The whole, though, is greater than the sum of the parts, and this
final edition’s been refined into something neither of us would have created on
our own.
That, I think, is a good thing for the readers.
If you're interested in comparing, here's
the version Michael submitted for the contest.
"Pax Libertas"
By Michael Gray
and Joseph Manno
Luciano Mantovanni stared at the message, uncertain how to react.
The war had been too hard fought, with too many losses, for him to cheer as he
suspected many in his crew might. But he did let a smile momentarily break his
usually stoic features—not a smile of joy, but one of long-sought relief.
The Dominion War was over.
From the text on the display he learned it hadn't finished with a
decisive battle or some daring strategy, but instead a single realization on
the Founders’ part.
What a waste, he thought.
The second guessing would go on for decades about this. What if we
had tried to find common ground just a little bit more? What if we had done
this or that differently?
Mantovanni had seen enough in his life across two centuries to
convince him that some truths were hard to come by—especially truths hidden by
fear.
So the Founders had finally accepted the Federation wasn't a
threat.
Mantovanni forced down a chuckle. And after all we went through to convince them otherwise the last many
months. Now they come to this
conclusion?
He shook his head and leaned back, looking about his ready room.
People would inquire as to where he'd been and how he'd heard about the end of
the war for years to come. Humans felt compelled to ask such questions about
shared events. It never made much sense to him, but Liberty’s commanding officer wasn't a man to let his mind be
troubled by imponderables—at least not such insignificant ones.
Instead, he focused on a more obvious question: Now what?
"Enter.”
Erika Benteen strolled in with a wider grin than he'd ever seen
her wear. "You heard?"
He nodded.
"I was about to inform the rest of the crew, but thought you
might want the honor of doing that," she said.
"I suppose I should tell them something," Mantovanni replied.
"You disappointed?" Benteen asked with a frown.
He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just thinking
about the point of it all."
"We'll have the rest of our lives for that," she pointed
out. "Right now, I think we should celebrate."
This was a time to
celebrate, but so much of his attention and energy had been consumed by the
war. Mantovanni wasn't someone given to emotional eruptions for merrymaking or
sadness, and the toll these two years had taken on his soul made him even less
apt to indulge in such things. He understood, though, how his crew needed the
release such an announcement would bring.
"All right," he said, noting the sparkle it brought to
Benteen's eyes. "How about we...?"
The intercom cut him short.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Captain," T'Vaar's voice said. "We’ve
just received new orders from Starfleet."
Mantovanni turned the display on his desk about to face him.
"I'll take them in here."
He quickly scanned the screen; the text caused his brow to tighten.
"What is it?" Benteen stepped around to look, and her
frown returned.
She said, "I guess the war isn't quite over."
***
The light from Algira turned the horizon orange as evening came
upon the fourth planet of that system, bathing the great hall with a warm glow
that didn’t do much to hide the seething resentment of the Cardassians present.
Most of their number had hoped possession of this system would be the beginning
of a triumph wrestled from a defeat that sickened them to vomiting. Instead it
would be remembered as confirmation of their failure.
Luciano Mantovanni saw the anger boiling within his former
adversaries every time he glanced their direction. He decided that in this
place, at this time, avoiding eye contact was the best course of action. This
was to be one of the last formal surrenders and he had no intention of letting
it flare into open war again before the ink was dry...
For the third time in the last five minutes, he tried to adjust
his dress uniform collar. Mantovanni had long been convinced the damned things
were intentionally designed to make the wearer uncomfortable.
Or distract from the
pain of most events to which one would wear it, he thought.
A week ago he had received orders to proceed here and accept the
surrender of the last Cardassian battle group still at large. At first it
looked as if they might put up a fight, but that fear had evaporated after some
very tense moments over the communication channel between
Now he stood on Cardassian territory as Gul Ocett's guest of
honor—despite the obvious feelings otherwise from the members of her command.
Mantovanni saw several of his officers, led by T’Vaar and Sera,
standing near a buffet table, doing their best to avoid provoking—or, perhaps,
simply avoid—their hosts. It wasn’t
exactly a difficult task, because the Cardassians were more than content to be avoided. In a way, he was relieved:
Any significant interaction would probably have provoked hard feelings, and
harder words. While his senior staff was well trained in both diplomacy and
turning the other cheek, they’d also just fought a two-year war with these
people; and wounds dealt by each side to the other hadn’t even scabbed over,
let alone begun to heal.
He recalled Sito Jaxa’s reaction upon hearing the main Cardassian
fleet had switched sides mid-battle and subsequently fought against the Dominion in the war’s final
engagement.
