June 7, 2440 9:15 AM
Matthew Marmaduke opened in Japanese.
Not ceremonial Japanese.
Not translated Japanese.
Fluent Japanese, fast enough for humor, comfortable enough for interruption, and familiar enough that the room immediately stopped treating him like a visiting foreign dignitary speaking through someone else’s culture.
The Mayor had expected that reaction.
The screen behind them read:
**TOKYO AND FIRST CONTACT: WORK, LANGUAGE, FAMILY, COMMERCE**
Tokyo government occupied one section of the central floor.
Businesses occupied another.
Each company represented itself.
No national ministries.
No foreign delegations.
No other governments.
The public audience included workers, students, families, neighborhood representatives, labor organizations, and press.
The Mayor began.
“Tokyo is not providing Mr. Marmaduke with five hundred employees.”
That killed one headline.
“No company here has been instructed to surrender workers.”
Another.
“No resident is being encouraged by Tokyo government to leave.”
Then she smiled.
“Mr. Marmaduke, however, wants five hundred new settlement candidates today.”
Matt switched on his microphone.
“At least.”
The Mayor looked at him.
“We negotiated five hundred.”
“I remember.”
The room laughed.
She sat.
Matt looked toward the audience.
“I was told to explain the town before the job.”
The Mayor nodded.
“Correct.”
“So imagine it is three years from now.”
The room quieted.
“You live in a town where about eight people in ten are V’ren.”
He paused.
“The humans are not all Japanese.”
“They came from everywhere.”
“Some from Tokyo.”
“Some from Manila.”
“Some from Nairobi.”
“Some from Germany.”
“Some from Mexico.”
“Some from Missouri.”
“Some from places I have not recruited yet.”
He smiled.
“You go to work.”
“Maybe you work retail with two V’ren and another human from Brazil.”
“Maybe your supervisor is V’ren.”
“Maybe you are the supervisor.”
“You spend ten minutes complaining about the same rude customer.”
Laughter.
“After work you play darts.”
“You go drinking at the izakaya another couple opened.”
“You walk through the park eating ice cream from a shop run by some other family.”
“Your kids disappear to play with V’ren kids.”
“You watch movies.”
“You argue about which movies are terrible.”
T’mari spoke into her microphone.
“This appears universal.”
Laughter.
Matt continued.
“You date.”
“Some of you marry.”
That got another laugh.
“My last report counted more than one thousand registered human-V’ren couples in the immediate area around my home.”
The press section erupted.
Matt waited.
“People meet.”
He shrugged.
“That is not a government program.”
More laughter.
“That is the point.”
“These are supposed to become normal towns.”
“Not exhibits.”
“Not research stations.”
“Not temporary camps.”
“Towns.”
Then his tone changed.
“To make a town, I need a lot of ordinary workers.”
He looked toward the business tables.
“The V’ren fleet has a labor-distribution problem.”
“Not a competence problem.”
“A distribution problem.”
“For every V’ren professional, there are roughly two and a half V’ren who fit the broad ordinary-work category.”
He let that sit.
“A functioning town needs more like ten to twenty.”
There was quiet movement through the room.
“For every doctor, engineer, accountant, office manager or specialist, you need a lot more people making the rest of life function.”
“Retail.”
“Food service.”
“Customer service.”
“Cleaning.”
“Maintenance.”
“Warehousing.”
“Receiving.”
“Driving.”
“Stocking.”
“Childcare.”
“Restaurants.”
“Coffee.”
He smiled.
“Yes, coffee.”
A few people laughed.
“I absolutely need humans to make coffee.”
More laughter.
“Because I think it would be stupidly wasteful to take a V’ren doctor and tell her she is working the espresso machine because nobody else showed up.”
That landed.
“If she is a doctor, I want her treating patients.”
“If he is an engineer, I want him engineering.”
“If she is an accountant, I want her doing accounts.”
“If he is a laboratory technician, I want him in the lab.”
“And if a V’ren was doing the equivalent of retail before they left, I want that person working retail.”
T’mari nodded.
Matt continued.
“They have ordinary workers.”
“They simply do not have enough of them for the towns we are building.”
He looked toward the audience.
“That is where some of you come in.”
Not cultural missionaries.
Not chosen geniuses.
Workers.
“Call centers.”
“Restaurants.”
“Convenience stores.”
“Warehouses.”
“Hotels.”
“Retail.”
“Maintenance.”
“People who can move a pallet.”
The Mayor looked at him.
Matt grinned.
“I waited.”
The room laughed.
“I need people who want to make a town.”
Then he looked toward the younger section.
“And I especially want some of you who just graduated and are currently wondering what the hell happens next.”
That got a different laugh.
