”The Taiikari Empire sends its felicitations to the United Nations Security Council.”
Grant reminds himself to sit straighter atop his throne. They’ve assured him that both he and Sykora are in the frame, as are the triplets. Ziavra and Rory are asleep in his lap. Kiar sits in Sykora’s arms, blinking brightly at the assembled camera crew.
“As a member of the Earth’s governing body, it’s possible that you are already aware of the Taiikari,” Grant says. “If not, then allow me to introduce myself and my adopted people. I am Prince Grant Hyde nai Kei’na Terokai, husband to Princess Sykora. We are the appointed representatives of Empress Zithra XIX, responsible for welcoming Earth into the Empire. These are our children: Aurora, Ziavra, and Kiar.”
Kiar looks from the crew to his father at the sound of his own name. His tail commences its usual frenzied wagging. Sykora’s face retains its regal placidity even as the little brush at the end of it thwaps repeatedly into her waist.
“You have been afforded the Empress’s protection and mercy for all of living memory,” Grant says. “Now the time has come to take your place in the Empire, recognizing your monarch and entering into active stewardship. In return for your fealty, Earth will be uplifted into a trillion-strong galactic community, and given access to technological advancement bordering on the miraculous. Incurable diseases will be cured. Natural lifespans will quadruple. Famine will be erased. We will set foot on distant worlds, and be welcomed as sisters and brothers to the vast and varied reality that waits outside our cradle.”
“Buh,” says Ziavra, suddenly awake, as if cued by cradle to offer an urgent addition. Grant’s solemn demeanor cracks into a grin. He switches to Taiikari. “Hey, bug. You got something to add?”
Ziavra babbles and squirms. Grant gives her a gentle scritch behind her big velvety ear. She’s started to separate from Rory, gaining inches at the same rate as her brother. Nothing that the pediatechs have commented on, yet. But Grant’s noticed.
“Buh bbbbg,” she says.
“She’s getting awfully close to bug,” Sykora says. She digs into the baby bag just off camera and finds Ziavra’s favorite toy, a doe-eyed, centipedal alien with a felt hide marked by the nibbling of nascent teeth. “Do you know what this is, Zee? Do you know bug?”
“Bbb,” Ziavra trills, with confidence.
“Do we take a quick break here?” Grant asks.
“That was a really wonderful take, Majesty.” Specialist Sjan looks up from the footage and replaces his anticomps onto his face. “I think we’re almost done. Just need to close it out with the solemn task part.”
“Okay. Any way we can do a cut here, and I take over?” Grant carefully places Ziavra next to her brother, where she contentedly nibbles her bug toy. “We’re asking a lot of the rugrats.”
“They just have to sit here looking cute.” Sykora scoots Kiar to one side and makes room for Rory, who’s still snoozing. “You’re the one doing all the work, dove.”
“You’re just saying that because they’re Taiikari.” Grant inclines his head to allow a finely manicured man with sleek, uselessly half-moon anticomps to comb a strand of his hair back. “Getting a Maekyonite to sit quietly is a real trial.”
“Oh, I know. Believe me.”
“Can we get you over here, Majesty?” Sjan waves toward the ship window. “By the starscape?”
Grant moves to his mark and rests a hand on the brass banister. “How’s this?”
“Angle a little bit to the side. Look right here. Excellent. Let’s pick it up from the solemn task part.”
Grant clears his throat and nods. Three blue lights appear above the camera. Two, one. Blink.
“But a difficult and solemn task stands between us and this uplift.” After the fluid motion of his adopted tongue, switching back to English feels like strapping cinderblocks to his feet. “Before you reap the rewards of the Empire, you must swear fealty to its sovereign. I recognize that this will be a challenge, but it’s the final hurdle standing between us and our destiny among the stars. With luck, I’ll see you there, and show you what I have been shown.”
His written speech doesn’t mention the sweep that triggered this visit; there must be a vanishingly low number of humans who understand what has drawn down the empire, and Imperial intelligence is still trying to understand how Grant’s species has reverse-engineered the technology.
“The probe that brought you this recording contains the means by which you may respond to it,” Grant says. “We anticipate your reply. Fourteen days after you receive this message, we will proceed with global discloser.” He claps his hands and returns to Taiikari. “Can we mark there? I think I said that wrong.”
“Well spotted, Majesty. Dis clo sher.”
“Thanks, Sjan,” Grant says. “How’s the rest of it sounding?”
“Splendid, Majesty. Reset, please. We can splice.”
“Right.” Grant returns his hand to the banister. His rings click against it. “Let’s go from fourteen days?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Grant’s thumb traces the topographic etchings across the banister’s metal. The rows of spears and soaring fighters subtly traced into it. “Fourteen days after you receive this message, we will proceed with global disclosure. The people of Earth deserve to know of the journey they are poised to undertake. I hope you will inform them; if you don’t, we will.”
