suppurating in the sunlight. "Me? Unfortunately not, Mr Mirren. When I was young I studied to be an Engineman, I wanted nothing more than to push a starship, but I never made the grade. Of course, I could have worked in space, but the thought of working alongside bona fide Enginemen would only have served to remind me of my failure."
"You should consider yourself lucky," Mirren said, then stopped himself before he became too self-piteous.
Hunter smiled. "I have something to show you which I think you will find of interest. Please, this way."
Hunter ducked through the hatch and tapped quickly down the spiral stairway. Mirren followed, not for the first time wondering what the off-worlder wanted with him.
They emerged into the fierce sunlight of the new day and walked down the lane side by side. Hunter gestured and they turned right, down an avenue flanked by nothing else but dismembered observation domes and astro-nacelles. Here, the alien plant-life had run riot, shoots and spores finding their way into the accidental glasshouses of the nacelles and domes and blooming in colourful abundance.
Hunter touched Mirren's elbow and indicated to the left. They passed down a wide avenue, then halted before the carcass of a bigship sliced lengthwise, its gaping cross-section cavernous. They climbed a staircase and Hunter led the way along a cat-walk spanning the length of the 'ship above a dense tangle of brambles. They passed through a bulkhead and came into a vast astrodome, humid in the sunlight and home to a hundred varieties of beautiful alien blooms. Their scent filled the air, thick as honey.
They crossed the circular floor to the exit hatch and strode down a corridor, Mirren's curiosity increasing by the second. Hunter pushed open a swing door and stepped through, and Mirren followed. They were in the crew's lounge - a long, comfortably-appointed relaxation area which obtruded through the skin of the 'ship. Hunter strolled up to the vast, concave viewscreen and looked down the length of the bigship. Mirren stopped on the threshold and stared at the great rococo name-plate affixed to the curving flank of the 'ship.
Hunter lifted the mobile half of his mouth. "The Martian Epiphany , Mr Mirren. The 'ship you pushed for five years, two of them as team-captain, before your transfer to the Perseus Bound , if I am not mistaken."
Mirren crossed the lounge. The air was cloyingly humid, making him feel dizzy. He took in the low, plush loungers, the sunken bunkers in black leather. He was taken back in time fifteen years. Between stints in the tank and hours sleeping in his cabin, he would come down here and stare out at the cobalt-blue magnificence of the nada -continuum, shot through with streamers of milky luminescence like streaks in marble which believing Enginemen claimed were the souls of the dead and departed. How many hours had he spent here, gazing out in dazed wonder?
He recalled who he had been back then, what he had been, a team-commander with authority and confidence...
Hunter was smiling at him with an expression that seemed cognisant, in its compassion, of his distress. "Wasn't this the 'ship where you first commanded the Engine-team you were to be with till the end?"
Mirren stared at the off-worlder. "How do you know so much? This 'ship, my team...?"
"I've read Mubarak's memoirs, E-man Blues . It's all in there. Have you read it?"
"Started it. Couldn't read much. I found it too painful." He'd worked with Mubarak in the early days on the Martian Epiphany . His memoirs had become a bestseller around the time the Lines were folding.
"He painted a glowing portrait of you, Mr Mirren. A fine Engineman - strong, capable, respected by your fellow E-men, a pusher destined to go on and lead your own team, which of course you did. You were also one of the few Enginemen not to be associated with the Disciples. A disbeliever."
Mirren said, more to himself than to Hunter, "Mubarak was a rabid Disciple. We were equally
"You should consider yourself lucky," Mirren said, then stopped himself before he became too self-piteous.
Hunter smiled. "I have something to show you which I think you will find of interest. Please, this way."
Hunter ducked through the hatch and tapped quickly down the spiral stairway. Mirren followed, not for the first time wondering what the off-worlder wanted with him.
They emerged into the fierce sunlight of the new day and walked down the lane side by side. Hunter gestured and they turned right, down an avenue flanked by nothing else but dismembered observation domes and astro-nacelles. Here, the alien plant-life had run riot, shoots and spores finding their way into the accidental glasshouses of the nacelles and domes and blooming in colourful abundance.
Hunter touched Mirren's elbow and indicated to the left. They passed down a wide avenue, then halted before the carcass of a bigship sliced lengthwise, its gaping cross-section cavernous. They climbed a staircase and Hunter led the way along a cat-walk spanning the length of the 'ship above a dense tangle of brambles. They passed through a bulkhead and came into a vast astrodome, humid in the sunlight and home to a hundred varieties of beautiful alien blooms. Their scent filled the air, thick as honey.
They crossed the circular floor to the exit hatch and strode down a corridor, Mirren's curiosity increasing by the second. Hunter pushed open a swing door and stepped through, and Mirren followed. They were in the crew's lounge - a long, comfortably-appointed relaxation area which obtruded through the skin of the 'ship. Hunter strolled up to the vast, concave viewscreen and looked down the length of the bigship. Mirren stopped on the threshold and stared at the great rococo name-plate affixed to the curving flank of the 'ship.
Hunter lifted the mobile half of his mouth. "The Martian Epiphany , Mr Mirren. The 'ship you pushed for five years, two of them as team-captain, before your transfer to the Perseus Bound , if I am not mistaken."
Mirren crossed the lounge. The air was cloyingly humid, making him feel dizzy. He took in the low, plush loungers, the sunken bunkers in black leather. He was taken back in time fifteen years. Between stints in the tank and hours sleeping in his cabin, he would come down here and stare out at the cobalt-blue magnificence of the nada -continuum, shot through with streamers of milky luminescence like streaks in marble which believing Enginemen claimed were the souls of the dead and departed. How many hours had he spent here, gazing out in dazed wonder?
He recalled who he had been back then, what he had been, a team-commander with authority and confidence...
Hunter was smiling at him with an expression that seemed cognisant, in its compassion, of his distress. "Wasn't this the 'ship where you first commanded the Engine-team you were to be with till the end?"
Mirren stared at the off-worlder. "How do you know so much? This 'ship, my team...?"
"I've read Mubarak's memoirs, E-man Blues . It's all in there. Have you read it?"
"Started it. Couldn't read much. I found it too painful." He'd worked with Mubarak in the early days on the Martian Epiphany . His memoirs had become a bestseller around the time the Lines were folding.
"He painted a glowing portrait of you, Mr Mirren. A fine Engineman - strong, capable, respected by your fellow E-men, a pusher destined to go on and lead your own team, which of course you did. You were also one of the few Enginemen not to be associated with the Disciples. A disbeliever."
Mirren said, more to himself than to Hunter, "Mubarak was a rabid Disciple. We were equally
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