Ship of Fools (15 page)

N
OR
was there any argument from the Executive Committee back on the
Argonos
. But they strongly suggested we
all
return to the ship for a few days, even a couple of weeks. The bishop declared that we needed a break from the alien starship, from the hard work of suiting up every other day and moving about in zero g, from being cooped up together for so long. Nikos, too, said he thought it would be a good idea. I told them I would discuss it with the others, and we would let them know. In the meantime, they would select two replacements.

I called everyone except Starlin and Winton into the main cabin and told them what the Executive Committee had suggested. I included Taggart—the med-tech—and the two pilots because our decision would affect them as well.

“I want to know two things from each of you,” I said. “First, do you want to continue as a member of this team? If your answer is no, you can go back to the
Argonos
with Starlin and Winton, and no one will think less of you. This has been hard on all of us, and there’s no reason to think it’s going to get any easier. As I said before we came here, I don’t want anyone on this team who isn’t willing.” I looked out at all those who had been on the shuttle with
me all this time. “If you need to think about it, just say so. Take a few hours if necessary.”

“What’s the second question?” Aiyana asked.

“If you
do
want to remain a part of this team,” I continued, “do you think we should go back to the
Argonos
for a time, get away from the alien ship? So, let’s start with the first question.”

As I’d expected and hoped, not a single person wanted to withdraw from the team. We moved to the second question.

“You’re in charge of this . . . mission,” William Rogers said. “I’d like to hear what you think about it.”

I looked at the others, saw some nodding, and no signs of objection. From the expressions on most of their faces, I had the feeling that at least some of them were beginning to respect me.

“I
don’t
think we should leave now,” I said. “I believe it would be a mistake. We’ve developed a feel for the alien ship. It may not be much, and we may not understand one damn thing about it yet, but we know it as much as anyone can at this point. Yes, we need to be more careful, remind ourselves of what can happen, what can go wrong. Starlin’s a perfect reminder of that. But if we go back to the
Argonos
, we risk losing that feel, however intangible it is. If that happens, we’re more likely to make mistakes when we come back. There
will
come a time when we’ll need to stop, when we will have been here too long. But I don’t think we’re anywhere near that point.”

Casterman spoke up. “I must disagree,” he said. “In part because I represent the Church, and I should argue the bishop’s position, but also because I personally agree with it.” He paused, and sniffed. I couldn’t help wondering what it was he was sniffing at. “I believe we will be
more
prone to mistakes if we don’t take a break from the daily excursions into the alien ship. We’re tired, we’re despairing—”

“Speak for yourself,” Pär interrupted. “I’m tired, but I’m not even close to despair.”

Casterman nodded. “Fair enough. But we
are
tired, and at times tired of each other. A break from all this would
allow us a fresh start. We would come back with renewed enthusiasm.”

“No, I think Bartolomeo’s right,” Cardenas said. “Eventually we will need that kind of a break, but taking one now . . . It would be an implicit admission of failure, or defeat.”

“Not at all,” Casterman responded. “Just a recognition of the difficulties, of the stresses involved.”

“You can say that all you want,” Cardenas argued, “but I know that’s how it would feel. Inside.” She pointed to her stomach. “Where it counts.”

We took a vote. Casterman and Aiyana were the only ones who voted against staying.

“We stay right here, then,” I said. Then, to the two dissenters, “Do you want to go back to the
Argonos
? If you need the time away from here, we’ll adjust the schedule around it until you feel you can return. We won’t replace you.”

Casterman surprised me. He shook his head, smiling. “No. We’re in this together. I can’t speak for Aiyana, but I’ll stay.”

Aiyana hesitated, then nodded. “I will, too.”

We were decided.

I
had Casterman and Aiyana with me when I contacted the
Argonos
so that they could assure the Executive Committee that I wasn’t making the decisions on my own. We spent half an hour discussing our decision to stay with the alien ship, and another on the logistics of getting Starlin and Winton back to the
Argonos
—we didn’t want to send them back together, so two maintenance modules would be sent and, at least for the time being, Starlin and Winton would have a security officer with them at all times. No one wanted to talk about a long-term solution, so it was ignored; everyone, I’m sure, was hoping any animosity between them would eventually disappear once they were back on board the
Argonos
.

