Somebody Else's Space Program
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Chapter Eight ". . . though we mourn, we shall not falter . . ."
Papers, spread out on the desk like a giant hand of poker. A letter from Jheraind, dated a year before.
The letter opened, "My dearest Ross. If you are reading this, I am dead."
Ross put the letter down. It was too soon. He bit back tears, reached for the letter to tear it into shreds, make it not have happened . . .
No. Look at everything else first, then go back to the letter.
A certificate that said that Ross had completed his apprenticeship with exceptional diligence, and was free to make his own way in the world. Another small stack of papers that were letters of recommendations from the lead mechanic and the lead machinist, praising Ross's diligence and attention to detail.
And a document from the closest bank, saying there was an account in Ross's name, with an unrealistic amount of money in it.
Ross stood up, paced around the room, forced himself to take some deep breaths. Medlen had told him that he wasn't being dropped as an apprentice. Why these completion papers, then?
Maybe the answer was in the letter. He steeled himself and picked up the letter, taking it over to the window to read it.
My dearest Ross.
If you are reading this, I am dead.
My death was in an accident at the track, and I died doing what I love. Mourn me as you will -- all of us grieve in different ways.
I have prepared papers for your use if you do not choose to stay with the team. I ask that you stay, but realize the pain may be too great.
There were discussions I meant to have with you, questions I meant to answer. And countless more questions you never voiced, that I can't imagine.
These no longer matter. I will leave you with only these two pieces of advice:
First, find meaningful work that you love. Money isn't the goal, fame isn't the goal.
Second, loving another person is one of the most fulfilling things you can do. Just remember that your partner is a person, not a reflection of yourself. And don't let your upbringing stop you from loving whom you will.
My religion holds that we return to the earth, life after life. Yours holds that after one life, there is an eternal paradise, where you keep the company of those you loved in life. In either case, we will meet again -- I know it.
Until then, be well, try to be happy.
Jheraind
Ross read the letter over several times, until he could get through it without tears blurring his sight.
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