"Nobody will tell me anything, Captain. I thought perhaps you might have better luck."

Leonard didn't miss the slight hitch in the Ranyar diplomat's voice as he spoke, nor the way he perched at the edge of his chair. Guy's antsier than...well, an anthill. Guess I would be, too, if it was my kid out there.

Kirk shared a knowing look with Spock. The silence on the bridge seemed thick. The captain returned his gaze to the view screen. "Ambassador," he began in a measured tone, "we, too, represent our people to everyone we meet, and as such we have an obligation to attempt the maintenance of peaceful relations with whomever we encounter out here. What you're asking-"

Ambassador Asplinn stroked his temple with a long, bony finger. "I realize that. I am prepared to offer compensation to your people – unofficially, of course – for the successful completion of your mission."

The captain's brows scrunched together. "You misunderstood me, sir. We're not holding out for payment. The safety of my people comes first, and before I send them out chasing after your son, I need to know what we're getting ourselves into." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "Now is there anything you can tell me about the Teradul?"

Asplinn sighed. "As I said before, I know little. We have no diplomatic relations with them whatsoever. An attempt was made, years ago, but they declined all formal overtures. Their planet has no central government, only municipal ones; they seem to be more interested in trade than anything else." He frowned. "Yinn's message was very brief and staticky. All he said was that he was in serious trouble with the local authorities and I needed to come get him. Then there was some...shouting, a c-crash, and the communication cut out."

Usually not a good sign. McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Wonder what the fool kid did, anyway? He looked down at Jim again. An odd look passed over his eyes and disappeared quickly. Yup. He's going to go for it. Spock's expression was unreadable, as usual, but he regarded the viewscreen. Yet McCoy sensed that he was thinking of something else.

"Are you a father, Captain?" the Ranyaran asked.

"Uh, no." McCoy read the unspoken rest of that sentence in Jim's eyes. "At least, I don't think so."

"He's a good boy, really, he is. He's just...impulsive, adventurous. But I fear his ambitions may have outstripped his ability to handle himself this time."

Jim. Our mission is to retrieve a teenage runaway Jim. Peachy.

Kirk nodded. "I know. Youthful exuberance has a way of... blinding you to reality. You think that you're invincible. Until something happens to prove you wrong."

"Yes. Yes, that's it exactly," Asplinn agreed. "So you'll help then?"

Kirk hesitated. "All right. I'll send a team over there to sniff around, see what's what." He stood up, spreading his hands apart. "No promises."

Asplinn relaxed; he looked at least ten years younger, the weight of his burden lifted somewhat. "Thank you, Captain. One more thing; can I count on your discretion in this matter? My government knows nothing of the... incident, and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"I think we can do that." Kirk nodded to Sulu, who tapped the console, already changing the course wordlessly.

McCoy raised both eyebrows as Lt. Uhura ended the transmission. "Do unto others, Jim? I can think of a few things you'd like to keep a secret. I bet if it weren't for the hobgoblin here, your captain's log'd read like a propaganda paper."

Kirk frowned. "Well, that's an improvement over last week, when you called it a tabloid." He slung an arm over McCoy's shoulder. "And besides, it's not like you've never done anything you'd want to redact. We all have a few skeletons in our closets. Even Spock here," Kirk added, throwing his other arm over a startled Spock's shoulder, a grin splitting his face. "I seem to recall, ahem, a certain T'Vadii?"

Spock blinked. "Captain, I told you that in the strictest confidence," he muttered hoarsely.

"You don't say?" McCoy shifted so that he was facing the Vulcan. Unless he was mistaken, Spock's cheeks were flushed brighter green than usual. "Who's T'Vadii?"

"Just an old girlfriend of Spock's, that's all," Kirk blurted. "Until she dumped him."

"Jim, your explanation is far too simplistic," Spock almost plead, turning to McCoy. "I was a child of five. T'Vadii lived near our home on Vulcan. She was six years my elder. My mother sent me over to her family's house to deliver a shan-tyra rosebush she wished to give them. T'Vadii answered the door and took the plant from me. I noticed that her hair was the same color as the roses, and I told her so. She nodded and replied, 'Perhaps it is. Why did you mention it?', and I said I did not know. She told me it was illogical to make a statement that served no purpose and shut the door. I have not seen her since her family moved away a week later."

