Star Trek: Mariner
Episode 006:
Crime And Punishment
by Bodie A. Ashton
(uss_mariner_01@enterprise.startrek.org)

Episode 006: Crime And Punishment

PROLOGUE

The ceiling spun as he opened his eyes. He did not have a mirror handy, though he guessed as he rubbed his eyes that they were bloodshot. He didn't need a mirror, however, to notice that they were very, very sore.

That's not the only thing, he thought with a grimace of pain. His head throbbed with a merciless beat of discomfort.

There was a low but audible hum somewhere to his left, but he didn't have the courage to angle his head toward the sound, lest it be too much for his delicate condition. He certainly ran the risk of vomiting, more so because his mouth had a sickly sweet taste that reminded him of Terran gin.

"Ah", came a gruff voice, again to his left. "Welcome back, Lieutenant."

Lon Tanier screwed up his eyes. The voice only exacerbated the terrible headache.

"That depends on where I am welcome", he replied in a barely audible croak.

He couldn't see the man who had addressed him, but he could imagine a smirk on what was doubtless a human face.

" A poor choice of words, Lieutenant, for which I apologise. I would not welcome your kind into a Nausicaan execution ground."

Tanier bolted upright, outraged but considerably confused. That was a mistake, he realised as he fell from his place of rest on to a cold, hard floor. He tasted blood seeping into his mouth, making him gag.

" 'My kind'? What kind would that be?", he spluttered in between spitting the red liquid from his lips.

He looked up, and for the first time, realised what the hum was.

A force-field.

Lieutenant Lon Tanier had found himself in a holding cell.

"The worst kind in the universe", the bearded Terran behind the force-field was saying. He stopped for a second.

"Forgive my manners", he sneered sarcastically, but with disgust. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Commander Torvaign Krogstad, Chief Investigator at Starfleet Security. It is my solemn duty to place you under arrest on the charges of rape and murder."

Tanier's jaw dropped open in shock. His mind raced.

"What are you jabbering about, Krogstad?", he managed, mustering his remaining bravado. "I never raped or killed anyone."

A thought occurred to him. If he was being charged, then someone had been sexually assaulted, and someone, probably the same as before, had been slain.

"Who?"

His voice finally gave out, but Krogstad looked upon the semi-lucid Mariner crewman with disdain and repulsion.

"The operations officer from your ship", he replied. "Lieutenant Alexandra Lane."

* * * * *

It came like a hammer blow to Captain Simon Anthony of the USS Mariner. He read the report that had been compiled by Krogstad, and he shook his head in despair.

"There is no doubt?"

His voice sounded strained, hopeful. The bearded commander shook his head.

"None, Captain. Lieutenant Tanier definitely killed Lieutenant Lane."

Lieutenant Lane. The promotion had come but four days earlier. Anthony had taken great pride in adding the pip to Alex's collar and announcing, in a very official tone, that Ensign Alexandra Lane had been promoted to lieutenant, junior grade. It had been a very rewarding moment for Anthony, who had been Lane's commanding officer and close friend for several years. Now, she was dead.

Killed at the hands of another friend, if this Krogstad was to be believed.

But why shouln't he be?

Anthony couldn't remember Krogstad arriving at Deep Space Nine. He had simply appeared on Anthony's doorstep at 0500 this morning and announced—with sympathy, he had said, though his tone was anything but compassionate—that he had arrested Lon Tanier on a hitherto-unknown charge of rape and murder.

Friendship, he mused as he coughed on the sickly sweet taste in his mouth, is fatally finite.

CHAPTER ONE

"The only thing we can do right now is stabilise them. Get me five cee-cees each of inaprovaline."

Lon Tanier heard the voice of Julian Bashir, CMO of Deep Space Nine, but he could not see him for the darkness. From Bashir's diction, though, it seemed self-evident that he was in the Infirmary. He tried to move, found he couldn't. Instead, he tried to pierce the darkness. It took him several moments to realise that he could not see because his eyes were closed. With this new knowledge, he expended his entire energy reserve, succeeding only in flickering his eyes open for a second.

