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.

Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 21

The tale of Chris Corday of the Chiquitita was the story of a man who had indulged in his weaknesses too much, was known for his carelessness and frivolous-mindedness, and was full of good intentions, of the sort that paved the road to hell. But I believed that most of his flaws had been redeemed by his loyalty and kindness. Maybe I was wrong, but I had met guys worse than Corday.

He'd been a very loving fellow, an avid fan of women, and, as a result of this character trait, he engaged in passenger transportation. He only ever transported the fairer sex, those same frantic mothers who strove to end up on the Periphery from every prosperous planet. He labored as if he owned a ferry instead of a trade ship, and he had spent years dashing from one Old World to another, collecting female passengers and then heading to the outer planets to find a place for yet another harem. This was how he found himself on Distant with thirty pregnant women aboard. Some were on their first month, and some on the second, which meant that all of them needed to be put on the ground immediately, as normal gravity was essential to the development of a fetus.

Having familiarized himself with the situation on Distant, Corday was horrified. The planet was gripped by utter disorder and confusion; it was as if the crew composition of the three colony ships had been poorly chosen, or their home planet had decided to get rid of all of its losers in one fell swoop. Probably both.

The farms of the colonists were in extremely poor condition, half of the animals had already died, the other half was preparing to part with their innocent souls, there was not enough food, construction was happening in fits and starts, and aircars and sliders were breaking down one after another. On the other hand, Distant had already started its steel industry, but the colonists had nothing to do with it: robots were mining the ore, making steel, standing at the rolling mills, and they were run by a Genius-class computer. And what was being made of this steel, one might ask? Reactor housing, turbines, tankers, or maybe rails? Not even close! Shovels, hoes, and crowbars, which was an undeniable evidence of an extremely low level of technology. Naturally, the standard of living was at the same level. And so, a primitive world had opened up in all its glory before Corday, while he had three dozen women on his hands, and he felt affection for each of them. After all, they were preparing to give him thirty heirs! And Corday was just as loving to his children as he was to his women. He would have had rather said goodbye to Distant and moved to some more decent planet, but his time was running out. He ended up bringing them down, to the only city on the only and barely-settled continent. There was also only one hospital, and, a mere week later, the locals started complaining that Corday had completely occupied it. It was difficult to fault them for their hardheartedness; after all, they were also expecting additions to their families. Having shut the mouths of the loudest complainers with generous promises, Corday returned to the Chiquitita to think in peace and solitude. His first thought had not been particularly original: to spend five or six years wandering through Distant's system, while his kids grew up in normal gravity, and then load them up on board along with their mothers and depart in search of a more suitable world. But this plan would not work for many reasons. First, why would the people of Distant share their meager resources with this horde? With someone else's women and children, who would leave them and not bringing joy or pleasure to anyone? And second, where was the guarantee that all the joys and pleasures would remain exclusive to him? Say, the kids would be two or three years old, and their mothers already had babies, not Corday's, then how was he going to split them up?

The best option would have been the construction of a palace or thirty palaces, where Corday's progeny would be able to grow up in comfort and satiety, but this alternative was also unacceptable: Corday lacked the means to pay for such luxury. To be sure, he wasn't a poor man, but Distant had not yet developed the need for platinum, zoological curiosities, or entertainment neuroclips. The settlers would much have rather had machines, drills, robots, tractors, aluminum, rails, and bronze pipes, but it would take years to establish such production. In short, Corday felt himself trapped: damned if he did, and damned if he didn't.

"No other options at all?" Shandra interrupted me. Her face reflected compassion for Corday and his poor children.

Taking a sip of wine, I shrugged.

"To be sure, my dear, he could have said goodbye to his harem and engaged his engines. But this decision seemed to be the worst to him; as I said, he was a kind and loyal man."

"A kind pirate?" Shandra smiled. "Or was he not a pirate? Someone else then?"

"No need to rush, we'll get to the pirates," I promised. "First, try to understand the sort of man Corday was. Definitely frivolous, but fully prepared to pay his bills. Not everyone is capable of that."

"Sounds like you feel sympathy for him," Shandra stared at me suspiciously.

"I do. So what? Decent people can still be frivolous. But, I repeat, Corday has always paid his bills… well, almost always, but that singular case had nothing to do with his women and children. Now, about the children. Nothing good awaited them on Distant, as they lacked any CR equipment. At the rate the colonists were moving, such a facility would be built in forty or sixty years, until which time Corday's kids would've had to rely on fate that they didn't die of a festering appendix or, say, acute heart failure. Vile prospects, aren't they? And there were even older children on Distant than Corday's progeny."

