Date: June 3, 2440 Time: 11:30 AM MTZ
Location: Denver, Samsung-Hyundai Media Complex
The studio lights blazed down from their tracks, white and clinical, flattening every color into something too bright, too polished. The walls were dressed in brushed metal panels with holographic overlays advertising the latest from Hyundai-Samsung. The space was beautiful in its way, but soullessly commercial, like a hotel lobby that had been repurposed for spectacle.
Camera crews moved with quiet efficiency, each in uniform black polos stamped with the corporate logo. A red tally light blinked alive on the center camera as the countdown hit zero. Not Doug’s crew—this was the media arm of Samsung-Hyundai, a subsidiary that had bought his syndication contract years ago. Doug Meyers might have been a familiar Midwestern voice, but today he was broadcasting from inside a machine designed to sell as much as to inform.
Doug leaned forward at the sleek composite desk, smiling into the main camera. “Welcome to the Doug Meyers Show. I am Doug Meyers, and today we are running a live stream of the show from Denver. In studio with me are some very special guests, including a man I have nothing but personal respect for—and a grudging friendship with going back to OCS. Matthew Marmaduke, High Lord of the V’ren, and his entourage.” He chuckled. “I gotta say, I always knew you would go far in the world, but this is a little overachieving even for you.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth lifted. He angled his chair slightly toward the man, deliberately casual. A floor manager motioned for him to stay centered in the light cone. “We would certainly be better friends if you weren’t such an asshole—” he let the pause hang just long enough for the audience to tense—“I mean White Sox fan. You probably favor the Bears, too.”
The studio crew chuckled. Doug clutched his chest with mock injury. A camera on a dolly slid closer for the reaction shot. “You wound me, but I can take it—since you’re the guy who pulled me out of razor wire while under fire.”
“You owed me a case of beer,” Matt said, brushing off the memory like it was nothing more than a scuffed boot. His hand gestured slightly toward the row of seats behind him.
“You have been in the ascendant of late my friend did you come to tell me off too or just make wisecracks about my Sox and the da Bears?”
“I’m here to reward a long friendship, and being a man of character and principle when being such things isn’t always easy. I want to introduce you—and your audience—to my wife, T’mari.”
He turned. T’mari leaned forward gracefully, her green skin catching the sterile light and turning it into something softer, more alive. Doug’s jaw visibly dropped, the camera catching the reaction and sending it out to tens of thousands of live viewers. In the booth, a producer punched the air and mouthed mark it.
“Congratulations to both of you,” Doug managed, recovering quickly. “You look happier than I’ve seen you in a long time, my friend. I am glad for you both. You know who I am, and I don’t think you would have dropped that live grenade on us without expecting me to ask some tough questions.”
“Touche!” Matt grinned. “I also didn’t give you any chance to prepare to ask them either, so let’s have it. I will let your slow brain catch up while I once again tell the world we are on a conference tour not a ‘Save our Planet’ crusade. We are also going to take some honeymoon days while we are visiting friends and family.
The youth delegation is along to speak for themselves about what is important to them and let young people around the world mix with the future famous.”
Doug tapped the desk lightly, falling into his rhythm. A sound tech adjusted levels as he spoke. “I guess first is a matter of protocol. When you were first introduced to us, it was as Officer T’mari Th’ron—the junior communications officer of the ship that crashed in his back yard. Are you now High Lady of the V’ren?”
T’mari’s smile warmed the space, even against the harsh lights. “The protocol people are having trouble deciding all of these things. For now, I am just happy being Mrs. Matthew Marmaduke. And for close personal friends, Cubs fans, and you, just T’mari.”
The audience in the chat feed lit up; emojis and rapid commentary scrolled across Doug’s monitor. A producer in the booth flagged the segment for later clipping.
“I watched the other interviews, along with most of the world,” Doug continued. “What was never really explained was how you learned English so fast.”
“When your beacon network went active eighty years ago,” T’mari said, her tone steady, “it began dumping centuries’ worth of stored electronic media into the galaxy network. It was the equivalent of loading your entire back catalog into a brand new streaming service. I fell in love with your game shows and cooking programs as a little girl. By then our linguists had decoded English and several other languages, too. Quite a number of people in our convoy have knowledge of one or more Earth languages. I just happened to be one of the ones able to put it to use.”
“So the V’ren have been studying us for eighty years?”
“Not just the V’ren.” She tilted her head. “You burst onto the scene as the first new Progenitor-guided species in over a hundred and fifty Earth years. Everyone who is anyone wanted to find out more.”
Doug’s brows furrowed. “How many species are there?”
“There are over four hundred Progenitor species in this part of the galaxy alone. As for a total number, I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“You’re making a distinction between types of species. What is a Progenitor Species?”
“Your biologists will have to expand your rigid definition of mammalian once you meet other species,” T’mari said. “But Progenitor species are mammalian, upright-walking bipeds, shaped a lot like us—what you would call humanoid. Humans fall close to baseline in size, with the Kelari on the small end at barely over a meter, and the Sikikil on average just shy of three meters. The one thing we all have in common is that our worlds were seeded in their primordial states by the Progenitors, and later through guided evolution.”
