Star Trek: Fortitude
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Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Seven: “Face Value, Part One”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Captain, if I may ask, do you know what this is all about?”
Station Master Erica Martinez was being somewhat forward and close to overstepping the boundaries of rank but Ewan Llewellyn didn’t mind. They got on well whenever the USS Fortitude was back in orbit of Santrag II.
Together, they were walking through the corridors of Starbase 499 and heading for the office of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. The summons to return to the Starbase had been urgent. The message had been encoded with the highest priority and delivered directly to the Captain’s Ready Room.
“I know what you know,” replied Llewelly, shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m worried. It’s not like Boxer to be so secretive.”
“I’m sure that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” the captain said, attempting to comfort her but with little success. He sighed. “Listen, what would you say to dinner at Club 499 when I’m done with my meeting and I’ll put your fears away then?”
“I’ll see you there,” Erica smiled, parting ways at the door.
A moment later and Ewan was stepping inside the private office of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. Everything was normal and familiar as he remembered it. There was nothing to validate Martinez’s worries just yet.
Blackmore was there, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window that overlooked the beautiful planet below. Everything was fine and there was no need for concern.
As the Rear Admiral turned to face Llewellyn, another figure emerged from the shadows. He was Human, or at least, he looked Human. His clothes were all black and his hair was a matching shade, slicked back. He carried himself with a sinister atmosphere, and it instantly made him feel uncomfortable.
“Am I in trouble?,” he joked, trying humor on for size.
“I’ll cut straight to the point, Ewan,” Blackmore growled. “This is Agent Hawkins from Section Thirty-One. He’s Starfleet Intelligence and he’s here to report that one of your crew members aboard the Fortitude is a spy.”
ACT ONE
Santrag II reminded her of Earth.
Losing herself in her own wandering mind, Valerie Archer was hardly prepared for the return of her Commanding Officer. He had, at least, three more days of meetings and lunches before coming back aboard and continuing Fortitude’s mission of exploration.
And yet…
Snapping herself back to reality, he was now here, marching out onto the Bridge. To make matters worse, and stopping her from reeling off a witty aside, his expression was not in keeping with his usual character.
“Commander,” he demanded, heading directly for his Ready Room.
It didn’t take a Betazoid to recognize that something wasn’t right.
As the door slid shut behind her, she watched as Ewan literally slumped down into his chair. It was as if somebody had removed his skeleton with the wave of a magic wand. He didn’t know where to turn, and that meant that he had to come to his First Officer and by this stage of their relationship his closest friend aboard Fortitude. With a compassionate expression, she sat down and waited for him to begin.
“I’ve just met with an Agent of Section Thirty-One,” it was finally revealed.
“Starfleet’s Men in Black?,” Archer frowned, understanding how meeting with such a person could lead to stress and confusion. “What are they doing all the out here in our little corner of space?”
“A member of the crew is a spy and we don’t know who it is,” he stated flatly, staring into her eyes and reading her reactions. “I’m telling you because I believe that I can trust you. For something like this to happen to such a new and untested crew, you can imagine the position that this puts me in. Everyone is a potential suspect.
“Hold on, and back up. Start from the beginning, Ewan. What did this Section Thirty-One spook tell you, exactly?”
“One of his regular sources, a Yridian freighter captain, was responsible for transporting a bunch of refugees from a colony in the Fahtalla Sector to Earth, three months before we launched from Utopia Planitia. He had been told that there would be eighteen refugees, but when he went to pick them up, there were nineteen. They all hand the agreed payment so he didn’t quibble, but you know how Yridians can get. Eventually, this little nugget of information worked its way around the intelligence community until it landed on Section Thirty-One’s desk. Our Agent Hawkins did some tracking and found the nineteenth refugee, but he lost them before he could make an arrest.”
“And, now they think that this refugee is posing as a crew member aboard Fortitude? As a Starfleet officer?”
“There’s more, Valerie. The spy is… Romulan.”
“What the hell?”
“They’re not sure but they think that the placement is a deliberate act to get vital intelligence regarding our presence beyond Romulan space back to their homeworld. Rear Admiral Blackmore, Agent Hawkins believe that they’re planning to cut us off from the Federation.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult. We’re pretty much an island out here.”
Ewan nodded, his frown locked in place.
“Indeed, and the sea between us and the mainland is divided between the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire. The Klingons are now starting their own battles with us, mainly focused on their mad obsession with the Dominion threat in the Alpha Quadrant, but at this end of the scale?”
“Okay, I’m convinced… for now, but this had better not be a mistake,” Valerie finally relented her confusion, leaning back in her seat. “It’s not good for such a new crew to start tearing each other apart in paranoia.”
“I haven’t decided how to tackle this problem yet,” Llewelly admitted frankly. “Blackmore has the usual reams of advice, and Agent Hawkins stopped, short of giving me a crash training session in thinking like a spy, but I don’t know. Are we strong enough to face something like this, Valerie? Will the crew survive a witch hunt?”
“Yes. They will.”
“You seem to be pretty sure about that.”
“Remember the day when we finished the Steamrunner? Remember that night, after your speech, when I visited your quarters? I told you that the crew respected you and that they were honored to be serving under you. Not only does that still stand, but it’s stronger. More now than ever.”
Ewan felt his cheeks grow red. He was blushing, taken aback by the generous and touching comment. His mind was so focused on this recent revelation that was unprepared for someone to be nice to him. For someone to be… Human. He smiled, albeit weakly, as she gave her parting shot.
“Lead these people right, Ewan. No witch hunt and no backstabbing. You won their respect by being honest, remember? Do what you must, but remember that.”
* * * *
Sitting quietly by herself, Erica Martinez watched the world go by.
She had been waiting at Club 499 for almost an hour. Her second drink was nearly empty, and with a disgruntled sigh, she was considering getting herself a third. There was only so much waiting that she could tolerate. Maybe she misread the signals from Captain Llewellyn. Yes, they were definitely friendly, but she had detected… No, that wasn’t right. She hoped that there was something else there, something hinting at more.
It was getting embarrassing. She was the Station Master after all.
Her uniform was back in her quarters, and sure, she was wearing a civilian dress, but perhaps that made it all the more obvious that had been stood up. Many of the assorted aliens, mostly Santragan natives who passed through Club 499, didn’t give her a second look, but everyone who was wearing a Starfleet uniform recognized her.
Then she spotted Ensigns Jason Armstrong and Jim Morgan. They were from the Fortitude. Maybe they would know where their Captain was!
No, she couldn’t do that. She would appear to be desperate. Slowly, she turned her head, avoiding their gaze. Stealing a final glance, she noted that they didn’t appear to be happy. More than that, they appeared to be concerned. What had they seen? What was going on?
“Computer,” Erica finally broke, tapping her combadge,” locate Captain Ewan Llewellyn.”
“Captain Ewan Llewellyn is no longer aboard Starbase 499.”
Right.
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49125.2;
Encrypt secure file.
After careful consideration of my options in this unique situation that I find myself in, I have decided to recall all personnel to the Fortitude, and initiate a discreet and methodical investigation. With the assistance of Agent Hawkins from Section Thirty-One, Rear Admiral Blackmore, and Commander Archer, I am hoping that we can uncover the Romulan spy quickly and painlessly. If not, I fear for the future of my ship, its mission, and the future of the Federation’s presence in the Santrag system.
Sollik’s mottled green hands flew across the console as he slowly banked the Type-9 shuttlecraft towards Fortitude. They had cleared the thermosphere of Santrag II early after they had received a secure transmission from the ship, ordering them to return immediately and to report in. Behind the Suliban chief engineer, the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor T’Verra was finishing up her inventory of the supplies that they had collected from the planet’s surface.
“We will have to schedule another supply run,” the Vulcan stated, concluding her list and noting the absence of several key items. “Did the captain give you any indication as to the nature of this recall?”
“None, Doctor,” Sollik replied, turning his seat to face her. “He just said that it was urgent and that all unfinished business would be resolved later.”
“I find his style of command to be erratic,” T’Verra revealed.
“I suppose you could say that. It’s no secret that a few of his decisions haven’t sat well with me down in Engineering.”
“It has not.”
“You must overhear quite a lot in Sickbay, Doctor.”
“Indeed, and often without choice. I still remain in awe of the Human capacity for illogical gossip. It is, shall we say, rather generous.”
Sollik simply nodded in agreement, returning to his controls.
With a bright white flash, one of the shuttle’s nacelles suddenly exploded. Alarms filled the cabin as T’Verra attempted to stand, lurching forward to sit down beside Sollik and render assistance. Smoke started to pour from a ruptured conduit, and behind the two officers, a LCARS interface erupted in a shower of sparks. Coughing and waging a private little war with his overpowered senses, Sollik desperately ran a scan of the internal sensors in an attempt to discover the problem.
“There must have been an imbalance in one of the nacelles!,” he cried out. “Damn it! I should have checked those relays before departure!”
“Shuttlecraft Stanley to Fortitude,” T’Verra spluttered, opening a communications channel. “Mayday! We require immediate assistance! I repeat, Shuttlecraft Stanley to Fortitude! Mayday!”
“It’s no use! The comms system is offline!”
“We can only hope,” the Vulcan doctor offered, punctuated by coughs as the smoke grew thicker,” that they detected the explosion and will dispatch a rescue effort. In the meantime… we should try and…”
She stopped talking. In a final desperate burst of coughing, he lost consciousness.
It was the last thing that Sollik remembered before he succumbed as well.
* * * *
The explosion had been detected.
Fortitude immediately responded, moving to intercept the shuttlecraft. At this stage, it was spinning out of control with nobody to pilot it. As a tractor-beam took hold of the small vessel, both of the motionless bodies of Sollik and T’Verra were beamed directly to Sickbay where Nurse Lynn Boswell was quick to react. Within a minute, she had injected them with a stabilizing agent and cleared the smoke from their lungs.
It wasn’t long before Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer tore through the door, their attention drawn to the two occupied biobeds. They knew that Boswell didn’t know about the recent revelation of a spy aboard. While the nurse was thinking in terms of an accident, they were thinking in terms of sabotage.
“How are they?,” Valerie asked her.
“Stable for now,” Boswell reported. “They’ve inhaled plenty of toxins. It’ll be some time before they’re back with us, but the damage is fixable.”
“Can you handle it?” Ewan stepped forward, realizing her rank, and therefore believed that her experience was limited.
“Absolutely no question, Captain.”
“Good, thank you. Keep me posted on their status.”
* * * *
With no new information to be gained from Sickbay, Llewellyn and Archer left and headed for the shuttlebay where the ruined, twisted wreck of Shuttlecraft #02, the Stanley, had been brought aboard by Jason Armstrong. The port nacelle was completely gone, making the craft lean dramatically to one side and appear like a wounded dog. The operations officer had rounded up a few crewmen from Engineering on his way down from the Bridge, and they were scanning the debris with their tricorders as the captain approached the wreckage.”
“Report.”
“Nothing as yet, sir,” came Armstrong’s reply. “Everything is soaked in an antimatter residue that makes any real detective work difficult. We’ll have to wait for the effects to subside before I can determine the cause of the explosion.”
“Sollik prides himself in keeping these shuttles operational,” Archer observed, her mind racing with theories already.
Llewellyn instantly flashed her a devastating look. She was fueling conspiracy theories in front of junior officers who had no idea that Section Thirty-One was initiating an investigation to uncover a spy aboard Fortitude. She noticed the look and shut up before her musings progressed to outright speculations of sabotage, even though Ewan was thinking the same thing and he had been thinking that since he had been informed of the explosion. Thankfully, Jason didn’t pick up on that thread and simply continued his work.
“Any findings, no matter how small they are,” Ewan ordered him,” I want you to report them to me, immediately.”
“Will do, sir. How are Sollik and T’Verra?”
“In Sickbay, recovering. They’ll be fine, Ensign. Don’t worry.”
It would be good for that piece of information to be spread around the crew. If the spy had intended to murder the Chief Engineer and the Chief Medical Officer for whatever reason that they could imagine, the knowledge of their survival might provoke them to commit to some desperate action.
It was the hope of everyone involved that desperate action on the part of a spy would be like a signpost.
Then they could put all of this behind them and move on.
ACT THREE
“Come in,” Ewan called out.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?”
Commander Archer stepped into his quarters and posed her question to him before the doors even had the time to close behind her. She looked tired. Although to be fair, the captain looked worse. He was preparing to beam over to Starbase 499 for yet another meeting with Rear Admiral Blackmore and Agent Hawkins of Section Thirty-One.
He was developing a deep dislike for the Starfleet Intelligence agent. Everything about the man was sneaky, underhanded, and duplicitous. His job clearly demanded a certain type of person but still, Ewan got the impression that Hawkins enjoyed being a two-faced bastard a little too much.
Turning to his First Officer, he shrugged. “It depends on what you’re thinking, Valerie,” came his tired response.
“You left the shuttlebay very damn quickly earlier. I think it was because you knew that I wanted to run a theory by you. It’s a theory that you’ve developed too and you don’t want to face it. Not aboard your ship. In your crew.”
“Sabotage,” Ewan whispered. “That shuttle was blown up by our Romulan spy… whoever the hell they are…”
“I don’t think we need to wait for Jason to finish his scans to determine this one.”
Slowly, Llewellyn let himself fall into one of his many comfortable chairs. “I have here in my head, a list of two hundred and five…”
“Captain?,” Valerie asked, sitting down beside him.
“Old Earth history,” he continued. “During the Cold War that dominated the superpowers of late 20th-century politics, there was a United States Senator named Joseph McCarthy. He led a witch hunt through the institutions of his own country for supposed Communist agents working for the USSR. paranoia, terror, and suspicion. It was a rule that through fear of the enemy, being your best friend, neighbor…”
“... or crew member,” she concluded for him. “You feel like McCarthy.”
“How can I not? I’m leading a witch hunt through my own crew to find this Romulan spy, and I can’t trust anybody! If Jason came in here, right now, and told me that the shuttle developed a fault, I would think that he’s the spy and he was trying to cover up his own tracks!”
“Timing… It’s the timing of this that’s causing the most damage.”
“I know we’re a young crew but…”
There was a long pause between them. Ewan rubbed at his face, wishing he could just crawl into bed and wake up refreshed to the news that it had been one huge misunderstanding. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way, especially not for a Starfleet captain. No, it was his duty to face things head-on and to lead his people through uncertain waters. On that note, he stood up to head to his meeting.
“Section Thirty-One arrives and tells you that we’ve got a spy,” Archer said as he walked towards the door. “Later that day, the spy, whoever they may be, detonates an explosive aboard one of our shuttlecraft and tries to murder Sollik and T’Verra.”
“Timing again?,” Llewellyn asked her, pausing at the door. Maybe she was onto something.
“If this Romulan is a deep-cover agent, the bombing doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless…”
* * * *
In Sickbay, at that moment, Nurse Lynn Boswell ran her medical tricorder over the sleeping, healing body of Doctor T’Verra. Her youthful face crumpled into a frown as she read the results of the scan. Determined that it was a mistake, she repeated her actions. The frown remained in place.
This scan made no sense whatsoever.
Maybe the tricorder was broken. She went to fetch another, and then try again
* * * *
Blackmore and Hawkins were sitting together at the Rear-Admiral’s desk, pouring over various data and consuming as much caffeine as their internal systems could handle. When the doors to the office opened to reveal Captain Ewan Llewellyn, both pairs of eyes focused on him. The pair of eyes belonging to the Section Thirty-One agent held the most intensity.
Hawkins had been trained to view everybody as a suspect. It was only Starfleet regulations that demanded that he inform the captain of the USS Fortitude, the suspect vessel before he initiated his investigation. If the decision had been left up to him, he would have probably gone undercover aboard that starship, right now, trying to catch the Romulan spy and claim the glory of the arrest for himself. Of course, he would never tell anybody these thoughts. At least, not Ewan Llewellyn, who, in his opinion, appeared to be far too weak and emotional to be a starship captain.
Llewellyn stepped purposefully forward with his own eyes fixed on Hawkins. Unlike the mind of the Section Thirty-One agent, his mind held one simple thought. It was a thought that had been helped into existence by Valerie Archer, but it was his thought, nonetheless. It was a thought that he had been aware of, ever since he met this hawkish-looking Starfleet Intelligence agent.
“Ah, Ewan, there you are,” Blackmore called out to him, the only person present with a completely innocent mind and clear thoughts. “Hawkins and I were just going over your crew manifests and we could use a fresh perspective on a few suspects.”
“I’ve got a suspect for you, Rear Admiral.”
Hawkins shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his senses warning him of what was coming next.
“You do?,” gasped Blackmore, dropping his PADD. “Who is it, Ewan? Are we talking about Senior Staff? Lower decks?”
“Section Thirty-One agents, Rear Admiral,” snarled the captain.
The room froze.
Blackmore couldn’t believe his ears. After all of his experience and all of his years in Starfleet, he had never heard something so outrageous. Yet he openly acknowledged and encouraged Ewan’s ballsy nature, his unorthodox mind, his sheer guts, and his determination. He was seriously considering calling Station Security to separate Llewellyn from Hawkins.
Meanwhile, Hawkins started to chuckle while the captain fumed with anger.
“You think that it’s me?”
“The day that you arrive, this supposed deep-cover Romulan spy decides to blow up one of my shuttlecraft and attempts to murder two of my senior officers! Unless the spy is me, my First Officer, or Rear Admiral Blackmore, then I don’t personally see how the logic of this day fits together!”
“Really, Captain, that’s quite a theory,” Hawkins laughed. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence? Beyond the fact that you don’t want your new crew to be guilty of betrayal?”
“He’s got a point, Ewan,” the oldest man present interjected. “You can’t barge in here and throw around accusations like this. Not on my watch.”
“Come on, Boxer…”
“That’s Rear Admiral Blackmore if you don’t mind,” Edward snapped, feeling his jaw muscles tighten in anger at his nickname being used in company. Torn between the authority of Section Thirty-One and his growing friendship with Captain Llewelly, he was of two minds about whether or not to ever trust him again. This situation was insane!
“Listen to me, Ewan. For whatever reason that the Romulans planted an agent aboard your ship, I would say that they’re doing pretty damned well so far! Take a step back and look at what they’ve done to you! This is sheer paranoia!”
The word ‘paranoia’ rang in the captain’s ears. He had used it himself, a moment ago in his quarters to describe McCarthy’s United States of America… to describe what he feared of becoming. And now, here he was… becoming it. It stopped him dead in his tracks like he had been punched in the stomach. It was all that he could do to stare at Hawkins.
“We can overlook this,” Blackmore continued. “It’s not like you’re pointing a phaser at the man, Ewan. Come on, sit down, and we can put our heads together to find the real spy before they cause any more damage!”
The chirp of a combadge broke the tension. “Boswell to Captain Lewellyn,” a young female voice said.
“Go ahead.”
“I see to see you here in Sickbay, right away. Bring Rear Admiral Blackmore.”
“What’s going on, Lynn?”
“Not over the comms system. Please, Captain, right now!”
EPILOGUE
Lynn Boswell was a white as a sheet when Ewan, Edward Blackmore, and Agent Hawkins marched into Sickbay aboard Fortitude. Behind her, Sollik was sitting up on his biobed, reading a PADD to bring himself up to speed on the repairs to Shuttlecraft #2, The Suliban saw the group arrive and tried instantly to get up to his feet and to stand at attention in the Rear Admiral’s presence, but thankfully for his injuries, he was waved off by Blackmore. Beside him were two empty biobeds and upon noting that fact, Llewellyn frowned and stared at the central area of Sickbay.
Surrounded by glowing yellow and orange lights, Doctor T’Verra occupied the major diagnostic biobed. The sophisticated scanning arch was raised, covering her midsection and she was completely unconscious.
Turning to Nurse Boswell, he demanded answers. “What’s this all about? I thought T’Verra’s injuries weren’t that serious?”
“They’re not, Captain,” Lynn replied, visibly shaking.
“It’s all right,” soothed Blackmore, placing a reassuring hand on her blue shoulder. “Please, you sounded like this was urgent. What’s going on?”
“After treating the doctor, I ran a detailed physical examination, as regulations suggest before I planned to revive and discharge her. At first, I thought that my tricorder was broken, but I ran the same scan with three individual units, and… well…”
“Well, what?”
“I sedated her, Captain. She’s not Vulcan at all. She’s Romulan.”
To Be Continued...
Episode Seven: “Face Value, Part One”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Captain, if I may ask, do you know what this is all about?”
Station Master Erica Martinez was being somewhat forward and close to overstepping the boundaries of rank but Ewan Llewellyn didn’t mind. They got on well whenever the USS Fortitude was back in orbit of Santrag II.
Together, they were walking through the corridors of Starbase 499 and heading for the office of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. The summons to return to the Starbase had been urgent. The message had been encoded with the highest priority and delivered directly to the Captain’s Ready Room.
“I know what you know,” replied Llewelly, shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m worried. It’s not like Boxer to be so secretive.”
“I’m sure that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” the captain said, attempting to comfort her but with little success. He sighed. “Listen, what would you say to dinner at Club 499 when I’m done with my meeting and I’ll put your fears away then?”
“I’ll see you there,” Erica smiled, parting ways at the door.
A moment later and Ewan was stepping inside the private office of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. Everything was normal and familiar as he remembered it. There was nothing to validate Martinez’s worries just yet.
Blackmore was there, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window that overlooked the beautiful planet below. Everything was fine and there was no need for concern.
As the Rear Admiral turned to face Llewellyn, another figure emerged from the shadows. He was Human, or at least, he looked Human. His clothes were all black and his hair was a matching shade, slicked back. He carried himself with a sinister atmosphere, and it instantly made him feel uncomfortable.
“Am I in trouble?,” he joked, trying humor on for size.
“I’ll cut straight to the point, Ewan,” Blackmore growled. “This is Agent Hawkins from Section Thirty-One. He’s Starfleet Intelligence and he’s here to report that one of your crew members aboard the Fortitude is a spy.”
ACT ONE
Santrag II reminded her of Earth.
Losing herself in her own wandering mind, Valerie Archer was hardly prepared for the return of her Commanding Officer. He had, at least, three more days of meetings and lunches before coming back aboard and continuing Fortitude’s mission of exploration.
And yet…
Snapping herself back to reality, he was now here, marching out onto the Bridge. To make matters worse, and stopping her from reeling off a witty aside, his expression was not in keeping with his usual character.
“Commander,” he demanded, heading directly for his Ready Room.
It didn’t take a Betazoid to recognize that something wasn’t right.
As the door slid shut behind her, she watched as Ewan literally slumped down into his chair. It was as if somebody had removed his skeleton with the wave of a magic wand. He didn’t know where to turn, and that meant that he had to come to his First Officer and by this stage of their relationship his closest friend aboard Fortitude. With a compassionate expression, she sat down and waited for him to begin.
“I’ve just met with an Agent of Section Thirty-One,” it was finally revealed.
“Starfleet’s Men in Black?,” Archer frowned, understanding how meeting with such a person could lead to stress and confusion. “What are they doing all the out here in our little corner of space?”
“A member of the crew is a spy and we don’t know who it is,” he stated flatly, staring into her eyes and reading her reactions. “I’m telling you because I believe that I can trust you. For something like this to happen to such a new and untested crew, you can imagine the position that this puts me in. Everyone is a potential suspect.
“Hold on, and back up. Start from the beginning, Ewan. What did this Section Thirty-One spook tell you, exactly?”
“One of his regular sources, a Yridian freighter captain, was responsible for transporting a bunch of refugees from a colony in the Fahtalla Sector to Earth, three months before we launched from Utopia Planitia. He had been told that there would be eighteen refugees, but when he went to pick them up, there were nineteen. They all hand the agreed payment so he didn’t quibble, but you know how Yridians can get. Eventually, this little nugget of information worked its way around the intelligence community until it landed on Section Thirty-One’s desk. Our Agent Hawkins did some tracking and found the nineteenth refugee, but he lost them before he could make an arrest.”
“And, now they think that this refugee is posing as a crew member aboard Fortitude? As a Starfleet officer?”
“There’s more, Valerie. The spy is… Romulan.”
“What the hell?”
“They’re not sure but they think that the placement is a deliberate act to get vital intelligence regarding our presence beyond Romulan space back to their homeworld. Rear Admiral Blackmore, Agent Hawkins believe that they’re planning to cut us off from the Federation.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult. We’re pretty much an island out here.”
Ewan nodded, his frown locked in place.
“Indeed, and the sea between us and the mainland is divided between the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire. The Klingons are now starting their own battles with us, mainly focused on their mad obsession with the Dominion threat in the Alpha Quadrant, but at this end of the scale?”
“Okay, I’m convinced… for now, but this had better not be a mistake,” Valerie finally relented her confusion, leaning back in her seat. “It’s not good for such a new crew to start tearing each other apart in paranoia.”
“I haven’t decided how to tackle this problem yet,” Llewelly admitted frankly. “Blackmore has the usual reams of advice, and Agent Hawkins stopped, short of giving me a crash training session in thinking like a spy, but I don’t know. Are we strong enough to face something like this, Valerie? Will the crew survive a witch hunt?”
“Yes. They will.”
“You seem to be pretty sure about that.”
“Remember the day when we finished the Steamrunner? Remember that night, after your speech, when I visited your quarters? I told you that the crew respected you and that they were honored to be serving under you. Not only does that still stand, but it’s stronger. More now than ever.”
Ewan felt his cheeks grow red. He was blushing, taken aback by the generous and touching comment. His mind was so focused on this recent revelation that was unprepared for someone to be nice to him. For someone to be… Human. He smiled, albeit weakly, as she gave her parting shot.
“Lead these people right, Ewan. No witch hunt and no backstabbing. You won their respect by being honest, remember? Do what you must, but remember that.”
* * * *
Sitting quietly by herself, Erica Martinez watched the world go by.
She had been waiting at Club 499 for almost an hour. Her second drink was nearly empty, and with a disgruntled sigh, she was considering getting herself a third. There was only so much waiting that she could tolerate. Maybe she misread the signals from Captain Llewellyn. Yes, they were definitely friendly, but she had detected… No, that wasn’t right. She hoped that there was something else there, something hinting at more.
It was getting embarrassing. She was the Station Master after all.
Her uniform was back in her quarters, and sure, she was wearing a civilian dress, but perhaps that made it all the more obvious that had been stood up. Many of the assorted aliens, mostly Santragan natives who passed through Club 499, didn’t give her a second look, but everyone who was wearing a Starfleet uniform recognized her.
Then she spotted Ensigns Jason Armstrong and Jim Morgan. They were from the Fortitude. Maybe they would know where their Captain was!
No, she couldn’t do that. She would appear to be desperate. Slowly, she turned her head, avoiding their gaze. Stealing a final glance, she noted that they didn’t appear to be happy. More than that, they appeared to be concerned. What had they seen? What was going on?
“Computer,” Erica finally broke, tapping her combadge,” locate Captain Ewan Llewellyn.”
“Captain Ewan Llewellyn is no longer aboard Starbase 499.”
Right.
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49125.2;
Encrypt secure file.
After careful consideration of my options in this unique situation that I find myself in, I have decided to recall all personnel to the Fortitude, and initiate a discreet and methodical investigation. With the assistance of Agent Hawkins from Section Thirty-One, Rear Admiral Blackmore, and Commander Archer, I am hoping that we can uncover the Romulan spy quickly and painlessly. If not, I fear for the future of my ship, its mission, and the future of the Federation’s presence in the Santrag system.
Sollik’s mottled green hands flew across the console as he slowly banked the Type-9 shuttlecraft towards Fortitude. They had cleared the thermosphere of Santrag II early after they had received a secure transmission from the ship, ordering them to return immediately and to report in. Behind the Suliban chief engineer, the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor T’Verra was finishing up her inventory of the supplies that they had collected from the planet’s surface.
“We will have to schedule another supply run,” the Vulcan stated, concluding her list and noting the absence of several key items. “Did the captain give you any indication as to the nature of this recall?”
“None, Doctor,” Sollik replied, turning his seat to face her. “He just said that it was urgent and that all unfinished business would be resolved later.”
“I find his style of command to be erratic,” T’Verra revealed.
“I suppose you could say that. It’s no secret that a few of his decisions haven’t sat well with me down in Engineering.”
“It has not.”
“You must overhear quite a lot in Sickbay, Doctor.”
“Indeed, and often without choice. I still remain in awe of the Human capacity for illogical gossip. It is, shall we say, rather generous.”
Sollik simply nodded in agreement, returning to his controls.
With a bright white flash, one of the shuttle’s nacelles suddenly exploded. Alarms filled the cabin as T’Verra attempted to stand, lurching forward to sit down beside Sollik and render assistance. Smoke started to pour from a ruptured conduit, and behind the two officers, a LCARS interface erupted in a shower of sparks. Coughing and waging a private little war with his overpowered senses, Sollik desperately ran a scan of the internal sensors in an attempt to discover the problem.
“There must have been an imbalance in one of the nacelles!,” he cried out. “Damn it! I should have checked those relays before departure!”
“Shuttlecraft Stanley to Fortitude,” T’Verra spluttered, opening a communications channel. “Mayday! We require immediate assistance! I repeat, Shuttlecraft Stanley to Fortitude! Mayday!”
“It’s no use! The comms system is offline!”
“We can only hope,” the Vulcan doctor offered, punctuated by coughs as the smoke grew thicker,” that they detected the explosion and will dispatch a rescue effort. In the meantime… we should try and…”
She stopped talking. In a final desperate burst of coughing, he lost consciousness.
It was the last thing that Sollik remembered before he succumbed as well.
* * * *
The explosion had been detected.
Fortitude immediately responded, moving to intercept the shuttlecraft. At this stage, it was spinning out of control with nobody to pilot it. As a tractor-beam took hold of the small vessel, both of the motionless bodies of Sollik and T’Verra were beamed directly to Sickbay where Nurse Lynn Boswell was quick to react. Within a minute, she had injected them with a stabilizing agent and cleared the smoke from their lungs.
It wasn’t long before Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer tore through the door, their attention drawn to the two occupied biobeds. They knew that Boswell didn’t know about the recent revelation of a spy aboard. While the nurse was thinking in terms of an accident, they were thinking in terms of sabotage.
“How are they?,” Valerie asked her.
“Stable for now,” Boswell reported. “They’ve inhaled plenty of toxins. It’ll be some time before they’re back with us, but the damage is fixable.”
“Can you handle it?” Ewan stepped forward, realizing her rank, and therefore believed that her experience was limited.
“Absolutely no question, Captain.”
“Good, thank you. Keep me posted on their status.”
* * * *
With no new information to be gained from Sickbay, Llewellyn and Archer left and headed for the shuttlebay where the ruined, twisted wreck of Shuttlecraft #02, the Stanley, had been brought aboard by Jason Armstrong. The port nacelle was completely gone, making the craft lean dramatically to one side and appear like a wounded dog. The operations officer had rounded up a few crewmen from Engineering on his way down from the Bridge, and they were scanning the debris with their tricorders as the captain approached the wreckage.”
“Report.”
“Nothing as yet, sir,” came Armstrong’s reply. “Everything is soaked in an antimatter residue that makes any real detective work difficult. We’ll have to wait for the effects to subside before I can determine the cause of the explosion.”
“Sollik prides himself in keeping these shuttles operational,” Archer observed, her mind racing with theories already.
Llewellyn instantly flashed her a devastating look. She was fueling conspiracy theories in front of junior officers who had no idea that Section Thirty-One was initiating an investigation to uncover a spy aboard Fortitude. She noticed the look and shut up before her musings progressed to outright speculations of sabotage, even though Ewan was thinking the same thing and he had been thinking that since he had been informed of the explosion. Thankfully, Jason didn’t pick up on that thread and simply continued his work.
“Any findings, no matter how small they are,” Ewan ordered him,” I want you to report them to me, immediately.”
“Will do, sir. How are Sollik and T’Verra?”
“In Sickbay, recovering. They’ll be fine, Ensign. Don’t worry.”
It would be good for that piece of information to be spread around the crew. If the spy had intended to murder the Chief Engineer and the Chief Medical Officer for whatever reason that they could imagine, the knowledge of their survival might provoke them to commit to some desperate action.
It was the hope of everyone involved that desperate action on the part of a spy would be like a signpost.
Then they could put all of this behind them and move on.
ACT THREE
“Come in,” Ewan called out.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?”
Commander Archer stepped into his quarters and posed her question to him before the doors even had the time to close behind her. She looked tired. Although to be fair, the captain looked worse. He was preparing to beam over to Starbase 499 for yet another meeting with Rear Admiral Blackmore and Agent Hawkins of Section Thirty-One.
He was developing a deep dislike for the Starfleet Intelligence agent. Everything about the man was sneaky, underhanded, and duplicitous. His job clearly demanded a certain type of person but still, Ewan got the impression that Hawkins enjoyed being a two-faced bastard a little too much.
Turning to his First Officer, he shrugged. “It depends on what you’re thinking, Valerie,” came his tired response.
“You left the shuttlebay very damn quickly earlier. I think it was because you knew that I wanted to run a theory by you. It’s a theory that you’ve developed too and you don’t want to face it. Not aboard your ship. In your crew.”
“Sabotage,” Ewan whispered. “That shuttle was blown up by our Romulan spy… whoever the hell they are…”
“I don’t think we need to wait for Jason to finish his scans to determine this one.”
Slowly, Llewellyn let himself fall into one of his many comfortable chairs. “I have here in my head, a list of two hundred and five…”
“Captain?,” Valerie asked, sitting down beside him.
“Old Earth history,” he continued. “During the Cold War that dominated the superpowers of late 20th-century politics, there was a United States Senator named Joseph McCarthy. He led a witch hunt through the institutions of his own country for supposed Communist agents working for the USSR. paranoia, terror, and suspicion. It was a rule that through fear of the enemy, being your best friend, neighbor…”
“... or crew member,” she concluded for him. “You feel like McCarthy.”
“How can I not? I’m leading a witch hunt through my own crew to find this Romulan spy, and I can’t trust anybody! If Jason came in here, right now, and told me that the shuttle developed a fault, I would think that he’s the spy and he was trying to cover up his own tracks!”
“Timing… It’s the timing of this that’s causing the most damage.”
“I know we’re a young crew but…”
There was a long pause between them. Ewan rubbed at his face, wishing he could just crawl into bed and wake up refreshed to the news that it had been one huge misunderstanding. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way, especially not for a Starfleet captain. No, it was his duty to face things head-on and to lead his people through uncertain waters. On that note, he stood up to head to his meeting.
“Section Thirty-One arrives and tells you that we’ve got a spy,” Archer said as he walked towards the door. “Later that day, the spy, whoever they may be, detonates an explosive aboard one of our shuttlecraft and tries to murder Sollik and T’Verra.”
“Timing again?,” Llewellyn asked her, pausing at the door. Maybe she was onto something.
“If this Romulan is a deep-cover agent, the bombing doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless…”
* * * *
In Sickbay, at that moment, Nurse Lynn Boswell ran her medical tricorder over the sleeping, healing body of Doctor T’Verra. Her youthful face crumpled into a frown as she read the results of the scan. Determined that it was a mistake, she repeated her actions. The frown remained in place.
This scan made no sense whatsoever.
Maybe the tricorder was broken. She went to fetch another, and then try again
* * * *
Blackmore and Hawkins were sitting together at the Rear-Admiral’s desk, pouring over various data and consuming as much caffeine as their internal systems could handle. When the doors to the office opened to reveal Captain Ewan Llewellyn, both pairs of eyes focused on him. The pair of eyes belonging to the Section Thirty-One agent held the most intensity.
Hawkins had been trained to view everybody as a suspect. It was only Starfleet regulations that demanded that he inform the captain of the USS Fortitude, the suspect vessel before he initiated his investigation. If the decision had been left up to him, he would have probably gone undercover aboard that starship, right now, trying to catch the Romulan spy and claim the glory of the arrest for himself. Of course, he would never tell anybody these thoughts. At least, not Ewan Llewellyn, who, in his opinion, appeared to be far too weak and emotional to be a starship captain.
