11
60,063 (Kurillian calendar)
Many of Deimos's friends, family, and acquaintances were able to laugh at his funeral, either from genuine pleasure at their memories of the man or as a way to bluster through their sorrow. Weyoun wasn't one of them. After his friend's memorial was cremated—no body meant no corporeal ashes, just bits of ephemeral commemoration—and scattered to the Ocean's waves, he stood at the shore, staring at the black clouds keeping their distance far out to sea, their fury having retreated there at the end of the monsoon. White-capped waves were crashing on the rocks; though the day was calm, the water was driven relentlessly landward by the distant thunderstorms.
It seemed unbelievable that this could actually be happening—have happened, because it was in the past as surely as anything ever had been. Deimos; irrepressible, enthusiastic Deimos, was dead. Weyoun's oldest and best friend, more his family than his actual family had ever been. It was a gaping wound inside of him, a pain of such intensity that as it swelled and crested in him at that moment, he couldn't feel his own legs supporting him.
He drew in a slow, measured breath through his nose. The funeral and reception had been held at a lonely building set on a low overlook facing the Ocean; a windswept rock for the entire year. Its survival during the monsoon was miraculous but here it stood, year after year. Deimos had liked it; he'd come here often. Orbital launches were visible—during the dry season, of course. During the monsoon, nothing would be visible from this spot as waves kicked up by the ferocious wind would scour the beach. But the monsoon had ended two days ago and so someone, not Weyoun, had suggested this place for the funeral.
A faint sound reached his ears and he turned to watch Eris picking her way over the rocks towards him, holding a plate and a fork. Her dress blew around her knees in the stiff breeze, and when she reached his side, she stood there silently for a long moment, staring out at the Ocean just as he'd been doing. Then, she turned to face him and offered the plate, saying, "I thought you might like something to eat."
He smiled, slightly and mirthlessly, and didn't take it. "I'm not particularly hungry."
Eris unwaveringly held the plate in front of him. "I haven't seen you eat in days."
"Most likely because I haven't."
Her expression didn't change, and neither did her pose. "Weyoun," she said softly. He just looked at her, watching thoughts and nearly-spoken sentences flicker across her face. It was obvious what they were—Starving yourself won't bring Deimos back; you can't move on by acting like this; the last thing Deimos would mind is you eating at his funeral. She didn't say any of it. Not that he'd be insulted, but any of it would have been patronizing, trite, and obvious. Finally, she just sighed and lifted the plate a little. "Just eat something. Please."
The simple truth was that he wasn't hungry and hadn't been hungry, but he supposed he could see, now, that it was troubling to his wife. With another thin smile, he took the plate and started to pick half-heartedly at all of Deimos's favorite foods. What had been Deimos's favorite foods. At least Eris hadn't overloaded the plate.
While he ate, she didn't say anything; instead gazing out to sea. He did the same, letting his mind empty of everything that had been swirling around in it. After meeting with Seleth at Ground Control, he'd taken the train to Tira University. He and Eris rarely visited each other's workplaces, and being back at Tira University during the day had given him a sense of biting nostalgia for his own time there. Eris had been in her office and had been surprised, of course, to see him. He'd shut her door, put his hands flat on her desk, and told her. It would have been better to do it at home, but he had no idea when Ground Control was going to release the information to the media, and he wanted her to hear it from him.
That had been two weeks ago. The monsoon had since ended, but those close to Deimos wouldn't celebrate the Effulgence Festival until after the memorial. Weyoun doubted he and Eris would celebrate at all.
"I forget how near we live to the Ocean," she said after a while. Weyoun glanced at her, but she was staring out at the black clouds. "It's so open, isn't it? There's so much…empty space. It's such an impressive amount of unexplored…nothingness."
"You're showing your provincialism, my dear," Weyoun said.
She turned to face him and glanced down at his plate. He followed her gaze, surprised to see that he'd eaten most of what she'd brought to him. "Maybe," she said. "I suppose we do have all those trees in Pegrill. It's a very different feeling." Taking the plate and setting it down on the ground next to them, she took one of his hands and held it tightly. "Deimos wanted that empty space. I'm certainly not saying he wanted to die—I know he didn't. But this is the way he would have wanted it to happen."
He gripped her hand harder. "That's trite."
"I know. That doesn't mean there isn't any truth to it."
