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 Irake. 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 devastation 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 as 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. In 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.