Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Five, Episode Six - “Maelstrom”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“What’s up? You seem… pensive.”
Valerie Archer inwardly chuckled at how Ewan Llewellyn had started his sentence with an almost-Americanized twang but ended it and kept true to his Welsh roots. Staring at him over the breakfast table, she had to admit that he was right. Something was troubling her, making each sip of coffee and bite of toast through a thick layer of confusing worry before it could be finally swallowed. Their relationship may have started because the First Officer knew her Captain too well, but he had been overcompensating for that imbalance lately.
“It’s Naketha,” she admitted to him,” and all of the question marks that she carries with her.”
“I think I’ve decided to blank them from my mind,” Ewan said sternly. “It was driving me insane. The fact that she’s here, in our Brig, and yet as silent as a tomb. We could all try and try until we die, but I doubt that we’ll ever pry any information from her.”
“Hence blanking her. Well, it’s a nice idea in theory.”
“You don’t think I’ll last?”
The Commander shook her head. A lock of hair, unregulated at this time of the morning and yet to be secured into place, brushed across her face as she recalled an anecdote from her childhood and decided that it fit the current situation.
“When I was six years old, my mother and father were serving aboard the USS Ranger near the Mutara Sector. The captain of the Ranger was a Kreetassan and, remarkably for his species, was almost one-hundred and fifty years old. Boy, did he have some stories! The one that I remember the most is from his youth. He and his parents lived on the shore and every year, fire serpents would wash in and out with the various tides.
“Throughout his teens, he had become obsessed with catching a fire serpent. He tried and tried and tried until one year, he finally caught one.”
“Lucky man,” Ewan interrupted her, his mouth filled with toast. “What’s your point?”
“The fire serpent stung him and he ended up in the hospital for a month.”
“Ah… right…”
Leaning back, as breakfast was finished, Valerie ended her story with a warning.
“Ewan, just be careful. I have a very bad feeling about all of this.”
ACT ONE
Across from the Captain’s quarters aboard Fortitude, another breakfast was underway inside Starbase 499 and in the office of Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore. Once again, the mood across the table was wrought with fear, concern, and unanswered questions. Sitting opposite of his host, the exiled Veth Ka’Gerran munched his way through a slice of replicated bacon absentmindedly. Noting the complete lack of his usual accompanying indulgent smile, the Rear Admiral quickly swallowed his coffee and after if everything was all right. Of course, it was a pointless inquiry. Everything was most certainly not all right but the former Santragan leader was normally all over bacon, his favorite Earth delicacy. It was a question worth asking.
“For now, Boxer,” Veth quietly responded,” for now…”
“This gremlin hiding aboard the Starbase. My concern is not out of arrogance or vanity but I do find myself wondering if it could be an agent of the Santragan People’s Freedom Democracy. I wonder if it could be after me.”
Blackmore nodded. He had already formulated the same conclusion himself.
“I won’t rule it out,” he growled in admittance. “We know nothing about this gremlin, so chances are equally strong for all theories, Veth. What I will tell you are the facts that we know so far, namely, whatever it was that shot a Romulan spy who was attempting to murder Captain Llewellyn. That doesn’t sound like the action of a Santragan agent to me. Besides, your people think that you made a run for it from what I’ve been told.
“The vessels that they sent out to find me returned empty-handed in short order,” Veth sighed, massaging the ring of gnarled horns that crowned his head. It was an effort, albeit a futile one, to calm himself down. “I know Tret Bra’Kala. He won’t be satisfied with an assumption. He demands proof of everything.”
“Bra’Kala. He’s the rotating leader or whatever it is now, right?”
“Yes, and you are fortunate never to have dealt with him.”
“Ewan told me that he was, at least, polite…”
Veth Ka’Gerran quickly stopped his old friend from continuing. Breakfast was over for now. The old statesman rose from the table and walked broodingly over to absorb the spectacular view of his homeworld. Every single look upon the blue-green jewel was like a dagger through his heart. To know that he could never set foot again upon its surface was knowledge that was slowly stealing years away from his life expectancy. Blackmore compassionately joined him at the window, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Tret Bra’Kala is a man of ambition, Boxer. His ego is as large as his stature and waist, matched only by his thirst for power and glory. He is also a man of great patience. Ever since the revolution threw me out of office, he quietly waited his turn to become the People’s Council Rotating President. One of your years… that’s all that he’s supposed to be in power for. I guarantee you that he’ll be there longer than that.”
