A Game of Letters

Magdalene's Second Letter

2005-10-25T11:09:00.000Z

20th Day of Fifth, 342nd Year of Founding
(Arrived at Astra 25/5/342)

Dear Sogs,

I am spending the day in my room (that is, the room that Aunt and Uncle have allocated to me, which is boxy and decorated in High Tertian style, right down to the orange velvour drapes) contemplating my actions. I hasten to add - before you become worried that I have converted to Inwardness - that this contemplation has been thrust upon me by Aunt Harriet. Something to do with yesterday's events, apparently. So, I am currently sprawled out on my bed in a most unladylike manner, watching Umberto chew his way through another meatstick. And writing to you (I'm writing to you, I mean, not Umberto).

I think that Aunt Harriet is being a little unfair. After all, it's not like anyone was actually hurt. However, as she has promised to notify you of my behaviour, and she does have a tendency to exaggerate, I may as well tell you what happened myself.

Yesterday was the day that I was allowed to explore Cromwell. Not alone - I took Umberto with me, of course - but unencumbered by relatives, anyway. I had everything all planned out. I got up at seven, ate breakfast alone (Uncle had left for work, and Aunt Harriet does not believe in early rising) and set out. The nearest loop station was a five minute walk away from their complex; I intended to buy a day pass, and spend the morning completing a circuit of Cromwell before journeying to the Pensillian Arcades for lunch. However, when I got to the terminus, I discovered that dogs were not permitted on the loop.

I pleaded with the ticket clerk, and told her how well trained and obedient Umberto was (he can be obedient, you know, when he wants to be) but she insisted that there were no exceptions. I had no desire to either return to the apartment and leave him there or to ask Aunt Harriet to arrange a private flier for me (these are only available for certified citizens of Cromwell!). So, I decided to change my plans. I found the nearest Well, and descended to the surface levels.

When I was telling Aunt Harriet about my day she collapsed on to the sofa at this point. I'm not quite sure why. The lower levels aren't that unsafe - most of the guides say that the crime rates really are declining, and it's not just people being too scared to file reports - and it was daylight after all. Well - a murky sort of daylight, it being just past eight o'clock. The people on the surface didn't seem that different from those on the upper levels. Their clothes were cheaper, of course, and they walked as if they had to get somewhere rather than if they were just waiting for people to notice them.

I found the gondolas easily enough. The Well took me right down to the edge of one of the pads, and the gondolas were all lined up along the shoreline. People were getting into them all the time, mainly taking the multiperson ones that go to the other pads, but some of them taking the one or two-person ones.

It was harder to find a gondolier prepared to take me and Umberto than I'd thought. I'd figured that I'd just hire one for a morning, but the first two quoted me astronomical figures for doing this - I think they guessed where I was from - and the next three told me that dogs were bad luck on boats. I took a quick look at one of the guides (it was flashing a yellow light at me to indicate that I was in an area of mild to moderate "unsafeness") and decided to change my plans. I picked a gondola standing a little apart from the others, and asked the gondolier to take me to the Outer Wall.

At this point Aunt Harriet clutched her chest and groaned. I don't see why. The Outer Wall is perfectly safe and walking around it with Umberto would have been the ideal way to see Cromwell. The gondolier, a taciturn chap in stag livery, just grunted at me and held out his hand for my seal. We set off in the gondolier, and I looked around eagerly.

Most of the guides have aerial shots, from fliers or the loop. Seeing things from a gondola meant that they were less clear, but just as fascinating. The pads spread out around the feet of their various towers like - well, like lily pads, and the towers arched upward, sending branches and bridges out to each other like some strange sort of mechanical tree. The water was crowded with other gondolas, freight barges and private crafts (there were even some monobikes there, just like the one Tiny fell off when we were all at Armistice). As we got further away from the pads and closer to the wall traffic thinned out, and I thought that I could even see the lights of Undersea through the dark green water.

There was a thin crust of ice forming around the wall when we got to it that broke away when I tried to touch it. The gondolier tied the boat up to a metal ring at a small landing stage; I authorised my seal and scrambled out, hindered just a little by Umberto. The gondolier untied the boat and paddled off, and I was just watching him go when I realised that I'd forgotten to ask how to get back from the wall.

