Ship of Fools (29 page)

I
returned to the chamber of abandoned machines. Darkness and deep shadows and the smell of old lubricants—just what I needed. Although I hadn’t taken even a sip of alcohol, I felt almost drunk, or otherwise drugged. With my hand torch on its dimmest, widest setting, I stumbled along among the useless machinery, trying to think of anything but Father Veronica. The deeper I went into the chamber, the harder it was to keep away the image of her broken body, the warmth of her smile, the memory of honey and cinnamon.

I climbed across a tangle of metal pipes and sat on a pile of cabled wire, gazing down into the open bay at the bishop’s lifeless machine. Damn him and his machines. I switched off the hand torch and sat motionless in the dark. Don’t think about her, I told myself. Don’t think about her. So I concentrated on the alien ship, envisioned it suspended in the depths of space, surrounded by black night and silver stars, and tried to imagine a means of escape.

T
WO
or three hours later, Pär and Nikos found me there. I heard them calling my name, and I thought about
doing what Francis had done that time—scramble deep into the ruined machinery where they would never find me—but I didn’t have the heart or energy for it. What was the point? I sat and waited for them, watching the thin beams of light arcing back and forth, up and down, listening to them calling my name over and over. Maybe they would just give up.

Half an hour later they came around a wrecked cylinder and one of their torch beams sliced across my face and they came to a stop.

“Damn!” Pär said. “Scared me.” He laughed nervously. “Why didn’t you answer, Bartolomeo?”

Nikos just looked at me, waiting for a response.

“I didn’t feel like it,” I said.

“We’ve been searching for you for hours,” Nikos said. “I tried signaling you, but Pär said you had the system disabled. He suggested we look for you here.”

Pär shrugged. “I know your secrets, Bartolomeo. Some of them, anyway.”

“Why are you looking for me? I just want to be left alone.”

“The bishop told me what happened,” Nikos said. “He seemed to expect me to order his imprisonment, and was surprised when I didn’t. I thought that if you hadn’t come to me demanding he be imprisoned, then you didn’t want that. I figure you probably don’t care any longer what happens to him. He’s in his own private Hell, and you’re content with that.”

I managed half a laugh. “You’re so damn sure about what I’m thinking and feeling.”

“No,” Nikos said. “Just a guess.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Their hand torches were aimed at the floor, and their faces were barely distinguishable in the dim light.

“I know you’re hurting,” Nikos said, “but we’ve got a ship with several thousand people who are still alive, and we have got to figure out a way to save them.”

“Are you both insane?” I asked. “Why would you want
my
advice?
My
suggestions? Every decision I’ve made seems to have been the wrong one. I chose to join with Pär
and the downsiders in the failed insurrection, and spent seven months in a cell. You put me in charge of the alien ship exploration team, and we end up with a shape-changing alien creature on board the
Argonos
, people dead and gone mad, Casterman’s suicide. Finally, when almost everyone is ready to abandon that damned ship, I convince you all to dock with it and take it with us. Now we’re probably all going to die. One bad decision after another, and you want
my
advice?”

Pär grinned.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are, Bartolomeo.”

“Everything you’ve said is true,” Nikos added, “but it’s not that simple. Your choices, your decisions, were not necessarily the wrong choices. Sometimes, they were the
right
choices, the
moral
choices. They just didn’t work out.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I’m not just saying this to make you feel better,” Nikos offered, “but docking with their ship probably didn’t make any difference in the long run.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Margita tell you how we would drift closer to the alien ship every few days?”

“Yes.” It didn’t matter now if he knew.

“I’d bet they were just feeling things out. They have technology we can hardly imagine, and I would guess that they could have sucked us right into their ship any time they wanted, and we wouldn’t have been able to do a damn thing about it. I also believe that if we’d tried to leave them behind the way the bishop wanted, they would not have let us go. They would have drawn us in, or come after us, and we’d be right where we are now, more or less.”

“So I just made it easier for them.”

“
We
made it easier for them, yes.” Nikos paused. “We need your help, Bartolomeo.”

“What about the rest of the Executive Council? I thought you were going to meet every twelve hours and exchange ideas.”

