I serve the Prophets in all things

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

She took a bite of the Klingon dish as he asked his question, mostly to give herself time to think about it. “I didn’t come to the Alpha Quadrant until the war was already underway,” she said, finally. “They needed more Vorta commanders, and I got a promotion. Only… something went wrong on the way here. There was a malfunction on the ship, and it would have been destroyed if the Prophets hadn’t saved us in the wormhole.”

Several hours later, Varris had changed out of her work uniform and was heading to the replimat, more than ready for a bite to eat after her busy shift. It wasn’t difficult to find Keevan - who was, naturally, the only other Vorta there.

She chose a Cardassian meal today, with the somewhat unconventional accompaniment of a glass of snail juice - it had recently become a favorite of hers thanks to the unique texture, though she was aware most non-Ferengi did not share her opinion. Varris gave Keevan a slightly nervous smile as she sat down across from him - even if he was probably another defect, she had no idea what to expect.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain Keevan,” she said, falling back on slightly increased formality to smooth over her own awkwardness. “I hope your morning has been more pleasant than mine.” Varris was a hard worker, and didn’t mind covering for her coworkers who’d been struck with the flu, but it was tiring.

Keevan sat at the table with a lunch of his own as he waited for Varris. A plate of hot wings with mashed potatoes and a milkshake on the side; he tended to favor spicy foods, which could sometimes be intense enough for him to taste. He looked up and smiled as Varris sat across from him, setting one of the half-stripped wings down as he greeted her.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Varris. Please, just call me Keevan. I’m only Captain when I’m behind a viewscreen.” He chuckled and leaned forward in his seat, quite eager to get to know this Vorta more. This was like a true clean slate for him, one of his own kind that had never met his predecessors.

Varris felt a jolt of surprise at the sight of another Vorta waiting for her as she left work. The initial fear quickly subsided, however, as she belatedly recognized him. It was the man she’d found injured on the Promenade, looking considerably healthier after his stay in the infirmary. She’d intended to drop by after her shift to find out how he was doing, but it looked as if that wouldn’t be necessary.

“Oh! That’s… yes, that’s me. Varris Four.” She tried to hide her surprise as he introduced himself. Weyoun - she knew that name, though she’d never met the man personally. He’d been one of the most high-ranking Vorta personnel in the Dominion before she’d left, though this couldn’t be the same Weyoun. She tried to remember who it had been back then - Five, or maybe Six? - before shaking the thought from her mind. It probably didn’t matter.

Still, it was enough to make her nervous - the Dominion wasn’t at war with the Alpha Quadrant anymore, and she had no way of knowing what Weyoun’s position was these days, but she couldn’t exactly hide the fact that she was no loyalist. Her work uniform and the Bajoran earring hanging from her right ear made that plain enough.

“I’m glad to see you on your feet again,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do - I’m not exactly a trained medic…” All the same, he found herself saying a silent prayer of thanks to the Prophets for watching over him. Now that he was conscious, it felt a little too personal to mention out loud unless he asked, but she was grateful all the same.

Nine’s eyes caught on the Bajoran chain earring sparkling on her ear and took note of her reserved demeanor. He knew the significance of that dangling chain. Was this part of some sort of uniform, or was Varris truly a member of the Bajoran faithful? The thought of that was almost too much to fathom! The worship of their Founders was deeply seeded in their very genetic code and their psychological conditioning; though Vorta have been known to disobey (himself, twice over) and to forsake them, no Vorta he’s ever heard of has ever taken up new gods in their stead. It was amazing. Perhaps this questions the merit of the Founder’s claim to divinity? If the Founders were right, this kind of thing shouldn’t even be possible. Then again, what Nine was doing shouldn’t have even been possible, either…but here they were. Nine took care not to be unduly interested in the earring so as to not upset her–it would simply scare her. She probably thought he was still an agent of the Dominion, a perfectly reasonable assumption, to be honest.

