Part Two, Chapter Fourteen

“Travesty” was the right word for it. After they checked in at the military base, they were taken to a room where little flags were pinned to their lapels and they were coached on how the ceremony would proceed, and then they were led to an outdoor chapel where the flag-draped coffin had already been placed and a group of soldiers stood waiting for the function to begin.

It was in essence a military funeral, originally conceived as a substitute for the graveside services that the government could no longer afford after slashing their domestic budget to accommodate the increasing costs of war. The passage of years had elaborated and stylized the service into a masterpiece of scripted ritual, part military, part religious, part something else entirely. There were times to sit, times to stand, times to kneel. There were words that must be spoken on cue and songs that must be sung with just the right air of pathos. Flags unfurled, bells rang, soldiers saluted and fired blanks into the air. Men who had never known the deceased spoke well-rehearsed lines about the unique qualities of the dearly departed and expounded on what a terrible loss to the country was his valorous and untimely demise.

Finally a man with medals covering his chest pinned a special Widow’s Medal on Carina while a trio of geeky, effeminate soldiers sang of the beauty of honor, country and sacrifice. Carina closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, and with every fiber of her being forced down the urge to scream. With a supreme effort of will, she accepted the box containing Miles' effects and the folded flag from his coffin. She ducked her head and curtsied as she had been coached, and the soldiers saluted her.

Then it was over and she was deposited at a counter in a stark gray office. A teenage girl in uniform wandered over. “Name?”

“Carina Cunningham.”

The girl pulled a folder from several that were lined up on her desk. She opened it, flipped through a few papers and looked up. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, in a manner that suggested she recited the phrase dozens of times a day. She reached into a file drawer, rifled through some papers and pulled out an envelope. After checking that the name on the outside matched the name on the file, she handed it to Carina and pushed a pen and sheet of paper toward her. “Sign and date by your name, indicating you received your settlement.”

Carina did as she was told, the muscles in her jaw working.

“When can we expect pickup?”

“What?” Carina looked at Alvi and Donovan for guidance. “I guess tomorrow morning.”

The men had held back out of respect, but now they hurried over. “How early can I come by?” Donovan asked.

“We open Building 32 for pickups at 0500.”

Donovan put an arm around Carina’s shoulders. “Will you be ready to leave in the morning?”

She nodded. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“I’ll be here at five o’clock, then,” he told the girl behind the counter.

“Great. I'll get you a claim slip.”

This last was too much for Carina. She turned to leave, blundering into Alvi who pulled her close and whispered something in her ear. “I’m going to take her outside," he told Donovan. “We’ll meet you out there.”

While the girl pounded the keys of a typewriter, Donovan debated asking if this process was always so insensitive, but what would be the point? The social contract between the military and the rest of society had been shredded until it was a mere carcass of what it had been in decades past. Maybe there had been genuine compassion once, back in the early days of the resource wars, but a whole generation had grown up since then. People no longer expected mercy.

The girl shoved a colored piece of paper at him, the words, “Captain Miles Cunningham” and the date and time of pickup neatly typed. Then she handed him a crudely printed map with Building 32 circled. “Go to the east entrance. Show them your ID and your ticket and they’ll let you in. Take the first left and you’ll see it straight ahead, can’t miss it. There’ll be people there to load the coffin for you, if you need assistance.”

“Thank you.” If they were checking ID that meant Carina would have to go. He wondered if there was any other way. Maybe Alvi...

“Will there be anything else?”

Only that Carina be strong for this one last thing. “No. You’ve done enough.”

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