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Standing before him in what appeared to be amazement and a few other emotions Stiles couldn’t quite identity, Spock passed the next few moments without moving so much as a facial muscle.

His eyes moved first, shifting down to the phaser in his grip. He gazed at the nugget-shaped weapon for several seconds as if it were the mean center of the universe.

Then, quite accommodatingly, he placed the weapon in Stiles’ open hand. “As you wish.”

Stiles found himself in the middle of a prison cell, holding the center of the universe.

Limping back a step or two, the ambassador gave Stiles room to use the phaser. There was a particular quality to his voice as he asked, “What is your plan, Commander?”

As he checked the phaser to be sure it was set where he thought it was, Stiles felt suddenly warm ‘all over, and strong.

“Orsova thinks he’s being cute putting me back in the same cell. He’s an idiot. I spent years here. I helped rebuild this place after my first Constrictor. I know more about it than he does or any guard ever did. It’s his big mistake. I’m not a twenty-one-year-old kid anymore.” “And this is an epiphany for you?”

Stiles blinked at him. That look was back on the Vulcan’s face, that almost-smile, with the sparkle behind the eyes. Amusement? Or something else?

“Your men knew their lives were in danger,” the ambassador said, “yet you gave them confidence without deception. You marched them past the frozen moment that kills so many, and gave them a chance to fight for their ship and their lives. Against the checklist that counts more than legends, with all flaws and hesitations understood as cells of the whole… you are a captain.” Had the lights changed in here? Was it warmer?

Both peeved and flattered, Stiles shifted his weight and waved a hand at the cot. “You mean, all this time you believed in me and you let me sit there and snivel?”

“It was never enough for me to believe in you,” Spock said handily. “You had to believe-“

“Please!” Stiles laughed. “Don’t finish that! I smell a clich?”

Spock rewarded him with that hint of a smile and a very slight bow. “I stand rebuked.”

Bewildered and amazed that he was actually smiling, Stiles sighed roughly and looked down at the utility phaser in his hand. He aimed it, but not at the wall. Instead, he pointed its bluntly conical nose in a completely illogical direction.

The ambassador looked at the concrete floor. “Where are we going?” “Sir, we’re going straight down.”

And the cell lit up in a million lights, and the floor blew up, and the ceiling shredded. And Eric Stiles was in charge.

Chapter Twenty-two

BLISTERING HEAT SHOT through the cell. Pressure struck Stiles from all sides and spun him silly. The floor tilted, then disappeared under his feet and gravity dragged him down. It almost felt like a Constrictor.

He struck the griddle of hot rock with his right hipbone and scraped down fifteen feet until a carpet of muck received him up to the ankles. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, leaning sideways on a nubby slab that was suddenly very familiar. Funny how the years rushed up to remind him of things.

Took out too much of the floor-probably shouldn’t have used the full-destruct setting. Too late now.

“Where’s the phaser? Oh, I still got it. Couldn’t feel my hand….”

No wonder. His whole forearm was tingling. Probably bumped the funny bone. His fingers had convulsed around the utility phaser, luckily, and he still had it. He craned his neck to look up at the hole they’d created. Had anybody heard the cracking and crashing of stone? There hadn’t been a blast noise, instead just the whine of the phaser before the rock cracked. If there wasn’t a guard on the floor, maybe the crash hadn’t been noticed. Please, please, please. Where was the ambassador?

Not waiting for his eyes to adjust, Stiles glanced around in the dimness, then started pawing at the broken flooring. Six feet away, the rocks shifted. Springing over there, Stiles tripped and landed on a knee. Recovering, he dug until a Vulcan ear appeared, luckily still attached to a Vulcan head.