Dear Ness and Paula,

How are you guys? How's everything in Eagleland? I know it's been a long time since I've written, but you know how things can get at school: homework, club meetings, experiments, lab repairs.... It's been a long semester, and I've really been looking forward to seeing you. Unfortunately, I'm not sure things are going to turn out that way. I still want to make it down to Eagleland this holiday break, but I don't think I'll be able to make your Matsuri Eve party. My dad and I have to fi

No, wait -- I should start from the beginning, shouldn't I?

It was about a week ago that Dr. And Dad called me down to his lab after school. I started getting concerned when he was actually waiting for me at the door; usually, when he calls me, he's forgotten about it by the time I get there. It got worse when he led me upstairs to the apartment and started talking in his serious voice. You know the one -- like after the robot thing, right before we fought Giygas? Usually he doesn't sound that way unless he wants to have a capital-T Talk with me, and that's never good. The last time, he started pulling out anatomy diagrams and everything. Er, anyway, he did want to have another Talk, but... you're not going to believe what he told me. I still wouldn't believe it if he hadn't shown me the proof. All these family heirlooms, all these stories....

To make a long story short: we're Moon People.

The whole thing's a really long story, but according to Dad, we're descended from Lunarians (that's the proper term, I guess?) who fled to Earth during the Annual Gift Wars, many generations ago. The Lunarians blended in with our Earthly cousins, but we've always been working to defeat the Annual Gift Despot and make the Moon free again. We've got people all throughout the scientific world, working on bathtub-tracking radar, kangaroo repellent, cures for flesh-eating virii... even something called a "EB Virtual Console release," which Dad says is our secret weapon. (Whatever a "Virtual Console" is...) We're very close to victory now, Dad said, but we need to make one last, decisive strike at the Gift Despot that'll lay him low forever. It'd require a very special mix of courage, timing, and firepower.

It was about then that he started to give me a look and make pointed references to his new Sky Runner prototype, so, er, you can probably guess what I'll be doing on Matsuri Eve.

I know how this all must sound -- I really do -- but it's what I have to do. Please, whatever you do, don't try and find me? I know this may seem like a great opportunity for you to come after me, save EB no Matsuri, and teach everyone heartwarming lessons about friendship and the holidays just in time to have some of Paula's dad's famous Strawberry Tofu Pie... but this situation is far more serious than you might realize. This is no time for hugging and learning!

(To be fair, some of that pie wouldn't be half-bad right now. You wouldn't think you could get tofu that light and flaky! ... Anyway.)

Please believe me when I say that there's nothing heartwarming about the Annual Gift Despot. If you'd heard even half the stories about his slave pens -- let alone his flesh-eating pathogen labs! -- you'd agree with me that, if anything, EB no Matsuri will be a better holiday without him. After all, the holidays are about fellowship, and what better way to celebrate peace and goodwill than with Earth-people and free Lunarians making tofu and singing the ancient songs together? We can make the cartridges in fair-trade workshops, and we can still even give tax cheaters interesting flu strains, if that's the way people want to celebrate. I don't have anything against pathogens, really, but necrotizing fasciitis always seemed just a bit severe.

Ness, Paula -- if you don't hear from me again, know I tried my best to save my people. It's what my mother would have wanted, and it's the least I can do to create a happier holiday for everybody. With luck, I'll see you soon, and if not... don't open whatever's under your pillow. The Gift Despot loves revenge.

Yours,
Jeff

P.S. Seriously, save a slice of that pie for me? Facing destiny always leaves me really hungry.