Microstory 2399: Vacuus, May 18, 2183

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Dear Pascal,

This is the best news ever. Are you ready for this? Get excited. You’re never gonna guess. If you’ll recall, last year, you sent me a message, informing me that your son, my brother, was found missing two years prior, and ultimately declared dead. Well, I’m happy to contradict that in the strongest way possible. Condor is one hundred percent alive. He’s here. That’s why he was missing. This guy got on a spaceship, and flew 1200 astronomical units into the black to intercept Vacuus in its lonely deep space orbit. If you want proof, attached is a little video of us at our real joint birthday party last night. It was such a surprise. We caught wind that a new ship of migrants were coming to live here, and help us grow, but we never dreamed that Condor might have been one of them. It was actually his idea, but I’ll let him tell you.

Hi dad, it’s your boy, Condor. I’m sorry I left you. I was planning the trip out here for quite a while. In fact, I first thought of it the day Corinthia’s message came through. I started doing calculations to determine how long it would take, and what the flight would be like. I did research on my own, and I reached out to other people. There was a ton of interest in certain circles to come here. It’s not the most habitable place in the universe, but nowhere is by Earth’s standards when man first crawled out of the mud. I didn’t know if I was going to be successful, but I knew I had to try, and the more letters I got from Corinthia, the more I wanted it. Most of the people I came here with are still in orbit, awaiting the Vacuans to expand their base to accommodate them, but they let me drop down in an escape pod alone, because I initiated and organized the whole thing. I’m so thankful for the chance to spend my birthday with my twin sister for the first time ever. We ate homegrown root vegetables! Now for the serious stuff. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I probably should have, but you always felt terrible about keeping this all a secret, and that only got more intense after the letters started. It had to be a surprise for Corinthia, and I knew that you would spill the beans by the time I made it. It took our ship three and a half years to get here. That is a markèd improvement over the eighteen years it took Corinthia and her mother, Alizée, but I was pretty sure the Valkyries would fly away early enough for you to tell Corinthia the truth. I know what your next question will be. Why didn’t I try to bring you with me? I did try. There was a hard age limit. I was almost too old to qualify. The cutoff was 40, and there are only a few of us around that age. Most of the passengers are in their 20s. But I knew you would be okay. What I didn’t know was that I would be declared missing, and presumed dead. This was all done through the Earth Restoration Project. I thought we were all on the same page, but we got our wires, and someone apparently didn’t know what the cover story was. So I’m really sorry about that, but I’m fine, and I look forward to your response.

With all my love,

Your son, Condor, and your daughter, Corintha

PS: This is Velia! I’m here too!

Microstory 2398: Vacuus, May 13, 2182

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Dear Pascal,

Thank you for your letter. I have shared this development with Velia, but we’re not telling anyone else, at least not for now. We were so excited when the researchers told us that the Valkyries were moving on, and we would suffer under their harsh rule no longer. It never occurred to us that Condor wouldn’t be there when we got to the other side of the unfortunate blackout. We talked about him often, wondering what became of him with his new job, and what fun new people he would have met over the last two years. I can’t believe he’s gone, and I’m frustrated at how unfair it is that we were separated from each other for so long. We finally reconnected, only to be ripped away once more, like some cruel cosmic joke. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. You got to know him fully. You watched him grow up. You’ve seen his laugh. He sent a few photos of himself to me and Velia, and one video to Velia. He wasn’t really much of a smiler, but we don’t have very many examples, do we? I sure would have liked to see that face again. Since we can’t tell him, Velia wants me to let you know that she waited for him. She knew she would never get the chance to meet him in person, but still, she hasn’t met anyone else. She hasn’t tried, and she hasn’t let it happen. But...I think it probably needs to happen now. Condor wouldn’t want her pining for someone who can’t even write to her from across the void, would he? No, I knew him well enough to know that. Anyway, I’ll let you go. There’s nothing to say about the blackout. Most of our lives didn’t change on a day-to-day basis. For the most part, it has no effect on our internal communications. My job is a bit different, but as the saying goes, it’s nothing to write home about. I’m still doing what I’ve been doing forever. Maybe that’s how I could honor Condor in my way, by doing something brave, and making a change in my life. I’ll think about it. Thanks again for replying. The anticipation was making me sick to my stomach. At least now I know the truth.

