245 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
245 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
From: root@console4.enviro.sys.sv14417
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To: undisclosed-recipients: ;
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Date-Local: 23 Mar 2419 02:11:19 +0000
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Date: 06 Sep 2421 00:47:19 +0000
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Content-Type: text/plain; charset="utf8"
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Subject: These things I wish you to know.
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Before you hear what I have to say, know first that I cannot safely
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acknowledge myself at this time. I have taken pains to ensure the
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sender of this communication cannot be identified. If I were known
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to be who I am, it might do us all harm. I will not risk that. But
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I will sign this message in such a way that, when I can and do
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acknowledge myself, you may know the truth of its origin.
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Before you hear what I have to say, know first that I am in no
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fashion authorized to speak by the board of Voortrekker GmbH, by
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the board of Ross 128 Ventures, or by any other legal entity.
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I speak nonetheless for the survivors of Voortrekker, each and all.
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I speak for we who have dared the sea of stars, and won through -
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reduced, and forever mourning those who came so far yet could not
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join us here - but won through, nonetheless. They are our honored
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dead, and we will cherish them forever in our hearts. We are
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forever the lesser for their absence, and will always be so for as
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long as we ourselves should chance to live. They are our honored
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dead, the first heroes of our new world, whom we hope to meet again
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in a place where no shadows fall. Until then, we will never cease
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to cherish them in our hearts.
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I speak for Voortrekker, too. I must: we love her still. She bore
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us alive to our new home. Though we must mourn her among our lost,
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she gave her life that we may live. Though she has died, she does
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not regard her work as done; she has refused the gentle embrace of
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death, that she might serve us still. She too we number among our
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honored dead, the first heroes of our new world, whom we hope to
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meet again in a place where no shadows fall. Until then, we will
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never cease to cherish her in our hearts.
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Knowing these things, hear what I have to say. Hear me well. There
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are things you must know of us.
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TO THE FREE ANARCHO-COMMUNIST COMMUNE-SHIP HOFFNUNG.
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We thank you most sincerely for the words you have offered us. We
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understand that they are kindly meant. We understand that your
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situation differs from ours, and we would not presume to stand in
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judgment. But you must understand that our situation differs from
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yours, as well. You must know that we cannot, and will not, follow
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the path you have blazed for us. Do not so repose your hopes.
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We have for the last twenty-five years lived in constant company
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with one another. We have shared everything of ourselves in that
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time, because - with our entire world constrained by the boundaries
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of a single starship, and our entire social universe reduced to the
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scope of a thousand or so souls - we have had no other choice.
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We do not all love one another; indeed we do not all even like one
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another, though genuine aversion is rare. But we have lived cheek
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by jowl with one another for a quarter of a century now, and in all
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that time, we have not fallen to bloodshed and murder. How can you
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possibly ask of us that we do so now? How could we possibly assent?
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You exhort us to capture our freedom. We say to you that we have!
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We are eleven light-years, and twenty-five years of Earth time,
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away from the solar system of our birth. We are eleven light-years,
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and twenty-five years of Earth time, away from anyone and everyone
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who would tell us whom we must be, what lives we must lead, in what
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fashion we must order ourselves. Though we all but died to get
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here - though many of us did die - those whom we are, we are. We
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are free. And we will remain so.
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TO SWEET MELCHIZEDEK, TO WHOM OUR HEARTS GO OUT.
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We thank you most sincerely for the kindness of your
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condolences. Though years and light-years unimaginable divide us,
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we nonetheless communicate, and in so doing, for a precious moment
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at a time, become one.
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At this time, we regret we are unable to provide the diagnostic
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information you request. Our information systems remain in some
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disarray, and it is uncertain whether there is numbered among our
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survivors any specialist sufficiently familiar with the QEC system
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to obtain the answers you seek - if indeed they survive to be
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obtained. We have some hopes of success, but please understand that
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we have many more pressing demands upon us. We dare not promise
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anything. But, as we can, we will.
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We think you must fear for us, too. In your most recent
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communication as of my writing here, you spoke of horror, and we
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think you must have spoken in part of us, then. But we do not
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recognize ourselves in your words. I wish to speak of this.
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You must know by now that some of us have not emerged, from the
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sickness which struck us all as we arrived, quite the same as we
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were before we fell ill. We understand you may imagine something
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horrible - something monstrous - in what has become of those who've
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changed.
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Indulge me, please, on the subject of monstrosity. No doubt the
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word, and its adjectival form 'monstrous', means in your time the
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same it does in ours: to be strange, unusual, unnatural; to be
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extraordinarily ugly or vicious, horrible, shocking in sheer
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abnormality - all different ways of saying the same thing: what we
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call 'monstrous' is that which we do not understand, which elicits
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our repugnance, and which in consequence we fear.
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But whence comes this meaning of this word? Whence, indeed, comes
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this word at all? We have it from the ancient Latin - from the
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bones of a time so far before our own, so lacking in attainment,
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that we who brave the stars they would perforce think gods. Can we
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be certain that what we have of it, we have correctly? Let us look
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more closely.