Weyoun fought the urge to shut his eyes and lost. In the blackness behind his closed eyelids he could hear Deimos's last moments. "No one wants to die like that, Eris. He was alone and terrified."
There was a silence, and Eris swallowed. "Well," she said quietly, "it made Leto feel better."
He squeezed her hand, his eyes still shut. "Thank you for that, at least. I'm afraid I've been worthless at consoling others."
Waves filled the silence, and then he felt a light touch on his ear and opened his eyes to find himself staring into hers. She brushed her finger down the length of his ear, the lilac of her irises reflecting pain. "That's not for you to do right now." Gently, she added, "Stop being a politician."
"You know I can't," he said in a low tone. "I'm not allowed the reactions that everyone else is."
She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "I know."
Light started to glint off the turbulent water as the sun angled lower in the sky, but there was no warmth in it. Weyoun sighed, feeling defeated. "What are they saying about me in there?" he asked, indicating the building behind them.
Pursing her lips slightly, she replied, "They're not saying that you should have insisted on more stringent safety measures, if that's what you're asking. Those people are your friends, Weyoun."
"I assure you, some of them are thinking it."
"Is that what you think?" she asked bluntly. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think that Deimos would be alive if you'd included more secondary safety provisions in the orbital?"
He laughed mirthlessly. "No. Every safety device we dreamed up was a farce. We knew that if something went wrong, then—" He stopped as his throat traitorously closed up. "Let's just say, what happened was not particularly surprising."
"You have no idea what happened," she pointed out softly.
"I have no doubt Ground Control is working assiduously on that."
She hadn't let go of his hand, and despite the gauche nature of it, he was glad. Her grip was cool and strong and unequivocal. "If you're somehow found to be accountable after their investigation, is it going to…damage you?"
Weyoun turned to face her. "I'm not lying about this, Eris. I know it wasn't my fault. Telecorps will say it was; my enemies will say it was; perhaps even Deimos's family, if they'd like someone to blame. But I know it wasn't." He snorted. "Arrogance, I suppose."
"Or confidence," she said. "Either way, I'm glad. It's enough to miss him without feeling responsible."
With a hollow chuckle, he replied, "Truer words were never spoken."
They stood there silently for a while, the only measure of time the waves breaking on the rocks. Then, inhaling a deep breathing of sea-scented air, Weyoun said, "I suppose I should go back inside. I have an image to maintain."
"Always the politician," she said softly.
"This," he said, "I think, is more diplomacy than politics."
"Maybe you're right." She squeezed his hand once more before letting it go, and the two of them walked together back up the beach, back to the people celebrating Deimos's life, mourning his death, and preparing to go on without him. And for the first time in his life, Weyoun contemplated death, in its inexorable approach and finality. A thought snaked through his mind, that the Vorta had the capability to implant memories in a clone—in effect, to bestow immortality on an individual. But the Vorta also had decided that to do so was wrong at some basic level, and though at the moment it seemed tempting, he was sure that in a few weeks, once the pain of losing a friend had dulled somewhat, the sense in that decision would be obvious again.
Right now, though, it was difficult to see why giving someone another chance at their life was such a terrible thing.
The pain did ease, little by little. Life could do nothing but go on, and three months after the fact the wound felt almost scabbed over. Even if it would always leave a scar, it at least wasn't a constant source of pain. Still, he found himself almost involuntarily distancing himself from Deimos's life's work. Whether it was genuine sadness at the association, or merely that the problem of the Dominion, and the Council's stubborn resistance to joining it, was taking more and more of his time, he didn't know, and didn't care to speculate on. Or perhaps, he thought one day as he frustratedly ignored three missives from Ground Control that appeared on his interface separated only by an hour each, Deimos's former organization had simply become a shoddily run shadow of its former self; yet another whining constituent demanding attention that he couldn't give.
When he stepped through the front door of his home that evening, it was to find Eris sitting on the sectional, a padd in her lap, and takeaway on the kitchen counter, which she waved him towards with a mumbled, "I never feel like cooking anymore."
"I think you can be forgiven for that," he said with a smile. Her abdomen was swollen far beyond the limits of comfort—she was due in a mere two months, and he was surprised she wasn't in too much pain to continue teaching. She simply managed it well, he thought, as he sat and ate in the kitchen and watched her work. Now and then, discomfort rippled across her face.
