(On the Hunt) Chapter 43

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 43

Exodus

Romelle was brushing her hair when Lotor arrived, looming behind her in her mirror. She didn't acknowledge him. Partly out of fear, and partly out of spite… the way he'd been treating her since the duel, she could hardly be blamed for waiting until she was spoken to, either way.

"You have a task to complete today," he finally announced without so much as a greeting. "The Earthlings must be prepared for the celebratory feast. You will go and help to bathe them."

Romelle's eyes widened, though she didn't turn from the mirror. "What?"

His smirk only broadened. "What? They've spent their victories becoming covered in blood and filth. They must be cleansed before they can be properly honored… and sacrificed."

"Sacrificed?!" she repeated in disbelief, rounding on him. "What do you mean sacrificed? That's barbaric!"

"Did you expect them to be left alive? To be offered to the gods is the greatest reward for creatures of their station… unless Father's witch claims them to create new beasts, of course." He narrowed his eyes, studying the shock and horror on her face. "What does it matter to you? Unless I was wrong… you don't disfavor them at all, do you? Quite the opposite."

She managed a scowl. "And what is it to you if I do? You were one of the first to cheer their victory."

Glaring, he stepped forward and slapped her—lightly. Just enough to drag his nails over her cheek in an unspoken threat. "Mind your place, Romelle. And you'll watch your mouth during the festivities."

"…Of course." She knew when she couldn't push it any further, and shrank back from him.

"Excellent. You can consider the bathing a gift to your champions, then, if it makes you feel better." He really didn't care if it made her feel better, and from the way she flinched he very much doubted it. "Perhaps you can manage this duty without disappointing me."

A spark ran up Romelle's spine, and her eyes narrowed. "Sincline—"

"—You will address me properly."

Glaring at him, she fell silent. She wasn't going to address him as anything, if that was how it was going to be. Turning away from him again, she went back to brushing her hair out. At least that was one hint of normalcy in all this… one ritual she could cling to.

Of course, he promptly grabbed the brush from her hand. "My Lord," she said quietly, "don't you wish for me to be presentable? There might be questions otherwise."

"…Fine, take it." He shoved the brush back into her hands. "And take your gaive'llar with you. You'll need it at the feast." Snort. "As little use as it is in your hands." If it weren't for his father making it clear he was keeping an annoyingly close eye on him now, he wouldn't have bothered… at least he could explain the bathing order away easily enough. She had favored the Earthlings, after all. It was her honor to attend to the mighty slayers of an occult beast.

The only honor she had left.

His dark musings were cut off by the arrival of the honor guard, and he led her over to them. "Sergeant Skalor, I trust you will treat my a'kuri with all due respect and diligence."

"Of course, my Lord." He bowed deeply to both of them. "We are honored by your trust."

Lotor chuckled. "You were entrusted with the greatest of gladiators, I have the utmost faith in your abilities. If you have the time, perhaps give her a tour of the slave block? I've not yet had the chance to show her the other side of the arena. But she wanted so much to give our victorious Earthlings her blessing." An extra insult, and he smirked as she flinched. "Now begone with you."

Watching them go, he shook his head in annoyance. What he wouldn't give to be relieved of this damn burden of courtship.

*****

This is it.

The team had arrayed themselves in the cell with calculated haphazardness as they awaited their escorts. Nobody had really given them a time, of course—even when they'd been fighting, Skalor's arrivals had never felt wholly consistent. The only way to judge time had been when they were fed, and apparently they weren't getting their usual rations before this feast. So they'd just slept, to the extent anyone could, and assumed when they woke up that it was time to get ready to go.

Everyone was wound pretty tight.

"Feels like watching a kettle boil," Vince whispered into the oppressive silence. He was clutching a goblet with both hands, wondering if he could actually throw it well enough to do damage or if he'd have to just bonk people.

Hunk, who was double-fisting goblets with the full intention of bonking people, glanced over at him. "Well we were gonna be doin' something like that…" He had their collection of salt and wood in his vest pockets. They'd need to be on the lookout for water if they meant to set off a bomb; as far as he knew, nobody had ever tried dropping molten salt into fine Tyrusian blood wine.

Sven did not have a goblet. He had the second knife Pidge had smuggled in, and was twirling it in what was becoming a nervous habit. He'd been absently trying to twirl a goblet earlier, which he was pretty sure was what had gotten the ninja's attention. Jace's jacket was tied around his waist, and the slight stomach ache from that had nothing to do with how tight it was tied.

Pidge himself was standing by the door with his shard knife drawn, coiled like a spring ready to snap. He was—for at least the hundredth time—cursing his chameleon suit's damage, though it was more than just that first cut on the Bolt preventing him from using stealth by now. Old-fashioned sneaking in the shadows it was.

Both Lance and Daniel were shifting impatiently, nerves tight and near fraying. Lance was impatiently shifting a goblet back and forth between his hands, fighting down the urge to start doing something sillier. Like grabbing a couple more of the damn things and juggling them. It would be something to do. He was already getting scowled at by Daniel, who had one gripped in his good hand and certainly couldn't juggle anything between them. Snarking wasn't really an option since they had to stay quiet and aware. So all he could really do to shake the nervous energy was bounce on the balls of his feet and sulk.

