For My Parmach'Kai, part II

The first step, Worf schemed in his mind as he stood at the Tactical console, was to find a way off the station.

He knew he couldn't just walk into Sisko's office and say, "Excuse me, Captain, I need to avenge Jadzia's death and track down the psychotic cult leader who murdered her. Will you give me a runabout so I can go off during the middle of a war, risk detection, and possibly be killed while trying to honor the memory of the woman I loved?"

That wouldn't work. But leaving DS9 should be easy enough. Sisko was practically endorsing his quest by sending him to Empok Nor. The only problem was that he had been assigned to a mission and couldn't run off without completing it. Oh, well. Those details could be worked out en route if time didn't permit planning ahead.

Then he had to locate Dukat. There had been a rumor going around recently that he had gone back to the Dominion and, renouncing any loyalty to the Pagh'wraiths, put on such a convincing act of repentance that they had given him a position commanding a ship: the Vor'Nak. True, it wasn't the position of head of the Cardassian government, which Gul Damar now held in his place, but he was back in power and that made him even more dangerous. When Worf got off duty, he would have to do some research and see if there was any truth behind the rumor. The actual killing didn't require much thought at the moment, but more detailed planning would be necessary when the time drew near. It was almost impossible to tell how he was going to do it without knowing what kinds of resources Dukat would have or who would be backing him up. A voice cut into his thoughts.

"Commander?" He looked up to see Ensign Walker standing at his side.
"Yes, Ensign?" She gave him an odd look that said The lights are on but no one's home. He'd been getting that a lot lately, with his mind so far away.
"It's my shift, sir. I'll take over."
"Of course." The Klingon stepped back quickly and let her take his place, then left Ops and went to his quarters.

~* ~

Worf entered his quarters, already removing his metal-woven sash. He paused in the middle of unhooking it when a loud chorus of childish babble met his ears.

Jadzia grinned at him from the couch.
"Hi! We have a little visitor!" she announced as she scooped Kirayoshi O'Brien up from where he'd been playing on the floor. Worf couldn't contain a paternal smile as he sat down.

"And what exactly is this infant doing in my home?" he asked playfully, sharing Jadzia's delight.
"Well, I offered to watch him so that the O'Briens could spend some time with Molly." Kirayoshi wriggled out of her grip and toddled over to an overstuffed chair. Worf looked at his beautiful wife.
"I thought you said you were going to be working tonight."
Jadzia  nodded.
"I was planning to run a spectral scan of the comet that's passing through the Denorius Belt. But if I did that," she added, glancing at Yoshi as he hung on the chair with a gleeful grin on his face, "who'd watch you?"
"Me!" Worf declared suddenly, surprising even himself. Jadzia gave him an appreciative smile and answered, maybe too quickly, "That's all right. I want to stay with him."
"Jadzia, you have been waiting for this comet to come into sensor range for weeks." The Klingon urged her with his eyes to take advantage of the situation, but she looked at him, at Yoshi, then back and him and
sighed, "There'll be other comets."
"Go," Worf insisted. "I will take care of Yoshi."

They looked at the youngest O'Brien as he grabbed a handful of his favorite teddy bear's ear and tossed it on the floor.

"Worf, that's very sweet," Jadzia said, "but let's face it. You're not good with babies."
Worf was indignant.

"I raised Alexander!" he shot back challengingly.
"That's different," argued the Trill. "He was four years old when he moved in with you. You didn't have to change diapers. Babies are a handful. I should know; I've had nine of 'em."

Worf rolled his eyes, indicating he'd heard that particular line one too many times.
"I know. Five as a mother, four as a father. I can handle a fourteen-month-old child." Jadzia hastily replied,
"I didn't say you can't, I-." but was interrupted with Worf's
"Fine. Go run your sensor scans."

He got up from the couch and retrieved Yoshi from his chair. The baby immediately began to scream and twisted
towards Jadzia with an imploring look that said, We were having a perfectly good time until he came along! Why are you leaving me with him?
"You're holding him wrong," she chided.
"Leave us," Worf commanded. The Trill held up a placatory hand. "All right, all right. I'm leaving." She got up and walked out without a backward glance. Worf turned to Kirayoshi, still wailing, and spoke
softly to him in Klingon.