Llewellyn stepped purposefully forward with his own eyes fixed on Hawkins. Unlike the mind of the Section Thirty-One agent, his mind held one simple thought. It was a thought that had been helped into existence by Valerie Archer, but it was his thought, nonetheless. It was a thought that he had been aware of, ever since he met this hawkish-looking Starfleet Intelligence agent.
“Ah, Ewan, there you are,” Blackmore called out to him, the only person present with a completely innocent mind and clear thoughts. “Hawkins and I were just going over your crew manifests and we could use a fresh perspective on a few suspects.”
“I’ve got a suspect for you, Rear Admiral.”
Hawkins shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his senses warning him of what was coming next.
“You do?,” gasped Blackmore, dropping his PADD. “Who is it, Ewan? Are we talking about Senior Staff? Lower decks?”
“Section Thirty-One agents, Rear Admiral,” snarled the captain.
The room froze.
Blackmore couldn’t believe his ears. After all of his experience and all of his years in Starfleet, he had never heard something so outrageous. Yet he openly acknowledged and encouraged Ewan’s ballsy nature, his unorthodox mind, his sheer guts, and his determination. He was seriously considering calling Station Security to separate Llewellyn from Hawkins.
Meanwhile, Hawkins started to chuckle while the captain fumed with anger.
“You think that it’s me?”
“The day that you arrive, this supposed deep-cover Romulan spy decides to blow up one of my shuttlecraft and attempts to murder two of my senior officers! Unless the spy is me, my First Officer, or Rear Admiral Blackmore, then I don’t personally see how the logic of this day fits together!”
“Really, Captain, that’s quite a theory,” Hawkins laughed. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence? Beyond the fact that you don’t want your new crew to be guilty of betrayal?”
“He’s got a point, Ewan,” the oldest man present interjected. “You can’t barge in here and throw around accusations like this. Not on my watch.”
“Come on, Boxer…”
“That’s Rear Admiral Blackmore if you don’t mind,” Edward snapped, feeling his jaw muscles tighten in anger at his nickname being used in company. Torn between the authority of Section Thirty-One and his growing friendship with Captain Llewelly, he was of two minds about whether or not to ever trust him again. This situation was insane!
“Listen to me, Ewan. For whatever reason that the Romulans planted an agent aboard your ship, I would say that they’re doing pretty damned well so far! Take a step back and look at what they’ve done to you! This is sheer paranoia!”
The word ‘paranoia’ rang in the captain’s ears. He had used it himself, a moment ago in his quarters to describe McCarthy’s United States of America… to describe what he feared of becoming. And now, here he was… becoming it. It stopped him dead in his tracks like he had been punched in the stomach. It was all that he could do to stare at Hawkins.
“We can overlook this,” Blackmore continued. “It’s not like you’re pointing a phaser at the man, Ewan. Come on, sit down, and we can put our heads together to find the real spy before they cause any more damage!”
The chirp of a combadge broke the tension. “Boswell to Captain Lewellyn,” a young female voice said.
“Go ahead.”
“I see to see you here in Sickbay, right away. Bring Rear Admiral Blackmore.”
“What’s going on, Lynn?”
“Not over the comms system. Please, Captain, right now!”
EPILOGUE
Lynn Boswell was a white as a sheet when Ewan, Edward Blackmore, and Agent Hawkins marched into Sickbay aboard Fortitude. Behind her, Sollik was sitting up on his biobed, reading a PADD to bring himself up to speed on the repairs to Shuttlecraft #2, The Suliban saw the group arrive and tried instantly to get up to his feet and to stand at attention in the Rear Admiral’s presence, but thankfully for his injuries, he was waved off by Blackmore. Beside him were two empty biobeds and upon noting that fact, Llewellyn frowned and stared at the central area of Sickbay.
Surrounded by glowing yellow and orange lights, Doctor T’Verra occupied the major diagnostic biobed. The sophisticated scanning arch was raised, covering her midsection and she was completely unconscious.
Turning to Nurse Boswell, he demanded answers. “What’s this all about? I thought T’Verra’s injuries weren’t that serious?”
“They’re not, Captain,” Lynn replied, visibly shaking.
“It’s all right,” soothed Blackmore, placing a reassuring hand on her blue shoulder. “Please, you sounded like this was urgent. What’s going on?”
“After treating the doctor, I ran a detailed physical examination, as regulations suggest before I planned to revive and discharge her. At first, I thought that my tricorder was broken, but I ran the same scan with three individual units, and… well…”
“Well, what?”
“I sedated her, Captain. She’s not Vulcan at all. She’s Romulan.”
To Be Continued...
CeJay mentioned that I tend to get these stories out pretty quickly. I'm home a lot without much to do. Writing keeps me in check and it covers up a lot of time between eating, drinking, and bathroom issues. Fortitude has been keeping me going lately. That is all.
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I couldn't upload Episode 1.7 last night because of technical issues with the website. Anyways, here is the conclusion of Episode 1.7 in Episode 1.8. Please enjoy. 
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Eight: ‘Face Value, Part Two’
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude…
Captain Ewan Llewellyn received some disturbing information from a Section Thirty-One agent visiting the Santrag system. Somehow, the Romulans have managed to plant an undercover spy aboard his ship, the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240. Through a complex investigation, the visiting Starfleet Intelligence agent, Hawkins, discovers that the Romulans smuggled one of their people to Earth and somehow took the place of a Starfleet officer before Fortitude left Utopia Planitia.
On the same day, a shuttlecraft carrying Chief Engineer Sollik and Doctor T’Verra from Santrag II to the Fortitude suffers from a terrible explosion that destroys one of their warp nacelles. Rescued, they lie in Sickbay under the care of an inexperienced young nurse, Lynn Boswell. This development troubles Captain Llewellyn. For an undercover spy to plant a bomb aboard the shuttlecraft, as he suspects they did, on the same day that Agent Hawkins arrives is too much of a coincidence. Filled with rage, he beamed over to Starbase 499 and blankly accused Hawkins of being the Romulan spy, even though he doesn’t have a well-rounded case.
Fortunately, before the situation can escalate, Nurse Boswell calls Captain Llewellyn back to the Fortitude’s Sickbay, where she has discovered a shocking truth!
T’Verra, previously believed to be Vulcan… is actually a Romulan!
And now the conclusion…
ACT ONE
“Captain, I understand your position, but I must protest!”
“It’s my ship, Hawkins, and she’s my officer!”
They were walking back towards Sickbay. It had been two hours since the revelation regarding Doctor T’Verra had been revealed. Instead of reviving her and jumping into an interrogation, Ewan had decided to hold off. Along with Agent Hawkins and Rear Admiral Blackmore, he had retired to the Briefing Room and discussed all of the possible angles that they could handle this situation from. Meanwhile, Nurse Lynn Boswell worked to restore T’Verra’s original Romulan appearance. The captain felt that she would have nowhere to go if they held up a mirror and showed her the truth.
“Section Thirty-One has jurisdiction here,” argued Hawkins. “I should lead the questions and you can follow up later.”
“Despite the fact that you’re not the spy,” Llewellyn retorted,” I still don’t trust you.”
“I can submit a formal subspace request to Starfleet Command to have you relieved of duty if you don’t follow my recommendations, Llewellyn. They’ll listen to me. You’ll be disgraced, and I’ll get what I want.”
“Go ahead. I can have Security remove you from my ship, and by the time that the subspace transceiver is fired up, I will have finished with my interrogation.”
They stopped walking.
Despite his hatred of violence, Ewan felt like punching Hawkins.
“Armstrong to Captain Llewellyn,” his combadge called out to him.
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve finished our analysis of the shuttlecraft explosion, sir. I think there’s something that you should see. Can you come down to the shuttlebay?”
“I’m on my way. Llewellyn out.”
Immediately as he turned to head for the nearest turbolift, Hawkins smiled with satisfaction and started walking in the opposite direction. Pausing, the captain realized what he was up to and seized his arm. The agent whipped around, furious at being manhandled by this upstart Welshman, but he didn’t physically react.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” growled Ewan. “You’re coming with me to the shuttlebay.”
Hawkins’ face fell. His chance had escaped him but there was something more to it than simply getting to face T’Verra alone. Llewellyn registered his reluctance. Surely the man who was investigating this case would have an interest in finding out about the possible sabotage of the Shuttlecraft Stanley and the attempted murder of…
Well, that had changed now, hadn’t it? The bomb, if there was even a bomb, obviously hadn’t been planted by T’Verra. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been aboard the shuttle when it detonated.
This didn’t make sense. Why would the Romulan spy try to commit suicide?
* * * *
Llewellyn got his answers when they arrived in the shuttlebay.
Jason Armstrong walked over to meet them and there were obvious clues in the results. He was wearing a phaser and behind him stood Ensign Jim Morgan, who was also armed. He called his boyfriend over as soon as he completed his scans.
“Captain, I thought you’d be coming alone.”
“This is Agent Hawkins of Section Thirty-One,” Ewan introduced him. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything later, but for right now, you should tell us both what you’ve found.”
Hawkins was starting to sweat.
“I’ve finished my analysis of the shuttlecraft, sir,” Armstrong reported. “I found traces of an explosive device. It was sabotage. My initial scans revealed a Romulan signature, but there wasn’t something right so I delved in deeper. It was a bad fake, sir. The real bomb had a Starfleet signature.”
“Starfleet?,” Ewan repeated in astonishment.
“Hence the sidearms, Captain. One of our own tried to murder Lieutenant Commander Sollik and Doctor T’Verra.”
Slowly the pieces were falling into place. Llewellyn turned to face Hawkins, and that’s when he noticed the sweat.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After a cleared deranged Agent Hawkins confessed to planting the bomb aboard our own shuttlecraft in some twisted attempt to flush out the Romulan spy, Security has transferred him over to Starbase 499 where Rear Admiral Blackmore is conducting an interrogation of his own.
I’ve informed the crew of the facts concerning T’Verra and her status as a Romulan. While they’re obviously and incredibly shaken by this situation, I have no time to hold their hands over this, as I’m on my way back to Sickbay to confront her.
Overcoming his uneasy attitude towards Sickbay was getting easier with every time that he walked through the doors. The feeling in his stomach today wasn’t directed towards the environment. Today, he was nervous because of who was occupying the central biobed, and because of the task that he now faced. His former Chief Medical Officer was a Romulan deep-cover spy planted aboard his ship. It was enough to make even the most hardened captain pause for thought.
Nurse Boswell greeted him as he entered, ignoring the two security guards who stood on either side of the entrance. Both of them were holding compression phaser rifles in a gross display of power. She looked tired as she joined her commanding officer.
“Status?”
“I’ve restored her Romulan appearance as you’ve requested. Other than that, she’s perfectly healthy in every way. You can ask her whatever you like or push her as hard as you like, sir. Just don’t slap her about.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself. Thank you, Lynn.”
With a nod, she retreated to what had rapidly become her personal office space, allowing Llewellyn to slowly walk forward and approach the biobed.
She was sleeping.
The sedative had worn off but thanks to the recovery process from the shuttle explosion caused by Hawkins’ bomb, she had yet to actually regain consciousness. With a grimace, Ewan deactivated the Level-Ten force field around the surgical bay and stepped inside.
Without realizing it, he placed his hand on the Type-II phaser attached to his waist while his other hand reached out and picked up a small mirror. Standing over her motionless form, he took a deep breath.
“T’Verra, wake up.”
Slowly, while still groggy from the sedative and sleep, her eyes opened. “Captain… the shuttle… explosion…”
“Easy, easy… You’re all right and so is Sollik. We’ve uncovered a plot by Starfleet Intelligence to destroy your shuttlecraft. They were trying to uncover a spy aboard Fortitude. It’s all right. They’ve left in disgrace.”
“A spy…?”
“Don’t worry about that. Listen, can you sit upright?”
“I believe so.”
As soon as she sat up, she spotted the Security guards and immediately flashed concern from behind her eyes. It was very un-Vulcan-like, and as she turned to stare at Ewan, there were also traces of trepidation. Wordlessly, he raised the mirror and handed it to her. When she saw the pronounced Romulan ridges on her forehead, she knew that the game was up.
“I want your real name,” Llewellyn growled at her. “I want your mission objectives, and I want you transferred to the Brig, right now.”
ACT TWO
On the Bridge, Commander Archer was going over a routine status report when an offensive noise came from the operations console behind her. Turning, she saw Jason Armstrong almost punch his LCARS interface as if he was trying to squash a particularly agile insect.
“Having problems over there, Ensign?”
“It’s strange, Commander,” he reported. “I keep getting random spikes of nadion particles off the starboard bow, but every time that the sensors rotate to analyze them, they disappear. It’s pissing me off… Sorry, Commander.”
“Try keeping your temper in check and refine the sensor array,” Valerie smiled, getting up to her feet. “It’s probably random interference.”
“Probably. Although, to be honest, given recent events…”
“I know, Ensign. Helm, back us away slowly, just to be on the safe side.”
* * * *
The Brig was even worse than Sickbay
It was a cold, sinister place.
At least, Sickbay served a purpose. Here, there was nothing but the determination to keep criminals locked away and downtrodden. The usual decorative palette of grey and blue, which was no more different from anywhere else aboard the Intrepid-class starship, seemed more obvious and dreary in here.
At least, that’s what Llewellyn thought as he watched T’Verra being thrown into a cell.
“I’ll ask you again,” he demanded as the force field was activated. “What’s your real name and what’s your mission aboard my ship?”
The Romulan was silent. It was incredibly unsettling, having a familiar and previously friendly face staring back at you, a little different but not recognizably so, now belonging to the enemy. Ewan would have shivered from the chill running up his spine, had he not thought that it would have shown weakness. Now would be the time to unleash your ballsy side as Rear Admiral Blackmore would have said.
“I can sit here all day,” he continued. “Or if you won’t talk to me, then maybe you’ll talk to that charming gentlemen from Section Thirty-One who tried to murder you. I’m sure you’ve heard the reports of their methods, haven’t you?”
More silence.
“I’m curious about something. Remember when we beamed that End pilot aboard from the debris field and you pronounced him dead? Was he really beyond all help or were you out to sabotage my mission then, too?”
More silence.
“For the last time, what the hell is your real name?!”
She smiled. At least, it was a change from the blank expression that she had been wearing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” she whispered with a smirk. “I’ve always been fascinated by how volatile you Humans can be. You claim to be enlightened and you lead your mighty Federation, and yet, given something as minor as an enemy agent in your ranks and you explode.”
“You call this minor?!,” Ewan yelled, slamming his palm against the bulkhead.
“Of course, Captain. You have no idea how many agents we have throughout Starfleet, and you probably have no idea how many agents your Section Thirty-One has throughout the Romulan Star Empire. Our community is a stable one. If it ever came to war between our peoples, we would both probably be defeated from the inside-out without ever firing a single shot across the Neutral Zone.”
She had a point. Ewan did have an idea, contrary to her presumptions. It was no secret that the tensions between the Federation and the Romulans were kept from leading to armed conflict, thanks to a complex checks-and-balances network of spies and undercover agents. It was the most extreme form of cowboy diplomacy.
“My name is Naketha,” she continued, catching him unaware of her sudden decision to answer his question. “I was assigned to penetrate Starfleet’s presence in the Santrag system and determine the intentions of the Federation in this corner of the Beta Quadrant.”
“Why? What’s so important about the middle of nowhere?”
“Think geopolitically, Captain. Your only link back to Earth and the rest of the Federation is a narrow corridor of unclaimed space between my people and the Klingons. We were naturally curious about why Starfleet squeezed through the gap and continued the expansionist policy of the Federation Council.”
“We’re not Empire-building!,” Llewellyn protested, his anger turning to resolute defiance in the face of such accusations. “The government on Santrag II initiated First Contact with one of our scout vessels and requested Federation membership!”
“So you claim,” countered Naketha. “Tell me, if a member world of the Federation decided to leave and join the Romulan Star Empire, would you simply believe that they did it of their own accord? Please, Captain, you know how this game works.”
This conversation was straying from the topic at hand. Galactic politics aside, Ewan still wanted to know what she was doing aboard Fortitude, and what her endgame had been, or if there was even a planned endgame. Letting silence return to the Brig for a few moments, he collected his thoughts.
“Your mission here,” he repeated.
“It is strictly an intelligence-gathering assignment, Captain. I went through considerable training and facial reconstruction to pose as Doctor T’Verra. I was never instructed to waste it all in a futile blaze of glory. For example, that End pilot was truly dead when I examined him. I was selected for my medical background, and I would have served you well enough.”
“The real Doctor T’Verra, the one with the distinguished Starfleet career, what happened to her? Did you kill her, damn it?”
“Sacrifices must be made. You of all people should appreciate that.”
That statement made him freeze. The chill coursing through his spine returned and the hairs all over his body stood on end.
“What do you mean by that?”
Naketha grinned, her eyes narrowing.
“I know more about you than you could possibly imagine, Ewan.”
* * * *
There it was again.
Jason double-checked the readings again. They had moved away and for some reason, the strange sensor returns were following them, keeping to roughly the same distance as before. The nadion particles weren’t fading away so quickly. In fact, they were increasing so much that… oh, no!
“Commander!,” he yelled. “I have a Romulan Warbird decloaking, dead ahead!”
Instantly, power began to fluctuate all over the Fortitude. The lights began to flicker and the demanded Red Alert status from Valerie Archer never activated. Instead, they refused to cooperate as darkness engulfed several decks.
* * * *
In the Brig, before anyone could react, the force field switched itself off and Naketha disappeared in the green glow of a Romulan transporter beam.
Walking towards the space that she had just occupied, for reasons beyond his control, Ewan stared at the floor and felt his blood pressure rise.
ACT THREE
Starbase 499 wasn’t suffering no such power drain.
Bursting into the Station Master’s Office, Rear Admiral Blackmore marched straight over to Station Master Erica Martinez and demanded an explanation for the sudden and unexpected Red Alert when his eyes caught the viewscreen. There, floating alongside the Fortitude in between 499 and Santrag II was a Romulan D’Deridex-class warbird. He felt his jaw literally drop.
“Where the hell did they come from?,” he barked.
“They just decloaked a second ago,” Erica answered him. “They’ve targeted some kind of deflector pulse at the Fortitude, shutting down main power.”
“They’re here for the spy!,” the Rear Admiral gasped.
“What spy?,” Martinez demanded to know, spinning on her heels and turning away from the mad panic that had gripped the room.
“No time!” Blackmore brushed her aside. “Raise shields! Scramble the Steamrunner and prepare for battle stations! Now!”
At that moment, the Warbird turned and pointed its sharp green nose away from the helpless Intrepid-class starship, deactivating the crippling deflector pulse and preparing to jump to warp. With its mission complete and Naketha safely back aboard, they were not going to stick around.
* * * *
On the Bridge of the Fortitude, as the lights came back on, Commander Archer gritted her teeth and headed for the tactical console. “Ensign Morgan,” she ordered,” target their cloaking generator and fire!”
“Direct hit,” Jim reported, a second later. “They’ve lost their ability to cloak.”
“They’re jumping to warp,” Lieutenant Vuro called out from the helm where he was firmly seated. “I can match their course and speed on your order, sir.”
Archer returned to the center of the Bridge as she issued that order. “Do it!”
Fortitude streaked to Warp Nine as Captain Llewellyn emerged from the turbolift and onto the Bridge. His demeanor could only be described as seething rage. As soon as he registered the image of the escaping Romulan warbird on the viewscreen, the stars betraying their status as passing at warp speed, he felt like hugging Valerie. She had done exactly what he would have done. They weren’t getting away that easily.
“Captain!,” Armstrong exclaimed from Ops, forgetting his place in all of the excitement.
“They’ve taken her. That Warbird has the Romulan spy that we knew as T’Verra aboard. I want her back!”
“We’re currently gaining on them, sir,” reported Vuro. However, they’ll cross into the Neutral Zone in less than fifteen minutes, and we don’t have the authorization to follow them in.”
“We have full power back?”
“Yes, Captain,” Archer nodded.
“Ensign Morgan, target their engines and prepare to fire photon torpedoes.”
* * * *
She was back among her own kind and it felt good.
The Bridge of the Warbird was far from in a celebratory mood. As Naketha entered, she saw Fortitude on the viewscreen, giving chase. Listening to a few reports from the various stations around her, she realized that the cloaking generator had been damaged. Another shout, this time from a young centurion behind her, reported that the Starfleet vessel was loading photon torpedoes and preparing to fire.
This was insane! Hadn’t she gotten through to him one tiny bit?!
Grabbing the subcommander in command of the Warbird, a man that she had never met, Naketha stared at him before he had a chance to order a similar, idiotic move.
“Listen to me, Subcommander,” she pleaded with him. “Open a channel to Captain Llewellyn. I can reason with him.
“You must think me a fool,” came his reply.
“Excuse me?”
“Allow me to introduce myself, spy. I’m Subcommander Vrekaith, and this is my ship that you’re issuing orders on. Not only that, but I have yet to determine if you are fit to return to active duty or not. You could have been turned!”
“If I have been turned,” Naketha spat at him, her anger boiling over at being accused of such madness upon what was supposed to be a happy occasion for her,” I wouldn’t be trying to save your ship! They have photon torpedoes locked on our engines! They could blow us out of the stars with a single command! Let me do something!”
Slowly, Vrekaith backed down. He could see the truth in her eyes. Signalling his communications officer, he allowed Naketha to step forward.
“Captain Llewellyn,” she called out.
“What the hell do you want?,” Ewan snapped over the intercom.
“Let us go.”
“You know we’re about to fire. Why don’t you stand down and return yourself to my Brig? Then we’ll talk about letting your shipmates carry on. Right now, you are illegally breaching the Neutral Zone Treaty and invading Federation space!”
“Ewan,” Naketha retorted,” think about this! Remember what I told you in the Brig? The balance that I spoke of? Destroying a Romulan Warbird would destroy that balance! You would be plunging the Beta Quadrant into war with a single command!”
“Stand down, right now!”
“I don’t believe that you’re a bad man, Ewan. Are you ready to sacrifice the Federation for your personal feelings? I humiliated you but be logical. The End, the tensions with the Klingons… Can you really entertain a third front? You won’t kill us. You won’t start a war. Therefore, we won’t be turning around.”
Silence.
The most painful silence that anybody had ever endured.
Tension, too.
Naketha realized that her hands were balled up into fists. Try as she might, she couldn’t get them to unclench, either.
It took fifteen seconds to get a reply from Llewellyn. It felt like fifteen years.
“This isn’t over,” he snapped at her. “You tell your people to recall their spies. If you ever show your face in this sector again, I’ll open fire. Balance be damned.”
“I believe you, Captain. Thank you.”
“Get the hell out of my backyard!”
And they did.
EPILOGUE
It had been a day since Naketha’s Warbird crossed the Neutral Zone.
As the door chimes to his quarters rang, Ewan lifted his head. It felt like a lead weight and he slowly came to the realization that he had been drifting in and out of a restless sleep for almost an hour. Groggy, he supported himself against the comfortable reclined chair as he stood up and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Come on in.”
It was Commander Valerie Archer. He had suspected as much.
“I’m just going my rounds, Captain,” she said with a smile. “I thought I’d check in and see how you were doing after… well, you’ve been quiet today.”
“I hope for obvious reasons,” he replied, resuming his seat.
“I guess it can’t be easy, can it?”
“Why don’t we switch jobs one of these days and you can find out?”
Archer shifted uncomfortably on the spot. She wasn’t sure if that was intended to be some kind of joke, or if it was laden with malice. This was Ewan that she was speaking to so she took it to mean the former.
Realizing the possible dilemma over the translation, Ewan closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Valerie.”
“Don’t be, Ewan,” was her instant reply to his apology. “With everything that’s happened on this mission so far. The End, the Klingons, and to find out that your Chief Medical Officer is an undercover agent… I suppose I just wanted to say that I’m here. Any time of the day or night, you just call me. Got it?”
“Thanks.”
There was little more for them to say. Turning to leave, she decided to be a little brave and make one final observation.
“Ewan, find some time to relax. You look…”
“What?,” the captain asked her. “Stressed? Burned out? Overwhelmed?”
“Older. You look older.”
Leaving him along with his thoughts, Valerie departed.
The End...
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Eight: ‘Face Value, Part Two’
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude…
Captain Ewan Llewellyn received some disturbing information from a Section Thirty-One agent visiting the Santrag system. Somehow, the Romulans have managed to plant an undercover spy aboard his ship, the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240. Through a complex investigation, the visiting Starfleet Intelligence agent, Hawkins, discovers that the Romulans smuggled one of their people to Earth and somehow took the place of a Starfleet officer before Fortitude left Utopia Planitia.
On the same day, a shuttlecraft carrying Chief Engineer Sollik and Doctor T’Verra from Santrag II to the Fortitude suffers from a terrible explosion that destroys one of their warp nacelles. Rescued, they lie in Sickbay under the care of an inexperienced young nurse, Lynn Boswell. This development troubles Captain Llewellyn. For an undercover spy to plant a bomb aboard the shuttlecraft, as he suspects they did, on the same day that Agent Hawkins arrives is too much of a coincidence. Filled with rage, he beamed over to Starbase 499 and blankly accused Hawkins of being the Romulan spy, even though he doesn’t have a well-rounded case.
Fortunately, before the situation can escalate, Nurse Boswell calls Captain Llewellyn back to the Fortitude’s Sickbay, where she has discovered a shocking truth!
T’Verra, previously believed to be Vulcan… is actually a Romulan!
And now the conclusion…
ACT ONE
“Captain, I understand your position, but I must protest!”
“It’s my ship, Hawkins, and she’s my officer!”
They were walking back towards Sickbay. It had been two hours since the revelation regarding Doctor T’Verra had been revealed. Instead of reviving her and jumping into an interrogation, Ewan had decided to hold off. Along with Agent Hawkins and Rear Admiral Blackmore, he had retired to the Briefing Room and discussed all of the possible angles that they could handle this situation from. Meanwhile, Nurse Lynn Boswell worked to restore T’Verra’s original Romulan appearance. The captain felt that she would have nowhere to go if they held up a mirror and showed her the truth.
“Section Thirty-One has jurisdiction here,” argued Hawkins. “I should lead the questions and you can follow up later.”
“Despite the fact that you’re not the spy,” Llewellyn retorted,” I still don’t trust you.”
“I can submit a formal subspace request to Starfleet Command to have you relieved of duty if you don’t follow my recommendations, Llewellyn. They’ll listen to me. You’ll be disgraced, and I’ll get what I want.”
“Go ahead. I can have Security remove you from my ship, and by the time that the subspace transceiver is fired up, I will have finished with my interrogation.”
They stopped walking.
Despite his hatred of violence, Ewan felt like punching Hawkins.
“Armstrong to Captain Llewellyn,” his combadge called out to him.
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve finished our analysis of the shuttlecraft explosion, sir. I think there’s something that you should see. Can you come down to the shuttlebay?”
“I’m on my way. Llewellyn out.”
Immediately as he turned to head for the nearest turbolift, Hawkins smiled with satisfaction and started walking in the opposite direction. Pausing, the captain realized what he was up to and seized his arm. The agent whipped around, furious at being manhandled by this upstart Welshman, but he didn’t physically react.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” growled Ewan. “You’re coming with me to the shuttlebay.”
Hawkins’ face fell. His chance had escaped him but there was something more to it than simply getting to face T’Verra alone. Llewellyn registered his reluctance. Surely the man who was investigating this case would have an interest in finding out about the possible sabotage of the Shuttlecraft Stanley and the attempted murder of…
Well, that had changed now, hadn’t it? The bomb, if there was even a bomb, obviously hadn’t been planted by T’Verra. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been aboard the shuttle when it detonated.
This didn’t make sense. Why would the Romulan spy try to commit suicide?
* * * *
Llewellyn got his answers when they arrived in the shuttlebay.
Jason Armstrong walked over to meet them and there were obvious clues in the results. He was wearing a phaser and behind him stood Ensign Jim Morgan, who was also armed. He called his boyfriend over as soon as he completed his scans.
“Captain, I thought you’d be coming alone.”
“This is Agent Hawkins of Section Thirty-One,” Ewan introduced him. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything later, but for right now, you should tell us both what you’ve found.”
Hawkins was starting to sweat.
“I’ve finished my analysis of the shuttlecraft, sir,” Armstrong reported. “I found traces of an explosive device. It was sabotage. My initial scans revealed a Romulan signature, but there wasn’t something right so I delved in deeper. It was a bad fake, sir. The real bomb had a Starfleet signature.”
“Starfleet?,” Ewan repeated in astonishment.
“Hence the sidearms, Captain. One of our own tried to murder Lieutenant Commander Sollik and Doctor T’Verra.”
Slowly the pieces were falling into place. Llewellyn turned to face Hawkins, and that’s when he noticed the sweat.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After a cleared deranged Agent Hawkins confessed to planting the bomb aboard our own shuttlecraft in some twisted attempt to flush out the Romulan spy, Security has transferred him over to Starbase 499 where Rear Admiral Blackmore is conducting an interrogation of his own.
I’ve informed the crew of the facts concerning T’Verra and her status as a Romulan. While they’re obviously and incredibly shaken by this situation, I have no time to hold their hands over this, as I’m on my way back to Sickbay to confront her.
Overcoming his uneasy attitude towards Sickbay was getting easier with every time that he walked through the doors. The feeling in his stomach today wasn’t directed towards the environment. Today, he was nervous because of who was occupying the central biobed, and because of the task that he now faced. His former Chief Medical Officer was a Romulan deep-cover spy planted aboard his ship. It was enough to make even the most hardened captain pause for thought.
Nurse Boswell greeted him as he entered, ignoring the two security guards who stood on either side of the entrance. Both of them were holding compression phaser rifles in a gross display of power. She looked tired as she joined her commanding officer.
“Status?”
“I’ve restored her Romulan appearance as you’ve requested. Other than that, she’s perfectly healthy in every way. You can ask her whatever you like or push her as hard as you like, sir. Just don’t slap her about.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself. Thank you, Lynn.”
With a nod, she retreated to what had rapidly become her personal office space, allowing Llewellyn to slowly walk forward and approach the biobed.
She was sleeping.
The sedative had worn off but thanks to the recovery process from the shuttle explosion caused by Hawkins’ bomb, she had yet to actually regain consciousness. With a grimace, Ewan deactivated the Level-Ten force field around the surgical bay and stepped inside.
Without realizing it, he placed his hand on the Type-II phaser attached to his waist while his other hand reached out and picked up a small mirror. Standing over her motionless form, he took a deep breath.
“T’Verra, wake up.”
Slowly, while still groggy from the sedative and sleep, her eyes opened. “Captain… the shuttle… explosion…”
“Easy, easy… You’re all right and so is Sollik. We’ve uncovered a plot by Starfleet Intelligence to destroy your shuttlecraft. They were trying to uncover a spy aboard Fortitude. It’s all right. They’ve left in disgrace.”
“A spy…?”
“Don’t worry about that. Listen, can you sit upright?”
“I believe so.”
As soon as she sat up, she spotted the Security guards and immediately flashed concern from behind her eyes. It was very un-Vulcan-like, and as she turned to stare at Ewan, there were also traces of trepidation. Wordlessly, he raised the mirror and handed it to her. When she saw the pronounced Romulan ridges on her forehead, she knew that the game was up.
“I want your real name,” Llewellyn growled at her. “I want your mission objectives, and I want you transferred to the Brig, right now.”
ACT TWO
On the Bridge, Commander Archer was going over a routine status report when an offensive noise came from the operations console behind her. Turning, she saw Jason Armstrong almost punch his LCARS interface as if he was trying to squash a particularly agile insect.
“Having problems over there, Ensign?”
“It’s strange, Commander,” he reported. “I keep getting random spikes of nadion particles off the starboard bow, but every time that the sensors rotate to analyze them, they disappear. It’s pissing me off… Sorry, Commander.”
“Try keeping your temper in check and refine the sensor array,” Valerie smiled, getting up to her feet. “It’s probably random interference.”
“Probably. Although, to be honest, given recent events…”
“I know, Ensign. Helm, back us away slowly, just to be on the safe side.”
* * * *
The Brig was even worse than Sickbay
It was a cold, sinister place.
At least, Sickbay served a purpose. Here, there was nothing but the determination to keep criminals locked away and downtrodden. The usual decorative palette of grey and blue, which was no more different from anywhere else aboard the Intrepid-class starship, seemed more obvious and dreary in here.
At least, that’s what Llewellyn thought as he watched T’Verra being thrown into a cell.
“I’ll ask you again,” he demanded as the force field was activated. “What’s your real name and what’s your mission aboard my ship?”
The Romulan was silent. It was incredibly unsettling, having a familiar and previously friendly face staring back at you, a little different but not recognizably so, now belonging to the enemy. Ewan would have shivered from the chill running up his spine, had he not thought that it would have shown weakness. Now would be the time to unleash your ballsy side as Rear Admiral Blackmore would have said.
“I can sit here all day,” he continued. “Or if you won’t talk to me, then maybe you’ll talk to that charming gentlemen from Section Thirty-One who tried to murder you. I’m sure you’ve heard the reports of their methods, haven’t you?”
More silence.
“I’m curious about something. Remember when we beamed that End pilot aboard from the debris field and you pronounced him dead? Was he really beyond all help or were you out to sabotage my mission then, too?”
More silence.
“For the last time, what the hell is your real name?!”
She smiled. At least, it was a change from the blank expression that she had been wearing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” she whispered with a smirk. “I’ve always been fascinated by how volatile you Humans can be. You claim to be enlightened and you lead your mighty Federation, and yet, given something as minor as an enemy agent in your ranks and you explode.”
“You call this minor?!,” Ewan yelled, slamming his palm against the bulkhead.
“Of course, Captain. You have no idea how many agents we have throughout Starfleet, and you probably have no idea how many agents your Section Thirty-One has throughout the Romulan Star Empire. Our community is a stable one. If it ever came to war between our peoples, we would both probably be defeated from the inside-out without ever firing a single shot across the Neutral Zone.”
She had a point. Ewan did have an idea, contrary to her presumptions. It was no secret that the tensions between the Federation and the Romulans were kept from leading to armed conflict, thanks to a complex checks-and-balances network of spies and undercover agents. It was the most extreme form of cowboy diplomacy.
“My name is Naketha,” she continued, catching him unaware of her sudden decision to answer his question. “I was assigned to penetrate Starfleet’s presence in the Santrag system and determine the intentions of the Federation in this corner of the Beta Quadrant.”
“Why? What’s so important about the middle of nowhere?”
“Think geopolitically, Captain. Your only link back to Earth and the rest of the Federation is a narrow corridor of unclaimed space between my people and the Klingons. We were naturally curious about why Starfleet squeezed through the gap and continued the expansionist policy of the Federation Council.”
“We’re not Empire-building!,” Llewellyn protested, his anger turning to resolute defiance in the face of such accusations. “The government on Santrag II initiated First Contact with one of our scout vessels and requested Federation membership!”
“So you claim,” countered Naketha. “Tell me, if a member world of the Federation decided to leave and join the Romulan Star Empire, would you simply believe that they did it of their own accord? Please, Captain, you know how this game works.”
This conversation was straying from the topic at hand. Galactic politics aside, Ewan still wanted to know what she was doing aboard Fortitude, and what her endgame had been, or if there was even a planned endgame. Letting silence return to the Brig for a few moments, he collected his thoughts.
“Your mission here,” he repeated.
“It is strictly an intelligence-gathering assignment, Captain. I went through considerable training and facial reconstruction to pose as Doctor T’Verra. I was never instructed to waste it all in a futile blaze of glory. For example, that End pilot was truly dead when I examined him. I was selected for my medical background, and I would have served you well enough.”
“The real Doctor T’Verra, the one with the distinguished Starfleet career, what happened to her? Did you kill her, damn it?”
“Sacrifices must be made. You of all people should appreciate that.”
