Captain Christopher Richard Pike

[OOC: Please take notice, this following post can make some a bit squeamish.]

His blade sliced slowly beneath the skin, Gallagher's eyes still horribly bright and alive. The knife had been a gift from Spock many years ago. It was used, evidently, to delicately slide beneath the scales of a fish and part the scales away from tender, succulent muscle as neatly as removing a pair of tight pants after a long day of work. It took some effort only because of the delicate procedure that was getting it off in one piece, but Pike was very good at it. After all, several of the vests he wore were made of carefully tanned human skin. It worked well in keeping people in line when they knew they could become your next garment. Pike gave the finest twist of his knife, skirting the blade just over the fine muscles of the upper bicep. Always start from the hands and feet and work inwards, because otherwise they lost too much blood to start with and would pass out far too quickly. After what they had attempted, Pike had no desire for their punishment to be over too quickly.

The four had chosen to strike when they thought he was at his weakest. It had been an exceedingly simple plan, which usually went the best in the end. His own first assassination had been nothing more than an approach from behind and a slice across the throat. They had surrounded him, and one had attacked with a very simple weapon. Truly, he had to give them credit for it. The taser had made his muscles scream as it glanced his skin, but he had seen the body coming up behind him. How? Their shadow along the wall had given them away. His attacker had hit the floor from where Pike had thrown him, but rapid recovery was difficult.

The punch had come at his kidney, sending him to the ground. Effective in the sheer amount of pain it produced, but it did not render completely. Pike drew in a tight breath, as much as the aching would allow him, and he pulled free a knife from either side of his vest. He stood up and pushed backwards without turning, driving both blades into flesh. He felt a spurt of blood against his neck, as intimate as a lover's breath, and he let the body fall as another attacker came. The faint whine of a phaser being turned on caught his attention and Pike ducked low, using the hilt of his knife to crack a knee cap before he turned and struck upwards with the other knife. It was a bare miss, slicing through clothing without the satisfaction of parting flesh.

It startled him out of his near trance when from behind him, where he sat in front of Gallagher, Pike heard a quiet whimper. From the positioning of it, he could tell who it was. Somehow, he had expected Sulu to break down with a sound like that during the first of his companion's death but to his surprise, and a certain pleasure in choosing his crew, Sulu had made no sound at all. Pike followed the trail of blood along the floor, where it was marked and smeared by his own movements. The trail had finally reached Sulu, where it was just barely brushing his chest. He had made sure to bind Sulu well, bound hand and foot then hand to feet, gagged as well. Sulu's babbling was the last thing he needed to hear, attempts to bride and caress his pride. They were useless gestures now, but one by one he would make sure that Uhura would have a very lasting hold on the crew. It would be some time before Sulu dared to attempt something like this, and when Pike was finished, no one would aid the helmsman in an attempt. Sulu had been difficult to bring down. He was an extremely skilled fighter, one few would cross, but he did not have the skill of years yet nor did he have the advantage of the nanoprobe-filled gloves. All it took was a single bare-handed touch for the probes to react to the agonizer he had originally had planted in the gloves in their first conception, and a pulse as strong as a taser had jolted through the helmsman. One quick strike to the temple had taken him down from there.

Pike stood, stretching out his legs, leaving Gallagher where he was. Flaying was a procedure that took time, and he would have liked to have taken more time to accomplish, but he was running on a schedule. He would be gone by tonight, with the last of his things in tact and hopefully McCoy's aid as well. McCoy was a tricky bastard, but he could be dealt with. He would have control of his sickbay like no doctor ever had while Uhura, and most likely Chekov, had control of a ship that would react as sweetly to their hand as a willing slave. His fingers caressed the remains of Chisulo's flesh. He had been dark-skinned in life, and his skin would hold behind that deep color for many, many years provided it was well taken care of. Gallagher was the exact opposite with the very white skin of the Irish-descended.

