Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Two-Episode Seven: “Revolution, Part One”
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
“They’re at the gates!”
He could see them from his window.
With a somber realization of defeat, Prime Minister Veth Ka’Gerran knew that this day had been coming for quite some time. Crestfallen, he watched as blasts of disruptor fire, like bolts of lightning in a storm, flew from the throngs of angry Santragan rebels. They were pushing against the ornate barricade of fencing that surrounded the Prime Minister’s Residence in the capital city. In a display of power and menace, the multiple horns that adorned the Santragan skull had been painted angry reds and blacks. Banners were being waved. Some of them catching a strag disruptor beam and catching fire, instantly becoming deadly projectiles of flame in the wrong hands.
It was an impressive display of uprising, Ka’Gerran had to admit.
Then there were the disruptors themselves… the Romulan-made ones.
This was it.
This was the end of his government and the end of his reign. Only a pessimist could see it as the conclusion of an era, he sighed to himself. Those people below him, fighting for what they believed in, saw it as the dawn of a new age. Of course, they were sadly mistaken, acting on impulse rather than pragmatic thoughts. As if it was happening on every single planet in the entire Galaxy that had raced a revolution.
“I said, Prime Minister, they’re at the gates!”
Ka’Gerran turned his sallow eyes onto his Chief Aide, ever loyal and ever panicking. “I heard you,” the older man reassured him. “You’re forgetting the energy shields that protects the building. We have time.”
“Time for what?”
“To summon our allies at this, our darkest hour,” Veth revealed, moving to a transmitter station embedded in the marble wall. Pressing a small button, he centered himself before the monitor and spoke clearly and with purpose. “This is Prime Minister Veth Ka’Gerran of Santrag II, calling the Federation Starbase 499. Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore, please respond…”
ACT ONE
Jim Morgan was feeling like a cornered animal.
“The captain won’t like it,” Arden Vuro was telling him from his place at the helm, a smile spread out across his blue face despite the warning. “Regulations allow for facial hair, only if it’s neatly presented. Besides, the captain’s a tidy man.”
The Bridge was in a relaxed mood, the atmosphere benefitting from the lack of an urgent situation after the recent high-tension exchange that the crew had witnessed between Captain Llewellyn and the deranged Agent Hawkins of Section Thirty-One.
Standing at Tactical as he completed his early morning systems check, Ensign Morgan laughed and shook his head while his Bolian colleague returned to his own work. Over at Ops on the other side of the Bridge, Jason Armstrong steered clear of that conversation. Despite the fact that Jim was his boyfriend, he wasn’t going to leap to his defense on this one.
“How is one supposed to grow a neatly-presentable beard without going through the early days of stubble?,” the tactical officer responded, scratching the dirty-looking bristles of his unshaven face for emphasis. “Besides, I think it adds character. Come on, Jason, back me up on this, won’t you?”
“Sorry, Jim,” Jason shrugged. “It tickles too much.”
“I see. Betrayed from all corners!,” Jim declared, his delivery being deliberately overblown which drew chuckles from the occupants of the other Bridge stations.
The turbolift doors beside him slid open and Vuro’s claim was about to be proven.
“Morning, all,” Ewan Llewellyn said in his usual manner.
“Good morning, Captain,” everybody replied.
Making his way past the tactical station and towards his Ready Room, Ewan caught the new feature on Jim Morgan’s face out of the corner of his eye. He paused, his hand finding the edge of the tactical console as his head turned slowly and dramatically to lock into place, squarely facing the young ensign. Jim gave him a sheepish grin and he ignored it as he analyzed the stubble with narrow eyes. To the clean-shaven Welshman, it looked far too rough and far too unruly. It was not his place to give orders to his crew on personal hygiene or grooming habits but…
“Is your razor broken, Ensign?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what’s with the fuzzy face, Jim?”
“I’m trying a new look, sir.”
“I see. Can’t you try it on your own time?”
The banter was interrupted by an incoming transmission alert. The sound came from Armstrong’s console but it was sufficiently loud enough to draw Llewellyn’s attention from the other side of the Bridge.
Thanking whatever higher being had arranged that little distraction, Jim returned to his duties as the captain walked away.
“What’s up, Jason?,” Ewan asked him.
“Incoming call from Rear Admiral Blackmore,” he relayed to him. “It’s marked private, high priority.”
“Transfer it to my Ready Room. Damn, I don’t like the sound of this.”
* * * *
Captain’s Log, Stardate 49747.7;
It’s begun.
