12

60,063 (Kurillian calendar)

It was late when he arrived home that night and slid into bed beside Eris, hoping she wouldn't wake up. He couldn't explain to her what he'd been doing all day; that he'd been beginning a piece of legislation that might very well require her to abort their child unless he could find a way, arbitrarily, to avert that possibility. For most of the day, his intestines had writhed with nausea, until something had changed and his stomach had shriveled to a tight, hard knot.

Despite his best efforts, she stirred and said sleepily, "You're home so late."

"I know." He tried to sound soothing, and as he put his arms around her, he kissed her forehead and murmured, "I'll try to be back earlier tomorrow."

She made a vague noise and closed her eyes again. "How was your day?"

He tried not to tense as responses—lies—ran through his head. He couldn't tell her he'd met the Founder, and he certainly couldn't tell her what had transpired afterwards.

For several minutes after the Founder had left, Weyoun and Reton had stood in silence, neither of them quite meeting the other's eyes. Finally Reton had offered, "I suppose my official designation will be as a science consultant."

Weyoun had finally met his eyes then. "I suppose it will be," he'd replied.

They had worked in the conference room because he couldn't imagine telling his staff about this. Weyoun reserved it in his name the rest of the day. He was Tira Exarchate's junior-most senator. It still made him powerful enough that no one would disturb them.

It didn't make him powerful enough to argue with a god.

He laid his cheek against her hair, his eyes still open, and said, "It was fine."

True to the Founder's word, more Jem'Hadar landed. A year ago it would have been terrifying; now, Tirans were used to them, and the rest of the planet would learn to get used to them, impossible as it seemed at first. All of their major cities now had at least one contingent of the soldiers present. It brought home the reality of an interstellar empire—there were so many Jem'Hadar, and there must be millions, maybe billions, more out there, protecting the Dominion's borders. Some people would perhaps have questioned why so many Jem'Hadar were needed on a world with no military and few weapons. No one indiscreet enough to pose such a question was given a voice—Telecorps, for once, was remarkably united with the Complex.

It was imperative, nonetheless, that Telecorps didn't get wind of the…reproductive legislation. The only Vorta that knew about it were Borath and Weyoun. For all the latter knew, every Jem'Hadar on the planet was aware of it, but they could certainly be counted on not to discuss it. Idle conversation wasn't exactly something they seemed interested in.

The legislation came together disturbingly quickly. Borath—proximity and their isolation made Weyoun begin thinking of him by his first name—was not pleasant to work with, but he was unquestionably an intelligent man. Within two weeks they had a first draft, which they planned to review in Borath's office at Yelar Industries. Hail damage left over from the monsoon cracked a metro tunnel before Weyoun even left his offices, closing the line and backing up service for hours. He considered, as he stood at Capitol Platform Three and watched delays of hours flash across the schedule boards, hiring a car for the drive out to Yelar and back. But there was a weird appeal to the chaos of the platform that stopped him.

The Founders hated chaos, he reminded himself as he watched the frantic changing of plans, the exasperation, the delight at not being able to make meetings. The Vorta never had.

Of course the repair technicians eventually patched the crack and reinforced the tunnel, and soon Weyoun was arriving at Yelar. He'd been there before, of course—as a young man, he'd been determined not to be impressed by the cool modernism of the huge domed atrium at the front of their complex. Behind this architectural centerpiece lay rows of nondescript, plain gray buildings. His meetings had always been confined to front offices, where floor to ceiling windows provided views of Tira City, but now he was led back and down into the tunnels that connected one building to another, until eventually he was shown to Borath's office.

The other man glanced at his wrist chronometer. "They must be running the trains faster to compensate for the delays this morning," he said in lieu of greeting. "I didn't expect you for another half hour at least."

"There did seem to be a certain efficiency this morning that's occasionally lacking." Weyoun set down his briefcase and looked around the office. Borath's desk was large and curved, seeming to cradle the geneticist in a gleaming mahogany nest of multiple interfaces and padds. A model of a DNA strand, its double helix slowly rotating, sat to one side. "Where are the labs?" he asked curiously.

Borath waved vaguely. "Most of this building. Some of us have private labs, as well." Then, grabbing a padd, he said, "Have a seat. There was a section of this that I wanted to discuss—the gestational timeline, can you pull that up?"

Weyoun sat and retrieved the relevant padd from his briefcase. There was, in fact, no need to pull it up, as he had most of the legislation memorized word-for-word, but he did it anyway, saying, "What a coincidence, that was exactly the section I wanted to go over."

"Ah, well, they do say great minds think alike."

Somehow, Weyoun doubted very much that Borath considered him a 'great mind'. "I'm glad you think so. Perhaps you'll agree with me, then, that we change the required timetable for pregnancy terminations from thirteen months to fourteen months."

Shaking his head, Borath replied, "Thirteen makes more sense from a fetal developmental standpoint."

"That may be, but I want it changed to fourteen months."

With a patronizing expression on his face, Borath said, "I can explain the science behind it—"

"I don't care about the science behind it. My wife is thirteen months pregnant."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but then Borath just looked at him coolly and sniffed in contemptuous amusement. "Our political system at its finest."

"Fourteen months," Weyoun said flatly, "or the section lifting re-sequencing restrictions goes."

The other man narrowed his eyes, glanced down at the padd in front of him, and then grimaced before looking back up at Weyoun, his features arranged in cool haughtiness once more and his head tilted slightly. "This explains so much."

"Does it."

"Yes, your enthusiasm for this project has been rather…lacking." Borath paused to enter something on his padd, then looked at Weyoun musingly, as though he'd just discovered a great truth about him. "I can understand a certain misgiving about what we've been asked to do, but you've been quite resistant to this entire process."

Weyoun gave Borath a withering look. "For a scientist, you have quite the capacity for exaggeration."

"Your wife is pregnant, Weyoun. I understand."

"I don't think you do," Weyoun snapped. "My only misgivings are whether or not you will see the value of following my suggestion." Borath stared at him, his expression hovering on the edge of a glare, and Weyoun added coldly, "This is politics, Borath. You may think it's something else, but until that Jem'Hadar marches in here and tells me what to include in this legislation, it's politics. And in politics, sometimes one must sacrifice part of one's goals for a more important part. So what means more to you, genetic re-sequencing, or forcing the women who have nearly carried their fetuses to term to abort them?"

Borath stared, unblinking, for a long moment. Then, he said in a clipped voice, "Fine. If you think the GRB won't have had any effect on your child, then we can set the cut-off at fourteen months."

Weyoun wasn't about to share with Borath that every single pre-natal test had shown the fetus to be normal, healthy, and completely free of any birth defects. He and Eris had begun preparing a nursery, believing, at last, that the baby would be carried to term. Of course he couldn't ask the obstetrician to test for any defects that could specifically be caused by a gamma rays—doing so would raise questions that he wasn't prepared to answer. "That's a personal issue, and one which I'll deal with if the need arises."

