I Married A Lizardman (Prime Mating Agency)

Iwanted this day to be over. Although the great hunt had not been a complete disaster, it hadn’t been even remotely as successful as we had needed it to be. I wished to be in my sleeping nest, losing myself in my mate, and forgetting for a short while all the troubles weighing on my shoulders. But now, even Susan had gone to the market to sell goods. I didn’t know how to handle that.

A part of me felt betrayed. Our agreement had been for her to grow produce dear to her people that was otherwise impossible for her to acquire here. There had never been discussions of her producing food to be sold. At the same time, it was fair for her to seek a means of earning some credits in order to purchase things for herself that couldn’t be found here. After all, she had mentioned wanting to upgrade one of her pieces of farming equipment.

I took a stroll through her field, my jaw dropping at the sight of all the fat, leafy greens covering rows of the land I’d allocated to her. The presence of Surtas shadowing me only twisted the knife in the raw wound of my failure. Setting foot inside her sheds robbed me of voice. The amount of food Susan had managed to produce by herself in such a short time left me reeling. None of it was familiar to my people, but it looked fresh, healthy, and quite appealing.

I should be providing for my mate, but she had no need of me.

“She had seven cooling units full of food, and there’s still all of this left?” Surtas said with an odd mix of anger and bitterness.

My head jerked towards him, and I eyed the Inosh Mountain Clan Leader warily.

“In one month, she produced so much food she can sell some of it. We canvassed the forest for three weeks and barely brought back anything,” Surtas said. “What does that tell you?”

“We don’t even know that it will sell,” I argued.

“That’s not the point, and you know it!” Surtas snapped angrily.

No, that wasn’t the point. “It is not me you need to convince, Surtas,” I said in a tired voice. “Maybe her food will sell well at the market. Then all the clans will get to see it.”

“And then?” he insisted.

“And then we will advise,” I replied in a calm voice. “But tell me, my friend, would your own clan agree to work our lands to grow food as my mate has?”

His shoulders slumped. “Right now, no,” he reluctantly admitted. “I pray the Spirits your mate has a resounding success at the market, and that it will open the people’s eyes. I mean, look at all of this food!” he added, waving at the shelves filled with berries, maturing seedlings, and the wide troughs filled with dirt where large, flat mushrooms were growing. “She will never be able to eat all of it on her own.”

“She isn’t going to,” I said. I’d begun to suspect her not so hidden agenda right from the beginning and received confirmation from one of the Gatherers while putting away what little meat we’d brought back. “Tonight, she will prepare some of her human food for everyone at evening meal so that we can sample it.”

“Clever female,” Surtas said, a hopeful smile stretching his lips.

“Clever, yes. But I fear she will face great disappointment,” I said with a frown. “The people will appreciate the gesture, but I doubt it will yield the result she is hoping for. In truth, I’m surprised she didn’t bring a variety of this produce to the market for sale as well. After all, there is a small number of human residents that work at some of the resorts and at the spaceport. Surely, they would have been interested in such goods.”

“I am glad she did not. I believe the Spirits sent your mate to us. Today is important. I feel it in my bones,” Surtas said with a conviction that sparked an irrational hope within me.

“May you be right,” I said.

Casting one final look at the bounty growing inside the shed, I headed back to the plaza to mount my mraka and head to the market, Surtas in my wake. Much could happen if my mate’s venture proved successful. In light of our hunt’s partial failure, would it embolden her into trying to convert our people to her ways?

Would that be a bad thing?

Had she come to us in a generation or two from now, it would have been a great thing. While I was personally softening to the potential of what her skill could do for our people, the majority of our clan would not bend, no matter the cost. A plethora of scenarios on how the day would end depending on the outcome of the market played in a loop in my head as we raced to the spaceport.

By the time we reached it, my heart tightened viewing the crowd already amassed outside the venue. As with every month of late, the same type of customers were gathering, all of them talking about the off-worlder goods they were looking to acquire. Over the past couple of years, the number of native stalls had steadily decreased to be replaced by foreigners trying to flood our market with their products. I held no hopes of a good outcome today—a second blow I could have truly done without.

I made my way to the market where every merchant was finalizing their set up for the imminent opening. Finding my mate’s table almost empty distressed me. As much as I feared her success, I also didn’t want her to fail, not only to spare her the disappointment, but also because it would likely undermine her already shaky standing among the people. Word had quickly spread that she would be attempting to help our sales. Although no one could fault her if that failed, an unhealthy level of anticipation had been building among my clanmates.

However, the first couple of customers roaming nearby drew my attention. I didn’t want to hope, having been let down so many times before, and yet I couldn’t help it. As always, they strolled nearby, close enough to get an idea of what was on offer, but not so much that it would allow us to strike a conversation with them.

And then, the first couple of Bosengis dropped by.

Their lukewarm interest in the weapons and jewelry on display completely transformed the minute the female took a whiff of the berries. Her beady eyes widened, the small holes on her flat face that served as nostrils flared, and the external gills around the upper side of her round face stood on ends, making her head look like a strange star.

