Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet

by Mike Resnick

  “Your job is running this damned place, not jumping in the sack with every guy who comes along!”

  “That was crude, Harry,” she replied severely. “Peter Brennard has been coming here since before I was hired, and he's spent over two hundred million credits on the brothel and the casino.” She paused. “He's a very good, very old friend.”

  “If he's such a goddamned good friend, why did it take him until just before he leaves to remember that he wants to sleep with you?” demanded Redwine.

  “It didn't, Harry.”

  “You mean you've slept with him since I moved in?”

  “He's been here eight days,” she replied with a calm that seemed to enrage him further. “This is the third time he's requested me.”

  “You've been with him twice and didn't tell me?” he yelled, pacing back and forth.

  “I knew it would upset you,” she explained reasonably.

  “I had a feeling that he would ask for me again today. That's why I was trying to rush you out of here.”

  He muttered an obscenity. “And all this time I thought the onus of proving we could have an honest relationship was on me!”

  “Harry, this is just a job,” she said, her expression a cross between irritation and exasperation. “I don't feel anything toward him.”

  “Except that he's a cherished old friend!” Redwine shot back.

  “I have many old friends,” she continued, forcing herself to remain calm. “I only love one person.”

  “Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!” he snapped, still pacing.

  “Harry, you came here to sabotage my ship and destroy me personally. If I didn't love you, why the hell would I have let you move in with me?” She shook her head wearily. “I should have made you leave before. I knew you were going to react like this.”

  “How the hell did you expect me to react? Be glad that the woman I love is hopping right out of my bed and into the bed of any old friend who asks?”

  “Harry,” she said patiently, “I've only known you for a month. I've been a prostitute for twenty years. Did you really expect me to tell a patron whose business we value that I'm no longer available?”

  “I've only known you a month, and I'm putting my fucking life on the line for you! The least you can do is offend an occasional customer for me!”

  “Patron,” she said mechanically.

  “Patron, customer, what the hell's the difference? It's what you're doing with him that's important!”

  She stared silently at him for a moment. “It means that much to you?” she said at last.

  “What do you think?”

  She sighed. “All right. I'll tell him I can't make it.”

  “You will?”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Harry,” said the Madonna. “I hope you believe me.”

  “I know,” he said, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. “I've been ranting like a jealous schoolboy—but damn it, I feel like a jealous schoolboy. I know sex is just a commodity to be bartered up here, but I can't get myself to look at it that way. Not with you.”

  They fell silent for a few minutes.

  “Well, I'd better let him know before he gets back to his room,” said the Madonna at last. She activated the screen. “Casino.”

  The computer scanned the huge casino until the Madonna ordered it to stop at the roulette table.

  “That's Brennard?” asked Redwine. “The bald one with the six chins and the runny nose?”

  “No,” she replied. “The one standing just to his left.”

  “Him?” demanded Redwine, staring at a very handsome man in his early thirties. “He's your cherished old friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it! He looks like a clone of Adonis!”

  “Are you saying you wouldn't have minded it as much if I had gone to bed with the man standing next him?” asked the Madonna, genuinely curious.

  “I don't know,” he muttered. “But I sure as hell didn't think you were sneaking off to screw a guy who looks like he ought to be working here!”

  She smiled. “Harry, if all I cared about was how a man looked, do you really think I would have let you move in with me?”

  “But he's not just good-looking,” complained Redwine, realizing that he sounded petulant but unable to stop himself. “He's got to be ten years younger than me and maybe fifty times richer.”

  “So what?” she said, still smiling. “I have aberrant tastes. I prefer you.”

  “I sure as hell can't imagine why.”

  “Well,” replied the Madonna, “when you're like this, I have a little trouble remembering why, too.”

  “Look,” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “I love you, and I don't like the thought of another man laying a finger on you. It's jealous and possessive, and given our present surroundings it's absolutely ridiculous, but I can't help the way that I feel.”

  She sighed. “Well, it's inconvenient as all hell, but I suppose I'd probably be upset if you didn't feel that way.” She paused, amused. “I almost hate to tell you who's arriving tomorrow.”

  “I don't want to know.”

  “I'll just tell her I'm indisposed.”

  “Her?” he repeated.

  “It's all right, Harry. From this moment on, I'm retired from the ranks for as long as we're together.”

  She paged Brennard to an intercom screen, explained that a couple of unforeseen problems had come up and that she wouldn't be able to get away, and suggested another prostitute whom she knew was available.

  He accepted her story with good grace, smiled pleasantly, and went back to the roulette table.

  “Shit!” muttered Redwine.

  “Now what, Harry?”

  “He's not just better-looking than I am, he's got better manners, too.” He grimaced. “I can't even make myself hate him. Hell, I admire his taste.”

  She was about to reply when the door monitor chimed, and a moment later Suma, dressed in a translucent green and gold material, her hair laced with artificial vines and flowers, stormed into the office.

  “You've got to do something about the Duke!” she said furiously.

  “What's the matter?” asked the Madonna.

