Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Three, Episode Two - “Virus”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
One vial… was all that it would take.
The alien spy hired for the job was being paid handsomely and so much that it was worth the insane risk of transporting such a volatile substance. To his species and to the people paying his fee, the powder was lethal. It could kill a room filled with people in seconds, matching the ferocity of substances such as thalaron and sentox. Yet, to the target race, it would kill much slower.
The target race came from a planet called Earth.
As the spy set the vial of fine topaz-hued powder down beside the cargo container earmarked for Starbase 499 in the Santrag system, he wondered if the Humans would ever discover who was responsible for the coming attack. Shadows played across his twisted face as he deployed the substance with finesse, his hands keeping the entire process at a safe arms’ length. Soon the entire vial had been emptied with the powder settling through the small gap pried opened in the hermetically-sealed Starfleet container and getting to work drifting through the fabrics and materials like it was designed specifically to become absorbed by.
Humans… how easily they would eventually fall.
This experiment on the closest of them would prove valuable.
Stepping back and admiring his handiwork, the spy turned away. The Universal Translator built into his cranium automatically jumbled the standard Federation script on the side of the container into his native language which he noted with a callous disregard for the consequences of his actions.
Starfleet standard issue duty uniforms, batch #8647.
Starbase 499, Santrag II, Santrag system.
Gender: female.
ACT ONE
Captain’s Log, Stardate 50898.7;
A change of uniform and a change of crew has heralded a change of attitude and a hopeful new beginning aboard the Fortitude. As we prepare to get underway on our mission of exploration, I have the duty of selecting the replacements for Doctor Lynn Boswell and Ensign James Morgan in the roles of Chief Medical Officer and Chief Security/Tactical Officer. Rear Admiral Blackmore has been more than generous in offering any of his staff over on Starbase 499.
An offer that I intend to take him up on.
It fitted him well.
Walking out onto the Bridge of the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240 for the first time wearing the new standard-issue duty uniform that had finally made its way to the distant corners of the Federation, Captain Ewan Llewellyn cut a dashing figure. Gone were the blatant, screaming colored shoulders of the old uniforms: now everybody matched with blue-grey shoulders arching across a fitted, two-piece black suit with the rollneck undergarment displaying the departmental identification. Straightening the red highlights on his cuffs, Ewan headed for his command chair.
Nodding at her Captain from her own seat, Valerie Archer was having less fun with the fresh attire. A frustrated look spread across her sharp features. She was fidgeting with her deep crimson collar as if the hue was from a thousand red ants.
“Problems, Commander?,” Llewellyn asked her, picking up his morning report.
“Whoever designed these new uniforms should be shot,” Valerie grumbled.
“I find them rather comfortable myself…”
“Lucky you,” snapped the First Officer before she calmed down. “I don’t know… Somebody must be playing a practical joke on me. I swear that mine’s been doused with itching powder or deliberately made one size too small.”
Ewan wondered if it was just a personal issue. Turning in his chair, he decided to take a straw poll on the subject, if only to comfort Valerie in her struggle.
“Ensign Armstrong,” he called out. “Yours fits, right?”
“Like a glove, Captain,” nodded the young Kentuckian.
“Arden, could it be the red?”
Spinning around on his chair at the helm, the Bolian grinned at the Welshman. He and Sollik had been discussing this subject over a shared breakfast in the Mess Hall only a few moments ago after they had witnessed another female crew member complaining about the cut of the new uniforms.
Raising his hands in mock-surrender, he reassured his superior officers. “I’m all kinds of happy with it, Captain.”
“I’m glad that somebody is,” Valerie mumbled, attacking her wrists now. “What I wouldn’t give to find the designer over at Starfleet R&D and make them wear one of these for a day or two…”
“You’ll get used to it,” Ewan suggested.
She was in obvious discomfort, though. As Vuro and Sollik had observed that morning, it seemed to be a problem with the women. Ewan started to think over things a little more analytically as the itching on Valerie’s part persisted. His morning status call from Rear Admiral Blackmore had mentioned something about Doctor Pulaski and Station Master Martinez loathing their new uniforms and he had passed a female ensign in the corridors who looked positively sick of the blue-grey shoulders and yellow collar that she was now under an official obligation to wear.
