make our escape, though."

"I'm sure we'll run into guards on our way out of here," Sven pointed out. "Hopefully smaller patrols than they send to escort their gladiators. We can steal their weapons when we cross them."

Pidge nodded his agreement with the navigator's assessment. "Smaller patrols, and it'll be easier when we can take the initiative than when they're all watching us for any wrong move."

Oh really. Daniel raised his head and looked over at Sven with a weary attempt at a smirk. "I call dibs on any gun you end up stealing. We both know you won't have any use for it." He'd feel so much better with a gun right now. He didn't want to think about shooting it, but he wanted one.

At least he's feeling a bit better. Sven shot the gunner his best death glare, but didn't argue. There wasn't really an argument to make.

"That's the spirit, Daniel." Cam's encouraging tone earned him another now I want to smack you look, but he was pretty much okay with that for the moment.

"Doc, you've gotta leave your jacket here, yeah? We can use it to hide our stockpile while we're gone." Their medic nodded, and Hunk grinned. "We've totally got this."

"I hope so." Keith looked around the team, his gaze lingering a little longer on the kids… he shouldn't think of them as kids. He knew that. They were trained soldiers as well. But it was hard not to be a little extra protective of them, and he exhaled slowly. "And most importantly, we have to win the fights. We can't lose anyone."

"Nobody's fucking dying on my watch," Jace muttered under his breath; only Sven heard it, and gave his shoulder a little tap of reassurance.

Pidge looked at him and stood. "Then we should get back to work, kir sa tye?"

"Yes." Keith beckoned for the others to stand, nodding to himself. "Let's get to it." No more time to dwell on worries. They would do what they always did, their best.

And the best an Explorer Team could do, they'd learned, was usually pretty damn good.

*****

It was the next day when the guards came for them again; apparently gladiators were allowed a bit of rest. They'd used the respite as effectively as they could, and the team's mood was grimly determined as they followed down the corridors. Several of them were focused on the exact layout—it still didn't tell them much, but information was better than no information. Lance wasn't watching where they were going; he was glaring enviously at the guns their escorts were carrying, and his open hostility was keeping their attention while the others studied the surroundings.

All too soon they reached the armory, and the lead guard waved them inside. "You have five minutes to prepare. Fight well, and you will live another day. Blood and glory to you, gladiators!"

"Didn't he say that last time?" Jace muttered as they entered, again ignoring the weapons.

"Yeah, pretty much. Maybe it's a requirement."

"Yes, he probably has to say it. Like a server repeating the lunch specials." Sven had tracked down the same mace he'd used before—in a different spot, but a distinct knot in the wooden handle gave it away. It had served him well enough, after all.

Hunk was picking out a quite different mace. This one didn't have spikes; they looked badass, but hadn't really done a whole lot for him last time. "I could do with a lunch special."

"I really hate this," Cam said softly as he and Keith picked out swords. He took a knife as well, while Keith considered things for a moment and picked a second sword from the rack.

"You can do this, Cam. Just remember your training."

"Yes, sir."

Pidge had picked out a selection of knives, and paused to give Hunk a warning glare. "Don't let mechka get hurt." Flynn had told him to look after Vince, but the tactics they'd devised for this battle weren't going to allow for that. He didn't like having to trust someone else with his charge, but it was unavoidable…

He didn't much like Hunk's response, either. "Awww!" The ninja's darkening expression was greeted with a huge grin. "Don't worry, I've got this. Right, little dude?" He looked over at Vince, who was holding a spear with slightly—very slightly—more authority than last time. "Just like we talked about." It got him a nervous nod.

Flynn, too, had gone for a spear—one with the slimmest, shortest blade he could find. He didn't see any staves, and a blade seemed like a good thing to have, but the lacrosse experience he was supposedly meant to draw from here had not included the sticks having pointy bits. Better to play it safe.

As the others armed themselves, Daniel looked over the options in bewilderment. The pointers Pidge had given him had not included an optimal weapon—seemed like an oversight, now that he thought about it. And he kind of doubted there was any such thing as a weapon that didn't suck to kill people with. Shaking his head, he grabbed a sword, because what the hell? Everyone liked swords. Except Sven.

