GRAVITAS

Title: Gravitas, 4/26
Author: Jaye (Copyright August 2002)
Codes: VOY/TNG/DS9 any Pairings NC-17

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are the property 
of Paramount. Gladiator belongs to Dreamworks SKG and Universal. No infringement 
is intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for adult themes, violence and sex. If 
you aren't interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going. Please keep the text 
(especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive. E-mail is 
reader8901@fastmail.fm

Summary: Treachery raises the stakes and changes lives when the leader of the 
Terran Empire seeks to restore the Federation.

Note: Very AU, as this is basically the plot of the film "Gladiator" set in a 
Star Trek universe. Some scenes and dialogue closely mirror the film. No Maquis, 
no Delta Quadrant, etc. This is my response to Polly's Cha!Club challenge about 
movies.

***************

CHAPTER FOUR

Julian Bashir Picard strode into his father's suite, triumph glittering smug and 
golden in his eyes. The Emperor had sent for him, requesting a private meeting. 
Finally, it was time. To claim his legacy, his birthright, his destiny.

Jean-Luc was staring out at the stars. He saw the pleased, avid expression on 
his son's face reflected in the viewport and sighed. The proud shoulders slumped 
infinitesimally a moment, then straightened in determination. "You will do your 
duty to the Empire, my son."

Julian's features quickly rearranged themselves into humble acceptance while the 
heady, beckoning scent of power filled his nostrils.

Jean-Luc turned. He would look his child in the eye as he dealt this death blow 
to his ambitions. "But you will not be Emperor."

The words careened through Julian's brain as he desperately tried to control his 
reaction. Even so, his voice was a little shaky. "What paragon have you chosen 
to take my place?"

"My powers will pass to Chakotay, who will hold them in trust long enough to re-
establish the Federation. The Council and Guard must be cleared of corruption 
and all of the member worlds reinstated to full citizenship."

"Chakotay." The name turned to ashes in his mouth, acrid and stinging.

"My decision disappoints you," Jean-Luc remarked, not unkindly. This was a 
bitter draught for his privileged son to swallow. For a moment the Emperor was 
simply a father aching for his offspring's shattered dreams. But he was also a 
disillusioned parent who knew Julian's flaws would only be magnified by great 
power, for his son could not be trusted with the equally grave responsibility. 
Julian had shown too clearly and too often that his thoughts were never of 
serving the people of the Empire; he focused merely on his own pleasures and 
status.

Julian's synapses were firing frantically as he mustered his arguments and 
sought an alternate route to his goal. When the answer came to him he quieted---
mind, body, soul. He mused reflectively, "I've read everything you've written 
over the years, Father, trying to understand you. To help me fulfill your 
expectations. To make you proud of me. I remember once you listed the four chief 
virtues: wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance."

He sighed. "As I read them I knew that they were beyond my grasp. But there are 
other virtues that I *do* possess. Ambition, the drive to excel. 
Resourcefulness. The guts to do what must be done, no matter how distasteful. 
Devotion to my family, to the Bashir history."

Julian's eyes pinned his father with a mix of sorrow and accusation. "But none 
of my strengths were worthy of your list. Even then, it seemed as if you were 
ashamed I was your son."

"You go too far," Jean-Luc protested, stung.

"And you break my heart." Julian stepped forward, palms open. "What is the 
purpose of my life if not to walk in your footsteps? I have trained, studied, 
worked---*lived* for this---since the day I first understood what it meant to be 
a Bashir. To be the child of Emperor Jean-Luc Picard. Never, never have you 
given me kind words, or even honest ones. You left me to believe I would be your 
heir in all things. Until this moment, when you lay waste to my future."

Tears glittered on Julian's long dark lashes. "Now you inform me I will not 
rule, but you do not tell me why. What is it in me you hate so much? Is it that 
my eyes are my mother's, my skin not like yours? Did you ever love me at all?"

Jean-Luc gathered his son into his arms, stroking the curly dark hair and 
murmuring soft sounds of comfort. "Your faults as a son are my failing as a 
father," he whispered, more moved than he could say.

