By Richard Woodcock

Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude

Lazarus presses both palms to the Iconian crystal core. Light erupts. The anchor fragments implode in slow-motion across planes of existence. A deafening roar echoes across sensors as the rift begins to tear inward.


“Lazarus—!” Dan Dare shouts.

And now the continuation…..

“I’m still here…”

SCENE: Fortitude Bridge – RIFT COLLAPSE

TESHLA Teshla watches the viewscreen with wide-eyes as a crewman reports:


“The rift is closing! No gravitational echo. No singularity! It’s just… gone.”


“But the anchor was destroyed. Lazarus should have…” Neku checked in.


“Sir. We’re reading a lifeform in the collapse zone. Human. Stable.” Rose cutting in to Neku report.

SCENE: Citadel – Collapse Aftermath

Zulu Team recovers amid smoldering wreckage. Medical tricorders beep frantically. And there, lying unharmed in the center of where the anchor had been… is Lazarus.

But something’s different.

He looks… younger. Clear-eyed. Balanced.


“How…?” Reeve asked raising his weapon cautiously.


“That’s not our Lazarus.” Dan Dare answered quietly approaching.


“Or maybe he is. Or… maybe he’s the one who died.” Miles postured recognising the impossible.


“I remember everything. The fight… the madness… and dying. And yet… I’m still here.” Lazarus answered opening his eyes.

Miles and Dan help him up. He doesn’t resist. He looks at Dan.


“You said your universe didn’t have a me. Maybe it does now.” Lazarus asked softly.


Dan Dare offered his hand: “Then let’s make sure he’s the one it needs.”

SCENE: Above the Rift Ruins – Post-Battle Coordination

Location: Orbit above the Citidal
Ships present: USS Fortitude, USS Helios, USS Valkyrie, Spacefleet Fortitude, and multiple support craft

The battlefield smolders with drifting hull fragments and twisted debris. Amid the chaos, vessels from two worlds coordinate in practiced harmony.

Interior: USS Fortitude – Bridge
“Status on Spacefleet recovery ops?” Teshla asked reviewing fleet telemetry.


“They’re hauling wounded shuttles back in. Spacefleet Scout Cutter 7 has lost primary propulsion—we’re locking tractor beams now.” Akadia reported.

The USS Kongo swings around, catching a spiralling Spacefleet vessel in its tractor beam and gently slowing its descent.


“Tractor beam secured. We’ve got you, Cutter 7.” Comes the operations officer voice over the communications panel.

The pilot aboard the cutter, eyes wide, helmet cracked nods through the viewport, hand raised in thanks.

Digby watching his display with calm pride looks over to one of his officers:

“Captain Thane, deploy our rear line to seal the rift perimeter. I want no stragglers escaping into the breach.”


“Aye, Major. Starfleet is rerouting gravity buoys—we’ll anchor them on their phaser lattice.” Captain Thane answers.


“Starfleet solutions. They’ll catch on eventually.” Digby answers with a smile.

“Signal from Star Fleet Fortitude.” The communications officer spoke up.

“Major Digby, we’re adjusting our deflector harmonics to prevent residual rift instabilities. Use our signal as a navigational anchor for your crews.” Teshla’s voice came over the speakers.


“Appreciated, Commander Phyhr. And tell your crew—they’ve got guts. I’d stand with them again.” Digby answered warmly.

Federation and Spacefleet ships fly side by side, some exchanging debris mapping, others escorting damaged allies to staging points. Tractor beams cross boundaries. Engineers share encryption handshakes. There’s no “us” and “them” here. Only duty.

Interior: Anastasia – Rear Hatch Bay

Zulu Team watches from the open hatch as the two fleets sweep the system clean together.


“They move differently. But the rhythm… it’s the same.” Velra noted quietly.


“Because belief in your shipmates looks the same in any timeline or reality.” Reeve answered.

Scene: Science Annex – USS Fortitude, Months Later

Professor Peabody, a multiversal physicist from Spacefleet, stands beside Commander Neku and Admiral Llewellyn at a newly constructed quantum rift array. A glowing lens of distorted space hovers within containment fields.


“It took months of calibrating graviton drift and folding linear baryon fields, but the results are promising. We can reach across realities now—when needed.” Professor Peabody reported.


“You’re suggesting… controlled, bidirectional passage across multiversal boundaries?” Neku asked amazed.


“With your Starfleet tech stabilizing the gate and Spacefleet chronometrics mapping reality lines—yes. We can summon assistance… or lend it.” Peabody answered crossing her arms in thought.


“If another Mekon rises, we won’t be alone. And if your world needs us, we’ll be there.” Miles spoke up.


“One multiverse. One shared duty.” Peabody smiled pushing her glasses on her nose up.