The revolutionary forces on Santrag II have stormed the capitol and they are attempting to break into the Prime Minister’s Residence. Using the disruptors that the Romulans supplied them with, thirty people have already been killed in the violence. Prime Minister Ka’Gerran has made a formal request of Rear Admiral Blackmore that, as a Federation member world, they receive immediate Starfleet assistance to keep the current government in power.
However, this is a tricky issue…
The four of them remained standing; two men and two women.
Rear Admiral Blackmore was using a large topographical survey map of the capital city, that was being displayed on a large screen that dominated one wall of his office aboard Starbase 499, to Llewellyn, Valerie Archer, and Erica Martinez where exactly the revolution was focused and where their forces were striking. The Prime Minister’s Residence, a large property at the direct center of the city and the oldest building on the map, was entirely surrounded by swarming red dots. It was almost as if thousands of army ants had wormed their way into the LCARS display, but in reality, each red dot represented a very real and a very dangerous revolutionary soldier.
“Well, he wasn’t lying to me,” Blackmore observed. “This is really it.”
Ewan stepped forward, away from the ladies while he raised his first coffee of the day to his lips and soaked in the map’s details. He was hardly a tactical genius and the very sight of such violence made his stomach do backflips, but today, this would be his job.
“What exactly did his request entail, Boxer?”
“He wants a full security team to beam down directly to the Residence. He also wants shuttles to perform flybys of the crowd as a show of force. If that’s not successful, he wants the shuttles to start dropping stun grenades on them.”
“Yeah, sure,” the captain growled sarcastically,” and then we’ll get Steamrunner to attack the rebel strongholds and perform political genocide. He can’t be serious!”
“The tragic part is,” sighed the Rear Admiral,” that he believes we’ll do it.”
“How long can their energy defense shield last?,” asked Valerie Archer, her own mind being a little more suited to tactical thinking. She was already analyzing the possible variables of a rescue operation or a ground-based response. “Are we talking days?”
“Hours, Commander.”
Erica Martinez had been watching the Fortitude’s first officer ever since they had politely shaken hands, a few moments ago. This was her competition for Llewellyn’s affections; the woman who was at his side for almost twenty-four hours per day while they were off exploring the Beta Quadrant. Despite being a grownup in complete controls of her senses, she felt her Latina passion burn pure loathing within her. Making her own move in the meeting, she attempted an approach that she thought that Ewan would approve.
At least, she hoped that he approved of it.
“Hours? Minutes? Does it matter?,” she asked, turning heads towards her. “Santrag II might be a protectorate of the Federation and sure, I feel for the Prime Minister as much as anybody else does, but doesn’t the Prime Directive stop us from interfering with the internal political affairs of any world, Federation member or not?”
An uneasy silence followed after her. Erica wondered if she had put her foot right into it.
Then a nod came from Ewan and she stopped holding her breath.
“It’s a good point,” the Welshman agreed. “Even scare tactics with the shuttles might be perceived as becoming involved. Being realistic, I don’t think that Veth Ka’Gerran’s government is going to survive this revolution. Whoever is in power after him might hold a grudge and then we would be in some serious trouble.
“That’s got to be the biggest contradiction in our respective charters,” Valerie objected with frustration. “The Federation says to help them. Starfleet says don’t. What a load of nonsense! Who wrote those damned things, anyway?”
“Steady, Commander,” Blackmore cautioned with a wave of his hand.
“Apologies, Rear Admiral, but sometimes I think we’ve got to be practical about situations and do what’s right.”
“What do you suggest, Valerie?”
ACT TWO
It actually turned out to be the only viable course of action. Whether it was sensible or not remained to be seen, but regardless of it, it went ahead for now. It was the only legal loophole anyone could both see and support, the only way of helping out the Santragan government without having to falsify any records or to lie in personal logs.
To that end, four sparkling blue transporter beams appeared in the Prime Minister’s Residence at the heart of Santrag II’s capital city. Told to meet the valiant rescuers of Veth Ka’Gerran, the Chief Aide watched as four semi-familiar faces materialized, solidified and stepped forward. Rear Admiral Blackmore led Commander Archer, Lieutenant Commander Sollik, and Ensign Morgan over to him. A brief understanding smile and a quick handshake were exchanged before the away team was led into the presence of the Santragan Prime Minister. The dull echoes of weapons fire and cries of anarchy provided the soundtrack to the foreboding proceedings. It only served to accentuate the dismay and horror spread across the face of Veth Ka’Gerran.
