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 24

We were approaching Poytex, so I sent a message with the ship's name and a list of my goods. In response, the Service sent a light patrol cruiser; with this honorary escort, we docked to the orbital terminal, completed the necessary formalities, then took a shuttle "down". We were greeted in a friendly manner but without a lot of pomp. Poytex might not be Paradise, but it was a calm planet suitable for conducting business. The people here were very similar to medieval Earthers, or rather my recollections on them, a little sugar-coated and idealized. They were dark-haired and short (I was seen as a tall man here), with brown, gray, and black eyes, fair skin, and square faces. In the midst of these squat people, Shandra looked like an Arabian mare in a group of Highland ponies. It was very beautiful and elegant, but, to continue the analogy, her harness was a little big for a pony.

I tried to explain this detail to her as tactfully as possible, but she merely chuckled.

"Oh, dear, no need to spare my feelings! I understand that we're not on Murphy or Barsoom. So what? Do you remember what we agreed to do? We'll hire a second model, a dark-haired petite one, and make her more modest dresses. Something in the Spanish style… a strict bodice on her waist, the hem reaching down to her ankles, and laces on her chest and wrists… I'll take care of it!"

"All right. I'll contact the press and tell them we're in need of a model, and you take a look at the girls and select the one you like," I offered. I didn't want to do this myself; while our domestic crisis had passed, a straw could still break the camel's back. And who and what was that straw? Maybe one of the beauties that were going to answer the ad. No, I didn't want to take the chance. Let her make the choice! But I retained the right to advise her.

"Don't go with anyone expensive," I suggested. "We don't want anyone obstinate and pricey like Cassilda. A younger girl from among those who haven't yet gotten their big break will be perfect. You won't have to train her, but she should remember who's number one here. In short, you're the mistress!"

"On the runway?" Shandra raised an eyebrow.

"And in my heart," I replied gallantly. Then I called my agents and had them place ads in the largest capital city newspapers and run commercials on all holovision channels.

Shandra ended up selecting a quiet modest girl, very young, with gentle white skin and dreamy gray eyes. Her name was Eteri, and, as soon as I saw her, I froze with my mouth open. She reminded me of someone… some ghost from my visions… but not a scary or threatening one, a pleasant one… I imagined her on the runway with Shandra and nodded in approval. There it was! That other girl, shorter and lighter skinned than Shandra, dark-haired and graceful, with big gray eyes — exactly like mine! Penny… Penelope…

Was it an accident? I didn't know… Maybe Shandra was being guided by instinct, maybe by my advice, or maybe by sympathy towards Eteri. Fate had been unkind to her; she was born among the disenfranchised, to a woman who'd won a reproductive license in a lottery. It was a government draw, everyone took part for free, as it was a very clever way of reducing social conflict. Such a license could be sold, it was worth quite a lot, and buyers swarmed to them like flies to honey — according to a local superstition, such a license was a good luck charm. That woman's husband wanted money, while she wanted a child; so their paths diverged, and the girl's father became an unnamed donor from the sperm bank.

She and her mother barely made ends meet on welfare, just like all the other disenfranchised, but, in accordance with the laws of Poytex, Eteri had a right to a free education.

Choosing choreography, she spent some time as a dancer at respectable night clubs (not that there were any other kinds on Poytex), where she was noticed by a fashion magazine publisher. That was how her modeling career began. She wasn't among the local "stars" but was known as a promising and clever girl not prone to throwing tantrums, which was a rarity in her profession. She lived with her mother.

Very touching, wasn't it?

I asked Shandra where she wanted to hold the show: in our lounge or "below", in one of the capital city's hotels or showrooms. She answered without hesitation, "Aboard the Circe. I don't like it 'below'. Way too many eyes, and the walls have ears."

I had to tip my hat to her observation skills. The people of Poytex were very committed to order, to the point where they, in my opinion, have become a little obsessed with it. While I wouldn't call their mores puritanical, they were definitely strict, maybe even conservative and prim; morality was being policed by those same Lensmen, a certain department organized by the Service, whose symbol was a wide-open eye. Its "big-eyed" operatives had access everywhere and could show up either in civilian clothes or wearing all their regalia, their uniforms, and equipped with recording equipment and a neurowhip. So a relaxed atmosphere was little more than a pipe dream here. Oh well, nothing to be done about that. Such was the price of peace and order.

"We'll only invite a select group," Shandra said, "and we'll try to loosen them up. Show them something enticing… What would you say to a Malacandran-style show with a final disrobing, Graham?"

