Libernobis

Major Kira had been good for what she said, which surprised Weyoun. He didn’t expect the Bajoran to arrange for him to see one of the precious orbs, but she had. Perhaps his spew about understanding another culture was affective on the Major. As it was, he had no interest in learning more about the Bajoran faith. At least, not in the spirit of understanding it better for more cooperative relations. He did want to see one of these orbs, products of wormhole aliens.

They weren’t gods.

The Bajoran prophets were nothing more than non-corporal aliens that lived in a wormhole and needed validation from a backwater race of wrinkle nosed aliens. By going and seeing their fancy lightshow and their ridiculous rituals, it would only reinforce in him that the Vorta were far more superior to the Bajorans and the Founders, well the Founders were the only true gods. He only wanted this experience because if you understood a people, it made it easier to dominate them. The first time, the Vorta failed their gods because they didn’t understand the Federation. If they did, they would’ve been able to defeat them. The Bajorans were part of the Federation and near the wormhole. Understanding them was important.

And, Weyoun admitted this only to himself, he wanted to reassure himself that these prophets paled in comparison to the Founders.

“Ambassador, this is important information.” Weyoun drew his attention back to the old, bearded, leather faced vedek that was telling him about the orb. Sure, his mind was elsewhere, but Weyoun thought he could stand to have a better tone than that. He was, after all, the Dominion representative. Breathing in deeply, Weyoun waved him on.

“I was listening. Please, can we get to it? I’m afraid that much of my day is already committed to meetings.” Weyoun smiled and looked to the vedek expectantly, who hesitated, and then began leading through him an archway that led to another room. Against the wall Weyoun saw the flickering light of candles and as they rounded into the chamber, he saw that dozens of candles were on tables that lined either wall. At the other end was an ornately decorated box, one of which he knew contained the coveted Orb of Time.

Silently, Weyoun watched the vedek extract himself from the chamber before he turned back to the front of it. So, their gift from the prophets was in that box. The Vorta knew that he couldn’t transport it away, but the idea was there, posing some small temptation. Still, he wasn’t there to cause trouble; the Dominion was supposedly finished with that. He was only there, in that temple in front of this artifact of some alien race, to gain better understanding and, on a personal level, to validate the Founders and their superiority. Approaching the box, Weyoun assumed the proper position and sank to his knees in front of it. Breathing in, expecting to be dazzled, he reached out and opened the flashy box.

Once the white light that overwhelmed his vision faded, Weyoun blinked, startled when he was staring across at a group of Vorta that appeared to be adolescents. The ground moved beneath him too and it wasn’t nearly as steady as a ship, but fast moving and in only one direction. The window behind the chatting group was rapidly changing with the racing car they were in. Plush trees of a green color, with a slight blue tint, would abruptly become the silver-grey of buildings and glossy black windows. This pattern of trees and building, nature and man, continued before he turned his attention away.

He’d never seen such a variety of Vorta in one place. The group of adolescents in front of him was just the beginning and, further along in the cylinder shaped vehicle he saw three men in similar dress with dark patterned jackets, larger handheld communicators, and very neatly styled hair. Beyond those he saw a set of young people. These, though older than the group directly in front of him, did not carry the same appearance of age that he did. Both were dressed nicely; the young man had his arm around the young woman and Weyoun noticed with interest that she seemed to smile and blush each time he leaned over to whisper something in her elongated ear. One time, he even saw the man lick over her ear, which caused the woman to gasp in and smile, face slightly clouded by arousal for a brief moment. His attention was so intent on the couple, who no one else seemed to notice, he didn’t hear the person closest to him.

“Rujhah,” This time he felt a hand on his shoulder. Weyoun very nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked back at the speaker. “I don’t know what you’re staring for, Mah’lel isn’t exactly a hag.” He blinked at the snickering laughter before summoning up some concept of composure.

“I apologize, what were you saying? It’s been a long day.” Using the classic excuse, he was relieved to see his apparent companion wave it off and shift his feet. Weyoun did note that like the three men, both he and this man were dressed in similar clothing. Patterns of green, dark gray and black patches covered his outfit while his companion’s was similar with lighter grays and blues.

