He shot bolt upright in bed—cold sweat running down his gaunt face and thin features. He reached out a hand to the nightstand to steady himself—causing the automatic lights in his quarters to dim up slightly. He blinked a few times, studying the topography of his wrinkled blanket for a moment as he caught his breath.
Spock had experienced a few nightmares in his time, but never one of the same intensity as the one from which he had just woken. He looked to the small inset clock illuminated and blinking in the wall. His shift did not start for another four hours, but Spock was still doubtful that he would get much sleep before then.
Spock stood just behind the right corner of the captain's chair gazing out of the view screen at the vast expanse of space. The enterprise was en route to answer a distress call from a small planet in the Naminee system. The receipt of the signal had been somewhat puzzling to the team in that it came from a primitive planet which indicated by record that there was not sufficient technology to produce such a signal.
"Maybe it was a crash." Uhura reasoned somberly.
"Or even another research party—who are attempting to aid the indigenous peoples?" Doctor McCoy offered.
Spock hadn't cared to voice what was on his mind, all he could see were the same images in his mind's eye; a young woman dragging the bodies of three dead men, all separately; she dragged them from twisted metal wreckage, from face down in a muddy river, across the sand—with arrows fanned out of their back. He saw her digging in the mud with her hands—wailing as she buried each one in turn, their blood spilling onto her hands and face.
"Spock!" Kirk called again, a twinge of irritation in his voice.
"I'm sorry captain, I was lost in thought."
"A terrifying place, I'm sure—Mr. Spock please ready the away team for contact with planet Keksulemon."
The coordinates provided by the distress beacon placed the away team on a very lush tropical looking island along Keksulemon's equator. The beach sand was a shocking white, the water a deep emerald, and—as if like a jutting rock face—the metal cliff of starship wreckage outlined in vegetation.
"Dear god Jim!" McCoy gasped.
"No one could have survived a crash like that."
"That may well be true, but I intend to examine the wreckage and search for survivors before I jump to any conclusions Bones." Kirk asserted theatrically before setting off at a brisk pace for the brush—ensign Clarkson following close behind.
Spock could feel the dull pinpricks in his solar plexus that he had long ago conditioned himself to forget heralded feelings of crippling anxiety. Still, he acknowledged the wreckage as being that very same wreckage as that in his nightmare.
In the shadow of the wreckage the away team carefully examined their surroundings for any sign of life. Tricorders at the ready—the three men theorized just what had happened.
"It's a very small ship captain, it would have had a crew of no more than 20 maximum." Spock observed, his eyes traveling slowly over the ship's torn hull.
"While it is…unlikely that anyone could have survived the trauma of the crash, the pattern of the hull damage, and the point of impact do make it possible." Spock noted.
Kirk moved closer to the wreck, the keypad to the door was etched in flowing symbols that were unfamiliar to him.
"Send this configuration up to Uhura." Kirk instructed.
"Captain, I believe--" Spock began, but was cut off by the screams of Ensign Clarkson.
"Oh Jesus!" Clarkson screamed, running toward them.
The ensign ran clumsily, falling at the feet of doctor McCoy. Fear shone in his eyes , and his mouth moved wildly, but only breath and stifled sound emerged.
"What is it ?" Kirk barked—phaser already in hand.
"There must be—they have to," Clarkson stammered.
"There must be what boy? Spit it out!" McCoy hissed.
"Bodies—under the sand—oh god all of that blood…"
The three looked to each other, then took off down the beach along the ensign's footprints.
"The burial was recent." McCoy confirmed solemnly—eyeing the pools of blood that had risen to the surface in the white sand.
"The water flow from the ocean underneath this sand is making all of the blood pool over the burial sites." Spock added.
"They're dead, all of them?" Clarkson whispered.
"All, save for perhaps the one who buried them ensign." Kirk circled the bloody pools—eyes searching for a clue to the impromptu undertaker's whereabouts.
There was a faint rustling sound in the bushes. Kirk's gaze snapped to the underbrush.
"Did you hear that?" He spoke, low to ensign Clarkson.
"Jim, I think we have company." McCoy whispered.
"Captain I think we should—" But the ensign's speech was cut short by a long spear piercing his chest.
"Shit!" Kirk hissed, rolling out of the way of an oncoming spear.
