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Despite what its size might suggest, the ship was near silent as Lotor made his way through the halls. With every step forward, he still couldn’t figure out why he stayed, or why he came aboard in the first place. A wrecked ship, left adrift in a zone occupied primarily by pirates fighting over the smallest slivers of territory, is hardly surprising.
So what if the only damage was an incredibly precise puncture? Or that there were no signs of a recent battle? It really wasn’t any of his business. Odd? Certainly. But if he took the time to investigate every single anomaly he came across in over ten thousand decaphoebs of living, he would get nothing done. However, despite his attempts to dismiss the feeling, something drew him to this ship. Intuition was an old friend of his, one he’d learned to trust. Perhaps he could humor it just a bit longer…
By the time he reached the fourth turn where it shouldn’t have been, Lotor realized the ship had been acquainted with oddity long before its demise. Green lights and the faint hum of power—both flickering now—were the only consistent features in the maze of halls. The style would change abruptly every thirty paces, as if someone fused dozens of smaller ships from across the universe and then wrapped them all under one hull.
He carried on, stepping over the remains of the occasional pirate or reprogrammed sentry. Their wounds were clean; either a puncture or single slice. He kept his hand close to his sword.
Most of the doors refused to open despite technically being unlocked. The sparks suggested something fried the mechanism; his scans agreed. Whatever he could pry open wasn’t particularly useful. A meeting room here, yet another hallway there.
The farther he went along the more he longed to meet whoever designed this… thing —whether it be a marvel or menace, he hadn’t decided yet—and ask why?
He turned a corner that split into twin halls. Did it even matter which he chose at this point? As he started leftwards, the ambient hums grew into buzzing and the light above brightened, going from a nearly dead flicker to illuminating the entire hall in less than a tick. Lotor threw himself into the other hallway just before it exploded and sent a shower of sparks skittering across the floor.
The trailing lights, though short lived, proved themselves valuable. It was by their light that the prince noticed drops of ultramarine nearly blending in with the floor. Most of the pirates appeared to have been struck down where they stood, but this one managed to get away. Or perhaps it was their killer? His eyes lit up as he followed the trail.
Finally something interesting.
It led down a hall of evenly spaced doors. Likely crew cabins based on appearance, but who knew with this void-forsaken ship. Another turn. Another hall. The trail continued only halfway down this one before taking a sharp turn into the only open cabin. He drew his sword and approached with silent steps, barely reaching the threshold before a sound rang out.
Had it not been so soft, the high pitch alone could have been mistaken for an alarm. He paused. It wasn’t quite a whimper, more of a squeak? It repeated; each time louder, more desperate. Lotor stiffened. Something about it made his chest ache, as if his body knew what he didn’t, responding to a memory his conscious mind had forgotten. For a fleeting moment he wanted to run, to get away from whatever was doing this to him. Instead, he readied his sword grip once again and slipped inside.
Dull yellow light illuminated a simple bedroom. Not much of note, except for there, in the farthest corner, where a white haired galra slumped over in a puddle of familiar blue. In their arms was the source of that wretched sound: a baby, frantically patting their caretaker’s face,trying to get a reaction. The galra did not move.
He scanned the room. No others were in it.
Just as suddenly as they began, the squeaks stopped. Lotor looked back at the scene to see a round little face staring at him. The baby tilted their head, examining him before chirping . When was the last time he had been caught so off-guard? Perhaps when they had found Ezor stowed away on the flagship? The little one cared not for the prince’s pondering, and when their chirps and outstretched arms were ignored, they began wiggling out of their caretaker’s arms in order to crawl towards him instead. He noticed just in time to rush forward and scoop up the child before they ended up crawling through blood.
The little one, elated with this new development, cozied up to him the best they could with his armor in the way. He stood for a moment, simply holding the chirping creature in his arms. They couldn’t be older than a few movements.
“You really shouldn’t be chirping for me, you know. I am a stranger.”
Though it was a considerable upgrade from the previous noise—at least this one didn’t evoke physical pain—it didn’t make sense. Cold-blood infants were notoriously jumpy, easily frightened by the unfamiliar. Curious, he eyed the galra on the floor and crouched. It was awkward with only one free hand, but he managed to lift their head and hold back enough hair to get a proper look at their face.
Ah.
The poor thing was confused.
Lotor looked back down at the child, whose chirps began to waiver, and unconsciously chirped back. The universe held plenty of cruelty, where was the harm in letting this one have their joy, even if just for a moment?
He had a contact within the rebellion who could arrange a place for the child to stay. Presumably, they would be trained up as a soldier, but with the war and the extent of the empire’s reach, it was inevitable. Better to be raised by rebels than the alternative.
He surveyed the room again, but this time with different targets. He picked a colorful plush ball up off the bed and offered it to the child, who eagerly accepted. Next he found the drawers and after a bit of searching found a large shirt he hoped belonged to their caretaker and wrapped them up in it followed by a soft blanket. A toy, a sentimental item, and something practical: that should be enough, right?
The creature wriggled around in his arms, making themselves comfortable now that they were no longer pressed up against a hard breastplate. Lotor turned to leave before he felt little hands on his face pulling downwards. He attempted to remove them as gently as possible—accidentally breaking tiny fingers was the last thing he wanted—but instead that made the grip on his jaw tighten and they began bumping their forehead against his chin. Perhaps he could just ignore it-
They started making that horrid noise again.
“Please don’t,” he begged. “I do not know what you want.”
He tried chirping, which seemed to work last time, to no avail. They only bumped their head against his mouth. Did they want affection? Awkwardly, he patted their head. The squeaking grew louder. After several doboshes, he accidentally stumbled into the answer when he pressed a kiss to the little forehead. The child then gave a final chirp, chuffed, before snuggling as close as they could to his chest and promptly falling asleep.
“Well,” Lotor huffed before adjusting the baby in one arm. “Let's get going then. This is no place for the living.”
He set back out into the ship, turning off the light as he left.