Gideon's first letter
15th Day of Fifth, 342nd Year of Founding
(Arrived 20/5/342)
Dear Mags,
Has Uncle allowed you to stay in Cromwell, or have you finally managed to scandalize even him? You must have been pretty spectacular, since I found a note from Aunt Harriet waiting for me when I arrived. I shall spare you the gruesome details, but she spent most of the letter deploring your shocking misbehaviour and asking me to send back a strong reprimand via the next direct courier. Anything that would make that old skinflint cough up the money to have mail sent express must have been worth watching, so I wait with breathless anticipation for your version of events. Aunt Harriet notwithstanding, I'm afraid your moral fibre will have to go unstrengthened for the full five days that Babour Standard Shipping offers the "discerning and concentious customer" (i.e. those that won't pay the ursurous express rates). At least Aunt Harriet is a stickler for Tradition -- spidery handwriting I can deal with, but being greeted by her nasal tones after a fortnight in space would have been rather too much. In any case, consider yourself appropriately reprimanded.
On to less pressing matters. I'm glad that Tiny Ferguson was assigned to the Astran Embassy too, even if he regards as a terrible waste of his "dark locks and soulful eyes", as his last paramour put it. He feels that going to a planet where the dominant species look like feathery slugs may cramp his style; we live in hope.
The third cadet that they sent is a chap called Charles Montlewis. He's an Academy man, obviously, but he wasn't in my House, so I hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words with him before we set out. (He was the tall thin chap with the brown hair and poor complexion; you know, the one who nearly concussed himself on the shuttle door as we boarded.) Charles is from one of the City families, but he's not quite as feeble as you might assume; he's a touch clumsy, but he's friendly, and he seems to be something of a closet Traditionalist. And wonder of wonders, he's a passable fencer! This was a great blessing on the trip, as it meant I had someone to beat other than Tiny. You might quite like Charles; he reminds me of that Tommy Planter that you kept mooning after last year, before he insulted Plato and you "accidentally" broke his nose.
Thank you for the book, by the way; having something interesting to read saved me a considerable sum by reducing the amount of poker Tiny could convince me to play. Speaking of my farewell, I thought Mother looked quite splendid, and I admired how deftly you handled that guard who didn't want you to bring Umberto into the spaceport. I was sure that Tiny's father would turn up to the launch, but it seems that they are still at logger-heads. (If you happen to be visiting out that way, you might drop in and see how his family is keeping; I think he'd like to hear.)
The trip was uneventful, which much better than "exciting" where space travel is concerned. Since Tiny and Charles are considerably better at cards than I am, and there is only so long one can bury oneself in a book, I ended up playing quite a lot of Hex with the purser, Master Bambridge. I feel sure you would approve of him, as he has magnificent set of iron-grey mutton-chops, and he knew Father from the Maximilian Blockade. He was also quite scathing of the current council, calling it "the worst collection of puling New-Agers as ever bought their way to power". I think Uncle would be amused.
We did have one stop-off: Covenant, the PTC mining colony. I didn't realise that the Cooperative was allowing trade with outsiders again; according to Bambridge, it's some sort of power play by the Haast Industries members. I must admit, I don't fully understand the politics, but I did notice the Gemini Foodstuffs proctor watching us as we disembarked -- she was a Fooweet, and her ears kept swaying back and forth, which means she was the third stage of their mating dance (unlikely), or being sullen. Tiny maintained that it was his irresistible charm crossing the species barrier; but as he managed to get thrown out of three different bars and confined to quarters, perhaps he should have kept some of that charm in reserve. Charles and I managed to keep out of that kind of trouble, though Charles did nearly cause a minor international incident by getting his fingers trapped in a food dispenser. (When the policeman in front of you is wearing the same logo as the machinery that attacked you, think twice before calling it a "festering pile of mis-design".) I looked for a memento to send to you, but most of what was on offer seemed designed to display their corporate affiliations as prominently as possible. I finally found a miner who carves figurines in his spare time; that is where I bought the little green Mule-class mining skiff that I'm sending with this letter, which I hope you like. Charles says it's made out of malachite, a copper ore; he was quite animated in his enthusiasm, and it was in the process of explaining the uses of copper through the ages that the Dispenser Incident occured. I suppose I should be grateful that we weren't standing next to an air-lock.
