VOLTRON-X
                             
                  Book Eleven: Time Scape
                       by: Christine

     The sun was flirting with the distant mountains,
slipping gradually into their dark embrace.  Walking along
the parapets with Xiomara in the sweet semi-gloom of dusk ,
Pidge barely heard the girl's enthusiastic description of
her latest polymer formula.  Nor did he hear the soft
buzzings and hums, the gentle little stirrings that signaled
nightfall.  The appearance of the first shy stars didn't
catch his eye,  nor the bands of bright color that painted
the western horizon in shades of pearly yellow-green.  His
mind, most emphatically, was on something else.  Something
bigger, and more depressing.
    "Pidge.....!  Hey!  Did you hear me, Pidge?  About the
meta-stable arrangement of the carbon-14 atoms?  Hello?" 
Frowning, Xiomara tugged at his hand.  "Pay attention!"
     The boy looked up at her suddenly, shook his head as
though driving away the clinging mist of a vivid dream.
     "I'm sorry?  What was that, Xio*?"     (pronounced
'show' : show-marah)
     She made an impatient noise somewhere between a growl
and a huffy sigh.  Then, pushing back a hank of  unruly
black hair which had sprung free of its clip, Xiomara bent a
piercing glance on her friend and demanded,
     "Alright,  what's up?!"
     Pidge shrugged.
     "Nothing.  Really.  It's simply that I haven't been
getting a great deal of rest lately, and I'm behind on a few
major projects."
     Xiomara tilted her head to one side in the manner that
Chibi had swiftly come to realize meant trouble.  Arms
folded upon her chest, feet firmly planted, she replied,
     "Try again.  You NEVER get enough sleep, and you
haven't missed a project deadline in three months.  So,
follow along carefully now....,"  leaning forward, she
captured his gaze and repeated with sarcastic slowness, 
"What.... is... up... with... you?"
     There was no fooling the girl, who knew him better than
anyone on Arus except Hunk.  Realizing that she would have
the matter out of him soon even if she had to resort to
tickling again, Pidge surrendered.  Looking around to make
sure that no one else was about, he drew Xiomara over to a
bench and sat down.  She settled at his side, wary and
beautiful as a wild bird.
     "Well...?!"  Xiomara prompted.
     "I've..... I've done something very wrong, Xio."
     She tugged at her full lower lip, a habit she'd
inherited from her studious father.
     "Wrong how?  Wrong- mistake, or wrong- bad?"
     Chibi's shoulders slumped.
     "Wrong.... bad."
     "Explain."
     "Well..., you're aware that I've been working on a
return route home for the rest of the team and myself,
correct?"  At her silent nod, he continued miserably,  "I
deleted the file.  All of it; months of research and
experimentation on the subject of time travel and
interdimensional warping."
     Her eyes widened, but otherwise Xiomara maintained her
scientific objectivity.
     "Why?"  she probed.
     "Because.....,  Because, Xio, if we leave here, it'll
mean the end of everything!"  His words burst forth now in a
hurried, hurt, angry rush.  "I didn't realize it before, but
when we get back to Alliance space/time,  the team will be
split up!  I'll be turned over to the military intelligence
bureau, where I can look forward to making life-or-death
decisions about people I'll never know, Keith and Lance will
go back to spec ops,  Hunk will most probably be shipped off
to officer candidate school, and Sven will be back in his
squadron and likely dead within the month!  And none of us
will ever see the princess again, or....,"  he blushed
suddenly, turning a rather alarming shade of magenta. 
"...or you.  I don't want to lose another family, Xio! 
So....., I deleted all of my work.  The only thing is, they
could really have used our help, back home.  The Drules were
winning when we got lost.  Voltron could've turned that
around!  And I ruined it...., took away the Alliance's maybe
one chance for victory."
     Xiomara pursed her lips thoughtfully, leaned back
against the bench's ornately carved arm.
    "Hmmmm.  That's a tough one, alright.  Don't blame you
for not going, I wouldn't either.  Especially not with a
gorgeous colleague like myself here.......,"  A brief,
knowing sparkle danced in her sultry dark eyes, then a vivid
flash of comprehension and sudden joy.  "Wait!  That's it! 
Pidge, if the Alliance needs Voltron, SEND them Voltron! 
Plans, Mini-mind!  Print out the schematics on Voltron, and
send them to the GA on a down-sized version of that ship you
were designing!  Well?  Huh?"
     The light of deliverance broke over him, and three
thousand pounds of worry dropped off of his slim shoulders.
     "Xiomara, you're truly remarkable!"
     "I know,"  the girl admitted modestly.  She might have
added more, but Pidge pulled her into his embrace, tip-toed
up a bit, and laid a grand kiss on her like the ones he'd
seen Lance bestow on the palace chambermaids.  Then, still
exuberant and full of sudden notions, he darted off,
mumbling,
     "Of course, we'll have to make some improvements.....! 
It would never do to just send them an exact duplicate!"
     Behind him, nerveless and warm, Xiomara called out,
     "Wait!  Come back here and do that again!!"

    
____________________________________________________________


    In the ready room, three of the older team members had
gathered together for a friendly bull session.  A great deal
of masculine nonsense and beer, mostly, it was as close as
Keith, Lance and Sven were going to come to admitting their
fondness for one another.
     Lance drained the last of his brew, and said,
     "....So then Monster Woman clotheslines the bastard,
and he falls flat on his back!  You shoulda seen it! Hunk
and I got there a second later, and I started working him
over while Hunk checked for veins.  We managed to get an
antidote out of the sonuvabitch, but he disappeared before I
could leave a lasting impression, dammit.  Next time he's
getting a .45 caliber headache!"
     The three of them laughed at that,  then Keith added,
     "The important thing is.... we're a team again.  With
Sven flying Blue, Lotor won't get those kinds of openings
anymore."
     Sven started to reply, then paused.  A flicker of
movement in the darkened hall, a brief flash of pain, caught
his attention.
     Nodding to his friends, he said,
    "Excuse me, please,"  and rose to leave.
    "Hey!  Why go all the way down the hall?"  Lance
inquired a little blurrily, mistaking the pilot's intent. 
"We got a perfectly good balcony right here!  And if you aim
just right, you can hit Koren's window....,"
     Sven glanced back over his shoulder as he strode
through the door.
    "I'd rather just deck him,"  he grunted, then vanished
from the room.  
     In the hallway Sven hesitated, lowering his head and
closing his eyes to track down the fleeting, familiar
psionic trace.  There, behind that purple wall hanging.  The
heavy cloth shook a bit, as though the little figure hidden
behind it was crying.  Had he been less drunk or more
subtle, Sven would have tried persuasion.  Instead he simply
seized hold of the skulker with his mind, and drew her
kicking and fighting from behind the gold-worked tapestry.
     Seconds later, 'Lara was weeping against his chest,
choking out that she wasn't crying, thank you very much, she
was perfectly alright.
     "Ja.  I can see that, Vanina.  Here,"  he gave her a
corner of the wall hanging.  "Wipe your eyes, blow your
nose, and tell me vad this is about."
     She snuffled a bit, her sobs gradually lessening. 
Then, looking up at her tall friend with sad, clouded eyes,
the princess whispered,
     "It's as if I don't exist anymore, Evn.   I'm so happy
that you're back, but...., but now they don't need me,
and..... I'll never fly again!" 
     Sven hugged her close, kissed the top of her head.
     "Is that all?!"  he scoffed.  "Lilla syster, I cannot
be here all the time, and there are now two warmechs for us
to share even when I am;  Blue lejon, and Loki.  If you
like, I will teach you to fly a combot."
     A'lara 's tears slowly dried as hope crept back into
her pretty face.  
     "But..., Lord Koren....,"
     "Leave him to me, Vanina."  
     It was no mere idle promise.  Being Romelle's Prince
Consort, he now had sufficient rank to bully an entire room
full of courtiers.  Something was bothering him, though. 
Walking with A'lara to the colonnaded balcony at the end of
the hall, Sven released her arm, leaned against a porphyry
column and arranged his thoughts for an important question
     "A'lara....,"  he began at last.  The princess's ears
pricked up.  This was serious; Sven hardly ever called her
by her first name.
     "Yes?"  
     Rubbing at his jaw, the pilot continued hesitantly,
     "When I flew Blue lejon.....,  I var given back most of
my memories, up to our last fight together.  I remember that
junk monstret of Haggar's, but after that nothing until.....
until Galra.  I wonder.... if you could tell me what
happened to me, in between."   
     The princess stared at him for a long moment.  So much
had happened, and so much of it bad, that she hardly knew
where to begin.
     "Couldn't Lance or Keith....,"  she started to say, but
Sven cut her off with a slow head shake.
     "Nej, princess, they can't.  It isn't that I don't
trust them, exactly....., but Romelle said some things
that.....,  i helvete, never mind!"
   As he turned to go, A'lara reached out, and placed a warm
little hand on his arm.
   "We got back from fighting off Lotor and that
wreckage-monster,"  she began in a low voice, "and the next
day you spent some time with a woman who must have poisoned
you, because you got very, very sick that night.  We were
all afraid that you might die."
     He turned to face her then, very still, very focused. 
The link between them was strong enough that he could tell
if she was lying.  Knowing this, A'lara held nothing back.
     "You were no better by morning, Evn, and an alert came. 
I.... I offered to fly Aojishi, but they laughed at me, so I
stayed back with you.  Then, as I was going to the herb room
for some feverfew, a strange thing happened.  It was as if I
dreamed as I walked, as if everything faded and drifted
away.  A spell, I think.  Anyway....., anyway, when it
lifted at last, you were gone from your bed.  I reached out
to find you, and you were... you were hurt very much badly. 
I ran up to where you were, Aniki, but I couldn't reach you. 
The witch had put a shield around you, and I couldn't get
in, couldn't help....  It was...., there was......"  A'lara
had to stop, overcome by the memory of all that blood.  His
touch steadied her, gave her the strength to go on.
     "You were cut through the belly, like you'd done
seppuku, and there was blood everywhere."
     Sven nodded, remembering a bent old woman..., the beast
man's upraised blade and single, burning eye...,  the
strike, and tearing , fiery pain.  Then.... nothing. 
Blackness.
     "I died?"  he asked, brushing away her tears with a big
hand.
     "No, not all... mostly. Pidge and Hunk were able to
keep back the final breath with a stasis patch."
     "What happened then?"
     "You were to be taken to Ebb for healing, but something
happened to the ship on the way.  It was destroyed, and we
all thought you were dead.  All but Lance, anyway.  He never
believed it.  He didn't like me much for trying to fly in
your place, either!"
     She would have launched into a tirade against Lance,
but Sven had stopped listening.  There had been a dark room,
he recalled, and a hateful, mocking voice.
     "Lotor," he announced grimly.  "He did this, all of it. 
The beastman and the witch were sent by him, and the rest he
did directly, to me and to Romelle."
     "Sven....,"
     "I am going to hunt him down, and kill him."
     The look in his dark eyes, and the cold deadly flatness
of his voice made A'lara shiver suddenly.
     "Sven, you mustn't say these things!  We're a team,
we'll deal with this together!"
     Slowly, he shook his head.
     "Not this, we won't.  It var done to me, and it will be
avenged by me, or I am less than a man."
      She tried to protest, fearing that Sven was headed for
darker waters, but he silenced her with a lifted hand.
     "Say nothing to Keith and the others of this, please. 
Especially Romelle."  Sensing her reluctance, he added, "If
it makes you feel any better, I promise that I will be very
careful."
      A'lara gazed down at the tiles beneath her feet.  She
didn't want to agree with him, but she understood what he
was going through.  Now that he knew who to blame, all of
the rage and pain.... the humiliation he'd been feeling.....
had a target.  Sven had been dishonored, and only the death
of his enemy would take away the shame of his defeat.
      "Hai, Aniki; I will keep quiet, if you promise not to
do anything without telling me first."
      "Jaha.  Fair enough.  I promise."
      'Lara gave him a long, tight hug, feeling the wind
blow off of the lake with a sudden, biting chill.  It felt
like doom.

