‘It is,’ said the professor fervently, ‘that’s why I think the system should be changed, or modified. The economy is going downhill fast. Unadulterated nihilism is a luxury we cannot afford.’
‘But I can’t promise to deliver this,’ said Richard, handing the envelope back.
‘You’re committed to it,’ said the professor. ‘Your fingerprints are on it. If I’m arrested I’ll betray you and have you shot.’
‘Damn,’ he exclaimed putting it into his own briefcase. ‘That was a dirty trick.’
‘It’s nihilism,’ said the professor, slapping his knees in an excess of joviality, then adding more seriously: ‘Now you know why we have to get rid of such a system.’
‘I certainly do.’
‘Down with nihilism! Nihilism must go! Long live Order and Rationality!’ he cried. But the professor’s handkerchief had fallen from the speaker-microphone, and a voice barked out of it: ‘Shut up, you old fool, you feeble-minded nitwit.’
‘That’s the sort of thing our ridiculous and hot-headed revolutionaries say,’ the professor went on, recovering quickly. ‘But I know they are wrong and can never hope to succeed, because, as millions of ordinary Nihilists like me say, before getting into bed at night, “Long live Nihilism. Nihilism is our salvation. Down with Order and Rationality.”’
‘That’s better,’ said the voice from the speaker. The professor stuffed his handkerchief back into it: ‘You swine,’ he said vehemently, ‘I’ll kill you. You’ll be shot, hanged, and poisoned — all at once if I have my way.’
‘Who will?’
‘President Nil. It’s his recorded voice we hear everywhere.’ He held Richard’s hand: ‘Please deliver that envelope. Our whole cause depends on it.’
‘Oh, damn,’ Richard said again.
‘You promise?’
‘I said yes, didn’t I?’
Chapter 11
One must always expect the unexpected in a country such as Nihilon, thought Adam, yet the unexpected could not be called the unexpected if one expected it. Be prepared for all surprises, but being prepared cut out the risk of being surprised, and so whatever happened that shocked you was always an unexpected surprise. There seemed no way around the problem.
The road changed from a broad, beckoning, tarmacadamized highway to a narrow, twisting, hilly, potholed, semi-bridlepath, so that it was often necessary to get off and push his bicycle under a rain of his own sweat.
Holes were more numerous on level or downhill stretches of the road, when he might otherwise have made good speed, but almost non-existent on uphill climbs when he had to get off and walk anyway, so that soon he was caked in dust, and feeling hungry again. A hundred-ton lorry came toiling up the hill, grinding slowly by, and the driver cheerfully indicated that he should throw his bicycle in the back for a lift to Nihilon City, but Adam refused with a comradely wave, for his instructions were to cycle the whole way, though later as he sat down to rest by the roadside he wondered why he bothered to obey such an order.
Before him was a great slogan-noticeboard which said:
OBEY — AND FEEL YOUNG!
REBEL, AND LIVE FOREVER!
He opened the dead soldier’s map, extracted from the hollow butt of the rifle, and saw that the next sizeable town was a place called Fludd, which he hoped to reach by nightfall. According to preliminary notes given out at the office before leaving, there was no hotel between where he was now and the seaport of Shelp, though this information was based on hearsay and rumour, or taken from pre-civil war guidebooks. He certainly wanted to avoid nine hours under the stars in this desolate country.
At the summit of the next hill the sun spread an orange glare across dark-green flowing hills, reflecting light back into his eyes. The region now seemed more populated, for several localities lay ahead, one of which he thought might be the town of Fludd where he hoped to find a hotel.
The road surface improved, before reaching a restaurant called Rover’s Roadhouse. He leaned his bicycle against its balustrade, and watched a group of youths and girls, reeking of alcohol, come laughing and staggering down the steps. They pushed each other into a black, sleek, high-powered car called a Nil, and after a short struggle as to who would drive, the vehicle moved erratically away in the direction of Nihilon City. He wiped his brow, glad that they would be well ahead of him on the road, for then there would be no danger of them coming on him suddenly from behind.
Prominently displayed in the vestibule was a huge notice in lurid crimson letters saying:
DRINK NIHILITZ! KEEP DEATH ON THE ROAD! IT’S FUN!
The legend frightened him, and he began to envy the safety of his colleagues who were travelling by train, car, ship, and plane. He and his bicycle seemed so vulnerable and fragile on such perilous highways that he wondered whether he’d get to the end of his assignment. Before leaving home he’d expected an idyllic cycling tour in the smiling countryside of Nihilon, and saw himself writing poem after poem inspired by the sense of liberation that this journey would give him, but so far not a single line had entered his head. In this respect the land was disappointingly barren, for it seemed that all his intellect and imagination would be needed simply in order to survive.
‘No food tonight,’ a waiter called out brusquely. Adam did not intend to eat a meal, only to order the smallest thing, so as to find out what sort of prices were charged: ‘A small cup of black coffee.’
‘Coffee?’ sneered the waiter. ‘Have a bottle of Nihilitz. Make you feel better.’ A bottle with a gaudy red-blue-and-gold label was set on the counter: ‘It’s against the law to drive on coffee.’
‘I’m not driving,’ said Adam. ‘I’m riding a bicycle.’
‘What do you want to drink then?’
‘A small black coffee.’
The waiter moved the bottle away. ‘Have a large one.’
‘Small,’ said Adam.
The waiter glared savagely. ‘Listen, I receive a commission on all I sell, so what do you think I’ll earn on a small cup of black coffee? In any case, it won’t be enough for you. There’s another ten kilometres before you get to Fludd, and it’ll be dark soon. Go on, have a large black coffee. It’ll only cost a hundred pecks.’
‘Pecks?’ Adam cried in astonishment. ‘I thought it was klipps.’
‘That was in the Frontier Zone,’ the waiter informed him. ‘You’re in the Fludd Area now, and all money is in pecks. You should have changed your klipps at the provincial border.’
‘But I didn’t see a bank there,’ Adam said.
‘You should have looked,’ said the waiter smugly.
‘There wasn’t one,’ he cried. ‘You know there wasn’t.’
‘That was a pity, then, for you. All you’ve got to do is pay me fifty pecks for your coffee.’
Adam made an effort to stay clam. ‘Fifty pecks is too much. Anyway, can’t I even have a small cup of black coffee?’
‘You’re wasting my time. Unless you allow me to change it for you. Fifty pecks to a travellers unit.’
‘Fifty?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘It should be a hundred,’ he ventured.
‘I know, but what about my commission? Do you want my children to starve?’
‘How many do you have?’
‘None. But I have to think about the future.’
He handed over a travellers unit. ‘All right, a large cup of black coffee.’
‘And a glass of Nihilitz?’ said the bartender, happily. ‘Go on, have a drop. Then your breath will smell of it.’
‘I’d rather not,’ said Adam.
‘Well, if the police stop you on the road and see that you haven’t been drinking, and you get ten years in prison, don’t blame me. It’s the most serious crime in Nihilon. We’ve got to keep death on the roads. It’s our only way of holding the population down.’