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 can be found at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 17
Her audit of my past had not ended on that. Besides Jeanne and Daphne, there were also the passionate Ilsa from Camelot, the gentle, quiet Thea from Viola Siderea, the Trantorians Nina and Jessica, Aisha and Devi Xianyang. Finally, it was Yoko's turn. We were already on the outskirts of Solaris's system, and that allowed me to delay the unpleasant tale. I was far more enthusiastic about talking of the world that awaited Shandra and me, of its curiosities and marvels, of its history, customs, and mores… It wasn't that I was ashamed to tell her about Yoko or was embarrassed about what had happened to her, but each of us subconsciously put away the difficult explanations, hid the distant pain into the strongest chest in the memory, sealed it tightly, and pushed it into the darkest corner. It was merely psychological self-defense employed by every person, and I was no exception.
And so, Solaris…
In the medieval era, there used to be a storyteller and a dreamer, and he'd once had this image: a world covered by an ocean, floating through the cosmic darkness, a monstrous clump of protoplasm wrapped around a solid core, a smooth vast surface of dark waters; no landmasses, no islands, no reefs, no cliffs… This was Pan [Footnote 1] Stanisław's imaginary Solaris, if one even remembered who this Pan Stanisław even had been and what he'd written. I could only add that the ocean on his planet of phantoms and mirages turned out to be sentient, not the way a human was, but in some other mysterious manner, completely unfathomable to the puny human mind. Just imagine, a thinking ocean! Yes, Pan Stanisław had been a great dreamer, and Solaris was his best idea! Occasionally, I reread this novel and reflected on it. My opinion was that Pan Stanisław hadn't believed in the existence of sentient oceans; he'd only been trying to warn us that, in space, we would see many marvels, but not all the wonders would immediately fall to their knees before us.
I couldn't recall which space trader had discovered the planet which we wear approaching, but I was certain that he had great respect for Pan Stanisław. Otherwise, why call this world Solaris? Sure, it was covered by an ocean, but it was made up of normal brackish water and, even though there were no landmasses, there were islands, hundreds of them, measly specks of dry land among the immense waters. They were naked and so tiny that they merged with the dark water, and it seemed as if there was nothing there besides the ocean, just the blue-gray waves, pale skies, and occasional flocks of feathery clouds. A silent, quiet, mysterious world… Perhaps that was why it was reminiscent of Solaris...
Either way, this was what it was called.
At close inspection, no secrets or mysteries had been found on Solaris. It was undergoing a Silurian period, which was a time when the only things that could be found in the ocean were plankton, worms, mollusks, and the forebears of modern fish, with absolutely nothing on land, not counting moss and ferns. Despite this, Solaris had become a tasty morsel for colonists. There were many reasons for that. First, it had a pleasant climate, normal gravity, and a lack of harmful fauna; second, there were rich metal deposits in insular shelves and plenty of sunlight (which had solved the energy problem; after all, oil and coal wouldn't appear here for another half a billion years); third, giant areas on the seabed, covered in algae, primitive, but suitable for producing fertilizer, carbohydrates, and proteins. As for the land, it made up a thirtieth of the planetary surface, which was not a small number: fifteen million square kilometers, two of Earth's Australias.
Eventually, Solaris was colonized by settlers from Aurora, who were used to the sight of a vast sea. Over the following two millennia, they settled down with enviable comfort: all the archipelagos of the equatorial and subtropical zones were planted with forests (covered entirely in palm groves, Lebanese cedar, oaks, sequoias, and magnolias), raw materials from the shelf mines were flowing, cities rose from shadowy waters, concentrations of luxury and temptation, while oceanic farms were enriched with wildlife, brought over from various exotic planets. So, Solaris had fully matured for mutually beneficial trade. It primarily produced sea herbs, perfume, pearls, seafood delicacies, therapeutic salts, and aromatic essences; in other words, whatever the Silurian seas were full of.
