The Shapeshifter

Ambassador noticed her across the open area the moment he entered the space station's reception hall. In visible wavelengths, and in her clothing, she looked like a young man, very much like the young Navy lieutenant she was talking with. But in infrared her inner physique was clearly female, a stark contrast to the entirely male Navy officer facing her, who was warm and a bit excited while internally she remained a cool female. And there were other, more subtle signs in both UV and IR that told him her sex. It was curious and intriguing.

The station chief eagerly approached him and bowed, his assistants imitating him, and began making the usual obsequious, mewling flattery. Ambassador gave them just enough attention to avoid rudeness. This was his first solo mission as a full Ambassador, long overdue after his difficult time at the Academy and the extended apprenticeship he'd been forced to accept. It was a very dull mission after a very long flight, even at superluminal velocity. But his training had emphasized the importance of signaling dominance.

There followed the usual line of Human Variety representatives from the cluster's inhabited star systems, calling themselves "ambassadors", expressing their honor at meeting a real Ambassador. He traded polite expressions of friendship with each, in their own language, a trivial effort that delighted each one, something he could do in his sleep. Out here at the edge of Human Space the Varieties were all uninteresting. He kept an eye on her the entire time.

He was presented with a drink, alcohol flavored with herbs from the local rocky planet, that the chief would not stop jabbering about. A first sip confirmed its vile, primitive pedigree. His Diplomatic Corps experience enabled him to fake appreciation.

A gap opened in the crowd around him. A young man walked toward him and his senses confirmed that the young man was her. The chief, although pleased by Ambassador's apparent enthusiasm for the local distillation, instantly became flustered to the point of speech difficulty to find her next to him, which was curious, and backed away from her. But he had to fulfill his duty and introduce her. "Uh, Ambassador, may I have the honor to introduce the representative from . . ." he looked at her, to him no doubt a man, "the cluster we call The Swan."

Ambassador was not able to recognize her Variety. There were hundreds, of course, the product of multiple waves of emigration and colonization as over the centuries Earth's civilization populated extrasolar planetary systems, and the older colonized systems colonized systems of their own. It was his professional duty and pride to know them all, yet neither his memory nor his ship's Protector could find a Variety ID that matched. She watched him. She didn't stare, she wasn't impolite, but he felt her attention on him constantly. The seconds of silence between them lengthened. The others around them held their speech. Even the chief, for some reason unable to complete his introduction and tell him her name, was silent.

At last, a notice entered his consciousness, from his Protector. She was a new Variety! He began, in turn, to pay full attention to her. And not just any new one. New Varieties were discovered from time to time, but usually one would be an extension of an already known Variety, or sometimes a hybrid of two or three. This Variety before him, per the preliminary assessment, the best the station's Protector could produce, looked totally new, built on a very old Earth lineage with radical modifications and no admixture from other Varieties. That was shocking. How could it be? They were out at the farthest known settled solar systems, the edge of Human Space. How could a colony, or whatever it was she came from, so far out not be related to any of the dozens of systems in between? It implied centuries of isolation.

He felt a strong sexual pull toward her. This was not unusual with him and Human Varieties. He, in fact, had two Variety concubines back on the ship whose privilege it was to attend to his sexual needs, as someone like him, bred to the Diplomatic Corps and its focus on supremacy, would need.

This was different: to be the first Ambassador to a totally new Variety. It was a heady, profoundly exciting thought. His skin tingled. Yes, for the crowd around them, minor functionaries and unimportant Human Variety representatives, the stranger before him appeared as a young man, but he knew the truth, his body knew the truth, and the pheromone glands in his skin responded.

"It's a pleasure to meet you . . ." he left a pause, expecting the chief or an assistant to add a designation. From an Ambassador that was essentially a command. The chief continued to look flustered.

"I am called Dari-<tweet>-toa."

The sound in the middle of her name was like birdsong. "Welcome back to Human Space, Dari-<####>-toa and your kind." Genetic engineering and training had given him the ability to imitate any sound a Human or Human Variety voice box could make.

