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Weyoun leaned over her as she lay on his bed. His lips curved into a naughty—
"Founders," she rasped, sitting up. After she had screamed, she had taken Little Niner into the makeshift shelter in order to comfort him. Her cries had tormented the infant to the point where he wouldn't stop trembling. "I must have fallen asleep," she moaned, looking to her left. Niner was sleeping in the bundle she had wrapped him in.
She sighed and reached a hesitant hand toward him. Her mind felt restless, as evident by the sensual dream. A walk was the only thing that would be able to work everything out, but she didn't want to leave the baby there. He had a bad habit of crawling after her and mewing whenever she stepped away from the shelter—mewing because he never really wailed. Niner's cries, if one could even call them that, were more akin to a kitten's mew than the thrashing howls of an infant.
Where Helen went, Little Niner had to go to, even when she had to use the hole she dug fifty feet downwind of their shelter. When she was at home—Weyoun's quarters—leaving him in the other room had not been a problem…Her eyes flickered in the dim lighting of the lamps outside. Another sigh forced itself from her mouth, and she moved her hand away from him.
I just need to think…I need to sort this out! She lay back against the bed she had made out of spare Vorta uniforms and closed her eyes. Her restlessness would have to wait; she was not about to wake Niner up just because she wanted to stomp around and snap twigs between her palms. The restlessness…it was an incessant gnawing almost. She had been fine for the first few days after the crash—it had crawled beneath her skin like the white powder New York's finest gangs sniffed up their noses…Headaches, gnashing, and wanting to simply move.
"Weyoun," she whispered, forcing her thoughts back to the subject at hand. What did Odo's words matter if she was happy!? I don't care if he's a Founder; he's wrong about Weyoun! The back of her throat felt dry and scratchy, as if she had swallowed a handful of sand.
"Odo is wrong."
Odo stood and stared at the container he had dragged out of the shuttle. The contents glimmered up at him in the starlight above him. Everything was almost exactly as he had guessed, and now he had to take this box and show it to the human woman. She was just as defiant and stubborn as the rest of them. Humans were skeptical by nature and required irrefutable evidence before admitting that obvious truths were, in fact, true.
There was more than just the incriminating biological blueprints though—something that he had not expected.
"It makes sense," he said with a gruff. How else would one keep a human in such a confined space for so long? Humans were like Bajorans when it came to such things. Both species had an inherent need for socialization and room to wander. Weyoun had provided her with some socialization, but Odo couldn't imagine that would have been enough…
He squatted next to the open box and reached his hand to the hypospray and vials beside it. Weyoun had drugged her. He had dampened the need in order to prevent attempts to escape altogether.
"Clever, I'll give him that," Odo said, standing up. He lifted the box and started for Helen's shelter.
"Helen?" he called when he did not see her outside. Something inside of the shelter rustled.
"Coming," she growled. Odo sighed and set the box down.
"I know you are not happy with me, Helen, but this is for your own good. You need to understand the reality Weyoun had you living in." He gestured to the box as the woman ducked out of the tent. The baby was not with her, he noted.
"I don't believe you. You weren't there, Founder…" His eyes roamed over her clenched fists, down to her teetering feet.
"I know, but I have proof."
"Alright, Founder," she murmured. "I will look inside your box if it pleases you." Helen seated herself on the blanket and waited. Odo did likewise, positioning the box in front of him, and pulled out the hypospray.
"He was using this as a means to keep you content where you were—to keep you in his quarters," he said, setting the thing on the blanket in front of her. "I have his log and instructions if this isn't proof enough."
Helen's fingers grazed the uncouth instrument lying before her. Her hand trembled as she ran her thumb over the thing's handle. The restlessness…
"Here are four vials of it," Odo lifted a small case out and set it beside the hypospray. "Apparently I was to give you one of these and take you back to him."
"Then why are there four?" If the woman could shoot venom from her mouth, Odo thought, she surely would have spewed it right at him with that tone. He cleared his throat.
"Just in case. You of all people should know that Weyoun had a tendency to cover all of his 'bases' so to speak."
"Of course," she sneered.
"Now, here is this item." Odo pulled out another metal box which was larger than the first. "Some of this was damaged in the crash." He pulled the lid off and pushed the box toward her. "This was my other task…funny a Vorta would be brave enough give a changeling orders," he snorted. "He was trying to play to my pity—something he knew the other changelings lacked. Well, I was to take this and recreate Weyoun if Weyoun was dead by the time I got his message."