Shandra nodded, confirming that there was nothing good in such prospects. In our day and age, they would seem like a great disaster to anyone, worse than the fall of a comet or a great flood. At the very least, when Murphy was struck by a catastrophe, it had already been a prosperous world, where there were plenty of clinics and cell regeneration machines. Even during the cannibal times, not all of them had been destroyed, and the first thing the Archonate did (even it had done something right!) was to restore the medical equipment and declare all CR devices the property of the Holy Basilica.

To get back to Chris Corday. Having pondered all options, he had decided to stay on Distant. He informed the colonists that, in return for caring for his women and children, he would give them the Chiquitita's robots to do the most menial, difficult, and risky technological operations. Besides that, he promised to share the entire contents of his data banks and produce from his greenhouses. This meant that he would have to stay on the planet for longer than a year, but the colonists had no objections. Corday's help was far more important to them than the laws that had been written a hundred light years from Distant.

"Very noble on his part," Shandra commented. "But I still don't see what this has to do with piracy."

"You don't? Really?" I paused, enjoying her impatience and curiosity. "Well then, listen! Any colonized world has dissatisfied people: adventurers or slackers, or someone who got less than they wanted. In time, most of them adapt; some get lucky and become planetary magnates, others fill the ranks of the disenfranchised, yet others become career politicians, and the rest wait for a chance to fly somewhere far away, to a new world, to new possibilities and adventures. This latter group is the most dangerous one for space traders; naturally, they don't have ships of their own and no means to build even a tiny craft. All of them see the same sweet dream: how to steal a ship from an unwary space trader, by either killing him or by robbing him at the moment of confiscation.

"In Corday's case, everything happened in accordance with the law, even though the law went counter to ethics in this case. Corday and his robots have spent twenty-one years working for the colonists, laying mines and building houses, constructing communication satellites and CR machines, and then, one fine day, some gentleman, using Corday's shuttle, reached the Chiquitita and waved bye-bye to Distant. A lawful affair, but still a disgusting one! It's like robbing a traveler who has shared his water and bread with you!"

Shandra furrowed her brow.

"I don't understand… This ship was run by a computer, as smart as our Circe… Then why did it let the thief aboard? Why did it allow him to fly away?"

"Well, from the viewpoint of the law, this guy was neither a pirate nor a thief. And the laws, including the Law of Confiscation, are a permanent file, so the computer had no choice but to obey. It's not versed in moral categories, it only follows the order of a person, as long as that order is not contradictory. In essence, its logic is elementary: if there are no contradictions with the primary programs, then there's no crime!"

Shandra's cheeks went pale.

"So, our Circe…"

"Naturally! At the moment the one-year term passes, she becomes defenseless, and any scoundrel who makes it to the bridge becomes her lord and master."

"And that's what happened to Corday?"

I nodded.

"Poor guy! From a captain and a space trader, he, in a single moment, became an ordinary colonist, and a penniless one at that. Sure, he still had his robots, but, over twenty years, they have worn out so much that he might as well use them to hammer nails. He presented the colony a bill for them and received compensation, including the thief's property, so he did manage to get at least some start-up capital. Distant was, by that point, doing better, the looser settlers have gotten smarter, and the new generation, which saw this world as their own, has fledged and entered the working age. But Corday's children (and his clan was now larger) were still young, and he, naturally, would have liked to help them, but there were more than a hundred of them now, while he was just one man! Deciding to increase his capital, he started a transportation business, got into debt, and went bankrupt; taking what was left of his assets, he switched to road construction, but this didn't work out for him either; nothing happened with used slider sales, grain resale, and land ventures either. Long story short, a few years later, he was dog-poor, and the reason for his bankruptcy was obvious: he was still thinking in cosmic categories and tried to obtain tenfold profit margins from his rusted sliders and infertile wastelands.

"In the end, was ruined, but Distant's authorities, remembering Corday's accomplishments, gave him the position of chief traffic controller of their spaceport. It was a sinecure of sorts, since traders visited Distant once a century, while the rest of the time all port activity was limited to sending repair teams to the relay satellites, about once every ten years. So Corday was the spaceport's chief and only traffic controller, lived there in a state-owned apartment, and ate at the neighboring Magellanic Clouds bar. He spent three centuries in this honorable position. Maybe he would have spent even longer plying the road from the bar to the empty spaceport, if not for one event. The event that turned him into a pirate."

Shandra lowered her head in disappointment, clearly full of regret for Corday's moral decline.

