Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Two, Episode Eight: “Revolution, Part Two”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude…
The growing political tension on Santrag II has come to a head. Equipped with illegal Romulan disruptors smuggled to them by the duplicitous spy Naketha, anti-government rebels stage a dramatic assault on the Prime Minister’s Residence in the capital city. Fearing for his own life and the security of his government, Prime Minister Veth Ka’Gerran signals Starfleet 499 in orbit, hoping for Federation assistance to stop the revolution from taking place.
Caught between the moral desire to help their friend and the Prime Directive’s noninterference policy with the internal affairs of alien worlds, Captain Ewan Llewellyn of the USS Fortitude and Rear Admiral Blackmore of Starbase 499 conclude that their only course of action available is one of quiet, small-scale support. Sending down an away team composed of Blackmore, Commander Valerie Archer, Lieutenant Commander Sollik, and Ensign Jim Morgan to the surface, Llewellyn remained aboard his ship, hoping to find a peaceful solution within the many pages of Starfleet and Federation law. Before long, Santragan starship under the control of the rebels attacked, believing that the transporter beam to the Prime Minister’s Residence contained soldiers and weapons. Unable to convince the incoming fleet of their true intentions, Llewellyn prepares for battle.
Meanwhile on the surface, the energy shield protecting the Prime Minister’s Residence fails after a particular brutal assault on the part of the rebels. Storming the building, they quickly overpower what little security remains and make their way to find Blackmore and Archer guarding Ka’Gerran with their lives.
And now the conclusion…
ACT ONE
“Stand aside, Starfleet,” a voice bellowed from the throng of approaching men and women. Their teeth were bared and their horns were sharpened. “We are here for the so-called leader of our people!”
Blackmore felt the grip on his phaser loosen slightly as his aging hand wavered. Beside him, protecting the cowering Veth Ka’Gerran with her body just as the Rear Admiral was, Valerie Archer raised her own phaser an extra inch. She was emphasizing the weapon, showing that she wasn’t afraid to use it and he believed that she wasn’t. On the other hand, he was facing a sight that he had never seen before. There must have been, at least, a hundred of them now, packed into the chamber and gunning for one man. It was only now, faced with such a reality that the older officer considered the logic of their plan, wondering if the Santragans would really fire on them.
“Prime Minister Ka’Gerran is under the protection of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets,” the Fortitude’s first officer snapped back, clearing the stray hairs from her face as she locked eyes with anybody who would return her stare. “Our phasers are set to wide-beam dispersal. If anybody advances any further, we can both fire and disable you all…” Slowly, she leaned over to Blackmore and whispered under her breath,” … right?”
“What jurisdiction does Federation law have here?,” a brave rebel called out to them.
“You haven’t broken any yet,” Archer countered to the crowd,” but you’ve broken plenty of your own laws! We’re here at the behest of your leader!”
“He’s not our leader!,” another voice cried, a woman this time.
Jeers of support went up in an echo of power.
“We know that you beamed down to support him!,” shouted another voice once the latest excitement had died down. “Who are you to threaten us?!”
Blackmore cleared his throat, his initial reaction quelled now. It had surprised him, his willingness to drop his phaser and run, but the words of these revolutionary anarchists were hitting home with alarming frequency. The Federation did have some degree of jurisdiction here. Veth Ka’Gerran was the leader of these people and they weren’t threatening them, just presenting them with the facts.
Commander Archer had done well enough to halt their advance towards them but now the dialogue had gradually opened up. His role as a diplomat and a high-ranking representative of the Federation kicked into gear. Ignoring the multitude of itchy trigger fingers before him, fighting the small voice in his mind that feared the restraint keeping them in place might burst like a dam at any moment, he carefully began to take a few steps forward. His phaser remained solidly raised, his secure grip returning to him.
“‘Threaten you’?,” he echoed, frowning at them. “We have done no such thing! It is you who have threatened us, bursting in here with your mob mentality, looking for blood! And you call yourselves a civilized society?! Look at you! No, we’re not threatening you! We’re simply standing up for the unjustly oppressed, and protecting an innocent man! Stand down now, and you’ll be given a forum for your grievances. That’s a promise! Be reasonable and objective about this… or we will have no choice. We will both open fire and you will be arrested.”
“It’s a lie!,” yelled another voice.
“Go on then!,” cried the brave one from before. “Shoot us or stand aside!”
