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.

Note: Footnotes are located at the end of the chapter.

Part II

Barsoom

Chapter 5

Later, I would remember our first night many times and marvel at the courage with which Shandra had met my desires. Actually, there was no mystery, no secret behind it. Everything could be explained by two circumstances: the strange and, I would say, atypical beginning of her life, and the revolution that CR had caused in our society. Despite their longevity, physiologically, humans still matured at eighteen-twenty years of age, while sexual needs started to overwhelm them even earlier. Ergo, they strove to satisfy them, which usually met with no rejection or obstacles, even on slave worlds or in the Tranaian paradise of humane communism. A situation when a teenager at the threshold of maturity got caught in the vise of celibacy was exceptional, but that was exactly what had happened to Shandra.

So what next? During the ancient times, the need for sex had decreased with age, until the onset of menopause, causing the desires of such sort to die out completely. Had Shandra lived in the twentieth century, she would have been labelled an "old maid", as they used to call them, long ago; her body's hormonal changes would have started earlier than for her married peers, and, by the age of about fifty-five, she would have become an ideal bride of Christ, without any sinful thoughts under her gray and thinning curls. But, in the modern world, women were unfamiliar with either the menstrual cycle or menopause; they were eternally young and, as a result, eternally eager. Try to endure forty years in an arid desert like the abode of the chaste sisters!

But now her thirst had finally been quenched. My Shandra's lips had become parched, but the cause for this was not the lack of life-giving water, but my kisses.

When I woke up, I heard her quiet breathing next to me. It was a magical moment: to turn and see her face, slightly tired, but so beautiful and young!.. Did it feel better with her than with the others? The heart's rapid pulse was beating out "yes", but my second half, cold and pragmatic, which spoke to me in the Circe's even voice, reminded me that I'd felt tenderness, compassion, and love before. With other women, not Shandra… But now she was here, she was smiling, and a reached for her and pressed my lips to her pink and dark cheek.

She awoke immediately.

"Graham!" She threw her arms around my neck. "Graham, I saw you in my dream!"

And once again we engaged one another. By the Black Hole, it was an excellent breakfast!

Then I asked if she wanted a bite to eat.

"Of course!" Shandra exclaimed with such delight, as if I had uttered the most brilliant thought since the time of Democritus. "Of course, dear! Shall we go to the refectory? And can I wear that nice pink outfit that you gave me yesterday?"

I wondered what she meant, and then realized that she was talking of the jumpsuit from my shuttle's storeroom. I didn't notice it in the bedroom; it must have been cleaned up along with the sheets. But we could think of something better for our first meal together.

"Today," I told Shandra, "we will be eating breakfast in bed. It's another Earth tradition, just as pleasant as all the others." I kissed her hand and threw a glance at the ceiling screen. It was blue, like the skies over Ohio, my half-forgotten homeland, and, at the very center, I could see a slowly-moving cloud that looked like an ancient Spanish galleon. Calling out to the Circe, I ordered breakfast and instructed her to prepare clothes for my fair lady, some frivolous and exotic Secundan outfit. A few minutes later, robots appeared with breakfast, exactly the kind I had been eating since my childhood. Eggs and ham, pancakes with maple syrup, a pot of fresh coffee and a drop of brandy, cream and chilled orange juice… While we ate, I was explaining to Shandra where all this had come from. I'd stocked up ham on Logres, eggs were from Secundus, while coffee, brandy, sugar, and oranges had come from Punjab. As for cream, it had been made from the milk produced by my shipboard cow. It was one of those wondrous creatures that had been subjected to genetic restructuring and the CR procedure, which I purchased during my second visit to Earth. It turned out that it was not much younger than I was, and it had spent all these millennia in a big tank, feeding on a nutrient solution and supplying me with milk and fresh beef. I promised to show this marvel to Shandra. By the time we were done with breakfast, lingerie and clothing had appeared, something airy, weightless, the color of fresh spring grass, which matched Shandra's eyes perfectly.

