Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron, Star Trek, or anything else that belongs to WEP or Paramount. What I do own are the crew of the Berlin, (except for Mordock and Scotty), the fighter, Thunderwing, and the story itself.
A/N: Yeah, I know, I said I'd update more often now that I'd finished school, and I'm trying, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice… (and men. Well, no, actually they have nothing to do with it. Ah! No! Wrong story!) Anyway, here we go.
Thanks to Lillehafrue for reviewing, it helps keep me motivated. And hey, Crash, Cornholio, RL2, where are you guys?
Star Tron: Hidden Dangers
Chapter 9
The red alert klaxons blared aboard the Berlin, calling her crew to battle stations. As he jogged off the turbolift, Driscoll shouted, "Report!"
"Enemy fighter squadron inbound," Jacobs replied, surrendering the command chair to the Captain. Gredar arrived a moment later, and took his seat to Driscoll's right.
"Visual range, Captain," said Mordock.
"Onscreen."
Lt. Curtis gave a surprised whistle as the viewer came on, showing a mass of small objects headed straight for the Berlin.
"Curtis, close with the starbase. T.J., tell Timberwolf to stand by to engage capital ships."
Two "aye, sirs" were the only reply as the Berlin came around to defend the starbase.
As the Berlin moved into position at the starbase, the Timberwolf made an attack run on the fighters, taking out over a dozen with its phaser cannons as it passed down the left side of the formation.
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Michael jerked the fighter aside just in time as one of Timberwolf's phaser shots went right through the place he'd just been, missing them by inches and destroying the fighter just behind him.
Kala whimpered, seeing the flash and feeling the concussion from the exploding fighter rock their own craft.
"It's okay, Kala," Michael reassured her. "Just hang on." He slipped the fighter back into formation and continued on. If he was going to make it past the starships, he'd have to time his break just right…
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"Lazon missiles!" Mordock warned. "Captain, those fighters are carrying lazon missiles."
"How many?"
"All of them," Mordock replied.
"Shit," Driscoll muttered, glaring at the approaching fighters. That was more than enough firepower to put some serious hurt the starship. "T.J., prepare a spread of torpedoes."
"Proximity?"
"Damn straight, Commander," Driscoll replied.
Jacobs entered the commands on her board. "Torpedoes ready."
Driscoll watched the fighters closing in. Almost there…
"Torpedo range."
"Fire!"
The torpedoes shot from their tubes, forming a hexagonal pattern, angled toward the top. Still, the fighters kept coming. The formations of fighters and photon torpedoes merged and the torpedoes detonated, destroying dozens of fighters, tearing them apart in less than a second.
As the survivors came through the lingering fireball, the Berlin's phasers opened fire, but still the fighters came, boring in closer as they were picked off one by one until, in unison, they fired their missiles and broke away.
All but one.
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Michael watched as the other fighters salvoed their missiles and broke off. But now, instead of following the rest of the squadron, he dove, passing below the starship as the missiles hammered into it, and its shields erupted in a kaleidoscope of defensive energy, before failing and allowing the last few missiles to strike the bare hull.
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The force of the massed missile strike shook the bridge like an earthquake. There were screams and cries of surprise as crewmen were thrown to the deck or slammed against their consoles. The lights flared and died, replaced seconds later by red emergency lights.
"Report!" Driscoll demanded as he hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. "What's hit?"
"Forward shields down, structural damage to the forward saucer, deflector dish and forward engineering hull," Jacobs replied, having retaken her station.
"Navigational deflectors offline," said Curtis. "Forward RCS thrusters are not responding."
"Casualty reports coming in, Captain," said Lieutenant Singh. "Reports from deck six, seven, twelve through fifteen."
"Where are they?" Gredar rasped, a cut below his eye bleeding freely down the side of his face.
"They're running, sir," Mordock replied. "They appear to be disengaging."
"This bodes ill," Gredar hissed.
"Yeah," Driscoll agreed. "Bastards are getting smarter."
"Skipper!" Jacobs called. "One of the fighters is headed for Arus."
"Nail 'im," Driscoll ordered.
Jacobs punched commands into her board, then pounded it in frustration. "I can't! Weapons are down!"
"Alert the Voltron Force. We'll let Keith have him. And get Timberwolf over here. We'll need an escort if those bastards come back."
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"We're almost there, Kala," said Michael. "Just a few more minutes. Look."
For the first time since they left Citrine II, Kala straightened up and looked out of the cockpit. Before her lay the blue and green planet Arus. They had almost made it.
They entered the atmosphere and headed down. As soon as they came out of the fireball, though, the lock-on alerts flashed and buzzed, and Michael suddenly remembered the one thing he'd forgotten to learn how to use.
