Alien Research

by Gini Koch

  “Wow, thank you,” Kathy said. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, actually, I do.” I smiled as I gave the other kids who’d been with her my card. “I’m the Head of Recruitment for a reason, kiddo.”

  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 Amb
assadorial. 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.”

  Chuckie and Caroline were sitting together and, as I looked at them, both gave me the thumbs up sign.

  “Michael wanted to go to the stars and that’s where he served his country the most. But he also served his country by facing evil and fighting it. He died trying to protect his best friend from being tortured. He died trying to protect his sisters and his aunts from being kidnapped and terrorized. And he died trying to avenge the senseless murder of his loyal pet, an animal that loved him so much it’s in the coffin with him, so they can be together forever.”

  Could spot the animal lovers in the audience—they were wiping their eyes.

  “And yet, the people who hate Michael because of his skin color, his brother’s sexual orientation, and the fact that he wasn’t fully ‘human’ will tell you that he deserved to die and that he’s rotting in Hell.

  “Well, I happen to know differently. Michael’s not in Hell, he’s with his God. And that God isn’t here to encourage hate. He’s here to encourage us to use our free will to make the world a better place for everyone, not just for a select few who think their way is the only way.”

  Looked at White. He gave me a small smile. Chose not to look at Christopher lest I get a Patented Glare. I was rolling and wanted to remain that way.

  “It’s a big universe out there and we’re not alone in it, and by now everyone knows that. But I’ll tell you, today, we felt very alone. Driving past so many people protesting our very existence, we felt alone, surrounded, outnumbered. And we wondered if it was worth it. We’ve lost lots of people over the many decades the A-Cs have been on Earth, and there comes a point when you ask yourself if you’re done losing. We were at that point today.”

  All the American Centaurion section was nodding.

  “But it’s funny. Just when you think things are at their worst, someone can show you that most people aren’t like those protestors who hate in the name of God. And we were shown that today.”

  Thankfully, the A-C section was still nodding.

  “They’re still outside, and I doubt they can hear me, but there were hundreds of people we’ve never met before today who came to form a chain to keep the bad people out and let us come here to honor Michael’s life and his death.

  “And those people are why we do this. Because they didn’t have to come. It was an inconvenience, and a risk. But they came anyway. Because it was the right thing to do and, at their cores, they’re decent people trying to do right in the world and light a candle in the darkness. Just like the A-Cs. And they knew we needed them, just as they’ve needed us.

  “So, to our enemies, I want to say that, despite your best efforts, we’re not going anywhere. We will continue to fight you and the evil you perpetrate. You can and will kill more of us, we know that.

  “But we will persevere. Because there are more people worthy of our protection and love than there are not. You are in the minority, and we will ensure you stay that way. You can and will throw your worst at us, but know that we will not go quietly and we will not leave the good people of this world at your mercy, any more than they left us.”

  I looked around at everyone in the Amphitheater. “In a little while we’re going to put Michael’s body in the ground. Something the A-Cs don’t normally do. But they’re doing it because it matters to our President and our country that Michael’s sacrifice be commemorated in this way. And because we do love this country and world, we’ve acquiesced.

  “Once his body is in the ground, though, you’ll all start to forget him, this day, and what he died for. Only we won’t forget.

  “And I won’t actually allow all of you to forget, either. Because Michael is representing every A-C or Centaurion Division agent who’s died over the years, unsung and unlamented by most of you.

  “He’s more than himself now—he’s representative of all of our fallen, al
l our unsung heroes, all our Unknown Soldiers. And he’s also the reminder of why we fight and protect—because when we visit his grave, what we’ll remember in addition to Michael are the faces of the people who stood against evil and hatred for us to be able to honor him today. We’ll see the faces of our brothers and sisters.”

  CHAPTER 99

  I TURNED TO LEAVE THE PODIUM. As I did, someone on the stage started clapping.

  I looked over to see my Uncle Mort standing and applauding. The flyboys broke attention and joined him, and then the rest of the people on the stage followed suit, the President included. Mom and Dad were both applauding and I was relieved to see they looked proud as opposed to embarrassed or horrified.

  The President getting to his feet ensured I got a standing O on the way down. Prayed I wouldn’t trip, but before I really had to worry about it Jeff came over and helped me down.

  Since everyone was standing, the pallbearers went back into action. Well, Brian and the flyboys did. Uncle Mort and Colonel Franklin took Reader and Gower’s places, which, based on how Gower was doing, was preferable.

  They took the casket down and out as they’d come in. Once they were through the exit, the motorcycle cops started ushering the attendees out, and in not too long it was just the press, the people on the stage, and us left.

  Press was ushered out, then American Centaurion, since the Secret Service wanted to take the President and the other dignitaries out last.

  Tim took my elbow. “Got a text from your friends on the police force while you were orating,” he said quietly. “Somehow two sets of men’s clothing appeared on the head of the Bomb Squad’s desk. He had them searched and there was a detonator in a pocket. The area around Arlington’s being searched right now—bombs have been found, but none have been detonated.”

  “How did they know to come to Arlington to search?” Jeff asked.