Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Two - Episode Two: “Assistance”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Veth Ka’Gerran was a troubled man.
He had occupied the office of the Prime Minister for almost three years now and yet he was still astonished at the capacity for unexpected developments to assault his position. As the political leader of his people, he was a figurehead. Respected by some, reviled by others, and voted into office by a majority.
Well, that was a joke.
Only fifty-six percent of those eligible to cast a vote in the election had actually done so. Of those people, just over half of them had given their thumbprint to the scanner beside Veth Ka’Gerran’s party. For almost three years, he had ruled Santrag II without a popular mandate.
The natural beauty of the morning did little to ease his headache. Santrag II was a simply gorgeous world that none could argue against. The cityscape was designed in such a careful way so it could blend in with the rolling hillsides and snow-capped mountains which surrounded it. Thick forests waved in the cool breeze as a stunning orange sun rose into view, bathing everything in a glistening haze. A dozen species of exotic birdlife provided the soundtrack to the breaking day.
There was a reason for the capital to being one of the most cosmopolitan destinations in the sector and probably the anchoring point for the Federation Starbase in orbit.
Ka’Gerran sighed heavily as his short fingers massaged his temple. Hoping for a few moments of peace was futile.
“Prime Minister! Prime Minister!” It was his Chief Aide, an all-too eager young man.
“What is it?,” Veth growled at him.
“We have an incoming transmission from Starbase 499. They say that the End have been officially defeated! We have prevailed!”
“You mean that they have prevailed. Seriously, calling to gloat…”
“They are also requesting assistance in repairing their battle damage and Rear Admiral Blackmore was wondering if you could join him in orbit. He understands that the domestic situation done here is delicate…”
Yes, Veth Ka’Gerran was a troubled man.
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 41033.2;
As the repairs to Starbase 49 and the fleet proceed apace, I find myself reflecting on recent events with increasing anxiety. My return to the Santrag system was worthy of the most noble hero and yet I feel anything but heroic in my cowardice. Nobody here has discovered the truth yet. That I bottled it, that I couldn’t bring myself to fire my phaser to destroy the End… and then, of course, there’s the question of Ensign Jason Armstrong? Do I punish him or pin a medal on him?
Ewan Llewellyn finished his log and his toast. Donning his red-shouldered Starfleet uniform made him feel, for the first time in his entire life, slightly wrong. There was guilt attached to it now or perhaps even shame as he found deciding difficult. He was still trying to process the incredible events of the trip to the End’s Central Core, debating with his own morality about whether he should be shocked that he contemplated mass murder or shocked that he failed to undertake it.
“Bridge to Captain Llewellyn,” chirped the communications system.
“Go ahead,” he responded after tapping his combadge.
“You have an incoming message from Rear Admiral Blackmore.”
“Send it to my quarters.”
Making his way over to his desk, he felt his tired body slump down in the comfortable chair and locked eyes with the desktop display monitor. The seal of the United Federation of Planets was quickly replaced with the familiar face of the senior officer. He beamed back at him. It was the first time that they had spoken since his return from End space.
“Ewan! You look like hell, boy!”
“You can talk, Boxer,” the captain smiled weakly. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got the Prime Minister of Santrag II on his way up here. I want to make a good impression on him. I’m going to try and squeeze him for some resources while we make our repairs. If he could meet the man who delivered us from the End… You know, the usual grip-and-grin, then he could gain some political weight on his world. They have some trouble down there and… I was thinking about mutual benefits all around.”
“With all due respect…,” Ewan began to say, rubbing his face slowly.
“I know it’s not your thing, my friend,” Blackmore interjected, waving him off. “Listen, I promise no more than an hour with him. 499 is in bad shape, not to mention your ship. Valerie used it like a shovel to whack those End… We need the Santragans’ help.”
“You’re not leaving me much choice in the matter, sir.”
“No, I’m not, am I? Half an hour then?”
“Bugger…”
* * * *
Elsewhere aboard the starship Fortitude, another member of the senior staff was waking up and questioning the uniform that he was about to dress himself in. sitting on the corner of his bed, staring at the yellow shoulders and Starfleet combadge, Jason Armstrong let his smooth young face fall into the cupped palms of his hands. He knew the truth of it all, knowing what he had done, and also knowing the risks and ramifications. In the moment, in the heat of the moment, he had made a decision that he believed to be right. Now back in the security of his quarters, he doubted that decision.