When that didn't succeed, he picked up a rattle and began waving it in front of the baby. Immediately transfixed,
Yoshi stopped crying and reached for the rattle. Worf handed it to him and was relieved to have him wiggle off his lap and run unsteadily over to the chair to play. The Klingon watched him and thought, Yoshi is a
wonderful child, but what would Jadzia's and my baby look like? Would he or she have my ridges? Her spots? Both? He suspected that Jadzia was also wondering about it and yearning for them to have a child of their
own. She hadn't mentioned it to him yet, but if he knew her she was testing him, seeing if he had what it took to be a father. He was determined to prove to her that he did.

~*~

Worf ordered a raktajino from the replicator before sitting at the console built into the desk. After
a brief thought, he commanded, "Computer, display all recent information on Cardassian Gul Dukat." The
emotionless voice of the computer inquired, "Specify time period."
"Six months."

There was a brief pause as the computer scanned its memory banks. Worf sipped his raktajino. He instantly felt a wave of burning enmity as the face of Jadzia's cold-blooded murderer appeared on the screen, wearing a sardonic smirk. The Klingon longed to feel his mek'leth in his hands, the worn leather grip slick with sweat, and sense the recently sharpened tip of the blade penetrate the chink in Dukat's armor between the metal plates of his uniform and his scaly, corded neck. And then to feel his thick skin part as the lethal weapon plunged
inside, tore his muscles beyond repair, severed the veins that kept him breathing. Rivers of blood would flow then, crimson rivers of the precious fluid supplying life to one who only used that power to kill.

Worf, vowing to himself that the day would be soon when revenge would be exacted, scanned the readouts next to Dukat's photo. It seemed that Dukat had indeed returned to the Dominion and received a command.
Bajoran sources claimed that he had been sending mysterious coded transmissions to the home of a known Pagh'wraith worshipper living in Dakhur Province, which led Worf to suspect that he had not in fact
abandoned the Pagh'wraiths but simply hid his beliefs while he acquired a ship for his own purposes and not to serve the Dominion. Starfleet Intelligence reports gave no indication to Dukat's whereabouts, so he
was on his own in that area. If only he could take the Defiant, which with its cloaking capabilities would make it so much easier to go behind enemy lines. Then he had an ingenious idea.

What if Romulan senator Cretak loaned him a cloaking device? Since the Rotarran's cloaking device was malfunctioning, he had nowhere to turn but to them. It wouldn't look suspicious if Sisko approved of its use for the master differential relay mission, and it wouldn't be necessary to dishonor himself by lying to Cretak about why he needed it.

Worf tapped his comm badge. "Worf to O'Brien."
"O'Brien here."
"Would a Romulan cloaking device function on a runabout?"
"I don't see why not," said O'Brien. "It works on the Defiant." He paused, then asked, "You're thinking about getting a cloak to go to Empok Nor, aren't you?"
"Yes." Worf smiled to himself. Even one of his oldest friends hadn't guessed his true reason for wanting the cloaking device. This was going to work out beautifully. "I will be speaking with Senator Cretak after I
take the idea to the captain. I will contact you again later."
"Great. O'Brien out."
Worf hit his badge a second time. "Worf to Sisko."
After a short delay, during which Worf could hear the faint background noise in Ops, he responded,
"Yes, Commander?"
"I would like your permission to ask Senator Cretak to borrow a cloaking device for the Empok Nor mission." Sisko didn't answer right away.
"Is it compatible with our systems?"
"Chief O'Brien said that since we have a Romulan cloaking device on the Defiant, there's no reason why it shouldn't work on a runabout."
"Well then, that's excellent. Contact Cretak as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir. Worf out."

A short conversation with the Romulan senator proved very worthwhile. Cretak hated the Dominion as much as any Klingon, so it didn't take much convincing to persuade her to loan him the cloak. After that was done, he contacted O'Brien again. The chief was only too happy to send someone down to the warbird to pick up the
cloaking device and install it in the Shenandoah, the runabout that Worf was to take out the next day. Now that that was taken care of, Worf could relax.