He walked over to Sulu and wiped his hand on Sulu's uniform before sliding his finger beneath the edge of the gag and tugging, "I almost think you would have preferred the death Willis got, where it lasted merely seconds. Now, now, almost your turn, no need to be impatient." He promised the helmsman quietly, his smirk as deadly as the blade in his hand.

"Pike you'll-" It was cut off as Pike forced the gag back between Sulu's teeth and tightened it.

"So impatient," Pike murmured, standing back up and walking over to Gallagher. It had been the Academy who had taught him the neat, quick motion to collapse the vocal cords and keep someone from speaking. He hardly needed to have people wondering about screams as they passed by the room, nor did he wish to hear them. While some highly encouraged more sound from their victims, it was hardly Pike's fetish. The only times he chose this particular method of killing was for those who attempted his assassination alone.

It took almost another three hours to finish the deed, until where Pike could run the broad palm of his hand across shiny wet muscle. He looked idly at the time, and decided it was time to clean up. The skins were washed, folded, and tucked neatly into a separate pack for later use. Sulu he left tied up in the pool of his conspirator's blood, the stink of the three dead bodies to keep him company. Pike was not worried about the discovery of what he had done; he would be gone long before anyone thought to come look for Sulu or could find a way into his quarters. He washed himself up, replacing the uniform he had sullied, and left the room without a backward look. He wondered if Sulu would keep his quarters afterwards or would switch to new ones.

It was everything he could have hoped for. The ship responded to his mere thoughts, as long as some part of his body was in contact with something connected to the ship. The floor, a console, a wall, anything seemed to work provided part of the ship ran through it. His bed, for example, did not work. His ship would live beyond him. It hurt that Spock would never be able to see this, but Pike was sure of one thing. He would find another ship to captain in the universe where Spock seemed happier, and he would take everything they had learned from this as well as their experimentation and build something greater. He had designed this Enterprise, and he could accomplish it again.

Pike looked across the room to the two packs settled in by the door. They were filled with anything that had come to mind as something he did not want to leave behind, along with several padds full of schematics, plans, and calculations. Tucked away in a private file, something only someone with full control of the ship could access, was the transwarp transport calculations he had taken from the other universe.

Yet he desperately wanted to reach out for his bond mate. It had been somewhat foolish of him to think that they could survive in different universes and be happy. He could not remain here much longer, not without Spock. He had grown far too use Spock at his side, and while he wanted it no other way, it had also him grow weaker in certain areas. The longer he remained, the less safe he was.

It did not stop the desire to be near him, to have him near now, nor for what was wrong to be fixed. This was a step towards fixing them. He would give up everything he had ever worked for...

...for the one thing he wanted.

It took longer then hoped, shorter then expected. Finally, all of Spock's calculations were entered into the transporter system. Pike scrolled through the long strings of calculations in their masses, and gave the tiniest smirk. There was a very interesting calculation in the system of this ship that he had found fascinating. It was on a padd that he would be bringing with him. Trans-warp beaming would give him a high advantage over other ships as well as a foot hold in the Empire where no one else had gotten yet. He had heard testing on such computations in the Empire, but nothing definite had come about.

Pike closed his eyes as he leaned over the console. There was nothing else he could do. Carefully, he reached out to the comm on the console and tapped it, "Pike to Bridge, communications."

"Yes, sir?" It was a young lady.

"There should be precise information on the signal that came from other universe that allowed Spock to reach me."

"One moment sir." The woman on the other end vanished into silence, then returned, "Yes, I've found it. Do you have a message to be sent?"

"Start transmission," Pike ordered, waiting only long enough for the female officer to tell him recording had started. "This is Captain Christopher Pike, contacting the I.S.S. Enterprise. Set the transporter room First Officer Spock had been working in to the coordinates and calculations he had set up to cross the univerisal barrier. Bring it up to full energy and prepare for arrival. End transmission."

