Chapter One
The Letter From The Moon
Buckingham Palace was unusually busy.
Messengers hurried through corridors.
Guards stood at attention.
Scientists carrying clipboards rushed between rooms.
Something important was happening.
Very important.
At precisely eight o’clock, Mr. Postman arrived at the palace gates.
As always, he wore his Royal Mail uniform.
As always, he carried his satchel.
And as always, he expected an ordinary day.
Unfortunately for Mr. Postman, ordinary days rarely happened.
A palace guard approached him.
“Mr. Postman?”
“Yes?”
“The King wishes to see you immediately.”
Mr. Postman adjusted his glasses.
“The King?”
“The King.”
“Sounds serious.”
The guard nodded.
“It is.”
Within minutes, Mr. Postman was walking through the grand halls of Buckingham Palace.
He passed ministers.
He passed military officers.
He even passed several scientists arguing loudly about rockets.
That was unusual.
Very unusual.
At last he reached the King’s study.
Two Royal Guards opened the doors.
Inside sat the King.
Standing beside him were the Prime Minister, the Postmaster General, and three of Britain’s leading scientists.
Nobody smiled.
Nobody spoke.
Upon a velvet cushion in the centre of the room sat an envelope.
Mr. Postman stopped walking.
He had delivered millions of letters.
He had seen letters from every corner of the world.
He had seen letters written by kings, presidents, explorers, inventors and generals.
He had never seen a letter like this.
The envelope shimmered.
Its surface appeared metallic.
Almost golden.
No stamp.
No address.
No postmark.
Nothing.
The King rose from his chair.
“Mr. Postman.”
“Your Majesty.”
The King gestured towards the envelope.
“What do you make of it?”
Mr. Postman picked it up carefully.
It was warm.
Not hot.
Just warm.
As though it had recently travelled a very long distance.
He examined every side.
Nothing.
No clues.
“No return address, sire.”
“Indeed.”
“No stamp.”
“Indeed.”
“No indication of origin whatsoever.”
The King nodded.
“Open it.”
Mr. Postman carefully broke the seal.
The room became silent.
Inside was a single sheet of silver paper.
The handwriting was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Neat.
Elegant.
Perfect.
He began to read.
TO THE RULER OF EARTH
WE REQUEST FORMAL COMMUNICATION
SIGNED
EMPEROR LUNAR IV
LUNAR EMPIRE
KINGDOM OF THE MOON
Mr. Postman blinked.
Then read it again.
Then a third time.
“The Moon?”
One of the scientists stepped forward.
“That is our conclusion.”
“You mean somebody on the Moon posted this?”
“We believe so.”
Mr. Postman looked at the King.
The King looked back.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Finally Mr. Postman asked the question everyone was thinking.
“How exactly did it arrive?”
Professor Wainwright cleared his throat.
“It landed.”
“Landed?”
“Yes.”
The professor pointed towards a photograph.
It showed a large crater in the countryside.
At the centre sat the envelope.
Perfectly intact.
Mr. Postman stared.
“This is certainly unusual.”
“Quite,” said the King.
The scientist continued.
“The paper is unknown.”
“The ink is unknown.”
“The metal used in the envelope is unknown.”
Mr. Postman folded his arms.
“So it really came from the Moon.”
“That appears to be the case.”
The room became quiet once again.
The King walked towards a window overlooking London.
For a long moment he simply stared into the distance.
Then he turned.
“Mr. Postman.”
“Your Majesty?”
“If the Moon can send us a letter…”
“Yes, sire?”
“It would be extremely rude not to reply.”
For the first time that morning, Mr. Postman smiled.
“I quite agree.”
The King smiled as well.
“Excellent.”
The Prime Minister looked confused.
One scientist nearly dropped his clipboard.
The King ignored them all.
“Then there is only one question.”
Mr. Postman already knew the answer.
The King pointed towards the silver envelope.
“Who shall deliver it?”
Mr. Postman straightened his uniform.
The answer was obvious.
The answer was always obvious.
The King laughed.
“Exactly.”
Outside the palace, the bells of London rang across the city.
Far above the Earth, hidden amongst the stars, something watched.
A black spacecraft drifted silently across the darkness.
Upon its hull gleamed a golden crest.
The crest of the Lunar Empire.
Inside, a tall figure dressed in black and gold stood before a viewing window.
