Chapter Five

We're going to have to share a bed. Prudence eyed the huge elephant in the tiny room.

Never having been scrambled and unscrambled in a vaporator before, she felt nauseous. She hoped all her molecules had been put back into the right place. However, she suspected some of the queasiness originated from regret.

Why had she come here? What had possessed her? Hope had warned her not to do anything rash. By nature, she was rational, methodical, prudent . But had she lived up to her name? No. William's defection had knocked her so far off-kilter, she'd temporarily lost her mind.

She couldn't point to any single incident as the cause of her growing regret, but rather the accumulation of a bunch of small things. The alien tech. Accelerators, cloudtoppers, vaporators. She had no idea how to operate any of the kitchen appliances. Had no idea what some of them were. At the spaceport, she'd stood out like a canary among bluejays, conspicuous in her humanness. Although she understood and spoke their language by virtue of her translator, Caradonian still sounded alien to her ears, like nothing she'd ever heard before. Besides the shock of hearing an alien language come out of her own mouth, speaking felt weird, like her tongue was twisting in different ways.

Maybe if Larth had welcomed her with open arms, she'd feel more comfortable, but that hadn't occurred. He'd seemed ambivalent—not impolite but not overjoyed to see her, either. Was he suffering remorse? We're off to a great start! The marriage was just a business arrangement, but she'd still expected a more congenial welcome. Co-workers and business partners were friendly to one another.

He's not over his late wife. The attachment was obvious. He referred to her as if she were still in the picture.

She remained by the door as he squeezed through the narrow space between the footboard and the wall. "You can put your clothes in the wardrobe." Without looking, he touched a panel, and a door slid open to reveal a closet—jam-packed with women's clothes.

Where exactly am I supposed to put my stuff ?

The wardrobe full of his late wife's clothing offered more evidence he hadn't gotten over her death. But she could see it in his blue-black eyes, ringed by dark shadows of sadness. She could empathize with his grief, but it worried her. She hadn't come for a love match—would have run from it if it had been offered—but how would a marriage of convenience even work if he was actively grieving? They had to achieve some equanimity and equilibrium. They would be working together, living together—she glanced at the elephant in the room—sleeping in the same bed together.

He closed the closet. "Would you like to see the bakery now?"

"Yes, I would," she said, relieved to leave the bedroom. She backed into the hall to give him space.

"We'll take the vaporator again," he said.

This time, Larth explained how it worked—via brainwaves. A programming chip embedded in her wrist—she'd received one on the ship—allowed her to transmit a "mental destination" to the machine, which would then deposit her in the closest location. No wonder he told me not to think when he left me on one at the spaceport to get the trunks. She could have ended up anywhere with no idea how to return .

They boarded the vaporator, and it transferred them to a location on the surface. She immediately understood his pride in the second-floor apartment. As soon as the transport opened, she was bombarded by a cloud of noxious odors and clashing, clanging noises. She stepped out into a dense forest of skyscrapers, and, like overgrown trees, the cloudtoppers blocked the sun, casting the crowded street in dusk-like shadow.

Graffiti blackening and bluing buildings contributed to the air of dereliction. She tipped her head, peering up the tall buildings. Everything got cleaner, brighter, more expansive on the upper floors. The higher you go, the better it gets.

Oblivious to the trash littering the walkways, people strode briskly to their destinations. Although she spotted couples and single women, the devastating effects of the pandemic were readily apparent. Men outnumbered women at least two to one. Grief etched the faces of many unattached males. The planet-nation still mourned.

Anger had helped her through her loss, hot fury cauterizing the wound and muting the pain. These men didn't have the crutch of anger to lean on .

She wondered when Sala had died. How fresh was his wound? She tilted her head and glanced at him.

"Question?" he asked.

"No, and dozens," she dodged, curious, but reluctant to pry into his personal grief. It's none of my business. But was that true? They were going to get married. Shouldn't she have all the facts?

He chuckled, and, in his deep laugh, she heard traces of the man he must have been, the one unscathed by tragedy. Maybe, someday, he would heal and become that man again, except she wouldn't be here to meet him. At the end of the year, she would leave. The marriage had been intended as a stopgap, a transition period.

He led her to a garage-like bustling open-air market housed on the ground level of a cloudtopper, and the aura changed immediately. The clean, light, bright space exuded excitement and optimism. Right up front, a florist showed off his wares, huge buckets of cheerful alien blooms bursting with every color of the rainbow. She recalled how she'd adorned the gazebo with chains of flowers, how the park had been awash in spring color, and a sharp pang pierced her .

Fortunately, Larth didn't slow but dove into the interior of the market, stopping beside a shuttered booth. "This is it!"

THE BAKERY AT COZI 2 said the sign. He tapped his wrist, and the shutters rolled up with a creak.

She fingered her own wrist, catching the gist of what was happening. "Do the chips control everything?"

"Yes. Your chip grants you access to the bakery, the apartment, and public areas. It operates the vaporator. You use it to pay for purchases and charge customers."

