The worst thing about Cora Verrill’s office in Village 815 is everything but the office; it’s small and simple and the quality of the view is debatable depending on your preferences vis-a-vis Ultra Jungles. It’s the heat, which is not a dry heat but a very sincerely wet one; it’s the jungle sounds outside that have long since stopped being disquieting and are now merely extremely annoying; it’s feeling like you’re the only one in the village dealing with bra sweat and yes, Cora knows very well that the female Narsai’i soldiers and engineers are probably having the same problem but it’s not like she has time to go to their socials, not when she has to use the limited gate transfer windows to take vox-mediated phone calls from the sales manager in Algiers.

“Pierre,” she sighs, forehead buried in her left hand. “Pierre. Shut up. Shut up. Yes, I told you to shut up, that is what I said. I don’t have time to argue for ten minutes about the damn lobby carpets, okay? I sent you the palette selection, they either pick one of those or they respec the interior colors and add two months to the schedule or they’ll be the tackiest five-star plus on the Med coast. One of those three. Yeah, feel free to quote me. I get it, you don’t want to be the bad guy, just say the American bitch said it first. I don’t know. I don’t know, Pierre, and I don’t care, that’s your job and our expense account, just get them to pick something. Okay? Okay. Yeah, love you, darling. Bye.”

Hang up. Sigh. Understand a little more why the names on the company sign have a bar in their offices.

“Kor-ah?” Hiigra grunts, and Cora jumps a microsecond earlier than she can stop herself from being startled, a quick snap movement of her head that sees her staring at the door to the hallway - and Hiigra standing in said doorway - for an entirely too long moment. “I am sorry for the intrusion. Another difficult call?”
“It is good,” Cora barks, before remembering to add the appropriate gesture that shades “good” into “all right”. “Can I help you, Chief?”
“I just wanted to see how the work goes,” Hiigra says, his fur a calm green tinge as he steps into Cora’s office. “Can I help you?”
Cora’s smile is tired, but genuine. “It is all right,” she barks, gesture on point this time.

Pushing aside her work laptop - company 2FA token does emphatically not work with desk cogitors yet - she taps a few buttons on the projected keyboard of her Bashakra’i-supplied workstation, lighting up the dim office with holos of housing schematics and a preliminary bill of materials and labor that, like any good preliminary bill, is painfully over budget and under spec, but not so bad for a 0.3a draft of inventing a whole new style of Wherren-focused architecture.

“Ceiling is 6 percent lower,” she explains as she highlights the latest revision. “Compensate with more area. Costs 3 percent more, but better defense against…” Cora’s Whirrsign falters for a moment, so she quickly taps the rest of her sentence into the cogitator, whose pleasantly neutral female voice spits out “This design provides superior protection against category three storms.”
“And those are?” Hiigra asks.
“Big storms,” Cora says. “Strong enough to break trees.” She sighs. “It is difficult to build a house without...rules, so I try to make rules, but I don’t know the weather well enough. It is like...like trying to run before I can even crawl. It is a challenge.”
Hiigra nods. “We don't want longhouses falling over. Are there other rules?”
Cora smirks. “On Narsai’i, millions of people spent thousands of years making the rules for houses,” she says. “Many will not apply here, but there is a lot to consider. I know that the rules I set up now will be wrong.” Clearing her throat, she tries to last phrase again. “Sorry, Chief - bad without malice.”
Hiigra nods. “You are doing your best, Cora - and we are very grateful for your help.”
“I need to make sure it is wrong in a harmless way,” Cora says. She looks up at Hiigra and smiles. “And I’m very grateful for the opportunity. This is the most important thing I’ve done. It’s just...difficult. So, Chief, why did you want to see me?”
“Like I said, I wanted to see how your work goes,” Hiigra replies. “You seem to be having troubles, and I want to know what I can do to help.”
“I have everything I need,” Cora says. “But thank you for your offer, Chief.”
“Well, if there is anything I can do,” Hiigra nods, his fur ruffling a wave of green.
“Well,” Cora says, observing the color on Hiigra, “do you...like what you see, so far?”
“Yes!” Hiigra barks, green coming in more strongly. “It is...it looks Wherren. There are the long community areas, space for the whole family to be together in the private areas, and everyone feels connected to each other and the outside.” He kneels down next to Cora - which still puts him over her in her chair. “You are doing good work. I just want you to know that even if your people do not appreciate it, I do.”
“Oh,” Cora says, instinctively moving a bit away from Hiigra, personal space and all - but as he stays there and keeps talking, she inches back to her original position. “...thank you, Chief,” she says, feeling a bit of color rise into her cheeks.

This little moment is immediately interrupted by a flashing red panel on Cora’s vox - a flashing red half of the holodisplay, more accurately. Both Hiigra and Cora turn towards it at the same time, and both decipher the Imperial glyphs simultaneously. Hiigra instantly turns bright red and orange, while the blush drains from Cora’s face in a manner of seconds.

“Oh my God,” Cora whispers as her eyes mist up. “Oh my God.”

---

It’s been a long two days and Cora is staring at the holo again, the kind of stare that’s really focused somewhere past the holo and the wall behind it and really anything she could actually conceivably see; this one’s just five seconds, though, judging by the timestamp from when her eyes flick back to the corner of the holo, but it’s never just the time spent spacing out, it’s the leaning back and the sighing and the pinching the bridge of her nose. The moments where Cora Verrill cannot focus on doing her job, and those moments have been taking up far more of her time than she can spare.

Everything is stable, back home. That’s what they say when the patient’s in a coma on life support, right? Stable. It’s contained. It’s just China. “Just” fucking China. Goddamn, Cora thinks, this isn’t right. But even the best architect in the world can’t fix it, and somehow life goes on, somehow...somehow, whenever she voxes with Mom and Dad, they’re fine, and somehow that (literally) big goof Bert is fine, and everyone she knows is fine, and maybe this whole situation would be easier to deal with if she could just point to how it has hurt her, if she could say, see, this is what it did to me, this is why I feel bad.

It’s the fear. And Cora knows it’s the fear, not of what happened, but what it means can happen next, that feeling of living in a world far more dangerous than she ever knew. All the things Bert and his friends said, the threat hanging over them, Needleships taking the slow crawl through the infinite black to punish their children’s children; all of that is no longer far away, it has arrived on Narsai (even she calls it Narsai now; “Earth” is a stupid name for a planet, anyway) and she has no choice but to live in this world.

Cora sighs, opens a desk drawer. Retrieves a bottle. Brandy, about a hundred dollar bottle of it. Typically, it’s reserved for Friday 5 PM, but the last two days have knocked a significant dent in it. As the only anti-stress item located within Cora’s office, she’s turned to it a few times to try to calm her nerves, and it’s worked to an extent so far. She looks back at the holo, at version 0.5, with the curved windows that have allowed her to optimize the exterior load dispersion and shave an inch off the structural beams. The details that should have taken an afternoon have spanned the last two days, but it’s good. It’s good, and those damn intrusive thoughts of her friends and family being incinerated from orbit have decided she’s done for the day. Fuck it, she thinks, and cracks open the bottle.

No sooner has liquid hit glass than there’s a knock on Cora’s office door. “Ko-rah?” Hiigra asks from the other side. “May I come in?”
“Shit,” Cora hisses, and quickly slides the glass behind a stack of reference books. “Sure thing, Hiigra,” she calls back.
Hiigra slides the door open and takes a seat on the floor a respectful distance away. He’s trying to hide it, but violet and yellow fringe his fur. ”Are you all right, Cora?” he asks.
“Fine, Hiigra, I am fine,” Cora replies. ”Why do you ask?”
”I have smelled that bottle of alcohol you keep in your desk far more frequently over the last two days,” Hiigra says. ”I was walking past and smelled it again, and…I am concerned for you. It has been a hard two days for all of us, but it is my duty as chief to look out for those in my care - and my duty as a Wherren to look out for my friends.”
Cora sighs. Shoulders slumped, she slides the glass back out from cover. “It’s not the most healthy habit, I know, but once I have a bit of daylight in my schedule, I’m going to schedule a call with that GRHDI mental aid line.”
”And when would this clearing happen?” Hiigra asks.
“I - well, soon, I just have to -” Cora starts, but stops as Hiigra stands up and walks forward towards her.

