Date: June 2, 2440 Time: 5:00 AM CST
“I’ve been curious about your house. It is very different from the others I’ve seen from the road.”
“That’s partly because it’s old and was built in several phases. The first part was a fifty-by-fifty box, three stories tall plus a basement. About thirty years later, when we hit it big in the timber and railroad boom, they expanded it to five times the size by adding two wings. It stayed that way for more than a century with only minor upgrades—until we had one of the banes of my family fortunes take over. He built the pleasure park as a golf course and tried to turn the family home into a conference center, nearly driving us into bankruptcy. That gave us this one-hundred-and-fifty-by-three-hundred-foot monster we have now. That happened just before the 2020 pandemic. Thankfully, his father had put a clause in the freehold contract that said it couldn’t be alienated out of the family—meaning it couldn’t be used as collateral. We would have lost it otherwise.”
Matt opened the truck door for her. He always did that—every woman, every time—not because he thought they needed the help, but because he knew better than to skip it. His mother, sister, Angelina, or half a dozen other women in his life would roast him alive if they found out he didn’t. Still, he was a little disappointed he didn’t get the chance to help this time. Then again, there was something undeniably sexy about a woman who fit his truck—long legs, easy strength, denim doing what denim was made to do.
He kept quiet until he was in his seat, phone in the holder, pressing the start button. Somewhere, an ancestor would probably call him a wuss, a sissy, or “woke” for driving an electric pickup—but he didn’t care. It could outrun, out-haul, and outlast any gas guzzler they ever drove, and the sound system wasn’t even close.
He was glad he’d remembered to turn the volume down when he got out last night, since he had a passenger. Even so, the moment Living Thing kicked in, it filled the cab with just enough funk to set the mood.
“Good morning, sir. What will you have?” Jool Frast asked, her English practiced and clear.
“Your English is good,” Matt said, genuinely pleased—and even more delighted by the V’ren girl using his language. “There should be two coolers already prepped. We’ll also take two breakfast burritos and two coffees—one with double sugar.”
Pulling out of the beverage barn, he tried the first coffee and immediately handed that one to T’mari.
“How did you know how I take my coffee?” she asked.
“I asked Angelina what you liked—or didn’t. Have a burrito,” he said, pulling his from the bag as he flipped on the windshield washers. He was glad for the rain but missed the sunrise—more than that, he missed seeing the look on T’mari’s face as she watched it.
“She also said you have a strange fondness for cheese.”
“I love cheese,” T’mari admitted, a long string trailing from her burrito. “I love this, too.”
“So I can see,” he said, handing her a napkin. “I suppose I’m forgiven for the olive, then.”
“Almost,” she laughed, sipping her coffee. “You weren’t expecting rain?”
“Not until later today, but we need it,” he said, cracking the window an inch to let the cool air in.
“Where are we going first?” she asked, licking the last of the spicy chorizo grease from her fingers. Real meat was rare where she came from, and pungent spice even rarer. She quenched the heat with another sip of still-hot coffee.
“We’ll drive through Arrow Rock—there are a few places you’ll need to know if you’re going to live here. After that, I’ve got to visit the aqua-farms. They sent an overnight message asking me to stop by. Didn’t say why. Then a loop through a few more farms before lunch in Marshall.”
“So did you meet all of Angelina’s family?” Matt asked, easing onto County Road 210.
“Yes, but I didn’t really get to know Floyd or the younger kids. I think Elliot is infatuated with one of Oxana’s young friends. Angelina said their house is nearly as old as yours.”
“It was built by one of my relatives in 1870. That family added onto it over time, then sold it along with the farm. It changed hands a few times over the next hundred years. We bought it back in 2009, and most of the land across the road in the decades after.”
He slowed the truck and eventually stopped completely, setting the brake. “Good morning, Silas. I’ve been meaning to come talk with you.”
“Good morning, then,” Silas replied, tugging his reins.
“If you’re looking to save yourself a few hours, Angelina’s buying anything you’re likely to take to market—and can have anything you need brought to you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Silas said with a nod, disengaging the brake, and flipping the reins. Conversation over.
