Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Five, Episode Eleven - “Body Double”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“No… no, this is… impossible! Jim Morgan is dead!”
“Jason, please listen…”
It was all far too much for the young ensign to process. As Ewan Llewellyn stepped forward and reached out in a gesture of support, Jason Armstrong flew into a rage. He lashed out at the Captain’s arm, pushing it away and howling with an indescribable agony that he had last experienced on the floor of his quarters, three years ago. Three years ago when a communication from Starfleet Command informed him of the death of Ensign James Morgan, tactical officer, USS McCaffrey.
“Get away from me!,” he screamed. “What kind of sick joke is that?!”
“This is no joke, Ensign!,” Ewan shouted back at him. “That’s Jim!”
He was pointing to the biobed… To the gremlin, beaten and filthy, an empty expression on his innocent visage. Jason could barely focus long enough to take in the facial features of his long-dead boyfriend. He was overloading, with his head spinning, and his stomach-churning. It was simply beyond belief, beyond comprehension, to find Jim alive after all of this time, living rough aboard Starbase 499 in secret… and, oh my, shooting Naketha! Evading capture for months on end! Stealing food and a phaser and… no, this wasn’t Jim! It couldn’t be Jim! If it were, he would have tracked down Jason Armstrong immediately upon his return to the Santrag system!
“You’re lying!,” the Kentuckian continued to deny.
The cries of protest were becoming whimpers. The energy was draining from Jason’s limbs as if the motionless gremlin was physically sapping it from him with each continued second of blank stares and wordless silence. Reeling as if he had been punched across the face, he fell back into the Sickbay bulkhead, his blonde hair quickly becoming matted with sweat. This time, as Ewan rushed forward to catch him, there was no resistance.
Slowly, Jason’s world went dark.
The emotions overwhelmed his system.
In the arms of his Captain, he lapsed into unconsciousness.
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 53775.1;
The revelation that the gremlin hiding away aboard Starbase 499 is Ensign James Morgan shocks me to my very core. Naturally, I’m not the only person who is left reeling. Doctor Pulaski informs me that Ensign Armstrong is coming around from his blackout. She also informs me that Jim’s situation is deeply complicated and goes far beyond the injuries visible on his skin. I’m heading down to Sickbay to try and ascertain some answers from this mess.
He was sitting ever-so-gently on the edge of his seat, a bowl of chicken soup in his hand, slowly taking mouthfuls of the prescribed treatment. The shock to his system was still very much in evidence.
Ewan couldn’t blame him. The Welshman himself was in shock at seeing James Morgan alive again. For Jason Armstrong, that shock must have been tenfold or worse. With a great deal of caution, the Captain approached his operations officer, not wanting to add to the stress of the moment.
“Sir,” the Ensign noted, getting to his feet,” I want to apologize for lashing out…”
“There’s no need, Jason,” Ewan said, trying to smile. “Really, there’s no need. How are you feeling?”
“Like this bowl of PCS isn’t going to be enough, sir.”
“Are you up to joining me? Doctor Pulaski has a report that I need to hear.”
Slowly nodding in agreement, Jason followed his commanding officer. Together, they walked through to the main treatment area of Sickbay. Pulaski was leaning over the central biobed once again, her patient asleep for the moment.
Noting the arrival of the visitors with a sympathetic eye, she finished her dermal regeneration work. For the first time in a long time, James Morgan was starting to look Human again. The dirt and grease had been washed away from his dark skin and the disgusting clothes had been replaced with a modest medical gown. The cuts across his body were all but healed. Only the largest lacerations and a few burn marks remained.
“Welcome back, Captain,” Pulaski said, turning towards Jason quickly. “Ensign, if at any stage that you feel the need to leave, then do so. This isn’t going to be easy for you to hear.”
The young Kentuckian straightened his back with a strength that he didn’t know that he had. “With all due respect, Doctor, I think I need to hear it.”
“All right, well,” the Chief Medical Officer sighed,” where to begin? All of the physical injuries that I’ve treated are consistent with blunt trauma. Some of them are almost three years old. The most recent was administered some ten months ago. That’s when I would estimate that he escaped from captivity. Before you ask, Captain, I do believe that Ensign Morgan was in captivity. There were high-degree burns to his abdomen that are consistent with wounds obtained from Klingon painsticks.”
“The Klingons?,” Llewellyn whispered, letting memory take over. “The reports from the frontlines during the conflict with the Klingons showed that the McCaffrey was completely destroyed near the Federation-Klingon border. Are you saying that Jim somehow escaped?”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Pulaski confirmed solidly,” but all signs point to internment at a Klingon prison camp.”