"Such a pleasant gentleman… so devoted to his family… Are you sure that he became a pirate?"

"Not only a pirate but also an apostate, as he robbed servants of God, missionaries. I think they belonged to the Brotherhood of the Holy Cup or the Lord's Chamber Pot… Basically, they were carrying a vessel of some sort, full of divine grace, and communed some foul-smelling potion to any who wished. Thus they traveled from world to world, until, to their misfortune, they met Corday. Their ship entered Distant's orbit, and Corday, receiving their message, immediately realized that these pilgrims had been sent to him by Providence. Their mission was nearing failure: the Lord's Chamber Pot smelled so badly that the holy fathers weren't even being given a chance to speak, not allowing them to explain themselves. On civilized worlds, they were threatened with prison for violation of propriety, while in places with simpler mores, they were given a choice of a pond with leeches, a rope lathered with soap, or an unsharpened stake. A few times, they were carried around on poles, tarred and feathered; on Calypso, they were whipped, on Abydon, they were stoned, and on Fiddler's Green, dogs were sicced on them. Not just because of the smelly pot, but for reasons of dashed hopes and disappointment. Think about it, a ship is a rare guest, its visit is a sensation, and each wants to know what it brought and how your home planet will benefit. As it turns out, it won't; instead of new films and books, instead of clothing and neuroclips, instead of funny animals and incredible off-world perfumes, you get a tub with relics and a bunch of preachers. Of course the people get angry!

"Already familiar with this scenario, the missionaries were frightened, but Corday assured them that the locals were waiting for them like manna from heaven. He told them that the people of Distant were quiet and pious, that they had built a temple in the capital city, but there were no holy relics in it and no ministers; no one to confess their sins to, no one to conduct communion, no servant of God to speak with on eschatological topics. He sang such a pretty song that the servants of God immediately rushed to their shuttle and, singing a hymn of thanks, quickly came down from orbit. Corday swore that he would immediately summon the mayor and the entire city council to greet the guests with speeches, orchestras, and flowers."

"Really?" Shandra's eyes opened wide. "And what next? Did he steal their shuttle while they were preaching to the mayor?"

"Why bother? The shuttle landed, Corday brought the holy fathers a bundle of lettuce instead of flowers, greeted them in the name of the authorities, and informed them that the greeting committee was on their way to the spaceport. Until then, the guests could freshen up, clean their feathers, and get a drink, in his control room, where he had set up a buffet. Well, their entire group headed to the control room, where they were cleaned and refreshed…"

Shandra's eyes grew even wider.

"Did he really?.."

"No-no, everything was quiet and peaceful, no killings. Two used robots with stunners and a long, deep, healthy sleep… Meanwhile, Corday appropriated the shuttle, engaged the drive, and rose up into the sky. And so, there was now one less missionary ship in the galaxy and one more trade ship. Amen!"

"Do you know what happened to him then?"

"Sure. He called his ship the Space Hound and labored for another hundred years to keep the Hound from looking like a mutt. After all, the servants of God had departed on their journey without much: no decent computer, no greenhouses, no robots, no supplies. Corday really had to work hard! He had no money, no goods, and no valuables either, except for the foul-smelling pot, but he once again had a ship. Having toured the Old Worlds, he picked up passengers, of the kind that paid in the bank instead of the bedroom, and took them to the Periphery. He made three or four such trips, and then he refitted his ship in the Camelotian shipyards. They say he had it armed to the teeth… Just in case he finds the Chiquitita's thief."

"Do you know him?"

"No, honey. He has never appeared in systems neighboring with Distant and nothing is known of his fate. His first jump could have ended tragically for him, in a destabilization point, but I think that he survived; after all, the Chiquitita had a good computer, no worse than the one on the Circe. He probably changed his name and the name of the ship and is still traveling through space… He hasn't done anything illegal, but he also has nothing to be proud of."

"True," Shandra agreed. "Maybe Corday is a pirate, but I like pirates more than thieves. A lot more!"

Then she gave me a tender look, so I had to pay her back with a kiss. We were then busy for a short while, and I was contemplating relocating to the bedroom. I felt that I was capable of many things, even without any chemicals; I had worked hard this morning, and was there a greater incentive for love than a brilliant idea? Especially in the field of clothing for tantric merrymaking…

But Shandra, inspired by the pirate story, wanted to know all the details. Such as the fate of the robbed missionaries on Distant.

