Dominion Support Vessel 323-742-5669, Hellbaum Sector:
Vonbran leaned back in his chair and rubbed his deep violet eyes, fighting off the exhaustion that had been plaguing him for the last several days, the closer they approached the Test Site. He had to make sure that everything was perfect, everything was right. The alternative... the alternative...
"Vorta."
Vonbran rose to his feet when he saw the Jem'Hadar enter: two soldiers, led by their First, Asara'sos. Vonbran tensed, as he always did when Asara'sos appeared, their beady reptilian eyes fixed on Vonbran like prey. It was a widely-held belief that the genetically-engineered soldiers of the Dominion were almost as loyal and obedient to the Vorta as they were to the Founders.
It was a belief without much foundation. In truth, without the Vortas' control over the Jem'Hadar's Ketracel White to keep them in line, these gruff, ugly feral monsters would rip into Vonbran and turn him into some sort of paste. They still might, if Asara'ros ever receives the Word. The Word that the Founders were fed up with Vonbran's lack of progress, and were ready to kill the Vorta and replace him with his clone successor.
He was currently Vonbran-7. He had come to life four months ago when Vonbran-6 was liquidated over his last major failure. And he knew nearby, Vonbran-8 was waiting, waiting to accept Vonbran-7's accumulated memory engrams, periodically updated and stored.
Still, he didn't have to end up like his previous versions. He was a brilliant scientist, if he did say so himself, and his initial experiments had been promising. Certainly promising enough for the Founders to give him a ship, a small Jem'Hadar task force, and the freedom to test it out on a planetary scale.
He could do this. He
would
do this. "Is there a reason for this disturbance at such a critical time?"
Asara'ros regarded him, glancing with disdain at the chair Vonbran preferred, the Jem'Hadar seeing such items as displays of weakness... then offering the same disdain to Vonbran himself. "We have entered orbit, Vorta. There are Federation grain freighters fleeing the system. We are prepared to destroy them."
Vonbran regarded him; the Jem'Hadar was a valuable resource to the Founders and the Dominion, but they could be vexingly fixated on their insatiable lust for combat. "Civilian ships? No Starfleet vessels?"
"No, Vorta."
"Then let them go."
"What?"
"Chase them out of the system, but do
not
fire unless fired upon first. We are here to bring order to the people of the Alpha Quadrant, not needless destruction." He smiled. "We are not barbarians."
The First and his two guards bristled. And almost protested. But Asara'ros straightened up. "There are vessels on the planet, preparing to launch."
Vonbran nodded thoughtfully. "No doubt wishing to escape as well. Shoot down any that reach orbit; they'll get the message, and stay planetside. I want test subjects on the surface for when the Conflagrators sweep over- what's this place called again?"
"Gault, Vorta."
Vonbran smiled; he knew, of course, but wanted to make Asara'ros answer to him in front of his soldiers. "Gault, yes. Put us in orbit, while I make the final calibration to the warheads. You may leave."
They didn't leave.
Vonbran tensed, but otherwise showed no reaction as he asked evenly, "What is it?"
Asara'ros nodded to the equipment in the rear of the lab. "The orders are for you to update and transmit your brain engrams on a daily basis, Vorta. In case something should happen to you."
He stared back.
You mean, in case you get the orders to turn me inside out. Or even if you
don't
get the orders.
But he smiled and nodded, mentally preparing himself for the rather unpleasant process ahead. "Of course. Victory is Life."
"Victory is Life," Asara'ros chanted in reply.
And pointed his gun in the direction of the engram recorders, and the tank containing his potential successor.
No, my erstwhile replacement. I am not ready to let you take over just yet.
*
SS
Claridon
, Deck 11 Poolside:
Ensign Zir Dassene reclined in the deck chair, staring up with wonder through the dome to the planet the ship was orbiting, a beautiful, terrifying gas giant of swirling lavender and lime colours, with tiny planetoids in tighter orbits moving between the two.
The pool area was crowded, but everyone else seemed more interested in splashing about, drinking and flirting, while music played distractingly from speakers near the bars. Zir didn't begrudge anyone their fun, however; the passenger liner had been contracted by Starfleet to provide shore leave to personnel near the front lines, whenever there were no planets or other facilities nearby. And the Thirteenth Fleet certainly needed it.
She was clad in her plain black one-piece swimsuit, a modest costume compared with what many of her comrades preferred. She didn't care, though at least she had grown enough in confidence not to be self-conscious about being ogled by others; it helped that, unlike the last time she had worn it, on Sherman's Planet, she wasn't surrounded by lascivious civilians who wanted to hit on an Orion girl, given her people's reputation.