Spock, Kirk, and the good doctor ducked behind a large rock—drawing their phasers and taking aim at the large number of Keksulemon natives flooding out from the brush. Their dark blue-hued bodies were dotted with white paint that seemed to glitter in the blistering sun. They made high pitched chirps and whooping noises as they charged.
The captain was about to give the order to open fire when they heard a loud yelping noise—different from the Keksulemon war calls.
"HaaaaaayeeeeooooooW!" A voice boomed. The away team lifted their gaze to the rocks above to see the small fame of a young, human woman flying through the air toward the group of natives.
"What in hell's name…" McCoy began.
The woman landed in the sand amidst the natives. It was difficult to see her face through the matted shroud of black tresses that covered it. Her movements were fluid and furiously fast. Spock and Kirk watched like snakes hypnotized—she planted her hands in the soft earth and spun her feet like helicopter blades through the air—knocking body over body of the furious mob into the burning sand.
She lifted a spear, swung it over-head—sliced it through the air and several natives with ease. Jumping through the air—she engaged warriors twice her size in hand to hand combat for mere seconds before dropping them to the ground. She continued on in this fashion—until she stood victorious, panting in the wake of her own carnage. If any of the spectators had to make an estimation—they wouldn't have given the whole process of encounter to defeat more than 3 full minutes.
The young woman tossed her hair back—sweat etching spidery channels on her dirty face. She wiped her forehead with the back of one sand-covered hand, mangey locks sticking to her face and neck with sweat. She fixed her burning amythest-colored eyes on the three men she just "saved" and wet her lips as if to speak.
"What took you so damn long?" She asked, walking casually toward the water.
The captain and McCoy couldn't help but laugh—out of nerves if nothing else. Spock, impressed by the woman's showcase of skill, but confused by her salutation merely cocked and eyebrow and uttered the word "fascinating" barely above a whisper.
"Are you with Starfleet?" Kirk asked, following the woman ankle deep into the surf.
"More importantly, are you alright?" Dr. McCoy followed quickly, pulling out his tricorder and checking the woman's vitals.
"I'm fine," the woman said with a smile. "And no, I'm not with Starfleet ---though I must admit, I'm incredibly happy to see someone who is."
Looking at her now, it would be difficult to imagine the display of combat expertise she had just made moments ago. She was fairly petite, with tattered clothes, delicate features, and a peaceful expression—hardly what one would call a killing machine.
"What is your name? How did you become stranded on this planet?" Spock interjected.
"My name is Captain Luxiana Han, but please Lux is fine." She made a sweeping hand gesture, and gave a warm smile—which faded quickly as she began speaking again.
"As to how I got here, well Mr…?"
"Spock."
"As to how I got here Mr. Spock, that is a quite more complicated matter." Lux let out a deep sigh and turned to the others.
"I know it's not terribly polite of a lady to invite herself onto another ship—but seeing as I've had barely enough food to survive, no where to sleep, and no shower for about a year now, I'd greatly appreciate the hospitality." She smiled wearily.
"Well Captain Han, I, Captain James Tiberius Kirk would be honored to have you on our vessel, especially after your heroic display earlier." Kirk nodded to Lux before regarding the doctor.
"Bones, examine the Captain once we're on board—call me once she's checked out."
"Sure Jim." McCoy Confirmed.
"Scottie, prepare to transport four—standby to energize."
Spock watched captain Han with interest—her resemblance to the woman from his dream the night before was uncanny, but still—he would make no comment.
The three were sitting in the Captain's quarters waiting for the fourth member of their party to arrive. Spock had looked up Captain Han's records only to find that there were none to be found aside from her listing in old Illyrian government files.
"But Illyria's just a black rock now!" Doctor McCoy stammered.
"Correct Doctor, it was several months ago that the devastating attack made by the Claudians annihilated the planet." Spock confirmed.
"Do you think she knows?" Kirk asked in a lowered voice.
Spock had long ago learned that the expression on Jim's face meant he was contemplating the captain's fate. Kirk was putting himself in the metaphorical "shoes" of captain Han, something Spock himself could not do.
"I doubt it, if she's really been cut off from civilization as long as she says she has—than she probably has no idea of what's happened to her world." McCoy reasoned.