“I can’t say I’m really surprised,”
the outraged Bajoran had declared, her voice redolent with disdain. “They’re
typically serpentine—slithering over to whatever they think is the winning
side. Prophets, they probably thought they deserved a place at the victors’ table during the treaty
signing.”
Now, Mantovanni watched from afar as Sito muttered what he assumed
were resentful imprecations to her current sympathetic pair of ears: The
Tzenkethi Bagheer, his former first officer and now captain of the nearby USS Sacramento—who had yesterday announced
that he would attend the reception in
a tone that had brooked no refusal.
His ex-captain, amused, had permitted it. No doubt Sito had chosen Bagheer for
a pair of reasons: One, if you were going to mutter resentfully, there was no
one better with whom to do it; two, no Cardassian would approach him—at least
not without full body armor and a heavy disruptor rifle.
A Federation ambassador walked up, introduced himself and
attempted to get Mantovanni reminiscing about battles and feats of daring.
Mantovanni could think of only one or two formal functions he had
ever enjoyed, and the most recent had included in its wake pleasures it was
doubtful he'd find at this one. During war it was difficult to turn away from
momentary delights like those in which he and Erika Donaldson had indulged.
There had been too many times when that was all any of them could hope for—the moment at hand, and
nothing else.
It was all they’d had.
These days, though, he found himself wanting more than an evening
of sweet conversation in a shared bed.
Just then, another officer glanced his way and flashed a shy,
lovely smile before catching herself and nodding rather respectfully.
He mirrored Parihn's gesture...
Murmurs filled the air of the large room as everyone present turned
towards the entrance.
Mantovanni's eyes immediately stopped on an official flanked by a
crowd of aides. While he wasn't often attracted to Cardassian women, Gul
Ocett's statuesque form and strong features caught and held his attention. She
hadn't risen to where she was on good looks; while, usually, calling a woman
“handsome” was considered a backhanded compliment at best, it clearly applied
to Ocett, and she wore it well.
He wondered how she had escaped the purge burning through the
Central Command these last few days. Someone needed to answer for all the
Cardassian people had suffered, along with the recent defeat, so the new
government had turned on the only ones left to pay the debt—their most loyal
and trusted servants.
A thought came to him that perhaps she had friends back on
Cardassia Prime who were protecting her, and that signing this formal surrender
might be the price required.
In the end, it didn't matter—as long as she played her part in the
next day's ceremony.
Her party moved slowly toward his position with a sureness of
purpose that unsettled the captain of the
She may have to bow and
kneel as the defeated party of the conflict tomorrow, he thought. But she's
playing the part of the proud host to the hilt tonight.
Her deep set eyes deliberately scanned his form as she approached.
Mantovanni tended to ignore women looking him over… and he got the strong sense
he was not the object of her physical desire. There was something far more
important she sought.
"Good evening, Captain Mantovanni," Kirith Ocett said in
a deep and compelling voice. "I do hope you’re finding the reception
enjoyable."
He inclined his head in an attempt to be politic. "Most
enjoyable, Gul Ocett."
She regarded him a moment as an aide brought her a glass filled
with a dark green liquid. Ocett took a quick sip, and decided, "You hate
it nearly as much as I do, Captain."
He remained stone-faced and took a swallow from his own glass.
"This is a beautiful world. As someone who’s spent more months within the
hull of a starship than I care to admit, I always enjoy the chance to breathe
air that hasn't been through the innards of some life support system."
You’ve rubbed off on me,
Matt… and I can’t say I’m entirely happy about it.
As if she’d read his self-annoyance, a brief smile appeared at the
edge of Ocett’s lips, then quickly disappeared; she turned to look through the
large window at the dying embers of Algira's sunset.
"Then we have at least that much in common," she said,
with more sadness than he had expected, “though I long for the skies of
Cardassia once this unpleasantness is behind us.
"One often longs
for the world of their youth when facing a change in direction, don't you
think?"
It was a rhetorical question, and Mantovanni wasn’t in the mood
for rhetoric. His only response was a brief nod as they watched darkness
consume the sky.
Ocett took a longer pull from her drink. "There are some
details about tomorrow's ceremony that demand our attention, Captain. Would you
consent to meet with me later this evening so that we might..." she
hesitated, forcing down a smile. "…so that we might dispose of them away
from the attention of others?"
Mantovanni brushed away a lock of the jet-black hair that had
fallen across his forehead. "I certainly hope you're not reconsidering."