He looks to his family. His girls watching him, three sets of almond-shaped red eyes. His son’s tail wagging. This is for them. Not the Empress. Them.
Ziavra’s attack of the wiggles has ceased. Grant crosses back to his seat. The camera follows as he settles into the throne beside his wife. Kiar is curled on Sykora’s armrest; he picks his son up and rests him on his knee.
“There is a family we didn’t realize we already had,” he says. “There is a home for us that spans the cosmos. It’s time to say hello.”
“And mark,” Sjan calls. The blue light above the camera flicks red. “Splendid, Majesty. That’s our daily.”
Grant leans to the side and gives Sykora a peck on the top of her head. “The camera crossing was all right?”
Sjan looks up from a whispering knot of producers and technicians. “Her Majesty’s breast pump is just slightly visible in the bottom of the frame as you cross. We can edit that out.”
“Please do,” Sykora says, primly.
“It’s missing the consequence,” Grant says. “That’s what they’ll be talking about, I bet. What happens when they refuse.”
“Let them talk,” Sykora says. “Let them see what we can do and extrapolate. We don’t need to dwell on it, and you don’t need to make yourself a villain.” She taps her tail twice on the metal armrest to obtain the film crew’s attention. “If our business is concluded here, my husband and I will depart with gratitude for your service.”
A universal bow spreads across the bridge.
“Attend, dove.” Sykora regally extends the hand that isn’t cuddling a daughter to her. “Let’s bring the children to their godmothers and then do some Maekyonite drugs.”
Grant chuckles as he takes his wife’s hand. “Let’s.”
The command group is waiting at the edge of the bridge, just away from the hubbub of the set. Waian eagerly accepts a pair of babies from the royal couple. “Hello, little tyrants. Who’s ready for their first trip to the engine observation deck?”
“We’ll get that footage loaded onto the drone.” Vora ties her cloud of silver hair back and secures her Princess-in-Waiting circlet onto her head. “Hopefully they broadcast it wide.”
Waian glances up from tucking the kids into their stroller. “Can you fuckin’ imagine what your old bosses and coworkers are gonna think?”
“I really can’t,” Grant says. “I’d pay a fortune to see it.”
“We already snagged one roommate.” Hyax stands to one side, chin jutted high. “The rest of the spy drones are spoken for.”
There is a shallow but clear bite mark on the scruff of Hyax’s neck. From behind the Brigadier, Waian must see Grant’s surprised discovery; she snickers silently and puts a finger to her lips.
Sykora crosses to Vora and kisses her cheek. “The bridge is yours, Viscountess.”
Vora returns the kiss. “Enjoy the cannabis, Majesty. We’ll ensure the garden level is cleared of observers.”
“Still not clear to me why this is necessary amid annexation preparations,” Hyax says.
“Surely you have little to complain about Imperials taking alien drugs,” Sykora says. “Last time it was Grantyde with Eqtoran xhurr, and you have the happy results on your neck.”
Hyax retracts into her HAK like a tortoise into its shell. Her scars stand paler against her blush. "I retract my objection and request to be excused that I might retrieve a scarf."
As they take the lift off the bridge, Sykora snaps open the vacuum-packed pair of edible chocolates Kymai has prepared for them. “Will you do these with me?”
Grant shakes his head. “One of us should stay sober, just in case. And I want to watch.”
Sykora scoffs and pops a square into her mouth. “Thank the Gods of the Firmament the command group is otherwise engaged. They’d never let me live it down.”
“Lomanza’s gonna be there, right?”
“Lomanza’s Lomanza. She knows not to needle her commanding officer.” Sykora chews. “Hmm. Curiously herbaceous.”
They step into the garden level, a balcony overlooking the verdant terraces of the agro ring. A cloud of alien pollinators flit from bloom to bloom, borne through the sweet air on gossamer corkscrew wings. Majordomo Lomanza stands by with a trio of medtechs, and bows to the incoming royals. “Welcome, Majesties. Pardon our presence to supervise.”
“You are pardoned, of course, but perhaps you’re not necessary.” Sykora rubs behind her ear, face focused. “I’m afraid I’m not yet feeling any sort of—”
“Beardy beardy weirdy beardy man.” Sykora’s little fingers scratch along Grant’s chin. “My husband. My big weird beard husband beardy man. You’re so big. You are so BIG. Give me—” She takes his hand and presses hers into it. Her palm is sweaty. “Why are you so big?”
“Ate my vegetables, I guess,” he says.
“Ate your—” She lets out a shrill cackle and falls onto her back. “Herbivore. My herbivore husband. Herby Hubby.” She tears a handful of grass from the ground and waves it around. “C’mere. Gimme your lap.”
He lies down with her and gamely puts aside the grass she insistently prods toward his mouth.
“I wanna feeeeed you,” she protests. “I wanna watch you eat. I want you to get big and stout so you can squish me into a two-dimensional little piece of paper. Like that cartoon you showed me. With the kindek.”