Having found what he thought was the sword he'd used last time—maybe he was superstitious—Lance looked over at their visibly nervous gunner and caught his eye. "Kid? You over them, right?"

Daniel glowered and proceeded to misunderstand the question, but with all kinds of conviction. "Am I over them? You mean am I not seeing dead eyes staring at me and weirdly warm bodies in pools of blood?"

At least he still had a little snark. Depressing snark, but snark nonetheless. "I mean it's you or them… pick you, alright?" The only dead body I'm afraid of seeing is his.

The kid gave him a thumbs-up. "Gonna do my best."

"You better, kid."

Any further conversation was cut off by the rusty squeal of the gate as it began to rise. Keith turned, eyes narrowing. He could feel the energy in the room—his team still nervous, still concerned, but no longer lost and confused. This time would be different. "Here we go."

The announcer's voice boomed over them as they walked out onto the arena floor, taking much more careful note of its composition. Not all the gravel seemed to be halite, but there were plenty of crystalline sparkles in the muted light.

"He's introducing us as fierce Earthling pirates again," Cam translated, making a face. While much of the crowd still booed and hissed, there were a few cheers scattered about as well.

"Never thought I'd hate being called a pirate," Lance mused.

Cam snorted, listening as the announcer began again. "We're up against a criminal band from the recently… conquered? Adopted? Ugh… world of Kro, who…" He paled slightly as the crowd gasped. "…Who have mercilessly slaughtered two opposing bands of gladiators so far." He looked up at the royal box and scowled. "Trakhni tebya."

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"Criminals?"

"Wait, are we back on Dradin?"

"Pretty sure they consider us criminals…"

"Yes, but they don't call us criminals. We get pirates." Sven grinned slightly. "Which I actually kind of prefer." His ancestors would have been proud, at least… maybe.

Pidge snorted. "I'm just tired of being called an Earthling."

"Suck it up, ninjerk, you're stuck with us."

"I prefer Terran."

"That's not even an actual thing, of course you do."

As the announcer fell silent they got their first look at the Kro… Kro-ans? Kro-ites? Kro-bars? They were pale reptilians with long, spiky tails, forked tongues flicking as they studied their foes.

"…I really hope those lizards don't bite."

"Aww man, I don't want to kill lizard people," Daniel complained as he tightened his grip on his sword. "Lizards are awesome." Yeah that's totally why.

As the announcer called for them to begin, the Kro line charged with deafening war screeches, and Pidge looked over at him with a shrug. "Well, they want to kill you."

"Alright, everyone." Keith braced. "Let's do this."

There were ten of the Kro; a fair fight, in theory. It would make the strategy they'd worked out that much easier. The team stepped back and split into pairs, mostly—Pidge and Daniel fell away to the edges of the line instead, while Hunk squared up with the center of the line and charged.

"Krowabunga, dudes!"

The two lizards in the center of the enemy line had, completely rationally, focused in on his weapon. It would take all they had to block a crippling swing. They weren't remotely prepared for him to not swing the mace at all, taking advantage of their brief window of confusion to just bowl right over them and drop them to the ground.

They were up quickly, hissing in irritation, and turned to face their attacker… but not with confidence. Not because their attacker was huge and strong and carrying a mace the size of a small tree, though that helped. But the Kro had also noticed Vince lurking behind them, holding his spear like he knew how to use it and just waiting for them to present an opening. To say they were surrounded was a little bit of an overstatement, but the tactical situation was close enough.

Deeming Vince the easier target, both raised their weapons and moved in on him. He gulped and braced himself, then nodded nervously as Hunk shot him a thumbs-up. Just like we talked about…

The huge engineer raced forward, clocking one Kro from behind and making it very clear why they should not turn their backs on the guy with the giant mace. As the one he'd hit stumbled past Vince, Hunk followed, and the other engineer retreated to get the two between them again.

Okay, so he was pretty much being the bait. But if it worked, he'd deal with it… what choice was there? He could think of worse things than playing a lure, though he could also think of better. Way better.

