As this is still primarily a writing experiment, I am playing fast and lose with time; thus the “Two weeks later…” That’s sloppy writing but rough drafts are about ideas, not grammar.

From Part Three of “Obligations of Rank” and the short story “Ceres” in “Imperial Entanglements,” we meet Laszlo Hartmann once again. This is about five years after “Ceres,” I think, so there are changes and adjustments to his life. We’ll get to know Minerva a bit more, tomorrow.

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Two weeks later came two changes.  Given her ability to perceive life, the first was Kira’s assignment to the new Fauna Committee, to begin the planning of the phased importation of animals onto Mars.  It must be a tightly coordinated effort, Saras thought, looking at the brief, otherwise there could well be a population explosion of whatever animals are introduced first.

The second was another visit.  Completing yet another tour of the moons of the gas giants, her father’s oldest brother was making a stop at Mars.  Not that his ship would be permitted to land.  An older T4 Mk.III, he and his companion had been using it for years and could likely perform repairs in the dark.  With their teeth.

My uncle’s companion.  Another word like concubine.  Now almost thirty years old, Crown Prince Laszlo was the only of the Empress’ adult children not married with offspring.  We never talk of it, his deviancy as a youth.  His choice of deep space exploration with his companion seems to have kept him sane.  Unlike his former lover, Nikita, only son of the Tsar and Tsarina.  His descent into alcoholism then drug abuse is also not discussed.  Back on civil terms with her mother, Saras asked if they should make plans.

“We should certainly have them stay with us, unless otherwise directed by some of the regional governors,” she had agreed.  “I’ll start planning some special meals for the five, er, four of us.”

“Food!” little Lissa called.

My uncle’s companion, of whom I have only seen images, is the Model Twelve android name Minerva.  Minerva Mendrovovitch.  Originally build as a vessel for a slice of the consciousness of Reina, the Thinking Machine who is Prime Minister – dictator – of Russia, during that trip to Mars developed her own mind.  Her own soul, I would say.  I’ve no idea if she and uncle have a physical relationship, but for some reason Grandmother has allowed this to continue.  Perhaps afraid Les might lose his mind like Nikky did if she presses too hard.

Reading up on Model Twelves the night before, Saras was surprised to learn that model had living skin, kept alive through something like a TPN every third day.  Half the stores in their ship must have been her skin’s food.  Unless she or Uncle compounded them, which makes more sense.

Following politics on Control, the space station, as well as a short address to Governor-General Topov of the Marineris District, Laszlo Hartmann, kitted in a black skinsuit with a nasal oh-two feed, came through the small crowd at the spaceport to see his family.  Saras noted the smaller figure behind him, almost a shadow.

“Eloise!” he smiled.  “We finally meet!  Thank you for taking care of my kid brother; Lord knows that little snot needs it!”

Being human and wearing a helmet, Eloise had opened it for this first greeting.  Impossible for a kiss, she let her brother-and-law reach and touch her face.

“My pleasure, as well, Prince Laszlo,” she said a bit formally.  “Robert can be a handful at times.”

“And not just a handful!” he laughed again.  He seems honestly happy.  It is hard for our kind to fake emotions to one another.  He went to his left knee and opened his arms.  “There are these two beautiful girls, after all!”

Lissa, faceplate down, giggled and squirmed to this semi-stranger.  Saras pulled her gloves off and placed them on either side of her uncle’s face.

Status?  If there was ever any doubt she was a Hartmann, that mind-to-mind first question answered it.  In what her mother would think no more than fifteen seconds, Saras now understood much about her uncle.  More than most, in fact.  She dropped her hands from his face and stepped around him, raising them again to the shadow.  A young woman not even in a skinsuit.