CHAPTER TEN:

Altea


     “THERE, THERE!” Ekatia exclaimed. “Set us down right on that ledge.”

     “Is it-I don’t see anything,” Sven said doubtfully.

     “Well, what good would a secret laboratory be if it weren’t carefully hidden?”

     “Point taken,” said Lance, watching the screen over her shoulder. “Do we just ride in there like the cavalry?”

      “No,” said Sven, setting the Lion down on the ledge Ekatia indicated. “We don’t want anyone else getting hurt. And we don’t want to damage whatever’s inside.”

     Romelle distributed the weapons they had collected from Cordan. As Sven buckled a long knife to his belt and slung a rifle over his shoulder, he turned to Ekatia, asking, “Can you get us in there, without detection? Is there a back entrance?”

     “There is,” she assured him.

     Romelle pressed a rifle into her hand and only when their arms brushed did she realize how tautly the girl was holding herself. Her skin was naturally fair, but she had grown quite pale. With a compassionate smile, Romelle clasped the girl by the arm. “It will be all right. We’ll save your people.”

     Lance said with a gusty sigh, “I wish the others were here.” They all looked questioningly at his impish smile so he drawled, “THEY always win. You guys, however, always seem to have some trouble with that concept!”


     Ekatia led them around back-or at least, what she called ‘around back; it didn’t look like much of anything to the others. If she had not pointed out the outline of the portal they would never have guessed its existence, but, cautioning the others to hold back, she bent close to she door, intoned a series of strange syllables, and the grey structure slid open swiftly and silently, revealing a dark passageway. Ekatia would have proceeded, but Sven put a hand on her arm, holding her back. At her startled expression he shook his head, turned to Lance.

     “You go on ahead and assess the guard situation. Be quick, cautious, and above all, silent. And return immediately.”

     Lance saluted jauntily, but ducked through the open door with the stealth of a cat on the prowl. The others waited several tense moments for his return. When he did, his hair was slicked against his brow with perspiration, but his grin was savage. “Three in the outer hallway, and shabby brigands from their looks. From what I overheard, no fighting has gone on for a while. They did mention prisoners. Our fond Mistress of Evil employs a paltry lot.”

     Sven frowned in concentration. At Lance’s mention of prisoners, Ekatia had gone pale, and her hand had gone instinctively to the pistol at her belt. Both Lance and Romelle were watching his face expectantly and he flushed inwardly under their scrutiny.

     “You have that self-effacing look in your eyes again,” Romelle said so matter-of-factly he started in surprise.

     “I just wish you wouldn’t put so much faith in me,” he sighed finally.

     Romelle patted his arm. “Dummy. If it weren’t for you, I’d have died in the Pit of Skulls all those months ago, Haggar would never have lost her powers, my people would still be slaves on Doom, and none of us would be standing here, now. In fact, the only one who seems to fair badly in your missions is…you. And that won’t happen again,” she said sharply, resolutely, searching his eyes with her own.

     “Consider us your personal body-guards,” Lance advised. “We’ll win this time.”

     Considering all that had befallen them recently-escaping Haggar, finding Altea, meeting here, discovering and flying the Blue Lion, in fact, with the exception of that brief interlude with his brother which was just plain weird, it seemed to him they were about due for a victory. Sven found a grin for the three of them…and for himself, he realized. “All right,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Let’s go. Quietly. Lance, you go first.”

     One by one, they followed Lance through the door in the cliff-face and entered the darkened hallway. Some meters ahead three of Lance’s ‘shabby brigands’ lounged against the wall, a torch bobbing in the hand of one. They appeared deep in discussion, though their voices were too low-pitched for their words to be discerned. Occasionally they erupted into a harsh, raucous laughter. Beyond them stood a tall iron door.

     Sven gestured for Romelle and Ekatia to stand back, knowing with an inward sigh that they would not. Silently, the four fell upon the guards, shoving torn strips from their jackets over their mouths to muffle their cries as they pummeled them to the ground. While Ekatia-the only one not struggling to contain a prisoner-bound wrists and ankles with more strips of the sturdy fabric, Lance bent over his captive, pistol held against his temple, and said harshly, “How many guards inside? And the prisoners, where are they? The witch and the prince-are they within, as well? Speak man, or die now!”

     The guard grunted. “Who in hell’re you?” he spat. “Why should I tell you anything?”

     Lance cocked the pistol and one eyebrow and regarded the man pointedly. The man struggled, but to little avail. “Speak, or you will die,” Romelle advised. “Speaking will help everyone-including yourself-and keeping silent will help no one, especially yourself.”

     Another of the pirates muttered, “Aye, what’s the point? Those folks scare me and I’ve no wish to serve them further. There are few guards,” he said, looking up from one companion to the next. “The wages weren’t tempting to begin with and few were willing to journey to this hell-hole. The captives are in the next room. That hag and her princeling are not here.”

      Sven frowned. “But-ah, never mind.” Glancing at Ekatia, “Are they well-bound?” She nodded. “Good. Gag this worthless rabble and let’s go.”

