It was taking me awhile, so I decided to post a chunk of the next chapter of Dominating Forces to perhaps get a few comments... 
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PART TWO::
THE WICKED, UPRISING
Tliuern stared fitfully out into the dark of otherspace, his mind refusing to calm itself. It was impossible. No one had seen Weyoun for nearly thirty five years since he had successfully drove the remaining Q members back to their plain of existence. Of course, his back-up cloning files had been updated and copied several times, so it was assumed he was in his thirteenth reincarnation, but his access code was impossible to crack, so therefore no one had access to his archived memories. And no one knew where he went or what he was doing with the half of the Dominion fleet he took with him. What could have possibly come over him that he would abandon the Founders? He could think of no reason at all to do so.
But yet, he was no faced with the problem of finding him. Greater men than himself had tried such a thing, and had come up very much empty handed. Why would his superiors think even for a moment that he would have any more luck then they? Because they think you’re disloyal and perhaps incompetent, and who better than that to catch a defector, especially when the rest of his career depended on the redemption the mission would provide if successfully completed.
Angry now, he snapped at Hekt’Oran, “Pull up all data we have on Weyoun, and put it onscreen—I’m tired of looking out at space, it’s too empty.” He absently watched the screen fill with figures and data and display holos appear above the holo-table while pondering his own thoughts. But something caught his eye. “Wait!” he cried, throwing out a hand. The downloading figures froze. Tliuern swept out of his command chair hurriedly strode over to the holo-table. He waved a hand over it, cycling through the files. He touched his hand to the file that had caught his attention. “This one,” he ordered, and pointed to the viewscreen. “Put it up there.”
A detailed self-profile appeared onscreen, the figure of Weyoun rotating there alongside the personnel stats. “This is the last record of Vorta Elite: Weyoun,” the computer stated.
“Timeline change,” he commanded. “Most accurate date of ten years prior to first cloning.” The profile shuffled off of the view and was replaced by an older one. Now, the figure of a much younger Weyoun was displayed, one appearing to be around the age of forty-three, or roughly the age of twenty-one Terran years.
“I know this man,” Tliuern said slowly, thinking aloud more than telling any of his men.” I know him..”
* * *
“Admiral?”
Data turned to see Lieutenant Commander Occylen Petrelli-Thilg, the only Vorta/human hybrid instated in the rebellion fleet, and truthfully the only person with any Dominion blood allowed anywhere near the Six.
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander?” he said. Occylen straightened, his pale lilac eyes shining in very uncharacteristic interest.
“Sir, that man that was here earlier… I couldn’t help over-hearing… Was that—,” Occylen trailed off. Then in a much softer voice for the sake of discretion, the young officer continued, “—a member of the Q Continuum?”
Data looked at him more closely. “The Q are not a part of the officer curriculum. How did you come to know of them, Lieutenant Commander?”
Occylen looked a tad uncomfortable, as the Q were never talked about nowadays—until of course recently—as they had seemingly disappeared around thirty-five years ago, and thus he would have had to have learned of them from some unofficial, and possibly forbidden source. “Well, sir—.”
Data held up a hand to interrupt him. “Never mind, Mister Petrelli-Thilg. I can allow some secrets,” he said, and Occylen nodded. “ I cannot say yes, you understand, but I trust you enough to say that it is ‘highly probable’.”
Occylen nodded knowingly. “Of course, sir,” he said in the strict, professional voice he always used. “I’m sorry I took up your time, as I know it is quite valuable. But, thank you.” He turned to leave, but in a spurt of trust, Data put a hand on his shoulder before he walked away.
“Please, Lieutenant Commander, stay for a moment. I have something I wish you to look over with your experienced eye.”
* * *
Amrrh’i wandered stiffly around the battle bridge, observing her intrepid officers go about their business. She could not seem to muster up the nerves she needed to settle down in her quarters, as her mind was buzzing with too many uncertainties. Coming to a stop for a moment, she examined the olive skin of her strictly un-militarily manicured hand under the sighing green lights. What bothered her most about his? Resuming her aimless, meandering pacing, she tried to rank them in her head.
While the notion that the Dominion had managed to get its filthy hands on Sunseed infuriated and simultaneously terrified her, it wasn’t what upset her most. Perhaps it was the anxiety bred by what was soon to come, but that in itself was not a great nuisance.