She threw her head back and laughed. "Nothing quite so
dramatic, my dear Captain." She leaned close to him. "Just matters
that might make it easier for my people to accept the inevitable."
He saw something in her eyes he didn't like—a coldness that neared
despair. What does she really want? he asked himself.
He considered declining her request—not out of fear for himself,
but concern she might do something to upset those events the Federation expected
would transpire over the next 24 hours.
"Certainly, Gul Ocett," he finally replied, curiosity
winning out over caution.
"Come to my office on the third level of this building before
retiring for the evening," she said, taking a last look at him before
turning away.
He watched her approach the same Federation ambassador who had
pestered him earlier. Mantovanni observed her for another full minute before
joining members of his own crew. He needed some time to think… and the comfort
of familiar, friendly faces.
***
It was only a few minutes before midnight local time when Luciano
Mantovanni finally made his way down the wide and ornate corridor towards Gul
Ocett's office. He was feeling the first pangs of fatigue grip his muscles and
his mind. He hoped he'd find himself in bed before too long.
And not Ocett's bed
either, he assured himself. That was one thing he most certainly
would not allow to take place. Ocett
was an officer—an enemy officer,
true, but an officer nonetheless—not some spoil of the Federation's victory.
Some victory, he thought. The Founders
just… stopped. He knew that it had definitely been for the best, but as a
military commander and a man with a sense of symmetry, it had left a bad taste
in his mouth. Some part of him said that the Federation and its allies had earned the right to finish things, naïve
and immature though that perspective probably was. Certainly he wasn’t the only
one who felt that way.
A few of his fellow officers, he knew, had been surprised the
outlying Cardassians hadn't continued on without their Dominion allies. The end
result would have been the same, but they were
a proud people. Even Mantovanni had half-expected some of their forces to fight
on at least a short while—especially Gul Ocett's forces.
Hell… a few of my crew
would have preferred if the Cardassians had resisted for a few more weeks—the better to get
them back for some of the friends they’ve lost.
He stopped at the door and listened.
Nothing.
The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt any after hours
activities in which Ocett might be engaged. Whatever she wanted to see him
about could probably keep until morning.
He touched the chime to announce his presence and waited. After a
moment the door opened.
A few steps inside Mantovanni stopped, a bit startled by the
opulence that greeted him. This was more than a temporary quarters. It had the
look of a place belonging to someone much higher up the food chain than a mere
gul.
Perhaps his speculation about her connections wasn’t entirely off
target.
"Thank you for coming," the now familiar voice stated.
Mantovanni slowly turned to its source, doing his best not to
appear surprised or off guard.
"I saw no reason to deny your request," he replied as
the door closed behind him.
Kirith Ocett emerged from a side hall wearing a long dress that,
at first, gave the impression of more ordinary garb; but as she moved, that
illusion evaporated, as did any sense of mystery about the curves of her body.
And it was, he conceded clinically, quite an impressive body.
Mantovanni frowned inwardly. Is
this it? he asked himself. Was he
to be some small victory she could
finally claim? Was that what she wanted from him?
He hoped not.
Ocett stopped near a small table holding a collection of flasks
filled with various liquids. "Would you have imagined six months ago the
two of us here together, Captain?"
"I doubt it would have occurred to me."
"I had wondered on several occasions how you might surrender
your ‘13th Fleet’ to me and my forces," she said dryly. "However, that
seems to have been denied me."
He didn't respond, but instead quietly watched her.
"Would you join me in a drink, Captain?"
"What is it?" Mantovanni asked as Gul Ocett poured a
dull orange liquid into two small glasses.
"I’m told it's called tranya.
Something from an ally of the Federation, I believe," she said.
"Please sit."
He took a seat nearby.
"The antics of your ‘13th Fleet’ caused me more than a little
trouble during the war," she said, pouring him a moderate amount, and a
somewhat more liberal serving for herself.
"I think that was the point," he noted.
She smiled and handed him the drink. "I suppose you're right
about that. Just as the point of my actions was to stop you."
"Fortunately for me, you were unsuccessful," he said.
Mantovanni took a tentative sip and found it tolerable, but not overly to his
liking.
"Fortunate for both of us," she replied, sampling her
own tranya even while moving to claim
the chair behind her large desk.
"Where are you from, Captain?" she asked. "What
world do you call home?"
Inwardly, Mantovanni sighed. He really didn’t wish to share
stories of home and hearth, or even pleasantries, with this woman. Besides, she
no doubt had read Central Command’s prepared dossier on him, and knew enough of
his background to satisfy any prurient curiosity about his Vulcan upbringing.