With another sniff, Borath said, "And your wife won't even be able to appreciate your gesture until this legislation goes public."

Privately, Weyoun doubted Eris would appreciate it very much at all. He hadn't decided how he was going to explain to her his involvement in this—he preferred to think of it that way, as 'involvement' rather than admitting to himself that he was the author, the creator, of this truly repugnant law. Sometimes he wondered if there was some way, convoluted, of course, that he could hide it from her indefinitely. There weren't words to describe the implausibility, not to mention the monumental stupidity, of this. When the legislation went public it would be one of a watershed moment in Vorta history. Everyone would know his part in it. And Eris couldn't find out at the same time the public did.

"I suppose sometimes one must sacrifice his pride for his work," Weyoun said dryly. But Borath, no doubt, had forgotten the days where that truism had held sway in his own life. It had become clear through the last few weeks that while nominally, the geneticist was answerable to the head of Yelar, in practice he had free rein. Borath didn't like taking orders. He may have countenanced it from the Founder, and even from the Jem'Hadar, but from another Vorta? And from one that he regarded as an inferior?

For a moment, Borath stared at him, and then he turned back to his padd. "I suppose so," he agreed, his tone making clear how little he liked that he'd been trapped into it. Then, he said, without looking up, "Now, as long as you're satisfied with everything else, can we continue going through this?"

Weyoun just inclined his head in affirmation. There was nothing about this legislation that he liked, but he'd at least changed the one thing that would have been unthinkable to allow into the draft. Perhaps, the thought snuck through his mind, he should have tried harder to refuse to participate in this—because wasn't all of it unthinkable? Whatever he stood to gain from doing this—was it worth it? But it wasn't the first time such a thought had intruded. It also wasn't the first time that he'd pushed it away.

"We have a problem," Leto said the moment he returned to his offices.

He was already tired from the morning's work with Borath on the legislation, but he did his best to ignore that fact as he asked, "Another one?"

She followed him into his private office and shut the door. "The same problem, actually. This came this morning." She held out a padd to him, which he scanned quickly before tossing it on his desk. "We're losing votes for Dominion membership," he said flatly.

Nodding, she said with a hint of scorn in her voice, "Three more moderates have seen the light and—" she picked the padd up and read, "—'have begun to doubt the wisdom of allying ourselves with an outside power'." Echoing his gesture and nearly flinging the padd back down, she added bitterly, "I suppose we should be grateful they decided to inform us this way rather than in session."

He leaned against the front of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can be that generous, if you'd like." Grimly, he added, "Something has to be done about Soltoi. She's behind this."

Leto sat down. "What can you possibly do about her? Short of removing her from the Council—" She stopped abruptly and looked at him, perception flickering across her face. "The scandal."

"I've been considering it," he admitted. This, in fact, was an understatement—in the preceding days, as it became clear that he was losing the Council fight to join the Dominion, he'd all but decided that the long-ago scandal that Kilana had informed him of was the only thing that would convince Soltoi to stop her campaign.

"Blackmailing Soltoi could backfire. Easily."

"I know that. But I'm beginning to feel that it's the only option open to me."

The sound of a deep voice outside interrupted them suddenly, and both of them stopped speaking, listening through the closed door as Weyoun's personal aide repeatedly insisted that the senator was busy. Then his door opened and Kilana stuck her head in, nodding to Leto and saying in a low tone, "Weyoun, there's a Jem'Hadar out here, and while Yesaf is doing a valiant job of respecting your solitude, he's really no match."

"You are," Leto remarked.

"Yes, but I also know a losing battle when I see one." She raised her eyebrows and looked back to Weyoun. "I don't think he's going to leave until he's seen you."

With a sigh, he replied, "All right. Tell him I'll be out in a moment."

She nodded briskly and shut the door again, and Weyoun stood in silence for a minute, trying to guess at the Jem'Hadar's purpose in coming there. He'd never heard of such a thing happening, and something told him it wasn't a social call.

"I could try to stall him," Leto offered after a few wordless moments.

"No." He straightened up. "Work on that transportation hearing. It's not going as well as I'd hoped."

Inclining her head, Leto got to her feet and left the office, preceding him by a few seconds. He could see her glance at the Jem'Hadar, but she didn't react otherwise as she went into her own office and shut the door.

The identity of the Jem'Hadar who was standing—looming, really—in his offices was unsurprising. "Dorek'itlan," Weyoun said, smiling his most sincerely and not meaning it a bit, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have been sent to speak with you," the Jem'Hadar said stiffly.

Stretching an arm out towards his office, Weyoun replied, "Of course. Right this way." Once inside, Dorek'itlan seemed to loom even more, taking up more space than the room seemed able to accommodate. Weyoun went to stand behind his desk but hesitated to sit, even while knowing that staying on his feet didn't make him physically intimidating in the least. The Jem'Hadar, he thought, were probably not intimidated by very much at all. "Have a seat, if you'd like," he said, waving vaguely towards a chair.

Dorek'itlan did not sit, nor did he even glance at the chair. "The Founder wishes to know your opinion on when the Kurillian Council will vote to join the Dominion."

Maybe there was something to be said for getting to the point quickly, even though it wasn't the Vorta way. Raising his eyebrows, Weyoun replied, "I don't know that they will. It's a very…unsettled question at the moment."

Dorek'itlan stared at him flatly. "That is not acceptable."

"Perhaps not, but there's very little I can do about it."

At this, Dorek'itlan's expression became, if possible, more forbidding. "You were chosen to assist the Founder in this task because it was determined that you would be successful."

Suddenly, there was something distasteful about taking orders from this alien, which he pushed down. Dorek'itlan still had a phaser rifle, and he still was the Founder's second-in-command. "I wasn't aware I'd been chosen to assist in Kurill Prime joining the Dominion," he replied, waspishness creeping into his tone. "I've been under the impression that my responsibility is to—" Make sure a generation of children are erased from existence, his mind went on, though his mouth did not. Composing himself, he finished, "—is to the piece of legislation the Founder asked myself and Director Reton to collaborate on."

"Then consider this your directive to do so," Dorek'itlan said in a flat tone.

Weyoun stared at him incredulously. "I can't walk into session tomorrow and demand a vote on this," he said. "Do you have any idea what would happen?" When Dorek'itlan didn't answer—not that Weyoun had expected him to—he went on, "If a motion like this is voted down it gets kicked into recess for seven months. Seven months, Dorek'itlan. That, in case you aren't counting, is the majority of the time you have been on this planet."

His eyes glinting with something that looked troublingly like anger, Dorek'itlan said, "I have been counting. It has led me to the conclusion that we're wasting our time waiting for you."

Weyoun's ire at this bit of effrontery overpowered, for the moment, any trepidation he might have had at confronting an alien who was a good thirty centimeters taller than him, carrying a rifle, and clearly trained to kill. "Well, if you don't want to wait for us to do this the way our law demands, you'll have to take Kurill Prime by force."

