A/N: People of KP, I have returned.
Sorry about the long span between posts. All I can say is that I have found my muse for writing again. As it has been a while, I recommend that you start this story over.
Here is the fifth scene in Act III. This is the last major scene of Act III. After this, there's a mini Act III conclusion, and then on to Act IV. Again, review if you have questions. That's what it's there for.
I don't own Kim Possible or Star Trek. Those rights belong to their respective owners.
Many thanks to those who took the time to read and review. Especially Uberscribbler.
On with the Story.
Kim Possible and the Jackal: The Omicron Frontier
ACT III– PART IV
Dr. Dhrakin, lone self-declared genius Bolian in a sea of Orionisi dunderheads, fumed at the lack of the combined IQ of the bridge at the moment.
They were currently attempting to repair the damage sustained from the recent battle with the Starfleet ships. And with a crew who barely knew the difference between a warp matrix flux capacitor and a self-sealing stem bolt, Dhrakin had a right to be pissed.
Dhrakin was not a prideful man. Okay, he was, but knew it was earned. Only Dhrakin could manage the technological marvels that haven't even been conceived by others. It was thanks to his brilliance that Clan Gogh was given more autonomy, in order to allow his own genius to blossom. After all, oppression stiffens development and ingenuity. And it was certainly thanks to his quick thinking that managed to disable that photonic torpedo before it could detonate and destroy the ship.
Yes, he was a very prideful man. He was without dispute the smartest man on this side of the quadrant, which is why it irked him that the fleet that he designed, that he perfected in the ultimate example of piracy, was handed its ass by a more or less disabled ship.
And he couldn't figure out why.
Dhrakin managed to solve a technological mystery that has plague Orionisi ships since meeting their "benefactors." For centuries, Orionisi ships could barely manage to get off a few shots of the powerful phased poloran beams before either retreating to cool down their systems or switching to their more antiquated, yet energy efficient disruptor banks.
Not to mention, with his technological savy, he was able to replicate the "benefactors" ability to mass produce the vessels in a very limited time. Once he was finished, Clan Gogh could produce ten ships while the opposing clans could barely manage one.
And yet despite all that, despite the odds of numbers, men, technology, and surprise on their side, only one ship manage to survive. After retreating, the remaining intact vessels were scuttled, crowding the only remaining one, and pumping up the testosterone concentration to levels that Dhrakin could swear was crippling his impressive intellect.
And now, the Orionisi "benefactors" were on their way over, graciously to offer assistance to their helpless citizens. He always hated meeting with them. They may not be as smart as he, but they carried a ruthlessness that made him shiver.
And unless his mistress or the Alpha made their way to bridge, Dhrakin would be the unfortunate sod to great their benevolent overlords. Neither he nor his mistress could trust the Orionisi males to be tactful or diplomatic, especially those under G'lilll. They would much rather grunt, shout, or even throw something in a misguided dick-measuring contest. Typical Orions.
Hence why Dhrakin kept calling his mistress. He would much rather take her verbal abuse and odd plasma bolt than the Alphas fist throwing, name calling stupidity, or worse, stare into those purple eyes that showed a vicious and suppressing aura behind the kind and venerable diplomat.
"What's taking her so long?" he kept mumbling to himself, but Dhrakin knew the answer. It was her new boy-toy. Just before she cut off all communication to the ship and locked herself in her quarters, she ordered him to secure the livestock to one of the more refined and decorated pens, and placed under her own loyal guard, not that of G'lilll's.
Looking them over, he didn't see anything impressive about them. They were small, injured – some of them critical – and completely terrified, far from healthy investments. They wouldn't even break even had the fleet emerged unscathed.
But after a quick count that showed one was missing and questioning the Denobulan to his or her identity of the missing livestock, the answer clicked in his mind. A soldier bound by genetic loyalty who desires to protect his crew. And not just any soldier, but a Starfleet Stellar Marine to boot.
His mistress may have found a diamond in the rough after all, and of course how better to ensure that protection than by "humanizing" his mistress with her most powerful weapons.
Dhrakin analytically knew that his mistress was a beautiful women, but Dhrakin didn't have time for matters of hormones and sex, unlike his Neanderthal (he so loved that Terran phrase) coworkers. He was a man of science, and time spent in someone else's bed meant time away from his lab concocting new and amazing pieces of technology to put Clan Gogh at the top of the Gamma Quadrant.
Dhrakin still had to prove his loyalty though and uhh… sleep… with his mistress' mother. Suffice it to say, he would never be doing that again. Aside from the time wasted during that meaningless task, he now had an annoying instinct to obey any and all commands of that woman and any of her spawn. Thankfully, Sey'lena would just yell at him and shoot him. He didn't even have to leave his lab or command station for that.
Asexual tendencies aside, Dhrakin was still pissed at her for her lack of appearance on the bridge at the moment. The vessel was almost in range, and any minute, those eyes would be on the view screen, just waiting to add to his collection of nightmares that plagued him after these meetings.
Thankfully, luck was on his side.
The first thing he noticed was the cessation of the sounds of grunting, snarling, and yelling on the bridge. Then the pheromones hit him. The normal and distracting desires to impress assaulted his mind again, but Dhrakin ruthlessly shut them down with a new idea of a mega-weather generator. How he would use it was inconsequential, but the thought process manage to distract him from the pheromones' effect on him.
Predictably though, the "help" had no such defense, and they quickly fell over themselves trying to fall into line for their mistress, though he could see the twitch of anger behind their eyes at their lack of control. Dhrakin noticed that anger was more pronounced among G'lilll's men. He'd have to look into to that.
Finally, the doors opened, and Sey'lena stepped onto the bridge, sporting her typical "power suit" as she called it and smirked at the helpless Orionisi males. Dhrakin shook his head at the child's gloating. As if they weren't pissed off already, but to shove it in their faces. He shivered at the implications should they ever overcome her control.
Quickly following behind his mistress was something that made Dhrakin's eyebrows shoot upward. It was the marine. And there was a clear difference about him compared to the other males.
He appeared to be completely unaffected by the pheromones that have by now, saturated the bridge. Unlike the rest of the males, his eyes weren't bloodshot, his skin wasn't perspiring, and his hands weren't shaking that clearly reflected a overdose of the pheromones, especially considering how much was being released to subvert the Orionisi males.
Evolution may not have made the males immune, but it certainly made them resistant.
Of course, if he's a Starfleet Marine, then he's one of those damn Augments that gave the Federation a clear strategic advantage in the Alpha Quadrant, he realized. He heard the stories, stories that forced the Orion Syndicate on the run, which exiled them from the Alpha Quadrant and straight to their new masters' hands. And now, centuries later, one of the direct causes was now a slave to the ones he was bred to chase out.
Dhrakin found the irony amusing.
He knew Sey'lena was clever. She may not be as brilliant as he was, but she definitely had the spark which lifted her to the top of the hierarchy. To use the thing these marines were created to protect against them, well, he had to smile at the ingenuity of his mistress.
He also smiled because now he didn't have to answer the hail that was about to be made to the ship.
"Sey'lena," Dhrakin shouted. "Thank the Madams you're here. What the hell took you so long? We're about to be hailed by…them, and I really think that someone, who isn't me, should be the one to great them."
Dhrakin noticed that the marine occupied a corner of the bridge, out of prying eyes yet still giving him a clear vantage point of the entire room. It was a good place to skulk, he thought. That thought wasn't really relevant to the conversation at the moment, because Sey'lena marched over to him and grabbed him by his lab coat and lifted him into the air.