As she passed the holo-table, she absent-mindedly ran her hand along the thrumming projection flattop which whirred at her touch, inboxes, schematics, and other miscellaneous things sprang up, hoping for her attention. She almost walked off dismissively, but something there caught her eye.
* * *
“Well, sire, it’s not entirely conclusive, and I admit I could very well have erred, but from the data available and what I know of the Vorta Tliuern, I would place a nine-oh-point-two-four probability on the likelihood of Tliuern having eyes and ears on the inside. And from my reviews of the recordings, I would place the spy to be—,” Occylen pointed two fingers at the left side of the projection, “—on this side of the table.”
Admiral Data studied the projection. “Yes,” he mused. “But I must point out that it is also easiest to point a finger at Jango’Tor, Gamor, and the Queen because we do not know all that much about them. Just because we are familiar with our Romulan and Klingon allies, that should not eliminate suspicion from them. Why are they not suspect?”
Occylen glance up at Data, as he was on the shorter-side. “First off, sir—,” he played back the scene of K’Tok jumping from his chair on a continuous loop, “You see the armor K’Tok is wearing? That would damage any listening device under his clothing, especially with the large amount of jumping up and violent motion he participated in. And with all the shouting he did, he wasn’t attempting any spying.” He slid his fingers along the holo projection, zooming in on Amrrh’i. “And as for the Romulan Praetor Commander-General, if you follow her facial expressions and eye-patterns throughout this secret recording you had done, she was not concerned overly much with listening to the plans being made, but instead in gauging the chemistry between leaders, evaluating reactions, and measuring tensions. A spy would be keeping an extra ear out, so that if there is any sort of minor short of blackout with the listening device, they can fill in the blank spots.” With a twist of the wrist, the holo zoomed back out and playback returned to the beginning. Occylen glanced at Data and shook his head. “No, I don’t think they’re any sort of turncoats.”
“And of the other three?”
Occylen sighed and wrested his hands on the border-rail of the holo-table. Staring into the projection, he said ruefully, “The thing is, I could point out a million things they didn’t do, but not one thing they did do that proves that one’s a spy. And the hardest to read is Jango’Tor, since that helmet his people always wear hides his face. Though he might not be a spy, he certainly did a lot of subtle manipulation of the flow of the meeting.”
Data took a step next to him. “Yes,” he said, “I noticed that as well; and I cannot tell if it was in the interest of good or bad intentions.”
“Even now, the Breen are as enigmatic as ever,” Occylen said.
Data looked at him with raised eyebrows. “And what is it that you mean by that, Lieutenant Commander?”
Occylen shrugged slightly, then straightened up. “I’m not sure what I mean by that sir,” he said with a sigh. He look up at Data, and Data could see behind the Vorta/human’s pale lilac eyes a sort of scheming that worried him. “Is that all, Admiral?”
“Yes, Mister Petrelli-Thilg, that is all. Thank you for your assistance. You are dismissed.”
* * *
She had finally managed to convince herself down to her quarters, but not for the same reasons as before. Amrrh’i flicked her personal console on, and the figure of the Borg Queen appeared on the viewscreen, smiling thinly.
“Praetor khre’Riov Amrrh’i,” the Queen said in greetings, bowing her head slightly in uncharacteristic graciousness. She looked up, obviously not expecting any greeting in return. “I have no doubt you wonder why I have called upon you now, so soon after our meeting.” She paused, waiting for a response. None forthcoming, she continued, “I was hoping you might aid me in a little… well, an assault of the Dominion.”
Amrrh’i felt her eyes go wide. “Excuse me, Queen, but… an assault of the Dominion?? Now?” She took a second to calm herself. What a preposterous idea, there was no way to they could just launch some attack on the Dominion so suddenly. “I must admit, ihhei,” she said, “you take me off guard. And I must also admit that any help from me would be slow in coming.” When the Borg Queen looked offended, she added hurriedly, “No, do not take it as that, ihhei; I simply mean that my fleets are not yet prepared for any such undertaking, and would be slow in rising to the occasion.”
The Borg Queen studied her for many moments with a look Amrrh’i found to be quite unnerving. Finally, she said to Amrrh’i a tad icily, “No, that is no the case, Praetor khre’Riov, I can see that clearly enough. Do not make excuses for me, madam, and you might find that I could be your best ally.” Amrrh’i opened her mouth to make a response, but could think of nothing that could revive the situation. In a sudden spurt of humor, a thought crossed her mind that the Terran term of a ‘dear caught in the headlights’ was probably the most accurate to describe her expression. The Queen continued, saying with a coldly rueful expression, “But that is fine. There are others who would be more willing, and perhaps more truthful of an ally.”
