This story
marks a turning point in the lives of quite a few characters. I'd very
seriously debated precisely what direction I'd take, especially on two
developments in particular. After discussing it with a number of people and
listening to their well-reasoned counsel, I did exactly what I'd intended to do
originally.
Just goes to
show: I always considered the best thing about advice the fact that you
don't have to take any of it.
Marcus Lucius
Aldus was excited; however, he struggled to conceal this fact.
Certainly,
most of his shipmates would have considered him to have ample justification for
this particular emotional state. After all, he was going home for the first
time in over a decade.
That is insufficient reason to grin moronically and
pace like an excited servant girl anticipating the master in his bedchamber, he told himself. I am a Roman citizen, a Starfleet officer and a follower of the
philosophies of my namesake, Marcus Aurelius. I shall carry myself with the
appropriate restraint and dignity.
Vaerth Parihn
was agitated; however, she struggled to conceal this fact.
She
understood that her feelings were somewhat irrational; after all, duties for
which one had absolutely no
enthusiasm were occasional occurrences in every Starfleet officer’s career.
There was no reason to think hers would be an exception.
Until now,
though, she’d been fairly lucky. As one of the first Orion women serving in the
fleet, Parihn had no doubt benefited from Starfleet Personnel’s relish in
posting her to what its brass considered “showcase assignments”—the better to
portray the multicultural, all-encompassing nature of the organization.
It’s their chance to say, “See, even Orions can play nice if you give them a chance. The Federation loves and accepts everyone.”
How sickeningly pious, she thought.
Objectively
speaking, she found the entire process shallow and hypocritical; but, then
again, Starfleet hadn’t consulted her
on assignment policy in the recent past, and she doubted that would change any time soon.
On a personal
level, of course, Parihn knew she’d been damned lucky: First, her brief stint
on the USS Camelot, an Excelsior-class ship under the command
of Starfleet’s first El Aurian captain, Daran; then the Sovereign-class
I couldn’t have asked for better.
Until now.
Luciano
Mantovanni was ambivalent; and he didn’t really care who knew it.
On one hand,
to see Magna Roma was an opportunity for which he’d always wished. The scholar
Edward Gibbon, in The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, had identified the
spread of Christianity as the single greatest cause of its downfall on Earth.
The idea of studying a Rome wherein that particular movement had never really
flowered—putting aside his personal perspective on the matter, of course—was
fairly provocative to his historian’s mind.
In addition,
the captain had been able to tell Lieutenant Aldus he was going home for some
leave. To watch the normally unflappable Roman nearly raise a cheer on his
bridge had been a genuine pleasure.
Unfortunately,
there were drawbacks—of which not the least was the fact that while Parihn, Aldus
and he were headed for Magna Roma,
Erika’s more than capable, as you well know, he told himself. Besides, the war’s over, and, once on site,
Before he
could begin to speculate on that,
Mantovanni pushed the thought firmly aside.
Of more
immediate concern was Parihn’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for their
destination. For much of the days-long journey, she’d simply sat in the pilot’s
seat of the runabout Susquehanna,
making minute adjustments to their course and running innumerable diagnostics.
Even Aldus had tired of such minutia after a few hours, and challenged his
captain to chess: "The greatest contribution of the Persians to
civilization," he'd called it.
Seventeen
games and 40 hours later, the Roman was still doggedly pursuing his first victory.
Two of the last five contests had ended with the captain offering him a draw.
Though he’d accepted both times, the fact of actually playing Mantovanni evenly
had encouraged him to continue trying.
And so the
journey had thus far passed: Marcus’ head buried in his hands as he studied the
board; Mantovanni occasionally glancing up from his vintage copy of Gibbon’s Decline
and Fall; and Parihn checking their systems for what eventually, literally, became the thousandth time.
Behind the
book, though, the captain was concerned.
He'd hoped
Parihn would find a way to enjoy the trip; however, such was evidently not the case.
She had,
though, been unfailingly polite when called into his ready room two days ago.
He’d been listening to a rather pointed difference of opinion between Benteen
and Aldus, and had summoned her in an attempt to settle it without seeming to
take sides.
“We were
discussing our assistant security chief’s plan to visit his family estates on
Magna Roma, Ensign. Since Starfleet is still in ‘celebration mode’ after our
victory over the Dominion, now is the perfect time for a vacation; I plan to
grant extended leave to anyone else so inclined, once Liberty reaches Deep Space
Nine and Earth afterwards.
However, the lieutenant just tendered an interesting suggestion. Go ahead,” the
captain had prompted, gesturing to Aldus.
The Roman had
calmly repeated, “I was just saying, Ensign, that rather than Commander Benteen
and Dr. Aiello accompanying me, I believe that you and the captain would be
better choices. My people were notorious for their use of Orion women in the
decades they had access to them; I’d think it would do them good to see one
serving as a Starfleet officer.”
“What’s your
opinion on that, Parihn?” Mantovanni had inquired of her, after Aldus had made
his case.
He’d been
curious as to what her reaction would be. Her friend, Arkin Jora of the USS Argus, was currently aboard
She hadn’t.
Instead, Parihn’s expression had changed in a second from open and receptive to
the best poker face he’d seen this side of Will Riker.
“It seems
like a reasonable analysis, sir.”
She’d then
fallen silent and waited. In a moment it had become clear that while Parihn had
had no intention of attempting to avoid
the assignment, neither would she volunteer.
Mantovanni
had raised an eyebrow, his gaze moving to Benteen. His X-O had obviously been extremely irritated at the possibility
of missing out on the excursion, but had maintained her equanimity relatively
well.
He’d then
decided.
“Ensign,”
he’d ordered, “assemble whatever personal effects you wish to take, and prep
the runabout Susquehanna for
departure.”
“Yes, sir.”
She’d brought herself sharply to attention before his desk. If the gesture had
been meant sarcastically, she’d given no indication.
“We’ll leave
in an hour. Erika, you’ll have the
"You’re all
dismissed.”
Other than
keeping them informed of ship’s status, Parihn hadn’t said ten words to either
of them since they’d come aboard.
Mantovanni
chided himself. Self-imposed silence wasn’t something with which he usually had
a problem; he spent so much time alone with his own thoughts that occasionally
he forgot such extended periods in others usually meant they were upset.
He snapped
the book shut, and leaned forward, tapping a quick move into the holographic
chess board.
“Knight to
king knight seven, check; mate in five,” the captain announced crisply. Before
Aldus could even speak, he rose and moved forward into the cockpit area—where
Parihn was running yet another diagnostic.
“Ensign…” he
began.
“Excellent
timing, Captain,” she replied over her shoulder. “We’re approaching the Magna
Roman home system even now… our long range sensors just detected a pair of
their border markers. No doubt they in turn have hailed the nearest patrol
ship. It should be making contact within a few minutes.” That usual
unflappability was in particular evidence a moment later, as she turned halfway
around in the pilot’s seat and regarded him levelly.
“Was there
something else, sir?”
The composure
was, in his opinion, a veneer; but Mantovanni wasn’t sure how to go about
getting past it—or even if he should. Thus,
And the
moment was lost. Just then, the runabout's panel announced a contact with a
series of low beeps.
"Long
range sensors are picking up a vessel approaching, sir," she informed him.
"I read her as a Federation starship, Soyuz-class, with an
atypically high power utilization curve; no doubt she's been significantly
modified."
An additional
electronic chime drew her attention.
"They're
hailing us… I'll patch it through."