Julian clasped his arms around his father's back, seeming to sink further into 
the embrace. In truth he was simply maneuvering into position. His face was 
frighteningly blank as he regarded the extra-slim hypospray he slipped out of 
his sleeve. Moving the device to the back of his father's neck, he pressed the 
release. It hissed faintly into the silence.

Jean-Luc felt the momentary contact. He stepped back, letting his arms fall away 
as he felt a weakness spreading along his limbs. He opened his mouth to speak 
but could make no sound.

Julian dispassionately regarded the man who had loomed large in his life since 
he drew his first breath. "I've just injected you with a dose of a very rare 
Cardassian poison. One that has thus far escaped the notice of Imperial doctors 
and sensors. You've been ingesting it in small amounts for months on Earth. I 
would have let you linger a while, to let you finish weakening into the soft 
sleep of death. But you've changed my plans."

As Jean-Luc's eyes widened in horror, his legs began to give out. Julian swept 
his father's frail form into his arms and carried him to the sofa. He sat beside 
Jean-Luc and stroked a hand against the pale forehead, answering the questions 
he knew would never be voiced. "You shouldn't have warned me, Father. My plans 
have been in place for some time. I was content to wait another year or two to 
ascend the throne, but now you've forced my hand. The Empire will mourn your 
passing, as will I." His face hardened. "But I will not let your feeble attempts 
to reshape the universe keep me from my destiny."

The light died in Jean-Luc's eyes. Julian stared into them another moment, then 
gently closed the lids. He leaned forward and kissed the old man's brow. "If 
only you had recognized my greatness," he said, then stood.

There was much to be done.

************************************************************

Chakotay had fallen into bed fully dressed. He tossed and turned for hours, 
struggling to reconcile the demands of honor with the promptings of his heart. 
He finally fell into an exhausted sleep, but the swish of his door opening had 
his battle-trained reflexes reacting instantly.

Greg stopped before taking even a step, frozen at the sight of a phaser aimed at 
his chest. "Admiral---Chakotay---come at once! The Emperor needs you."

Chakotay blinked and returned the phaser to its resting place. He threw back the 
covers, shifting to the edge of the mattress and immediately sliding on his 
boots. "Why didn't you just signal from the Enterprise? What's wrong?"

"I haven't been told anything," Greg said, falling into step with his Admiral as 
Chakotay swiftly moved through his cabin to the corridor. "But there's a 
communications lockdown. Only internal systems are operational."

"It's serious then. Has Cavit or any of the other captains been alerted?" They 
entered a transporter room and Chakotay quickly ordered a beamover to the 
Phoenix.

Greg was shaking his head as they took their places on the platform. "I don't 
think so. I was ordered to just wake you."

Chakotay nodded grimly and they dissolved into a sparkle of blue.

***************

His gut churning with foreboding, Chakotay followed Greg into the Imperial 
suite. He stopped short at the sight of Julian, his face wan and tear-stained.

Julian spread his arms. "Lament with me, brother, for our great father is dead." 
He stepped aside to reveal Jean-Luc's body arranged on the sofa.

Chakotay stared at the corpse. A flash sent his eyes to the viewport, where Tom 
stood with his back to the room, head bowed. Brown eyes snapped back to Julian. 
"How did he die?"

"It was very peaceful. The doctors say his breath simply gave out as he slept."

Chakotay was finally able to move. He walked around Julian and knelt beside the 
body of one of history's great men. His dear friend and mentor, the man he would 
have followed anywhere. His soul sank under the weight of his sorrow. He reached 
one hand to rest upon a cold cheek, and leaned in to press his lips a moment to 
the pale forehead. A single tear fell, leaving a glittering trail. "When a great 
light is extinguished the universe is left far darker, and diminished," he 
whispered. "You helped me to walk a path of strength and honor. Farewell, Jean-
Luc."

Then the bronze features hardened as Chakotay slowly rose and turned to face the 
murderer of the man he considered a second father.

Julian watched Chakotay, his expression calm and eyes frozen. He put out his 
hand. "Your Emperor asks for your loyalty. Take my hand, Chakotay."

