“Lord Marmaduke, Priya Shen—Wired.”
“I know who you are,” Matt said with a grin. “Longtime fan. You’re a tech girlie who can write and doesn’t have to lean on her pretty face. I wish you were sticking around long enough to meet T’mari. I gave her some of your work—she hopes you ask for an interview.”
He waved down a server and handed her a red tiki mug.
“Skip the wine. Try this.”
She sipped.
“That is out of this world.”
“Phrase hits different now, doesn’t it?” he said, grabbing a samosa.
“It does. So here’s my question. From the outside, the Freehold runs on next-gen systems. Grids that don’t brown out. Farms that yield like clockwork. Translators that make twelve languages sound native.
Some say it’s alien tech reverse-engineered. Others say it’s just better logistics.
So which is it? Are we seeing post-collapse innovation—or post-contact adaptation?”
“One of these days, I’ll even get the trains to run on time.”
Matt paused, letting the room settle before continuing.
“We have power because no one else wanted to invest in the grid. By the 2070s, it was obvious the locals had to take over. My predecessors started buying up everything—hydro dams, substations, fuel reserves. When the system started failing, coast to coast, they asked us to fix it at our own expense… and then hand it back.
I’ve read the transcript where my many times over great-grandfather told them no. His profanity was… a thing of beauty.”
“We’ve always planned to eat well. Two seed vaults. Century-scale crop rotation. And we plan to sell three times more than we know we can—because all that surplus corn? Makes world-class bourbon.
As for your question? It’s both. We’re not reverse-engineering alien tech—we’re forming partnerships with the V’ren.
I speak V’ren about as well as I speak Dutch and Bisaya. I grew up with all three. What’s truly next-gen isn’t their hardware—it’s the neural interface. That’s what let me speak it fluently in under a week.
The real leap forward isn’t technological. It’s relational. It’s trust.”
“And our supply chain? It’s not just smart. It’s obsessive. Twenty years ago, I had a partial stake in two freight haulers. Now, we run the Memphis–Columbia route a hundred times a day minimum. That was as many as the total round-trip loads each month in 2420.
Peak season? That number now hits three hundred.
And we bring as much north as we take south.”
On Power, Pain, and Partnership
“If the neural interface is the real leap, is that technology something the Freehold plans to share—or control?” Priya asked.
“There are three issues in play,” Matt said, gesturing for a refill. “First is logistics. I can run lots of small local learning stations—and I plan to—but only because I have access to nearly free, near-limitless power.
You, my tech girlie with the electrical engineering background,” he added with a wink, “already know where this is going.”
“Base 12,” she grinned.
“Exactly. The V’ren use base-12 mathematics for everything. Their electrical systems, signal logic, even heat distribution—all of it. So converting three-phase base-12 systems to work off Earth-standard hardware? It’s an engineering nightmare unless you’re on my grid.”
“That would be… messy,” she said. “Especially if the gear’s drawing V’ren-level power. And I’ve heard rumors—about how painful the interface can be?”
“Think snorting aquarium gravel through an air compressor,” Matt deadpanned. “But if you’re game, stick around a few days. I’ll schedule you for a live course—hands-on, practical interface training.”
“With a course of my choosing?”
“Within reason,” he said. “And no military applications. I’m not filling any human head with warfighting tactics or orbital targeting protocols. We’re already too good at killing each other as it is.”
What We Choose to Call It
Priya raised her glass.
“That actually makes me feel better about your willingness to share. Not worse. And yes—I’ll take you up on the offer.”
Matt’s tone softened.
“We have a functional system. It works. And I’m a practical man—I’ve always valued the folks who clean up messes just as much as the ones who perform surgeries.
Because in a good week, no one needs a surgeon. But every single day, somebody has to take out the trash, fix the pipes, and keep the kids fed.
The V’ren came from a rigid, elegant system that collapsed under pressure. We came from a chaotic, bloated one that collapsed under its own weight.
What we’re building isn’t a hybrid of failures—it’s a workshop of survivors. And out here, survival isn’t the baseline—it’s the starting point for something better.”
“That answer speaks to structure and survival, Lord Marmaduke—but not yet to soul,” Priya replied. “The V’ren brought ceremony, discipline, and centuries of unbroken tradition. You’ve brought a Freehold built on memory, autonomy, and hard-won trust.
When these children you’ve all begun to raise together look back—what do you hope they call what you’ve built?
Civilization?
Family?
Or just a place that didn’t fall apart?”
Matt didn’t hesitate.
“The old United States crumbled—but what didn’t was our Show Me State mindset.
It says: show me what you can do, and I’ll respect you for where you are in your journey—not just where you came from.
I hope these kids remember the good times, the bad times, and everything in between—because it’s the journey that matters, not just the destination.
I think too many people forgot that. That’s how we ended up with three presidents in a row who shouted ‘Make America Great Again’ without knowing how to govern—and without bothering to nominate cabinet heads for the agencies they were tearing apart.
So what do I hope they call this place?
I hope they grow up, have kids here—and call it home.”
