Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Five, Episode Twelve - “Behind Closed Doors”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“Transporter Room… Transporter Room, come in!”
Valerie Archer ignored the yelling over the intercom system. She was far too busy to answer her Captain, even if it pained her to block his voice under any circumstance, but today, it was necessary. Standing alongside the transporter chief, the First Officer was focused on doing her job. There had only been a split-second during the horrific process of events in which to act, and now she was determined not to have that split-second wasted by anything.
“Diverting power to the confinement beam,” she called out.
“I’m getting a cohesion trace,” the transporter chief nodded in reply.
“Do we have them?”
Slowly the answer formed before her eyes. The swirling blue energy matrix of the beam-in came to a satisfying conclusion, depositing two hunched-over forms safely aboard the USS Fortitude and causing Valerie to break out in a wide grin.
They got them!
It had seemed impossible with the dampening field around the Iblan Trading vessel going offline, thanks to the auto-destruct sequence and leaving no time at all to rescue the pair of them from a blazing end… but they had them! Stepping forward eagerly, she watched as two familiar faces emerged from the bundle of limbs and clothing. She took delight in registering their reaction to being safe.
“Oh my God!,” Jason Armstrong gasped.
“You’re kidding me!,” James Morgan chuckled.
Valerie paused, a frown descending across her visage. Jim sounded different, and not like the empty-minded gremlin that had been kidnapped by Skarta Iblan. As she walked closer to the transport pad, Jim noticed her confusion and gave her a little wink. It only served to broaden her grin.
“Transporter room,” repeated the Captain’s voice,” report, please!”
“Archer here, sir,” the First Officer finally answered him. “They’re back, Ewan!”
ACT ONE
Watching the streaking stars from the Observation Lounge window, Ewan Llewellyn was taking a much-needed minute to simply comprehend the past several days. If anybody had told him in advance about James Morgan being the gremlin or that Skarta Iblan would kidnap him or that Jason Armstrong would affect an eleventh-hour rescue attempt only to be faced with an auto-destruct sequence…
Well, he wouldn’t have laughed but he would have had a tough time believing it. The most incredible part, the part where Jim’s repressed memories were unlocked by goodness-only-knows-what in the dying seconds, was the icing on an already inconceivable cake.
Ewan was so lost in his internal analysis that he failed to hear the door slide open behind him. He also failed to hear the approaching footsteps. It was only when a certain pair of gray shoulders loomed into the corner of his vision that he turned with a mixture of surprise and acceptance.
“Hey, Boxer,” the Welshman smiled.
“Trying to grasp it all, eh?,” Rear Admiral Blackmore grunted.
“How did you guess?”
“I know you too well. Besides, everybody aboard is doing the same, myself included.”
“Care for some coffee?,” Ewan offered, pointing towards the replicator.
“No, no thanks,” Ed declined, his eyes not shifting from the warp-distorted starfield beyond the Observation Lounge window. “We’ll be back at Starbase 499 in a few minutes and I’ve got a desk to return to. I just wanted to check up on you. I mean… all of us mourned the loss of Jim Morgan back in seventy-three but he was your crewman and I know the difference that it makes.”
“Bloody hell, Boxer, you’re just as bad as Valerie!”
“So you’re fine then?”
“Doctor Pulaski gave both Jim and Jason the once-over. They’re both alive and healthy and I couldn’t ask for anything further. It is fantastic news, it really is, and whatever emotional roller coasters have been traveled are over now.”
Blackmore hated to bring it up but as a member of Starfleet’s top brass, he felt that he had no other choice. Nevertheless, he broached the subject as carefully as he could. It was the part that Valerie had failed to mention. The part he knew that Ewan had already thought about and perhaps the most awkward part of the whole aftermath.
“Will you be pressing charges?”
“Against Jason, you mean?,” the Captain stated rather than asked him.
“He instigated an illegal transport and broke half a dozen regulations with that stunt.”
“And he didn’t even save Jim. We did, along with him. Look, I know the rulebooks say to ‘throw this document at this officer’ but can I really blame him for his actions? You and I both know that love is a tricky thing, Boxer. Damn it, he probably wasn’t even in proper control of his senses at the time… and I don’t want to bring all of that up in some kind of painful inquest. My reckoning is to ignore it. Do you object?”
“Object?,” said Blackmore immediately. “I was going to suggest the same!”
Ewan laughed, shaking his head gently.