There was silence once again, then the woman spoke, "Transmission sent, sir. I'll let you know when we have a reply."

It was a very risky thing to attempt. On the other side, he could step out and walk into the end of a dagger or the bolt of a phaser. Pike knew he was taking that heavy risk, but knew it was impossible to consider himself a captain and a man if he did not go back and finish what needed to be. He had a duty, and that duty, while it could be, must be finished.

"Bridge to Transporter Room Three."

"Pike here."

"We have confirmation from the I.S.S. Enterprise that they are prepared to receive you."

"Thank you." Pike removed his hand from the comm and touched his hand across the padd he had left a note for Spock on. If he died, it would explain to Spock why he had needed to do this. Otherwise, it would explain to Spock that he would be returning.

He thought, then stepped forward and pressed the comm again, "Computer, contact Ensign Kray'um."

There was only a short period before someone responded, a deep voiced young man, "Ensign Kray'um."

"You were asked to report to Transporter Room Three for--"

"On my way, sir."

Pike had to only wait for a few minutes before a larger man entered the room. He felt his brows raise, but said nothing. "Everything is set, all you need to do is activate."

"Yes, sir." The Ensign took up his place behind the controls, and Pike stepped up onto transporter proper. He closed his eyes, steadying himself. It was a risk that would have to be taken if he wanted to continue to live with himself and his choice. Carefully he checked the strength and tightness of Spock's shielding, and breathed out.

"Energize."

The world dissolved into light, then nothing at all.


Spock,

This is something that I had to do. I could not allow our ship to fall into possible enemy hands, or to remain a floating wreck in space. Business needed to be finished before we could remain here. I am Captain Christopher Richard Pike of the I.S.S. Enterprise, and I will not desert my duties. Know that no matter what happens, that my heart lies with you and you alone, and I desire no less than the best for you. Always, and forever.

This log will be saved on the padd I have removed from the network. It is encoded in the methods that I have used on my own ship, but for the first time, from Spock as well. I have no where left safe to speak my mind, so I will reside myself to this last foothold.

It is very late night or very early morning, depending on your reasoning. I have claimed the Observation Deck as my own, for a period of time, and have found a corner I believe that is unseen by security cameras. It was not difficult to triangulate, and from the lack of seating available in this corner, I see they may know this weakness exists and hide it. This will be a written log to keep my voice from being recorded.

I have begun teaching Jim the basics of shielding his mind. Without the aid of a Vulcan, or if my teachings in melding cannot be furthered, his education cannot continue. I doubt the child-Spock will assist, and his own Spock refuses to leave the Romulans in some fool desire, and right now I cannot deal with my own.

That is why I am here, tonight. There is something about the stars that normally soothes me, allows me to think, but even they cannot be of help. My routes of thought end in looping circles or dead ends, and like a labyrinth I cannot find a way out. Spock has been damaged in ways I cannot fix. His mental landscape has changed from the barren but peaceful rocky surface I have always known to something foreign and alien even to himself.

He has become lost within his own mind, and my assistance has thus far managed to only harm him further. His distance becomes greater and greater with each passing day, as does his pain. He withdraws from my touch and simialtaniously clings to it. Even in our darkest hours, I have not seen him like this.

He seemed comfortable with that woman, more than he has with me in the days since the accident in the mess hall. I have never been frustrated to this measure with Spock, yet twice now I have left him alone so that I do not lash out or make things worse. I do not know the road to take.

There are five major options that I foresee.

1. We return to our universe.
2. I return to our universe.
3. We remain in this universe.
4. We follow Jim to his universe.
5. One or the other of us follows Jim to his universe.

There is a sixth option I dare not mention.

I want to have the best possible chance for Spock. This is a weakness I cannot deny in myself. Here, unlike our own universe, Spock has a chance to be something greater. Someone greater than even what I see him to be. He has mentioned the concept of friends, something that he has none of in our universe. That woman, for all I hate her, seems to make him happier. Until the incident, he seemed happy.