Chakotay's gaze flicked toward the desk to see book and pen had disappeared. 
Then he resumed his stare, his own eyes darkened with anger and grief.

The moment stretched. Julian's mouth thinned. "I only offer it once, Admiral."

Chakotay bestowed a single, disdainful glance on the slim outstretched fingers, 
then abruptly left the room without looking back.

Julian turned and nodded to Greg.

The Enterprise Captain swallowed. He had very specific instructions. Deadly 
ones. Regardless of Greg's personal suspicions or long-standing loyalties, the 
new Emperor had issued the commands. Right or wrong, for good or ill, Julian 
Bashir Picard was now owed the absolute allegiance and obedience of every member 
of the Fleet. And he had met Greg's price for this loathsome task. Greg 
straightened his shoulders and followed Chakotay.

The sound of the door closing a second time roused Tom from his stupor. He 
stumbled back to the couch to rest his fingers on Jean-Luc's cold hand once 
more. He said his own silent good-byes, then straightened to face a man he had 
known all his life, yet knew not at all.

He walked over to a waiting Julian. Tom knew that his own son, Lucien, was now 
the next in line for the Imperial throne. Lucien was vital to Julian---at least 
until Julian sired a child of Bashir blood---but Tom had no doubts he himself 
was expendable. Especially to someone who could murder his own father in cold 
blood. Tom's face was calm as he raised a hand and slapped Julian hard, twice, 
enjoying the shock that crossed the sallow features.

Then before the new leader of the Empire could say a word, Tom sank to one knee. 
"Hail, Emperor," he intoned.

Julian smiled.

***************

Chakotay swept into his office and to his desk, where Harry stood waiting. He 
had commed the Ensign the second he hit Voyager's deck.

"Harry, we have much to do and little time. We have to awaken the Council 
members who traveled aboard the Mercury." Agitation drove the admiral to pace 
the room as he gave his orders. "We also need to find a way to locate a media 
service that can't be bribed or intimidated."

Harry was already jittery from a nearly-sleepless night, and his movements were 
jerky as he sat and typed on a padd. He reached a hand toward the computer 
terminal, but his arm knocked over a stack of finished reports. He leaned down 
to gather them up.

At that moment Greg entered the room.

Chakotay, whose circuit had brought him near Harry, made a small hand gesture 
behind his back. When the Ensign had obeyed and slipped completely under the 
desk and out of sight, he approached his longtime friend. "Has that dishonorable 
whelp sent you to find me?"

"Chakotay, please be careful," Greg said, face grave. "Such words risk the 
Emperor's wrath."

"That man is no Emperor. Jean-Luc Picard was *murdered*, Greg. We need to launch 
an investigation to figure out how. I already know why."

Ayala's hand casually drifted to his side. "Picard died of natural causes."

Chakotay stepped back in shock at the sudden sight of a phaser in an unsteady 
hand. "Why are you armed, Greg?" he asked quietly.

Harry had been about to abandon his cover and help the Admiral when the door 
slid open again. Four purple-shirted Imperial Guards, phasers already out, filed 
into the room. They quickly surrounded Chakotay.

"Don't fight," Greg said.

"Greg, don't do this." Chakotay tried to catch his old friend's eyes, to no 
avail.

"The Emperor has spoken." Greg watched as Chakotay's comm badge was removed and 
his arms pulled roughly behind his back, then wrists cuffed.

"Greg, look at me." Brown eyes pleaded. "Promise me you'll take care of my 
family."

Greg blanched and dropped his gaze.

Chakotay roared "No!" and flung himself at his betrayer. The Guards leapt after 
him, catching his struggling form. Then a phaser sang out and the Admiral of the 
Imperial Fleet crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Greg put away his weapon and watched as the man he'd followed for a decade was 
pulled upright. The limp body hung from two Guards' arms. He gave his orders to 
the leader. "I've authorized two shuttles for you. Everything else---including 
communications---will stay locked down until the Emperor is ready to leave for 
Earth." He jerked his chin to the body. "Take him to the Badlands, then kill him 
and let the plasma storms destroy his ship. I'll finish here."

