Magdalene's first letter

12th Day of Fifth, 342nd Year of Founding
(Arrived at Astra 17/5/342)

Dear Sogs,

I'm in Cromwell at last! Yes, the "sea-jewelled city" (I'm quoting from one of the guides Aunt Harriet gave me; they're all monstrously overwritten and fail to mention any of the gaming clubs you recommended) is my new abode, at least for the next three months. You will (of course) be wondering what I have seen and done - whether I've been riding in the Row, or toured the Pinnacles, or taken a bubble car down around Undersea. Naturally I have done none of these things, because Aunt Harriet is an interfering baggage who thinks that my sole aim in coming to Cromwell is to be "launched" (like your ship, unfortunately with fewer weapons) on society.

You can stop laughing now. Honestly, it's awful. You know how she mentioned to Mother that she might take me to a few of the smaller social occasions, and show me some of the shopping arcades? I've been here two days, and I've already attended five teas, a soiree, two concerts and a gallery opening ( there were some interesting kinesculptures there, but every time I tried to look at them Aunt Harriet pulled me back and hissed "You're here to be seen, child, not to see."). Not to mention the shopping. Apparently, I've been booked for daily wardrobe sessions all next week with one of Cromwell's best costumers. When I said that I'd wanted to go riding, and catch up with a few school friends and couldn't we postpone it she almost fainted. Madame Tuvali is extremely sought after, I have been informed, and people put their daughters down at birth for ball gowns from her. Aunt Harriet has only gotten this booking at great difficulty, and I should be grateful at this amazing opportunity. Would I want to attend the Great Ball in (horrors) breeches?

Of course I would. I said so, but I think Aunt Harriet thought I was joking. So, it's back to being dragged around and dressed up like a doll. I am trying to be polite, but it doesn't always work. However, Aunt Harriet has finally agreed to let me explore the city on my own tomorrow. Hence the guides - she's given me about six of the things, one of which beeps if I approach "an insalubrious area" and offers to contact Security - which I am currently studying. In between writing to you, of course, which Aunt Harriet views as a family obligation and hence acceptable behaviour (unlike so many other things I want to do!).

Enough of Aunt Harriet. What I really wanted to tell you about was my trip here, which was most mysterious... although it did get matters with Aunt Harriet off to a bad start - there she is again! I shall attempt to complete my tale without further reference to her, although if she creeps in again I may be forced to commit various acts of literary violence.

Miggle saw me off at the station, of course, and made sure that Umber-to and I had our own compartment. He did the whole crusted family retainer thing, getting all stilted and humphing into his beard about how he hoped I'd enjoy my time in the city and to be sure and uphold the family honour. He also extended me a line of credit on the estate, although I haven't had a chance to check the balance yet. It will be interesting to find out what a veteran of the Golcdanz campaign thinks is a suitable amount for a young lady making her debut in Society. What was the name of that sword-smith Tiny recommended?

The trip was fairly uneventful, at first. Umberto and I played Hex - well, I moved the pieces for Umberto, but he watched them with great interest. Lys gave me an expansion quad for it (Emerald - you know the one) as an early birthday present. It has some fascinating manoeuvres. I did some reading as well - remind me sometime to send you a copy of Quan-Li's Third Stratagem for Reckless Youths. I think you may find it useful if you continue to insist on playing cards for money. It involves bank robbery, and the subsequent necessary explanations to one's relations.

It started to rain just outside Hertshire, and then they announced that we would be making an unscheduled stop at North Barbour. Umberto had been whining, so I took the opportunity to pry open the doors (those seals are so flimsy) and stepped on to the platform for a few minutes. Umberto immediately disappeared behind the nearest hedge - the poor dear really doesn't like travelling.

I was crouched down trying to coax him out when I heard people talking, and twisted around to make sure that I was not about to miss my train. Two porters were loading one of the carriages with a large quantity of boxes, but I couldn't see who was speaking. The voices sounded distorted as well, and I was beginning to wonder if I were developing Great Aunt Maud's little problem, when I saw a few bright flashes about halfway down the platform and realised that I could smell ozone. Raindrops hitting Tech body armour, in other words, which meant that there were at least two PTCs standing not six meters away from me!

I froze. The flashes moved away, eventually, just as the porters finished and Umberto stuck a cold wet nose in my palm to indicate that he was prepared to forgive me for the indignities of travel. I hastened to board the train again and we were off.