They gaze into the shimmering rift, a silent promise forged between timelines.


“We’ve already begun detecting low-frequency anomalies—spikes that don’t align with known temporal flows. Something—or someone—is interfering across the stream.” Peabody reported.


“A new incursion? Or something deeper?” Neku brow crossed concerned.


“It’s too early to tell. But if it manifests… we’ll be ready. I’ve begun drafting protocols for Multiversal Contingency Delta.” Peabody confirmed passing a data pad to Neku and Miles.


“Then keep them close, Professor. We may need to call on Spacefleet again—and they on us.” Miles said taking the data pad.

The shimmering gateway, pulsing softly, as if listening showed on the holo display.

Scene: Observation Lounge – USS Fortitude

The stars beyond the wide panoramic viewport shine cold and bright. The rift has finally closed. What remains is the battered silhouette of the Citadel, drifting in silent orbit around the fourth planet.

Admiral Miles Llewellyn stands at the head of the table, his hands braced against the polished surface. Commander Teshla Phyhr sits to his right, antennae lowered in weary reflection. Dan Dare and Professor Jocelyn Peabody stand opposite them, flanked by Admiral Vossan’s holographic projection shimmering in faint blue.


“She was meant to be a fortress of conquest. A wound in reality. Now she’s something else.” Miles said quietly.


“A platform, Admiral. With the Mekon’s technology stripped away and the Iconian stabilizers contained, it can be repurposed. A neutral anchor between our universes.” Peabody answered lifting her chin.


“You’re proposing… a shared outpost?” Teshla asked.


“Starfleet Command concurs. The Federation Council is drafting an accord with your… Spacefleet representatives. We believe the Citadel can be converted into a permanent research station and a symbol of cooperation.” Admiral Vossan replied nodding gravely.


“Better than letting it drift out here as a haunted ruin. My people will want guarantees, of course—access to aid, security protocols… trade agreements.” Dan Dare Smirked.


“And Starfleet will want the same. But it’s worth the effort. After everything this place has cost—lives, ships, sanity—maybe it can give something back.” Miles spoke up.

Miles glances to the viewport, where work pods and salvage vessels glide around the Citadel’s jagged hull, welding stabilizers into place.


“Imagine it: a station where Starfleet and Spacefleet scientists can stand side by side. Where explorers share knowledge, where diplomats draft treaties instead of casualty reports.” Teshla nodded agreement.


“And where, if another rift threatens our worlds, we’ll meet it together.” Peabody cautioned.

A hush settles over them. Even the hum of the environmental systems seems to fade. For a moment, the Citadel is more than a scar. It’s a promise.


“You know, Admiral—sometimes the right people find themselves in the right place at the worst possible time… and make it into something better.” Dan said glancing at Miles


“Then let’s not waste that chance. We’ll call it Outpost Lazarus.” Miles replied smiling faintly.

Peabody lifts her head, her expression softened by hope.


“Outpost Lazarus. I like that.” Peabody smiled.


“Then it’s settled. I’ll transmit the provisional agreements to both councils. May this be the first of many endeavours our peoples share.” Admiral Vossan said out loud.

They stand together as the stars slowly wheel outside the glass, and the Citadel now Outpost Lazarus gleams like a lighthouse between worlds.

Scene: Founding of Outpost Lazarus

EXT. – Edge of the Rift Site, Former Citadel Coordinates

Federation and Spacefleet engineers move among the scattered debris of the collapsed citadel. Modular habitat units unfold from transport barges. New defensive satellites drift into position. The rift is gone, leaving only a faint aurora shimmering in the void—a silent testament to what occurred here.

Admiral Llewellyn stands at the observation platform, flanked by Commander Teshla Phyhr and Colonel Dan Dare. Together, they watch the first Federation beacon flicker to life, its transponder identifying the installation.


“I still can’t believe he did it. One man, the same man twice over, holding the walls of reality together.” Teshla quietly tells Miles.


“He spent most of his life lost in madness and guilt. But in the end…he made a choice no sane man would ever have the strength to make.” Miles answered smiling at his first office. His prodigy, almost in a way his own….. daughter…


“A man who tore open the universe—and sealed it again. In my book, that’s redemption.” Dan added softly with respect.

A nearby LCARS panel chimes as the official designation is transmitted.


“The new outpost transponder is online.” Teshla reported.

On the display, the name appears in crisp Federation lettering:

OUTPOST LAZARUS


“Outpost Lazarus.” Miles read aloud.

Miles let the name linger. Once a curse. Now, something more.


“He wanted to be remembered as more than a cautionary tale. Now he will be.” Miles said to everyone.

The aurora flickers over the observation platform, painting their faces in soft, shifting light.


