David Weber - At All Costs

"'Fly, Phoenix!' David sobbed. A second bullet snarled at the bird, and spattered out little chips of rock from the inner wall of the ledge.

"'Oh, fly, fly!' David jumped up and flung himself between the bird and the Scientist. 'It's me!' he cried. 'It's David!' The bird gazed at him closely, and the light flickered in its eye as though the name had reached out and almost, but not quite, touched an ancient memory. Hesitantly it stretched forth one wing, and with the tip of it lightly brushed David's forehead, leaving there a mark which burned coolly.

"'Get away from that bird, you little idiot!' the Scientist shrieked. "GET AWAY!'

"David ignored him. 'Fly, Phoenix!' he cried, and he pushed the bird toward the edge."

No, she thought. She wasn't David, and Alistair wasn't simply the Phoenix. Alistair was David and the Phoenix, just as the Phoenix was all he had thrown himself in front of, like a shield, protecting it with his life, guarding it with his death.

And, like the Phoenix, he was forever gone beyond her touch again. She read the final paragraph through a blur of tears.

"Understanding dawned in the amber eyes at last. The bird, with one clear, defiant cry, leaped to an out-jutting boulder. The golden wings spread, the golden neck curved back, the golden talons pushed against the rock. The bird launched itself into the air and soared out over the valley, sparkling, flashing, shimmering; a flame, large as a sunburst, a meteor, a diamond, a star, diminishing at last to a speck of gold dust, which glimmered twice in the distance before it was gone altogether."

Fly, Alistair, Honor Alexander-Harrington thought. Wherever you are, wherever God takes you, fly high. I'll guard the Phoenix for you, I promise. Goodbye. I love you.