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 8
I never made it to the bedroom; I was intercepted in the lounge. Both of my ladies were awake, although I couldn't say that they were in full control of their mental faculties. Their hair was let down, their eyes were cloudy, they smelled of alcohol, and they were swaying like reeds in a storm, and that was with the gravity of point-zero-two gs! I also noticed that they'd exchanged their dresses; Shandra's dress had trouble staying on both of Cassilda's shoulders, while Cassilda's outfit barely fit on Shandra's waist, and nowhere else. Their makeup was an example of an abuse of cosmetics, applied with shaking hands in front of a fogged-up mirror; Cassilda had painted her nose, while Shandra had mixed up eye shadow and lipstick. In the corner of the wardroom, a robot stood with a pitcher in its upper limbs, and something was splashing in the pitcher; Punjabi brandy and champagne, based on the smell.
"And here is our boy!" Cassilda exclaimed upon my arrival. "Our pudgy half-pint! Look what the cat dragged in! Just in time! We've almost drowned here… But in what? In g-g-gin-in? In brr-randy? Or in whis-kis-kis?.."
"In a chal-lice with a lo-ove potion," Shandra clarified with the exaggerated importance of a neophyte, who had undergone alcohol initiation.
She reached for the pitcher, splashed some in her mouth (and double that amount on herself) and threw herself into my arms. I managed to catch her along with the pitcher, and with what was left of Cassilda's dress.
"I love y-you, y-you love m-me, w-we both love Cassilda, and the Circe adores u-us all!" my wife declared.
I didn't argue, took a sip from the pitcher, and passed it to the robot. I was ecstatic: since they had gotten drunk, then Shandra's training was moving in leaps and bounds, maybe it was even complete! And it had probably been successful, judging by the amount of consumed spirits!
"L-let me change her, and she can g-get on the r-runway!" Cassilda exclaimed cheerfully, lowering the dress from her left shoulder. "You, kitty, are a right man, you come exactly when needed! N-now we'll show you an excellent com…com… comp-ssi-tion! The final c-chord, you could say!"
What compositions, what chords?! Letting Shandra go, I watched with an enchanted look, as she smoothly lowered to the floor, closing her eyes and throwing her red-curled head back. She seemed to be already sleeping; at the very least, she had fallen asleep before even touching the floor. I gave her a tender smile and looked at Cassilda.
"Well? Have you earned your emerald? Is she well-prepared?"
Cassilda spent a full minute shaking her head, likely to clear her head.
Then she muttered, "Brr-rilliant… Natural talent, mass-saraksh! Just like me in my younger days… What were you saying about an em-merald?"
"It'll be very big, if you're not lying."
"Cas-silda never lies! Ar-art doesn't tolerate lying! Let's have a drink and test…"
She reached for the pitcher, but I intercepted it and glanced at Shandra's flushed face. My lady was sleeping a hard worker's sweet dream.
"I don't think now is the time for testing. She needs to go to bed."
"Y-yeah… And me too…" Cassilda muttered; just then, Shandra's dress, in desperation of trying to hold on to her shoulders, stopped resisting and fell to the floor.
I took it to be a forgivable moment of clumsiness instead of a hint and turned to the robot, "Circe, have this guy escort Miss Cassilda to her bed. Ensure that her head lies on the pillow and activate a neuroclip… something gentle, lulling. All this needs to be cleaned up. Throw the alcohol and the pitcher into the recycler, clean the rugs, vacuum the paintings, put the furniture back in its place, ventilate the section with fresh air… Get it done!"
With these words, I picked up Shandra and went out into the hallway. It wasn't easy to carry a woman of her complexion, even with the gravity of point-zero-two gs; while she weighed almost nothing, inertia was still there. I could have asked the Circe for help, but this would have equated Shandra to Cassilda, who did not recognize marital ties. In the words of the Romans, Mores cuique sui fingunt fortunam — each man is indebted to his character for his destiny. Which came down to this: a married woman was carried to bed by her husband, while an unmarried woman was taken by robots.