The light hit his eyes like a phaser bolt. He winced.

"Doctor!"

That was Doctor Tarses, Bashir's assistant, though Tanier barely knew him, only as a passing acquaintance.

"Doctor", Tarses called again. "He opened his eyes!"

Tanier attempted to muster the fortitude to make a sound, any sound, but he found that he could not open his lips.

"There's definitely some neo-cortex activity."

Bashir. Closer. Above him. There was subdued excitement evident in his voice.

"Lieutenant Tanier. Can you hear me? Can you…"

Tanier could hear no more, could see more. He felt himself fall away into nothingness.

* * * * *

When Lon Tanier bolted upright on his bunk in the DS9 holding cell, he screamed. And screamed.

* * * * *

Simon Anthony could not find sleep. It would not come to him as easily as grief. He had so much to feel—grief for the life lost, and grief for the innocence lost.

He shuffled to the replicator.

"Tea. Irish Breakfast. Triple strong, no milk."

He sipped the steaming beverage. It scalded his tongue, but despite the strong taste, he could not rid his palate of the syrupy flavour that had been plaguing him for the past day. It was, he thought, a bit like the aftertaste of honey, or a straight shot of gin.

"Gin", he murmured. "It's been a while since I've had gin."

The door chimed. Anthony turned toward the portal.

"Enter."

The door opened, revealing Krogstad with a PADD in his hand.

"Commander", Anthony muttered. He was not particularly pleased to see the investigator, who seemed to be the perennial bearer of bad tidings.

"Captain", replied Krogstad. He sounded to be in an inordinately jovial mood, one which Anthony immediately took offence to.

"What do you want, Krogstad?"

Anthony took a sip of his tea, which had cooled considerably since he had first tasted it barely a few seconds before.

Krogstad must have lowered the room temperature ten degrees, Anthony mused, then banished the humorous thought from his mind. These were grave times.

"I thought you would like to read my final report. I gave you my preliminary findings before, but this is the end result."

He handed the PADD to Anthony, who tiredly gazed at the first paragraph, before wearily flinging it onto the couch in his quarters. Krogstad raised an eyebrow.

"You disapprove, sir?"

"No", Anthony replied, not quite as convincingly as he had hoped. "I'm just bloody tired, that's all."

Another sip. This time, the tea was inexplicably tepid. Anthony made a face, and put the mug down on the table.

"I haven't been able to sleep since I found out about Alex."

Krogstad grunted.

"It has no doubt been difficult on you, Captain", he commented, though he spoke in what Anthony could only describe as an artificial monotone. Anthony's mind churned with thoughts, cluttered and disorderly. He felt an irrational rage, not against Tanier, but against the Starfleet Security investigator.

"What has been difficult, Commander?", he shot back, his tone dripping in spite. "Having a good friend killed, or finding out that her killer is another good friend?"

Krogstad ignored the anger.

"I assure you that any sympathy you feel for Lieutenant Tanier is misplaced, Captain. He is a murderer. He deserves no one's pity."

Anthony shook his head.

"Have you no shame, Krogstad? This man is—was—a trusted companion… and now I am expected to take it in my stride that he is capable of this!"

Krogstad picked up Anthony's mug of lukewarm tea. He sipped it. The audacity of the action infuriated the Mariner captain, and he balled his fists, trying to keep his temper in check.

"No, Captain", Krogstad replied at last. "I don't feel shame. That is because I shouldn't. It is not my fault that your operations officer was killed, nor that your helmsman killed her. And, yes, I do expect you to take it in your stride, or else you should not be put back on active duty when your ship is repaired."

Anthony slammed his right fist down on the table, which failed to elicit a reaction from Krogstad, who calmly finished the cold beverage.