Despite all this, the lives of the settlers were fairly quiet, a sort-of Polynesian style in conjunction with the benefits of civilization. They hadn't even bothered to elect a central government, and each archipelago (and there were three dozen of them) was run by its own personal council, senate, congress, or directory. As for the ocean, it was seen as public property, and, being non-sentient, had no objections to that. I could only add that the Solarians were a sea people; they were thin, short, elegant, and swam with the ease and grace of dolphins. Some of them underwent a voluntary genetic correction, growing gills and webbing between fingers and toes, but this metamorphosis was reversible: if they moved from a farm or an underwater mine to a city, they could restore their original appearance. But even in their hydroid appearance, they remained human; the swimming membranes weren't that noticeable, and the gills were simply a pair of openings under the shoulder blades.
Such an ability of adapting to the oceanic environment fascinated Shandra, and I was hit by a torrent of questions. She wanted to know absolutely everything: how the hydroid Solarians lived, how they communicated underwater, what they ate, and what they drank. What their homes looked like. If they had their own cities, transportation, books, communications, and art. How they made love. In bed or among the stormy waves? And, finally, what they wore. Diving suits, swimwear, scales, or the outfit Adam and Eve had preferred before the Fall?
Unfortunately, I was unable to sate her curiosity. I'd been on Solaris several times, but I almost never interacted with the hydroids; in the local hierarchy, they were the members of the lower class, they were farmers and shepherds, miners and whalers, pearl collector and underwater factory workers. I knew of only one thing for certain: my goods were not for these people. And not because they were hydroids, but for other reasons, which were more social than genetic. And that definitely proved that the quiet, peaceful Solaris was also not a Paradise. At least, not the Paradise I was looking for. Shandra's eyes clouded dreamily.
"It must be very beautiful…" she whispered. "A vast sunlit ocean and islands covered in greenery… The sweet aroma of magnolias, palm trees with huge glossy leaves, and sequoias that rise over the forest, propping up the clouds… Or am I mistaken, honey? Sequoias are taller than palms, magnolias, and oaks, right?"
I confirmed that she was correct and added, "There are also other incredible sights on the islands of the volcanic belt. They're uninhabited, virginal, and deserted: dark cliff over gray waters, brown and gray lichen, rapid waterfalls and unapproachable tops, always covered in smoke… A terrible beauty! You've never seen anything like it. You'll be taking pictures, and I'll be standing next to you, holding you, and feeling your heart beating under my hand…"
"You're going to be rewarded!" Shandra nodded her head with regal majesty and started to unzip her jumpsuit. "Right now!"
I didn't mind.
We passed the asteroid belt, floating over the scattering of black, crimson, and silver lumps; they flickered and shimmered, momentarily plucked out from the cosmic darkness by the furious flame raging astern of the Circe. This was our arbitrary South; this was where ice was melted and turned into water, then into a stream of ionized gas heated to stellar temperatures; this was where the engines silently opened their fire-breathing maws, spewing fiery jets; this was where, in the hot and frightening inferno, demons darted, roared, rioted, and, tamed by magnetic fields, flew out into the cold and the darkness of the infinite void. Five hundred and fifty meters separated us from this inferno, a miniscule distance on a cosmic scale, but, for us, it was the distance between life and death, between the concepts of "to be" and "not to be". Then again, I didn't think about death; my Circe was a reliable ship. I was thinking of Yoko and my other women. It was an audit of sorts, prompted by Shandra's questions. I discovered, not without surprise and sorrow, that I remembered my wives poorly; their appearance, their habits, voices, ways of moving and speaking seemed to have been covered in a fog, which suppressed everything: facial features, figure, smells, and sounds. With the same surprise, I also realized that all of them, so different in appearance and constitution, had belonged to two main groups, as if I consciously avoided all other women, considering them unsuitable for me or unworthy of stepping aboard my Circe. The first group included adventuresses, maybe not in the full sense of the word, but, still, girls that had fire.
Each of them had been pursuing her own goal, dictated by ambition, curiosity, innate restlessness, or the fear that reality imbued in them; to them, I was their support and protection, a lover, a source of pride, and, in rare cases, a subject for experiments.
