Finally realized yesterday that I will not – cannot – force this story beyond where it wants to stop. If I did, then it becomes my story and not theirs. So, 35k words, 40, 50? Not worried anymore. It will be what it is.

Being in territory nominally claimed by the imperium, things are much more relaxed and open. We know Fussy and Aurelia would routinely strip and bathe in front of their troops, so it seems Saras is like that, as well. Morals were very strict after the Breakup/Change, but that was three, nearly four generations ago, now. And, demis are used to doing their own thing.

I’m not about to get drawn into another meeting and another dinner, so Part 3 may wrap up on the next installment.

Enjoy my content? Buy me a beer!

Coming in for a landing at the much smaller town of Macon, Imperial Territory, with their son once again asleep against the window, Anton and Saras wrapped up their conversation.  He’d been taking notes for his report both to the imperium and Mexico.

“Ivan knew neither of us are civil engineers, so kept it simple,” she said.  “The fact that the complex was nearly ten miles long was impressive enough.  What did catch my attention, and I know he knew I looked it up in the Void, was the power output.”

“Yes.  They are only using, what did he say?” He flipped back a few pages.  “Five or six percent of its capabilities right now.  And at peak…”

“Over fifty petawatts of electric power.  That he admitted to.” She stretched her arms.  “I suspect it will be more than that.”

“So they can repurpose their fission reactors to breeding plutonium?” He held up a hand at her glare.  “I know, I know.  But I have to consider every alternative, even in my primitive human mind.”

Forward motion stopped and they began to descend.  Saras put a hand on her son’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake, rewarded with a grumpy noise.

Macon was a true frontier outpost.  Two reactors serving no more than twelve thousand people, almost all of whom were civil engineers and their construction crews.  Empress Faustina did not want to just throw bodies at the ground but first wanted a proper infrastructure in place:  the network of canals between the Argyre and Hellas Seas.  Initially using borrowed equipment from the Russians, deals were made and, Anton heard from rumors, an astonishing amount of money spent, to get the imperium’s own heavy equipment shipped to Mars.  And the fuel to use them.

There was one central dome, the residential area, all else were prefabbed buildings put up and taken down as necessary.  Met by a secretary of the viscount, they walked across the Martian surface, kicking up dust, toward a two-story structure.  Anton noted that for the last one hundred feet of their walk, Saras took her noseline out.

“It smells different down here,” she said to his look.  “Reminds me of when I was here as a kid.  All three of these zones, potential nations, have their own climate.  And before you open your helmet, no, I don’t think you would notice.”

Too used to her even after only their few years together, he did not take that as a slight.

They passed through an airlock and were shown to an office where Viscount Sterling awaited them, wearing an off-white business suit.  Following Anton’s introduction – Saras already knew him – he waved them through a door in the back of his offices into an apartment.

“My wife, Mary, is out for about another hour,” Sterling said, indicating for them to take a seat on one of the couches.  “Let me get some drinks and snacks.”

“You are rather informal, Viscount, having us into your home,” Anton said, still standing while his wife and son sat, peeling their skinsuits off to their waists.  Modesty was not something that demi-humans seemed to possess.

“Please.  A foreign national you may be, Anton, and please call me Tom, but you are also married into the imperial family,” he replied setting out a tray of fruits and cheeses.  There was a bottle of juice for the two seated and another bottle of bourbon.  “As an aristocrat appointed by her Majesty, it behooves me to be as cordial as I may.”

Saras poured two juices and two drinks for the men.

“Empress Faustina,” the three adults said solemnly.

“Granny!” the boy called.  Sterling almost spit his bourbon out.

“That does remind me,” he said once back in control and pulling a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket.  Anton saw it was just a QR square.  “Orders from Earth for me.  This will give you complete access to all of our computers, Princess.”

“Saras, please, Tom.” She held the paper up and blinked once.  “Thank you.  Wow.  Y’all have been busy, haven’t you?”

“The Empress didn’t send us here to sit about on our asses,” Sterling agreed.  “And, the more we develop, the less of a claim our neighbors to our northwest have.  Speaking of, as that seems to be your mission, Ambassador, you sit there and I’ll take the couch opposite your lovely wife and boy.”

“It’s opposite my wife, boy, and daughter, but thank you,” Anton said, sitting.

But Sterling stood right back up and applauded for nearly ten seconds.

“Another to the imperial family!  I am blessed to have you, and her, in my home, Princess,” he said with some formality before reseating himself.

“Now…” Anton began.  He recapitulated first what the Japanese consul had said, then what the Russian Governer-General demanded.  At the latter, Sterling poured them both more bourbon.

“Good Lord,” the viscount muttered.  “They will claim this entire world.”

“They will try, yes,” Anton agreed, looking over his shoulder as a different door opened.  He stood as an absolute beauty came into the living room.