Dorek'itlan smiled. It wasn't a comforting expression on him. "Make no mistake, Vorta—the thought has crossed my mind."

For a long moment, Weyoun held the Jem'Hadar's hard gaze. "I have no doubt," he replied, his own voice steely.

Still smiling mirthlessly, Dorek'itlan said, "It is fortunate for you, then, that my orders are to allow your pitiful Council to drag its feet with legal proceedings."

Weyoun supposed it was a threat. It was also an odd and unexpected similarity between the two of them—both were following orders they didn't care for. With his own hard smile, he replied, "We're grateful for your…restraint."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on the Jem'Hadar, and he didn't appear to appreciate it. "Convince your world to join the Dominion, Vorta. If it doesn't happen soon, I may begin trying harder to convince the Founder of the wisdom of my preferred course of action." Then, without waiting to be dismissed, he turned and opened the door, moving through the office without looking at any of its occupants.

Kilana caught Weyoun's eye and raised her eyebrows questioningly, concern evident in her gaze. He just gave her a sanguine half-smile, unwilling to show whether or not the encounter had shaken him.

He realized later that he was angry more than shaken, and though he knew that the reasons were myriad and diverse, it was easier to pin the emotion on a convenient, and nearby, target: Soltoi, her refusal to consider joining the Dominion, and her constant undermining of supporters' efforts. At home that evening, he tried to compartmentalize it, force it to the back of his mind so that it didn't interfere with the only happiness that he could currently find in his life.

Not that Eris was fooled. As they sat down to eat (takeaway, as was usual these days), she remarked, "It must have been a bad day at the Complex."

He didn't look up at her as he poured a generous measure of wine into his glass, except to raise an interrogative eyebrow as he held the bottle over her glass. She nodded, and he filled it. "Am I that obvious?"

"More obvious than you think you are."

Taking a seat across from her at the table, he replied, "I hope you're the only one who notices, then. My job security depends on everyone wondering what I'm thinking."

Eris smiled slightly and raised her glass to her lips, though she didn't drink. Lowering it and watching him over the rim, she said, "You never say much about your work anymore."

Though her tone was light, there was just the slightest edge of suspicion to it. Weyoun gave her a reassuring lie of a smile. "It's just stressful."

There was a stillness to her face—she was trying to piece together what was really happening, while knowing that he was keeping something from her. If he could read her tiniest mannerism, after all, then she could read his. "You used to enjoy the stress."

"I must be getting old."

Her lips curved slightly upwards. "Very amusing, if circumventive."

He should have had more compunction about lying to his wife. And he supposed, deep down, he did, but it didn't stop him from flashing her a tired smile (that, at least, was genuine), and saying, "Everything is the most important thing on my desk at the moment. My own legislation, keeping the spaceflight program running—" At that, despite the fact that it wasn't exactly true, his throat actually closed up, Deimos's death still raw. Eris's brow furrowed in sympathy and he did, then, feel a twist of guilt about his dishonesty. "I need to make sure that the Council votes to join the Dominion," he said. "Everything rides on that."

Taking a sip of her wine, Eris asked, "Are the votes a problem?"

Absently, he pushed his own glass around on the table. "It looks like they are. Soltoi is causing…"

"Problems," Eris finished for him. "That's common knowledge."

He met her eyes. "I have to do something about her."

Raising her eyebrows, Eris said, "You sound as though you're contemplating assassination."

"Too much blood. She has that thick carpet in her office; it would never come out." When Eris rolled her eyes, he smiled a little, but it quickly faded. "There are too many senators who will do what she tells them to, and that gives me two options. I can try to convince them all, one by one, to see things my way."

"You mean promise them all something," Eris said.

"And I'm sure you can see the futility and tedium of that. That leaves my other option: remove Soltoi from the Council."

Wariness flickered across Eris's face. "Are you sure you're not plotting her murder?"

For a second, Weyoun didn't say anything, which was enough to make Eris give him a sharp look. Then, he said, "Of course I'm not." He hesitated. "I…know something about Soltoi. Something which would almost certainly end her political career."

Eris didn't look that surprised. "Let me guess—you've known since you ran for your seat."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Because the campaign never became personal the way the aftermath of your leaving her employment did." Eris raised her glass of wine to her lips. "My career depends on my being observant, Weyoun. Why should I be any less so when it comes to you?"

He chuckled shortly. "I'd better not try to keep secrets from you."

"No," she agreed, arching an eyebrow. "You'd better not." There was, buried deep within her voice, the same suspicion that he'd sensed earlier, but for now, she seemed content to let it simmer. Or perhaps the better word was fester. "So," she said, "tell me, what is this information that would be so damaging to your former employer?"

For a long moment, he stayed silent, weighing whether or not he actually wanted to tell her. Despite the fact that he knew he could trust her to keep the secret, the mere act of sharing it with someone outside his office felt like he was opening a box that he wouldn't be able to shut again. Then again, wasn't that what he wanted? Hadn't he already decided he was going to do this? So, drawing in a breath, he said, "Soltoi had a family once."

"A family?" Eris asked with surprise. "I've always been under the impression she never had one."

With a nod, he said, "A husband and a child. A son. It was a long time ago—before either of us was born. The boy was never healthy—he was constantly in and out of the hospital with various afflictions. A fever impaired his…mental faculties by the time he was five years old. Eventually, it came to be discovered that the boy's health and mental problems were due to a mutation in the structure of his red blood cells." Weyoun paused. "So Soltoi put his name on a list at a highly-respected medical facility for genetic re-sequencing."

Eris raised her eyebrows. "Genetic re-sequencing? Soltoi? After her involvement in the Clone Protest hearings?"

"It was legal at the time," he said. "But things went badly with the treatments. She could have stopped them, given the boy the fullest life that he could have expected at that point…but she didn't."

Looking at him without surprise, Eris guessed, "He died." At Weyoun's nod, she said, "That's terrible, and very sad. But it's not a scandal."

"No," Weyoun agreed. "No, it isn't." He paused again, then went on, "A few months later a man got into the lab where most of the treatments had been done—he managed to get past security, then hack his way past the ID reader. And then he took a truncheon to the place. Destroyed everything; there was millions' worth in damages—and brained a technician into a three-month coma. When the scientists came back he launched into a screed against them and genetic engineering, and then he opened up his jacket and revealed that he had a bomb strapped to his chest." Eris's eyes widened. "It didn't go off. Some wiring error on his part. Once they got over their shock, the scientists overpowered him, and he was of course taken into custody by the police when they arrived. But he was never formally charged with anything, because a few hours later he was dead."

"Dead?"

"Poison. Highly-concentrated into a capsule that he'd been keeping in his mouth."

