Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (10 page)

“Never!” yelled Gold. “I am a man of God!”

“You know, Tom,” said the imp, “I could make you a group price on all eight.”

“Buy all eight,” said Oberon enticingly.

Titania licked her lips slowly. “Violate,” she whispered.

“Once you've had them, the mystery will be gone,” said the imp, with the air of one who knew. “The urge will vanish, the flesh will be slave to the spirit once more, and you can destroy the ship—annihilate it.”

“Buy all eight,” urged Oberon.

“Violate,” breathed Titania.

“Annihilate,” promised the imp.

“Buy all eight, violate, annihilate,” chanted the faeries.

“Buy all eight, violate, annihilate,” they sang over and over again.

“Stop it!” Gold managed to scream.

“Come on, Thomas,” said Titania, striking an obscene pose. “There's nothing to it but to do it.”

“I can't!” cried Gold. “I took a vow of fidelity!”

“But you come here every night after Corinne is asleep,” persisted Titania.

“Never!” said Gold.

“Every night since we first met,” said Titania. “You may not remember it, but we do.”

“Bring Corinne along next time,” said Oberon with a knowing leer. “We can all have a party.”

“No!” screamed Gold. “This has got to stop!”

“Then leave,” said the imp, vastly amused.

Gold tried to move and found that he was still paralyzed.

“I can't,” he said miserably.

“Then you'll just have to take the consequences,” said the imp, licking his lips and fondling his penis again.

“Do you like my eyes?” asked Titania.

“My size?” asked Oberon proudly.

“My thighs?” asked Titania.

“My lips?” asked Oberon.

“My hips?” asked Titania.

“Oh, God, leave me alone!” whispered Gold, hoping they wouldn't hear him.

Titania approached him. “Just relax and enjoy,” she crooned, running her hands over his body.

“Even if it's immoral,” added Oberon, joining her.

“Oh, yes, it's immoral,” agreed Titania, brushing her lips across Gold's.

“But enjoyable,” said Oberon.

“Enjoyable,” whispered Titania.

“But immoral,” whispered Oberon.

“What will people say when they find out?” asked Gold. “What will they think of me? What will Corinne think?”

“No one will ever know,” said Titania, kneeling down in front of him.

“I'll know. Even after I wake up, I'll know.”

“The way you lie to yourself?” laughed the imp.

“This time I'll know,” said Gold with conviction.

“Fat chance,” said the imp.

“And God will know,” said Gold, suddenly more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

“Then we'll invite Him to the party too,” said Oberon, kneeling down behind him.

“No!” said Gold, horrified, as the faeries’ hands and mouths continued to explore his body. “This is wrong!”

“What has right or wrong got to do with it?” asked the imp. “All that matters is that this is what you want.”

“No! It's not what I want! It can't be what I want!”

“Then why do you keep coming back here night after night?”

“I don't!”

“You don't what?”

“I don't know!” moaned Gold.

“I do,” giggled Titania. “It's the same reason you think about us for hours every day.”

“Every day,” echoed Oberon.

“Hours and hours,” said Titania.

“Every day,” said the faeries.

“I don't!”

“You do,” persisted the imp.

“Hardly ever,” said Gold, trembling.

“All the time,” said the imp. “Would you like to know the reason why?”

“NO!” screamed Gold.

“What's the reason?” asked the faeries.

“What is it, Thomas?” asked Oberon.

“What is it, Thomas?” asked Titania.

"What is it what is it what is it?” demanded the faeries.

“What is it, Thomas?” asked Corinne, shaking him by the shoulder.

Gold sat up, his nightclothes drenched with sweat.

He looked around, panic-stricken, and as he slowly realized where he was his breathing gradually became normal.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Just a bad dream,” he managed to mutter, painfully aware of the fact that he had an erection. He kept his legs bent beneath the covers so that Corinne wouldn't notice it.

“You've been having them for more than a week, Thomas,” she said, her voice and face reflecting deep concern. “Perhaps you should see a doctor.”

“I'll be all right.”