Spock looked up as Uhura appeared behind him. She smiled sadly. "You never told me that story."

"I had no reason to. It signified nothing." Taking her advice then, Spock? "The only reason I told the captain was because he got a shan-tyra thorn in his thumb three months ago in the botany lab. I assured him it was not poisonous."

"I remember that," McCoy poked Kirk in the side. "Squealed like a stuck pig." He flinched as Kirk poked him back. "Matter of fact, there's a – hey- pair of tweezers-oh- down in sickbay-ow- with Jim's name on them-ow! Stop that!"

Kirk shrugged and crossed his arms. McCoy followed his gaze towards the turbolift. Uhura was standing there with Spock, their heads bent close together as she put her hand on his arm. "Look at that, would you? Luckiest guy in the whole universe."

"Mmm. How do you figure?"

"He just told his girlfriend about another girl, and she thinks it's darling." Kirk shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I wish I could get away with that sometime." He strode towards the helm, McCoy's eyes on his back, and once again became the mature captain as he discussed approaches and flight plans for Teradul with Sulu. Leonard scratched his head. How does he do that so fast?

"'An' she said to me, wha' hae ye done with me, I'll be nae more going o'er the green-hic!'" Scott slammed the chunky bottle onto the tabletop, sending a slosh of purple alcohol into McCoy's clear glass.

Ugh, McCoy thought, pushing away his drink with disgust. "If I were your bartender, I'd have cut you off three bottles ago." This was the third establishment they'd visited in as many hours, and judging by what he'd seen the man down, he suspected the engineer would be floating back to the Enterprise at the end of this mission. "Is that even a real song, or did you just make it up?" He reached for the offending container.

Scott was too fast for him, bringing the bottle to his lips once more. "It is, and ye're not," he mumbled, reversing the order of the questions. As he leaned over the table towards McCoy, his glassy-eyed stare cleared up. "I know what I'm doin', Doctor. If ye had half a brain, ye'd try tae blend in like I'm a doin'." He nodded at McCoy's discarded glass. "Dinna let a little drop of me stuff stop ye from enjoying yours."

McCoy huffed. "If it weren't for the fact that alcohol kills most known pathogens, I'd say no. Here goes nothing," he muttered as he reached for his drink. To his relief, it tasted no different. "Not bad." He licked his lips, flinching as a tiny frisson travelled down his spine. "Hey, is it just me or are we being watched?"

Scott had drained his bottle and was now busy tearing strips from his paper napkin and sticking them to its rim. "Watched? I think Jim has a lot more on his mind besides crew evaluations right now." He tipped his head towards a table in the corner of the room. The captain was pretending to have a rowdy argument in Andorian with Spock and his usual cadre of burly security officers, cleverly disguised as ruffians, ne'er-do-wells, and slimeballs. In reality, however, he was examining drone surveillance scans on Quijand City Prison and discussing ingress and egress points with his strike team. McCoy had to hand it to Jim; the kid was a master at blending in. Maybe a little too good, he thought as the captain reached over the table and grabbed Hendorff by the collar, his face coloring. "I don't mean by him. These guys..." He tensed up as a slender woman brushed by him, her intense gaze lingering on his face for a moment before moving towards the doorway. "These Teradul...you get the feeling that they know something about you."

Scott chuckled, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his loud shirt. "I wouldna mind a bit of that kind of attention." He wadded up the last of his napkin and tossed it into the bottle like a basketball. "Dinna worry yerself about it."

"'Dinna worry meself about it.'" McCoy leaned his chin on one hand, feeling the greasy fabric of his jacket beneath his elbow. "They're planning a prison infiltration and I'm supposed to sit back-"- he did so, resting his head on his folded hands – "-relax, and enjoy the music. If you can call that noise music." Even as he spoke, his ears thrummed with the vibrations of a large, discordant stringed instrument. "A cello it ain't." He tipped the chair back on its back legs.

