Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (22 page)

“Keep away from me! I have work to do!”

“Don't go in there, Thomas,” said Robert, getting to his feet. “Come sit with us instead.”

“You can't keep me from my work!”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” said Robert, taking a tentative step toward him.

“I'm locking the door!” said Gold. “And God help anyone who tries to break it down!”

He darted into the office, and the door slid into place and locked before Robert could reach him.

And while his family tried to decide what action to take, Thomas Gold walked to his computer and stroked it lovingly with a frail, shaking hand.

“They thought they could keep me away from you,” he whispered, his eyes alight with excitement.

“They thought they could lock me away, that they could make me forget about you. That's what they thought.” He chuckled. “They thought so, they thought so, but they were wrong. Activate.”

The computer hummed to life.

“Hello,” said Gold a moment later, when the holograph of an unclad faerie hovered above the computer.

His hand reached out and caressed the empty space that was occupied by the image.

“I've missed you,” he said tenderly.

Attila was sitting in his office, sipping a cup of coffee and going over the evening duty roster, when the Steel Butterfly's holograph suddenly appeared over his computer.

“What's up?” he asked.

“I've just checked over the next shuttle's list of incoming passengers, and I think we're about to get a rather important visitor,” she informed him.

“Oh?”

“He gave a phony name, and his ID checks out—but it's Thomas Gold just the same.”

Attila frowned. “You're sure? I mean, after that broadcast the other night, I'd think this is the
last
place his people would let him come.”

“His people probably don't know anything about it,” replied the Steel Butterfly. “A man like Gold wouldn't have too much trouble finding a way to sneak out of wherever they're keeping him. He may be crazy, but he isn't stupid.”

“If his ID checks out, what makes you so sure it's Gold?” persisted Attila.

“Cupid, you tell him.”

“He has tried to disguise himself, but there is no question that he is Doctor Thomas Gold,” said the computer. “Height, six feet four inches. Weight, 142 pounds. Mild irregularity in heartbeat. There is a small mole on the left corner of his upper lip. His hair texture is —”

“All right, I'm convinced,” interrupted Attila.

“Where did you get all this? From the shuttle's computer?”

“Yes, Attila,” answered Cupid.

“And you've compared it to your own file on Thomas Gold?”

“That's correct.”

Attila shrugged. “I was wrong. But I sure as hell never thought I'd see him again.” He looked up at the Steel Butterfly's image. “We'll detain him at the airlock, of course,” he said. “But then what? Do you want to contact someone to come and get him, or do you think we should get a little publicity out of it?”

“Oh, no,” she said with a smile. “
You're
the Chief of Security, and this is a Security problem. I'm happy to warn you that he's on his way, but I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do about it.”

“Thanks,” he said sardonically. “Which shuttle is he on?”

“Delta.”

“Delta,” he repeated. “That's due to dock in, let me see...” He checked his timepiece. “Seven minutes.”

He got to his feet. “I'd better get moving. Thanks for all the advance notice you gave me,” he added with a touch of irony.

He broke the communication, had his computer check to see if the tramcar was at his end of the Mall, discovered that it wasn't, and elected to ride the slidewalk to the airlock rather than wait for the car. He arrived at the airlock just as Shuttle Delta was beginning its docking maneuvers.

“Cupid?”

“Yes, Attila?”

“What name is Gold using?”

“James Westerman, Jr.”

“Patch me through to Delta.”

The pilot's face appeared above the nearest computer terminal.

“Hello, Attila,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“You've got a passenger traveling under the name of James Westerman, Jr.”

She checked her passenger list. “Right.”

“Have one of the attendants find some way to delay him—subtly, if possible—until everyone else is off the shuttle. Then let him off.”

“Is he dangerous?” she asked.

“Only to himself.”

“You're not giving us much time to set this up,” said the pilot. “I think I'd better mess up the docking procedure and take another run at it. Otherwise, by the time I manage to speak to attendants in private and inform them of the situation, he might already be disembarking.”

“I'll make it easy for you,” said Attila. “Put my voice on your public-address system.”

She reached forward and touched something out of the range of the camera, then nodded.

