Semil

“Martial law is one thing, Keevan,” Weyoun spoke in delicate tones, “but it sounds as if you’ve launched a purge.” Onscreen, Keevan blinked his amethyst eyes lazily. “I don’t see why you think the Council needs to explain policy to a functionary,” his velvety voice belied the acrid content of his words. “Are you prepared to give your report?” Weyoun narrowed his weak eyes, studying the expression of his counterpart. During the war, their relative positions had been reversed. While Weyoun had served the Founders as supreme commander of Dominion forces in the Alpha Quadrant, Keevan had been the mere functionary, captured after the loss of a valuable ketresel-white facility. “Of course,” he smiled pleasantly. “I received the new Federation ambassador, a mid-level Vulcan dignitary. Her credentials are not particularly impressive. In fact, her arrival seems to confirm Federation unwillingness to commit to our cause. Aside from this station, their confirmed fleet presence in our quadrant is six starships.” “Go on,” Keevan directed. “I’ve concluded my investigation into Semil’s death. The Klingon ambassador asserts his actions were justified, given that it was our operative who was aiding and abetting in the escape of a prisoner.” Keevan nodded. “A somewhat broad application of ‘shot while trying to escape'.” “Yes,” Weyoun agreed, “but there is the matter of diplomatic immunity. Witnesses say Semil invoked it, trying to protect himself after triggering Armante’s terminal implant. It would seem Governor K’Vorlag agreed, only to use it to cover his next action.” “I see,” Keevan gave an admiring smile. “Surprisingly logical, for a Klingon. If we object, they can charge our advisor with stealing their prisoner. Nicely done.” “I thought so,” Weyoun agreed. “Since we gave Semil the remote codes to activate the implant, I think we’re best served by considering the matter justly resolved. I recommend no diplomatic, military, or criminal retaliation.” Keevan listened thoughtfully. “Your talent with Alpha Quadrant species is no myth. It will be a shame to recall you.” “I understand,” Weyoun admitted. “My presence does seems to be an unpleasant reminder of the past.” “I think you misunderstand,” Keevan corrected. He leaned in towards the screen. “These are desperate times. Even you are not above suspicion. Some have taken notice that, despite their vulnerable position, the Federation outpost hasn’t come under attack.” Despite himself, Weyoun felt his mouth drop open in visible shock. “I serve the Founders,” was all he managed. “You can’t possible think…?” “Your loyalty to the Founders is not in question,” Keevan assured him. “But there are those who wonder if it will point you to the Hundred. It is hard to forget the misfortune of your sixth clone.” Weyoun shivered at the reference. Shortly after activation, Weyoun 6 had confessed opposition to the Alpha Quadrant war, believing it ultimately harmful to the Founders. He had actually died attempting to defect to the Federation, but not before revealing to Odo the existence of the morphpgenic virus that was then killing the Great Link. “You know that clone was flawed,” Weyoun argued. “I don’t even possess his memories.” In fact, he carried memories of the clone that had hunted the defect down. “But it does show you’ve sided with a member of the Hundred before,” Keevan pressed. A rare trace of malice flashed in Weyoun’s eyes. “I hold other memories. There are not many on the Council who know the nature of your capture during the war.” Enemy intelligence claimed Keevan’s previous incarnation had traded the lives of his own Jem’Hadar crew and willingly become a Federation prisoner to escape death. “Your line has always exhibited an advanced degree of self-interest.” “And overconfidence has always been a weakness of yours,” Keevan interjected. “If you doubt my resolve to protect the Founders, you’ll find you’re quite alone. The Council agrees with me on how to deal with traitors.” “Real or imagined,” Weyoun added, disturbed by the vengeful tone. “You can’t think that the Founders intended us to tear ourselves apart. Perhaps it is time to ask…?” “The Founders told us to leave them in seclusion. We are just stewards. It is not ours to decide to defy them,” Keevan challenged, a fervent tone in his voice. “Until they return, I intend to defend their order as jealously as my own life. And this is not a war we can afford to lose, Weyoun, so you’d best stay out of it.” He cut the transmission abruptly. Weyoun stared at the screen blankly. Starved of ketresel-white, the genetically dependent Jem’Hadar slowly suffered increasing symptoms of withdrawal. Pain and anxiety came first, followed by loss of mental control, eventually becoming insane and killing everything. The Vorta had been similarly adapted to receive the word of the Founders and obey it without question. But those doses had stopped, revealing an equally compelling addiction. The anxiety of that withdrawal seemed to be giving way to madness. Was death next?