The others, whom I called frantic mothers, had been completely different. These women were obsessed with children; the meaning of their lives was focused on carrying, bearing, rearing, and again carrying and bearing. They viewed men as a useful mechanism, meant for conceiving and providing comfort; although, nowadays, they managed without men, preferring a surgical chair to a bed. When the population rose and planetary governments were forced to limit the birth rate, they were the most vocal opponents; they didn't need licenses and a single child in a century, they yearned to give birth again and again! Preferably annually. Such ladies, if their influence in society was high, initiated the construction of a colony ship with the subsequent emigration; in their own way, they were heroines, pioneers of long journeys, and conquerors of the galaxy, spreading the seeds of humanity here and there. But emigration was a big undertaking, involving huge expenses and the creation of a group of tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people; so, if a frantic mother encountered a trader, capable of taking her to the Periphery, she did everything possible to get into his bed. By the way, Nina from Trantor had been this sort of woman. I hadn't particularly interested her as a potential husband due to my infertility and the inability of filling the Circe with hordes of infants; however, she signed a contract with me and even tried to bring a few of her friends into our bedroom.
It should be noted that this had not been such a rare occurrence; frantic mothers were always solidary, as they were united and driven by the same exact desire. Some space traders exploited them shamelessly, filling their ships with an entire harem, which was to please their captain and master, until he parted with his odalisques on some suitable world. All of them did that voluntarily and, amazingly, shed tears of gratitude, having found themselves in a place where they could multiply and reproduce without interference. In my opinion, humans would conquer the galaxy not because they were smart, cruel, or obstinate, but due to the untamed instinct of reproduction, inherent in certain members of our race. Give them a chance, and all the stars would die out, suffocating under piles of wet diapers.
Out of the two above-mentioned categories, I most definitely preferred the adventuresses. First of all, they did not see me as a means of transportation, and second, while they lost to the mothers in mental strength, the adventuresses won out in other respects: they were happier and kinder, they were more pleasant to communicate with, and their conversations weren't so unvaried and boring (not counting Daphne, who, by her mannerisms, had also been an adventuress). Besides that, there was something primitive, manic in the frantic mothers; when they were approaching their target, their faces grew grim, and a fanatical gleam appeared in their eyes. They started to exhaust themselves with exercises, although their weight increased; their appetite (including the sexual one) suddenly rose, and they inquired more frequently whether I was planning on getting rid of my sterility. It was pointless to remind them what pregnancy aboard a spaceship led to, as the voice of common sense was quiet, while the siren of their instincts blared as loud as it could. Shandra was different. Naturally, there were instincts whispering to her as well, but she did not lose her sanity. Or, perhaps, she was driven not by reason but by pride, the kind that was inherent in strong and independent creatures. In a similar vein, chickens laid more eggs than eagles, but their progeny was destined to simmer in a pot instead of soaring among mountain peaks.
Classification was the foundation of many things, and, having developed it, I calmed down and felt prepared to continue the digs. All that was left to do was to give Shandra the fruit of my thoughts, which I ended up doing as soon as we had passed the asteroid area. After listening to the saga of the frantic mothers, she chuckled weakly.
"Poor rabbits… My heart bleeds for them… But you didn't neglect them, my dear." Shandra threw a glance at the screen. "There are at least four of them on your list."
"Nothing to be done about it, princess… I like women, all kinds of women. Are you upset?"
"I can't be happy for each and every one of them. You're attracted to me, and that is what's important."
She looked at the name-filled screen again, and her eyebrows shot up.
"Massaraksh! An entire constellation… two even, according to your classification… And where do I fit in here?"
"You are the most priceless of all stars! And you're the only one, unique, and bright! I can't classify you as either a frantic mother or an adventuress. What we love cannot be classified."
"Flatterer!" She looked at me slyly. "But still… Who am I, Graham? What am I like?"
I shrugged.
"My wife. I had loved those others as well, at least at first, but I parted with them without regret and forgot them a year or ten years later. But with you, everything was… is different, do you understand? The thought of our parting frightens me, and I can't accept it. Also… I think I had fallen in love with you even before we met, when Archon Geoffrey was telling your story to me. Strange, isn't it? As if I took a whiff of that orchid that had once grown on Corinth…"
Shandra giggled.
"You're a man! A shameless seducer! You would've only killed that beautiful flower!"
"Perhaps, my dear. But, having met you, I seemed to have been given the prophetic talent of the Corinthian women. Believe me or not, this is what has happened! I know, I feel that I need only you and no one else."