Behind him, Ensign Jim Morgan stirred to consciousness. Slowly as he opened his dark eyes and fixed them upon his boyfriend, he sat upright. It took a second for him to wrap his arm around Jason’s shoulder, slowly kissing the back of his neck.
“Hey,” the tactical officer whispered,” how long have you been up like this?”
“Honestly, not long,” Jason replied, lying badly.
“Want some coffee? Something to eat before our shift starts?”
“No. Sorry, no thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Not even for my famous replicated pancakes?”
The joke failed to elicit a response.
It hardly required the expertise of a Betazoid to notice the growing signs of depression within the blonde Kentuckian operations officer. The previous evening upon the away team’s return from End space, both of them had been so wrapped up in seeing each other again to notice that anything was wrong.
Jason was relieved to discover that Jim had survived the battle and Jim was relieved to discover that Jason had survived the belly of the beast. It was taking this pause in their emotional outpouring to allow them both an assessment of the impacts.
“What happened out there?,” Jim asked gently. “Seriously, Jay, tell me.”
“Nothing… I…”
“Don’t brush me off. If you don’t talk to me, then I can’t help you!”
Jason grew angry, physically feeling his blood pressure rise up within him. The problem was that he was angry with himself, not Jim, and yet it was his partner who would bear the brunt of his outburst. He couldn’t stop himself.
“Just drop it! Drop it! Damnit, we’re safe! Isn’t that enough?!”
Getting to his feet and snatching up the uniform that he had been staring at and using it as an excuse to get away from the inquiry that he was facing in the bedroom, Armstrong stormed into the bathroom to get changed. Stunning at the eruption of rage from the man that he loved, Jim remained sitting in bed. If his dark skin allowed for visible blushing, he would have turned bright crimson.
That had never happened before.
That was when something caught his eye.
Turning to the large sloping window behind him, Jim watched as a graceful vessel soared through the stars. It sported a tapered nose, sweeping back to three refined wings that combined around a powerful warp drive reactor, all of them covered in polished blue polyduranium alloy. It was an elegant vessel and recognizable in an instant.
The Santragans were paying a visit to Starbase 499.”
Jim got up. He was going to need his uniform too.
ACT TWO
“Captain Llewellyn, this is Prime Minister Veth Ka’Gerran.”
Rear Admiral Blackmore was giving the introductions. They stood collected at the main docking ring aboard Starbase 499. For some reason, it made more of a statement for the leader of the Santragan people to travel aboard his personal starship rather than transport up.
Perhaps that was just one of the reasons for the troubles on the planet’s surface, the Rear Admiral grunted to himself, shaking the hand of the politician and smiling genuinely from behind his grey beard. They had worked closely together since the election, reinforcing the relationship between Santrag II and the Federation in their own small ways. It was the first time that Ewan Llewellyn had met the Prime Minister. Their handshake was much more forceful, the smiles absent of any feeling or personal messages and the short nods were hardly appreciated.
“Captain,” Veth acknowledged,” I must thank you for stopping the End from overrunning our system. We are far from a warlike people and we wouldn’t have lasted a day against such a destructive force. We owe you a great debt.”
“Prime Minister,” Ewan replied in his best diplomatic tone,” your praise isn’t required but appreciated nevertheless. What’s done is done. We’re here to discuss the here and now, and that debt that you mentioned… Well, we might have a small request.”
“Yes, Edward has already asked.”
Blackmore beamed. He and the Prime Minister had been on first-name terms for quite some time. Leading the gathering to his office, which included Ka’Gerran’s Chief Aide, they all took seats and shared a steaming cup of coffee.
For Ewan, it was his first cup of the day, his first of what usually became many. He was surprised to see the Santragans drinking it. Their plates consisted of mostly bland foods with the nutritional value regarded higher than flavor. It matched their appearance, to be honest.
Santragans were humanoids, bipedal, and of a similar range of skin tones as Humans were. Only a collection of short, stubby horns protruding from their foreheads, usually symmetrical and into the double figures, set them apart from their Human friends. That, and their feral, irregular ideas about hair styling.
