Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron, Star Trek, or any characters mentioned here that are cannon 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.
Star Tron:
The Black Suits Cometh
Chapter 10"The 'Five Angry Admirals'," Driscoll muttered.
"That's right, Captain," said the lawyer on the other side of the table. Lieutenant-Commander Robert MacRabb of the Starfleet Judge Advocate General's Office had been assigned as Driscoll's defense attorney.
Contrary to what Driscoll had thought, he was not being court-martialed. Given the circumstances, and to keep the wormhole and Driscoll's dimension-jumping ability secret, the captain would instead face an admiralty tribunal, known popularly as the "Five Angry Admirals." They would have the option to forward the case to a general court-martial, or to dispose of it themselves.
Upon arrival at Earth, Driscoll had been placed under arrest and taken to Starfleet Headquarters, where he was now meeting with MacRabb. The men had two days until the hearing.
"Who's on the panel?" Driscoll asked.
"Don't know yet, sir," MacRabb replied. "We won't know until we get in there."
"Right. So, Commander, what do you need to know to keep my ass outta the slammer?"
"Let's start from the beginning, Captain. What made you want to attack that…thing?"
"The robeast?"
"Yes."
"That's a long story, Commander."
"Well, then you better get started, sir," said MacRabb.
**************************************************************************************************************************
Keith was reclining on one of the sofas in the lounge, looking over some of the information Captain Driscoll had provided about the Federation and its neighbors. Shortly after the Berlin had left Arus the day before, Keith had sent a message to Galaxy Garrison, detailing the Force's encounter with the Federation, and how Allura had asked them for assistance.
As he read, Keith was astonished by how many times the Federation had blundered its way into wars with neighboring empires. Romulans, Klingons, Gorn, Cardassians, Tholians, the Dominion, and several others had gone to war shortly after first contact. Surprisingly, many of these races were now on peaceful terms, if not allied with the Federation. More surprisingly, the Federation had relied heavily on diplomacy, rather than military force to solve its disputes. They never conquered or subjugated their enemies. It employed all necessary military force to defend itself, but always strove for, and ultimately achieved, diplomatic resolutions to its conflicts.
To Keith, this was a radical and remarkable tactic. In his experience, diplomacy rarely resolved conflicts, especially where Zarkon and his Drule allies were concerned. Excessive military force was often required to back it up.
Another thing that surprised Keith was the dominant reference to one particular vessel. The name U.S.S. Enterprise was mentioned frequently. The most first contacts, the most widely traveled ship, the fastest, the most instrumental, the most important, the most valuable. References to the ship and her crew were everywhere, surrounded by an almost legendary aura.
He was just finishing a section about a major treaty known as the Khitomer Accords when his communicator went off. He pulled the device out of his pocket and pressed a button. "Keith here."
"Commander,"
said Coran's voice. "There is a
communication for you from Galaxy Garrison."
"All right, Coran. I'm on my way. " He got up, setting the data reader on the table, and headed for the Control Room.
***************************************************************************************************************************
When he arrived, the other four pilots were already there, waiting for him. Lance watched as Keith approached, leaning over he said, "It's Graham."
Coran looked around, and seeing everyone present, he opened the channel, and the face of Space Marshall Graham appeared on the main screen.
"Commander," said Graham. "I've read your report about the Federation. This looks like a great opportunity, but I still have a few questions."
"Such as?" Keith asked.
"First off, do you think they could pose a threat to the Alliance?"
"No doubt, sir," Keith replied. The others looked at him in shock. "If they ever became hostile, there's no doubt in my mind that they could destroy us. The Berlin shot down three of Lotor's battleships in a few seconds.
"But I don't think they are a threat. In our experience, they were very forthcoming and cooperative, and they had plenty of time to attack before they revealed themselves. They could be a very dangerous threat if provoked, but they aren't a threat now. From what I've seen, they don't fight unless it's the only option."
Graham nodded. "And what about their technology?"
"It's a lot like ours, sir," said Pidge. "Their computer systems are a little more advanced, and they're ahead of us on some things, but we're pretty closely matched."
"Except their weapons and shields are far better," said Graham.
"That's the biggest thing," said Hunk. "And they've perfected matter-energy transportation."
There was a pause as Graham thought over what he'd just been told. "And their captain, can he be trusted?"