"Federation
runabout Susquehanna…
on behalf of the Senate and General Aerus, we bid you welcome to Magna Roma.
Hold your course, and we will rendezvous with you in exactly 18 minutes."
"Send
acknowledgement of their greeting, Ensign, and tell them we look forward to our
visit."
"Aye,
sir," she acknowledged.
"Interesting
that they'd mention a specific general, in addition to the Senate."
Marcus had
come forward to stand beside Mantovanni; his observation caused the captain to
raise an eyebrow.
"Does
that imply that this Aerus has some special status within the Imperial
hierarchy, Lieutenant?"
The Roman
nodded, and replied, "Almost certainly, sir. In modern forms of official
address, usually an individual is mentioned in the same breath with the Senate
only if he's for some reason been given dictatorial powers. I was unaware any
such dispensation had occurred."
Parihn
wordlessly placed the approaching vessel on the viewer, and altered their
course slightly so as to allow a better look at her.
Mantovanni
noted the differences immediately; they were disconcerting, and to his mind, a
bit disturbing. The vessel's hull possessed a metallic, almost silvery sheen,
as if she'd been left unpainted. It was
a very different effect than the angelic whites or muted grays used by
Starfleet. In place of the Federation logo was an impressively dignified golden
eagle—the symbol of Roman power for almost three thousand years. The vessel,
upon entering Imperial service, had of course been re-commissioned; instead of
the utilitarian black favored by his organization, its name and registry were
displayed in brick red: SPQR Tacitus.
Parihn
interrupted his reflections with, "Another hail from the Roman vessel,
Captain. They request visual communication."
"Put it
through," he instructed.
The officer
who then appeared on the viewer was an older man, and fit Mantovanni's rather
cherished image of a Roman: He had slender, hawk-like features, and black hair
that had only recently begun that inevitable transformation into the silver it
would eventually become.
"To whom
do I have the honor of speaking?" he asked politely.
"I'm
Captain Luciano Mantovanni," the Sicilian answered with equal courtesy.
"Captain…
Luciano Mantovanni? This is
an honor! Your reputation as a military commander is well known to us, sir. If
you would stand by for a moment…?"
Before he
could even frame a reply he found himself examining the Tacitus again.
Mantovanni
spared a glance at Aldus. His officer didn't seem overly disturbed at having
been ignored by the Roman with whom they'd spoken, but his initial enthusiasm
seemed to have been curbed, nonetheless.
The screen
returned to the previous display. This time, the official looked visibly
excited.
"Captain,
I apologize for the delay… General Aerus requests that you dine with him tonight
as honored guests of the Senate and People of
"I
believe I've a previous commitment, sir, on the estates of my officer,
Lieutenant Aldus."
Though
surprised at the rebuff, the man was nothing if not quick-thinking.
"Nonsense,
Captain; the entire House of Aldus is invited to attend. Thereby, we avoid you
having to make excuses either to them or the general."
Aldus spoke
then.
"On
behalf of the captain, I accept. After we've settled in our quarters on my
estates, we shall proceed to the
"Excellent…
excellent… the general looks
forward to making your acquaintance, Captain Mantovanni. Your concubine is, of
course, invited to attend as well. Tacitus out."
There was a
momentary hesitation in Parihn's movements… and then she continued about her
duties as if she hadn't just been gravely insulted.
The captain
said nothing.
"Allow
me to apologize on behalf of my people, Ensign. That was entirely uncalled
for—an inexcusable error on his part."
"Oh, of
course, Lieutenant Aldus… think nothing of it," the Orion answered, with
an exaggerated politeness that bordered on the insolent. "Do either of you
require anything before I begin our final approach? A sensor scan? A massage? A
quick tumble in the rear compartment?"
"Now see
hear, Ensign…" Aldus began, growing angry in turn.
"That'll
be just about enough… from both of you," Mantovanni
announced almost casually.
Neither of
them made the mistake of thinking immediate compliance was in any way optional,
however.
"Lieutenant
Aldus, bring us in… Ensign Parihn, take a few minutes to compose yourself in
the back before we land. Despite the obvious provocation, I don't want yet
another incident to mar our arrival here."
She took one
look at his expression, and nodded.
"Aye,
sir."
After she'd
entered the rear compartment, Mantovanni quietly asked, "Care to explain
to me how an experienced Roman officer could see her in a Starfleet uniform and
still make a comment like that?"
Aldus
frowned, considering.
"I have
no explanation, sir, unless…"
They both
left the final thought unsaid.
Unless it was
deliberate.
***
The orbital
facilities were impressive: What the Roman people lacked in state-of-the-art
technological advancement, they more than made up for in industriousness.
A century
ago, Magna Roma hadn't had much of a space program; thanks, though, to the
information and technical assistance provided by First Citizen Merricus and the
crew of the ill-fated SS Beagle, their scientists had made the leap from
mid-21st century technology
to early 24th in one-third the time it had taken Earth.
There were no
less than five starbase-sized structures in orbit of the home world, and four
more distributed at strategic points throughout the system. Each contained
starships in various states of repair and construction… many of them were
former Starfleet vessels which had been decommissioned anywhere between 25 and
125 years ago.
When the
Romans had approached the Federation in 2347 and requested permission to begin
purchasing them (as the state of their planetary treasury allowed), at first
the latter had been leery. However, the neo-Republican reforms, the abolition
of slavery, and the extensive trading ties eventually convinced the Federation
Council that an independent Magna Roman Navy constituted no threat to
Starfleet; and, that, in addition, they might eventually prove to be efficient
and formidable allies.
At first, the
vessels sold had been extremely old—Soyuz- and Constitution-class
ships, mostly—and relatively toothless: It was standard Starfleet policy to
remove most if not all tactical systems from any decommissioned craft, so as to
slow the dissemination of Federation weapons technology if the ship were to
fall into enemy hands.
The Romans,
however, were in a unique position. Because it had been a Federation
vessel and crew that had initially broken the Prime Directive and permitted
their quantum leap into the 24th century, they'd already had more
than a peek at phasers, deflectors, inertial dampeners, and other necessities
of starship design. To withhold such technology would merely mean the Romans
would turn to other sources for them…
…and that
would have been to the benefit of no one.
By the early
2360's, Federation storage depots were no longer as crowded as they'd been; the
Romans had acquired, through judicious spending and assiduous labor, a
moderately-sized fleet of vessels, and were using them to explore and colonize
a number of the surrounding uninhabited star systems. They'd expanded steadily,
until they controlled what had become an impressively organized expanse of
space.
Their vessels
were no longer toothless, either: Along with the earlier designs, Starfleet had
finally consented to sell some of their later models. Now, the Roman Navy
included a few each of the older Miranda-, Constellation-, and Excelsior-classes
as well. Its pride and joy, however, was
the lone Ambassador-class ship they'd snatched up in 2369.
It was that
one—the SPQR Trajanus—at which the Liberty's officers got an
excellent look as they were escorted by the Tacitus to their niche in
the orbital pattern.
"She's
beautiful," whispered Marcus.
Gilt now in
the brick-red and gold of Rome, Trajanus had at least one change that
was far more than just cosmetic: The shipwrights had added a third nacelle,
which nestled between the others, mounted parallel to but slightly behind them
on the secondary hull.
"I'm
impressed," noted Mantovanni. "That's a difficult feat of
engineering. Your people are as clever as they are determined."
Aldus nodded
in acknowledgement. "Thank you,
sir. It's something we've been doing for some time… Roman naval officers
expressed a certain… disappointment at the power output on some of the
older vessels we'd purchased, and a third nacelle seemed like an excellent
solution."
