---Director---

---Jemma's perspective---

I look across my desk to where a stocky, scarlet haired Neanderthal stands, agitatedly fidgeting.

"Stop it, Kor."

"Stop what?" he asks blankly.

"Stop seething." I clarify.

"I'm not seething!" he seethes.

"Yes you are, my heart. You're seething because today is the day she arrives and you still think it should have been me." I point out.

"It should have been you!" growls my former captain-turned husband-turned subordinate.

"If it should have been me, it would have been, my heart." I state, calmly.

"You've been on this planet for 12 years! You've been working for the ODR for 23! You're fluent in the language and you've been running things here yourself since Jahnavi and Matthew left! No one is more qualified than you!"

"Kor…" I plead, gently "…this woman has nearly 200 years on me, she's a prominent member of the entire species hegemonic Clan, a major figure in local politics, a moderately well known one on the galactic stage and, by all accounts, an incomparably competent administrative mind! If we're talking credentials, she's got me well and truly beat(!)"

"A major figure in politics who has consistently aligned herself against us and with our enemies! I don't know what kind of political shenanigans took place for her to have been offered this job but I do know I don't like it!" snarls the love of my life.

I stand up and round the desk between us, my cork wedge sandals doubling our height difference.

I look down into the Frenchman's gorgeous green eyes as I place my right hand on his left shoulder and open my left at the level of his chest to say "My heart… the War is over… we have no 'enemies' anymore… Opponents? Sure! It would have been an utter betrayal of all we fought to prove to forbid any from contradiction or opposition to us in our Victory!… Our enemies, however, are gone!… They disappeared the moment the Peace was signed… The antiTerrans are simply trying to navigate a post-Peace galaxy the same as us… even if we often find their means of doing so exasperating!"

"I will always be a warrior, Jemma. That's not something I can change." he answers, as serious as a pope(!)

"And I'm not asking you to, my heart! The warrior is the man I fell in love with! Though any warrior must know when to fight and when not to fight. This is one of the latter. I want you to be as kind and professional with this woman as if you had no idea of her political past and as if you didn't feel I had been unfairly snubbed on her account!"

Kor doesn't answer, just frowning up at me as I pull him into an embrace.

Holding his stout body close to me, feeling his idle power in a way which still makes my heart race like the first time we embraced back in bootcamp on the banks of the Garonne, I smile "Our Representative personally proposed her candidature, Kor… and she was approved by the ODRs on Citadel and Earth… Rain's not stupid and neither are the UTCIS. There's no way they did so on a whim and there's no way they did so without knowing her past. Whatever happened on Citadel with these new species, she must have favourably impressed them… and do you think she would have agreed to take the job if the image you have of her was still typical of who she is?"

"It… could be some sort of two sided ploy? She's agreed to take the job because she has some scheme in mind for how to abuse it and Rain agreed to give it to her because he has some trap he plans to catch her in…" the beautiful Frenchman suggests, churlishly.

"In that case, my heart, the best thing we can do is exactly what Rain expects of us, isn't it?" I smile, resting my flat forehead on top of his sloped one "Conduct ourselves with incorruptible professionalism; failing to give her any ammunition to use against us while documenting and reporting any misconduct on her part through the proper channels. Am I right, my heart(?)" I grin.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The 56 year old man's face subtly (and adorably) twists up in a way reminiscent of an uncomfortable toddler.

"And, if we keep making reports and nothing happens about them?" he poses.

I shrug "Then we put in a transfer request to somewhere else… Perhaps we could go back to Bordeaux and relive our student days(!)… I could even get my cycle unpaused and we could finally start that family we've always talked about…?"

The serious man's lips break into a subtle smile as he mutters "Suddenly, I'm hoping for her to be completely insufferable and for the ODR to do nothing about it(!)"

I chuckle back "*héhéhéhé* I bet you are, my heart(!)" as I put my hand on the top back of his head and, using his elongated cranium as a lever arm to incline his face upwards, bring my lips to his to indulge us both in a loving kiss.

His thick arms wrap around the small of my back, squeezing me close to him.

At that exact moment, I hear the quiet *woosh* of my office door opening.

My husband's entire body tenses in discomfort.

I sigh and turn my face to the door.

Standing there, staring at my husband and I with an expression that does not display the slightest hint of embarrassment regarding the intimacy he just interrupted, is a 120cm boy, covered in a rainbow of feathers.

