Ship of Fools (30 page)

I
F
nothing else, I told myself, this gave people hope; it gave them something to do, which had to be better than withdrawing frightened and paralyzed and despairing into psychological cocoons, waiting in terror for death.

There was too much to do, and of course no one knew how much time we had. Maybe we had all the time we wanted, maybe we could have spent weeks retrofitting the shuttles and harvesters, rebuilding them and outfitting them, planning carefully until everyone and everything was accounted for, packed and loaded, everyone leisurely boarded and settling themselves in for the long journey. Maybe the aliens would come the next day, and we wouldn’t have a chance.

We tried to decide on the absolute minimum necessary to make it to Antioch and survive once we got there; then we set to work on that minimum. There were screwups and tempers and accidents, shouting and crying and fistfights, pouting and nervous breakdowns. But there was also laughter and tears of relief and companionship, stolen moments of affection, and much cooperation.

Through it all, the work got done. With the bishop’s assistance, we installed the gravity generator in one of the
harvesters. Partitions were erected in the vehicles; sleeping bunks and benches were built into walls. Bathrooms and recyclers, water tanks. Storage lockers and food systems. Minimal amounts of packaged foods in each vessel, just enough for the voyage to Antioch; larger stores would be loaded into the cargo harvester.

Fuel was a problem. We would maximize all tanks, but the shuttles weren’t designed for long-distance space travel. If there had been more time, perhaps we would have been able to build special tanks to store the fuel in the cargo harvester, build fueling systems so the shuttles could be refueled during the journey. There
wasn’t
more time.

Even if there had been time, it wouldn’t have been a good idea; we couldn’t depend too much on what was loaded in the cargo harvester. It would be the last to leave the
Argonos
; what would happen if it was attacked by the aliens, destroyed or disabled? What would happen if there was some other kind of unforeseeable accident? Each vessel, each shuttle and harvester, needed to be self-sufficient, equipped to be capable of making the journey to Antioch and landing without aid from any of the others.

We’d be crammed into the vessels, without privacy, like the herd animals down in the lower levels, but amazingly we had the capacity to take everyone. However, there were people who couldn’t go. Decisions were difficult to make, they were brutal, but there was no choice. Most of those in the downsiders’ madhouse would have to stay. The same for a dozen people in the upper-level psychiatric wards. Of those in the ship’s jail cells, the lesser offenders were released; the more violent remained imprisoned.

One of the most difficult decisions was what to do with those people who had begun to behave strangely after going into the alien ship: Barry Sorrel and his family, Leona Frip, Nazia Abouti. We didn’t know what was wrong with them. Infected somehow? Possibly contagious? Perhaps they were in the early stages of becoming possessed by the spirits of alien beings. It was impossible to know. As hard as it was, amid the feelings of guilt at the price they were paying for
all their efforts, in the end we knew we had no choice: they would have to remain.

Starlin and Winton might have presented another problem, but they were both still missing, apparently stalking each other throughout the
Argonos
. We stopped looking for them.

There were also people who
wouldn’t
go: some upper-level residents afraid of losing the power and authority they had enjoyed all their lives; twenty-three families who belonged to a religious sect called the First Ship of Christ, who believed it was blasphemous to leave the
Argonos
; twenty or thirty people on the official ship census that could not be located; and some people who simply couldn’t imagine life outside the ship.

I can hardly remember now everything that had to be done, everything that had to be accounted for. I
can’t
remember everything. So much of what took place during that time has now become hazy, distorted by tension, anxiety, fear, and severe sleep deprivation.

But it got done, somehow, and soon it became clear that we would be ready to leave in less than twenty-four hours.

T
OLLER
came to see me down in the harvester bay, where I was helping load cargo. I sat with him on bundles of packaged foodstuffs that weren’t slated to be loaded for several hours.

“I’m staying with the
Argonos
,” he said. “I wanted you to know.”

I wasn’t expecting it, but it did not surprise me. “Why?”

“I’m not a martyr like the bishop. It’s not that.” He sighed and held up his cane. “I’m an old man, Bartolomeo. I’m one hundred and thirty-eight years old, and I’ve spent every one of those years on this ship. I’ve been ship historian for sixty-seven years.” He set the tip of the cane between his shoes, rubbed the carved wooden handle. “I need to stay here. I need to know how everything ends for the
Argonos
. Finish its history, if possible.”