“Attention, Shuttle Delta,” he announced. “Dock H is committed to Shuttle Epsilon. Please enter a holding pattern until we can confirm a dock for you.” He paused long enough to light up a small, thin Alphard cigar and count silently to one hundred.

“Shuttle Delta, you have been cleared for Dock C.”

It took the shuttle about eight minutes to dock during which time Attila determined that there were seventeen passengers aboard it. A moment later they began entering the airlock, and he passed them through as quickly as possible.

Finally, when sixteen patrons had cleared the airlock and entered the Mall, he excused all but one burly guard from airlock duty and signaled the pilot to release Gold.

“I'm terribly sorry, sir,” said an attendant who entered the airlock with the minister. “Our scanner must be malfunctioning. But I assure you that it
did
register a hand weapon.”

“It's all right,” muttered Gold.

“If you wish to file an official complaint, my name is —”

“It's all right, I said!” snapped Gold.

He turned away from the attendant and faced Attila, who couldn't believe his eyes.

Gold's formerly pale cheeks and forehead was covered with unevenly applied makeup, and his hairline was almost two inches higher, with day old stubble showing where he had shaved it. He had dyed his sideburns black, but the job was sloppy one, and some of the color had smeared onto his right ear. It would have been laughable, decided the Security chief, were it not so pathetic.

“We meet again, Doctor Gold,” said Attila, unable to keep from staring at the minister's face.

“There must be some mistake,” said Gold. “My name is James Westerman.”

“You're Thomas Gold.”

Gold pulled out an identification card. “You are in error, as you can plainly see. I am James Westerman, Jr., and you are detaining me illegally.”

“Do any members of your church know you're up here?” asked Attila.

“I have no church!” snapped Gold. “I am a businessman from the Zeta Piscium system, and you are an insolent hireling! Now let me pass!”

Attila shook his head. “Not a chance, Doctor Gold. But if you'll reenter Shuttle Delta and wait for it to depart, I won't let anyone know you were up here.”

“
No!
” bellowed Gold. “I am a patron! You can't keep me off the
Comet
!”

“I'm the Chief of Security,” said Attila calmly. “I can refuse entrance to anyone who in my opinion will be a disruptive influence.”

Gold seemed disoriented for a moment, then dug a hand into his pocket and withdrew a huge sheaf of thousand-credit notes. “But I can pay!” he said, his voice suddenly desperate and whining. “I have money! Isn't that all you care about?” He waved the notes in Attila's face. “Don't you understand? I can pay!”

“Where did you get all that money?” asked Attila.

Gold's eyes narrowed. “I told you—I'm a businessman.”

“You're a minister, and you've lived in poverty for years,” said Attila. “What did you do—rob your church?”

“Take it!” pleaded Gold, pushing the wad of notes up against Attila's chest and releasing it. Tears came to his eyes. “Take it! Keep some of it for yourself, I don't care—but for God's sake, let me pass!”

“Guard,” said Attila, nodding to the burly greenclad man who had been watching Gold with horrified fascination.

“Doctor Gold is going to be leaving us now. Please escort him back onto Shuttle Delta.”

“No!” screamed Gold. “I've got to ... just once ... before ... I beg of you!”

“Come along, sir,” said the guard, taking Gold by the arm.

Gold pulled loose and raced up to Attila, his long, emaciated fingers clutching at the Security chief's tunic.

“I'll give you whatever you want!” he hissed, his eyes bright and wild. “You want more money? I'll get it! Whatever you want—but you can't keep me away from them!”

“Please come with me, sir,” said the guard, walking over and taking a firmer grip on him.

“You can't do this to me!” raged Gold. “I'm a businessman from—from...” His voice trailed off as he tried to remember which world he was supposed to have come from.

The guard tried to pull him away, and Gold threw himself to the ground and began screaming incoherently.

“Attila?” said the guard, looking questioningly at the Security chief.

“We can't send him back like this,” said Attila as he watched Gold writhing and moaning on the floor, begging for entrance to the
Comet.
He sighed. “Let's get him to the hospital and inform his church of his whereabouts.”