So when Valerie Archer pitched forward, Llewellyn’s mind went into overdrive.
“Medical emergency!,” he cried out, his concern for his First Officer not being limited to a professional relationship, his heart skipping several beats as she fell. “Arden, give me a hand here, now!”
What was going on here?
* * * *
Katherine Pulaski silently thanked her deductive reasoning.
Immediately upon developing the irritable symptoms that were striking all of the female crew members aboard Starbase 499 and Fortitude, she had eliminated the one new factor in her life. The uniform, with its blue undergarment and grey-shouldered tunic, had gone straight under the microscope as soon as she had donned her old blue-shouldered jumpsuit in an instant. Her expression was a picture of deep anxiety as she worked.
Having found something amiss in the intricate fabrics of the new uniform, something at a microscopic level unbeknownst to the innocent officers heading to their posts and about their duties, Pulaski had quickly become inundated with emergency calls. Women of all ages, ranks, and positions were calling in, collapsing, vomiting, and generally having a physically wretched morning. When the first cases beamed over to the extensive medical facility aboard 499 from the starship Fortitude, she knew that she wasn't dealing with a simple station-wide epidemic. This was something more, something altogether more… sinister.
“Doctor Pulaski!”
The cry for help came from the door, the Welsh accent instantly recognizable despite the stress placed upon it. Turning around, Pulaski saw Captain Llewellyn carrying the lifeless form of Commander Valerie Archer into the main sickbay. Rushing over to guide the new arrival towards an available biobed, the doctor brushed her blonde curls aside to get a clear view of her latest patient.
“She was complaining about her new uniform when…,” Ewan began.
“... she collapsed, losing consciousness,” Pulaski concluded. “It’s all women and it’s the new uniforms.”
“What about them?,” asked the panicked Captain, suddenly fearing his own garment.
“I don’t know. I found some kind of particulate matter inside the weave of my own uniform when I started to show symptoms. I’m just glad that I was quick enough in changing. I issued an instant emergency across all terminals but I was obviously too late to stop serious damage to our personnel.”
“How many have been taken out by this?”
“Approximately fifty percent of the women aboard 499. You should start screening your own people aboard Fortitude.”
Ewan ran a concerned hand through his dark hair as he considered that little piece of advice. Watching Pulaski run a tricorder over the motionless curves of Valerie Archer, he suppressed his own emotional distress, fighting to keep a level head. He needed to be in crisis mode, a mode that he was growing tired of lately, but an essential mode nonetheless.
“In case, you haven’t noticed, Doctor,” he snapped back at her,” we’re short of a chief medical officer over there.”
“Sorry, Captain,” came her retort,” but that’s not my problem.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Llewellyn changed the subject, wondering how long that wearing the uniform would continue to incapacitate the women in his crew.
“Slight headache and skin irritation, but all within manageable limits…”
“And not a single male has been affected?”
“No, not a single male,” she confirmed with a short nod. “Look, with all due respect, yours is the place to wonder why, Captain. Mine is to do or people die. Let me get back to work here and stop getting in my way.
Like a wounded dog, Ewan actually gave a slight whimper as he recoiled.
Well, it was Pulaski’s sickbay… and therefore her rules.
ACT TWO
It was an odd sight that Llewellyn barely took in.
Working furiously inside the Station Master’s Office of Starbase 499, Rear Admiral Blackmore wore his brand-new Starfleet Admiral’s uniform, complete with gold trim and a belt adorned with a polished Federation crest. It made him appear to be quite handsome with his salt-and-pepper beard, and quite the contrast of Erica Martinez. The Station Master was apparently suffering from a heavy cold, wearing a creased and unimpressive old uniform with red command shoulders that made her appear out of place.
Ewan walked in, wearing the male variant of what had caused Erica’s symptoms, and despite her affection for the Captain, it made the Latina shudder.
“Oh, great,” she whispered,” another one.”
“Ah, Ewan, excellent,” Blackmore growled, ignoring Erica’s lament. “How’s your crew holding up? I assume you’ve informed all of the women to change?”
“At Pulaski’s insistence, absolutely,” he sighed, rubbing his face.
“I hear that you brought Valerie over.”
“Carried her over myself. Yeah, I hope she pulled through.”
