This is a fan translation of Captain French, or the Quest for Paradise (Капитан Френч, или Поиски рая) by Mikhail Akhmanov and Christopher Nicholas Gilmore.
Chapter 3
One should not expect happy spectacles on a planet ruled by a theocratic regime, and their number would not impress anyone. The list given to me by Geoffrey's assistants included only six options, and four of them were of the theatricalized sacred mysteries kind. After some hesitation, out of the two remaining choices, I picked drama over opera.
The performance took place in a beautiful indoor amphitheater, which had survived from the old times. I was delivered there by servants in gray robes, only this time there were a whole dozen of them instead of just two, and they had surrounded me tightly to preclude the possibility of any contact with the locals. They had prepared a box for me, from which I could observe the performance and enjoy the view of the audience across from me, from about eighty meters away. The trip to the theater hadn't been much better, as my glider was moving fast, and the cabin cover had been darkened. I was able to notice, however, that Bailey-at-Kleis, the capital of Murphy, had retained some of its former charm; there were no ruins here, and only several of the high-rises I remembered were completely gone. The lack of destruction was probably explained by the fact that Bailey was located at the very center of the large continent and in another hemisphere from the ill-fated bay where the comet had struck.
After confirming that I would not be able to speak with anyone, I sighed, lowered myself into a chair (slightly softer than the stool in Geoffrey's dormitory) and prepared to enjoy local art. To the Murphians' credit, I had to say that the performance drew me in, by its colorfulness and the skill of the actors, as well as by the many nonsenses and absurdities made by the playwright. The composition was called Hamrestes and was, in a sense, a wild mix of the stories of Hamlet and Orestes with some additions from Earth classics. I suspected that the recording of ancient books had either all been lost during the time of the Hammer Strike or had been subjected to horrific censorship, shrinking by a factor of five or ten. It seemed to me that the author of the plays must have read a few pages of Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Sir Thomas Mallory, and Euripides or Sophocles; these pages must have served as the source of his inspiration.
Of course, the primary storyline involved a vendetta, revenge for the treacherous death of the hero's father, in which he was being helped by his father's ghost, Ophelia, Electra, and the Brothers Karamazov. This friendly sextet spent several hours reaching for Clytemnestra's throat and then Hamrestes spent the same amount of time suffering from remorse, until one of the augurs named Pylades Polonius, seeing his torment, took him to the heavenly Avalon, where the celestial beings of the Round Table, led by King Arthur, performed a cleansing ritual.
All that was performed convincingly, with great enthusiasm, and the actors' skill compensated slightly for the lack of common sense. Unfortunately, additions made by the censors could be seen throughout the play: in Hamrestes's "To be, or not to be, that is the question" monologue, every other quatrain included praises to the Lord, while Old Nick was being insulted in the worst way possible. But I had no complaints, fully understanding the details of the situation. The actress playing Electra caught my eye; she was a thin, tall beauty with blonde curls, dressed in a humble tunic; her face did not seem to me to show any signs of a bioscruptor's work. I had to admit that Murphians in general were a tall and beautiful people, mostly with gray and blue eyes, which confirmed their Russian and Scandinavian roots. There were, of course, additions of other blood, but, without the Circe's computer, I was unable to recreate their genealogy in detail. Instead, while looking at my Electra, I started to guess her age, but any version here could prove to be mistaken; nowadays, all women looked like young girls no older than twenty-four. Very few agreed to choose a more mature age, delaying the CR procedure by three-four years; and I didn't believe I had met a single attractive female over the past millennium who looked to be in her thirties. Women were women; neither God, nor the Devil, and not even the oppression of theocracy or any other authoritarian regime would force them to reject eternal charming youth.
And so, the performance was coming to a close, and I was trying to estimate how much of my precious metal I could offer for this colorful action. There was a certain charm to its absurdity, capable of attracting even those who were more familiar with Shakespeare or Dostoyevsky than the author of the play; I had no doubt that I'd be able to sell the recording on at least a dozen worlds. Finally, I decided that I should offer one hundred grams of gold and, after haggling, agree to one-fifty, if the holographic recording was good, of course.
