It’s Day 7 and the last day of Dominionweek!! Today’s prompt is Learning to Live. P.S. I finally have an ao3 account so I’ll be posting my Lizaan stories there. ((:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life in service to a new Founder was… an adjustment, to say the least.
Oddly enough, the Founder Lizaan served gave him much more leeway in some circumstances but restricted him further in others. Whenever they visited a facility or station or colony, Lizaan was all but ordered to wander off and “explore”. He hadn’t been allowed to do that… ever, actually. The Founder he had previously served certainly hadn’t allowed him to do anything but stay glued to Their side whenever he was brought along on an assignment. At least, They hadn’t as far as he knew. His memory was not the most reliable, these days. He was pretty sure he hadn’t always been like that.
That was another thing. His poor memory was a frequent issue of his and, frankly, a glaring defect. And yet, the Founder Lizaan served hadn’t simply terminated him and made sure his next clone didn’t have the same issue. Of course, Lizaan was eternally grateful for the Founder’s mercy, but he couldn’t help but wonder about its purpose. If there was one thing Lizaan knew about the Founder he now served, it was that They were pragmatic. Everything They did had a purpose. Whenever Lizaan couldn’t remember something, They simply stared at him with those impenetrable golden eyes while he struggled vainly with himself to remember, stammering before admitting defeat. Then, They simply made a nodding sort of motion before moving on. No irritation, no disappointment, no reprimand. Lizaan may have a poor memory nowadays but he remembered his training quite well, and he knew his defect would be unacceptable to most Founders. Whenever the Founder Lizaan served showed him unearned lenience, he felt grateful but also extremely anxious. Every time it happened, he wondered if that would be the time the other shoe would drop.
One thing Lizaan could remember, though, was the Founder’s requirement of absolute secrecy. That was one thing They brooked no leniency on. The Founder Lizaan served previously hadn’t seemed to care nearly as much about him talking to his peers about missions. Of course, it was not the place of a servant to compare two Drops of the Ineffable, but he couldn’t help but find the difference curious. More and more often, Lizaan was told the purpose or at least the nature of the Founder’s outings, and had been ordered not to say a word to anyone, not even if he was ordered to by a superior. When he went on outings with the Founder he served, he was able to move about freely, his Attendant’s uniform shielding him from extensive questioning more often than not. He could get access to a lot of places he probably shouldn’t have access to if he carried himself like he was meant to be there. He made notes in a disposable padd using a cipher he remembered from somewhere, and later he would destroy the padd, usually in an incinerator, to get rid of the evidence of his activities. He’d write down anything from passive observations, to things that stood out as odd to him, to any suspicious activity. Then, when the Founder Lizaan served asked him about what he’d found during his “explorations” once they were back on the transport vessel, Lizaan would make his report. The Founder seemed satisfied with the kinds of things Lizaan reported on, so he continued to do it.
However, it had recently become a common occurrence for the Founder Lizaan served to all but smuggle him onto a facility or space station on his own, with him posing as a scientist or diplomat. Obviously, as an Attendant-class Vorta, he hadn’t been trained in the subjects, but the Founder Lizaan served had instructed him to study them, at least so he’d know enough to withstand scrutiny. One good thing about Lizaan’s poor memory was that it didn’t seem to extend to his skills, only his personal memories. Lizaan had always been a quick learner, and he’d been around enough scientists and diplomats in his three lifetimes to know how to imitate the way they spoke and carried themselves. Now, he had some of the knowledge to back it up.
Lizaan would enter the facility with other Vorta who were actually scientists or diplomats, and who had no idea he was an imposter. Then, he’d slip away at the earliest convenience and go “explore” without anyone catching on to what he was doing. He didn’t have an Attendant’s uniform to protect him, so this resulted in a lot of sneaking around and hiding. He’d rather shove himself into a tiny, extremely uncomfortable vent than have to make the pathetic excuse of getting lost in the facility or something. He’d probably be killed that way. He must’ve known the best hiding places and camera blind spots in at least half a dozen Dominion facilities by now. There were honestly a concerning amount of them. Surely if he could find them, real interlopers could too. He made sure to report each and every one of them to the Founder he served when he returned from a mission. His concerns were generally brushed off. Perhaps he was overcompensating.
Lizaan often wasn’t told specifically what to look for on these missions. He thought perhaps it was so that preconceived notions wouldn’t color his judgment. He was simply told to “explore” and be on the lookout for anything suspicious. He usually didn’t find anything, which he attributed to the knowledge that most Vorta were good and faithful servants to the Divine. But every once in a while, he did find something. Whether it was scientists cutting corners where they shouldn’t, or field commanders having unacceptably lax control over the Jem’Hadar in their command, Lizaan would make note of it in one of the disposable padds he brought with him. When it came time for the group he had entered the facility with to leave, he’d subtly rejoin the group to get back to the transport vessel and return to the Founder he served.
If he was being honest, the secrecy the Founder he served required of him wasn’t all that difficult to maintain. He didn’t want to say that sneaking around and hiding things came naturally to him, but he’d never been especially talkative. That was hardly a bad thing. During the few times he’d seen Marza since his activation, it had been easy to stomp out the desire to tell even her. Onarota or not, Lizaan had a duty to the Founder he served that trumped the juvenile instinct to gossip with Marza like they were Aspirants again. He knew she would do the same in his position, for they were both faithful servants of the Divine.
Lizaan hadn’t been caught yet, and the Founder he served seemed to be pleased with the information he brought back, though it was hard to tell. Lizaan was simply glad to be of service. Hopefully the information he brought back made up for the burden of his defective memory. His life with the Founder he now served was so different to how he’d lived before. It was a lot more exciting, as well as a lot more stressful. The changes had certainly been an adjustment, but he thought he was getting into the rhythm of it. It felt almost familiar, which Lizaan took to mean that his new kind of work just naturally came to him as easily as the Attendant duties he’d been practicing all his lives. Despite all the stress and anxiety and new kinds of danger, Lizaan couldn’t find it in himself to regret any of it. He was grateful to the Founder he served, mysterious as They were. Lizaan was able to take a secret bit of pride and no small amount of comfort in the fact that, despite his defects, he was still competent.
