by Mike Resnick
“How long will I be there?” asked Constantine.
“Until the job is done,” she answered. “I want to totally reorganize Vainmill, to make the various divisions less autonomous than they've been in the past. I want you to attack the major problems in Entertainment and Leisure, get rid of the deadwood, and when everything is in place I also want you to suggest a permanent successor. I would guess you'll have everything in order within a year—and I will be seriously displeased if it takes more than a year and a half.”
“And then?” he asked, staring directly at her.
“And then, if you've done a good job, there will be rewards.”
“Well,” he said, relaxing, “you've never lied to me yet.”
“I was wondering when you'd get around to remembering that,” said Fiona. “Now try to look a little happier.”
“I wasn't aware that looking happy was a job requirement,” he said sardonically.
She smiled at him. “From your expression, one would think I was sending you off to manage some theater on the Outer Frontier. Really, Richard, you should be flattered that I trust you to take charge of the situation.”
“I'd be even more flattered if you gave me Acquisitions or Finance,” he said, returning her smile.
“You'd be wasted there. You're my troubleshooter, so it's only natural that I should send you to the most troublesome division we have.” She paused. “I'll have to get the Board's approval to make it official—but I hardly think they're likely to refuse my request a week after electing me.”
Her intercom beeped twice.
“Yes, Marina?” she said, as the hologram of her personal secretary appeared a foot above the desktop.
“I've contacted Yakim Keno, as you requested,” said the dark-haired woman, “and he has agreed to direct you. He's waiting in the studio right now.”
“Good.”
“I've also taken the liberty of sending for your makeup artist. Oh, and I've told Nina Reid that we'll want to release copies of the tape to the media by midafternoon.”
“Excellent. Tell them I'll be down there in a few minutes.”
“Will you be giving any live interviews afterward?”
“No, I don't think so. We'll let the statement stand alone, and hope some bank theft or murder knocks us out of the headlines.”
“Very good,” said the secretary, breaking the connection.
“Speaking of your statement, have you any particular advice concerning our friend Gold?” asked Constantine.
“What do you think we should do, Richard?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied promptly.
“Absolutely nothing?”
He nodded. “Sometimes nothing is the very best thing to do.” He paused. “There's no sense demanding the holos back; he'll never return them, and we don't want him to think they're that important to us. Also, if we attack him for stealing them, we'd make him look like some kind of hero.”
“I quite agree.” She smiled. “You know, you really are the right man for the job, Richard.”
“I never said I wasn't. I'd just rather work here, where the power is.”
“You'll find there's sufficient power to be wielded as acting president of Entertainment and Leisure,” she assured him. “Including the power to ignore an annoyance like Thomas Gold.”
“Then that's our official policy?”
“From this day forward,” she agreed. “No matter what Gold demands, we won't decommission the Comet, nor will we offer any other concessions to him. Vainmill has made its last attempt to bribe him or otherwise purchase his goodwill or benign neglect. Thomas Gold is an unyielding man, and we will therefore indulge in no more ill-fated attempts to make him yield.” She paused and leaned forward over her desk. “Once I tape my apology, he is a nonperson. If anyone asks our opinion of him, we think he's an honorable man with whom we have an honorable disagreement. Also, we enjoyed his company on the Velvet Comet and hope to meet him there again in the future. If no one asks, we won't even volunteer that much.”
“Let's hope it's that easy,” said Constantine.
“It will be—at least for me. There's a miners’ strike on Praesape II that's costing us tens of millions of credits per day, we're being sued by the Seballa Cartel over a number of tachyon-drive patents, there's been a military takeover on Bowman XXIII that's frozen a considerable portion of our assets in their banking system, and besides all that, I'm still learning my job.” She smiled. “Yes, I think I won't have all that much difficulty ignoring Thomas Gold. It may be a little harder for you, but that's what I'm paying you for.”
“I don't know exactly what was on those holos that he swiped. Once they're released, how much damage can they do us?”
“I haven't seen them either,” admitted Fiona. “I gather they're quite pornographic, and that there are hours of them. They might do us some damage—but nothing fatal, I assure you. It took three hundred years to build the Vainmill Syndicate into what it has become; no one man is going to bring it down. Vainmill will still be going strong after you and I and Thomas Gold have all reverted to dust.”
“I suppose there's always a chance that the holos will backfire on him, too,” commented Constantine thoughtfully. “Deluros is a pretty sophisticated world. He might bring us in more business than he scares away.”
“Perhaps,” said Fiona dubiously. She paused. “I can't tell you how much I dislike the notion of those little aliens being the center of this controversy. I would never expect Doctor Gold to believe it, but I find Vainmill's historical treatment of aliens as distasteful as he does.”
“Your feelings about the subject notwithstanding,” said Constantine carefully, “I don't see how we can get rid of the faeries for the foreseeable future. It would seem as if we were caving in to him.”
