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.”
CHAPTER 98
I WAITED. THANKFULLY, some of the audience chuckled. Chose to take that as a good sign and forged on.
“I’m not going to apologize for our Supreme Pontifex. Frankly, when you’ve lost three family members in about a week, if you’re able to stand and dress yourself I think you deserve a medal. And I realize that Michael’s family is getting that medal. But I want to tell you all that it’s not enough.”
The chuckles stopped, which was fine.
“Every family who’s lost someone to war or terrorism or any other kind of heroic sacrifice knows that all the medals, all the accolades for the dead, while nice, aren’t the same thing as having that person back.”
Heads in the audience nodded, and not just from the A-C section.
“But we still carry on, because that’s what’s expected of us. Even when the terrorists escape, or get off on a technicality, or flat-out have connections that allow them to waltz out of a secured holding cell and continue perpetrating their evil, we carry on. Even if your loved one dies from friendly fire, you carry on. Even if you’ve lost your only child or all your children to war, you carry on. Because that’s what we do—we carry on.
“I’m going to be really honest. We of American Centaurion have all wondered this past week if carrying on was worth it. I’m sure every person whose career puts them in the line of fire in some way—police, military, fire, covert or clandestine ops, and similar—has wondered at some point if it’s worth it. To risk their lives for people who, very often, aren’t even the littlest bit grateful.”
The policemen who’d escorted us were standing as a group at the entrance. Saw them all nodding. “And yet, they all carry on.”
Risked a look at Jeff. He gave me a small nod. Hopefully that meant he approved of what I’d said and where I was going. Oh well, no time like the present to find out.
“Since the world discovered there were aliens living on the planet we’ve had a lot of haters. Many protests against us. Because we’re different. And there have been a couple of groups who were more vocal than the others. I’m sure you know who they are and I’m not going to give them any promotion or acknowledgement by naming them. But they’ve been cheering about Michael’s death. And why? As near as I can tell, because he’s an alien and his brother, our religious leader, has the nerve to love and be married to another man. Sorry if that was a spoiler for any of you out there, by the way.”
Oh, good, some chuckles were back.
“In the A-C’s culture and religion, the sexual orientation of who you love isn’t important. Neither is the color of their skin. I guess that makes the A-Cs quite alien in some ways from a lot of humans, more so than their having two hearts. And it certainly makes them more advanced. Oh, they’re not perfect, no one is. But they’re all smart, and they’re all smart enough to know that skin tones and sexual orientation aren’t what actually matters about a person. How they live their life is what matters, what they do when faced with evil, what they do when no one’s looking.”