GRAVITAS

Title: Gravitas, 7/26
Author: Jaye (Copyright August 2002)
Codes: VOY/TNG/DS9 Many 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. Sisko is older here than in canon.

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

CHAPTER SEVEN

Geordi LaForge carefully picked his way through San Francisco's largest open-air 
market, enjoying the kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and scents. He reached the 
edge and paused by one wall to let a troop of schoolkids pass by. He grimaced as 
the electronic advertising board near him began its latest cycle. Light flashed 
off metal on the screen as men and women in armor fought and fell into bloody 
heaps. Animals attacked helplessly bound people whose mouths were stretched wide 
in silent screams. After a minute the images faded to black and the words, "150 
days of glorious gladiator games brought to you by..." appeared. Then Julian's 
portrait zoomed into view with his name, Emperor Julian Bashir Picard, flashing 
beneath it.

The Council member shook his head in disgust as he stepped into the finally 
clear street to cross to a café with tables scattered outside under a gaily 
striped awning. In a seat near the wrought-iron fence enclosing the section 
Kathryn Janeway waited, sipping from a large mug. Her thoughtful eyes were still 
on the ad, which had started again.

Geordi slid into the chair across from her, where a cup of chamomile tea and 
half a plate of lemon biscotti awaited him. "Can you believe those graphic ads?" 
he asked in a mix of disgust and outrage. "They're on every street corner. And 
I've heard that media linkups are already being arranged to reach every corner 
of the Empire. 'Glorious gladiator games'---more like wide-scale slaughter."

"Yes, he's more clever than I expected," Kathryn said somberly, her slender 
fingers cradling her cup.

"Clever? What's clever about killing people for entertainment?" Geordi was 
puzzled by the Council leader's low-key reaction.

"Not entertainment---distraction." She set down her drink and leaned forward. 
"Geordi, think about it. For 150 days every eye in the Empire will be glued to 
their vidscreens. Or people will be clamoring for the favor of seats in the 
arena itself. It's like the bread and circuses of ancient Rome. No one will be 
paying attention to Julian Bashir Picard except to cheer him on and thank him 
for his generosity."

Kathryn's frown deepened. "I just wish I could figure out *why* he's doing this. 
He already has control of the Fleet and the Guard. And a good part of the 
Council was either bribed or silenced by our new Emperor before the old one was 
even in his casket."

"Maybe it's his way of showing you up, Kathryn, proving he *does* know his 
people. At least the lowest common denominator." Geordi took a bite of the 
biscotti, but he'd lost his appetite worrying about their Machiavellian leader's 
hidden agenda.

"You may be right, Geordi. Julian *does* know what the Empire is. The people 
have become an unruly mob. Especially Terrans. They've been seduced away from 
their morals and principles by their easy lives and privileged positions. 
They're jaded souls. So he will encourage their lusts with blood and combat, and 
they will love him for it." Her face was grave. "And then they'll let him do 
whatever he wants."

The two finished their drinks in silence. Unbeknownst to them, a woman who'd 
been sitting with her back to their table rose to leave. Despite their low 
voices, she had memorized every word of their conversation.

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

Chakotay waited for the gate to DS9's arena to open. He adjusted the black mask 
on his face so his vision wasn't blocked. The disguise, now as much a part of 
his outfit as the red mark of a gladiator, was Benjamin Sisko's idea. The wily 
slave-owner had advertised the Dorvan as an enigma, and making sure no one 
figured out his new star's identity preserved the mystery. Chakotay was relieved 
the covering kept his enemies from realizing he was still alive. Otherwise he 
was as indifferent to the mask as he was to the rest of the hoopla surrounding 
him.

He and Sisko's other fighters spent most of their time on the small planetoid 
that held the gladiator school. But every week or so they were loaded into the 
freighter and brought to DS9 or one of the other frontier arenas for bouts. 
Chakotay, now a main attraction, fought by himself most times. He noticed that 
whoever made the arrangements kept raising the stakes. The last time he faced 
five armored foes. It hadn't been an easy victory, but so far he'd survived 
unscathed.

