I'm not used to this journal thing. I've written in a book journal now and again, but typing things out, well, I'm just too %#$^ busy, y'know? Sorry 'bout that, if you're interested in the mind of some old has-been. Well, that's why I'm writin' this now. I'm tired of being a once-was. I've spent enough time sitting on my lazy ass, flying the Highwind around uselessly. If I'm going to get home, I'm going to need to work for it. That Valentines whatever reminded me of what I really missed. I need'a see Shera. I need'a be back in Rocket Town, at least for a little while.

So I'm going to do what I should'a done long ago. I'm going to see this whole world from above, with my own ship. Falcon, seeing it with yours was eye opening. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. The world didn't match any of my maps, and I have a feeling it will be different again when I go up next. In fact, I look forward to it. Seeing everything below me, out of something I put my heart into, that'll make it real. That'll be the truth.

But even the best engineer can't make a rocket alone. I'll need some help. My crew can do a lot of the heavy lifting, but there's more to a rocket than just putting it together. Supplies, extra hands, power, design help. Any of you that can help with it, would be appreciated. I know mechanics, but if we can get some magic, some'a the crazy stuff I've seen from the future around here too, I think we might build a rocket worth building.

So what kind of experience do any of you have with big power sources? What're the chances anyone here knows of a good source of working metal? Any of you ever built some thirty-some story structure of any kind?

[Not too long after the curious broadcast finally stops playing over the school televisions, the PA crackles to life. It's not the usual voice giving some announcement, but that's odd. Isn't the A/V room supposed to be locked for students?]

A precedent is being set in this school. One of apathy, and derision, and suppression.

The images you saw were designed to devalue one of us, the students, we who are to inherit the earth! It was broadcast from a room locked to all but the teachers who are meant to guide us to greatness!

My peers, now is the time to ask of yourselves: can you truly let the public shaming of another go unaddressed? Are you satisfied with unrepentant criminals as teachers? Is attack by robots, or monsters, or eating cardboard a justifiable punishment for arbitrary rules set by our educators?

You are worthy of so much more than what you are being given! You do not need to wait to be handed respect from your elders, for you are deserving of it as you are! You are strong, and brilliant, and bright, and you should hold your head high!!

If you know this as I do, then join us in front of the school! Let us band together, to take hold of the respect we deserve!

[Then there's some loud fumbling and clicking. Hold on. Hold on he almost has figured out the right button. Dammit--THERE OKAY IT'S OFF]

[The good news was that the small blue sphere in the Big Daddy's hand let him write out his thoughts as text with ease. The bad news was that he didn't have any idea what thoughts a teacher should have.]

Uh, hello. This is Delta. Ain't gonna flap these lips for long, don't worry.

If any students are interested in a marine engineering course, I'll be, ah, running it. Meet in the workshop tomorrow at noon, and be there for about a week. First project is building a suit that can survive underwater. Second is using it. We'll be moving out to the lake after too long. And one thing: I see any bad business, you're going diving without your suit. Don't want a class full of meatballs.

[Discipline, right? Yeah. Kids acting fresh were everyone's problem, and he knew how to solve problems. The Headmaster had specifically instructed Delta that no student was to be harmed, but giving them a quick bath ain't really "harm."]

But it'd be good to know where the workshop is. Could use a hand from a student keen on getting me there.

And I dunno what, ah, office hours are for. Don't much need them. You wanna ask a question, find me. Ain't hard to miss. Big... helmet... guy, that's me.

[The entry ends abruptly as Delta stomps away from the computer, focusing on future curriculum or hidden plasmids or anything other than what the hell he just wrote. Whatever, message delivered successfully.]