“I thought that the Klingons didn’t take prisoners,” Jason whispered. He was unable to look away from Jim’s peaceful, sleeping face. The absent-minded observation was made on automatic, the ongoing conversation barely registering at all. “Why can’t he remember who I am? Why can’t he tell us what happened?”
“Ensign, when the human body is subjected to intense physical and emotional distress, it can react in multiple ways,” Pulaski tried to explain to both men. “Some people get angry and build up strength and adrenaline, whereas others try to escape the pain by retreating inside themselves. Ensign Morgan’s mind is operating on a natural base instinct. He’s obviously endured great stress. Great enough to repress his conscious self in a desperate attempt to protect it. He’s suffering from amnesia, and there’s nothing that I can do.”
“And yet he shot Naketha,” Ewan pointed out, clinging to a shard of hope.
“Base instinct again,” came the counter before the admittance,” but you’re right to point that out, Captain. The very fact that he recognized Naketha as a threat to your well-being means that his memories might still be in there, somewhere, locked away.”
“Oh, God,” Jason was crying now. “He must have suffered for so long…!”
“I won’t lie to you. The Klingons have put him through hell.”
Llewellyn had heard enough. Dragging the report out was only adding pressure to Jason’s grieving process. To see Jim return from beyond the grave, only to be told that his mind was blank and that, for all intents and purposes, he was dead anyway. The damage that it must have been causing was too much to allow continuance. Placing his right hand on his operations officer’s shoulder, he called it a day.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“I’ll let you know when he’s woken up,” Pulaski nodded.
Ewan started to move away, his hand still planted on Jason’s shoulder. The young ensign didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to tear his gaze away from Jim’s motionless, broken body. His place was here at his boyfriend’s side… Even if his boyfriend didn’t know who he was anymore.
“Captain, I want to stay.”
There was no other answer than Ewan’s compassion would allow.
“All right, I’ll check in with you later.”
He watched Jason nod his genuine appreciation before turning and leaving Sickbay for the Bridge. Doctor Pulaski returned to her treatment, stepping around her motionless company and deciding not to impose visiting hours upon him. Soon enough, it was just Jason left alone, staring at James Morgan with a head overflowing with loud, unrestrained thoughts. The love that had never died away, never yielded to the passage of time, was given a chance to breathe once again. The concern, the adoration, and the passion that came with a relationship… all of it flooded back over Jason’s weakened soul. It did so alongside a counteracting emotion called hatred.
Before, Jason had hated Klingons for killing Jim.
Now, he hated them even more for making him suffer.
* * * *
“I hope that I’m not tearing you away from anything important, Ed.”
Looking across a busy desk stacked with PADDs of various natures, Skarta Iblan didn’t need telepathic abilities to know that Rear Admiral Blackmore’s mind was filled with all sorts of topics, each one of them competing for supremacy. With a dismissive shake of his head, the old Starfleet officer reassured his trading friend otherwise.
“It’s just Veth Ka’Gerran again.”
“The exiled Santragan that you told me about?,” Iblan confirmed.
“Indeed. I’ll contact him later. Then, of course, there’s this Jim situation…”
“Jim?”
“He was a member of Ewan’s crew,” Blackmore explained. He was presumed dead, three years ago, when the starship that he was serving aboard was destroyed near the Federation-Klingon border. It turns out, apparently, that he survived and he has been detained in a prison camp ever since. Now he’s back and we have to… oh…”
The Rear Admiral trailed off, seeing Iblan react to the mention of the border and react to the story that sounded all too familiar. Kicking himself, Ed remembered the story of the brother that never returned from a trading run near the Klingon border. He remembered the anguish with which Skarta had spoken and the reason why he had grown so close, so quickly, to this VIP.
“Ed,” Iblan pleaded with him,” you’ve got to let me see him!”
“That’s out of the question,” Blackmore said, denying his request. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have even --”
“Ed, listen to me! If you had the chance, any chance, to find your lost brother again, you would follow it, wouldn’t you? This Jim, whoever he is, might know something about my brother! He’s been inside Klingon captivity and escaped! He could…!”
“No,” his host said, needing to be firm with his guest,” no way!”
Skarta Iblan wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He never lost anything.
