Engineman - Eric Brown [23]
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 lounge.
Hunter turned to Mirren and held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Mirren took it. "I have very much enjoyed our conversation, Mr Mirren. I look forward to seeing you tonight."
"I'll contact Leferve and Fekete," Mirren heard himself say above the pounding of his heart.
"Excellent." Hunter made to leave the lounge. "Oh, just one more thing, Mr Mirren. How is your brother keeping these days?"
"Bobby's fine." He was guarded. After all the press coverage his brother's condition had received nine years ago, Mirren was suspicious when it came to strangers asking about him.
"He's coping with his predicament?"
"He's managing."
"Good, Mr Mirren. I'm pleased to hear that. Now, if you will excuse me..."
Hunter ducked through the hatch. A minute later he appeared in the avenue. One of the bodyguards jumped from the roadster and opened a rear door. Holding the front of his jacket together, Hunter slipped inside. The Mercedes accelerated down the avenue of bigships.
Mirren remained in the lounge, considering what little the off-worlder had actually told him. Then he made his way outside and walked down the avenue between two rows of rusting salvage vessels. He got his bearings from the control tower of the terminal building rising behind the bigships, and headed west.
He was aware of a deep, barely containable excitement within him. Five years ago, Mirren had heard rumours that there were shady entrepreneurs at work in Paris who had somehow managed to obtain, against the law and at great risk, the flux-tanks