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 16

Our talk, which had ended on a sad note, was continued in the bedroom. It should be noted that I got lucky this time; Shandra didn't start asking me about my wives or try to fish the details of my dark past out of me. Our conversation had more to do with semantics and morality.

"Graham," she started, pressing her cheek against my shoulder, "when you were talking about the Prophet, you mentioned that he was throwing excrement… well, at your robot, which then had to be cleaned…"

"Forgive me for such unappetizing details, my dear. I only wanted to explain the sort of a man I had had to deal with. He—"

Shandra's sharp teeth sank into my shoulder, although not very deep. Then a brawl started; my robe was torn off me and thrown onto the bed, while the victor sat on my abdomen and held my forearms with her knees. Mischief was burning in her eyes, her hair was disheveled, sweat was glistening on her temples, her chest was violently heaving behind the cleavage of her nightgown.

"Graham, you're impossible!" Shandra panted. "Do you think I'm embarrassed by your unappetizing details?.. I mean something else, something entirely different! I want to know why your said 'excrement'."

"You don't like the expression?" Her breasts were swaying over me seductively, and I tried to reach for them.

"Stop it! You're not getting anything until you answer! I want to know why you said 'excrement' and not 'shit' like every normal person. Me included!"

This question, even though it was being asked by such a flushed and disheveled person, was not simple and required a serious answer. And serious subjects were best discussed in a sitting position… I made an effort, trying to free myself, but Shandra only increased the grip of her legs. Now, any sudden movement at two-hundredth of a g would have thrown us towards the ceiling. I was forced to give up.

"You know, princess, that I'm an old man from Old Earth, and there, when I was young, certain words were considered forbidden. Well, not exactly forbidden; but a gentleman was not supposed to use them. I mean the ones related to reproductive and catalytic functions of an organism; not their scientific description, but words that were simpler and coarser, in use by the proletarian masses. If a gentleman had to touch upon these topics, he used medical terms, metaphors, allegories, and euphemisms…"

I fell silent, enjoying the sight of the two pink buds that could be seen through her gown. Another allegory, by the Black Hole! Maybe a shabby, battered, and old one, but still one full of devilish temptation!

Shandra huffed, playfully squirming on my abdomen.

"Reproductive functions and euphemisms! Allegories and metaphors, for things that we do day and night! You and me and all the gentlemen, all the ladies, and all the proletarian masses! Poor Graham, what have you filled your head with?"

"You," I admitted honestly, "right now, only you. In this, I'm no different from all the other men who use the word 'shit' instead of the term 'excrement'."

I finally managed to get a grip and flipped her onto her back.

I had been able to buy some time, but that was only a respite. My past attracted Shandra like a lightning rod, and I couldn't forbid her upcoming archeological digs. Of course, all I had to do was whisper a word to Circe, and all the files with my biography would have been closed and sealed behind forty locks, but I didn't even want to consider such an option. In Shandra's words, it would have been "unfair"; after all, she had every right to make sure that the man she'd gotten was decent, although not lacking in some flaws.

Having made peace with that, I only wanted one thing: for Shandra to start her digging in my absence. I wasn't a coward or a hypocrite and never tried to pretend that black was white, but, as previously mentioned, these files were something of an electronic conscience for me. My entire life, and the lives of many other people, was located in a permanent deposit in the Circe's vast banks, and only the explosion of a supernova, the collapse of the universe, or a fatal error in course plotting could destroy this vault. But even in and of itself, it possessed destructive power; anyone who familiarized himself with it could punish and pardon Old Cap Frenchie, Friend of the Border, Trader from the Stars. And, if not punish and pardon, then judge, which was also not a very pleasant procedure… In short, I would have preferred for Shandra to shake up my conscience alone, or, rather, together with the ship's computer. The day before the final transition, which would put us on the outskirts of Solaris, I suddenly had the wish to visit the menagerie and the greenhouse. This desire was partly irrational and partly deliberate; my instincts told me that I should not delay the digging, and my mind hinted where I could hide to wait out the difficult times.

And so, I put on my coveralls, kissed Shandra's ear, and said, "I'm going to visit the hydroponic sections, dear, and take a look at the animals while I'm at it. Occasionally, they start to worry… they think that I've left them alone with the robots, and that there's not a single living soul aboard the Circe… But they're wrong, aren't they?"

"They are," my princess agreed, "there are two souls here. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No need. I also want to visit the hibernator, take a look at the embryos, check the gene pool, and that's an unpleasant procedure. You…" I thought for a moment, then smacked my forehead. "Why don't you have some fun? Go to the bridge and look over my records. The Circe will tell you where to find them."