The radio.
Frantically, he began swerving back and forth, punching buttons on the console and shouting, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot, we're friends!"
Just when he thought they'd had it, a commanding voice replied, "Who are you?"
"My name is Michael. I'm an escaped slave from Citrine II. I've come to warn you about Lotor's plans. Please, don't shoot. I've got my sister in here with me."
The fighter began to shake and for a moment, Michael thought he was being shot down. Then, on either side of his cockpit, a giant, catlike head appeared, one black, one yellow, both close enough to touch.
"There's an airfield ahead. Land there," the voice commanded. It's tone left no room for negotiation.
Michael looked around and saw the airfield ahead and slightly to the right. There were several holes in the landing area, and signs of hastily-abandoned repair work.
Seeing a spot near the end of the strip that appeared safe, Michael descended and slowed the fighter, brining it in for a rough but intact landing. Even before he could get the hatch open, the Lions had landed upright on either side of him, while two others had appeared in the sky above.
Climbing down to the tarmac, he was greeted by a squad of armed men wearing brown uniforms. Two others in white suits, one with red trim, the other with yellow, approached him and Kala.
"I'm Commander Keith of the Voltron Force," said the man in red.
"Michael," he replied. "This is my sister, Kala." Kala nodded, but said nothing. "We have information for you. Lotor's planning to attack Arus. Very soon."
Keith looked them over, and looked to one of the guards. "Escort them to the castle, Corporal."
"Yes, sir," the other man replied. The guards stepped forward, taking the two former slaves into their midst as Keith and Hunk returned to their Lions.
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When they returned to the Castle of Lions, Keith spoke to Coran. "Have Adam come down. He'll want to hear what they have to say."
Coran nodded. "I'll relay the message through the Timberwolf. Berlin's communications have gone offline."
Keith looked at him. "How bad were they hit?"
Coran held his gaze for a long moment before replying, "A better question, Commander, is how did they survive?"
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"Scotty, let's look at it this way: What works?" Driscoll asked. He, Gredar, and Scotty were standing in main engineering near the deactivated warp core.
"Righ' now, na' much," the Scotsman replied as the group moved over to the master system display. He called up a diagram showing the damaged systems, color-coded by severity. "We're running on backup systems except for life support and a few maintenance systems. In a pinch, I could probably get ya the aft weapons and shields. Shuttlebay's operating fine, and we've got impulse, but we canna move safely until we get the navigational deflectors back."
"How long, Captain?" Gredar asked.
"Well, the shields took most of the impact force, so there isn't much structural repair except the crushed hull segments on decks four and five and the area around the deflector dish. The forward shield generators will need replacing, and the rest is just a matter a' replacing parts and patching circuits. I'd say three days."
"You've got two to get us combat-ready, Scotty. Luxuries are not on the list. I'll put in for the shield generators and whatever other parts we need. Meanwhile, you see what you can do with what you have."
Like I always do, Scotty thought, but he said only, "Aye, sir."
"I'll have Timberwolf cover us for now, but we'll need to cut them loose ASAP, so keep me informed on the repairs, okay?"
Scotty nodded, and the two senior officers left engineering. As they did, Driscoll's combadge chirped. "Timberwolf to Driscoll."
The young captain tapped the badge. "Driscoll here."
"O'Donnel here, Adam. They want to see you planetside."
"Okay, thanks, Mark. Driscoll out." He turned to his first officer. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep in touch through Timberwolf until we get the ship-to-shore gear going again."
"Captain, I must question your decision. The ship is crippled. You are needed here."
Driscoll nodded. "Yeah, I know. But I'm also the Federation liason officer to the Alliance. Coran knows we're hurt, so if he's asking me to come down, it's gotta be important."
Gredar understood the boy's reasoning, and saw his point. But he felt the damaged starship should be the Captain's most pressing concern. Regardless of his opinion, though, the Captain was justified in his decision, so Gredar made no further comment.
"I will keep you informed of our progress," Gredar told him.
Driscoll nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, turning down a corridor and heading for a turbolift.
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When Driscoll got to the castle's conference room, he was surprised to see a young woman seated at the table with Coran and the four pilots. Beside her was an oddly familiar young man.
After introductions were made, Driscoll recognized the man as the one he'd overflown on Citrine II and waggled his wings at.
Michael explained to the Voltron Force what he knew of Lotor's plans, including all of the information gathered by the resistance. What he told them about the ships, armor, and soldiers assembled drew an astonished whistle from Lance, surprised glances from Hunk and Pidge, and dark looks from Adam, Keith and Coran.