As they circled the lizards, keeping them entrapped and off-balance, the Kro figured it out and opted to aim for the greater threat. Hunk braced, ready to block; Vince saw an opening of his own and lunged with his eyes closed, stabbing into and through the lizard's side.

Screeching, the Kro tried to claw his weapon out—it hadn't actually hit anything vital, but it was bloody and inconvenient. It smacked him with its tail and spun him to the ground, leaving a few holes in his shirt and deep scratches on his chest, and then Hunk clobbered the lizard over the head for good measure. It dropped.

"Dude…" Hunk stared blankly at the spear, then at Vince, and wondered where panicked skewering was on the panic scale in relation to sparking.

"…Oops?" Vince shuddered and picked himself up off the ground, grabbing what he could of the wood and gravel beneath him and shaking his head to clear it.

"That was kinda terrifying, little dude. Awesome, but terrifying." Moving closer to cover him as the other staggering Kro started to shake it off, Hunk tousled the younger engineer's hair, blocking anyone from seeing him sneaking the stuff from the arena floor into one of his vest pockets. Then they both turned to face whatever came next.

With Hunk and Vince causing chaos in the middle of the melee, Pidge and Daniel had gone to make a mess of the outskirts. Pidge had sprinted straight at the one on the left side, ducking beneath the greatsword it raised in his direction to take a slash at its ribs. He kept right on running; when the sword fell he was long gone.

As planned, Daniel went at the one on the right, which seemed to acknowledge him as its target by meeting his eyes. For an instant, he froze again—but this time as he fought it off he heard Lance in his mind. I need you alive, kid. Actually he might have heard every one of the many ways he'd said it lately all at once. Either way, he managed to shake off the paralysis, replaced with a kind of numbness as he let himself focus on pure survival.

Sprinting forward with a sword he didn't know how to use, he implemented his new training halfway flawlessly. Each time he moved in and took a swing, he easily dodged the return strike, getting the Kro more and more frustrated as he darted circles around it. The problem was, he wasn't doing any damage either.

You have to actually hit for hit and run tactics to work!

The Kro he was harassing had a pretty distinct pattern in its own attacks, and the next time he cut in he shifted his approach. The angry lizard person took the cut to its arm and roared; he gave it a slightly regretful look as he broke off and ran in Pidge's direction.

Jumping up and kicking the lizard he'd been fighting, Pidge gained some separation and moved in on Daniel's target. They switched off; the ninja got in a good stab and left a knife embedded in his new target's hip, while the gunner managed a decent slash that robbed him of several scales. These Kro fared a bit better against the attempt to surround them, standing back to back and fending their next strikes off.

Well that wouldn't do. Eyes narrowing, Pidge vaulted backwards, trying to draw them apart. Daniel ran forward, acting on instinct rather than any knowledge of technique. The one with the knife in its hip had its range of motion severely reduced; he stabbed it in the chest, leaving his sword behind as well, not stopping to look at the body as it fell because that would not be helpful. Running on the adrenaline he moved in on the one chasing Pidge, who had started circling back.

"Watch the tail!"

With them both closing in the other Kro whirled in what was an almost graceful spin, scything its spiked tail through the air to drive them back. It worked well enough, and it flailed a little to regain its balance as they regrouped. "You know, you're really kind of adorable." Daniel paused, realizing what he'd said, and clarified. "Not you, ninja. Well, you're adorable too, but not lizard person adorable."

Scowling, Pidge sprang at the Kro, demonstrating just how adorable he was by flipping forward and catching its neck with his arm. Momentum dragged it through the rest of the flip with him, and he heard a crack as they both hit the ground; its neck was bent at an unnatural angle.

"I like lizards too." He surreptitiously gathered some of the arena dirt as he watched the other Kro—which was twitching and trying to rise. These things really didn't seem to be bothered enough by penetrating stab wounds. "But they're a lot cuter when they aren't trying to kill you, kir sa tye?"

Daniel snorted and slid the scattering of wood chips and salt into his hoodie's pocket. "Agreed."