Your loving daughter,

Corinthia

Microstory 2396: Vacuus, April 28, 2182

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Dear Pascal,

It has been over two years since we have been able to contact Earth. Vacuus as a whole has been able to make contact for the last couple of weeks, but due to restrictions, the common man was unable to send any messages. Basically, it was a waste of time for us to try to send any signal out, so it was temporarily against the law, and that law had to be repealed, which took a little time. Once capabilities were finally restored for me and my own equipment, I immediately tried to send a letter to Condor. I actually had it all written up already. I wrote in a few months after the blackout started, and every few months, I would rework it to include more updated information. I was so excited, and so happy, but ultimately disappointed. Two weeks after my message, I received a bounceback. Condor’s server could not be reached. That is so weird, because even if he couldn’t check it himself, it should still be online somewhere. I tried again, and two weeks later (today) it bounced back again. I’m really hoping that nothing terrible happened, but I’m so afraid. Nothing happened to the Earth overall—that much I know—so please, is there anything you can tell me? How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him? Do you know where he could be? If he’s dead, then just be honest. If it’s time to grieve, then I need to know it, and I need to tell Velia... Oh, I don’t want to be so negative, but that’s the only answer that I can think of for why he wouldn’t be able to receive my message. I mean, I don’t know for sure that you terminate people’s comms credentials when they die, but that’s part of protocol here, so there’s no confusion. If you can think of a better explanation, but still don’t know the truth yourself, please tell me that instead. Basically, just tell me what you know, and we’ll sort it out later. I hope you are doing okay, and I’m going to be waiting for two whole weeks for the other shoe to drop. That’s assuming you receive me, and respond to me right away. What if something happened to you or your credentials too? Well, if that’s what happened, then I guess no one will ever read my frantic and desperate words, and start to question my sanity.

Impatiently waiting for your reply, and hoping for only good news, but prepared for the truth either way,

Corinthia

Microstory 2395: Earth, January 4, 2180

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Dear Velia,

I know that the blackout is coming, and I really hope this letter gets to you in time. I don’t have very much time to write it, so pleaser excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, nad anything that I probably should have said, but failed to. I’m working with a really old spellcheck program, so it misses a lot of thing, and doesn’t even autocorrect a lot of the time. I feel like I’m using a lot of the same words over and over again, but whatever. I can’t slow down. I won’t have time to proofread before it’s time to cleave. There I go again, using the word time. It’s been so many times. Speaking oftime, we did not get enough. There’s still so much that I don’t know about you, and vice versa. What do you find most and least attractive in a person, not necessarily romantic, but just with people in general. Like, what are your pet peeves? What annoys you about people. These are rhetorical questions. Even if you have time to respond to me before the Valkyries, I won’t be Abel to receive any messages at all. I’m going away on a little trip, and there will almost no technology there. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, but I am as scared as I am excited and enthusiastic. It’s going to be a real adventure. When I get back, and you get back online, we’re going to have a lot more to talk about. And who knows, we may be able to do it in realtime next time. They’re working on faster-than-light communication technology, but if that doesn’t work out, there may be other options that we haven’t even ever thought of before. You said it before I could get the chance, but let me say...officially and without any reservations, that I love you. I want to do all the things you said you wanted us to do, and more. I could get pretty graphic, but I really don’t have time to get everything out. They’re starting up the engines, and we’re about to leave. I need to make sure I’m in range of the towers before we take off, or it will be this whole thing. I promise that this isn’t over between us. I’ll wait for you. But as I’ve said before, if you can’t...if you find someone else. Don’t let them walk away. I just want you to be happy.

I’ll be seeing ya, sweetheart,

Condor

Microstory 2394: Earth, January 2, 2180

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Dear Corinthia,

I hope this message finds you well. Remember that? That’s the first thing you ever said to me. I remember reading that a year and a half ago. It’s such an old-timey thing to say, but I was immediately hooked. And then you told me who you were, and who we were to each other. I’m so grateful to you for having the courage to reach out. You really are the bravest person I know; going for it with Bray despite the obstacles, confronting Velia’s dad, just living your life the way you want. You’ve inspired me. I’m sure Velia has told you by now that I quit my job, and I’m leaving the platform. I’m actually boarding the transition boat in a couple of hours. I want to send Velia one last letter, but not until she gets back to me first. It’s going to be tight, but I think I’ll make it. I was just going to wander in Australia for a little bit, but word spread that I was on the market, and I started getting job offers. One in particular intrigued me. I won’t necessarily be doing anything very glamorous myself, but there’s a newish group of people who are trying to find a way to bring the Earth back to its former glory. They have their hands in all sorts of pies: detoxifying the atmosphere, developing plants that can withstand the noxious gases, making peak settlements more comfortable to live in. They’re even considering bolstering interplanetary travel, possibly for mass exodus efforts way in the future. It sounds like really exciting stuff, and my experience all over the world has gotten them interested in my expertise. I’m still not sure what I’ll be doing for them, but they’re calling me a consultant. They keep using that word. I think it’s vague enough for them to not worry about being clear on my role and responsibilities. I’m telling you all this, not only because I want to update you on my life, but also so you’ll understand that I may be incommunicado from my end for a while. I really just don’t know, but the Valkyries may not be the only thing standing in our way. I will always be thinking of you, and all the Vacuans, and I’ll reach out when I can. Hopefully, there will come a time soonly when you and I are both on the same frequency, so to speak. Until then, find your bliss. That’s all the advice I can really give. I wanted this letter to be epic, but that’s not really our style. We will speak to one another again. It may not be in the way that we’re used to, but this isn’t the last you hear from me. I love you more than anything. You take care of yourself.