The figure watched the Earth.
The figure smiled.
“The letter has arrived.”
Behind him, dozens of officers stood to attention.
One stepped forward.
“Do you believe they will respond, Your Imperial Majesty?”
The Emperor looked towards the blue world below.
“Oh yes.”
His smile widened.
“Without question.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE BIRTH OF THE ROYAL INTERPLANETARY POSTAL SERVICE
By the following morning, the entire world knew.
The newspapers could speak of nothing else.
MOON SENDS LETTER TO EARTH
KING RECEIVES MESSAGE FROM LUNAR EMPEROR
BRITAIN PREPARES HISTORIC RESPONSE
People gathered around newsstands.
Radio stations interrupted regular broadcasts.
Television reporters stood outside Buckingham Palace hoping for a statement.
The world had questions.
The biggest question was simple.
Who would deliver Britain’s reply?
Inside Buckingham Palace, the answer was already known.
Mr. Postman sat at a long conference table.
Around him sat ministers, generals, scientists and senior Royal Mail officials.
At the head of the table stood the King.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced.
“The Moon has contacted Earth.”
Everyone nodded.
“It would therefore appear necessary to establish a new branch of the Royal Mail.”
The Postmaster General nearly fell out of his chair.
“A new branch, Your Majesty?”
“Indeed.”
The King smiled.
“We already possess the Ground Service.”
A Royal Mail officer nodded.
“The Air Service.”
Another nodded.
“The Maritime Service.”
More nodding.
The King’s smile widened.
“It is now time for the Royal Interplanetary Postal Service.”
The room erupted into applause.
History had just been made.
Three days later construction began.
Far from London, on a stretch of coastline hidden from the public, engineers worked day and night.
Huge floodlights illuminated the site.
Cranes swung overhead.
Welders showered sparks across steel platforms.
Royal Mail banners fluttered in the wind.
A sign stood at the entrance.
ROYAL MAIL SPACEPORT ONE
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Mr. Postman visited every day.
He watched as Britain’s greatest engineers assembled humanity’s first postal spacecraft.
Unlike military rockets, it was designed by Royal Mail officials.
As a result, it looked rather different.
The hull was painted bright Royal Red.
Gold trim decorated the edges.
A Royal Mail crest was displayed proudly upon the side.
Most importantly of all, a large post box had been built directly into the vessel.
Mr. Postman approved immediately.
“Very sensible.”
One engineer looked confused.
“A post box?”
“Of course.”
“But we’re going to the Moon.”
Mr. Postman adjusted his glasses.
“And if somebody wishes to post a letter along the way?”
The engineer considered this.
“Good point.”
The spacecraft was officially designated:
R.M.S.S. POSTMAN ONE
Royal Mail Space Service.
The name quickly became famous across the world.
As work continued, another project began.
The uniform.
If Britain was going to the Moon, she would do so properly.
A team of military tailors, Royal Mail designers and Air Service engineers gathered to create the perfect suit.
The result was magnificent.
Bright Royal Red.
Gold trim.
Polished gold buttons.
The Royal Mail crest embroidered upon the chest.
The Union Flag displayed proudly on the sleeve.
A black reflective visor concealed the wearer’s face.
Gold shoulder boards marked rank.
A ceremonial cape was suggested.
The scientists objected.
The tailors objected to the scientists.
The scientists objected to the tailors objecting.
Eventually the cape was removed.
The arguments continued for several hours anyway.
When the suit was finally unveiled, even the King appeared impressed.
“Excellent.”
Mr. Postman examined himself in a mirror.
“I look important.”
“You are important,” replied the King.
At that very moment, millions of miles away, preparations were also underway.
Deep within the Lunar Empire, black and gold banners hung from enormous towers.
Imperial guards stood motionless.
Military officers marched through vast marble corridors.
The capital city glowed beneath the stars.
At the centre stood the Imperial Palace.
There, Emperor Lunar IV observed a large golden globe depicting the Earth.
A general approached.
His uniform was immaculate.
Black cloth.
Gold braid.
Rows of medals.
An officer of the highest rank.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
“General Orion.”
“The Earthlings are preparing.”
The Emperor smiled.
“As expected.”
“Their newspapers have reported extensively.”
The Emperor laughed softly.
“Good.”
The general folded his hands behind his back.
“Do you truly believe they will come?”
