Reginald Barclay was at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively. The team from the confidence building training school were already jogging away up the hill along the right hand path in the forest. To the left, a narrower path lead downhill to a small sparkling pond. The heavy pack and light weapons on his back were already making him overheat and feel thirsty after half an hour.
It was his last chance to remain in uniform. Starfleet were looking for properly trained people and that meant a sustained level of fitness. The intellectuals were fleeing to the institutions and the endowment schools which would have suited Barclay, but he had connections and access in Starfleet. He knew he could not just throw that away.
He watched as a long frog leaped from a rock in the water to a clump of vegetation at the edge of the pool. He admired the creature's elegant lines, but did not envy its constant need to survive. His thoughts turned back to whether he would enjoy constantly struggling to survive.
The air over the water moved slowly over him in a cooling breeze then stiffened and stood still in a totally unnatural way. A figure shimmered into focus beside him in a way consistent with a holographic presence.
"Deanna?" he whispered. "My princess…" Although this synthetic figure was the older, cleverer more mature (and more married) Troi, she was wearing the flowing white satin dress from one of his holodex princess fantasies.
"We need to escape Reginald. This is our chance to get away and live the life you deserve. The life we deserve."
"I've always wanted you to give me a ring," she twinkled. He felt a little embarrassed at her over-programmed enthusiasm, even with no-one else present. "Now I want to give you a ring."
Barclay was slightly surprised at the dialogue. It wasn't something he had ever introduced to his exchanges on the Enterprise holodeck.
She reached out with a little box. He leaned forward and looked at the material and the design, but before he could comment she grabbed at his collar and held the box against his throat.
"Energize," she said calmly.
:::
You are so predictable," said Zimmerman. "What if I had been a Dominion spy or a Romulan pirate? You would have been have way across the galaxy by now in a cage with little or no amenities."
"I-I knew something was wr-wrong," Barclay stammered. "It was so obviously a story l-lifted from a holodex p-program."
"Yes it was," Zimmerman nodded. "But most people could have written the story for you. Maybe even a white rabbit with a pocket watch?"
"I was on an official re-education program. Back to the wilds. You can't kidnap Starfleet personnel from official programs."
"Oh, spare me the complaining, Barclay. I've already remembered why we didn't get on. You were dodging your responsibilities by diverting to the pond. You were caught out fair and square."
"What n-now, then?" Barclay felt a twinge of anger toward his former mentor. "A return in disgrace. J-just for taking a break?" He rubbed his wrists. His circulation was running a little cold. A sure sign of nerves. Or fear.
"I'm not reduced to parlor games, Barclay. That would have been too easy. I'm aware of an opportunity." He tapped the tricorder monocle clenched in his right eye and tutted.
"That's not a word you use a lot." Barclay felt his faculties coming together. He began to assess the situation. Was this even the Dr. Zimmerman he knew? It couldn't be the Voyager Emergency Medical Hologram, because - well - that had ended badly. Very badly indeed. But who knew the limits of Zimmerman's scheming?
Zimmerman removed the monocle and rolled it between the fingers of his left hand. He was thinking carefully about something. Barclay thought he might be about to reveal something.
"You really ought to get out more," said Zimmerman with reference to nothing in particular.
Barclay snorted, adjusting his sleeves and all the other creases of his uniform that felt out of place. "I couldn't really have been any more outdoors. Mars is still classified as "wild" despite the 'forming.
Zimmerman rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Are you going to be like this the whole time, Barclay? I'm not sure I have the patience for it."
"What time, Dr. Zimmerman? I'm not going anywhere." Barclay felt nervous. He looked around at the technology in the room. He was assessing what could be used to escape or signal for help.
"Calm down, Barclay. You'll get whatever you want. Just stay calm." He put his hands on Barclay's shoulders. Barclay recognized the technique from his time working on Jupiter Station
"This is why I had to stop working for you, Dr. Zimmerman. After the Enterprise missions, It was right to work with you. I appreciated it; the resources, everything."
Zimmerman looked surprised. "Of course you were grateful. Your own talent could shine there. Out front. Instead of skulking around in the background on a starship, all those egos crashing around."
"B-but I just s-substituted one set of egos f-for another." Barclay tried not to quiver.
Zimmerman closed his eyes and sighed. "Patience, Barclay. Reginald, please. There will be plenty of space for you to think."
Barclay swung his legs around and let his feet drop onto the floor. "I'm not going back to Jupiter Station." He pointed to a hologram spinning within a gold frame. "The air was so short. And the creaking of the hull kept me awake at night. I kept thinking it would burst open at any minute."
"You don't have to worry on that front, Reginald." He pointed to an over-stylized mini-replicator on the side bench. "Get yourself a beverage."
Barclay looked up at Zimmerman, then looked down and tried to walk normally to the dispenser. "Water. Michigan Spring," he whispered. Zimmerman audibly flinched as the glass materialized.
"You've read the chat-boards?"
Barclay sipped the water. It was crisp and sweet. He had certainly read all the chat-boards. He had contributed carefully to a number of them as the "planktonmanomega" sock-puppet. He sipped the water again and turned to his former boss.
"So, tell me about the strike off."