I started walking, anyway, figuring that at the worst I could activate the caller on one of the guides. The pathway was quite wide, and easy to walk on, and the sun was now shining down warmly. I strode out boldly with Umberto galumphing along besides me, and decided that I might actually like Cromwell, after all.

By midday, I was reluctantly considering activating the caller. I hadn't seen any other boats out here, and I'd covered only a tiny portion of the curve of the Dome. And I was hungry. Umberto had taken to looking up at me pathetically and holding up a front paw with an injured expression. I leaned back against the Dome - it gave slightly, like good turf - and looked for possible alternatives that would get me away from here without distressing any relatives.

I couldn't see anyone else on the pathway. None of the pads seemed to meet the Dome itself at surface level, although plenty of towers ran into it way up above my head (as the guide says, a apartment that abuts the Dome directly is greatly prized in most sectors of society). I guess that, at surface level, it's more important to be close to all the work areas. Swimming in Cromwell's sea is not recommended, unless you're one of the Undersea people, and I certainly wasn't modified for low temps and high levels of pollutants.

It looked like using the caller was inevitable, but then I saw a dock about half a mile away. It ran just above the surface of the water, so I'd missed it at first, but when I looked closer I saw a barge moving slowly past the far end. I decided that I would go out there and try and attract the attention of the crew, and see if they would give me a lift. Umberto sighed gustily when I made him get up again, but perked up when we got on to the dock. I think he liked being closer to the water, because he kept sniffing at it and sneezing loudly.

Unfortunately, when I got to the end of the dock, I discovered that all the barges moving past were unmanned and obviously under AI control. I did shout, but nothing happened. None of them were docking, either, and although they were passing the dock the gap was still a few feet wide at the narrowest point. Still, "nothing ventured, nothing gained", as they say. I watched as the next barge came into view and noted a clear space between the wooden crates it was loaded with. I called Umberto to me, took a few steps back, hiked up my skirts, watched the barge draw closer, started to run - Umberto beside me (I fervently hoped he remembered the days when I'd tried to teach him to complete steeplechases) - and jumped just as the clear space on the barge drew level with the end of the dock.

I went to my knees when I landed, and heard something rip. Skirts are so impractical at times. I got up, dusting myself off, and turned around to see Umberto standing at the edge of the dock, looking after me mournfully.

I scrambled back across the crates, calling out to him. He shuffled sideways, looked at me again and then heaved himself forwards in a mighty leap as I flung myself across the crates and grabbed for him I think this is probably when I tore off the rest of my underskirt. I got Umberto by the collar, anyway, although he only managed to get his front paws on to the barge and his back paws scrabbled frantically at the sides, kicking up spray. It took me almost five minutes to haul him on board. I can finally see an advantage to small dogs.

We sat back on the crates, and I petted Umberto and told him he was a good dog to jump all that way. The barge was moving quite slowly, and I watched more of Cromwell slide past. I checked the crates to see if there were any clues as to our destination, but they were all labelled in what looked like Horadiim.

We went under the Arcades - I could see the bright colours of the market banners through the Crystal Bridge - and through a maze of narrow little canals. There were no footpaths to the sides of the canals, and I was reluctant to attempt another disembarkation anyway without being sure of Umberto. We drifted through a pod farm, as well, although fortunately these ones appeared to be food rather than industrial and the smells were quite pleasant - like fresh bread and strong cheese. We definitely passed over an Underseas portal. I saw the lights clearly, and two Underseas folk (in those black thermosuits) dived off the edge of a nearby pad and swam down to it.

After about an hour we moved towards one of the smaller pads. I tried to find it on the map, and think that it was on the borders of the industrial district. I had decided to explain the circumstances to whoever was unloading the barge, and hope that they did not object. As we moved into towards the wall, however, I realised that this was another automated system. A large crane descended on to the barge, and thick black tentacles fanned out from it, feeling their way around the crates before picking them up. When all the tentacles (about twenty) were full, the crane reascended.

The wall was high and sheer, and I couldn't see where the crates ended up. I also couldn't see how I could get off the barge at this point. Umberto and I moved towards the back of the barge, and watched as the tentacles felt around for more crates. I thought that we could dodge them, but they were obviously programmed to search everywhere and, as I tried to duck the first tentacle to reach us, it wrapped around my waist and I felt myself lifted into the air. The next tentacle found Umberto and he joined me, yelping in panic.

