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Star Tron: Louder Than Words Chapter 8: The Camel's Back BreaksLieutenant-Commander Tina Jacobs grabbed hold of her console as the robeast attacked again, launching a volley of missiles at the Berlin. The ship shook violently, and Gredar hissed, "Report!"
"Shields at seventy percent. Minor structural damage on decks seven and thirteen," Jacobs replied.
"Return fire," Gredar ordered.
Jacobs complied, launching a four-torpedo spread at the robeast, which dodged three of them. The fourth struck it in the leg, spinning it around, but it recovered.
The robest resembled a large, green, humanoid lobster, with muscular legs and arms equipped with massive pincers. One blow from those pincers had shattered the Farallon's starboard nacelle, leaving the starship helpless and adrift, leaving a glowing trail of plasma behind it.
The assault force had masked its approach by staying behind Arus and out of the starships' sight. The robeast caught the two ships off guard. In a moment of confusion, though, it misidentified its target, attacking the Farallon instead of the Berlin. This allowed the Excelsior-class ship to raise its shields and counterattack, drawing the robeast's attention away from the defenseless Farallon.
But this robeast was tough. It was able to evade most of the starship's attacks, or else it curled up, taking the hits on its thickly armored carapace.
The robeast clicked its claws and prepared for another strike, when Thunderwing came out of nowhere, strafing the robeast across its face.
The distracted creature lunged at the fighter, forgetting the starship for a moment.
"Commander," Gredar hissed.
"On it," Jacobs replied. "Firing."
A barrage of phaser and torpedo fire caught the robeast full on its unprotected belly, sending it tumbling.
"Nice shot, T.J.,' said Driscoll. "Now lower the shields. I'm coming aboard."
"Captain, the tractor beams are damaged. We can't guide you in," said Singh.
"No problem. Just open the doors. Thunderwing on final."
Jacobs and Singh complied, watching their boards tensely as the Mustang approached the ship on manual control. But, true to his word, Driscoll brought his plane in for an easy three-point landing.
A few moments later, Driscoll arrived on the bridge, still wearing his leather jacket. "Report!"
"Shields holding at seventy percent. Damage on decks seven and thirteen," Jacobs replied.
Driscoll looked at the viewer and saw the robeast recover from its tumble. It moved slowly, as though in pain, then launched a missile attack from tubes in its tail. Driscoll had just gotten to his chair as the ship lurched under the impact of the missiles.
"Shields at sixty-eight percent, minor hull breach on deck thirteen," Singh reported.
"Mike, come right to course one-seven-seven. Impulse power, all ahead one-half," Driscoll ordered. "Give us some space. Mordock?"
"Sir?"
"Find the chink in his armor. Scan the living daylights out of him, and tell me what you find." He punched a button on the arm of his chair. "Bridge to engineering."
"Scott here."
"Scotty, can you give us any more phaser power?"
"I can try. I don't know how much I can do."
"Do what you can. Driscoll out."
"He's coming in behind us, sir," Jacobs warned.
"Aft torpedoes," said Driscoll.
"Can't sir. We already fired them," Jacobs replied.
"What?"
"We only had six torps in the aft mag."
"How many up front?"
"Ten port and starboard."
"Dammit. Mordock, anything?" Driscoll asked.
"Not yet, sir."
Just then, the robeast lunged, trying to catch the starship with its claws. At the last second, the starship swerved and the blow glanced off of the shields. Angered, the robeast curled its tail around, firing a missile barrage.
"Report!" Driscoll called.
"Aft shields at forty percent," Jacobs replied.
"Captain!" said Mordock.
"Yeah?"
"Scan complete. Analysis shows significant weaknesses in the robeast's armor at the limb joints and near the missile tubes."
"Can we hit it?"
"If we tighten the beam diameter, we can inflict damage in the necessary areas."
Seconds ticked by, feeling like hours, until Driscoll rose from his seat. "T.J.," he said, glancing at her. "Modify the phasers to Mordock's specs. Mike, on my mark, come about and prepare to execute a Picard Maneuver. Ready full torpedo spread, fire on my command."
The barrage of orders was obeyed silently. When Curtis announced that the helm was ready, Driscoll sat back down in his chair. "Range to target?"
"Fifty thousand kilometers," said Mordock.
"Helm, in three, two, one, engage!"
The Berlin whirled around and shot to warp nine for a split second, instantaneously closing to point-blank range on the robeast. The Doom construct was confused, seeing, for a second, two starships where there had been one.
The nearer ship fired, eight torpedoes punching into the robesast, exploding against it in hellish antimatter fury. The robeast spun wildly, in pain, trying to bring its tail to bear, only to be stung behind its knees, in its elbows, and under its flailing arms.
Enraged, the robeast lunged, dodging down to avoid the painful red beams. Suddenly, one caught it between its neck and shoulder, and it cringed painfully, ducking away. Almost by accident, it struck the ship with its tail, a metal-crushing, bone-jarring smack near the port torpedo tube.
The ship's bridge erupted in chaos, sparks exploding from panels, and crewmen falling to the deck. "Damage report!" Gredar hissed.
"Torpedo room one is out of action," said Singh. "Hull breach on deck sixteen."
"Come around!" Driscoll shouted, coughing on smoke from burned circuits. "Phasers!" he watched as the red energy beams lashed out and struck the robeast in its sensitive spots, but only served to slow the monster down.
The robeast glared at the Berlin, clicked its claws, and moved in for another attack.
