Richard Russo - Ship of Fools

“The problem is obvious,” said the bishop. “Bartolomeo Aguilera is, as you have just stated for the record, still charged with treason. To place him in such a position of authority is a serious breach of responsibility.”

Nikos didn’t have an answer to that. It was clear to me that he had not thought through the various consequences of his actions.

“I would like to speak,” I said. Everyone turned to look at me, and the expressions were a mix of annoyance (the bishop, Costino, even the captain), puzzlement (Michel Tournier, Susanna Hingen), and interest (Toller, Cardenas, Aiyana, and Geller). When no one objected, I went on.

“This entire matter can be simply resolved,” I said. “Until now, I was not aware that the charge of treason is still outstanding. Frankly, I don’t wish to be set free with that charge unresolved, knowing that at any time I can be thrown back into a cell. I formally request, as a matter of due process, that the charges of treason against me, and against the others who were imprisoned, be dropped, or that you proceed immediately with a trial or other proceeding.” I paused for a moment, glancing around me; before anyone could reply, I resumed. “I’d like to make my own case right now for the charges being dropped.”

Attention turned to the bishop and the captain, who glanced at each other. Nikos was trapped; he had not expected anything like this, and I know he did not want his hold over me taken away, but he would be forced to advocate my position.

“Bishop?” Nikos asked.

The bishop appeared to be weighing the consequences, and eventually said, “I have no objections. I doubt that this can be resolved as simply as Bartolomeo suggests, but I am certainly willing to hear him present his case.”

There were no objections from anyone else—a lot of nodding and shrugging, still some puzzlement. Michel Tournier, in particular, appeared bewildered by what was happening.

“Go ahead,” Nikos said to me.

“It wasn’t treason,” I began.

“Then what was it?” Costino asked.

“A bid for freedom.”

Costino snorted and Susanna Hingen shook her head, smiling.

“Why do you think it is that the downsiders want to leave the Argonos ? With what we found on Antioch, did that world look like a new Paradise? A new Garden of Eden?” I looked at the bishop. “Which would be your area of expertise.” I paused, but he didn’t respond except to narrow his eyes.

“They want freedom,” I resumed. “They want the same freedom you or I have and which we deny them.”

Tournier started to protest, but I cut him off with a look, as surprised by the power of it to quiet him as he was.

“We deny them freedom. They are servants to us, to this ship. They are little more than slaves.”

“You’re being melodramatic,” said the bishop. “You exaggerate their situation.”

“Perhaps. But not much, and you can’t argue the general proposition. You can leave the ship any time you want. They cannot. And why not? Because it is convenient for us to have them serve us, do the scut work on this ship, work the ag rooms and the fabrication plants, toil in the detox tunnels, and grind away in the drive engines. To do whatever we do not wish to do ourselves.

“Are we better people than they are? Are we superior beings? No, though some of you may think so. We are only more fortunate. We are fortunate to have been born topside, while they were born downside.

“Treason? No. And this is the important thing: they did nothing to threaten the Argonos, nor any one of you. They would have gone quietly, without fuss, without harming anyone.

“ That is why I chose to help them. They deserved the chance we would not give them.”

When I was finished, half of the council members were no longer looking at me. I had no idea how things would go. The captain sat at the head of the table, his chin resting on his fists, staring at me with partially closed eyes.

Margita Cardenas was the first to speak. “Bartolomeo is right. We probably bear a certain amount of responsibility for what happened. I move that the charges against Bartolomeo Aguilera, and the others involved in the attempted mutiny, be dropped.”

Most of the council members were silently trying to gauge which way the dynamics were flowing. Then the bishop surprised us all.

“I would second the Cardenas motion. I find, surprisingly, that I am somewhat persuaded by Bartolomeo’s argument. More than that, however, there are practical reasons.” He glanced sidelong at Nikos. “The downsiders are causing trouble, they’re in a state of permanent, quiet rebellion. Dropping the charges could help defuse the situation, since nothing our captain has done has been effective.”

Nikos seemed stunned, but he gathered himself and finally asked, “Is there discussion of the motion?”

Heads turned, council members looking at one another, but no one said a thing.

“Call the question,” the bishop said.

Nikos did. They all voted in favor except for Michel Tournier and Costino. Tournier did not concern me, but I would remember Costino’s vote; I took it as a warning. There were others, I knew, who were dead set against me, but they were too smart to tip their hands.

“This does not resolve the second issue,” the bishop said once the vote was recorded. “Just because the charges have been dropped does not mean that putting Bartolomeo in charge of the exploration team is wise.” He turned to the captain. “I would like to know why you think it’s a good move. I fail to see Bartolomeo’s expertise here.”

“Who does have the expertise for exploring an alien starship?” Nikos asked. “Has anyone on this entire ship been trained for it? No. Does anyone have any experience? No. Bartolomeo Aguilera is a man who has provided wise counsel over the years, has demonstrated an acute mind and an ability to view things from a perspective different from that of most people. And I think that a different perspective is exactly what we need in this situation.”

“I believe the captain is right.” It was August Toller, who was usually silent during council sessions. The old man coughed once and cleared his throat. Although he was nearly a hundred and forty years old, moved slowly, and rarely spoke, his voice still had strength. “I have known Bartolomeo all his life. I was already old when he was born. He is a strange man, as any of us would be had we been born with his deformities, then been raised and treated by others as he has been. He can be unpleasant. But that strangeness may be just what is called for now.” Toller paused, looking about the table. “Our forays into that mysterious ship are like the probings of a man newly blind. Because we do not know what we are looking for, or what we hope to find, we do not know how to make our search. Bartolomeo may be able to discover an approach unlike what any one of us could envision. If he does, it might not be more successful than what we’ve tried thus far. But I think we would be foolish not to try something different, and I believe putting Bartolomeo in charge of the exploration is a worthwhile change in direction.”

Michel Tournier had been squirming in his seat, waiting for the opportunity to speak, and he took it as soon as Toller finished. “We are foolish to keep going into that ship at all,” he said, his voice rising. “Five people are dead, a number of others have been injured, and some are becoming unbalanced. And we’ve learned nothing . We’ve accomplished nothing. Even if it is an alien ship, what does that matter? It’s a death ship to us. We should leave it, leave this part of space, go to the next star. Better yet, we should launch warheads and destroy it before we leave.”