That statement made him freeze. The chill coursing through his spine returned and the hairs all over his body stood on end.
“What do you mean by that?”
Naketha grinned, her eyes narrowing.
“I know more about you than you could possibly imagine, Ewan.”
* * * *
There it was again.
Jason double-checked the readings again. They had moved away and for some reason, the strange sensor returns were following them, keeping to roughly the same distance as before. The nadion particles weren’t fading away so quickly. In fact, they were increasing so much that… oh, no!
“Commander!,” he yelled. “I have a Romulan Warbird decloaking, dead ahead!”
Instantly, power began to fluctuate all over the Fortitude. The lights began to flicker and the demanded Red Alert status from Valerie Archer never activated. Instead, they refused to cooperate as darkness engulfed several decks.
* * * *
In the Brig, before anyone could react, the force field switched itself off and Naketha disappeared in the green glow of a Romulan transporter beam.
Walking towards the space that she had just occupied, for reasons beyond his control, Ewan stared at the floor and felt his blood pressure rise.
ACT THREE
Starbase 499 wasn’t suffering no such power drain.
Bursting into the Station Master’s Office, Rear Admiral Blackmore marched straight over to Station Master Erica Martinez and demanded an explanation for the sudden and unexpected Red Alert when his eyes caught the viewscreen. There, floating alongside the Fortitude in between 499 and Santrag II was a Romulan D’Deridex-class warbird. He felt his jaw literally drop.
“Where the hell did they come from?,” he barked.
“They just decloaked a second ago,” Erica answered him. “They’ve targeted some kind of deflector pulse at the Fortitude, shutting down main power.”
“They’re here for the spy!,” the Rear Admiral gasped.
“What spy?,” Martinez demanded to know, spinning on her heels and turning away from the mad panic that had gripped the room.
“No time!” Blackmore brushed her aside. “Raise shields! Scramble the Steamrunner and prepare for battle stations! Now!”
At that moment, the Warbird turned and pointed its sharp green nose away from the helpless Intrepid-class starship, deactivating the crippling deflector pulse and preparing to jump to warp. With its mission complete and Naketha safely back aboard, they were not going to stick around.
* * * *
On the Bridge of the Fortitude, as the lights came back on, Commander Archer gritted her teeth and headed for the tactical console. “Ensign Morgan,” she ordered,” target their cloaking generator and fire!”
“Direct hit,” Jim reported, a second later. “They’ve lost their ability to cloak.”
“They’re jumping to warp,” Lieutenant Vuro called out from the helm where he was firmly seated. “I can match their course and speed on your order, sir.”
Archer returned to the center of the Bridge as she issued that order. “Do it!”
Fortitude streaked to Warp Nine as Captain Llewellyn emerged from the turbolift and onto the Bridge. His demeanor could only be described as seething rage. As soon as he registered the image of the escaping Romulan warbird on the viewscreen, the stars betraying their status as passing at warp speed, he felt like hugging Valerie. She had done exactly what he would have done. They weren’t getting away that easily.
“Captain!,” Armstrong exclaimed from Ops, forgetting his place in all of the excitement.
“They’ve taken her. That Warbird has the Romulan spy that we knew as T’Verra aboard. I want her back!”
“We’re currently gaining on them, sir,” reported Vuro. However, they’ll cross into the Neutral Zone in less than fifteen minutes, and we don’t have the authorization to follow them in.”
“We have full power back?”
“Yes, Captain,” Archer nodded.
“Ensign Morgan, target their engines and prepare to fire photon torpedoes.”
* * * *
She was back among her own kind and it felt good.
The Bridge of the Warbird was far from in a celebratory mood. As Naketha entered, she saw Fortitude on the viewscreen, giving chase. Listening to a few reports from the various stations around her, she realized that the cloaking generator had been damaged. Another shout, this time from a young centurion behind her, reported that the Starfleet vessel was loading photon torpedoes and preparing to fire.
This was insane! Hadn’t she gotten through to him one tiny bit?!
Grabbing the subcommander in command of the Warbird, a man that she had never met, Naketha stared at him before he had a chance to order a similar, idiotic move.
“Listen to me, Subcommander,” she pleaded with him. “Open a channel to Captain Llewellyn. I can reason with him.
“You must think me a fool,” came his reply.
“Excuse me?”
“Allow me to introduce myself, spy. I’m Subcommander Vrekaith, and this is my ship that you’re issuing orders on. Not only that, but I have yet to determine if you are fit to return to active duty or not. You could have been turned!”
“If I have been turned,” Naketha spat at him, her anger boiling over at being accused of such madness upon what was supposed to be a happy occasion for her,” I wouldn’t be trying to save your ship! They have photon torpedoes locked on our engines! They could blow us out of the stars with a single command! Let me do something!”
Slowly, Vrekaith backed down. He could see the truth in her eyes. Signalling his communications officer, he allowed Naketha to step forward.
“Captain Llewellyn,” she called out.
“What the hell do you want?,” Ewan snapped over the intercom.
“Let us go.”
“You know we’re about to fire. Why don’t you stand down and return yourself to my Brig? Then we’ll talk about letting your shipmates carry on. Right now, you are illegally breaching the Neutral Zone Treaty and invading Federation space!”
“Ewan,” Naketha retorted,” think about this! Remember what I told you in the Brig? The balance that I spoke of? Destroying a Romulan Warbird would destroy that balance! You would be plunging the Beta Quadrant into war with a single command!”
“Stand down, right now!”
“I don’t believe that you’re a bad man, Ewan. Are you ready to sacrifice the Federation for your personal feelings? I humiliated you but be logical. The End, the tensions with the Klingons… Can you really entertain a third front? You won’t kill us. You won’t start a war. Therefore, we won’t be turning around.”
Silence.
The most painful silence that anybody had ever endured.
Tension, too.
Naketha realized that her hands were balled up into fists. Try as she might, she couldn’t get them to unclench, either.
It took fifteen seconds to get a reply from Llewellyn. It felt like fifteen years.
“This isn’t over,” he snapped at her. “You tell your people to recall their spies. If you ever show your face in this sector again, I’ll open fire. Balance be damned.”
“I believe you, Captain. Thank you.”
“Get the hell out of my backyard!”
And they did.
EPILOGUE
It had been a day since Naketha’s Warbird crossed the Neutral Zone.
As the door chimes to his quarters rang, Ewan lifted his head. It felt like a lead weight and he slowly came to the realization that he had been drifting in and out of a restless sleep for almost an hour. Groggy, he supported himself against the comfortable reclined chair as he stood up and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“Come on in.”
It was Commander Valerie Archer. He had suspected as much.
“I’m just going my rounds, Captain,” she said with a smile. “I thought I’d check in and see how you were doing after… well, you’ve been quiet today.”
“I hope for obvious reasons,” he replied, resuming his seat.
“I guess it can’t be easy, can it?”
“Why don’t we switch jobs one of these days and you can find out?”
Archer shifted uncomfortably on the spot. She wasn’t sure if that was intended to be some kind of joke, or if it was laden with malice. This was Ewan that she was speaking to so she took it to mean the former.
Realizing the possible dilemma over the translation, Ewan closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Valerie.”
“Don’t be, Ewan,” was her instant reply to his apology. “With everything that’s happened on this mission so far. The End, the Klingons, and to find out that your Chief Medical Officer is an undercover agent… I suppose I just wanted to say that I’m here. Any time of the day or night, you just call me. Got it?”
“Thanks.”
There was little more for them to say. Turning to leave, she decided to be a little brave and make one final observation.
“Ewan, find some time to relax. You look…”
“What?,” the captain asked her. “Stressed? Burned out? Overwhelmed?”
“Older. You look older.”
Leaving him along with his thoughts, Valerie departed.
The End...
I've added a cover to the first story post. It was made by CamSPD. We've been writing and Facebook friends for about ten or eleven years. Anyways, she does great cover work and I'm very appreciative of the time and energy that she puts into helping out poor, old writers like myself.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode 1.9: “Healing”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Damn… his head was killing him.
As if opening his eyes for the first time, Arden Vuro woke to the uncomfortable nature of both considerable pain and cold temperatures. Bolians preferred humidity, and this place, wherever it was, was anything but humid.
Regaining his focus, a chamber came into view from the foggy blur of grey that greeted him. Four bare walls, a small door in one of them, and well… nothing else. Glancing down at his muscular chest, he immediately lamented the lack of his Starfleet combadge.
His memory was coming back to him.
Bright flashes, just off of starboard. The shuttlecraft had been under attack. Shields were down in an instant, and then… did something beam aboard?
He couldn’t be sure.
With a groan, he sat upright, his blue hands pressing against the cold grey floor beneath him and recoiling in shock at the temperature. Vuro was only a pilot and while his Starfleet training had prepared him slightly for such occasions, he had always hoped to avoid them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Despite the fragmented memory that kept failing to consolidate into a single coherent image in his mind… they had been captured by somebody or some … thing. This was an alien prison cell and they were helpless. No combadges, no phasers, or tricorders, and he was lucky enough to still be wearing his boots.
Having to pause to clear away his aching here once more after sitting upright, Arden slowly blinked to clear his vision again. It was only then that he became aware of the figure lying prone on the cold cell floor beside him.
A red-shouldered Starfleet uniform just like his own…
Of course! Now he remembered who had been in the shuttlecraft with him!
Leaning over him, he checked for the pulse of the unconscious Captain Ewan Llewellyn.
ACT ONE
Ship’s Log Stardate 49133.5, Commander Valerie Archer, recording;
After an uneventful few days exploring the uncharted P-47 system, we are now heading for our rendezvous with Captain Llewellyn’s shuttlecraft. He and Lieutenant Vuro have been on a research expedition to a nearby Class-Eight nebula.
While I've enjoyed my time in command of the Fortitude, I’m looking forward to handing the reins of power back to Captain Llewellyn and taking a few shifts off. At the end of the day, whether it’s scanning planets or sailing into battle, occupying the Captain’s seat is still a high-pressure job.
“Approaching the coordinates,” Jason Armstrong reported from Ops.
“Drop to impulse power,” Valerie ordered in response.
“I have the shuttlecraft on sensors, Commander,” came the worried voice of Jim Morgan from Tactical. “They’re adrift at a bearing of one-five-one, mark two-four. Main power is offline and life-support is failing.”
Archer felt her stomach turn over as if she had just eaten a live bowl of gagh. Her heart sank instantly as she rose and stepped towards the viewscreen. For all to see, there, rotating peacefully against the backdrop of stars was Shuttlecraft #01, the Domtar. Its usually-white hull was pock-marked with what appeared to be weapons fire. The nacelles weren’t glowing their usual blue and red lights. Instead, they were completely shut down.
Whatever had happened here, it didn’t look good.
“Biosigns?”
“Negative,” Armstrong reported. “I’m reading an empty compartment.”
“You mean they’ve been taken?”
“It sure looks that way, Commander.”
“Scan for an ion trail,” was her next order as she wasted very little time. “Whoever took them can’t have gotten far. They could have only been waiting for us for what? No more than an hour?”
“I’ve got something,” Jim chipped in, his tactical sensors working faster than Jason’s operations suite on such tasks. “There’s a residual ion wake. The rate of decay suggests that it was made just less than thirty minutes ago. I’m sending the readings to the Helm. it appears to lead to a nearby trinary star system. We’ll have to get closer before I can pinpoint a planet or destination.”
“Get a tractor beam on that shuttle and bring it aboard,” Valerie replied. “I want you and Jason to analyze those weapons signatures and compare them with --”
“Commander, the ion trail doesn’t match anything we know about End technology,” Jim reassured her, holding his hand up in a brave cut-off to his superior officer. Everybody had been thinking that same worried thought after all.
“Well, I’ll be grateful for that small mercy later. Although I would hate for this incident to result in us making another energy out here.”
“The shuttle is aboard,” Ensign Armstrong reported, a moment later.
Her first time in command of the Fortitude, and it turns out to be a crisis. With her brow furrowed and her mind racing, Archer returned to the command chair and crossed her legs to keep herself from becoming a nervous fidget.
“Helm, follow that ion. Maximum warp. Engage!”
* * * *
Captain Llewellyn had joined Vuro in the land of the living. With the door to their cell locked and no windows or other ways of surveying their surroundings, they assessed the situation and Ewan’s fragments of returning memory to what the Bolian helmsman had already pieced together. It had become pretty clear that they were dealing with a hostile alien abduction rather rapidly.
“I remember the sensor data before I blacked out,” the Captain was saying. “Their ship was small and came up alongside to dock with us. I don’t think they had transporters and they can’t be capable of much more than Warp Two. Maybe Warp Three at the most, judging from the size of their engines.”
“Their energy weapons were certainly crude,” Arden agreed with him. “Thank goodness that they developed a stun setting. Though, it looked like they were shooting from rusty bits of pipe.”
“You still can’t remember a face?”
“No. You?”
“All I know is that it wasn’t the End.”
That revelation did little to calm his worries. He was a brave and athletic figure of a man but despite all of his training and his better judgment after spending most of his life around Humans, he couldn’t deny his Bolian heritage and Bolians were notorious cowards. While he was far from being a coward, the back of his mind still taunted him and told him that he was going to die in this stinking dark prison.
Ewan saw the fear in the Lieutenant’s eyes. It was a fear that he had recognized in himself. The pacifist starship captain forced into combat and violent situations more often than he liked to admit was a fear that he had begun to overcome.
“Listen, Arden,” he reassured his subordinate,” Fortitude will arrive at the rendezvous, realize we’re missing, and come looking for us. Commander Archer isn’t going to shrug this one off. Besides, if these aliens do only possess limited technology, then they’re hardly going to be able to hold onto us if an Intrepid-class starship knocked on their door, are they?”
“I guess you’re right, sir…”
“... but you can’t help feeling apprehensive. No, me neither.”
There was that famous brand of honesty from Captain Ewan Llewellyn that Vuro and the rest of the Fortitude crew respected so much. It made him smile
“You really place a lot of trust in Commander Archer, don’t you, sir?”
Ewan trailed off, stopping himself from voicing his own thoughts. He had to be careful, despite his relaxed command style and friendly, almost jovial attitude around the senior officers. There were some things that Starfleet regulations specified that you keep to yourself. Thankfully, Vuro turned away, just in time, to miss his cheeks flushing red.
Damn. That was a close call.
“Why don't you get some rest?,” he suggested to the young man. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
* * * *
High above the two imprisoned Starfleet officers, the Chief Warden deactivated his communications screen and turned to face his team of guards. The Makaren Prison Core was deep underneath the surface of a barren moon. None of the prisoners would see the stars or the surface for their short, unproductive lives. In the central command barracks, a vast panoramic window showed the gorgeous orange surface beyond the bulkheads of the structure. It helped the Chief Warden and his men remain professionally detached from their otherwise unpleasant duty.
“The word from the King is final, he told them, his cranial ridges convulsing into a frown as he spoke. “The newcomers have been found in violation of our space. We are to execute them immediately.”
“Another execution?,” one of the braver guards spoke up. “Chief Warden, do you believe that it’s right to keep slaughtering these people?”
“We do what we are commanded to do for the good of the Makaren Royal Family. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Yes, Chief Warden,” sighed the guard, his argument defeated by that single phrase.
In his culture, it carried more weight than any other phrase. For the King of his race was a powerful person, by what some considered to be divine inspiration. Others faced the reality of blind luck as he had invented the Warp Drive on Makar Prime and used it to seize control of the government. Unfortunately, that newfound power had brought madness and despite their limitations, the Maar frequently found themselves in conflict with intergalactic enemies of unlimited strength. Everyone realized that it was stupid but nobody would speak up against the system, which was soul-destroying to say the very least.
With no alternative, the guards collected their weapons and marched towards the cargo elevator. The journey down through the Prison Core would take almost fifteen minutes. Upon their arrival, they would shoot Ewan Llewellyn and Arden Vuro.
ACT TWO
“Heads up, Lieutenant,” whispered Llewellyn.
Vuro’s eyes opened immediately. He hadn’t been able to sleep, despite the captain’s recommendation. Upon rolling over, he saw the door to the cell start to open.
Ewan was on his feet and he joined him. Within a few seconds, they came face to face with a platoon of humanoids and it was obvious from their weapons and weapons that they were the prison guards.
Now they remembered their faces!
“With us, follow,” the guard leader said in Federation Standard. They definitely had some basic form of the Universal Translator, but it clearly wasn’t working properly. “You keep wrists lowered, floor-bound. Anything violent, you cease.”
“Right. So it’s pretty much, try anything and get your head blow off,” Llewellyn growled back, half-sarcastic and half-menacing. “Listen, my name is Captain Ewan Llewellyn of the Federation Starship Fortitude. I’m sure that there’s been some kind of misunderstanding --”
“No discussion. With us, follow!”
“I demand to speak with your superiors!,” he persisted.
The guard leader was growing tired of his demands. He didn’t want to be here and this scene was just dragging the whole thing out. With just enough force to deliver the silence that he wanted, he lashed out and punched the captain in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Vuro rushed forward, but weapons were raised at his head and he got the message. Instead, he helped the captain back up to a standing posture.
“Captain, are you all right?”
“Even get bullied at school?,” the Welshman groaned. “Never mind. I’m fine.”
With nothing more to be gained, the two Starfleet officers decided to follow the suggestion of the Makar guard. Perhaps they were being taken to speak with legal representation or perhaps they were being led to their execution. They didn’t know enough about this species to come to a worthy conclusion. When they walked around a corner and saw what awaited them, that ignorance was lifted from their minds.
There was a wall, riddled with holes and doused in splashes of red, green, and blue…
All different types of alien blood.
It was an execution after all.
* * * *
At that very instant, above the barren moon, the USS Fortitude dropped out of warp and on impulse power, began an intensive sensor sweep. Ensign Armstrong found the central command barracks of the Makar prison, within seconds, but it took him a few minutes later to realize that most of the structure was based underground. His sensors showed a Human and a Bolian, deep within the Prison Core. his elation turned to frustration when he tried to get a transporter lock on the away team.
“The composition of the moon’s crust,” he reported to Commander Archer,” contains limited deposits of magnesite. I can’t get a clear reading on their biosigns for transport.”
“Can you compensate for the interference?,” Valerie Archer asked him, almost running up the side of the Bridge to join him at his operations console.
“I think so, but I’ll need to recalibrate the confinement beam. This could get a little tricky, Commander.”
“Helm, keep up from being detected by that structure on the surface. Jason, take all of the time that you need… but not a second longer!”
“I’m on it, Commander,” nodded the young ensign.
* * * *
“Now, wait a damned minute! What the hell are we being charged with?”
Llewellyn wasn’t going to allow himself to be shot quietly by a firing squad. He was protesting pretty loudly, stepping forward towards the guard leader, joined by Vuro. The Bolian could see where this situation was leading and he felt his muscles automatically tense up underneath his uniform. Meanwhile, Ewan was just angered by his own ignorance and fear of death.
Whatever worked, either way, the guards moved forward.
“Captain, look out!,” Arden cried out.
Spinning on his Lieutenant’s advice, he saw a guard coming right at him and his survival instincts took over. Grabbing the pipe-like weapon from the Makar, who was somewhat shocked by his actions and failed to react in time, he aimed it at the guard leader. Their response was that the unarmed guard leapt on top of him, pushing him to the ground, and wrestled for control of the weapon.
Arden felt an approaching guard on his rear quarter and, again on instinct, delivered a spectacular blow to his jaw, sending another one of those pipe-like weapons flying. Two more guards attacked to subdue him, but the pilot kicked one of them clear away from him and engaged the other guard in trading a few punches.
For a pacifist, Llewellyn was doing remarkably well. Starfleet Academy’s Basic Self-Defense course had been one of his stronger moments at the Academy. Simply because there had been a girl in his class that he had liked and he wanted to impress her by being manly and physical.
Punching the guard across the face, he regained control of the weapon, only to have the guard leader shoot it out of his hands. Recoiling at the slight shock to his system, but otherwise uninjured, the captain raised his hands in defeat.
He tried.
Turning, he saw his helmsman successfully dispatch the guard that he was fighting and managed to get up to his feet. What happened next felt like it was unfolding in slow-motion to him. Ewan felt his pulse quicken, his head rushing with blood and his stomach wrenching.
Unhappy with the staged revolt, the guard leader simply aimed and shot Vuro directly in the chest.
The Bolian officer crumpled, bleeding hard.
“No!,” screamed the Captain, lurching forward to help him.
At that moment, a transporter beam came out of nowhere and scooped Ewan and Arden up from within the Prison Core and back to the safety of the orbiting Fortitude. The stunned technologically-limited Makar were left with their mouths hung open in shock.
Valerie watched as the two forms materialized on the transporter pad. Her smile and relief at successfully retrieving them quickly faded when she noticed the situation that they were in. rushing to their side, she bent over the wounded body of Lieutenant Vuro who was alongside Captain Llewellyn. Dark blue blood was everywhere, and slowing his peaceful blue eyes rolled back into his head.
“I’m losing him,” Ewan whispered. “Beam us to Sickbay, right now!”
ACT THREE
Her hands were shaking. Panic gripped her very soul.
Lynn Boswell had been Chief Medical Officer of the USS Fortitude for a few days. The surprise departure of the previous incumbent of Sickbay had indeed forced the issue of a promotion from Nurse to Doctor and the poor young woman was overwhelmed by the sudden thrust up the career ladder.
The strangest thing was that people were congratulating her. Given the circumstances, why? And what had she done to deserve the post? Nothing, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Today, she felt like that old axiom was ringing true.
Arden Vuro was unconscious, his heart still pumping thick blue blood around his complicated internal organ system. Bolian blood had a remarkably high acidic content, and for the first time since she had been in medical school, Lynn was in surgical gear. The surgical gloves were limiting and frustrating, adding to the pressure of the situation.
Over her shoulder, Captain Ewan Llewellyn was pacing a canyon into the Sickbay carpet. Leaning against the central monitor, to make matters even worse, was Commander Valerie Archer. As if saving the life of a colleague wasn’t tough enough, she was completely out of her depth and under surveillance from her commanding officers. Her hands, damn them, just wouldn’t stop shaking. Her mind went into shutdown. The panic overwhelmed her. She screwed her eyes shut and stepped back, retreating from the biobed and the dying lieutenant.
“Doctor Boswell?,” Archer asked, noting her odd behavior. “Is everything all right?”
“Good news, I hope,” Ewan added, ceasing his pacing.
“I… I can’t… I simply can’t do this. I’m sorry! This is… it’s far beyond my level of expertise! I’m a nurse. Damn that Romulan bitch! Why’d she have to leave? She would have still treated him! I can’t do this!”
“Lynn…” Ewan’s tone was low and his mood was clear.
“No, I can’t do this!,” she repeated, tears stinging her eyes. “Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram!”
Within a second of the words leaving her trembling lips, a fifteen person appeared in Sickbay, unfamiliar to everyone present, even to the woman who had summoned him from the recesses of the computer core.
“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” it chimed.
“Central biobed, Bolian male, shot with an unknown energy weapon,” mumbled Lynn, snapping the gloves from her hands and storming out of the Sickbay doors in a final desperate act of escape. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing. She just knew one thing. She had to get out.
The Emergency Medical Hologram immediately picked up a medical tricorder and attended to Vuro dispassionately. As it did so, it shot a glance towards the shocked, motionless, and speechless Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer.
“I can’t treat two patients at once,” it flatly stated to them. “This man needs my attention, but one of you should really follow that distraught girl and see to her wellbeing.”
“I’ll go,” Valerie offered.
It took five minutes. By that time, the Emergency Medical Hologram had managed to repair most of the damaged tissue around Vuro’s wound and Ewan had somehow managed to find himself a cup of coffee.
Archer returned to Sickbay with Lynn in tow and sheepishly, the young Chief Medical Officer gazed at her captain with round apologetic eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Ewan said, immediately, stopping her from saying anything. “Besides, I think that the EMH could use a hand. Do you think you’re up to that?”
“I should be able to manage more than that, sir,” Lynn stated confidently, striding over to the central biobed and almost pushing the project form of the Emergency Medical Hologram aside. With a medical tricorder in hand, she got back to work, despite the obvious frustration on the holographic program’s face.
“Now, wait just one moment,” it protested. “I haven’t finished the procedure yet!”
“Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram.”
“Well, really, that’s quite…”
Almost managing to smile at the admittedly funny exchange between the EMH and Doctor Boswell, Ewan turned to Valerie who simply raised a playful eyebrow and nodded towards the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. With a shrug, he preempted the question, just as he had preempted Lynn’s apology. He was on fire today, he told himself. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the altercation with the alien prison guards that was still in his system.
“I’ve had a very long day,” he said in his defense.
“I could put you in an escape pod and leave you floating in a nebula, and you’d still find yourself a cup of coffee!”
“You could, but surely that would be classified as mutiny?”
“Good point.”
“What’s our status?,” he then asked, getting down to business.
“Our scans indicate that the prison complex that we rescued you and Lieutenant Vuro from never detected Fortitude. We’ve also concluded that, while they have warp capability, they have limits to their technology. Obviously, for example, no transporters. It’s your call what we do from here.”
“I’m not eager to make another enemy out here, Valerie,” Ewan admitted to her, sipping his coffee with a sigh. “Return to the Bridge and set a course back to Starbase 499, maximum warp. I think we’re done here.”
“Understood,” she nodded, turning to leave.
“One last thing…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What did you say to Doctor Boswell to make her come back?”
Valerie simply smiled and shook her head, wagging her finger in mock-disapproval at Ewan. “Oh, no,” she answered him. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
As the Sickbay doors slid shut behind her, Llewellyn turned back to watch Lynn working on Lieutenant Vuro. Her skill was apparent and that much he was completely confident in. He wouldn’t have granted her a field promotion to Chief Medical Officer had he not been. Yes, recent events had forced his hand and Rear Admiral Blackmore had a team of three doctors working in the Santrag system. Taking one of them would have been very easy.
Recent events… indeed. That was the reason for promoting Lynn. It was becoming very clear that, whenever outsiders got involved, this little corner of space suffered. Romulans, the End, Klingons, Section Thirty-One… No, it was time to start protecting his crew and keeping it in the family. It was finally time to start acting like a properly experienced Starfleet captain.
He stayed until Boswell finished her operation on Arden. Making sure that she was all right, Ewan walked away as a satisfied man for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
EPILOGUE
When the Bolian helmsman finally returned to the land of the living, it took him a moment to find his focus. The last time that he had opened his eyes like this, he had stared up at the dark, damp, and rotting ceiling of an alien prison cell.
Now mercifully, he was looking up at the lights of Sickbay. That familiar Starfleet style of interior design that many people found cold… Damn, it had never looked better to him. Aware of an approaching figure, he turned his head slightly and winced at the dull pain that replied.
“Easy there, Lieutenant,” Doctor Boswell warned him. “You’ve had quite a rough time of it. It’ll be a while before you’re performing evasive maneuvers again.”
“I was shot?,” Vuro asked, trying to confirm his erratic memory.
“Yep, and you were operated on by two doctors as well.”
“Two?”
“If I were to take full credit,” she confessed to him,” it wouldn’t be the whole truth. To be honest, I suppose I should thank you, Lieutenant. If it weren’t for your heroics, the captain would have been in danger of becoming a victim of my own self-doubt, and if you hadn’t been shot, I suppose that I would have never overcome it either.”
Arden frowned, still somewhat confused but determined to make sense of Lynn’s cryptic response.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, noting his confusion. “I’ll explain everything later. Right not, you should get some rest.”
“My head hurts,” he told her.
“Never fear, I’ve got a hypospray for that. Now sleep.”
“Is that an order?”
“From your ship’s Chief Medical Officer?,” Lynn Boswell grinned at him, her chest expanding with pride. “You better believe it!”
The End.
Episode 1.9: “Healing”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Damn… his head was killing him.
As if opening his eyes for the first time, Arden Vuro woke to the uncomfortable nature of both considerable pain and cold temperatures. Bolians preferred humidity, and this place, wherever it was, was anything but humid.
Regaining his focus, a chamber came into view from the foggy blur of grey that greeted him. Four bare walls, a small door in one of them, and well… nothing else. Glancing down at his muscular chest, he immediately lamented the lack of his Starfleet combadge.
His memory was coming back to him.
Bright flashes, just off of starboard. The shuttlecraft had been under attack. Shields were down in an instant, and then… did something beam aboard?
He couldn’t be sure.
With a groan, he sat upright, his blue hands pressing against the cold grey floor beneath him and recoiling in shock at the temperature. Vuro was only a pilot and while his Starfleet training had prepared him slightly for such occasions, he had always hoped to avoid them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Despite the fragmented memory that kept failing to consolidate into a single coherent image in his mind… they had been captured by somebody or some … thing. This was an alien prison cell and they were helpless. No combadges, no phasers, or tricorders, and he was lucky enough to still be wearing his boots.
Having to pause to clear away his aching here once more after sitting upright, Arden slowly blinked to clear his vision again. It was only then that he became aware of the figure lying prone on the cold cell floor beside him.
A red-shouldered Starfleet uniform just like his own…
Of course! Now he remembered who had been in the shuttlecraft with him!
Leaning over him, he checked for the pulse of the unconscious Captain Ewan Llewellyn.
ACT ONE
Ship’s Log Stardate 49133.5, Commander Valerie Archer, recording;
After an uneventful few days exploring the uncharted P-47 system, we are now heading for our rendezvous with Captain Llewellyn’s shuttlecraft. He and Lieutenant Vuro have been on a research expedition to a nearby Class-Eight nebula.
While I've enjoyed my time in command of the Fortitude, I’m looking forward to handing the reins of power back to Captain Llewellyn and taking a few shifts off. At the end of the day, whether it’s scanning planets or sailing into battle, occupying the Captain’s seat is still a high-pressure job.
“Approaching the coordinates,” Jason Armstrong reported from Ops.
“Drop to impulse power,” Valerie ordered in response.
“I have the shuttlecraft on sensors, Commander,” came the worried voice of Jim Morgan from Tactical. “They’re adrift at a bearing of one-five-one, mark two-four. Main power is offline and life-support is failing.”
Archer felt her stomach turn over as if she had just eaten a live bowl of gagh. Her heart sank instantly as she rose and stepped towards the viewscreen. For all to see, there, rotating peacefully against the backdrop of stars was Shuttlecraft #01, the Domtar. Its usually-white hull was pock-marked with what appeared to be weapons fire. The nacelles weren’t glowing their usual blue and red lights. Instead, they were completely shut down.
Whatever had happened here, it didn’t look good.
“Biosigns?”
“Negative,” Armstrong reported. “I’m reading an empty compartment.”
“You mean they’ve been taken?”
“It sure looks that way, Commander.”
“Scan for an ion trail,” was her next order as she wasted very little time. “Whoever took them can’t have gotten far. They could have only been waiting for us for what? No more than an hour?”
“I’ve got something,” Jim chipped in, his tactical sensors working faster than Jason’s operations suite on such tasks. “There’s a residual ion wake. The rate of decay suggests that it was made just less than thirty minutes ago. I’m sending the readings to the Helm. it appears to lead to a nearby trinary star system. We’ll have to get closer before I can pinpoint a planet or destination.”
“Get a tractor beam on that shuttle and bring it aboard,” Valerie replied. “I want you and Jason to analyze those weapons signatures and compare them with --”
“Commander, the ion trail doesn’t match anything we know about End technology,” Jim reassured her, holding his hand up in a brave cut-off to his superior officer. Everybody had been thinking that same worried thought after all.
“Well, I’ll be grateful for that small mercy later. Although I would hate for this incident to result in us making another energy out here.”
“The shuttle is aboard,” Ensign Armstrong reported, a moment later.
Her first time in command of the Fortitude, and it turns out to be a crisis. With her brow furrowed and her mind racing, Archer returned to the command chair and crossed her legs to keep herself from becoming a nervous fidget.
“Helm, follow that ion. Maximum warp. Engage!”
* * * *
Captain Llewellyn had joined Vuro in the land of the living. With the door to their cell locked and no windows or other ways of surveying their surroundings, they assessed the situation and Ewan’s fragments of returning memory to what the Bolian helmsman had already pieced together. It had become pretty clear that they were dealing with a hostile alien abduction rather rapidly.
“I remember the sensor data before I blacked out,” the Captain was saying. “Their ship was small and came up alongside to dock with us. I don’t think they had transporters and they can’t be capable of much more than Warp Two. Maybe Warp Three at the most, judging from the size of their engines.”
“Their energy weapons were certainly crude,” Arden agreed with him. “Thank goodness that they developed a stun setting. Though, it looked like they were shooting from rusty bits of pipe.”
“You still can’t remember a face?”
“No. You?”
“All I know is that it wasn’t the End.”
That revelation did little to calm his worries. He was a brave and athletic figure of a man but despite all of his training and his better judgment after spending most of his life around Humans, he couldn’t deny his Bolian heritage and Bolians were notorious cowards. While he was far from being a coward, the back of his mind still taunted him and told him that he was going to die in this stinking dark prison.
Ewan saw the fear in the Lieutenant’s eyes. It was a fear that he had recognized in himself. The pacifist starship captain forced into combat and violent situations more often than he liked to admit was a fear that he had begun to overcome.
“Listen, Arden,” he reassured his subordinate,” Fortitude will arrive at the rendezvous, realize we’re missing, and come looking for us. Commander Archer isn’t going to shrug this one off. Besides, if these aliens do only possess limited technology, then they’re hardly going to be able to hold onto us if an Intrepid-class starship knocked on their door, are they?”
“I guess you’re right, sir…”
“... but you can’t help feeling apprehensive. No, me neither.”
There was that famous brand of honesty from Captain Ewan Llewellyn that Vuro and the rest of the Fortitude crew respected so much. It made him smile
“You really place a lot of trust in Commander Archer, don’t you, sir?”
Ewan trailed off, stopping himself from voicing his own thoughts. He had to be careful, despite his relaxed command style and friendly, almost jovial attitude around the senior officers. There were some things that Starfleet regulations specified that you keep to yourself. Thankfully, Vuro turned away, just in time, to miss his cheeks flushing red.
Damn. That was a close call.
“Why don't you get some rest?,” he suggested to the young man. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
* * * *
High above the two imprisoned Starfleet officers, the Chief Warden deactivated his communications screen and turned to face his team of guards. The Makaren Prison Core was deep underneath the surface of a barren moon. None of the prisoners would see the stars or the surface for their short, unproductive lives. In the central command barracks, a vast panoramic window showed the gorgeous orange surface beyond the bulkheads of the structure. It helped the Chief Warden and his men remain professionally detached from their otherwise unpleasant duty.
“The word from the King is final, he told them, his cranial ridges convulsing into a frown as he spoke. “The newcomers have been found in violation of our space. We are to execute them immediately.”
“Another execution?,” one of the braver guards spoke up. “Chief Warden, do you believe that it’s right to keep slaughtering these people?”
“We do what we are commanded to do for the good of the Makaren Royal Family. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Yes, Chief Warden,” sighed the guard, his argument defeated by that single phrase.
In his culture, it carried more weight than any other phrase. For the King of his race was a powerful person, by what some considered to be divine inspiration. Others faced the reality of blind luck as he had invented the Warp Drive on Makar Prime and used it to seize control of the government. Unfortunately, that newfound power had brought madness and despite their limitations, the Maar frequently found themselves in conflict with intergalactic enemies of unlimited strength. Everyone realized that it was stupid but nobody would speak up against the system, which was soul-destroying to say the very least.
With no alternative, the guards collected their weapons and marched towards the cargo elevator. The journey down through the Prison Core would take almost fifteen minutes. Upon their arrival, they would shoot Ewan Llewellyn and Arden Vuro.
ACT TWO
“Heads up, Lieutenant,” whispered Llewellyn.
Vuro’s eyes opened immediately. He hadn’t been able to sleep, despite the captain’s recommendation. Upon rolling over, he saw the door to the cell start to open.
