GRAVITAS

Title: Gravitas, 2/26
Author: Jaye (Copyright July 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.

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

CHAPTER TWO

Julian Bashir Picard never allowed anyone to forget his middle name. It was an 
inheritance from his mother, or more accurately his mother's father. And in his 
mind, it was a more valid proof of his destined rule of the Empire than the 
Picard. Infinitely more.

James T. Kirk had been the first Emperor, taking control of the Federation in a 
time of uncertainty and crisis. The Federation was being attacked from both 
without and within. Its borders were challenged by Romulans, Andorians, 
Klingons, and other interlopers. At the same time, a race of shape-shifters 
sought to infiltrate the highest levels of Starfleet and the Federation Council. 
After a years-long struggle, he allied with the Klingons, pushed back the others 
and killed the last of the shape-shifters. But the cost to the Federation had 
been high, and included the loss of many personal rights and freedoms citizens 
had previously taken for granted. Kirk then proved himself unable or unwilling 
to relax the reins of power once order had been restored. Starfleet---now the 
Imperial Fleet---backed him. So he claimed the title of Emperor and began to 
consolidate his rule.

Kirk's wife bore a daughter, who wed a Bashir. Kirk ruled so long and so 
absolutely that his grandson was grown by the time the Emperor died in his 
sleep. The mantle of Bashir rule then passed from father to son. Each successive 
generation drew more power away from the Council, now merely a relic from 
Federation days.

The focus of authority in one Terran human eventually caused other races to fall 
into disfavor. Their inevitable opposition to this situation was seized upon as 
a valid excuse to banish their representatives from government. Eventually the 
reality of Earth's prominence in the reshaped universe was acknowledged. Since 
then the Terran Empire had reflected an Earth-centric philosophy without shame 
or irony. The Imperial Guard---a separate force from the Imperial Fleet---
ensured the obedience, if not the enthusiastic support, of the subjugated 
planets that had stood as friends and equals once upon a time.

At some point a rather cold-blooded Emperor realized that it was more practical 
to make rebellious individuals slaves rather than prisoners. Thus a shameful but 
extremely profitable industry was reborn. The practice of having men and women 
of different species battle and slaughter each other for the amusement of others 
also returned. These rebels-turned-gladiators never survived long. It was an 
easy way to eliminate threats to the Empire and keep the increasingly apathetic 
masses entertained.

Then the Bashir line produced another daughter. The Emperor, her father, 
considered her too weak to be his successor and arranged her marriage. He chose 
a soldier-diplomat whose roots ran deep in the soil of ancient France. Jean-Luc 
Picard had not loved the woman he took to wife, but he did his duty to the 
Empire. His marriage was only months old when he ascended the throne. But it was 
years after that he could finally rejoice at the news of a son to bear his name 
and eventually the burden of rule. Jean-Luc had been appalled when pre-natal 
tests revealed the child's DNA indicated potentially catastrophic defects. The 
boy would not only be unfit to command a vast array of planets, but also ill-
equipped to lead a normal life.

Julian's eyes narrowed as he sighed and stared at his features, the mix of 
Bashir and Picard reflected in the transparent aluminum of the Mercury's 
Observation Lounge viewport. As he considered the golden skin and dark hair of 
his maternal heritage, he contemplated the woman who died at the time of his 
birth. It was a rare thing in this day and age, and her death was her own fault. 
To please herself or her husband, she insisted that genetic corrections and 
enhancements be applied to Julian in utero. The unplanned consequences were 
massive systemic shutdowns in her own body. She had "improved" her son to the 
point where her womb rejected him as an invader, a mere two weeks before her due 
date. She never saw the child she sacrificed so much for.

Still, it's not as though he grew up without a mother. Julian snorted. Jean-Luc 
Picard had barely waited a year before marrying Beverly, his childhood 
sweetheart. A daughter, Annika, soon followed.

Fate had kept the family intact for a little over a decade before claiming 
another life. Beverly was murdered, collateral damage in a failed assassination 
attempt. Jean-Luc never fully recovered from the loss of his beloved, and 
withdrew from much of public life. He preferred to let his appointees manage the 
day-to-day business of the Empire while he focused on expanding and defending 
his borders and publishing his works of philosophy.

Julian spent the next 16 years preparing to inherit the Imperial throne. Cool, 
pale Annika was never a threat to his plans. When she reached adulthood her 
interests lay closer to home, with her husband and son. In her mind the Empire 
merely existed to provide her with an unlimited income. Yet her insulated, 
charmed existence was cut short as well, a victim of a shuttle accident that 
investigations proved only had bad luck to blame.

Again, Jean-Luc went into mourning. The Dominion threat eventually roused him, 
but it was clear to any who saw him that the Emperor's strength was waning.

And now, on the cusp of the final battle to secure the Terran Empire, he had 
sent for his son.

