Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 162

veneer in the days to come.
They stopped at the 258th and newest grave.
“Miner Raoul Larsson,” intoned Priest Kylone over
the shuttle’s announcer. “You gave your life for the ice
and rock of Miranda. Hero, rest alongside your comrades in peace.”
The shuttle lingered next to Raoul’s grave as the portholes and screens darkened to black. In the silence,
Vaclav’s hand found hers and gave her a squeeze
of comfort. The lights brightened. Their harshness
blurred her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut, closing
out the small world of the shuttle to form a haven of
darkness. The shuttle swayed and flew away from the
graveyard. She worried about how she was going to
hide her own grief from public view. Others had done
it, so there was a way. It was a case of finding it.
The clunks of the shuttle docking and locking into
place pulled her out of her morass. She watched and
waited as the passengers in front of her silently left.
Priest Kylone opened the cockpit door and waited.
Emma got up and glared at her. It made her wary.
Raoul’s sister, Francesca, was about to step off the
shuttle. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“This way, Mum.”
Emma, her lips firmly pressed together, stood staring
at Alva.
Vaclav stood up, acting as a barrier between her and
Emma.
“I know you are upset. We all are, especially Wife
Alva.”
Vaclav hid Emma’s face from her. She guessed it still
showed disapproval of her. Emma would be too polite
to let her anger flare up. After the funeral maybe, but
not now when it would bring condemnation from the
Priests, and through them, from all Mirandans.

make ends meet, or he would not have been down
there when the mine collapsed.”
“That is not true,” Alva exclaimed.
“Mother, please.”
“Widow Larsson, we all wish Miner Raoul was still
alive,” Priest Kylone quietly intervened.
Emma blushed as she stepped towards Priest Kylone.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Priest Kylone, but a mother should not have to lose her son,” she mumbled.
“A hero will never be forgotten,” Priest Kylone said
bowing as she hurried past Francesca and him.
Francesca hastened after her mother.
Vaclav turned to help her up out of her seat. “It is only
her grief talking.”
She did not want to face Emma, not if she was going
to lose her fiery temper.
“The mourning guests are waiting,” Priest Kylone
hinted.
The hint left her with no choice. She stood up without
Vaclav’s help. Picking up her helmet, she followed
him through the concertinaed gangway into the waiting room. Mourners were huddled into cliques murmuring. A waitress in full black stood beside the inner
door holding out a tray. On it remained two small
ice-glasses of clear firewater beside a remnant pile of
black serviettes. She picked her drink up with a serviette and stood aside to let Priest Kylone get his.
“Raise your glasses,” Priest Kylone said.
The mourners turned to him and raised theirs.

“Mother, the others are waiting,” Francesca said.

“Miner Raoul Larsson,” Priest Kylone said as he lifted
his glass in the air.

“It’s regrettable he had to do extra mining shifts to

“Miner Raoul Larsson,” everyone chorused lifting

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