Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet

by Mike Resnick

  “Did Victor threaten you?” she asked suddenly.

  “No,” he said, moving his hand to her shoulder and then gently down to her breast. “Who'd waste a bullet on a middle-aged accountant?” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “Harry, I want you to tell me the truth,” she persisted. “If you're in more trouble than you anticipated, I want to know about it.” She turned and looked up into his eyes. “If you think your life may be in danger, I'll agree to your original plan and leave the ship with you.”

  “You'd really cut and run?”

  “Yes, I think I would,” she replied, looking quite surprised with herself.

  He smiled. “You know, there was a time, and not so many days ago either, when I'd have lied and said there was a hit out on me, just to get you to come away and avoid all this trouble.” He paused. “But I love you too, and I know how much the Comet means to you, so I'm going to have to tell you the truth—and the truth is that I'm in no more danger now than I ever was.” He exhaled deeply. “It's just that talking to Victor finally brought home the reality of what we're doing. It's beyond the planning stage now.”

  “You're sure that's all that's bothering you?” she insisted.

  “Yeah.” He paused. “Well, we've got one other little problem, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone told him that I've moved in with you, so I'm going to have to hunt up Rasputin and try to find out the name of the plant.” He sighed. “Again.”

  “Maybe it was Rasputin himself,” suggested the Madonna. “After all, it's his job.”

  “Maybe,” said Redwine dubiously. “But whoever it was, I've got to find out who's spying on us for Victor so you'll know who to watch out for after I've left.” He walked over to the computer. “And the sooner I do it, the better.” He activated the screen.

  “Security.”

  The image of a young man clad in a green uniform suddenly materialized.

  “Let me speak to Rasputin, please,” said Redwine.

  “I'm afraid he's not here just now, Mr. Redwine,” came the reply.

  “This is urgent. Where can I find him?”

  The young man checked the duty roster on a nearby screen. “He's in one of the fantasy rooms.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, sir. In the Fishbowl.”

  “The Fishbowl?” repeated Redwine, puzzled.

  “I'll explain it,” said the Madonna, and Redwine broke the connection.

  “What the hell is the Fishbowl?” he asked.

  “That's Rasputin's term for it, and now he's got everyone in Security using it,” she explained. “It's the Ocean Bower.”

  “How do I find it?”

  “It's on the same level as the Tropical Paradise,” she said. “Two doors further down, on the opposite side of the corridor.”

  “Well, I might as well get on with it,” he said, unjamming the security devices and walking to the door. “Wish me luck.”

  He took the elevator up to the fantasy rooms, walked down the long corridor to the Ocean Bower, and commanded the door to open.

  The door remained shut, and suddenly he remembered that the fantasy rooms only responded to those who had been scheduled to use them, so he began pounding on the door. A moment later it slid silently into the wall, revealing Rasputin, an odd-looking machine slung over his shoulder, standing about six feet away. “Hello, Harry,” he said. “What the hell are you doing up here?”

  “Looking for you,” said Redwine, entering the room just before the door slid shut again. He looked at his surroundings. “This is some place!”

  “Pretty, isn't it?” agreed the Security chief.

  The Ocean Bower was the smallest of the fantasy rooms, no more than thirty feet square. Its sole piece of furniture was a huge, circular waterbed, carefully disguised as the bottom section of an enormous, open seashell that rested on a small spit of silvery sand. There was a transparent plastic dome surrounding the spit and the bed, and just beyond it was a holographic representation of an ocean, filled with mermaids, incredibly colorful schools of tropical fish, a Neptune figure astride a gigantic sea horse, nude men and women swimming amidst schools of dolphins, even a replica of Jules Verne's Nautilus.

  “Beautiful,” said Redwine at last. “And tranquil.” He paused. “What's that thing you're carrying on your shoulder?”

  “Kind of a sensor,” replied Rasputin, activating it and pointing it at a section of the sand.

  “Did somebody lose something?”

  The Security chief smiled. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “My old friend the Lady Toshimatu is back on the Comet,” explained Rasputin.

  “The one who cheats at cards?” asked Redwine.

  “Right. She's been cleaning up for a couple of days, and she's due to leave tonight,”

  “So?”

  “Well, like I said, she's one of my pet projects, and it seems that whenever she's through gambling she always takes a young man down here before going home. It's never the same man twice, but it's always the Fishbowl, so I got to thinking that maybe it wouldn't do any harm to check the place out. She just left it about half an hour ago, and I gave orders not to let anyone in until I had a chance to go over it myself.”

  “What do you expect to find?”

  “Probably nothing—but this little gadget will tell me if there's anything here besides sand.” He looked up from the machine's dials and meters. “You still haven't told me why you're here.”

  “I have to ask you a question.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Have you been in contact with Victor Bonhomme?”

  “Not that it's any of your business, but no, I haven't,” replied Rasputin.

  “You're sure?”

  “Harry, I don't even know him.”

  “Then I've got another question. It's the same one I asked you a month ago: who is Bonhomme's spy?”

  “So we're back to that again,” said Rasputin wearily.

  “I'm getting a lot of pressure from Deluros,” persisted Redwine. “I've got to have that name.”