The others had paired off a bit more traditionally, breaking the battle into smaller engagements that the Kro seemed happy to work with. Flynn stared down the one opposite him, which happened to be carrying a short mace that wouldn't help with its reach disadvantage one bit; they'd trained, sure, but he would still take any further unfair advantage he could get. The lizard next to the one he was focused on came too; Lance stepped up beside him, holding his sword in a guard stance and trying to remember everything Keith had taught him about it all at once.

"Come and get us," Flynn murmured with a small smirk, and Lance gave him the briefest affectionate glance. This is not the time to find him cute.

A second later, the time was up, the Kro were in range, and Flynn lunged—not at the one raising its mace to try to strike him, but at the one bearing down on Lance. It realized a second too late, but still succeeded in blocking; he spun the polearm around and jabbed it in the guts with the non-pointy end. It gave a weird sort of squawk and took a powerful swing in return, and he instinctively intercepted the blow. This was already so much better than last time.

At the same time, Lance had gone for the one with the mace, smirking as it hit empty air and left itself wide open for his first slash. A few of its scales dislodged and rained down, though it didn't seem deterred. It struck again, this time getting a solid hit on his shoulder. "Ugh, that's gonna fucking bruise, rude." He managed to block the next few, remembering what he'd learned. Defence over offense. An opening would come.

It came, and he slammed the sword forward, straight through the Kro's throat. Maybe these lizards were resilient against other stab wounds, but it wasn't coming back from that one; he pulled his sword back out and made a disgusted face as orangeish blood sprayed everywhere. Guns were so much better than this bullshit.

Flynn startled a little as the blood splattered over his jacket. "That's disgusting, flyboy." He was still trading strikes with his own opponent, which was getting the better of the exchange but not enormously so. And its teammate going down distracted it, just for a moment. Eyes narrowing, he flipped his polearm around and stabbed it square in the stomach with the non-business end, much harder than last time. It hissed and staggered back, spitting a little blood at him.

"Fucking disgusting," Lance agreed with a smirk, leaning over to pick up one of the fallen scales as a trophy. And more importantly, some of the dirt with it. Then he moved up to offer support against the recovering Kro, exchanging nods with Flynn as they readied themselves. They totally had this. Probably.

Sven and Jace had staked out a bit of open ground, and the navigator spun his mace with a flourish as two of the lizard people charged them. He couldn't help a small grin. Maybe—well, probably—he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was, but under the circumstances it didn't seem worth actively avoiding having fun.

Next to him, Jace dropped into a crouch and picked out a target. "Viking, are you being creepy already?" He sprang as the Kro came in range, taking one down at the knees.

"Aren't I always?" Sven took a few swings at the remaining lizard. It gave him plenty of space, tongue flicking as it circled, looking for an opening; he didn't intend to give it one easily. As he circled back within sight of Jace he noted the medic struggling. Apparently none of his martial training had prepared him for wrestling with something with a tail. "Are you alright?"

"Aren't I always?" Getting a little bit of initiative, he managed to wrap the Kro's legs up with its own tail, and attempted to improve his positioning. It didn't quite work. The lizard got a slash in right through the scorched hole in his pants where he'd been burned by the Drule boarding party; it wasn't deep, but it hurt like a bitch. "Fucking—" On reflex he tried to roll back and get away, but the Kro tried to stay with him. It immediately found itself flying through the air, crashing into Sven's opponent and both going tumbling to the ground.

He had an interesting definition of 'alright', one that he'd no doubt yell at anyone else on the team for having, but Sven shrugged it off. That wasn't unusual. "Just checking." As the two lizards disentangled themselves he swung his mace into one's lower back, earning a satisfying crunch and a bizarre hiss-squawk of indignation.

"Yeah, and a—" Jace did a reasonable job of mimicking the hiss-squawk. "—to you too, asshole." He grabbed the other one and tried a chokehold, which was completely ineffective. Okay, so they had some kind of different throat structure too. Great.

Of course, no fortified windpipe or jugular was going to help against Sven turning and smashing it in the face with his weapon, being very careful not to hit the medic as well. The Kro dropped.