There were times when he was the luckiest officer in Starfleet.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, Stardate 53776.2;
We have returned to the Santrag system and delivered Rear Admiral Blackmore back aboard Starbase 499. With the incident with Skarta Iblan being over, there is no reason why my ship and crew shouldn’t restart our mission of exploration. While we stock up on supplies, a newfound sense of calm has descended over my senior staff. I can only hope that we get the all-clear to depart from the Rear Admiral. As soon as his meeting with Veth Ka’Gerran is finished, I’ll be heading over with my request.
He found him waiting inside his office.
It instantly made the Rear Admiral furrow his brow with concern. Veth Ka’Gerran was one of the most polite people that he had ever met. Thanks to the unique situation that the exiled Santragan found himself in, he was also one of the timidest. To preempt the scheduled meeting by turning up and making such a blatant display of his frustration was rare. No, scratch that, unheard of.
“Veth,” Blackmore said in a low tone,” what’s the matter?”
“Ah, Boxer, it’s about time!”
The exclamation actually provoked recoil from his host. His frown only intensified as he walked around his desk and sat down behind it. Veth barely moved in response, his wiry arms crossed in irritation, his legs matching. His countenance was dominated by narrow eyes that bore straight into Blackmore’s bearded features. He was certainly more unkempt than usual, his wild hairstyle matted and twisted around the gnarled ring of horns that it crowned. For the first time in a long time, the Rear Admiral detected genuine fright, clear of the general malaise into which the former Prime Minister and Ambassador had sunk. Whatever this was, it was going to be huge.
“Why didn't you answer my calls earlier?”
“My apologies, old friend,” Ed calmed him,” but we’ve been somewhat busy.”
“None of that matters,” Veth immediately snapped at him,” not when compared to what I’ve got to tell you. I told you that my messages were urgent! I’m acting on intelligence that has a very strict time frame, you know!”
“Intelligence? What are you talking about?”
“My exile has not been complete over the past year, Boxer. After all, Starbase 499 is home to a handful of Santragan nationals, and rightly so. Some of them are aware of my presence here. Don’t worry, they won’t cause trouble. Like me, they are opposed to the Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy and that pointless People’s Council that they’ve set up down there. They keep me updated on bits and pieces of news, especially important information considering that communications between your office and the People’s Council have all but frozen over recently.”
“So basically you have spies working for you? Blackmore felt a headache coming on.
“I’ve taken steps to distance the Federation from my actions. I wouldn’t want anybody to be dragged down, should my illegal activity be uncovered. However, that might not be a worry for either of us in the near future.”
“What do you mean?”
Veth Ka’Gerran placed his hands flat on the desk’s surface. It was done to emphasize the severity of his next point. “Are you aware of the Santragan mining operation on Santrag IV?”
“Vaguely,” Blackmore recalled. “It was set up after the revolution to help productivity and it continues to be a strong source of materials for the industrial sector. In fact, we’ve noticed an increase in shipping lately. Times must be good.”
“The mining operation on Santrag IV is a front, Boxer, and it had been for quite some time. The People’s Council is secretly constructing additional cruisers to add to the Santragan fleet… heavily armed cruisers. It is the belief of my contact that this increase in weaponry expansion is to ensure that you have no alternative when it comes to bowing to the forthcoming demands.”
The Rear Admiral didn’t really want to know but he asked anyway. “Forthcoming demands?”
“Santrag II is preparing to leave the United Federation of Planets.”
ACT TWO
“That’s crazy! That's totally crazy!”
“Well, Valerie, we’ll soon find out,” Blackmore told the Fortitude’s First Officer as he brought her up-to-speed on the information that Veth Ka’Gerran had divulged to him. “Ewan’s up on the Bridge now with Sollik. They’re using the sensors to scan the mining colony and see if they can detect this new fleet.”
Commander Archer couldn’t help the wave of resentment from washing over her. She paused to almost punch the turbolift controls, blanking the disapproving glare from her superior officer. It was her anger and she could do what she wanted with it… and it was certainly justified after all. The situation on Santrag II had gone from bad to worse to almost catastrophic over the years. The images playing most predominantly in her mind were the images of the injured men, women, and children that she had helped during the aftermath of that terrible storm, eighteen months ago. Helped illegally, one might add. She had seen, first hand, the arrogance of the People’s Council.
“We should have kicked them out during the damn revolution!”
“Such judgments are not ours to make,” Ed reminded her calmly.
“Maybe they should be!,” Valerie objected, barely keeping a respectable tone. “We’re the one out here, sir. The ones with experience in dealing with them! The Federation Council might be eager to keep every single ally that we have at the moment, and maybe they’re right to do so. Santrag II is an exception… and now look where we are! A gigantic fleet is being assembled in secret so that they can come off as all heroic when they threaten us at gunpoint! That can’t be doing the Federation any good, can it?”