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
Rear Admiral Blackmore has contacted me this afternoon and informed me of Skarta Iblan’s interest in James Morgan. As a precautionary measure, I have decided to keep the two of them as separate as possible. While the Rear Admiral might trust Mister Iblan to restrain his desire, I have no such trust and therefore, I must assume the worst. Jason Armstrong, who is in charge of trying to uncover Ensign Morgan’s suppressed memory, has been briefed on the situation. The trip down Memory Lane that he has planned will have to be contained aboard Fortitude, making it all the more difficult as Ensign Morgan never served aboard this vessel. Nevertheless, hopes are high…
His footsteps were small, weak, and tentative. Watching him nervously walk into his quarters, Jason Armstrong had all the patience required for James Morgan. It was a noble patience, overriding all of the other feelings at war inside his head. A large part of him just wanted to jump his boyfriend, to hold him, kiss him, and truly welcome him back… but this Jim wouldn’t understand. Another large part wanted to rush through every single scrap of evidence that would prove Jim’s previous life aboard the old Fortitude… but as Doctor Pulaski had rightly pointed out, rushing the process could overload Jim’s fragile, innocent mind and cause a further retreat. The patience won out.
Like a child, Jim was allowed to simply move through the cabin and find things for himself. The Kentuckian operations officer didn’t mind letting the process happen naturally. He was content to soak in the rejuvenated appearance of the dark skin and clean hair, happy to see a smart black jumpsuit replacing the tattered old clothes that had filled the disinfected Sickbay air with such offensive odors. Slowly, he took a seat underneath the window as Jim went exploring.
The first thing that gained a reaction was the starbase behind Jason’s head.
“Forty-nine and nine,” Jim whispered excitedly.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Jason encouraged softly. “We call it Starbase 499.”
“Star… base… forty-nine and…”
His attention shifted quickly in keeping with the childish demeanor of the empty mind. It amazed Ensign Armstrong to realize that such a mind, acting on pure instinct, had kept Jim going as the gremlin for so long. Even more impressive was the escape from a Klingon prison camp that must have happened at some stage. If only Jim could talk about it, remember it and his life before.
Well, there was plenty of time for that, watching Jim pad around his quarters with wide-eyed curiosity, Jason managed to break out a limited smile. The memory was in there somewhere, dormant, waiting to be unlocked.
It would resurface eventually.
The important fact to remember was that Jim was alive and Jason was there for him, supporting him along every stage of his recovery process. For that reason alone, the smile on the Ensign’s face intensified, only to be slightly broken when Jim reached for a certain picture frame and lifted it up for inspection.
“This… is me?”
Yes, it was him. The picture was one that was treasured by Jason Armstrong, the picture being from their graduation ceremony back at Starfleet Academy. Jim’s eternal grin had still managed to be the first thing that Jason saw every morning, thanks to that picture.
Stirring in his seat, the operations officer simply nodded his reply. He wanted to wait and see Jim’s reaction to recognizing himself in the image, in his former life, his old life, and his old memories.
Come on, Jim! Fight through!
There was a vacant, silent stare that seemed to last forever.
“Do you remember it?,” Jason finally broke, probing for the effect of the picture.
“No,” Jim said, shaking his head. “This isn’t me… but me…”
It was obviously confusing the hell out of the poor guy. Deciding to subdue his eager lust for progress, Jason got to his feet and moved over to the replicator. If anything, perhaps some food would win over Jim’s eventual trust which could, in turn, lead to a flashback to the trust that they used to share. Besides, the once-proud musculature of Jim’s athletic body had been reduced to nothing, thanks to his experiences foraging as the gremlin aboard Starbase 499. Clearing his throat, Jason remembered Jim’s favorite dish and ordered two plates of it to be conjured up.
It drew Jim away from the picture frame in seconds.
“Food!,” he cried out, beaming with joy.
“You bet,” Jason had to smile. “Food, it is.”
* * * *
Three decks above them, another replicator produced two steaming cups of coffee. They were picked up by Captain Llewellyn who, while sipping from one, handed the other cup to Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. It was the first face-to-face meeting since their less-than-amicable parting over the issue of Skarta Iblan. While nothing had changed from either perspective, something had been reinforced. Both men understood where the other one was coming from. Both men wanted to apologize.
“You were just looking out for me,” the older officer sighed. “I shouldn’t have slapped you down so hard. I keep forgetting everything that happened in my missing year. You deserve better, especially given Skarta’s reaction to Jim.”
“No, I was wrong to question your judgment,” Ewan countered quickly. “At the risk of this turning into a mutual admiration session, it’s that judgment that has made so many allies out here and reinforced the Federation’s presence for so long.”