“I just had to thank you in person. You seemed so scared, but you helped me anyway, even though Rotan was still fighting with my attacker. Nobody else did, I can remember that. You tried your best, it takes bravery to do that. What you said, what you did…I may not remember most of it word for word, but it was important to me. So I had to thank you, before I lost my chance. You saw what happened earlier, you know how that goes.”

Nine flashed her his winning smile, folding his hands behind his back as he fell into a more casual stance.

“I never expected to meet another Vorta who thinks like that,” Varris admitted. “The path I’ve chosen would be called blasphemy by most, I think. And I wouldn’t blame them for saying it.” She remembered what it was like in previous lifetimes, before whatever quirk in the cloning process had severed her devotion to the Founders as Varris 4. That version of herself would have hated what she’d now become.

From everything she’d heard of him, she would have expected Weyoun - any Weyoun - to react the same way. Interesting.

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

She took a bite of the Klingon dish as he asked his question, mostly to give herself time to think about it. “I didn’t come to the Alpha Quadrant until the war was already underway,” she said, finally. “They needed more Vorta commanders, and I got a promotion. Only… something went wrong on the way here. There was a malfunction on the ship, and it would have been destroyed if the Prophets hadn’t saved us in the wormhole.”

“Varris,” she said, then nodded, a little nervously. “Alright then. I’d rather like to hear how a Vorta came to be the captain of a merchant vessel. And I’m sure if you were going to tell the Dominion I’m here, I’d already know about it.” At least, she hoped that was the case - but Keevan’s behavior was aberrant enough that she was feeling more confident that she was speaking to another defect. Even if he wasn’t… there couldn’t be any harm in meeting with him publicly on the station. Much as she liked the Bajorans and others that she spent time with on a daily basis, she couldn’t help missing the company of her own kind.

“Now,” she added, lips twisting into a wry smirk as she reached out to grab the padd back from him, “I need to get this back to my supervisor or they’ll have my head. Thirteen-hundred hours, then?”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Varris.” Keevan smirked, his stance relaxing as he relinquished the padd to her this time. He folded his arms after and nodded, watching her carefully.

He had to admit, he wouldn’t mind having a friend besides Weyoun and Yelgrun. He liked the pair well enough, but things with Weyoun were still awkward at best with their past, and Yelgrun rarely left his quarters. He spent all his time holed up in there, doing who knows what, so Keevan didn’t have much of a chance to reconnect with his mentor. So this Varris… a Vorta he’d never met before. She would be a much better candidate for an open friendship.

She chose a Cardassian meal today, with the somewhat unconventional accompaniment of a glass of snail juice - it had recently become a favorite of hers thanks to the unique texture, though she was aware most non-Ferengi did not share her opinion. Varris gave Keevan a slightly nervous smile as she sat down across from him - even if he was probably another defect, she had no idea what to expect.

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

She took a bite of the Klingon dish as he asked his question, mostly to give herself time to think about it. “I didn’t come to the Alpha Quadrant until the war was already underway,” she said, finally. “They needed more Vorta commanders, and I got a promotion. Only… something went wrong on the way here. There was a malfunction on the ship, and it would have been destroyed if the Prophets hadn’t saved us in the wormhole.”

“I won’t!” Varris said hurriedly, trying to calm him before he moved too much and hurt himself further. “I’m right here, it’ll be okay.” She glanced sidelong at one of the medics as she spoke, making sure to confirm that it really would be okay for her to stay, and the Bajoran nodded to her reassuringly.

The Jem’Hadar was still nearby and that made her slightly nervous, but he didn’t seem to have taken any notice of her. If he was under this Vorta’s command, his priority was probably to protect his supervisor. She certainly hoped he didn’t decide to register her as a threat. If these two were still with the Dominion and realized who, or what, she was…

But she’d decided to help even knowing that risk. It was still the right thing to do. She wasn’t about to leave now, not after she’d promised this man she would stay with him. Besides, she hadn’t been attacked yet, and any attempts to extradite her using diplomatic means would probably fail. She was here under Bajor’s protection.

