The letter that eventually made its way to Karal's suite smelled faintly of the ocean air, and there were a few splotches of water tainting the ink here and there, meticulously wiped aside to cause as little damage to the words as possible.
The handwriting was crisp, wasteful of no ink, and to the point.
Dear Karal,
We're on a cruise right now, which means I'm finally getting some time to write. Attached, you'll find something I've been working on since we went into Special Collections. I hope you've got something to say about it before I decide whether or not I want to send it out into the ether.
Life in Fandom is going on at its usual pace. People are coming and going. It reminds me a lot of colonists on their way through to a new home. The island keeps itself going, so we're all stuck with ourselves. It's nice to have that kind of peace, but at the same time I'm finding myself wondering when it's going to be time to leave for me. I'm not very good at staying in the same place, and I've never pretended to be.
I don't know if you knew Ben Skywalker very well. He's a lot like I was a couple of years ago: young, well-trained, and stuck in a track going one way. Right now, he's facing a bad war situation at home; he feels too obligated not to get involved, and I seem to be stuck in it all despite my best efforts. I don't want to deal with war again, I don't want to be the one who puts the ideas in his head about when to fire what, but I have to admit I'm running out of ways to help him.
Somehow, I don't think 'get out while you can' is going to have much of an effect on him. You'd understand that as well as I do.
I hope things in Valdemar are going well. I'd hate to visit one day and find you got all of it burned to the ground. I'm kind of tempted to ask you for a status report, but Val will no doubt find a way to tell me I'm taking things too seriously again. Is everything resolving the way you were hoping? There's always spanners in the works, they tell me. I haven't had the chance to find out yet, but I can promise you that the student council hasn't managed to blow up the school (again).
Don't lose your head, priest-for-brains,
Ender.
With the letter came a package, carefully-wrapped, and in it laid a scrawny, abused-looking stack of printed papers titled Speaker for the Dead.
The handwriting was crisp, wasteful of no ink, and to the point.
Dear Karal,
We're on a cruise right now, which means I'm finally getting some time to write. Attached, you'll find something I've been working on since we went into Special Collections. I hope you've got something to say about it before I decide whether or not I want to send it out into the ether.
Life in Fandom is going on at its usual pace. People are coming and going. It reminds me a lot of colonists on their way through to a new home. The island keeps itself going, so we're all stuck with ourselves. It's nice to have that kind of peace, but at the same time I'm finding myself wondering when it's going to be time to leave for me. I'm not very good at staying in the same place, and I've never pretended to be.
I don't know if you knew Ben Skywalker very well. He's a lot like I was a couple of years ago: young, well-trained, and stuck in a track going one way. Right now, he's facing a bad war situation at home; he feels too obligated not to get involved, and I seem to be stuck in it all despite my best efforts. I don't want to deal with war again, I don't want to be the one who puts the ideas in his head about when to fire what, but I have to admit I'm running out of ways to help him.
Somehow, I don't think 'get out while you can' is going to have much of an effect on him. You'd understand that as well as I do.
I hope things in Valdemar are going well. I'd hate to visit one day and find you got all of it burned to the ground. I'm kind of tempted to ask you for a status report, but Val will no doubt find a way to tell me I'm taking things too seriously again. Is everything resolving the way you were hoping? There's always spanners in the works, they tell me. I haven't had the chance to find out yet, but I can promise you that the student council hasn't managed to blow up the school (again).
Don't lose your head, priest-for-brains,
Ender.
With the letter came a package, carefully-wrapped, and in it laid a scrawny, abused-looking stack of printed papers titled Speaker for the Dead.
Reply
Leave a comment