Non-Stop - Brian W. Aldiss [91]
‘I’m the only one who flashes dazers here!’ Marapper shouted. ‘Deight’s my captive.’ Jumping up, he came towards Complain with his own weapon raised. Savagely, Complain booted it out of his hand.
‘We can’t afford to have three sides in this argument, priest,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to stay in on this, stay quiet. Otherwise, get out. Now then, Deight, have you made up your mind?’
Zac Deight stood up helplessly, twisting his face with indecision.
‘I don’t know what to do. You don’t understand the position at all,’ he said. ‘I really would help you if I could. You seem a reasonable man, Complain, at heart; if only you and I –’
‘I’m not reasonable!’ Complain shouted. ‘I’m anything but reasonable! Get on to Curtis! Go on, you old fox, move! Get a ship up here!’
‘Inspector Vyann, can’t you –’ Zac Deight said.
‘Yes, Roy, please –’ Vyann began.
‘No!’ Complain roared. It was hell the way everyone had wills of their own, even women. ‘These beggars are responsible for all our miseries. Now they’re going to get us out of trouble or else.’
Seizing one end of the bookcase, he pulled it angrily away from the wall. The phone stood there on its niche, neutral and silent, ready to convey any message spoken into it.
‘This time my dazer’s at “lethal”, Deight,’ Complain said. ‘You have the count of three to begin talking. One . . . two . . .’
Tears stood in Zac Deight’s eyes as he lifted the receiver. It shook in his grasp.
‘Get me Crane Curtis, will you?’ he said, when a voice spoke at the other end. Possessed as he was, Complain could not restrain a thrill shooting through him, to think that this instrument was now connected with the secret stronghold in the ship.
When Curtis came on, all four in the room could hear his voice distinctly. It was pitched high with anxiety; he talked so rapidly he hardly sounded like a Giant. He began speaking at once, before the old councillor could get a word in.
‘Deight? You’ve slipped up somewhere,’ he said. ‘I always said you were too old for this job! The damned dizzies have got that laser in action. I thought you told me you had it? They’re running amok with it – absolutely berserk. Some of the boys tried to get it back but failed, and now the ship’s on fire near us. This is your doing! You’re going to take the responsibility for this . . .’
During this flow of words, Zac Deight subtly changed, slipping back into something like his old dignity. The receiver steadied in his hand.
‘Curtis!’ he said. The command in his tone brought a sudden pause on the line. ‘Curtis, pull yourself together. This is no time for recriminations. Bigger matters are at stake. You’ll have to get Little Dog and tell them –’
‘Little Dog!’ Curtis cried. He went back into full spate again. ‘I can’t get on to Little Dog. Why don’t you listen to what I’ve got to say? Some crazy dizzie, monkeying with the laser, has severed a power cable on the middle level of Deck 20, just below us here. The structure’s live all round us. Four of our men are out cold with shock. It’s blown our radio, our intercom and our lighting. We’re stuck. We can’t raise Little Dog and we can’t get out . . .’
Zac Deight groaned. He turned hopelessly away from the phone, gesturing at Complain.
‘We’re finished,’ he said. ‘You heard that.’
Complain poked the dazer into his thin ribs. ‘Keep quiet,’ he hissed. ‘Curtis hasn’t finished speaking yet.’
The phone was still barking.
‘Are you there, Deight? Why don’t you answer?’
‘I’m here,’ Deight replied wearily.
‘Then answer. Do you think I’m talking for fun?’ Curtis snapped. ‘There’s just one chance for us all. Up in the personnel hatch on Deck 10, there’s an emergency transmitter. Got that? We’re all bottled up here like lobsters in a pot. We can’t get out. You’re out. You’ve got to get to that transmitter and radio Little Dog for help. Can you do that?’
The dazer was eager at Zac Deight’s ribs now.
‘I’ll try,’ he said.
‘You’d better try! It’s our only hope. And, Deight . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘For God’s sake tell ’em to come armed – and quick.’
‘All