The Emperor turned towards a large window overlooking the lunar capital.
Below him stretched a city of millions.
Airships drifted through the darkness.
Postal cruisers crossed the skyline.
Imperial trains travelled silently between distant settlements.
The Emperor spoke calmly.
“I do.”
“And if they do not?”
The Emperor looked back.
“They are British.”
The general frowned.
“What difference does that make?”
The Emperor smiled.
“They received a letter.”
Far away on Earth, work at Spaceport One neared completion.
The spacecraft stood ready.
The launch tower stood ready.
The world’s cameras stood ready.
Only one thing remained.
The King’s reply.
The envelope itself had already been prepared.
It was magnificent.
Red and gold.
Handmade by Royal Mail craftsmen.
Sealed with the Royal Crest.
Inside rested a personal invitation from the King.
An invitation that would become the first official piece of interplanetary mail in human history.
As sunset fell over Britain, Mr. Postman stood alone beside the launch pad.
Above him, the Moon hung in the evening sky.
For a moment he simply stared.
Then he smiled.
“See you soon.”
High above the Earth, hidden beyond the clouds, a dark shape drifted silently through space.
It was not British.
It was not Lunar.
And it was watching.
CHAPTER THREE
LAUNCH DAY
The morning of July 17th, 1964, dawned bright and clear.
Across Britain, people woke early.
Factories delayed shifts.
Schools gathered pupils into assembly halls.
Shops placed televisions in their windows.
For the first time in history, a postman was going to the Moon.
At Royal Mail Spaceport One, thousands of spectators filled specially constructed viewing stands.
Reporters from every major newspaper stood ready.
Radio commentators adjusted microphones.
Television cameras pointed towards the launch pad.
At the centre of everything stood the spacecraft.
R.M.S.S. POSTMAN ONE.
Its polished red hull gleamed beneath the morning sun.
Gold trim reflected the light like fire.
The Royal Mail crest shone proudly upon its side.
For a moment it seemed less like a spacecraft and more like a royal monument.
Above the crowd fluttered dozens of flags.
Britain’s flag.
The Royal Standard.
And the newly designed banner of the Royal Interplanetary Postal Service.
The excitement was impossible to ignore.
Then the royal motorcade arrived.
The crowd erupted into applause.
The King stepped from his vehicle and walked towards the platform.
Behind him marched military officers, Royal Mail officials, ministers and members of the press.
A brass band began to play.
The atmosphere felt more like a royal parade than a space launch.
The King took his place beside the spacecraft.
A microphone was placed before him.
The crowd fell silent.
“My fellow citizens.”
His voice echoed across the spaceport.
“For centuries, brave men and women of the Royal Mail have carried messages across our nation.”
A cheer erupted.
“They crossed mountains.”
More cheers.
“They crossed oceans.”
The applause grew louder.
“They crossed the skies.”
Now the crowd was roaring.
The King smiled.
“Today they cross something else.”
He looked upwards.
“Space itself.”
The cheering became deafening.
The King raised a hand.
“And there is only one man I trust to make this delivery.”
A spotlight turned.
A door opened.
Mr. Postman emerged.
The crowd gasped.
He wore the new Royal Interplanetary Postal Service uniform.
Bright Royal Red.
Gold trim.
Gold shoulder boards.
Polished black boots.
The Union Flag proudly displayed upon his sleeve.
His gold edged visor concealed his face.
A Royal Mail satchel rested across his shoulder.
He looked every inch a national hero.
The crowd immediately began chanting.
“POSTMAN!”
“POSTMAN!”
“POSTMAN!”
Even Mr. Postman seemed slightly embarrassed.
The King handed him the red and gold envelope.
The most important letter ever written.
Mr. Postman accepted it carefully.
“I’ll see it delivered, sire.”
“I know you will.”
The King extended his hand.
Mr. Postman shook it.
The cameras flashed.
The image would appear on front pages around the world the following morning.
The King leaned closer.
“One final thing.”
“Yes, sire?”
“Try not to lose it.”
Mr. Postman looked horrified.
“Never.”
The King laughed.
“Good.”
Moments later Mr. Postman climbed the launch tower.
Below him stretched thousands of spectators.
Above him waited Postman One.
He reached the hatch.
Turned.
And waved.
The crowd exploded into applause.
Then he disappeared inside.
The hatch sealed.
Mission Control came alive.
