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

“Then perhaps they're looking for your fatal flaw,” she suggested. “Everybody has one, you know—even you.”

“True,” he agreed, stepping out into the Mall. “But whatever mine may be,” he continued confidently, “I think I can safely state that the last place it's likely to manifest itself is aboard the
Velvet Comet
.”

There was carefully spread dirt as far as the eye could see.

“Watch your step,” cautioned the Steel Butterfly, as they skirted a temporary restraining rail and made their way to a slidewalk.

“Just how big is this place?” asked Gold, looking off into the distance but unable to see the end of the Mall.

“A little over two miles,” she replied. “Both sides are lined with shops and boutiques from here to the main airlock, which is about two-thirds of the way down the strip. Past the airlock are storage areas, our hospital, maintenance supplies, Security headquarters, and some more stores.” She turned to him and smiled.

“We even have a non-denominational chapel. Perhaps you'd like to visit it?”

“I think I'll forgo the privilege,” said Gold as he reached the crowded slidewalk and stepped onto it.

“They ought to make these things wider,” he muttered as a pair of young women brushed by him and got off at a shop that specialized in garments made from the skins of alien animals.

“See this parquet flooring?” said the Steel Butterfly, pointing to a ten-foot strip between the slidewalk and the restraining rail. “We left a strip bare so that the dirt couldn't get into the slidewalk mechanism. Actually, it goes all the way across the middle of the Mall to the other slidewalk—when it's not covered by racetrack, that is. Many of our patrons prefer walking to riding.” She looked distastefully at the makeshift track and sighed. “I certainly don't envy Maintenance. They're going to have to clean up three hundred tons of this stuff.”

“That much?”

“It seems a shame to use it only once,” commented the Steel Butterfly, as the slidewalk took them past a trio of boutiques, an antique shop, and a brokerage house. As they approached a shop that sold imported flowers, she saw a video technician perched atop a ladder, positioning a holographic camera.

“What's the problem up there?” she asked him, as she and Gold stepped off the slidewalk when it reached the flower shop. “I thought everything was supposed to be ready by last night.”

“They moved the finish line,” answered the man with a grimace. “Evidently it takes racehorses quite a while to come to a stop, and they didn't want them running into any walls. So now all the cameras have to be repositioned.”

“Where's the finish line now?” asked the Steel Butterfly.

“About three hundred yards farther from the Resort than it was. We've already moved the grandstand and the presentation platform.”

“Can't they just run a shorter distance?”

The man shrugged. “I must have spent an hour arguing that very point with their trainers. You would have thought I had suggested vivisecting them. The gist of it is that a mile and a quarter was the classic distance the first time they lived, and that's what they've been conditioned to run.” He paused. “It's a pain in the ass. You'd think animals as famous as these two would be more adaptable.”

She turned back to Gold as the two of them stepped back onto the slidewalk.

“You look disapproving,” she remarked.

“I have the distinct impression that it's against the laws of God and Nature,” he replied.

“The distance?” she asked with a laugh.

“The resurrection of these animals.”

“Against God's, perhaps, but not Nature's. Once science discovered DNA coding, it was only a matter of time before they started preserving cell samples in liquid nitrogen against the day they could reproduce them.”

“I know how it's done,” he told her. “They've been wanting to reproduce Men that way for more than a century. So far we've been able to stop them from passing the necessary legislation.”

“So you prefer the way we do it aboard the
Comet
?”

“Don't be clever with me,” said Gold. “It's unbecoming.”

“I wasn't aware that the Jesus Pures had a monopoly on clever answers,” she said.

“On
correct
answers.”

The Steel Butterfly stared at him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

“Anyway,” she said, returning to what she hoped was a less controversial subject, “these were supposed to be the two best racehorses of their era. At least, the press has been going crazy all month long.” She paused. “I've never seen a horserace. I hope it's as exciting as they say.”

“One would think that there was more than enough excitement up here already,” said Gold caustically, as they passed an expensive lingerie shop.

