(On the Hunt) Chapter 46

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 46

Fair Trade

The ploy had worked flawlessly. It had taken two tense days for the Cor'velon to reach Acroth via jumpgate; they'd seen nothing there but the station, which had hailed them and requested a proper check-in. They had, of course, declined. Two more days of unpathed travel covered the short distance over the border to Doreq.

If they'd learned anything from this process, it was that there was more than one reason to acquire a non-Drule ship as quickly as possible. There would not be jumpgates where they were going, and nobody wanted to spend the next month crawling through metaspace.

"Alright. We're approaching Doreq, and we need a plan before we get there." Keith looked around the cramped bridge, hoping whatever they were able to acquire here would have a better meeting space. It wasn't necessarily high on their list of priorities, but it would be nice. "With any luck, the local security won't know the Ninth is looking for us."

Hunk—from his usual spot in the hallway—cocked his head. "Even if they do, would they care?" He knew they were banking on at least some hostility between the Seventh and the Ninth. Just how much there was could be useful to know.

Lance frowned, trying to remember anything from old Vanguard briefings. Nothing was presenting itself. "Huh. Good question."

"Hopefully not," Keith acknowledged. "But we shouldn't completely let our guards down."

"Don't think I'll ever do that again," their pilot muttered as Hunk nodded in agreement.

Pidge was also frowning, like he ever stopped lately. "They'd care enough to find out whether the Ninth or the Alliance would pay a better ransom for us, kir sa tye?"

"Always with the cheery points, ninja." Lance ignored the scowl Pidge shot him in response. He wouldn't have bet against the Ninth in that contest; it didn't look like anyone else on the bridge would, either.

Looking between them, Keith nodded, then gestured for silence. "All the more reason to be quick and careful. I want to have two teams ready to go once we land. Scout the area, identify potential ships, then meet back up and choose."

That was a good plan, as far as it went, but a few uneasy glances went around the room anyway. Nobody knew what kind of security might be at Doreq, but there would surely be something. Landing would be the second-riskiest part of this operation… taking off in whatever they stole would be the first.

Nothing they hadn't done before, but still…

"This ship does have a transfer seal on the airlock," Hunk offered. "Could see what's outside orbit and not mess with landin' at all?"

"I like that," Lance agreed. Maneuvering to line up a transfer seal—basically just connecting two ships' airlocks—took a level of precision that definitely amounted to showing off. There were also practical justifications. "I mean, less risk, right?"

"Less chance of being identified, in case they do know who we are," Sven agreed.

Even Vince nodded. "And we'd stick out as human down there, right? Not so much up here."

Keith considered those points, not terribly thrilled with them but understanding the arguments. There were ways taking a ship in space was safer… there were also plenty of ways trying to take a ship outside of atmosphere could go even more horribly wrong. Though nothing prevented them from at least checking over the scene. "Alright, we can scout from orbit. But there's going to be risk either way."

Answering nods ran around the bridge. Even Romelle, who was wholly at a loss for words in what felt like a military planning session, signaled her agreement.

"If we take a ship in space, what do we do with its crew?" Pidge asked. He wasn't against the plan at all, but it seemed like they ought to have that detail worked out. He suspected 'kill them' was not the correct answer.

"Give them our ship?" Sven suggested. It only seemed fair.

Lance nodded. "I mean, likely we'll be giving them an upgrade… if they can read the consoles."

That wasn't a bad point; a military vessel would surely have some inherent value, and whatever poor merchant they were able to hijack would be in better position to take advantage than their little band of fugitives. Though it did raise other issues. "Not unless we destroy or deactivate the weapons systems. We don't want them taking revenge after we hijack them."

"We can shut the guns down no problem," Hunk confirmed, cocking his head. "Giving 'em this ship might make 'em more cooperative, yeah? Don't mind us, just your friendly neighborhood pirates here to make a trade, please don't make us blow you up?"

Romelle eyed him, wondering not for the first time if he was really quite… all there. Nobody else even batted an eye; she couldn't decide if that was encouraging or even more worrisome. Vince actually lowered his head and chuckled.

"I mean, if we have to blow them up, we have to blow them up." That earned Daniel a worried look from Lance, who would've preferred the kid sound a bit less like, well, him.

"We will not be blowing up any innocent merchants," Keith grumbled, crossing his arms and resisting the urge to start pacing. "Though the chances of anyone just agreeing to a friendly swap are… low, I would think."

"Chances are we have the better offense. They don't have to know we won't use it."

"Yeah, more like a friendly-but-we-can-get-unfriendly-in-a-hurry swap. We're good at gettin' unfriendly in a hurry, yeah?"

Pidge was the first to nod; he was excellent at being unfriendly. In fact he'd have said he had a gift for it. Apparently. Next to him, Vince made a face. Totally prefer being friendly. But whatever they had to do, he supposed…

"We fucking excel at it," Lance agreed with a smirk.

Sven nodded. "We've had lots of practice."

"Okay." Their commander nodded. Hard to argue with those points. "So, we have to convince them to let us board. And we'll have to bluff convincingly, because we can't risk attempting to disable their ship—we'd have to fix any damage in a hurry. And who knows what resources we'll have."

"Yeah, truth." Hunk knew what resources they wouldn't have: the correct ones. Which meant… he looked over at Romelle. "So, uh, just how mean can you sound in Drule-speak?"

She startled slightly at being addressed, then looked back at him and gathered herself. The time she'd spent with Lotor would be useful for one thing here, at least. "Just who is it you think you're addressing, lesser creature?" she snapped in her haughtiest Drakure.

Hunk jumped slightly. "…No idea what you just said, but it scared me!"

Her sharpness had almost immediately been belied by a wince, and a faint blush spread over her cheeks. "I won't repeat what I said." Calling them lesser, even in demonstration, had sent a jolt of disgust through her. One intense enough to be a little surprising, truthfully. "But I apologize for it nonetheless."

"It did sound unfriendly," Sven said with a nod.

"Seemed pirate wench to me."

"Lance."

"It's the role she's playing, boss!" Lance noticed Daniel smirking at him and decided he probably deserved it. Plus it kept him from thinking about how Jace should definitely be jumping in here…

Pidge shifted on the empty console he was perched on, eyeing Romelle worriedly. It wasn't exactly because of his feelings towards her. She'd been helpful to them, regardless of whether he liked having her around… and he did not want any more deaths on their hands. On his hands. The one that had already been his fault was enough…

"Once we do have a ship, should we let her stay behind at the trade post? We're escaped gladiators, that's not exactly safe company for a civilian."

The whole rest of the team shot him disapproving looks, and he sighed. What did I say wrong now?

