To betray in deepest consequen

To betray in deepest consequence: an alternative DS9 ending.  
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     "On the other hand, they are just as likely to convince you to betray us!" Weyoun sneered.
     
     Legate Broca, formally of the Third order, son of the legendary Gul Herok Broca and now the leader of the glorious Cardassian Union, had picked a odd moment to have a sudden epiphany.
     
     This isn’t going the way I thought it would. Perhaps the alliance had not been the best of ideas and it should have been someone else here today. What do I do now? Broca knew that he had a reputation for a certain lack of intellectual rigour and that he was considered to have coasted on his families long and stalwart service to the Union, riding his father’s coattails into a Gulhood but he had also saw himself as a loyal and solid solider for whom authority was naturally obeyed. As he had been an efficient staff officer and maintained correct contact with his immediate superiors his passage to the dizzying heights of central command had been assured without the dangers of combat and the attendant risk of death.
     
     It just made sense to him that the Union needed those with the ability to take the long route and see the bigger picture; after all, anyone could command a Galor.
     
     It was only now that Broca could see just who he really was; a gutless coward so obsessed with maintaining his position and perks that he had allowed himself to become a pathetic puppet who was horribly complicit in the brutal murder of over two million of his fellow Cardassians.
     
     They are first son, before power, honour or any glory. We are Cardassians, it is our privilege and our duty to serve and protect them from all enemies, at any cost. Do not let any baubles and useless titles sway you from that righteous goal.
     You are a Cardassian my son. Now go and be that Cardassian that I know you can be...
     
     With his father’s final words ringing through his head, Enbak Broca made his decision and became a Cardassian once more.
     
     “No”
     
     It was just a simple word. Oft misleading to so many and yet here delivered with the upmost sincerity. Unfortunately for the Founder and her Dominion lackeys, irony was not added to their genetically engineered souls. It was a mistake that would cost them dearly.
     
     Weyoun smirked in that irritatingly self satisfied way of his and turned towards his god. “You see, we can trust Broca, he has always been most loyal...”
     
     Before the Vorta could continue his smug patronizing speech, the Legate made his move.
     
     
     
     There are many things that could and have been said about the sentient beings that originated from Cardassia Prime, the conniving ruthlessness, rampant arrogance and overt pomposity to name but a few and yet amongst all of those there was one salient fact often ignored.
     
     When seriously riled a Cardassian was a truly deadly killer.
     
     The Klingons had their Brak’lul, the Jem’hadar where born soldiers and even the humans when placed into a dangerous situation could become fearless warriors, but the Cardassians had one rare advantage that trumped all others.
     
     In times of great stress or combat the Cardassian body could force itself to undertake great feats of physical strength and dexterity for a short period. The Humans, who had a paler version of this ability, call it adrenaline but the Cardassians had no name for it, simply due to the very rarity of its occurrence.
     
     Whatever it was, Broca put it to very good use. He moved with a startling economy of grace, lunging directly at the closest Jem’Hadar, yanking his plasma rifle out of his hands and with a swift pivot, firing two deadly bolts into both spindly faced minions, killing them both. It had happened so fast that even the genetically engineered reflexes gifted onto two of the Founders finest were lamentably unable to react in time to save their own lives.
     
     Weyoun watched the bodies hit the floor and as his world came crashing down around him, there was only one thought cascading down his terrified soul. No, this should not be happening. I did not see that...
     
     His ruminations found themselves rudely interrupted by the full force of Broca's weapon slamming into his jaw, knocking him unconscious with a sickening crunch and sending the last clone of the celebrated Weyoun line crashing ingloriously to the hard cold surface of the Central Command.
     
     Broca could barely think at the time but even then, as he turned his weapon toward the hapless Founder, he had to wonder just why he had decided to keep the irritating little Vorta alive...
     
     For her part, the being known as the Founder Leader had finally found herself in the exact position that the Great Link had always feared, the scenario that drove them to create the Dominion and to impose their own permanent peace across the galaxy, a drive that had brought her here to this violent solid and her own ending, at which she was her own nemesis. The milliseconds seemed to pass like days for the decaying shapesifter as the being who was worshiped as a god across half a galaxy faced a brief eternity at the end of one of her own weapons.
     