"Such an outfit is worn by the ladies of Secundus when they wish to drink a cup of coffee and gossip with their friends," I noted. "Very elegant! If I'm not mistaken, this fashion has remained unchanged there for five centuries, as has the custom of talking about their neighbors behind their backs."

I had to consult the Circe on the proper way of putting on and wearing Secundan morning outfits; trust me, it wasn't that easy! There were fewer problems with the lingerie: Shandra knew about the purpose of panties, but the bra turned out to be news to her. I explained to her that this undergarment protected her breasts from hits and collisions, which were unavoidable for a newbie in a low-gravity environment. Then I helped her get dressed, a most pleasant task, which I had no intention of entrusting to valet robots. For a moment, I had a thought that all this was reminiscent of a child playing with dolls. Nah… Shandra was naïve, inexperienced, obedient, but even her obedience was different from a mannequin's lifeless indifference. She wanted to learn everything, listen and remember everything I could tell her: of the Circe and the robots, which fulfilled my every desire, of the wondrous screen on the ceiling, of the marvelous cow in the hydroponic sections, and of this airy dress, in which she was supposed to gossip with her friends… She was wonderful, magnificent, and one of a kind!

Of course, I was not objective; after all, I loved her and had probably fallen in love with her even before meeting her in person. Had it been Archon Geoffrey's righteous anger that was the cause?.. Had it been his indignation when he was listing my Shandra's entire list of sins and blasphemies?.. She was now standing before me, and tears were rolling down her cheeks, not tears of grief but of gratitude. Gratitude, imagine that! I'd only given her clothes that every woman needed, whether she was beautiful or not, and she had given me her honor, the greatest honor a man could get! Perhaps, our first night had not been my mysterious Paradise, but it was definitely its lobby…

And so, Shandra was crying, and even I had trouble holding back my tears. I didn't think they suited a man of such an advanced age, even before his own betrothal; whatever one might say, this terrestrial preconception was stuck inside me as firmly as a nail in a wall. I tried to take control over my feelings and put a platinum chain around Shandra's neck and then, as a finishing touch, a bracelet on her left wrist and a tiara, attaching it among her golden locks. It had been crafted out of Murphian emeralds the day before, and it was an exact replica of wedding jewelry worn by one of the British princesses, either in the twentieth or the twenty-first century.

"Now, my dear," I said to Shandra, "we need to get married."

She sniffed, wiped her wet cheeks, and stared at me with surprise.

"Graham, aren't we already?.."

"Only in private, my love, but not from a legal standpoint."

"But aren't you the law aboard this ship?"

Noting that Shandra possessed not just beauty but common sense, I smiled.

"That is true. But law is the child of power, and power is separated into executive and legislative. In other words, I make the laws, and the Circe's computer ensures they are followed."

I embraced my bride, and then we went out into the circular hallway. It ran around the entire habitation module; inside it, like a gem in its setting, was the Circe's cockpit, or the bridge as I called it. This hallway was split into two sections, marked "West" and "East", by massive bulkheads. Captain French (now with his wife) lived in the West; this was also where the wardroom, the medical section, the stores of basic necessities, the kitchen, the dining room, the brig, and, of course, the bedroom were located. Only from here one could get onto the bridge, and, from there, to the gym and the big lounge, where I gave presentations, and to the shaft of the axial elevator, which pierced the ship from bow to stern. The East held the spaces for passengers, but this section was currently blocked off due to being unoccupied.

The living spaces had not always been separated into two sections, but bitter experience, the best teacher, suggested this decision to me. At times, I transported colonists, small groups, who didn't need a huge ship, and one never knew what kind of people could be among them. A few times I'd gotten burned, and that was why there were two bulkheads in the hallway and, along with them, a rule not to let random people migrate from East to West. Naturally, I was always prepared to make an exception for pretty ladies.

But those had been my past sins, and now I took Shandra to the bridge and ordered the Circe to print out the marriage contract forms. The printer rustled and spat out several thick sheets of paper; handing them to Shandra, I asked her to read the document carefully. My bride took to the task with a very serious expression.

I was looking at her with such delight! In her airy green dress, with a tiara in her red curls, she was irresistible!

