Firebird
Note To Reader: Any thing spoken in Russian will be italicized while all English dialogue will be in normal type. Special thanks to Star Trek: The Original Series, Season Two, Episode Forty One, "The Deadly Years." Also, the title, "Firebird," is taken from a Russian folklore which tells the story of a golden bird, who's beauty is beyond compare and to whoever harms or imprisons the sacred bird comes a price.
Chapter One
"Can you spare any change sir? Any change ma'am? Thank you." Vanya Sarah Davidovna's torn and tattered feet leapt across the street of Leningrad through the throng of people towards the food market across the street. As she flew down the street, one of her bare feet slipped into a street grate and as she began to run ahead, a sickening snap came from her foot. She fell to the ground as shots of nauseating pain engulfed the entirety of her right let. She could stand the pain only long enough to drag her body to the nearest alley.
* * *
Ensign Pavel Andrieivich Chekov thanked the captain profusely for granting him two duty free days of shore leave. He had visited his dear mother on the outskirts of the city and now ventured to reacquaint himself with beautiful Leningrad-so dear to his heart. He had not anticipated to miss his mother tongue so dearly. It was a curious thing to nearly forget that which had been all he knew. When he walked down the streets of this land-who had reared the Chekov line as far back as man could possibly say-it was nearly enough to make him regret ever leaving her. This thought made him tremble in shame at ever beginning to think such a thing. For all he loved Russia the stars were where he belonged.
The freezing winds of the seemingly endless Russian winter danced through his hair. A sad small noise drifted upon that wind. As Chekov listened the crying noise emanated from a near by alleyway between the food market and the computer repair store. As he peered down the alley he saw the shaking form of a child, sitting with her knees clutched to her chest; the fingers that clutched them were as blue as the waters of Rigel X.
"Are you alright?" The girl backed away, frightened, but before she had gotten very far she stopped, clutching her foot and letting out a low pitiful moan. Chekov saw her foot for the first time. Bluer even than her fingers and badly broken, the bone stretching the skin sickeningly.
"It's okay, let me help you. Look, look," He stripped his jacket, revealing his Starfleet uniform below. "I am of Starfleet. Do you know what that means?" The speechless girl nodded slowly.
"Please, let me take you to a medic." She shook her head vigorously.
"Why? They can fix you foot and give you something warm to drink. Please, let me take you there." This time the girl nodded hesitantly. The emaciated girl tried to clamber to her feet, but fell and cried out in pain.
"May I carry you?"
"Yes, thank you for you kindness." The Russian she spoke was strange and beautiful. It was somewhat similar to the Russian Mr. Spock spoke, yet, more gentle, graceful, more...beautiful.
He carefully lifted the girl into his arms. She was surprisingly light and shook badly.
"You're not part Vulcan by any chance?"
"No, my mother was Russian and my father of America."
"Your Russian is strange to me."
"I learned Russian from my mother speaking the language while all around were speaking English. I was the first and only child to be born and raised aboard a starship." Why did she wish to tell this young ensign all she had tried so hard for so long to bury?
"My mother died when I was seven and after that I simply couldn't stay aboard with so many memories. So, I chose to come here." The tears began flowing and would not stop.
"Sh, sh, there now."
The rest of the walk was silent. The girl fell asleep in his arms before they reached the nearest transport station. She dreampt, for the first time in seven years, of her brief childhood, the Conquest, and light years of stars before her.