Dear Brother,

Dr. Song tells me that fifteen years have elapsed on the Centauri colonies. But this colony, I can't imagine us fifteen years from now.

Did you know we can survive more than three minutes fully exposed here? As long as you don't breathe. I tried going outside without a mask. I held my nose. I was fine. In point five g, you can get pretty far in three minutes.

Dr. Song says the air pressure should be the same inside and outside the ship. But my ears popped both times I went outside, even wearing an envirosuit. I can't stand the envirosuit. I would prefer using the oxygen masks. I think we all would, but we are still supposed to use envirosuits because of possible toxins.

We've made three forays from the mothership so far. The plantlife here is unbelievable. I wish I had enough bandwidth to send pictures but the personal queue on the antenna is approaching an earth month as it is.

A day here is just under eight hours long. So how convenient, right? Awake for two days, sleep for one. We wait for periods of light before doing anything. Actually I still haven't noticed the sun rising or setting even through the viewports. It happens so quickly.

Oh, the sun is huge. You can't look anywhere near it. Everything looks kind of red. Or purple. The night seems totally black when I look outside. There's already all kinds of stories about what's out there during the night. And we've only been here three weeks, hah. Honestly, I don't doubt there's something. But so far we haven't discovered anything larger than a mosquito.

Here's what's really bothering me. We're going to start waking people up from hypersleep.

Thirty years on a spaceship is a long time, no one says otherwise. But for me, it made this experience real. We watched the stars shift over those three decades. We lived. We learned most everything from Dr. Song. We spun down to point five g, depressurized, and adapted our sleep cycles.

Imagine I just said goodbye to you. I step into the capsule and fall immediately into chemically-induced sleep. Dreamless sleep- it's not like there's any brain activity in there.

Now I wake up. I've travelled through the stars but I don't know it. Did they wake me up for another test? Oh, they're telling me I'm already here.

How can you avoid thinking of Epsilon Eridani b as an extension of earth? How can you eat this reprocessed nutrient goo? Your last meal was with your parents. Or maybe your buddy from college. Dr. Song was 35 when she taught the colonist class. Now she's an old woman. A different person, really. A strange woman telling you to start your work.

Your parents are probably dead but you'll be getting letters from them for years yet. You're 22. Oh, you might even still be talking about sports or TV or something.

Anyway, I know we would have no chance of long term survival without these people, but I've grown accustomed to the quiet. And if the schedule holds, soon Eridani b is going to have more people than Browning, Montana.

It's the cold season I'm told, but it's rather warm outside. I'll write another message soon, but I don't know when it will be broadcast.

Love,
Your brother