May 22, 2440 – 9:50:00 AM
The field was quiet—just the rustle of breeze, the hum of distant generators, and the faint creak of cooling metal as the alien ramp continued to extend. The sun hung high in the southern sky, casting long shadows northward. Matt stood in one of them, arms folded, boots planted in scorched dirt and flattened stalks, watching.
T’mari adjusted the translator around her neck and steadied her voice. “We apologize for the circumstances. Our descent wasn’t voluntary. We’ll make amends where possible.”
Matt gave her a dry nod. “You missed the house. That’s what counts. The crop? I can replant. That home’s been in my family for over six hundred years.”
“That speaks of history,” K’Rem said, unable to stop himself.
“And pride,” the translator added, its tone almost approving.
T’mari shot him a sideways glare.
Matt raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, an uncle you warned to stay quiet while you did the talking?”
“Uncle,” K’Rem confirmed without shame. “Guilty as charged.”
A small ripple of laughter passed between them. The air shifted; postures eased. They weren’t just aliens and farmers anymore, they were people, tired, stressed, and trying to make it work.
“We mean no harm,” K’Rem continued. “Our original destination is lost. What remains of our fleet is under the command of her other uncle, W’ren Th’ron. On their behalf, and ours, we request refuge. Peacefully and respectfully.”
Matt didn’t flinch, but something in his eyes changed. His boots shifted in the crushed earth, decision made.
“You’ve got it,” he said. “Everything under my charter, Saline County and a bit beyond. I’ll negotiate with others if needed.”
K’Rem bowed slightly. “We thank you.”
T’mari glanced back toward the larger group behind her. “Medical space will be needed. We have supplies and personnel, but not enough room.”
Matt nodded. “We’ve got that handled.”
Then his gaze settled directly on her. “There’s another thing. We need a single point of contact, someone who’ll tell us the truth, not just what we want to hear. I’d like that to be you.”
T’mari blinked, caught off guard. For a heartbeat, she weighed him—the steadiness in his voice, the unforced authority, the farmer’s stubborn practicality under the formality.
“Then I accept,” she said at last.
“Good.” He nodded once, sharply. “Welcome to Missouri and the Marmaduke Freehold, Madam Ambassador.”
Without waiting for ceremony, he turned and strode back toward his truck, already calling for Dave to start organizing crews. Behind him, the ramp loomed, the V’ren delegation watching as Missouri’s newest alliance shifted from words to work on a long to-do list.
