June 5, 2440, 9:00 AM CST
Leonard didn’t sit immediately. He stood for a moment, hands on the chair back, gaze hard. When he finally spoke, it was with the quiet intensity of a man cornered by circumstance, not sentiment.
“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or curse your name. You’ve got me and mine all rolled up in this.”
Matt nodded to the seat across from him. “I needed you. And I wasn’t going to allow you to say no.” He let the silence settle a beat. “The question is: will you serve Earth as well as you served Amazon?”
Leonard lowered himself into the chair. “I don’t have any choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Matt said, sipping from a battered ceramic mug with a faded Choose Your Own Adventure cover printed on the side.
Leonard exhaled, then looked off toward the window. “No, I really don’t.”
Matt didn’t push. He just gestured slightly with the mug, turning it so the dog-eared title faced outward. “Every path has a page number,” he said. “We just stop flipping too soon.”
He hesitated. Then: “Are you familiar with neurofibromatosis?”
Matt set the mug down, attentive. “I have heard the term and the root words make it sound terrifying”
“It’s a degenerative nerve condition. Tumors, nerve compression, internal damage. The human teams here flagged Marie’s scan as borderline—nothing urgent. But when Dr. Th’ron took a look, she saw something deeper.”
Matt’s posture shifted. “And?”
“She ran it against the V’ren archives. They’ve seen this before—across multiple species. Mapped out its long-term profiles. Turns out it’s treatable. Not speculative. Not experimental. Real treatment. Proven. And our kids are carriers.”
He paused. “Marie feels fine, mostly. But Th’ron showed us how quickly that can change. It’s manageable—for now. But I’ve read the full treatment path. Without intervention, it gets ugly fast.”
Matt leaned forward. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Leonard said, eyes steady. “Just tell me—will you authorize treatment? As High Lord of the V’ren?”
Matt tapped the comms interface on his wrist. “Dr. Th’ron. I’ve just been informed that Marie Wood has a condition your people can cure.”
Dr. Th’ron’s voice came through calm, precise. “Cure is an oversimplification. But yes—we’ve treated this across multiple lineages. Our data sets are deep, and our success rate is high.”
“And the children?” Matt asked.
“We’ll begin monitoring immediately,” she replied. “With time, we can suppress phenotypical expression and likely eliminate hereditary transmission. It will require access to Earth’s medical records and careful longitudinal work. But it is yes, we can begin tracking and treatment now.”
Matt nodded. “You have full authorization. Pull in any provider you need. Any facility. If Earth’s system bogs you down, I’ll underwrite the work personally. And start identifying others who might benefit from what you know.”
“You honor us, High Lord,” Dr. Th’ron said. “I will inform Marie at once.”
Matt turned back. “You owe me nothing.”
Leonard’s jaw flexed. “You just gave my wife a future.”
For a second, Leonard said nothing. Then he straightened, voice measured. “I’ve spent my whole life organizing force structures for people who wouldn’t lift a finger to protect their own. You gave me more than orders. You gave me a reason.”
“Good. Because I need a military chief of staff. Build what you need—command structure, org chart, briefing protocols. I trust your instincts.”
Leonard gave a slow nod. “You really think this can work?”
Matt glanced out the window. A half-dozen children—human and V’ren—raced across the grass, three dogs tumbling after them in chaotic joy. “I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ve just inherited a million people with no future. And Earth already decided they weren’t its problem.”
Leonard allowed a dry chuckle. “You do have a messiah complex.”
“I’m not trying to be a savior,” Matt said. “Just a bridge.”
Leonard stood. “Then I’ll need office space, full AI access, and staff who don’t need hand-holding.”
“You’ll get it,” Matt said. “Angelina will onboard you with the AI stack. Dave will link you to our logistics net. Pull whoever you trust. But if they’ve ever worn a uniform, loop me in. I may be more paranoid than you—because I’ve cut quiet deals with all the players as a logistics guy, which gives me an insight into who not to trust when it comes to our security.”
Leonard gave a tight nod. “Tomorrow afternoon. First command briefing.”
Matt stood with him. “Over or after lunch? I need to be in Columbia by 1600.”‘ You will find the best IT infrastructure there, but do keep an office here or in Marshal.”
The handshake that followed wasn’t ceremony.
It was the founding of a command.