Sitting on the bench and doing his best to look relaxed, Keith watched the door and waited. They were going today, no matter what. Somehow. But they could still assess the situation and claim the perfect moment…

He heard footsteps, and tensed. The others perked up. No matter what was about to happen, it had to be an improvement on sitting here and waiting and thinking…

The door opened. Skalor was standing there, though he looked a bit different than usual. His armor, Keith realized. It was less sleek and streamlined, adorned with the fringe and skull motifs common to Drule ceremonial garb. Rising to his feet, he noted the two guards flanking their guide; they had the same ceremonial armor on. But more importantly, they had ceremonial weapons.

Swords.

It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral as Skalor bowed. "Hail, gladiators! Are you prepared to celebrate your triumph?"

"Yeah. Sure." His tone was cool and clipped. Stepping forward, he casually picked up the goblet he'd had next to him while studying the guards more closely. They did have guns—what looked like simple laser pistols holstered at their hips. But only their swords were drawn, and over Skalor's shoulder he only saw two others in the corridor.

After all their theorizing and hoping, it was still stunning to realize how right they'd been. How utterly arrogant these bastards really were. And for the briefest moment, he felt a hint of a smile on his lips.

It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Excellent." Skalor straightened, giving a much more genuine smile. "We will take you to the showers first, so that you may be made presentable for the feast. Come."

They couldn't help but exchange a few regretful looks; cleaning up actually sounded very attractive. But they had to get the hell out of this prison, showers could wait a little longer. As Skalor turned, Keith swept his gaze over the others and nodded.

"Alright. Let's go then."

All the tension snapped in an instant.

Pidge dropped and tackled the guard on Skalor's left mid-turn, cutting her knees out from under her and slashing her throat open. Sven hit the guard on his right at the same time, stabbing into his collarbone and then grabbing a spare goblet to crack over his head.

Whirling around with a startled cry, Skalor was greeted by Hunk's dual wielded goblets. One to the face, one to the chest; he went down gasping. For good measure he followed up with another goblet punch to the gut, then drew back with a slightly regretful wince. "Sorry, Skeletor. You were kinda cool, for a slave driver."

He could definitely hear Jace yelling knock that Stockholm shit off in the back of his mind.

Lance snorted. "We have the power now." Crouching, he jumped over the guard Pidge had brought down. The one behind her had attempted to get his sword up, but the attack had been too quick—he found his blade smacked aside by a heavy golden cup, and then his face clobbered by the same. A second punch separated him from consciousness. Whether it had actually killed him, Lance wasn't sure. He damn well hoped so.

With both fists wrapped around the handle of his own goblet, Keith lunged over Sven's victim and smashed the final guard across the chest. He spun her around and smashed her head against the wall, then landed another goblet punch to finish the job. Completing the spin, he readied himself to lunge again if the corridor wasn't empty, and was vaguely aware that a silence seemed to have fallen over his teammates. Had it? The attack couldn't have been more than half a minute, maybe time was just crawling…

Then he finished the turn and saw just what they were staring at.

"Uh…"

"What the fuck?"

What the fuck, indeed…

*****

Romelle was dazed. One moment she'd been following the honor guard. The next… for all the battles she'd watched in the arena, she'd never seen such swift and coordinated violence so close. Shrinking back a step, she tried to blink it off and fully grasp what was happening.

They looked about as surprised as she was, if not more. Struggling for Common—hers was passable, though not great, and it had probably atrophied while she was here—she whispered the first thing she could settle on. Perhaps also the most inane. "What… are you doing?"

Nobody answered her immediately. Then the black-haired one with the injured arm half-whispered, "Do we punch her too?"

"Uh, can we not?" the huge one asked in a surprisingly warm voice.

"We won't punch you," the one in the battered leather jacket assured her at the same time, though he followed it up with an uncertain look at their leader.

The wounded one shrugged with his good shoulder. "I was just making sure!"

"I'll do it if it becomes necessary," the smallest one muttered disdainfully; the big one hit him with his elbow, and Romelle winced.

Looking over his team, Keith sighed slowly, then turned back to the princess. She looked different… no, she looked about the same, except significantly more miserable. But the skimpy outfit she was wearing looked more fit for a slave than a princess. "Princess… Romelle? Why are you here?"

"…Unbecoming reasons," she said softly, which was exactly what he hadn't wanted to hear.

"Sick fuckers," Lance growled; Sven nodded in emphatic agreement.

She didn't disagree. "Are you… trying to escape?"

"We are. Is that a problem for you?"

Pidge was shifting in agitation. "Sir, we can't just stand around here talking. Should we tie her up?" That even got him a glare from Vince, who'd finally decided it seemed safe to emerge from the cell. "Or take her with us? A hostage could help—"

"—No, please, you don't need to do that!" Her eyes were wide. "I'll go with you willingly, just please get me out of this place!" The words had come out before she'd fully thought about them. But staring at the escaping gladiators, Romelle found that sense of familiarity surging up again. They just wanted out of here. She just wanted out of here, she had to get out of here. This was her chance… "I can help you!"

