“Have you no shred of emotion, young master?” Bill gestured dramatically. “A funeral’s a sacred rite! You’ve gotta be flashy about it!”
“I’d thought of funerals as more quiet, dignified affairs...”
“That is what we call a preconceived notion,” said Min. “The custom probably takes after Abh culture, but we settled this planet from space, too. We wouldn’t be that off base.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I look down on the idea of setting dead bodies into space .” Then Jinto came to a hair-raising realization. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna ‘send us back into space’ in these things !?”
“What the hell’re you saying!? You’re backing down now !?” said Undertaker and Bill at the same time.
“But nobody told me anything!” Jinto objected.
“I misjudged you, Jinto.” Lafier glowered at him scornfully. “I’d been under the impression that you had better discernment than that. As a fellow Abh, I am embarrassed.”
“Sorry...” Jinto had been battered into submission.
“There’s a problem, though,” said Lafier. Then she addressed Undertaker: “I’m not used to piloting this model of ship. Will I be able to steer it properly?”
Undertaker stared as though she couldn’t be serious. “Not for nothing, Your Highness, but it’s not for steering. There’s no need; it just goes up and away. The end.”
The blood drew away from Lafier’s lovely countenance.
“I misjudged you, Lafier,” said Jinto, seizing on this chance. “I’d been under the impression that you had better...”
“Be quiet!”
Don’t even know why I thought she’d do me the favor of letting me finish my sarcastic jab. While Jinto questioned his own sanity, Lafier hit Undertaker with a follow-up question of her own.
“It is airtight, I hope?”
“‘Course it is. I don’t know what you believe, but rest assured us Landers do know a thing or two about what kind of beast the vacuum of space is. It’s even got emergency oxygen in case somebody who’s actually still alive is mistakenly placed inside. Twelve hours’ worth.”
A door lay at the end of the corridor, and a little past it, a staircase leading down into the basement, a small room furnished with several screens.
“Commence funeral preparations.” Undertaker ran up to one of the screens.
“As per the orders of the municipal government, this mortuary is currently closed,” responded the machine voice.
“Haven’t you heard? The closure directive’s been rescinded.”
“Cannot confirm that statement’s veracity.”
“Never like it when machines get antagonistic.” Undertaker looked behind him. “Daswani, if you could.”
Daswani nodded, took out a saigéth (keyboard), and connected it to the console . His fat fingers pounded away at the small, compact keys at blinding speeds.
“I’m always telling him, it’s faster by voice input, but Daswani’s a man of few words,” said Undertaker.
“This way, much faster,” said Daswani.
“Holy moly,” said Bill, astonished. “Have any of you ever heard him string together a sentence that long?”
“He must be feeling charged up,” Min remarked.
“By the way, what’s its propulsion source? The ship’s, I mean?” Jinto was cautious to avoid the word “casket.”
“Hydrogen,” said Undertaker.
“Hydrogen? As in nuclear fusion?”
“No,” said Undertaker, his tone of voice strangely soft. “It’s a chemical reaction. When hydrogen and oxygen are made to bond, heat and water are born. That’s what it uses for propulsion. Put it simply, it burns hydrogen to fly.”
“Jinto,” Lafier groaned. “Could you hold me up? I think I’m going to collapse.”
“‘Fraid I won’t be much help,” said Jinto, dumbfounded. “I’m just as likely to faint.”
“Don’t fret,” said Undertaker. “We haven’t had any incidents in a while.”
“In a while?” That was hardly much consolation.
“Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant is that there hasn’t been a single casualty since the establishment of civilization on the planet. There have been caskets that flew away, though.”
“That’s... awesome.”
“By the way, there’re two types, ones with self-destruct devices and ones without. Which would you prefer?”
“Self-destruct devices!?”
“Yeah, they come back down two hours after shooting them up. That’s when we make them blow up in the air. It’s for funerals where the mourners arrange to reminisce about the deceased yet again while watching them light up the sky as fireworks.”
Jinto paused.
“Give us one that can’t self-destruct, please.”
“Got it. Shame, though. The self-destruct device-equipped ones are the nicer ones.”
“We appreciate the sentiment.”
“Undertaker!” said Marca. “Quit teasing them already, would you?”
“I’ve got a right to settle a score, same as anybody,” said Undertaker, clearly pleased with himself.
Daswani looked up from his keyboard .
“Commence funeral preparations,” Undertaker ordered anew.
“Affirmative. Please input the name of the responsible funeral director.” Undertaker slid his wallet into the console ’s groove. “Please confirm your identity.” He peered into the console ’s small window for the retinal scan.
