EMVOR

If there was one person I didn’t want to meet at the spaceport, it was Sanjurel. Cassa II was a small planet, with a very small population, but people like Sanjurel made it seem even smaller. There wasn’t a bit of local news he didn’t like, from whose crops were failing this season, whose meat-stock animals were running loose on the neighbor’s farm, to who was beating his mate.

I’m not the type to care about any of that. I keep my head down, keep my business to myself. After years of service in the wars, all I want is a nice quiet farm and a clear sky. Crops to grow. Stock animals to raise. A few credits in my stash. That’s all I need. Because it’s a small community on Cassa, people tend to get friendly and into each other’s business. Happens on all farm community planets. Unavoidable. So I keep to myself. Instead of going to community gatherings, I send along some extra food with a drone. Figure as long as I make a show of being neighborly, no one’s going to bother me too much.

But there’s no getting away from Sanjurel once he spots you. You’re in for a nice long conversation.

And since I walk with a heavy limp and my face is scarred up, I’m kinda hard to miss.

“Emvor!” he calls out, waving a hand. He’s spotted me before I could find a nice stack of freight to hide behind. Figures. I don’t alter my route, just tip the brim of my hat to him and hope he gets the message.

’Course, this being Sanjurel, he doesn’t get the message. The older man—a mesakkah like me—trots over to my side, his tail waving with eagerness. “Good to see you, son. Been forever since you’ve shown your head around these parts.”

“Yep,” I say quietly, continuing into the station, my datapad clutched tightly in my sweaty hand. I don’t want him to wonder why I’m here. Don’t keffing ask, old man—

“So what brings you down to Cassa’s little spaceport today?” he asks, all eagerness. “Getting some new stock in? Shipment from home? What?”

I grit my teeth, trying to figure out the best thing to say that won’t bring too much gossip my way. If I say stock, he’ll want to know what strain of seed or breed of meat-stock and if we can crossbreed it with local stock, and that will end up being a long conversation I won’t be able to get out of. Talking about home is out, too, because then he’ll want to tell me about the wars he went through as a young mesakkah, and that could take all damn day and I want to get in and get out quickly. “Visitor,” I say finally.

His eyes light up and I realize that was the wrong thing to say.

Kef it all. Now the whole planet’s gonna know that I’m bringing home a bride.

It’s something I’ve tried to avoid people knowing about. Not because I’m ashamed, but because it means talking and socializing, and I’m not much for that. I moved out to Cassa to get away from it all, and everyone keeps trying to bring it all back to me. I like my silence. I like my quiet house. I like my peace and not having to wake up in a barracks crammed full of other bodies, rushing to the facilities at the same time you are, sharing your space, breathing your air, talking all at once and interrupting your peace.

I’m not lonely for company, that’s for sure.

Well…okay, I might be a little lonely for a particular kind of company. That’s why I’m getting a bride, after all. I keep shuffling forward, wishing that my limp would let me move faster. Sanjurel moves slow, but I can’t seem to speed up fast enough to pass him. He’s too eager to hear more.

Gonna have a field day when he hears I’ve got a bride coming. Her name’s Shiarii and she’s mesakkah. Forty-five years old. Fit. Never mated. Is interested in children and farming. Understands that emotional connections aren’t a big priority.

Basically, she’s just what I paid for.

Been years since I’ve been around women. Too many since the war, and long before half my face was shot off and reconstructed. Same with the leg. Both of those things make me uglier than most, so I like to keep to myself. After war and a soldier’s brutal life, farming is a quiet joy. I never minded being alone until this last winter, when I fell off of the roof of my barn trying to repair it. Broke my hand and my leg. With no one around—not even a helper mech, since I don’t trust mechs after the war—it was tricky getting myself back into the safety of my home and binding my wounds. I know that injury happens in the field. But since it was winter and there were no crops to be harvested and the meat-stock was on an auto-feeder cycle, all I had to do was lie in my bunk and try to heal up.

Gave me a lot of time to think.

While I don’t mind being alone, it’d be good to have another pair of hands around the farm. Wouldn’t mind another warm body in the bed on winter nights, or someone to share the occasional thought with.

Wouldn’t mind a nice snug cunt to fuck, either.

