May 22, 2440 – 9:45:00 AM
“About damned time,” Dave murmured as the ship’s hatch split open and the ramp unfolded, laying down thick pylons that sank deep into the soil with the click-clack of honest mechanical components with the shufting sound of hydraulic braces that both men could appreciate. Dave appreciated this far more than he had with Matt and Carlos winning eleven books that last hand of spades.
Matt didn’t answer.
The metal mountain had set there for forty-five minutes and he was sure they were staring back at him as much as he was staring at them. The thick sticky air that hadn’t given him enough rain recently could be seen rising around the hull until it over saturated and bled away in clouds of steam. At least the ship had put out the small fires dozens of small fires that had started around it, but he hoped to God it was water they were using. His people depended on that ground water.
Everything save for the creaking of the cooling ship had gone silent, too silent for the likes of a country boy. No birds. No bugs. No wind. Like the land itself was holding its breath.
“That’s… not the back forty,” Dave said flatly, shading his eyes. “That’s the back four hundred.”
Matt exhaled. “There goes wheat, corn, and pasture.”
The ship had flattened close to two hundred acres of productive ground—enough for twenty thousand bushels of corn and fifteen thousand of wheat in a good year. Less to move, less to trade, but he had a spaceship now. Someone would probably pay him to pose in front of it with bourbon in one hand and a flag in the other.
“At least they missed the wheat,” Dave said, flicking a hand to the fields across the road that were nearly ready to harvest. “But you’ve got maybe three hundred acres across the road that’s going to be shady forevermore.”
“We’ll know this afternoon,” Matt replied, scanning the ship’s profile through binoculars, measuring angles, sunlight, runoff. “Could be worse. Could’ve landed on the root cellar.”
Matt scanned back to the south and wondered what sort of stresses were being applied to the ‘root cellar’ the affection name his great-grandfather Dale Wallace had given the massive underground structure he built to replace the collapsed salt dome. It was nearly as big as the house’s 150×450 footprint and went much deeper than even the three level hotel garage that was part of the 2020’s hotel addition.
Dave glanced at him. “Do you even know how to fail?”
“Tried it once. Don’t recommend.”
“I gotta know, what does defeat taste like to the great Matt Marmaduke?”
“Bubblegum soju puke,” Matt said evenly. “The kind you taste when your baby sister calls from the hospital because Mom’s had a stroke and she’s alone. I was supposed to be on a grand tour to forget finding my father with a shotgun in his mouth, but I was drunk outside a 7-Eleven and missed the last train, when I got that call.”
Dave was quiet. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for her.”
“Not your job. It was mine, and I failed it,” Matt said, lowering the binoculars. “You had your own family to deal with.”
“I was in love with her. I should have been there anyway.”
“Enough,” Matt said. “Annette is gone. We’ll toast her later.”
He turned toward the ramp. “And hand that dollar back. These are green-skinned aliens.”
Dave didn’t move. “No,” he whispered, hand dropping from his brow as he stared at the figure stepping into the light. “She’s beautiful.”
Matt couldn’t argue. By human standards, she looked mid-twenties, strong posture, calm eyes, a complexion like dew-kissed spring grass. Broad-shouldered, full-hipped, solid on her feet.
It was the first time in nearly twenty-years such thoughts had entered his head about a stranger.
Behind him, Amelia muttered just loud enough to carry, “Jesus Christ. A spaceship lands in the back field, and the menfolk lose higher brain function the second some grass colored tart clad in samite walks down the ramp. Next thing you know he is going proclaim himself King of the aliens after undergoing some farcical space ritual.”
Matt didn’t look back. Dave didn’t even blink. Her best Monty Python references wasted.
“I swear to God,” she added, “every man on this planet thinks with his goddamn balls.”
Camila snorted. Emily nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Matt stepped out of the truck and strutted, boots biting into the dirt. He’d faced dissidents, corporate bureaucrats, and more than once, a feral tiger that didn’t care it was supposed to stay on the other side of the river. None of that felt as strange as this. At least that is how Amelia would make sure the historians told the story.
It was completely alien. And yet, it all still felt… like home.
The aliens stopped about ten feet away. Both sides waited, measuring each other. Matt stepped forward again, planting his boots in the soft Missouri dirt.
“Welcome to Earth,” he said. “I’m Matthew Jonathan Boone Marmaduke, the local freeholder. On behalf of myself and the Amazon Corporation, which controls most of the surrounding land that doesn’t belong to me or my family, I need to ask your intentions.”
A pause followed, brief, not awkward.
“I am Junior Communications Officer T’mari,” she replied in clear, careful English. “I have followed Earth’s media for many years and studied your primary language.”
Matt’s tone softened. “Your words are clear, Officer T’mari. And your effort is appreciated.”
Her shoulders eased.
“We apologize for the method of our arrival,” she continued. “It was out of our control. If our landing has caused any damage or disruption, we will work to make amends.”
Matt didn’t misunderstand the words the translator said, but listened and replayed the words that came out of her mouth again to the point she thought it didn’t work.
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?”
