Richard Russo - Ship of Fools

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.

TOLLERcame 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.

THEREwere 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.”