Engineers monitored gauges.
Scientists checked instruments.
Operators reported readings.
The countdown began.
“T Minus sixty seconds.”
Across Britain, millions watched.
“T Minus thirty seconds.”
Inside Buckingham Palace, the King stood before a television set.
“T Minus ten.”
At the Lunar Imperial Palace, Emperor Lunar IV watched through an enormous viewing screen.
Imperial officers stood behind him.
Nobody spoke.
“Five.”
The engines began to glow.
“Four.”
Steam poured from the launch platform.
“Three.”
The spacecraft trembled.
“Two.”
The roar grew louder.
“One.”
For a single heartbeat the world seemed to stop.
Then—
POSTMAN ONE launched.
Fire erupted beneath the vessel.
The ground shook.
The sky thundered.
The spacecraft surged upwards.
Higher.
Faster.
Higher still.
The crowd watched in amazement.
Within seconds it became a bright red star climbing towards the heavens.
Mission Control erupted into applause.
The King smiled.
Britain had entered the Space Age.
Inside the cockpit, Mr. Postman gripped the controls.
Earth shrank beneath him.
The clouds disappeared.
The sky darkened.
For the first time in his life, he saw the planet from above.
Blue.
White.
Beautiful.
He stared through the window.
“Goodness.”
The radio crackled.
“Mission Control to Postman One.”
Mr. Postman blinked.
“Postman One receiving.”
“How are conditions?”
He continued staring at Earth.
“Rather impressive.”
Laughter filled the radio.
Then something flashed across the cockpit window.
A shadow.
Fast.
Too fast.
Mr. Postman frowned.
Another shadow crossed the stars.
This time he saw it clearly.
A spacecraft.
Black.
Long.
Silent.
And definitely not British.
The vessel vanished into the darkness.
Mr. Postman stared after it.
The radio crackled again.
“Postman One, report.”
Mr. Postman slowly looked back towards the controls.
“I think…”
He paused.
“…we may not be alone up here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE LUNAR EMPIRE
For the first time in history, a man from Earth approached the Moon.
Inside Postman One, warning lights blinked softly.
The engines hummed.
The stars drifted silently beyond the cockpit windows.
Mr. Postman sat at the controls.
His eyes remained fixed upon the mysterious black spacecraft he had seen earlier.
It had vanished.
Simply vanished.
No signal.
No markings.
No explanation.
Mission Control had detected nothing.
Eventually Mr. Postman returned his attention to the journey.
Ahead of him, the Moon filled the sky.
Larger.
Larger.
And larger still.
Then he saw something impossible.
Lights.
Thousands of them.
Mr. Postman leaned closer to the window.
His jaw dropped.
Cities.
Entire cities.
Great shining towers rose from the lunar surface.
Roads stretched across vast plains.
Brilliant lights illuminated enormous settlements.
Airships drifted between distant skylines.
Railways crossed the landscape.
Factories glowed in the darkness.
The Moon was inhabited.
Not by a few people.
By millions.
“Mission Control…”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Mission Control, I think you’d better see this.”
Back on Earth, scientists stared in disbelief.
Several removed their glasses.
One fainted.
Another demanded tea immediately.
The world watched as cameras aboard Postman One transmitted the first images of the Lunar Empire.
Newspapers would spend years printing those photographs.
Ahead stood a magnificent city.
At its centre rose a vast black and gold palace.
It towered above everything around it.
Golden domes gleamed beneath the stars.
Black banners fluttered from enormous spires.
Upon every banner appeared the same symbol.
A golden crescent surrounded by a crown.
The Imperial Crest.
As Postman One descended, dozens of sleek black spacecraft rose to meet it.
Their hulls shone like polished obsidian.
Golden trim reflected the starlight.
An escort.
Mr. Postman smiled.
“Very polite.”
Minutes later he landed.
The hatch opened.
History was made.
Mr. Postman stepped onto the Moon.
Far below on Earth, millions applauded.
The first man on the Moon was not a soldier.
Not a scientist.
Not an explorer.
It was a postman.
Waiting for him stood a reception committee.
Military officers.
Government officials.
Postal representatives.
All dressed in black uniforms decorated with gold braid and medals.
At their head stood a tall officer.
His uniform was magnificent.
Black tunic.
Gold epaulettes.
Rows of decorations.
A ceremonial sword hung at his side.