"Do you think he's really dying?" Julian turned from the viewport to direct the 
question to the man lounging on a sofa. His widowed brother-in-law and friend 
since boyhood, Tom Paris.

Tom set aside his private thoughts and shrugged. "He's been dying since he lost 
Beverly."

"I think he's really dying, this time. He barely has the stamina to sit through 
a battle." Julian's voice held no emotion, just observation.

"How do you know that?" Tom sat up, disturbed.

"I've been so informed," Julian replied flatly.

Tom's frown deepened.

"Besides," Julian waved in dismissal, "if he weren't really dying, he wouldn't 
have sent a ship for us."

"Maybe he just misses our company," Tom said wryly.

Dubious sable brows rose. "And he also misses the Council members?"

Tom simply shrugged again and lay back down. He wished Julian would cease 
prattling and let him get back to his musings.

"*I* think he's wrestling with his own mortality," Julian insisted, crossing and 
plopping down next to Tom's legs. "He's going to name me his heir." His eyes 
shone with visions of lifelong ambitions fulfilled. "The first thing I shall do 
is honor him with games worthy of his greatness."

Tom forbore pointing out that Jean-Luc Picard detested gladiatorial games and 
had banned them on Earth the day he became Emperor. He affected a yawn and said, 
"When we finally stop gallivanting about, the first thing *I* shall do is drink 
to his health."

Julian glared at him a moment, then relaxed and laughed. "Of course, he's more a 
father to you than a father-in-law." He patted Tom's knee. "You're right, once 
the announcement's made it's only a matter of time."

Tom was saved from answering as the Mercury dropped out of warp. The streaking 
stars resolved to points of light, and the vague glints of other vessels could 
be seen in the distance.

A light, cultured voice sounded through the comm. "Captain Eddington to His 
Highness."

"Report," Julian ordered.

"The Phoenix has informed us that your father is touring the fleet. He has left 
instructions to await his return."

Anger crossed Julian's features before they flowed into the calm mask of a 
seasoned politician. "I would prefer to join his inspection of the troops. Have 
a shuttle prepared and pinpoint the Emperor's location."

"Immediately, Your Highness. Eddington out."

Julian leapt up and headed for the door. He paused to glance over his shoulder. 
"Are you coming?"

"I don't think so," Tom shooed him out with a vague gesture. "Go have your 
reunion, and say Hello to the old man for me."

Julian Bashir Picard raced out without another word, his eager steps fueled by 
anticipation and ambition, and other emotions he preferred to ignore.

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

The second the doors slid shut Tom's face lost its mask of genial camaraderie. 
His brow creased with worry as he considered Julian's words. His friend seemed 
just a bit too well informed, and morbidly interested in the state of his 
father's health.

Tom sighed. His own life---and his son, Lucien's---were closely bound to the 
royal family. There was no escape from the gilded cage they resided in. He 
wished for a moment that his father had not been Owen Paris, chief advisor to 
Emperor Picard and head of the Imperial Fleet until his death.

He sometimes imagined a very different background, one that left him free of 
Imperial entanglements. A thousand different careers had crossed his mind over 
the years, from footloose pilot to family-man farmer. The reality of his 
circumstances left him with few responsibilities beyond being charming and 
decorative. He'd received the finest education and training available, yet he'd 
never had an opportunity to really achieve something for himself.

Then again, he considered, if he'd been anyone but Tom Paris son of Owen he'd 
never have met Chakotay. The man who had occupied a special place in his 
thoughts for over half his 27-year-old life. Despite the fact that they hadn't 
set eyes on each other in ten years. The person he had really traveled to this 
war zone to see. A wistful smile crossed Tom's face as he nestled deeper into 
the cushions and returned to the pleasant memories that had occupied his mind 
before Julian's interruption.

Tom would never forget the first time he saw Chakotay. Tom's mother, Miriam, had 
been lost in the same botched plot that killed the Empress. At that time both 
Picard and Paris were feeling very protective of their children. They also felt 
an almost compulsive need to get away from Earth. So the two men decided that 
Tom, Julian and Annika would accompany their fathers on a tour of the Empire's 
borders---even the ones in dispute.

That trip held a special place in Tom's memory. He'd never spent so much time 
with his father, before or after. He'd just turned 11 when their itinerary 
brought them to a hotly contested area of the frontier. Dozens of colony worlds 
were claimed by both the Terran and Romulan Empires, and the fleets regularly 
clashed.

He'd finished his lessons early and gone exploring on the Enterprise, which from 
the beginning was the traditional name for the flagship of the fleet. He was 
crawling along a ventilation duct, determined to avoid both his playmates and 
the Yeoman assigned to look after them. He had amused himself by sneaking 
glances into cabins and work areas as he passed them. Some of the more private 
activities didn't make sense to his innocent mind, but he wasn't yet tired of 
his game.