As the Susquehanna
settled into orbit, Mantovanni looked out at the planet below. He'd hoped to
feel some sort of eagerness or anticipation upon their arrival. Instead, if the
captain were to label the particular emotion he was experiencing, he'd call it
uncertainty.
Worse than
that, though: If forced to guess at what lay behind Parihn's carefully
maintained facade…
…he'd have
laid money on nameless dread.
***
Susquehanna's computer was by no means sentient,
but it did have highly sophisticated logic subroutines; it could pose
questions, and determine likely answers by running probability algorithms. In
that, it was much like a person mulling over a difficult question.
Mere seconds
after its three passengers had beamed away, the computer was doing just that,
as it detected both the Tacitus and Trajanus locking phasers.
Like a human
in the same situation, it too found no satisfaction in the conclusion it drew…
…and even
less, microseconds later, in being proven right.
***
Parihn hadn't
left her rooms since she'd been shown to them.
The servants
in Aldus' house had been unfailingly polite, though they were obviously
startled at her appearance.
The quarters
they'd given her were spacious, bright and airy: A veritable field of flowers,
in gold-gilt urns, adorned the tables; and bowls containing an appealing
variety of fruit were prominently displayed, as well. The grounds seemed idyllic; her quarters
opened onto a garden of lush greenery that whispered of ease and conspicuous
wealth.
Surrounded by
beauty, Vaerth Parihn sat down on a bench… and hugged her knees to her chest.
***
"Why
would you bring such a creature into this house, my son?"
Marcus had
anticipated—and dreaded—that question from the moment he'd returned home.
His mother,
while receiving her guests in the atrium of the palatial estate, had
been the picture of aristocratic grace: First she'd directed Mantovanni to
certain sights in the city which might of be of interest to a man with an eye
for historical imagery. Then, she had praised Parihn's beauty and recommended
to her a number of bazaars and marketplaces at which she could acquire anything
which might make her stay more enjoyable… and offered to send her servants to
procure it.
When they'd
been escorted to their respective suites, however, Lucretia Alda had dismissed
the servants with a glare, whirled around, and made her inquiry in the manner
of one accustomed to immediate and satisfactory answers.
And so, our
relationship remains as warm and loving as I remembered it, Marcus thought.
"She is
my shipmate, lady mother; an officer in the Federation Starfleet. What would
you have me do?"
She had
obviously taken Parihn's presence as a personal affront, considering her next
statement.
"I would
have fair warning that you will inflict an Orion trollop on me before doing so.
I am still mistress of this household, she who bore you, and you will
grant me the respect I am due!"
Marcus had
become patriarch of the family during his absence: His father, a military
officer—and later senator—of some repute, had died four years ago… his mother
had taken official charge of his properties and wealth, and things had gone on
there much as they had before—until now.
It wasn't
surprising, thus, that she'd chosen that particular phrase. She'd sensed some
sort of a threat to her position, and attacked… just as Romans had been doing
since the founding of the city.
Emotions are
the foe, Marcus. Speak with reason and not anger as your guide.
He poured
himself a goblet of chilled wine. Then, he regarded her for a moment as he
downed it in a single pull, imagining the liquid dousing his ire.
"Do not
presume that you will dictate to me in my own house, lady. I am the son of my
father, and the heir to his titles and rights; you labor under the
misconception that I am still a child and must answer you when you speak. I
gave you sufficient reason out of courtesy, not because I am required to
do so.
"And do not
call my friend a trollop again. We shall not judge her by the accident of her
birth while I am master here.
"And
make no mistake; I am master here."
As he swept
from the room, he threw back over his shoulder, "I thank you for the fair
seeming you gave my shipmates." As an afterthought, he added a final
observation.
"Perhaps
you will remember to actually welcome your son home when next you see
him."
***
Despite the
beauty and grandeur around him, Mantovanni couldn't shake what seemed to him an
extremely biased view of the city.
This, he thought, is not Rome.
He knew it to
be irrational—this place was, in its way, as legitimate as the metropolis
through which he'd wandered countless times on Earth—yet the Sicilian had never
realized how important certain structures, certain… sights… had become
to him.
His peregrinations
here in the hours before their dinner with General Aerus had been, rather than
enlightening, simply… unsettling.
The people
here had been almost fanatical about the preservation of their classical
heritage; there had been no new construction within the city's environs for
over 200 years, and painstaking research—involving both ancient sources and
modern technology—had been utilized in restoring "The Eternal City"
to the way it had looked in the time of the Caesars.
This is a
Rome without an opera house, Mantovanni thought, or a university—a Rome where the Coliseum is kept
in repair, and even, on occasion, used for state functions. There are
eagles everywhere… but not a cross in sight.
One spot in
particular had drawn him: He found himself standing before the Temple of
Minerva, goddess of wisdom and daughter of Jove himself.
It had been,
on Earth, one of his favorite places—only there, it was Santa Maria,
Sopre Minerva, a lovely little church built over the ruins of a structure
that, here, was intact.
He couldn't
bring himself to enter.
This place has to be just more than an example
of Hodgkins' Law of Parallel Development.
Mantovanni
had dealt with alternate realities on more than one occasion… this set
of differences, though, did not sit well with him at all.
It's
gorgeous… and I hate it.
He had walked
the paths laid out for him, and seen the sites, like a good tourist would. But the genius—or spirit—of this
city was gone… it had been replaced by an oddly stilted reverence for what had
been. Like one of its exquisite marble statues, it was lovely, but cold.
Even today,
on Earth, Rome is vibrant, alive—still the seat of the Papacy, and the home of
the Renaissance. This one's like a
museum… or a mausoleum.
Like the
Terran Roman Empire, these people had transferred their administrative capital
to the city on the Bosporus that, on Earth, had been renamed so many times: In
antiquity, Byzantium had become Nova Roma; then to begin the Middle Ages,
Constantinople; and finally, had emerged as Istanbul in the modern world.
The version
here, though, had remained Nova Roma. It was the brow of the
bureaucracy; where the necessary administrative business of the Empire had been
conducted for 2,000 years, and still was.
However, in
their hearts, it was this city, the one in which he now wandered, that
had remained the true capital.
Considering
how cold it seemed to him, that didn't bespeak well of their spirituality.
Now, now,
Captain, he chided
himself, let's not leap to conclusions… after all, you've only been here a
few hours. Perhaps the Magna Romans will surprise you.
***
"Parihn
to Susquehanna… computer, status report."
When a long
moment passed, and there was no answer, the young Orion tapped her comm badge
again… and got the same results as the first time.
"Parihn
to Mantovanni."
Again there
was no response.
"Captain?
Are you reading me?" She noted the slight urgency in her tone, and
suppressed it brutally.
There's no
need for overreaction to what's probably a malfunction in your communicator.
Checking the
small device gave her something to do for a while, at any rate: Parihn minutely
examined everything from the sarium krellide power cell to the tiny subspace
transceiver, but could find nothing amiss.
It works, she thought. It's just not reaching
anyone.
When the hand
touched her shoulder, she nearly screamed.
Aldus found
Parihn hard at work, hunched over her comm badge. He cleared his throat gently,
once, but she didn't seem to hear him. Thus, the Roman reached for her arm…
…and grunted
in surprise as he received, for his trouble, an elbow in the solar plexus. As
he doubled over in shock and pain, he felt her grab a fistful of his hair. She
yanked his head up, preparing what looked to be a vicious palm thrust to the
face, gasped in recognition and released him immediately.