"Doesn't the government have to compensate them for their damages? After all, Corday was a public servant…"

"A high-ranking one too," I agreed. "He had a lot of authority: he could allow or deny a landing and, at the very least, was responsible for everything that happened on the territory of the port. So the authorities, without a doubt, bore responsibility for his escapade. However…" I fell silent and made a mental calculation. "Remember that Corday had spent over three centuries on Distant, and, by the time of the theft, a twentieth of the natives were his direct descendants. Daughters and sons, grandkids, great-grandkids, and so forth… Many of them occupied important positions, and none of them liked missionaries. This meant that the robbed would get nothing. They were offered citizenship and a piece of land to found their community, and that was it. I don't know what happened to them after that. When I heard this story, it was already an old legend, and there were no traces left of the community."

"Well then," Shandra noted, summing things up, "serves them right. I don't think they even deserve to get that."

"Calamitas virtutis occasion est [Footnote 1]," I quoted and added, "None of us, my princess, get more than they deserve."

At times, I wondered if I was encouraging her hatred for God. Faith in God was, in essence, a good thing; it lifted the spirit, it gave comfort to the weak and supported the strong, it taught goodness and justice, and it appealed to our charity. All that was true, for as long as that faith remained each person's private affair, for as long as it was not connected with power, with a church, with lush rituals and a complex hierarchy, which determined who was closer to God and who was farther. Faith was a personal feeling; I would say it was as intimate as love, and anyone else was always the third wheel. But, despite this, third wheels always appeared: priests and monks, mullahs and imams, missionaries and bishops, abbots and archons. In other words, all those who knew how to believe in God and how to properly honor Him. As a result, faith became religion, the concern of professionals, which was an altogether different thing.

I was also thinking of the strange analogues in my princess's fate. She had spent many years behind the walls of a convent, where men were in the right, where holographic projects of old men peached patience and humility, tormented her spirit, subjected her to moral suffering, attempting to break and trample her. Of course, they had thought they were doing a good deed, merely trying to make sure that Shandra was like them.

And what then? She was in another convent, within the walls of the Circe, and another old man was giving her his own morality, wrapped in the crystalsilk of interesting stories… Had things changed a lot? Her living conditions were better, she had more love in her life, but Shandra was still not free and couldn't do things that her heart told her to. Such as becoming a mother.

These thoughts did not bring me joy, but I comforted myself with the thought that I was preaching something other than humility and patience. Besides, I did not prevent her from arguing with me, and, if necessary, she could always bite me. A great advantage compared to the convent! After all, one couldn't bite the hologram of an archon!

I had finished my affairs on Solaris. The final trading operation was the sale of the above-mentioned jumpsuit, edited to suit the local fashions. The sleeves had been removed, the pant legs had been cut to the knee, there were loops on the chest for easier grabbing. Tantrists were ecstatic from this innovation, and so was I, since I managed to make a sizable profit. Having selected three samples of the product in orange-red tones, I sent them to Mahwah, in the name of Dr. Nissan Viritrilbia, along with a brief note and a vial of aphrodisiac. The note stated that I had considered it necessary to reimburse the honorable doctor for the damages caused by my cigar.

Naturally, after selling the license for the jumpsuit, I did not forget about Shandra. A third of the profits had been transferred to her account, but she returned ten percent of that amount, for my services as her agent, as I was informed. I was told this with a sweet smile and a mocking gleam in her eyes, which I considered our main acquisition. It seemed that her sense of humor was beginning to return, and I believed that this gift was one of the most important ones in life.

As for other souvenirs, Shandra hadn't spent much on them. Earrings with Mahwahn pearls, a pearl chest from Tangrat, a belt with a coral finish, for which Fajeirah was known, graceful goblets made of seashells… That was about it. She had put on the earrings and the belt on the day we were leaving Solaris; the chest was a gift for me to keep the diploma and the order with the silver octopus; as for the goblets, we had broken them in by emptying a bottle of champagne before the launch.

We were sitting on the bridge, admiring the pale-blue sphere, glowing among the stars, like an opal in a scattering of tiny gems. Shandra was in a playful mood; either it was because of the champagne, or it was the familiar euphoria felt by every wanderer departing on a long journey.

"Graham, remember when you told me about Corday?"

"Yes, dear?"

Her eyes gleamed impishly.

"You seem to know a lot about him. His motivations and thoughts, and other personal circumstances…"

"You think that I'm Corday? And that the true Graham French has turned to dust long ago near some unnamed star?"