I undressed Shandra and put her into bed, then, pulling off my jumpsuit, lay down next to her. Soon after that, she awoke, saddled me, and tried to make love, but then she once again fell asleep, during the most exciting moment. Poor girl! Her beautiful flesh contained an indomitable spirit, eager and tenacious, but that night the flesh was weak.
The following morning, I slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Shandra, and headed for the bridge. The Circe reported that our guest had already awakened and was sober as a judge. So I contacted Cassilda's cabin and asked her to come to the bridge.
She looked a little rumpled.
"Hey, Graham! I hope we didn't shock you too much? I mean, last night?"
Putting on a thoughtful air, I pretended to ponder her question.
"You see, my beauty, I've seen so much that there is nothing that surprises me. Yesterday, you weren't as prudish as normal, so what? What's important is the reason, not the result! Why did you get drunk? Out of grief or out of joy?"
"Out of joy," Cassilda grumbled. "You're a lucky man, Graham; your wife is a very capable girl! Of course, you were teaching her incorrectly and not the right things, but then, as a man, what are you good for?! Except, maybe, for the bonus and the emerald!"
I unlocked the safe and gave her both. The emerald was the size of a bean and was among the best of my Murphian acquisitions, so Cassilda was pleased.
"A beautiful stone! Well then, tonight we shall work it off… Prepare for a performance, Graham! How's our prima donna?"
"Sleeping. A victim of her own excesses."
"Me too." Cassilda grimaced. "How do you deal with a hangover, Graham?"
"A cold and hot shower, half an hour of exercise, strong coffee and orange juice for breakfast. You can also add something salty… Do you want oysters or caviar?"
Cassilda shook her head.
"No, please don't! Those are all traditional remedies, Graham. Had you thought of something new, you could have bought out half the galaxy!"
Turning and groaning, she went to take a shower nonetheless, while I returned to the bedroom. Shandra was just opening her eyes. Her face seemed a little green.
"Graham, honey! Is that you or your ghost?" She sat up in the bed and started rubbing her temples. "You know, I feel as if I just spent three days in Joyous Repentance… I'm not going to kiss you… Let me brush my teeth first, okay?"
The second lady headed for the bathroom, swaying and groaning. It was a good thing that these facilities were automated aboard the Circe: just stand there and don't move, while sprays of water wash you from every direction. While my lady was enjoying this procedure, I ordered coffee and orange juice. Despite what Cassilda had said, I trusted the time-tested remedies.
When my wife had returned, she looked more like her usual self. The coffee almost brought her back to her senses, and, after draining the juice, she finally noticed the dress on the floor.
"Massaraksh! This isn't mine, it's Cassilda's! How did it get here, Graham?"
She was looking at me with a crystal-clear gaze, without a shadow of suspicion; she was, most definitely, still the same Shandra, not counting that Barsoomian word "massaraksh". I was pleased that Cassilda had only educated her in the matters of alcohol and graceful wording. After all, it was such a trifle! I picked up the dress and threw it onto the bed.
"Don't you remember exchanging clothes with her?"
Shandra frowned in thought.
"No… yes… I think I'm starting to remember… We argued who could drink more… Cassilda said that I had more volume, but she had endurance and experience. I told her that my volume wasn't a problem and that I would fit into any of her dresses. So, we traded…"
I nodded, "I see, honey. In time, you will understand that volume does have its limitations, while experience is unlimited. So Cassilda was right."
"I believe you, Graham. She definitely has plenty of experience! You know, she's given birth five times! Just think about it, five children, and all of them fathered by different men!"
"This doesn't surprise me. Cassilda is a temperamental girl. She's probably over six hundred years old… In that time, even accounting for the restricted birth rate on Barsoom, anyone can get a good number of offspring. And a big collection of lovers!"
Shandra suddenly blushed and started weaving a golden red curl on her finger. It seemed that a question was tormenting her, of an intimate and delicate nature, like a speck of dust in her eye.
Finally, she resolved to ask, "Graham… Cassilda also said… she said… that, if you weren't with me, the two of you… you…"
I burst out laughing. Those were some interesting topics discussed by women, when the excess of alcohol made them best friends! Then again, I was not upset at Cassilda; sooner or later, my wife would have found out that human morality was a loose concept.