Our time on Astra has been pretty routine as well. We green-horns were herded from the ozone and grime of the spaceport to the relative calm of the Embassy, and then basically told to stay put for a week while our bodies adjusted to Astran temperature and air. It seems awfully muggy, and the musty orange smell of the Astrani gets everywhere -- Linus, one of the cadets we're replacing, says that you stop noticing it after a while. He gave us a quick tour of the Embassy, which turns out to be quite small -- about the size of the manor, if you include the outbuildings. The Ambassador's residence, which includes all the offices and reception areas, is the biggest structure, all off-white NuClassic columns and terraces. (We had a brief walk through the residence - they have a large water garden, lit just like Home. After spending all day in the oppressive heat, it seemed like paradise, though I hope that Charles would be less likely to step backwards into a lily pond in the Hereafter.)
The barracks is behind and to the left of the residence; it's pillared and off-white as well, but manages to look slightly less like a wedding cake. The guardsmen and officers live there, and there's a gymnasium and an armoury. Directly behind the residence is a parade ground that doubles as an emergency landing field, and to the right are the bungalows for the clerical staff.
Speaking of clerical staff, Linus introduced us to his younger sister, Eunice. She's one of the communication technicians, and she seems nice enough, if a bit shy -- mousy brown hair in one of those radical City cuts and eyes on her feet. She reminded me of Mother's friend Patricia, though more Modern, and without the burn marks or clay on her clothes. Tiny would have immediately tried to charm the socks off her, except he managed to catch a cold just before landfall; it's hard to look suave and snuffle at the same time. I think he took comfort in the fact that she's not really his type. (From past experience, 'his type' tend to be more handy in the tempestuous, crockery hurling department.) There are a number of other women among the staff, so Tiny will have plenty of chances to turn on his inimitable charm, regardless of the consequences for his long-suffering friends.
The last thing of note on our first day was meeting our CO, Captain Annette Stills. She reminded me of how Uncle gets when he's about to address the Council, all forbidding justice and implacable devotion to duty. (I daresay she practices the look in her mirror before she goes to bed.) I half expected a rousing speech on martial valour, honour and the importance of clean boots, but it turned out she was more interested in giving us a brisk run-down on what our duties will be once we're acclimatised.
We've only seen the Ambassador from a distance so far; Linus said (before leaving for the spaceport) that most of the day-to-day running of the embassy is through the Ambassador's secretary, one John Horten. Apparently Secretary Horten is something of a martinet; well, if nothing else, the Academy certainly prepares you for overfussy precision.
Anyway, it's the end of the first day, and we're about to finish our orientation, so I have just enough time to pop this in with the other mail. Tell me how your punishment turns out, and how Uncle is settling into his post. And give my love to Mother.
Your faithful brother,
-- Gideon
(Arrived 20/5/342)
Dear Mags,
Has Uncle allowed you to stay in Cromwell, or have you finally managed to scandalize even him? You must have been pretty spectacular, since I found a note from Aunt Harriet waiting for me when I arrived. I shall spare you the gruesome details, but she spent most of the letter deploring your shocking misbehaviour and asking me to send back a strong reprimand via the next direct courier. Anything that would make that old skinflint cough up the money to have mail sent express must have been worth watching, so I wait with breathless anticipation for your version of events. Aunt Harriet notwithstanding, I'm afraid your moral fibre will have to go unstrengthened for the full five days that Babour Standard Shipping offers the "discerning and concentious customer" (i.e. those that won't pay the ursurous express rates). At least Aunt Harriet is a stickler for Tradition -- spidery handwriting I can deal with, but being greeted by her nasal tones after a fortnight in space would have been rather too much. In any case, consider yourself appropriately reprimanded.
On to less pressing matters. I'm glad that Tiny Ferguson was assigned to the Astran Embassy too, even if he regards as a terrible waste of his "dark locks and soulful eyes", as his last paramour put it. He feels that going to a planet where the dominant species look like feathery slugs may cramp his style; we live in hope.
The third cadet that they sent is a chap called Charles Montlewis. He's an Academy man, obviously, but he wasn't in my House, so I hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words with him before we set out. (He was the tall thin chap with the brown hair and poor complexion; you know, the one who nearly concussed himself on the shuttle door as we boarded.) Charles is from one of the City families, but he's not quite as feeble as you might assume; he's a touch clumsy, but he's friendly, and he seems to be something of a closet Traditionalist. And wonder of wonders, he's a passable fencer! This was a great blessing on the trip, as it meant I had someone to beat other than Tiny. You might quite like Charles; he reminds me of that Tommy Planter that you kept mooning after last year, before he insulted Plato and you "accidentally" broke his nose.
Thank you for the book, by the way; having something interesting to read saved me a considerable sum by reducing the amount of poker Tiny could convince me to play. Speaking of my farewell, I thought Mother looked quite splendid, and I admired how deftly you handled that guard who didn't want you to bring Umberto into the spaceport. I was sure that Tiny's father would turn up to the launch, but it seems that they are still at logger-heads. (If you happen to be visiting out that way, you might drop in and see how his family is keeping; I think he'd like to hear.)
