When she was a little girl, Alessa Moore had spent many afternoons building models of vintage starships in bottles with her grandfather, a former Starfleet officer. She didn't like doing it, found the tiny pieces too fiddly. But she was really there for the stories, stories of the early, pre-Federation days of space exploration, when the Galaxy seemed so much bigger, and Earth sent so many vessels into the void, with so few ever surviving to establish colonies. It had been a risky business - but it had to be done, Grandpa had preached, for without those risks, the Federation would not be what it was today. And it was important to remember the past, he told her, because it was linked to the present and the future in ways that could scarcely be comprehended. And when he didn't talk of the past, he talked of the future specifically, of the important role he was sure his granddaughter would someday play in Federation affairs.

Today, she wished he had lived long enough to stand before her now, and see how far she had come in fulfilling his wishes, as a respected member of the First Contact Office.

Then she reminded herself that she was currently reclining naked in the all-encompassing embrace of a huge shape shifting extraterrestrial, who was inducing mind-shattering climaxes in her, all in the name of diplomacy.

And she had second thoughts about a visit from Grandpa.

She lay spreadeagled in what, close up, appeared to be a form-hugging, multicoloured, musk-scented, sable-skin couch, with cilia-tipped tendrils reaching down from above to gently stroke the charged skin along her thighs, her belly and breasts. Further back, however, one would see the woman was surrounded by a whale-sized entity spread out in her guest quarters, his form and colour and texture as capriciously malleable as a cat's affections. He was an Ambassador for the hitherto-unreachable Elchee race, and he was now slipping thoughts into her head that made her sit up and ask, "What was that, Ambassador?"

Another tentacle appeared before her, tipped with what looked like a clump of shiny blackberries, eyes that now regarded her round, pink-skinned face, as a sibilant, echoey voice returned to her head like a glimpse into a half-remembered thought. ".starship vessel Starfleet solids intercepted aligned urgent standby."

It had been two months since Alessa had been assigned to establish communications with the Ambassador, after he (the gender reference solely for her benefit rather than the truth about the asexual Elchee) appeared uninvited onboard a Federation vessel. Very little was known about the polymorphic race: powerful, more alien than most aliens, and aggressively protective of their borders. Now they seemed to be making overtures towards dialogue. If only someone could make more sense of that dialogue.

Alessa had faced the Elchee Ambassador alone, full of proud arrogance in her abilities, only to find herself stripped of her clothes and dignity, examined like an animal, spanked like a child when she refused to cooperate, and then. well, there was no kinder word for it, violated, in every orifice, by the Ambassador's made-to-order tentacles.

That she was brought to such an incredible, unprecedented series of orgasms as a result, that the Ambassador seemed to enjoy it equally as well, that the resulting experience forged a telepathic bond that had built with subsequent encounters, had helped alleviate any trauma her Counselor felt she should have experienced. Now she received more than just images or intentions, she heard words.

But that didn't mean she readily understood them. "Excuse me? Deep Space Five isn't a vessel, Ambassador." Three days ago she had boarded the Elchee starship a massive vessel whose dark, organic, warren-like interior may have suited its shapeshifting crew and passengers, but which kept her feeling like she had returned to the womb expecting to accompany the Ambassador to preliminary talks with Federation diplomats. But if her chrono, sitting nearby with the rest of her possessions, was right, they should have had another four days to go, giving her more time to perfect their rapport. "Where are we?"

His body shifted around her, making her feel like she was on a waterbed filled with molasses, and there was an audible groan and accompanying burst of heat with the effort he made to alter so much of his body mass. His voice returned (though she suspected it never really left her mind, only focused more strongly whenever he had something to say). ".humans solids titan giant request demand Alessa interpreter presence company urgent critical-"

"Wait, wait." She frowned, shook her head, running thin fingers through her thick head of chestnut hair as she tried to sort out what he was trying to say. A starship intercepting them, requesting her presence? Titan? What was that, a giant starship, or a starship crewed by giants? She sat up further. "Okay, I'd better get over there. Let me just get dressed while you tell me more-"

Her skin tingled, and for only a moment she realised that she was caught in an Elchee transporter beam, carrying her off in a crimson quantum mist before she could protest-

-and planting her naked on a Starfleet transporter room, stared at by a goggle-eyed young ensign.