A sharp crack echoed across the room, and both heads whipped around to see Kirk crumpling to the ground. And so it begins. Jim! McCoy's muscles tensed up, preparing to head over there, but the pressure of Scott's grip on his arm stopped him. He couldn't see the captain anymore, but across the table from his last location, Lieutenant junior grade Grossman was kissing her knuckles before planting her hands on her hips. McCoy peered through the crowd, trying to find Jim. A hand came up over the side of the table and gripped it, as Kirk pulled himself stiffly to his feet. I can see his eye blackening from here. Without warning, he leapt towards her and they became locked in physical combat. So that's his plan...get arrested, find a way in. Logical. He watched as the other officers became involved in the brawl, too; a fist here, a foot there. Even Spock tried to pull the captain off Grossman before Kirk snapped his head back into the Vulcan's face. He recognized some of the moves from combat training; others lacked the fluid efficiency of movement they had been instructed in at the Academy. I guess he didn't forget everything he learned on the mean streets...

He looked back at Scotty as the engineer pumped a fist in the air and whooped. "I thought we weren't supposed to join'em; just observe and report."

"Jus' tryin' tae blend in, as I said," Scotty mumbled, getting up and standing on his chair to see over the crowd. A crowd of Teradul and other alien visitors surrounded the fight, making similar noises of approval. "Come on, Doctor. Pick a side already if'n ye dinna want to attract attention."

"Fine." McCoy cupped his hands to his mouth. "C'mon, Rebekah! Knock his scurvy teeth down his throat!" At Scotty's sideways glance, he shrugged. "What? I'm a Southern gentleman. We always defend our women."

Scotty raised both arms in the air. "Give it tae the harpy, laddie!" He lowered his voice. "Somebody's gotta root fer Jim. I'll apologize tae the lass later." He looked towards the entrance. "Uh oh. We've got company. Ecurity-say at the oor-day."

McCoy pulled in his chair to allow the patrolmen by. Guys've got more muscles than a football team. You wanted trouble, Jim? You got it. To his surprise, they did not pass, giving the battle across the room only a brief glance. Instead, they surrounded his table. McCoy stiffened as he felt the butt of a rifle dig into his back.

"Gav Norsan, Quijand Patrol. You are being detained. Stand up," the officer growled. A similar weapon was aimed at the back of Scotty's head as he stepped down from the chair. "It is no use trying to run. There are guards at all the exits."

Run? Me? Now whatever gave you that idea? McCoy stood, turning slowly to face his captor. "Will you tell me what in the world we're being charged with?" He waved his arm towards the fight. "What about those guys?"

The officer sniffed. "What about them?" He pulled out a small device with a screen and pressed a few buttons. An image appeared, and he held the device up at eye level as another officer shoved Scotty towards him. "Do you recognize this?" Another button, another image. "Or these?" he spat.

Each image showed examples of Teradul dinnerware; a small forklike utensil with two prongs, a thick fluted cup with three rings on the side, a round dish with scalloped edges. He recognized them from the first bar, which had also served food, including a particularly sweet melon pudding dish. "Happens I do. What of it? Search me, if you want; I didn't swipe any."

"Nor I," Scott piped up. "If'n I wanted tae steal something, it'd be worth more than that. Like an officer's badge, mayhaps. Here ye go," he chuckled, tossing a small metal object to the man, who caught it with one hand, frowning at Scotty.

Norsan leaned forward until McCoy could smell his breath. Like a musty attic room. "I am not accusing you of thievery." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth. "Do you recall using the fork, and how?"

"Sure," McCoy nodded. "We ate a meat roll with it."

"How?"

"We picked up chunks and put them in our mouth." How do you think, genius? , he was tempted to add, but he didn't want to push the man's buttons.

"But first, you cut it with the side of the fork. There was a blade. Why didn't you use it?" Norsan pressed a thick finger into McCoy's collarbone, probing until Leonard began to choke.

"What difference does that make?" he sputtered.