Before Pidge could even say anything, Hunk elbowed him again, and was rewarded with a deeply resentful look. Only Flynn is allowed to… he cut the thought off when he realized it was in present tense. No. No time for any of that.

Lance caught his breath and looked back at Keith, who was studying the princess grimly. They really couldn't stay here. Every second put their whole plan in further jeopardy. "…Grab the weapons," he ordered the others quietly, kneeling to relieve the one he'd attacked of her sword and pistol. "Princess, how can you help us, exactly?"

"I can get you to a ship." That was what they needed, surely. She knew how to get to the hangar and had the authorization to get through the security doors, neither of which the Earthlings seemed likely to have already. What had their plan been? Maybe just the same desperation? It didn't matter.

"…Wait, you can what?"

"A ship? That sounds great." Lance had looted the other guns, tossing one to Daniel and one to Vince. "You can shoot one-handed, right kid?"

"Hell yeah." Catching the gun with his good hand, Daniel shot him a little salute with it. He had zero conflicts about killing Drules right now.

Catching the other gun, Vince had a moment of being slightly more conflicted. Did he really want this? Then the arena surged back into his mind, the bodies… he set his jaw grimly and tightened his grip. Yeah, he did.

Gathering up the other swords, Keith looked at the princess again. Could they trust her? Maybe the better question was, could they afford not to? She'd seemed to favor them… and her being sent to them now, wearing that, surely seemed like a dishonor in itself. Unbecoming reasons. There wasn't time to wonder at the details now, either. "…Fine. We'll take you with us. Let's move before any more show up." Motioning to the others, they started down the corridor.

Lance had slung Skalor's gun over his back, holding the other at the ready. The weight of the spare weapon was more than just physical. Flynn should be here right next to him, armed and ready… he tried to force it down and resolved to shoot whoever they ran across with a little extra enthusiasm.

At the head of the pack Keith had all his senses on the highest alert. As a ruthlessly practical matter, Jace's loss was the most immediate detriment. Flynn's marksmanship and Cam's translation ability would have helped their escape, for damn certain, but a proper medic was a significant force multiplier. First aid training wasn't going to cut it. They would have to be vastly more careful, yet also more aggressive and more fearless, if they were going to get out of here without further injury that they might not be equipped to deal with.

"Heads on a swivel, people," he ordered quietly. "Princess, do you know where the guard posts are?"

She nodded, gesturing back up the way they'd come, then down the hallway to their left. "Each end of the corridor. To seal it off in case of an escape." That was something she'd learned less than twenty minutes ago, and using Lotor's last little insult to their benefit gave her a thrill of triumph. Though the answer, at least from his expression, wasn't good.

"Everyone pick up the pace. We don't need a pitched fight here."

"Hey, hang on." Hunk looked at his pockets. "Skeletor mentioned showers, yeah? Princess, you know where those are? Or if they're on the way to this ship?"

Romelle hesitated a moment, thinking it over. There had been several corridors… one that led up to the rest of the castle proper, the others to various elements of the slave block. "They're off the upcoming intersection. The showers were… the first hall to the right. To get to the castle and the hangar we need to take the large turn on the left, just past there."

"We do not have time for showers," Pidge said irritably; Vince shot him a look.

"But water would be helpful." The ninja's eyes widened slightly at that, and he shut up.

Keith didn't really like this conversation track either, but he also understood where it was going. Or at least he thought he did. "Any detour we take has to be quick. Every second gives them time to sound the alarm."

"No, we want 'em to sound the alarm." Hunk suddenly sounded more animated than he, or actually any of them, had since the arena. "Cuz if I'm followin' this layout right, if we did somethin' crazy like, say, blow the showers up for funsies, everyone would come runnin' that way and not after us. Yeah?"

Romelle was staring at him in disbelief. Actually several of them were staring at him, but mostly with something more like that's our Hunk than who the hell is this lunatic.

"…He's right, sir." Pidge's agreement was so begrudging as to sound painful, but it was agreement nonetheless. "A distraction would be worthwhile."

"Wish we could blow up more than just the showers," Daniel grumbled, then made a face. That had sounded uncomfortably like Lance talking about the Galra.

Not that Lance's opinion of the Drules was much higher than his opinion of the Galra right now. "I'm all for taking down as many as we fucking can."

Keith decided it was safest to just ignore that, though he shared the sentiment. "Can you do it quickly, Hunk?"

"If you guys can shoot some salt for me instead of waitin' on a fire, we can do it in like, a minute."

"Game for that." Lance waved his stolen laser, and Keith exhaled. They had to go, but he completely saw the argument…

"Alright. Let's do it."

"Sweet. Lead on, Princess lady!"

Though Romelle wasn't at all sure what to make of her new companions, she wasn't really in any position to question their plan. They had gotten this far. "Alright. This way." Reaching the main intersection, she led them down the short hallway to the showers. Or what passed as showers for slaves, anyway. It was a large, dingy room with bloodied floors and hints of mold around several large tubs—not wholly surprising, perhaps, but gross all the same.

"…Eww." Hunk was dumping the salt into one of his goblets. "This place for sure needs a fixer-upper."

"Maybe it'll get one after you blow it up."