  “He's cheating my patrons because of what Gamble did to him.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I don't think so, I know so!” responded Suma. “Ever since he found out that I had taken over Gamble's training, none of my patrons has been able to win at any of the games—and don't tell me it's just a string of bad luck. I can tell by the way that bastard grins at me that he's doing it on purpose!”

  “You're sure?” asked the Madonna.

  “Of course I'm sure! And it's got to stop!”

  The Madonna sighed. “I'll have a talk with him.”

  “See that you do, because if he's still cheating tonight, I'll send Gamble over to have a talk with him, and I guarantee you're going to be looking for a new pit boss when he's done!”

  “That sounds remarkably like a threat,” put in Redwine.

  Suma turned to him. “You keep your nose out of this, Harry!” she snapped. “This is between the Madonna and me.”

  “I said I'll look into it,” replied the Madonna coldly.

  “By tonight?” persisted Suma.

  “By tonight,” agreed the Madonna.

  Suma stared at her for a moment. “I half hope you're lying,” she said. “I'd love to turn Gamble loose on him.”

  “Gamble isn't yours to turn loose on anyone.”

  “We'll see about that!” said Suma. Then she turned on her heel and left the office.

  “Well,” said Redwine after a moment. “What do you make of that?”

  “She's probably telling the truth. The Duke isn't the kind of man who forgives and forgets, and I gather Gamble gave him a pretty sound thrashing. I suppose I'll have to speak to him.”

  Redwine shook his head. “That's not what I meant. I'm talking about Suma. She practically dared you not to talk to
the Duke.”

  “Just bluster,” replied the Madonna. “If Gamble attacks anyone outside of the Home's gymnasium, I'll see that he's off the Comet in five minutes’ time.”

  “Who's going to throw Gamble DeWitt off the ship if he doesn't want to leave?”

  “In case it's escaped your notice, Harry, we do have a security crew.”

  “Maybe,” he said dubiously. “But if I were you I wouldn't turn my back on Gamble or Suma.”

  She smiled at him. “For a professional saboteur, you worry an awful lot.”

  He grinned. “Maybe that's why I'm still at large after all these years.” He paused, then added seriously:

  “All I know is that when I look at her, I see a very ambitious girl who wants your job so bad she can almost taste it.”

  “Popular fantasies to the contrary, no one wants to be a whore forever,” replied the Madonna. “I wanted to be a madam when I was in the ranks. What's wrong with that?”

  “Nothing's wrong with that,” said Redwine. “But I assume now that you're the madam you want to stay the madam?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then don't make the mistake of underestimating her.”

  “I haven't underestimated her, Harry.”

  “If I were you, I'd get rid of her.”

  “She has a contract,” the Madonna pointed out.

  “Break it.”

  “She's the most popular whore on the ship.”

  “Still, I think —”

  “The subject is closed, Harry,” she said. “I don't tell you how to fix the books, and I don't think you should tell me how to run the Comet.”

  “I'm only doing it because I'm concerned about you,” he replied.

  “I know. That's the only reason I'm not mad at you.” She activated the computer once more. “And now I think I'd better call the Duke in here for a little chat with him.” She turned to him. “It would really be best if you weren't here for it, Harry. He can get pretty vituperative when he's on the defensive. It's just his manner, and he won't mean what he says, but I have a feeling that it will upset you.”

  “If you insist,” he said reluctantly.

  “Let's say that I strongly request it,” replied the Madonna.

  The Duke wasn't in his office, and she ordered the computer to scan the casino.

  “He must be taking a break,” she mused when the camera was unable to find him. “I'll give him an hour to get back to work, and if he's not back by then, I'll have to page him.”

  “The son of a bitch looks like he could even give DeWitt a tussle,” muttered Redwine, glaring balefully at the screen, which once again showed Peter Brennard standing at the roulette table.

  “It's possible,” commented the Madonna. “I know he studied martial arts for a few years, and he seems to have kept in good shape.”

  “How does a guy who's so young get enough money to come up to the Comet in the first place?”

  “He inherits it,” she answered him with an amused laugh.

  “All that, and martial arts too,” he said. “Are you sure you didn't make the wrong choice?”

  “I'm satisfied with what I have.”

  “But he's so goddamned good-looking!” persisted Redwine resentfully.

  “True,” admitted the Madonna. “But he's not really very thoughtful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned to him and smiled. "He would never purposely lose at chess just to make me happy.”

  “How long have you known?” he demanded, so surprised that he didn't even bother to deny it.

  “Since the second or third game.”

  “Then why didn't you say something?”

  “Because it made me happy,” said the Madonna.

  “To win?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said gently. “To know that you were willing to lose. That's why you'll never have to worry about Peter Brennard or anyone else.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “Then do you want me to keep losing?”

  She laughed. “No. The next time I beat you I want to know that it was because I was the better player.”

  “I'll accept that as a separate but equal right answer,” he replied wryly. “Will you keep playing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even if you lose?”