Hiigra towers over her as he reaches past and picks the glass up from the table. He sets it down by the door before returning to the floor, this time at her side. The height difference just about cancels out, and he looks straight across into her eyes. “No work is more important than your health, Cora.” His fur ruffles into a deep violet and yellow wave. ”As your friend, you should take some time for yourself. And as your chief, I am authorizing it. The future can wait a week while you take care of yourself.” He points to the holodisplay. ”I can see your latest version has passed your simulations, and so you are at a perfect spot to take that time. I insist.”
“Hiigra, no, I…” Cora looks back at her holodisplay for a moment, trying to find the strength to protest, but instead she feels tears well up in her eyes. By the time she’s turned back around, she’s pulled herself together enough to keep from crying directly in front of Hiigra.
Hiigra puts a hand on Cora’s…well, hand and wrist. Instead of drawing away, Cora just feels the warmth of his hand burying hers. ”Believe me, I know about wanting to bury yourself in your duties to avoid pain. I was a Wherren possessed after the False Gods ambushed my people in the forest. But once the threat was over…the pain was still there.” He sighs, and the ruffle of violet returns. ”I know what you are going through, Cora. I am here for you if you want to talk, always. Take all the time you need.”
”Thank you, Chief,” Cora says. She stands up, and Hiigra does as well.
”I don’t know if you are comfortable with it,” Hiigra says, ”but would you like a hug -”
Cora immediately goes in and wraps her arms around Hiigra as best she can for a moment before letting go. “That was very inappropriate of me,” she says. ”But thank you, again, Chief.”
”Hiigra, Cora,” Hiigra replies, a bit of green finding its way in amid the violet and yellow. ”You don’t need to be formal with a friend.”

One of the advantages of using a cogitator with a holographic display is that the projection, almost by default, has to actually adjust itself to the environment to be readable. Adaptive contrast and brightness that match the surroundings make for an image that’s less liable to produce eyestrain or headaches, and so it is that these phenomena are almost unheard of in Narana’i “offices”, unless you’re one of those crazy people who just take everything too far.

Exhibit A: Cora Verrill, twelve hours into her workday and taking things too far. She just now realizes she’s out of ibuprofen as the bottle in her desk proves empty. Right, she wanted to pick up a new one at the base exchange...that was somewhere on the to-do list. Somewhere. Cora really needs to take a few minutes and go over it and, like, color-code the action items. Her eyes try to refocus on the projection - just push through it - but after a moment she closes her eyes and leans back and when she does lean back, it’s more like collapsing into her chair and letting out a breath, stiff back, a pain in the neck, a fully-ticked checklist of signs that she’s been at this too long. She stays leaned back for a good few seconds, eyes still closed, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the sounds of jungle life from outside.

She hears her door slide open, but doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that it’s the only other person routinely here this late. ”Hiigra, go home,” Cora grunts.
”You first, Cora,” Hiigra replies, closing the door behind him.
”I’m fine,” Cora says. ”I’m just wrapping up some details.” She opens her eyes and waves the holo back to the overview projection of her proposed Wherren longhouse. ”Unless the council wants more changes, I think this is pretty much it. Shadeable windows, adjustable vents for the hearth and steeper gradients on the plumbing for...impolite reasons. I just need to sanity-check it, and let it render a new projection, and then...then it’s done.” She looks to Hiigra. ”So, what’s keeping you here, at this hour?”
”Negotiations for funding of our first nanoforge plant with Kesh Holdings and Faxom-Io,” Hiigra replies. ”We are trying to see how long before the plant pays the loan off and what we should make to help that happen. I want to focus on Wherren-designed items for our people, but Faxom-Io needs...convincing that people will buy them.” He fluffs up red and orange for a moment. ”As if all Wherren across the galaxy are all poor and incapable of making their own purchases.”
”Oh, those guys,” Cora says. ”If it makes you feel better, they also think Narsai’i like me can’t read their specifications for solar modules. At this point I don’t know who they are actually willing to sell to. It’s a very unique business model, I’ll give them that.” She leans back into her chair. ”So,” she says after a moment, ”did you ever imagine you would spend your day like this?”
”Before the 815 came?” Hiigra asks, and barks a laugh. ”Being a chief before was not too different. I negotiated with the other villages nearby for gathering and hunting grounds, settled disputes, and helped patrol for threats and decide where we should plant next season's crops. And...I dealt with the False Gods, something else that hasn't changed too much. It is just...bigger now. I do the same, but for many villages, and many more False Gods.” He takes a seat in the room's only other chair. ”And you? Did you see yourself where you are now?”
Cora shakes her head. ”Well,” she says, thinking about it. ”Actually, I did think I’d end up as a freelance architect working in a far-away country to build something big. I was just off on how far away and how big.” She chuckles. ”It was either that or get scouted for the WNBA.” After a moment’s thought, she adds, ”The group of women who throw balls into baskets for sport.”
”A game!” Hiigra grunts, color shifting to yellow as he leans forward. ”You could be chosen for a game?”
”Oh yes,” Cora says. ”On Narsai, I perhaps could have become a professional athlete. In the end I chose my studies over getting better at playing. I liked playing basket-ball” - Cora literally strings together ‘basket’ and ‘ball’ sounds into something that might be the right word - ”because it is about skill and quick thinking and teamwork, and when you play you are always moving.”
Hiigra grunts a quick “hmph”. ”Sounds like some of the warrior drills from when I was a cub. One of the elders would carry a basket, and we would have to throw our spears into it as he moved around.” He smirks and turns a slight shade of green. ”I was pretty good at it myself.”

Cora smiles. Leaning back so far that her head is twisted as far as it will go to the right, she stretches an arm towards a cabinet to grab a sheet of paper from the shelf. With a few quick moves, she crumples it up into a ball, eyeballs the trashcan next to the entrance across the room, then pitches the paper ball into the air. The ball smacks against the wall just over the trashcan, from where it bounces onto the rim and then into the can. Satisfied with her work, she turns back to Hiigra.

”Basically that, but three meters off the ground with five other people trying to stop you,” she says.
”Hmph,” Hiigra grunts. He reaches over - noticeably not needing to lean back to grab the same sheet of paper - and crumples it up himself. He leans over for his target - a different trash can in the office across the hall. A quick overhead flick of his wrist, and it sails through the air and straight in the top. He turns back to Cora and simply responds with a green and yellow wave of color.
Cora nods. ”Nice free throw,” she says. ”But you don’t dribble spears, do you?”
”Dribble?” Hiigra asks, fur on his head standing on end.
”I think the barracks have a court set up,” Cora says with a grin. ”I can show you.”
”It’s very late,” Hiigra points out.
”Good, then there’ll be nobody hogging the hoop,” Cora says. ”Come on. You wanted me out of the office, anyway.”
”This is not what I meant,” Hiigra says, standing up anyway. ”I will try to make it quick,” he says with a smile.

Turns out there’s nobody at the barracks to sign out sports equipment at the local equivalent of 3 AM, but that’s fine, Cora brought her own ball. And she shows Hiigra what dribbling is. How to dribble between your legs and while running and why that’s a thing, and then of course she has to show off a sweet dunk and then Hiigra asks where the throwing of the ball into the basket comes in, and then it’s half-court one-on-one for half an hour. What sinks Hiigra - much to his surprise - is Cora’s agility and bursts of speed with the ball. The Wherren chief is used to fast opponents, but trying to track two targets trying to avoid you at the same time is not something that warriors train for. Between trying to block Cora and trying to grab the ball, Hiigra ends up with nothing but air. It’s a hard-fought defeat and Cora’s Narsai’i “Yes!” comes between breaths as she walks past Hiigra, patting him on the back on the way to her water bottle.

”Good game,” she grunts, wiping a bit of sweat off her brow as she unscrews the plastic bottle.
”It is, but a very odd one,” Hiigra replies, his fur weighed down with musk and sweat. ”You will have to teach me the rest so I can beat you next time.”
Cora’s in the middle of taking a swig from the bottle, but nods to that and closes her eyes as she feels cold water running down her throat. The refreshed “Aaaaaah!” sound is artificial, but no less appropriate for it. ”I will, but it’s more fun with a team,” she says, then grins. ”You should ask my brother Hug’sh. He’s played me before.”
”He has not mentioned this,” Hiigra says.
Cora thinks for a moment. ”Well, he used to lose to me a lot, when we were young. It’s probably not his favorite memory.” She sighs. ”If he still remembers it.”
Hiigra’s fur ruffles a bit. ”He does, Cora. He is still your brother.”
”Yes,” she says. More pause for thought. ”And I miss hanging out with him. But we were both so busy with our lives and when we met I...I don’t know. I may have said and done things that made him think that I still see our relationship as a competition. And maybe he thinks I’m here to try to show him up again, and…”

Cora looks to Hiigra.

