Chekov woke up with a start. His room was dark - pitch black so that he couldn't see anything. He listened like an animal, his senses straining. All he could hear was his own breath heaving in ragged gasps. He was sat bolt upright in bed, his knees pulled up to his chest. He didn't know why he'd woken up. Perhaps he'd been having a nightmare? He wasn't sure. He tried to relax his hands which had gathered up the sheets into two tight bundles in his clenched fists at his side. He rested his forehead on his knees as he tried to slow down his breathing. He was only partially successful. There was a tension in his chest he couldn't fathom. His headache from the day before had swollen and grown into a dull ache at the base of his skull. He clutched at the back of his neck with both hands and buried his face in the blankets. What was wrong with him? Something wasn't right. He squeezed his neck tightly. Perhaps he should go and see Dr McCoy in the morning. The doctor had treated Tamoon's wounds but couldn't find any evidence of the head injury that Dr Tabana had indicated. He put it down to the lack of equipment on the planet and discharged the woman from sickbay. Kirk had lodged her on Deck 9 in the guests' quarters. He had spent the day recouperating. Lita had been to see him. He had tried to enjoy her company but something he couldn't put his finger on had bothered him all day. He hadn't been able to relax and his head had hurt. They had parted on slightly tense terms.

You must see Tamoon.

He raised his head and gasped for air as the thought leapt into his head, choking his throat with the force of the feeling. Where had that come from? He tried to push the sudden picture of the alien out of his mind. He gave a shudder as his breathing started to increase again. Tamoon. He had to get to Tamoon. The yellowish features of her face filled his mind like a vague but coalescing menacing presence. The urge to see her – the need – started in the dull ache in his head and spread out and down his body to his fingertips and into his legs, pulling his hands down from his neck and back to the sheets to sweep them off the bed. His legs were dragged as if by an unseen cord onto the floor, straightening him up. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair to tousle the sweat-soaked strands out of his eyes. He looked at his hand like it wasn't his. It was shaking. This was wrong. This was all terribly wrong. He loathed her. On Triskelion she had used the pain-giving collar about his neck to force him to train and fight in deadly duels and when he had spurned her advances she had used it out of anger to try to force him to return her lustful overtures. She had repulsed and terrified him. He hadn't been sorry when he had overcome his repugnance and eventually used her kisses against her, to take the opportunity to overpower her, to tie her up with his training harness while the captain released him from his cage to join him and Uhura. He watched the smooth sheets slide off the bed and onto the floor, as if draining away like his own will. He had to go to her. He stepped over the sheets, the ache in his skull propelling him forwards to pick up his uniform trousers and swiftly don them. He walked over to a cupboard in the corner and opened it, pulling out a blue and white cotton telnyashka which he had brought with him from home. He pulled it over his head and shrugged into it quickly before heading out into the corridor, oblivious to the strangeness of his attire or the cold floor of the deck on his bare feet. He padded silently towards a turbolift. He didn't care what he looked like – the pain in his head was directing his mind into a single determined urge. The deck was empty. It was the middle of the night and only the skeleton night shift would be about. Nothing would stop him. He paused to wait for the turbolift. A wave of nausea swept over him. He put his arm out against the wall to steady himself. He needed to hold on. It wasn't far. The door slid open and he fell into the small cabin, his knees buckling, grasping at a handle.

"Deck 9," he whispered hoarsely.

The lift sped upwards and sideways at his command, humming soothingly as it went. He leant against the wall, swallowing hard against another cold sweat of sickness .What is wrong with you? came a small horrified voice of reason. Stop this. Go back. He thought back to his flight from the cell the day before. Such a coincidence that Tamoon had been there. The guards were all missing. And she'd know how to find the Captain and Uhura at the caves. The lift door opened and he willingly stepped out into the guest quarters corridor. He hurried off down to the left, half way along and stopped. Room 5. He held up his hand, hesitating to touch the call chime on the wall with the little resistance he could muster. But again the pain in his skull forced the palm of his hand to slap it forcefully, leaving it rooted to the button to sound over and over again. Please answer.