  “For awhile, anyway.”

  “What the hell did I ever do before I met you?” he asked pensively.

  “You sabotaged companies.”

  He grimaced. “Too bad I didn't hit one of Brennard's companies along the way.”

  “I'll make you a deal, Harry.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I'll keep playing chess as long as you don't have any more jealous outbursts.”

  “Fair enough,” he replied. “With one stipulation.”

  “What's that?”

  “The future starts right now. I won't say a word about anything that happened up to this minute if you won't give me a reason to be jealous about anything that happens from this minute on. Deal?” he asked, extending his hand.

  “Deal,” she replied.

  Chapter 12

  Redwine was sitting in the auxiliary office, going over the books, when suddenly he found himself staring at Victor Bonhomme's image.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

  “Good afternoon, Harry,” said Bonhomme, dressed and groomed in his usual meticulous fashion.

  “I thought we ought to have a little talk.”

  “I had this terminal sealed off,” continued Redwine. “How did you get through to me?”

  Bonhomme grinned. “My skeleton card is bigger than your skeleton card.”

  “Can anyone monitor us?”

  “Not to worry, Harry,” said Bonhomme easily. “Your terminal is still secure.”

  “All right,” muttered Redwine. “What's up?”

  “You've been there for over a month now, and I'm getting a little pressure about when you're going to finish up and come home.”

  “It'll be a few more weeks yet.”

  “Come off it, Harry. You and I both know that damned job shouldn't have taken more than twenty days, tops.”

  “It's trickier than I thought,” lied Redwine. “They had a damned good accountant. Besides, you booked me in here for thirty days, not twenty.”

  “Those last ten days were in the nature of a bonus,” said Bonhomme. “The Syndicate is picking up your tab. Which leads me to another question.”

  “Yeah?”

  Bonhomme nodded. “Your department receives a weekly statement from the Velvet Comet, and I just happened to get my hands on it.” He paused again.

  “It seems that they're no longer being charged for your room.”

  “They needed the suite, so I moved somewhere else.”

  “I hope you're not thinking of making any lasting friendships, Harry,” said Bonhomme. “The Comet's going down the tubes.”

  “What I do on my own time is my own business,” responded Redwine.

  “I never said it wasn't,” agreed Bonhomme smoothly. “But an awful lot of people who work for the Comet are going to be very unhappy a few months from now, and I would hate to think that any of them might get the idea that you and I were in any way responsible for their condition.”

  “Cut the crap and get to the point, Victor.”

  “The point, Harry, is that I don't much care who you sleep with, but I think you'd better be very careful who you talk with.”

  “Have I ever blown my cover yet?” demanded Redwine.

  “No, but you've never shacked up with the enemy before.”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “Harry, I'm not without my sources. I know you moved in with the ship's madam twenty-two days ago.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Redwine sharply.

  “What difference does it make?” replied Bonhomme. “Just get all your fucking out of your system in the next few days, or I may have to come out there.”

  “I t
old you—it'll take another two weeks. The bookkeeping system is so simplistic it's hard to hide what I'm doing.”

  “Bullshit,” said Bonhomme. “This is Victor you're talking to, remember? Our employer is getting anxious, and I'd hate to tell him that you're messing up.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Of course not. Why would I threaten you, Harry? Maybe you've been spending too much time in the sack and too little at your work, but you know where your best interests lie. I'm just suggesting as strongly as possible you put your ass in gear and get the job done.”

  “I'm doing my best,” said Redwine.

  Maybe,” replied Bonhomme. “But this is the first time I've spoken to you in three years that you didn't threaten to quit. Don't enjoy yourself too much, Harry; we're playing for awfully high stakes.”

  “Have you got anything else to say, or do you think I might get back to work now?” said Redwine irritably.

  “I'll be in touch,” promised Bonhomme. He touched a small spot on his desk and broke the connection.

  Redwine immediately left the office and took the tram back to the Resort.

  “What is it, Harry?” asked the Madonna as he entered the apartment. “You look upset.”

  He used his skeleton card to seal off the room. “I just heard from Victor Bonhomme.”

  “And?”

  “I think I can stall him for another two or three weeks, but after that I'm going to have to leave the Comet until this thing comes to a head.”

  She frowned. “There's no way you can stay longer than that?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. The man's a pro; he knows I've had time to do the job twice over already.”

  “Does he have any suspicions about what you're really doing?”

  “Not yet,” replied Redwine. “Right now he just thinks I'm like a kid turned loose in a candy shop.”

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked.

  He walked over to where she was sitting. “As long as it takes,” he replied, caressing the back of her neck. “Six months is a pretty fair guess.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “I'm going to miss you.”

  “I know,” he agreed unhappily. “But it's got to be done. Besides, I have some business to take care of on Deluros.”

  “Like what?”

  “I've got to take copies of what I've done and put them in a safe place—or, better still, two or three different safe places.” He kissed her fingers as they passed near his lips. “These people play for keeps, and I've got to make sure we're protected.”