“Wow,” she says in English, before switching back to Whirrsign. ”Maybe I should talk to him about this.”
Hiigra ruffles his fur again, this time more green than yellow.
”Thank you for coming out here with me,” Cora says, smiling. ”You’re a good listener, Hiigra.”
”I try to be,” Hiigra says, wrapping her in a quick embrace. Cora’s pressed into Hiigra’s heavily musk and sweat laden fur for a moment, but sighs and relaxes instead of resisting. Hiigra almost grooms the top of her head, but remembers human decorum at the last second and rests the side of his muzzle on her head instead. ”Especially for my good friends.”
Cora looks up at Hiigra as the hug ends, their eyes meeting. It might be the late hour or the physical exertion, but both of them miss the pause before she speaks. ”Yeah, friends,” she says.

Suddenly the late hour catches up with Cora, and she raises her non-speaking hand to cover her mouth as she yawns. ”What time is it -” she says, checking her watch, then turns back to Hiigra who’s finishing his own sympathetic yawn. ”Okay,” she says. ”I think I should shower and get some sleep. Thank you for this evening, Hiigra.”
Hiigra’s smile is accompanied by a rush of green and yellow. ”And thank you, Cora.” He quickly tries to mute the pattern somewhat, but doesn’t succeed for long. ”Have a good night.”
”You, too, Hiigra,” Cora says. She pats his hand one more time and smiles up at him, then slowly turns to leave and walks off the court.
Hiigra watches Cora leave, green and yellow fading in and out of his fur. Once she clears the illumination of the court’s lights, he shakes his head. ”Good friends,” he repeats to himself.

It is the thought of G’het’s farewell groom from their latest date last night that has Swims-the-Black’s fur carrying a minty green fringe as he crosses the gateway back to the homeworld and Village 815. The influx into the Village has steadied into a regular flow, and with the humans having established their base just outside the village’s limits with their own gateway, the flow had started to be predominately Wherren. The influx of refugees has gotten to the point where the old Imperium dome that still houses the Village gateway has turned into an impromptu immigration processing station, with a small pathway to the side around the desks and waiting area for those wanting to go straight into the village proper. Swims blinks and shields his eyes from the morning sun, and walks towards the Village administration building where Hug’sh and Rodirr should be waiting for him.

Well, they’re there. If what they’re doing can be described as waiting for him, in particular, well -

“Oh!” Hug’sh grunts, trying to get up from the bench in front of the building. Two things hold him back: one, his growing bulk, and two, Rodirr’s not done grooming and has been through too much shit to just let someone else determine for him when he should stop. So Hug’sh remains seated. “...hello,” he says, looking up at Swims sheepishly.
And now Rodirr’s done, so he looks up at Swims, too. “Had a good night?” he asks.
”We walked in the park after dinner, and sat and talked fusion core design for a good hour and a half,” Swims-the-Black replies. ”It was an ideal fourth date.”
”I’m glad it’s going well,” Hug’sh says. Rodirr’s decent enough to not add his own color commentary. ”So, on to business?” Hug’sh asks.
”Lead the way,” Swims grunts, and motions for Hug’sh and Rodirr.

Hug’sh strains once more - his legs haven’t quite fallen asleep entirely, but it’s still a grunt-worthy effort to rise, though he’s on his feet before Rodirr has to help him up. There’s no denying anymore how much his gut is spilling out over his pants, and let’s not forget that extra helping of dadfat on his back. That hump’s turning more and more eyes these days and has made chairs with backs a no-go. And somebody keeps adding steps to the stairs up to Hug’sh’s office. Stubbornness conquers all, though, and a minute later the group more or less resembles their assembly outside, with Hug’sh and Rodirr cuddling up on a sofa built into the hab wall and Swims-the-Black fitting his muscular bulk behind the desk.

”So, do we intend to build an entire government before lunch?” Swims-the-Black half-jokes as his fingers fly through the holo’s menus, opening a Cortex window, note, and diagramming app.
”Let’s stick to the immediate concerns,” Hug’sh answers, not admitting yet to the four-thousand-ish words worth of vomiting half-remembered Civics lessons from the Narsai era into a frightfully empty document. ”We need expertise first. And, uh,” he says, rubbing his neck, ”I was hoping you had some success reaching out.”
”I’ve gotten a few replies,” Rodirr says.
”Some,” Swims-the-Black says. ”But the…vague nature of what’s needed has left most of my capable contacts tentative. So, I propose we focus on figuring out what we need doing, and find candidates to fill them.”
”Well, like a…cabinet, right?” Hug’sh says, flailing for the right word. ”Defense, Justice, Commerce, Education, uh…State…you know?” A glance at Swims and Rodirr reveals that they do not, in fact, know. ”I mean, we probably get people to run things, but to start with, when we need to define, I think we need someone who’s good at…legal stuff.”
”And I already know someone who would be perfect for that,” Swims replies with a smile.

Swims-the-Black is a big Wherren, but he’s not huge - that’d be the size of the Wherren ex-gladiatrix drawing him into a hug, at least seven feet tall and built like if a monotask got into weightlifting. “Swims-the-Black!” Arnash - no longer ‘Arnash, the She-Claw’, just plain simple Arnash - chirps. ”How long has it been? You’ve been busy becoming quite famous - again.”
”It has been an eventful few years,” Swims admits, then turns and gestures towards Hug’sh and Rhea. ”Arnash, this is Hug’sh, and his bondmate, Rhea.”

Hug’sh has to adjust his internal sense of scale again when she comes over and reaches out to shake his hand - it disappears completely in hers, and even with her slouching down, she dwarfs Hug’sh the way Hug’sh eclipses humans. Hug’sh looks past her - not an easy feat, but he manages - to see her bondmate just stepping out of the gateport, luggage on his shoulders and a litter of cubs around him.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Hug’sh says.
”Looks like I got here just in time,” Arnash says, looking down at both Hug’sh and Rhea as she shakes their hands. ”It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
”So,” Hug’sh says, ”Swims tells me you’re a advocate?”
”Not officially,” Arnash says. ”What I do is help Wherren on Kamda with their work and guardianship contracts, negotiate and advocate on their behalf before Imperial courts, and help settle disputes in the Wherren community. Also, I specialize in post-Arena agreements and negotiations for Champions like Swims-the-Black here.” It’s an odd feeling for Hug’sh, seeing a Wherren pull off the ‘I know I’m immensely impressive, but it’s not polite for me to act like it’ air that he had only seen at officer’s balls when he was still human, but Arnash does it effortlessly.
”...do you know why we asked you to come?” Hug’sh probes. ”The job we have is…well, it’s not entirely unlike that.”
”Yes, Swims-the-Black said that you need someone to be a chief adjudicator for, well, the Wherren,” Arnash says. ”We will need others, of course, but I’m flattered to be the first.”
”Yes, that,” Hug’sh says. ”Also writing a constitution.” He smiles weakly. ”Tea?”
Arnash rolls a quick wave of yellow. ”So we really are reinventing the spear, aren’t we?” The yellow turns to green. ”Well, better get started, then.”

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, and it’s no different for Cora Verrill today. Rushed to her hab during lunch for a quick shower, only to find herself out of shampoo. Alright, then, over across the dirt path to the fancily-titled shoppette, past a couple PFCs carrying with them the exact limit of units of alcohol permitted per trip per person. Grab shampoo and some razors and what the hell, a variety pack of Tic Tacs, too. Ten minute wait at the checkout, full on lunch rush. So much for getting the shower now, then. Resigning herself to a sweaty afternoon, she makes her way back to the office with her bounty. When she walks in, she barely has time to put down the plastic baggie when both her clip-on vox and the cogitator on her desk alert her to an incoming call , rerouted from Narsai. Not a phone, but a Skype connection. The home office. Awesome. Cora walks to her desk, listens to the chiming vox sound for a moment, then takes the call.

“Verrill here,” she says. Her voice sounds a bit creaky; too much Whirrsign practice with Hiigra.
“Hey, Cora,” Henry says.

Cora likes Henry, as much as you can like any man whose last name is on the sign of the company you work for. Henry’s always been nice to her, not in the way that old rich guys tend to be nice to women like her, and so when he speaks, she perks up, intent on listening to what he has to say.