Blackmore looked at Archer, and raised a single grey eyebrow. “Oh,” he sighed,” all right then.”
Both phasers burst into life, their wide beams covering the entire chamber. The heavy stun setting proved to be effective, blinding many of their opponents before the energy discharge shut down their central nervous systems. The effects leaped from body to body, hitting them all in a matter of nanoseconds. As the orange waves were deactivated, the last member of the anarchic masses slumped to the floor with many of them piled on top of one another.
Veth Ka’Gerran opened his eyes. He felt just as stunned as the rebels were.
“Diplomacy,” Blackmore growled,” never fails.”
* * * *
In orbit, matters were not proceeding with as much success as expected.
Working together, the joint power of the Fortitude, Steamrunner, and the Katherine Johnson proved to be a formidable fighting force against the eight-strong fleet of Santragan vessels under the control of the uncooperative rebel commander who, right now, was regretting having traded barbed insults with Captain Ewan Llewellyn. Three of his ships had been disabled. One of them flew foolishly a little too close to Starbase 499 and got a blast from one of her phaser auto-turret cannons for her troubles.
The Oberth-class Katherine Johnson, using her small size and quick speed to great advantage, had taken the least damage in the raging battle. The slower Steamrunner packed more punch and had broken through the shields of multiple Santragan ships before her shields were lowered to even half-strength. It was turning out to be a relatively one-sided engagement.
Aboard Fortitude, the deck plating lurched.
“Shields are holding at thirty-five percent, Captain,” Jason Armstrong reported after dashing over to the tactical station when the shooting began. He had learned a thing or two from his boyfriend to make him worthy of combat. “We’ve got two of them, closing fast astern!”
“Lock phasers and return fire!,” Llewellyn barked from the command chair.
“Direct hits,” Jason confirmed with a grin. “They’re veering off.”
“The others can deal with them,” Ewan nodded with satisfaction. “It’s times like these that I’m glad that the Santragans aren’t a warlike people. Arden, take after that lead ship, defensive pattern Hrelle-Sierra-11. See about her engines and weapons.”
A flurry of discharges crisscrossed the stars as Fortitude delivered blow after crippling blow to the graceful blue vessel in front of them. Some shots were returned but the Santragan weapons were weaker than Starfleet phaser banks, though they still packed a strong-enough punch to make Vuro a cautious pilot. The Bolian made the Intrepid class starship dance to his tune and keep a perfect balance between weapons range and defensive flight. Moments later, the lead rebel vessel was disabled.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Armstrong relayed to the captain. “Sir, they want to talk.”
“There’s no surprise there,” Llewellyn observed drylu. “Go on and put him through.”
“I’ll be taking this to the Federation Court!,” the Santragan screamed at him as soon as his infuriated visual appearance graced the main viewscreen. “You have violated your own noninterference policies and you will be punished, according to our membership with the Federation!”
“As I was trying to tell you,” Ewan sighed, shaking his head,” until you rudely opened fire on our ships… which, by the way, places the blame for all of them squarely on you, we are not interfering in your revolution and we’re not taking sides in the ongoing conflict down on the planet! Now, will you, please, turn off your jamming signals so we may retrieve our personnel from the surface?”
The rebel paused, weighing his option. “That’s all?,” he asked slowly, eyeing Ewan curiously. “No supply runs?”
“Oh, for the love of… no, no supply runs.”
“Very well, but we will be monitoring your transport.”
As the viewer darkened, returning to the starfield beyond, Ewan turned towards the tactical console and gave Ensign Armstrong the nod to begin scanning for the away team. The young Kentuckian’s hands slowed when his sensor data came back with a disturbing result. Llewellyn watched his face fall as if he was watching a slow-motion holographic program and realized that the news couldn’t be good.
“What is it, Jason?,” he asked quietly, moving to stand beside him at tactical.
“I… I can only read three… three combadges, Captain,” he revealed, determined not to let himself burst into the tears welling up inside him, biting his lip. “I’ve lost all reading … on Jim!”
ACT TWO
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
Thanks to the attack upon Starfleet personnel, I have no moral qualms about sending down a security detail to the surface of Santrag II. Working with Ka’Gerran’s forces, we have managed to secure the Prime Minister’s Residence and fend off the last of the current revolutionary forces… for now. However, this mission has changed into something more sinister. Unable to get a reading on Ensign James Morgan, I am ordering the undertaking of a search and rescue mission.
