The usual legal disclaimers. However, Tia Anlor is mine, not Paramount's.
Rating: G
Perspective: All the stories in this series take place in the later first/early second season.
Tease Line: A precious treasure comes into the life of Commander Charles Tucker III.
Golden Girl
by JMK758
Prologue
Captain Jonathan Archer was just about to turn the Bridge over to his Science Officer so that he might get some lunch when his attention was called by that worthy. "Captain, sensors are detecting a ship bearing 328 mark 44, two hundred thousand kilometers."
"On screen." In response, the forward view shifted to one somewhat to port and almost halfway up to the zenith. The ship was unfamiliar, composed mostly of flat surfaces and odd angles. It was slowly rolling downside up, and did not seem to be under any power, a supposition confirmed a few moments later by T'Pol's report.
"I'm detecting minimal power and life support. I read only one life sign aboard, but I cannot identify the species. There is considerable damage to the hull." That much was obvious. There were gaping holes blown into the ship, the edges of which were charred, having been melted and flash frozen in the icy cold of space.
"Get us close, Travis." Archer ordered.
"Aye sir." As the Enterprise turned upward and to port, T'Pol regarded the Captain with barely concealed chagrin
"I take it you intend to board that vessel, to attempt to render aid?"
"You take it correctly." Jonathan Archer was not entirely sure he was glad that she knew him as well as she did. She knew what he was thinking, and his position on such situations. He would render whatever aid was possible, as he had done so several times in the past, and he was pretty certain he knew her position as well. He had neither the desire nor the need to ask. "What do you have on that design?"
"I do not recognize it."
"Not 'classified'?" He asked with a mild tone. He'd encountered enough Vulcan 'classified' materials in the past, and usually they involved the withholdings of just the information he needed to keep from getting deep into some sort of mess.
"No sir." Well, things were looking up. T'Pol was telling him she knew nothing about something she knew nothing about. It boded well for the rest of their mission.
x
It had taken only seconds for the huge starship to draw close to the smaller vessel, and as Archer regarded the ship he could see that docking with it was going to be no small difficulty. The ship was tumbling over backwards, the stern coming up and over at a rate of better than one and a half rotations per minute, while at the same time rotating along its long axis counter-clockwise at about 2 rotations per minute, perhaps a bit more. Depending on where the access port was, and he had not seen it yet, it was going to tax his pilot's skill to synchronize with the vessel. He did not dare order grapples to steady the ship, as it looked like it was holding together primarily through prayer.
"Where is the life sign coming from?"
"Roughly forward of center, which means that it is not being subjected to the degrees of centripetal force that apply along the ends of the ship. Fortunately, much of the ship is still structurally stable and retaining atmosphere, so if there is a working port an away team should be able to reach the source."
"Travis, do you think you'll be able to dock a pod with that?" The dark man regarded him with a confident smile.
"Yes sir. No trouble at all." Archer regarded his helmsman with a jaundiced expression, trying to decide if the man was putting on a deceptive display or was supremely confident in his piloting skills. Since he had chosen the best people possible for his crew, it most likely was the latter.
"All right. You, Malcolm, Phlox and Trip get aboard that ship. Render whatever aid you can."
"Aye sir." Malcolm, at the tactical station, made to leave as well. Hoshi, without needing to be told, relayed the order to the Doctor and the Chief Engineer, who would meet them at the Launch bay.
Chapter One
Survivor
As Travis Mayweather piloted Shuttle Pod One toward the alien ship, he reflected on the Captain's question. 'Do you think you'll be able to dock?' 'Yes, sir. No problem at all.' Of course, he was not going to point out that the docking port he'd located was in perhaps the worst possible location, more than halfway forward of center and on top, so that he would have the ship approaching the upper hull at all times, as well as spinning around its own axis. He would have to approach the ship while backing away from it, and spin to chase it around sideways as well.
It was a common misconception among laymen that ships in space maintained the same orientation, on the same level. Space having no up or down, any ships they encountered would have any conceivable orientation, though usually this was 'upright' to whatever planet they had most recently visited. This one, conversely, seemed to have every orientation.
The experienced helmsman, encountering a ship up or down from them, upright or upside-down or any combination of orientations, usually made such adjustments as a matter of course. As a result, he always approached a ship so that his mates would perceive it as being upright. It was second-nature adjustment.
This one would be a challenge which, if he did not do it right, his friends would see the ship toppling over onto them. But he felt certain he was up to the challenge. He would not tell them that, however, because he did not know how to do it without sounding smug.
It was primarily a matter of training – a pilot did not make the grade without being able to handle the unusual – but only the really good ones could make it look easy. And having been born in space, living almost all of his life aboard one ship or another, with occasional visits to planets, did not hurt at all.
