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.