Sickbay. He still found it uncomfortable.
There was little time left for his personal apprehension. As Captain Llewellyn and Ensign Armstrong entered, their attention was immediately drawn to the central biobed. The occupant lifted his head slightly to take note of the new arrivals. Despite his strong sense of duty and pride in Starfleet regulations, Lieutenant Commander Sollik couldn’t have stood at attention for the captain even if he tried.
Right beside him with a medical tricorder, Lynn Boswell placed a reassuring hand on his exposed green chest, knowing his compulsion to get up. He was in a sorry state. His leg was wounded, shot by a Romulan disruptor, and his shoulder would require extensive surgery.
“Captain,” he started to say with great difficulty as Ewan approached the biobed.
“Easy, Sollik,” he replied. “What happened down there?”
“We were separated from the others. Ensign Morgan and I… A small band of rebels managed to locate us and started shooting. We were pinned down for a good few minutes, but then Ensign Morgan was hit…”
Jason’s expression did little to hide his sheer terror.
“... and as I continued to return fire,” Sollik continued his tale,” I noted a small room behind us. It was nothing fancy, but perhaps somewhere to retreat and lock the rebels out for a while, even indefinitely if needs be… but then my leg was shot… so I made for the room alone, firing blind…”
That story was just not good enough for Jason Armstrong.
“You left him!,” he yelled, lurching forward and seizing Sollik’s shoulders, every ounce of his love for Jim now being directed into making his Suliban coward pay. “You intolerant bastard! You left him and ran!”
Lynn tried to push the operations officer off of him but it took Ewan to physically pick Jason up and throw him from the biobed and the wounded chief engineer to stop the altercation before it became nasty. His handsome features were screwed into a scowl. The captain lifted a finger in silence and pointed it, vibrating with anger at the young ensign, warning him off of Sollik.
“You’re relieved, Ensign!,” he shouted. “Get out!”
Defeated and yet still overflowing with pure, unbridled rage, Jason slouched his way out of Sickbay without knowing whether or not his partner was alive or dead.
Turning back to Sollik, Llewellyn urged him to carry on.
“I made it to the room,” he struggled to say,” and I sealed the room. I heard the disruptors stop firing, and a voice… a voice said something about a hostage. Then they broke through… and shot my shoulder… before I was beamed aboard.”
“So, you think that Jim’s still alive?,” Ewan asked him carefully. “You think that he could be a hostage?”
“If what I heard… was correct… then yes…”
That was enough for today. With her compassion for her patient overriding her desire to let the captain continue with his questions, Lynn Boswell moved alongside and entered several commands into the biobed. Two large arms, meeting over Sollik’s torso, arched over the wounds and began therapeutic scans as the doctor waved Llewellyn away.
Backing down with the understanding need to let Sollik recover from his wound, he closed his eyes. It was partly out of his revulsion for hospitals and medical procedures but it was also partly to conceal his inner monologue, cursing himself. Why did he agree to send people down there? Such a critical situation and he sent in Starfleet personnel. Damn Ka’Gerran, and damn those revolutionaries! This wasn’t supposed to happen!
He wasn’t supposed to lose people!
* * * *
Darkness reigned.
The musty hood placed over his desperate features was oppressive and unwelcome. With his hands tied, he found it difficult to keep balance, useless as they were, just like his senses. Other hands, free hands, jostled him to the left, to the right, always forward, guiding him towards an uncertain fate. If he had been a fearful man, he might have cried, or whispered for his mother. No, he wouldn’t do that. He was a Starfleet officer and a tactical expert. He didn’t cry, nor father in the face of adversity. He stood proud, ready to defend himself.
Jim Morgan was thrown into a highly uncomfortable chair by three tall, burly, and decidedly unattractive Santragans. One of them yanked the hood from his head and blinking like it was the first time, the young ensign struggled to regain his focus.
When he did, he wished he still had the hood on his head.
He was in some kind of basement, dank and morbid in smell and color. Liquids dripped from several cracks in the ceiling, a bright single light dominating all four corners of the room that, judging from their appearance, would rather remain in the shadows. There was a distant hum as if a nearby generator was powering this room and this room alone. Accompanying the droning sound were a concert of creatures squeaking intermittently.
Were they some kind of rats or something worse?
Jim didn’t know.