    
____________________________________________________________

                                                       
GALRA


     Humming to herself, Haggar adjusted the fluid level in
her cauldron, adding such bits and snips as would make her
simulacrum stronger and more realistic.  Well did she know
the hated features; golden, slit pupiled eyes..,  bluish
skin..,  long, ice-white hair..,  chiseled face..., tall,
muscular body.  The prince of Galra was a handsome specimen,
and a distinctive one.  Thus it was important not to rush
her spell and produce an obvious fake. 
     Empress now in all but name, Haggar needed a puppet for
her father's throne.  Someone the subject worlds were
accustomed to obeying without question.  She needed Lotor,
or his image, anyway.  
     She drifted away from the cauldron for a bit, and went
to the ingredient wall.  It was covered with shelf upon
shelf of tightly-lidded jars, each filled with a
never-failing supply of chemicals, and dried, powdered, or
mummified creatures.   Her stock in trade.  Koba wound
himself around her ankles,  mrrowring and purring.  Anything
that she dropped, he got to eat.
     Pushing the hood away from her face, Haggar tilted her
head back to regard the jars.
     "Hmmmmm,  Sana beast for quick wits, rainbow serpent
for charm,  but a bit less will-power, I think....,"  
     The witch stepped forward, then jumped back with a
startled curse when her bare foot came down on something
sharp.
     "What...?!"  Looking down, Haggar spied a dark and ugly
little figure upon the floor.  Nega-Voltron, in miniature.  
     "How did you get there?!"  she grumped.  Picking the
thing up, she wiped it off on her robe and set it back upon
a shelf with a tighter binding spell to hold it fast.
     "Be patient, My Slaves,"  the witch said with a
sharp-toothed smile.  "I will have need of you again by and
by."  
     That done, she summoned a flock of dusty vials from
their shelves with a gesture, plucked them out of the air,
and returned to her seething kettle.  Spelling them open,
the witch added a bit from each vial to the bubbling mass in
the cauldron.  The brew changed color subtly in response. 
Testing its readiness, Haggar thrust a finger into the
stuff, then brought it to her mouth and licked a bit off.
     "Huh,"  she grunted sourly.  "Still tastes stubborn!"  
     Nevertheless, it would have to do.  The grand council
was growing restive, concerned by Lotor's long absence.  She
had to produce a prince, and soon.
     Giving the cauldron a final stir, she began to chant in
a language that hadn't been spoken aloud for centuries.
     "En-slith sa batchka, tra daaan-a  slitarim..., VRAHN!" 
     The last word sealed her spell, gave it power.  Drawn
by the magic, cold, black spirits gathered in the room,
tugging at her robes and whispering soundlessly in her
pointed ears.  She hardly noticed.  All of her attention was
directed at the corroded kettle, which had begun to glow. 
The stuff within it spun rapidly, then rose from its
container.  Higher and higher it lifted, till it stood about
six-and-a-half feet tall.  Moments later it began to take on
a recognizably humanoid form; arms, legs and other
appendages appearing in their proper location.  Facial
features came into existence next, shifting a bit when she
didn't like the line of the jaw.
    Eventually, however, her creation solidified.  Lotor, to
the last detail...... except life.  Haggar walked all the
way around the inanimate clone, eyeing him as critically as
she imagined his subjects would.
    "Eh.  It'll do,"  she decided at last.
     On the worktable, Koba stretched his crested head
toward the lifeless homunculus and sniffed, his whiskers
sweeping tautly forward like antennae.  Not liking what he
smelled, the doom cat hissed and spat.
     Haggar stroked his head, whispering,
     "You don't like my little toy, Kitty?  I assure you,
this one will be much easier to control.  And if he doesn't
serve me well...., you may eat him.."
      The cat sat down, stretched forth one long, skinny
hind leg,  and began to wash the base of his tail as if to
say that he didn't approve of the witch's business.
      Haggar chuckled, then got back to work.  Stepping
nearer to the clone, she took a very deep breath and held
it, while silently repeating a certain ancient phrase seven
times.  When the cycle was complete, she leaned forward and
blew the pent air into her creation's face.  The clone gave
a sudden sharp jerk.  Its eyes flew open, and it stared at
her, lost and confused.   For an instant the clone's
expression reminded her of something.... someONE.  Who....?  
     The Sk'rova pilot, that was it.  He'd looked just that
way when she'd healed him and set him free in the pit of
skulls.   Shaking her head impatiently, the witch drove the
image away.   He was nothing more to do with her, and she
had serious matters to attend to.
      Helping her creation out of the kettle, Haggar said,
      "Welcome home, My Prince."
    
____________________________________________________________

SPACE,  THE ARUS/ POLLUX SYSTEM:

      Nearly crushed by the force of Red's ferocious
acceleration, Lance gasped and grunted, struggling to
overtake Sven.  His vision had narrowed to a slender tunnel,
and most of the blood had long since departed his brain. 
Far, far ahead of him, Lance could just glimpse the
sparkling blur that was Blue lion.  Over the comm, he heard
Ericksen's calm voice.
     "Had enough?"
     Lance bared his teeth in a fierce grimace.
     "Hell......no!  Jus....just getting....warmed....up!"
     Inside Blue's cockpit, Sven shook his head.
     'Javlar idioten!'  he growled, powering down.  'Stop
this before you kill yourself.'
    Blue slowed, allowing Red to catch up, and then overtake
him.
     'There.  You beat me.  Satisfied?'
    Red slowed as well, coming to a gradual stop about
fifty-three million miles beyond the orbit of Pollux.
     "Not until I do it for real,"  Lance grumbled, laying
back in his seat a little to recover.  "All I need is a
tighter G-suit."
      "All you need is a brain.  Guess they don't issue
those in the Army."
     Lance wasn't so out of it that he couldn't respond to
an insult.
     "Naw, we're born with them, unlike you deck-apes.  I
thought about joining the Navy, once, but I know how it is
with sailors....., two hundred men board the ship at the
start of the cruise, and a hundred couples get off at the
end."
     "You're just upset because they won't let you bring
your sheep on board.."
     Lance chuckled.
     "Oh, Behhhhhh-ty!"  he bleated gamely, conceding the
point to Sven.  "Wool me, Baby!"
     They laughed at that bit of silliness, and then Lance
got serious again as the subject of women, and ewes,
reminded him of something important.
    "Hey, Sven,"  he called over the comm.  "Let's set down
somewhere where we can talk, okay?  I've got an idea I'd
like to run past you without being listened in on, and NO,
I'm not going to just think it at you!  Damn psionics stuff
belongs in the circus, not the cockpit!"
     They ended up on Pollux, atop the huge lava plateau
that overlooked the bathwater-warm Sheyan sea.  It was late
afternoon there, and the sun's slanting rays struck
brilliant glints from the shimmering black stone and creamy,
thundering ocean.  The gem-like sapphire sky boasted no
clouds, and nothing more threatening than a flock of
chattering neon birds.
     Lance disembarked, looked around, then started for Blue
lion, who'd settled to the ground about a hundred paces
away.  The footing was treacherous, mostly jagged volcanic
glass, packed ash, and splintering pits.
     "Damn, LC,"  Lance complained, as Sven stepped out of
Blue's boarding tube and strode over to join him.  "Think
you could've picked a more dangerous rendezvous spot?"
     Sven shrugged.
     "You said you wanted privacy.  What's on your mind?"
     "Money.  We've got three months to pay off the
Denubians, or they own Arus and Pollux both, right?"
     "Ja."
     "Well, I've got an idea.  While Lara's busy passing the
hat around at the next Allied Worlds conference, what say
you and me go hunting for Merla, and get back that
ninety-five mil?"
     Sven considered briefly.  Then,
     "How?  She is not on Galra, or any other Imperial
world."
     "That, Partner, is where good reconnaissance pays off." 
Lance grinned at his friend, adding immodestly,  "I found
out where she is:  Kannabret."
      Sven folded his arms upon his chest, a 'you've got to
be kidding' look on his face.
      "Kannabret?      But that is.....,"
     "The most godawful, scummy, lawless spot in the
galaxy."  Lance finished for him.  "My kinda world!"  
     Then, as Sven remained unconvinced, he added,
     "Look, what could be simpler?  We go in (disguised, of
course), we find Merla, we take back the money, and we
leave.  Slam, bam, thank you, Ma'am.  So whattaya say?  You
up for it?"
     Rubbing at his jaw, the Eurasian pilot mused,
     "Keith will have kittens."
     "....Which is why we're not gonna tell him what we're
doing.  Any further objections?"
     "How long will this take?"  Sven had business of his
own that he wanted to see to, as soon as possible.
     "Oh......, two days, max."
     Slowly, Sven nodded.
     "Jaha," he decided.  "Let's do it."
     Lance flashed him a sudden, satisfied grin.
     "I knew I could count on you for a little mayhem,"  the
gunner laughed, throwing a spirited punch at his friend's
arm.
     Sven blocked the mock offensive with a sharp upward
chop, then aimed a powerful jab at Lance's whip-thin
midsection.
     "There wouldn't be any other reason you want to find
Merla, would there?"  Sven demanded, guessing from the
disturbance in his friend's aura whenever the pirate's name
was mentioned, that something more personal was involved.
     "Other reasons?  Me?"  Lance protested.  "Not hardly. 
Simple and uncomplicated, that's Lance Calvin.  All I want
is the money, Dude."
     "Ja.  I'm sure."  Shaking his head, Sven added,  "Let's
get this over with before I have an attack of common sense."
     "Nah, never happen,"  Lance told him a trifle smugly. 
"You're too much like me, whether you want to admit it, or
not.  C'mon, race you to One-eyed Wang's.  Loser buys the
first round!"
     Less than three minutes later, Red and Blue were off
again, this time headed for deep space.

    
____________________________________________________________



     Back in the lab, Xiomara shoved Pidge away from his
holographic keyboard.
     "No, Less-than-zero!"  She snapped, "You're doing it
all wrong!  Your GA hasn't got the technology to reproduce
anything that complex!"
     Typing furiously upon the micro-thin, shimmering light
board, she altered the diagram, muttering,
     "This wiring needs to be reconfigured for a weaker
power source, and these weapons systems have GOT to go! 
Think primitive, Microbial One!"
     But Pidge wasn't having any.  Elbowing Xiomara sharply
aside, he growled,
     "I AM thinking primitively, Pin-head!  That's why I've
substituted vehicles for bio-mechanical lions!  And if
you'll LOOK at my plans instead of simply erasing them,
you'll note that there are seventeen cleverly hidden
boosters already incorporated into the power grid!  THANK
you!" 
    Xiomara snorted.
    "Still won't work right,"  she predicted darkly, nose in
the air.  "All those vehicles are going to crash in mid air
instead of linking up, and the process will take forever!"
    Chibi paused.
     "I know,"  he admitted.  "Have you any suggestions?"
     "Just one: if you want a job done right, get a woman to
do it.....  Just kidding, Techno-geek!  Look here,"  She
rejoined him at the floating key pad, and summoned the
screen closer with a quick gesture.  "If you make use of
existing mattermission technology, and up the power source
from seven to ten white holes, you can.....,"
     "We can reduce each separate vehicle to energy
patterns, and then reform the whole as.... as a Vehicle
Voltron!  Exemplary!  But....,"  Pidge frowned a little,
considering the rougher side of linkage.  "Won't this be
rather hard on the pilots?  And if any of the patterns get
lost,  ZAP!  So much for Captain What's-his-brass!"
    Xiomara shrugged.
    "Eh.  Fortunes of war.  It'll add interest and
adrenaline to their lives.."
     "No, wait!  I'll throw in another redundant system.  A
backup computer and data retrieval engine....... here!  That
way the mech will have to lose all power during linkage and
sustain some sort of catastrophic systems crash to lose
anyone.  NOW what do you think, Xio-moron?"
     The girl examined his schematics with cool disinterest,
stroking a colored sphere at the edge of the light board to
rotate and enlarge the image.
     "Well,"  she said at last,  "One has to consider the
source.  And considering that you have the cranial wattage
of a busted light bulb, I suppose it'll do."
     Pidge smiled.
     "Thanks, Xio-monkey!"
     "Don't mention it,  Nano-brain!"
     Pleased with himself, Pidge saved the file and fed it
into his prototype temporal probe's databanks.  Then,
obligations nearly seen to, he turned to his pretty friend
and inquired,
     "Would you care to see what Nana is preparing for our
evening meal?"
     Xiomara rolled her eyes.
     "No, thank you!  I'd rather retain my will to live. 
How about we go down to the market, instead, and see if any
of the candy sellers have rebuilt yet?"
     Nodding, Pidge offered the girl his arm.
     "Splendid.  I'll buy.  Hey, think we could design
ANOTHER Voltron?  A stealthy one, maybe?"
     Arm in arm, they walked off, discussing power flow,
energy weapons, stealth technology, and candy.

