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 22

I was pleased by my visit to Solaris. Not because of the successful trade deals or the rejected temptations, and not even because we had enjoyed enchanting views, dolphin rides, and pleasant company — everything that the Circe could not provide for us. All that had been great and wonderful, but my feelings were coming from other sources. I was pleased that this world was prosperous and alive, that, after my last visit here, no catastrophes, no disasters, no comet falls, no great floods, and no social cataclysms had happened here. While I had no doubt that all that would happen someday (since Solaris was not my eternally prosperous Paradise), I still felt at peace. Mentally, I pushed that "someday" into distant centuries and tried not to think about what would eventually put an end to the current prosperity, be it the lack of land and wars between the islands, a hydroid uprising, or experiments of some sort, which would result in complete peace and quiet and watery grace on Solaris, with no signs of dry land.

Was it possible that it would turn out differently? Was it possible for this world to someday become Paradise? The same Paradise I was seeking? To my surprise, I discovered that this thought no longer bothered me, at least not as much as before. Why? Was I planning on putting an end to my quest? Was it interfering with anything? Did it distract me from my business? Or from Shandra? Did it dictate a route of some sort that I had to follow? I had to figure these questions out, whether I wanted to or not. No one was strong enough to fight one's own nature, and a pragmatist like me always strove to find the reasons behind my decisions and intentions, even when it was best to leave the veil of ignorance undisturbed.

I was musing on these subjects, sensing my recent optimism being replaced by alarm and uncertainty. I realized that the thought of Paradise was merely a dream, something ghostly, ephemeral; should I regret that it was being pushed aside by reality?

Regret? Perhaps, but I should not be surprised. A great spirit lived in a dream, while a pragmatist lived in reality, and there was nothing to be done about that, or the fact that I was not a genius or a romantic or a sublime dreamer. I was who I was, no matter how many monuments people put up in my honor from Earth to the Orion constellation. Omnia! Dixi et animam levavi! [Footnotes 1].

As for reality, it was simple: instead of Paradise, I had found Shandra, learned more about her, fallen in love with her, and was afraid of losing her.

Solaris was somehow present in all my concerns, either as a silent extra or as a sign, reminding me of an important encounter or conversation that I had to remember. Out of all the conversations, I remembered three: with the beautiful Nissan, with Sedan Hammurabi, who had revealed the secrets of the cave mysteries to me, and with Benz Fiat Shalmunazar, the Emberlian professor of sexual ichthyology. Despite Shalmunazar's frivolity, this latter conversation was probably the most serious. Actually, only the ending was frivolous, but definitely not the beginning. He had asked what it was like to live with a woman like that.

No matter what he'd meant by that, I understood the question in my own way. Was it a doubt that I was capable of fulfilling all of my lady's whims? Probably not. Shandra was not capricious, if one didn't consider the typical women's demands and quirks to be caprices. A different question was, did I suit her? Who was I to Shandra? A light in the window, her Prince Charming, her dream of an ideal lover? Or was I just a man who had reached out a helping hand in time of need? Was I worthy of her love? And was there a man, maybe not now, in the future, whom Shandra would love more than me?

All these questions were more rhetorical than urgent, which, however, did not make them tabula rasa [Footnote 2]. To reiterate, I was a pragmatist, and a pragmatist calculated all of his actions and doings a hundred moves ahead. Pragmatism was my strong suit, and it also told me that I was not the best man in the inhabited universe. On the other hand, Shandra was also not popular everywhere; on worlds like Barsoom and Malacandra, she looked too exotic to attract the attention of a serious rival. A respectable man would not seduce her, as he would not succumb to a momentary impulse; as for a lengthy relationship with a woman of such an unusual appearance, it would become a burden to him. A frivolous man, narcissistic or cruel, who was used to indulging in his whims, would not be interesting to her, and I could protect her from any such encroachments. What was left? A world like Earth and those prosperous colonies whose people looked like me and her, where life was rich and safe, where there were no soul-crippling cruelties or deformities, sort of like a nursery of some sort for noble golden-haired princes. What would be my strategy in such a situation? Well, it was absolutely clear and obvious: to stay as far away from these seductive worlds as possible!

