Ship of Fools by Richard Russo

security system and entered the first room; when they saw I was in the second, they advanced masked and silent upon me. They numbered five, which seemed far more than necessary for one man.
    The five soldiers stood before me, and I slowly shook my head. In a strange way, I could not believe what was happening. The lead soldier stepped forward, still silent, and motioned for me to stand. I did, and the soldier grabbed my shoulder, wrenched me around, and pulled my metal and steelglass arms together, then bound my wrists with electronic shackles. This, too, seemed unnecessary. I made no move to resist or struggle—I would go with themwillingly, because anything else would be worse than useless; it would be pathetic.
    “What are the charges?” I asked. But there was no answer. “Am I under arrest?” No reply. “I want to speak to Captain Costa.” Still no reply, and by then I knew there wouldn’t be one.
    I sighed in resignation; then as the lead soldier shoved me toward the door, my acceptance gave way to a tightening of my mouth and a tensing of my eyes. I tipped my head back, and as the door opened I called out.
    “Nikos! Nikos, where are you?”
    I was led through the door, flanked by two guards, another in front of me and two more behind. The corridor was empty, but I continued to shout.
    “Nikos! Have the courage to face me if you do this! NIKOS!!”

17
    T HEY could have confined me to my quarters. Recoded the locks, put a guard in the corridor, shut down my computer access, whatever was necessary. Apparently that wasn’t enough.
    I was locked in a cell.
    There was one entire level of cabins specifically designed for disciplinary confinement, located one level beneath the cathedral. I knew from the sounds I heard that a number of nearby cells were also occupied, but I didn’t know by whom, nor did I care.
    My cell was equipped with a bunk, toilet, shower cubicle, sink, and a wall screen with only the most restricted system access, and even that was incoming only. I was given one change of clothing. Meals were brought twice a day, trays of the processed food the downsiders lived on.
    Oddly enough, however, I was reasonably content. Suddenly my life had become calm and quiet, and waiting did not seem so difficult. Although I had no idea what would happen, nor any control over it, I could reflect at my leisure. I felt relaxed and pressure-free.
    I ’D been locked up for nearly a week when Father Veronica came to visit me. She was wearing an ordinary black cassock rather than the white I might have expected her to wear for an official visit to a prisoner. I asked her about it.
    “I thought you would prefer a visit from a friend, rather than from a representative of the Church.”
    “You consider yourself my friend?” I asked.
    “Of course. Don’t you consider yourself mine?”
    “Yes.”
    We shared the wall bed, sitting at opposite ends. We were forced to sit somewhat awkwardly in order to face each other.
    “No one’s come to see me,” I told her. “No one has told me whether or not I am officially under arrest, or what the charges are, or how long I am to be here. Nothing.”
    Father Veronica hesitated for a few moments before replying, and her expression was grave. “You are charged with treason, Bartolomeo.”
    Not surprising, but still distressing to hear. This meant they probably knew everything.
    “But you won’t be tried,” she added.
    “What do you mean?”
    “There will be no trials, not for anyone.”
    “No trials?” I felt stupid, as if I wasn’t hearing right.
    “No.”
    “Then I’ll be released soon.”
    “No.” Her eyes seemed to go heavy. “No,” she said again.
    I didn’t like what I was hearing, the way she was saying it.
    “What’s going on?” I asked her.
    “The Executive Council is distinguishing between those who followed, and those who led. Those who followed are being released with only minor sanctions.”
    “And those who led?”
    “Charged with treason,