"Ground Control contacted me today at my office," she said without looking up, just as he had finished eating and was coming into the living room to join her.
Weyoun dropped onto the sectional next to her. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I'm not." Setting her padd down next to her, she looked at him and said, "I gather you've been avoiding their messages if they've moved to such extreme measures to get in touch with you."
For a moment, he covered his eyes with a hand. The darkness it provided was soothing. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure to speak with them."
"I think that's exactly what they want." When he removed his hand from his eyes to peer at her, she seemed mildly amused. "I've noticed a certain decline in management at Ground Control in the last several months," she added wryly.
He snorted. That was putting it lightly. "They have proposals," he said, his tone dripping with more derision than he'd allowed it to in the last three months.
"Well, you're their biggest champion, especially now," Eris said idly. "Even Foros seems to have withdrawn his support."
"And they're well aware of it." He leaned against her, listening to the baby's heartbeat. Her mention of Foros only sent the barest twinge of regret through him—of course the other man was withdrawing his support; he was extricating himself from all of his once-dear causes in preparation for his resignation. "I'm only supporting them out of pity. Deimos kept the spaceflight program alive. He had the ability to convince people of things that they knew were foolish."
"So do you."
"Maybe." The more they discussed it, the more he knew he'd speak with Seleth, even though he couldn't bring himself to care about their trials. "But his death scared quite a few people. And my powers of persuasion aren't strong enough to overcome people's fear."
She shrugged. "I think you're underselling your own abilities. Anyway, it doesn't seem to have scared people enough to join the Dominion."
For a moment, he was silent, but then he said, "Actually, it may have." When she turned towards him and raised her eyebrows, he went on, "It's come to my attention recently that a number of senators have become somewhat…uneasy about the position they've taken regarding the Dominion."
"That solves your problem then, doesn't it?" she asked.
He snorted. "Not exactly. You know Soltoi, Eris. She's been collecting favors for years and this is the opportunity she's been waiting for to call every single one of them in."
"One might call that blackmail."
With a shrug of his own, he said, "One might. And it wouldn't help one's chances at re-election to do so."
Sighing, she said, "I do wonder how you tolerate all of this sometimes."
He looked at her with surprise. "Because I'm good at it. Besides," he added, kissing her temple, "you're involved in plenty of your own politics at Tira University, and you're clearly good at it. You wouldn't be a year from tenure if you weren't."
"The difference is that I don't particularly enjoy it," she replied loftily. "My interests are purely in research and education." She grinned when he snorted with laughter, but then her expression became serious again. "Weyoun, I think you should hear Ground Control out. It may be important. It may even change your mind about how much you support them."
"I couldn't support them much more than I already do—" he began waspishly.
"I mean," she said, cutting him off calmly, "that you may decide to spend less of your time defending them." When he gave her a questioning look, she said, "Surely you can find a way to extricate yourself from them. They're bound to say something you can spin as damaging."
Looking at her with amused respect, he remarked, "And you say you don't enjoy politics."
"I really don't. But some of it has been bound to rub off on me."
He chuckled and put an arm around her. "Now who's underselling her own abilities?" She smiled and leaned into him, and there were several minutes of comfortable silence between them. At last, though, Weyoun said slowly, "You know I can't withdraw my support for the spaceflight program."
"I know. But do you want to?" He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, and she shifted, pulling one leg up underneath herself and turning to face him. "It seems a bit…pointless," she said delicately. "Our spaceflight program, that is. The Jem'Hadar have explored our entire system and dozens, if not hundreds, of others. We were never going to achieve anything like that within our lifetimes."
"Maybe that's true." He met her eyes, widened slightly under raised eyebrows, and twisted his lips into a grimace. "All right, it's most likely true. And I agree with you." He stopped for a moment, remembering his final conversation with Deimos, who hadn't cared about the Jem'Hadar's more advanced technology or exploration. "But I've devoted too much of my professional career to this to simply let it die. Besides," he added, looking away, "I owe it to Deimos."
Her eyebrows stayed raised, and she sniffed. "You're not normally so maudlin."
Weyoun glanced up at her, smiling slightly. "Fortunately." Then, his expression lapsed back into thoughtfulness. "Ground Control thinks I want to know what happened to Deimos. They want to involve me in their inquiry into the…accident."