    
____________________________________________________________

                                                      
DELANYRR


     The Imperial council had gathered on Delanyrr, one of
ringed Teryk's many moons.  The local atmosphere was a
queasy morass of methane, and the surface an icy, cratered
wasteland,  but the domed city of Dra-Mwar remained one of
the best locations in the galaxy for a conference.  Here
princes, queens, representatives and dignitaries of
countless worlds could meet and hold court in luxury and
relative safety.  
     The hall itself was a giant amphitheater of
gold-crusted stone dominated by a high central dais and
throne.  Spreading outward from the dais like ripples on a
pond, row upon row of gemmed seats were cushioned in rich
velvet and damask, and labeled with the name of each
representative.  High overhead the force dome arched,
keeping back the lethal Delanyan atmosphere while displaying
its gorgeous colors.   
     Anyone looking around at the council would have decided
that they were a fractious and nervous lot, for they hissed
and bickered among themselves as they waited for Lotor to
appear.  That he was late surprised no one.  Truthfully,
most of them thought him dead; assassinated by a palace
guard, or a jealous mistress, perhaps, and Haggar's tersely
worded summons had done little to soothe their fears.  In
living memory, there had never NOT been an emperor.  What
was to be done if Lotor and Zarkon were both gone?  Prince
Oig'n was unproven, and his sister Helle a mere child.  Who
would rule?
     Watching the crowd from the Imperial dressing room's
view screen, Haggar allowed herself a small smile.  They
were just about ready, she decided; fearful and anxious,
their minds made pliable by the negative emotions she
understood so well.  Each Imperial world was represented,
she noted with satisfaction.  From the hulking jelly-things
of Breznr, to the buzzing swarms of Shrakt.  The Drules were
there, and the Saurians, Felarr, and tentacled Smiis. 
Certain representatives required exotic living conditions,
and these had shown up in transparent,  floating tanks. 
Others were swirling, sentient, energy patterns whose colors
rivaled the Delanyan atmosphere.  All in all, it was a
diverse and astonishing crowd that rustled, burbled and
whispered in the great hall.
     That much was good.  The only thing that troubled
Haggar now was the absence of Lotor's personal guard, and
Valk Vraghur.  She suspected that the Galran nobleman hadn't
believed her promises of Lotor's return, and had gone out to
search for his missing master on his own.
     "Is it time?"  an uncertain voice interrupted her
thoughts.  The witch turned away from the view screen and
regarded her creation.  The new Lotor was splendidly
dressed, wearing polished black battle armor, a long,
red-lined cloak, and the jeweled crown of state.  An energy
sword was girded on at his side, and boots of shining
leather encased his feet.  He certainly looked the part of
an emperor, though his personality left much to be desired. 
Still, he was pliable and easily led, and that was all that
really mattered.
      "Yes,"  Haggar replied.  "It is time for you to take
your rightful place, dear child."
     A few moments later, the Imperial fanfare rang through
the hall; three jarring notes played over and over again
until the very ground vibrated.  Then the massive iron doors
behind the grand dais swung open, and a troop of
scarlet-clad heralds filed out.  They split up into two
lines, forming a corridor from the doors to the imperial
seat.  Then, when the last harsh note died away, and one
could hear the slightest rustle of cloth upon scales, the
crown prince appeared.
     Tall and haughty, crowned head lifted proudly, Lotor
strode to his throne.  The effect of his appearance on the
crowd was incredible, electric.  Over a thousand beings rose
from their seats and bowed low, whispering,
     "Valkrover Lotor!"
     Scurrying along in his wake, barely recognizable in a
robe of bright brocade,  Haggar smiled.

    
____________________________________________________________



     Loki glided in on full impellers, cloaked and
soundless.  In fighter mode, the combot slipped past what
passed for Kannabret's defenses and thumped to the ground
some three miles outside of town. 
     The world was mostly ocean, with a single small
continent, a necklace of moons, and a harsh, blue-white sun. 
This half of the planet was experiencing night at the
moment, making the job of sneaking in a little easier.  
     Sven pulled free of his link to the fighter, powered
down, and removed his helmet.  Beside him, in the right
seat, Lance looked up from his holozine and quipped in a
whiney, annoying voice,
     "Are we almost there yet?!"
     "Nej,"  Sven replied smoothly.  "I didn't like that
landing, so I intend to take us back to Arus and repeat the
procedure another fifty times."
     Lance released his seat's safety harness and got up,
stretching to work the kinks out of his muscles.
     "Not unless I get a sedative first!  No offense, man,
but you still fly like a damn lunatic!"
     "Got us here, didn't I?"
     "Thanks to divine intervention!  Flying cloaked in
heavy traffic is about stupid, Bro.  We were almost killed
five times.  I counted."
     Sven allowed himself a rare smile.
     "Only five?"  he mused.  "I'm slipping."
     They left the cockpit after changing out of their
flight suits.  Lance was soon back in his comfortable jeans
and beat-up leather jacket, while Sven opted for cargo
pants, a black tee shirt and boots.  Examining his wingman,
Lance shook his head.
     "Dude.  You look like you stepped off the jacket of a
romance vid."
     Sven eyed him incredulously.
     "You read that shit?"  he asked, as they set off for
town across the scrubby, wind-swept plain.
     "Hell, yeah!  How better to get to know the mind of my
target audience than to read their literature.  Don't give
me that look!  What do YOU ever pick up besides Playboy and
Soldier of Fortune?"
     Sven considered.
     "That's pretty much it,"  he admitted at last.  "And
technical manuals.  Dar is over seventy-two miles of wiring
in a slaughter hawk, in  five forbannade dimensions, and I
have to know every inch.  Repairs."
      Lance made a face.
      "I'll stick to romance holos, thanks."
      They went on a ways in silence, Lance following Sven,
who had better night vision.  Not that the place was hidden,
or anything.  Kannabret was a walled, garishly neon border
town with few laws and fewer inhibitions.  They couldn't
have missed it had they been stone-blind and post-deaf. 
     They entered at last through a low archway in the stone
wall, and paused to have a look around.  The first thing one
noticed was the light.  Floating video billboards gave off a
restless, shifting glare, touting everything from handguns
to lipstick.  Advertising remotes darted and swooped between
the billboards, projecting brief, kinetic holos onto every
available surface before zooming off in search of another
audience.  Even the moons were lit up, their silvery
whiteness a blank canvas for the laser artistry of some mad
genius obsessed with the female form.
      The streets were narrow and haphazardly paved, the
sprawling buildings constructed of pour stone and perma
plast.  People and aliens were everywhere.  Pretty females
of several species leaned over their balconies and called
out invitingly to by-passers.  Here and there someone
staggered out of a shadowed doorway to collapse in the
street, bleeding, drunk, broke, or all three.  Weird music
and exotic scents drifted from windows and doors.  The
occasional body part, too. 
     Lance took it all in.  Then,
     "Dude,"  he breathed wonderingly.
     "Ja."  Sven agreed.
     Shaking off the spell of the place, Lance turned to his
friend and asked,
     "How much money you got?  Cash, I mean, not that
Polluxan stamp crap."
     "Eighty-five gold. Why?"  Basically, Sven had half the
national treasury of Pollux in his hip pocket.  Needless to
say, he wasn't eager to part with any of it.
     " 'Cause we need transportation."  Lance had noticed a
number of air bikes skimming the streets and back alleys of
the town, and he'd taken it into his head to rent a couple. 
Setting off down the main street, he added,
      "This way.  You've had all your shots, haven't you?"
    
____________________________________________________________


                                                    
ELSEWHERE:

     In a cold, dark vault, a nameless individual lost his
last battle.  Too weak to fight, he was warped, body and
soul, by the will of another.  And that which had been a
prince became a monster;  deadly, half machine, and totally
insane.

    
____________________________________________________________



     Alternately shushing and insulting each other, Pidge
and Xiomara hauled the messenger probe to the roof of the
castle.  It had taken a little longer than usual to reach
the upper parapets, for the stairs were pleased to add a few
extra  turns and landings that night, but eventually they
stood out on the north tower, inhaling great lungs full of
crisp night air.
     "You sure this thing will work?"  Xiomara
stage-whispered, barely visible in the gathering dusk. 
Beside her Pidge was a pallid, wavering phantom.
      "I am moderately assured of success,"  he hissed back
in reply.  "But there is always a small statistical
possibility of failure in such ventures."
     "Great!"  The girl snapped.  "You haven't the first
clue whether this piece of junk will even perform!"
      Pidge smacked her hand away from the start-up switch,
growling,
      "It'll work!  I'll stake my career on it!"
      "What career?!  You're the Voltron Force's gopher and
towel boy!"
      "Precisely,"  Pidge agreed, squinting at his
aggravating/ enchanting companion.  "...and YOU'RE the towel
boy's assistant, so I'd shut up if I were you." 
      Xiomara opened her mouth to respond, then shut it
again.  He had her there.  Pretending that she'd never
brought the subject up, the girl helped Chibi set up his
probe.  When it was oriented properly, and the preflight
checklist was complete, Pidge engaged the start-up switch
and stepped away.  Removing a remote control device from his
pocket, the little fellow pressed one of its many
jewel-like, flashing buttons.  
      For an instant, nothing happened.  Then the click of
energy gates and low drone of force fields announced the
probe's awakening.  It lifted smoothly into the air, a
roughly head-sized sphere of polished black metal, decked in
blinking lights and bristling antennae.
     "Superb!"  Pidge exulted, polishing a smudge off of the
probe's glistening surface with the sleeve of his lab coat. 
Darting a sideways glance at Xiomara, he caught the wide
grin which she wasn't quite quick enough to hide from him.
     "Hah!"  he pounced.  "You admire it!"
     "No I don't!  I never said....!"
     "I saw you smiling!  Admit it!  You are captivated by
my feats of scientific mastery."
     Xiomara cuffed him.
     "Oh, shut up and send, Midget!"
     Still smirking, Pidge pressed another button on his
remote.  The probe beeped once in response, then lifted away
from the palace.  Moments later, when it had gained several
hundred feet of altitude, the probe emitted a ringing chime,
and vanished entirely.
     "Is it supposed to do that?"  Xiomara whispered.
     Pidge nodded.
     "Absolutely.  It has left this universe to wander the
time stream until it encounters the particular set of
circumstances I set it to watch for.  Then it will emerge
with a message for Galaxy Garrison, and our plans."
     Greatly daring, he put an arm across the girl's back
and gave her a little hug.  She didn't shake him off. 
Leaning her head against him, Xiomara stared at the sky and
murmured,
     "I hope things turn out all right for them, Pidge. 
Meddling with time is said to be very dangerous for everyone
involved."
      Feeling equal to anything just then, the young genius
replied,
      "We haven't a thing to worry about, Xio.  Our
schematics are accurate, the probe fool proof, and our
theories sound.  What could possibly go wrong?"    

    
____________________________________________________________



     With eighty-five gold in his hot little hands, Lance
approached the air bike dealer.
     "Let me do the talking,"  he hissed at Sven, who was
looking around at the display models.   
     "Don't touch anything,"  the gunner added, "and
whatever you do, DON'T look impressed!"
     Annoyed, Sven sent him a wordless psionic pulse, the
telepathic equivalent of a sucker punch.  Lance reeled a
little, but managed to keep walking, muttering,
     "Bastard! See if I take you anywhere again!" 
    The bike lot was brightly, almost searingly lit,  and
crowded with hovering motorbikes of every type and
description.  As Lance drifted from one chunky, over-powered
monstrosity to another, a sales rep appeared.  Oozing charm
from every pore, he oiled his way across the floor. At
least, Lance assumed it was a he.  Kind of hard to tell,
actually, given that most of the being's anatomy was hidden
beneath a cloud of pulsing gas.  What WAS visible was trying
very hard to look friendly and sincere, though, it's slowly
shifting facial (?) lights positively beaming.
     "Greetings, Humanoid-Sirs,"  it rasped through a
scuffed vocalizer.  "May I interest you in one of our fine
air bikes tonight?"
     Lance shrugged, glancing around with bored disinterest.
     "I dunno," he grunted, hands in his jacket pockets. 
"I'm used to better than the crap you have here."
     The salesthing jerked upright, part of its gaseous
cover whipping about it with storm-like intensity.  A small
ammonia shower started up, forcing Lance to step back.
     "Indeed not Humanoid-Sir!  Our wares are the best to be
had on Kannabret-Sa!  Beside being..."
     It slid across the pavement to where Sven was running
his hands along the sleek lines of a speed bike.
     "...your companion seems not so displeased."  Gliding
up to the tall pilot, the alien purred,  "You like this
model, yes?"
    Sven thought fast, or tried to.
    "Nej,"  he replied.  "I var just... noticing that the
rear scanner is falling off."
     Outraged, the salesthing contracted into a tightly
swirling mass of freezing ammonia.
     "Impossible!  Our...,"
     Sven concentrated briefly, and the rear scanner fell
away from the bike's chassis and went clattering off across
the lot.   
     About ten minutes later, the two pilots left the lot
with a bike each.  Owned, not rented. Sven's was long, lean,
and red; obviously built for maximum, and probably unsafe,
speed.  Lance's bike was a hulking black-and-silver touring
number with a  soft leather seat and long handle bars.   
     "Can't believe you picked a crotch rocket,"  the gunner
snorted disdainfully.  "All speed and no power!  You want a
real bike, get yourself a Hogg, dude."
      Sven had already mounted.  Looking over the engine and
hover controls, he said,
      "I have one of these back on Terre Haute.  A Katana. 
Not this fancy, though."  
     Glancing up as Lance hopped onto his own ride, Sven
added,
     "By the time you get that monster started up, I'll be a
thousand miles away."
     "And just what the hell's so important that you have to
drive five hundred miles an hour to get to it?"
     Sven smiled a little.
     "Don't know,"  he admitted, gunning the raging engines. 
"But when I figure it out, I can be there in thirty
seconds."
      They peeled out of the bike lot, then, headed for the
thieve's quarter..  There, Lance's vague hunch assured them,
they would find their quarry.
    
