Mated by Mandate – Chapter 3
Zora
Neutral Space Station Gamma-9 was less a station and more a floating monument to excessive wealth and questionable taste. The Celestial Lounge, its crown jewel, glittered with chrome accents, holographic starfields that shimmered across the domed ceiling, and furniture so sleek it looked actively hostile to comfortable sitting. Zora tugged at the hem of the dark blue tunic GDS had insisted she wear (apparently, her usual practical jumpsuit screamed ‘socially inept rock enthusiast.’ Which, fine, was accurate, but still).
She felt like a microbe under a particularly judgmental microscope. Everyone else seemed genetically engineered for lounging – aliens draped in iridescent fabrics, humans in sharp suits, beings of indeterminate origin sipping glowing cocktails and exchanging murmurs that probably involved stock options on distant nebulae. Zora clutched her datapad like a shield. At least rocks didn’t judge your choice of footwear.
She scanned the room, spotting him almost immediately. Hard not to. Xan of Zephyria stood near the panoramic viewport, bathed in the artificial glow of a swirling purple galaxy projection. He looked even more infuriatingly polished than his holo-image suggested. The silver tunic he wore seemed to drink the light, his posture screamed effortless command, and he was currently engaged in conversation with a willowy being whose six arms gestured with languid grace. Probably discussing the price of helium futures.
Zora took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched towards him. Might as well get this orbital root canal over with.
As she approached, his amber eyes flicked towards her. Recognition dawned, followed by an expression she couldn’t decipher. (Sigh, Zephyrians.) He excused himself from the multi-limbed conversationalist with a smooth nod and turned to face her. Up close, the symmetry Gorla had noted was… noticeable. Annoyingly so.
“Dr. Zora,” he greeted, his voice that same low baritone from the holo-call. “Punctual. A commendable trait in science, I imagine. Less so in diplomacy, where arriving fashionably late implies importance.”
“Right. Because wasting other people’s time is a sign of status.” Zora kept her tone flat. “Let’s just find a table and fulfill the mandate.”
Before Xan could reply, a small holo-projector on a nearby decorative pillar flared to life. The stern face of Qixyl materialized between them, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“GDS confirmation protocol engaged,” Qixyl stated, eyes darting between Zora and Xan. “Match participants Zora ID 7-gamma-9-delta and Xan ID alpha-prime-2-zeta visually confirmed present at designated coordinates. Mandated interaction period: initiated. Minimum duration: one standard hour. Enjoy your compatible interaction.” The hologram winked out as abruptly as it appeared.
A beat of awkward silence hung in the air.
“Well,” Xan said, gesturing towards a pair of intimidatingly sleek chairs near the viewport. “Shall we?”
They sat. The chairs molded slightly to their forms, which felt vaguely invasive. A server drone hovered nearby, awaiting orders.
“Anything to drink, Doctor?” Xan asked, scanning the holographic menu projected above the table. “They boast a remarkable collection of nebulae-nectars and asteroid-ales.”
“Just water. Still.” Zora wasn’t risking some intergalactic cocktail that might induce hallucinations or spontaneous tentacle growth.
Xan ordered her water and a shimmering amber liquid for himself. “The Zephyrian Sun-wine,” he explained, catching her dubious look. “Quite harmless, I assure you. Though it does tend to enhance one’s perception of color saturation temporarily.”
“Sounds… distracting.”
“Diplomacy often requires appreciating nuances of perception.” He took a delicate sip. “So, Doctor. Astrogeology. Tell me, what drives a person to dedicate their life to cosmic debris?”
Zora bristled slightly. “It’s not debris. It’s the history of the universe, written in stone and metal. It tells us where we came from, what the galaxy is made of. It’s fundamental.” She leaned forward, forgetting her discomfort for a moment. “What drives a person to dedicate their life to smoothing over disagreements caused by people wanting things they don’t own?”
