The Black Corridor

by Michael John Moorcock

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sitting in the sealed cabin, Ryan tries to think things out.

  There is no alien aboard. I am merely hallucinating. That is the most obvious explanation.

  But it does not explain everything.

  It does not explain why the door to the hibernation room was locked.

  It does not explain why the Proditol did not work.

  He blinks. Of course. I had no Proditol. I merely deceived myself into believing I had had it. That was why I invented John's sudden awakening.

  And I suppose I could have switched on the emergency locks without realising it.

  The strain was too much for me. Some mechanism in my own brain tried to stop me working so hard. It invented the 'help' so that I could relax for a couple of weeks, not worry about running the ship.

  Ryan grins with relief. The explanation fits.

  And thus I felt guilty about the personnel in the containers.

  Because I had 'abandoned' them. My talk of their betrayal of me was really my belief that I had betrayed them...

  Ryan looks down at the gun still clutched in his hand.

  He shudders and throws it to the floor.

  Uncle Sidney stands near the door.

  'You're doing fine, aren't you?' he says.

  'Go away, Uncle Sidney. You are an illusion. You are all illusions. Your place is in your container. I'll wake you up when we reach the new planet.' Ryan leans back in his bunk. 'Go on.

  Off you go.'

  'You're a fool,' Uncle Sidney says. 'You've been deceiving yourself all along. Well before you got into this predicament. You were as paranoid as anyone else on Earth. You were just better at rationalising your paranoia, that's all. You don't deserve to have escaped. None of us deserves it. You're clever. But you're all alone now.'

  'It's better than having you lot around all the time,' Ryan grins.

  'Go on. Get out.'

  'It's true,' says Josephine Ryan. 'Uncle Sidney's right. We were humouring you towards the end, you know. It didn't seem to make much difference to me and the boys whether we went up in an H-bomb attack or up in a spaceship. In a way I think I'd have preferred the H-bomb. I wouldn't have had to listen to your selfrighteous pronouncements day in and day out until you...'

  'Until I what?'

  'Until...'

  'Go on. Say it!' Ryan laughs in her face. 'Go on, Jo—say it!'

  'Until I went into hibernation.'

  'Bloody shrinking violet!' Ryan sneers at her. 'If I'd have had a stronger woman...'

  'You needed one,' she says. 'I'll admit that.'

  'Shut up.'

  'You got rid of the strong one, didn't you?' says Fred Masterson.

  'Did her in, eh?'

  'Shut up!'

  'Just like you did James Henry in,' says Janet Ryan, 'after you helped Fred cover up Tracy's death. Shot him in the control room with that gun, didn't you?'

  'Shut up!'

  'You got worse and worse,' says John Ryan. We tried to help you. We put you under sedation. We humoured you. But you had to do it, didn't you?'

  'Do what? Tell me?'

  'Put me in hibernation,' says John Ryan.

  Ryan laughs. 'You, too?'

  Ida and Felicity Henry laugh harshly. Ida's hands are folded over her swollen abdomen. 'You lost all your friends, didn't you, Ryan?' says Felicity. 'You sold yourself the alien story, didn't you, in the end? After being so scornful about it, you swallowed it when you could least afford to.'

  'Shut up. You'll go, too.'

  'You've got us all in hibernation,' says James Henry. 'But we can still talk to you. We'll be able to talk to you again, when we wake up.'

  Ryan laughs.

  'What are you laughing about, dad?' says Alexander Ryan.

  'Let us in on it, dad. Go on!' says Rupert Ryan.

  Ryan stops laughing. He clears his throat.

  'Out you go, boys,' he says. 'You don't want to be involved in this.'

  'But we are involved,' says Alex. 'It's not our fault our dad's a silly old fart.'

  'She turned you against me,' says Ryan.

  'Anyone can see you're a silly old fart, dad,' Rupert says reasonably.

  'I did my best for you,' Ryan says. 'I gave you everything.'

&nb
sp; 'Everything?' says Josephine. She sniffs.

  Things will be different on the new planet. I'll have time for you and the boys.' He tone is placatory. 'I had so much work to do. So many plans to make. I had to be so careful.'

