"Niall Parollan died quietly in his sleep. The diagnosis was total systems failure caused by extreme age," she said. She went on before she'd be asked the time and place of death. Stasis provided no clues. "He requested the ceremonies due his rank and service, Commodore," she went on, smiling inwardly at Niall's idea of a reward for putting up with her for so many years.
"Only his just due, ma'am. We shall proceed with the arrangements immediately… if that is your wish."
"It is," she said with a gentle sigh. Actually, that program hadn't been such a bad idea at all. It had given her time to become accustomed to the fact of Niall's death. Death, Death, where is thy sting? Grave thy victory?
"Our deepest sympathies," said the Commodore, and saluted with solemn precision. Behind him she saw others come smartly to attention and salute. "The NH-834 made inestimable contributions to the Service."
"Niall was a paragon of partners," she replied. "You'll forgive me if I resume my silence." She really didn't mean to misrepresent any facet of her recent history, but there were certain details she intended to keep hidden in her head.
"Don't think that's going to get you off the hook of explaining the Kolnari defeat, my pet," Niall said. He had been propping up a wall just beyond the view of the one screen she had activated to receive the Commodore's call. "And will I have performed my part there in true heroic form?"
"What else? I'll not have you go to your grave without every bit of honor due you. And you did perform your designated role on Ravel. You stayed out of sight."
"Not entirely, evidently," Niall said with a wicked grin, waggling a finger at her.
"If you mean that Helvana woman's little surprise remark, forget that. A lucky guess, since she would have known I'd have to have had a brawn with me somewhere."
"She knew me by name."
"Maybe she can talk to the dead. And you are dead, you know. Can't you stay down?"
"Why should I? Miss my own obsequies? How can you ask that of me?" He pressed one hand against his chest in dismay.
She laughed. "I should have known you'd pull a Tom Sawyer."
He laughed, too. "Why not, since you have provided me the ability to watch? I've always wanted to hear what people thought of me."
"You won't hear any candor at your funeral. It's not good manners to speak ill of the dead, you know. Besides which, I do NOT want Psych checking my synapses for fear I've blown a few by concocting your holo program."
"No one will see me, my love, I assure you," he said.
She had intended to delete the program totally, even the petabytes that had once stored it, when she reached Regulus Base. Now she changed her mind. He had the right to see the ceremony: all of it from the slow march with his bier, the atmosphere planes doing their wing-tipping salute, the volley of rifles, the whole nine yards of changeless requiem for the honored dead. This time, she was not mourning the sudden, unnecessary death of a beloved partner: she was celebrating the long and fruitful life of a dear friend whom she would also never forget.
When the burial detail came to collect the mortal husk, the stasis in the coffin replaced that in which she had held his body intact during her long journey home. Regulus officialdom turned out in force, from the Central Worlds' current Administrative Chief with every one of his aides in formal-dress parade uniforms to the planetary Governor in her very elegant black dress and fashionable hat, to the parade of mixed armed services as well as whatever brawns were on the Base, and all the brawn trainees. The service was just long enough. A little longer and she'd have believed the fulsome eulogies about the man they mourned, who was sitting in the pilot's chair and watching the entire show with the greatest of satisfaction. She'd remember that as the best part of the whole show.
"I wouldn't have missed this for the damned Horsehead Nebula we never did get to," he exclaimed several times. As Helva was parked where her cabin could not be seen from those either on the ground or on the raised platform for the dignitaries, he could peer about, wisecracking and reminiscing as he chose.
She did, as she had done before and as it was expected of Helva, the ship who sings, let the heavens resound with the poignant strains of the service song of evening and requiem. But this time her tone was triumphant, and as her last note died away across the cemetery and all the bowed heads, she deleted Niall's holographic program.
They left her alone until she had decided she'd had enough solitude. She ought to have held off deleting Niall a few days longer, but there was a time to end things, and his funeral had been it. Then she contacted Headquarters.
"This is the XH-834 requesting a new brawn," she said, "and you'd better arrange a time for the Fleet to query me on that Ravel incident. I want it down on the records straight. I want a top priority message to the Marian Circle Cloister on Vega III that Ravel needs to have its warning satellite replaced. The Kolnari blew the old one out of space."
"New brawn?" repeated the woman who had responded to her call. Her brain had gone into neutral at being unexpectedly contacted by the XH-834.
"Yes, a new brawn." Helva then repeated her other requests. "Got them? Good. Please expedite. And, as soon as you've informed the brawn barracks of my availability, patch me over whatever missions are currently available for a brain ship with my experience."
"Yes, indeed, XH-834, yes indeed." There was a pause through which Helva heard only sharp excited words clipped off before she quite caught any of the agitated sentences. Surprise always gives you an advantage.
She laughed with pure vindictive satisfaction as the brawn barracks erupted with people hastily flinging on tunics or fixing their hair or adjusting buttons. The scene brought back fond memories as the young men and women, all determined to win this prize of prizes, raced to be first aboard her.
They had not quite reached the ramp when she suddenly became aware of a hazy object. The outlines were misty, but it was Niall Parollan, striding to her column, laying his cheek once more against the panel that covered her.
"Don't give the next one any more grief than you gave me, will you, love?" He started to turn away, his outline noticeably fading. "And if you ever use that Sorg Prosthesis with anyone else but me, I'll kill him! Got that?"
She thought she muttered something as she watched his image drift to the hull by the forward screen, not towards the airlock. Just as she heard the stampede of the brawns outside, he disappeared altogether with one last wave of a hand that seemed to flow into the metal of her ship-self.
"Permission to come aboard, ma'am?" a breathless voice asked.