The trip was uneventful, which much better than "exciting" where space travel is concerned. Since Tiny and Charles are considerably better at cards than I am, and there is only so long one can bury oneself in a book, I ended up playing quite a lot of Hex with the purser, Master Bambridge. I feel sure you would approve of him, as he has magnificent set of iron-grey mutton-chops, and he knew Father from the Maximilian Blockade. He was also quite scathing of the current council, calling it "the worst collection of puling New-Agers as ever bought their way to power". I think Uncle would be amused.
We did have one stop-off: Covenant, the PTC mining colony. I didn't realise that the Cooperative was allowing trade with outsiders again; according to Bambridge, it's some sort of power play by the Haast Industries members. I must admit, I don't fully understand the politics, but I did notice the Gemini Foodstuffs proctor watching us as we disembarked -- she was a Fooweet, and her ears kept swaying back and forth, which means she was the third stage of their mating dance (unlikely), or being sullen. Tiny maintained that it was his irresistible charm crossing the species barrier; but as he managed to get thrown out of three different bars and confined to quarters, perhaps he should have kept some of that charm in reserve. Charles and I managed to keep out of that kind of trouble, though Charles did nearly cause a minor international incident by getting his fingers trapped in a food dispenser. (When the policeman in front of you is wearing the same logo as the machinery that attacked you, think twice before calling it a "festering pile of mis-design".) I looked for a memento to send to you, but most of what was on offer seemed designed to display their corporate affiliations as prominently as possible. I finally found a miner who carves figurines in his spare time; that is where I bought the little green Mule-class mining skiff that I'm sending with this letter, which I hope you like. Charles says it's made out of malachite, a copper ore; he was quite animated in his enthusiasm, and it was in the process of explaining the uses of copper through the ages that the Dispenser Incident occured. I suppose I should be grateful that we weren't standing next to an air-lock.
Our time on Astra has been pretty routine as well. We green-horns were herded from the ozone and grime of the spaceport to the relative calm of the Embassy, and then basically told to stay put for a week while our bodies adjusted to Astran temperature and air. It seems awfully muggy, and the musty orange smell of the Astrani gets everywhere -- Linus, one of the cadets we're replacing, says that you stop noticing it after a while. He gave us a quick tour of the Embassy, which turns out to be quite small -- about the size of the manor, if you include the outbuildings. The Ambassador's residence, which includes all the offices and reception areas, is the biggest structure, all off-white NuClassic columns and terraces. (We had a brief walk through the residence - they have a large water garden, lit just like Home. After spending all day in the oppressive heat, it seemed like paradise, though I hope that Charles would be less likely to step backwards into a lily pond in the Hereafter.)
The barracks is behind and to the left of the residence; it's pillared and off-white as well, but manages to look slightly less like a wedding cake. The guardsmen and officers live there, and there's a gymnasium and an armoury. Directly behind the residence is a parade ground that doubles as an emergency landing field, and to the right are the bungalows for the clerical staff.
Speaking of clerical staff, Linus introduced us to his younger sister, Eunice. She's one of the communication technicians, and she seems nice enough, if a bit shy -- mousy brown hair in one of those radical City cuts and eyes on her feet. She reminded me of Mother's friend Patricia, though more Modern, and without the burn marks or clay on her clothes. Tiny would have immediately tried to charm the socks off her, except he managed to catch a cold just before landfall; it's hard to look suave and snuffle at the same time. I think he took comfort in the fact that she's not really his type. (From past experience, 'his type' tend to be more handy in the tempestuous, crockery hurling department.) There are a number of other women among the staff, so Tiny will have plenty of chances to turn on his inimitable charm, regardless of the consequences for his long-suffering friends.
The last thing of note on our first day was meeting our CO, Captain Annette Stills. She reminded me of how Uncle gets when he's about to address the Council, all forbidding justice and implacable devotion to duty. (I daresay she practices the look in her mirror before she goes to bed.) I half expected a rousing speech on martial valour, honour and the importance of clean boots, but it turned out she was more interested in giving us a brisk run-down on what our duties will be once we're acclimatised.
We've only seen the Ambassador from a distance so far; Linus said (before leaving for the spaceport) that most of the day-to-day running of the embassy is through the Ambassador's secretary, one John Horten. Apparently Secretary Horten is something of a martinet; well, if nothing else, the Academy certainly prepares you for overfussy precision.
Anyway, it's the end of the first day, and we're about to finish our orientation, so I have just enough time to pop this in with the other mail. Tell me how your punishment turns out, and how Uncle is settling into his post. And give my love to Mother.
Your faithful brother,
-- Gideon
posted by Svend Andersen | 11:12 AM
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