Shandra's lips twitched, "Honey, this has a lot more obligations for you than for me."

I smiled, "So what's the problem, baby? We need to say this vow aloud, and I like to hear the sound of my own voice."

This did not seem to convince her, but she kept on reading, barely moving her lips. A few minutes later, she had another question, "What are the 'laws of space'? And this here, 'in accordance with the traditions of honor'?"

I had to explain that it was standard wording in all vows and commitments of space traders. The laws of space had been established at the dawn of time, when humanity was just starting to settle the Solar System; they'd been based on the ancient Maritime Code. Back then, they'd thought that, as the galactic depths were being settled, there would be regular communications between the inhabited worlds: liners would transport tourists, colonists, and businessmen, while trade ships would move all sorts of cargo, and warships would prowl the space, catching con artists and pirates. Basically, this law had been meant for the time when many star systems united in a federation or an empire of sorts, under Earth's rule, of course. A ridiculous project, I had to admit! Trips from one star to another took five, ten, or twenty years of standard time, and, even though this time was reduced by a factor of fifty for the astronauts, what central government and regular exchange of goods could there be? For example, a curious tourist departed Penelope for Malacandra; such a journey required at least a century and a half, and, in that time, our tourist's wife could leave him, while his attorneys squandered his property. Was it not too high a price to pay for curiosity?.. If our traveler had no property and no wife, then he probably couldn't pay for the trip, for traveling the galactic expanse was not cheap… This was why the galaxy was prowled by only the occasional ships of settlers and space traders, while the law of space had become nothing more than an ancient anachronism. I was also an anachronism, which was why I recognized it. I explained all this to Shandra, and she repeated her question about the traditions of honor.

"This means that we must not violate our vows," I said. "And if we have to break them, then it should only be done in an extremely desperate situation, with great emotional pain and bitter regret."

My voice trembled, and Shandra looked at me closely.

"Graham, you… have you done this before?"

"Once," I admitted, "before all my star escapades. My wife and I separated , long ago, on Old Earth, but we had a daughter, nine-year-old Penny… And I had promised that I would never leave her, that I would help her and visit her, and, if something bad happened, I'd come and save her… And then I went into space and forgot about Penny… I did call the first planet I found after her, but this doesn't atone for what I'd done. I returned to Earth a hundred and eighty-three years later and found that even Penny's grandchildren had passed away."

"Oh, Graham!.. I'm sorry!" Shandra's eyes once again gleamed suspiciously. "What happened? A hundred and eighty years is not that long a time…"

"You see, my dear, in those days, the majority of people died before turning eighty. Cellular regeneration had not been invented yet, organ cloning was extremely expensive, and a person of your age looked worse than I do. It was called old age… And this is its first sign." I touched my hair and explained what gray hair meant. "Of course, if I wanted, I could have once again become a brunet or gotten green locks… But this means cloning and transplanting a new scalp, and I'm too lazy and have never concerned myself with such trivialities. But if you don't like it…"

She threw her arms around me.

"No, Graham, no! I want you to be exactly how I saw you for the first time… Always! You're the greatest man in the world!"

I kissed her tenderly in gratitude. Then we stood before the Circe's computer, and I commanded our vow to be recorded in the destruction-proof memory sector. It should be noted that, in some respects, the Circe retained a degree of autonomy; even I was unable to delete eternal files that contained my obligations, I couldn't fake ship's papers or, for example, blow up the ship. Everything else was permitted! The Circe was ready to provide food, drink, medical service, and care to me and take me to Paradise, or even Hell. Unfortunately, I knew plenty of addresses to Hell and not a single one to Paradise.

But at the moment, while speaking my marriage vow, I wasn't thinking about that.

