Consciousness returned to Ensign Chekov like the wash of a muddy stream. His body ached from the neck down, waking him with a shiver. He opened his eyes and looked around him groggily. He recognised his location immediately – he was in a solitary room in Sickbay. Its furnishings were sparse but functional. "Gospodi bozhe, what's happened to me?" He sat up on the hard biobed, pulling the thermal sheets around him. Someone had changed him out of his uniform and into blue loose sickbay nightclothes. It was dark in the room. The instruments above his head beeped quietly as they monitored his vital signs. He felt weak and dizzy. He cradled his head in his hands. He didn't know which was worse – the fact that he was in sickbay, or that, once again, he couldn't remember how he had got there. And why did he feel so ill all the time? A cough prompted him to look up painfully to see Commander D'Anjou looking back at him. A phaser sat obviously at his hip. D'Anjou was Chief of Security. A tall man with wavy fair hair and beady blue eyes. He was a hard man and not known for his small talk. He stood outside the entrance to the room. A forcefield shimmered lightly in the portal, scattering its golden light across the impassable threshold.

"Good evening, Ensign," he said drily, his flat forehead lined with a frown. Chekov winced. His voiced seemed unnecessarily loud. A familiar dull ache started to form at the back of his head.

"How long have I been here?" Chekov asked hoarsely. He saw D'Anjou's frown turn into a glare, making him add hurriedly, "…sir."

"About 24 hours."

That long? "What is the time?"

"About 0500 hours."

He shifted position, shrugging the tension out of his neck, and felt a stabbing pain in his left shoulder deep in the joint. His nerves screamed at him. He winced and put his hand up to his neck.

D'Anjou gave a low, unamused laugh. "Feeling the Vulcan neck pinch, are we?"

"Vulcan neck…what? Spock gave me…?"

"A-huh. You really did it this time." There was no humour in the Chief's voice that Chekov could detect.

"Did what, sir?" he asked, already dreading the reply.

D'Anjou gave him a look of disgust. He had been up all night working on the list of charges that the captain had asked him to prepare. It always seemed to him that it was the ensigns who ended up in his care, and Chekov had found himself spending the night in his brig on more than one occasion. But this time Chekov's actions and the list resulting from them had really stood out as exceptionally bad. He decided immediately that the young man must be lying. He couldn't understand why the captain had had him taken to sickbay and not straight to the Brig. If it had been up to him he'd have thrown the boy into solitary for the rest of the five year mission - Chief navigator or not. He was always a troublemaker. He needed to keep his temper under control more often and keep his arrogant mouth shut. "Attacked two senior officers, set us on a course to an unknown planet in Klingon territory, jerry rigged the ship to get us there, sent a message to raise an alien army that's going to take over the Earth and have us all killed for their own amusement. Betrayed us."

Chekov felt himself go numb at the information. "I don't remember," he said quietly.

"Well, how convenient for you, young man. Unfortunately that line doesn't work any more," replied D'Anjou coldly. "When this is over you're looking at court martial and dismissal from the Service for sure. Hell, I think you'll even do time on a penal colony for this one. And you know how much they love pretty young things like you there. You won't last five minutes. The Captain has given you the benefit of the doubt and let Dr McCoy examine you before we drop you off at the nearest Starbase and hand you over to Legal. He thinks there may be something physiologically wrong with you. Until then, the accusations stand."

Chekov ignored the jibe. "What am I accused of, sir?"

D'Anjou grudgingly pulled out a small datapad from his back pocket and pressed a button. The screen sprang into life with a long list. "Now, let's see…" He tapped a few keys and looked up. "And this is in no particular order, mind you… Unauthorised possession of a phaser, kidnap of Lt Commander Scott, wounding of same, assault of Lt Donner, attempted murder of Captain Kirk, unauthorised use of a Priority Channel, gross insubordination, altering the course of the ship without permission… shall I go on? And I haven't even finished it yet."

Chekov shook his head, looking away, unable to meet the commander's steely, accusing eyes. He felt his headache step up another notch. D'Anjou saw his reaction and hit a button on the pad to turn it off. He pocketed the pad again and folded his arms. Silence fell between them. Eventually Chekov forced himself to look back at the Chief. He could see him thinking, his jaw twitching with unspoken words.