Erica was bristling with discomfort at that little nugget of information. Her mind instantly filled with an image of Valerie Archer on a biobed before quickly to a playful image of Ewan being all heroic and dramatic for her, not Valerie. She pushed it aside, regarding it as her begrudged mind searching for diversion from the tragedy that was unfolding on the Starfleet presence in the Santrag system. All of the women… she had already checked around her best friends, but there were so many affected and so many potentially yet to develop symptoms. Readjusting her focus, she returned to participate in the conversation between Llewellyn and Blackmore.
“What do you have so far, Boxer?,” the Captain was asking him.
“Not much,” huffed the older man. “The cargo containers that the uniforms arrived in yesterday have been scanned and tested positive for the virus. That means that whatever we’re dealing with probably happened somewhere outside our jurisdiction.”
“Damn. Part of me was hoping to find whoever was responsible and… well.”
“You and me both, Ewan,” Blackmore nodded with understanding. This wasn’t just a hit against Fortitude but a hit against his own command.
“What about the virus itself? Any leads to be gained from that?”
That was Station Master Martinez’s cue to step forward. Holding out a PADD to Llewellyn, she spoke over his reading of the information, narrating the words on the page for him, explaining the situation thoroughly.
“There’s evidence of a corrosive agent on the lids of the containers,” she said. “It reads as biological material. The closest thing that we have in the Starfleet Database is a record of a species called the Tah’Heen. They’re employed in certain unsavory circles as thieves and spies as their poes secrete a corrosive agent wiping any trace of fingerprints or any salvageable DNA identification.”
“But you know that it’s a Tah’Heen, right?,” Ewan asked, craving a lead.
“Well, no. It’s the closest thing that we have on record. Unfortunately, the nature of the corrosion means that even locking onto substantial evidence pointing to the Tah’Heen is impossible. It’s why they make the best agents. Nobody has ever caught one.”
“Oh, bloody hell!,” gasped the Welshman in frustration. “You’re kidding me!”
“We’ll do what we can,” Blackmore interjected, feeling Ewan’s frustration which matched his own,” but right now, we’ve got to concentrate on curing our people and wiping the virus from the uniform. Until Pulaski has finished her analysis and finds a cure, we need to remain focused.”
“Agreed… but rest assured, we’ll find those responsible.”
“You can count on it,” grinned the Rear Admiral.
He and Llewellyn were so alike.
* * * *
The Mess Hall was swamped by an eerie silence.
Lieutenant Arden Vuro found the complete lack of any women to be quite unsettling. He enjoyed the variety of crew members aboard Fortitude, the myriad of the male, the female, the Human, and the alien. Now with the crew’s female population in either Sickbay or their quarters feeling entirely unwell thanks to the infected uniforms, there were only a handful of male officers left on duty. The Bolian thanked the Universe that there wasn’t some kind of important or dangerous situation engulfing Fortitude and that they were able to make the best use of Starbase 499’s excellent resources to deal with the crisis.
Beside him, Chief Engineer Sollik was drinking a replicated version of a Suliban tea, a noxious beverage to Bolians. Twisting his green scales into an expression of disgust, the Lieutenant Commander was ranting about the cowardly nature of the latest attack to befall the Starfleet presence in this corner of space.
“I could handle the Borg,” he hissed. “I could handle the End and the Santragan revolutionaries too. Hell, I would even prefer Naketha right now, compared to fighting an enemy that we can’t see, don’t know, and can’t beat. I just hope that the effects can be reversed. Half of my engineering staff have gone down, thanks to this… this contagion.”
“That’s a good point,” Vuro observed. “Do you think this could be Naketha?”
Sollik pondered that question for a moment. He had rattled off the name of the Romulan spy simply as a checkbox in the ever-growing list of enemies that Fortitude had faced over their two years in the Beta Quadrant. Poisoning incoming uniforms with a deadly virus… it was certainly a tactic that suited the subterfuge-centric Romulan Star Empire. Then again, no, it wasn’t her personal style. They had faced off against her, twice now, and both times she had desperately avoided anything that would seem like an act of war. Her business was the spy business, not the war business.
“I doubt it,” Sollik finally answered his friend. “She’s got form, I’ll give you that, but she’s never actually directly wished any harm upon us. What good would come from exterminating our female population for her?”
