Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Four, Episode Five - “Politics”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Veth Ka’Gerran had never seen such destruction before and he had survived a revolution.
However, the tragedy of this destruction was different. This wasn’t a body of people rebelling against their state with disruptors and hover cars. No, today, the destruction wrought upon the capital of Santrag II was natural. The most powerful storm front on record was sweeping through the streets, claiming innocent lives and upturning property with ruthless abandon.
Today, the enemy was the weather.
Crying out in terror, Veth cowered behind his desk as the towering relic of a window above him shattered under the force of a stray branch. Leaves accompanied shards of glass as they showered over his trembling form. Something cut him close to his aging, gnarled horns. Turning out to be a large piece of the window, it stuck in his matted gray hair as he grasped for the wound. Around him, his office was transformed into chaos. The weather was inside now.
Lightning crackled outside. A nearby building was on fire.
Veth couldn’t take much more of this catastrophe. When was that blasted shield supposed to be raised?
If Santrag II was still ruled and governed by a single authority, the defensive shield that protected part of the capital city would have been raised, ages ago, long before the storm had ever hit. Not now, though… Now, there was the glorious new age of the Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy and every decision had to be weighed by the People’s Council and that simply meant more paperwork. Veth would have chuckled at the thought if his situation were less bleak. That paperwork would now be flying around in that cyclone outside, lost forever.
The fools… What nonsense!
Turning on the shield would draw power and that power was regulated. Everybody had a say.
Today, Veth Ka’Gerran wanted his say, too.
“Just get the infernal shield up!,” he screamed towards the heavens.
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 51962.9;
Our latest return to Starbase 49 and the Santrag system had been unintentionally timed to coincide with a terrible natural disaster on Santrag II. Sensors have monitored one of the most destructive and powerful storms that we have ever witnessed assault the capital and three other cities before subsiding over the northern oceans. While there is no official word from the surface, probably thanks to communications being wiped out by the storm’s aftermath, I am left to sit on my hands… waiting for their cry for help…
“My God,” Captain Llewellyn said, fuming,” why not?”
Station Master Erica Martinez was attempting to explain the situation to the red-faced Welshman, pausing with every sentence to allow him a chance to vent his anger. Feeling the handful of officers working in the Station Master’s Office of Starbase 499 watching the exchange, the Latina woman had begun to have enough. With this latest interjection, she landed a flat palm on the bulkhead and got the attention that she wanted.
“Calm down, Ewan! There’s nothing that we can do! Despite the Federation membership status of Santrag II, as you well know, we can’t just go marching down there unless we’re invited! That’s sovereign soil!”
“Erica, people may be dying down there!”
“That’s true, and my heart goes out to them, but you must understand that the political situation down there is tricky. They’re in the formative years of a new government, one that was nearly ushered into office with the blood of Starfleet officers, in case you’ve forgotten. The sight of Starfleet shuttlecraft landing on top of the debris would be. Volatile. Besides, I have standing orders from Rear Admiral Blackmore.”
“How can you,” Llewellyn snapped back his reply,” if he’s still in a coma?”
“Standing orders, Ewan. After the revolution, he gave them to me personally. I’m to ensure that no personnel from Starbase 499 or any of the starships assigned to her are deployed down to the surface of Santrag II.”
“What kind of order is that? They’re Federation members!”
“They’re not just any member… and we’ve got history. At best, it’s delicate.”
Captain Llewellyn reeled at this news with his nostrils flaring. He had spent the morning, watching sensor feeds of the aftermath. Half of the capital city was torn up, carried nearly a mile away, and thrown back down to the ground in a matter of minutes. Annoyingly, all interplanetary communications from every major city on the planet ran through the capital as well, and that meant that even the undamaged sections of Santragan society were silent.
In his frustration, he had even revisited the Prime Directive, searching for that one piece of legislation that would allow him to take Fortitude down through the atmosphere and to the disaster area. As he had found out before, the Prime Directive was deliberately vague on matters of sovereignty, especially when it came to Federation member worlds. Apparently, the policy of non-interference was supposed to do… Yeah, right…
“We can keep trying to contact the surface, right?,” he finally asked Martinez.
“We haven’t stopped.”
“When did you last speak to Ambassador Ka’Gerran?”