The crowds followed him from match to match, looked for him, cheered him, 
shouted his name, worshipped him from afar. He couldn't care less. All he was 
doing was making sure he died a warrior, fighting to the last. To that end, he 
lightly touched his talisman, placed it back under his tunic, gripped his sword 
and waited. The gate swung open.

Arrayed in two rows were six burly fighters brandishing a variety of weapons. 
Chakotay sized them up, decided his strategy and attacked.

His first target was neither the closest nor the most vulnerable. Instead he 
chose the tallest, strongest gladiator, a heavily muscled half-Romulan or Vulcan 
wielding a mace. He knew that as soon as this man went down the others would 
lose part of their confidence.

Chakotay quickly shifted around his target, forcing the man to turn away from 
his comrades. That move ensured none of the other warriors would be able to stab 
Chakotay in the back. The hybrid fighter was swinging his mace in a carefully 
practiced routine, the spiked ball's broad sweeps tracing an intricate pattern 
in the air. Chakotay found the weak spot and without trading a single blow with 
his opponent raised his own sword in both hands and pushed it point first 
through the gladiator's unprotected throat. He kept hold of his green-stained 
weapon as the dead man's body fell away. Chakotay ignored the gasps of the crowd 
as he turned to his other five opponents.

They were standing in place, dumbstruck that their strongest teammate had been 
killed so...efficiently. Chakotay cut through them like a scythe slicing through 
wheat, each corpse toppling behind him as he slashed them down. As the fifth man 
fell he grabbed the dead man's weapon. Now wielding two swords he turned to the 
last rival gladiator standing.

The fellow looked like a statue, waiting with his eyes and arms and mouth open 
in shock. He didn't even raise his net or trident as Chakotay bore down on him, 
sinking both swords deep into his torso.

Chakotay released the weapons and turned away, then spun back to retrieve the 
swords. He pulled them out, and as the body folded to its knees, he crossed the 
blades at the front of the corpse's neck. A quick pull and the head separated, 
bouncing and rolling across the floor.

The entire match had taken no more than five minutes. The crowd cheered wildly 
at the brutal display, chanting "Dorvan! Dorvan! Dorvan!"

Chakotay looked at the sea of shouting faces and gleaming eyes and his bile rose 
at their enjoyment. He noticed that Sisko was just exiting the owners' box. The 
slave-owner's face held a hint of anger. That sparked Chakotay's own temper and 
he threw one of his swords.

People milling in the owners' section shrieked and startled back as a blade came 
sailing through the air to clatter across Sisko's usual---and currently empty---
table.

Silence fell over the arena. Now the violence had come a little too close. The 
audience got the hint they could become participants, not just spectators.

Chakotay's disdain was clear as he spread his arms wide, indicating the bloody, 
corpse-strewn floor. "Are you not entertained?" he shouted as he turned in a 
small circle to reach every section of seats with his question.

There was a pause, and then the crowd's wild hoots filled the space with even 
louder sounds. They stamped their feet and clapped their hands and started 
chanting "Dorvan!" again. By despising them Chakotay had somehow become even 
more their darling.

He stood a moment, stunned by their reaction. The he tossed his remaining sword 
to the ground and left the arena. The applause continued for a long time.

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

Tuvok was surprised at the gentleness of the bronze hands on his flesh as the 
Dorvan kneaded away the lingering soreness in his back. He'd taken a solid hit 
from a staff-wielding Cardassian during his group combat earlier today, before 
the Dorvan's own bout. The bone-knitter and regenerator had healed the fractures 
and bruising, but they couldn't eliminate the tension ache. But this relaxing 
massage did. A light healing meditation before sleep and Tuvok would be as good 
as new.

He was also impressed by the lack of emotional upheaval he sensed during the 
treatment. Like many Vulcans, Tuvok was a touch telepath. Contact with other 
species usually required strong shielding to prevent the bleeding through of the 
other person's thoughts. This enigmatic man, however, was as self-contained 
internally as he appeared on the surface. Tuvok didn't catch any glimpse into 
the Dorvan's mind while the strong hands ran along his skin.