“But —”

“No!” he shouted. Then he realized he had yelled at her, and he touched her hand, feeling none of the electricity at the contact of flesh upon flesh that he had felt in his dream. “I'm sorry. I'm still waking up.”

“Can I get you anything?” asked Corinne.

“No,” he said, swinging his feet to the floor as he felt his erection beginning to subside. “I guess I've just been working too hard.”

“A sleeping pill, perhaps?” she suggested.

He had to restrain himself from yelling at her again.

“No, thank you,” he said, forcing a tight smile to his lips. “I don't think I want to go back to sleep just now.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, I guess I'll put on my robe and sit up with you,” she said, getting up and starting to walk to the closet.

“Don't bother,” he said. “I'll be all right, I assure you.”

“It's no bother, Thomas,” she replied. “I love you. I'm happy to do it.”

“I know,” said Gold. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, then looked down ruefully at his nightclothes. “I'm soaked,” he said. “I think I'd better take a shower.”

“Will you be coming back to bed then?” asked Corinne.

“'Not right away. I'll probably do a little reading.”

“But it's the middle of the night.”

“I'm not sleepy. I think I heard once that keeping unusual hours was one of the banes of late middle age.”

“I never heard that,” said Corinne.

“Well, I think it's going to be the bane of
mine
for the time being.”

She looked at him. “I'm worried about you, Thomas.”

He walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “Just pray for me,” he said. “I'll be fine.”

He folded his robe over his arm, left the bedroom, ordered the door to close behind him, and walked down a short hallway to the apartment's single bathroom. He commanded the door to shut and lock behind him, ordered the shower to activate, and took off his nightclothes.

He stepped into the shower, scrubbed his body thoroughly, avoiding contact with his genitals, rinsed himself, muttered “Off,” and reached for a towel as the flow of water subsided.

As he dried himself, he dared a look into the mirror and found, almost to his surprise, that he hadn't sprouted horns and a tail since dinner. He leaned closer to the mirror and studied the face that stared out at him. It was gaunt and strong, with frank brown eyes and a jawline that had become accentuated over the years. He looked for signs of the weakness that he feared, but couldn't detect it. It was just a face like any other, a little more distinctive perhaps, but in no way unique.

He sighed, donned his robe, ran a comb halfheartedly through his hair, and ordered the door to open. He walked to the kitchen, decided that he wasn't hungry after all, and wandered into the living room.

He picked up a large, leather-bound copy of the Bible from its wooden book stand—most of his literature was in the computer's library bank, but he liked the heft and feel of the Bible—and sat down in his favorite easy chair.

He thumbed through it aimlessly, reading a paragraph here and there, unable to concentrate on anything until he came to the Song of Solomon, and when he suddenly realized that he had been reading it with rapt attention he slammed the book shut and replaced it on the stand.

He checked the kitchen again, found that he still wasn't hungry, and began wandering through the apartment, reading the various plaques and commendations he had received from the Jesus Pures and other religious organizations, staring thoughtfully at the numerous holographs of himself addressing his congregation or his vast video audience.

And finally, when he had examined every inch of the kitchen and the dining room and the living room and the hallways, and was sure that Corinne was asleep, he walked to the apartment's other bedroom, which had been converted into a study, activated the computer, and sat down to prepare his sermon. He made three or four false starts, erased them all, and finally decided, with a growing tension in his loins, that he would have to study the material from Delvania once more before he could determine the best way to incorporate it into his broadcast.

The contracts were easy, of course; he would display them for half a minute or so, explain the more onerous clauses, and then turn them over to his legal staff to see if they were actually valid or if there was a chance that the courts might overturn them.

The training sessions were another matter, however.

There was some awfully strong footage in there, some things that people who were morally weaker than himself had no right to see. Probably the best thing to do was review it thoroughly and decide what could and could not be disseminated to the masses.

With an unsteady voice, he ordered the computer to bring the training sessions up for his dispassionate analysis.

He spent the next two hours staring, unblinking, at the holographic images.