____________________________________________________________


                                                    
DELANYRR:

     Lotor stood before his subject rulers, accepting the
homage that was his right and proper due.  Then, when a
suitable interval had passed, he lifted a hand to silence
their obeisance, and began to speak.
     "People of the Empire; Highnesses, Excellencies and
Honorables....,  I stand before you today not as your
prince, but as your Emperor, and I herald the birth of a new
era.  Henceforth, the worlds of this galaxy will have a
greater say in the matters that concern them, yearly tribute
will be slashed by thirty percent, and the hostages from
each subject planet will be returned unharmed, free to
resume their lives once more."
      The new Emperor paused to gauge the effect of his
words upon the people.  A low, excited buzz filled the great
amphitheater.  Such reforms, long wished for, were a
complete shock to folk accustomed to shouldering the
burdensome yoke of Zarkon.  As Haggar had promised him, they
were overwhelmed.  So much for the carrot.  Now for the
stick.
     Silencing the crowd with a single word, Lotor
continued, saying,
     "Thus do I reward the planets that have loyally served
and paid tribute to my departed father, the former Emperor
Zarkon.  But there are others, my people, rebellious worlds
such as Arus and Pollux, and to these I extend, not the open
hand of friendship and generosity, but the clenched fist of
righteous anger.  I declare Arus and Pollux to be outlaw
worlds, and their Sk'rova citizens vermin.  No longer are
they protected by blood price, nor shielded from attack by
the promise of Imperial retribution.  Any unregistered
Sk'roven is now fair game, and their property the spoils of
whosoever can take it from them.  Furthermore...."  He
paused again, looking slowly around at the gathered masses. 
They were very much in the palm of his hand.  Again, just as
the witch had promised.  Golden eyes hard, Lotor continued,
     "......Furthermore, anyone who brings me the head of a
Voltron Force pilot, or that of the royalty of Arus or
Pollux, will receive ennoblement, and a fortune of twenty
billion marks!  I encourage every decent citizen of the
Empire to lash out and destroy these criminal scum, or
suffer the same fate.."
     And with these words, the second Lotor turned and quit
the room,  leaving chaos in his wake.

    
____________________________________________________________



                                                     
KANNABRET: 

     Lance and Sven pulled into the unlit parking zone of a
seedy thieve's quarter bar.  Constructed of flaking
pourstone and roofed in corrugated titanium-steel, the place
was dirty, unkempt, and obviously catered to an extremely
ugly crowd.  The stack of ripening bodies by the side
entrance was quite tall for such an early hour.  
     Parking by the entrance, the two pilots engaged the
bikes' intruder disabling systems and approached the
building.  Sensing a sudden flash of amusement from Sven,
Lance gave him a sidelong glance.
     "What?"  the gunner demanded.
     Very quietly, Sven replied,
     "Just trying to imagine Keith here."
     "Captain Clean?  Two minutes, max."
     "One and a half."
     Lance grinned.
     "Naw, I don't think we could get him through the door!"
     They stopped speculating then, for the bar's twisted
metal doors were directly before them.  As always before
entering a crowded establishment, Sven strengthened his
mental  shields.  That might have been why he failed to
notice the trio of heavily armed Galrans who skulked in
their wake.
      Stepping within, the two friends saw a long,
low-ceilinged room that stank of spilt beer, burnt food, and
unwashed alien bodies.  The lighting was so dim as to be
non-existent, and the clientele.... unique.  Battered at by
a storm of greedy, violent thoughts, Sven withdrew deeper
into himself.   Lance put a hand on his arm suddenly,
partially drawing him from his waking dream.
      "Watch yourself, LC-  we're headed for trouble."
      Sven didn't question his wingman's insight.  
      "How bad?"  he whispered.
      "Damn serious.  We're gonna have to fight our way
out."
      "Jaha."
      Lance played it off as coolly as possible.  Strolling
casually up to the bar, he fished a bit more of Pollux's
rapidly dwindling treasury from his jeans pocket. The gold
mark flashed through the air, then clattered onto the
counter beside the tusked and sweaty bartender.
      "Merla?"  the gunner asked.
      The barkeep squinted at the heavy gold coin, then
scooped it up in one frying-pan sized paw, brought it to his
dribbling mouth, and bit at it.  Satisfied that the mark was
genuine, he grunted,
      "Who wants ta' knows?"
      Lance cocked an eyebrow, and smiled.
      "Just a couple of old friends," he said.
      The barkeep thought about that one for awhile,
scratching at his warty head with a sound like sandpaper on
brick.
      "She don't gots old friends," the proprietor decided
after a lengthy internal debate.
      Lance shrugged.
      "Alright, so we're new."
      "Oh.  Tha's diffurnt then."  He jerked a
kielbasa-sized thumb at a splintered door.  "Down the
stairs, if she ain't lef' yets."
      As grandly as if he had a fortune at his disposal,
Lance tossed the creature another coin.
      "Thank you, my good man."  Elbowing Sven, he added
sotto voice, "I've ALWAYS wanted to say that!"
      The two of them walked through the indicated door and
down a rickety, incredibly steep flight of stairs.  It ended
in another door, this one locked.  Silently, Lance drew his
sidearm and stepped to one side of the portal.  Sven slipped
to the other side.  At a quiet three count, Sven fried the
lock with a burst of psionic energy, and kicked open the
door.
      Merla had been working on a crew list.  Still short
twenty-five warm bodies, she couldn't leave the planet. 
Hunching over her computer screen, the pirate had resorted
to various increasingly desperate double-duty schedules, but
couldn't come up with anything that would enable the Scylla
to actually fly.  Then the door burst open, and two
lightly-armed males barreled over the threshold at her. 
Kalista leapt between the males and her mistress, swung a
powerful laser rifle around, and commenced firing. Tried to,
anyway.  Before she could get off more than a shot or two,
Sven reached out with his mind and yanked the rifle out of
her hands.  Seconds later, he had the writhing, biting,
Drule firmly pinned.
     Lance had a little more trouble with Merla.  Not
possessing any TK to speak of, he had to subdue her with
sheer speed and muscle power, but Merla was every bit his
match, physically.  They sparred for a few moments, Lance
nearly getting his right eye gouged out while attempting a
headlock, and Merla almost having her arm dislocated when
she tried to throw the wily male over her shoulder.  A
flurry of vicious punches later, Lance looked over at Sven
and snapped,
     "Anytime you want to jump in, Dude....!"
     His friend smiled.
     "You seem to be doing alright.  Watch out for that.....
knee!"  
     The warning wasn't quite quick enough.  Merla's
iron-hard knee smashed up between Lance's legs like a
battering ram, knocking the fight right out of him.  Lance
doubled over with an explosive grunt, clutching at his
injured groin and whimpering like a child.  Feeling that he
ought to do something, since Lance was now helpless, Sven
wrapped his mind around Merla and shoved her into the corner
beside Kalista.   Meanwhile, Lance collapsed to the ground,
uttering various terrible curses in a high-pitched, gasping
voice.  
       "The Voltron Force!"  Merla hissed, recognizing her
assailants.  "Idiots!  You've doomed us all!"
      "You.... remembered....!"  Lance managed to squeak. 
"I'm.... touched!"
       Struggling ferociously, Merla snarled,
      "Let me free of this slave-warrior's mind grip, and I
will do more than just touch you, Sk'rova!"
     A little unsteadily, Lance got to his feet.
     "That's.... the general idea, Babe,"  he responded in a
voice that now cracked like a twelve-year-old's.  "Now....
about that mone.....  Waitasecond, what d'you mean
'doomed'?"
     "I mean that you've...."
     "....Led us right to her!"  A new voice cut in,
reptilian and cold.  Vraghur entered the room, followed by a
pair of nasty, heavily armed henchmen. 
     "Congratulations, Sk'roven, you make excellent blood
hounds!  And as for you, Pirate, what have you done with the
Prince?!"
     Suddenly faced with the greater of two evils, Sven
dropped his grip on Merla and Kalista, and used a mighty
pulse of TK to shove Vraghur and his men back out the door
and halfway up the stairs.
     The pirate captain drew her own weapons, and sprinted
for the room's only other door with Kalista close behind. 
Almost as an afterthought, the lovely Felarra called back
over her shoulder,     
     "This way, if you wish to live!"

    
____________________________________________________________


                                                           
ARUS:

       Walking through the gutted marketplace with A'lara,
Keith tried hard to keep a cheery face on things.  He didn't
succeed.  Between the bomb craters and fire damage, the
toppled buildings and wretched squatters, there wasn't much
out there to raise one's spirits.  The battle with
Nega-Voltron had devastated the homes and lives of the
common people yet again.  Worse than the damage, though, was
the pervading hopelessness he sensed.  The stunned village
folk were barely making an effort to rebuild.
    And who could blame them, when another beastman, or bat
fighter squadron was sure to come along in a week or two and
tear it all up again?
     There were a few exceptions.  Old Marta, the candy
seller, had knocked together another booth from lumber
scraps and cloth, and displayed her honeyed fruits and sweet
syrups with smiling patience.  Her daughter Rae handled most
of the cooking, and kept a rifle handy to take pot-shots at
Galran intruders with.  
     Keith and A'lara paused at the rickety booth.
     "Good morning, Grandmother,"  Keith called out to
Marta, bowing a little to show respect for her age.
      The arthritic old woman glanced up from her sewing,
spotted her visitors and got laboriously to her feet.  Age
prevented her from returning Keith's bow, but her greeting
was warm and deeply sincere.
     "Divine Lady,  Kogane Sama!  You honor this inferior
shop."   Beaming,  Marta waved them toward a mat of
brightly-dyed grasses and added,  "Please sit, and accept a
wretched and foul-tasting example of my wares."
     Smiling, her visitors did as they were bidden.
     "Rae!"  the old woman snapped, for her daughter had
turned away from Keith and 'Lara the instant they'd come
into view,  "Some candied Twi-berry for the Divine Lady and
her warrior!  Make haste, girl!"
     Rae spooned up an earthenware dish of sweet fruit and
set it before Keith and 'Lara with a thump, never making eye
contact or speaking.  Like her mother, the girl was dark of
hair and eye, with a heart-shaped face and slender,
frail-looking body.  Unlike her mother, though, Rae was
stiff with suppressed rage. Had she been running the little
shop rather than Marta, Keith realized,  he and A'lara would
not have been welcome. 
     "Thank you, Rae,"  he said, nevertheless.
     The girl responded with a tight, jerky little nod, then
stomped back to her cooking pots and rifle.  Marta was
horrified.  Making another effort to bow, the old lady
murmured,
     "Your pardon, Honored Ones!   My daughter is....., is
contemplating the five virtues, and her mind is distracted!"
      Keith changed the subject, pulling out a few coins in
a well-meaning effort to show that he wasn't offended. 
Reaching out to place the money in Marta's cash bowl, he
said,
      "Thank you for the food and hospitality, Grandmother."
      But Marta covered the bowl with her translucent,
liver-spotted hands.
      "No, please, Kogane Sama.  It is a gift."
       Keith hesitated, uncertain what to do next.  The
cracked clay money bowl was nearly empty, and it was obvious
that Marta and her sullen daughter desperately needed every
coin they could scrounge.  A'lara solved the quandary for
him.  Smiling prettily, the princess said in a quiet, yet
commanding voice,
      "Then please accept it in return for all the sweets
you have given away to the children of this village,  Marta. 
By helping them, you have helped me, and I am thankful."
     The old woman gave in, allowing Keith to place three
gold marks in her bowl.  Enough to keep her going for
another month......, if no further disasters occurred.
      'Lara and Keith finished their candy and then left
with many smiles and extravagant compliments, for such was
the way business was done on Arus.  They sampled the wares
at a few other booths, and received scant courtesy at any of
them.  Wandering between muddy pits and shattered buildings
a few minutes later, they fell to talking.
      "I'm not much loved here today, am I?"  the princess
asked.
      Keith sighed.
       "It isn't you, Lara.  It's everything.  These people
are just about at the end of their rope."
      The girl nodded, frowning slightly.
      "Perhaps I should suggest that they return to the
caves?"  she mused.
      Keith grunted sourly.
     "Maybe.  But I don't think hiding underground is going
to improve their morale much.  Only winning the war and
ending all of these damned attacks can do that." 
     He was about to say something further, when a sudden
gleam caught his eye.  Light on metal.  Without stopping to
think, Keith shoved A'lara to the muddy ground and threw
himself on top of her.  A laser bolt flashed past an instant
later, just through the spot where the princess's heart
would have been, had she still been standing. Rolling, Keith
pulled his sidearm, brought it up and fired in the direction
the laser shot had come from.  Then, still firing, he surged
to his feet, seized A'lara by the back of her ornate gown,
and dragged her toward the shelter of a crumbling stone
wall.  Placing himself in front of the pale, shaken girl, 
Keith fumbled for his comm unit.  It's sudden, jarring buzz
nearly made him drop the thing.  Somehow he managed to hold
on, thumbing the talk switch as he scanned the marketplace
with narrowed brown eyes.
     "Akira,"  he snapped into the comm's little mike plate.
     "Boss, you'd best get up here quick as you can." 
Hunk's voice informed him.
      "My thoughts exactly.  What's going on?"
      "We just got a call from Pollux.  There's all kinds 'a
unrest and shootings bein' reported.  Someone's even tried
to kill King Bandor."
      "Yeah.  Same here.  The princess and I are out in the
marketplace, Hunk."   Another laser bolt hummed over the top
of the wall, setting fire to a nearby wooden building.
     "We're pinned down by small arms fire at the old
aqueduct.  I'm going to try to work my
   way back to the castle.  Send out some cover."
     "Sure 'nuff, Boss!  I'll....****"
     Hunk's transmission was cut off in mid sentence,
leaving Keith and A'lara alone with their unseen attacker. 
The girl dug her fingers into the fabric of his uniform and
forced herself not to cry.
     "Keith...,"  she whispered, "what do we do now?"
     "We head for the palace, Princess.  Keep low, and stay
behind cover as much as possible.  If anything happens to
me, pick up the gun, and keep going.  Got it?"
      Wide-eyed, A'lara nodded.  
       "Yes."
      "Alright, let's get started."  Taking her hand, he
added, "It's going to be okay.  I promise." 
      A few moments later they broke from the cover of the
wall, and raced across the market place at a broken,
crouching run.