Then he'd heard his father's rather loud voice up ahead and hurried to a large 
grate that overlooked a conference room. Tom propped his chin on his hands and 
settled down to listen. Admiral Owen Paris was outlining a plan for eliminating 
a Romulan blockade around a disputed planet. From Tom's limited understanding it 
sounded like they were going to lose a lot of people to take back one ugly hunk 
of rock. He frowned as he wondered what was so important about this particular 
planet that it was worth so many lives.

His father had just finished when Tom heard a soft voice requesting permission 
to speak. He shifted around and scrunched to peer through the metal that formed 
part of the arch of the ceiling. He tried to identify the speaker, but couldn't 
get a glimpse from this perspective.

"With all due respect, sir, you're asking your pilots to fly right into a trap. 
The sensors show the Romulans have laced the surrounding space with mines to 
deliberately prevent ships from approaching. By sending so many vessels in such 
close formation, you're practically guaranteeing someone will slip up. And if 
one ship goes, they all will. They'll be packed so tight that a chain reaction 
is inevitable."

The voice grew more passionate as the anonymous speaker continued. "It seems 
unfair, and an unnecessary waste of resources, to use *these* ships as a 
diversion for the full assault. From what I understand, the Romulans are 
paranoid enough to disregard the ploy, and a lot of good people will die for 
nothing."

Tom winced in sympathy when he heard his father's condescending response. "Well 
then, *Crewman*, since you seem to believe yourself a better strategist, what do 
you suggest?"

There was a pregnant pause. Tom could easily picture the sneer that the Admiral 
was using to wither the protester's self-confidence. But then the voice piped up 
again.

"I would approach the planet using the minefield, but don't send a squadron---
just four or five ships. They could come in from different directions and go 
very slowly through the sector. There's less chance of being detected that way. 
The crews could either plot paths that avoid the hazards or defuse the mines as 
they go along. When they reach the planet, you'd have a strike force that the 
Romulans wouldn't be expecting. They could make a few critical hits and escape. 
You could use the better prepared, better protected frontal assault as the 
distraction. Sir."

"Well, Crewman, it's nice to see you have a grasp of tactics. Unfortunately for 
you, it's only the most basic grasp. So I'll thank you to keep your 
'suggestions' to yourself from now on," Admiral Paris sneered.

"Actually, Owen, the youngster's plan makes more sense to me as well." Tom's 
gasp was drowned out by the ones in the conference room itself as the Emperor's 
cultured tones entered the fray. "It saves lives and ships and gives us a more 
viable element of surprise. He's right, the Romulans would never believe we'd be 
stupid enough to destroy a squadron on such a hopeless plan. At least, I *hope* 
we're not."

Picard suddenly came into view as he examined the schematic panel set into the 
conference table. He began punching some buttons, and the diagram shifted to a 
new formation. "Is this what you had in mind, young man?"

"Yes, sire. Except I'd probably hide some ships behind the moon until after the 
strike begins. Once the fighting starts they can come in from below and target 
the undersides of the Romulan cruisers. From what I understand, they're 
particularly vulnerable there."

"I must compliment you, Crewman---?"

"Chakotay, sire."

"Crewman Chakotay. You're thinking in three dimensions---four if you count the 
time factor." Picard stared down at the table a few moments, then tilted his 
head curiously. "Pretty advanced analysis for someone who's obviously not 
Academy trained. I'm surprised no one's recommended you for admission."

The response was a little muffled. Tom leaned forward, pressing on the grate, 
trying to catch the quiet words.

"I took the tests and Captain Sulu was willing to sponsor me, but my parents 
refused their permission." The next bit was clearer. "I enlisted when I turned 
17 six months ago. The Captain was kind enough to arrange for my posting here, 
and he gave me database access so I could study the Academy syllabus."

"It seems you've benefited from the exposure." Picard turned, probably to face 
Owen.

Tom pressed his nose to the metal, wanting to see the steam he knew was coming 
from his thwarted father's ears. Suddenly the grate gave way and he was heading 
face first into the conference room. Fortunately, he was able to spread his 
knees quickly enough to prevent his whole body from plummeting to the floor. He 
swung in mid-air as the metal plate landed with a thunk.

Almost immediately hands gripped his wrists, steadying his body and promising a 
quick safe landing if his legs gave way. The first thing Tom noticed was that 
the hands were a warm golden brown. He followed the arms down to a slim torso 
and up to a face that was trying very hard not to grin. Tom couldn't resist 
smiling into deep brown eyes that were twinkling with suppressed laughter.

"Crewman Chakotay, I presume?" Tom said without thinking.

"At your service, young sir," the youth replied with a nod. His eyes gestured to 
the hole in the ceiling. "Up or down?"

"Up." Tom knew when to beat feet.

"Down," Owen Paris countermanded through gritted teeth.