“I don’t like it either, Valerie,” Blackmore had to admit to her.
“It’s not about who likes what, sir. Now it’s become about who survives what…”
* * * *
He was looking at a personnel record.
Jason Armstrong stepped closer, his arrival as-yet unnoticed, to peer quietly over the shoulder of James Morgan and see just which personnel record that it was. The operations officer slowly closed his eyes in understanding when he saw a young female face, fresh and eager, smiling back out of the PADD.
“I keep forgetting just how much you’ve missed,” he sighed.
Jim turned without shock, welcoming the warmth of Jason’s hand on his neck.
“I’d like to think that she gave the Borg a run for their money,” he noted weakly, placing the picture of Doctor Lynn Boswell on the table and pushing it away. To return and find that so much was different. So much change and so much loss. It was challenging for the healthiest of minds, let alone one that had been ravaged by trauma and chaos. “First Lynn, then that Shurvun business that I read about. The loss of the first Fortitude and Arden Vuro is gone too. I even gathered that the Rear Admiral was in and out of a coma! Is there anything else?”
“Aside from the Captain and his mechanical arm,” Jason began.
“Damn, Jay!,” Jim blurted out.
It was a reaction beyond his control. There were still some primal instincts rising to the surface every now and then. The miracle of his recovery wouldn’t be completely perfect. A tiny recoil on Jason’s part was quickly countered by a sympathetic embrace and the Kentuckian was kneeling down beside his boyfriend, holding him tightly. He was immediately calmed, almost as if the hug had healing properties.
“It’s just going to take a while, okay? Getting everything in order, everything that I’ve missed… considering that there are three years of it…”
“I know, I know,” Jason whispered, not letting go. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” came the indisputable gratitude.
Gently they separated their entangled arms and shared a graceful, unhurried kiss. For all of the trouble ahead and all of the struggle behind them, the fact that they would be together again made everything seem small and insignificant in comparison. Together, they felt indestructible. It had only been when Jim left Jason’s side that he had fallen to the apparent specter of death. It was a mistake that neither man wanted to repeat. Their lips parted tenderly and a smile was shared to rebel against the weight of their circumstances.
“I do have one other question,” Jim had to ask. “In three years, did you…?”
“No,” Jason interrupted him firmly, shaking his head with emphasis.
“Not once?”
“Jim, do you trust me?”
“More than anybody in the Galaxy, Jay. You know that.”
“Then trust me when I say that there was never, ever anybody else. There never would have been and there never will be. You were the first and the only man that I have ever loved, and you’ll forever remain that. Even the ship must have realized since it took us quite a while to fill the vacancy at tactical. A vacancy that I occupied for some time. I wasn’t going to let anybody replace you professionally and I never would personally.”
There were tears welling up in Jim’s dark eyes. He desperately blinked them away but it was too late. Jason had seen them. Reaching out, the operations officer placed a hand on his boyfriend’s cheek and encouraged them to flow freely. As they did, leaving their long stains down to Jim’s trembling mouth, both men touched foreheads and let the silence do the talking.
Together, they sat and cried.
Together, they healed.
* * * *
“Activate the holographic viewscreen, intrusive mode.”
The three-dimensional representation of Santrag IV was perhaps the most detailed image ever rendered by Fortitude’s advanced Bridge display. Ewan Llewellyn gave a short hum of interest as he focused on the minuscule aspects of the projection. The mining operation set up on the surface of the otherwise-lifeless moon was certainly complex, to say the least. Tiny loading vehicles cut threads into the surface dust as they hauled crates of rock and slag from structure to structure. Even the odd mine worker was visible through the luminescent windows that pin-pricked the facility.
After two laps of the image, Ewan could find nothing out of the ordinary. “Is there anything beyond this, Sollik?”
The Suliban chief engineer was about to answer him in the negative before something caught his beady yellow eyes. The pause that followed was enough to grab the Captain’s attention. He turned to his right, glaring at the engineering console. If there was anything beyond the projection’s scope, he needed to know.
“Sollik?,” he repeated, his Welsh accent tinted by trepidation.
“There’s a slight phase variance at bearing two-six-two, mark eight,” came the reply from behind a green-scaled frown. “It could be nothing, but then again, it is somewhat precise for random interference.”
“Is there any way to compensate for the variance?”
“I’m trying… I think so. I’ll bring it up on the projection.”
