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Star Tron: Louder Than Words Chapter 7: Crashing the PartyLion practice the next morning was short, consisting only of basic maneuvers and combat tactics. After practice, the Lions and Thunderwing landed at the airfield near the Castle of Lions, which a mixed crew of Arusian and Starfleet engineers had quickly fixed up over the past few days, improving it from barely serviceable to a respectable landing field.
It was a long, low structure about forty feet high, almost a mile long, and over 1000 feet wide at its widest point. The top surface was the actual landing field, and there was a boxy tower on one side. A hangar bay below the runway was accessed by two elevators and a staircase in the tower. The hangar bay was large enough to accommodate over seventy fighters in individual hardstands. A third level underground housed a power station, storage areas, and crew habitation areas, as well as operations rooms an crew amenities.
With his plane parked on the planet below, Captain Driscoll beamed up to his ship to await the arrival of Admiral Nechayev and her party. As he scanned the bridge, he noticed that all of the senior staff were there, including Scotty and the Sheik.
Finally, Mordock called out, "Captain, wormhole activity. There is a ship coming through."
"Identify."
"Federation signature, Steamrunner-class. NCC-51597. U.S.S. Farallon."
"The Farallon is hailing," said Jacobs.
"Onscreen," Driscoll ordered.
On the Berlin's viewer, the star-speckled blackness of space was replaced by the face of Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev on the bridge of the Farallon. "Captain Driscoll."
"Admiral," Driscoll replied with a nod. "Welcome to the Denubian Galaxy."
"Thank you. Has the Alliance delegation arrived yet?"
Driscoll glanced at Mordock. "There is an Alliance star cruiser coming into sensor range. They should be here within an hour," the Benzite told him.
Driscoll turned back to Nechayev. "One hour, Admiral."
"Very well. I take it you've planned our itinerary?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'll have it sent through immediately."
"Good. In that case, I'll see you in an hour. Nechayev out."
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The Alliance vessel arrived right on time. Space Marshall Graham himself hailed the Berlin, identifying his ship as the A.S.V. Unity.
The Unity was smaller than the Federation ships, comparable in size to an Intrepid-class ship. Graham's party consisted of himself and Senators Ulrich and Matheson. They were beamed over to the Berlin, where they met with Driscoll and Nechayev, Admirals Soval and Popovitch, and Councillors White and T'Pren.
After introductions were made, the group toured the Berlin and then the Unity, before shuttling down to Arus. Driscoll beamed down, so that he would be in position for the brass and diplomats to review the Voltron Force and their craft.
As the shuttles from the Berlin and the Unity set down, the Voltron Force snapped to attention and saluted as the officers disembarked. The five Alliance pilots saluted Roman-style, with their right hands across their chests, palm-down. Driscoll, wearing his leather jacket over his uniform, saluted in the standard fashion, touching his brow.
From the landing field, the group went to a nearby village, where the Princess led them through the oldest parts, telling of the horrors of Zarkon's invasion, and how the survivors fled underground and stayed there for eleven years. Then they came to a block that was being rebuilt. The townspeople were working on building homes and store, schools and offices. Some of their materials were of the traditional variety, stone and wood worked with hammers and chisels, held by nails and mortar.
But with them went many synthetic products. Windows of transparent aluminum, solid fiber insulation, superconducting cables. The people working with these used laser welders and graviton mallets, antigrav lifts and self-sealing stem bolts.
And among the townsfolk, Starfleet engineers roamed. Some provided advice on planning, while others helped lift beams into place. The scene was one of two cultures coming together for a common purpose.
The sun was high in the sky when the group finished the tour of the village and headed for a local inn for lunch.
Allura had made special arrangements with the innkeeper and the group found a modest but attractive spread of cold cuts, cheeses, breads, vegetables, and other luncheon foods laid out for them in a quiet back room. Everyone filled their plates and took a seat at a long dining table, with the Federation people along one side, the Alliance delegation and the Voltron Force on the other, Allura at the head, and Driscoll at the foot.
For a while, conversation centered on observations from the tours of the ships and the village, and how the Lions and Thunderwing had been keeping Zarkon and Lotor at bay. But, inevitably, talk turned to the final sticking point in the treaty.