She nodded. "That was very good, almost no accent."

"Thank you. Your language is new in my experience and sounds quite charming. I'd love to learn it."

There appeared in his mind several classic epics in her language, along with translations, an introductory gift from her. His Protector instantly quarantined them to inspect for malicious automata, but quickly released them to his consciousness. He set a part of his mind to listen to them and learn.

He thought he'd seen a tuft of beard on the young male chin. It was gone now. He called up the eidetic memory of her entry to the crowd. Yes, it had been there but now it was gone. Moreover, the chin itself had softened. The face was more feminine now. Reviewing her whole body he noticed small breasts appearing. Her hair was a little longer. He checked more memories, even the first one when he'd spied her across the space. The person before him now was clearly more feminine in outward appearance than the one he'd first noticed when he'd entered the reception hall. It was a relief to have her outer appearance begin to match her inner structure. He felt more pheromones rise off his skin, with coolness along his arms and shoulders especially.

"<####, #####>" he said, a polite compliment to her looks in her birdsong language, an initial result of his study.

"My, you're quick."

"It's a nice language. Huge set of phonemes. I understand this is your Variety's first visit?"

"We decided it was time."

"I'm honored to be your first Ambassador." Really, the honor was hers, but flattery was a basic diplomatic tool.

"We should talk privately."

He'd intended to suggest the same idea. For one thing, his pheromones were having an effect on the crowd around them. The men were being adversely affected, some moving away, some looking especially obsequious, some showing the deviant personal interest in him that certain Varieties incomprehensibly allowed in males. "Chief, provide us with a private, secure venue. Make sure it's very comfortable for our new guest."

The chief was only too happy to comply. Ambassador could see in the emotions that leaked through the chief's facial muscles that getting rid of both of them at the same time was a double win. The chief was aging, less able to deal with the complexities of this situation. His longevity treatments, well out of date compared to Earth's, had almost run their course. He and two aides led them to a lift that whisked them at priority through station traffic to a large suite with a magnificent view of the gas giant the station orbited.

"Very nice," Ambassador said by way of shooing the chief and his crew out. He invited her to sit, but neither of them wanted that. She had changed even more during the short transit. She was now quite feminine, hair longer and darker, her complexion paler. He attributed the change to his pheromones' emittance, which was gratifying, but her change was extraordinary. The preliminary report had included an appendix, a recording from her first entry and physical visit to the station, showing modest abilities to change skin tone and hair, but what she was showing him now was well beyond that. Her breasts had grown bigger, her stature nearly two centimeters shorter. She was a true shapeshifter, a Variety thought to be theoretically impossible. He was thrilled. Incorporating this new Variety would redeem him in the eyes of the Corps, he was sure. He'd been sent out here to the ragged tail end of Human Space, years after he should have been given his own mission, because of that one mistake he'd made at the Academy. It had been an understandable mistake, sympathetic counsels had told him, and not even totally his fault. But the Academy hadn't seen things that way.

The station report had one strange deficiency. It was standard procedure with first encounters with new Varieties to get samples of each individual's genetic material. This was done through sniffers and scrapers, picking up the bits of DNA that all living organisms sloughed off continuously. The station team had done that, of course, and their methodology appeared to be in order. But they had been completely unsuccessful in obtaining any useful data. Small lengths of DNA showed up, no more than a few hundred bases, but the rest— and all of sensors had reported a large amount of nucleic acid in the samples— was indecipherable. Very strange. He resolved to get close to her physically, as close and intimate as possible. He thought he could even seduce her, which would be another feather in his cap. A seduction would produce a bounty of information on her Variety, not just cells that could be analyzed and sequenced by the superior equipment on his ship but enzymes and hormones in her various fluids, brain activity if the suite was properly equipped, and her behavior, which for his diplomatic purposes might be the most important. And he could see, via a range of physiological signals, that she was very attracted to him. Not a surprise. All Human Variety males were intimidated; and females of all Varieties were drawn to Ambassadors— that's how Ambassadors were designed— but it was satisfying to confirm the effect with this very new Variety.

