Chapter Text
If the Founders had seen fit to give the Vorta some sort of combat ability instead of directing it all to the Jem’Hadar, Nog had no doubt that she’d have killed him already. Assuming that he’d even had managed to get this far. The Vorta, now that she saw him, burned holes in him with her stare. Her small hands balled up into fists at her sides as the slow realization that not only had someone gotten past her but managed to plant himself in front of the most valuable thing on the ship fully came over her.
An unquestionable success, but Nog still found himself swallowing nervously. Making the noise that initially drew her attention had been the easy part. Actually managing to speak, that was much harder. The Vorta watched him and, at his silence, looked over her shoulder at the airlock.
She was going to call a Jem’Hadar, he knew that instantly, and that made him find his voice.
“Hold on.” She actually froze, even though she didn’t have to. Nog fought the urge to bite his lip, he had to act quickly now, no time for hesitation. Straightening up and putting on the most confident face he could manage, he locked eyes with her. For once, the model in his mind wasn’t Captain Sisko, the Federation ideal that the Academy had drilled into him. Instead, he thought of his uncle in the midst of a meticulously planned out deal, acting confident that he could work out a deal before everything turned itself upside down and inside out, even if he didn’t feel as sure as he acted.
Hold your breath. Watch the dabo wheel spin. Hope you put your latinum on the winning number. Be a Ferengi and make a damned gamble – even if he was betting with his life, the reward was enough to justify it.
She wasn’t already calling for a Jem’Hadar at least, that and the sound the battle still raing outside – and the fact that he could hear the battle at all in fact – was a good sign. He didn’t lower the phaser, but he did bring a placating tone into his voice. “I just want to talk.”
The Vorta somehow managed to frown harder, her entire face twisting with it as she turned the offer over in her mind. Vorta were diplomats, at least, he held onto that fact even when his throat started to close up again out of nerves. Diplomats always preferred a talk over a battle. She proved it when she shifted into a formal stance, her hands held behind her back. He let himself relax, even if only barely. Step one accomplished. She was listening.
Her eyes swept over him again. “If you want to talk, then step away from the container.”
Nog didn’t move. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We can talk like this.” Keeping an ear out for battle was harder now that negotiations were ongoing, but he strained for it anyway. As long as someone out there was fighting, Worf was still standing.
Maybe not winning. But he was standing.
When the Vorta looked ready to argue with him, Nog continued, “It’d be a bad idea to give up on a bargaining chip. You’re a diplomat, you’d understand that.”
Still frowning. She looked to the Ketracel crate, then to the phaser. “I suppose you have a point there. But a bargaining chip implies you want to make a deal – so what sort of deal are you after, Ferengi?”
Exactly as expected. Step two. She was talking. Time for another spin of the wheel, double or nothing.
“The parts you stole from our runabout. I know the exact inventory and there’s enough for both of us to repair our ships and leave, I can promise you that. No fighting needed.” His eyes briefly darted to the airlock. He couldn’t quite see Worf out there to see how he was doing, how much longer he had, but he knew that whatever time he had left it wasn’t much. “My Commander is out there, fighting your soldiers. I don’t know how many are left standing right now but they’re still fighting so I don’t think they all are anymore. If you don’t call them off, he might win and even if he doesn’t…” He tightened his grip on the phaser to make his point.
“I can destroy the crate before any of them can get in here to stop me. I know what happens when they go without their White, you’d really be in trouble without it. Getting off the planet will be the least of your problems.” His voice rose in volume but he managed to keep it from shaking. “If you call them off, you can fix your ship, we’ll fix ours, and we both get off this planet without more time wasted fighting each other. I think you can agree that this’ll be a good deal for both sides?”
The sounds of battle were slowing, the sound of metal on metal coming with full seconds between them. Worf was either down or on the retreat, Nog couldn’t be optimistic enough to think that he was coming out on the winning side. He tried not to let it affect his expression or his stance. Showing your weaknesses was the leading factor in deals falling through, even beating out distraction and lack of sufficient greed. Not all lessons that his uncle had ingrained in him were useful in the Federation but some of them might just save his life.