She draped an arm across her full breasts and cupped her delta of dark hair, making a mental note to have a word with the Ambassador about transporter protocols.

*

The Starfleet vessel was the USS Titan, commanded by a bearded, seasoned-looking human named Riker, someone who looked at home on a frontier. But the focus of her attention - and her wrath - was on the other guest in the captain's briefing room, a gaunt young civilian with a blunt nose, a shock of straw-coloured hair and a guileless-looking Asian face that betrayed none of the intrigues she knew hid behind it. "You have no right to take over my job, you bastard!"

"Doctor Moore," Riker spoke up now, momentarily stepping back into the fray after having passed on the news. "I'm sure there's no need for vulgarity-"

"The hell there isn't!" She glared with undisguised hostility at her adversary. "You don't know him."

Doctor Peter Ladao just sat there, fingers steepled before him as if he was a psychologist studying an irrational patient, the solid black of his pupils, the only visible indication of the Betazoid contribution to his heritage, bright with feigned innocence. "Alessa, I'm aware that a sense of competitiveness among First Contact Specialists can be healthy at times, but it seems you're carrying it a little too far now."

It was all she could do to keep from punching him; she'd already unconsciously rolled up the sleeve of the brown jumpsuit lent to her after her sans-clothing arrival. "I'm carrying it? You've done everything you could to get the best assignments from me! Pulling strings, lying-"

"Alessa, please-"

"And now this one?"

Ladao opened his hands now in a deliberate show of conciliation. "Alessa, you have performed wonderfully in opening dialogue with the Ambassador. But now the FCO believes that we need to expand that dialogue more swiftly. And the most efficacious means would be to employ someone with a greater degree of telepathic expertise than you." The Filipino man almost looked sincere. Almost. "I am honoured to have thus been chosen to add to your illustrious achievement. We must go where duty calls."

Alessa ground her teeth, for want of kicking something - mostly because there was validity in what he said, no matter his more selfish motives. And her own: as satisfying as her time with the Ambassador had been professionally and intellectually, it was the physical side that she would miss as well, if not more. Oh, there had been the usual puerile jokes in the media about the details of her encounter, pathetic schoolboy nonsense in a supposedly mature, enlightened age. But she didn't care about that, not after her relationship with the Ambassador grew. She'd been content. and happy. Even as a part of her always knew she would inevitably be moved onto another assignment, and that someone else would take her place. She just wish it didn't have to be Peter Ladao, the smarmy superior little shit, who had been a particular thorn in her side for many years now.

She sat down in the chair offered to her twenty minutes before, but never taken until now, and sighed in resignation. " 'Flag on a match head, God or the law/And they'll all go together, where duty calls.' "

Riker seemed to relax, a little, at her apparent capitulation. "Shakespeare?"

"Patti Smith." She looked up. "I'll need to have my possessions beamed over."

"Already taken care of," Ladao noted helpfully. "When mine were sent."

"On my orders," Riker interjected, as if expecting her to react to her successor's presumptuousness. "You have a new assignment, and you might be pleased to know it still involves the Elchee. One of their colony worlds near the border with Federation space has requested assistance with a communication problem." He passed over a PADD with the details. "Though the information we've received thus far has been sketchy, to say the least."

"I would take the assignment myself," Ladao informed her. "But your experience would be better employed there, I think."

That, and the assignment with the Ambassador was more politically prestigious to you, she thought to herself, though she was trying to focus on the PADD's data. Riker was right; the information was scarcer than a Ferengi's generosity. However, the few details seem clear enough: there was urgency involved, and she alone was cleared to enter Elchee space, using a runabout to be supplied by the Titan.

She sighed again. "Well, I'd better get going."

*

In an hour's time, after showering and dressing in her own clothes, she was doing just that, the computer taking her along the pre-programmed flight plan. Not long after setting off, she received a communication. "Just wishing you good luck, Alessa, before I beam over to meet the Ambassador."