He felt the edges of his tunic drawn back up to his shoulders, then the Dorvan 
appeared out of the corner of his eye as the human returned to his own pallet 
aboard Sisko's freighter. "Thank you," Tuvok said, rising to sit with much 
greater ease than he had lain down.

The broad shoulders shrugged. "No problem. You need to get a better sense of 
who's behind you, though, if you want to survive."

Tuvok nodded gravely. "I will ask Ms. Torres for her assistance." He sighed and 
wondered in which direction Vulcan lay, and if he were traveling even farther 
away from it. "I must survive. My wife and children are out there. They need me, 
wait for me."

"Does your wife know that you're all right? Through your marriage bond?" The 
Dorvan's voice was soft, almost musical, now that the coldness had abated.

Tuvok looked into dark brown eyes that were filled with sympathy and ever-
present sorrow. "Yes. But the touch of our minds is tenuous. Just enough to know 
we are all alive." He paused a moment, then a memory drew his brows together. "I 
never thanked you for saving my life that first day in the arena. I am most 
grateful."

"You're welcome." The Dorvan swallowed a moment, examining his hands. "I also 
never thanked you for helping the Ferengi heal me."

When those liquid eyes returned to Tuvok's, the pain in them was as vast as the 
universe itself. "At the time I didn't want you to succeed. My wife and son...my 
family...they no longer wait for me."

"And you wanted to die as well." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." The Dorvan sighed. "But now it seems it will be some time before my life 
is ended in the arena."

Tuvok nodded, understanding his companion's ambivalence. "It is hard to fight 
when there is nothing to fight for."

They sat for a while in silence, remembering those they'd loved, and lost.

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

Sisko read the message again as he waited for the slave he had summoned to be 
brought to him. His office on this unnamed world was richly appointed, real wood 
furniture softened by plump damask cushions. But he was going to abandon it in 
less than a day, leaving behind a small contingent of guards to protect his 
fortress. He could hardly wait.

He straightened to a casual stance as four guards brought in the Dorvan. Sisko 
grinned. He'd sent only two, but apparently they didn't feel capable of handling 
the brooding star of his gladiatorial stable. Despite the fact that they were 
well-armed while their charge had nothing but his bare hands.

But they had proven to be very deadly hands. Sisko's eyes lingered on them a 
moment as he waved the guards away. Two left, the other pair retreated to stand 
on either side of the doorway, silent sentinels.

He circled his calmly waiting slave, measuring the strength of the bare limbs 
and admiring the smooth golden-brown skin that covered them. Sisko pictured the 
proud, powerful figure naked in his bed. He sighed regretfully and let the 
enticing image dissipate. Sisko had sworn years ago he would never sexually 
indulge himself with his fighters, and despite this temptation he would keep to 
his vow.

Sisko ended his circuit two paces away from the Dorvan's blank face. "So, 
Dorvan, what is your pleasure? What do you want?" he asked. "Girl...boy?"

He noted with a raised brow the distinct cooling of the strong features as the 
dark gaze acquired a hint of disdain. "You sent for me?" It was the question of 
an equal, not a slave, a mere piece of flesh Sisko owned and controlled.

Sisko regarded his disrespectful property, shifting to the real subject of this 
meeting. "You're good, Dorvan...but not that good. You finish off your opponents 
too quickly. Add a little suspense and you could be magnificent."

The slave's expression became even more remote. "You want me to kill, I kill. 
That is enough." He turned to leave.

"Good enough for the frontier, perhaps. But not for Earth." Sisko was pleased to 
see the faint hint of tension in the powerful back before the Dorvan turned, 
suddenly interested.

"Earth?" Chakotay's entire being was poised, awaiting the reply.

"Yes. The contract was waiting for me when we landed. The new Emperor, Julian 
Bashir Picard, has called every gladiator school in the realm to the human 
homeworld to participate in 150 days of games in honor of his father."

Sisko's lips twisted wryly. "No one seems to have noticed the irony that Jean-
Luc Picard was the one who kicked us off Earth in the first place." He shrugged. 
"But that is the way of the living, they can do whatever they want with the 
memory of the dead."

