Date: June 11, 2440 Time: 11:20 AM
T’mari found three notes stuck on the office door.
- Conference 1
- Love You
- Talk about it after the meeting
She smiled, a small flicker of warmth grounding her as she entered. The door wasn’t just unlocked—it was open, and Matt was seated precisely where he could see her the second she walked through it.
Even better, he stood.
“Good morning, love,” he said, brushing a kiss across her cheek and guiding her to the empty chair beside him. Then he sat again, as if he hadn’t just melted decorum with the gesture.
“Really wish we could’ve gotten that picture,” Mariah Wentz said, adjusting her tablet as she looked up from her seat near the screen. “Because, as I was telling the team, we’re starting to get pushback. Some people think the two of you are all for show—that this is some coordinated PR stunt cooked up by the megacorps to make everyone believe the alien threat isn’t real.”
Matt reached without comment, tapped the button on his remote. The door slid shut, and the privacy filters went active, the windows turning silver. Whatever came next wouldn’t leave this room.
“The alien threat is real,” he said quietly. “Just not the ones they assume. Leonard has his people on it. The only threat I’m personally worried about could be here in as little as eight months.” He didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t need to.
The three V’ren in the room—T’mari, S’rala, and Sdal—felt the tension land like a blade on the table. A homeworld response was the nightmare scenario. The corridor to V’ren space had dozens of waystations, outposts, and neutral territories, but none would be able to stand against an armed fleet deployed in response to a newly risen High Lord asserting dominion over an alien world.
Mariah cleared her throat gently. “That said, let’s pivot to optics. We need to shape the public narrative. Not just for the three of you, but for the other prominent pairings. People are starved for something to believe in—and young love still sells.”
“Mall Kerr and Kevin Wood are off-limits,” T’mari said before anyone could float their names.
Angelina smirked. “I already made them aware of that. They’ve got enough attention as it is and won’t be getting any alone time for the next month at least.”
“Do you know of other candidates?” Mariah asked, directing the question toward her. “It’s said you’re tied into all the local gossip channels.”
“Part of the job, part of the entertainment package,” Angelina replied with a grin. “I’ve got a few couples in mind—people who photograph well, speak clean, and aren’t afraid to be sweet on camera. I was going to start with a few human-human pairs, but honestly, that’s not where the interest is. I’ve got better material.”
She flipped her tablet around and tapped into a folder labeled Emerging Pairings – Priority. “Let’s talk human-V’ren first. The most promising is a mechanic named Dalton Reaves—works maintenance on the old river barges out of Booneville. He’s already filed his paperwork with the freehold office to recognize Sala Upon a V’ren physician as his spouse. They’re adorable together—he’s rough-edged, kind-eyed, and about twice her mass, but she bosses him around like it’s a full-time job and he lives for it. They’ve started volunteering for joint language outreach in Booneville—his idea, actually.”
Matt smiled faintly. “Good instincts.”
“Second one’s quieter but just as strong,” Angelina continued. “Paul Simms—he’s one of our surveyors and route planners, and apparently he fell for a V’ren named Jreli while mapping places north of the river. She was handling security and wildlife control for him. She is a former marine who had fallen in love with her rifle as much as with him. They’ve been living out of the same camp trailer for about a week now, and the footage we’ve pulled some of their drone footage has caught the happy couple and their dog.
“That’s already got three narrative angles,” Mariah said, already drafting bullet points. “Practicality, loyalty, and domesticity.”
Angelina nodded. “There’s also a pair of V’ren-V’ren I’m watching closely. Early twenties. Arrived just after the coronation and went through formal mating only three days ago. Names are V’thani and Soran. He has dropped the aristocratic spelling in the formal paperwork they sent in. They’re still glowing like they think nobody can see them. They are working a west county farm.”
“New roots,” Alice said, noting it. “Fresh starts. That’ll resonate.”
“One more,” Angelina added, voice dropping slightly. “There’s a freight dispatcher named Kenny Doyle. He’s a widower—mid-forties, lost his wife to the flu waves two years ago. Not flashy, not fast-moving. But he’s taken up with a V’ren engineer named Eslara. Don’t know much about them, but there are also a few dozen teenage couples. including one rather unexpected one, Kinsey Hart has posted on Instagram a number of pictures with Renn Son, including one someone else caught of them kissing.”