Finally we got to the two replacements. Everyone on the
Executive Committee turned to Bishop Soldano, so it was obvious who had made the final decision. The bishop looked at us, and a half-smile worked onto his face.

“We thought you would stay,” he said. “So the first replacement will be Dr. Glienna Sommerwild. Do any of you know her?”

Pär grunted. “I know her. She’s a head twister.”

The bishop nodded. “Yes, she’s a psychologist. We think her presence would be a good precaution, and she’s quite willing.”

I turned to Pär. “Any objection to her?”

He shook his head. “If we’ve got to have one, it might as well be her.” Then he smiled. “Nothing
I
do will surprise her.”

“All right,” I said. “Who’s the other replacement?”

The bishop hesitated, but the smile was still there. “Father Veronica.”

I avoided looking at Pär, and glanced at Casterman. His face was set hard, as if he was straining to keep any expression from appearing. I wondered if he thought the choice of Father Veronica a criticism of him by the bishop.

“Father Veronica,” I repeated. I felt stupid, unable to say anything else.

“Yes,” said the bishop. “Even though she would be a second representative of the Church, I did not think you would object. We’ve discussed her once before. She’s expressed a strong interest in joining the team.”

As always, I did not trust his motives. “No, I don’t have any objections. She’ll make a good addition.”

We spent some more time discussing details, including new equipment and supplies we needed. When we cut the communication, Casterman left without a word, and I thought to myself that we were going to have trouble with him.

T
WO
days later, Father Veronica and Dr. Sommerwild arrived. Frip and Cardenas helped them out of their pressure suits, and then we had a round of introductions. I
stayed in the rear corner of the main cabin, watching and waiting. Dr. Sommerwild came over to me and we shook hands. She was a small woman, with graying hair and skin that was beginning to wrinkle. I was surprised that the Executive Committee would have chosen someone of that age, but her handshake was strong, and her movements indicated she was in good shape, and comfortable in zero gravity.

“Do you remember me, Bartolomeo?” Her voice was gravelly, yet somehow comforting, and it did sound familiar. But I couldn’t place it, or her face.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Should I?”

She shrugged. “If you don’t, you’d make a good demonstration for the concept of repression.” She smiled then, and with that smile the years came away and the memories washed over me. I couldn’t muster a response; I felt a little shaky.

“Dr. G.?”

She nodded, still smiling. “That’s me.”

“I’d always assumed the G was the first letter of your last name. Wrong all that time. What is it . . . Glenna?”

“Glienna. Now you know my big secret.” Her smile slowly gave way to a more thoughtful expression. “It has been many years, Bartolomeo.”

Oh yes, a lot of years. When I was ten or eleven, someone in authority, perhaps even one of my invisible, unnamed parents, decided I might not be psychologically healthy, and that I could benefit from some counseling or therapy. Of course I wasn’t psychologically healthy. I’d been born a freak, abandoned by my parents, raised by committee, taunted and harassed by other children, and shunned by adults. I’ve
never
been psychologically healthy, and I never will be. I feel a sense of accomplishment because I have managed to achieve a certain level of functionality.

Someone thought Dr. G. could help me. It’s very possible that she did. We met once or twice a week for almost a year; usually for an hour or so, other times for an entire morning or afternoon, wandering through different parts of the ship, talking part of the time, but often not talking at all. Sometimes I looked forward to our meetings with so
much anticipation I couldn’t sleep; but just as often I felt only dread. Who knows? I might have been much worse off than I am today if not for her.

“For years,” she said, interrupting my thoughts, “I couldn’t decide whether you were one of my successes, or one of my failures.”

“What did you finally decide?” I asked her.

“That you were neither.” She paused. “Over time I have come to understand that I have much less impact on my patients than I’d once believed. Oh, I can help, provide some guidance for those who truly want to be helped, for those who have some understanding of their difficulties and are ready, who are trying to change. For those people, who would probably find their own way eventually, I might be able to speed up the process, make it a bit easier. But if the patient doesn’t want to get better, to change in some way, I can’t do a thing for them. Nothing.” She paused again. “It seems so simple, and so obvious in some ways, but when you are trained intensely for this work, you end up with an inflated sense of your own importance, your effectiveness. You, Bartolomeo, were going to be what you are, with or without me. And look what you’ve achieved: adviser to the captain of the
Argonos
, and now leader of an expedition exploring an alien starship.”