“Oh,” she says. “Hello, Henry. What can I do for you?”
“Mike and I just signed off on the Algiers project,” Henry said. “I thought I’d call and let you know, since that’s your baby. The client is very happy, Cora, and so are we. Your bonus check is in the mail, and I threw in a little extra, you know, for...well, for getting it done on schedule, despite the circumstances.”
“I’m fine, Henry,” Cora says.
“Is that why you’re not taking video calls?” Henry asks. He’s got her there, and he knows it. She knows it. She runs a hand through her hair.
“Everything’s fine,” Cora says. “Okay. Let me back up.” She puts on a smile. “Thank you, Henry. I really appreciate all the support, and I know the Wherren thing has been a bit more work than I thought it would be, but I’m...how about I come in? You know, next week? I’ve got a lot of the preliminary work done, Hiigra’s happy with it so far, I can give Mike and you a status update in person. How does that sound?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling, Cora,” Henry says.
“Henry?”
“Cora…”
“Don’t say it,” Cora says.
“It’s just that we have to face certain realities, Cora,” Henry says.
“Right.”
“It’s a fascinating project,” Henry says, “but it’s just not good business, Cora.”
“It’s the right project,” Cora says. “We’re not publicly traded, Henry - at least we weren’t, last I checked. I thought that meant we didn’t have to play to the tastes of suits.”
“Cora,” Henry says, “I appreciate that you’ve worked very hard on this. And I’m sure it’ll be useful for a portfolio, or as a research thing, and -”
“Henry -”
“- nobody’s saying we have to forget about it entirely, but right now I’m looking at losing a 500 million dollar deal on the Pentagon refurbishment,” Henry says. “With everything that's happened, they're re-evaluating all government contracts, and they don't like what we're doing there.”
“This is government too,” Cora says.
“From a few thousand aliens bankrolled by a bored special ops soldier with an Imperial trust fund,” Henry says. “A few thousand aliens who are very, very far up on the DoD’s shit list, to be frank. I was told, to my face, if we did not drop the Wherren contract, we would be frozen out. This isn't a hard decision to make, Cora.”
“Fuck them,” Cora says.
Henry blinks. “Excuse me?”

Cora had said it first as an angry outburst, but on second look, she realizes how much she means it. “I said fuck them, Henry. This is more than just putting new carpet and paint on a few government buildings, this is being the only architects for an entire planet. We have a chance to help the Wherren develop their own architecture, infrastructure, their whole society. I'm already meeting with Bashakra’i civil engineers on service layouts, coordinating town halls to get feedback on designs -”
“Cora -” Henry starts.
“No, Henry, listen,” Cora says. “If we turn our backs on them, they will have no one. They can't just go down the street to another firm, no one else is willing to work with them. We can't just abandon them, I won't do it and I won't let you do it.”
“Hmm,” Henry says, then sighs. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
“You know I’m right,” Cora says.
“Yeah, you are,” Henry says. “I guess I just...I called to hear you say that.”
“You don’t sound very convinced,” Cora says.
“Cora,” Henry says, “I know I’m not perfect. This company isn’t perfect. But I think, by God, we tried. We always tried to be better.”
“So do it now,” Cora says. “Be better than...whoever those contract liaison assholes are.” She forces a chuckle. “Besides, you know they’d just jerk you around on the project anyway. Is this just an elaborate plot to give Legal something to do for the next fifteen years?”
“Cora, I’d like to be serious for a second here,” Henry says. “We can laugh it up all we want, but the fact of the matter is that I run a company, not a charity. Defense contracts are one thing, but I'm getting calls from clients all over the world - especially India and Japan - who don't like what you're doing. After all our China work went belly up, we can't afford to lose another half dozen big projects.”
“We’re better than this, Henry,” Cora says.
“I’d like to be,” Henry says. “Go down the list, tell them each to go fuck themselves, that’d be a rush, right? That would feel great, for an hour. We’d be laughing all the way out of the building, Cora. I really can’t make this any clearer, those contracts are happening. Which means Whirr isn’t happening.”
“Henry -”

“Cora,” Henry says, sharper now. “You’ve said your piece, and I respect your perspective, but it’s my name on the sign out there. My call.” Henry sighs. “Let’s just make it simple. Are you coming home?”
“...no,” Cora says. “No, I’m not ‘coming home’, Henry. I have work to do here.”
“I see,” Henry says. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Cora asks.
“Okay as in, you’re fired,” Henry says, getting angry. “I gave you a chance to come to your senses, and you threw it back in my face. There are more important things than this alien side project, Cora, but you don't see that. We'll ship you the contents of your desk, and don't expect much in the way of references from us.”
Cora says nothing.
“I know, fuck me,” Henry says. “Goodbye, Cora.”

Click.

Another of those moments. Cora’s eyes go through the holo and through the wall until they’re on the bottle, as if she needs a drink now, and -

“Great job!” it says, scribbled on the label. “Henry & Mike”

Cora stares at it. Blinks. Then her hand snaps towards it, and she grabs it and jumps up and winds up and her arm quivers in place as she floats off the side, watching herself, trying to figure out if she’s going to hurl it against the wall or spike it on the floor, or…

A big, furred hand grabs her wrist from behind. “Don't do it,” Hiigra grunts. Cora whirls around to face him, reflexively trying to free her hand, but by the time she’s looking at Hiigra, the first tears are already rolling down her cheeks.

“Let go,” she says, a tiny voice barely squeaking past the anger and humiliation squeezing her throat, and her entire face flushes red while her free hand trembles, trying to remember how to make a fist.
Hiigra lets go of her hand the moment Cora asks, but otherwise doesn't move. Of course, he heard everything through the thin office walls, and his fur is awash in colors - blue, violet, red, orange. Before she knows it, Hiigra has his arms wrapped around her in an embrace. “Don't do it, Cora,” he repeats between purrs.

Cora stands there for a moment, too shocked to move, and the only thing that snaps her out is the sound of the bottle hitting the wooden floor after it slips her hand. It bounces a bit, then clunks and rolls in a semi-circle, coming to rest against a carved wooden statue that’s been in this office since before Cora moved in. This is apparently hilarious, as Cora has to fight the urge to laugh between her heavy breaths, but as the warmth of Hiigra’s embrace comes through her shirt, she just leans into him and slowly wills her hands to grasp him, too.

It’s not that she’s crying; it’s just that she’s flushed and upset and tears are coming out of her eyes. But she’s not crying.

“I’m fired,” she says, a bit louder. She feels something warm brush her hair, and realizes it's the tentative start of Hiigra’s tongue grooming her. The correct thing to do would be to push away and tell Hiigra to stop and that she’s okay.

But Cora’s not okay. So she doesn’t. Instead, she grasps Hiigra tighter, buries her face in his fur, and tries to get her sobbing under control as she hugs Hiigra as tight as she can.
“You can stay here for as long as you need, Cora,” Hiigra rumbles. “My home is your home.”

It is well past morning when Cora finally stirs awake. The shorter day cycles on Whirr have never felt quite as annoying as they do today. Taking ibuprofen before she fell into bed was a good choice, maybe the best of the whole previous evening, but the hangover is still there, strong enough that she knows it won’t let her fall asleep again. Relief means getting up, grabbing a new glass of water and another pill. Fine, then. She does just that.

Last night keeps coming back to her. She did the right thing. She did. Just happened to blow up her contract and her career with it. There’s no anger in her over it now. What’s done is done. And at least Hiigra’s still on her side. She knows he knows she’s trying to help the Wherren, and that’s bigger than any corporate politics Henry could throw at her. Hiigra wants her here. Even offered to let her stay in the village residential housing, no strings attached. Cora sighs, and smiles for a moment. Hiigra’s been nothing but nice to her, hasn’t he? About time she did something nice for him in return. What that might be, she doesn’t know, but he’s been more of a friend than…well, anyone else she can think of recently.

She can figure that out today. It’s the rest of the day that Cora doesn’t seem to have a use for. Usually, the problem-solving part of her mind is a dependable ally, but right now it’s filling her head with thoughts on how to pack up and move to the village resident housing, how to get started on job hunting, how long can she hold out here with her savings, is it time to ask Bert or Mom and Dad for help - probably Mom and Dad, Bert’s got his own family and also he’s Bert and she probably wouldn’t like any solution he comes up with, and --

She groans. She tries to stop the cavalcade of thoughts. One thing at a time. Get her “remote living” gear packed back up and moved across the village. She can do that. A good excuse to dress down for a change, at least. One more thing to look forward to beyond seeing Hiigra again today.

