F. Wilson - The Tery

But Jon's death had unhinged Dalt. He’d found something very special in that rough beast who was a man; something clean, free, and innocent; a certain incorruptible sanity singular and precious in his experience. And now it was gone — lost to Dalt and the rest of humanity forever.

Gone…

But he would see that it was not forgotten. Jon deserved better than to have his ashes scattered to the wind. He deserved a more permanent memorial, an enduring tombstone. And he would have it.

A long blast from the tubes that drove his craft through peristellar space would prove disastrous here in an oxygen-laden atmosphere; the Leason crystal lining would crack and Dalt and his craft would become a tiny, short-lived sun.

But a short blast…

A short blast would obviate the need for a protectorate; a short blast would also obviate the need for a CS operative. The net effect would be the same as the bomb he had wanted Jon to plant in the cache: Mekk and his fortress gone, his soldiers and the True Shape priesthood gone; gone too the cache of Shaper relics along with all the poor mad creatures in the Hole. All gone.

But Dalt knew he wouldn't be leaving pure destruction below. He would be creating, too.

Creating a myth.

All with one short blast.

As he reached his fingertip toward the sensor that would activate the drive, Dalt mentally began composing his letter of resignation from the Cultural Survey Service

"…with the image of the immolation seared upon their minds, the Talents, led by the Apostle Rab, spread the word: That God had chosen to send his messenger in the form of what was then considered a nonhuman. God did this to show us that teries were men, too, and that we are all brothers."

"Amazing!" Father Pirella said as he followed Mantha toward the place called God's-Touch. "Our ‘messenger’ did the same — he came as a member of a persecuted race."

"And was he killed like ours?"

"Very much so."

"And did God show his wrath then?"

"Wrath? No. God showed his love by forgiving them all."

Mantha considered this briefly. "Perhaps God had less patience with Overlord Mekk. Or perhaps he loved our messenger more."

He pushed aside a branch to reveal a barren expanse. They stood on a gentle rise. Before them lay God's-Touch — a kilometer-wide expanse of green glass. Whatever had once occupied this spot had been melted and fused by a blast of what must have been almost unimaginable heat.

"God left no doubt as to his feelings in this matter. He laid his finger upon Overlord Mekk's fortress and since that day no one has ever persecuted a tery."