Xenojournalism

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 downrightboring 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.

No movement at all.

Could there have been an attack? An outbreak? Some sort of local pathogen that Daxgoran biology wasn't suited for?

Surely Stefak would have warned me of any such problems before letting me through.

I stood at the gate, frowning and glancing around.

"Hello?" I called out.

When there came no reply, I turned on the translation app and repeated myself. The Daxgoran word rippled out like a boom of thunder from my phone.

Nothing.

I blew my purple-dyed hair out of my face and glared out at the compound. After two more shouts and a check to make sure the translation app was working, I opened up the comms app to give the office a call.

Right before the call could go through, movement from one of the tents caught my eye.

I'd seen plenty of Daxgorans in the footage I'd viewed to prepare for this interview, but nothing could prepare for the sight of one in the flesh.

This particular Daxgoran was nearly seven feet tall, every inch of his body covered in thick armored scales. Though quite taller than the average human, he was about as wide as a particularly burly human male, with broad shoulders that would have been the envy of the fit security officers I'd just passed.

I could not even see eyes or a mouth; the research on their physiology had described the armored display as their default stance when interacting with strangers. Few Daxgorans would withdraw their armored scales to actually show their mouths or eyes. According to the limited data available, their unique physiology allowed them to still see via the electromagnetic spectrum despite the scales over their eyes.

The alien had four massive arms and two thick legs: every limb was tipped with thick, spiky black claws. The scales of his body were a dark red, which was a color I hadn't seen on any Daxgoran in the footage I'd viewed.

All Daxgorans, from what the research and first contact reports had indicated, utilized masculine terms when dealing with humans. Details were still scarce about their gender expression and sexual habits, and it wasn't clear if the apparent masculinity was due to their own culture or biology, or they'd just decided to go along with humanity's initial biases and assumptions.

Whatever the case, I'd perhaps find out.

The Daxgoran approached the other side of the gate, his claws leaving long tracks in the dirt behind him.

"Hello," I said warmly, though the sound came out as a brutish bark through the translator app. "I have an appointment. Yanira Acaso, with the New Martian Daily Press."

Without any visible eyes on the Daxgoran, I had no way of knowing exactly where to look. So I just glanced at where a human's eyes might have been and maintained my poise as best I could.

The alien's left claw scraped against the dirt three times. Red scales on his chest shifted to a dull green. The green coloration spread, forming an enthralling spiral pattern on his skin. The spiraling grew more intense, before the pattern seemed to explode, scattering color throughout his entire body.

He let out several long, heavy breaths, then turned and stomped towards the central tower.

The research had mentioned color-shifting patterns as part of some sort of communication, but the translation app hadn't picked up on it. Had that been an amiable greeting, or a demand to leave?

The minutes dragged on. Eventually two more Daxgorans emerged: the only way I could tell them apart from the first was because one was a bit taller, and another was missing two of the claws on his left leg.

As they approached, each one displayed that same swirling spiral pattern on their scales, which then erupted to encompass most of their bodies.

And despite my apologies and greetings, the two Daxgorans then turned and strode back to the central tower.

I pulled up my phone and frantically searched for more info on the shifting color patterns. I found information on plenty of other species, including a website which helpfully explained to aliens what it meant when a human blushed.

God. Had they beenblushing at the sight of me?

I laughed at the thought, then looked up again as yet another Daxgoran approached the gate.

He was about half a foot taller than the others and his claws were adorned with little flecks of gold. Two large golden spikes jutted from each shoulder. Those spikes I recognized: first contact reports had confirmed them as a sign of rank of sorts, akin to a naval officer's epaulets.

One thing many species shared was a desire for certain leaders to adorn themselves to stand out.

Like the others, he displayed a green spiral on the scales upon his chest, but it faded faster than the others. The scales on his face peeled back, revealing part of an angular, sharp and vaguely humanoid face. The reddish-hued skin was surprisingly smooth and soft, and he had four large, dark red eyes that affixed me with intense, clinical regard. The armored scales still covered the lower half of his face, with no sign of what passed for nostrils or a mouth.

It was only then that I noticed the translation unit affixed to the side of his neck: a little silvery device implanted upon his scales. When he spoke in his low, rumbling native tongue, the translation unit passed along the words in low, masculine tones.

"I apologize for the poor greeting. Our rhythms are still out of sync due to the warp jump we took to get here. Interstellar travel wreaks havoc on our internal sense of time and place. The sentries misjudged the time of your appointment. As recompense for this dishonor, I can give you one of the limbs of the sentries who failed me."

My eyes widened.

"No, no! That's not necessary. I know that interstellar travel can be quite the adjustment and it was really only a short delay. Please, don't harm any of your staff on my account."