“Qualification to perform funeral service recognized. Please begin the necessary procedures. First, input the name of the defrayer of expenditures...”
“The funeral director will pay in their stead.”
“Affirmative.”
Undertaker gave Lafier a grin. “Be sure to pay me back, all right?”
“Okay,” nodded Lafier.
“Next, please provide your interment authorization code.” He inserted a string of numbers using a mobile terminal.
“From now on, you guys are one ‘Bigg Tempill.’ No doubt they’re gonna throw a fit at the real Bigg’s funeral, poor old man.”
“Interment authorization code recognized. Next, please input the desired trajectory...”
“Marca, leave this to me, and take these two to the launcher for me. It’s #3. You know where it is, right?”
“Sure do.” Marca half-nodded to the two. “Let’s go, Fïac Lartnér , Lonh-Ïarlucec Dreur .”
Inspector Entryua’s cold eyes watched as Kyte fumbled with the unfamiliar Imperial-make computer terminal in his attempts to extract information. Entryua’s unwillingness to help aside, the man could have asked the nearby firefighter to teach him how to use it, but it appeared Kyte could no longer trust any and all Clasbulians.
When at last Kyte had translated the information he wanted using his own device, he looked stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me about Clasbule-style funeral rites!?”
“You didn’t ask.” Entryua tensed and braced for impact.
Yet Kyte stopped at clenching his fist. Then, he burst into a howling fit of laughter. “As though she could escape that way! The Abh has nowhere to run.”
He slapped the shoulder of a soldier aboard the ship and issued instructions. That soldier proceeded to flash a signal using the blinking light method.
A red light above the entombment door of Launcher #3 was on. “Fueling and servicing in progress. Please wait.”
In front of the door lay an exquisite, brand-new coffin on a dolly tray. The launcher cylinder was below ground.
“It’s to protect the city from the blast impact,” explained Marca.
Bill, who’d come with them, had this to say: “When I was a kid I watched a bunch launch from above ground. But then the city expanded, and they moved them underground. Weird spiel, but hey, Undertaker was the first to share a weird spiel.”
“I just thought of something,” said Jinto, who’d stumbled across yet another seed of worry. “Is there a chance the Star Forces will mistake it for a weapon of attack?”
“A ship that moves burning hydrogen as fuel?” Lafier crinkled the gainly curve at the upper base of the bridge of her nose. “You may just make me die of laughter.”
“Guess you’ve got a point...”
“You needn’t guess. Besides, my compuwatch will be emitting a friend-or-foe identifier signal. And there can’t be any EM bugs above the stratosphere.”
“Sounds good, then.”
“You’re such a worrywort, Jinto.”
“Careful, Lafier. You yourself were looking blue in the face earlier.”
“I have now steeled myself. I trust these individuals.”
“We’re honored,” Marca smiled.
“Hey, it’s not like I don’t trust them...”
“Marca!” Min shouted through the loudspeaker.
“They’re here. But no need to worry. It’s just the fire ship from before. We can prepare to launch within a minute’s time.”
“What’re you guys gonna do after launching us? They might come for you.”
“We’ve some leeway on that end,” grinned Marca.
“So we’ll be just fine. We were born and raised in Guzonh; we’ll never fall into the hands of a bunch of bonehead interlopers. What you should be worrying about is the danger you’ll face after you lift off. The thing isn’t armored, after all. Be careful.”
“Thank you. But how exactly are we supposed to be careful, when it can’t be steered?”
“I’ve heard the Abh are areligious. Are you?” asked Marca.
“No.” The abrupt question took Jinto aback, but he answered honestly. “My family’s been Presbyterian Christians for generations. Not that I’m that devout.”
“Then there is something you can do.” Marca put a hand on Jinto’s shoulder in encouragement. “Pray.”
“Is backup still not here!?” Kyte snarled. By Entryua’s count, this was the fifth time he’d asked.
“They’re here,” reported the soldier, relieved.
Five airships had reached the mortuary, swapping blinking light signals in a bustle of activity. “Only five?” Kyte seemed displeased. “But the area is so vast! And they’re unarmed transport ships, are they not!?”
“They’re asking where they should touch ground, sir,” said the soldier.
“I don’t know, either! We have no other option but to search for one that’s readying for liftoff. Destroy it on sight!”
But since Guzonh Mortuary made use of underground launchers, the spires were essentially nothing more than casket-rockets: the bullets to be fired, as opposed to the shooters. Of course, Entryua knew this, but he chose to remain silent.