At that, my Murphian entertainment was over, and I departed for my shuttle and then to the Circe, where I had dinner in my customary and not-at-all depressing solitude.
The following morning, Archon Geoffrey and I once again sat down at the negotiating table. After the issue with Hamrestes had been resolved (I managed to get the recording for a hundred and thirty grams), Geoffrey said, "Captain, during your last visit, you have honored me with your confidence by telling me of the first centuries of your life. I took the liberty of comparing this story with the few records that have been preserved on Murphy and are dedicated to those distant times. Praise the Lord, I have now been given the chance to complete and clarify them! However…" He fell silent, and I encouraged him with a brief nod. As I discovered, appetite came with eating: Geoffrey wanted to find out more about my adventures, and, in particular, what I had been doing after departing Earth.
"The records claim," he said, "that you departed Earth for Penelope and then spent an entire millennium, by planetary measurements, of course, traveling the stars. Why? After all, I assume you were already a wealthy man."
"Everything is relative, venerable Archon. I have already told you that I had started upgrading the Circe, first replacing the reactor?" After receiving Geoffrey's nod, I decided that I could continue. "Well then, the reactor was only the beginning. I purchased a new Genius-type ship's computer and a bunch of programs for it; in effect, this computer had become the being I call Circe. I also needed multifunctional autonomous robots of the most recent designs, equipment for workshops, raw materials, spare parts, and tools. My greenhouses and hydroponics gave me many problems; after all, it's the most important part of the ship, related to life support systems, air regeneration, and so forth. New cell cultures, animal and plant, were also expensive; all of them had undergone the CR procedure and became virtually immortal. Besides that, I obtained first-rate medical equipment and could, if necessary, clone and transplant any organ without leaving the ship. My robots make up an excellent surgical team, no worse than in the leading hospitals back on Earth."
"So you see, my friend," I glanced at Geoffrey, "I was able to spend all my wealth sensibly. But expenses are expenses, and pretty soon I ran low, even though each of the suppliers offered many discounts to the Trader from the Stars. I had to once again take up transportation jobs and look for clients… In essence, I made all the interested parties the same offer as I had done on Logres once: I take their goods, sell it in the colonies, and then we split the profits fifty-fifty. But the Earthers turned out to be far more compliant than the Logresians…"
I remembered that period with pleasure and, simultaneously, a sense of certain awkwardness, as they had been offering me the goods for almost nothing. No one had taken my explanations, that I was not Santa Claus and did not hand out gifts to colonists, seriously; they had been attributed to my modesty, my nobility, and my generosity. However, my suppliers had not been known for their generosity, and, at some point, I realized that I had become the center of hype. The best explanation of what had been going on was given by the head of one of the largest neuroclip-producing companies, which were devices that allowed one to enter virtual reality and experience incredible adventures while dreaming.
"You will take our neuroclips," he had told me, "and turn them into an unreachable benchmark for dozens of worlds, for Penelope and Eden, Iss and Camelot, Armorica and Trantor. And then you will take them out to the Periphery, to San Brendan, Shangri-La, and Pern… You will take them, and that will serve as proof that our neuroclips are the best in the Solar System! How much, do you think, such an ad campaign would have cost me using traditional means?.. So don't talk to me about money! I have no intention of bribing you, but I'm not so greedy as to demand payment for a few advertising samples!"