Suddenly his attention was captured by two small figures emerging from an art gallery that specialized in paintings from Earth. “I wasn't aware that you allowed children aboard the
Velvet Comet
,” he said with a disapproving frown.

“We don't.”

“Then what are
those
?” he demanded, pointing to the undersized figures.

“Faeries,” she replied.

“That was a serious question.”

“It was a serious answer. Officially, they're members of the Andrican race of Besmarith II. But they look like they're right out of Spenser's
The Faerie Queene
, so that's what we call them.”

“I didn't realize that the
Velvet Comet
catered to aliens.”

She shook her head. “They're not patrons, Doctor Gold.”

“You mean they
work
here?”

“Perhaps you'd like to meet them. You might find them interesting.”

Before he could answer her, she had caught the aliens’ attention, and they approached her with an inhuman grace.

Each of them stood a few inches under five feet in height, with shimmering silvery skins, opalescent feathery hair, wide-set oversized sky-blue eyes, permanently arched eyebrows, pointed ears, and an overall look of almost mythic innocence to them. Only when they got to within ten feet could Gold discern that the smaller of the two was a male, while the other, whose budding breasts were barely visible beneath her translucent alien garment, was a female.

Neither possessed the hardened musculature of adults, though upon closer inspection it was obvious that they weren't quite children, either. They were barefoot, and Gold, when he could finally tear his curious gaze away from their faces, saw that their feet were three-toed and webbed.

“This is Oberon,” said the Steel Butterfly, gesturing to the male. “And this is Titania.”

Titania opened her mouth to say something; it came out as a series of melodic trilling whistles.

The Steel Butterfly frowned. “You forgot them again. How many times have I spoken to you about that?”

Titanic trilled again.

The Steel Butterfly turned to Gold. “They're continually leaving their translating devices behind,” she explained. “And while they may sound very pretty, no one can understand anything they're saying.”

“They seem to understand you.”

“Oh, they understand Terran perfectly. It's a much simpler language than Andrican. But they can't pronounce a word of it.” She turned back to the two pixie-like aliens. “All right—but as soon as the race is over, I want to see both of you with your devices.”

Oberon whistled something, making a fuller, deeper sound than had Titania, smiled boyishly at her, and then the two of them glided off, hand in hand.

“And humans actually have sex with them?” asked Gold, his expression a mixture of fascination and distaste.

“They've been among our most popular employees for the five years they've been working here.”

“Five years?” he repeated unbelievingly. “They look so...
fresh."

“I suppose that's why they're so popular. We've tried to recruit more members of their race, but so far we haven't had very much luck.”

“How did you come by these two?”

“I gather their family owed a considerable debt to Vainmill—it had something to do with some trade concessions in the Alphard Cluster—and this was the solution. They're brother and sister, though they don't view the relationship quite the same way that we do.”

“In other words,” said Gold coldly, “they've been
forced
to work here.”

The Steel Butterfly looked amused. “You'd have to force them to
stop
—which is why I can't understand why we've had such difficulty recruiting others of their race.”

“View it as a small triumph for morality,” said Gold. He continued staring as the petite aliens. “I've been fighting Vainmill over just this kind of exploitation for half my life. I know they still do it on the frontier worlds, but I never thought they'd have the unmitigated gall to think they could get away with this right here in the Deluros system!”

“I assure you, Doctor Gold—they are hardly being exploited. Their wages are substantial, and are on deposit in the
Comet
's bank.”

“Oh?” he said sharply. “What do they spend their money on?”

“I've no idea,” she replied. “Almost all of their needs are provided for.”

“Then I'll tell you,” he said. “They don't spend it on anything, because they have no more knowledge of human economics than they have of human morality. And when they leave, Vainmill will sit on their money for seven years and then take ten minutes getting a friendly judge to rule that the accounts are dead and that they are entitled to both the money and the accrued interest. I've seen them work this all across the Inner Frontier.”

“And what if they get an
un
friendly judge?” inquired the Steel Butterfly.

