Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (14 page)

Titania peeked around the Steel Butterfly and made a delicate chirping sound.

“I won't harm you, child,” said Gold.

She made a large semicircle around him and walked to the elevator, gesturing for him to follow her. She continued to watch him warily as they descended to the storage level, then turned to her left and began walking. He fell into step behind her, hypnotized by the motion of her buttocks and wishing the distance to the airlock were even longer. Finally he forced himself to stare at the floor, and tried to bring forth a mental picture of Corinne—but his mind's paintbrush, after an initial approximation of her face, kept giving her pointed ears and silver skin and small, youthful breasts.

A few minutes later Titania stopped at the airlock, but Gold, his gaze still glued to the floor, continued walking. She ran after him, trilling rapidly, and grabbed his hand.

He felt as if an electric current had shot all the way up his arm, and he jumped back, wild-eyed and trembling. This in turn startled the faerie, who also leaped back. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she trilled again, visibly frightened, and pointed to the airlock.

He stared at it uncomprehendingly, and then the haze slowly lifted from his mind.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She forced a nervous smile and stepped back as he opened the door and walked into the airlock.

A few minutes later the private shuttle took off for Deluros VIII, with Gold as its sole passenger. He sat in the luxury section, his feet propped up on a cushioned footrest, his back muscles massaged by the almost imperceptible vibration of the seat. He stared dully at a viewscreen, his hand still tingling from the faerie's touch, desperately trying to recapture the instant in the theater of his mind. Twice he caught himself inadvertently humming her melodic song.

He should, he knew, be preparing himself to face the righteous wrath of an outraged God, but instead he spent the entire trip wondering with an exquisitely aching eagerness if he would ever see Titania again, or perhaps even touch her once more.

“Doctor Gold?”

Gold stared at the holographic image that his computer had projected in front of him.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Richard Constantine. I've been trying to contact you for hours.”

“I'm a busy man.”

“So am I,” said Constantine. “And I don't especially like to be kept waiting.”

“Your likes and dislikes are of very little concern to me, Mr. Constantine,” replied Gold.

“And what of Vladimir Kozinsky's fate? Is that of any concern to you?”

“I left the
Comet
almost eight hours ago,” said Gold. “I'd be very much surprised if he's still alive.”

“He died five hours ago,” said Constantine.

“I want it known that he did not represent the Church of the Purity of Jesus Christ, and that we totally disown his actions.”

“You don't sound terribly broken up about it,” noted Constantine sardonically.

“He tried to destroy a human life—in fact, quite a number of them. This was in direct opposition to everything we believe in, and while we pray for his soul we condemn his actions.” He reached for his computer controls. “And now, if you've nothing further to say...”

“I'm not through yet,” said Constantine.

Gold leaned back and stared at his image curiously. “Go on,” he said.

“What would you like done with the body?”

“You speak about it as if I had some proprietary interest in it,” said Gold. “May I suggest that you contact his family on Declan IV?”

“I've tried. He seems to have no living relatives.”

“Then I recommend that you dispose of it in the most efficient way possible.”

“Doctor Gold,” said Constantine coldly, “personally, I don't give a damn what happens to his body. But I thought I owed you the courtesy of seeing if there is any method that is preferred by your church—or if there is any particular means of disposal that would cause distress to a Jesus Pure.”

“I apologize,” said Gold. “We have no particular strictures—burial and cremation are both acceptable.”

“Then, with your permission, I'll give the order to cremate his remains,” said Constantine. “Burial plots are running at a premium, and I imagine his funds will be tied up by the courts for some time.”

“That will be fine,” said Gold dryly. “I certainly wouldn't want to put a financial strain on the Vainmill Syndicate.” He paused. “Have we anything further to discuss?”

“Just one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You are in possession of something that doesn't belong to you,” said Constantine. “Since you seem disinclined to use it, I was wondering if you had any intention of returning it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Gold coldly.