After I had recounted this speech to Geoffrey, a pale shadow of a smile passed through his face, and then he noted that I was under no threat of such business on Murphy. He was undoubtedly right; the only things theocracies handed out for free were blessings. After leaving Earth, I set course for Penelope, the first world discovered and named by me, and then I took a thousand-year tour through the galactic expanse, which had been settled by my restless fellow humans. In those days, I had not yet started searching for my Paradise, I'd been merely mastering the job I was still doing. The two of us, the Circe and I, had plenty of good times together; worlds flickered before us like the blinking of a strobe light, separated by gaps of darkness, tons of useful information was being collected in the computer banks, and trade was going better than ever; I was making tenfold profits on any piece of cargo. But gradually I started to realize that a space trader would never be truly wealthy, even though they would also never be poor. For example, if I happened to have some extra capital, what would I do with it? For money to work, they needed to be invested into the industry of some promising world, which meant entrusting it to others, a bank or a finance company, for at least three or four hundred years, as I would be unlikely to see my debtors before that. Anything could happen during such a long time period: banks could fail, companies could go bankrupt, a war or a revolution could allow the powers-that-were to expropriate my savings, and, as a result, I would be left with nothing. No, a space trader had to carry all their things with them! They lived in comfort but would never own diamond mines, oil fields, or a hundred palaces on five continents; the only things that belong to them are their ship and the cargo in the ship's holds. But they were as free as the light of a distant galaxy that had been piercing through the darkness for millions of years! Free and alone…
We'd returned to the topic of solitude, and Archon Geoffrey hesitated and finally made his offer, "During our last meeting, sir, I hinted that you may be in need of female companionship. So why don't you take a wife on Murphy? Even several, if you wish…"
I burst out laughing. I'm afraid, he may have been insulted by my laughter.
"You don't really expect me to get a harem and settle down on Murphy, do you?"
"We are unworthy of such an honor," the Archon muttered, while making the sign of the cross. "I meant something else: you will be given a chance to choose a woman, or women, from a certain number of… hmm… especially persistent dissenters. I can even guarantee their innocence as a prerequisite for the transaction. And without any additional payment from you!"
My mouth fell open. It seemed as if this man of God was trying to impose a slave girl, or girls, on me! Then again, why should I be surprised? I'd known worlds where slavery was common practice, and a slave's term could be anything from a few years to several centuries. One only needed to think back to Regos and Summerland for an example… Yes, eternal life was not seen as a blessing on every world!
After digesting the news and gathering my strength, I inquired, "These dissenters of yours… Who are they?"
"A handful of men and women who stubbornly continue to repeat their past mistakes," Geoffrey replied. "But the Holy Archonate is merciful towards them. They are kept in special institutions, where they are given food and drink, and a good number of servants of God spend their days and nights caring for their sinful souls… But it's all for naught! The stubborn fools keep wallowing in their misconceptions, and we, on our unfortunate world, must waste precious resources on them without getting anything in return, not even gratitude! Which is why, in desperation, we have decided that the true faithful of Murphy could get at least some benefit from their useless existence…" Geoffrey's smarmy tone became suddenly businesslike, and he finished quickly. "You can get any number of women, one, two, or even five hundred, for a price of two kilograms of platinum per head."
And there it was! Archon Geoffrey could spend hours beating around the bush, but, when necessary, his wording was on par with that of any merchant. Everything was clear and concise: hand over the metal and get a slave girl!
Mentally wishing for the ground to swallow him up right along with the entire Holy Archonate, I drawled, "An unusual offer… especially coming from a clergyman… Tell me, venerable Archon, do I qualify for a wholesale discount? And how did you arrive at the price? Why two kilograms and not fifty? Why not a ton?"
The Archon grimaced slightly.
"I am aware that wholesale discounts are a cornerstone of commerce. However, Captain, it is a sin to apply this rule when talking about human souls, even if they are wicked and mired in dangerous misconceptions. As for the price, it was determined following a series of careful calculations. Two kilograms of platinum is the equivalent of complete care for a dissenting person for the period of half a century."
After a few quick mental calculations, I determined that those persons could have spent that half a century swimming in milk and dressing in crystalsilk outfits. Of course, the Archonate was also caring for their souls… Such services had to be rated at the highest level here.
"Tell me," I asked, "what exactly constitutes these women's dissent and disobedience to the authorities? Are they prone to antisocial behavior? To theft, prostitution, fraud, deception? Have they tortured children and animals? Have they flown on a broom and whored themselves out to the Devil? Have they advocated sexual perversions?"
Geoffrey made a sign of the cross with a frightened look.