Thus, he went with the easier, if less accurate, response.
"Earth—a little place called Sicily, to be exact.”
"Hmmm," she whispered, looking him over. "I would
have figured you for Mars."
He arched a brow. "Mars?"
"Yes, most humans from Mars have that same stern aspect to
their eyes you possess."
"I hadn't noticed.”
Ocett smiled at his unwillingness to engage in idle conversation.
"You know, the two of us aren't nearly as different as you'd like to
think."
His eyebrow ascended further, and he answered with an incredulous,
“Oh, really?”
"We're both soldiers," she said. "No matter how
much you try to hide behind that uniform and pretend you're an explorer, you
know the truth."
"I doubt we have identical visions of the truth.”
"So do I. But unlike you, I'll admit I'm a monster."
Mantovanni considered that a moment… then, abruptly realizing she
expected an answer, responded with a cool, "If you’re waiting for some
sort of reciprocal concession, Gul, well… you’ve got a long wait."
She laughed softly. "All right, we'll play your particular mind game tonight."
He downed another bit of the alcohol, and nearly grimaced. The
flavor wasn’t growing on him. As a
matter of fact, neither the tranya
nor the company was much to his liking. If this was a Cardassian’s idea of
seduction he wondered how the species survived at all.
Ocett had already moved on, though.
"Then we aren't monsters, you and I… but we do fulfill that role for our
people," she stressed. "We do it so they can have the security they
so crave, yet be free of the acts that provide them that security. We're
monsters so they don't have to be.
“Don't you consider that a noble sacrifice?"
Scornfully, he countered, "It’s only a ‘noble sacrifice’ if
one doesn’t enjoy the role. You actually desire
it."
"And you're telling me there isn't some part of you that
cries out for the purity of battle? The lack of any ambiguity?"
“And what if it does? Desiring
something and indulging that desire—wallowing in it—are two entirely
different things. The Cardassian Union chose
to invite the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant. It’s essentially responsible
for starting the war. I wonder just how different this little conversation
would have been were I the one
surrendering. I don’t imagine either tranya
or translucent gowns would have been involved.”
For a moment, Ocett’s mouth tightened, but she rallied well.
"So butchery in a good
cause is somehow justifiable? Sounds like a very fine distinction."
Mantovanni tried more tranya;
it didn’t improve his mood. "Spoken like a woman on the wrong side of the
distinction.”
Ocett frowned. "Your arrogance is substantially larger than I
had ever dreamed," she said. A grin crept across her face. "I think I
rather like it."
“You’ll pardon me if I find your regard a dubious honor.”
She smiled coldly.
"Well then… to the war and the part we played in it,"
his hostess said, raising her glass—only to find he wouldn’t mirror the action.
"There’s nothing worth toasting about this war—except its
end," he said.
"What of our battles? Surely they were worth something?"
His tone was disdainful.
“‘Ars gratia artis’? No thank you. This war took place because the Dominion was
driven by irrational fear to strike out… and
because you Cardassians gave them a place from which to do it—all in the name
of restoring your strength and honor. Well, things don’t seem to have worked
out the way you planned.”
Stiffly, she answered with, "I suppose not. But is there any
harm to us taking pride in our striving?" Ocett asked. "Would you
even diminish the sacrifices made by your own people?"
"Not at all," he replied. "They will be remembered… but not without the
accompanying realization that it was Dominion/Cardassian paranoia and
insanity—their ‘striving’ for mastery—which necessitated those sacrifices."
A smile crept across her face. "Then we do understand each
other."
"I doubt it," he said. "You'll spend the rest of
your life remembering the strategies and engagements, what you could have done
differently, when what you really
could have done differently was stop this before it started… or at least before
it went too far.”
"We did what was required of us, Captain."
"If more Cardassian commanders had done 'what was required'
of them, the war might have ended much sooner," Mantovanni declared.
Ocett’s features hardened. "You're suggesting we should have
turned against our own leadership?"
"At least that would have been courageous."
"A traitor is nothing
to be praised," she said, glaring, for all that it impressed either of
them.
"Some,” Mantovanni observed, “will call what you'll do
tomorrow a traitorous act.
Her scowl faded, and Ocett looked away. "I do what I must for
the good of my people," she said softly.
"Better late than never," he replied.
She turned to face him again, but instead of rage he saw something
that surprised him. The sureness was gone, along with the bravado. All he could
see seated across the large desk from him was someone consumed by fear and
confusion.
This isn't over for her
yet, he thought. She's still fighting, but on a battlefield without any of the surety
she craves.