All eyes in the room went to Lance. They knew Graham's decision was hanging on a razor's edge. One word could sway him one way or the other.
"Yeah, I think he can," said Lance.
Graham nodded. "All right. Keith, when is he due back?"
"We don't know."
"He may not come back," said Allura. "He told us that he had broken some regulations by helping us. He's going to be court-martialed."
"I see," said Graham. "Very well. If he returns, Keith, I would like you to work with Coran in setting up any necessary treaties between the Galaxy Alliance and the Federation."
"Yes, sir," Keith replied.
"And Commander?"
"Yes?"
"Don't take any chances. If this thing goes south, you are to use any means necessary to protect the Alliance, up to and including destroying that ship."
"Yes, sir," Keith said.
The Space Marshall nodded. "Graham out."
"Destroy the Berlin?" Hunk blurted. "Is he serious?"
"Yeah, Big Guy, he is," said Lance.
"Now don't get too excited over it," Coran advised. "The Space Marshall was just speaking out of caution. I'm sure we have nothing to fear from the Federation."
As Allura walked out of the control room, she silently prayed that her advisor was right.
***************************************************************************************************************************
A fog sat on San Francisco Bay as dawn broke over the city, casting a mysterious aura. The moisture on the Golden Gate Bridge caused the structure to shimmer like it was really made of gold.
On the grounds of Starfleet Academy, a man carefully tended a flowerbed, mixing in fertilizer and removing weeds. He was dressed in a white shirt and gray coveralls, and looked every one of his seventy-eight years. But his old and frail appearance was misleading. His mind was razor sharp and rich with the wisdom of his age.
He heard someone coming, and saw a figure materialize out of the mist. He wore a Starfleet uniform, but also wore a leather jacket with a fur-lined collar, a set of silver wings pinned to his chest.
The gardener watched out of the corner of his eye as the figure settled onto a bench nearby. Without looking up, he asked, "Why aren't you flying today?"
Driscoll
looked toward the voice, and saw an old man hunched over the garden. Perplexed by the old man's question, he
asked, "What?"
"Why aren't you flying today?" The gardener repeated. "You're all dressed up, but you've got nowhere to go."
"I can't. They impounded my plane."
The old gardener was silent a moment then said, "So why not take a shuttle?"
"Yeah, right," Driscoll scoffed. "It's not the same. A type-whatever can't hold a candle to a P-51. Once you've flown a Mustang, nothing else feels right."
"And that's what got you here? Doing what feels right?"
Driscoll was surprised. Who was this guy? He thought a moment about what he had said, and then he began to see a double meaning. It was so subtle he'd almost missed it. "Yeah," he replied. "It felt right."
"Even though you knew what kind of trouble you'd be in?"
"Yeah. It felt good to know in my gut I'd done the right thing. To know it in my heart, not in my head."
"And would you do it again?"
"In a second," Driscoll replied.
Now the old man stood and faced the captain. He pointed his trowel at the younger man and said, "Then what are you afraid of? What do you care what they think?"
Driscoll started to reply, but stopped himself. The old man had a point.
The gardener sat down next do the captain and studied his work a moment before speaking. "Son, I've been around a long time, and I've seen a lot. Enough to know that regulations and ethics don't always agree. What the regs tell you to do isn't always the right thing. Sometimes, you have to take a risk to find out."
"Risk is my business, according to Jim Kirk."
The gardener nodded. "That's why you're here." He rose and returned to his work. Driscoll watched him a moment, then knelt beside him as he prepared to plant a handful of seeds. "What are those?" the captain asked.
"Don't know," the old man replied. "You can't tell what the flower will look like just from the seed. Sometimes you just have to plant it and let it grow."
"Why bother, if you don't know what it is?"
"You take a risk, see what happens. The garden might just be better because of it."
Driscoll paused a moment, seeing the meaning of the gardener's words. He thought about it a moment and it suddenly became clear. He knew what he had to do.
"Thanks, Mr…"
"Boothby," the gardener replied. "Just call me 'Boothby', captain. And here," he handed Driscoll a small bag filled with some of the mystery seeds. "Take these. They might help."
Driscoll took the seeds and put them in his pocket. Boothby nodded and returned to his work.
Sensing his dismissal, Driscoll turned and left. He only had a few hours before the hearing, and he had a lot to do.