The tentacles froze for a minute, and I guessed that what ever program was behind them had realised that we were not the usual crates. I struggled against the tentacle, but it held firm, and in any case the thought of a fall from twenty feet into freezing cold water did not excite me. Surely the program's creator had considered the possibility of humans (or even dogs) and we would be put done somewhere in safety.

The two tentacles holding me and Umberto swung up and away from the loading dock - I had a brief glimpse of crates disappearing along a transbelt into the side of a tower - and out over the water before releasing both of us abruptly and shrinking back into the main crane. Umberto howled, I screamed, and we both hit the water with a tremendous splash.

It was very cold, and it tasted disgusting. I came up spluttering and coughing, and grabbed at Umberto's collar as he came up next to me. We splashed around, although I quickly became numb with cold and unable to kick (my skirts were dragging me down, as well, although at least I'd lost some of the material), and my life was starting to flash before my eyes (I was pleased to note that there was very little I regretted doing, although there were a few things I regretted not doing) when suddenly there was a flier hovering in front of me, and a man bracing himself against the skids to reach out to me with his hand.

I made him rescue Umberto first.

I don't remember much about the flight back, other than the man wrapping me in a thick sithfleece blanket before returning to the pilot's seat (he must have put it on auto to rescue me), and watching as a whole segment of tower sidewall opened up to let the flier glide to its landing. The man insisted on carrying Umberto, and I stumbled along behind him down a dark passageway that smelt of spices and into a large room where every available surface was covered with books and scrolls. The man swept two chairs clear one-handed before putting Umberto down in one and ushering me to the other.

I was still somewhat overcome by events, but at least I finally managed to get a good look at my rescuer. He looked to be in his late twenties, and about half a head shorter than you, with sandy hair and freckles. He had very plain grey clothes on (now covered with wet dog hair), and I noted with some surprise that he lacked a swordbelt.

This is taking too long. To cut a long story short, he introduced himself as Etienne Valgreve, one of the city Librarians. I suppose I should have guessed from all the books, but one does not expect the capital's elite knowledge corps to come swooping down from the sky and rescue one from imminent death by drowning. He didn't seem anywhere near as alarming as I would have expected from someone with his training, and he got me a hot drink and some biscuits and chatted to me while I warmed up. I said very little at first, but he asked me about Umberto - whether he was pure worffleblood - and by the time I'd explained his whole pedigree we were quite friendly and engaged in a fascinating discussion about the merits of selective breeding.

Etienne was telling me about his own dog, a half-Lapsa he'd trained to hunt with as a child, when someone knocked briskly on the door and walked straight in without waiting for a reply. The intruder turned out to be a tall dark woman with an eyepatch, who took one look at me and swung around towards Etienne, asking if he'd taken to retrieving drowned rats for amusement. Etienne started telling her his story - how he'd been flying back home when he'd seen a splash, and on a whim had chosen to look closer - and I interrupted to tell them just how I'd ended up there in the first place. They were both startled when I told them that the security program had rejected me.

"Those programs are meant to all respond to human commands," Etienne said.
The woman laughed.
"Yes, but only certain humans." She looked at me more closely. "Which tower was it, do you know?"
I didn't, but I was able to tell her about the markings on the crates.
"Horadiim?" She glanced at Etienne, and I saw him look back at her with interest. "Now, who would be receiving goods from a proscribed world... and tampering with security protocols to do so...?"
Etienne shrugged. "Falsteer has the skills, but he doesn't have the contacts."
"Not yet, anyway," the woman breathed.
Unfortunately, at this point I sneezed loudly, and the sneeze was echoed by Umberto. The woman looked at me again.
"You're still soaked through!"

I did try and protest, but I found myself being shunted out of Etienne's room and down another corridor (the wall dropped away beside me at one point, and I saw miles of shelves stretching out below me with figures moving between them like ants) and into a large heated ablutions block. The woman pushed me into a bathing room and ordered me to stay there while she got me some clean dry clothes.

Despite all the Traditions, technology can improve some things. The bathing room had every possible contrivance one could desire. I managed to get the bath to split off a small separate pool for Umberto, and then ordered all the bubble baths, oils and air jets I could find before sinking back into my own section and feeling the warmth seep back into my chilled bones. When I eventually got out I found a small stack of clothes - trousers and a tunic in the same plain grey that Etienne had been wearing - besides the absorbers, and a large bag in which to place my own long-suffering garments.