"I, Graham French, captain and owner of the spaceship Circe, space trader, take you, Killashandra Long, as my wife, and our union will be as long as we both shall wish it. I promise to love, honor, and protect you, for all the days our marriage is valid. I promise not to seek the arms of another woman and will not accept them no matter the case; on all days, I will be faithful to you alone. I promise that you will never leave our ship against your will, for as long as I remain her captain and owner. I promise that I will not leave you on any of the inhabited worlds or in any space habitat, unless you express a clear and unambiguous wish to that effect. Should you express such a wish or if we decide to dissolve our marriage by mutual consent, I pledge to provide you a worthy life on the world of your choosing. I promise that any income from trade deals that I make during the time of our marriage, as well as any property acquired by me, shall be considered under our joint ownership, and, should we part ways, half of these assets will belong to you. I affirm that I give these vows voluntarily and of my own accord, in accordance with the traditions of honor and the laws of space."

Then came Shandra's turn.

"I, Killashandra Long, born on Murphy, take you, Graham French, captain and owner of the spaceship Circe, as my husband, and our union will be as long as we both shall wish it. I promise to love and honor you, bear your name and obey the orders that you, as the captain of the ship, can give me, for all the days our marriage is valid. I promise not to seek the arms of another man and will not accept them no matter the case; on all days, I will be faithful to you alone. I promise not to take any actions that could harm you personally or your business, both on inhabited worlds and in outer space. I affirm that I give these vows voluntarily and of my own accord, in accordance with the traditions of honor and the laws of space."

Then both of us addressed the Circe in turn with a ritual command.

"I, Graham French, command the ship's computer, who is the soul of the Circe, to record my vow into the destruction-proof memory sector."

"I, Killashandra French, command the ship's computer, who is the soul of the Circe, to record my vow into the destruction-proof memory sector."

We kissed, and the Circe played us the wedding march. Finis coronat opus [Footnote 1].

After lunch, she asked me, "Why do you sometimes call me Shandra and other times Killashandra?"

I found the question to be amusing; she appeared not to understand that a person could be called differently in various situations and depending on one's feelings for that person.

"Killashandra is your one and true name," I said, "and it should be used on formal occasions, such as when we entered into marriage. But life isn't made up of only formal events, and I'll call you Shandra more often. This name is a sign of my love for you, do you understand?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Another tradition from Old Earth, right, Graham?"

"Well, not just Earth. On many worlds, people who love one another call each other affectionate diminutive names, and so do parents with their children. Do you recall what your father called you, honey?"

Her face suddenly reflected such suffering that I nearly bit off my sinful tongue. Why had I reminded her of her father? Of the horrible years of devastation and chaos and of how the closest person in the world had betrayed and abandoned her?

But Shandra was a hard nut to crack; her eyes flared, her chin came forward, and she replied with barely a pause.

"I don't remember, and I don't want to remember. Forty-four years among the chaste sisters have erased many things from my memory."

"Would you like to restore them?" I asked. "You see, childhood memories are very resistant, they are almost impossible to lose completely. I think the Circe and I could help you… and if not us, then a good psychiatrist on Barsoom—"

She shook her head, "No, Graham, no. Thank you, but I don't want to remember those years. You have named me Shandra, and I don't need another name… Or those unnecessary memories. Let's assume that my life has begun anew."

I didn't argue, but still took her to the medical section to perform some tests. I seriously doubted that Archon Geoffrey or the chaste sisters had given her a long-acting poison of some sort, but, when dealing with fanatics and religious conformists, it paid to be careful. Then I recalled the Children of Light and their Prophet (that story was why I'd been forced to separate the habitation area), and my determination to get this done grew firmer.

I explained to Shandra that the medical procedures were the first step in performing my vows to love and protect her, so she had stoically suffered through them all, even though she wasn't particularly happy about it. She needed to get undressed; apparently, she viewed such an act (unless it was followed by us heading to the bedroom) as a waste of time. While she had been enjoying the sight of the flickering lights of the automated diagnostician, I told my robots to take away her chic Secundan outfit and, instead, bring her something simpler, more suitable for the gym.