“I cannot promise you the exact job your degree trained you for on day one.”
The room quieted.
“I can promise you a job that pays well and treats you with respect.”
“If your profession has an opening, good.”
“If not, you work.”
“You live independently.”
“You learn.”
“You see what happens.”
He looked toward a cluster of students.
“Maybe one of you literature graduates spends a year doing administrative work, falls in love with a V’ren, and the two of you decide the town needs a neo-cafe and manga shop.”
The room broke into laughter.
“Open it.”
He pointed toward another section.
“Maybe one of you biology graduates takes greenhouse work because it is available and discovers you actually love the greenhouses because they are peaceful.”
“Stay there.”
“Maybe the chemistry graduate lands in the hospital lab with three V’ren laboratory technicians.”
He paused.
“And one of them decides you really need to meet his sister.”
The audience erupted.
T’mari slowly turned her head toward him.
Matt answered her in Japanese.
“What?”
She answered in English.
“Nothing.”
The Mayor was laughing.
Matt continued.
“I don’t know what happens.”
“That is the point.”
“I do not believe there is a small group of people born to become important and everybody else is scenery.”
“I think most of us are ordinary people.”
“Sometimes opportunity arrives at the right time.”
“Sometimes we are ready.”
“Sometimes we shine.”
“Sometimes we do not.”
He shrugged.
“There is nothing wrong with having a decent job, going home, eating dinner, and being happy.”
That settled the room.
“Now the numbers.”
The Mayor smiled.
“Finally.”
“Most entry-level settlement jobs start at no less than one thousand Fiat per week.”
Reaction.
“Fifty-two thousand per year.”
The Mayor added, “The global median household income is approximately fifty-six thousand four hundred Fiat.”
Matt nodded.
“One full-time worker is almost there alone.”
“Full benefits.”
“Healthcare is universal throughout my territory already.”
Then he smiled.
“And apparently I have been explaining the housing badly.”
The Mayor said, “Extremely badly.”
Laughter.
“Every settlement has ninety-six studio apartments.”
A voice called, “How big?”
“Ninety square meters.”
The audience reacted immediately.
“With a full kitchen and sleeping loft.”
The Mayor added, “For context, that is larger than many multi-bedroom homes in Tokyo.”
Matt nodded.
“Rent is one dollar per year under the recruitment program.”
Silence.
Then noise.
A reporter called out, “One dollar for the year?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need people more than I need rent.”
That line disappeared into the feeds.
“For families, every settlement also has ninety-six three-bedroom apartments built around a large courtyard.”
“And if you want the big house?”
Matt paused.
“Three hundred eighty square meters.”
The room reacted again.
“Two stories.”
“Six bedrooms.”
“Four bathrooms.”
“Garage.”
“Yard.”
A woman called out, “Why six bedrooms?”
Matt smiled.
“Some of you want children.”
Laughter.
“I would like some of you to have children.”
More.
“I want young couples who want to start families.”
“Families with toddlers.”
“Families with grade-school kids who want another child.”
“Families with teenagers.”
A Tokyo official asked, “Why teenagers?”
Matt looked toward the family seating.
“Because a fifteen-year-old moving there now may have a completely different set of opportunities at twenty-five.”
“V’ren language.”
“Technical apprenticeships.”
“Interface opportunities where appropriate.”
“SDF later if they choose.”
“New universities and programs.”
“New industries.”
“Businesses that do not exist yet.”
He paused.
“The parents may be moving for the job.”
“The teenager may be moving for the next twenty years.”
Someone asked, “How many settlements?”
“By December, approximately one thousand.”
That stopped the room.
The Mayor clarified.
“That means approximately ninety-six thousand ninety-square-meter studios and ninety-six thousand three-bedroom apartments before detached housing is counted.”
Matt nodded.
“Housing is not the bottleneck.”
A young graduate stood.
“Twenty-three. Economics degree. Living with my parents.”
Matt smiled.
“You sound familiar.”
“I have been applying for eight months.”
“Apply today.”
“What job?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The young man frowned.
“That is honest.”
“It is supposed to be.”
“What can you promise?”
“A job.”
“Respectful treatment.”
“At least local minimum.”
“Your own place.”
“Training.”
“And a town where there is a stupid amount of work that has not been assigned to anybody yet.”
The young man smiled.
“That is enough to talk about.”
“Good.”
A restaurant worker stood next.
“What if I do not want to become a manager?”
Matt shrugged.
“Then don’t.”
That surprised people.
“I need restaurant workers too.”
“You do not have to turn every job into a ladder.”
“You can be good at the job you have.”
A warehouse employee asked whether certifications transferred.