"Please, Captain! In the name of the Almighty! We have mercilessly eradicated such sins over twenty years ago… But these persons are guilty of crimes that are nearly as severe. Some of them did not wish to lovingly accept a husband appointed to them, others have refused the work they were called to do by the Holy Basilica, and yet others have demanded a return to the state of affairs prior to the Strike of the Hammer… And, most importantly, their stubbornness, their diabolical stubbornness! They refuse any attempt to convince them and do not heed the words of God's servants!"
I nodded and shifted my gaze from the Archon's face to the huge cross hanging next to him. The face of the crucified Jesus was full of sorrow, and I could sympathize with the feeling.
"It's admirable that you're only using persuasion." My voice trembled from the hidden anger. "I know that, on many worlds, dissenters are not persuaded, they simply become victims of psychosurgery. For example, on Tranai… From a technical standpoint, it's a highly-developed world, but their social relations are, in some ways, similar to yours; they also believe in the inevitable triumph of universal happiness and virtue over vice. They spread their beliefs via the use of a mental annihilator, a machine for burning out brains… Horrible, isn't it?"
Archon Geoffrey pursed his lips.
"Horrible? I wouldn't say that with certainty. If a sinner is resisting, is it not better to rid him of his memories and then create a new personality, one that is worthy and law-abiding? This would resolve many problems… It's unfortunate that there's no such device on Murphy… What did you say it was called?.. Mental annihilator from Tranai?"
I shuddered. Geoffrey was horrified by destructive nuclear weapons, but he would destroy the entire universe of a human soul without hesitation, if he got his hands on that Tranaian cerebroscope-annihilator. The reason for such duality of opinion was obvious: a nuclear explosion would have sent Geoffrey himself and all the other holy brothers to meet their maker, while a cerebroscope could be used selectively, on the dissenting and the dissatisfied. And then…
I hadn't had a chance to finish my thought, when the Archon asked, "This Tranai you mentioned… Do they also believe in the Creator, who punishes sinners, and in supreme justice?"
"Not exactly, venerable Archon. They are not religious in the conventional sense, even though their worldviews are akin to religion. They preach humane communism or communist humanism… something like that, I don't remember exactly. The primacy of public over private, universal equality, the joy of simple labor, and absolutely no intellectual cleverness."
"Hmm… Not as foolish as it seems," Geoffrey drawled, frowning. "And which methods do they use to realize their ideals?"
"Very simple ones. First of all, they have accepted the idea that a virtuous and law-abiding citizen is always happy as an axiom. Second, they have built a device that measures objective happiness; at least, that's what their official propaganda says. According to Tranaian research, the generalized curve of happiness is similar to a bell or the statistical Maxwell—Boltzmann distribution, which has been known since the ancient times. Its peak corresponds to the most probable value, and one can derive a sigma of sorts, a standard deviation from the most probable happiness. Each Tranaian over eighteen years old has to undergo annual testing. If their indicator is one sigma over the probability, they are granted reproductive rights; if it's one sigma below, then they're placed under a cerebroscope. It's all very simple, all very just!"
Archon Geoffrey licked his lips; it seemed he found the Tranaian inventions to his taste.
"Virtue begets happiness," he uttered thoughtfully. "A true idea! I think this device that measures happiness would be useful to us at least as much as the annihilator."
He looked at me expectantly, but I shook my head and said, "I've been able to acquire the specifications to both devices, but I won't offer them to you. I won't hide that I have sold the plans on a dozen worlds, where the happiness meter is used as a device for psychometrical experiments or as an entertaining toy. But it founds its true purpose on Dolores Rose. There, it was purchased by the Sisters of the Order of Carnal Pleasures, and it was built into every bed in each of their houses of happiness. Now they can measure the level of happiness received by their clients and charge an appropriate payment — above the minimum rate, of course."
Geoffrey's face twisted in a grimace of revulsion; now he was looking at me as if I was a monster, sent by Satan himself into the paradise that was Murphy.
"You mean to say," he muttered, "that you have sold the device to prostitutes?"
"Precisely, worthy Archon. But such a term does not exist on Dolores Rose. According to their labor union listings, the respectable lady who leads the Order strives to master the area of education. She runs schools, where they teach dancing, singing, graceful manners, the art of lovemaking, and table setting. And I can assure you that this lady's citizenship will never be revoked, as it happened to you."