“They know the difference,” said Gold wryly. “They own a goodly number of them.”

“I'm afraid all of this is beyond my realm of experience,” said the Steel Butterfly, trying to end the discussion. “My job is running a brothel.”

“With pubescent children who haven't any idea what they're doing!”

“I repeat: they
are
adults.”

“They certainly don't look it—and I've no doubt that Vainmill capitalizes on that fact.” He paused. “In retrospect, I don't know why I'm so surprised; it was perhaps the only sin Vainmill hadn't yet committed. I just wonder that any of your clientele has the lack of shame to request them.”

“You'd be surprised at what some of our clientele have requested.”

“I certainly hope I would.” He paused. “You said you hadn't had any luck obtaining more of them?”

“I said we hadn't had
much
luck,” she corrected him. “There are six more at our training school.”

“You have a training school?” he asked, surprised.

She nodded. “I attended it myself before I came to work up here. It's run by a former madam named Suma. She must be, oh, in her eighties or nineties; the last time I saw her she was in rather poor health.”

“And what kind of deal did Vainmill make to get six more of them?”

“I really couldn't say.”

“Couldn't, or won't?”

“I meant what I said, Doctor Gold.”

“Is there any prostitution on the faeries’ home planet?”

“I've never heard any mention of it,” replied the Steel Butterfly.

“I can't say that I'm surprised.”

“I have a feeling that you're letting your religion color your viewpoint,” said the Steel Butterfly. “You remarked earlier that they were innocent. Might I suggest that the only thing they're innocent of is your particular notion of morality?”

“I have never forced my morality upon an alien race that was incapable of comprehending it,” said Gold. “But by the same token, Vainmill has no right to force its immorality on them.”

“Even if they enjoy it?” asked the Steel Butterfly.

“We were speaking about free will a moment ago,” said Gold. “If, after leaving the
Comet
, these two aliens were willing to return to it, they'll have made their choice and will pay their penalty in the hereafter—but for Vainmill to preempt that choice by making it for them is unacceptable.”

She sighed wearily but made no reply, and they rode the next fifty yards in silence.

Then Gustave Plaga stepped out of the reception foyer and began approaching them, walking rapidly on the narrow strip of exposed parquet flooring to bypass the crowded, slower-moving sidewalk. Gold and the Steel Butterfly also stepped onto the floor to greet him, and Gold spotted a number of Vainmill executives riding the slidewalk in his direction.

“I apologize for being gone so long, but it was unavoidable,” said Plaga, more to the madam than to Gold. “I trust you've been enjoying yourself, Doctor Gold?”

“
Enjoy
is not exactly the word I would choose,” replied Gold. “Let us say that I've found it quite enlightening.”

“The race is due to start in about twenty minutes,” said Plaga. “Why don't we take our seats now?”

Gold nodded his agreement, and they rode the slidewalk to the grandstand, which was only five rows deep but almost one hundred yards long, and fit neatly into the area between the retaining wall and the slidewalk. A few moments later they were seated in a comfortable box overlooking the finish line, directly adjacent to the presentation platform, where an ornate golden cup topped by a platinum racehorse was on display.

“I expected a larger crowd,” commented Gold, gesturing to the small groups of men and women who were slowly wending their way to the long, narrow, makeshift grandstand.

“Oh, we'll draw about four thousand people,” answered the Steel Butterfly.

“Where are they?”

“
I
would say they were enjoying the facilities.
You
would say they were sinning.”

“
You
would be wrong,” said Gold.

“Is there anything you haven't seen yet that you'd like us to show you?” asked Plaga.

“I think I've seen what I came to see.”

“Oh?”

“When I arrived here I wasn't quite sure of Vainmill's weakest link. Now, thanks to my little tour, I am.”

“You think you've found it up here?” asked Plaga, trying to keep the curiosity from his voice.

“No,” answered Gold. “I
know
I've found it up here.”

“May I ask just what you think you've discovered?”