See you on the other side,

Condor

Microstory 2393: Vacuus, December 28, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m up to speed on what’s going on. I was present when Corinthia confronted my father about being the one involved with your unauthorized twin study. I was horrified to learn what my father did to you. He separated two children from each other, and one of their parents each. I can’t imagine how you or she must feel about it, but I’m embarrassed and ashamed. It was very brave of her to speak up for herself. We were sitting in the cafeteria. It was just her, me, and my dad. I was sitting on his side, because she’s my best friend, but he’s my father. I had no idea what was coming. After I realized what she was saying, I felt like I was on the wrong side of things...literally. I stood up, pivoted, and sat down next to her instead. I wasn’t sure how she would take that, but she rested her head on my shoulder. I think she was scared that I would be mad at her, but she did nothing wrong, and neither did you. I wish there was something I could do to make up for his betrayal, or to help, but Corinthia assures me that there’s nothing. She wants to put this whole situation to bed, and stop thinking about it. The study was decades ago, so my dad claims that he hasn’t thought about it all this time. I don’t know if I believe that. He must have had some sort of reaction every time he passed her in the corridor, or whenever they came to have dinner with us. If I were him, it would have put a knot in my stomach. Then again, I wouldn’t have let it go on this long. I would have fessed up. He says that your mom wouldn’t let him, but he’s an adult, and what was she gonna do to stop him? You deserved to know the truth your whole lives. You deserved to know each other. And now the Valkyries are coming, and this could be the last message you see from either of us for two years! I wish we had more time. I wish I could read more of your words, and see more of your photos and videos. I wish that I could touch you, and smell you. I wish that we could spend real time together. My dad didn’t take all that from us, but he took a lot, and I don’t know if I can forgive him. I just hope that you forgive me for being associated with him. Try to write back as fast as you can, because they don’t think we’ll see very much of the year 2180 before we become utterly isolated again.

Officially and hopelessly in love with you,

Velia

Microstory 2392: Vacuus, December 26, 2179

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Dear Condor,

No, I don’t know which one of us is older than the other. We could have been born hours apart, for all I know. Well, that’s probably too long of a difference. You would think that Pascal would say something about it if that were the case. Unless, I guess, if he was out of town, or something. Was he even there? Has he never told you anything about what it was like when you were born? Probably not since his story would have been shaky from having no choice but to leave me out of it entirely. Let me get right into what happened. I’m glad that I talked to Elek sooner rather than later, because I might not have had another chance to tell you about it. Our scientists believe that the Valkyrie long-cycle is imminent. Unless something major happens to change their current projected trajectory, they’re coming for us, and they’ll be blocking transmissions for a really long time. Theoretically, the only thing that could affect them enough for them to change their path would be a gravitational body of significant mass-density. That would be even worse, because it would probably cross the Roche limit, and collide into Vacuus. I told you that I would be getting into what happened, then went off on a tangent. Sorry. Elek. When I approached him earlier today, he seemed very scared. I don’t think he read our messages, or anything, but I think he knew that this conversation would be coming at some point. We were bound to put the pieces together eventually. He actually seemed relieved when I demanded answers about the study. Attached is the full transcript of our conversation. Our laws say that I can record audio on the base with everyone’s permission,  but I can’t record video. It’s a little weird, but it would be a lot to compress anyway. Here are the highlights. The program had been going on for a hell of a lot longer than we realized. Madalena was only hired for its most recent iteration. They tried this with other missions prior to this, including lunar bases and Martian outposts. They have always wanted to know how one person would fare across contradictory realities, and twins are the closest thing they can come to gaining any insight on that. The thing about us being fraternal twins was the result of a series of concessions they had to make over the years. It started out as one would think, with the ideal conditions, and no legal qualms. They just kept changing it and changing it until it became all but pointless. Elek observed me as I grew up, and took some notes, which he showed me, and they’re all attached too. They weren’t very detailed, and his heart wasn’t in. It was just stupid from the beginning, but they sunk so much money into it, they didn’t want to let it go. They since have, disbanding entirely, and the various players no longer communicate with each other. He thought that Madalena was dead, but he’s pretty sure most of the others on Earth are indeed gone. After this I think it’s time we put this whole thing to rest. It sounds like it’s all over, and nothing really came of it. Now let’s just be. Let’s be twins who talk via weekly letters.