Tom was surprised that Chakotay waited for him to confirm the order, giving Tom 
a rueful quirk of brows. "Down," Tom echoed in defeat and relaxed his legs. As 
he slid down he was braced by strong arms and neatly flipped to his feet, facing 
his father and the Emperor set against a background of shocked staff. He felt a 
quick sympathetic squeeze and then Chakotay was gone, probably melting back into 
the gaggle of enlisted serving as clerks for the strategy session.

"Well, well, two youthful surprises in one day. So, Mr. Paris, what brings you 
to our assembly this evening?" The Emperor's eyes were laughing even though his 
face was grave.

Tom relaxed a little. There would probably be hell to pay later, but at least he 
was only in trouble with his father, not the leader of the entire Empire. "Um, 
well, honestly, I was bored, sire."

Owen's eyebrows climbed up to his nonexistent hairline as he heard his only 
offspring, but it was Picard who answered, "Bored?"

"Yeah---Yeoman Pierson is no fun. The second we're done our lessons he tries to 
lock us up in our quarters. If he could, he'd make us go to bed at 1800." Tom 
could feel his features taking on what Annika called his "Mule Face", which 
always accompanied his whiny pre-pubescent demands for independence. "We're not 
babies. We know the rules. But 'Party-Pooper Pierson' won't let us do 
*anything*."

Tom clapped his hands over his mouth as he realized he'd let slip the private 
name for the detested caregiver. He could hear chuckles behind him, while many 
of the adults in front of him had also hidden their smiles behind their fingers.

The Emperor managed to keep control of his mirth by briskly straightening his 
jacket and approaching the wayward child. "Well, Mr. Paris, we certainly can't 
have you young rapscallions *bored*. Look what happens when it's just one of 
you." He pointed to the gaping hole, then laid the hand on the boy's shoulder. 
"I don't want to even imagine the damage if all three of you decide to amuse 
yourselves. If your father has no objections, I think the best solution would be 
to find someone closer to your own age to look after you while you're here."

Man and boy waited to receive Owen's stiff nod. When Picard turned back, he 
gestured behind Tom. "Mr. Chakotay."

Tom turned to see his acrobatics partner step forward again. "Yes, sire?"

"I'm sure Captain Sulu can spare you for a while. Will you take our rebellious 
progeny in hand?" Picard's eyes crinkled but he kept his amusement reined in. 
"You'll probably get some real training in diplomacy---and discipline."

"Of course, sire." Chakotay didn't look like he minded as he gave Tom a friendly 
wink.

"Jean-Luc, you can't put the children in the hands of this uneducated, 
backwater-bred---"

"Owen," the interruption was smooth but decisive, "Sulu had the boy tested for 
early admission. That speaks of potential. And if our good Captain has taken him 
in hand, I'm sure his education is on its way to being at least the equal of any 
cadet."

"Of course, sire." Owen's nod this time was even stiffer.

"Now I think it's time you met your new charges, Mr. Chakotay. Thank you for 
your contributions to this meeting." Picard acknowledged the nod of obedience 
and turned to Tom. "And thank you, Mr. Paris, for pointing out a serious breach 
in our security. We'll be sure *nothing* like this ever happens again." He also 
accepted Tom's nod, this one of understanding that he was still in pretty deep 
trouble. "Have a good night, gentlemen."

Tom started practically skipping the second they were in the corridor. "So 
what's your first name, Chakotay?"

Chakotay smiled down at the fidgety boy. "My people only have one name."

"Really? That's neat. I'd love to dump two of mine." Blue eyes rolled. "Whenever 
my dad's mad at me he uses the whole thing, 'Thomas Eugene Paris'."

Before Chakotay could do more than offer a sympathetic look the chatter started 
again.

"I'll have to think about whether you need a nickname, though I like the way 
'Chakotay' sounds, like chopping wood or something. My friends have three names 
too: Julian Bashir Picard and Annika Hansen Picard. Julian's weird. He doesn't 
like having a nickname. He even makes Pierson use all three. 'Nika doesn't care 
though. I'm just a little older than 'Nika. Julian's almost two years older than 
us---and boy does he make sure we know it. Where do you come from, anyway?"

Chakotay's eyebrows had risen at the stream of information, but he merely 
answered, "A planet on the frontier called Dorvan V."

"Oh, we haven't been there yet. I don't think it's even on the list. I remember 
all the planets' names we've been to, and there were tons. I figure I'll need to 
know stuff like that 'cause I'm going to be a pilot someday. Are you a pilot?"

"I'm cleared to fly shuttlecraft, but I don't think I'd call myself a pilot." 
Chakotay shrugged. "The Captain wants me to learn all of the ship's systems, so 
my assignments change a lot. I do know I'm going to be training to take the 
Enterprise's helm at some point."

"Flight sims, oh cool. I used to do them a lot at home. Hey, we could all go to 
the holodeck and you can teach Julian and 'Nika to fly a shuttle." His chest 
swelled confidently. "I could be your copilot."

