Decaying Orbit

Dear Mom,

It's been almost another year since I've written. This one has been hard, as have all the rest since leaving you back on Terra Prime. A few other colonists have made it to this dust heap sand bar island of a planet. Some from home, some indigenous to this solar system. I'm putting in for a transfer to Ecumenopolis at the beginning of the next solar cycle. I've been working, while not wholeheartedly, on the application. If I meet the recruitment standards, it would only be another half cycle before relocating.

That has been the dream since leaving. Our dream. Something to make you proud.

Life here has been slightly more bearable since exiting the academy. The post they placed me in after all of the aptitude tests is a tedious and stressful one, but I get to leave it behind after being relieved. We monitor the detritus that surrounds this planet, checking trajectories and making sure it doesn't interfere with the satellite arrays placed in orbit to monitor us on the surface. There's never been any clear explanation as to why exactly they are looking at US. It would seem more useful to monitor geological or atmospheric phenomena, to assure the colonist settlements aren't in danger of collapsing. Recently, an ever-present storm that works its way around the planet's equator set off a slough of typhoons disrupting transports and leaving me quarantined in the barracks. No one was around. Only the utility drones attempting to service the way station could be seen through the thick winds.

It was more or less the same as any other day I've spent here....

I have had chance meetings with wayfarers from Ecumenopolis who happen to be stuck here for a short time before off-world transport becomes available. The way they describe the size of the buildings, how sprawling and unending the living spaces are - my heart wants to leap out of my chest and stowaway on the next transport. But what disheartens me most is seeing them head back to their home worlds. Not for the fact that after their departure I lack companionship, but that they can do that. They can go home. And I am limited to the hope that this transmission makes its way through the wormhole, which at this point seems only to spit out blocks of corrupted data transmitted from Terra Prime in sporadic intervals. The data comes in and is sorted as best it can be by the computers, but I have to go in and decipher those encryptions its software has trouble figuring out. As far as I can tell, there's been a time lag, and several blocks are actually pieces of a whole to one transmission. The pieces are so disparate that the message is incomprehensible at this point. If it is a message. And if it's orders or news I cannot tell the difference.

It's getting late, and the monitoring must continue if only so that I can gather more pieces of the message. The data band is getting more and more narrow each cycle, my fear is that soon the time it takes to send these messages will be too great for you to ever know how much I miss you and wish I could go back and maybe found another, more stable route by which to return.

Sincerely Yours,

Your Son

Approaching Departure

Dear Mom,

It's been almost a year since I've written. I apologize. I've been quite busy. This will be a short transmission, as the wormhole seems to be closing a little more each day. I did not get the transfer to Ecumenopolis, though I still hold out hope that an official upgrade in rank will elevate my chances. I have another six months to go before they do upgrade me. I have to meet the requirements of the various tests, but I'm confident that I'll do alright.

Along with the candidate school to improve rank, I've been stationed at another outpost half-time, spending the entirety of my time away in between here and there. The work there is more difficult, but at least I'm not completely alone, the way I am when I am here.

Also, I have been in correspondence with a fellow traveler stationed quite some distance away, but will be finishing up her candidate school at her outpost and transferring to Ecumenopolis, or near to on one of the moons. I don't want to get my hopes up, but if the stars align correctly, I hope possibly to put in for a cohabitation request. The life that I had hoped for would be that much closer.

Unfortunately, I cannot afford to dwindle my hours writing, much work needs to be done. I wish there were a possibility fo you to respond, though I know the science is not developed enough to reopen collapsing worm holes. Until that day, this is your son, signing off.

Sincerely,

Tomaro