Ewan was on his feet and he joined him. Within a few seconds, they came face to face with a platoon of humanoids and it was obvious from their weapons and weapons that they were the prison guards.
Now they remembered their faces!
“With us, follow,” the guard leader said in Federation Standard. They definitely had some basic form of the Universal Translator, but it clearly wasn’t working properly. “You keep wrists lowered, floor-bound. Anything violent, you cease.”
“Right. So it’s pretty much, try anything and get your head blow off,” Llewellyn growled back, half-sarcastic and half-menacing. “Listen, my name is Captain Ewan Llewellyn of the Federation Starship Fortitude. I’m sure that there’s been some kind of misunderstanding --”
“No discussion. With us, follow!”
“I demand to speak with your superiors!,” he persisted.
The guard leader was growing tired of his demands. He didn’t want to be here and this scene was just dragging the whole thing out. With just enough force to deliver the silence that he wanted, he lashed out and punched the captain in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Vuro rushed forward, but weapons were raised at his head and he got the message. Instead, he helped the captain back up to a standing posture.
“Captain, are you all right?”
“Even get bullied at school?,” the Welshman groaned. “Never mind. I’m fine.”
With nothing more to be gained, the two Starfleet officers decided to follow the suggestion of the Makar guard. Perhaps they were being taken to speak with legal representation or perhaps they were being led to their execution. They didn’t know enough about this species to come to a worthy conclusion. When they walked around a corner and saw what awaited them, that ignorance was lifted from their minds.
There was a wall, riddled with holes and doused in splashes of red, green, and blue…
All different types of alien blood.
It was an execution after all.
* * * *
At that very instant, above the barren moon, the USS Fortitude dropped out of warp and on impulse power, began an intensive sensor sweep. Ensign Armstrong found the central command barracks of the Makar prison, within seconds, but it took him a few minutes later to realize that most of the structure was based underground. His sensors showed a Human and a Bolian, deep within the Prison Core. his elation turned to frustration when he tried to get a transporter lock on the away team.
“The composition of the moon’s crust,” he reported to Commander Archer,” contains limited deposits of magnesite. I can’t get a clear reading on their biosigns for transport.”
“Can you compensate for the interference?,” Valerie Archer asked him, almost running up the side of the Bridge to join him at his operations console.
“I think so, but I’ll need to recalibrate the confinement beam. This could get a little tricky, Commander.”
“Helm, keep up from being detected by that structure on the surface. Jason, take all of the time that you need… but not a second longer!”
“I’m on it, Commander,” nodded the young ensign.
* * * *
“Now, wait a damned minute! What the hell are we being charged with?”
Llewellyn wasn’t going to allow himself to be shot quietly by a firing squad. He was protesting pretty loudly, stepping forward towards the guard leader, joined by Vuro. The Bolian could see where this situation was leading and he felt his muscles automatically tense up underneath his uniform. Meanwhile, Ewan was just angered by his own ignorance and fear of death.
Whatever worked, either way, the guards moved forward.
“Captain, look out!,” Arden cried out.
Spinning on his Lieutenant’s advice, he saw a guard coming right at him and his survival instincts took over. Grabbing the pipe-like weapon from the Makar, who was somewhat shocked by his actions and failed to react in time, he aimed it at the guard leader. Their response was that the unarmed guard leapt on top of him, pushing him to the ground, and wrestled for control of the weapon.
Arden felt an approaching guard on his rear quarter and, again on instinct, delivered a spectacular blow to his jaw, sending another one of those pipe-like weapons flying. Two more guards attacked to subdue him, but the pilot kicked one of them clear away from him and engaged the other guard in trading a few punches.
For a pacifist, Llewellyn was doing remarkably well. Starfleet Academy’s Basic Self-Defense course had been one of his stronger moments at the Academy. Simply because there had been a girl in his class that he had liked and he wanted to impress her by being manly and physical.
Punching the guard across the face, he regained control of the weapon, only to have the guard leader shoot it out of his hands. Recoiling at the slight shock to his system, but otherwise uninjured, the captain raised his hands in defeat.
He tried.
Turning, he saw his helmsman successfully dispatch the guard that he was fighting and managed to get up to his feet. What happened next felt like it was unfolding in slow-motion to him. Ewan felt his pulse quicken, his head rushing with blood and his stomach wrenching.
Unhappy with the staged revolt, the guard leader simply aimed and shot Vuro directly in the chest.
The Bolian officer crumpled, bleeding hard.
“No!,” screamed the Captain, lurching forward to help him.
At that moment, a transporter beam came out of nowhere and scooped Ewan and Arden up from within the Prison Core and back to the safety of the orbiting Fortitude. The stunned technologically-limited Makar were left with their mouths hung open in shock.
Valerie watched as the two forms materialized on the transporter pad. Her smile and relief at successfully retrieving them quickly faded when she noticed the situation that they were in. rushing to their side, she bent over the wounded body of Lieutenant Vuro who was alongside Captain Llewellyn. Dark blue blood was everywhere, and slowing his peaceful blue eyes rolled back into his head.
“I’m losing him,” Ewan whispered. “Beam us to Sickbay, right now!”
ACT THREE
Her hands were shaking. Panic gripped her very soul.
Lynn Boswell had been Chief Medical Officer of the USS Fortitude for a few days. The surprise departure of the previous incumbent of Sickbay had indeed forced the issue of a promotion from Nurse to Doctor and the poor young woman was overwhelmed by the sudden thrust up the career ladder.
The strangest thing was that people were congratulating her. Given the circumstances, why? And what had she done to deserve the post? Nothing, except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Today, she felt like that old axiom was ringing true.
Arden Vuro was unconscious, his heart still pumping thick blue blood around his complicated internal organ system. Bolian blood had a remarkably high acidic content, and for the first time since she had been in medical school, Lynn was in surgical gear. The surgical gloves were limiting and frustrating, adding to the pressure of the situation.
Over her shoulder, Captain Ewan Llewellyn was pacing a canyon into the Sickbay carpet. Leaning against the central monitor, to make matters even worse, was Commander Valerie Archer. As if saving the life of a colleague wasn’t tough enough, she was completely out of her depth and under surveillance from her commanding officers. Her hands, damn them, just wouldn’t stop shaking. Her mind went into shutdown. The panic overwhelmed her. She screwed her eyes shut and stepped back, retreating from the biobed and the dying lieutenant.
“Doctor Boswell?,” Archer asked, noting her odd behavior. “Is everything all right?”
“Good news, I hope,” Ewan added, ceasing his pacing.
“I… I can’t… I simply can’t do this. I’m sorry! This is… it’s far beyond my level of expertise! I’m a nurse. Damn that Romulan bitch! Why’d she have to leave? She would have still treated him! I can’t do this!”
“Lynn…” Ewan’s tone was low and his mood was clear.
“No, I can’t do this!,” she repeated, tears stinging her eyes. “Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram!”
Within a second of the words leaving her trembling lips, a fifteen person appeared in Sickbay, unfamiliar to everyone present, even to the woman who had summoned him from the recesses of the computer core.
“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” it chimed.
“Central biobed, Bolian male, shot with an unknown energy weapon,” mumbled Lynn, snapping the gloves from her hands and storming out of the Sickbay doors in a final desperate act of escape. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing. She just knew one thing. She had to get out.
The Emergency Medical Hologram immediately picked up a medical tricorder and attended to Vuro dispassionately. As it did so, it shot a glance towards the shocked, motionless, and speechless Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer.
“I can’t treat two patients at once,” it flatly stated to them. “This man needs my attention, but one of you should really follow that distraught girl and see to her wellbeing.”
“I’ll go,” Valerie offered.
It took five minutes. By that time, the Emergency Medical Hologram had managed to repair most of the damaged tissue around Vuro’s wound and Ewan had somehow managed to find himself a cup of coffee.
Archer returned to Sickbay with Lynn in tow and sheepishly, the young Chief Medical Officer gazed at her captain with round apologetic eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Ewan said, immediately, stopping her from saying anything. “Besides, I think that the EMH could use a hand. Do you think you’re up to that?”
“I should be able to manage more than that, sir,” Lynn stated confidently, striding over to the central biobed and almost pushing the project form of the Emergency Medical Hologram aside. With a medical tricorder in hand, she got back to work, despite the obvious frustration on the holographic program’s face.
“Now, wait just one moment,” it protested. “I haven’t finished the procedure yet!”
“Computer, deactivate Emergency Medical Hologram.”
“Well, really, that’s quite…”
Almost managing to smile at the admittedly funny exchange between the EMH and Doctor Boswell, Ewan turned to Valerie who simply raised a playful eyebrow and nodded towards the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. With a shrug, he preempted the question, just as he had preempted Lynn’s apology. He was on fire today, he told himself. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the altercation with the alien prison guards that was still in his system.
“I’ve had a very long day,” he said in his defense.
“I could put you in an escape pod and leave you floating in a nebula, and you’d still find yourself a cup of coffee!”
“You could, but surely that would be classified as mutiny?”
“Good point.”
“What’s our status?,” he then asked, getting down to business.
“Our scans indicate that the prison complex that we rescued you and Lieutenant Vuro from never detected Fortitude. We’ve also concluded that, while they have warp capability, they have limits to their technology. Obviously, for example, no transporters. It’s your call what we do from here.”
“I’m not eager to make another enemy out here, Valerie,” Ewan admitted to her, sipping his coffee with a sigh. “Return to the Bridge and set a course back to Starbase 499, maximum warp. I think we’re done here.”
“Understood,” she nodded, turning to leave.
“One last thing…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What did you say to Doctor Boswell to make her come back?”
Valerie simply smiled and shook her head, wagging her finger in mock-disapproval at Ewan. “Oh, no,” she answered him. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
As the Sickbay doors slid shut behind her, Llewellyn turned back to watch Lynn working on Lieutenant Vuro. Her skill was apparent and that much he was completely confident in. He wouldn’t have granted her a field promotion to Chief Medical Officer had he not been. Yes, recent events had forced his hand and Rear Admiral Blackmore had a team of three doctors working in the Santrag system. Taking one of them would have been very easy.
Recent events… indeed. That was the reason for promoting Lynn. It was becoming very clear that, whenever outsiders got involved, this little corner of space suffered. Romulans, the End, Klingons, Section Thirty-One… No, it was time to start protecting his crew and keeping it in the family. It was finally time to start acting like a properly experienced Starfleet captain.
He stayed until Boswell finished her operation on Arden. Making sure that she was all right, Ewan walked away as a satisfied man for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
EPILOGUE
When the Bolian helmsman finally returned to the land of the living, it took him a moment to find his focus. The last time that he had opened his eyes like this, he had stared up at the dark, damp, and rotting ceiling of an alien prison cell.
Now mercifully, he was looking up at the lights of Sickbay. That familiar Starfleet style of interior design that many people found cold… Damn, it had never looked better to him. Aware of an approaching figure, he turned his head slightly and winced at the dull pain that replied.
“Easy there, Lieutenant,” Doctor Boswell warned him. “You’ve had quite a rough time of it. It’ll be a while before you’re performing evasive maneuvers again.”
“I was shot?,” Vuro asked, trying to confirm his erratic memory.
“Yep, and you were operated on by two doctors as well.”
“Two?”
“If I were to take full credit,” she confessed to him,” it wouldn’t be the whole truth. To be honest, I suppose I should thank you, Lieutenant. If it weren’t for your heroics, the captain would have been in danger of becoming a victim of my own self-doubt, and if you hadn’t been shot, I suppose that I would have never overcome it either.”
Arden frowned, still somewhat confused but determined to make sense of Lynn’s cryptic response.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, noting his confusion. “I’ll explain everything later. Right not, you should get some rest.”
“My head hurts,” he told her.
“Never fear, I’ve got a hypospray for that. Now sleep.”
“Is that an order?”
“From your ship’s Chief Medical Officer?,” Lynn Boswell grinned at him, her chest expanding with pride. “You better believe it!”
The End.
Hey, Jack! I'm really loving these Fortitude stories! You've been kicking them out with an impressive speed, dude!
Just read this last one, could I offer what I hope you take as constructive criticism? It really took me out of the story with the way you handled Nurse Boswell's field promotion.
Even in the 24th century, there would still be a lot of levels of difference between being a nurse practitioner and being an M.D. Having a Nurse Practitioner as a C.M.O. isn't an unheard-of precedent, just look at Aaron Ashenfelter's "Gibraltar" series. However, to me, it just doesn't sit right with her being addressed as 'Doctor'. Calling or addressing her as such not only intimates a certain level of skill or training she has not undertaken but also seems to undervalue the training she has received as a nurse practitioner.
Just read this last one, could I offer what I hope you take as constructive criticism? It really took me out of the story with the way you handled Nurse Boswell's field promotion.
Even in the 24th century, there would still be a lot of levels of difference between being a nurse practitioner and being an M.D. Having a Nurse Practitioner as a C.M.O. isn't an unheard-of precedent, just look at Aaron Ashenfelter's "Gibraltar" series. However, to me, it just doesn't sit right with her being addressed as 'Doctor'. Calling or addressing her as such not only intimates a certain level of skill or training she has not undertaken but also seems to undervalue the training she has received as a nurse practitioner.
Hey there, Alex! This is actually the same message I was trying to convey to Jack in my comment on Facebook. it wasn't so much that his nurse was made CMO that struck me as "wrong", its that she was addressed as "Doctor" when she is not, in fact, a doctor at all.
Keeping Boswell as a nurse practitioner or medical technician -- or whatever terminology is used -- would be fine. but she cannot and should not be addressed as Doctor unless she intends to become one. Given how she became so obviously flummoxed during the first medical crisis she faced, I'd have to say she's neither ready nor really prepared for the responsibility of being CMO. And if she keeps the position, she's gonna have to rely heavily on the EMH for surgeries as she hasn't the qualifications to perform any.
Keeping Boswell as a nurse practitioner or medical technician -- or whatever terminology is used -- would be fine. but she cannot and should not be addressed as Doctor unless she intends to become one. Given how she became so obviously flummoxed during the first medical crisis she faced, I'd have to say she's neither ready nor really prepared for the responsibility of being CMO. And if she keeps the position, she's gonna have to rely heavily on the EMH for surgeries as she hasn't the qualifications to perform any.
I used the title Doctor as an honorific.
Which is a nice thought, but still out of place. Even a seasoned nurse would object to being addressed by a title she hasn't earned. I recommend either dropping the use of it if you're going to keep her as a nurse, or making a reference in the next story to her working as a nurse until she finishes her doctoral studies (which, in a Trek setting, wouldn't be implausible).
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Ten: ‘Command Decision’
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Strawberry cheesecake was a little replicated taste of home.
Enjoying the last mouthful of his indulgence and savoring the memories of his childhood spent on the farm in Kentucky, Ensign Jason Armstrong opened his eyes to the laughter of his partner, Ensign Jim Morgan. They were seated in the Mess Hall after having skillfully managed to synchronize their duty shifts on the Bridge to spend lunch together. Swallowing his dessert, the young blonde operations officer frowned at his equally young Indian-American tactical counterpart.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are,” Jim grinned in reply, shaking his head. “You looked like you were enjoying that cheesecake far too much!”
“Are there any regulations against nostalgia that I’m not aware of?” he joked back in reply, his frown turning into a smile. “Because, if so … boy, am I in trouble…”
“You can say that again.”
Suddenly Jason’s attention shifted focus from his boyfriend’s dark eyes. Behind the yellow shoulders of Fortitude’s tactical officer, through the Mess Hall windows and out into the Santrag system beyond, something had just dropped out of warp. It caught the attention of a fair amount of other officers who were eating lunch, and soon a small crowd had gathered, pressing their noses up against the glass.
“Hello,” Jim Morgan observed, having turned around and walked over to the window. “What do we have here, then?”
It was a Danube-class Federation runabout and it immediately moved in an arc towards Starbase 499 with an almost rushed intent. Whoever was at the helm of the small vessel was obviously in some kind of hurry as the nacelles glowed fiercely, propelling the small craft through the stars at faster than was required speed. Aboard Fortitude, watching all of this unfold, those with a view of the new arrival began speculating instantly.
“Perhaps top brass?” one young crewman said.
“I think it’s a new delivery of another ship,” another crewman said. “I mean, 499 only has two old cruisers and the Steamrunner. Perhaps the runabout is for the Rear Admiral.”
Glancing at Jim with a mixture of excitement and concern, Jason simply stepped away from the window, collected his plate, and returned it to the replicator. When Jim joined him and they were both ready to head back to the Bridge, he observed the only solid fact about the visitor to the Santrag system.
“Somebody’s here from Earth and they’re not happy.”
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49168.;
After a brief return to the Santrag system and Starbase 499, my crew and I are ready to get underway and continue our exploration of the Beta Quadrant. There is one final visit that I must pay to Rear Admiral Blackmore’s office before we depart the station. Apparently, he’s playing host to a visitor from Earth who has requested to meet with me. I just hope that this doesn’t take too long.
Erica Martinez was being professionally cool while she escorted Ewan Llewellyn to the Rear Admiral’s office. It was station policy even though the captain knew the way perfectly by now. The Latina Station Master still hadn’t resolved the small issue of her feelings towards him, and they hadn’t spoken outside of business since he had stood her up at Club 488 during that ghastly Romulan spy business. Yes, she understood why he hadn’t appeared, but still, the moment has passed and so now an uncomfortable silence reigned between them.
At least for her.
Ewan was blissfully unaware of her feelings towards him. Nodding a goodbye as she left him at Rear Admiral Blackmore’s door, he dismissed the odd look that he received in return and straightened the collar of his uniform before stepping inside.
“Ah, Ewan, there you are!”
Edward Blackmore already had a cup of coffee waiting for him. Accepting it with a smile, Ewan noted the absence of anybody else. Wasn’t there supposed to be…?
“Thanks, Boxer. Where’s this visitor at?”
“He’ll be along in a moment,” his commanding officer growled, scratching his grey beard and returning to his seat. “He disappeared on me, saying something about checking on a few manifests first. He’s a proper Starfleet Ambassador, Ewan. A bit on the grumpy side, but that’s no crime, thank goodness. He’s been given full autonomy by Starfleet Command, according to the PADD that he gave me, tying my hands almost immediately.”
“And you have no idea what it’s about,” the Welshman asked him, remaining on his feet for a moment. “And no idea why he wants to see me?”
“None,” was Blackmore’s apologetic reply. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m as blind as a Tiberian bat.”
“You and me both, Boxer. I can’t think of anyone back on Earth who would want to chat with me, anyways. No family. All of my friends are on assignment… No, I’ve got nothing. I hope this isn’t serious.”
At that moment, the door chimed. Turning around as Blackmore barked for whoever it was to enter, Llewellyn was greeted by a stern and weathered face. The Ambassador was Human, almost sixty-five, or maybe even pushing seventy years of age. He had silver hair and an expression of great discontent. He had obviously lived his life and his age clearly showed it. Even his clothes were sedate and serious. Stepping into the office, he nodded at Rear Admiral Blackmore curtly before he turned towards the captain.
“Captain Ewan Llewellyn,” he began, “my name is Ambassador Charles Cooper.”
“Ambassador,” Ewan smiled, offering to shake his hand.
“Forgive me, but we have little time for niceties. I’m here to conduct an investigation into your competency as commander of the Fortitude, and suggest a suitable replacement to Starfleet Command.”
* * * *
“He’s WHAT?!” Valerie Archer exclaimed.
The senior officers of the Fortitude were all seated around the Briefing Room table. Llewellyn had called for an emergency conference immediately after returning from Starbase 499. Partly, the meeting was to carry out a request made by Ambassador Cooper and to vent out his own frustration and gain support from his crew. This accusation of incompetence coming from a high-ranking diplomat and Federation investigator was, to say the least, shocking. Despite this, he had managed to relay the facts to his officers who all displayed deep concern at this unexpected news.
“Starfleet is looking for someone to blame,” he sighed. “The fact that a Romulan deep-cover agent somehow managed to gain such a key position aboard my ship lands the blame squarely at my door.”
“Doctor T’Verra… I’m sorry, Naketha… fooled us all, Captain,” Lynn Boswell was quick to reply. She didn’t think that she would have been invited to a meeting of the Senior Staff but here she was. She was glad since she had just received her accreditation from Starfleet Medical, making her an actual doctor. “I worked with the woman for ages and I didn’t even notice a thing! If anyone is going to be investigated, it should be me!”
“That’s why I called all of you together,” he revealed to them. “The ambassador wants to speak with all of you in turn. I’m ordering you to give him your full cooperation. I’ve seen the orders from Starfleet Command. I’m afraid that they’re not taking sides, which is both a blessing and a curse. Meanwhile, the ambassador… Well, let’s just say that I get the distinct impression that he’s out for blood.”
“This is bloody ridiculous, Captain!” Ensign Armstrong said, raising his voice in anger, his young temper getting the better of him. “We all know the tricky situation that we were put in with the Romulans. Spies were all over the place! So they found one here! Big deal!”
“They can’t pin the blame on you, sir,” Jim Morgan added, half-defending his commanding officer and half-backing up his boyfriend’s outburst.
“Unfortunately, it looks like they can, everyone. That’s all. Our exploration mission has been put on hold, and we’re to remain in orbit of Santrag II while we’re all questioned. Arden, see to it.”
“Will do, Captain, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that slimy little--”
“No,” Ewan cut off the Bolian with a wave of his hand. “No discussion and no planning your answers. I want this to be as clean and as transparent as possible. No personal bias, either way. I’m confident that I’ll be cleared of all wrongdoing, but I want that clearance to come on the back of a fair investigation.”
“Yes, sir,” Vuro nodded, along with the rest of the senior staff.
“That’s a wrap, everyone. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood and started to leave the Briefing Room. Chief Engineer Sollik was the last person to rise from his seat. He had been silent during the entire meeting and before he was able to get anywhere near the exit, Ewan called out to him and stopped him in his tracks. The Suliban tilted his head in a wordless inquiry.
“I know that you find my command style to be lacking in some places,” Ewan managed to say, forming his words with care. “Please, if the ambassador asks you anything, tell the truth. Whatever the truth may be.”
“Is that an order or a plea, Captain?”
“Does it have to be the former?”
“No. Your desire for justice is well-placed. I’ll speak my mind.”
Llewellyn frowned before he realized that was an external visual signal and forced himself to stop. He was wondering whether Sollik would help or hinder his case. The answers to his questions were cryptic and he was clever not to give any stance away. They weren’t blatant, not like the outburst from the rest of his senior officers, but at the end of the day, the truth mattered and he had just promised to uphold the truth. That would do for now.
“Thanks, Commander. You’re dismissed.”
ACT TWO
It was the next morning when the topic came up again.
Sollik was lying prone on his back, engrossed in fiddling around with an EPS relay underneath the main pad of Transporter Room One when he heard the door swish open. He barely had any time to glance out from underneath his work before a familiar voice called out. It was the voice of the only person aboard that he truly considered a friend.
“Lost something?” asked Lieutenant Vuro.
“Only my sense of motivation,” the chief engineer hissed back, getting to his feet and wiping the sweat from his scales. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Back up a second. Your sense of motivation. What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing, really,” Sollik lied.
“Yeah, sure, and I’m here to beam a charitable Ferengi aboard. What’s bothering you, seriously? Is it this investigation thing? I would have thought that you of all people would be glad to see the back of Captain Llewellyn.”
“That’s just it,” the Suliban protested. “I’m not sure that I am anymore! Initially, yes, I was worried. Now, after what this ship has been through in such a short time, I’m reluctant to point fingers.”
“I know,” Vuro nodded, perching himself down on the edge of the transporter pad. “Have you decided on what you’re going to tell the ambassador when he questions you? You’re probably high on the list, given your previous stance.”
“Therein lies my problem. Do I tell the truth, list the errors that I’ve noticed, or do I remain loyal? Who knows if a new captain will be better for us?”
“That’s nonsense and you know it!”
“I guess we’ve answered the mystery of what you’ll be saying.”
“Absolutely, and it didn’t take getting locked up in an alien prison with him to make me realize just what an excellent officer that he is, either.”
“Why are you down here, anyways?” growled Sollik, changing the subject.
“A friend of mine over on 499 had finally managed to procure some fresh acid snakes from Bolarus and they’re about to beam them over for him. I was hoping to find the transporter operational, but I could always walk over to Transporter Room Two if you’re in the middle of something important here.”
“No, just a little fine-tuning, nothing special. Go ahead. I’m done anyway.”
The chief engineer moved around the helmsman but as it was becoming a regular thing for him, he stopped before he could leave by a final shot containing words of attempted wisdom.
“Just be fair,” Arden told him. “Remember the good as well as the bad.”
“Didn’t the Captain order us to keep quiet about this investigation anyways?” retorted the Suliban, frustrated more by his own inner conflict than his friend’s admittedly sage advice. “Hurry up and transport your snakes before I change my mind and take apart the entire transporter pad.”
* * * *
Sure enough, when Sollik returned to his quarters that evening, his monitor flashed with an incoming communications signal from a private office aboard Starbase 499 and it was encoded private. The ambassador was starting his rounds and he was starting with the man who was most likely to deliver a damning condemnation of Captain Llewellyn.
Taking a moment to get comfortable, he tapped the receiver control and was greeted by the head and shoulders of the elderly Human. “Lieutenant Commander Sollik,” crackled the speaker,” my name is Ambassador Charles Cooper, although I imagine that you already knew that. You should also be aware of why I’m calling you?”
“Ambassador. Indeed, I am aware.”
“Analysis of certain logs, most notably your engineering reports, show a certain lack of faith in the command abilities of Captain Llewellyn. I was hoping that you would shed some light on that perspective for me.”
“Anything to help with your investigation, Ambassador.”
This was it.
This was the moment of decision.
He had spent all day with it on his mind. Thinking back, he remembered the several encounters he had with Llewellyn during his time onboard. Those early battle drills had driven him insane and caused him an injury. They had been, in his eyes, completely unrequired. The more important issue at that time had been the state of the ship when it had been pushed out of Spacedock early to meet the distress call from Starbase 499. The captain had put his eagerness to win over the safety and efficiency of his own vessel. Did that make him unfit to command? Sollik couldn’t decide so he moved on.
Next came the fiasco with the USS Steamrunner. It had been almost like his pet science project with no actual grasp on the reality of the task of retrofitting an entire ship to Starfleet operational parameters. People had lost sleep, worked double shifts, going above and beyond the call of duty to give the Santrag system ‘teeth’. Sollik thought that it had been selfish since Llewellyn wanted to start exploring and he didn’t want the guilt of leaving a defenseless starbase behind. Foolish, and yet, the morality behind the move was commendable. His heart, the Suliban thought, was in the right place.
There had been moments of excellent command skills and sheer cunning that he couldn’t argue about. The trick with the Klingon who tried to annex Santrag II after the troubles flared up again had bordered on genius. Sollik had heard from some of the crew over on 499 about how the captain had come face-to-face with the boy and given him a verbal disciplining. Yes, he was clever with words.
Clever with tactics, though?
Sollik remembered back to a certain chase involving a robotic probe belonging to the End. With absolutely sheer bloody-minded determination and no comprehension of the madness of his orders, Llewellyn had taken Fortitude into a dense asteroid field and risked his death and the death of his crew for… well, for what exactly? Nobody would ever know. The probe had been ancient. What if it had never transmitted anyways? What if it had never made it? It had been one hell of a risky gamble, and Sollik was sure that he would have played it differently. Was he in a position to make such judgments? He was the Chief Engineer, nothing more.
Suliban hadn’t always been loyal. He remembered his early history lessons at Starfleet Academy, remembering the shame of learning about the old Cabal from the 22nd century and thinking about how backstabbing and wicked they had been.
Perhaps that was his choice after all?
Or was he more traditional? Would he drive the knife into the captain’s back?
“So, tell me about the battle drills that you were forced to undertake while en route to the Santrag system on Stardate 48531.2,” Ambassador Cooper asked him. “I understand that you wound up in Sickbay, thanks to the captain’s persistence?”
Clearing his throat, Sollik answered the question.
ACT THREE
“They promised me that this wouldn’t happen.”
Rear Admiral Blackmore was growling again after spending his time figuratively sitting on his hands. Ewan silently lifted his head in a weak nod. He was back into the office on Starbase 499 after a little more than an hour’s sleep. Once more, coffee was in his grip and he couldn’t bring himself to set the cup down, cradling it like a mother cradles her newborn child. It was his lifeline. It kept him alert. He could almost feel the caffeine running through his veins.
“Starfleet, I mean,” Blackmore continued, now on auto-rant. “We’re too far removed from the central core of the Federation and far removed from the politics that matter. That’s what I was promised, that this wouldn’t happen. Santrag II is my little corner of space, damn it! I don’t need some jumped-up ambassador to come in here and start messing up the ranks! I really don’t!”
“You and me both, Boxer.”
“Listen, my friend, I know I was a little hesitant that you even come out here, but you and your crew have proven yourselves to be my kind of people. I can’t think about what I’d do without you here. Whatever the outcome of this is, I’ll fight your corner.”
“Thank you,” the captain said, smiling at the rear admiral. “That’s very appreciated.”
“Besides, who else am I going to take to the cleaners over the poker table if you get dragged back to Earth on some idiot charges?”
“Oh, I get it. It always comes down to cards with you, doesn’t it? Funny, though… Everything’s a game, isn’t it? Starfleet, missions, life… It’s all one giant game. Play one hand and you could get lucky, but play another one and it’s game over. Career-wise or even literally -- death, Boxer, from where there are no second chances. The ultimate endgame.”
“That’s awfully morbid and realistic for 0800, Ewan.”
“Then today is awfully morbid.”
* * * *
Sollik entered Main Engineering in good spirits. He had managed to catch his usual eight hours of sleep, unlike his captain, and ate breakfast, happy and content in what he had chosen to say to Ambassador Cooper the night before. Walking past the swirling blue mass of energy dancing around the central column of the warp core, for the first time, his yellow eyes actually registered how satisfying it was to behold. He didn’t notice the looks that he was getting from his engineering teams, the wondering and the doubt.
What had he done?
They couldn’t ask him but they wanted to. Had he betrayed the captain in his answers or saving his career?
There was no way of knowing.
* * * *
Ambassador Charles Cooper entered Blackmore’s office on Starbase 499 in anything but good spirits. He looked tired, frustrated, and crestfallen. His already aged features appeared as though they had aged even more in the space of twenty-four hours. Llewellyn tried his best to conceal his shock as he stood up and finally set down his coffee.
“Ambassador,” the Rear Admiral growled. “Care to sit down?”
“I’m not staying,” he snapped out a short reply. “Please tell your people to have my runabout ready for departure within the hour.”
“I take it that you’ve reached a conclusion?”
It still wasn’t certain for Llewellyn. He could be leaving because he had found what he needed to convict him of incompetence. He could be returning to Earth to submit a formal request for a court-martial and to let the Admiralty at Starfleet Headquarters know that they should strip the four pips from Ewan Llewellyn’s collar.
There was another possibility.
He could be returning to Earth in disgrace, having failed in his quest for a scapegoat. Perhaps Naketh’s infiltration of Fortitude had nothing to do with her crew or her captain. Ewan knew that to be true but there could be no ‘perhaps’ about that one.
“My investigation into the conduct of Captain Ewan Llewellyn had been inconclusive to the point of defeat,” revealed the ambassador, his anger evident in his face. “I have no evidence to suggest that the success of the Romulan deep-cover operative known as Naketha had anything to do with the incompetence of the USS Fortitude crew or, in particular, her commanding officer.”
Llewellyn let out a deep breath that he felt like he had been holding in for hours. Smiling, he turned towards Blackmore, who simply winked at him reassuringly.
However, Cooper wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know what you’ve bribed them with, Captain,” he snarled at him. “Extra duty shifts off, extra holodeck time? Never in all of my years have I ever come across such a young crew following their captain so blindly! It’s impossible to even consider that such a relationship could have even been forged so quickly! Even that blasted chief engineer of yours, damn him! How did you get to him? What did you do?”
“Excuse me?,” gasped the Rear Admiral, surprised by the wild accusation.
“Come on, off the record,” pressed the ambassador. “How did you do it?”
Stepping forward with purpose, Ewan moved right up in front of that elderly face glaring back at him, clearing his throat on the way. It was time for his parting shot, and to finally put this nonsense behind him. In a way, his entire captaincy had been brought up for scrutiny with this investigation and the result was that he passed. It not only filled him with pride in his ship and crew but also a relief. His own self-doubt about being relatively young for the command chair had been cleared and pushed aside. Returning the stare, he placed a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder and leaned in close to his ear.
“You really want to know how I did it?,” he whispered.
A short nod in reply.
“I picked a bloody good crew and I’m a bloody good captain.”
Cooper’s face fell in disappointment and rage.
“Your runabout’s waiting for you, Ambassador. Do have a safe trip, won’t you?”
In a whirl of failure, the old man departed the office, leaving Ewan and Blackmore standing alone, overlooking the gorgeous planet below. With his little performance over, the Welshman found himself getting somewhat emotional.
It was true.
It had been an evaluation of his command and his crew had supported him to the last. Even Sollik had praised him! Blinking away a small tear, he flashed a grin at the Rear Admiral. In response, Blackmore produced a deck of cards from behind his desk.
“What will the game be, my friend?”
EPILOGUE
He rarely went into Engineering. He rarely ever had a reason to.
Stepping through the huge entrance and faced with the impressive sight of Fortitude’s beating heart, so to speak, Ewan was largely ignored. His ship and crew were preparing to depart from Starbase 499 and embark upon another foray into the unknown reaches of the Beta Quadrant, and they all knew not to stand on ceremony. Besides, he wasn't there in an official capacity. Moving through all of those yellow-shouldered uniforms, he found who he was looking for and leaned against a bulkhead with a smile.
“Captain!,” Sollik exclaimed, noticing him after a moment.
“Calm down. This isn’t an inspection,” he assured him. “I just thought I’d come down here and say thanks in person.”
Sollik was tempted to play dumb and ask the obvious question, but he knew exactly what he was referring to. It would have been a useless waste of time, and he had work that he had to be getting on with. The Suliban simply shrugged, noting the boyish glint in Ewan’s eye, and decided not to present an opportunity for wisecracks.
“I just told the truth, sir,” he said, sincerely. “I would have made a few decisions differently, of course, but I’m not the captain. You are, and you’ve done what you felt was best for this crew since the beginning. For that, you should not be punished.”
“When can we get underway?,” Ewan asked, inwardly beaming with pride at Sollik’s open and honest reply.
“Right on schedule, Captain. As I think you Humans put it, all systems go.”
“Well then, I don’t think I need to hang around here any longer.”
“It would be a terrible waste of your time, sir. Don’t make me file an official complaint about an inefficient amount of senseless chatter in the workplace.”
Ewan grinned.
Finally, the banter that he wished for.
The End.
Episode Ten: ‘Command Decision’
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Strawberry cheesecake was a little replicated taste of home.
Enjoying the last mouthful of his indulgence and savoring the memories of his childhood spent on the farm in Kentucky, Ensign Jason Armstrong opened his eyes to the laughter of his partner, Ensign Jim Morgan. They were seated in the Mess Hall after having skillfully managed to synchronize their duty shifts on the Bridge to spend lunch together. Swallowing his dessert, the young blonde operations officer frowned at his equally young Indian-American tactical counterpart.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are,” Jim grinned in reply, shaking his head. “You looked like you were enjoying that cheesecake far too much!”
“Are there any regulations against nostalgia that I’m not aware of?” he joked back in reply, his frown turning into a smile. “Because, if so … boy, am I in trouble…”
“You can say that again.”
Suddenly Jason’s attention shifted focus from his boyfriend’s dark eyes. Behind the yellow shoulders of Fortitude’s tactical officer, through the Mess Hall windows and out into the Santrag system beyond, something had just dropped out of warp. It caught the attention of a fair amount of other officers who were eating lunch, and soon a small crowd had gathered, pressing their noses up against the glass.
“Hello,” Jim Morgan observed, having turned around and walked over to the window. “What do we have here, then?”
