I write, on occasion, and during a particularly inspired writing session, I made this short sci-fi story world, Letters from Home, and created the first part, Mail Call.
Out on the edge of known, colonized space, an endless watch was always on the march. Keen eyes through periscopes, scanners and holographic displays that were too over-engineered for their own good, counting the days between every resupply that might come their way.
Maybe one week, or a hundred weeks, but the resupply always came. It was even quiet during those runs as all the required items were distributed throughout the scout vessel, no one running, or panicking, no excited voices and no raised tones. Every attitude was in check, and every person worked for the ship, not for themselves.
And then there was Mail Day.
Every ship had one such day, when the mail pod from the Terran Federation would arrive, letters from every homeworld and birthplace. Cryogenically-preserved baked goods, ice cream, and even the more spicier photos that would get most sailors court-martialed, but on a Long Watch, some rules were slightly lifted for morale.
"Mail call! Letters for, uh... Jackson, Riggs, Rodrigues! Packages for... Torrez, Kingsley, and Cromm! Data-rods for Hubert, Gilbert and Ponton! And... huh, guess someone's watching out for us! Movies and ice cream for the crew, courtesy of Admiral Washington!"
Elias Jackson was a poor kid from the streets of Olympus Mons, the largest city on Mars. Poor kid missed his mother something fierce, but he always perked up on Mail day. His mom had packed him a hand-sewn Martian Leather wallet, along with including a hand-painted miniaturized portrait of his entire family. His mom looked so proud in that photo.
Tanner Riggs was the quiet guy on the crew, chief engineer and one hell of a marksman to boot. He grew up on the good side of the magrail on Proxima Centauri b, but against his parents' wishes, he joined the Long Watch after Earth, and the Terran Federation, had formalized their relationship with the Galactic Confederation, and began the Long Watch volunteer service. Turned out, he had one hell of a mind for engineering and repairs.
Enrique Rodriguez, short terror of the Juno, hailed from Nueva Espana, second colony of the Castillo system. His family were all fighters, and he was no exception, being banned from several frontier boxing tournaments for illegal fighting technique. It did not help he had somehow adapted the martial arts of an 8-armed alien species to the twin-armed specialties of humanity. He was the armory officer aboard, and good at his job.
Jane Torrez, science officer, friend, and survivor of Tau Ceti, tore open her package with gusto, smiling as she held aloft a small container with what looked like paint pots, brushes and a scale, unpainted miniature of the Federation's Artemis-class Scout Gunship, of which the Juno was a member ship. She had around twenty of that specific model, but apparently, the game company behind that miniature had a special one of the unofficial modifications of the Juno.
Grant Kingsley, medical officer, pushed the bridge of his broken glasses up his nose. Hailing from Luna 7 on Earth's moon, he was one of the best medics in the service. Despite having contact with multiple species who were well-versed in nano-medicine to repair or remove such minor inconveniences such as astigmatism, Grant took it more as a badge of honor that he had such a decorated career even with his glasses.
Vesna Cromm, having named themselves after their late grandmother, smiled as they pulled out a small photo with a magnetic backing, displaying the sunset of the colony on the Alpha Centauri orbital spin-habitat, the Pride of Petersburg. They touched it gingerly, smiling as they traced the hand-shaped metal and the photo of them and what one would assume was their father.
Captain Phillipe Ponton, on the other hand, held the data rod firmly in his hand, shaking slightly as he stepped away. Any word from Tau Ceti was never a fun moment for him, especially with the invasion by the Outworld Alliance, a vicious pirate conglomeration that ravaged and pillaged until it thought that humanity would keel over and give up without a fight. He had been there, aboard the Artemis II, the second of her namesake fighting in a protracted war that, like most of what humanity had fought once becoming an interstellar polity, were not wars of aggression, but wars of survival.
The data-rod, a hexagonal shaped programmable crystal that could hold multiple pettabytes worth of information if it was on the larger end, was short, worn, and held a distinct carved name on the side, 'Colette.' Phillipe had not heard hide nor hair from her since she had volunteered on the Hermes, another Artemis-class, as their chief medical officer. The rod, which held her shaky craftsmanship, was almost enough evidence, but it was the fact that it had been cut in two, ostensibly to hold two different short reports, but he knew the worst of it.
Retiring silently to his quarters, he quietly entered his passcode, activating his main terminal and plugging the rod into its designated slot. With a narrowing of his eyes, he sighed as it asked for his voice-print. Breathing deeply, he centered his mind, remembering his and Colette's special passcode for their personal data rod.
"'In the light of Proxima, may our souls ever be free.'"
A bright white and bolded 'AUTHENTICATED' flashed across the screen as a disheveled woman, graying, but happy, appeared, smiling as she held what appeared to be a small cake in her hand. A candle flickered, with the age of 75 flickering in its holographic flame.