I shuddered, "I'd say that we should think about Eteri and try to avoid ruining her reputation. We'll leave, but the girl still has to live here. What's going to happen to her?"

Shandra nodded, "You're right, dear, as usual. Our show is her chance to become famous and boost her career. No wonder! To step onto the runway aboard a starship, to demonstrate outfits from other worlds, to show herself to a select audience… And with Captain French himself as the host… No, no disrobing! No risqué outfits! Everything's going to be decent and proper, and we'll warm up the audience with alcohol instead of dresses. That's not forbidden, right? They do drink, don't they, dear?"

"They do. A glass of dry martini at dinnertime."

Shandra had cheered up and I was overjoyed that she was getting her sense of humor back. She didn't mention our conversations during the flight to Poytex, didn't speak of children, and it seemed that she wasn't even making plans towards that goal. She was entirely consumed by the preparations for the auction; she was consulting with Eteri, selecting styles and fabrics, giving orders to the robots in the sewing workshop, examining samples and altering them endlessly, trying to keep the local mores in mind while simultaneously present something graceful, unprecedented, unusual. It was not a simple task; Poytexian censorship was strict, and the spectators could very well end up not buying anything after enjoying the show. Meaning something suitable for serial manufacture.

Entrusting this delicate operation to Shandra, I was handling other affairs. I made a decent profit selling Malacandran pearls and some of the cosmetics from Solaris: creams, ointments, and lipstick without any strong smells or arousing effects. Poytex had no need for animals and plants, partly due to natural reasons (this world, in many ways similar to Earth, had its own diverse and rich flora and fauna), and partly due to the draconian laws regulating the import of living things. As I learned, a century ago this world had been visited by Prospero of the Triboulet with an entire zoo aboard, but he didn't manage to sell even a fly. This was alarming news, so I was forced to read up on the local legislation regarding this. I realized that I'd end up bogged down by endless agreements and attempts to prove that my shabns, unicorns, pterogeckos, and monkeys were free of any harmful viruses and were utterly harmless. This option wouldn't work for me, so I gave up on animal trade. True, I could've slipped a bribe to the sanitary doctors and gotten a license that way, but I wasn't about to risk it. One didn't mess with the all-seeing Lensmen; had we been caught, the doctors would've gotten life sentences, and I would've had to pay a huge fine. So I decided against tempting the local healers, instead beginning to sort my cultural property: books, videos, paintings, etc., including the least offensive neuroclips. I had a feeling that recordings of athletic spectacles from Barsoom, as well as dolphin races in Emberly and ritual Punjabi dancing wouldn't shock anyone here; I told the Circe to select analogous item and send them to my agents. Things weren't as simple with holomovies, since it was illegal to show intimate scenes and nudity on Poytex. Finally I decided that Tranai's art would work best here, since its communist humanism ideology utterly rejected sex, erotica, and other things of that sort. After a moment's hesitation, I also added my Murphian acquisitions to the list: the Hamrestes and The Defeat of Heresy oratorio. I wondered how they'd react to the latter. The people of Poytex were completely nonreligious, but they were fond of anything grand, monumental, especially in music and architecture. Their cities, filled with buildings made of gray granite blocks, with stucco, friezes, and square columns, were reminiscent of a cluster of mausoleums; it was considered to be shameful for prosperous citizens to live in a mansion with less than a dozen columns. As such, I decided that they were going to like The Defeat of Heresy, and I ended up being right: the goods were being bought up like hot cakes on a Sunday. The same applied to sports recordings and Tranaian TV dramas of two hundred episodes each; they condemned vice and debauchery, the heroes were all pure in spirit and eventually triumphed over all their enemies. One of these epics, which portrayed brave Tranaian cops, was purchased by the Lensmen Service, probably as a training manual.