    
____________________________________________________________

       
     
         Behind the second door lay a low-ceilinged tunnel
of rock and earth..  Sprinting up the dark corridor behind
Merla, stolen rifle primed and ready to fire, Sven snarled,
      "Why are we running?!  I could have handled that
Djaveln!"
       Merla tossed him a swift, disgusted backward look.
       "Really.  Can you 'handle' a pulse bomb and force
bubble too, Sk'ruvugkt,  or are there limits to your amazing
skills?!"
     Sven bristled.
     "There var no pulse b....!"
     A sudden ground-shaking eruption and heat flash threw
the lot of them to the ground. Moments later, brushing dust
and small pebbles off of himself, Lance got to his feet and
quipped sardonically,
     "You were saying.....?"  
     "....That your mother was the best I've ever had."
     The gunner took a step forward, scowling.
     "You leave my mother out of this, dammit!"
     "Ja.  She var out, alright. ALL night lo...."
     At that point, Lance took a swing at Sven, who caught
the blow rather easily, and retaliated with a savage gut
punch.  Merla stepped in before the fight could become
serious.  Growling,
     "This is what testosterone does to the brain.....!"
     She hauled them apart.
     "I'd like to leave now, if you two stallions are QUITE
finished with your charming little dominance display!" 
     They glanced at each other, then back at Merla.
     "Okay, let's get one thing perfectly clear, Babe," 
Lance began heatedly,  "This was NOT for your benefit!"
     Sven backed him up.
     "Absolutely.  I var kicking his ass for the fun of it."
     Merla gave up trying to control the fractious males,
and started racing up the corridor again with Kalista close
at her heels.  Lance and Sven followed, still arguing.
     "Like you could!"
     "Anytime I felt like it."
     "Okay, fine!  Tell you what, Smart-ass, when this is
over, put your money where your mouth is, and throw down! 
I'll drop you in two minutes flat!  And none of that TK
shit, either!"
     "I won't need psionics to finish you, min van.  Just
thirty seconds, and one punch."
     The end of the line brought their semi-serious quarrel
to a screeching halt.  Racing through another door, they
found themselves in a roughly chiseled room walled in stone
and roofed in warped, knotty planks.
      Merla was at a small control panel, scanning the
surrounding area for the Galrans.  Spying their small,
fast-moving blips on her view screen, she muttered something
in the harsh Felarr tongue, and pressed a certain button.  
A dull roar followed as the entire tunnel leading to her
lair collapsed.
     "There, that should make them think!"
     Pursuit stymied for the moment, the pirate captain
turned to examine her "guests".  One was very tall
(six-five, she hazarded), and impressively muscled. 
Long-haired and handsome, he looked to be worth quite a bit. 
The other was shorter and slighter of build, though with a 
certain confident, steely-eyed magnetism.  His exotic looks
alone would guarantee a hefty sale price.  Merla began to
smile.
    "Now...," she purred, "...refresh my memory.  Which two
are you?"
    "I'm Lance Calvin, pilot of the red lion"  the gunner
replied, smiling his suavest.  Jerking a thumb at Sven, he
added,  "And this is our other pilot, Lance's friend."
    "Lieutenant Commander Ericksen,"  Sven corrected. 
"Lejon Blue."
    Sven didn't offer to shake her hand, or anything.   As
far as he was concerned, no matter how human-like,
intelligent, or beautiful, a cat was still a cat; a creature
created for no other evident purpose than to irritate him..  
    "I see."  Merla pouted momentarily.  "How unfortunate
that your commander didn't come with you.  I rather liked
that one."
     Lance began immediate damage control.  Sighing deeply,
he said,
     "Keith has got..... issues."  
     Needing back up, Lance shot his wingman a veiled look. 
Sven took the hint.    
     "Ja,"  he agreed.  "VERY serious issues."
     Slipping into the role of regretful friend with barely
suppressed glee,  Lance shook his head and continued,
      "It's sad, really.  Ever since he broke up with Hunk,
Keith..... just hasn't been the same.  Won't eat, won't fly. 
I don't know what's going to become of him, really.  I mean,
just the other day, when he was crying his heart out over
Hunk's picture, I said to him:  'Keith, man, you've got to
let go!  Someday the man of your dreams will walk into your
life, but until then, you've got to move on!'  If only.....
if only he'd listen!"
     'Overdoing it a bit, aren't you?'  Sven sent.
     'Shut up and learn,'  Lance thought back.  'She's
falling for it.  Chicks love a sensitive guy.'      
     Merla made a disappointed little face.
     "Why are all the good ones gay?"  she complained. 
Then, looking at Sven, who immediately stepped backward, 
     "....or allergic?!  Well....,"  The lovely Fellara
sighed, eyeing Lance with open interest.  "There's always
you."
     The gunner grinned at her.
    "There sure is, Baby.....!"        

    
____________________________________________________________


     There was no doubt about it.  They were being stalked
by a sharpshooter who seemed hell-bent on slaying the
princess.  Nor would help be forthcoming from any outside
quarter.  The market denizens seemed to have disappeared,
leaving their princess to her fate. 
     Heart pounding, every sense on ferocious alert, Keith
darted  fifteen tense, muddy feet from a stack of wine
barrels to a rusted-out air car.  At the last instant he
dove, hitting the soggy ground just as a white-hot laser
bolt sizzled past, close enough to raise a bubbling welt on
his back.
     "Shit...!"  he panted.  "Getting too damn close,
whoever he is...!"
     There was only one thing to do.  Picking himself up
from the mud, Keith signaled for Lara's attention, then
tapped his forehead.  Immediately her frightened thoughts
touched his.
     'What is it?  Shall I run across now?'
      The commander shook his head.  Concentrating fiercely,
he focused his will enough to send a faint reply.
     'Not yet.  On my signal.  I'm going to try to draw our
friend out and wet him.  You stay low for another five
minutes until I get a better angle on the bastard, then run. 
As soon as he takes aim on you, I'll waste him.  Got it?'   
That was the plan, anyway.  The implementation was going to
be rather trickier.  Keith hoped that he sounded more
confident than he felt.
      Across the way, A'lara nodded jerkily, biting at her
lip.  She was very accustomed to risking her life by this
time.  Giving her a quick thumbs up, Keith set off.  He
couldn't help wishing that Sven or Lance were with him. 
Lance for his peerless marksmanship, Sven for his skill at
misdirecting unwanted attention.  He could have used both
those talents right then.
     Slipping cautiously from car to threshold to hallway,
Keith maneuvered himself into position for a shot at the
sniper.  The princess helped considerably by staying
interesting.  Every so often she'd raise her head a bit and
look around, for all the world as if she'd been abandoned. 
The tactic drew her assailant's fire, and kept him from
moving.  The weather helped, too; the fine drizzle that had
started up making Akira more difficult to spot.
      Three minutes went by, then four, and Keith managed to
reach the upper story of a roofless house across from the
gunman.  Most of the second floor had burnt away in a fire,
leaving only a charred ledge projecting from the thick stone
walls.  Holstering his sidearm momentarily, Keith jumped,
seized the ledge with both hands, and hauled himself up.  
The rain-soaked, blackened wood crumbled with every move,
and gave off an eye-searing stench.  Ignoring it, Keith
gained his feet, then began inching his way along the wall
toward a hollow, glassless window.
     How much time did he have, the commander wondered?  Was
A'lara already starting her run, thinking herself covered? 
Unconsciously, he hurried his pace, and nearly fell from the
ledge when his boot slipped on the warped wood..
     'Stop,'   he berated himself, closing his eyes.  'Calm
down!  You aren't going to help her by getting yourself
killed!'
     A moment later he opened his eyes again and resumed
creeping toward the window.  Every breath was an eternity,
every heartbeat loud as thunder.  At last he reached the
window.  Then, very slowly and carefully, he peered around
the blackened sill for a look across the way.  And there,
the top of its crested skull barely through the shuttered
window it was aiming through, was their opponent.  Willing
himself to stay cool, Keith drew his sidearm, and brought it
up into firing position.
      Seconds later, A'lara burst from behind the barrel
stack, and began to run.  The shutters parted, and the long,
deadly barrel of a high-powered laser rifle projected
between them.  Keith took aim, but he couldn't see enough of
the gunman to shoot at.  Meanwhile, the alien was drawing a
bead on Lara.
      "Dammit....!"  Keith whispered.  
     The rifle tracked smoothly down and across.  Desperate,
Akira leaned out of his own window and shouted,
     "Hey!  Over here!"
     Startled, the sniper pushed the shutters a little
further apart.  For just an instant, their eyes locked. 
Then, Keith and the alien fired at once.   Two laser bolts
shot across the muddy street.  One struck true, burning a
smoking hole clean through the sharpshooter's skull.  The
other pierced Keith's right shoulder, the heat of it cooking
what it didn't immediately vaporize.
     The gun clattered from Akira's suddenly useless hand,
fell twelve feet to the ground below.  In terrible, wracking
pain, Keith clutched at his roasted shoulder.
     "Shit!  Oh, F*CK!!!!!"
     Meanwhile, the dead gunman toppled from his perch, and
was riddled with half a hundred laser holes before he hit
the ground.  Hunk had arrived, with Pidge, Nanna, and half
the palace staff.  Crying with relief, A'lara ran straight
into the big man's arms.

    
____________________________________________________________


     
     Lance and Merla headed off for the upstairs loft,
leaving Sven alone with a Drule warrior.  Only the fact that
this particular Drule was female prevented the combot pilot
from finding some pretext to fight her.  
     During early childhood conditioning in Falkenborg, the
monitor had flashed images of Drule warriors into the
sleeping minds of Sven and his brothers, followed by  brief,
painful, psionic stabs.  This was done to insure the sort of
focused hate and aggression that the GA needed. 
Unfortunately, the pictured warriors had all been male. No
one had ever foreseen that he might someday face the female
variety.  For several long minutes, as strange sounds began
to filter down from upstairs, Sven and Kalista faced each
other across the room; grim, silent and suspicious.   
     After a time, Sven began receiving impressions of pain
from Kalista.  She'd twisted her leg when the bomb sent them
all sprawling, and it tore at her now with dull, throbbing
insistence.  She desperately needed to sit, but there was
only one chair in the room, and Sven had his foot firmly
planted on the seat.  He lasted about three minutes.  Then
her discomfort and proud refusal to ask for help overwhelmed
him, and he slid the chair across to her through a
combination of mind and muscle.
    Faced with the sudden chair, Kalista resisted for a
further thirty seconds, then lowered herself into it as
cautiously as though she expected the cushion to explode. 
When nothing happened, she silently indicated the table to
him, meaning that he, too, was to stand down.  Warily, he
did so, leaning against the table edge and allowing the
barrel of his rifle to drift away from Kalista's chest.  
     A long, uncomfortable silence followed, for neither
knew quite how to handle a non-combat situation.  Even the
bitterest enemies couldn't remain tensed in the face of
mutual kindness.  Worse, Kalista's dark hair and ruby eyes
reminded Sven of another Drule female, a farm-slave on a
world hundreds of parsecs, and a thousand years away. 
Slowly, he began to relax.
     "Shaaris-yn ratha ki temmna....,"  he murmured, hardly
aware that he was speaking aloud.
     Startled, Kalista did a double take, then blurted out,
     "That is the WORST accent I've ever heard!  Then again,
I suppose you'd be more familiar with phrases like: 'Please
don't shoot me!' and 'I surrender!' "
      Sven almost jerked back the chair.  Instead he came
back with,
      "Nej.  I get a lot more practice saying, 'Turn around
and fight, you damn coward!' "
      A razor-blade smile flickered across her face briefly. 
Then a particularly loud series of thumps from above caused
Merla's XO to half rise from her seat.
      "What the hrod are they doing up there....?!"  she
growled tensely.
      Sven concentrated a moment, extending his mind long
enough to brush their missing companions.  
       "You don't want to know," he told her.  "Trust me."
       "Is Merla alright?"
       Sven shrugged.
       "Lance seems to think so."       
       Kalista made a face.
       "One of these days, my captain's appetite for men is
going to be the end of her."  Then, changing the subject
suddenly, the Drule asked,  "Ever play Hrakaans?"
       "Nej.  What is it?"
       She smiled like a shark greeting bathers.
       "Oh, just a pleasant afternoon pass time.  Fetch that
crate up to the other side of the table, and I'll show you."
      Never able to resist a challenge, Sven complied.  A
few minutes later, with chair and crate on opposite sides of
the table and knives drawn, they began.
      "Alright, Human, it's like this:  you hurl your knife
as hard as you can at the ceiling beam, point first.  It has
to stick.  Then, you use just enough TK to work it loose,
and catch it by the blade as it comes down again." 
Impishly, the Drule pirate leaned forward and added,  "It's
very funny until someone loses an eye.....,  then it's
rakkin' hilarious."   
       Kalista threw first, hitting the dense wooden beam
over their heads. The blade hung there quivering, sunk
perhaps two inches deep.  Then, concentrating ferociously,
she used her mind to yank the thing free, and caught it with
the fingers of one hand as it plunged back toward them. 
Proudly displaying her hand to prove that she hadn't been
injured, Kalista sneered,
     "Your turn, Flak-bait."
     Sven's knife was a big one; the type that was strong
and sharp enough to saw through tangled permalon parachute
straps, or the hide of a bull rankor.  Smiling slightly at
his skeptical companion, he flipped the weapon dexterously
from one hand to the other, then snapped it upward so hard
that it buried itself to the hilt. 
     Sven peered up at it, pretending to consider.
     "Would you say that went in a little deeper than
yours?"  he inquired politely.
     "Very funny.  Let's see you get it out."
      He did so, with the barest, lazy flicker of his mind. 
Catching it proved harder, though.  As fast as the knife was
moving by the time it fell eleven feet, it took tremendous
concentration to seize it without losing any fingers. 
Rather to his surprise, he succeeded.
      "Of course it's easy when you're sober!" Kalista
scoffed, "But this is actually an old Drulan drinking game."
     "Jaha.  So where are the old Drulan drinks?"
     