The Vorta hadn’t shown any visual indication of liking this arrangement, but Nog watched for even small hints that she may have been considering it. The furrow of a brow in thought, the quick glances back to the airlock, then to the crate. She was thinking about it. Just not fast enough. He twitched his hand to draw her attention to the phaser again.
Please let this work.
***
The first part of his plan had gone exactly as planned. One firm strike to the throat took the Jem’Hadar to the ground and he did not rise again. It was the next part that grew difficult, the second Jem’Hadar dodging out of the path of Worf’s strike, taking only a minor wound to the arm in the process.
A lesser warrior would have let such a setback trip him up but Worf was well acquainted with fights that didn’t initially go his way.
Practiced or not, though, five formidable opponents could not be taken lightly. Eventually another fell beneath his blade, but Worf took several wounds of his own in exchange for the accomplishment. Four left.
The possibility of failure lingered but Worf did not let it come to the forefront of his mind where it could overwhelm him. All that mattered was the defeat of these four. If he could accomplish that, death would not be unacceptable. It would at least leave Nog with a chance against the Vorta. An end in battle against a superior force that allowed a companion to live – Worf couldn’t ask for a more honorable death.
Still, that depended on his ability to take down these four. The blows had started to slow him, blood staining his uniform and his blade in equal measure, his breathing coming slower and more labored as the cuts multiplied. He ignored it, let the fury of battle cloud his mind, narrow his vision to only the opponents and the terrain, his entire world condense into this one moment—
It worked well enough that when a voice called out and the Jem’Hadar’s attacks suddenly ceased, Worf almost didn’t realize just what had happened.
Eventually though, his head jerked up to find the source of the voice. The Vorta, he realized that as his mind began to clear, and… another figure. She wasn’t alone. Still, the small form at her side almost didn’t quite register if only because his presence made no sense.
Several seconds passed though and Nog still remained at her side. They were going to have words. Several of them. The fact that both of them were apparently alive and capable of exchanging those words still stunned him, but that didn’t change the facts of the matter.
Nog caught his stare and gave a sheepish smile. His head dipped a small fraction, almost but not quite a Ferengi cringe. As much of one as he could allow himself in the situation. Worf rarely thought of any sort of cringing as a good thing but at least Nog was aware of his complete failure to keep himself safe. However well it apparently went.
The Vorta spoke first, looking past Worf to address only her soldiers. “A deal has been made,” she said firmly. “Repair supplies will be split equally with these two and hostilities will cease on both sides.” She offered no explanation and apparently none was needed. The Jem’Hadar obeyed instantly and without complaint, verbal complaint at least – the survivors exchanged an odd glance but said nothing against the order. Whatever their preference was, they would not disobey.
At her side, Nog fidgeted, leaned forward and looked at her as if to check if she were done before coughing. “Right. Well then… I’ll just… start splitting up those parts.” He shuffled forward, her glare following him the entire way.
“Watch him,” she said to the nearest soldier, her voice irritable. Nog may have successfully hammered out a deal but it was clear that she was in no way pleased with that fact, despite her agreement. “Make sure he keeps the parts equal.”
Nog offered no complaint to the demand, even with a Jem’Hadar beginning to tail him the instant he passed. He caught Worf’s arm on the way, a brief contact meant to urge him to follow. He did so, reluctantly, but muttered under his breath, “You will explain yourself on the runabout.” The sentence left no room for argument and Nog didn’t even make the attempt. Good. Then this flagrant ignoring of orders wasn’t becoming a habit.
Though perhaps the boy would be more apologetic were Worf not still bleeding as he moved. As much as he tried to hide it, he’d been coming close to defeat. It hardly presented the best argument for following the commands of his superiors.
Nog crouched down near the spread out parts, deftly beginning to separate them into piles under the Jem’Hadar’s watchful gaze. Worf placed himself firmly between them without hesitation. If at any point the deal was broken and they attacked, they would have to deal with him first. He may be bloodied and wounded but he’d taken down two of their comrades and would have no problem attempting a third victory.
