The Black Corridor

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ryan's dreams continue.

Once again he is in the control room. Most of his dreams take place in the control room now. He stares through the porthole at the void, at the dancers with their round black glasses, at his friends and family who stand behind the dancers. Sometimes he sees the old woman.

When occasionally he wakes—and it is not now very often— he realises that he must be under heavy sedation.

He hears the music—the high-pitched music—and it makes his flesh crawl. Dimly he wonders what is happening to him, what his one-time friends, his treacherous family are doing to him. There is now no question in his mind that he is the victim of some complicated deception, that he has been victim to this deception perhaps even before the spaceship took off, certainly after it left Earth.

He does not know why they should be working against him, however; particularly since he is the chief engineer of their salvation.

He is too weak, too drugged to do more than speculate about their plans.

Was this why they were all originally put into hibernation?

He seems to remember something about that now. Was that why he was so insistent that they should not be awakened until the end of the journey? Could be.

But he had to crack up temporarily. The ship's emergency system awakened John who awakened the others and now they are in control, they have him in their power.

It is even possible that they are not his family and friends at all, but could have brainwashed him into thinking they are. He remembers that old Patriot rally.

'They look like us, sound like us—in every respect they are human—but they are not human...'

God! It couldn't be true!

But what other explanation is there for the strange behaviour of the rest of the personnel on board the Hope Dempsey?

Ryan moves restlessly on the bunk. He has cracked up—no doubt about that. And the reason, too, is obvious—strain, overwork, too much responsibility. But there is no such explanation, when he thinks about it, for the behaviour of the others.

The others are mad.

Or they are...

... not human.

'No,' he murmurs. 'Not Josephine and the boys. I'd realise it, surely. Not Janet, warm little Janet. Not Uncle Sidney and John and Fred Masterson and the women. And James Henry half believed the Patriots. He couldn't be one. Unless he was so cunning he...'

He rolls on the bunk.

'No,' he groans. 'No.'

John comes into the cabin. 'What's the matter, old son? What's bothering you now?'

Ryan looks up at him, wanting to trust his brother, wanting to confide in him, but he can't.

'Betray me...' he mutters. 'You've betrayed me, John.'

'Come off it.' John tries to laugh. 'What would I want to betray you for? How could I betray you? We're on your side. Remember the old days? Us against the world? The only ones who could see the terrible state the world was in. The only ones who had a plan to deal with it. Remember your apartment? The last bastion of rationalism in an insane world...'

But John's tone seems to be mocking. Ryan can't be sure. His brother was always straightforward. Not like him to take that tone —unless this man is not his brother John.

'We were an elite, remember?' John smiles. 'Sane, scientific approaches to our problems...'

'All right!'

'What did I say...?'

'Nothing.'

'I was only trying to help.'

'I bet you were. You're not my bloody brother. My brother wouldn't—couldn't...'

'Of course I'm your brother. East Heath Road. Remember East Heath Road where we were born? There was actually a Heath there in those days. Hampstead Heath. There used to be a fair there on Bank Holidays. You must remember that...'

'But do you?' Ryan looks directly at the man. 'Or are you just very good at learning that sort of information? Eh?'

'Come on, old son...'

'Leave me alone, you bastard. Leave me alone or I'll...'

'You'll what?'

'Get out.'

'You'll what?'

'Get out.'

*

AFTER THE FAIR WE KIDDED HER...

Q: PLEASE DEFINE SPECIFIC SITUATION

AFTER THE PAIR WE KIDS WERE...

Q: PLEASE DEFINE SPECIFIC SITUATION

AFTER A PEAR WE DID THE...

Q: PLEASE DEFINE SPECIFIC SITUATION

AFTER A LAIR WE RID THE...

Q: PLEASE DEFINE SPECIFIC SITUATION

AFTER THE AFFAIR WE KILLED HER.

*******'THANK YOU*******************************

*

'NO!'

*

NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO NO

NO O NO NO NO

NONO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO NO NO NO

NO N NO NONONONO NONONONO

*

NO!

*

Ryan rises from his bunk. He is weak, he is trembling. He vomits.

He vomits over the floor of his cabin.

I need kelp,

He staggers from the cabin into the main control room.

It is empty.

No one on watch.

The computer is flashing its signal: URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED.

He is suspicious of the computer.

Warily he approaches it.

The computer says: *******CONDITION OF OCCUPANTS OF CONTAINERS NOT******REPORTED"

"REPEAT CONDITION OF OCCUPANTS OF******CONTAINERS NOT REPORTED "

"REPORT YOUR OWN******CONDITION******

REPEAT REPORT YOUR OWN CONDITION******LOG NOT FILED SIXTEEN DAYS"

"REPEAT LOG NOT FILED******SIXTEEN DAYS"

"CONDITION OF OCCUPANTS OF***********************************

Ryan is astonished.