"This is strange." Spock mused aloud, overlooking the small electronic tablet that scrolled with Captain Han's information—or lack there of.
"No birth date, no place of origin, no listing of rank,"
There was the exhale of hydraulics and the doors to Kirk's quarters split open.
"Well Mr. Spock, according to the Illyrian government I have none." Lux stated plainly as she glided through the doorframe.
McCoy's mouth was ajar, and the Captain's visage wasn't much better. Were he to be so vulnerable to such petty things as beauty Spock would have been taken aback as well. Captain Han had been cleaned up—and slightly rested. With the aid of nurse chapel her ebony hair had been washed, and cut into a very short bob. She had a faint dusting of shimmering make-up on her eyelids, and though they were still slightly bruised and scuffed from her time on the island –her legs looked deadly in the Starfleet issue blue uniform Christine had let her borrow.
If he could have felt embarrassment at his comrade's behavior, Spock would have been mortified at that moment. However, because he could not, he simply dismissed such behavior and offered the Captain a seat.
"Captain Han," He began.
"Lux." She corrected.
"Lux, would you please have a seat?"
Kirk stumbled to his feet, then to the chair to pull it from the table at which they sat.
"Lux, are you aware of what has happened to your planet?" Spock asked solemnly.
She looked to Kirk, then to McCoy before directing her gaze back to the solemn speaker.
"Whatever it is, I'm guessing it isn't good." She said , the slightest twinge of nervousness beginning to permeate her voice.
Spock looked to Kirk—the two locked eyes for a moment or two, as if to discuss who would deliver the difficult news. After several seconds, it was Kirk who broke eye contact with his Vulcan friend and turned to face Lux.
"Captain—I mean, Lux," He took a deep breath.
"It's gone isn't it." Lux interrupted.
Kirk bit his lip. McCoy could not bring himself to look up from his boots. Spock, knowing only what was logical, answered her.
"It is not completely gone, but rather devoid of all life—after a devastating attack by the Claudians."
Captain Han closed her eyes and sat back in her chair.
"They used biological as well as nuclear"
"Please stop Mr. Spock." Lux spoke sharply.
"While I understand that Vulcans do not feel the way humans do—surely you can understand that right now—you're just twisting the metaphorical knife." She breathed, barely above a whisper.
Spock's face felt hot and tingly. He was not familiar with such a feeling? Was he sick? Did he have a virus? Had he been human, he would have known that this feeling was embarrassment—embarassment for having upset the captain in such a foolish way.
The four sat for a long time in silence as Lux stared wearily out into space.
Doctor McCoy momentarily disappeared to get a pot of tea and some small cakes. When he returned, it seemed that the Captain had snapped out of her trance to some extent, and was ready to share her background.
"I was born twenty six years ago in the Fabian prefecture of Kanti. I was an orphan, who never knew my parents. I was raised by the Fabian brotherhood of monks, then joined the circus at age 12." She swirled her spoon around the elaborate china cup in her hand.
"From the circus, I got into street fighting. The government busted a big fight on the Levarin colony—that's when I started working for them." She sighed, the spoon making tiny clinking noises each time it made contact with the china.
"I was an operative of the Illyrian government. Part of a top secret team. We were attempting to ambush a Claudian ship, but there was a double agent aboard who sabotaged us—marooning us on Keksulemon. "
She looked up—all three men were regarding her with great interest.
"I know that's not much, but it's the concise, vague version that my time an energy allows right now. I'm sorry if it doesn't seem fair of me to be this short but…" She looked down.
Again, a thick silence blanketed the room.
"Now, I don't exist—I don't belong anywhere." She gave a weak smile.
"Nonsense!" Kirk boomed warmly. He had a smile on his face—that Spock had learned meant only one thing: He was head over heels.
"You've more than proven yourself to be Starfleet material, we'd be honored to have you aboard," he paused for a moment—looking to his two comrades.
"That is, if you'll stay Major Han." Kirk grinned –clearly pleased with himself.
"Like I said before Captain, Lux is just fine." She smiled.
Spock watched as Kirk beamed at her—there was a tightness in his stomach—it ran up into his chest and made his face hot. If only Spock knew at that moment—what he felt wasn't oncoming Keksulian flu—but rather, jealousy.