Author's Note: This is a short, standalone, sci-fi, sex-focused story that I wanted to try as a little experiment. I've never really written anything in the non-human category or anything involving unusual anatomy, so I wanted to challenge myself a little. I hope you enjoy!
***
Being a political journalist in the twenty-fourth century was a damned hard gig.
People just had so many other things to take up their time, leaving little time to consume the news. Most people just didn't bother keeping up with current events given all the other distractions on offer: virtual reality sims, pleasure bots, synthetic drugs, neurologically-tailored recipes, and idyllic resort worlds.
Making the work even harder was the fact that interstellar affairs had gotten downright
boring
over the last century. With the establishment of the Second Accord the galaxy had been at peace for decades, with only the occasional border dispute or short-lived political conflict. Grand, bloody wars were a thing of the past, and those little brushfire wars never really provided much for journalists to sink our teeth into.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the galaxy was a complicated place. With four human nations, dozens of alien species, two civilizations of synthetic lifeforms, and countless interlocking alliances, just staying informed was practically a full-time job. Even as a journalist dedicated to covering interstellar politics, I still found myself failing to keep track of the dense interconnections between the dizzying number of nations and cultures.
Which was why my heart had leapt up into my throat when the Daxgoran ambassador had agreed to an interview. Whenever another nation or species set up an embassy or consulate on New Mars, I always sent a cursory form letter to get an interview, to get a sense of their intentions and to keep our small but dedicated reader-base informed.
Most of those interviews turned out to be dull affairs. Hours of chatting with some dull Earth-born woman about how much she was looking forward to sampling New Martian cuisine, or a sleep-inducing lecture from a Zelkite diplomat about the dangers of stargazing too much.
An interview with a Daxgoran could make for one hell of a story, though. Those aliens were one of the few sources of actual exciting news these days. Reports were scarce, but news still emerged from their systems about some sort of bizarre conflict occurring within their society. Some of the reports had described it as a grand-scale honor duel, with two Daxgoran factions fighting out a largely bloodless conflict to settle some sort of dispute. One of the other reporters in my office had said the war was a ruse by the Daxgorans, to try to lull their neighbors into attacking while they were divided.
Even if I didn't get any scoop about the actual war itself, the interview alone would be a boon to my rep at the office and to my readership numbers. And maybe, just maybe, I'd get a few more readers to actually give a damn about what was going on in our corner of the galaxy.
Bright and eager the morning of the interview, I dove into a frenzy of preparation in my apartment. I skimmed through the latest reports from Daxgor, tapped into the university archives to read through notes on their biology and culture, and even skimmed a review of a virtual-reality sim based on first-hand accounts of Daxgorans in combat.
As I got dressed, I switched the research files to audio mode, and my apartment's AI skimmed through the data. There wasn't much information on Daxgoran fashion etiquette, so I opted for a professional, subdued, and well-fitted outfit: a skirt, a frilly shirt, and a simple jacket. Next came the heels: I'd picked particularly high ones that day. Given the height of Daxgorans, I wanted to minimize the risk of appearing like a puny weakling, though I was certain those heels still wouldn't cut it.
The hair turned out to be a more important aspect than I'd initially planned: an article about a trade conference with the Daxgorans indicated that they had paid a massive fortune in rare minerals for purple flowers. Other reports had indicated that the Daxgorans had an obsession with the color, even going so far as to settle an inhospitable moon due to large amethyst deposits.
It might have been a bit unprofessional to stoop so low, but I'd take every advantage I could get. I queued up a cosmetic drone, which deployed from my bathroom mirror and gave my long, sleek hair a quick dye job, shifting it from my usual blonde to a deep, lustrous purple.
I ran the freshly-dyed hair through my fingers, admiring the new hue.
It actually wasn't bad. I might even keep it once I got the big scoop.
My briefcase and notebook weren't strictly necessary, of course, since all of my data and credentials were synced to my phone, but I liked going the old-school route. It helped to remind me of the grueling investigations of my predecessors and it was a quirk that helped me stand out around the office.
After a quick check of the new hairdo, I touched base with the office to let them know I was heading to the embassy, then made my way to the taxi platform. A drone taxi whisked me across the teeming, glittering dome-covered city of Tharsis Prime. Through the windows I admired the spotless parks, the silvery arcology towers and the long row of bizarre, alien structures that lined the diplomatic boulevards.
There were the amber pillars weaved by the Zelkites, the brutalist bunker-like embassy from Earth, and a grove of trees home to the small delegation of the winged M'hell species. The M'hell had been one of the few decent diplomatic interviews I'd managed to arrange: they'd affixed me with a grav-pack and we'd spent the day flying around between the trees. I still stopped by from time to time for a cup of tea, a fun flight, and a friendly interview with the ambassador.
The Daxgoran embassy was not nearly as enticing or grand: it was in fact a temporary structure given their recent arrival. A simple tower sat in the middle, ringed by a few habitation domes. As the drone taxi descended, I noticed several tents alongside the domes, making the embassy look more like an army camp than a diplomatic complex. Given the Daxgorans' reputation, perhaps the choice had been deliberate.
Around the embassy was a standard security cordon of the local military: every visiting alien race was provided the full protection of the New Martian government. Though I recognized most of the guards on duty, I still had to go through the same checks as everyone else.
"Morning, Miss Acaso," said one of the troopers I recognized: a short, young officer named Stefak.
"You call me that every time, and every time I chide you," I said, laughing as I slid him my phone so he could check my creds. "It's Yanira."
"Policy, I'm afraid. Gotta be polite." He swiped my phone through the scanner and a hologram displayed my press pass and other key data. "And in the interest of politeness...I suggest you forgo this interview today, Miss Acaso."
"Why? Trouble?" I glanced about, not noting a higher security presence than usual.
"Not yet. But these Daxgorans have a nasty reputation. Honestly I'm surprised they were even allowed to send an embassy, with all the bloodletting they've been doing to themselves."
"That 'bloodletting' is one of the reasons why I'm here, lieutenant. The sooner we get to the bottom of why they're fighting each other, the sooner we can help. Or at least alleviate our ignorance."
"Sure, sure. But just know that once you're through that cordon, you're legally on Daxgor. Nothing we can do to help."
"I did an interview a year ago in a basement of a building being shelled by anti-snyth insurgents on Keppis Three. I can probably handle myself."
The conflict in question had been one of the biggest in recent memory, but was barely a dustup from a galactic perspective. The stories I'd written during that conflict had earned me a promotion and a cushy job here on New Mars, along with a nomination for an award.
Maybe I'd earn even more accolades once I was through with the Daxgoran ambassador.
"Good luck."
He waved me through the scanner, and after another check by the security drone I was allowed through.
The Daxgoran compound had no security other than a low metal fence that had been put up as a temporary measure by the local security forces. No patrols, no drones, no watchtowers.
As I approached the fence's gate, I paused to examine the domes, tents, and the large central tower.
