Star Trek: Fortitude
Season Three, Episode One - ‘Tempus Futile, Part Two’
By Jack D. Elmlinger
PROLOGUE
Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude…
While anticipating the return of Doctor Lynn Boswell to the USS Fortitude, NCC-76240, Captain Ewan Llewellyn prepares to deliver a speech at her impending birthday celebrations. His preparatory efforts are cut rudely short when Commander Valerie Archer, his trusted First Officer, and the object of his hidden affections, informs him that Doctor Boswell’s shuttlecraft is oddly missing from the rendezvous coordinates. In that instance, Captain Llewellyn immediately fears the worst.
Ordering a search pattern, the USS Fortitude soon encounters a strange alien warp trail intersecting Doctor Boswell’s route back from the Ragrindan medical conference that she had been attending on the behalf of the Federation. Following the trail, the Intrepid-class starship caught up and intercepted an ominous cube-shaped vessel belonging to Humanity’s greatest and most feared enemy: the Borg Collective. Instantly ordering a red alert, Captain Llewellyn rallied his crew around him as they realized that Doctor Boswell had probably been captured and assimilated by the Borg.
Sending an away team over to the Cube, the crew of Fortitude were shocked and appalled to find no trace of Doctor Boswell, save for her uniform and her combadge. An overeager Lieutenant Commander Sollik accidentally trips an alarm while digging through the Borg central computer and quickly the Borg detect the presence of the Intrepid-class starship. Beaming the away team back to the relative safety of the ship, Llewellyn was shocked to learn that the Borg’s goal is to assimilate Earth.
In their path, the Santrag system, Starbase 499… and the USS Fortitude…
… and now the conclusion.
ACT ONE
“Shields to maximum! Standby all weapons! Resistance is not futile!”
Captain Ewan Llewellyn felt his pulse racing, the blood coursing through his veins and throbbing in anticipation of an apocalyptic confrontation with the Borg Cube that was looming over the Intrepid-class USS Fortitude. His ship, his crew, his friends, and his loved ones, all in mortal danger. It wasn't for the first time that the Welshman considered himself to be too young to be in such a position of responsibility. No, he thought, shaking his head firmly, this wasn’t the time for doubt.
“Captain,” Jason Armstrong barked from Ops,” we’re being scanned!”
Suddenly, a blinding green energy beam penetrated the hull. It swept across the Bridge, forcing everyone that it touched to recoil in slight fear and obvious ocular distress as it probed their bodies. It happened on all decks with crew members backing away from the approach verdant menace. The scan took only a few seconds.
Lieutenant Commander Sollik ran from the Captain’s side, heading to the engineering console along the starboard bulkhead. “They’ve conducted a threat analysis, Captain,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “We don’t appear to be affected in any way.”
“That could change,” Llewellyn lamented. “Are the shields still up?”
“Affirmative,” Sollik replied.
“Untouched by the hand of the Devil,” Archer observed with curiosity. “What are they doing over there? Why not assimilate us like they did Lynn?”
The mention of Doctor Lynn Boswell hung in the air for a silent moment. While they had time to realize that their friendly chief medical officer was in grave danger aboard the Borg Cube, any flicker of hope that they may have once held for her safe return had been extinguished by the news that Valerie Archer’s away team had brought back.
A Starfleet uniform… Lynn’s uniform… and no sign of her. She would hardly need it as a drone.
Interrupting the sadness at her sudden departure, Ensign Armstrong had yet more worrying facts to impart from the Ops console. “They’re charging weapons!,” he cried out.
“Brace for impact!” Ewan shouted in response.
A single green discharge burst forth from the haphazard hull plating of the immense goliath blocking their path. It struck Fortitude’s shields, instantly causing them to overload and collapse in defeat.
Sollik’s shocked expression told everybody all that they needed to hear. “Shields are gone!,” he said anyway.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Vuro yelled from the helm,” I’ve lost helm control!”
“Sollik?,” Valerie asked the question with the tone of her voice alone.
“The Borg weapon caused a massive feedback pulse along our ODN relays and EPS conduits,” the Suliban growled in frustration, slamming his display with his scaled hands balled up into angry fists. “All systems are suffering an energy drain!”
“Anything to get us out of here,” Llewellyn asked in a panic,” would be greatly appreciated!”
“Diverting power to thrusters,” attempted the chief engineer.
It was hardly needed.