The other masterpieces were also popular; since the profits were significant, I decided that I could buy certain equipment for the Circe. Poytex was a highly developed world; it was known for its robots and astroengineering technology like communication satellites, space stations, power units, and automated asteroid mining complexes. I had no use for satellites or stations, but my robotic staff was in need of replenishment. After all, there were two of us now, Shandra and I, which meant that the Circe had a lot more to do. After perusing the catalogs, I stopped on the corporation called U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men. It was the oldest business on Poytex, a branch of the legendary Asimov, Kelvin and Co company on Earth, which I knew very well, since the first robots of the Circe (well, the Star Conqueror at the time) had come off its assembly lines. It was a good recommendation, so I contacted the local U.S. Robots office and ordered three android maids (a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead), a valet for Shandra, and a cook that looked like a squid with a dozen tentacles. I was also interested in multifunctional space workers, capable of cleaning the engine nozzles, polishing the hull, and perform welding tasks. I bought two of those; they were a lot more expensive than the servants, but the manager gave me a discount, sensing an important client. Then he tried to sell me a bodyguard robot of the kind used by the Lensmen, but I didn't need that armed cabinet on four legs. But we did agree that U.S. Robots was going to send me redundant circuits for the main computer and a shipment of manipulators. I knew that none of that machinery would give the computer brains, but reliability was above all! Then again, the bill I had to pay wasn't small either.

All of my purchases were delivered aboard a few days before the show, so Shandra and I were able to test and evaluate them. She ordered a dinner made up of Barsoomian dishes, white wine, candles, on translucent and fragile porcelain I'd gotten on Shangri-La. Everything was excellent; the cook was beyond reproach, the android servants set the table without crushing a single plate, while the valet was sliding around us, refilling the wine and playing quiet music.

After three glasses, Shandra started feeling a little sad.

"Such a feast, Graham, deserves to be shared with friends… But where are our friends?"

It seemed that she was recalling Cassilda or Veit, or maybe the girls from the convent, her fellow prisoners. She'd never told me about them. Could she be feeling guilty? She'd gotten lucky, and her friends hadn't… Sometimes I thought that I should've bought them out too and take them to some decent world without any convents or archons. But that idea was ludicrous; after all, I couldn't make all the men, women, and children on Murphy happy. Truthfully, any nation, any planet gets the leaders it deserves!

But to get back to our conversation.

"It's not easy for us to make friends," I said. "Such is our profession! You think that you've parted with Cassilda twenty-two months ago, but for her it's been seven decades. And if we go to Barsoom to see her, it'll be another seven. Will she even remember us?"

Shandra blinked, as if just now realizing the distance and time separating us with frightening clarity.

"A hundred and forty years…" she whispered. "Longer than I've been alive… Twelve parsecs from Murphy to Barsoom… then five to Malacandra, eight to Solaris, and another eight from Solaris to Poytex… This means that, when we left Solaris, Eteri hadn't even been born yet! She could've been our daughter, Graham…"

"Just like Veit," I noted, "if we count from Murphy. We space traders and those planetbound life in different times, honey. Plus the flow of time is unchanging to them, whereas we regulate it any way we wish. For example, if I were willing to take the chance and cross the distance from Barsoom to Poytex in a single jump, it would only be two or three months for us, not twenty-two. The time to accelerate and decelerate. After all, transitions through the Ramsden field are virtually instantaneous…"

"And if you were to leave me here on Poytex and go to the Periphery or Earth, your month would be equal to my years, three or even five," Shandra added.

It was a sobering thought, but the next day she awakened full of energy and in a cheerful mood. I sent the shuttle to pick up Eteri, and both of my beautiful models spent the day practicing and going through their wardrobe. My task was preparing suitable snacks and drinks. It wasn't simple, but, fortunately, my new cook turned out to be a marvel, requiring nothing but general recommendations and, of course, materials. I told it to prepare Solarian dishes and to be generous with spices; they made people thirsty, and I had a supply of sparkling wine from the same Solaris and excellent brandy from Punjab to sate the thirst.

Guests arrived by evening: the top executives of big clothing companies with their fashion designers, a pair of independent designers, five reporters, and one plainclothed government representative. His visit was completely unexpected for us, since we hadn't invited any Lensmen, but he was holding himself in such a confident and authoritative manner that I couldn't bring myself to throw him off the ship. There were eighteen people in total, primarily men, although there were two women among them: Ms. Zoe Corivall, a fashion designer, and Ms. Barra Sarinoma, a columnist for the Planetary Review. The ladies were pretty, but their faces were blank, same as the faces of the fifteen gentlemen. Could it be because of the presence of a sixteenth person among them, who happened to be a guardian of morals and decency? I summoned an android, the blonde with a shapely figure, and quietly had the Lensman put under personal care. Then I announced the first lot, and the show began. During each change of dresses, the servers were handing out snacks and alcohol: wine in tall flutes, slightly chilled, brandy in crystal glasses, with a lemon slice on a platter. By a strange coincidence, the uninvited moral guardian always kept getting cognac and lemon, and an hour later he nodded off: his mouth half-opened, and his eyelids lowered to compensate for the drooping lip. Noticing that the Lensman was napping, everyone else livened up. The applause became more energetic, men began to drink more, and the two pretty ladies were greeting every new outfit with yelps of joy.

