Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Page 7

“You seem to be in a minority,” remarked Gold.

  “I will ask you again: was anything I said false?”

  “No.

  “Well, then?”

  “Simon, I agree with you that there are no degrees of sin,” began Gold. “One either breaks God's laws or one doesn't. But there are degrees of commitment.”

  “Commitment?” asked Simon, puzzled.

  “Commitment,” repeated Gold. “None of us is perfect. We all break God's laws, even you. But there is a clearly discernible difference between a Fiona Bradley, who has made a clear commitment to perpetuating Vainmill's corporate sins, and your mother and brother-in-law, who are well-intentioned but occasionally slip from Grace.”

  “All of them are wrong,” said Simon stubbornly.

  “True. But not all of them are evil. Jesus could differentiate between a Magdalene and the Pharisees; I think it's about time you learned to do the same. When your mother wears makeup every day, or Robert eats steak and sings songs when he is not in the company of aliens, that will be ample time to condemn their souls to everlasting perdition.”

  “And if you don't stop Mother now, then the day will come when she paints her face every morning.”

  “I sincerely doubt it,” said Gold. “And if she does, then she will have made her choice and will have to suffer the consequences.”

  “Sin isn't quantitative or qualitative,” protested Simon. “It either exists or it doesn't—and if it does, then it must be condemned.” He began pacing back and forth. “I'm only quoting you, Father. This is what you've taught me all my life. This has been at the heart of every sermon you've ever given!”

  “I know,” said Gold.

  “Then why are we having this disagreement?”

  “Because God only created one perfect man, and I have a certain amount of compassion for those imperfect creatures that I happen to love.”

  “You love Robert?” said Simon sardonically. “Next you'll be telling me you love Fiona Bradley.”

  “No, I don't love Robert,” said Gold. “I hardly know him. But I love Christina, and he makes her happy. And I love Jeremy, and he helped to make Jeremy.”

  Simon shook his head. “By the same token, you have to love Robert's mother and father, since they created him. Or, to take a more interesting hypothesis, what if Robert has a mistress? If she makes him happy, then he in turn will be better disposed to make Jeremy happy. Should you love his mistress?”

  “Of course not. Each of us has to draw the line somewhere. I've drawn mine.”

  “And I mine,” said Simon stubbornly.

  Gold shook his head. “You've drawn a tight little circle that only has room for one person in it: Simon Gold. And I have a feeling you'll be harder on him than on anyone else when he finally falls from Grace.”

  “He doesn't have to fall,” replied Simon. “You didn't.”

  “I do every day,” said Gold. “The only difference between me and Fiona Bradley is that I regret it.”

  “There's another: you succeed in overcoming your weaknesses.”

  “Not always,” said Gold wryly. “In the heat of the moment I even made a bet on the horserace.”

  “So you told me,” said Simon. “I think that supports my argument about the Velvet Comet. If even Thomas Gold could fall prey to its siren song, then no moral man should ever set foot aboard it.”

  “Perhaps you're right,” said Gold after some consideration.

  “We'll discuss it further after dinner.” He got to his feet. “In the meantime, I think it's time you made peace with your mother and sister. I'm getting hungry.”

  “All right,” said Simon. He paused. “I really didn't mean to make her angry, you know.”

  “I know,” said Gold. He put his arm around his son's shoulders and had begun walking to the dining room when the house computer announced that there was someone without the lock combination at the front door. He began retracing his steps, only to find that Christina had gotten there ahead of him.

  “Who is it?” asked Gold after a moment, when nobody had entered the apartment.

  Christina turned to him with a puzzled expression.

  “She wouldn't leave her name. She just placed this in my hand and told me to make sure you got it.” She held up a small, flat package.

  Gold walked over and took the package from her, examining it for writing or coding and finding none.

  “What do you suppose it is?” she asked, curious.

  “Unless I miss my guess, it's the reason twenty-seven Jesus Pures were incarcerated on Delvania,” answered Gold.

