Mérida Showdown: Matthew and T’mari Face Hostility Head On

June 16, 2440 – Mérida, Yucatán

Location: Yucatán Regional Studios

The lights of the Yucatán studio burned warm amber, softer than Denver’s chrome gloss or Mexico City’s polished shine. Outside, Mérida’s evening streets pulsed with music and food vendors. Inside, the set carried a hushed tension. Valeria Coelho leaned forward, her voice smooth, but her eyes sharp.

“Buenas noches. I am Valeria Coelho, here in Mérida with Matthew Marmaduke and T’mari Th’ron Marmaduke of the V’ren. Thank you for joining us.”

The camera panned: Matt, plain suit, posture deceptively relaxed; T’mari, radiant in emerald, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“You’ve been warmly received here in Mexico,” Valeria said. “But diplomacy is easy when you’re feeding people and dancing at quinceañeras. What happens after the good food and warm handshakes? What happens when promises fail?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Sex on the beach,” he said dryly, voice carrying a hint of challenge.

The audience erupted in laughter. Valeria’s smile thinned, but T’mari leaned forward, eyes glittering.

“You said no to that,” she teased, “since there’s no alcohol while I’m pregnant.”

“Your mom’s not,” Matt shot back. “She came here to consult with doctors who wanted a V’ren perspective.”

T’mari turned to the camera, smirk tugging at her lips. “Do you see what I live with?” The crowd roared again.

Valeria waited for the laughter to die, then pressed. “So we laugh. But behind the humor is a very serious problem. Señora Marmaduke, V’ren customs forbid multiple partners. Yet here you sit, pregnant, while rumors swirl about your sister as well. How do you expect people to trust your words on equality when your own household breaks your people’s oldest rules?”

T’mari’s smile faltered. “I am V’ren,” she said carefully. “But I am also here on Earth. Our culture must change to survive, and sometimes change begins at home. My sister and I both love Matthew. That is not politics. That is family.”

Valeria pounced. “Convenient answer. And yet—do you expect Mexicans to believe that sharing a husband is liberation, not exploitation?”

Matt’s eyes hardened. “Do you expect your viewers to believe you’re asking these questions out of concern for women, or out of the network’s need for controversy?”

A ripple moved through the studio. Valeria didn’t blink. “Let’s talk health, then. In Yucatán we face a malaria strain that resists every treatment. Dr. Th’ronn was rushed here yesterday. Are Mexicans supposed to feel grateful that the V’ren might help us—if we call the right cousin of the right cousin?”

Matt leaned in, voice edged like steel. “Yes. At the moment, that’s the system. You benefited from it yourself, Valeria. Your producer called her brother, who’s married to a Mizzou alumni officer, who called the head of the Anthropology department—my cousin’s wife. That’s how you got us here tonight. We are building a system to handle requests by urgency and impact. We have 25,000 V’ren in medicine, three times that in science and engineering. It takes time to make order out of chaos.”

“And in the meantime?” Valeria pressed. “Who decides who lives and who dies?”

T’mari bristled, leaning forward. “We do not decide life or death. We decide where we can help first. Do you blame a doctor for not treating every patient in the world at once?”

Valeria smiled coldly. “When that doctor controls technology light-years beyond Earth’s capacity? Yes, perhaps I do.”

The room chilled.

Matt chuckled softly, breaking the silence. “Besides the obvious—don’t get bit? The V’ren have seen malaria analogs before. Treatments are already being tested. Vaccines could be ready for trials in weeks, not years. Predictive modeling reduces timelines from decades to days. That’s progress. That’s action.”

“Will this technology be made freely available?” Valeria snapped.

“Yes and no,” Matt said. “We’ll work with NGOs free of charge. But no—we’re not dumping advanced biotech on the open market. It will be licensed and monitored, the same way Earth corporations license their pharmaceuticals. Equal rules. Equal risks.”

“Which means,” Valeria cut in, voice sharp as a knife, “V’ren political watchdogs embedded in every NGO.”

T’mari’s control finally snapped. “You small-minded, arrogant—”

Matt squeezed her hand, tapping their private code. She froze, trembling with fury.

“Enough,” Matt said, rising with deliberate calm. “We’re done here. Until I decide whether your hostility is yours alone or Canal Trece Nacional’s, this interview is finished as is my support of your network.”

The cameras tracked as he helped T’mari up. Their entourage closed ranks, the broadcast catching the unmistakable image of a man walking away — sovereign, unbent, leaving the studio behind him.