He needs help he cannot receive in our universe, but could here. I cannot desert my ship, for I am its captain. It would mean the death of my crew, as they cannot pilot the ship, fire weapons, even contact another ship. It would mean the destruction of the ship I have not only helped to design, but have helped to give possible sentience to if McCoy is correct.

He has been changing. He has said it himself. I cannot change to meet his needs, and that is becoming clear. I will do what is necessary to give him this chance, no matter what it means to me.

No matter where I end up, it will end in danger, or loneliness. After eleven years, considering the circumstances, I am not sure which is the one I prefer.

Pike returned to the quarters he shared with Spock after his brief meeting with Jim, feeling minorly conflicted but better then he expected. Reaching out for the other's aid had been harder and easier then expected, but despite the logic he had gone over and over, was not sure if he was actually right in his convictions. Perhaps that was the trouble, that his conviction was a singular one, that he wished Spock's betterment, and he could not chose which was right.

For now, he had a task. He had thought of the idea when Spock had been in trouble, when he had needed to accomplish something he was incapable of. The gloves gave him a heavily extended sense of touch, nearly to the point of feeling like he was wearing cotton when he did not have them on. Could they be used like a Vulcan's fingertips, to initiate a mind meld? Equally, it required additional strength and sensitivity to accomplish the nerve pinch as well. It was an intriguing thought, one he planned to check on.

When he was inside, he gave the equivalent of a knock on Spock's side of the bond, wondering if his bond mate was truly in meditation. Spock would ignore the knock if he was.

[OOC: This occurs during the year 2253. The year that Pike and Spock left from was 2263, so this was ten years ago. They were only bonded five years ago, to put things into perspective.]

It was not even a full year into their five year mission, but already things had become interesting with his young crew. They desired to rise in the ranks with more urgency then older crews, say the one he had left behind on the I.S.S. Yorktown, but they were young fools without realizing the consequences of having little to no experience in not only the possible new rank, but even in the ways of assassination. Several weak attempts had already been made for his life, but they had been easily dealt with early on. Now things had settled and they were all dealing with their newly acquired positions or grumbling about the failures they had suffered.

There were four in particular that still concerned him, and Pike was keeping the closest eyes on them. The first was his helmsman, Hikaru Sulu. The young man was brilliant in his abilities in flight, absolutely ruthless, but he would not leave alone any young lady that walked onto the bridge. The second was his navigator, the scruffy haired child who was the youngest on his ship. Chekov seemed innocent, but was anything but. He was a silent assassin, vicious and very good at what he did. Pike still couldn't find the body of the person he had originally chosen to be his alpha navigator. Nyota Uhura was dangerous. She was one of the few women to reach as high as she had without sleeping with anyone; she just killed anyone who was in her way. They were often found in their beds, and it often involved a lot of blood.

Then there was Spock, the last of his crew that he was dealing with more often then expected. He heard the constant rumors about 'the Vulcan' on their crew. People were afraid of him, even as they tried to hide it with false bravado. He had taken a shine to the young Vulcan he had bent over the console on the bridge his first day and proven to the crew he had no fear of those who, as rumors put it, 'could turn his mind to mush and drink it through a straw.'

Spock was his, chosen by him when everyone else was too foolish to see possibility. He had been forced to defend Spock on several occasions, most without Spock knowing he had stepped in. One attempt already included a small group who decided to take care of the 'green-blood' on their ship. It had been all too recently that he had been forced to step up and defend Spock in a more physical manner, to prove his point. Spock was a part of his crew, and despite the rumors passing between ships and across Starfleet, was not a slave.

The flesh around his right arm was still tender, itching and burning alternatively despite the incident having happened just over a month ago. It was an ugly reminder of the whip that had curled around his forearm and burned through the skin to the bone. McCoy's skilled hands had been part of fixing it, but also Spock's diligence in making up for the marks by helping him to tend it. Pike was surprised to realize he had begun to trust the young science officer.