“How can we be of assistance?”
“Basically, we’re in bad shape,” Blackmore admitted, facing Ka’Gerran with a deep sincerity. “Usually, our damaged starships could find respite here but 499 is suffering from some crippling setbacks of its own. For example, Station Master Martinez regrets not being able to meet you but she’s down in our main power core, fighting a plasma fire. We haven’t even begun to lick out wounds yet, and there’s the starships themselves.”
“You have four, yes?,” confirmed Veth.
“That’s correct, Prime Minister,” Ewan said, taking over. “My ship, Fortitude, took the most of the fire from the End and requires the most work. However, there are various other problems to deal with aboard all vessels. Steamrunner needs a completely new port warp nacelle and gravitational plating system. Winchester, our Miranda-class vessel, has a breach piercing her saucer section and Katherine Johnson…”
“... the Oberth-class science vessel?,” interrupted the Chief Aide, displaying his youthful ignorance through his eagerness to contribute to the conversation. “What was she doing actively involved in a combat situation?”
“In case you were watching,” Blackmore growled at him,” there was somewhere close to one hundred enemy ships versus a starbase. We scrambled everything that we had and Johnson has two phaser arrays and a torpedo launcher. She did her duty like everybody else and lost a lot of good people in the process.”
“My apologies,” the Aide retreated, bowing his head.
“It is a daunting list,” Ka’Gerran nodded with a somber expression. “My condolences to you, gentlemen. You appear to have sacrificed a great deal in the name of peace. You have my assurance that the Santragan people will band together to repay our debt and fix any problems within our capability.”
On that note, the meeting concluded rapidly. As the two visitors finished their coffee and returned to the docking ring, Blackmore placed his mug slowly on the table and leaned over to Ewan, giving one final parting smile before the door slid shut. The facade dropped from his face faster than a Vulcan could recite the works of Surak. It was a sight that took the Welsh captain by surprise. He thought the meeting had gone well.
“Silver-tongued bastard…”
“I don’t follow, Boxer,” Llewellyn admitted.
“‘The Santragan people will band together’?,” laughed the Rear Admiral, echoing the Prime Minister’s words. “That man has about as much influence over his people than I do over the internal affairs of the Klingon Empire!”
“Tell me more…”
* * * *
The trip had been ridiculously short but that was his way.
Veth Ka’Gerran returned to the Prime Minister’s Residence on Santrag II immediately after the conclusion of his meeting with Blackmore and Llewellyn. Flying there and back had taken almost three times as long as the entire conversation had been, and predictably upon his return home, he was assaulted by his critics.
“... and we have confirmed reports that the Prime Minister’s vessel has returned to his private hangar, a few moments ago. I believe this speaks for itself, but as a political commentator, allow me to--”
He switched off the news channel with disgust. Nobody understood his life or his position. Not one single person on the entire planet. There was his Chief Aide, of course, but he had been hired for his diplomatic phrasing of situations and gentle manner, nothing more, nothing substantial or helpful.
Ka’Gerran exhaled, grasping the bridge of his nose with his fingers and wishing that his headache would leave him in peace.
The Santragans were growing tired with their political system and Veth Ka’Gerran was the embodiment of that system. Therefore, the Santragans were tired of him.
It had been a long time coming. A general apathy in political life had come about rather lazily as the definition of apathy suggested. Santrag II was a world of bounty, of great sociological security and high quality of life. The Prime Minister existed to preside over the wonderful existence of his people and made sure that it remained wonderful. That task, Veth noted with sadness, had been performed without flaw. It was just his time, just bad luck, that he was the man feeling the brunt of the aftertaste.
Since everything ran so smoothly, there were those people who wondered why the Prime Minister even existed. Quickly, the voice shouted his support had been drowned out by the voices calling for the abolishment of the governmental structure. It was an expensive structure to run. Taxes had only been raised because everybody could afford them, but with the arrival of the Federation and Starbase 499…
Yes, that had been it. What was it that Rear Admiral Blackmore used to say? It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
The people of Santrag II saw that there was an existence available to them without money. It had happened on Earth. As society reached a pinnacle of achievement, money ceased to become an issue for the Humans and it had eventually disappeared. The Santragans wanted the same, and yet Ka’Gerran simply could not do it. What people failed to realize was that the economics of their world was finely augmented by the government, and so doing away with the government would lead to their collapse. No, they wanted things like the new guys and they wanted it now.
