- PART III -
Chapter XIX: Identifiable Sign
Semil stood naked in front of the small mirror over the wash basin in the spartan washroom of his cramped quarters. In some respects, he had to admit, life aboard this Bird of Prey was not unlike even the largest of the Dominion Dreadnoughts - minimal comforts to the point of an almost zealous asceticism.
Even Klingons, for all their stoicism, they were still a proud people. One would never accuse a Klingon of primping, and yet a life in service of the Founders would never allow such vanity as examining ones own appearance beyond the most basic grooming.
The Vorta's eyes traced up the long scar that ran up the slope of his right temple, parallel to his hairline. Unlike the rough, jagged lines he was accustomed to seeing on his Jem'Hadar or these Klingons - clear signs of battles long since fought and won.
This was different. There was a clean surgical precision to the line - an almost delicate architecture that had allowed someone to tap into the darkest recesses of his brain. It had been done well enough that it might not be noticed at first glance, to an untrained eye. It was like looking at a new roadway built over top of a slum - Dominion diplomatic engineers were building them all the time in newly annexed territories.
A clear, identifiable sign of the new society that was being built atop the old one.
A not entirely inappropriate allegory to his current condition, he thought. The Founders and Jem'Hadar visited his dreams less and less frequently. What dreams he could remember were increasingly shaped by his current circumstances. The squirm of food that the mess hall chefs preferred. The smell of targ. The sweat and musk and mildew of the exercise floor.
While still thoroughly distasteful, it had all become increasingly comfortable over time. At least he was more able to ignore the parts that disagreed with him. For some of their more dangerous planetside excursions, he had even begun wearing some of the armor pieces they kept aboard. Even with all the bluster and puffery, the Klingons could be immensely pragmatic about certain things.
He had done his best these past few weeks to refrain from comprisons between his former lives, and this new one. Still, they crept in without much effort. He didn't have extensive experience otherwise, after all.
The comm system intoned. "Semil to the bridge."
With that, the Vorta reached for a towel and flicked off the vanity light.
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The small, dimly lit bridge of the Vaq'ghol hummed with the quiet intensity that Semil was becoming accustomed to as the standard operating mode on a Klingon bridge. He stepped in through the blast doors, alerting K'vot to his presence.
"We approach Hitora V under cloak." K'vot was always so curt about these briefings.
The Colonel continued without acknowledging Semil. "Beta Lankal. Ha'toria. QuVat. We are running out of colony worlds to keep this search up." He swivelled in his Captain's seat to face the Vorta. "Since you remain so convinced of our current mission, if our search comes up empty again here..."
Semil was growing accustomed to being afforded the luxury of interrupting K'vot at carefully selected opportunities. "The Lethean's time in Empire territory is our best chance to find the clone cache. You've already agreed that he would have been less likely to hide the clones on Cardassian or Orion worlds."
"Yes, yes. And Klingon-controlled territory would afford him sufficient security to operate without threat of poaching or piracy." K'vot dismissed Semil's repetition with a wave of his hand as he swivelled back around to face the viewscreen.
"I still don't understand what security concerns of yours require us to maintain cloak. We could operate much more effectively if we were allowed to actively scan the surface."
"Then you'll simply have to trust that we have very good reasons to operate as discreetly as possible. Reasons that may well compromise the success of our mission."
Semil nodded with a slight huff, unaccustomed to being kept in the dark, operationally.
"I suppose then, that we'll be beaming down to the settlement, shortly."
"I imagine that's why you're already wearing your armor."
Semil shrugged, supposing that K'vot knew him better than he would care to admit, in many ways, perhaps better than he knew himself, as they started through the bridge doors towards the transporter room.