“Welcome back, Tom,” said the imp. “We've been waiting for you.”

“What am I doing here?” demanded Gold, lowering his hands to hide the evidence of his arousal.

“You fell asleep at the computer,” answered the imp with an amused laugh.

“Where's the unicorn?” asked Gold. “The one that looks like the racehorse?”

“He's not in this dream.”

“But he's always here,” protested Gold. “I want to ride him.”

“I thought you couldn't remember your dreams, Tom,” said the imp.

“Now I can,” said Gold, flustered.

“Well, we seem to be cutting out the preliminaries this time—but don't ask me why. After all, it's your dream, not mine.”

“Where are they?” asked Gold, trying to hide his eagerness.

“Where are who?” asked the imp with a grin.

“You know.”

“No I don't, Tom,” answered the elf teasingly. “Tell me who you're talking about.”

“I can't.”

“Then I can't help you.”

“You've got to!” said Gold desperately. “Corinne will wake me up any minute!”

“All right, Tom,” said the imp. “Because I'm your friend, I'll help you out. Just tell me who you want to see and what you want them to do when they get here.”

’”I can't.”

“Sure you can. It's written all over your face already.”

“Please don't make me do it!” begged Gold.

“No choice, Tom. You'd better hurry up—I think Corinne's starting to stir.”

And Gold, tears of humiliation running down his face, told the imp exactly what he wanted to happen next, and prayed that God's attention was momentarily directed elsewhere.

Richard Constantine stepped out of the elevator and into Fiona Bradley's new office, which was on the 140th floor of the Vainmill Building. A polished buttonwood desk, the largest he had ever seen, dominated the room. There were six chairs, all more comfortable than the ones on the eighty-sixth floor, and a number of ashtrays as well—another thing that had been missing from the former chairman's office. The beige carpet was plush and deep, and one of the interior walls housed a functional fireplace, one of the few he had seen on Deluros VIII, where wood was in short supply and environmentalists were in political ascendancy. A long section of one wall had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows, affording a view of the city very similar to that in Fiona's apartment two floors above.

He checked his timepiece to make sure that he wasn't early, shrugged, and began looking at some of the memorabilia on the walls. There were holographs of Fiona, at various stages of her career, usually in the company of some political or financial celebrity, as well as holos of her long-dead husband and two grown sons. On a shelf to the left of the fireplace was a leather-bound copy of the financial thesis that had earned her her doctorate; it was flanked by the diploma itself, and a plaque declaring her to be the honorary governor of Gamma Leporis IX, a mining world which had been abandoned until she found a way to make it profitable.

He was still examining holographs and certificates when Fiona entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Richard,” she said. “I hope I haven't kept you waiting.”

“Only a couple of minutes,” he said.

“I had a meeting with the head of Manufacturing, and it went a little long,” said Fiona. “We have some truly remarkable projects in the works,” she added enthusiastically.

Constantine waited for her to sit down, and then sought out a chair for himself.

“Well, are you acquainting yourself with Entertainment and Leisure?” asked Fiona.

He nodded. “You'll get my first set of recommendations sometime tomorrow.”

“What's your analysis of the division's general health?”

He shrugged. “It's not as good as I'd like, and not as bad as I feared. There are five executives I want to release, and two more I think we should promote. And Rimwork—our video network out on the Rim—is probably beyond salvage.”

“You're sure?” she asked.

“Well, given our financial resources I suppose nothing is ever really beyond salvage. But I don't think saving it is worth the money and effort it would take.”

“I'll look forward to seeing your report.”

“The figures are being prepared right now. Oh, and thank you for the pay raise.”

“Additional responsibilities require additional compensation,” she replied. She smiled wryly. “By the same token, I think I agreed a little too quickly to my own salary and stock options. There's more to this job than even
I
suspected.” She paused. “In fact, I'm afraid I can only give you about twenty minutes of my time. I've still got to meet with Accounting before I go to that banquet tonight.”

“Then I'll get right to the point. Did you hear Tom Gold's sermon last night?”