Robert Sheckley - A Ticket to Tranai

“And that’s why he wanted me to take over his term. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You didn’t ask,” Melith said, with the suspicion of a smile, “Don’t look so horrified. Assassination is always possible, you know, on any planet, under any government. We try to make it a constructive thing. Under this system, the people never lose touch with the government, and the government never tries to assume dictatorial powers. And, since everyone knows he can turn to the Citizens Booth, you’d be surprised how sparingly it’s used. Of course, there are always hotheads…”

Goodman got to his feet and started to the door, not looking at Borg’s body.

“Don’t you still want the Presidency?” asked Melith.

“No!

“That’s so like you Terrans,” Melith remarked sadly. “You want responsibility only if it doesn’t incur risk. That’s the wrong attitude for running a government.”

“You may be right,” Goodman said. “I’m just glad I found out in time.”

He hurried home.

His mind was in a complete turmoil when he entered his house. Was Tranai a Utopia or a planetwide insane asylum? Was there much difference? For the first time in his life, Goodman was wondering if Utopia was worth having. Wasn’t it better to strive for perfection than to possess it? To have ideals rather than to live by them? If justice was a fallacy, wasn’t the fallacy better than the truth?

Or was it? Goodman was a sadly confused young man when he shuffled into his house and found his wife in the arms of another man.

The scene had a terrible slow-motion clarity in his eyes. It seemed to take Janna forever to rise to her feet, straighten her disarranged clothing and stare at him open-mouthed. The man — a tall, good-looking fellow whom Goodman had never before seen — appeared too startled to speak. He made small, aimless gestures, brushing the lapel of his jacket, pulling down, his cuffs.

Then, tentatively, the man smiled.

“Well!” Goodman said. It was feeble enough, under the circumstances, but it had its effect. Janna started to cry.

“Terribly sorry,” the man murmured. “Didn’t expect you home for hours. This must come as a shock to you. I’m terribly sorry.”

The one thing Goodman hadn’t expected or wanted was sympathy from his wife’s lover. He ignored the man and stared at the weeping Janna.

“Well, what did you expect?” Janna screamed at him suddenly. “I had to! You didn’t love me!”

“Didn’t love you! How can you say that?”

“Because of the way you treated me.”

“I loved you very much, Janna,” he said softly.

“You didn’t!” she shrilled, throwing back her head. “Just look at the way you treated me. You kept me around all day, every day, doing housework, cooking, sitting. Marvin, I could feel myself aging. Day after day, the same weary, stupid routine. And most of the time, when you came home, you were too tired to even notice me. All you could talk about was your stupid robots! I was being wasted, Marvin, wasted!”

It suddenly occurred to Goodman that his wife was unhinged. Very gently he said, “But, Janna, that’s how life is. A husband and wife settle into a companionable situation. They age together side by side. It can’t all be high spots…”

“But of course it can! Try to understand, Marvin. It can, on Tranai — for a woman!”

“It’s impossible,” Goodman said.

“On Tranai, a woman expects a life of enjoyment and pleasure. It’s her right, just as men have their rights. She expects to come out of stasis and find a little party prepared, or a walk in the moonlight, or a swim, or a movie.” She began to cry again. “But you were so smart. You had to change it. I should have known better than to trust a Terran.”

The other man sighed and lighted a cigarette.

“I know you can’t help being an alien, Marvin,” Janna said. “But I do want you to understand. Love isn’t everything. A woman must be practical, too. The way things were going, I would have been an old woman while all my friends were still young.”

“Still young?” Goodman repeated blankly.

“Of course,” the man said. “A woman doesn’t age in the derrsin field.”

“But the whole thing is ghastly,” said Goodman. “My wife would still be a young woman when I was old.”

“That’s just when you’d appreciate a young woman,” Janna said.

“But how about you?” Goodman asked. “Would you appreciate an old man?”

“He still doesn’t understand,” the man said.

“Marvin, try. Isn’t it clear yet? Throughout your life, you would have a young and beautiful woman whose only desire would be to please you. And when you died — don’t look shocked, dear; everybody dies — when you died, I would still be young, and by law I’d inherit all your money.”

“I’m beginning to see,” Goodman said. “I suppose that’s another accepted phase of Tranaian life — the wealthy young widow who can pursue her own pleasures.”

“Naturally. In this way, everything is for the best for everybody. The man has a young wife whom he sees only when he wishes. He has his complete freedom and a nice home as well. The woman is relieved of all the dullness of ordinary living and, while she can still enjoy it, is well provided for.”

“You should have told me,” Goodman complained.

“I thought you knew,” Janna said, “since you thought you had a better way. But I can see that you would never have understood, because you’re so na”ive — though I must admit it’s one of your charms.” She smiled wistfully. “Besides, if I told you, I would never have met Rondo.”

The man bowed slightly. “I was leaving samples of Greah’s Confections. You can imagine my surprise when I found this lovely young woman out of stasis. I mean it was like a storybook tale come true. One never expects old legends to happen, so you must admit that there’s a certain appeal when they do.”

“Do you love him?” Goodman asked heavily.

“Yes,” said Janna. “Rondo cares — for me. He’s going to keep me in stasis long enough to make up for the time I’ve lost. It’s a sacrifice on his part, but Rondo has a generous nature.”

“If that’s how it is,” Goodman said glumly, “I certainly won’t stand in your way. I am a civilized being, after all. You may have a divorce.”

He folded his arms across his chest, feeling quite noble. But he was dimly aware that his decision stemmed not so much from nobility as from a sudden, violent distaste for all things Tranaian.

“We have no divorce on Tranai,” Rondo said.

“No?” Goodman felt a cold chill run down his spine.

A blaster appeared in Rondo’s hand. “It would be too unsettling, you know, if people were always swapping around. There’s only one way to change a marital status.”

“But this is revolting!” Goodman blurted, backing away. “It’s against all decency!”

“Not if the wife desires it. And that, by the by, is another excellent reason for keeping one’s spouse in stasis. Have I your permission, my dear?”

“Forgive me, Marvin,” Janna said. She closed her eyes. “Yes!”

Rondo leveled the blaster. Without a moment’s hesitation, Goodman dived head-first out the nearest window. Rondo’s shot fanned right over him.

“See here!” Rondo called. “Show some spirit, man. Stand up to it!”

Goodman had landed heavily on his shoulder. He was up at once, sprinting, and Rondo’s second shot scorched his arm. Then he ducked behind a house and was momentarily safe. He didn’t stop to think about it. Running for all he was worth, he headed for the spaceport.

Fortunately, a ship was preparing for blastoff and took him to g’Moree. From there he wired to Tranai for his funds and bought passage to Higastomeritreia, where the authorities accused him of being a Ding spy. The charge couldn’t stick, since the Dingans were an amphibious race, and Goodman almost drowned proving to everyone’s satisfaction that he could breathe only air.