EMVOR

She doesn’t talk much. Shiarii says nothing as we get in the air-sled and speed toward my farm. We pass by Sanjurel’s sled, because I’m unlucky. The other male cranes his neck, trying to get a good look at my passenger, but she’s not putting her hood down. I know he’s expecting to meet her at the gathering, but I have no plans on going.

Unless she wants to. I guess.

I haven’t really thought much about what she might or might not want. Thought I’d have more time to think the whole ‘bride’ thing through, but I guess not. I glance over at her, but she’s still quiet, her gaze on the fields as they glide past. Her not being much of a talker is fine, but there’s something about her silence that unnerves me. I look over as I drive through the valleys and over the dusty trails of Cassa’s rolling landscape and notice that her gloved hands are trembling. Something seems odd about her hands, too. They’re very small. 

She notices my attention and tucks them tight under her satchel, and then I feel guilty for thinking she’s odd.

She’s just nervous. Maybe she doesn’t like what she sees when she looks at me. I said I was ex-military, though. Can’t imagine she expected me to be pretty. Most that survived the war didn’t come back whole.

We make it back to my house in silence. I study it, trying to see it through her eyes. Most farmers have the same sort of set-up, a geo-pod home that insulates well against both heat and cold and can withstand strong breezes, earthquakes, or anything else that the world might throw at us. “What do you think?” I ask, breaking my own silence.

She doesn’t look over at me, her gaze fixed on my house. “It looks like an egg,” she says after a moment, and her voice is smooth and sweet and the nicest thing about her, I decide. There’s a hint of an accent I can’t place, but the rest of it sounds good.

Real good. I can feel my cock stiffening in my trou at the thought of the marriage bed. Her contract with me did say that children were an option.

Maybe I can get her to talk while I’m inside her. My skin prickles with pleasure at the thought. Can’t get over how much I like that. I steel myself away from such thoughts and offer her a hand to get down from the air-sled.

“I’ve got it,” she tells me, and avoids my touch. She takes a moment and then steps down, landing heavily in a swirl of thick skirts, and straightens her hood before she stands upright.

I glance up at the sun, beating down overhead. I’m used to the weather here, but it’s hot and a little muggy due to the mechanized misting sprays that keeps the soil near the farm moist. “You should probably change,” I tell her. Kef, I’m just yapping all over the place, aren’t I? 

“Why?” She clutches her bag tightly to her chest.

I tilt my head at the sun overhead. “Kind of warm. Plus, that’s a nice dress. Probably want to save it for travel and wear something a little cooler and more comfortable around the house.”

Her stiff body relaxes after a moment. “Very well.”

When she looks at me expectantly, I can’t help but notice that her eyes seem so…dead. It’s strange. I get all flustered and break eye contact, limping forward. “Let me show you the bedroom.” She might be sleeping there alone tonight, because as much as I like her voice, I’m not sure I can get past those strange blank eyes.

I show her inside and she barely looks around before moving into the bedroom. She frowns a little at the realization that there’s no door on the jamb, but since I live alone, I never needed one. Gonna make it hard for her to change, though. “I’ll get you a drink from the kitchen. You like tea?”

“Tea is fine,” she tells me, and her accent stands out even more. She clutches her bag to her chest and watches me until I leave. It’s damn odd.

Actually, all of this is odd, I think to myself as I lope toward the kitchen area of my home. I pause at the end of the short hallway and wonder if I need to talk to her instead. Say something to put her at ease. Get that dead look out of her eyes. If she’s disappointed in her partner and wants to break our marriage contract, I guess it’s better to know about it sooner than later.

I turn and head back down the hall, toward the bedroom. Maybe it’s me being ornery, but I slow my steps until I’m completely silent. I want to surprise her. Not because I want to see her naked—not sure how I feel about that right now—but because seeing a startled look on her face would at least tell me that there’s some sort of spark inside her. I make it to the doorway and pause, because she’s not looking in my direction.

She’s seated with her back to me, and as I watch, she reaches under her skirts and pulls off the tallest shoe I’ve ever seen. Has to be as long as my arm. I can’t imagine how a female walks in something like that, and then I remember her curious, shuffling, over-careful gait at the spaceport. But why wear such large shoes?

She sighs with pleasure, the sound as sweet and enticing as anything I’ve ever heard. Then, she tosses the second shoe aside and rolls her shoulders. I should say something, but I’m too curious about what’s going on. Instead, I watch as she reaches into the cowl neck of her dress and pulls a thick, wedge-shaped thing out of her dress and drops it on the floor as well. Her shoulder now looks half the size of the other.

What is this?

She pulls out the second shoulder pad, sniffs it, and then makes an unpleasant noise of disapproval before casting it aside. 

Without the shoulder pads inside her gown, she looks…tiny. Something about this is all wrong, and I realize she’s much, much smaller in stature than any adult mesakkah would be. The elegant dress that fit her perfectly a few moments ago now pools around her. 

“Who are you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest and waiting for her to answer.

The woman turns and gasps, and as she does, her face shimmers. She gets to her feet and I realize she’s no taller than the middle of my chest. But that barely registers, because a moment later, she reaches up and removes the hood, and I realize why her face shimmered, and why her expression seemed so curiously dead.

It’s a hologram. The moment she removes her hood, it fades away and reveals her true face. The hair underneath the hood isn’t a dark, rich black. It’s the same golden-brown shade that the crops are when it’s time for harvest. Her face isn’t a becoming shade of blue but a strange beige color. Her features are small and her face is flat, with no brow ridges or horns to break up the contourless texture of it. She lifts her head and stares defiantly at me, as if daring me to ask her a question.

Somehow, I appreciate that defiance. It fills me with relief even as it makes me angry that I’ve been deceived. She’s not dead-eyed. She’s a fake. “What are you?” I ask, changing my question.

“I’m a human,” the female says. “And you can call me Nicola.”