"Oh really, I wasn't aware that a slave had the right to think on their own. That right was purchased by my mother and passed down to me," she snarled, anger clearly showing on her beautiful face.
Dhrakin internally sighed. He was used to being Sey'lena's verbal and sometimes physical punching bag. It was then he noticed something else, her verbal tirades weren't accompanied by the green glow of her wrist guns.
Stupidly, he ignored her comment in favor of another question, "Sey'lena, where are your disruptors. You know how much time I put into those things. Not to mention they were prototypes." Typical, he sighed, his genius was always being taken advantage of. "If you lost them, or Madame forbid, destroyed them…"
"You'll what?" Sey'lena dangerously whispered, and Dhrakin felt her grip tightening.
Thankfully, Dhrakin heard and felt the threat quite clearly this time. "Nothing! Nothing! Sorry, my mistake, Sey'lena," he quickly placated her.
"If you must know, they were…" she paused, and Dhrakin could've sworn he saw a copper tinge on her lime green cheeks, "…destroyed during the interrogation. I'll need some replacements," she added off handily.
That set him off. "Destroyed?!" Dhrakin screamed. "Do you know how much time and effort I've put into those damn things, all so you could have some secret and discrete little killing toys, and yet when you use them for the first time on an Alpha Quadrant prisoner, you break them?! And now you expect me to just throw everything I have aside build you another worthless set of those damn things?" Dhrakin couldn't believe how much his genius was being abused.
"Yes I do, after all, I own you. If I really wanted to, I could order you to destroy your little precious laboratory and never build anything again," she retorted.
Dhrakin paled. "You… you wouldn't."
"I could, and that's the point. Your very existence is to serve me. I've allowed you to conduct your experiments because they make me wealthy and powerful, but if you ever piss me off enough, I'll order its destruction," she threatened. "And I'll make you do it."
"After this issue is resolved, you will build me a new set of disruptors, and they will be superior to my old ones," she paused, "or more reliable at least. Or…" she smirked in anticipation, "I could always make my physical exchanges with you more hands on, and not in the pleasant way." To emphasize her point, she tightened her grip once more on his chest, making it harder for Dhrakin to breathe.
Madams, I forget that she's a lot stronger than she looks.
"That won't be necessary, Sey'lena, I get right on it. You have the new set in a week." Depending on if I can find my notes on those things.
"You have two days." Crap.
The Orionisi male at the communications station, who could barely speak when the enchantress was in the room, brought an end to their little conversation. "Mistress, a vessel has dropped out of warp near our position," he grunted, most likely thinking it sensual. Sey'lena naturally forced down some bile at the attempt. "They are hailing us."
Not a moment too soon, Dhrakin thought.
Sey'lena quickly dropped Dhrakin to ground unceremoniously, and straightened out her attire, and moved to the center of the bridge. Despite his feelings about his mistress, he mentally sent her strength for the inevitable confrontation.
"Viewer," she commanded, striking a pose that leave weak-minded males drooling in unadulterated lust. Strong-minded males too, except Dhrakin, of course.
The viewer changed from the purple glowing scarab ship to a face that sent shivers down Dhrakin's spine. Here we go again.
"Ah, Madam Gogh, how delightful to see you again. I must admit I was expecting to speak with the captain of your vessel, but your appearance always brings warmth to my heart."
"Delightful to see you again, my lovely Weyoun," she purred, her false smile and posture hoping to disarm and mislead her own master. "The captain is currently indisposed at the moment, so I figured that it would be best if I addressed you at the current time."
"I see," he replied. "Well, I trust he and his crew are well? We scanned the ship upon our arrival and noticed you've sustained some heavy damage. Do you require any assistance?" The genial voice of the Vorta queried, his voice laced with concern, yet Dhrakin could see the calculating indifference behind his purple eyes, eyes that shown that any being other than his precious Founders were of no true concern to him.
And yet Dhrakin watched Sey'lena handle the Vorta with ease, as her position demanded. "As you can see, I am unharmed, and despite the damages you discovered, I believe the crew is capable enough to repair the ship so that we can make it to the Omicron system, where the shipyards can easily take care of the rest."
Dhrakin watched the Vorta's eyes spark with curiosity and interest. It seemed that the deflection wasn't taken. "I see. Well I certainly hope that whoever you came across didn't give you too much trouble. After all, as Dominion citizens, we take the security of our people very seriously. I am curious though, Omicron's logs showed that you departed with five ships. I hope their absence can't be explained with what I'm seeing. You do have a lot more men on the bridge than normal." He questioned, although his gaze didn't seem to locate the Starfleet Marine hiding in the shadows.
"I'm afraid your deduction is correct, Weyoun. My fleet encountered a mark we believed capable of acquiring. Unfortunately, we were shown the error of our ways quite thoroughly," Sey'lena lamented, though Dhrakin suspected the loss was more towards the ships rather than the crews piloting them.
"How unfortunate," the Vorta agreed, his voice filling with heavy grief that nobody believed. "I trust that the 'mark' as you called it was destroyed, or at least severely crippled. After all, your actions reflect the will of the Founders, and we can't allow our enemies to receive the wrong message about resisting us. Who knows how many lives, both enemy and ally would be lost if your 'mark' had to be corrected of their supposed superiority to the Founders and the Dominion."
Dhrakin gulped. He could easily hear the threat behind those honeyed words. Those allies he mentioned wouldn't be Jem'Hadar, but the Orionisi and their slaves. And Sey'lena wondered why the purple bastard gave him nightmares.
Sey'lena, who cared not for anyone but herself and her possessions, didn't even blink at the threat. "The damage we've returned was both satisfactory and effective. The primary systems of all three ships we encountered were disabled. They were left at the mercy of the Omicron Nebula and its destructive wakes and eddies. They most likely did not survive."
Dhrakin saw the marine tense at the claim, and once again sighed at his mistress. She may have mastered dealing with her Vorta representative, but she sometimes forgot how to deal with her own slaves, trusting on her abilities and beauty to keep them in line. Her next statement clearly didn't help.
"We also managed to achieve some contraband as well, so the raid was not a total loss."
Despite that however, Dhrakin noticed that the marine's shoulders dropped back to their normal position. He must have remembered the deal she made with him, which was odd in itself. Sey'lena never made deals with males, unless they were her master. She must really like this man.
"Well, I'm glad you were able to salvage some spoils to lessen the blow of such an embarrassing defeat you've suffered. Who knows, maybe those winnings will help salvage your reputation among the rest of the Madams on Omicron after they learned what occurred. After all, you must be vigilant. The tallest tree generates the most notice, and your fellow Madams, delightful as they all are, would pounce on any weakness they perceive."
Dhrakin gulped again and Sey'lena's smile became more forced. "I was actually hoping to keep this matter quiet, Weyoun. It is as you stated. My fellow Madams are looking for any opportunity to expand their own spheres of influence, and learning about this loss will no doubt encourage them to challenge my various claims within this sector. While they will no doubt be repulsed, bloodily I might add, the subsequent losses from all sides could cripple our financial tithe to the Dominion. We don't want any unwarranted accusations to make their way to the Founders as to the cause of that loss."
Dhrakin saw Weyoun frown at that. "My dear Madam, you overestimate your importance to the Dominion. We have hundreds of client states within our borders who are more than willing to pick up the suspected slack of your tithes, client states who live and breathe for the Dominion and won't let the loss of four ships create such a level of internal strife that would affect the stability of the sector."