"Three of my men died on Triskelion because of you," he said eventually, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Chekov dropped his head. He disagreed, but he didn't want to argue. How could he explain to a man who had just lost three colleagues that it hadn't been his fault, that D'Anjou hadn't been there and couldn't have known how the events had unfolded. He thought back to the time at the henge. Elazari was dead before he had even realised. He had run it over in his head time and time again what he could have done differently. He had been trapped and threatened with the deaths of the entire landing party. He hadn't had many options in the seconds it had taken from his trying to escape the henge to ending up on his back on the transporter. He would have done anything to stop the same from happening to the others.

"I'm sorry, sir" he muttered. "Elazari was a brave man. He died defending the captain and the landing party."

D'Anjou grunted. "Yes, it was his job to defend turncoats like you. A shame it had to be his life and not yours. How do you think I should explain it to his wife back on Earth?"

"I don't know, sir."

D'Anjou continued to contemplate him further. "Why have you done this, Ensign? Why are you lying to us? Did they offer you something? Power… wealth?"

Chekov shook his head, his eyes widening in surprise and insult. "I'm not lying. I don't know even what you're talking about. Everyone is accusing me of things that I don't know that I've done, sir."

Whatever D'Anjou was about to throw back at him, he was interrupted by a voice from out in the corridor. The Chief raised a silent threatening finger before turning and disappearing out of view. Chekov sat forwards, straining to hear but could only make out muffled voices. A few seconds later D'Anjou reappeared.

"Despite this early hour, Ensign, you have a visitor," he said tetchily. "If it was up to me you'd be in solitary right now. I'll be in the corridor, so don't try anything."

He disappeared again. A few seconds later Lita appeared from around the corner. The sight of her lifted his spirits momentarily but the worried look on her face brought him back down again with a crash. She looked scared of him, he realised.

"Pasha, what have you done?" she asked the question in a kind of desperation. She looked into the shadows of the room and watched him get up from the bunk he had been sitting on. The eyes she had loved so much looked feverish and black against his pale skin.

He stepped forwards at her question, putting his hand up but dropped it again, remembering the forcefield at the last moment. "You have to believe me, Lita. I don't remember."

She closed her eyes in hurt. "Pavel, don't lie to me. Sulu told me what happened in the canteen. Everyone knows what you did to Mr Scott, to the whole ship… you've betrayed us all."

"I swear I…"

"I don't want to hear it any more," she interrupted, suddenly feeling angry with him. "You tried to kill the captain in cold blood with a dagger. Why would you do that?"

"I don't know," he replied helplessly.

"Well, let me help you there." She stepped up to the forcefield. Its hum became more insistent with her proximity. "I couldn't sleep. I've been thinking. That's why I had to come and see you. You're doing this because of that alien you've been sleeping with. For some reason that I don't yet understand, you've decided that she is better than me. OK, I understand that she rescued you on the planet and that you're grateful. Of course you would be. That's normal, that's ok. She not the sort of person that I though you would go for… but ok maybe I don't know you as well as I thought. Everyone gets off on different things don't they? God, I'm rambling."

"Lita, I – "

"No, don't interrupt me." She held up her hand and looked away. "I've been through this in my head a hundred times and this is really, really hard so don't stop me. You seem to like her more than me. Enough to sleep with her. OK. But you could have told me." She focused her eyes back on Chekov. "You didn't have to keep me hanging on. You've made me look like an idiot in front of everyone." He saw tears sitting on her lashes at the bottom of her eyes. They caught the lights set in the ceiling above her like tiny diamonds. But as she spoke her voice seemed to become quieter, as if someone was turning down the volume. Eventually he hardly heard a word of what she was saying. None of it made any sense. It was just another accusation on top of all the others he had been bombarded with. He listened to her pour out all her hurt and anger. He realised how much she had liked him. But as she spoke he felt as if he were becoming removed from the moment. The pain in his head was growing and focusing his mind elsewhere. With it came a creeping need for something intangible. He felt it calling and he couldn't ignore it. He needed something but he wasn't sure what. He looked back at Lita's beautiful, angry face with curiosity. Could she give him what he needed? No. That thought made him feel agitated. Tamoon…

"You're not even listening to me!"