The image on the viewscreen has changed. The once-immovable Borg Cube was turning away from the crippled Fortitude and back towards its original course…
… back towards Earth, and back towards Starbase 499…
...back towards Santrag II, the defenseless civilization relying on the Federation…
Well, Ewan had to admit as he watched the Cube prepare to depart that if we have been defeated so easily, then Rear Admiral Blackmore over on 499 doesn’t stand a chance and neither do the Santragans. All eyes widened as the Cube leaped to warp with a howl.
“Why didn’t they assimilate us?,” whispered Valerie.
“What’s the point?,” Llewellyn responded with his own question. “Soon, they’ll have Earth. Why waste time on one lone starship? Besides, we’re not going anywhere.”
Round one was over.
The scores favored the Borg Collective.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental;
The persistence of the Borg in their mission to assimilate Humanity might have spared my ship and crew, but I fear for those who lay in their path. Obviously, the Borg made a tactical decision based on the scans that they took of Fortitude, realizing that we could put up a fight, but what about when they scan a defenseless target?
Sollik had informed me that Santrag II and Ivor Prime are their only obstacles before they reach Earth… both relatively defenseless locations. I am compelled, despite the danger, to complete repairs to the Fortitude and give chase to the Borg.
“How long, Sollik?”
“About an hour, give or take,” answered the Suliban, fixing the Captain with an intense stare that told him not to quibble with the estimate. “I’ve replaced all of the ODN relays that are vital to main systems, but the EPS couplings in Main Engineering are fusing beyond recognition. I don’t know whether to try and repair them or start from scratch and replicate new ones altogether.”
They were clustered around the Briefing Room table, not bothering with seats. There was no time to sit around and go through the formality of a staff meeting. Besides, Sollik’s uniform was covered with a layer of grease and dirt so it kept the upholstery clean.
Ewan inwardly stopped himself from laughing at that thought. It had become one of his worrying traits to take situations of such dire imposing danger or tragic loss and overlay comedic, almost sarcastic comments. He wasn’t the first man in history to do it and he wouldn’t be the last. At least, it helped him to cope. The pacifist forced to fight, to accept the violent loss, and to accept the cost of an enemy’s actions…
Readjusting his attention, he stared back at Sollik with understanding eyes. “Okay, but see if you can avoid using the replicators. It would be prudent to save as much of our power reserves as possible for the coming fight.”
“I still can’t believe that we’re going to knowingly engage a Borg Cube,” Jason said with a sigh.
“Neither can I, Ensign,” Llewellyn countered,” but it’s either that or stand by as Santrag II falls to the Borg. Rear Admiral Blackmore would do the same for us. He would fight with his last ounce of strength and it is our duty to protect the Federation’s presence in this corner of the Beta Quadrant in any way that we can.”
Arden Vuro nodded, agreeing entirely with the Captain’s decision. “We’re all on board,” the Bolian told the room, stating the obvious to reinforce morale. “It’s an incredible thing to do but it’s the only thing that we can do.”
“I’ve been reviewing as much information about the Borg that I possibly can,” Valerie Archer revealed, tapping away at the wall screen in the Briefing Room as she called up a schematic of a prism-shaped device. “Thanks to the records kept by the crew of the USS Enterprise-D, we’ve got a possible advantage to exploit. There are distribution nodes that are found aboard all Borg vessels. They regulate the collective consciousness and keep all of the drones in line.”
“Order to chaos…?,” Llewellyn ventured to ask.
“Yes, something like that,” the First Officer continued with her plan. “If we can punch a hole in a specific part of the Cube’s shields, several photon torpedoes should make short work of the hull plating near this relay…”
The wall screen changed accordingly and everybody took note of it.
“... and we’ll have a clear shot at the central distribution node for over thirty percent of the drones aboard. Like a wounded dog, they’ll kick back even harder as soon as we succeed so we’ll have to work fast. Even if we destroy one, maybe two, it might be enough to stop them dead in their tracks.”
“It sounds good,” Ewan confirmed with a sharp nod. “It’s better than no plan at all.”
“I’ll try to take that as a compliment,” she smiled in return.
Good old Valerie.
Surrounded by such support, Captain Llewellyn felt like he couldn’t lose.
ACT TWO
Federation Deep-Space Outpost Starbase 499
Orbiting Santrag II
Routine wasn’t really dull but it wasn’t really exciting either. It was just routine. Nothing more or less. Regardless of the action being undertaken, repeating something enough times became dull.
Even though he loved his job, this morning, Rear Admiral Edward Blackmore was drumming his fingers on his desk with annoyance. His office aboard the space station had never felt so quiet. It was too early for whiskey… The coffee from breakfast was just starting to wear off and lunch was too far away.