"Yes," Chakotay grated, unable to hide his bitterness.

"After years of scratching around on the fringes, we're finally going back to 
where we belong---San Francisco's Colosseum!" Sisko paced, unable to contain his 
excitement. "Ah, Dorvan, wait until you fight in the Colosseum. The 
holorecorders beaming your actions across the Empire. The eyes of millions 
pinned to your every move. The crowd's silence just before you strike, and when 
you win...the cheers rise up, a furious storm. As if you weren't just a man, but 
a god." His eyes shone with memories.

Chakotay's own face reflected his sudden realization. "You were a gladiator?"

Sisko looked at the Dorvan, perhaps seeing a younger version of himself. "The 
best. Once."

"You won your freedom?" Chakotay guessed.

"A long time ago. The day Jean-Luc Picard ascended the throne." Sisko moved to 
lift a small wooden carving from the desk, handing the object to the Dorvan. 
"The Emperor gave me this---just a wooden sword, but the symbol of my freedom. I 
stood before him in the arena after I won the last match ever fought on Earth. 
He touched me on the shoulder and I was free."

Chakotay turned the wooden sword so its small plaque caught the light. Etched 
into it were the words Benjamin Sisko, a Free Man by Order of Jean-Luc Picard. 
"You knew Jean-Luc Picard?" he asked quietly.

"No---he simply touched me on the shoulder once." Sisko stared at the slave who 
was no mere slave.

Chakotay set the sword down and stared at Sisko. His voice was deadly serious. 
"You asked me what I want. I, too, wish to stand in front of the Emperor. As you 
did."

"Then listen to me, Dorvan," Sisko said urgently. "I did not become the best by 
killing quickly. I learned to be a fighter who could make the crowd love me. Win 
the crowd, and you will win your freedom."

"Then I will win the crowd," Chakotay answered quietly. His eyes glittered. "I 
will show them something they've never seen before."

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

The woman from the café knelt at the foot of Julian's chair. They were in the 
office/sitting room of the Imperial suite, which boasted an impressive array of 
anti-monitoring devices. She had entered through a secret panel in the wall, and 
had just finished her report on Janeway and LaForge.

"It's clear they plot against you, sire," the Bajoran woman said urgently. "You 
must neutralize their meager powers as quickly as you can."

"My dear Seska," Julian's voice was cold despite the endearment. "Do not forget 
who gives the orders here." His hand stroked through her long auburn hair, then 
gripped it and hauled her head back to expose her neck. A stiletto knife rested 
against her beating pulse. "You have served me well, especially in poisoning my 
father. For that I rewarded you by taking you into my household instead of 
selling you off like the rest of his slaves."

The knife slid higher, grazing her jawbone. Julian's sallow features clenched in 
anger. "But you *will* remember your place." His eyes narrowed as his tone 
turned silky. "Or I just might have to remind you."

Seska was a strong, determined woman. She was a Cardassian Obsidian Order 
operative altered to look like a Bajoran. Her orders were to infiltrate the 
Empire and keep tabs on Cardassia's enemies. She resented being a slave, but it 
was the only way to get into the Imperial household. She had taken her life in 
her hands some months ago by propositioning Julian. She would feed his father 
miniscule amounts of a poison only she could create, hastening Jean-Luc Picard's 
death and Julian's rise to power. She knew the son would send the Empire into 
ruin, and the resulting internal instability would aid her own people's efforts 
to reclaim their territories.

When Dominion forces fell in Jean-Luc's last battle, her focus shifted from 
helping Cardassia to saving herself. The cause was lost, but she was still 
secure inside her Bajoran skin. She now hoped to become a power behind the new 
Emperor's throne, but so far her influence had been shaky at best. It was time 
to fall back into the role of humble servant.

Seska didn't hide her trembling at Julian's threat. She had seen him rape, 
torture, even butcher his slaves. His attendants lived in constant fear of his 
temper.

Lately, though, his...appetites...had calmed somewhat. Whispering among 
themselves, the slaves theorized that the blood and gore of the gladiator games 
somehow sated his bloodlust. They figured they were safe, at least for the 150 
days of the celebration.