“Edward!,” he exclaimed upon seeing them.
“Hello, Veth.”
“I take it from your presence that you’ve agreed to help?”
It was only at that moment that he took note of the small group of uniformed Starfleet officers standing before him. Besides Blackmore, there were only three of them. One of them even wore the maroon color of command, not the gold of tactical. The attractive woman with sharp features and neatly-presented hair was certainly no soldier! Despite the phaser on her hip, Ka’Gerran dismissed her immediately and his initial elation died as he gave half-hearted glances to the Suliban and the Human behind her.
“Is this the measure of your response?,” he asked of the Rear Admiral.
“Listen,” the older Starfleet officer reasoned with him,” we can’t fight a war for you, my friend. It is simply prohibited by our rules and regulations, and as much as I would like to, even I can’t bend them for this occasion.”
“Then you’re going to let this government be overrun?”
“Absolutely not,” came his surprising reply. “I won’t deny that what they’re doing is illegal and unjust. We’ve found a loophole, a way of getting Starfleet personnel into this building and keeping you safe, at least, until a diplomatic solution can be found. This is Lieutenant Commander Sollik, chief engineer of the starship Fortitude…”
Nods were exchanged as the introductions were made.
“... and Ensign Jim Morgan, their tactical officer. They’re here to implement the repairs and upgrades to your defensive energy shield like you asked for.”
“But I didn’t ask you…!,” Ka’Gerran protested, while confused.
“No, listen to me,” Blackmore reassured him, emphasizing his words. “They’re here to implement the repairs… and upgrades… that you asked for!”
It took a moment.
“Ah,” the Prime Minister finally realized,” I see.”
“It’s the best that we can do. Commander Archer and I will remain with you to search for a resolution to your revolution and we’ll buy all of the time that we can. Aside from firing photon torpedoes into the crowd out there, it’s the best that we can do.”
“Thank you, Edward.”
“Don’t mention it, Veth. Now, let’s talk shop!”
* * * *
Ewan felt like he was cramming for an exam, something that he hadn’t done in years.
His Ready Room was a mess of PADDs with a sea of information washing over the furniture and lapping at his ankles. The sheer volume of data that he was digging through was almost the complete and utter legal history of the United Federation of Planet. Beyond that was the Starfleet Charter and the equally impressive Starfleet General Orders. Documents marks with a blue F were from 2161 and beyond, dealing with the powers of the political protection stemming from Federation membership, whereas those documents marked with a red S were even older, detailing the building blocks of Starfleet as the pioneers of the warp engine desperately tried to escape the choking oversight of the Vulcans. Some documents even went back as far as the days of the United Earth Space Probe Agency, a confusing anagram to the uneducated. There had to be something in here that he could use!
Seated beside him on the comfortable couch beneath the window, Lieutenant Arden Vuro let his hands dance across screens and controls as he absorbed information at a slightly higher rate of pages-per-minute. What Bolians stereotypically lacked in courage and cunning, he compensated for in spades. He was the most valuable asset to Llewellyn right now and together they were determined to track down an answer.
“This is impossible…,” Ewan sighed, frustrated rather than defeated.
“It’s a shame that the computer wasn’t able to run the search for us,” Arden agreed with him. “One day we’ll have to get Sollik to program in some refined parameters to allow for loopholes to be flagged… and avoid all of this mess.”
“The mess isn’t my Ready Room, Arden,” Ewan pointed out to him. “The mess is down on Santrag II. I don’t know… Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Sneaking around, helping out Ka’Gerran on the shy because we’ve got a good working relationship? Yes, we’re not breaking any rules, but I… I don’t know. I feel slightly… like we’re betraying the principles of the Prime Directive.”
The helmsman nodded and he could see exactly where the captain was coming from. He agreed with his assessment. Arden was a deeply moral person, a person who stood up for equality, fairness and compassion. Was trying to fight a revolution really the moral high ground?
It seemed that the revolution underway down on the planet had popular support. So was it really illegal or unjust? Well, of course, it was illegal. Someone couldn’t overthrow a government without breaking the government’s rules.
Unjust, though?
Arden frowned, realizing that all this time that he hadn’t asked what the rebels wanted and what their goals were. There was a general dissatisfaction with the Ka’Gerran government, but why? For what reasons and for what endgame did this entire process strive towards?
