Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (19 page)

“He's not a stupid man. If there was a way of shutting Gold up, he'd have come up with it before now. My guess is that he'll wait to see what Gold says before he makes a move.”

“Who knows?” said Attila, downing his drink in a single swallow. “Maybe he won't have to do anything at all. Maybe Gold will take him off the hook by grabbing one of the faeries right in front of ten million viewers.”

“It's a possibility,” she agreed.

Attila looked surprised. “I was just joking,” he said.

“I wasn't,” answered the Steel Butterfly.

“I had no idea the auditorium was so large,” remarked Robert Gilbert as he followed Christina and Simon down the long aisle to their seats, which were in a roped-off area reserved for VIPs and Gold's family.

The huge stage, surrounded by half a dozen audio and holographic technicians, was currently occupied by two of Gold's subordinates, who were leading the enormous congregation in prayer.

“Ordinarily we use a much smaller one,” answered Simon. “But given the importance of this broadcast, I decided to arrange for the biggest building we could get.”

“I don't know if that was such a good idea,” said Robert, frowning.

“Certainly it was,” said Simon confidently. “Father has been working around the clock on this sermon. He's barely emerged long enough to eat.”

“I wasn't referring to your father,” said Robert. “I was thinking about the Andricans.”

“What about them?” asked Simon as the three of them finally reached their seats.

“They're not used to crowds like this.”

It was Simon's turn to frown. “You should have told me earlier.”

“I didn't know what kind of facility you were using until five minutes ago,” answered Robert.

“Why don't both of you calm down?” said Christina. “Father's not nervous, so why should you be? If the faeries are upset or frightened, he'll find some way to reassure them and calm them down, just the way he always used to do for Simon and me when
we
were afraid of something.”

“I hope you're right,” said Robert.

“I am,” she replied firmly. “So just relax, and prepare to watch the beginning of the end of the Vainmill Syndicate.”

Robert stared at her for a moment. “You don't seriously believe anything he says tonight is going to bring Fiona Bradley's little empire crumbling down, do you?”

“If
you
didn't think so, why did you agree to bring the Andricans?” demanded Simon.

“Because I hoped it might help gain the
Velvet Comet
's Andricans their freedom. I'll be happy to settle for just that and nothing more.”

“It will,” said Simon decisively.

“Maybe,” answered Robert. “But there's an awfully big difference between getting two aliens released from involuntary servitude aboard the
Comet
and destroying the biggest financial empire in the Republic.”

“We'll dismantle it stone by stone,” said Simon. “This is just the first step.”

“If you say so,” replied Robert, obviously unconvinced. He turned to Christina. “I think I'd better check on the Andricans. I left them with one of my assistants. I don't even know if they're here yet.”

“Relax, Robert,” said Christina soothingly. “Of course they're here. If they weren't you'd have been notified.”

“I suppose so,” he said uneasily. “But I think I'd better go backstage anyway, and let them know what they're in for. I told them they'd probably be in a holo studio with an audience of a couple hundred or so.”

“Will you really feel better if you talk to them?” asked Christina resignedly.

“Yes, I will,” he said, getting to his feet and walking up to an usher, who listened to him for a moment then nodded his head and led him to a door marked NO ENTRANCE in the corner of the immense auditorium.

“He seems very nervous tonight,” remarked Simon to his sister.

“He's worried about the faeries. He feels responsible for them.”

“I hope he gets back before Father begins speaking.”

“How soon is he due to begin?” asked Christina.

Simon checked his timepiece. “About five minutes.”

“I'm sure he'll be back by then.” She paused. “You know, I think he's only heard Father in person two or three times; we've spent most of our married life out among alien civilizations. I hope this particular sermon lives up to its advance billing.”

“It will,” Simon assured her. “I've never seen Father so absorbed before.”

Gold's subordinates finished and left the stage, and the audience began conversing in low whispers while the holo technicians made their final sound and lighting checks.

“Where's Robert?” muttered Simon, staring at the NO ENTRANCE sign. “If he doesn't hurry, he's going to miss the beginning.”