"Get out! That's an order!"

Anthony shouted with all his strength, barely restraining himself from punching Krogstad's teeth down the back of his throat. The commander stared at him for several seconds, then slowly placed the mug back on the table.

"Very well. Good evening, Captain. Sir."

He strode out of the door.

Anthony suddenly felt extremely drained. He barely got to the couch before he collapsed in a heap and fell into a deep sleep.

* * * * *

"Hello, Lon."

Tanier had been dozing on his bed in the holding cell, but the familiar voice woke him from his drowsiness. He looked up, into the face of a man he had served with for the best part of six years.

Captain Simon Anthony.

"Captain," he exclaimed, a small smile touching his lips. Anthony, however, did not return the gesture, so Tanier returned to the stony, ashen face he had before his captain had arrived.

"Sir", he whispered, more subdued than before. "Please, sir, you must believe me. I never killed Alex."

Anthony nodded.

"I want to believe you, Lon", he replied melancholically. "Honestly, I do. But…"

He held up the PADD given him by Krogstad.

"But this is too difficult to explain away. Commander Krogstad has made a rather compelling case against you."

Tanier stood from his reclining position, mouth agape.

"You can't believe that I did it!"

Anthony leaned against the wall. Tanier noticed for the first time that Anthony's eyes were framed by dark circles.

"I don't know what to believe, Lon", he sighed. "If you've read Krogstad's report, you'd be inclined to believe him too."

Tanier looked to his captain again.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Anthony bobbed his eyebrow.

"Rank's not an issue here, Lon. You know that."

Tanier rubbed the crown of his head.

"You look like hell."

Anthony managed a tight grin.

"Look who's talking. You look as if you got run over by an hovertram."

Tanier threw his arms in the air and turned away.

"Yeah, well…I haven't been sleeping all that well. When I'm awake, I turn it over in my head, trying to remember what happened on the day and night Krogstad says Alex was murdered. When I'm asleep,

I keep having nightmares, and…"

Anthony straightened.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Why does it matter?", Tanier replied acidly. "You've already made up your mind."

He rubbed his forehead.

"I'm sorry, sir", he said after a short pause. "It's just so frustrating. I know I didn't do it, I would never kill Alex. The problem is, I don't have any proof. I can't remember what I did."

Despite the evidence against him, Tanier got a nod of encouragement from his captain.

"I'll see if I can contact Tasek", Anthony said. "If anyone can exonerate you through the evidence, he can."

"Thank you, sir", Tanier sighed, but Anthony was already leaving.

CHAPTER TWO

Decidedly un-Tasek-like.

That was the only way Anthony could describe it. He had contacted the Vulcan consulate on Earth, as well as Vulcan itself. He remembered the name of the civilian ship on which Tasek had disembarked

Deep Space Nine. On all fronts, he could get no answer. None of them knew where his tactical officer was.

This was peculiar to the Starfleet captain. Tasek never hid himself away when he was on leave. He was always on Earth or Vulcan, at lectures, meditation sessions or such like. And he always let the consulate know where he would be, just in case he was needed. But now, when Anthony needed him most…

Anthony rubbed his eyes. Sleep had been fleeting, and always disturbing. He would dream that he heard voices, voices he knew. Last night, he had finally been able to recall who one of those voices belonged to: Doctor Bashir, the CMO of Deep Space Nine. The dream last night had involved Bashir conversing with a colleague; who that colleague was, Anthony didn't know, for though he recalled once hearing the voice, it didn't trigger any memories, and Anthony had been unable to see the other man.

"Maybe we should try a treatment of cordafin", the other man had suggested. Bashir was prompt with his reply.

"I doubt it would make any difference", Bashir replied curtly. "Besides, with that…that thing on them,

I'm not sure I want the cordafin affecting it. It might…"

The dream had abruptly ended, leaving Anthony covered in glistening perspiration, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He could not sleep thereafter. Instead, he had begun his search for Tasek, a search which had lasted for seven hours and had found no success.

