Epilogue

Dear Diary,

I have kindled the flame that will consume you, this record of my deepest loves and most painful betrayals. It is of Lumawood and old English oak, and is sending tiny sparks of luminescent ash into the night.

Much has changed on Rajah-4. Sura's child plays with my own. Cordelia's will soon join them. Sir Drake may not admit it, but he beams with pride when he sees her belly. Wayland put an end to many of the more questionable practices of the founders of this colony. No longer are the Hindu women sterilized, and the Proteus Treatment, that wonderous process that prolongs youth, is now available to all. The mines have been greatly improved now that reason and science instead of intolerance rules the methods of Soma acquisition.

Of course, not everything can change overnight. Fathers still submit their daughters to gambits, William Prescott III is now the man in charge of the East Orion Trading Company, and is proving to be a more sinister, but subtler, businessman than his father. The Blush is as strong as ever, and has been conclusively proven to not be a medically induced phenomenon.

Other things are neither good nor bad. My mother has decided to return to London, which she has not seen since her youth. With her, God help me, is the trained 'Rilla Chauncey. I can only imagine the scandals she'll cause! The Americans are still sharpening their knives, ready to slit our throats, but the threat of the new Plasmanaught torpedo should keep them at bay for a while. Besides, they have the planet Rajah-2 to worry about, which in typical American fashion, declared its independence and dumped all of its Soma stores into the Fold.

Wayland attempted to keep me from burning this journal, telling me it was a true account of a most shameful time in the life of a colonial on Rajah-4. In truth, I do it for my daughter who is not yet born. I do not wish her to find this debauched account of her parents to judge me and her father by. She should not be beholden to what was, only to know that our love for her is deep and true; and if she prove to be Drake's, so be it; as if Cordelia's prove to be Wayland's. We will love them none the less in this new world where blood matters less than character.

And with that, I bid you farewell, dear diary. May your ashes whisper my secrets among the stars.

Drake's Journal
Volume 1, pg 1.
Well, I broke my leg hunting Bristleboar by Graylatch, the mining colony near Kingston. Being that I'll be on bedrest for the foreseeable future and I can't get any of these milquetoasts to fight a cripple, I suppose I'll finally get started on writing my memoirs.

Let's see, I was 40 years of age when I encountered the dinosaur riders of Mt Pelos...

The End.