Semil: Agent of the Empire

Chapter XXXII: Shared Circumstances

Semil sat up suddenly, as a bolt. He had not been aware he had dozed off, so he awoke in the manner of someone surprised to be waking. he oriented himself back to the small cargo bay of the Vaq'ghol - largely empty, save the buzz and hum and glow of the Dominion cloning equipment occupying the center of the bay. He was seated at a workstation, an endless stream of files, databanks, and dossiers indeterminately dispalyed on the screens in front of him.

The other clones were working excitedly at the cloning vat, paying him no mind. It was not clear if they had been aware he had drifted to sleep, much less had reawoke.

These two Vorta had been prioritized because of their expertise with Dominion cloning technology. The first, Renvar, was an obvious choice. His line had been designated for cloning operations; no small necessity in these circumstances.

The Vorta cloning process owed as much to art, as to science - not that Vorta had any sense of art or aesthetics, of course. It was more that having purpose engineered into one's own biology gave one innate insights of the power and limitations of engineering a new lifeform. A highly gifted cloning master could preemptively edit out the replicative fading that plagued cloning processes for numerous other races, ensuring the vitality of a line for dozens of generations to come.

Renvar stood by the workbench, chattering away about some piece of equipment to the other clone. Both Vorta were oblivious of Semil, who straightened himself in his chair.

The other Vorta clone was Rivqol, decidedly more animated than the taciturn doctor. The Rivqol line was used as a facilitator engineer - a specialized corps among the Vorta, sent in to newly allied or pacified worlds to impart advanced Dominion infrastructure or engineering. It was a twofold job; on one hand, to earn the trust and respect of a local populace. But moreover, to make that society realize the material benefits of siding with the Dominion, and ultimately, utterly dependent on Dominion largesse.

On occasion, it could be a thankless task. No one involved liked to admit the number of worlds, few though they were, where Vorta facilitators were unwelcome. In Rivqol's memory, it seemed like he had been killed once for every twenty aqueducts or bridges or power stations he had built. On the whole, not far from the average for his position and grade.

As a priority for their small cottage cloning operation, he had made a reasonable second choice. Faciltator engineers were often called upon to interface Dominion technology with a myriad of alien power supplies, communications protocols, computer networks - and on consistent occasion, subvert them.

Semil had quietly sidled up to the workbench, inserting himself into their conversation. "Something to report, gentlemen?" Vorta were not as intrinsically gregarious with their own kind as many other races. It wasn't clear to Semil whether that had been something the Founders had engineered or not. Vorta could go months or years without seeing another of his own kind, though one could never sense they were at a loss for it.

"We were taking a second look at the specs for the power distribution manifold. DId you know the power limits for this room were being actively throttled?"

Semil shook his head. "I was not made aware, no."

Renvar took up from Rivqol. "Even without a clearer plan going forward, it's not going to be possible to scale up operations with these limitations. Maybe..." Renvar trailed off, not sure how to finish his statement.

Semil had not yet seen fit to reveal the extent of their shared circumstances just yet. Renvar and Rivqol hadn't even left the cargo bay. A pair of cots had been set up in the corner. They had been sleeping and working nonstop, with minimal outside interference from the crew of the Vaq'ghol. It was not clear the Vorta even knew where they were; Semil had only told them they were working on reestablishing cloning operations.

"Well, then. I'll make sure to take it up with... our Masters." Semil thought it best to leave this as vague as possible. Mid-tier operational Vorta clones such as these were more accustomed to working in the dark. "That will be all for now, gentlemen."



K'vot sat in his command chair, perusing status reports and documents on a PADD absent-mindedly as Semil stood to his side, reporting in.

"...and they also tell me that the power supply limits we've placed on Cargo Bay 2 will limit any expansion of current cloning operations."

"Do you have any reason to suspect duplicity or subterfuge on their part?" K'vot didn't bother looking up.

Ever the paranoiac, Semil thought. "No, we knew it would be an issue eventually. Especially if and when we try activating the Jem'Hadar lines. Their maturation process is exceedingly power-intensive; it's how they can be ready for deployment so much more rapidly."

"And then we come to the issue of space."

"The thought had been occurring to me," Semil understated. He had been nervous, envisioning the cramped cargo bay packed in with barely controllable Jem'Hadar soldiers aboard, what could be to their highly engineered eyes, a hostile vessel.

"Then perhaps it's time we addressed that." K'vot lay down his PADD, and swivelled to face his seat forward. "Helm," the Colonel barked, "Set course for Theta Lankal. Engage the cloak, and proceed at Warp 5."

It occurred to Semil that this much was a contigency that K'vot had already foreseen.

Chapter XXXIII: Countersign Greeting

From the extra-dim lighting, Semil could tell the Vaq'ghol was running silent under cloak as he strode onto the bridge. Klingon lighting was bad enough for his poor eyesight under normal circumstances, but he had learned how to navigate the bridge largely by touch, sound, and instinct. K'vot, nor any of his bridge officers paid him any attention as he took up a spot at the secondary tactical console.

Through the viewscreen, he could see the expanse of gas, dust, and rock coalescing into broad arcs across the screen - a planetary ring formation.

Glancing down, the tactical displays confirmed - they were in a parabolic annular trajectory over Theta Lankal II. The ship was running at half-impulse
After he had heard K'vot give the order two days ago, he had looked up the star system in the Vag'ghol's database. Uninhabited. Desolate. Remote. Unremarkable.

A perfect hiding spot.

Whatever K'vot and the General were hiding, they had gone to exceptional extra precautions. No ships or transponders were anywhere in sensor or scanning range.

Semil had always presumed Vaq'ghol was one of the B'rel variants specialized for reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. Even for 25th century standards, the ship's cloak and sensor suite were finely attuned to each other, as if they were only intended to operate in concert - neither system betraying the capabilities of the other.

In the distant horizon at the edge of the rings, Semil could just make out a small mote, growing larger.

On his tactical display, Semil could just make out the small moon in their flight path. Theta Lankal Vb. A shepherd moon, no more than a few dozen kellikams across, barely larger than the largest boulders comprising the rings.

Sensors showed no power emissions, no signs of life or infrastructure. Whatever they were headed towards this tiny, quiet outpost for - it was as concealed and shrouded as anything could be.



Semil could feel the approach slow even further, essentially to a crawl. The small moon sat before them on the viewscreen, its pocked, mottled surface showing nothing.
It reminded Semil of a squashed, misshappen rippleberry.

K'vot sat and stared at the viewscreeen for a few moments before rising and heading to the Communications console. He furtively input a series of commands over the officer's shoulder. Semil guessed that they were protected access codes.

"not mev lingta ghIlab." K'vot spoke aloud, presumably into an open, or maybe encrypted comm channel.

Silence returned. The bridge was unmoved; K'vot and his officers stood stoically, in the face of the quiet.

"reH lingta mev ghel pagh ghIlab." The comms cackled, with precisely no sign of any source.

Okay, a standard sign-countersign greeting. That must be the standard across the galaxy.

K'vot reopened the comms. "ghaH neH chop ghom 'ej wej ghel, ghIlab."

The channel closed. Before them, Semil recognized the telltale shimmer of a cloak dropping - in this case, a duck blind. A massive one.

From behind the warping, a sizeable complex bore into the side of the moon appeared.
A drydock facility. K'vot signalled the pilot to reengage the engines.

As the dock came closer into view, Semil could just make out a pair of nacelles astride a great green triangle hull.