[May 17th, 1975] HD 40387 d
I have longed to share Vega with someone. The pure, breathless beauty of it, the bright star constant through the ever-shifting dusky halo- I have observed it many times from this planet that humanity has only dared hypothesise the existence of. In 1984, the James Clerk Maxwell Telescope enhanced by my work with heterodyne detection spectral-line receivers will catch a glimpse of this world, and twenty five years from now, when the light that shines on our faces now reaches Earth, they will know that I have been here. My energy signature is unmistakable. Adrian's presence will pass unnoticed.
HD 40387 d is the name they will gift to this world. The displaced dust settles as fine rain.
The planet is rocky, a dusky red similar to Mars, a vast plain spread out before us from our vantage point high on the rim of a dormant volcano, one in a chain of mountains that stretches out into the darkness behind us. This is a young world, one where life has yet to begin, the presence of water evidenced by the palest wisp of cloud threaded across the golden star. The gravitational pull is approximately eight tenths that of Adrian's world, the atmosphere thin and pale, but sufficient to support human life once I have adjusted the ratio of oxygen to nitrogen minutely- a spontaneous change that will baffle astronomers for decades. Above us the sky is near black, a perfect stage for the slow dance of the universe, while the shimmering disc of Vega's sunset drops below the horizon.
Beautiful.
I turn to observe Adrian's reaction, his face bright in the last rays of the alien day.