Both then and now, after I had been left alone, I could repeat everything word for word. Even with better reason now, probably… Killashandra, my princess, my fair lady! You were so far away from me! And the world was so empty and dark without your smile…
She had smiled that time too.
"I like hearing such words! I don't know to whom you've told them before, and I don't want to know… But I still need a place in your classification, and you should think about that, honey. Let's say, 'Shandra, a priceless, inimitable supernova! One who has eclipsed all the other stars!'"
"I should," I agreed.
Turning to the screen, she touched one of the names with her finger, and the list disappeared. Now a woman's face appeared before us: small, dark-eyed, with rough cheekbones and a narrow chin, covered in a thick layer of whitewash. On the world of Amaterasu, Yoko's home planet, makeup was used heavily, to the point where it was impossible to figure out whether a woman was beautiful or not without a wet rag. But I remembered that Yoko was beautiful, despite all the cosmetic excesses: thin, petite, elegant, with mysterious slanted eyes and a silky waterfall of charcoal-black hair.
"She looks Japanese," Shandra noted. "Probably cute… But why did she paint herself like that?"
"It's a national tradition," I explained. "Such is the custom on Amaterasu: the more beautiful a girl, the more lipstick and whitewash covers her face."
With a snort, my princess wished for Yoko to be shown in her natural appearance, but the Circe did not have such a hologram. Then, removing the image, Shandra delved into the documents. She was going through them, and I was thinking about whether it was best for me to disappear somewhere: the greenhouse, the workshops, or the airlock, where the shuttle was located, well-stocked with alcohol. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything, no overlooked reason that would justify my absence. I didn't want it to look like a getaway.
Finishing her reading, Shandra delivered her verdict, "Scarce data! Everything is too laconic and dry. A record of commercial transactions on Amaterasu… A marriage contract file… A record of the termination of the contract when the Circe was at Atkinson's World… A note: 'Treat Inamura Yoko as a passenger'… A record of disembarkation of the passenger on San Brendan, along with a sizable load of platinum… Very sizable! Did you pay her indemnity, Graham?"
I cleared my throat, mentally cursing the Circe's meticulousness. She accounted everything! Every milligram of metal and every tattered rag thrown into the recycler! And, naturally, everything accounted was available for perusing, even after ten thousand years.
"Listen, girl, I'll tell you about Yoko…" My throat was dry, and it was difficult to speak. "I came to Amaterasu and engaged in business; everything was as per usual: books, recordings, clothes, a shipment of spices from Nausicaa, neuroclips from Beowulf, and Doloresian lace… Everything as per usual! I put out an ad to find a model, three dozen girls responded, and I chose Yoko. She seemed older and more experienced than the others, and she was the most graceful and cutest, even with all that plaster on her face. Long story short, we had an excellent show, sold off all the outfits, and, afterwards, we celebrated our success… I've told you how this typically went, haven't I?"
"Yes. A stunning revelation! But I'm not surprised anymore."
"Neither was I when she wanted to stay for a few days. We felt good on the Circe! So cozy! We—"
"Never left the bed?" Shandra suggested. "Oh, you old space monster! Defiler of young models!"
"Not at all. She and I talked, almost like we're doing now. I spoke of interstellar trade, of the worlds I had wanted to visit, of the Periphery planets, and of Old Earth… I remember we also talked about fabrics, about how to pick their colors, accounting for a model's skin tone and the local star's spectral class… Then the conversation turned to her home planet. Amaterasu is a fairly prosperous place in the universe, but Yoko didn't like it there. She was unhappy, not with her fees (her services were actually paid well), but with fashion models having a low status in her society: higher than geishas but far lower than masters of tea ceremony and ikebana. She said that she would be happy to go with me and travel among the stars. She added that she feared nothing with such a kind and sensitive husband."
Shandra burst out laughing.
"That's an old song! As Cassilda said, 'Call a man kind and sensitive, and he'll be in your pocket.' Did you get hooked on that too, my poor Graham?"