    
____________________________________________________________



     
ARUS:  THE PALACE INFIRMARY                                  

     Hunk sat back, pulled his mediscanner away from Keith's
split and oozing shoulder.
     "I ain't gonna lie t' you, Boss-  it's bad.  Way I see
it, there's only thing to do;  give you a whoppin' sedative,
cut all that flash-fried bone and tissue away, and strap on
the regenerator."
     Teeth tightly clenched, Keith shook his head and tried
to rise from his cot. Pidge and A'lara stepped back to give
him some room, their faces pale and concerned.
     "No, dammit!"  he snarled.  "I don't have time to lie
around!  None of us do.  Shooting..., riots!  Gotta get up,
gotta get ready for the next attack...  (uh!  Jesus!).... 
You'll just have to heal me on my feet, Hunk."
      LaChance looked to the princess for support.  She
backed him up, saying,
     "Keith, if you don't follow Hunk's orders, you will
only be sicker, longer!  Listen to him, please!"
      "She's right, Boss.  Trust me, you ain't flying
nuthin', with no medium-rare shoulder."
      At another time, Akira might have been polite, or open
to reason.  Now though, he was in too much pain to do
anything but yell.
     "Just SHUT UP and do as you're told, both of you!  I'm
sick and damn tired of having my decisions second guessed by
every idiot who thinks they can fly a damn lion!"
     Catching Hunk's wish, Pidge put a hand out and shoved
Keith back down again. 
     "Sorry, Commander,"  he said stoutly, pinning Akira to
the bed with ease. "Doctor's orders!"
     Seconds later, Hunk had pumped Keith full of
fast-acting, heavy-duty sedatives, and was pulling out the
laser scalpel.  
     "Y'all might wanna step outside,"  he told Pidge and
the princess in a conversational tone.  "This is gonna get
pretty ugly."
     Chibi offered Lara his arm.
     "May I escort you, Princess?"
     "But.... but what if Keith needs me?"
     Hunk looked over at her, managing a smile, though his
mind was mostly on the upcoming procedure.
     "He's gonna be okay, Princess.  I promise.  Madder'n a
fixed dog, but okay.  Now, whyn't you go get some rest? 
With Keith out,  an' Lance n' Commander Ericksen missing,
we're all Arus's got right now."   
     She smiled, tucking back a strand of golden hair with a
hand that trembled.
     "Of course, Hunk.  I'm just too tired and worried to
think properly, is all."
     Then, placing her hand in the crook of Chibi's elbow,
she left the sickroom.

    
____________________________________________________________



     The game ended in a draw when Kalista's truncated
pinkie was judged equal to Sven's slashed palm. They'd each
downed two glasses of Drulan ale by this time, and were
beginning to see double.  
     "I'm surprised you can handle the stuff...,"  Kalista
admitted, watching Sven drain the last of his drink.  "Most
humans would require hospitalization."
     Remembering the incident on Terre Haute, Sven winced a
little.
     "I've had experience with your national beverage
before, Flicka.  Now.....,"  he set the glass down with a
thump.  "....For an old Terran drinking game.  Have you ever
played quarters?"
     When she shook her head no, Sven explained the basics.
     "Child's play!"  the pirate scoffed.  "What're the
stakes?"
     "Information,"  Sven decided, guarding what little
money he had left with fierce resolve.  "If you miss the
cup, you must either drink what's in her.....,  or answer a
question.  Deal?"
     "Deal.  You first, this time."
     Pulling a gold mark from his pocket, Sven expertly
bounced it off of the table and into the brimming shot
glass.  The liquor splashed a bit, hissing and bubbling like
nitric acid, but his aim was true.  He hadn't seen fit to
tell the muddled Drule that he'd been the all-fleet quarters
champion five months running.  Smiling, he pushed the coin
across the table with a bit of TK.
     "Your turn."
     She missed, and had to answer her first question. 
     "Who won the war?"
     Kalista gave him a blank look.
     "Which war?"  she asked.  It had been over a thousand
years, after all.
     "The war between the Galaxy Alliance, and the Drules. 
Who won?"
     "What'd you do, fall asleep in the middle of the
history tape?  We did, of course.  The Allies didn't have
the stomach to keep fighting when times got hard, and they
tried to sue for peace.  There was a brief rally, when they
built some kind of mechanical battle-god, but it was
squashed soon enough, and then the planet was fire-bombed
and the people scattered throughout the galaxy as slaves. 
Not that it matters, really..... a hundred years later we
were conquered in turn by the Galrans.  Oh, well.  Empires
come and go, and the finger on the button changes, but a
strong warrior will always find work."  
     As it was now his turn again, Sven retrieved the gold
mark and made ready to cast.   Just as he released the coin,
Kalista rubbed her leg against his beneath the table,
spoiling his aim. The golden mark fell well short of the
glass.
    "Tusen Javlar! You cheated!"
    "Mmmm,  No, actually.  You said no hands, and no TK,
Human.  You said nothing about legs.  Now if you want to
make a late rule change, so be it.  But you still have to
drink, or answer a question."
     Sven mumbled something that would have made a Galran
drill sergeant seek Jesus.  Much as he hated opening up, he
couldn't afford to have his wits muddled by alcohol just
then.  He was going to have to answer a question.
     "Shoot,"  he grunted.
     "Where did you learn to speak Drule?"  Kalista fired. 
"Curses and commands I could understand, you could hardly
help picking up a little over the years, but POETRY?  We
share our poems with no one!"
     He knew why, too.  Drulan poetry was the second worst
in the galaxy.
     "Would you believe E-courses?"
     "No."
     "Didn't think so.  All right, then....., I var involved
in a dog fight awhile back, deep in Drule territory.  I won,
but took a lot of damage, and I had to ditch on a Drule
colony world.  It var very sparsely populated, just a few
farming communities and a lot of wilderness.  I crash landed
in a forest, totaling the fighter.  Salvaged the computer
cartridge, and my survival kit, got out and started walking. 
Limping, really.  My left leg var broken in two places. 
Hurt like helvetes.  Dawn caught me in a field, so I took
shelter in a pile of vegetation...., like a haystack.  Then
I fell asleep, and woke up when something ate most of the
hay and started on my sleeve.  A Ktarr, part of a herd.  The
girl who'd been set to watch them discovered me, and I
pulled a gun on her.  Then..... not sure.  I guess I didn't
feel like killing an innocent girl over one high security
cartridge, and my own battered ass.  She ended up taking
care of me instead of turning me in.  Don't know why that,
either.  We got close, and I learned the language.  Her
owners discovered the wreckage of my fighter, and started
hunting for me, and there var some unpleasantness before we
var able to reach high ground and call in Marine Recon.  She
ended up a hero, because we made it look like she was
holding me at gunpoint.  Then I left.  And that's it."
     Kalista seemed satisfied.  She made as if to pick up
the coin again, when a shrill, wavering beep pierced the
air.
     "Hrod!"  The Drule snarled, getting to her feet. 
"Company!"
     Sven joined her at the monitor screen an instant later.
     "They're back already?"  he said incredulously,
studying the monitor's data.  Vraghur and his men were
approaching from another direction, having found a side
corridor that would bring them to Merla's hideout.
     "Persistence is a Galran trait; like body odor.  Arm
yourself."
      Sven started to reach for his captured laser rifle,
but Kalista waved it away with a snort.
      "Leave that popgun for your friend.  The real weapons
are over here."
      Opening a hidden wall panel, the Drule pulled out a
couple of massive, chromed disruptor guns capable of
leveling buildings.  One she gave to Sven, the other she
kept.
     "For helvete....!"  Sven breathed, falling instantly in
love.  "Now THAT'S a weapon."
      She grinned at him.
      "Thought you'd like it."
      Just about then, Lance and Merla bolted down the
stairs, hurriedly tugging on their clothing  as they came.
      Merla raced to her first officer's side, muttering
curses as she keyed up a closer image of their pursuers.
     "Damn Galrans are like a fungus!"  she hissed.  "You
just cannot be rid of them!"
     Lance, at peace with the universe now, joined his
friend.  Spying the disruptor, he whistled.
     "That's a mighty big gun you've got there, Sailor!"
      "That's what she said." Sven replied, tossing Lance
the 'popgun'.  "Here, make yourself useful and shoot
something."
      It seemed that a fire fight was not in the cards,
though.  Vraghur had summoned reinforcements, and Galran
soldiers were pouring into the catacombs from every side.
      "Ptahth!"  Merla spat.  "Only one thing left to do!"
      Looking over at Lance and Sven she demanded,
      "Do you swim?!"
       "Ja."
       "If I have to."
      "Good."
      Turning back to the monitor, the pirate captain keyed
in a certain security code, then stiff-armed a flat red
button.  A low, throbbing moan started up, like a moose in
deep distress.  Distant sea gates ground open moments later,
admitting the raging tide.  Overhead, the second floor slid
smoothly aside, revealing the 'room' to be an ancient
volcanic chimney with a  tiny opening to the surface about
three hundred feet above them.
      "Hold on to your pelts,"  Merla ordered, "It's going
to come in fast!" 
     "What?  What's going to come in fast?!"  Lance
questioned, a little anxiously.  He was deathly afraid of
floods.
      "Water,"  Sven informed him.  Less than a splintered
second later, all three doors were blasted off of their
hinges by roaring torrents of cold, briny seawater.
      "STAY TOGETHER!"  Merla screamed, or something like
that,  No one could hear her over the thundering deluge.
       Black water rushed through the doors like a dragon,
submerging the chamber in moments, and lunging for the
distant surface.  Spuming and roiling, clawed and fanged by
debris, the freezing, bitter stuff stung their eyes shut and
filled their mouths and noses.  They were smashed into walls
and each other, pelted by splintered flotsam. Stroking hard,
Sven, Kalista, Lance and Merla somehow managed to stay
afloat and together as they were rocketed up the narrow
chimney.   Then the water geysered forth with a tremendous
bellow,  blasting them high into the air......,  and they
began to fall.  
     Sven went floppy, automatically assuming a side-tucked
"oh shit, the parachute's busted" emergency landing
position.  He hit hard, but managed to hang onto his
beautiful gun.  The others fell from the heavens like ripe
fruit, nor were they the only ones.  The geyser spewed soggy
Galrans for quite some time, most of them dead or
unconscious.  
     Lance came down on his back, and got a lungfull of
seawater knocked out of him by the rocky ground.  When the
world stopped revolving, he felt himself over with both
hands.  Everything seemed to be attached still, and he could
wriggle his toes.  He hurt all over, though, and sported at
least one spurting cut.  Breathing a sigh of heartfelt
relief, Lance crossed himself, then sat up, ignoring a
sudden sharp twinge from his back.  Sven was on his feet
already, he noticed, and helping Kalista to rise.  That
wasn't what claimed the gunner's attention, though.  Merla,
who'd landed on her feet, was the very picture of
wringing-wet feline distress.  Her pelt was drenched, and
her sopping magenta hair clung to her shapely body like a
soaked blanket.  She squelched and shivered with every shaky
step, for all the world like a kitten someone had just
rescued from a storm drain.  Lance doubled over
laughing........, until she parted his hair with a
well-aimed laser bolt.
      "Shut up, Monkey-man, before I slap a collar on you
and sell you to the Scruvnies!"
      "Sorry, Babe,"  he apologized, still grinning.   "It's
just that you're sooo cute when you're wet." 
      Merla adjusted her aim.
      "The Scruvnies require mine slaves, not breeders.  I'm
sure they won't mind if I trim a few unnecessary
appendages!"  
      "Hey, whoa!  Little Lance is ABSOLUTELY necessary,
Sweetheart! To me, and half the females in the galaxy."  
       Sven rescued him, but couldn't resist getting in
another dig.  Forcing the muzzle of Merla's pistol down with
a surge of TK, he said,
      "Really?  I've heard that not even your right hand is
satisfied."
      Furious and red-faced, Lance could think of nothing to
say, for once.
      Sven's smile broadened a little.
     'Well, there's always the brilliant 'I am rubber, you
are glue'  defense,'  he sent cheerfully.
     "Yeah?!  Glue this, @** hole!"  Lance and Sven leapt
for one another with shouts of ecstatic wrath.
     Merla had to break up another fight.  Hauling the two
combatants apart, she drew Lance aside, gave him something
between a kiss and a playful nip, and purred,
     "I have no complaints."
     Lance grinned and pulled her closer.
     "Nobody ever does, Baby."
     A certain amount of nauseating couple-talk followed,
which Kalista interrupted after a few moments, saying,
     "Mistress, I don't mean to rush you, but the Galrans
are beginning to revive.  I can kill them, if you'd like, or
we can save our ammunition and just leave."
     She was right.  Vraghur and several of the others were
beginning to twitch and cough.  Sven gave the lot of them
another fifteen minutes of unconsciousness with a swift
psionic stab, and then he, Lance, and the females headed
back to the bar for their airbikes.