“Reezia!” she whispered, half-running to my mate’s table.

Her partner appeared stunned and quickly followed her. We could literally see their heartbeats accelerating through their semi-translucent skins as they stared at the bounty laid before my mate.

“Can I interest you in some reezia berries harvested fresh from this morning?” Susan asked in a gentle voice.

“From this morning?” the female exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yes, Madam,” Susan said proudly. “Grown right here on Xecania, in the Monkoo Valley. Care to taste one?”

“Most certainly, yes,” the female said, licking her lips in anticipation.

Susan carefully stabbed a plump berry in the presentation plate with one of the forks crafted by Kuani and extended it towards the Bosengi female. She plucked it off the fork with two fingers and shoved the berry into her mouth. She no sooner began to chew than she closed her eyes, her body shaken by a powerful shiver. A disturbingly sensual moan rose from her throat and a tremor coursed through her external gills. Her pale, yellow skin turned a brighter shade of yellow.

Her companion licked his lips and stared at my mate with a greedy and hopeful expression. But Susan was already stabbing another berry for him this time. The male’s reaction reflected that of his female. The latter, having already swallowed the fruit she’d been given, was eyeing the bounty on the table with an almost feral greed.

“I would like to buy some of your berries,” she said to Susan while elbowing her mate.

“Yes,” he said, also looking like he could barely refrain from gorging on everything in front of him. “I will give you 30 marks for a basket.”

30 marks?!

It took all of my willpower to keep a neutral expression on my face. That was an outrageous price for this little basket of fruits. Some of our Crafters’ ornate leather bracelets, that took days of hard work, sold for only 20 marks. And even then, we struggled to find buyers.

To my shock, Susan recoiled, all friendly demeanor fading from her face as she cast an offended look at the male.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were here to do serious business,” Susan said in a slightly clipped tone.

This time, I had to bite my tongue not to ask my mate what was wrong with her. By the looks our clanmates were casting her way, they were also wondering what madness had taken over her, while doing their best to hide their shock.

“Thirty marks is a good price!” the male exclaimed, clearly displeased to be so rebuffed.

“Thirty marks is insulting, at best,” Susan replied, staring at him with an icy gaze. “You pay 45 marks without blinking for frozen, genetically engineered reezias, filled with pesticides, and grown in an industrial complex, but offer me 30 lousy marks for organically grown reezias, in accordance with Bosengi traditional methods, pesticide-free, and freshly picked this very morning? Clearly, you are no connoisseur.”

While the male opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, at a loss for words to have been thus called out by my mate, Susan turned her attention to another group of Bosengis, this time a trio of two females and one male.

“Organic and fresh from this morning?” one of the new females asked my mate, having overheard the conversation.

“Yes, Madam,” Susan said with a glowing smile. “Would you care to taste?”

“Absolutely!” the female responded.

My mate gave each of the three newcomers a single berry, prompting the same reaction as with the first couple.

“This is a true taste of home,” the female said with disbelief. “How have you accomplished this? Reezia is extremely hard to grow without a perfect technique.”

“I am an expert farmer, born and raised on Meterion,” Susan said proudly.

“A daughter of Meterion! That explains it,” the female said, a glimmer of admiration sparkling through her small, round eyes. “I will give you 60 marks for a basket.”

“It is 70 marks for a single basket,” Susan said apologetically. “However, if you buy six, you get a token for a discount of up to 30 marks on any of the Andturian crafted goods on sale here,” she added, waving at the Crafter tables on each side of her own little stall. “But if you buy a full tray of twelve baskets, I will lower the price to 60 marks per basket—which means you actually get two and half baskets for free—AND I will give you a token for a discount of up to 60 marks to purchase one of our other goods.”

I felt faint. Aside from the outrageous price she’d been offered, then increased for things that would be consumed in minutes, the clever ploy Susan was using to drive traffic to our Crafters robbed me of words.

“70 marks!?” the male of the first couple exclaimed, sounding offended. “That’s ludicrous!”

The female of the trio cast him a sideways glance. “What is it, Wolny? Your wallet cannot afford quality?”

The couple gasped, the male outraged, and his female giving him a warning glance that he had better defend their honor. I barely repressed a snort, but one of our clanmates failed to do so. The Bosengis were a wealthy and very ostentatious species. One was expected to make a loud display of their success in every way.

Without waiting for their response, the trio leader turned back to my mate. “So, if I take two trays, you will lower the cost per basket at 50 marks each?”

My mate chuckled and shook her head. “No, 60 marks is the lowest I can go considering the hard work involved in growing such delicacies. However, for each tray you buy, you will get an extra token for a discount of up to 60 marks for the goods of our Crafters.”

She pursed her lips and cast a glance at the crafted goods. Her gaze lingered on the standing panel with some of the most expensive jewelry we had on offer.