"No, we shouldn't."

"No."

"We might not be escaped gladiators without her."

Even Daniel, who'd been side-eyeing Romelle for the last few days for sitting at Cam's station, shook his head. "If we're not allowed to blow up the crew of whatever ship we steal, we definitely can't be allowed to just leave her behind."

The logic of that last point escaped Pidge, but it seemed like he shouldn't ask for elaboration right now.

Romelle had paled at the question, but as the others sprang to her defense she'd started to realize what he was actually asking. It was what she'd expected and feared might come up sooner or later. Why wouldn't they want to offload her when they could? As soon as they didn't need her to translate anymore, she'd known her position was in danger. But they'd cast the idea aside so quickly. And even the question…

Not exactly safe company for a civilian.

She suddenly had a glimmer of why Pidge had been treating her the way he had.

"I escaped that place just as surely as you did," she said softly, looking him in the eye. "I have nowhere else to go. They'll be watching my planet, and if they find me…" She shook her head slightly. "I'd rather die than go back to Korrinoth."

"We all would," Lance said quickly. "You're with us." He'd spoken from instinct, even necessity; he belatedly glanced over at Keith. Not like he really expected the bossman to disagree.

"No one is dying," their commander said firmly. "And no one is getting left behind."

Pidge nodded slowly, then sighed in frustration. "I just thought the question was worth raising."

"I know." Keith took a long breath. "I see your point, and if we were in friendlier territory it might be more of a discussion. But we're not. We might not be the safest company right now, but being with a band of soldiers has to be safer than abandoning her in Drule space, different kingdom or no."

As he finished, he looked to Romelle, who gave him a thankful nod. We're trusting you, and you've helped us so far. Will that change? He could see it in her eyes too. Trust was building, but far from secure. They'd all been through too much.

A beep from the navigation console drew everyone's attention. Sven glanced over. "We're inside of Doreq's astrosphere. A few more minutes to reach the planet."

"Alright." It was taking all Keith had not to pace. "What do we target? Check the ships waiting for landing clearance?"

"Might be best to just see what's there when we get there." Lance had no idea what specific types of ships might populate this place. Other than ships that he would totally rock at flying, obviously.

Vince hesitated. He really felt like he shouldn't be encouraging this crazy plan, but they were way past that kind of rational thought these days. "Uh, what about a ship that's leaving the system?"

"Would draw less attention," Sven agreed.

Huh. Keith nodded, giving Vince an impressed look. "That's true. Good thinking, Vince."

The engineer flushed. Ugh, will I ever not blush at getting attention?

"Alright. Hunk, Pidge, and Vince, go back and do what you need to do to prepare for disabling the weapons. If it's possible not to hit the switch until we have a ship secured, that would be best."

"On it, boss." Hunk grinned. "Let's do some piracy!"

"Gonna feel weird without my leather pants," Lance said sadly; Daniel shook his head and gave him a look.

"That sentence is weird."

Romelle had been thinking the same thing. "What do leather pants have to do with anything?" Did clothing really improve their chances of stealing a ship?

Their pilot sighed. "I'm a method actor. Which… you probably don't understand." Oh well. No one around to show off for anymore, anyway.

"I know what method acting is," Daniel grumbled. "Keeps assuming I don't know what shit is… first Star Wars, now method acting…"

"I meant Romelle, smartass."

"Oh."

Looking between them and the fellow escapee in question, Hunk tried to adopt a scolding tone. It wasn't quite convincing. "Dudes, you're scaring her."

That was not inaccurate. Romelle looked around the bridge; Vince was shaking his head, but his expression was affectionate. Sven had outright cracked a smile. And those were the two she'd come to count on to be reasonable. "I'm on a ship with deadly strangers," she murmured in Polluxian, "and they might actually be insane…"

For once, she and Pidge were on about the same page. "Shouldn't we be getting ready?"

Keith nodded. "Yes. Dismissed."

*****

Doreq's orbital space was zoned off into multiple entry corridors by several satellite beacons. Those corridors were bustling with ships, both merchants and security. Beyond them lay a general stretch of less well-patrolled space for departing ships; at least based on the layout, it looked like their plan had been a good one.

Now to see if it would work.

The primary radar was at Keith's console. Romelle was standing over his shoulder, reading off the tags he indicated. "We have a couple of N'atsus, a Dumphur, a Varezd, a Xaela, and a few Thrauds…" A new label flickered for a moment. "And a Bovvir." She could read the words—she guessed they were words—but they all meant absolutely nothing to her.

They didn't tell Keith much, either; he looked around the bridge and at the open comms to the engine bay. "Anything that means anything to anyone?"

"Varezd is a miner," Hunk said after a moment. "Don't think we want that." Mining ships often had their FTL drives outright torn out to make room for cargo once they reached their destination systems, and if they were repurposed later the original drives might be replaced with who the hell knew what.

"No to the Bovvir," Sven said firmly. "Gravpulse drives are even slower than Drule piercer drives, and at least twice as irritating."

Vince had at least heard most of those names before, though he couldn't place many of them. Thrauds were a common Drule civilian shuttle, which wouldn't be of much help, but… "You said Xaela? That's a Bataxi ship, might be good."

"Bataxi?" Pidge echoed, looking over at him. "Native or export?" The Bataxi were one of rather few independent races to build ships they were willing to sell to others.

"Uh… not sure." Though, thinking about it further, he doubted even Advanced Vessel Identification had covered native Bataxi ships. They weren't common enough outside their own outposts. "Probably export."

"I've worked with Bataxi export tech," the ninja said, looking at the Cor'velon's consoles. "They program in a whole language suite for versatility."

That got everyone's attention. "Ninja, if you're sayin' we could read the screens on that thing, I'm sold."

"Yeah, I'm all for that."

"That's what I said."

"That sounds lovely."

Keith nodded slowly. "Romelle, which is the Xaela?" She pointed to one of the radar tags and he cracked a hint of a smile. "And it's just now starting its outbound run, looks like. We'll have time to get into position."

"Well, pirates," Lance declared as he turned the Cor'velon starboard, "we have a ship to steal!"

"Arrr, me hearties!" Hunk called up from the engine bay.

Daniel fist pumped with his good arm. "Woohoo!" That probably wasn't an authentic pirate war cry, but oh well. "I've got a wrapped arm instead of a peg leg, you think that's good enough for method acting, Lance?"

"Fucking perfect for it, kid."

"Pipe down, Captain Hook," Keith ordered at the same time. "Lance, aim for the Xaela."

Staring at his commander, Daniel felt a horrifying realization come over him. He was actually kind of proud of the boss for that. Not that he'd ever admit it. "Ouch," he muttered under his breath.