Cora takes another deep breath as she steps up to the door of Hiigra’s office. 45 minutes of getting ready have done a lot for her outward appearance, if not for her feelings, but if there ever was a time to put a professional face on things and walk out of a gig with some dignity, this is it. She raises her hand, hesitates for a moment, then knocks.

”Come in,” Hiigra says from inside, and Cora could swear he already knows it’s her. Probably because he was expecting her, or because she’s just now noticing that Wherren don’t tend to knock on doors. Stupid human affectation.

One more breath, push the door open, walk in. Hiigra looks up at her from the paperwork on his desk, his colors a pleasantly subdued shade of green. So far, so good.

”Good morning, Cora,” he says, before she has the chance to.
”Good morning, Hiigra,” she says. No wobble to her voice. Good. Keep it together. ”I just wanted to tell you that...that after what happened yesterday, I am here to...end.” Hand sign, don’t forget the hand sign. ”Finish.”
”Finish what?” Hiigra asks.
”My work on the project,” Cora says. ”Submit a final version of the work I managed to do and then clean up all the…company-owned information on the cogitator.” She tries to smile. ”I can recommend other companies for you. They will do good work if you can hire them.”
”Will they have your plans?” Hiigra asks. ”Will they have someone who understands what we need and want?”
”No,” Cora says. ”The plans I drew up for you are from when I worked for my employer. They do not belong to me or you, they belong to them.” She sighs. ”It’s all in the contract.”
”Actually, it is not,” Hiigra says. ”We can use whatever you have made, I made sure of it.” He slides a copy of the contract across the table.
“What?” Cora murmurs to herself in English, then grabs the contract and reads the paragraph Hiigra’s finger rests on. Reads it again. Reads it again. Then she looks to Hiigra. ”How...how did you...how did my company sign off on this?” Back to the paragraph. ”...how did you know to do this?”
”I read the first contract, it said we did not have the rights to what you were designing as well, so I changed it,” Hiigra says. He turns green and smiles. ”A better question is, why did your people not read their own contract?”
Cora’s throat gives a starting cough that turns into a swallowed laugh. ”They underestimated you,” she says, and that smile comes easy and unforced. ”Good. Serves them right. Okay, so you just need to find somebody to pick up the work where I left off.”
”I have,” Hiigra replies, and slides another contract across the desk.

Cora takes it. Reads it. Her smile grows wistful. ”That is very nice of you, Hiigra,” she says, ”but I ” - damn it, how do you translate ‘non-compete clause’? - ”I signed a contract that says I can’t work as a house-builder for two years if I leave my company, and” - why is Hiigra still smiling? - ”and…”

Wait. Wait a damn minute.

Real smile: back in full effect.
”It doesn’t apply if they fire me,” Cora says, ”and if I work here it’s not for a competing company, and it’s not stealing their business if they have clearly said they don’t want your business anymore.” Cora shakes her head. ”You know all that, don’t you.”
Hiigra nods, his fur rolling several shades of green.

Cora closes her eyes. Deep breath. What does this mean for her? Well, yeah, stay here, keep working like she did before the call yesterday. But actually really stay here, work directly for the Wherren and flip all the assholes back on Narsai a big fat middle finger.

Goddamnit, Bert won’t let her hear the end of this.

Cora scans the contract once more, picking out a few key numbers, then lowers it and looks back to Hiigra.

”I really want to sign this right now,” Cora says, ”but I hope you understand that I’m going to take a moment in my office to read it first. Just so we both know what we’re getting into.”
”Of course,” Hiigra replies. ”Take your time.”
Cora nods, turns around, takes two steps, then stops and turns on her heels again. ”Thank you!” she barks, her expression as close as humans get to green-and-yellow fur.
Hiigra’s grin grows, and a few spots of yellow sneak into his colors on the fringes of his fur. ”You’re welcome, Cora.”

A soft breeze blows through Hug’sh’s fur, enough to rustle the bits around his nose and get him to twitch it. Otherwise, hands folded and lying in his hammock, Hug’sh is the very image of quiet repose, just enjoying a bit of morning sun on his face.

Until someone steps between his face and the sun and makes him open his eyes. Hug’sh’s head half-turns, half-falls to the side as his deep relaxedness makes way for elementary curiosity - and just like that, he finds his big sister Cora standing next to him in her good pantsuit and holding a binder of documents.

”...hello,” Hug’sh half-yawns, shifting his weight to sit up and (it is hoped) eventually get up and embrace his sister. ”How goes it, Cora?”
Cora started to bark a reply, but then stopped and reconsidered. ”I was fired,” Cora says.
Hug’sh expression darkens on a dime as the sleep drains from his eyes, to be replaced by a ripple of red running through his fur. ”What?” he barks. ”They can’t fire you, Cora! You’re their best damn architect! You’re the only reason they have the Free Wherren job in the first place!” He starts up to his feet. ”We’re going to go see Hiigra right now, and we’re going to make this right, and -”
Cora puts a hand on Hug’sh’s shoulder. ”Calm down, Bert. He already knows.”
Hug’sh looks at Cora. She’s not half as upset as he is; in fact, she doesn’t seem upset at all. And what’s with the binder? Hug’sh takes a breath as he settles back into sitting in his hammock. ”So what’s going on, then?” he asks.
”Hiigra is...smarter than people think he is,” Cora says. ”He found a loophole - and made a few of his own. He’s offered me a chance to work for the Free Wherren state on my designs and build them for you. I’ll be moving into the villager housing as well.”
Hug’sh cocks his head at the binder. ”And you’re here giving me a heart attack instead of signing because…”
”Because you lived here as a human for months,” Cora says.
”...you have lived here for over a month, Cora,” Hug’sh says.
“Ugh, you know what I mean, Bert,” Cora says. ”I was staying in the Narsai’i worker housing with contractors. We have a cafeteria, our own rec center, everyone keeps to their part of the village. It’s different from living here. If this is what I’m going to be doing, I’m going to be moving here until project completion, at least a couple of years. And you’re the only one I know that knows what it’s like.”
Hug’sh blinks. ”Okay. What it’s like. Well.” He looks a bit to the left and a bit to the right of Cora. ”The food stands at the gateport market are busiest about an hour before sunrise, that’s when most of the hunters go out. If you can still get fresh fried skewers, those are fine, but don’t buy anything you didn’t see come out of the pan. And stay away from the leaf-wraps. I learned the hard way that they both won’t go down and won’t stay down, if you’re a human. You’ll be getting a share of your hut’s storeroom - so you both need to buy some fresh meat for it and accept your piece of the aged stock. Ask Hiigra about it. I’ll show you how to make chili from it, it’s best that way. Oh, and lights out means lights out. People will be out and about, but if you want nightlife, go to the human side.” He thinks for a moment more. ”It’s not like we’re all alone in the wild. You’ll still have the PX and Amazon. It’s honestly not as big a change as it might look like now. But at least consider ditching the DFAC for what we make.”
”Sounds like a good excuse to try keto,” Cora says.
Hug’sh chuckles. ”Same old sense of adventure,” he says. ”So, do you need any help moving your stuff?”
”Not now, I’m just living out of my remote site boxes,” Cora says. ”But maybe in a week or so, we can go back to my place in New York and grab a few things?”
Hug’sh nods. ”Just say when,” he says. ”Have you had lunch?”
”No, but I have to go back to my hab and dust off an old contract I had written up for going solo. Gotta update the rates and benefits,” Cora says.
”Okay,” Hug’sh says. He grins as he climbs out of the hammock and spreads his arms wide. ”Dinner tonight, then. We need to celebrate.”
”You bet,” Cora says, leaning into the hug.

There are a lot of things Hiigra has had to learn about Narsai’i ever since the 815 came to his village. He’s learned that they can be passionate, self-assured, visionary, just like they can be obstinate, heartless, self-centered. But, perhaps most importantly, when they say they’re going to need “a moment”, one should not expect any swiftness to their decision. And so, three hours after Cora Verrill told him she needed “a moment” to consider his offer, he’s still in his office, still waiting for her. Not that he’s wasted this time, oh no; the work of a chief is never done, after all.