“I had been telling you that the stocks in the company are looking better than ever. It looks like all the ethical nuts finally lost the battle.” This seemed to be a victory for the blue suited man.

“That’s very good for us then,” Weyoun replied, trying to appear interested and knowledgeable about the conversation.

“No shit,” the man replied before continuing. “Have you been able to talk Mah’lel into at least considering cataloging her DNA? With you working for the company, you two can get it for free. By the time it hits the public market, can you imagine how much they’ll charge for the cataloging, resurrection, and harvesting of Vorta? It’s different when we resurrect people’s pets, a few hundred rekas, maybe a thousand for the higher and bigger breeds, but for a person?” He shook his head. “You’re looking at ten-thousand. Easy.”

Ah, in this illusion, his people appreciated cloning. Weyoun still knew the rumors, murmured from the lips of defective Vorta, were just that: silly little rumors. The Founders brought cloning to them, once they made them more than unintelligent animals.

“She is still undecided about it.” Weyoun replied casually. “It might take it going public to convince her. Hopefully though. Who wouldn’t want that?” He replied, fully confident of that statement at least. The idea of having only a single lifetime was terrifying. How difficult it must be for non-Vorta to know that one fatal blow and that was it for them. There was no resurrection, no waking up as a new clone. What a horrible existence.

“Exactly! As much as those tree dwelling faggots cry about cloning, you know that if they were shot and dying, they’d be begging for the cloning and mapping technology so that they’d just go to sleep and wake up in a whole new body.” He watched the man’s thin lips turn up into an almost bitter expression. “I say that society would be better to just build a high fence, stick ‘em all in it and let them spread their diseases until they all die out.

Weyoun was silent a moment. “Why die when you can live forever through clones? Never get old, never get sick, and never be afraid of accidents.” He shook his head. At least he understood this part of the conversation. He smiled when the man in the blue suit agreed with him again. The topic moved to something not quite as informative to him. His companion’s name was Favrel and his wife, Ashaka, was a plumper, shorter woman, more so than Favrel liked. Weyoun also discovered that Favrel had to purchase an expensive bracelet for his mistress so that she wouldn’t tell Ashaka about their relationship. He was going to get it before going to his son’s playoff game of Rusken against the Wall Park Saints.

Soon, Favrel and he both exited the vehicle, which he discovered was a silver metro train with a very streamlined and sleek design. It ran on tracks above and below the city, providing views and multiple stops in many areas. The trip gave Weyoun the chance to develop a distasteful opinion of Favrel, as well as to people watch. By the time the romantic couple had gotten off, he’d seen her stand and straighten her skirt, tugging it down over her knees while the male had discreetly fastened the clasp of his pants. Realization had dawned on him, though Weyoun covered it up before Favrel could comment on that in addition to everything else. They were engaged in sexual conduct in public! He didn’t want to think about how offensive that was or about the amount of audacity they had to have to perform like that in public. It was bad enough that people did it in private.

Apparently, he and Favrel regularly ‘carpooled’ to work. While the idea of spending more than the necessary time around the other man wasn’t appealing, getting to some place of relative privacy was a necessity. It was with that in mind that Weyoun risked life and limb in Favrel’s black private car so that the man could take him home. After getting out of the car and seeing the purple lights of his vehicle disappear around the corner, Weyoun savored the sweet smell emanating from the blooms on a nearby tree. Funny, he never noticed that kind of thing before. Perhaps it was a result of seeing every single moment of every single clone he’d ever been flash before his eyes in the span of just a few minutes.

Shaking his head, Weyoun then rubbed his eyes as he listened to the sound of his feet fall on snugly placed stone. The door to his home was lit up by six soft white lights set in either the wall around it. As he approached, they brightened and a purple light at face level activated. He paused, almost stumbled, as a beam erupted from it and quickly scanned over his face. A chirp of sounded and he read ‘Welcome home Mr. Rujhah Connard’ on the screen. Taking that as a positive, Weyoun reached out and opened the door.