Lance snorted. "Aiming for the Xaela."

Keeping an eye on the radar for a few moments longer, wanting to make some sense of it, Romelle returned to her own station as Keith nodded to her. "Shall I tell them we need to come aboard for an inspection? Use that as our ploy?"

"If we do that should I go aboard and stab someone to set an example?" Pidge offered a little too casually; he was juggling his knife between his hands to keep his nerves steady. Vince looked at him and grimaced. They really didn't need the ninja any stabbier than usual. Did they?

"That probably won't be necessary, Pidge." It didn't feel like ruling it out entirely was wise until they knew what they were dealing with. But Keith was determined to end this peacefully if at all possible. "Romelle, I think that's a good plan. Close to weapons range, Lance."

"I'm on it." The Xaela didn't seem to be in any hurry; it probably hadn't even noticed the Cor'velon was tracking it rather than leaving the planet itself. "Weapons range in five."

"Alright." Counting down, Keith closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Romelle, it's on you now."

Nodding, she opened the comms and took a deep breath of her own. "Xaela-class, hold in your position. You will prepare for boarding and inspection."

A nervous voice crackled back to her after what felt like a very long pause; it had really only been a couple of seconds. "We were already inspected. We can transmit our report."

She glanced at Keith for guidance, then remembered he wouldn't have understood a word of that. Should she translate? It would take time… no. If there was anything she'd learned over the last few days—the last few months—it was how to adjust to the unexpected. She thought quickly. "You may, but you were flagged for a discrepancy."

"Dis-discrepancy?" Whoever was running the Xaela's comms was very nervous now. Nervous enough that she couldn't help wondering if they actually had something to fear. Or were the Seventh's security forces just that formidable? "We don't know what you mean…"

Taking a moment, she steeled herself and snapped, "If you do not immediately comply you will be fired upon."

Lance jumped at the shift in her tone, then made a face. "I seriously should've learned more than just Drakure pick up lines."

"Don't remind me of your Drakure pick up lines," Daniel hissed with a shudder.

"Saved your ass, didn't it?" He'd have looked to the other ass it had saved for backup, but… instead he winced at the thought.

Wincing too, Daniel decided he was not going to think about what was clearly being thought about. "Yeah. You did."

As they argued, the Xaela's comms officer was panicking. "Don't fire! We are powering down. Report is transmitting." An icon flashed on her console; she was pretty sure it indicated they were receiving data. She couldn't be positive. The graphical interfaces on the Cor'velon might have been useful for her companions, but she'd have been just as happy with plain text.

Still, she grinned. That had seemed successful enough. "They are powering down, Keith. And transmitting their inspection report…"

The comms crackled again. "But… surely you don't wish to waste your time on us? We could save you some work, and make it worth your while…"

Romelle blinked. The implication there seemed clear enough. "…And I think they mean to attempt to bribe us," she added before switching back to Drakure. "You will have to discuss that with our inspector when he arrives." It would buy them some time, and she knew above all else they had to get onto that ship.

"We like bribes, yeah?"

"We'll take their ship. That's the price."

"They're powered down," Lance reported, flipping a couple of switches. "Moving into boarding position."

So far, so good. "Hunk, get those weapons offline. Everyone armed and to the hatch. Let's do this."

Nodding to the other engineers, Hunk put in the commands to bring the weapons down. They weren't entirely ruined; Pidge had assured him that a good hacker could have them back up in an hour or so. Plenty of time for their merry band of pirates to be gone, but the ship's trade-in value would be fine. Before leaving the bay, he set the goblet he had left from Korrinoth out on the main console. A little shipwarming gift… it was only polite.

The main hatch of the Xaela was roughly in the middle of the ship; the Cor'velon's was forward of its front wings. It took some tricky maneuvering to get them lined up, just as Lance had anticipated. Nothing he couldn't handle, obviously. As soon as the transfer seal was deployed, he left the helm and ran to the hatch with the others, stolen guns at the ready.

The airlock was cycling when he arrived. Keith looked at the others and nodded grimly. "Let's go. We've got one shot at this."

"I thought we weren't shooting."

"Only as needed, ninja."

"No, no blowing up. Nobody said anything about no shooting."

Keith rolled his eyes as Romelle shifted worriedly beside him. "Let's not unless we really have to. Please?"

"Sure thing, bossman." Daniel flipped the pistol in his hand and shrugged as the hatch opened.

There were three crew members standing on the other side of the hatch; Keith wasn't sure what species they were. Something tall and thin with very long fur, wearing padded jumpsuits that looked very practical for long-term space travel. The one in front had several bangles on one arm, which he supposed signified them as the captain, and was carrying a delicately filigreed box of… well, something.

They were also gawking in obvious confusion at something very different from Drule inspectors.

"Howdy!"

"Surprise! Want a better ship?"

Pidge flipped his knife and Sven put on his most unfriendly face; those messages probably got across a bit better. The bewildered captain looked over them and finally just lifted the box he was carrying in supplication.

"Please, this is fine Parlian dreamdust, a great luxury among the Drules. Our other wares would do you no good, except for drawing their ire. Accept this offering and let us be…"

Romelle translated that for Keith, who shook his head slightly in grim amusement. Of course they'd picked a ship that was actually smuggling something. "We have a counteroffer. Tell them to keep their dreamdust, take whatever contraband they can carry, and get off their ship and onto ours. They do that, and they'll live."

As she relayed that, the Xaela's captain slowly lowered the box and stared. "You… you want our ship?"

She nodded, then gave her sweetest and most convincing smile. "Is that a problem?"

Sven didn't know what she'd just said, but the expression was pretty clear; he arched an eyebrow as Lance gave a small nod of approval. She's going to fit in fine.

The Xaela's captain shuffled nervously. The group of… whatever they were… did look very unfriendly. And very heavily armed. And he really did not want to know how they'd gotten covered in so much blood… he swallowed hard. "You will allow us our cargo?"

"Your illegal cargo, yes. The most valuable may go with you. That is what you're worried about, isn't it?"

"Y-yes…" He flinched as the little one of the… pirates?… flipped his knife between his hands, and a couple of the others' guns twitched.

Romelle crossed her arms as he wavered. "We are in a hurry. If you mean to accept, you need to do so immediately and get busy moving your goods."

With a bit more time, he might have called their bluff. Or at least come up with some sort of plan. But the trade seemed fair enough; the contraband they carried would easily buy a new ship. And he hadn't lived this long by picking fights when the option to avoid them was available…

"…Very well." Turning to the two flanking him, he began barking orders in what Romelle presumed to be his own language.

