What did this projection just say?
“Whoever you are,” it went on, “for whatever reason you have come here, know that my people have gone. I leave this recording hoping that someday, someone like the two of you will find it and hear me. My words and my likeness are a recording of the events of my people.”
The projection paused momentarily—white brows furrowing over concerned, empathetic eyes. This man appeared to be a kindly and hefty grandfather. “My name,” he said slowly, “is Tokor. I am Khizaran. And right now, as I record this, it is the year 3728 by the Khizaran calendar.”
Permac and Linsora’s jaws drop in unison.
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