* * * * *

Krogstad had just exited the security office when he was hailed by Anthony, who was standing on the balcony above the Promenade. The security officer gazed at his superior, then disappeared into

Quark's. In a matter of seconds he was beside Anthony.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Is it, Commander?", Anthony replied. "I don't believe so."

Krogstad looked at him quizzically.

"I was only greeting you courteously, Captain", he said monotonously.

Anthony looked to Krogstad armed with a gaze filled with daggers. The commander did not even blink.

"I have my helmsman sitting in a holding-cell, charged with a crime he did not commit, and I can't find the investigator who would prove you wrong", he growled. "Why can't I contact Lieutenant- Commander Tasek?"

Krogstad raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think that Lon Tanier is innocent?"

"He wouldn't kill Alex."

"If you want to delude yourself, go to Quark's", Krogstad saids matter-of-factly. "I hear his holosuites are good for baseless fantasies."

Anthony grabbed his shoulder.

"One more quip like that, and I'll have you charged with insubordination."

Krogstad shook him off, and retreated back towards the bar.

"I would only get a warning", he shot back, his face contorted into a disgustingly smug grin. "Your friend Tanier is going down for good."

* * * * *

He tried to find Doctor Bashir, for him to prescribe a sedative, but the doctor was not in the Infirmary, and the computer said he was away on Bajor. Anthony found that odd, in that he didn't remember any ships leaving DS9 for the past three days. In fact, no ships had arrived, either.

Finally, with no desire to try one of Quark's holosuite programs, if only for the reason that Krogstad had suggested it, Anthony decided to visit Lon.

He entered the holding-cell area and spotted the haggard Betazoid hunched over, sitting on the bench that doubled as his bunk.

"Hey, Lon", Anthony greeted. Tanier looked up. His face was gaunt, and the colour was drained.

"Captain", he rasped. "When's Tasek coming?"

Anthony sighed.

"He's not."

He then explained his failure to locate Tasek, coupled with his belief that Krogstad was behind it.

When he finished, Tanier just nodded.

"Do you think that communications blackout applies to counsellors as well?"

"Why?"

Tanier shook his head slightly.

"They won't let me see Counsellor Dax about my nightmares, so I want to know if we can get Rebecca over here."

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt exhausted.

"I doubt Krogstad would allow it", he answered. "How about you tell me?"

Tanier seemed to debate with himself for a moment as to whether he should discuss his nightmares with Anthony. Eventually, he decided he would.

"I'm in the Infirmary", he recounted, "but I can't speak, can't move…once, I've been able to open my eyes, but only for a few seconds. Doctor Bashir and his assistant—Tarses, I think his name is—are usually talking about 'them'. I gather 'they' are Bashir's patients, and I'm one of them. In one of my dreams—the one I opened my eyes in—Bashir was giving the patients inaprovaline."

He paused, gathering his thoughts.

"The really strange thing is, I'm me in the dreams. Betazoids almost always dream in the third person; that is, we see ourselves doing something."

He stopped, and became aware of Anthony staring at him.

"Lon, do you know what cordafin is?", he asked. Tanier was surprised by the question, and he needed several seconds to think.

"Yeah…it's a stimulant. It's pretty standard in sickbays on Federation ships and stations. It's preferred to cordrazine because it's milder and doesn't have any side-effects. Why?"

Anthony rubbed the stubble growing on his chin.

"I had a dream last night, in which I was in the Infirmary. Doctor Bashir was telling his assistant that he didn't want to try cordafin on his patients, in case it affected what he called a 'thing' on them. I guess I was one of those patients, but I couldn't move, speak or see."

Tanier jumped up.

"What?"

Anthony nodded.

"We've been dreaming about the same thing", he concluded. "I couldn't possibly have dreamed about cordafin, because I had no idea what the hell it was until thirty seconds ago."