The home, he discovered, was decorated in hues of green and brown. They were colors frequently found in nature, though Weyoun couldn’t say if it was tasteful or not. He had no sense of aesthetics.

“It’s about time. I already put the baby to bed.”

Weyoun turned to see a woman with long hair approach him. It was thick and curly, seeming to hug her face and shoulders like an outfit. The lilac colored robe she wore was nearly the same shade of her eyes and Weyoun could identify the peeking presence of white lace over the v-neck of the tied robe. Suddenly, he regretted not appreciating aesthetics. If he did, maybe he would know if she was as beautiful as he thought she must be.

Remembering that this was a role, Weyoun allowed the woman to rest her hands on his shoulders and kiss his lips. Distractedly, he noted that her lips were soft. “I’m sorry I’m late,” He apologized, wondering what had made him so late. Was it not normal for him and Favrel to take the train? Either way, it seemed to be forgotten as Mah’lel took the communicator he’d carried the whole time and placed it on the side table.

“You must’ve had a really hard day,” Mah’lel commented as Weyoun followed her through the home. He could smell an aroma, which he discovered was reminisce of the dinner Mah’lel made. Sitting down at the table with her, Weyoun picked up the fork and knife that Mah’lel had out for him. “Rujhah,” Weyoun looked up to Mah’lel’s face. Her eyes were large and vaguely reminded him of two almonds set in her face. Of course, her eyes weren’t dark but light purple, like the petals of certain flowers, and her pupils were black. Again Weyoun wished that the Founder saw fit for the Vorta to appreciate aesthetics. He thought with Mah’lel’s pale skin, she would’ve been beautiful.

“I know that with work you can’t tell me things,” Mah’lel hesitated “but I’m here for you to…to lean on.” She gave him a smile. “I know Favrel is a good friend, but I don’t want to become like Ashaka. I’m not…” Mah’lel hesitated again and offered another smile. “I’m just not prepared to lose my best friend,” For a moment, Weyoun didn’t say anything but looked at her and tilted his head. “You won’t,” He replied in a tone of honesty.

Favrel was thoroughly unpleasant in every way so far. They way he talked, acted, smelled, every bit of it screamed…piggish. Favrel was swine embodied in a person if Weyoun had ever seen it. The man should be wallowing in his own food and feces if only there was to be an accurate representation of him. And, Weyoun was certainly not piggish. Small dog perhaps, always scurrying after his masters, but at least dogs knew to use the paper and where the food bowl was. And, he begrudgingly admitted, they were easily trained too.

“I promise, I will never be like Favrel.” When she smiled to him, Weyoun smiled back and watched her stand. Mah’lel moved to him and bent down, giving him a long kiss “good, because I wouldn’t put up with it if you were.” He smiled to her as Mah’lel walked out, presumably to bed given the hour. Once she was gone, Weyoun’s smile faded and he looked down to the food. Without much haste, he set about cleaning up. As a servant of the Founders, he was accustomed to assisting, but as a diplomatic Vorta, he wasn’t accustomed to serving. There were Vorta for that, who were cloned, worked and died to serve other Vorta. Still, he didn’t see any of them here, and he didn’t know what this ‘orb experience’ could do to him if he failed to play along.

Once everything was cleaned up, Weyoun began a systematic search of the house, beginning in the family room. In this search he discovered some valuable information about Rujhah Connard and the Connard family. There were three of them: a baby boy named Rahlen, Mah’lel of course, but curiously enough, he didn’t look like Rujhah. Rujhah was taller than him, appearing a bit younger and with a longer face. Weyoun confirmed that he still looked like himself with a quick glance in a nearby mirror. Ha! It was a trick of these prophets, that’s what it was. The Founders didn’t have to trick the Vorta into following them with illusions. Weyoun sat back expectantly, waiting for another bright light to envelope him. Once it did, he’d be sitting back in front of the orb. When a full minute went by and the only sound he heard was the groans of the house, the Vorta gave a disappointed sigh and stood up. Damn orb.