When I returned to the room, Etienne was flipping through a pile of scrolls. The woman looked up.
"Feeling better? If you'll follow me, I'll take you home in my flier. If you tell me where "home" is, of course."

I told them, a little hesitantly. The Library is not particularly New Age, of course, but the lack of a sword belt on Etienne - and the fact that the woman, whose name I still did not know, was wearing one, meant that I was not among Traditionalists either. Etienne didn't seem surprised - of course, our conversation had indicated that I was from an estate outside of Cromwell, and most of the country estates were owned by Traditionalists, but the woman looked at me closely.

"You say * is your Uncle?"
I nodded.
"Are you *'s daughter?"
I stared at her in surprise.
"Yes - but -"
"I knew your father," she said briskly, cutting me off. "A good man. Stubborn, but a good man."

I wanted to ask her more questions, but she pushed me out of the door again and I barely had time to gasp my thanks and farewell to Etienne, who was waving goodbye and grinning. The woman took me back to Etienne's flier - at least I got to be in the co-pilot's seat this time - and we took off, flying straight at the wall again before it suddenly dilated open at the last second.

She took me all the way back to Aunt and Uncle's apartment and knocked sharply at the door. Aunt Harriet answered, looking vexed, shot a disapproving glance at my grey uniform and turned to the woman.

"I don't think that this is the right-" she said, in her most superior tone, but the woman interrupted.

"I've brought your niece back," she said, indicating me. "She seems to have had a fairly eventful introduction to Cromwell."

Aunt Harriet looked back at me again, paled and clutched at her chest."Magdalene!"

I did try to tell her I was fine, but it was difficult to get a word in edgeways with her declaiming about my lack of responsibility and reckless behaviour. Aunt Harriet was just dragging me inside to hide my unladylike garb when some of her sense of the proprieties returned to her. She turned around, drew herself up to her full height (all of five foot two) and demanded, "And to whom do I owe the pleasure of her return?"

The woman (who'd been watching with an amused expression) dipped her head in a half-bow and said, "Julia Decatur, ma'am, the rightful Heir to the throne of Homeworld."

Fortunately, she then helped me manage Aunt Harriet inside and on to the couch. She's jolly heavy when she's unconscious. I told Julia - no, I suppose I should call her the Pretender - to thank Etienne heaps for rescuing me (I almost thanked her for making Aunt Harriet swoon, but it seemed unkind). She said she'd see me at Court, and asked if I'd mind not telling anyone else about the labels on the crates, and the crane that didn't respond to humans. I agreed. Then, I went back inside, changed out of the Library uniform, fed Umberto and myself, and waited - somewhat reluctantly - for Aunt Harriet to wake up.

That's about everything, really, and I don't see what I did that was so bad. Maybe I should have come back to the apartment and hired a flier, but the gondola was fun and walking along the wall was a great way to see some of Cromwell. And meeting a Librarian, and the Pretender... But Aunt Harriet doesn't see it that way. Hopefully she'll calm down soon, but I may have to spend all next week being a well behaved niece and going to teas and fashion shops with her. The things I do for Society...

* * *

Just a quick note before I post this. Have just received your letter. I'm glad to hear that you're settling into your Embassy duties (I assume you have duties, although they don't seem to warrant a mention) and that you've found some decent fencing competition. The little green Mule is gorgeous - I've put him on the mantelpiece, where it clashes outrageously with the drapes.

Charles sounds nice, and I'm pleased that he recovered from his self-inflicted concussion. I was quite alarmed by the thud his head made when it hit the bulkhead. Pass on my regards to Tiny; it sounds like the Horadiim females may be too much even for his charms and graces.

I did mention the Tech Armour to Uncle, but Aunt Harriet swept into the room and started lecturing me again before I could ask him what he thought. He did say he would look into it, though, so I shall ask him what he found out next time I get the chance.

Aunt Harriet no longer blanches whenever she sees me, but it may be some time before I am allowed anywhere on my own. I have been very dutiful, however, and have been fitted for a number of overly frilly gowns, which has warmed the cockles of her heart somewhat. Fortunately she has not yet found out that I have left all of her guides in the Library with Etienne! The first ball is in two days time, anyway, and I received a post from Toby to say that he will be attending. It will be good to catch up with some of the Academy gossip, anyway, even if you are no longer there to cause it.

write soon

your devoted (and dutiful) sister

-- Magdalene

Gideon's Second Letter

2005-10-25T10:23:00.000Z

17th Day of Fifth, 342nd Year of Founding
(Arrived 20/5/342)

Dear Mags,

I don't see how you can claim to be unarmed if you have managed to bring Umberto with you. From memory, he should be more than a match for any society matron - provided, of course, than you can distract him from any unattended buffet tables or sweet trolleys.

