by J. S. Volpe
* * *
After the line had finished worming past the casket and everyone returned to their seats, insipidly upbeat music began to blare from hidden speakers. It was only after several bars had played that Reynard identified the tune as a hideously mangled version of Hathendomonia’s deisan solo from the Unity Symphony.
He felt his throat tighten and tears sting his eyes. Not wanting to cry in front of all these people, he forced his feelings back by focusing on the shittiness of the rendition. For some reason all modern performances of it sounded flat and feeble, no matter how accurately the notes and rhythms were played. Perhaps it was due to alterations in the manufacture of the instruments, or subtle evolutionary mutations in the mouths or fingers of the species that played them. But whatever its cause, the change had definitely not been for the better.
It suddenly dawned on him that Solace might have chosen this music specifically as a last, secret farewell to him. He got up, made his way over to where the funeral coordinator stood at a small control panel that worked the lights and the speakers and the airlock, and asked the elf who had picked the music. With a small, pleased smile, he told Reynard it was what they always played.
“Everybody loves this one,” he said. “So beautiful.”
Reynard returned to his seat without another word, the swift rise and fall of his hopes having left him feeling deader than ever.
She hadn’t expected to die, he told himself. Hell, neither did he. If he were to die suddenly in a stupid accident, no one would have any idea what to do with his body or who to contact; he hadn’t drawn up any instructions whatsoever.
Yet she had, haphazard as they were. And she still hadn’t left him anything except an invitation to say goodbye.
As the barely recognizable deisan solo soared to its hopeful end, the airlock’s transparent inner hatch opened and the casket moved silently down its track and into the airlock. The hatch closed. After a pause just long enough for Reynard to wonder if something had gone wrong, the outer hatch opened. Without a tremor or sound, the casket shot from the airlock and disappeared into space. The outer hatch rolled closed.
The music ceased. The funeral coordinator returned to the podium and with a small bow said, “On behalf of Solace 10-NT, I thank you for coming to see her off on her final voyage in this sphere of existence.”
As the other mourners made their way to the door, Reynard stood staring at the closed hatch. In his mind’s eye he saw the casket shooting through space on its way to its rendezvous with Lü, its destined end as ash. He imagined the stars’ reflections passing across that small, square window, across her restful face, tiny white dots sliding by like bits of debris on a river.
A hand touched his arm. It was the funeral coordinator.
“We’ve got another funeral in ten minutes,” the elf said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to move along.”