“Gus challenged me to think big, to stretch my mind and reach for the stars.” Xander chuckled. “I didn’t realize how literally he meant that.”
Laughter echoed in the cavernous room.
He squared his shoulders and continued, his voice ringing out clear and strong now. “After all, who really knows what lies beyond this earthly plane? I sure don’t. But I believe in Gus’s vision—a connection between the known and the possible. Between people like us and beings that might be very different. Gus’s life was about connection, and I hope to carry that lesson forward.” His voice roughened. “I hope you’ll join me.”
Her eyes blurred by tears, Hannah dug in her pocket for a fresh tissue. As a journalist, she’d sat through too many funerals, wakes, and memorials to count, but never had a eulogy touched her like this one. Gus would be so proud.
“Thank you, Xander.” Zora wrapped him in a motherly hug, the top of her head tucked beneath his chin.
When he made his way back to his seat, Hannah squeezed his hand tightly. “Beautiful eulogy. Absolutely perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so. My dad looks like he swallowed a cactus.”
Zora spoke into the mic. “Would anyone else like to offer a few words of farewell to our dear friend?”
Several chairs scraped back. Hannah craned her neck and spotted the stuffy UFO Colonel and his crew, along with Dr. Alterman, his alien-hunting rival and her own oddly uniformed followers, all marching military-style toward the podium. After some jostling and glaring, they arrayed themselves in two neat ranks, Malinowski’s troops to the right of the transmitter, and Alterman’s to the left. The leaders conferred. The colonel heaved an aggrieved sigh and stepped aside, yielding the microphone to Dr. Alterman, who pulled a velvet box from her satin bomber jacket and extracted a gleaming medal. “On behalf of the Global UFO Network, we honor our esteemed member Augustus Xylon Anagnos with the Asteroid of Honor.”
She hung the medal’s star-embossed ribbon on the transmitter, then snapped a salute. Her compadres did the same.
In a choked voice, Lois said, “Gus is returning to his home planet. Safe journey, old friend.”
With a crisp nod, she handed the microphone to the teary-eyed colonel, who added own words of praise before attaching his organization’s honors—a midnight blue flag embroidered withNASDEV, stars, and a silver spaceship—to the transmitter’s framework.
Xander gave a little snort.
Hannah elbowed him. “Future customers.”
With great solemnity, the colonel stepped to where Xander sat and snapped a salute.
“Um, okay.” Xander stood and returned the gesture.
The colonel grasped his shoulder. “We’re ready, son.”
Xander’s brow furrowed. “For the…?”
“Internment.”
“Ah. Well, Gus wished to be—er—interred in the, uh—” He gestured toward the metal structure.
“And so he shall be.” The colonel clicked his heels together, executed an about-face, and called his troops to attention. Marching in perfect synchronization, they closed ranks around the urn. Dr. Alterman’s group joined them, and forty-something hands raised Gus’s earthly remains high overhead like a sports team hoisting their trophy.
Xander squeezed Hannah’s knee and made a squeaking noise.
“Quit giggling, you. Be respectful.” She bit her lip hard to suppress a goofy grin.
Shuffling sideways, the UFO enthusiasts—as Hannah decided to call them in her feature on Gus’s send-off—gently placed the urn inside a metal box at the transmitter’s base.
“Kind of looks like it fits there, doesn’t it?” Xander whispered.
“Yeah.” She laid her hand over his. “In its own weird way, it’s very beautiful.”
The honor guard thumped their fists over their hearts like a bunch of movie space troopers.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Xander squeaked.
The liquid notes of Daphne’s keyboard filled the room. Hannah nearly lost it when she recognized the tune: Elton John’s “Rocket Man.” Voices blending, the mourners belted out the chorus.
Xander barked out a laugh. “Perfect. Gus would’ve loved this.”