“He doesn’t look well,” T’mari said quietly.
“Silas Stoltzfus most certainly isn’t well,” Matt said. “He belongs to a sect called the Amish. Fairly closed community. There used to be a lot of them in this region, but that isolation has led to genetic collapse. He was the only son of his father to survive past infancy—out of thirty-seven older sisters and about twenty younger. Most of them unmarried, supported now because my father and I felt charitable.”
T’mari turned, eyebrows raised.
“He and his father both survived because they were born to girls rescued from Memphis—women who didn’t carry the mutation that’s been killing off the boys. Silas is about ten years older than me. No outside wives. They’ve produced over thirty daughters. Not a single son has survived birth. If he dies without a son, the family line ends and the farm reverts to me—along with the care of all the womenfolk.”
Matt shook his head. “I’ve taken over more than twenty farms like that since I became Freeholder thirty years ago. It’s a tragedy every time.”
“Even I understand that much about genetics,” T’mari said. “Do they not?”
“I don’t know. They don’t deny science exists—they just choose not to use it. No medicine, no diagnostics, not even electricity. To them, being Amish is more important than keeping their bloodline alive.” He sighed. “I can’t decide if that’s faith or surrender.”
“Morning, Ray,” Matt said, slowing and rolling down T’mari’s window.
“Morning, Matt,” Ray Hart said, walking up to the truck. “Miss T’mari, good to see you too.”
“You and the boys got this or you need some help? I can send people.”
“I am hardly a boy, Uncle Matt,” ten-year-old Ellen Hart shot back, holding up a t-post.
“If you had some hips or tits, he might not forget,” her twin brother Theo said—forgetting that she who holds the fence post is she who smacks him upside the head with it the moment their father wasn’t looking.
Matt just laughed. “How’s Janie?”
“She sent me with five kids for a job I could have done with one. She’s already excited about new students coming in, like she isn’t eight months pregnant with two toddlers keeping her busy.”
“I’ll let you get back to it then,” Matt chuckled.
“Bye,” T’mari said, waving to the kids.
“We’ll get out up here,” Matt said, climbing back into the truck after latching the gate shut behind them. Before they were halfway up the drive to Chakrobarty Farm, the unmistakable pulse of Bengali EDM rolled downhill to meet them—followed by a pack of barking dogs chasing the well-known truck like it was late to a party. Matt didn’t bother honking. He slowed just enough to lean out the window and shout toward the porch.
“Tell your women to call off the dogs, Rayya—I brought a guest!”
Laughter erupted from somewhere behind the screen door. One of the dogs turned tail and loped back toward the house, likely summoned by a familiar whistle. Matt cut the power and climbed out, going around to open T’mari’s door, raising his voice slightly as he stepped onto the gravel.
“Morning, ladies. Teachers, rebels, and troublemakers alike. If I’d known you were all still here, I’d have worn something worth judging.” A hand waved from the kitchen window. Another called something back in Cebuano. A third voice—Goan-accented and sharp—asked if he remembered to bring bourbon this time.
Matt grinned, reached behind the seat, and extracted a bottle of seven-year-old. “A little early for bourbon for me,” he said, handing it to a twelve-year-old with a mock-serious tone. “Take that to your mother. Unopened, please.”
He turned back to the porch. “I brought someone new to meet you. She’s polite, V’ren, and probably still smarter than all of us put together, so try not to scare her off.” He glanced at T’mari with a quiet grin. “They’ll love you. Or they’ll try to recruit you. Possibly both.”
T’mari wasn’t sure what to make of that last comment. The dark-skinned man with the bright smile looked cheerful enough, but she doubted the top of his head would reach her chin.
“Hello, what have we here? … Welcome, I’m Lando Calrissian. I’m the administrator of this facility. And who might you be?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re as bad as Matt,” the large black woman said in a warm Jamaican accent, giving her smallish husband a hip check. “I’m Kitty—and you must be the Alien Princess we’ve heard so much about,” she said, thoroughly embracing the younger V’ren woman.