After a thorough investigation, the Dominion has deemed that actions taken by Governor K'Vorlag which resulted in the death of their previous advisor Semil were equal in response to exceptional circumstances and covered under the existing scope of diplomatic immunity defined aboard Camelot Station. The Dominion requests no diplomatic, military, or criminal retaliation and does not oppose the Governor's continuation as Klingon advisor in the Avalon system. It has, however, demanded a revision of future terms of diplomatic immunity - specifically, eliminating certain exclusions regarding personal acts of aggression.

04.02.2374 [Alpha Quadrant War: Month Seven of Hostilities] Having fled the Canar system due to a Federation ruse and attack led by Captain Thomas Halloway, Semil reports his failure to Dominion leadership. The stark metal grey of the room was lit solely by the synthetic glint of the single lit screen. Two Vorta, light years apart but seemingly separated only by the layers of polymer composite and optical diode, spoke brusquely in the Dominionese tongue they had known for as long as their progenitors could remember. "...both know there was no way to confirm the nova was a Federation ruse without jeopardizing our regional fleet," Semil responded. He sat opposite the viewer, his left leg casually crossed over the other. Onscreen, Weyoun's visage remained stern and serious. "Unfortunately, the Founder does not share your nonchalance. Losing the Canar system is a significant setback in our plans. While we are on the subject, the ambush we faced in the Moriya system..." Semil interrupted, "Yes, I have read the report." "We acted on information you provided us. I am having difficulty explaining to the Founder how easily you have been misinformed." Weyoun cocked his head to the other side. "I needn’t remind you..." "No, you needn't," Semil shot back. "I am well aware of the stakes, Weyoun. Perhaps instead of this constant badgering, you may consider allowing me to do what I must." Weyoun clenched his eyes in a squint. "This isn't you, Semil. I don't understand it, but something about this quadrant has changed you... you’re different. I remember being able to depend on you, on your loyalties." "That hasn't changed." Semil's mouth pursed in subtle defiance. The two Vorta assessed each other, instinct and habit borne of the genetically engineered mistrust rooted deep inside of each. "Very well. What are your plans?" "My source; I am certain there are mitigating circumstances surrounding his disinformation. I am bringing our remaining ships to conduct a full investigation of those circumstances. I believe only our interpretations to be flawed, not the conclusions." "You don't see flaw with your methods of interrogation?" "I've rechecked the protocols, everything is in order. I suspect there may be one variable that was... unaccounted for in my initial projections." The slur in Semil's speech rasped across the light years. He felt that irritating twinge on his back again. "You didn't have this much trouble with the Klingon." "The governer was a far less complicated mind. It took far less time to break him. He served his use." They hadn’t even bothered to evacuate him with the other prisoners, assuming he would perish in the expected nova. "Yes, the Klingons are nothing if not predictable." Weyoun sighed. "Very well. I will report your findings, and expect a complete update as soon as you reach your destination." Weyoun leaned into the viewscreen. "Be careful, Semil. I would hate to see you throw all this away." Semil bowed his head slowly, respectfully. "End transmission." The screen clicked off, leaving the Vorta in darkness; sheer, comforting, welcoming darkness.