"Salut, mon amour. It has been some time since last we spoke, but the fighting is still grave, and we come across yet more who need what little supplies we can offer. Still, while this rod may be late to you, it can still celebrate your 75th birthday, and our 50th anniversary. Bon anniversaire, bon anniversaire- Sailor, qu'est-que c'est? Incoming, but-" and the rod cut out, Philippe quickly withdrawing it as he sat there in silence. Setting down the box, he noticed a hand-written note on expensive personalized paper denoting the family crest of Admiral Ethan Washington, Commandant of the Home Fleet. At least, it was printed to show that.
"'Sorry, my friend. My staff warned against me sending this sort of thing to any member of the Long Watch service, but you saved my life before in Tau Ceti, and I was able to keep an unscrupulous crew member from attempting to sell that data rod. As far as anyone can tell, there's no continuation of the message - it just stops there. Your friend for life, Ethan Washington.' You smug little... fucker!"
Philippe stood and threw a small mug into the wall, breathing quickly and heavily as he tried to calm himself, staring at the liquid splash and the broken shards on the ground in front of it. He had never felt such anger and vitriolic rage well up inside of him like this, but it was beyond his own reasoning. Ethan was a bastard, but even this was too much. It was far too much, but he breathed deep. Ethan was not the bastard, he was. Colette knew how much the Long Watch meant to him, and she wanted to help people, but doing so- he stopped, sliding down to his knees. It sank in quickly, like a tidal wave of grief and sorrow, as he began to wordlessly sob and cry. His wife was gone-
It was Elias, his security chief, staring down at his captain as his commanding officer bawled his eyes out like a child who had no other alternative of release. Without a word, Elias sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around the Captain, gripping tightly as he breathed slow.
"Just sit still. Tau Ceti?"
Philippe leaned back, narrowing his eyes. It was almost like Elias knew something he did not, but his own man was wracked with pain and guilt, as well as a hundred different emotions he could not have any words for.
"Y-yeah. Tau Ceti," he managed to force out, finding it hard to speak. With everything happening, it was less that he did not want to speak, and more that any words he wanted to say were choked out by the adrenaline and the mucus now crawling down the back of his throat. Unpleasant sensations, but still just a reminder he was still only human.
Elias glanced down at the note on the ground, grimacing and narrowing his gaze until he picked it up, mouthing each word as he read, each word twisting his visage until he seemed to be nearly seething, his eyes downcast in a modicum of rage as he breathed slowly.
"'Admiral Washington's a bastard,' eh?" Elias chuckled, letting all the breath he was holding out. "I'm sure that's the thought going through your head, but did you look underneath the note?"
Elias pulled out a small, cleanly-wrapped package from underneath the other half of the broken data-rod, smiling as he slid it into Philippe's hands. Rising to his feet, he chuckled again, shaking his head. He was not new to the antics of the Admiral, but his chuckle was hollow, dry. What Admiral Washington had pulled was against every rule in the Long Watch operational procedures, and he knew exactly who he needed to call.
Philippe noticed none of it, only focusing on the hand-wrapped package. It had a note, written in Colette's flowery handwriting. He turned it over, sighing as he saw what it was written on; indeed, it was a photograph of Colette and a medical team, Colette raising her hand in a thumb's-up gesture while medics smiled around her.
"'To my dearest Philippe. I already gave a stern lecture to that Admiral Washington for the initial deceit for the data-rods, and I passed it on to the pertinent parties in the Federation Council. Your oft-muttered phrase, 'Ethan Washington is a bastard,' rings especially true. Fortunately, my medical team was able to intercept the package, explain to the courier that my addition was to be included or both himself and his commanding officer would be facing particular charges in regards to this, and that Elias Jackson would sodomize him with a stun baton should he attempt to circumvent my wishes, again. Still, I am here in a Proxima Centauri medical bay, and the team here is one I trained, so I am in good hands. Please do not hold it against the Admiral, as I am already doing so. And no need to worry about the crew of the Hermes - we got hit by a chunk of rock, not a missile. All the love and wishes in the world...' Colette. My... dearest Colette," he sighed, smiling weakly as he pushed himself off the ground, grabbing a nearby rag and starting to clean the slowly-drying coffee off the wall.
"You know, we have a range simulator on board for a reason, sir," Elias commented from the doorway. "Could always put up a holo-page of Ethan Washington for you to take your anger out on-"
"And get court-martialed? You know they check the logs of what you generate, right?"
Elias laughed, walking away as Philippe heard the cheers from the rest of the crew. They were a crew of only ten, but they were his family. Colette was his one-and-only, but his crew were his children.
Exiting his quarters, he could see Jane and Vesna already wrestling to see who got first choice on the movies, while Enrique was already taste-testing each pot of ice cream, making faces until he found his favorite, Martian Munch, a combination of cinnamon, chocolate and graham crumbs mixed into a fantastically smooth red velvet ice cream. He chuckled as he glanced around, noting that Hubert and Gilbert, his navigation and piloting duo, were not in the celebrations; after all, someone had to keep the Juno from hitting rogue asteroids.
Motioning over Elias, he draped an arm around him, chuckling as he pointed down at a manifest attached to the box the mail had arrived in.