"Oh,
Lieutenant, I'm so sorry!" At once she was assisting him onto the bench
where she'd been working.
"Might've
expected… that from Benteen…" he wheezed, "but not you."
She colored a
darker shade of green, and offered him some water from a goblet set beside him
on the cool marble.
"You
startled me," the Orion explained, a little defensively.
"I
gathered that, Ensign. I shall endeavor to avoid that—and your right elbow
smash—in the future." Aldus might have been taken unawares by the
blow, but he'd recovered quickly… a deep breath, followed by an explosive
exhale, and he seemed none the worse for the experience.
"You've
been on edge since the captain first proposed you accompany us here. Might I
ask why?"
Parihn's
expression shifted from apologetic to warily neutral in an instant.
"No,
sir, you may not."
This time,
Aldus didn't lose his temper in the face of her obduracy.
"Are you
certain? There's obviously something about my people that angers or frightens
you. It's abundantly clear you don't wish to be here. I hope you're not still
offended over being addressed with that unfortunate choice of words…"
He hadn't
expected open laughter, with a touch of rancor, to be her reaction.
"No,
sir," Parihn shook her head in what seemed to him bemusement.
"I
assure you," she added, "that is the least of my
concerns."
***
"I
assure you, such procedures are standard policy on Magna Roma… I'm
surprised Lieutenant Aldus didn't warn you beforehand."
Mantovanni
nodded, glancing at his security officer for confirmation.
The young
Roman frowned.
"Sir,
when I left my home world ten years ago, all outgoing subspace messages were not
being routed through the Roman central communications net. This is a relatively
new development."
Liberty's captain turned, and regarded the
functionary with a slightly arched brow.
Parihn had
managed, thus far, to contain herself admirably: This was the same gentleman
who'd called her a "concubine" during their orbital approach; and
both her fellow officers could almost literally feel the fury radiating from
her in verdant waves.
"Very
well," Mantovanni acknowledged. "We require communication with our
orbiting runabout. Please clear us through the central net."
The man was a
professional bureaucrat, that much was sure; he smiled benignly through the
entire exchange, and then gave a typically vague response.
"I'll
take care of that directly, Captain. For the moment, if you would seat
yourselves…?" he gestured to the room beyond.
To say the
room was ostentatious would have been slightly understating it… there were a
series of low couches, upon which reclined a number of individuals dressed in
the traditional attire, the toga. The floors were covered in sumptuous
rugs, and the walls in elaborate tapestries depicting great moments in Roman
military history. The statuary was epic, displaying events from classical
mythology—or state religion, the Sicilian reminded himself.
"I'm
feeling a little overdressed," Mantovanni commented wryly, tugging gently
at the collar of his white "Class A" uniform.
Parihn
mumbled something that Marcus, from his expression, couldn't quite hear.
The captain
caught it, though.
"Count
your blessings," she'd said.
The herald
announced them in a clear voice.
"Captain
Luciano…" he then hesitated noticeably, "…Cicero Mantovanni of
the Federation Starfleet, commanding the USS Liberty; Security Officer
Lieutenant Marcus Lucius Aldus…
"…and
their companion."
Before his
officers could react, Mantovanni whispered harshly, "Ignore
it."
Aldus seemed
to have a more difficult time accepting this than did Parihn. He clenched his
teeth, and for a moment, his hand strayed in the direction of his gladius.
Then he
remembered himself.
The young
Orion smiled inscrutably at both, and observed, "It's better than
'concubine.'"
They came to
the sudden realization as they entered, that, in addition to the raised dais
upon which stood the one obviously reserved for their host, that there were
only two couches left.
"Both of
you, sit down," Mantovanni told them quietly.
"Sir,
let me…" Aldus looked scandalized; his coloring had progressed in the last
few minutes from normal, through excited, to a shade-and-a-half short of
apoplectic.
"I'm not
in the habit of repeating my orders, Lieutenant. Get hold of yourself. I need
you frosty."
At once,
Aldus' expression transformed into one approximating calm. "Aye,
sir."
Household
servants dressed in simple gray shifts bustled back and forth, satisfying the
needs of each guest: Evidently they'd arrived just in time; the tantalizing
aroma of various spiced dishes reminded each of them they'd not eaten since
arriving almost ten hours before.
Less than a
literal feast, the entire process seemed like more of a grandiose indulgence,
with each person calling for whatever they fancied at the moment, and the
servants laboring desperately to provide it.
The
assemblage seemed a little scandalized when Parihn took the seat obviously
intended for Mantovanni: Most conversation stopped as her intention became
clear.
Effortlessly,
she reclined in the Roman style, her easy grace making even the officious dress
uniform look appropriate in the situation.
Aldus, too,
had worn his "Class As", as a gesture of respect to his captain and
command; the most important aspect of his entire demeanor was a glower that was
all the more formidable for being rare.
Ironically
enough, it was the Roman who simply sat down on the couch instead of reclining.
The few glares of disapproval were met with a furious gaze that left them
looking desperately for something else to observe.
For almost an
hour, events continued apace. On occasion, the captain would tap his comm badge
and quietly address the Susquehanna; each time, his efforts proved
fruitless.
"Directly,"
indeed, he mused.
Questions had
finally begun to be directed at his officers, and he listened as they
conversed.
"You
look fit, young Marcus; service in the Federation Fleet seems to agree with
you," observed one man; an elderly gentleman who had, Mantovanni noted,
eaten very little and imbibed even less.
"Thank
you, Senator Claudius," he answered, smiling slightly. It seemed obvious
from his officer's tone that this man, at least, he genuinely liked and
respected.
"And
that spark of intelligence you possessed in your youth seems to have been
fanned into a flame. A tribute to both you and your commander."
Mantovanni
and the older man exchanged infinitesimal nods, even as Aldus smiled at the
compliment.
"A more
beneficial way to spend your day," he continued, "than stealing
pomegranates from my orchards, as you did when you were a child." There
was scattered laughter from the closest group of guests; Mantovanni smiled, and
even Parihn covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.
Marcus bore
the gentle teasing with good-natured stoicism, and inquired, "And how is
old Cerberus, who guarded your Elysian Fields so devotedly?"
"That
rangy wolfhound?" Claudius replied, now also smiling. "He's still
alive, nigh onto twenty-three seasons old now; his entire coat is white, and he
walks with a bit of a limp—somewhat like his master—but he's as keen and
cunning as he ever was. An entirely new generation of children has learned that."
Again
laughter filled the room.
"Tell
me, young lady," inquired another senator, a rotund fellow who examined
her with an intensity one might almost call avaricious, "are you enjoying
your first visit to Magna Roma?"
It was the
type of question usually asked of women when they traveled, and seemed
innocuous enough.
Unfortunately,
it wasn't.
"It's
not my first visit," she responded quietly.
"Oh?"
He seemed intrigued. "You've been here before? When was that? Why?"
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the captain thought. She can't mean…
"Nine
years ago, in the company of my master. I danced until I was nearly dead; and
then was given to a trio of Roman legionaries for a time, in exchange for 30
bars of gold pressed latinum—I was, after all, an invaluable asset."
She turned a
haunted face to the senator and finished, "Let's just say they weren't
gentle…
"…and
they weren't taking turns."
It was at
that moment their host arrived.
"General
Antonius Galenius Aerus," the herald announced, even as the man swept into
the room, cloak fanning out majestically behind him.