Thus, in what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he had synchronized with the port and maneuvered so that the ship, which was constantly 'falling towards them', would be linked with the docking hatch in their own ceiling even as they both rolled to the left at more than twice per minute.
He considered it a matter of pride that his companions had such faith in him that they did not interrupt their own conversation until he reported that the docking was complete. "Good job, Travis." Tucker complimented in a tone that clearly said he would have been surprised at any less.
Phlox, Tucker and Reed were outfitted in EVA suits, having little trust in the integrity of such a shot-up ship. Their orders were clear: get in, find and bring out the survivor. Period.
xxx
Phlox carried a portable stretcher set with telescoping poles, which was fitted with a secure net suitable when expanded, for zero gravity immobilization and transport. Tucker would deal with any portals or other obstructions, while Reed would keep his eyes and sensors open for any internal defenses which might mistake rescuers for attackers and respond with extreme prejudice.
They climbed the ladder, opening the airlock port into darkness. The spotlights on their helmets revealed cramped chambers, but little more of note. They followed Phlox, whose portable sensor led him unerringly to the source of the life signs. "Feel that?" Reed asked, referring to the spinning sensation that threatened his lunch.
"Whatever inertial dampeners they use must not be working well." Tucker confirmed.
"As we go further, the effects will be quite marked. I should think that our survivor may well be experiencing forces of almost two gravities."
"What if we had Travis level us off?"
"No way to tell."
Obviously it was 'command decision' time, just the type of such that he hated. Does 'improving' things help or make an unknown bad situation worse? It would help if he had some clue as to what the survivor was experiencing. But he did know that moving an injured person under extreme conditions was not good. "Tucker to Mayweather."
"Go ahead, Commander."
"Inertial dampeners seem to be shot. Can you use the pod's thrusters to steady us?"
"No problem."
"Travis, do it very, very gradually. We don't want to come aboard to rescue this guy and kill him ourselves."
"Aye sir."
"This way." Phlox told them immediately. They started along the dark corridor. They were not aware of whatever Travis was doing, since they were moving along the length of the ship, and then down a ladder to a lower level. All they knew was that the expected 2 G's never materialized.
"Commander?" Reed called as they passed a junction and, as he turned to look, the twin beams affixed to his helmet shone their light down the length of corridor. The others doubled back, looking at the spot indicated in his beam.
x
A body lay on the deck, motionless. Even as they approached, two things were apparent. First, he had been slammed with considerable force against the bulkhead and second, he was quite dead.
Under the light of the three pairs of beams which probed the body, he looked very human. The man's body was battered and broken, covered with blood that also smeared the somewhat dented wall. He looked almost classically human, but that was where the resemblance to humans ended. The blood was golden. "Ever see this species before?"
"Not at all." He began scanning it, and what he found was unexpected indeed.
"Looks like he was killed when the inertial dampeners cut out." Tucker said, not wanting to consider just how much force was needed to slam the man into the steel wall hard enough to dent it.
"This is very interesting."
"What is?"
"This blood. It not only looks golden, it is gold."
"Gold?"
"Yes. In the same way you'll find iron in human blood, this man's blood is able to carry oxygen to the cells of his body through the use of gold."
"But I thought…"
"Yes, but when the gold is bonded with a molecule of…" He was interrupted by a most unnerving sound, that of the groan of tortured metal. The trio exchanged uneasy looks. They were clearly running out of time!
"We'd best be going." Phlox said. There was nothing he could do for this person, but now that he had seen a representative of the species, he had a little more to go on when they did find the survivor. He led them back to the junction and continued down the corridor.
xxx
They passed several more bodies, the crew seemingly all killed by the trauma of impacts with unyielding bulkheads. The continued for several more meters, finding body after body, all beyond their help. Finally Reed called a halt. "In here."
Tucker examined the door for a moment. "There's still a bit of current running through the circuits. Not much, but I think I can get the door open." He worked a few moments, and they were rewarded with a slight motion of the door as it slid to the right – all of four inches. "That's it. Power's finished."
Together the three of them got their hands into the open space, and with considerable effort managed to shove the door all the way into its housing.
Then they turned into the room and their EV suit lights scanned the area, they looked upon carnage. The dark chamber was filled with tables thrown about the room and broken into fragments; equipment both small and large, much of it shattered beyond any of their ability to guess its former use. All of it was crammed against the far wall. As they played the beams of their lights over the mess, each of their lights converged on a pair of legs and an arm extending from the debris.