“I know,” she said, her face set and hard. “Thomas Gold isn't the only person who can't be bought or intimidated. Whatever I decide to do about Vainmill's exploitation of aliens in the future, it won't be because of any pressure that he tries to bring to bear on the issue.” She paused. “In fact, that was the very first problem I had hoped to attack as chairman—and though Thomas Gold will never believe it, he and he alone is the reason that I've put the project on an indefinite hold.” She glanced at her timepiece. “Speaking of the estimable Doctor Gold, I see that I'm already overdue at the studio.” She got to her feet. “As soon as I'm through down there, I'll inform the necessary parties that you are the acting president of Entertainment and Leisure.”
“Then I guess I'd better get started on my homework,” said Constantine. He looked thoughtful. “I'll give Plaga the rest of the day to clean out his office before I move in, which means it might be a little awkward to start tapping his computer files until Security gets a chance to change the Priority Code on them.” He paused. “I suppose I can start going over whatever we've got on Gold. We may be officially ignoring him, but as long as he's not likely to return the favor I ought to learn everything I can about him.”
“A good idea,” she agreed, walking to the elevator.
“He's got to have a weakness somewhere.”
“Most men do,” said Fiona, commanding the doors to open. “Even a moral man like Thomas Gold.”
“I like moral men the best.”
“Oh?” she said, stepping into the elevator. “Why is that?”
Constantine smiled. “They always make the loudest crash when they fall.”
Chapter 4
Christina Gilbert looked up from the newstape she had been viewing and saw her father and her five-year-old son enter the small apartment, hand in hand.
“Hi,” she said. “You look exhausted.”
Gold walked over to an easy chair and plopped down on it.
“I am,” he replied. “I must be getting old.”
“You're late,” she noted. “We were starting to worry about you.”
“There were a number of new exhibits,” explained Gold. “They've even added a pair of tigers fr
om Earth itself.” He watched with a weary smile as his grandson began enthusiastically reciting all the wonders he had seen.
Christina listened to her child for a moment while Gold put his feet up on a hassock, then sent the boy off to wash his hands and change his clothes.
“He seems to have had a good time,” she said when he had left the room.
“We both did,” replied Gold. “The zoo is a wonderful place to take children.”
“I always suspected it might be,” she replied with a smile.
Gold sighed. “I know. I wish I had had more time to spend with you and your brother when you were growing up, but I felt called upon to do the Lord's work.”
“You still do.”
He nodded. “But age and gravity catch up with all of us sooner or later. I've slowed down.”
“I wonder if the Vainmill people think so,” she said with an amused smile.
“They're the enemy,” he replied. “They get my adrenaline flowing. I'm like an athlete who's nearing the end of his career: I can get up for the big games, but I coast too much of the time.” He paused, an ironic expression on his face. “Still, even coasting can find some favor in the eyes of the Lord. More than halfway through my life I've discovered the joy of being a grandfather.”
Christina laughed aloud and shifted her position on the well-worn sofa. “I'd say you're coasting about as much as that Seattle horse did last week.”
“What do you know about that?” asked Gold, surprised.
“The holos of the race were broadcast on all the networks,” she answered. “I gather that it was the sporting highlight of the month, except for a couple of prizefights.”
“Even out in the Albion Cluster?”
She nodded. “We're not quite the uninformed rustics that my brother seems to think we are.”
“Did they show the trophy presentation?” asked Gold.
Christina nodded. “In all its glory.” She paused. “Fiona Bradley doesn't look all that formidable.”
“She won't be after this Friday,” predicted Gold confidently.
“The madam looks like an interesting lady, though,” she continued in a bantering tone.
“She isn't. She's just a businesswoman who doesn't seem to realize that she's working for Satan.”
“Anyway, it was an exciting race. I think I could become a fan.” She smiled mischievously. “Simon tells me that you won a bet on it. He sounded very disapproving.”
“Your brother talks too much,” said Gold. “It was done to put a rather nasty man in his place, and I've apologized to God for it.” Gold grimaced. “But sometimes Simon is a little less forgiving than the Lord.”
“Only sometimes?” she said sardonically. “He must be improving.”
Gold chuckled. “What can I say? I wanted a godly son to carry on my work. I got one.”
She shook her head. “You're godly. Simon's just a pompous ass.”
“You're wrong,” said Gold, suddenly serious. “He's a better Christian than I am. If I seemed critical of him, it's the sin of envy; I compare myself with him and wish I had his dedication.”
“Well, I compare him with you, and wish he had your humanity,” responded his daughter earnestly.
“If Fiona Bradley could hear you say that, she'd probably put a hit out on him.”
“Vainmill doesn't actually hire assassins, does it?”
“Vainmill does whatever Vainmill thinks is necessary, whether it's eradicating entire alien civilizations or bribing government officials or rigging elections.”
He noticed her sudden concern. “There's no need to worry,” he said reassuringly. “Your brother is one of our best-kept secrets; I doubt that Vainmill even knows he exists.”
“I wasn't worried about Simon.”