Harry had taken advantage of the distraction to slither from the desk to behind 
the couch. His heart was pounding, and his hands clenched tightly around the 
padd he'd been typing orders into. He knew there was nothing he could do. Even 
if he could break the communications lockout, whom could he contact? He didn't 
know whom to trust. Captain Cavit? Riker? They seemed like honorable men---but 
so had Ayala.

He blinked furiously as tears of regret and frustration stung his eyes. Chakotay 
was as good as dead already. Without transport Harry couldn't follow to stop the 
assassins from their deadly mission. As it was, he would be lucky to escape with 
his own skin. He hoped Captain Ayala wouldn't search the rooms. If he did, Harry 
knew he'd be another casualty of these mysterious events. He heard an order to 
the transporter room and the execution squad disappeared with their prisoner.

Greg stepped behind the desk, flicking on the terminal. He pulled up Chakotay's 
file, and stared a moment into the dark eyes of the man who had been his friend, 
comrade-in-arms, and one of the finest commanders the Fleet had ever known. 
Taking a padd out of a pocket, he transferred the virus contained on it to the 
terminal. Immediately the information on the screen began to disappear as the 
record of Chakotay's life and career was erased from the computer bit by bit.

Somber black eyes waited until the screen was completely blank, then Greg 
flicked off the machine. The invasive program was already making its way to 
Voyager's computer core to destroy any backup copies of the file. He would 
travel to each ship in the fleet, delivering the news of Picard's death and 
infecting each computer in turn. A copy of the virus was already on its way to 
the major information networks, where it would jump from computer to computer, 
ship to ship, planet to planet. The entire Empire would be wiped clean of any 
database record of Chakotay's existence.

So the Emperor had ordered.

************************************************************

The four members of the Imperial Guard traded desultory comments, marking time 
until they reached the chosen execution site. They had shifted Chakotay's cuffs 
so his hands were now bound in front of him. He hadn't moved for hours, his eyes 
glassy, his body a defeated lump in its seat.

The leader of the murderous quartet was Rollins, a tough veteran who regarded 
his prisoner with satisfaction. He had been with Julian for some years, and was 
used to doing the royal's dirty work. He had also been promoted to the point 
where he felt the actual act of dispatching Julian's victims was beneath him.

"We're approaching the designated coordinates, Sir." The black-haired pilot, Max 
Burke, turned for instructions.

"Release the tractor beam on the other shuttle. We'll transport over while you 
and"---Rollins jerked his thumb at a sprawling William Chapman---"him take care 
of business."

Rollins then gestured for the remaining Guard, Larson, to join him in the 
transporter area. "When you're done, point the autopilot toward the plasma 
storms, lower the shields, and signal. We'll beam you aboard and be back in time 
for a late breakfast." Rollins glanced at the still-unmoving Chakotay, taking in 
the betrayed man's dispirited air. "Shouldn't take too long."

The second the two men were gone Chapman jumped up and grabbed Chakotay, 
dragging him to the aft section. Burke followed, one hand nonchalantly slung 
over his phaser.

Chakotay was placed in the center of the clear space, then Chapman moved behind 
him. Brown eyes stabbed Burke as Chakotay drew himself up, a dignified Admiral 
once more. "At least give me a clean death. A soldier's death." His voice was 
calm and the words came to rest somewhere between a request and an order.

Both men paused. Chapman, who had drawn his weapon to shoot Chakotay in the 
back, peered over the prisoner's shoulder at his fellow Guard. At Burke's nod he 
walked around to stand in front of the Admiral and once more prepared to fire.

Chakotay struck the instant the younger man's finger moved to press the firing 
button. He twisted, bending and sinking and swinging his upper body to the 
right, desperately trying to throw himself out of the line of fire. A burning 
pain in his left shoulder forced a scream from his lungs. But he didn't 
hesitate, continuing the controlled fall, shifting his weight to his right leg. 
His left swept out to knock Chapman off *his* feet, while Chakotay's bound hands 
grabbed the unsuspecting Guard's wrist, shoving the arm with the phaser toward a 
stunned Burke.