"Raka," she murmured. It was the only known poison on Kurill Prime that could be concentrated highly enough into such a portable object as a capsule to be toxic to Vorta. "I think I know where this is going, but tell me what this had to do with Soltoi."

"Well, it was her husband, of course. Driven mad by grief, or maybe he'd always been…of dubious sanity. He was traditional, anyway; he subscribed to their caste's idea that mothers were mothers and nothing else."

"Reason enough to doubt his sanity."

"Indeed." Weyoun leaned across the table. "Soltoi was brought in for questioning and within a few days she was charged with being an accessory to conspiracy."

Eris folded her arms across her chest. They rested on her swollen stomach. "And I imagine that I'm not the only one who's never heard of this."

Folding his hands on the table in front of him, he said, "No. Soltoi comes from an extremely wealthy family herself, and this was before she was in the public eye. She wouldn't become a senator for another ten years. And her family paid good money to keep her out of the public eye, so none of the details of the legal proceedings were ever published. And then, mysteriously, the charges were dropped, she was a free woman, and before you knew it she was working in the Complex."

"Without her husband to keep her from having a career," Eris said cannily. "That's your scandal, isn't it? The rest of it—it's bad, but the worst part is the idea that she might have arranged for the deaths of her husband and child." He inclined his head in acknowledgement, and she asked, "Do you think she did it?"

Weyoun shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is that I can make everyone else think that she did."

She leaned forward, holding his gaze intently. "But I want to know. Do you think she killed her family?" He turned his head, giving her a sidelong look, and she kept her eyes locked on his. "Because depending on what you think, you're either exposing a decades-old crime…or slandering a woman who's already had to live with the deaths of her family for her whole life."

A disbelieving bark of laughter escaped him. "Don't tell me that you're starting to feel sympathy for Soltoi?"

"Hm." She sipped at her wine. "Hardly. It's you that interests me. Do you think she set up her son's and husband's deaths?"

He exhaled slowly and sat back, staring at her. "You've never forgiven her for Hellad."

Eris looked at him, expression unaltered. "No, I haven't."

With a nod, he answered, "I think her ambition is the single most powerful force driving her. But I'm not sure she's capable of that kind of crime."

The answer seemed to satisfy Eris, though he couldn't say the same for himself. His natural curiosity had always niggled at him with that question—did he believe that Soltoi could submit her child to medical treatments that she knew would kill him? Had her husband snapped of his own accord or had she pushed him towards it? He didn't know, and he didn't think he ever would.

"Well," Eris said, "when do you plan on blackmailing her?"

"This week," he said mildly. "Time is rather of the essence at this point."

"And why is that?"

Weyoun stared at her, then quickly grabbed his wine so he had an excuse to stall even longer before answering. Finally, he just said, "The Dominion is becoming…impatient."

Faint alarm flickered through her eyes. He hoped it wasn't for him. He didn't deserve the concern. "Have you spoken with the Founder again?"

Not about this, and that made it easy enough to reply, "No. A Jem'Hadar. He came to my offices today and made it quite clear that the Dominion expects Kurill Prime to join sooner rather than later."

"And 'not at all' isn't an option, I suppose." The look he gave her was answer enough, and she sipped at her wine thoughtfully before putting it down and asking, "And does it matter what the general populace wants?"

"They want to join the Dominion," Weyoun said with a shrug. It seemed obvious. The Vorta people, at least, were making his job easier. "They've wanted to ever since Deimos was killed."

"So why is the Council so divided?" she asked. "Especially if Jem'Hadar are making office visits. Aren't your colleagues supposed to represent their constituents?"

"Because it isn't that simple," Weyoun said. "Because enough of them think that they can vote down the motion to join the Dominion and this will be over; that the Founders and Jem'Hadar will leave."

"That would be a powerful feeling," Eris said in a low tone.

Weyoun looked at her. "Yes. It would be." He glanced out the window. "It comes down to who you'd rather have handing you that power—the Dominion, or Soltoi."

Eris followed his gaze out the windows. The day's last light was fleeing, the treetops penciled in a faint reddish glow against the twilight purple of the sky, which evaporated as the planet turned away from the sun. Fluting calls drifted across the bluff from the nesting pair of herons on their property as they began the night's hunt, shielded by darkness. Weyoun, absurdly, envied them the cover.

"Weyoun," she said, looking back to him, "do you ever think that power isn't the most important thing in the universe?"

Her tone was musing. "Often," he replied. Then, he met her eyes. "But on this world?"

When he left the question dangling, she sighed. "Maybe I am naïve," she murmured.

"No."

At this simple denial, she gave him a searching look. "You were the one that always said I was."

He pressed his lips together, then replied, "I was wrong. You're just a far, far better person than I'll ever be."

Eris swallowed and looked, just for a split second, afraid. Afraid at what would make him say this, perhaps, and afraid both to ask and not to. But then her own shields dropped over her face, and she picked up a fork, unconcern etched across her features. As she took a bite of her dinner, she said, "I look forward to hearing how Soltoi takes your coup."

Most of Soltoi's staff had left for the day when he arrived at her offices the next day, a single padd in hand and a look of detached amiability on his face. The ones that were left were terribly easy to intimidate into letting him see his former employer. In different circumstances, he'd have counseled Soltoi to fire them. Then again, if all went according to plan, they'd soon be out of jobs, anyway.

The door to her private office loomed in front of him, solid and uninviting, and for a second, he stood there, caught up in unexpected reflection over his nearly two decades in the Complex. Soltoi had taught him imperiousness; that being in command meant one's subordinates' unquestioning respect. It was a good lesson, one that he'd internalized and modified to suit his own leadership. And Foros had taught him that there was room in a senatorial office for friendship as well as professionalism; that the goodwill of the people around him could be based on more than hierarchy and ambition. That ruthlessness didn't have to be employed in all situations—only the ones that required it.

He pushed the door open without knocking. "Hello, Senator," Weyoun said amiably.

Soltoi looked up at him, surprise evident in her features, and her hand went immediately to her interface line. "My staff has specific orders not to allow you to see me unless I authorize it."

"Yes, regrettable, isn't it, the way it's so hard to find good help these days?" He clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward conspiratorially. "If I were you, I'd fire them."

She'd recovered from the surprise of his entrance by then and her face had grown hard. "What do you want, Uldron?"

His smile remaining in place, he said, "I thought we could discuss policy. We never seem to do that, do we? Did you know that Laksim Exarchate's senators meet weekly for dinner?"

"And you think we should, as well. What a quaint suggestion," Soltoi said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

"I'm afraid not," he said with insincere regret. "I reserve my meals for company that I enjoy." He resisted the urge to add, such as my wife's.

Soltoi seemed to read it in his face, anyway. "Did you come to discuss policy or rehash old conflicts?" she asked bitingly.

"Actually, I wanted to make one last effort to convince you that joining the Dominion is the right thing to do for our planet." He raised an eyebrow. "And may I say, Senator, that it might be the right thing for you to do for yourself."