"We'll see," was all Chakotay said as the doors to the children's temporary 
schoolroom opened.

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

Tom smiled reminiscently. Chakotay had proved to be more than up to the task of 
handling three rambunctious pre-teens. He'd apparently had a lot of experience 
kid-sitting (he never called it baby-sitting) his younger sisters.

He was still close enough to their ages to know how they thought, so most of the 
time he headed off any trouble before their plans were fully in place. He'd even 
circumvented Julian's usual stuffiness by calling him 'Highness'.

Of course, there hadn't been much time for trouble-making. Their new caregiver 
made the effort to learn their interests and plan activities that encouraged 
them. Chakotay even *did* take them for holodeck flight lessons. He'd taught 
Annika and Julian the basics of handling a shuttle, and best of all he'd let Tom 
be his copilot in a few straightforward battle sims.

All three kids were keenly disappointed that their new friend wasn't going to be 
coming with them when they transferred to another ship for the next leg of their 
journey. Annika had cried. Tom had felt like it too, but he was 11 and a guy. 
Still, even he choked up a little when Chakotay gifted each of his charges with 
a smooth polished stone carved with what he called their totems. Tom had 
clutched his stone so hard as he transported over to their new vessel the 
pattern had been engraved onto his palm. He still had the gift, tucked carefully 
away in a box in a drawer in his home on Earth.

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

Tom and Annika had corresponded with Chakotay, while Julian had quickly 
dismissed him as just another servant. For the rest of their trip the two 
letter-writers had looked forward to hearing from their friend. He shared little 
funny stories about life aboard the Enterprise and sounded suitably impressed by 
their own travels.

The blue eyes saddened and darkened with anger as Tom recalled the abrupt end to 
the exchange when they went home to Earth. The two children were inconsolable, 
while Julian was smug. It had taken a while to get over the sting of losing 
their penpal.

Tom shook his head. He didn't find out until years later that Owen had ordered 
the transmissions stopped. He didn't like the "outworlder" associating with the 
royal family or his own son, however slight the connection. Chakotay probably 
had been surprised to stop receiving letters, then basically shrugged it off as 
kids with short attention spans finding new interests.

In a way, though, Owen had been punished for his interference. The irony was 
delicious, and Tom savored it a moment. By breaking off the correspondence 
instead of letting it taper off gradually, Owen had made Chakotay memorable. And 
it didn't help that Owen himself was often growling the hated name where Tom and 
his usual playmates could overhear. From what they could tell Chakotay was quite 
a thorn in the admiral's side.

Picard had taken an interest in the intelligent, easygoing youth. He kept tabs 
on his progress, and was pleased with Sulu's reports of Chakotay's development 
into an officer and gentleman of great promise. Through bravery and often 
inspired tactics he distinguished himself in battle, helping to snatch victory 
from defeat. He was given more and greater responsibilities, displaying a 
natural flair for command.

Much to Owen's dismay, Picard approved Chakotay's regular promotions and made 
sure his education continued to follow the highest standard. Though Chakotay 
never set foot on the grounds, he was awarded several Academy diplomas.

So it was more than six years after that first meeting that Tom, Julian and 
Annika again followed their fathers into space. They were to meet the 
Enterprise, currently in orbit around Babel. The Emperor and his staff were 
there negotiating with the Andorians. The Emperor had decided to conduct the 
meetings himself rather than send a delegation. He decided he wanted the 
children to also attend, to give them their first real steps in the careful 
dance of diplomacy. The Andorians would likely be less conciliatory than the 
obsequious ambassadors to the Empire the teens were used to dealing with.

Tom had only vague hopes of seeing Chakotay; he dismissed them as a childish 
wish for familiarity. It had been so long since he'd been among the stars. He 
wondered if the onetime kid-sitter would even recognize his former charges. All 
three had finished the coltish growth spurts of adolescence. Tom had sprouted 
like a weed, his limbs long but thankfully no longer gangly. He looked, and 
considered himself, very much an adult. Still, he fidgeted a little in his seat 
as he wished *he* was piloting the shuttle bringing them to the rendezvous 
point.

The arrangements were top secret; there had been two attempts on the Emperor's 
life since he'd left Earth some weeks before. Tom looked at his companions: 
Julian's face was completely composed, but Annika's pale blue eyes were shifting 
nervously, matching her restless fingers. He used his own hand to still hers and 
offered a reassuring smile. "We're almost there, 'Nika. Another twenty minutes 
and we'll be on the Enterprise sensors."

"I know. I'm just worried that we're all alone out here." The girl's full lower 
lip was trembling a little.

"That's part of the plan," Julian shrugged. "Who would expect the Emperor and 
the head of the fleet to transport their kids in an unescorted shuttle?"