On Holodeck One, Camelot Station. Semil affixed the neurocortical leads to his temple, knowing full well how completely he would be drawn into the illusion that had been created by Sorehl. The Vulcan had been the subject of such illusions himself, no doubt using that experience to carefully extract intelligence from the prisoner Armante about the Hundred. But it would not do to be fooled by such data. Semil had made that mistake before. Indeed, it had ultimately cost him one of his lives. Even now, as he prepared to surrender his senses and enter the simulation, he remembered the humiliation he'd suffered for trusting such interrogations too completely... 04.01.2374 [Alpha Quadrant War: Month Seven of Hostilities] "Cruisers 011-38 and 014-55 have powered up and are underway," the Jem'Hadar First reported without looking up. "Fighter wings 81/12 through 85/09 are in formation." Loyal and true to the Founders, he knew his place on the bridge of the Dominion flagship. Semil stood motionless at the center of the bridge, his arms folded across his chest, his left eye glowing in the reddish light of the headset eyepiece. "Move the fleet to flank speed. Enter warp once we've cleared the system." The Jem'Hadar Second responded quickly to the beeping on his console. "There is an incoming communication from Cardassia Prime. Signal identifier has been verified; it is Weyoun." "Open." Semil pivoted about to face the wall display behind him as the status report in Dominionese clicked off to reveal a similarly pale face on the channel. "Report." Semil flipped up his eyepiece. "The Starfleet invasion force has been successfully repelled. However, the Klingons placed a device in the sun of this star system; it threatens to go nova shortly. I am withdrawing to Position 081-03." "And the status of our operations on Canar II?" "All Dominion personnel have been evacuated to their ships. Assuming the nova doesn't obliterate the system, I am leaving behind several wings to monitor the event and resecure the system." "I needn't tell you how disappointed I am; the mineral deposits on Canar II..." Semil stood resolutely. "I'm aware of their value, Weyoun. As I recall, I did issue that report on the potential use of weapons of mass destruction by the Federation..." "...which I read and duly noted. Keep us apprised of your progress. Contact me once you've reached Position 081-03." The channel closed with as much perfunctory efficiency as it opened. Semil turned and strode towards the door leading off the bridge. "Alert me once we've entered warp." The corridor was particularly abuzz as the fleet hastened from Canar. Despite the activity, a clear path opened down each path that Semil turned - the Jem'Hadar stepped aside swiftly as they strode along on their own forceful ways. He walked past a door. Only briefly did he consider stepping through to again assess the figure inside, encircled by a force field, seated with his head slumped to one side in disgraceful weakness. Instead, the Vorta continued on to the guest quarters, stepping inside to enjoy the quiet and solace. He stepped over to the largish window and stared out, watching the Canar sun retreat in the distance. As he watched it recede, he contemplated just how simplistically binary the Federation's concept of "victory" and "defeat" were.

Semil, Vorta agent of the Dominion, stood outside Holodeck One on Camelot Station, clearing the last of the Starfleet and Tal’shiar safeguards for those wishing access to the prisoner inside. Despite his protestations, the Romulans were quite protective of what they considered their prize. No doubt the arrival of some two-hundred of their warships was meant to underscore that. Semil smiled to himself. Such small numbers would be hardly an irritant to Dominion forces stationed in the quadrant. If the Romulans attempted to flee with the prisoner against his wishes, the reaction would be swift. The Tal’shiar would see their biggest slaughter since the Battle of the Omarian Nebula. Although the Founders had strictly forbidden outright aggression in their absence, they had accepted that military force might be needed to protect their borders and interests. The restrictions that kept him from prosecuting war against the Hundred would not apply to belligerents intent on undermining his gods. But he was here to prevent such risks. He must find a way to help his current allies extract information that was useful against the Hundred, without exposing the Founders to greater risk. So far, the balance had been maintained. Captain Sorehl had been working with the Romulans, using a Vorta interrogation tool right here on the holodeck. Semil knew his counterpart, Armante, had been unknowingly exposed to an illusion in which he believed he was defending his actions before the Founders. According to the data provided to all parties, the prisoner had been most forthcoming with details. Semil reflected on what they’d learned. The Hundred, he had always suspected, did not consist of one hundred members. That was the number of “newly-formed” changelings that had originally been sent out by the Founders decades earlier. Odo had been one, the first to return. It was unlikely that many of the others had yet been found. * * * * * Armante had remained in the knelt position for hours, maybe days, under the glare of the Founder. “How many?” the Founder spoke coolly. “I have seen only the one who came aboard our ship,” Armante admitted, “but he spoke of a New Link which must contain others.” “Odo has spoken to us of Laas. He is among this link?” the Founder spoke, sounding hopeful. “He is their leader?” “No, Founder,” Armante answered, almost apologetically. “I was told that Laas found others, but was himself a casualty of the disease created by the Federation. He did not link with the others to prevent their infection.” He could not see the Founder or the expression it assumed, but he thought he detected a trace of sadness in the voice. “That is regrettable.” “The others feel as you do,” the bowed Vorta added. “Explain.” “They blame the Federation for harming one of your kind. And they seem to feel, as Laas taught them, that Odo…” He paused. “…has corrupted the Great Link in a way far more insidious than the disease he carried.” * * * * * Semil considered the impact of that statement. If the Hundred felt that the Link was somehow contaminated, they might be unwilling to ever reconcile. But without a real Founder to assure them, how could they ever close this gap? And what were the Hundred after? He looked aside, seeing the Holodeck doors open. Inside lay more answers, if he could contain the childless possessiveness of the Romulans and the naivete of the Federation. At least he could provide some adult supervision, he realized, although the penalty for misbehavior was likely to be much more than a simple spanking. He considered the information forwarded to him by the Vorta Council. It might prove a decisive factor. He almost looked forward to it.

