by Mike Resnick
“Yes, I'm still here,” he said. “I had a ringside seat for the whole show.” He paused. “I just hope you haven't made a mistake.”
“I thought firing her was your idea,” said the Madonna ironically.
“Not about that,” replied Redwine hastily. “But I sure as hell wish you hadn't agreed to give her thirty days to clear out.”
“I didn't have any choice. It's a standard clause in our employment contract.”
“Why? It doesn't make any sense to let someone stick around that long if you've already fired them. Why not just give them some severance pay and be done with it?”
“Because this isn't a planet, Harry; it's a spaceship. You can't go home to your apartment, lick your wounds, and start looking for a new job the next morning. Most of the people I've fired have needed all that time and more, just to find a new job and a new world to live on, and to make the necessary transportation arrangements.”
“Well, I think I'd better keep tabs on Suma, just to be on the safe side. I hate to think of the mischief she can do in thirty days.” He dumped a long ash off his cigar. “Enough about Suma. There's something more important I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“You said something about quitting,” continued Redwine. “Was that for her benefit, or did you mean it?”
“I talked about retiring, not quitting,” replied the Madonna. “I won't cut and run under fire.”
“To hell with semantics. Did you mean it?”
She stared at his image thoughtfully for a moment.
“Yes, I did. I've had a good run at this business, and I've built it up into something to be proud of—but I've been working on the Comet for more than a third of my life. Maybe it's time I did something else.”
“Like what?”
“Don't look so frightened, Harry,” she said with a smile. “Whatever it is, I'll be doing it with you.”
“You'll really come away with me when this situation is over?” he persisted.
“Who knows? You might come away with me. Have I ever shown you the holographs of my farm on Pollux IV?”
He shook his head. “You've talked about it, but I've never seen it.”
“Remind me to show them to you tonight. It's very pretty. There's a stream running by the house, and a pond in back with the strangest-looking waterfowl you ever saw.”
“There's a lot of things to see and do on Deluros,” he said. “Maybe we could use the farm as kind of a retreat, when things get too hectic.”
She laughed. “I'm not really anxious to move from one hectic environment to another.” She paused and stared seriously at the screen. “We've never really spent much time discussing our future, have we?”
“No, we haven't.”
“We've got the rest of our lives ahead of us. Maybe it's time we started making some plans.”
“I've been making them since that first night we spent together,” said Redwine.
“You, too?” she asked with a smile.
“Get those holographs out. I'll be with you in ten minutes.”
Redwine deactivated the computer, left the auxiliary office, and took the tram to the Resort. Once there he went into the Mall just long enough to purchase a dozen roses imported from Earth itself; and then, idly wondering what the climate was like on Pollux IV, he hurried back to rejoin the Madonna.
Chapter 15
Redwine spent the next three days alternately putting the final touches on the financial records and monitoring Suma's activities.
He had hoped that she might give away his employer's identity by placing a call to Deluros to complain about being fired, but he was totally unprepared for what she actually did. During the twenty-four hours following her meeting with the Madonna, Suma placed twenty-six calls to Deluros, each to a different executive of the Vainmill Syndicate, complaining about the Madonna's handling of the Comet without ever mentioning that she herself had been dismissed.
Redwine had the computer check out the list of names. All twenty-six of them—twenty-one men and five women—had been patrons of the Comet during the six months prior to Suma's trip to Deluros, and each had spent at least one evening in her company.
His three potential employers—Eric Nogara Belinda Watson, and Padani Makumbwa—were all on the list.
Which meant, he acknowledged grimly, that she was smarter than he had anticipated, or at least that she possessed better survival instincts. She still believed that he was loyal to the Syndicate and that he was doing his level best to subvert the books, and yet she had made certain that if he were spying on her, as indeed he was, he wouldn't be able to learn anything more than he already knew. Twenty-five of those messages would be ignored; one might not be—and he had no way of telling the one from the others.
He stared at the list again for a moment, then sighed and deactivated the computer. He lit a cigar, sat perfectly still while savoring the first few mouthfuls of the strongly-flavored tobacco that had been grown on the distant colony planet of Beta Hydri II, and then withdrew a small cube from his pocket. It contained a hologram of the farmhouse and the pond on Pollux IV, and a contemplative smile crossed his face as he stared at it once again, imagining himself and the Madonna sitting on the huge porch in the summer sun, or seated at her chess table, lost in concentration, as an icy winter wind whipped against the windows.
He had no idea how long he had sat, examining the cube for perhaps the hundredth time since she had given it to him, when he heard the door slide into the wall.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” said a familiar voice, and he looked up to see Victor Bonhomme, as immaculately tailored as ever, walk into the room.