As planned, the show was built on contrast. The models appeared at the same time: Shandra in a long brightly-colored dress and Eteri in a short one of faded and subdued shades that went perfectly with her delicate skin and innocent gaze. The long and the short dresses weren't too different in order to avoid shocking the buyers; the former would be hanging down to the ankles, while the latter would be a few inches higher. The latter didn't violate the local morality standards, so all the designs ended up being bought up the moment I placed them on the counter.

Meanwhile, the spicy snacks and the generous drinks had done their job. The guests were flushed, their faces no longer looked blank as if at a funeral; the reporters set their cameras aside, the fashion designers took off their jackets, while the CEO of Amazing Fashion, a handsome young man with a mane of dark hair, took a risk by loosening his tie. Ms. Sarinoma and Ms. Corivall moved to chairs closer to the runway and were exchanging excited comments with one another; their eyes were gleaming, and I assumed they were mentally trying on every outfit that was floating past them as a seductive vision.

The show was coming to an end, and I, after making sure that the Lensman was still sleeping peacefully in the corner, winked at Shandra. She and Eteri left for a minute; then the thundering of tympani rang out under the tall ceiling of the lounge, the lights first dimmed and then blazed once more blindingly, and my girls appeared as if out of thin air, this time wearing truly short dresses, which meant half an inch above the knee. The audience greeted the with an enthusiastic roar, and I noticed that the dark-maned CEO of Amazing Fashion was taking off his jacket. The next moment the roar grew louder, as my models produced a modest rendition of the can-can, lifting their legs a meter above the floor. But here this was an unprecedented and magnificent sight! Ms. Sarinoma and Ms. Corivall couldn't contain themselves and, picking up their lengthy skirts, jumped up onto the runway; they were followed by the CEO (without his jacket) and three reporters. Holdings hands, this group began to dance with such enthusiasm that the runway was resonating like a huge drum.

The Lensman perked up, but my androids, the blonde and the brunette, were already dragging him to the exit and into a guest cabin in the eastern sector. That was where he ended up spending the night, while for us it passed with a lot more cheer.

The party turned out to be pretty good! It would've been nice to finish our stop at Poytex with that and leave. But business was business and rest was rest; besides, Eteri had told Shandra about an amazing place, a seaside resort called Melnon on the coast of the Central continent. So we ended up going there. There was a charming town there, drowning in greenery, with cozy villas and hotels, but not granite ones like at the capital. They were made of coquina and decorated with pink and yellow marble. Two small picturesque capes—cypress trees, cliffs, and sea-rolled boulders—were hugging a blue bay that looked like a Pacific lagoon; there were also an excellent beach, a great restaurant, a dozen bars, and rental places for boats and yachts. But the main local attraction was the tide. Every night, long gentle waves rolled to the shore, and each of them climbed higher and higher, smoothing out the sand on the beach or rumbling against the rocks, while Poytex's foggy moon, half again as large as that of Earth, was hanging in the transparent purple sky. It was an enchanting sight! And not just a sight; the tide was also used for surfing, so the foamy crests of the waves were carrying an entire flotilla of brightly colored boards.

I wasn't a fan of this sport, but Shandra liked it, so she and I surfed when we managed to stay on our feet. We also went sailing and scuba diving, also engaging in water skiing, riding on motorboats, and touring Melnon's shops. All that was somewhat reminiscent of Solaris, if one forgot that there was an enormous continent that extended for ten thousand kilometers east of the town limits. And there were no dolphins here that rocked couples on the warm and quiet sea under the stars… Then again, our bed was just as comfortable as a dolphin's back, and the warm sea and the starry sky were nearby, through the windows of our bedroom. One evening, while we were relaxing in the hotel's pool, washing off the sea salt, we were surrounded by kids. Just like the ones in that Malacandran cave city, maybe nine- or ten-year-olds, only these weren't swarthy from birth, just tanned, with pink palms and no hint of curly hair. Their teacher had probably told them who we were, so the little imps jumped into the pool and attacked us no worse than a gang of reporters.