Constantine stared at him for a moment, then shrugged.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor Gold,” he paid at last. “I'm sure we will meet in person one these days.”

“I doubt it,” replied Gold, breaking the connection.

He sat motionless for a few minutes, then got to his feet, commanded the door to open, and walked out into the living room, where Simon was seated on a high-backed chair, reading.

“I just heard from Richard Constantine,” he announced.

“Oh?” said Simon, placing his book down on a table.

Gold nodded. “Kozinsky's dead.”

“Well, that's hardly a surprise,” replied his son.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not really,” said Gold. “Oh, he asked me to return the video footage of the faeries’ training session, but that was all.”

“Oh,” grunted Simon. He reached for his book.

“Doesn't that seem curious to you?” asked Gold.

“Curious?” repeated Simon. “In what way?”

“Why would he have taken the time to tell me Kozinsky was dead? He could easily have delegated the responsibility. And the only other thing he did was make a request that he knew I'd turn down. Why?”

“You're an important man,” said Simon. “And, more to the point, you're an important thorn in his side. Maybe he felt it was time to speak to you face to face.”

“I don't think so,” said Gold. “There has to be another reason.”

“For instance?”

Gold shrugged. “I don't know. He didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, so obviously he learned what he wanted to know. But for the life of me, I can't imagine what it was.”

“Maybe he wanted to make sure that you hadn't told any other Jesus Pures about Kozinsky,” suggested Simon. “I imagine Vainmill is scared to death that his little exploit will become public and that someone else will pick up the gauntlet, so to speak.”

Gold shook his head. “He never mentioned it. And even if I had told anyone, it's hardly the kind of information I'd volunteer to him.” He lowered his head in thought. “He never mentioned the incident with Titania, either. I wonder what he could have wanted.”

“Titania?” repeated Simon. “You mean the Andrican female?”

“Yes.”

“What incident?”

Gold looked uncomfortable. “A little misunderstanding aboard the
Comet
.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“It wasn't important.”

“What happened?” persisted Simon.

“I'm afraid that I scared the living daylights out of her,” admitted Gold.

Simon frowned. “Why?”

“I misinterpreted her actions, and she then misinterpreted mine. As I say, it was just a misunderstanding.”

“What did you do to frighten her?”

“I thought she was flaunting her body for my benefit, so I yelled at her,” said Gold uncomfortably.

“Are you sure you misinterpreted her actions?” said Simon. “After all, she
is
a prostitute. Perhaps the madam told her to do that in the hope of weakening your resolve.”

“Weakening my resolve?” exploded Gold. “Do you think I had to
resolve
not to be tempted by her?

“I meant that such an act might weaken your resolve about removing her from the
Comet
,” said Simon carefully.

“I'm more determined now than ever,” said Gold adamantly. “She can't begin to know the effect she has on human men.”

“You might be overreacting. When all is said and done, she's an
alien
.”

“'A very erotic alien,” responded Gold.

“No human could find her sexually attractive.”

“Why not? In point of fact, she's quite attractive.”

“I trust you're not speaking from personal experience.”

“Remember whom you're speaking to!” snapped Gold.

Simon stared at his father. “What exactly
did
she do?” he asked at last.

“Nothing,” said Gold. “I told you—it was a misunderstanding. The subject is closed.”

Simon continued staring at him for another moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“
That's
what I say,” replied Gold, aware that he should let the subject drop, but unwilling to let his son have the last word. He paused. “Anyway, Constantine never mentioned it.”

“I'm sure that the customers scare the prostitutes all the time,” suggested Simon. “After all, the people who frequent such places aren't exactly normal. Probably they go there supplied with whips and chains and the like.”

A picture of Titania, arms and legs bound, flashed across Gold's mind. He couldn't decide whether he was horrified or fascinated by it.

“That's enough,” he muttered at last, shaking his head in a physical attempt to eradicate the image. “Let's get back to the important question: why did he contact me personally?”

