No Strings Attached

"No strings attached John. Remember that."

"Yeah…no strings."

John Smith, burly white dude and Hivejumper, looked out across the assembled unit. Young, upstanding, attractive men and women from all over the world (not that you could tell) who had signed up to fight the ordovicians and pose in front of flags while doing it.

"We are gathered here today to say farewell to a dear friend. A friend who charmed us all. A friend whose music was electrifying."

Those assembled bowed their heads.

"A friend who is with God now, and-"

"Cut that out."

He looked at the Hivejumper beside him – Jane Doe, not so burly, but with a chest big enough to be a nest for a bald eagle. "What?"

"You can't reference God. You know what the political situation is."

"Ah, yes, of course." He cleared his throat. "Now that our friend has entered the afterlife-"

"No afterlife references either. Not every religion believes in the concept of one."

"Um…our friend who was so cruelly taken away from us…" He glanced at Jane, who remained silent, "showed us the way with his music. But now we must say farewell. Our friend, who must bid adieu to-"

"You're repeating yourself."

"Fuck!"

It all sounded much better in his head, John reflected. Quick funeral, then back to bug killing. Why was this so complicated? Why was he starting to tear up? Why was mournful music playing in the background?

"Look, the truth of the matter is that I can't be arsed to give a full speech. And let's face it, we're all got bugs to kill."

A loud whoop echoed from those assembled. The music started becoming less mournful. Behind him a flag appeared, blowing in a non-existent breeze.

"And so we lay him to rest. May his music echo throughout space and times. Throughout these caves, stir our heart, and strike the bugs with fear."

"Hear hear!" the Hivejumpers cried.

Someone started playing bagpipes – John wondered how he could hear them since there was no air on this rock. And ergo, why it would be wise to bury their fallen friend at all if there was therefore no decomposition. But regardless, the funeral had come to an end. He saluted as the guitar was laid into the ground. A fallen friend. The one who'd brought music to them all. He sniffed.

"You okay?" Jane asked.

John nodded.

"Remember John – no strings attached."

"Yeah," he said, looking at the instrument. Cloven in two, used as a shield against an ordovician's claw. "No strings attached."

The bagpipes ended, with still no explanation to their sound. And John wondered how he'd even heard the guitar's sound in the first place, as per the lack of air when it had been played by the campfire. Or again, how they'd got a campfire going when again, no air. And wondered why this was only coming to him now.

But it mattered not. The guitar entered the grave. A small dozer piled up the dirt. A headstone stood ready for engravement.

"No strings attached."

The bald eagle wearing a spacesuit that landed on the mound seemed to agree.