The glowing orb of Santrag VI flickered and vanished at Sollik’s command, instead of being replaced by a seemingly-empty spatial grid. Ewan watched in horror as the sensors compensated for the phase variance. Suddenly, the spatial grid wasn’t very empty. It was quite the opposite in fact. Feeling his jaw drop involuntarily, the Welshman stepped forward to better comprehend what he was seeing.
Eight of them hung together in a deadly formation, hidden from view.
Veth Ka’Gerran was right.
The Santragan Fleet was being upgraded… severely.
ACT THREE
“Captain Llewellyn, what a pleasant surprise.”
The visage that filled the viewscreen was not a pleasing one. Ewan Llewellyn had only seen it once before and, as such, had forgotten just how repulsive it was. There was no polite way of putting it. To any culture or any race, Tret Bra’Kala was simply ugly. His rotund scalp was home to a layer of grease rather than hair, the Santragan vestigial horns being all the more noticeable because of it. Despite the wide dimensions of the image in which he appeared, there was a good deal of his hefty frame cut away. It was probably for the better, he thought, suppressing a wince of disgust.
“Mister President,” the Captain greeted him as best as he could. “With all due respect, I was under the impression that the People’s Council of the Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy benefited from a rotating presidency. I wasn’t expecting to find you still holding the reins of power.”
It was a lie, of course. Ewan knew full well that Tret Bra’Kala wouldn’t be removed from his presidential position by something as inconsequential as a constitutional rule. Of all of the politicians that he had encountered over his years as a Starfleet officer, this man was the most ruthlessly ambitious of them all… and according to Veth Ka’Gerran, the most morally corrupt, too. He knew his type all too well.
“The people weren’t prepared to have their leader step down,” Bra’Kala chuckled, the joke that he made being lost on Llewellyn. “It would seem that my public service calling has me in conversation with you once more. What can I do for you?”
“Okay, well, I’ll come straight to the point. I have reason to believe that you might be undertaking some seriously illegal activity at your mining colony on Santrag IV, Mister President. I apologize for this blunt accusation but I’m sure that there’s some reasonable explanation. In the interest of our continued unity, I thought that it was best to bring my concerns directly to your government.”
The lack of mentioning the actual detection of the new fleet was deliberate. Llewellyn wanted to read Bra’Kala’s reactions.
It was odd to be confronted with the echo of laughter.
“That’s quite a theory, Captain. I would only be too happy to set your mind at rest. Why don’t you and Rear Admiral Blackmore beam down to my location? I’m currently touring the historical township, several miles outside the capital. You can join me for a banquet and we’ll discuss these accusations.”
That was it. No anger? No denial? No yelling?
“Agreed,” Ewan heard himself say. Was it really this easy?
“Excellent! I’m sure that you’ll enjoy your visit, Captain. This place is like a little slice of the past. What better place is there to debate our future? I await your arrival.”
The connection went dead.
Ewan slumped back into his command chair, mulling over the facts.
“Sir, if I may venture an observation?”
“Go ahead, Sollik.”
“That sounds like a trap to me.”
The Welshman turned to his Suliban colleague with a wry smile. It was just what he had been thinking. Tret Bra’Kala must have known that the secret fleet additions would be found out, sooner or later, and he must have had a contingency plan in place. But what of this historical town, preserving the past? Why there and not the capital, especially given the tiny distance of several miles. Nevertheless, he had no alternative.
“I agree,” he said, rising to his feet,” so we’ll form a Plan B.”
* * * *
The portly politician was having a very good day.
President Tret Bra’Kala had always known that the moment would arrive when those meddling Starfleet fools would learn about, or indeed, discover for themselves, the new Santragan cruisers being constructed over Santrag IV. The refractive shield technology developed to mask the subterfuge was the perfect cover, but not all covers were entirely water-tight. This one had leaked through other sources and through other, less loyal lips than his. Soon he would take great pleasure in tracking down just who had tipped Captain Llewellyn and Rear Admiral Blackmore off. Then the pleasure of killing that traitor would be just as rewarding.
As the whine of two transporter beams filled the ancient marble walls, Tret snapped his oily fingers. Before the materialization process could be completed, four Santragan guards had their weapons raised and loaded. A fifth guard tapped a small control pad, activating a sensory interference field that would seal the effectiveness of the plan. Everything flowed smoothly towards the conclusion. Their two Starfleet guests were surrounded by armed guards, cut off from their starship and starbase.
The expression of mistrust and apprehension on the Human faces was justified.
“What the hell is going on?,” Edward Blackmore barked.