With these words, I turned around and headed for the lift. There wasn't much to do in the hydroponic sections: mainly to show myself to the animals and to make sure that they had handled the jump well. I didn't know what they sensed in the Ramsden field, but, at times, they felt restless, as if understanding that the ship was taking them away into the cosmic emptiness, farther and farther from the familiar places, from the sunlight and the warmth. But all my animals were experienced travelers, including the orange monkey I'd purchased on Malacandra; none of them had gone insane, become enraged or depressed, or planned to threaten me with a blaster. Unlike the restless two-legged passengers, my animals were always friendly and peaceful; they valued care and affection, did not try to get to the bridge, and did not throw vile things at the robots.

I spent some time admiring them, peeked into the hibernator (everything was fine there: bitter cold, sterile cleanliness, and flickering green lights), and then sat down next to the aquariums and had a glass of brandy. I felt the need for a refreshment; I drank my golden balm unhurriedly, looking at the unmoving strips of algae, the colorful pebbles, and the iridescent fishes dancing around in the illuminated water. This sight usually calmed me; if I closed my eyes, it sounded as if I was hearing the rhythmic rumbling of waves and that quiet soothing hissing with which waves left a sandy beach. If an opportunity presented itself, I thought, it would be nice to buy a large tank and put it between the lounge and the gym. It would be an excellent purchase; there'd be enough room for a beach with golden sand, a palm grove, and an entire lake, ten times the size of my pool. It would do for an ocean. I imagined Shandra splashing in its transparent waters, smiled, and opened my eyes. Over four hours had passed; it was probably time to get back.

My fair lady was sitting in the chair, deep in thought. Before her, two meters from the concave bowl of the holoprojector, I could see a familiar face, slightly pudgy, rosy, with strict gray eyes and a prominent forehead in dark curls. Jeanne… Jeanne du Maurier, my first companion on this endless cosmic escapade… Without a doubt, the most educated of all my women; she was a doctor of psychology and had honored me with her attention on Penelope nineteen millennia ago. She really wanted to write my biography, and, for that purpose, I was studied day and night: in psychoanalysis sessions during the day and in bed at night. After her work was finished, I took her to Eden. From what I recalled, we'd parted as friends.

"You're taking your time," I noted, turning to Shandra. "Jeanne was my first wife, not counting Penny's mother, and the first woman who risked getting involved with a space trader. The others followed in her footsteps."

"That's why I'm curious why she did that. But I can't find any reasons! No grounds!" Shandra threw her hands up. "Big love? Doubtful… An attempt to escape? Also doesn't fit; she had an honorable position on Penelope, no one chased her, no one threatened her… And, unlike Daphne, she was smart!" Shandra threw a glance at the hologram and grunted through gritted teeth. "I guess she's pretty enough… if you like women with flabby cheeks…"

"She wanted to write my biography, baby."

"Yes, I know! But that's an effect, not a cause. The cause is something else! What is it?"

Shandra looked at me questioningly, so, whether I wanted it or not, I had to embark on a journey through my memories. Jeanne… My God, it had been so long! Mountains of time separated us, an entire geological era, so many years that Earth would have had time to be covered in ice and thaw again… But that was just a hyperbole, a poetic exaggeration; Earth's climate was stable and had been under total control for a long time. Jeanne… She had been among the first generation of those born on Penelope and, I thought, hardly shared my desire for traveling and my wanderlust. But she was ambitious, and ambition could push people to do the strangest things. She wanted to become famous, to enter into history, if not through the main entrance, then through the backdoor; I was her chance, her bid for immortality, her inexhaustible mine. Besides, she wanted to become a professor of psychology, or even the dean of a respectable university, on one of the developed worlds, no farther than thirty light years from Earth. Despite all this, Jeanne was a fairly tolerable partner: a woman with a sense of humor, even-tempered, self-confident, capable of holding a conversation. Naturally, there were flaws: she lacked passion in bed, and those psychoanalytical experiments… A scientific obsession, I presumed.

Having listened to my commentary, Shandra looked at Jeanne once more. Green and gray eyes met, and, for a moment, it seemed to me as if they were having a staring contest, probing one another, like two swordswomen before a fight. But then Shandra smiled, breaking the illusion; now she was looking at me, while Jeanne's gaze continued to be directed at the back of the chair. Dark curls covered her forehead, and I recalled the wrinkles pocking it, the imprint of scientific deliberations, which didn't go with Jeanne's smooth skin and chubby cheeks.

"A worthy woman," Shandra said finally. "So, she wanted to be a professor? And? Did she do it?"

"Yes, honey. She spent many centuries working tirelessly on Eden, and then she left her chair, said goodbye to the university, and opened a bar for the disenfranchised. There, in the slums, was where I found her, after making at stop at Eden."