The transmission suddenly cut off, leaving Amrrh’i alone and very much regretting the positions she had put herself in.
* * *
“Xets’Ung officer, Ttur’Coy; if you were the champion of the Dominion, but for some reason wanted to leave, so you took half the fleet and booked, where would you go?”
Ttur’Coy glanced up from his station, not looking very interested in his patron’s idle questions. “If I were Weyoun—,” he said, not fooled by the poorly masked subject, as he returned his gaze back to his console, “—I would hide in plain sight. After all, the first place one would look is the last place they would expect. Besides, for a man such as Weyoun, wandering around the galaxy would be pointless and quite frankly counterproductive. So instead, I would cleverly hid that half of the fleet by disassembling it, then rebuilding it into a form my ex Dominion-patrons would not recognize. Then I would find a planet and stash my fleet and crews there, then insert myself amongst some important or at least connected people under a simple disguise.”
Tliuern snorted, and Ttur’Coy glanced back up at him. “Wishful thinking,” Tliuern smirked. “That couldn’t be done without the word getting back to the Dominion somehow.”
“Not necessarily. And you’re the one who wanted my opinion, sir.”
Tliuern shrugged, and he felt the young officer’s gaze leave the back of his head. “Yes, and I regret it,” He said, standing up, stretching. “That’s ludicrous.”
“People who live in homes of glass should not throw stones…”
Tliuern whirled around angrily, and growled at the Xets’Ung/human, “And what is that supposed to mean, half-breed?” he demanded. Ttur’Coy’s yellow eyes narrowed and flicked up dangerously to meet Tliuern’s.
“Nothing, sir. No need to be so defensive,” he said icily.
“Watch your mouth, half-breed,” Tliuern snarled, then turned his back on the officer, glaring instead at the viewscreen, which was a dizzying crescendo of light from warp travel. “Or you can go below-decks and join your half-brothers.” There was a cold, angry silence behind him, but nothing else.
--------------------
PART TWO::
THE WICKED, UPRISING
Tliuern stared fitfully out into the dark of otherspace, his mind refusing to calm itself. It was impossible. No one had seen Weyoun for nearly thirty five years since he had successfully drove the remaining Q members back to their plain of existence. Of course, his back-up cloning files had been updated and copied several times, so it was assumed he was in his thirteenth reincarnation, but his access code was impossible to crack, so therefore no one had access to his archived memories. And no one knew where he went or what he was doing with the half of the Dominion fleet he took with him. What could have possibly come over him that he would abandon the Founders? He could think of no reason at all to do so.
But yet, he was no faced with the problem of finding him. Greater men than himself had tried such a thing, and had come up very much empty handed. Why would his superiors think even for a moment that he would have any more luck then they? Because they think you’re disloyal and perhaps incompetent, and who better than that to catch a defector, especially when the rest of his career depended on the redemption the mission would provide if successfully completed.
Angry now, he snapped at Hekt’Oran, “Pull up all data we have on Weyoun, and put it onscreen—I’m tired of looking out at space, it’s too empty.” He absently watched the screen fill with figures and data and display holos appear above the holo-table while pondering his own thoughts. But something caught his eye. “Wait!” he cried, throwing out a hand. The downloading figures froze. Tliuern swept out of his command chair hurriedly strode over to the holo-table. He waved a hand over it, cycling through the files. He touched his hand to the file that had caught his attention. “This one,” he ordered, and pointed to the viewscreen. “Put it up there.”
A detailed self-profile appeared onscreen, the figure of Weyoun rotating there alongside the personnel stats. “This is the last record of Vorta Elite: Weyoun,” the computer stated.
“Timeline change,” he commanded. “Most accurate date of ten years prior to first cloning.” The profile shuffled off of the view and was replaced by an older one. Now, the figure of a much younger Weyoun was displayed, one appearing to be around the age of forty-three, or roughly the age of twenty-one Terran years.
“I know this man,” Tliuern said slowly, thinking aloud more than telling any of his men.” I know him..”
* * *
“Admiral?”