~*~

Jadzia was just taking her hair out of its customary ponytail when the Klingon entered their bedroom.
"You're not ready yet," Worf said, surprised. The Trill turned toward him, an apologetic smile
on her face.
"It's not my fault. I was reading and lost track of time."
When Worf began to speak again, she interrupted, "I know, I know, we have dinner reservations at 1930. But you're not exactly ready yourself."
He looked down at his uniform, impeccable as always.
"Yes I am."
"Worf!" Jadzia protested. "Wear a tuxedo. Please? I love to see you dressed up formally." He decided to change the subject and hopefully get away from the fact that he hated to wear suits and felt out of place in
public whenever he did.
"What are you wearing?"
She tossed her uniform jacket on the bed and went to the closet, hitting the keypad. After rummaging around, she finally pulled out a dress Worf had never seen before. It was long and silver, with an arrangement of sparkling diamonds on the front in the shape of a rose.
"Garak delivered it this afternoon," she informed him.
"Put it on." Worf suddenly had a burning desire to see the dress on Jadzia. She sensed it and pointed toward the door.
" Out. You can't see until I'm completely finished."
He obediently went into the living room and waited. All day he'd been looking forward to this evening. At first he'd wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate the success of a mission into Dominion space to destroy a major weapon
production center on a moon. He'd thought Jadzia, who seemed almost Klingon at times, would understand his desire to triumph over this special occasion. That's why he'd been surprised when she came to him
and, before he'd even finished his suggestion, kissed him deeply and told him to keep work out of their personal lives whenever possible. So  the two of them were just having a special evening to celebrate being
together.

 Worf didn't hear the bedroom door open and was startled by the exquisite vision of perfection that appeared before him. He rose to his feet and reached out for Jadzia's hands, intertwining her fingers with his own as he devoured the sight of his parmach'kai. Her hair hung down to her bare shoulders, brushed back and secured on both sides by tiny clips encrusted with diamonds. The iridescent silver material of the gown was somewhat translucent, revealing the shapely curves of her hips and the outlines of the muscles on her long, slender legs. It clung to her slender body in all the right places, held up by some means Worf couldn't figure out. Perhaps further exploration…but that would come later. The dress was strapless, and the generous sprinkling of spots on
her neck and upper chest was plainly visible. The low-cut neck revealed a little more than might have been appropriate for a simple dinner outing, but Worf wasn't about to complain. She was so lovely, so divine,
that he could think of nothing else but how wonderful she was and how fantastic it was to be married to a woman who understood him and appreciated him for who he was and how he loved her.

"You look gorgeous tonight." Suddenly he picked her up and kissed her, his unexpected embrace taking her breath away. When he let her up for air, he asked quietly, "Do you want to skip dinner?"
"You wish," Jadzia gasped, laughing. "Go change."
She laid a deft finger on his instantly protesting lips. "Go."

The Trill wriggled out of his arms and pressed her lips against his once more before shoving him in
the direction of the bedroom. He went somewhat unwillingly, but didn't argue. As he put on the tuxedo, he regarded himself in the mirror and had to admit that he didn't look all that bad. Jadzia's face, framed by
a delicate curtain of brown hair, broke into an approving smile when he went back out into the main part of their quarters.

"You look very handsome."
"I disagree."
She sighed, exasperated.  "You're hopeless." She took his arm, feeling the swell of his muscle
under his shirt sleeve. "Let's go."

~*~

Sleep wasn't too appealing to Worf just now. He wanted to be out in action, not laying around uselessly
waiting. He could find nothing to occupy him in his silent, desolate quarters, so he went to the wall and, taking down his silver bat'leth, went to the holosuite. Quark's bar seemed to be deserted, except for
Bashir and O'Brien, who were otherwise engaged in a game of darts and didn't hear him come in. The Ferengi proprietor confronted him as he went up the spiralling metal stairs to the second level of the bar.

"I don't believe you scheduled holosuite time, Commander."
Worf shoved his way past Quark, holding his weapon against his chest.
"I did not."
"Walk-ins pay extra," Quark called after him.
"I do not care."

Holosuite Three was empty. The Klingon went inside and  announced after locking the door, "Computer, run program Jadzia-three-seven-one."

The atmosphere of jungle that appeared around him had been Jadzia's program at first, before they were married. She had designed it herself, using the images of Curzon's old Klingon  friends, Kor, Kang, and Koloth, as the programmed adversaries. When Worf accompanied her on one occasion and agreed it was invigorating to do
battle against such worthy, famed opponents, she had allowed him to use the program whenever he liked.
 With a deep- throated roar of challenge, the holographic Kor burst out of the trees behind him, wielding a bat'leth similar to his own. This Kor was young, with long, wild hair the same deep brown as Jadzia's and
bulging muscles protruding from under his body armor. Worf had recently been on a mission with the real Kor.

Physically he looked quite different. His hair was now a pure silver, revealing none of the mahogany shade of his youth. The old Klingon's face was hard and lined with wrinkles of age and the stress of many battles, but in his eyes still gleamed the love of combat and the lust to prove himself once more. Worf swung his weapon up, and the two blades crashed together with a satisfying resonance. Feeling a surge of vigorousness empower his
body, he parried the next oncoming blow and twisted Kor's momentum back at him, causing the "younger" Klingon to stumble backwards. Kor regained his balance and swung at Worf, but he was ready. His bat'leth tore Kor's out of his hands and sent it spinning across the dirt floor of the
jungle.

