We’ve got a couple of hours before the start time for the funeral. Lin is fussing over her speech back in our room, so I’ve got some time free. I head to my office. No better way to honor Yang Song than to find the one responsible for her death, I figure. The CTTF reports have piled up, I’ll get through those later. First up, I want to get that phone number to General Whitman’s team and see what they can do with it. I should have done this yesterday, but my logs show me that I didn’t have a spare moment from the time I woke up until we went to bed.
We went to bed. Together. Lin and me. That was a nice thing, even without any sex. A whole new level of intimacy. I wonder if I really do snore. Lin hasn’t complained, so I don’t care what Evan says.
I finish the message to General Whitman and start looking at the notes that Yang Song died for. I’m not great at reading handwriting generally, and this is doctor handwriting which is much worse. It only takes me looking through a dozen pages before I realize how hopeless this is for me. I can’t make heads or tails of any of them. Maybe Lin can come up with an algorithm that will be able to turn them into readable text. I hand over the pages to Alan to get them scanned in so that we can have them as files to collaborate on tomorrow.
I turn back to the reports from our own surveillance network. Nothing definitive there. Small increases in missing persons cases in the metropolitan areas of New Orleans, Seattle, San Antonio, and Cleveland. I check demographics on them, mostly looking for spikes in male twenty-somethings. None of them are big enough deviations from the historical data that Lin has aggregated that they couldn’t just be normal fluctuations. Not that we even have any reason to think that Jeff is actively gathering test subjects again. I guess it depends on what he’s trying to do. Jeff had a long time to think about this.
Just in case, I’ll have to get Lin to check the results against her growing dating app profile database. There’s always a chance that Jeff might be careless enough to try using the same technique again. My index triggers and reminds me I still need to order her some more hardware for her cluster downstairs for that project now that we have plenty of funds. Of course, all of that will have to wait until after the funeral too.
My schedule dings with a reminder to go get changed. I head back to the residence, passing the monument topped with Yang Song’s ashes in the foyer on the way in. I push open the door to our room and walk in on Lin half-naked as she’s getting her white funeral dress on.
There’s an awkward moment before she gives me an embarrassed smile and waves me in. Am I supposed to knock on my own door now? Maybe I should just let my bots have free access to what used to be her room all the time. Another thing on the growing list of things to talk to her about after we’re done with the events today.
“Perfect timing. I thought that I was going to have to figure out how to zip myself up with the bots. It’s so hard to work with something you can’t see.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, sidling behind her and zipping up the back of her dress. “For me, it’s not bad.”
“Thanks. Take a look at my eulogy, please,” she says, pointing to the papers on the desk in the corner.
I pick up the sheets and start reading.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
“I’m surprised you didn’t put this in your interface app. You can read it like a teleprompter. I do that whenever I have to talk in front of crowds.”
“I didn’t even think of that.” She takes the first page from me as I finish reading it. She starts typing into the air in front of her, her fingers flying silently. I hand her the next pages as she needs them.
“It’s good,” I assure her. “Yang Song would have loved it.”
I get my all-white tuxedo on just in time to head down. Most of the siblings have gathered in the foyer, all dressed in black and white. The nannies seem to have their hands full keeping the younger boys from trying to climb the dragon memorial. I’m amazed that this much tailored formalwear got made overnight. Eduardo and his crew are worth every cent of the small fortune we paid them. Grammy and Gramps come down the hall followed by Mrs. Hastings.
By the time everyone is gathered, the foyer is full. Just as well that we didn’t try to put chairs up, it’s standing room only. When Lin steps up to the podium, she’s barely visible. I should have thought about this before, but I’m still sitting on a literal truckload of bots, so I raise both her and the podium on an impromptu platform made of bots that gets her head and shoulders above even Evan. She takes the lift in stride and delivers her eulogy.
It’s good. She talks about Yang Song’s life. It’s mostly stuff I had in my index already. I had done my homework on Yang Song and had Father’s fairly comprehensive intelligence files, but the way Lin talks about her paints a different story even with most of the same information. I’d never thought of her as particularly nurturing, but when Lin describes how Yang Song used to take care of her after her chemo treatments, I can see her in a different light. The stern warrior that I knew becomes a gentle caretaker. I wish I’d ever been able to see that side of her.
Afterwards, there’s food and mingling. The bao rolls stuffed with meats or sweets are great. I’m lukewarm on most of the rest of it. I guess I like Americanized Chinese food better. The younger kids run amok, of course, even with their nannies trying to corral them. Lin doesn’t seem to mind. The rest of the sibs are more sedate. This is our third funeral over the last couple of years and it’s clearly bringing everyone’s minds back to Father’s and Chad’s.
Thinking of Chad, there are Keeya and Lucie. Lucie’s belly is so swollen it looks like she’s about to pop. Keeya hovers attentively near her, getting her everything and making sure she doesn’t exert herself. It’ll be nice to have a baby in the nursery again. It’s been so quiet in there for so long.
“I am so sorry about Yang Song,” Keeya says, releasing Lucie’s arm to embrace Lin. “But I hear that congratulations are in order for the two of you!”
“Yeah, thanks.” I tell her. “I guess word gets around fast.”
“It does.”
Lin pulls at my arm. “Come on, it’s time for the fire.”
She gets out ahead of me and motions to the band to start playing. There’s a surprising amount of brass and percussion going on as what looks like a marching band starts moving in a slow circle around the grassy commons, playing their oddly melodic Chinese dirge. Lin ignites the fire pit, already laid out with Yang Song’s belongings. She joins in the procession behind the musicians and soon we’re all arranged into a big circle around the fire, slowly marching along. Lin takes my hand as we walk. I like that.
“Remember this,” she says to me, leaning in close. “Write as much as you need to, but please make sure you remember all of this. It means a lot to me. This is the time when you became my only family left.”
“I will. I promise,” I tell her.
She squeezes my hand, lifts up her face, and wails along with the music. Several of the musicians join in. They’re not just the band, they’re also professional mourners. The whole thing is a little alien to me, but if it helps Lin process her grief, I’m all for it. I just hope it works better for her than Mom’s funeral did for me, though I can’t even pretend to feel what I described in my old journals anymore.