Engineman - Eric Brown [26]
Mirren closed his eyes, let the residuum of the wonder he'd experienced percolate through his whole being. Enjoy it, he told himself, because it won't happen again.
He sensed someone beside him and opened his eyes. Dan was sitting on the edge of a lounger, staring at his clasped hands.
"What is it, Dan?"
"Weren't you rather hard on her?"
Mirren looked at the Breton, the bearded giant, the peasant - as he sometimes called him - who should be ploughing the earth rather than ploughing the continuum.
Mirren sighed. "I know I was, Dan." He shook his head. "She isn't the only one who's going through this."
"But it's affecting her more-"
"Is it? How the hell do you know how it's affecting me? At least fucking Elliott here can shoot herself when she gets back to Earth, achieve union that way."
Dan said, "Knowing Elliott, she might just do that."
Mirren waved. "I'm sorry. You know how it is... I can't take three months without the flux. How will I cope after three years...?"
Dan said, "Or thirty."
Both men looked out at the white light marbling the blue of the continuum, and fell silent-
And the vision that Mirren was reliving became diffuse, distant, and he knew the flashback was drawing to a close. He was back in his apartment, the sudden translocation disconcerting.
He blinked, and watched Hunter's photograph complete its pendulum drift to the carpet. He returned his arm from its outstretched position, feeling within him the vivid recollection of the union.
In reality, the flashback had lasted for a fraction of a second, while subjectively Mirren had experienced the events aboard the 'ship for what seemed like hours. What the hell was happening to him?
He looked up at the screen. Dan Leferve could wait. He'd contact him later. It was all he could do to drag himself to his room, swallow two sleeping tablets with a mouthful of water and fall into bed.
Chapter Five
Ella Fernandez sat in the 'port transit lounge on the colony world of A-Long-Way-From-Home, staring at her fingers and reliving again the explosion that had taken Eddie from her. She shifted position in the uncomfortable bucket seat, her silversuit squeaking against the padded mock-leather. Around her, a hundred travellers waited patiently for the interface to open on their destinations.
"Ms Schwartz." A tanned, blonde woman was crouching before her. She wore a bright two-piece uniform in the blue and yellow national colours of Sweden.
"Oh..." Ella looked up, too tired to realise the mistake the woman had made.
"We'll be processing travellers to Carey's Sanctuary in fifteen minutes."
The courier's gaze lingered on the Schwartz name-tag stitched to the chest of Ella's silversuit. The tags were much sought after among those who held Enginemen and Enginewomen in high esteem.
Christ, Ella thought, yawning and stretching. The courier obviously thought she looked old enough to have been an Enginewoman.
The courier was still smiling, as if expecting words of wisdom from someone she thought had communed with the ultimate. Ella smiled uneasily in return. She recalled Eddie's frustration, sometimes anger, at how he was often regarded. Civilians held E-men in awe, and Eddie had found that this misplaced respect served only to emphasise the fact of his redundancy.
"I think you're very brave," the courier said, "using the 'face. I've met some E-women who can't do it."
Ella shrugged. "I need to travel," she murmured.
The courier appraised her. "You're obviously feeling the strain. Good luck, anyway." She tapped Ella's knee, stood and scanned the lounge for other travellers in her tour group.
Ella pulled her feet onto the seat and sat cross-legged, hanging her head. She was touched by the Swede's sympathy, mistaken though it was. She closed her eyes, and the afterimage of the explosion bloomed in her mind's eye. She was aware of Eddie's body odour in the material of the silversuit.
She had watched Eddie kill himself just ten hours ago, though it seemed like much longer. It felt like a week ago when she had hung on the fence at Orly, watching the slow