Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Page 2

  “Has someone actually told you that they plan to close the Comet?” she persisted, lowering her voice as she became aware of the curious stares she was attracting from a number of nearby patrons.

  “Not directly—but it's Vainmill's logical next step, after giving the money to my church doesn't work. After all, this is the one Vainmill business that makes no bones about reveling in sin.”

  “Kill the Comet, just to shut you up?” she said incredulously. “You have an awfully inflated opinion of yourself, Doctor Gold!”

  He stared calmly at her and made no comment.

  “I don't believe it,” she continued.

  “What you believe is immaterial,” he said with a shrug.

  “It sounds like one of Gustave's idiot ideas.”

  “Plaga is just a flunky.”

  “He's the president of the Entertainment and Leisure Division,” said the Steel Butterfly.

  “I told you: I'm not after a division. I'm after Vainmill. Whether the Comet survives a month or a year or a decade is a matter of complete indifference to me—except, of course, that it's an abomination that ought to be terminated for its own excesses.”

  “Has it occurred to you that this abomination employs more than eight hundred people, and that killing the Comet would throw them out of work?”

  “I am not such an egomaniac that I believe shutting down the Comet will eradicate all sin everywhere,” replied Gold. “I have no doubt that all your beautiful young men and women will be employed within a week—though I'll certainly do my best to prevent it.”

  “You won't prevent it,” she said.

  “Probably not,” he admitted.

  “But what you will do,” she continued, “is send them out onto the streets of Deluros VIII and other worlds, where they'll require the consent and protection of the criminal element to ply their trade, where their working conditions will no longer be under the control of skilled medics, where —”

  “Are you trying to tell me,” he interrupted with a sardonic smile, “that only prostitutes who work aboard the Velvet Comet receive medical attention?”

  “Doctor Gold, more than four hundred venereal diseases have been discovered since Man went out to the stars. Only the Comet has the facilities to instantly recognize and cure each of them.”

  “Then that is the misfortune of those who are foolish enough to become prostitutes or to have sexual congress with them.”

  “That's an inadequate answer,” said the Steel Butterfly. “Since you grant that Man always has and always will support prostitution, why not allow him to do so in a controlled and luxurious environment?”

  “Sugar-coating sin doesn't make it any less sinful, only more caloric.” He gestured toward the crowded room. “Look at these people. Are they any less sinful because they pay millions of credits to you and wear formal dress and dine on fine foods before partaking of the Comet's pleasures? The only difference between them and a cargo loader who seeks quick and inexpensive satisfaction is what they pay, not what they do.”

  “By the same token, why don't you lead your crusade against all the top-rated restaurants that serve meat?”

  “Because the Jesus Pures’ refusal to eat meat is a matter of personal choice, nothing more,” Gold replied. “The Bible does not direct us to avoid meat. The same cannot be said of what goes on aboard the Comet.” He paused. “Besides, I'm not crusading against the Comet, except as it relates to Vainmill. In fact, I doubt that I've mentioned it five times in the past year. If Vainmill offers it as a sop to me, I'll take it, but if they think I will stop or even moderate my attacks on them, they're sadly mistaken.”

  “You keep saying that they're going to kill the Comet,” she said irritably. “If you really believed that, I would think that the madam is the last person you'd forewarn.”

  “It makes no difference,” said Gold. “I am a moral man; I cannot be bought. Vainmill is an immoral corporation; they will continue to try to buy me, raising their price each time, on the assumption that everyone can be bought. Eventually it will bring about their downfall.”

  “You don't really think you can bring a corporation like Vainmill to its knees, do you?” she asked, amazed by the scope of his ego.

  “One properly motivated man can bring down an empire,” he replied seriously. “No one would remember David if Goliath had been a dwarf.”

  “You realize that if you actually succeeded, you'd do untold harm to the economy, as well as putting literally tens of millions of people out of work.”

  “Your loyalty is misplaced,” said Gold. “Vainmill would cut the Comet loose in two seconds if they thought it would get me off their backs.”

  “And what of the ensuing financial upheaval if you destroy Vainmill?”

  “The Republic will survive, just as the Earth survived forty days and forty nights of flooding. And if it doesn't, then it wasn't built to last, and something better will supersede it.”

  “It must be comforting to be so absolutely certain that you're right,” she said cynically.

  “God vouchsafes precious few comforts to us,” he replied. “That happens to be one of them.”

  “And if you're wrong?”

  He met her gaze and spoke with the same degree of conviction with which he had outlined his future plans. “Then I will spend all of eternity in the pits of hell, suffering the tortures of the damned.”

  “You really believe that?” asked the Steel Butterfly.

  “I do.”

  “Then why take the chance?”

  “Because I believe that when God gave Man free will, it was implicit in the contract that he exercise it.”

  “And what of all the people who exercise it aboard the Comet?”

  “The very nature of free will implies that Man is also free to abuse God's laws. Your patrons have made their choice, and I have made mine.”

  “You're as slick in person as you are on the video,” she admitted begrudgingly. “I think it might be best to change the subject.”

  “As you wish.”

