Greetings, All!
This is my first attempt at publishing a fanfic, although I've written many. The basic premise is a Voltron/Star Trek crossover, but with a few surprises. So, please R&R, but be aware, while constructive criticism is gratefully appreciated, flames will be shredded and used as litter for my Magby.
That said, enjoy the story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron, Star Trek, or any characters mentioned here that are canon to either franchise. What I do own are the fighter, Thunderwing, and the crew of the Berlin, except for Mordock. The rest I'm just borrowing for a while.
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Star-Tron: The Black Suits ComethChapter 1
At a time of darkness, when evil reigns, a beacon of light will shine through, awakened by five heroes. But these brave souls would fail, if not for the men in black.
Princess Allura read the passage several times, trying to discover its hidden meaning. The ancient prophecy had fascinated her since she was young. She understood that part of it referred to the Voltron Force, the five pilots that had crossed the universe to resurrect the mighty warrior Voltron, and of whom she was now a member.
But the rest of the passage was puzzling. Who were these men in black that the prophecy referred to?
The insistent beeping of her communicator broke her train of thought. She fumbled in her pocket for the annoying device, and answered it. "Allura here."
"Princess?" said the voice of Commander Keith Mendoza, the leader of the Voltron Force. "Where are you? We have practice in ten minutes."
Oh, no! She'd been so wrapped up in her reading that she'd forgotten all about Lion practice. "Sorry, Keith," she said. "I've been a little busy. I'll be right up."
"All right. Keith out."
Allura left the book where it lay on her desk and hurried out of her study and back to her room to change into her flight suit.
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Captain Adam Driscoll sat at the bar in the Starfleet Headquarters Officers Club, nursing his raktajino, glancing over the information on the PADD in his hand. Whatever happened to written, sealed orders? he thought. Now all I get is this glorified Palm Pilot.
His ship, the U.S.S. Berlin, was ready to set out on her new assignment, and Adam would soon be flying up to Spacedock to meet his new crew. As he thought about his upcoming assignment, he absentmindedly fingered the four rank pips on his collar. A few weeks earlier, it had been a long oval with four bars on it, the mark of a provo-captain.
Adam was not the average Starfleet officer. At 16, he was the youngest officer ever to serve in Starfleet, even breaking the record of Wesley Crusher, who made Ensign at just over 16. But more than that, Driscoll was not even from this time. He was a relic from the Twentieth Century. Recruited by an admiral because of his special ability, he was given a provisional rank, which was later made official.
But that power nearly got him killed. On the time trip from his time to the Twenty-Fourth Century, his power interfered with the time stream, causing him to exit the time-warp a century early. Luckily, he was found by a Federation ship, and its command crew agreed to train him for command, and then they sent him on his way.
So now he sat, contemplating his ship's new assignment. The Berlin was to go on patrol, but not for Dominion warships. The Berlin's targets were subspace disturbances, technically called Subspace Electro-Gravitational Anomalies, but known commonly as subspace tornados. These recently-identified phenomena had massive destructive power, and Starfleet deemed it essential that these phenomena be poked and prodded in every conceivable way to learn how they tick and, if possible, how to destroy them.
To that end, the Berlin underwent a four-month refit to become Starfleet's first storm-chaser.
Adam downed the rest of his drink and walked out of the bar. Catching an air-tram from Starfleet Headquarters, he headed for the shuttleport at Miramar to pick up his ride. One of the perks of command was that he was entitled to his own shuttle. Except he bent the rules just a bit. He didn't have a shuttle. He had a plane.
Near the doors of one of the hangars, among all the modern shuttles, sat a relic of a bygone era. That relic was attracting a lot of attention from some Red Squad cadets, and it was the captain's objective.
He walked toward the P-51D Mustang, shouldering his way through the cadets as he did his preflight checks. The plane's nose was painted yellow, and the back half of the fuselage and rudder was gray-blue. The wings, horizontal stabilizers, and center of the fuselage around the cockpit were bare, gleaming metal. On the nose, Thunderwing was painted in scripted, black letters. The fuselage and wings were marked with the star and bar of the United States military in World War Two.
Completing his checks, Adam climbed up on the wing and slid the canopy back. Normally, he'd put on a flight suit, but for the short hop to Spacedock, he decided on just his leather flying jacket and his helmet.
"Excuse me, what are you doing up there, kid?" one of the cadets asked.
Adam turned and opened his jacket so the cadet could see his rank pips. "What's that, cadet?"
"Uh, nothing, sir. Quite an impressive plane."
"That she is," Driscoll replied. He climbed into the cockpit, strapped in, and hollered, "Clear the prop!" A moment later, the engine sputtered and roared to life, and the Captain taxied out onto the old runway.
Once airborne, Driscoll set his course straight up. The Mustang he flew was very special. It had plenty of special equipment packed into its streamlined airframe. It could fly in space, do warp five, and its propeller could propel the craft in excess of mach 15.
It was a short flight to Spacedock. Because of the demand for space, and since the Berlin was scheduled for departure, she had been moved out of the docking facility, and now sat just beyond the great mushroom-shaped station.
The Mustang approached the great Excelsior-class starship, and Adam hailed his vessel. "Thunderwing to Berlin, Captain Driscoll requesting permission to land."
"Permission granted, Captain."
Adam lined his plane up with the shuttlebay doors, switched to thruster control, and made a perfect three-point landing, just as the first officer entered the shuttlebay.