“If he’s corrupt,” the Rear Admiral said, trying to soothe him,” then the Federation will --”
“... do what, exactly?,” Veth interrupted him. “Bra’Kala won’t care. He isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the Federation anyway. He objected to our initial membership. I mean, with all due respect, if your people weren’t so desperate to keep alliances running in the wake of the Dominion War, then Santrag II would have split away, long ago.”
“Leave the Federation?,” Blackmore gasped with surprise. “But, Veth, the whole point of the revolution was to bring your world up-to-speed with the rest of us! I’m sorry, my friend, but I think you’ve been away too long!”
Ka’Gerran turned to face the Rear Admiral, his eyes glistening with tears. “I hope you’re right, my friend,” he whispered,” for your sake.”
* * * *
Ewan Llewellyn turned his command chair on Jason Armstrong with a frown. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir,” the young Ensign explained with his easy-going drawl. “They’re heading straight for us, not Starbase 499, and they’re hailing you, personally, by name. I’m getting a request from Station Master Martinez also. She wants to know why they haven’t made the call to register with her yet.”
“Put Erica on hold,” Ewan ordered. “Show me the runabout.”
In a flash, a three-dimensional hologram of the Danube-class runabout appeared before the Welshman’s face. It rotated slowly, allowing for a visual analysis of the craft without having to leave his seat. Crossing his legs as he ran a finger across his legs, he looked for anything unusual.
Who were they?
Why were they asking for him?
Why weren’t they docking with Starbase 499? All Starfleet arrivals in the Santrag system were instructed to. All these issues engulfed the Captain’s mind when he suddenly spotted something on the runabout’s hull.
The designation… He had seen it before, three years ago…
It carried nothing but terrible news.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Ewan spat out. “All right, Jason, open a channel and brace yourself.”
Ensign Armstrong did as he was instructed. The holographic display of the runabout vanished with the main viewscreen switching to show her sole occupant. It was somebody that none of the Bridge officers had ever thought that they would see again. His untrustworthy expression was only amplified by the unsettling nature of his facial features. It was almost as though Section Thirty-One chose their agents based on their ability to visually upset people.
“Agent Hawkins,” Llewellyn snarled. “What the hell do you want?”
“Ewan,” retorted the blast from the past,” it’s wonderful to see you again.”
“The feeling isn’t mutual. Cut to the damned chase, will you?”
“I can see that you haven’t changed. You’re just as rude and uncooperative as usual. I’m disheartened. I know what you and your crew have been through since my last visit. I had hoped that such turmoil would have helped you to understand the need for people like me… Alas, I suppose your stubbornness will never let you amend your ways.”
“I’m not in the mood, Hawkins. I won’t listen to you ramble on forever.”
“Very well. Let me beam aboard.”
“And why the hell should I do that?”
“Because you and I need to have a talk… in private if you will.”
“That’s not a very tempting offer. I would sooner show you to the airlock than chat.”
The communications channel hissed with a frustrated sigh as Hawkins rubbed his cheek and rolled his eyes at Ewan’s hostility. It was bad enough that his senior staff knew about Section Thirty-One. The Welsh fool chose to spill everything to them, rather than operate under the usual rules of espionage. Undergoing such a verbal joust was to be expected, too, but he had suffered through a long journey.
Enough was enough.
“I know that you have Naketha in custody.”
Ewan froze. How did he know that? Curse that slimy bastard!”
“Let me beam aboard,” Hawkins repeated slowly.
“Very well, but you’re not staying for long. I’ll meet you in the Transporter Room.”
As the conversation ended and the viewscreen went dark, Llewellyn stormed from his seat and into the turbolift, resisting the urge to punch a hole in the bulkhead. As if life hadn’t been stressful enough lately, things were just going from bad to much, much worse.
“Transporter Room,” he seethed aloud,” Deck Four.”
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, Stardate 53650.4;
The arrival of Agent Hawkins has added to an already troublesome situation. Upon transporting aboard Fortitude, he had demanded the use of guest quarters and several hours of time to himself. The very fact that he knows about Naketha’s imprisonment is the only reason that I am allowing him to remain aboard. As soon as he’s told me what he wants to say, I’ll take great pleasure in kicking him back to his runabout. Although the mystery surrounding just what he wants to say is cause for serious apprehension on my part.