"And you," Norsan continued, turning his glare on Scotty, who shrunk back, his earlier bravado diminishing. "The cup is to be drunk from the largest ring side, not the bare one. And okal is never to be eaten with one's hands," he snarled, grabbing Scott's collar with both hands until the man's feet lifted off the floor. "You have dishonoured our statutes and Gamo'an's name."

"Ga-who-an?" Scotty squeaked. Norsan let him go, and he dropped to the floor, taking several deep breaths.

The officer waved a hand towards the bar. A large statue of a woman with a sword in one hand and Teradul currency in the other stood in a prominent place against the wall. McCoy realized they'd seen similar images in the other bars they'd patronized, but this one was larger and more intricate than the others. So we've offended their warrior goddess then. "Gamo'an is shamed by your flagrant abuse of her utensils." What?! Are you serious?! We're getting arrested by the etiquette police? He grabbed McCoy's arm in a vice grip and brought him closer until they were nose to nose. "It is the highest violation. One worthy of severe measures." The gleam in his eye made it clear that he would enjoy carrying such measures out. "You shall be executed in due course. Both of you. But until then..." he trailed off, bringing his knee up into McCoy's abdomen hard, causing him to double over in pain, "I will see to it that you long for that occasion." He turned to his men. "Take them to the prison. I will join you shortly." They saluted and restrained McCoy and Scott, dragging them away.

McCoy glanced back, Kirk's name on the tip of his tongue. The fight was still going strong, and by the looks of things, several Teradul had joined the fray. He pressed his mouth closed. No good getting all of us locked up. I just hope he realizes we're missing or we're doomed. Movement in front of the bar caught his eye; Norsan dropped to the ground and lay prostrate on the floor before the Gamo'an idol, chanting softly. Several Teradul joined him. McCoy sighed, wincing as he was shoved out the door.

"You know what's really ironic? If I'd stabbed one of them with that stupid fork, they probably wouldn't even care. But use it to eat strawberries instead of carrots? Capital offence." McCoy threw his hands up in the air, wincing as his ribs burned from the beating they'd taken. He hadn't inventoried their injuries yet; the Teradul authorities had made good on their threats, working over both men for an hour before ushering them into a common dungeon area filled with miserable looking sorts. Although they had not been chained or restrained, there was no way to escape the large holding cell. Thick brick walls reached nearly a hundred feet up to small windows with metal bars on them. No handholds, of course. No rope ladder...no stairs...

He cocked his head to one side. "Hey. What do you get when you combine Klingons, Ferengis, and Emily Post? These guys."

"Keep it down, would ye? I've got a splitting headache," Scotty groaned, holding his head. A deep gash ran down the left side.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," McCoy apologized, instinctively reaching down at his side and finding nothing. My kingdom for my medkit. He watched as Scotty pulled a small packet from his pocket and unwrapped it, popping the gum inside into his mouth and chewing. "Where'd you get that?" McCoy asked.

"Second bar. They're complimentary," Scott muttered. "I'm trying tae remind meself that I've still got teeth left."

McCoy idly ran his tongue along his gums, doing a head count. All there...makes sense. Most of the blows they inflicted on us were torso hits. He sat up straighter on the floor, feeling the dampness of the tiles underneath his body. Pneumonia city. "What time is it, anyway? Jim should be here by now." And I shouldn't, he finished silently.

Scott paused mid-chew. "Now how in blazes should I know that? And by the way, I'm not exactly loving Teradul hospitality right now, either. What I wouldna give for a nice, hot shower and me own bed. Why'd ye have ta cut yer food with a fork, anyway?"

"Me?" McCoy jabbed his chest with one thumb, then pointed his index finger at the chief engineer. "If you hadn't stuffed your ham hands into a plate of food, then maybe they would've overlooked my minor oversight."

"Ham hands?" Scott spat, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not the one who dinna know what a knife is fer..." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, sighing. "I'm sorry, Doctor. This isna getting us anyplace." He made a fist and smacked it into the open palm of his other hand. "Captain's gonna be mad at us. Now he's got to rescue three people instead of just one." He looked around the room, straining to see in the half-light. "Where do ye suppose that young scamp is, anyway?"

