Mars Order Brides
By Coral Lights
Sitting besides his friend Bruce, Desman decided he liked this particular internet café'. "Zappit," Bruce said, pointing a finger to his own monitor, "lookit this one."
Desman kept his thoughts and eyes away from Bruce, training them through the windows fronting the ocean far below. White caps rose and fell; and crashed on the beach. He could feel the cool breeze coming in through the long tilted windows like air-conditioning.
"Des, check it out," Bruce persisted, actually tapping Desman on the shoulder until he turned and looked at the
video on his screen.
"Wow," said Desman looking at Bruce's monitor of a fairly-lovely woman. "Hi, I'm Saturna," she spoke ina soft voice, twisting her long hair shyly. "I'm looking for a nice man for possible romance and marriage. I like walking and playing saber-ball. I'm also an excellent cook, certified by the Mars Culinary Institute. I provide many homemaking services. I also enjoy movies, especially space-films. I want a man who is a genleman and financially stable --"
"And you can have her," Bruce interrupted. "Or rather, I can have her?for a small fee?."
Desman could hear the girl's high-pitched laugh interspersed as she spoke on and on about her personal interests. She became insanely lovely as she spoke and the camera zoomed in on her face. Then he noticed a small model of orange Mars was spinning above her head.
"Just gotta get pay her way off Mars," said Bruce. He put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should both pitch in and buy her a ticket. We could share her or something." Bruce raised one eyebrow to Des.
"She's for sale? That looks like a dating site?"
"Not really." Bruce spun his monitor so Desman could more easily see the website's address.
"Mars Order Brides Dot Com," whispered Desman, reading the URL
"Yeah, you never heard of this?"
"No," said Desman, "no."
Desman easily decided to find out more about Saturna. Sitting in his apartment before his computer with the city lights coming in through the windows, he felt no guilt about stealing Bruce's find. Besides, Bruce would have forgotten about her by now anyway--probably wouldn't dare pay her ticket. Desman didn't care anyway what Bruce thought. This girl needed rescuing from Mars.
News Videos played on the top quarter of his monitor: Over and over he saw citizens of Mars complaining about how much it sucked under the new government, not to mention the warfare among drug lords, the crime, pollution. Explosions rocked the background. People scattered for cover. Thieves ran amuck on the streets. One dressed in all black, spotted the security camera, then swung a club and smashed it to pieces. The video fizzled.
The way he saw it: It was Mars's fault for losing her. He closed the video engine. Nearby, window lights blinked out as the night waned; and he finally revisited the Mars Order Brides website and refound Saturna's profile after entering her name in the search box. He carefully looked over her profile, stopping the video to click on each of her pictures. Enlarging them. Then he briefly skimmed over her written desires. It was clear she was looking for a man with financial stability: just what Desman could give.
After dismissively perusing some of the other women, he eventually created a free personal account on Marsorderbrides.com.
And then he checked the box on Saturna's profile to add her to his shopping cart.
Saw the final price.
Clicked checkout.
"No, I don't need to speak to her." Desman declined when the pretty Mars receptionist with green eyes and wearing glowing filaments pestered Desman about getting to know Saturna first through prearranged online meetings or email. Desman could see a TV show with green aliens was distracting her, and she was barely paying attention to Desman. He said loudly, "She's fine. Send her now."
He then entered his bank card to pay for the website’s service fees and then her shuttle fee and then he gave his fingerprint to the monitor and then clicked the 'I Agree' statement. Soon, the site promised, she would be on her way. The next shuttle left in two days.
"Would you like another?" the receptionist asked.
"No," said Desman, quickly. Rethinking: "You can do that? "
"I was just asking as a coutesy dear. On Monday nights we have a two-for-special." She smiled.
"No thanks," said Desman, thinking of all the legal headaches that would cause. He would just try one for now.
"Hi, I'm Saturna." Desman shook her hand and gazed over her shoulder at the shuttle sitting on the airfield in the distance. Express Mars Shuttle Service was painted on the side.
Two other women got off, but he only had eyes for the one before him.
"Hi, I'm Desman -- er, Desman’s friend Cleo.” Desman was too embarraseed to admit his real name. He wanted to see how this went first. “Yeah, Desman sent me for you." Desman felt the nervousness of deception. “I’m Cleo.” He pointed at himself and laughed nervously.
