art by Melissa Mead
Three Weddings and an Objection
by M. M. Domaille
I. Sam and Aga
We called the drone the Objection because it had the timing of a spurned lover, descending on our weddings just as the music swelled and tears flowed and hearts fluttered like stranded fish.
On the day of Sam and Aga's wedding, we dearly beloved hauled in the last glassfin catch, spread it out to freeze on the bank, and rode up through the ice shaft to the inflatable surface pavilion we called the Holy Balloon.
Nauja raised an eyebrow at the sight of me. "I thought I told you to put on something nice."
"This is the nicest thing I own." I scraped a glimmer of slime off my wetsuit.
"That's just willfully stupid," she said, but her frown quivered with caged laughter.
Sam and Aga marched up the aisle to where No-Nose Bill--unelected mayor, unlicensed medic, unordained priest--loomed over the altar in a homemade sacerdotal parka that lent him the look of a heavily tattooed stingray. No sooner did Bill coax out declarations of love and, with a bit more effort, promises of fidelity than a discordant hum curdled the air.