208: Chapter 208 The State Funeral Live Broadcast Excites the Whole Nation

Central Intelligence Agency Director Richard Heinlein, dressed in deep black mourning attire, sat in a fairly inconspicuous yet not quite marginal position in the middle section of the left official seating area.

His gaze passed over the shoulders of the honor guard—the row of light ridges moving quietly and slowly between the top of the casket and the floor—and landed on the Star-Spangled Banner spread straight across the center of the casket.

In his mind, only a single image repeated over and over:

That emaciated figure curled up beside the fire hydrant, slowly closing its eyes,

And the name, projected simultaneously by television lenses worldwide onto the altar at this moment, which had never existed on any page of real archives.

A heavy, indescribable sense of absurdity surged in Heinlein's chest,

But there was no superfluous expression on his face.

The funeral proceeded item by item according to standard state funeral agendas.

President Biden slowly rose from his seat and walked to the podium in front of the altar.

On either side of the podium stood a black-and-white photograph specially made for today's funeral:

In the photograph, Sophus Tesla wore an old-style laboratory white coat, his white hair combed meticulously, with a gentle and profound gaze,

Completely matching all the dignity an elderly scientist who lived in anonymity and dedicated all his scientific research achievements to the country free of charge throughout his life ought to have.

This was naturally not real; it was created by the Central Intelligence Agency's image processing department in the early morning office using Photoshop software.

Biden pressed his hands on the edges of both sides of the podium, fell silent for a moment, then raised his head, his tone even and solemn:

"Sophus Tesla."

"This name, starting today, will be engraved upon the national soul of the United States of America."

"Throughout his life, he remained anonymous, never accepting a single interview, never signing his name at any academic conference, and never enjoying even the slightest bit of public praise."

"He dedicated everything he had—his talent, his efforts, and the last shred of warmth in his life—to a country that had never publicly thanked him."

"And today, we have come late."

"We can only, at a moment when he can no longer hear any applause or funeral music with his own ears, officially write his name into the eternal annals of human civilization with the specifications of a state funeral."

"His scientific research achievements will give Lighthouse Country sufficient strength to counter the million-ship fleet from Zeta Star."

"His legacy will be shared with all allied countries around the world willing to join the United Human Defense Front."

"His spirit will accompany all of us through the upcoming pitch-black interstellar night."

"Everyone stand up for a moment of silence!"

The pipe organ played once more,

The casket, carried by six honor guards, moved slowly along the central aisle toward the black hearse waiting outside the main entrance of the church.

The Star-Spangled Banner rippled slightly and flattened with each rise and fall of their strides.

The burial ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery also followed full state funeral specifications: gun salutes, bugles, and the folding of the funeral flag.

Two white-gloved soldiers folded the Star-Spangled Banner repeatedly, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley personally received it, holding it in both hands as he walked up to Biden and stood at attention.

Biden took the triangularly folded Star-Spangled Banner, then slowly folded it again, placing it flat atop the dark coffin.

The casket slowly descended into the grave, whose tombstone was inscribed with "Sophus Tesla, National Hero".

The sound of the first shovel of earth falling was simultaneously broadcasted to the whole world by the television station's surround microphones.

Shortly after the funeral ended,

In the temporary interview area on the East Lawn of the White House, President Biden stood before a row of microphones fixed to the grass.

The setting sun behind him cast a slender silhouette of the White House's iconic flagpole.

Cameras from major global television stations were broadcasting live directly to the lens.

A reporter took the lead in asking:

"Mr. President, is the advanced technology left to America by Sophus Tesla sufficient to counter the million-ship fleet of Zeta Star?"

Biden gently supported the edge of the podium with both hands, looking at the lens with a calm and resolute tone:

"Yes."

"The advanced technology left to America by Sophus Tesla is sufficient to counter the million-ship fleet of Zeta Star."

"As long as their fleet dares to set foot half a step into the Solar System, nothing awaits them but complete annihilation."

Another reporter hurriedly followed up: "Mr. President, how does America plan to resist the alien fleet? What is the specific plan?"

Biden tilted his head slightly, his tone dropping half a beat lower than before, yet every word carried an unquestionable decisiveness:

"This cannot be disclosed at present."

"Zeta Star has deployed a pioneer intelligence device codenamed 'Yuanzi' on Earth, which possesses the ability to bypass the speed-of-light limit and conduct real-time spacetime scanning."

"Every deployment detail spoken by me could potentially be transmitted in real time by it back to the approaching million-ship fleet of Zeta Star in our Solar System, directly threatening all our defense forces."

"From my position, I must be responsible for the lives of all soldiers currently deploying defense nodes, and responsible for the survival of all mankind."

"Therefore, it cannot be said."

Another reporter followed up closely:

"Mr. President, rumors about the 'Deep State' and 'public intervention by higher civilizations' have been fermenting on the internet over this past period. Can you confirm that Sophus Tesla's achievements are completely unrelated to these unverified rumors?"

