"Stone. In my quarters."

Captain Borjas did not get the reaction he expected from his first officer. Actually, he got no reaction at all.

Stone just sat there, at his customary corner table in the crew lounge, and stared thoughtfully at the glass in his hand. The synthehol swirled around inside, catching the overhead lighting and glistening with the multicolor effect for which the Ferengi invention was noted.

It was not, Borjas noted, the standard-issue glass used in the lounge. Stone kept his own glasses, his own liquor supply, his own everything, as if he was determined to keep himself isolated from the rest of the crew.

Borjas stood there a moment more, composing himself. He knew that the eyes of various crew members were on him. He should have sent a subordinate down to do this. Hell, none of it would have been necessary if Stone had just answered the damned page in the first place.

Borjas leaned forward, knuckles on Stone's table. A roll of fat was just starting to develop around Borjas's waist. He was grateful for the recent redesign of Starfleet uniforms that provided for the short jacket uniform top instead of the straight, simple lines of a one-piece jumpsuit. It was kinder to older officers.

Borjas had thinning black hair and eyebrows so thick that they seemed to join across the bridge of his nose. His jaw twitched in irritation. Generally, his scowl was enough to intimidate even his veteran subordinates.

Not this time, though.

"Stone, the longer you continue to ignore me, the harder you're going to make it on yourself."

Slowly, Stone looked up.

Borjas remembered the first time that he had seen Stone. The man had made him nervous since the beginning of their relationship. Stone had sturdy enough features, high cheekbones, a pointed jaw, but a long scar ran down the right side of his face. Stone's scar was odd because modern technology could remove such unpleasant blemishes in a matter of seconds. But Stone wore his like a medal.

His hair was black, cut short and spikey. Regulation, but... odd looking. His eyebrows were upswept, almost to the point where Borjas wondered if he had some Vulcan blood in him.

His eyes, though, had been what disturbed Borjas that first time. Those eyes could bore through you, or focus on some other part of the room, or meditate on his inner self. There was a great deal going on behind those eyes, and Borjas never knew what it was.

Stone took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, lovingly. "Ahhhh." It was a sigh of relief. "There it is."

"There what is?"

Stone made no reply, merely smiling. It was not a smile conducive to peace of mind. Borjas was becoming acutely aware that all other talk in the lounge had ceased. He considered ordering the lounge emptied, but decided that he would be damned if he disrupted everybody else because of Stone. Besides, let them see who was really in charge of the Starship Nimitz.

"Stone, I'm giving you exactly three seconds to come to my quarters."

Stone's expression said, or what? His mouth didn't have to.

Borjas pulled all his authority around himself and cloaked himself in it. "You are facing court-martial for insubordination, Stone."

"Court-martial?" was the calm reply.

Was he finally getting through? Borjas forged onward, leaning across the table. "Yes. Court-martial. For insubordination, and for endangering the lives and safety of this crew."

Stone seemed to be looking at a far wall. "Endangering. Endangering." He considered the word, rolled it around on his tongue. "All I remember doing is saving some crewmen's lives. Crewmen you wrote off."

"You broke regulations," Borjas said hotly, "regulations designed to guarantee the well-being of the entire crew."

"Guarantee?" said Stone. He tilted back the glass and finished the contents. Then he began to roll the glass between his palms. "Out in the middle of space, with instant death by a crushing vacuum staved off by a hull and prayers -- and you want a guarantee? All right, Captain. Death is guaranteed. Nothing else."

Stone made a sweeping gesture, taking in all those around him. "These people understand that. Even if you don't."

Borjas shook his head sadly. "Stone, you are relieved of your post. That's all. I didn't want to do this in front of the crew, but... report to your quarters."

Stone ignored him, reached for his bottle of synthehol.

"Get up, I said!"

"Morning already?" said Stone lazily as he started to pour.

Furious, Borjas snatched the bottle away from Stone. Not so much as a flicker of surprise moved across Stone's face. Instead, he remained frozen in position, his glass in his left hand, his right hand poised as if pouring.

Then, very deliberately, he lowered his hand and raised his gaze staring at Borjas's head as though his glance was boring through to the back of the captain's skull.

Borjas matched his gaze. "Go to your quarters," he said. "Or to the brig. It's your choice."

"I don't like those choices," Stone replied calmly.

Borjas tapped his communicator. "Security," he said. "Report to crew lounge and escort Commander Stone to the brig."

"They can't make me go to the brig either."

Borjas folded his arms and said, "I don't see where you have much say in the matter."

Stone stared at his glass. "I'm going to sickbay."

"I beg your pardon."

"You heard me. It's more comfortable."

"You are not going to sickbay."

"Why not?"

"Because," Borjas said confidently, "you're not sick."

Stone pondered that a moment.

And then Borjas and everyone else in the lounge jumped involuntarily as a sharp crack sounded.

Borjas looked in horror at the source.

Stone had crushed the glass that he'd been holding. Unlike the unbreakable ones in the lounge, this one was actually made of real glass. The stem dropped to the table and rolled off.

Stone sat frozen in position for a moment, his fist clenched. Then he slowly opened his hand. His palm and fingers were a bloody mess.

"I am now," said Stone.