Non-Stop - Brian W. Aldiss [49]
‘I have come a long way, through many decks,’ Marapper said, ‘and do not appreciate my reception now I am here.’
‘Master Scoyt inclined his head.
‘What is this information you have?’ he asked.
‘I can divulge it only to the Captain.’
‘Captain? What Captain? The captain of the guard? There is no other captain.’
This put Marapper in an awkward position, since he did not wish to use the word ‘ship’ before the moment was ripe.
‘Who is your superior?’ he asked.
‘Inspector Vyann and I answer only to the Council of Five,’ Scoyt said, with anger in his tone. ‘It is impossible for you to see the Council until we have assessed the importance of your information. Come, Priest – other matters are on hand! Patience is an old-fashioned virtue I don’t possess. What is this intelligence you set so much store by?’
Marapper hesitated. The moment was definitely not ripe. Scoyt had risen almost as if to go, Vyann looked restless. All the same, he could hedge no more.
‘This world,’ he began impressively, ‘all Forwards and Deadways to the far regions of Sternstairs is one body, the Ship. And the Ship is man-made, and moves in a medium called space. Of this I have proof.’ He paused to take in their expressions. Scoyt’s was one of ambiguity. Marapper continued, explaining the ramifications of his theory with eloquence. He finished by saying, ‘If you will trust me, trust me and give me power, I will set this Ship – for such you may be assured it is – at its destination, and we will all be free of it and its oppression for ever.’
He faltered to a stop. Their faces were full of harsh amusement. They looked at each other and laughed briefly, almost without humour. Marapper rubbed his jowls uneasily.
‘You have no faith in me because I come from a small tribe,’ he muttered.
‘No, Priest,’ the girl said. She came and stood before him. ‘You see – in Forwards we have known of the ship and its journey through space for a long while.’
Marapper’s jaw dropped.
‘Then – the Captain of the ship – you have found him?’ he managed to say.
‘The Captain does not exist. He must have made the Long Journey generations ago.’
‘Then – the Control Cabin – you have found that?’
‘It does not exist either,’ the girl said. ‘We have a legend of it, no more.’
‘Oh?’ said Marapper, suddenly wary and excited. ‘In our tribe even the legend of it had faded – presumably because we were further from its supposed position than you. But it must exist! You have looked for it?’
Again Scoyt and Vyann looked at each other; Scoyt nodded in answer to an unspoken question.
‘Since you appear to have stumbled on part of the secret,’ Vyann told Marapper, ‘we may as well tell you the whole of it. Understand this is not general knowledge even among the people of Forwards – we of the élite keep it to ourselves in case it causes madness and unrest. As the proverb has it, the truth never set anyone free. The Ship is a ship, as you rightly say. There is no Captain. The ship is plunging on unguided through space, non-stop. We can only presume it is lost. We presume it will travel for ever, till all aboard have made the Long Journey. It cannot be stopped – for though we have searched all Forwards for the Control Room, it does not exist!’
She was silent, looking at Marapper with sympathy as he digested this unpalatable information; it was almost too ghastly to accept.
‘. . . some terrible wrong of our forefathers,’ he murmured, drawing his right index finger superstitiously across his throat. Then he pulled himself together. ‘But at least the Control Room exists,’ he said. ‘Look, I have proof!’
From under his dirty tunic, he drew the looker containing circuit diagrams and waved it at them.
‘You were searched at the barriers,’ Scoyt said. ‘How did you manage to retain that?’
‘Shall we say – thanks to a luxuriant growth of underarm