Biden quietly listened to the reporter's question, gently moved his hands away from the edge of the podium, spread them out to the sides, and said in a completely level tone:

"All advanced technologies independently developed by Sophus Tesla have undergone sufficiently repeated and rigorous verification."

"On this point, the general public can rest completely assured."

"In the next window of opportunity, Lighthouse Country will successively share derivative versions of these technologies and defense application systems with other allied nations."

"This is an indisputable fact, and one that absolutely cannot be faked."

"By then, every test result obtained by allied nations in their own laboratories, testing grounds, and defense arrays will repeatedly cross-verify the same thing:"

"The legacy left by Mr. Tesla is truly in existence. Every blueprint, every set of formulas, and every defense node is real."

...

At the same time, the state funeral of Sophus Tesla and President Biden's subsequent interview were broadcast simultaneously by all mainstream television networks and streaming platforms globally.

People all the world over saw the mahogany casket carried by six honor guards walking through the central aisle of the National Cathedral;

Saw the scene at the White House press briefing podium where Biden pressed his hands on the edge of the podium and confirmed word by word to the camera that it was "sufficient to counter the million-ship fleet of Zeta Star";

Saw the videos of John Country Prime Minister Harrington, Gaul Country President Duoval, Sakura Country Prime Minister Shigeru Hasegawa, and Narendra Singh of India publishing statements on their respective social media accounts:

They stated in turn that they had officially received Lighthouse Country's primary node sharing scheme for advanced technology and would unite the strength of all mankind to jointly resist the invasion of the Grey Alien fleet.

These images, simultaneously in different languages, looped and switched repeatedly across the same global fiber optic cable, and every geographic interleaving pushed from one continent to the next continuously amplified the same kind of resonance.

In the John Country, inside an old community activity center in South London,

A group of middle-aged mechanics, stacking beer cans on folding tables, gathered in front of a newly installed projection screen,

Seeing a young anchor with an earring dangling from his left ear holding a microphone and probing the live broadcast signal directly into the close-up of the flag-retrieval ceremony during the gun salute at Arlington Cemetery,

An uncle wearing greasy work clothes stood up from beside the table, shoved an unopened can of lager beer into the hands of an unfamiliar elderly woman next to him, and shouted to everyone around:

"It seems those alien brats are nothing much after all!"

In Gaul Country, on the deck of an old fishing boat in the Old Port of Marseille,

An old fisherman wearing a faded fishing hat pushed the volume of his portable radio to the maximum and calmly said to several companions nearby who were taking off their hand-held fishing nets and knocking off work:

"At least this way we won't die looking so pathetic."

In Sakura Country,

On an electronic street screen at the Shibuya Crossing, the joint statement of the four heads of state and the close-up of Biden's interview were broadcast consecutively,

A group of young people who had just been politely passing edamame back and forth in an izakaya applauded a close-up of an honor guard holding the Star-Spangled Banner on the television screen.

In India,

Those low-caste people who previously flocked in groups to dance reincarnation dances on the streets were now seeing the same images under their respective village broadcasts and on their mobile phone screens.

For the first time, they saw that the fleet of those Grey Aliens was not the devas blessed repeatedly by thousands of prayers in the Vedic scriptures,

They were merely Aliens, and they could also be shot down by higher-level weapons.

And their only reliable way of reincarnation was still to go back and properly serve those Brahmin masters who remained motionless guarding the old temples and town walls.

On the outskirts of Mumbai, inside an old self-built house converted on stilts into a temporary signal relay station,

A young textile apprentice squatting on the earthen stairs turned his phone screen this way and that, finally gazing at the white wall across the alley painted with faded propaganda of old deities, and muttered:

"So even devas have to fear humans."

Then, he lowered his head and continued wrapping cloth,

Tomorrow morning he still had to deliver bundles of twisted yarn to town to accumulate merit.

New York, Brooklyn, Sunset Park industrial area.

Those faces that, just a few days ago, had slumped among shattered glass and abandoned police cars, using their last ounce of strength to pour whiskey into their lungs like a ventilator,

Were now all holding up their mobile phones,

Staring at the spots of light on the screen projected by sunlight through stained glass onto the Star-Spangled Banner covering the casket,

Staring at the close-up of Biden's podium face—not young, but suddenly re-read by countless people as carrying a sort of hardened confidence.

Deep inside those pairs of eyes that had been hollow for many days, a light began to gradually brighten.

That was the last tiny unextinguished ember at the extremity of extremely deep despair being reignited by an indescribable warmth, turning, cluster by cluster, into faint sparks.

That warmth passed into their bodies simultaneously from the live state funeral broadcast lines, the signals of national defense authorization, and the hands of unfamiliar companions holding up their phones with dwindling battery life as best as they could.

Someone fiercely smashed the half bottle of whiskey beside him onto the curb, glass and residual liquid splashing everywhere, and roared loudly toward the dim street in the distance filled with abandoned vehicles and temporary trash cans:

"Alien scum! Fuck you! You can't destroy humanity!"