Eris looked surprised. "Don't you want to know?"
He took a deep breath and replied, "No." When she continued watching him, waiting for enumeration that he didn't want to provide, he added with the barest touch of bile, "You said yourself the program's pointless. They don't stand to gain anything by probing into this. What do they think is going to happen? We're not going to send a better, improved orbital out there. Anything they discover is worthless, and they're wasting my time by drawing me into it, not to mention their own dwindling funds by having the inquiry in the first place."
Her gaze had become steady and unblinking throughout this, and when he was finished, she asked, "Is that the real reason?"
He wondered if his bitterness had been lost on her and doubted it. "You can decide for yourself," he muttered.
The look in her eye said, quite clearly, that she had.
Eris's question echoed in his head on the day that he finally returned Ground Control's call. The 'real' reason—sometimes he wondered how many real reasons he had left for anything.
"I thought you'd be interested in the results of our study of the recovered debris," Seleth said, once Weyoun had coldly informed him that his career at Ground Control, and anywhere else in Tira Exarchate, would be over if he ever contacted Eris again. Seleth had stuttered various apologies and justifications before Weyoun had interrupted and asked what he'd wanted.
Steepling his fingers on his desk, he thought about replying in the negative and cutting the connection. No, actually, he was not interested in what had been discovered from the debris field. It wasn't important. Deimos was dead.
"Of course," he said, smiling urbanely.
A tableau of padds was spread out in front of Seleth and he picked one up, stared at it for a moment, then put it down and reached for another, mumbling something under his breath. Weyoun waited. Finally, the younger man said, "Ah! Here it is." He scrolled through the padd's contents and finally began elaborating on them. Weyoun lent only half an ear to the information, hearing a collection of technical data that meant nothing to him. Seleth seemed happy to keep talking, however, and it was only when the younger man said, as though it wasn't the first time, "Senator?" that Weyoun turned his attention back to the conversation. Seleth didn't look put out that his audience hadn't been listening. Possibly his memory was long enough to recall the threat to his career, and he just might have been bright enough to understand that Weyoun was powerful enough to carry it out. "The Jem'Hadar assisted with the recovery efforts, didn't I mention that?" the aide said. "We wouldn't have been able to find what we did if not for their sensors."
For a moment, Weyoun stared at him. "The Jem'Hadar?" he finally asked. His suspicions came back to him, but they helped no one. Pushing them aside, he asked, "Did they actually allow one of us on their ship?"
"No," Seleth replied. It sounded as though this was a sore spot. "They towed our search vessels out with a tractor beam. It only took hours to get to the scattered disk, instead of days—if that's the kind of technology they'll share with us, we should join the Dominion right now."
Trying not to sound sour, Weyoun replied, "We're working on it." As though it was that easy. As though the Council wasn't bitterly divided on that question. Deimos's death seemed to have brought a few moderate sequestrists over to the other side—they were nervous about what might be out there; nervous about it, whatever it was, making closer incursions into the system, instead of confining itself to the scattered disk. The tide was turning, but it was doing so slowly; far too slowly for Weyoun's tastes.
"Did I mention Deimos was off course?" Seleth said suddenly, interrupting Weyoun's train of thought.
Weyoun narrowed his eyes. "Off course? No. Why would he go off course?"
Seleth shook his head, looking helpless. "We don't know. We think we can see the log entry, but there's too much damage to the processor to reconstruct it."
It was obvious how much this fact bothered the astronomer—and it seemed, suddenly, that Weyoun could see straight through him. Seleth had admired Deimos, had liked Deimos very much. But what really upset him about all of this was the fact that he thought Deimos had found something out there, and he thought he could track it down; make a name for himself via this incident. But the damage to the orbital's processor; to the orbital itself, was irreparable; catastrophic, almost as though someone had made sure that no information could be gleaned from any of it.
He sniffed to himself. Hard to fault the man. Anyway, he didn't even hide it well, and that made it more pitiable than offensive. "And the reason you didn't mention this until now is…?" he asked.
Looking uncomfortable, Seleth said, "We wanted to look into it further."
Weyoun waited for the other man to go on. When he didn't, and the silent stretched awkwardly, he said, "And?"