“Finish its history? For whom?”

“I don’t know. For me. Hopefully for others. I’ll work until the last possible moment. I’ll have a copy of the Histories in a burial capsule, and when I have written my final words I will add them to the others. I will seal the capsule, and launch it into space. With luck, a
great deal
of luck, someone will find it someday and learn something from it.” He smiled gently. “The historian’s eternal hope.”

I thought I understood how he felt. “I guess I won’t try to talk you out of it,” I told him.

“Thank you. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“Have you told Geller yet?” I asked.

“No.”

“You should. He’ll be our captain. Or already is.”

Toller nodded. “Yes. I will. And I’ll suggest to him that he maintain the position of historian on Antioch. On the journey as well. It’s more important than most people realize. Maria Vegas has been well-trained. She will make a fine historian.”

“I’ll lend my own support,” I told him.

“Thank you, Bartolomeo.” He leaned forward and with the help of his cane rose to his feet. “I’ll return to the Church archives, now.” He slowly shook his head. “They will be a great loss.” His gaze became unfocused for a moment, then he looked at me. “Goodbye, Bartolomeo.”

“Goodbye, August.”

He limped across the bay, his thin figure surprisingly erect, then went through one of the passage doorways and was gone. I never saw him again.

T
HERE
were only a few hours until the first shuttle was scheduled to leave. Nikos and I met in the command salon. The clear dome was two-thirds filled with stars and one-third with the deep black hulk of the alien ship looming over us. There was still so much to do, and we both felt slightly guilty taking time away from the preparations. But this would be our only opportunity, our
last
opportunity.

He had a bottle of Scotch and two glasses with him; he held up the bottle and offered me a drink.

“Just one,” I said.

He nodded, and poured some for each of us. “This is my first drink in weeks,” he said.

I’d wondered about that. The Scotch burned, but it burned cool and smooth going down.

“This is the last of the best,” he said. “Why let it go to waste? I’ll probably finish the bottle once we’ve pulled this off.”

Pulled it off, I thought. I watched him, trying to guess whether or not he was frightened.
Not,
I decided. Or at least not much. He’d come to terms with it, and if I knew Nikos, which I did, he was ready with a way to end it quickly for himself. He and Cardenas and the others might have talked about it.

“It’s been an eventful year,” he said.

I smiled. “That’s a word for it.”

“You and I have had our differences.”

“Long done with,” I replied.

He nodded slowly, sipped at his drink. He looked up and out through the steelglass at the alien ship. “That could have been the most fantastic discovery in history. It
was
the most fantastic discovery. But it’s turned into the most fantastic nightmare. It’s done terrible things to most of us.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry about some things, Bartolomeo.”

“So am I, Nikos.”

I was afraid he was going to get specific. It would have been a bad idea. It was possible that the things he was sorry about were not what
I
thought he should be sorry about. And vice versa. We didn’t need that now.

Isolated in the salon, we couldn’t hear anything at all except our own breathing. We might have been the only people on the
Argonos
.

Nikos finished his drink. “After all these years,” he said, “there really isn’t much to say, is there?”

“No,” I answered.

“Bartolomeo.” Then he hesitated, unsure. “Bartolomeo, do you want to know who your parents are?”

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since I became captain.”

I didn’t have to think about it long. I felt surprisingly little curiosity. “No,” I told him. “It’s too late for that. They’ve been dead and buried in space to me all my life. Better they stay that way.”

Nikos smiled. “I thought you would say something like that.” The smile quickly faded. “Well,
I
have a strange request. It seems strange to me, anyway.” He glanced into his empty glass. “Watch my wife for me, Bartolomeo. Make sure she’s all right. She’s . . . she won’t ask for help, especially not from you.”

“Aiyana doesn’t like me.”

“No.” He looked up at me. “Will you do that for me, Bartolomeo?”

“Are you surprised she chose not to stay with you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but I could see the pain working into his features. “Maybe. A little. Should I not have been?”

“I don’t know, Nikos. You know her far better than I do.”

“Were
you
surprised?”

I wondered what answer he wanted to hear. Probably not the one I would give him. Maybe I should have lied, but I just couldn’t.