Geoffrey swallowed my jab without a word. After a few minutes, I returned to the subject of our conversation and started asking him about the education and the activities of the local female dissidents. After all, if I wanted to look for Paradise, then why not do it with an Eve? Here, they were offering me fifty Eves for a reasonable price, and I could appear as a liberating angel to one of them. But before I made my choice, it was a good idea to inquire about the learning of my future wife, or wives.
"They are kept in female abodes, abbeys, under the vigilant watch of chaste sister-nuns," Geoffrey explained. "Naturally, they have none of the privileges granted to the faithful. Humble clothing, simple meals, rough beds… But they suffer no abuse, this I swear in the Lord's name! They must only listen to daily sermons and practice the feminine arts."
"Feminine arts? What kind?" I asked, unable to keep myself from chuckling sarcastically.
"Not at all what you're implying, Captain. They busy themselves with sewing, cleaning kitchen cauldrons, and washing monastic robes. Such activities humble the spirit and strengthen the body."
I grunted and inquired as to the daily sermons.
"The goal of these conversations is to ward them off their past mistakes. Sometimes they are conducted by the abbey's chaste nuns, and sometimes a holographic projection of an experienced preacher is transmitted into their cells… hmm… I mean the rooms of these unfortunates, who involves them in a debate on the nature of good and evil, on the faith and the ways of avoiding the Devil's tricks. They can refer to computer records and books, but only of godly content, which are capable of awakening their dormant sources of virtue and healing their lost souls. And, finally, they participate in Joyous Repentance, when a cause or a reason presents itself.
"Repentance?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Joyous Repentance," Geoffrey corrected me sternly. "As punishment for disobedience, stubbornness, any of their sins, they must spend an entire day before the altar of the Lord without rising from their knees or partaking in food and drink. At times, the Mother Abbess demands that the repentance be performed on the church steps, so that the cool air humbles their carnal thoughts…"
It appeared as though they already knew how to successfully combat dissent even without the Tranaian machine. I reflected that the women who had gone through this school must possess a proud and defiant spirit and shared this opinion with Geoffrey. The Archon nodded grimly.
"There's no denying that. Would you like to look at some of them?"
I had to move the stool to see the computer screen. The Archon made the sign of the cross twice; the gesture must have been picked up by sensors and started some sort of demo; it was either permanent or had been prepared specifically for me. The screen blinked, then a gloomy blue-eyed face with a stubborn chin and a fan of explanatory text appeared in its transparent depth.
"Adelaide," Archon Geoffrey said. "Virgin, forty-five years of age, born after the fall of the Hammer, stubbornly maintains her misconceptions since the age of twenty."
The screen showed me several more faces in strict alphabetical order: Anna, Bridget, Candia, Dolores, Eugenia. All of them were pretty, despite their gloomy expressions, all were young, and all seemed cast in the same exact shame with barely-noticeable variations. Gray eyes gave way to blue and then again gray, hair color fluctuated from gold to light flax, the skin glowed with a thick copper tan, as for the contours of their cheekbones, nose, and mouth, then each of these beauties could have passed if not for Geoffrey's sister and that of his hard-gazed acolytes, then definitely their cousin.
Euphemia, Galina, and Irina flashed by on the screen, while I was pondering the splendor and misery of modern genetics. All colonists began with hearts full of good intentions and with banks full of sperm: the best male gametes that came from the healthiest, most resilient, and smartest representatives of humankind. But rarely was more than a twentieth of this precious stock ever used, as the prospect of unlimited birth rate frightened settlers; if they needed to produce offspring, then they believed it should be done the natural way, without any artificial insemination. As a result, a few centuries later, they were all related by blood, and all represented a uniform racial type, which led to even stricter standards of beauty than back on Earth. It should be noted that unions between close relations did not produce mental or physical degenerates, as genetic programming was capable of correcting any defect. Besides, there was also biosculpture, which meant that anyone who possessed a distinctive appearance could change it to fit the local standard.