"They've agreed to take their contraband and exchange ships," she reported to Keith, who nodded. "I told them we were in a hurry."

"Smart." Lance gave her a grin. "I like it."

"I'd offer to help 'em carry stuff," Hunk mused, "but this probably ain't the time for politeness."

"There's always time for politeness," Sven admonished. "We didn't—"

"We didn't stab them," Pidge said at the same time. "That's polite." Manners are stupid.

"—What Pidge said." He'd actually been starting to say we didn't blow them up, but the same principles applied.

Vince snorted—he couldn't believe this was actually working—as the Xaela's crew started carrying things over. Large boxes, flat objects wrapped in blankets, a glint of silver that may have been a statue beneath a thick sensor-blocking tarp…

"Art thieves?" Lance asked as one of them stumbled, revealing a bit of color beneath the corner of a blanket.

Hunk gave a low whistle. "No wonder they were freaked."

"At this point it doesn't matter what they are," Keith said, though he was shaking his head again. "What matters is that they're cooperating."

Daniel had perked up slightly at the thought of these guys they were shipjacking actually being interesting; he tried to get a look at the next batch of contraband coming over. "Wonder if they've got any cool paintings in there."

"Should we be taking you to museums, kid?" Lance looked amused.

"Uh…" Daniel paused as he realized he kind of wanted to say yes to that. But museums weren't that far removed from libraries, which he definitely hadn't wanted to go to… which meant, he was pretty sure, that only nerds wanted to go to museums. But he still kind of wanted to say yes. Shit. Am I a nerd? "Maybe?"

Grin. "That's noted."

After another couple of trips by the other crew, the Xaela's captain approached again. "We have transferred what is most important. We could have the rest of our cargo over and out of your way, given more time…"

Romelle didn't even bother translating that. "If you have what you most want, then it is time to depart. Before we lose patience." Her eyes narrowed. "And captain, you would do best not to follow or report us. Understood?"

"Of… of course." He motioned to his crew and they fled onto the Cor'velon, though something about his reaction there didn't sit quite right with her…

Keith watched the other crew scurrying away, then nodded to his team. "Alright, everyone. Time to find your new stations."

"On it!"

The Xaela had an unusual layout: the bridge was set deep in the belly of the ship. Nothing but tradition and habit said it needed to be anywhere else, of course. But it was simply common practice among most spacefaring races to at least put the bridge near the front. This one was actually closer to the back, connected directly to the engine bay. It would be convenient for communication, at least.

A little trial and error found them the console language controls, switching from the swirling runes of whatever race they'd just shipjacked into more familiar lettering. "Ah, English." Lance sank into the pilot's seat and took a few moments to just bask in being able to read what his monitors were saying.

Daniel could read his, too, but he wasn't nearly as pleased with them. "Oh, this sucks."

"What's wrong, kid?"

"No missiles. No real guns. Point defense only."

It felt like they probably shouldn't be too surprised about that. The Bataxi were door to door saleslizards, not weapons dealers. "Better than fucking nothing."

"I guess."

Keith arrived on the bridge with Romelle on his heels; he'd been waiting for the transfer seal to disengage. Now he found the command console and waved her over to the comms. "Let's get moving. I don't trust them not to report us."

"Roger that." Lance didn't actually do much, just turned the Xaela to start moving further from the planet. Any extra few seconds would help. "Do I know where I'm going?"

"Ebb is the closest Alliance planet." Sven's hands were flying over his console as he calculated positions and wavelengths. Bataxi FTL used what was called a mirrorlock drive: they locked onto a distant light source, then reflected and quantum-charged photons to create a sort of slipstream for the ship to enter. There were a lot of benefits compared to piercer and even breach drives, but lining one up required precision angles at tens or hundreds of light years. It was very easy to mess up, if you didn't know what you were doing.

Fortunately, Sven knew what he was doing, and had the route over to Lance a minute later.

Hunk did not know what he was doing, in the broadest sense. He knew nothing about Bataxi engines except that their new ship had three of them. But being able to read the consoles made a huge difference. They were firing fine so far, taking them further from Doreq's atmosphere, waiting for whatever came next.

Another dead stop, as it turned out. Their pilot grimaced slightly as he entered their course. "Uh, mirrorlock gonna take a second." A soft hum ran through the bridge as the drive's reflector arrays shifted, nanometer by painstaking nanometer, making sure to link them with the correct photons from a sky that was thick with distant stars.

"I miss hyperspace," Sven murmured.

"No shit, Viking," Lance agreed, watching the timer in frustration. "Ninety seconds." Ninety seconds was ninety too many. Too much time for—

"We've got incoming."

—That. "Great." Time for yet another narrow escape under fire. At least they were getting pretty damn good at them. "Better get ready to use those sucky point defenses, kid."

"On it, old man!"

"The art thieves were untrustworthy?" Pidge said flatly. "Jaiten sa jye." Stunning.

"Well I mean, we did hijack them." Vince shrugged. Inconvenient, sure, but they couldn't be surprised.

Hunk was eyeing the ninja with a wry grin. "Hey, we know some trustworthy art thieves."

Snort. "Do we, though?"

Vince shook his head, more than a little affectionately. "Uh, he means you."

"I meant all of us, that theft was sanctioned. And like you said, we did just hijack them."

"…Touché."

"Harsh, but fair."

As the bay considered the comparative ethics of theft, the bridge was busy considering the comparative benefits of moving versus not moving. Lance really wanted to take evasive action, but that would throw the mirrorlock off. And that would be wholly counterproductive.

A voice came over the comms, speaking in cool, clipped Drakure. "Xaela-class vessel, hold your position and prepare to surrender. We have credible reports that you have undertaken piracy."

They had more or less expected it, and it wasn't actually wrong, but Romelle couldn't quite help an indignant snort anyway. "And the ones who gave you that report are smuggling stolen art aboard their new ship. You're welcome."

They hadn't been expecting that. "…While we appreciate the report, that does not negate your crimes."

Of course not. She looked up at Keith, who was giving her an expectant look. "They want us to hold and surrender. I think we need to go. Quickly."

They were going as fast as they could; Lance glared at the countdown as though he could will it to go faster. "Working on it. Less than a minute."

Hunk was scrolling through status screens on his console, trying to figure out if there was anything useful. Turned out there was… maybe. "Oh hey, I think I found the shields!" The ship shuddered violently for a moment, and a cloud of shifting light seemed to emanate from the hull. "Uh, I guess that's a shield?"

"Incoming is a Tyqu-class patrol cutter," Pidge reported. "Thirty seconds to weapons range."

"We're gonna cut it close…"

Daniel was ready on the point defenses, though he also remembered how little use they'd been in previous fights with Drules. "Thought speed was one of your skills, Lance?"