“Come on, Bartolomeo, we both know how useful that’s going to be. With the possible exception of Margita or Geller, no one’s going to come up with a damn thing, and you know it. And they don’t need some misguided brainstorming session to think; if either of them comes up with something, they’ll let us know.” He paused. “We need your help.”

“What? The three of us are going to brainstorm? You and I and Pär, sitting in the darkness surrounded by derelict machinery, we’re going to come up with a way to save everyone?”

“Maybe. This is as good a place as any.”

I looked from one to another. Finally, I gestured for them to sit and said, “All right. Stay a while.” I managed a brief, mirthless laugh. “What the hell. You want an idea? I already have an idea. I’ve been sitting here in the dark, surrounded by ruins, and an idea has occurred to me, an idea I don’t trust because I don’t trust anything I think anymore. So I’ll tell you my idea, and
you
two can tell me whether I’m as crazy as everyone else.”

They sat, and Nikos said, “Tell us, Bartolomeo.”

I breathed deeply. “We go back to Antioch.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. They stared at me, they looked at each other, and they stared at me some more. “I don’t understand,” Nikos finally said. “How?”

“We take the shuttles.”

That gave them something to think about for a minute. “There aren’t enough to take everyone,” Pär said.

I nodded. “I know. That’s only the first of a whole lot of problems with this idea.”

“What are some of the others?”

“The logistics alone are a serious problem. Fuel and food and water . . . How long do you think it would take for a shuttle to get back to Antioch?”

Nikos sighed. “I don’t know, but a long time. Weeks, or months. Yeah, fuel’s a problem. Initial acceleration . . . deceleration . . . descent and landing . . .” His eyes were unfocused as he was thinking. “The less used for
acceleration, the longer the trip . . . the more mass in people and food and cargo, the more fuel we’d need. . . .” His voice trailed off. “Yeah. But we can work all that out. We’ll know how many can go on the shuttles.”

“And how many have to stay,” I said.

“Yes, and how many have to stay.”

“And that’s another problem,” I started, “how . . .”

“. . . to decide who goes,” Nikos finished. “I know. But, like the logistics, it’s something that can be done. Even if we can only save a thousand, or several hundred, that’s better than nothing.”

“The harvesters,” Pär said.

We both looked at him.

“We’ve got three harvesters,” he continued, “and their holds are huge. They’d carry a lot of people and food and equipment.”

The harvesters
. I shuddered inwardly, thinking about them. Once again I saw them rising before me during the failed insurrection, like fire monsters, nuclear versions of the bishop’s Leviathan.

“There’s a big problem with the harvesters,” Nikos said. “Actually with the shuttles, too. And why not? There’s a big problem with every aspect of this idea.”

“What problem?” Pär asked.

“Gravity,” Nikos answered. “The harvesters and shuttles don’t have any. I don’t care how much room you’ve got, you can’t pack hundreds or thousands of people in zero-g holds for weeks and months on end.”

“Constant acceleration of half a g or so,” Pär said.

“And then constant
deceleration
?” Nikos said. “Way too much fuel needed for that. If we could convert the ship drives and install them, maybe, but that’s just impossible. With conventional fuel . . .”

I started laughing.

“What?”

“It’s grotesque,” I said, “but the bishop’s got part of the answer. The gravity device he used to kill Father Veronica. He can make it work. We install it on one of the harvesters, rotate people in and out so no one has to do the
whole trip stored like cargo in zero g. Put people in two of them, one with gravity, and use the third harvester for cargo, food, and equipment, anything that can be tied down.”

“Okay, that’s just my point,” Nikos said. “Any of these problems can be worked out.”

“Of course,” Pär added, “even with the harvesters and all the shuttles, it may still not be enough space to take everyone.”

“I know, damn it,” Nikos snapped. “We’ll deal with that when we have to. We’ll deal with every problem. At least this is a way out.”

“Maybe,” I said. “There’s one thing we should do before we bother trying to resolve all the logistical problems.”

“What’s that?” Nikos asked.

Par was nodding. “Yes,” he said. “We need to find out what the alien ship will do when a shuttle or harvester leaves the
Argonos.
”

I looked at him. “You willing to make a test run with me?”

Pär nodded. “Let’s do it now,” he said.