"I don't think so. This isn't just any sector. The Omicron sector has the wormhole. Its many systems and planets will provide you the infrastructure and material for your planned invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. And whose credit do you think these systems will trust when it comes time to finance this invasion. It certainly won't be some client state they've never encountered before, and despite all the wealth the Dominion collects, you don't even have a fraction of the money necessary to conquer an entire Quadrant, especially if that Quadrant contains the Federation."
Sey'lena smirked as realization spread across Weyoun's face. "The business of the Orionisi people is business, in every shape and in every form. Fiscal and Monetary Policies are in our blood. We know exactly how much it's going to cost you to wage this war, and the price is currently out of your reach. Unless you had the assistance of a unified and wealthy Syndicate, which last I checked, does provide the largest and most consistent tithe to the Founders. And if you think that's large, you should see the amounts we're willing to loan to you in your quest to spread order and justice to the Alpha Quadrant."
"How much?" Weyoun asked, curious despite himself. Dhrakin was too.
Sey'lena smirked and Dhrakin realized that this was another one of her tools to subjugate and manipulate her male master. His pocketbook. "Enough to fund construction of over ten thousand Jem'Hadar Attack Fighters and supporting cruisers, breeding of over 50 million Jem'Hadar soldiers, and enough Ketracel-White to last them over five years."
Weyoun blinked at the numbers. "The Karemmans' offer was much lower than the figures you provided."
"The Karemmans don't like taking risk. And while that philosophy it is safer, it limits financial and corporate growth. As such, their financial base could not support the speculative amounts that we in turn can offer."
"However," Sey'lena added offhandedly, her dainty index finger placed on her cheek while gazing upwards in contemplation, "any instability within the sector, caused by, oh I don't know, a power struggle sparked by a few missing ships, would jeopardize that financial base, and therefore cut into the amount of credit we could lend to support your budding war."
Sey'lena then turned back to the screen. "Of course, this is all merely speculation right?" she shyly asked.
Dhrakin watched in amazement as Weyoun digested the implications and then quickly switched back to the placating and genial diplomat that disarms all dignitaries within and outside the Dominion. "But of course, my dear. Purely speculation. After all, like I said, the Dominion treats all of its citizens with the respect and support that it deserves. If you feel that its in the best interest of the Dominion to keep this staggering loss of lives quiet, than we, the lowly servants of the Founders will do our absolute best to assist you in your endeavors."
Sey'lena smiled in victory. "I'm glad we could agree on the proper course of action."
"As am I. As am I. Now, if you'll just shut down your engines and prepare docking procedures, I will send over my repair teams and we will guarantee that your ship is capable of making its return journey back to Omicron."
Once again, Sey'lena's smile became more forced. "While I thank you for the offer, Weyoun, I promise you that the damage we've sustained will not jeopardize our return to Omicron. It is really not necessary."
Dhrakin saw Weyoun's smile become more of a smirk, and he felt a shiver rush through him. "On the contrary my dear, I find it very necessary. Despite your reassurances, I intend for there to be no mistakes in making your return as smooth as possible. After all, it's not everyday we have a chance to inspect the damage involving a Federation Starship."
Sey'lena eyes widened, the marine in corner stiffened, and Dhrakin's mouth actually dropped open. "Oh don't look so surprised my dear. I knew the moment we scanned your ship. Federation phaser fire and photonic torpedoes radiation carry a distinct signature."
His face hardened. "I think it's extremely important we have a face-to-face discussion, because I distinctly remember the Founders decree that all Alpha Quadrant Military Vessels were to remain off limit for the time being, and I'm very interested in hearing your reasons for disobeying them. Money or not, if you can't be trusted to obey the will of the Founders, than you become a liability, and we simply can't have that."
A Jem'Hadar appeared on the viewer and whispered something in the Vorta's ear. After nodding his understanding to the Jem'Hadar, he turned his gaze back to Sey'lena. "And I am most interested to meet that Starfleet Marine you have stowed away in your corner."
Weyoun shook his head at the Orion. "Honestly, my dear, your attempt at hiding your involvement with the Federation is rather poor. You always did forget that while my fellow Vorta do have poor eyesight, the Jem'Hadar have excellent vision and were more than capable of making out your new friend. It must be a trademark of your culture, to ignore the abilities of your servants."
Ignoring the looks of shock or consternation throughout the Orionisi bridge, Weyoun gave the final order. "Cut off your engines and prepare to be boarded, or I'll have no choice but to open fire. You have thirty seconds to comply."
And with that he signed off.
"Mistress, the Vorta's ships are powering up weapons." The Orionisi brute at the weapons station grunted.
Throwing off the shock of the conversation and its abrupt end, Dhrakin rushed over to the station, shoved the dazed brute out of the way and took in their status. "Sey'lena, we're in no condition to fight anything now. Unless you want to get us all killed, do what he says."
Sey'lena surprised Dhrakin again by quickly gazing at the marine who took a comfortable position at her side. He was even more surprised by the smallest of nods he gave her. Sey'lena then looked over to the Bolian slave. "Cut power to engines, and prepare for docking."
Breathing a sigh of relief, he did so as quickly as possible. Looking over at sensors, and mentally cheered. "They're powering down their weapons and are moving into position."
Sey'lena nodded and made for the exit, the marine close behind her. She then turned around toward Dhrakin. "Well, what are you waiting for, get off your ass and fall in line. We need to greet them at the airlock."
Dhrakin paled and gulped. "Uh, but, but, but, mistress, what about your disruptors. Didn't you say you wanted them as quickly as possible? I think my time would be better spent working on that, wouldn't you?" he pleaded. No way did he want to meet with the Dominion complement.
Sey'lena sighed at his impudence. "I already told you, Dhrakin. You'll work on it after this situation is resolved, not before. Now come on, that Vorta bastard is looking for someone to blame, and I need my scapegoat ready to be offered.
The Bolian paled even further. "You…You…don't… you don't mean me do you?"
Sey'lena sighed again. "Yes you. You, G'lilll, anyone I can pawn off to the Vorta, but don't worry, if they want someone killed as recompense, I'll just give them my Alpha-mate. He's useless anyway."
"Oh sure, say that in front of his men, that'll ender them to you," Dhrakin muttered as he fell in behind.
She rolled her eyes. "They're all ODing on my scent. They can barely stand, let alone think. You overestimate their brain power. They're men after all."
"You know that Vorta is a male, and he schooled your ass in front of everyone," he quipped.
"Watch it," she warned.
"I'm just saying, Sey'lena. You need to be mindful of how you present yourselves to the help. Eventually, you'll come across one that'll prove too strong even for you. Like this buffoon you seem to favor."
"What I do with my little marine is none of your concern Dhrakin," she snarked back, slowing down to quickly wrap her arms around her toy and give him a quick kiss to the cheek. The marine remained as stoic as ever, to Dhrakin's amazement.
"Do you honestly think they'll let you keep him? They're going to want to dissect him and figure out what makes him tick. Currently, we are in no position to refuse them."
"Watch me," she sniped back, and then spontaneously jumped into the marine's arms. The marine, with impressive strength and reflexes, quickly adjusted her into the picturesque bridal-style carry without a single misstep occurring.
"What are you made of marine?" he breathed in wonder to himself.
"That's classified Bolian," the marine replied in a low baritone voice, seemingly ignoring the Orionisi goddess nuzzling into his collarbone, drinking in his scent.