"What you have done to help the people of Arus is wonderful indeed," said Senator Ulrich to the Starfleeters. "But one cannot help but wonder how much more could be done with a full political and military alliance."
Driscoll was about to reply, when Admiral Popovitch cut him off. "Senator, the Federation does not provide military aid to anyone without an existing state of war. We have no quarrel with your enemies."
"And we are, ourselves, at war," said Councillor T'Pren. "What military resources we have are fully employed in the defense of the Federation."
"Yet you have allowed the Berlin to remain," said Senator Matheson.
"The Berlin is a science vessel, part of the reserve fleet. She has little tactical value," said Popovitch.
Matheson snorted. "I wish the Alliance had more ships of so 'little tactical value'."
"Senator Matheson, the Federation is a benevolent organization," said Admiral Soval. "We do not place an emphasis on military strength, as you seem to."
"Yet you are asking us to let you build bases and shipyards in our space," said Ulrich. He leaned closer over the table. "We are not asking you to fight our battles for us. We simply need help. Most of our forces are tied up fighting the Drules, and Zarkon's forces are raiding Alliance worlds in this galaxy almost unopposed. The greater part of our strength in this region is represented at this table," he added, gesturing to the people around him.
"We sympathize, Senator. Really, we do," said Councillor White. "But we cannot, nor will we, provide military aid to the Alliance without a state of war existing between the Doom Empire and the United Federation of Planets. We'll gladly send all th humanitarian aid you need, but. . ."
Just then, Nechayev's badge chirped. "Farallon to Nechayev."
"Go ahead."
"We're under attack! Large Doom raiding force is. . ." the transmission ended in a burst of static.
The group raced out of the inn to see people running for cover as the first Doom fighters zoomed low overhead, opening fire on buildings near the edge of town.
Driscoll slapped his badge. "Driscoll to Berlin, report!"
"Singh here, sir. They came from the far side of the planet. The Farallon is disabled and adrift. And this robeast is coming after us with a vengeance."
"Understood. Prepare to open the aft shields. I'm on my way up."
"Coran says there's a squadron of fighters attacking us, and the Berlin's fighting a robeast," Keith said as he pocketed his communicator. "The other ship's adrift."
"Yeah, Keith, I know," Driscoll said tensely, watching the fighters." Suddenly, one of the fighters flew by very low, buzzing them, then slowly looping around and lining up for an attack.
"Take cover!" Graham yelled.
The group dove into an alley beside the inn just as the ruby laser beam tore into the corner where they had been standing moments before.
"Everyone okay?" Keith asked as the dust settled.
"Yes, I think so," Nechayev replied. She looked around, counting heads. Then she counted again. One short. Admiral Popovitch wasn't there.
"Where's the other Admiral?" Pidge asked, picking up on Nechayev's intense scanning.
"Over there!" said Matheson, pointing to the street.
Admiral Popovitch lay on the far side of the street. His left arem was bent at an odd angle, and there was a small trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
Nechayev and the Starfleeters ran to him, Driscoll pulling his sidearm from his shoulder holster beneath his jacket, a phaser pistol designed like a Colt .45. He scanned the sky as T'Pren checked Popovitch.
"Don't bother, he's gone," said Nechayev. They all looked down, and saw a gaping hole in his right side, blood pooled on the street beneath him.
"Incoming!" Ulrich warned. Another fighter had spotted them. Driscoll fired at it, distracting the pilot, which gave the others time to find cover.
Everyone ducked back into the alley as the fighter zoomed past, its lasers tearing up the ground beside Popovitch's body.
"We've gotta get to the Lions, Keith," said Lance.
"I know. Allura, you take the others back to the castle. Me, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Adam will cover you."
"Let her go, Commander," said Graham. "I'll get these folks to the castle. You'll need the Princess anyway. Driscoll has to look after his ship."
"Yeah," said Driscoll. "Admiral, I'll beam you and the Councillors aboard the Berlin ASAP."
"Don't worry about us. Go help the Farallon."
"Aye, sir," Driscoll replied, tossing off a crisp salute. Nechayev returned it as the Voltron Force left the alley and headed for the landing field.