A flicker of surprise in his amber eyes. He leaned back, a slow smile playing on his lips. “Touché. Perhaps we navigate different kinds of fundamentals. Yours are elemental. Mine are… interpersonal. Equally complex, I assure you. And often, just as explosive.”
“I doubt a trade dispute ever vaporized a moon.”
“Give galactic politics time.” He took another sip of his sun-wine. “GDS insists we share core compatibilities. Beyond punctuality and, perhaps, a shared appreciation for verbal sparring.”
Zora fought the urge to roll her eyes. The way he spoke – all polished syllables and precise diction – made her want to throw something. Preferably a nice, solid chunk of asteroid. Who actually used words like “interpersonal” in casual conversation? The same type who probably color-coded their sock drawer and alphabetized their spice rack. This whole exercise was cosmic torture, a waste of precious research time she could be spending with her thulium samples. At least rocks didn’t pontificate or use ten-credit words when five-credit ones would do just fine. And they certainly didn’t look at you with those amber eyes that seemed to see right through your carefully constructed professional veneer.
“The algorithm’s clearly malfunctioning. Possibly ingested a bad data packet.” Zora took a defiant gulp of her water. “Unless your profile listed ‘enjoys arguing with stubborn scientists’ as a key personality trait.”
“My profile is meticulously curated for diplomatic advantage. It lists precisely what my advisors deem appropriate.” His gaze held hers, a challenge glinting within it. “And yours? Did it mention a fondness for challenging authority and a distinct lack of patience for… let’s call it ‘social lubrication’?”
Okay, ouch. Also, maybe accurate. “My profile probably just says ‘Likes rocks. Avoids parties.’”
Xan actually chuckled then, a low, unexpected sound that sent a flutter through Zora’s chest. Annoying. “Perhaps GDS saw potential for… mutual expansion of horizons.”
“Or it’s orchestrating an elaborate practical joke on a galactic scale.”
Just then, Xan gestured subtly, and the server drone reappeared, depositing a small bowl of iridescent, pulsating spheres between them. “A local delicacy,” Xan offered. “Glimmer-berries. Said to enhance witty repartee.”
Zora eyed the wobbling spheres. “They look like they might crawl away.”
“They’re quite stationary.” He picked one up with elegant fingers. “Allow it to dissolve on your tongue.” He popped one into his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, and the amber color seemed to deepen. “Hmm. Interesting texture.”
Feeling vaguely competitive, Zora picked one up. It felt cool, gelatinous. She hesitated, then placed it on her tongue. It didn’t dissolve. It vibrated. A low, buzzing sensation filled her mouth, accompanied by a faint taste of ozone and something citrusy. It wasn’t unpleasant, just… weird. She tried to swallow it. Big mistake. The vibration intensified, tickling the back of her throat.
A sudden, involuntary cough escaped her. Then another, stronger one. Her eyes watered. The glimmer-berry shot out of her mouth like a tiny, bioluminescent cannonball, ricocheting off Xan’s polished tunic and landing with a faint plink in his glass of sun-wine.
The wine instantly fizzed, turning a violent shade of purple and emitting a plume of lavender-scented smoke.
Silence.
Xan stared down at his now-smoking, berry-contaminated drink. Then he looked up at Zora, whose face was burning. A single tear, induced by the coughing fit, tracked down her cheek.
His expression was unreadable for a second. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, reaching his eyes this time. He started to laugh. Not a polite diplomatic chuckle, but a real, surprised laugh.
Zora wanted to melt away, to disappear and never be seen again.
“Well, Doctor,” he managed, gesturing at the ruined drink. “It seems you’ve discovered an undocumented reaction. Perhaps astrogeology and chemistry have more overlap than we thought.”
Zora stared at him, mortified. And yet… his laughter wasn’t mocking. It was… infectious. A reluctant smile tugged at her own lips. “Or maybe,” she mumbled, grabbing a napkin to dab her eyes, “some things just shouldn’t be mixed.”