He thought for a second.

"Another thing that's strange: I haven't seen any ships arriving or leaving DS9 in the past few days, but this is the major hub of activity this side of Risa. What's more, Commander Krogstad suddenly appears on the scene, and tells me that Alex has been killed. I haven't been allowed to see the body."

"Oh God", Tanier breathed. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Anthony grinned wryly.

"You're the telepath Betazoid. You tell me."

"That's the thing", Tanier said, his eyes growing wide as saucers. "I can't read your thoughts."

At that exact moment, the door of the security office opened suddenly. Krogstad appeared. He was holding a Starfleet-issue phaser.

"I see you've worked it out, Captain. Unfortunately, I can't let that knowledge leave this room."

Anthony hurriedly punched his commbadge.

"Anthony to Colonel Kira. Security alert, holding cells."

He was not answered.

CHAPTER THREE

Doctor Julian Bashir consulted the computer charts before him. The Infirmary had been his home for the past three days. He did not want to leave, for fear of not being on call when the two bedded men woke up. Or rather, not when, but if.

"Julian."

Bashir turned towards the door of the Infirmary, in order to identify the person who had called his name. He smiled tiredly as he realised that he was so exhausted, he had not recognised her voice.

Lieutenant Ezri Dax walked across the floor towards her boyfriend of the past few years. Though she wore the red tunic of command, she had been trained as a counsellor, a role which she still filled on the station. Bashir had often remarked that it was no wonder she was such a good counsellor; her smile and the joy in her eyes could make anyone feel at ease. In that instant, he forgot his two patients and embraced his lover.

Dax glanced up at him playfully.

"What was that for?", she asked. He stroked her cheek.

"I needed to hold you again", he replied with a serious inflection in his words. "It's been too long."

She lightly punched his shoulder.

"Not very original", she commented, "and delivered with the emotions of a Vulcan."

Bashir laughed, the first time he had laughed in three days.

The sharp alarm of a biomonitor brought him back to reality with a resounding crash. He ran to the screen.

"They're both going into peridaxic shock!"

"Peridaxic shock?", Ezri questioned.

"A hyperstimulation of the perizynes in the cerebellum", Bashir explained as he rushed for a hypospray. "Peridaxon is used to stimulate the perizynes in order to combat Irumodic Syndrome, but the only occasion I've ever seen this is when a patient overdoses on peridaxon."

"You haven't given them peridaxon?"

"Of course not", he replied, shoving a small canister into the hypospray. "They don't have Irumodic

Syndrome, and that's the only time I'd administer it."

He pressed the hypo against the neck of the Betazoid, Lon Tanier. It hissed as a cocktail of irumodes and neodextraline entered his bloodstream. Within seconds, his perizyne levels had begun to stabilise, so Bashir moved on to the second patient. With a repeat of the procedure, Captain Simon Anthony was also treated.

* * * * *

With one blink, Krogstad removed the force-field keeping Tanier in the cell. This act was thoroughly unexpected, but Tanier did not waste the opportunity. He bolted at Krogstad.

The phaser blast hit Tanier in his abdomen, and he tumbled past Krogstad, landing on the floor with a dull thud. He did not move.

Anthony turned in time to see the second beam hit him. As he slipped into blackness, he heard a voice wafting through his mind.

"I think it's time to try the cordafin."

* * * * *

Anthony's eyes opened abruptly, and he looked at the ceiling for all of a second. Then, he was about to look for the treacherous Krogstad, but stopped when he realised that his entire left arm was covered in a thick yellow substance. He tried to shake it off, but he could not move his arm. Instead, he heaved his right arm across his chest, to try and peal the substance away. That movement caught Bashir's attention, and he dashed to Anthony's side in an instant.

"Don't touch that", he warned. "It's very volatile."

Anthony removed his hand. Bashir smiled.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain Anthony."

