Date: 6/3/2440 Time: 4:55 AM CST
“Thank you for coming with me this morning,” Matt said as T’mari entered the kitchen at not yet 5:00 AM. If she’d gone straight to sleep after he dropped her at her door, she’d gotten maybe five hours—a short rest for a V’ren, perhaps, but damned little for his forty-two-year-old human body.
“I would have done this the morning you arrived, as is my custom,” he added, loading a second saddlebag and adjusting it across his shoulder. “But I was busy. I never want to be rushed when I do this.”
“It is my honor to serve, Matthew—High Lord of the V’ren,” she replied, still in awe.
“This morning, if never again, I’m just Matt,” he said, leading her through the mudroom into the night.
The sky was still black as the barn lights flickered on, catching dust in pale beams. Matt stood beside the saddle rack, sleeves rolled, coffee thermos steaming in one hand.
“Alright, Matt,” she said, since it had been a direct request.
“Well, that was easy. As a High Lord, could I order you not to rush off back to space?”
“You could, and I would obey. But as much as I don’t want to go, I need to brief W’ren—and do it in person before he arrives. He needs to believe the way K’rem and I do in you.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t—because you’re right. It isn’t just him, it’s the remaining six captains, too.”
“This is your horse barn. I’ve seen people riding. It looks fun.”
“Yes. I enjoy it when I don’t have to be anywhere fast. I was told the V’ren no longer keep large animals. But in the ancient past, you rode them into battle.”
“We did… but that was thousands of years ago. I doubt any of our war beasts survive.”
“These,” Shelia Carson said, leading two saddled horses forward, “have never seen war. God willing, they never will.”
“Amen to that,” Matt nodded. “I figure ninety minutes there, twice that on the way back. I want to show her a few sights along the way. Expect us in the early afternoon. She’s heading back to space later tonight. I wanted to show her this before she goes.”
“That’s a long ride for someone who’s never done it before,” Shelia said, glancing at T’mari with concern.
“I’ll take care of her,” Matt replied, believing this girl was tougher than most gave her credit for.
“I’m putting my faith in Phaethon, not you,” Shelia smirked, handing him the reins. Then, turning to T’mari, she instructed, “Put your foot here, then swing your leg up and over into the saddle.”
As they moved slowly along the trail, Matt asked, “How does it feel?”
“The world looks different from up here,” she said, gazing around. “Can I ask… why did she speak to you like that?”
“That was a mild scolding,” Matt chuckled. “Shelia’s looked after my family’s horses for nearly thirty years. She’s also the one who taught me to ride. We’re old friends.”
“She doesn’t seem much older than you.”
“Six years. She also thinks she earned a lifetime of lecturing rights because I was reckless with her little sister’s feelings when we were eleven.”
“I can’t imagine you being reckless with someone’s feelings,” she said, thinking how deliberate he was in everything he did—even, or especially, in the things that seemed casual.
“To be fair, her sister and I were both eleven and very immature. What’s it like for young V’ren?”
He didn’t know why these women stirred something so visceral in him. He worked daily with brilliant, beautiful, even affectionate women. But in just three days, every V’ren woman—not just the mother and her daughters—left him wanting to surrender, body and mind.
He hoped it wasn’t what his AI therapist would call grief displacement: choosing someone who couldn’t bear his children, and thus honoring the dead by never moving on. Or worse, some other neatly packaged diagnosis.
“In what sense?” she asked, clearly stalling.
“Courtship. Dating. Romance.”
All the things he was desperate to understand—things he would already know if she were human. But she wasn’t, and he felt like a teenager again: overwhelmed, aching, and barely able to think with his big head, as his mother would have said.
“It depends on class. There’s no law against marrying outside one’s station, but it’s discouraged. We don’t date like you do. We bond only once genetic compatibility is confirmed. For women like me, that can take half a lifetime to find.”
“Compatible how?” Matt asked curiously.
“That’s more my mother’s or sister’s expertise. I know enough not to overstep. And… your vast knowledge intimidates me. V’ren women specialize. We don’t study broadly. That’s for the men—fatherhood gives them time for wide exploration.”
“You feel intimidated by me?”