With a bark of laughter, she said, "Don't tell me you're threatening me."

"I can't imagine what you mean."

Her eyes cold, she said, "I told you before that I won't see Kurill turned into a theocracy. When I see the Dominion offer something that even remotely resembles an alliance, rather than the thinly veiled servitude that they've convinced you is advantageous, I'll reconsider my position. Until then, I don't want to hear another word from you about it. Now get out."

He continued to stand there, a slight smile on his face, and he asked, "Are you quite sure?"

In response, she turned away from him, moving her hand towards her interface line again, and he almost pitied her. This, he somehow knew, was going to be too easy. "I wonder how the Council would view you if they knew about your dead child and husband," he said mildly. Soltoi froze, her fingers inches from the touchpad. "Murderers generally aren't well-regarded in political circles, even if they only set up the deaths and relied on someone else to carry them out." Musingly, he added, "I do find it fascinating that even at such a young age, you already knew not to get your hands dirty."

"How do you know about that?" she demanded. "That information has been buried—"

"Yes, it was, and I doubt our colleagues will appreciate that, either."

They stared at each other, neither of them moving. "None of it is true," Soltoi hissed, her eyes wide in shocked outrage. "It's all vitriol and lies."

Weyoun knit his brow in patronizing sympathy. "Ah, that may be, Ara," he said, using her first name for the first—and probably only—time in his life, "but you see, sometimes, it's not the truth that matters, only the public's perception of it."

She looked as though he'd slapped her. "You wouldn't dare expose this."

"I don't want to expose it. But if you won't vote to join the Dominion, I'll have no choice." Weyoun tried to keep a sympathetic mask on his face. His rival was plummeting from her lofty position before his eyes, and there was nothing she could do to arrest her own fall. For the first time in the relationship, he held every single card.

"You're even more vulgar than I imagined," she spat.

He sniffed. "I learned from the best."

"Oh? I was going to say that it must be your breeding."

"Please," he said lazily, "we're beyond the petty shots at my parentage."

"Parentage? Is that what you call it? I've always thought of gutter-scum more as hogs rutting in the mud," she snarled.

Weyoun forced himself not to clench a fist. This was a victory, and he wasn't going to allow her to taint it with a Parthian shot. The slight on his parents didn't bother him—after all, didn't he view them much the same way? But the implication that he was no better, that all his struggling to pull himself out of that mud hadn't changed him—that angered him. He knew it had. He was older than his parents had been when they'd died, but at nearly thirty-seven, he looked decades younger. The two of them had seemed so ancient. Ancient and ineffectual, and yet here he was, the progeny of two destitute nobodies, rising to the height of Tira politics, serving a god personally.

Her barb seemed suddenly puerile, and he just grinned, a tinge of wolfishness in it. "Your vote, Senator. That's the only reason I'm here. I want assurance that you'll vote yes on the resolution to join the Dominion."

"You're a fool," she said.

"You've said that to me before. You were wrong then, too."

The two of them stared at each other across the desk for a long, tense moment, and then Soltoi leaned back in her chair. Her eyes flicked around the office briefly, as though taking in something she didn't expect to see again. And then she said, with more dignity than Weyoun thought he might have been able to muster in the same situation, "I won't support the resolution." He opened his mouth to reiterate his threat but stopped when she fixed him with a sharp glare. "However," she went on, "I will resign from my position in the Council, provided I have your guarantee that you'll keep that…story…to yourself."

Finally allowing the smile to drop off his face, Weyoun replied, "You have my word on that."

"And can you assure me that the others you've surely told will hold their tongues, as well?" Soltoi suddenly looked tired and old. "Your lovely wife? That gutter-scum senior aide of yours?"

"I said you have my word." Narrowing his eyes, he added, "We're both professionals, aren't we? My word should be enough."

He half expected her to make another slight on his origins; that gutter-scum could not, in fact, be taken at their word, but she just bowed her head. "You understand that I cannot simply walk out of the Complex tomorrow," she said quietly. "Explanations will be needed—for the Council, for the public, for my staff."

For a second, he hesitated, wondering if he should be kind. He settled, instead, for neutrality, saying, "I'm aware of that. As long as the time you take is within reason."

She looked back up at him, her gaze acute and probing. It would have been a crime to keep this woman housebound, Weyoun thought suddenly, and then, on the heels of that, wondered if he was any better than the tradition-bound husband who'd wanted to do such a thing in the first place.

Of course he was. It was a stupid musing. What he was doing wasn't out of some outdated idea of proper gender roles, it was because her resignation would benefit Kurill Prime. She could do what she wanted as a private citizen. Once she was no longer sitting in his section in the Council Chamber, he'd have no reason to think about her ever again.

"What game are you playing?" she asked.

"Game?"

"Please," she said scathingly. "Don't be coy. There's more to this than the Dominion."

Weyoun smiled mirthlessly. "No, actually. The Dominion is all there is."

And that, he decided, was enough of that. He'd done what he'd come here to do. And though it shouldn't have mattered, there was a certain appeal in having the last word in this long, acrimonious relationship. "Good-bye, Senator," he said with a hard brightness. "I wish you the utmost luck in your future endeavors."

Then, without giving her a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and left. He didn't bother to close her door behind him.

Soltoi's announcement of retirement was as graceful as he would have expected from such a long-serving senator. There was shock, of course, from the Council's august ranks. Telecorps sought information on the surprise resignation from Senator Soltoi's closest colleagues, and when they barged into Foros's offices, Weyoun happened to be there to witness his mentor's polite disavowal of any knowledge of Soltoi's reasons. When they had gone, though, Foros looked at Weyoun hard, a question in his eyes that he ultimately didn't ask. His scrutiny of Weyoun seemed to be enough—because the question disappeared, and Foros looked as though he'd answered it himself.

"He disapproves," Eris said bluntly as they were preparing for bed that night. She was already lying down, the blanket pulled up just below her swollen stomach, while Weyoun brushed his teeth.

Weyoun spit into the sink and filled a glass of water from the tap. "Foros has always had a rather exacting set of standards which very few can live up to."

Leaning her head back against the headboard and looking at him across the bedroom, she remarked lightly, "How churlish of you."

He drained the glass and set it down with a clink beside the faucet without answering. It had been; she was right. As he flicked the lights off in the bathroom and slid into bed beside her, he said, "I know. I'm afraid the usual excuses apply, as well." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "And I used to think my job was stressful. If only I'd known."

Her expression was sympathetic. "I'm tempted to suggest a day off."

"If you do, I'll just have to rebuff you." He sighed and took her hand. "Someday, things will calm down. Kurill Prime will join the Dominion and things will return to normal."