Eight talons rest against the polished stone floor, six in front and two behind his avian feet.

Two red eyes are mounted on the sides of his head with two, more forward facing, black ones over his curved beak.

On top of his head is a headdress of moveable feathers that are currently flattened to his skull in deference.

His wings are politely folded at his sides, his supinated wingclaws giving a false impression of nervousness to the Terran eye.

I call him a 'boy' but, in reality, he's substantially older than either my husband or I.

That's just a bit of the local matriarchalism creeping into my thoughts(!)

Most male R'qali prefer the cuter reference 'boy' and, if you call them a 'man', they're quite likely to ask what they've done to upset you(!)

"Yes, Qarca?" I ask, neutrally, switching from my husband's first language into R'qali (my lack of a syrinx meaning that, though otherwise perfect, I speak it with quite a pronounced Human accent as I always will), restraining my frustration at him for the interruption.

"I thought you ought to know her shuttle touched down [3 minutes] ago at Karatrataq shuttleport. She will be arriving any moment now." the boy relates, amiably.

"Ah! Thank you for letting us know… We'll come right down." I say, releasing Kor from the embrace and turning to the door.

Qarca wheels around and, just as I emerge onto the railless walkway on the inside of the stepped, horseshoe shaped building, pointed toward the gigantic spire of rock in the middle of the city, launches himself from the side and glides down over the lower level walkways beneath us.

"Aaaaalways a little jealous when they do that(!)" I quip to my husband, switching back to French.

"I'm not." frowns the acrophobe, seriously, eliciting a giggle from me.

I walk right, toward the nearest lift.

I press the button and it arrives quickly enough that I can tell it was only two or three floors down from us.

We step inside, the inertial dampening meaning we feel nothing at all as we descend 51 storeys and more than three hundred metres to ground level in a matter of 15 seconds.

Of course, emerging into the bowels of the building means we still have a long horizontal walk to the middle of the horseshoe, where R'qali etiquette dictates we should be to greet her.

It takes another few minutes, during which time I call up a mobile perch and send it to the meeting point for her to ride while we give her the tour.

She has neither of our stamina and offering her a shoulder to ride could easily be construed as an insult!

We finally come back out into the bright sunlight with the sloped ODR building surrounding us on all sides.

Walking forward to where Qarca stands beside the mobile perch (which, of course, beat us there), I take position on the furthest right from my perspective, my husband standing between me and the R'qali boy.

We wait for another few minutes before, emerging from the direction of Karatrataq, comes a small groundborne band.

I'm immediately able to pick out the unmistakable shapes of Victor 'Cuddles' Taylor and Emiko 'Smiles' Miyazaki, as well as a woman of that isolationist species from the eyeball world sitting a stone's throw from Nova Fennoscandia.

Directly after, I notice a tall blonde woman and a short, orange haired Neanderthal whom I identify as Thran 'Gimli' Hunter.

The three R'qali are the last ones I'm able to pick out, needing to take an additional moment to discern which of the two women is my new boss before concluding that it's probably the one without the artificial leg(!)

As they draw closer, I curiously note the strange lack of haughtiness in the woman's bearing.

She looks… strangely humble?

Is that always how she carries herself when not on camera or is it a new development?

The glint of silver at the tall redhead's left hand distracts me for a moment and I quickly find its counterpart on the upper left hand of the Don woman.

Oooooh! That's some juicy gossip to share around the proverbial coffee machine later(!) The one and only Victor 'Cuddles' Taylor is either tying the knot or already has!

Wresting my mind away from that as the woman approaches, I warmly greet "Director Waqa'arc, 15th Daughter of Highspire Peak. It's a pleasure!" silently willing my husband not to emanate that intimidating aura of his in her direction(!)

"Likewise, Madam." acknowledges the woman, dipping her head to me.

"My name is Ambassador Jemma 'Shield' Zonzambé-Marsh, Deputy Director, this is my husband Ambassador Kor 'Hammer' Marsh (who doubles as our Chief of Security) and that is Assistant Deputy Director Qarca. If you ever have any questions about your new role, please don't hesitate to ask any of us!" I smile and gesture to the mobile perch with my whole hand "It's a very large building and we don't have time to show you quite everything today but shall we just start with a lightning tour of the place?"

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