As the tangled bodies landed on the deck Burke began reaching for his own 
phaser. Even as he pulled the weapon out of the holster he saw a beam shoot from 
the one still being fought over by Chapman and their suddenly not-so-docile 
prisoner. As Burke's heart exploded into scorched flesh, his last thought was to 
wonder if he died by the Guard's accident or the prisoner's intent.

Chakotay grappled with Chapman, using his legs to neutralize the taller man's 
free arm. His own hands were still wrapped tight around the phaser and wrist of 
his would-be executioner. He'd seen the pilot's body fall out of the corner of 
his eye and was relieved the odds were now more even. Unfortunately, the phaser 
was still firing, its wild beams shorting consoles and sparking panels. This had 
to end soon or the ship itself wouldn't survive.

Chapman was young and strong and trained, but no mere Guard was a match for an 
experienced Fleet officer who'd fought in the field. Chakotay shifted his body 
slightly, freeing his left leg and knee. With no warning he slammed them hard 
into his opponent's chest, feeling the other man's bones break under the impact. 
He pushed his body back once more and cut off the Guard's scream of pain with a 
merciless strike that shattered Chapman's nose and jaw. Another quick push and 
the nasal bones sank into the Guard's brain, killing him.

Breathing heavily from the exertion and the pain of his phasered shoulder, 
Chakotay slid away from the Guard's unmoving form. He put the hard-won phaser 
into a pocket and picked up the pilot's. Then he searched the bodies, finding 
the key to his cuffs in the black-haired man's vest. He also grabbed a 
commbadge.

Chakotay freed himself and quickly moved to assess the damage. Sensors and 
shields were non-operational, and the scuffle had taken out the weapons guidance 
system and threatened the stability of the warp core.

The comm system buzzed to life with Rollins' voice. "Burke, we're reading only 
one lifeform and heavy damage over there. What's happened?"

Chakotay sat in the pilot's seat and fired up the impulse engines. He plotted a 
course into the Badlands and set the autopilot, then quickly pulled up the 
weapons. He intended to shoot without the usual charging sequence so his actions 
wouldn't show on sensors. He knew he wouldn't be able to get aboard that 
gleaming undamaged vessel, so he had to destroy it. Using the computer to 
disguise his voice with static, he frantically replied, "...jumped us. Couldn't 
stop...is dead. Prepare...transport."

The moment the other ship's shields were down he sent a volley of phaser fire 
along their hull, targeting their shield generators and engines.

When Chakotay passed the other shuttle he restored manual helm control and 
increased speed, heading at full impulse toward the Badlands. He swung his 
shuttle in a twisting, zig-zagging path, avoiding the fire from his pursuers. 
Then the fatal beauty of the Badlands filled his screen as he dived into the 
swirling, electrified energy field.

***************

Rollins growled and muttered as he banked his ship, barely avoiding an arc of 
plasma. He cursed his own stupidity. He had been lulled into a false sense of 
security by the cuffs and the prisoner's acting. Now he was navigating a space-
born sea of fire. It was less dangerous than returning to the new Emperor with 
his mission unfulfilled.

He was only a fair pilot, and had already seen the effects of the Badlands' 
deadly caress against the shuttle. Shields were down 80%, and several consoles 
were shorted out, some still sparking. His surviving Guard, Larson, was tracking 
the fleeing shuttle.

***************

Chakotay's face was grim as he carefully adjusted his flight path. He relied on 
old instincts to guide him, as much feeling his way through the plasma as 
flying. He was tense, anxious to make his way to Dorvan. Fear for his family 
blotted out everything else: concern for the state of his shuttle, worry over 
his pursuers, even the throbbing pain of his wound. Seeing a large, wildly 
spiraling tornado ahead of him, he turned his vessel into the heart of the 
storm.

***************

Even Larson knew they were dead. Or seconds away from it.

Rollins had done his best, trying to follow his wounded quarry to finish the 
job. He'd been nurturing dark visions of being face to face with his prisoner, 
of choking the wretch to death for daring to escape.

Even a tiny loss of focus means death in the Badlands. The plasma ripped through 
their ship, plunging into the nacelles and setting off a chain reaction.