"Naturally," I replied with a sour smile. "And so, we headed 'down'; I needed to wrap up my business dealings on the planet, and Yoko started selling off her property, turning everything into standard currency. We didn't hide our relationship. We were seen together frequently by gossip columnists, commentators, journalists… well, you know their kind. They wrote and gossiped about us, but that didn't bother me. I had already made my decision. You see, I knew that I wasn't in love with her, but I liked her a lot. She was so cute, petite, fragile…"
Shandra threw a glance at her reflection in the gleaming metal control panel and frowned involuntarily.
"Well, no one would call me petite or fragile… Is that a big flaw, Graham?"
"Not really, especially at night, in bed. A girl like you won't get lost among the pillows and the sheets, and that's a huge advantage in a man's eyes."
Having calmed her down, I continued my tale of Yoko.
"We departed, and everything was going fine, until the Circe reached Atkinson's World. The people there are tall and slender, almost like Barsoomians, but their star, a K3-type red dwarf, doesn't provide much warmth and light. A cold and harsh world! Its people's skin is deathly pale, their eyes are huge, blue, and mostly colorblind. Then again, Atkinsonians had been performing genetic experiments to improve their eyesight, and I assume that they were successful, but, at the time, this hadn't saved us. Yoko, petite swarthy Yoko, was far from the standards of beauty there, and I had to hire a local model. She was not upset, only said that it was difficult for her to watch another girl doing her job on the runway. Would I mind, if she relaxed? Went to see the local sights, have some fun, etc… If only I knew what would happen!"
Sitting up on the chair, Shandra reached to me and kissed me in the temple.
"Is it painful to remember, Graham?"
I nodded silently. These memories were indeed not the most pleasant ones.
"Did she cheat on you? Betray you?"
"She cheated and betrayed me, but not in the way you're thinking. Imagine this, a week or two later, one of my clients, the owner of a fashion salon, found me. He was furious! He claimed that everything I had sold him, exclusively and at the highest prices, was being sold again in the southern hemisphere; all the outfits, lingerie, cosmetics, all the hairstyle and makeup patents! He was ruined! And it was my fault! The vile space drifter had played a joke at his expense! Cheater, crook, thief! The only way to stop this stream of complaints was with money. I paid him a fine, apologized, and started to scratch my head. Actually, I knew what must have happened; Yoko had conducted another sale for second-rate businesses at low prices. And now all of my buyers' exclusive rights were useless pierces of paper; and I, Captain French, was a cheater, a crook, and a thief in their eyes! They couldn't see very well, but they knew their business! I was dumbfounded. I had been set up, and how! And, most importantly, by whom! By whom! My own wife, the personification of tenderness and purity! After summoning her, I demanded an explanation. She told me that there was nothing wrong with what she had done and that any method worked to make money! I explained to her that we hadn't made anything, as all the profits from our show would be used to pay fines. 'Your show,' she pointed out, adding that she had come with me to make money and trade. Was I really so naïve to think her a fool? She knew what I wanted! To stuff my pockets and have some fun with a girl, until I got tired of her and threw her off the ship! Threw her out in the worst place in the galaxy!"
My storytelling was interrupted. Shandra shrew her hands up to her face, and I was amazed to see her lips quiver, either out of rage or out of tears being held back. But her eyes were dry, only her pupils had darkened, and that indicated to me that she was furious.
"Bitch! Such a bitch! You would never do that, Graham! You were joined with a vow! And she knew that!"
"Of course she did. But dishonest people rarely admit their sins; they look for even the most absurd excuses, and if you reject them, then they'll accuse you of being biased. A dishonest official will scream that he stole for his hungry children; a crooked banker will claim to have only concealed his income because of the government's tax policy that robs him of his last penny; and even a highway robber will come up with an aunt with a broken leg and a few hospital bills… Excuses, excuses!.. Who doesn't need them? Maybe a tyrant like Clérac Belug, who is certain of his divine rights…"
"It's all philosophy, Graham! Let's forget about Clérac and get back to Yoko. What did you do with her? What could you do with her?"
