Chapter Twelve

 

They’re having the funeral at Minda’s studio, which seems kind of tacky.

When we arrive on set, Tawny’s fluttering around setting up the funeral music, making sure they’re getting everything on camera. They even let Jimena out of the hospital to attend.

Tyson still hasn’t gotten here. That caves in my heart.

Mertex is here. He’s not a coward. Even if he is wearing two of those mothball necklaces Zantite soldiers sometimes put on to forestall summary execution: when disappointed superiors are expected to execute you with their teeth, making yourself unpalatable is a legitimate survival strategy.

At Zantite funerals where the body is intact, everyone touches the coffin, which is at the entrance to the room, as they enter. Some people are patting it, or knocking on it. I just slide my hand along the smooth wood. Kaliel’s not even in there, so it’s not creepy.

I drop my hand to my side and walk into the room we’ve been using to FeedCast the show. The kitchen set has been curtained off, until after, when all the food we made last night will be served. They’ve set up a stage with a simple podium.

If only Kaliel was in that estúpido box. If only we knew what happened. Pero, it’s too late. The pendant hanging heavy around my neck is proof of that.

“Look, Babe.” Brill points at a vase, where pieces of sawk-vine are intermixed with tiny white flowers and undulating spiny things that look more like rainbow-colored caterpillars than plant life. “It’s a funeral flower. I need to add that to my notes now, while there’s time.”

“Sí.” Time’s a funny thing. Ours is gone, pero it doesn’t feel like anything’s about to end. Which is probably just another side effect of the IH.

There aren’t many empty seats – this funeral with no body is something of a public spectacle – pero we find two near the end of a row, towards the back.

As we sit, the Zantite to my left leans over. He’s young, maybe not even as old as the learning pod that had served as Kaliel’s rescue crew. He says in halting English, “You’re from Earth, right?”

I nod.

“Cool!” He holds up one of his flexible hands and spreads his fingers apart in a Star Trek-inspired salute. “Live–”

“Please. No.” I hold up both of my own hands, cutting him off. I can’t hear that right now, not in English, not when Brill’s about to die.

He looks kind of hurt. “I didn’t mean–”

“No. Lo siento. I’m sorry. It’s just me, feeling too homesick.” I manage a smile. “You do realize Vulcan isn’t a real planet, right?”

He pops me the salute again. “You never know, maybe we just haven’t found it yet.”

This kid – his optimism and appreciation for my planet’s stories – is exactly why I’m here. It could all be so different. I wonder if he will still feel the same after watching a Krom die.

The funeral starts, soft flute music playing as everyone stands. I can no longer see over the Zantites in front of me. Brill’s on his tippy-toes, pero I doubt he sees anything either.

I hear Minda’s voice. “Gatherings as large as this may not be our tradition for honoring the dead, but we know, if nothing else, how to be good neighbors in the galaxy. We choose privacy. This man’s people choose community.”

Everyone sits back down.

My handheld buzzes. I fumble it out of my pocket and get it switched to silent. It’s an all caps text from Fizzax – in English. WHAT IS BRILL HOLDING?

I look down. Brill has slipped a syringe out of his pocket. It is unmistakably the Invincible Heart. The murky liquid, flecked with swirling gold, holds everything I need to scratch the itch in my blood, plus a few hours of vitality and lack of anxiety to cope with the horror of what’s about to happen to someone I dearly love. I want that syringe, to the core of my bones.

Pero, for Brill it is instant death.

With shaking hands, I text back, IH.

Almost instantly, Fizzax sends, WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT. THERE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A LAST-MINUTE RESCUE.

I look around for Fizzax, pero I can’t spot him in this room. I don’t know what he’s planning. The only thing that would save Brill is for Kaliel to walk in here and announce he’s not dead after all. That’s exactly what would happen on a telenovela – the over-the-top drama drawn out until the last second, then crashbanged by a too-easy solution. I would love for that to happen right now. Pero, we are not on a set. OK, we are on a set. Just not casting in a genre known for cheesetastic storytelling.

So I text back. ????????

And then I wait. I get no reply, even as the service draws to a close.

I know Minda’s not going to execute Mertex. Could she be the one with the last-minute plan? If so, Mertex doesn’t know about it.

The Zantite policemen are starting to assemble at the door, and silent tears have begun rolling down Mertex’s teal cheeks.

Some people are leaving, though more are waiting to witness the executions.

I don’t want to deny Brill his easy out. Pero, if there’s even a chance Fizzax knew what he was talking about… I need to grab the IH before Brill injects it. Pero, he’s quicker than me. Krom-quick. I slide my hand towards his, hoping I can catch him unawares.

Brill looks at me, his eyes going wide and umber as he realizes what I’m trying to do. He whispers, “It’s hard to say goodbye, Babe.”

Then he gets up and dashes a few rows away, saying, “Excuse me,” to a guy whose foot he stepped on getting out of our section. Typical Krom. Polite to the end.

He bows his head for a moment and cradles the syringe in his palm. The policemen, obviously realizing what he’s planning, are making their way towards him. He turns to face them. I get there first.

Brill is trembling, holding the IH, pero he can’t make himself uncap it. While he’s distracted, I knock it out of his hand.

It goes skittering under the next row of chairs, landing between the feet of a female Zantite who’s wearing an exceptionally short skirt.

He looks at me, reproachful sadness the color of whiskey in his eyes. “Babe.”

All he knows is that I’ve taken away his chance to die without pain.

“Lo siento. I can’t give up.” I move to block any chance of him slipping under the chair. Whatever Fizzax had planned hasn’t happened. May not happen, at this point. Pero, I can buy Fizzax a few more minutes. I turn to the policemen. “I have something to say. About Kaliel.”

“What about me?” The voice comes from behind the casket.

We all turn to stare. Kaliel steps forward, staring curiously back.

“Mi Dios! Kaliel!” For a moment, I think maybe I am living in a telenovela, of the worst caliber of cheesetastic storytelling. Pero, I don’t care.

“What’s going on here?” Kaliel asks.

“Excuse me!” The lady in the short skirt holds up the syringe. “Someone lost this.”

Dghax takes the syringe and hands it to Brill. “I trust this will be properly disposed of. I’d hate to have to examine it and identify the contents. Especially since you’ve escaped execution once today.”

Brill looks at it, then at Kaliel, and the strength goes out of his legs. He sits down, right there at the policeman’s feet.