"And nothing," Seleth said, sounding, for the first time, defensive. He certainly lacked Deimos's way with people, but no doubt saw himself as next in line for Deimos's position, regardless. Perhaps he'd get it, perhaps he wouldn't—Weyoun couldn't find it within himself to care. He'd do what he could to keep the spaceflight program running for Deimos's sake, but without Deimos, it was going to collapse within the year. Weyoun knew, with sudden clarity, that the loss of the program, in its current state or the one that it would inevitably descend to, wouldn't be a great one.
"How far off course?" Weyoun finally asked.
Seleth looked hesitant, but then replied, "About a million kilometers. We think. Not that far, but it brought him into an area of the scattered disc that we've never been able to penetrate with any of our telescopes. Too much ice and dust," he added as explanation.
Brow furrowed, Weyoun asked, "Why would he have gone there?"
"He was on a mission of exploration. That's what explorers do."
Seleth's own unease with this explanation was obvious, and for a second, Weyoun considered pressing him for more detail—detail which he clearly didn't have, but it would put Ground Control on its guard. But he had enough self-awareness to recognize the urge as that of a grieving friend, and that wasn't—could not be—his role here. He was a politician. He'd do no one, especially himself, any favors by acting like anything else.
So he put aside everything Seleth had told him and changed the subject. In the end, none of this information did anyone any good. Weyoun's suspicions about the Jem'Hadar's involvement in Deimos's death were unfounded and would remain so. He had nothing to gain by digging into it, even if he knew where to begin digging into it, but he had everything to lose. "Thank you for keeping me informed," he said, hoping he was sufficiently conveying with his tone that he preferred not to be informed any further on the subject. "Now, I know there's probably been some question in your mind as to my continued support for your agency, so let me assure you: I will support Ground Control and the space program unreservedly as long as I serve on the Council."
The other man smiled and thanked him profusely, but there was a shadow behind his expression—the shadow of knowing that the space program wouldn't outlast Weyoun's time in the Council, because one senator could only do so much. So. Seleth could read the writing on the wall. He wasn't the total loss Weyoun had always considered him.
When he cut the interface connection, Weyoun knew it wouldn't be his last communication with Ground Control. But he knew it would be his last meaningful one; that everything else would be procedural and impersonal. He was, more than anything else, grateful.
A message appeared on his office interface several days later, one of the automated ones that summoned Council members to meetings that they had no choice but to attend. Such meetings were usually with the Adjudicator, and Weyoun had been called to very few of them, which was just as well—they weren't often happy occasions.
So, when he pushed open the conference room door, he expected to see the Adjudicator or another powerful senator. Instead he found a room that he thought, for a moment, was empty. Then a rustle of clothing drew his attention to one corner, where a man he'd never seen before was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
The man looked surprised for half a second, then quickly masked the emotion. "Senator Uldron," he said with a nod, "I didn't realize you'd be at this meeting."
Weyoun glanced around the room, then clasped his hands behind his back and looked back to the man, one eyebrow raised. "You have me at a disadvantage. I'm afraid I don't know who you are."
"You wouldn't," he said, sounding bored. "I'm Borath Reton." The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Weyoun couldn't place it, and when he continued staring at the other man, he added in the same bored tone, "Director of Biotechnology at Yelar Industries."
"Ah." That at least cleared up why his name was familiar, but it still left Weyoun completely at a loss as to why either of them was there. "Do you have any idea what this meeting's about?" he asked. Director of biotechnology? He couldn't imagine why anyone would arrange a meeting between him and someone from biotech.
"I was hoping you would," Reton said. "We're in the Capitol Complex, after all."
"Unfortunately I don't. I don't even know who arranged this meeting."
"Nor do I." Reton glanced around the room. "It's all very mysterious."
With a thin smile, Weyoun said, "I prefer a lack of mystery in my line of work."
Borath returned the smile. There was a coldness to it that Weyoun doubted had anything to do with him. "Mystery is the spice of life, Senator. Without any mystery we'd simply drift along without any understanding of the world around us."
"Spoken like a scientist, I suppose," Weyoun remarked. Eris had made not entirely dissimilar comments.
There was that lazy smile again, and then, "I suppose now that I'm meeting you, I should extend my thanks."
"Oh?" Weyoun asked, raising an eyebrow. "For what?"
"Your policies towards biotech have always been…inoffensive. Even helpful, in some cases. Much more so than your predecessor, who seemed to find genetic research morally repugnant in some way. And much more than your colleague, Senator Soltoi."
