This is a fan translation of Captain French, or the Quest for Paradise (Капитан Френч, или Поиски рая) by Mikhail Akhmanov and Christopher Nicholas Gilmore.
Chapter 23
"We'll think of something!" Easier said than done! And even though the new contract clause was putting the decision in Shandra's hands, it did not free me from the responsibility. Ultimately, her dream was so natural and simple, to fulfil her natural purpose! She wanted us to have a little boy who was like me but without the weight of all these years; for him to grow and mature under her loving gaze and for me to be able to someday lean on him, to make him my companion and assistant. And she, my Shandra, would be proud of us, love us, and enjoy her family happiness.
Unfortunately, that idea was as realistic as traveling to another galaxy! Maybe there I'd have found my Paradise, where human laws had no effect, where greed had no power over people, where there were no idiocy, thirst for power, or envy — to put it simply, a place where my Circe could lie dormant for a few centuries without worrying about a bitter wakeup. And I wouldn't have to worry about her, my offspring, whom I'd leave "down" there when I tired of living in Paradise. After all, Paradise was Paradise; the only disaster that could strike it was a flood of universal boredom. Naturally, Paradise also didn't have the clichés that had been present on the Earth of my youth. A typical one went like this: a successfully dad would demonstrate his wealth to his heir, then pat him on the back and tell him, "Just wait a little longer, son, and all this will be yours!" But such claims were pointless in our day and age, since there was no reason why said dad would kick the bucket before his son. If the latter was participating in the family business, then it had to be either expanded territorially or diversified, and, when it reached an impressive size, give the son funds to sail on his own. But this wouldn't work for space traders. A ship could only have one master and captain, and this position would be mine for as long as I lived.
Shandra wasn't doubting that, but she thought she had a solution.
"You could start a business of some kind for him to take over," she said. "Depending on his inclinations. Maybe a robotics institute, a bank, or an art gallery… What's so difficult about that?"
"Nothing. I'd happily buy him a citizenship on one of the prosperous worlds and give him a starting capital. But are you sure that the boy would be happy with that? If he'd been living on the ship since the age of five, he wouldn't want to relocate "down" there. Raised as a man of space, he would see planetbound life an eternal and hopeless imprisonment, even on the best of worlds. Trust me, that's how it would be! He'd wait and dream of the time when he became the master of the Circe, and that thought would poison his heart. And then… then… he might conceivably decide to hurry things along."
Shandra shuddered, then frowned and said, "Couldn't we buy him a ship of his own?"
A chuckled mirthlessly, "Maybe in a thousand years, honey. And only if business is good. Recall that we're spending the majority of our income to maintain the Circe in excellent condition. There's no alternative here, since our lives depend on the ship, her power plants, her machines and robots. Those who forgot that fact did not end well."
Shandra started to twirl a golden curl with her finger.
"But couldn't we really get along as one family? Three or four of us, if he found himself a girl… As people who loved and respected each other."
"Perhaps. No one has ever managed it, but I'm willing to take the chance, my princess. I did promise you that, after all! So what have you decided?"
Her fingers were tugging on her golden strands.
"I'm not ready yet, dear. I can't make a decision while there's still even a tiny doubt, even an extremely minor risk. I don't want you to end up cursing the day you met me! But there has to be a way… some means of avoiding danger and trouble… We'll think of something… We have to!"
My poor Shandra! She was trying to be so sensible! She wanted to reconcile the irreconcilable, to resolve contradictions, to sew a tough lace out of rotten threads by strengthening it with her love. But the threads kept coming apart, leaving gaping holes in her lace.
"What if we have a girl instead?" she asked one day. "I kept thinking about a son, but would a daughter bring us less joy? And then you won't have to think about something for her to do; we'll work together, and then you'll have two models!"
I almost leapt into that idea. Imagine a runway, and two beauties walking atop it in a dancing step: my dear Shandra in the glow of her golden hair, and another girl, a little shorter and lighter skinned, dark-haired and graceful — my beloved daughter!
What a sight! I'd call her Penelope… Penny… I'd adore her… I'd…
My imagination was interrupted by the sobering thought that Shandra and I wouldn't be able to replace a man for her. This figure would undoubtedly appear, ruining our harmony; and with it there will be all other difficulties, including grandkids and great-grandkids. The result would be inevitable: my Circe was going to be modified and added to, until she stops forever near a star, turning into a Sacabon city. Shandra and I would look like freaks in that city. And so I had to ruin another of my princess's projects. I did it with a heavy heart, feeling contempt and hatred towards myself; my heart was tearing itself to pieces, while my mind was asleep, failing to exhibit its vaunted cunning. Unfortunately it wasn't the time to be sly, especially with myself. The answers were obvious from the get-go, since we space traders had been traveling through space for many millennia; and over that time no one managed to sew that lace Shandra was working on. A space trader traveled alone or with a woman, not counting passenger transportation… This rule was as immutable as the Law of Confiscation, and all attempts at circumventing it had ended up causing grief and sorrow. Then again, no one actually implemented them, since the outcome could be calculated without any computers, on the fingers of one hand.