“Where safety rules allow it, yes. Where they do not, we retrain.”
A single mother asked whether families had to have two workers.
“No.”
A married couple asked whether they could apply together.
“Yes.”
A woman asked whether another child after relocation changed housing eligibility.
Matt stared for a second.
“No.”
She laughed.
“I mean, would we have space?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Please have your baby.”
The room laughed.
Then came the return question.
“What if Missouri is awful?”
Matt smiled.
“There it is.”
“My normal Freehold recruitment policy is not generous on this.”
A few people laughed already.
“If I pay to move you into one of my Freehold communities, give you the job and the housing, and you decide six months later that Missouri is boring, I am not paying to move you out again.”
The Mayor said, “This program is different.”
“Yes.”
T’mari took the microphone.
“For these V’ren-majority settlements, the V’ren have agreed to fund return relocation for recruited human households when the placement does not work.”
A father asked, “Back to Tokyo?”
“If that is where your household came from, yes.”
“Even if there is no emergency?”
“Yes.”
“We simply decide it was wrong for us?”
“Yes.”
Matt shook his head.
“I think this is excessively generous.”
The room laughed.
T’mari smiled.
“The V’ren want humans willing to live among us.”
The father nodded.
“So my family is not trapped.”
“No,” T’mari said.
The Mayor leaned forward.
“That matters.”
She looked directly toward the public.
“Japan is currently around seven percent unemployment.”
The room quieted again.
“Tokyo is close to eight.”
No euphemism.
“No one in this room should pretend that number does not matter.”
Matt watched her.
“Some Tokyo residents want work and do not have it.”
“Some recent graduates are waiting for their first real opportunity.”
“Some households are delaying family decisions because housing and employment do not align.”
“Some people will find their opportunity here in Tokyo.”
She looked toward Matt.
“Some may choose another one.”
Then back to the audience.
“That is not a failure of loyalty.”
“It is a choice.”
She gestured toward the screen behind them.
“And this meeting is not only about leaving Tokyo.”
“The V’ren language center will be established here.”
“The cultural liaison office will be here.”
“Civilian employment recruiting will continue here.”
“Businesses interested in working with V’ren will have a continuing local connection.”
“SDF recruitment will remain separate.”
She paused.
“First contact occurred in Missouri.”
“Opportunity does not have to remain there.”
That was the Mayor’s line.
Matt smiled.
She saw it.
“Do not look pleased.”
“It was good.”
“I know.”
The final forty-five minutes became recruitment.
Not corporate allocations.
People.
Tokyo government staff handled general information.
Matt’s recruiters handled employment.
V’ren staff handled settlement life, language, household integration, and return relocation.
The first counter appeared.
**62**
Then 91.
A recent graduate.
92.
A married retail worker and restaurant worker.
94.
A family with two grade-school children.
96.
Three call-center employees.
99.
The number rose.
147.
203.
A young couple approached together.
Neither had university degrees.
One worked in a bakery.
The other stocked a convenience store.
They wanted children.
“Apply,” Matt said.
205.
A biology graduate asked about greenhouse work.
Matt happened to be near the station.
“I was serious about that.”
“About biology?”
“About greenhouses being peaceful.”
“Have you worked in one?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I hide in them.”
She laughed.
206.
A chemistry graduate asked a V’ren representative about hospital laboratory placements.
Matt called across the table.
“Ask whether he has a sister.”
T’mari covered her face.
The V’ren man stared at Matt, then answered in Japanese.
“Three.”
The room collapsed.
The chemistry graduate applied anyway.
207.
A literature graduate approached next.
Matt looked at her.
“Manga shop?”
She smiled.
“Bookshop and cafe.”
“Better business model.”
She applied.
208.
The counter climbed.
275.
319.
A family with a toddler and a six-year-old.
322.
A restaurant assistant manager asked whether new residents could open businesses.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Izakaya.”
Matt pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
323.
Someone else asked about an ice cream shop.
“Also exactly.”
324.
A warehouse worker said, “You really need people like me?”
Matt looked confused.
“Yes.”
“Not as a temporary thing?”
“No.”
“You keep saying doctors and engineers.”
“Because I need them doing doctor and engineer work.”
Matt leaned forward.
“I need you doing warehouse work.”
The man stared.
Matt continued.
“A town does not become more sophisticated because everyone has a doctorate.”
The warehouse worker smiled.
“Good.”
He applied.
325.
The number continued.
382.
417.
A family with a fifteen-year-old girl spent twenty minutes talking with education and V’ren language staff.
They applied.
420.
A single father with two sons.
421.
A recent graduate living with her parents.
422.
Two restaurant workers.
424.
At 461, Matt started checking the clock.
T’mari noticed.
