A quiet, transitional moment. I work PRN in a hospital and know how important it is to get patients out of their damn beds. With the shock of the moon attack in the past and his new throat installed, Graf also is ready to get out of his room and out of the hospital. I understand completely.

The next few segments will ease a reader back into their odd three-way relationship, with, of course, Robert Hartmann on the way; that’s likely in the segment after next. I do think Pai feels guilt for letting her husband get shot, but she’s not only hiding that from him, she’s hiding it from me. I’ll see what I can find out.

At the Texas Medical Complex, just south of the Houston city center, Graf wrote with pen and paper.  Letting his left hand just touch his new throat – human skin over plastic – he knew more than ever after the moon that security was paramount, especially with his family.

This letter is for you alone, Dearest Alix.  Yes, keep a copy somewhere for the kids once they’ve grown up, but this is not a kiddie story.  Pai will scan and send this to you, as secure as a Machine can make it, and I’ll tell her to send what medical info she thinks safe, as well.

What’s that?  Medical info, you ask?  I know she sent you a message we were on our way back from the moon, sooner than expected, but not why.  There was an, um, altercation.  My throat was shot out.  CALM DOWN!  I’m fine now.  I’m somewhere in Texas and just got a new one put in.  The skin is really red and itchy right now, but will be better in a few days when I’m home.  Well, our so-called vacation home.

Yes, I pretty much demanded they release me day after tomorrow, and we’ll be back to you and kids.  And Pai is coming too; she is very guilty about letting me get hurt and rarely leaves me alone.  With no one from your family there, I’d not imagine any problems.  You did say you get on well with Istvan and Llaura; if I hear the twins have been mean to their new son, they won’t sit down for a week.

I have much more to say once I’m there.  Their auntie will see to the kids and we will take a walk in the ancient military park.  I love you.

Undoubtedly waiting at the door for his pen to stop and paper to be set down, his wife walked in.  A slight change to her long, white-purple hair:  a single braid down her back.  Her smile was genuine but eyes still hard; and, fatigues of the Imperial Russian Army.  Less contentious to the locals than anything from the imperium.

“Ready?” she asked, her hand up to take the paper.

“Check it first, of course, Beloved.” He was a little tired after concentrating like that.

“My middle name is not Grammatikov, Husband!” she said in mock indignation.  “It’s fine.  And I know what medical data I shall send.  Sent.”

She moved to sit on the end of his hospital bed.  “Do you need to sleep?”

“Maybe.  But I’m sick of lying down or sitting.  Can you help me take a walk?” Graf asked.

“Yes and no,” was Pai’s typical ambiguous answer.  “There is a lovely park area outside, all around the buildings.  But to get there, I’m not wearing you out through all these dreary corridors.  I’ll get a wheelchair and take you down.”

“That’s just embarrassing,” he muttered.

“Says the man who got his throat shot out not quite four days ago!”  She gave a warning squeeze to his shoulder, reminding him she could punch through masonry walls if she wanted.  “Be right back.  And we’ll make a toilet stop on the way.”

Some minutes later she dogged down the chair and helped him up.  Glad she didn’t dislocate my shoulder, he thought.  Arm tight about his waist, she waited for the light to change, then led her husband due south to a small park across the street.

“The one a bit to the southwest is larger, but we’ll start here,” his wife explained.  “And, it has more shade.  I don’t want your new skin taking any damage.”

“Any more damage?” he rasped a little, with a smile rewarded by a kiss.

“I’m sure you and Alix will get up to much more than that,” with a twinkle of her golden eyes, “but take care you don’t overdo it.  In fact, I may monitor you two.”

“Pai, that’s just weird,” he managed.  “That little gazebo is taken, so over there, across from the fountain?”

She handed over a bottle of water once on an old, wooden bench.