Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
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.