“Don't worry about me, either,” said Gold. “I don't plan to die while I have so much of the Lord's work left to do—and if God should happen to decree my death, I guarantee that it won't be at the hands of Fiona Bradley and her underlings.”
“I hope you're right.”
“I know I am.” he paused. “By the way, where's your mother?”
“In the kitchen, getting up her courage,” said Christina.
“Why?”
“While you were at the zoo with Jeremy, I spent the afternoon styling her hair, and now she's afraid you won't like it.”
“What difference does it make?” asked Gold. “Like it or not, I gather I'm stuck with it.”
“It matters to her.”
“Well, bring her in here and let's get it over with,” said Gold.
“Tell her you like it,” said Christina.
“If I do, I will.”
Christina seemed about to say something else, changed her mind, and walked down a short corridor to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with her mother in tow.
Corinne Gold was fifty-four years old, and the gravity that her husband had complained about was more apparent on her. Gold thought of her as sturdy, but in truth she was fat. A number of crooked teeth which had gone uncorrected during her youth gave her lips a pursed, thoughtful look.
She wore no jewelry, as befitted the wife of the leader of the Jesus Pures, and no attempt had been made to fight back the rush of gray that had spread through her hair. But she was friendly, and pious, and devoted to her husband and his work. And, for the moment, she was very nervous.
Gold stared at her for a long moment, trying to get used to the wave in the front.
“Well?” said Corinne anxiously. “What do you think?”
“It's very becoming,” he lied.
“Then you're not upset?”
“Of course not. But it will take me a while to get used to seeing you like this.”
“That's because you're conservative,” said Corinne, visibly relieved.
“Of course I am,” replied Gold. “The whole purpose of my life has been to conserve what is good and eradicate what isn't.”
“Well, that's one definition,” said Corinne. She turned to her daughter. “You know, he still gets upset whenever I rearrange the furniture. I can't even move the holos on the walls.”
“And is everybody still forbidden to straighten up the mess on his desk?” asked Christina.
“Absolutely,” answered Corinne. She smiled at Gold. “That's conservatism for you.”
Gold's grandson, freshly scrubbed, entered the room and held out his hands for Christina to inspect them.
“When's dinner?” he asked.
“As soon as your Uncle Simon arrives,” replied Corinne.
“How about Daddy?” asked Jeremy.
“He's working tonight,” said Christina.
“Again?” said Gold. “I do believe he's going to make it through the entire two weeks of your visit without once seeing Simon.”
“Just talented, I guess,” said Christina.
“It really is for the best, Thomas,” added Corinne.
“You know they'd just spend the night arguing.”
“One of these days I'm going to have to get the pair of them together and shake them each by the scruff of the neck until they agree to behave like reasonable adults.”
“The time to shake Simon by the scruff of the neck was twenty-five years ago,” said Christina dryly. “I think you might find it a bit difficult these days.”
“I think I'll go set the table,” said Corinne, who had long since realized that her children didn't like each other, but still didn't care to hear them talk about it. “Would you like to help me, Jeremy? You can tell me all about the zoo.”
The boy shook his head.
“I really think your grandmother needs your help,” suggested Gold gently.
“I'm tired,” said Jeremy, forcing himself to yawn and stretch.
“Well, if you're that tired, maybe we'd better stay home tomorrow instead of going to the aquarium...”
He watched while Jeremy considered this statement, and then walked over to stand beside his grandmother.
“I guess y
ou're not as tired as you thought.”
“I guess not,” agreed Jeremy, following Corinne into the dining room.
“Last night his leg was too sore, if I recall correctly,” commented Gold with a smile. “At least he's creative.”
“You know, if Simon or I had ever pulled that routine on you, we'd have gotten a ten-minute lecture about lying, followed by a sound thrashing,” noted Christina.
“I save my lectures and my thrashings for my enemies these days,” responded Gold. “Besides, he's only five years old.”
“I don't remember that being five ever got us any special dispensation when you were raising us.”
Gold smiled. “That's because children are for raising; grandchildren are for spoiling.”
“Well, you're doing your best,” she laughed.
“Actually,” said Gold with a sigh, “when we're not looking at animals or entertainers or athletes, I seem to spend most of my time explaining why his religion forbids his eating all the things he wants me to buy for him.” He frowned. “There are more than two million Jesus Pures on Deluros; you'd think the concession stands would take that into account.”
“They will, when there's enough of a demand,” replied Christina. “Don't forget: most of your followers would sooner read the Bible than look at captive animals.”
“Most of them don't have five-year-old grandsons,” said Gold defensively. “I've never said that our lives have to be joyless, just moral.”
“Well, now that they've seen holos of you sitting next to the Iron Moth, or whatever she calls herself, maybe they'll start believing you.”
“The Steel Butterfly,” he said wryly. “I wish I knew how they decide upon their names up there. Do you know what the Chief of Security is named?”
“What?”
“Attila! And one of the prostitutes was named Perfumed Garden.”
“I wonder what it represents?” mused Christina.