Minya

I don't remember where I came from. I recall no childhood, nor any life other than that I knew aboard the KYEM'THA, my ship. As far as I know, I have always lived there, and I have always been a whore.

The ship traveled far and wide throughout the Galaxy, serving hundreds of races. There are many ships like it in what I have come to understand is the Gamma Quadrant. We know to avoid certain areas of space: the Breen, the Borg, the Lyanid Cluster; none of them have need for us. But there are some who do. There are always some.

In my position, I knew little of the decisions that were made in the operation of the ship, but I do remember the day that the Master found what he thought to be a promising new source of clientele. They called themselves Humans. They were both masculine and feminine, and we could serve them both. I was chosen to serve as a human woman, and given a template to emulate. My form as it is now is not my true form, if I even have one. It is very difficult for me to change form completely, though I may alter myself slightly without too much effort.

We found a human ship easily enough, following their beacons to the proper region of space. The ones we discovered were traders - pirates, perhaps. They were wealthy and my Master wanted that wealth. When they learned of the service we offered, they displayed an eagerness like we had never imagined, and the Master was very pleased.

But we were done in by our own greed. The Master decided to release the Czinzeng into the atmosphere without first ensuring that it was compatible with the human physiology. He hoped to increase their need, make them give us more of their wealth. But it drove them mad, and they attacked us in their madness. I was alone in my chamber waiting to be called into service - this saved my life. By the time I dared to emerge, everyone - both my people and the humans - was dead.

More humans came, both males and females this time. In my innocence, I accompanied them back to their ship, and the Czinzeng struck them as well. They call it a virus. As before, the men went mad, all but one. The women did not, however.

It has been many days. This ship, I am told, has been hurtled across the Galaxy and we are making our way home again. I have learned something of how to communicate with them, and told them what I know, but it is not much.

But they have told me a great deal, even though they do not mean to. I can sense it in them. The women are suffering, affected by the Czinzeng as well. It makes them yearn to mate, even with each other. I, too, feel the urge within me. The humans tell me that I have been created this way, that my genes are engineered. I do not understand all of what they say, but I feel the need. I dearly wish to relieve the suffering I see around me. I know the effects of the Czinzeng well, and their own hands will not provide the relief they crave.

If only they would invite me into their beds, I could do much for them. I could ease their pain, give them what they need. But I must be invited; it is not my place to give of my own volition.

I should speak with their Mistress, the one they call Captain.

This is how I found myself thinking on the thirtieth day since my rescue from the KYEM'THA, as I rode the lift to the bridge.