“Heh… I wouldn’t be so quick to jump that gun…”
“What do you mean?”
“Veth Ka’Gerran, my best buddy, saw his world turn itself inside-out and now he’s in exile aboard my starbase,” the Rear Admiral noted with self-doubt. “Oh, which reminds me… He’s been trying to call. I should get back to him at some stage. It’s probably nothing. He’s probably feeling sidelined, thanks to Skarta’s visit…”
“Unfortunate fellow,” Ewan agreed with a nod. “If you want me to see him…?”
“Nah, you’re okay, but thanks anyway. Thanks for everything, buddy.”
“Just doing my job, Boxer,” the Welshman said, grinning.
“Still, I don’t say it enough…”
Before a blushing Llewellyn could divert the conversation elsewhere, the lights did so for him. For the second time in as many days, a Red Alert interrupted the low, calming background hum of the Norway-class starship. Slamming his coffee cup onto the desk, he answered the call with the Rear Admiral hot on his heels.
“Captain Llewellyn to the Bridge… Red Alert!”
ACT THREE
“Report!”
Pitching wildly into the command chair, Ewan Llewellyn looked around the Bridge of his starship for answers. Protocol demanded the announcement of the Captain’s arrival, not to mention the arguably more important announcement that Rear Admiral Blackmore was with him, was ignored in the heat of the moment. He needed to know if something was incoming. Was the problem aboard Starbase 499 or aboard the Fortitude? Was his crew in immediate danger? Should the shields be raised and weapons charged? Rotating towards the most senior officer on duty, his expression asked all of this and more.
Seated at the tactical station, Gabriel Brodie was quick to react. “Sir, we’ve picked up an unauthorized transporter beam,” he reported in a booming voice.
“Location?”
“Deck Four, Section Ten… Crew Quarters. Captain, it’s James Morgan! He’s gone!”
There was no time for gasps. Ewan continued to press for answers. “Exactly where has he gone, Mister Brodie?”
“Tracing the beam, sir. He’s aboard the Iblan Trading vessel!”
In a flash, the holographic viewscreen flared to life. It showed the small, compact lines of Skarta Iblan’s personal ship that was still docked at the upper loading bay of Starbase 499, motionless and peaceful. Before anybody could react, a beam of energy flew from the craft. It ripped into the umbilical supports and docking arms, breaking them into tiny fragments of spinning wreckage in seconds. Impulse engines roared to life as it tried to beat a hasty retreat.
“That son of a bitch,” Blackmore growled. “I knew that he couldn’t let it go!”
Meanwhile, Llewellyn had another more horrifying thought. “Mister Brodie, locate Ensign Armstrong!”
“He’s in the Transporter Room, Captain,” Gabe snapped back, leaving off the obvious reason why the Kentuckian operations officer was in there. Before his very eyes, the controls were rerouted and bypassed with skill and speed. “He’s initiating beaming!”
“Block him, now!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the black man replied. “He’s over there!”
“Well, get him back!”
“Attempting to establish a lock… Damn it, some kind of dampening field…”
“Mister Brodie, I would really appreciate my officers back here!”
“Sensors can’t find them, sir!”
Ominously, the Iblan Trading vessel pointed her nose away from the Santrag system and, with power beyond her appearance, disappeared into the starfield at faster-than-light speeds. Screwing his hands into tight fists, Ewan glanced over at Rear Admiral Blackmore. He gave him a short, grim nod of confirmation. His best friend had been right all along and his new friend had just become his new enemy.
“Helm,” Ewan barked,” pursuit course, maximum warp!”
* * * *
He followed the voices. They were loud enough.
“No…!”
“Tell me what you know!”
“You are… no…!”
“How did you escape the prison camp?”
“Leave… me… alone…!”
Grateful that Skarta Iblan came to travel on a small vessel, Jason Armstrong burst out onto the command deck with his phaser raised. Ahead of him, neither of them took any notice of his arrival as the trading baron was locked in a grapple with James Morgan.
The amnesiac was putting up one hell of a defiant struggle considering his weakened state and the imposing armor plating of Iblan’s frame. Unable to watch for more than an instant, Jason adjusted his aim by a tiny fraction and opened fire. The blinking control panel behind Iblan exploded, showering the two combatants with sparks. Suddenly, his hold on Jim was released.
“Get away from him,” Jason demanded,” now!”
