Non-Stop by Brian Aldiss

Roffery’s soul, and he seemed almost submissive. Of the five of them, Wantage alone appeared to be in no way altered. His character had been eroded by constant loneliness and mortification, as the flow of water wears away a wooden post, and he no longer had anything in him amenable to change; he could only be broken or killed.
    ‘We must move as far as possible this wake,’ Marapper said. ‘The coming sleep-wake is a dark, as you know, and it may not be advisable to travel then, when our torches will give us away to any watchers. Before we go, however, I will condescend to tell you something of our plans; and for that it is necessary to say something about the ship.’
    He looked round at them, grinning and eating extravagantly as he spoke.
    ‘And the first point is, that we are in a ship. All agreed there?’
    His gaze forced some sort of a reply from each of them; an ‘Of course’ from Fermour; an impatient grunt from Wantage, as if he found the question irrelevant; an airy wave of the hand, meaningless, from Roffery; and from Complain ‘No’.
    To the latter, Marapper immediately turned his full attention.
    ‘Then you’d better understand quickly, Roy,’ he said. ‘Firstly, the proofs. Listen hard – I feel strongly on this question, and a show of determined stupidity might make me regrettably angry.’
    He walked round the shattered furniture as he spoke, very emphatic and solid, his face heavy with seriousness.
    ‘Now, Roy – the great thing is, that not being in a ship is vastly different from being in it. You know – we all know – only what being in one is like; it is that which makes us think there is only ship. But there are many places which are
not
ship – huge places, many of them . . . This I know because I have seen records left by the Giants. The ship was made by the Giants, for their own purposes which are – as yet – hidden from us.’
    ‘I’ve heard this argument in Quarters,’ Complain said unhappily. ‘Suppose I believe all you say, Marapper. What then? Ship or world, what’s the difference?’
    ‘You don’t see. Look!’ Savagely, the priest leant forward and snatched a handful of ponic leaves, waving them before Complain’s face.
    ‘These are
natural
, something grown,’ he said.
    He burst into the rear room, giving the broken china bowl a resounding kick.
    ‘That is
made
, artificial,’ he said. ‘Now do you see? The ship is an artificial thing. The world is natural. We are natural beings, and our rightful home is not here. The whole ship is made by the Giants.’
    ‘But even if it is so –’ Complain began.
    ‘It
is
so! It
is
so! The proof is round you all the time – corridors, walls, rooms, all artificial – but you are so used to it, you can’t see it is proof.’
    ‘Never mind if he can’t see it,’ Fermour told the priest. ‘What does it matter?’
    ‘I can see it,’ Complain said angrily. ‘I just can’t accept it.’
    ‘Well, sit there and be quiet and chew it over, and meanwhile we’ll go on,’ Marapper said. ‘I have read books, and I know the truth. The Giants built the ship for a purpose; somewhere, that purpose has been lost, and the Giants themselves have died. Only the ship is left.’
    He stopped pacing and leant against a wall, resting his forehead against it. When he spoke again, it was almost to himself.
    ‘Only the ship is left. Only the ship and, trapped in it, all the tribes of man. There was a catastrophe: something went terribly awry somewhere, and we have been left to a terrible fate. It is a judgement passed on us for some awful, unguessable sin committed by our forefathers.’
    ‘To the hull with all this chatter,’ Wantage said angrily. ‘Why don’t you try and forget you’re a priest, Marapper? Let’s hear how this has any bearing on what we are going to do.’
    ‘It has every bearing,’ Marapper said, sticking his hands sulkily into his pockets, and then withdrawing one to pick at a tooth. ‘Of course, I’m