May 22, 2440 – 10:05:00 AM
Matt pressed one more request. “A short media tour would go a long way toward public trust. Perhaps a few of your younger crew could escort my camera team?”
K’Rem smiled. “I believe I know just the ones. M’Rak will see to it.”
T’mari tilted her head and spoke in V’ren. “You’re really going to let civilians on board?”
Her translator didn’t miss a beat, and for a green girl, she flushed surprisingly well.
Matt shrugged. “Trust is a two-way street. If you’d rather keep things tight, we can shoot from the ground and use drone footage. But letting the public see who you are, without armor or distance, sends a stronger message than any press release I’ll have to give later.
“Trust has to start somewhere. So I’m sending three of our kids, and their teacher. They matter to me. Not just because they’re on my payroll, but because they’re part of my life.”
T’mari’s expression shifted, a flicker of realization followed by regret. She dropped to one knee in formal apology. “If you wish to replace me, I understand. I’ve already failed as your cultural liaison.”
“Get up,” Matt chuckled, offering his hand. “I’m no king, and even if I were, you’re too pretty to stay mad at.”
She took his hand, surprised by the warmth in his grip. He noticed for the first time that she smelled good, not perfume, but something clean, warm, instinctively pleasant.
T’mari knew she’d misstepped. She expected the reprimand to come later, from K’Rem, her mother, or both, but Matt didn’t seem offended. At all.
Was that flirting? Maybe even a pass? She wasn’t sure. She’d have to consult one of the Earth romance fans on the ship. Either way, she liked it, and suspected she’d already signaled as much.
“Your concerns are valid,” Matt said, “and so is my point. That’s why I framed it as a request. Maybe you’d like to guide the tour yourself, show them what’s appropriate, and steer them away from what isn’t.”
From a few paces away, M’Rak Y’eslin stepped closer, silent as ever. “Three junior crew are prepped. We’ll control routing and keep them clear of the damaged areas.”
Matt raised both hands in easy agreement. The ship still had wounded, maybe even dead, but he also needed usable footage. If he didn’t get ahead of it, Amazon’s own press team would parachute in by afternoon.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m not here to compromise security. I just want to introduce Missouri to its new neighbors.”
M’Rak nodded once. “We’ll begin outdoors. The hull perimeter is secure.”
Behind Matt, Martin Shah swapped lenses while the teens fumbled with microphones and gimbals, trying hard to look professional. None of them seemed to realize they were about to take a three-mile hike around the ship’s exterior before even stepping inside, on a hot, sticky Missouri day no less.
“Just remember,” Matt called over his shoulder, “this is diplomacy. Don’t flirt. Don’t pet the aliens. And no TikToks until we’ve got final approval.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “You’d think that’d go without saying.”
“You would think,” Matt muttered.
K’Rem gave a low chuckle. “You’re more prepared than I expected, Freeholder Marmaduke.”
Matt shrugged. “I’ve had some strange weeks. But this one’s a new category.”
T’mari glanced at her crew, then stepped closer, offering a small nod to the teens and their teacher. “We’ll be cautious,” she said. “And open.”
“That’s all I ask,” Matt replied, letting himself smile. He’d ask her out later.
Cameras clicked, drones hummed, and the sun burned higher as Missouri and the V’ren took their first measured steps toward each other, on camera, in sunlight, with just enough sarcasm to keep it human.