That actually caused Dhrakin to misstep. Sey'lena giggled again, though this time, it seemed a lot more genuine and carefree than malicious and subverting. "Augment superior hearing. He could probably hear the conversations on the other end of the ship, through closed doors even." She then turned her emerald eyes straight at Dhrakin. "Didn't I mention that?"
Dhrakin rolled his eyes in annoyance. "No, you didn't. Well, if he has more than just the Augment brute strength and dexterity, then he might just be more than the buffoon I made him out to be."
He sighed in exasperation again as Sey'lena went back to the marine's collarbone, except this time, she started peppering feather light kisses to his skin and was slowly making her way to his neck and face. The damn marine wasn't even blushing. Dhrakin was wondering if he was a goddamn robot.
"If you could separate yourselves for one moment before you give our guests a free showing, would you mind clarifying how you're going to keep your little toy away from the Vorta? Weyoun is not one to take no for an answer."
"Nope," she quirked back, although she did stop feather-kissing him, instead preferring to tighten her arms around the marine and laying her head against his chest and sighing contently. Dhrakin had never seen her so relaxed and unguarded before.
It was starting to worry him, especially if her plan didn't work and they did take the marine away. Or get all of them killed in the process. He wasn't ready to die just yet.
The conversation died down after that. For the next minute or so, they proceeded to the airlock in the same manner. Dhrakin was sulking about his life, the marine was walking without a care in the world, and his mistress was still in his arms seemingly asleep or just breathing in his scent.
It was an odd moment.
Eventually they met up with G'lilll, who was barely walking and had to be supported by two of his grunts. Before the Alpha-male could make a scathing remark about his mistress' current position, his supporters dropped him all of a sudden as their eyes went vacant and expressions became hungry.
Apparently, a content Orionisi female released even more pheromones than normal, and it proved too much for the help. Dhrakin didn't even notice due to his own dark musings, and he figured the marine was just as immune as the Alpha-male.
Still, it didn't stop G'lilll from letting loose a massive broadside of Orionisi expletives and profanities that briefly manage to bring his two grunts out their daze, before they eventually succumbed to it again.
Dhrakin watched the train wreck unfold. Sey'lena raised her lips to the marine's ear and whispered something that he couldn't hear over G'lill's screaming. She then tightened her hold around his neck while her toy adjusted his hold of her to one hand while drawing his pistol with the other.
Dhrakin could only watch as the marine shot the poor bastard in the leg, most likely crippling G'lilll for the rest of his life. Dhrakin braced himself for another set of profanity from the damn brute.
He was not disappointed.
Sey'lena then adjusted her gaze to the two pieces of meat still standing with those stupid vacant expressions on their faces. "If you don't get him to shut up, my friend here," patting said friend on the chest, "is going to put the next phase bolt in his chest."
They still stood there staring.
"What are you waiting for?!" she snapped. "Silence him."
Lethargically, they crouched down and placed their meaty hands over the G'lill's mouth, trying to stop the screaming.
Sey'lena, still in the one hand hold gazed down imperiously to the slowly chocking Orion. "I suggest you use that miniscule brain and be silent for once in your life; otherwise, your two friends will inadvertently do it for you. Permanently."
Dhrakin was able to confirm that the immune Orion did have a brain, as his screams and exclamations died down to pathetic whimpering from a man with a shattered kneecap, a concussion, bruised spine, cauterized wound, and a damaged-beyond-repair ego.
Sey'lena then gave the order for his release from the two brutes. He spoke as soon as he could. "You're going to pay for that, woman, and I'm going to take my sweet time with it to. You have no idea just how dangerous this ship became for not only you, but your little marine too. As soon as I'm capable, his little crew mates are going to straight to the men for their pleasure, and maybe I'll let them have you too. After all, I've heard the Vorta's not too impressed with you right now."
"I warned you about keeping your meetings with the Vorta private," Dhrakin added.
"Shut up, Dhrakin," she snapped back at him, before jumping off the marine and facing to the Alpha lying on the ground. The marine took one step behind her, one pulse phased pistol still trained on her target, the other covering his buddies.
"The only thing Weyoun is upset about is that we attacked a ship that was currently off limits, but he doesn't know exactly who ordered the attack. As far as Weyoun is concerned, I just run the administrative side of the clan. And as this ship and those four others fly your banner, well, it won't take a warp scientist to realize that I was just along for the ride when you arrogantly decided to challenge the Founders authority in a misguided attempt of superiority."
Dhrakin smirked and G'lilll's lime green complexion became whiter. "You don't actually believe that will hold up to scrutiny do you? All of the Orionisi males, even those under your own personal guard will back me up."
Dhrakin stepped forward. "Not if she maintains her current pheromone output to neutralize all the naysayers while the Vorta is aboard, especially as I am currently pumping it through the entire ship, meaning no one will have the brain capacity to contradict her claims."
"But, I'm immune, and they'll listen to me," he protested.
Sey'lena replied with a vicious smirk. "Do you actually think that they'll believe anything that comes out of your mouth? After all, it's clearly obvious that after my meeting with Weyoun over the viewer, you, as the owner and commander of the fleet, got wind of the Vorta's wrath and tried to escape, attempting to kidnapping me in the process in case you needed a bargaining chip.
Her smirk became vindictive. "After all, you are immune to my charm, and how could little old me hope to resist a beast of your size without my only defense against the male gender."
The plausibility of the explanation was so believable that G'lilll lost all strength and sank back to the ground.
Sey'lena then went behind the marine and wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to him and looking over his shoulder. "And when I explain to him that it was my big strong friend here that saved me from such an embarrassing fate, well they'll think twice before attempting to take him away from me. Especially as only I can guarantee that the Syndicate will provide the Dominion the credit necessary for subjugating the Alpha Quadrant."
"So you see," she cheerfully concluded. "It works out best for everyone. Weyoun gets his money. The Founders get their renegade, I get to keep my marine, and the Major gets to keep his friends alive and comfortable. Hell, even the Jem'Hadar are going to get quite a showing and testing of strength. Everyone wins."
"What about G'lilll?" Dhrakin quipped, amused at how Sey'lena managed to warp this clusterfuck to her advantage.
"He's a slave, he doesn't count," she waved dismissively.
It seemed that G'lilll still didn't understand. "But, but I'm your alpha-male. You need me to carry on your family name, to continue on your legacy."
"Pfff," Sey'lena scoffed, "as if you're the only alpha-male in the entire Syndicate. You're not that special. Besides," she glanced meaningfully to the marine, "I'm not looking for that kind of relationship right now."
Okay, now Dhrakin was worried about Sey'lena. She's never done that before.
Sey'lena then glared balefully at the piece of vermin on the ground. "You know, I originally was planning to keep you out of this. Despite my hatred of you, despite losing all of your power and influence with those five ships, I was prepared to protect you as Orionisi tradition demanded.
"But that protection is supposed to go both ways. As you are immune, you were supposed to be my support, my rock to ground me, my bastion of trust when I once again had to use my body to subjugate more males to my rule.
"But you didn't. You took advantage of your gift. You took me repeatedly, whenever you pleased, then threw me out the door when finished, only mumbling in an off-handed way about offering your vassalage to me, as if I should be pleased you were even considering offering me my legacy.
"But still I allowed you do so, because tradition demanded that I seek a legacy."
Dhrakin frowned in pity for his mistress. For all her prestige and power, she wasn't only slave to the Dominion, but to her own culture as well. No one should have to suffer that kind of torture.