"It was a jest," he said. Though I could see nothing akin to a smile given the fact that the scales still hid his mouth, the red scales on his chest flitted briefly to a light blue. "Humans like to make grisly assumptions about our codes of conduct. We find it amusing to invent ridiculous punishments of this nature."

I laughed, hoping that the translation app would convey my amusement.

"A good joke, if a scary one. Thank you for meeting me. Are you ambassador Renhai?"

"Yes. Good pronunciation. You are Yanira Acaso."

When he said my name, he didn't make use of the translation app, and said the words in a low, slow, and rumbling voice.

The sound of it sent a little shiver down my spine.

"Very good pronunciation from you as well. A lot of humans even get that wrong."

He reached out and pulled open the gate.

"Are you aware of what you have done?"

I blinked.

"I'm sorry, no. Did I offend you in some way by praising your pronunciation?"

He stared, those four eyes drifting to my hair, then back to meet my gaze.

"Please. Come with me."

Frowning at that and wondering if I'd misjudged the use of the purple hair dye, I followed.

We passed by seemingly empty tents and hab-domes, until we reached an armored door.

"I must apologize in advance."

"For what?"

Without further explanation, he opened the door.

Within were twenty Daxgorans, all squaring off against one another in boxing matches, blade duels, or wrestling bouts. Grunts and growls echoed through the central chamber as they laid into one another with blows that would have outright killed a human.

They fought with impressive speed for their size, leaping and vaulting through the air to reach their targets, and dodging with speed that would have matched even the most advanced combat drone.

I was glad the Daxgorans only really seemed to care about hurting each other, though Renhai's cryptic warning had certainly raised my hackles.

Two Daxgorans, locked in a wrestling match a few feet from the door, glanced up. Green spirals cascaded over their faces and chests. They pushed one another away and rose to their clawed feet.

The other warriors paused in their training. Nearly half of them soon displayed similar green spirals.

One of the closest ones barked something, to which Renhai gave a sharp hiss. Black scales flitted across the ambassador's neck and the warrior who'd called out suddenly lunged.

I shrieked as he came bounding straight for me, clawed feet scraping against the metal floor. Renhai took a single step to interpose himself between me and the charging warrior, then grasped the incoming Daxgoran's arm and slammed him into the wall.

Renhai jabbed with his clawed hand, scraping it against the back of the wounded warrior's neck. After snarling out a few more words that the app didn't translate, he stepped away and spread his four arms wide, then tapped at the shoulder-spikes.

None of the Daxgorans moved. The green spirals faded and they went back to their sparring. Two warriors moved to help up the injured one, and Renhai gestured towards a large staircase at the back of the chamber.

"Again, I apologize. I told them to restrain themselves before bringing you in. I was foolish for not dismissing them and forcing them to leave before allowing you to enter. I trusted too much in their restraint."

"I don't understand," I said, my voice shaking and my limbs tingly from the adrenaline. I followed closely, not wanting to risk another unexplained attack. "You're here on a diplomatic mission. Why the combat? Why the...attack?"

"The combat is a distraction. An outlet. The attack is..." He rumbled something that the app didn't convey. "It was not an attack."

We walked up the stairs and I made a mental note of everything I'd seen for my story.

"Could you please explain it then, ambassador? I came here to help get a sense of your people, to help the people of New Mars understand our new guests. And if I don't understand why that happened, I can't really do anything to prevent some other human from causing offense."

"You caused no offense," he said, the words a bit sharper than before. "You caused..." He tapped his claws against the metal floor, and said a raspy word. The app chimed with an error; the word wasn't in its database.

He opened a doorway that led into what appeared to be an office. The center of the room displayed a hologram of Daxgor: a crimson, rocky world, swirling with massive red clouds and orbited by two shattered moons.

I stared at it for a few moments, wondering how much of a scoop it would be for a human to actually visit the place for the first time. They'd only allowed a few communication drones in orbit and all direct contact had occurred at the edge of their home system.

I blinked away those thoughts, refocusing on the matter at hand. I had to get this simple, easy story first and figure out why the hell that brute had tried to hurt me. Then I could worry about bigger dreams.

Within the room was a large, spiky slab of rock that I assumed was a desk or table of some kind and a cushioned chair fit for humans, probably left by the crew who had set up the prefabricated building. On the other side of the room was a large window that overlooked the courtyard below, where the warriors continued to spar and train. Even at that distance and through the glass, I could hear muffled grunts and war-cries.

Renhai sat down upon the rocky slab and bade me to sit on the chair. I smiled, sat, crossed my legs, and pulled out my notebook from the briefcase.