"Get fucked, Peter." She saw no need to maintain the pretence at civility, with Riker no longer present. Not that Starfleet had any jurisdiction over FCO personnel, but it was hardly good form to air dirty laundry in front of outsiders. "You'd wanted this from the beginning. And now you've got it. I did the important work, made the sacrifices-"

Ladao's smarmy face filled the tiny viewscreen. "You really should be thanking me, sweetie. Your salacious sexual exploits with the Elchee Ambassador have tarnished the reputation of the FCO. Why else do you think you were removed from the assignment?"

The hostility she had managed to bury before now resurfaced, with a vengeance. "You ignorant little creep! It was already explained in my reports, that the release of endorphins during sexual activity helped build the mental links between-"

"Spare me your specious justifications. They saw you and judged you as inferior, and treated you as such. You amused them, Alessa, the way one can be amused seeing a dog in heat looking for a bitch to hump. But such carnal activities will not be necessary for someone with superior telepathic abilities. As the Elchee themselves had suggested."

"What?"

"Oh, didn't I mention that in the briefing before? We received a communiqu from them requesting you be reassigned. It seems their Ambassador was getting tired of having to deal with 'a lesser life form' in such a manner."

She let off a harsh sound. "You're full of shit."

"Am I? Did you really think the FCO would reassign you so soon otherwise, at these early stages, even with all my apparent influence? You've embarrassed us, the Elchee, and especially yourself. Something had to be done." He leaned in closer, until it looked as if he would burst through the viewscreen. "After this, you'll be lucky to get work in the Archives-"

She cut off the rest of the transmission, cursing him in a dozen different tongues, and a few she made up herself. How pathetic! Did he really expect her to fall for such an obvious lie? Such a- such a-

Oh Gods. Did the Ambassador get her reassigned? Had he really seen her as a 'lesser life form'? Had all the feelings and sensations she'd experienced with him just been in her own mind? It didn't seem possible. He- He-

Bloody hell, 'he' wasn't even 'he', for pity's sake! Yes, they shared some commonality, as all living, sentient beings shared. But what did that mean? Greater misunderstandings had occurred between sentients with far more in common than between human and Elchee. For all she knew, he - it - could have felt degraded at touching her, the way she might have if she'd been forced to have sex with an animal in order to open diplomatic channels.

Oh Gods.

She was certain she had never felt as foolish and humiliated as she did now.

*

Within another hour, she was in orbit around the Elchee colony world, detected by their scanners and given leave to draw closer, having forced down her chagrin to focus on the job. She scanned the planet: M-class, suitable for most humanoids, tropical- there were many Elchee lifeforms, in settlements, plantations-

Wait, there were additional lifeforms, and a residual energy signature on the surface! Humans, scores of them! But what were humans doing here? The Elchee were fiercely territorial. Had some Starfleet vessel crashed? Was that what she was here for? She re-examined the original message from the Elchee, but gleaned nothing new. She would have to find the Elchee colonial leader, build up a telepathic rapport. It would take time, time that she might not have.

But if she went straight to the humans.

*

She beamed down into a small clearing surrounded by densely packed trees, the naked sun high in the lavender sky held back by the high leaves and branches, filtering through only as rafters of ochre, barely caressing the dark, mossy ground and lichen-painted rocks. An abundance of life thrived here, undergrowth so luxuriant that small trees had taken root in the moss which festooned the larger trees, and trapped soil in the tangled roots became flowerpots for the ferns, bright begonias and shy orchids scrabbling for the shifting rafters of light. Insects buzzed happily here, lazily pursued by lime green, bronze-eyed tree lizards, and further up in the trees, winged creatures fluttered papery yellow nests, hanging like Chinese lanterns. The gravity felt slightly heavier than was typical for humans, and the air was filled with a scent like burning wood.

