Alien Research

CHAPTER 97

REJOINED JEFF AND THE OTHERS and our procession finally made it through the entrance and into Arlington. It was beautiful, but now that we were inside and past the major problems, all that remained was the funeral. Had to give one thing to the protestors—they’d certainly kept everyone’s minds off of the point of the journey.

Michael was going to be buried in the same area as the Challenger and Columbia Memorials, which were near the Memorial Amphitheater. But because of the political brouhaha, the services were going to be held in the Amphitheater itself.

The limos dropped everyone off in front of the Amphitheater and then went to park, keeping a couple of A-Cs with them for faster return. Other than the hearse, which pulled up and stopped. Michael’s honor guard got out.

The flyboys were in their dress whites, and Brian, Gower, and Reader were in the Formal Armani Fatigues—black tuxedos, white shirts, with black buttons. Normally it was six pallbearers, but since we’d made it up as we wanted to, White had insisted upon eight.

The rest of the men were in the standard Armani Fatigues. They were, as always, dressed for success. Which was good, because Akiko had about had a heart attack when we’d told her we weren’t doing the burka and veil combos for the women any more. The troubadours were also good with fashion design and alterations, though, so they’d been able to help her create more appropriate mourning-wear for the female side of the house.

We women were all in various black ensembles, mostly simple sheaths, and only those who wanted to were wearing black hats with veils. There were flashes of white here and there, mostly gloves, but some other accessories as well.

We really looked like a huge group of penguins, and I wanted to talk to our benevolent observer, but now wasn’t the time to try to chat with ACE, since Jamie was undoubtedly awake and this would be a poor time for me to take a nap.

The Amphitheater was, fittingly for Arlington, beautiful—an elliptical building built out of white marble and designed as a mesh of Greek, Roman, and Renaissance styles. It also had a lot of stairs to go up to get inside. Okay, not that many if you weren’t carrying anything heavy, but a lot if you were. The wisdom of eight pallbearers became clear to me, especially since we only had one A-C acting as a pallbearer.

The pallbearers lifted the casket—each one of them had a Poof on the shoulder nearest the casket—and walked up the stairs to the entrance. The rest of us followed.

Inside, the Amphitheater resembled an old-fashioned theater—including the slope from the entrance to the stage, and a sectioned colonnade area that curved around from the entrance to the covered stage area at the back—just one that didn’t have a roof. And instead of seats it had low, backless marble benches curving to face the semicircular main stage. “Pretty” was the watchword, not necessarily “comfort.”

The stage had three levels. The lowest had a stone chair, facing the audience. The second level of the stage had a podium, right behind the stone chair. The third and uppermost level of the stage was a semicircular seating area for what looked to be about a hundred people and an apse in the back. There were American flags hanging from each of the colonnade bay arches, and two more hanging in the apse.

Because of the way the aisles were designed, it was kind of tricky for the pallbearers to maneuver, since they had to enter the amphitheater, walk down the center aisle for a while, then zigzag to the left and back toward the front in order to reach the dais area. Once they were at the front, then they had to go up two sets of stairs to get the casket settled onto the uppermost part of the stage, in front of the people sitting there, which included the President and my parents.

However, the flyboys had served at more than one funeral and, with Hughes in charge, were a well-oiled pallbearing team, and Brian, Gower, and Reader each held up their ends, so to speak.

The lower center seating section was reserved for American Centaurion. The rest of the seats were filled, and the colonnade area had people in a standing-room-only capacity, which included a different set of press, though Oliver was sitting with us.

It was also a bit like my nightmares in that I recognized many who made up the Sea of Faces, and they were all politicians or other bigwigs, though some, like Cliff and Horn, were at least friendly faces. Clearly Oliver’s Be There Or Be Square messages had worked on both the good people outside and the maybe-not-all-as-good people in here.

We all filed in after the casket and took our seats, Erika and Stanley Gower going first, with Abigail in between them, all three looking ready to cry at any moment. Gladys’ husband, Chuckie and his parents, and Caroline and hers were next, because they were considered part of the Gowers’ immediate family.

Because of our rank, Jeff and I were required to go next, with White right after, then the rest of Alpha, Airborne, and the Diplomatic Corps who weren’t pallbearers followed. After that, the rest of the Martini and Gower families, and any other A-Cs who’d requested and been granted funeral duty.

The pallbearers put the casket down, then Uncle Mort and Colonel Franklin—who were on the stage with the President and my parents, along with most of the politicians we considered our friends—stood and gave the flyboys an American flag, which they then draped over the casket.

Once the flag was hanging just so on the casket, the flyboys went and spread out behind the audience on the top part of the stage, standing at attention while facing the casket and the rest of the audience. Brian, Gower, and Reader came down and took their seats.

The Vice President went to the podium, and gave a very lovely speech about heroism and sacrifice, reassuring Michael’s parents that he’d been a hero and died a hero. The acoustics were excellent. You could hear the Vice President speaking as easily as the Gowers crying.

Uncle Mort, Colonel Franklin, Senator McMillan, and Senator Armstrong all also spoke. Everyone was relatively brief and had taken some time with their speechwriters, because they were all moving.

Then the President took the podium and gave an even better speech about Michael’s heroism and sacrifice that got pretty much the majority in attendance crying if they weren’t already.

Finally, though, it was time for the Supreme Pontifex to speak. Because we weren’t doing a commando raid concurrently with the funeral any more, we’d cut all the other speeches and delays our side had planned. However, Gower had to speak, because presiding over events such as this was essentially part of his job.

He walked up slowly, shook hands with the President, then took the podium. “I . . .” He cleared his throat. “On behalf of all of American Centaurion, we thank you for coming to honor our dead.”

Gower stopped speaking and cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry. This is even more difficult than I’d imagined it would be. I’ve heard all the kind words, all the praise, and yet, I look at my parents, who’ve lost their sister, son, and daughter all this past week, and the words just don’t . . . mean anything. Because the words can’t bring anyone we’ve lost back.”

Tears ran down Gower’s face. “We’re used to sacrificing. But sometimes that sacrifice seems too hard, too much.”

Christopher, who was sitting behind me, leaned forward. “This is going to be a problem,” he whispered. “We should have made my dad give this speech, not Paul.”

Found myself agreeing. But I was on the end of our row and White was next to Jeff and behind Stanley Gower, with a lot of people blocking his other side. It was going to be awkward to get him out and up onto the stage.

Looked around and caught Doreen’s eye. She nodded to me and I was pretty sure mouthed the words “your job.” Figured she was crazed by grief, too. Gave her the “you’re high” look. Received a Death Glare in return. Apparently Doreen expected me to cowgirl up and actually do something Ambassadorial. Always the way.

She had a point, though, because Gower was floundering and the A-Cs I could see looked worried, my husband among them.

Took a deep breath and got up. I didn’t look at anyone, just headed for the stairs up to the podium. As soon as I walked by him, Reader got up and followed me. “You up to this?” he asked me as we started up.

“No, not at all. But Paul’s not either.”

“Yeah.”

Gower was staring at the audience and not speaking when we got up there. Reader put his arm around Gower’s waist. “Come on, Paul. Kitty’ll take it from here.”

Gower looked at me. “You will?” He sounded shocked and confused and I knew Reader absolutely needed to get him out of the spotlight for the moment.

“Sure, Paul. You know, routine. Go where you belong right now, with your family.”

Gower nodded and allowed Reader to lead him off the stage. Realized that the acoustics meant everyone had heard this exchange. Oh well. Took another deep breath, let it out, and gave it my best shot.

“I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here.”