The sky erupted with all manner of energy beams and rockets as he took off. Sky Striker ignited her thrusters and flew off after him towards a cloud bank, and in moments they were out of range, coasting calmly but quickly towards the west.
They flew in silence until the sun came up behind them, painting the clouds around them in rose and gold. Novaman looked to his left at the newly freed cyborg and asked, “What was written on your energy source … what did those words mean?”
Sky Striker said nothing. Very well, thought Novaman. It seemed like something private, anyway. He tried a different tack. “So, what WILL you do, now? If you want to come back to America with me, I could speak on your behalf ...”
Sky Striker sighed. “No, Novaman. I will not defect. King Strys has started a war that he was not right to start. After I spoke to him about it, he put me in that … place, and the war rages on. My king is wrong, but I am no traitor to my country.” She looked back at him, now. “My countrymen will die in this war and my country will be left broken unless I do something to stop it. I will go back and find those who understand things as I do, and when Strys is defeated – by your hands or mine – we will be there to remake our home.” Novaman nodded slowly, and she looked back to the horizon as she continued. “Find me when you make your final assault, and we will stand with you.
“But do not ask for Sky Striker. Strys gave me that name, but now I take another. I will watch over my home from above as a sentry – a Sky Sentry.”
She banked hard to the left, away from him in a wide arc that would take her back toward the Stryssiavanian mainland. Novaman said a prayer for her as he watched her go, then continued on his own way home.
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She closed her eyes and saw him dying. In her arms, he was dying again, and saying the words he was said so many times as he touched a finger to her chest, right over her heart.
“This, Helena, is the first thing I loved about you.”