“We Narvidians have a saying,” Ambassador Gantz begins. He has a harsh accent, one native to his home planet. “‘Darall ravams.’ In Standard it means, ‘We are revealed at death.’ I witnessed the truth of these words when Conner visited his son last week, for I saw a tremendous love etched on both their faces. I stood by, admiring their reunion, yet never realizing how soon tragedy would fall upon them.”

Just like Orcher did, Ambassador Gantz fixes his eyes on me. Last week, he was driving back to Cornell’s docking terminals, and I was driving Father home. As we went our separate ways, he waved goodbye to me. I waved back, and then a car slammed into mine.

Father died on impact.

“My deepest and most sincere regrets go out to both families,” Ambassador Gantz continues. “First, of course, to the Lance’s. Conner influenced many of my own colleagues, and his expert treatises brought Narviid and Undil closer than ever before.

“Second, I extend my condolences to the Kirklan family.”

To my left, a woman breaks into a fit of tears. It’s Mrs. Kirklan, one of the nurses in Cornell’s tiny hospital. Mr. Kirklan was driving the car that hit mine. Their son, Colin, is six years old and has been hospitalized for most of his life due to an extreme mental defect.

“The loss of any father and husband unnerves even the toughest hearts. I have a nine year old son, Grayson, and can only imagine how devastated he would be if something happened to me. Therefore, I’d like to offer compensation, and aid, to the Kirklans, in the hopes that young Colin’s illness will soon secede.”

Mrs. Kirklan chokes out a timid ‘thank you.’ Some people clap while Ambassador Gantz returns to his seat. Then the air goes quiet. Sweat forms on the backs of my hands and neck, but I resist the urge to move. Even though the surgeons mended my ribs, they still ache whenever I twist my back.

A third man stands, but he doesn’t walk to the podium.

“Does either family wish to comment?”

Mother finally breaks down and begins to sob. My twin sisters, Erinn and Flavia, are three years old, and look terrified. I can feel the tears welling-up in my eyes, too. I shake my head to let the man know there’s nothing I want to say.

Except that I’m sorry.

Finally, I look at that little box propped up on the front of the podium. The Undil Embassy crest is engraved in the silver metal. Inside that box is my father, once the greatest man in the galaxy—reduced to ash.

I can hear his last words, the words he spoke before I waved to Ambassador Gantz. ‘She’s all grown up now.’ He had chuckled. ‘Told me she remembers you.’