It was a Danube-class Federation runabout and it immediately moved in an arc towards Starbase 499 with an almost rushed intent. Whoever was at the helm of the small vessel was obviously in some kind of hurry as the nacelles glowed fiercely, propelling the small craft through the stars at faster than was required speed. Aboard Fortitude, watching all of this unfold, those with a view of the new arrival began speculating instantly.
“Perhaps top brass?” one young crewman said.
“I think it’s a new delivery of another ship,” another crewman said. “I mean, 499 only has two old cruisers and the Steamrunner. Perhaps the runabout is for the Rear Admiral.”
Glancing at Jim with a mixture of excitement and concern, Jason simply stepped away from the window, collected his plate, and returned it to the replicator. When Jim joined him and they were both ready to head back to the Bridge, he observed the only solid fact about the visitor to the Santrag system.
“Somebody’s here from Earth and they’re not happy.”
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49168.;
After a brief return to the Santrag system and Starbase 499, my crew and I are ready to get underway and continue our exploration of the Beta Quadrant. There is one final visit that I must pay to Rear Admiral Blackmore’s office before we depart the station. Apparently, he’s playing host to a visitor from Earth who has requested to meet with me. I just hope that this doesn’t take too long.
Erica Martinez was being professionally cool while she escorted Ewan Llewellyn to the Rear Admiral’s office. It was station policy even though the captain knew the way perfectly by now. The Latina Station Master still hadn’t resolved the small issue of her feelings towards him, and they hadn’t spoken outside of business since he had stood her up at Club 488 during that ghastly Romulan spy business. Yes, she understood why he hadn’t appeared, but still, the moment has passed and so now an uncomfortable silence reigned between them.
At least for her.
Ewan was blissfully unaware of her feelings towards him. Nodding a goodbye as she left him at Rear Admiral Blackmore’s door, he dismissed the odd look that he received in return and straightened the collar of his uniform before stepping inside.
“Ah, Ewan, there you are!”
Edward Blackmore already had a cup of coffee waiting for him. Accepting it with a smile, Ewan noted the absence of anybody else. Wasn’t there supposed to be…?
“Thanks, Boxer. Where’s this visitor at?”
“He’ll be along in a moment,” his commanding officer growled, scratching his grey beard and returning to his seat. “He disappeared on me, saying something about checking on a few manifests first. He’s a proper Starfleet Ambassador, Ewan. A bit on the grumpy side, but that’s no crime, thank goodness. He’s been given full autonomy by Starfleet Command, according to the PADD that he gave me, tying my hands almost immediately.”
“And you have no idea what it’s about,” the Welshman asked him, remaining on his feet for a moment. “And no idea why he wants to see me?”
“None,” was Blackmore’s apologetic reply. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m as blind as a Tiberian bat.”
“You and me both, Boxer. I can’t think of anyone back on Earth who would want to chat with me, anyways. No family. All of my friends are on assignment… No, I’ve got nothing. I hope this isn’t serious.”
At that moment, the door chimed. Turning around as Blackmore barked for whoever it was to enter, Llewellyn was greeted by a stern and weathered face. The Ambassador was Human, almost sixty-five, or maybe even pushing seventy years of age. He had silver hair and an expression of great discontent. He had obviously lived his life and his age clearly showed it. Even his clothes were sedate and serious. Stepping into the office, he nodded at Rear Admiral Blackmore curtly before he turned towards the captain.
“Captain Ewan Llewellyn,” he began, “my name is Ambassador Charles Cooper.”
“Ambassador,” Ewan smiled, offering to shake his hand.
“Forgive me, but we have little time for niceties. I’m here to conduct an investigation into your competency as commander of the Fortitude, and suggest a suitable replacement to Starfleet Command.”
* * * *
“He’s WHAT?!” Valerie Archer exclaimed.
The senior officers of the Fortitude were all seated around the Briefing Room table. Llewellyn had called for an emergency conference immediately after returning from Starbase 499. Partly, the meeting was to carry out a request made by Ambassador Cooper and to vent out his own frustration and gain support from his crew. This accusation of incompetence coming from a high-ranking diplomat and Federation investigator was, to say the least, shocking. Despite this, he had managed to relay the facts to his officers who all displayed deep concern at this unexpected news.
“Starfleet is looking for someone to blame,” he sighed. “The fact that a Romulan deep-cover agent somehow managed to gain such a key position aboard my ship lands the blame squarely at my door.”
“Doctor T’Verra… I’m sorry, Naketha… fooled us all, Captain,” Lynn Boswell was quick to reply. She didn’t think that she would have been invited to a meeting of the Senior Staff but here she was. She was glad since she had just received her accreditation from Starfleet Medical, making her an actual doctor. “I worked with the woman for ages and I didn’t even notice a thing! If anyone is going to be investigated, it should be me!”
“That’s why I called all of you together,” he revealed to them. “The ambassador wants to speak with all of you in turn. I’m ordering you to give him your full cooperation. I’ve seen the orders from Starfleet Command. I’m afraid that they’re not taking sides, which is both a blessing and a curse. Meanwhile, the ambassador… Well, let’s just say that I get the distinct impression that he’s out for blood.”
“This is bloody ridiculous, Captain!” Ensign Armstrong said, raising his voice in anger, his young temper getting the better of him. “We all know the tricky situation that we were put in with the Romulans. Spies were all over the place! So they found one here! Big deal!”
“They can’t pin the blame on you, sir,” Jim Morgan added, half-defending his commanding officer and half-backing up his boyfriend’s outburst.
“Unfortunately, it looks like they can, everyone. That’s all. Our exploration mission has been put on hold, and we’re to remain in orbit of Santrag II while we’re all questioned. Arden, see to it.”
“Will do, Captain, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that slimy little--”
“No,” Ewan cut off the Bolian with a wave of his hand. “No discussion and no planning your answers. I want this to be as clean and as transparent as possible. No personal bias, either way. I’m confident that I’ll be cleared of all wrongdoing, but I want that clearance to come on the back of a fair investigation.”
“Yes, sir,” Vuro nodded, along with the rest of the senior staff.
“That’s a wrap, everyone. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood and started to leave the Briefing Room. Chief Engineer Sollik was the last person to rise from his seat. He had been silent during the entire meeting and before he was able to get anywhere near the exit, Ewan called out to him and stopped him in his tracks. The Suliban tilted his head in a wordless inquiry.
“I know that you find my command style to be lacking in some places,” Ewan managed to say, forming his words with care. “Please, if the ambassador asks you anything, tell the truth. Whatever the truth may be.”
“Is that an order or a plea, Captain?”
“Does it have to be the former?”
“No. Your desire for justice is well-placed. I’ll speak my mind.”
Llewellyn frowned before he realized that was an external visual signal and forced himself to stop. He was wondering whether Sollik would help or hinder his case. The answers to his questions were cryptic and he was clever not to give any stance away. They weren’t blatant, not like the outburst from the rest of his senior officers, but at the end of the day, the truth mattered and he had just promised to uphold the truth. That would do for now.
“Thanks, Commander. You’re dismissed.”
ACT TWO
It was the next morning when the topic came up again.
Sollik was lying prone on his back, engrossed in fiddling around with an EPS relay underneath the main pad of Transporter Room One when he heard the door swish open. He barely had any time to glance out from underneath his work before a familiar voice called out. It was the voice of the only person aboard that he truly considered a friend.
“Lost something?” asked Lieutenant Vuro.
“Only my sense of motivation,” the chief engineer hissed back, getting to his feet and wiping the sweat from his scales. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Back up a second. Your sense of motivation. What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing, really,” Sollik lied.
“Yeah, sure, and I’m here to beam a charitable Ferengi aboard. What’s bothering you, seriously? Is it this investigation thing? I would have thought that you of all people would be glad to see the back of Captain Llewellyn.”
“That’s just it,” the Suliban protested. “I’m not sure that I am anymore! Initially, yes, I was worried. Now, after what this ship has been through in such a short time, I’m reluctant to point fingers.”
“I know,” Vuro nodded, perching himself down on the edge of the transporter pad. “Have you decided on what you’re going to tell the ambassador when he questions you? You’re probably high on the list, given your previous stance.”
“Therein lies my problem. Do I tell the truth, list the errors that I’ve noticed, or do I remain loyal? Who knows if a new captain will be better for us?”
“That’s nonsense and you know it!”
“I guess we’ve answered the mystery of what you’ll be saying.”
“Absolutely, and it didn’t take getting locked up in an alien prison with him to make me realize just what an excellent officer that he is, either.”
“Why are you down here, anyways?” growled Sollik, changing the subject.
“A friend of mine over on 499 had finally managed to procure some fresh acid snakes from Bolarus and they’re about to beam them over for him. I was hoping to find the transporter operational, but I could always walk over to Transporter Room Two if you’re in the middle of something important here.”
“No, just a little fine-tuning, nothing special. Go ahead. I’m done anyway.”
The chief engineer moved around the helmsman but as it was becoming a regular thing for him, he stopped before he could leave by a final shot containing words of attempted wisdom.
“Just be fair,” Arden told him. “Remember the good as well as the bad.”
“Didn’t the Captain order us to keep quiet about this investigation anyways?” retorted the Suliban, frustrated more by his own inner conflict than his friend’s admittedly sage advice. “Hurry up and transport your snakes before I change my mind and take apart the entire transporter pad.”
* * * *
Sure enough, when Sollik returned to his quarters that evening, his monitor flashed with an incoming communications signal from a private office aboard Starbase 499 and it was encoded private. The ambassador was starting his rounds and he was starting with the man who was most likely to deliver a damning condemnation of Captain Llewellyn.
Taking a moment to get comfortable, he tapped the receiver control and was greeted by the head and shoulders of the elderly Human. “Lieutenant Commander Sollik,” crackled the speaker,” my name is Ambassador Charles Cooper, although I imagine that you already knew that. You should also be aware of why I’m calling you?”
“Ambassador. Indeed, I am aware.”
“Analysis of certain logs, most notably your engineering reports, show a certain lack of faith in the command abilities of Captain Llewellyn. I was hoping that you would shed some light on that perspective for me.”
“Anything to help with your investigation, Ambassador.”
This was it.
This was the moment of decision.
He had spent all day with it on his mind. Thinking back, he remembered the several encounters he had with Llewellyn during his time onboard. Those early battle drills had driven him insane and caused him an injury. They had been, in his eyes, completely unrequired. The more important issue at that time had been the state of the ship when it had been pushed out of Spacedock early to meet the distress call from Starbase 499. The captain had put his eagerness to win over the safety and efficiency of his own vessel. Did that make him unfit to command? Sollik couldn’t decide so he moved on.
Next came the fiasco with the USS Steamrunner. It had been almost like his pet science project with no actual grasp on the reality of the task of retrofitting an entire ship to Starfleet operational parameters. People had lost sleep, worked double shifts, going above and beyond the call of duty to give the Santrag system ‘teeth’. Sollik thought that it had been selfish since Llewellyn wanted to start exploring and he didn’t want the guilt of leaving a defenseless starbase behind. Foolish, and yet, the morality behind the move was commendable. His heart, the Suliban thought, was in the right place.
There had been moments of excellent command skills and sheer cunning that he couldn’t argue about. The trick with the Klingon who tried to annex Santrag II after the troubles flared up again had bordered on genius. Sollik had heard from some of the crew over on 499 about how the captain had come face-to-face with the boy and given him a verbal disciplining. Yes, he was clever with words.
Clever with tactics, though?
Sollik remembered back to a certain chase involving a robotic probe belonging to the End. With absolutely sheer bloody-minded determination and no comprehension of the madness of his orders, Llewellyn had taken Fortitude into a dense asteroid field and risked his death and the death of his crew for… well, for what exactly? Nobody would ever know. The probe had been ancient. What if it had never transmitted anyways? What if it had never made it? It had been one hell of a risky gamble, and Sollik was sure that he would have played it differently. Was he in a position to make such judgments? He was the Chief Engineer, nothing more.
Suliban hadn’t always been loyal. He remembered his early history lessons at Starfleet Academy, remembering the shame of learning about the old Cabal from the 22nd century and thinking about how backstabbing and wicked they had been.
Perhaps that was his choice after all?
Or was he more traditional? Would he drive the knife into the captain’s back?
“So, tell me about the battle drills that you were forced to undertake while en route to the Santrag system on Stardate 48531.2,” Ambassador Cooper asked him. “I understand that you wound up in Sickbay, thanks to the captain’s persistence?”
Clearing his throat, Sollik answered the question.
ACT THREE
“They promised me that this wouldn’t happen.”
Rear Admiral Blackmore was growling again after spending his time figuratively sitting on his hands. Ewan silently lifted his head in a weak nod. He was back into the office on Starbase 499 after a little more than an hour’s sleep. Once more, coffee was in his grip and he couldn’t bring himself to set the cup down, cradling it like a mother cradles her newborn child. It was his lifeline. It kept him alert. He could almost feel the caffeine running through his veins.
“Starfleet, I mean,” Blackmore continued, now on auto-rant. “We’re too far removed from the central core of the Federation and far removed from the politics that matter. That’s what I was promised, that this wouldn’t happen. Santrag II is my little corner of space, damn it! I don’t need some jumped-up ambassador to come in here and start messing up the ranks! I really don’t!”
“You and me both, Boxer.”
“Listen, my friend, I know I was a little hesitant that you even come out here, but you and your crew have proven yourselves to be my kind of people. I can’t think about what I’d do without you here. Whatever the outcome of this is, I’ll fight your corner.”
“Thank you,” the captain said, smiling at the rear admiral. “That’s very appreciated.”
“Besides, who else am I going to take to the cleaners over the poker table if you get dragged back to Earth on some idiot charges?”
“Oh, I get it. It always comes down to cards with you, doesn’t it? Funny, though… Everything’s a game, isn’t it? Starfleet, missions, life… It’s all one giant game. Play one hand and you could get lucky, but play another one and it’s game over. Career-wise or even literally -- death, Boxer, from where there are no second chances. The ultimate endgame.”
“That’s awfully morbid and realistic for 0800, Ewan.”
“Then today is awfully morbid.”
* * * *
Sollik entered Main Engineering in good spirits. He had managed to catch his usual eight hours of sleep, unlike his captain, and ate breakfast, happy and content in what he had chosen to say to Ambassador Cooper the night before. Walking past the swirling blue mass of energy dancing around the central column of the warp core, for the first time, his yellow eyes actually registered how satisfying it was to behold. He didn’t notice the looks that he was getting from his engineering teams, the wondering and the doubt.
What had he done?
They couldn’t ask him but they wanted to. Had he betrayed the captain in his answers or saving his career?
There was no way of knowing.
* * * *
Ambassador Charles Cooper entered Blackmore’s office on Starbase 499 in anything but good spirits. He looked tired, frustrated, and crestfallen. His already aged features appeared as though they had aged even more in the space of twenty-four hours. Llewellyn tried his best to conceal his shock as he stood up and finally set down his coffee.
“Ambassador,” the Rear Admiral growled. “Care to sit down?”
“I’m not staying,” he snapped out a short reply. “Please tell your people to have my runabout ready for departure within the hour.”
“I take it that you’ve reached a conclusion?”
It still wasn’t certain for Llewellyn. He could be leaving because he had found what he needed to convict him of incompetence. He could be returning to Earth to submit a formal request for a court-martial and to let the Admiralty at Starfleet Headquarters know that they should strip the four pips from Ewan Llewellyn’s collar.
There was another possibility.
He could be returning to Earth in disgrace, having failed in his quest for a scapegoat. Perhaps Naketh’s infiltration of Fortitude had nothing to do with her crew or her captain. Ewan knew that to be true but there could be no ‘perhaps’ about that one.
“My investigation into the conduct of Captain Ewan Llewellyn had been inconclusive to the point of defeat,” revealed the ambassador, his anger evident in his face. “I have no evidence to suggest that the success of the Romulan deep-cover operative known as Naketha had anything to do with the incompetence of the USS Fortitude crew or, in particular, her commanding officer.”
Llewellyn let out a deep breath that he felt like he had been holding in for hours. Smiling, he turned towards Blackmore, who simply winked at him reassuringly.
However, Cooper wasn’t finished.
“I don’t know what you’ve bribed them with, Captain,” he snarled at him. “Extra duty shifts off, extra holodeck time? Never in all of my years have I ever come across such a young crew following their captain so blindly! It’s impossible to even consider that such a relationship could have even been forged so quickly! Even that blasted chief engineer of yours, damn him! How did you get to him? What did you do?”
“Excuse me?,” gasped the Rear Admiral, surprised by the wild accusation.
“Come on, off the record,” pressed the ambassador. “How did you do it?”
Stepping forward with purpose, Ewan moved right up in front of that elderly face glaring back at him, clearing his throat on the way. It was time for his parting shot, and to finally put this nonsense behind him. In a way, his entire captaincy had been brought up for scrutiny with this investigation and the result was that he passed. It not only filled him with pride in his ship and crew but also a relief. His own self-doubt about being relatively young for the command chair had been cleared and pushed aside. Returning the stare, he placed a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder and leaned in close to his ear.
“You really want to know how I did it?,” he whispered.
A short nod in reply.
“I picked a bloody good crew and I’m a bloody good captain.”
Cooper’s face fell in disappointment and rage.
“Your runabout’s waiting for you, Ambassador. Do have a safe trip, won’t you?”
In a whirl of failure, the old man departed the office, leaving Ewan and Blackmore standing alone, overlooking the gorgeous planet below. With his little performance over, the Welshman found himself getting somewhat emotional.
It was true.
It had been an evaluation of his command and his crew had supported him to the last. Even Sollik had praised him! Blinking away a small tear, he flashed a grin at the Rear Admiral. In response, Blackmore produced a deck of cards from behind his desk.
“What will the game be, my friend?”
EPILOGUE
He rarely went into Engineering. He rarely ever had a reason to.
Stepping through the huge entrance and faced with the impressive sight of Fortitude’s beating heart, so to speak, Ewan was largely ignored. His ship and crew were preparing to depart from Starbase 499 and embark upon another foray into the unknown reaches of the Beta Quadrant, and they all knew not to stand on ceremony. Besides, he wasn't there in an official capacity. Moving through all of those yellow-shouldered uniforms, he found who he was looking for and leaned against a bulkhead with a smile.
“Captain!,” Sollik exclaimed, noticing him after a moment.
“Calm down. This isn’t an inspection,” he assured him. “I just thought I’d come down here and say thanks in person.”
Sollik was tempted to play dumb and ask the obvious question, but he knew exactly what he was referring to. It would have been a useless waste of time, and he had work that he had to be getting on with. The Suliban simply shrugged, noting the boyish glint in Ewan’s eye, and decided not to present an opportunity for wisecracks.
“I just told the truth, sir,” he said, sincerely. “I would have made a few decisions differently, of course, but I’m not the captain. You are, and you’ve done what you felt was best for this crew since the beginning. For that, you should not be punished.”
“When can we get underway?,” Ewan asked, inwardly beaming with pride at Sollik’s open and honest reply.
“Right on schedule, Captain. As I think you Humans put it, all systems go.”
“Well then, I don’t think I need to hang around here any longer.”
“It would be a terrible waste of your time, sir. Don’t make me file an official complaint about an inefficient amount of senseless chatter in the workplace.”
Ewan grinned.
Finally, the banter that he wished for.
The End.
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Man, I wish my stuff was half this good.
I think you write good stuff. I think I voted for you once on one of the monthly writing challenges.
Aw, shucks...
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Eleven: “Weathering the Storm”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Distance?”
“One-point-two lightyears,” reported Jason Armstrong.
The main viewscreen was dominated by the image of a gorgeous Class-M planetoid. It had an unusually high percentage of surface coverage by vast oceans, with small landmasses covered in small pinpricks of light. The side that faced away from the system’s large orange star was positively glowing with an artificial haze. There was no doubt and sensors weren’t needed to reach out to the most obvious conclusion. There was a civilization down there and they were thriving.
“Any indication that they’re warp-capable?,” asked Captain Llewellyn.
“I’m reading multiple warp signatures in orbit,” Jason confirmed from Ops. “The surface also shows signs of being run by matter/antimatter power.”
“Like a wetter version of Earth,” Valerie Archer observed with a raised eyebrow.
“Arden, that’s our cue,” Ewan ordered. “Alter our heading and increase speed to Warp Seven. When we’re in range, put us in orbit above their largest city.”
“Aye, Captain,” grinned the Bolian pilot, making the required changes to the helm as his hands danced across the LCARS controls. “Course change entered. Increasing speed and standing by for geo-synchronous orbit.”
“Let’s start sending out the standard greeting.”
“Transmitting,” Armstrong confirmed, a second later.
Taking a seat in his command chair and crossing his legs, Llewellyn arched his fingers and watched as the planet before them slowly rotated like a large shining bauble. This is what he signed up for when he joined Starfleet. This is why he was a Starfleet officer. His excitement grew and gradually, he realized that he had started tapping his index fingers together in anticipation. Sheepishly, he turned to see his first officer smiling at him. With a sigh, he returned it.
This was the first official First Contact for the USS Fortitude.
A strange new world, new life, and a new civilization…
They were truly going boldly where no one had gone before.
ACT ONE
Primary Iraka was rarely nervous but today, he felt his pulse racing.
Being the political leader of the Pekeni allowed for a wide range of emotions. Sometimes, he had to be compassionate, blunt, decisive and detached all at the same time. Nerves hardly had any time to surface but for some reason, they were doing a good job of fighting forward within him. Maybe it was the six armed soldiers alongside him. He couldn’t tell because before he had a chance to analyze his feelings, three blue transport beams appeared from nowhere.
It was Ewan Llewellyn, Valerie Archer, and Jason Armstrong, beaming down from Fortitude. They had successfully made First Contact with the Pekeni over the comms system and a face-to-face meeting was agreed upon, pretty quickly. Half of this arrangement was due to Ewan’s eagerness to meet a new alien species, but it was also due to the insistence of Primary Iraka. Since he wanted this, he didn’t question the request.
When the transporter beams dissipated, the three Starfleet officers had lots of things to look at. They had beamed directly into the central square of the planet’s capital city and the architecture alone was breathtaking.
It reminded Valerie, who had an interest in ancient Earth history, of the Roman Empire like a scene out of one of those epic holo-novels. Well, with added technology. The Pekeni appeared to be on a similar level to Earth’s technological development. It was all the better for a successful First Contact.
Armstrong noticed the armed guards first and immediately stepped forward, putting his arm out across his captain’s chest. “Sir!,” he shouted.
“My apologies,” Primary Iraka quickly said, stepping forward. “On the behalf of my people, I must take certain precautions. I should have mentioned this before, but the longer that you stay in orbit… I’m sorry, but will you consent to a medical scan?”
“At ease, Ensign,” Llewellyn told Jason before he nodded to Iraka.
One of the guards advanced forward, with some apprehension, and lowered his plasma rifle. He took out some kind of tricorder-like scanning device to scan each of the away team members. Upon completing his task, he appeared satisfied and passed the tricorder over to Iraka, who read the results and let out a deep breath of relief.
“Do you mind telling us what that was all about?,” Archer asked him.
“Forgive me, please,” practically begged the Primary. “We’ve been attacked in recent cycles by an aggressive alien race. Our only defense against them is a bioscan, confirming your genetic identity. Who knows what scheme that they could develop next to try to annex our planet?”
“It sounds serious,” the captain said in return. “My condolences.”
“We are eager to meet new races and develop lasting interstellar relationships, but it is difficult when we’re faced with such a threat to our society. This is why I was eager to meet you in person, Captain. It was the only way to accelerate the process without the constant worry of suspicion.”
“I understand. Well, with that out of the way, allow me to introduce ourselves. I’m Captain Ewan Llewellyn and these are two of my officers, Commander Valerie Archer and Ensign Jason Armstrong. On the behalf of the United Federation of Planets and the crew of the USS Fortitude, I greet you in the spirit of those lasting interstellar relationships that you mentioned.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Iraka finally smiled, gesturing for the away team to follow him deeper into the city. “Please… we’ve prepared a short tour and a meal of our finest delicacies. If you’ll come with me…?
It wasn’t long before they came across a terrible sight.
Coming around a corner onto a balcony that formed part of the central palace, Ewan found himself overlooking a quarter of the capital city. Half of the buildings were standing in fine condition, lights running, and people inside, with children playing on the roof. The other half of the buildings were in ruins. Massive chunks had been blown out of them. Windows were smashed out, and some of them were reduced to nothing more than piles of useless rubble.
Despite the setting sun making for a beautiful radiance cast over the vista, Llewellyn and his two officers felt their jaws drop with shock.
Primary Iraka wasn’t lying about the Pekeni being under siege.
The most horrific thing to consider took a moment, though to snap in Ewan’s mind. As soon as it did, he turned around, aghast, to stare at their host. “This is a civilian city?,” he asked him. “My God, man, they’re not waging a war against your people! They’re slaughtering them!”
A forlorn Iraka simply shrugged and said,” We have no idea why they’re doing it. They come, they attack, and we do our best to force them away. Half of our ships have been destroyed. The death toll stands at almost five million men, women, and children. We just assume that it’s some kind of invasion force, as I said before, trying to annex our world.”
“And you have no idea who they are?,” confirmed Armstrong. “No name?”
“None. we’ve hardly had time to open a dialogue with them. What little that we do know about them is from one of their vessels that crashed during the last raid. Hence the bioscans. The pilot died upon impact but we’ve had little progress with decoding their database. Our mainframe computers were destroyed and until we can rebuild them…”
“It’s like having a treasure chest on your doorstep but with no key to it,” Archer observed.
“Yes, much like that,” nodded the Primary.
Everything about this situation was starting to sound familiar to the captain. As they continued to walk on, leaving the sorrowful sight of the cityscape behind them, he pierced a few facts that he knew together and came to a startling conclusion. Slowly, falling behind the main group, he stopped walking. When his officers noticed this, they stopped with him.
“What is it?,” noted his first officer, placing a hand on his red shoulder.
“Primary,” Llewellyn asked, ignoring her for the moment,” the alien vessel that crashed, may we see it, please?”
“I’m afraid that it’s under investigation by our intelligence division. Even I don’t have clearance to see it until it has been properly processed.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Why, yes. Is that important?”
“Please,” he pressed him, getting quite animated,” can you describe it for me?”
“Well, it has a single seat which was molded to fit the exact shape of the pilot’s body. It seemed to be quite a personal touch for such a barbaric race. It’s pointed, tapered, with yellow armor plating forming a sharp nose. It has a large impulse reactor but I think it’s warp-capable. There was a huge fleet of them that looked like…”
“... like shards of dirty broken glass shooting through space?”
“Exactly,” Iraka nodded, taking a few seconds to realize where his new friend was going with these questions. “Wait a minute… do you know of them?”
“Yes, I do,” growled the Welshman,” and we might have some information that might prove useful to you. Bear with me for a while. I’ll return soon.”
“By all means,” allowed the Pekeni leader.
“Llewellyn to Fortitude,” he said, tapping his combadge,” three to beam up.”
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49199.;
My initial excitement over conducting my first ever First Contact mission had quickly faded, thanks to the reappearance of an old enemy. The End battle fleet obviously operates throughout this sector and it had been waging a substantial and devastating massacre on our new friends, the Pekeni. Due to the complicated circumstances facing Primary Iraka, he is unable to obtain the same level of intelligence information that we possess on them. I’m preparing to return to the surface to brief him on this continued threat.
“Grown?”
Iraka was startled to say at the very least. Sitting at the head of the huge conference table in his own private residence and not with an armed guard in sight this time, he was listening intently to what Ewan and Chief Engineer Sollik had to say. Half a dozen PADDs were scattered around the table and in the hands of the three men as they discussed this very real threat posed by the End fleet.
“That’s correct,” Llewellyn nodded. “We found the body of a pilot among the debris of a battle site quite early in our mission. His escape pod had a computer system that we were able to access. They are a race grown for war and conquest, Primary.”
“The attachment between a pilot and his ship is fundamental to their existence,” Sollik explained next. “It’s seen as a disgrace to lose your vessel in combat, and pilots who survive an unsuccessful battle are left to die. They pride themselves in their space-faring abilities and it shows in their ships. I’m not ashamed to admit that their technology is incredibly impressive… that is, for waging war.”
“No music, no art… no culture to speak about except the culture of space-based combat and the furthering of their borders,” Ewan added, wrapping up the main points.
“How often have you engaged them?,” Iraka asked, his dull grey eyes wide with fear but remaining focused on the data before him. “I mean, you’ve obviously survived as you sit here before me! Any defense that you might have developed would be greatly appreciated by my people.”
“Only once in battle, Primary,” answered the captain. “We were relatively lucky to catch them unawares with a weapon that we call a photon torpedo.”
“Photon torpedo?”
“Yes. A matter/antimatter warhead device. You don’t have them?”
“No. Our experiments with matter/antimatter reactions have only produced warp drives and surface energy sources. We’re not a race accustomed to manufacturing weapons. Our starships only have basic plasma cannons.”
“I see. Well, I suppose that rules that option out, then.”
“Unless, of course… well…,” Iraka stammered, uncomfortably, at first. Llewellyn knew what was coming but he allowed the Pekeni leader to finish his sentence. “Couldn’t you show us the technology behind these photon torpedoes? Arm our vessels and cities with such devices? I’m sure we could duplicate them ourselves!”
Sollik turned towards his captain with a worried look but he knew the rules.
“I apologize, Primary. The Federation has a strict guideline when it comes to sharing technology with alien races.”
“I thought that our First Contact was successful?,” the Primary spluttered after a disappointed sigh, his shoulders falling. “Are we not allies? Do we not face a common enemy? We should work together to make our defenses stronger!”
“I don’t write the rules, sir. I’m sorry but my answer won’t change.”
“You would condemn us to defeat?”
“Above and beyond everything stands our Prime Directive.”
* * * *
The request had thrown him. It was the question that all Starfleet captains dreaded being asked by friendly species. Hours after the meeting with Primary Iraka had ended on a downtrodden note, Ewan was back aboard Fortitude, back behind his desk in his Ready Room, and for the tenth time, asking himself if he could find some loophole. Any loophole, no matter how small it was, that would allow him to equip the Pekeni starships and ground-based batteries with photon torpedo technology.
Of course, there wasn’t any.
The Prime Directive had been written by sensible people, he told himself. But, damn it, they hadn’t been starship captains, either. They wouldn’t have put that blasted rule in place if they had been.
Ewan saw the crestfallen face of Iraka over and over again in his mind. An image only replaced by brief flashes of the ruined cityscapes that he had observed earlier. The pacifist inside of him was having a field day with this new experience. This was why war, weapons, and conflict were downright wrong.
And yet, here he sat, trying to find a way to arm an otherwise peaceful civilization with photon torpedoes.
Predictably, it was at this hour of need that his door chimes rang. Calling for whoever was about to walk in, he looked up from his work to see Commander Valerie Archer walk in from the Bridge and take a seat.
“Anything I can do for you, Valerie?”
“Actually, I was wondering if there was anything that I could do for you,” she asked with a smile, her understanding maternal instincts being dead on, once again. “You’ve been a little distant since returning from the surface. The meeting didn’t go well?”
“He asked me for photon torpedoes.”
“Ah, well, yeah, that’ll end a meeting pretty quick, for sure. Let me guess. Inside of you, right now, it’s a fight between its pacifist tendencies versus Human morality?”
“You’re sure that you’re not even a little Betazoid?”
“Pretty sure, Ewan,” she smiled again.
“Not even a really, really old second grandmother tucked away somewhere?”
“Listen, all joking aside, this is why we have rules. To be a good captain, you have to be compassionate and moral. On the flip side, however, you have to remain faithful to the principles of your position and that means remaining faithful to the Prime Directive. The choice is clear. Hell, there isn’t even a choice! No deal, no torpedoes.”
“It’s that simple when you read it off of a page, Valerie,” the Welshman countered, shaking his head in frustration,” but you saw those cities. Saw what the End did to the women and children. Civilians, Valerie! For a race so dominated by the custom of war, they appear to have a complete lack of understanding for the rules of engagement!”
“Human rules, Ewan. We can’t judge everybody that we meet by our own standards. We can try our best when the circumstances allow but --”
“Blast it, I know!”
The First Officer leaned back in her chair, holding off on pushing matters too far with her commanding officer for now. He appreciated the sentiment behind her words of wisdom, but sometimes, regardless of that, being preached to can be annoying and she knew that.
* * * *
On the Bridge, Jason Armstrong checked his sensors twice before he relayed the data that he was getting to the tactical console opposite of his position. Noticing the incoming data from his boyfriend’s operations station, Ensign Jim Morgan tapped a few commands into his display and confirmed what the other ensign present was afraid of it being.
“Bridge to Captain Llewellyn,” he said into the intercom.
“Llewellyn here,” came his reply. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“We have three Pekeni vessels on a direct intercept course, sir,” Armstrong reported, his words laded with a serious tone. “They’re charging weapons.”
ACT THREE
It took less than a minute for Llewellyn and Archer to storm out of the Ready Room and take up their positions at the center of Fortitude’s Bridge. The viewscreen showed three starships incoming. They were shaped like tall columns of a similar style to those featured in the architecture in the Pekeni’s cities. The engines glowed bright blue, and as Jason had reported, their plasma cannons were unfolding from inside the hull. Carefully, they rotated to bear down on the Intrepid-class starship.
“Red Alert!,” ordered the captain. “Shields up!”
“Arden,” Archer warned Vuro,” be ready for some fancy flying if this turns ugly.”
There were a few tense moments of silence with the crew staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, so to speak. Well, multiple guns, actually.
Finally, breaking the tension, Armstrong’s console made a signal. “Captain, we’re being hailed from the planet’s surface.”
“On screen.”
The face of Primary Iraka looked out across the Bridge. He was sitting at the same large conference table with some of the PADDs from their earlier meeting still in his grasp. That grasp, Ewan noted, was shaking. The man was scared but desperate times called for desperate measures on his part.
“Captain Llewellyn, I regret that it must come down to this, but your Federation’s rules have left me with very little choice in the matter. I must have those torpedoes of yours! If you stand down and transport them over to our ships, they won’t open fire and you’ll be free to leave orbit. Otherwise, I’ll order them to engage you!”
“You give the order, Primary, and I’ll use those very torpedoes that you seek to retaliate. You can’t afford to lose any more of your fleet. Be realistic here!”
“What I can’t afford is for the End to return and decimate the other half of my world! That’s why I’m so deeply sorry that it has come down to this moment! You have ten seconds to comply with my demand of… or you’ll be fired upon!”
Ewan saw the shaking hands, the reluctant nature, and the sheer terror in Iraka’s grey eyes. Five seconds of silence passed between them. At that time, he made up his mind.
The Prime Directive had been right all along. This was why you didn’t have over weapons to alien races. One person should never be held responsible for another’s actions, but one should do their best to prevent such actions from being contemplated.
“Five more seconds, Llewellyn!,” snapped the Primary, the rest of his body shaking along with his hands. “Four…!”
“Three,” Ewan stated calmly,” two… one… zero. Oh, look at that. Time’s up.”
Iraka realized that the game was up as soon as the captain started counting back at him with that stern look of his. He had called his bluff and he had done it with determination and an accurate character assessment of the Pekeni leader.
Feeling the energy drain from his body, he slumped to the table before him, defeated. “How did you know?,” he whispered across the communications channel.
“Because I’m a pacifist too, Primary.”
* * * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After one final meeting on the surface with Primary Iraka to accept a formal apology on the behalf of his government, we have resumed our previous course. Despite nearly coming to blows over our torpedoes, I’ve decided to recommend that a Federation Commission return to Pekeni to investigate the possibility of Federation membership. At least then, there won’t be rules stopping us protecting them from danger.”
“What’s coming up next?”