She kept pace with the medical team as they moved the injured Vorta to the infirmary, still with a tight grip on his hand. The touch seemed to reassure him, and so she wouldn’t let go unless she had to.

Everything was a blur as they rushed him back to the surgical unit, but the woman kept true to her word. They were only separated at the door to surgery when they slung him on the biobed and knocked him out. Just before the anesthetic drug him under, he promised himself that he would find her afterward.

…

Three hours and two units of blood later, he came out from his drug-induced slumber in recovery, somewhat confused as to how he had woken up with a surgical incision in his side and feeling like he’d woken up to the wrong end of a bottle. No one was in recovery with him except for the care staff which felt strange. There was a ghost of sensation in his hand and something tickling at his brain that told him that there was something he was forgetting.

His shirt and jacket had been ruined. He’d have to wear the replicated clothes home, much to his annoyance. He’d rather liked that shirt, too. It had been handmade by the Cardassian tailor that had taken over Garak’s shop several years back. Vorta blood would be impossible to get o–

Wait!

Vorta! 

He needed to find the Vorta woman again. She’d promised to stay with him, even though he’d been a gory, woozy mess and had been true to her word as much as she’d been able. She’d been so kind to him, so compassionate…he had to find her, if only to thank her for her trouble. A quick inquiry to the care team told him that the waiting room was presently empty, but the young woman who had come with him had left contact information so that someone would be able to keep in touch with her.

After an extra hour of observation, the Doctor on duty acquiesced to let him go on heavy restrictions and strict bed rest. Clean, freshly dressed and far more presentable than when he’d gone in, he left the infirmary to find her. He’d followed the contact data to find where she worked and asked the receptionist to let her know that he would like the chance to see her when she was available. He was anxious; he was very excited about meeting her, but he schooled his expression as best he could and tried to be considerate. He would hate to freak her out, considering that they’d never met before he was bleeding out on the floor. He hoped that she wouldn’t find him creepy, but part of that was his incessant paranoia and self-consciousness talking. No, things would be fine.

He sat in the small office and listened to the clock tick as he waited. No, he met her for a reason–everything had reasons these days. He was sure that meeting her would be no different.

He gave her a broad smile as she came in through the door, offering a shy little wiggle-fingered wave as she came into view.

“Oh! That’s... yes, that’s me. Varris Four.” She tried to hide her surprise as he introduced himself. Weyoun - she knew that name, though she’d never met the man personally. He’d been one of the most high-ranking Vorta personnel in the Dominion before she’d left, though this couldn’t be the same Weyoun. She tried to remember who it had been back then - Five, or maybe Six? - before shaking the thought from her mind. It probably didn’t matter.

Still, it was enough to make her nervous - the Dominion wasn’t at war with the Alpha Quadrant anymore, and she had no way of knowing what Weyoun’s position was these days, but she couldn’t exactly hide the fact that she was no loyalist. Her work uniform and the Bajoran earring hanging from her right ear made that plain enough.

“I didn’t expect to be bringing it to another Vorta.” Varris watched him a moment, wondering if she could actually trust that he was who he said he was. A Dominion ship wouldn’t have been allowed to dock - and even if it was, there would’ve been security procedures ensuring a nobody like her would be nowhere near it. But he could have been undercover, working toward some goal that a fighter and a squad of Jem’Hadar couldn’t accomplish. She couldn’t rule it out. He could have been searching for her–

No. No, that was just paranoia. She didn’t think his surprise had been feigned, and she was only here in the first place because she was doing a favor for a Bajoran. On a normal day she would have stayed in the cargo bay all day and been completely ignorant that she was unloading a Vorta captain’s cargo. Posing as a merchant to find someone as unimportant as she was would have been terribly inefficient - not like the Dominion at all.