The sudden suck of air as the door flew open drew a gasp from his mouth. Tamoon stood in the doorway. He took in her small muscular figure and the silken orange dress which hung from her shoulders. He felt his mind being torn in two. One last small part of him was desperate to turn and run but the other, more forceful part was relieved at finally being in her presence. Only she had what he needed, he finally realised, and only she could cure the ache in his skull.

She smiled up at him with her thick lips, one hand on the edge of the door, the other twirling a finger through her thick silver hair.

"I've been expecting you," she said in her deep husky voice. "I'm surprised it took you so long."

Chekov stared back at her, a shudder running down his spine and at the sound of her voice. "I… I don't know why I've come," he stammered. "I just knew I had to. Please," he heard his begging tone at an appalled distance. "Let me in."

She smiled with a hint of triumph and pushed herself away from the door. "By all means," she purred.

He followed her inside, fighting against the last tiny scrap of advice that his rational mind was able to give. The room was dully lit save for one small light next to the bed. The door swooshed shut behind him with a firmness that seemed to seal his fate. A faint smell of burnt incense hung in the air. Another wave of nausea overcame him. He sank back against the door and let his head fall back, his chest heaving. Still he had to follow her every move as she glided across the room to sit down on the bed. She fell back into a pile of shiny multi-coloured cushions, pulling her legs up underneath her and smoothing out her orange robes. She patted the mattress next to her. "Come here, you poor boy. You look as white as a sheet."

Chekov found himself obeying without question. He walked over in a semi trance and sat down next to her, unable to take his eyes off the green orbs of her eyes that seemed to glow in the dull lighting.

"What do you want from me?" he asked desperately.

She looked at him in mock amusement, leaning forward, putting a hand on his chest. "But you came to me, remember?"

He instinctively flinched away from her and stood up clutching his right arm. "You're just playing with me."

She gave a guttural laugh. "Yes. I suppose I am," she replied unapologetically. "But you make it so much fun". She pulled him back down onto the bed and clasped his right wrist firmly, turning his forearm upwards. She pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to the elbow. He tried to pull his arm away but her powerful hand held him tight, She began to draw nonchalant circles with her stubby index finger. "You're quite an intrigue, aren't you Pasha? Pasha – I may call you that can't I? That's what I hear your friends call you. Such an exotic name. You choose to be an ensign on a starship and yet you come from such an illustrious family."

"What do you know about my family?" he asked weakly. He felt stifled, unable to breathe.

"I've been reading your files on the computer. They're very easy to access. You father is in Earth's government and your mother teaches mathematics at St Petersburg University. You're rich, talented, well bred… I read about your famous ancestors. So much to live up to. And you're so, so clever. But what you don't realise," She grasped a handful of his hair at the back of his head and forced him to look down. He stared down at his arm in silence, hardly hearing he words through the increasing haze of pain and nausea. "What you don't realise is that in your arm here," she pressed her thumb on a spot just below the crook of his arm with her other hand, "is a small device which delivers precise electrical signals up to your brain. Those signals travel to the base of your brain," She pulled his head roughly towards her. Again he tried to pull away but she clamped her hand firmly around the back of his neck, bringing him forwards so that their foreheads touched. "There they manipulate the hormones and chemicals in your brain so that you will do whatever I tell you, whenever I want you to. For instance: kiss me." He recoiled inwardly as he helplessly closed his eyes and raised his head to kiss her on her orange lips, unable to resist the demand. She dragged out the touch before letting him go. He felt repulsed, disgusted at himself. "Just a small demonstration," she laughed. "Your mind is easily manipulated. You've spent too long obeying orders – all that military schooling, the Academy, Starfleet… The only downside is," She pushed him away from her and slipped off the bed, "the effects wear off after a while because there is a missing ingredient." She walked over to a small metal chest on a side table and opened the electronic lock of the lid. She pulled out a small conical bottle containing an apple green viscous liquid. Something in Chekov's subconscious snapped open in recognition and need. He didn't know why he recognised it but he just knew that he had seen it before and that no good would come of it. Tamoon turned round and held it up, admiring the thick bubbles in the glint of the light. "This is what controls you." she said harshly. "It's highly addictive and it will keep bringing you back to me for as long as I need you." She saw the recognition and fixation on his face. "You know you've seen it before, don't you? And you know you need it."

