DISCLAIMER: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. "Star Trek: Enterprise" is the property of Paramount (a Viacom company). Contains both heterosexual and lesbian references. If you don't like this, stop now.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Gina and Dee for their beta work.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

By Odon


"Can I help you?"

She'd been studying the transporter controls with an interest alien to her profession.

"The Captain said it was all right if I left my quarters." Hoshi's trained ear picked up the undercurrent of anxiety, felt ashamed of her instinctive suspicion. "I'm Rajiin."

"I know," said Hoshi. "News travels fast on a starship."

News travels fast when eighty-three people (two-thirds of them male) are crammed into a tritanium-alloy saucer with little privacy and few chances for sexual relief. Everyone had been talking about the Captain's gallant rescue, of the strange new girl with Earthly blonde curls past tattooed shoulders, of her smooth thighs and take-me eyes. None of the subtle differences that when combined in T'Pol screamed 'alien'. It was as if their guest had been designed to appeal to the human psyche...no, I'm imagining things...

"I'm Ensign Hoshi Sato." The nonverbals were always a problem. Mistranslation could be smoothed over - people were tolerant of mistakes by unfamiliar species. But most body language was received on a subconscious level. With luck hers was nonthreatening, projecting welcome and acceptance. She held out a hand, palm angled to show it was empty. The gesture wouldn't be strange; the Captain always shook hands with visitors to the ship.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Rajiin (she'd already picked up the Norteamerica accent of the crew; some kind of empathic ability?) as she reached out and...

took her hand midst the foul stench of stagnant air and rotting meat, the bulkheads' scream and fear drowning in the dark pools of her eyes, a Vulcan goddess with the power to control the waves...

I was looking for the mess hall and she heard herself reply...

"I just happen to be going that way." Hoshi could not remember where she'd been going; the world was held in Rajiin's palm as she led her down the corridor, what's your job here?

"I'm the sh-ship's communications...officer," stammered Hoshi as they stepped into the turbolift. Pictured herself on a turbulent ocean but someone was swamping the boat. "I'd love to hear your language."

"Actually, I speak quite a few."

A discordant memory: that body-counselor (one of the myriad euphemisms for a profession that had supposedly died out with war, disease, and serial killers) in New Tokyo. He'd been talking of his clients, the sexual differences between the nationalities.

"You must speak many languages," a naive Hoshi had asked.

"What on Earth do I have to say to them?" he'd replied. "All I know how to do is count!"

The closing hatch sealed off the warning whispers of the outside world. Hoshi didn't even blink when Rajiin pushed the button for E-deck without being told. A rabbit enraptured by the predator's death dance, only staring as the Oran'takun moved closer. Not Earthly now, her eyes were the baroque colours of an alien spectrum, the dark pupil a quantum singularity drawing all towards it.

Relax this is...communication.

Touching Hoshi's face as she

I want to know everything about you.

poured her beautiful soul through the empty chambers of her heart! Every nerve a conduit, a brilliant nova radiating intensity in endless waves as she babbled in incoherent Japanese, offering herself as she'd never done to any lover, a harlot's plea for rapine destruction. Something unraveled the seals on her mind and secrets spilled out in ecstasy: codes and fantasies and translation algorithms regressing away into languages incomprehensible. The moments between each climax were endless wastelands, barren seconds of non-existence as Rajiin's hands

exquisite phase beams cutting into her body oh god!

moved across her ribcage, the brush of fingertips against a breast an explosion of rapture. Sweet torment as her goddess moved lower, her inexorable destination the myriad clustered nerve-endings of her dripping sex oh god oh god when she touches me there I know that I'll die don't be afraid I can find my way from here

Rajiin stood in the open hatchway, its sensors clicking with mechanical impatience.

"I'm sorry?" The white rabbit out of its hole, blinking in the daylight.

"I can find my way to the mess hall from here. Thank you." The Oran'takun took a step backwards and the turbolift sealed shut.

Hoshi stared at the closed hatch, its seams and markings stark outlines on the blank slate of her mind. Cold air chilled her sweat-drenched uniform, and the urgency of her need heart-hammered through the femoral arteries...

She couldn't remember how she got to her cabin. Hands shaking with feverish intensity as she keyed in the access code; the hatch clicked and Hoshi shoved it aside, ignoring the pain as her thin shoulder smacked unyielding metal, yanking down the zipper of her jumpsuit before she was fully within.

The hatch slammed shut and she was on the bunk face down, groping blindly past damp cloth and steel fasteners to wet flesh and slick pubic hair. Her fingers sought the familiar place and began to stroke, memory and fantasy entwining like lovers:

the sculptured beauty of Commander Tucker, his muscles gleaming with decon gel

her lover on Risa; the forbidden allure of alien flesh, the savage heat of his spurting seed

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Rajiin as she reached out and...

took T'Pol's hand on the Klingon Raptor, caressed by the whispers of her mindspill. "Think of yourself on a turbulent ocean. You have the power to control the waves."

I was looking for the mess hall and she heard herself reply...

on her knees in an oft-rehearsed fantasy, servicing the MACO's one at a time

"I just happen to be going that way."

she was sixteen again, masturbating over 3D hentai in her cousin's virtuality field

and seventeen with Hajime while their parents were overseas

leading her towards the turbolift, their clasped hands a lifeline that mustn't be cut

the skilled touch of her last private tutor, so much learned on the couch of his study

the hatch to the turbolift sliding across (the com chimed and her fingers moved faster) trembling as his elegant hands undid the buttons of her seifuku. "My love has wings, slender feathered things with grace and upswept curve and tapered tip."

"Travis to Hoshi, are you awake?"

Malcolm's face when he saw she was topless, a brief flash of lust subverting that English reserve

"His tongue's THIS long," Cutler giggled. "You think YOU'RE a cunning linguist!"

tattooed markings across her chest I'd love to hear your language

"You have the power to control the waves."

reaching for Rajiin but she stepped away and the hatch slammed shut on the memory

"They say Vulcan neuropressure's quite intimate. Think the Commander's going where no man's gone before?"

And then an all-too-sudden climax, a sharp peak of pleasure with not much relief.

The com chimed again.

"Helloooooo?" asked Travis. "Earth to Ensign Sato? Anyone home?"

Hoshi rolled off the bunk and made an undignified hop to the com, the jumpsuit bunched around her ankles. "Umm, yes?"

"Where the hell are you? I've been waiting for half an hour."

"I was, ahh..."

Not heading for the mess hall.

"On my way."

Hoshi's skin crawled under the jumpsuit. No time for a shower. Feeling drained as she stumbled down the corridor, holding onto bulkheads. Her memories drowned in that turbulent ocean, no power to control the waves.

The End

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