"Almost nothing, if I went by the letter of the law. And, as you recall, this is the law…" I raised my finger and quoted, "'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.' Such is the law, honey, the law of honor! And all of its clauses remained inviolable, even though Yoko no longer lay in my bed… True, I could have abandoned her on Atkinson's World or thrown her out into space, could have ordered the robots to drown her in the chlorella tank… But that would have been unfair, it would have been a violation of the vow that was kept in permanent records. So I divorced her, moved her from my half to one of the passenger cabins, and started waiting until she wanted to get off my ship."
"And she was fine with that?"
"Oh yeah! She said that fashion was a very good business for a beautiful woman, and that, if I, a man, wanted to compete with her, then I was more than welcome to! I would only get burned! She had plenty of both clothes and money; she could find an agent and a suitable tin can to come down to any inhabited world and show off her goods."
Shandra snorted indignantly.
"And you took her from star to star and treated her like a passenger! That traitor! The woman who had hurt you! You were far stricter with that poor Prophet!"
"That poor Prophet nearly sent me to the great beyond, while Yoko… She had only betrayed and humiliated me. Should I have put her in the brig? Given her bread and water? What about my vows then? If you recall, 'I promise to love, honor, and protect you, for all the days!..'"
"'…our marriage is valid,'" Shandra finished. "But you divorced her!"
"So what? I no longer had to love and honor her, but to protect… That clause of the contract remained fair. At the very least, I couldn't starve her, keep her locked up, or limit her freedom."
"Poor Graham! Your vows sound like a cell without a door… You're inside, the cell is strong, there's no exit, and you can't fit between the bars…"
I chuckled grimly.
"That was good about the cell and the bars! But I'm an old space salt, my girl, a hard-headed trader… Not a crook, no! But I can fit through any hole without soap."
Shandra burst out laughing, probably imagining her husband turning into a pancake with thin legs, who could go through any bars.
"I don't doubt it! You're a wise old man from Old Earth. And you're a sly old fox! So what did you come up with, my love?"
Thus encouraged, I began to explain. It should be noted that, if a woman liked a man, her enthusiasm went through three stages: in the first stage, she valued the man's appearance, in the second, it was his skill as a lover, and in the third, it was his mind. Not talents, not the divine gift of genius, but cleverness, in other words, resourcefulness, the ability to wiggle out of any situation. It was always possible to wiggle out; as a last resort, put a hole between the eyes with a blaster, but a woman would not appreciate such a solution. But to get through any hole… without soap…
But, getting back to Yoko. She had to have thought that I would drive her around the galaxy, bound hand and foot by my vows, and she would live off her investments until she found a place more pleasant than Amaterasu. That was what had to happen; she had her own assets, her own extensive wardrobe, her experience of a first-rate model, and I could do nothing to keep her from engaging in the fashion business. Except for the route… This was where she shouldn't have relied on my nobility!
Only the people of developed worlds cared about outfits; the need for luxury and the accompanying market were children of prosperity, even one that was relative and unrelated to the social progress. It didn't matter much what sort of regime was in power on a planet: monarchy, democracy, or humane communist dictatorship; after the end of the initial colonization period, when the fields, factories, and mines were supplying the bare necessities, that was when it was time to look at clothes. That was the entertainment for the elite, and the elite could be found on all worlds, including those that followed the communist doctrine.
Except, of course, for the Periphery. For about a century, or two, or three, fashions remained unchanged there: an environment suit and a jumpsuit, a jumpsuit and an environment suit. At times, coats or shorts, depending on the climate, but, regardless, settlers had no need for cocktail dresses. They wanted technology, as well as domesticated animals like shabns and productive varieties of wheat. In other words, the Periphery was not an appropriate place to sell perfume or silk.