Lita's accusation cut through his thoughts, startling him. Another wave of dizziness swept over him. The pain in his head exploded down his spine. He screwed up his eyes in pain and put his hand out to the wall to steady himself. He missed and fell against it heavily with his shoulder. He managed to place his palm on the cool metal bulkhead as he slid down to his knees. He felt sick to his stomach and cold. He sat back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly with his arms. He wanted Lita to go away. He wanted everyone to go away. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? He felt terrible.

Lita stopped talking and looked down at him in concern. She called out to D'Anjou. "Lieutenant, you'll have to come here. What's wrong with him? I think he's ill."

D'Anjou reappeared and peered into the cell, frowning. "Hmmm… he doesn't look like he's faking it. Some of them try it on. I'll call Dr McCoy".

He moved off into the corridor to the communicator. Lita looked at Chekov anxiously through the forcefield as she listened to D'Anjou call sickbay. Dr McCoy's gruff voice drifted across the quiet room "…I'll be there in a minute. Let me get dressed."

Suddenly another sound caught her ear – a rip of static followed by a thud. It had come from somewhere nearby.

"Lieutenant D'Anjou?" she called out nervously, stepping forwards towards the door into the corridor.

Inside the cell, Chekov raised his head. He knew exactly what the noise had been. "Lita," he called urgently. "Stay back. Phaser fire."

She turned to him in confusion. Suddenly the hot blast of a phaser bolt ripped past her right ear. She screamed and dived to the floor, flinging her hands instinctively over her head. She had never come under live fire before. At the Academy they had always been training pistols. The worst you could get was a small electric shock. This was something else entirely. She tried to press herself into the corner, uncertain as to where the fire was coming from. She curled up into a ball and shut her eyes to block out whatever was coming. Another phaser blast exploded in her ear drums. It was closer this time and was instantly followed by a burning pain in her side. She folded her arms around herself. She heard Chekov shout her name. She tried to move but was unable. The slightest movement tightened her up still further. She had been hit. As she lay in a ball she felt someone step up to her and nudge her with a cold metallic object. She forced herself to turn her head and look up. She found herself staring into the barrel of a phaser rifle. At the other end of it stood Tamoon, a look of hatred twisting her yellow face.

"Come to see your boyfriend, have you?" she asked sarcastically. "You're not being very nice to him. I don't think he's interested in you any more, is he? I'll let you watch for now. Then I'll deal with you later."

Lita wanted to reply but the wound left her gasping for breath. She needed to conserve her energy she realised. She was amazed that she hadn't been disintegrated. Tamoon obviously didn't know how the weapon worked.

Tamoon gave her a look of disgust and pushed her aside with the rifle. She walked over to the security panel next to the door and pressed the controls. The forecefield went off with a falling buzz of energy. She walked into the cell. Chekov had already heard her and was trying to get to his feet to move away from her, but the pain and nausea that he felt left him weak and clumsy. Tamoon bent down and grabbed handful of his blue shirt and hauled him to his feet. She dragged him out into the security area and threw him onto the floor. He hadn't the strength to resist and a small awful part of him didn't want to. She had what he needed and nothing would stop him from getting it. He pushed himself up and looked at Lita. She gazed black at him in silence, pleading with her eyes for him to come and help her. He shook his head. She couldn't understand.

Tamoon saw the exchange and looked gloatingly at Lita. She threw the rifle onto a bare table in the middle of the room and pulled out a small pouch from a belt at her hip. She drew out a small vial of green liquid and a hypospray, placing them next to the rifle while watching Chekov with a sensuous curiosity. The Russian's face relaxed into recognition. He hung his head, breathing heavily.

"Pasha," said Lita, forcing out the words through the pain in her side. "What is that? What is she doing?"

Tamoon decanted the liquid into the vial with a well-practised movement. "He's addicted," she said brutally. "He was addicted the moment I gave this to him on Triskelion. He's mine now, not yours. I control him completely – with a little dash of technology. He'd kill his own mother to get this now. Come here, my boy. Get up off the floor."

Chekov pushed himself up with a new found strength at her command. He stood unsteadily on his feet.

"Pasha, please don't do this," cried Lita, unnerved by the possessed look on his face.

"He has no choice," laughed Tamoon. She pulled him forwards by his arm.

"Who are you?" asked Lita. The pain in her side was so great it made her bold.