Of course, no one could hear the explosion in space.

***************

A blur of twisting, bobbing and weaving filled Chakotay's mind as he dodged the 
lightning reaching out for his tiny vessel. Chakotay flew as he hadn't in years, 
one with his craft, nothing existing except the path ahead. When he reached an 
area of calm and checked his sensors, he was alone.

Chakotay quickly cleared the plasma field and greeted the stars once more. The 
passage of each second beat in his mind the way his pulse pounded in his throat. 
He quickly set course for Dorvan and engaged the unstable warp engines. He 
didn't have time to waste. His family was in danger.

************************************************************

His wound finally stopped bleeding, but Chakotay didn't notice. His eyes were 
focused on the engineer's console, watching the numbers and tapping in his 
countermeasures. The warp core was at the moment delicately balanced on the edge 
of explosion. He needed to constantly monitor the matter/antimatter reaction and 
adjust the coolant and constrictor settings to prevent an overload.

Chakotay didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't even bother to flick the charred 
pieces of his uniform out of his burned flesh. The single-minded drive to Dorvan 
possessed him, body and mind. He hoped that he would be in time. That Ayala's 
reaction hadn't meant what he dreaded. A death warrant bearing the names of his 
wife and son---and the signature of Julian Bashir Picard.

************************************************************

The village of Trebus on the planet of Dorvan V drowsed in the morning sunshine. 
People rested in chairs or daybeds under shady trees, awnings and arbors, 
enjoying a lazy day. Even the barking dog didn't sound very committed.

Then the unfamiliar whine of a ship cruising overhead raised the interest of a 
child or two. They tumbled into the main square, staring up, hands shielding 
their eyes. When the noise got louder, adults began to appear, poking their 
heads out of doors, now seeing the glint of sun flashing off metal.

They never knew what hit them.

Phasers and photon torpedoes began firing from a handful of shuttles. Buildings 
exploded as the weapons did their work, leveling the village. Phasers were used 
to take out groups of people, the carnage immense and immediate. Destruction 
rained down until no lifesigns were left.

The ships then regrouped and headed east out of town to their next target.

***************

Ro Laren smiled at her son; the dreamy expression on his face was very 
reminiscent of his father. She slung an arm about the boy's shoulders and showed 
him the pail she carried. "I have all the berries I want." Her Bajoran nose 
crinkled even more as she observed his purple-stained mouth and fingers, "and 
you've had more than your share, so it's time to head home."

Dark eyes pleaded as a young voice wheedled, "Just five more minutes." He hated 
to leave this field. The bushes and flowers drew dozens of species of 
butterflies, and he was mesmerized by their colorful wings and whimsical 
flights.

"Well, if you don't want me to make---" Laren broke off at the sudden shriek of 
weapons fire. It was when she turned toward the sound that she saw the black 
clouds of smoke rising from the direction of the village. More plumes soon 
filled the air, but these were coming from the direction of---home.

"Run!" Laren screamed to her son as she saw the silhouettes of approaching 
shuttles. Woman and boy sprinted across the field, heading for the refuge of the 
forest.

A shadow swept over them as a ship glided above their heads to settle a half-
dozen meters in front of them. Two more soon followed, closing them in.

Laren's chin tipped in defiance as her black eyes blazed at these intruders. She 
gripped her son's shoulders, holding him close as his arms encircled her waist. 
They both watched as a hatch slowly opened.

"Is it Papa?" The boy had glanced over his shoulder and recognized the uniforms, 
but then registered the unfamiliar color. Purple as the berries he'd been 
eating, not his dad's usual red. Then more grim-faced men began to appear, each 
holding a phaser pointed right at them. He looked up at his mother for 
reassurance. "Mama?"

Laren had known the second she smelled the smoke on the wind. The sickly sweet 
odor of burned flesh was unmistakable, but gave her only a moment's warning of 
her fate. The implacable stares of her captors told her the rest. What she 
didn't understand was why members of the Imperial Guard would kill the family of 
the Admiral of the Imperial Fleet. She sent a quick prayer to the Prophets for 
herself and her son, and asked her husband's Spirits to watch over him if he 
were still alive.

