Non-Stop (28 page)

‘I didn’t want them pulling Deight to bits for being an Outsider before I got at him,’ Marapper said.

‘How long have you known he was an Outsider?’ Complain asked suspiciously.

‘Since I came in and found him on the ground – with an octagonal ring on his finger,’ Marapper said, with a certain amount of smugness in his tone. ‘And I’ve so far elicited one thing from him, with the help of a knife under his fingernails. The Outsiders and Giants come from the planet you saw outside; but they can’t get back there till a ship comes up to get them. This ship can’t go down there.’

‘Of course it can’t, it’s out of control,’ Vyann said. ‘Priest Marapper, you are wasting your time. I also cannot allow you to torture this councillor, whom I have known since I was a girl.’

‘Don’t forget he was going to kill us!’ Complain reminded her. She made no answer beyond looking stubbornly at him,
knowing, woman-like, that she had an argument superior to reason.

‘I had no alternative but to try and remove you both,’ Zac Deight said huskily. ‘If you will save me from this horrible creature I will do anything – within reason.’

There are few more awkward situations in the world than to be dragged into a three-cornered argument between a priest and a girl; Complain did not enjoy the position. He would have been contented enough to let Marapper wring information out of Deight by any means possible, but with Vyann present he could not do it; nor could he explain his sudden sensitivity to the priest. They began a wrangle. It was interrupted by a noise nearby, a curious noise, a scraping rustle, frightening because it was unidentifiable. It grew louder. Suddenly, it was overhead.

Rats were on the move! They drummed along the air duct above this level; across the grille Complain had recently climbed through, pattering pink feet came and went, as the tribe thundered by. Dust showered down into the room, and with the dust came smoke.

‘That sort of thing’ll be happening all over the ship,’ Complain told Zac Deight gravely, when the stampede had gone by. ‘The fire is driving the rats out of their holes. Given time, the men will gut the place absolutely. They’ll find your secret hideout in the end, if they kill us all doing it. If you know what’s good for you, Deight, you’ll get on that instrument and tell Curtis to come out with his hands up.’

‘If I did, they would never obey,’ Zac Deight said. His hands, paper-thin, rustled together on his lap.

‘That’s my worry,’ Complain said. ‘Where is this Little Dog? – Down on the outside of the planet?’

Zac Deight nodded confirmation miserably. He kept clearing his throat, a nervous trick which betrayed the strain he was undergoing.

‘Get up and tell Curtis to speak to Little Dog double quick
and make them send a ship up here for us,’ Complain said. He drew his dazer, aiming it steadily at Deight.

‘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 right.’

‘Get into inspectionways and take a trolley.’

‘All right, Curtis.’

‘And hurry, man. For heaven’s sake hurry.’

A long, fruity silence followed Zac Deight’s switching off.

‘Are you going to let me get to that radio?’ Deight asked.

Complain nodded.

‘I’m coming with you,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get a ship to us.’ He turned to Vyann. She had brought the old councillor a beaker of water which he accepted gratefully.

‘Laur,’ Complain said, ‘will you please go back and tell Roger Scoyt, who should be revived by now, that the Giants’ hideout is somewhere on the upper level of Deck 20. Tell him to wipe them all out as soon as possible. Tell him to go carefully: there’s danger of some sort there. Tell him – tell him there’s one particular Giant called Curtis who ought to be launched very
slowly
on the Long Journey. Take care of yourself, Laur. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Vyann said: ‘Couldn’t Marapper go instead of –’

‘I’d like the message to arrive straight,’ Complain said bluntly.

‘Do be careful,’ she begged him.

‘He’ll be all right,’ Marapper said roughly. ‘Despite the
insults, I’m going with him. My bladder tells me something very nasty is brewing.’

In the corridor, the square pilot lights greeted them. Their intermittent blue patches did little to make the darkness less creepy, and Complain watched Laur Vyann go off with some misgivings. Reluctantly, he turned to splash after Marapper and Zac Deight; the latter was already lowering himself down an open trap while the priest hovered unhappily over him.

‘Wait!’ Marapper said. ‘What about the rats down there?’

‘You and Complain have dazers,’ Zac Deight said mildly.