She sighed and made herself step forward, holding out the padd. Whatever else was going on, she did still have a job to do. “All I need is your authorization and I’ll get out of your way, Captain,” she said, trying to sound as if this was perfectly routine. 

Keevan was intrigued now. She seemed to be just as wary of him as he was of her, and somehow that was reassuring. He tilted his head almost lazily as he observed her, watching her body language for any sign of a threat. When there was none, he reached out and took the padd, signing his name in his usual script. “People do tend to react that way when they see me for the first time. We Vorta are rather infamous nowadays.”

He begun to hand the padd back to her then stopped, holding it just out of her reach, as something came to his mind. His lips curled up into a smile and he regarded her with a look of curiosity.

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

She took a bite of the Klingon dish as he asked his question, mostly to give herself time to think about it. “I didn’t come to the Alpha Quadrant until the war was already underway,” she said, finally. “They needed more Vorta commanders, and I got a promotion. Only… something went wrong on the way here. There was a malfunction on the ship, and it would have been destroyed if the Prophets hadn’t saved us in the wormhole.”

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

She took a bite of the Klingon dish as he asked his question, mostly to give herself time to think about it. “I didn’t come to the Alpha Quadrant until the war was already underway,” she said, finally. “They needed more Vorta commanders, and I got a promotion. Only... something went wrong on the way here. There was a malfunction on the ship, and it would have been destroyed if the Prophets hadn’t saved us in the wormhole.”

Varris, for her part, took a couple of quick, reflexive steps backward when she saw the other Vorta move toward her. For one wild moment, she considered running. She’d managed to keep herself under the radar on Deep Space 9, and she hadn’t thought the Dominion knew or cared where she was. If they’d found her…

But reason caught up with these wild thoughts, and she paused. He wouldn’t be here openly on the station if he was with the Dominion. Besides, the person she’d come looking for…

“Are… are you the captain of the Renegade?” Varris said, still warily keeping her distance from the other Vorta and ready to run if he turned out to be hostile. She hadn’t missed the phaser at his waist, or the way he’d started to reach for it when he saw her. She clutched the manifest padd tightly in both hands, held up in front of her chest like a shield.

Keevan certainly wasn’t dressed like a typical Dominion Vorta. A white shirt with the collar popped up underneath a yellow jacket, with dark purple pants and boots to match. A purposely messy kind of look. Even the hair, once properly kept in a poof, had a slightly more mussed up look to it. He certainly looked the part of a renegade.

“Indeed I am… I must admit, I… didn’t expect to have the manifest brought to me by another Vorta.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, folding his arms once again and leaning his shoulder against the wall. Though his stance was casual, he was still clearly wary of her. Studying her.

No. No, that was just paranoia. She didn’t think his surprise had been feigned, and she was only here in the first place because she was doing a favor for a Bajoran. On a normal day she would have stayed in the cargo bay all day and been completely ignorant that she was unloading a Vorta captain’s cargo. Posing as a merchant to find someone as unimportant as she was would have been terribly inefficient - not like the Dominion at all.

He was fading fast. Varris tried futilely to staunch the bleeding, looking desperately over her shoulder for help. Security was on the way. “Help is coming, just hang on,” she said, voice shaking. She’d never made it to the front lines of the war, had never seen a person so badly wounded before, at least not up close. The agony on his face was terrible to watch. At some point she’d grabbed his hand, holding on tightly to his bloodied fingers as if that could do something to keep him grounded, conscious; she squeezed it, not knowing what else to do.

One of the Bajoran security officers ran up and crouched next to them, and Varris tried to calm herself enough to give an account of the situation - not that there was much she could say. She didn’t even know who this man was, or what had happened to him. The security officer tapped his combadge, calling for an emergency medical transport, as Varris clasped the dying Vorta’s hands in both of hers and desperately prayed to the Prophets to let him live, just as they’d once saved her.