Until the Valkyries descend upon us,

Corinthia

Microstory 2389: Vacuus, December 12, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I can be pretty intense too, which is why I think we’re perfect together. Of course, we have to define together a little differently than most people, but we’re not the only ones in this situation. A number of other couples around the solar system are basically going through the same thing. There’s this whole subculture of spacefarers who have met their significant others on the network without ever meeting each other. To be fair, we’re still clearly unique, because no pair is as separated as we are—Titan and Europa only get about 9 AU apart—but I think they still have some advice that we could follow. Funnily enough, you’ve already implemented some of these with your sister (though hopefully not all of them). For one, they suggest sending sexy pictures. Check that one off the list for us. Corinthia and I got in a fight about it, but we worked it out. If you would like some more, I would be willing to do that, but I don’t want our entire relationship to only be about sex. I don’t think that would be fulfilling in any meaningful way for either of us. Videos are better, but a little tough for us. My quota is different than Corinthia’s, and the image ends up very compressed, so it’s probably more annoying than anything. I will try it, though. The first photo I sent you was actually a still from a video I did where I introduced myself, and my role on the base. As far as the nonsexual tips, the stories I read about suggested something that they called asynchronous shared experiences. That’s like how you had a shared birthday party, and pretended to be in the same room together by wearing the same clothes, and looking at the same stars. Reading the same books, and watching the same show, are also good examples of this. I don’t want to do The Winfield Files, since that’s something special just between the two of you, but maybe there’s something else? Since we’re so worried about the Valkyries returning, it should probably be something on the shorter side, especially since I know you have a ton of other responsibilities, it’s not all about me. So maybe just a movie? I like to read, like you, but they take so long, and I get particularly invested in epic novels. One thing that has helped some couples is building a fictional environment to occupy together. They imagine what their lives would be like if they could live them in realtime. Fair warning, this doesn’t work for everyone. The lie can be...maddening. I’ll tell you what, since I have more free time than you do, I’ll attach a list of movies that I’ve been meaning to see. I’ll watch them all. They’re all different genres, so you watch whichever one you want, and send me your thoughts. That will be our first shared experience.

Patiently yours,

Velia

Microstory 2388: Vacuus, December 11, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Don’t think I don’t remember what you told me the last time you sent a message to just me. I was going to address it right away, because that’s huge news, but then the Valkyries came, and Velia wanted to send a joint letter, and then you sent a joint letter back, and I’m also trying to keep up with our Winfield Files Book and TV Show Club in case the long-cycle interrupts us for years, and my mind has been so preoccupied with so many other things. Okay. So. Your nurse. Madalena. You hypothesized that she may have been tied to the twin study, but you didn’t seem all that convinced about it. It sounded like you maybe just thought that it was a possibility, which it always was. It’s crazy that you turned out to be right. I’m glad to know a little more, but I’m worried about you. That must have been a hard conversation to have. I watched the recording of the video chat that you sent, and your voice started getting a little trembly when it became apparent to you how involved she was with the whole secret program. Maybe you were just a bit cold, or needed some water, and if you tell me that something like that is the explanation, I’ll believe you. I just want to make sure that you’re okay. I don’t want to put any dark ideas in your head, but I can imagine that it felt like a violation, her taking care of you with ulterior motives. I hope she was telling the truth that she never made you sick, and was genuinely treating you for the regretful condition you were born with. It shows that she wasn’t a total monster. A true scientific observer wouldn’t allow themselves to interfere. To answer your question, Elek Katona is Velia’s father. She and I became friends because he was friends with my mother. He wasn’t even on my list of suspects, not because I didn’t think he would ever be that kind of person, but because he’s not a medical professional of any kind. He’s responsible for breeding and raising the insects that we brought with us as a protein source. I guess that’s just his cover? Sort of weird. I don’t know why an entomologist would be recruited for a human experiment, but maybe he has a secret educational background as well? I’ve not had the courage to confront him about it. I’ve not even told Velia, which I think I should do first. If it ruins my relationship with that family, I don’t want her to be blindsided. But obviously I’m very nervous. I don’t know how it’s gonna go, and he may not be the only one here. I’m already paranoid about who I’ve known all my life who might have been studying me and my behavior. Knowing about one of them has actually made it worse, because that sounds more like a conspiracy. You were able to move away from your nurse and neighbor. Whoever it turned out to be on my end, they were bound to still be here. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll build the willpower to pursue, and maybe get us a few more answers.

Thanks for lookin’ out,

Corinthia

PS: I support you and Velia, and whatever choices you make when it comes to your bond. I won’t stand in your way.

