Submitted for the May 2025 prompt: Many Minds

Her heels were off before the door closed. "I'm home!"

 

I looked up from my article. "Welcome back! How was the hen night?"

 

"I felt so bad for Sh'kse!" Susan said. "No one showed up. I shouldn't have suggested it."

 

I was shocked. "None of her friends came?"

 

My wife shook her head while removing earrings, a trick I'd never attempt. But then, she's the Ambassador. As her husband, I'm basically a glorified clerk. Not that I mind; interstellar diplomacy's a bit outside my wheelhouse.

 

"Apparently, if you're unmarried in her culture, it's bad luck to even talk to a female who's engaged."

 

I thought that over while she popped out her contacts. "And if you're married?"

 

Her voice was muffled by her makeup remover, so I made her repeat herself. "I couldn't get an exact parallel, but I think it's like infidelity. Same with males."

 

"What about family members?"

 

"For every female. Even her own mother."

 

"I can't believe—" I started to say.

 

"No, Pat," she interrupted. "You're thinking like a human. The Frmss are an alien species. Women are either married or not married; there is no third category."

 

"Widows?"

 

"No such thing, but if there were, they'd be considered married." She was now out of her dress and in a comfy sweatshirt. Ninety seconds after getting home. Takes me that long to figure out my suspenders.

 

It clicked. "No such thing as a widow? What, do they commit Suttee?"

 

She flopped down near me on the sofa. "I couldn't get a clear answer. Apparently, her life and his will be linked. If he dies, she will too."

 

"Hmp. High price to pay just to have children," I commented. Susan didn't say anything. She knew I'd wanted kids. Her accepting this posting meant that couldn't happen.

 

The silence was uncomfortable, so I filled it. "Sounds like a lonely time," I said. "I'm glad you could be there for her."

 

She scowled. "I dont know..." she began, and chewed her lip.

 

The doorbell rang.

 

"I got it," she said, and hopped up — something else I envy. My hoverchair is high-tech, but there are limits. Twenty years; you'd think I'd be used to it by now.

 

"Sh'kse!" she said. "I thought you were— Oh!"

 

She stepped back, a sobbing Sh'kse in her arms. She let her cry for a while.

 

Eventually, the Frmss girl calmed down enough to talk. She disengaged herself, turned to me, and bowed slightly. "I'm sorry to intrude. I didn't know where else to go."

 

"Oh, honey, no! You're fine," said Susan. "I was just telling Pat how things are for you."

 

Sh'kse rippled, one way her species expressed befuddlement. Having no bones makes a difference. "I'm still not used to it, that you have to speak," she said.

 

"I've heard you talk," I observed. "In fact, you're doing it now."

 

"Yes, but — you two are married. Is it the... the..." she gestured.

 

My wife figured it out. "The hoverchair? His injury? No, not at all," she said. "We — humans — don't achieve your level of connection. We make up for it by telling each other everything."

 

"Almost everything," I amended. "Some of her job, I don't want to know."

 

"Yes. Her job." Sh'kse straightened, stepped back, and bowed formally. "Ambassador."

 

"Frmsse Sh'kse," Susan replied. It took her moments to shift from friend to Ambassador.

 

"I never imagined before that I could have a fulfilled life without marrying. My family wouldn't... But then I met you." She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "I think I want to request asylum."

 

* * *

 

That set the cat among the pigeons. Susan sent for instructions, meanwhile granting temporary sanctuary, all according to protocol. But the reaction—!

 

First came their police, only to be turned away by our Marines. The fiancee, Gar'lk, requested an interview, which a staffer (me!) took. He left under protest. Government officials visited, from alderman to mayor, legislator, on up to Minister of the Interior. Not one was female. It was as if Earth stopped existing for half the Frmss race.

 

My wife took it in stride. Sh'kse did not. She found herself an outcast due to marriage taboos. When she asked for busy-work, Susan set her up in the Cultural Office. She contributed a ton — our scientists were overwhelmed, and delighted. But the pressure grew steadily.

 

Two weeks later, she withdrew her asylum request and left to be married.

 

* * *

 

A visitor came to my office, a large male. He looked familiar... It took me a moment.

 

"Ah, Gar'lk! Good to see you again," I said, tilting my head in greeting.

 

"I was Gar'lk. I am now Gsh'la," he informed me. Something in his tone told me it was more than a re-christening, but before I could sound him out, Susan walked in, upset, one of Sh'kse's reports in her hand.

 

"Pat! Pat, have you read—" She stopped abruptly.

 

"Susan, my friend," Gsh'la said, bowing. It caught me off guard. He — Gar'lk, that is — had never met her before.

 

"I... I can't— Excuse me." And she left.

 

I recovered first. "Probably some protocol thing," I offered. It sounded lame.

 

"I have offended. I should go." He sounded distressed.

 

"Perhaps another time?"

 

"Children will arrive soon. I will be fully occupied." He left.

 

Susan had gone back to the residence. When I got there, she was on the couch, still dressed for the office. She still held the report.

 

"That was odd," I remarked.

 

"It was terrible," she said flatly, not looking at me. "I didn't understand."

 

"I still don't."

 

"I told her..." She shuddered, closed her eyes, then continued. "I told her the secret to a successful marriage was to keep your independence. You can't lose yourself in the other person."

 

There was so much I wanted to say, but she was upset enough. "And?"

 

"It's in the report. I should've... That's exactly what Frmss marriage is, Pat. Perfect unity." Tears welled in her eyes.

 

I still didn't get it.

 

"He... he ate her."