Shandra's mouth opened in surprise.

"But why? Why did she do that?"

I shrugged.

"She got tired of the academia, the intrigues, the careerism, the rumors… She said she wanted to study the people of the lowest stratum of society, those who only spoke to a psychoanalyst after going to prison. But it didn't work. Such studies require anonymity, and everyone knew Jeanne, she was considered one of the oldest inhabitants of Eden. When I visited it again, she was gone. Maybe she flew away somewhere, or maybe she ended her life… This happens to intellectuals sometimes. As soon as they discover that life and science are two different things, they panic, go insane, or take sleeping pills. Then again, Jeanne was a tough nut to crack…"

"But you still think that she died?"

"Life is like a game, but no one wins forever: not me, not you, and not Jeanne… At the very least, she did not let opportunity pass her by. When we left Penelope, it was a fairly primitive world by our current standards, even though it was considered the wealthiest and most prosperous colony after Logres. A dozen cities, a hundred settlements, and one planetary university… Jeanne's teacher held the position of Professor of Psychology, and she would have had to wait, intrigue, or hope for an accident that was fatal for him and happy for her. This did not suit her; with all her ambition, she had no intention of building her career on someone else's misery. I showed up just in time…"

"Eden and you, right?"

"Yes, Eden and I… A world discovered by me, beautiful, like a childhood dream… In those days, it was considered the Periphery, but everyone knew that it was one of the most promising colonies. Jeanne was its first and only psychologist, with considerable merits, namely the biography of one Cap Frenchie, the pioneer and an honorary colonist… And she was my wife, the person closest to me, which was the best of all possible recommendations on Eden. Who else was worthy of professorial robes?.. In the end, Jeanne got them when the planetary university opened and Eden became a civilized world."

But not Paradise, I added silently and sighed. Shandra threw a quick look at me.

"Do you regret parting with her?"

"No, honey. We'd entered into a temporary marriage, and I knew that, someday, she would leave me. But I liked being with her. We managed to get along; she turned out to be a sensible and calm woman, and she helped me out with my commercial matters. In that era of the initial colonization, the people of the settled worlds didn't much care for apparel, books, or rare animals; they needed technology, and I sold them the plans. I managed to visit all the planets in a matter of a few centuries… It was just me then, the only space trader in the entire inhabited galaxy! But everything has changed since then, even the Circe… Here, look!"

I gave a command, and Jeanne's chubby pink face was replaced by an image of the ship. She was about half the size she was now; some of the fuel tanks, the main lounge, and several life support system units were gone, while the technical and hydroponic sections looked like two thin rings, wedged between the habitation area and the cargo hold. Following my command, the image blinked and changed slightly: now another module, marked in red, was added to the technical section. The robot compartment with the repair workshops… They had been equipped on Logres a few years before I said goodbye to Jeanne… Black Holes of space! It had been so long ago!

Shandra stroked my shoulder with an unaccustomed shyness and whispered, "Graham, tell me… did you love her? Did you? You don't have to answer if you don't want to…"

"It's okay… Of course I loved her, although her psychological tricks were tiring. But I paid her back! After all, I'm a good magician as well… So she was studying me, and I was studying her, and it's hard to say which of us received more pleasure."

"So, you studied her… In bed, I presume?"

What incredible insight! I could only chuckle.

"How'd you guess?"

Shandra answered with a smile.

"I know you, Graham, now I do… You perform your best tricks in bed."

"You know me? And you still love me?"

"Yes, although your dirty past— What are you doing, Graham? Keep your hands away, you space monster! Don't take my dress off!"

I had to pause and transition from the bridge to the place where I performed my best tricks. The path was difficult, but, fortunately, not very long; I could carry anything in low gravity, even something that was kicking, biting, and screaming. Of course, she wasn't biting very hard, just for show.

About forty minutes, or maybe an hour, we caught our breath and were able to get back to Jeanne.

"So she wrote your biography? And that book is in the Circe's files?"

I nodded.

"You can read it at any moment. Along with the foreword, the conclusions, and the summary."

"I'm more interested in the conclusions. As you admitted, Jeanne was a smart girl and, I hope, was able to crack you open. And share her experience with your other victims."

"I don't know… You see, she leaned more towards the romantic side of psychology, and it's hard for a romantic to understand a pragmatist. She claimed that I was a man of destiny, ruled by determinism. This conclusion can't be criticized for one simple reason: no matter what I did, no matter how I tried to trick destiny, all that would only follow the will of fate. This was Jeanne's opinion, not mine; to me, it seems that I'm completely free."

Shandra smiled slyly.