McCoy picked at a hangnail. "Probably cowering in a corner somewhere." His head began to itch, and he scratched it. Please don't be lice. "You know, I have half a mind to tell Jim to just leave Yinn here. It's really his fault we're stuck in this deathtrap."

"Come now," Scott pleaded, "ye cannae blame him, either." He stood to his feet slowly, placing one hand in the small of his back. "Poor lad probably just sneezed on one of those idols or summat."

"Close enough. I snagged the Sacred Cloth." Both men looked over to see a youthful version of Ambassador Asplinn hunched in the corner. Hardly more than a boy, his stubbled face was a mass of bruises. Blood crusted his nostrils and lips, and he held one arm close to his chest. Probably dislocated...and more trauma under that jumpsuit besides. In an instant, all animosity he'd previously directed towards Yinn was now squarely directed towards his Teradul abusers. What's wrong with these people, anyway?

"Sacred what?" Scott frowned.

"A table covering for Gamo'an's altar. S-somebody tripped me and I snagged it." Yinn straightened up, trying to appear more brave than he was, but fear still flickered in his eyes. "The sentence is death."

A tablecloth. They're going to kill him for shredding their holy linens. McCoy covered his mouth with a hand, trying to hide a snicker. It was all so stupid. He looked over the boy's head at Scott, who was pressing his lips together in a valiant attempt to keep from laughing.

"What?" Yinn asked, looking from one man to the other. "We're all going to die. Is that funny?"

McCoy reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. "N-no, of course not. It's just, I thought if I was ever sentenced to death, it'd be for something more serious than misusing a fork."

"Aye. Or not holding yer teacup the right way," Scott added, lifting an imaginary cup to his lips and waggling his pinky.

The corners of Yinn's mouth turned up. "Or perhaps putting a hole in a textile?"

"Exactly," McCoy snorted, setting Scott off, and finally Yinn. They shared a good laugh for the next minute until Scott began to choke on his gum, spurring McCoy into a frenzy of back-patting until he coughed up the offending wad onto the floor. All three retreated into the corner of the room, trying to catch their breath.

McCoy leaned one arm against the wall, wiping his forehead with the other. "Phew. I think we needed that. Laughter's a good tonic, or so they say." He placed one hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "Listen, about that execution; it's not gonna happen. We're Starfleet officers. Your father sent us to get you out of here."

"He did?" Yinn frowned. "But how are you going to do that? You're imprisoned, too."

"No, not us. We've got friends on the outside. We were supposed to be the lookouts, but my captain and the others got caught up in a fight. Probably figured it was the best way in. Boy, were they ever wrong."

"Take it from me, lad," Scott added, coming around on Yinn's opposite side. "Ye couldna wish for a better rescue team than our people. Have ye oot in two shakes of a lamb's tail. When they get here, that is," he continued, staring up at the window as if he expected Kirk to appear that very second.

"Eh, Jim's probably nursing a nosebleed or something," Leonard chuckled. His laughter trailed off as Yinn clutched at his arm, gritting his teeth. Enough yapping, Leonard. You've got a patient to treat. "Hey, hey, hey, easy does it. Let me see that; I'm a doctor." He gently examined the boy's shoulder, probing with well-trained hands. Definitely dislocated. Yep, I still got it. You can take away my medical tricorder, but you can't remove years of med school and field experience. "This is going to hurt like blazes for a second, and then it'll be a whole lot better. Ready?"

Yinn nodded. A quick adjustment and the end of the bone snapped into its socket. To his credit, Yinn didn't cry out, but it was clear by the way tears sprang to his eyes that it had hurt.

"You okay?"

"Better." A shaky breath.

"See, now, what'd I tell you? As soon as we get back to our ship, I'll see about those other injuries." He turned around, looking for Scott, but the man had disappeared. Now where did he get to? Leonard's eyes roved over a mass of dejected humanoidanity. If I had my way, every last one of these poor souls would see my sickbay. Unwrapping the dirt brown scarf from around his neck, he looped it over Yinn's shoulders and settled his sore arm into the makeshift sling. He spotted the chief engineer near the adjacent wall, pressing his ear to it and rapping softly with a closed fist. "Scotty?" he called even as the engineer made his way back to them, hands on his hips, head shaking side to side.