Like Zephyrian diplomats and human scientists, perhaps.
Sitting across from Xan, Zora found herself cataloging him like a new mineral specimen. First impression: too perfect, too polished, too… everything. The way his silver-toned skin caught the light shouldn’t be physically possible. The precise angle of his jawline suggested genetic engineering or, worse, regular exercise. Even the way he held his glass – fingers positioned with mathematical precision – spoke of someone who’d never spilled anything in his life.
And yet.
That laugh. Unguarded. Genuine. It transformed his face from a diplomatic mask to something unexpectedly… human? No, not human. But real. For a heartbeat, she’d glimpsed something beneath the polish. Something that made her stomach do a strange little flip that had nothing to do with the glimmer-berry incident and everything to do with the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Dangerous territory. Best to reclassify him immediately as “pretentious diplomat” and nothing more.
The mandated hour crawled by after that, filled with slightly less barbed conversation, punctuated by the lingering scent of lavender smoke. They talked about nebulae (his appreciation aesthetic, hers geological), about political maneuvering (his weary resignation, her blunt skepticism), finding microscopic points of grudging agreement amidst the vast gulfs of their differing lives.
The initial irritation hadn’t vanished, but it was now accompanied by something unsettlingly like… intrigue. And the memory of his unguarded laughter.
When the hour concluded, signaled by another impersonal chime from the GDS pillar, they stood.
“Ambassador,” Zora said, extending a hand automatically before realizing it might be the wrong gesture. Zephyrians probably bowed or exchanged energy fields or something.
Xan took her hand. His grip was firm, his skin cool. A strange undercurrent sparked at the contact, unexpected and strong. His amber eyes met hers, serious for a moment. “Doctor.”
The touch lasted a fraction too long. Then they both yanked their hands away. Zora wasn’t sure what to do then. Let her arms dangle at her sides? Put her hands in her pockets? She tried both before giving up.
“Well,” Zora said, clearing her throat. “Mandate fulfilled.”
“Indeed,” Xan agreed, his diplomatic mask firmly back in place. “An… informative experience.”
She turned and walked away without looking back, navigating the glittering lounge, feeling his gaze on her until she rounded a corner. Back in the sterile anonymity of the station corridor, she leaned against the cool metal wall.
Informative. Right.
She’d learned that polished diplomats could laugh. That she could projectile-cough alien delicacies. And that a 99.9% compatibility rating felt less like a guarantee and more like a cosmic setup for maximum awkwardness. Was there something else she absolutely refused to analyze? Hard to say. Probably.
She pushed off the wall. Time to get back to her temporary quarters. Far away from glimmer-berries, sun-wine, and… everything else that came with that one-hour mandated date.
You have been reading Mated by Mandate...
I thought the Galactic Dating Service’s threats were a joke.
Public meme campaigns? Social humiliation algorithms? Please. I’m Dr. Zora—I talk to rocks for a living.
But when their “99.9% Perfect Match” pairs me with Ambassador Xan, they’re not bluffing.
He’s everything I despise: politically connected, devastatingly charming, the kind of smooth operator who manipulates hearts like trade negotiations. Our first date ends with me coughing alien berries into his drink.
I should hate him.
Instead, when he laughs—really laughs—I glimpse someone real underneath. Someone who protects me from sleazy delegates. Someone who looks at me like I’m fascinating instead of socially defective.
Then I discover seaweed that could change everything—life-changing science that makes me a target for every government in the galaxy.
Including his.
I now face an impossible choice: trust the man who awakened something I’d buried, or protect my discovery alone.
The galaxy’s future depends on my decision. So does my heart.
Mated by Mandate is a slow burn steamy alien dating-service romance and the first novella in the Galactic Dating Service series. If you enjoy fated-mates chemistry, grumpy–sunshine banter, and a silver-tongued alien willing to bend interstellar rules for one brilliant human scientist, you’ll love Mated By Mandate.