Dropping his weapon so he wouldn't be fighting an unarmed man, proving himself dishonorable, he lunged at his opponent and seized him around his thick neck. The pair of Klingons grappled for a moment before Worf launched a well-placed uppercut that snapped Kor's head back and knocked him to the ground, unconscious. The commander stepped back, sweat running in rivulets off his face and neck, and regarded the inert body of his opponent. He was amazed at how refreshed he felt, how much of a release it had been to be able to lash out with all his concealed fury. Hopefully he would be able to use this when he was face to face with Dukat.

Back in his quarters, Worf donned his dark green pants and shirt and lay in bed. Contrary to his expectations, he slept almost immediately.

 The next morning possessed an aura of tingling excitement, like his adoptive Human brother Nikolai might have felt on Christmas morning. A feeling that something special was about to happen. Worf sprang out of bed, energized and ready. Last night's holosuite visit had done wonders for his overloaded mind. After dressing, he went to the wall next to the window and took down his mek'leth, carefully slipping it into his boot
and yanking his pants leg down to conceal it. The chronometer said 0530. Half an hour to kill before he had to report to the Shenandoah.

The Klingon needed to get a glimpse of the glorious woman he would be fighting for and maybe dying for. He knelt before their wedding photo, resting as always on the nightstand. Jadzia's smile went directly to his
heart. She had been so happy on the day they were finally able to marry. After the ceremony, she had pulled him away from the crowds at the reception into a shadowy, secluded corner. There she had gently laid her
fingers on the abrasions on his face, inflicted when O'Brien and Bashir performed the ritual attack after the completion of their vows. Where no one could see, she had quietly proclaimed with tears streaming down her
bruised cheeks how glad she was that they were finally together and how she loved him so much she felt like she was going to explode with exhilaration and passion.
Worf, unaccustomed to such an unbridled emotional display from her, had taken her into his arms and just held
her, a beautifully intimate moment as a romantic song serenaded them in the background. He knew Jadzia understood.

The outlines of the bulkheads seemed clearer this morning, the corners of everything in the corridor seemed sharper. The Klingon hadn't felt this aware and alive in a long time. He was prepared for anything. Sisko
and O'Brien were waiting for him at the airlock. O'Brien greeted him with, "Everything checks out fine, Commander. The cloaking device installed  perfectly. You're good to go."
"Thank you, Chief."
Greatly relieved at seeing no one else around, Worf turned to Sisko and asked,  "Will I be making the trip alone, sir?"
The captain nodded.
"Yes. At first we had planned for Ensign Shelby to accompany you in case you ran into any problems removing the relay or the cloaking device started to give you any trouble, but then the chief here and I gave it
some thought and decided to limit the team to one person in case the cloak didn't shield the runabout completely. One life sign would be easier to hide than two or three."
"Agreed."

They stepped aside to give him access to the airlock. Sisko clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.
"Good luck, Mr. Worf."

The Klingon nodded in acknowledgment and continued into the runabout, hearing the cogged door separating the
station from the section of transition between the runabout's outer airlock and DS9's inner one roll closed. He sat in the passenger's seat in the main portion of the tiny craft, opening a communications channel with Ops.

"This is the Shenandoah requesting departure clearance," he said to the console. It has begun, Jadzia. You will be honored. I love you, parmach'kai. Wish me luck. But then again, I was the luckiest man in the
universe for a while. I was married to you."
"Request confirmed," Nog's voice informed him. "You are cleared for departure, Shenandoah. Good luck, Commander. DS9 out."

Worf shifted  chairs and sat in the pilot's seat. As his fingers darted over the console, maneuvering the ship around the upper docking pylons, he experienced a touch of déjà vu towards his surroundings. He and Jadzia
had taken this same runabout on their mission to Soukara such a short time ago. They had settled into the two chairs, barely awake, and headed off to rescue a defecting Cardassian with no idea whatsoever that the
outcome of their task would change their lives forever.

~*~

"Kira to Worf."

