CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kade

I ’d never been to a funeral before, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure why my master was taking me to this one. I hadn’t met the two people who had died. I wasn’t even properly enrolled in the Alliance Military yet. My master had explained the process for the ceremony in detail, and what my behaviour was expected to be, but he hadn’t explained why I was going.

He’d got a lot better at explaining things in the last few days. He’d said I would be sleeping in his bed every night, so that I didn’t have to keep asking each time. He’d taken me to the gym down the road from his house, bought a membership pass for me, and explained when and how often it would be appropriate for me to exercise. He’d corrected me when I’d put some of his clothes away in the wrong place, and that, more than anything else, had finally allowed me to relax. If I got something wrong, he would tell me. I didn’t have to worry that my errors would build up into an outburst of anger, weeks or months down the track.

But I was still stumped as to why I was standing in the middle of a wide, grassy park, in a dark grey suit, watching as a group of Solofs danced in concentric circles, to honour the spirit of Corporal Gy Hanes.

The ceremony itself was beautiful. My master had explained that if this ceremony had been for a human or a Denzogal, it would have been held at the military base, with a procession of soldiers in uniform and a six-gun salute. But the Solofs and the Wasops had their own rituals, dating back far beyond the formation of the Alliance, and so today, we were honouring their traditions instead.

My master stood beside me, in full dress uniform, along with a large number of soldiers from the Hon base. The dancing finished and we all sat down, as the Wasop contingent prepared for their part of the funeral. They had a collection of musical instruments that I’d never seen before, and they started up a low, wailing sort of music; sorrowful, but also beautiful .

Following the music were a number of speeches, the presentation of a medal to the families of each of the fallen soldiers, awarded posthumously, and then one final song from the Solofs, accompanied by deep, booming drums. I heard a faint sniff from beside me as the song ended, and glanced at my master, disconcerted to see a stray tear running down his face. And in that instant, I suddenly had to reassess my understanding of this ceremony. I suspected that I had missed something very important in my master’s description of what the day would entail, but it seemed inappropriate to start asking questions about it now.

After the formal ceremony ended, there was a reception, held further up the park, where two distinct areas had been assigned to the two families. Solofs, my master had explained, joyfully celebrated the ascension of the deceased into paradise, while the Wasops continued mourning in a sombre mood, meaning that the two groups needed some space between them to be respectful to both traditions. Food and drinks would be served at both gatherings, and I followed my master silently as he headed for the Wasop side of the park.

We spent some time shaking hands with Revier’s family and friends, my master introducing me to various people and making polite small talk. After a while, a tiny Wasop woman approached him. She couldn’t have been any more than four feet tall, but the greying of her black hair indicated she was advanced in age. The black stripes on her yellow skin were also beginning to fade to a mottled grey.

“Lieutenant Hill,” she said, taking my master’s hands. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Masof talked about you all the time. I’m Lansigot, her mother.” It wasn’t immediately clear, but I deduced that the name she’d spoken had been Revier’s first name. Without having known the two soldiers, or much about their respective cultures, following certain parts of the ceremony had been difficult. “I just want to know one thing,” the woman continued. “I’ve read the official report. But I know how the military likes to keep things neat and clean, and sometimes the truth gets swept under the rug in the process. But Colonel Henderson said you were there when she died. So tell me honestly, Lieutenant; did she suffer?” The woman’s voice choked up as she asked the question, and my master’s eyes misted over.

“No,” my master said, his voice rough. “It was very quick. She wouldn’t have felt it at all.”

The woman’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to know.” She dropped his hands and wandered off, leaving me feeling rather perturbed as to what I was supposed to do next.

Suddenly, a human man strode up to us, an odd-looking boot on one foot. He slung an arm around my master’s shoulder. “Come over to the Solof side,” he said quietly, tugging my master with him as he moved. “I know we have to pay our respects and all, but this is just fucking depressing.”

My master snorted and shook his head, though he went along willingly. “Bryce, this is Kade,” he said, waving for me to catch up. “Kade, Commander Bryce Preswood. He works at the Hon base with us. Or at least, he’s supposed to, when he’s not sitting on his ass, complaining about a broken foot.”

Ah, so that explained the boot. “Pleasure to meet you,” Bryce said, steering us towards the food table. “This must be quite different from what you’re used to.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, using the title since he was both in the military, and of a higher rank than my master. I’d been spending some time in the evenings learning more about Alliance culture, and since I was going to be working in the military, it had seemed appropriate to start learning a few of the details. “I’ve never been to a funeral before.”

“Really?” Bryce seemed genuinely surprised by that. “I can’t say I know a great deal about Eumadian culture, but I would have thought they honour their dead, like most civilised species do.”

“The Eumadians do,” I replied. “Though their funerals are quite different from this one. I’ve seen a few via comm-screen, but not in person.”

Bryce seemed to consider my words carefully for a moment. “What about Vangravians? They must have their own sorts of traditions?”

“I know very little of Vangravian culture,” I told him. “But dimari are not honoured with funerals.” My master came back, having gathered two small plates of food from the table, and he handed one to me, and one to Bryce. Then he went back to fill his own plate.