He had brought Spock to his rooms more then once a week for a while now, mostly enjoying the mix of resentment and almost puppy-like devotion that came from the half-Vulcan and teaching him the base pleasures of pain and sex. It was almost impossible to find such a raw mass of possible talent that had no molding what so ever, and he had it in one convenient package. He sent the boy back to his own quarters each night, unless he planned to keep Spock trussed up for the entire night.

Pike looked across the room to the collection of leather, metal, and toys he had in mostly plain sight. The weaponry that crossed the walls was more vivid, but the collection was impressive that he allowed it to be displayed. When he wanted to enjoy someone, even more so when they were going to fight back, he wanted to always have something appropriate on hand to deal with them. In fact, the more they fought, the better it often was. Spock had gone back to his bed with no end of marks on his wrists, ankles, neck, and elsewhere.

Tonight, he had yet to decide what he would do with the young Vulcan. The possibilities were endless, and he had yet to find the limits of how far he could push the boy.

Pike almost had to drag Spock to their quarters. The Vulcan stumbled at least once as if intoxicated, forcing Pike to take the full brunt of his weight for a might before commanding him to stand straight. It was unlike any state he had ever seen Spock in before. Spock never struck out unless he planned to kill, and until now, had always finished that kill.

He snapped the password for the door and led Spock over to the bed, urging, then commanding, him to lay down. Pike growled out for the locks to lock as he moved over Spock, checking his pupils, whispering curses to himself about the girl and her stupidity. He had no way to initial a meld, so did what he could instead.

Pike climbed over Spock's body to straddle it and laid their foreheads together. He closed his eyes, breathing out to let some of the tension flowed from his body, and opened his shielding as wide as it would go.

Spock.

Pike felt a rush go through his veins, swimming as hot as the Vulcan sun with Commander Robau’s words. He felt David tense up beside him, could mentally see that smile curl up on his lips like a cat that spotted the bird in the grass. It suddenly felt much, much cooler in the tent, and Pike could hear his own heartbeat in the silence that followed those three small words. We’ve found them. He did not have to be told what it meant. “Where?” He said in a voice softer then he had expected. Maybe he had not even said them aloud. George Kirk’s small ‘hmph’ was clearly audible.

“Here.” Robau reached over the large map that covered his desk and touched a specific spot with the tip of his finger. Pike and David leaned over at the same time, studying the area. Pike knew it only vaguely, tucked into the curl of the deepest rock by the massive mountain that was far enough away not to be visible on the horizon of their camp, at the very edge of a place they called Yonal-eiktra, or in Standard, the Fire Plains. He knew it only from map studies, a place marked in the wide, wide area that was called possibility.

“Are you sure?” David asked, and Pike glanced up to see Robau’s eyes narrow in annoyance. Fool, don’t test his patience. They all knew the sting of Robau’s words. Only dead men knew the sting of his blade or worse, Kirk’s. He knew little about the blond man other then he was almost anonymous in a way, with no known background other then his name and that he had been at Robau’s side for years. Pike hated the man, with that constant smug smirk beneath falling yellow strands and bright blue eyes that he was sure had fooled many in the past. He was far from fooled and treated Kirk like a bomb about to explode at any second.

“We’re sure.” Robau’s accent played with the words as he spoke, “We found something moving on a sweep of the area, concentrated our resources there, and two days later, spotted Vulcans sneaking in and out of the area. They are very good, even with people watching around the clock, we also didn’t spot them.” His finger tapped the spot again, marked with a bead of some amber-colored material.

“The area, as you no doubt know,” He spoke in dry tones, “Repels any attempt to not only transport there but has the special property to repel the majority of any energy strike.” It was also a part of why the planet itself was under attack. The Federation wanted that material desperately, Pike knew, so that it could be studied to be used on their ships. “No doubt it’s also well guarded, but after so long of our inability to locate it, we’re hoping that they’ve let down some of their defenses.”