Rude. "I can't rush technology." He glared harder at the mirrorlock countdown. "Come on, tech, fucking hurry up!" Oddly, his encouragement did not make it go any faster.

Their gunner looked at him with his most innocent smile. "Han Solo would already have had us out of here."

Lance sputtered. "I flew in a fucking asteroid field better than Han Solo!"

"Han Solo got caught by a tractor beam," Hunk pointed out casually; across the bay, Pidge rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

"Han Solo would think this is a boring conversation…"

Romelle looked around at them in confusion. "Who is Han Solo?! And if he's so good, why isn't he here?"

"I am fucking better than Han Solo, okay?!"

As their pilot yelled, to several snickers from the rest of the bridge, the comms opened up again. "Xaela-class, this is your final warning. Stand down."

The countdown light flashed zero.

Lance slammed the drive lever down, and with a faint whoosh of light around them, the Xaela slipped into the photon corridor.

"LIKE I SAID."

Daniel leaned back at his station and threw his good hand casually behind his head, smirking back at him. "I mean that's not all that hard. Luke was a way better pilot."

Eyes widening, Lance whipped around on him. "Did you just fucking say…!"

"Know what, I've been avoiding saying this, but yes. I did just fucking say. I mean come on, he had the Force."

"Yeah, he cheated!"

Hunk grinned, leaning over his console. "Dude, when they got to assign Han wherever they wanted, they put Lando in the Falcon. Just sayin'."

That got him a betrayed look from the helm. "I hate all of you."

"Aww, we love you too, bro."

"Alright." Keith shook his head in exasperation, though he supposed he should be happy for the bickering. It was just… still bickering. "Let's figure out our new ship, we can argue later."

Nobody was listening. "It's not cheating if it's a gift that's naturally occurring. That's like saying the ninja is cheating at being a ninja because he's Baltan."

"Leave me out of this," Pidge growled. He'd thank them to never, ever bring him into discussions of being born with certain abilities. Or not.

"That is not the same thing."

"It's the exact same thing! The Force is a talent that he was born with, that makes it an asset, not a cheat."

Sitting at his console and not getting involved with this nonsense, Sven couldn't help wondering what Jace would be saying right now. He winced at the thought; first because Jace was dead, secondly because he could immediately imagine just how many fucks would be involved. He glanced over at Romelle instead. She looked thoroughly bewildered and not a little bit horrified, which… well, he couldn't blame her.

Lance was still going. "Yeah, sure. Like to see him fly through an asteroid belt."

Sighing, Keith stood and walked over between the two of them. "You're both pretty! Knock it off." Lance froze up immediately; he remembered the last time someone had used that line. Daniel just snorted and went back to his disappointing gunnery console.

In the silence that followed, Hunk yelled up from the bay to break the tension. "Lando was prettier!"

"They're all crazy," Romelle said quietly. Not quietly enough, maybe. Vince was standing by the hatch, and couldn't help a slight chuckle. He sympathized wholeheartedly.

"Welcome to an Explorer Team."

*****

Keith had sent Pidge to scout out their new ship. Perhaps more to the point, only Pidge had volunteered to scout out their new ship. Everyone else was too tired, too tense, or had simply taken issue with their commander terming it as an 'assignment'. That, in Lance's words, sounded way too homeworky.

Sven wasn't sure that was a real word, but nobody had asked him.

The scouting had gone quickly enough; the Xaela had much more interior space than the Cor'velon, but it still wasn't a large ship. The bridge's front hatch opened sooner than expected, and Lance raised an eyebrow. "At last, the ninja returns!"

Pidge bristled. "I wasn't gone that long."

"That's… pretty much why I said that." Tough crowd.

Sighing, Keith shook his head and motioned for silence. "What did you find, Pidge?"

"The ship layout is simplistic." That wasn't a bad thing, especially in their current situation. "The cargo bay is above us. It's not large. There are a few boxes. I thought it was best not to open them blind, given the illicit nature of the other cargo."

"Smart," Sven said approvingly. If he was going to do this second in command thing, he should probably comment a bit more often.

"Logical," Keith agreed.

"Forward of the cargo bay is a central recreation room. Galley is attached. There is some food. Crew quarters are off the common space, three officers' quarters, two general bunkrooms with six beds each."

"Is it worth askin' what kinda food we've got?" Hunk asked. "I promised a BBQ when we got off that hell rock." Pidge glared and he quickly held his hands up in surrender. "So, no."

Vince sighed, disappointed but not surprised. I could really go for cornbread right about now.

Nothing that would be healthy enough for Jace, no doubt. Sven wondered when his mind would stop going there. How many times did he have to tell those thoughts not now?

"Is it at least better than the prisoner food?" Daniel asked. The Cor'velon's crew rations hadn't been much to speak of either, really… the question earned him a slightly confused look rather than a glare.

"The food in the dungeons was serviceable…?"

Lance snorted. "No one but you and—" Fuck! Pidge shot him a murderous glare for that, and he couldn't help but feel he completely deserved it. Wonder if I can find any alcohol on board. After all this he'd already really wanted a beer. Now he felt like he needed one.

"I'll check out the food!" Hunk had facepalmed mightily at Pidge's words; it had turned into a wince at Lance's. Now he spoke a little too loud and a little too fast. "I can do it ASAP, whenever you want, boss, promise I can cook up somethin' worth eating…"

"We will need to eat eventually," Keith agreed quietly. "You can do an inventory once we have a full report. Please continue, Pidge."

Despite Keith's instructions, it was Daniel who spoke next—Lance still looked distressed, and hell if he wouldn't at least try for a distraction. He gave the pilot's shoulder a little bump. "Think they have clothes here?" A distraction and also he really, really wanted to find some new clothes.

Lance looked at him. "…We'll check." Yes. Focus on what you have, not what you… "Could be, we made them leave in a hurry."

"They left a lot behind in the bedrooms," Pidge confirmed. He hadn't actually gone through the closets, but it seemed unlikely that they'd been emptied.

"Then we'll get you some clean clothes, kid."

"Yes! We get to act like pirates again and steal their stuff!" Daniel laughed, then hesitated, a slight frown crossing his face. "Though… is it really 'acting' if you actually hijack a ship and steal the former crew's stuff?"

"Method acting," Hunk offered, shooting Lance a wink.

Their pilot snorted. "Yeah, we're fucking full-fledged pirates now."

"Yeah, we are." Keith sighed, exasperated. He really didn't want to say shut up and let Pidge finish his report in so many words, but he knew what would have the same effect. "What about showers?"