The computer showed me Jane, Jeanne, and Katarina, who were just as blonde and blue-eyed as their predecessors. The deviations in the shapes of the noses and the chins, in the eye shape and the contours of the lips all fit into the statistical corridor, which was so narrow that all these faces were starting to blend into one, the Murphian version of the classical type of a Slavic-Scandinavian blonde. We were already approaching the middle of the alphabet, when the monitor gave me something else, which broke through the gold-blue monotony. At the very least, this girl had green eyes, her short and sloppily cut hair had a red hue, and her chin might have been stubborn, yet it did not resemble the angular stern of my shuttlecraft. A very charming chin, I noted, and there was even a hint of a dimple.
"Killashandra," Geoffrey commented in the meantime. "Virgin, fifty-nine years of age, born before the fall of the Hammer, stubbornly maintains her misconceptions for at least forty-four years. A record term, I must say!"
"Then let's stop with her," I suggested. "But I should tell you that I am not happy with the price of two kilograms of platinum for this specimen. First of all, she's a redhead, not a blonde, and second, she's the most inveterate of your sinners. It would be prudent to drop the price, venerable Archon."
Geoffrey frowned reflectively.
"Redhead? Hmm… indeed… Then why don't you select a blonde, sir?"
I gave him the nastiest grin I could.
"I'm stingy, you see, and this is the only specimen who doesn't meet your standards of beauty. This means we can negotiate… As you said, this girl has been stubborn for a record number of year, and I'm certain that this leopard will never change her spots. Sell her, Archon! I'm giving you a kilogram of platinum."
"One-point-eight kilograms," Geoffrey countered. "After all, we have fed and clothed her for forty-four years!"
"And you'll be doing that until the Second Coming," I added. "One-point-three kilograms, only out of respect for you, my friend."
"One-point-seven. Look at her figure!" Geoffrey zoomed out, showing Killashandra at full height.
Her figure was indeed adorable: long legs, slender stature, and curved hips, which even a shapeless gray cloak could not hide.
"One-point-four," I said. "She looks all right on the screen, but what is she like in reality? What if one of her legs is shorter than the other?"
The Archon dropped another hundred grams and, with an offended look, made the image move; I noted that this proved nothing, as the capabilities of computer modeling were limitless, and offered him a kilo and a half.
"Is that your final offer?" Geoffrey's cheek twitched in irritation. He was being overwhelmed by two conflicting feelings: on the one hand, he was afraid of selling too cheaply, and, on the other, he did not want to lose the opportunity to rid himself of the most inveterate of all the sinners.
I solemnly stretched my hand out towards the crucifix, "One-point-five kilograms, my friend, and not an ounce more! I swear on my soul and all the black holes of the cosmos!"
This seemed to have made an impression; swallowing hard, the Archon nodded in agreement, made the sign of the cross, and noted that he was putting this Murphian beauty into my wicked hands with a heavy heart. Following the saying "strike while the iron is hot", I signaled the Circe, instructing her to prepare the ransom: one-point-five kilograms of platinum in an elegant package. The package and the bow on the container were to be complimentary.
Having done that, I turned to Geoffrey and said that I wished to familiarize myself with my bride's biography. First of all, I was interested in her name, which was exotic and fairly strange for a world with Russo-Scandinavian etymology.
"The name was given by her father, who dreamed of a stage career for his child," the Archon explained. "As far as I know, Killashandra was a singer from Old Earth, whose life had been described by one Annette McCloskey. Unfortunately, only four fragments of her book have been preserved, but I assume that Killashandra was a famous person on Earth and that you, Captain, know something about her."
"Absolutely nothing," I admitted. "Perhaps she lived in the sixteenth or seventeenth century and sang in Italy or in the French court. Almost all King Louis had a thing for singing and singers…" Noticing that this meant nothing for Geoffrey, I interrupted myself. "Forget the name! Tell me something about this girl."
Geoffrey stared at the monitor, which had some encoded notations running down it: dates, numbers, and meaningless collections of letters.