Through the fog, Nine felt the person’s hands take hold of his and heard quiet, frantic prayers being said over him. He was having a hard time making out the words, but the cadence didn’t sound like prayers to Founders who were stone and uncaring; there was emotion there, hope there, desperation. He could feel himself being jostled around, more hands; the medics must be there. There was a bite and a cool sting at his neck and the pain eased a little as steady hands pressed to his side and worked about him. He could hear Rotan’talag’s strong voice as he spoke to someone nearby. But most importantly, his sticky hand was still being held by the person at his side.

He forced his narrowed field of view back upwards, to look at the kind soul that had been trying to help him. The fear on her face was earnest. She did not seem like the type to have tended to injuries before, and he was profoundly sorry to have put such a scare into her. He hoped he would live so he could apologize. Perhaps the powers that be would be kind enough to allow him to do that. She was the brave soul that came forward to help when all of the others simply cowered back…that debt had to be repaid in some way. 

The medics were preparing to move him to the infirmary, and something desperate and dizzying sprung out at him suddenly when he thought of her disappearing into the crowd, never to be found again. Nine’s hand reached out to her with his other hand without thinking, reaching out towards her face as he was transferred onto a stretcher. 

The Jem’Hadar was still nearby and that made her slightly nervous, but he didn’t seem to have taken any notice of her. If he was under this Vorta’s command, his priority was probably to protect his supervisor. She certainly hoped he didn’t decide to register her as a threat. If these two were still with the Dominion and realized who, or what, she was...

But she’d decided to help even knowing that risk. It was still the right thing to do. She wasn’t about to leave now, not after she’d promised this man she would stay with him. Besides, she hadn’t been attacked yet, and any attempts to extradite her using diplomatic means would probably fail. She was here under Bajor’s protection.

Services were over at the temple on the Promenade. Among the many Bajorans emerging from its doors was a single Vorta, head down as she tried to make her way through the crowd without getting in anyone’s way. A few gave her curious or even hostile glances, but most ignored her. Varris had been attending the temple for a while now, and most people were used to her presence. There were some among the Bajorans who objected to her on principle, but the vedek on DS9 had been very kind to her, as had the senior staff who’d allowed her to stay on the grounds of political asylum. She had a place to pray and worship the Prophets, and that was enough.

As she hurried down the promenade, headed for the replimat, she found herself colliding directly with another person, managing to send them both crashing to the floor. She sat up quickly, mortified. “I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Are you okay?”

Varris yawned, wishing caffeine had more of an effect on Vorta physiology as she made her way to the docking bay where her supervisor had currently assigned her. She wasn’t usually up this early, but one of her coworkers had unexpectedly come down with a nasty strain of Bajoran flu and she’d agreed to cover his shift. The virus seemed to be going around just now. Varris wasn’t sure if Vorta were susceptible, but she’d been careful just in case.

The Bajoran officer overseeing things at the docking bay waved her distractedly towards the ship they were currently unloading, and she set to work. By this point the sight of a Vorta worker was no longer surprising to anyone who regularly worked on the docking ring, and she was even starting to be on friendly terms with a few of the Bajorans who attended temple services with her. It was a nice change from the hostility that had initially greeted her on the station, and sometimes still did as the rest of her people continued to pose a threat to Bajor and the Federation.

As she was about to pick up another crate, one of the other workers stopped her, handing her a padd. “Can you get the captain to sign this manifest?” he said. “I really need to get this turned in or the boss’ll have my head, but I don’t have time, I have to be in section 15 in ten minutes. Half their team’s out sick.”

“Of course,” Varris assured him. “Go ahead, I’ll get this to them.” The Bajoran thanked her in relief and ran off, as Varris headed off in search of this ship’s captain.