She sat on one of the low benches that faced the view and put a hand down on it, an invitation for him to sit next to her. That told him things were progressing even better than he'd predicted. That this new Variety had chosen a female to represent them meant they were making the common mistake of ignoring the natural sexual hierarchy.

"So, Dari-<####>-toa, representative of Swan, if I may call you by that pleasant name . . ."

"Among us, formal names are only used for introductions. Simply Swan is enough. And what may I call you?"

"Ambassador." Realizing she didn't understand the ways of civilization, he explained, "That's all that is needed."

"I understand that there are many of you, many called Ambassador. But then," she asked, "you're still an individual, correct?"

"Of course."

"Can I ask you something personal, just out of my own curiosity?" She didn't wait for his assent. "You are clearly ambitious. What if you do something extraordinary? Something that deserves recognition?"

"There are Ambassadors that have been recognized for certain acts. There was recently the Ambassador who opened up the Eridanus Stream, for example."

"And he is known as . . ."

"Ambassador who opened the Eridanus Stream."

She closed her eyes and forced a smile. "Have you ever met him?"

"Ambassadors don't meet."

"Ever? Then how do you all . . . ah, wait. The Protector."

He steered the conversation back to the necessary topic. "So your Variety has decided to enter the community of Human Space?"

"We have concluded that it's time to engage," she answered. He was recording her continuing metamorphosis. She was already now a very attractive woman and becoming more so. He was looking forward to a very enjoyable time seducing and conquering her.

"And you are aware of the requirements for joining Human Space? We can discuss the first steps necessary to become a junior member."

"That is not our intention."

He realized that she looked familiar. Which was impossible, of course. He was puzzled that his subconscious, usually so responsive in such matters, was not able to produce the memory that would explain her familiarity, a familiarity that was growing as he gazed at her. It had to be a coincidence.

As he pondered this, as well as her implicit refusal to enter the membership process, another report appeared in his mind, sent from the station Protector. Analysis of her ship's approach had failed to identify her Variety's home system. That was as distressing as it was incredible. But the visual recordings of the approach, from monitors widely spaced around the station's system, were even more incredible because they were all the same: the ship appeared to be traveling at high speed directly toward each monitor, regardless of its location. Monitors light days apart saw the same thing. That simply couldn't be. And to compound the paradox, then at some point the ship disappeared. Just vanished leaving no trace, not an atom out of place. The only difference was

when

it disappeared, later and later as it approached the station. For the station— and only the station— it didn't disappear, it slowed and came to rest a few kilometers distant.

From the timings of the disappearances the station Protector had been able to estimate the general direction of approach, which was how they'd decided to call her Variety the Swan, after an Earth constellation in that direction, and roughly estimate the distance to the likely cluster. But it was all crazy. His Protector's best hypothesis was that the Swan Variety, during its isolation, had developed its own unique superluminal theory and drive, totally different from Earth's. That potentially could be a threat to Human Space, that their movements were not predictable and, even more important, that they were not dependent on the FTL technology that Earth zealously, and so far successfully, kept for itself.

There was good news: analysis of trace radioisotopes on the Swan ship's outer layers yielded evidence that it had spent about seven years in interstellar space. Given the estimated distance to their home world, it meant they were only capable of 2X light speed, much slower than Earth's steadily improving FTL technology. His ship had the latest version, able to run at more than 5X light. Still worrying. He commanded a deeper analysis from his ship's more powerful Protector. It confirmed that it had already started on that effort.

"Then," he replied, not missing a beat— he'd been able to absorb the report in less than a second— "if junior membership is not your primary interest, what is your intention?"

She leaned toward him. Her upper garment, form-fitting, had somehow separated at the top and he could now see into a delightful cleavage. Her black hair was past her ears, her skin as pale as romantic paintings of Earth's Moon. "I want you to

fuck

me."