“You are counting.”
“Yes.”
“You have thirty minutes.”
“Yes.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
475.
483.
A young couple expecting their first child.
485.
Five retail workers.
490.
A call-center supervisor.
491.
Three new graduates.
494.
Then nothing for nearly a minute.
Matt stared at the counter.
The Mayor looked at him.
“Do not mention eight percent.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I was thinking it.”
T’mari smiled.
“That is improvement.”
A hand went up.
Twenty-four.
University graduate.
Part-time work.
Living with his parents.
He asked in Japanese, “Do I have to know what I want to do?”
Matt answered in Japanese.
“No.”
“Do I need to promise to stay?”
“No.”
“Do I need V’ren language already?”
“No.”
“What do I need?”
“Be willing to work.”
The young man nodded.
“Be willing to learn.”
Another nod.
“And understand that living in an eighty-percent V’ren town will occasionally be strange.”
The young man smiled.
“That is part of why I want to go.”
He applied.
495.
Four more followed quickly.
499.
The room noticed.
Matt looked at the screen.
The Mayor looked at Matt.
T’mari looked at both of them.
A woman stood near the aisle.
Thirty-two.
Customer service.
Her husband worked restaurant supply.
Two daughters, five and eight.
They had discussed a third child and decided there was nowhere to put one.
She asked about the three-bedroom apartment.
“Yes.”
“Dollar a year?”
“Yes.”
“Healthcare?”
“Universal.”
“If my husband gets a different placement?”
“We try to place households together.”
“If it goes badly?”
T’mari answered.
“The V’ren pay to bring you home.”
The woman looked toward her husband.
He nodded.
She looked back.
“We want to apply.”
The screen changed.
**500**
The room applauded.
Matt leaned back.
The Mayor smiled.
T’mari clapped.
Matt looked at the number.
“Good.”
The Mayor stared at him.
“That is all?”
“I asked for five hundred.”
“You got five hundred.”
“Candidates.”
“Yes.”
“Now I have to hire them.”
The room laughed.
Then the counter moved again.
503.
509.
518.
Matt smiled.
The Mayor shook her head.
“You are going to watch that for the rest of the meeting.”
“Yes.”
By the end of the two-and-a-half-hour session, the number had passed six hundred.
The Mayor did not close on the number.
She closed on what remained after Matt left.
The V’ren language center.
The cultural liaison office.
Ongoing civilian recruitment.
Separate continuing SDF recruitment.
A permanent local route for Tokyo businesses dealing with V’ren.
And hundreds of Tokyo residents now considering whether one of the new V’ren-majority towns might be somewhere they wanted to build a life.
When the formal session ended, the Mayor came around the table.
Matt was looking toward the recruitment area.
A Japanese family was examining the courtyard-apartment plans with a V’ren woman.
Two graduates were talking to a V’ren engineer.
A warehouse worker was comparing job descriptions with two V’ren men.
A restaurant employee was arguing with someone about what made an izakaya authentic.
A little boy was showing a V’ren child something on his phone.
The Mayor stopped beside Matt.
“You got your five hundred.”
“More than six hundred.”
“You know what I mean.”
Matt nodded toward the crowd.
“That is what I meant.”
She followed his gaze.
“The applications?”
“No.”
“The town.”
She looked again.
People talking.
People laughing.
People trying to understand floor plans.
People exchanging contact information.
A V’ren man attempting Japanese.
A Tokyo woman correcting him.
A child tugging on her father’s sleeve.
Matt smiled.
“They just haven’t moved there yet.”
The Mayor looked at him.
“That was considerably better than pallets.”
“I still need the pallets moved.”
“I know.”
T’mari joined them.
The Mayor said, “Dinner tonight?”
“Ikejiri?”
“Yes.”
“You are inviting yourself to my house again.”
“I know where it is.”
T’mari smiled.
“I would like to see the kitchen.”
Matt sighed.
“You have poisoned her against me.”
“The cabinet hangs crooked.”
“It closes.”
“It should do both.”
Matt switched to Japanese.
“You are insufferable.”
The Mayor answered in Japanese.
“And you got the contract.”
Matt laughed.
“That was years ago.”
“And you are still bringing me infrastructure problems.”
She looked toward the recruitment tables.
“This one is more interesting.”
T’mari slipped her arm through Matt’s.
The Mayor started toward the waiting press.
Then looked back.
“After dinner, the izakaya near your house?”
Matt nodded.
“Which one?”
“The little one around the corner.”
“Still there?”
“Yes.”
The Mayor smiled.
“Some towns manage to keep useful things.”
Matt looked again at the families, graduates, workers, and V’ren filling the room.
“That is the idea.”