“You forget ‘despised by thousands,’” I said.

She tipped her head slightly to one side. “I have heard rumors to the effect that that’s changing.”

“Only rumors,” I said.

She hesitated, looking directly at me, then said, “I suspect not.”

Father Veronica joined us then. She took my hand in hers. “Hello, Bartolomeo.”

“Father.” I felt suddenly awkward.

“I’m here after all,” she said.

“I’m going to go settle in,” Dr. G. said. “I understand I will have a compartment all of two meters square.”

“Closer to two and half,” I told her.

“Luxury. Well, until later, then.”

She left, and Father Veronica watched her go. Then she
turned back to me and said, “Renewing old acquaintances, I see. Glienna said you’d known each other a long time ago.”

I nodded. “When I was a child. Did she tell you
how
we knew each other?”

“No.”

“I was a patient.”

“I wondered.”

I left it at that. I didn’t feel like going through it all again. “So the bishop changed his mind,” I said.

“I was persuasive. I heard there would be a need for two replacements, and I insisted. After some hesitation, he acquiesced.”

“That worries me.”

“You distrust him that much?”

“Yes. And with good cause.”

She sighed, but whether it was because she thought I was being unfair, or because she thought I was right, I couldn’t tell. But then she smiled gently. “I’m looking forward to this, Bartolomeo. Truly.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Father.”

“Please, Bartolomeo. We’re friends. Call me Veronica.”

“All right,” I said.

“We start tomorrow?” she asked.

“Probably. Or the next day. We’ve got some work to do first.”

“Then I’ll follow Glienna’s example, and settle in.”

I watched her move awkwardly across the main cabin, and realized I didn’t know whether or not I was glad she was here.

I
knew I needed to make changes to the teams; I did not want both new people together, even if it would be with Cardenas. So I started over, and not a single team remained the same. I shifted Pär to a team with Casterman and Maria Vegas, and I assigned Father Veronica to my own along with Leona Frip. I put Dr. G. with Rogers and Cardenas, leaving Hollings, Aiyana, and Youngman for the final team. Pär smirked at me when I announced the new arrangements, but I decided I could live with that.

The next day, we began again.

A
T
the end of Father Veronica’s first shift inside the alien starship, which had been more of a “tour” to familiarize her with the ship than a real exploration, I asked her what her impressions were.

“It
is
such a strange place. I understand now what people mean when they say it seems so alien. I understand how people can be so certain that this ship was not built by or for human beings. And yet, there is also something quite wonderful about it, because it is so different.” She paused.
“But I can see how that feeling might change over time, when nothing means anything.”

“Do you still sense that malign quality to the ship?”

“No, not really.”

“What do you sense, then? Anything?”

She nodded. “Indifference.”

O
VER
the next several days, our rate of progress increased. We were learning patterns, the way doors and hatches opened, recognizing dead ends before wasting too much time on them. The only negative occurrence was a report from the
Argonos.
Nikos opened the communication alone one day, and spoke to me in private.

“Winton’s disappeared.” He looked tired, the dark areas beneath his eyes more pronounced.

“What the hell does ‘disappeared’ mean?”

“What do you think?” His words were slightly slurred, but I couldn’t tell if it was from alcohol or exhaustion.

“All right, tell me what happened.”

“We don’t
know
what happened. She was supposed to report to the central med clinic for more tests, but never showed. The security escort posted outside her cabin eventually overrode her door locks, but she wasn’t anywhere in her rooms. She just disappeared.”

“I suppose the security escort swears he or she never left the door unattended.”

“That’s absolutely correct. He says he never left his post, and the escort on before him says the same thing. She’s just gone.”

“It’s probably nothing, but I’d warn Starlin,” I said.

“I already have. He’s not worried. I got the impression he welcomed a confrontation with her.”

I leaned back in my seat, thinking about what, if anything, this meant for us.

“What do you expect me to do from here?”

“Nothing. I just thought you should know. It’s one more complication in this whole mess.” He paused. “Are you going to tell anyone there?”

“What’s to tell? As you said yourself, we have no idea what happened. Until we know more, all it would do is set off useless speculation, and maybe start some people worrying. We don’t need that.”