  “The race is due to start in about half an hour.

  Shall we start making our way to the presenter's platform?”

  “Why not?” he assented.

  Just then there was a small beeping sound, and the Steel Butterfly touched a tiny jewel on one of her bracelets.

  “Yes?” she said softly.

  “I regret to inform you that we have a scheduling problem,” said a masculine voice.

  “I'm occupied at the moment. You take care of it, Cupid.” She touched the jewel again, then turned back to Gold. “I apologize for the interruption.”

  “Cupid?” he repeated.

  “Our main computer.”

  “You've got a computer arranging liaisons?”

  “No, but it keeps track of them. I don't know who gave it its name, but it seems appropriate. We equipped it with a voice about ten years ago.”

  “Interesting. What else does it do?”

  “Other than the usual?” she replied. “Well, for one thing, it reports on any behavior that seems out of the ordinary.”

  “How can a machine determine aberrant behavior in a place like this?” asked Gold, honestly curious.

  “With eighty-seven years of memory to draw on, it's pretty good at differentiating,” answered the Steel Butterfly.

  “So you've turned your computer into a voyeur,” he remarked dryly. “It seems that even machines get corrupted by Vainmill.”

  “If that's what you'd like to believe,” she said. “Of course, if someone turns Cupid off, you won't be able to breathe and you'll float away like a feather on the wind, but you'll have saved it from having to observe obscene acts.”

  He was about to reply when her bracelet beeped again.

  “Yes, Cupid? What is it?”

  “I regret that I am unable to solve the scheduling conflict,” said the computer.

  She sighed. “All right. What's the problem?”

  “The Undersecretary of the Navy and
her chosen companion had reserved the Mountaintop for two hours, commencing three minutes ago.”

  “Are the holographic projectors malfunctioning again?” asked the Steel Butterfly.

  “No. But the group currently occupying the room refuses to vacate the premises.”

  “Tell them they have to.”

  “I have done so.”

  She frowned. “Are you telling me that our prostitutes are willfully ignoring your directives?”

  “No. The room is occupied solely by eighteen executives from the Vainmill Syndicate, including the chairman and all the department heads, each of whom has the necessary clearance to override commands.”

  “How long have they been there?”

  “Forty-two minutes.”

  “Check with Gustave Plaga and see how much longer they'll be using the room.”

  “I have been forbidden to communicate with them again.”

  “What's going on there?” she demanded.

  “I have been forbidden to say.”

  “But it's in your memory banks?”

  “Yes,” answered Cupid.

  “I'll check them later,” she said. “In the meantime offer the Undersecretary our apologies, tell her there will be no charge for the weekend, and if the Demolition Team is available, see if she'd like them to visit her.”

  She pressed the jewel again.

  “Demolition Team?” asked Gold.

  “You don't want to know,” she replied.

  “I suppose not,” he agreed. “What's the Mountaintop?”

  “A room designed to resemble a ski lodge atop the tallest mountain on Mirzam X. The projectors give it a panoramic view of the surrounding mountain range.”

  “Interesting,” said Gold. “You've figured out what they're doing in there, haven't you?”

  “Selling the Comet out?” she said sarcastically.

  “That would be premature,” said Gold. “But they're certainly trying to decide whether the Comet is a sufficient bone to toss to me, or whether I'm going to want more.”

  “My guess is that they're probably thinking up ways to fight you,” she responded as she led him through the crowded foyer toward the entrance to the Mall.

  “I doubt it. They've been singularly ineffective for the past five years.”

  “Then perhaps they're looking for your fatal flaw,” she suggested. “Everybody has one, you know—even you.”

  “True,” he agreed, stepping out into the Mall. “But whatever mine may be,” he continued confidently, “I think I can safely state that the last place it's likely to manifest itself is aboard the Velvet Comet.”

  Chapter 2

  There was carefully spread dirt as far as the eye could see.

  “Watch your step,” cautioned the Steel Butterfly, as they skirted a temporary restraining rail and made their way to a slidewalk.

  “Just how big is this place?” asked Gold, looking off into the distance but unable to see the end of the Mall.

  “A little over two miles,” she replied. “Both sides are lined with shops and boutiques from here to the main airlock, which is about two-thirds of the way down the strip. Past the airlock are storage areas, our hospital, maintenance supplies, Security headquarters, and some more stores.” She turned to him and smiled.

  “We even have a non-denominational chapel. Perhaps you'd like to visit it?”

  “I think I'll forgo the privilege,” said Gold as he reached the crowded slidewalk and stepped onto it.

  “They ought to make these things wider,” he muttered as a pair of young women brushed by him and got off at a shop that specialized in garments made from the skins of alien animals.

  “See this parquet flooring?” said the Steel Butterfly, pointing to a ten-foot strip between the slidewalk and the restraining rail. “We left a strip bare so that the dirt couldn't get into the slidewalk mechanism. Actually, it goes all the way across the middle of the Mall to the other slidewalk—when it's not covered by racetrack, that is. Many of our patrons prefer walking to riding.” She looked distastefully at the makeshift track and sighed. “I certainly don't envy Maintenance. They're going to have to clean up three hundred tons of this stuff.”