He stood. "There was some matter you wished to discuss with
me before tomorrow?"
The lost child he'd seen in her a moment before was replaced by
the consummate military leader once again.
"Yes," she began. "None of my aides or fellow
officers will be present at the ceremony."
"Why not?" he asked.
"That's a matter which doesn't concern you, Captain,"
she stated firmly. "I simply wanted to avoid any worry on the part of the
Federation."
He nodded. "Is that all?
"Yes."
He could tell it wasn't. She still wanted something from him.
Acceptance? Acknowledgement? He wasn't certain… and at this point, didn't
really care. By late tomorrow, he'd be aboard Liberty headed back to Federation territory.
Let her share war
stories with someone who can more readily stand being in the same room with her.
"I should go, then," he said, turning to leave.
"Why can't you see
me as an equal?" she demanded, standing to confront
him—proud and unyielding.
He faced her again.
“I think a better question is why you give a damn what I
think—unless, of course, you don’t
see yourself as my equal, and need the reassurance.”
She looked away, willing to
accept neither his view of events nor his presence any longer, and whispered, "Get out."
“My ancestors had a saying, Ocett: ‘Misery loves company.’ Well, I
think you’ll be dining alone tonight.”
"Get out!" she screamed across the table.
He left without a backward glance.
***
A strong wind blew across the platform outside the hall next day at
mid-morning. The brilliant light from the sun above beat down upon everyone
present, as Luciano Montovanni accepted the formal surrender of all Cardassian
forces under Gul Ocett’s command in a ceremony that contained no cheers and no
shouts of triumph. It was a solemn occasion; and, once again, Ocett played the
role expected of her, and played it to perfection.
As she had informed him the night before, none of her officers
were anywhere to be seen. Only Ocett and the new Cardassian ambassador to the
Federation were present. Everyone else did their best not to notice.
With her signature, the Dominion War was finally over.
Just before they left the platform, she turned to Mantovanni and
stared blankly at him for several seconds.
He watched and waited. Ocett seemed ready to speak … but instead,
held her peace.
***
Four hours later, Liberty
and her escorts were on their way back to Deep
Space Nine as Luciano Mantovanni busied himself with personnel reports and
other matters that demanded the attention of a ship's commanding officer. He
sat reading from the ready room desk monitor, preparing for the impending
change from a ship of war to one of exploration.
The intercom chimed.
"Mantovanni," he replied.
"Captain, we've
just received a message from the Cardassian government," Benteen's voice said.
"Yes?" he asked, only half listening.
"An hour after we
left Algira, Gul Ocett was found in her office... dead."
He exhaled and for a moment examined his reaction to the news...
but, in hindsight, found he wasn’t particularly surprised.
"What happened? Her officers?"
"No. She took her
own life. She left a message behind, but the Cardassians didn't convey what it
said."
Mantovanni closed his eyes. She wouldn't let herself be removed in
disgrace or die at the hands of those officers who’d now see her as a traitor.
Should he have suspected this was coming?
Would he have cared enough to attempt preventing it if he had?
"Captain?"
Benteen must have said something else he hadn't heard. "Thank
you, Erika," Mantovanni said, and switched off the intercom.
Liberty’s commander turned in his chair and stared through the ready room
window at the star-streaked night.
He remembered something he’d read a long time ago about a certain type
of inflexible mentality. It had been cute and pithy, but he’d always remembered
it when he thought himself firmly entrenched on the moral high ground.
It went, “You’re not holier
than me… you’re just
holier-than-thou.”
He hadn’t much liked Ocett. She had been responsible for the
deaths of people he cared about, and had spooned salt into that wound by
attempting to add a glorious sheen to it; now, though, Mantovanni wondered
whether he’d twisted the knife during
their conversations—taking what revenge he could by emphasizing their
differences rather than conceding that there were far too many similarities to
suit him.
Liberty’s captain knew he had almost certainly contributed to her long,
dark night of the soul… and that she had never seen the dawn. Now, he tried
desperately to feel sorrow at what had occurred, for what he himself had
done—his unrelenting refusal to offer absolution, or even a momentary sympathy.
The old Latin blessing “requiescat
in pacem”—“rest in peace”—came
unbidden to him.
So did the phrase “too little, too late.”
Perhaps Ocett had, at long last, stopped at bay to face her
demons… and they had dragged her down.
Captain Luciano Mantovanni considered Gul Kirith Ocett a final
time… and wondered if his own day of reckoning would be any different.
He honestly didn’t know.