"Hi Cleo--Oh," she suddenly looked concerned and her thin eyebrows showed it. "Desman's not here?"
"Noh-huh, oh no," said Desman, recovering, "he travels a lot."
"Oh, good." Her face relaxed. "I get a bit nervous meeting new people.” She laughed. “Especially my new husband. Is he an old man?" She touched his arm.
"Me?"
"No, Desman?"
"Oh, no," said Desman, trying to keep the names straight. “Clee -- Desman isn’t old. No he’s not very old.”
She saw his puzzled look. She put out her hand and waved it explaining gently: "Mostly only older men get brides like me."
"Bye Patti," said one of the women, patting Saturna on the shoulder.
"Oh, bye Nancy," said Saturna. "Have fun."
Saturna and Desman watched Nancy walk over to an old bald man, shake his hand, and weakly resist as he pulled her close and embraced her.
Nancy looked back and gave Saturna a terrified smile.
"Poor girl," said Saturna, "she got an old one."
"Wait, why did she call you Patti?" Desman nodded for futher explanation.
"Oh, I changed my name," said Saturna.
Falsities to make your profile more attractive? thought Desman.
"Yeah."
"Yeah, what?"
"I don't know." She shrugged.
The third woman caught Desman's eye. An air taxi roared into view and landed beside her. She entered her head in the window to talk to the cabbie. She turned and made a quick look around behind her and then she got in. And they took off.
"Free ride," said Saturna.
"Huh?"
"To earth," said Saturna, pointing back at the shuttle. "Free ride to earth. Her husband got screwed. They’ll never find her."
When Desman got her riding beside him in his luxurious Pothini car he thought about what she said. He caught her taking glances at him. No doubt she wondered if a reasonably youthful man such as himself could have afforded her shuttle ticket. And how exactly he (disguised as Cleo) related to Desman. Of course, she never saw his physics and computer science degrees. Perhaps, she wouldn't understand how his startup invented components so crucial to PC advancements. Perhaps she never saw his trade conference when he presented his gel-components so non-toxic Desman tore open one and poured the contents down his throat much to the amazement of the crowd. How they all stood and clapped. She would never have known about the orders coming in until he and his partners were hiring anyone with a brain, or in some departments, without. The new government on Mars filtered out 'such trash'.
As he soared through the city streets, they said nothing. Saturna just looked out the window and Desman banked the car hard, zooming over the city pedestrians.
“It’s nice,” she suddenly said, running her delicate hands along the velvety door frame.
“Yeah,” said Desman. He looked over at her and was surprised at her beauty. That she would actually use a such a web service. “You know it must be nice to use a website to pick out any girl you want. Cleo’s lucky. How long did yoi know him? Heck, me, I would just pick out the prettiest girl on the site if it was that easy.”
“Not long,” she said. “I didn’t talk to him much. But -- “ she frowned as if in deep thought -- “he seemed nice. Like a really nice guy.” She turned to him. “How long have you known Desman?”
Desman realized his mistake. He figured she knew he was really Desman but was just playing along. He had mixed up his names again.
"You're to stay with me," Desman said, once they ascended one hundred stories to his apartment. "Cleo will pick you up later -- " He caught himself -- "I mean Desman, Desman will pick you up later."
“Some guys are so shy.” She laughed and patted his hand.
His face burned and she now doubt was staring at him.
He parked the car and left her outside on the patio and then walked through the glass doors into his sitting room.
------
“How is it?” asked Saturna, walking over in her apron and looking at his barely touched plate.
"Oh, okay I guess,” said Desman; when he saw her hurt look. “Fine just fine." said Desman. He picked at his rubbery food with his fork. The floodlights illuminated his burnt Opina-Burger. Her profile on the website had said she was a third-degree expert from the Royal Toasters on Mars. “Actually good, very good.”
She looked guiltily over at him. Behind her, the city lights cascaded like twinkling highlights. A slight breeze drifted the long black hair around her shoulders. "I must be tired from the long flight. I usually do better." She tried to laugh it off, her voice making like broken glass tinkling.
"But that's not my specialty." She pressed her shoulders forward and squeezed, enhancing her cleavage. She laughed again.
Some air car traffic nearby hit the brakes, the reflections coloring her red.