One more thing about Narsai’i: the shoes they wear. Hiigra can hear Cora Verrill’s shoes strutting down the hallway towards his office, and a bit of green settles into his fur just before she knocks on his door again.

”Come in, Cora,” he says, and she comes in, and she’s smiling, which would be good except he can see a bit of a grin in it, enough to ruffle his fur a bit. ”You have come to a decision?” he asks, sounding a bit...cautious.
”I have,” Cora asserts. She reaches into her file binder and fishes out the contract Hiigra gave her - without her signature on it, as he notes when she hands it back to him. ”Your employment contract was very generous, but I don’t think I can accept a position on your staff.”
”I’m sorry to hear that,” Hiigra says. ”I see more paper in your binder.”
Cora nods, and the grin wins out over the smile. ”Incorporation paperwork for Verrill Consulting Limited,” she says as she hands him one stack of paper, then another. ”And a work contract proposal for hiring Verrill Consulting Limited to be your new lead project agency for the habitation designs.”
”Hrmm,” Hiigra purrs, yellow and green fighting for room on his fur. ”You worked very quickly on this.”
”Actually, I was considering starting my own company before,” Cora says. ”I just...did it sooner than I planned to.”
”I'll have to review the contract,” Hiigra says.
”Of course,” Cora says. Reaching into her binder, she withdraws yet another stack of paper. ”Cost analysis,” she says. ”I think you’ll find it’s a very competitive bid.”
”Including you being the only human that has studied our culture’s construction,” Hiigra notes with a smile and a new wave of green.
”There is that, yes,” Cora says.
”I will review the specifics, but I think that there is a way to continue to pay you while we read your contract?” Hiigra replies.
”My retainer’s on page seven,” Cora says. ”No legal obligation to subsequently hire Verrill Consulting for the job if you don’t like the overall offer, and the standby fees are...very reasonable.” Her professional facade cracks a bit. ”And if it’s possible, I’d like to apply for permanent hab space in the village. I’m grateful for your offer of hospitality, but if I’m going to see this project through, I need a more…formal arrangement.”
”I meant what I said,” Hiigra says. ”You are working for our village, so you will have a place to stay. But if you prefer human company, I think the new Bashakra’i habs still have some free units. If I let Kona know how the Narsai’i have treated you, I am sure she will agree to let you stay there.”
”I would be more than happy to stay with you,” Cora says, ”I just…didn’t want to impose more than I had to.” She smiles. ”So how much meat do I owe your storeroom?”
Hiigra chuckles. ”You spoke to your brother?” he asks. ”He frets about the kill before he fires the arrow. We will get to that when the time is right. There are some more old-fashioned ideas about being a part of the village we will need to update, I suspect that will be one of them. I have been told about ‘taxes’, I think that is a good analogy.”
”Okay,” Cora says. ”I’ll...I’ll go move my stuff, and you let me know when you’ve...decided?”
Hiigra nods. ”I should know by tomorrow.”
Cora smiles. ”See you tomorrow, then, Hiigra.”
Hiigra smiles back, his fur awash in green. ”See you then, Cora.”

Cora gives him one last nod, then turns and heads out. If nothing else, she’s upgraded her living situation and Hiigra seems to be falling over himself to keep paying her at least a stipend, so the usual “just got fired” worries don’t apply. The big contract’s all but in the bag, too; she can see that Hiigra’s impressed with the move she made, he’s just...being careful? Playing hard to get? You’d think someone who literally wears his emotions on his fur would be easier to read, but Cora’s still got a lot to figure out about Hiigra.

It bears further research. Pun not intended.

It’s a historic day in Village 815, and as such occasions tend to be, it comes with a bittersweet flavor. One by one, the village’s original longhouses have come down, making room for more modern hab units, and today the last holdout is on its way to becoming a pile of scrap lumber. The hides, decorations, and possessions of the families that live in the longhouse were removed yesterday and the timbers came down this morning. The plot had barely been cleared before a new baseplate of spraycrete was laid down by lunch; within the hour, the footing was solid and now the hab is ready to be dropped into place like a Wherren-scale 3D puzzle. The four families that used to live in the longhouse stand to the side of the whole process, cubs gaping at every movement of the machines, while the older Wherren clutch whatever little touches made the old longhouse their home, waiting to return them to their places in the new “longhouse”.

Hiigra walks over to the families while Hug’sh and Rodiir stand by. Hiigra talks to them and gives some last words of congratulations and reassurance. The families had seen the new habs, the ones that had been adjusted for Wherren sizes and Wherren needs - less walls, more common space, and of course everything just that bit taller and bit wider - and were happy with them, but still, this is where their cubs were born, where families grew up together. Longhouses come and go, but it’s always a solemn occasion.

Hiigra steps back as the Shaman steps forward to start to make the new hab officially ready for the family as it comes down its footings. Hug’sh huffs a sigh. One problem down, about - no, exactly 73 remaining, as the to-do list on his vox can attest to. Unless there are new ones he hasn’t heard of yet, which he really hopes there aren’t. 73 is plenty.

”It’s a very nice…gray box,” Hug’sh opines.
”They always look better once the hides are hung and the bedding is back in,” Hiigra says. ”I’d imagine even when you were human, there was a difference between a house and a home.”
Hug’sh winces. ”I’m exactly the wrong man to ask about that,” he says. ”The only personal touch in my human dwellings were posters of nude women.” He huffs. ”Okay,” he says, then turns to Rodirr, who’s been waiting his turn for a good few minutes now. ”Warrior inspection?”
”Warrior inspection,” Rodirr confirms.
”Let’s walk,” Hug’sh answers.

Hug’sh wills his bulk first to move at all and then to change course towards the outer reaches of the clearing, where the Free Wherren’s armed forces - such as they are - are currently encamped in lieu of such niceties as barracks or a fort or even a proper military base of their own. Action Items 53 through 58. Hug’sh hopes they can get to it before the rainy season starts in earnest.

”What’s the latest?” he asks Rodirr.
”First class is through Black Phase and into Red, sir,” Rodirr replies. ”Weapon familiarization is going well, with some complaints about the size of the weapons.”
Hug’sh unconsciously flexes his right hand. He got used to it soon enough - but human-sized weapons are annoying. ”Noted,” he says. ”We’ll just have to deal for the moment. Did anything come up that needs urgent attention?”
”We finally have enough field shelters for the first class when they hit Gold Phase - but they are both Narsai’i and Naranai’i,” Rodirr says. ”How do you want us to proceed?”
”Let’s prefer Naranai’i, since I expect we’ll be going that way when we scale up,” Hug’sh says. ”I’d like our troops trained on deploying those by preference. Use the Narsai’i shelters for overflow until we can standardize. And after that, we’ll hold them back for emergencies.” He chuffs. ”Don’t throw them too far away yet. We might have to get them set up in a hurry if the Narsai’i come asking what we’re doing with the gear they so graciously donated for our use.”
Rodirr chuffs as well. ”Of course, sir. Other than that, training is going well. The real test will be when we start training civilians, not just warriors.”
”When will that be?” Hiigra asks. ”A few dozen villages, just on this side of the continent…”
”Two more classes by my estimation, Chief,” Rodirr says. ”I will take the lead drill instructor role for it.”
Action Item 3 flashes through Hug’sh’s mind. Damn it. ”I suppose it would help your planning if you knew how many recruits we’re expecting,” Hug’sh says. ”I asked Arnash to look over the terms for the association treaties before we start negotiating in earnest.” He forces a nervous chuckle. ”If those talks fail, your job will be much easier.”
”Then I suppose we should head there next,” Hiigra says.
”After lunch,” Hug’sh answers almost too quickly. ”No diplomacy on an empty stomach.”
”I anticipated this, sir,” Rodirr says, and produces a bundle of foil that Hug’sh can immediately smell contains a seasoned cut of scrofa tenderloin wrapped in singed leaves.
”Should I thank you for thinking ahead or curse you for stealing my breaktime?” Hug’sh muses, but does not attempt to answer his own question - his claws have already ripped the foil and squeezed the wrap into his mouth. The next few steps pass with only the sound of chewing.