  “Harry, you poor dumb bastard,” replied Rasputin, not without a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You think just because you deal in espionage, everyone does? No one's spying on you.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Redwine.

  “You've made that damned office absolutely bugproof, and you do the same every night when you go back to the Madonna's apartment. Who the hell could spy on you even if they wanted to?”

  “Somebody told Bonhomme that I've moved in with the Madonna.”

  “That's not spying, Harry,” laughed Rasputin. “That's common knowledge.”

  “But it means that he's got someone keeping track of me!”

  “Well, maybe you're not bankrupting the Comet fast enough to suit him,” said Rasputin pleasantly. He paused. “You know, Harry, if you didn't want people to know where you were spending your nights, you could have been a little more discreet about it.”

  “That's not the point!” snapped Redwine.

  “Oh? And just what point are you trying to make?”

  “That there is a spy on the ship!”

  “I agree,” said the Security chief. “But his name's Harry Redwine, and if he wanted to convince me that he was a poor innocent victim the first thing he'd do is stop jamming my security system every time he walks into a room.”

  “Look,” said Redwine, feeling extremely frustrated. “I'm going to be leaving the ship in a couple of weeks. Will you give the name to the Madonna after I'm gone?”

  “Harry, I don't know how you've convinced her that you're one of the good guys, and that you're going to tackle the big bad Syndicate all in the name of love, but you haven't convinced me—and until you do, I'm not going to give you what you want.”

  “Damn it, Rasputin!” yelled Redwine. “I'm trying to help her!”

  “Everything I know about you makes me doubt tha
t like all hell,” replied Rasputin calmly.

  “She knows I'm on her side,” said Redwine defensively.

  “Yeah. Well, with friends like you and Suma, she sure as hell doesn't need any enemies.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “DeWitt told me this morning that if Suma's patrons kept losing in the casino, he was going to kill the Duke. You don't seriously believe it was his idea, do you?”

  “I thought the Madonna put a stop to it,” said Redwine, surprised.

  “She did—but that little bitch has got herself a fulltime enforcer now.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, let me take a wild guess and say that it's not to protect her from the patrons,” said Rasputin caustically. He stared at Redwine. “The Madonna's got enough trouble, Harry. Why don't you do her a favor and leave her alone?”

  Redwine sighed heavily. “You wouldn't believe me.”

  “If you're going to start spouting lyrical poetry about affairs of the heart, you're right,” agreed Rasputin. “Look—why not be reasonable about this? If what you say is true, we're on the same goddamned side. Just for once, stop playing cloak and dagger games and give me enough facts so that I'll know you're telling the truth. Then I'll be happy to give you all the help you want.”

  Redwine stared at him thoughtfully for a moment.

  “You want the facts?” he said at last. “All right. I'll trade them to you for the name I need.”

  “All right,” said the Security chief. “What are they?”

  “The name first.”

  Rasputin chuckled humorlessly. “No chance, Harry. First the facts.”

  “I think this is what they used to call a Mexican standoff,” said Redwine with a wry smile.

  “Looks like,” agreed Rasputin. “You won't help me?”

  “Harry, everyone has to live by some kind of code. Mine is simple and old-fashioned: you do your job, you honor the truth, and you don't betray a trust. You're asking me to disregard all three simply on your say-so—and to put it frankly, you're about as untrustworthy a man as I've ever met. The fact that you're a likeable guy doesn't matter, and the fact that you might even be telling the truth doesn't matter. Until you can prove to me that I won't be betraying my employer or failing in my job as Chief of Security by helping you, I just can't do it.”

  “You're making a very big mistake,” said Redwine seriously.

  “It's possible,” conceded Rasputin. “I've been wrong before.”

  “You are this time, too,” said Redwine. “Just remember what I told you would happen if any harm comes to the Madonna because you wouldn't give me the name.”

  “Answer me one question, Harry,” said Rasputin.

  “Would the Madonna be facing any trouble if she hadn't hooked up with you?”

  Redwine stared at him, started to say something, changed his mind, and walked out of the Ocean Bower. He took the elevator back down to the public room level and began wending his way back to the Madonna's apartment.

  “Hey, Redwine!” a masculine voice called out as he was passing by one of the lounges.

  He turned and saw Gamble DeWitt sitting alone at a small table.

  “Yes?”

  “You're almost a month late with that drink you promised to buy me.”

  Redwine shrugged, walked over, and sat down opposite DeWitt. “What'll you have?”

  “Anything that's wet,” replied DeWitt with a grin.

  Redwine signalled for a waitress, ordered two whiskeys, and turned back to DeWitt. “I don't think I've seen you since the fight,” he said.

  “Believe me, if there's one person I don't break promises to, it's the heavyweight champion of the Republic.”

  “Former,” DeWitt corrected him.

  “You'll always be the champion to me,” continued Redwine. “I was there the night you took the title away from Nkimo.”

  DeWitt's face brightened perceptibly. “You were?”

  “I always wondered how either of you walked out of that ring on your own power.”

  “It was a hell of a fight, wasn't it?” said DeWitt wistfully. “God, I miss those days!”