Chekov felt as if the room were spinning. "How… how did you do this to me? You've done it before, but I don't remember…" His voice trailed off. Forming coherent sentences was starting to become difficult. The pain in the back of his head was becoming unbearable. Tamoon reached back into the chest and pulled out a silver tube. She pulled off the end cap and decanted a small amount of the liquid into it. "What is that?" he asked, dread starting to churn his stomach. He felt like he was watching an already familiar ritual.

Tamoon put the vial of liquid back into the chest. "The same questions every time," she laughed bitterly. "You're an endlessly inquisitive young man, aren't you?" She walked over to the bed and stood over him. He was rooted to the spot and transfixed by the silver tube. "This should all have been completed a long time ago. The first time you came to us on Triskelion we took you and questioned you. You wouldn't tell us what we needed to know so I had to enter your mind. I found what I was looking for. But I needed to give you something to make you forget. I couldn't take you over completely, like I did with Tamoon. You've proved yourself to be a firebrand and I don't need you rebelling against me, upsetting my plans. But your irritating captain put a stop to them. When he bargained with my brothers and freed the thralls, I faced a war. I had to let you go. But in a stroke of luck that only Chance could throw at me, you came back. And now I need you to carry through my plans to their conclusion without realising. So to answer your question, this is a hypospray that I use to deliver the drug into the base of your skull. Or you could just call it a stroke of genius."

"My head…" he said with awful realisation at where the pain had sprung from.

"Yes, that is a disadvantage for you. Still, it concentrates the mind."

He wanted to get up and run from the room and as far away from Tamoon as possible. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to leave but his mind wouldn't let him move a muscle. "You're poisoning me," he said with breathless horror." Who are you? Stay away from me."

She bent down and put her mouth next to his ear. "Ssssh now, Pasha. You don't remember that I've already answered your questions. You don't need to know. You just need to do everything I tell you and forget tonight when you go. Do you understand?"

He turned his head to look at her like an automaton. "Yes," he whispered. She seemed very far away but all he could feel was that he should obey her. Her face seemed to fill the whole room. There was nothing else – no Enterprise, no universe. He just needed her and the liquid.

"Give it to me," he pleaded in a small voice.

With a speed learnt from years as a thrall, Tamoon pushed his head forwards and stabbed the hypospray into the short cut hair at the nape of his neck. He cried out in pain as the liquid spread out around the back of his neck and into his veins and arteries like a wildfire. It crept up the back of his head, spreading out and stabbing behind his eyes. Then, like the waves crashing on a shore, a sharp, tingling feeling of euphoria swept through him from top to bottom. He gave a gasp, clutching at his chest as the ecstatic rush of adrenaline sent his heart racing. He fell backwards onto the bed, the blood rushing in his ears, the room spinning, every object within it etched with a sparking trace of silver. Tamoon's face loomed into view above him. He felt his face flush at the sight of her greenish yellow face that now looked more like a soft beautiful flower. He let the sensation wash over him, revelling in the relief it brought him, breathing in the intoxicating thick smell of incense. He knew that everything Tamoon was going to say would be right and that it had to be done, that only she was perfect and that everything she asked of him would be perfect too.

"Is that better?" she asked soothingly, stroking his cheek.

He let his head fall into the palm of her hand, breathing in her smell that reminded him of summer meadows. He felt light, as if he were floating. "Speak to me. Tell me what you want," he breathed. "I'll do anything for you."

"Good…Now here's what I want you to do and after that… Tamoon has something she's wanted you to do for her for a long time…and now that I have a body again, I'm going to enjoy the experience with her…"