*this letter was found folded within the Journal of Nick Boyle*

Luna Foundation
Angel Island, California

Nick, my friend,

I know you prefer short E-mails to long epistles, but bear with me. It has taken just the right mood and place to write this. I waited for a quiet time, then found I could not write it in my office, nor anywhere in the house. I no longer find the house very comfortable. I simply don't want to be inside. So, I finally ended up on the rocks down by Blunt Point. It's a lovely afternoon - bright and blue. One of those rare days when San Francisco is truly a jewel. The waves are gently slapping the rocks. The air smells of salt and drying kelp. The Golden Gate floats upon a pillow of white down, and two sailboats are running like white doves before the wind. The city sparkles between two layers of blue. I feel free - and, believe it or not, happy - contented, I think. I've made my peace.

I fear I shall be rambling. I have much to say and by the time you read this, I shall be gone, to what end I know not. At least, I pretend that I don't know. Perhaps, I do, but choose to ignore it. One cannot truly live, whilst one dwells on death. When I was seventeen, I believed I'd not see twenty-three. At twenty-three, I was certain that I'd die at thirty - at thirty it became forty-five. Now, I sometimes see life at sixty or seventy and it frightens me. It's something I've never planned for, and, yet, I sometimes now realise that my sight isn't quite as good as it was even six months ago. Reading glasses are not far away. My joints are a little stiffer when I awaken in the morning. I don't bounce back from the bumps and bruises as quickly as I once did. I forget things more frequently. I see the beginnings of an old age that I never thought to have. I would have the luxury of a wealthy old age, and yet the thought of the fatigue I already bear in body and soul, does not make me wish for another thirty years. I'm tired. Perhaps, an end in battle is to be preferred to an old age spent sitting by the fire dispensing wisdom to the youngsters. Wisdom is something everyone must find for themselves, and I can't say I ever found much.

I hope I met my end with dignity, courage, and honour. If not, I beg of you to remember me as best you can. I hope I had a chance to say good-bye, but somehow I doubt it - Death rarely bestows that boon to ones such as us. Whatever has happened, do not be angry with me nor blame yourself. This was my destiny alone - not yours. For a while, and I thank every lucky star in the heavens for it, we shared a common path, but we reached the cross roads, my friend, where you had to stay and I had to continue on. Thank you for being my friend, my right hand, and for saving my ass God knows how many times - but not this time.

Now, to the mundane. I know that at this moment, you do not wish to deal with the intricacies of the foundation nor with the Legacy bureaucracy, which is a necessary travail in Luna's everyday life. I had hoped to give you more time, but it will be there when you are ready to retrieve my standard from the dust. Always consider Angel Island your home. You need not worry about finances. Mr. Hewett will explain all. Trust him.

I know that my death may have unusual aspects. It is possible that I may fall to the Darkside or that any number of equally salacious things may be said of me. The truth is that I do sometimes feel my soul weaken with the fatigue of it all. However, my arrangements for the island, the foundation, and the museum were made long ago and are merely extensions of those my father made - the father I remember with affection. He founded Luna to provide a modern cover for portions of the Legacy and to channel additional funds their way. Some have resented us for that and will try to feast upon my bones. Do not worry. Do not do something stupid like try to fight them openly. Secrecy is vital to their battle against the Darkside, which is more important than anything that might be said of me. I have kept their secrets my whole life, and they have kept some of mine (those that they knew). I expect you to do the same, but keep your own counsel as well. Always remember that knowledge is the deadliest weapon of all for those who know how to use it.

My arrangements are such that the more they try to plunder Luna, the less co-operation they will receive and the more difficult their own lives will become. Luna is established in such a way that it is nearly its own person. They will find themselves enmeshed in a legal and financial spider's web that will take them until the third millennium to sort out. Just sit back, my friend, and watch the fun. I know I shall.

If it still exists after I am gone, I want you to have my ring. My father's admonition, "The burden is yours," does not go with it. The burden was mine alone to bear. Simply keep the ring in memory of me. It is my legacy to you. I also have named you in my will to be the recipient of the sword. Keep it safe and pass it to whomever you think will best be able to use it as it was intended to be used. You are its guardian.