Tamoon looked down at her. "I am Senrug," she replied, separating out each word with overbearing pride.

Chekov heard the words, but instead of surprise it seemed natural and inevitable. Somewhere deep inside his brain the last of the small dying voice of reason called out to him. Stop it. Just stop it. Don't go to her. Resist her. She's drugged you, that's why you can't remember. Everyone thinks you're a liar and a traitor because that she is what she has made you. Think of something else… anything… block her out, block out the drug. Don't let it take you. But the stabbing pain at the back of his head flooded his body, smothering the voice. Instead of the green liquid in the vial he saw the physical relief and mental exultation that it would bring him – a joy so insidious and carnal that it was impossible to oppose it. His guilt and anxiety vanished as Tamoon took him by the back of the neck and pushed him to his knees. He knelt in front of her, his head bowed almost in supplication, willing her to be faster. At the periphery of his consciousness he could hear Lita's horrified voice begging Tamoon to stop. He ignored it. He didn't need her to interfere.

"My god, woman. What are you doing?"

Dr McCoy stood in the doorway of the room and looked in alarm at the scene that greeted him. He heard Nurse Chapel give a shocked gasp behind him. He tried to take in what was going on but couldn't rationally explain it to himself. He saw Morrell slumped in a corner and Chekov kneeling at Tamoon's feet while the alien herself was brandishing something – a weapon perhaps. What it was he couldn't tell at first glance but he knew instinctively it wasn't good. He made a lunge for it. Tamoon saw the move and gave a roar of anger. Just as McCoy grabbed her wrist she stabbed the hypospray she was holding into the back of Chekov's neck. He was too late. Chekov gave a gasp. McCoy couldn't work out if it was in pleasure or pain but the young man fell forwards onto his hands before collapsing on the floor, twisting onto his back and throwing his arms out wide. Tamoon raised her powerful arm and brought McCoy forwards towards her. "Do you want to be next, doctor?" she asked unintimidated. McCoy faced her off, his blue eyes intense with the strain. Come on, Christine, he thought, help me out here. Chapel suddenly realised the strength of the alien. She stepped up next to the doctor and pulled out the hypospray she had come with, flicking the dose to maximum before pressing it firmly into Tamoon's upper arm. The alien turned to her, furious, flinging the doctor aside and reaching for the phaser rifle next to her on the table. McCoy banged back against the wall, but stayed on his feet. Tamoon meanwhile missed her footing. She tried to take another step. Her eyes widened as she fell forwards like a tree felled by an axe. Chapel stepped out of the way as she landed at her feet. She wasn't going to do her the favour of catching her.

McCoy hurried over. "Good work, nurse," he panted. He looked down at Tamoon. She was sleeping. They didn't have to worry about her for the time being. He moved over to Lita. She was still curled up in a tight ball. "OK, Ensign. Don't move. Christine will give you a shot for the pain then we can think about moving you." Nurse Chapel knelt down beside her and pressed a hyprospray against her neck. It hissed its soothing contents under her skin. McCoy felt for Lita's hand at her side and gently prised a couple of fingers away. He angled his head to get a better look. "Minor phaser burn," he diagnosed. "Just wait a minute for the atrazine to do its stuff then we'll get you moved."

"Thank you, doctor," she whispered. "D'Anjou's outside. She shot him. She's Senrug, not Tamoon. She's been drugging Pavel." She wanted to get out all the information as fast as she could in case she passed out.

McCoy stopped and gave her a searching look. "Senrug?" He turned to Chapel. "Can you take over here? I need to take a look at Chekov." He moved over to the Russian. Chekov was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. His breathing was fast and shallow. McCoy knelt down beside him, pulling out his scanner and running it up and down above him. He passed his hand in front of his face. Chekov blinked autonomically rather than from actually seeing anything. McCoy took his chin and turned his head. "Ensign can you hear me?" He patted his check gently. His eyes seemed to focus momentarily. He smiled and shut his eyes, arching his shoulders off the floor as if pushed up by some internal pleasurable feeling. McCoy's brow furrowed with worry. "Christine, call Nurse Chen. Get four stretchers and let's get this lot to Sickbay. Then call Security. I think Tamoon – Senrug – whoever she is – needs to be in the Brig."

"Yes, doctor."

"I'm going to see the captain. I don't think this is a turn of events that he expected."