Polmar

Carl

One minute I’m talking with my Mylos colleagues about the case we’re working on and Jolar’s upcoming wedding plans. The next, I’m off with my FBI partner, Peterson, to see about transferring us permanently to Commander Sachuu’s team within the Bride Fleet. The only snag is, to qualify, one of us has to apply to be matched, and given that I’m the gay one out of us two, that means me. Not that I really mind. I’ve not had much luck dating, with people either horrified that I’m in law enforcement, or wanting to know gruesome details of past and current cases, or getting fed up with the sudden call outs and sheer amount of time working active cases can take. Seeing the truth of how perfectly suited all the matches have been, I’m game. If Mr. Perfect truly is here waiting for me, I’m ready to sign on the dotted line.

Polmar

When the Council expanded the mate matching programs so that I was included, I felt a glimmer of hope that somewhere, down on that bright blue and white planet far below, my mate was just waiting for us to discover each other. I just hoped whoever he was, he wouldn’t be disappointed. I’m a pilot, but I don’t fly anything as cool as a fighter. No, I fly a shuttle and not one that usually ferries passengers. I’m what one of the human males aboard I’ve befriended calls a ‘space trucker’. That is, I fly cargo shuttles back and forth to bring goods up from Earth and between cargo ships from our home space. Occasionally, I deliver goods from one ship within the fleet to another too. It’s not exciting, but I like it. It’s predictable enough to feel comforting.

Actually getting matched was surprise enough. Neither of us ever expected what came next.