Chapter XV: Little Intrigued
The rented room was small and dingy, not unlike everything and everywhere else on the planet. Semil sat at the small dining banquette, idly picking at some dried mealworms that were apparently some sort of local delicacy. An open bottle and two empty glasses sat beside.
The room had been picked not only because of its relative remoteness, but also because of the relatively quality muffling construction of its adobe walls. Having a landlady who apparently asked few questions did not hurt, either.
Across from Semil, the Lethean slumped over in his chair, face down onto the table.
A thin rivulet of drool trailed from the Lethean's gape and pooled by his face. At least one assumed it was drool; who knew what kinds of awful excretions these creatures made.
From his seat, Semil could see the Lethean continued to draw breath, shallow and slow. A simple assassination assignment would've been much too easy, in many ways. And Semil was certain he wouldn't have been the best selection for that.
There was something about sitting, watching the Lethean that was calming, soothing even. Compared to the lightning quick pulse and reflex of the past few hours, this was almost relaxing.
The General provided little in the way of specific instruction. The dossier on the Lethean was more than generous in detail. Semil knew more than he cared to or needed concerning the Lethean's favorite cuisine, preferred schedule, even some particularly distasteful prurient proclivities. Then again, anything even remotely sexual was offensively inefficient compared to cloning.
The Lethean's garbled wheeze gave Semil pause to consider the real purpose of his assignment.
Surely, it was another test from the General. It was obvious that he wouldn't be allowed anything of major import or significance until he'd proven himself, his loyalty. Not that Semil understood what that was.
Since the revelations from the General on Q'onos, it had simply been easier to ignore those thoughts. Put any memories of the Founders and Jem'hadar and the Dominion out of his mind while an assignment was pressing.
And yet here he was, watching the Lethean doze fitfully, letting his mind wander to the agendas that brought him to that place.
Task at hand, right.
The General had chosen an odd idiom for wanting the Lethean. To "pick his brain," he had said. The actual Klingon transliteration was surprisingly congruent to English.
An odd choice of words, indeed, Semil thought, as a glint of dim light shone from the bone saw he had just reached for.
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"Report." K'vot had not eased in his brusqueness, Semil noted as he stepped into the dim glow of the Bird of Prey's ready room.
Semil slung the sack from over his shoulder onto the desk. It rolled lightly before coming to an abrupt stop. A few generous spatters of dried blood marred the otherwise unremarkable burlap.
"And where is your target? In the mess hall, enjoying a light repast, perhaps?" Semil had to remind himself that the Klingon sense of sarcasm, was neither subtle nor underdeveloped.
Semil gestured to the sack with his eyes, sensing K'vot's wariness and mounting frustration.
K'vot tugged lightly at the knot, and peered inside.
"You were supposed to apprehend him. Not..."
"The General said he needed to 'pick his brain'. I heard nothing about the rest of him."
"You snivelling little tohpah! I knew..."
"Now, now, Colonel. No need for epithets. You wouldn't have wanted me to question him myself, I know that. And the General can still have whatever answers he wants."
K'vot eyed Semil warily. "You're up to something."
"I assume you still have a Dominion engrammatic interface available?"
"if you think you're in any position to demand..."
Semil continued, in spite of knowing the risks of interrupting a Klingon in the middle of a threat. "It's the only way I'd be standing here. And you and I both know that Dominion interactive memory technology is far more advanced than anything your paltry quadrant has to offer. Even the Romulans have nothing even remotely as sophisticated or..." Semil pursed his lips in distaste. "...
effective."
K'vot assessed the Vorta distrustfully. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."
"Because without me, neither you nor the General will know what the Lethean knows." Semil caught himself. "Knew."
K'vot's rage eased, signified by the relaxing of the furrow in his brow.
"Come now, Colonel. If you weren't a little intrigued, you wouldn't have let me live this long."