"The good news," said Michael, "is that we've given you guys a way to take them out quickly. Once their navicomputers indicate they're approaching Arus, the shields will start to fluctuate. Hit them near the base of the conning tower on the right side, and you'll trigger a cascade reaction that will wreck their command systems."
Keith was suspicious. Leaning forward on the table, he asked, "How were you able to set that up? The Drules don't let slaves anywhere near their ships."
"They had no choice," Michael replied. "With the schedule Lotor gave them, and the number of ships involved, they had to use slaves. There were enough of us for a few to slip away every so often to set up the demolitions."
"When will they attack?" Coran asked. That question had been on everyone's mind since the attack on Shavena.
"It could be any day now."
The Voltron Force exchanged alarmed looks. Keith looked at Adam, and everyone knew what they were thinking. Adam nodded. "I'm on it." He rose and left the room, making for his fighter.
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The next few hours passed in a chaotic series of communiqués, meetings, and general confusion. Jacobs and Timberwolf's security officer were dispatched to meet with Commander Wright, Keith, and Coran to start planning and laying out the ground defenses. Driscoll requested reinforcements and resupply from Starfleet, including the replacement parts Scott asked for. While he awaited a reply, he met with Captain O'Donnel to talk about how their two ships could best attack the incoming enemy fleet, which would outnumber them by at least a hundred to one.
Keith had also requested reinforcements from Galaxy Garrison, but he knew that it was unlikely any would be sent. Even as he sent his message, though, his mind was elsewhere.
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Commander Torka left his office and headed for the detention block. He'd just received his orders for the invasion, and there were many preparations to make. But first, there was someone he wished to speak to.
The base was dimly lit, though still brighter than most Doom installations. Long, dark-walled corridors with steel floors ran throughout the base, conveying the members of the Konogg Brigade to their destinations quickly and efficiently. Soldiers nodded to Torka as they passed.
Stepping off of a lift, Torka turned down a corridor into the detention block. Checking in with the guard, he proceeded to the only occupied cell.
Princess Allura looked up as she heard the door open. If she weren't chained, she'd try to take her visitor out and escape. As it was, she could only watch a tall, simply-dressed figure enter the cell and stand a few feet away. She'd long ago deduced that this man was the leader of the organization. Unlike other ranking Doom officers, however, he was surprisingly unpretentious. He wore no cape, no elaborate ornamentation. Just a few rank and unit insignia.
"How are you, Your Highness? Are you hungry?" the man asked as he sat beside her. Again, Allura was surprised. He spoke in a calm, even tone, and wasn't haughty or condescending.
"No, thank you, Commander," Allura replied coolly. After a moment, she asked, "I suppose I'm waiting for Lotor?"
Torka nodded. "He'll be along to collect you in due time."
"Where am I?"
"A base on your planet, built some years ago and protected by the same masking technology that our fighters use."
"They'll find you. Your masks aren't infallible," Allura said defiantly.
"You mean Razin? Bad luck, nothing more," Torka said with a dismissive wave. "But he is a loss in manpower only. He was impulsive, ambitious, and stupid." Torka paused, then grunted bemusedly. "He'd have gone far in his career. Like all the other imbeciles I answer to."
"You don't respect your leaders?" Allura asked.
"Some. Not many. Most are too concerned with their own careers. They serve themselves first, their planet and people second. They fight battles that don't need fighting, and capture planets of no value. They conquer for conquest's sake. Not for resources or colony worlds."
Now his voice lowered to an angry snarl. "And when they do advance, they forget about how they got there. They forget about the loyal soldiers who fought and died at their command. Those people are commanders in rank only."
Allura shifted in her seat. She didn't like Drules. She despised most of them, and some she downright hated. But this one was different. She'd never known a Drule commander to show concern about his men, or distrust for his leaders. She didn't like Torka, but she found that she suddenly felt a certain respect for him.
Just then, he reached out and grabbed her hands. She jerked back in alarm, and Torka released her. "I was going to remove your shackles," he said.
Slowly, Allura held her hands out to him, and Torka removed the irons, saying, "You're a royal prisoner, and a woman. Even we Drules aren't completely without manners."
"You expect me to talk?" Allura asked sharply, rubbing her chafed wrists. "You think a little humanity will make me betray my people?"
"Your mistrust is disappointing, Highness, but not unexpected," Torka replied. "No, I do not want anything from you. It will be pointless soon, anyway."
"How long?" Allura asked, knowing Torka was talking about the invasion.
Torka just smiled and rose. "Make yourself comfortable, Princess. I'll have some food brought to you."
Allura watched as Torka left and shut the cell door behind him, her mind swirling with what she'd learned from her conversation with the Commander. The invasion was coming. The boys would need her. She had to escape.
