Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Read online

  “I hope I never find out,” answered Gold. “You know, even the computer has a name.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “Cupid, of all things.”

  She looked at him for a moment, as if weighing her next statement.

  “What was it like up there on the Velvet Comet?” she asked at last.

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Just curiosity,” she replied. “Hadn't you ever wondered before you got there?”

  “Never once.”

  “Well, I guess I'm just not as moral as you,” she said with a smile. “I'm absolutely fascinated.”

  Gold stared at her. “Every now and then, when I least expect it, I find myself agreeing with Simon,” he said wryly. “I think Robert may be a bad influence upon you.”

  She returned his stare with no trace of uneasiness or embarrassment. “I was curious about houses of ill repute long before I married Bob. It's perfectly natural. Now why don't you tell me all about it?” she coaxed him.

  “There's very little to tell,” said Gold. “I imagine you've seen advertisements for it.”

  “You're not getting off the hook that easily.” She grinned. “Come on, now—what's it really like?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “All right,” said Gold. “I went up there expecting to find Satan, and I did. What I had forgotten was that he is a fallen angel.”

  “I don't think I follow you,” said Christina.

  “I mean that everything that happens up there is moral under certain circumstances. The pleasures of the flesh are acceptable, even desirable, within the confines of marriage. And it's hardly sinful to eat or shop or be entertained or to work out in a gymnasium or to watch a sporting event. But there comes a point when eating becomes gluttony, and seeking constant entertainment becomes sloth, and spending money on expensive presents becomes excessive and wasteful. It's a blurred line, and different for every man and woman, and as a result values get very confused up there. They make sin very comfortable.”

  “I suppose people wouldn't sin if it weren't comfortable, so to speak,” offered Christina.

  “They make it too attractive,” said Gold. “You asked about their names before. I suspect they all take such names because it lends to the illusion they're trying to create.” He paused. “Don't forget: it isn't God who is known as the Prince of Liars.”

  “Are half of the prostitutes really men?”

  “All but two are Men.”

  Christina smiled. “I meant the gender, not the species.”

  “I have no idea.” He glanced sharply at her. “I trust that you have no idea, either.”

  “What about the two aliens?” asked Christina. “Do humans actually go to bed with them?”

  “So I am told,” said Gold, suddenly uneasy. “I find the subject distasteful in the extreme.”

  “I saw a holo of them after your sermon last Friday,” persisted Christina. “Do they really look like that?”

  “I don't know what they looked like in the holo,” answered Gold.

  “Like little pixies, with pointed ears and oversized blue eyes.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is that silver hair they have, or is it feathers?”

  “How should I know?” he snapped. “I'm not one of their customers!”

  “Don't be so touchy,” she said, ignoring his outburst. “I'm just curious about them.”

  “Then tie in to the main library computer and ask for data on the Andrican race of Besmarith II. You'll find out everything you want to know.”

  “I'm not that curious,” replied Christina. “I just thought you might give me some details.”

  “The subject is closed,” he said. “I am not going to discuss or describe a pair of alien prostitutes for your amusement.”

  “I resent that!”

  He scrutinized her for a moment.

  “Then I apologize,” he said. “It's just that I can't help feeling that I'm adding to their exploitation by talking about them in this manner.”

  “Accepted, as always,” she said, walking over and kissing him on the cheek.

  “Friends again?” asked Gold.

  She smiled. “If I can ask another question.”

  “About the Comet or the faeries?”

  “The Steel Butterfly.”

  He nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “What makes her do what she does?”

  “What makes any sinner sin?” responded Gold.

  “But she looked so elegant and sounded so sophisticated, at least from what little they showed of her. Surely there are other things she could do for a living.”

  “Not all sinners are inelegant and unsophisticated,” said Gold. “In fact, quite the contrary: a sophisticated man can come up with one hundred well-reasoned humanistic rationalizations for assuaging his hungers at the expense of his soul; the simple man is usually better able to differentiate right from wrong and act accordingly. As for the Steel Butterfly, she doesn't think that being the madam of a brothel is sinful. She views making money as an honorable enterprise, and doubtless views her sexual technique as an art form.

  Which,” he added, “is the problem with rationalizations: they work beautifully on Men, but God is not impressed by them. Good and Evil do exist, and all the rationalization in the world will not turn an immoral act into a moral one.”

  “You're preaching again,” said Christina, amused.

  “It's what I do,” responded Gold. “It's what I am.”

  The front door's computer lock clicked open, and Simon Gold entered the apartment. He was tall, even taller than Gold, and far more muscular. Everything about him seemed somehow severe: the cut of his clothes, the style of his hair, the expression on his face.

  “Good afternoon, sister,” he said formally.

  “Hello, Simon,” answered Christina. “We've been waiting for you.”

  “Including your husband?”

  “No. Bob's busy again tonight. He sends his apologies.”

  He stared emotionlessly at her for a moment, then turned to Gold.

  “You look tired, Father,” he said.

  “I'm not as young as I used to be,” said Gold. “Or else the zoo is a lot bigger than it used to be. Probably both.”