"And then I met this remarkable man," she tightened her arms around the marine, closing her eyes in content for a moment, "who showed me how an immune male was supposed to act towards his mistress, and I realized what you were doing was wrong."
She then stepped in front of the marine and kneeled to the collapsed Orion. "So when you threaten him or his crew, you threaten me, and just like the Vorta, I take those threats seriously. Your last few moments will be the most miserable time of your pathetic life, and I will take great pleasure in knowing that it was your own doing that guaranteed your fall."
Dhrakin observed with bated breath as Sey'lena raised her hand, and the marine took aim. "Goodbye G'lilll, I hope you rot in the eternal fires with the rest of your family."
She dropped her hand. The marine fired center mark. The body slumped to the ground.
A pause.
Dhrakin noticed it first. "I thought you were going to kill him?"
In response, Sey'lena rolled her eyes at his shortsightedness, and then turned back to the marine, eyebrow raised for the explanation.
Holstering his pistol, he gazed back at the Bolian. "Killing him adds doubt to her story," he responded. "It gives the impression she is hiding something. The Cardassians make the same mistake. Extract the confession, then execute the criminal after the interrogation, and cover it up as suicide. The Federation magistrates would never accept such a confession."
Sey'lena picked up where he left off. "So after we explain what happened, we give the bastard over, and they'll interrogate him to the point of insanity, all the while believing that G'lilll would never follow my will if he was immune."
"A fate worse than death," the marine concluded.
"Doesn't sound like something the Federation would agree with," stated Dhrakin.
"How the Federation Department of Justice operates is no concern of mine. I simply defend and protect the Federation as a whole. And my current charge," he added in afterthought.
"So why are you helping us then? A fragmented Syndicate would be better for the Federation," Dhrakin queried, his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.
The marine didn't bat an eye. "My agreement with Madam Gogh," Dhrakin noticed that Sey'lena flinched at the title, but was too focused on the marine for the moment. "Also, it doesn't matter if you marshal the entire body of this Dominion. The Federation and her protectorates are more than capable of handling anything they throw at us. And if not, then they will simply collapse the wormhole. I know it's possible."
Sey'lena pouted. "Would you really collapse the wormhole and abandon me just like that?"
"That is assuming if I manage to escape, and so far, that is and currently remains impossible to achieve."
"Yayy!" she cheered jumping right back into his arms, once again assuming her bridal style hold. Dhrakin rolled his eyes as she sealed the deal with a big peck to his lips. "You're not getting away from me that easily, my little marine."
"If that is what you wish…Sey'lena." Dhrakin saw her shudder as he spoke her name. He really needed to talk to her about this behavior later.
The ship shook as the docking clamps were secured.
But for now…
"Sey'lena, I think it's time to go. Our," he swallowed, "guests are waiting."
Sey'lena sighed in annoyance. "Oh for Madams sake Dhrakin, grow a spine. Still, it is time to go. You two!" she snapped at the brutes who just continued to stand there like statutes, "drag your boss with us. It's time to take out the trash."
The journey to the airlock took little time. Sey'lena reluctantly tore herself from the marine's arms and established herself to centerfold position. The marine once again retreated to a corner in the area, out of sight, but still seeing everything. Dhrakin took the other corner hoping against all hope that no one would notice him. And the two dunderheads dragged their broken leader on the ground, but to the side of the airlock.
It wouldn't do anyone any good to have the Vorta trip over his new prisoner.
A few hisses and mechanical sounds, and the Dominion contingent entered the ship.
Dhrakin knew that protocol called for two Jem'Hadar to enter any unsecured area first. He just didn't expect them to immediately train their poloron rifles straight to one of the corners of the room.
Thankfully it wasn't his corner.
"You! Federation! Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!" the one on the left commanded.
"You will not be asked again!" the right one added, his voice low and forceful.
Dhrakin cursed his current luck. It seemed putting two types of super soldiers in the same room on different sides was not one of his mistress's bright ideas. Somehow in between the two commands, the marine pulled his two pistols once again, and both were trained on the heads of both soldiers.
Thankfully before a mini-war broke out in which Dhrakin would most likely be a casualty, resolution came from an unlikely source.
"Omet'Iklan! Control your men! These people, including that Federation fellow, are our hosts," a familiar voice behind the two Jem'Hadar commanded, currently absent of friendliness and camaraderie.
"His two weapons are trained in our vicinity. You should let us kill him and be done with it," the quiet voiced Jem'Hadar dubbed Omet'Iklan replied with no trace of respect.
Weyoun, stepping around the two grey reptile-like soldiers, replied in a similar tone. "You will do nothing without my approval. Now lower your weapons." The complied, albeit reluctantly.
Weyoun then turned to Sey'lena, and with a more conciliating tone addressed her. "My apologies, Madam. I'm afraid the Jem'Hadar are sadly deficient in the social graces."
Dhrakin watched Sey'lena nod in reply and understanding. She then turned over to the marine and gave him a similar nod. He too lowered and holstered his weapons.
With the tense atmosphere dissipating, Weyoun continued to give Dhrakin's mistress his full attention, clapping his hands together. "Well Madam, a shaky introduction if ever there was one, but still, I am glad we were able to resolve this simple misunderstanding before it turned violent.
"Also, I'd like to thank you again for allowing us to board your vessel," he added.
"Well," Sey'lena replied with a faux-smile, "it's not like we had a choice, Weyoun. After all, we all serve the Founders, and as you carry their voice, I could hardly refuse you entrance, now could I?"
"Indeed, I never doubted your loyalty, my dear," Weyoun bowed humbly. "Though I am curious as to why there is currently an Orion lying unconscious on your deck plating," he noted, nodding to said figure.
This is it, Dhrakin thought. Madams, please let this work.
"Oh him?" Sey'lena nodded off-handily. "He's the reason why you're over here in the first place. G'lilll my former Alpha, decided in his infinite wisdom to attack that Starfleet vessel and take some prisoners for rehabilitation and profit."
"Really?" Weyoun replied, hands behind his back, eyebrow raised. "Because on the viewer earlier, I was under the impression that it was your idea to attack the vessel. This is your ship after all, isn't it?"
Sey'lena sighed in sympathy." I can see how you'd think that way. Unfortunately, the situation here, especially given this Orion," she again nodded over the prone form, "carries a different form of our culture that takes outsiders some time to understand."
"But," she added, "since you're already here, if you and your retinue would care to follow me our dining hall, I can not only explain everything to you, but provide you with some rest, good food, and suitable entertainment. How about it?" she asked with a charming and disabling smile.
"We are Jem'Hadar. We do not require sustenance, rest, nor entertainment," the Jem'Hadar standing next to Omet'Iklan retorted arrogantly, glaring disdainfully at the rest of the gathering.
"No, but your next supply of white is within the next hour," Weyoun snapped at his soldiers, "and if you want it on time, then you will be quiet and do as I say."
He addressed Sey'lena again, "I see no reason to deny such a generous offer. I was planning on taking care of this," gesturing to the crate in another Vorta's hands, "sometime after our meeting, but if we're going to be provided a meal, in the spirit of our continual cooperation, I feel it best for all of us to partake in this delightful ceremony."
"And," Sey'lena smoothly interjected, "I may have a way to provide some meaningful entertainment for the Jem'Hadar as well, that is," she leaned over and loudly whispered "if your First would like to test his men's strength against a Starfleet Marine."
