How many times has it been? How many funerals have I had to attend, and how many more must I in the future?
So wondered the twenty-seventh Emperor of the Humankind Empire of Abh, Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Dreuc Ablïarser Lamagh. She was aboard the Star Forces Flagship-cum-Imperial Empress’s Ship, the Gaftnochec, which was making for the Rüé Ibéic (Imperial Mortuary Hall) in the capital of Lacmhacarh at extremely low speeds.
While in empires past, the so-called “emperor’s ship” may have steered clear of warzones, in this, the Humankind Empire of Abh, it was constructed with battle readiness in mind. As such, it was traditional to assign a state-of-the-art patrol ship to the Emperor or Empress. That was why the Gaftnochec was now a Caü-class patrol ship, which had the specifications for a fleet flag ship — only this patrol ship had a Jade Throne in place of the Commander-in-Chief’s Seat.
The Empress’s personal quarters aboard ship were officially the chicrh ghaharérr (commander-in-chief’s room). She couldn’t speak for other militaries, but within the Imperial Star Forces at the very least, it was the most spacious and luxurious space a soldier could expect in the field of battle. Her quarters were elaborately decorated, but not to the degree that it stood out, relatively speaking. In fact, considering this was where the sovereign of the empire of one trillion subjects went to unwind, it was positively gloomy and austere. Yet to her, the room felt like a paradise. Being Empress was exhausting work, especially during wartime. Any place she could spend some time by herself was precious.
She’d be even more pleased if she could go unmolested by urgent reports, but alas, that was too much to hope for. Subtle floor vibrations told her they had moored alongside their destination. Lamagh put down her bluish cup and rose to her feet.
The door opened, and there stood a personal transporter and several chamberlains.
“Your Majesty,” said the Head Chamberlain, with a reverential bow of the head.
Lamagh returned the gesture of respect with a nod and mounted the transporter. Thus was she forced to put her paradise behind her.
The transporter moved smoothly down the hall, the walls depicting a pleasant prairie. One honor guard NCC was stationed every one thousand dagh in order to present arms.
Lamagh was back on her earlier train of thought: Somewhere in planar space, a funeral might be happening right now. A funeral without a mortuary hall. The warships of the Star Forces are the best possible coffins in the soldiers’ eyes, no matter how old or beat-up they become. Some may regard the fact they must share their coffin with others a fly in the amber, but they’re a minority. After all, most view getting to share their coffin with family a reason to rejoice. And I doubt anyone would object to the notion that the people they encounter on a ship can be counted as family. We don’t need some overblown sealing of vows; boarding a ship means living and dying alongside the rest of the crew and passengers — especially in times of war.
And this was an era of war. Even now, all throughout planar space, fleets from both sides were laying into each other, and countless rousing death rites were being conducted.
This was the biggest of all the many funerary halls that floated through space in Lacmhacarh, the Birautec Carsarr Gereulacr (Capital of the Kin of the Stars) — and the biggest in all the Empire. Aside from those who had received imperial sanction, only the members of the Imperial Family, or “Imperials,” could use the Imperial Mortuary Hall.
The Abh were areligious, but they did observe the occasional ceremony that had a touch of spirituality to it, and funerals were the prime example. The funerals of pious land peoples were much simpler, on the whole.
However, Abh funerals were not truly “religious.” Abh mourning admitted no intervening god or gods. They were farewell ceremonies, meant solely for those who knew the deceased.
At last, the transporter passed through the lock gate of the Gaftnochec, and into the funeral hall. Its main hallway was vividly arrayed with images of the stars. The Abh may have been partial to art of planetary-surface nature for decorating ships’ interiors, but they believed the celestial fabric more fitting for the dearly departed.
By the opened door stood a handful of people, who, upon seeing Lamagh, bowed from the waist. A starpilot with blue-brown hair stepped forward from among them. His rank insignia showed him to be an associate commodore. He was Chidoryac Baurgh Sidec Sœrh, the day’s chief mourner.
“I’m honored Your Majesty has graced us,” he greeted.
“It’s just a pity it’s under these circumstances,” she replied. “We would not dream of missing the funeral of Our right hand.”
“I’m sure my father would be delighted to hear those words.”
“We aren’t so sure,” she smiled, stepping off the transporter.
Chidoryac’s father was named Chidoryac Baurgh Sidec Chidh. Until very recently, he had served as the Imperial Chancellor. Not one to attach much importance to the concept of taking breaks, he tended to frown upon time spent unproductively — even if the one doing so was the Empress herself.
Knowing the man, he’d probably think the Abh Empress ought to be too ruthless to be wasting her time reminiscing about the dead.
But she also knew that even he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to devote himself to his flowerbeds from time to time.
The venue was circular, and at its center lay the coffin of the Bauchimh Raica (Former Chancellor). Lamagh kicked off the floor; the gravity control wasn’t on. With the practiced poise of an Abh, she flew to the casket’s side. Cylindrical in shape, the transparent coffin cradled the man who was Chancellor. He looked no different from how he had before.
Lamagh said her goodbyes, before allowing the next attendee to say theirs. This place was special; even the Empress was paid no higher respect than any other. It would not do for the center of attention to be someone other than the deceased.