Ambassador Alana saved the galaxy but the taxonomists would never forgive her. Sure, the enemy were an insanely aggressive warrior species, single-minded macho muscluloids complete with ridged heads and a combat evolution causing them to pump blood and expand when enraged. But did she have to call them “Hardons”?
No-one could deny it suited them. The Hardons were dicks. The name put many a human crew in the right frame of mind before venturing through Hardon space: have protection because they’ll try to screw you. But a certain type of historian will always act like history is something politely written down in little books, not something lived and died through in by billions of inconveniently impolite people, so they tutted and fussed and tried to get people to call them Gurzilians. But since most people who interacted with Gurzilians were history, not historians, the slang name continued to be used.
Ambassador Alana, legendary ambassador of the human race! Brave, bold, and cunning, word of her exploits spreads beyond the bounds of the human Federation, usually just beyond the bounds of their jurisdiction, but surely that is a coincidence! Modest and capable, she forges alliances with strange new races single-handed and leaves before even the most lightly-armed human support craft can arrive. Often quite quickly!
Entire waves of Federation first contact ships are embarrassed to find themselves sloppily second, welcomed by allies the human race had never met, and presented with expense invoices they’d never dreamed of. Small compared to the profits from the proffered interplanetary trade agreements, but large enough to actually appear on those interplanetary trade agreements. Her inauguration of an alliance with the world of New France depleted the planet’s stock of champagne. The unexpected arrival of a Federation scouting party proved she could pilot her ambassadorial shuttle both expertly and hungover.