"Maybe blowing it up is the fixer-upper."

"Damn it," Sven murmured. "I really want a shower." Though even if they'd had time to shower here, he was pretty sure he'd immediately need a second one.

"Maybe the ship will have something," Lance suggested, watching as Hunk flipped on the water for the central tub. "Ready for melting?"

"So ready." Holding out the goblet, he watched as their pilot squeezed the trigger, emerald laser light washing over the salt and reflecting from the gold to cast a startling light show over the room. It almost covered how disgusting the place was…

Almost.

Vince watched, fascinated, and felt slightly calmer for the exactly five seconds it took before the thought Flynn would love this attempted to barge into his head. Lance was having similar thoughts, while Daniel was doing his best to have no thoughts at all. He could still imagine Cam's wide eyes. Pidge wasn't watching the salt; he was watching Romelle. Maybe they didn't have much choice but to trust her right now, but it didn't mean he had to let her out of his sight. Right now she just looked mystified and more than a bit nervous… the light show was kind of eerie. Keith was likewise not watching the salt, instead taking up a position at the entrance, just in case.

"That's good," Hunk announced after about thirty seconds. The tub was full, the salt was white-hot and bubbling. Matter of fact, the laser had superheated it better than they ever could have gotten it with fire… which, if he remembered his molten salt bomb dynamics, meant they were probably going to get a way bigger boom than they'd been anticipating under the old plan. "So, everyone should totes back off right about now."

Even for those who hadn't been around for his previous demolition work, there was something in their bomb tech's sudden confidence that allowed for no questioning his instructions. When Hunk said back off, the team backed off. Keith grabbed Romelle's arm when she didn't move fast enough for his tastes, and the others fell back to the entrance along with them.

Stretching his arm out, Hunk dropped the goblet full of salt into the water.

KABOOM.

Hot water, steam, and fragments of the water tub sprayed everywhere; he'd spun around as the goblet fell and took the scorching shockwave on his back. It hurt, but he'd had way worse. Glancing over his shoulder as it faded, he saw some flash-heated mold smoldering, and chucked the handful of wood chips and sawdust in that direction. The only thing better than an explosion was an explosion and a fire. Then he charged for the entryway. "Book it, my peeps!"

"Holy fuck, science!" Lance yelped, and they booked it.

"Science is pretty awesome."

"Fuck yeah it is."

Sprinting from the showers as alarms started to screech, they charged back into the intersection and took the second left. This corridor expanded into a large ramp that ended in a massive, reinforced door; Romelle moved up to the control console with confidence. Then she paused. "There are two guards on the other side. Just… stay close to me and pretend you're guarding me, I can handle it." I hope. A plan was coming together in her mind, though she had no doubt the Earthlings could take down two more guards easily. It just didn't seem the most prudent course of action…

They looked a little skeptical, but maybe they were thinking the same thing. Their leader nodded. "Alright."

Nodding back, she typed a code into the console.

The team startled just a little bit at what came next. A small hatchway opened, revealing something starkly different. Still dark stone walls and no windows, but there was a roll of plush golden carpet running down the corridor, and various torches and amorphous paintings lined the walls… for the first time, the castle looked like the sort of place royalty might actually live. It was weird.

There were, indeed, two guards on station, and they'd both immediately swung around and were now looking intensely confused. One spoke in Drakure; Romelle answered quickly. Whatever their response, she didn't like it, and none of them needed to speak the language to recognize the sudden change in her bearing. Whatever she snapped next was cold and haughty, and with startled salutes both turned and ran down the ramp to the slave block.

The sigh of relief she gave as they left was so powerful Keith thought she might actually fall over, and he reached out to steady her. "Come on." As they got moving again, he couldn't help the curiosity. "What did you tell them?"

"That there was an incident at the showers, and the champion gladiators were escorting me away from danger, and I was certain they weren't questioning Prince Lotor's soon to be Prime Consort…" She blushed and shuddered a bit at those words.

Huh. Hunk raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."

"Alright, Princess." Lance grinned, and it wasn't a nice grin either. "Get me to a ship."

"Right. This way." It was all she could do to keep up with them as they broke into a run. "These corridors aren't heavily patrolled… the hangar has security."

"Got it."

It felt bizarre to be running through the ornate hallways. Daniel was pretty over running in any case; he liked his adrenaline, but this wasn't the kind of adrenaline he liked. "How far is it?"

"Not far. They keep the ships close to the slave block… for when they bring new prisoners in."

"That's fucking fair," Lance admitted. Not great, on the whole, but definitely worked for them at this moment. She led them around a corner into a new hallway, this one reinforced with metal, and a security checkpoint that they definitely weren't going to bypass as easily as the last.

Not as peacefully, anyway.

A single guard barely had the chance to register their arrival before he went down with multiple lasers to the chest. Romelle gave a little cry, but shook it off; she'd committed to being part of this. She held little ill will against the rank and file of the castle, but… maybe they would be honored to die at the hands of the great gladiators.

Before opening the first gate, she slipped her gaive'llar out of its sheath and flipped the blade open. Just in case. Then they were through the checkpoint and on to the second, where the guard was dispatched with similar haste. "It's through here. I don't know what kind of ship you'll want, but…"

Everyone looked at Lance, who smirked in acknowledgment. "I do. Just get us in."