  “That much?”

  “It seems a shame to use it only once,” commented the Steel Butterfly, as the slidewalk took them past a trio of boutiques, an antique shop, and a brokerage house. As they approached a shop that sold imported flowers, she saw a video technician perched atop a ladder, positioning a holographic camera.

  “What's the problem up there?” she asked him, as she and Gold stepped off the slidewalk when it reached the flower shop. “I thought everything was supposed to be ready by last night.”

  “They moved the finish line,” answered the man with a grimace. “Evidently it takes racehorses quite a while to come to a stop, and they didn't want them running into any walls. So now all the cameras have to be repositioned.”

  “Where's the finish line now?” asked the Steel Butterfly.

  “About three hundred yards farther from the Resort than it was. We've already moved the grandstand and the presentation platform.”

  “Can't they just run a shorter distance?”

  The man shrugged. “I must have spent an hour arguing that very point with their trainers. You would have thought I had suggested vivisecting them. The gist of it is that a mile and a quarter was the classic distance the first time they lived, and that's what they've been conditioned to run.” He paused. “It's a pain in the ass. You'd think animals as famous as these two would be more adaptable.”

  She turned back to Gold as the two of them stepped back onto the slidewalk.

  “You look disapproving,” she remarked.

  “I have the distinct impression that it's against the laws of God and Nature,” he replied.

  “The distance?” she asked with a laugh.

  “The resurrection of these animals.”

  “Against God's, perhaps, but not Nature's. Once science discovered DNA coding, it was only a matter of time before they started preserving cell samples in liquid nitrogen against the day they could reproduce them.”

  “I know how it's done,” he told her. “They've been wanting to reproduce Men that way for more than a century. So far we've been able to stop them from passing the necessary legislation.”

  “So you prefer the way we do it aboard the Comet?”

  “Don't be clever with me,” said Gold. “It's unbecoming.”

  “I wasn't aware that the Jesus Pures had a monopoly on clever answers,” she said.

  “On correct answers.”

  The Steel Butterfly stared at him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

  “Anyway,” she said, returning to what she hoped was a less controversial subject, “these were supposed to be the two best racehorses of their era. At least, the press has been going crazy all month long.” She paused. “I've never seen a horserace. I hope it's as exciting as they say.”

  “One would think that there was more than enough excitement up here already,” said Gold caustically, as they passed an expensive lingerie shop.

  Suddenly his attention was captured by two small figures emerging from an art gallery that specialized in paintings from Earth. “I wasn't aware that you allowed children aboard the Velvet Comet,” he said with a disapproving frown.

  “We don't.”

  “Then what are those?” he demanded, pointing to the undersized figures.

  “Faeries,” she replied.

  “That was a serious question.”

  “It was a serious answer. Officially, they're members of the Andrican race of Besmarith II. But they look like they're right out of Spenser's The Faerie Queene, so that's what we call them.”

  “I didn't realize that the Velvet Comet catered to aliens.”

  She shook her head. “They're not patrons, Doctor Gold.”

  “You mean they work here?”

  “Perhaps you'd like to meet them. You might find them interesting.”


  Before he could answer her, she had caught the aliens’ attention, and they approached her with an inhuman grace.

  Each of them stood a few inches under five feet in height, with shimmering silvery skins, opalescent feathery hair, wide-set oversized sky-blue eyes, permanently arched eyebrows, pointed ears, and an overall look of almost mythic innocence to them. Only when they got to within ten feet could Gold discern that the smaller of the two was a male, while the other, whose budding breasts were barely visible beneath her translucent alien garment, was a female.

  Neither possessed the hardened musculature of adults, though upon closer inspection it was obvious that they weren't quite children, either. They were barefoot, and Gold, when he could finally tear his curious gaze away from their faces, saw that their feet were three-toed and webbed.

  “This is Oberon,” said the Steel Butterfly, gesturing to the male. “And this is Titania.”

  Titania opened her mouth to say something; it came out as a series of melodic trilling whistles.

  The Steel Butterfly frowned. “You forgot them again. How many times have I spoken to you about that?”

  Titanic trilled again.

  The Steel Butterfly turned to Gold. “They're continually leaving their translating devices behind,” she explained. “And while they may sound very pretty, no one can understand anything they're saying.”

  “They seem to understand you.”

  “Oh, they understand Terran perfectly. It's a much simpler language than Andrican. But they can't pronounce a word of it.” She turned back to the two pixie-like aliens. “All right—but as soon as the race is over, I want to see both of you with your devices.”

  Oberon whistled something, making a fuller, deeper sound than had Titania, smiled boyishly at her, and then the two of them glided off, hand in hand.

  “And humans actually have sex with them?” asked Gold, his expression a mixture of fascination and distaste.

  “They've been among our most popular employees for the five years they've been working here.”

  “Five years?” he repeated unbelievingly. “They look so...fresh."

  “I suppose that's why they're so popular. We've tried to recruit more members of their race, but so far we haven't had very much luck.”