Here's one of my own from that time period. Refrains of Semil: Part V 03.01.2374 [Alpha Quadrant War: Month Six of Hostilities] There was no night at the Dominion installation. Diurnal biorhythms were a superfluous manifestation of humanoid life that was wholly inappropriate for the near genetic perfection of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta. However, the Cardassians being flawed solids, instilled a certain sense of quiet about the base as many of them slept. His compatriot Gul Madred, having long disappeared to retire for the night, Semil paced the stark room with slow, deliberate steps. Members of hundreds of other races had noticed his particular ability to keep his eyes transfixed, focused on a single subject for hours at a time. Semil had never taken the time, nor spent the vanity realizing the cold pierce of his icy blue eyes. He watched the chest of the subject on his table rise and fall rhythmically, the gold and silver comm badge tilting up and to the side before coming back down. He thought how easy, and how simple, how elegantly efficient it would be to simply reach across and throttle the neck stretched out before him. It would be more appropriate to simply key in the commands to the neuroinputs to inhibit the geniculate nuclei in the myelencephalon that kept Sorehl breathing. However, Semil wondered what it would feel like, to feel the skin, the cartilagenous ridges of the trachea beneath his hands. He wondered how it would feel to press down, what kind of strength it would take to collapse the Vulcan's windpipe. He imagined Sorehl's face slowly bluing to the lack of oxygen, his mouth reflexively gasping for air. Without realizing it, Semil was experiencing malice for the first time. Genetic enhancements among the Vorta precluded such a visceral response. For all his conniving, all his subterfuge and manipulation, it was always a job, a way of life for Semil. He had never hated those he crushed, not even for their inability to recognize the supremacy of the Founders. He had always been the parent guardian, guiding these poor mistaken unfortunates towards the path they were meant for, the will of the Founders. He was wholly unfamiliar with any actually dislike of them, distrust, yes. But dislike, he had always trusted that their misguided ways would simply fall away as they came to accept the Founders, either in subservience or in death. He looked down at Sorehl and wondered just what it was about this one, this single flawed humanoid that made him feel so. Semil had admitted a grudging kinship with the Vulcans; he recognized in them a parallel in the role they played in the childlike innocent naiveté of the Federation. What Semil could not know was that both he and the Vulcan had both been changed by their shared first contact with the Ovetra culture. He could not know that the simple ritual tattoo had introduced contaminants into their respective bloodstreams – subtle, undetected toxins that would compel their emotions, driving one of them toward madness and preserving the other from it. Semil bent down, bringing his face within centimeters of the Vulcan. He glared into Sorehl's shut eyelids, watching intently the jittering dance beneath them, knowing exactly where the Captain would be in the illusory reality he was experiencing. A blind man experiencing red for the first time, Semil wondered if the captain was likewise feeling such emotions. He wondered if perhaps Sorehl, if their positions were reversed, would envision Semil's throat crushed beneath Vulcan hands.