They were not fools though, or disobedient. Soon Nog stood, having fully sorted the parts onto a large piece of fabric the Vorta had rather unwillingly given up when asked for it. A primitive mode of transportation, but functional enough. Nog gathered all four corners in his hand to begin dragging, taking it all on himself instead of asking for help.
Worf simply placed his own hand below Nog’s and tugged it hard enough that the Ferengi soon lost his grip. Even bleeding he had far more ability to carry the mass than Nog. He stalked wordlessly to the forest as Nog mumbled an awkward, “Uh, pleasure doing business with you,” before sprinting to follow.
“We really need to get to the Rio Grande,” he muttered immediately as they disappeared from the Jem’hadar’s view. “Fast.”
“And you still need to explain yourself.”
Nog let out a frustrated noise, practically bouncing in place with nerves. His eyes constantly darted back to look behind them, watching to see if they were followed despite the fact that he would hear pursuit long before he saw it. “I will, I promise, just can we please get to the Rio Grande first?”
Ignoring orders still apparently. Worf narrowed his eyes at him. Had he been at full strength and energy he would have demanded an explanation. As it was, he simply continued dragging. It would take everything he had to get back to the runabout as it was, no sense wasting energy until they were safe. And if this stunt had done anything, it at least proved that Nog had what it took to make a coherent plan. Unwise as it may have been.
He could win this one.
***
While getting the parts across a dense forest was no easy task, getting the Rio Grande into working order was by far the harder one. Worf had to admit, when lugging the parts into place left him winded, that perhaps he truly did need medical attention. At least a dermal regenerator. Were he in better working order he would have been agitated at Nog nearly shooing him into the room where the runabout’s medical supplies were stored. When it came down to it, though, even he had to admit that he would be no help if he could hardly stand.
Also, he was beginning to get blood on the floor. That would help nobody.
Still, wounded or not, Worf was not one to be confined to a crew area while there were jobs to be finished. Even if the only thing he could manage was planting himself in view of Nog while he patched himself back into a mostly functional state. Not in any shape to go running into battle, perhaps, but good enough to control a runabout. And, once they were far away from this place, good enough to contact the station to explain their sudden loss of communication. Also the sudden loss of their cargo. At least the ship they were commanded to aid was likely not in danger. They were probably having a far more relaxing time than their supposed rescuers.
Only when the repairs were finished – and Worf managed to get to his chair without limping – did Nog finally relax, as if he’d expected the deal to be broken at any moment. Worf saw the opportunity to speak to him, but still waited until they were safely on their way out of the system to take it.
“I require an explanation from you.” He said the words without looking away from his controls. His tone stated more clearly than any eye contact could that he would not be dissuaded now that the threat was past. “You disobeyed your orders.” A pause lingered between them before he reluctantly continued. “…But I must give credit where it is due. I do not believe we would have escaped the planet without your actions.” This was hardly supporting the overall lesson, but Worf would be a fool not to acknowledge it. “I do, however, question the wisdom in allowing our enemies to escape as well. Those Jem’Hadar would not have the opportunity to escape were we to have followed my plan.”
Another slow mile, this one far more confident and self satisfied. The sight of it out of the corner of his eye finally made Worf turn his head to establish eye contact. Nog met it without hesitation. “I’ll be surprised if they make it off the planet with what I left them.” At Worf’s confused stare, he continued. “Working with Chief O’Brien taught me a lot of things. A lot about parts… and how many of them can look almost the same without actually being the right part. Someone that knew what they were doing could still make it work, sure, but the Jem’Hadar…”
He trailed off, looking to Worf as if asking for his approval. For a moment there was only stunned, impressed silence. And then Worf simply shook his head as he turned back to the controls. “…It seems Starfleet has a place for the Ferengi after all.” Another pause. Perhaps he needed to make his praise more apparent. “I will be contacting Deep Space 9 shortly to report on our mission to Captain Sisko. Your performance will be mentioned… as well as the fact that you have far exceeded Expectations.” Worf didn’t need to be looking to know that Nog’s smile had likely grown to nearly radiant levels.
Let him be proud. Once Worf opened the communications panel, everyone on Deep Space 9 would know just how deserved it was.