“I think the craving for sweet and salty things is universal among pregnant women,” T’sharn said with a faint smile. “Personally, I’ve developed a fondness for chips and salsa.”
K’ten P’lar arrived next, his gait still military. He offered a sharp salute before catching himself and easing into a more relaxed stance.
“Sorry—still adjusting.”
“You’re good,” Matt said, clapping him on the back. “Last guy who saluted me here ended up flipping burgers at the west pool for two weeks. Said it built character. I told him it built better burgers.”
“I’ve already been warned Angelina might assign me kitchen duty for ‘reeducation.’ Not what I envisioned, but I’ve seen worse deployments.”
They laughed—human and V’ren alike—and for a moment, the tension of diplomacy, press scrutiny, and planetary-scale planning gave way to something simpler. Shared work. Shared future.
Kelai Mera, looking cool and composed in a sleeveless utility dress, strolled in with Navan Rell and Drien Corvos a few steps behind. One brow arched, already amused, she greeted the group with her usual understated confidence.
“Is that one of your performance review punishments?”
“Only if it’s done while wearing the foam mascot costume,” Matt replied without missing a beat.
Kelai smirked and handed him a data slate. “Grid updates. Don’t worry, I didn’t encrypt it this time.”
“You spoil me.”
“Trying to,” she said smoothly. “And if you happen to know any charming humans with emotional stability and decent genetics, I’m still accepting co-parenting applications.”
Matt half-choked on a laugh. “I’ll keep my ears open. But maybe—just maybe—you should try talking to men instead of intimidating them.”
He flicked a look over her shoulder, then added, “Speaking of intimidation… I’ve seen your dart accuracy. Since I’m too busy to play this season, how would you feel about filling in for me at shortstop on the Dukes?”
Kelai tilted her head. “Tempting. But wouldn’t I scare most of them off too?”
“They’re all married and too scared of their wives to do more than treat you like one of the guys,” Matt said, grinning.
“Trevor Singh, Columbia Chronicle. Kelai—this is only your fourth day planet-side, but you’ve already made it to two receptions and a team lunch with the hydro engineers. Be honest—what’s been the biggest surprise: Earth food, Earth humor, or the number of humans trying to impress you with both?”
“The food, for sure,” Kelai replied. “We’ve seen your streaming services for years, but the food is new. And it doesn’t matter how many shows you watch—nothing compares to the real thing.”
Navan Rell gave a brief nod of greeting and accepted Matt’s handshake in the human fashion. From his case, he pulled a folded schematic.
“Two more aquifer test zones hit 98% viability. I’ll tag them for future housing development tonight.”
“Perfect,” Matt said. “Now put it away. You’re at a party. We can talk shop tomorrow. That’s an order from your High Lord.”
He turned to Kelai with a mock-stern look. “Same goes for you. No systems diagnostics until the dancing starts.”
“Carmen Vasquez, BuzzCulture LA. Matt—how did this menu come together? I’m hearing you’ve got Lao fish sauce, Sri Lankan pastries, and a hot sauce that made a V’ren officer cry. Who’s curating this madness—and how much of it comes from your kitchen staff versus your guests?”
“Except for some supervision, none of this comes from my kitchen staff,” Matt replied. “All the appetizers floating around up here were made by local community members—which includes a lot of V’ren teenagers. I know of at least one young couple who met while helping make those samosas.”
Drien Corvos brought up the rear, moving with the quiet deliberation of a man who measured his steps in appointments and pathogens. He greeted T’monn first, murmuring a short report with the familiarity of long professional trust, then turned to Matt with a subtle bow.
“Lord Matthew, thank you for the invitation. This is my eldest daughter, Chem. Our apologies—her mother is attending a birth tonight that’s taking longer than expected. I had intended for her to accompany us, as the invitation suggested.”
Matt shifted gears smoothly, offering a warm smile as he extended a hand toward the girl, who looked to be around thirteen.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chem.”
The girl hesitated, then started to kneel in a formal V’ren gesture. “My lord—”
“None of that from you, young lady,” Matt said, gently but firmly. “This is a party, not a receiving line. Tonight, I’m Uncle Matt—at least until you’re old enough to marry, and even then I’ll probably still insist on it.”
Chem blushed in a way that brought out the subtle constellation of freckles across her green skin. Matt grinned, clearly delighted by the effect.
Drien began to murmur another apology, but Matt held up a hand, tone easy.
“Drien, while your daughter stands here trying to figure out if I’m serious, let me clarify something for both of you. We all have duties. Your wife is doing one of the most important right now. And kids—well, they don’t usually do the expected. From the moment of birth… and, apparently, a little before.”
He looked back to Chem. “After you’ve had your fill, I’d be honored if you’d take a plate up to your mother. And one for our newest mother too.”
“Lindsay Brookstone, Stylewatch. Chem, can I ask what it’s like navigating a social debut like this when you’re both new to the Freehold and still kind of young? And Lord Marmaduke, how do you balance moments like this—formal but intimate—without losing the gravity of your role?”
Chem hadn’t expected the question. She glanced to her father, who looked ready to apologize for her, then to Uncle Matt—who wasn’t going to save her. So she took a breath and let it out.
“It’s both exciting and kind of scary,” she said. “I wasn’t supposed to be my dad’s guest, but my mother is delivering a baby. I’ve never worn a dress before. I kind of like how it swirls around me.”
Matt finally took pity. “You look great in it, too,” he said, then added, “I’ve been the Freehold host since I was her age. I wasn’t always good at it.”
They stood like that for a moment—an unlikely group on an unlikely evening. Engineers and medics. Expectant parents. Aliens who had once called him stranger, and now simply called him Matthew.