Squeezing his hand, she replied, "Or, at the very least, we'll find a new normal." Suddenly, she stiffened, and her other hand went to her abdomen. Her expression tightened with pain. She did a good job of hiding it, but he knew she was in a constant state of discomfort, and it was only when it rose to the level of agony that she allowed it to show. Pregnancy was painful, everyone had always said. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to watch her go through it. "You know," she said when the wave of pain seemed to have subsided, "if cloning weren't prohibitively expensive, I wonder how many women would go through with pregnancy at all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I had a feeling the recriminations would come eventually."

She laughed, then winced. "No recriminations." Leaning against him, she said, "Trust me, I was well aware of what I'd go through. The reality is just somewhat more—" She paused for a second, grit her teeth, and then relaxed, while Weyoun watched, trying not to look concerned. She'd never appreciated solicitousness, particularly not from him. "—vivid," she finished.

"I wish it wasn't," he said, knowing how useless it sounded.

Eris exhaled slowly and then, after a moment, straightened back up and smiled at him, keeping the shadow of exhaustion mostly at bay. "When you allow yourself a moment of triteness, it can actually be very endearing."

"If it's triteness you want from me, I can certainly oblige." When Eris laughed, Weyoun kissed her temple, then held his head there for a moment, breathing in her scent. When he stopped and let himself think about it, he wondered what he'd do if he didn't have her. Out in the real world he wanted so much, and if he wasn't coming home to Eris he had a feeling he'd lose perspective. Or himself.

She seemed to sense something, because her grip on his hand tightened, but she said nothing, and after a few moments, he pulled away and leaned back against the headboard. "You're right, of course," he sighed. "About Foros. He doesn't know for certain that I blackmailed Soltoi into early retirement, but he suspects."

"You know you've been like a brother to him for a long time."

Glancing at her in surprise, he asked, "Have I?"

"Of course."

For a moment, Weyoun didn't say anything. Then, he asked, "Do you disapprove?"

Eris smiled faintly. "No. I suppose I should. But no."

"Well," he sighed, lying down and pulling the blanket up to his chin, "that's something."

Borath was on time to their next meeting. The man was nothing if not punctual and that was, Weyoun supposed, a mark in his favor. "Was Senator Soltoi's resignation your doing?" he asked the moment that he walked through the door.

Weyoun looked up at the other man from the conference table he was sitting at. He'd had to use his clout to reserve one of the fully booked conference room for the afternoon and he'd bumped a junior senator from Iss Exarchate in the reservation order. Of course, a junior senator from Iss would probably be used to that. "Why do you ask?" he said.

Borath sat down across from him, setting his briefcase down on the table. "I thought I detected your hand in it," he answered.

With a snort, Weyoun said, "Don't be ridiculous. She released a statement detailing exactly why she feels that she'd better serve the public by stepping down."

Unlocking the briefcase with his fingerprint, Borath said, "You know, I've met Ara Soltoi."

"I would imagine. She's been in bed with Yelar for many years."

"Yes, though she never appreciated my contributions there." With a shrug, he went on, "She's never struck me as a woman who would step away from her highest achievement—unless she was forced to." He fell silent, and Weyoun didn't offer anything. He certainly wasn't going to confirm Borath's suspicions. Then, the other man surprised him by saying musingly, "I knew a woman once that reminded me of Senator Soltoi. Though her stubbornness was more attractive than your colleague's. I'm sorry, your former colleague."

This was practically a confidence, and it took Weyoun off-guard. "What happened?" he asked without thinking.

Borath blinked, seeming to return from elsewhere. "I'm sorry?"

"You said you knew a woman."

"Ah." There was a flicker of old sadness in Borath's eyes and Weyoun regretted his query. Not because he particularly cared about causing Borath pain—he didn't—but because he had no interest in having anything but a professional relationship with the geneticist. And a distant professional relationship, at that. "I suppose Tira City interposed itself. We were both from Pegrill. Have you ever been?"

"Once or twice." Hesitating, Weyoun added, "My wife grew up there."

"Such a cultured city. It couldn't be more different that our fair capital." He shrugged. "Career, you know, has a tendency of getting in the way in Tira City." When Weyoun remained silent, Borath said conversationally, "Though not for you, apparently. Time for a career and a family. How lucky for you."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

Pulling a number of padds out, Borath said briskly, "One way indeed, my dear fellow. Now, were you able to make the corrections we discussed?"

With a nod, Weyoun replied, "They should make Section Fourteen slightly more palatable." Still not enough to pass muster in the Council, of course.

Borath's eyes flicked back and forth as he scanned the newly uploaded text of the legislation. "It's a shame about Section Five," he murmured. "Still so limiting."

Weyoun glanced at said section on his padd, though he knew what it contained. "It eliminates nearly every restriction currently in place on genetic re-sequencing," he said. "Surely you can find it in yourself to be satisfied with that."

"I'm a scientist. We're always striving for more."

"Well, unfortunately we're not in your lab, and this legislation is going to have to go before the Council and meet with its approval."

With a sniff, Borath asked, "Isn't that why you're here?"

Weyoun drummed his fingers on the table, looking towards the wall. "Yes. That's why I'm here." With the second draft sitting in front of him, it was also occurring to him that the reason he was there was to sacrifice himself on the altar of public opinion. His blindness to that fact was embarrassing, but he'd been seduced by the fact that he'd been given this job by the Founder and distracted by his horror of the task itself. He hadn't stopped to think about what it would do to his career.

Mildly, to disguise this sudden—panic was too strong a word, but perhaps, anxiety? Even fear?—he said, "We should discuss the logistics of introducing this legislation to the Council."

"Again, Weyoun," Borath said without looking up, "isn't that why you're here?"

"I can't force this through by myself," Weyoun said flatly. "You must know that."

Borath looked up, exasperation on his face. "Then what do you suggest?"

Exhaling in a slow, controlled breath, Weyoun replied, "I need at least two other senators to co-author this."

"Are you asking for my permission? Because I'm not likely to give it. This type of thing is better kept private for as long as possible."

This type of thing. Weyoun wondered how much experience Borath had with illicit research and controversial legislation. With an unamused chuckle, he replied, "No. I'm telling you that I'm going to bring on two other senators, and that I'm not expecting any argument about it."

Borath looked up at him, a sour expression on his face. "It's a bad idea. It will exponentially increase the number of people who can leak the legislation. They'll tell their staffs."

"Then let me assure you that I'll limit myself to senators whom I know to be discreet."

The other man stared at him but said nothing. Then, with a minute shake of his head and a sigh, both in exasperation, he looked back down at the padd in front of him.

Ostensibly they worked for a few more hours, but they accomplished very little. Weyoun's attention was focused on which senators he could bring into the fold, and Borath was clearly just as distracted about something. There was a second padd next to the one he was working on which he kept glancing at and occasionally entering information, but its screen was blacked out from Weyoun's angle.

When they adjourned for the day, Weyoun made his way back to his offices and stood outside Leto's open door for a moment without saying anything. Her head was bent low and she was concentrating intently on her interface, and he let her continue to work for a moment before he said, "Leto."