I don’t need much, and because I know I’m not much company, I’m not a prize for any female. So I do some research and find a service that gets males in touch with females who need a spouse. Many of the females that apply for these sorts of things are criminals or looking to hide from something. I’m not interested in that. I just want a nice, quiet female that won’t mind the farming life. Figured I could afford to be picky and said I didn’t want anyone with problems. 

Means she’s probably going to be ugly as one of the stock-beasts, but I don’t care about that. And I figured it’d take a while for my request to get any interest. Cassa’s on the edges of the known universe and there’s only one settlement. It’s a very, very quiet life, and I know from the way that others settle down for a few years only to leave again that it’s not for most people.

Surprised me that I got a response within a month. Shiarii sounds perfect, even if she didn’t send a holo of what she looks like. I don’t care. I’m not marrying her for looks. I’m marrying her so that next time I fall off the roof, I won’t have to stitch my own leg, splint it, and then go back out to finish the roofing job all on my own.

My needs are practical, even if I wouldn’t mind a partner with an interest in mating.

But I’m not saying any of that to Sanjurel. He looks too excited as it is. “Visitor,” I say again, making my tone hard and unfriendly. I push ahead of him

He finally gets the hint, letting me surge into the small crowd at the station. “Very well,” he calls after me, his voice cheery despite my attitude. “If you’re so inclined, we’re having a gathering at Week’s End. Bring your visitor!”

“I’ll send something along,” I say, not caring if he hears me or not. There’s a spacecraft pulling into the station, which means my female—my mate—will be arriving soon. Despite the chill in the open air, I’m sweating. I’m not nervous, I scoff to myself. I’m just distracted because of the run-in with Sanjurel. Before the end of the day, everyone on this side of Cassa is going to know that remote, unfriendly Emvor Vas Kilasen has a female visitor.

The station hub hums with the low throb of technology. Everywhere I look, there are ships being unloaded, the whirling hiss of mechs as they service engines and move crates. The ship landing roars as it turns its thrusters on and slows, proceeding gently to the marked spot. There are a few people here, but overall the crowd is entirely mechanized. I step out of the way of a freight-runner and move to the side, limping toward where the others seem to be waiting on passengers. A few familiar faces turn to give me curious looks, but I ignore them. For all they know, I’m here to pick up supplies. I steer clear of the mechs, though. Don’t like those things. Never have.

A few people—mesakkah and ooli, szzt and kravingian—mix as they move off of the ship. I see a lovely blue face, and my heart stutters for a moment. But she moves on and goes to hug an old male and his mate. A daughter, then, returning to visit family. I watch the others, trying to decipher which of these will be my bride.

Then, of course, I see her. She stands at the back of the group, as if she’s waited until all the others have disembarked before getting off the ship. She moves slowly, a small bag clutched in her gloved hands. She wears a long, long robe that drags on the dusty soil of Cassa as she steps off of the freight escalator and onto the ground. Her head is hooded, but I catch a glimpse of blue skin as she glances around. She’s looking for someone.

I almost raise a hand in the air like an unschooled, eager boy, and then catch myself. This isn’t about love or affection, and I don’t want to send the wrong message. If she thinks I’m excited to see her, it might hurt her feelings later when she realizes all I wanted was the barest amount of company. I cross my arms over my chest. The others will clear out, and then I’ll be the only one left. I don’t move forward, mostly because I want to see her reaction.

She sees the small cluster of people amongst the mechs and begins to walk toward them, her steps small and her gait strange, as if she’s choosing to walk in far too precise of a manner. It seems odd, but her clothing is also an odd choice. It’s a hot day, and the season won’t get cool for a few months yet. But perhaps she came from a cold place and didn’t change? Or perhaps she just likes covering up?

I don’t know, and I guess it’s not my business to care. I didn’t ask for a photo, after all. I try to get a good look at her face, but it’s hidden by the hood. All I can see is a bit of blue chin. As she moves forward, though, she looks over at me. I expect to feel something at the sight of her but…it’s odd. I don’t feel much at all. She’s very bland, and I can’t pick out a single discerning feature. I would have liked her to have a big nose or strange teeth or heavy brows. Something to give her a bit of uniqueness. But she’s just…there. Her gaze meets mine and there’s something odd about it, though I don’t know what.

“Emvor?” she asks, stepping toward me. Doesn’t lower her hood, doesn’t smile. Just meets me with that curiously dead expression. “I’m Shiarii, your bride.”

And I guess I’ve got myself a mate.