This was where I headed. We were moving from star to star, like a mobile factory; machine tools thundered in the workshops, the smell of plastic wafted through the habitation area, while the holds were packed full of drilling rigs, graders, sliders, and tractors. I rarely traded in finished equipment, only specifications, but that had been a special case: every other planet required machines, not their plans. And so I made machines, simple, strong, reliable. I purchased raw materials, aluminum and copper, zinc and nickel, rolled or blank steel, cellulose and petroleum for the chemical converters, and my robots toiled without rest. That could not be said about Yoko; after several failed attempts at selling something, she got bored. There, on the worlds of the Periphery, they needed prostitutes and dishwashers, not fashion models. Eight months had passed, and we found ourselves on San Brendan. A lousy planet, at least at the time! The gravity was ten percent over the standard, the seismic activity was above the norm, there were inexhaustible supplies of ore, but they didn't have a lot of fertile land, or pure water and air without sulfur vapor impurities, for that matter. Was it any wonder that San Brendan had already entered its overpopulation stage? There weren't that many people there, but they'd been living hand to mouth, despite the treasures buried under each of their cities. On such a world, people knew that true treasures were bread, milk, and meat, instead of diamonds, platinum, or gold mines. It should be noted that, over the years, the Brendanians resolved the issue of food production, having established artificial synthesis and taming the volcanoes, but, in that era, their lives had been difficult. A hundred and twenty million people, on tiny pieces of land, the biggest of which was no bigger than a hundred square kilometers! Some of these pieces had been taken up by cities, while others were owned by landlords, and each of these masters turned their holding into a fortress, gathering and arming all their children and household members, all the tenants and workers. Not an unnecessary precaution! Food riots and pogroms were surprisingly regular there. I had stopped by San Brendan to resupply on metal. Everything here was cheap: rhenium and platinum, nickel and copper, not to mention iron; they paid for canned meat in gold bars, while apples were valued at the price of diamonds. Along the way, another opportunity opened up; I could make a lot of profit in transportation, reducing Brendan's hungry population. Their government was subsidizing emigration, but the colony ship had only just been laid down, and, based on the rate of construction, it was going to be ready to be lifted up into orbit just in time for the heat death of the universe. I didn't have any hibernators of the kind that large colony ships were equipped with, and I could only fit about five hundred people on the Circe. An insignificant number, of course, but I could make about fifty trips in six months, as the world to be colonized, called Brunnershabn, was located only three light years away. It hadn't been settled properly; there was a nuclear war there, on such a scale that, a hundred years later, only memories were left of its people. I had no idea why they hadn't been able to get along and where they'd gotten their bombs; maybe some of the settlers brought them along as the most compelling argument in congress elections. Well, it was obviously how it all had ended. The uninhabited Brunnershabn was looming before the hungry Brendanians like a carrot before a donkey, and they had eaten it, with my assistance, of course. And then everything went full circle: a millennium later, Brunnershabn was also overcrowded, frantic mothers started making themselves known, rioting started, and, as a result, a colony ship was sent to an unnamed planet. They were led by Simon Murphy, the planet was named after him, and then this Murphy was killed during the fall of the Hammer. At least, that was what Geoffrey had claimed…
Shandra tugged on my sleeve.
"Hold on, Graham… You're mixing something up! My world was settled by the people of Transformation, not from some radioactive Brunnershabn!"
"Everything's correct, baby. Brunnershabn had died along with its entire population, and the colonists from Brendan had to work to return the planet to a decent state. Decontaminate the soil, purify the water, etc… So they decided to call their new world Transformation. Symbolic, isn't it? There were other suggestions, but I won't mention them out of a sense of humility."
"So, these settlers from Brendan are my ancestors? The forebears of my people? And you knew them?" Shandra seemed to be amazed; for the first time, she had received evidence that I was one of the oldest of all historical relics. A rarity of days gone by, one might say! Straight out of the age of dinosaurs! Or, maybe, her own age had been the cause of her amazement… Compared to me, she was so young! So unforgivably young! A child before the cosmic Methuselah… Shandra reflectively passed a lock of golden hair through her fingers.
"Graham, these people from Brendan… my ancestors… what were they like? Tall? Slender? Beautiful?"
"Hungry, my dear. Hunger chased them out of their native world, hunger and the need for greater quantities of food that were necessary to high-gravity people. As for their appearance… I'm afraid they would not look attractive to you. Pale, balding, up to my shoulder, massive and stout, weighing up to a hundred kilograms… Although, they were all muscle, not a drop of fat."
"But we Murphians don't look anything like them! We—"
"Yes, of course! You're tall and slender, bronze-skinned and golden-haired, like the ancient Scandinavians and Slavs. It all makes sense, my girl: people change their world, and the world changes its people. It changes their appearance, I mean; their essence stays the same."
"What do you mean?" Shandra's eyes grew wide.
