"Ambassador Patel, we are approaching Treaty Station," announced the ship's AI pilot.
"Thank you," she responded.
The ship was a small one. Her position qualified her for something larger, with room for support staff, but she preferred this simpler, automated model. If asked, she explained it as a cost-saving measure. No need for support staff on a largely ceremonial annual visit. After all, she would chuckle knowingly, it wasn't like the aliens were going to show up.
But Divya had a secret. The aliens
did
show up. Every year. This would be her seventh encounter with them. And she'd never told anyone.
Of course, they hadn't always. In fact, that was why Divya had been able to gain the position. There was no real competition for ambassador to a race of aliens that wanted nothing to do with humanity.
Two generations ago, as humans spread outward from their solar system, the question of extraterrestrial life had finally been answered, in the least satisfying way possible, when human ships encountered nonhuman craft with no interest in us.
They made no effort to communicate, and ignored all our attempts to do so. The only thing they did was hold position along an unseen boundary in space. Any attempt by human ships to approach was met by a non-hostile but assertive maneuver to block their way. Eventually, through trial and error, the border was mapped.
Not wanting to risk upsetting the only other sentient species we'd met, with who-knows-what capabilities, everyone had quickly agreed to respect their space. A station was constructed, and towed into position, directly along the boundary. It had no markings, only two docking ports, one facing human space, and the other facing them.
A human ship docked, and the first designated ambassador came aboard, sitting at a large table with a copy of a treaty that basically said, "We'll stay out of your way, but we'd like to get to know you better."
They had no idea how the aliens would react. Would they understand this was an invitation? Would they come aboard?
Could
they come aboard? We didn't even know if they could tolerate our atmosphere.
Astonishingly, an alien ship did dock with the station. What happened next was broadcast live across all of human space, and is still, to this day, the most-watched recording of all time. The airlock opened, and a single alien entered.
The creature most closely resembled a Portuguese man o' war. That is, if a man o' war walked upright on long squid-like tentacles, and had a mantle the size of a horse, with colors rippling along the dorsal ridge like a cuttlefish.
It ducked through the airlock and approached the table. The ambassador stood, and recited a small speech that had been meticulously prepared by a crack team of scientists who were practically frothing at their mouths to define the new fields of xenobiology, xenosociology, and xenolinguistics.
The alien waited calmly as the ambassador spoke, tentacles rippling gently. When he finished speaking, it turned and left. That was the first and only time anyone saw the aliens.
Some eighty years later, Divya Patel was offered the no-longer desirable position of ambassador. She had an office in the UN, a small staff, an even smaller budget, and a single responsibility: Visit the treaty station every year, just in case.
The previous ambassador, who had served for five years, shook her hand, and recommended she pack some books.
Divya's first visit to the station had been a surprise. She'd watched the first contact recording as much as anyone else, and thought she knew what to expect: A small room with a rather nice table of dark-stained wood, a UN flag hanging on the wall, and a single chair facing the alien's door.
Instead, the table was pushed up against the wall under the flag to make room for a second-hand sofa on the opposite wall. There was also a cheap flat-pack bookshelf, overflowing with dog-eared paperback novels. Someone had even attempted to make the place more friendly with a few plastic plants on the table.
She'd spent her first few hours doing paperwork, but had eventually given into boredom and investigated the bookshelves. A surprising amount were romance novels, and by her third visit, she'd read most of them. On her fourth visit she brought a set of comfortable pajamas, a fuzzy bathrobe, and contributed several steamy new romances to the collection. On her fifth visit, she also brought a vibrator.
Which is how she found herself naked on her back, legs spread, a book in one hand, magic wand in the other, holding the rumbling head to her clit, when the airlock opened and an alien walked in.
Divya squealed, dropped everything, and jumped to her feet, pulling her robe on. She apologized frantically, knowing she was babbling, and that it probably couldn't understand her anyway. The vibrator was buzzing loudly on the floor. She cursed, switched it off, and kicked it under the couch.
The alien stood, impassively, near the entrance, tentacles slowly moving as if flowing in a current.