“He'll be here,” said Christina.

“He'd better be,” said Simon. “I'm sure Father will notice if he's missing, and I don't want anything to disturb him tonight.”

“I told you, he'll —” She broke off as Robert came back through the doorway, looked around for a moment, got his bearings, and began walking toward them. “Satisfied?” she whispered triumphantly.

Simon grunted an acquiescence, and a moment later Robert took his seat.

“How are they?” asked Christina.

“Nervous,” he replied. “I think they'll be all right, though.”

“Why shouldn't they be?” asked Simon.

“They don't know what's expected of them. They just arrived ten or fifteen minutes ago, and your father hasn't briefed them yet.”

“Stop fretting,” said Christina. “Everything will be just fine.”

Before Robert could answer, Thomas Gold, carrying a leather-bound Bible under his left arm, walked out onto the stage, and the audience suddenly fell silent.

“My God, he looks awful!” whispered Robert, staring at his gaunt, black-clad father-in-law.

“Be quiet!” hissed Simon, glaring at Robert for a moment before turning back to watch his father.

“Good evening,” said Gold in his rich baritone voice. “I'm very pleased to see that so many of you could be here with me tonight.”

He looked out at the audience until his gaze fell on Christina, Robert, and Simon. He smiled at them, then looked back into the center camera. “Ordinarily I'd begin this sermon as I have begun so many others,” said Gold, “with a parable from the Bible. It's an old and time-honored method of propounding a moral position which can then be applied to a present problem. Ordinarily I would borrow from the words of Jesus, and show how they apply to each and every one of us.” He held the Bible up. “Ordinarily I would bring the collective wisdom of this book to bear on any subject matter.”

He paused, and glared into the camera.

“But that presupposes that the perpetrators of evil have read the Bible, that they haven't traded it in for a business ledger.” He looked out over the audience again. “I don't have to quote the Bible to
you
,” he continued. “You read it every day, and believe implicitly in its moral precepts.” He paused. “What, then, am I to do? Shall I force my way into the corporate offices of the Vainmill Syndicate or the sin-filled bedrooms of the
Velvet Comet
, Bible in hand, demanding that they listen to me?” He shook his head regretfully, and sighed deeply. “Well, to tell you the truth, I'd do just that, if I thought it would do any good. But the simple fact that the
Velvet Comet
continues to hold its Andrican slaves in bondage is ample proof that nobody connected with that ship of shame has the slightest acquaintance with the Bible.”

Gold fell silent for a moment, as if considering his next statement.

“But the fact that Vainmill and the
Velvet Comet
continue to ignore the teachings of the Good Book doesn't mean that we, in turn, have to ignore Vainmill and the
Velvet Comet
,” he went on. “They may turn their back upon the Word, but we will not reciprocate and turn a blind eye upon their evil practices. They may seek the darkness, but we shall continue to turn the light of the Lord upon them. They can deny, but the truth will seek them out.”

“He's rambling a bit,” whispered Robert.

“I haven't noticed it,” replied Christina defensively.

Gold continued speaking, working himself into a rage over Vainmill's abuses of the Andricans without explicitly identifying those abuses, drawing out each metaphor interminably.

“Brilliant!” murmured Simon. “Brilliant!”

Robert merely leaned forward on his chair and continued listening.

“For weeks I have spoken about these poor enslaved creatures,” Gold was saying. “No, not creatures,” he amended quickly, “but sentient beings as intelligent as you or I.” He frowned. “You or
me
,” he corrected himself. He stopped as if momentarily confused, then continued: “I've spoken about them, and lectured you about them, and talked about them—but up until now you haven't had the opportunity to see one of them with your own eyes. You haven't seen the vulnerability, or the compassion, or the —” he searched for the right word “— the
humanity
of these fellow beings. You haven't heard them.” He stopped abruptly. “Oh, yes, you've heard
some
of them, two of them in fact—that is, you heard them if you watched what was ludicrously called a documentary that was broadcast a few weeks ago. But what you heard were carefully written, carefully rehearsed comments from two Andricans who were forced into appearing in the so-called documentary.”

