Chapter Text
Malvina couldn’t believe her good fortune as she sat in the courtyard of the small tenement building where she’d been housed. It was hot and humid, but a fine breeze was blowing off the seas of Elas.
Lieutenant Ezri Dax had discarded her black-and-grey uniform jacket and was sitting in her blue shirtsleeves across from Malvina.
“I’m very grateful that you could add me to your schedule,” Malvina said. “Tranya?”
“It’s got to be 1900 hours somewhere,” Dax quipped. Malvina reached for the condensation-covered pitcher on the small table between their lounge chairs, and poured glasses for them both.
“After returning from my surgery on Vulcan, I confess I allowed myself to overindulge in a way I hadn’t allowed myself before.”
“You were celebrating?”
“I think I was paranoid that behaving too…unlike a Vorta would set off the implant. But now I’m not sure it would have mattered,” she laughed dryly. “Thanks to my engineered poison immunity, it appears I can’t get drunk.”
“Never say never,” Dax said, taking her glass. “I bet you haven’t tried Klingon bloodwine.”
“You’d be surprised,” Malvina chuckled. “Klingon cuisine is very popular with the Elasians!”
“Well, that’s my dinner plans sorted out,” Dax said. “And it was no trouble to visit you. I had time before heading back to Deep Space Nine.
“Oh!” Malvina’s eyebrows rose. “Bajor?”
“That’s right.”
Suddenly Malvin felt uncertain, “Forgive me. My previous clone, Malvina Three was - briefly - a facilitator on Bajor.”
“Really?” Dax smiled anew. “Small galaxy. But yes, I’d just about given up on interviewing any more POWs - or former ones, anyway - when the medical team here contacted me for you.”
“You’ve been seeking out Dominion personnel?”
“Well, Cardassians. I’m researching a paper on Cardassian experiences of wartime trauma. The Federation support services on Cardassia need to meet the survivors where they are, you know?”
“That’s very magnanimous of you,” Malvina said sadly. “I’m relieved that I was found by Starfleet, instead of the Klingons this time.”
“This time?” Dax echoed.
“Malvina Three died on Chin’Toka II when the Klingons invaded.”
“What made you decide to surrender?”
“I’d been struggling for several months. Many Vorta were, I suspect, after the Cardassian Liberation Front destroyed the Dominion’s Alpha Quadrant cloning institution. Not that any of us would admit it, even to each other,” she added bitterly.
“Struggling how?”
“I was…afraid. Of my mortality, in a way Vorta usually aren’t.”
“I’m guessing there’s no Malvina Five?”
“Not that I know of,” Malvina said, squirming a bit in discomfort at the idea. “Even if the Dominion has backup material in the Gamma Quadrant, the memory engrams would be completely out of date. Clone or no clone, the fact that I surrendered would spell my death if I’d been repatriated, anyway.”
“Then I’m glad you stuck around,” Dax said, smiling. “I’m impressed that you’re taking the initiative to make a life for yourself. And I love the glasses.”
“You’re too kind,” Malvina said.
“It’s such an ingenious solution for you! I haven’t seen eyeglasses since I went back in time!”
Malvina blinked, “Back in time? Really?”
Lt. Dax looked embarrassed, “Uh, yes. Well, my last host did, anyway.” Dax coughed. “But I’m here to talk about you. What can I help you with?”
“Exactly what you said,” Malvina said. “Making a life for myself. Cut off as I am from the Dominion - from the Founders - I have agreed to take on work for the Federation, clerical duties for the repatriation of POWs. But that work is almost over,” she gestured at the empty courtyard. “And I have to decide what to do next. And I wish for advice on how to deal with the more psychological constraints of being a Vorta.”
“Such as?”
“Dr. Stevik said my brain activity when exposed to art, music, or natural landscapes didn’t look any different than normal humanoids. He thinks that the Vorta lack of artistic taste or pleasure is because we don’t have any cultural education.”
“I always figured the Dominion claims about their genetic engineering were overblown,” Dax remarked. “My last host, Jadzia, was probably one of the only Starfleet officers who ever got to have a conversation with a Jem’Hadar.”
“You did? I mean, she did?” Malvina was astonished.