  Her face reflected her interest. “Really?”

  “I can't imagine what else it could be,” replied Gold. “You're sure she didn't say anything else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did she look familiar?”

  “No.”

  Simon returned from the dining room. “What's going on?” he asked. His gaze fell on the package. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Probably,” said Gold.

  “Who delivered it?” continued Simon.

  “I don't know. She didn't leave her name, and Christina didn't recognize her.”

  “What's in it?” asked Christina. “What's all this about twenty-seven Jesus Pures being incarcerated?”

  “The Velvet Comet has a training school on Delvania,” began Gold.

  “A training school?” repeated Christina disbelievingly.

  Gold nodded. “And in this school, along with all the men and women, they have six Andricans.” He paused. “Somebody—probably a Jesus Pure, though we don't know that for sure—found a way to tap into their computer on Delvania, and lifted copies of their work contracts, as well as some footage of the more exotic training sessions they've been forced to undergo.

  Vainmill responded by arresting the entire Jesus Pure colony on the planet, though they released them a few hours later.”

  “You had nothing to do with this?” asked Christina.

  “Of course not,” said Gold. “I'm offended that you should think otherwise.”

  “I only asked because you know what's in it, and you don't seem very surprised that it was delivered to you.”

  “I know what's in it because a man named Gustave Plaga contacted me and accused me of having stolen it,” said Gold. “As for my lack of surprise at receiving it, I'm the logical person to give it to. I can make better use of it than anyone else can.” He stared at the package and frowned. “I don't approve of the means by which it came into my possession, but it could be just the thing I need to get those aliens off the Velvet Comet and out of the training school.”

  “I think you should return it,” said Simon.

  Gold shook his head. “I've been looking for something like this for five years.”

  “It's immoral material, immorally obtained,” said Simon. “If you have to stoop to Vainmill's level, then the battle is not worth winning.”

  “And what of the faeries?” demanded Gold. “Should I just let them continue to work as indentured prostitutes and forget about them?”

  “Of course not. But if you're to wage God's battle, you must fight by God's rules.”

  “God tells me to fight injustice wherever I find it,” responded Gold firmly. “That's just what I plan to do.”

  “I think you're making an enormous mistake,” said Simon.

  “I'd be making a less forgivable mistake if I have the means to free the Andricans from their servitude and do nothing about it.”

  “May I say something?” interjected Christina.

  “Go ahead,” said Simon. “Side with him.”

  “I think he's wrong,” she replied. Father and son both looked surprised.

  She turned to Gold. “This package contains stolen property. Since you had nothing to do with the theft of this material, your hands are clean. But the instant you try to use it, you might be legally culpable.”

  “It's a chance I'll have to take,” said Gold. “However, I doubt that they'll prosecute;
it would entail too much additional bad publicity. Besides, when I make it public, it will be analogous to a journalist making a story public—even to the point of maintaining the confidentiality of my source, whose name I truly don't know. What do you think, Simon?”

  “You know what I think.”

  “I mean about the legal ramifications.”

  “I'm more concerned with the moral ramifications,” said Simon.

  “If you see a number of men abusing a helpless child, and God places a sword in your hand, is it immoral to use it?” responded Gold.

  “God didn't put that package in your hand,” said Simon. “A common thief did.”

  “Or possibly a divinely inspired one,” said Gold.

  “God cannot want Vainmill to continue subjugating aliens. Possibly this entire chain of events was His doing.”

  “You don't know that.”

  “You don't know that it wasn't,” replied Gold. “I have been given the sword. I have to use it.”

  “You insist?” asked Simon.

  “I do.”

  “Then, if I can't dissuade you, at least let one of your subordinates examine the contents.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don't think you should be forced to subject yourself to scenes of sexual degradation.”