He took her hand and stood, leading her away from the table and over to his parked car. Then he looked down over the ledge.
She pressed her hand on his back.
And there, far below, the lower air traffic glided and the pedestrians grinded together, filling the walkways. The night streets were always that way.
"Saber-Ball anyone?" Desman's voice awoke Saturna early in the morning and she looked out from under the sheets. She looked annoyed at first as she opened her eyes. And then she forced an uncertain-smile. "Sure," she said, yawning.
And then she showered, as Desman watched though the shower-door. She didn't seem to mind.
When they got to the sports club, it was clear to Desman, Saturna had never played a day of Saber-Ball in her life. He almost laughed when she carried her saber upside down and attempted to return his serve. His went over 180 mph and she only swung after he looked at her perplexed and the ball began to rattle around the return tunnels. "I'm out of practice," she smiled. Then ball hit Desman in the head when he forgot about the returning ball. "Oof," he said.
"Can I speak to Bruce, please?” Desman spoke into his phone. “Oh, Bruce-didn't recognize your voice for some reason. Yeah, this is Desman. Oh, I'm calling from the men's locker room. No, she's outside. It's strange it's not like she said who she is." Desman peaked through the one-way window to where Saturna stood walking swiftly on a treadmill. Pumping her arms vigorously "She padded her profile. She can't cook, play saber ball or anything.
"Well, yeah she's hot"--Saturna was now on a mat and twisting her hips, stretching--"Unbelievably hot. A little shorter though than she said in her profile on the site, though. But -- well, I guess you're right, there is no problem then. You're right-take care, Bruce, Bye." Desman ended the call.
Later when they left the sports club he took Saturna to the movies. When the lights were low he tried to engage her in conversation about several of the latest space-films. She seemed to have no clue. "What kind of Mars order bride are you?" The movies lights played across her profile.
"Not yours," she shot back sharply. She sat back and bounced lightly in her seat. Her breasts rippling under the spaghetti string tank top.
"Yeah, I've been meaning to tell you about that." He leant over and whispered in her ear. "You are mine."
She seemed to smile in the dark, though Desman couldn't really tell, it could have been a grimace. These new theaters made it impossible.
"Your name's Desman then?" she smiled in delight, the apartment dimming lights highlighting her hair with red.
"Yeah," he laughed. "Call me Des, though." He had drank too much GringoPopzo and didn't care how much she found out. "Yah, hell yah!" He fell onto the crouch his suit jacket crumpling about him.
She clambered over the backside and snuggled down next to him. "I knew that. But at first I feared so much you would be an old man." Her eyes grew wide. "But I woulda left him anyway. You know if he were old?or ugly, fat? " She had drank too much GringoPopzo also; Desman could see it in her maddened eyes.
"And if he weren’t rich!" Desman shouted.
She laughed hysterically and started hitting him with a pillow. She stopped, kneeling over him. "Exactly what I wanted. That's what the told me at the service back on Mars--the first thing to hope for." She was nearly crying with euphoria. She held her hands to the sky. "I love it!"
Desman could swear the whole city could hear her voice. He burped.
And when she kissed him he could feel the whole city touching her.
------
"All this money," she said. "Could you afford some--for something I always wanted?" She stood in a robe, the front tantalizingly open.
"Sure," Desman said, lying on the couch and still trying to shake off the hangover from the night before. "Make me some Alive, first."
She walked immediately to the kitchen to make him his drink.
While they ate breakfast on the patio under the morning sun, she explained her cause. "I would like to go back to school. I never got a chance to finish."
"You're profile?" he said. "Mars Culinary Institute." He took a sip of his drink and nearly choked. It was horribly mixed! He pushed it to the side.
"Look Des, I never got a chance to finish a degree. I was trying to be hopeful. I was seeing into the future."
"I guess you were. You can go." He looked into the blue sky, trying to imagine what living on Mars was really like. He figured he would've lied to get away from that now forsaken planet too. Or, rather, written a hopeful plea such as Saturna had done.
Desman looked over her shoulder to his parked Pothini Car and said, "You'll need a car of your own." He saw the joy in her eyes: The joy that can only come from freedom.
After many months, the routine settled in: Desman going into work and Saturna going to the city college. But, she seemed less and less in the mood to please him.
At dinner he asked her: "How's school going?"
