A Voltron Christmas Carol

Chapter 3: Christmas Past

Zarcon continued to lean against the heavy wood door for a time, his ears twitching as he strained to distinguish any sound over the crackling of the fire in his sitting room. As his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal a terrible thing happened: Zarcon began to feel silly. Now this might not seem so terrible to you or me, but to a king as proud as Zarcon this was a completely new experience. He had just fled- turned tail and run is also a fitting description- from a dead underling who had lived in fear of his master's displeasure for most of his mortal life. As a precedent, this was a rather frightening view of things to come.

His hand tightened around the door handle. He could throw open the door and give Yurak, ghost or no ghost, a piece of his mind. A smile split his face as he imagined Yurak cowering in a fit of terror, his chains shaking as he quivered…

Zarcon snatched his hand back from the handle. It wasn't really necessary to look into the sitting room. It left him wide open for an attack. Battle tactics. It was all about good battle tactics. That was it. He was NOT afraid of ghosts.

That decided, Zarcon pushed all memories of his former battle commander from his mind and headed for bed. Tomorrow was a big day, perhaps the biggest of his life, and he should try to get at least a bit of rest. Crawling under the heavy fur covers, he clapped twice to dim the lights. He readjusted his brand new Craftmatic Adjustable Bed ™ to a comfortable level and fell immediately into a restless doze, all thoughts of further ghostly visitations safely forgotten.

Later that night, exactly as the tiny neon digits of Zarcon's bedside clock flicked to twelve, a sparkling green light flicked into the bedchamber through the crack under the sitting room door. The light flitted from place to place around the room for a minute or two before settling directly on Zarcon's chest. Zarcon shivered in his sleep and moved to pull the blankets more tightly around him. The green light twinkled. Two tiny hands appeared and clapped once, loudly. Zarcon shot awake as light flooded the room.

A lifetime of finely honed survival instincts enabled Zarcon to wake immediately with none of the sleep-tousled confusion of a mere human. That is, of course, assuming that it's possible for a reptilian hominid to be sleep-tousled- an idea about which I have doubts, but that's a discussion best saved for another day- particularly a reptilian hominid who was still feeling warm and rather cozy under furs of questionable origin. Regardless, Zarcon, survival or species-specific instincts aside, was most definitely not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

The first thing he noticed was the huge brown eyes, magnified all out of proportion by a pair of thick glasses. The mouth under the eyes was grinning mischievously and a hand was waving merrily. Zarcon forced his eyes closed and slowly reopened them. It didn't work. The madly grinning little human, dressed all in a painful shade of bright emerald green, was still sitting directly on the middle of his chest.

Zarcon launched himself out of bed with a roar of outrage, one hand already groping blindly for a weapon. Any weapon. There was nothing within reach. Glancing wildly around, Zarcon quickly amended that statement. There was nothing, period. He was standing dead center in a field of unbroken whiteness shaded with a touch of sourceless misty green light, alone except for the human intruder.

Eyes narrowing, Zarcon decided to ignore the disappearance of his bedroom in favor of studying his companion. All of this was the human's fault. That much was certain. How dare this little person appear in the middle of the night and steal his entire planet out from under him?

Rationality under pressure had never been one of Zarcon's strong points.

The little human seemed to be studying Zarcon in return, his eyes reflecting a smug certainty that Zarcon was not at all sure he liked. There was something oddly familiar about this human. True, they all looked alike, with their pale skin and skinny weak limbs, but this one did remind him of someone. Suddenly the image clicked.

"You," he hissed, pointing at the human in accusation, "you're one of those space explorers. Pidge, that's it. You're Pidge!"

The human shrugged noncommittally. "I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. I thought you were expecting me?" His nasal voice lifted in a lilt at the end and he tilted his head to one side, eyeing Zarcon with the air of a scientist studying a particularly fascinating specimen.

Zarcon felt a welcome surge of anger rush through him. This…this…CHIBI honestly believed he could snatch away Planet Doom from under his feet and, even worse, wake him up from a pleasant dream involving the crushing of Voltron and GET AWAY WITH IT? Oh, no. Not tonight. Clenching his hands into fists, Zarcon began to advance.

The Pidge-ghost continued to watch him with interest. "Aren't you even the least bit curious about what I'm going to show you?"

Zarcon stopped in confusion. Humans rarely did anything other than run screaming in fear when he advanced on them. Apparently this one was somehow brain damaged, which actually explained quite a bit. Maybe if he humored him he could steal his planet back and still get a decent amount of sleep before tomorrow's massacre. He took a deep calming breath and counted slowly to ten. "Okay, fine. What are you planning to show me?"

The ghost smiled in delight. "I'm so happy you asked!" Clapping his hands, a portal opened directly in front of Zarcon. With a childish trusting smile, the ghost tightly grasped Zarcon's hand and pulled him through.

The world seemed to momentarily spin away under Zarcon's feet. Just as he thought he was finally getting his bearings, he fell headfirst into a dead pine tree with a loud painful-sounding smack. Much cursing and gasping for breath could be heard until he reemerged moments later, glaring in annoyance at the ghost, who had, to no one's surprise, landed painlessly on his feet on solid ground.

Keeping a tight rein on his temper, partly just for the novelty of such an idea, Zarcon slowly stood and looked around. This place was familiar. He'd been here before, a very long time ago…

Sounds began to filter out of the long stone structure on the far side of the pine tree. Anger temporarily forgotten, Zarcon ran to the one window and peered breathlessly inside. Those voices, he knew those voices, but it couldn't be! Could it?

Inside the house he could just barely make out a small blue-skinned and mostly naked child watching a tall frightening figure of a man strap on heavy battle armor.