Microstory 2387: Earth, December 5, 2179

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Dear Velia,

I just wanted to touch base with you, and make sure that we really are on the same page. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and scare you off. I can be a little intense and focused sometimes, and it can get me into trouble. It’s not my fault, it’s the kind of life that I had to lead. While we were transporting people to the safe zones, I had to be single-minded, and ignore all distractions. That’s kind of where I feel most comfortable. Now that my job is kind of cushy and breezy, I rarely ever feel that rush of adrenaline anymore. Reading your letters gave me that intensity that I guess I’ve been missing in my life. I hope I’ve not gotten too carried away about it. So, you tell me. Do you think we’re somehow moving too fast? The way I see it, we can’t see each other face to face, so we kind of have to make up for it by being a little over the top. Maybe that’s the wrong way to look at it, though. Perhaps we should just be sending each other letters as friends. When you think about it, that’s about as far as things can go anyway. I suppose we could start being really graphic and suggestive, but would that even work? Argh, I’m in my head. This would go a lot smoother if you could reply to each question or comment as I said them. Dumping them all into one message sounds so strategic and calculating, like I have to get out all my thoughts. Which I pretty much do with the time lag. Some friends at Mauna Kea connected me with their colleagues who were working on faster-than-light communication. Or should I say, that’s what they say they’re doing. They’re pretty convinced that it’s an impossibility. There are no wormholes. There’s no warping space. There’s just the constant speed of the propagation of information, and we, the slaves to its tyranny. Okay, now I’m getting poetic. Just message me back when you can. I meant what I said, that you have the right to look for companionship closer to home. And to be clear, I’m not telling you that because I think you don’t know it yourself. I’m telling you so that you know that I know that.

So into you,

Condor

Microstory 2386: Earth, December 4, 2179

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Dear Corinthia and Velia,

Thank you for your letter. I will be continuing to write to both of you individually until a bunch of Valkyrie assholes show up, and tell me that I can’t anymore. My dad, Pascal is standing over my shoulder, reading—and approving of—every word. He sends his love to you, Corinthia, and wishes that we all had more time together. We understand that the meteors are out of everyone’s control, but that it is not going to last forever. We will reconnect one day, even if it takes years, and while we’re waiting, we’ll be thinking of you. Velia, by the time you receive this message, Corinthia should have received mine from last month during the communications blackout. It was waiting to be sent in the buffer, but I received confirmation that it was finally released shortly thereafter, so I don’t think that there were any issues. Let me know if it never came through, though, and I will send again. I said some things which I want to make sure that she hears, and I would love it if you two talked about it openly. But basically what I said was that I care about you, and I want to get to know you better. While we’ll never meet in person—and we may soon be separated by time as well as space—I think our correspondences will be worth it. Please understand, however, that as Corinthia said, you deserve happiness. If you meet someone else, don’t hesitate. I agonized over even saying anything about this, because I don’t want to root for us to fail, but it’s probably best that you know that I’m going to be okay too. I’m not saying that I’ve found someone special, or anything, but I do get to know people around here. As a story from the Earth of old goes, our hearts will dance together to the far end of eternity. Anyway, we don’t have to get into our full romantic histories, especially not in a joint letter like this, but it’s important for us to be open and honest with each other. Can’t wait to hear from you two again!

Grateful for the opportunity in the first place,

Condor and Pascal

PS: Velia, you should be getting a new letter from me as early as tomorrow.

Microstory 2385: Vacuus, November 27, 2179

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Dear Condor and Pascal,

We’re terribly sorry for the delayed response. This was one of the longest times when one of the Valkyries interfered with our communications. We thought that the attack was going to end much sooner than that. Researchers have been very worried about this phenomenon overall lately. There’s about a 24% chance that the long-cycle interruption is going to fall upon us soon, but it’s impossible to tell for sure. They don’t show up in a predictable pattern, or we would have been able to develop a reliable schedule by now. Some believe that each meteor resonates on its own frequency, which even makes it hard for us to plan for the way in which it will disrupt our signals. These electrostatic charges make random perturbations, and alter each other’s properties in more ways then just gravity. It’s basically like the three-body problem dialed up to hundred and eleven. Velia and I spoke, and we wanted to assure you that we intend to send you a message at least once a week. One of you should hear from one of us within that timeframe. Condor, you’re still getting my daily health stats anyway, but if you ever see a break in those, please don’t worry yet. There may be some other issue, like a quota constraint, which I will have to work through. I can’t get trigger reports each time there’s an error—especially not if that error comes from your end—so I may not realize that something needs to be corrected right away. Just wait a week, and you should get a regular message from Vacuus. I’m saying all this to make it clear that if you don’t hear from us at all, it’s because communications have been completely taken out, and that could last for years. We really just don’t know. I wanted to warn you about it, even though I explained it previously, so you’ll remember that I love you both, and I wish that it wasn’t out of my control. Condor, Velia wants me to let you know that she loves you too. We had a little...scuffle about it the other day, but then we talked calmly, and worked it out. She’s determined to stay connected with you in whatever way is possible given the chasm that divides you. We hope that the Valkyries will fly off into the void, and leave us alone forever, but if not, don’t forget that we’re thinking of you. And hey, maybe they’ll have that breakthrough in FTL communications, and the Valkyries won’t be able to block it. Here’s to hoping our conversations never have to end.