Despite the supposed discipline of the Jem'Hadar, Dhrakin noticed excited whispers break out amongst Omet'Iklan's partner.
"Ah, a proving match? My, my, my dear Sey'lena, you do know how to give the pride of the Dominion a good time, don't you? Well," Weyoun asked Omet'Iklan, "what say you First?"
Omet'Iklan stepped forward, inspecting the marine in detailed scrutiny. Dhrakin idly noticed that on his grey uniform was a patch on his left breast with the Letters "H.E." in Domionese imprinted on them, though he had no idea what they meant.
The marine in question didn't even waver in the slightest.
"I've heard tales of the prowess and discipline of the Starfleet Marines. They are said to rival the strength of the Klingons. I look forward to challenging that claim for myself." He then turned toward the man who made that previous outburst. "Second Toman'Torax. Send for the Third through Tenth. I want them all here to learn and examine the power of an Alpha Augment."
"Yes First," he replied before moving back to the ship.
"Oh, I almost forgot" Weyoun interjected before the Second left, "take our unconscious Orionisi friend with you to a holding cell. We can question him later after our departure."
Toman'Torax nodded, before hoisting the massive Orion over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing and carried him back to the ship. Dhrakin surreptitiously looked over at the marine. He recognized mild shock at the casual display of strength, but quickly shook it off.
I wonder if you realize what you have gotten yourself into marine, he silently wondered.
A couple minutes passed before the Second returned in the company of eight other Jem'Hadar soldiers.
"Oh good," drawled Weyoun, obviously bored with the uptightness of the Jem'Hadar, "now that we're all here, perhaps we can get a move on?" Giving Sey'lena a placating smile, he apologized for the delay. "Like I said, the Jem'Hadar were not bred for conversation or propriety."
"The Gods did not create us for conversation or propriety. They created us for battle and defense. When your words and your promises inevitably fail, we are sent to clean up your messes and resolve the issues," Omet'Iklan retorted in his calm, cold voice.
Weyoun sighed again, and Dhrakin thought that was a long continued debate not only between Weyoun and his First, but between all Vorta and Jem'Hadar.
"Your solution would involve lining up the perpetrators against a wall and shooting them," Weyoun muttered, but before Omet'Iklan could respond, he gestured to Sey'lena, "but that's neither here nor now. After you my dear."
"Of course," she replied, hiding a smirk at the clear disdain between the two species.
Sey'lena, after dismissing the two Orionisi males, led the way to her personal dining chamber with the marine right behind her. The ten Jem'Hadar and the two Vorta were next, leaving poor Dhrakin at the very end, out of sight and out of mind.
Just the way he liked it.
Entering the room, they were all greeted to a circular room with colors and fragrances laced through the air. Cushions and flowers circled within another ring of columns and vines, giving the room a soothing and relaxing atmosphere. Looking up, they all took in the holographic projection of outer space. Soothing background music disarmed all the guests.
Except the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta of course.
"Please take a seat anywhere you like. This is my home, and I wouldn't be a good hostess without providing my guests the best that I can."
Weyoun and his Vorta companion, who had remained silent for the time being, each took a cushion to the right of Seylena, while Dhrakin took the other side, thinking that keeping his mistress between him and the Vorta was one of his best laid plans.
The marine of course, took a standing position behind Sey'lena, while the ten Jem'Hadar stood on the opposite perimeter of the center of the lower circular platform that Sey'lena used to 'entertain' and 'mesmerize' her male 'guests' at the request of the Alpha in command of the ship.
This time, however, Sey'lena instructed the attending Orionisi males to convert the platform into a proving arena. Without the Alpha to protect his men and with Sey'lena's allure being pumped throughout the ship, the Orions took her word as law.
While the arena was being assembled and exotic and appetizing food was brought forth and consumed, Sey'lena began regaling her tale about how G'lilll wanted to challenge and attack the Federation vessel for contraband, despite Sey'lena's orders to the contrary, and afterwards how he attempted to take her hostage to escape punishment from the Vorta.
"My dear," Weyoun gushed in sympathy, "I had no idea the leadership aboard your vessel was in such a fragile state. Surely, you must know that the Dominion takes every precaution for the safety of the leaders of each member-state. If you simply needed help, we would have gladly placed a contingent of Jem'Hadar soldiers to protect your interests and guarantee your rule."
Not to mention, safeguard your own, Dhrakin added darkly.
Sey'lena though dodged the feint quite gracefully, "I understand, and would this be a regular occurrence, I'd accept, gladly in fact. But again, this is a rare opportunity where one such as G'lilll would take advantage of his gifts for his own self interest, rather than the betterment of the Dominion. They aren't that smart or capable after all."
To emphasize the point, the two Orionisi males assembling the ring knocked each other over whilst placing the cylindrical post-gongs on the opposite sides of the circle. Dhrakin smothered a snort at the obvious signs of pheromone overdose.
"I see," Weyoun observed. "Still though, it truly was fortunate that you were able to turn the tables on your Orionisi friend and take him captive instead, especially considering that this is his own ship."
"And for that, you have to thank this good marine officer I manage to scrounge up from G'lilll's raid. Without his help, G'lilll would have mostly likely escaped and you would've had to deal with hunting him down for the foreseeable future. I suspect that would interfere with some of your plans?"
Weyoun nodded absentmindedly, and then chuckled good-heartedly. "Ha-haa. You are as subtle as ever, my dear. Attempting to deflect intrigue with your own, you do your species credit. You almost had me."
Sey'lena smiled in return. "Well if you're planning something in this sector, don't you think I should know about it? After all, how can we assist the Founders if we are unaware of what is occurring?"
Weyoun returned the smile. "Oh don't worry my dear, you'll find out soon enough. Besides, I thought we were discussing your marine fellow. He is a security risk after all. We can't allow him to return to the Federation until we're ready to make our appearance."
His purple eyes lit up. "I have a splendid idea. Why don't you turn him over to us, and in return I'll provide you with Omet'Iklan and his men to ensure your safety? That way we all walk away with what we wanted."
Observing Sey'lena's smile become as forced and as pained as he had ever seen it before was of deep concern to Dhrakin. She's becoming more and more enamored with the marine as the hour goes by. Just accept the offer, and we get our lives back! He mentally shouted.
"That would not be in the best interest of any of us, Weyoun," she responded, a bit of venom hidden in her words.
"And how did you come to that conclusion," Weyoun asked in confusion.
"Isn't it obvious Weyoun? If I show up back to the Madams Chambers surrounded by a block of your Jem'Hadar, I'd lose all credibility with the other Madams. My ability to control would be called into question. They would believe that I had become nothing more than a slave to the Dominion, rather than leader of the leading and noble Clan.
"It's a matter of perspective Weyoun. Indirectly, we all contribute to the Dominion, but we don't like showcasing it. It's simply a matter of pride for us. And having a column of Jem'Hadar soldiers walking into the Madams Chambers really shoves it into their faces."
"And then the Clans would fall into disarray…" Weyoun concluded.
"Exactly. And if you truly want the credit we're offering, then the Clans of the Syndicate cannot be fighting amongst ourselves. It's bad for business."
"But what about the marine? He's still a security risk."
"He's my slave. He'll do whatever I want him to do. Unlike you Vorta or Jem'Hadar, this marine can and has fallen to my influence. He is mine to command as I see fit, and if I order him keep your secrets, then he will. And that is something my fellow Madams will accept."