The room was quiet for a beat—touched, not just impressed.
Matt broke out into full-on laughter. “Can’t wait to see MJ’s reaction to that.”
“Let’s follow all four adult couples,” T’mari said firmly. “And tell their stories as they unfold. But no fake edits, no posed fairy tales. If we’re showing love, we show it with the calluses and the quiet breakfasts, too.”
Matt nodded. “Real doesn’t scare me.”
“Same,” said Bonnie, eyes scanning a social heatmap on her tablet. “We’ll see better engagement if we lead with truth.”
Mariah tapped a few keys. “I’ll prep three types of rollout: soft visuals, quotes in local dialect, and shortform video clips. Let’s seed trust before we make the big cultural asks.”
Angelina smiled again. “You picked the right team.”
“We can do interviews,” Alice Nguyen offered. “Long-form. Intimate, but safe. The Global Horizons Interview Series was a popular format we should expand on that.”
Matt let them go a moment, content to listen as his team spun straw into strategy. He rested a hand briefly on T’mari’s knee under the table—a private anchor in the swirl of public management.
“Also,” Angelina added, “we’d be missing the mark if we didn’t include at least a few gay couples from the V’ren side. I’ve got a few profiles flagged. One is partnered already—D’ran Th’ven and J’alen V’sar. D’ran’s has a background as a power systems engineer, and J’alen’s was a civic administrator. They have had a quiet relationship for years, which I am told is not uncommon, but both lost their bonded mates in the attack. They asked me about getting joint housing for them as a couple and their children. There is a total of six kids ages four to fifteen.”
“They’re also popular in Blackwater,” Bonnie added. “They have really pitched when it came to harvest childcare. They are both amateur musicians and have been learning bluegrass. Ron has been going over in the evening with his fiddle. I have also met the oldest daughter, S’kur, she is fifteen and also been quite helpful checking in with the seniors.”
“There’s another,” Angelina continued. “T’veth and S’raan. They’re younger—no kids. Honestly, kind of a V’ren version of a poster couple. One’s a former aerial scout, the other’s a synth musician. They’ve already done a few local performances and interviews. Comfortable on camera, and deeply affectionate without making a show of it.”
“I’ve seen them,” Matt said. “They’ve got great presence, even if they are playing on Thomas’s baseball team.”
“We were hoping you wouldn’t hear about,” Angelina agreed. “But we’re going to need to approach them with care. No exploitation. No framing them as ‘the gay V’ren couple.’ We let them tell their story, their way.”
“Build trust,” Alice said. “Then amplify.”
T’mari gave a thoughtful nod. “Visibility will matter. Not for shock value—but for the V’ren still hiding what they are. Or afraid to claim it publicly. Let them see honor isn’t only for one shape of life. There are a lot of V’ren men who have had to keep quiet or felt they should because they wanted kids.”
Matt nodded again, scanning the room.
Julia Vallejo, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. “We’ve got a half dozen interviews scheduled this afternoon. Mostly soft profiles—community builders, volunteers, people with bridge stories. I’ll sit in on the first few, then hand off to Alice and Sdal for the final round.”
Mariah nodded. “And before dinner, I’ll be meeting with several of the prominent V’ren in Matt’s circle—those already helping with cultural integration or visibility. We’re pulling them into the professional tier of our social media operations. Clear lanes, consistent messaging, and scheduled content drops. No surprises.”
“Good,” Matt said, standing to stretch slightly and let the room reset itself. He gave T’mari’s shoulder a light squeeze before scanning the room. “I’ll see some of you back here for dinner. Tomorrow afternoon we head for Denver, so I’ll meet with this team once more before we leave—tight briefing only. No fluff.”
He smiled. “That means you’ve got until then to finalize your favorites, polish your pitches, and get everyone camera-ready.”
“Challenge accepted,” Bonnie grinned.
“Just don’t let Angelina near the wardrobe files unsupervised,” Alice added, deadpan.
Angelina shrugged with faux innocence. “What? Red is dramatic.”
“Exactly,” Matt said, already halfway to the door. “Let’s not start another color war this week.”
The room broke into soft laughter as the meeting dissolved into task assignments and quiet urgency—storytellers and strategists with a full afternoon ahead.