“Just before the storm hit… and he said that they would all be fine.”
“And you believed him?”
“Absolutely not,” the Latina woman said, shaking her head, her dark hair falling across her eyes. “Then again, I don’t think that he believed it either. He used to be a great leader… and now he’s been reduced to being the mouthpiece for that bureaucratic mess that they’ve replaced him with. It pissed him off and it pisses me off.”
Ewan suddenly felt a little immature for his outbursts. “I’m sorry, Erica,” he said, lowering his tone. “I know that this must be tough.”
“I just wish Boxer were awake…”
“Yeah… me too…”
* * * *
Hours passed by. They were hours that were difficult to get through. Hours filled with worry, dread, and speculation enhanced that worry and dread. They were hours that Ewan Llewellyn just wanted to get through. Rubbing his weary features to keep them awake, he watched as eight of those hours finally ticked away until the LCARS display to the left of his Captain’s chair showed that it was 1800 hours. The day shift was over. It was time to replace those crew members who needed to eat, drink, and rest.
Commander Archer walked onto the Bridge of Fortitude with three other officers wearing gold collars. Spotting the Captain still slouched over in his seat, she wasted no time in joining him and taking her own position on his left side.
“Still no word from the surface?,” she asked gently.
“Silence is deafening,” Ewan told his First Officer with a grunt.
“Dinner and an early night says that I’m a pro.”
Llewellyn smiled. Bless her. She was always looking out for him. What a true First Officer…
“Is that an offer, Valerie?,” he observed with a lopsided grin.
“As tempting as it is, you’ve got to get some sleep. You’ve spent a full day worrying about the situation down on Santrag II. That kind of day takes its toll on a man, no matter how strong that man may be. I’ll take the Bridge for the night watch. Go on, get to your quarters, get some food, and some sleep.”
“All right,” he agreed,” you’ve convinced me. I surrender.”
“Wise move,” Valerie smiled. “Otherwise, I would have carried on like that for ages.”
“My goodness, there’s a threat.”
* * * *
Leaving the Bridge sharing the Commander’s smile, Llewellyn made his way below decks to his quarters, genuinely impressed that she had managed to put him in a fairly good mood, especially after the day’s events or lack of them. During the turbolift ride and slow meandering through the ship’s corridors, the Welshman tousled his dark hair into haphazard spikes and thought about what he would ask the replicator for. Pasta, maybe, or a nice salad… Something light, at the very least.
Twenty minutes later and the plate was empty on his table. Feeling the regenerative energy of the meal flow through him, Ewan allowed the music that he had been enjoying before he stood up. A powerful end to the soundtrack, he thought, and it made him wonder what watching the 20th Century motion picture that it came from would be like. The downside of being the captain of a starship was that he would probably never find out.
The window caught his attention. Walking over and staring outward, he allowed Santrag II’s glistening Class-M surface to be soaked up into his eyes. His mind instantly filled with the images of the day’s sensor reports. All of those buildings, those streets, those structures… all of that architectural history destroyed, and underneath it, all of those potential bodies and all of those people who were still in need of rescue…
Damn it!
Damn that new government!
Damn the storm severing all communications!
And damn Rear Admiral Blackmore’s standing order!
Ewan knew that his old friend had done the right thing. That was what hurt the most. It was the right thing to do and yet it hurt so much.
It was times like these that he wished that he had no morality.
That way, such things wouldn’t bother him.
He was just about to call it a night and turn away when something caught his eye. It was small, but growing… and growing fast. The trajectory looked like it was incoming from the far side of Santrag II, and as more details came into view, recognition spread across Llewellyn’s face. Shining blue bodywork… taped, dark-like nose… tri-winged engine array propelling it away from the atmosphere…
Ewan felt his heart skip a beat.
A Santragan vessel was incoming.
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
Requesting emergency permission to dock, a Santragan vessel was finally approaching Starbase 499 after the terrible devastation of the storm. I have been summoned by Station Master Martinez to attend a meeting that she is holding with Ambassador Veth Ka’Gerran… who is apparently rather flustered about something…
“What do you mean that you’re not supposed to be here?”
Both Erica and Ewan fixed the Santragan with a confused frown. Veth Ka’Gerran looked older with each visit to the Federation outpost and it had nothing to do with the passage of time. It had been only months since Captain Llewellyn had shared a banquet with the Ambassador.