Her world, her people, seemed so far away these days. And not just astronomically.
Her attention returned to the here and now, as a tall, pale-skinned human male with short, straw-coloured hair, clad in a baggy sleeveless shirt, shorts and sandals, approached, carrying tall, skinny, colourful drinks in his hands, handing one to her as she sat up, and he took a seat on an adjacent deckchair. "Sorry it took so long; there was a big crowd at the bar."
Zir sucked from the straw in her glass, her eyes widening at the tartness of the liquid... and the potency of the alcoholic components. "Yes... and I saw a big, handsome barman there too. Did I see him whisper something to you?"
Peter Boone flushed a little at her observation. "Maybe."
"His cabin number?" she invited with a sly grin.
He tasted some of his own drink and pretended to be distracted by some poolside hijinks, responding only with, "Maybe."
Zir's smile became a grin, feeling herself blush as well at the memory of her early days on the
Surefoot
, when she had first met Peter, and had allowed herself to be strongly attracted to him, before learning he was gay. Then she recalled the amused advice from Counselor Hrelle on the subject:
You're allowed to be attracted to someone you know won't return it, so long as you don't let it affect how you otherwise interact with them.
"Are you packed and ready to go?"
Peter nodded. "The transport is scheduled to depart here tomorrow at 0600 Hours."
"Think you'll have enough time to get together with Mr Hunky Barman?"
He sipped his drink, smacking his lips. "No... but it's nice to be asked." He looked at her. "Are you sure you don't mind me going?"
"Are you kidding me? It's your
daughter
! If you have the chance to go visit her, take it! How often are we that close to Gault, and with enough off-duty time for you to get there and back?" She sipped again. "Especially after all we've been through."
He nodded. "Thanks. I'd invite you guys along, but... it's all farms. Farms, and people talking about farming." He shrugged. "Stalac might enjoy burrowing, though."
Zir chuckled. "At least it'll get him out of the casino; he's barely left it since we boarded yesterday. I think he's developed a gambling addiction." She sipped again. "You're gonna get me drunk."
"It's medicinal; Doctor's Orders."
"You're still studying. And aren't you going to be specialising in Counseling?"
"Still applicable. I want to make sure you actually relax while I'm not here, and not worry about us."
"I'm not worrying."
He smirked. "Hence the talks you gave to Tori about not getting into fights, or Urad about not overindulging in the Cafe, or Astrid about not... well, being too much Astrid. Think about yourself for a change." His expression sobered a little. "Have you heard from Niles?"
Her own expression mirrored his now as she nodded, and drank more deeply, as if to avoid responding as long as possible. "He'll be back on Earth in two weeks... out of Starfleet. He's sorry he couldn't handle the pressures. He's sorry for leaving us. And he... dropped hints about our remaining a couple, despite his decision."
"And how did you respond to that?"
She breathed out, feeling the alcohol reaching her head now, and wishing she had eaten more for dinner earlier that night. "I told him No. It wouldn't work out for either of us. He needs to recover from the traumas he experienced and think about a new direction for his life."
"So do you," Peter pointed out.
She nodded. The events of the Battle of Khavak had affected them all, in varying ways: as victims... and as killers. They had been given an initial clearance by the Counseling staff upon their reunion with the Thirteenth Fleet, but that didn't mean they were magically over what they had undergone.
For Niles Angstrom, a young, gentle Medical cadet on another squad who had become someone very special in Zir's life for a brief time, his recovery took him out of Starfleet, and out of Zir's life. She didn't begrudge him that; more than a few people had left the Service, or were discharged, because of the War. "When we last talked, he was dropping hints that we could still have something, despite the distance and his leaving Starfleet. I told him we would always mean something to each other, but not in a romantic way." She looked up. "Did I do right?"
Peter smiled, momentarily distracted by a passing broad-shouldered, tanned man wearing very little, before responding. "As a Counselor-In-Training, I wouldn't be qualified to say. As your friend, I'd say Yes. I think Niles was important for you, your first real intimate partner -- one
you
chose, not one forced upon you -- and I'm sure you'll always remember him affectionately. But I don't think either of you wanted to settle down, marry and have a passle of kids."
Her eyebrows rose. "'Passle'?"
"One of Doc Masterson's words."
"Of course. And did he say how much was in a passle?"
"I didn't dare ask."