“President Bra’Kala,” Ewan Llewellyn demanded,” what is the meaning of this?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Captain?,” the corrupt leader hissed with glee. “I just couldn’t let you remain in orbit, out of my reach, knowing what you know. Your theory about the illegal activity at the mining colony is correct. I feel much safer with you two officious annoyances where I can keep my eyes on you!”
As he wheezed towards them, Tret’s breathing sounded like steam venting from an old piston engine. The analogy suited their surroundings, Ewan thought as his combadge was snatched from his chest. Gas-powered torches lined the walls, casting an eerie flickering glow over the gathering. It was like traveling backward in time. He almost found himself wishing that it were so. At least then, there would be no repugnant Tret Bra’Kala to deal with.
“Listen to me, you bastard,” Blackmore growled as his combadge was also taken away. “You are the designated ruler of a Federation member world! You cannot go around kidnapping Starfleet officers! This act alone threatens to violate your member status, damn it!”
“But that’s the idea, Rear Admiral,” Bra’Kala chuckled.
“You’re leaving the Federation,” Ewan questioned,” and you’re doing it like this?”
“I’m doing it in a way that best suits my people! For too long, you’ve hung over this planet and looked down upon us with your lofty values and precious morality! At first, my people were confused. They thought that such a lifestyle was beneficial and that led to the revolution. Believe me when I tell you that my resulting leadership is the only positive aspect of that whole experience!”
Throwing the pair of combadges to the stone floor, Tret stamped on them with blatant relish. Ewan and Ed were watching a madman with control over their very lives. It sent chills down their spines in unison as if they were telepathically linked.
“And what of our Federation membership status?,” Bra’Kala continued, spewing his rhetoric as if he was practicing it for a larger event. “All that you’ve done is continually stick your self-righteous noses into our affairs! I know all about your unlawful away team, Captain, last year, during the storms. Your latest nefarious project too, the Human biosign that you placed in our capital city. No doubt here to spy on me…”
“Wait, Human biosign?,” Llewellyn protested. “I know nothing of this!”
“Please… Your objection seals your guilt!”
“If we’re guilty of anything,” Rear Admiral Blackmore snapped at Bra’Kala,” it is of caring too much about the Santragan people and being concerned when their President turns out to be a stuck-up son of a bitch!”
The satisfied smirk on Bra’Kala’s face disappeared.
“Your trial will determine that. Guards… take them away.”
EPILOGUE
“Human biosign,” Ewan thought aloud. “What is he talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Ed had to admit. “I’m sure that it’ll come out in this blasted show-trial.”
“You would tell me if you did know, right?”
“Of course, I would!,” the older man yelled, thumping the cold wall of the murky, dank cell that he and his best friend stood in. a single gas-powered torch provided scant illumination, casting long shadows that made every word and movement seem sinister and portentous. Feeling his uncontrolled action draw blood between his knuckles, he recoiled, seething at the discomfort. “For God’s sake, Ewan, we can’t be used in such a twisted game! Our faces cannot be on anti-Federation posters!”
“There’s always Plan B,” the Captain said, trying to comfort him.
“It’ll never work. It doesn’t guarantee our escape.”
Ewan succumbed to his own self-doubt, pushed that little extra distance by Ed’s vocal concerns. Plan D had been cobbled together in a hurry and it was laden with a serious risk of detection. It was the truth, he had to admit. It hardly guaranteed their escape. They simply weren’t expecting Tret Bra’Kala to act so ruthlessly and so quickly.
“What are you saying, Boxer?”
“I’m saying that we have to do whatever we can to stop their show-trial from taking place.”
Allowing his mind to be assaulted with possible answers, Llewellyn started staring at a wall, letting his eyes shut down. When he finally returned his focus to them, they were looking directly at the gas-powered torch as they were drawn to the flickering light. He dared to not point it out. Turning around, however, he saw that the Rear Admiral had settled down on the same conclusion. They dwelled in the foreboding, agonizing silence for what seemed like an eternity before.
Ed just nodded. “You have to,” he growled.
Not quite able to fully comprehend the brutal finality of his actions, Ewan flexed the mechanical gears within his left arm. Reaching out, his synthetic fingers wrapped themselves around the pipe leading into the base of the torch. It was rusty, degraded, and weathered with age. An easy thing to break. The natural and highly-toxic gas inside would do the job slowly, quietly, and painlessly.
The Welshman gave his commanding officer one final, regretful look. “It has been an honor to serve with you, sir.”
“Likewise, buddy… likewise…”
The End.