Hiigra waits until Hug’sh takes a breath between devouring his…snack seems inadequate, even for Wherren appetites, but a pregnant Wherren male shifts that equation. ”How goes the search for more Elders?” Hiigra grunts.
”I have an old friend that would be a good candidate,” Rodirr says.
”...and?” Hug’sh asks.
”The problem is finding him,” Rodirr says. ”I put some people on it.”
”I’ve asked Angel to use his Kesh connections, too,” Hug’sh says. ”But we can’t just stick with old friends and the diaspora. We’ll need locals as well.”
”One of our scouts has heard of a promising candidate for Elder of Knowledge from a contacted village,” Hiigra replies. ”Her family has been maintaining records and histories from her tribe and their trading partners for generations, I think that makes her about as qualified as anyone.”
”Good,” Hug’sh grunts, though his colors barely budge; good to see that position filled, but it’ll be years before they’ll be able to put that Elder to work. Then again…he turns to look back at the construction site. In a better universe, it would be years. But reality seems set on outpacing his plans. ”...so where are we going to put the next set of habs?” he asks.
”The next set, or the next dozen sets?” Hiigra replies rhetorically. ”Brinai has asked again when the expansion of Village 815 to take on Wherren refugees proper will happen, and I get the impression that Atea is beginning to have to exert something resembling effort to accommodate the flow of Wherren.”
Hug’sh’s ears perk. ”How many refugees do they expect us to take?”
”It has increased to a thousand or so a month,” Hiigra says. ”Most are happy to live and work on Atea, and there are even some looking for reassignment to other Bashakra’i held worlds for work. As of right now, her suggestion is that we make room for forty or fifty thousand, which by the time we get the construction finished means probably three or four times that.”
”...so we need to build Rochester in a year?” Hug’sh says, his mind skipping over the oddity of that particular reference to Narsai’i life with only minimal friction.
”That would be a tough order for an industrium,” Rodirr weighs in.
”And yet we must,” Hiigra says.

All three of their voxes chime - it’s a message from Arnash stating that she has completed the final draft of the agreements to be offered to villages to join the Free Wherren.
”...that is faster than I expected,” Hiigra grunts.
”I need to ask Swims if she even sleeps,” Hug’sh says. ”Well, no use standing around being intimidated.” He turns back to where they were walking and squints his eyes at the tents in the distance. ”Okay, I see troops, that’ll have to do for today,” he says. He doesn’t have to look at Rodirr to know there’s some disapproval flashing through his second-in-command’s fur. Instead, he taps his vox and records a message for Arnash. ”Good work. We’ll be at your hab in ten minutes.”

Even with the expanded headroom of the purpose-built habs, there’s no getting around that Arnash is huge. The living room of her home is dominated by her custom-fitted desk, with neat rows of records, her cogitator setup for work and a few sentimental trophies from her time as an active gladiatrix. With Hiigra, Hug’sh and Rodirr crammed in beside her, that just about fills the room, though her playing cubs occasionally squeeze through the gaps as they chase each other through their still-new home.

”Here is the draft,” Arnash says, flicking the file to the voxes of the others. Her colors are confident and stable as Hiigra, Hug’sh, and Rodirr all look over the singular version of the treaty provided.
Hug’sh shoots through the treaty draft at a good clip - he’s had to digest enough boring briefs to get the gist. ”Okay, I’m seeing the baseline here,” he says, then looks up at Arnash. ”What about options?”
”That is the option - one treaty, take it or leave it,” Arnash says. ”They will take it.”
”This is…aggressive,” Hiigra says, his colors betraying a bit of annoyance. ”You are leaving no room for negotiation at all.”
Hug’sh lowers his ears. ”Why should they agree to this?”

”I will ask a different question,” Arnash says, easing back into her extra-large chair. ”Why should we agree to anything else? Dozens of different versions, all interchangeable - this would mean hundreds of different treaties, all of which mean different things for what both sides can and can’t do. Trade would be difficult if not impossible, no one would be sure what duties everyone has to anyone else. We are not making a business deal - we are forging a nation. Anything other than equal footing shatters the Free Wherren before it even has a chance to form.”
”I agree that we need the same rules for everyone, and good faith in our deals,” Hug’sh says. ”That doesn’t mean we can’t take into account individual circumstances. Each tribe has its own things to offer and its own issues to deal with. I think we can at least consider negotiating on that.”
”And when the next village agrees to something else, and then finds out about the deal their neighbors got?” Arnash asks. ”Do you expect those villages to take that well?”
”I expect them to try to get the best deal they can,” Hug’sh says. ”If we make clear what’s negotiable and what isn’t, and we’re very careful with what we negotiate, I think we can keep resentments to a minimum. If we assume we’ll lose some deals over that, we also have to consider how many villages won’t sign on for a completely non-negotiable deal.”
”And when one village demands something that is ‘non-negotiable’? How is that different from having one fair deal for everyone, just with us having already compromised the foundation of our government?” Arnash asks - well, this one is less of a question. The fact that she hasn’t stood up, or even really leaned forward, also emphasizes her certainty. ”Hoping that villages will take an unequal deal kindly is not a strategy. What is a strategy is simply that we are, quite literally, the only option they have. We will respect the individual goals of each village and treat all Wherren fairly, but, frankly, what are they going to do about it?”

Silence settles over the room, aside from the noise of the playing cubs in the background. Arnash weaves her fingers together, her claws tapping on the back of her hands as she looks each of the three males in the eyes in turn. It would be intimidating even if she wasn’t almost eye to eye with each of them while sitting in her office chair.

A yellow fringing in Hug’sh’s fur has been coming and going for a while now, as his endocrine system debates whether this qualifies as a valid excuse for Excitement, but finally it evens out. He keeps his eyes locked on Arnash’s, but lowers his head just a bit. It felt like time to make a speech - which, in his experience, means it’s almost certainly not. ”...okay,” he says. ”I can see we have a…difference of opinion here.” He takes a breath. ”You’re the expert. I am…in favor of your recommendation, then.”
Arnash nods, but her colors speak of acknowledgement of Hug’sh’s concerns. ”It is not the best deal for every village - but we are not trying to build thousands of individual alliances. We are building one people. We are not making the best deal - we are making a fair deal, a deal that binds all villages, including 815, equally. Then we will be one.”
Hiigra nods, his colors finally shifting to agreement. ”And that unity is what we need. Let it be up to the council to negotiate from there.”
Hug’sh looks to Rodirr, who shrugs. ”Not my battle, General,” he says.

”Okay, looks like it’s decided,” Hug’sh says. ”Let’s go over the terms briefly.”
Hiigra scrolls back up on his holodisplay. ”Equal representation?”
”All villages are represented by population, each guaranteed one seat on the council,” Arnash replies.
”Trade?” Hiigra asks.
”Free and open within our borders, negotiated by the council or its representatives outside of it,” Arnash replies.
”Tributes?”
”Taxes will start out small - not a lot to give besides Wherren at this point - but a clause for all, Wherren, enterprise, or village, to contribute to the common good is included. Also covers mandatory service.”
Hiigra grunts. ”I suppose that’s raising an army handled. Disputes?”
”Again, details to be hammered out later, but for right now, an agreement that the laws of the Free Wherren are binding upon all and that the courts of the Free Wherren are superior to all village courts - but local tribunal agreements are otherwise binding.”
”Gateway access?”
Arnash’s colors ruffle a bit. ”A bit trickier, but for now the base guarantee of freedom of travel as a basic right is sufficient.”

Hug’sh nods to no one in particular. ”Sounds like we’ve covered everything we need,” he says, a bit of apprehensive blue sneaking over his shoulders. He looks first to Hiigra, then to Arnash. ”So, now we call up the Chiefs and give them the good news?”
”I would suggest a couple weeks for them to review and debate any changes,” Arnash says. ”But all changes must pass a two-thirds majority, and when we ratify, it is set in stone.”
Hiigra nods. ”Good. Let my vote be the first in favor.”
Arnash ripples a pleased green. ”Duly noted, Chief.”

Rodiir is waiting outside of Arnash’s hab with a very ‘enough fucking around’ color to his fur, and it takes only a moment and a raised brow for Hug’sh to be convinced to take his leave. Hiigra sighs, but he has other things to check on anyway.

One of which is at the outskirts of the village, standing in a field. Even when site surveying, Cora keeps her professional look, her only sacrifice to fieldwork being changing her jacket for a high-vis vest, her work flats for a pair of leather boots, and the hard hat and safety glasses. A holodisplay projected from the central unit of the surveying sensor kit shows a network of a dozen sensors in the woods and field, and she’s poking at it with Tkalor, a returnee Hiigra recognizes from his volunteering his experience in overseeing construction projects.