Ka’Gerran liked Blackmore and counted him as a friend. However, the Prime Minister realized that the Rear Admiral might have just as well started a revolution on Santrag II.
ACT THREE
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
I have been told some troubling stories about the political unrest on Santrag II by Rear Admiral Blackmore. While I always hope for peace and security on any Federation starbase’s anchor world, the proximity that it has to those that I care about means that I’ll be watching this situation with a steady gaze.
Meanwhile, I must turn my attention to another matter, one that requires an immediate resolution before our mission can continue.
The door chimes rang.
“Come in,” Llewellyn called out, placing his coffee cup back on the desk.
Ensign Jason Armstrong stepped into the Ready Room of Fortitude with a heavy heart and trepidation in his stride. This was a meeting that he had not been looking forward to. It was a meeting where he would have to face his captain about an emotional subject that both men wished to avoid. They exchanged a knowing look before Ewan gestured toward the comfortable sofa underneath the panoramic window that currently showed a convoy of Santragan vessels moving towards Starbase 499, laden with repair equipment.
“You asked for me, sir,” Jason said, playing dumb.
“Yes, Ensign,” Ewan nodded as he sat down. “I think you know why.”
“I can guess…”
They both let their minds fill with images from the dark and sinister Central Core of the End’s primary starport. Neither of them wanted to remember it but inwardly, Jason respected his commanding officer for handling the gulf between them so directly. Many people, including his parents, had never spoken to him about such matters. Emotions were something to think about briefly and move on. The captain was proving his masculinity by calling for this meeting, but admitting his inability to act and facing the consequences. Ewan respected Jason too, for only only having the resolve to act, but to also attend this meeting with honesty.
“I’m not going to punish you for your actions,” the older officer began. “What I want to understand is why you fired that phaser. It was, well… I was shocked. I took you with me to the End Central Core because I wanted to count on a level-headed young man, Jason. I thought that you were the right choice. You’ve always weighed the consequences of your actions with care.”
“Permission to speak freely?,” asked the operations officer.
“Always.”
“I fired that phaser with a level head because I knew that one of us had to. We were at war with a vicious alien race and we had an opportunity to stop them. Was it a desperate act? No question about that. Was it a violent act? Absolutely… but was it our only choice? I believe it was and I also believe that you would have never been able to do it.”
“In one single move, you annihilated an entire race.”
“In one single move, I annihilated the empty shells of a long-dead race. You saw the devastation at Pekeni, knowing that they’d do the same to 499, Santrag II, this ship and all aboard if they were given half the chance.”
“I need to know something,” Llewellyn said softly,” and I want an honest answer.”
“Sure,” the ensign agreed, straightening his back almost in preparation.
“Did you do it because Jim Morgan was on the front line?”
There was a pause.
Jason was torn. His immediate reactions were to snapp at his commanding officer, to yell at him, wave his arms about, deny it, and defend his relationship with Fortitude’s tactical officer and question the validity of such a thought. To get angry, just as he had gotten angry at Jim this morning.
But he stopped himself, just in the nick of time.
He remembered this morning, remembered snapping at his boyfriend, remembering the crushing weight of his conscience: the destruction of a race. Yes, he knew the answer to the question. It was true.
“The honest answer,” he slowly admitted,” would be yes. The danger towards Jim represented by the End hurried my decision, but, Captain, in retrospect, I did the right thing. If you were thinking of asking me whether I would do it again… Yes, sir, I would.”
“Can you live with that? I mean, really live with that?”
“Do I have much of a choice?”
“I guess not.”
* * * *
Jim Morgan wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was wrong.
Working in Main Engineering with Lieutenant Arden Vuro, his mind was elsewhere as he and the Fortitude’s helmsman watched Lieutenant Commander Sollik run around, chasing after the busy Santragan repair crews and making sure that they kept their hands away from his lovingly-maintained systems. It would have been amusing to him, were he not preoccupied with this morning’s outburst from the man that he loved. Vuro knew that something was wrong too. He decided to choose the right moment to ask him and it had yet to present itself so they worked in silence.