“Prelude to invasion,” his Bolian crewmate pointed out to him. “Weaken our resources.”
“Read the news, Arden! The Alpha Quadrant has everybody worried. Nobody, not even the Romulans want to risk a conflict, not with the shadow of the Dominion hanging over them, ready to pounce.”
“You’re good at this politics thing,” Vuro smiled, semi-surprised at his friend's words,” for an engineer.”
“My homeworld is in the Alpha Quadrant. I have good reasons to remain educated.”
Vuro nodded in agreement. “You and me both, my friend. You and me both…”
ACT THREE
Captain Llewellyn rushed into Doctor Pulaski’s office as soon as he received the call.
Leaving behind the collection of PADDs on his Ready Room table, replete with biographical information on the officers stationed aboard Starbase 499 as he searched for suitable replacement personnel for the vacant positions aboard Fortitude, he beamed over immediately. Continuing to work despite the critical condition of Valerie Archer had been a headache for him. He welcomed any new developments.
Materializing in one of 499’s transporter rooms, he found Rear Admiral Blackmore waiting for him.
“Pulaski has news,” Boxer growled.
“I hope it’s good news,” Ewan nodded. “Come on!”
Both men entered the Sickbay facility together, spotting Katherine Pulaski and walking over to her. The doctor was standing over a coherent and smiling Valerie Archer, completing a wave over her with her medical tricorder with satisfaction. Noting the arrival of the Captain and the Rear Admiral, she turned triumphantly towards them.
“Success, Doctor?,” Llewellyn asked her.
“Undeniable and categorical, Captain.”
“Kate was just explaining it to me,” Valerie said, taking her place in the conversation and accepting Ewan’s compassionate gaze with a hint of a blush. “Since the virus worked in stages that built up to an eventual defeat of the central nervous system, it was only a simple matter of cutting off the route that it was taking at certain junctures.”
“A simple matter…?,” Blackmore barked. “You’re kidding?”
“Well, simple for any Starfleet physician, maybe not,” Pulaski had to admit, a slight twinge of humility overcome by the facts. “My skills, not to mention my additional experience with the Eastleans for two years, made me think outside the box, so to speak. I’ve cooked up enough of the cure to be distributed throughout 499 and your ship, Captain.”
Handing Llewellyn a small case containing hypospray vials, Pulaski smiled.
“That’s it?,” confirmed the Welshman.
“Just take one of these and call me in the morning!”
It was the best possible news. Grinning from ear to ear and thankful to be rid of another stressful and unusual situation, Captain Llewellyn turned towards Valerie and gently squeezed her shoulder. While the Commander returned the gesture, Rear Admiral Blackmore practically hugged Doctor Pulaski in an explosion of gratitude. Around them, women were coming out of their unconscious states and rising from their biobeds, shaking away the danger.
It was a glorious sight and the perfect end to the most sinister of threats.
All that remained was the question of whom.
Why had they done this?
Those answers would be sought out later. Turning to Ewan, Boxer addressed other impending matters with an honest realization and a sly grin. “So, Ewan, which of my people will you be stealing off me now?”
“I’ve got two names for you, Boxer,” admitted the Captain. “I would prefer to ask them first, though. Chief Medical Officer on a starship… Tactical and Security Officer… Those are big roles. I don’t want to discuss people’s careers without thinking about the person.”
“Agreed.”
“To that end,” Ewan continued, turning around,” Doctor Pulaski, I’d like to have a word with you.”
* * * *
The USS Steamrunner was back to normal. The Bridge was occupied by a nice mix of men and women now with all of them wearing the updated Starfleet uniforms. The previously infected variants that caused so much damage had been sent through the transporter buffer filters, multiple times to rid them of the virus particulate that was now detectable and easy to destroy. Thanks to Doctor Pulaski, there had been no fatalities. Things were running so smoothly again that Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Brodie, seated firmly in the command chair, didn't mind the impromptu visit from Captain Ewan Llewellyn.
It was a rare visit to his old stomping ground. Ever since the huge coup of getting the Steamrunner-class prototype vessel sent to the Santrag system and overhauling her systems to bring her up-to-date, the ‘father’ of the design had barely enough time to return. He was pleased to see her looking so tidy and clean, especially after the recent engagement with the Borg. It lifted his heart.