"I appreciate your aim, Viking." Jace shook his head slightly. "And your creepiness."

"Well," Sven shook his mace off smugly, "I appreciate your appreciation." As Jace carefully made sure not to pick the arena debris from his clothes, they turned back to the first Kro to finish the job.

Facing off against the final pair, Keith took the stronger-looking of the two while Cam traded blows with its teammate. He'd never heard of Kro before, but the lizard people would have been sufficiently terrifying even if they weren't fighting for their lives in an arena. "I'm going to have nightmares about alligators.. "

"Just survive to have that nightmare, Starr." Keith grunted as his opponent's tail caught him in the stomach, but recovered quickly—it was no Kulaphe tail strike, that was for certain. It followed up with a disarming strike, sending one of his swords skittering across the arena floor. He dropped into a roll to go after it, the Kro following close, ready to finish him off… but instead he grabbed the hilt and rolled back, coming up inside its guard and slashed up its thighs and abdomen with both blades. It retreated with a howl.

Cam wasn't faring so well. He and his opponent were matching blows evenly, but the Kro also had a tail and a strong muzzle to bring to bear. Thinking he had an opening, he lunged in, only to be caught by the lizard's teeth sinking into his wrist.

With a scream he brought his other hand up—the hand with the knife—and punched the Kro hard in the face with it, sending it reeling back and clutching one bulbous eye.

"Cam!"

If the Kro had any hope of turning the tables, it was taken by Keith racing in to protect his protege. The snarling lizard lunged for Cam again and was met with the commander's sword across its exposed throat, slicing through more than deeply enough to get at the critical arteries.

Watching it go down, Cam checked his arm and shuddered; there were bloody tooth marks on his forearm, but apparently the lizards had a fortunate overbite. He hadn't had anything critical punctured. "I'm alright," he panted out as Keith turned to him, perhaps not wholly convincingly. "Ow…"

It was good enough for now, Keith decided, and spun to look for a new target… but there were no more targets to be had. Once again, Explorer Team 686 held the field.

*****

It had been quite the battle. The Earthlings seemed to have had a different strategy this time, and quite a few of them seemed to have improved even since the last battle. Romelle had watched carefully, knowing that this fight was another for her to judge. She stood and moved to the front of the royal box and noticed that they had remained in the arena this time as well, much different than the last fight they'd had. They were learning and adapting… she quietly studied the group, still considering her decision. Her eyes came to rest on one of them, one of the raven-haired ones who was good with a sword; he was staring up at her intently with icy blue eyes.

There was something about him that tugged at her. The others of his team seemed to respect him for some reason; he wasn't the biggest or the fastest of the group, but had come to stand at the front of their line. Their leader, perhaps? But it was his expression that held her captivated. Sadness? Remorse? Weariness? Well, after that battle, the last was understandable. But his eyes seemed to be almost begging her, pleading with her about something. Reluctance to do what she could order, perhaps? He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to kill if he doesn't have to…

She'd barely noticed the silence that had fallen over the arena until she nodded slightly and closed her blade, and a cheer rose up. That much she noticed. But her gaze remained on the Earthling leader…

A look of relief crossed the man's face. He raised his sword in some sort of respectful salute, the hilt about chin height, and brought it down in a near imitation of her own actions. Then, with a small nod of his own, he turned to his team and they filed out of the arena.

A soft murmur of approval streamed through the crowd as they left, and Romelle slowly returned to her seat. She looked at Lotor as she moved; he seemed curious, even shocked over the gesture from the Earthling. She quietly resumed her seat beside him.

Lotor watched her curiously for a moment before speaking. "Do you disfavor the Earthlings, then? I didn't expect them to display honor."

Disfavor? Romelle startled a bit at his question, flailing for a reply. "Well, I suppose? The criminals fought rather honorably and the Earthlings seem so… weak? They're only killing when they have to." Her earlier thought of them not wanting to be there, yet adapting to their circumstances, came rushing back to her. Kind of like me…

No, it wasn't disfavor that had informed her decision at all. But she was pretty sure she ought not say that.

