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Purpose
By Taleya
He is not gentle. That is not his way. He is powerful, feared, but these things
are of little meaning to him. He is not a fleet officer for the power such
things bring, or for the material gain. A bastard son of a Vulcan rape, he seeks
answers for questions he cannot name, an undefined void that calls to the stars.
And his skills are needed.
The first time was of necessity. Survival. A conspiracy that threatened to
destabilise the ship, the crew. There are many methods he can employ to obtain
the information he requires, but the most expedient comes far more easily to
hand.
The ensign screams under his fingers, emotions flashing like lightening. The
joining is new, unexpected, almost shocking. It bursts on his mind like an
exotic treat, made sweeter by fear, battering against him, railing, screaming. A
closeness that he can never have, one he craves. A twisted, burning parody of
intimacy that flicks through him like fire.
Kirk pulls him away, clutching his wrist hard enough to bruise. "Enough." The
Captain releases his arm with a look of disgust, wiping his hand hard across his
mouth. He refuses to look at Spock.
Tones cold and measured, Spock gives him the names and ranks of the
conspirators.
The next day they dock for forty-seven new crewmembers.
The colony is small, barely defended. By rights they should have been dead.
There are spores of a kind, that induce euphoria, a teetering madness. Burned
out by emotion, the crew use a transmitter to eradicate them across the planets
surface. They do not have time for a useless production planet.
Leila's face is wet with tears as she shoves him away, revulsion stark along
every line. The spores are gone, their shared intimacy is now a horror. She
reminds him of T'Pring, who refused to mate with a halfling bastard. His hand
comes to her face and she screams under the press of his thoughts, body buckling
and convulsing in a parody of orgasm as her mind caves in and falls apart under
his own.
If he will not be accepted, then he will use force
Andorians are an unusual species. The skin is unusually cold under his fingers,
antennae vibrating madly in fear. Shran's ancient hair feels like paper against
his hand, thoughts oddly spiced, reeking of the tang of alien thoughts. There is
an unusual strength here, pushing back against his mind, almost pushing him out
entirely.
But in the end, the Andorian is ruled by emotions. The strongest of these is
fear, and Spock wraps it around himself, thrusting like a fist, deep through the
mind to tear out what he needs.
Shran is dead before he hits the floor. It doesn't matter. They have the
information they require.
Mudd's transgression is brief, barely noteworthy. But the cargo he offers in
return for repairs is useless, carefully faked dilithium and a small furry
creature that seems to do nothing but breed. The Captain is not pleased.
The human mind is composed of many differing threads. He is only required to
break one. The Captain laughs and sends Mudd back out into space a wide-eyed,
drooling imbecile.
Zarabeth is an attractive diversion in this cold and savage land. Clear-eyed
and strong limbed, she would make an ideal mate. Her mind is strong and
welcoming to him, even as she offers him her body.
But he is irrational, uncontrolled. Her smooth flesh tears under his hands,
bones splintering, her pleasant voice degrading into half-choked guttural tones.
Her mind shatters against his own as he pushes harder, deeper, desperate to be
bound, shards of thought breaking into endless madness under the full force of
his desires.
McCoy drags him back through the portal and the last thing he sees are her
staring eyes as she slumps against the wall like a broken doll.
That man was not his captain. That was not his crew. And this is not his McCoy.
Spock bears this in mind as he pushes the human against the wall, hand gripping
a fragile human wrist hard enough to grind bone. His fingers spider against the
familiar face, pushing for answers.
He is forceful out of habit. But this mind isn't weak or corrupted. It is
strong, untainted and as he pushes deeper for the knowledge it wraps around his
own, not resistant but almost welcoming. He is no longer in control as it draws
him in, his thoughts filled with wonder and knowledge, a universe so different
from his own. He sees hands outstretched in welcome, not in anger. Teeth bared
in smiles, not snarls. Acceptance, friendship. He sees himself, and he is whole.
With a sudden wondering, he realises there is no fear.
Suddenly his unasked questions are answered. His actions are defined. He
retreats from the human's mind with an almost unknown tenderness, careful not to
damage, cradling the human like a precious thing as he stumbles to the floor.
Taking him to the transporter room, he lets him go, lets them all go.
He has purpose now.
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