It was an ancient word, no longer used, but of course he knew it. Her kind had to have left Earth in the late 21st or early 22nd century, when the first primitive FTL colony ships had embarked. And had traveled for decades through godforsaken emptiness to a cluster that Human Space had yet to reach. It was like a story out of one of those overwrought Human Variety dramas his concubines loved to watch.

That word, though, still had an effect. His subconscious on its own released another volley of pheromones. Her eyes fluttered as she inhaled. He smiled, a kingly smile that told her he might, if she were properly obeisant, favor her with his royal scepter. "That is an extraordinary request," he answered. He rose up in his posture, assuming in that way a position more prominent. And also getting a better look at those luscious melons.

Perhaps in his enthusiasm he'd misjudged their personal space. She moved and suddenly her lips were on his. His mouth opened instinctively, and her tongue slid in, longer than expected, and it snaked around as if exploring. It was an electrifying experience, scary for a tiny moment, then delicious as he imagined all the pleasures that tongue was going to give him.

She withdrew, licking her lips as if he were a new dish. "You're very male. You are, I think, the most masculine man I've ever encountered."

"Your men . . ." He didn't want to risk an insult.

"We are . . . different."

He deeply wished he had more genetic data on her kind, the Swans as he'd begun thinking of them. He queried his Protector. It was working but still had nothing yet. The room's sensors provided only echoes of what the station's public area sensors had found.

"I'd love to see your

cock

."

Again, an ancient word, and again she was being amazingly forward, and again his skin responded by releasing more scents, both pheromones and hormones. An important part of every Ambassador's training was to distinguish between hormone-induced decisions and those deduced by the logic of the situation. He could feel the influence of his hormones. His reasoning mind counseled a more gradual seduction since there were so many unknowns.

But there was also the logic of seizing the opportunity.

He stood before her. He was taller than her and his perceptions were that her height was reducing as part of her transformation toward more feminine. Standing before her sitting form brought the pleasure of towering over her. He waited. His lower garment was nearly skintight over his legs and hinted at the ample mass of his genitals, subtly of course and within the bounds of propriety. Ama, his older concubine, an engineered pure albino due to the weak sunlight of her planet's distant star, was sometimes bold in her desires and at such a moment would take the initiative to draw out his member with only the slightest pause to ask his assent. But this woman, Swan, now fully a woman, just waited.

He undid his lower garment and released his member in front of her. He was not a small man and it was large in proportion to his size. Even half hard it was substantial. More than one woman had called it magnificent.

"Yes, very male." She reached out her hand. "I'm going to touch you." He nodded, though she hadn't actually asked permission. She took his organ in her hand, which felt quite warm. He hadn't noticed before, concentrating on the conversation and the reports that had been arriving, but he saw now that her internal temperature was rising, another curious aspect of this novel Variety. Probably the shapeshifting took a lot of energy. Her other warm hand went to his testicles, which were also larger than normal. "Mmm," she hummed as he grew in her hand. He felt pleased.

"I'm going to taste you now," she said. He wasn't used to a woman acting like this, not asking permission. His concubines always did, even when, say, Tiuli, his younger woman, very dark and very small— the product of a water planet with only a few islands and a harsh UV-radiating star— had him on the verge of orgasm, she would pause to beg for his seed. Swan did not ask and did not wait. Between her lips, cherry red, lusciously shaped— and strongly reminiscent of something or someone he could not quite recall in spite of repeated attempts— his large member slid.

And with his slide into her mouth, over that extraordinary tongue, his world slid away and he was transported to a place he hadn't known existed, but which, as soon as it appeared, was like coming home.

Not the creche he hardly remembered. The home he'd made in paradise with Brid.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

When he and Brid first met it was instant fire between them, lust at first sight in the lobby of one of the many lecture halls of the Academy, where they were candidates together. Women of course could never be Ambassadors, that was unthinkable, but women could train to be high level envoys. Their different feminine perspective was sometimes valuable, and any time they were negotiating with a diplomatic group, there were always Human Variety males— and sometimes females— that could be targets for seduction and influence.