There was an avalanche of questions: had Lady Shandra always been this tall, or was it a result of a genetic correction?.. how many times had I been married before meeting Lady Shandra?.. how many husbands had she had?.. why had I dyed my hair white?.. was it true that there had been mammoths, sabretooth tigers, and dark-skinned people on Earth?.. was it true that people used to die there?.. and fought one another?.. had I fought too?.. had I used a saber or a sword?.. (A voice from the back shouted, "Idiot! Back then they used battle axes! Right, sir?") had Lady Shandra also fought my previous wife to take me?.. that other lady had probably lost; after all, Lady Shandra was sooo taaaall…

And so on and so forth.

Shandra was chatting with them, telling them about Barsoom and Malacandra, about the oceans of Solaris, about the sphinx hunt, about shabns and black unicorns, about Barsoomian trees that propped up the clouds, about the comet that had fallen on Murphy, about the whispering voices that could be heard. In short, of cabbages and kings. I also told them a few legends: of my landing on Penelope after first reaching Alpha Centauri from Old Earth and of Brunnershabn. Granted, the tale of Brunnershabn was a little grim, but children needed to grow up, get smarter, and keep from repeating past mistakes. Especially those that result in no children or grown-ups being left in the whole world…

Finally, the teacher called this gang to order and rescued us. We climbed out of the pool, changed, had dinner at the restaurant, and went back to our room. Shandra looked pensive, but I wouldn't call her face sad or gloomy. And it was only when she lay down next to me that I noticed the tears in hear eyes.

"What happened, honey?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course. I knew what had happened.

"Nothing, Graham, nothing… Those kids…"

She pressed herself against me and began to cry.

I knew then that I couldn't put off the decision any longer. It was all my fault, even with our marriage contract: I'd placed the responsibility squarely on her shoulders, only giving her cons and not a single pro. It was immeasurably easier to criticize than do anything constructive, and the tools of criticism, a heavy hammer and an anvil, required only strength, not cleverness. Not feelings, not love, not kindness, and not the willingness to sacrifice. Truly that hammer was the most terrible of all weapons, and I'd made use of it with the enthusiasm of a Neanderthal!

Embracing Shandra, I whispered, "Don't cry, honey. You'll have a child of your own."

"But, Graham… You said—"

"Shh…" My finger touched her lips. "I know what I said. But our love is more important than our marriage, isn't it? Without love, all our oaths and promises are just empty records in computer files. You don't want that to happen, do you?" She shook her head. "Me neither. Which means…" I told her of my plans, of the world I was going to select for her to raise our son and wait for many years for me to return. I told her that this world would be beautiful, that its people would be like us, and that she would want for nothing: friends, money, freedom. Yes, freedom too… She would decide how to live and with whom, if she wanted to give someone her heart or a gesture of fleeting favor. And then, after I returned, she would leave with me, if she chose to… And, when remembering the past, we would only think of our son, of his children and grandchildren; everything else, all our weaknesses and sins, all that could happen when two people were apart, would be forgotten. Exactly that: forgotten, not forgiven.

But if she chose to leave me, if that world turned out to be her new home and she found a man… a man dear to her… who needed her… Well then, in that case I'd accept and obey her wish, I wouldn't force her, remind her of our oaths and appeal to her sense of duty. We would part ways; I would leave and never return to that world, so as to avoid disturbing her and confuse her with memories. We would try to forget one another and…

At that point my monologue was interrupted. Shandra suddenly pushed me away, wiped her nose with a resolute expression, and sat down on the bed cross-legged.

"Hold on, Graham… I'm not quite sure what you're talking about… Are you afraid I'm going to leave you? Why would I?" She paused, her eyes glinting angrily. "You want to find a world suitable for our son, you want that world to be his home, for him to grow up and mature there, and for me to live with him until you come back… That's sensible, if there's no other choice. But why is it that you think I'm going to leave you? That I will give my heart or favor to someone?" She did a good job copying my tone with that phrase, while continuing to drill me with her furious gaze. "You think I need another man? That I can't wait a few years?"

"A few years?" I echoed gloomily. "More like thirty or forty, if not fifty! I don't want you to have to live as if in a convent… you've done plenty of that already, honey."

A hint of a smile appeared on her lips.

"Then I'm no stranger to it! I'll spend those years taking care of our son. Besides, my new convent will be so pleasant! So cozy! No sisters Camilla, Seraphima, or Esmeralda, none of their sermons, none of those accursed cauldrons… What are you afraid of, Graham? I can handle it! I will handle it! And I won't be alone, I'll be with our son."