     Unable to change appearance due to the crippling disease and isolated from her loyal servants, the supreme commander of the mighty Dominion had just one last card to play.
     
     Begging for her life.
     
     “Broca, I...”
     
     
     
     The Founders pleas were curtailed by the inarticulate roar of the temporarily insane Cardassian as he turned the rifle on the being that had caused his people all this pain and suffering, who had forced him to condone the massacre of his fellow Cardassians and through her people’s interference, had destroyed Cardassia’s vitality and strength.
     
     He fired dozens of high energy bolts into the ruined husk of the Founder never stopping until the floor itself was blackened and ruined, all the while screaming with all the pent up rage and self loathing that had been boiling up within him though the years.
     
     Suddenly Legate Broca came down to Prime as the murderous lust left his body, forcing him to stagger over to the main communication console and use its weight to keep himself in a manageable standing position. He looked around the bunker seeing the dead bodies strewn across the floor and the pile of ash representing the mortal remains of the founder in an incredulous trance.
     
     
     
     Broca slowly recovered from his excursion into madness and he began to realise the full force of what he had done. Not these murders, which had become for him an exercise in self preservation and a cathartic release, but the wretched entirety of his misbegotten life.
     
     Every act of sniveling, toadying, cowardly misdemeanors and embarrassing failure haunted him. Every time he had betrayed confidences for his own short term gain and hidden on the Homeworld whilst others had fought and died for his safety. Disgust gripped him and he directed the barrel directly at his worthless face, fully intending to commit a final act of redemption.
     
     That was when he happened to glance at the displays dotted around the command bunker.
     
     The battle in throughout the Cardassia system still raged on with the Federation Alliance being joined by the revolting Cardassian Fleet. Meanwhile, on Cardassia itself millions of Jem’hadar and their new Breen allies awaited instructions from the Founder...
     
     That’s when it hit him.
     
     Yes, so you’ll never be a warrior, with the same glory that your father had. But you’re not him; what you are is Enbak Broca, aide, organiser and bureaucrat.
     
     A slow smile spread across his face as he leaned over the console and got to work...


     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     Wikuon flinched unashamedly as another explosion tore through the bridge of the Battleship that he served on. He had no idea how any of this could have come to be, all he could see was the once mighty Dominion Expeditionary Force on the verge of suffering a massive defeat, and it was all due to those ungrateful Cardassians whose arrogant refusal to accept their place in the glory that was the Dominion which resulted in this humiliation.
     
     He seethed inwardly as he recalled the three Galor class Destroyers that had crept up on his rear and then fired a volley of plasma torpedoes into the shield generators, crippling his vessel and forcing him to hide amongst the fleet. Not an easy task when you’re one of the largest ships around as the pack of Klingon,Romulan and Cardassian warships headed their way could attest to.
     
     In an abstract way, he admired the Cardassian’s timing since it had expertly delivered near victory to the enemy and as one for whom betrayal and disloyalty were the bread and butter any successful coup de grace was enjoyable.
     
     As long as it doesn’t happen to oneself, he considered wryly grabbing hold of the command podium in order to stabilise himself from the constant rocking of the behemoth around him. “Second” barked First Gen’khom, “order Breen squadron omega to provide cover for us while we affect repairs.”
     
     The subordinate Jem’hadar worked the controls with practiced ease for a few seconds then, hissing with anger and a surprising level of fear turned to both the First and the Vorta administrator to make a troubling report.
     
     “Long range communications from Headquarters are down again, I can’t hail the rest of the fleet. The Breen ships seem to be ignoring all other Dominion ships and are taking a course out of the battle.”
     
     Wikoun refused to believe the ridiculous notion that the Second had essayed. “Preposterous!” he spat contemptuously. “Why would our allies abandon us?”
     
     He used his personal viewer to scan the conflict zone, noting with dismay the ruined order of battle and the increasingly battered Jem’Hadar vessels. He saw the Breen fleet attempting to leave the battle at high impulse, fleeing like the untrustworthy gutless cowards that they truly were.
     