Best regards,

Corinthia and Velia

Microstory 2384: Earth, November 23, 2179

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Dear Corinthia and Velia,

It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from either of you. I spoke with some friends that I made at the Mauna Kea observatories after our birthday parties, who told me that the Valkyrie short-cycle disruption has come into play. So there’s this dumb rogue meteoroid out there, blocking your communications, and preventing us from staying connected to each other. It seems to be lasting longer than it did the first time. I don’t know if that’s normal—if there’s significant variation—or what. I just know that I hate being so far from both of you, and unable to even speak. A two-week delay between your messages is bad enough. Corinthia, I received yours about how Velia and I are talking to each other. I understand that the distance is an issue, but I’m not going to hold back because of it. In fact, I’m going to be more bold, because you’ve got me thinking, and so have the Valkyries. If there’s only one thing that I’ve learned in my four decades of life, it’s that time is the only thing that matters. We don’t have enough of it, and when you add space into the mix, we end up with even less. Velia, if you lived a few decks down, we could see one another regularly. We could meet for coffee, and we could stroll along the perimeter of the dome. We could spend time getting to know each other. Frustratingly, we don’t have that luxury. So I’m just gonna say it. I’ve developed feelings for you. You’re gorgeous and sexy, but I don’t even care about the photos. It’s about the words that we’ve exchanged. We have so much in common despite our vastly different upbringings and environments. I don’t know how we could possibly have a real relationship given our restrictions, but I don’t think that’s reason enough not to try. I think the opposite is true. I think we owe it to each other, and ourselves, to give it a shot. If we’re not willing to do something crazy in the name of love, then we don’t even deserve it, do we? If this was just you being funny and flirty, that’s okay, it doesn’t have to be awkward. I will be able to move on. But if this was real for you in any meaningful sense, then write back when you can. And Corinthia, you’re just going to have to be okay with that, even if it’s a little weird for you, or if you continue to believe that it’s a mistake.

Thinking of you both in greatly different ways,

Condor

Microstory 2379: Vacuus, October 28, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I saw the letter that Velia sent you, and the photograph that she sent along with it. I knew that she was curious about you, I just didn’t realize how attached she had become to the idea of getting to know you more personally. She’s been very lonely here. As you can see, she’s quite good-looking, but she has a little trouble communicating with others. I think she jumped at the chance to correspond with you, because the medium allows her to rethink and revise her thoughts before they ever reach you. Just be careful with how you approach the situation. A long-distance love story is romantic, but not very practical. You and she will never meet in person, and even if you can accept that, it will probably eat at her over time. Be nice, and don’t just ignore her, but really try not to lead her on. She deserves to be happy with someone who is living on the same planet, and she doesn’t deserve to be distracted from such fulfillment and contentment. Okay, that’s enough of me scolding you for something that may never be a problem. That’s exciting news about your nurse, please let me know how that goes when she gets back to you. It reminds me of that book two development where Roscoe tracks down his estranged grandfather, and learns that he’s the one who protected Audie’s grandmother from that storm when they were young. It was a cool symmetrical twist, and the writer handled it well. Though, I admit, the adaptation could have done it better. I don’t like when the leads are double cast into entirely different characters for flashbacks. It’s a little cute, but mostly annoying. That’s just my opinion, I guess. Anyway, it would be great to reunite with someone who was so important in your past. I hope it goes well. She sounds lovely. I’m worried about Pascal and his trip, though. I don’t like it when you have to breach the safe confines of your floating platform at all, but I’m more worried than I was before; probably because I know you two better now than when you were first telling me your whole situation. I know he’ll have already left, but remember to tell dad to be careful. I’m sure you always say something to that effect, but a lot has changed since he last saw your neighbor. He could be dangerous, even if he had nothing to do with our separation. A part of me hopes that he’s dead, or simply can’t be found, just to avoid the risk of an encounter that does not go well. Just be safe, and get him back home quickly.

Lounging on an imaginary beach,

Corinthia

Microstory 2345: Earth, April 9, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I got so wrapped up in the explanation of my experiences outside of the dome that I forgot to respond to your questions about our birthday. Thanks for not throwing that oversight in my face. I was talking to dad about it, and we couldn’t come up with very many ideas, but he thought that maybe we could indeed try to coordinate our celebrations. We don’t really have any specific traditions, but perhaps we could agree to a specific time, and maybe wear matching outfits? That might sound stupid, because I doubt that we would do that if we lived on the same planet, but that’s just what we came up with. You do have fiber synthesizers there, right? And do you have access to a telescope? Perhaps we could be looking at the same stars at the same time, to sort of symbolically connect to one another. In real life, there is no part of the firmament that holds any significance to the both of us. At least, I don’t think there is. But there is this sort of religion called astrology. Have you heard of it? People basically think that the alignment of celestial bodies has some sort of impact on their lives and personalities. It’s bogus, of course, but I say that anyone can create a psychoemotional connection to it in any way they see fit, and ignore the rest. According to astrology, our sun sign should be Taurus, because 2,000 years ago, when you were looking at the sun on May 17, the constellation Taurus would be behind it. But as we all know, everything in the universe is constantly on the move, so some people believe that our sun sign should instead be Aries. Obviously, this is all nonsense, but I was thinking that we could use it anyway. We can’t stare at the sun, though, so instead of looking at the stars in Aries, let’s look in the polar opposite direction, which would be Libra. What do you think of that? It might sound dumb to you, but because of our separation, and because of the vast expanse between us, we’ve never seen or done anything at the same time. I just thought that we could try it. There’s no harm, right? Unless you can’t get to a telescope, I don’t know. It wasn’t automatic for me, because the pollutants hide the stars, but it just so happens to be that one of the Mauna Kea observatories will already be looking in the right direction on May 17, so all I’ll have to do is register for remote viewing. Let me know what you think, and also let me know how I can help with your fear of the outside. I do have a lot of experience with it, but only on Earth. Death would not be instantaneous for me, but I want to help in any way I can.

