Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

“Um—hello,” managed Billy, with an anguished smile. He gave a violent sneeze.

Muntras entered the room, bowing. They were in a cramped and ancient part of the palace which smelt of mortar, though it was mortar four hundred years old. The Ice Captain stood on his two flat feet and looked about curiously as he delivered his greetings.

The king barely acknowledged Muntras’s courtesies. Pointing to a pile of cushions, he said, “Sit there and don’t speak. Observe what we have found rotting in the recesses of this pile. The fruit of treachery!”

Turning abruptly back to Billy, he asked, “How many years have you festered in SartoriIrvrash’s clutches, creature?”

Disconcerted by the king’s regal brand of Olonets, Billy stammered. “A week—even eight days… I forget, Your Majesty.”

“Eight days is a week, slanje. Are you the poor results of an experiment?”

The king laughed, and all those present—less from humour than from a care for their lives—echoed him. Nobody wished to seem to be a Myrdolator.

“You smell like an experiment.” More laughing. He summoned up two slaves and told them to wash Billy and change his clothes. As this was done, food and wine appeared. Men came running, bent in the attitude of mobile bows, bearing warmed kid-meat served in orange rice.

While Billy ate, the king marched about the chamber, disdaining food. JandolAnganol occasionally pressed a silken cloth to his nose, or stared at his left wrist where his son, in escaping his grasp, had scratched his flesh. Pacing somewhat awkwardly by his side was the Archpriest BranzaBaginut, an enormous man whose bulk, rigged overall in saffron and scarlet canonicals, caused him to resemble a Sibornalese warship in full sail. His heavy face might have belonged to a village wrestler was it not for a lurking humour in his expression. He was widely respected as a shrewd man and one who supported the king as a benefactor of the Church.

BranzaBaginut loomed over the king, who wore by contrast only breeches, was unbooted and allowed his dirty white jacket to gape, revealing a boney chest.

The room itself was undecided in its role, being somewhere between a reception chamber and a storeroom. There were plenty of rugs and cushions of a mouldy sort, while old timbers were stacked in one corner. The windows looked out on a narrow passage; men passed that way occasionally, carrying piles of SartoriIrvrash’s papers into the courtyard.

“Let me question this person, sire, on religious matters,” said BranzaBaginut to the king. Receiving nothing in the way of disagreement, the dignitary sailed in the direction of Billy and asked, “Do you come from a world where Akhanaba the All-Powerful rules?”

Billy wiped his mouth, reluctant to cease eating.

“You know I can easily give you an answer to please you. Since I have no wish to displease you, or his majesty, may I offer it you, knowing it to be untrue?”

“Stand when you address me, creature. You give me your answer to my question and I tell you soon enough whether or not I am pleased by it.”

Billy stood before the massive ecclesiastic, still nervously wiping his mouth.

“Sir, gods are necessary to men at some stages of development… I mean, as children, we need, each of us, a loving, firm, just father, to help our growth to manhood. Manhood seems to require a similar image of a father, magnified, to keep it in good check. That image bears the name of God. Only when a part of the human race grows to a spiritual manhood, when it can regulate its own behaviour, does the need for gods disappear—just as we no longer need a father watching over us when we are adults and capable of looking after ourselves.”

The archpriest smoothed a large cheek with a hand, appearing struck by this explanation. “And you are from a world where you look after yourselves, without the need of gods. Are you saying that?”

“That is correct, sir.” Billy looked fearfully about him. The Ice Captain reclined nearby, filling his face with the royal food, but listening intently.

“This world you come from—Avernus, did I hear?—is it a happy one?”

The priest’s innocent-seeming question set Billy in a good deal of confusion. Had the same question been put to him a few weeks ago on the Avernus, and by his Advisor, he would have had no trouble answering. He would have responded that happiness resided in knowledge, not in superstition, in certainty, not in uncertainty, in control, not in chance. He would have believed that knowledge, certainty, and control were the singular benefits derived from and governing the lives of the population of the observation station. He would certainly have laughed—and even his Advisor would have spared a wintery chuckle—at the notion of Akhanaba as bringer of felicity.

On Helliconia, it was different. He could still laugh at the idolatrous superstition of the Akhanaban religion. And yet. And yet. He saw now the depth of meaning in the word ‘godless’. He had escaped from a godless state to a barbaric one. And he could see, despite his own misfortunes, in which world the hope of life and happiness more strongly lay.

As he was stuttering over his reply, the king spoke. JandolAnganol had been meditating Billy’s previous answer. He said challengingly, “What if we have no sound image of a father to guide us to manhood? What then?”

“Then, sir, Akhanaba may indeed be a support to us in our trouble. Or we may reject him completely, as we reject our natural father.”

This reply caused the king’s nose to bleed again.

Billy seized the moment to bluff his way out of replying to BranzaBaginut’s question by saying to him, with more confidence than he felt, “My lord, I am a person of importance, and have received bad treatment from this court. Let me go free. I can work with you. I can tell you details about your world you need to know. I have nothing to gain—”

The Archpriest clapped his large hands together, and said in a gentle voice, “Don’t deceive yourself. You are of no importance whatsoever, except when you condemn further Chancellor SartoriIrvrash of conspiring against his royal majesty.”

“You have made no attempt to assess my importance. Supposing I tell you that thousands of people are watching us at this moment? They wait to see how you behave towards me, to test you. Their judgement will influence how you are set down in history.”

Colour rose to the dignitary’s cheeks. “It is the All-Powerful who watches us, no one else. Your dangerous lies of godless worlds would overturn our state. Hold your tongue, or you will find yourself on a bonfire.”

In some desperation, Billy approached the king, displaying his watch with its three faces to him. “Your Majesty, I beg you to free me. Look on this artefact I wear. Every person on the Avernus wears a similar one. It tells the time on Helliconia, on Avernus, and on a distant controlling world, Earth. It is a symbol of the tremendous strides we have made in conquering our environment. To a sympathetic audience, I could convey marvels far in advance of anything Borlien could manage.”

Interest woke in the king’s eyes. He lowered his silk and asked, “Can you make me a functioning matchlock, the equal of Sibornal’s?”

“Why, matchlocks are nothing. I—”

“Wheel locks, then. You could produce a wheel lock?”

“Well, no, I—sir, it’s a question of the tensile strengths of the metal. I daresay I could devise—Such things are obsolete where I come from.”

“What kind of weapon can you make?”

“Sir, first interest yourself in this watch, which I beg you to accept as a present, in token of my faith.” He dangled the watch before the king, who showed no inclination to accept it. “Then let me free. Then let me work from first principles with some of your learned men, such as the Archpriest here. Very soon we might devise a good, accurate pistol, and radio, and an internal combustion engine…”