Scratching his grey beard in frustration, he realized that today was just going to be one of those days. A day where those in the top brass levels of Starfleet kicked back and enjoyed the privilege of agenda-setting.
Lifting his polished shoes from the spare chair that he had dragged over, his broad shoulders shifted to align with the desk’s straight edge. “Blackmore to Station Master Martinez,” his relaxed North American drawl called out after he tapped his combadge.
“Erica here, Boxer,” the Latina responded promptly.
“Poker, my office, in ten minutes… and don’t tell me that you’re busy! I know better!”
“I yield to your superiority in these matters. See you in ten.”
Another tap of his combadge and another call followed. “Blackmore to Doctor Pulaski.”
“This is Katherine Pulaski,” the relatively new addition to 499’s staff answered within seconds. “What can I do for you, Boxer?”
“Bring chips,” Boxer chucked, appreciating the difference between Erica’s hands-off reply and Pulaski’s no-nonsense approach. “The day’s a slow one, Kate. Poker, in my office in ten minutes. Just you, me, Erica, and the cards. There’s nowhere to hide!”
“You know that there’s a treatment available for masochism,” Pulaski teased him.
“Those are fightin’ words, Kate!”
“You know me all too well, Boxer. I’m on my way.”
It wasn’t long before the Rear Admiral had replicated three sparkling glasses of a pleasing Andorian ice juice that the trio had shared and enjoyed recently. He set them out accordingly on the circular table reserved for poker games. The cards were found in his desk, as per usual, and he was just about to shuffle them when something caught his eye.
Something that was out of place.
Turning to the beautiful starfield beyond his panoramic window, Edward Blackmore knew every place for every star out there. Today, on one of those days, a star wasn’t behaving itself.
It was growing…
No, wait, it wasn’t a star at all.
Whatever it was, it was blacker than the darkest recesses of the cosmos. It was blotting out stars with alarming frequency. Whatever it was, it was massive and almost the size of Starbase 499 itself.
When it got close enough for a visual scan, Boxer’s eyes never failed him. It was close enough for the personnel manning central command operations in the Station Master’s Office to panic and sound Red Alert.
Rightly so, Blackmore thought.
He had only seen them in the reports… never for real.
Poker would have to wait.
* * * *
The USS Steamrunner, NX-52126 had seen relatively little action for a destroyer-type starship. There had been a large battle with the End space fleet, one year ago, and since then, only a brief altercation with some disgruntled Santragan revolutionaries who couldn’t fight their way out of a wet Argelian bag. Captain Llewellyn had fought hard to renovate and reassign the Steamrunner to Starbase 499, but leaning back now in the command chair on her Bridge as the daily systems checks were being made around him, Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Brodie couldn't see the point.
Brodie was a tall, handsome and striking thirty-something-year-old African American who had been born for tactical operations. His pride in his skills was only exceeded by his overbearing ego and self-confidence when it came to his job and his love life. Ever the ladies’ man, he was currently contemplating his latest possible conquest, a lovely crew woman from the engineering corps aboard Steamrunner that he had asked out to dinner when the red alert klaxon sounded with its light flaring a deep crimson red.
In his arrogance and frustration, Brodie believed that some stupid young ensign must have accidentally slipped it. The Steamrunner was safely tucked away inside one of the cavernous docking ports of Starbase 499. Today, his command duties would involve chastising him or her before he wrote an incident report, told the poor quivering wreck to read the regulations again, and to take a day off. Sighing heavily as he lifted his athletic frame from the command chair, Brodie moved towards the tactical station to starboard on the small, cramped Bridge and got the attention of the officer on duty.
“What is it now?,” he grumbled.
“It wasn’t me, Captain,” she protested, using the rank merely as a formality when addressing the Lieutenant Commander. “The main computer received the red alert signal from Starbase 499. Sir, I’ve got the Station Master’s Officer on screen!”
“Put them through,” Brodie frowned, turning towards the main viewer.
“Gabe, this is Rear Admiral Blackmore,” the grizzled features of Edward Blackmore shouted across the Bridge of the starship. “Get your butts out into space! We’ve got a Borg Cube on a direct intercept course with weapons primed!”
“Oh my…”
Secretly, Gabriel Brodie welcomed the news.
Finally a proper battle with a worthy adversary. It was finally time to prove himself.
ACT THREE
They were just too late.
Watching the viewscreen with crestfallen faces, Captain Llewellyn and his crew realized that they had been moments too slow in their repairs. Hoping to stop the Borg Cube short of any targets, they had failed.