In other words, I had to put my birdie into a thick cage and pretend to give her autonomy and freedom, that she was financially independent, that she could unload her luggage in any port and go wherever she wished.

Such a vile thought! My pragmatism had suggested it, and it also determined its core: hypocrisy worthy of the Murphian Archonate.

The Archonate had sold her to me, while I purchased her, and that was a legal transaction, on Murphy at least. But that deal took place behind her back and without regard for her wishes, which meant that it wasn't fair, so I couldn't appeal to it. Shandra was the way she'd become — she wasn't my property, and that fact had absolutely nothing to do with whether I was giving her freedom or not. She'd turned from an ignorant girl, a convent novice into a woman and a human being, and every human was free by definition. They were free to place shackles on themselves, bonds of love or friendship, the burden of responsibility, other chains that bound us humans — but only of her own will. But Shandra didn't have such free will, and no marriage contract, no hundred kilograms of platinum on her account changed the situation. The Circe still flew wherever Captain French told her to.

I typically engaged in such sorrowful reflections at night, when my young wife, having gotten tired during the day and having her fun in bed, was snoring quietly next to me. Occasionally I would glance at her and wonder what dreams she was seeing. At times her sleep was deep and calm, but there were minutes when her forehead creased, her eyebrows converged, and her eyelids were quivering slightly, as if she wanted to look away from something horrible, painful, frightening and couldn't. Maybe the ghosts of Murphy were still visiting her in dreams, tormenting and disturbing her. Hordes of cannibals tracking one another, raids conducted by Archonate soldiers, her father redeeming his sins on some landfill, convent walls, a kitchen full of dirty cauldrons, and Joyous Repentance on an icy floor under the gloomy vaulted church ceiling… I didn't wake her; I didn't have the power to help her. Defeating ghosts and fears in our subconscious was not an easy task, and each person had to do it on their own.

We left Solaris's system; the acceleration was finished, the quiet rustling of the ion engines had fallen silent, and a dark veil with the bright glitter of the stars fell over our screens. Now I could select one of four routes to the nearest inhabited worlds: to the silver sun of Aloha, the crimson light of Poytex, the scarlet star of Alexandria, or the chrysolite green luminary of Fiddler's Green. But I didn't hurry to make the choice; those abovementioned pragmatic plans were dominating me, tormenting my soul. It was so strange! I'd come up with a strategy, a logical sequence of actions, but I was unable of carrying it out, couldn't follow my reasonable mind's command! Was there a better evidence of human irrationality? Then again, love, just like conscience, were not rational. Having finally decided to leave the choice up to Shandra, I asked where she wanted to go.

"Poytex," she replied without hesitation.

"Why?"

"The Circe says that the people there are like us, only dark-haired and a little shorter. This means I'll be able to get up on the runway! And to avoid perplexing them with this," she shook her golden mane, "I'll dye my hair! Will you love me as a brunette?"

And there it is, Graham French, I told myself, here's what your strategic plans are worth! What else could I do? Just salvage what I could.

"I wouldn't recommend changing your hair color," I muttered. "From a business perspective. You see, the fashion business is a delicate matter, and it's far more successful when the model has her own individuality. I think you should play an exotic role instead of trying to fit into the local standards. Especially since your height… well, there's nothing you can do about that!"

She nodded with the look of a real space trader who was thinking about how to attract and then rip off the buyers.

"Massaraksh! You're probably right, Graham. I'm not going to dye my hair, I'll stay the noble princess from Earth, from the Amazonian Kingdom… That's how you made it up, right? But we," she straightened in an important-looking posture, "are going to hire another model, a local one. For contrast. For example, I can demonstrate long dresses, and she can do the short ones. Or the other way around."

"Just make sure that the short dresses aren't too short," I warned her. "Poytex isn't Malacandra, they prefer a strict and modest style."

"I know, I've seen the Circe's recordings. I've even had the outfits… what do you call it?.. oh yeah, edited!"