“I believe it is right to help a friend who asks for help, Captain,” he finally answered, choosing his words carefully. “I also believe that it is wrong to organize a violent action simply because you disagree with those in power. However, I know little about the actual political climate on Santrag II. Without that knowledge, we can’t make an informed decision. Therefore, we must simply do what we believe in.”
“Which is helping out a friend who asks for help.”
“Indeed, Captain. Did you know that there was once a revolution on Bolaris IX?”
Feeling ashamed at his poor grasp on the history of his crew’s homeworlds, Ewan shook his head and let Vuro continue.
“Before we joined the Federation in 2368, a little over five years ago, we were engaged in a sporadic conflict with the Moropa. There was an uneasy truce which was broken by one of our more … colorful leaders. A popular revolt overturned his seat of power and re-established the truce with the Moropa, a day before they planned on invading our homeworld. I don’t mind telling you, Captain, that I was a soldier in that revolution. I helped storm the gates and change the hands of power.”
“Do you believe what you did was right?,” Ewan asked him, carefully.
“Yes, I do, sir. I saved lives. I ended a possible war and I saved lives. For that, I’m proud of myself and my actions. Here, today, we’re trying to save lives and to stop a violent protest from causing a civil war.”
“Are you calling us revolutionaries, Arden?”
The question went unanswered as the lighting in the Ready Room suddenly switched to a sinister crimson glow that bathed both officers in an eerie hue. The familiar klaxon drowned out their conversation as the captain leapt to his feet.
Something wasn’t right.
Red Alert.
ACT THREE
“Captain!,” Ensign Armstrong exclaimed. The young operations officer had ordered the Red Alert as soon as his sensors confirmed the incoming danger. As Llewellyn took his position on the Bridge, Vuro relieved the crewman at the helm and he also saw what was approaching Fortitude. With wide eyes, he turned to face the captain.
“Report, Jason!,” Ewan barked over the klaxon.
“Sensors are detecting eight Santragan ships on an intercept course with their shields raised and their weapons charged!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” breathed the Welshman.
It was the development from Hell. The viewscreen flickered to life, showing the graceful lines of the Santragan starships breaking orbit and forming into a threatening diamond-like formation. Their tapered noses were like darts heading for a bull’s eye, their tri-winged structure like the talons of an eagle. Not even the shining blue bodywork could dispel the instant threat.
“The rebels must have taken the shipyards,” Vuro warned them,” but why are they coming after us? Their quarrel is with Ka’Gerran, not the Federation! Why waste their ships on fighting us?”
“That’s what I intend to find out, Lieutenant,” Llewellyn vowed, gritting his teeth. “Hail the lead ship, now!”
* * * *
On the surface, things were no better inside the Prime Minister’s Residence. Putting aside their differences as best as they could under the endless bombardment of Romulan disruptor fire, Sollik and Jim deftly manipulated the circuits of the protective force field in order to maintain it. If it collapsed or even faltered for a moment, the thousand-strong mob outside the Residence, fuelled by their pent-up frustration with the Ka’Gerran government, would overrun the building in seconds. Both officers periodically checked their phasers as they worked, knowing full well that the shield wouldn’t last forever.
One floor above them, standing over a gigantic paper map of the city and several old blueprints of the Prime Minister’s Residence that dated back countless centuries, Rear Admiral Blackmore and Commander Archer were working out a strategy. They wanted to get Ka’Gerran somewhere secure where he could make calls and establish contact with his people outside the city. While their leader was contained within the energy shield, their job would be to make the right diplomatic overtures to the rebel leaders and to establish a dialogue and to work for peace.
It was a huge undertaking and understandably, Veth was growing anxious. His crushed realization of defeat that had burdened him for months had transformed into a glimmer of hope, but one that shook with every disruptor volley and every cry for his head.”
“... so here would work?,” Blackmore asked, pointing to the map.
“The old guardhouse, yes,” Valerie nodded. “It’s still within the shield but isolated and close to the perimeter. It also lies towards the rear where the least concentrated section of the rebel attack is playing out.”
“What do you think, Veth? Is it worth a run for your money?”
“I believe so,” the Prime Minister agreed,” to use your interesting turn of phrase.”
Suddenly the old marble floor beneath their feet trembled with an almighty force, causing the troubled leader to be knocked off-balance. As he slumped forward over the maps, dust fell front the high ceiling of the chamber, dancing through the flickering light like stardust. Archer felt her hair become undone, falling across her face, and Rear Admiral Blackmore simply looked astounded.
“What the hell was that?!,” he barked, coughing through the dust.
