Chapter Text
Some are born great.
Some achieve great things.
Some have greatness thrust upon them.
And some chose to do great.
If one more person called, Sendak was going to break something. It wasn’t just that there was a crisis going on; it was that there was a crisis and no one was being straight with him. They were terrified that the terrible sector governor and admiral was going to crush their skulls over their failings. He was. At least if they had given him all the information he would have dispatched his subordinates quickly.
The first call had come far too late in the evening. Sendak had retreated to the safety of his quarters and was watching the live broadcast of the night’s gladiator matches (even if he was more than just a commander now, he could still sponsor and place wagers on matches. It wasn’t the same as in person, but it sufficed). The call cut in right as the new, so-called ‘Masked Champion’ was about to decapitate a rather vicious Snore-Yore. Even Sendak’s old favorite, the current Black Paladin, had never gotten that close to victory.
“What is it?” Sendak asked as he muted one in screen in exchange for another. He used his pleasant voice, he gave the quaking officer the benefit of the doubt. Empires weren’t easy business. Mayhem didn’t stop at the day’s punch-out.
Despite Sendak’s pleasantries, the officer gulped. “Sir, there is a situation on the Balmera in this system.”
“Go on.” Sendak said.
“It was invaded and attacked by an outside force. We have one of the locals in custody for aiding them.”
That was strange. However, it was not unheard of. Sendak mulled over the officer’s words. Pirates were getting more brazen nowadays, and that Balmeran was foolish, they were probably gave their help in exchange for nothing more than a promise and sweet words.
“Any further details?” Sendak asked.
“I-I’ll let you know as they come in.” the officer said. “Sir.”
With that, the officer of Sendak’s fleet saluted and signed off. Sendak sighed and turned back to the gladiator match. The Masked Champion held the head of the Snore-Yore aloft in one hand and his bloodied sword in the other. The audience members were loosing their minds. Sendak tsked. He had just lost something on the end of three thousand credits. This would be the last time he bet against the Masked Champion.
The call button beeped again. What now? Sendak thought. He accepted the call. “What is it, governor?” he asked.
Although Sendak was the governor of the system, there were still junior governors under him in charge of individual planets.
“Sir. There was a disturbance on the Balmera today,” the governor said, stone-faced.
“So, I’ve heard.” Sendak said, letting the man on the other end see his one eye roll.
“What should we do about Voltron, sir?”
Sendak sat up. “Voltron?!”
The governor blinked. “Were you not told? Voltron stole a power crystal.”
Sendak went silent. The governor ushered a quick apology and then disconnected from the call. Figures no one told Sendak the full story. The beauty of bureaucracy.
Sendak’s next hours were filled with calls to underlings. From calling back the Balmera governor to the ship captains to even the lowly sentinels who captured Voltron’s accomplice. The Balmeran was a teenage girl, a daughter of known insurgents. Sendak wished his predecessors hadn’t been so weak and shown mercy to this family; they and their ideals should have been torn out root and stem.
The prison guards showed the girl on screen as the jail’s warden spoke. She reportedly was one of the best miners, and her build showed it. She was tall and strong, and the energy cuffs on her wrists were set to the highest strength. Yet, now on screen she was shrinking in on herself. One eye was swollen shut, her wrists were chaffed. The gag-muzzle on her mouth dug into the flesh along the bridge of her nose. Sendak had to sigh; it was a pity. This girl threw her life away, all for pretty words and prettier promises.
“What should we do with her, sir?” the warden asked. “I can have the scaffold and riot police readied by dawn.”
The girl’s eyes widened and it was then Sendak saw her begin to struggle against her restraints. The warden turned and cuffed her across the face. The girl staggered, but did not fall.
They had given her promises.
“Prepare the appropriate measures for execution, but keep the girl locked away.” Sendak said.
“Sir?”
“If the Paladins of Voltron are so noble, then they will surely come to the air of their captured ally.” Sendak said.
Realization hit the warden and the Balmeran girl at the same time. It delighted Sendak to see their eyes widen together as they connected the meanings of Sendak’s words. The girl froze for a moment before renewing the struggle with an even greater fervor. The warden’s lip cracked into a smile.
“It will be done.” the warden said. He placed a hand over his heart in salute. “Good evening, governor.”
As they faded from the screen, Sendak turned and pressed the button for what he hoped would be his final call of the day. He waited and waited as the dial tone beeped. Then a familiar face appeared.
“Admiral.” Zarkon said.
He always did call Sendak by his military title. Never by his political title.
“Your promotions suit you. You look well.” Zarkon said. “A born ruler.” There was an edge to his voice. Then again, there always was an edge to that old dog. The fact he said anything at all, that he had hand-selected Sendak for his promotions was something.
“I thank you, my lord.” Sendak said. “As much as I would love to chat, my call is not for pleasantries.”
If Zarkon emoted, Sendak thought he would have raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” the emperor said.
“How would you like Voltron?” Sendak asked.
It was then the emperor smiled. Sendak explained his plan, and by the end of it Zarkon was still smiling.
“I approve.” Emperor Zarkon said. “Vrep’t Sa, admiral.”
Sendak placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Vrep’t Sa.” he said. For the glory of the Galra.