With the help of M'eioi and the Solanae, it is relatively simple to open the requisite communications channels. The situation is - somewhat - improved. We can coordinate our efforts, and - if M'eioi can be sufficiently diplomatic - we can enlist the assistance of the Solanae.
Even so, the Voth force is substantial. Our ships are not primarily military, and the Solanae do not appear to be combat effective. I place little reliance on the security swarmers, no matter how many of them the Solanae can field. Both we and the Voth have long since developed tactics for dealing with the swarmers - they are a threat to isolated, individual units, but only an annoyance to an organized force.
And the Voth are certainly organized.
Twosani Dezin sounds relieved, when I finally make contact with her. She is dubious, at first, about reclaiming the Tempest, but the apparent advantages eventually outweigh her emotional reluctance. She has already deciphered most of the control protocols for the transporter network, so it does not take long, with the aid of the Solanae and Commander Pearl's prefix codes, to link the transport pad to the Tempest's transporter room.
"Though I don't know how we're going to test it - we don't have any standard transporter test masses," she says. I make no reply. After a moment, she adds, "We could improvise something - rig a tricorder to one of the cargo containers, maybe -"
"That suggestion has merit," I say. And I am glad she thought of it for herself; her initiative and intelligence have not been completely suppressed by shock from her recent experiences. "Program a round trip, and study the tricorder readouts. It would be helpful to make the personnel transfer expeditiously."
"I'll get on it. Sir, what about you?"
I look around me. "For the present, I will remain in this control room. There are bound to be assets here which I can utilize."
"Surely Admiral M'eioi and the Solanae could run things remotely from their control centre?"
"They have many other calls on their attention. Please proceed with the transporter tests." I turn away from the comms console and stride to the centre of the room, where I look down to watch the docking platform and the Timor.
There is definitely movement nearby. I can see the shifting of lights in the windows near the platform; shadows passing, which can only be cast by large moving objects. The Voth are making their way through the corridors, towards the Timor.
I consider plans, assess strategies, discard unworkable options. There are entirely too many of those last.
The comms console bleats for my attention; I return to it. "Transporter tests check out," Twosani reports. "We are cleared for personnel transfer."
"Excellent. Transport medical staff first, then the wounded needing attention. The facilities of Tempest's sickbay will undoubtedly be superior to our own improvisations."
"Yes, sir."
"I must attend to other matters." I cut the channel, switch in another. "T'Pia to Timor."
A human female voice responds in clipped tones. "This is Commander Kothe aboard the Timor. Good to hear from you, sir."
"Do you have Admiral M'eioi's tactical data feed?" I see no reason to waste time on pleasantries.
"Yes, sir. There's a whole lot of Voth armour coming our way." Kothe sounds concerned, but not agitated. This is good.
"I have considered the tactical possibilities. You cannot maintain a defensive perimeter against a concerted attack by Voth battlemechs."
"I agree, sir. We've already pulled the security teams back aboard the ship. We've left minefields and automated turrets, but those won't slow the Voth down for long. We're going to launch the ship, raise shields, and put her into free-float, keeping station maybe half a kilometre above the platform."
That was one option I had considered. "I regret that your plan may not be sufficient. The Voth have substantial ground-based firepower. If the Timor remains in range of their battlemechs, they may have enough resources to breach even your shields."
"We'll destroy them before they can mount a coordinated assault," says Kothe.
"Contra-indicated. You cannot discharge the Timor's plasma weapons and torpedoes without risking collateral damage to the docking platform, which in turn would identify the ship as hostile to the spire's automated defences. You observed, I believe, the internal antiproton batteries on your way in."
There is a pause. "If we can exit the spire completely -" Kothe begins.
"You would evade the Voth ground forces. But they have a Bulwark-class battleship at their disposal - it is currently docked to the spire, but it can undock at a moment's notice."
There is another pause. Kothe's voice sounds more stressed when she speaks again. "The Voth mechs are getting awfully close, sir. If you have a workable suggestion, I'd be glad to hear it."
I look around me, at the glowing consoles in the command centre. "I believe I do."
---
The Voth attack is swift, sudden, and well-planned.
The first wave consists of heavy Polyonax-class mechs, stomping towards the Timor. Their heavy-duty shields simply shrug off phaser fire from the light turrets, and those shields have built-in repulsor fields which clear the turrets and the minefields as effectively as a bulldozer.
Behind them come other battlemechs - lighter Ceratopsid-classes and some of the huge Dacentrus mechs - and the dinosaurs: dankanasaurs, leaping into position to fire their antiproton barrages, and the larger lumbering forms of furiadons. I repress a shiver at the sight of them. I have been in the mind of a furiadon, I know how they think....