They also decided that if he did start up again, that unfortunate first victim 
would probably beg for death long before Julian granted it. Seska knew at that 
moment she would do anything to forestall the monster's re-awakening.

"I serve you, sire, in all things. I crave only your continued safety and 
greatness." Her voice was shaking as badly as her limbs, and not all of it was 
acting. She kept her eyes cast down until the knife disappeared and the hand in 
her hair moved to her chin to lift it.

"My...greatness." Julian oozed satisfaction, his good humor restored at the 
scared slave's choice of words. His pleased smile beamed forth as he chucked the 
Bajoran under the chin, then released her. "Very well, Seska, return to your 
duties. Let me know if Janeway and her cohorts do anything more than talk."

Seska pressed her forehead to the floor a moment in abject obeisance, then rose 
and backed toward the secret passage, still bowing. As she entered the narrow 
corridor and the door shut behind her, her expression shifted to one of 
speculation.

Someone else must have achieved the position of influence she hoped to fill. 
This was unacceptable. Her eyes narrowed as she decided to expand her spying to 
the Emperor himself.

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

Lucien Picard Paris slept peacefully in his bed within the Imperial Palace. He 
was unaware that he did so under the inscrutable gaze of his uncle, Emperor 
Julian Bashir Picard. A slim golden hand stretched forth to smooth the hair back 
from the boy's brow.

The door opened and Tom walked through. He froze at the sight of Julian touching 
his son. He hurried forward as Lucien began to stir.

"Papa," the eight-year-old said plaintively as his sleep was disturbed.

Tom leaned down and replaced Julian's hand with his own. He kissed Lucien's 
forehead. "Shhh...it's nothing, mon petit cher. Go back to sleep."

As the boy returned to his dreams Tom straightened and looked at his brother-in-
law, containing his anger and anxiety with difficulty.

Julian still stared down at the cherubic, freckled face. "He sleeps so well 
because he knows he is loved."

"And we need to leave if we want him to stay asleep," Tom said firmly. His 
shoulders released their tension when Julian turned to exit. He quickly caught 
up outside the door. "It's late," he said.

Julian was silent as they made their way down the long corridor separating the 
Paris rooms from the Imperial suite. As the two men entered Julian's quarters, 
Tom automatically went to the sideboard. He mixed a tonic, surreptitiously 
stirring a sedative into the glass.

The Emperor walked to his desk, which was littered with padds full of his plans. 
He pushed them into piles, muttering, "I will remake this Empire in my own 
image. That's what the Council has yet to understand." His fingers rose to press 
against his temples. "All of my dreams and ideas are exploding in my head."

"Peace, sire." Tom's voice was soothing as he approached Julian. He offered the 
drink. "This will help you sleep." When one dark brow rose Tom shrugged and 
lifted the glass to his own lips, taking a healthy sip. He held out the glass 
again. This time Julian accepted and drained it.

Tom matter-of-factly took hold of Julian and assisted him to the bedroom. Julian 
stood still while his brother-in-law stripped him to his boxers. Then he slid 
under the covers, reaching to grip Tom's arm.

Given no choice, Tom gingerly sat on the side of the bed. He used his free hand 
to stroke the dark hair back from Julian's forehead, watching for signs the 
sleeping powder was taking effect.

Julian blinked slowly. "You always take such good care of me. Annika was so 
lucky to have you," he murmured, then perked up. "Tell me Tom, do you think it's 
time yet? Are the people ready for me to take complete control? To dissolve the 
Council and throw those jackals to the lions?" He chuckled at his own wordplay.

Tom swallowed down his fear at the Emperor's words. "You would know better than 
I, sire, but it does seem odd to have it happen on the forty-second day of 
celebration."

"You're right. It should be a milestone. We'll have to pick the perfect date." 
Julian's words were beginning to slur as the sedative began working its way 
through his system.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Tom said, preparing to ease away from the bed. 
He was startled when Julian's hand renewed its clasp.

"Will you stay with me?" Julian asked plaintively.

