And thank God for Proditol. Those scientists certainly covered every angle. I've decided to put all morbid thoughts of the past out of my mind. I was a different person—perhaps a sick person—when I did what I did. To indulge in self-recrimination now is stupid and benefits nobody.
My breakdown was caused by the chaos that crept over society.
It reflected the breakdown of that society. I could almost date its beginning for me—when our own air force (or, at least, what had been our own air force) dropped napalm and fragmentation bombs on London. My psyche, I suppose, reflected the environment.
But enough of that! I've made up my mind. No more morbid selfexamination. No need for it now, anyway.
The days will pass more quickly now that everybody is up and about and so cheerful. We'll be landing on that planet before we realise it!
He signs the page, closes the book and tucks it under his pillow.
He feels a little weak. Doubtless the effects of the drug. He sleeps and dreams that the ship has landed on the Isle of Skye and everyone is swimming in the sea. He watches them all swim out. James Henry, Janet Ryan, Josephine Ryan, Rupert Ryan, Sidney Ryan, Fred Masterson, Alexander Ryan, Ida and Felicity Henry, Tracy Masterson. Isabel Ryan. They are laughing and shouting. They all swim out into the sea.
*
A week passes.
Ryan spends less time writing in his log book and more time sleeping. He feels confident that John and the others are running the ship well.
One night he is awakened by pangs of hunger and he realises that nobody has thought to bring him any food. He frowns. An image of the Foreigners comes into his mind. He saw a camp only once, but it was enough. They were not being gassed or burned or shot—they were being systematically starved to death. The cheapest way. His stomach rumbles.
He gets up and leaves his cabin. He enters the storeroom and takes a meal pack from a bin. Chewing at the pack, he pads back to his cabin.
He has a slight headache—probably the effects of the Proditol.
They have given him a dose every day for the past ten days or so. It will be time to finish the doses soon.
He sleeps.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ryan makes an entry in his log: I have now been resting for two weeks and the difference is amazing. I have lost weight—I was too heavy anyway—and my brain has cleared. I have had insights into my own behaviour (amazing what a clever rationaliser I am!) and my body is relaxed. I will soon be ready to resume control of the ship.
Josephine enters. She is holding an ampoule of Proditol in her hand.
'Time for your shot, dear,' she smiles.
'Hey! What are you trying to do to me.' He grins at her. 'Fourteen days is the maximum period for that stuff. I don't need it any more.'
Her smile fades. 'One more shot can't do you any harm, dear, can it?'
He swings himself out of the bunk. 'What's up?' be jokes. 'Is there something you don't want me to know about?'
'Of course not!'
Ryan unfolds a suit from the pack in the cupboard. He lays it on the bed. 'I'm going to take a shower,' he says. 'Then I'll go into the control room and see how everyone's getting along without me.'
'You're not well enough yet, dear,' says Josephine, her pink face anxious. 'Please stay in bed a bit longer, even if you won't let me give you the Proditol.'
'I'm fine.' Ryan frowns. He feels a return of his old feelings of suspicion. Maybe he should have something more to keep him calm—yet if he has any more Proditol, he exceeds the dose and risks his life. 'I'd like to stay in my bunk all the time,' he smiles.
'Honest, I would. But the suggested dosage period is over, Jo. I've got to get up sometime.'
He leaves the cabin and takes his shower. He comes back in.
Josephine has gone. She has laid out a fresh disposable suit on the bed. He puts it on.
He walks along the passage towards the main control room and be remembers that he has left his diary under his pillow. There is a chance that someone will give in to the temptation to read it. It would be better if no one saw his comments. After all, some of them were pretty insane. Some of it is a bit like a prisoner of the Inquisition, confessing to anything that is suggested to him!
He smiles and returns to his cabin. He picks up the log-book and puts it in his locker, sealing the locker.
He still feels weak. He sits on the edge of the bunk for a moment.
For some time now he has been aware of a sound. Now it impinges on his consciousness. A high-pitched whine. He recognises the noise. An emergency in the control room.
He gets up and runs out of his cabin, down the passage, into the main control room.
The computer is flashing a sign: URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED URGENT ATTENTION REQUIRED James Henry is at the control. He turns as Ryan enters. "Hello, Ryan. How are you now?'
'I'm fine. What's the emergency?'
'Nothing much. I'm coping with it.'
'What is it, though?'
'A new circuit needed in the heat control unit in the hydroponics section. Cut out the emergency signal would you?'
Ryan automatically does as Henry asks him.
Henry makes a few adjustments to the controls then turns to Ryan with a smile. 'Glad to see you're okay again. I've been managing pretty well to your absence.'
'That's great...' Ryan feels a touch of anger at Henry's slightly patronising tone.
Ryan looks around the control room. Everything else seems to be as he left it at the time of his breakdown. 'Where's everybody else?' he asks.
'Studying—resting—checking out various functions— standard ship routine.'
'You seem to be working together very well,' Ryan says.
'Better than before. We've got something in common now, after all.'
Ryan feels a touch of panic. He doesn't know why. Is there something in Henry's tone? A sort of triumph? 'What do you mean?'
Henry shrugs. 'Our great mission.'
'Of course,' says Ryan. He sucks his lower lip. 'Of course.'
But what did James Henry really mean? Is it that they have got rid of him. Do they believe that he was the cause of their tension?
Is that what Henry is insinuating?
Ryan feels his throat go dry. He feels his anger rising.
He controls himself. He isn't thinking clearly. He still needs to rest. Josephine was right.
'Well, keep up the good work, James,' he says, turning to leave.
'If there's anything I can do..."
'You could check the Hibernation Room some time,' Henry says.
'What?' Ryan frowns.
'I said you could check the hydration loom—in hydroponics.'
'Sure. Now?'
'Any time you feel like it.'
'Okay. I'm still a bit shaky. I'll get back to my bunk, I think.'
'I think you'd better.'
'I'm perfectly all right now.'
'Sure. But you could still do with some rest.'
Ryan again controls his temper. 'Yes. Well—I'll see you later.'
'I'm here whenever you need me, captain.'
Again the feeling that James Henry is mocking him, just as he used to, before it became intolerable...
He feels faint. No. Henry is right. He's still not properly recovered. He staggers back to his cabin.
He falls into his bunk.
He sleeps and he dreams.
*
He is in the control room again. James Henry stands there.
James Henry is trying to supersede him. James Henry has always wished to take over command of the group and of the spaceship.
But James Henry is not stable enough to command. If he takes over from Ryan the whole safety of the ship becomes at risk. Ryan knows that there is only one thing to do to stop Henry's plotting against him.
He raises the Purdy automatic—the same gun that he used on the aircraft. He levels it at James Henry. He takes a deep breath and begins to squeeze the trigger.