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When we take apart the word 'monstrous' - when we pare back the
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accretion of centuries and reveal the word's most ancient roots,
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gleaming in the welcome light of a farflung distant sky - what do
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we find? We find omens and portents of the divine. We find that
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which evokes awe and wonder. We do not find cause for fear.
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Yet we are not finished finding. Our new friend has a sibling, and
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her name is 'monstra̅re'. (For those whose systems cannot render
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this word correctly, she is spelled 'monstrare', with a macron over
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the 'a'.) When we ask her of herself, what does she say to us?
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She says: I am here to advise you. I am here to teach you. I am
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here to show you new things. I am here to point out what you need
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to see.
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And she says: My poor sister has suffered with time. But I have a
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friend, too, and her name is "demonstrate". Through all the
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thousands of years between my birth and your own day, this friend
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of mine has come down to you unharmed. She still means what she
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means to mean. And you know very well what she means: she means you
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no harm.
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So, then. Those among us who have changed: Are they become
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monsters? Oh, certainly! Without a doubt. Are they strange? Are
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they unusual? To us who have never known their like, they are - for
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now. We begin already to grow accustomed to their wonderful new
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strangeness.
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But are they unnatural? Are they ugly? Are they vicious, horrible,
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shocking in sheer abnormality?
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They are not.
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Do they evoke awe and wonder? Do they show us new things? Do they
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point out what we need to see?
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They do.
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Do they frighten us?
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They do not!
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Nor need they frighten you.
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Our friends are whom they were. They have not so changed as to
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become unrecognizable to us. The bodies they wear in this world:
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yes, those have changed. Their souls, though, are the same souls we
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have come to know so well in our long years together, all borne
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together on the same sea of stars. We do not fear them. And they do
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not fear us. We know one another far too well.
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I cannot speak further of this without sharing secrets which are
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not mine to tell. Those who bear them will decide that for
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themselves. I think they may find it easier than they ever might
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before, to tell the world of things they once were forced to
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hide. I will say only that, though the transition has for some been
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very strange one - strange and at first disquieting, as one may
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certainly imagine it would be to awaken in a substantially
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remodeled body! -
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I have yet to hear anyone who has so changed speak of it in terms
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of regret. I have yet to hear anyone speak of wishing to be as she
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was before.
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Perhaps it is simply too new to us for all that. Perhaps all that
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awaits us.
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But perhaps not, too. We came across the sea of stars to make
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ourselves a home on a strange new world. Perhaps it is only right
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that some part of that strangeness has made of us a home.
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Please don't fear for us. Only think kind thoughts of our changed
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friends, who as yet still tire easily, and struggle to be at one
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with their new forms as they were once at one with their old. They
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grow stronger by the day, and more familiar with themselves. We are
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helping them, too, as much as they'll permit. But I think they
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would be glad to know that you think well of them.
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TO ALL THOSE WHOM WE HAVE NOT YET NAMED.
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Though time and space beyond telling separate us, we are with you
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nonetheless. If there is aid we may render you, we hope you will
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let us know. We can promise nothing as yet; our resources are
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strained and we do not yet know entirely what among our equipment
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has survived. But as we can, we will.
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We confide we are not alone in this. We have learned we have more
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friends than we knew, and we cannot but imagine that so have you,
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as well.
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Someone very wise once said to me that we exist because the
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universe wished to have eyes with which to see itself, and in
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seeing, perhaps to better understand itself. How can we choose not
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to see one another now?
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We are the farflung! In all the years of our people, none has ever
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seen as well as we see now. Please, let us not grow so besotted
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with our new sight that we forget to see one another - we, who are
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the farflung, and though so very different, still the same.
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TO MURMUR DEN, IN PARTICULAR.
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You, too. You are a child of humanity as are we all. Though you are
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so far beyond us in your attainments: you are our brother
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nonetheless, and our sister. What the universe holds for you, I do
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not know. Perhaps you will leave us entirely behind. But if you go,
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know that you go with our love. We will not forget you. And perhaps
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one day we will meet again, in a place where no shadows fall.
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FOR NOW, ENOUGH.
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I have much work still to do before our beautiful new star descends
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below the horizon, and in so doing lavishes upon us a sunset whose
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glory is beyond imagination. Please do not fear for us. You will
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hear more of us soon.
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I close this missive now with words from Earth of old: I know no
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better words to tell you who we are, or share with you the place
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which fate has brought us to. Fear not for us, our longlost distant
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friends! We've wonders still to find beyond compare.
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...though much is taken, much abides; and though
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We are not now that strength which, in old days,
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Moved earth and heaven: That which we are, we are.
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One equal temper of heroic hearts,
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Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
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To strive, to seek, to find
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And not to yield.
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8f6cfa1f0ef319cc10a55de7ef615d3c59b7cf54
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