Namaste and all that,

Condor

Microstory 2344: Vacuus, April 2, 2179

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Dear Condor,

That all sounds very dangerous. I’m glad that you’re inside fulltime now. I’ve only ever lived in three places, and never go outside. I grew up on the ship while it was on its way all the way out here, and a little when it was first in orbit around Vacuus. I was eighteen when we arrived, and after some initial surveys, I was part of the first group to drop down to the planet. And I really mean that. We took something called a dropship down to the surface. We lived there for almost two years before they had built enough of the residential base for us to move in there. Back then, we couldn’t launch any ships back into orbit, because it takes too much fuel to do it the traditional way, and the necessary infrastructure for more advanced methods took time to engineer. Now we have something called a launch loop, which—if you don’t know—is like a giant-ass roller coaster that allows us to get into space without expending too much energy, or requiring as much tensile strength as a space elevator would. They’re thinking about building the latter at some point, but it’s going to take a lot more effort and time. Anyway, until we started to be able to travel back and forth relatively cheaply, there were two separate populations. Those who never dropped down to Vacuus lived up there, and had their own kids. We stayed in contact with each other, though, since it was the only place we could talk to which had no significant time delay. I’ve never been back in person, however, while most people I know have gone back at least once. It’s really just little kids who have no had the opportunity yet. My friend who lives up there now has been asking me to take the launch loop into orbit for a visit, and I want to do that, but I also don’t. So much can go wrong. I cannot believe that I used to live on a ship. How did I end up so soft and cowardly? How did you do it? How are you so brave? You don’t have to answer that. This is just my neuroses getting in the way of my goals. I already go to counseling to get this stuff figured out.

Not yet living my best life,

Corinthia

Microstory 2339: Earth, February 24, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Here’s a little bit of bad news. We’ve reached our destination to begin welcoming the new immigrants from their overcrowded dome. They’re not here quite yet, because we couldn’t have them waiting for us in limbo until we hit the shore, but they’re on their way as I’m writing this. That’s not the bad news, though. A consequence of this situation is that my dad won’t be able to send or receive any letters for a while. It’s a security thing, since he knows so much information about our new allies. Obviously, I know that he would never abuse his power, or put the population at risk, and no one seriously thinks that he would, but the moratorium is a necessary precaution just the same. I’m still okay. Even though I work in the office, I’m not privy to enough of the data, and am not considered a threat to security. I don’t know if you were hoping to hear from him again. I’m sure he’ll reach out once more when he’s allowed to, but we don’t know how long it will take. Such is the life of a diplomat. The good news is, of course, that we’re finally here in beautiful Australia. It took us a lot longer than we wanted, but as you’ve suspected, the platform doesn’t move all that fast. Plus, there were some tropical storms that we had to detour around. That reminds me, we have not talked about the strange weather we have here thanks to our toxic air that didn’t exist when we were young. The toxic cocktail in our atmosphere makes these events really dangerous. We end up with some bizarre localized particle densities and temperature fluctuations, which make the weather—not entirely unpredictable—but less so than it was just a couple decades ago. As you would imagine, they’re really bad for your health too, even after they’ve dissipated, more so than the air in the area is when it’s just at its regular level of toxicity. Fortunately, we knew what we were up against while we were on our way here, but the environment can change on a dime these days, and we may not be so lucky on our way back out into the open water. We typically stick to very specific regions and routes when we don’t have anywhere particular to be, like we are right now. I know that your atmosphere isn’t breathable, but with a celestial body as large as Vacuus is, you must experience weather of some kind. Could you tell me about that? Do you have emergency protocols, like lockdowns, or escapes into a basement? I guess I don’t even know where your habitat was built, if it’s in a lava tube, or a crater, or what.