"It's nae good. Solid rock, at least 4 feet thick. Now ye might say, what aboot the window? Well," he muttered, stooping to retrieve a pebble from the floor, "even if ye could make it up that high, and even if ye happened to remove those bars..." He stepped back and drew back his hand, pitching the pebble at the high window. It sailed right between the bars, only to bounce off a shimmering force field and onto the floor again, rolling to a stop at their feet. "Ye wouldna get verra far."

Now would be a good time for you to pull one of those famous Scott miracles out of your hat, Scotty. "I suppose we could dig our way out with our bare hands." McCoy sighed, slumping onto the floor. "Wonder how long that'd take."

BANG!

All three men jumped at the loud sound, dropping to the ground as smoke filled the air; dust and pebbles flew into the air and rained down again. A shot. Where did it come from? Jim? Heart thudding, McCoy looked between his fingers, trying to find the source of the noise. To his surprise, nobody else seemed that interested. He paused for a moment, listening for further shots. Hearing nothing, he relaxed. "All clear," he coughed, waving his arms around to disperse the smoke. A small scorch mark on the floor caught his attention. Squatting down, he touched the hot object.

"Ah!" he gasped, shaking his fingers to cool them. He brought the burnt digits to his lips, frowning. I've smelled that before...what is it? He walked back over to Scott and stuck his finger under the engineer's nose. "Smell that and tell me what it is. And don't say 'a human finger', either."

"' Smell that and tell me what it is.'" Scott grimaced. "The words every Starfleet officer wants to hear." He scratched his head. "I've lost a few friends that way over the years."

"Just do it, Scotty."

"All right..." Scott leaned forward and sniffed. "Hmm. Oh, that; smells like me chewing gum, that does. Now, I've heard of blowing bubbles, but I guess I'm lucky it dinna blow me head off." He shuddered.

Just when I thought I'd heard it all...C4 chewing gum, no less.

Yinn rubbed the back of his neck where McCoy's scarf was knotted. "It's because you spat it out." He cleared his throat and swallowed. "I learned that the hard way," he smiled. "There's a chemical in it that, combined with spit and air, creates a slow-acting reaction. It's supposed to be a prank. Pretty dumb, huh?"

A thought began to tickle at the back of the doctor's mind. McCoy arched both eyebrows. "Actually, it's pretty clever."

"Pretty deadly, if ye ask me," Scott corrected. "I'm surprised at you, Doctor. Usually, you'd be shouting bloody murder about juvenile behaviour."

Guilty as charged. But not this time. "I was thinking that this just might be our ticket outta here. Capisce?"

"Ahh..." Scott smiled. "I think I ken what ye're onto, Doctor."

"You got any more in your pockets?" Yinn's left hand strayed towards his cloak hem. Probably filched it and then forgot all about it afterwards. "C'mon, give it over." Scott was busy turning out his own pockets; an assortment of multicoloured packets of various kinds littered the ground around his feet. "Mr. Scott, you're a regular packrat. If that's what your pockets look like, I'd hate to see your quarters." Downright unsanitary. Says the man who just touched another man's chewing gum. McCoy dropped to a knee and began sorting the pile, discarding everything but the unopened gum. Yinn tossed a couple of handfuls onto the stash.

Before long, they had amassed a substantial amount. Splitting the pile up into three, they began unwrapping and chewing the gum. Scott "lethargically" paced up and down the wall, stopping every so often to inconspicuously rap sections of brick. McCoy had managed to find a couple of dice in Scotty's loot pile, and he and Yinn sat cross-legged by the high window playing for pebbles. The whole time, all three surreptitiously observed the crowd, but nobody seemed the slightest bit interested in their activities. Apparently the stench of the unwashed and condemned was too much for the guards, who remained outside.

"How much longer?" Yinn asked. "My jaw's getting tired." He rubbed his chin with one hand.

