Snippet #2009490

Zorya just shook her head, a tiny smirk forming at the corners of her mouth, her raised eyebrow accentuating the faint ridges in her forehead as the inventor finally reached his own conclusion with no input from her. She took back the rifle and leaned it against the worktable.

"Maybe. Then again, perhaps I merely wished to gauge your reaction," she answered simply, though 'to see you squirm', might have been a more befitting response. "Courtship thing..." she half-muttered, sniggering at the thought. "Courtship for females of our species consists of florid choreography in effort to seduce the males, and," she gestured offhandedly at her torso. "As you can see, this armor was not designed to meet the form desirable to a Nerebusian mate. I attempted the ritual only once when my mother and father tried to marry me off shortly after I reached adolescence, and it was quite awkward for those involved."

She furrowed her brows slightly at the memory, still all too recent in her mind. As with her need to establish an in-depth profile for each of her patients in order to maintain order and safety on the Dalus, she had informed the inventor of her genetic disease, should the need for replacement parts or technological upgrades arise. She had not told him the extent of the disease and its less obvious effects, however. In fact, only Zultak knew the full story, having, on one of his many walks, dropped in to her office only to overhear a rather heated conversation between her and her military supervisor, whom she touched basis with whenever a secure comm channel was available. In short, her suitor had been too afraid of injuring or killing his 'sickly' wife to consummate their relationship, and needless to say, out of convenience, they maintained the guise of a happy couple for three Nerebus years before people started wondering why they never had children.

Faced with a slow genocide, Nerebusians, almost physiologically incompatible with every other species with the exception of a few similar DNA strands in other humanoids, placed a high value on bearing viable offspring. But, by then, she had lost nearly all internal organs associated with reproduction, and their window for annulment had long passed. Eventually, their contempt for each other grew, and they could not keep up the facade. Zorya, barely considered an adult by her people's standards, ended up shouldering the blame for their failing relationship. Rather than suffer her spouse to publicly admit his shortcomings, she took the first opportunity to go abroad for a year on a covert mission, the only way to automatically terminate their legal binding on Nerebus, since spouses were never expected to return from lengthy military operations. She had never explained to the Ixian exactly what kind of mission she had undertaken, but then again, he never asked.

Zorya picked up the assembled rifle, and shook her head again, no longer entirely sure why she had called the inventor over. There was never anything in the barrel to begin with, and she knew it. How easily a PhD could turn the tables when confronted with questions they either had no answers to, or to which they decided not to reply directly.

"If one's martial prowess were the deciding factor in selecting a mate, combat would no doubt make for some interesting courting," she added with a chuckle. "Nevertheless, Mr. Flet- Monty, your own consideration of such a notion, while somewhat flattering given the circumstances, I am certain you could find something a little 'closer to home,' no?"