     Stifling the automatic expletive that sprang to mind, Wikoun watched helpless as the Breen entered warp leaving the defenders of the Dominion to face an angry Alpha Quadrant alone. There was a certain joyless pleasure in watching the Breen taking horrendous losses in their retreat as it seemed that the aft impulse manifolds suffered an inconvenient susceptibility to weapons fire, something that the Alliance took impressive advantage of. Not to mention several of my more alert comrades mused the Vorta, having watched the Jem’hadar ships nearest to the Breen punishing them for such arrant treachery with a hail of polaron beams.
     
     Once the war is over we’ll deal with that scum. Shaking all thoughts of the Breen from his head Wikoun ordered the First to move the ship closer to her remaining sister vessels.
     
     “Still no news from HQ?” he asked, more in hope than expectation.
     The Second shook his massive head. “No sir must be Cardassian sabotage again. I shall keep trying.”
     
     Wikoun nodded, once again filled with pride in his Jem’hadar soldiers. “Very well, lock targets on...”
     
     He stopped midsentence as he saw a crippled K’vort cruiser approaching the main engine casing of his once proud dreadnaught at full ramming speed.
     
     “Never mind”
     
     As the ship erupted in flames around him, Wikoun’s last thought was that given the circumstances, perhaps being the last clone of his line was for the best...
     
     
     
     
     It had taken a few minutes but he had it down to a fine art form. Broca immediately sealed all the chambers throughout Central Command and quickly released a fatal dose of neurazine gas into each one. Unfortunately this meant the death of several other Cardassians but sadly this could not be avoided.
     
     Once I’m finished here I shall be joining them he thought without any bitterness or recrimination. Other than that, he had fabricated instructions for all Dominion ground troops to remain in their barracks and prepare for any possible invasion attempts. What a blessing the Cardassian mind was.
     
     With the Dominion in perfect disarray in both land and space Broca used one of the more obscure Cardassian encryptions to alert the troops that their oppressors had become completely vulnerable and open to sudden attack. Not that it was needed really, since the wanton destruction of Larkarin City had galvanized the revolutionaries massively but the welcome news that the Headquarters was out of commission had spread like wildfire and widespread assaults bedeviled the occupying forces. As an added element to the dance of death skipping across Cardassia, Broca unleashed the full power of the Central Defense Grid against the unsuspecting Dominion ships in orbit. All suffered existential loss within but seconds.
     
     Broca found a triumphant laugh escaping from his chest as he watched the viewscreen in sheer delight, if this carries on, we shall be free very soon.
     
     His smile became even wider when he realised just who was trying to get into the building.
     
     Looks like Damar is coming home.
     
     Legate Broca made ready for his illustrious predecessor...
     
     
     
     
     
     “Then the explosives that we brought aren’t even going to make a dent in it” Kira Nerys said with displeasure. She was crouched down in the ally surrounding the massive form of the Cardassian Central Command with a troop of Damar’s Rebels (as she had mentally dubbed them) desperately trying to find a way inside the fortress.
     
     “You see the problem” Garak murmured unhelpfully. Ekoor, the young gorr who had saved them from a Jem’hadar firing line earlier in what had been a most trying day so far looked around impatiently. “What do we do then?” he hissed urgently.
     
     All eyes turned towards the stoic figure seated in the middle of the group.
     
     Corat Damar, the former leader of the Cardassian Union and current living legend resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious hero worship in the faces of his fellow Cardassians. Even Garak for Prime’s sake, he bemoaned internally. Why do they keep looking at me for the answers? I’m not their messiah, just a pissed off Cardassian!
     
     He cast off his worthless self pity and addressed his loyal army thusly; “I don’t know but I’m through hiding in basements.”
     
     For some inexplicable reason, this set Elim Garak off in a fit of barely suppressed laughter. Damar, irritated at the further display of eccentricity from the former Obsidian Order spy growled at the older man. “I fail to see what’s so funny, Garak...”
     
     Garak turned to him, his whole body shaking with mirth. “Isn’t it obvious? Here we are making ready to storm the castle...willing to sacrifice our lives in a noble effort to slay the Dominion beast in its lair and we cannot even get inside the gate!”
     
     The rest of them all stared blankly at him until the inherent absurdity of their situation sunk in. At which point they all dissolved into manic laughter. This lasted a few seconds before Kira could calm down enough to speak again.
     
     “We could just knock on the door and ask the jem’hadar to let us in...” This set off another round of laughter which was interrupted by the surprising sound of the heavy door in front of them opening with a loud boom.
     