The entire Senior Staff was gathered together in the Briefing Room for the week’s final concluding status report. Looking from face to face, the captain felt completely at home. He was drawing comfort from their company, even if they didn’t realize it. Having a stable and understanding crew was one of the best parts of being the captain for him. Once again, as it seemed to become a regular feature of this mission, his morality had faced a minor crisis of confidence. And once again, he had overcome it with the sympathetic advice of his much appreciated First Officer, and his officers had been ready to stand by and back up whatever decision he made.
Whoever had written the Prime Directive may have made some harsh decisions that seemed to present emotional conflict, but whoever had developed this system of running a starship had been an utter genius.
“Our present course,” Arden Vuro reported,” we have a Mutara-class nebula, a trinary star cluster, and a neutronic wavefront that I’d recommend avoiding. However, doing that, takes us into the path of an ion storm.”
“Damned if we do, and damned if we don’t,” observed Lynn Boswell, enjoying her new status as a doctor. “Neutron radiation can be pretty lethal, Captain. I agree with Lieutenant Vuro’s recommendation that we head for the lesser evil. The ion storm… I never thought I’d hear myself say there, but there we go.”
“I’ll divert some power to the shields,” Jim Morgan decided, flashing a grin at the Suliban chief engineer. “Got any power to spare?”
“I’ll have to see what I can do,” Sollik replied.
“It sounds like you don’t need me to give orders,” Ewan mused, gaining a few laughs in return. “The ion storm, it is, people. We’ll ride it out so prepare to close up shop.”
The officers collectively chimed a response and were dismissed, leaving Llewellyn alone with his thoughts. Archer felt like sticking around but she saw that this was one rare moment when the captain appeared to be settled, calm, and satisfied with the outcome of the recent trouble. With a smile, she departed as he stood up from his chair, turned around, clasped his hands behind his back, and stared out of the huge window into the stars beyond. They were streaking past Fortitude at warp speed and there in the distance was a dot that was slightly larger than the others. It was also a different color.
It was the approaching storm.
They would weather it just fine.
EPILOGUE
People were running, screaming… and fleeing for their lives.
Standing on the same balcony that Captain Ewan Llewellyn and his away team had been, only days before, Primary Iraka felt tears streaming down his trembling cheeks.
Below him, the capital city was ablaze.
As he watched, helpless despite his position of authority and political power, a stupidly-overpowered energy beam cut through the usually peaceful cloud cover. It tore into a particularly large tower block and ripped it to pieces within seconds, flames belching forth from the cracks in the stone. Another energy beam, and another, and another, each of them finding and destroying a target.
Iraka spotted a family running from a nearby house. The father had a small child scooped up in his arms and his free hand was dragging his young wife alongside him as they darted for cover. Feeling both of his hearts lurch in sympathy, he watched as a large chunk of rubble flew through the air and crushed them mercilessly.
He couldn’t watch anymore.
Turning away and screwing his eyes shut in the hope that it was all a dream, he avoided the sight of the attacking forces.
Swooping down low over the buildings, picking off survivors of the assault were eight fighters from the wing designated FS-Six. Utterly without any remorse or regret, the cracked yellow skin of the pilot’s hands depressed their triggers and slaughtered the innocent. The lead fighter was occupied by their First, a man who had seen many battles and wore many medals on the chest of his uniform. He had almost been the man frustrated by a cheap holographic trick while in orbit of a Class-J gas giant.
With diabolical glee, he targeted the balcony where Primary Iraka was standing and opened fire. Seconds later, he saw the body plummet towards the ground as the balcony was no longer there to stand upon. Satisfied with the results, he ordered his squadron to peel away and complete their sweep of the capital city.
The End had finished what they had started.
The Pekeni were no more.
The End.
Episode Eleven: “Weathering the Storm”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Distance?”
“One-point-two lightyears,” reported Jason Armstrong.
The main viewscreen was dominated by the image of a gorgeous Class-M planetoid. It had an unusually high percentage of surface coverage by vast oceans, with small landmasses covered in small pinpricks of light. The side that faced away from the system’s large orange star was positively glowing with an artificial haze. There was no doubt and sensors weren’t needed to reach out to the most obvious conclusion. There was a civilization down there and they were thriving.
“Any indication that they’re warp-capable?,” asked Captain Llewellyn.
“I’m reading multiple warp signatures in orbit,” Jason confirmed from Ops. “The surface also shows signs of being run by matter/antimatter power.”
“Like a wetter version of Earth,” Valerie Archer observed with a raised eyebrow.
“Arden, that’s our cue,” Ewan ordered. “Alter our heading and increase speed to Warp Seven. When we’re in range, put us in orbit above their largest city.”
“Aye, Captain,” grinned the Bolian pilot, making the required changes to the helm as his hands danced across the LCARS controls. “Course change entered. Increasing speed and standing by for geo-synchronous orbit.”
“Let’s start sending out the standard greeting.”
“Transmitting,” Armstrong confirmed, a second later.
Taking a seat in his command chair and crossing his legs, Llewellyn arched his fingers and watched as the planet before them slowly rotated like a large shining bauble. This is what he signed up for when he joined Starfleet. This is why he was a Starfleet officer. His excitement grew and gradually, he realized that he had started tapping his index fingers together in anticipation. Sheepishly, he turned to see his first officer smiling at him. With a sigh, he returned it.
This was the first official First Contact for the USS Fortitude.
A strange new world, new life, and a new civilization…
They were truly going boldly where no one had gone before.
ACT ONE
Primary Iraka was rarely nervous but today, he felt his pulse racing.
Being the political leader of the Pekeni allowed for a wide range of emotions. Sometimes, he had to be compassionate, blunt, decisive and detached all at the same time. Nerves hardly had any time to surface but for some reason, they were doing a good job of fighting forward within him. Maybe it was the six armed soldiers alongside him. He couldn’t tell because before he had a chance to analyze his feelings, three blue transport beams appeared from nowhere.
It was Ewan Llewellyn, Valerie Archer, and Jason Armstrong, beaming down from Fortitude. They had successfully made First Contact with the Pekeni over the comms system and a face-to-face meeting was agreed upon, pretty quickly. Half of this arrangement was due to Ewan’s eagerness to meet a new alien species, but it was also due to the insistence of Primary Iraka. Since he wanted this, he didn’t question the request.
When the transporter beams dissipated, the three Starfleet officers had lots of things to look at. They had beamed directly into the central square of the planet’s capital city and the architecture alone was breathtaking.
It reminded Valerie, who had an interest in ancient Earth history, of the Roman Empire like a scene out of one of those epic holo-novels. Well, with added technology. The Pekeni appeared to be on a similar level to Earth’s technological development. It was all the better for a successful First Contact.
Armstrong noticed the armed guards first and immediately stepped forward, putting his arm out across his captain’s chest. “Sir!,” he shouted.
“My apologies,” Primary Iraka quickly said, stepping forward. “On the behalf of my people, I must take certain precautions. I should have mentioned this before, but the longer that you stay in orbit… I’m sorry, but will you consent to a medical scan?”
“At ease, Ensign,” Llewellyn told Jason before he nodded to Iraka.
One of the guards advanced forward, with some apprehension, and lowered his plasma rifle. He took out some kind of tricorder-like scanning device to scan each of the away team members. Upon completing his task, he appeared satisfied and passed the tricorder over to Iraka, who read the results and let out a deep breath of relief.
“Do you mind telling us what that was all about?,” Archer asked him.
“Forgive me, please,” practically begged the Primary. “We’ve been attacked in recent cycles by an aggressive alien race. Our only defense against them is a bioscan, confirming your genetic identity. Who knows what scheme that they could develop next to try to annex our planet?”
“It sounds serious,” the captain said in return. “My condolences.”
“We are eager to meet new races and develop lasting interstellar relationships, but it is difficult when we’re faced with such a threat to our society. This is why I was eager to meet you in person, Captain. It was the only way to accelerate the process without the constant worry of suspicion.”
“I understand. Well, with that out of the way, allow me to introduce ourselves. I’m Captain Ewan Llewellyn and these are two of my officers, Commander Valerie Archer and Ensign Jason Armstrong. On the behalf of the United Federation of Planets and the crew of the USS Fortitude, I greet you in the spirit of those lasting interstellar relationships that you mentioned.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Iraka finally smiled, gesturing for the away team to follow him deeper into the city. “Please… we’ve prepared a short tour and a meal of our finest delicacies. If you’ll come with me…?
It wasn’t long before they came across a terrible sight.
Coming around a corner onto a balcony that formed part of the central palace, Ewan found himself overlooking a quarter of the capital city. Half of the buildings were standing in fine condition, lights running, and people inside, with children playing on the roof. The other half of the buildings were in ruins. Massive chunks had been blown out of them. Windows were smashed out, and some of them were reduced to nothing more than piles of useless rubble.
Despite the setting sun making for a beautiful radiance cast over the vista, Llewellyn and his two officers felt their jaws drop with shock.
Primary Iraka wasn’t lying about the Pekeni being under siege.
The most horrific thing to consider took a moment, though to snap in Ewan’s mind. As soon as it did, he turned around, aghast, to stare at their host. “This is a civilian city?,” he asked him. “My God, man, they’re not waging a war against your people! They’re slaughtering them!”
A forlorn Iraka simply shrugged and said,” We have no idea why they’re doing it. They come, they attack, and we do our best to force them away. Half of our ships have been destroyed. The death toll stands at almost five million men, women, and children. We just assume that it’s some kind of invasion force, as I said before, trying to annex our world.”
“And you have no idea who they are?,” confirmed Armstrong. “No name?”
“None. we’ve hardly had time to open a dialogue with them. What little that we do know about them is from one of their vessels that crashed during the last raid. Hence the bioscans. The pilot died upon impact but we’ve had little progress with decoding their database. Our mainframe computers were destroyed and until we can rebuild them…”
“It’s like having a treasure chest on your doorstep but with no key to it,” Archer observed.
“Yes, much like that,” nodded the Primary.
Everything about this situation was starting to sound familiar to the captain. As they continued to walk on, leaving the sorrowful sight of the cityscape behind them, he pierced a few facts that he knew together and came to a startling conclusion. Slowly, falling behind the main group, he stopped walking. When his officers noticed this, they stopped with him.
“What is it?,” noted his first officer, placing a hand on his red shoulder.
“Primary,” Llewellyn asked, ignoring her for the moment,” the alien vessel that crashed, may we see it, please?”
“I’m afraid that it’s under investigation by our intelligence division. Even I don’t have clearance to see it until it has been properly processed.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Why, yes. Is that important?”
“Please,” he pressed him, getting quite animated,” can you describe it for me?”
“Well, it has a single seat which was molded to fit the exact shape of the pilot’s body. It seemed to be quite a personal touch for such a barbaric race. It’s pointed, tapered, with yellow armor plating forming a sharp nose. It has a large impulse reactor but I think it’s warp-capable. There was a huge fleet of them that looked like…”
“... like shards of dirty broken glass shooting through space?”
“Exactly,” Iraka nodded, taking a few seconds to realize where his new friend was going with these questions. “Wait a minute… do you know of them?”
“Yes, I do,” growled the Welshman,” and we might have some information that might prove useful to you. Bear with me for a while. I’ll return soon.”
“By all means,” allowed the Pekeni leader.
“Llewellyn to Fortitude,” he said, tapping his combadge,” three to beam up.”
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49199.;
My initial excitement over conducting my first ever First Contact mission had quickly faded, thanks to the reappearance of an old enemy. The End battle fleet obviously operates throughout this sector and it had been waging a substantial and devastating massacre on our new friends, the Pekeni. Due to the complicated circumstances facing Primary Iraka, he is unable to obtain the same level of intelligence information that we possess on them. I’m preparing to return to the surface to brief him on this continued threat.
“Grown?”
Iraka was startled to say at the very least. Sitting at the head of the huge conference table in his own private residence and not with an armed guard in sight this time, he was listening intently to what Ewan and Chief Engineer Sollik had to say. Half a dozen PADDs were scattered around the table and in the hands of the three men as they discussed this very real threat posed by the End fleet.
“That’s correct,” Llewellyn nodded. “We found the body of a pilot among the debris of a battle site quite early in our mission. His escape pod had a computer system that we were able to access. They are a race grown for war and conquest, Primary.”
“The attachment between a pilot and his ship is fundamental to their existence,” Sollik explained next. “It’s seen as a disgrace to lose your vessel in combat, and pilots who survive an unsuccessful battle are left to die. They pride themselves in their space-faring abilities and it shows in their ships. I’m not ashamed to admit that their technology is incredibly impressive… that is, for waging war.”
“No music, no art… no culture to speak about except the culture of space-based combat and the furthering of their borders,” Ewan added, wrapping up the main points.
“How often have you engaged them?,” Iraka asked, his dull grey eyes wide with fear but remaining focused on the data before him. “I mean, you’ve obviously survived as you sit here before me! Any defense that you might have developed would be greatly appreciated by my people.”
“Only once in battle, Primary,” answered the captain. “We were relatively lucky to catch them unawares with a weapon that we call a photon torpedo.”
“Photon torpedo?”
“Yes. A matter/antimatter warhead device. You don’t have them?”
“No. Our experiments with matter/antimatter reactions have only produced warp drives and surface energy sources. We’re not a race accustomed to manufacturing weapons. Our starships only have basic plasma cannons.”
“I see. Well, I suppose that rules that option out, then.”
“Unless, of course… well…,” Iraka stammered, uncomfortably, at first. Llewellyn knew what was coming but he allowed the Pekeni leader to finish his sentence. “Couldn’t you show us the technology behind these photon torpedoes? Arm our vessels and cities with such devices? I’m sure we could duplicate them ourselves!”
Sollik turned towards his captain with a worried look but he knew the rules.
“I apologize, Primary. The Federation has a strict guideline when it comes to sharing technology with alien races.”
“I thought that our First Contact was successful?,” the Primary spluttered after a disappointed sigh, his shoulders falling. “Are we not allies? Do we not face a common enemy? We should work together to make our defenses stronger!”
“I don’t write the rules, sir. I’m sorry but my answer won’t change.”
“You would condemn us to defeat?”
“Above and beyond everything stands our Prime Directive.”
* * * *
The request had thrown him. It was the question that all Starfleet captains dreaded being asked by friendly species. Hours after the meeting with Primary Iraka had ended on a downtrodden note, Ewan was back aboard Fortitude, back behind his desk in his Ready Room, and for the tenth time, asking himself if he could find some loophole. Any loophole, no matter how small it was, that would allow him to equip the Pekeni starships and ground-based batteries with photon torpedo technology.
Of course, there wasn’t any.
The Prime Directive had been written by sensible people, he told himself. But, damn it, they hadn’t been starship captains, either. They wouldn’t have put that blasted rule in place if they had been.
Ewan saw the crestfallen face of Iraka over and over again in his mind. An image only replaced by brief flashes of the ruined cityscapes that he had observed earlier. The pacifist inside of him was having a field day with this new experience. This was why war, weapons, and conflict were downright wrong.
And yet, here he sat, trying to find a way to arm an otherwise peaceful civilization with photon torpedoes.
Predictably, it was at this hour of need that his door chimes rang. Calling for whoever was about to walk in, he looked up from his work to see Commander Valerie Archer walk in from the Bridge and take a seat.
“Anything I can do for you, Valerie?”
“Actually, I was wondering if there was anything that I could do for you,” she asked with a smile, her understanding maternal instincts being dead on, once again. “You’ve been a little distant since returning from the surface. The meeting didn’t go well?”
“He asked me for photon torpedoes.”
“Ah, well, yeah, that’ll end a meeting pretty quick, for sure. Let me guess. Inside of you, right now, it’s a fight between its pacifist tendencies versus Human morality?”
“You’re sure that you’re not even a little Betazoid?”
“Pretty sure, Ewan,” she smiled again.
“Not even a really, really old second grandmother tucked away somewhere?”
“Listen, all joking aside, this is why we have rules. To be a good captain, you have to be compassionate and moral. On the flip side, however, you have to remain faithful to the principles of your position and that means remaining faithful to the Prime Directive. The choice is clear. Hell, there isn’t even a choice! No deal, no torpedoes.”
“It’s that simple when you read it off of a page, Valerie,” the Welshman countered, shaking his head in frustration,” but you saw those cities. Saw what the End did to the women and children. Civilians, Valerie! For a race so dominated by the custom of war, they appear to have a complete lack of understanding for the rules of engagement!”
“Human rules, Ewan. We can’t judge everybody that we meet by our own standards. We can try our best when the circumstances allow but --”
“Blast it, I know!”
The First Officer leaned back in her chair, holding off on pushing matters too far with her commanding officer for now. He appreciated the sentiment behind her words of wisdom, but sometimes, regardless of that, being preached to can be annoying and she knew that.
* * * *
On the Bridge, Jason Armstrong checked his sensors twice before he relayed the data that he was getting to the tactical console opposite of his position. Noticing the incoming data from his boyfriend’s operations station, Ensign Jim Morgan tapped a few commands into his display and confirmed what the other ensign present was afraid of it being.
“Bridge to Captain Llewellyn,” he said into the intercom.
“Llewellyn here,” came his reply. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“We have three Pekeni vessels on a direct intercept course, sir,” Armstrong reported, his words laded with a serious tone. “They’re charging weapons.”
ACT THREE
It took less than a minute for Llewellyn and Archer to storm out of the Ready Room and take up their positions at the center of Fortitude’s Bridge. The viewscreen showed three starships incoming. They were shaped like tall columns of a similar style to those featured in the architecture in the Pekeni’s cities. The engines glowed bright blue, and as Jason had reported, their plasma cannons were unfolding from inside the hull. Carefully, they rotated to bear down on the Intrepid-class starship.
“Red Alert!,” ordered the captain. “Shields up!”
“Arden,” Archer warned Vuro,” be ready for some fancy flying if this turns ugly.”
There were a few tense moments of silence with the crew staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, so to speak. Well, multiple guns, actually.
Finally, breaking the tension, Armstrong’s console made a signal. “Captain, we’re being hailed from the planet’s surface.”
“On screen.”
The face of Primary Iraka looked out across the Bridge. He was sitting at the same large conference table with some of the PADDs from their earlier meeting still in his grasp. That grasp, Ewan noted, was shaking. The man was scared but desperate times called for desperate measures on his part.
“Captain Llewellyn, I regret that it must come down to this, but your Federation’s rules have left me with very little choice in the matter. I must have those torpedoes of yours! If you stand down and transport them over to our ships, they won’t open fire and you’ll be free to leave orbit. Otherwise, I’ll order them to engage you!”
“You give the order, Primary, and I’ll use those very torpedoes that you seek to retaliate. You can’t afford to lose any more of your fleet. Be realistic here!”
“What I can’t afford is for the End to return and decimate the other half of my world! That’s why I’m so deeply sorry that it has come down to this moment! You have ten seconds to comply with my demand of… or you’ll be fired upon!”
Ewan saw the shaking hands, the reluctant nature, and the sheer terror in Iraka’s grey eyes. Five seconds of silence passed between them. At that time, he made up his mind.
The Prime Directive had been right all along. This was why you didn’t have over weapons to alien races. One person should never be held responsible for another’s actions, but one should do their best to prevent such actions from being contemplated.
“Five more seconds, Llewellyn!,” snapped the Primary, the rest of his body shaking along with his hands. “Four…!”
“Three,” Ewan stated calmly,” two… one… zero. Oh, look at that. Time’s up.”
Iraka realized that the game was up as soon as the captain started counting back at him with that stern look of his. He had called his bluff and he had done it with determination and an accurate character assessment of the Pekeni leader.
Feeling the energy drain from his body, he slumped to the table before him, defeated. “How did you know?,” he whispered across the communications channel.
“Because I’m a pacifist too, Primary.”
* * * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After one final meeting on the surface with Primary Iraka to accept a formal apology on the behalf of his government, we have resumed our previous course. Despite nearly coming to blows over our torpedoes, I’ve decided to recommend that a Federation Commission return to Pekeni to investigate the possibility of Federation membership. At least then, there won’t be rules stopping us protecting them from danger.”
“What’s coming up next?”
The entire Senior Staff was gathered together in the Briefing Room for the week’s final concluding status report. Looking from face to face, the captain felt completely at home. He was drawing comfort from their company, even if they didn’t realize it. Having a stable and understanding crew was one of the best parts of being the captain for him. Once again, as it seemed to become a regular feature of this mission, his morality had faced a minor crisis of confidence. And once again, he had overcome it with the sympathetic advice of his much appreciated First Officer, and his officers had been ready to stand by and back up whatever decision he made.
Whoever had written the Prime Directive may have made some harsh decisions that seemed to present emotional conflict, but whoever had developed this system of running a starship had been an utter genius.
“Our present course,” Arden Vuro reported,” we have a Mutara-class nebula, a trinary star cluster, and a neutronic wavefront that I’d recommend avoiding. However, doing that, takes us into the path of an ion storm.”
“Damned if we do, and damned if we don’t,” observed Lynn Boswell, enjoying her new status as a doctor. “Neutron radiation can be pretty lethal, Captain. I agree with Lieutenant Vuro’s recommendation that we head for the lesser evil. The ion storm… I never thought I’d hear myself say there, but there we go.”
“I’ll divert some power to the shields,” Jim Morgan decided, flashing a grin at the Suliban chief engineer. “Got any power to spare?”
“I’ll have to see what I can do,” Sollik replied.
“It sounds like you don’t need me to give orders,” Ewan mused, gaining a few laughs in return. “The ion storm, it is, people. We’ll ride it out so prepare to close up shop.”
The officers collectively chimed a response and were dismissed, leaving Llewellyn alone with his thoughts. Archer felt like sticking around but she saw that this was one rare moment when the captain appeared to be settled, calm, and satisfied with the outcome of the recent trouble. With a smile, she departed as he stood up from his chair, turned around, clasped his hands behind his back, and stared out of the huge window into the stars beyond. They were streaking past Fortitude at warp speed and there in the distance was a dot that was slightly larger than the others. It was also a different color.
It was the approaching storm.
They would weather it just fine.
EPILOGUE
People were running, screaming… and fleeing for their lives.
Standing on the same balcony that Captain Ewan Llewellyn and his away team had been, only days before, Primary Iraka felt tears streaming down his trembling cheeks.
Below him, the capital city was ablaze.
As he watched, helpless despite his position of authority and political power, a stupidly-overpowered energy beam cut through the usually peaceful cloud cover. It tore into a particularly large tower block and ripped it to pieces within seconds, flames belching forth from the cracks in the stone. Another energy beam, and another, and another, each of them finding and destroying a target.
Iraka spotted a family running from a nearby house. The father had a small child scooped up in his arms and his free hand was dragging his young wife alongside him as they darted for cover. Feeling both of his hearts lurch in sympathy, he watched as a large chunk of rubble flew through the air and crushed them mercilessly.
He couldn’t watch anymore.
Turning away and screwing his eyes shut in the hope that it was all a dream, he avoided the sight of the attacking forces.
Swooping down low over the buildings, picking off survivors of the assault were eight fighters from the wing designated FS-Six. Utterly without any remorse or regret, the cracked yellow skin of the pilot’s hands depressed their triggers and slaughtered the innocent. The lead fighter was occupied by their First, a man who had seen many battles and wore many medals on the chest of his uniform. He had almost been the man frustrated by a cheap holographic trick while in orbit of a Class-J gas giant.
With diabolical glee, he targeted the balcony where Primary Iraka was standing and opened fire. Seconds later, he saw the body plummet towards the ground as the balcony was no longer there to stand upon. Satisfied with the results, he ordered his squadron to peel away and complete their sweep of the capital city.
The End had finished what they had started.
The Pekeni were no more.
The End.
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Twelve: “Safety”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Hole Nineteen: completed in three shots. Par. Game over.”
Quite impressed with her own skill, and having improved steadily since taking up gold, almost two years ago, Valerie Archer handed her putter back to the holographic caddy and removed her sun visor.
Holographic recreation of not, the simulation of Risa’s elite course was simply stunning to behold. The computer’s voice giving the score and speaking from nowhere was the only giveaway to being thousands of lightyears away from the real thing. With a sigh, the commander reminded herself to deactivate the automatic scorekeeping next time.
“Computer, end program.”
Watching the rolling greens of the golf course be replaced by the stark, cold grey walls of Holodeck One gave her a twinge of sadness upon leaving. As the large doors sealed behind her, she came across the next two users booked for some holodeck time.
“All set, gentlemen?”
“You bet,” Jason Armstrong grinned, playfully putting his arm around the shoulder of his boyfriend, Jim Morgan. “How was your game, Commander?”
“Like a little slice of shore leave. Let me guess. You’re going to entertain a running gun battle with some 20th-century terrorists in some large public place before defusing a tactical nuclear device with seconds to spare?”
Ensign Armstrong’s action B-movie holodeck programs were renowned throughout the crew of the USS Fortitude by now. This was the first time that he had managed to get holodeck time reserved with Ensign Morgan aboard, and he had stayed up most of the night, tweaking the latest scenario to write a decent part for his partner.
“Something like that,” he replied with a wink.
“There’s a twist, though,” Jim revealed, excited at the prospect of blowing stuff up, holographic or not. “I get to be the terrorist leader, and as Jason is the hero, we’ll let you know who wins later on this evening. Deal?”
“Deal. Well, I’ll let you boys get down to it.”
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49204.7;
It’s been six hours since I ordered the ship to fly into an oncoming ion storm to avoid the more dangerous neutronic wavefront passing nearby. Sensors indicate that the storm is one of the largest on record, and it’s going to take some time before we’ve managed to get clear on the other side.
Therefore, my crew is enjoying some much-deserved time to themselves. With little to do, I find myself relaxing for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.
Stretching and yawning in the captain’s chair, Ewan Llewellyn’s sterling determination to look professional on the Bridge at all times went out the nearest airlock. There was little reason for him to be present at the moment.
A few PADDs containing status reports were handed to him sporadically and he would nod and glance at them before handing them back with a few words of encouragement, but that wasn’t his reason for being here. With most of the Senior Staff doing their own thing elsewhere on the fifteen decks of Fortitude, he was free to indulge himself in the view.
The ion storm was quite something. A purple mass of swirling energy, punctuated by arcs of vicious lightning that seemed to extend forever. During the rare old thunderstorm back home in Swansea, he would press his nose up against the glass, watching the rain and hail for hours. It kept him in check with nature, reminding him of his own limitations and now for the first time, allowed him to reflect on his role as a Starfleet Captain.
Keeping calm in the storm, holding the ship steady. It was his duty, and so he watched… and yawned.
“Bored yet, sir?,” Arden Vuro asked from the helm, turning towards him with a grin.
“Not on your life, Lieutenant.”
“I was just wondering when you were thinking of leaving so I could stretch myself out and play captain for a while.”
“Sorry, my friend, but this seat’s taken.”
Suddenly, the storm became something a little more dangerous than simply a magnificent view. An alarm went off on Vuro’s console and returning his attention to the job at hand, he had to react fast. The danger was approaching rapidly and without even making a report, he took the initiative.
“Hang on!,” he cried out.
The Intrepid-class starship banked hard, looping through an entire rotation of 360 degrees to avoid a massive electromagnetic disruption in the stormfront. Inertial dampeners couldn’t keep up with the erratic evasive maneuver and Ewan gripped the arms of his command chair tightly as he felt his stomach loop with the ship.
Upon settling, he rose to his feet and joined Vuro at the helm, placing a hand on the Bolian’s shoulder. “Just showing off?,” he asked him.
“No, Captain. Sensors indicate that there was a huge disruption in the storm’s pattern, giving out incredible amounts of energy. It could have crushed us.”
“In that case, nice flying. Any damage?”
“Checking. It looks like something struck the shields. There’s some kind of feedback surge working its way through the emitters. I’m trying to isolate it. Hold on… Damn, no effect!”
“Bridge to Engineering!,” Llewellyn shouted, tapping his combadge. “Sollik, we’re reading a massive energy pulse moving through the ODN relays up here. Is there anything you can do to stop it?”
“Negative, sir!,” the Suliban replied with slight panic in his tone. “I’d recommend you stand away from any consoles!”
As if it was on cue, the operations console behind Ewan and Arden exploded, showering the crewman on duty with sparks and broken glass. Dazed, he rolled to one side as the flickering lights gave up and died. The mission operations console situated on the central railing behind the command chairs also similarly destroyed itself.
A few moments of silence passed by with Ewan’s wide eyes looking around the walls and ceiling of the Bridge. “Don’t you pull a suicide on me,” he muttered.
“Sollik to Bridge. That should be the worst of it now. I’ll tidy up the mess that we’ve got down here and get repair teams sent out as soon as possible. The energy feedback has burned itself out, but half of the terminals all over the ship have been lost.”
“Get me a full damage report within the hour,” Llewellyn ordered. “Bridge out.”
* * * *
On Holodeck One, Jason and Jim were blissfully unaware of the drama that was unfolding outside in the real world. Jim’s terrorist organization was preparing to deploy a deadly nerve gas in a downtown Los Angeles shopping mall, while Jason who was portraying a United States government anti-terrorist agent circa 2008, had picked up a fresh lead on his boyfriend’s… no, in this scenario, his adversary’s whereabouts.
There was no indication whatsoever that the holodeck had locked itself down due to the strange energy surge. Since nobody had started shooting any bullets yet, there was no warning that the safety protocols had been disengaged.
That would change.
* * * *
“Okay, what are we looking at here?”
Seat around the Briefing Room table, Llewellyn was joined by a dirty and concerned Sollik, a relieved Doctor Lynn Boswell, and as always, the trusty Valerie Archer. Together they were going through the list of damaged systems and trying to find the cause of the powerful and nearly fatal feedback surge.
The sensor data that Vuro had noticed upon avoiding the leviathan energy distortion in the storm’s wake had been lost when the sensor network overloaded and the mission operations console exploded. Piecing together the most probable explanation, Ewan had ordered Fortitude to full impulse to clear the ion storm quickly. It was a risky gamble opposed by Sollik but what else was new? Now, the task of assessing the state of the ship was their focus.
“Shields are holding at thirty-eight percent,” reported the Suliban as he wiped grease from his mottled green skin. “I’ll do what I can to transfer some more power once I’ve repaired the ODN relays. Meanwhile, sensors won’t be back online for, at least, two hours. Maybe more, so we’re currently flying on old readings.”
“I’ve treated twelve crew members for minor injuries, Captain,” Lynn added next. “A few of them were standing pretty close to computer terminals and I had to operate to remove glass from Crewman Miller’s face. Crewman Lewis is being kept overnight in Sickbay to recover from an energy burn to his neck. It could have been much worse.”
“Is that it?,” Ewan asked, his eyebrows raising. “Shields weakened, sensors offline, and a few crewmen treated in less than an hour? I suppose we should count ourselves lucky.”
“Actually, sir,” Archer interrupted him,” this is one other system. I checked and after the evasive maneuvers, Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan failed to report to their stations. As senior officers, they’re supposed to. They were partaking in a holodeck simulation at the time and when I went down there to take a look, the doors refused to open. The computer locked me out of the holodeck controls.”
“Oh, great, the holodecks have gone wrong,” Sollik hissed. “How original…”
ACT TWO
Los Angeles, United States of America, Earth
June 2008
16:35 on a peaceful Saturday afternoon.
Jim was crouched down in the back of a large Chevrolet Express van, listening intently to a small radio earpiece while two of his terrorist counterparts loaded AK-47 assault rifles. It was an odd sensation, working for the ‘bad guys’ but Fortitude’s tactical officer didn’t mind it that much. Given the scenario, to get to that fun competitive edge that he and Jason wanted, somebody had to be, and it wasn’t like he was actually going to try and murder innocent civilians. Just holographic recreations. The morality was murky but he balanced it with the knowledge that everything that he did in the real world outside of Holodeck One was for the cause of good.
The van was parked in a space belonging to the Sunrise Hills shopping mall. Jason had created the location based on an ancient form of Earth entertainment. Inspiration that had struck him from something called a television show, whatever that was. He didn’t share his boyfriend’s passion for the time period.
While reading about the Eugenics Wars at school, the young Ensign Morgan had decided that it was a barbaric and corrupt time. Although now, taking part in this little game, he felt his adrenaline rise, simulation or not. It was helping him to better understand his partner after all.
His earpiece crackled.
Two other men who were working for him had entered the shopping mall posing as regular members of the public. They carried a canister of deadly nerve gas with them and they were heading for the ventilation room to disperse it throughout the facility and infect as many shoppers as possible.
Jim hadn’t read his roleplaying profile properly, the previous evening and he had a limited idea of what exactly he was undertaking for this terrorist attack. Something to do with a Jihad, whatever that was. Despite his Indian heritage, he only spoke Federation Standard and he was useless when it came to other languages.
Thank goodness for Universal Translators.
They were due to have the work finished by seventeen hundred hours. It was almost closing time for the Sunrise Hills mall, and it would strike most people as they used the large congregational areas to conclude their day’s shopping and meet with other family members upon leaving to return to their homes.
Hearing the click of an ammunition clip behind him, Morgan ignored it. If he had known that the safety protocols of Holodeck One were inactive, and therefore those holographic bullets were now deadly, he might have paid a little more attention. As it was, he simply loaded his own Walther P999S 9mm handgun in the fashion that Jason had shown him and wondered if he would be shooting his boyfriend today.
* * * *
“What options do we have?”
In Engineering, back in the twenty-fourth century, Llewellyn and Sollik were hunched over a diagnostic console trying to find a way of shutting down the holodeck and retrieve Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan from their simulation gone awry. Given the nature of the game that they were playing, and given that the chief engineer had determined that the safety protocols were offline, time was running perilously short.
“All of the control relays are fused,” he observed. “The energy surge melted everything, and since it was running at the time, it’s been melted into the ‘active’ position. There’s no simple shutdown command anymore.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the only way to end the program is to either let the current simulation conclude on its own or I would have to overload the entire emitter grid.”
“If we let the simulation conclude on its own, Sollik, our operations and tactical officers could wind up dead!,” the captain exclaimed. “What exactly happens when you overload the grid?”
“That’s our problem, sir? By doing that, the overload would kill anybody inside the holodeck within seconds. They would be vaporized.”
Ewan felt a rush of blood to his head.
The only two options available to him involved the young couple winding up dead. Brilliant…
Letting his mind go automatic, he raced to find a third option. That had always been the way that he had been taught to think. His father had been one for making his own path. If you didn’t like A or B, son, then pick C.
If only he could have been here now, Ewan wished. He would know what to do. He would make C and show them the way … the way inside Holodeck One… Get inside Holodeck One… That was it!
“Jefferies Tubes,” he blurted out.
“Sir?”
“We’ll go in through the emergency Jefferies Tubes used to access the holodecks and retrieve Jason and Jim! We’ll split up and take two teams inside. Search and rescue. Get them out before you can overload the grid!”
“With the safety protocols offline, it would be suicide! Aren’t they fighting some kind of a war there? What if one of us winds being shot?”
“You’re handy with a phaser, Commander,” Llewellyn reminded him. “At least, that’s what your Starfleet record says. You’re on Team Two with Valerie. I’ll take Doctor Boswell, just in case one of them is already wounded. Find Ensign Morgan and stop him from carrying out his terrorist attack. Ensign Armstrong should be easier to find. Just follow the gunfire. Damnit, this is the only way! Do you think that I want to put my people in harm’s way? We’ve got to save them!”
“As chief engineer,” the Suliban grumbled as they departed from Engineering,” it’s my duty to tell you that holodecks are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Noted. Now, I never thought that I would be saying this, but let’s get weapons.”
Episode Twelve: “Safety”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Hole Nineteen: completed in three shots. Par. Game over.”
Quite impressed with her own skill, and having improved steadily since taking up gold, almost two years ago, Valerie Archer handed her putter back to the holographic caddy and removed her sun visor.
Holographic recreation of not, the simulation of Risa’s elite course was simply stunning to behold. The computer’s voice giving the score and speaking from nowhere was the only giveaway to being thousands of lightyears away from the real thing. With a sigh, the commander reminded herself to deactivate the automatic scorekeeping next time.
“Computer, end program.”