In any case, it sounds like your talent for finding trouble in the oddest places is undiminished. Fancy you remembering that stuff about PTC Tech armour! Of course, it was five years ago when I told you that, and modern Tech armour has to receive a substantial dunking (or given a good whack) before anyone without a scanner notices sparking. No doubt you'll know far more about the mysterious figures on the platform before this message gets to you, but allow your brother the privilege of a little speculation. I agree with you that Pelaides Trading Cooperative military personnel would be distinctly out of place on a North Barbour cargo terminal. We can therefore conclude that it was probably someone else; and who has close ties with the PTC, and want us to become a client state for the trading opportunities that would arise? The New-Agers and the City families, that's who. And giving those toadying boot-lickers outdated junk would be typical of PTC penny-pinching. You'll have to tell me in your next letter whether Uncle managed to turn up any skullduggery on the Severn Valley line.

I think Cromwell will suit you quite nicely, if you ever manage to slip out from under Aunt Harriet's thumb. Unfortunately, the thumb of the ever-vigilant Captain Stills has been fairly slip-resistant so far -- I've not set foot outside the Embassy yet, and the two weeks of enforced idleness in space have made the eight-hour training sessions a bit of a shock to the system. Tiny managed to beg off for the first "day" on account of his cold, the rotter, but despite his best efforts Dr Morley pronounced him cured the next morning, and he has been panting with the rest of us since. (Of course, this training is only for us cadets -- the Guard have their own training regimes, and the Captain has other duties.) Most of my last three days have been spent within the four walls of the gymnasium -- hardly the exotic experience I was expecting! The unending sunlight is a bit unnerving, but given the heat that we're currently enduring, I'm grateful the Astrani allowed us to build in the polar regions. One of the disadvantages to this arrangement is that all the embassies seem to run on different times; there is a big set of timepieces in the entrance hall of the Ambassador's residence, one for each of the major delegations. Scheduling events involving other representatives must be an administrative nightmare!

Nevertheless, there have been one or two incidents of note since I last wrote to you. For example, because of Tiny's yen for gambling and inability to mind his own business, I've already fought my commanding officer. It happened like this:

We were at dinner in the mess-hall on our first day. Charles and I were dog-tired, but Tiny was fresh as a daisy thanks to his so-called "ill-health". Since Charles was unfamiliar with Tiny's duplicitous nature, I was doing my best to educate him with some illustrative anecdotes -- the time he modified the portraits of former Masters of the Academy to display his favorite cricketers, for example, or when he reprogrammed the Deportment Master's cruiser to think that "home" was in the middle of the local sewage treatment plant. It was in the middle of this gruesome tale (the Master had nodded off en-route, and was still half-asleep when he got out of the cruiser -- though he woke up fairly smartly soon after) that the Guardsmen that had just come off duty arrived for their evening meal.

They showed no particular interest in us, and chatted at another table as I continued to educate Charles as to Tiny's modus operandi; but the next thing I know, Tiny has gotten up, sauntered over to their table, and broken into their conversation -- which had onto the subject of fencing, and the alleged skill of the Captain.

"So... Captain Stills is quite handy with an epee, then?" he says, in that nonchalant tone of voice that I've learned means that I should have folded about three raises ago.

The others more or less ignored him, but the squad leader (a squat, burly man with thick black curls and a short-cropped beard) turned and asked, "Why, who wants to know?"

"Tobias Ferguson, but everyone calls me Tiny. And you are?"

"Dekker. Sergeant Marcel Dekker. Fancy yourself with a blade, then?"

"Me? No, no... my friend Gideon, on the other hand, knows a thing or two..."

And five minutes later, I find myself agreeing to a match with my commanding officer, which put me in something of an awkward position. I mean, it's not exactly politic to beat your superior in front of their men, but I wasn't sure I was a good enough actor to hide it if I outclassed her too badly -- after all, she couldn't be expected to take on someone who was twice Academy champion. As it turned out, this was the last thing I had to worry about.