It is plain to him that whoever else is running the ship, they are not running it as efficiently as he had been doing.

He replies to the computer: *******OCCUPANTS NO LONGER IN CONTAINERS'"

MY******OWN CONDITION IS POOR"

"I HAVE BEEN OUT OF******OPERATION FOR SIXTEEN DAYS "

"WILL FILE REPORTS AS******SOON AS POSSIBLE"

"PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE***************

He waits for a second. The computer replies.

*******THANK YOU"

"LOOKING FORWARD TO HEARING******YOUR LOG ENTRIES"

"HOWEVER YOU ARE WRONG ABOUT******OCCUPANTS OF CONTAINERS"

"THEY ARE STILL IN******CONTAINERS"

"SORRY TO HEAR YOUR OWN CONDITION******POOR"

"SUGGEST YOU SWITCH ME TO FULLY AUTOMATIC******UNTIL YOUR CONDITION IMPROVES"'"

"DID YOU TAKE********RECOMMENDED DOSE PRODITOL"

"REPEAT DID YOU TAKE******RECOMMENDED DOSE PRODITOL*******

Ryan is staring incredulously at the second part of the message.

Automatically he replies: ******YES I TOOK RECOMMENDED DOSE PRODITOL** and before the computer replies he leaves the main control room and runs through the dark corridors of the ship until he comes to the hibernation room. He touches the stud and nothing happens.

The emergency locks must again be operating. Someone has switched them on.

John?

Or someone pretending to be John?

He runs back to the main control room and switches off the emergency locks, runs back down the corridors to the hibernation room. He opens the door and dashes in.

There they are. As they were when he last saw them. Sleeping in the peace of the hibernation fluid.

Has he imagined...?

No. Someone locked the hibernation room before. Someone locked it again. There is at least one other person aboard. Probably the person posing as John.

He knew there was something odd about him.

An alien aboard.

It is the only explanation.

He realises that he does not remember seeing any of the people together. Doubtless the creature can change shape.

He shudders.

He couldn't have imagined the creature because the Proditol cleared his delusions, at least for a while.

He stares round the hibernation room and he sees the Purdy pistol hanging on the wall. It is odd that it should be here. But providential. He goes to the wall and removes the pistol. It is low on ammunition, but there is some.

He leaves the hibernation room and returns to main control.

Hastily he reports on the occupants of the containers.

Then he goes to look for the alien.

Just as he has on his routine inspections, he paces the ship, gun in hand. He checks every cabin, every cabinet, every room.

He finds no one.

He sits down at the desk below the blank TV screen in the main control room and he frowns.

He realises that he has no idea of the characteristics the alien may possess. He could live outside the ship in some ship of his own— attached like a barnacle, perhaps covering the airlock of the Hope Dempsey.

The big TV screen above his head is used for scanning the hull.

Now he puts it into operation. It scans every inch of the hull.

Nothing.

Ryan realises he has eaten virtually nothing for two weeks. That explains his weakness. The creature, he remembers now, never brought him food. He only brought him drugs—and tried, in the shape of his wife Josephine, to administer more. Perhaps it was not Proditol at all...

Ryan clutches the back of his neck, massaging it. He holds the gun firmly in his other hand.

There is a polite cough from behind him.

He wheels.

Fred Masterson stands there—or a creature that has assumed the shape of Fred Masterson.

Ryan covers it with his gun, but he does not shoot at once.

'Ryan,' says Fred Masterson. 'You're the only one I can trust.

It's Tracy.'

Ryan hears himself saying. 'What about Tracy?'

'I've killed her. I didn't mean to. We were having an argument and—I must have stabbed her. She's dead. She was having an affair with James Henry.'

'What do you intend to do, Fred?'

'I've already done it. But I need your help as commander. I can't hide it from you. I put her in her container. You could say you suggested it. You could tell everybody she needed rest so you suggested she hibernate a little earlier than scheduled.'

Ryan screams at him. 'You're lying! You're lying! What do you know about that?'

'Please help me,' says Masterson. 'Please.'

Ryan fires the pistol, careful not to waste ammunition.

'Masterson' falls.

Ryan smiles. His headache blinds him for a moment. He rubs his eyes.

He goes to see if 'Masterson' is dead.

'Masterson' has vanished. The alien cannot be killed.

Again Ryan feels sick. He feels defeated. He feels impotent.

His headache is worse.

He looks up.

The dancers are there. The group is there. The old woman is there.

Ryan screams and runs out of the control room, down the passage, into his cabin. He seals the cabin door.

He collapses on his bunk.