Watching the rolling greens of the golf course be replaced by the stark, cold grey walls of Holodeck One gave her a twinge of sadness upon leaving. As the large doors sealed behind her, she came across the next two users booked for some holodeck time.
“All set, gentlemen?”
“You bet,” Jason Armstrong grinned, playfully putting his arm around the shoulder of his boyfriend, Jim Morgan. “How was your game, Commander?”
“Like a little slice of shore leave. Let me guess. You’re going to entertain a running gun battle with some 20th-century terrorists in some large public place before defusing a tactical nuclear device with seconds to spare?”
Ensign Armstrong’s action B-movie holodeck programs were renowned throughout the crew of the USS Fortitude by now. This was the first time that he had managed to get holodeck time reserved with Ensign Morgan aboard, and he had stayed up most of the night, tweaking the latest scenario to write a decent part for his partner.
“Something like that,” he replied with a wink.
“There’s a twist, though,” Jim revealed, excited at the prospect of blowing stuff up, holographic or not. “I get to be the terrorist leader, and as Jason is the hero, we’ll let you know who wins later on this evening. Deal?”
“Deal. Well, I’ll let you boys get down to it.”
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49204.7;
It’s been six hours since I ordered the ship to fly into an oncoming ion storm to avoid the more dangerous neutronic wavefront passing nearby. Sensors indicate that the storm is one of the largest on record, and it’s going to take some time before we’ve managed to get clear on the other side.
Therefore, my crew is enjoying some much-deserved time to themselves. With little to do, I find myself relaxing for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.
Stretching and yawning in the captain’s chair, Ewan Llewellyn’s sterling determination to look professional on the Bridge at all times went out the nearest airlock. There was little reason for him to be present at the moment.
A few PADDs containing status reports were handed to him sporadically and he would nod and glance at them before handing them back with a few words of encouragement, but that wasn’t his reason for being here. With most of the Senior Staff doing their own thing elsewhere on the fifteen decks of Fortitude, he was free to indulge himself in the view.
The ion storm was quite something. A purple mass of swirling energy, punctuated by arcs of vicious lightning that seemed to extend forever. During the rare old thunderstorm back home in Swansea, he would press his nose up against the glass, watching the rain and hail for hours. It kept him in check with nature, reminding him of his own limitations and now for the first time, allowed him to reflect on his role as a Starfleet Captain.
Keeping calm in the storm, holding the ship steady. It was his duty, and so he watched… and yawned.
“Bored yet, sir?,” Arden Vuro asked from the helm, turning towards him with a grin.
“Not on your life, Lieutenant.”
“I was just wondering when you were thinking of leaving so I could stretch myself out and play captain for a while.”
“Sorry, my friend, but this seat’s taken.”
Suddenly, the storm became something a little more dangerous than simply a magnificent view. An alarm went off on Vuro’s console and returning his attention to the job at hand, he had to react fast. The danger was approaching rapidly and without even making a report, he took the initiative.
“Hang on!,” he cried out.
The Intrepid-class starship banked hard, looping through an entire rotation of 360 degrees to avoid a massive electromagnetic disruption in the stormfront. Inertial dampeners couldn’t keep up with the erratic evasive maneuver and Ewan gripped the arms of his command chair tightly as he felt his stomach loop with the ship.
Upon settling, he rose to his feet and joined Vuro at the helm, placing a hand on the Bolian’s shoulder. “Just showing off?,” he asked him.
“No, Captain. Sensors indicate that there was a huge disruption in the storm’s pattern, giving out incredible amounts of energy. It could have crushed us.”
“In that case, nice flying. Any damage?”
“Checking. It looks like something struck the shields. There’s some kind of feedback surge working its way through the emitters. I’m trying to isolate it. Hold on… Damn, no effect!”
“Bridge to Engineering!,” Llewellyn shouted, tapping his combadge. “Sollik, we’re reading a massive energy pulse moving through the ODN relays up here. Is there anything you can do to stop it?”
“Negative, sir!,” the Suliban replied with slight panic in his tone. “I’d recommend you stand away from any consoles!”
As if it was on cue, the operations console behind Ewan and Arden exploded, showering the crewman on duty with sparks and broken glass. Dazed, he rolled to one side as the flickering lights gave up and died. The mission operations console situated on the central railing behind the command chairs also similarly destroyed itself.
A few moments of silence passed by with Ewan’s wide eyes looking around the walls and ceiling of the Bridge. “Don’t you pull a suicide on me,” he muttered.
“Sollik to Bridge. That should be the worst of it now. I’ll tidy up the mess that we’ve got down here and get repair teams sent out as soon as possible. The energy feedback has burned itself out, but half of the terminals all over the ship have been lost.”
“Get me a full damage report within the hour,” Llewellyn ordered. “Bridge out.”
* * * *
On Holodeck One, Jason and Jim were blissfully unaware of the drama that was unfolding outside in the real world. Jim’s terrorist organization was preparing to deploy a deadly nerve gas in a downtown Los Angeles shopping mall, while Jason who was portraying a United States government anti-terrorist agent circa 2008, had picked up a fresh lead on his boyfriend’s… no, in this scenario, his adversary’s whereabouts.
There was no indication whatsoever that the holodeck had locked itself down due to the strange energy surge. Since nobody had started shooting any bullets yet, there was no warning that the safety protocols had been disengaged.
That would change.
* * * *
“Okay, what are we looking at here?”
Seat around the Briefing Room table, Llewellyn was joined by a dirty and concerned Sollik, a relieved Doctor Lynn Boswell, and as always, the trusty Valerie Archer. Together they were going through the list of damaged systems and trying to find the cause of the powerful and nearly fatal feedback surge.
The sensor data that Vuro had noticed upon avoiding the leviathan energy distortion in the storm’s wake had been lost when the sensor network overloaded and the mission operations console exploded. Piecing together the most probable explanation, Ewan had ordered Fortitude to full impulse to clear the ion storm quickly. It was a risky gamble opposed by Sollik but what else was new? Now, the task of assessing the state of the ship was their focus.
“Shields are holding at thirty-eight percent,” reported the Suliban as he wiped grease from his mottled green skin. “I’ll do what I can to transfer some more power once I’ve repaired the ODN relays. Meanwhile, sensors won’t be back online for, at least, two hours. Maybe more, so we’re currently flying on old readings.”
“I’ve treated twelve crew members for minor injuries, Captain,” Lynn added next. “A few of them were standing pretty close to computer terminals and I had to operate to remove glass from Crewman Miller’s face. Crewman Lewis is being kept overnight in Sickbay to recover from an energy burn to his neck. It could have been much worse.”
“Is that it?,” Ewan asked, his eyebrows raising. “Shields weakened, sensors offline, and a few crewmen treated in less than an hour? I suppose we should count ourselves lucky.”
“Actually, sir,” Archer interrupted him,” this is one other system. I checked and after the evasive maneuvers, Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan failed to report to their stations. As senior officers, they’re supposed to. They were partaking in a holodeck simulation at the time and when I went down there to take a look, the doors refused to open. The computer locked me out of the holodeck controls.”
“Oh, great, the holodecks have gone wrong,” Sollik hissed. “How original…”
ACT TWO
Los Angeles, United States of America, Earth
June 2008
16:35 on a peaceful Saturday afternoon.
Jim was crouched down in the back of a large Chevrolet Express van, listening intently to a small radio earpiece while two of his terrorist counterparts loaded AK-47 assault rifles. It was an odd sensation, working for the ‘bad guys’ but Fortitude’s tactical officer didn’t mind it that much. Given the scenario, to get to that fun competitive edge that he and Jason wanted, somebody had to be, and it wasn’t like he was actually going to try and murder innocent civilians. Just holographic recreations. The morality was murky but he balanced it with the knowledge that everything that he did in the real world outside of Holodeck One was for the cause of good.
The van was parked in a space belonging to the Sunrise Hills shopping mall. Jason had created the location based on an ancient form of Earth entertainment. Inspiration that had struck him from something called a television show, whatever that was. He didn’t share his boyfriend’s passion for the time period.
While reading about the Eugenics Wars at school, the young Ensign Morgan had decided that it was a barbaric and corrupt time. Although now, taking part in this little game, he felt his adrenaline rise, simulation or not. It was helping him to better understand his partner after all.
His earpiece crackled.
Two other men who were working for him had entered the shopping mall posing as regular members of the public. They carried a canister of deadly nerve gas with them and they were heading for the ventilation room to disperse it throughout the facility and infect as many shoppers as possible.
Jim hadn’t read his roleplaying profile properly, the previous evening and he had a limited idea of what exactly he was undertaking for this terrorist attack. Something to do with a Jihad, whatever that was. Despite his Indian heritage, he only spoke Federation Standard and he was useless when it came to other languages.
Thank goodness for Universal Translators.
They were due to have the work finished by seventeen hundred hours. It was almost closing time for the Sunrise Hills mall, and it would strike most people as they used the large congregational areas to conclude their day’s shopping and meet with other family members upon leaving to return to their homes.
Hearing the click of an ammunition clip behind him, Morgan ignored it. If he had known that the safety protocols of Holodeck One were inactive, and therefore those holographic bullets were now deadly, he might have paid a little more attention. As it was, he simply loaded his own Walther P999S 9mm handgun in the fashion that Jason had shown him and wondered if he would be shooting his boyfriend today.
* * * *
“What options do we have?”
In Engineering, back in the twenty-fourth century, Llewellyn and Sollik were hunched over a diagnostic console trying to find a way of shutting down the holodeck and retrieve Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan from their simulation gone awry. Given the nature of the game that they were playing, and given that the chief engineer had determined that the safety protocols were offline, time was running perilously short.
“All of the control relays are fused,” he observed. “The energy surge melted everything, and since it was running at the time, it’s been melted into the ‘active’ position. There’s no simple shutdown command anymore.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the only way to end the program is to either let the current simulation conclude on its own or I would have to overload the entire emitter grid.”
“If we let the simulation conclude on its own, Sollik, our operations and tactical officers could wind up dead!,” the captain exclaimed. “What exactly happens when you overload the grid?”
“That’s our problem, sir? By doing that, the overload would kill anybody inside the holodeck within seconds. They would be vaporized.”
Ewan felt a rush of blood to his head.
The only two options available to him involved the young couple winding up dead. Brilliant…
Letting his mind go automatic, he raced to find a third option. That had always been the way that he had been taught to think. His father had been one for making his own path. If you didn’t like A or B, son, then pick C.
If only he could have been here now, Ewan wished. He would know what to do. He would make C and show them the way … the way inside Holodeck One… Get inside Holodeck One… That was it!
“Jefferies Tubes,” he blurted out.
“Sir?”
“We’ll go in through the emergency Jefferies Tubes used to access the holodecks and retrieve Jason and Jim! We’ll split up and take two teams inside. Search and rescue. Get them out before you can overload the grid!”
“With the safety protocols offline, it would be suicide! Aren’t they fighting some kind of a war there? What if one of us winds being shot?”
“You’re handy with a phaser, Commander,” Llewellyn reminded him. “At least, that’s what your Starfleet record says. You’re on Team Two with Valerie. I’ll take Doctor Boswell, just in case one of them is already wounded. Find Ensign Morgan and stop him from carrying out his terrorist attack. Ensign Armstrong should be easier to find. Just follow the gunfire. Damnit, this is the only way! Do you think that I want to put my people in harm’s way? We’ve got to save them!”
“As chief engineer,” the Suliban grumbled as they departed from Engineering,” it’s my duty to tell you that holodecks are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Noted. Now, I never thought that I would be saying this, but let’s get weapons.”
ACT THREE
Los Angeles, United States of America, Earth.
June 2008
16:58 on a chaotic Saturday afternoon.
Ducking back behind a decorative flower pot, Jason Armstrong reloaded his USP handgun and prepared to return fire. In his capacity as an anti-terrorism agent working for the United States government, he had managed to track three members of Jim’s terrorist cell to the Sunrise Hills shopping mall downtown.
Thinking quickly, he had smashed a fire alarm to perpetuate an evacuation of the innocent civilians who were caught up in last-minute purchases and the ritual of reuniting with family members for the drive home. It had tripped his hand, of course, and the three terrorists opened fire immediately. Two of his SWAT team colleagues had gone down in a hail of bullets in the first volley.
Luckily, Jason had found some cover. It was simply playing along with the scenario that he had written. Thankfully, it had also saved him from the holographic gunfire. Without the holographic safety protocols, it would have killed him.
In between the shouting, the shooting, and the screaming, a new noise filled the simulation.
Was that? No, no way! He hadn’t programmed that!”
Brushing aside his dirty blonde hair to get a clear line of sight, Jason peered over towards the three terrorists to see an amber beam of phased energy strike and dissolve one of them. The remaining two men turned to fire at the source of the beam, but they were quickly cut down. Who the hell had phasers here?!
“Ensign Armstrong?!,” called out a familiar voice. “Please put down your weapons and step out where we can see you!”
Getting to his feet and dropping his USP, Armstrong saw Commander Valerie Archer and Doctor Lynn Boswell appear from behind a series of stores. They were wearing their Starfleet uniforms, armed with Type-2 hand phasers and they were definitely not here to play along with the game.
“Commander?!,” he exclaimed, taken aback by their sudden appearance. “What’s going on?”
“It would take too long to explain,” Archer replied, ignoring the strange looks from the SWAT team standing alongside the young operations officer. “The holodeck is malfunctioning and the program is fused. To make matters worse, the safety protocols are offline. Don’t worry. It’s nothing that you’ve done. Sollik is preparing to overload the grid but we have to get you and Jim out of here first. Where is he?”
“You mean, I could have been--”
“Killed? Yes Once we’re out of here, remind me to recommend a nice beginner’s course in golf. Ensign, Jim - where is he?”
“Oh my God!,” Jason gasped after a second when the shock had reverberated throughout his system. “Jim’s the terrorist leader. He could be shot and killed!”
“Any ideas where to find him?,” Lynn asked him, holstering her phaser and repeating the request for information. It was tough to break through the mindset of the program, to introduce so many new factors to the poor man, and to reveal the reality that his supposedly-innocent holodeck simulation could kill his boyfriend.
“Uh, probably in the parking lot out front. His men are using a large van to get around. We were supposed to have a car chase later…”
“Tricorder,” Valerie ordered, turning towards the doctor.
“Got it. Yep, he’s still alive inside the simulation, due west,” Lynn nodded, reading from her tricorder’s display.
“Archer to Llewellyn,” the commander said next, tapping her combadge. “We’ve secured Ensign Armstrong but Ensign Morgan is still out there. He appears to be in the parking lot of the Sunrise Hills mall. Can you get there?”
“We’re nearby,” the captain replied, a second later,” trying to get a layout of the simulation. Can you join us there?”
“On our way. Archer out.”
“Damnit, if anything happens to him…,” Jason mumbled.
“You’re the anti-terrorism agent,” Boswell noted with some irony. “It looks like you’re going to get to capture him for real.”
* * * *
Llewellyn saw him first.
He and Sollik had been too busy staring at their tricorders, tracking Jim Morgan’s biosigns throughout the expansive program. The annoying reality was that he was probably meters away from them at all times, but the nature of holographic simulations meant that it did little good. With the complexity of energy barriers, replicated matter, and computer-generated characters, it was like searching through a dense forest at night time.
The captain was thanking any God of deity that would listen that he wasn’t a fan of the holodeck, despite the advice of many counselors and friends.
“There,” he said, pointing. “That vehicle over there, the white one. Do you see it?”
Blinking through the bright orange sunlight that bathed the parking lot, Sollik focused his piercing yellow eyes on where Ewan was pointing. “Yes,” he finally replied,” I’m reading Ensign Morgan inside, along with two other simulated characters. They’re most likely ‘terrorists’ from what we’ve been told about this program. Sir… I have a stun grenade.”
“You’re asking a pacifist if he wants to blow his own officer out of the vehicle? Forget it, Sollik. We’ll do this my way. If that fails, well, by all means, go crazy.”
“Go… crazy?”
“A Human expression, Sollik. Sorry. It means you can indulge yourself.”
“I shall hold you to that, Captain,” muttered the Suliban.
Together, they slowly approached the Chevrolet Express with phasers holstered and hands outstretched in a signal of peaceful surrender. One wrong move, one holographic bullet, and all of them stopped being a game.
* * * *
“What the--”
His simulated colleagues started chattering wildly as Jim leaned forward, frowning out of the front window of the van. Right there, outside of the van were Captain Llewellyn and Lieutenant Commander Sollik.
They were inside Holodeck One? Inside the program?
No way! Not in a Vulcan’s lifespan! Why would they be here?
The tactical officer mentally jumped to the wrong conclusion as he physically jumped from the rear of the van and dashed around the side to face the new arrivals. He took out his Walther P99S and aimed it directly at the Captain’s forehead, a grin across his face.
Sollik immediately reacted by drawing his phaser, knowing the hidden danger. At the moment, Jim couldn’t even comprehend what was going on.
“No, wait! No, Ensign, stop!,” Llewellyn shouted with his hands still raised. “It’s really me, Jim. It’s me, Captain Llewellyn! Please… lower your weapon!”
“I should have known that Jason would do something like this!,” the young man chuckled, his dark hair blowing in the artificial breeze. “He hates to lose. He told me that there were a few surprises in this program! I have to say that he’s done a nice job on you, Captain. A very nice job! Oh, Sollik… I mean, holographic Sollik, put that phaser away!”
“If you shoot me, you’ll kill me!,” Ewan barked, panic settling into his voice. “I’m real, not a trick put in by Jason! We had an energy surge. It fused the holodeck controls. Listen to me! The safety protocols are offline! If you shoot me, you’ll kill me!”
“He’s telling the truth,” Sollik hissed, his green finger tensing on the trigger. “I have to overload the grid to end the program, but we have to get you out first. Although if you make things difficult, I certainly won’t miss you.”
That statement made Jim pause for a moment. It was true that he and Sollik hardly got along, and while Jason knew about the undercurrent of mistrust, would he have spent so much time on making the fake chief engineer that good?
This would only serve as a momentary distraction. At best, there would be enough time for a sneak attack on the terrorists. He cautiously gazed around the parking lot, expecting an LAPD SWAT team to appear out for nowhere, for the Captain and Sollik to dissolve away, and for Jason to gloat over his victory.
Nothing.
There was nothing whatsoever.
What if they were telling the truth?
“Breakfast.”
“I’m sorry?”
“At breakfast on your first day aboard Fortitude,” the captain said,” we spoke about relationships and I told you that you could always be bold. Be bold now, Jim. put the weapon down and trust us, please!”
The Walther P99S in his grip wavered. Cautiously, it started to fall out of his hand.
Wasting no time, and frustrated that it had taken this long, Sollik stunned him with a blast to the chest.
“Why do you do that?!,” Ewan yelled, wheeling towards his subordinate.
Before he had a chance to give him an answer, the Suliban screamed as a holographic bullet lodged itself in his right arm with blood spurting through the air and spilling onto the tarmac. The two terrorists inside the van opened fire, shattered the windscreen in an attempt to kill the strange men who had just incapacitated their leader.
Diving for Sollik without even thinking about his own safety, Llewellyn pushed him to the ground and placed a spare hand protectively over the unconscious head of Jim Morgan as the AK-47 weapons fire drowned out the whimpers of the injured engineer. The noise paused, and he knew what was coming. They would be climbing out of the van now, walking around the side to finish the job. Grabbing his phaser with his blood-soaked hand, blood-soaked from seizing Sollik’s arm, he prepared to defend his officers.
Suddenly, two powerful gunshots rang out through the air.
The holographic terrorists fell.
“Jim!”
Jason Armstrong ran forward, lowering his USP handgun and joining the three men sprawled out on the tarmac of the Sunrise Hills shopping mall parking lot. His face was a pure example of guilty terror.
“He’s fine,” Ewan told him. Stunned, but fine. Sollik’s been shot!”
Almost as if on cue, Doctor Boswell and Commander Archer ran from the entrance to the shopping mall and headed for the small group. Upon reaching Sollik, Lynn opened up her medkit and started to scan the bullet wound in his arm. Valerie looked at Ewan and sighed. He looked at Jason, cradling his boyfriend’s head in his arms.
EPILOGUE
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After some outstanding piloting skills performed on the part of Lieutenant Arden Vuro, we’ve cleared the ion storm. Unfortunately, the energy surge caused major systems damage, not to mention the successful overload of Holodeck One which is beyond repair. To that end, we’ve reversed course and we’re heading back to Starbase 499 for a maintenance overhaul.
In the meantime, I’ve allowed Ensign Armstrong and Morgan some time off-duty to recover from their experience in the terrorist simulation. Their relationship serves as a constant reminder that being young and reckless isn’t certainly dull, but it has almost reminded me that the social activities of the crew will sometimes require regulation to save us from future crises.
One final note -- Chief Engineer Sollik is recovering from his wounds in Sickbay. He had assured me that he isn’t holding a grudge against Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan for writing the program that nearly ended his life. Whether that assurance remains true is to be seen. For now, I’m pleased to report that we’ve emerged from this most recent of dramatic turns otherwise unscathed. The ship can be repaired, and relationships can be mended over time. In my book… this is a definite success.
The End.
Los Angeles, United States of America, Earth.
June 2008
16:58 on a chaotic Saturday afternoon.
Ducking back behind a decorative flower pot, Jason Armstrong reloaded his USP handgun and prepared to return fire. In his capacity as an anti-terrorism agent working for the United States government, he had managed to track three members of Jim’s terrorist cell to the Sunrise Hills shopping mall downtown.
Thinking quickly, he had smashed a fire alarm to perpetuate an evacuation of the innocent civilians who were caught up in last-minute purchases and the ritual of reuniting with family members for the drive home. It had tripped his hand, of course, and the three terrorists opened fire immediately. Two of his SWAT team colleagues had gone down in a hail of bullets in the first volley.
Luckily, Jason had found some cover. It was simply playing along with the scenario that he had written. Thankfully, it had also saved him from the holographic gunfire. Without the holographic safety protocols, it would have killed him.
In between the shouting, the shooting, and the screaming, a new noise filled the simulation.
Was that? No, no way! He hadn’t programmed that!”
Brushing aside his dirty blonde hair to get a clear line of sight, Jason peered over towards the three terrorists to see an amber beam of phased energy strike and dissolve one of them. The remaining two men turned to fire at the source of the beam, but they were quickly cut down. Who the hell had phasers here?!
“Ensign Armstrong?!,” called out a familiar voice. “Please put down your weapons and step out where we can see you!”
Getting to his feet and dropping his USP, Armstrong saw Commander Valerie Archer and Doctor Lynn Boswell appear from behind a series of stores. They were wearing their Starfleet uniforms, armed with Type-2 hand phasers and they were definitely not here to play along with the game.
“Commander?!,” he exclaimed, taken aback by their sudden appearance. “What’s going on?”
“It would take too long to explain,” Archer replied, ignoring the strange looks from the SWAT team standing alongside the young operations officer. “The holodeck is malfunctioning and the program is fused. To make matters worse, the safety protocols are offline. Don’t worry. It’s nothing that you’ve done. Sollik is preparing to overload the grid but we have to get you and Jim out of here first. Where is he?”
“You mean, I could have been--”
“Killed? Yes Once we’re out of here, remind me to recommend a nice beginner’s course in golf. Ensign, Jim - where is he?”
“Oh my God!,” Jason gasped after a second when the shock had reverberated throughout his system. “Jim’s the terrorist leader. He could be shot and killed!”
“Any ideas where to find him?,” Lynn asked him, holstering her phaser and repeating the request for information. It was tough to break through the mindset of the program, to introduce so many new factors to the poor man, and to reveal the reality that his supposedly-innocent holodeck simulation could kill his boyfriend.
“Uh, probably in the parking lot out front. His men are using a large van to get around. We were supposed to have a car chase later…”
“Tricorder,” Valerie ordered, turning towards the doctor.
“Got it. Yep, he’s still alive inside the simulation, due west,” Lynn nodded, reading from her tricorder’s display.
“Archer to Llewellyn,” the commander said next, tapping her combadge. “We’ve secured Ensign Armstrong but Ensign Morgan is still out there. He appears to be in the parking lot of the Sunrise Hills mall. Can you get there?”
“We’re nearby,” the captain replied, a second later,” trying to get a layout of the simulation. Can you join us there?”
“On our way. Archer out.”
“Damnit, if anything happens to him…,” Jason mumbled.
“You’re the anti-terrorism agent,” Boswell noted with some irony. “It looks like you’re going to get to capture him for real.”
* * * *
Llewellyn saw him first.
He and Sollik had been too busy staring at their tricorders, tracking Jim Morgan’s biosigns throughout the expansive program. The annoying reality was that he was probably meters away from them at all times, but the nature of holographic simulations meant that it did little good. With the complexity of energy barriers, replicated matter, and computer-generated characters, it was like searching through a dense forest at night time.
The captain was thanking any God of deity that would listen that he wasn’t a fan of the holodeck, despite the advice of many counselors and friends.
“There,” he said, pointing. “That vehicle over there, the white one. Do you see it?”
Blinking through the bright orange sunlight that bathed the parking lot, Sollik focused his piercing yellow eyes on where Ewan was pointing. “Yes,” he finally replied,” I’m reading Ensign Morgan inside, along with two other simulated characters. They’re most likely ‘terrorists’ from what we’ve been told about this program. Sir… I have a stun grenade.”
“You’re asking a pacifist if he wants to blow his own officer out of the vehicle? Forget it, Sollik. We’ll do this my way. If that fails, well, by all means, go crazy.”
“Go… crazy?”
“A Human expression, Sollik. Sorry. It means you can indulge yourself.”
“I shall hold you to that, Captain,” muttered the Suliban.
Together, they slowly approached the Chevrolet Express with phasers holstered and hands outstretched in a signal of peaceful surrender. One wrong move, one holographic bullet, and all of them stopped being a game.
* * * *
“What the--”
His simulated colleagues started chattering wildly as Jim leaned forward, frowning out of the front window of the van. Right there, outside of the van were Captain Llewellyn and Lieutenant Commander Sollik.
They were inside Holodeck One? Inside the program?
No way! Not in a Vulcan’s lifespan! Why would they be here?
The tactical officer mentally jumped to the wrong conclusion as he physically jumped from the rear of the van and dashed around the side to face the new arrivals. He took out his Walther P99S and aimed it directly at the Captain’s forehead, a grin across his face.
Sollik immediately reacted by drawing his phaser, knowing the hidden danger. At the moment, Jim couldn’t even comprehend what was going on.
“No, wait! No, Ensign, stop!,” Llewellyn shouted with his hands still raised. “It’s really me, Jim. It’s me, Captain Llewellyn! Please… lower your weapon!”
“I should have known that Jason would do something like this!,” the young man chuckled, his dark hair blowing in the artificial breeze. “He hates to lose. He told me that there were a few surprises in this program! I have to say that he’s done a nice job on you, Captain. A very nice job! Oh, Sollik… I mean, holographic Sollik, put that phaser away!”
“If you shoot me, you’ll kill me!,” Ewan barked, panic settling into his voice. “I’m real, not a trick put in by Jason! We had an energy surge. It fused the holodeck controls. Listen to me! The safety protocols are offline! If you shoot me, you’ll kill me!”
“He’s telling the truth,” Sollik hissed, his green finger tensing on the trigger. “I have to overload the grid to end the program, but we have to get you out first. Although if you make things difficult, I certainly won’t miss you.”
That statement made Jim pause for a moment. It was true that he and Sollik hardly got along, and while Jason knew about the undercurrent of mistrust, would he have spent so much time on making the fake chief engineer that good?
This would only serve as a momentary distraction. At best, there would be enough time for a sneak attack on the terrorists. He cautiously gazed around the parking lot, expecting an LAPD SWAT team to appear out for nowhere, for the Captain and Sollik to dissolve away, and for Jason to gloat over his victory.
Nothing.
There was nothing whatsoever.
What if they were telling the truth?
“Breakfast.”
“I’m sorry?”
“At breakfast on your first day aboard Fortitude,” the captain said,” we spoke about relationships and I told you that you could always be bold. Be bold now, Jim. put the weapon down and trust us, please!”
The Walther P99S in his grip wavered. Cautiously, it started to fall out of his hand.
Wasting no time, and frustrated that it had taken this long, Sollik stunned him with a blast to the chest.
“Why do you do that?!,” Ewan yelled, wheeling towards his subordinate.
Before he had a chance to give him an answer, the Suliban screamed as a holographic bullet lodged itself in his right arm with blood spurting through the air and spilling onto the tarmac. The two terrorists inside the van opened fire, shattered the windscreen in an attempt to kill the strange men who had just incapacitated their leader.
Diving for Sollik without even thinking about his own safety, Llewellyn pushed him to the ground and placed a spare hand protectively over the unconscious head of Jim Morgan as the AK-47 weapons fire drowned out the whimpers of the injured engineer. The noise paused, and he knew what was coming. They would be climbing out of the van now, walking around the side to finish the job. Grabbing his phaser with his blood-soaked hand, blood-soaked from seizing Sollik’s arm, he prepared to defend his officers.
Suddenly, two powerful gunshots rang out through the air.
The holographic terrorists fell.
“Jim!”
Jason Armstrong ran forward, lowering his USP handgun and joining the three men sprawled out on the tarmac of the Sunrise Hills shopping mall parking lot. His face was a pure example of guilty terror.
“He’s fine,” Ewan told him. Stunned, but fine. Sollik’s been shot!”
Almost as if on cue, Doctor Boswell and Commander Archer ran from the entrance to the shopping mall and headed for the small group. Upon reaching Sollik, Lynn opened up her medkit and started to scan the bullet wound in his arm. Valerie looked at Ewan and sighed. He looked at Jason, cradling his boyfriend’s head in his arms.
EPILOGUE
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
After some outstanding piloting skills performed on the part of Lieutenant Arden Vuro, we’ve cleared the ion storm. Unfortunately, the energy surge caused major systems damage, not to mention the successful overload of Holodeck One which is beyond repair. To that end, we’ve reversed course and we’re heading back to Starbase 499 for a maintenance overhaul.
In the meantime, I’ve allowed Ensign Armstrong and Morgan some time off-duty to recover from their experience in the terrorist simulation. Their relationship serves as a constant reminder that being young and reckless isn’t certainly dull, but it has almost reminded me that the social activities of the crew will sometimes require regulation to save us from future crises.
One final note -- Chief Engineer Sollik is recovering from his wounds in Sickbay. He had assured me that he isn’t holding a grudge against Ensigns Armstrong and Morgan for writing the program that nearly ended his life. Whether that assurance remains true is to be seen. For now, I’m pleased to report that we’ve emerged from this most recent of dramatic turns otherwise unscathed. The ship can be repaired, and relationships can be mended over time. In my book… this is a definite success.
The End.
Star Trek: Fortitude
Episode Thirteen: “The End, Part One”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“You win again, Boxer…”
Helpless in the face of inevitable defeat, Erica Martinez considered calling it a night. For the fifth time in a row, Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore scooped up the chips from the center of the table, chuckling at his master of blackjack.
Alone together in his office, they had decided upon playing a few hands after receiving a long-range subspace transmission from the USS Fortitude. They were returning to Starbase 499 for repairs and Erica knew that she would end up playing cards with Captain Ewan Llewellyn and some practice was required. It was a shame that it hadn’t gone better for her.
“Don’t feel bad, my dear,” the rear admiral grinned from behind his grey beard, chuckling as he stacked his chips. “Ewan can’t even beat me yet.”
“As long as I can beat Ewan, Boxer,” the Latina winked at him.
“Damn, you must really like him? Come on, there are no secrets here, Erica.”
She sighed a heavy sigh, realizing that sooner or later, she would have to face the truth and face him with her feelings. Yes, she liked Captain Llewellyn. She liked him a lot, and despite several advances, she had never gotten beyond his charming exterior.
There was one possibility, of course. Another woman.
Through her discussions with the Fortitude’s Senior Staff, Erica had learned that Ewan relied heavily on Commander Valerie Archer for moral and technical support. Could that be what was stopping all of this?
“I just get the feeling that it’s a doomed idea,” the Station Master admitted to her commanding officer candidly. “I mean, he’s hardly here, zooming around the Beta Quadrant with his starship, meeting new races, and here I sit, running a starbase. Hardly a perfect match, wouldn’t you say?”
“If it's meant to be,” Blackmore comforted her,” then all of that won’t matter.”
“Station Master’s Office to Station Master Martinez,” interrupted the communications system.
“Go ahead, SMO,” she answered. “I’m here.”
“Long-range sensors have detected a large fleet of vessels incoming. Their estimated time of arrival is three hours. Ma’am, you’re going to want to get up here.”
Oh, what was it now?
ACT ONE
Stepping out of his Ready Room and onto the Bridge of the USS Fortitude, Captain Llewellyn wasn’t, at that moment, expecting anything to drag him away from his current book. They were on course for Starbase 499, and due for repairs after the energy surge that had crippled the interior workings of his ship, the road home was a relatively uneventful backtracking and nothing more.
“Report,” he spoke to nobody in particular.
“Captain, we’re receiving a distress call,” Jason Armstrong answered him from the Ops position at the rear of the Bridge. “The carrier wave is degrading but I think I can get a fix on it. Sir… it’s Pekeni.”
“Are you sure?,” confirmed Valerie Archer, rising to her feet and standing beside her captain.
All of them remembered the tragedy of the stricken race that they had encountered. It had been their only proper First Contact scenario tinted with the sorrow of a world pummelled to near-defeat by the relentless enemy known only as the End. Llewellyn and his crew knew of them. The End were why they were out here in the first place. They were responsible for devastating Starbase 499 and that fateful cry for assistance that pushed the USS Fortitude out of Utopia Planitia early.
“Confirmed. It’s a Pekeni distress call, bearing at two-one-two, mark four-seven,” Jason nodded, knowing that everybody on the Bridge was staring at him. “It repeats a single message over and over… nothing more.”
“Let’s hear it,” Ewan ordered, letting his eyes wander as his eyes took over.
“Under attack! Ruthless destruction! On fire… need assistance! Please, if anybody can hear this message… We are under attack!”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?,” Valerie asked him, voicing her immediate concern as soon as the distorted panic-laded request started to repeat itself and Armstrong killed the audio feed.
Llewellyn didn’t need to answer. Everyone was thinking about it. He felt his stomach lurch, remembering his moral struggle when Primary Iraka of the Pekeni begged him for the technology to fight against the End threat and defend the innocent women and children being slaughtered by the barrage of fighters.
Taking his place in the command chair, which always made him feel slightly more secure, the captain arched his fingers and made the only decision that his conscience would allow.
“Helm, lay in a course to Peken, maximum warp.”
* * * *
The Pekeni capital city was no more.
There were only vague indications that a civilization had once existed here. A few walls from a few buildings remained standing, although in their defiance, they had started to weaken and crumble upon themselves. They would eventually join the mass of rubble and twisted metal on the ground, burying the layer of mutilated corpses beneath them. An entire race had been wiped out by those grown for conquest and for no other reason than being an easy target for the ruthless and the evil.
The sky was filled with ash and dust. Several ruptured gas pipes still burned and one of the defiant walls fell at the same time as four shimmering blue transporter beams materialized in what used to be the main plaza. Once the pillars of energy became the Fortitude away team, they witnessed the sheer horror of the Pekeni.
Joined by Ensign Jim Morgan and Doctor Lynn Boswell, Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer felt their hearts sink.
“Oh my God,” whispered Valerie.
“It looks like they didn’t stand a chance,” Morgan observed, stepping over a chuck of a stone column as he opened his tricorder and began scanning. “Just as we suspected, sir. These weapons signatures are End. There’s no doubt about it.”
“They murdered all of them…” Boswell shook her head in disgust. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help here, Captain. I can’t resurrect the dead.”
Ewan was barely listening to anyone. He felt like breaking down and letting go of the tears that he realized were fighting to escape. Primary Iraka had greeted him, right here, on this spot and initiated First Contact with the United Federation of Planets, a political alliance that was supposed to strengthen those involved, unify alien races, and work together in the common cause of galactic peace. His eyes were stinging as he glared at all of the destruction. It took a moment for his mind to even allow him to register the sight of the dead bodies strewn around them.