W
E
went out in one of the harvesters. I wanted to take one of the shuttles, but Pär argued that a harvester, being so much larger, would be a better test; I couldn’t argue. The pilot’s cabin was a half-bubble of steelglass atop the forward end of the harvester. We sat behind the pilots, watching the expanse of stars in front of us and the receding ships behind us. Monitors placed throughout the cabin gave us a variety of views.

We had launched from the
Argonos
at low speed, accelerated slowly for ten minutes, then cut the engines, traveling in silence except for the pilots’ periodic exchanges. We were moving at a constant velocity away from the two locked ships, which grew smaller and smaller on the monitors. All four of us waited for something from the alien ship—a missile launch, an energy beam, magnetic disruption pulses, some other unknown and unknowable weapon
or force that would destroy us, disable us, or pull us back into the
Argonos
or the alien ship.

A half hour passed without incident. Forty-five minutes. An hour. The ships had disappeared from view, then even from the monitors, although instruments still registered their presence.

“How far do we go?” one of the pilots asked.

I looked at Pär. “Another hour?” I suggested.

“At least. We have to be sure. Or as sure as we can be.”

When we were two hours out we tried another fifteen-minute acceleration, boosting our velocity. Then we continued for another hour. Nothing.

Finally we were satisfied, and I think surprised. We told the pilots to turn around and take us back.

“Take it slow going back, too,” Pär said. “We don’t need to go roaring in, calling even more attention to ourselves.” Then he turned to me. “Think it’ll be this easy?”

“It didn’t feel that easy,” I said. “The truth is, even if we manage to get away from the ships, the journey back to Antioch in these things is going to be miserable.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You know what
won’t
be easy? Going to the Planning Committee with this. And we have to have their support, we have to have them all with us. Without them, we won’t be able to retrofit and ready the shuttles and harvesters, get several thousand people prepared to go, all of that. Everything that will have to be done efficiently and quickly. They’ve got to be with us.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What’s the problem? There’s no other choice. This is our only chance. Why would it be difficult to convince them?”

“Because many of them have already given up all hope. They’re so far gone, it will be tough to bring them back. A tiny shred of hope isn’t going to do it. We’ll have to convince them that there’s a good chance of success.”

What Pär said made sense. “You’re right. So let’s hope no one brings up this other minor matter.”

“What’s that?”

“Assuming we get away from the ships, what’s to prevent the aliens from following us back to Antioch?”

“Well, let’s hope no one mentions it.” Pär laughed. “Besides, I don’t know why you worry about that. Forget this test. You know what the chances are they’ll actually let us all get away in the first place?”

“Then why are you going along with this?”

“You said it. This is the only option we’ve got. And if by some miracle we can get to Antioch, at least we’ll have a chance. We stay on the
Argonos
, we have none.” He nodded once. “None.”

No one said anything more the rest of the way in.

T
HE
Planning Committee was something to see: despair, emotional paralysis, dishevelment. Dementia and absentia—I counted five empty seats. But all the Executive Council members were there, even the bishop. He sat listlessly in his chair, eyes unfocused. I could barely look at him without screaming. I wondered how many people in the room knew what he had done.

Nikos and Cardenas had met for several hours with Costino, Rita Hollings, and two or three others to discuss details and logistics—how long the trip would be, the fuel needs, how many people could go with each of the shuttles, how many in the harvesters, what it would take to equip and retrofit the vehicles, and on and on. They didn’t need to have every specific answer, but Nikos wanted to be prepared with estimates for the Planning Committee.

Nikos finally called the meeting to order.

“Everyone in this room knows the situation we are in. But the reason this meeting has been called is that we have a proposal. An idea, a plan for a way out.”

“What?” someone asked. “The Casterman Method? Mass suicide?”

Someone else gave a halfhearted laugh in response, but it quickly faded.

“We’re going to Antioch,” Nikos said, replying quickly. He wasn’t going to let the meeting get out of control. “Not in the
Argonos
, but in shuttles and harvesters.”

The questions began immediately, as well as the criticisms, and outright dismissal from a few people. Nikos explained in some detail what we planned to do, then he and Cardenas spent the next two hours answering questions, responding to complaints, passing a few on to Costino or Hollings. Pär was right; it was taking a lot to drag most of these people out of their despair; but by the end of the second hour I could see that the mood had changed. People were coming around, slowly but surely, and a subtle but palpable excitement was growing, a blossoming sense of hope. Then Bishop Soldano tried to destroy it.