The station's first officer, then still a major, jerked the Klingon rudely out of a deep, sound slumber with her voice over the comm system. Reluctant to move, he remained motionless for a moment. Jadzia
had also heard Kira, he discovered, when she rolled out of her comfortable position with her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest to let him sit up. Too bad. He had considered ignoring
the comm and going back to sleep, not willing to interrupt a deliciously satisfying night with Jadzia with the thought of work.   Slowly, he forced himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It was
cold out from under the covers and away from his wife. With a sigh, he tapped the comm link on the bedside table and responded, "Worf here."
This had better be good, the drowsy Klingon thought.
"Sorry to bother you, Commander," apologized Kira, "but I need to see you and Jadzia in the captain's office immediately."
Damn.
"We're on our way."
Worf sprang up immediately after signing off, expecting the lovely Trill in whose arms he spent every night to follow his example. But she just rolled over again and burrowed under the pillow, throwing an arm over the top of it. He turned and regarded her  slender form, outlined under their blanket, with adoration and a trace
of exasperation. But it was hard to be impatient with her after last night.
"Jadzia, get up!" he scolded. At the sound of his voice, the covers were thrown over her head with a muffled,
"I'm coming!" even though it was obvious she was not. Seizing the edge of the blanket, he whipped it off the bed, leaving Jadzia exposed to the brisk air in the bedroom.
Startled, she yelped, "Hey!" Worf tossed her a uniform, at the same time admiring her magnificent figure.
"You heard Kira."
"I hate you," she grumbled, trying to hide her grin. Leave it to duty to ruin a perfectly good morning of sleeping in.

~*~

Worf hadn't been despising the war that much up until that runabout trip. On the way to Soukara, Jadzia had brought up the subject of their honeymoon. She desperately wanted a vacation, a break from the bloodshed and despair, and Worf couldn't say he blamed her. When a discussion ensued over where they were to go, the Klingon eagerly suggested camping and sightseeing in the rugged wilderness, craving action and physical exercise. This disgusted Jadzia, who wanted to be waited on hand and foot and felt she
deserved it.

She craved "room service. I want to be pampered. I want a staff to cater to our every whim. I want to be embarrassed by the size of our room. I want a balcony with a view that would make you want to
break down and cry from the sheer beauty of it all. And I don't want to suffer from anything except guilt about our complete self-indulgence."

That had taken care of Worf's suggestion of hiking across Vulcan's Forge. When he assumed with much trepidation that she wanted to go to Risa, the Trill had slyly produced a PADD containing information about
"Casperia Prime, the vacation capital of the Hovarian Cluster."

To Jadzia's surprise, he had instantly agreed. She wondered why he was being so compliant and was answered with a slightly insulted claim that he had to make some changes now that they were married. That discussion
had continued throughout the entire mission. Worf even blamed himself for the fact that Jadzia was shot and almost fatally wounded by a Jem'Hadar patrol. Even as she lay, bleeding and in agony in spite of the
painkillers, she had tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, that without the use of their tricorders they had no way to detect the pproaching enemy.

They couldn't have known that they were setting up camp right in the path of the Jem'Hadar; it was merely a very unlucky coincidence. And deep down, he knew that. But somehow he couldn't convince himself. If he hadn't been trying to be playful with her as they snuggled together, trying to ward off the cool temperature of a
night on Soukara, if he had been keeping watch like a good Starfleet officer should, then Jadzia wouldn't have been injured. Worf would never have intentionally hurt Jadzia. The Klingon would have gladly died a
slow and painful death rather than see her suffer. It had been a liberating relief when Doctor Bashir told him she was going to make a full recovery from the phaser blast wound.

He had gone into the operating room then in the back of the infirmary and sat by her side, holding her cool hand gently in his own and just watching her sleep. At that time he couldn't have imagined losing her, couldn't imagine life without her. But now it was all too real. The next time she'd had to lay on one of Bashir's biobeds had been her last. Now she was gone, pulled from his embrace forever, and nothing could be done about it.

That night, back on DS9, Captain Sisko was getting ready to go to sleep in his quarters. His new wife, Kasidy, was curled on her side of the bed, hugging her pillow as she dozed peacefully. Sisko wouldn't have
minded a little snuggling, but he had just gotten back from Ops to find her asleep and didn't want to wake her. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately, she'd told him that morning, and was going to see Doctor
Bashir for a sedative. He was just stripping off his uniform shirt when Major Kira's voice blared over their quarters' comm system.

"Kira to Sisko." He sighed and wriggled back into his shirt, noting with dismay as he did so that Kasidy was shifting beneath the covers, probably waking up thanks to the Bajoran colonel.
"Sisko here."
"Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but you've got an incoming transmission in Ops."
"Patch it through to my quarters, then," he directed.
Kira paused. "I don't think that's such a good idea, sir. You should probably come back up."