Finally, the machine jingled and produced a medical report, only five-six lines. Shandra's teeth were excellent, even though they'd never been replaced, and I decided that there was no need to implant new ones just yet. The abrasions on her arms were healing: the skin regeneration, boosted by healing radiation, was continuing as expected. However, it turned out that she still had an appendix, probably a result of careless genetic correction performed on one of her ancestors. This was the first time I had encountered such a problem, but I fully understood its danger. In the past, this wormlike cecal outgrowth had killed many people who couldn't get proper medical care in time. Usually, this happened on expeditions and in places far from hospitals. My appendix had been cut out back when I was still an in-system pilot. I read over the report again. It seemed the Holy Archonate had been too busy perfecting Shandra's spirit to worry about her body… Well, that was fine, the Circe could fix this problem! But not now; I didn't want to operate on Shandra during our honeymoon. The gym and the pool had obvious advantages over the operating table, and, exiting the medical section, we headed to that pleasant place. On the way, I was explaining to Shandra that the gym and the main lounge were equipped with autonomous thrusters, which allowed them to be spun up to create a complete illusion of terrestrial gravity. In orbit and during free flight, I maintained gravity at a level of point-zero-two gs; it was fairly comfortable but did not provide the necessary load on the muscles. That was why I spent two-three hours every day in the gym and still looked like a normal human instead of a Sacabon. Although, if I thought about it, a Sacabon was fairly functional, and, with my lifestyle, such a metamorphosis could turn out to be useful.

That was when Shandra interrupted my reasoning with a question on who the Sacabons were. I explained that, since the earliest times, humans had lived not only on planetary bodies but also in artificial space habitats, where gravity was almost nonexistent. This was also a part of humanity, although the resemblance of the Sacabons to normal humans was very problematic.

"Can you show them to me?" Shandra asked, turning to the screen.

The gym had a huge screen; fifteen meters across, over the far end of the pool. When I swam, it portrayed some Pacific view, creating the overall impression that I was swimming towards a distant coral atoll with disheveled palm trees and a picturesque mountain in the background. Currently, the screen was drowned in an endless gentle blue sea, a dead calm somewhere in the vicinity of Fiji.

I threw a doubtful gaze at this image.

"You want to see a Sacabon, dear? Trust me, it's not a very pleasant sight."

"I'll hold your hand," Shandra said with a completely serious expression. "Then I won't be afraid."

And yet she still shuddered, when the screen showed us a three-meter tall creature with huge limbs, thin and long ones, like spider legs. The Sacabon female stared at us with round brown eyes; her eyeballs seemed to be coming out of their sockets, the protruding bones threatened to pierce her pale skin, the sight of her joints called to mind thoughts of the anatomical atlas. Her breasts were small by any common standard, but, despite the almost complete lack of flesh, sagged like congealed drops. She had virtually no fat tissues or muscles, just those same bones, joints, blood vessels, and tendons. She was perfectly adapted to living in a weightless environment; a gravity of one-tenth of Earth's would have snapped her spine.

"Her arms and legs have two joints each, while the fingers are very long, flexible, and prehensile," I said to Shandra. "Those fingers are a dream! It's a recent genetic modification, and I know some of my colleagues who got themselves fingers like that. For example, Shard from the Mischievous Beauty… He thinks that, with such grasping paws, it's easier to arrange business deals and pilot his shuttle… But let's get back to this lady." I glanced at the screen. "You see, dear, to a Sacabon, she is incredibly beautiful, but you and I are of a different opinion, right? And if we don't want to end up looking like her, we need to work out."

Gripping my arm, Shandra was staring at the screen in fascination. It did not appear that the Sacabon lady looked repulsive to her; perhaps that was because she hadn't seen naked human bodies, not counting mine and her own. I wondered how she had imagined her fairy-tale prince?..

Probably not as a Sacabon…

I waved a hand, and the image dissolved in amethyst sea waves.

Shandra sighed anxiously.

"Graham… tell me, Graham… are we going to encounter many such… such strange people on alien worlds?"

"No, my dear. Sacabons became this way through an almost natural way, as a result of directed evolution, but artificial modeling of sentient beings is discouraged in most places. For the most part, extreme radical transformations are illegal and are seen as amoral. And which parent would allow their child to become a monster? Just the opposite, they resort to genetic correlation to make their child look like them but with greater talents, health, and beauty. There are exceptions, of course… For example, Triton and Priceless Pearl…"

I lowered myself on the pool ledge. Shandra positioned herself next to me and started to swing her legs in the water. Tiny demons of curiosity were dancing in her green eyes.