  “Nobody's forcing me,” said Gold. “But if I gave it to one of my assistants, I'd be forcing him.” He slipped the package into a pocket. “Try to wipe that look of consternation off your face. One would think that this”—he patted his pocket—“was Pandora's Box instead of Joshua's Trumpet.”

  “Let's hope it isn't,” said Simon.

  “It isn't,” Gold assured him. “Now let's have dinner—I'm famished. Christina, go into the kitchen and ask you mother to come out and join us.” He turned to Simon. “Personally, I don't care whether you apologize to your mother for your behavior or not—but she'd better think that you're apologizing.”

  Gold's children accompanied him to the dining room, where Jeremy was playing with an electronic toy. A moment later Simon was carefully explaining to his mother, in the exceptionally precise language he used for such occasions, just what it was that he hadn't meant, while Gold attacked his dinner and tried to ignore the sudden surge of excitement he felt at the thought of reviewing the material in the package.

  Chapter 5

  "Well, son of a bitch, it's old Good as Gold!"

  Gold emerged from the seemingly endless labyrinth he had been traversing and found himself in a strange, moonlit valley.

  Insects roared like carnivores, snakes whistled like birds, carnivores grazed on purple grass, mermaids slithered up trees, and gryphons with gills swam in a nearby brook.

  He looked down a long, tortuously twisting path and saw a small green imp sitting on the low-hanging limb of a gnarled tree.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

  “Calm down, Tom baby,” said the imp, taking a bite of an apple. “Otherwise you're going to have a stroke, and no doubt about it.”

  “I don't approve of your language,” said Gold severely.

  “Yeah?” retorted the imp. “Well, at least I'm wearing pants.”

  Gold inspected himself and found to his surprise that he was totally nude. He immediately raced behind a large flowering shrub to hide his nakedness, and bumped into a nude girl with transparent wings. She took one look at him, giggled, and flew away.

  “By the way,” said the imp, suddenly appearing beside him and swinging his enormous penis like a lariat, “I lied to you.”

  He flashed Gold a toothy grin. “Nobody wears pants around here.”

  “I guess nobody does,” agreed Gold, staring at a Homerically endowed blue gnome that popped into existence a few yards away.

  “Well, now that you're here, we've got things to do and places to go,” said the imp. “How are you at riding unicorns?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, there's only one way to find out.”

  Instantly Gold found himself atop a sleek, sweat-covered unicorn. It was dark, almost black, and seemed to fight against his restraint.

  “I've seen this one before,” said Gold. “In a race, I think.”

  “Anything's possible,” said the imp. “Especially around here.”

  “Anyway, I've seen him,” said Gold, as the dark unicorn began racing across the constantly changing landscape. Small trees swayed as he raced by them. “He was named for a city.”

  “Enjoying the ride?” asked the imp, now half his former size, perching on Gold's shoulder.

  “It feels ... good,” said Gold thoughtfully, concentrating on the muscular body that was moving rhythmically between his naked legs.

  “Hold still,” cautioned the imp.

  “But I have to move as the unicorn moves,” explained Gold patiently, matching the motions of his body to those of his mount. “Otherwise I'll fall off.”

  “You keep moving like that and you'll wake Corinne,” warned the imp.

  “Corinne? Where is she?”

  “Sleeping right next to you. Snoring her head off, as usual.”

  “I'll be quiet,” said Gold, still moving his body in rhythm with the racing unicorn.

  “Quiet's got nothing to do with it. You keep moving and you'll wake that frigid bitch up and then you'll never get where you're going.”

  “Don't talk about her like that!” snapped Gold. “She's my wife!”

  “Well, mercy me!” said the imp sarcastically. “Aren't we high and mighty tonight? The famous Thomas Gold can walk around naked and practically drill a hole in my favorite unicorn's neck, and I can't tell him the truth about his wife. A thousand pardons, sahib!”

  Gold found himself on the ground again, his body once again coming under his control.

  “All right, no unicorns,” he said regretfully. “What now?”

  “What do you suppose?”