He was marched in under guard.
Even though he had never been unfortunate enough to meet Agent Hawkins before, Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Brodie had been fully briefed on the Section Thirty-One spy by his commanding officer. The startling trust that this briefing exposed was that the black tactical officer had been approached by Section Thirty-One to act as an operative. Not by Hawkins himself, but by another of his kind.
Obviously, he had declined. No matter how short his fuse was, or how violent his urges, he was a man of honor. Captain Llewellyn respected his honesty. It was with a nod of understanding between these two men that Hawkins was delivered to Fortitude’s Observation Lounge.
Seated by the head of the table, Ewan watched the object of his hatred being shoved roughly into the closest chair. Appreciating the creative flair added by Brodie, the Welshman dismissed him.
“Honestly, Ewan,” reeled the uncomfortable Hawkins immediately.
“Before you try and tell me that there was entirely no need for that, think again,” Llewellyn said. “This is my ship. I say what there’s a need for. Trust me, Hawkins, you should be thankful that floggings are illegal in Starfleet.”
“Naketha,” the spy said, cutting to the chase. “I want to see her.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“You owe me some leeway when it comes to her, Ewan. Do I need to remind you that it was my actions that helped to expose her presence as your Chief Medical Officer back in seventy-two? If I hadn’t intervened, you would still be flying around with her aboard, every one of your missions reported back to Romulus…”
“If I remember correctly,” Ewan corrected his guest,” the bomb that you planted nearly killed Naketha and it wasn’t even targeted at her. It was by complete accident that your insane plan uncovered her presence. Oh, and you nearly killed Sollik as well.”
“Does it really matter how results are achieved?”
“Yes, it bloody well does, and if you had an ounce of morality, you would know that!”
“Ewan, Ewan… must we do this…?”
Hawkins hauled himself up to standing and he began to walk slowly around the Observation Lounge table. All the while, he kept Ewan fixed with his steely, piercing gaze. It was like watching a predator stalking his prey, despite the fact that the prey was bigger, stronger, and altogether more secure. A simple call to Security was all that it would take to have him removed from Fortitude. Nevertheless, he acted with so much arrogance and self-importance. Such was the nature of being a Section Thirty-One agent and of Hawkins.
Finally, he came to rest on the table beside an unimpressed Captain Llewellyn.
“Look, I want to see Naketha. You’re going to let me.”
“Before I even consider letting you see her,” he said, deliberately making this sentence convoluted to ram his point home,” why don’t you tell me your reasons for wanting to see her?”
“That is classified information and none of your concern.”
“Again, this is my ship. Play by my rules or don’t play at all.”
“Section Thirty-One has a vested interest in any captured Tal Shiar agents. You’re a smart man, Ewan. I’m sure that you can figure it out. One spy agency versus another… The temporary alliance that Earth formed with Romulus during the Dominion War is over now. We’re back to our old staring contests.”
“Uh-huh, the same old excuses,” Llewellyn dismissed mockingly. “I’m not buying them for a second, Hawkins. There’s something personal about all of this. The history between you and Naketha makes you the last person that any sane, level-headed commander would send to retrieve her. Then again, you are bonkers. I can only assume the same thing about your superiors back on Earth. Come on, the real reason, Hawkins, and now!”
The spy did his best to ignore the jibes at Section Thirty-One. Those in the service were beyond fanatically loyal to the tasks that they were set to. For anybody to call the top brass ‘bonkers’ was close to insulting one’s very own mother. Flared nostrils vented Hawkins’ anger as he tried to continue his diplomatic approach.
“You can be there the entire meeting, Ewan.”
“You’re kidding… over your shoulder?”
“Where you stand is none of my concern, but yes, I have only a few questions.”
That made things different. The chance to see Hawkins go toe-to-toe with Naketha was too great of an opportunity for Llewellyn to pass up, despite his reason and logic telling him to simply deny the request anyway. Slowly, his head tilted as he considered all of the angles before he got to his feet and reached a decision.
“All right,” he relented,” you get ten minutes, and not a second longer.”
“Thank you, Ewan,” Hawkins grinned in eventual triumph. “Lead the way!”
* * * *
Llewllyn definitely led the way into the Brig.
With every step, he could feel Hawking definitely breathing down his neck, the red collar of his uniform causing a prickly heat of despising and distrust. Why was he agreeing to this again? The tentative allowance for an interrogation had turned into a tentative urge to turn around on the spy and march him to the Transporter Room instead. Something wasn’t right about all of this. He could watch? What could possibly be so important?