“Captain on deck!,” an overeager ensign barked.
Gabriel Brodie shot up to his feet, moving aside from the command chair.
“At ease,” Llewellyn chuckled. “Don’t worry, Commander Brodie. I’m not here to take your chair or your command from you. In fact, I’m here to take you… that is, of course, if you’ll permit me after hearing me out.”
The tall African-American officer cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “Sir?”
At a wave of the Captain’s hand, the Bridge crew moved away, giving Gabe and Ewan a degree of privacy. Standing on either side of the command chair, each man had a hand resting on it as they spoke, the conversation quickly cutting through the formalities.
“When I first took command of Fortitude,” Ewan began with honesty,” I had never imagined selecting an officer like you. You’re brash, arrogant and you like a fight. You shoot first and ask questions later.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Gabe noted, “that’s quite a way to go with putting your case forward.”
“Look, Jim Morgan was greatly loved among my crew and I’m a pacifist to boot. You would have your work cut out for you, fitting in as my new tactical and security officer. But now, after two years of running space battles and encounters with hostile species, I’m beginning to realize that not everything can be solved with a nice cozy chat and a cup of coffee. There’s a great degree of danger when flying through the stars--”
“Sorry to interrupt,” sir,” Gabe cut in,” but flying through the stars is impossible. One flies around them, I’d hope… and as for having my work cut out for me? I welcome it. The only way to truly know yourself is to find your limits and to constantly challenge yourself.”
“And doing laps around the Santrag system is hardly a challenge,” Ewan nodded, going along with the straight-talking officer before him, appreciating the refreshing nature of Brodie more than he realized that he would. “Whereas being aboard Fortitude?”
“I’m a man who likes to lift rocks to see what’s beneath them, not scan from ten paces away.”
“Hmmm… and likes to shoot it, no doubt.”
“Very likely, sir.”
Llewellyn smiled that Gabe soon mirrored. Okay, he would knock heads together. He was an outright fighter and a man who craved violence. He was absolutely and without question, an anomaly, a rare and erroneous character who had somehow slipped through the Academy and wound up aboard Starbase 499, in command of a starship designed for battle that did very little fighting. He was cocky, arrogant… and it was true. Two years ago, Ewan would have never entertained selecting him for his crew, but now…
“Your welcoming ceremony will be shared with my new Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Katherine Pulaski,” Llewellyn told him. “Fortitude Mess Hall, tomorrow evening at 1800. Don’t be late.”
“I look forward to it, Captain.”
They shook hands.
Ewan Llewellyn had done it. His new crew was complete.
EPILOGUE
“Report your findings.”
Bowing before the mammoth display, the alien spy felt his spine protest. He didn’t dare straighten it. Mere meters away, a large holographic communicator hummed with a threatening power. Standing upon it, a humanoid figure stood over him, shrouded entirely by shadows. The scale was completely wrong, of course, but it helped to keep the spy in line. Having his commander, his taskmaster, almost a full six feet taller than him was a constant reminder of the hierarchy of their agreement.
Dull lighting flickered around the shady hologram, playing across the spy’s face. Just as it had been theorized by the enemy without his knowledge, he was a Tah’Heen national. In no way did he speak for his government or for any other organization from his homeworld.
He was a rogue individual, an infiltrator of starships, starbases, secret facilities, and worlds, available for hire at a reasonable price. Of course, the job dictated the price. His most recent job, infecting the female uniforms being sent to the Santrag system’s Federation outpost and vessels, had required a significant increase in his wages. The shadowy hologram didn’t seem to mind.
“They overcame the virus,” hissed the Tah’Heen.
“Time elapsed?”
“Much quicker than we expected. There were no casualties.”
“We have underestimated this Federation,” the hologram growled. “Our next test should be altered accordingly. From a medical standpoint, they should have been deemed invulnerable to biological warfare attack.”
“Agreed. When will the next test be ready?”
“You will be contacted.”
The hologram in the shadows disappeared. As soon as the last proton had faded away, the lighting in the communications chamber of the Tah’Heen ship rose to normal levels. His pointed teeth glistening with menace, the spy turned and rubbed his hands together, anticipating his new assignment and his next paycheck.
The next test to be bestowed upon the Federation.
How delicious…
The End.