  “How many title defenses did you make?”

  “Fourteen,” DeWitt answered proudly. “I retired undefeated. Well, undefeated as a champion, anyway. I lost a couple of fights real early on, before I changed managers.” He paused. “Management makes the difference.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it does to a fighter.”

  “To everyone,” said DeWitt firmly.

  The drinks arrived, and Redwine signed for them.

  “Well,” said Redwine, holding his glass up, “here's to you. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to see you fight again.”

  “I'll drink to that,” agreed DeWitt, downing his whiskey in a single gulp and signalling for another.

  “By the way,” said Redwine, “I hear on the grapevine that you and the Duke still aren't what one might call the best of friends.”

  “I've got nothing against him personally,” replied DeWitt. “I mean, hell, we fought and I won and as far as I'm concerned that ended it.” His face clouded over. “But he's cheating my Suma's patrons, and I can't let him get away with that.”

  “Your Suma?”

  DeWitt nodded. “She's the only one on this whole goddamned ship who gives a damn about me, so the least I can do is make sure that nobody messes around with her.”

  “I get the feeling that you're not exactly thrilled with your new occupation,” remarked Redwine.

  “It's sure as hell not what I expected it to be,” muttered DeWitt. “I figured I'd do a little serious fucking, a little serious drinking, and try to keep in shape in the gym, you know what I mean?”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Redwine. “So what's the problem?”

  “The problem is that damned Madonna!” said DeWitt unhappily. “She didn't play square with me.”

  “In what way?”

  “I figured that this would be kind of an extended vacation, you know? Like I'd be getting the cream of the crop. I mean, hell, I'm Gamble DeWitt! So as soon as I start, she's wanting me to do it five, six times a day, and half of my patrons are goddamned grandmothers—and then, suddenly, it's like I don't exist. Nobody asks for me, and I'm stuck over in the Home while people like those mousy little Gemini bastards barely have time to eat and sleep they're so busy!”

  “Little?” repeated Redone.

  “I could break them in half like dried twigs!”

  “I suppose you could, at that,” agreed Redwine hastily.

  “Anyway, thank God for Suma!” he continued. “I was just about ready to hop the first ship out of here when she took me over.” Suddenly his expression softened. “But she's not like the others.”

  “She certainly isn't.”

  “She cares about me. She can name all the opponents I fought, and she's been to my home world, and she knows how the Madonna lied to me. Hell, half the time she comes to my room we just sit around and talk.”

  “How often does she come?” asked Redwine.

  “Every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

  Redone frowned. “I had the impression that she was booked pretty heavily.”

  “She finds a way to make the time,” replied DeWitt. “Like I said, she cares.”

  “It certainly sounds like it.”

  He nodded. “She wants me to keep working out, too. The others—the Madonna and Lori and the rest—they all thought it was a waste of time, but not Suma. She knows how important it is to me.”

  “It sounds like she's got plans for you,” offered Redwine.

  “I hope so,” agreed DeWitt. “I'm not a goddamned studhorse. I just wasn't cut out for this damned line of work. Hell, just between you and me, Suma is about all I can handle.”

  “What other lines of work are there on the Comet?” asked Redwine.

  DeWitt shrugged. “Security, maybe. Though what I'd really like to do is run the casino. Suma's been teaching me a couple of games they
play out on the frontier worlds that would do real well here.” He paused. “She's got lots of great ideas for the Comet,” he added admiringly.

  “It sounds like she's put a lot of thought into it.”

  “She has,” agreed DeWitt.

  “You know,” said Redwine, “I can envisage the day that the Comet caters only to male customers.”

  “Yeah?” said DeWitt, surprised.

  “Yeah. And I think when that day comes, there's a ready-made job for you. After all, who's going to get rough with one of the girls when he knows he's got to face Gamble DeWitt?”

  “You know,” said DeWitt, “that's exactly what she says!”

  Redwine smiled. “Great minds think alike.”

  “You're okay, Redwine,” said DeWitt. “I know you're shacking up with the iceberg, and I'm not going to apologize for anything I said about her, but you're all right. I'm sure you've got your reasons.”

  “I suppose I have,” said Redwine noncommittally.

  “Suma doesn't like you much, but I'll have a little talk with her.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don't mention it. You're pretty high up with the Syndicate. Maybe someday she might want to have a friend there.”

  “You never can tell,” agreed Redwine, getting to his feet. “I hate to run, but I've still got a lot of work to do.”

  “See you around,” said DeWitt, as the waitress arrived with his next drink.

  Redwine walked back to the apartment with a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. There were no visible signs of motion, but he had a feeling that things were moving very fast indeed. Bonhomme was unquestionably going to increase the pressure on him, Rasputin would be at best a bystander and at worst a hindrance—and now, after his little talk with DeWitt, he had a feeling that the biggest problem the Madonna faced was stopping Suma from stealing the Velvet Comet out from under her before she even had a chance to defend it from Redwine's unknown employer.

  Chapter 13

  “Harry, are you ever coming to bed?”

  Redwine looked up from the tabletop computer screen and saw the Leather Madonna, totally nude, standing in the doorway leading from the office to her apartment.