stomach blind faith. The concept of afterlife that a lot of Enginemen believe in is exactly what they wanted to believe. How can something that so perfectly fits the bill for what follows death have any basis in fact?"
She was shaking her head. "I don't know. I don't believe myself, remember?"
"And all those school fees your parents paid to have you convent educated..."
She smiled at him and shrugged. They lapsed into silence. Mirren felt incredibly weary and his head throbbed. He thought of the darkness of his room, the oblivion of sleep.
Across the tarmac, the first of the foot-passengers passed through the interface, walking from one world to the next, crossing light years, without so much as breaking their stride. He cursed the Organisation that developed the interface technology.
He drained his beer. He hoped Caroline would take it as a signal that their conversation was at an end.
She did. She pushed her glass, still half full, to one side and glanced at the digital watch melded into the fabric of her cuff. "I really should be getting back to work, Ralph. It's been nice seeing you again."
He made an effort and smiled.
She rose, paused, fingertips on the edge of the table. "You haven't asked about Susan," she said.
Susan... He hadn't asked about his daughter because, in all honestly, he had not thought about her in months.
"I'm sorry." He tried to sound enthusiastic. "How is she?"
Caroline smiled, as if to show that she wasn't taken in by his deception. "She's fine, Ralph. She's twenty-one in a couple of weeks. She's working as an engineer for KVO on Mars."
Mirren grunted a laugh. "Traitor."
"She wants to see you some time."
"Well, next time she's in Europe..."
"I'll send her along." She hesitated. "I have some photos of her, if you're interested. Perhaps we could meet for a meal. How about tonight?"
"Afraid I'm busy tonight," he lied.
"Then some time next week?"
"Okay, why not?" He could always make his excuses when she called.
Caroline smiled. "I'll look forward to that. Look after yourself, Ralph."
He gave an affirmative salute and watched her walk from the bar. He ordered another beer, and when it came he sat and watched the bubbles rise to the foaming head. He reflected that for years he'd lived a life of quiet despair and at times had achieved a state of perverse contentment: only when he was reminded of the past was he filled with a sense of impotent dissatisfaction, a reminder of what might have been, and a hatred of what he had become.
"Mr Mirren? Mr Ralph Mirren?"
He looked up. Two heavies, thick-set and swarthy, obviously Jaeger's bodyguards, stood at the end of his booth.
After three beers Mirren felt distant, removed. Being confronted like this by the bodyguards of a disfigured off-worlder was such a novel turn of events, compared to his usual dreary routine, that his curiosity was aroused.
"Yes?"
"Mr Jaeger," said one of the bodyguards, "is in the Graveyard."
Mirren looked up at the speaker. He was dark, Italian-looking, but obviously a colonist from a planet with gravity greater than Earth's: he was squat, broad, and powerful-looking.
"What does Mr Jaeger want?" he asked.
"That's his business," the other guard answered. "But we have to inform you that he won't be wasting your time."
Curiouser and curiouser... It was certainly his day for meeting people.
"If I were you," the first heavy said, "I'd go and see what he wants. Avenue five, lane three, lot seven."
They nodded fractionally and left the bar.
Mirren sat for another five minutes, drinking his beer and considering the summons. For all their veiled threats, the bodyguards had been too polite to be intimidating. He pulled the pix of Jaeger from the pocket of his flying suit and wondered what the off-worlder might want with him.
He finished his beer and left the bar.
Chapter Four
He walked around the terminal building and across the tarmac towards the quiet eastern perimeter of the spaceport. The sun was rising. The
She was shaking her head. "I don't know. I don't believe myself, remember?"
"And all those school fees your parents paid to have you convent educated..."
She smiled at him and shrugged. They lapsed into silence. Mirren felt incredibly weary and his head throbbed. He thought of the darkness of his room, the oblivion of sleep.
Across the tarmac, the first of the foot-passengers passed through the interface, walking from one world to the next, crossing light years, without so much as breaking their stride. He cursed the Organisation that developed the interface technology.
He drained his beer. He hoped Caroline would take it as a signal that their conversation was at an end.
She did. She pushed her glass, still half full, to one side and glanced at the digital watch melded into the fabric of her cuff. "I really should be getting back to work, Ralph. It's been nice seeing you again."
He made an effort and smiled.
She rose, paused, fingertips on the edge of the table. "You haven't asked about Susan," she said.
Susan... He hadn't asked about his daughter because, in all honestly, he had not thought about her in months.
"I'm sorry." He tried to sound enthusiastic. "How is she?"
Caroline smiled, as if to show that she wasn't taken in by his deception. "She's fine, Ralph. She's twenty-one in a couple of weeks. She's working as an engineer for KVO on Mars."
Mirren grunted a laugh. "Traitor."
"She wants to see you some time."
"Well, next time she's in Europe..."
"I'll send her along." She hesitated. "I have some photos of her, if you're interested. Perhaps we could meet for a meal. How about tonight?"
"Afraid I'm busy tonight," he lied.
"Then some time next week?"
"Okay, why not?" He could always make his excuses when she called.
Caroline smiled. "I'll look forward to that. Look after yourself, Ralph."
He gave an affirmative salute and watched her walk from the bar. He ordered another beer, and when it came he sat and watched the bubbles rise to the foaming head. He reflected that for years he'd lived a life of quiet despair and at times had achieved a state of perverse contentment: only when he was reminded of the past was he filled with a sense of impotent dissatisfaction, a reminder of what might have been, and a hatred of what he had become.
"Mr Mirren? Mr Ralph Mirren?"
He looked up. Two heavies, thick-set and swarthy, obviously Jaeger's bodyguards, stood at the end of his booth.
After three beers Mirren felt distant, removed. Being confronted like this by the bodyguards of a disfigured off-worlder was such a novel turn of events, compared to his usual dreary routine, that his curiosity was aroused.
"Yes?"
"Mr Jaeger," said one of the bodyguards, "is in the Graveyard."
Mirren looked up at the speaker. He was dark, Italian-looking, but obviously a colonist from a planet with gravity greater than Earth's: he was squat, broad, and powerful-looking.
"What does Mr Jaeger want?" he asked.
"That's his business," the other guard answered. "But we have to inform you that he won't be wasting your time."
Curiouser and curiouser... It was certainly his day for meeting people.
"If I were you," the first heavy said, "I'd go and see what he wants. Avenue five, lane three, lot seven."
They nodded fractionally and left the bar.
Mirren sat for another five minutes, drinking his beer and considering the summons. For all their veiled threats, the bodyguards had been too polite to be intimidating. He pulled the pix of Jaeger from the pocket of his flying suit and wondered what the off-worlder might want with him.
He finished his beer and left the bar.
Chapter Four
He walked around the terminal building and across the tarmac towards the quiet eastern perimeter of the spaceport. The sun was rising. The
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