"Priceless Pearl? What happened there, Graham?"

"It's a hedonistic world, baby. They decided that man was a product of violent terrestrial evolution and was poorly suited for sensual pleasures. At the same time, they claimed that Pearl was the most beautiful of all planets, and that life on it was unending pleasure, almost like Heaven…"

That was not far from the truth; even I was surprised after finding this wonderful and peaceful planet. Without describing it, I'd only say that it was more beautiful than Penelope and Eden put together and seemed to have been meant for heavenly existence by the Creator Himself. I had great hopes for this world, offering to settle it to an epicurean sect from Logres. They were the ones who ended up ruining everything! They had genetic programmers, and, with their help, over a mere hundred years, these pleasure-seekers turned into genuine hogs, while their progeny became something indescribable. Strange-looking creatures, hermaphrodites, capable only of sensual pleasure… In addition, their entire bodies were erogenous zones, so they made love by scratching their knees or behind their ears… As for between their ears, it was total vacuum! Of course, these guys had wanted to make things better, and it turned out far worse. Human psyche was incapable of handling a constant orgasm or the fact that it could be caused by a simple handshake. As a result, a wave of suicides passed through these unfortunates, and those who hadn't wished to kill themselves demanded to be changed back. Such procedure was not very difficult from a physiological standpoint, but how could they cure the defects of the psyche? Most of the transformed were unable to adjust; they suffered from nymphomania and an irresistible craving for exhibitionism and the most perverted forms of prostitution. I didn't think there were many of them left. I didn't think they were happy. I didn't think their world was Paradise!

After listening to me, Shandra nodded.

"These settlers from Logres… they only wanted happiness for their children and decided everything for them… just like my father…"

"Very similar," I agreed. "Extending one's life through one's children is one of the primary human instincts from the time when life could be measured by six or seven decades. There's nothing wrong with it, as long as the ancestors don't mutilate their descendants, don't force them to conform to their value system physically and morally…" I gave her a wry smile. "My sin is the opposite. I have sired thousands of descendants but did not raise any of them."

Shandra's chiseled eyebrows rose, giving her face an alarmed look.

"Thousands… Have you been married so many times? And your marriages were so short?"

"Marriage had nothing to do with it, my girl; my progeny is a product of artificial insemination. I was once a celebrity, and women are so vain… My genotype was popular, and they wanted to replicate and immortalize it."

She seemed to be relieved.

"That's not a natural process at all… I don't think such descendants can demand your attention and help. But you said that you were a celebrity… Are you not a celebrity now, Graham?"

"Alas, glory is transitory! Twenty thousand years is too long a time period, and now I have become more of a historical figure like Alexander the Great, Nero, and Albert Einstein. You know, I've been seriously asked if I had met those three, and it wasn't kids asking either! Well, and something else… I have plenty of cloned organs, which had been subjected to genetic correction, and I might not be a cyborg, but, if you think about it, I'm no longer the same Graham French… Does that disturb you?"

Giving me a sidelong glance, Shandra shook her legs in the water.

"Not at all, Graham! After all, your cloned organs are better than your old ones! All pros and no cons."

"Well, in that case… But don't you worry, baby, I'm sterile at the moment."

Her eyes grew wide.

"Forever?"

"Of course not! It's just a precaution. You know, childbirth is not looked upon kindly on overcrowded worlds, even if their father is the famous Cap Frenchie… But my ability can be restored."

I remembered that conversation well, our first talk of children. If I could have only known what would result from this! Well, as the saying went, man proposed, and God disposed…

Shandra once again shook her legs in the water and noted approvingly, "You know, Graham, you're a very reasonable man! I like that. I was afraid of getting a scarier space monster…" She giggled and stated. "You said something about working out… What about swimming? Without swimsuits? Will you teach me?"

And so we went swimming, without swimsuits, of course, since my lady had wished it.

Footnotes

1) Latin for "The end crowns the work."