"But is he capable?" Weyoun asked, voicing Dhrakin's own thoughts.
"That's what we're here for. To test his strength." Sey'lena then achieved her own epiphany. "How about this? If my marine can defeat all ten of your Jem'Hadar soldiers in one sitting, then his strength is proven, and I keep him. Otherwise, he's yours to do with as you please, and I'll take the risk of your soldiers."
Dhrakin watched Weyoun's eyes calculate the various odds and possibilities of such an offer, weighing all the pros and cons of each result. To Dhrakin, it seemed like an eternity.
In the end though, he nodded in acceptance. "But first, I still have one last duty to address." Turning to his Vorta companion, he gestured for the box. "Its time."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Omet'Iklan stepped forward with Toman'Torax right behind him. Both seemed eager for what was contained within.
Crate in hand, Weyoun casually asked for ten vials. After accepting the voice-print, the crate opened, and Weyoun carefully extracted ten tubes containing a white fluid that Dhrakin knew as Ketracel White, the drug that kept the Jem'Hadar alive and sane.
Despite the supposed seriousness of the ritual, Weyoun acted as if he was completely bored with the whole procedure and didn't even make eye contact with the soldier. "First Omet'Iklan, can you vouch for the loyalty of your men?"
Standing at complete attention, the First responded with a complete sense of professionalism and loyalty to these mystical Gods. "We pledge our loyalty to the Founders, from now until death."
Weyoun wasn't impressed however, but continued on regardless. "Then receive this reward from the Founders, may it keep you strong." The adjacent Vorta then passed the vials to the First and Second, who in turned distributed the vials to the remainder of the Jem'Hadar in the room.
As soon as the last vial was distributed, the Jem'Hadar each placed the vial within their uniform jacket and secured it to the tube that slowly distributed the drug. Each soldier let out a sigh of relief as the drug began to course through their bodies.
Weyoun then clapped his hands together in excitement. "Now that that's out of the way, time for the entertainment."
In response, Sey'lena then gestured for the marine to kneel beside her. She quickly whispered something into his ear, most likely reassurances, and then subtlety placed a chaste kiss against his cheek. Thankfully Weyoun didn't notice.
Dhrakin watched as the marine and the Tenth striped themselves of their weapons and stepped into the arena. Each assumed a fighting stance.
Sey'lena quickly explained the fight. "The rules are quite simple. You fight until you are incapable. If you are knocked down, you must tap one of the two posts if you wish to continue, otherwise you forfeit. Do you understand?"
Both nodded, but kept their eyes on the other.
"Very well. Begin!"
And so it did.
The two began to circle the other, sending out test jabs, probes, and feints. Those alone looked painful in of themselves for a regular soldier, but the two super soldiers quickly shook them off.
Either believing himself the superior or tired of waiting for an attack, the Tenth rushed into the marine's area of control, launched a fury of attacks and finishing with a wild haymaker.
They all connected, and the Jem'Hadar drew first blood.
Dhrakin winced at the brutality of the maneuver as the marine quickly jumped back up, tapping the post as he did do. It gonged in response. Dhrakin didn't have to look over as Sey'lena winced in sympathy.
They circled again.
Feeling bold, the Tenth tried again. Fury of jabs, then a finisher.
It connected again.
The marine was on the floor, spitting out blood.
The gong struck again.
Now sporting a malevolent grin on his face, the Tenth, almost with a swagger, stepped forward to attack again, already certain of success.
He was.
"If this is the best the Alpha Quadrant has to offer, than I may not need your assistance after all," Weyoun quipped. "We also may as well as forgo the demonstration and transfer my men over to save time."
Dhrakin risked a glance at Sey'lena, but was shocked at the knowing smirk on her green lips. "Don't dismiss him just yet, my lovely Weyoun."
The gong stuck again.
Now actively on the balls of his feet and certain of victory, the Tenth struck again, unintentionally using the first combination of the duel.
The consequence was severe.
Dhrakin watched in awe as each lighting strike was intercepted with flowing grace. Then, as the wild haymaker flew, Dhrakin held in a groan as the marine maneuvered himself behind to catch the arm, brutally dislocate it out of socket, then snapping the joint at the elbow.
To his credit, the Tenth only whimpered, and then only barely. The pain was still severe and distracting enough for the marine to finish him by exerting the signature Vulcan nerve pinch on the hide of the of the Jem'Hadar shoulder.
He collapsed to the ground.
The gong remained silent.
As was the rest of the audience.
"Amazing," Weyoun breathed. "I never thought I'd encountered a strong enough being to stimulate enough nerves to cause a Jem'Hadar to pass into unconsciousness."
"I warned you, Weyoun. He is a man of many talents," Sey'lena quipped back, a proud smile on her face.
The marine continued to stand tall, waiting for his next opponent to enter the fray.
The Ninth obliged.
It was even shorter than the previous.
Dhrakin was surprised at that, but he quickly realized the reason. The Jem'Hadar, though seemingly as strong as the marine, weren't utilizing any form of technique aside from some quick jabs and a finisher.
Against a normal being, that would have been acceptable. Those jabs could likely bend durasteel, yet against an Augment, who could take the punishment, it proved to be their undoing. Dhrakin figured that the marine had just seen every combination the Jem'Hadar were capable of performing, and had developed the perfect counter measures for each of them.
The unconscious and battered bodies of the Eight through Third seem to prove that hypothesis, although despite that, the marine did appear to be tiring and battered himself.
Another trait about the Jem'Hadar that Dhrakin noticed was their strength. They all appeared to be completely equal in strength, almost as if after the three day maturation of the bodies, they simply stop growing; only maintaining.
I guess that's what happens when you create a soldier that does not require substance or sleep. No room for future development. Dhrakin surmised. This really was a brilliant biological and genetic study for the good Bolian.
"Looks like you may need my help after all Weyoun. If this reflects the capability of all the Federation Marines, then you're gonna need a whole lot more Jem'Hadar then you have at the moment."
"You may be right, my dear." Weyoun muttered, then breathed a sigh of his own. "Fortunately for us, the Federation hasn't yet perfected their Augmenting Process, only yielding about two hundred marines each year out of a two hundred billion population. It's a very demanding and grueling process, or so I'm told."
Curiosity outweighing his fear, Dhrakin opened his mouth before he could help himself. "And how could you possibly know the interworkings of the Federation and its Marine Corps."
Sey'lena turned and glared at him to shut his big mouth, but Weyoun eyed him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "The Founders know all, of course. They know the interworkings of the entire Alpha Quadrant, the political instability it's wracked with, and the abilities of its militaries, public and hidden."
Dhrakin couldn't help himself. "But how could they possibly know every detail of the Alpha Quadrant, when no member of the Dominion has passed through the wormhole?"
"They are Gods, of course," Weyoun replied as if that it explained all. "If they so choose, they could walk amongst us without us even knowing it, acquiring all the information they need to help bring the desperately necessary Order to a chaotic galaxy."
Dhrakin wasn't so sure about that. The Syndicate, despite being subservient to the Dominion, was still the prime example of gathering intelligence. After all, criminals are everywhere, even in Weyoun's perfect Dominion. And all criminals talk to the Syndicate.
And according to Sey'lena, not one has seen nor heard neither hide nor hair of these so called Founders. And if the Syndicate isn't aware of it, then it simple doesn't exist. Such is the nature of the criminal underworld.
Still, Dhrakin was smart enough not to mention that to the Vorta who seemed to have continuous hard-on whenever he speaks about his so called Gods.