"It's an old tradition, my girl," I said. "When a space trader is visiting a world, women hover over him like bees over a mug of molasses. He hires girls to work for him as models, secretaries, agents… All of them are very quick and attractive ladies, while the poor space monster is so lonely! Well, and… You know."
She looked at me attentively, "But you wouldn't do that, would you, Graham? At least, not while you're with me?"
Shandra's green eyes clouded, and I gave them a gentle kiss.
"Do you remember our vow, honey?" My hands embraced her of their own accord, while my lips touched the shuddering vein on her temple. "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 affirm that I give these vows voluntarily and of my own accord, in accordance with the traditions of honor and the laws of space. And I must admit that the foolish Old Cap Frenchie still believes in honor and law."
She sighed with visible relief and lay back on the bed. It was strange, but, at that moment, it was our souls reaching out for one another, not our bodies. I had felt this before, many years ago, with other women, under the light of other suns, but for Shandra, it was new. It seemed she finally started to realize that there was carnal love and there was spiritual love and that, in a genuine feeling, they were as inseparable as night and day, heat and cold, the darkness and the light, the stars and the cosmic abyss that surrounded us. None these extremes could not exist on their own; only by alternating and changing, circling in the eternal maelstrom, mixing and confronting one another, they maintained equilibrium in the universe. And what was the human soul? That same universe, which had its own burning stars and flowing darkness…
With those thoughts (and the appropriate conversations), we spent our morning, holding hands chastely. Then I headed for the gym, while my ladies started getting ready for the evening performance. Shandra was glowing with anticipation, while Cassilda clearly wanted to prove that she hadn't gotten her emerald just for having pretty eyes. In that show, Cassilda would have the role of the host, I would portray a picky buyer, and the Circe would record everything.
The recorded holofilm would not be sold anywhere, ever, under any circumstances. It would be a memory! A memory of the golden-haired Aphrodite, born in the foam of waves, of the light butterfly that had left its cocoon; of the opening of an orchid's petals, delighting the eye with its grace and tenderness of colorful iridescence… Occasionally, I watched this recording, remembered, sighed, and thought of the times when Shandra would be with me once again. I didn't watch it too often; after watching it, I got nightmares, and it seemed that the ship was carrying me not to the Periphery of human-occupied galaxy, but into intergalactic space, from where there was no return…
Ignoring the melancholy, I was stunned. Such a stark contrast with the former colorless execution! As if a teenage girl had suddenly obtained maturity, grace, intelligence, and winning feminine charm… I gradually started to understand my mistake: I had been subconsciously pushing Shandra towards a dozen dead standards, towards mimicking other women, who had been unlike her, looked differently, moved differently, had different temperaments and personalities. What had Cassilda done to my wife? Merely tried to expose her individuality… Massaraksh! Massaraksh thirty-three times! This Black Star knew what she was doing!
When everything was over, I embraced my spouse and expressed my gratitude and admiration to Cassilda.
She blushed; it was strange to see a flush of embarrassment on her face, so decisive and energetic. The robots had already tended to her luggage, and all that was left for us to do was walk Cassilda to the cargo airlock. At the threshold, she and Shandra hugged and teared up, and I thought that they might meet again, when we found ourselves on Barsoom once more, in two, three, or five hundred years.
Five hundred? Doubtful… The human-occupied universe was so big and was expanding with every passing year…
Cassilda turned to me and gave me a peck on the cheek, "You're a nice guy, Graham French, and you have a good wife. Take care of her!"
The hatch iris closed, and we found ourselves alone.
The elevator took us to the North, into the habitation area. As previously mentioned, its separation into East and West was somewhat artificial, while North and South aboard the Circe were determined by her very design. Notably, space trade ships tended to be very different from one another; they were added to and perfected over millennia, and they included spheres and cones, toroids and polyhedrons, as well as other shapes that couldn't be described in two words. My Circe was a giant cylinder, pierced by the shaft of the axial elevator. On it, like washers on a spike, there were fuel tanks, cargo holds, technical and hydroponic sections, airlocks, life support systems, and everything else that a starship needed to have. It was a very practical design; I could always cut the Circe in half and add something new, which had happened many times already. That first ship, the Star Conqueror, which I had piloted during the first expedition, was half the length of the Circe, and nine-tenth of it was made up of containers for holding ice, the reaction mass for the ion engines.