First, a trader could voluntarily relocate "down", sell his ship, purchase a citizenship, and become a planetary mogul. He could obtain any joys of a family; he could get married, he could build a palace with a harem and father children, as many as permitted by his license. But I'd never heard of such cases, except for Corday's forced landing.
The second option was more dangerous. A trader could spend twelve months "down" there and wait for his wife to give birth; then go on a short trip, no longer than five years, maybe to the asteroid belt with metals, ice, and a lot of time for research. After that, he could go back for his wife and offspring, pick the up (both, of course, as no woman would think of abandoning her five-year-old child), and continue on their voyage. If that option were to be considered—hypothetically, of course—then the child wouldn't be able to imagine any other existence other than aboard the ship. This meant that all the problems I'd listed to Shandra would come to pass. The child would grow up and want a companion. And every couple had a tendency to have children, as long as it was permitted by the time and the place, and thus the circle would be complete, and we'd end up right where we started.
The third possibility wasn't as dangerous and wouldn't result in overpopulation, mutiny, and family squabbles. Our hypothetical trader could leave his wife and child for a longer period of time, maybe sixty or seventy years, or even a few centuries. By that point, her maternal instinct would be satisfied, and the woman would happily return to her lawful husband. In that case, she wouldn't be leaving behind a helpless baby, but the patriarch of a family, who had already become a grandfather or even a great-grandfather; the planet would be his home, where he'd be one of the most eminent citizens thanks to his wealth and birth.
An excellent option! And, unlike the first two cases, such experiments had been conducted. But women weren't angels; which of them was capable of waiting for seven decades, cherishing her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and her fidelity? Exactly, none! And so the space Odysseus would return to his Penelope and find three or four Telemachuses, who had no relationship to him. As for Penelope herself, she was happily married, or was carrying a child, or was about to get married — in short, there were reasons that prevented her from running off with Odysseus. And then he realized that while only two years had passed for him, to her it was seventy or even a century; and that was a long time. To put it simply, it everything was like in an old saying: a man in love promised more than he could deliver but ended up not even doing what was possible.
Was Shandra a happy exception? Could I leave her, even if only for forty years, and hope that I wouldn't be forgotten, that she would come back to me, that our love wouldn't burn in the fires of decades past? I was tormented by a dilemma. My feelings were whispering that love was beyond time and space, but the voice of reason was reminding me that I, Graham French, was not the best man in the galaxy. And not the only one! There would be plenty who were smarter, kinder, and handsomer; and all of them would be fluttering over the flower named Shandra. For many years! And would I even have the right to rebuke the flower for opening her petals?..
Damn my pragmatism! And damn my memories! "What is it like to live with a woman like that?" Shalmunazar had asked me… In other words, was I worthy of her?
My sober self-esteem was giving me the answer. I knew that I was smart, but I wasn't a genius; for example, Jeanne had a lot more brains than me. I was kind, at least not malevolent, but I wasn't as open and trusting as Daphne. I was undoubtedly colder than the fiery Ilsa from Camelot, and I didn't have that sacrificial readiness that had filled Thea's heart. And I wasn't a romantic. I was a man who calculated all his actions from A to Z. The comparison to the women whom I'd known close only served to highlight my flaws. Then again, this bouquet did not include deceit — I'd never leave Shandra among people who were unpleasant or unlike her, on some world like Triton or San Brendan. Yoko was enough! Besides, Shandra hadn't done anything to me and did not deserve to be exiled to a convent. And worlds like San Brendan, Triton, or even Barsoom would have been convents for her, since it was highly unlikely that anyone there would be interested in her as a woman.
So what was I really afraid of? Just one thing: that during those thirty or forty years she might meet a man who was more worthy of her, someone capable of appreciating her and binding her to him forever. Forever! Or for a very long time, which was essentially forever to someone like me, a wanderer and a nomad. I was prepared to accept occasional dalliances; one couldn't argue with biology, and every person had urges. True, there were drugs that could reduce the sexual heat, there were neuroclips and programmed dreams; I'd made use of all these when the urges got too great. But the traditional method was the best one. Maybe without great love, without tenderness, without warmth, but also without chemistry or hypnosis. The good old-fashioned way… And if Shandra were to make use of it, I wouldn't even consider it cheating.
