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.Mirren followed Dan’s bulking figure up a flight of steps identical to the first, then through another trap-door.They were in what might have been a wine-cellar or a tomb, its ancient stones scabbed with mould.They were escorted through arched vaults and up a worn stone staircase, through a heavy timber door into a room that stank of mildewed velvet and damp paper.They passed cardboard cartons full of vestments and old hymn books, then through a door into a chapel.Mirren slowed his pace and walked like a man in a daze from the side chapel and into the main body of the cathedral—where once the pious had congregated to worship, but which was filled now with technicians and scientists tending to the object of their devotion.The silver smallship squatted in the vaulted nave, poised on its ram-jets with its nose in the air.It seemed larger than the average smallship—certainly larger than the ‘ship the Disciples used as their Church—its bulk emphasised by the confining stonework.Around the ‘ship, in recesses and niches between crypts and sarcophagi, technicians in casual dress supervised terminals and monitors.There were perhaps twenty men and women in the cathedral, going about their business oblivious of those who would soon be pushing the smallship.For the first time, Mirren was made aware of the scale and professionalism of the enterprise,“How the hell did they get that thing in here?” Mirren asked.“Bit-by bit, Ralph.Then they rebuilt it in situ.Quite a beauty, isn’t it?”They walked towards the smallship and paused beneath its rearing nose-cone.A nameplate spanned the curve beneath the delta viewscreen: The Sublime, the Infinite—the name that believing Enginemen gave to the nada-continuum.As they stared up at the ‘ship, the first light of dawn poured through a stained-glass window, laying a prismatic effect along its flank.“What do you think of the hangar?”“Magnificent,” Mirren said.“Does the Pope know?”Dan laughed.“Hunter bought the place when the Catholic church was having its sale of the century to finance the cathedral on Mars.It suited his purposes right down to the ground: big enough, secluded—once a place of religious observance.I was talking to Hunter earlier.Did you know he was a believer?”“A Catholic?” Mirren was surprised; like most orthodox religions these days, Catholicism was in decline.Dan smiled.“No, Ralph.He’s a Disciple.”Before Mirren could register his surprise, a bodyguard approached.“Mr Hunter would like to see you.If you’d care to come this way.”They left the smallship and followed the bodyguard through a side chapel and into what once might have been a vestry.The room was furnished and decorated as luxuriously as any penthouse lounge, with thick carpeting, c-shaped settees and tables equipped with drinks.Hunter was not present.The bodyguard showed them to a settee, and for the first time since entering Notre-Dame Mirren realised how bedraggled he was, his flying suit stained with dirt and sweat.Hunter entered as Dan was pouring a couple of brandies.“I’ll join you in one of those, Monsieur Leferve.I think this occasion deserves celebrating.” He raised his glass.“You can’t imagine how relieved I am to see you both fit and well.”He stood in the centre of the room, something confident and dominant in his stance—the entrepreneur about to realise an ambition.His disfigurement glowed ruby in the concealed lighting.For the first time in hours, Mirren had a focus for his antagonism.He felt the brandy burn a path to his stomach.He said deliberately, “So much for your damned assurances, Hunter.I thought you said we’d be in no danger?”Dan glanced at him, as if in warning.Oddly, even as he addressed Hunter, Mirren felt treacherous.He was aware that some part of him considered the danger—and maybe even the deaths -worth the reward.Hunter pursed his lips around a mouthful of brandy and considered his reply.“You might find this hard to believe, Mr Mirren, but I am confident that the killings of your ex-team, and the attacks on your two selves, had nothing at all to do with this project.”Dan glanced up from his drink.“It does seem a bit coincidental, doesn’t it?”“A bit coincidental?” Mirren laughed.“More like bloody obvious!”“Gentlemen, I assure you that these deaths are in no way linked with the project.First, no one but myself, yourselves and Caspar Fekete knew anything about my offer.I told no one, and I presume that you didn’t either-”“We could have been observed at the Gastrodome the other night,” Mirren pointed out.“I made quite certain that no such thing could have occurred.We were not observed or overheard.I had men ensuring that our discussion was conducted in absolute privacy.”“But can you trust all of them?” Dan asked.“Implicitly,” Hunter said in a tone that brooked no argument.“And there is another reason why these deaths and my work are unconnected.Christiana Olafson was killed two days ago, the day before I approached you.No-one but myself knew my motives in contacting you and your team.”Mirren considered.“Olafson died in a flier accident,” he said.“But what if it was just that, an accident? Whoever it is that wants us dead would then be spared the trouble of killing her, so they started on Elliott and Caspar.”Hunter was vigorously shaking his head.“I’ve had my people investigate that so-called accident.It was no accident.Olafson’s flier was sabotaged.She was murdered a day before I approached you at Orly.”Mirren laughed without humour.“Then why has each member of my team been attacked, in three cases killed? Who the hell’s doing this?”Hunter gestured.“I wish I knew.I can only assure you that I have my best people working on it.I assure you also that the killings end here.In less than two hours you will no longer be on Earth.” He consulted his wrist-watch.“The Sublime is about to undergo a test phase-out.Perhaps you would like to observe?”They left the lounge, made their way through the chapel and into the main body of the cathedral.They halted beside a bank of computers.As they watched, a group of technicians walked up the ramp and entered the smallship.Behind the delta screen above the nose-cone, Mirren made out the figure of the pilot in the command web.The ramp lifted and became a seamless section of the ‘ship’s flank.A silence settled over the gathered scientists.Mirren then experienced something deeply poignant and moving as, for the first time in ten years, he witnessed the miracle of phase-out.The smallship, a solid form just seconds before, gradually lost its definition, and faded.The carved knights and saints of the stonework could be seen through its outline; then it pulsed back again, only for it to diminish just as rapidly
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