The next few days didn’t go by nearly as fast as Weyoun would’ve liked. He spent fourteen hours a day away from the house, and once he got back Rahlen and Mah’lel demanded a certain amount of attention. Worst yet, he couldn’t excuse himself—he and Mah’lel shared a bedroom! Luckily, she hadn’t expected him to perform husbandly duties yet. Sure, he knew how technically. It was standard that diplomats know how to sexually woo a potential spy for a difficult world, but he hadn’t had to sexually woo anyone in 22 years! Even then, it was the nineteen year old daughter of an emperor who he was subtly negotiating the surrender of. The Vorta remembered that with a smile. It had been easy to convince the virgin that he was almost god-like, and once the girl was convinced, she unknowingly whispered poison in her father’s ear.

Weyoun’s good mood only improved some when he approached the door of his home. If he had to choose his favorite thing from the last few days and sleep wasn’t an option, he’d have to say that his time with his ‘family’ was the best. His work was boring and worst yet, he was around Favrel all day. Though, the loose-mouthed man did have some benefits. Because of him, he discovered that the company they both worked with worked in cloning and a lesser known part of it was in genetics. Both he and Favrel worked in that area as lower level technicians. Even then Weyoun felt out of his element, but so far no one had caught on that he had no idea what he was doing. Through their cloning, they brought back pets and through their work in genetics, several previously extinct species on Kurill were now in existence in their labs. It was fascinating, really.

With work behind him, Weyoun shut the door and deposited his padd on the table before heading up to the bedroom. The house was dark which meant that Mah’lel was already in the bedroom. Fighting the urge to peer in at Rahlen, Weyoun quietly slipped in the bedroom, though when he saw his wife reading, he forewent the effort to not wake her up and just shut the door.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been this late.” Weyoun didn’t miss the irritation in her voice, nor did he miss that she tried to hide it. It was a sweet effort, though “I’m sorry, a meeting went over and then Favrel left me to go driving with this temporary personal assistant that he met. I had to use public transportation.” That had been irritating, though the lack Favrel’s horrendous driving had been nice. Not worrying for his mortality, especially when he was stuck in an orb, had been a pleasant reprieve.

Mah’lel only smiled and shut the book. Standing up, she placed it to the side and took off her robe. This time it was yellow and, as he watched Mah’lel shed it, he realized that it matched her gown underneath. The top portion around her low-scooping neckline was lined with simple white lace and the bottom of the gown went down to Mah’lel’s thighs. They were rather firm, though he knew this from the night before when Mah’lel turned in her sleep and she brushed him with them.

“Ogling will get you everywhere with me,” His eyes snapped up to her face and he smiled when she smiled at him. “You look beautiful,” Did she? He thought she had all the attributes that would classify her as beautiful. Her skin was clear, her eyes were big and her body firm and fit. More than that, Mah’lel reminded him of the daughter he had seduced. Both of them possessed a distinct purity and kindness. If he were to classify anyone as appealing, he supposed that that would be the criteria he would use.

These thoughts vanished as Mah’lel approached him and snaked her arms around his torso. “Thank you, Mr. Connard. Maybe I should dress up more so you’d be more motivated to come home earlier.” When Mah’lel tilted her head and slid a soft, cool, wet tongue over his ear, Weyoun couldn’t resist the shudder that went through him or the way his hands clenched instinctively to her hips. It was very stimulating and in ways that he normally didn’t care to be stimulated. Sex was a tool, not an indulgence. Though, if there ever was a safe time to indulge, he supposed an illusion would be the best place to do so.

“Mah’lel,” taking her hands, he cleared his throat and shifted until his wife was looking at him. “I had a very long day,” Weyoun measured the apologetic tone in his voice and watched as a flash of understanding, as well as disappointment went over Mah’lel’s features. Impulsively, he continued “if it hadn’t been such a long day….I’m sorry Mah’lel. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Maybe we could have dinner out?” When that didn’t seem to erase the look on her face, Weyoun felt compelled to try again. It was because she was all he had here, he was sure.

“Maybe a romantic dinner?” his tone prompted a response, to which he received none “and afterwards, we could go…do something you like.”