She glanced up at him, one strand of hair in her mouth—a nervous habit that she seemed to have picked up in the last several years. He wondered what tics he'd developed. "I didn't hear you come back," she said, pulling the hair out of her mouth and turning away from her interface. "Were you at another of your secret meetings?"

Closing her office door behind him, he said, "They're not secret. Not exactly. Just…complicated."

"Well, I know it's not another woman," she said with a grin.

Returning the smile faintly, he replied, "No. It's of a political nature. I wanted to speak with you about it, actually." She just nodded once to show that she was listening, and he said, "I've been working on a piece of legislation with the help of the Director of Bio-Technology at Yelar."

Leto blinked in surprise. "Bio-technology?"

With a thin smile, he replied, "My reaction exactly. Leto—" He stopped abruptly and had to take a breath. "I'd like you to read it, and once you have you'll understand me when I say that mine cannot be the only name on this legislation." When she nodded again, he held out a padd to her that held a copy of the current draft.

She took it wordlessly, and he left her to read it without saying anything else. They would, no doubt, have plenty to say to each other after she'd finished it.

Leto waited until everyone else had left for the night before coming into his office and sitting down. She slid the padd across his desk, leaned forward, and said, "I read it."

When she didn't say anything else, he stared hard at her, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "I had a feeling that might be your reaction."

"I haven't had any reaction yet," she pointed out.

"Exactly."

She sighed and looked away. "This seems…extreme," she finally said. "It's not going to make you popular. You'll probably lose the next election."

"I'll worry about that when the time comes," he said dismissively, and untruthfully. He was already worrying about it. Borath didn't have much to lose from his involvement in the drafting of this legislation. The public would never know who he was. The face of the reproductive legislation would be Weyoun's, and he had a fair idea of what that was going to do to his career.

He sat forward, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "I need someone's help with this process. You're the only one I trust to do it."

Leto flicked a piece of hair out of her eyes. "It's my job to be the only one you can really trust."

"You do an admirable job." He watched her. "I know it's an…extreme piece of legislation. I know it's not the legacy either of us wants to leave. And I know it might destroy your career as well as mine."

Lowering her eyes, she said, "Don't worry about that."

"Of course I worry about it, Leto." He sighed. "We can think about that some other time, too, though."

She accepted that with a nod, and then, after a second, pulled the padd back and switched it on. "What do you know about this Borath Reton?" she asked.

"He's a geneticist. He used to be at Tira University, I believe, until he went to Yelar Industries."

Leto glanced up at him. "I did some checking into his background." When Weyoun raised an eyebrow, she took a breath and went on, "The reason he left Tira University was because he was issued a warning about his research."

"He has an unhealthy interest in genetic re-sequencing," Weyoun said.

"Apparently he had an unhealthy interest in genetic re-sequencing in clones," she informed him, then hesitated before handing him another padd. "Personally I don't think the university cared that he was doing the research," she went on while Weyoun skimmed the details of the academic warning that Borath had been cited with. "But I found a Channel One article from the time that talked about his 'revolutionary' work in cloning genetics. Looks like Tira University got nervous that they'd get hit with bio-crimes charges."

"Whereas Yelar wouldn't let the media into their inner research sanctum if their lives depended on it, so he'd be able to do whatever work he wanted to." Weyoun stared at the padd for another minute, then sighed and handed it back to her. "It's an interesting insight into Borath's…personality, but it doesn't really matter. The Founder wants this passed, and he, apparently, is the best man to help with that."

"So that's why that Jem'Hadar was here," Leto said. "I'd wondered." She drew in a deep breath. "I know it isn't my place to pry into your personal affairs, but you haven't told Eris about this, have you?" At his silence, she stifled a sigh and said, "I wouldn't either."

He tilted his chin upwards but turned his eyes down towards his folded hands. "I plan on asking Senators Isthitoi and Dulon to co-author this with me."

"Do you think they'll say yes?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"Do you?"

Chewing at her hair again, she replied, "Isthitoi owes you. And her views on genetic research are…progressive."

"Progressive without seeming radical, was my thinking," Weyoun said. "And Dulon and I have co-authored a number of pieces of legislation together."

With a nod, she asked, "Do you want me to contact them?"

"No. I'll do it." He stood up. "Thank you, Leto. You should go home."

She shook her head. "I have work to do—"

Weyoun came around his desk and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. She looked surprised. He supposed the contact, from him, was unusual. "Go home," he repeated. "Spend the night with your wife."

For a moment, she looked as though she was going to ask him if he was all right. He had never been a draconian employer, but he was demanding, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd told one of his staff to put aside their work. But then she picked her padds up and, giving him a searching look, said, "See you tomorrow."

He watched her go and knew that he should take his own advice and go home to be with his own wife. But he sat there for another twenty minutes, feeling his mind running around in circles that he was tired of.

Senator Isthitoi had taken more convincing than Senator Dulon, but in the end, both of them agreed to put their names on the legislation. Dulon said it was 'bold'. Isthitoi agreed, though with the caveat that it was likely to be misunderstood. Both of them had been far more amenable to co-authorship once he'd mentioned the Founder. The three of them spent the day working on the reproductive legislation, Borath joining them in the mid-afternoon and into the evening. The other man was coolly cordial, which was an improvement, even if Weyoun knew it wouldn't last long, and something…odder. When the two of them made arrangements for their next meeting, Borath was stiff and strangely formal, as though he had something to say. Whatever it was, it never came.

At home that night, after their now standard dinner of takeaway, Weyoun settled into his favorite spot on the sectional with the day's Council proceedings. Eris sat next to him with her team's reports for the day. She wasn't able to actively take part in the excavating, but she supervised everything directly from the site. Hopefully from the shade.

Suddenly, she put her padd on the table and turned her head towards him. "I ran into an old friend of mine today," she said, a strange note in her voice.

"Oh?" he asked, scrolling through a rather boring section of Council proceedings. He hadn't missed much by being with Isthitoi and Dulon all day.

"Yes," she said. "Borath Reton."

Weyoun didn't look up, but froze for the barest of seconds and knew that she noticed. "Borath Reton?" he asked, trying to sound politely clueless and knowing that he wouldn't fool her. The public, certainly. The media, yes. Even his peers in the Council. But his wife? Never. "I…don't think I've ever heard you mention him."

"I don't think I have," she said. The strange note in her voice had taken on an undertone of victory, confirming that she'd seen through his feigned ignorance. After a second, he looked up at her and searched her face for what she knew. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, but when he met them there was a relenting in her expression and she said, "It seemed strange to mention him. I…saw him, romantically, and it was around the time that we met."

"I hope you didn't think I'd be jealous," he said with one of the most forced smiles he'd ever used on his wife. Everything in this conversation screamed at him that it needed to be diverted, but there was nowhere to divert it to; and anyway, Eris wouldn't be diverted. Not with that look on her face.