But how?
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Later that evening, Driscoll was in the Berlin's shuttlebay, adjusting Thunderwing's sensors, when Captain Scott came toward him from the other end of the bay. "Captain?"
"Yeah, Scotty, what's up?" Driscoll replied, setting down his tools on the wing as Scott walked up beside him.
"I think I've found the answer to our tracking problem," Scotty replied. He handed Driscoll a brass-colored object, about two centimeters around, slanting down to a one-centimeter cone.
"A .50 caliber API round?" Driscoll asked, picking up the bullet and looking it over. "I don't get it."
"This isn't just any bullet. This one has a viridium core."
Driscoll immediately saw what Scotty was getting at. Viridium was a very rare metal that, while not dangerously radioactive, could be detected by Federation sensors at a range of two parsecs. More than sufficient to find the enemy base.
"Scotty, you're a Goddamn miracle-worker," Driscoll blurted, grinning at the engineer.
Scotty rolled his eyes, then looked at Driscoll and cocked an eyebrow as he said, "Lad, the miracle's yet to come."
"We'll see. Okay, I'll need two belts, 270 rounds per, chain-belted. Can you do that for me?"
Scotty considered a moment before replying, "Aye, I can. Give me one hour."
"You got it. Thanks, Scotty."
Scott nodded and left the chamber, and Driscoll went back to work on his sensors. Within an hour, he had finished. Now there was just one more modification he needed to make. Walking over to a locker at the side of the shuttlebay, he withdrew two cases. Each one held an original piece of Thunderwing's weaponry: a .50 caliber Browning M2 machine gun.
By the time Captain Scott returned, Driscoll had swapped Thunderwing's two outboard phasers for the machine guns. He took the ammo from the engineer, and loaded the guns, praying as he did that they'd be able to find Allura soon.
But first, he'd have to find one of the Konogg Brigade's fighters.
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The next morning, Keith beamed up to the Berlin. Not long before, he'd received some bad, though not unexpected, news from Galaxy Garrison. A security guard escorted Keith to Driscoll's ready room. He pressed the door chime, and a moment later, the doors whooshed open.
Driscoll looked up from his console. "Hey, Keith."
Keith nodded and walked up to the front of the desk. "Good news?"
"Kinda. We should be combat-ready again by late tomorrow. There's a CST coming in today with torpedoes and new shield generators, and they're gonna help us with the hull damage."
"What about reinforcements?"
Driscoll sighed and looked at Keith. "Not comin'. Nechayev said there's nothing available."
"Nothing?" Keith asked incredulously.
Driscoll shook his head. "Not even a Goddamn fighter squadron," he said skeptically. "Everything Starfleet can scrape together's being sent to the Cardassian border."
"But don't they realize that Lotor will go after you next?"
"That's my fault, Keith. When I told Nechayev I could close the wormhole, I kinda stepped in it hip deep. Now she thinks that if we get in trouble or if Lotor's threatening to break through, that I'll just close the hole. So…"
Keith nodded.
Driscoll looked at Keith. "What about the Garrison?"
"They're not coming, either. The usual story. They're spread too thin, and there's nothing close enough."
The two officers were quiet for a time. Finally, Adam said, "The way I see it, Keith, there's not much chance that any of us will survive this. I mean, shit, we're outnumbered a hundred to one, no reinforcements, there's sure to be robeasts…" He shook his head before adding dejectedly, "This is probably gonna to be our last ride."
Keith nodded. "Probably." Keith never liked to focus on negatives, but he was also a realist. He had already concluded himself everything that Driscoll had just said. He just hoped that he and the other members of the Voltron Force could do enough to Lotor's fleet to give the ground troops a chance.
"Berlin and Timberwolf won't be captured," Driscoll continued quietly. "We don't dare let them or the starbase fall into enemy hands."
Keith nodded again, fully understanding what Driscoll was saying. "Voltron, too," he added. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. It really wasn't his decision to make. It was Allura's. The problem was, she wasn't there to make it.
"I figure," Driscoll continued, "With the sabotage Michael told us about, we should be able to take out fifty, maybe sixty cruisers, between us and Timberwolf, and a few hundred fighters, if we're lucky. That's still leaves a helluva lot for you."
"Probably at least two robeasts," Keith added.
"Probably."
"And without Allura, we can't form Voltron…" Keith said.
"Well, there might be something we can do about that," Driscoll replied. He told Keith about Scotty's new ammunition, and how, if he could get a few slugs into a fighter, they could track it back to its base. And once they found the base, they found Allura. "Only thing is, how the heck to we get one of them where I can shoot it?"
Keith had an answer to that.