"Weyoun, if you could have anything in the universe, what would it be?"
"The knowledge that I've served the Founders well," Weyoun answered promptly.
"Besides that," Odo sighed.
Weyoun blinked at him. "Why do you ask?"
Odo looked determined. "Because your people are slaves, and I want to know how you'd like to carry out your lives."
"Vorta want nothing more than to serve the Founders." Weyoun stopped and drew in a sharp breath, struck by an appalling thought. "I...I am serving you well aren't I, Odo?"
Ignoring the question – which was as good as a 'yes', so Weyoun relaxed – Odo said, "But your vision, your taste – you have no sense of aesthetics; you can't have families…"
"The Founders made us the way they did for their own reasons."
"You shouldn't have to worship changelings because it's built into your genetic code," Odo said, an edge to his voice that made Weyoun nervous.
He remained silent for a long moment. Weyoun trusted Odo. But there was still the terrifying prospect that whatever he said would eventually make its way back to the rest of the Founders. His concept of how the Link worked was hazy. How much of himself was Odo capable of...staying? Was any individuality retained in the Great Link or was every Founder's consciousness truly subsumed into a unified whole? The idea of his personal opinions being known was enough for Weyoun to keep his mouth clamped tightly shut. He truly, truly didn't care that his faith was genetically ingrained in him. What did it matter where faith came from, in the end?
"I appreciate what you're trying to do for us," he finally said, hoping his sincerity was plain enough in his tone. "But the Vorta exist to serve the Founders. If we aren't, then…" How best to put it? "...then our existence is pointless."
"You should have free will," Odo said flatly.
"We do," Weyoun replied, and he heard a strange note of reassurance in his voice. Well, Odo needed to believe this. He needed to believe that failing to change the Vorta wasn't a failure in his quest to remake the Dominion. Hesitating, he added, "My life is as much my own as I could ever want it to be."
Odo stared at him for a moment, then harrumphed. Not a victory, then – they would return to this subject – but at least an allaying of the discussion for now.
There was silence between them, and then Weyoun turned to look at Odo sheepishly. "There is one thing," he said.
"And what's that?"
Weyoun hesitated again, then said, "I must admit that I've always wished I could...sing."
For a second, Odo didn't respond, but then he said gruffly, "Well, that's a start."