“No,” I said. “I wasn’t surprised.”

He nodded and turned his attention once again to the alien vessel. There were still no signs of activity on that sinister, black ship. Sometimes, looking at it, it was hard to believe what was happening.

“I have to go,” I said. “There isn’t much time. Final preparations . . .”

“I would have stayed with her,” he said.

“I know.” I felt pity for him, and wished there was
something I could do or say to ease his pain. But I knew there wasn’t, or if there was, I had no idea what it could be.

“This won’t be forgotten,” I said. “What you and Margita and the others are doing. What you’re doing for us, for—”

He shook his head, cutting me off. “Just get to Antioch alive, Bartolomeo. Make it worthwhile.”

“We will, Nikos.”

He turned back to me one final time and took a step forward. For a moment I thought he was going to embrace me. But we had never done anything like that in all the years we’d known each other, and I couldn’t imagine it even now. Apparently he thought the same thing, for he did not come any closer.

“Goodbye, Bartolomeo.”

“Goodbye, Nikos.”

I
stood with Pär at the side of the transport hold, watching the first shuttle slowly move along the track toward the open doors. Apparently someone had christened it the
Veronica
—her name was painted on the hull in large, bright red letters. I choked up watching the shuttle and those huge letters rumble past, feeling the vibrations deep in my bones. One of the pilots signaled down to us from the cockpit that everything was clear.

“What would she have thought of that?” Pär asked.

I couldn’t answer immediately. I had to struggle against the despair just waiting to overwhelm me. “I don’t know,” I said. “Probably she would have smiled and shaken her head and said nothing.”

The shuttle’s speed picked up slightly as it approached the energy fields across the open doors. Its nose made contact, and a rippling, iridescent hole opened in the field; the launch mechanism cranked forward and the bow supports dropped away as the shuttle was propelled through the opening. The energy fields re-formed and returned to invisibility, and the shuttle was free of the ship.

It drifted away for a minute, then the attitude rockets burned for a few moments; the shuttle’s orientation turned,
then the engines fired and it accelerated away from both the
Argonos
and the alien ship. The acceleration was gentle, but soon the shuttle was gone from view.

I turned to the monitor screen in the bulkhead behind us, my heart racing. Ship cameras had picked up the shuttle, and followed it now as it moved toward the stern of the
Argonos
, angled away from the hull. The flames from the engines cut off, and I held my breath, waiting. . . . The shuttle continued on, velocity steady now, but with no other signs of life. No attack from the alien ship.

“Everything looks good,” Pär said, sighing with relief.

“Yes. For now.”

For now. When each shuttle or harvester was ten hours out from the
Argonos,
a number chosen almost arbitrarily at what we guessed would be a safe distance, it would hold until the others joined it. When we had all arrived and rendezvoused, we would change direction so we were headed for Antioch, then resume acceleration. This time acceleration would continue for some hours. Four and a half months later, if there were no disasters, we would reach Antioch.

I turned around and looked at the five other shuttles in the hold. Every one of them was loaded, packed, ready to go. There were another five shuttles in the second transport hold, and finally the three harvesters in their own bay.

I wanted to send them out two or three hours apart, but that would have been too time-consuming—for many reasons, not the least being the psychological stress on those desperate to leave. Instead, they would go an hour apart. Two more shuttles, then the first harvester; the other three shuttles in this hold, then the second harvester; the remaining five shuttles, then finally the last harvester, loaded only with cargo and manned by three pilots. Pär and I would be on the third harvester, the last to leave.

If anything unexpected happened, if the alien ship came alive and attacked either the
Argonos
or any of the shuttles or harvesters, the timetable would be abandoned, and everyone would launch immediately, one right after another, scattering in all directions. I prayed—to what or whom I had
no idea—that it wouldn’t come to that. At the same time, I could not really believe that we would be able to launch all those vessels without provoking a response from the alien ship.

I turned back to the monitor. The image of the shuttle was larger than I’d expected; but it had now cleared the stern of the
Argonos
, and was slowly shrinking as it pulled away. I checked the running clock in the lower right corner of the monitor. Nineteen minutes. I breathed in deeply, then slowly exhaled. An hour was going to be a long time.