  “Possibly you should let the boy's father take him to the zoo while you concentrate on more important things,” suggested Simon with no show of sympathy.

  “I think not,” said Gold. “Twenty-five years from now Robert can take his grandchild to the zoo.”

  “Doubtless,” replied Simon.

  “How was your day?” inquired Gold.

  “Satisfactory.”

  “Did you get any more research done on your book?”

  “Some.”

  “I didn't know you were writing a book,” said Christina.

  “I'm not,” replied Simon. “I'm researching a book. I won't begin writing it until sometime next spring. I expect it to take about three years.”

  “What's it about?” she asked.

  He merely stared at her.

  She smiled. “Silly question.”

  “I think you and your husband might derive some benefit from reading it once it's completed,” said Simon. “Especially your husband.”

  “His name is Bob, and I don't tell him what to read,” she said heatedly.

  “Perhaps you ought to,” said Simon.

  “Come on, Simon,” said Christina. “I'm only going to be here a few more days. Let's not fight.”

  “As you wish,” said Simon, dismissing the subject and all else his sister might have to say with a single shrug, and turning to Gold. “I walked past the Vainmill Building this morning, Father.”

  “And?” asked Gold.

  “They've changed the name of the prize from the Velvet Comet Challenge Cup to the Thomas Gold Challenge Cup, and turned it into a rotating trophy.”

  “What's a rotating trophy?” asked Gold.

  “Evidently they'
ve made a duplicate for the owner of the winning horse to keep, but the original is on display in one of their ground-floor windows, along with a life-sized holo of you, Fiona Bradley, and the madam. Evidently the cup is to be presented every year.”

  “Nobody ever said they were stupid,” commented Gold.

  “You should never have gone up there in the first place,” said Simon. “I warned you against it.”

  “Of course I should have. We've already spent the money where it will do the most good.”

  “It may have done us more than ten million credits’ worth of harm,” said Simon.

  “I doubt it,” answered Gold. “Anyone who truly believes that holograph wasn't staged would believe the worst of me whether I visited the Comet or not.”

  He paused. “Besides, every now and then you have to beard the lion in his own den.”

  “It seems that there were a lot more lionesses than lions.”

  “Just what is that supposed to mean?” demanded Gold.

  “Jesus may have stopped the masses from stoning a prostitute, but he didn't feel it incumbent upon himself to visit her place of work,” said Simon. “Your very presence aboard the Velvet Comet, no matter how much they donated to the church, lends an air of legitimacy to it.”

  “You make it sound like I'm one of their customers,” said Gold.

  “You made it look like you were,” said his son.

  “We've been through all this before,” said Gold.

  “If I hadn't gone up there, I wouldn't have seen the aliens, and if I hadn't seen the aliens, I wouldn't have found a focus for my attacks on Vainmill.”

  “The end doesn't justify the means.”

  “I'm getting tired of arguing this with you, Simon. Pure I went and pure I returned—and what I learned while I was there will make my job much easier.”

  “God's work doesn't include visiting a brothel,” said Simon.

  “No. But mine does, and ultimately I am a servant of the Lord.”

  “Then you should have acted!” said Simon passionately. “Jesus threw the money-lenders out of the Temple. You refused even to enter the casino.”

  “I'm not Jesus,” replied Gold. “I'm simply a man, doing the best I can. They have three hundred security guards up there. How many people do you think I could have thrown out of the casino before they stopped me?”

  “You should have done something to show your disapproval!”

  “What would you have done?” asked Gold.

  “I wouldn't have gone there in the first place.”

  “Do you two go on like this every day?” asked Christina, who had been a silent but interested spectator.

  “Please don't interfere, sister,” said Simon.

  “Every day and every night,” answered Gold with a rueful smile. “We have a basic disagreement. I want to be the best man I can be. Your brother wants me to be perfect.”

  “The Word of God isn't subject to interpretation,” said Simon. “It's right there in the Bible in black and white. It may be a harsh and demanding Word, but it's God's Word nonetheless.” He looked directly into his father's eyes. “And the moment you start modifying it, or changing it out of expediency, then you have perverted what you stand for and made it meaningless.”

  “I can hardly argue with that,” agreed Gold. “It's the basis of my faith.”

  “Then why did you act contrary to it?” persisted Simon.

  “Because I'm not perfect,” said Gold. “Because I can fight Evil much more effectively once I know the shape and face of it. And because if I didn't fight it in my way, sooner or later you would fight it in yours, and it's my duty as a father and a Christian to spare you the pain.”

  “There's no pain involved in serving the Lord.”

  “If that were so, there would be no Velvet Comet or Vainmill Syndicate, and no one would ever ignore the cries of the sick and the hungry,” said Gold.

  “The path of righteousness is many things, but it is never easy.”

  “All the more reason not to knowingly stray from it,” said Simon.

  “Enough,” said Gold, and something in the tone of his voice seemed to startle his son.

  “As you wish,” said Simon. He paused. “Will Mother need any help setting the table?”

  “She's got some,” said Christina.