Alessa straightened up and glanced around, getting a feel for a planet's surface after so long in space. She had detected a small group of humans near these coordinates, but had decided not to beam directly into their midst, until she learned a bit more about them. Damn, it was hot; she could feel the sweat beading beneath her blouse and slacks already, and was glad she had left her longcoat onboard the runabout. The moss-carpeted ground felt soft and squishy beneath her boots-

She started at a sound behind her, gasped at the sight of a human female, a tall, thin young woman of Mediterranean descent, very naked but heavily covered in mud, and who had somehow crept up behind her.

Alessa swallowed, refused to stare but made eye contact instead. "Hello? I'm Alessa Moore, from the Federation First Contact Office." The woman flinched as Alessa spoke, even glanced around, but said nothing. Alessa continued. "Alessa. Alessa." Nothing. "I was sent by the Elchee Collective to find out why. can you understand me?"

Still nothing. The woman, about Alessa's age, did not appear injured or in shock; her mane of sable hair was plaited behind her, and she moved as deftly as she was silent as she circled Alessa, regarding her, the clothes she wore, openly, uncaring of her own nudity. This was no crewmember of some starship that had landed here, accidentally or otherwise. She was feral.

Alessa followed her orbit, watching her reaction as she repeated her words. Her Universal Translator cranial implant should have kicked in by now, working much more efficiently with other humanoid species than with the obviously more alien Elchee. Perhaps the UT had malfunctioned? Or maybe the woman was genuinely mute, or her people used a nonverbal level of communication?

Alessa reached out with an open palm, her voice low, non-threatening. "I won't hurt you. I'm here to help."

Quickly, more quickly than Alessa had expected, the feral girl struck out with the base of her palm, smacking Alessa in the mouth and sending her staggering her onto her back, before leaping onto the First Contact Specialist, striking her a second, harder time.

Alessa's head spun, and time seemed to warp like starlight around a ship. Distantly she felt herself being dragged along the uneven jungle floor by her feet, her rear end, back and the back of her head taking a few scrapes along the way. She felt something brush by her face, something cold and metallic either her pocket phaser, or her communicator, falling from her belt. Her hands reached out blindly, weakly reaching out to grasp them, grasp something, anything, to impede the progress of her abductor. She tried protesting, but couldn't tell if her voice was even working. Her head pounded, and she closed her eyes. But only for a moment.

*

Male voices stirred her back to consciousness, but she kept still, gathering more information without being noticed. The cool breeze and the insects dancing on her skin told her that she had been stripped naked, and a slight movement on her part told her that her wrists were bound behind her with something strong and organic like vines. Meanwhile the male voices she heard, guttural and angry, were rising. "She is not one of the schmetterling! She is outside! One of the Monsters' spies!"

"You're off course, Gavok! She does not look like them! She must be from another skyfallen!"

"No, Zauber! Vent her interior! She will make us go to Red Alert, as will you!"

Then Alessa heard the sounds of a vicious hand-to-hand struggle, until someone much closer to her announced, "Zauber, she's online!"

Hands grabbed Alessa, roughly lifting her up onto her knees. She dropped the pretence and opened her eyes, finding herself in a large clearing in the jungle, a clearing now occupied by scores of naked, mud-covered men and women, surrounding the two lean men who had obviously just been arguing and grappling. Now they straightened up, the taller, more muscular of the pair drawing closer, dark eyes regarding Alessa the way one might regard an animal. "It flickers with defiance. It needs maintenance."

She fought back her embarrassment at being nude, bound and under the scrutiny of so many eyes, and kept her composure. "My name is Doctor Alessa Moore-"

She saw the hand being raised only a heartbeat before the back of it struck her cheek. "Females do not speak, ever! They serve men, nothing more! Such is the way of the schmetterling!"

Her head ringing and her cheek stinging, Alessa still noticed the females of this tribe dropping to their knees, heads bowed, to the men nearest them. Before she, too, had her head pushed down from behind, she had noticed that the leader, Zauber - why was that name so familiar? And their tribal name, it was German, or a corruption of it - wore a necklace of metal objects on his broad, hairy chest. Zauber.

"Prepare shielding for it," he said to the others as he turned away. "We'll tractor it and take it to Main Power."