T
HE
tension heightened three hours later when the first harvester launched. Sixteen hundred people, all at once. The first three shuttles were safely away, with no response from the alien ship, but the harvester was so much larger, and filled with so many people . . . Pär and I watched on the monitor as the massive cylinder dropped out of the side of the ship, topped by the bubble of the pilot’s cabin. So large, and yet so small when compared to the
Argonos
and the alien ship. Maybe it
could
get away unmolested.

Attitude jets fired briefly, orienting the harvester, then the main engines came on, a ring of fire at the vessel’s stern; they burned brightly and the harvester gradually gained velocity. After several minutes, the engines were shut down.

My heart was beating hard and fast, and I kept forgetting to breathe as we watched the harvester head away from us.

“How many more of these do we have to go through?” Pär asked. “How many more hours?”

“Too many,” I replied.

“No shit,” he said. “I’m not sure I can take it.”

We watched for the entire hour, by which time the harvester was only an indistinct fleck on the monitor. Nothing had happened.

I turned and signaled to the pilot in Shuttle Four to prepare for launch.

* * *

W
HEN
the last of the shuttles in the first transport hold was gone, Pär and I headed for the harvester bay. Geller was in the second transport hold, and would oversee the rest of the shuttle launches from there.

The
Argonos
was so quiet it seemed dead. Soon, one way or another, it would be. I had walked through empty corridors before, particularly at night; I had walked for hours without seeing a soul. But the emptiness now as Pär and I walked through those same corridors was palpable.

“We tried this once before,” Pär said. “Escaping from the
Argonos.
”

“Under very different circumstances. This time we’re going to make it.”

Pär nodded. “Yes, it seems so. And it worries me.”

“What?”

“Why they’re letting us go.”

“The aliens?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve thought about it, too. Sometimes I think it doesn’t make sense to try to understand them. They’re
alien
.”

“But you have some thoughts?”

“Yes,” I said. “Maybe they don’t realize the shuttles and harvesters won’t return. Maybe they don’t realize how many people are inside them. Maybe they
do
realize those things and don’t care, because they figure we’re all headed toward Antioch, and they believe they can follow any time they want.” I paused, not wanting to say aloud my greatest fear. “And maybe they want us to think we’re getting away so that our terror is all the greater when they come after us.”

Pär smiled and nodded. “You
have
been thinking about it. I have, too, and I suspect the latter alternatives are closer to the truth.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what they think, or what they plan to do. This is the only hope we’ve got.”

* * *

T
HE
harvester eased out of its berth and onto the launch pad. Stars before us, and no hint of the alien ship, although it would become visible as we emerged from the bay. Pär and I sat in the cabin with the three pilots, strapped into the reserve seats. In a little more than one hour, we would be the last to leave.

I felt as if we were abandoning those who remained behind. The fact that many of them chose to stay did little to ease the sense of guilt; I tried not to think about them too much.

Maxine Shalimar, Jimmy Lycos, and Amar Mubarak were the three pilots. I knew them only slightly, but enough to know they were good.

“Bartolomeo?”
It was Nikos, his voice coming through the cabin speakers.

“Yes, Captain.”

He hesitated a moment, then said,
“I guess I am still captain.”

“As long as the
Argonos
sails, you are its captain,” Pär said.

“Thank you. Everything ready?”

“Yes.”

“The harvester, Maxine?”

“She’s ready, sir.”

“Video?”

“Everything’s clear so far,” Amar said. “But we’re still inside. Once we get out, who knows?”

“All we can do,”
Nikos said.
“How soon to launch?”

Maxine glanced down at her console. “Ten minutes until the last shuttle leaves, then one hour after that for us.”

“Once you lock down transmissions,”
Nikos said,
“you are to unlock for nothing, understand? I know we’ve talked about it, but I want it clear. Give them nothing to track. No matter what happens to us, I don’t want to hear a thing from you.”

“We understand,” I said. “Radio silence, all the way.”

We would still receive the command channel
transmissions, which would be dispersion-broadcast so there would be no way to track them to us, as well as video from three different cameras and from a tracking probe the
Argonos
would launch after we all were gone; the probe would maintain a constant distance from the ship as it accelerated toward the jump. But we would be unable to send anything to anyone. We would be mute. Another precaution that was probably pointless, but almost everything was impossible to be sure about; so we took every precaution we could.