To other matters: Should you remain in the Legacy, as I hope you will, realize what it is - a group of dedicated people who sincerely try to do what is right. They may be flawed, as are we all, but most bravely carry on a thankless, unending struggle as best they can, and many sacrifice far more than their lives. The bureaucracy may be pompous asses, but it too is necessary. Dot their "i's" and cross their "t's" for them. (Keep them relatively happy, but don't make their lives too easy. I'm sure you'll find ways to amuse yourself.) Learn to play the game better than they do. Just take it all with a pinch of salt - make that a salt shaker - keep a straight face, treat them with as much respect as possible (most have earned it), learn about friend and foe alike, and compromise or even yield on the small things. Sometimes it takes a retreat to gain a victory. Remember your SEAL training. Pick your battles carefully, know your allies' and your enemy's strengths and weaknesses, choose your terrain, and learn to outflank - study the Battles of Agincourt, Trenton, New Orleans, and San Jacinto, learn the true meaning of the Alamo's sacrifice. Only use a frontal assault and the big guns when there is no option but to charge. However, a charge can be most effective, when least expected.

You will make an excellent precept. Allow yourself the time to grow into the position. Always remember that ring on your finger means something. Find someone to be your right hand, as you have been mine. If Alex chooses to leave, I hope you can find someone like her. It's a vital job, one that holds the House together and keeps the gears running smoothly. An odd thought just occurred - perhaps, it will one day be Kat's.

BUT - For yourself, know when to stop. Pattern your life from William Sloan's, not mine, not your father's. Although he was lost in a struggle against the Darkside, William had a life, a real one, with a wife and children that he loved, and who loved him. That was my own fondest dream. God knows, I tried, but in my heart I knew it was not to be. Sometimes I managed to fool myself into believing that it was a possibility, but how could I pretend to offer the devotion that a wife and family deserve, when I knew full well where my true devotion lay? I have always seemed to be a danger to those for whom I care. My life was never my own. My mother believes that this island and the vortex of good and evil that exists on it claimed me at birth. Perhaps, or perhaps I was simply not strong enough to say "Enough!" and to back away. I don't know. I do know that Ingrid and Philip chose different paths - to combat evil with faith. Ingrid once told me that evil was where one found it, in whatever form you wished to find it - such an esoteric thought - one that is beyond my ken. It's a pretty phrase, but she stole the essence of it from Shakespeare.

Just because we do not wish to see evil, does not mean that it is not there. How would one wish away the portal? To yield to that idea means that we are being lax and evil will seize the opportunity. Someone has to be God's sword bearer. Yet, each time we oppose evil, our own souls become tainted by it, no matter our motives.

So, my friend, recognize when to quit, as I could not. Leave - find another way to fight - feed the starving, help the sick, think of Francis of Assisi. "Make me an instrument of Your peace," he said. Remember that and keep it tucked away in your heart for when you feel the blackness grasp hold. I know you saw Philip's choice as betrayal, but when he felt the blackness touch him once too often, he was strong enough to go. I have never faulted him for that decision, nor should you. Be his friend. His faith is strong, but I fear flawed. It is his shield, but shields have many uses. They can be used as a weapon or to cover yourself as you forge ahead in battle, or they can be used to hide behind as you hold your ground - or as you run away. I fear for him when he makes this discovery. Help him with the same compassionate strength I know you will have for Alex and Rachel and Kat. Show him that compassion is as potent as belief.

For some reason an epitaph comes to mind. I saw it a long time ago in a tiny cemetery that clung to a mountainside in upstate New York - all overgrown and forgotten. "Remember my son, as you pass by, as you are now, so once was I. As I am now, so you must be. Prepare to die and follow me." No! The first half is true, but do not allow the second half to become self-fulfilling. I know that you will not shirk that duty, if it should fall to you, but listen to the goodness in your soul. It burns brightly. Stop when the fire begins to die, when the molten steel there grows cold and hard. Find someone, have a family. I see only your father's best traits in you... you carry none of his worst. I believe with all my heart that you will make a fine father.

Lastly. "Finally!" you are saying. I wish to apologize. I should have seen what your father was doing to his family. He was my friend; he was my teacher; he was my protector; he was my right hand, but I did not see it. I trusted by "Sight" to show me such things, but it failed me. In fact, it blinded me. The "Sight" is as tricky as trying to hold onto an electric eel. It shocks you. It squirms and whips. It's slippery and not to be trusted. Yet at times there is a clarity to it that is beyond description. Please, forgive me, my friend, for the pain and grief that my blindness caused. I would have given my life to have prevented that hell. I envy you that you and your father were granted the gift of that final peace. In that instant, I saw the anguish drain from your face and from his. I know I'll never have that. However, God did give me a son, the son I would have chosen, the successor I would have chosen. He sent you to me. Know that I chose you as a friend. For a person like myself, I have been lucky. I have had good friends, but I have only had two "brothers". One was William Sloan, and you are the other. I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.

Vaya con Dios, as the old Californios used to say. Go with God, my friend, and think kindly of me.

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