This is a story written by me and two of my friends as a roleplay set at the end of DS9. I'm writing mostly as Garak, Odo, Quark, and Bashir.
It had been a quiet day. Too quiet, if any of the Cardassians trying to look busy had asked Weyoun. But they didn't. They sat on their screens and consoles, pretending to work on a new masterplan - one that would finally work - and ignored him. Weyoun had returned the favour, and acted like he believed they were really working. Of course he knew they were pushing random buttons. Of course he knew they had no damn idea how to make the next move in this war, not to speak of a victory. But all that wasn't new. It had been like this for months now. Nothing happened. And that wasn't good. At least the Cardassians left him in peace for now. Weyoun knew very well they didn't like him being around, watching them, controlling their work. And somehow, it even amused him a bit to know that. Well, had amused him. For a few days, months ago. When things didn't look this bad. When the Ketracel White facility was still there. When the Jem'Hadar were not aware of it being destroyed by a Klingon-Romulan task force, three months ago.
Weyoun's eyes wandered to a monitor in the corner of the room. Maybe just a bad habit. Maybe a desperate hope. The screen still looked like 20 minutes ago. 20 hours, 20 days, 20 weeks ago. The frequency, permanently held open for incoming Breen transmissions, was untouched like a Vulcan virgin. There was nothing, really nothing, indicating the Breen had even recieved the invitation to a meeting. Some weeks ago, a sensor outpost went on alert, but the "Breen ship" near Cardassian territory turned out to be just another minor ionic anomaly, caused by just another minor ionic storm.
Slowly, Weyoun went to a window. Acting bored had never been this difficult. The roofs of the Cardassian capital looked like they always did. The evening sun reflected brightly on copper spikes, reaching into the red-orange sky. But this sight didn't seem peaceful at all to Weyoun. Besides the missing sense for art and beauty, a bad feeling spread out in his mind. The repairs on the Jem'Hadar ship yards were weeks behind the planned schedule. The Ketracel White would, all casualties calculated, run out in the next 6 months, turning the Jem'Hadar into an uncontrolled army, raging against everything and everyone at first - and then kill them. But before that would happen, they'd have enough time to cause serious damage to the alpha quadrant, Cardassia included. If only those stubborn Breen would answer the Dominion's call...
In moments like this, and Weyoun had certainly had quite a few of them in the past weeks, he envied the Bajorans. Their "prophets" always sent them signs, and prophecies, and emessaries. They would recognize the face of a dead relative in a puddle, or an ancient Bajoran symbol on a rock, and praise it as a sign from the prophets. And be all happy, positive and cheerful. Weyoun was neither of it. His gods never sent him signs. Actually, the god in the room next door had returned to his liquid state some days ago and not taken on a humanoid form ever since. Not that this was any better. When the founder was in humanoid form, he had told Weyoun to finally take care of the growing problems, come up with a quick and easy solution, and if not "someone" would have to pay for it. Weyoun had no doubt this someone would be him, and remembering that, he was glad the founder remained in liquid state for now. But it was just as certain that it wouldn't last forever. And when the founder returned to humanoid form, Weyoun better had something promising planned.
Yes, the Bajorans were to envy. It was so simple to keep them happy. A symbol in the dirt here, a blessing by the emessary there... Emessary. Oh, what Weyoun had given for an emessary! Someone to tell him the gods had sent him a vision, and he knew exactly how to end this misery and start a new, brighter, better tomorrow. But no. His gods had sent him this picture perfect moron Toran, claiming the rank of a legit, not even realizing he was a puppet of the Dominion and...
...just walking into the room.
"Weyoun! We need to talk!"
Legit Toran stood in the middle of the room, trying to burn holes in Weyoun's back with his glance. The Vorta just sighed and slowly turned around. "Of course! How can I be of assistance?" The words came so easily, and Weyoun meant it so little. The only assistance he had in mind for Toran was helping him to jump out of the next window. Toran pointed to the door of his private room, turned around without another word and walked into his office. Weyoun rolled his eyes, but followed him.
Toran was sitting at his desk, studying a stellar map in front of him. Without looking up, he said: "This is ridicolous. We just sit and wait, with the Federation as vulnurable as never before." Weyoun didn't answer. He had heard so many speeches like this from Toran, he wasn't even really listening. "And that is why I will call the shots now. I put a task force together; a small group, mostly Obsidian Order. They will take back Terok Nor."