"It just seems that way, my dear! And I agree with Jeanne's conclusions. I like them!"

"But why?"

"Because you're here, next to me. Destiny, fate, or this deter…" she faltered, then finished it stubbornly, "or this de-ter-mi-nism of yours brought you to me! There, Graham French! I'll read that book. I'll ask to have it printed and will enjoy it in bed."

An interesting source of sexual arousal! I thought with a slight chuckle. But Shandra wasn't finished yet.

"By the way, let's talk about the bed… Did she give you pleasure?"

The hint was crystal-clear: who was better, me or her?.. A question that every woman always asked a man, so it was best to have an answer already prepared. I was ready.

"It was so long ago, honey… I barely remember anything…"

"Graham!" My ear was bitten hard. "Could you answer without evading?"

"Well, I think I was fairly satisfied. Sex is a necessary part of love, and, if a woman is unpleasant to a man, or vice versa, then they shouldn't get under the same covers together."

My princess spent some time thinking this over, then she hugged me and whispered, "Graham… tell me, Graham… Jeanne, and Daphne, and the others… did they do everything that you wanted?.. Everything?"

"Everything is such a loose concept," I replied, trying not to smile. "I don't need that much… just three things…"

Shandra roused. Now she looked like a huntress who had chased a beast into a corner. The quarry seemed to be pretty nice: a deer, a wild boar, or a moose; definitely something big, solid, and meaty.

"Are you going to tell me what they are? Or do I need to bite you?"

"No need, honey, I'm prepared to confess all my sins… So, what do I want from a woman?.. First, that she come to me of her own free will, not for any other reason, not for money, gifts, or plain curiosity. Second, that she not be shy in bed and show initiative… within reason, of course. And third, that I suit her. If the latter is fair, then she won't be disappointed, not before and not after. Do you agree with me?"

Shandra looked like a huntress who had caught a mouse instead of a deer. Sighing, she muttered, "But there must be something special, something that a man and a woman do… something that you like… that will make you happy… something that your other wives knew how to do…"

Poor girl! She must have been thinking that I was hiding something incredibly important and didn't want to admit my perverted tastes! The tastes that had been, naturally, indulged by all my other wives… Either foolish, like Daphne, or smart, like Jeanne, but, without a doubt, more experienced… Who had known the most important secret in the galaxy: how to please the space trader Graham French in bed…

Massaraksh! I had never demanded that my women knew all the secrets of the Kamasutra, all one thousand positions and methods, or however many there were in that ancient text. Most of them weren't as much pleasurable as they were dangerous, unless, of course, one was a Hindu yogi, a Sacabon, or had sex in one's sleep via neuroclips. But even the latter option was risky; dreams were all fine, but one risked dislocating something, if not a vital organ, then one's own brains. This was why I was not a fan of artificial erotic reveries; I preferred reality and real women. I didn't ask too much from them. I embraced Shandra, pulled her close, and stroked her golden red curls. She looked at me with anxiety and hope, as if I was the Oracle from the Temple of Apollo.

"Trust me, honey, there are no secrets or mysteries that you don't already know. And if there's something you don't know, then you can read or view; the Circe is at your disposal. But I don't think that you'll like it. Those exotics aren't for everyone, and most positions are dangerous, painful, or, at the very least, uncomfortable. You may ask, why do people practice them? The answer is, on some worlds, sex has become a sporting event, kind of like zero-g dancing or acrobatics. But I want to stay an amateur, not a professional."

Shandra blinked in surprise.

"Love turned into a sport? Into a public spectacle? Is that possible?"

"No love, princess, sex. Love is a much more complicated feeling, and, in our day and age, it's not mixed with eroticism. Like I said, sex is a component of love, but it also exists on its own, just like the function of childbirth, which isn't physiologically connected to intercourse. Our ancestors knew of only one, natural way of reproduction, while we have several, and they are a result of technology, not love. Cloning, artificial insemination, fusing gametes in a test tube, growing a fetus in an incubator… None of that, just like spectator sex, has anything to do with love!"

"I think I understand." Shandra nodded, and her fluffy hair tickled my chest. "Love is a mystery, dear… Attachment, compassion, interest, a portion of eroticism, and, as you said, reasonable initiative… All that is love! And also…"

I froze, anticipating what she would say next. She had a keen mind, and, by all Black Holes, she already knew a way to beat my past wives, how to triumph over them, how to prove her immeasurable devotion and love to me. A method as old as the hills… Shandra's lips moved, "And also, love is children. Our continuation, Graham! Not conceived in a test tube, not grown in an incubator, but real children! Do you understand me, honey?"

I sighed and kissed her temple. She seemed to have taken that as a promise.