Obviously, a cylinder had two ends, the front and the back, the bow and the stern, using the terminology of ancient Earth sailors. The bow included the habitation area with the bridge, followed by the gym and the pool, the big lounge, the conservatories and the greenhouses, the airlock section, the workshops and robot compartments, the cargo holds, the primary and auxiliary ice tanks, the reactor, the ion engines and the nozzles. This was already the stern, and it got a little hot in there when I engaged ion propulsion; this meant that I could fully consider this place the South. And the North, of course, lay in the opposite end.
And so, we headed for the North and, after exiting the elevator, stepped into the main lounge. There was still a festive atmosphere here; the ceiling was showing Earth's bright blue sky, the screens were glowing, the display board was showing some insane number, which was how the buyer (meaning me) had priced the latest of the displayed outfits. We were standing before the runway, holding one another, while robots were busying themselves around us, cleaning, polishing, and vacuuming. A strange feeling gripped me; it seemed to me that, with Shandra's rebirth that had taken place here, our marriage bond had strengthened, and we had started to understand one another better.
I was thinking of my past companions, of the women with whom I had entered into marriage; there had not been that many of them, but not that few either. Somehow, this current union was different from all the others… Was it that Shandra was young, so I could watch her mature and transform? Or was it that she trusted me more than others and demanded far less? Trust was a strange flower: it grew slowly and did not open its petals until its time came… I sensed that, this day, we had made an important step towards one another and that trust between us had grown stronger. Shandra smiled.
"What were you doing 'down' there, honey?"
She had already mastered the trade slang: "down" indicated Barsoom, while "up" was our ship, with all four parts of her world.
"I was languishing in anticipation and seeing stupid dreams," I replied. "In-between that, I was visiting a zoo. I brought some very funny animals, furry ones, with orange coats… Would you like to see their holograms?"
"Not now." She smiled again with a very mysterious look. "I want to show you something… a gift from Cassilda, dear. If you don't mind, I'll go to the bedroom for a minute, and then… Then, there will be another small show… Just for you, Graham!"
I didn't mind. This new style of hers, an attempt to intrigue me, was also one of Cassilda's gifts, along with the word "massaraksh" and that seductive cunning that I could feel in her. I thought that the lessons with Cassilda had resulted in something interesting: maybe Shandra was finally in tune with her feminine charm. Had that been the goal of Cassilda's lessons?.. Was that the secret she had tried to reveal?..
A minute later, Shandra fluttered into the lounge, and my jaw dropped. At first I thought that she was nude, but then my mouth shut, and the knocking of the teeth under my skull cleared up both my eyesight and my thought in an instant. She was wearing a flight jumpsuit, or rather something like it, but not completely appropriate and clearly not meant for a pilot's seat. Flesh-colored silk was hugging her like a glove, her back and arms were bare, the thin fabric underscored the graceful lines of her calves, the plunging neckline left her breasts half-exposed… It was perfection of a sort: a garment that covered everything and, at the same time, hinted at much more… Naturally, it was not meant for piloting or training for a sports competition, receptions or dancing, but exclusively for seducing men.
"Do you like it?" Tilting her head coyly, Shandra spur around in front of me, like a ballerina doing fouetté turns. "It was Cassilda's idea! Do you remember your first gift, back on Murphy? I was wearing it while training with Cassilda; we were studying the science of gestures, body movements, and postures that make a woman irresistible… And Cassilda said that, if we cut here and there, and use finer fabric, and wear high-heeled shoes, then all men would go crazy!" Shandra stared at my face with her big green eyes and gave me an inviting wave. "Well, Graham? Was Cassilda right? Or are you still in your right mind?"
"Not anymore," I muttered, rubbing my wet temples and trying to figure out the location of the door that led to the bedroom. Although we never made it to the bedroom.