Survival of the Clever

I wanted to play around with an idea that's been running through my head. I plan to write the next part of this from the perspective of the other character.

Weyoun and Deep Space Nine are © Paramount.

Weyoun gazed down at the small being lying in the chamber before him. He reached a hand down and touched his index finger to the miniature head staring up at him. The eyes, so large and lavender were exact replicas of his own eyes. At that thought, Weyoun smirked. His insurance policy issued a soft sigh and grasped at his finger with its short fingers.

The Dominion war wasn't exactly going as the Founders had planned…Weyoun frowned, watching his cloned namesake as he played with his finger. The Breen may have been a wonderful addition to the Dominion, but no one could have foreseen that Damar, loyal, quiet, and dutiful Damar of all Cardassians would betray the Dominion in such a manner!

If things did not improve, Weyoun Eight would be the last Weyoun to ever exist, and that was something he was not willing to let slide. Reports on rebuilding the cloning facilities that Damar's rebellious gang had destroyed weren't going as well as he had let the Founder on to believe…The infant, Weyoun Nine, was the only way to guarantee his continued existence.

Infants were small, compact, and easily hidden. No one had really noticed that Weyoun had been spending long hours up there in the medical facilities. With power came certain privileges, but even those had limits. He cast a quick look over his shoulder. The Vorta doctors were hovering over the latest sample that the female Founder had given them. Pulling one of the extra lab coats over the infant Vorta, Weyoun scooped the bundle up.

"Ineth, transport me directly into my quarters," he said, striding for the transport controls. He quickly tapped the override commands that prevented others from beaming unwarranted guests into his room.

"I have something for you," Weyoun whispered. As he held the bundle against his chest, he could see the outline of Helen's shoulders—they were bare, which meant she was wearing that blue dress he had nicked from Garak's shop during the Dominion's occupation of Deep Space Nine. The dark shade had distinctly reminded him of Ziyal's drawings, one of which, he still had. It was hanging in the bedroom. Helen had to tell him what such trivial things were for.

That poor deluded and misguided woman…He smiled, an uncouth notion, at her; at everything she thought to be reality. So loyal, so vulnerable, and so ignorant.

"Weyoun," she said. From the soft and slight inflection in her voice, he knew her to be smiling and that her face was covered in splotches of red. Helen got like that whenever he brought her gifts. As of late he hadn't been able to bring home anything, but when they were on Deep Space Nine, he brought the woman a steady stream of shoe laces, picture frames, various sport balls that humans and Bajorans liked, empty decorative glasses, and the like.

He stepped forward and made his way around the front of the couch, where she sat with her back straight and her red face gazing at him. He lowered Weyoun Nine and placed him into her lap. The woman flinched.

She reached a trembling hand to uncover the flap of lab coat covering the infant's face. Weyoun was keen to notice the slight twitching of her fingers; it was as if she was in physical pain. He stared at her, fascinated by this strange behavior. He never once saw her behave like that. Not even when he first found her stumbling about Cardassian streets.

Three years ago, the Cardassian military was conducting a series of tests that would enhance their weaponry; only, the tests were complete failures and had opened up a trans dimensional wormhole that had acted as a bridge between two worlds and two eras. Fortunately, the thing was only open long enough for a lone straggler to wander through it. The woman was found hours after the fact. They were able to glean the truth about the wormhole through the residue that the temporary distortion had left in its wake.

Weyoun had taken the woman and kept her in his quarters. She was just another thing to collect to him. The Vorta didn't have a knack for the things that other species seemed to hold dear, and to Weyoun, the lack of understanding was a severe weakness in his people. He told her that it was a trans dimensional bridge that had brought her there, but neglected (purposely so as to ensure her loyalty) to mention that she had traveled to the future. In Helen's eyes, she was on an alien planet with an advanced civilization. Since Deep Space Nine was of Cardassian origins, she had assumed that it was just a space station set up at the edge of Cardassian territory to "explore the wonders of outer space!" He never let her out, keeping her complacent through lies and diplomacy, and so she had no way of knowing the truth.

He gazed down at her as she ran a finger down the infant's elongated ear.

"He's…he's adorable and…not human." The latter words were spoken as if that was the only thing that mattered to her, as if she had a special hatred burning beneath that beautiful dress of hers. There were times when Weyoun noticed that she seemed to not favor her own planet—as she remembered it—he found it most amusing.

Helen brought the child up and placed Weyoun Nine against her chest. She closed her eyes and began swaying.

"He's beautiful," she murmured.

Insurance policy…insured. A smirk pleated his lips. Females were all the same, no matter the species. They had that primal instinct to care for younglings too weak to fend for themselves. Although there were exceptions, Vorta and Founder females who would never do such a thing for instance, Helen was not either of those species. She may have been from the "wretched and wicked part of New York" as she so vehemently put it, and she may have been from 1921, but she was still human.

"I'm so glad that you like him," Weyoun sat down beside her and continued to watch her. "He is Weyoun Nine."

"Thank you Weyoun…for everything."