They crossed the room, each of them looking over the mountain of fragments of furniture and equipment, trying to discern how they could remove it without bringing the entire pile down upon the body beneath it.
They made careful work of digging, removing each piece cautiously to prevent dislodging any other until finally enough was moved that they could speed their work, uncovering the body of a young woman.
She was battered, so covered in golden blood that for a moment Tucker feared they were too late, but Phlox, scanning the body, denied this even as they saw she was breathing.
She wore a tan jumpsuit, or what was left of one, so rent and covered with blood they could barely see the original color. She had long, golden hair and delicate features despite the bruising, and they judged her to be about 5 feet tall. Phlox examined her minutely.
"She has several broken bones, but nothing seems likely to damage any internal organs, at least more than they have been already. We should be able to get her to the pod." They laid out the stretcher, unclipping the netting, and cautiously eased her onto it.
x
"Good thing she's light." Reed said. "I don't think she'd be very much more than 100 pounds on Enterprise."
"She's lovely." Trip whispered, so quietly they barely heard him. Reed looked at the Commander, whose eyes and torch were locked on her face.
When does a man's heart stop beating for himself and he still live? It is in that moment when, unknown and unknowing, he finds that soul he knows beyond all reason to be the compliment of his own. Reed, looking into the man's eyes, knew his friend had found, or thought he had, just that one.
He hoped that the future would not disappoint.
"I suppose so." Phlox admitted. "But for now we must be more concerned with getting her back to the ship."
As rapidly as possible they bundled the slight body on the netted stretcher and carried her back to the pod.
xxx
Captain Archer and Ensign Sato arrived in the Sick Bay shortly after Phlox had informed the bridge that he was finished in surgery, having repaired to the best of his ability several internal injuries. The setting and knitting of bones had been a relatively minor operation. Archer had marveled often at the Denobulan's ability to perform surgery on a species he had not seen three hours before, but had since given up being astounded by his Chief Medical Officer - or so he thought. Every once in a while, however, the other performed a previously unimagined feat that left Archer as stunned as ever, and it was back to square one again.
The young woman lay on the diagnostic table, still unconscious. Her clothing had been exchanged from the form fitting tan garment she had worn, which had been tattered and covered with dried golden blood, for a blue medical smock, which came down about to her knees. Archer was taken aback by her.
She looked human, so much so that, if not for the distinctly golden tint to the flesh and the more gold than blonde hair, he would have taken her for a native of Earth. In fact, he had met many California beach bunnies who perhaps strove for such golden skin and hair as this slight young woman possessed. "How is she?"
"Quite out of danger, Captain. I expect she will make a complete recovery."
"And what is she? What species?" The Doctor's affable smile faltered slightly.
"Sorry, I don't know." But then he brightened. "You'll find this interesting, however." He gently raised one of her eyelids enough for Archer and Hoshi to see. What was more interesting than the gold iris was the tiny network of blood vessels that supported her eye.
"Gold?" Archer asked. "I got the report, but —."
"Oh, yes. The report was quite accurate. What we are dealing with is a species that has evolved to use gold in the way humans utilize iron."
"How?"
"The biology is not difficult, but I shall be interested in finding out just how her race evolved. On your world, iron is a plentiful material, so on hers…" But again his cheerful nature died, this time more so. "There is something else, Captain. Something you may well find disturbing."
"What is it?" Archer could not recall a time when he'd seen the Denobulan looking so grim.
x
Without a word, the Doctor started to unbutton the blue smock the woman wore; leaving it closed until he'd unsealed it to the hem, and then spread the material, uncovering her. Archer's breath caught in his throat, and it took most of his self-control to keep from displaying his thoughts. Beside him Hoshi gasped, covering her mouth to keep from showing her own feelings. "You can close it back up." He said in a voice as level as death. He did not speak as the Doctor resealed the garment.
"The back is just as bad, she must have been in considerable pain."
"It looks like someone took a whip to her." This, to him, was even more atrocious, more offensive, than the scores of bruises that mottled her body.
"I found evidence of severe floggings, and the marks are not all from one occasion. They run a range from recent through scars long ago healed. I would say she was whipped on numerous occasions; and there is evidence of severe beatings, simple and compound fractures and other injuries that had nothing to do with the ones she experienced on that ship."
Archer, outraged, disgusted and trying his best not to show it, caught sight of Hoshi's face as he turned away from the body. The young woman had far less experience controlling her own reactions. Trip had often expressed a desire to play poker with her, and right now her feelings were clear. "You going to be all right?"
"I'm fine, sir." But there was breathiness to her voice Archer did not like. But if she said she was 'fine', then he would be satisfied that she was 'fine'.
