Blackfire's first thought as she stepped into the observation lounge and coolly regarded the assembled officers was that she still had some way to go before she had the senior staff she wanted. Having only elves in command of all the ship's essential departments would surely arouse suspicion back at Starfleet Command, but she could easily bring others, outside of the ship's elven community, round to her way of thinking. For now, she would have to work with what she had.

The department heads rose from their seats, and saluted in time-honoured Imperial fashion as their captain entered, with her personal guard Lieutenant-Commander Brightsting and his huge grey wolf a pace behind. She returned the gesture, bringing a fist up to her left breast, then extending her arm and opening her hand, and assumed her rightful place at the head of the slightly curved table, under a long, high view-port in the steeply-angled side of the ship's saucer.

"This meeting is for department heads and senior officers only, Number One", she said first, looking to her right to where Commander Paxton was seated, his own bodyguard stationed behind his master's chair. "Hawkins must leave."

Paxton frowned, adding to the ridges already present on his forehead. "I have the right to have my man here..."

Blackfire glanced to her left, in the direction of her recently-installed Chief of Security. "Starsword - remove the Lieutenant."

The dark-haired elf, tall for her kind like the Captain, rose from her seat without muscular effort, her elfin powers carrying her into the air. In response, Lieutenant Regan Hawkins, a dark mountain of a man, merely tensed his shoulders, throwing up wave after wave of muscle across his chest and down his arms. In a hand-to-hand fight, the Academy wrestling champion would not even break a sweat in dealing with the spindly elf, whose left arm was hampered by an old wound, but Starsword had other ways of dealing with trouble.

The two Lieutenants glared at each other for a few tense seconds, Starsword gliding up to Hawkins's eye-level, but it was Paxton who defused the situation. "You may go, Mister Hawkins", snorted the half-Klingon. "I have little to fear here."

Blackfire waited until Paxton's guard in name only was gone before pouncing on what her First Officer had last said. "I hear otherwise, Number One", she said softly. "Or did you visit to Sick-Bay the other day to be rid of a...headache...?"

"The incident you mention was far from amusing", growled the Commander, angered by the fact that Blackfire had not only found out about a recent incident involving elven "magic", but was quite happy to let everyone else know, whether it was their business or not. "It does, however, give me an excuse to yet again question the wisdom of having so many of your kind on one ship - this ship..."

"Your objections are noted, as always", said the Captain, dismissing the comment with a wave as though she was shooing away an annoying insect. "That is not the matter we have gathered to discuss."

Blackfire turned the meeting over to her Chief Medical Officer, the pale and elegant Windweaver. The often mournful-looking elf presented the gathering with the contents of the report that only she and Blackfire had had access to before, and explained everything that had been learned so far about the elf-girl and the alien technologies she had been exposed to. Most of the assembled company regarded the report with cold, professional detachment, but Starsword and Brightsting did not even try to disguise their feelings, shocked by the sight of one of their own kind playing host to an unnerving array of indecipherable implants, some mechanical, others plainly organic - and alive.

Unable to hide his feelings either, the customarily silent and surly Science Officer, Notah Ingotay, broke the rapt attention of the group by jumping from his seat and blurting, "Amazing! When can I study this? Look at that motility, the energy required to run such...equipment, must be bio-electric..."

Blackfire did not appreciate his outburst, but before she could even make her disapproval known, he was pacing before the displayed image and ranting again. "...organic and mechanical together...implants duplicating or replacing biological functions, the union of these two systems is an engineering feat that I simply must have access to immediately!"

Blackfire's hatred of the man welled up again. He had no right to that uniform, let alone his current lofty position. He was undeniably brilliant, his scientific breakthroughs of the past were still being studied for useful applications at the Daystrom Institute, and his laurels in the field had made him the object of a kidnapping plot by the Klingon High Command during the old hostilities, but his usefulness to her had never been proven. He was everything she despised in a human, arrogant, rude, slovenly in appearance, and had the manners of a zwoot in heat. He lacked any form of discipline, hygiene or interpersonal skill, yet he had been assigned to this high post on this ship, and was thus her problem.

Suppressing her intense desire to simply kill him where he stood, Blackfire spoke sharply to him, "Have a seat, Ingotay!"

"What? Oh, yes." He slouched back into his chair, hardly even tearing his vision away from the sight of the classified image on the screen. "That light seeming to come from the centre of her eye - was it some form of laser? If only my head were clearer I'm sure I could discern so much more, even from this visual input alone...", his thoughts raced, regardless of the reprimand of his Captain.

