Moments ago, the sphere had been launched into space, propelled for the start of its journey by invisible force beams. It was heading in the general direction of the Andromeda galaxy, never to be seen again. Kanawatty’s plans had already been destroyed; not even a photograph or holoscan of the sphere was retained. Humans would never again look upon the memorial, but still, for billions of years, far out in space, it would exist.
No markings were put on it to indicate where it had come from, and, for the only time in his life, Kanawatty had not signed one of his works; if by some chance it was ever recovered, nothing could possibly connect it with humanity. But, of course, it probably would never be found by humans or anyone else. Rather, it would drift silently through the darkness, remembering for those who had to forget.
The flashback was necessary, they said. It was part of the process required to isolate the memories that were to be overwritten.
Memory revision will let us put the Annihilator genie back in the bottle. And, unlike so many soldiers of the past, unlike all those who had slaughtered in the name of king and country before me, I will never again have a flashback.
What if we need the Annihilator again?
What if we find ourselves in conflict with another race, as we had with the people of Altair? Isn’t it a mistake to wipe out knowledge of such a powerful weapon?
I look at the war memorial one last time, as it drifts farther and farther out into space, a crystal ball against the velvet firmament. It’s funny, of course: there’s no air in space, and so it should appear rock-steady in my field of view. But it’s blurring.
I blink my eyes.
And I have my answer.
The answer is no. It is not a mistake.