"I'm afraid I need to refresh my memory… She is one of the lost sheep, whose souls are being healed by the worthy Archon Swanson, not me… Here it is!" The flickering of the symbols on the screen stopped, and Geoffrey began his commentary, "At the time of the fall of the Hammer, she had just turned nine; she is one of the few children to be born on Murphy prior to the disaster. Her parents had waited for centuries to get a reproductive license, and I think they loved her too much. It is such a difficult task to avoid spoiling a child… After all, children are a rarity after the population has stabilized…" The Archon sighed and blessed the computer with a sign of the cross, triggering a new torrent of symbols on the screen. "During the chaotic years after the Lord's punishment, her parents fought for survival and saved their child; or rather, her father, Lazarus Long, did; her mother died a terrible death in a cookpot of those damned cannibals. When they had all been exterminated, and the Archonate restored order, Long turned up in vicinity of Bailey-at-Kleis. He and his daughter were now safe; the skies were once again clear, soil fertility was being revived, and the Holy Archonate was in control of all of Murphy, to God's eternal glory and the Devil's shame. The girl had turned fifteen, and, despite how much she had lived through, her wounds were starting to heal; but this, unfortunately, did not turn her heart towards God! Her father Lazarus expressed repentance and complete submission. During the old days, he had been well-off and had not thought of either his soul's salvation or the impending punishment; he'd been unprepared for the hardship and the suffering that was the fate of those who survived the Day of the Lord's Wrath. But the torment had enlightened him, the torment and the memory of the atrocities committed by him during the uncertain days of chaos, lawlessness, and general fighting. He realized that he was dying under the yoke of his sins and turned to God, genuinely called out to Him, praying for the grace of salvation. A gratifying fact, very gratifying! For the Hammer had been sent down by God to bring us back to the path of virtue, and the door to virtue is opened by repentance. Soon, the Holiest Archimandrite declared amnesty and absolution, calling for all the faithful to come together around the solid walls of the Basilica, and his words caused the devout fire in Lazarus Long's soul to burn even brighter. Like many other sinners who had survived the disaster, he decided that he was in need of an especially atoning sacrifice, of the most difficult and longest penitence. What could he sacrifice to the Lord? What sacrifice would be worthy of the Savior and the Creator? Obviously, the most precious thing Lazarus had: his life and the life of his daughter…"
I was listening to Geoffrey attentively, but, at times, the meaning of the Archon's words seemed to be slipping away from me, replaced by an intuitive sensation of a bottomless pit opening up under me. It wasn't his words, those I understood. English had become an international language back in the twenty-first century, and since then, all governments on all worlds did their best to protect it from semantic changes. It seemed to be the greatest of calamities to find out that you were incapable of communicating with space traders, evaluate the intellectual treasures brought from the depths of space, understand books and recordings from other worlds. It was at least as frightening for a space trader to insist that he couldn't buy anything from you, as your language would not be understood by his many clients; this meant that you fell out of human space, of the circulation of the cultural connections maintained by space traders. Fortunately, this had not happened on Murphy, but I had a hard time understanding Geoffrey. Sin, pious flame, sacrifice, penitence… These words smelled of the days when the people of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob wandered the deserts of Earth, where the Spirit of the Lord was in every bush, watching His chosen tribe with a hundred jealous eyes.
Geoffrey, drunk on his own words, kept going, "And so, guided by the Lord, Lazarus joined the Order of the Penitents. The brothers of this holy organization spend their days in labor, and their work is of the kind normally given to robots: in chemical factories, in hot workshops where metal is being cast, and in mines, in eternal gloom and stale air. They sleep on the bare floor next to their machinery, dress in rough sackcloth, do not wash their bodies, and eat stale bread, while praising the Lord in-between sleep and righteous labors for giving them the chance at redemption. And it will continue until such time as—"
I interrupted the Archon, feeling shivers running down my spine from all these gory details.
"Am I to understand that Lazarus put his daughter into an organization like that? To some Order, where they don't wash their bodies, wear sackcloth, and eat nothing but crackers?"
This suggestion shocked the Archon: his arms shot up, and an offended grimace froze on his face.