    
____________________________________________________________


GALRA, HAGGAR'S WORKROOM:

     The witch smiled as she gazed at her mirror.  It's
cloudy surface swirled and sparked, jumping from one scene
to another, showing her the whereabouts and condition of her
enemies. It settled at last on an orbital image of Pollux,
serene and lovely against the blackness of space.
     "Excellent,"  Haggar whispered to herself, "Two of the
cursed Voltron Force are away, and a third is desperately
injured.  Matters couldn't be better arranged if.....,"
      Koba leapt from a shelf to her shoulder, startling the
witch from her thoughts.
     "Eh...?  Hello, Kitty.  Care to watch me destroy a
world?"
     The doom cat uttered a deep, rumbling purr and rubbed
the side of his head against her wizened face.  She laughed
a little, then bent down and scooped a handful of pebbles
from the cracked stone floor.  Shaking them about in her
cupped hands, Haggar muttered a long, difficult
tongue-twister of a spell, then selected one and hurled it
at the mirror.
     Instead of shattering the glass, the pebble sank
through, emerging on the other side as an enormous meteor
aimed directly at Pollux.  Moments later another appeared,
and another still.  Soon a fiery swarm of the things were
hurtling toward Arus's sister at millions of miles an hour,
lighting up the sky like a dozen new suns.   

    
____________________________________________________________


                                                     
KANNABRET: 
    

     They said their good-byes at the docking bay where
Scylla was berthed.  Like the rest of Kannabret, it wasn't
terribly impressive- little more than a hole in the ground
equipped with a few obsolete anti-gravity pylons that barely
held the sleek, dart-shaped corsair clear of the cracked and
grassy tarmac.  On the other hand, it hadn't cost much.
     Sven gave Kalista a hand down from his speedbike, as
Lance did the same for Merla.
    "I need more crewmen," the pirate captain stated
bluntly, golden eyes fastened squarely on Lance.  "Why not
ditch the do-good business, and earn some real money?"
     Lance wound a strand of her long, magenta hair around
his forefinger, reeling Merla in for a deep, leisurely kiss. 
Breaking away at last, he replied,
     "Believe it or not, Babe, I LIKE  that do-good
business.  Doesn't pay worth a damn, but at least now I can
sleep nights."
     Merla snorted.
     "So can I.  Ninety-five million buys a lot of wine." 
Shrugging negligently, she added,  "If you ever change your
mind, look me up."
    He gave her another squeeze, stroking her long neck, and
the soft curve of her shoulder.
    "Count on it, Babe."
    Meanwhile, Kalista was bidding farewell to Sven in her
own fashion.  Punching him on the arm with playful, bruising
force, she said,
    "We'll finish our game later, Warrior."
     He nodded.
     "Jaha.  Only next time, we play for higher stakes."
     The Drule cocked an eyebrow.
     "I'll come prepared."
     Some fifteen minutes later, the men had returned to
Loki, and were strapping themselves in for the return flight
home.  Sven cast his friend a sidelong glance.
     "So..... that's it?"  he asked, curious about Lance's
good humor in the face of their mission's apparent failure,
and the loss of his new-found paramour.  "You're letting her
go?" 
     "Dude!"  the gunner replied in an injured tone.  "The
Lancer belongs to no one woman!  I have a duty and a calling
here, to make myself available to ALL the gorgeous females
of the galaxy!  Besides...... she'll be back."
     "Ah.  And how do you know this?" 
     Lance grinned at him, pulled something round and shiny
out of his jeans pocket.
     "Because I've got.... (Ka-ching!).... her credit disk! 
Yeah, Baby!  Ninety-five million, right here.  Ever see
anything so pretty, Partner?"
     Slipping the disk into a slot on Loki's instrument
panel, Lance keyed in the enable code, and hit the comm
switch.
     "Transferring....... now.  Dude!"  Lance turned to
Sven, grinning fit to split his tousled, sandy head.  "Is
Merla ever gonna be pissed when she finds out I stole it!"
      Sven shook his head.  Firing up the impellers, he
thrust them away from the planet's surface like a missile,
saying seriously,
      "Ja, she'll be back all right, min van..., with a
gun."
     Replied Lance, in an uncharacteristically soft voice,
     "Just as long as she does come back....,"
     He was quiet the rest of the way home.

    
____________________________________________________________


SPACE, OVER POLLUX:


      Blue, Gold and Green lions thundered from one meteor
to another, firing madly in an attempt to knock the huge
rocks back into space.  The strategy backfired, though. 
Instead of sending the meteors away or destroying them
entirely, their missiles and force rays merely shattered
them into millions of smaller, still deadly meteorites.
     Desperate, Hunk yanked Gold around and dove back to the
planet at top speed, landing in the midst of the royal city
with an earth-shaking thud.  Wasting no time, he deployed
Gold's force field over the metropolis like an umbrella,
shielding it from the worst of the fiery barrage. 
     The meteors entered the atmosphere seconds later,
screaming through the air, trailing plumes of  smoke and
flame.  One after another they plowed into the ground with
the force of a nuclear strike, gouging huge craters and
sending shock waves ripping through earth and sky. 
Buildings collapsed, power failed, fire raged, an elemental
monster in itself.
     At the make-shift space port, King Bandor tried
frantically to get his sister on a refugee ship.
     "Romelle, you MUST leave, now!"  he commanded,
propelling her toward the vessel's boarding ramp with both
hands.  "The ship is almost full!"
     The princess twisted away from his grip, dodged another
grab.
     "What about you?"  she pled, her hazel eyes full of
unshed tears.  "And Sven?  He'll come here to find me!  I
have to wait for him!"
      Grimly, Bandor shook his curly red head.
      "I will leave when the last of my subjects are safe
away, Roma.  Not before.  And that includes YOU!  Don't
worry about Sven...., if I know my brother-in-law, he'll
arrow right to  you, no matter where you are.  Now go on,
please!"
      Another meteor shrieked overhead, striking the shield
full on and skipping away to plow a long, molten trench in
the rocky crust.  Ancient volcanoes roared to life then,
belching ash and flame and lava bombs.  The ground began to
shudder, torn asunder by ravaging quakes.  
      Weeping, Princess Romelle kissed her brother's sooty
cheek, and boarded the ship.

    
____________________________________________________________


GALRA:

     The new Lotor wasn't pleased.  Watching the chaos from
the safety of Haggar's workroom, he grunted,
     "This is unseemly, Mother.  It is beneath us to waste
so much time on so pathetic a world.  Let the assassins and
fortune-seekers finish Arus and Pollux off.  We have an
empire to rule."
     Haggar regarded her creation for a long, thoughtful
moment.  Then,
     "And what of the beauteous Princess of Arus?"
     Lotor shrugged, his handsome face hard.
     "What of her?  One Sk'rova female isn't worth becoming
a laughingstock over.  The galaxy is full of attractive
females, Mother, each of them capable of warming my loins as
well or better than one pasty-faced apeling princess." 
     Haggar inclined her head respectfully.
     "As you wish, Sire.  I will finish the matter swiftly,
so that we may return to the business of conquest."
     Her cloned 'son' favored the witch with a smile, then
reached out, placed a hand upon her stooped shoulder, and
gave it a brief squeeze.
     "Exactly.  The might of Galra will soon be felt from
one end of the galaxy to the other, and when that hyper-gate
is finished......  further still."
     And with that, Emperor Lotor turned and strode from the
room, leaving Haggar to complete her vengeance in peace.

    
____________________________________________________________



     The warp hole opened up about twenty million miles over
Pollux, Loki shooting forth like a bullet a few seconds
later.
     Inside the cockpit, Sven was immediately deluged by
alarms and hazard signals.  All over the wrap-around
instrument panel, hundreds of flashing lights and shrill
sirens went off at once.
     "Vad i helvete...?!"  The pilot growled, going suddenly
cold.
      Responding at the speed of thought, Loki began hurling
information at him through their link.  Images, status
reports, distress calls, and worse.
     Horrified, unable to believe what he was hearing, Sven
called up an image of his adopted world. The view screen's
benevolent star field faded away, replaced by a molten,
cratered ruin of a world, its tortured face struck and
struck again by massive chunks of blazing rock.
     Then every trace of civilization, the whole framework
of memories given to him by Blue, vanished upon the instant. 
Sven lunged from his seat with a terrible cry,  killing mad.
     He would have tried clawing his way through the view
screen, had someone not grabbed him suddenly and hurled him
back into his seat.  He caught a swift impression of amber
eyes, sandy hair, and deep concern.  The person was barking
at him, noises that he refused to listen to. Lifting a
clenched fist, he made ready to smash the annoyance away.
     Lance was using every bit of strength he possessed in a
vain effort to pin Sven to the seat.  He couldn't hold him,
though.  Seconds away from having his skull stoven in, the
gunner shouted,
     "Sven, man... get a grip!  We've got to get down there
and help, and  I can't fly this piece of crap without you! 
For God's sake, Buddy, let me know you're in there!"
     Lance had never had much in the way of telepathy, but
what little he possessed, he used now.  Desperate to reach
his friend, he pushed past seething animal rage and
blood-lust, searching for a trace of reason.  Instead he got
back-handed across the cockpit.
     Dazed and bleeding, Lance collapsed to the deck.  Sven
crossed the distance between them in a single stride, leaned
down.  Feeling around for his sidearm, the gunner fought to
rise.  Then his wingman seized him by an arm and hauled him
back onto his feet.  
     Fighting to control himself, Sven said slowly,
     "You..... said..... go down?"
     "Uh...., no,"  Lance replied a little shakily, wiping
the blood from his split lip.  "On second thought, doesn't
look like there's much left to....  Sorry; I'll talk
slower....  No.  Let's go to Arus.  Can you fly?"
     After a moment, Sven nodded.
     "Ja.  And...... I'm sorry.... about....."
     Lance patted his friend's arm. 
     "No prob.  That's what happens when you've been
potty-trained at gun-point. But I'm signing you up for anger
management classes, like, immediately."
     They strapped in, and Sven sank back into his link with
the combot.  Then, choking off the shrilling alarms and
warning lights, the Eurasian pilot cut for Arus. 
    
____________________________________________________________

                                                       
GALRA:

          Pleased by the devastation, close to realizing the
final phase of her revenge, Haggar worked yet another spell. 
This one pulled the remaining meteors together into a
massive, blazing asteroid.  Big enough to shatter worlds,
the thing was rerouted with a brief wave of the witch's
gnarled hand and given comet speed.  Its target was Arus.
    
____________________________________________________________


     As Blue, Gold and Green blasted after the
continent-sized rock,  Loki touched down just outside the
palace walls.  The place was a madhouse of activity.  People
were everywhere, running from the refugee ships to the
dubious safety of the caves with bundles and small children
in tow.  Koren was in the midst of it all, shouting
instructions and calling for order and calm.
      Popping the canopy, Sven leapt from his combot to the
ground.  It was painfully difficult to maintain his focus,
for anger and tearing worry constantly threatened to
submerge his mind again.  One over-riding thought gripped
him, one heart-clutching fear.  Dropping his shields despite
the terrified crowds, he put his mind forth as far as it
would go and called for his woman. 
     'Romelle?!'
     Almost immediately, he was answered.  Her mind touched
his, faint and far away as a pleading whisper.  Something
extraordinary happened then.  Every bit of his power
channeled itself  into one desperate lunge, transferring him
across three miles in less than a second, and  bludgeoning
Sven unconscious. 