The bandage didn’t help.
Apparently, even dermal regenerators were in short supply in the chaos caused by the storms. A large, bloody swath of material covered the wound on Ka’Gerran’s cranium and it was obvious that he had been lucky not to lose one of his horns since they never grew back.
Scratching at his feral hairstyle, their guest answered his friends as best as he could. “The Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy believe themselves to be strong enough to handle the natural disaster on Santrag II without the need for external assistance from our allies, most notably the United Federation of Planets,” he said, apologizing. “Thankfully, one of the privileges that I was allowed to keep after being ousted as Prime Minister was my starship. I can’t just sit down there and nod along with this government. I simply can’t… and I’m sorry to bring this to you. I don’t know what else to do! My people are suffering! Dying!”
“It’s okay,” Erica soothed him diplomatically. “Don’t apologize.”
“We understand completely,” Ewan added with real compassion in his voice. “What I’m not sure that I understand, however, is what you would like us to do. Ambassador, is this a formal request for assistance?”
“It can’t be,” Ka’Gerran said, sobbing as he was close to his breaking point with the emotional strain of the storm’s effects, and his illegal actions. “I can’t make an official plea without ratification from the People’s Council. I don’t even know why I’m here…”
“We’ve helped you before,” Erica remembered, thinking back to the revolution and thinking back to her strong objections. Despite it being a breach of the Prime Directive, at least in her eyes, she could see the argument in favor of such an action. In retrospect, she also knew that it was one of the bravest things that Rear Admiral Blackmore and Captain Llewellyn had ever undertaken. Besides, her feelings back then were clouded. With the help of a certain tactical officer, that cloud had recently been lifted.
“What about those standing orders of yours?,” Ewan asked her instantly.
“I know that it’s betraying the Rear Admiral’s trust,” the Latina woman admitted,” but you’re right. I did some thinking. They’re stupid orders and he’s in a coma. We’re here and this is now, and something needs to be done here!”
“What exactly can that be?,” Ka’Gerran blurted out, confused as to the discussion going on around him between Starfleet officers covering orders that he had heard nothing about. “The instant that anybody on the surface sees a Starfleet uniform, they’ll contact the People’s Council!”
Llewellyn felt his face fall into his cupped hands. With the analytical precision of 499’s central computer, his mind raced over all of the possible options. It took a second but one was forthcoming. Could it work? Maybe, given the scale of the obliteration down there, nobody would stop to look at it too closely. It was a risk, but nothing came without risk in this job. Definitely not in this corner of the Beta Quadrant.
“Ambassador,” he finally asked him, breaking the silence between them,” who knows that you’ve left the surface?”
“No more than ten people could have seen my vessel leave, and they all work for me.”
“The launch was unregistered?”
“You can count on it. What are you getting at, Captain?”
Ewan simply smiled.
* * * *
“Now you’re sure that these are removable afterward?,” Jason Armstrong asked with some very real concerns, his Kentuckian accent trembling ever-so-slightly. “Being stuck with these for the rest of my life, I don’t know… I don’t want to roll over in the middle of the night and tear a hole through my pillow or anything.”
With a practiced hand, Katherine Pulaski was carefully applying the final in a series of artificial Santragan horns to the young ensign’s scalp. The blonde hair that usually adorned that section of his head was already swept back and stimulated to double in length, creating the promising beginnings of a Santragan hairstyle. She simply dismissed Jason’s irrational worry with a ‘stop-being-a-baby’ look and completed her work, adding the finishing touch. She stepped back and handed a mirror to her patient, her eyes casting a satisfied look over the Santragan version of Jason Armstrong.
Behind her, Valerie Archer and Gabriel Brodie sported similar surgical alterations and they were quite enjoying the wild differences in their appearances. Standing alongside Pulaski, Llewellyn was the only other person that was present to retain his outer humanity. He was busy staring at the change in his First Officer. She looked menacing with horns and feral hair, being almost beast-like… and a small part of him found it exciting.
“All finished, Captain,” Pulaski broke into his dream-like distraction. “I give you three away team members who will pass for Santragan nationals. It will take a medical tricorder to tell anyone otherwise, so steer clear of any physicians down there.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Brodie assured her. “Hopefully, we won’t have any need for them.