“I hear anything, I’ll cancel all transmissions from the
Argonos.” He paused.
“And if something goes wrong here, I don’t want you turning around and heading back. I know there are only five of you, but you’ve got a hold full of equipment, food, and supplies that could mean the survival of several thousand people.”

Maxine smiled. “Don’t worry, Captain. No matter what happens, we’ll leave all of you here to rot.”

“Thanks, Maxine.”

“Five minutes until the shuttle goes,” Amar said.

We sat in silence. I swiveled my seat around in a full circle, studying the dark interior of the harvester hold. We were leaving the
Argonos
, never to return. My home. Home for all of us. No longer.

“Captain, we’ve picked up something.”
It was Cardenas, on the command channel.

“What, Margita? From their ship?”

“Yes. Very subtle, Captain. A change in hull reflectivity. It’s increased. I don’t understand it, and I don’t understand what it could mean.”

“Anything else?”

“Not yet. But we’d better expect something. What’s left to launch?”

“The last shuttle in a couple of minutes, then the cargo harvester in another hour.”
He paused.
“You think we should hold up on the shuttle?”

“I don’t know,”
Cardenas answered.
“Maybe they both should go immediately.”

“Bartolomeo?”

“Let’s not make any drastic changes yet,” I said. “Hold the shuttle for five minutes. If nothing changes, let it go.”

“Sounds good. I’m switching over to their channel.”

Silence for a minute, then Nikos came back on.

“They’re holding. Anything, Margita?”

“Not yet.”

Another five minutes of silence that stretched on and on, time dilating.

“Off channel,”
Nikos said.

“Amar,” Maxine said. “Bring the shuttle bay to monitor one.”

We watched the shuttle slide out of the transport bay, drift away from the
Argonos
for a minute, then fire its attitude jets, slowly swinging around. The jets cut, then the main engines fired.

A strange, rolling vibration went through us, ending with a sudden jolt.

“What the hell was that?”
Nikos shouted.
“Margita?”

“I don’t know, Captain. We’re not detecting . . . no, wait, something’s coming off the alien ship . . . I don’t know what . . .”

I looked at monitor two. Amar had the alien ship on it, and we could see a sphere of silvery light take shape, detach, then eject from the ship’s surface with an incredible speed, headed for the rear of the
Argonos
.

“What is that, Margita?”

There was no answer. Amar was switching images, trying to follow the sphere. It was headed for the shuttle. Seconds later, it struck the shuttle and burst in a shower of silver glitter.

The shuttle engines died. But the shuttle continued to move away from the two ships, although much more slowly than the other shuttles had, and there were no obvious signs of damage.

Crackling sounds, then someone’s voice came over the command channel.

“We’re hit! We’re hit!”
It was Masters, one of Shuttle Eleven’s pilots, breaking radio silence.

“Masters!”
Nikos barked. For a brief moment I thought
he was going to berate Masters for unlocking transmission, but he didn’t.
“Damage or injuries?”

“Don’t know, Captain. Don’t think so. There was no concussion . . . we could see it coming, but when it burst over us we felt nothing except a kind of tingling, and the engines died. All other systems are still functioning. And we’re moving. Slow, but moving.”

“Captain!”
Cardenas again.
“Here comes another one!”

On the monitor, the silvery sheen was once again forming a sphere on the hull of the alien ship. The sphere detached and ejected from the ship, directed again at the shuttle.

The cameras followed its trajectory more closely this time, knowing what to expect. One zoomed in on it, and we could see more details. The sphere seemed solid, or at least opaque, its surface a glistening silver, electricity-like filaments sparking across it.

It burst over the shuttle, just like the previous one had, doing no visible damage.

“Masters. Status.”

There was no answer at first. A minute passed, then two. Finally a faint transmission came through.

“We lost everything,”
Masters said.
“Systems are back up, but only at three-quarters power.”

“Masters, try to refire the engines,” I said. “If they start, tell everyone to hang on and blast out of here at six g’s.”

“Captain?”

“Bartolomeo’s right. Do it!”

“Jimmy,” Maxine said.

Jimmy nodded. He knew what she wanted. He tapped away at the console and the harvester launcher lurched toward the open bay doors. There were no energy fields here, just the vacuum of space waiting for us.