    
____________________________________________________________


     Lance, still clambering out of the combot, failed to
notice his wingman's sudden disappearance.  Slipping from
cockpit to wing, and thence to the ground, he had a swift
look around.   
     It was crazy.  Everywhere his glance fell, panicked
people were running and screaming.  What few coherent bits
and pieces he could gather seemed to indicate that something
big was headed their way.  Another beastman?  Scowling,
Lance turned and sprinted for the palace and his transport
disk.  Whatever was coming, he chose to meet it in the Red
lion.

    
____________________________________________________________


     Sven awoke bit by blurry bit, achy and confused.  His
head was resting in someone's soft lap, his hair being
stroked off of his forehead by a cool, gentle hand.  Warm
and soft against his, a familiar mind provided the shields
that his own was too drained yet to muster.  Romelle.
    Springing to a sudden sitting position, Sven reached out
and pulled the princess into his arms, held her crushing
tight.  He sent, entirely inadequately,
     'I var worried.'
     She returned the passionate embrace, not minding a few
bruised ribs, and sent back,
     'And I as well, Love.'  
     Shifting his grip a bit, Sven kissed her, getting a
face full of red-gold hair in the process.  Only after
awhile did he think to look around himself at the small cave
they were in and ask,
     "Hur....,  I mean,  HOW did I get here?"
     She smiled, a little wonderingly.
     "You teleported, Dear.  It was quite amazing.  I felt
you call me, and then I could see you, at the very end of a
long, dark tunnel-thing, no bigger than this....!"  She held
her left thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch
apart, then plunged on with the tale.  "And then, all of a
sudden, there you were before me, alive....., *(kiss)*  and
wonderful..... *(another kiss)*,  and handsome.....
*(several kisses)*,  and pretty much unconscious.."
     He nodded as well as he could while being covered with
affection.
     "What are we looking at?"
     "Let's see....., a meteor storm struck Pollux,
destroying Agenstaad, but most of us escaped.   I.... I
haven't heard from Bandor yet, but there are still refugee
ships arriving so.... so I'm sure that he.... that.....," 
     Sven caught her chin in his hand, and lifted her face
up to look at him..
     "I will find your brother, and bring him back, Min
Kvinna.  I promise."
     Taking his hand in hers, she kissed it and nodded. 
Sven gave her an affectionate hair-tousle, then got to his
feet, careful to hide how weak and spent he actually felt.
     "Have they formed Voltron yet?"
     Romelle shook her head, rising to stand before her
young husband.
     "No, Dear.  They cannot.  Your Keith has been terribly
injured.  There is no one to fly the Black lion."
      "But the others are up, including Red?" 
      "Yes, Love."
      "Hmmm....,"  Sven rubbed at his chin.  "I suppose I
could fly Black, if he let me."
      Romelle caught at his arm,
      "Sven.... be careful, please?  I.... we.... need you."
     "We....?"  he repeated, puzzled.
     She nodded, head down and blushing like a stop light. 
Reaching out for his hand, she guided it to her belly, which
had always been firm, but was now gone a bit soft and puffy. 
Curious, he put his mind forth, and encountered someone, a
little sparkle of a new person staring back at him just as
curiously.
    "But...., how....?"
    Romelle lifted a slim eyebrow, amused.
    "In the usual manner, I expect:  Mommy and Daddy loved
each other VERY much, and..."
    "Very funny.  I hope he doesn't have your sense of
humor!"
    "She,"  Romelle corrected.  "And she's going to be
beautiful, and strong...... and funny.  Like me."
     Laughing a little, Sven pulled her in for another kiss,
much more gently this time.
    "I have to go," he informed her after a bit.  "Take care
of yourself, both of you.  I want you on an escape ship the
second I leave."
     "We will.  And the Goddess watch over you as well,
Love."

    
____________________________________________________________

    
      Out in space, four lions fought a desperate battle to
reroute an asteroid.   The princess led the charge, firing
Blue's freeze rays and claw missiles at the thing at
point-blank range.  Diving low over the asteroid's craggy
ochre surface, she targeted craters and canyons, placing her
weapons where she thought they might do some good.  Hunk
pelted the giant rock with Gold's meteor shower, Pidge hit
it with rotor missiles, and Lance blasted away with his
plasma cannon.  A thousand fires blossomed inside the rocky
giant with deep-throated roars.  Plumes of blue-white gas
jetted forth into space, hundreds of miles high.  Altogether
the four of them turned enough power upon the asteroid to
level a city, but all they managed to do was carve a few
chunks loose.  The greater mass tumbled onward, unstoppable
as an avalanche.  Arus had a little over five hours left.
    
____________________________________________________________


     Sven stepped onto the black transport disk and
materialized a few seconds later, deep underground.  He felt
like hell.  No- like something hell refused to allow through
the gates.  His head was throbbing, and the rest of him was
shaky and weak as a newmade.
     Looking around, he found himself in a narrow,
low-ceilinged tunnel carved from the living rock.  It was
dark and musty there, with two inches of barely disturbed
dust on the ground, cobwebs, scurrying rats, and multitudes
of shelf-like niches containing armored mummies.  The royal
tombs.
     "Kors!  What a shit-hole!  Keith needs to firebomb this
place!"
     On the bright side, Akira's footprints were clearly
visible in all that dust, pointing the way to Black. 
Extending his mind in all directions to lightly touch his
surroundings, Sven followed the prints into gloom and
darkness.  
     "Join the Navy....!"  he groused in a low mutter,
ducking webs and fallen timbers.  "See the galaxy.....!" 
     The passage plunged downward and took a number of sharp
bends, periodically opening into chambers piled high with
loose bones and moldering treasure.  He'd taken Anya to see
a movie that featured something like this, once.  Of course,
there had been some sort of ghastly, flesh-eating horror
waiting for the hero in that one.....
      That was the frame of mind he was in when he stumbled
out of the rocky tunnel and into the lion chamber.  Turning
a corner that shimmered and crept, alive with millions of
dark-shelled insects, Sven spotted Black.  The mighty lion
crouched upon an enormous tomb like a dragon on his hoard. 
Dark as a starless night, big as a mountain, red-winged and
terrible, the beast defended the final resting place of
Alvor, king of Arus. 
     Its eyes lit up as he entered the vast mausoleum, twin
golden beams cutting through the dusty air like lasers.  It
rumbled suspiciously, stretching its great neck to view him
more closely.  Sven held very, very still as that huge
muzzle came within three feet of him, and the ice-cold mind
raked through his thoughts.  He sensed that it wasn't
particularly impressed.  Apparently he  lacked nobility and
overall goodness.
    "Jaha,"  he replied, a little stung, "but it isn't like
there are a line of eager pilots behind me, Lejon Svart. 
I'm it."
     Grimly accepting the inevitable, Black lion gave in. 
Extending its boarding tube, the ebony beast allowed him
aboard and into the cockpit.  Shortly thereafter, an
enormous granite block rasped slowly aside on the far wall,
revealing a long, square shaft which opened to the surface. 
Forging a fast, tenuous link with Black, Sven urged the
great lion out the tunnel and into the afternoon sky.
    
____________________________________________________________


     A'lara and the others were down to considering suicide
tactics by the time Black showed up.  Each lion had fastened
itself by claws and teeth to a corner of the roughly
rectangular, tumbling  asteroid, and together they thrust at
full power to slow the thing down.  If that tactic failed,
Hunk and Lance intended to self-destruct, hopefully shoving
the giant meteor onto a new flight path and away from Arus.  
     "Keith?!"  The princess shouted joyfully, when Black
hove into view.
     "Nej, "  Sven responded, "Just me.  You have the right
idea, but not enough power, Vanina.  Why don't we take it to
the next level?"
     Lance's voice came over the comm, cheery and confident,
     "You got it, Bro!  Glad you could make it!"
     Sven merely smiled by way of response.  Reaching out
with his badly taxed mind, he linked them all, then began
the sequence that would bring the lions together.  
     Intense, sun-like energy flared from each warcraft. 
Lashing out like solar flares, the energy fields met and
contracted, pulling Black, Red, Blue, Gold and Green into
alignment.  Outlines shifting and rippling, Blue and Gold
lengthened to form a pair of mighty legs.  Red and Green
thickened, their legs and tails folding in as they
transformed to a set of gleaming arms.  The four parts slid
into place, and then Black broadened, his jaws dropping open
to reveal the noble features of Voltron. 
       Pidge came over the comm, inquiring anxiously,
       "What is your strategy, Sven?  We're nearly out of
time!"
      Great.  Pressure.  Just what he needed.  Casting
around for ideas, Sven found himself thinking about the
Viper rec room on Terre Haute.  He could see it very
clearly; the drink machines, girlie posters, pool
tables.....  Pool?  Slapping the comm, Sven replied,
      "Pidge, what about a bank shot?  Suppose we hit it at
an angle, and..."
      "Yes!  That's it!  Hold on, let me calculate the
vectors.....!"
      "Jaha, Pojke, but hurry."  Then, realizing that they
were going to need their most powerful weapon for this
venture, Sven commanded,
      "Form blazing sword!"  
      At his word, Red and Green crashed together like a
couple of freight trains.  Incredible power surged into them
from Blue, Gold and Black.  Then, as they pulled apart, the
long, sharp blade formed, gleaming like a new-born star.  
     "Make your mark shallow, Lance,"  Chibi shouted, 
"Twenty-eight degrees, right....... there!"
     The gunner complied.  Wielding the blazing sword like
the grim reaper his scythe, Voltron thundered down upon the
rock and slashed at one edge with all his might.  At the
same moment, every missile, force ray and anti-matter cannon
that the mighty robot possessed fired at that one spot,
backing the sword blow. 
     More help came, from an unexpected quarter.   Darting
in like a school of tropical fish, Bandor's Red Hand
squadron dived in from nowhere and released a hail of
cluster bombs and sidewinders at the vast target.
     A raging fireball of antimatter erupted from and
through the asteroid, causing it first to wobble, then spin.
And slowly..., amazingly..., the tremendous rock was
deflected, exactly like a pool ball skreeing off to a side
pocket.  Only a few degrees at first, the slippage became
wider and more noticeable as the lumbering killer plowed
onward.  In the end, it missed Arus by less than ten
minutes, and half a million miles.
     "WHOOOOOOO!"  Lance exulted loudly, chanting, "You see
it!  You know it!  How 'bout a little traveling music, you
fat sonuvabitch?!"
     Flipping on his sound system, the gunner blasted Psycho
Melonz' "Born Loser",  and sang along at the top of his
lungs, playing an air guitar riff as he did so that would
have set his six-string on fire.
      They went home to a heroes' welcome.
     
    
____________________________________________________________

THAT EVENING:

     Summoned to the sickroom by a wakened and raging Keith, 
Sven and Lance walked along the south hall together.
      "Think he's gonna be mad?"  Lance inquired.
      "Considering we went AWOL* for nearly two days..., Ja,
I imagine so."    (* Absent WithOut Leave) 
      They got to the appropriate door, which was closed and
locked, then paused.  Akira could be heard within, testily
ordering someone to leave him alone.
      Lance grinned.  
      "Maybe we should come back later," he suggested.  "You
know how Nanna is about her sponge-baths.  She goes for that
deep-down, all-over, Zestful clean."
      "Tack.  I needed that image."
      "Don't mention it.  And just remember, when we're
having our heads bitten off and our rank stripped away....., 
it takes forty-six muscles to frown, but only four to extend
my middle finger and tell Keith to bite me."
     Sven shook his head.
     "You've got problems, min van."
     "Uh-uh.  Not ME, Dude! You were the one in charge. 
Four days back with the force, and your ass is in trouble
again.  Rest of you doesn't look too good, either.  Me, I'm
gonna plead temporary insanity and hope for a suspended
sentence."
      Something crashed and shattered against the inside of
the door.
      "Then again,"  Lance continued, "I hear that it's nice
and peaceful in prison.  Maybe we'll get a cell together."
      Sven glanced from his wingman to the door, then back
again.
      "Or...., we could go out on patrol,"  the Eurasian
pilot proposed.  "If we're lucky, a beastman might show up."
      "Yeah.  Let's."
       No two men had ever left Arus faster.
    
____________________________________________________________

      
                                                         
EPILOGUE:

      Pollux was become a cratered wasteland, and would
require many long months of terraforming before it would
again be habitable.
      Bandor was alive, and settled on Arus with the remains
of his squadron, and Hund.  Romelle did not immediately tell
him, or anyone else, her news.
      Emperor Lotor turned his attention elsewhere, trusting
that the reward he'd posted would soon lead to the
destruction of Arus and Voltron.  Haggar did not forget, nor
forgive, her latest defeat, however.
      As for the Voltron Force, in the light of Lotor's
inflammatory speeches and the damage done to Pollux, they
decided to take the battle to the heart of the Empire, Galra
itself.  A plan was formed, involving Bandor, Romelle,
Merla, the Force, and every able-bodied individual willing
to tote a gun.
      Meanwhile, a twisted and sinister shell of a man made
his way home......