The doors to Sickbay swished open and another Santragan male entered the room.
“All set, Sollik?”
“Ka’Gerran is preparing to depart,” the Suliban chief engineer replied, devoid of any prosthetic enhancements. Thanks to his genetic shapeshifting abilities, he made an utterly convincing Santragan without Doctor Pulaski’s help. “I’ve loaded all of the supplies that we’re going to need into his cargo bay. I’ve also got our emergency transport beacons. If you’re uncovered, the transporter beam has been reconfigured to look non-Starfleet.”
As Sollik handed out the tiny devices to the away team, Ewan concluded the briefing. “At least, it will keep them scratching their heads for a while. Just see what you can do, okay? Keep your technology discreet and watch out for one another’s backs. Draw up cover stories for your otherwise-miraculous rescues and what-have-you. Remember, these people are our allies. Just because they’ve refused our help, it doesn’t mean that we should treat them with suspicion. I’m looking at you, Mister Brodie.”
Gabe made a face but Valerie had it covered. “Never fear,” she reassured Llewellyn,” he’ll stay in line.”
“Well, then… good luck. Off you go!”
ACT THREE
Starbase 499’s Sickbay Facility was pleasingly quiet. One nurse was attending to Crewman Ishihara, who had sprained his ankle playing American football on the holodeck, and another nurse was trying to make herself busy, despite the absence of work. Captain Llewellyn watched her rearrange hypospray vials, at least, for ten minutes before she finally turned towards him and gave him the nod. It just added to the Welshman’s dislike of hospitals.
Edward Blackmore hadn’t moved an inch. Even his beard hadn’t grown. His gray and white hairs were still regulation-length and neatly presented. Of course, Ewan thought to himself that this wasn’t really the case. Somebody had been making house calls. Pulaski or Martinez… it could have been either of them. What was it with women and tidying things? Anyways, such questions were not the reason for his visit.
Slowly, as he found himself doing more and more these days, he moved the chair that he always moved over to the side of the biobed and slumped down into it. Every single time, he secretly hoped to see the Rear Admiral open his eyes and smile at his presence. Every single time, he waited those few seconds, watching with his fingers crossed. Once again, he was disappointed.
“Hey, Boxer,” he finally whispered,” it’s me, Ewan.”
Nothing, no response whatsoever.
“I guess I’m here to apologize,” Llewellyn continued. “Erica and I broke your standing orders and I’ve sent a four-person away team down to the surface of Santrag II. I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t completely necessary, but Boxer… Damn it, there are people dying down there and we’re all Starfleet officers! I think you would have done the same thing. I mean, I don’t want to sound big-headed but I know you trust me. I hope you trust me, anyway, and when you’re finished taking this little nap of yours, I hope you’ll understand my reasons for sending Commander Archer and the others down there.”
The life-support monitor droned out the steady beeps of a reply.
“We actually got a request,” the Captain revealed to his motionless friend,” from Veth, even though it wasn’t a formal one. You know him better than anyone else, Boxer. I wish you could tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours. Last time that I saw him, he was taking those Santragan hijackers into custody and he wouldn’t say a word. Now he’s illegally asked for and received humanitarian assistance? So much for Santrag II being a member of the United Federation of Planets. I’m damned if I don’t know what’s going on down there, and neither does anybody aboard 499.”
Time was up, or so the not-so-busy nurse indicated when she waved from the corner of Sickbay.
Ewan lifted himself up to his feet, moving the chair back to where it belonged. “I say it every time,” he finished,” but wake up, okay?”
Edward Blackmore gave no answer.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, Stardate 51965.7;
It had been two days since Commander Archer’s undercover away team left for the surface of Santrag II. While our sensors still have a lock on their biosigns, they also have a lock on the capital city. The Santragans have repaired their communications, putting in a polite thanks-but-no-thanks call to Station Master Martinez. They’re also close to repairing their planetary sensor net, meaning that if Ambassador Ka’Gerran wants to return my people, he had better do it soon.
“Sir, I have Veth Ka’Gerran’s personal vessel approaching,” Lieutenant Arden Vuro reported from the helm, delivering the first bit of good news… hell, the first bit of news all day. “I’m getting a request from the Ambassador. He wants to beam the away team back to Fortitude immediately. He says that there’s no time to dock before the surface realizes what he’s up to.”