"It'll be fine, just you wait---" Tom's words were cut off by a sudden jolt that 
sent all three tumbling.

"What was that?" Annika's voice was high and sharp with fear.

"Shit! We're being fired on!" Tom grappled his way to the viewport as the 
shuttle continued to dive and rock, systems whining with the strain. "It looks 
like an Andorian cruiser!"

Julian joined Tom, peering out. "We should tell them who we are," he said, 
fingers clenched along the edge of the opening. "Maybe they'll just hold us for 
ransom."

"Are you crazy?" Tom couldn't believe what his friend was suggesting. "We can't 
just let ourselves be kidnapped."

"It's better than being killed." Julian tossed his head and determinedly made 
his way to a console. "I'm going to signal them."

"No!"

"*You* are not in charge here." Julian's eyes were glacial in their sudden 
authority. "If you want you can tell the pilot to get ready to drop his 
shields."

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but pressed his lips in a thin line as he saw 
the unrelenting expression on his friend's face. He gave Annika's shoulder a 
squeeze as he passed her on the way to the cockpit door. As it opened he was 
tossed forward into the tiny space.

"Hey kid, get out of here!" Tom wasn't sure which of the two stolid men flying 
the ship spoke, but he could see they were a bit preoccupied. The pilot tried 
another stomach-twisting swoop as his partner fired his few weapons at the 
looming enemy vessel.

"You're supposed to get ready to lower your shields. We're going to let them 
know who we are so they don't blow us up." Tom's voice was strangled with 
tension but he managed to deliver his message.

"What?!" The copilot must have yelled before; the pilot's disbelieving tones 
didn't sound familiar. "We can't just turn you over to them."

"Look, we're obviously outgunned, and we can't outrun them. In a few minutes 
they'll cut through our shields and we'll all be toast." Tom sounded convincing, 
even if he didn't believe his own words.

Tom grabbed at a chair as another blast rocked the small ship. Then the assault 
abruptly ceased. Julian and Annika also crowded into the cramped cockpit.

All eyes turned to the viewports. The Andorian ship had turned and now seemed to 
be targeting someone else. The other ship was blocked by the bulk of the alien 
vessel.

"Shuttle Kirk to unidentified Federation ship, I suggest you get out of here 
while we keep them busy. Signal for reinforcements as soon as you're clear." The 
voice was slightly deeper than Tom remembered, but shockingly familiar.

"Chakotay?" Tom said, and looked to his companions for confirmation. Annika's 
eyes glowed with renewed hope.

The pilot hit the comm switch. "Shuttle Kirk, this is the Cochrane. We're 
leaving the area. We have precious cargo that cannot---I repeat, cannot---fall 
into enemy hands. Thanks, and Cochrane out."

"No!" "You have to help him!" Tom's and Annika's protests blended into each 
other.

"I'm sorry, but you're the priority here." The older man's voice was not unkind, 
but the set of his shoulders as he ignored them declared the discussion over.

They watched the Andorian ship slide out of their view as they eased away from 
the fight between the cruiser and a sleek, oddly shaped shuttle that was about 
twice the size of their own. The newcomer was swooping and darting like a 
dragonfly, continually firing on the Andorian's shields while nimbly avoiding 
its armaments. Then the Cochrane jumped to warp.

As soon as they contacted the fleet a warship was dispatched to aid the Kirk, 
which turned out to be a prototype of an experimental style of shuttlecraft. 
Both the Emperor and Admiral Paris were there to meet the Cochrane when it slid 
into the Enterprise shuttlebay.

"We were lucky, Owen, very lucky," Jean-Luc said, then swallowed and clutched at 
his children. Tom felt awkward and exposed until Owen also pulled him into a 
brief embrace.

"Has there been any word from the Kirk?" Tom asked as everyone started moving 
toward the exit.

"No, but they do have advanced shields and weaponry. And they didn't need to 
destroy the other ship, just stay out of its tractor beam and line of fire until 
you could get away."

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

It was hours before Tom finally heard that the Kirk had returned. There had been 
minor injuries when a few consoles overloaded, but both Lt. Commander Chakotay 
and his copilot, Lt. Gregor Ayala, would be fine. They'd been released to their 
quarters for a day of rest.

Later, Tom hesitated in the hall outside Chakotay's door, shifting nervously, 
then abruptly pressed the chime. When the doors opened he strolled inside, 
trying to project a casual air. He quickly scanned the cabin. The furnishings 
were sturdy but comfortable, and a few soft pillows and throws gave the place a 
welcoming air.

Chakotay was standing by a small desk. From the towel around his neck and the 
casual pants he was wearing, Tom guessed he was heading for bed. Tom looked at 
him, comparing today's reality with yesterday's memories. At 24 Chakotay was 
definitely an adult. The muscles of his chest and limbs were filled out, more 
solid. The smooth skin of his torso glowed in the light. His face had become 
even more striking, the bones of cheek and jaw made more prominent by maturity. 
But the eyes were familiar, the brown depths holding a warm smile for their 
visitor. The dimples were as well. "Hello Tom," Chakotay said quietly as he 
perched on the desk. "What can I do for you?"