I snorted approvingly, "It seems you've already calculated everything, honey!"

"I've learned from you, dear. After all, estimating and calculating is your greatest pleasure. After the bedroom, of course."

A little shocked by such a statement, I mumbled, "Really? Why do you think so?"

Shandra chuckled patronizingly, "I know you, Graham. You plan everything out in every detail, and then you worry until its over. And if everything goes as expected, you can sometimes be so proud! Probably because you've once again proven that Graham French is smarter than everyone."

"Hmm… That Graham French sounds like a vile individual, doesn't he?" I grunted, feeling a chill run down my spine. We hadn't even been together for two years, but she could already see right through me! What was going to happen in a few centuries?.. Truly Shandra was worth a dozen men like me!

Her eyes were laughing.

"Why vile, Graham? Is it bad to anticipate how things are going to go?"

"Excessive prudence isn't considered to be a virtue," I replied. "Now tell me, what do I do if things don't go as planned? If I turn out not to be the smarter than everyone?"

"Then you start to ana… right, analyze! You try to find the reason for the failure and to figure out what went wrong, how, and why. And once you learn that, you once again tell yourself how clever you are!"

"It's just getting worse by the minute," I replied. "Such a bastard, by the Black Hole! How do you manage to live with me, honey?"

"Because I love you. And because I know that you're proud of me. You like when I notice things… figure out your secrets… all of them…"

She had an extremely pleased look, as if a child had just found out where her parents were keeping the cookies.

I muttered, "So I can't keep any secrets from you? Not even a tiny one?"

Shandra tilted her head to one shoulder, shook her finger at me meaningfully, and knitted her eyebrows, as if preparing to lecture me. There was something familiar in all these manipulations, but it took me a moment to realize that she was copying me.

"Cassilda told me many things about men… and Veit, and even Madam Udongo… You, Graham, are one of those people who don't like keeping secrets. You're far too proud of what you do and you need an audience to boast. And here is that audience!" She touched her chest.

Well well! I thought. She was a psychoanalyst no worse than Jeanne! And she was right! After all, I had told Geoffrey details about my life, even though I felt neither trust nor respect towards the Archon. But who else could I have talked to in that barren Murphian desert?

And yet there was still one of my secrets Shandra knew nothing about. My quest; it wasn't that I deliberately kept it a mystery, but this topic didn't seem to be suitable for conversation. Would Shandra understand that my Paradise was not at all like the one she'd learned about on Murphy? My Paradise was an unrealized probability for now, and in that way it was real, whereas the heaven of the Quran or the Bible was merely fiction, a mirage, an illusion for those weak in spirit. And my Paradise had nothing to do with the Creator, his prophets, angels, archbishops, archons, or any of the other unpleasant individuals who'd been tyrannizing Shandra for so many years. But would she understand that? Then I thought that my strategic plan—the one dictated by pragmatism—was in need of a correction. And since my lady was so smart, then she should be the one to correct it. At the very least, her advice could prove useful.

I tugged on the sleeve of Shandra's jumpsuit, "Tell me, my girl, what would I do if everything went to hell? How would I get out of an almost hopeless situation?"

"You'd think of something, Graham. You'd look here and there, think about it, and find something new and unexpected. After all, you're an old wise man from Old Earth! And you've found yourself in almost hopeless situations several times… like with Yoko, for example… Such a dumb woman! The dumbest in the universe!"

"Why is that?"

"Because she tried to outplay you. And what did she get in the end? An exile to an unpleasant world where her metal was cheap, where she meant nothing and couldn't work her profession. Isn't it true?"

I had to agree with that. Yoko had outplayed herself.

"And you, my princess, are yourself a decent player, if we recall what happened with Madam Udongo."

She smiled blissfully at this recollection, "Yes, Graham, you and I are two sly foxes! I wonder what kids we'd have…"

"According to the laws of genetics, they'd beat us by a mile," I said and added, "It's too bad we won't get a chance to test that."