"Please, Captain! Killashandra had only been a child during the years of chaos, which means that God forgave her sins, which is confirmed by the Holiest Archimandrite's amnesty. She was accepted into a commune of chaste sister-nuns, one of the most revered on Murphy; its members live in peace and tranquility behind the tall walls or their convent, which is inaccessible to men, even for ministers of my rank. They seek and root out sins; their terminals are connected to the global system, and their sensitive ears and watchful eyes are everywhere. Perhaps," Geoffrey then lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "even in my humble abode… Besides that, the chaste sisters do needlework, sewing robes for the high clergy and tapestries with images of the saints and pictures from Scripture… One of their favorite pastimes is singing; they praise the Lord with hymns in the convent's chapels, and the recordings of their choir can be heard in the main temple of the Holy Basilica. This is why Killashandra ended up among the chaste sisters; Lazarus had hoped that, in time, she would become a great singer and pray away his sins."
"Tell me, worthy Archon, these robes and tapestries, are they all handcrafted?" I asked.
"Every stitch, I swear to God!"
"I would be interested in taking a look…"
"You will see them, but I warn you that these relics are not considered a commodity. Perhaps, one day we will be able to commission a missionary ship… They will become its precious cargo."
"Then I will have to curb my curiosity," I said, noting that, in five hundred or a thousand years, when the Archonate was gone, Murphy would become a source of valuable antiquities. Assuming those robes and tapestries didn't become dog mats… It was important to get here in time, and that was a hypothetical question. It was very difficult to guess when the power and the mindset would change, so the fortune that had befallen me on Punjab was a rare case. Geoffrey once again made a sign of the cross in front of his computer, looked at the screen, and shook his head with a crushed look.
"These are the records of the worthy Archon Swanson over many years… He writes that, with each passing year, Killashandra has been more stubborn in rejecting the light of divine truths and has finally burst into a stream of blasphemy that continues to this day. This girl has been possessed by the Devil himself! She has ignored the wise teachings of the sisters and her mentor, refused to sing in the church choir, rejected confession and Holy Communion… oh, over a hundred times!.. She has cursed her parent and mocked the mystical marriage that the Lord enters into with each of the chaste sisters… She has insisted that she wants a real man, not a fool with a hammer where a reproductive organ should be… Forgive me, Creator!" The Archon made the sign of the cross in a panic. "She also said… No, I cannot repeat it!"
The screen blinked and went out, and I closed my eyes to avoid looking at Geoffrey's face and think of what I'd heard. This Killashandra appeared to be a rare woman, unique and free-spirited, with an unusual strength of will for her age. To think, she'd been resisting a rigid dogmatic system for over four decades, without a chance for victory, without allies or friends, without support or a sign of approval… One could only imagine how many kitchen cauldrons she'd cleaned, how many monastic robes she'd washed, and how many days she'd spent in Joyous Repentance! I felt an involuntary pity and sympathy for her, the first signs of a nascent feeling. And besides, her face… those green eyes… red curls… that graceful nose… the chin with a hint of a dimple… She was pretty, and her courage was a worthy backdrop for her beauty.
"So what have you decided, Captain?" The Archon's words brought me out of my reveries. "If this fury does not suit you, you can choose someone who is not as exotic… But the price will be higher, and I won't go down a single gram!"
"Old cheapskate Frenchie is not in the habit of going back on his word," I chuckled. "Let's go with Killashandra! Have her be informed of my decision and that I wish to meet and speak with her, holographicaly, of course. I hope this does not violate the rules of the chaste sisters."
"I don't believe so," Geoffrey replied, turning to his computer. "If you wish, I can contact the convent immediately."
"Not now. I want to see her in two days, and we will be speaking through the Circe's transmitter."
Geoffrey shrugged, "She's yours. It's your wish as her master!"
Her master! I was a peaceful man, but these words made me want to kill him on the spot. The deal had been made, and he no was longer hiding behind a web of pious words or concealing the fact that I'd been sold a slave girl; although, could anyone imagine a more vile slavery than the kind that existed on Murphy? And so I swore that I would rescue Killashandra from it, grant her freedom, and make her mine, if she wanted it, of course.