“Thank you,” T’mari replied, realizing this was yet another new and very different kind of family dynamic. “I’m T’mari—but I don’t think I’m really a princess, if I understand the title correctly.”
“Well, maybe not. But don’t let him treat you like anything less than one,” Kitty said, pulling Matt into a hug just as firm.
“That’s more than they’ve touched me in two days,” Rayya sighed.
“Dad, you can’t blame our moms just because you got skunked,” fourteen-year-old Jimnah muttered, shaking her head at her father but smiling as she stepped forward and introduced herself to the green-skinned woman.
“Ayaw sila patindoga sa adlaw, buang ka.,” someone called from the kitchen screen in exasperated Cebuano.
“Love you, Journey. Thanks for the invite,” Matt called back, guiding T’mari around lazy dogs, two strategically positioned cats, and half a dozen small kids. He sat her down on the bench by the front door, slipping off his own shoes while one of the aforementioned kids helped with T’mari’s boots. His slippers were right where he left them. He smiled as one of the children carefully wrote her name beside his above the same cubby.
“Sit,” Journey said, gesturing to the adult table where her three co-wives were hard at work on samosas. She lowered her wooden spoon when Matthew pulled out a chair for T’mari. “It’s good to see you again, T’mari. And welcome to our home.”
“Thank you,” T’mari replied, glancing around. This kitchen was different in design from Matt’s private one, but she could tell—by the rhythm of the space and the warmth in the air—that it held just as much joy as his once had, according to Angelina.
“I didn’t realize you’d met,” Matt said, realizing how much he’d missed yesterday.
“Since we haven’t been introduced,” said the thin brown woman with wide, intelligent eyes, “I’m Vijaya.” She handed off a tray of pastries to one of the boys and nodded toward the others.
“This is Arbah, and that’s Hephzibah,” she added, introducing the women kneading dough and working on their own batches.
“We’d shake hands, but—” Hephzibah laughed, lifting her flour-covered fingers.
“I don’t think either of us wants the cleanup. These hands are whiter than I am today,” Arbah laughed flour coating her hands again.
“The two quiet shy ones over there are Claudia and Beulah,” Vijaya added, “with their runner, Fred—who better be coming back with the tray of paneer and the goat.”
“What brings you out to see us?” Arbah asked, brushing flour from her apron as she finished her batch.
“I’ve got work for him,” Matt said, gesturing toward T’mari, “and I wanted to ask if you could have a few thousand samosas ready in two days. You can use the dining hall kitchen.”
“We’ll definitely need it—and about twenty workers,” Vijaya said, already calculating. “All samosas?”
“From you, yes,” Matt nodded, “and something to dip them in. I’ve already got aloo tikki and vada pav coming from other hands.”
“Then we’ll make it happen,” Claudia said, arriving just in time with a plate of piping hot curried goat samosas. Matt gave her a one-armed hug in thanks.
“I’m assuming this is for a big party,” Journey said, managing the stove while overseeing the girls on prep. She sent Fred off with the paneer-filled pastries, smiling as she noted he hadn’t forgotten to offer T’mari a respectful mano po.
“Full on blowout—probably a thousand people including the press. I want your work for the top tier tables. I also want you there in force if he quits smelling bad. We’ve also got, like, seven gators that somehow made it this far upstream—and a few really big snappers.” He nodded toward the house. “I’ve got lechon, tacos, and all the usual stuff to round it out. If the girls”—he gestured with his lips toward another group of kids—“aren’t busy, I could use them running the cotton candy stand down at the park for a few hours. An even bigger crowd is going to be down there.”
“They’ll be happy to,” Kitty laughed, not particularly concerned whether they actually would be happy or not. The kids have been enjoying a little too much downtime anyway. “We’ll bring them all—on one condition. Whatever work you’ve got for Rayya, don’t send him home skunked, this time.”
“Nope. I’ve got a line of manufactured homes arriving first thing tomorrow. I need him leading the electricians on the install.”