Entering the Brig, all doubts were pushed aside.
The Captain had a bigger worry.
The security officer on duty, a young Axanarian, was sprawled out dramatically across the deck. What remained of a thin layer of gas, putrid green and obviously toxic, covered them entirely. Rushing forward without a second thought to his own safety. Ewan was about to call for medical help when he noticed the larger problem. The main cell, the one that was supposedly containing Naketha, was empty.
“Hawkins, don’t just stand there! Give me a hand!”
There was no answer.
Reeling back towards the door, Llewellyn found no trace of the Section Thirty-One agent. He had disappeared, and Naketha had disappeared.
“Captain to the Bridge,” screamed the Welshman, his lungs burning,” Red Alert!”
ACT THREE
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
The runabout that had delivered Agent Hawkins to the Santrag system vanished from our sensors around the same time that her owner disappeared from our Brig. I can only surmise that he used the few hours of preparation time to orchestrate the kidnapping of Naketha, although the technicalities of such a feat are beyond me. I’ve been left with a dead crewman, an empty cell… and an even bigger hatred of Section Thirty-One.
Veth Ka’Gerran appreciated their efforts.
Surrounding the table in Rear Admiral Blackmore’s office, Katherine Pulaski and Erica Martinez were stacking piles of curious round discs and shuffling some rectangles of cardboard. Apparently, they were part of a ritual known as Texas Hold’Em, something that he had been told was simultaneously fun, relaxing, and tactical. The Santragan frowned, not quite understanding how all of that was possible. Picking up one of the discs, remembering that it was referred to as a chip, his frown intensified. Hadn’t he seen crew members eating chips in Club 499 once? They didn’t look anything alike… How strange…
He was trying his best. The dark nature of his moods hadn’t gone unnoticed by others aside from Edward Blackmore. While this Texas Hold’Em meeting had been arranged by the Rear Admiral, both women sitting before Veth were sympathetic and receptive to the overall situation all the same. Besides, it was something of a joint therapy session as the recent mystery surrounding the Starbase 499 gremlin had caused nothing but headaches for the Latina Station Master on his right side. She finished shuffling the rectangles, referred to as cards, and placed them on the table.
“So, these cards,” Veth tried to grasp slowly, "do they have some value?”
“Only in certain combinations,” Doctor Pulaski explained to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll play a practice hand for you to get a feel for things. Not that you’ll stand a chance, that is… when Boxer shows up. He’ll clean us all out of chips.”
“And chips equal money?”
“After a fashion, yes,” Erica nodded. “They’re your objective.”
“Whoever has the most is victorious. I see. Santragan children play something that is not unlike this. I confess to worrying about this tactical edge that you speak of, and the way in which you believe Boxer will emerge as the champion.”
“He always does,” Pulaski chuckled.
“And being routinely beaten by him is… fun and relaxing?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s a little complicated, I suppose.
“Speaking of which,” Erca added, looking towards the door,” where is Ed?”
* * * *
He was in the quarters of Captain Ewan Llewellyn. The topic of their conversation was easy to predict. Between them, despite their analytical minds, they could find no concrete way of explaining the recent events in the Brig. Of course, the standing theory was one that was reached within seconds. Somehow, Agent Hawkins managed to break Naketha out of prison and spirit her away into the clutches of Section Thirty-One. The disappearing trick performed by the runabout was an indication of a level of espionage that was beyond anything that the Starfleet officers would even dream of.
None of it was good news for Ewan’s temper. Flexing his left hand, he was coming dangerously close to wearing a hole in the carpet. Blackmore had tried and failed to make him sit down. The pacing had become like a violent tempest, utterly unavoidable, unstoppable, and uncontrollable. He couldn’t even stop if he wanted to. There was no option but to sit down and watch the Welshman pace himself out and that’s what the Rear Admiral did.
“The only goddamned bonus to that ridiculous fake wedding nonsense was getting Naketha into custody,” Ewan said, fuming. “With her lost, tell me what we’re left with? Some complete unknown running about between the decks of 499 and egg all over our faces, not to mention a dead security officer… That’s what we’re left with!”
“I would be thankful that we didn’t lose more,” Blackmore pointed out to him.
“Yeah, well, we came close. That’s for sure,” his friend retorted.