“How do you plan--” David started, but Pike shifted his weight so he could step down on the arch of David’s foot with a rough but steady pressure in a silent nudge to shut up.

Robau’s displeasure showed again, “We can’t strike from above or even on surface. So instead…” He barely even moved his hand before Kirk had stepped away, digging and pulling out a silver case. Pike turned his attention to the other man as Kirk laid the silver case on the table. It required Robau’s thumb print and voice command to get it opened.

Inside was something unlike anything Pike had ever seen before. He wiped sweat from his brow as he leaned over, trying to figure out what it could even be. It was about as long as the length from his elbow to his wrist, a tube wrapped in white metal, capped at either end. He could have sworn he heard the faintest of humming coming from it as well. “…Sir?”

“This,” Robau let their eyes linger over the unknown tube for only a short time before gesturing again. Kirk closed the case with a solid click. “This is a material that we’ve discovered from one our long distance ships. It captured an enemy ship coming out of the Delphic Expanse, and found this material contained within. Much to our surprise, it seems to have an incredible effect on the Vulcans. This is part of that small sample, and all we have. One shot to wipe out huge amounts of the rebels.”

Already Pike was grasping what Robau was getting at, and he did not like it. “You would need someone to physical implant this in the rebel base.” He let his tone be flat, indicating he understood.

“You always were a bright one, Pike.” Robau’s tone was equally flat, but Kirk’s smirk grew in size. “It has no effects on humans that we’ve found, but since we can’t transport it into their base, we need a bit more of a physical hand in delivering them this package.” The commander leaned back. “You most likely had Kavanagh pass you on the way out. The three of you will be dropped off seventeen miles at this point,” He tapped another place on the map, “You have the rest of tonight to prepare, and at 0400 you’ll be on your way.”

Pike studied the map in silence. Their camp was tucked into a canyon not an hour away from Shi’Kahr, It would take at least seven hours by vehicle to reach that far, if they took something fast and stealthy. So they would be in location by 1100, roughly, which meant they would be traveling through the desert at its hottest. Not only the desert, but one of the worst parts of all outside of the Forge, and it would be no one but the three of them. No means of back up, no additional supplies but what they could carry.

He looked to David, and felt the faintest chill down his spine at the fact that even this information had not stopped David from smiling. He had known the other man for years now, trusted him not only at his back but when he slept, and had never seen quite the same look in his eyes. David was excited about this. David was the more wild of the two of them, more daring, while he was the steady one that fought hard and planned well. David was wildfire, ready to leap and dance and scour without care of which way the wind blew, and that was how he fought in battle. Pike had seen allies go down under David’s blade. Together they formed a team that few had seen in all their years at the academy and even more so once they had been sent to Vulcan.

“Kavanagh,” Pike took the silence as a chance to question, “What are his skills?” The name was only vaguely familiar.

To his surprise, it was Kirk that answered, “All you need to know is that he knows how to handle this.” Kirk’s fingers tapped on the silver case holding the unknown material. Pike made a two mental notes. One was to ask Kavanagh on the way about the material. The second was to make sure he killed George Kirk.

“0400. If we’ve seen no sign of your success in three days, we’ll presume you both dead.” Robau’s eyes were cold, “You’d better be, or you’ll wish you were.”

“Yes, sir.”

Their new quarters were small compared to what he knew as theirs back on the I.S.S. Enterprise, but far larger then anything else so far. It was acceptable for now, though, as it provided a great deal more space, their own restroom, and replicators that within a short time, he had arranged as he had the old one.

He had been surprised to discover Spock not in their 'cell' near sickbay, considering he could still feel his bond mate asleep. The replicator there was returned to its normal settings, as was the terminal within. Where was Spock?

He returned to their new quarters, frowning as he thought. He waited, knowing Spock would return to him. There would be much to discuss.