My Dearest Miranda:
I am hoping this missive finds you in good health. I, of course, am in absolute tip-top shape and Ariel is well, too; at my last layover at Starbase 12 I treated her to a full overhaul. She really didn't need it, of course - you know I take excellent care of her - but I know how you fret.
I am delighted you are enjoying my "gift" of late. I know you are sensitive about disclosing your infirmity to strangers, and thought of you immediately. However, I cannot explain much of its origins, as I simply do not know them. I know you will find that difficult to believe, dear sister, but here are the facts, laid out as simply as I can:
I was in an establishment hoping to vend some wares when I was approached by the oddest little fellow. I didn't recognize his race, but he was small, with particularly vicious teeth, beady eyes, and the most remarkably large set of ears I have ever seen. I know you're familiar with Vulcans (no offense to your hosts), but honestly, these ears would've done an elephant proud. They wrapped almost completely around his hairless head, dear one!
As I was saying, though, I was actually intent on selling not buying, but he was also vending items. When he told me of his "sensor cloak" and its use in navigating in total darkness, I thought of you immediately. Yes, I probably overpaid for the blessed thing, but I don't regret a credit of it. I think of how much you say it's changed your life, and I don't begrudge the odd little fellow a bit of it. In fact, I'd cheerfully have paid thrice the cost.
The fellow insisted we celebrate with a drink, and then another, and then… well, you know how it goes. At some point we re- opened negotiations, and the next thing I knew I had bartered away my entire inventory of kevas, trillium, hyronalin, and a case of Romulan ale for Spican flame gems and Altairian Glow Water. I was rather indisposed at the time we sealed the transaction, but you know me - a deal's a deal! - but in retrospect he seemed to have a rather remarkable tolerance for Saurian brandy. I probably overindulged, but it seemed rude to refuse when he was providing from his own personal stock. Again, I don't begrudge a credit of the transaction, but I'm not sure when or where I will find someone to whom the flame gems and Glow Water will be a novelty.
By the by, I happened to see your old friend, Dr. Marvick, mentioned in the news recently. It appears Lawrence is leading a team to design a new starship for Starfleet. One has to wonder if the fact that this new vessel, described as a "little sister" to the Constitution-class ships, is to be named the "Miranda" class is a mere coincidence, doesn't one?
Now for family matters. Mother is well, as always, and continues to be the terror of her bridge set. David continues his oceanographic work, and Ann has departed for a tour of duty on a starship. The poor dear. Is there anything more tragic than such a young widow? Not to speak ill of the deceased, and David Mulhall was a truly splendid fellow, but Ann must go on with her life. Mother mentions that another gent, one Stanley Pulaski, has been rather attentive, and she gives him high marks, but it appears Ann isn't quite ready to set aside her veil and has run off to the security of Starfleet.
Yes, I know, I've been avoiding the main thrust of your letter, dearest one. I'm afraid my pursuit of the fair Ellen was all for naught. She signed on with a freighter and left several months ago. At the time I was going to leave the pet trade, and gifted her with my last earth- cat. She was touched, and even named him after me, but in the end she never saw past our friendship and considered me as a suitor for her heart. However, I shall persevere, and have no bitterness. I wish the fair Miss Ripley and Jonesy (how I detest that nickname! I bequeath it to the cat with all my blessings!) nothing but peace and happiness.
And that is why little Ariel and I are setting out for the Klingon neutral zone. With the Organian peace treaty, there are countless worlds and asteroids just waiting for discovery and exploitation. With luck, I shall be among the first civilians to meet with civilian Klingons. I suspect that, despite our past unpleasantnesses, the Klingons are much like ourselves, and once we get past our respective militaries we will find we will be fast friends. And if not, I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for a man who is quick of wit to make his fortune. The area has been extensively surveyed by Starfleet, but you know the military mind - all they care about is whether an asteroid will bumble into their path, and not a whit whether it's made of carbon, silicon, or solid pergium. And with the treaty, I need not worry about the Klingon military forces getting belligerent again any time soon.
No, I am not going into this venture completely empty-handed (or empty-headed!). I know I said I was getting out of the pet business, but I have discovered the most delightful little fellows. They're called "tribbles," and they're - well, I'd best not say too much about them just yet. While I know I can trust you implicitly, one can never place too much faith in the confidentiality of any medium, and trust me that I do not exaggerate when I say these "tribbles" will completely change the pet business forever.
But enough about me; I was delighted to hear you had applied for and been accepted for the Medusan diplomatic team. I know I've not come to visit you in the past few years, but I know how the presence of other humans bothers you, and I simply could not bear the heat of Vulcan again. I swear, I still wake up sweating from my last visit! Of course, to me you're merely moving from one intolerable world to another, but I have no doubts you shall soon be traveling the spaceways in the company of some utterly distinguished Medusan ambassador, and our paths shall cross.
Alas! While I have sat here and babbled at you, tempus has indeed fugited on me. I must ready Ariel for our departure. My next port of call will be Deep Space Station K-7 (these Starfleet people are so creative with names, are they not? I believe it means "the seventh deep space station on the Klingon frontier" or some such) for final refueling and provisions, and then I shall be "boldly going where no entrepreneur has gone before." I will write you again once I arrive. Wish me well, or in the tongue of my future customers, "Qapla'!"
Your loving brother,
Cyrano