As they pulled back onto the road, T’mari said, “I enjoyed them.”
“More than the samosas?” Matt grinned, scanning the road ahead. For a moment he thought she might be watching him—but decided that was probably just wishful thinking.
“I’m just sad I won’t be here for your party. W’ren wants me to brief him in person.”
“I know,” Matt said, his tone shifting slightly. “He told me. That’s part of why I asked you to come with me today. You needed to see more. I wish I could take you to Columbia, but that’s a day trip—and we both have things to do.”
T’mari glanced out the window, quietly considering his words. She wondered if he’d brought her along because he wanted her beside him—or because he needed her to learn. That ambiguity, that blend of duty and emotion, was the part of human communication she still hadn’t learned to read.
“Marshall is much bigger than I imagined after seeing Arrow Rock, Blackwater, and Nelson,” she said.
“Those towns never had more than a few hundred people,” Matt said. “My ancestors owned all of Nelson, Napton, and Wilton even before the Collapse, after most folks packed up and left. At its peak, Marshall had about sixteen thousand, not counting the college kids. Before your people arrived, the entire county didn’t even have that many.”
T’mari nodded slowly, thinking about how lucky they were to land where space was not at a premium.
“What is V’ren like?”
“There’s open space like this,” she said, “but no one’s allowed to live there. We’re restricted to cities or orbit. Chentu, where I was born, is like the Boston-to-Charlotte Sprawl—but denser. More people, less green. I don’t think you’d like it, but… part of me still misses it.”
She looked down, her voice softening. “I miss the good times with my friends as a child.”
Matt didn’t press her for more. He just let the silence ride along with them, steady as the road beneath their wheels.
They rolled into town and straight into the Dine or Die—a converted funeral home turned diner.
“Hey hey, Maurine,” Matt called to his favorite waitress. “Have you met any of the V’ren yet?”
“Yes, but they all came in with respectable people,” she said, pulling two menus out of habit. “I hope you’re not trying to lead this one astray.”
“I should be so lucky,” he laughed.
“I’m Maurine Johnson—and the disreputable man you’re with is my cousin, Darth Landlaird.”
“I’ve met him,” T’mari said with a smile, catching the teasing tone. “I think he’s more Kirk than Sith.”
“Girl, you know Star Trek? We’re going to have to hang out,” Maurine grinned, sliding them into a booth. “He wants coffee to start—how about you?”
“Double sugar for mine,” T’mari replied, already deciding Maurine might be her favorite human of the day.
Matt handed back both menus without looking. “We’re going to do a sampler. Probably need some to-go boxes, too. Give us: a double order of chicken-fried steak—one with mashed potatoes, one with hash browns, poutine, leg and thigh in all three styles, scalloped potatoes, buttery bok choy, cucumbers and onions. And before I forget, half a chocolate and half a coconut cream pie each for Lola and Angelina. Don’t let me leave without them.”
He glanced at T’mari, then back to Maurine. “Since that’ll take a while, bring us a chocolate and a strawberry shake, a bowl of arroz caldo, a bowl of miso, and a Caesar salad to start. Add a hundred to your tip and tell Lily to send me the bill.”
Hours later, as they left, T’mari rolled the window down, hand surfing the air currents. “It was so good, especially the pie. I think I could get fat around here, even if my mother said we have a higher metabolism than you do.”
“So I’ve gathered. I have yet to see a fat V’ren.”
“A few of the high lords and quite a few of the lordly class, but mostly true. Then again, if we had pie like that, it might be a different story.”
“Are you going to be on the tour K’rem is giving me later?”
“I can if you would like me to be,” she said, wondering if this was everyday life here—or just special.
“I think I would. And we can do a late dinner tonight afterward. I’d like to know what you think about all the news that comes in by the end of the day.”
Matt was contemplating whether every day could be like this when Van Morrison came on, singing about how his momma said there would be days like this. Well, Matt’s momma sure the fuck hadn’t mentioned anything about days like this—or the previous two.