No, I was frightened by something else! I was suffering, tormented by hazy visions, ghosts that were threatening to take my Shandra away the moment I left her. There he was, my enemy, my rival, the hated Prince Charming! Gentle and caring, smart and imperious, passionate and romantic… A well of all masculine qualities… The quintessential man… The dream of lonely women…
If only I could find my Paradise! A place where Shandra would be happy and where men wouldn't be that interested in her! I wouldn't say that all of them were saints or sexless angels, but still… One didn't steal another man's wife in Paradise. We made our first jump, then another, and another, ending up at the farthest reaches of Poytex's system. Even though Shandra was burdened by her thoughts, she was still calm and even, and I didn't hear any reproaches from her. At times this worried me; it would've been better if she yelled, cries, or argued with me. But no! She'd become withdrawn, trying to solve a problem I deemed to be unsolvable. We were still gentle with one another, but something had change in her behavior —she no longer threatened to bite me whenever I began to lecture. This was a terrible loss! I perceived her playful threats as a sign of trust and love, and now they were gone… For how long? For good? One day she ran onto the bridge with a glowing face. I was standing by the screens and talking to the Circe; we'd been making forecasts about Poytex, supported by the chunks of transmissions our radio was picking up. It seemed that the planet was at peace; the factions of the local congress were fighting only at the microphones, without getting physical, the number of strikes was below the critical mark, the union of frantic mothers was in the opposition, and it, along with the disenfranchised and the other subversive elements, were being vigilantly monitored by the Lensmen Service. It performed several functions on Poytex, from police to customs, and in three days or so I was planning on contacting its terminal and report my arrival. Shandra ran to me, blocking the lines of text and columns of numbers on the screens.
"Graham! I've read that a woman can have children with a different set of chromosomes! That both of them would be her and her husband's children, but would not be genetic relatives. Is that true?"
I nodded, a little surprised at her fervor.
"It is. Such methods do exist. They were developed in places where genetics is popular, like on Triton or Atkinson's World. But it's not a simple thing! There are a number of techniques for replacing chromosomes in the zygote, after which—"
She interrupted me with an impatient wave of her hand.
"But it is possible? To carry two children, a boy and girl, who won't be blood relatives? Which means they can get married?"
Now I knew where this was going. It was a hopeless idea, and not because the Circe didn't have the means of performing delicate chromosomal surgery, but for other reasons. After all, the equipment could be purchased, or we could just go to Atkinson's World where they knew how to do such things, but it was just a half-measure, not a solution. Even if our children, raised aboard the ship, didn't need to look for lovers, even if they could get married, as Shandra assumed, what then? We would once again end up in situation number two, ending up right where we started. Even worse! After all, there was also the psychological aspect in addition to the genetic one.
I embraced Shandra.
"Honey, imagine that the disaster on Murphy never happened, that your father and mother are living in peace and quiet and had another child. Your brother. Let's say that his zygote has been modified, and he's not your genetic relative. But the two of you were raised together, and you know with absolute certainty that he came out of your mother's womb and was sired by your father. How are you going to treat him? As a brother? Or as a sexual partner? And even if you do end up doing it, will you not be tormented by guilt? A feeling that you've done something wrong? That you have to keep it all a secret? And that dirty secret will stay with you for the rest of your life… your very long life…"
She understood. She suddenly slumped in my arms, sobbed, and started crying. The contrast was shocking; until this moment I'd never seen her tears, caused by either joy, admiration, or sadness. These were terrible, agonizing sobs, the wailing of an exhausted soul, and, while pressing her against me, I thought that this was how men cried, not women. Men, to whom tears brought no relief.
"Graham, I… I thought… I hoped… I assumed it would be better… but this… this… is so vile! How can you love me? How? I… I…" The words were disjointed, but the meaning was clear. Once again, just like on Murphy, she'd found herself between a rock and a hard place. The rock was her imagination, her hopes, her sharpened mind, her stubbornness; the hard place was her feelings for me, her love; after all, to her I was a lover, a father, a mentor, and a savior. A rock and a hard place… And between them was the crystal castle of her dream… I picked her up, carried her to the bedroom, and gave he a sedative. Then, after she'd fallen asleep, I picked out a neuroclip with Mozart's The Magic Flute, inserted it into the slot by the headboard, and extended the emitter. Sleep and music were the best medicines I knew. At least since bodily ailments had disappeared into the past, leaving us to be torn apart by the demons of the mind and emotions.
Shandra awakened closer to evening.
"Graham… Are you there?"
"I'm here, honey?"
"What happened to me?"
"Nothing serious. You just got a little upset… I'll pass."
"It already has. I'm hearing… I'm hearing music… Where's it coming from?"
She yawned, and her eyes closed. The sedative was still in her system, and the flutes were playing, continuing to do their magic.
"Sleep," I said, "sleep. Sleep will heal you, my princess. Sleep and the music."
I spent hours by her side. It was as if we were saying goodbye to the tune of the orchestra I couldn't hear, to the gentle whistling of flutes, the legato of violins, and the mournful chords of lyres. I no longer had any doubts. I already knew what to do; I knew that I would choose the best of all worlds for my Shandra and leave her there with our son. With the son she wanted so badly… Come what may! I would come back for her, and if our love survived, we would leave — just us, she and I, two wanderers in the warm cozy world of the Circe. And if not… Well, I'd have to console myself with the thought that she got herself a real Prince Charming. A prince worthy of a princess's love. She'd told me that we would think of something… And I, burdened by years and experience, almost believed her… Fool, such a fool! Truly, a fool like that could only exist in Paradise.