As she walked toward the obelisk through the garden of blooming flowers, she again read the words inscribed in the polished black granite:
To Those of the Armada Who Never Returned Home:
Your Sacrifice Shall Not Be Forgotten
Then, in smaller letters:
Dedicated to Commander Jodi Ellen Mackenzie,
Whose Hour of Need Led to My Salvation
The name of the woman who had arranged for the monument to be constructed and who had left millions of credits to the Service Relief Fund was not inscribed in the granite, although Nicole knew her name: Tanya Buchet. It had been a strange thing, she recalled: the Buchet woman had died mysteriously just before the Armada had left for Kreelan space, yet the instructions for the shrine had been part of her will. What her relationship was with Jodi, Nicole did not and would never know, but it was obvious that Jodi had been close to her heart.
In another strange coincidence, Jodi had been Tanya Buchet’s sole beneficiary, and, in turn, Jodi had left her entire estate to Nicole. So, in the end, Fate had left Nicole rich beyond her wildest dreams. But she and Tony had decided that the money that Nicole had inherited would be put back into reconstruction programs on Erlang. She and Tony had each other and the children, in a galaxy that was, for the moment, safe to live in. She could ask God – or the Empress – for nothing more.
Sitting on the bench that faced the inscription, Nicole let her mind wander, just as Zevon wandered through the garden, lost in his own thoughts, but with one eye glued to Nicole in case she needed his protection. She sat that way for a long time, looking into the blackness of the granite, thinking of the past, and sometimes just not thinking at all.
She thought perhaps that she might have fallen asleep for a moment. For when she next opened her eyes something told her that her surroundings had somehow changed. Zevon still strolled through the gardens, more or less where she last remembered him; the sun had not moved appreciably, so not too much time had passed; the birds still sang. Everything seemed to be as it had been. And yet…
She suddenly looked up at the obelisk, into the shimmering blackness of the granite, and there he was, with the Empress and Shera-Khan – an adult warrior now – standing beside him.
“Reza,” she breathed.
His image nodded, as if he was not accustomed to the gesture, but the warmth of the smile on his face was more than human.
“All is well, my friend,” she heard him say, but his mouth did not form the words; he spoke directly to her mind. “On this day we celebrate the Last Ascension, Keel-Tath’s return to us and our greatest journey upon the Way. And we wished to share this moment with you, to leave you something in remembrance of me, of us. For after this day, we shall never be able to return; we shall forever be… beyond this place, this time.”
Nicole fought for words as she stood up and carefully approached the obelisk, unwilling to believe but unable to deny what she was seeing. “Reza, your planet was destroyed! How… where… where are you?”
“That is not important, child,” the Empress, who had once been Esah-Zhurah, told her gently. “This, however, is.” She held Her hand forth, Her fingers curled around something nestled in Her palm.
Nicole, eyes wide with disbelief, reached out toward the image in the obelisk, and drew back as she felt something placed in her cupped hands by the alien fingers that shimmered from the face of the stone.
It was the eyestone from the collar that Esah-Zhurah had once worn before becoming Empress. It was a deep, gleaming blue, engraved with the rune of what Nicole suddenly remembered was the order of the Desh-Ka, the oldest of all those that had ever served Her.
“To your name shall we always sing our praise,” the Empress said. “Fare thee well, daughter.”
Nicole looked up just in time to see the images fading, dissolving like a reflection in a pool into which a rock has been thrown.
“Adieu, Nicole,” Reza said, as if from far away.
And then their images were gone. Nicole put a hand against the obelisk, but it was solid, unyielding as it should be. I must have been hallucinating, she told herself.
But then she felt something in her hand: it was the eyestone with the rune of the Desh-Ka carved in its center. It was real.
“Nicole?” Zevon asked from beside her. He had become worried when she had approached the obelisk and acted as if she were talking to it. “Is anything wrong?”
“No,” she replied with a smile at his concerned expression. She closed her hands over the eyestone, glad in her heart at the knowledge that Reza and his people had somehow survived. It seemed to her that things this day were right in the world, and that tomorrow would dawn yet brighter than today. “Everything is fine, dear Warren,” she told him, taking his arm and leading him from the obelisk and out into the flowering gardens. “Come, it is time for us to go home.”
The End
Afterword
I would like to personally thank you for purchasing and reading this book. It was a labor of love for me to write over the course of four years, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Please consider taking a little extra time to help others find this book by leaving feedback where you purchased it. Your opinion does truly matter, both to myself and to other readers.
If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please don't hesitate to contact me through my web site at www.kreelanwarrior.com.
Sincerely,
Michael R. Hicks
About the Author
Born in 1963, Michael Hicks grew up in the age of the Apollo program and spent his youth glued to the television watching the original Star Trek series and other science fiction movies, which continues to be a source of entertainment and inspiration. Having spent the majority of his life as a voracious reader, he has been heavily influenced by writers ranging from Robert Heinlein to Jerry Pournelle and Larry Niven, and David Weber to S.M. Stirling. Living in Maryland with his beautiful wife, two wonderful stepsons and two mischievous Siberian cats, he continues to work full-time while dreaming and writing.
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