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As he spoke, the ambassador firmly gripped one of the symbolic polished stones on his jacket. The large stone unscrewed as if it were the top of a jar and came off in Spock’s hand. He turned it bottom up. In the center of what had looked perfectly well like a real stone was instead a molded chamber, and in that chamber was a black mechanical nugget which Spock plucked out and examined.

Overwhelmed, Stiles stared at the black nugget and recognized it, the little green “charged” light glowing against his skin. “You’ve got a utility phaser!”

Surveying the little palm-sized weapon with satisfaction, Spock said, “Like the comm link, it needed time to charge. Enough time for us to beam down and clear all the security scans. If we had allowed ourselves to be captured with the link and weapon charged, the Pojjana guards would’ve detected the active energy. Also, I supposed the shield might neutralize them if they were precharged “

“So you’re saying you knew they probably wouldn’t deal with us. And you knew that ahead of time.”

Spock eyed him cannily. “Of course, Mr. Stiles. One hopes for the best, but prepares for the worst”

At the sounds of those casual words, put across so matter-of-factly by one of the last living pioneers of space exploration, shock descended upon Eric Stiles as if he were under a collapsing bridge. It pressed the breath from his lungs and displayed a shame within him and a smoldering anger that for much more than a decade he had suppressed. Now, today, finally, it sparked. Prepare for the worst. He leaned forward on the rusty cot, gazing downward at the empty floor. His knees before him might as well have been distant planets. What had he done all his life? Revere the best, expect the worst, and be prepared… for neither.

His skin felt tight, preformed. He drew another breath, huffed it out.

Across the cell, Spock pressed against the brick wall, moving slowly from place to place. He seemed to be listening for outside activity. Listening… trying to decide where to aim the phaser, how to break them out.

His own breath rumbled in his ears. Just outgoing, in huffs, short and hot. Dry lips.

As if in a dream he watched Spock prime the freshly charged little palm phaser. Green light, blue, yellow…

The Vulcan now stood sideways to present a narrow profile to the blast field, and extended his arm to aim at the portion of the wall he had chosen as their best bet to open an escape route without bringing the building or the Pojjana army down upon them. Orange… red. “Sir!” Stiles bolted to his feet. The ambassador hesitated and held fire. “Something?” Shadows lay across Spock’s Vulcan features, harsh limited light on the other side, a life-size paper doll of ideals Stiles had thought were bigger than life.

“I’m sorry about this,” Stiles announced. He met Spock’s gaze without flinching. “From now on I’m thinking ahead.” “What does that mean, specifically?” the Vulcan asked. “It means you don’t have permission to open fire.”

This time both of Spock’s brows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

Putting out a cold hand, Stiles noted that at least now he wasn’t trembling.

“So you’ve got a phaser. So what? Once we get out of the cell, they’ve got energy detectors, tiers of fences, guards, weapons. We’ll never get through.” “You have a suggestion for me?” Spock asked.

“No, sir” Stiles said. “I have an order for you. This is a military mission. I’m the ranking Starfleet officer here. This is probably the most boneheaded thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I don’t know if… yes, I do know. I’ve been deferring to you for half my life whether you were there or not, and it’s time for that to stop. They’re expecting us to escape but, sir, we’re not here to escape.”

Another step brought him right up to Mr. Spock, face to face, man to man.

“I’ve been acting like a kid ever since I first saw your face on a history screen. It’s time for me to start acting like the commander of this mission.” He turned his hand palm up and did not lower