Lynn had mentioned the dead. What did she say? Damn… he cursed himself as he returned to being the captain, burying his own pain.
“We received a distress signal, Doctor,” he finally replied, obviously flustered. “Distress signals don’t send themselves. There might be survivors. Ensign Morgan, can you get a fix on the source of the transmission?”
“A basement, about eighty meters due east. Follow me.”
The rest of the away team followed him, and they were soon standing in a darkened chamber with walls of stone and a partially collapsed ceiling. Flickering madly in the deepest shadow was the source of the distress signal.
Shining her wrist-mounted palm beacon towards it, Archer gasped as she drew her hand to her mouth. For all of her battle-hardened resolve and steady guidance, she was still Human. The rest of the away team shared in her shock.
The transmitter console was stuck in a feedback loop. The Pekeni citizen who had sent the message was long since dead. A large metal support beam was sticking through his crumpled chest, soaked in blood. His hand rested on the transmit button, forcing the circuits underneath his body to repeat the call over and over. The white illumination from the commander’s palm beacon danced over the gruesome spectacle as it lowered out of respect but Ewan felt his limbs start to move.
Climbing over to the console, he carefully and tenderly moved the hand of the dead man away from the transmit button, ceasing the distress signal.
“It’s all right,” he whispered to the corpse. “We’re here now. You did a good job, sir. We’re here now. Well done. We’re here.”
Behind him, Boswell was crying.
Suddenly, his combadge interrupted the moment. “Fortitude to Captain Llewellyn!,” a voice shouted from it.
“Go ahead,” responded the captain.
“Sir, sensors have detected an End battle cruiser in orbit on the far side of the planet and I’m pretty sure that it’s detected us. Shall I beam you up?”
“Absolutely,” Llewellyn growled, turning back to his away team with a furious and burning desire for justice, his pacifism be damned. “They’re going to pay for this!”
ACT TWO
“Red Alert! Shields up!”
Marching onto the Bridge, Morgan and Archer took their stations as Llewellyn walked directly over to the helm and leaned over Arden Vuro’s shoulders, watching the scanners show the incoming End battle cruiser. The Bolian helmsman noticed his expression with concern. The Welshman was enraged, seething with anger towards the advancing enemy.
Was the surface really that bad?
Had it been a mass slaughter of the innocent, just as they feared that it would be?
“What are we dealing with here?,” Ewan asked, posing his own question out loud.
“Crew complement of twenty-four,” Ensign Armstrong began to read from his Ops display. “It looks like a medium-range support craft, comparable to a Miranda-class starship.
“Tactical analysis, Ensign Morgan?,” Commander Archer demanded.
“Six high-powered disruptor banks and a single torpedo tube, Commander. All fully armed, but it’s nothing we can’t handle, sir. They do have shields.”
“Here they come!,” Vuro cried out, banking the Fortitude hard to port.
What followed was a short dance between the stars, skipping over the atmosphere of the deceased planet below them. The dirty brown plating of the End vessel was a clear antithesis for the shining silver of the Intrepid-class starship. Even the colors of the energy beams that flew between them were mirrored.
Jim was correct in his prediction and soon the End battle cruiser had no shields to speak of. That was the standard tactic for a race grown for battle. The sheer number of fighters in a squadron meant little shielding was required. Everything was finely honed for invasion and fleet battles. Left behind to pick away at the stragglers of the Pekeni world, this vessel was no match for Fortitude and her powerful Type-X phaser banks.
“Their shields are down!,” Jim shouted as the deck beneath his feet shook.
“Swing about and target their engines and weapon systems,” Llewellyn ordered, getting the hang of interstellar combat. “Get them right where we want them!”
“Sir, I’m picking up some kind of energy surge!,” a worried Jason was next to report, brushing his blonde hair aside. “If I’m reading this correctly, it’s some kind of transporter beam, but I’ve never seen anything so powerful before! I think, sir… It’s scattered out starboard shields! They’re beaming soldiers aboard!”
“What in the name of--!,” Ewan shouted in desperation.
A new alert klaxon replaced the regular cacophony of battle. It was the intruder alert signal and it echoed through Fortitude with chilling precision.
“Confirmed, sir,” Ensign Morgan barked from Tactical. “I have End biosigns on Decks Thirteen, Eight, Three, and--”
Before he could finish his warning, the doors to the Briefing Room on the port side of the Bridge burst open and a pair of screaming bipeds thrust forward. Their skin was yellow and cracked, with their dull-colored uniforms familiar to everyone present, and they were brandishing weapons.
The End was aboard Fortitude.
With reactions that even surprised himself, Jason Armstrong grabbed his emergency phaser and opened fire. He struck the second intruder square in the chest, causing him to crumple to the deck with a cry of anguish. In retaliation, the remaining End soldier returned fire with a shot of his own weapon. Mercifully, the young ensign managed to duck and his large LCARS display shattered over his head, slicing his skin superficially but otherwise, causing no physical damage.
Being the next closest officer, Archer reached for a phaser of her own, but before she could even get a hold of it, she was aware of somebody rushing past her. In shock, she watched aghast as Captain Llewellyn literally threw himself at the End soldier, smashing him to the floor and landing a perfect punch to the alien’s jaw. The hideous visage staring back at the captain, snarled with animalistic wrath, struggling for control of the disruptor between them, its cracked skin appearing to disintegrate as they fought.
Ewan was focused on one single goal. He loathed this murderous creature. He wanted it dead and off of his Bridge.
Rolling to one side, he found himself underneath the End soldier with bits of decaying yellow skin falling into his otherwise smooth dark hair and across his dashing features. Suddenly a phaser blast was heard and the intruder went limp.
Lowering her phaser, Valerie Archer moved to his side to help her captain to his feet. “Do you think that was wise?,” she asked him, disapprovingly.
“No, but it made me feel a whole lot better,” retorted the Welshman. “Jim, get security teams throughout the ship. Order them to shoot any End soldier on sight and to defend all critical areas.”
“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer slowly nodded, in awe of the fight that he had just witnessed and the bravery of Ewan Llewellyn.
* * * *
Engineering was a battlefield.
Using one of the central consoles as cover and bathed in the glow of the warp core behind him, Lieutenant Commander Sollik gritted his teeth as he returned fire.
There were six of them, all of them trying to pour through the main doors. With seven engineers on duty at the time of the invasion, the Suliban had the upper hand. He was just grateful for the seconds he had needed to activate a Level-Ten force field around the core.
Another disruptor blast came his way, missed, and bounced off of the energy barrier behind him. If he hadn’t been thinking quickly enough, that shot and all of the others would have ruptured the core and this fight would have been over real quick.
Aiming with care, he shot one of the End soldiers, grinning at his own success as he watched the attacker fall onto one of his own comrades. Using the confusion to his advantage, he fired again, taking them both down.
A brief exchange of weapons fire later, a loud explosion came from the direction of the main doors and it was heard by the Starfleet officers. Peering cautiously towards the source of the eruption, Sollik saw a security team sweep into Engineering after they had successfully used a stun grenade on the unsuspecting End boarding party.
Getting to his feet and discarding his sidearm, the chief engineer waved them a friendly and grateful salute before he checked over his people. Surprisingly, everyone was unharmed.
“Lucky us,” he hissed.
Episode Thirteen: “The End, Part One”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“You win again, Boxer…”
Helpless in the face of inevitable defeat, Erica Martinez considered calling it a night. For the fifth time in a row, Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore scooped up the chips from the center of the table, chuckling at his master of blackjack.
Alone together in his office, they had decided upon playing a few hands after receiving a long-range subspace transmission from the USS Fortitude. They were returning to Starbase 499 for repairs and Erica knew that she would end up playing cards with Captain Ewan Llewellyn and some practice was required. It was a shame that it hadn’t gone better for her.
“Don’t feel bad, my dear,” the rear admiral grinned from behind his grey beard, chuckling as he stacked his chips. “Ewan can’t even beat me yet.”
“As long as I can beat Ewan, Boxer,” the Latina winked at him.
“Damn, you must really like him? Come on, there are no secrets here, Erica.”
She sighed a heavy sigh, realizing that sooner or later, she would have to face the truth and face him with her feelings. Yes, she liked Captain Llewellyn. She liked him a lot, and despite several advances, she had never gotten beyond his charming exterior.
There was one possibility, of course. Another woman.
Through her discussions with the Fortitude’s Senior Staff, Erica had learned that Ewan relied heavily on Commander Valerie Archer for moral and technical support. Could that be what was stopping all of this?
“I just get the feeling that it’s a doomed idea,” the Station Master admitted to her commanding officer candidly. “I mean, he’s hardly here, zooming around the Beta Quadrant with his starship, meeting new races, and here I sit, running a starbase. Hardly a perfect match, wouldn’t you say?”
“If it's meant to be,” Blackmore comforted her,” then all of that won’t matter.”
“Station Master’s Office to Station Master Martinez,” interrupted the communications system.
“Go ahead, SMO,” she answered. “I’m here.”
“Long-range sensors have detected a large fleet of vessels incoming. Their estimated time of arrival is three hours. Ma’am, you’re going to want to get up here.”
Oh, what was it now?
ACT ONE
Stepping out of his Ready Room and onto the Bridge of the USS Fortitude, Captain Llewellyn wasn’t, at that moment, expecting anything to drag him away from his current book. They were on course for Starbase 499, and due for repairs after the energy surge that had crippled the interior workings of his ship, the road home was a relatively uneventful backtracking and nothing more.
“Report,” he spoke to nobody in particular.
“Captain, we’re receiving a distress call,” Jason Armstrong answered him from the Ops position at the rear of the Bridge. “The carrier wave is degrading but I think I can get a fix on it. Sir… it’s Pekeni.”
“Are you sure?,” confirmed Valerie Archer, rising to her feet and standing beside her captain.
All of them remembered the tragedy of the stricken race that they had encountered. It had been their only proper First Contact scenario tinted with the sorrow of a world pummelled to near-defeat by the relentless enemy known only as the End. Llewellyn and his crew knew of them. The End were why they were out here in the first place. They were responsible for devastating Starbase 499 and that fateful cry for assistance that pushed the USS Fortitude out of Utopia Planitia early.
“Confirmed. It’s a Pekeni distress call, bearing at two-one-two, mark four-seven,” Jason nodded, knowing that everybody on the Bridge was staring at him. “It repeats a single message over and over… nothing more.”
“Let’s hear it,” Ewan ordered, letting his eyes wander as his eyes took over.
“Under attack! Ruthless destruction! On fire… need assistance! Please, if anybody can hear this message… We are under attack!”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?,” Valerie asked him, voicing her immediate concern as soon as the distorted panic-laded request started to repeat itself and Armstrong killed the audio feed.
Llewellyn didn’t need to answer. Everyone was thinking about it. He felt his stomach lurch, remembering his moral struggle when Primary Iraka of the Pekeni begged him for the technology to fight against the End threat and defend the innocent women and children being slaughtered by the barrage of fighters.
Taking his place in the command chair, which always made him feel slightly more secure, the captain arched his fingers and made the only decision that his conscience would allow.
“Helm, lay in a course to Peken, maximum warp.”
* * * *
The Pekeni capital city was no more.
There were only vague indications that a civilization had once existed here. A few walls from a few buildings remained standing, although in their defiance, they had started to weaken and crumble upon themselves. They would eventually join the mass of rubble and twisted metal on the ground, burying the layer of mutilated corpses beneath them. An entire race had been wiped out by those grown for conquest and for no other reason than being an easy target for the ruthless and the evil.
The sky was filled with ash and dust. Several ruptured gas pipes still burned and one of the defiant walls fell at the same time as four shimmering blue transporter beams materialized in what used to be the main plaza. Once the pillars of energy became the Fortitude away team, they witnessed the sheer horror of the Pekeni.
Joined by Ensign Jim Morgan and Doctor Lynn Boswell, Captain Llewellyn and Commander Archer felt their hearts sink.
“Oh my God,” whispered Valerie.
“It looks like they didn’t stand a chance,” Morgan observed, stepping over a chuck of a stone column as he opened his tricorder and began scanning. “Just as we suspected, sir. These weapons signatures are End. There’s no doubt about it.”
“They murdered all of them…” Boswell shook her head in disgust. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help here, Captain. I can’t resurrect the dead.”
Ewan was barely listening to anyone. He felt like breaking down and letting go of the tears that he realized were fighting to escape. Primary Iraka had greeted him, right here, on this spot and initiated First Contact with the United Federation of Planets, a political alliance that was supposed to strengthen those involved, unify alien races, and work together in the common cause of galactic peace. His eyes were stinging as he glared at all of the destruction. It took a moment for his mind to even allow him to register the sight of the dead bodies strewn around them.
Lynn had mentioned the dead. What did she say? Damn… he cursed himself as he returned to being the captain, burying his own pain.
“We received a distress signal, Doctor,” he finally replied, obviously flustered. “Distress signals don’t send themselves. There might be survivors. Ensign Morgan, can you get a fix on the source of the transmission?”
“A basement, about eighty meters due east. Follow me.”
The rest of the away team followed him, and they were soon standing in a darkened chamber with walls of stone and a partially collapsed ceiling. Flickering madly in the deepest shadow was the source of the distress signal.
Shining her wrist-mounted palm beacon towards it, Archer gasped as she drew her hand to her mouth. For all of her battle-hardened resolve and steady guidance, she was still Human. The rest of the away team shared in her shock.
The transmitter console was stuck in a feedback loop. The Pekeni citizen who had sent the message was long since dead. A large metal support beam was sticking through his crumpled chest, soaked in blood. His hand rested on the transmit button, forcing the circuits underneath his body to repeat the call over and over. The white illumination from the commander’s palm beacon danced over the gruesome spectacle as it lowered out of respect but Ewan felt his limbs start to move.
Climbing over to the console, he carefully and tenderly moved the hand of the dead man away from the transmit button, ceasing the distress signal.
“It’s all right,” he whispered to the corpse. “We’re here now. You did a good job, sir. We’re here now. Well done. We’re here.”
Behind him, Boswell was crying.
Suddenly, his combadge interrupted the moment. “Fortitude to Captain Llewellyn!,” a voice shouted from it.
“Go ahead,” responded the captain.
“Sir, sensors have detected an End battle cruiser in orbit on the far side of the planet and I’m pretty sure that it’s detected us. Shall I beam you up?”
“Absolutely,” Llewellyn growled, turning back to his away team with a furious and burning desire for justice, his pacifism be damned. “They’re going to pay for this!”
ACT TWO
“Red Alert! Shields up!”
Marching onto the Bridge, Morgan and Archer took their stations as Llewellyn walked directly over to the helm and leaned over Arden Vuro’s shoulders, watching the scanners show the incoming End battle cruiser. The Bolian helmsman noticed his expression with concern. The Welshman was enraged, seething with anger towards the advancing enemy.
Was the surface really that bad?
Had it been a mass slaughter of the innocent, just as they feared that it would be?
“What are we dealing with here?,” Ewan asked, posing his own question out loud.
“Crew complement of twenty-four,” Ensign Armstrong began to read from his Ops display. “It looks like a medium-range support craft, comparable to a Miranda-class starship.
“Tactical analysis, Ensign Morgan?,” Commander Archer demanded.
“Six high-powered disruptor banks and a single torpedo tube, Commander. All fully armed, but it’s nothing we can’t handle, sir. They do have shields.”
“Here they come!,” Vuro cried out, banking the Fortitude hard to port.
What followed was a short dance between the stars, skipping over the atmosphere of the deceased planet below them. The dirty brown plating of the End vessel was a clear antithesis for the shining silver of the Intrepid-class starship. Even the colors of the energy beams that flew between them were mirrored.
Jim was correct in his prediction and soon the End battle cruiser had no shields to speak of. That was the standard tactic for a race grown for battle. The sheer number of fighters in a squadron meant little shielding was required. Everything was finely honed for invasion and fleet battles. Left behind to pick away at the stragglers of the Pekeni world, this vessel was no match for Fortitude and her powerful Type-X phaser banks.
“Their shields are down!,” Jim shouted as the deck beneath his feet shook.
“Swing about and target their engines and weapon systems,” Llewellyn ordered, getting the hang of interstellar combat. “Get them right where we want them!”
“Sir, I’m picking up some kind of energy surge!,” a worried Jason was next to report, brushing his blonde hair aside. “If I’m reading this correctly, it’s some kind of transporter beam, but I’ve never seen anything so powerful before! I think, sir… It’s scattered out starboard shields! They’re beaming soldiers aboard!”
“What in the name of--!,” Ewan shouted in desperation.
A new alert klaxon replaced the regular cacophony of battle. It was the intruder alert signal and it echoed through Fortitude with chilling precision.
“Confirmed, sir,” Ensign Morgan barked from Tactical. “I have End biosigns on Decks Thirteen, Eight, Three, and--”
Before he could finish his warning, the doors to the Briefing Room on the port side of the Bridge burst open and a pair of screaming bipeds thrust forward. Their skin was yellow and cracked, with their dull-colored uniforms familiar to everyone present, and they were brandishing weapons.
The End was aboard Fortitude.
With reactions that even surprised himself, Jason Armstrong grabbed his emergency phaser and opened fire. He struck the second intruder square in the chest, causing him to crumple to the deck with a cry of anguish. In retaliation, the remaining End soldier returned fire with a shot of his own weapon. Mercifully, the young ensign managed to duck and his large LCARS display shattered over his head, slicing his skin superficially but otherwise, causing no physical damage.
Being the next closest officer, Archer reached for a phaser of her own, but before she could even get a hold of it, she was aware of somebody rushing past her. In shock, she watched aghast as Captain Llewellyn literally threw himself at the End soldier, smashing him to the floor and landing a perfect punch to the alien’s jaw. The hideous visage staring back at the captain, snarled with animalistic wrath, struggling for control of the disruptor between them, its cracked skin appearing to disintegrate as they fought.
Ewan was focused on one single goal. He loathed this murderous creature. He wanted it dead and off of his Bridge.
Rolling to one side, he found himself underneath the End soldier with bits of decaying yellow skin falling into his otherwise smooth dark hair and across his dashing features. Suddenly a phaser blast was heard and the intruder went limp.
Lowering her phaser, Valerie Archer moved to his side to help her captain to his feet. “Do you think that was wise?,” she asked him, disapprovingly.
“No, but it made me feel a whole lot better,” retorted the Welshman. “Jim, get security teams throughout the ship. Order them to shoot any End soldier on sight and to defend all critical areas.”
“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer slowly nodded, in awe of the fight that he had just witnessed and the bravery of Ewan Llewellyn.
* * * *
Engineering was a battlefield.
Using one of the central consoles as cover and bathed in the glow of the warp core behind him, Lieutenant Commander Sollik gritted his teeth as he returned fire.
There were six of them, all of them trying to pour through the main doors. With seven engineers on duty at the time of the invasion, the Suliban had the upper hand. He was just grateful for the seconds he had needed to activate a Level-Ten force field around the core.
Another disruptor blast came his way, missed, and bounced off of the energy barrier behind him. If he hadn’t been thinking quickly enough, that shot and all of the others would have ruptured the core and this fight would have been over real quick.
Aiming with care, he shot one of the End soldiers, grinning at his own success as he watched the attacker fall onto one of his own comrades. Using the confusion to his advantage, he fired again, taking them both down.
A brief exchange of weapons fire later, a loud explosion came from the direction of the main doors and it was heard by the Starfleet officers. Peering cautiously towards the source of the eruption, Sollik saw a security team sweep into Engineering after they had successfully used a stun grenade on the unsuspecting End boarding party.
Getting to his feet and discarding his sidearm, the chief engineer waved them a friendly and grateful salute before he checked over his people. Surprisingly, everyone was unharmed.
“Lucky us,” he hissed.
ACT THREE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49219.3;
After successfully repelling the End’s invasion of Fortitude, we have discovered another despicable fact about our enemy. They clearly don’t like being taken captive as every single soldier that we’ve captured had managed to somehow commit suicide. Doctor Boswell is analyzing their corpses to find out how they accomplished such a feat.
Meanwhile, we have captured one of their battle cruisers, and that is a cause for celebration. Frankly, given what the End did to the Pekeni, I couldn’t care less about the suicides. It’s better than what they deserve.
The interior of the End battle cruiser was cramped, dark, and stank of decay. It was exactly what Llewellyn had imagined it would be, owing to the state of the people who had operated it. Carefully, he avoided banging his head against anything as he made his way to the forward command center.
“Valerie,” he called out when he got within range of his first officer,” you wanted to see me?”
Commander Archer turned to greet him with her face ashen with grief. It was an unusual expression for her to wear and he noticed it now more than ever. Standing alongside her, he placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, letting her know that he was here for her, just as she was always there for him. The two crewmen from Engineering that she had been working with dismissed themselves. They know the report that she had to deliver to the captain.
“Ewan, this ship’s database contains the flight plan for the End fleet. There’s no mistaking the course that they set after they destroyed the Pekeni.”
“Where were they heading?”
“The Santrag system, Ewan… and Starbase 499. To finish the job that they had started.”
The captain felt like a Nausicaan had just kicked him in the stomach. Desperation consumed his entire outlook as he instantly regretted being out here in the depths of the unknown Beta Quadrant.
Damn these bastards! Were they doing this deliberately? Testing him by slaughtering all of those that he held dear? No, he told himself. No, these were a people grown for war. It wasn’t personal and he shouldn't let it become personal either.
Still, for a pacifist, his mind was teeming with violent outbursts, just waiting to be set free, and to be spat forth into the face of whoever was controlling the End. there had to be some way of stopping them! There had to be!
“At maximum warp, we would still be too late,” Archer continued with her report. “I know that the Steamrunner will be able to hold the line for a while but in all honesty, we’re not talking about one squadron of their fighters like last time.”
“Numbers,” Llewellyn whispered.
“There are six squadrons of fighters, supported by six battle carriers and three dreadnought-sized cruisers. According to this vessel’s database, the Pekeni somehow managed to take out one battle carrier and about ten of the End’s fighters. That still leaves a gigantic force of warships… and they’re probably already there.”
Slamming his fist into a bulkhead in a futile display of helplessness, Llewellyn shut his eyes tight and forced out the answer that he was looking for.
Surprisingly, it came to him.
Perhaps it was because he was standing in it.
* * * *
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began before frowning and shaking his head. “No, that’s not fair. Friends…”
Captain Ewan Llewellyn of the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240, stood on the Bridge surrounded by his senior staff officers, Commander Valerie Archer, Lieutenant Arden Vuro, Lieutenant Commander Sollik, Doctor Lynn Boswell, Ensign Jason Armstrong and Ensign Jim Morgan.
They were all present, standing to attention in a display of unity. None of them dared to show any sign of emotion, despite knowing full well what Ewan was about to propose.
“We have spent our entire time out here in space overshadowed by the threat of a dangerous and merciless enemy,” continued the Captain. “The entire idea behind our assignment to Starbase 499 was born out of the deadly urgency to counter the aggression of the End fleet. Now, this is it. It’s zero hour. Our friends in the Santrag system are under attack and it’s our duty and responsibility to place ourselves boldly into harm’s way to save their lives. To that end, Fortitude will be going to maximum warp and returning to take part in a ferocious space battle. For this mission, I am placing the ship under the command of Valerie Archer. Her tactical experience and fearless resolve will lead all of you for the coming fight.”
There was no applause. It wasn’t that kind of a speech.
“Meanwhile, I will be taking Ensign Armstrong with me aboard the captured End battle cruiser and setting a course for the heart of their space. Our goal will be some kind of resolution. If I’m honest, I don’t know what that will be. Hopefully, we can find some way of negotiating a ceasefire between the Federation and the End but I join you in your serious doubts about that. In all probability, and in all honesty, we shall be sacrificing our lives to save yours. If there's one piece of tactical knowledge that I can remember from my days at Starfleet Academy, it’s that cutting off the head of a beast will usually destroy it. They have left us with no choice, and no surrender. I wish there was some other way of bringing all of this to a peaceful conclusion but I can’t see one.”
Lynn wiped a single tear away from her cheek. A moment later, unexpectedly, Jim Morgan did the same, staining his dark skin. It was understandable. His boyfriend was going out on a suicide mission after all.
“With any luck, I’ll be seeing all of you again,” the captain said, concluding his speech as his own emotions were in danger of surfacing. “We can put this behind us and get back to living up to the name Fortitude. This fine ship, and this fine crew… there’s still a lot of space left out there and I’ll be damned if anybody else is going to explore it first. Every one of you are heroes and I leave now, safe in the knowledge that a ship of heroes can survive anything.”
Turning to Valerie Archer, who was visibly trembling, he flashed his trademark grin at her with real feeling behind it. Perhaps if events had played out differently in some… No, not now. Not like this. The hope of survival looked small in comparison to the reality of his desperate voyage.
He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes. “The ship is yours, Commander.”
“I’ll keep your seat warm, Captain,” she managed to reply.
At that moment, with a look laden with an apologetic goodbye and an expression of his love, Jason Armstrong turned his head and saw Jim Morgan gazing back at him. This was what they had signed on for. It was the moment that they had always dreaded, the danger of a working relationship. However, above all else, along with everybody on the Bridge and throughout the fifteen decks of Fortitude, they knew one simple truth.
Duty comes first.
* * * *
Minutes passed by and heading in the opposite direction to an opposite star, the Intrepid-class starship peeled away from her orbit around Peken and folded her warp nacelles inward, jumping to the highest warp factor that she could ever achieve. The ship was leaving her captain and operations officer behind. They were both seated at the awkward and cumbersome controls of the End battle cruiser. Lights danced across their shadowed faces as they worked the systems that they would need to set a course for… well, whatever awaited them deep within the borders of End space.
“Are you ready?,” Llewellyn asked Armstrong with a half-hearted smile.
“I think I know which button to press.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Let’s get going, shall we?”
“Course plotted and laid in. Warp speed at your command, sir.
“Engage.”
EPILOGUE
Rear Admiral Blackmore found himself to be bleeding.
He had been in the Station Master’s Officer for what seemed like days. The battle was going according to plan, despite an early victory. The End had pounced directly from warp on top of Starbase 499, unleashing a powerful volley into the shields around the docking ports and crippling the release mechanisms. The only starship available to launch, and not affected by the attack, was the Steamrunner. By the grace of God, the only ship that really mattered. It had destroyed an entire wing of fighters and sent one of the carrier ships spinning off out of control and back into the dark depths of the Beta Quadrant.
Erica Martinez and Edward Blackmore had punched the air and almost started to celebrate their success, but it hadn’t lasted long. In response, the End fleet sent two further squadrons forward, including the infamous FS-Six, led by the First with a desire for revenge and a personal vendetta against the mighty Federation. Steamrunner was in a critical condition out there but she continued to fight bravely. So did 499.
“Recharge phaser banks and load Launcher Four!,” the Rear Admiral barked as a conduit exploded over his head. “Target that carrier and fire!”
“The coils are shot to pieces!,” Erica yelled through the chaos. “We’ve lost phasers but I can give you Launcher Four in a minute!”
“Get an engineering detail down there! Make it a priority!”
“Any news on the release mechanisms?,” the Station Master asked a young officer who was glued to his post. “If we could only get one more ship out there!”
“Wait a minute,” Blackmore growled. “We’ve got another starship coming in at high warp, bearing one-four-seven, mark two!”
The deck plating beneath their feet started to rumble with the force of several distant explosions. For such a thing to happen to a structure that was as vast as a starbase was nearly unheard of. This new ship could seal their fate. Furiously, Blackmore joined Martinez as they worked to get the viewscreen operational again.
As soon as it was, an image flickered into view.
They both felt like jumping for joy like schoolchildren.
It was Fortitude.
To Be Continued…
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49219.3;
After successfully repelling the End’s invasion of Fortitude, we have discovered another despicable fact about our enemy. They clearly don’t like being taken captive as every single soldier that we’ve captured had managed to somehow commit suicide. Doctor Boswell is analyzing their corpses to find out how they accomplished such a feat.
Meanwhile, we have captured one of their battle cruisers, and that is a cause for celebration. Frankly, given what the End did to the Pekeni, I couldn’t care less about the suicides. It’s better than what they deserve.
The interior of the End battle cruiser was cramped, dark, and stank of decay. It was exactly what Llewellyn had imagined it would be, owing to the state of the people who had operated it. Carefully, he avoided banging his head against anything as he made his way to the forward command center.
“Valerie,” he called out when he got within range of his first officer,” you wanted to see me?”
Commander Archer turned to greet him with her face ashen with grief. It was an unusual expression for her to wear and he noticed it now more than ever. Standing alongside her, he placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, letting her know that he was here for her, just as she was always there for him. The two crewmen from Engineering that she had been working with dismissed themselves. They know the report that she had to deliver to the captain.
“Ewan, this ship’s database contains the flight plan for the End fleet. There’s no mistaking the course that they set after they destroyed the Pekeni.”
“Where were they heading?”
“The Santrag system, Ewan… and Starbase 499. To finish the job that they had started.”
The captain felt like a Nausicaan had just kicked him in the stomach. Desperation consumed his entire outlook as he instantly regretted being out here in the depths of the unknown Beta Quadrant.
Damn these bastards! Were they doing this deliberately? Testing him by slaughtering all of those that he held dear? No, he told himself. No, these were a people grown for war. It wasn’t personal and he shouldn't let it become personal either.
Still, for a pacifist, his mind was teeming with violent outbursts, just waiting to be set free, and to be spat forth into the face of whoever was controlling the End. there had to be some way of stopping them! There had to be!
“At maximum warp, we would still be too late,” Archer continued with her report. “I know that the Steamrunner will be able to hold the line for a while but in all honesty, we’re not talking about one squadron of their fighters like last time.”
“Numbers,” Llewellyn whispered.
“There are six squadrons of fighters, supported by six battle carriers and three dreadnought-sized cruisers. According to this vessel’s database, the Pekeni somehow managed to take out one battle carrier and about ten of the End’s fighters. That still leaves a gigantic force of warships… and they’re probably already there.”
Slamming his fist into a bulkhead in a futile display of helplessness, Llewellyn shut his eyes tight and forced out the answer that he was looking for.
Surprisingly, it came to him.
Perhaps it was because he was standing in it.
* * * *
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began before frowning and shaking his head. “No, that’s not fair. Friends…”
Captain Ewan Llewellyn of the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240, stood on the Bridge surrounded by his senior staff officers, Commander Valerie Archer, Lieutenant Arden Vuro, Lieutenant Commander Sollik, Doctor Lynn Boswell, Ensign Jason Armstrong and Ensign Jim Morgan.
They were all present, standing to attention in a display of unity. None of them dared to show any sign of emotion, despite knowing full well what Ewan was about to propose.
“We have spent our entire time out here in space overshadowed by the threat of a dangerous and merciless enemy,” continued the Captain. “The entire idea behind our assignment to Starbase 499 was born out of the deadly urgency to counter the aggression of the End fleet. Now, this is it. It’s zero hour. Our friends in the Santrag system are under attack and it’s our duty and responsibility to place ourselves boldly into harm’s way to save their lives. To that end, Fortitude will be going to maximum warp and returning to take part in a ferocious space battle. For this mission, I am placing the ship under the command of Valerie Archer. Her tactical experience and fearless resolve will lead all of you for the coming fight.”
There was no applause. It wasn’t that kind of a speech.
“Meanwhile, I will be taking Ensign Armstrong with me aboard the captured End battle cruiser and setting a course for the heart of their space. Our goal will be some kind of resolution. If I’m honest, I don’t know what that will be. Hopefully, we can find some way of negotiating a ceasefire between the Federation and the End but I join you in your serious doubts about that. In all probability, and in all honesty, we shall be sacrificing our lives to save yours. If there's one piece of tactical knowledge that I can remember from my days at Starfleet Academy, it’s that cutting off the head of a beast will usually destroy it. They have left us with no choice, and no surrender. I wish there was some other way of bringing all of this to a peaceful conclusion but I can’t see one.”
Lynn wiped a single tear away from her cheek. A moment later, unexpectedly, Jim Morgan did the same, staining his dark skin. It was understandable. His boyfriend was going out on a suicide mission after all.
“With any luck, I’ll be seeing all of you again,” the captain said, concluding his speech as his own emotions were in danger of surfacing. “We can put this behind us and get back to living up to the name Fortitude. This fine ship, and this fine crew… there’s still a lot of space left out there and I’ll be damned if anybody else is going to explore it first. Every one of you are heroes and I leave now, safe in the knowledge that a ship of heroes can survive anything.”
Turning to Valerie Archer, who was visibly trembling, he flashed his trademark grin at her with real feeling behind it. Perhaps if events had played out differently in some… No, not now. Not like this. The hope of survival looked small in comparison to the reality of his desperate voyage.
He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes. “The ship is yours, Commander.”
“I’ll keep your seat warm, Captain,” she managed to reply.
At that moment, with a look laden with an apologetic goodbye and an expression of his love, Jason Armstrong turned his head and saw Jim Morgan gazing back at him. This was what they had signed on for. It was the moment that they had always dreaded, the danger of a working relationship. However, above all else, along with everybody on the Bridge and throughout the fifteen decks of Fortitude, they knew one simple truth.
Duty comes first.
* * * *
Minutes passed by and heading in the opposite direction to an opposite star, the Intrepid-class starship peeled away from her orbit around Peken and folded her warp nacelles inward, jumping to the highest warp factor that she could ever achieve. The ship was leaving her captain and operations officer behind. They were both seated at the awkward and cumbersome controls of the End battle cruiser. Lights danced across their shadowed faces as they worked the systems that they would need to set a course for… well, whatever awaited them deep within the borders of End space.
“Are you ready?,” Llewellyn asked Armstrong with a half-hearted smile.
“I think I know which button to press.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Let’s get going, shall we?”
“Course plotted and laid in. Warp speed at your command, sir.
“Engage.”
EPILOGUE
Rear Admiral Blackmore found himself to be bleeding.
He had been in the Station Master’s Officer for what seemed like days. The battle was going according to plan, despite an early victory. The End had pounced directly from warp on top of Starbase 499, unleashing a powerful volley into the shields around the docking ports and crippling the release mechanisms. The only starship available to launch, and not affected by the attack, was the Steamrunner. By the grace of God, the only ship that really mattered. It had destroyed an entire wing of fighters and sent one of the carrier ships spinning off out of control and back into the dark depths of the Beta Quadrant.
Erica Martinez and Edward Blackmore had punched the air and almost started to celebrate their success, but it hadn’t lasted long. In response, the End fleet sent two further squadrons forward, including the infamous FS-Six, led by the First with a desire for revenge and a personal vendetta against the mighty Federation. Steamrunner was in a critical condition out there but she continued to fight bravely. So did 499.
“Recharge phaser banks and load Launcher Four!,” the Rear Admiral barked as a conduit exploded over his head. “Target that carrier and fire!”
“The coils are shot to pieces!,” Erica yelled through the chaos. “We’ve lost phasers but I can give you Launcher Four in a minute!”
“Get an engineering detail down there! Make it a priority!”
“Any news on the release mechanisms?,” the Station Master asked a young officer who was glued to his post. “If we could only get one more ship out there!”
“Wait a minute,” Blackmore growled. “We’ve got another starship coming in at high warp, bearing one-four-seven, mark two!”
The deck plating beneath their feet started to rumble with the force of several distant explosions. For such a thing to happen to a structure that was as vast as a starbase was nearly unheard of. This new ship could seal their fate. Furiously, Blackmore joined Martinez as they worked to get the viewscreen operational again.
As soon as it was, an image flickered into view.
They both felt like jumping for joy like schoolchildren.
It was Fortitude.
To Be Continued…
This last story was the Season Finale of Star Trek: Fortitude. I wish I could change the thread title to make that apparent. I'll start the Second Season in a new thread. Until then, enjoy, comment, and be good.
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