Kasidy was fully awake now, had rolled over, and was regarding him with some curiosity. Sisko frowned.
"Why? Who is the message from?"
"Weyoun, sir."
He responded immediately, "I'll be right there. Sisko out." As soon as he had signed off, he went
to Kasidy and hugged her. "Sorry to wake you, Kas. I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay."

On his way to the door, her voice, still laced with the last traces of the sleeping aid Bashir had given her, stopped him.
"Ben, what do you think Weyoun wants?"
He gave her a reassuring smile.
"Don't you worry about it. It's probably nothing important."

She nodded and lay down again, pulling the blankets up to her chin, but Sisko knew she didn't buy it. A transmission from the Vorta, or anyone from the Dominion, for that matter, was always bad news. He got to Ops as fast as he could, cursing the turbolift, which seemed excruciatingly slow even though it was functioning within normal parameters. Kira greeted him with a somber look.

"In my office, Colonel."
"Yes, sir." As he crossed the room and went up the stairs to his office overlooking Ops, he could see in his periphery the Bajoran working her console to transfer the transmission to the small screen on his desk. He
sat down and waited until the Vorta's all- too- familiar face appeared.
"Ah, Captain Sisko," he crooned in that annoyingly calm voice of his.
"What a pleasure to see you again."
"What do you want?" Sisko had no intention of playing games with Weyoun.
Thankfully, he got right to the point.
"We have reason to believe that the Federation is harboring a Dominion traitor."
Sisko frowned, confused. "I'm not aware of any traitor in our space."
Weyoun smiled.
"Of course you would make excuses," he answered calmly, managing to insult Sisko even as he tried to be diplomatic. "But this is a serious matter. We want this man back."
"Who?" It might help if I knew who the hell you're talking about, thought the captain.
"Gul Dukat." Sisko leaned forward.
"What?"
"You heard me."

Attempting now to hide his surprise, Deep Space Nine's captain replied, "I thought Dukat had come begging to you for a ship and was given one. Am I to believe that the Dominion made a mistake in recommissioning one
of its former officers?" He couldn't resist slipping a caustic taunt in there. Weyoun's ice-blue eyes blazed angrily.

"Dukat was deceptive as always. Besides, it was Gul Damar's decision to give him a ship. I don't know how his mind works, but he is trustworthy and he had a good excuse for allowing Dukat back into the ranks of the
Dominion."

Sisko had to restrain from laughing out loud. Weyoun trusted Damar as far as he could throw him, which wasn't a very great distance.
He asked merely, "Which is?"

The Vorta paused, unwilling to admit that he had been left out of any pivotal decisions concerning the war or the Dominion.
"I was not privy to Damar's reasoning."
"I want to talk to Damar, then."
"Damar is not currently on Cardassia Prime."
Oh, well. Back to the original conversation.

"What makes you think we're hiding Dukat and his ship?" Weyoun wore a smile that said you can't deny this one.
"While monitoring transmissions inside Dominion space recently, we discovered a message was being sent from Dukat's ship, the Vor'Nak, to your station. Specifically, to Commander Worf."
"Commander Worf hasn't informed me of any incoming transmissions from Dukat."

Maybe Weyoun is telling the truth, Sisko mused mentally. Worf has been acting pretty strange lately. The Vorta gave an ugly chuckle.

"Do you think he would, Captain? I suggest you check his log."
Sisko stiffened. "I am not in the habit of invading my officers' personal space," he said coldly.
"Well," Weyoun said with a grim smile, "maybe you should make an exception. Good day, Captain."
With that he signed off, the comm screen going black and then displaying the Federation emblem. Sisko sat back in his chair, stunned.

Was it possible? Worf helping Dukat? The Klingon despised him more then anyone he had ever known. Dukat had murdered his wife. Why should the Cardassian receive any assistance from him? Then he
forced himself to think about Worf more deeply. He was in every way loyal to Sisko, the Federation, and the Klingon Empire. There was no way he would betray them. Well, there was only one way to find out. As much
as he hated to do it, going through Worf's communication log was the only method he could think of to confirm his and Weyoun's suspicions.

The turnout of the war might depend on it. He stood up and, straightening his shirt, walked out into Ops. He offered no clue to what the Vorta might have said. The disappointment on the faces of his  officers was evident as he passed. They were obviously dying to know what had gone on in his office. Of course they wouldn't ask. Sisko got into the turbolift and took hold of a support rail.

"Habitat ring." With that he sunk out of sight.
 

Go to the Conclusion