"Father," Zarcon whispered in awe, mashing his face against the glass.

"Where are you going, daddy?" the child asked, staring up at his father with an expression of absolute reverence.

The man grunted and tightened a strap, then absently reached down and patted the boy on the head. "Tonight is a very special night, Zarcon," the man told his son. "It's the night the humans call Christmas. Don't ever forget the effect religion can have on one's defenses."

The boy bit his lip, obviously lost in thought. "Does that mean a lot of the humans will die tonight?"

The man laughed coldly. "I certainly hope so."

The grown man eavesdropping at the window echoed the boy's bloodthirsty smile. "Good."

Zarcon's father strode out of sight. The child Zarcon picked up a dagger his father had left behind and immediately commenced to hacking a teddy bear someone had picked up for him- for some absolutely incomprehensible reason- to bits.

Zarcon sighed happily as teddy bear stuffing began to fly throughout the room, oblivious to the ghost's horror. "I remember that night well. Thank you for bringing me here, ghost. It's such a happy memory."

"But…but…" the Pidge-ghost nearly went even further SD, if that's possibly, with distress. "But people died that night!"

"Yes, they did. Wonderful, isn't it?"

The ghost stared for another minute. "Um, yeah. Wonderful. We have to be going now." He gestured with one tiny hand and another portal opened in front of them. He began muttering under his breath in his nasal high-pitched chibi voice. "This isn't right. There has to be something in that thick skull of his…"

Zarcon nodded, smiling happily to himself, and stepped through.

The landing wasn't nearly so bad the second time, the poor Pidge-ghost being much too horrified to effect a proper scare in his subject. They landed in a room filled with weapons of destruction and laughter, an odd combination if ever there was one. It was a Christmas party, obviously in full swing. The ghost nodded in approval.

"See? There was a time when you believed in the celebration of Christmas. Look back and remember."

Zarcon glanced around in confusion. "I don't remember… Oh, wait! I do! The night after my first successful raid. This was the beginning of the Doom Empire!" Smiling happily to himself, Zarcon began to wander around the room.

The ghost took a closer look and noticed for the first time that the partygoers were drinking wine from cups that looked frighteningly like hollowed out human skulls. A large sweatdrop formed on his forehead and he fell over in a dead faint, which is not a bad trick for a ghost.

Zarcon didn't notice. He was too caught up in the party around him. "Look! There's Drasno, that old pirate from the Rogue galaxy, and the Warriors of Pain. I haven't seen them in ages!" He leaned back against a wall as an impromptu fight to the death over a recently appropriated female slave broke out in front of him.

"You're right, ghost! I did forget how much fun Christmas could be! After our attack on Arus tomorrow, I'll order the biggest party anyone's seen in years!"

The ghost appeared at his side, looking adorably annoyed. "Yeah, whatever. Look, we still have one more stop before I can get out of here, so let's go."

"No, I want to stay. See Marock over there? He's going to go wine-mad and take out half the guests in another half-hour or so. And look: is that Hagar?" He whistled under his breath as a young witch stepped through the doors clad in a skin-tight leather dress.

The ghost shuddered slightly. "I said we're leaving! Right now!" He waved his hands and a black hole opened under Zarcon's feet. With a yelp of surprise, the King of Doom disappeared.

Zarcon hit a cold stone floor and bounced. Several times. Hard. It was altogether an experience that he didn't particularly care for. "That's it," he mumbled under his breath, "that damn chibi ghost is going down!" He lunged to his feet and glared around the room.

"Daddy?"

The soft voice took him entirely by surprise. Whirling, Zarcon found himself confronted with his dead wife and infant son. Lotor before the disasters. Zarcon smiled secretly as he watched his son totter towards the door. He'd forgotten just how cute Lotor had been as a baby.

"Daddy?" the child asked again, holding out his arms hopefully.

"No, sweetheart, daddy's busy." His wife scooped Lotor up in her arms as he began to cry.

"But it's Christmas!"

"Sh, someone will hear you. What did mommy tell you?"

"Christmas is a secret. But I don't understand!"

Zarcon sank down to the floor against the wall, his eyes misting over.

The ghost leaned down beside him, the smug smile back. "Wishing you'd spent that Christmas with him, are you?"

"No," Zarcon sniffed, "I'm remembering the battles I was fighting that day. They were so glorious!"

The ghost threw up his hands in defeat. Leaning over, he snatched the action figures still hidden inside Zarcon's robes and stalked over to the far side of the chamber muttering under his breath about the Ghost of Christmas Present already being way too unbearably impossible about things. Zarcon ignored him. It was such a sweet day; he could still taste the thrill of victory.

"Hey ghost? Take me to the battle itself. That's what I'd like to see."

The ghost ignored him.

Zarcon glanced over and winced as the Allura action figure delivered a particularly nasty judo chop to the Lotor action figure. At least some things in the universe were constant.

The ghost looked up. "It's that kind of thinking that got you here in the first place!" With an angry glare he threw the action figures directly at Zarcon's head. The king of Doom ducked, only to have a new tear in the space-time continuum- what, you thought maybe it was the fabric of reality? Whatever. That's also open for discussion- open under his feet.

Zarcon was so angry that it actually took several minutes for the realization that he was lying in his bed in the darkness of his bedchamber to hit home. Jumping up, he stared wide-eyed around the empty room. Everything seemed to still be in place, exactly as he'd left it. Maybe it was just a dream. Lying back down, he pulled the covers up and patted the hidden pocket with the action figures. His eyes popped back open. They were gone! Lotor was going to throw such a fit.