A/N:This is different. It's pretty intense, really creepy. Solkan is not a decent guy. This story is the events of PUTP ch.4, part 2, from his point of view. Let me just say, his mind is scary.
T'Lea and Kareb would not respond to him. So much experience, so many contacts, now unrestricted by anyone or anything. They worked for themselves now. Why would they not respond?
He found himself in T'Kara's office one night. She was there. She was always there. Something in her eyes said she could see what he was thinking. He wanted that, he wanted that power for himself. So he sat and talked with her as if he were some kind of patient of hers, as if he had patience.
He returned, again, again, again. He had made his intention clear, he was going to have her train him. She thought she could refuse. But she was so close, he could just take those secrets from her mind. Ah, but he did not know if she was in concert with the Captain, the Andorian, and Dr. Hernandez. He would wait, she would come around.
Then he found himself at the door to her quarters. She hadn't been in her office that night. So, of course he would look for her here.
The door slid open and the look that passed across her face was one of unmistakable anger. She stood just inside the door and stared into his eyes, boring holes through him. His fingers tingled. She would come to see things his way, soon enough. The door slid shut, and he was left in the hall.
Ensign Newlin. Amber Newlin, with her waves of blonde hair, freckles, and wide-set eyes. She sought him out, some ... issue ... with the transporter. Something he had asked her to do that had caused problems. He was no engineer, but he gladly spent the time down there with her, running diagnostics, standing over her and watching her.
He returned, again, to T'Kara's quarters. The door would open, she would see his face, and the door would shut. But he would not give up.
Again, he was at her door. This time, he would make her see. She would not refuse him again. The door slid open, before she could close it again, he stepped inside. That familiar flash of anger. She threatened to call Security on him, but he would not be refused, not this time. He stepped forward again and her hands were on his chest ... something alit in him like a flame ... he reached to close the door behind him.
And suddenly, he was shoved unceremoniously to the ground, out in the hall, staring up at the ceiling above him. The door slid shut below his feet.
His vision a field of green, he clenched his fists and rose from the floor. He walked, not consciously sure where he was going.
Awareness found him in main engineering. Newlin was there. Of course. She was nearly off-duty. In fact, in 5.3 minutes. She came with him to the recreation lounge. She would not refuse him.
It became a regular occurrence, every other day, when they were both off-duty at the same time. He brought her to a far corner of the rec lounge, away from others. He sat close and teased her with talk of a promotion and a sense of importance in Section 31, and he played with her hair. She was loyal, to 31, and to him.
One evening, he realized something had changed, when the sound of her voice, every sideways glance she gave him, was met by an increasing tightness in his groin. His fingertips tingled and burned, and he traced them along the sides of her face. She trembled, tears spilling across her freckled cheeks, and backed away. She left him alone in the rec lounge, her chair tipped over from the hasty retreat. The bartender stared, and he pinned him against the wall, one hand to his neck. He would kill him if he ever told anyone what he thought he had seen.
He returned to his own quarters. It was better this way, Newlin could never sustain him through what was to come. He peeled his uniform off and discarded it into a pile. His undergarments were damp with sweat. He paced, restless, then fell back onto his bed and satiated himself.
With a shower and some more of his tension released, the room felt cooler and he began to deliberate what he would do about this. He had no desire to return to Vulcan and have his family push their choice of mates upon him. T'Lea and Kareb did not have another unbonded daughter for him. He didn't have many choices aboard this ship, he required a Vulcan woman to see him through this.
It seemed T'Mira would be his only choice. Conn officer of the Antares, that ship where there was no Andorian stealing his job and thwarting everything he tried to do. She would have him, she would not reject him.
The first comm call, she tried to talk about insignificant things. When he made his purpose for calling clear, she disconnected. He called back.
Thus it went, for hours. He would give her no rest. She would not refuse him. But soon, she stopped answering the comm.
He dressed himself again, vaguely aware that he was supposed to be on duty. All he was truly aware of was his own rage. How dare she ignore him! No one ... no one, ignored him like that! No one refused him!
He left the bridge as soon as he had a chance. He was done with people pushing him off, refusing to do what he asked!
He returned to his quarters, and comm'd T'Mira again - making sure to use his encryption codes this time. She answered, he had masked the sender identification. He threatened her this time, he threatened violence, he threatened the end of her Starfleet career, he threatened to come and find her whether she accepted or not.
He found himself in T'Kara's office again, leaning heavily on her desk. He was giving her a chance. He asked, again, for what he had been asking all along. But no, once again, that same answer. "I am neither qualified nor interested in training you to develop your telepathic skills." He slammed a fist down on her desk, making his knuckles bleed.
She replied with that infuriating calm. "It is your Time," she said, daring to speak so easily of it to him. He was almost disgusted that he ever wanted anything from her, an empathic Vulcan. He gripped her desk, wishing he could tear it in two.
"Whatever it is you want from me, I will not help you."
