Before I got here, I didn't think that my home (or Northwest Territory, for that matter) was capable of harboring aliens. I had no idea how to set my feet, and no one else had shown the same lack of fortitude.
My home has more than its share of soldiers for it. However, my citizens do have a way with the government, and I had wondered if my old hole in the ground might hold such a foothold for the Foundation, or perhaps a cult. Since my homestead fell into the hands of the Foundation while serving the Foundation and the rest of us in our home, I've been criticized for my lack of professionalism and detachment. Nonetheless, my country of Montana may be what spurs a lot of cosmists to move to our faraway land long after I'm gone, but I understand that it is what is causing so many of us to live here.
Nonetheless, after my homestead fell into the hands of the Foundation, our neighbors convinced me that the space would be better off in a Foundation facility. I respect our privacy, but I've seen my private press release on the classified website for this region. Government sites are very limited at this point in time, but they're necessary for keeping the peace. For scientists who work and are used to dangerous activity, you can expect a long series of notices and wrist lights when you come home. I have a family to worry about as well, but I had to let them know that I died recently. I'm thankful for that, as at least one of my children knows what to do if things go bad. They're not going to wonder why I was not in our home, though we may come up with other explanations, and I don't think that will be a problem.
Upon my return to my homestead, I received a letter, ostensibly from the Petaluma Police Department. Once I turned it in, I had to go to investigate. I had to convince my wife that the document wasn't from the police department. I told her it was from the legal department, under threat of temporary arrest, but I explained that nothing in the letter said that I was in danger. She couldn't understand what I was talking about, so I ended up going back to another house next door, to check on it. It's a working home, in case you were wondering. The house that petaled in my dad's name. It doesn't look like much has happened, except that the weather here is pleasant enough.
I am here and I intend to forget the name. I will do so as soon as I am free of the alerting.
- Grant Jennings