What he did know was that he had been captured by the Santragan revolutionary forces and it wasn’t for a pleasant social occasion with tea and cake.
“Look into this,” the lead Santragan snarled, pointing at what appeared to be some kind of holographic imager on a tripod,” and read this.”
A piece of paper was thrown towards him. He barely caught it with his bound hands and turned over to see words in Federation Standard. How thoughtful of them. Giving it a quick scan, he returned his dark eyes to the Santragan and cocked his head sideways, perhaps a little too comical, given the circumstances.
“Like Hell, I will,” he retorted in defiance.
“Read it… or be shot. Either way, you will have served a purpose.”
Hideous as he was, the man had a point. The choices were clear. One, be part of a ransom message or two, exist as a martyr and a bloody reminder that the revolutionaries meant business. Clearing his throat, Jim made the only choice that anybody in his position could ever make and started to read.
ACT THREE
“My name is Jim Morgan, Ensign, Starfleet, serial number: six-four-seven-dash-eight-alpha. I am reading this statement of my own free will. Veth Ka’Gerran, supposed leader of the Santragan people, you are to hand yourself over to the revolutionary forces that strive for freedom and equality in society.
“In exchange, I will be returned to your Federation supporters in orbit, unharmed, and no charges of interference will be brought to the Federation Court upon our seizure of power. We have no disagreement with the Federation, nor do we object to the starbase in orbit. Without it, we would have been overrun by the End and subject to possible Klingon subjugation.
:Our new system of government will continue the prosperous relationship with the Federation unhindered… but Veth Ka’Gerran, your continued taxation undermines the quality of life for those who are less fortunate than you and your continued support of the financial system shows that you have no compassion for justice and equality, preferring to keep your stranglehold over the people intact.
“This cannot be our system of government.
“This cannot be our way of life.
“The exchange shall take place at our transponder signal. A single transporter beam will deliver you to the stronghold of the revolutionary forces while simultaneously delivering me to the starship Fortitude, as previously stated, entirely unharmed. Failure to respond to the transponder signal will result in the live broadcast of… of my execution.”
Sobbing came from the operations console.
Perhaps, in retrospect, Llewellyn shouldn’t have ordered the ransom demand to be played on the main viewscreen of the Bridge, especially not with Jason Armstrong on duty. With an apologetic shrug, he turned to Valerie Archer who understood her role in such situations. Quietly, she took Jason into the Briefing Room beside the Bridge, consoling him and coming as close as the Intrepid-class starship would ever come to having a counselor aboard. In the meantime, the captain returned his attention to the ransom.
Blast it! Could they get away with this? There must be some way of tracing his signal and finding out where Jim was being held. They had routed it through the entire planet’s communications grid, meaning that it could have come from anywhere.
“499 to Fortitude,” blurted the communications system. “This is Rear Admiral Blackmore. Ewan, did you see that?”
“Yes, we saw it,” Ewan replied, calling out to him.. “Our efforts to trace the signal came up negative. It looks like the bastards have us over a barrel.. The only way to get Ensign Morgan back unharmed is to deliver Ka’Gerran at their signal.”
“Yeah, and that signal could be any time soon. We don’t have a time frame to work with here and something tells me that Ka’Gerran isn’t going to make a snap decision on this. He could be going straight to prison or worse.”
“I think that we should beam down to the Prime Minister’s Residence and do this in person, though. It’s safe enough, thanks to our people.”
“Agreed,” Blackmore nodded, unseen to the Bridge. “See you down there?”
“See you down there.”
* * * *
Veth Ka’Gerran clasped his hands behind his back as they spoke. The troubled Prime Minister had his back to them, his concentration absorbing their words and processing the tragic development in his world’s sorry state of affairs. Though his eyes were absorbing something different. They looked from a burning tree to a smashed window and from a broken wall to an overturned hover car. The streets outside his office window had seen the brunt of the revolutionary attack. While the rolling green hills and snow-capped mountains beyond the city remained as peaceful, as beautiful, and as comforting as well, civilization had taken a hard beating. For him, it was a sobering lesson in politics… and life.
After much of the report had been finally delivered, he turned to face Captain Llewellyn and Rear Admiral Blackmore. He was surprised to see them as ashen-faced as he was feeling himself. Perhaps they thought that his decision would be long and drawn-out, ponderous, and overly critical. Perhaps they thought that he would refuse them, condemning their officer… Ensign Morgan, was it? The fellow that had been in here earlier during the battle with the unkempt stubble and the dark skin… Perhaps they thought that he would condemn him to death. Watching them as they finished, the Santragan took a deep breath.
