At the funeral he gives an eulogy: She was. A simple phrase; short, undisputable. She finds it as depressing as hell. "A pretty pathetic thing to say at a death," she tells him later. "Is it?" He says. She looks up sharply. His voice is cool, calm, collected. He never gets angry that she can see. She gets the feeling that he is on the verge of coming up with another of his ideas, one of those theories that never feel right, but that she can also never refute. She speaks anyway. "Isn't it?" When there is no response she is emboldened to continue, "You might as well say 'she did her duty" or 'she did nothing wrong' or any of those set phrases that say nothing real about a person. Hell, you might as well say that she was just a number or just another name." "Would you prefer something more familiar, then?" He looks at her, and she has the disconcerting feeling that he will sotre what she says next for consideration at her own funeral. It seems probable that he will be present for that. He's survived so many that she can't help but believe that he will outlive her as well. And they are certainly familiar enough for him to say something at her death. "I don't know," she says finally. "Some things.." She falls silent, thinking, and it is her turn to rise and throw a red rose in. He bows his head and takes his leave of her. She doesn't see the expression on his face. -- She doesn't know what he does, even though she tells herself that she knows him. A person is a person, she thinks, separate from his job. She does know that whatever he does, he's probably good at. She can't imagine him otherwise. Her own job is soldiering. Most of the people she's known are involved one way or another in it. She fights whoever her commanders tell her to,