"Still afraid of the dark, old friend?" Tom asked, hoping his smile looked fond 
and not sickly.

"Always." Julian answered.

"You know I won't." Tom hoped his refusal wouldn't wake the Emperor's uncertain 
temper.

"Then kiss me," Julian commanded sleepily, releasing his captive.

Tom hesitated a moment, then pressed a firm kiss to the golden brow. He 
immediately stood and made his way to the door, but heard Julian's last words 
just as he crossed the portal.

"If the people could see my nightmares, their screams would echo throughout the 
Empire," Julian whispered.

Tom's skin shivered with the chill in his soul.

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

Sisko's gladiators saw very little of Earth as they arrived there. The almost 
three-week trip had been spent in constant speculation. Many of the warriors, 
like B'Elanna, had never seen the human homeworld. Tuvok and a few others 
offered their anecdotes and impressions, but no one really knew what would await 
them. The Dorvan, as usual, kept his opinions to himself.

The ship was in orbit, dwarfed by an enormous Imperial Guard vessel. Sisko was 
in his tiny office off the bridge, narrowly watching two purple-shirted thugs 
scrutinizing his ID and cargo manifest. Another dozen were wandering the ship, 
manhandling his slaves and his prized artwork with equal brazenness.

The gladiator-owner had not set foot on Earth since he left it decades ago, soon 
after he had been set free by Jean-Luc Picard. But he had heard rumors that 
under the new regime the Fleet was kept far on the frontier guarding the borders 
against non-existent threats, while the Guard became Julian Bashir Picard's 
personal musclemen. They extorted "tribute" from anyone they pleased---which was 
everyone. Apparently those stories were true. Sisko sighed and gave in to the 
inevitable.

"Gentlemen," he said expansively, his smile dazzling. "You look like you've had 
a hard day in the Emperor's service. Allow me to offer you some refreshment." He 
opened a cabinet and drew forth two bottles. "A spot of Cardassian canard, 
perhaps, to ease your dry throats?"

The two leaders looked up from their discussion, interest in their eyes. One 
spoke. "I've heard it's the closest thing to ambrosia...but what does one eat 
with such a fine liquor?"

"Ah, I've always found some caviar, and goose liver paté to be quite 
complementary." Sisko said, relieved that these men craved the better things in 
life. They could be bribed. "Some Andorian spritsin cake should round out things 
nicely."

"Your offer is so generous, I hate to ask a small donation for the Imperial 
Relief Fund as well," the spokesman said smoothly, "but of course we can't make 
any exceptions." He exchanged a glance with his fellow squad leader. 
"Say...three hundred bars of latinum?"

Sisko nodded his agreement, secretly relieved to be getting off so cheaply. The 
two Guards set their thumbs to the padds and returned them to Sisko's desk. Then 
they signaled their men to transport back to their own ship.

"My chef has already given the package to your subordinates," Sisko reassured. 
He handed over the canard and a case he'd quickly filled with the cash. 
"Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen."

"The pleasure was ours, Mr. Sisko," the head Guard replied smoothly. "Welcome to 
Earth." They disappeared in a shimmer of blue.

Sisko's smile vanished the second they did.

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

The gladiators were transported directly into the courtyard of Sisko's recently 
purchased San Francisco compound. They squinted in the sunlight, noting the high 
walls, towers and forcefields enclosing the space. The training grounds were 
clear to see, as were the barracks. Sisko's residence was a separate four-story 
building across the quad, a garden with several fountains softening the ground 
in front of it.

But as impressive as their surroundings were, all eyes were drawn to the 
enormous Colosseum not three blocks away. The roar of hundreds of thousands of 
people could be heard rising from the massive structure.

B'Elanna's eyes were wide. In her life on the frontier she had never seen such a 
large building.

Tuvok regarded the Colosseum impassively and wondered if it would be different 
fighting there than on DS9.

The crowd's unformed sounds resolved into a chant. "Hail Emperor!" "Hail 
Emperor!" Julian Bashir Picard had arrived to watch the games.

Chakotay's eyes narrowed as he focused on the structure that held the man he now 
lived to kill.

TBC