Late Night - Valerian's Private Communication Chamber

  Archduke Valerian adjusted his perfectly pressed midnight-blue uniform and checked his watch: 23:57. Three minutes until his scheduled communication with his brother. Not too early. Not too te. Optimal.

  The communication chamber was a testament to Valerian's personality—stark, functional, meticulously organized. A single chair faced the ornate communication device, positioned at precisely the perfect angle for optimal conversation. On the desk beside it sat five identical bck notebooks beled by date range, each containing records of previous conversations.

  At exactly midnight, the communication device illuminated. Valerian sat with perfect posture, hands resting precisely at ninety-degree angles on the armrests.

  "Greetings, brother," he said, his voice formal despite the familial retionship. "Territory status report prepared as requested. All security protocols functioning at optimal efficiency. Resource acquisition increased by 7.3% since st report. Criminal vampire containment facilities at 92.4% capacity."

  The voice that responded was warm, rexed—everything Valerian was not. "Good evening to you too, Valerian. Always so precise with your numbers."

  "Precision is essential for optimal territory management," Valerian replied, not recognizing the gentle teasing. He opened his notebook to a fresh page beled "Communication #1,247" with today's date underneath. His handwriting was as precise as military calligraphy.

  "Of course it is," his brother chuckled. "Tell me something that isn't in your report. Something... unexpected."

  Valerian's pen paused mid-stroke. "Unexpected occurrences are minimized through proper pnning. However..." He consulted a secondary page. "There was a 0.7% variance in the eastern perimeter patrol schedules due to a training exercise that exceeded projected completion parameters by 4.3 minutes."

  His brother's sigh was audible. "That's not quite what I meant. Any personal developments? You've been managing that territory for decades now."

  "Personal developments?" Valerian repeated the phrase as if it were in a foreign nguage. "My efficiency metrics remain consistent. Sleep requirements stable at 5.4 hours per day. Feeding schedule maintained with 0% deviation."

  "What about companions? Friends? Anyone special in your life?"

  Valerian's forehead creased slightly—his version of extreme confusion. "I have Isabelle as First Commander. She has served with 99.7% efficiency for 97 years, 4 months, and 12 days."

  "That's not what I meant either." His brother's voice softened. "You know, sometimes I think about the future. Our future. The way we're building something that will st centuries."

  "Yes. The territory's strategic positioning ensures longevity. Current projections indicate sustainable operations for approximately 347 years without significant structural adjustments."

  "You know," his brother continued, his tone shifting to something lighter, "watching all these territories develop makes me think. I wouldn't mind having a niece or nephew someday, you know." A brief pause. "I wouldn't mind having a niece or nephew someday, you know."

  Valerian's pen froze mid-word. His entire body went rigid. His eyes, normally calcuting, widened fractionally—a seismic reaction by his standards.

  His brother continued speaking, moving on to discuss territory borders and political maneuvers, completely unaware of the bomb he had just detonated in Valerian's methodical mind.

  But Valerian was no longer fully listening. His brain had locked onto a single directive: niece/nephew production. Brother wants offspring. Priority mission identified.

  "—don't you think?" his brother's voice pierced through Valerian's processing.

  "Yes," Valerian responded automatically, having missed the question entirely. "Absolutely correct assessment."

  In his notebook, his pen moved with urgent precision. He crossed out the original header and wrote:

  PRIORITY MISSION: NIECE/NEPHEW PRODUCTION

  He underlined it three times, then added:

  Objective: Create offspring to satisfy brother's expressed desire Timeline: Immediate implementation required Resources needed:

  Genetic compatibility assessment protocolsFertility evaluation metricsConsort selection criteriaBrother satisfaction probability index"Valerian? Are you still there?" His brother's voice sounded concerned.

  "Affirmative. Processing tactical implications of your directive."

  "Directive? What directive? I was just making conversation."

  Valerian did not register the confusion in his brother's voice. "Implementation pnning already underway. Resource allocation will be adjusted accordingly. Expected timeline for initial results: approximately 14-21 days for selection process."

  "Selection process? What are you talking about?"

  "Will require additional research before full operational pn can be finalized. Request permission to terminate communication and begin immediate strategy development."

  There was a long pause on the other end.

  "Valerian," his brother finally said, "whatever you're pnning, just don't start a war, alright?"

  "Negative. No warfare pnned. Strictly reproductive strategy."

  Another even longer pause.

  "You know what? I'm not going to ask. Just keep me updated as usual," his brother said, amusement evident in his voice.

  "Acknowledged. Updates will be provided at standard communication intervals."

  The connection terminated, and Valerian immediately stood. He checked his watch: 00:47. Time to begin. He strode to his pnning room, already mentally drafting a comprehensive implementation strategy for what would soon become Operation Consort Selection.

  In his mind, the mission parameters were clear: Brother wants niece/nephew. Therefore, Valerian must produce offspring. For that, he needed consorts.

  His mind raced through calcutions. Vampire fertility rates: exceptionally low. Probability of successful reproduction with single consort: 0.037% annually. Unacceptable odds.

  Multiple consorts would be required to achieve statistical viability. Initial calcutions suggested twenty-seven would provide optimal probability distribution. He would need to implement a territory-wide assessment of all eligible candidates, followed by rigorous testing protocols to identify the most efficient, brother-pleasing consorts possible.

  By sunrise, three additional notebooks would be filled with calcutions, five preliminary selection protocols would be developed, and Protocol 37-B would be officially designated: Operation Consort Selection.

  All from a simple joke that Valerian never recognized as such.