Ahead of them was the geometric shape that represented all of the fear and the death that they all sought to stop. It rested beside the familiar site of Starbase 499 and darting around it, the USS Steamrunner was giving everything that she had to the fight… and being slapped about for her trouble.
“You know the plan, everyone,” Ewan called out, focusing on what they could do now, rather than what they had failed to do already. “If we get busy on our assigned targets, we could possibly send the Borg into a shutdown that we can take advantage of. We may be small but we know where to hit them!”
“Red Alert!,” Valerie Archer yelled, moving towards the helm. “Arden, take us in and head for the upper starboard quadrant of the Cube.”
“I’m on it, Commander,” the Bolian replied with a deft flurry of fingers across his console.
“Sensors show that Starbase 499 has sustained only minor damage,” Jason Armstrong called out from Ops with a hint of relief in his voice. “The Borg haven’t been here long and I don’t think they were counting on the Steamrunner. I’ve also got the Katherine Johnson on my scope, Captain. They’ve taken heavy damage and bowed out of the fight.”
“That was to be expected,” Valerie said, matter-of-factly.
“Science vessels can be repaired later,” Ewan agreed with her. “Redirect all sensors onto the Borg and scan for any changes in behavior or effects of our actions, Jason.”
“Gotcha,” the young Kentuckian replied with formality suspended for the moment.
Working furiously at the engineering console this entire time, Sollik finally finished his calculations and modifications to the phaser banks. Their frequency would now even alternate mid-strike, keeping the Borg adaptive systems on their tones more than had ever been achieved before. It was the benefit of working at Starfleet Command during the early stages of Borg tactical defense development…
With a grin, he turned back to the main action aboard the USS Fortitude and delivered the good news. “Weapons are ready, Captain,” he shouted as the first Borg counterattack struck the shields and rocked the deck beneath their fleet. “Target locked!”
Llewellyn stepped forward dramatically. “Open fire!”
The phaser spewed forth, punching through the Borg shield grid with surprising ease and tearing into the black hull beyond. Multiple plumes of flame and debris belched out into space. Even a flailing drone drifted out from the open wound. A smattering of congratulatory outburst echoed around the Fortitude Bridge, all of them directed at Sollik. Even Jason, burying a long-exposed hatchet for the sake of the moment.
“First distribution node destroyed, Captain,” reported the Suliban who was satisfied by the results. “Targeting the second node at bearing zero-seven-three, mark two. Lieutenant Vuro?”
“Adjusting heading to zero-seven-three, mark two,” confirmed the helmsman.
“Jason, hail Steamrunner,” Valerie ordered while the Intrepid-class starship soared triumphantly around the sharp corners of the immense Cube and head for the next juicy item on the menu of destruction that they had written up. “If we can get them to focus their weapons with ours simultaneously, we might even be able to do a little more damage.”
“Communications aren’t getting through,” Armstrong answered a second later. “Both 499 and Steamrunner have their communications systems down.”
“Nice thought, Valerie,” Ewan comforted her,” but let’s keep our heads in the game.”
“Okay,” nodded the First Officer.
“Second distribution node directly ahead,” Sollik pointed out. “Phasers charged.”
Fortitude lurched hard, struck by a particularly powerful blast from the relentless foe that they were trying to cripple. Valerie had been right, earlier in the Briefing Room. Like a wounded dog, the Borg were kicking back and hard. Multiple cutting beams smashed into the shields, sending lightning rods dancing across the hull. Several LCARS displays exploded spectacularly along the aft section of the Bridge.
Instinctively, Llewellyn shielded Archer from the sparks with his body. It was a caring move that didn’t go unnoticed by the Commander’s personal feelings for the Captain.
“Well, what are you waiting for?!,” he barked at Sollik. “Fire the bloody things!”
“Firing phasers… direct hit! The second distribution node is offline!”
The deck stopped rumbling.
The noise of the battle went silent.
Everybody froze.
“Oh, I don’t like it when this happens,” Ewan lamented, breaking up the ominous silence.
“Captain,” Jason said from Ops,” the Borg are powering engines!”
“What the…?”
“They’re running, Captain! Course: Sector 001… It’s Earth!”
Ensign Armstrong was correct. The viewscreen showed the damaged Borg Cube pitch away from Starbase 499, from the jewel of Santrag II, and away from the starships that had been stinging them like hornets. With a resonating howl, the Borg leaped to warp, disappearing into the depths of space beyond and from the threatening tactical knowledge of the USS Fortitude.