Under other circumstances, he might have teased her about lying to her Captain, but not this time.
x
He turned back to Phlox. "Can you wake her?"
"I was just about to." He reminded them. Taking a hypospray, he pressed it to the girl's neck and pressed the injector. The device hissed, introducing the stimulant directly into her bloodstream, thence to her brain. Within moments the girl gasped, her eyes flying open and she cried out, flinging her hands out, trying to stave off the devastating impact that had happened long ago.
"Easy. You're safe." Phlox said soothingly, holding her shoulders, knowing he could not be understood but hoping his tone conveyed his meaning. Apparently it did, for though she looked about urgently, gasping from the aborted fright, she did not lose control.
"You're aboard the starship Enterprise." Archer told her in much the same tones. "We rescued you from your ship. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer."
She seemed to push her fright away, enough to focus on them and get her panicked breath under control.
"De stal?" She asked warily. "Mona tu veres?" She had a surprisingly melodious voice.
"You're in the Sick Bay." He told her, more to elicit another response.
"Mir kiris? Tu maris katanisre dobrir?" She looked about, confused and distressed.
"This is Dr. Phlox."
"Mon kir? Skowie tu vandres?" Hoshi was working rapidly with the translator. "Tamari kir naoris vas? Tamari kir Arianis?" She looked about again, growing frantic. "Tamari kir Arianis?"
"Arianis?" Archer asked, picking up on the verbal capital and going with a hunch. He extended his arms, indicating all around him. "Enterprise." She focused on him.
"Enterprise?" She asked in confusion.
"Please don't help, sir. I don't think Arianis means her ship." Hoshi stepped closer, still pushing buttons on the UT and pointed to herself. "Hoshi." She indicated the others in turn. "Jonathan. Phlox." She pointed to the woman, her expression clearly questioning.
"Tia." It came out 'Tee-ah', with the second syllable drawn and accented.
Hoshi went around a second time. "Hoshi Sato. Jonathan Archer."
"Tia Anlor." The name came out soft, this time the first part drawn. 'Ahn-lor'. "Mosti katis makari?" She asked, but when she didn't get an answer she asked more urgently. "Mosti katis to me?" She looked at each of them in mounting desperation. "What happened to me?" Hoshi & Archer exchanged glances.
x
"Do you understand me?" She stared at him, vastly surprised.
"Yes. I understand you." She looked to each of them in wonder. To her they were speaking now in perfect, though oddly accented, fluency in her own language, but their lips were not moving properly! "How?"
Archer indicated the device in Hoshi's hand. "It's called a Universal Translator. It's linked with our ship's computer, and will allow us to understand each other anywhere on the ship." He didn't mention that it took a particular degree of attention not to look at the other's lips. For even through they understood one another they were still speaking different languages, and the effect was something akin to watching a poorly dubbed video.
"What happened to my ship?"
"We found it drifting in space. It looked to have been attacked. Do you know by whom?"
It was just too strange. They were speaking her language, but their lips were moving wrong! "Yes. The klusert ku vorklis!" Demons of Hell, the UT rendered an instant later. Archer wondered if the translator was indeed working properly, but that was the essence of what she had said. "Where are my friends?"
"I'm sorry. You were the only survivor."
She stared at him, shock giving way to devastation. She looked around the room with mounting urgency, desperately searching for a familiar face! "NO!" She tried to get up, but the pain in her body worked with the strange man with the ridges on his face who held her down with gentle but firm limit. "NO! They can not all be dead!" She cast around again, even more desperately. "They can not be dead!"
"I'm sorry."
Tia knew it had to be so; otherwise someone would be here! Arianis would be here! She remembered the pounding of the ship, the loud roars of impacts, everything shaking and buffeted and pounding so hard she kept falling, kept getting knocked to the floor, unable to escape the laboratory. There was a titanic impact and she and Arianis had been slammed bodily into the wall. She fell to the floor, but Arianis managed to keep her feet, her body braced to the wall by the force of the ship's starting to spin wildly!
Then there was a worse impact that joined a deafening blast that shook the ship like a giant rattling a toy! She remembered Arianis' shriek as everything in the room flew at them; tables, chairs, benches all released from their places in one horrifying rain of metal and wood and glass, flying at them! She'd fallen to the floor, but Arianis had not been able to duck from where she stood pinned to the wall as the room hit her! In that one horrible moment Tia would hear for all of her life her shriek was silenced, and then the room fell onto Tia!
Tia tried very hard to keep her control, but in the end could not. Staring into their sad faces, those so strange pink, alien faces, she could not deny what they told her.
She turned away, rolling onto her side on the bed, and a lifetime of enforced command and control could not restrain her grief.
She wept.