Shandra jerked as if struck. A moment earlier she'd been smiling, with imps playing in her eyes, and her sly gaze teasing me, but that moment was over, and everything had changed. Her face went stony; not yet dead, but not alive anymore either.

"What's wrong?"

I reached out to her, but she moved away.

"Can we not have a baby if we want to? You said you could get rid of your infertility… And I can conceive and give birth… It's safe… No more complicated than removing an appendix… We have excellent surgeons aboard… And the Circe… She knows so much… she knows how to carry a child to term…"

"Not aboard the ship, honey." I tried to keep my voice as gentle as possible. "You can't carry a child aboard the ship. Remember Corday's story."

"I remember! But we could stay on one of the worlds for five or six years… until our little one grows stronger…"

Our cheerful verbal swordplay had suddenly turned into a serious conversation. But what could I tell her?

"Remember the Law of Confiscation. Remember Corday and what happened to him. Or do you want us to find some uninhabited world beyond the Periphery and settle down there? For many years?"

Shandra shook her head with her eyes glinting suspiciously.

"No, Graham, I don't. Without people, without peers, our boy will grow up to be a savage, and we mustn't deprive him of his childhood. A quiet developed world like Solaris will suit us far better… there'd be the ocean and mountains, beautiful cities, many universities…" She sniffed, then suddenly her lips spread in a smile. "You know, Graham, I think I've got it! I know how we can get around the law! How to live on a planet for several years and keep the Circe!"

My princess looked so happy that I nearly started crying myself. All the space trader tricks and gimmicks were well-known, and none of them guaranteed success. A trader had to fly and live aboard his ship and had to leave the woman who wanted children. Not forever, of course. After all, nothing prevented him from returning in twenty or thirty years after she had enough of motherhood… Exactly, nothing! And after coming back, the trader would find that she had a new husband and new children, if the world where he'd left her did not yet have restrictions on reproduction… Such was life! Even for us immortals to part for years was the same as to lose one another.

Meanwhile, after wiping her tears, Shandra was telling me her plan with great enthusiasm, "We need to pick a planet whose people don't look too different from us, so our boy doesn't look like an outsider among the other children. Of course, it has to have everything: big cities, an ocean, forests, animals… Like on Malacandra, but not as hot… Like on Solaris, but with more land… And it would also be nice that those people knew who you are and treated you with respect… and so that you could find something to do for several years… maybe teach at a university or something… And, of course, the world we're going to choose has to be stable. No disasters, no wars, and no dangerous science experiments! No dictators or archons! And no—"

"Hold on," I interrupted. "What about the Circe?"

Shandra's green eyes opened wide, "Did I not mention that? You're going to program a 2.5-year jump in a safe direction; the Circe will jump, and then back jump again where we're going to be waiting for her. You see, she's going to come back for us! And pick us up! In five years! And we'll leave with our son!"

She stared at me triumphantly. Those fire years would be difficult ones, I thought. Waiting and wondering whether she'd be back… Night after night and day after day… And if she did come back and approach the planet on ion engines, that was when the hunt would begin! After all, after a year she'd be considered abandoned property, and whoever reached her first would own her in accordance with the Law of Confiscation. I'd have to be very quick to head off ten thousand other candidates…

But there was no point discussing that with Shandra; after all, she had such faith in me, in my intelligence, or my cleverness. Besides, there were other circumstances, ones that were more important and serious, and they would turn her entire plan, all her crystal dreams into dust. And it was I who had to shatter them!

I felt terrible. I had no doubt that Shandra's wish was not the egotistical fixation of frantic mothers. She loved me, she felt jealous of my past, and that was, perhaps, what had given the push that awakened her desire for motherhood. A very natural impulse… natural and unrestrainable, if I recalled the strength of her character, her patience, and her pride. I suddenly realized that her love for me wasn't just a source of happiness that brought pleasure; it also placed a lot of responsibility on me. I took Shandra by the hand and we left the bridge. To the left and right of us were the rounded walls of the circular corridor; two steel bulkheads were blocking it, separating the western and eastern sectors. The floor was covered in plastic that imitated a carpet runner, oval lamps were glowing on the ceiling, and their reflections were sliding along the cabin doors as bright spots. The light gray chrome doors led to the vaults, storehouses, and the infirmary; the narrower oak-covered doors led to our dining room and bedroom; the wide opening under the arch led to the gym. It was all so familiar, so habitual… This view calmed me down; I was home, and, as everyone knew, a person home was their castle.