Two Santragans passed them. Jim managed to break free of his thoughts long enough to hear them discussing their Prime Minister. It was not a favorable discussion. The Universal Translator managed with all of the words and some of them were more than a little rude. With wide eyes, he watched them pass by.
“What was that all about?,” Vuro asked, having heard the same thing. The words were even worse for him. The Bolian language contained phrases that no Human would ever dream of uttering.
“No idea, but somebody’s not happy,” replied Jim.
This was Vuro’s chance. “You can say that again, and the Santragans seemed upset too.”
“Am I that obvious?”
“No offense, but when your partner returns from a life-or-death situation and you’re a bit glum, the next morning, I don’t need to be the ship’s counselor to put the pieces together. Hand me the hyperspanner, would you?”
Jim obliged, his dark hand meeting the blue skin of Vuro halfway over the LCARS display. As they continued to work, their eyes were locked on their tasks but their conversation continued with complete honesty.
Jim liked Arden. Like most of his people, the Bolian was open-minded, fair and kind. Unlike their Suliban chief engineer who had become uncomfortable while trying to console him earlier, Arden knew the right things to say and it was very appreciated.
“He’s never blown up like that before. Never,” concluded the tactical officer after a few minutes. “I’ve seen him angry, of course, but it was never directed at me.”
“He did just participate in the destruction of a race,” Vuro pointed out to him. “Although I use the term ‘race’ incredibly lightly in reference to the End. all of us wanted to be there. All of us wanted to deliver that final blow ourselves, but despite all of that, despite all that we’ve been through, it remains a large undertaking. Give it time.”
“I suppose you’re right. I wish I knew what happened! At least, then, I would have somewhere to start. Then I could help him.”
“You help, trust me. You have and you will, you always will. I’ve seen you two together in the Mess Hall. As Commander Archer would say, you’re the ‘real deal’.”
“That we are,” Jim smiled weakly. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
At that moment, a voice spoke over his combadge. It was a familiar voice, a welcome voice, a voice that made both officers smile. “Armstrong to Morgan.”
“Go on,” nodded Arden, turning away from the young ensign. “Answer it.”
“Morgan here,” Jim finally replied, tapping his combadge.
“I’m getting reports of a naked flame in the vicinity of our quarters. It seems to be in close proximity to some very fine food and wine. It’s in danger of breaching some shipboard safety protocols. I require tactical assistance to extinguish it.”
It was a call that they had made to each other on several occasions. It was a playful call that basically meant ‘get home, I’ve made dinner’.
Jim’s smile broadened. “I’m on my way,” he answered. “Morgan out.”
Tapping Vuro on the shoulder, he set down his tools. “If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I’ve got some other repairs to make.”
EPILOGUE
The sun was setting.
If it wasn’t an apt metaphor, Veth Ka’Gerran did not know what was.
Upon returning to the surface of Santrag II and ordering the immediate assistance rendered to the damaged Starbase 499 and her small fleet of starships, the protests against his trip had increased dramatically. There was dissent in his cabinet now too. If one listened very carefully, one could hear the sound of blades being sharpened in the corridors of power. Only the Prime Minister’s Residence allowed him a small degree of solitude and here, slumped in a comfortable chair, he watched the day conclude and drank his final drink.
What was that expression that Rear Admiral Blackmore had used once? Yes, that was it… drowning one’s sorrows.
The Chief Aide approached him, about to finish his work and head home for a lucky rare hour of sleep before, once more, the nightmare of their jobs resumed.
“I have reports that the repairs to the Federation Starfleet in orbit will be completed within several days,” he reported. “They’ll be back to full capacity and free to resume their exploration in no time, Prime Minister. That’s good news.”
“Lucky them,” Veth sighed. “It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“Prime Minister?”
“As the Humans and their Federation close the darkest chapter of their stay with us, so we open the beginning of ours.”
Veth Ka’Gerran turned to stare at his Chief Aide. His eyes were round, filled with a miserable hopelessness and a futility of a struggle long since lost. Soon, very soon, the government of Santrag II would fall and his position of power would be destroyed by the same people that he was desperate to help, to save from themselves, and to protect.
His tone was grave and he dismissed the Chief Aide with a warning.
“A storm is gathering.”
The End.