Attila lifted Gold to his feet, and he and the guard half-dragged, half-carried him into the bright interior of the
Velvet Comet
, where the Security chief ordered a nearby subordinate to restaff the airlock.

Gold stopped struggling when they were halfway across the Mall. Suddenly his eyes became clear and his demeanor calm.

“Can you walk now, Doctor Gold?” asked Attila, tentatively loosening his grip on Gold's shoulder.

Gold nodded, then looked at his surroundings.

“This is wrong,” he announced, puzzled.

“What is, Doctor Gold?”

“Everything,” he said. “It always starts with the imp, and then the black unicorn.”

“Perhaps they're waiting for you in the hospital,” suggested Attila.

Gold considered the statement, then nodded his head tentatively. “Perhaps,” he agreed. His face lit up with delight. “And if
they
are, then so are the faeries!”

“I wouldn't be a bit surprised,” said Attila soothingly.

“Then let's hurry!” said Gold. “I can't keep them waiting any longer!”

“Why don't you run ahead and make sure they're waiting?” said Attila to the guard.

The man nodded and raced off to alert the medical staff, while Thomas Gold, his face glowing with childlike enthusiasm, his words a torrent of innocent dreams and sinister fantasies, followed Attila.

The Steel Butterfly frowned at Attila's image.

“
Another
one?” she repeated.

The Security chief nodded. “With a very ingenious plastic weapon. The scanner didn't recognize it at first.” He paused. “She came closer to getting through than any of the others. We haven't put her under hypnosis yet, but I think it's safe to assume that you were her primary target.”

“Me? Why not you?”

“Because if she was here to kill me, she could have done it right there in the airlock.”

“I
told
you we weren't going to be happy with whoever replaced Thomas Gold,” said the Steel Butterfly, sipping her drink. “How many does that make now?”

“Four this week, and seven in the two months since they locked Gold away,” replied Attila.

“What's the matter with them anyway?” she demanded. “I thought Jesus Pures were supposed to be against violence!”

“My own opinion is that the son is crazier than the father,” answered the Security chief. “Did you hear him last night?”

She shook her head. “Why bother? It's the same drivel he's been spouting for the past six weeks.”

“Not quite,” said Attila. “It's actually getting more vehement. Cupid?”

“Yes, Attila?” said the computer.

“Play the last couple of minutes of Simon Gold's most recent broadcast for the Steel Butterfly.”

Instantly Attila's holograph vanished, to be replaced by the fierce, unsmiling visage of Simon Gold.

“If thy hand offend thee, cut it off!” he intoned, staring righteously into the camera. “What does this mean? Simply that there are certain objects that are beyond salvation. They are past all hope of redemption, and must be forcibly removed from the affairs of Men. The
Velvet Comet
is such an object.”

He looked out at his audience.

“It destroyed my father,” he said fiercely. “And if it can destroy Thomas Gold, it can destroy anyone!” He paused for that thought to sink in. “The
Velvet Comet
is a blight upon the galaxy, and an offense to all moral men and women. What does the Bible tell us to do?”

He smiled with grim satisfaction as hundreds of voices from his audience told him exactly what action to take. “He who loves his God the best will be he who puts an end to that wicked, sinful ship!”

The roar of approval from the audience was deafening—and then the holograph blinked out of existence, to be replaced by Attila's image. “Some prayer meeting, eh?” he said grimly.

“Can't we have him arrested?” asked the Steel Butterfly. “He's actually exhorting them to come up here and kill us!”

Attila shook his head. “I already spoke to Vainmill's legal department. All he actually said was that he wanted to see the
Comet
put out of business. The implication was clear—but it's still just an implication. I mean, hell, there are probably a hundred
other
ways to shut us down. He can always claim that he was referring to one of them.”

“Can't we slap an injunction on him anyway—something to keep him off the air?”

“Probably—but Vainmill won't do it.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason they wouldn't do it to his father. They don't want to make a martyr out of him.”

“But Thomas Gold only threatened economic boycotts; his son is threatening us with violence.”

Attila grimaced. “Why don't you ask Fiona Bradley which she prefers—violence against
us
, or an economic boycott directed against Vainmill?”