Yep, I’d thrown myself a pity party, complete with clowns, games, and Sebastian-shaped piñata by the time I walked into the Mail Call Mates headquarters for my emergency meeting. The offices had an understated elegance that married “humble” and “classy” into the perfect, approachable aesthetic.
A receptionist threaded me through small crowds of nervous soldiers in fatigues, anxious civilians dressed on a spectrum that ran the gamut from extreme casual to full-on wedding formals, and neatly dressed employees. We wound deep into a labyrinth of hallways decorated with pictures of happy couples wed under the auspices of Mail Call Mates. I hadn’t realized the building had more than the three above-ground floors, but the man who’d fetched me took me two levels underground to a whole new set of offices below.
Elaine Prise, regional director for Mail Call Mates in the mountain territories, stood behind her desk when the receptionist nudged the door open and announced me. Three large monitors on swing arms waited at the sides of her desk, out of the way so she could talk to me unobstructed.
“Thank you, Matt,” she said to the receptionist in a calm, confident voice. As he left, she rounded her desk to shake my hand. “Mister Hendrick. Thank you so much for coming.”
Not what I’d expected her to say. I’d anticipated a torrent of apologies and a whole lot of reassurances. “Sebastian, please. Thanks for meeting with me, Miss Prise.”
“Elaine.” She gestured toward the comfortable-looking chair on the customer side of her hardwood desk. “It’s always interesting to meet the outliers that crop up in the matchmaking process. I’ve yet to see an outlier pairing who didn’t have a beautiful story to tell in the end.”
I blinked. “This has happened before?”
Her chair arm thumped softly against her desk as she sat, chair at a gentle angle so she looked at me half-sidelong. “It has. Rarely at first. A little more often as time goes by. I’ll be glad to tell you about it, if you’re curious, but I’d like to address whatever concerns you have first. I’m positive you have burning worries that have waited long enough.”
A process in my hindbrain wondered if she’d started her life as a counselor, or perhaps a kindergarten teacher. She had a serene way about her that soothed the agitation I’d brought in with me and left behind a silent assurance that everything would be all right.
“I appreciate that,” I said, because I’d spent all night trying to extinguish those burning worries and fire the clown at my pity party. “My main concern is that Sergeant Jackson Sadler, the man I was matched with, might not be expecting a husband any more than I was. He shouldn’t step off that Mars transport and find a husband where he wanted a wife.”
One of Elaine’s perfect eyebrows arched. I wondered if she’d expected me to shout about how I’d ended up matched to a person of the wrong gender. That’s what I’d expected to shout about, too, when I’d first seen Jackson’s name.
“Let’s check, shall we?” she said, and leaned forward to navigate her screen with her mouse.
No typing. She already had our files up. All she had to do was scroll.
A smile lifted her lips. “Allow me to reassure you. Jackson Sadler chose to have a husband matched for him when he signed up for our service. And…” More scrolling. “According to his preferences sheet, a fit man with dark hair and light eyes is right on top of his ‘physical attributes’ wishlist. I’d say he got precisely what he wanted.”
The blush ambushed me and heated the back of my neck. “That’s- That’s a relief. But I’m almost positive I selected the ‘heterosexual’ box, and the ‘heteroromantic’ box, and I was rather expecting a woman when I opened that email.”
“Which is what makes you one of our outliers.” This time, she did type, and dragged a data window onto one of the monitors to her right. It lit up to display her information. “An unusual outlier, at that, since I see a woman on that transport ship, one Jennifer Conyers, who matches the preferences you listed almost exactly. I’m surprised our systems didn’t assign you to her.”
She didn’t sound as surprised as her words stated. “So my match is an error, and not an outlier after all?”
“…maybe. But maybe not.” Elaine leaned back in her chair to evaluate me with a long, thoughtful look. “I’ve been with the program since its inception, Sebastian. In the early days, we had mistakes, but I haven’t seen a true error in our output in years. Only outliers that express themselves in unusual ways. May I ask you a personal question? I promise, I’m not attempting to be inappropriate. I’m looking to confirm a suspected data point.”
Curiosity ate me alive. “Sure.”
“Are youtrulyheterosexual? A firm, no-compromise heterosexual? There is no wrong answer here. No judgement. This is just a data point for the algorithm.” That evaluating look deepened.
Busted. I sighed. “No. I’m not. I’m bisexual, at the least. Probably closer to pansexual. I picked the ‘heterosexual’ box because of-”
She held up a hand. “Personal reasons,” she said, and I felt my shoulders relax. I didn’t have to explain. “I understand. As I said, you won’t find judgement here. But it does help explain what happened with your match.”
“It does?”
She spread her hands in front of her, as if presenting me with two choices. Her left hand dipped to indicate it. “The first explanation is a simple one. Your match was swapped with someone else’s. We have already started verifying all the matches that were announced in your batch.”
“And the second explanation?”
Her right hand dipped. “Our machine intelligence made a, hm, an executive decision. It extrapolated your true preferences, added them to the data set, and decided Jackson Sadler was the perfect match for you.”
I felt like I’d stepped into a sci-fi show where the computer opens the pod-bay doors when you ask it to, but hands you a husband when you step inside the ship instead of trying to murder you. “It can do that?”
“Oh, yes. It can, and has, done far more than that.” Her hands lowered. The left rested lightly on the keyboard, and I swear to whatever deity you prayed to at dinner last night, one of her fingers slowly stroked the keys.
“Your outliers.”
“Our outliers.” Her head cocked. “Would you like to know more about our processes? We don’t usually offer a glimpse behind the curtain, but if you’re willing to sign a small legal form, I think you deserve a peek. Unless you aren’t interested.”