I was crushed. I was thrashed worse than the time when Muggle caught me trying to take the cruiser to visit Grandmere when I was seven. Nine touches out of five bouts! I could point to the eight-hour workout I was recovering from, or the adjustment to the Astran climate, but the fact of the matter is that she is one of the most gifted fencers I've ever faced -- which made my complete and utter defeat somewhat easier to bear. I took off my mask, shook the Captains hand; and nearly fell over from the slap on the back Sergeant Dekker gave me.

As we made our way back to the mess-hall, the Guardsmen went over the match blow by blow, and Guardsman Cooper ("call me Pete") recounted the time the Captain had faced down five Capellan stevedores, which led to the sergeant talking about other senior officers he'd served under, and by the end of the evening, we seemed to be a firm part of the community. It probably didn't hurt that Tiny had wagered a tidy sum on my success, and is fairly good-natured about paying up on those rare occasions when he does lose. I'm not particularly sympathetic, since he'll no doubt win it back off any of them foolish to sit down with him and a deck of cards.

But I suppose the most exciting that's happened so far was when we thought an interplanetary shooting war had started without anyone bothering to mention it to us.

It was early evening, and we'd just finished up at the gym. Tiny had just been sent back into the fray, and he was busy pouring complaints about his aches into our not-entirely-sypathetic ears when we heard the load rumble of a straining lift unit, and the shredding crunch as a huge gray carrier slid to a stop at the bottom of the road to the Embassy gates. We drew our sidearms and ducked behind the nearest available cover, while the Guardsmen on duty flung themselves into firing position.

Before the carrier had stopped moving, the rear hatch snapped back and two hulking Horadiim soldiers launched themselves out of the vehicle and swarmed toward the Embassy. I'd seen vids of their soldier caste attacking at the Academy, but they don't prepare you for the acrid, vinegar smell of them, or their sheer bulk -- they were a head taller than me, and their blue-black shells make them wider than they are tall. And they were fast, faster than you would think that weight could possibly move; I thought they were going to just crash straight through the gate, reinforced or not. And then, when it looked like we were going to earn our Courage Under Fire medals rather earlier than expected, they came to a juddering halt just outside the Embassy grounds. They crouched there, swaying and clattering wildly in the carapaces, as the rest of the Guard finished pouring out of the barracks and took up their positions to secure the perimeter. Soon after, a half dozen floaters with the Astrani equivalent of Internal Security turned up, and the two Horadiim bully-boys were herded back to their carrier.

Well, I suppose that technically they're bully-girls; but I doubt even Tiny would make much of an issue of that. I later heard that we received an apology, but I'm yet to hear any sort of explanation of why it happened in the first place. I suppose we should simply be grateful that the New-Agers have enough sense not to try and become a client state to the Horadiim.

On a more mundane note, Charles has managed to get right up the nose of Secretary Horten. I'm not sure what poor Charles can have done to offend the man, unless he is peculiarly sympathetic to goldfish, and feels that Charles' impromptu visit to their lily-pond has traumatised them for life. (I must admit, if a giant flailing version of Charles fell backward into my living room, I might well be in need of a stiff brandy and sympathetic ear afterwards.) Not that he's confronted Charles -- I've gathered the impression that regards speaking to us cadets as beneath his dignity -- but in the post-bout camaraderie on the first day, Guardsman Bradfield (Charity) mentioned that Horton had bowled past her and into the Captain's office, and demanded that she watch Charles closely, and to report any suspicious behaviour to him immediately. The Captain, who seems to have a history of clashing with Horten, told him that security was her concern, not his, and he should close the door -- and she didn't much mind which side he was on when he did it. Charity said that he left with a slam so loud they probably heard it at the equator, and spent the rest of the day sulking in the residence.

* * *

Eunice has just mentioned that the Embassy is to send a number of packages back by special courier, so if I hurry this message will arrive two days earlier. Do be careful, listen to Uncle, and try to limit the majority of your scandalous behaviour to times when Aunt Harriet isn't watching. And give my love to Mother.

Your faithful brother,

-- Gideon

Magdalene's first letter

2005-09-27T11:10:00.000Z

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

2005-09-26T11:12:00.000Z

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

Timeline

2005-01-27T11:03:00.001Z

To be written.

Locations

2005-01-27T11:03:00.000Z

To be written.