Doug turned to Matt. “That sounds an awful lot like the old intelligent design theory. What do you think of it, Matt?”
Matt leaned back, folding his arms. A boom mic swung slightly overhead to catch his lower tone. “It might on the surface sound like intelligent design, but the Progenitors as far as I can tell aren’t gods. We shouldn’t give them that status either. They seem to be gone from the galaxy, and we have to make the best choices we can based on our own understanding and our own goals.”
Doug nodded. “Let’s bring us back around to goals. What exactly are your goals now?”
Matt tilted his head. A producer flashed the two-minute hand signal. “I’m not trying to be evasive, but in what sense? What scope?”
“Fair enough. You wear a lot of hats—including a Cubs hat, which screams loser.”
The jab landed. Matt smiled thinly. “I’ve always been a fan of the underdogs. A man of the people, not the corporate machine.”
“Not the corporate machine, ha. You started your first corporation during your first year of college and were called a ruthless tyrant even then.”
“Sure,” Matt said with a shrug. “But look at the people who said such things—slackers and grifters who thought they’d make their name riding my coattails. When that didn’t happen, they whined about it on the internet. Some even started popular podcasts. In the end, yes, I am an opportunistic businessman, as sharp as they come—despite Amazon blowing me off as a local yokel who would screw up our first interstellar contact.”
Doug’s mouth tightened. A camera light blinked yellow as an operator swapped batteries mid-stream. “They didn’t consult me. I wonder if they even bothered to look up your known associates before passing judgment. Now, goals—for all the land you masterfully swindled them out of, and for your V’ren on Earth Cooperative Trust?”
“These go hand in hand.” Matt rested his elbows on the desk. “I’ve long been expanding my holdings by revitalizing local farms. I saw a chance to expand on that and swung for the fences. I didn’t expect to slam it through the jumbotron on the way out of the park. By accepting the V’ren request to become their advocate in Sol System affairs, I accepted responsibility for their well-being, just as I would any client. i am turning over large parts of that land to hem. It’s a good partnership.”
He reached for T’mari’s hand, lifted it, and pressed a kiss across her knuckles for the camera. A director in the booth waved frantically at an editor: highlight reel.
“One of those responsibilities is providing them the room to grow into life on Earth, to show they can contribute to the safety and security of their new home. We’ve started by increasing food production to be shared by all. One of my goals within the next ten years is to make beef affordable again—so that all America can afford it once in a while. I don’t want it to be something only the super-rich or local yokels who live near a farm can eat. This fall we’ll be planting more grain than the region has planted since before the collapse—and doing it by a factor of two every year for at least the next five years.”
Doug laughed. “Impressive. Can’t wait until I’m not seen as a social elitist for enjoying a cheeseburger. Now—what about your real goals for the V’ren Cooperative?”
“They’re fluid,” Matt said honestly. “To be frank, it’s like that time you and I went fishing for flounder on R&R and hooked that four-meter shark. It’s fun, but you wonder what the hell you’re going to do with it when you land it.”
“That was a good day,” Doug chuckled, “but a shitty answer.”
“Like I said, the goals are fluid and growing as I understand the context of what I have in front of me. Like you, I normally believe in slow growth and slower change, but I’m not about to squander this opportunity by standing still out of fear. If you want one real goal, it’s this: to get everyone off those ships who wants off, into a home of their own before the first snow. With that said, we have to face a new reality—as humans, we are not alone in the galaxy, much less this world now. I will do my best to help both sides fit curvy puzzle pieces together, without knowing what the final picture looks like.”
Doug leaned back, studying him. “That is about as authentically you as it gets. Let’s change gears. Is your marriage a strategic alliance?”
The question was gentle but pointed. Doug had known Amy. He asked with respect. The studio quieted. Even the crew froze in place, waiting.
Matt’s eyes flickered. He glanced down at T’mari’s hand, still in his, his thumb running slowly across her knuckles. “Of course it is. But that’s an afterthought. I met T’mari, and within a day I knew she could fill a hole in my heart I hadn’t been able to fill—a hole I’d clung to as penance for not preventing Amy’s death.”
T’mari turned her hand in his, clasping his fingers. “I know I’m not Amy. Some people have told me I’m not a proper replacement. I tell them I am not trying to be her or replace her. But there are things about V’ren culture that will take time for humans to understand. When they do, they’ll see why—or at least how—our relationship came about so fast. Right now, I accept that people have concerns, both valid and invalid. I fell for Matt almost instantly. He is charming, warm, accepting, easy to be with. I felt a spark, and as you say, I swung for the fences—and I hit my home run.”
“Let’s move to viewer Q&A,” Doug suggested.
A producer raised two fingers; the live questions deck pushed to Doug’s monitor. The chat gutter flared with hearts and question icons; moderators throttled the feed.
“For T’mari: You spoke about not replacing Amy. How do you balance honoring Matt’s past with building your own future together?”
The floor manager pointed to camera two. T’mari adjusted her IFB. The light rigs whispered heat. “I just try to be myself and let things fall where they will. Most of the people around us have been very accepting and are letting us grow into things. it is honestly harder dealing with the V’ren around me, than the humans.”