"Alright." Taking a deep breath, she typed in her entry code as the others braced themselves.

It was remarkably anticlimactic when the door opened, really. Nothing happened. There were workers milling about the huge open space in front of them, working on several bulky ships made of dark metal that were lined up off to the left. Something smaller and sleeker lay to their right side, while a whole capital ship—only a frigate, it looked similar to the Andura they'd fought off at Calidar, but still—dominated much of the floor between them.

Lance's eyes lit up as he caught sight of the small ship to the right. "That's a Cor'velon," he announced with a wicked smirk. "Scout class. Hit it." The Cor'velon had been one of the banes of the whole damn Andromeda Vanguard during his last gig, and the thought of getting to fly one was exciting enough to loosen the knot in his stomach for a few seconds.

"Good choice," Pidge murmured approvingly; Daniel nodded in agreement. He had no idea what a Cor'velon was, but the little quad-winged thing looked fast and badass and that was good enough for him.

Well, anything that could get them out of here was good enough for him, but bonus points if they did it in style.

"Let's go." As they ran for it, someone yelled behind them—the security forces had finally noticed a pack of slaves trying to make for one of their ships, and lasers flashed by their sides. Then there was another alarm, and a whole lot of yelling started up, followed by footsteps echoing through the cavernous hangar.

"…Oh, guess we're not at that reward tier yet."

"Jalekya…"

"Lance, Hunk, go get it warmed up!" Keith gave Romelle a slight shove towards the ship as well; she startled but followed. "Daniel, Vince, firing with me. We've got to slow them down."

"Already on it, bossman." Daniel sighted in as best he could, only to have his first couple of attempted headshots go wide. He could shoot one-handed, sure, but his right was his injured arm and he wasn't left handed. Maybe he should try being a little less ambitious… lowering his aim, he got the next guard he saw straight through the chest. Much better.

Grumbling a little—he wanted to shoot Drules too—Lance nonetheless ran for the ship. Priorities. Having been given no orders, Sven followed, already plotting out possible destinations in his head. Korrinoth was pretty deep into the Ninth Kingdom's territory; any plan they came up with wouldn't be quick. But he would have them. Oh, he would have them.

Pidge hadn't been given any orders either, and was stopped from asking for them as a guard came around a stack of supply crates right in front of him. Immediately he sprang and tackled him, slitting his throat and grabbing his rifle—Pidge himself wasn't going to do anything with that, but having it seemed better than not having it. Then he followed the others heading for the ship, keeping his eyes open for any more surprises. One Drule appeared around the Cor'velon's ramp; Sven aced him for that target with a grapple and a knife to the spine.

Tossing the gun up the boarding ramp as his teammates scrambled up, Pidge took up a position to guard the entrance. Keith, Daniel, and Vince were falling back more slowly, weaving back and forth and matching incoming laser fire with equal intensity.

The ship's entry corridor was cramped. So cramped Hunk found himself feeling a little claustrophobic as they made their way to the bridge, Romelle in tow. "Cozy."

"It's got good speed," Lance countered.

"Wasn't complainin', bro."

"Just saying." Finding the helm, Lance made a face. "Uh, problem. Console's locked." The console was, quite literally, locked up; apparently Drule security measures included sheet metal over the controls.

"Lemme see." Hunk came up expecting to have to attempt to hack something—sure he'd passed that class, but he kind of doubted the basic level would be enough. They might have to go get Pidge. What he found instead was a whole lot more up his alley. "Problem? No problem." Pulling out the blasting cap he'd smuggled in, the one they had not needed to use to set a bunch of wood chips on fire after all, he lined it up with the delicate console lock and hit the trigger.

There was a tiny boom, and Lance couldn't help a snort as the lock fell away. "Nice." Pushing the metal aside he brought the console to life, and to his relief was greeted with a screen that was mostly images. He'd studied Drule piloting interfaces before, of course; he could get them off the ground. But being able to actually read the damn screen instead of just knowing what to do with it would have made him feel better. "Okay, Fl…" Choking on the name, he cursed savagely under his breath. "Someone's gotta go check the engines."

Hunk winced. "Yeah, I'll grab…" He trailed off too. Not from the same mistake Lance had made. With Flynn gone, he had to go grab the next most senior person in the engine bay, obviously. He was only now realizing who exactly that was. "…I'll get 'em."

"Yeah. Good call."

Looking between them as Hunk headed off the bridge, Sven couldn't help a grimace. This was all such a mess. And there was nothing they could do for it but run… shaking that thought off, he looked around for the navigation console. He knew the theory of Drule faster-than-light travel, too, but had only ever experienced it on the way here… when they'd been drugged. He wondered if jumpgates would make him sick the way rifts did, looked at the jacket around his waist, and sighed.

Though she didn't know them, Romelle had seen the final battle just fine. She could imagine what was going on beneath those abrupt stops and wounded looks. And all she could do was stand back against the wall, out of the way, and hope this worked…

The group holding the ramp had been falling back slowly, not wanting to give the guards a chance to storm the ship if they could help it. That decision was not going to stay in their hands much longer. Halfway up the ramp, gunning down a couple too-brave guards who'd broken cover, they were suddenly greeted with a veritable flood of Drules rushing into the hangar.