Whether or
not it was calculated, he was the picture of Roman simplicity: Close-cropped
silver hair; strong, handsome features; and a still-powerful build what must
have been well into his mid-fifties. While not overly tall, he had a impressive
presence; before any of the senators could react, he motioned for them to
continue feasting, and they relaxed back onto their couches.
When Aerus
stopped before Mantovanni, Aldus was reminded of nothing so much as a pair of
wolves—one black, the other silver—who'd chanced upon each other in a dark
wood.
Something
passed between them; Aerus nodded, finally, as if he'd arrived at an immediate
decision.
"Come,
Captain. You and I will dine privately."
"Very
well, General," the Sicilian replied. "I accept your
invitation." He glanced back at Aldus, and ordered, "Carry on,
Lieutenant."
Marcus
understood the full measure of his charge.
Watch over
her, Mantovanni
had commanded without words. I'm holding you responsible.
As the two
left the room side-by-side, the young Roman found himself thinking of a phrase
he'd heard on Terra while at Starfleet Academy. It had made little sense to him
then. Now, though…
You can't go
home again, it went.
Thus far, it was proving to be true.
***
In contrast
to the opulence they'd left behind, Aerus' private rooms were positively
Spartan in décor. While there were a few extraordinarily beautiful objects
d'art in evidence, they were not so many as to constitute a clutter. The
rest consisted of simple furnishings: A bed; two chairs near a small
table—which seemed to be set with a meal—and little else.
He'd
obviously anticipated Mantovanni's acceptance; two places were laid out using a
rather utilitarian set of plates, goblets and cutlery.
The meal
itself was simple, consisting of a round loaf, a leg of lamb broiled with olive
oil and garlic, a bowl of peas and onions, and a jug of what was almost
certainly an extremely local vintner's pride and joy.
Peasant
bread—one of the simple pleasures, the captain observed. He knew a Sicilian was coming.
There were no
guards or servants in evidence; Mantovanni had a feeling that the room was free
of surveillance devices, as well.
True privacy is rare in these trying times, he
noted, with an acerbic amusement.
With a
welcoming gesture and a muttered, "Please," Aerus sat, and fell to
with a soldier's single-mindedness.
It's no act, Mantovanni decided. The man is
completely lacking in self-consciousness and pretension.
How
refreshing.
They took
their meal in silence. The food was excellent; the wine was sweet and potent.
Both ate well… but drank sparingly.
At last,
Aerus sat back, and regarded his guest.
"I've
studied your career in detail, Captain. You have a soldier's fortune, or lack
thereof; battle seems to find you wherever you go."
"And yet
you invited me into your home, General," Mantovanni replied drolly,
arching a brow.
The older man
grinned.
"And I
see your sense of humor is all I heard it was—dry as the Syracusan
sun." He then chuckled slightly.
Mantovanni
decided to be direct.
"I
assume our runabout's been destroyed."
Aerus'
expression changed immediately, showing a mixture of emotions the captain read
as genuine irritation and real regret.
"My
personal apologies, captain. One of my staff was rather… liberal in the
interpretation of my orders. I assure you the Federation will be more
than compensated for the loss—double your personal estimate of its value in
gold-pressed latinum—which I shall send with your officer when she departs. In
addition, I shall make a Roman starship available to her as a transport in lieu
of the Susquehanna."
He stood and
gestured in a comradely fashion.
"Will
you walk with me, Captain?" His expression was open and friendly, but
carefully appraising as well.
Mantovanni
found himself liking this man a great deal…
…and knew
only trouble could come of it.
***
Finally, the
inevitable moment came.
"Perhaps
you would like to dance for us?" a mocking voice inquired from
across the room.
All
conversation stopped; and all eyes turned to Parihn.
The anonymity
of the comment prevented Marcus from acting. He made as if to stand, but a
pleading look from her stopped him.
This, this
was the moment the young Orion had dreaded since she'd fled her life seven
years before—that she would be again regarded as what she'd been, despite all
her accomplishments and actions since then.
To most of
these Romans, she would never be anything more than a whore.
To most of
her own people, she was outcast, and marked for death.
Suddenly, she
came to a jarring realization.
And now, again, you must decide what you will
be to yourself, and those you care about.
I shall no longer be made to feel ashamed—not
even by my own thoughts.
She stood.
As she had
done thousands of times before, she put aside Vaerth Parihn, and took up the
guise of another… only this time, she did it at her own will, and not
at a master's behest.
"Tell
your master, General Aerus, that Shomira the Sabine will dance for him—and such
guests as he wishes to entertain—in two hours."
"You
are Shomira the Sabine? Shomira the Divine? She who set the city
of Rome aflame with desire a decade ago?" The old man, Aulus Claudius,
whom Marcus so obviously respected, looked upon her with wonder, and an
expression that implied he might have recognized her before… and chosen to say
nothing. "Senators and generals offered to beggar themselves for a
night with you!" he continued.
It was as if
he comprehended exactly what she was doing, and perhaps even why,
and had acted to support her with his own rhetoric.
Parihn then whispered,
just loudly enough for him to hear, "And they will again."
The old man
smiled. He had understood.
My thanks,
Senator. Rome is not
without her honor, I see.
She pointed
to the bureaucrat who'd insulted her upon their arrival.
"Now, you
will assist in acquiring for me the servants and materials which I need to
present myself in a fashion befitting an entertainer of my fame and
reputation."
His
expression was contemptuous: It was obvious he intended to do nothing of the
sort.
Before he
could speak, though, she moved near him; then, Shomira did something
she'd not done in some years: She exerted the power within her, just for a
moment.
It left him
gasping with desire… and nodding in helpless acquiescence.
"Now
guide me to my chambers," she commanded.
"There
is much to be
done."
***
"A
development that may be of interest to you, General."
The younger
man had approached them in the midst of their constitutional.
They'd both
been relatively silent for some time—perhaps girding themselves for the
discussion to come. Just as the older man had been about to speak, though, the
message had arrived.
Taking the
note in his hand, Aerus unfolded it and scanned its contents. He considered for
a moment, then quickly scribbled a response.
"Remain
a moment," the older man commanded.
"Captain
Luciano Cicero Mantovanni," he introduced, "this is Centurion Tertius
Galenius, youngest of my three children… and my only son."
The youth
offered, "Captain," rather stiffly.
"Centurion,"
Mantovanni returned cordially.
"I
believe my son is scandalized at your middle name," Aerus told him.
The captain
raised a curious eyebrow, inviting the general to continue.
"I've
read something of the Rome of your Earth… there, Cicero is celebrated as a
demagogue and orator of the greatest skill. Here, he fell into disgrace when he
continued to speak out against the Divine Julius even after he became
emperor.
"Eventually,
a group of 'patriots' decided that he needed to be eliminated. They cut off his
head, placed it on a spear and paraded it in front of the Senate the next day,
saying, 'Your silence is eloquence enough for us, Cicero!'
"Caesar
was furious. He'd admired Cicero, even when the man had castigated him
publicly. He had those who performed the heinous act put to death—crucified as
traitors, actually—and ordered, instead of funeral games of which he knew the
clever old Roman would not approve, that no man ever take the name
Cicero again. 'Thus,' he's rumored to have said, 'when the word is uttered,
there will be no doubt of whom you are speaking.'"
It was, to
the Sicilian, a horrific story.
Mantovanni
hid most of his distress behind a veneer of Vulcan calm. When next he spoke, it
was addressed to Aerus' son.
"Considering
the circumstances, Centurion, 'Captain' will, indeed, suffice."
