by Mike Resnick
“And the Comet is carrying six hundred and nineteen,” mused Constantine.
“Plus ten patrons.”
Constantine lowered his head in thought for a long moment, then looked up.
“All right,” he said with a sigh of defeat. “He wins.” He paused. “I suppose you might as well put me through to him.”
His image appeared above Simon's computer once more.
“This is Richard Constantine. We will meet your demands.”
“Good,” said Simon. He checked the time.
“You've got ninety-six minutes to get all the employees off the Velvet Comet. They can use the customer's ships.”
“Just a minute,” said Constantine. “This is a deal, not a capitulation. What do you intend to do once they've left the Comet?”
“I'll monitor broadcast transmissions from Deluros VIII,” replied Simon. “As soon as I hear an acceptable number of stations that are not owned by Vainmill announce that the Comet has been permanently decommissioned, I'll return to the planet and turn myself over to the authorities.”
“You won't try to escape?”
Simon smiled triumphantly. “I fear only God, not men.”
The Velvet Comet's second evacuation began ten minutes later, and three minutes before Simon's deadline was up, Attila and the Steel Butterfly became the last two personnel to leave it.
Simon waited until half a dozen broadcasts had confirmed the fact, then headed back to Deluros VIII, totally unconcerned about what the future held for him, secure in the knowledge that the God of Thomas Gold was proud of him.
Chapter 19
A week had passed.
Simon Gold, who had been taken into custody immediately upon his return to Deluros VIII, was awaiting trial.
More than one hundred patrons had filed lawsuits against the Vainmill Syndicate and the Velvet Comet.
And the Steel Butterfly had been trying, without success, to see Richard Constantine.
When the call came through that he was finally willing to grant her an audience, she left the hotel that housed the Comet's staff, took a monorail to the Vainmill Building, and was soon sitting in the reception room of his 103rd-floor suite. She waited for half an hour, and was ushered into his office.
“You're looking well,” he said, remaining seated and gesturing to her to sit down.
“I may be looking well, but I'm feeling ignored,” she said. “Do you know how long I've been trying to see you?”
“I apologize,” he replied insincerely. “I've been quite busy. What can I do for you?”
“You know why I'm here. Simon Gold's been in jail for a week and his father is locked away in some asylum, so I want to know when you're reopening the Comet for business.”
“We're not.”
“I had a feeling that would be your answer,” she said. “May I ask why not?”
“A number of reasons,” replied Constantine. “There's lack of customer confidence, for one thing; the Comet caters to the wealthiest men and women in the Republic, and we'd have a difficult time convincing them that we could protect them. And, of course, there's Simon Gold.”
“You can't seriously expect me to believe that he's not going to spend the next twenty or thirty years in jail.”
“Oh, he'll be incarcerated for at least that long,” said Constantine. “But he's still the leader of his church, and we've somehow blundered into doing the one thing we most wanted to avoid: we've turned him into a martyr.” He paused. “If we reopen the Comet for business, how long do you think it will take him to exhort his followers to do exactly what he did? And this time there would be no bargaining with them.”
“Then spend some of your trillions of credits on external security. Make sure that no armed vessel can approach us.”
“It has often been said than no man is safe from an assassin who is willing to sacrifice his own life. The same is true of the Comet. To make it completely secure from the kind of fanatics who would be coming after it would cost more money than the operation brings in.” He paused. “No, the best thing to do is close the books on it and be grateful that everyone escaped with his life.”
“And at least one of us escaped with his career,” she added caustically.
“You misunderstand the purpose of this meeting,” he answered her calmly. “I didn't call you in to announce the death of the Comet, but the birth of six hundred and nineteen new careers. Vainmill always takes care of its own. Everyone who worked aboard the Comet was under contract, and we intend to honor those contracts. Attila and his staff will be provided with jobs aboard our luxury spaceliners, as will the technical crew.”
“And what about the prostitutes? We're the ones who actually made your profit for you.”
“Well, that is a somewhat awkward situation,” he replied. “As you know, the Velvet Comet was Vainmill's only venture into prostitution, and based on our experience we don't anticipate ever so venturing again. Still, we feel a deep sense of responsibility toward you and your staff —”
“Especially since our contracts are still valid,” she interjected.
“So we've taken the liberty of making a rather unusual arrangement,” he concluded, completely unruffled by her comment.
“What arrangement?” she asked suspiciously.
“You are aware of the training school on Delvania?”