A ring of firepower is forming around the Timor as she squats on the docking platform. Although the Voth mechs have powerful weaponry, it is probably not powerful enough, in itself, to bring down Timor's Reman-designed shields. But, behind the heavy advance troops, Voth technicians and specialists are moving in. Protected by the mechs and saurians, the techs will be able to generate electromagnetic effects: polycyclic drills that will pierce even a starship's shields.
Given time. Time which Commander Kothe and I do not propose to allow them.
I study the tactical readout fed from the Solanae command centre, compare it to what I can see on the ground, far below. M'eioi and her new friends continue to gather reliable intelligence on the Voth movements. I have all the information I need. I turn to the next console.
"Incoming fire," Kothe's voice reports. "Shields holding." I expected nothing else, at this stage.
"Commencing," I say. "First target is Polyonax-class at bearing two two zero from your location. Please confirm."
"Got him. Ready when you are, sir."
"Activating." I touch a control.
This is the command centre for the docking platform, and it has... appropriate resources. From this console, I can control tractor arrays powerful enough to handle full-sized starships. Not only that, the controls are fine-tuned - necessarily, to move components or freight containers during loading or maintenance procedures. The tractors are more than adequate to handle the Voth.
So, I touch the control - and, hundreds of metres below me, a Voth battlemech rises into the air, its antiproton weapons suddenly falling silent. It is not damaged - the mechs are not so fragile - but its occupant is, understandably, startled at this development.
The Polyonax rises into the air, and, as it reaches the height Commander Kothe and I have agreed, the Timor's dorsal plasma array opens fire. A Polyonax-class mech has robust and resilient shields, but they offer only brief resistance to a starship's weapons banks. The mech flares and explodes; I turn off the tractor, and the remains of the mech fall as burning, molten rain onto the platform.
I am already targeting the next mech.
The Voth line of battle wavers, the dinosaurs scurrying back and forth as the primaeval dread of fire overrides their cyborg control devices. A Ceratopsid-class snaps off an energy bolt - aiming at what, I do not know. The tractor beam emitters are outside their effective range; even if they are lucky enough to hit one or two, there is a great deal of redundancy in the system, and I have many spares.
Again, Timor's plasma beams lash out; again, a mech dies in a blast of flame.
The Voth are suddenly in disarray, firing randomly in all directions... and this is sufficient to gain me additional allies, as damage to the spire alerts the security swarmers. I concentrate; I must avoid hitting the swarmers with my tractors, or more automated responses may take control of the beams away from me. But the swarmers are small, fast-moving targets, and it is no trouble to pick out the Polyonax and Dacentrus-class mechs from among them.
There is a dim glow of orange light on the platform. Timor's ground security troops, firing from prepared positions within the ship's shields, targeting the Voth technicians who are now exposed as the front line shatters in confusion. The swarmers are harassing the Voth techs, too, and many of them have already been injured by the falling remains of the destroyed mechs. I continue to pull the larger mechs into the air, where Timor picks them off with relentless accuracy.
A furiadon, maddened beyond any sort of cybernetic control, rushes through the Voth lines and hurls itself off the edge of the docking platform. Other dinosaurs are fighting each other, or leaping onto battlemechs, or retreating under cover and savaging any Voth personnel who attempt to stop them. It is an ugly sight. I force myself to remain calm, to target the heavy enemy units, to drag them into Timor's line of fire -
After what seems like no time at all, there are no enemy units to target. The Dacentrus and Polyonax-class mechs have all been destroyed. There are substantial casualties among the other Voth forces. I narrow the focus of the beams and pick up a Ceratopsid-class mech. It is a smaller target, but the Timor's gunners cope with it quite adequately.
But one missed shot from Timor will identify her, too, as a hostile to the spire's systems.... I consider, and instead of narrowing the focus, I broaden it, and switch the tractors to repulsor mode. A swift movement of one finger sends a beam sweeping across the platform, smashing everything beneath it into the deck. Several Ceratopsids stagger to their feet after the beam's passage. The dinosaurs, and the Voth techs and footsoldiers, do not.
The remaining Voth have quite clearly had enough. They break and run, heading for the corridor entrances from which they emerged. A few crazed dinosaurs are still wandering the platform; Timor's security troops cut them down.
The docking platform is a grisly sight, covered in burning debris, smashed war machinery, Voth corpses and Voth blood. The Timor sits behind her shields, untouched.
"No damage! No casualties!" Commander Kothe's voice is exultant. "We did it, sir! We beat them!"
For emotional reasons, it is not the time to disillusion her. But the Voth will not like being beaten. They will regroup, they will make plans, they will attack again, with different tactics. We must consider our response.
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