Another roar drowned his voice out and yet more damage was being done to their surroundings.
“Sollik to Commander Archer,” chirped Valerie’s combadge.
“Please tell me that the shield is still up,” she snapped back a response upon tapping her combadge.
“Negative, Commander. They’ve gotten hold of some kind of catapult device and they’re launching projectiles that look like… Goodness, they’re hover cars! The fusion reactors are breaching upon impact like warheads! Commander, the shield is failing and this place is going down!”
Panic spread across their faces.
Then they heard the gates fall and the army outside advance.
“Blackmore to Fortitude,” the Rear Admiral yelled, tapping his own combadge in desperation. “Blackmore to 499. Is there anybody there?”
No response.
No rescue.
* * * *
Llewellyn had his hands full, as did Starbase 499.
“Listen here,” he pleaded with the commander in charge of the lead Santragan vessel, trying to avert a dogfight,” we’re scrambling the USS Steamrunner and the USS Katherine Johnson right now so unless you want a larger problem on your hands than simply my ship, I suggest that you back down!”
The Santragan rebel wasn’t listening. He had been awarded the glory of charging into orbit with eight of his people’s best starships and of carrying out his assignment for the good of the revolution. He wasn’t going to be dissuaded by some Human with a superiority complex and a funny accent. His horns were adorned with the same tribal paint as his brothers fighting down on the planet’s surface.
He scowled at Ewan across the viewscreen. “We detected your transporter beam,” he spat out with genuine menace. “Going through that gap at the apex of the energy shield… did you think that we wouldn’t notice your subterfuge? We know that you’re sending down troops and supplies to Ka’Gerran’s Residence! You’re helping them to defeat us and because of that, you have become an enemy of the revolutionary army!”
“We’re nobody’s enemy!”
“You’re lying!”
“No, please, believe me. We only beamed down four personnel. Only four! They’re meeting to discuss the political future of your world! Starfleet and the Federation understand the delicate climate and we want to help find a peaceful solution. We’re not sending down weapons, supplies, or soldiers for that matter! Stand down!”
“You should be supporting us, Federation,” the rebel commander pointed out to him. “Our world is riddled with taxation and crippled by the continued use of money. It keeps the rich in power and the poor under their thumb. You and your society inspired us to act! Why not turn your ships over to our fleet? Remove your people from the Prime Minister’s Residence and open fire?”
“You’re jamming our communications and transporter capabilities,” Llewellyn explained, growing exasperated with this conversation. “Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t!”
“So… you admit that you’re trying to continue to beam supplies down to the planetary surface?”
“What? No! You’re twisting my words!”
“Am I? Shame… your ships would have been useful.”
The connection between the two ships was dead. The main viewer turned back to the image of the eight dangerously-close vessels heading directly for Fortitude. Entirely at a loss with trying to bargain or reason with the rebel leader, the captain turned solemnly to his command chair and slumped down into it, rubbing his forehead. He had five seconds of peace before Lieutenant Vuro informed him of the first incoming attack.
The battle was on.
EPILOGUE
“Stay behind us, Prime Minister.”
Edward Blackmore was getting too old for action. Yet, it was his duty and he was never too old for his duty. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Valerie Archer, he raised his phaser towards the main entrance to Veth Ka’Gerran’s office and listened to the approaching storm obliterate the corridors of power beyond. There was yelling, shoving, crying, and screaming which was broken up by the steady beat of disruptor fire. It was daunting enough to drive somebody insane and crouched behind his two Starfleet protectors, the Prime Minister felt like he just might be at this very moment.
“Do you think Sollik and Jim will be captured?,” Archer asked the Rear Admiral.
He sighed. “Thanks to those jamming signals, we may never know.”
“I hope they make it. I hope we do too.”
“Chin up, Commander,” Blackmore said, attempting to calm her. “We’ve still got some decent cards in our deck.”
The door in front of them started to groan. It was being smashed on the other side by a horde of the most fervent of anarchists. Repeatedly, over and over, the noise echoed around the crumbling walls until they could finally resist no more.
They burst in, some of them falling over each other in their desperate scramble for the Prime Minister, their goal, and their victory. Weapons were raised but not fired. Archer and Blackmore kept their own phasers raised and steady since they were the last best hope for Ka’Gerran’s survival.
Over all of the roaring voices and all of the cries for revolution, Commander Archer managed to deliver one final line. She hoped they wouldn’t be her famous last words.
“I think now might be the right time to play those cards, sir.”
To Be Continued...