”...the two-percent grade once you leave the treeline is annoying,” Tkalor grunts. ”On Sambasan, we would just grade and fill it. Save on foundation material.” Cora starts to talk before Tkalor continues. "But we can just cut and grade the foundation, blend it in better."
Cora nods. "That's the idea. We want this whole housing project to blend in with the forest and clearing as best we can, and that includes having it move with the grading."
Tkalor spits out a chunk of root. "Gonna add a week per structure to get it cut and leveled before pouring, but we can do it." Tkalor turns to Hiigra and gives him a bow and a respectful ruffle of color. "Chief."
Hiigra nods in acknowledgement. "This is the site?"
”Yes, Chief,” Tkalor says.
”What do you think about the drainage?” Cora asks.
Tkalor gives the holodisplay a good squint. ”...I think we could stand to size up the trenches,” he says. ”It’ll be fine right now while we can seep part of the runoff closer to the development, but if this town fills in like I think it’s gonna fill in, you’ll want to get more water downhill for central processing. Especially in the wet season.” He chews the chunk of root in his mouth a moment longer. ”Any thought about where that processing is gonna go?”
Cora looks to Hiigra. ”You won’t like this, but the plot next to the Narsai’i FOB is the lowest part of the clearing. The runoff already naturally goes that way. It’d be the best place for a catchment basin and the water treatment plant.”
Hiigra chuffs. ”I am not the one that will be upset about that.” He looks back to Tkalor. ”Fully contained? Emergency overflow goes somewhere safe?”
”Storm drainage is safe enough,” Tkalor says. ”Once we install that too.”
Hiigra nods. ”Then let’s get it planned. The sooner we get it built, the sooner Hralla will be pleased to not have to send crews to every hab unit twice a week.”
”Great,” Cora says. ”So, who’s going to tell the Narsai’i?”
”That’s beyond my scope,” Tkalor says, then his ear with the vox clipped to it perks up. ”Got a stubborn soil sample, Chief. May I -”
”Go, please,” Hiigra says with a wave, and Tkalor stomps off into the woods.

A gentle breeze runs out of the forest and ruffles Hiigra’s fur. He closes his eyes and inhales deep through his nose to enjoy it.
Cora enjoys the moment as well before looking back up to Hiigra. ”I never had the chance to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Hiigra’s fur ruffles a respectful green. ”It was no problem,” he says. ”You have given up your career to help us. The least I can do is make you at least feel somewhat at home here.”
Cora laughs. ”Well, mission accomplished. I’ve been moving from city to city, country to country for years. Home, I haven’t had one of those for a while.”
Hiigra reflexively runs through a series of colors he only half manages to catch in time. ”Well, I hope you feel at least somewhat at home here.”
Cora smiles. ”I do, Hiigra. Thank you. It’s been nice, feeling like I’m home rather than just away from work.”

Both Cora and Hiigra find their attention drawn to their hands - Cora’s placed one on Hiigra’s without thinking, and just as reflexively Hiigra covered hers with his other hand. Both quickly withdraw their hands, but the boundary was still crossed. Neither one moves away from the other, though.
”So,” Cora starts.
”Indeed,” Hiigra replies. ”I…could go back and catch up with your brother.”
”You sound like you need to discuss planning more with Tkalor,” Cora counteroffers. ”I’m just out here supervising, I have other work I could do.”
”That’s not necessary, this is important,” Hiigra says. ”You can stay, if you want.”
”I don’t mind,” Cora replies. ”If you stay, that is.”
”Then we shall wait here together,” Hiigra says.

Cora nods in response, and they both turn back towards the forest to wait. Another breeze blows, and they both enjoy it as it glides past them. Cora joins Hiigra in closing her eyes and sniffing the air, her smile wider this time, as Hiigra’s fur takes on an extra few shades of green and yellow.

There’s rather a lot of variety to the shadowport experience, largely correlated with the shadowport’s size. To wit: go to Jang-Xur, you’re gonna find just about anything worth a lat or two, but you’ll have to deal with entrenched organizations of criminals that have long staked out their turf and the occasional lunatic trying to messily upend that order. Medium-size and less famous, you get uneasy truces blowing up into scraps every so often, but with the understanding that you don’t do nothing a kauka can’t fix. And then there’s places not even worth fighting in, dives with questionable life support and a transponder code that might as well be “LAST SERVICE FOR 10 JUMPS”. Well, this one’s calling itself “Iamseph’s Free Enterprise”, parked at L4 of a mining system so shitty it has a number after its name, and Rodirr rocking up to it with an escort of three other Wherren is immediately the largest military force in a 2.5 AU radius.

But it’s got a bar and that’s all that matters.

Rodirr ducks through the Imperial standard (i.e. too small) docking collar that serves as the bar’s entrance, whose compact size and overburdened air conditioning have served to let the musk of its only other patron spread through the whole compartment. The Wherren parked on a bench near the bar’s got a few years and a few scars on Rodirr, which is a noticeable enough achievement in itself, but he’s clearly not too old. His ears still perk at the footsteps approaching, even if his overall posture doesn’t betray his readiness. What really sets him apart from any other random Wherren merc are his fangs, capped with black onyx; similar to what an Alef’ka might wear, yet also a very different look. As Rodirr rounds him to find his own seat at the bar, he sees the Wherren’s drink of choice - a nice mug of herbal tea.

“What’ll it be, friend?” the bartender asks. Rodirr regards him briefly - that’s probably Iamseph himself, judging from the ramshackle electronics in a corner that look to have semi-automated the shadowport’s traffic control.
“I will have tea as well,” Rodirr says. He can’t not sound like a Wherren when he speaks, but Rodirr’s had decades to get fluent in Naranai’i.
“I got mugs and hot water,” Iamseph says. “Tea, you’re gonna have to ask your buddy.”
The other Wherren’s been looking at Rodirr for a while now, and his eyes narrow at the suggestion.
”Spare some herbs?” Rodirr asks.
”Sure,” the Wherren answers.
“We have come to an agreement,” Rodirr tells Iamseph.
“That’s good,” Iamseph says, then looks past Rodirr. “And your other buddies?”
“Just for me, thank you,” Rodirr says.
“I got some good hooch,” Iamseph offers.
“We’re good,” Rodirr insists.
“Alright, suit yourselves,” Iamseph says, then moves to put the kettle back on.

”A hello would have been nice,” the Wherren says.
”Yeah,” Rodirr says, not quite hiding the green fringes of his fur. ”Would have been.”
The Wherren chuckles at that, then retrieves a little sachet of herbs from his messenger bag and lays it on the bar for Rodirr. ”So, is that your new crew?” he asks.
”They’re escorting me, Thurgh,” Rodirr says. ”Apparently I’m too important these days.”
”I’ll say,” Thurgh says, sparing a new glance at the other Wherren, who have quietly spread through the compartment to cover the exits. No one’s getting in - or out - without their permission. ”Two Alef-ka and a…Kaezo champion, third circle?”
”Second,” Rodirr says.
Thurgh chuffs appreciatively. ”All that for little old me. So, a job?"
"Permanent position," Rodirr says. ”Elder of Safety, we’re calling it. Law enforcement, public security. And a few more things you’re good at.”
Thurgh sips his tea. "Terms?"
"You set them," Rodirr says. Iamseph arrives with a mug of hot water; Rodirr thanks him, then dunks the sachet inside.
"Hrm," Thurgh says. "And the catch?"
"It's management," Rodirr says.
"Hrm," Thurgh repeats. "So, not like Hizharah?"
"That was your move, not mine," Rodirr replies.
"You keep saying that," Thurgh says. His eyes narrow. "I'll hear it from your boss, in person. Pay for my time and expenses. I don't like what I hear, I walk away and I don't hear anyone whining about it after."
"Sure," Rodirr says.
"And we'll settle Hizharah," Thurgh adds. "The old way."
"Can't, they'll need both of us on our feet," Rodirr says. "To first blood."
Thurgh chuckles. "You've gone soft," he says. "But sure, I accept." He takes another sip.
”We can leave right away,” Rodirr suggests.
”You got a jump to catch or something?” Thurgh says. ”Don’t waste my herbs like that.”
Rodirr takes a sip of his own, and almost manages to suppress the cough.
”What’d I say, you’ve gone soft,” Thurgh says with a chuckle. ”Come on, big shot. The man gave you a whole mug, let’s see you finish it.”
”...how long have you been saving this?” Rodirr asks between sips and winces.
Thurgh grins. ”Hizharah,” he says.