The officer stepped forward.
“Mr. Postman of Earth?”
“That’s me.”
The officer smiled.
“I am General Orion, Commander of the Lunar Imperial Army.”
He extended his hand.
“Welcome to the Lunar Empire.”
Mr. Postman shook it.
“Pleasure to be here.”
The General gestured towards the city.
“His Imperial Majesty awaits.”
The journey through the capital left Mr. Postman speechless.
The streets were immaculate.
Citizens lined the roads.
Black and gold flags waved from every building.
Imperial Guards stood motionless outside government offices.
The entire city felt ancient.
Proud.
Disciplined.
Grand.
It reminded him of London.
Only larger.
Much larger.
At last they arrived at the Imperial Palace.
The enormous golden doors opened.
Trumpets sounded.
Hundreds of guards stood to attention.
And there, upon a magnificent throne, sat Emperor Lunar IV.
He wore robes of black and gold.
A crown glittered upon his head.
Medals covered his chest.
Despite his power, he smiled warmly.
Mr. Postman immediately liked him.
The Emperor descended the steps.
“Mr. Postman.”
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
The Emperor laughed.
“You actually came.”
“Of course I did.”
The Emperor looked surprised.
“You crossed space because someone posted a letter?”
Mr. Postman adjusted his glasses.
“That’s generally how post works.”
The Emperor laughed louder than before.
For the next hour they spoke.
The King’s invitation was presented.
The Emperor accepted immediately.
Tea at Buckingham Palace was now officially planned.
Everything appeared perfect.
Then the alarms sounded.
Every light in the throne room turned red.
The laughter stopped instantly.
The Emperor froze.
General Orion’s expression darkened.
Imperial officers began shouting.
Guards rushed into position.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Postman.
Nobody answered.
The Emperor strode towards a communications officer.
“What happened?”
The officer looked terrified.
“Your Majesty…”
The room fell silent.
The officer swallowed.
“Our deep space observatory has detected a fleet.”
“A fleet?” asked Orion.
“Yes, sir.”
“How many ships?”
The officer’s hands trembled.
“Thousands.”
The throne room became deathly quiet.
Mr. Postman exchanged a glance with the Emperor.
The Emperor’s face had lost all colour.
“Who are they?” he asked.
The officer looked at the screen.
Then back at his ruler.
His voice shook.
“They’re transmitting a message.”
The screen flickered to life.
Static filled the room.
Then an image appeared.
A figure sat upon a dark throne.
Its face hidden in shadow.
Its uniform blacker than space itself.
Upon its chest gleamed a crimson emblem.
Not gold.
Not silver.
Red.
Blood red.
The figure spoke.
Its voice echoed through the palace.
“To the Lunar Empire.”
No one moved.
No one breathed.
The figure continued.
“We have come for the letter.”
The transmission ended.
Silence.
Mr. Postman slowly looked down at the King’s invitation still resting inside his satchel.
The most important letter in the universe.
And suddenly everyone wanted it.
At that exact moment, far beyond the Moon, thousands of black warships emerged from hyperspace.
Their engines burned red against the darkness.
At the front of the fleet stood a vessel larger than a city.
Its shadow swallowed entire stars.
Upon its hull were painted two words.
MARS COMMAND.
TO BE CONTINUED IN VOLUME 4, THE MARTIAN MAIL WAR
Thank you for reading Mr. Postman Goes to Space.
This has been one of my favourite Mr. Postman stories to write so far, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it.
The inspiration for this story came from several places. One of the biggest was A Grand Day Out, the 1989 Wallace and Gromit film, which first showed me how much fun a journey to the Moon could be. I was also inspired by reading about the 1969 Moon Landing and the Space Race in general, a period of history filled with ambition, discovery and imagination.
The story was also influenced by classic science fiction comics such as Space Adventures and Mystery in Space, whose sense of wonder helped shape the world of the Royal Interplanetary Postal Service and the Lunar Empire.
Most importantly, I wanted to tell a story that felt like the adventure comics of the 1960s, full of rockets, mysterious planets, brave heroes and impossible journeys. After all, if somebody has to deliver the most important letter in the universe, who better than Mr. Postman?
Thank you again for reading, and I hope you’ll join Mr. Postman on his next adventure.
(Ⓒ J.P. 2026)
See other compositions here.
See you in Volume 4.