Bryce frowned. When he spoke again, his tone was cautious. “What do the Eumadians do if a dimari dies?”

“Toss his body into the sea.”

Bryce went still, his hand halfway to his mouth, the small pastry he was holding temporarily forgotten. Over at the food table, my master spun around, clear anger on his face. I ducked my head. Had I said something inappropriate?

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and Bryce tugged me a little further from the crowd. “Don’t worry, he’s not angry with you,” he said, glancing back at my master. “Humans believe that honouring the dead is very important. The exact ritual is not so much the issue. It’s more the idea that they should be remembered, rather than just dismissed. So he’s most likely angry with the Eumadians for not caring enough about the dimari.”

“I see,” I said, relieved by the explanation. Then I added, “Thank you. I have a lot to learn about human culture.” I glanced back at my master, considering my options. There were things I didn’t understand about this funeral, and if Bryce was happy to explain things – perhaps more willing than my master was – would it be appropriate to ask him? My master was now talking to Major Glech, the little Derelian from the Honbasha base, so I guessed he’d be occupied for a few minutes, at least. “May I ask you something about this funeral?” I asked Bryce, hoping I wasn’t about to get into trouble.

“Of course. What would you like to know?”

“What is the purpose of the ceremony?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being rude. “Why do people do this?”

Bryce considered the question thoughtfully. “There are a number of reasons,” he said, without the slightest hint of annoyance or offence. “For some people, it’s about remembering the person who died, their achievements, or remembering special occasions, for family members in particular. For others, it’s more about sharing their grief with other people. Losing someone important is painful, and sharing that pain can make it hurt less. The military is involved because they want to express their gratitude to the family of the deceased, for the work that person put into helping this planet grow and prosper. Does that answer your question?”

I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” I had been right. My understanding of the ceremony had been vastly different to its true purpose.

“If I may ask, Kade,” Bryce said, his tone cautious, “what is the purpose of a Eumadian funeral?”

“To display how wealthy they had been,” I answered simply. “Funerals that didn’t display enough wealth were treated with derision. No one really cared about the person, though. It was just about how extravagant the parade could be, how fancy the clothing was, how many lights could they afford to display. It always seemed wasteful to me. If the person’s already dead, why were we spending so much money on them?”

Bryce looked thoroughly surprised. “I can see why today would have been confusing for you. Did Aiden not explain any of this?”

That was a loaded question. I could not imply that my master was deficient. “He was very helpful,” I said hastily. “He explained all the procedures, and who would be attending. And the difference between Solof and Wasop culture.”

“But not why we’re doing it in the first place.” It was a statement, not a question, and to avoid saying the wrong thing, I chose not to reply.

“May I ask you a question?” Bryce said, after nibbling on one of his miniature sandwiches.

“Of course.” I hadn’t eaten anything yet, but I swiftly took a mouthful, seeing that Bryce was eating. My master hadn’t explicitly told me to eat, but the fact that he’d handed me a plate of food implied that I should.

“Different dimari have different specialisations, right?” My master chose that moment to join us again, and Bryce shot him a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. I glanced between them, not quite sure what the expression meant. “You’re a combat specialist. I did a little research in the last few days, and it seems you also have domestic servants, domestic companions, erotic companions, and a variety of specialist trades – pilot, for example, or electrician. So my question is, how do the Eumadians decide how they’re going to train each dimari? Do they just randomly assign you a skill to learn, or is it more complex than that?”

“We begin training for a specialty around the age of fifteen,” I explained. “Up until then, the trainers watch us closely to see if we have any particular aptitudes. Someone with good spatial awareness might be trained as a pilot. Someone with an ear for music might become an entertainer. If the dimari takes to the training well, they continue with that speciality. If it turns out they’re not so good at the thing they were assigned, they’re either given something else to learn, or just trained as a domestic servant.”

“And what about you? What sort of aptitude says someone should be trained for combat?”

I felt a small glow of pleasure as I remembered the comments my trainers had made throughout my childhood, and the day they’d informed me as to what my specialty would be. “I enjoyed taking risks,” I said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. I had been equal parts praised and reprimanded for my sometimes reckless behaviour. “I was always the kid who wanted to climb the tree, or jump off the cliff into the lake. I never made much of a fuss if I got hurt in the process. I pulled a few pranks on the other children, sneaking up on them or hiding their tools. I suppose the trainers thought they may as well use that desire for adventure to do something useful.”

“And did you enjoy the training?”

“I did,” I said, warmth in my voice. “It was invigorating. I was very proud of the skills I learned.”

“Hmm. That’s very interesting. Thank you.” Bryce glanced at my master again… and I was rather surprised to see my master’s expression. He was scowling at Bryce, with a look that was a mixture of bafflement and irritation.

“Kade,” my master said, his tone just a little sharp. “Could you go and get me a drink of water please? I just need to talk to Bryce for a minute.”

“Yes, sir,” I said obediently. I trotted off to fetch the drink, pleased to have received my first real order since I’d been told to get dressed that morning.