Date: June 1, 2440 Time: 1:00 PM CST
T’mari and L’tani arrived in Missouri under soft cloud cover and high tension. Matt had been warned that the sisters were different, but he hadn’t been prepared for just how different.
T’mari carried herself with the graceful warmth of a farm girl who could hold her own in any field or boardroom. But her sister—L’tani—was something else entirely. Matt decided that if T’mari was the portrait of rural elegance, then L’tani looked like she belonged on the cover of a 21st-century fashion magazine. Somewhere between Twiggy and Kate Moss, she was rail thin and angular, with striking bone structure and short jet-black hair swept back to reveal the elegant length of her neck—and the subtle, alien point of her ears.
He wasn’t sure why, or if it was even a good thing, but both sisters stirred something in him he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager—a sudden, restless awareness that made the air between them feel warmer and the space in the room feel smaller. To be fair, their mother had the same effect in a more mature way, but this was sharper, more immediate, and impossible to ignore.
When T’mari introduced her sister—“This is my sister, L’Tani of House T’all. Medical Officer Trainee”—there was pride in her voice, calm and clear.
Matt answered in full formality and to the surprise of both of them in formal V’ren, “Greetings, L’tani. I am Matthew of the Houses Boone and Marmaduke. Your mother and sister have spoken highly of you. Welcome to my home. May I show you to your quarters?”
“It is an honor to be granted a place within your household,” L’Tani replied with precision and dignity. “Though young, I am well trained and will endeavor to be of service.”
She delivered the words perfectly, and Matt gave a nod of genuine respect. “As part of the cultural exchange, I’ve asked a few of our young, fashionable women to help your sister find suitable Earth attire. May I extend the offer to you as well?”
“She will be happy to accept,” T’mari said quickly, answering before L’Tani could refuse. She had blundered once herself yesterday. More importantly, L’tani could not be left alone right now—her grief was too great.
Matt led them to the upper floors by way of a relic—a brass cage elevator installed by a distant relative who once tried to turn the mansion into a hotel and conference center. The gears groaned softly, their sound resonating in the narrow shaft. The burnished metal still gleamed in places, though the edges were softened by three and a half centuries of hands.
L’Tani’s gaze tracked every detail as the gate slid closed. “This… is transport? Not stairs?”
“It’s an elevator,” Matt replied. “Old model. Over a hundred and fifty years in service.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why keep it? Surely you could replace it with something more efficient.”
He smiled faintly, one hand resting on the worn brass handle. “Because it still works. And because it belonged to someone who thought this house should keep reaching upward. I don’t replace things just because they’re old. Legacy matters. Sometimes the value is in the story, not the speed.”
T’mari caught the undercurrent in his tone. It was the same one she’d heard when he spoke of family, land, or a well-worn tool—things that outlasted fashion and kept their worth in quiet ways.
The room he opened for L’tani was warm, rustic, and rich in texture. Earth tones in blue and brown. Mission-style furniture, heavy and hand-hewn. It was a space that invited presence.
L’Tani hesitated in the doorway. “Are you certain someone as minor as myself deserves such comfort?”
Matt smiled. “I’m sure. This room was mine, once. I decorated it myself. I hope it suits you.”
He handed her a smart key disguised as an ornate brass antique. “If you need anything, I’m at the end of the hall.” Then he left them.
L’Tani ran her hand along the old wood. “These quarters are…” she began, then faltered.
“I know,” T’mari said. “I felt the same. Mine were once his sister’s. I’ll show you later. What I want to know is why he tortured himself in the interface to learn V’ren that well, that quickly.”
“These were his?” L’Tani asked, ignoring her sister, running her fingers over the textured grain from something that could only have been hand-crafted. She traced the edge of the down comforter and wondered, unbidden, what it might be like to wrap herself around him beneath it.
The thought was sudden, almost physical—warmth, weight, the steady rhythm of a living chest—and it struck her with the same speed as the memory it replaced.
K’pel’s face in the dim emergency light. O’tuk’s hand on her arm.
The way the air had thinned to nothing in less than a breath.
The silence—total, crushing—broken only by the sharp pop of a bulkhead tearing apart.
And then, nothing but the cold.
Her jaw tightened. Her fingers stayed curled in the fabric longer than the moment required.
T’mari noticed, but didn’t press. Prying it open now would do nothing but spill the grief across the room. Instead, she kept her tone easy, as though she hadn’t seen the shift in her sister’s eyes. “His alone,” she said. “He grew up here. His family line runs deep.”
“He must be of noble blood.”
T’mari gave a small smile. “That’s complicated. He’s descended from at least one folk hero, and locally, he’s treated like a lord. But outside this region? His name doesn’t buy much. He doesn’t seem to care.”
“To be both noble and legendary is the mark of myth among our people.”
“Exactly,” T’mari replied. “And I don’t think even he knows which role he’s playing—or if he wants to.”
L’Tani moved to the window. “How difficult is this language to master?”
“Fluency takes a lifetime. But the neural interface can give you a working grasp in hours.”
“I’ll need it. I’m expected to report regularly to W’ren, now that my studies have been interrupted. Your assistance was noted as essential.”
“You could just ask these people what he wants to know,” T’mari offered.
L’Tani folded her arms. “Most lack medical training. When would I even talk to them?”
“Don’t underestimate them. I’ve built an interface that links their global data systems to our translators. I’ve already filtered for academic and peer-reviewed sources.”
“So their science is flawed?”
“Some. But their best work is excellent. You’ll learn to separate signal from noise.”
“When is the interface available?”
“Ten units are being built and tested. They’ll be here by nightfall.”
What neither of them knew then was that their arrival had already triggered waves far beyond the walls of the house. At that very moment, corporate war rooms and intelligence networks were abuzz.
In a glass-and-steel boardroom, Amazon’s executive core reviewed new orbital data. General Leonard Wood briefed them like a man with too much clarity to bother with pretense. Marmaduke was now seen as a pivot point—dangerous, unaligned, capable. He was trading in loyalty, not profit.
And they were beginning to realize: he wasn’t playing their game. He was building his own.
The sisters hadn’t just arrived at his home. They’d arrived at the center of a turning world.