A man strolling by slowed and gawked. Passersby, most of them men, had been eying them with curiosity . Everyone knows I'm his mail-order bride. "Um, when will we actually be getting married?"

"I booked an appointment with an officiant for tomorrow between breakfast and lunch. Business is slower then. If we have time after the ceremony, I'll show you the future location."

The booth was open now. Front display cases presented a reassuringly familiar sampling of baked goods, from breads, rolls, and muffins to pastries and pies. But what do they taste like? What kind of grain does the flour come from? Maybe it's not even flour .

She'd brought a lot of baking stuff and ingredients she probably couldn't use. Her boss Clifford had insisted on helping. He'd been like a benevolent steamroller. A guest at the wedding-that-wasn't, he tiptoed around, his expression pitying like most everyone in Bloomhaven. But at least he didn't gossip. Not like so many others. She couldn't count the number of times she'd approached a group of people, and conversations shut off like a faucet.

Did you hear? He dumped her on their wedding day! How could she not know he was sleeping around? Eyes wide shut!

She could imagine what the villagers were saying.

And then there were the concerned queries about her well-being. How are you? How are you doing? No simple, polite chatter. Tell me the juicy details was what they really meant.

Despite misgivings about coming to Caradonia, escaping the humiliation brought no small measure of relief. Having people gape at me because I'm human is better than them staring at me because they pity me or they're comparing me to the skank William ran off with.

She eyed the racks laden with baked goods. "You baked all of that yourself? In your home kitchen? "

He nodded. "It's the only space I have until the new site opens."

"When do you find the time?"

"Late at night, after my shift."

"And then you get up early and come in for the breakfast rush."

He nodded.

"When do you sleep?"

He barked a humorless laugh. "I don't. Since I lie awake all night anyway, I figure I may as well work." Avoiding her gaze, he entered the booth through the side and rearranged the already neat rows of baked goods on the rack.

She'd had the opposite problem—she couldn't drag herself out of bed.

"You've accomplished a lot." She was impressed by how much he'd gotten done all by himself.

"I— we —" he amended, "will be able to do much more when we have a regular storefront. But, if not for the cozi, the bakery wouldn't exist at all."

"What exactly is a cozi?" The translator didn't have a word for it.

"It stands for Caradonia Opportunity Zone Incubator. It's a low-cost space for small businesses to help them get established. I owe all of this to Governor-General Krogan."

"He established the cozis?" she guessed.

Larth nodded. "He campaigned on the platform, ‘Help not handouts,' and he's kept his promise. He often frequents this cozi because it's near his residence. Maybe you'll get to meet him before we move."

"I've already met him. He's married to my best friend."

"Hope Bennett is your friend?"

"You know Hope?"

"We're friends. She's filled in a few times at the booth." He cocked his head. "You're…not the friend who was getting married who she went back to Terra Nova to visit, are you?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yes, I am." She probably should have told him about William sooner. "It, uh, didn't work out. He married somebody else. He didn't tell me until our wedding day."

"Is this your bride?" The vendor from the adjacent fabric stall darted over.

Larth shot her an apologetic glance. "Yes, this is Prudence. She arrived today. Prudence, this is Adar. "

"Nice to meet you, Adar." She extended her hand, but he didn't respond. Realization dawned. "Shaking hands isn't a custom here?" She dropped her arm.

"No. Humans do it as a greeting?" Larth asked.

"Yes."

"Pleased to meet you." Adar stuck his hand out, and she shook it. "I'm so glad Larth followed my advice and joined Cosmic Mates." Seeing a customer at his booth, he said, "I won't take up any more of your time. We'll chat more later, I'm sure." He gamboled back to his stall like an exuberant puppy.

"Adar was aware of my struggles to hire good help and suggested Cosmic Mates might offer a solution. I was desperate to try anything, but I honestly didn't expect someone to accept my offer since it's a business relationship and not a real marriage."

"Except somebody did," she said.

"You were the only one who responded," he admitted, his brow furrowed.

Everybody else had more sense than me. He's worried I might change my mind. She could read his wariness. Had he picked up on her misgivings? She certainly recognized his lingering grief, maybe even a touch of ambivalence. They were strangers to each other. Still, he'd been polite, if a little distant. She needed a place to go to recover from the humiliation. He'd been open and honest about what he needed and could offer in return in his advertisement and in their initial communication. At the end of the year, she'd receive a modest lump-sum payment. She had no reason or right to expect anything else. If she wished he was a little warmer, more congenial, well, that was on her.

A couple of male customers approached. "You must be one of the human Cosmic Mates brides!" exclaimed one of the men.

"Why, yes, I am." She treated them to a wide smile. For today anyway. Assuming Larth and I proceed. "And you must be shopping for some bread? Sweet rolls for breakfast?" She moved behind the booth and donned an apron hanging on a hook. "What can I get for you?"

As the men peered into the case, she glanced at Larth who stood there, his expression comically bemused. She shrugged. This is why I'm here, isn't it?