I watched him shrug and nod. “How is it going there?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine. Nothing exciting, but nothing bad, either.”

“How long will you stick with it, Bartolomeo? You’re learning nothing, you’re finding nothing. How long?”

“A lot longer than this, Nikos. Why do you care? Isn’t finding this ship what you wanted?”

“What do you mean by that?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Thanks for letting me know about Winton.”

We spoke for a few more minutes about official matters, and ended the linkup. I sat in the pilot cabin, thinking and worrying. Winton’s disappearance
did
disturb me. But as I’d said to Nikos, there was nothing I could do about it from here. I tried to forget about it.

F
IVE
days after Father Veronica and Dr. G. joined us, we found something remarkable. Actually, what was remarkable was not the object itself, but the fact that we found it, when we had found nothing like it in all the weeks we’d explored the alien starship.

My team was in a large room broken up by metal girders so that our lanterns cast long and harsh shadows in all directions. Each of us had gone off to explore different parts of the room, but none of us had yet seen anything of interest.

I was crawling through a triangular opening where three of the girders intersected, when Father Veronica said, “I’ve found something.”

Leona Frip and I joined her where two pairs of girders were fused together as they entered the wall. She had spotted a box wedged into the junction, and she pointed to it
as we approached. Then she reached into the junction, gently took hold of the box, and pulled it out.

The box was half a meter long and twenty or twenty-five centimeters high and deep. It was made of dark, reddish polished wood, the top inlaid with tiny bits of colored stone—dark blue pieces irregularly shaped but placed in a swirl pattern. Leaflike shapes were carved into the two ends. There were no clasps or visible hinges, but the fine separation of the lid was visible.

“Do we try to open it?” Father Veronica asked.

That was a good question. We hung there, drifting slightly, looking at each other.

“Remember Pandora,” Leona said. No one laughed.

“It’s just a box,” said Father Veronica.

I think we all knew we were going to open it, just as we all knew the logical and cautious approach would have been to bring in a remote and try to open it from a distance.

“I’ll do it,” Leona said.

She reached for the box, but before her gloved fingers touched it, Father Veronica raised the lid. The lid came free—no hinges, nothing physically holding it in place—and nothing happened. Father Veronica angled the box so that lantern light fully illuminated the interior. Inside were delicate balls of dust, or disintegrated matter. Nothing recognizable.

The underside of the lid appeared to be painted, and the images looked vaguely like white clouds against a deep blue sky, but they could have been anything.

No one spoke. When I looked at Father Veronica, who still held the box in her hands, I thought her eyes had grown moist.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She just shook her head.

“Father?” Leona put her hand on Father Veronica’s arm.

“This was once somebody’s box,” she finally said, her voice little more than a cracked whisper. “Human or alien, this was something
personal
, I’m sure of it. It meant something to someone. And that person is gone, long gone, and
there is no one left to remember what this box was, or what it meant. Or why it was placed here.”

I thought it an odd sentiment from someone who believed in life after death. The owner of the box was physically long gone, but in Father Veronica’s belief system his (or her or its) soul was still with us, alive, somehow, presumably with the memories and feelings about that box intact. But it’s also possible there was something to her feelings that I did not comprehend.

Father Veronica carefully closed the box, then put it back where she’d found it, gently wedging it into place so it would not drift away.

E
XCITEMENT
gradually returned. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the kind of true excitement we’d been expecting was only now manifesting for the first time since we started exploring the alien starship. Much of it came from the increased speed of our progress, and from the other new places we found: another spherical chamber like the Greenhouse, but this time with facets made of a reflective material that repeatedly refracted light and images throughout it; long, clear tubes leading through a tank of some kind of liquid, lantern light revealing bits of slowly moving matter in the fluid; and a long corridor illuminated by rows of faint green phosphorescence. There were still no revelations, no mysteries solved, no understanding of the function of anything, but we all sensed a growing complexity, or variety—something different.

Most tantalizing of all, as insignificant as it might have seemed on the surface, was the discovery of the box. Although we never touched it again, it was always there in our minds, and I am sure I was not the only person who detoured to look at it as we moved through that room. It was an artifact, something that was not an integral part of the alien ship. More than that was the feeling, unspoken but felt by most of us, that it had been made by human hands.