scathing about each other's views, but we didn't let our differences get in the way of our work."
"He has nothing but praise for the team you commanded aboard this 'ship and the Perseus ."
"They were the best," Mirren stated simply. The thought of his team, the events they had lived through, tortured him.
Hunter strolled the length of the lounge beneath the arc of the viewscreen. Down below was an avenue, and across it more ranked starships. He gazed through, silent, as if contemplating his next question.
"Are you in contact with any of your team, Mr Mirren?"
The question took him by surprise. "One or two... The others..." He shrugged. "I suppose we've drifted apart."
The truth was that he had hardly kept in contact with even the one or two he claimed. Dan Leferve, his second-in-command back then and closest colleague, he had last seen five years ago. Leferve ran an investigation Agency in Bondy, and he was religious - and it seemed to Mirren that they no longer had anything in common. Which was really just an excuse for his inertia and apathy.
He'd last seen Caspar Fekete seven years ago, before the Nigerian became a big noise in the bio-computer industry. For all his agreement with Fekete's atheism, he had found the man arrogant and opinionated. The other two, the Enginewomen Christiana Olafson and Jan Elliott, he hadn't seen since their discharge from the Line. He'd heard that Olafson was living in Hamburg, but he had no idea, or real interest, in what she was doing there. As for Elliott, she had taken the news of the closure of the Line far worse than the others, and though no Engineman or Enginewoman found life easy after the shutdown, he expected that Elliott had found it harder than most.
Mirren turned to Hunter. "Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity, Mr Mirren," Hunter said, as if that adequately answered his question. Before Mirren could press him, the off-worlder went on, "You couldn't tell me, by any chance, how the various members of your team have been affected by the closure of the Lines? I mean, specifically, how they have fared without the flux?"
"How the hell do you think they've been affected? I know for a fact that Elliott, Olafson and Leferve were devastated-"
"And Fekete?"
"Fekete, too - for all his bluster about not needing the flux. I mean, he never resigned before the closures."
"And yourself, Mr Mirren?"
He guessed, then, what Mirren was about: the bodyguards, Hunter's questions, his spurious interest in the Enginemen and the Lines. Mirren had heard that there were people like Hunter at work in the city.
He turned on the off-worlder. "Of course I was affected! You don't for a minute think it's something you can get over in months?"
Hunter gestured placatingly. "I thought perhaps due to your lack of belief you might have rationalised your craving."
Mirren laughed bitterly. "It's a biological thing, Hunter - or rather a neurological craving. Like a drug. And I can't do a thing to prevent it." He stared at Hunter, hating him for playing him along like this. "If anything, it's even worse because I don't believe. I don't live with the certainty that when I die I'll be gathered up safely into the afterlife."
"I'm sorry, Mr Mirren. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Just what do you want, Hunter?"
The off-worlder regarded him, as if contemplating how much to divulge. "If you meet me at the Gastrodome at midnight tonight, then perhaps we could continue this discussion. Do you think you might contact those members of your team living in Paris and bring them along?"
Mirren's mouth was suddenly dry. "Leferve and Fekete, maybe. I don't know about Elliott."
"Bring as many of them as possible, and then we can get down to business."
Mirren felt the words catch in his throat. "What business?"
Hunter waved. "We can discuss that tonight, in more convivial surroundings." He signalled through the viewscreen, and a black Mercedes roadster advanced slowly along the avenue and came to a sedate halt before the
"He has nothing but praise for the team you commanded aboard this 'ship and the Perseus ."
"They were the best," Mirren stated simply. The thought of his team, the events they had lived through, tortured him.
Hunter strolled the length of the lounge beneath the arc of the viewscreen. Down below was an avenue, and across it more ranked starships. He gazed through, silent, as if contemplating his next question.
"Are you in contact with any of your team, Mr Mirren?"
The question took him by surprise. "One or two... The others..." He shrugged. "I suppose we've drifted apart."
The truth was that he had hardly kept in contact with even the one or two he claimed. Dan Leferve, his second-in-command back then and closest colleague, he had last seen five years ago. Leferve ran an investigation Agency in Bondy, and he was religious - and it seemed to Mirren that they no longer had anything in common. Which was really just an excuse for his inertia and apathy.
He'd last seen Caspar Fekete seven years ago, before the Nigerian became a big noise in the bio-computer industry. For all his agreement with Fekete's atheism, he had found the man arrogant and opinionated. The other two, the Enginewomen Christiana Olafson and Jan Elliott, he hadn't seen since their discharge from the Line. He'd heard that Olafson was living in Hamburg, but he had no idea, or real interest, in what she was doing there. As for Elliott, she had taken the news of the closure of the Line far worse than the others, and though no Engineman or Enginewoman found life easy after the shutdown, he expected that Elliott had found it harder than most.
Mirren turned to Hunter. "Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity, Mr Mirren," Hunter said, as if that adequately answered his question. Before Mirren could press him, the off-worlder went on, "You couldn't tell me, by any chance, how the various members of your team have been affected by the closure of the Lines? I mean, specifically, how they have fared without the flux?"
"How the hell do you think they've been affected? I know for a fact that Elliott, Olafson and Leferve were devastated-"
"And Fekete?"
"Fekete, too - for all his bluster about not needing the flux. I mean, he never resigned before the closures."
"And yourself, Mr Mirren?"
He guessed, then, what Mirren was about: the bodyguards, Hunter's questions, his spurious interest in the Enginemen and the Lines. Mirren had heard that there were people like Hunter at work in the city.
He turned on the off-worlder. "Of course I was affected! You don't for a minute think it's something you can get over in months?"
Hunter gestured placatingly. "I thought perhaps due to your lack of belief you might have rationalised your craving."
Mirren laughed bitterly. "It's a biological thing, Hunter - or rather a neurological craving. Like a drug. And I can't do a thing to prevent it." He stared at Hunter, hating him for playing him along like this. "If anything, it's even worse because I don't believe. I don't live with the certainty that when I die I'll be gathered up safely into the afterlife."
"I'm sorry, Mr Mirren. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Just what do you want, Hunter?"
The off-worlder regarded him, as if contemplating how much to divulge. "If you meet me at the Gastrodome at midnight tonight, then perhaps we could continue this discussion. Do you think you might contact those members of your team living in Paris and bring them along?"
Mirren's mouth was suddenly dry. "Leferve and Fekete, maybe. I don't know about Elliott."
"Bring as many of them as possible, and then we can get down to business."
Mirren felt the words catch in his throat. "What business?"
Hunter waved. "We can discuss that tonight, in more convivial surroundings." He signalled through the viewscreen, and a black Mercedes roadster advanced slowly along the avenue and came to a sedate halt before the
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