He jumped over her desk. The mirrored wall broke, a smear of her blood. She fell. He was on top of her, hands at her throat. She fought, weakly, grasping at his wrists. Her eyes widened as she tried to breathe. You will not refuse me! She struggled and writhed beneath him, and his groin swelled again at the thought of her writhing in pleasure. He was aware that he was yelling, at her, as she fought to push his hands away. She pulled in one raspy breath and called for Security.
Four sets of hands were pulling him back, then, grabbing and pulling. He growled, tried to pull away, and they held him tighter. "I will kill you!" he shouted, again and again as they dragged him towards the brig.
The captain came down to the brig, thankfully without Thelis following him like a stupid animal. He demanded that the captain release him. The captain demanded an explanation.
"It's not something we discuss."
"The pon farr."
He rose and punched the forcefield that separated them, and was thrown back to the floor.
"I grew up on Vulcan, Solkan. That is no excuse for the attempted murder of one of my officers! What did she challenge? Your sense of superiority?"
The impact with the forcefield had knocked his strength from him. "I require transport to the USS Antares, Captain."
After the captain left, someone else approached his cell. He rolled onto his side on the floor.
"Lt. Commander Solkan." The voice was sweet, soothing. It was Lassasia, the brig commander. One of his.
She sat outside his cell until the doctor came, officially diagnosing what no one needed to know. Soon, Security was escorting him to his quarters. A transport to the Antares had been arranged in the morning.
The shuttle was warp-capable and the ride was not long, Antares was close by.
T'Mira did not meet him in the transporter room, lest he take her right there. No, he was met by Security and escorted to her quarters.
Her door opened with a swish. She had her hair down and wore a simple bathrobe. He growled. It would not be on her long.
He felt a prick at his neck, heard the unmistakable hiss of a hypospray. He stumbled forward, his muscles suddenly having lost their power. She guided him towards her bed, where he collapsed unceremoniously. She began slowly undressing him, and the fever overtook his mind.
It took six days before he was well again, no doubt slowed by the medication she continued to administer every twelve hours. He needed not ask what it was. Two drugs. One suppressed his telepathic abilities to prevent him from bonding with her, the other was a muscle relaxant to prevent him from injuring her. It was what they used, on Vulcan, those whose job it was to help unbonded men through their Time.
His wits back about him, he knew he had business to attend to before he left. While she slept, he accessed her computer terminal. Several others in Section 31 aboard this ship used new encryption codes. He knew that stupid Andorian on his own ship had been trying to crack his code for a while.
On the shuttle ride back to Taurus, he was able to meditate like he had not been able to in quite some time. It was refreshing, almost, this calm that he felt. Moreso than that, the calm came from the realization of what had happened in the brig. He hadn't seen it at the time, but the doctor diagnosing his "condition" meant that he could not be held responsible for any of his actions that day. There was going to be no impending court-martial. He indulged himself a small amount of joy.
Calais met him in the shuttlebay. She did not know anything of what happened, only of the assault on T'Kara and his sudden departure. She had been worried about him.
He pulled her aside, away from prying eyes and listening ears, and watched her delight as he told her of the new encryption codes he had obtained.
Back on duty, he began to use the time he was allowed away from the bridge to visit her down in Main Engineering. She was timid, even afraid of him, but he knew she was loyal to him and would defend him to the end. He began to pull her aside, when they wouldn't be missed. He knew of little-used side rooms and supply closets near Main Engineering that they could go.
At first, she stood stiffly in the corner, too afraid to change form in front of anyone, but wanting to run nonetheless. But she would not run, not like Ensign Newlin.
But day after day, he tried to get her to simply speak, but she sat mute on a chair in front of him, and he began to lose patience.
He found himself, off-duty, outside the brig. It was a place he had little desire to return to. But she was there. Lt. Lassasia. He waited for her in the corridor, and watched her surprise as she emerged from the doors.
She invited him to her quarters, and he asked her questions. She was an Allasomorph. What was that like? He mentioned that Cal ... the "Chief Engineer" ... was a Changeling. He asked about their differences. He feigned genuine interest. She did not fear him, not so much.
She set out food on her little table and asked him to take a seat. He did, and when she sat he moved closer to her. He raised his hands to her face, and before she had time to pull away, he was there, in her mind.
Are you telepathic? he asked. She screamed, mentally. She couldn't move, she couldn't pull away, she couldn't change form, she was caught. He tried to send her a feeling of calm, but she resisted him.
Don't panic, he said. This is good.
He pulled through her memories, prisoners in their brig, things said, things done. I told you everything, she cried. He pushed through, as if searching for something. He felt her confusion, her fear. She felt his elation, the strange sense of amazement.
I have never melded with a non-humanoid, he said. This is good. She tried to run from him, in her mind, but he was right there. His anger flared up. You cannot run from me here! You will not refuse me!
She trembled, barriers knocked down. He was flooded with her memories, her emotions, everything that was her mind. It was beautiful. He reveled in it, and she screamed. She began to struggle, pulling up the barriers that had fell.
You will not refuse me!
Suddenly, a splitting pain, a flash of light, and he was on the floor. The meld had been broken. Colors swarmed around him, heat and cold, pounding in his temples, and then blackness.