"Actually, the idea has come to mind… Twenty millennia is a very long time, and you yourself said that anything could happen in space. But you and Corday differ in temperament and character. You're more of a one-woman man, like Philip Regos… And the Circe doesn't fit the description of either the Chiquitita or the Space Hound… Her files, the ones that can't be destroyed, date back to ancient times. So you're not Corday. But you," Shandra smiled slyly, "you're a space drifter, and all drifters like to embellish. Maybe you embellished this whole story to make it more entertaining. Or not?"

"No, my perceptive princess. Corday is one of the few space traders whom I had actually met, so his story is based on my personal impressions. I'm not talking about the story of the theft; this incident was described to me by Corday's descendants, when I found myself on Distant a second time."

"What happened the first time?"

"That was when I met Corday. He'd already spent a few centuries working as a traffic controller, but he still had his optimism. He still thought of himself as a man of space, who had settled 'down' as a result of a temporary misfortune. He greeted me with the warmest hospitality and showed everything that was worth seeing. To him, I wasn't just a guest, but a brother in the profession, even though this role was, at times, tiring, if I recall all his libations at Magellanic Clouds… But could I have pushed him away? Tell him that he was no longer a space trader but a pathetic worm, a planetary inhabitant? That would have been too cruel. Only the thought that he would return to space one day sustained Corday; to tell you the truth, it was the only barrier keeping him from going insane. In some respects, he was already insane… Chills ran down my spine when he started comparing the Circe to the Chiquitita and discuss their equipment and design… He kept dragging me to his friends, to his women and descendants, and that was horrible. Horrible and touching! Wherever we went, we found his children, his grand-children, and great-grandchildren, and it seemed like they were taking part in some silent conspiracy to maintain his opinion of himself. He introduced me as his 'colleague French of the Circe', as if we were two traders whom fate had thrown together on Distant. And everyone around us was melting and admiring, putting up booze and listening, their mouths agape, as two great men were exchanging their recollections of their great deeds… I thought that, a moment longer, and I would turn to stone, becoming my own granite monument."

Shandra threw her hands up in mock horror.

"So that's where your stories come from! You've heard them from the other space traders between eating and drinking! And every time you were surrounded by a crowd of reverent admirers… Whiskey flowed free, shot glasses under your nose, and a girl on each lap… And also sculptors making an obelisk and an entire army of painters… Or am I wrong, Graham?"

I chuckled.

"You're not far from the truth, honey. But I should note that a meeting of two space traders is a rare occasion, and not all of them will be as open as Corday was. My stories mainly come from books, planetary records, rumors and gossip, which I had to verify, peeling the truth from the husks of legends and fairy tales. You see, we space traders are celebrities, and our every deed, our every word is interpreted a hundred different ways and produces a hundred myths. You're now also a part of such mythmaking. Your biography was published on Malacandra, and not just one; after all, who should novelists write about but the princess of the mysterious Amazonia?.. The story with Madam Udongo has probably already been dramatized in film, and our dear Veit's friend was probably the one who wrote the script… Cassilda, your friend from Barsoom, has mentioned a few words on the exploits of the two of you, of how you got drunk and exchanged dresses, and there goes the plot for an operetta. As for Solaris…"

Then I remembered the beautiful Nissan and caught myself. I had no doubt that Hammurabi, my secretary, could turn this story into a comedy or a tragedy, an opera or a drama, anything he pleased. The story allowed for that! Something erotic, with the intriguing title of The Seduction of Captain French…

Not noticing my embarrassment, Shandra drew out, "Legends, myths, fairy tales, gossip, rumors… And on Murphy too? What do you think they're saying about us on Murphy, Graham?"

"Depends on who's saying," I noted. "Sisters Camilla and Seraphima are talking about a space monster or a cyborg who has dragged an innocent girl into bed and bruised her with his gears. Archon Geoffrey, I think, is more realistic. And, if another unmarried space trader shows up on Murphy within the next two hundred years, he'll get a story about Captain French who purchased an entire harem of monastic novices. As the saying goes, exempla docent [Footnote 2]!"

"But you don't need a harem," Shandra said. "I know, I know! I've looked in the permanent records… Jeanne, Daphne, Ilsa, Jessica, and the others… even Yoko… You've lived with them, you've loved them, but never two at a time. This means you're not Corday!"

"Nothing to be done about it, baby! Corday is half my age and was born on Armorica, while I'm an old man from Old Earth. From Ohio, where the punishment for polygamy was—"

I was about to read her a lecture, but Shandra was ready; she pressed herself against me, covered my mouth with her hand, and bit my ear.

Footnotes

1) Latin for "Calamity is virtue's opportunity."

2) Latin for "Examples teach."