Weyoun's eyes immediately jumped from the statue on Toran's side board to the Legit. Usually they irritated the person Weyoun looked at; this time they were full of it of their own. It took a few moments before the Vorta managed to speak. "What?!" was all he could say though. Toran, obviously satisfied with this reaction, smiled and looked up. "A task force of the Obsidian Order is going to take back Terok Nor", he slowly said, like talking to an idiot. "Didn't you say all the time something must happen?" Toran grinned. He made it no secret that he enjoyed Weyoun's confusion. "And now, something will happen!" He got up and began walking around behind his desk. "But... this is a very bad idea!" Weyoun tried to protest. "We can't depend on a small task force of... Cardassians!" Toran gave him an amused glance. "Well, the way I see it, you don't have a choice. Your Jem'Hadar couldn't get the job done, and the task force is already on the way!" He grabbed a bottle of Kanar from a board behind the desk. "We should drink to their success!" Weyoun just stared at Toran, trying hard to not show his anger. The founders would not be pleased by this suicidal plan...
Garak placed another pair of hemmed pants on a shelf and took a moment to glare at his machinery. Business was booming in a way that would make most mere tailors excited, especially with the current economy. But Garak just sighed at the padd containing the orders of a half-dozen station occupants and picked up a bolt of cloth.
"Garak, you're late for lunch."
Garak looked up to see Dr. Bashir standing in the doorway to his shop and smiled, "Oh dear, I must have lost track of the time. As you can see, things have been picking up lately."
Bashir glanced appraisingly at the piles of fabric on counters and then back at Garak, "Do you have time now? I'm starving!"
"I think I could use some intellectual stimulation, myself," Garak nodded and joined Bashir at the door. Together, they headed to the replimat.
later at the replimat
"So what will it be, today?" Garak smiled, "A little politics with your pizza?"
Bashir tilted his head in thought, "Actually, I was thinking literature today."
Garak pretended to look disappointed, "Didn't we discuss that yesterday?"
"And we never finished," Bashir shook his head, "I still say that you're wrong about Shakespeare."
"And I still say that Earth literature lacks intrigue," Garak argued.
Bashir took a bite of his pizza and sat back, "Then I think we should just agree to disagree."
"That's probably best," Garak sighed, "though simply disagreeing is far more interesting."
"No arguements there," Bashir smiled, "so what exactly did you want to discuss about politics?"
(over the comm) Dr Bashir to the infirmary!
"Ah," Bashir looked regretful, "looks like we'll have to continue this later."
"It appears so," Garak replied evenly, "Tomorrow, then?"
"Tomorrow," Bashir stood and strode quickly away.
Garak stared down at his untouched food. He started to pick up his fork. Actually, I'm not hungry. I guess it's back to uniform repair. He stopped, wiped his mouth, and headed to his shop.
The lights were dimmed, the doors were locked, the Kanar was almost empty. Some floors above, that annoying little Vorta was blaming Cardassia for the current, more than miserable situation. For the missing supplies from the gamma quadrant, the high causalties, and probably also the bad weather. Legit Toran, locked in his office, was probably reading the news like there were ever any good ones. His stupid task force plan was doomed, no way a group of barely experienced low ranks could take back Terok Nor. Of course, Toran had made it sound all genius, and maybe he could catch the Vorta off guard with it. But not Damar. He knew the members of this so-called task force. Some went to school with his son. Others were even younger. None had any significant experience in anything, save the commanding officer, who had been stationed on border patrols for the past six months. What a task force!
Damar grinned bitterly and drank another sip from the bottle. He had maybe even used the glass, if he hadn't thrown it at the wall an hour ago. Unbelievable this idiot Toran got promoted after Dukat disappeared! It should have been him, Gul Damar. But no. That arrogant little elf ear had promoted some random moron, just to make his point: I don't like you. Of course, he hadn't said that, or would ever admit it. But Damar knew it was the reason, and Weyoun knew that he knew. One sip later, the bottle was empty. Damar took a deep breathe and got up.
It took about ten minutes until Weyoun noticed Damar in the door to his office. Actually, less, but he had decided to ignore his visitor for a bit. "Damar! How can I help you?" The Vorta's smile was fake as fake can be, and he didn't even try to make it look more believable. By taking a bath in acid, Damar thought. "We need to talk about this task force", he said instead. "Oh, yes, a brillant idea, isn't it?" That Vorta was so stupid, it just had to hurt. "No, its idiotic", Damar replied. "They will fail." Weyoun shook his head and gave Damar a pitiful glance. "You really need to hide your envy a bit better", he said. "Toran had a great idea, while you just had a great amount of Kanar. You see the difference?" "The only difference I see is that I was Dukat's right hand, and Toran was commander of some mining colony." Damar crossed his arms across the chest and leaned against the wall. "A pity, I agree." Weyoun nodded and got up to walk up and down behind his desk. "But that was just another proof how unorganized Cardassian politics were before the Dominion came to help. A man with ideas, visions, drive... wasted on a mining colony!" Damar sighed. "Oh really? Be sure I'll be around to see your stupid face when that excuse of a task force gets blown into pieces before they even reach Bajoran space!" He rushed out of the office, back to his quarters; picking up some Kanar on the way. It was time to remind someone of an old favour..