DOCUMENT REF: LFA-116-C
ARCHIVE STATUS: HARD COPY LETTER [UNSENT]
AUTHOR: Silas Lombardhy (Civilian)
LOCATION: Colony [REDACTED] (Three World Empire)
DATE: November 14, 2116
[TRANSCRIPT]
The Customs Officer looked at my passport like it smelled of rotten fish. “USCM Combat Engineer,” he says, all clipped and fancy-like. “Why come to the Empire, Mr. Lombardhy?”
I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Just lookin’ for a quieter garden, son.”
Truth is, I’m runnin’.
I gave the Corps fifteen years of my life. I built their bases. I reinforced their bunkers. I saw things on the edge of the frontier that made the hair on my neck stand up—shadows movin’ where shadows shouldn’t be. I never saw the Monsters, but I felt 'em. I felt the Lioness breathin’ down my neck.
So I’m playin’ a card she didn’t expect. I’m marryin’ into the Three World Empire.
Her name is Amara. She’s a Wadhya. High-born lady. She designs hydroponics for the Emperor. She’s elegant, precise, and believes that if you follow the rules, the universe makes sense.
She thinks I’m just a roughneck Yank she can tame. She don’t know I’m hidin’ inside her family crest like a tick on a hound dog.
I figure, if the War comes, it’s gonna hit the loud-mouth Americans first. Weyland-Yutani is knockin’ on every door in the galaxy; they’re bound to wake up the homeowner eventually. But here? Behind the Rising Sun? Maybe we can sleep a little longer.
Amara’s talkin’ about kids. A boy. We’re gonna name him Kian.
I’m gonna raise him different. No ghost stories. No “Lioness.” I’m gonna teach him the Wadhya way—precision, math, architecture. I’m gonna bury the “Lombardhy Grit” under a layer of silk and manners.
I’m tradin’ my pulse rifle for a drafting compass. I reckon I can build a wall out of bureaucracy just as good as I can build one out of concrete.
I still got Nicholas’s book locked in the safe. I should burn it. But I can’t. Not yet. Just in case the darkness knows how to read maps, too.
[Entry Ends]