"Great," she said, banging her fork against the plate. "I hope to finish?." She faltered. And didn't say anymore.
"Soon you'll be making money of your own," observed Desman.
"Maybe," she said. "If that's what you want?"
Desman pictured her leaving him and living on her own, among the city's other lovely single women. He supposed he could always order another Mars Order Bride then. And if it was Monday night, he could get two! God knows, he had the money. No big deal.
"I like it here, Des."
Desman looked over her shoulder at the city lights. "Yeah, me too." A neighbor's car soared past his view.
------
Bruce nearly choked on his French Frye. He looked at Desman with incredulous eyes. He composed himself with a sip of water. "You let her go to school?" His eyes now bulged. "You can't let her go to school, she'll leave you as soon as she gets her degree." He cleared his throat. "Uhuk."
"One, Dominite Burger," said the waitress, placing Desman's order before him. It was still steaming hot.
“Bruce, just what I like about you friend, you always cheer me up,” said Desman.
"I’m realistic, not romantic like you.” He explained. “See you chose her, she didn't choose you. That’s a problem just right from the start.”
"What do you mean?"
"Like, you chose her but she never saw you, before she chose you. You now what I mean?"
"No." Desman gingerly took a nibble at his burger.
"Like you saw her when you picked her out, but she never saw you and agreed by seeing you. I mean you should have showed her a picture of you first."
"Oh."
"Well, no problem." Bruce dunked his Frye. "I hear girls don't really care much what guys look like. The first thing they always say is they always want a sense of humor, money, financial stability -- crap like that. --Not the same stuff, they say stuff like to each other about men on the phone. I used to listen in on enough of my sister’s calls that I should know. But -- " he looked at Desman carefully -- "you're funny."
Desman looked out the windows of Cloud Café, the floating sky restaurant, and pondered what Bruce said. A few clouds broke by and his mind drifted.
"Well the best thing to do is you gotta keep her locked up." Bruce continued. "Tell her to clean house all day, get her a computer and tell her to stay busy."
Desman shook his head. "I can't do that. She's like...social. I can't keep her prisoner. She'll call the police."
"She's your wife," said Bruce. "Wait -- I got an idea." He pointed a Frye at him. "Can she have some babies?" Inspired. "Give her some babies and then she'll have to watch them all day. She won’t have time to go out with other men."
“Who said she was going out with other men?”
“Just thinking,” said Bruce. “When do I get to see her?”
"Hmm, that's a good idea," said Desman, ignoring Bruce’s request. A crashing of plates broke his attention. "But, I don't think I'm ready for kids -- You really think she'd leave me?"
"Of course," said Bruce. "As soon as she gets that college degree, she's out the door. Financial freedom, man. I mean, does she even like you?"
"I don't know," said Desman. "She's never said? Maybe is she gets a degree she’ll just want to combine money. Like a real family."
Bruce chowed down more fries. "She's gone."
After lunch, Desman stood on the grass beside the concrete port ferrying visitors up in small glass carts to the top of Cloud Café. He was in the middle of a phone call. "I am in need of your service."
"Sure thing," said the man on the other line, calling himself PI Grossover, "Come by my office and will negotiate a price." Grossover's video blinked directions for Desman to follow.
Desman got a self serving taxi.
And the arrows led him several blocks by tram to the northwest section of the city and he made it to PI Grossover's office.
He sat inside a dark office and stared across at the large man calling himself Private Investigator Grossover. “I’m good at what I do,” explained Grossover. Desman thought he looked a bit like a slob. The whole office had a dark and shady feel, and so did Grossover. But, maybe it was good for this line of business. Dark and shady.
“Tell me what, does she look like?” Grossover waved his hand.
“Who?” said Desman, snapping out of his thoughts.
“The girl you want followed,” said Grossover. “You know, why you’re here. You told me on the phone. And I’m a busy man, I can’t take every client.”
“Oh, oh yeah,” said Desman. “She has long hair, pretty face, nice figure --“
“You got pictures?” Grossover had a thin smile on his lips. “I need details.”
“Yeah, as a matter of face I do,” said Desman. He relucanctly handed Grossover a hologram card he and Saturna had taken at the beach.
“Wow,” said Grossover sofly. “She looks nice.” He was really studying the picture. “She’ll be easy to follow.”
“Why is that?” asked Desman.
