Free Travels in Nihilon by Alan Sillitoe Page B

equipped? Or do you suspect that our mechanics are incompetent?’
    â€˜I carry such tools in my own country,’ Benjamin lied.
    â€˜Do they do things better there?’
    â€˜I didn’t say that,’ he said, staggering from weakness.
    â€˜Confiscated,’ said the customs officer, pulling them to the ground with a clatter. A humble little man in a white overall came with a barrow and carried them away. Benjamin, in no position to fight, walked to the front of his car, intending to drive on. ‘One moment,’ called the customs officer, drawing the hammer from his briefcase and making purposefully for the windscreen.
    Benjamin ran with his remaining strength and, gasping for breath as he opened the door, took the heavy revolver from the glove-box. He pointed it at the customs officer, who also turned pale, and let his hammer drop. ‘Put that paint mark on the side of my car and let me go,’ Benjamin rasped, ‘or I’ll blow you to pieces.’
    â€˜Yes sir,’ said the customs officer. Another man splashed a blue streak down the Thundercloud’s door, so that, highly satisfied at his forcefulness, Benjamin drove towards the gate.
    A squat-faced soldier with rifle and bayonet turned a mangle-handle to open it. As Benjamin was driving through, obeying the road sign speed of five kilometres per hour, the soldier took a hammer from his pocket and ran in front of the car, smashing its windscreen to pieces. Benjamin, with wild rage, pressed on the accelerator in the hope of crushing him to death, but the adept soldier dodged clear and waved him on with a smile.

Chapter 10
    Nihilon Airways ran three distinct services into Nihilon from the outside world: first-class, second-class, and a flight that could not be described as of any class at all. The fifth member of the guidebook research team, Richard Lope – a tall, dark, slim and handsome young man who, up to now, had been of a highly nervous disposition, had chosen second-class, or middle-class, and was finding it quite comfortable, though there were still three hours to go before landing. Lope had recently graduated with honours from the university, after three years studying the language of his own country which he had learned to speak at two and read at five. He was destined to become a diplomat, but looked upon the Nihilon trip as a pre-paid adventure before getting down to it.
    What fascinated him at the moment was the naked air-hostess walking up and down with a tray of drinks and food. All she wore was a thin belt at the waist from which swung a notepad to take down the passengers’ orders. Naked air-hostesses were a speciality of Nihilon Airways, though few people were said to take advantage of the service for that fact alone. Nevertheless, Richard considered it a very pleasant aspect of Nihilonian travel, an encouraging introduction to the country as he gazed at the breasts of a beautiful young woman walking along the gangway with his lunch. Her red made-up lips smiled as she bent down to set the tray before him, one of her nipples only a few inches from his left eye.
    What puzzled him, on the other hand, were the several protuberances along both sides of the plane which came awkwardly out towards the seats, and which the passengers unfortunate enough to have such a place – of which he was one – found difficult to sit by. They were a sort of oblong box, from which a long pipe or barrel went through the perspex windows. He imagined them to be the multiple aerials of some new and complicated beam-approach landing system, though he wasn’t entirely satisfied by this explanation.
    During the meal, which included half a bottle of pink, fizzy and potent wine, he read the instruction booklet attached to the seat in front: ‘In case of emergency, passengers are kindly requested to carry on talking, reading, eating or sleeping, because though your lives are in our hands, and we will do our best to