  'And you were.' Isabel Ryan winks at him. 'Weren't you?'

  'You'd better shut up, Isobel. I warned you before to keep your mouth shut about that...'

  He glances at Janet. Janet bursts out laughing. 'I slept with you because I was shit scared of you,' she says.

  'Shut up!'

  'I was afraid you'd do it to me, too.'

  'Do what?' He dares her. 'What?'

  She looks at the floor. 'Put me in hibernation,' she murmurs.

  Ryan sneers at them all. 'Not one with guts, is there? You all wanted to get rid of me. You all thought you could plan behind my back. But you forgot'—he taps his head—'I've got brains— I'm rational—I worked it out scientifically—pragmatically... I used a system, didn't I? And I beat you all!'

  'You didn't get me,' says Tracy Masterson.

  Ryan screams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ryan is better now.

  The hallucinations have passed. Some dreams still disturb him, but not seriously.

  He paces the spaceship. He paces down the central passageway to the main control cabin and there he checks the coordinates, the consumption indicators, the regeneration indicators and he checks all his figures, at length, with those of the ship's computer.

  Everything is perfectly in order; exactly as it should be.

  Near the ship's big central screen is a desk. Although activated the screen shows no picture, but it casts a greenish light on to the desk. Ryan sits down and depresses a stud on the small console on his desk. In a clear, level voice he makes his standard log entry.

  'Day number one thousand, four hundred and ninety. Spaceship Hope Dempsey en route for Munich 15040. Speed holds steady at point nine of c. All systems functioning according to original expectations. No other variations. We are all comfortable.

  'Signing off.

  'Ryan, Commander.'

  Ryan now slides open a drawer and takes from it a large red book. It is a new book, with only one page filled in. He enters the date and underlines it in red.

  He writes: Another day without much to report. I am a little depressed, but I felt worse yesterday and I think my spirits are improving. I am rather lonely and sometimes wish I could wake someone else up so that we could talk a little together. But that would be unwise. I persevere. I keep myself mentally active and physically fit. It's my duty.

  All the horror and humiliation and wretchedness of Earth is far behind us. We shall be starting a new race, soon. And the world we'll build will be a cleaner world. A sane world. A world built according to knowledge and sanity—not fear and guilt.

  Ryan finished his entry and neatly puts his book away.

  The computer is flashing at him.

  He goes over to it and reads.

  REPORT ON PERSONNEL IN CONTAINERS NOT

  SUPPLIED.

  A stupid oversight. Ryan punches in the reports: JOSEPHINE RYAN. CONDITION STEADY RUPERT RYAN. CONDITION STEADY ALEXANDER RYAN. CONDITION STEADY SIDNEY RYAN. CONDITION STEADY JOHN RYAN. CONDITION STEADY ISABEL RYAN. CONDITION STEADY JANET RYAN. CONDITION STEADY FRED MASTERSON. CONDITION STEADY He hesitates for a moment, then he continues: TRACY MASTERSON. CONDITION STEADY JAMES HENRY. CONDITION STEADY IDA HENRY. CONDITION STEADY FELICITY HENRY. CONDITION STEADY*******

  **************************************************

  *******YOUR OWN CONDITION suggests the computer.

  Ryan shrugs.

  CONDITION STEADY he reports.

  *

  Ryan sleeps.

  He is in the ballroom. It is dusk and long windows look out on to a darkening lawn.

  Formally dressed couples slowly rotate in perfect time to the music, which is low and sombre. All the couples have round, very black glasses hiding their eyes. Their pale faces are almost invisible in the dim light...

  Ryan awakes. He smiles, wondering what the dream can mean.

  He gets up and stretches. For some reason he remembers old Owen Powell, the man he had to dismiss, the man who killed himself. That gave him a bad turn at the time. Still...

  He dismisses the thought. No point in dwelling on the past when the future's so much more important.

  He switches on the agriculture programme. Might just as well do a bit of homework until he can get back to sleep.

  He falls asleep in front of the screen.

  *

  The spacecraft moves through the silence of the cosmos. It moves so slowly as to seem not to move at all.

  It is a lonely little object.

  *

  Space is infinite.

  It is dark.

  Space is neutral.

  It is cold.

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