I couldn't play Hex after that. I kept wondering what they were doing here, miles from the nearest Neutral Zone. Of course, I may have been imagining things, but you were the one who told me about how to spot Tech armour in the rain - "the disadvantages of desert planet technology", you said - and I'm sure that's what I saw. Eventually, though, I fell asleep, and I didn't wake up again until the train stopped with a sudden jerk.

I clapped my hands for the lights, but nothing came on, even when I tried the manual controls. I couldn't see any lights outside the window, either, so we were obviously not in Cromwell ("city of shining illumination"). And the intercom wasn't working. I thought that the PTCs might have come back, so I opened the doors again and got out. Umberto came with me, of course, although he was obviously not impressed with wandering around in the dark.

We weren't at a platform, I could tell that much. It looked more like a garden - an estate, perhaps - but the whole sky was clouded over and it was difficult to see anything clearly. My eyes were just starting to adapt when I tripped over something and ended up going face-first into a puddle. I started to pick myself up, spluttering and dripping, and heard the sound of the engine starting up.

I did try and run. I didn't have a chance. The train slipped away into the night, and I was left alone and stranded. And covered in mud. Of course, I had Umberto with me, but I'd left everything else - including my credit line and my personal seal - on the seat of my carriage. There was nothing else I could do, so I started walking, following my train. It was a little hazardous at first - there were boxes all around where the train had been, scattered higgledy piggledy as if they'd just been thrown out - but my eyes soon adjusted, and the rain lifted a little.

It took Umberto and I nearly three hours to get to a village (Saraclete) with a trans/send port. The screen stayed dark for ages, and when Aunt Harriet finally appeared I nearly shrieked in shock (believe me, you do not ever want to see her with her hair twisted up in rags and her face in a skin mask. Ever.) She was extremely annoyed at being woken up, but when I told her where I was and that I'd missed the train she started panicking. I barely avoided having an entire detachment of Internal Security sent out to retrieve me. I finally convinced her into advancing me the cost of coach hire and arranging for the Stationmaster at Cromwell to retrieve my belongings.

Needless to say I was too tired to appreciate it properly when I finally arrived at Cromwell, although the city did look very impressive with the morning sunlight glinting off the domes. Aunt Harriet met me at the staging post, looking slightly more human than she had earlier (if equally annoyed!). She took me to her and Uncle's suite (it's in one of the more fashionable bubbles and is therefore positively minuscule) and practically thrust me into the ablutions room. I got the impression she was less worried about my comfort than she was about the chance of someone "important" seeing me with a fetching mud coating.

I wanted to sleep, but Aunt Harriet had arranged a whole day's worth of social frivolities for me, and (after the night's events) I thought it was best to humour her. In retrospect, this was a mistake. I fell asleep while the Duchess of Marlsbury was describing her recent intestinal surgery, and when I woke up and said "how dreadful!" in an interested manner I discovered that she was now informing us that her daughter had given birth to twins. I also committed some sort of social faux pas by telling Captain Wilhelm (one of Uncle's men, and a depressingly long-faced individual) that I'd missed the train and had to walk. Apparently, missing trains is not something well-bred individuals do, and I am now considered "quaint". Walking is also unsuitable - fashionable types promenade. For very short distances.

To finish off, when we got back to the suite that evening Umberto (I told Aunt Harriet that I should bring him with me) had destroyed a small occasional table and an incredibly ugly crystal trans/send port. Personally, I think the room looks better without them, but Aunt Harriet has disagreed. She has even dared to mention Kennels.

Today was much the same. I shall gloss over the Pastry Incident, pausing only to mention that any sensible woman would not leave out eclairs on a bench where any one (not just Umberto) could have found them, and will also point out that it is not my fault that the internal alarm system is designed so differently here from at home. I was merely attempting to ascertain the override signals, and the guards should be grateful that there was no real emergency.

Uncle's new post keeps him pretty busy - I've only seen him once - and I have not had a chance yet to tell him about the PTCs I saw. If they were PTCs. Somehow, it seems much less likely now that I think about it - how would they get past the defences? - but I'm sure there was someone there in Tech armour.

How is your embassy? Did you lose all your money on the trip, or are you saving it for that new epee you mentioned? Write soon, and tell me everything.

your devoted sister

-- Magdalene

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