“So the choice is yours,” Blackmore concluded.
“Gentlemen,” the Prime Minister began, at length,” you refused my initial request for assistance. You sent down four people when I asked for forty. You sent no ships, and no shuttlecraft. You could have been very well beaming down into a slaughter, a warzone in which you would have been most certainly overcome.”
He could see both Humans shift uncomfortably.
“Had you intervened as I had requested, this incident would have become a galactic focus and a larger issue that would have most certainly seen the end of my government, thanks to Federation Law,” he continued, ignoring the metamorphosis of their expressions from grief to acceptance. “What you did was save my life and nothing more. You remained impartial and dealt with only what your morality dictated for you to deal with. You chose the prudent and logical course of action and for that, I am forever in your debt. So, yes, I shall exchange myself for Ensign Morgan.”
“Are you sure about this?,” Blackmore asked him, confirming the offer as if he expected it to be rescinded at any moment. Mentally kicking himself, he realized after he had spoken of his trust in Ka’Gerran and in his friendship. He was hardly dealing with a Ferengi here, but rather with an honest and upstanding statesman.
“Quite sure, Edward. Never fear.”
“Prime Minister,: Llewellyn chipped in, taking a step forward,” the revolutionaries that we’ve encountered seem to be a violent and reactionary people. Your life could be in danger. They might even decide to execute you.”
“As I’ve observed, Captain, even Humans become violent and reactionary when they’re faced with a … shall we say, passionate situation? No, these are my people. They are ultimately my responsibility and their actions are my responsibility too. I won’t let them murder him. All I ever wanted to do was lead them and to help them. It’s not my fault that the system itself is flawed, but it is within my power to change it. If these recent events have shown me one thing, it’s that anybody can change the future.”
Blackmore was shocked to feel himself getting slightly emotional. As everyone around him did, he regarded himself as a tough old star dog, one who had seen everything, been everywhere, and was wise in the ways of the universe. Not so, he discovered, as he suppressed a tear with the skill and dexterity of a Vulcan. Here stood his friend, a man with whom he had built a working relationship with. And now he was prepared to risk the unknown, to place himself at the mercy of those who had opposed him, and all to save a life.
A life that wasn’t even from his world.
“Veth,” he said after a long pause, making sure that the tear didn’t resurface,” you are perhaps the most noble man that I have ever known. Bless you.”
“Edward,” the Santragan replied,” it has been a pleasure. We should prepare.”
EPILOGUE
The exchange went exactly as it had been planned.
Jim Morgan was now aboard Fortitude and back in the loving arms of Jason Armstrong.
It had proven that the Prime Minister had been right on one point. His people weren’t savages or bloodthirsty criminals. They were merely a species driven to a point of change and they had taken it upon themselves to drive that change.
Sitting in his Ready Room, pondering over the vast ramifications of the past few days, Ewan had to agree that Ka’Gerran’s assessment of Humanity held merit. There had been times in Earth’s history where revolution was a necessary course of action. There had also been times when it had been required but entirely absent. Why didn’t people rise up against Adolf Hitler or Lenin or Stalin? What about Khan Noonian Singh, Colonel Green, or the brutal post-apocalyptic factions of the mid-twenty-first century?
Ewan knew that Veth Ka’Gerran was nowhere near any of those tyrannical monsters. He was simply unfortunate, the innocent leader in office when the floodgates finally opened and unleashed the pent-up antagonism of his people. The captain turned, casting his eyes out towards the striking image of the Class-M planet peacefully spinning through the stars and wondering just how the Santragan people would sleep tonight. He wondered if Ka’Gerran would get any sleep, wherever he would be sleeping.
Would there be an execution?
He doubted it.
The mob mentality had died away with the fires of the siege, leaving behind those with an eye on the future with a sense of responsibility. Those who led the revolution for political reasons, not for the sheer anarchy that most of the rebel army would go along with any excuse for a riot.
This would all make for one impressive log entry, he realized. It was getting extremely late, and coffee could only sustain him for so long. Reaching over to his desk monitor, he punched in a few commands and placed his cup down onto the desktop.
“Captain’s Log,” he began to recite,” supplemental…”
The End.