I brought Shandra to the wardroom, which also doubled as the living room, the library, and my office. There were shelves with real ancient books, a cedar desk (I'd picked it up on Penelope), a pair of chairs, and a soft couch; screens were gleaming on the far wall, and a frieze of paintings stretched over the desk. Most of them were landscapes, done in oil, portraying a waterfall in the mountains of Eden, a pine grove on Secundus, a storm in an Auroran ocean, or the plains of Ohio: a flood of golden cornfields and a farmhouse lost among them. Clouds were floating over the house, right above the chimney, but the sky could be seen in the breaks between them, exactly the same shade of azure I remembered from childhood.

I sat on the couch; Shandra lay down, placing her head onto my knees.

I touched her hair. Its color was the same as that of the cornfields in the painting.

"Honey, you know that children grow up and become adults, don't you? And that process can't be stopped."

"I know." She shifted and rubbed her cheek on my hand. "What of it? I'm certain that our little boy will get an excellent education. He'll be studying with the Circe, in her labs and the gym, and with you during flight. And when we go 'down', he'll meet other people and will be able to learn from them, from the best and the most knowledgeable, from the mentors we'll select for him. He…" Noticing my unhappy smile, Shandra broke off and peered into my face. "You're having doubts, Graham? Afraid of spoiling him? You think he'll grow up to be egotistical? The son of a such a great man?"

I gave her a wry smile, "No, that's not the problem. Studying, upbringing, education — all that are games for the mind, but the body has its own needs. And they awaken at around fifteen years of age, and by twenty they can't be contained. At that age, erotic neuroclips won't satisfy him anymore. He'll want something more real and… hmm… more sublime."

Shandra perked up. It seemed that this aspect of our problem hadn't crossed her mind.

"Well," she drawled, "we'll be visiting many worlds… There will be girls there… and each of them will be flattered by his attention… After all, that boy will be your son! The son of Captain French! A young man from the stars!"

"Exactly," I noted. "Now imagine that he's seventeen and that we've arrived to a beautiful world like Eden," I nodded at the painting with the waterfall, "where there's everything you could possibly want: mountains and cities, forests and plains, rivers and oceans. And, of course, girls. Beautiful girls! He's in a company of youngsters; he's the son of Captain French, he's exotic, rich, and handsome, and the young ladies are assaulting him from all directions: the front, the rear, and the flanks. I'm certain he won't be able to hold out for long. He'll choose someone, fall in love, and will drown in that love up to his ears. Right?"

"Right," Shandra agreed. "It would be strange for him to not fall in love. Especially on that Eden of yours."

"But then our business dealings are concluded, we leave Eden and part him from the woman he loves. But that feeling—at least in his mind—has already grown to galactic proportions. And he's our son! He has inherited your indomitability, my prudence, and our stubbornness! So what do you think he's going to do?"

Shandra looked lost. And I felt like I was the worst kind of bastard for destroying her dreams. It was far easier to destroy than to build. Especially such a gentle and fragile structure…

"I'll tell you what he's going to do: he'll secretly bring that girl aboard, open up the permanent files, and bind himself with a vow. And then… You know, a first emotion is inconsistent, and, after a year or two, the newlyweds will decide to part ways. Meanwhile, we'll be maybe fifteen parsecs away from Eden… which means that fifty years will have passed on that girl's planet… Will we bring her back? But is her home planet going to accept her? And will she adapt to the changes? Drop her off at some other port? Which one? Prosperous and rich worlds tend to ban immigration, while Periphery worlds are unpredictable and dangerous… True, I could buy her a citizenship, but first we'd have to travel from world to world in search of a place whose people were like us… Do you see? This problem is far worse than with my former wives. Our ship will become an arena for quarrels and strife, while our life…"

"…will be like with you and Yoko," Shandra finished. "You're right, Graham. Of course you're right." She got up from the couch, took a few steps, then froze in place while staring at the waterfall painting. A colorful cloud was floating over it — Edenian butterflies were swimming in the warm and humid mist, frozen like a petrified rainbow. But I doubted that Shandra was seeing them.

