Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (2 page)

“It's impressive, I'll grant you that,” remarked Gold, glancing around the foyer with a mixture of fascination and distaste. “I can't help wondering what good some of the money that was spent decorating this place might have done out on the frontier worlds.”

The Steel Butterfly shook her head as a waiter approached them. “Vainmill has a number of projects on the Inner Frontier,” she replied, raising her voice to be heard over the conversations of the clustered patrons.

“Nonsense,” said Gold, glaring at a middle-aged woman, laden with diamonds and a dress that was just a bit too small for her, as she inadvertently bumped into him. “I was born in the Meritonia System. I
saw
what they did, and I've been fighting them ever since.”

“You're referring to the affair on New Capri?” she asked.

“Among other things.”

“I thought they made restitution for that.”

“How do you make restitution for wiping out an entire alien population?” he demanded.

“I understand that it was accidental,” said the Steel Butterfly.

“Destroying a populated planet's ecology so you can turn it into a giant smelting plant is hardly accidental,” said Gold passionately. “Not that New Capri is the only example of Vainmill's venality. Their exploitation of alien races out on the frontier is well documented.”

“And yet, here you are at Vainmill's most luxurious showplace,” noted the Steel Butterfly with a smile.

“Every sinner has a cross to bear,” replied Gold. “I'm Vainmill's,” he added purposefully.

“It might not look that way to the casual observer,” she said dryly.

“Of course not,” he agreed. “I never said Vainmill was stupid; just evil. This whole charity festival was arranged solely to get me up here this weekend.”

“It sounds to me, Doctor Gold, as if you're guilty of the sin of pride. We're giving the weekend's earnings to fifteen different churches and charities.”

“Not pride; just realism. Everything else is window dressing. I'm the one who's been attacking them from the pulpit for the past five years; I'm the one they set this up for.”

“Then why did you come?” she asked curiously, stepping aside to let a group of eight patrons and their companions pass by.

“Because I can't be bought off—though I'm perfectly willing to let them try,” he replied. “Make a ten-million-credit contribution to the Church of the Purity of Jesus Christ every day, and I'll be up here to hand out a trophy to the owner of the winning horse every day. Make it twenty, and I'll take the Lodin XI ambassador's place at the raffle and draw the winning number.”

“I would have thought you'd frown upon such unclean money,” remarked the Steel Butterfly.

“The uses I put it to will cleanse it.”

“Then you should be the happiest man on the
Comet
.”

“My dear woman,” he said, “I don't underestimate your intelligence; please don't underestimate mine.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Do you think I don't know that you have half a dozen cameras trained on me as I stand here speaking to the most famous madam in the Republic, or that my followers won't be subjected to numerous holographs of me surrounded by Vainmill executives and suggestively-clad prostitutes?”

He drew himself up to his full height, a look of contempt crossing his face. “Does Vainmill think they've bought me off? Do they really think my people can't see through this ruse as easily as I can? I arrived in a state of Grace, and I will leave in a state of Grace. A little humiliation is a small price to pay for the good that that money can do. Jesus, too, walked among sinners; I can do no less.” He paused, and seemed to relax. “So I'll preside at your horserace, and I'll distribute your money to the needy, and I'll let Vainmill prove their virtue by shutting down the
Velvet Comet
—and I'd love to see Plaga's face when he hears my sermon next Friday.”

“Just a moment,” said the Steel Butterfly. “What was that you just said about shutting down the
Comet
?”

“I said that it won't do them a bit of good,” he replied firmly. “The
Comet
is just a symptom; Vainmill is the disease.”

“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.”