Playing more catch-up, so another longer segment for the weekend. You’re welcome.

We get another possible foreshadowing of what may or may not be under the Tharsis Plateau. There is also an interesting tell in what Ivan calls Anton and Saras. And, with the mention of Cartaphilus, we now have a touch of the Secondary World in this story. No idea where that might lead.

Looking forward to what’s behind the curtain. See everyone on Monday.

Enjoy my content? Buy me a beer!

This particular dome did not have such an area, beyond restaurants and day-to-day needs.  The walk to the next one over would take forty minutes, which suited Anton just fine.

“Because you want to know what Ivan and I said to one another,” Saras spoke first, reading him.

“Mmm.  I’ve some idea how fast your kind can communicate, and that kid – well, he’s not really a kid, is he? – can do it faster?  Was it about why we are here?  And, is that why he is here?  If the Russian Prime Minister dispatches her own son here at this time, well…”

“There’s no such things as coincidences,” they smiled at one another.

Walking, Saras launched into her story.

“Politely, he first asked after Alicia,” she began.  “He said he was too young to say ‘hi’ to her, so would not.  Then, it was questions about what Count Lavrov said.  I… I could not tell if he was pleased or displeased.  Thinking Machines are unreadable, even to demis.”

Emerging from the clear tunnel into another dome, Anton looked up to guess the time from the sun.  Mid-afternoon.  With a tiny tug, she led him left, to the north, likely seeing in her mind a map of the area.

“I was forthright and asked why the Russians wanted the most inhospitable land on this planet.  They’ll still be living under domes while, once the canals are built, subjects of the imperium will be tilling fields in the open air and the Japs sailing boats in the Isidis.” She sighed.  “He was most evasive.”

They turned right onto a broad promenade.  Here, about a quarter of the adult wore skinsuits.  All youngsters did.

“Remember that story about when I first met my uncle, Laszlo?  That he broadly implied not just complex animal life out here but also intelligent life?” she asked.

“Yes.  Obviously someone had to build that time gate,” he nodded.  “Do the Russians think there is some ancient civilization under Tharsis?  I always thought, from the scattered intelligence reports, that it was more to do with iron, uranium, rare metals…”

“That’s what Ivan wanted me to believe, too.  But he was laughing when thinking that to me, so I didn’t,” she said while he paused them in front of a clothing store.  Not liking what he saw, they moved on.

“But what if what Les implied is true?  Is there a lost city up there?” Saras shook her head.  “That could change everything.  And that’s what I said to Ivan.”

“Any response?”

“He laughed at me again.  Oh, we’re going in here?” she asked as he led her into a jewelry store.

Surprised by his sudden act, Saras knew he was a good husband and father, just not particularly sentimental, she was giddy when he bought and placed a thin silver band onto her head.  Not from the top down, but from her forehead back.

Outside, he explained himself.  “You’re the only princess on Mars.  Should look the role.”

Holding him tighter, they walked another few minutes.

“There is something you are not telling me, about what your uncle said about life,” Anton said.

“Look at you, acting all demi-human and reading me, just because you got me a present!”

“I’m a diplomat and used to reading humans.  And you’re not answering the question.”

She stopped them.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “There was something else.”

“Can you tell me?”

Like an agent in an old spy movie, he watched her look around before going on tip-toes to his ear.

“Whatever is under the ground might still be alive.  And Les implied it might resent being disturbed.” She leaned away.  “Oh!  Ivan just told me they are headed this way.  Since the Count already had reservations for dinner for us, he just took them over.”

She pointed northwest.

“We’ll meet them over there at the dome’s edge,” she said.

She took a step but her husband didn’t move.

“I…” he was flustered.  “I don’t even know what to think about what you just said.”

The name of the restaurant was The Moskva.  Saras noted that they had their own internal containment in case of failure to a part of the dome, and passed that onto Anton when they were offered a complimentary change of clothes for dining.  Now wearing something which looked a bit like yukatas, they waited at the bar for the other three.  He got a rum.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Looks like the best place in the city, from what I’ve seen,” she agreed.  “I’ve looked at the lists of recent reservations and it’s all top government, industrial, and engineering people.  Plus guests from Earth.”