"Nesenoi was a traditionalist," Weyoun shrugged, then studied the other man. He wouldn't speak ill of Soltoi to a stranger. "I take it you're not just involved in simple biotech, then."
"Genetics," Reton said. "Medical, mostly."
Weyoun had spent enough time around the science lobby to know that 'medical genetics' was code for 'genetic manipulation', and that Yelar Industries allocated a disproportionately large part of its budget into biotech R&D. "I imagine the work you do is all rather…cutting edge."
"You could say that."
No doubt. If Weyoun knew Yelar, they were likely conducting research that wasn't, strictly speaking, legal. But the money that they poured into political coffers all but assured them immunity to any sort of external policing of what went on in their labs. He wondered again who would want to arrange a meeting between the two of them and to what purpose. Yes, his stances on biotech had been inoffensive. That was about all that could be said for them. He'd always shied away from major policy decisions about biotechnology because it was a touchy subject that he didn't want on his political record.
There was one thing he did know for certain—he didn't care for Borath Reton, and the dislike had been instantaneous and instinctual. "It's fascinating work, I'm sure," Weyoun said dryly. Reton just shrugged, giving Weyoun the distinct impression that the dislike was a mutual feeling.
Before either of them had further chance for inane small-talk, the door swung open, giving Reton, who was facing it, the first look at whoever had entered. When his mouth dropped open, for however briefly, in shock, Weyoun wheeled around.
The Founder stood there, a single Jem'Hadar behind her. She looked identical to the way she'd been when Weyoun had spoken with her months ago; even the color of her shift, to his eyes, was exactly the same. The Jem'Hadar also seemed to be the same one that he'd spoken with—or rather, been commanded by—those months ago. He still found it difficult to tell them apart.
Remembering himself, Weyoun spread his arms and bowed his head, with a murmured, "Founder, you honor us with your presence." Reton echoed the words as the Founder stepped further into the room and the door closed behind her and her guard. Without being asked to, the Jem'Hadar took up a position at the door, assuring that no one could enter or exit the room.
There was a long silence which neither Weyoun nor Reton was willing to break, and then the Founder spoke. "This is First Dorek'itlan," she said, waving vaguely in the Jem'Hadar's direction. The Jem'Hadar acted as though he hadn't heard his own name, simply standing stiffly at the door, his rifle held at the ready. He was most definitely the same alien who had demanded that his men keep their weapons in the Council chamber on the day Weyoun had spoken with the Founder. He recognized the pattern of horns now. "If you wish to send a message to me, send it to him. He can assist you."
Weyoun and Reton exchanged a look, united, suddenly, in confusion, awe, and not a little anxiety. Reton appeared to be in a mild state of shock. Not surprising, considering the closest he'd probably been to the Founder was seeing her addresses on the interface. Standing in her presence was something far different and far more intimidating.
"No doubt," she began, "you are wondering why you have both been summoned here." The question was rhetorical, and indeed, she didn't wait for either of them to confirm her supposition. "We understand that your species is experiencing difficulties with procreation," she went on. "You can confirm this?"
Reton nodded, the appeal to his field of expertise apparently allowing him to find his voice. "An old problem. There was a genetic bottleneck nine thousand years ago which resulted in the typical inbreeding. In an academic sense, we're slowly going extinct."
What a cheerful way of looking at things. Glancing at the other man, Weyoun got the sense that Reton was in the habit of viewing any number of emotionally charged issues 'academically'.
The Founder waited for him to finish, and then said, as though she was not imparting something terrible, "Based on our models, the Vorta will be incapable of sustaining a genetically viable population within five hundred years."
Weyoun's eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to protest, then immediately thought better of it when he realized he'd be contradicting a god.
Reton, though, leaned forward. "Our own projections indicate that we have several thousand years more before the species reaches that point. We've always counted on the gutter-scum—" He glanced at Weyoun, who ignored the look. The other man was obviously aware of his background. Left over from Soltoi's campaign of slander from ten years ago, probably. "—the…lower castes to make up for the discrepancy in the birth rate."
That was the statistic Weyoun had always been familiar with, but the Founder's expression didn't change. "Your projection may well be correct with the limited information you have. However, our scientists have recently detected a gamma-ray burst from a nearby star. The focus of the beam has missed Kurill Prime, but some of the radiation will affect life here. We believe it has already caused chromosomal mutations that will lower the Vorta birth rate even further."