     There was a stunned silence at this as everyone stared at the entrance in surprise which was only broken with Garak’s muttered comment.
     
     “Well major, it would seem that they heard you!”
     
     
     
     
     A few minutes later Damar and his group had walked in mystified confusion though the hallways and corridors of the headquarters, encountering nothing but dead Jem’hadar lying slumped across doorways and on the floors. They were all deeply puzzled until Damar recognised the distinctive smell of the Neurazine Gas.
     
     “Why would Weyoun have all the Jem’hadar killed?” One of the other Cardassians who had joined them asked. Damar snorted, “Perhaps he was sick of watching us die? Anyway that does not matter; we’re almost at the briefing room.”
     
     The door was still locked and Damar gestured to Ekoor who sprung into action laying several explosives at the base and sides of the heavily armoured entrance. Before he could finish his work, the door suddenly opened and the resistance was greeted with a shocking visage.
     
     “Broca!”,Damar and several other outraged Cardassians yelled bringing their weapons to bear. The lanky Legate held up his arms and moved out of the way.
     
     “Before you shoot me, a fate that I truly deserve, please hear me out!” With outrage still brazing in his eyes Damar ordered everyone to lower their weapons. He strode up to the former puppet and hissed a dire warning to his successor.
     
     “This had better be good, traitor!”
     
     Broca maintained contact with Damar as he used his left arm to encompass the whole room. “You are of course right, Damar, to call me a traitor and I have indeed committed heinous crimes against our people; but I have tried to do my admittedly limited best to make some small atonements for my wrongdoing.”
     
     Kira laughed mockingly at this spineless Kuas Oakling. “Oh yeah, we can all see that, hiding in this room has really helped to free Cardassia!” Broca merely looked at her, lifting an eyeridge in that always annoying way that the Cardassians seemed to have mastered.
     
     “Maybe you aren’t looking close enough, commander.” He said.
     
     Frowning, Kira Neryrs of Bajor (and Starfleet pro term) glanced around the small room suddenly noticing the dead Jem’hadar and the ash pile before she alighted upon the recumbent form of that unmitigated bastard Weyoun.
     
     Garak looked at Broca with a seeming ...respect. “Was this you doing?” he asked in a low voice.
     
     “Yes, plus all the others throughout the building, not to mention the chaos with the garrison on Prime” Broca answered without false modesty.
     
     Ekoor glanced at the monitors quickly collating all the pertinent data therein. “He’s telling the truth, its chaos out there, the whole planet has risen up against our oppressors!” The bunker was rocked with glorious cheering as the rebels begun to celebrate, with some even busting into ‘Cardassia forever ‘
     
     Sons and daughters of Cardassia stand with pride and strength...
     
     Damar had to put a swift halt to the premature rejoicing as he pointed to the main display showing the chaotic battle being fought above. “We have too much to do now before we can celebrate, our comrades are dying as we speak and our allies are still locked in battle with those dammed Jem’Hadar. We have much work ahead of us.”
     
     It was at that point that Weyoun finally recovered from his earlier beating. The sight that welcomed him was rather disconcerting, to say the least.
     
     “Well hello there!” said Damar, an eager smile on his face.
     
     Weyoun felt a terrible coldness run though his body. This will not go well for me. Thought the Vorta with a severe case of understatement...
     
     
     
     
     
     Days passed and amongst many other things, the blood soaked conflict known as the Dominion War finally ended.
     
     The abrupt surrender of the entire Dominion military sent ripples across the Alpha and Beta quadrants stunning Admirals, senators and ordinary citizens alike, it was discussed by the Chancellor of the august Klingon Empire as he took Bloodwine with a Captain and an Admiral whilst on Earth a Bolian President and his aide tried to work out just what had happened.
     
     Regardless, it was a time of great celebration and joy for most, although there were many exceptions to prove the rule.
     
     
     
     As he looked out at the ruins of a once great city, Gul Verak Djimas was left totally empty by the war’s climatic ending. He bent down to pick up a piece of the rubble, turning it over and over in his gray palms repeatedly. Dozens of other Cardassians, Humans and even Klingons picked their way across the desolate cityscape. Attempts to look for survivors had proven to be useless as the Dominion assault had been total.
     