Tom had walked in simply intending to say "Long time, no see," and "Thanks for 
saving my ass." But now his feelings were jumbled. He felt an overpowering and 
unsettling swirl of desire, barely recognized hormones flooding his system to 
arousal. He was acutely aware of his shallow breaths, flushed cheeks, and most 
importantly, erect and aching cock.

Tom's eyes once more regarded the other man, concentrating on the trim ankles, 
the carved legs. He continued upward and felt an almost irresistible urge to run 
his hands up the rippling abdomen, along the solid ribs and over that gleaming 
chest. Then along the powerful shoulders and down the muscled arms. Tom's 
fingers flexed, already feeling that warm satiny skin. His lips parted, yearning 
to touch the fullness of the curved mouth. To seek the sweetness he knew lay 
within. To have that mouth, that body claim his own.

He shook slightly, uncertain where the images and feelings were coming from but 
unable to contain them. He only knew that the adolescent fumblings with his 
friends had never felt like this. This was hot, reckless need. Primitive and 
demanding and not to be denied. He had to know...had to know what it would feel 
like. To be wrapped in those arms and pressed against that chest and taken by 
those lips. And more, so much more. Oh yes, he *had* to know. He couldn't draw 
another breath without knowing.

Tom swallowed and wiped at the sweat beading his forehead. Looked at Chakotay, 
who was waiting patiently. "Chakotay. I...I came to see you---" he felt his 
mouth drying out, "---I wanted to tell you that I want, I want---" He gave up 
talking, stumbling forward, obeying his fingers and lips and every other part of 
him that needed to be next to that solid bronze body.

He was stopped an arm's length away by an unyielding palm on his chest. "What 
are you doing, Tom?" Chakotay asked him quietly.

"Kissing you, wanting you. I can't help it, it's like I have to---"

"You Terrans are a strange lot," Chakotay mused, still holding them apart as he 
searched Tom's eyes. "One or two people have saved *my* life, but I never 
thought of offering them sex as a thank-you gift."

Tom stumbled back, stunned. "You think that's why I'm here?"

"Isn't it? Shouldn't I be honored to be gifted with your deflowering?" Chakotay 
stood, his eyes unreadable as he slipped away from Tom and moved to toss the 
towel through a doorway.

"What makes you think I'm still a virgin?" Tom's spine stiffened with bravado.

Chakotay just turned back and looked him up and down, a hint of heat in his 
gaze. Then he gave another soft smile and shook his head, ignoring the question. 
"I didn't even know you three were aboard the shuttle, not that it would have 
made any difference. I had just taken the Kirk out for a test drive because your 
father kicked me out of the strategy session. He didn't like my suggestions." He 
grinned ruefully for a moment, then sobered. "You were just a ship in trouble. 
You don't owe me anything. Don't take it so personally."

"Wait a second." Tom was clutching at straws, trying to stop the whirling of his 
still raging desire and his immense disappointment. "You're saying somebody was 
here before me? Who---Julian, Annika?"

"Both." Chakotay's voice was quiet. "You're my third proposition this evening."

"Shit!" The humiliation flushed Tom's face even more intensely than the desire 
had. His self-esteem was in shreds as he paced, running a hand through his hair. 
"Shit, I'm not even the first." He raked his eyes along Chakotay's lack of 
attire then turned away. "Did you find one of the others more appealing? Take 
them up on their offer?"

Tom was stopped by a warm, solid grip on his arms and turned around. His chin 
was lifted until he was staring into liquid brown eyes. "Of course not, Tom. 
Three offers, three refusals." The full lips quirked just a little as Chakotay 
regarded the younger man. "But only one regret."

"Me?" Tom whispered.

"You," Chakotay confirmed, rubbing his thumb along Tom's lower lip. "But I'm not 
a man to take advantage of an innocent." His smile widened, turning a little 
wicked. "Even such a tempting one."

"But I want you." Tom's voice gained strength at the knowledge he wasn't alone 
in his feelings.

"Tom, even if I could forget that you're just a little too young for any of 
this, think about the consequences. For whatever reason, Julian, Annika and you 
all think you want to be with me. If I chose you, the others would never 
forgive, or forget. You'd lose friends you've had all your life."

A sigh announced Tom's defeat. He ran his hands along the smooth skin of 
Chakotay's forearms, then stepped back. "I guess I'd better go."

Chakotay's voice stopped him just before the door. "Remember Tom, three 
refusals, but one regret."

Tom nodded and walked tall out of the corridor and back to his own cabin. As he 
came through the doors he was shocked to find the Emperor sitting behind *his* 
desk. "S-Sire?" he stammered.