“Of course.”
“Well, with the Comet decommissioned there is obviously no longer any need for a school. But we've spoken to Suma, and offered her substantial financing at very favorable rates to turn her school into a working brothel—on the condition that she offer employment to any member of your staff who desires it.”
“On Delvania?”
“Yes,”
“Have you ever been to Delvania?” she asked.
“I can't say that I've had that pleasure.”
“Then let me tell you about it,” said the Steel Butterfly.
“It's dry, it's dusty, it's dirty, it's underpopulated, and in winter you can fry an egg on the street—if you can find a street. You can't expect men and women who have worked in the most luxurious setting in the Republic to voluntarily move to Delvania!”
“The choice is theirs,” said Constantine with an unconcerned shrug.
“None of them will go.”
“Well, I'm not Simon the Eradicator,” he said. “I can't hold a gun to their heads and force them to go. But if they don't,” he added, “Vainmill will consider their contracts to be terminated, and will feel itself under no further obligation to them.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, honestly puzzled. “You've been looking for a reason to kill the Comet ever since Fiona Bradley put you in charge of Entertainment and Leisure.”
“Candidly? I like my money in banks and bonds and investments. I get very nervous seeing it parading around on the hoof, the way it did on the Comet. You put that many billionaires in that kind of setting and it's an open invitation to disaster. If it wasn't Thomas and Simon Gold this year, it would have been somebody else next year. To be honest, I'm surprised it took this long to happen.”
“What will become of it now?” she asked.
“The Comet? We'll sell off the furniture and whatever else we can. I suppose the shell will go into drydock.”
“It was a fabulous institution,” she said sadly. “It deserved better.”
“It's been my observation that people—and objects—tend to get what they deserve,” replied Constantine. “Two months from now every patron it had will have found some other recreational outlet. A year from now no one will even think of it. And ten years from now you'll have to look it up in a history book to know it existed.”
“Well, you're a very bright man, Mr. Constantine,” she said, “so I suppose you're right. But, damn it, you shouldn't be!”
The Steel Butterfly returned to her hotel room and drank a final bittersweet toast to the ship that had fulfilled so many fantasies for almost a century.
Then, with a sigh
of resignation, she turned to the task of securing gainful employment for the last madam of the Velvet Comet.
EPILOGUE
The tall, gaunt man, his clothes dusty with the wind-blown dirt of the Delvanian streets, stood before the large, ancient building for a moment, checked the address he had scribbled down in a small notebook, and cautiously entered through the front door.
A frail old woman, confined to a wheelchair, sat behind a reception desk.
“Welcome to Suma's,” she said in a quavering voice. Then she smiled. “I'm Suma.”
He stared at her, but made no move to approach her.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I don't know,” he replied nervously, and she noticed that his hands were shaking.
Suma smiled at him. “Why do I think that this is your first visit to a whorehouse?”
“Because it is,” he whispered.
“There's no need to be nervous about it,” she said with a chuckle. “I've been watching them come and go for more than seventy years. You wouldn't believe it to look at me now, but I was very beautiful once.”
“I'm sure you were.”
“I was,” she repeated. “Did you ever hear of the Velvet Comet? You know, that place they closed up a few years back?” She waited for a reaction, but saw only increased nervousness. “Well, once upon a time I was its madam.” She peered at him intently. “Don't I know you?”
He shook his head abruptly. “I told you—this is my first time.”
“Not from here,” she said. “From somewhere else. Were you ever on the video?” He made no answer, and she shrugged. “Well, how many video stars come out here anyway?” She paused. “Won't you step a little closer? My eyes aren't as good as they used to be. I can barely see you.” She stared at him again. “My, but you're pale! Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“I've been sick,” he said carefully.
“Well, you're healthy now, and that's all we care about,” she said. “Before we go any farther, I want your assurances that this establishment is discreet.”
She chuckled again. “We're on Delvania. How much more discreet can we be than that?”
“I wasn't being facetious!” he snapped.
“Neither was I,” she replied seriously. She stared at him again. “You know, I could swear I've seen you before!”
“I very much doubt it.” He looked annoyed. “Are these questions necessary?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Let's get right down to business. What did you have in mind?”
“I wish to rent a companion for the night.”
“We've got a large assortment on hand,” she replied. “Have you any preference?”
The gaunt man's eyes shone with a strange excitement that almost frightened her.
“Something small,” he said.
* * *
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Copyright © 1985 by Mike Resnick
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