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“Where is your partner or partners?”
The security officer gave the alien receptionist a blank stare. “My what now?”
The receptionist swiveled her tablet around with one of her arms. The other six were busy typing out work emails and answering customer queries. “You wish to reserve a visit to D’essia, correct?”
“That’s correct.” Durandal had determined that a vault in D’essia potentially housed long-lost relics of S’pht culture. The security officer might have been able to say no to Durandal, but there was no way he could turn down a bridge full of S’pht bubbling with excitement at the idea of accessing more of their history.
“For the last eight years, D’essia has served as a site of diplomacy. It is a destination for marriages brought together by political alliances, so that the members involved may bond and strengthen their relationship for the good of their people. Unmarried visitors are not permitted.”
The security officer crossed his arms. “So it’s a honeymoon spot?”
The receptionist paused to run the word through a translator. “Yes. Apologies, but if you are unmarried, I will be forced to deny your reservation. If you’d like to arrange an alternate destination, I can-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The security officer held out a hand as she started to fuss with the tablet. “Who said I wasn’t married? My partner just, uh, works nights. Yeah. I didn’t know I’d need to bring them with me.”
The receptionist nodded. “Understandable. Return with your partner when their schedule allows it, and you may make a reservation.”
“Awesome. Thanks.”
Of course Durandal had to comment as soon as the security officer walked out the embassy doors. “I can’t believe you got married without telling me. I feel betrayed. You could have at least left a slice of wedding cake in front of a terminal.”
The security officer rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Now I’ve gotta find someone who’ll pretend to be my - my husband or wife or whatever. And who we can trust enough not to mess up the mission.”
“I know someone who’s great husband material. He’s quite the gentleman, and he can serenade you any time you want to feel special.”
He snorted. “I’ll marry you when we’re the only two survivors of the heat death of the universe.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Besides, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let me take a spaceship into their honeymoon resort.”
“So we can threaten to go to the media about discrimination.”
“So I can find someone who isn’t you.”
“Your loss.”
The security officer sat down for dinner at the nearest human-compatible outdoor restaurant. The hot sandwich felt like a feast after eating bland ship-generated goo for months on end. He considered his options as he ate.
Of course, his options weren’t exactly extensive. There was...Durandal and the S’pht. That was it. Unless he wanted to try and rope some poor stranger into their scheme, which he didn’t.
Wow. His social life was kind of pathetic.
Still, the S’pht were more mobile than Durandal. And easier to point to when some official Honeymoon Gatekeeper asked him where his partner was. At least it wasn’t hard to figure out which S’pht he’d prefer for the job.
He reconnected to Durandal. “Teleport me back to the ship as soon as I’m finished with dinner. And ask F’tha to meet me on the bridge?”
Durandal zapped him back to the Rozinante when he still had two bites of his sandwich left. Jerk.
“Allow me to confirm I have understood you correctly. You would like to enter a life bond with me?”
The security officer laughed nervously. “No, no, no. I’m not actually proposing to you. I just need someone to pretend they’ve, uh, entered a life bond with me. So that we can get access to your artifacts. Does that make sense?”
S’pht voices were permanently monotone. Which made it hard for the security officer to read their mood, but he’d figured out that the gems in the centers of their spinal cords served as their primary method of emotional communication. He was still learning all the grammar of the complex visual language, but he was pretty sure that the dull orange color F’tha’s gem shifted to now indicated distress. “Understood.”
“You don’t have to,” the security officer insisted. “Like, I can see why it would make you uncomfortable! I can totally ask-”
“No,” F’tha said. “I would be honored to accompany you on this mission.”
“You sure?”
F’tha’s body bobbed up and down in the air in their imitation of a nod. “I am sure.”
The security officer grinned and fistbumped F’tha on the shoulder. His knuckles made a hollow thump against the metal. “Thanks, man.”
(He had no idea if F’tha actually was a ‘man.’ The nuances of S’pht gender were lost on him. But seventeen years of cryostasis hadn’t changed his slang patterns yet, and wasn’t going to any time soon.)
Of all the S’pht, F’tha was both the friendliest and the most curious about the security officer. The rest of F’tha’s clan maintained an amicable distance, but F’tha themself took the time to chat with the security officer in between missions. They enjoyed sharing stories from S’pht history and folklore, and asked to hear tales about the Marathon and Durandal’s heroic exploits in return. (Durandal had loved that one.) They were probably the security officer’s best friend, besides Durandal.
...yeah, his social life was officially pathetic. But F’tha was a good friend and a great ally in combat, so the security officer was grateful it was F’tha floating by his side as they headed back to the embassy.
Making a reservation was easy now that he was a married man. For the paperwork, F’tha rattled off their full name, which was long and contained a fuckton of relatives’ names and more consonants than the security officer could hope to keep up with. The security officer gave a fake name as usual. He came up with a new one at every stop they made. He told Durandal it was to keep any potential hostiles off their trail, because that was better than thinking about why his own name kept escaping his mind.