“Look, Ewan, I have to…”
“Go on, go,” the Captain snapped at him. It wasn’t out of annoyance at Ed, of course, but rather just his general temperament that couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry, Boxer, but you’re just watching me wear myself down here. Thanks for coming over all the same.”
“Just take it easy, all right?,” came the parting warning. “I’m ordering Fortitude back onto her mission of exploration in the morning. There’s nothing more that you can do here. We’ll stay in touch but maybe getting back out into space will distract you from the nightmare of the past few days. It’s the best that I can do.”
“Thank you… Oh, and say hey to Veth for me, okay?”
“I always do.”
The Rear Admiral left the Captain alone with his thoughts. He just kept beating himself up over and over again, mentally kicking himself for allowing Hawkins aboard his Norway-class starship in the first place. That whole approach of his, openness and honesty, was all one giant ruse, and like a complete fool, the Welshman had actually gone along with it.
Why?
After all of this time, he knew that the spy couldn’t have changed. But no, sure, let’s go see NAketha in the Brig. That should be no problem…
Idiot!
The desktop console beeped and it took a repeating beep to catch the Captain’s attention.
There was an incoming message. It was just enough to rip Ewan away from his pacing. Storming over to his desk, letting his anger guide his actions, he almost punched the console’s answer button, rocking the monitor back and forth. The face that greeted him only served to intensify his rage.
“Hello, Ewan.”
“Hawkins, you son of a bitch!”
“Please restrain yourself. There isn’t much time. In two minutes, a virus will sweep through your computer systems and erase all mention of my visit. It will also erase all mention of Naketha and her capture, along with this conversation… but I wanted you to know the truth beforehand, Ewan. I wanted you to know that I had won.”
“You’ve got her, haven’t you?”
“Don’t patronize me with such obvious questions.”
“Is she alive?,” Llewellyn demanded to know. “Hawkins, did you kill her?”
“What difference does that make? In whatever state that she may occupy, Naketha is the property of Section Thirty-One. If you attempt to pursue me, I will have no choice but to destroy you from within. Your career, Ewan, will be over. You’ll have no evidence to back up your ridiculous claims about me. You’ll have no evidence to show that you had captured an agent of the Tal Shiar either. I’ve run you through and I’ve taken great pleasure in doing so. I suggest that you don’t give me any further incentive.”
“And I’m just supposed to accept that?”
“No. You will accept that.”
The faint whisperings of diabolical laughter echoed over the communications system as Ewan failed to contain his wrath any longer. Yelling with all of his might, he brought his artificial forearm thundering down into the monitor, shattered the glass desk beneath it, and ended his conversation abruptly. Sparking relays and broken shards of glass littered the area as the trembling Welshman just stood there, scowling at the floor.
He had been well and truly defeated.
EPILOGUE
“Perhaps he did you a favor in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
Valerie Archer took a deep breath as she braced herself for the possible fallout that her musings would generate. Finding her lover in such a terrible station had been shocking, to say the least, and bringing him down to some level of calm had been a mammoth undertaking. Now, several hours later as Fortitude prepared to restart her mission of exploration, the First Officer was fearful of sparking that temper back into existence.
Ewan was back in control, however. Merely having her at his side was enough to guide his pulse away from dangerous levels. There was no alternative but to accept the outcome of Hawkins’ visit and move on. Talking in hindsight served to reinforce that approach, solidifying the dreadful few days in harmless history.
“Taking Naketha away, out of reach… Hell, maybe even killing her,” the Commander ventured,” saves you the constant shadow that he was casting over your days. Hawkins inadvertently defused a possible photon torpedo.”
“You may be right,” Ewan sheepishly admitted. “You’re the only one who knows the true extent of my feelings towards Naketha. That time that I was prepared to shoot her…”
“I remember.”
“Well, I guess we’ll never know what would have happened, will we?”
“From my perspective,” Valerie smiled,” I think that it’s better that way. What about yours?”
“What about my what?”
“Your perspective. Do you regret… I don’t know…”
“If you’re asking me if I regret not having the option of killing Naketha myself, then the answer is emphatically negative,” he reassured his beloved. “The day that I lament the chance to commit murder is the day that I stop being Human. Don’t worry, Valerie. That day isn’t here yet.”
Valerie Archer sighed with relief.
She chose to ignore the use of the word ‘yet’.
The End.