“That was a rabbit,” he says.
“Rabbit,” she repeats, hypnotized. “What’s grass in English again?”
“Grass, I think.”
“Grass.” She sings a scratchy song. “Grassy wassy kassy. Eat yoor grass, hosband.”
He sprinkles some into her lap. “Your grass.”
“No,” she gasps, and hastily pats it off her. “Remember when Zee was eating grass and you went ho no no little lady? You sounded so funny.”
He chuckles. “She never wants to eat her lunch and then take her anywhere and it’s a turf buffet.”
“Remember Kiar’s little hat?”
“He’s wearing it right now at the daycare, I think.”
“He is. Our baby boy in his little baby hat.” Her eyes well up with tears. “They all look more and more like you every day.”
“I wonder if he’ll grow any facial hair,” Grant muses. “If Zee’s getting my height, it’s possible, right?”
“Oh he’d look so dashing.” Sykora hiccups. “Every time I hold them I just wanna whisper grow, grow, grow. I wanna know what they’re saying. I wanna talk to them about what they learned today. And sing stupid little songs with them. Grassy massy bassy wassy.” She wipes her nose on the ground. “I think I understand the Maekyonite drugs. Let’s go back to the cabin and have them bring us our babies.”
“That sounds perfect,” Grant says. “Let’s just have you come down a teeny little bit first.”
“Okay,” she says, in English. “Ho-kay do-kay. What a perfect little word that is. Okay. What a lovely language.” She runs her palms across the grass. “It feels like your face,” she says. “Why did I wait so long to try this, uh—what’d you call it?”
“Grass is its nickname.”
“Grass!” She falls into another giggling fit. “Do the Maekyonites call every plant grass?”
Grant sits with his little stoned wife cracking up in his lap, and digs his communicator out. Sykora told him not to take any pictures, but she’s so fucking cute stoned out of her mind like this that he has no choice.
He pauses on an urgent-marked message from Vora and frowns.
Sykora’s shifting around in his lap. “Where—where is my thingy.”
“Hmm?” Grant looks up.
“My communicator.”
“Lomanza’s got it for safekeeping.”
“Lomaaanzaaa,” Sykora calls. “Gimme my phone.”
“You have instructed me not to, Majesty,” Lomanza replies.
“Grantyde.” Sykora wiggles her fingers at his communicator. “Gimme.”
Grant lifts it above her seeking hands. “Who are you calling?”
“I am calling Kymai to bring you up a big plate of veggies so that you can graze.” She points a ringed finger at him in playful accusation. “Herbivore.”
“I—okay. Two seconds.”
“Noooo,” she laugh-wails. “Stupid sexy skyscraper. I want your phone. Gimme your phoooone.”
“I will,” he says. “But there’s a problem. And I want you to promise you won’t let it harsh your buzz, cause I can deal with it.”
“What?” Sykora sits up. “Whassa problem?”
“One of Narika’s proxies just called the Maekyon listening station.”
“What. What.” Sykora scrambles out of Grant’s lap. “Why?”
“Not sure,” Grant says. “Lieutenant Xamika was the liaison. She recorded the conversation in full. She’s just sent it over.”
“Gods of fucking Hellfire. Fuck. Right. This is Sykora. Helloooo. Attend.” Her bangles clatter as she waves her arms at the medtechs lingering on the agro level’s edge. “I request termination now please of the experiment immediately. Let’s get me sober now, if you would be so kind.”
Awkward quiet but for the choppy buzzing of the insects.
“Uh—Majesty,” a medtech ventures. “We’re not entirely sure how.”
“What?”
He holds his tablet up to his chest as if shielding himself with it. “This is a Maekyonite hallucinogen, Majesty.”
“Are you serious?” Sykora stomps her little foot. “How do you not have a goddamn thingy that does the thingy on this?”
“We have detoxicants for similar drugs we could try, Majesty. The side effects would be somewhat unpleasant.”
“I can’t be stoned right now.” Sykora rakes her hands through her hair. “That fucking shitty fucking scabrous grape-sucking fartsniffer.”
Despite the pall over the afternoon this gets Grant to practically guffaw. “Grape-sucking fartsniffer?”
“I’m so off my game,” she wails.
“Babe,” he says. “Let me. I can handle it. Go be comfy somewhere. Have Waian bring the babies up and play with them. And have her stick around to supervise you.”
“God, okay.” Sykora hisses a sigh and rubs her forehead with both palms. “You’re sure you can handle her?”
He nods. “I’d ask to, even if we were both sober. We have some business to discuss.”
“Ooh.” Sykora peeks through her fingers. “You sound mad at her.”
“I’m not quite mad at her yet,” he says. “But if she’s poking her nose into my homeworld, I reserve the right to be.”
“Very well, husband.” Sykora wipes her grass-dewed hands on her stomach. “I will go lie in a pile of babies and try to sober up. If you tear her face off, record it for me.”