@defectivevorta-and-changeling

Keevan took great pride in his ship, the Renegade. He’d worked damn hard to get it, and damn hard to keep it. He didn’t have to run a smuggling line between the Alpha and Gamma quadrants, risking his neck to bring supplies to the neutral and Federation worlds who needed relief. But he did anyway. Not for the money, though the latinum he earned was quite a decent cushion of finances. He wasn’t doing it for the glory, either. Recognition was nice, but it would only paint a brighter target on his head. He did this to aid the Federation’s effort in toppling the Dominion. He wanted to see the Founders fall to their knees and beg for mercy. Working to bring this about took time and effort.

Sometimes, though, he needed downtime. Deep Space Nine had become his most common rest stop when he needed to regroup and resupply. Quark was also quite the reliable contact, despite their… initial relationship. The Ferengi was the man behind his predecessor’s death, yes. A rather humiliating end. But he was good for business. So, Keevan made the station his base of operations, in a way.

He had been taking a moment to relax, in the quiet halls of the early morning. Quark’s wasn’t open just yet, and the daily hustle and bustle had yet to fill the corridors and the Promenade. A moment of peace. Keevan leaned against the wall, arms folded and his eyes closed, when he heard the sound of footsteps.

They were light, fast-paced. Someone in a rush, perhaps? Or perhaps one of the Bajoran workers unloading his ship coming with the manifest. He expected as much, another reason he had yet to journey to the Promenade. “Looking for me, I presume?” He spoke, not yet opening his eyes as he unfolded his arms and pushed off the wall, turning to regard the other.

But reason caught up with these wild thoughts, and she paused. He wouldn't be here openly on the station if he was with the Dominion. Besides, the person she'd come looking for...

Varris didn’t know what had happened, but she heard the screams and saw people running. She had just finished her work shift on the docking ring and was heading back to her quarters, but now after a moment’s hesitation she turned and started towards whatever those people had been running from. If there was something she could do to help, it would not be right to turn away.

Still, she almost did turn away at the sight of a furious Jem’Hadar in combat. She had not seen one up close since she’d abandoned her own squad to defect to Bajor, several years previous, and the thought of being found by them was one of her most persistent nightmares. But someone was on the ground near the Jem’Hadar, clearly injured, and no one else had come near enough to help. It would be a few minutes at least before a security team could get close enough–

She crept closer. The injured man turned out to be a Vorta. Varris didn’t let this fact stop her, and made an attempt to pull him away from the fighting. She could deal with the consequences later - even if he was a Dominion loyalist, it didn’t mean she could leave him here to die.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He was bleeding heavily, and Varris wasn’t sure that her limited knowledge of first aid would be enough. Behind her, there were shouts, and she called out over her shoulder, “Please, we need a medic! He’s hurt!”

Nine’s head swam and everything sounded incredibly far away. He felt like he was falling; his side molten hot and weeping. Somewhere very far away he registered a presence, a voice, someone calling for help. His wound burned like fire but he was too weak to flinch as he felt pressure on the wound. 

Maybe someone is helping him? That’s kind of them…they’re so far away. Time is short, his thoughts rambled incoherently. He reaches out with his wet hand to grab at their arm, to touch them. He was too far gone to see much or speak, but the voice was soothing and was as scared as he felt, and maybe if he could reach out and touch them they would understand how grateful he was that they tried to help him. He wouldn’t live to see Odo’s work done, but he had tried and he hopes that Odo can be proud of him, regardless. Rotan would live, maybe he will continue when Nine cannot…

The person was pulling him and the shearing movement of the pull jolted his wound just enough to provide a sobering burst of pain to sharpen his senses a little.

Someone’s talking again. A voice. A feminine voice. They asked him a question.

yes, i can hear you, he thinks. He could be speaking right now, hopes he is, but up is down and he is so lost and scared, but he shouldn’t be. He’s died before, this is not new.

“Oh,” he whispers as he looks up into the face of a Vorta female he’s never met, her head haloed by the halogen lamps above them. The world threatened to ebb away again as she tried to tend to him.

“T-thank you…”