The side wall display filled with applause emojis and “respect” tags.
“For Matt: You often mention Amy when discussing personal loss. How did you know you were ready to open your heart again?”
A boom dipped, then steadied. “I didn’t, until the moment I did. As Doug knows, since he was there when i met Amy, I met and married her in three days, because i knew in my heart it was the right thing for me and us. Same thing here.”
A camera op drifted for a tight shot; a graphics tech pinned the clip for replay.
“For T’mari: You said humans will need time to understand your culture. What’s one V’ren tradition you’d most like to share with us?”
The teleprompter clock slid toward red; the AD rolled a wrist: keep it moving. “We come from a caste based culture, this is already causing some issues for us, more than it is humans. Those of us who work in professional circles do alright as we are used to dealing across caste lines with each other. Those from the lower castes seem to have more trouble believing in your egalitarian nature. Sadly, they don’t quite trust it yet, and some seem almost frightened when they come into direct contact with humans in positions of authority, power, or even socially superior people. I think it is up to the highborn V’ren to help them here and to give up our own social superiority some of us give off. We are now the V’ren of Earth, and the caste system we come from doesn’t apply here. People must be accepted treated as equals.”
A social producer mouthed “pull quote” and tapped a timestamp.
“For Matt: You talk about responsibility for both the Freehold and the V’ren. How do you separate what’s personal from what’s political?”
The tally flipped to camera one. “There is no separation for me. I have been a sovereign ruler of my own country since I was 13 years old. Everything I do is viewed through a political lens by someone.”
The live comment counter spiked; flame and debate icons cascaded.
“For T’mari: What was the first human thing about Matt that surprised you—or made you fall for him?”
A mic tech leaned in, then backed out. “He took the time to cook for me, my first night here. He didn’t just cook for me, he explained the food to me. He also talked about the people in his family. He let me know who and what was important to him. He shared his joy and his pain. I knew this was a man I wanted in my life, even before I knew it was possible.”
A field producer scribbled “package this” on a slate.
“For Matt: Do you think your marriage helps strengthen human–V’ren trust, or do you worry it invites criticism you don’t need?”
An exec in the back row crossed his arms; the cameras stayed front. “The only public critics will be human. I have handled the racists and bigots before, this time will be no different. In fact we have had some of those critics. i had to invoke the good governance clause, which resulted in the death of someone who resisted arrest by Apple Security. that brought out more criticism.”
A silence flickered; moderation bots throttled the feed again.
“For T’mari: You said you felt a spark instantly. Was that something V’ren culture would normally embrace—or is this unusual even among your people?”
Lens two eased in. “This was different in so many ways. Even though I thought I was familiar with human culture, I certainly had know idea I could feel the things i felt so quickly or so strongly. This is not how highborn V’ren women react to potential mates on the home world.”
The lighting grid hummed; a faint fan whir cooled the set.
“For both: How do you handle the scrutiny of building a relationship in public, with so much riding on appearances?”
Matt shifted, then lifted her fingertips; three cameras caught the move at once. “My life has never really been private, my audience is just larger now. I have the world watching. So when i do this,” Matt said raising her finger tips to his lips, “everyone takes notice. There will be articles about that before dinner.”
A chorus of hearts scrolled. “He is certainly setting a new standard for V’ren men.”
The control room flagged the moment: top-of-hour replay.
“For Matt: What do you say to those who call your marriage a strategic move rather than a personal one?”
The floor manager held up one finger: last two questions. “That was going to be inevitable no matter who I married, or even if i ever did again.”
“For T’mari: You used the baseball metaphor—swinging for the fences. How much of Matt’s culture have you already adopted as your own?”
A camera settled into a gentle push. “it doesn’t go just one way. I grew up watching different earth media and listening to lots of non-human music. We have been sharing a lot. he learns our sagas as readily as i am learning Gilbert and Sullivan. Baseball, though, is a big part of freehold life and i am taken with the passion people play it and the fan’s enjoy it. In a few weeks I am looking forward to seeing some professional games in person.”
Doug let the moment breathe. Ninety minutes had passed before he finally wrapped the live Q&A. He extended his hand across the desk. “I want to thank you, Matt. It means a lot that you chose me for this.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Matt said, his tone genuine. “We’ll hit you up in Chicago for a follow-up and the return leg of our trip.”
The cameras went dark. The red tally lights faded.
Off-air, Doug leaned closer. “Where else are you headed?”
“Near term?” Matt leaned back, smile thin but real. “We’re headed to Estes Park for the night, maybe tomorrow. She’s never seen snow. And I want to make a stop at Wounded Knee before we hit the Theresa Rodriguez quinceañera.”
The studio staff began dismantling cables, pulling down the overlays, replacing the stage with the next commercial set. Camera rigs rolled back into storage, the harsh white lights dimmed, and a janitor swept in as if nothing monumental had been spoken. The interview was over, but the weight of it would carry far beyond the bland walls of Samsung-Hyundai’s Denver complex.