The bishop pulled himself forward and rose to his feet, silencing the entire committee. I was surprised there was any life left in him; I was surprised that he’d been listening.

“I have one question,” he said. “What’s the point?”

He remained standing, watching the looks of puzzlement and confusion growing around him. He finally spoke again.

“They’ll come and find us. They know where Antioch is, remember? They were responsible for what happened there. They’ll know that’s where we’re headed. After all, they
led
us out here from Antioch.”

Oh no,
I thought to myself, watching the fear and panic reappear in faces all around the table, although they could not know what exactly they were afraid of, they could not yet understand what he was saying.

Bishop Soldano turned and looked directly at Nikos. “Tell them,
Captain
.”

Nikos nodded. “Yes, that’s true. And that’s why there is a second component to this plan.”

“Forget the damn second component,” a man called out from the far end of the table. “What the hell does the bishop mean, ‘they led us here’?”

Nikos looked askance at the bishop; he was probably
wishing he had locked him up after all. Then he looked out at the committee.

“When we were on Antioch, after the skeletons were discovered, a highly directional signal was transmitted from the landing site—perpendicular to the system’s orbital plane, so we knew it wasn’t meant for any of the other worlds or satellites. We couldn’t locate anything it might be destined for—the nearest star in its vicinity was hundreds of light-years away.” He hesitated. “When we left Antioch, it was decided that we would follow the direction of the signal. We ended up here.” He turned to me and gave me a half-smile. “See, Bartolomeo? Everyone can make decisions that don’t work out.”

“Who decided?” someone else asked.

“Bishop Soldano and I decided.”

Cardenas stood up. “It doesn’t matter who decided,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how we ended up here. What matters now is how we get out of here. That’s all we’re discussing.”

“But the bishop is right,” Renata Tyler said. “There’s no point in any of this if they’ll just follow us to Antioch.”

I stood, intending to argue just what Pär had said: that at least we would have a chance on Antioch. But Cardenas spoke first.

“Let Captain Costa finish, and you will understand.” She sat back down, and so did I. I wondered what Nikos had in mind; we hadn’t discussed any “second component.”

“I will be staying with the
Argonos,
” he said.

I sat there stunned, not yet understanding.

“The bishop has a point,” Nikos resumed. “We can’t leave the alien ship here, even if we can escape from it. It will find Antioch again, or some other world, some other starship. We can’t let that happen. Margita Cardenas and I, along with three other crew members, will stay aboard the
Argonos
to direct it on a blind jump out of this galaxy. With luck, completely out of the universe.”

This set off a lot of murmuring, questioning looks; I saw someone biting their knuckles, as if afraid for Nikos and the others. I wanted to object, but I was dazed, and couldn’t
think very clearly, couldn’t think of a reason to object. What Nikos said made perfect sense, as much as I didn’t like to admit it.

But Geller spoke. “Can’t we just set the ship to do a blind jump automatically?”

Cardenas shook her head. “It has to be piloted into the discontinuity. Besides, if it doesn’t go as expected, we want to be aboard to make a second jump if necessary. I don’t like it, but there’s no choice.”

Everyone was quiet, letting it settle in. The bishop slowly rose to his feet again. “Then I, too, will be staying aboard the
Argonos
. I will speak with Father George, and ask him to be the new bishop. I will stay with the cathedral, with our archives.”

Now he would be a martyr, I thought to myself. Let him.

“That’s it,” Nikos said, essentially ignoring the bishop. “If we are to have any chance at success, we need the complete support of this committee. There is way too much that will need to be done, and it needs to be done quickly.”

The vote was unanimous, but I felt sick. I was losing nearly everyone who had meant anything to me. I considered offering to stay with Nikos and the others, but I recognized the urge for what it was—a fear of appearing to be a coward; a conceit.

“One more thing,” Nikos said. “I want to nominate Duncan Geller to replace me as Captain.”

Though Geller was surprised, he reacted as a fine future captain should—he accepted the nomination with grace and respect and sincere humility. His nomination was seconded by Cardenas. That vote, too, was unanimous.

That was the end of the meeting. A dozen smaller meetings would take place almost immediately. We adjourned. Preparations began.