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Title: A Change of Stars
Author: Prentice aka [personal profile] slyprentice
Rating: PG-13, for language. Gen
Pairing: K/S pre-slash/friendship
Status: WIP
Spoilers: Star Trek XI, Star Wars
Warning: Crossover madness. Wookies. Corellian Brandy. Jim as an idealistic young cadet padawan.
Summary: Based on a prompt by [livejournal.com profile] yami_no_kabi. Written for the [livejournal.com profile] st_xi_kink meme, found here.
Word Count: 1,077 for this part [4,583 in total]
Disclaimer: Neither of these will ever be mine and if they were then James T. Kirk would surely say, at least once, ‘have you ever made it with a wookie?’ because that’s the kind of person I am.
A/N: Many thanks to yami_no_kabi for providing such an awesome prompt for the kink meme. This is my first time writing Trek fic and I’m already having a blast.

Feedback is always welcome, as well as those pointing out any flubs I might have missed before posting.

Previous Parts:
[Part 1]
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
[Part 4]

Important Note: Hover over the Vulcan text to see the translation.
+++

[Part 5]

Gamma Solarii VI was, by all accounts, a primitive planet. Filled with abundant vegetation, a wide range of animals – mammalian, aquatic, and reptilian – and a humanoid populace that would likely consume the inherent riches of living on so lush a world within the better part of a millennia, if all calculations and variables were to be accounted for accurately, and a temperature that was well within the parameters of habitability. Much colder than what a Vulcan would consider but moderate enough by Spock’s own, much altered, standards that he would be able to function unhindered by extra robes or un-desirous bodily functions, such as shivering.

Fingers moving over the console with practiced ease, he laid in a course for the nearest geostationary docking station, relying solely on the ships more advanced technology to maneuver through the last of the star base debris. Much of it had drifted, somersaulting outward, as if whatever cataclysmic event had happened on the ship had come internally and forced it to rip itself apart from the inside out.

Eyes lifting to the circular view screen of his ship, Spock stared out at the few pieces of wreckage that drifted nearby, their bodies twirling lazily. A small piece of hull, no bigger than his torso, was well within ship range, making it easy to see that although the initial explosion had ripped it apart from the rest of the hull, it was not overly scorched or charred. Similarly, a mechanical device of some sort, which looked similar to a hydrospanner with melted ends, floated without much more than grease marks.

It would take a powerful explosion, or several small carefully placed ones, to cause such a catastrophic and consuming blast. Well beyond the capabilities of a small single-person ship such as the Jellyfish, whose directed energy weapons would do little more than destabilize the star base’s shields and cause minor damage to the hull and possible persons in the area. Removing himself from the distinctive triangular pilots chair, Spock stood, mind whirling with all potential possibilities.

While the gamma sector’s star base was not immense – housing only a quarter of standard Federation star base allotted personnel, who would be responsible for overseeing normal operation and any temporary travelers – it was considerably larger than the average freighter or even a bulk cruiser. Which left two options: either a ship of the line, one equipped with powerful weapons and capabilities, had blown the star base to pieces or…

Spock froze, face blank as he stared hard at the interior of his ship and the empty red matter storage facility. It had been empty for some time, his master choosing to move the precious and highly unstable matter to his own ship for closer and more personal protection. It had seemed a logical step at the time, his master and mentor far more capable of protecting such an important tool for destruction than he, but now, with the remains of the star base floating around him, he felt a tug, vicious and sharp, at the core of his being.

The only other option, aside from a ship of the line, was sabotage, perpetrated in order to bring destruction and chaos to the Federation, and a mad scramble in his direction. Eyelids dropping, fingers curling into fists at his side, he could feel the dark swirl of Force inside him, the untamed power of it howling inside every molecule of his being, screaming out for –

“The planet only has seconds left,” he said, the loud rumble of an unstable world beneath his feet and echoing off the walls of the Katric ark. Stones, large and powerful, tumbled around them, crushing sacred pieces of Vulcan heritage. “We must evacuate.”

Holding out his hand, Spock stared at the Vulcan High Council, his father, his mother. Amanda Grayson’s face was ashen, smudged with dirt and swathed in sweat. She looked terrified and ill, fragile beneath the Vulcan clothing she had adopted to please his father. “Mother, now,” he implored, hand grasping out, willing her to hurry, to be safe in his caring and away from the destruction that was about to befall his people.

Feeling her cool hand in his, so very human but alive, made his heart pound against his side, something not-quite relief heaving inside of him. He would keep her safe, alive, and whole. Unblemished by what was happening here.

Turning, they ran, dodging falling stone, precious Vulcan works of art, and bits of heritage that he knew they, as a people, would never again see the likes of. His mother’s breathing, so rapid and shallow, echoed inside the trembling corridors, his father’s heavy footfalls close behind. He would save them.

They burst from the tunnel, rocks sliding dangerously close to their precarious position, his mother’s arm threaded through his own. Flipping open his communicator, he all but screamed into it, demanding, “This is Spock, get us out of here.”

The response was immediate, the instructions to stay where they were a small pittance to his worry. He squeezed his mother’s fingers, allowing her arm to slide from his own and taking a small step back, the energizing beams already beginning to wrap around them. They would be safe, together, a family.

His mother turned, her face white and tracked with frightened tears, and her eyes…her eyes…


Blinking, Spock uncurled his aching fists, the bloody crescent moons his fingers hand dug into his palm welling green. The Force around him breathed with dark energy, crackling and ready to be used. A storm was brewing inside of him, hot and aching, and so unlike the cool balm of logic it nearly crippled him. But now was not the time.

Rotating back to the command chair, he moved forward, eyes drinking in the triangular back of the seat and the circular view screen. They formed a perfect replica of the Vulcan IDIC, the symbol of the basis of all Vulcan philosophy. It was one of the few symbols left.

The soothing blanket of logic poured over him, tempering the wild darkness of the Force building inside him. If his assessment was correct, if indeed the star base had been sabotaged by some person or persons, then his master had sent him into a trap, one designed to either kill or incapacitate him for a time. But to what purpose?

Dom-ki’sarlah,” Spock murmured, watching through the view screen as another bit of wreckage drifted by. If this was what his master wanted, so be it. “Nirak.”

TBC in Part 6