“So, if I bought these four trays you have for sale, I would get a 240 marks discount, meaning I could buy these two necklaces at 100 marks each and a pair of bracelets at 20 marks each?” she asked.

I held my breath. That would be a wonderful sale. But that was short-lived. My heart sank when my female shook her head.

“Not exactly,” Susan said. “You cannot stack the tokens that way. It is one token per purchase, hence why I said the discount is up to 60 marks. So, if you want one of those one-of-a-kind, premium necklaces at 100 marks, you will give one token and pay the difference of 40 marks. However, you could get one of the more affordable models at 60 marks or less, which would cost you nothing but the token. That said, if you use a token on something that costs 30 marks, you lose the balance.”

It took me a moment reflecting on this system—which seemed complicated at first glance—to realize how clever it was. Had the customers been able to stack the tokens, they could have indeed acquired high end items for free, or a slew of cheaper ones.

“This feels somewhat unfair,” she complained.

“How is it unfair?” Susan asked, looking at her with an air of complete innocent confusion—that I knew for a fact to be fake. “I’m gifting you the ability to get up to 60% discount on handcrafted jewelry made with the noblest materials found on Xecania, simply for buying some of my fruits. I doubt you will find any other merchant making you such a generous offer.”

“They’re not that special,” the female from the first disgruntled couple interjected. “We’ve bought similar jewelry for a cheaper price.”

“With all due respect, Madam,” Susan said in a polite, but somewhat patronizing tone, “the only similarities between the necklace you are currently wearing and the ones my clanmates are selling, is the style. I’m afraid you’ve been duped into buying a cheap knock-off.”

“Cheap knock-off?” she exclaimed, outraged.

It was indeed a cheap knock-off. Any Andturian could see it. But how did my Susan know this?

Susan nodded with an apologetic expression. “I’m afraid so. See how the leather has darkened? A true Andturian piece of jewelry—or any of their other crafts for that matter—does not discolor with time,” my mate accurately explained. “The ribbed pearls that adorn them are actually lillian shells. You’re wearing a beautiful blue sarong. I would have expected you to make the shells match its color. But you can’t because those shells are synthetic reproductions. Whereas Andturian jewelry and weapons are adorned with the real thing. Yamir, will you show them?”

My mother eagerly picked up one of the most expensive necklaces on display and came to stand next to my mate. By now, a few more Bosengis, including a handful of humans, and Drantians had gathered around to observe and listen.

Using a heating wand, my mother aimed it at the female’s dress for the sensor to capture the exact color. She then carefully rubbed the tip of the wand on the shells of the necklace which quickly took on the same hue. A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

“Lillians are a shellfish found in certain bodies of water here, on Xecania. They exude heat to change the color of their shells as camouflage,” Mother explained to the female. “Once set, the color remains until a noticeable variation in heat triggers another change. What you are wearing are not real lillian shells.”

She gave her an apologetic smile, cast a glance towards my mate, then headed back to her stand—but not before I noticed the very pleased expression she was attempting to hide.

“I will take the four trays and the tokens,” the female from the trio stated, gesturing at her male companion to pay my mate.

“What? Wait? You can’t take everything and leave nothing for the others,” the stingy male she’d called Wolny exclaimed.

“You had your chance, but chose to cling to your credits,” the female responded with a shrug. “Your loss.”

“It’s okay, I have some more,” my mate replied reassuringly.

She quickly concluded the transaction, my head spinning at the sight of the crazy amount of credits being handed to my mate for things that only required a bit of water once every other day for three weeks. I sprang into action, pulling another cooling unit from under the table, and took out a tray for Susan. She beamed at me with gratitude and nodded her approval when I placed four of them on the table, the same way she had previously set the others.

Watching the first trio spending all four of their tokens on some of the most expensive jewelry of my Crafters had my throat constricting with emotion. While a few humans and other species bought a basket or two, the majority of the customers were Bosengi, buying full trays.

However, a number of the tourists actually stopped at our Crafter stalls to buy without tokens—on top of the Bosengis with tokens. It was eye-opening the number of customers asking questions about the trinkets they had bought at the tourist shops of the resort and spaceport, thinking them authentic, only to find out none of them had the unique properties of our true products. More sales were thus concluded.

Too soon, my mate sold out her thirty-five trays. Many of the Bosengis placed more orders with her, not only for reezia berries, but also for other products from their homeworld they couldn’t easily procure here. Although she didn’t commit to anything, she promised to investigate that possibility. In the meantime, with my consent, she had agreed that the Bosengis could come by the village twice a week—with an appointment—to buy that day’s berry harvest.

By the time the market closed, Susan made more than 25,000 marks—2,000 of which she redistributed to the Crafters in compensation for the tokens she had handed out. I made 4,000 marks from my weapons sales, twenty-five times more than my usual proceeds on any given market day. The other Crafters also sold more than 50% of their inventory, many with special requests for the next market.

The return home was beyond festive. The Spirits had heard our prayers. My mate had saved the day.