“You became a Lord of the V’ren, yet speak to me as an equal. I almost feel like I could scold you and get away with it.”
“You could. If I deserved it, I’d take it. You might even get away with teasing me. But be warned—I tease back.”
“That’s what I find intimidating. No High Lord I’ve ever heard of would allow that.”
“Same with corporate leaders. They might permit teasing in private, but never in public. They live by image.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“It’s not a life worth living,” he said, halting the horses. He turned her toward the horizon. “Look.”
They sat in silence as twilight bled into sunrise, pink and orange against the vast Missouri sky.
“I don’t have words,” she whispered.
“You don’t need them,” Matt replied. “You once said it would be a dream to live in a place like this. I wanted you to breathe freely under an open sky before you return.”
“That’s why we came here?” she asked softly.
“One reason. I wanted to show you yesterday, but since I was not High Lord yet, I couldn’t command the rain,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I hope you’re coming back to me. I’m not interfering with W’ren’s plans for his officers, so I didn’t ask. But if I don’t see you again, I wanted to share this. The other reason is on that hill.” He pointed to a distant rise. “Too steep for vehicles. But horses do fine.”
They rode in companionable silence for another half hour until the trail curved around an ancient Indian mound—now the family’s burial ground. He had pointed out the more public cemetery and the old chapel a mile back.
“Until my mother died, this place was mostly forgotten,” Matt said. “She asked to be buried up here—away from the relatives who disapproved of her.”
“Why did they disapprove?”
“She was a poor foreigner when she married my father. The daughter of a stateless Chinese migrant and a feckless Dutchman. Met my dad at barely 18—he was 40. They were happy, at first. Then she lost several babies. I was her miracle at nearly 47. My sister came three years later. Some blamed her for not giving the House an heir sooner. I still get some of that myself—but human men stay fertile until death. I have time to try again.”
He dismounted, pulled a battery-powered trimmer from his saddlebag, and began clearing weeds from a dozen grave markers.
T’mari stood back, watching in reverent silence. This wasn’t for show. This was real. Once finished, she joined him.
“These are the years they lived?” she asked, converting the numbers to Base-12 in her head. “William Henry Marmaduke—spring 1755 to February 1831? Your founder?”
“Yes. Fought in the War of Independence, and moved here later. Outlived four wives and twenty-one children. His final wife gave him twins, a son and a daughter just before he died. That son put this marker here, though he’s buried elsewhere.”
“Did his son have trouble producing heirs?”
“The opposite. Twenty-one legitimate children. Maybe a hundred others, including those born to his slaves. That’s part of our shame. We owned slaves until 1865. I won’t defend it—but I won’t deny it. We try to live better now.”
“You carry the past closely.”
“It’s how I hold myself accountable. We don’t own people anymore. But some modern corporations… some governments… they aren’t so different. Maybe even worse.”
“Then your people aren’t so different from the rest of the galaxy.”
“Maybe not. But I like to think we’re trying to be better than we were. These last graves matter most.”
He laid flowers.
“My mother.”
Another bouquet.
“My sister.”
She read the markers aloud: Kathryn Linn Marmaduke, Beloved Mother. Died 2417.
Annette Grace Marmaduke, Beloved Sister. Ambulance Pilot. Killed in Action, 2422.
Then he knelt before the last:
Amy Amaterasu Marmaduke, Loved by All. Wife to Matthew. Left the world with twins, Izanagi and Izanami, in 2431.
T’mari froze. Silent. Watching as he lit a small candle.
She had no words. Just awe—and grief by proxy.
She hadn’t expected him to stand so calmly, smiling faintly, settling himself with a breath. “Thank you,” was all she could say.
And somehow, it was enough.
“Can I ask… how it happened?” she asked, wanting to hold this moment forever. The moment the great and powerful let her see his vulnerability. The moment he took her hand and laid himself bare.
“See that bend in the road?”
“Yes.”
“She was seven months along. A storm hit while she was driving—dumped rain, then froze fast. Then the sun came back. She hit a puddle on one wheel, ice on the other. Tried to correct, but rolled the truck. Died on impact. So did the twins. That was nine years ago this past February.”