One easy enough guess as to where they'd come from. "Uh, I think they figured out what happened with the showers."

"Get onboard!" Keith ordered, taking a few potshots to give the new guards something to think about before turning and following the others up the ramp. They couldn't risk a pitched engagement with so many enemies. They'd just have to hope the others had the ship ready to go…

He'd barely completed the thought when the Cor'velon's engines roared to life. The hatch slammed shut behind them, rattling a little as lasers hit and briefly warped the metal, and Keith decided he didn't want to take any more of that than necessary.

"Everyone's in!"

"Get us off the ground, Lance!"

"Alright…" Their pilot hit a few more switches and hoped the Drules hadn't changed anything major on their ships since the Academy. "Better strap in, people."

Nobody was really any better off than he was, not that that made him feel any more comfortable with the situation. Everyone here had an academic understanding of the Alliance's primary enemy and how their stuff worked. Nobody, so far as Lance knew, had actually tried to put it into practice. All that was left was to Explorer Team this shit up.

Slamming the throttles up as far as they'd go, he brought the Cor'velon to life, and the ship surged forward in a roar of sapphire flame.

"Uh." Hunk was staring in confusion at the engine shafts as they trailed huge gouts of blue-hot plasma behind them. Are they supposed to do that? He'd studied a lot of Drule tech too, but this wasn't even his field. He could do Drule bombs; he could do Alliance engines. Drule engines were one degree too far.

As Pidge and Vince came scrambling into the bay he looked up at them helplessly. "Don't suppose either of you did a secondary engine specialization back at the Academy?"

Vince looked back at the hatches and winced. "Uh…" Engines were pretty electricity-adjacent, even on ships where they weren't the primary power plant. He knew some things. "How hard can it be?"

"Why would you ask that out loud, mechka?" Pidge had found what should have been the main systems console, though there he ran into another problem. "Salys sa kye, I can't read this." A lot of the ship's interfaces appeared to be image-heavy, but the vital stats were still just a wall of Drakure.

On the bridge, Lance was more worried about literal walls. The hangar doors were closing and there was no way they'd get there in time to slip through. Sprinting onto the bridge with Daniel on his heels, Keith saw it too, and turned to yell back to the engine bay. "Klei—" Fuck. "—Hunk, give us everything you've got back there!"

"We're doin' our best!"

Their best wasn't going to be good enough. Sven strapped in at his console, because this seemed likely to go horribly wrong even faster than they'd expected. Daniel felt his fingers twitching; glancing around he immediately identified two gunnery stations, and was more than a little disappointed he wouldn't be able to run them both at once.

His commander wasn't even sure about one. "Daniel, you can't shoot like that, can you?"

"You underestimate me, bossman." Smirking, he plopped into the starboard gunner's seat and gave the control stick an experimental twist. "I've got mad skills."

Dropping into the other station, Keith looked back at him and nodded. "Just be careful. We don't need…" No, that warning was no use to anyone. He had to trust his team.

Pausing a moment, Daniel swallowed back the snarky response that wanted to come out. "Got it." Eyeing a vacant station that was almost certainly the communications console, he found his fingers twitching again. He wanted something to shoot.

The hangar doors slammed shut with a resounding clang, the Cor'velon still barreling towards them at full speed. Without even thinking about it he dropped his crosshairs over the door and opened fire with… well, whatever this thing had.

What it had was half a dozen heavy lasers that speared out across the door, splashing molten metal everywhere and gouging deep glowing holes. Then the ship shuddered, spitting a trail of heavy projectiles, ripping through the weakened spots and carving a welcome gash of daylight.

"Holy shit, did I mention we're on a combat ship?" Lance smirked and aimed them at the hole. Maybe he couldn't read half of what was on his screen right now, but he was feeling the ship's movement, acting on a mix of training and instinct. She handled like a damn fighter. And as they tore through a few weakened shreds of metal onto the tarmac outside, things might even have been looking up.

Hopefully the lever he had his left hand on was actually for the takeoff thrusters. They'd find out soon.

As he aimed them for a set of bright white markings that looked like a takeoff beacon, the comms crackled. Angry Drakure poured through the bridge; Lance spat equally angry Common right back. "Fuck off, dick!"

"Cam—" Keith cut himself off and swore again. They'd been through so much it was automatic, until suddenly it stabbed hard. Damn his instincts. And damn the complication, for that matter. "We don't have anyone who can speak that."

That was not accurate, but those same combat instincts had not adjusted to their new companion. "They're telling you to power down," Romelle said softly from the corner of the bridge she was all but hiding in. "Or be destroyed."

"They already fucking did that, lady." Lance lined up with the launch point and took a deep breath. "We're leaving!" Yanking the presumed thruster lever back, he sent up a quick plea to whatever god might be bored enough to be listening.

Like some kind of leaping predator, the Cor'velon sprang into the air.

