A Voltron Christmas Carol

Chapter 4: Christmas Present

A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told him that it was only a quarter till 2. That was absolutely lovely. It meant he had the whole night yet to go. Yurak could have at least had the decency to tell him how much fun all these memories were going to be instead of spending his time rattling chains and making empty threats. Then again, that was Yurak through and through. Death just doesn't become some people.

Pushing aside the thought of Lotor's action figure-less induced temper tantrums come tomorrow with the silent promise that soon he'd have the real Princess at his disposal and wouldn't have to resort to make-believe, Zarkon pulled the covers back up to his chin and promptly fell asleep.

At a couple of minutes past two- the Ghost of Christmas Present was always late; he had lingering rebellion issues with the Voice of Authority- Zarkon woke up with a start. He smelled smoke. There was heat. Heat and smoke meant fire.

Fire! Zarkon dove out of bed and proceeded to try to beat out the flames that were currently trying to eat their way through the unornamented stone bedrock of his bedroom floor.

All right, so stone doesn't burn. I thought I already told you that Zarkon wasn't rational under pressure. Really, if you keep interrupting this way, we'll never finish the story. Anyway back to Zarkon and the burning bedrock.

"Do you mind?" The voice sounded directly below Zarkon's ear.

The voice didn't quite filter through his consciousness until a burning hot hand closed over his wrist, effectively halting the fire fighting progress.

Zarkon flung off the restraining hand and jumped around to face yet another human. This one was taller than the first and dressed more normally, without all the fringe and tassels. There was something about him that looked familiar as well.

"I know you." Zarkon stared for another second as the human knelt by his badly damaged fire and coaxed it lovingly back to life. "Lance! You're another one of those space explorers! This is all some kind of trick, isn't it?"

The ghost glared up at him, still patting his fire as if it were some kind of odd puppy. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Zarkon waved a hand absently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. Now unless you're going to show me some more of those really fun memories why don't you go away and let me get some sleep?"

The ghost stood up with a sigh. "I said Present, not Past. No memories involved, just the present. Think you can stay with me?"

Zarkon blinked. "Presents?"

The ghost growled, grabbed Zarkon's wrist, and shoved him into the fire.

This journey was nothing like the first. Instead of a dizzying drop the universe was filled with a burning heat that seemed to sear all the way to his soul, burning his very being to a crisp. Or, I suppose this being Christmas and all, a chestnut.

The fire suddenly died away with a last sizzling wave of heat and the cold air of the Doom night rushed in to replace it. Zarkon shivered and pulled his robes tighter to trap the lingering warmth. "I thought Yurak said death was cold."

The ghost appeared at his side and snorted. "Yeah, well, Yurak's an idiot. Always waving those chains and moaning. You can have him back if you like. Your witch knows the proper resurrections spells."

Zarkon shuddered. "No, that's quite all right. You can keep him." He glanced around, noting they were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a multitude of merrily burning bonfires. Slaves dressed in skimpy rags were darting in close to the fire and heaving the last traces of the castle's former Yuletide cheer into the hungry flames. Guards were standing close to the dancing flames, staring morosely at the hurrying slaves. The atmosphere had all the romantic appeal of a fundamentalist book burning.

Zarkon was absolutely delighted. "It's almost gone! You brought me out here so I could see the death of Christmas on Planet Doom! Oh, thank you, Ghost!"

The ghost gave him a startled look. "No, not exactly-"

Zarkon continued blithely on, gesturing grandly to take in the nightmarish landscape. "It just brings the heart joy and makes me want to sing!" With an insane sounding giggle, he began in a loud voice, spinning madly through the flickering heat put off by the bonfires. "Deck the halls with gasoline…"

The ghost stared at him speechlessly for a minute, then reached into his pocket and removed a flask. "I told the Ghost of Christmas Past that he wasn't cut out for this line of work. Put the joys of Christmas Past into his heart, I said. This is his idea of joy?" He took a quick drink and dropped the flask back into his pocket.

Zarkon stopped singing and stared around with a reverential air just as the last slave threw the final decoration on the flames. His cheer was cut short as a single voice raised in soft mourning. Other voices joined in until finally the strains of Silent Night, Doom Style- don't ask; you really don't want to know- filled the night air.

Zarkon shrieked his rage to the uncaring night sky and ran pell-mell around the fires, trying desperately to halt the sweetness of the voices. The ghost amused himself by watching for a moment before glancing at his watch and deciding they really needed to go. At least something had finally gotten through Zarkon's thick skull.

He caught Zarkon's arm on his next pass, trying his best to look apologetic. "Look, I know you're in the middle of an apoplectic fit and everything, but do you think we could move on?"

Zarkon brushed him off and regained control. "Yes, of course. Take me somewhere more interesting. Now."

The ghost raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to let the tone of command slide this time. The king was finally in shock, after all. With a jeering mental grin at the Ghost of Christmas Past he raised one hand and gestured towards the fire. Zarkon glanced up and ran headfirst in to the flames.

This time the burn didn't stop as he emerged from the fiery gateway onto the cold metal ramp of a spaceport. Luckily, having been a good kindergarten student, Zarkon stopped, dropped, and rolled, effectively putting out the flames. He glared up at the smirking ghost. "That hurt!"

The ghost's smirk deepened. "Of course it did. You just ran headfirst into a fire."

"But you said-"

"So I did. Anyway, we're here. No harm done." The ghost started to wander down the runway.