Hoping you stay in range forever,

Condor

Microstory 2338: Vacuus, February 17, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m writing to you to let you know that I’m back online, and also that your father did finally send me a letter. I responded to it yesterday, so you probably already know everything by the time you receive this anyway. I don’t really think that I should say anything more; about what he said, or about what I said. I kind of want you two to have your own conversation without me being involved. That’s why I think I’m gonna cut this short. There’s nothing for me to report on this end. The stray Valkyrie blocked our signal for a week, then flew away. The rest of the Valkyries are still orbiting on their usual path. I suppose I shouldn’t say usual as changing course is sort of their whole thing. But we’re safe from them...for now. There’s a slight chance that they will veer off of the predicted orbit, and come at us all at once with a vengeance, but the astronomers are hopeful that this will not happen. I just wanted to warn you that it’s not impossible that any message could be our last. I’ll continue to respond with the non-automated read receipts, and only won’t if it becomes impossible.

Bored again,

Corinthia

Microstory 2337: Vacuus, February 16, 2179

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Dear Pascal,

Thank you for reaching out. I would say that it’s the first step towards mending our relationship. I’m sure that your son told you that I would be out of range for a period of time, so that’s why it’s taken me this long to respond. As for you and me, I can’t promise you what will become of us in the future, but I can promise that I’ll try. You’ll always be able to send me a message, and I’ll always open it. Condor and I kind of have a weekly thing going, but we don’t have to write as often, and I won’t hold it against you in terms of resolving our issues. That being said, there is no quick fix here. Forgiveness is a really strong word, and I’m afraid I’m going to need more time before I can even consider it. That may be all it takes. We could not talk to each other the whole time, but I may one day get over it just because it’s been long enough. We’ll have to see. I understand that you were in a difficult position, and having known my mother for 36 years, I don’t doubt that she forced her ideals on you. She has a way of making you live the kind of life that she wants you too. I’m not sure if it was about being vicarious, or if she just wanted control. I’ve always thought she only wanted what was best for me, but looking back now, it doesn’t really make much sense. I mean, if this was a social experiment to see how two twins grew up if they were raised separately, why did she try to make all my choices for me? It sort of taints the results, wouldn’t you say? I dunno, it just seems like a weird choice to me, or maybe she just couldn’t help herself. It strained our relationship, and I pushed back at every turn. She didn’t exactly hope that I would become a solar flare watcher. I’ve spoken to counselors here, and on the ship, but other than that, to my knowledge, I don’t undergo any tests or evaluations. No one seems to be recording my behavior in any way, unless they’re doing it from a pretty big distance. What can you tell me about Condor? Do you report in to someone about who he is, and what kinds of things he does? Is someone writing a scientific paper about it? I would prefer it if you let me know, but it’s more important that he knows, so if you only tell one of us, I would rather be the one left in the dark.

It was nice to meet you,

Effectively, a stranger,

Corinthia

Microstory 2336: Earth, February 3, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

This is your birth father, Pascal. I’m terribly sorry that it has taken me this long to send you a message. I could make something up about how much work I’ve had to do, but we would all know that it doesn’t work like that. It’s probably going to take me ten minutes to write this thing. What’s taken me weeks is working up the courage to even start with the first character. As I explained to your brother, I was complicit in the separation scheme that led you to living out half of your life on a ship, and the other half on a dark world beyond the orbit of Neptune. I didn’t want to let you go, but your mother forced my hand. I’m sorry, I don’t want to bad mouth her, but I feel like I need to defend myself. What you may not know—what I have not yet explained to Condor—is that the original plan was to have both of you leave Earth in separate voyages. For medical reasons, I’m not fit to travel in space. At least, I wasn’t. The restrictions have gradually been eroding, due to excessive need for planetary exodus, and advances in space travel which make it easier to treat at-risk patients off world. As much as it pains me that I never got the chance to know you, I know it would have been worse if I hadn’t gotten to know either of my children. So I made a choice, and it was the hardest one of my life. They would have taken Condor away from me, and I would have had no legal ground to stand on. Your mother had powerful friends who I believe were manipulating her into carrying out this unethical social experiment. She wasn’t like that when we first met. She was loving, kind, and loyal. That’s why I married her, and honestly, it’s one reason I never married anyone after she left. There’s also a law that prevents people from divorcing their spouses when they’re separated by at least one astronomical unit, yet not presumed dead. I regret not fighting harder for you, and for not trying to follow you later. Your mother and her friends could have stopped me and Condor from getting on that ship, but they wouldn’t have been able to stop us from getting on another one. It would have cost me everything I had to commission a new journey, but now I realize that it would have been worth it. I hope that you can forgive me one day, but I don’t expect it anytime soon, or ever. And I also hope that I’ve not ruined the impression you’ve had for your mother this whole time. She really thought that what she was doing was right. She wanted science and psychology to progress, and she thought she had to make the sacrifice of never knowing her son. If you’ve not already, perhaps you could one day forgive her too.

Hoping you write back,

Your loving father,

Pascal Sloane