Romelle gasped and ran to the empty seat on the bridge, strapping herself in and trying not to think about the last time she'd been on a ship. With Lotor. And she'd thought things had been hard then, honored and respected, just without choice… if she could have warned herself about where she'd be now… no. This didn't help anything.

"So one of the reasons I chose this bird is, she's maneuverable as fuck. So hang on." Lance wrenched them around as fighters began launching around them, and Daniel opened up with the starboard lasers. Keith tried to do the same at the port side console, but much like Hunk this wasn't his field; he couldn't quite puzzle out the controls, and there wasn't exactly time to ask Daniel for help.

Trust your team. He strapped in and held on, hating this feeling of helplessness, but without a sliver of doubt. They could do this. They would do this.

There wasn't any choice.

Darting between the fighters, pushing the Cor'velon to its limits, Lance pushed them towards the edge of the atmosphere. What he couldn't outfly, Daniel brought down in a hail of light and iron. There were larger ships starting to scramble behind them, but it wasn't going to be fast enough; the bright sky was beginning to give way to darkness and distant stars.

"Sven, how soon can we jump?"

They were not going to be 'jumping'. Sven couldn't make heads or tails of the jumpgate interface, given everything had nice neat text labels that he couldn't read. In other circumstances he would have answered Keith's question with an overview of Drule unpathed FTL travel, complete with proper terminology options, of which there were several. At the moment, none of that felt important at all. What was important was that he'd figured out the math to get them the hell out of here, and as Keith was asking the question he was already locking the numbers in.

"Right now."

"Kl—Hunk, are we set?"

Exchanging shrugs with Vince, Hunk ran his gaze along the engine control panels. One of the panels was different, not least because it didn't seem to be attached to an actual engine. Vince had been pretty certain it belonged to the piercer drive that allowed a Drule ship into extradimensional space; as they broke free of Korrinoth's atmosphere it had started to flash a ready icon. "It ain't sayin' no, boss."

Good enough. "Go for it, Lance."

"Going for it!" Pulling a sharp turn and doubling back to shake the last of the fighters, watching one disintegrate from a laser blast just off their wing, Lance flipped off the planet at their backs and triggered the piercer drive.

A shuddering roar washed over the ship, and everything around them but the darkness vanished.

Keith took a very long few breaths, waiting for something else to happen. He wasn't sure what, precisely, it just felt like something else had to go wrong. Based on the silence that had fallen across the bridge, he was nowhere near the only one thinking it. But slowly it became apparent that they were safe… for now.

"Okay." His voice came out startlingly ragged as the adrenaline began to fade. "Status report."

"We're in the Drule equivalent of hyperspace. Think the Alliance calls it the metaspatial plane, or some shit."

"Engines are all, uh… purple? I think that's good. They've all got the okay symbol on the consoles."

"They sound alright, I think."

"No alarms."

None of that was exactly encouraging as to their long-term prospects with this ship, but it would do for the moment. "Alright. Anyone hurt?"

"I'm just as injured as I was before we ditched," Daniel volunteered.

Lance shot him a worried look. "I'm fucking peachy."

"I've still got a hole in my shoulder," Hunk offered, though he sounded less than concerned about the fact. There were way bigger things concerning him here.

"Alright." Keith closed his eyes and realized he hadn't even spared a thought for a rather important question… "Sven, where are we headed?"

"No real destination." Their navigator leaned back and grimaced. "We're aiming towards the Seventh Kingdom."

That got him a couple of startled looks. "The Seventh…?"

"Yes. It's the closest border to Korrinoth; I assumed our primary objective was to get the hell out of the Ninth."

There was a moment's pause. Nearly imperceptible. Lance was waiting for Jace to have thoughts on exactly what Sven had just said. But Jace wasn't going to have any damned thoughts… he clenched his fists. "Definitely the fucking primary objective."

"The Ninth won't follow us into the Seventh." Pidge appeared in the hatchway. "Not immediately, anyway. They don't like owing favors."

Keith nodded. 'Friendly' may not be precisely the word for the Seventh, but being there would be a damn sight better than being here. "Okay. We'll figure things out… which brings me to the next question. Issues with the ship?" He imagined that was why their systems analyst had come up to visit.

"I can't read the status consoles," he confirmed immediately.

"I'm having the same issue," Sven agreed. "We won't be able to use the jumpgate network if I can't read what the maps are telling me, and without it this will be a long trip."

"Yeah." Lance made a face. "I'd feel better if I weren't flying off of just instinct and the bits I remember from theoretical sims."

All of that was fair. But their comms officer was gone… closing his eyes for a moment, Keith quietly came to an acceptance of their only option. Turning to their new companion, he was pretty sure she saw what was coming too. "Princess…" He didn't even fully understand why she was helping them, but that was going to have to wait. "We may have a long trip ahead of us, and it looks like we're going to need more of your help."

Looking around the bridge, Romelle felt a small shiver run through her that had nothing to do with her threadbare clothes. She didn't even know their names. They have no reason to trust me, nor I them… except that we don't have a choice. None of us have a choice.

No. That was wrong. She had had a choice, and it was why she was here now. The sooner she could accept that, the better it would be.

Slowly, she nodded in response to his unspoken question. "Then you'll have it."