"Then recreate him."
"The baby is Weyoun," Odo sighed and poked at the metal lid in his lap. "He named him Weyoun Nine because that's exactly what he is. He's Weyoun's clone. How Weyoun had managed to toy with Vorta genetics in order to create a baby, I do not know, but he knew things weren't going the way the Dominion was hoping. He knew that he was in trouble when Damar turned on them." Odo paused and gazed at her, "and he knew that you'd give your life to protect an innocent child, so he put the infant in your care."
"That is the most ridiculous thing—sick thing,I've ever heard."
"Little Niner may have all of the genetics that make a Weyoun a Weyoun, but he does not have any of the memories. He is just a baby. I was to take what's inside that box and-"
"And somehow grow Niner up and shove Weyoun's memories onto him…nice." Odo watched as Helen leaned forward to peer in the box.
"Yes. But I'm not going to. I'm going to take the both of you to Federation space. I have a good friend on Deep Space Nine who will see to it that you are properly taken care of."
"I don't want to go to my people."
"Oh, so you will sit here in the dark and let the child suffer right along with you?"
"That's not fair-"
"You are right. It isn't fair to him."
"So what are you going to do with these-these memories stored in those petri dishes then?"
"I…do not know."
"Founder," she pushed the hypospray away from her. "I'm going for a walk. Little Niner is sleeping in the shelter." With that, Odo watched her snap her head around and turn away.
The changeling fingered the "petri dishes," as the woman had called them. A frown pleated his lips. It was possible to create another Weyoun with the information there, but it was damaged, and there was a strong probability that the Weyoun would be more than just "defective." On top of that, was the fact that he'd have to use the baby in order to fashion a new body. The cloning facilities certainly had the capabilities, and the infant would remain unharmed, but still…Odo's doubts lingered.
Why did he feel this need to reactivate Weyoun? He grunted.
"Please, Odo... tell me that I haven't failed... that I've served you well." *
His eyes darted to the petri dishes again. Maybe he could recreate Weyoun Six…but Odo was not an expert as far as scientific practices went, and despite his work in the Great Link, the principle truths that had made the Dominion strong still existed and weren't about to go away just because they had lost one war. A defective Vorta would never be allowed to live, let alone be purposefully created in the first place.
Maybe Doctor Bashir could help, he found himself thinking. Maybe he could make sense of what's stored in here. It was worth a try. Perhaps there was a lot more to what was stored on the dishes than what it appeared to be. Odo placed them back inside their metal container.
So that was it; the answer to the restlessness that had been crawling through her blood. Weyoun had been drugging her. The Founder's words and the stark proof right in front of her made sense. It felt as though someone had pulled a thin veil from her eyes, and now she was seeing things just as clear as they were supposed to be. Why hadn't she wondered before hand why she had always been content to stay in his quarters? The drug…
Helen passed the shuttle and went further along the jagged rocks. Her face stung, and her nostrils flared with mucus. But…he had to have loved her, right? Weyoun Six…She shut her eyes and stopped her half crazed walk to place a hand against one of the rough stones to her right.
He was so different from the other "Weyouns" even though she never saw them as separate people (nether did he for that matter). She had always enjoyed him, but Weyoun Six was more than just a friend to her, and it was because of him that—Helen snorted and tore her hand from the rock.
So she was his prisoner…her mind hissed with a bitter twinge as she continued picking her way forward. Her steps were swift, and her feet seemingly trampled the ground beneath them. But he treated me like I was his wif-no…pet…he treated me like a well bred, favorite pet—something to entertain himself with.
"Oh," her shoulders slumped at the realization. The sensation stinging her face burned into tears which blurred her vision. Helen continued pressing forward, memories streaming through her mind much like the wetness staining her cheeks. For how long she walked, she didn't know and was too upset to pay attention.
As she stumbled through thick blades of what she assumed was grass, Helen slumped onto a stone slab. She flicked the blue material on her knee. His favorite dress…She hadn't even begun to process the information about the war and her people, and that it was sometime in the future somehow. A shudder ripped through her frame, causing her to spill more tears out.
Why didn't Weyoun tell her the truth!?
"I feel like a fool…a damned fool," she whimpered. The grass rustled as if responding to her sentiments, laughing and mocking her while she sat there. Was he afraid she'd try to escape? Helen wondered. But there was that drug which prevented such notions…but why?
"Damn it, Weyoun!" she shrieked.
* Quoted from DS9 episode, "Treachery, Faith, and the Great River."