The ninja nodded, and the mood seemed to lighten immediately. "Full long-range habitation support suite on the lower deck. Four showers. There was some kind of machinery I couldn't identify, but it may have been a laundry system."

"A shower sounds absolutely marvelous." Sven didn't care much about the laundry—he never wanted to wear these clothes again if he could possibly avoid it. He just desperately wanted to feel clean again.

"The whole suite is forward of the bridge. Unsure if there's a connection from here." He gestured vaguely to the forward wall; there certainly didn't seem to be a hatch. "It's connected by an elevator off the rec room, seems to be the hub for all living amenities."

"Excellent." Keith nodded. "Thank you, Pidge."

It wasn't clear if he'd actually been finished with his report, but either way Lance still had questions. "First aid kits? Painkillers?" He was looking at Daniel; the kid side-eyed him back. His arm was doing much better now as long as nobody touched it. Lance ignored the look. He would be protective if he wanted to be… shit. I actually miss Jace.

Pidge nodded, though it was a little hesitant. "There's a partitioned sick bay in the support suite. One bed. Unsure on stocks, but the cabinets weren't empty. We may be able to use the ship's language programs to translate the contents."

"Good, thanks."

He leaned back against the wall. "There's also a small gym down there, probably individual workouts only. That's everything, except for maintenance crawlspaces."

"Alright." Keith was pacing, now that he had the room to do it. Looking around his crew he could see the exhaustion in all of them. They'd all managed quick naps in transit to Doreq, but all they'd managed were quick naps. He was feeling it too, but his team had to come first. "We need to get things situated. We should be safe while we're in… mirrorlock?" He wasn't sure if that was the correct terminology, but Sven didn't correct him so he figured it must be close enough. "I'll stay on the bridge and take the first watch. The rest of you, get some food. Shower. Clothes. Rest."

"Yessir. Bunk assignments?"

…Oh, right. "Romelle gets a stateroom." That one was easy, anyway. She'd been silent through Pidge's report, listening carefully to every word; he turned to her. "Why don't you go ahead and pick one of the rooms while we sort the rest out? You might find some better clothes, too." She'd been fumbling uncomfortably with the jacket, obviously still a bit chilly, and her legs were still nearly bare.

She gave an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, I shall." Nodding to the others, she left through the bridge's main hatch.

Rubbing his forehead, dreading what the response might be to his next question, the commander looked over his team. "Any volunteers for the two crew rooms?"

"Kid and I will bunk, right?" Lance shot Daniel a grin that definitely wasn't an attempt at coercion. Of course not. Keeping a fucking eye on him.

For once the kid made it easy. "Sure!" He'll be a good distraction. Yeah, that was his main concern. A concern, for sure, but… and I won't be alone.

"I'll go wherever," Sven offered with a shrug.

"I ain't picky." Hunk looked around at the others. Nobody else had really jumped. "Rock paper rocket launcher for the solo rooms?" It seemed fair.

"Rock paper rocket launcher sounds good." Vince badly wanted a room to himself. When was the last time he'd had personal space, even? But he wasn't going to say so. Everyone else was in the same mess.

Grinning, Hunk gave a thumbs-up before turning it into a fist. "Okay! Three, two, one, BOOM!"

They ran through several rounds, and yet, Sven still had no idea where the rocket launcher came into play. He wasn't completely certain why he was playing, for that matter. He really didn't care about his bedroom arrangements nearly as much as he just wanted a shower.

Round one went to Hunk, and while he hadn't particularly cared either, he figured it might be for the best. He was kind of an acquired taste as a roommate, and Lance was already bunking with someone else. Round two went to Pidge, who would certainly have welcomed being alone, but… Vince did a poor job of keeping the disappointment from his face. Poor enough that the ninja found himself feeling guilty.

"…You can have it, mechka." Flynn would approve.

For about half a second, Vince remembered that he'd been raised with manners and considered turning it down. But then he decided turning down a gift wasn't polite, either… and he really wanted it. "Thank you!"

Sven just shrugged. That left him with Keith and Pidge, and that was fine. He wondered how much time they'd really be spending in the bedrooms anyway.

"So, who wants to come check out the food situation?" Hunk asked with a grin. He wanted a shower too… but he could already predict there wouldn't be any clothes on this ship that would fit him, so he would also need to use the laundry, and it would be a whole thing, and food just sounded like a more enjoyable start to having a decent ship again.

"I'll go!" Daniel volunteered quickly. Lance eyed him but resisted the urge to go along. He really didn't feel like eating just now, and the kid would be more than fine with Hunk.

Chuckling, the big engineer put his arm through Daniel's good arm. "We're off to see the kitchen, the wonderful kitchen of Oz!" That got an actual laugh out of Daniel. It felt so good to laugh…

They headed off, leaving the others shaking their heads. To be fair, that was nothing new at all.

Keith had actually cracked a bit of a smile despite himself. "Anyone who wants to check out what kind of clothes are available, go ahead. Don't worry about which rooms are which right now, except Romelle's. Once we're settled in we can start cycling through the showers."

"I'm just going to go back and watch my console," Pidge said quietly. He wasn't going to be giving up his chameleon suit, broken though it was.

Vince really wanted nothing more than to worry about which room was his, but he understood why Keith had said it, too. "I'll go down and take a look at the laundry system." Figuring out appliances was a talent of his when he wasn't setting them on fire. It would get him some time to himself, at least.

"I think I'll go check out the clothing options," Sven decided, standing and stretching. He needed clothes before he could get the mythical shower that was taunting him, and it was at least worth checking to see if there was anything suitable for the others. "Lance, you want to come?"

"Sure, Viking. Let's pillage." He noticed the navigator hesitate slightly at that, before the briefest hint of a smile darted over his lips. "I gotta find some clothes for the kid."

"I'm sure he's uncomfortable," Sven agreed as they headed for the hatch. "He has even more blood on him than I do."

"Yeah… it's more than that, though…" Lance stopped, scolding himself. Don't mention why to Sven.

Not that Sven needed to be told. "Yeah." He winced, then forced his mask of indifference firmly back into place. "That's understandable."

There was no reason to force that issue. "Well, come on, let's see what we can find."

"Yes."

They passed through the rec room, glancing at Hunk and Daniel as they rummaged through the galley. It seemed like a pretty cozy setup; reasonable for a merchant ship. Rather than risk running into whichever stateroom Romelle had chosen, they moved into the first crew room. It was surprisingly roomy, and looked almost like it had already been picked over by pirates—the rushed gathering of personal effects by the prior crew, presumably.

The closets were far from packed, but they had options. Mostly simple and practical options, which might be for the best. Several pairs of something similar to cargo pants, shirts in muted colors—Lance picked out a blue one for himself and a purplish one for Daniel, and was about to offer some options to Sven when a muffled scream echoed from the galley.