Lotor considered that, a small grunt of acknowledgment escaping him. "True, they have stayed their blades often." He nodded. "Earthlings do often tend towards mercy, on the occasions we acquire some for the arena. Perhaps it is best you spare their foes… these seem to fight well enough, and it would be a shame to see them dulled by a loss of morale."

They sat quietly, watching the next couple of battles until the announcer introduced a new team that was being sent into the arena.

"This battle will see failed warriors of the Crown Guard, in search of redemption, face a band of captured knights from the subjugated world of Arus!"

Lotor tilted his head curiously as the captured Arusian knights stepped forward. In the shadows they had been pale; as they stepped into the light of the arena floor, their skin rapidly darkened, causing the bright golden marks on their cheeks to stand out. He looked at Romelle, her light golden skin and the similar lavender cheek markings, then back to the knights. The features were similar as well. It wasn't unusual for different alien races to share similar traits, of course, but this seemed excessive…

Romelle's eyes had narrowed, a dark expression on her face. "Arus," she whispered, almost a growl. She remembered Lotor mentioning the planet's pacification, but hadn't given it much further thought; that had been before the wargames on the Raven's Shadow, which had taken most of her attention.

"A'kuri?"

She blinked as he addressed her and turned him, her expression lightening only slightly. "Yes, sincline?"

"You are… familiar with Arus?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Lotor nodded and fell silent. He was still somewhat curious, but not so much as to ask, especially since the fighting was starting and quickly got remarkably vicious. Romelle, for her part, was watching intently, silently hoping that the Crown Guard would triumph.

The Arusians fought bravely, and with the ferocity of cornered beasts. He was well able to see just how their planet had held out so long against the Ninth Kingdom's troops. But they were simply not good enough, as it ought to be, just as ultimately they could not resist their betters… as the battle drew to a close, Romelle practically jumped from her seat and looked to the king.

Zarkon had been watching the fight with interest. He'd been about to stand to judge them himself, given the Crown Guard's status, but he paused when he saw Romelle's questioning expression. It was the first time she'd done that. He tilted his head, smiled, and gestured for her to go forward. Perhaps Lotor is doing a better job of courtship than I thought.

Romelle respectfully bowed her head to him before moving to the front of the box, her gaive'llar at the ready. Looking up at the royal box, she noticed only a couple of the Arusians looked surprised. So many didn't even recognize a Polluxian. Those who did almost certainly knew what was about to happen.

Trying to keep her face impassive, Romelle raised her weapon. She briefly thought about letting them live, to be further humiliated by fighting for the Drules… but no. With all the enthusiasm Lotor had hoped she would show, she slashed downward.

Even the prince was a bit startled. Immediately the Crown Guard sprang into action, efficiently slicing the throats of each of the fallen knights; Romelle remained at the front and watched until it was finished. Then, slowly, she returned to her seat, where Lotor was watching her with much more curiosity.

"I dare suspect you might be more than 'familiar' with Arus, a'kuri."

Romelle looked back to the arena, keeping her chin high. "Yes." Their inability to protect their own planet is why I'm here. Let them die. That probably wasn't the answer she ought to give… she sighed. "Long ago, my ancestors were Arusian. There was a… conflict, so to speak, and my ancestors were forced into exile from the planet. They went to Pollux, settled, and eventually mixed with the local populace. That feud has not faded, at least from our side; we are not fond of our distant cousins."

Lotor looked between her and the arena floor, where slaves were clearing away the bodies. "Indeed." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Things have a strange way of working out at times, don't you think? They exiled you and now here you are, soon to be a true Princess of the Ninth Kingdom, while Arus lies broken and enslaved to our will."

Blushing a little, Romelle couldn't help but agree. "Yes… fate has a strange way of manifesting."

He chuckled. "Indeed it does. Perhaps when the games are over, after you visit your mother, we could arrange a royal tour of Arus. Just to have a look around… and remind them of their place."

*****

The Castle of Lions had been breached in short order. Maybe the Drules shouldn't have put so many holes in it.