Noting his continued preoccupation and thinking for once that at least his attention was on something that was in need of scrutiny by the best minds in the Empire, she allowed him to get away with his insubordinate attitude yet again. Soon, perhaps, his addiction to that certain illegal substance she had smuggled to him via Gritspittle would finally prove fatal, and she would be able to replace him with the better candidate she already had in mind. In the meantime, maybe his last days would be of service to the Empire, if he could discover what made those devices on the unfortunate elven maiden function.

Doctor MacLaughlin, the cybernetics expert the Ghidorah had picked up little more than a day before, spoke up for the first time, his voice - and only his voice, by his own request - relayed from his makeshift laboratory a dozen decks away. "I can appreciate Mister Ingotay's enthusiasm, but keep mine under better control", he said. "I will, of course, have to see the subject at first hand and conduct my own examinations to determine how this relationship between mechanical and organic came about. It is clearly not the result of coincidence."

Blackfire noted the look, without giving any hint that she had noticed it, and returned her attention to the discussion. "How do you intend to proceed, Doctor?", she asked. "Remember that the Empire is most interested in any new technology it encounters, and has strict guidelines about preserving and exploiting new discoveries."

"Guidelines I am glad the Empire has put in place, Captain", MacLaughlin replied. "That idiot Kirk did more than enough damage in his time. We could have been light-years ahead of all our current adversaries had he not been so trigger-happy, so quick to avenge himself upon those who wronged him. Even in death he hampered our advancement, costing us the secret of the Tantalus Field.

"As to your question", he said, just as Blackfire was about to chastise him for the unrequested history lesson, "I feel our first move must be to communicate with the girl, and find out what she knows - if anything..."

From his own console in his lab, MacLaughlin took control of the video-playback, and ran through one close-up sequence in slow-motion. The afflicted elf was seen to pause during her apparent search for a way out of her force-field cell, and gazed at her hands, looking upon them as though they were alien, not truly a part of her. One could almost see a flicker of what she had once been, burning weakly under the layers of circuitry and living armour, but the flicker was all too quickly extinguished, smothered by machine-like patterns of behaviour once more. "Her original nature has not been totally erased", remarked the Doctor. "There is something there that we can reach. I'm certain of it, and equally certain that meaningful communication is the key. However, achieving this is not within the scope of my expertise - or powers."

"By that you mean we need to Send to the girl?", queried Windweaver.

"I believe so."

"I find myself in agreement", added Blackfire. "Sending is more than just a different form of speech. It goes far deeper than the mental processes required to produce spoken words, and understand them. Sending is part of what we are."

"We'll need a powerful Sender", advised Windweaver. "Powerful, and skilled enough not to do any harm bypassing any blocks that might be in place. You can't tell at first glance where something impeding Sending is artificial, or a result of an accidental injury that force could aggravate."

"Find out who is best suited, and brief them as soon as you can", said the Captain. "We're just three hours from the Science Station, and the sooner I get answers, the happier I'll be."

"And so say us all", the Chief Medical Officer replied. "If something out there has acquired a taste for mutilating elves, I'd like to be prepared should they come looking for more victims."

MacLaughlin had the last word, despite Windweaver's ominous statement. "'Mutilate' isn't exactly the word I would use, Doctor Windweaver. Even though I've seen and read only as much as the rest of you, I get the feeling that this was no random, ill-thought-out experiment, no school-boy hacking away at a dead frog in a classroom. Something tells me there was a definite purpose behind this...modification, and finding out what that purpose is should be as pressing a concern as finding out who did the modification, and how."

Those words dwelled with Blackfire long after she had dismissed her department heads, and started preparing the ship for its arrival at Science Station Pertwee. Who and how had always been foremost in everyone's minds, but not for one moment, until now, had any thought been given to the why, and she hoped her ship and crew would not end up paying for such an oversight.

The atmosphere at the meeting had been tense for Starsword, not at least because of her public confrontation with Lt. Hawkins, but something else had made it even worse for her. Brightsting had been giving her secretive, ominous looks ever since it was suggested that someone needed to send to the mysterious foundling. From the end of the meeting onward, the Glider had expected a visitor to come to her door.

Unable to relax, Starsword spent the next few hours watching the door, waiting for the chime to sound. Eventually, the expectation bore fruit, the melodious chime - one of the few pleasurable things on the ship - ringing out to disrupt the typical silence of the Security Chief's quarters. The bell only needed to sound once before it was answered.

Starsword had expected Brightsting to be there, grinning slyly, having volunteered the Glider for what could be a risky assignment, but her visitor was in fact Windweaver. ***They want me, don't they?***, Starsword said before the CMO could speak.