She said, "I need to think, Graham. You know, I thought that the child would be yours and mine… ours… just ours… But you've explained to me that it's not true; he'll grow up and will belong to himself and not us, like every person. But his actions… what he will do… and he himself… we won't be indifferent to any of it. I understand that now. And I need to think." Shandra knitted her eyebrows and said after a pause, "I'm sorry, Graham, but I need to be alone now."

I kissed her and left the room.

It was almost evening by ship's time. The light in the hallway dimmed, the habitation sections were covered in a gloom, and only the bridge had eternal lights, winking at me from the computer racks and panels, from the controls and the monitors. The hemispherical screen—the Circe's ears, eyes, and mouth—was glowing a calming green; the next jump had been calculated, the probability of destabilization was less than 0.001%, and the ship was patiently awaiting the order to engage.

Sighing, I relocated to the bedroom, climbed into bed, and opened a book. I couldn't recall what I was reading; it seemed that my mind wasn't registering the text, and the beginning of a phrase evaporated by the time I reached its end. Flipping the pages automatically, I was thinking of Shandra, of what she would say when she returned. If she returned… And what if she didn't? Her reflections could last all night or even multiple nights, since the problem she was struggling with was unsolvable. Finally she came, pensive and a little sad.

"Graham, honey… Are you awake?"

I set the book aside.

"Yes. Recently I've lost the habit of sleeping alone."

"Can we talk?"

"Of course."

"You see, I asked the Circe about the children of space traders… Not the ones resulting from random encounters on planets, but the children of the married couples, like Regos and Sdina Betin or the Smiths. It turns out…" Shandra sighed convulsively, as if she was choking. "It turns out that none of them have ever had any kids. Did you know about this?"

"I've always known. But let's not use them as examples, honey. If you need a child, you'll get one. And I'll do everything in my power to delay any unpleasantness. I'll try… I'll try very hard… even though I'm certain that nothing good will come of that."

Shandra went pale.

"Graham, do you want me to forget all this?"

I sighed. It was the sigh of a weary old man fighting with his wife… It was very unpleasant, but there was nothing to be done.

"No need to forget anything, my girl. I swear and promise that to you!" I lifted my hand, snapped my fingers, and the ceiling screen replied in a silver flash. "Circe! Pull up the marriage contract with Lady Killashandra Long! Make an addendum: 'I, Captain Graham French, am leaving everything having to do with our children at the discretion of my wife. I must obey her wishes if she decides to have them; I promise to support and care for them, until Lady Killashandra decides that my aid and protection are no longer required. The only condition to this part of the contract is that each of our children must be carried to term and born at the gravity between 0.95 and 1.05 of standard.' End section."

Sitting down on the bed, Shandra stared at me. Her pupils darkened, her lips were moving without a sound.

"Gr-Graham… Did you enter this clause into the permanent files?"

I nodded, "Of course. Now only you will make a decision. No one else."

She sighed, as if having realized the full weight of the burden I'd placed on her. Her hand slid to mine and gripped it.

"Graham, you don't think that I'm like those frantic mothers, do you?"

"No, honey. Except for their primary talent, they're all mediocre. They're ruled by instinct, not by their minds or emotions. Just one instinct, and nothing more, as if they're rabbits."

"There aren't any rabbits aboard our ship," Shandra said, bending down to me. "And there won't be! We'll think of something, Graham. There are two of us, after all… Two sly foxes, right?"

I buried my face into her hair and inhaled its intoxicating scent.

Footnotes

1) Latin for "That's it! I have spoken and have lifted my soul!"

2) Latin for "blank slate."