Larmina was leading Hanso and Allendar to one of the unused service entrances; all the scouting said the Drules weren't covering it, and indeed might not realize it existed. But it opened out towards the Forest of Altair, so she'd been about the only person in the castle to use it on a regular basis. Aunt Allura had been a little hesitant about letting them split off from the assault—it had lasted roughly as long as it took Larmina to remind her of every single time she'd overruled Coran over the last month.

It still didn't look right, the scorched swath of earth that had once been forest… as she looked out over the emptiness, and the remaining trees beyond, she heard a growl and froze.

"Larmina?"

It's there again… "Did you hear that?" Of course they hadn't. They hadn't heard it in the foothills, they wouldn't here.

"Hear what?"

Knew it. She shook her head. "Nothing, come on, let's keep…" This time when she trailed off, the two of them tensed as well. Because this time it wasn't a mysterious sound. It was movement.

Something was charging out of the forest towards them: something huge and fast, gray fur matted by the rain, bright eyes reflecting the lightning. Allendar cursed under his breath and raised his bow, trying to take aim at the creature, but Larmina put her hand up and pushed his arrow away.

"Don't! That's a banewolf."

"I figured it's a banewolf!" He sounded slightly panicked. "That's the problem!"

Oh. Right. "They're my friends," she said in a tone that did not welcome any objection, and stepped forward. Maybe that was reckless—she didn't recognize this one, unless the puppies she'd met had grown up already. But hearing the growl again, she somehow just knew.

The huge wolf skidded to a stop in front of her, lowering its head and nudging her side. Hanso and Allendar's jaws dropped as one.

"Wait…"

"What?"

Grinning, Larmina looked back at them, then patted the banewolf's fuzzy snout. "Are you here to help us?" It still felt a little odd to ask that so conversationally, but after her previous encounters, she felt surprisingly confident…

It yipped.

"…No seriously, what?"

She looked at Hanso and smirked, then opened her mouth to explain. And stopped. Because it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have an explanation. "Trust me, I wondered that too." She scratched the banewolf's ears, and it snuffled happily. "Still kind of do, but this is a thing that happens and we don't have a whole lot of time to mess around asking why, right? We've got a castle to liberate!"

Hanso was still gawking at her; Allendar looked between her and the wolf and finally shrugged helplessly. "Why not? I'd rather it be with us than against us."

"Is this like those rumors that Princess Allura talks to mice?" Hanso asked finally. "Except you've got, you know, giant semi-mythical killer wolves instead of mice? I think you won that draw."

"I like them," she agreed smugly. "Come on, let's do this."

No resistance greeted them at the service door, but they could hear combat echoing through distant hallways. The main forces had recovered plenty of guns from the Drules outside, though only the guards were trained with them. The knights had taken a back entrance as well… they would hit the invaders from everywhere for real, the way the feint on Dolce Vita had pretended they would.

The first enemy they found was rushing down service staircase, apparently having just awakened, juggling her rifle and looking a little bit flustered. They didn't give her time to recover. Larmina lunged forward and landed a blow with her staff, sending the guard tumbling down the steps in a hail of Drakure curses.

"I've been waiting so long to smack a Drule," she declared with a small grin.

"Is it everything you hoped for?"

"You know it! Come on, the workshop is this way." That was their target. The sooner it could be secured, the sooner they had whatever machinery might yet be intact. If this attack went bad, they could even use it as a fallback and staging point.

Not that this attack was going to go bad, but it was nice to have backup plans.

As they approached the service staircase, the sounds of the main battle were getting closer. The second Drule they encountered seemed to be running from the commotion—before Larmina could even consider how odd that was, she saw an arrow bounce off a wall behind him and bury itself in the back of his neck.

"Thanks, Auntie," she whispered as they ran past the fallen soldier to the stairs.

At the workshop doors, they paused and exchanged wary looks. It didn't seem as simple all of a sudden. "Do we just go charging in?" Allendar whispered; the banewolf snuffled.

"Well I don't think we should knock."

"…Why not?" Hanso looked at Larmina. "Do you speak any Drakure? You know, pound on the door, yell for help?"

