Non-Stop by Brian Aldiss Page A

only really interested in the theological aspects of the question. But the point as far as you are concerned is that the ship, by definition, has come
from
somewhere and is going
to
somewhere. These somewheres are more important than the ship; they are where we should be. They are natural places.
    ‘All that is no mystery, except to fools; the mystery is, why is there this conspiracy to keep us from knowing where we are? What is going on here behind our backs?’
    ‘Something’s gone wrong somewhere,’ Wantage answered eagerly. ‘It’s what I’ve always said: something’s gone wrong.’
    ‘Well, cease to say it in my presence,’ the priest snapped. It seemed to him that his position of authority was weakened by allowing others to agree with him. ‘There is a conspiracy. We have been plotted against. The driver or captain of this ship is concealed somewhere, and we are forging on under his direction, knowing neither the journey nor the destination. Heis a madman who keeps himself shut away while we are all punished for this sin our forefathers committed.’
    This sounded to Complain both horrifying and unlikely, although no more unlikely than the whole idea of being in a moving vessel. Presumably accepting one premise meant accepting the other, so he said nothing. A vast feeling of insecurity engulfed him. Looking round unobtrusively at the others present, he detected no particular signs that they agreed enthusiastically with the priest: Fermour was smiling rather derisively, Wantage’s face presented its usual meaningless glare of disagreement, and Roffery was tugging impatiently at his moustache.
    ‘Now here is my plan,’ said the priest, ‘and unfortunately I need your co-operation to help carry it out. We are going to find this captain, hunt him down wherever he may be hiding. He is well concealed, but no locked doors shall save him from us. When we reach him, we kill him – and we shall be in control of the ship!’
    ‘And what do we do with it when we’ve got it?’ Fermour asked, in a tone carefully designed to counteract Marapper’s runaway enthusiasm.
    The priest looked blank only for a moment.
    ‘We will find a destination for it,’ he said. ‘You leave that sort of detail to me.’
    ‘Where exactly do we discover this captain fellow?’ Roffery enquired.
    For anwer, the priest flung back his cloak and felt inside his tunic; with a flourish, he produced the looker Complain had already seen. He waved the title under their eyes, but this meant little except to Roffery, the only fluent reader among them. To the others, the syllables were intelligible, but they were unable to master unfamiliar words without long effort. Pulling the looker out of their reach again, Marapper explained condescendingly that it was called ‘Manual of Electrical Circuits of Starship’. He also explained – for this explanation gave him an opportunity for boasting – how thelooker had come into his possession. It had been lying in the store in which Zilliac’s Guards had found the cache of dyes, and had been confiscated and added to a pile of goods awaiting inspection in the Lieutenancy. There Marapper had seen it and, recognizing its value instantly, had pocketed it for his own use. Unfortunately, one of the Guards had caught him, and the silence of this loyal man could only be bought by the promise that he should go with Marapper and find power for himself.
    ‘That being the Guard, presumably, which Meller despatched outside my room?’ Complain asked.
    ‘The same,’ said the priest, automatically making the token of mourning. ‘When he had thought over the scheme he very likely decided he could get most profit from it by revealing it all to Zilliac.’
    ‘Who knows he was wrong about that?’ Roffery commented sardonically.
    Ignoring this thrust, the priest spread his looker open and thumped a diagram.
    ‘Here is the whole key to my campaign,’ he said impressively. ‘This is a plan of the entire