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The trance inducing hum of the turbolift vibrated through Commander Voleron's jawbone and into his body, as he stared expressionless at the backs of the crew members standing in front of him, slipping slowly deeper into psychosis with every passing second.  Nearly two minutes had lapsed since the occupants of the cabin had entered, seeking passage from bow to stern of the Nebula class vessel on deep space assignment, but the passage of time was lost on the catatonic first officer.  The horizontal transit of the car came to a gentle cessation, with the familiar swish of the opening doors indicating the deposit of a Lieutenant and two Ensigns on deck 12.  After a brief moment, the doors slid closed and the turbolift lurched itself forward once again toward its final destination, leaving only Captain Bastian and Voleron as the lone commuters. 

As a few moments of silence passed, Captain Bastian caught a glimpse of his ordinarily jovial first officer in the periphery of his vision, and for the first time noticed Voleron's apparent deprivation of senses and sadistic expression.  Immediately alarmed, the Captain apprehensively reached out, cautiously placing his hand timidly on his companion's shoulder... "you okay?" the Captain meekly whispered.  The tactile contact awoke a feral force within Voleron who grabbed Bastian by the uniform collar, slamming him against the turbolift wall with all the vehemence he could muster, simultaneously unholstering his phaser with opposite hand and jamming it menacingly into his Captain's chest.  Faces not inches apart, Voleron's sweaty face, labored breaths and rage-filled expression, squared off against the Captain's look of astonishment and dismay.  The same two words reverberated now in Voleron's mind, imploring him to act... but what were those words?  How was he to act?  His head twitched manically; if only he could remember.  He tried to recall... tried to form the sounds by focusing the totality of his concentration on their enunciation, which crescendoed in his mind with every subsequent echo, driving him to near madness.  Two words... four syllables... calling to him over and over.  Why could he not remember?

Voleron awoke panicked, finding himself disrobed and restrained by his hands, neck and ankles on some sort of metal examining table in a cold, dimly lit cave environment, his last memory being that of walking the dimly lit corridors of Deep
Space 9 on the way to upper docking pylon two, where the USS Tycho was waiting for him to take his post as the Captain's number one.   Trying desperately to orient himself amidst the confusion brought about by his sudden and unexpected change of environment, Voleron attempted to scan the shadowy chamber, but his vision was overcome by a bright operating room style illumination being shone directly into his eyes.  A shadowy figure whose features, save that of a ritualistic earring, were obscured by the blinding light emerged. 

"As long as you exist, so does the rebellion", spoke the voice from the luminosity.

"What do you want from me?" quivered Voleron, his lower lip tremoring.

"To reach what lays below your polished, Starfleet veneer" said the man.  "I've been following your career with great reverence.  You'll be a tremendous asset in our righteous quest.  One day... one day soon it will all become clear.  You're a soldier in this holy war.  No more questions - accept what has happened"

A crude cortical conditioner was placed on Voleron's forehead, sending bio-electric shocks through his nervous system, leaving his naked body convulsing on the table.  "Follow your instructions", whispered the voice in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.

The words began to become clear in Voleron's mind, as he incrementally set his phaser to maximum; enough to incinerate his Captain on the floor on which he stood.

"Pagh'tem'far, b'tanay!" demanded the words.  "This is a holy time.  Follow your instructions!  Pagh'tem'far, b'tanay!"

But the conditioning couldn't usurp the strength of bond that had developed between Captain and First Officer the past two years.  The kind of bond developed through enigmatic rendevous after their duty shifts, unrevealed to Starfleet or the crew, and jeopardizing their careers for their passion.  Unable to succeed to his pre-programed commands, Voleron turned his phaser slowly inward, hand shaking and crying in hysteria, unwilling to murder his lover.  Gazing into Bastian's intensely blue eyes, Voleron fired the phaser, the searing incandescence being re-directed at the last moment to the turbolift wall, causing the emergency bulkheads to engage and the conveyance to abruptly halt.  Voleron collapsed in a sudden loss of consciousness, his essence falling into his Captain's trembling arms.  Bastian held him, cradling his head next to his chest, free finally of the Maquis extremist's hold.  Bastian, exhausted from the intensity of the moment and with his first officer's spy conditioning now failed and exposed, collapsed onto the floor with lover in arm, smashed his com badge with his free hand, calling out to his medical staff: "Sickbay, medical emergency in turbolift B!".  He didn't care who knew now.  This was more important than his Captaincy, duty and valor.