He and F’tha browsed the informational brochure and map they’d been handed while they waited for their ride into D’essia to arrive. Apparently, the quickest way to get to the vault was via a cruise boat that dropped its newlywed guests off at various tourist spots. The brochure assured them that, as a result of vigorous diversity initiatives, the river water was now non-toxic to 84.66% of species. The security officer wondered what the percentage had been before the overhaul.
The air shuttle arrived, and the concierge read out their names from a list. He didn’t miss a beat with F’tha’s name, but then he probably had practice with names from all over the galaxy. The security officer squeezed past the other groups with reservations and took a seat with F’tha in the back of the shuttle. He shot the S’pht a smile once they took off.
“So far so good.”
F’tha bobbed above their seat.
To the security officer’s pleasant surprise, the cruise fee apparently covered complimentary alcohol. He and F’tha settled at a table in the back corner of the inner cabin, which was covered with a fancy tablecloth and flowers and everything. It was almost homey. Of course, the flowers also pulsated and seemed to be breathing, so the security officer couldn’t entirely pretend he was back on Mars.
Not having a mouth hindered F’tha from taking part in the booze, but they politely refilled the security officer’s glass when he was finished with his first drink.
“Aww.” The security officer grinned, unable to resist needling them a bit. “Thanks, honey.”
F’tha’s gem flickered wildly. “It is nothing.”
They had nothing to do but kill time as the cruise boat meandered down the river. The garden a couple miles away from the vault was one of the last stops on the route. They made small talk about the affairs of the Rozinante for a while, but the security officer had a more relevant subject of conversation he was curious about.
“So...what are S’pht marriages like?” He paused and rethought his assumption. “Is marriage actually a thing in your culture?”
F’tha looked out the window, their gem shifting through vibrant shades of green. “It is not quite like human marriages, but we have bonds. One finds bondmates by connecting with others on an intellectual level. Bondmates court by sharing oral histories and interesting knowledge among one another. Any two or more S’pht may seal their bond by composing a history of their shared life together.”
The security officer smiled over the rim of his glass. “That’s...really sweet, actually. I guess you won’t be bonding with me any time soon, then.”
F’tha’s gem flickered, shifting to a deep, muted tone. “Why not?”
He set the glass down. “I mean, I don’t have a whole ton of personal history to tell you. I can barely remember my childhood, and what I can remember is...” Nope. Nope. Not going down that train of thought today. “And, well, I’m not exactly a genius. Durandal’s the brains of this operation. I’m just the dumb muscle.”
F’tha straightened their spine, their gem brightening to a violent crimson. The movement rustled the tablecloth. “That is not true. You demonstrate remarkable intelligence when I accompany you on missions. Your strategies have never failed in aiding us. All of my clan is grateful for your talents.”
The security officer blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”
“And your strength - it is not a virtue to be discounted. It is true that strength can be used to hurt, to oppress. The S’pht know that well.”
He winced.
“But strength can also be used to build,” F’tha continued. “To build structures, to build empires, to build peace - and to build bonds.”
Silence stretched between them. Eventually the security officer spoke, asking, “F’tha?”
Whatever F’tha’s response was going to be, it was cut off by the chime that announced they were arriving at their destination. The security officer downed the last of his drink and gathered up their supplies. “Time to pay history a visit, yeah?”
“Yes,” F’tha said, closing their cloak so that their gem was unreadable.
The theft went down pretty well, all factors considered. There weren’t many advanced security measures inside a neglected warehouse of knickknacks. When a guard spotted him and F’tha sneaking around the back of the building after they’d pocketed what they needed, the security officer weaseled them out of trouble by convincing the guard that they were a pair of horny newlyweds who just couldn’t wait to get back to their hotel room. Durandal was still giving him shit about that one when they arrived back on the Rozinante.
The security officer ignored him and held out a hand to F’tha for a high five. “Great job, man.”
F’tha’s tentacles poked shyly out from beneath their cloak. Their tips bumped his palm, sending a muted spark of electricity through the skin. “I am glad I performed satisfactorily.”
The security officer hesitated with his hand still in the air like an idiot. Something had been nagging at him since they got off the boat. He didn’t want to bring it up in case he was wrong and made himself look like even more of an idiot, but...
F’tha floated a short distance away. “If that is all you require from me, I will return to my clan for the rest of the night cycle.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah, you’re free. Go ahead.”
F’tha turned around and headed into the hall. The security officer told himself to stop being a chicken.
“Hey, F’tha?”
The S’pht turned back.
“If you ever want to, uh, share some of those histories with me? I’d be down with it.”
F’tha’s cloak was still closed, but their gem glowed so brightly the security officer could see it through the fabric. “I would be glad to.”