***Yes***, came the sent reply, tinged almost with relief. ***Brightsting suggested you - I suspected maliciously - but there was merit in his suggestion. You are one of our most accomplished Senders.***

***So be it***, said the Glider flatly. ***My position - a position I sought out myself - often demands much of me. I can hardly shirk my responsibilities now.***

***Take great care***, advised the elven Doctor, her slender hand resting on the shorter elf's shoulder. ***We know too little to take what I would accept as adequate precautions. We can see what physical damage has been done to the girl. Her mind is another matter entirely.***

***Your words are welcomed, gentle one, but the situation is...is not entirely unfamiliar to me***, said Starsword, recalling a lonely self-reliant past laced with liberal doses of anguish. ***I - I will manage.***

***High Ones watch over you, child***, murmured Windweaver. Starsword let the healer go without another word, humbled by the taller elf's choice of words. Starsword was hardly a youngster, but compared to that centuries-old elf, she was indeed barely more than a child.

May I live to see as many turns of the seasons as her, she thought as the cabin door hissed shut, and Starsword began her preparations. She did not have much time, but she was certain that a lifetime's preparation would not be enough.

Science Station Pertwee was a startling change from the smooth panels and comfortable interior of the Ghidorah, the internal light level a few steps lower than on the starship, giving the station's interior, built for functionality rather than aesthetics, a rather menacing aspect. In such an environment, Station Commander Grant seemed totally out of place, unbearably cheerful and welcoming when the science team beamed aboard.

"We rarely have visitors of your prestige, ladies and gentlemen - let alone elves", he almost sang. "Can I offer you something? Wine, perhaps...?"

"If we were here to exchange pleasantries, we would have brought our own celebratory refreshments", snorted MacLaughlin. "The...subject, if you please...?"

Guided through the warren of narrow corridors by Grant, the team - MacLaughlin, his temporary staff, Ingotay, Starsword and Windweaver - stepped into the containment chamber, moving warily even though the subject of their investigation was held behind an array of force-fields. The Ghidorah party were split between staring in amazement at the captive or averting their gaze, concerned that those soulless eyes might possess some mind-sapping power. The elves had the right to be cautious about such things, for eyes, and the meeting of eyes, had great significance in their racial history. Eyes meeting eyes had frequently led to the birth of great leaders, or spelled disaster for the weak or unprepared.

MacLaughlin regarded the whole thing with a clinical coldness. "Hmm - she's smaller than I expected", he muttered through his "face-fur". "Mr. Varien, Mr. Talon...Mr. Spires - let's get set up in here..."

Spires and the two elves stepped forward with tool-cases and portable consoles piled up on an anti-grav cargo pallet, and their temporary master stood back to watch them work around the containment area as the rest of the investigation team set up their own equipment along the walls. All the while, the elf behind the force-fields continued as before, constantly exploring the boundaries of her confinement for a means of escape - had anyone been watching her, though, they would have seen that, whenever she paused, she spent more time looking at the elven new arrivals than gazing blankly at her own transformed hands.

Ingotay, to the relief of the rest of the group, said nothing, stunned into open-mouthed silence. Barely lifting his feet as he moved forward to get a closer look, he managed to put the work on MacLaughlin's equipment back almost an hour by tripping over power cables and dislodging delicate apparatus. An icy look from MacLaughlin drove the Science Officer to the other side of the room, well away from anything he could damage.

For Starsword, the work were completed all too quickly. "Lieutenant?", said the scientist, long before the slender Glider was mentally prepared. "We're ready."

Starsword stepped forward, submerging the anxiety and horror within. She did not want to get to close to the girl, yet at the same time she wanted to help in whatever way she could. She had been helpless to prevent tragedy before, and was not about to let it happen again, if there was anything she could do about it. Burying her own feelings, she moved as close to the force-field as she could, and spread her hands, focussing her powers through her fingers, and from there into a mind that should have been familiar in form. Instead, her telepathic journey was a headlong dive into the unknown...

Computer meshed almost seemlessly with organism, making it hard to tell which was which, but Starsword was equally at home in both environments, and got her bearings quickly. It was still a disorientating place to visit, this girl's mind, and a less-capable Sender could easily have become lost in there. The Glider was reminded of tales of the dreaded "Black Snake" Winnowill and how she could trap souls that wandered away from their bodies, and it took a major effort of exile such disturbing thoughts before they interfered with her focus.

And then she was in...

