Richard Russo - Ship of Fools

“Permanent.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Assuming you don’t attempt to lead another mutiny,” he said.

“My sentence commuted?” I asked.

“I believe you were never tried or sentenced,” he replied.

I nodded, remembering my conversation months earlier with Father Veronica. “The charges dropped?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who requested you do this?”

“Captain Costa.”

“If I’m to be released,” I said, “why can’t I just go now?”

Again Geller just shook his head. “Be ready at nine tomorrow. That’s all I can tell you.”

He turned and started to leave, but I stopped him.

“Wait.”

He looked back at me.

“What’s going on out there?”

Geller didn’t answer. His expression didn’t even change.

“What’s been found?”

Still no answer, but this time his face visibly tightened. “Be ready,” he repeated, then walked out.

THEnext morning, upon my release, I was not allowed to return to my own rooms. Instead, I was escorted directly to the captain’s quarters by a contingent of six masked and armed security soldiers. I did not feel like a free man.

It had been less than a year, but already the captain’s quarters seemed unfamiliar. The six soldiers didn’t help, but even after Nikos had dismissed them I still felt like a stranger in those rooms.

Nikos sat behind his desk, saying nothing. I stood in front of him, my hands clasped behind my back as if they were bound and I was still a prisoner.

“It’s been a long and difficult time, Bartolomeo.”

I gave him a half-smile and said, “For whom?”

Nikos nodded in acknowledgment. “More difficult for you, yes. But difficult for me as well.” He waved at the chairs across the desk from him. “Please, Bartolomeo, make yourself at home.”

“Like old times?”

“Yes, like old times. We can try, can’t we?”

I sat in one of the chairs, which felt unusually soft and comfortable after all the months in my cell. The orange glowglobes were stationary above us, distributed in a patterned matrix. The faint aroma of mood incense lingered in the air, almost cloying.

“I had no choice,” Nikos finally said to me.

“Imprisoning me?” I asked. “Or releasing me?”

He sighed heavily. “Is our entire conversation going to be like this? I understand how you feel, but I don’t want to do it this way. I don’t have the time or the energy for it.”

I just shook my head.

“Why don’t we have a drink?” Nikos suggested.

“All right.”

He seemed greatly relieved. He got up and poured two glasses of whiskey. I remembered the last time we drank together—just before landfall, when he kept emphasizing how much he was depending on me. Apparently he had been depending on me to keep the mutiny going so he could be the hero and save the ship. Now, months later, he brought a glass of whiskey to me, and I could not help but wonder in what new way he was about to deceive me again. He sat back down, and we both drank.

“You were saying you had no choice.”

He nodded. “That’s correct. No choice. I could not let you remain free while we incarcerated the others. Too many people knew you were involved.”

“How long had you known of our plans?”

“Some time,” Nikos replied. That was vague enough.

“That was your plan all along to fend off the bishop. You knew about the mutiny all that time, and let it proceed so you could stop it at the last minute and be the hero.”

His silence was all the response I needed.

“And how long had you known of my involvement?”

“I only found out at the very end, just before they started boarding the shuttles, when it was too late to warn you. By then I had no choice—I had to let it happen.”

I didn’t believe him, but I let it go.

“I did what I could,” he went on. “I managed to convince the Executive Council not to proceed with the charges, no trials, no sentences. I kept things as open-ended as possible.”

“Why have I been released now?”

Nikos hesitated a long time before answering, and I began to sense how difficult this was for him. “I’ve risked everything to have you released. I had to release all of the other conspirators as well.”

“Why?” I asked again.

He pulled at his beard, always a sign of distress. “I need you,” he finally said.

I almost smiled, but managed to keep my expression under control.

“Does the bishop know?”

“By now, probably. He’ll be furious. I’ve bypassed the entire Executive Council doing this.”

“All right,” I said. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“Better if I show you,” he replied.

WEwalked through the ship corridors to the command salon, a half-hour of tense silence—more uncomfortable for Nikos than for me, I was certain. He carried the whiskey bottle and glasses, which showed me the depth of his distress. The few people we passed pointedly ignored us, although some did appear surprised to see me.

Once inside the salon, Nikos sank into the command chair, setting bottle and glasses on the floor. He did not look much in command of anything. He moved his hands to the control consoles and tapped out a series of key sequences.

There was a faint vibration, a barely audible hum, and the canopy began to retract—robotic iris, a giant eye to us, but a tiny eye to the ship, opening to the vastness of space. Stars came into view, only a handful at first, then more as the canopy continued to retract, a dense and growing expanse of radiant dust.

As almost always happened in that room, I became disoriented once the canopy had fully retracted. I felt unmoored, adrift in a glass bubble.

Nikos raised a hand and pointed out through the clear steelglass. “There,” he said.

I followed the direction of his trembling finger, studied the unending night. Nearly lost in all the stars was a tiny smudge of bluish light against a small dark occlusion.

“What is it?”

Nikos handed one of the glasses to me, which I took. He filled it along with his own, then drank most of his down at once, eyes clamped tightly shut. He shuddered, then opened his eyes and stared at the bluish light.

“An alien starship,” he said.

Something’s been found, Pär’s note had said. Oh, yes, something had been found. I stared at the azure light, the dark area within and around it. An alien starship.

“How do we know it’s alien?” I asked. “Are we communicating with them?”

Nikos shook his head. “There’s no one there. It’s a dead ship. Abandoned or deserted, who knows?” He drank again, refilled his glass. “Maybe just empty and dead because everyone aboard has perished. We haven’t found any bodies yet.”

“How do we know it’s alien?” I asked again.

“Because there’s not a damn thing recognizably human on that ship, inside or out.”

“So we’ve been inside.”

“Yes. We’ve explored the smallest piece of the thing.” He turned to look at me. “That ship is huge, Bartolomeo. A lot bigger than the Argonos .”

“How far are we from it?” It seemed so small.

“About three thousand kilometers. I wasn’t going to bring the Argonos any closer until we had a better idea what it was. And now that we do, I still don’t want to.” He turned his attention back to the alien vessel. “We picked it up three months ago. Spent a week on our approach and deceleration, another week of observation—scanning, listening, probing. No response, so signs of life.”

Nikos worked the console, and the monitor screen rose from the floor, three meters square and already coming to life. A black shape flickered into focus, somewhat ovoid, and so dark, its surface features were almost impossible to make out; it seemed to be covered with smaller half-ovoids, like bubbles. Bluish light beacons hovered above the surface of the vessel.