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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