She looked down at her son, smiling sadly into his tear-stained gaze. "Close 
your eyes, baby," she whispered, and pressed his head into her midriff. Then she 
looked at the leader of these thugs and spat, "Get it over with."

************************************************************

The shuttle was far too unstable to try and land. Chakotay set the transporter 
coordinates and rigged a self-destruct so the ship would explode high enough in 
the atmosphere to avoid causing damage to the planet. He closed his eyes as he 
felt himself dissolve.

He opened them again to find himself in hell.

He had beamed into the middle of the village, hoping to gather some back-up 
before he attacked the house. Except there was no more village. He was standing 
in the center of a field of smoking craters filled with black ash and glass 
shards formed by the intense heat. Smoke was still rising from spots where just 
this morning buildings stood as they had for decades. His eyes watered, his 
throat choked with the sooty air.

Chakotay stood a moment, panting and coughing. When his breathing quieted he 
listened desperately for any sign of life. But there was nothing. No dogs 
barking, no shrill cries of children or harsh groans of adults. Just the popping 
of fires that still burned.

He turned toward the east, to see more plumes of smoke staining the clear blue 
sky. The black columns matched the locations of his neighbors' homes. And his 
own.

A mingled whimper of fear and cry of denial forced its way past Chakotay's lips. 
He moved, lurching into a stumbling run toward his home.

He came across the bodies in the road first. Twisted, charred corpses of field 
hands who probably came to investigate the unfamiliar ships and got caught in 
their crosshairs. He barely spared a glance at them, knowing that there was 
little left to help him identify the people who had worked for him for years.

Long minutes passed as he traversed the road that once led to a modest but happy 
household. He should have been able to see the flash of the sun against the 
windows, its golden glow against the stones. But there was nothing.

He finally reached the wall and leaned on the gate a moment, his chest heaving 
from the run. More bodies, but somehow Chakotay knew that these were other 
workers who had tried to escape the death they had done nothing to deserve.

Chakotay wandered the area, peering at the smoking ruin that had been his home 
for a decade. Incongruously, a bee droned past his ear, lured by the strong 
scent of the scorched roses. His eyes followed it a moment, then were drawn 
irresistibly to the hills. A faint hope stirred in his heart. His son would 
often spend hours at a wildflower field, fascinated by the butterflies that 
gathered there.

He headed for the footpath at a swift walk, which shifted to a run as the field 
came into view. He tripped at the edge and fell into an ungainly sprawl. He 
groaned at the jarring to his wounded shoulder. As he rolled to get to his feet 
he froze. A pail glistened in the grass, berries spilling from it in a splash of 
purple. Chakotay stood, swaying, scanning the terrain for some clue. He saw 
large patches of grasses and flowers flattened, the footprints of landed 
shuttles.

As he stepped into the cleared space he froze, his breath catching. His fists 
clenched, nails cutting into his palms. It was the only way to keep his focus as 
he dragged himself step by step to the two figures lying in the field. He fell 
to his knees beside them.

Grasses waved in the breeze as butterflies fluttered around Ro Laren and their 
son. They were on their sides, eyes closed, arms around each other. They could 
have been asleep, except for the multitude of scorched holes in their torsos. 
Everything from the neck down had been charred to the bone by merciless phaser 
fire.

Chakotay's hand was shaking as he reached out, running his finger down his 
wife's nose ridges, resting his hand on the boy's dark hair. Then he dug his 
fingers into the turf and started howling, the wail of an animal in mortal pain. 
Tears streamed down his face unnoticed as he sobbed out his very soul.

************************************************************

His eyes burned, his throat was raw and sore, his hands bruised from digging. At 
some point his shoulder had started bleeding again as he tore up the earth to 
make graves for his family. Chakotay didn't care. Hours had passed as the sun 
reached its zenith and began its afternoon journey and still he toiled at this 
final task. But finally the two precious ones lay safe in the soil that had 
nurtured them, in the field that his son had so adored. Chakotay touched each 
mound with reverence as his mind whispered a last farewell.

Then he collapsed between the graves, closed his eyes and waited to die.

TBC