Data turned to see Lieutenant Commander Occylen Petrelli-Thilg, the only Vorta/human hybrid instated in the rebellion fleet, and truthfully the only person with any Dominion blood allowed anywhere near the Six.
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander?” he said. Occylen straightened, his pale lilac eyes shining in very uncharacteristic interest.
“Sir, that man that was here earlier… I couldn’t help over-hearing… Was that—,” Occylen trailed off. Then in a much softer voice for the sake of discretion, the young officer continued, “—a member of the Q Continuum?”
Data looked at him more closely. “The Q are not a part of the officer curriculum. How did you come to know of them, Lieutenant Commander?”
Occylen looked a tad uncomfortable, as the Q were never talked about nowadays—until of course recently—as they had seemingly disappeared around thirty-five years ago, and thus he would have had to have learned of them from some unofficial, and possibly forbidden source. “Well, sir—.”
Data held up a hand to interrupt him. “Never mind, Mister Petrelli-Thilg. I can allow some secrets,” he said, and Occylen nodded. “ I cannot say yes, you understand, but I trust you enough to say that it is ‘highly probable’.”
Occylen nodded knowingly. “Of course, sir,” he said in the strict, professional voice he always used. “I’m sorry I took up your time, as I know it is quite valuable. But, thank you.” He turned to leave, but in a spurt of trust, Data put a hand on his shoulder before he walked away.
“Please, Lieutenant Commander, stay for a moment. I have something I wish you to look over with your experienced eye.”
* * *
Amrrh’i wandered stiffly around the battle bridge, observing her intrepid officers go about their business. She could not seem to muster up the nerves she needed to settle down in her quarters, as her mind was buzzing with too many uncertainties. Coming to a stop for a moment, she examined the olive skin of her strictly un-militarily manicured hand under the sighing green lights. What bothered her most about his? Resuming her aimless, meandering pacing, she tried to rank them in her head.
While the notion that the Dominion had managed to get its filthy hands on Sunseed infuriated and simultaneously terrified her, it wasn’t what upset her most. Perhaps it was the anxiety bred by what was soon to come, but that in itself was not a great nuisance.
As she passed the holo-table, she absent-mindedly ran her hand along the thrumming projection flattop which whirred at her touch, inboxes, schematics, and other miscellaneous things sprang up, hoping for her attention. She almost walked off dismissively, but something there caught her eye.
* * *
“Well, sire, it’s not entirely conclusive, and I admit I could very well have erred, but from the data available and what I know of the Vorta Tliuern, I would place a nine-oh-point-two-four probability on the likelihood of Tliuern having eyes and ears on the inside. And from my reviews of the recordings, I would place the spy to be—,” Occylen pointed two fingers at the left side of the projection, “—on this side of the table.”
Admiral Data studied the projection. “Yes,” he mused. “But I must point out that it is also easiest to point a finger at Jango’Tor, Gamor, and the Queen because we do not know all that much about them. Just because we are familiar with our Romulan and Klingon allies, that should not eliminate suspicion from them. Why are they not suspect?”
Occylen glance up at Data, as he was on the shorter-side. “First off, sir—,” he played back the scene of K’Tok jumping from his chair on a continuous loop, “You see the armor K’Tok is wearing? That would damage any listening device under his clothing, especially with the large amount of jumping up and violent motion he participated in. And with all the shouting he did, he wasn’t attempting any spying.” He slid his fingers along the holo projection, zooming in on Amrrh’i. “And as for the Romulan Praetor Commander-General, if you follow her facial expressions and eye-patterns throughout this secret recording you had done, she was not concerned overly much with listening to the plans being made, but instead in gauging the chemistry between leaders, evaluating reactions, and measuring tensions. A spy would be keeping an extra ear out, so that if there is any sort of minor short of blackout with the listening device, they can fill in the blank spots.” With a twist of the wrist, the holo zoomed back out and playback returned to the beginning. Occylen glanced at Data and shook his head. “No, I don’t think they’re any sort of turncoats.”
“And of the other three?”
Occylen sighed and wrested his hands on the border-rail of the holo-table. Staring into the projection, he said ruefully, “The thing is, I could point out a million things they didn’t do, but not one thing they did do that proves that one’s a spy. And the hardest to read is Jango’Tor, since that helmet his people always wear hides his face. Though he might not be a spy, he certainly did a lot of subtle manipulation of the flow of the meeting.”