Upon having his shoulders let go, Jim collapsed to the soft flooring. The interior of the trading ship certainly didn’t match the exterior. Skarta Iblan was, after all, an incredibly rich man. The lavish curved surfaces and comfortable chairs, all matching in a deep sinister crimson, seemed to blend together into an impressive whole. Despite this, as a terrified Jim scuttled away from Iblan’s boots, he managed to somehow find an access hatch. The instinct that made him hide away inside Starbase 499’s various crawl spaces and tunnels told him to do the same here.
Jason watched him go, wanting so desperately to follow. He couldn’t, though.
Skarta Iblan was a dangerous man. Any move to lower the phaser would backfire.
“You care for him,” the trading baron hissed at him, his telepathy serving him well.
“Yes, I do,” retorted the young Kentuckian.
“You care for him and you’re just going to let him go?”
After a nanosecond of consideration, only one simple option remained.
“No… I’m not!”
Without a shred of mercy, Jason fired.
The heavy stun setting of the phaser punched into Iblan. He crumpled to the floor, his jaw hanging open in a silent cry of agony. Somehow, his blazing eyes remained open, staring at Jason with utter contempt. This insolent boy was keeping him from learning about his brother, keeping him from using Jim to guide him…
How dare he!
Well, he vowed, watching him move towards the open access hatch, searching for his beloved. If he was doomed, then so were they! Skarta Iblan never lost anything!
But he had, hadn’t he? He had lost his brother. Such a loss was intolerable for one who was so successful, so powerful… and so right! It was his waking thought, his final thought, his one everlasting prayer, and hope. He would give anything to reverse the mistakes of the past, but such a thing was impossible. Such a thing was just outside of his grasp that could catch anything failing him. It slowly drove him insane, the recognition, the knowledge that one mistake would hang over his name for the rest of his life.
Well, he thought to himself, there was always the option of ending such pain.
Feeling the phaser blast defeat more of his energy, Iblan reached out, his shaking gloved hand finding the appropriate button and pushing down on it without a moment’s hesitation. Jason heard the action and turned to see him cackle with instability and maniacal glee.
“What have you done?”
“Set the auto-destruct sequence!,” yelled the trader.
“Shut it down!,” Jason protested, jabbing the phaser towards him once more.
“It’s irreversible! We’re all going to die!”
“You bastard… Why?!”
“Because if I can’t have him,” Iblan spat out with his last breath,” then nobody can!”
Somewhere in the distance, probably along the outer hull towards the rear of the small vessel, the dull echo of an explosion could be heard. It was quickly joined by another and another like the mounting thunder of an incoming storm. Allowing Skarta Iblan to lapse into unconsciousness, Jason turned with swelling anxiety back to the open access hatch and to the task of chasing the confused, childlike James Morgan.
He had to find him… even if it was the last thing that he ever did.
EPILOGUE
“Jim!”
Jason discovered him mere seconds ahead of the rapidly expanding detonations that hungrily consumed the Iblan Trading ship. He had found the forward-most compartment aboard. It was some deflector relay room that wasn’t designed for easy humanoid access. With his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking slowly back and forth in panic, James Morgan was frantically trying to shut out the reality of the nightmare that he was in. He didn’t even understand the circumstances that led him to be here.
The loud, shouting man…
The strange shimmering lights that picked him up without warning…
The yelling and the silver gun that made light…
All of it barely registered in his empty mind.
Seeing Jim like this made Jason’s chest physically ache. The young ensign didn’t care about any of Doctor Pulaski’s recommendations at the moment. He was about to die, stranded aboard some god-forsaken bucket in the middle of space and he wanted to be holding his boyfriend. Ignoring the crescendo of blasts that grew ever-closer, he simply kneeled down beside Jim’s cowering form and hugged him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into his ear. “I’m so sorry that this had to happen…”
The tragedy of it all was too great for tears.
Fire and destruction obliterated four compartments away… three… two…
Perhaps it was the very same trauma that repressed them in the first place. Perhaps it was some kind of sixth sense alerting him to the inevitability of death. Perhaps it was the sensation of Jason Armstrong’s arms cradling him after so many years, the smell of his cascading blonde hair or the touch of his cheek against his. Whatever the reason, it happened in that instant. As if somebody somewhere had flipped a switch, an abrupt look of awareness spread across Jim’s face.
Suddenly he remembered it all.
Suddenly he remembered who he was.
Suddenly he remembered his boyfriend.
“Jay…?”
Both men exchanged a gaze of heartbreaking realization.
Then, and only then, did the Iblan Trading vessel finally explode.
The End.