The Mariner captain raised his head and inclined it towards his covered arm. His head pulsated with a dull ache, and he screwed up his eyes.

"I'm glad you can tell I'm alive, Doctor, because I sure as hell can't."

The emergency sirens of the biobed next to Anthony began to trill loudly. Anthony could guess who was there.

"Lon?"

Bashir moved away from the captain and began to interpret the readings on the monitors.

"Damn it", he breathed. "Ezri, get me another fifteen cee-cees of neodextraline, and be bloody quick about it!"

"What's going on?", demanded Anthony.

"His blood chemistry has been severely damaged", Bashir explained. "I gave him a mix of neodextraline and irumodes, as well as cordafin, but his body is developing an allergic reaction to the irumodes. I need to counteract it with more neodextraline, or else he'll go into a septicemic coma, and I don't know if he'd ever wake up."

A hypospray landed in his hand, forced into it by Dax. Hurriedly, he pressed it hard against the

Betazoid's neck. The alarms continued to blare for a moment, then they died, and Lon Tanier opened his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?", the doctor asked.

Tanier blinked painfully.

"Get me a lawyer", he said weakly. "I want to press charges against Starfleet Security for unlawful shooting."

EPILOGUE

Simon Anthony Personal Log
Stardate 55108.2

Doctor Bashir has released both Lon and I from his care, on condition that we return for recursive treatment in a few days.

The apparent explanation for what happened to us for some three days is still being accurately pieced together; a malfunction in the sequencer in the replicator in my quarters appears to have created some type of semi-psychedelic compound. Lon and I were evidently having coffee at the time, and we were both knocked out and somehow mentally linked by the substance. It soon became some kind of physical bond, hence the yellow glob which was fastened to both of us.

It reads like bad Twentieth Century pulp science fiction, but that doesn't deny the reality of it. Krogstad was a figment of our collective imagination, and the phaser blasts which were to have killed us seems to have been our minds creatively justifying our inevitable deaths.

Bashir believes that we created the murder of Alex Lane through our imaginations, which caused me no small amount of concern, contemplating whether I would even imagine killing my ops officer.

The fact that Lon was the 'accused', however, leads me to opine that the image was created through his own conscious or subconscious. I'll leave that for him to contemplate…

On a brighter note, I am expecting a visit from Captain Felicia Mendoza of Starfleet Tactical. The 'hive-mind' capabilities of this random compound has sparked Starfleet's interest, and it has been theorised that it may offer some insight into the Borg mentality. Captain Mendoza happens to be part of the Federation occupation force on Cardassia, and as the closest Starfleet Tactical officer to DS9, she has been sent here to interview all those involved. I have worked with Captain Mendoza twice before, during the Dominion War, and I have found her to be charming and a very personable individual.

* * * * *

Captain Felicia Mendoza tapped on her PADD.

"I think that just about wraps it up, Captain", she told Anthony.

She stood from her seated position, and Anthony did the same.

"I'm only sorry that I couldn't provide you with more information", the Mariner captain apologised.

The tactical officer shook her head with a grin.

"Trust me, Captain. I got more than enough chemical, physical and biological information about the substance from Doctor Bashir and Doctor Tarses. Your insights into what it was like to be affected by this thing will give our analysts plenty to work on for several weeks."

She stopped at the door.

"I… I heard that Mariner fought alongside the Enterprise a few months ago. I was just wondering if you met Will Riker."

Anthony raised his left eyebrow.

"I once met Commander Riker during the war, but yes, I spoke extensively with him after the Bat'leth affair. Why?"

Mendoza blushed and shuffled on her feet.

"Will and I were…"—she seemed to struggle with herself whether she should continue— "…sweethearts at the Academy. I haven't spoken to him since our final year. I was just wondering if you could tell me a bit about what he's become."

Anthony shook his head.

"I can't tell you too much. Suffice to say, he's a brave and honourable man. The word on the grapevine is that he's engaged to be married, and he's going to get command of either the Atlas or the Titan.