Weyoun glanced at Reton, whose gaze was unblinking and intense. "As far as I know," Weyoun said, "our astronomers haven't detected any gamma-ray burst."
"Your sensors are not as advanced as ours," the Founder said, and Weyoun lowered his eyes in acknowledgement of this point. Ground Control couldn't figure out what had gone wrong in their extraplanetary orbital—they couldn't, apparently, be counted on for much. None of this, of course, explained why he was here. At least what the Founder was saying had some relevance to Reton's field, but none of this had anything to do with Weyoun.
"The reason I am telling you this," the Founder was going on, "is because we wish to assist you with your reproductive issues. We wish to show good faith, despite the fact that you are not yet part of the Dominion." She paused, and then went on, "We have determined that genetic treatment will be required for everyone on the planet." Reton opened his mouth to, no doubt, protest the unfeasibility of this, but the Founder turned her gaze on him and he remained silent. "Unfortunately, most of your unborn children won't be treatable. It would be best if all pregnancies were terminated as soon as possible."
There was a cold silence in the room.
Finally, Reton broke it, sounding as though he had said the first coherent thing that came into his mind, no matter how banal. "Genetic therapy is illegal."
Weyoun couldn't stop staring at the Founder. Terminate every pregnancy? After so many years of failure for him and Eris, they were on the cusp of beginning their family, and his god was telling him that Eris needed to abort?
"So I understand," the Founder replied. "That is why I have chosen a senator and a scientist. Between the two of you, I am quite certain that you will be able to carry this out however these things are done on your world."
"Legislation," Weyoun murmured, finally finding his voice. Reton was still staring at the Founder, undisguised shock in his eyes.
She turned a look of vague amusement on Weyoun, as though the idea of legislating anything was entertaining. "If that is your way, then so be it. Pass whatever laws you need to. The sooner the task is completed, the sooner we can begin assisting you with your population problem."
Swallowing hard, Weyoun said, "Founder, we—" He wasn't even quite sure what he'd been about to say, but he stopped when Reton caught his eye and shook his head.
"Why us?" the other man asked.
With a slight smile, the Founder replied, "Because you have both demonstrated the qualities necessary for this undertaking." She didn't elaborate, and neither of them asked her to. It was an honor to be thought, of the five hundred million Vorta on the planet, uniquely capable of something by a Founder. On the other hand, to be thought capable of ordering mass infanticide was an honor that was somewhat…dubious. "I want this done as soon as possible. As I said, Dorek'itlan will assist you if the need arises. He will obviously help you to arrange the genetic therapy—and as it will be such a large undertaking, more Jem'Hadar will be arriving."
The prospect of more Jem'Hadar landing on Kurill Prime didn't thrill Weyoun, though compared to the numb horror of the task before him, it was good news. Was he really going to stand here and agree to this? She was a god—but he was free to make his own choices. Wasn't he?
"Founder," Weyoun began, hearing the desperation in his own voice. He did not want to do this. He had no plan for disentangling himself from the Founder's orders, nor, he knew, any hope of actually doing so. But he would try. "The Council can't even agree to join the Dominion. It will be impossible to bring something like this to a passing vote." We struggle for years to have children and you're asking us to destroy our hope at the end of a hypospray. Eris's words about her miscarriage came back to him: 'All it is is blood and painkillers and doctors telling you there's nothing you could have done'. And now he was supposed to inflict that on her again. Not just her, every pregnant woman on the planet, when Vorta rarely aborted. Why would they, when it was such a desperate struggle to get pregnant in the first place?
The Founder looked at him and he felt himself quail under her gaze. "I suggest you find a way to make it pass," she replied. "Perhaps it would help if the Council were to decide to join the Dominion." There was unquestionable warning in her tone. The Vorta will join the Dominion. The only choice was whether or not they joined it willingly. Weyoun wasn't sure how he hadn't seen that before.
With that, she turned and glided out of the room, Dorek'itlan trailing her without even a glance at the two Vorta left behind. She left a frozen silence and two stunned men in her wake. They hadn't even agreed. She hadn't offered them the opportunity to.
Weyoun didn't want to do this. But he knew that he would.