     Two million Cardassians, sentient beings with loves, fears and desires, who had often just been concerned with providing for their families and serving their planet. Now utterly wiped from the universe by a depraved adversary.
     
     “Where did we go wrong Verak?”
     
     Dijmas dropped the piece of Lakaria and stared into the distance. He felt Ocett’s presence next to him but he could not find the words to meet her heartfelt query. Her boots caused a crunching sound as she stepped over rubble and detritus, moving into his eyeline as she looked towards the blackened patch of land where the fabled amusement centre used to stand. “I went there once” she said pointing at the wreckage “My father took me there before I...”
     
     Gul Malyn Ocett stopped mind sentence as the realisation struck her and the formerly implacable leader broke down in tears for her lost city and family. Dijmas found himself doing something unimaginable, something that no self respecting Gul would have ever done before. He moved to his fellow Lakarian and placed his arm across her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.
     
     They would soon recover and resume their roles as soldiers of a reborn Union but for now, they both mourned the past and looked to an uncertain future.
     
     
     
     It hung in the darkness of space, an artificial construction of solemn beauty or unholy terror depending upon whose opinion you sought. For over fifty long and heartbreaking years it had been the site of a brutal unremorseful struggle, in which the mere act of survival entailed extraordinary courage. Then, for four hopeful years it had been a gateway to a new era in exploration, both in the stars and the very souls of the people dwelling within. Soon after the terrible drums of war had sounded and it had become a fortress paying a heavy blood price to the altar of suffering. Now it once again stood on the cusp of a new and brighter age.
     
     Once it was known as Terok Nor, now with the hopes and dreams of ages gone and ages yet to be she basked in the brilliant glory of her new name; Deep Space Nine.
     
     Today history would once again embrace the station.
     
     
     It took place in the main briefing room, which had been especially decorated for this auspicious occasion. The flags of each of the victorious powers owned a place of pride along the walls. The noble eagle of the Romulan Star Empire, its dual Homeworlds firmly protected in its mighty talons, the blood red trefoil of the glorious Klingon Empire displaying the blood of the countless warriors who had given their lives over the centuries, and the serene blue flag of the august United Federation of Planets encompassing all the stars that sheltered under its loving benevolence.
     
     Two more flags joined the three victors, that of the host planet; that most heroic Third Republic of Bajor, the holy symbol of the Prophets representing the profound and enduring faith of the Bajoran people. Next to it was the flag of the most surprising member of the winning side in this war, the Union of the Cardassians. The sigil of that ancient and mysterious guardian of the legendary Tret Akleen himself, the hooded Galor, was the centrepiece of the illustrious banner of this most controversial nation state.
     
     The reason why the Cardassians had such a historic place on this very day stood at the head of the table, feeling very uncomfortable.
     
     Castellan Corat Damar stood quietly between Admiral William Ross of Starfleet and Chancellor Martok of the Klingon Empire. Damar had decided to forgone wearing his military uniform, feeling that it would bring too much negativity, especially here of all places. In fact he had made it his first order of business to retire from the Central Command and had planned to either disappear from public life or to stand trial for his actions.
     
     However the need to rebuild the damaged Union and to head off any attempts to infringe upon the sovereignty of same, had required firm leadership and who better to provide it than the legend of the Cardassian Rebellion himself?
     
     Thus, logic and firm reason resulted in a humble freighter Glinn continuing his bewildering rise to the top and to a former drunk failure of a dominion puppet now accepting the surrender of his once erstwhile allies.
     
     What an odd game fate plays with us all, Damar mused with a rueful inward smile.
     
     His ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of the Dominion signatories. Several unrecognizable Vorta along with two scowling Firsts slowly made their way to the opposite side of the table with the final member bringing up the rear, Weyoun.
     
     The now defunct senior administrator of the Dominion in the Alpha Quadrant stepped toward the center chair never meeting the eyes of anyone present; his face was even paler than usual as he slumped in his chair, the very image of a broken, beaten man.
     
     “Shall we get started” he spoke in a bitter defeated voice.
     