     Rifle in hand, Sven slid the door open a slit and peered through. The passageway opened onto a small, well-lighted room laden with crates and other storage facilities. It appeared to be a large closet, or storeroom. Several figures sporting uniforms in various colors sat against the walls, bound at their wrists by stout rope. There were no signs of any guards.

     “I don’t like this,” Lance whispered at his elbow. “It’s too easy. Why are these people not guarded?”

     “I don’t like it either,” Sven answered in equally hushed tones. “On one hand, why shouldn’t it be easy? On the other…this is US. Why SHOULD it be easy? In any case, there’s no time for questions. We have to get these people out of here and stop Haggar. Look,” he said, addressing his companions, “if things should go badly…get out of here, then. You all know where the Lion is.”

     Ekatia drew breath sharply. “Sven, what are you saying? There is no turning back, now. If we fail, the secret of Voltron will be Haggar’s, and we can’t let that happen. With such power she could wreak havoc on the Galaxy!”

     Over Ekatia and Lance's heads, Sven and Romelle’s eyes met and locked and she said, finally, what he knew she would: “I would rather die here than live in a Galaxy where such a creature holds such power.” Sven searched her face, her flashing sapphire eyes, then nodded resolutely.

     “Let’s go, then.”

     Sven flung the door open and the companions burst into the room, brandishing rifles and other artillery. No sooner had the last of them crossed the threshold when the door slammed shut as if of its own volition and the room was plunged into total and chilling darkness. All around them, unseen, weapons clashed and cries were muffled. “A trap!” Lance bellowed. “DAMN Erik!” Sven struggled against his invisible opponent, striving to reach Romelle’s side, but he dared not draw his firearm for fear of striking one of his comrades. Rough hands seized him and he was hurtled down against the cold, unforgiving stones. Dazed, he hadn’t time or strength to resist as his weapons were yanked from him and his wrists were lashed securely with coarse rope. He was jerked upright roughly and the cold muzzle of a gun against the back of his neck warned him not to move.

     A light sputtered to life, illuminating two angular eyes, pale and yellow as the moon, then glinted across sharp white teeth. Steadily the light grew and the companions blinked, unaccustomed to the brightness. Before them, a cruel smile playing across her blue-black lips, stood the witch Haggar. Beside her stood a tall, muscular humanoid with lavender skin, long-flowing silver hair, black-stained helmet and armor emblazoned with an inhuman skull. Reptilian yellow eyes flickered with recognition and he looked upon the white faces of his captives.

     “Lotor…” Romelle hissed and reached instinctively for her knife, but her captor forced her back into place with a savage jerk. The King of Doom turned his cold sallow eyes on her and an icy grin slid across his lips.

     “So, we meet again, Princess,” he said coolly. She stiffened and turned her face away as he leaned very close to her, searching her face. “Why do you look away? Ah, yes. You need not fear THAT, my Lady Vixen. I’ve sampled YOUR paltry charms already.”

     She spat in his face. With a gurgling cry of rage he raised a mailed fist to strike her, but Sven lashed out, crying, “Lotor, touch her, and I will kill you!”

     Lotor faced him with hooded, serpentine eyes. “You claim this used baggage?” he hissed. “There will be killing done today, but it won’t be by you. Yes, I have grown quite tired of your constant interference. The only questions that remain are just how to do it, and which of your friends I shall slay first, before your eyes.” His eyes slid to Romelle, who was watching the exchange with burning cheeks, and his lips curled upward. "Or perhaps I can find yet another use for this one." Sven struggled so violently against his bonds that he almost tore free, but a vicious series of clouts from the guard who held him brought him to his knees.

     Lotor looked about to see whom he could taunt next. His eyes fell on Lance, and he made a small sound of surprise and bemusement. “Another one I’ve waited a long time to fall into my hands. Well, there will be no forming Voltron this time-or ever again!” He threw back his head and burst into maniacal laughter.

     “Oh, a Voltron WILL be formed in time-but it will be ours,” Haggar corrected him.

     “SILENCE, witch!” Lotor roared. Haggar leaned against her staff, apparently prepared to wait.

     Lotor turned at last to Ekatia who was glaring up at him fiercely. He smiled maliciously. “A puny morsel, to say the least, and not worth my time.” With a sharp cry of indignation she dealt him a swift kick in the shin. Lotor raised his fist again as if to strike, thought better of it, and pinched her chin between his index finger and thumb. She wriggled away. “Well, perhaps you will prove worth my time after all,” he said with cold amusement, and Lance cried out, eyes blazing:

     “You’ve never had a woman you haven’t forced, you despicable bastard! LOOK at her, and I swear I’d make a rug out of your ugly purple hide for the Red Lion, but the stench would be unbearable.”

     Still smiling awfully, Lotor struck him full in the face with a blow that sent him staggering back against his captor, blood streaming down the side of his face. A spontaneous and highly imaginative (if anatomically impossible) onslaught of curses followed, interrupted by a swift order from Lotor:

     “Take them and lock them up. I will deal with them all…later.”

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