Zarkon climbed slowly to his feet, half-heartedly inspecting his still smoking robes. "Just wait," he muttered under his breath, "I'll have all those guards put to death first thing in the morning and then," his smile became decidedly bloodthirsty, "then, my little ghost, you are going to die." He even indulged in a moment of homicidal laughter before glancing around at his surroundings.

There was no sight of the ghost. People scurried everywhere around him, loading missiles from sleighs led by what appeared to be flying reindeer onto ships in every loading dock. Gas clouds in rainbow shades swirled overhead, giving a constant impression of psychedelic blacklit darkness. "Hey, I know this place. It's planet Kringel. I conquered it last year." Another glance brought a smile of triumphant to his face. " At least someone's following my instructions."

"Are they?"

Zarkon spun around and looked down at the ghost. "Of course they are. They're readying for tomorrow's attack on Ar- some world," he finished, the portion of his brain that handled not giving battle information to an enemy kicking in at the last possible minute.

"Hmm." The ghost shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. Do you see your guards?"

"What? Of course. They're…" Zarkon's voice trailed off and he searched the spaceport. There had been guards, of course, and his own commanders. Surely they were overseeing things. He just couldn't find them. A moment of inspiration struck. "They're in the control towers, I'm sure!"

The ghost shrugged again. "If you say so."

Zarkon stared at him with an expression of horror, then turned and shot across the runway and up the stairs of the control tower. What he found there made his blood run cold- um, colder, Zarkon already being reptilian and therefore already cold-blooded... Never mind.

The entire control room was decorated with criss-crossing greenery, red ribbons, and happily burning candles. A mass of Doom-issued insignia badges burned in a merry little pile by the door. The commanders were grouped in the window, laughing as they watched their charges load weapons onto the massed fleet.

"They won't even see it coming!"

"Attack Arus. Right. The entire armada's going to be busy elsewhere, leaving the whole planet unprotected. We'll show the Emperor how we feel about canceling Christmas!"

"Throwing his own tactics right back in his face. This is going to be priceless!"

"Long live the Revolution!"

The first three commanders turned and gave the fourth an odd look. He looked slightly abashed. "Sorry, I got carried away." The others continued to stare, and he turned bright red. "Um… Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer?"

"Damn straight!" The other three cried, whipping out new bottles of heavily spiked eggnog.

"Had a very shiny nose!" One of them exclaimed, tears leaking from his eyes as he passed a bottle to the fourth commander.

Zarkon stared around in shock. "You have got to be kidding."

"Oh no," the ghost said softly, leaning around Zarkon's arm to peer into the control room. "You're underestimating the power of Christmas. One spur of the moment angry decision is about to cost you your whole empire."

"No it's not. Take me back immediately."

"I don't think so." The ghost stared up at him with a scrutinizing expression. "You need to see what you're about to destroy."

Zarkon balled his massive hands into fists and glared down. "I know what I'm about to destroy, and your measly little planet is still going to die. All these rebellions will just have to be quenched first. Now take me back!"

The ghost sighed and shook his head mournfully. "Look, I realize you're not going to accept what I'm about to show you, but I have to. It's in my contract. Just humor me for a few more minutes."

"I said NOW!"

The ghost rolled his eyes. "Sure." Whipping Akane's mallet out of hammerspace, he took a swing and clocked the unsuspecting King of Doom upside his head. The world faded into darkness.

"No, the angel goes on top of the tree!"

"Why, exactly?"

"Because that's the way it's done!"

Forcing his eyes to focus, Zarkon surveyed his surroundings with a groan. He was in the rec room of the Castle of Lions on planet Arus, in the den of his enemy. The room was currently occupied by a laughing mass of people attempting to decorate a huge Christmas tree that brushed the high ceiling. They were all there, he noticed, even the lingering rebels from planet Pollux. Hitting them tomorrow would be to the best tactical advantage. Ignoring the laughter and general mayhem he began to plot battle plans that involved the destruction of his enemies and the suppression of the apparent riot on planet Kringel.

"Look, can't you even pretend like you're learning something?"

"No, I'm busy." Zarkon glanced over at the ghost leaning against a wall and clutching his flask again and then back around the room. He squinted at the figures around the tree. "How exactly are you in two places at the same time anyway?"

The ghost took a defeated swig and shook his head. "I'm not. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present. That's Lance of the Voltron Force that you're going to vanquish tomorrow. See the difference?"

"Well…" Zarkon stared between the two of them again. "No."

"Whatever. It's your subconscious, buddy, not mine." The ghost took another drink and went back to watching just as Pidge, standing on Hunk's shoulders, almost knocked the entire tree over. The room rang with laughter again.

Bandor smiled brightly from his spot in front of the fire and waved a thin crutch in the air half-heartedly. "God bless us every one!"

Sven and Keith, trying desperately to hold the tree up, blinked down at him. "Excuse me?"

Bandor shrugged. "Don't ask me. Taryn apparently thought someone should by Tiny Tim, and Pidge is already a ghost and I'm the only other chibi-type person here, so I got blindsided."

"Oh." The other two nodded in apparent sympathy.

Zarkon shuddered and turned back to the ghost. "How much more of this do I have to see?"

The ghost shrugged noncommittally.

Zarkon gestured at the flask in his hands. "Can I at least have a drink?"

The ghost grinned and tossed the flask over. "Knock yourself out."

Zarkon raised the flask to his lips and swallowed. The liquid flowed down his throat in a trail of liquid fire, burning away consciousness and leaving nothing behind.