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Keith looked around from the cockpit of Black Lion. After the Lions had launchd, they had set to work clearing the skies of Doom fighters. After sixty or so had fallen, the remainder retreated, and the Lions gave chase, which was how Keith and the others found themselves in orbit.
Suddenly, he saw a flash off to one side and looked over. The Berlin had just sent the robeast spinning with a torpedo salvo. But the robeast answered back, fighting in close and smacking its tail against the Berlin's hull, causing the vessel to turn away.
"Keith, looks like it's that time," said Lance.
"Right. Ready to form Voltron."
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The robeast was about to grip the Berlin's saucer in its claws, when Jacobs fired the last available torpedo, knocking the beast away. But the detonation was too close to the ship.
"Forward shields collapsing," Jacobs reported.
"Emergency power to forward shields," Driscoll ordered.
"New sensor contact bearing two-eight-four mark three-three-zero," Mordock announced. "It's Voltron."
"Good," Driscoll replied. "T.J., keep firing, keep him occupied."
"Aye, sir."
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Keith watched as the Berlin speared the robeast with several more phaser hits, maintaining it attention and allowing Voltron to approach unnoticed. At the last moment, Keith announced, "Form Blazing Sword!"
Voltron's hands clapped together, the Blazing Sword forming between them as they parted. The great robot warrior closed in. "Ready!" Keith called as Voltron raised the sword.
The Berlin struck again, and as the robeast dodged, Voltron brought the sword down, slicing the robeast in two.
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A cheer erupted on the Berlin's bridge as the robeast exploded in a massive fireball. When it cleared, Voltron stood proudly in its place.
Driscoll touched a control on the arm of his chair, opening a channel. "Thanks, Keith. Perfect timing."
"Are you all right?"
"Been better, but we'll survive. Where's the Unity?"
"She was giving us supporting fire, last I saw her."
"Do me a favor: Contact them and ask them to help us with the Farallon. There's gonna be a lot of casualties over there."
"Will do."
"Thanks." He closed the channel and turned to Lt. Curtis. "Helm, return to the Farallon. Impulse engines, all ahead full."
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"No!" Lotor shouted, leaping up from his chair. "How could they have survived? Haggar! You promised me that robeast would destroy them!"
Haggar stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the battleship's bridge, her blue cat in her arms. "I wasn't planning on fighting the Berlin and Voltron!" she replied. "My robeast wasn't ready for both at once! Your fighters were supposed to keep the Lions busy."
Lotor scowled darkly. It was true, his fighters had failed. And the robeast had attacked the wrong ship. But the Unity had been no match for his own vessel, that much had gone right. The plan had been flawless, but the execution was sloppy.
Of course, there were other ways. . .
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"Approaching the Farallon, sir," Mordock reported.
"Close to transporter range," Driscoll ordered, studying the now-inverted ship on the viewer. "Tell the Sheik to prepare to receive wounded."
Suddenly, Jacobs shouted, "Doom battleship off the port bow, closing fast!"
"Ready phasers, warn them off!" Driscoll ordered.
"I'm getting a response, sir," said Jacobs. "Prince Lotor wants to name his terms."
"On audio."
"Stop right there, Driscoll," said Lotor.
Driscoll nodded to Curtis, who brought the ship to a full stop. "What do you want, Lotor?"
"You know what I want. Surrender now. Turn your ship and the Lions over to me, and I will spare your comrades."
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Allura watched in horror as the scene unfolded. All of Lotor's weapons were aimed at the helpless Farallon.
"Lotor," she heard Adam say, "If you do, you won't live to see tomorrow."
"Join me now," Lotor ordered, "You're either with us or against us."
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Driscoll could feel the eyes of his crew upon him as he thought out his next move. Where is the Unity? he thought. "Gredar," he mumbled quietly, "commence transport. Now."
He watched Gredar get up and relay the order to Singh. She punched a command into her board, then again, then a third time. She looked back and mouthed, Transporters down.
Driscoll was stunned. There seemed no way out. No transporters, no tractor beams, no shields. He could wither surrender and sacrifice his ship and crew, trusting Lotor's word that he'd spare the Farallon, or refuse, condemning the other ship.
He shook his head. No, there must be a way out. There's no such thing as a no-win scenario.
"What is your choice?" Lotor demanded.
"Lotor, you are a cold, heartless bastard. You have no honor, and no sense of decency. You leave me with no choice. The Federation does not negotiate with terrorists, nor do we bow to their acts. I will not surrender."
"Then consider this a declaration of war."
The battleship fired on the Farallon, focusing its lasers on the warp core hatch. At the same time, the Berlin fired on the battleship.
Both Lotor's ship and the Farallon erupted in planes where they were hit, explosions spreading throughout, until both were torn asunder in violent showers of light and debris.
Unnoticed by the Berlin's sensors, two small coffin-ships ejected from the battleship and raced off for Doom, their retreat hidden by the exploding ships.
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Driscoll sat in silence a moment, watching the fading glow of the explosions. The Farallon had had a crew of 300 men and women, and had been in service less than a year.
Finally, he rose from his seat. "Return to orbit, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "T.J., hail the Unity."
Jacobs made three attempts, then reported, "No response." She glanced down at a blinking light on her panel. "But Commander Mendoza is hailing."
"Put him on." A moment later, Keith appeared on the viewer. "Keith."
"I'm sorry, Adam."
"Thanks, Keith. Any word from Coran?"
"Not yet. He's probably still gathering damage reports."
"Okay. Let's try to find the Unity and regroup. They may be back."
Keith nodded. "Agreed. See you later," he said, closing the channel.