Interlude
Destination: Second no First Lieutenant Manuel Curdova, Tee Double-you TWCS, CENSORED
Contact Service Administrative Bureau Building 5, Level Sub-two
Very New York
Routing: I800RQW5R43EE83 change those Os to zeros
Origin: Second Lieutenant Emile von du Mark, TWCS Aboard TWS MAGELLAN (#LC2-559)
Subject: Personnel no eye said personal, you CENSORED
File Created: 3 September 2241
if this machine doesn't start listening better it's going to take me more time to clean up this letter than it should to write it in the first CENSORED place and the CENSORED pause button only works when you're pushing down on it? and what is this censored CENSORED question mark
Ridiculous besides this censorship program is a
CENSORED piece of
CENSORED—this is private mail, not
start again and I've got to check out whether or not this thing is hooked into Magellan's main computer mmm appears not which is typical service nonsense they're more concerned about me saying CENSORED than they are about me talking about how you build a grmpmhl
can't even say it
at least eye can talk honestly though with nobody listening
Manny,
CENSORED but eye hate this typewriter—why are all military models half deaf? I would have brought my own, but I've spent most of my life being being hassled for being a rich kid; eye figured I'd try and avoid it here. Not that it matters. The Dutchman gives everyone trouble, regardless of race, creed, or what-CENSORED-ever. Paragraph. CENSORED you I hit the bloody punctuation button. CENSORED thing must have been stuck—try again.
Better. Hmm, can eye say bloody question mark.
Start again.
Many
har rumph!!!
Manny,
It took me more than three hours to drag the routing code out of the ship's computer. Methinks that Magellan's skipper takes this isolation bit too far. It would be nice if he'd just let us access the damn user's manuals, for God's sake!
Norfeldt and I have just finished the en route portion of our psych testing, and have been cleared by the computers. Seems that I still hate stewed carrots and love parboiled spinach, so I must be sane—well, crazy in the way that the service likes, anyway.
Yes, I've met the Dutchman. I don't know why, but I'd always had an image of the famed feared CENSORED Major Alonzo Norfeldt as being somewhat taller—he's actually an average-height fat man. Although he's not necessarily quite as soft as he appears; if a weak man were to actually fire that point-forty-four Magnum of his, it'd him knock head over heels.
Like eye did to that bastard Brubaker, or that blond hooker with the uneven CENSORED did to you ellipsis
CENSORED—...
Sorry. The punctuation button seems to be sticking, although the inflection routines are working awfully well for a military model. Doesn't matter—I'll clean this up later, you'll never see it. But you're going to see some expletives in here that you'll think a bit too mild for your old buddy Emile, since I'm not going to have half my favorite adjectives be CENSORED censored Trust me, and substitute appropriately.
In any case, the Dutchman is an interesting person, for an CENSORED. I'm not sure that I don't believe that he really believes that humanity'd be better off if we just blew away every sentient species we ran into, instead of trying to Contact them.
But he may. Me, I'm still conservative old Emile, who accepts the Contact Service philosophy that we'll have enough to answer for, whenever we blimp into a really advanced civilization.
Enough of that. I'm getting philosophical in my dotage, of all things. Ridiculous.
We just had a delivery, and we're still docked with the mailboat, so I'm going to have to hurry this. I may not have time enough to completely clean it up.
In any case, the new ALSERV was on the mail-boat. Congratulations, First Lieutenant. As soon as I hit Vee en why cee—VNYC, we're going to drink up a good quarter of my trust's interest and celebrate—matter of fact, if you can access Magellan's TOA, feel free to make some appropriate reservation's at Virgin Mary's, and we'll get ourselves properly swived.
Hey! That worked. Wheee!
In any case, don't worry about allowing me time for rest. Rest is all I'm getting—sometimes (like about twenty times an hour close parenthesis I wish that the Contact Service allowed woman officers. Either that, or we'd stayed in the Navy. Remember Ella what ever her name was from New Haven? I swear she could
Mmmmm, never mind.
If this wasn't going on flimsey, eye wouldn't say this, but I'm working on getting a look at the rating Norfeldt gave me, but so far I haven't been able to crack the codes. Again, if I had my own machine with me, I'd probably be able to—the service can't use the heavy-duty codes for personnel records, can they?
I know. You can't answer that, and won't.
You're going to find this hard to believe, but I'm actually losing at poker. Yes, me. The Dutch man plays five-card stud better than even that kid who dropped out in our second year—what was his name?
Nevermind.
In any case, let us coupling get down to the main body of the message, which is that eye have gone through FIRST no first no First CENSORED Assignment and have come out okay, although Captains McCaw and Buchholtz did not, either of them. Requiescat in pochem. Open parenthesis Got the air of a female dog. I know I pronounced the latin correctly, but it didn't spell it right. I'm going to take along my own machine on the next job and to CENSORED with this machine.)
As I was saying, I've gotten through First Assignment intact. There are times when I almost wish I was a bit less hot with the stick and pedals, though; the weak pilots get the nice, safe, First Team photo surveys, where the worst that'll happen to you is a case of low-gee acne.
I said almost, Manual
That's not right, either. Manny, when we're both wearing stars, we've got to see if we can arrange to have whoever ordered these writers shot. In the kneecap, to start with.
Speaking of First, we've gotten orders for a quick orbital survey of an M-zero, which promises to be dull. I suppose there'll be some leave sometime after that; although there's going to be a thousand cheapjack stars Gated this year, until we get a comm officer and a weapons officer assigned, I doubt that we'll get any Second or Third jobs.
Yeah. Third. I don't know what it is, but there's something about being Third Team that I like.
Maybe because it's important, dammit. At least, it damn well had better be.
In any case, congratulations again. I’ll write again soon, honest.
One question, though—why didn't we take the court-martial?
All they could have done was shoot us.
Well
Hey the mailboat's leaving in three minutes minus a scant Emmy you might think about moving your CENSORED and get your CENSORED letter on it thanks major I should print out and I mean
File Transmitted; 3 September 2241