Jim remembers reading in one of Father Ceasar's real books with paper pages about how humankind once thought of fire as a gift. The faded red and orange illustration with flaking gold leaf on the edges was of Prometheus delivering life-giving light and warmth to shivering humans in the cold dark; the next page, a lesson in the perils of defying authority, was stark black, white and red, with Prometheus chained to a rock and Zeus' eagle tearing his liver out.

In space, Jim thinks Zeus was right to mete out punishment for fire is the enemy, not the lifesaver, as lethal as the cold and dark of the hard vacuum outside the Roci's hull and he feels only relief when the suppression system cycles from the worrying yellow of malfunction to soothing green and hears Amos call, "Looks good, Cap!"