“Get a subspace signal through to Deep Space Five,” Llewellyn shouted. “Warn them!”
“I can’t sir,” Jason sighed. “Our communications system is down too.”
They had saved the population of Santrag II. they had saved Rear Admiral Blackmore and their friends aboard Starbase 499. They had saved the crews of the Steamrunner and the Katherine Johnson, and they had saved themselves.
But could Earth be saved?
Nobody in this corner of space knew.
* * * *
Captain’s Log, Stardate 50896.4;
News has reached me of the Battle of Sector 001. As the Federation task force that was sent to intercept the Borg Cube was nearing defeat, Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E intervened with his extensive knowledge of the Collective and somehow managed to stop the Borg from assimilating Earth. While all of the details are unknown at this time, but, at least, we can call it a victory. Humanity has prevailed in the face of assimilation once again, and while the rest of the Federation would appear to be celebrating, we have yet another memorial service to attend…
“Heading over now?”
“Yes,” Edward Blackmore nodded. “I assumed with you?”
Ewan was in agreement, walking alongside his friend, the Rear Admiral, as they headed for the main transporter room aboard Starbase 499. The Captain had been working aboard the space station for several hours with the clean-up after the battle with the Borg Cube well underway.
Steamrunner and Katherine Johnson had been salvaged with the latter being almost beyond help. Currently, the question over whether it was worth renovating the aging Oberth-class starship hung in the air around Blackmore’s head. With its reinforced shields and gigantic power reserves, Starbase 499 had done quite well, escaping with only minor damage. That was thanks to the starships themselves and the bravery and ballsy nature of Captain Ewan Llewellyn.
“The Mess Hall was tidied up this morning,” the Welshman told his superior officer. “I didn’t want to say goodbye to Lynn standing in a pile of bulkhead debris.”
“Good to hear,” Blackmore growled. “I don’t know. First, we lose Jim, and now Lynn. I wonder when it’ll stop becoming dangerous and start becoming rewarding.”
“It’ll happen, Boxer. It has to happen, okay?”
“Okay, Ewan.”
They walked around the apex of the corridor and to the transporter room beyond. Pausing in mid-stride, Blackmore had one final business question to pose and he didn’t want it to encroach on the memorial service for Doctor Lynn Boswell when they beamed aboard Fortitude momentarily.
Rest his hand on Ewan’s shoulder, he voiced his thoughts. “The Borg,” he said. “Why didn’t they assimilate your ship in that first encounter?”
“The Borg are the most single-minded race that I know about, Boxer,” Llewellyn replied. “That single-minded consciousness was focused on Humanity and Earth. It’s a wonder that we even managed to slow them down. Stopping to assimilate everything that they ran into. Every starship… Every planet…”
“Yeah, good point,” the Rear Admiral nodded, cutting the sentence short. “I’m just glad that Captain Picard violated his orders.”
“You and be both, Boxer. Here's to Jean-Luc Picard and the good ship Enterprise.”
“Seconded, Ewan,” smiled Blackmore.
EPILOGUE
“We are gathered here today to pay respects to our honored dead.”
It was horrifically the second time that he had spoken those words in recent months. To lose any crew member was painful enough but to lose a member of the senior staff was especially damaging to the Captain. These were his friends, the department heads that he dealt with daily, and the ones that he had formed friendships with. The death of Ensign James Morgan had been tough enough but he had been on the other side of the Galaxy at the time. This time, this tragic time, Doctor Lynn Boswell had been in Llewellyn’s charge when she was captured and assimilated by the Borg.
“Lynn was a dedicated physician,” Ewan told the assembled officers. “Her spirit will continue to live on through all of us as we remember her energy, her soul, her humor, and her friendship. She will be sorely missed.”
There were tears. Jason Armstrong was having a hard time and not just because Lynn was dead. The atmosphere of a memorial service was a harsh reminder of the service where he had said goodbye to his beloved Jim. Valerie Archer was also struggling to cope with her emotions. She was remembering the discussion that she had with Lynn the day that Arden Vuro had been shot and needed an operation. Lynn had been forced into the position of Chief Medical Officer after the original chief medical officer had been… well… exposed. The young woman suddenly becoming the woman in charge of the ship’s health had suffered a crisis of conscience on that day and Valerie had picked her back up, helping her become the fine doctor that she had always been, deep down.
The photon torpedo casing, again empty for the lack of any remains, was beamed into space.
Out there, somewhere, it would join the casing representing Jim Morgan.
All present were thinking the same thing.
Rest in peace.
The End.