“How long did you say he worked on this sermon?” asked Robert, frowning.

“Constantly for the past four days,” answered Christina.

“Well, you sure can't prove it by me,” said Robert. “What's the matter with him? He's rambling and digressing and using the wrong words, and his delivery is —”

“Hush!” snapped Simon.

“So tonight I am going to introduce you to a pair of
real
Andricans,” Gold continued. “You're going to see just what we've been talking about—what
I've
been talking about. You're going hear their comments.”

He stopped again. “Of course, you know I mean their
translated
comments. And unlike the carefully scripted mock documentary that Vainmill foisted upon the public, this documentary—this
sermon
—is totally unrehearsed. I have never seen or spoken to these two Andricans, or indeed to
any
Andricans except for the poor imprisoned creatures who have been forced to work aboard the
Velvet Comet
.” He turned and nodded to someone who was standing in the wings, and a moment later the two faeries, one male and one female, walked slowly, timorously, out onto the stage.

Gold watched them intently as the camera followed their progress. Finally they came to a halt about six feet from him, looking very uneasy, and stared up at him. He remained motionless, almost catatonic, for the better part of a minute. Finally the nearest cameraman's wild gesticulations caught his attention, and he suddenly remembered his audience.

“You see how small they are,” he said. “How frail and defenseless, how tiny and vulnerable, how childlike and innocent.”

He went on, his speech broken by awkward pauses, describing in profuse detail what the audience could plainly see for itself. Then came the interview, which was even more disjointed.

“What's the matter with him?” whispered Robert, his voice filled with concern. “He's white as a ghost.”

“His hands are shaking, too,” noted Christina. She turned to her brother. “He's ill, Simon. We should never have let him go through with this.”

“He'll come through it all right!” whispered Simon furiously. “His timing's a little off, that's all.”

“He looks like he's going to collapse any minute, and all you can say is that his timing's a little off?” demanded Robert.

“He's Thomas Gold!” repeated Simon, more to himself than to Robert. “He's Thomas Gold, and nothing can stop him from delivering the Word and smiting down his enemies!”

He turned back to the stage and stared intently at his father, as if he could force an end to the broken sentences and agonizing pauses by the sheer force of his will.

Gold continued speaking with the faeries for another three minutes, then ushered them offstage and returned to face his audience.

He stared at them, his eyes unfocused, for a long minute. Then he drew himself up to his full height, cleared his throat, and began speaking.

“It is said that the meek will inherit the Earth. Certainly no race can be said to be meeker ... more meek ... than the Andricans, and they have no desire to inherit the Earth. All they want is to live in peace and freedom on their own planet. And yet two among them...”

He spoke on and on, and suddenly, after another lengthy pause, he seemed to pull his thoughts together. The last five minutes of his sermon constituted a harsh and well-reasoned attack on the
Velvet Comet
. There were only ten Commandments, he pointed out, ten moral laws from which all human jurisprudence and social custom had derived.

One by one he went through them, pointing out in outraged detail how the
Comet
had either broken them or led its misguided clientele into breaking them. He concluded with a righteous demand that Vainmill release the Andricans immediately.

“Well?” asked Robert, turning to Christina.

“He's not himself,” she said.

“I just don't know,” answered Robert. “I would have agreed with you right up to the point when the Andricans left the stage, but those last few minutes were like the Thomas Gold of old. His voice was strong, his gestures were right, he had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. If he can think on his feet like that, maybe he's not as sick as I thought. Maybe he just had an off night.”

There was a momentary silence, and they became uncomfortably aware of thousands of voices whispering the very same doubts about Gold's physical condition.

“He didn't think on his feet,” Simon said finally, expression puzzled. “He
remembered
on his feet.”

“I don't think I understand you,” said Robert.

“That discourse on the Ten Commandments,” answered Simon. “He gave the same sermon, word for word about six years ago. It wasn't directed at the
Comet,
of course—he was attacking the Quantrell Conglomerate just after they had broken the miners’ strike on Brazos II—but except for that, it was identical.”