Plus Sey'lena looked ready to rip him in half for speaking.
And that scared Dhrakin a whole lot more.
Turning back to the fight, the First was dragging his Second out of the arena, which was now covered in blood and sweat from the competitors. As for Toman'Torax, despite having both of his shoulders dislocated, both knees blown out, and a very sore collarbone, he had the biggest grin on his face.
It seemed the marine's nerve pinch wasn't as effective on the Second as it was on the others.
"Much better than a Klingon, indeed. I look forward to killing you and your brothers on the battlefield. Its been so long since I've been given good sport," Toman'Torax choked out before giving way to the sweet arms of unconsciousness.
His opponent wasn't in much better shape. It seemed Toman'Torax was a cut above the rest of the squad. The marine was barely standing on his own two feet. He was leaning to one side, favoring his left over his right. He had his right arm draped protectively over his ribs. His face was bruised and swollen, with hinting of black eyes in the future.
All in all, he looks like shit, was Dhrakin's medical diagnosis.
Still, he took his ready position when Omet'Iklan stepped into the arena, yet before Sey'lena gave the single to begin, the Jem'Hadar spoke. "You have demonstrated your prowess unarmed. Now let us see how well you fight with a blade."
And with that, one of the Jem'Hadar that had regained consciousness gingerly tossed his First a wicked-looking halberd-sword known as a Kar'takin. He caught it reflexively and twirled it around, judging its weight and balance. He nodded in acceptance.
The other Jem'Hadar then offered the marine one as well. He declined, then limped over to the weapon pile and retrieved his own. Drawing it from its sheath, Dhrakin couldn't help but be mesmerized by its design.
Observing it closely, he examined the metal, taking in its curvature, eyeing its exoticness. It seemed capable of cutting through steel itself without taking any damage in return. Dhrakin decided to be weary of the weapon.
Giving it a few twirls of his own, most likely stretching out his own muscles and becoming more limber, the marine took his position.
"This is the final match between the Stellar Marine Major Rondexus Stoppable and First Omet'Iklan, Honored Elder of the Dominion," Sey'lena announced. "The rules are the same, fight until you can't fight anymore, but do not kill each other. Both of you are far too valuable."
"Prepare yourself, marine. I find you a worthy opponent, and will give you my all," Omet'Iklan stated, his quiet tone sending shivers down Dhrakin neck.
The marine nodded in response.
"Begin!"
"Victory is life," the First whispered, before moving forward to test the marine's defenses.
Immediately, the First brought his weapon down in a series of combinations, trusting on his fresh strength and weakened opponent to thrust said opponent on the defensive.
Once again it works, though Dhrakin isn't sure whether the marine is testing his adversary or if the fatigue is finally catching up to him. Reason or not, the marine gives ground, intercepting or deflecting the strikes against him.
Omet'Iklan doesn't let up. The Kar'takin is a brutal weapon. Should its opponent not have the necessary strength to resist, the wielder could cleave the opponent in two. It is not elegant like the marine's sword, whose owner seems to use it to dance around his opponent, deflecting and sending Omet'Iklan's slashes through open air.
He was clearly though still on the defensive.
A moment arrives though, where Omet'Iklan over reaches a downward arc, and receives a fist and backhand to the face, knocking him on the ground.
The gong sounds, and the fight resumes.
Omet'Iklan moves forward again, swinging and slashing. This time, the marine misses a deflection, and his arm is cut. Distracted, the marine cannot defend against the First's elbow thrust which throws him on the ground.
The gong sounds, and the fight resumes.
Back and forth, the duel continues. Blades are crossed and blows are exchanged. Though tired and nearing exhaustion, the marine continues to hold defend and deflect the attacks, trading ground for space, and slowly inflict enough head wounds to disorient his opponent.
All the while, he attempts to fend off the arm shattering slashes of the mini-halberd, enduring the numerous wounds that his body has received, and trying to remain conscious despite the staggering blood loss.
The gongs have been rung by both sides.
Five minutes in, both started to become sloppy, their swings carried less force, their deflections held less grace, and their injuries become less superficial. Both are tired beyond comprehending, and seem to be using most of their strength just to remain standing. Blows are now rare in occurrence.
So it was expected that the end was extremely anti-climatic. Omet'Iklan gave a half-hearted swing. The marine, using the last of his strength, ducked under it, maneuvered behind him, and nerved-pinched the exhausted Jem'Hadar into unconsciousness.
The marine joined him shortly after.
The silence of the party observing seemed to last for ages.
Until Weyoun started laughing.
"Oh how delightful. It seems the Jem'Hadar have finally gotten their wish. An opponent to truly test their mettle. I must congratulate you, my dear. That was an excellent bought of combat, really, a truly remarkable force of arms, worthy of those songs those Klingons are so fond of. Oh, the Founders were right to fear the Federation. Looks like we're going to have to accelerate our plans after all.
"But first, my dear, you should have your man treated. After all, if we're going to have any hope of subduing the Federation as quickly and as painlessly as possibly, we're going to need your voice, and who more better to safeguard it than the Federation itself. Oh the ideas. It's so exciting!"
Knowing how much his mistress cared about the marine, Dhrakin was surprised that she didn't immediately send Weyoun off to an early grave. The irony of the situation was that his guard was currently incapacitated.
What she did instead was to run towards her slave and used what strength she had to roll him off the unconscious Omet'Iklan. She then quickly checked his pulse. After locating one, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she been holding. It was quickly followed by a gasp of emotion and shuddering of her shoulders as she attempted to hold in the tears that threaten to escape.
Thankfully, Weyoun was too far in his own discussion with his Vorta counterpart to pay proper attention.
Grasping the moment, Dhrakin quickly moved over to his mistress's side. "Sey'lena pull yourself together," he whispered, "we're almost out of this. I'll get him fixed up. You focus on getting rid of our damn guests."
Pulling herself together always impressed the Bolian. One moment she about ready to fall apart at the sight of her broken marine. The next moment, her face was back to indifference and mild amusement. Shaking her head clear, Dhrakin accepted she was ready to make the final step.
Then Dhrakin felt an iron grip on his arm that threatened to cut off circulation. Suddenly his mistress was right above him whispering menacingly into his ear. "If he dies, you die. Understood?"
Dhrakin nodded, his own body now shaking.
"Use the damn Denobulan doctor if you have to, but you will save his life, or forsake your own."
He nodded again, the grip was released.
Dhrakin then signaled to the two Orionisi brutes who were still standing and staring around aimlessly, to assist. They both picked up the marines body and made their way to exit.
Just as he was about to exit the door and temporary freedom, a dreaded voice made itself known again.
"Ah Dhrakin, what's the hurry? I thought you would want to be here to witness a momentous occasion that's going to affect the status quo of the Omicron Sector for generations," Weyoun's cheery voice rang out.
Groaning at his misfortune, the Bolian turned around. "I was going to go tend to the marine's wounds. After all, there aren't any real capable doctors aboard," he bluffed.
Weyoun waived away the concern. "Oh nonsense. He'll be fine. Superficial at worst. Nothing that a good sleep will cure. Besides, this will affect you as well as the Syndicate."
Filled with worry at the increasingly cheery tone of the Vorta, Dhrakin skulked back into the room, waving off the two Orions to continue their task.
"Great! Now, here's what we're going to do…"
A/N: One last closure scene with the crew of the Jackal, then on to ACT IV
Stay tuned.