The first thing Starsword saw was herself, seen through the foundling's eyes. The girl's vision was not unlike looking at the image provided by an incorrectly focussed security camera, part of the picture breaking down into blocks of same-coloured pixels. Evidence of inner conflict?, thought the Glider as she prepared to venture deeper. Can I make use of it...?

The view of Starsword broke up completely as she went beyond the realm of senses, and into that twilight where Sending and, deeper still, thought reigned. At first, she "heard" what sounded like static, with the distant burbling of a computer with a faulty speech synthesis chip in the background. What are you trying to say?, wondered the Glider. Do you even know I'm here?

Almost in reply, words began to form out of the chaos.

"...org. You will be assimilated. We will add your technological and biological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is fu-"

The voice was empty, awful - a mechanical chorus of oppressive monotony. Starsword would have been glad to have the machine-song cut off...had she not then had to see what caused that sudden silence.

The sense of dread returned as the elf beheld vast cubes of metal, pipes and girders packed so tightly as to seem solid, framed against an alien starfield. Many races have seen this sight, and despaired, she realised, but there was no feeling of salvation to be gained from seeing what looked to be space itself rising up against the cubes, throwing great ripples against them. The waves of living space broke against the cubes, then the frightful structures themselves broke, shattering into clouds of sundered metal...

Starsword welcomed the darkness that followed, but she knew - somehow, she knew - it would not last.

Gradually, the darkness softened, broken up by display panels and iridescent plasma-globes. In the semi-shadow, figures moved with strange precision and unthinking relentlessness, and Starsword's "mind-self" found itself drawn to follow, even though to do so amounted to a total surrender of individuality. The poor girl, they made her one of...them!

The elf realised now what she was seeing - these were memories, but not the memories of an individual. All together, they function as one, she perceived. What one knows, all know - the experiences of one are the experiences of all! Better not to live at all, than live like this.

The scene changed again, and once more the Glider saw one of the monolith-like cubes, moving through space in the same inexorable manner as the ranks of robot-like figures. This vessel was not as fearsome as the previous craft, its surface cratered and scarred, one lower corner torn away and missing, but it still loomed frighteningly over the vessel it now approached - a craft like a many-spined arrow-head, covered with what appeared to be warty reptile-skin. A chill ran through Starsword's being as the cube's shadow engulfed the smaller ship.

The next instant, she was back amongst the robot-men, in the near-darkness. There was more light now, and she could see that the other figures were armoured like the foundling, what bare skin there was coloured a deathly ash-grey. Most of them were human, or human-like, others quite alien and all members of races unknown to the Empire.

The armoured ones did not have the shadows to themselves on this occasion. Others moved through the narrow passages with them, carefully, fearfully - creatures with four arms and long necks sprouting from barrel-like bodies, the necks supporting narrow, pointed heads crowned with rearward pointing horns. Heads like that other spaceship, Starsword thought as the similarity dawned upon her. Do these creatures know what they're getting involved with?, she wondered. Do they have a choice...?

Again, Starsword was drawn into the throng, and was carried along to a widening in the passage where the part-mechanical creatures and the lizard-things seemed to be working together, around a tilted table. Somewhere inside, the Glider knew what she would see - something she didn't want to see, but the memories she swam amongst denied her any freedom to decide for herself...

Held motionless on the table was a young elf-girl, clusters of probes and instruments on articulated arms hanging over her. Her eyes were overflowing with fear as the aliens moved closer, with their torture implements and needles -

- then Starsword found herself looking up from the table into many eyes; lifeless and mechanical or ruthless and alien. She felt the needles and worm-like tubes thrusting under her skin, and was simultaneously blinded as a narrow laser-like beam danced across her field of vision...

Starsword staggered back, afraid for her life, her very sanity, should she remain inside the poor girl's mind a moment longer. She remembered everything, every lingering moment of muted horror, but one thought was foremost in her mind - a thought she had brought back with her. Something inside the girl was stirring, something to be feared...

The elf behind the force fields snapped out of her Sending-induced trance. "You will be assimilated", she announced, her voice emotionless and eerily inorganic. "The Collective must acquire your species' biological distinctiveness..."

The girl moved as though to thrust her right hand through the force-wall, but the shield resisted - to begin with. The hum of resistance grew, then faltered, as thin tubes emerged from the tops of the girl's metal-gloved fingers and punched through, reaching towards Starsword...

Back on the Ghidorah, Paxton leaned forward in anticipation as he watched the scenes from the station on the bridge's main viewer. This elf-freak was about to do him a favour, and remove a particularly irritating thorn from his side.

"Die, witch", he hissed, drawing his lips back from his yellow-tinged Klingon teeth. "May your end be far from merciful..."