"No," she said. "I never had any real interest in him. My parents always encouraged—" She stopped, and he could see in her face that she planned on getting this conversation back on track with as little extraneous information as possible. Whatever she'd been about to say about her parents was unnecessary, anyway. Weyoun had been able to tell, when he'd first met them, that they hadn't been pleased about their only daughter marrying a politician. "Borath and I have known each other since we were children. I saw him knowing that he had feelings for me that I didn't return." She shrugged. "It wasn't one of my finer moments."

Weyoun laughed a little, though he was only half paying attention to his own words. "And I drove the thought of any other man from your mind. I wish I'd known it at the time."

She smiled, though there was something hard about it. "He was surprised that I was pregnant. In fact, he seemed…disturbed by it."

Going back to his padd in order to avoid her eyes, Weyoun said, "Maybe he still has feelings for you."

"I'm quite sure he does," Eris replied. "In fact, I'm certain that that's why he told me what he did." She paused, waiting, he was sure, for him to respond. He didn't, and it was a moment, in fact, before he remembered to keep moving his eyes across the padd in the semblance of reading, rather than just staring blankly at the words.

"What he told me," Eris finally went on, "was so ludicrous that I laughed. I told him I was sure my husband would assure me that it was a ridiculous rumor. Which was when I found out that the two of you are acquainted."

At that, Weyoun put the padd down and got to his feet restlessly. This wasn't the way he'd planned on her finding out about the reproductive legislation, but it appeared that the moment for an explanation had arrived, no matter how unprepared he was to offer it. "What did he tell you, Eris?"

She had risen to her feet as well. Her eyebrows were drawn together and her eyes looked steely, but underneath the surface of her expression was something that looked like fear. "He told me that a contingent in the Council is trying to ram through legislation forcing abortions on every pregnant woman on Kurill—and that he's part of that contingent as a scientific advisor." Weyoun glanced at her, ready to deny it, but when he caught the iron expression on her face again, he dropped his shoulders and looked upwards to avoid her gaze. That, apparently, was confirmation enough. "How could you keep something like that from me?" she demanded, a protective hand on her belly.

"Because it doesn't affect us," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "It's only pregnancies under fourteen months that the legislation has any bearing on."

"Only pregnancies under fourteen months?" she repeated incredulously. "You don't have something to do with this, do you?" When he didn't respond, she said sharply, "Weyoun."

He pressed his lips together and exhaled, then turned to look out the window. "I'm a co-author."

At her sharply indrawn breath, he turned around and met her eyes. They were wide with undisguised horror and anger. "You're legislating forced abortions for every pregnant woman on this planet?" Her mouth opened to go on, but her outrage got the better of her and she just stood there, her arms held rigidly at her sides, and stared at him. The revulsion on her face twisted his stomach into a tight knot.

"It came directly from the Founder, Eris." He felt nothing except the desire for her to stop looking at him like that. All of his repulsion for this idea had been used up. When a god told you to do something, you did it.

The anger in her eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by confusion. Her posture didn't change and he knew not to approach her. "The Founder?" she repeated, and when he nodded, she asked, "But why?"

He sighed and returned to the sectional, perching on the arm and half-expecting her to take a step back to keep the same distance between them. She didn't. "How much did Borath tell you?"

"Hardly anything," she replied warily. "Just about this—law." She fixed him with a hard look. "As I said, he was surprised I was pregnant. Especially when he found out I was married to you." Suddenly, she grunted in pain and put a hand to her stomach.

Weyoun watched her sit back down. "Everything all right?" he asked carefully.

Her eyes screwed shut, she replied tightly, "Fine. It may be painful but I wouldn't want any of this taken away from me." The accusation in her voice was unmistakable, but then she grimaced. Whether it was from the pain or regret at her tone, Weyoun wasn't sure. Slitting an eye at him, she said, "Why would the Founder want to…to…" She trailed off.

"Fetal mutations," he said, and when she looked at him with surprise, he sighed and went on, "The Jem'Hadar detected a gamma-ray burst and it's probably going to affect fetal development more than anything else."

"Probably?" Eris all but spat.

He clenched a fist at his side. "To the point that most fetuses will be stillborn, and if they live they'll be so badly…disabled that they'll never be able to have a normal life." There was still ice in her gaze, so he went on, "The Founder promised assistance with our fertility issues, and the Dominion is doing us a favor to warn us about the mutations."

"Why aren't we affected, then?" she asked. "If you're planning to force women to abort their fetuses, why don't I have to?"

He gave her a look that felt desperate. "I'm not a scientist. I don't know." She would forgive the lie if she knew he'd fought with Borath over the time table. But it didn't seem like the time to admit to that.

"There has to be another way," Eris said. "Gene therapy—"

Shaking his head, he replied, "Borath claims it's not enough."

"Claims. Interesting choice of words."

He hesitated. "I have no reason to doubt him." When Eris didn't respond, he gave her a feeling look. "Eris—they're gods. I have to do what they say."

"I can't believe—" She stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. "You know my faith in the Founders is as strong as anyone's, but how can they ask us to do this?"

He slid off the arm of the sectional to sit next to her. Cautiously, he put a hand on her arm, and when she didn't shrug it off, he turned to clasp both of her shoulders. "I know all of this is…difficult. But I need you to support me."

For a moment, all she did was stare at him. Then, she moistened her lips, bowed her head, and replied, "You serve the Founders. So do I."

Putting a hand gently to her swollen stomach, he said, "Everything's going to be fine. Trust me."

She laughed; a short, mirthless sound, and looked away from him. "There aren't going to be many people left who trust you after this comes out."

"All the more reason for you to remain one of them." Wrapping his fingers around hers, he said feelingly, "Eris, you know that I would never do anything to hurt you."

There was a long pause, but finally she turned her face back towards him, her eyes narrowed slightly. "You once told me you couldn't make that promise."

"I'm making it now."

It looked, for a moment, as though she was going to say something else; argue with him, perhaps, about the value of his word—it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd heard it; he just hadn't ever heard it from his wife. Instead, he felt her grip slacken, though she didn't pull her hand from his. Tilting her head slightly, she asked, "Why is this so important to you?" Her eyes were light and dark, somehow simultaneously. There was an unsettling feeling of watching a stranger who was, in turn, watching a stranger, and he'd never felt that sense of disconnect between them before.

Weyoun turned his head slightly, the light from the kitchen in his eyes and the darkness of the rest of the house, and outside of it, casting its fingers across his face. Because he'd been chosen. Because he had no choice. "Because we only get one life," he said, his tone low.

"And the legacy you would have left wasn't good enough?"

He thought she already knew the answer, but nevertheless, he looked at her, deadly earnestness on his face, and replied, "No. It wasn't."

Eris tilted her chin upwards for a moment, then lowered her head in acceptance. It would be some time before either of them moved, and even longer until they spoke again.