“I've already given you the most likely answer,” said Simon.

Gold shook his head. “That's not good enough. There's got to be something more. He mentioned that he'd been trying to get through for a while, but that I hadn't answered his page. Why would a man who's in charge of such an enormous operation take two or three hours out of his day trying to tell me that Kozinsky was dead? The only unexpected news he could have given me would have been that Kozinsky was still alive.”

“You're making a mystery out of a common courtesy,” said Simon with certainty.

“Perhaps,” said Gold. He tensed suddenly. “How long have you been here, Simon?”

“About half an hour.”

“Where were you before that?”

“At my apartment. Why?”

“That's where Constantine contacted you before, isn't it? When he told you that Kozinsky was in the
Comet
's hospital?”

“Yes.”

“He could have spoken to you again, instead of trying to get through to me. Why didn't he?”

Simon shrugged. “I'm sure I don't know.”

Gold smiled triumphantly. “Suddenly I'm sure I do.”

“Oh?”

“He didn't want to relay any information to me,” said Gold. “We both knew Kozinsky couldn't last out the day. He just wanted to make sure I was at home.”

“Why?”

“I don't know—but it's got to have something to do with the
Comet.
And, more to the point, it has to have something to do with Constantine himself.” He paused. “Put it all together and what do you get? That Constantine is going up to the
Comet
, and he wanted to make sure I wouldn't be there!”

'What difference could it possibly make to him?”

“I don't know—but it's important to him that I remain on Deluros, or he wouldn't have checked up on my whereabouts.”

“Well, he's got his wish.”

“Not for long,” said Gold. “I want you to book me passage up to the
Comet
while I change into some fresh clothes.”

“For what purpose?”

“I don't know yet,” replied Gold. “But if he doesn't want me up there, then that's exactly where I belong. If he's afraid I can disrupt whatever it is that he's doing, then the very least I can do is try to make his fears come true.”

“This is crazy!” protested Simon. “You've just come back from the
Comet
. He has no reason to assume that you have any intention of ever returning to it. If he was really going up there and didn't want you to follow him, the very last thing he would do would be to contact you in a manner that would arouse your suspicions.”

“You think I'm wrong?” said Gold. “Fine.
I
think I'm right, and I'm going to act on my belief.”

“You're getting to the point where you're spending more time up there than one of their customers,” complained Simon.

Gold's entire body tensed, and for a moment Simon thought his father was about to take a swing at him.

Then the moment passed, and Gold relaxed.

“All right,” he said in clipped tones. “Arrange a shuttle for me, and —” He broke off in midsentence. “No, that won't do. Any shuttle that goes up to the
Comet
would probably forward a list of passengers so Security could run a financial check on them. Charter me a private ship; there's no sense letting Titania know I'm coming back up there.”

“Titania?” said Simon, frowning.

“Did I say Titania?” replied Gold, surprised. “I meant the Steel Butterfly, of course.” He fidgeted uneasily. “It's just that we had been talking about Titania...”

His voice trailed off, and after an awkward silence he went off to shave, shower, and change his clothes.

Simon walked to Gold's office and arranged for his father's transportation up to the
Velvet Comet
. On the way back to the living room an unusual sound came to his ears, and he stopped until he could identify it.

It was Thomas Gold, absently humming a rhythmic alien melody as he stood before the bathroom mirror, combing his hair as meticulously as he ever did before appearing in front of a video camera.

Gold stood at the Security station in the
Velvet Comet
's airlock. He had been standing there for almost five minutes.

Finally a burly man of medium height, with a thick shock of unruly black hair and a beard which was starting to turn gray, approached.

“All right,” he said, walking up to one of the guards. “What's the problem?”

“It's Doctor Gold, sir,” replied the green-clad woman. “I checked with the reservation desk, and he's not expected—and he refuses to tell me the purpose of his visit.”

The burly man turned to Gold and stared at him, hands on hips.