     
     The hours passed swiftly as the treaty was finalized. Its resulting terms were, as to be expected, punishing for the invading Dominion. All ships and other military equipment and personnel to leave via the wormhole, no Jem’hadar boot was to remain in the Alpha Quadrant, with the evacuation to be completed within a standard Bajorian week. A number of senior leaders, including Weyoun would remain behind to undergo war crimes trials and the Dominion was to provide reparations to every party that had suffered through this war. Furthermore the Dominion would accept responsibility for all acts of terrorism and war crimes that could be directly attributed to either the Jem’Hadar,Vorta or the Founders.
     
     Since the issue of Cardassian war crimes would be dealt with separately by the four powers, the Dominion also had to accept de facto blame for the actions of its Breen allies since the Confederacy had not seen fit to send anyone to the signing.
     
     This fact had briefly united all present in mutual disgust at the Breen.
     
     Still, the final treaty signing went ahead without any complications, and as Weyoun signed the document, there seemed to be a general sense of accomplishment amongst all present.
     
     It was finally over.
     
     Admiral William Harold Ross picked up the Padd containing all the signatures that had been required to confirm the treaty and, with a glance around the room, the Starfleet Commander in Chief started to speak.
     
     “Four hundred years ago a victorious general spoke the following words at the end of another costly war...
     Today the guns are silent. A great tragedy has ended.”
     
     He paused briefly to take a deep breath. The room remained in a state of deep contemplative silence as he continued;
     
     “We have known the bitterness of defeat and the exultation of triumph and from both we have learned that there can be no going back. We must go forward to preserve in peace what we have won in war”
     
     Damar found himself struggling to maintain his composure as he dwelt upon the heartfelt speech by the admiral, myriad thoughts and emotions rampaging through his mind.
     
     He remembered all the millions of Cardassians who had lost their lives in this war, the worlds that had been devastated and the hash struggles that would follow the ending of this conflict. Then, other events, phrases and moments came to the forefront...
     
     Kira, her eyes locked on his as she caustically asked him in a voice devoid of all pity and feeling, “Yeah Damar, what kinds of people give those orders?”
     He had hated her with all the fire and passion in his soul, the causal heartlessness, the complete arrogance. How dare she, how DARE she! Damar stood glaring into her eyes with disgust before silently walking to the cockpit of the runabout, not ready to face the loss of his wife and son.
     In the end it was Rusot’s death that had begun the change, once again he gunned someone down in cold blood but this time something better would arise from his ruthlessness. And that night, in an empty compartment of their captured ship, Corat Damar wept for the first time as he accepted the bloodprice for his terrible actions as he mourned the loss of so many, including a certain young women whose only crime was to follow her heart . Something that Corat Damar of Cardassia had never done before...
     
     
     As he came out of the darkness of his wounded psyche he found that Ross’s powerful words had provided him with the final inspiration he needed. It would be a long and hard road but both he and his people would make that journey across the darkness into the light, he vowed solemnly to himself.
     
     
     Weyoun slowly made his way up from his chair and with a surprising serenity, chose to respond to the Human’s impassioned entreaty.
     
     “It is my fervent hope and desire that day will mark the end of the cruelty and evil of this war, a war that has cost us all too dearly. In signing this treaty, the Dominion will take its first steps towards true cooperation with the rest of the galaxy and, we shall do whatever it takes to achieve that most noble of goals. And, though it may mean little to all who have lost so much, I hereby apologize for the actions of our people, during this war and throughout our contact with you.”
     
     The Vorta had spoken earnestly, without a trace of his former artifice and mockery. His understated yet powerful words had every single being there present reacting with a surprised feeling of relief and even admiration for the moral courage of their former foe. Silence still reigned as the Dominion delegation made a slow and dignified exit.
     
     Understandably no one spoke or even moved for what seemed forever until on voice broke though the contemplative air.
     
     “I think that this calls for a celebration!” said Damar who was surprisingly upbeat having just made a series of crucial decisions that would create a whole new epoch for his people.
     
     Now, he definitely needed a drink...
     
     
     
     
     
     Thank Oralius that the treaty signings went off without a hitch, thought the new head of the Cardassian Central Command, makes the job a whole lot easier. Not that it would be a barrel of laughs anyway, as Verak Dijmas was just finding out for himself.
     
     Sighing softly to himself, the newly minted Legate studied the complicated arrangement on the main viewer. He saw the Union, bruised and shaken by war but undeniably, indefatigably whole.
     