She seemed satisfied with the effort. “Alright, we won’t mess around tonight.” Smiling, she kissed him again. Weyoun could feel her breasts press against him and one of her legs brushing against the front of his thighs and, irritatingly enough, an erection that was a result of her attention to his ear. The Founders should’ve made all parts of their body insensitive. This was cruel. Giving a nervous smile, he pulled back. “Well, we should sleep.” Relief washed over Weyoun as Mah’lel went to her own side of the bed and he was blissfully untouched by her.

“Rahlen’s party is almost totally planned,” Weyoun froze, his hands poised over the next button of his shirt. Why would Rahlen be having a party? He thought over what he knew about the child before recalling that his birthday would be soon. “Oh really?” Weyoun asked and continued undressing for bed.

“I decided against a caterer though. It’s only ten kids and about six adults. I can cook for that many.” Mah’lel paused and watched as her husband, now in his plain black pajamas, crawled into bed. “We’re not so presumptuous as to need caterers I don’t think.” Weyoun returned the smile Mah’lel gave him after her comment and, after a moment of thought, he leaned over and kissed her. She seemed more agreeable when he showed her affection. Mah’lel murmured a goodnight to her husband before shifting in the bed, her head turned from him as she settled into the soft mattress for the night. Weyoun took the moment to watch her with an unguarded face.


The next month was a flurry of activity and with each passing day, Rujhah became an identity that he was comfortable with. Hearing Mah’lel murmur the name, the distinct sound of a smile in her soft voice, was no longer so foreign to him. Though, he could’ve done without it being belched from Favrel’s mouth. It would truly be the removal of a blemish from the Vorta race if Favrel met his untimely end, preferably something embarrassing or that involved a sexually transmitted disease. Weyoun smiled at the irony of that as he chopped up one of the crisp vegetables that Mah’lel put him to work on in the kitchen. In effort to minimize his exposure to the disdainful man, Weyoun had began bringing his lunch to work and feign being behind so that he remained in the building while Favrel fraternized. His wife had been very agreeable to this, among other things.

Husbandly duties had not been something he was able to avoid the whole time. Though, he found once he stopped resisting Mah’lel’s wiles, Weyoun begrudgingly realized that, perhaps, her wiles were not so bad. As a matter of fact, once he got over the initial discomfort of it and enjoyed the stimulation, he rather liked her wiles.

“What are you grinning about?” Weyoun’s smile instantly pulled into a line across his face as he felt Mah’lel’s arms around his waist. She smelled like the flower fragrance perfume she had upstairs, he noted, and turned his head to look to her.

“You,”

Weyoun saw no reason to be dishonest about that. Even if he wasn’t serving the Founders here, the ambassador could almost say that he was happy. Feeling that that word was treacherous, Weyoun adjusted the word within himself to comfortable. Yes, he was comfortable there, within this illusion.

Half an hour later the Vorta found himself leaving home, his briefcase in one hand, his lunch concealed safely inside, and riding to work with another tech, Chales. He was quiet, thankfully so, and only made uptight small talk about the weather and traffic. He was the image of awkward, stiff necked perfection and Weyoun couldn’t have been happier. Getting to work with ten minutes to spare, and without the chorus of blaring warning signals and the steady, fast drumbeat of his heart, Weyoun quickly passed through security and to his cave workroom in the basements of the company.

His usual workstation, a place he had become adequately familiar with, had been removed in the night. Instead, a series of five pods were settled in the middle of the floor where the collective terminals had been. Roughly they resembled Vorta cloning facilities with smooth, beetle-like shells over the top and a rich black complexion that reflected the lights above so well that he saw each bright round disc on the surfaces of the pods. Technicians in lilac patterend lab coats stood against one wall, each an assigned task as they monitored what he presumed to be the status of the large compartments. These were people he worked with, so Weyoun followed their example, donned his own lab coat, and set to work, mindlessly checking information.

“Bet you wish you came into work with me today, don’t you?” The hiss beside his ear was unmistakable and Weyoun watched Favrel in his own lab-coat. How long had he been there? Looking to the violet digital clock posted in the large room, he noted that he’d already been there two hours.