"Less than five minutes," Jean-Luc Picard said cryptically as he stood and 
crossed to stand in front of Tom. "I tried to tell your father that Chakotay 
would no more take advantage of you than he would my children, but he refused to 
be convinced." The older man offered a warm, knowing smile. "Let's sit a minute, 
Tom. I need to talk to you, man to man."

When they were settled on the sofa, Jean-Luc tilted his head and stared at the 
youth before him. Tom was indeed no longer a boy. "You did go to see Chakotay, 
yes?"

Tom just nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"For a...private discussion?"

"Yes, sire." Tom met the wise eyes. "But he wouldn't...he didn't...he said no."

Jean-Luc nodded. "Why did you go to him?"

"I just wanted to thank him. And see him. It's been a long time. Then when I got 
there, every single thought flew right out of my head."

"And went south," Picard finished for him. He sighed. "You look disappointed. 
Annika had the same reaction, a little more emotional, of course. She's cried 
herself out and gone to sleep." The lines on the Emperor's face deepened as he 
continued, "Julian is another matter entirely."

"Why?" Tom's body tightened with anxiety.

"He came to me to accuse Chakotay of accosting him. Of assaulting him, 
sexually."

Tom leapt up in protest. "Chakotay would never do that! You can't think he---"

"No, I know he didn't." A sure grip returned the younger man to his seat. "Even 
if I didn't trust Chakotay implicitly, the computer logs show Julian was evicted 
even faster than Annika was." Jean-Luc's mouth thinned. "Apparently it's not a 
woman scorned we have to worry about."

Tom noticed the weary slump to the strong body. He didn't have the first clue 
how the Emperor was dealing with a father's disappointment. "I'm sorry, sire."

Jean-Luc gave a small grateful lift of his lips. "No need to be." Then he 
squared his shoulders and faced Tom once more, his expression serious. 
"Unfortunately, your father is willing to back Julian, regardless of the 
evidence. He wants Chakotay discharged and punished." Neither of them mentioned 
that Owen's temper was the real motivator in this search for "justice".

"What are you going to do?" Tom asked anxiously.

Jean-Luc sighed. "Certainly not what Owen wants. But Chakotay *isn't* a suitable 
companion---for any of you. I'm going to give him a commendation for bravery and 
six months' leave. Let him go to Dorvan, find a spouse and start building a home 
for himself. He's definitely earned it."

Tom was shocked at the depth of the ache that formed at those words, but he 
understood. Everyone had their duty to the Empire, and Jean-Luc could have saved 
face by accepting Julian's lie. "Thank you, sire."

Jean-Luc laid a hand on Tom's shoulder and squeezed it gently in understanding. 
Then he stood, adjusting his jacket. "I hadn't realized how mature you'd all 
become. It's like you turned into adults overnight. I guess it's time I started 
treating you as such."

He crossed toward the door, but paused and turned back a moment. "Tom, I realize 
you've been through a lot today, but Annika---"

"I'll keep an eye on her." Tom responded without prompting. Of course he would 
look after his friend.

"Thank you, Tom. I know I can depend on you." Then Jean-Luc was gone.

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

And so Tom had never seen Chakotay again. He was off the ship by the time Tom 
woke up in the morning. Tom spent the next few weeks pretending not to know why 
Annika was so sad and Julian so surly. He simply played his role as the charming 
and witty best friend to them both.

That tactic had some unexpected consequences as eventually Annika turned her 
innocent blue eyes on him. Again he did his duty to the Empire. He found himself 
wed two years later to his childhood friend. It wasn't a bad marriage, but 
neither of their hearts was truly in it. They were always more like friends than 
lovers. Their shared past and later their son, Lucien, kept them together.

Through the years Tom had learned to be content with his lot. Until her death 
he'd had a wife he loved even if he wasn't in love with her, and he still had a 
son he adored. He often wondered about Chakotay's life; rumor had it that he'd 
married a Bajoran.

One thing Tom was sure of was Chakotay's unfailing ability to piss off Owen. Tom 
would hide his smile when he'd hear the name growled in barely restrained 
irritation whenever the admiral returned from whatever border war was currently 
on the agenda. Jean-Luc was kind enough not to make Chakotay Owen's official 
second-in-command, even though it was clear he'd been groomed to be the 
admiral's successor.

So no one was surprised that when Owen Paris was killed in a Dominion battle 
over a year ago, Chakotay had been named Admiral of the Imperial Fleet.

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

Tom stretched and rose to get ready. Not only because he wanted to make a good 
impression on a man he hadn't seen in a decade. He needed to get cleaned up 
before heading to whatever official unofficial function would be taking up the 
evening. He guessed that it would be a raucous victory celebration. And even 
though he wasn't in a party mood, he'd make an appearance, decorative and 
charming.

No one escaped their obligations to the Empire.

TBC