  “I don't know,” said Gold.

  “You're a liar,” replied the imp.

  “I really don't know.”

  “If you really mean that, pinch yourself and maybe you'll wake up.”

  “No,” said Gold quickly, turning a bright red and desperately willing himself to remain asleep.

  “Then maybe I'll pinch you myself,” said the imp, reaching for Gold's groin.

  “No!” shrieked Gold, leaping back and sprawling on the grass.

  “Such concern!” said the imp mockingly. “I can't imagine why: you never use the damned thing anyway.”

  “I'll bet he does,” said a sultry voice, and Gold turned to find an enormous nude woman approaching him. Her breasts practically blotted out the sky: and her legs were covered by hand-painted directional arrows, all pointing to her genitals.

  “Help me!” Gold cried desperately, reaching his hand out to the imp.

  “Happy to,” said the imp. “I'll take the front, you take the back—or the other way around. Anything for a pal.”

  “Make her go away!”

  “Nothing to it,” said the imp, waving his hands in the air. “Abracadabra.”

  The enormous woman kept approaching.

  “Son of a bitch,” said the imp with a shrug. “That always worked before.”

  “Help me!” pleaded Gold again.

  “I thought God helped those who helped themselves,” remarked the imp with a grin. “Or is that all bullshit?”

  “Don't make fun of the Lord!” bellowed Gold. “That's blasphemous!”

  “My apologies,” said the imp with a sardonic bow. “I keep forgetting that you're a moral man.”

  Gold got to his feet and began running. As he did so, the ground became softer and softer, until he was mired in it up to his thighs. He looked back and could find no sign of the gigantic woman.

  “Well done, Tom,” said the imp, suddenly appearing on his shoulder again. “The Church Elders would have been proud of you.”

  “Get me out,” said Gold.

  “I can't.”

  “You
mean you won't,” said Gold bitterly, futilely attempting to move his legs.

  “Can't,” repeated the imp. “You're stuck here forever.”

  “But I ran away from her,” protested Gold. “I turned my back on temptation. It's not fair!”

  “Well, it's easy to be moral when a giant wants to use you as a dildo,” said the imp. “How are you with people your own size?”

  “I've been a good husband,” said Gold. “I've never cheated. I've never known any woman but Corinne.”

  “Lucky you,” said the imp, unimpressed. He waved a hand and a score of nude women appeared. “What do you think, Tom baby?”

  “I'm a God-fearing, moral man!” cried Gold. “I can't be having a dream like this!”

  “So you keep saying,” chuckled the imp.

  “Take them away!” said Gold, trying to ignore the sudden stirring in his loins.

  “Still too big for you?” asked the imp, as the women vanished. “How about something even smaller?” he suggested meaningfully.

  “No,” said Gold. “I'm a decent man. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “This isn't my dream, Tom baby; it's yours. I'm not doing a thing.” The imp seemed amused. “Now be honest with me: you want to see what comes next, don't you?”

  “No.”

  “Tell the truth and I'll let you out.”

  “Yes,” said Gold, feeling a secret excitement.

  Suddenly two more green imps appeared, one of each sex.

  “Beautiful, aren't they?” asked the imp.

  “They look like toads,” said Gold, strangely disappointed.

  “Toads croak, Tom,” said the imp. He nodded his head, and the two imps began whistling melodically.

  “I've heard it somewhere before,” said Gold. “It sounds beautiful.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Tom,” said the imp.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  Gold looked at the two imps again, and suddenly found himself staring at Oberon and Titania.

  “I see toads,” he lied. “I am a servant of God, and I see toads.”

  “Come closer, children,” said the imp, and the two faeries obeyed. “Now, take a good look at this, Tom,” continued the imp, running his hand over Titania's breasts. “Does this look like a toad to you? No warts at all.” He slid his hand down over her belly and inserted a finger into her vagina. She giggled and whistled a seductive tune. “Do you think I could do this to a toad, Tom?”