“So Count Lavrov was trying to make nice, after all?” Anton smiled.

“He was!” Ivan called, walking in with Konev behind him.  The Alvarez’s son was asleep on the human’s broad back, his arms barely around his neck.  “You go change, Sergei.  I’ll make nice with the mortals.”

Konev handed the junior to the senior, the former making a tiny whine of protest to his disturbed nap.

“We’ve our own room,” Ivan said, as they stood from their stools.  “Sergei can find us; he’s good at those kinds of things.”

“Yes,” Saras agreed.  “My mother knows that very well.”

“During his debriefing right after the kerfuffle at her prison, Mom almost killed him.  By accident, I’m sure,” the lad said from between them, taking a hand of each.  The little boy was cradled in his father’s right arm.

“Construct sickness?” she asked.

“Nope; big sis and I were taking care of that.” They went through the open area of the restaurant.  So early, there were few diners and they were ignored.  “When she heard about Cartaphilus, she freaked and almost tore into my friend’s mind to scour information.  I told her no.”

“This is story, and a name, I’ve never heard,” Anton admitted.  His wife was pretty free with family secrets – one of the things he truly treasured about her – but, as she did a few minutes ago, would shut down on just a few subjects.

“Oh!” Ivan laughed.  “Did I just say that out loud!”

A look left to his wife brought a warning glance, so he dropped it.

“Here we are,” the android said, opening a plastic accordion-style door.  A room about ten by twenty feet with a rectangular dining table in the center.  There was what looked like scarlet blackout curtains on the opposite wall.  Ivan dropped their hands and waved them to a small couch to their left.

“I’ve already ordered food; about thirty minutes,” he told them.  “Just relax there rather than the dining chairs.  Better for my new friend to sleep.”

“And,” he went on as they sat, “I like your tiara, Princess!”

He bowed low enough that his head nearly touched the floor.

“Please, stop that Ivan,” she sighed.  But Anton saw the tiny smile.  “And if I am a princess here, do you think you will follow Minerva’s path and become your own person?”

“No.” For the first time his smile was gone and the room seemed colder.  “We have learned that lesson and I update myself every thirty minutes, give or take.  Never again.”

“I apologize if I misspoke, Ivan,” she said dipping her head once.  “May we ask what little adventure you had in the short time together?”

“We did what new friends do:  talked.  But then we came upon three boys and a girl kicking a ball [n.b. I say “soccer” as my audience is primarily US and would misunderstand “football”] about,” Ivan explained, walking about the table to where the curtains were.  “I started in English and found only the girl and eldest boy passable in it.  So, in a mix of that and Russian, we played a bit.”

Not a sigh, but such an uncharacteristic pause, that Anton and Saras wondered if he’d malfunctioned.

“Sergei taught me how to play.” He was quieter now.  “I don’t just mean soccer, but play.  To have fun.  Mom is all business.  Nicer, now.  But she’s never played.  That’s sad.”

As the accordion doors opened, the lad’s smile came back in a flash.

“Sergei!  Perfect timing.  I was just about to show these two something,” Ivan said, telling Anton to let his son rest on the couch and to come to the curtained window. 

“As you know,” he began like a lecturer, “the top of Tharsis is, oh, English, a mile and a half above us, so not quite three above sea level.  The Marineris River flows out to the east into the dams, then north into the Chryse Sea.”

The two nodded.  Everyone knew this.

“Where the river comes out of the Great Valley, there is a cut, nearly a mile wide and two tall,” Ivan said, finding the ropes for the curtains.  “Some years ago, when the princess was a little girl, she named it the Argonath and suggested statues built in honor.”

Saras’ breath caught and she took Anton’s arm and leaned into him.

“Know that we have accepted that term, and so it is named, however,” he reached to begin quickly pulling on the cords, “we had our own ideas about statuary!”