“A fitting name. In every reality, there should be a Lazarus who found his way home.” Dan commented.

They stand together in silence, letting the moment settle three officers from two universes, watching the first day of a place dedicated not to war, but to memory, vigilance, and the fragile hope that even the most broken soul can heal.

SCENE: Observation Lounge – Spacefleet Fortitude few days later.

The lounge is quiet, lined with gleaming chrome surfaces and deep blue illumination. Outside the curved viewports, the rift glows like a fading scar across the stars. A bottle of dark amber liquor sits between two glasses on a low table.


“You know, I’ve seen some strange things in my time—Venusians, Mekon’s devices, half a dozen failed empires. But nothing quite like fighting side by side with a Federation starship.” Dan spoke up leaning back, nursing a glass.


“I could say the same. You’ve got your own kind of discipline. And style, I’ll admit.” Miles smiled faintly.


“Don’t let it fool you. Half the time, I’m improvising. The other half, I’m wishing I had something more than optimism and a service pistol.” Dan answered dryly.

They clink glasses. Silence stretches as they look out at the stars.


“Do you ever wonder… how many versions of us are out there? Other timelines, other Fortitudes, other causes to die for?” Miles asked thoughtfully.


“Every damn day. Maybe that’s why I never married. The work always came first. And the fight—well, it never ends.” Dan nodded quietly.


“Same here. Five ships named Fortitude. Same damn ghosts riding my shoulders every time I sit in the chair.” Miles looked at Dan knowingly.

Dan watches him a moment, weighing something unsaid.


“You did well down there, Miles. All of you. You kept your crew alive. You kept your ideals intact. That’s more than most commanders manage.” Dan spoke up.


“It doesn’t feel like enough. It never does.” Miles answered his eyes softening as if remembering something he wanted to say but could not.


Dan leans forward, resting an elbow on the table:

“Then maybe that’s the point. The day it feels like enough… that’s when you’ve stopped caring.”

They sit in silence again. The rift flickers and closes, as a Spacefleet vessel crosses over to Star Fleet reality. leaving only the quiet field of stars.


“To Fortitude. All of them. And to the men who still stand watch when the rest of us are ready to fall.” Miles raised his glass to toast.


“To Fortitude. In every universe.” Dan responded raising his glass.

They drink, and the darkness outside the hull seems just a little less heavy.

SCENE: Observation Deck – USS Fortitude, the next day

Admiral Llewellyn stands alone in the vast quiet of the observation deck. Below the sweeping arc of transparent aluminum, the shuttle Anastasia rests secure in the hangar cradle—hull repaired, fresh service markings gleaming under floodlights. A line of engineers works in measured silence, preparing her for whatever comes next.

Footsteps approach behind him—deliberate, familiar. Dan Dare stops at Llewellyn’s side, hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, neither man speaks.

“I thought this belonged with you now.” Dan said Quitely.

He produces a small metal case and sets it on the railing between them. The magnetic seals hiss open, revealing a folded cloth patch. It is old, the edges frayed, the colours faded to the smoky Gray of too many years in vacuum and battle. But the insignia is unmistakable: a stylized silver hull streaking through the stars, above a single word in bold navy blue.

FORTITUDE.

Miles lifts it gently, feeling the fabric’s weight in his palm.

“Took it off my first command. The original Fortitude. She was older than regulations, slower than pirates, and louder than Digby’s snoring. But she never let us down.” Dan said smiling faintly.

“This… is an honour I don’t have words for.” Miles said softly his voice low.

“It’s not about me. Or even about Spacefleet. It’s about what Fortitude means. To anyone who finds themselves standing where we stand, outnumbered, outgunned, but never out of heart.” Dan nodded.

Dan closes the case and slides it back to Miles.

“Take it. For your crew. For the next time you’re asked to hold the line.” Dan said softly.

Llewellyn nods, eyes locked on the shuttle far below.

“Then I’ll place it in the Anastasia’s bulkhead. She’s earned the name—and the memory.” Miles declared.

Dan Dare extends his hand. They shake—firm, silent, the clasp of men who’ve seen the edge and stepped back together.

The moment lingers.

“Whatever happens next—across your universe or mine—this patch will be there. A reminder that Fortitude doesn’t just travel in ships. It lives in the people who refuse to give in.” Dan half smiled.

Miles looks up, the stars stretched beyond the viewport like infinite promise.

“Then let’s make sure it endures. In every reality.” Miles said with quite conviction.

Behind them, the Anastasia stands ready. Somewhere beyond, the rift has closed—but the echoes remain.

====================================================================

NRPG:

And so Season one comes to an end, its been a joy to write “ECLIPSE OF ETERNITY”

Stay Tuned for Season 2, going to take a week off and where get back to it.