Barely conscious from the severe burn of the forced plasma weapon, Semil felt the irritating tingle of the Federation’s primitive transporters wash over him. After a longer pause than necessary, the blackened bridge of Excalibur gave way to its quaint, outmoded “sickbay”. Pain prickled through the scorched tissues in his chest as his weight settled on the biobed. The Starfleet doctor, Chell Reno, was still beside him. Semil smirked, having exposed another Federation contradiction. For all their altruism and claims to follow triage, the Starfleet doctor had tended the lesser-injured Pilot first, overlooking Semil’s own more serious wounds. As the doctor went to his readouts, Semil considered the brave actions of his own Jem’Hadar First. He had been most sincere in his offer to praise him to the Founders. Without the efforts of his personal guard, who had wisely remained shrouded through most of the mission, the entire bridge crew would be dead. They’d been totally misdirected by the assault of a single rebel Jem’Hadar on their bridge. With a diversionary grenade, the soldier had tricked the others into putting their backs to his pending attack. Yes, the Starfleet people were totally out of their element in dealing with the Dominion’s elite shock troops. They’d been this way during the war. Semil pitied their simplicity and lack of vision. He groaned again, feeling it harder and harder to breath. The wound on his chest was not superficial. He could feel his damaged internal organs struggling to keep up. The rebel Jem’Hadar had clearly meant to kill him. He’d been surprised to wake up on the bridge at all, instead of inside a fresh cloning tube at Al’quon, ready to emerge into the Founder’s service as Semil Four. He coughed, bitterly recognizing just how far he was from superior Dominion facilities. He noted the quirk of fate that left him in the ineffectual hands of Federation “medicine,” considering the fate of others who’d been left in his own hands. He closed his eyes, thinking how the Founders had given the galaxy a delicious sense of irony… 02.10.2374 [Alpha Quadrant War: Month Five of Hostilities] Semil drew close to the subject of his experiment. Captain Sorehl remained strapped to the vertical slab, impassive and unconscious. The Vulcan's only sense of reality came from the neurosensory feeds strapped to his skull, planting images into his brain. Over many days, the Vorta had controlled every element of the illusion, according to design. He had guided Sorehl on a trip to Cardassia Prime, allowing him to witness images of a mighty Dominion presence. Semil had taken him to Canar, where Sorehl was made to see scientists who were thrilled at archeological discoveries made under Dominion sponsorship. He had even been allowed to freely return to his precious Starbase Aegis, where he resumed his routine as commanding officer. In that role, Sorehl had used, and thus revealed, command codes that could never have been tortured out of him. The real ones, of course, had already been changed, but the ease of getting them made Semil delight. From the captain, the Vorta had learned Aegis' tactical limitations, plans for deploying a new class of destroyer, and most importantly, the disposition of all Starfleet forces along the border. In reviewing those forces, Semil at once saw the Federation was making a classic mistake - protecting star systems that had been sites of historical clashes with the Cardassians. They failed to realize the Dominion would not limit itself to the traditional territorial interests of their short-sighted allies. The Founders had greater vision. A vast swath beyond the Badlands lay open to immediate advance. Semil had eagerly passed on such treasures of information to Weyoun, his superior at Cardassia Prime. But his interest in tactical information was coming to a close. Semil remained close to the Vulcan, narrowing his weak eyes to admire the delicate points of the Vulcan ears. They truly were a venerable race. He had once commented to the captain on the many similarities between the Vorta and the Vulcans. Intellectual achievements. Telepathic prowess. Superior physical endurance. And the Vulcans had done so without the aid of the Founders' genetic guidance. Truly amazing. But this was his opportunity to study them as never before. There had been other Vulcan prisoners available, of course; the chief medical officer of the Cortez was only three cells down. But here was one whose discipline he had witnessed. One who had stood against him in times past; one he had studied. One now in his complete control. A Jem'Hadar soldier entered the cell. He saw the Vorta, slowly pacing, circling his quarry. "A patrol reports Klingon activity - possible relocation of troops. We believe cloaked transports with escort." Semil glanced over, tilting his head. "I suppose it is time to ask our friend next door to share more information with us. Alert Gul Madred. I'll meet him there in a minute." The soldier gestured compliance, then withdrew. The Vorta was not yet impressed with the new strain cloned here in the Alpha Quadrant, but this one had proven efficient. Their reduced need for ketresel white would stretch the dangerously limited supply. Before leaving, he looked back at the captain. The experiment was no longer just to extract tactical information. In fact, he was uncertain of the fascination that motivated him. He was not done with Captain Sorehl. He decided it was time to see just what would make a Vulcan break.

An intelligence file on Semil is available at: Bio: Semil, Vorta Agent for the Dominion