***
"This
is why I left," Aldus declared angrily, gesturing back at the decadence
they'd seen… and the bigotry of the minds that had somehow, in his eyes, forced
Parihn to such an incomprehensible decision.
He'd followed
to the rooms where she'd been led. Now, he addressed her through an opaque
screen—behind which she prepared herself for what lay ahead.
"Why are
you doing this? You don't have to do this!"
A long,
silent moment passed.
Her voice was
firm. "Yes, I do," she replied simply. "You're just too
young to understand."
Marcus
snorted in derision.
"That's
ridiculous; I'm two years older than you, Parihn."
At that, she
peeked her head out from behind the screen.
"I stand
corrected, Lieutenant." When she saw him relax, slightly mollified, she
then added her clarification.
"You're far
too young to understand."
***
Aerus, rather
than dismissing his son, had instead allowed him to remain and listen.
"As you
know, Captain, we Romans have been expanding our territories slowly, adding to
our defensive forces both through our own building programs and the
generosity of the Federation.
"The
Empire now has colonies and bases in eleven different star systems, as well as
a space fleet equipped to supply and, to a certain extent, protect them."
Aerus stopped
at a pair of marble benches that straddled the path, and they sat.
"But
we've arrived at an impasse. According to our strategists, we've reached what
they're calling 'critical mass.' In other words, if we were to grow any larger,
we'd run the risk of garnering the attention of more powerful political
entities, while still lacking the tactical capability to protect
ourselves."
"Perhaps
a period of consolidation is warranted," Mantovanni suggested.
"If only
that were possible," Aerus answered levelly. "Unfortunately, recent
events have made it clear that we won't be left alone to do so: Near the
end of the war, about nine months ago, a Jem'Hadar task force attacked System
L-74—what we call the Gracchi system. They destroyed both our orbital base
there, and the small squadron of starships sent to offer battle.
"Then
they reduced the colony at Gracchi III to ashes."
"This is
the first I've heard of this," the Sicilian quietly observed.
"We
Romans do not cry when we lose a battle," Tertius interjected
angrily. "We prepare for the next one."
"The
Vorta ambassador sent to address the Senate," Aerus added, "told us
that there would be no further reprisals against Roman space—so long as we
stopped allowing Federation vessels access to our shipyards and facilities.
"Otherwise,
they would return… and make an example of us."
Mantovanni
nodded. "You didn't stop your aid, though."
"We
could not… we were honor bound to assist you… you were our allies."
Aerus leaned
back against the oak behind him, and continued.
"In that
moment, we began feverishly constructing starships and bases with which to
defend ourselves in the event of another Jem'Hadar attack. We knew better than
to ask for Federation vessels; you had problems enough on your own fronts.
"Despite
all our efforts, though, we knew that if they came again, our defeat would be
swift and humiliating." The Sicilian could hear what that admission cost
Aerus. He was proud, and the knowledge of his helplessness must have been
galling.
"Fortunately
for us," he continued, "the war ended a month after that, and we've
not been graced with another visit by the Jem'Hadar.
"Now,
though, other challenges have become apparent. The Talarians attacked the SPQR Hadrianus
only three weeks ago, while she was evaluating System M-22 for possible
colonization. They demanded we cease our efforts in those directions, and
further ordered us to withdraw from four systems that have been in Roman
hands for over two decades… now that we've provided the infrastructure
and industry, they're claiming those planets are Talarian domain."
The Sicilian
shook his head. "How convenient for them."
"In
addition, the Sheliak have warned us that we if we expand further towards their
territories, we'll be violating the Treaty of Armens. Despite our
protestations that we are not Federation members—and thus not bound by
the stipulations of that document—they don't differentiate between us and you
Terrans. Their answer was, and I quote, 'to cease gibbering' at them and 'obey
treaty stipulations.'"
"That
certainly sounds like a typically Sheliak response," the captain affirmed,
somewhat sarcastically.
"Thus,
we've been forced to conclude that aggressive action is our only option: Our
plan is to seize certain strategic points along the Talarian border, using
vessels we've constructed in secret over the last few years. Then, when they
counterattack, as angry barbarians are certain to do, we shall—with ample
justification—end the Talarian threat once and for all."
"Then, after
the Talarians are eradicated," his son added, "we'll deal with
the Sheliak…"
"…et
Carthago delenda est," Mantovanni finished. …and Carthage
must be destroyed.
Tertius'
expression grew furious; he struggled to contain his towering anger… and
succeeded only in part.
"If
Caesar were alive, he would support us!" the younger man declared; an
indignant glare frankly dared the captain to dispute him.
Mantovanni's eyes narrowed dangerously,
and he replied, "Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris." If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an
oar.
The boy rose
angrily, and grabbed for his sword.
"Let me
punish this… Sicilian upstart,
General! His head should adorn a pike in your gardens."
"Now that sounds familiar," the captain noted dryly.
Then his
voice turned cold. "Don't make threats you can't carry out, Roman. It would be a tragedy to kill you right in front of your
father."
"Gentlemen,
please," Aerus intervened firmly, giving each a warning glare. It
lingered, though, upon the centurion. "I expect better behavior from you,
my son. Now leave us."
"This is
not finished, Mantovanni," Tertius warned, as he stalked out of the room.
"He's an
excitable one… easily goaded," the general mentioned. "He's bright,
but he doesn’t yet understand the effect of a calculated insult in the way men
such as you and I do."
Mantovanni
observed soberly, "He also speaks out of turn. General, he should be
serving with someone other than you."
Aerus nodded.
"It was a concession to my later years that I might have my sons near me…
but it doesn't seem to be working the way I'd hoped it might.
"You're
either too lenient, or too demanding," the older man continued, half to
himself. "Why is it that men cannot guide their sons easily into adulthood?
"No
matter," he dismissed it. When next he spoke, it was to unleash a
thunderbolt of which Jove himself would have been proud.
"I ask you to join us."
***
Marcus was
surprised when summoned to watch "Shomira" dance.
For a moment,
he thought to refuse as a statement of protest, or even a strange form of
solidarity, with his fellow officer.
Then he
remembered Parihn's voice when the beautiful young Orion had told him she must
do this, and realized that the least he could do was watch.
Disturbed and
sick at heart, he took his place on the couch, reclining in the manner of his
people unthinkingly. He noted that the players and their instruments had been
placed in a partitioned area near the edge of the room, and that the screen
hiding them was opaque.
It was a wise
precaution. Too many times he'd seen the rhythm falter during such a
performance—when the musicians found themselves under the dancer's spell.
A pair of
chairs had been brought for Aerus and Mantovanni: Despite himself, Aldus
smiled; no doubt the captain was somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of reclining,
and his host had graciously decided to sit alongside him.
The crowd had
swelled in the young Roman's absence. Among the seemingly innumerable senators
were a number of guests from off world; no doubt they were here to seek the
general's favor in some manner. Near a group of older politicians stood a
Vulcan, perhaps a dealer in kivas and trillium. His curiosity about the
dancer would be, no doubt, somewhat… clinical.
Marcus then
noted both a pair of Talarians—military officers, from their garb—and, in
dismay, those with whom they'd chosen to keep company.
Orions. Three
of them.
They were
dressed well… if pirates, then indeed they were successful ones. The tallest of
the three obviously outranked the others. He wore the traditional adornments of
a merchant—the gold and gems which spoke of opulence—and his guards had the
practiced ease and unmistakable look of casual killers.