Data took a step next to him. “Yes,” he said, “I noticed that as well; and I cannot tell if it was in the interest of good or bad intentions.”
“Even now, the Breen are as enigmatic as ever,” Occylen said.
Data looked at him with raised eyebrows. “And what is it that you mean by that, Lieutenant Commander?”
Occylen shrugged slightly, then straightened up. “I’m not sure what I mean by that sir,” he said with a sigh. He look up at Data, and Data could see behind the Vorta/human’s pale lilac eyes a sort of scheming that worried him. “Is that all, Admiral?”
“Yes, Mister Petrelli-Thilg, that is all. Thank you for your assistance. You are dismissed.”
* * *
She had finally managed to convince herself down to her quarters, but not for the same reasons as before. Amrrh’i flicked her personal console on, and the figure of the Borg Queen appeared on the viewscreen, smiling thinly.
“Praetor khre’Riov Amrrh’i,” the Queen said in greetings, bowing her head slightly in uncharacteristic graciousness. She looked up, obviously not expecting any greeting in return. “I have no doubt you wonder why I have called upon you now, so soon after our meeting.” She paused, waiting for a response. None forthcoming, she continued, “I was hoping you might aid me in a little… well, an assault of the Dominion.”
Amrrh’i felt her eyes go wide. “Excuse me, Queen, but… an assault of the Dominion?? Now?” She took a second to calm herself. What a preposterous idea, there was no way to they could just launch some attack on the Dominion so suddenly. “I must admit, ihhei,” she said, “you take me off guard. And I must also admit that any help from me would be slow in coming.” When the Borg Queen looked offended, she added hurriedly, “No, do not take it as that, ihhei; I simply mean that my fleets are not yet prepared for any such undertaking, and would be slow in rising to the occasion.”
The Borg Queen studied her for many moments with a look Amrrh’i found to be quite unnerving. Finally, she said to Amrrh’i a tad icily, “No, that is no the case, Praetor khre’Riov, I can see that clearly enough. Do not make excuses for me, madam, and you might find that I could be your best ally.” Amrrh’i opened her mouth to make a response, but could think of nothing that could revive the situation. In a sudden spurt of humor, a thought crossed her mind that the Terran term of a ‘dear caught in the headlights’ was probably the most accurate to describe her expression. The Queen continued, saying with a coldly rueful expression, “But that is fine. There are others who would be more willing, and perhaps more truthful of an ally.”
The transmission suddenly cut off, leaving Amrrh’i alone and very much regretting the positions she had put herself in.
* * *
“Xets’Ung officer, Ttur’Coy; if you were the champion of the Dominion, but for some reason wanted to leave, so you took half the fleet and booked, where would you go?”
Ttur’Coy glanced up from his station, not looking very interested in his patron’s idle questions. “If I were Weyoun—,” he said, not fooled by the poorly masked subject, as he returned his gaze back to his console, “—I would hide in plain sight. After all, the first place one would look is the last place they would expect. Besides, for a man such as Weyoun, wandering around the galaxy would be pointless and quite frankly counterproductive. So instead, I would cleverly hid that half of the fleet by disassembling it, then rebuilding it into a form my ex Dominion-patrons would not recognize. Then I would find a planet and stash my fleet and crews there, then insert myself amongst some important or at least connected people under a simple disguise.”
Tliuern snorted, and Ttur’Coy glanced back up at him. “Wishful thinking,” Tliuern smirked. “That couldn’t be done without the word getting back to the Dominion somehow.”
“Not necessarily. And you’re the one who wanted my opinion, sir.”
Tliuern shrugged, and he felt the young officer’s gaze leave the back of his head. “Yes, and I regret it,” He said, standing up, stretching. “That’s ludicrous.”
“People who live in homes of glass should not throw stones…”
Tliuern whirled around angrily, and growled at the Xets’Ung/human, “And what is that supposed to mean, half-breed?” he demanded. Ttur’Coy’s yellow eyes narrowed and flicked up dangerously to meet Tliuern’s.
“Nothing, sir. No need to be so defensive,” he said icily.
“Watch your mouth, half-breed,” Tliuern snarled, then turned his back on the officer, glaring instead at the viewscreen, which was a dizzying crescendo of light from warp travel. “Or you can go below-decks and join your half-brothers.” There was a cold, angry silence behind him, but nothing else.