“Or what we’re up to,” the Captain mused, rising to his feet. “Do it, Arden, Transporter Room One!”
“Aye, sir,” answered the Bolians, leaving a gap of a few seconds. “We’ve got them, sir, in Transporter Room One. Four biosigns: three Humans, and one Suliban. Ka’Gerran is breaking away and returning to the surface.”
“Signal our gratitude and wish him a safe journey. You have the Bridge.”
* * * *
The Away Team was a sight for sore eyes. Upon entering Transporter Room One, Llewellyn actually failed to recognize his senior officers for several minutes. The Santragan prosthetics that he was expecting and used to seeing, but their clothes were torn and dirt smeared across every surface.
Valerie Archer hobbled towards him to deliver her report, almost falling into his waiting arms but nothing so dramatic or romantic would be happening today. At least, not until she had a shower.
“Bloody hell!,” Ewan gasped.
“That bad, huh?,” Jason Armstrong groaned from the background.
“What a couple of days…,” Valerie sighed, glad to be home. “We did some good work down there. Ambassador Ka’Gerran told everybody that we were friends of his from another province. We kept our phasers hidden but we managed to disintegrate the rubble in seconds that would have taken hours to move otherwise. He found and rescued over one hundred and fifty people between us. Sollik holds the record.”
“Cheat,” Gabriel Brodie winked with obvious sarcasm.
“We saw that the planetary sensor net was about to come back online,” Llewellyn noted, still taken aback by the disarray of the away team. “Was that why you got rushed back? How is Veth Ka’Gerran anyway?”
“Yeah, he didn’t want us to get stuck down there… and, well, he’s… quiet.”
“Can you blame him?,” Sollik hissed, cleaning grit away from his face.
“Not really, no,” Valerie agreed with an exhausted nod.
“Well, the important thing is that you’re all back safe,” Ewan admitted,” and while you probably shouldn’t have gone in the first place, Prime Directive permitting, I’m glad that you did. Make your personal logs about that, everybody. Make them about how you helped people in need… and full disclosure, okay?”
Four tired heads acknowledged the request. Eight tired legs then began to move towards the door. Sickbay awaited them with horns needing to be removed and hair needing to be reset to normal.
EPILOGUE
It was a sight that Veth Ka’Gerran would remember forever.
Three of the assistants in his ambassadorial office were working to remove the bits of tree and shards of glass that festooned the desk and cabinets. The smashed computer terminal would take longer to replace, but there was an entire city-wide infrastructure to rebuild out there, and given the People’s Council and their aversion to assistance from Starbase 499, there was little need for the Ambassador to be at the top of that list.
The sight that preoccupied Ka’Gerran was outside the window/ buildings in ruin, streets in disarray… and bodies underneath white sheets.
The relatively young Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy was not equipped for a recovery operation of this magnitude. The Starfleet officers had been excellent. Valerie Archer was a real leader of her own people and their technology had been a great asset. That chief engineer, Sollik… what skills he had! If he was a drinking man, he would have put him down to an alcohol-induced hallucination, but no… he was real. He really had slid through gaps that were no wider than an inch and climbed up walls when nobody was looking. He was truly remarkable.
While the Starfleet officers had been excellent, it infuriated the old statesman that he had to be clandestine in his recruitment. If only the People’s Council realized their own shortcomings!
There was a knock on what remained of his office door.
Veth Ka’Gerran turned to see a young man climbing over the wreckage. He was wearing the uniform of a local law firm and he was probably their errand boy. With no money left on Santrag II, lawyers were a dying breed. The errand boy finally made it to Veth’s side and his hand was outstretched with a data block in his hand.
“Ambassador Ka’Gerran?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “What of it?”
“I’m just the messenger, sir. Please take this and wait to be called.”
Ka’Gerran took the data block. On the polished screen, there was a short message that was accompanied by an image of a starship leaving the surface. What little script that they gave was launch times, return times, and possible destinations. He felt his heart leap into his throat as the inevitable conclusion was reached.
He was facing charges of unsanctioned representation of Santrag II.
He was facing a tribunal.
All for just helping his people and saving their lives…
The End.