Brian Aldiss - Non-Stop

‘I didn’t bring you down here to flirt, sir,’ she said. ‘You must prove yourself before trying that sort of thing with me.’

He tried to grab her, but in the darkness banged his head, whereupon she at once switched on the torch. At his lack of success he was angry and sulky, turning away from her, rubbing his sore skull.

‘Why did you bring me down here?’ he asked. ‘Why be friendly to me at all?’

‘You take the Teaching too seriously — it’s what I might expect from someone out of a provincial tribe!’ she said pettishly. Then, relenting a little, she said, ‘But come, don’t look so cross. You need not think because someone shows friendliness they mean you harm. That old-fashioned idea is more worthy of your friend Priest Marapper.’

Complain was not so easily teased out of his mood, especially as mention of Marapper’s name recalled the priest’s warning. He lapsed into a gloomy silence which Vyann was too haughty to break, and they made their way back rather dejectedly. Once or twice, Complain looked half-imploringly at her profile, willing her to speak. Finally she did — without looking at him.

‘There was something I had to ask you,’ she said in a reluctant voice. ‘The lair of the Outsiders must be found; a tribe of raiders has to be destroyed. Because our people are mainly agriculturalists, we have no hunters. Even our trained guards will not venture far into the tangles — certainly they could not cover the vast areas you did on your way here. Roy — we need you to lead us against our enemies. We hoped to show you enough to convince you they were your enemies too.’

Now she was regarding Complain. She smiled kindly, plaintively.

‘When you look at me like that, I could get out and walk to Earth!’ he exclaimed.

‘We shall not ask that of you,’ she said, still smiling, and for once the reserve completely left her. ‘Now we must go and see how Roger’s business is coming along. I’m sure he has been taking the work of the entire ship on his shoulders. I told you about the Outsiders; he can explain about Gregg’s band of raiders.’

Pressing on keenly, she missed the expression of surprise on Complain’s face.

Master Scoyt had been more than busy: he had been successful. For once, feeling he was achieving something, his brow was clear; he greeted Complain like an old friend.

The interrogation of Fermour, who was still under surveillance in a nearby cell, had been postponed because of a rumpus in Deadways. Forwards scouts, hearing a commotion among the tangles, had ventured as far as Deck 29 (which, it transpired, was the deck on which Complain and Marapper had been caught). This deck, only two beyond the frontiers of Forwards, was badly damaged, and the scouts never dared to go beyond it. They had returned empty-handed, reporting a fight of some sort, punctuated by the shrill screams of men and women, taking place on Deck 30.

There the whole matter might have ended. But shortly after this episode, one of Gregg’s ruffians had approached the barriers, calling for truce and begging to see someone in authority.

‘I’ve got him in the next cell,’ Scoyt told Vyann and Complain. ‘He’s a queer creature called Hawl, but beyond referring to his boss as “the Captain”, he seems sane enough.’

‘What does he want?’ Vyann asked. ‘Is he a deserter?’

‘Better even than that, Laur,’ Scoyt said. ‘This fight our scouts reported in Deadways was between Gregg’s and another gang. Hawl won’t say why, but the episode has seriously put the shakes up them. So much so, that Gregg is suing for peace with us through this fellow Hawl, and wants to bring his tribe to live in Forwards for protection.’

‘It’s a ruse!’ Vyann exclaimed. ‘A trick to get in here!’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Scoyt said. ‘Hawl is obviously quite sincere. The only snag is that Gregg, knowing the sort of reputation he has with us, wants a Forwards official to go to him as a token of good faith to arrange terms. Whoever is chosen goes back with Hawl.’

‘Sounds fishy to me,’ Vyann said.

‘Well, you’d better come and see him. But prepare yourself for a shock. He is not a very lovely specimen of humanity.’

Two Forwards officers were with Hawl, supposedly guarding him. They had plainly been beating the hull out of him with knotted ropes. Scoyt dismissed them sharply, but for some while could get no sense out of Hawl, who lay face down, groaning, until the offer of another thrashing made him sit up. He was a startling creature, as near a mutant as made no difference. Madarosis had left him completely hairless, so that neither beard nor eyebrows sprouted from his flesh; he was also toothless; and an unfortunate congenital deformity had given his face a crazed top-heaviness, for while he was so undershot that his upper gum hung in air, his forehead was so distended by exostosis that it all but hid his eyes. Yet Hawl’s chief peculiarity was that these minor oddities were set above a normal-sized body on a skull no bigger than a man’s two fists clenched one atop the other.

As far as could be judged, he was of middle age. Taking in Vyann’s and Complain’s awed gaze, he muttered a fragment of scripture.

‘May my neuroses not offend…’

‘Now, Shameface,’ Master Scoyt said genially. ‘What guarantee does your good master offer our representative — if we send him one — of getting back here in safety?’

‘If I get back safely to the Captain,’ Hawl mumbled, ‘your man shall get back safely to you. This we swear.’

‘How far is it to this brigand you call the Captain?’

‘That your man will know when he comes with me,’ Hawl replied.

‘Very true. Or we could drag it out of you here.’

‘You couldn’t!’ There was something in the strange creature’s tone which compelled respect. Scoyt evidently felt it, for he told the man to get up and dust himself down and take a drink of water. While he did so, Scoyt asked, ‘How many men in Gregg’s gang?’

Hawl put the drinking utensil down and stood defiantly with hands on hips.

‘That your man will be told when he comes with me to arrange terms,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve said all I’m going to say, and you’ll have to make up your minds whether you agree or not. But remember this — if we come here, we shall be no trouble. And we shall fight for you rather than against. This also we swear.’

Scoyt and Vyann looked at each other.

‘It’s worth trying if we can get a foolhardy volunteer,’ he said.

‘It’ll have to go to the Council,’ she said.

Complain had not spoken yet, awaiting his opportunity. Now he addressed Hawl.

‘This man you call Captain,’ he said. ‘Has he another name than Gregg?’

‘You can ask him that when you’re arranging terms,’ Hawl repeated.

‘Look at me carefully, fellow. Do I resemble your Captain in any way? Answer.’

‘The Captain has a beard,’ Hawl said evasively.

‘He should give it you to cover your head with!’ Complain snapped. ‘What do you say to this then? — I had a brother who ran amok into Deadways long ago. His name was Gregg — Gregg Complain. Is that your Captain, man?’

‘Gord’s guts!’ Hawl said. ‘To think the Captain has a brother lounging in this bed of pansies!’

Complain turned excitedly to Master Scoyt, whose heavy face creased with surprise. ‘I volunteer to go with this man to Gregg,’ he said.

The suggestion suited Master Scoyt well. He immediately turned his vast energy to getting Complain on his way as soon as possible. The full force of his persuasiveness, genial but relentless, was applied to the elders of the Council of Five, who convened at once under his direction; Tregonnin was urged reluctantly from the library, Zac Deight disentangled from a theological argument with Marapper, and Billyoe, Dupont and Ruskin, the other three of the Council, lured from their various interests. After a private discussion, they had Complain brought before them, instructed him on the terms to lay down before Gregg, and dismissed him with their expansions. He would have to hurry to be back before the next dark sleep-wake descended upon them.