This will be the 11th and last addition to my 19th book, another short story collexion. It, unfortunately, again deals with death. And how the spouse of that person deals with their death. I again apologize for all these depressing stories, and will try to do something much more fun and entertaining, next.

All demi-humans have longer lifespans. Those who have lived in close physical proximity (which Laszlo has not) to Henge Hartmann even more so. But they still die and are smart enough to not deny that and thus can make plans for it. As an android, Minerva (please be polite when reading and pronounce it in your head correctly: mee-nur-wa) is effectively immortal. As a Model 12, she has living skin, which she feeds via something like a TPN every three days, which was replaced about fifty years ago.

Iter will be wall-to-wall grief and politics. If that’s not your thing, I’ll be back, later. Otherwise, here we go…

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Minerva Hartmann dropped from the deck of the crew quarters, of which there were only two, to the command deck of Lionheart.  It was the third ship with that name, over the last one hundred years as she and her life-long companion, Laszlo Hartmann, Empress – now emeritus and retired on Mars – Faustina’s firstborn son.

Who was unfit for the succession because of what he had done as a youth and then taking me as his companion.  We are the only of that huge dynasty with no children, as I, being a Model Twelve android, cannot.  He gave up power over worlds just for me.

About to announce, “I relieve you, Captain,” she noted he was more relaxed in the command chair than usual.  With perceptions which even a demi-human such as Les did not have, she froze.

Minerva took three steps and touched the living skin of her hand to the dead of his right cheek.

“Offering me my freedom, taking me as you common-law wife, and now dying alone,” she said in a steady voice.  “You always did act rashly and without permission, my love.”

Her skin was alive and she fed it every third day, but she had no tear ducts.  They were deemed unnecessary for her mechanical eyes.  So, all of her grief was behind those eyes. Wide, adobe colored eyes on her flat, Slavic face.  Her synthetic dark hair was short, except for the three cm strand down the left side of her face.  When her husband’s hair began to show streaks of white, she deliberately bleached the same into hers.

While slowly cooling to room temperature, Minerva concluded from his body temperature that he died only thirty minutes ago.  We both knew he was at the end of his longer, demi-human lifespan and had made plans for what to do next, but I cannot move.  I have never felt loss like this and my processors are nearly overwhelmed.  But, I can still act with my mind.

Their ship was returning to Earth from a check on the small imperial colony on Titan, Saturn’s largest moon, to have routine maintenance done.  Currently halfway through the Belt, she took control of the ship and deployed the maser, used for long-range communication.  The first signal was sent to Mars, the second to Earth.

Encoded or not, Aqua will read the first and Reina, who I once was, the second, as we anticipated.  While grooming her great-grand nephew to succeed her, Empress Aurelia will have final say in what is to be done with my love’s body.

At that thought, a sound, a sob, escaped her mouth.  “I am being foolish.  I must act per my captain’s orders.”

She sat in her co-pilot’s chair and lowered their acceleration to half a G while also lowering the cabin temperature to one point five Celsius.  While not Catholic like her husband, Minerva had lived long enough to see miracles and hoped to see one now, so she waited before taking the next, necessary steps.

After sixty minutes, she stood and began to tear Les’ coverall uniform off.  Slowly, methodically.  While her body was five foot five, originally designed to resemble Reina’s self-image in the construct of tribe Mendrovovitch, her form was still one of the designs of Somi Corporation of Osaka, Imperial Japan, and strong enough to punch through the ship’s hull if she so desired.  So, fabric was nothing to her.

I will need to be exposed to hard vacuum for at least an hour, so must wear a suit, lest my skin suffer frostbite.  Minerva went to the crew deck and returned a moment later with her skinsuit and helmet.  The front of the suit was emblazoned with a crest of Imperial Russia, one of her few affectations of her original life.

She lifted him up, supporting his body with her left and tearing the last bits off with her right.  Rigor mortis had not quite set in and he was still flexible, so she put him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and moved toward the airlock just ahead of her, while reducing the ship’s acceleration to zero.

In the airlock, the inner door closed and it cycled before the outer door opened.  A million beautiful stars shone, but she only had concern for her love and her duty.  With her right hand she hooked the safety line she never used to the wall and drifted out. 

Minerva adjusted her husband’s body in front of her, stretching his legs down and putting his arms to his sides.  Her strength, reflexes, and love guaranteed she would not let go of him and lose him.  Now, I wait.  His body will freeze quickly, allowing me to place him into the body bag we brought with us, anticipating this event.  She considered the time.  Ten to twelve hours.  I will run out of air in six, but the damage to my skin will be minimal.  During that time, I should receive answers to my messages and instructions what to do, next.  The brilliance of the universe shown just beyond her husband but her eyes only saw him.

Thirteen hours later, back inside and under slight acceleration, Minerva climbed the ships ladders back to the command deck.  Laszlo Hartmann’s frozen body, in its bag, was stowed next to the reactionless motor at the heart of the ship.  The internal airlock from the rest of the ship to the bridge cycled and she leapt up and out, reviewing the two replies.

I am to proceed to Earth as fast as the ship and I can tolerate, so call that fifteen G’s.  Empress Faustina is already on her way from Mars.  With that world and Earth on the same side of the sun now, she will likely arrive before we – before I do.  A minor ceremony and Funeral Mass, but Aurelia estimates at least a hundred of their – our – family will be there.  Just in case, she allowed the ship’s navigational computer to double-check her vectors.  There was something about Aurie’s message, though, that I did not understand.  I’ve time enough to think on it.  The ship jumped forward and she was pressed deeply into her co-pilot’s chair, the thought of using her captain’s did not occur to her.