Frankly, it'd be hard to find a better man."

Mendoza smiled.

"Thank you, Captain Anthony. Good night."

Felicia stepped out of Anthony's quarters.

"Good night, Captain Mendoza."

* * * * *

Not long thereafter, the door chimed.

"Enter", Anthony called from the couch. He was reading a PADD, a computerised copy of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. An apt choice, he thought, considering what we've been through over the past four days.

"Lon", he greeted as the Betazoid came in through the doorway.

"Captain", the helmsman nodded. Anthony noticed that Tanier's usually-jovial voice had mellowed. In fact, it was positively glacial.

"What's up, Lieutenant?"

The Betazoid sucked in a breath.

"Sir, I want to resign my commission."

Anthony started.

"Lon, I…", he began, but Tanier cut him off.

"Sir, I've had a chance to reflect over the past few days, and I've come to the conclusion that I need serious psychological counselling back on Betazed.

"I know that it must have been me who conjured up the idea of Alex's rape and murder", he continued.

"I was the culprit. The worst thing is, I have no idea why I would think up such a concept. I've wracked my brain since I came out of the induced coma, and I still can't find those thoughts. A Betazoid who cannot control his thoughts is a menace to society, and I can't put Mariner to that risk."

Anthony listened patiently. Then he spoke.

"How do you know you actually created those particular images?", he asked. "I was speaking with Doctor Bashir, and he is still at a loss to explain why a chemical compound would physically create that goo which covered our arms. He can't explain why we would be mentally linked by the substance.

He says that this type of thing is unknown to Federation science and medicine.

"My point is, if we don't know a lot about this compound, how do we know it didn't skew your thoughts, or even mine, for that matter? Just as an example, at the time we were linked, you may have subconsciously thinking about Alex, and I might have been thinking about the death of Ben Solomon.

Maybe the two merged."

He rubbed his head.

"I don't know, Lon. What I do know is, the chances are that neither of us have ever considered killing Alex in our entire lives. Also, if you do want to get counselled, Mariner's not going to be going anywhere for a few months. I'm sure we can organise a few sessions with Bec Gregory or Deanna Troi."

Lon opened his mouth.

"But, sir…"

"Request denied", snapped Anthony. "The fact is, I need you at the conn, Lieutenant."

He thought for a second. Then he clicked his commbadge.

"Anthony to Chief O'Brien."

"O'Brien here", replied the newly-reinstated chief of operations on Deep Space Nine, Miles O'Brien.

"Chief", Anthony said, "I was wondering if I could take one of your holosuite programs out for a spin."

"I think I know exactly which one you mean, Captain", the Irishman replied, and Anthony could hear the grin in his voice. "By all means, enjoy it, and tally-ho!"

"Cheers, Chief", Anthony answered. "I owe you a beer."

Tanier cocked an eyebrow. Anthony grabbed him by his arm.

"Come on", he said. "I think you'll enjoy this."

* * * * *

It had taken Lon Tanier a few minutes to get accustomed to the archaic controls. He was used to the computer consoles on the Sovereign-class starship on which he so proudly served. It was a culture shock to the Betazoid when he was introduced to the control column, analogue dials and throttle levers of the four hundred year old fighter. In less than quarter of an hour later, however, the Spitfire was winging gracefully through the clear blue sky. A hundred yards to port was Anthony's Hurricane aeroplane, also constructed from photons and force-fields, but to the two Starfleet officers, they might as well have been a pair of Royal Air Force fighter pilots from 1940.

Anthony's voice blared through the primitive radio transmitter.

"Red Two, this is Red Leader. I've got six Jerries at angels fifteen, about ten thousand yards away."

Tanier smiled.

"What's a 'Jerry'?", he asked innocently.

"You're about to find out", the Hurricane pilot and Tanier's senior officer replied over the R/T. "Let's go. Tally-ho!"