The Complete Short Stories: The 1950s. Brian Aldiss

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ treacle.

      ‘Did not the Teaching tell you that a man without backbone is a ponic without miltex? What is your wretched, sordid life to care a curse over? Where in your mind is anything so precious that it should not be carelessly extinguished? Are we not where we desired to be, Tom Brandyholm – in Forwards, near Control? You sick, dispirited thing! I am a man, and like a man I will lie and cheat my way out of this situation. I advise you to do likewise.’

      Brandyholm made no answer. The priest’s outburst meant little to him under the circumstances. It was one thing to tell this woman that the ship had a hidden control room with a captain in, and to bluff that they alone knew the way to it; whether or not that would save their lives was quite another thing.

      ‘Nothing to say?’ the priest asked, still gripping his shirt.

      Before Brandyholm could attempt an answer, the door was flung open, and a man stood there calling for Carappa. Neatly, unobserved, as if he had rehearsed it, Carappa slipped the electrical circuits book out of his own shirt front and down Brandyholm’s. Then he got up slowly and left them without a word.

      He was escorted to a room with two chairs in which sat Viann and a man who announced himself as Master Scott. His cadaverous face bore an expression which might be construed either as integrity or intransigence; a glance at the long fingers which tapped against one cheekbone suggested that if he was a cruel man, he would be cruel with artistry.

      Eloquently, and in suitably vague terms, the priest explained his theory to them.

      ‘If you will trust me,’ he said, ‘trust me and give me power, I will set this ship – for such I assure you it is – at its destination, and we will be free of it and its oppression altogether.’

      He continued falteringly, for it was obvious even to him that his small audience was full of derision and harsh amusement. Silence fell. Under their gaze he fidgeted and rubbed his jowls and muttered to himself. They continued to stare, lips curled with contemptuous enjoyment of his growing discomfiture.

      ‘Because I come of a small tribe you have no faith in me,’ he grumbled.

      ‘Not that,’ said Master Scott, almost with kindness. ‘You have at least proved something we were anxious to know – that you are a true native of this ship. I may explain that remark later.’

      ‘You see, in Forwards we have known for generations that this is a ship,’ Viann said. Her manner was more human now. ‘This control room you speak of in such indefinite fashion was actually found some while ago. But the controls are wrecked, ruined, and there was no captain – nor anyone we could train as captain. These facts are not common knowledge: it is better people should remain in ignorance of the world in which they live.’

      ‘I will be captain! I will see us all safe!’ burst out Carappa.

      ‘You are talking like a fool, man,’ said Master Scott. ‘You are unaware of the vast issues involved. It might possibly be instructive for you to see this control room. Come along with us.’

      As they made their way along a corridor – the corridors here were immaculately clean and free of all ponic plants – Viann sketched in a few facts she thought Carappa was capable of understanding. ‘The blackness of Nothingness, Written upon the manuscript of the Universe, And punctuated with Stars’ was a sentence from a religious poem which he knew. This Viann tried to translate into scientific terms for him, told him of suns and planets, of the distances between planetary systems and of a metal ship constructed to travel between them.

      She spoke of the planet Earth, where the ship was built. She spoke of the launching of the ship and of its travelling at a velocity a twentieth that of light towards the planetary system Procyon.

      ‘How do you know all this?’ cried Carappa. As he listened the tears had begun to stream from his eyes, and now he flung up his hands in dismay. The world was suddenly more awesome than he dreamed: something too big ever to control.

      ‘You must understand that some terrible catastrophe happened in the ship, thwarting the ideas and ideals of its launchers,’ the slender girl told him.

      ‘That indeed I know … some terrible wrong of our forefathers.’

      ‘Some records have survived. You understand that less than a quarter of the ship is accessible to us. All the same, we have pieced these facts together.’

      The priest passed a hand over his grey face. ‘But – ’ he began. ‘No, it doesn’t matter …’

      ‘Here is the control room,’ Master Scott said quietly. Producing a sonic key, he slid open a panel door; as they passed through it, it closed behind them.

      The control room was not large, although it had once been impressive in its functionalism. It was shaped much like a segment of orange, the long curve before them from ceiling to floor being ribbed vertically at intervals. Carappa swung his head slowly from side to side like an animal in pain, as he took it in.

      ‘And where are the stars?’ he asked.

      ‘Behind there, we think.’ Viann indicated the ribbed wall. ‘But if those are shutters we no longer have the power to withdraw them. They are firmly locked in place.’

      ‘No longer have the power …’ Carappa echoed. His tears were running again as he paced up and down. ‘I am only a poor provincial priest and I feel very humble – ’

      ‘Stop dramatising yourself, man,’ Scott said sharply. ‘Take your mind off your own ego and look instead at these.’

      He swept a hand eloquently over the semi-circular bank of controls. The whole structure was a ruinous, coagulated mass; it had been destroyed by heat and acid till not a switch or dial remained intact.

      ‘This can never be repaired,’ he said gravely.

      They stood isolated together in the middle of the floor, a sense of their helplessness suddenly giving them a need for kinship.

      ‘It is worse than you thought, priest?’ Viann asked.

      He nodded dumbly, and finally said, ‘This voyage to Procyon – it would take several generations?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘How many?’

      ‘The seventh generation would be young and fit to colonise any planet they reached.’

      ‘Only seven? Should the ship – how should I say – ’ He paused. He was weary. Again he dragged a heavy hand across his face. ‘Should we not be at Procyon now?’

      Master Scott said, ‘We have a log book of an early captain of the ship we could show you. The ship reached the Procyon system and actually found a habitable planet.’

      ‘Then?’

      ‘It landed half the people as colonists, took in fresh stocks of water – which had apparently run short – and began back for home, for Earth, again.’

      Once more the silence.

      As if compelled to probe into something he had no wish to discover, the priest said, ‘And this journey back – another seven generations?’

СКАЧАТЬ