  Jeremy entered the room just then. “Grandmother says that we're almost ready,” he announced. “Hello, Uncle Simon.”

  “Hello, nephew,” said Simon. “Did you enjoy the zoo?”

  The boy nodded his head. “We're going to the aquarium tomorrow,” he said happily.

  “Have you ever been to one before?” asked Simon, feeling slightly awkward, as he always did when addressing children.

  The boy shook his head.

  “Neither have I. Let me know if you enjoy it.”

  “I will,” promised Jeremy. “And the day after, we're going to the video studio, and I'll see Grandfather give his speech.”

  “His sermon,” Simon corrected him.

  Jeremy began rattling off his agenda for the coming week, and a moment later Corinne reentered the room. “Jeremy, I thought I told you to bring everyone back with you.” She flashed a smile to her son. “Good evening, Simon.”

  Simon stared at her for a moment.

  “What happened to your hair?” he demanded at last.

  “I styled it for her,” said Christina.

  “Harlots style their hair,” said Simon. “Married women don't.”

  “This married woman does,” Corinne replied.

  “My hair is styled, too,” added Christina. “Are you calling me a harlot?”

  “You're wearing makeup, too, aren't you?” said Simon, ignoring his sister's comments.

  “Yes, I am,” his mother replied.

  “Leave her alone,” said Christina hotly.

  “Decent women don't paint their faces,” said Simon.

  “When I'm in the sanctity of my own home, I'll wear what I like,” said Corinne. “And before you start quoting what the Bible says about painted women, maybe you'd better reread what it says about addressing your parents with respect.”

  “I'm fully aware of what the Bible says on both subjects,” replied Simon. “Evidently you are not.”

  “That's enough, Simon,” said Gold ominously.

  “But you above all people should have forbidden this!” complained Simon.

  “It's not up to me to forbid it,” said Gold. “Your mother is a free agent. Besides, this is a very little thing, and it makes her happy—or at least it did until a minute ago.”

  “There is no such thing as a little sin,” said Simon. “Something is either sinful or it's not.”

  “But there is such a thing as free will,” said Gold. “And if this is what your mother wishes to do, then I support her right to do it.”

  “And you don't disapprove?”

  “I preferred it the old way,” said Gold. “So what?”

  “If you won't correct your own wife, what gives you the right to try to correct Vainmill?” said Simon.

  “Since you insist on speaking about me as if I weren't here, I'll make it easier for you,” said Corinne angrily. She took her grandson's hand. “Come along, Jeremy. You didn't come here to watch your uncle start a family fight.” She turned on her heel and left the room, half-pulling Jeremy behind her.

  “I think you owe her an apology,” said Christina.

  “I think she owes one to God,” said Simon.

  “You're both wrong,” said Gold. He waited until he had their attention. “Your mother owes no one an apology. But you, Simon, have made a very decent woman unhappy. I think it's you who owes God the apology.”

  “Do you think God wants her painting her face and wearing her hair like that?” said Simon. “If you truly do, then I'll apologize to all parties involved.”

  Gold sighed. “We lead a harsh, spare existence, Simon. I know that your mother likes music, and yet she willingly cut herself off from it when our doctrine
was modified. She is a voracious reader, and yet our religion severely limits her choice of reading matter.”

  He paused. “Most men of my stature have impressive houses and a multitude of luxuries that go along with them; but because we pass most of our personal income on to the needy, we live in this apartment, we use public transportation, and when something breaks we repair it rather than replace it. Your mother has precious few frivolous pleasures in her life; why not allow her this one?”

  “You didn't answer my question,” said Simon.

  “Surely you don't equate her hairdo with Vainmill's treatment of aliens or ownership of the Velvet Comet?” said Gold.

  “You still didn't answer me: Do you think God wants her wearing makeup and styling her hair?”

  Gold stared at his son and sighed again. “No,” he admitted at last. “No, I don't.”

  “Then I'll make no apology.”

  “And you wonder why Bob refuses to join us for dinner!” said Christina.

  “The truth makes him uncomfortable,” said Simon.

  “You make him uncomfortable,” replied Christina. “There's not an ounce of compassion in you.”

  “Your husband and I were both raised as Jesus Pures,” said Simon. “The only difference is that I don't make any compromises with my beliefs.”

  “Neither does he!” she shot back heatedly.

  “Oh, come on,” said Simon. “He eats meat, he sings, he works on the Sabbath, he —”

  “That's not fair!” snapped Christina. “You know why he does those things. He's an exobiologist: he spends a considerable amount of his time in the field with aliens. There are some races that can only communicate musically, just as there are some that would be offended if he didn't share their food with them.”

  “That's no excuse for behaving contrary to the dictates of his religion.”

  “Why, you pompous ass!” she exploded. “You sit around beating your breast about our shabby treatment of aliens, and when somebody actually goes out and tries to do something about it, you climb into you pulpit and condemn him! I don't have to listen to this kind of drivel!”

  She walked out of the room.

  “Do you plan to drive me out of the room, too?” inquired Gold dryly. “Or do you think you might calm down a little?”

  “I'm perfectly calm,” answered Simon.