The remark did not seem entirely to remove Marapper’s uneasiness.

‘Alas, I fear that trap-door is too small for me to squeeze down!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am a large man, Roy.’

‘You’re a bigger liar,’ Complain said. ‘Go on, get down. We’ll have to keep our eyes open for the rats. With luck, they’ll be too busy to worry about us now.’

They bundled down into the inspection ways, crawling on hands and knees over to the double rail which carried the low trucks belonging to this level from one end of the ship to the other. No truck was there. They crawled along the tracks, through the narrow opening in the inter-deck metal which, even here, stood between one deck and another, and on into a third deck until they found a truck. Under Zac Deight’s direction, they climbed on to its platform and lay flat.

With a touch at the controls, they were off, gathering speed quickly. The deck intersections flicked by only a few inches above their heads. Marapper groaned as he attempted to draw in his stomach, but in a short time they slowed, arriving at Deck 10. The councillor stopped the truck and they got off again.

In this far end of the ship, evidence of rats abounded. Droppings and shreds of fabric littered the floor. Marapper kept his torch constantly swinging from side to side.

Having stopped the truck just inside the deck, they could
stand up. Above and round them, four feet wide, the inspection ways here became a washer between two wheels of deck, its width crossed by a veritable entanglement of girders, braces, pipes and ducts, and by the immense tubes which carried the ship’s corridors. A steel ladder ran up into the darkness over their heads.

‘The personnel lock, of course, is on the upper level,’ Zac Deight said. Taking hold of the rungs of the ladder, he began to climb.

As he followed, Complain noted many signs of damage on either side of them, as if, in the rooms between which they now ascended, ancient detonations had occurred. Even as he thought the thought-picture ‘detonation’, a bellow of sound vibrated through the inspection ways, setting up resonances and groans in a variety of pipes until the place sang like an orchestra.

‘Your people are still wrecking the ship,’ Zac Deight said coldly.

‘Let’s hope they kill off a few squadrons of Giants at the same time,’ Marapper said.

‘Squadrons!’ Deight exclaimed. ‘Just how many “Giants”, as you call them, do you reckon are aboard ship?’

When the priest did not reply, Deight answered himself. ‘There are exactly twelve of them, poor devils,’ he said. ‘Thirteen including Curtis.’

For an instant, Complain nearly succeeded in viewing the situation through the eyes of a man he had never seen, through Curtis’s eyes. He saw that worried official boxed up somewhere in ruined rooms, in darkness, while everyone else in the ship hunted savagely for his place of concealment. It was not a grand picture.

No time was left for further thought. They reached the upper level, crawling horizontally once more to the nearest trap-door. Zac Deight inserted his octagonal ring in it and it opened above their heads. As they climbed out, a spray of tiny moths burst round their shoulders, hovered, then fluttered
off down the dark corridor. Quickly Complain whipped up his dazer and fired at them; by the light of Marapper’s torch, he had the satisfaction of seeing most of them drop to the deck.

‘I just hope none got away,’ he said. ‘I’ll swear those things act as scouts for the rats.’

The damage in this region was as bad as any Complain and Marapper had seen so far. Hardly a wall stood straight in any direction. Glass and debris lay thickly everywhere, except where it had been brushed away to make a narrow path. Down this path they walked, every sense alert.

‘What
was
this place?’ Complain asked curiously. ‘I mean, when it was a place.’

Zac Deight continued to walk forward without replying, his face bleak and absorbed.

‘What was this place, Deight?’ Complain repeated.

‘Oh . . . Most of the deck was Medical Research,’ Deight said, in a pre-occupied fashion. ‘In the end, I believe, a neglected computor blew itself to bits. You can’t reach this part by the ordinary lifts and corridors of the ship; it’s completely sealed off. A tomb within a tomb.’

Complain felt a thrill inside him. Medical Research! This was where, twenty-three generations ago, June Besti, the discoverer of bestine, had worked. He tried to visualize her bent over a bench, but could only think of Laur.

So they came to the personnel air lock. It looked much like a smaller edition of the cargo lock, with similar-looking wheels and danger notices. Zac Deight crossed to one of the wheels, still with his abstracted look.