"OH MY GOD!"

Turning to the door, Sven felt one of his eyebrows shoot straight to the ceiling. Lance grinned slightly. He knew the difference between the kid's good screams and bad screams… "He sounds happy." As if to reinforce that, they could hear Hunk laughing.

"Should we go check it out?"

"Duh." Lance took off with Sven on his heels.

Romelle had chosen the least messy of the three staterooms; she was, frankly, not accustomed to having to clean things up for herself. There were no handmaidens here, and it was a bit bewildering, trying to decide where to start if she wanted to try to straighten it up. At least she'd found clothes, a drab green jumpsuit that was only slightly too large…

She'd fully intended to remain in her room for awhile. A long while. Privacy had been in short supply for her since… well, since her arrival on Korrinoth, but especially now. But the scream from outside caught her attention as well, and before she fully realized what she was doing she'd opened the door and run out.

"Is… is everything alright?"

What they found was Daniel on the floor of the galley, Hunk doubled over in laughter next to him.

Their gunner was hugging a toaster.

"Yes! The universe is more than a soul-sucking void of pain and despair!"

Lance burst into laughter of his own. "Kid… you and toast…"

"I deserve this!" Daniel protested, hugging the toaster tighter and looking up at Hunk. "Please, in the name of everything good in this endless pain-filled blackness we call space, let there be bread."

At least he wasn't being excessively dramatic about this, or anything. Lance managed to fight his laughter down into a few last chuckles. "For all the good in the blackness, yes, let there be bread." Behind him, Sven was pretty sure his other eyebrow had hit the ceiling as well.

"I mean, just don't get the bread too black, yeah?" Hunk cautioned as he regained his composure and started going through cupboards. "Or all the way on fire, that'd suck. Not like I've ever done that."

Daniel gave him an affronted look. "Do I look like an amateur toast maker to you?"

"For shame, Hunk. He's the best toast maker in the wild west!" Lance shook his head. "Any alcohol in there, while you're looking?"

"I uh, can't read any of these labels." Some were in what he recognized as Drakure, but others looked like the former crew's language. Maybe the ship would be able to translate them. "And I didn't mean any offense, little dude! It's just an alien toaster!"

"It's not about the toaster, it's more about instinct."

Lance smirked. "That's what I say about piloting." What I said to… don't.

Glowering at him, Daniel stood and started setting up the toaster. "Don't ruin this for me by bringing up my supposed lack of pilot training."

"Hey, we're getting you trained, kid."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Yo!" Hunk had still been digging through the food storage; he held up a bag of something brown and lumpy. "This looks like bread!"

"Yes!" Daniel fist pumped. He was so ready for toast.

"Or this might be bread…" It looked like the big guy had found the jackpot. "Or this…? Nah, not… the hell? Uh, this stuff's purple." He set a clear box of something crusty and lavender on the counter, eyeing it skeptically. "Artisan Drule bread?"

"Purple Drule bread?" Lance found his mind going back to the blood wine. "I'll pass."

Daniel refused to think about the blood wine, or anything else from the dungeons, right now. He was on the verge of crispy toasted happiness. "Bread is bread, and purple is awesome."

"Speaking of…" Their pilot held up the one thing that could draw his attention away from even toast: a new shirt.

"…I love this ship." He grabbed the shirt—purple was one of his favorite colors to wear. His eyes glinted purple more around it, which definitely made him look mysterious and cool and stuff. Of course, right now he'd have worn fucking flamingo print if it meant getting the hell out of this bloodsoaked thing. Edging away from the group as the toaster warmed up, he tore off his old shirt and yanked the new one on. Caution was not part of the process; he hit his arm a bit and winced. "Ow. I gotta stop doing that."

"Yeah, you really fucking do," Lance scolded, not that he blamed him for being in a hurry.

"Easy, little dude."

"I know, I know." If he did something more to it now, they didn't have a medic… no. Nope. He was not going to dwell on that right now. Not when there was toast. "Okay, it's toaster time. Who wants some?"

"You know it."

"Totally."

Even Sven raised his hand, the team's antics drawing the first genuine smile out of him in days.

Romelle was confused—again. And frankly she was unclear on the entire concept of toast. Some Earthling delicacy, clearly? As everyone turned to her, she managed a small shrug.

Welcome to an Explorer Team, whatever that is. "Why not?"

*****

Avok resented being summoned by the Drules. He resented nearly everything about this arrangement, to be fair, but being summoned like a lapdog at its master's whim was the most grating. Once more he found himself cursing his father's bargain. Selfish, perhaps, but there it was.

Better to die with courage than live like this.

The summons had said nothing about coming alone, so he'd brought his honor guard with him. Four of the finest soldiers he'd ever trained; a small reminder that he was still the Crown Prince of Pollux, ostensibly a valued ally, not a slave. If they took it as a slight, so much the better.

The guards at the throne room doors didn't even blink when he arrived with an armed escort. "Prince Avok. You and your warriors may enter, King Zarkon awaits you."

Damn. Better luck next time. He swept into the room, his cloak billowing behind him, striding confidently up the blood-red carpet that led to the throne.

Zarkon was smiling. Avok didn't like that at all.

"Ah, our faithful ally. Prompt as always."

Avok had learned enough of Drule court protocol to know he was being insulted—not just by the sarcastic words, but by the fact that Zarkon had spoken first at all. He was annoyed, but not surprised. Everything about this was an insult. "The crown of Pollux is loyal, Lord Zarkon."

A scoff from the king's left drew his attention to Prince Lotor. "Is it truly?"

He bristled. "Are you doubting me? On what grounds?"

"Not you," Zarkon interjected smoothly. "Your sister, it seems, is far less loyal. She has ungratefully abandoned her place here, and fled with a band of slaves."

Avok froze. She what? No. She wouldn't. But even as his mind tried to deny it, a visceral thrill was racing through him. If they no longer had her as a de facto hostage, maybe Pollux could regain the freedom it had so foolishly thrown away… "We've heard nothing of this."

Lotor's eyes glowed. "Oh no?"

"I assure you not." He took a step back and straightened. "I will return home, and when we hear from her—"

"—You will go nowhere until we command it." Zarkon pointed his scepter at him. "You once stood in defense of your sister's honor. Now she has forfeited that honor, abandoned her duty, and betrayed both your people and ours. You will answer for her crimes."

So that was what this would be. Avok glared up at the throne, no longer bothering to mask his contempt in the slightest. "And what barbaric punishment do you mean to inflict on me for the actions of another? Without even the opportunity to remedy them? You know nothing of honor."