In the
moments before the performance was scheduled to begin, Marcus tried to catch
his commander's eye; but it seemed as if the Sicilian was either distracted, or
avoiding it.
One of the
functionaries bowed to Aerus, and the general gestured in reply; the lights
dimmed, luminescent panels replaced by torches… and the music commenced.
It was a
flute, high and sweet. Marcus, despite having seen Orion women dance any number
of times, had never heard it begin with anything other than the beat of a drum.
Already this performance was notable.
Her kin had
taken notice, as well. The leader motioned towards the open floor, and…
…she was
there, in the midst of the circle; folded in upon herself like the bud of some
flower. Somehow, she had taken her place in the moment their eyes were
adjusting… and now lay poised in the silence.
As she rose
to sound of the drumbeat, and he saw her, Marcus gasped.
She was green.
It was not a trick of the light, that much he knew; somehow, she had contrived
to regain her normal coloring in the scant moments since he'd seen her, from a
darker shade of pale to an emerald in the firelight.
When she
began to dance in earnest, he tried desperately to remember her as a fellow
officer, a comrade-in-arms and a kindred spirit.
It was a
futile gesture, at best.
At first, she
moved almost languorously, as if the beat itself were compelling her motion;
hovering on the periphery of the couches, she circled the room as if staking a
claim to its bounds. More than once, a ham-handed senator reached for her. Each
time, though, she was like quicksilver; slipping away, laughing with her eyes
at their clumsiness… and never breaking the rhythm.
There wasn't
a sound but the music, which increased now in tempo, as she made her second
circuit—and began simply to leave behind the silks in which she was adorned.
Each piece seemed to land in a man's lap; he clutched it like it would give him
new life.
Perhaps, in a
way, it did.
For long
moments this continued… until she was clad in but a final shift of the
impossibly delicate Tholian fabric; translucent, it would seemingly do little
to hide her body—but she moved so swiftly now, that it was almost impossible to
see her clearly. A hint here, an intimation of clarity there, but never once
did she pause in her inexorable journey.
As she again
passed near the two chairs whereon sat her captain and her host, the music
changed again, becoming swift and compelling… and she began to whirl.
Marcus had,
on Earth, seen the dervishes of Sufi Islam, who would enter a trance and spin
until it seemed that they must die of the effort.
This, though,
was different; he felt something stir within him—not just an aching in his
loins, though that was undeniable. It was a longing, to see this woman…
…to know
this woman…
…to possess
this woman… forever.
The music ceased.
Her garment
was a silken pool at her feet, and for a moment, she was before them in a glory
none had ever before seen. Just as he thought he'd captured the vision, that it
had seared itself into his thoughts, the lights were extinguished for not more
than a second…
… and when
they flickered again to life, she had gone.
The only
thing that could be heard was the breathing of the men, as they sought for her
in vain. They did not even think to applaud; the wanting of her was too
compelling to allow that much thought.
Aerus himself
ended the moment. He stood and shook his head, as if throwing off an
enchantment. Motioning for Mantovanni to remain seated, he approached Aldus.
"It is
time that you and I speak, young Marcus. Come."
The young
officer came to his feet immediately, confused.
"Now,
General?" he asked.
Without a
word, the older man swept from the room.
At long last,
the whispers of wonder began.
Casting an
almost desperate glance at his captain, Marcus hoped he would receive a signal,
some indication of what he should do.
Again,
Mantovanni steadfastly avoided meeting his eyes… and the Sicilian's expression
was like nothing he'd seen before.
"Let the
Son grant that I act rightly," Marcus prayed, and hastened after the
retreating Aerus.
"A truly
extraordinary experience," marveled one of the Romans. Despite his obvious
excitement, he seemed somehow disappointed or frustrated; like a gourmand
denied a sumptuous repast after having been seated, and the food laid out
before him.
"I've
seen the dance of Orion animal women on more than one occasion," he
continued. "Without fail, they all make you somehow think they want you and
you alone; you feel as if their eyes never leave you, even if they only
spare you a glance during their entire performance.
"This
woman was… different." His eyes grew hooded as he remembered.
"An extraordinary dancer, perhaps the best I've ever seen, but… distant.
Her gaze never touched me…"
He didn't
have to say the rest. It was in every man's thoughts.
Yet I wanted
her more than I have any woman in my life.
"Who
owns her contract?"
The Orions
had wandered over to the small group of senators who had gathered near where
Mantovanni still sat brooding.
The
Sicilian's eyes flicked once towards him, and then returned to their intense
gaze at nothing.
Senator Aulus
Claudius, chuckling, replied, "No one. She is a free woman—an officer in
the Federation Starfleet."
"That is
not possible," the merchant practically sneered with indignant
scorn. "Orion animal woman are never…" his voice trailed off
as Mantovanni finally turned and regarded him with an expression that bespoke
of the hinterland between a distant storm… and a sudden conflagration.
"I would
suggest you choose your next words with extreme care, Lord
Hyraskin," Claudius mentioned, almost casually.
"She is your
officer?" the Orion asked, putting a more than necessary emphasis on the
possessive.
The
Sicilian's eyes narrowed.
"She's
an officer on my ship, yes."
Hyraskin
bowed slightly, and stated, "My apologies. I meant no offense. I
was merely expressing my… surprise."
The captain
gave no answer; he had already returned to his unfocused glare; and thus he
remained for a long moment.
Abruptly he
stood, and strode off in the direction Aerus and Aldus had taken.
He would now
give answers…
…and have
them, as well.
***
"Shomira"
watched herself in the mirror, as the pheromone suppressant she'd administered
slowly took effect, and the jade green of the dance slowly faded into memory.
Let them
aspire to me, she thought
with satisfaction. Let the memory of it plague them until time itself comes
to an end. I am unique unto myself; I danced because I wished to do so,
and they were a faceless sea of desire. I was not their object.
They were my
audience, to do with what I would.
Every man had
sought her eyes; only one had waited to see if she would offer hers…
just as she'd known he would.
The drug had
done its work, and the woman Vaerth Parihn appeared again, like a ghost of her
other self.
She was two
women; this she understood.
Now, though,
she knew she could live with both.
***
"Captain,
this man is the reason to stay!"
It hadn't
taken Mantovanni long to find Marcus. The young Roman had, after a short
conversation with his world's most famous commander, set himself outside Parihn's
rooms, and deflected every attempt to see her—as per her request.
"It's
obvious that he made an impression on you in a short time, Lieutenant," Liberty's
commander observed quietly. Marcus was more animated than Mantovanni could ever
remember him being.
"He can
make the Empire again what it should be, Captain… and you could
be a part of it. The Federation's won the war with the Dominion… your
Earth is safe… we could join General Aerus, without shirking our
duties. He mentioned he thinks you came with me because Dame Fortuna wished
it; that with you as his right arm, he could make Rome a worthy ally of the
Federation, rather than just a pretentious client state."
"The
Federation doesn't think of Magna Roma that way, Marcus, as you well
know."
Aldus' expression
grew angry.
"I'm
aware of that… however, we Romans think of ourselves that way, and it is
intolerable to us!" the younger man declared. "The Federation
has done so much for us, sir; and we were helpless to aid you in the
struggle against the Dominion. What could we have done? Thrown one small,
outmoded fleet at the Jem'Hadar? They would have laughed at us! Laughed
at the Roman Empire!" Aldus was furious at the very notion.
Mantovanni
responded with calm incisiveness.
"I note
that you're already referring to the Federation as 'you' and the Empire as 'us'
in your rhetoric, Marcus. Have you something you wish to tell me?"