"Not long. I'm running out of saliva." McCoy shook the dice in two cupped hands and let it go. "Double sixes. As soon as Scotty identifies-"

"An' I have. Get on with it. We've only got a few minutes before the wall blows outward." Scott dropped down to their eye level. "I've marked the locations you'll need to affix it on the stones," he added, twirling a felt tip marker in one hand. "Mind ye, I'm only going by me best guess, not having me tricorder and all."

"Good enough. I'll go next. You keep playing until I come back." McCoy stood up, feeling stiffness in his back and legs. A nice, long, hot soak. For a month, if I can manage it. He stuck the gum to the wall on one of Scotty's marks, being careful to spread it out, before trudging slowly back to the game. "You're on, kid." As Yinn made his way to the blast site, McCoy grabbed the dice from the ground by Scotty's feet. "My turn." He shook and threw them. "Six and a three."

"Blast it, anyway," Scott muttered, a sour look on his face. "I haven't won a throw yet."

McCoy raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "You can curse me later. When we're free men."

Yinn looked in all directions before appearing at their side once again. "Done. Think it's going to be enough?"

"It'll have to be. We're fresh out." The faint odour of tangy smoke hung in the air even before the words left his mouth. This is it. He coughed twice and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Everybody get back! NOW!" A few heads slowly turned to look at him. "AWAY FROM THE WALL!" He waved his hands towards the prisoners, and they seemed to get the message, quickening their pace in the opposite direction. A loud hissing sound filled the air, and McCoy dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms. Several others did the same. "Hit the dirt!"

This is either the stupidest decision I've ever made and we all die, or-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM! A thunderous explosion rocked the prison, blowing out a large section of the rigged wall. Smoke and dust filled the air. McCoy pulled his collar up over his mouth and nose instinctively, even as it dawned on him that the ceiling was not caving in. Who needs a tricorder, Scotty? You just batted 1.000 without one.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he searched for Yinn and Scotty in the haze. The younger of the two was doubled over coughing while Scott was having a sneezing fit. Ears ringing, he peered beyond them to the other prisoners. Unlike their earlier apathy, and after recovering from the initial shock of the explosion, they seemed to have realized that nothing stood between them and liberty, because they were running for the brand new door in a streaming mass of humanoidanity. I don't blame them one iota... He jumped out of the way to avoid colliding with a lanky bearded man who looked as though he hadn't had a decent meal in six months. Others clambered over the toppled stones, desperately trying to escape in all directions. He could hear shouting and pounding coming from behind the door; evidently, the prison guards had finally figured out something was amiss. He smiled as he studied the portal; somebody had apparently taken the time to push a large, heavy stone in front of it. Ha. Took you long enough. That'll teach you to leave us unguarded. "Scotty! Yinn! Let's get out of here before they figure out how to-" He smacked into a hard object, falling back on his backside. "Ow! Watch where you're going. Smoke isn't that thick."

"Ouch yourself." A gloved hand reached out towards him. Leonard hesitated, then took it when he realized whose it was. The soot-streaked face of Jim Kirk frowned as he studied McCoy's equally dirty face. "Next time you're planning to bring down the house, you might want to warn me first. We were just about to breach on that side." He shook his head. McCoy peered around him to see the security team ushering folks out of the prison while shielding them with their bodies, including Scotty and Yinn, who helped an older woman up over the pile of smoking stones.

Spock jogged towards them. "We do not have much time, sir," he shouted, trying to be heard over the warning alarms that had now begun to sound. "We must leave immediately."

Gee, you think? "Let's go. If I never see this place again, it'll be too soon." All three men brought up the rear, climbing over the wall with considerable ease.

"Beam out coordinates 900 feet ahead," Kirk called. As Spock ran ahead, he lagged behind with the slower McCoy. "You know..." he huffed, jogging next to the doctor, "I just have one question for you; where the heck did you get high-powered explosives in a prison?"

McCoy chuckled. He threw his arm around Kirk's shoulders. "Score one for sloppy police procedure and practical jokes." Seeing Kirk's confused look, he added, "I'll explain later, over a drink. Which you're buying."