"Alright." Keith shivered too. He didn't want to say what came next, but denying the fact wasn't going to do anything. They were going to have no choice but to keep relying on each other, so… "…Welcome to the team."

*****

The tomb was simple. Nothing that would scream, “Here lies Arus’ finest High King, Alfor Raimon”. No gold or jewel-encrusted casket… yet for a tomb so humble, it might well hold Arus' greatest treasure. Its salvation.

Allura rested a hand on the stone of the tomb, thinking about what lay within. Not her father's body; she couldn't dwell on that any longer, not now. But the pendant she'd left with him, the one he now wore in his eternal rest. The one she had not been meant to open. Yet even being near it, she could feel hints of whatever it was she'd sensed that day she'd tried. The beat of great crimson wings, the rumble of Black Lion's presence. It seemed sharper since her dream, or was she imagining it?

Was it only Black she felt?

She'd been young when her father had first revealed the truth of the lions to her. Not only the Lion of Storms. He'd taken her to see each of them as they slept, piercing the shrouds that protected them. Because she, too, was meant to be a protector. Her sacred task was to be a guard to them as they slept. But now… it was her planet that needed to be protected, and every passing moment increased her frustration. Arus needed the lions. Why couldn't she wake them?

Bidding her father safe rest, she tore herself away from the tomb and headed back to the castle. Black Lion's presence still lingered beside her. Sensing she had a chance to catch him awake, she decided it was time to go check on the secret tunnels in the castle depths. She'd not been able to check what condition they were in yet… it hadn't been a priority, and yet it was the highest priority. When the time came they would need those tunnels.

Making sure Coran covered for her while she 'vanished' for the time it would take, she slipped through the many secret doors leading to the underground hub.

The secret room led not just to Black Lion, but all five. It had been years since she traveled most of those paths, but she remembered them so clearly… Red Lion's, with glowing windows filled with lava. Green Lion's, with roots covering just about every inch of the glass. Yellow Lion's, the tunnel cutting through endless rocks and sand. And Blue Lion’s, showing the beautiful waters and the glow of the light through the lake.

All those paths had seemed warm compared to Black’s as it wound through the dark stone of the mountains. There were times when listening to the tales of the lions, she would think Black seemed cold and harsh… which would match his pathway. But now that she had heard his voice, she felt a new side to him, powerful and firm but kind. Reaching the end of the path, she smiled softly, hopeful that today he would speak.

A soft grumble touched her mind as she approached the huge lion; she managed a light chuckle, stroking the side of his great metal jaw. “I hope this means we can have at least a small talk today, oh Lion of Storms.”

“For a short time… but I cannot promise you anything more, Daughter of Arus.” He gave a low huff, as if still trapped in slumber.

That was something, at least, and she wasn't going to waste it. “I’ve sought more of my father’s work that could be of help, but most of the information has been lost.”

“Then new areas must be sought." He gave a low, frustrated growl. "The answer is somewhere.”

“I did have…” Allura paused a moment, tapping her lips as she searched for the right words. “…a strange dream. A star that fell to Arus with five elements within it. And a man, but he spoke as if there was more than just him." She could hear it again as she spoke of the dream, seeing the form in the dark clouds. "He said… we’re coming. It felt like it meant something.”

“I cannot say,” the great lion muttered.

That wasn't what she'd hoped to hear. “I was so sure it might mean something… maybe shake loose a memory. Are you sure such a dream has no importance? Nothing at all?” Her voice had become a pleading, almost panicked cry.

“Daughter of Arus…” His voice suddenly boomed through her like a thunderclap. “I know how much we are needed.”

Startled by her behavior, Allura took a deep breath as she collected herself. "I… I apologize."

A gentle purr came from the great lion as she wiped some tears from her face. “Be strong, royal cub… for I, even in my slumber, am near you. Should I sense that which I need to awaken, I will let you know. This I promise.”

“I pray… I pray such a time… will come soon.” Allura managed to say before another wave of tears threatened to overtake her. Another rumbling purr washed over her as she felt the great lion of storms descend back into sleep. While she wanted to yell at him to stay awake, she knew to do so was a waste of energy. The fact that he spoke at all should be enough. Still, tears slipped through and made their way down her face.

Resting her damp cheek against his, she raised her head to the den's ceiling, imagining the lightning and the stars beyond. “To whoever hears me, please… whatever it is that the Lions need to awaken… please bring it here to our poor world. Help us… help us all.” Begging to the emptiness of space ached; but then, their doom had come from above. Would salvation come from there as well? Had the lions slept for so long because whatever they needed, somehow, didn't rest on Arus at all?

A thought occurred to her then. No… no, it couldn't be possible. Could it? If it was, did it matter? There was nothing she could do to act on the thought.

Pollux…?

She wasn’t sure how long she listened to the winds blow through the tunnels of Black’s secret den, but soon enough it was time to return to her people. She still had duties to carry out. She could only hope that as the Lion of Storms had promised, he would tell her if she was close to that which he needed. That it would come soon…

Taking one last look at the sleeping lion, she closed her eyes and imagined him flying. One day, I will see this reality. With that, she turned back, heading back down the tunnel and deep beneath Arus’ soil.