"A certain hereditary trait. Scandinavians and Russians, yours and Brendanians' common ancestors, were stubborn people. It's a pretty good trait, as only stubborn people can survive on San Brendan and then resettle to a radioactive world and restore it to its normal condition. Or spend forty years scrubbing cauldrons…"
"So I owe them?" Shandra asked after a short reflection.
"Of course. I think, even to a greater extent than you can imagine. You are an exceptionally stubborn person! You… Please don't bite me, honey!"
She still ended up biting me, probably to direct my thoughts onto the right path. Obviously, towards Yoko.
"I signed a contract with the government of San Brendan, pledging to transport twenty thousand settlers to Brunnershabn, along with their robots, decontamination equipment, and other property, however much would fit in the Circe's cargo holds. Having moved to the bridge, I freed up all the hallways and cabins for the passengers; even the brig was able to fit three of them, while nearly a hundred occupied the gym. Yoko also had to make room; now she lived side-by-side with five Brendanian women on every trip, and that wasn't the most pleasant companionship. Each of them was twice as heavy as my ex-wife and could have easily torn her head off had things gotten physical. Besides, Brendanian women had a temper, and Yoko, graceful, refined, wearing exquisite makeup, irritated them; they looked like hungry she-wolves, put in the same cage as a well-fed domestic bichon. They would've swallowed her up, if not for the fear of punishment… But I warned them that I would space anyone who touched her, no matter the reason: good or bad. Then again, she wasn't very attractive for Brendanians from a sexual viewpoint, no more than a dragonfly to a pack of dung beetles. During the fifth trip, I accepted her surrender. The journey among the stars, comfortable, profitable, and so romantic, had turned to present their ugly side, or, rather, I turned them this way. Regardless, we discussed the conditions of our truce, and the first of them was our upcoming and eternal parting. Yoko wanted to leave the ship as soon as possible, but her choices weren't many: either San Brendan, which wasn't too hospitable to immigrants, or Brunnershabn, where the winds were throwing up gray dust clouds over charred plains. She chose the lesser of two evils, which was, of course, Brendan; after all, it, at least, had at least a hint of civilization. Not a big enough one to ensure her prosperity in the field of fashion business, but she would have found other options. Say, a space trader, who visited these parts in search of gold and platinum… I'm sure she wouldn't miss her chance!"
"Do you hate her?" Shandra pressed against me, peering into my face.
"Hate? No… probably not anymore… I still won! But it's difficult for me to think of her and of my victory. Not because she played me for a fool and tried to humiliate me… no, that's not the reason! But Yoko deprived me of my illusions. After leaving her, I discovered something about me; for example, that I'm not such a good man, that I can be cruel and violent, that I can answer evil with evil… A sad conclusion, my dear! Very sad! Until then, my soul was only weighed down by my theft of the Circe and by my daughter, whom I had abandoned; now Yoko was added to them. It didn't matter who was right and who was wrong; it didn't matter how much I paid her off; all the platinum on all the worlds isn't worth a single human tear! And the kind of grief that we humans cause one another…"
I fell silent. A was tormented by an oppressive feeling; I was once again seeing Yoko's figure, lit up by flames, long streams of flames that were coming out of the nozzles, burning the gray concrete… I had gone "up", to the Circe, while Yoko was left "down" there, in the grim Brendanian spaceport, cramped by warehouses and hangars… She looked so helpless, so small!.. At that moment, it seemed to me that I was abandoning Penny, abandoning her again, powerless to protect her from herself…
"And yet you weren't able to get out of the cage, my poor Graham," Shandra said, and I could only nod.
She was right; my personal code, all these rules of honor and nobility, laws of space, traditions of Old Earth, all the trinkets I had thought up were also my chains. Strange, one might say. Strange for a man who valued freedom so much that he had run away from everyone and everything: from his homeland, from his daughter, and from death itself.
Even from death… But that was the point! A long life could turn into a hellish burden if one refused to play by the rules. I had understood that, and I came up with the laws that worked for me; and I would follow them, until a jump took me to the end. In other words, into a point of destabilization… Could that be where Paradise was located?
Footnotes
1) "Pan" is a Slavic honorific similar to "mister".