"Quick question. Did any spare data-rods arrive as well?"
Elias was pondering a response when the idea clued itself into his mind, and he smiled, withdrawing two pink crystal hexagonal rods from his pocket. Placing them in the Captain's hand, he set down the manifest, and dove in, wrestling Jane and Vesna apart before even Enrique jumped in.
Returning to his quarters, Philippe plugged one of the pink rods in, authenticating it to his voice-print and allowing it to shift to a shade of blue before beginning. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the camera for the recording to begin.
"To my dearest Colette. I will never stop loving you, and yes, I will never stop calling that insufferable idiot a 'bastard.' Rest well, and may God have mercy on Ethan's soul, for I know you won't. May your name always live among the stars I frequent, and may you never want for anything less than the best. To my love and my light, Colette," he concluded, nodding until the recording stopped and the data-rod shifted to clear. Carefully wrapping it in the paper she had sent her own message in, he chuckled, loading the second rod and letting his expression fall.
"To the petulant asshole, Ethan Washington. I know you did all of that on purpose. You have shown contempt for my marriage, and a disdain for myself as well, as you continuously try to make moves on my wife! As she has forwarded information onto the Federation Council, I shall make my position brief, and concise. Should you ever attempt this level of subterfuge or sabotage again, I will personally ride back with the courier to ascertain what is and isn't false. If it proves to be true, I will apologize, but if it is not, I will rain down hellfire and brimstone, the likes you have not seen since the police action on Ceres. You may be my commanding officer, sir, but you have overstepped for the last time. Test me again at your earliest convenience, and you shall learn your next answer. Captain Philippe Ponton, commanding officer of the Juno, and the man who saved your life on Pluto no less than seven times, signing off."
The Long Watch had its detractors, sure, and also its supporters, but to men like Philippe Ponton, or individuals like Vesna Cromm, it was their home. Their means to become more than they were. But for men like Ethan Washington, it was a stark reminder that humanity did not dominate anymore. They cooperated, discussed and ultimately explored. Men like Ethan Washington were architects behind the Third and last World War, and had authorized the use of terrible weapons against thier enemies.
But while history may not repeat, it often rhymes too well.
Two months later, on the next Mail Day, Philippe was given a single data-rod, engraced with the monogram of EW, which never ceased to make him chuckle. However, when he locked it into his terminal's port, it was not Washington's smug face on the other end, but the actual head of the Department of Internal Affairs, a Mister... Wulffe, if memory served correctly. Unlike most of the officers and such that Philippe knew, Wulffe was completely no-nonsense, but the expression on his face was that of almost elation? It was unnerving, but regardless, Philippe authenticated the file, chuckling as Wulffe clasped his hands on his desk as he took a seat.
"Thank you for authenticating your end. Authentication here, Agent Wulffe of Terran Naval Internal Affairs, chief investigator. Good day, Captain Philippe Ponton of the Juno. I am here to inform you that, pending a long-term investigation, Admiral Ethan Washington has been arrested. Due to his inappropriate involvement in personal matters well outside his scope, as well as his inappropriate advances towards your wife, Hermes CMO Colette Ponton, a partial investigation revealed he had significant pull and was working on recalling your vessel to be a frontline warship in Tau Ceti. As that conflict has gone cold once more, and the Outworld Alliance has seen fit to pull back, his orders, which would have been on this data-rod, have been re-recorded to include this message. Your long service in the Long Watch has been noticed, and included in this package is our gratitude, as well as an apology for taking so long to deal with the Admiral."
Philippe paused the recording, withdrawing a small velvet case from the package the data-rod arrived in. He nearly dropped the medal when he opened it, staring wide-eyed in shock at the Terran Medal of Valour, the highest award possible for a living member of the Federation. A note fell off the back as he picked it up, clear, bold letters stamped as he snatched it up and read it.
"'For meritorious service in the Terran Navy, for long-standing heroism, including 3 times protecting civilian transports in the Tau Ceti conflict. You are the personal hero for many members of Internal Affairs, and a role model for my son. This is my pleasure to send to you, Captain. May I be able to pin the next one on your dress uniform when next you come to Earth, Agent Wulffe.' And they say you're an unfeeling machine," he whispered, smiling as he stood to return to the main corridor where every member of the crew was debating on what movie they should watch. Elias glanced over, smiling as he held up two data-rods.
"Hey, Captain! We can't decide between 'The Long Dark' and 'Letters from Home!' You're the deciding vote, so-"
"With everything happening, I think something inspiring is in order. 'Letters from Home' it is."
A cheer ran up from the crew as they scurried around, loading up the wall broadcast screen with the rod containing the movie of choice. Philippe sighed as he sat down, watching the opening text crawl explaining the story of a crew, on a long-standing exploration mission, received their mail call. A mission just like theirs.
Out in the black, it gets lonely. Lonely, dark, and often times oppressively boring, but when it comes time to read letters from home, nothing else matters.
After all, a single letter can be what makes or breaks your morale, and a single letter from home reminds you exactly what you are fighting for.
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