“Oh...oh. Oh, you see, in my line of business,” said Grossover, finally lowering the picture andwalking over to a small window, brushing aside the curtains and looking out through squinted eyes, “we have professional secrets. I have developed many techniques over the years.” He turned to look fully at Desman. And then down at the hologram. “For her -- I mean for you, I will offer a discount rate. I’ll find out exactly what she does, every minute of the day, and where.”
“Great,” said Desman, standing up. “I just want her followed.”
------
The week fretted and sweated away. Until one Friday afternoon he got a call: "Desman? PI Grossover here."
"Yes?" said Desman, speaking too loudly into the phone.
"Well, first off she wears very slinky clothes." Grossover was speaking through mouthfuls of food.
"What?"
"Yeah, a pink half-top thingy and ultra-tight pants. Sometimes shorts that barely cover her rear."
"That's not what she wears when she leaves my apartment," protested Desman. “Where would she get clothes like that? They’re not in the closet.”
"In her backpack I think. Yeah, really tight small clothes." A pause as if Grossover was reminiscing.
"Tight small clothes.”
“That’s bad,” said Desman, starting to regret his bride.
“Maybe,” offered Grossover.
Desman could hear Grossover smacking his lips. "And?" said Desman.
"Oh -- And. And, and a decent man as yourself would never let his wife leave the house looking so good like that. Yep, she leaves your house looking decent and thenshe changes in the car. I’ve watched her....closely."
"What?"
"Yeah, her tits can be seen right through the window. Oops. Like and then she just tints the windows all dark and then comes out in those nice skimpy getups."
"What about her in school?"
"Desman," began Grossover. Pause. Desman held his breath. "She goes home with several of the students. Two to three, depending on the days." Desman swallowed roughly. "And I don't think it's for studying if you catch my drift...
"After that I can't see," continued Grossover, "you know I can't see through closed doors -- I am only guessing, I tried to see. Oops, I meean -- " Desman could hear the sound of a napkin brushing against the phone.
“Listen --“ interuppted Desman, “I don’t need you to follow her anymore. I got enough --“
“Oh, that’s okay,” said Grossover, greedily. “I don’t mind. I love my line of work. I can follow her on me. I mean free of charge if you want. Somtimes I do a little extra followup for my customers --“
“No,” said Desman, getting annoyed. “You don’t need to follow her anymore.”
“It’s okay,” said Grossover, “I don’t mind. I enjoy my line of work --“
Desman hung up.
Desman got in his car and raced through the night. He landed on his apartment pad, and ran across the walkway, and ripped open the glass sliding doors to his apartment. He saw her watching TV and pointed. "You!" He could feel the darkness scratching his voice.
A gust of wind blew her hair, and she spun in alarm on the couch. She stood. "What's wrong Des? I made you dinner." Saturna held out her hand in supplication.
"And I bet you burned it," he said scathingly.
She approached him slowly. "Don't Des. Did you have a bad day at work? I can fix it." She tugged at the ties to release her robes.
"No, no, no!" Desman turned around, to calm the storm within, but then whirled on her. "No! More! Mars! Order! Bride!"
------
Desman stood on the airfield. The flight attendant approached him. "She's ready to go sir."
"Is she secured?"
"Yes sir, she's chained to the back wall of the shuttle."
"Excellent," said Desman, rubbing his hands.
"We're outta here." The attendant waved a gloved hand. And then hung up the refueling hose.
"Thank you," said Desman as the attendant entered the private shuttle with Mars printed on the side.
Soon the shuttle broke for the sky in a roar.
"Bye Saturna". Desman waved. He smiled grimly as the shuttles shrunk to a tiny dot in the sky. He swore he could her scream. But she was a strong girl and later on he knew in his head he would hear her laughter tinkle.
Desman's life returned to searching. And he sat again with Bruce at the internet café'. "How about this one?" said Bruce, the cool breeze skimming his hair..
"Maybe, she's cute. What's her name?"
"Hi, my name is Tweena," said the video image, twisting her long hair. "And I am looking for a well-off man for a great romance or possible marriage. Send me an email please. I enjoy cooking, bike rides and snuggling after dark?." Lights reflected off her mini-skirt.
"Maybe, maybe," said Desman, clicking through the profiles on his own monitor. "But I think I like this one."
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