Aldus faced
his commander squarely.
"I've
been in Starfleet service for 12 years, sir—four as a cadet, and eight on
starships. In that time, I've never been home. That means I've accumulated a
full year's worth of leave.
"I wish
to take it now."
The captain's
voice remained even; however, it was clear the answer to his next question was
of great interest to him.
"Will
you be serving on Roman vessels during that period?"
Now Aldus
looked uncomfortable. Still, his gaze was unwavering.
"Yes,
sir. The general believes that a brief period as an executive officer will hone
my skills sufficiently that I might command a frigate in a few months."
"What
about your duty to the Federation?" Mantovanni asked.
Aldus finally
cast his eyes downward. "I know," he whispered, "but this is
more important. If forced to choose…"
"'…between
my state and my country, I find that I must choose my state,'" the
Sicilian finished.
"Sir?"
"Something
a great general, Robert E. Lee of Virginia, said long ago, when he found
himself in a position similar to yours."
Marcus nodded
sadly. He didn't remember Lee clearly—a general, he guessed, from Terra's
Revolutionary War, if he wasn't mistaken—but the sentiment was apt.
"Let me
ask you this, sir… would you not follow him, were you a Roman?"
After a
moment of thought, Mantovanni came to a decision.
"Consider
yourself on extended leave as of this moment, Marcus; you may further take this
statement as authorization from a Federation representative for you to serve
the Roman Empire in any capacity that does not bring you into conflict
with your duty to the United Federation of Planets."
He added
quietly, "Don't make me sorry I did this."
Aldus was
shocked; he'd obviously been prepared to resign his Starfleet commission, and
now wouldn't have to do so.
At least for
now.
"Sir,"
the younger man protested, "won't Starfleet Command…?"
"I'll
worry about Starfleet Command, Marcus," Mantovanni interrupted. "Do
your duty for Rome and General Aerus as you did it for me, and we'll speak
again in a year."
The young
Roman, however, wasn't finished. He touched his captain's arm.
"You
must have two years' leave accumulated. Won't you consider
staying? A noble cause, men of valor and a fleet of ships await your command.
You're more a true Roman than many who've worn the imperial
purple!"
Liberty's commander absorbed the compliment in
silence, before turning to leave the room.
His last
words left his young officer stricken to the heart.
"This
Rome has already shown me, Marcus, that it has no room for a Cicero."
***
"You
will go?" asked Aerus. His tone was resigned; his expression,
disappointed.
"I have
to go, sir," Mantovanni answered honestly. "I have oaths I swore
which mean more to me than my desires." From another man, it would merely
have been a politic thing to say.
These two,
though, knew better.
The older man
frowned. "It is regrettable… but I had to try. You must have come
here for a reason. Did you at least consider it?"
"I did…
however, personal idealism only rarely extends beyond the person,
General—especially in a place so set in its ways as is Rome. Your son is an
example of that."
Aerus nodded
in acknowledgment, conceding that the captain had indeed scored a point with
his observation. However, he was not unprepared to respond.
"That's
why I need men such as you."
In later
times, Aldus would remember Mantovanni's expression in that moment—so replete
with subtle contemplation and understated emotion he wondered how even such a
man as he was could contain it all.
"Might I
have the Susquehanna back now, General?"
What?! Aldus thought. He glanced at Parihn,
who looked equally thrown by the statement.
The elder
Roman inclined his head infinitesimally. "She awaits you in orbit,
Captain."
"Wait!
You… said he told you he destroyed it, sir…!" Marcus exclaimed, completely
confused.
Both wolves,
silver and black, regarded him silently—and he realized that for all he had
learned, he was still guileless compared to these two.
"Tests
and deceptions have abounded here, young Marcus Lucius Aldus," Aerus told
him. "Fear not, though; no one has been found wanting."
The Supreme
Commander of the Roman forces surprised them all by suddenly bowing to the
young Orion woman. Her mouth opened in shock.
"Ensign
Vaerth Parihn… Shomira… you are truly more than the sum of your
parts."
For a moment,
she darkened again, this time in embarrassment… and gratitude.
She could
only whisper, "Thank you, my lord." It was the first time she'd used
the phrase in eight years… and, perhaps, the only time in her life she'd given
it any sincerity.
When he
addressed Mantovanni again, his voice was full of a genuine warmth that Aldus
hoped would one day be used when speaking to him.
"Captain,
your reputation does not do you justice. I would desire to have you as my guest
again, at your convenience."
They clasped
arms as warriors were wont to do, and the Sicilian spoke with a prescient
certainty.
"You're
a dangerous man, Antonius Galenius Aerus… and I daresay your ambitions and my
duty will bring us eventually into conflict."
"Then I
shall prepare for that day, Luciano Cicero Mantovanni," answered the
general, "and rue it when it comes."
There was
something in the air, as if destiny had quickened around the two men. Aldus
could practically reach for it… but he knew that this was not meant for him.
Aerus seemed
to wrestle with himself for a moment, then came to a decision. Again he met the
captain's eyes with his own, and declared, "Then I must ask of you a
favor."
Mantovanni
smiled slightly.
"If it
conflicts with no oath of mine and it is in my power, you will have it."
"Then I
give my son into your care," Aerus announced loudly. "You will teach
him the things that I cannot. Do not think to protest, Captain," he
proclaimed, even as the Sicilian tried to speak. "I hold you to your
hastily spoken oath."
It didn't
happen often, but Mantovanni was speechless. Surrendering to the inevitability
of the situation, he inclined his head in amused resignation.
"The Trajanus
will serve as your escort," Aerus continued. "After all, the Orions
are hardly trustworthy, and they departed a few hours ago. No doubt they were
hoping to coincidentally encounter you on your trip back to Federation
space."
"No
doubt," Mantovanni echoed. It was clear that this had long ago occurred to
him; he was pleased that now he could put such peril from his mind.
"Even a pair of blockade runners are no
match for the most powerful ship in the Roman fleet. You will arrive at your
destination ahead of schedule, no doubt.
"It will
also be a worthy guard of honor for my son. He is already aboard," he
added meaningfully.
"Farewell
to you both." Without a glance back he turned and left the room.
The events of
this meeting had, evidently, proceeded much as the general thought they
would.
Marcus
wordlessly bowed in turn to each of them, first in the manner of a soldier to a
beloved commander, and then that of a man to a great lady.
Then he
followed Aerus towards his destiny.
***
"I'm
sorry."
If there was
something Parihn hadn't been expecting her captain to say, it was that.
They were
sitting—until then, silently—in the passenger module of the Susquehanna,
and had been for almost an hour. Trajanus was shadowing them… and, of
course, because she was, there'd been no sign of the Orions.
"Whatever
for, sir?" she asked.
"I
shouldn't have ordered you to come on this trip. I should have…"
She took the
risk and interjected, "What? Magically known something from my past
that isn't in Starfleet records, and that I've told no one? That's
rather silly."
Mantovanni
raised an eyebrow.
"Not
a word customarily used to describe me or my actions, Ensign."
She looked at
him squarely now, with a hint of the fire with which they'd touched in the last
moment of her dance, and smiled.
"I'd
think it's apparent by now; I'm not a woman of custom, Captain."
Parihn smiled
with enigmatic relish.
"Do you desire
anything of me, sir?"
As she'd no
doubt known they would, his thoughts flashed back to the last time the Orion
had said something of that sort…
…and just what
she'd offered then.
Luciano Mantovanni found himself
considering his response far more carefully than he would have thought.