Mercer found the phenomenon vaguely sinister.
He followed Brian’s line of talk cautiously, almost unwillingly. It seemed inconsequential at first, but its very oddness told Mercer that his friend was clumsily trying to lead up to some subject he was reluctant to approach directly.
Mercer could not help smiling to himself. He had no idea what the matter was, but if he knew Brian it was bound to be something that could not possibly be approached indirectly. When the subject was finally broached, it would jar even more on the casual talk than if it had been offered as an opening gambit.
Eventually it came. Brian coughed.
“There’s something very interesting about these starships,” he said in a tone different from before.
“Yes?” Mercer said, glad to take the bait. “What’s that?”
Brian leaned forward, and seemed to be searching for words.
“Have you ever wondered,” he said in a low voice, “why interstellar ships are always officered by Scientocrats?”
Mercer considered the unexpected, though perfectly reasonable, question.
At that moment three technical crew officers happened to pass by, and he watched them speculatively. Tall, austere, aloof, they swept by without seeming to notice anything of their surroundings. On the fronts of their white shirts and the backs of their yellow cloaks was emblazoned the prime scientific diagram: three vectors interlocked with three others, portraying the structure of space and matter.
Slowly, he said, “No.”
“I have. Why should they be? Spaceships aren’t so difficult to handle. Much more complicated jobs are left to common technicians like yourself. Why are the precious Scientocrats forced into such a menial business?”
“I don’t know.”
Still speaking low, Brian continued: “I know something not many people do. These Scientocrats have to visit the Innermost Chamber before they are given command of their first ship and receive some kind of information.”
Mercer looked at him in mild astonishment. “What is it?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You make it sound very mysterious.”
“I don’t think so. But it must be something real. To keep it from public knowledge, it must be something….” He sought for a word.
“Deep?” Mercer suggested.
“If you like. At any rate, it must be highly unusual. I think it’s something to do with why these ships have no direct outside view.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t it strike you as strange that tens of thousands of people take journeys on these marvellous, safe ships, without ever getting a glimpse of space?”
“You mean out there is something… different—”
“Different.” Brian joined him on the last word.
“Not what we thought. Hmm.” Mercer sat back, his face puckered pensively. Brian could see in that face the sixteen-year-old boy suddenly confronted by a new scientific puzzle.
“It might be something political,” Mercer surmised. “Perhaps another space-travelling race is hostile. The government could well decide to keep quiet about that, and leave passengers in the dark if they should hove to or attack. For that matter there might be a space battle going on right now and we wouldn’t know about it.”
“Unless we were hit. Even then, there are the television screens.”
“Television screens can be switched off. I agree, though, I’m just bantering. Don’t the screens invalidate your argument, though? You can look outside on those at any time.”
“It’s not the same. It’s only a picture, not the real thing. Like looking at a photograph. That’s what gave me an idea of what it is.”
“Something psychological?” Mercer asked, quick to pick up Brian’s train of thought. “Yes, that could be it. Perhaps it makes people neurotic to have a window on the universe.”
“That’s the sort of angle.” Brian’s blue eyes shone. “A psychological effect, which ordinary people aren’t able to take. So the Scientocrats protect them even from their own curiosity. The Scientocrats know, of course, but they’re men of outstanding calibre who can be trusted and won’t crack up.”
Mercer’s face cleared. “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head,” he said in a pleased tone.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. The point is I think I can take it. I won’t go nuts. It won’t do me any harm, it would do me good. I’m that sort of person.”
Mercer laughed. “Now go and tell that to the captain.”
“He’d really co-operate, wouldn’t he?”
He leaned back. “I went for a walk towards the hull last night. I was working on a supposition. That is, the hull can’t be completely sealed. It’s always possible that the external instrumentation could break down, and in that case they’d have to take sightings through the hull, either in person or by pointing cameras through an aperture. So there must be such an aperture which can be opened in case of emergency.
“Well, there is an aperture. I’ve found it.”
Mercer felt vaguely out of his depth. “What did you see?”
“The cover’s bolted down.”
He hesitated. “There’s a wrench in my luggage.”
“Whew!” This time Mercer was surprised. “You’ve really thought this thing out, haven’t you?”
“Not really. Just call it fortuitous. But I need a look-out. Now if we go along there tonight you can keep watch while I get the bolts off.”
“Hey, hold it!” Mercer was aghast. “You can’t do that!”
“Why?”
“It’s not allowed! The regulations are very strict. You can’t mess about with the equipment of a starship!”
Brian was motionless for a bare second. Then he relaxed, laughing.
“O.K.,” he said, letting the matter drop. “What are you planning to do this afternoon?”
“I might go to the cinema.”
The ship’s cinema was the equal in size of any on Earth, and had a well-stocked library. It played a large part in the lives of most passengers during the months’ long voyages.
Seated in the darkness of the cinema, Brian fell into a contemplative mood.
Full-coloured, three-dimensional images moved across the screen. The show was a romance-adventure taking place in Southern America. Brian enjoyed it.
Even so, he felt annoyed with himself. It was ridiculous, to be gliding through interstellar space, and yet still to be engrossed in the sights and scenes to be found on Earth! Really, he supposed, the ship was a part of Earth. It was a carefully enclosed piece of the Earth environment, designed to transport passengers in perfect comfort without their ever feeling that they had left their world.
When they landed at their destination, the illusion was maintained. A planet was still a planet, no matter how weird or colourful and so it resembled Earth. The change of location did nothing to disturb their psychology. The important thing was, that they should not experience anything of another scale.
Brian felt the unreality of it. He sensed that the scientocracy found it necessary to assist in this imprisonment of the psyche, which he sought to escape.
The film ended. People rose from their seats, moved up the aisles, into the foyer, and formed chattering, laughing groups.
But for Brian the film show had not ended.
All of life took place on a cinema screen. That was what it consisted of. Everything around him, the scenes, the talk, the laughter, the walls of the ship, was an image thrown on a screen, no more substantial than a picture.