“Before the war,” Dax explained. “It was an alliance of convenience. But Jadzia spent time with a Jem’Hadar soldier named Virak’kara. He told her about the tradition of honoured elders - I think she appreciated how it reminded her of old Klingon friends. But we were fighting a group of renegade Jem’Hadar. The respect for experience, the fact that they could go rogue, the fact that the Founders needed to make them dependent on ketracel white, was a pretty clear signal that they had to brute-force suppressing their potential.”
“I had no idea,” Malvina breathed. “I used to think of Jem’Hadar as simply blunt instruments. But that’s oddly encouraging.”
“My point is, I think Dr. Stevik might be right. The best way to test limits is to try new things, and learn new things. You’ve already tried new foods and drinks,” she gestured at the tranya pitcher. “And I can tell you’ve refined your social skills.”
“What makes you say that?” Malvina asked blankly.
“Jadzia and I both interacted with Vorta a time or three. They always seemed…” She frowned thoughtfully. “Obsequious? They always acted like they were trying to flatter and cajole everyone around them into something.”
Malvina winced. “Dr. Stevik remarked on that tendency. I’m afraid it’s a challenge, interacting with people outside of hierarchies or transactions. Especially with the Federation having my life in their hands.“
Lt. Dax nodded. “That’s understandable - that framework is basically the only option in the Dominion, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Malvina admitted. “There were so many forms to observe, even among Vorta. We were all so focused on proving ourselves to the Founders, we never interacted as people. It seems so…wasteful now.”
“And I can tell that’s still painful for you to say,” Dax said solemnly.
“It feels like…like what it is, I suppose: disrespect to the Founders. And to all the service and sacrifice by the previous Malvinas.”
“It’s completely normal to feel that way,” Dax said firmly. “But maybe follow Trill’s example: hosts aren’t bound by the ties and obligations of previous hosts. Malvina Three did what she thought was right. Doesn’t mean you have to agree. She developed skills you share, but you can make your own decisions about how to use them.”
“It’s easy to say, difficult to believe.”
“Important things usually are.” Dax finished her drink and said, “How do you feel about the Founders?”
Malvina closed her eyes for a moment, took a drink to fortify herself, and said, “I still think they’re extraordinary, and like I owe them something. They uplifted the Vorta, after all.”
“For their own reasons.” Dax pointed out. “But the good news is, they’re not likely to call in the favour anymore. If you live your own life, they’ll never know.”
Malvina glanced around the courtyard, briefly entertaining the paranoia that a Founder was there in the shape of one of the potted trees or the Elasian pterosaurs flitting around on the roof.
“I hope so,” Malvina said. “But…”
“You’re still skittish?”
“I keep telling myself that it’s restraint, but yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, here’s some advice: trying new things and pushing your limits doesn’t have to be an all-the-time thing. Like, sure, you can’t get drunk easily, but there’s a difference between indulging once in a while and overdoing things and burning out. So if you ever want to try something new, stop and think, figure out the guardrails to make sure you don’t get hurt. And if you’re ever afraid to try something new, ask yourself what’s the worst thing that could happen.”
Malvina smiled at that, to her own surprise, “I…I see what you mean. A balance.”
“Exactly,” Lt. Dax said. “And ‘the Founders might find out’ isn’t the worst case scenario.”
Malvina tried and failed to suppress a huff of laughter. “I did ask myself the worst case scenario, a few times. About going to Vulcan. Even about changing my hairstyle.”
“This a new look?” Dax asked, grinning. “I love it!”
Malvina smiled, self-consciously running a hand across her temple. She’d kept her hair long on top and down the back, but the sides of her head and the back of her neck had been buzzed almost down to the skin. “Thank you. I’m told it’s called an ‘undercut.’ It’s more comfortable in the hot weather here, and while I was healing from the surgery.”
“Great,” Lt. Dax said. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to go shortly. I want to add: be patient with yourself. Most sapient beings have a childhood where they develop tastes and attitudes. It might be a struggle to start now, but it could also be a great adventure.”
“I’ll try my best,” Malvina said.
“Glad to hear it.” Dax stood up, recovering her jacket. “It’s been a real pleasure, Malvina.”
“Likewise,” Malvina said, and felt an odd flush of pleasure at her words, how earnest they were. She proffered her hand, and Lt. Dax shook it. “Thank you so much for your advice, Counsellor Dax. Safe travels. And please let me know when your paper is published, I’d be curious to read it.”