"Uh, I know a little? It's mostly cursing." She wrinkled her nose in thought, certain she had at one point been taught a basic request for aid, back when the Drules had been prickly neighbors rather than an invading army… what was the worst that could happen? They'd have to open the doors and charge in anyway? Let's try it. She pounded with her staff and yelled. "Alai'ru moka ker!"

Someone yelled back; something about coming to assist. Or about truffles. Or possibly a spaceship party? Drakure was hard. In any case, she motioned to Hanso and Allendar, who both drew their bows and waited.

The door opened.

The arrows flew.

The first Drule went down with a startled cry, managing to get off a shot with her rifle as she fell. It hit Hanso; he went down with a scream of his own, but a torrent of profanity said he was still alive. He wouldn't be for long if the other two Drules weren't dealt with immediately. "Cover him!" she ordered Allendar on instinct, racing in with her staff raised. The soldier she was targeting fired but missed, and she jumped to add momentum, bringing her weapon down on his head with all her strength. He immediately went limp.

A growl from the other side of the room; while Allendar had been shielding Hanso and taking aim with his bow, the banewolf had taken care of the last soldier much more quickly. It landed with its fangs deep in the Drule's throat, splattering bluish blood.

"…Eww?" Larmina muttered as the wolf began gnawing on its kill. "I mean, thank you, eat up, but also eww… Hanso!" Tearing her gaze away from the wolf, she ran over to him, reassured by the fact that he was still swearing his head off. But his voice was wavering, and that seemed like a bad sign.

"Sinycka… got lucky." Weak as it was, his voice managed some indignation. "Think I'm gonna… need some of that luck now too, huh?"

"Better to be lucky than good," Allendar agreed. He'd torn his shirt off to put pressure on the wound, but was looking at it with a grimace. "Ugh, this is filthy, stopping the blood is only so much help if it gives you half a dozen infections… we need water or alcohol or something."

Larmina blinked, remembering her own time in the workshop. And the bribery that had made it possible. "Danor kept a wine stash hidden down here—some of it was pretty strong, to hear him tell it. If anything's left, would that work? Maybe the sinycka didn't find it."

"Better than nothing. I'll stay here and do what I can for him."

She turned and ran deeper into the workshop, which was in shambles. It looked like the Drules had dismantled and removed much of the equipment, but they'd replaced it with racks of weapons and armor and some other indiscernible boxes. It would be just their luck if the boxes were medical supplies… they could hardly stop to guess and check. Instead she made her way to the corner office where Danor had kept his personal belongings, slid a wall panel aside, and grinned. Two dusty bottles of wine greeted her. Grabbing them both, she ran back to Allendar and watched him treat the wound as best he could.

"Dovayat, that stings…" Hanso closed his eyes and exhaled. "How do you think… the others are doing?"

"Hard to tell, from here." Any sounds of combat had long ago faded, considering they were in the very depths of the castle. She looked at Allendar, who was still holding the shirt down over Hanso's wound. "What else can I do to help?"

He looked at her, then over at the banewolf; it was padding over after seemingly deciding Drule didn't taste very good. No great shock there, truthfully. "Can you and, um, your friend make sure this place is clear?" Looking around at the clutter and the high shelves, he grimaced slightly. "Plenty of spots some sinycka could still be hiding after the racket we've made."

It was a good point, Larmina decided, though when she'd asked to help she hadn't really anticipated leaving them alone. But if they could confirm the workshop was secure, that wouldn't matter. "Sure, we're on it." Motioning for the wolf to follow, she moved back among the shelves, her nerves on edge as she began to methodically check every corner.

About halfway through, she did encounter something, but it wasn't a Drule. It was a faint shimmer—familiar by now—swiftly coalescing into the ghostly form of some regal-looking ancestor or other… the history of the House of Raimon was not one of her strengths. At her side, the wolf whimpered and lowered its head, bending its forelegs in what could almost have been a banewolf bow.

"Um… hello?"

"Daughter of Arus." The ghost nodded an acknowledgment, flickering faintly. "I come bearing news from Princess Allura: the Castle of Lions is secure."