It amazed Weyoun, and almost disturbed him, to see how much the technicians resembled cloning directors. Except for the lilac robes, they were identical. In this illusion, and he knew it was an illusion, they were a society who served no gods. Shaking such thoughts from his mind, Weyoun was about to check the humid temperature in one of the pods before the whoosh of the doors sounded across the nearly empty room. Like the rest of the technicians, Weyoun turned and promptly dropped the board, the sound creating a noticeable and unpleasant pop as it hit the floor.

Flanked by two Vorta of different sizes, both of which donned a pattered tunic, the smooth and undefined figure of a Founder approached with all the grace on Kurill. Recovering quickly, Weyoun picked up the board and swallowed. As if by engrained habit, his arms nearly spread and his head even began to droop into a respectful pose to his god. He barely stopped the action and composed himself when Founder, who chose a feminine form, stopped in front of the group.

“The work you have done here,” her voice sounded so elegant “will live on forever.” Weyoun watched her figure turn and she slid one hand over the nearby hub. “Your species will be rewarded for your vast achievements in cloning.” Her head turned, her hand almost caressing the pod as she scanned over the Vorta lined up so neatly.

“You will drink the wine of a thousand worlds and reap the benefits of being part of the Dominion. You, your children and your children’s children will live in the stars and be gods among men on worlds you have never seen. “ Her taunt face drew into a smile and she held her hands open. “You will never see the end of the Vorta.”

Countless times Weyoun listened to similar speeches said by his Founders but, as he watched her look at them with the same exact expression, the same tone and the sense of false friendliness, the Vorta couldn’t deny that it was not pleasant to be on the receiving end of such a statement and know the fate befallen on so many others.

Suddenly, the benevolence he felt towards the Founders mutated, grew and turned into something dark and monstrous within him. It was an illusion, Weyoun struggled to remind himself as the Founder went on about revealing alien life to the general public. None of it was real, they were tree dwelling apes! The Founders showed kindness to their people by making them the diplomats, the hands and the designers of the Dominion, this was some sick illusion created by the Bajoran prophets.

Now they were talking about the response of most civilians, but Weyoun didn’t hear them as he fell back from the herding crowd of technicians, anxious to hear the Founder. Changeling. Alien.

“…of course, many will panic, rebel…”

“The loss of life is inevitable, but what we gain-“

“It isn’t that many and just the undesirables”

“Really, do we want them in this revolutionary track for our species?”


The bright light once again enveloped Weyoun and he slumped forward, grabbing the table in front of him as he went from standing to kneeling, from air conditioned and sterile to warm and scented. Gasping in several times, the Vorta straightened and looked around. This room was dark in comparison to the basement lab. HE recognized it, a distant memory.

He was back on Bajor, in his rightful time, in front of the Orb of Time. Impulsively the Vorta reached out to reopen the doors to the orb. Mah’lel and Rahlen, he just had a his first birthday and he didn’t tell her how much he appreciated her patience. Slowly he withdrew his hands. No, they were an illusion. Mah’lel and Rahlen hadn’t been real; they were figments of some wormhole aliens’ imagination.

That should’ve provided some comfort, but as Weyoun looked down, his chest ached and his vision, already poor, began to blur.


Author’s Note: Firstly, I wanted to offer my most sincere apologies for the delay. It was literally one thing after another that prevented my escape; not a single day went by where I haven’t been taking care of one little crisis after another. Secondly, I also owe an apology to those of you out there that know so much more about the prophets than I. However, basing it off of a few Deep Space 9 episodes and some of my own conclusion, I didn’t think this was too unrealistic. Thirdly, and this ties in with my second apology, this will be the only chapter like this. All other chapters involve characters that are already established and unless I severely veer off of my outline (quite unlikely), then this is the only time anyone will be visiting an orb. If you do not like this chapter, please bare with me, it is important, just very Weyoun-centered. Finally, I will be explaining Kira’s rank in-story in my next chapter; I just didn’t have the chance to in this one.

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!