It's times like this that make you reconsider your choice of career.
You joined the diplomatic corps with dreams of seeing faraway planets and making the galaxy a better place. But during the years you were in training for the job, you... well, let's be honest: you slacked off. Now those smug bastards who sat up all night studying are getting the best postings, while your barely adequate grades qualify you to stay on Earth and play nursemaid to minor alien dignitaries. This week it's some sort of nobility from... Glorpon-42? You've never even heard of Glorpon-42. You clutch the file in your pocket like a lifeline.
To make matters worse, your boss has had it in for you ever since that (ahem) incident in the spaceport bar. If you're not careful, your next screwup could be your last.
10th place (out of 42) in the 20th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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