     This meant that the overstretched fleet had to work itself to the bone in maintaining the order and sovereignty of their territory, a task made somewhat less onerous by the success of the Dorvan V treaty. The DMZ was no more, with all the Federation colonies either rejoining the UFP or establishing themselves as independent entities, meanwhile the Cardassian worlds had all opted to rejoin the Union with the surprising addition of several bordering worlds.
     
     Already teams of Cardassian diplomats traveled to each sovereign world surrounding the Union hoping to achieve successful relations. If they follow Ambassador Garak’s successes then we should have a large measure of external security. Since foreign affairs were beyond his preview, the Legate turned his attention back to the trouble spots of his nation.
     
     “Have Gul Erem take the Netork and the Betak to Harkourm and investigate any possible mercenary activities. Check with JaGul Occett on the status of our joint excises with Starfleet and I want hourly updates on that convoy headed to Europa Nova.”
     
     He inhaled and prepared to bark out another string of orders when an amused voice stopped him in his tracks.
     
     “You do know that it is not a requirement of a Legate to lose his voice do you? Believe me; I’ve dealt with more than a few in my time.”
     
     Dijmas turned and smiled warmly at his friend and much needed ally.
     
     “Akellen, I did not except to find you here today! What brings you to these dusty old halls?”
     
     Gul Macet of the Second Order clasped his superiors hand firmly and grinned. To millions of people such a sight would have been distasteful and it would have filled them with disgust just to hear the merest sound of his voice. Luckily Macet was a far better man than his mysteriously disappeared cousin and he had gained the respect of many for his honesty and integrity.
     
     “The Trager is undergoing further repairs and I thought that I would give my crew some much needed relaxation, plus there is the trial of course.”
     
     Legate Dijmas felt a sour depression as he remembered the much publicised war crimes tribunal that began in several rotations. He had thrown himself into his work with abandonment even going so far as to avoid the trial of Weyoun and the other dominion leaders. He did not want to think about that day when he had seen his city in ruins...
     
     Well, enough of this self pity Dijmas rebuked himself, time to get on with things; Cardassia was not rebuilt in a day! He looked at Macet and chucked. “I think that you might be one of the wisest men I know Akellen. Come, join me for some kanar and we shall talk of brighter things! How is young Mekor doing...?”



     
     
     
     
     
     He sat in the cell, listening to the hum of the forcefield, his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Enbak Broca, once a hated minion and traitor, a man who had climbed the dazzling heights of legateship, was now just a prisoner of the state.
     
     This, as far as he was concerned, was a perfect justice.
     
     He heard the sound of several boots approaching his location and as he forced his eyes awake, he saw who had come for him. “It’s time” said Castellan Damar softly.
     
     Broca gracefully stood up and walked to the entrance to his cell patiently awaiting his fate. He looked towards the newly elected leader of Cardassia with expectancy, sure that he wasn’t going to have to wait long for the verdict.
     
     He was right.
     
     A scarce few years ago and Damar would have gleefully shot dead the man in front of him with no moral disquiet and then dumped the body in a landfill outside the capital. Now, he found that he honestly regretted the news that he had to bring.
     
     “You have been found guilty of the following charges by a supreme tribunal of the Cardassian Union. Firstly that you did, with malice aforethought, collude in the deaths of over two million Cardassian citizens. Secondly that you did knowingly collaborate with a foreign power in the subjugation of the Union and her citizens. And finally for the crime of leading Cardassia in a war of aggression against the entire Alpha Quadrant. The sentence for which is death.”
     
     At that last Damar met Broca’s glance with an apologetic look. Both men knew that there was an expedient hypocrisy in these brutal charges, Damar had led the Union for a longer period than Broca and his hands were just as stained with the blood of the innocent.
     
     Unfortunately since the true architect of this disaster, Skrain Dukat, was missing from the known universe; someone had to be the scapegoat for this terrible failure.
     
     Damar was now an icon to his people, his fate and cruel punishment was to live for them, a burden that he had happily embraced.
     
     As had Broca, who finally welcomed his own destiny in the grand scheme of things. He calmly crossed over the threshold and took the first steps into glory.
     
     
     Legate Enbak Broca had found his Place.