"For the first twenty years," I noted. "Then the boy will grow up and stop needing your care. You know how it is: girls, friends, work, marriage… He'll be living his own life, move in his own circles, and you'll be feeling abandoned and lonely. This feeling will grow, expand, torment you, until it reaches an apex in a decade or so. That's when I need to appear and take you away! Unless someone else beats me to it…"

Shandra thought about it. I knew what thoughts were going through her head. She was used to trusting my judgment, and now one end of the scale held my experience and gift of foresight, while the other had her understanding of fidelity, her love for me, her indomitable spirit. And thirty or forty years apart… Suddenly her face brightened.

"Dear, wouldn't Barsoom be a very suitable planet for us? It's prosperous, peaceful, and very beautiful… You could leave me there and not worry for no reason. I'm a freak in Barsoomian eyes… too heavyset, right? No one is going to pay me much attention, and no one would want me."

"And our son too," I added. "He's not going to find either love or suitable work on Barsoom; to everyone there he'll be an outsider, an exotic freak, anyone but a normal person. By Barsoomian standards, of course… And he'll figure that out much earlier than the age of thirty, my dear. Kids can be cruel, you know…"

Shandra began to twirl a red curl onto her finger, which was a sign of deep thought. What thought? This time I couldn't even guess. She was probably trying to resolve a problem that had neither a solution nor sense. To have her cake and eat it too… Things didn't work that way. "Seek and ye shall find" did not apply here.

I didn't break the silence, since there was nothing I could say. Everything was already clear; Shandra loved and trusted me, and yet our union wouldn't survive the time apart. After all, not all partings were the same, and thirty years wasn't five or ten… Was it possible for a person to handle loneliness? After all, the world was full of temptation, especially a world where they weren't a freak, where they were beautiful and desirable, where they were a valuable prize for any hunter…

You won't come back to me, honey, I said to myself. You won't, and these brief years I've spent with you will become a prelude to long dreary centuries, endless wanderings, and loneliness. To thoughts of what has been lost, what couldn't be gotten again, even in Paradise! Even there, assuming Paradise even exists somewhere in the vast and eternal universe… Then again, what use do I have for it if you won't come back?

Shandra's lips quivered, "You're right, dear, Barsoom won't work. Too bad! I really wanted to see Cassilda again… But we're choosing a world for our boy, not for me, and Barsoom is unsuitable for him. What will you tell me about Corinth? Are the people there like us?"

"Corinth?" I echoed dully. "Why Corinth? It's pretty far from here. I wasn't planning on going there, but the Circe's records have some information… that legend I told you about… about the white flower and the telepathic women…"

"Well, I'm not a telepath," Shandra noted imperiously. "And if you don't tell me what Corinth and its people look like, I'm going to bite you. I will!"

I perked up. This was a good sign; for the first time in a month or so she seemed intent on following through with her playful threat. What had inspired her? I didn't get a chance to finish that thought, as Shandra's teeth bit into my ear.

"Graham!"

"One second, honey! From what I recall, it has normal gravity and a temperate climate. The people there look like us, both men and women, but the former don't have clairvoyance, so the fairer sex dominates the domestic environment. I don't think it's a matriarchy, but something similar to it… In every other respect Corinth is a fairly pleasant place. A developing world with very good prospects… Do you want to ask the Circe?"

Suddenly cheerful, Shandra sat astride my chest and squeezed my ribs with her knees.

"So the fairer sex dominates the domestic environment? Not a matriarchy, but something similar to it? I like that! A world where women choose their men, and the men obey that choice! Excellent! And very wise! They probably won't have any wars, catastrophes, or idiotic experiments… A world like that will be perfect for our boy!"

"What about you?" I asked and my mouth stayed open in amazement. I'd finally figured it out! My experience, my pragmatism, my certainty that there was no acceptable way out — all that seemed to have put a veil on my head. I was probably too old for unexpected solutions… Or maybe Shandra was right, maybe women were wiser than men. Especially when they were pressed against a wall.

Shandra was laughing. Her golden hair was cascading to her chest, snaking along her shoulders, her eyes were gleaming, and it seemed as if two sparkling emeralds were shining from under her bushy even eyebrows.

"Will Corinth work for me? Oh dear, Corinth is the only world that will! Their sorceresses choose their husbands, and every man knows that someday he'll be chosen and have a happy life… Because the sorceresses are never mistaken! And I'm an ordinary woman, not a sorceress, not a telepath, and I can never be one, since the flower is gone! So who would want me there? Just you and our son! But sooner or later, someone is going to choose our boy, and then it'll just be you… Only you, Graham!"