"You dare question the honor of your betters?" Lotor hissed. Then he grinned, baring his fangs. "No matter. You will pay in blood… at last we'll have that duel to the death after all." He drew his sword and stepped forward.

Avok's honor guard sprang into action instantly, drawing their blades and charging. Lotor seemed to simply dance through them, his own blade arcing, cutting them down as if they were nothing and being splattered by their blood.

It had given him time to draw his own sword, and not much else. He lunged to meet Lotor with a snarl of fury. "You will pay for each of their lives."

"I look forward to it," the Drule prince chuckled, blocking a strike and pushing him back. "If you can do as you claim."

Avok ducked beneath a slash and stabbed out swiftly, catching him in the leg. It was only a glancing blow, but enough to establish himself as a threat. "And you'll pay for Romelle. She was under your protection, was she not?" He launched into a flurry of blows, remembering the last time they'd dueled, withdrawing a moment before Lotor moved to counter. It still caught him in the arm, weakening his grip on his sword, but just slightly. "How did our betters allow her escape? With slaves, no less?"

"I'd focus on your sword if I were you," Lotor spat, suddenly much less amused. He unleashed his own flurry of strikes; Avok parried them easily.

"Did I strike a nerve?" A counter of his own sent the Drule staggering back, off balance, though he'd landed it more with his fist than his blade.

Lotor didn't answer that, which seemed like an answer in itself. They traded blows and minor cuts, blue and red blood dripping over the throne room's fine carpet, both slowing only slightly from attrition and exertion.

It seemed insane to Avok. For this they would risk their own crown prince's life? Not that he hadn't already thought them insane, and worse, but… eyes narrowing, he telegraphed a slash, ready to use Lotor's parry against him.

But Lotor didn't parry.

Avok startled as his blade connected solidly with the Drule prince's shoulder, momentum carrying him forward in a way he hadn't anticipated. Suddenly his enemy was well inside his guard, and he struggled to recover. He almost made it. The partial block kept Lotor's sword from taking his head clean off. But it wasn't good enough.

Pain shot across his throat, and he fell back with a gasp, feeling blood spurt and a wave of cold rush through him. No. It had clipped his jugular, it must have. His vision was already starting to swim.

Avok had only a split second to think about what was happening to him. Then he saw Lotor step back. Secure in his victory, perhaps. But he hadn't won yet—or at least, he hadn't avoided losing.

So long as I have… one more breath…

With dark spots swimming in front of his eyes and everything blurring around him, Avok launched himself forward with a scream of defiance. "For Pollux!"

Lotor spent about half a second gawking in disbelief. That was half a second too long. He got his sword up as the Polluxian prince swung his down with both hands, his strength fading but not yet gone, the force and fury of the blow breaking right through the attempted block. With a cry of shock Lotor recoiled; it saved him from being outright split in half. But Avok's blade ripped down his forehead and across his face, cutting open a deep wound that immediately half-blinded the Drule with his own blood.

Landing from the blow, Avok collapsed, his feet no longer able to hold him upright. The cold and the darkness were pressing in.

Better… to die… with…

The thought faded away with him.

Lotor stared at Avok's body for a time that probably felt longer than it was. Slowly, he reached up to touch the gaping wound across his face. He'd come so close… stepping back, he found himself laughing. It was a shame he'd had to kill the other prince, but oh, that battle had been worth it.

"It's done." He turned to his father, who looked less than impressed that he'd gotten himself slashed so badly. But what did that old fool know of the scars of battle? "He fought well, and deserves an honorable burial, at least. That was exhilarating."

"No."

He jumped at the voice, turning to see a cloaked form in the wings. One he was certain hadn't been there a few minutes ago. And he bristled as revulsion burned through him. "What are you doing here, witch?"

The new arrival ignored his contempt. She did not belong in the throne room… Haggar, a servant of Sarga, the goddess of death. She was one of the greatest witches in the Ninth Kingdom, her name spoken only in whispers, feared for both her power and her patron. Lotor knew his father considered her a valuable asset, but even he didn't usually invite her presence so openly.

"My job, of course." Haggar pulled her cloak tighter around herself, eyes glowing beneath the hood. "He will make a fine jaivur, and inflict the proper punishment for his sister's treason."

…Oh. Not even Lotor could quite suppress the shudder. "What? No, witch. I forbid it!" A jaivur was a fearsome creature: an undead being whose soul could be transferred between vessels as needed. All but impossible to truly kill… all but enslaved to the necromancer who raised them. To be made a jaivur was both a great compliment and a horrid curse. "He deserves better than such dishonor!"

"Enough. You lost your say in this when you treated your courtship as a game," Zarkon said coldly. "And you are still not taking your duty seriously. There is more to ruling an empire than collecting arbitrary honor points. He will be raised, and he will make an example of the disloyal."

The words were meant to sting, and they landed hard. "No," Lotor snarled, fury in his eyes. "I challenge you, Father. Sol kural!"

Zarkon's cold expression didn't waver. The challenge was a direct insult to his authority—indeed, challenge of authority was the direct translation of the phrase. It was his son's right, and he could hardly refuse it; letting an heir forget their place was often the beginning of the end for Drule monarchs. Not that Lotor wanted to take the throne from him. No… he just wanted to have his way. As always.

"Very well. To the blood."

Flicking the blood from his eyes, Lotor looked up at his father and took a defensive stance. Zarkon didn't move. He hadn't even drawn the ceremonial blade at his side.

So arrogant. Does he think I won't do it? Snarling, the prince raced forward, taking the steps two at a time and lunging. If his father wasn't going to take him seriously, then—

—He never saw the blow. He only felt it, a shattering impact to the right side of his face, sending him tumbling back down the stairs with the skin over his cheekbone split wide open. Looking up he saw a bluish smudge on his father's scepter, a few drops of blood falling to the floor.

"Childish," the king said quietly. "And ineffectual. A poor combination even for a would-be warrior. Have you learned your lesson now?"

Lotor gritted his teeth, crawling slowly to his feet. "…Yes, Father." I've learned you fight dirty. A coward's way. He shouldn't be surprised.

"Haggar, if you'd be so kind as to heal my fool of a son before beginning your work." Zarkon's eyes narrowed. "He isn't expendable, and he should thank the entire pantheon for that."

"As you command, sire." She approached Lotor, who backed away a step—not because he thought he could actually avoid her. Simply to ensure his disgust registered. "There will be scarring."

"Good. Let it be a reminder."

As a wave of occult energy poured into his wounds, Lotor refused to look at the witch who was healing him. He kept his furious glare on his father.

Oh, I'll remember. You needn't worry about that.