“They told me I'd find you here,” continued Bonhomme, “and since I assumed you were hard at work on the books and had the room sealed off, I decided to use my card so as not to disturb you.” He smiled. “I was half-right, anyway. The room was sealed.”
“Just taking a break,” said Redwine, putting the cube back into his pocket. “Have a seat, Victor.”
“Thank you,” said Bonhomme, sitting down by the computer.
“What brings you here, as if I didn't know?” said Redwine.
“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are coming along,” replied Bonhomme. “Also, I've never been out here before. I thought I might sample the services before we shut the place down.”
He withdrew a platinum container from a lapel pocket, pulled out a long, thin, blue-tinted cigarette, placed it in a diamond-studded holder, and lit up. “How soon do you think you'll be finished here, Harry?”
“Maybe a week,” said Redwine. “Certainly less than two.”
“Oh, I guarantee it'll be less than two weeks,” said Bonhomme with a chuckle. “Now suppose you tell me why you weren't done twenty days ago?”
“I already explained it to you,” replied Redwine.
“I know,” nodded Bonhomme. “But this time I'd like the truth.”
“I told you the truth.”
“Let me ask it another way: how long would this job have taken you if you weren't spending all your time with the Leather Madonna?”
“Just the same. I put in seven hours a day, six days a week. Check Security's log if you don't believe me.”
“Security just knows when you arrive and leave, Harry. They don't know what the hell you do once you seal off the room—and to be perfectly honest about it, neither do I.”
“All right,” said Redwine with a shrug. “I'm just pretending to rig the books so I can sink our boss and throw my career into a trash atomizer. Actually I watch pornographic entertainments all day long.”
Bonhomme threw back his head and laughed. “You always had a good sense of humor, Harry, I'll give you that!” Suddenly his mirth vanished. “You've got four days to finish up.”
“What will you do to me otherwise?” asked Redwine sardonically. “Fire me on the grounds that I'm not a fast enough saboteur?”
“No. We'll just replace you with someone else.”
“You don't trust
anyone else, remember?”
“Harry, I love repartee as much as the next man. I always have. But things have gotten serious in the past few days. I'm under a lot of pressure, and I've got to pass some of it along to you.”
“Consider it done,” said Redwine. He paused for a moment. “Even if I finish up in four days, I want to stick around for a couple of weeks.”
“Out of the question.”
“You don't have to pay me,” said Redwine. “I've got some vacation time coming, and this is where I want to spend it.”
“Sorry, Harry, but we've got another job for you.” He grinned. “I only wish it was in a monastery.”
Redwine shook his head. “No way. I told you: this is my last job.”
“You always tell me that, and you always go back to work.”
“Not this time.”
“I understand that you're temporarily infatuated,” said Bonhomme, “but it'll pass. Hell, it always does for me.”
“The answer is no.”
“You'll be going to a nice little colony world out on the Rim. Hell, if it's your sex life that concerns you, we'll buy you another whore once you get there.”
“Forget it,” said Redwine, struggling to control his temper.
Bonhomme scrutinized him for a moment, then shrugged.
“We'll talk about it later,” he said at last. “Maybe over a game of chess with your new set. I understand it's a beauty.”
“What do you know about it?” demanded Redwine.
“Everything. Where you bought it, what you paid for it, when it was delivered to you.” Bonhomme smiled. “You're a valuable member of the team, Harry, so naturally we take an interest in everything you do.”
“Naturally,” said Redwine wryly.
“Well,” said Bonhomme, rising to his feet, “I'm absolutely famished! Which restaurant do you suggest?”
“They're all pretty good.”
“I saw one in the brochure where the waiters are all dressed like Elizabethan Englishmen,” remarked Bonhomme. “I think maybe I'll try that one.”
“They're Revolutionary Americans,” Redwine corrected him.
Bonhomme shrugged. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other. I'd ask you to join me, but you're obviously going to be much too busy working.”
“That's right.”
Bonhomme walked to the door, then turned to face Redwine. “Since I'm going to be here for a few days, I suppose I really should rely on your expertise.”
“I thought that was what I was applying right here,” commented Redwine.
“You are. But I thought you might recommend a few suitable companions for the duration of my stay.”
“Ask for the Gemini Twins,” said Redwine, managing to suppress a grin.
“The Gemini Twins? They sound intriguing.”
Redwine nodded. “And you might ask for the Demolition Team, too.”
“Thank you, Harry,” said Bonhomme.
“My pleasure.”
“What about Suma?”
“I don't know,” said Redwine, aware that Bonhomme was watching him for a reaction. “What about Suma?”
“I was led to believe that she was something quite special.”
“If that's your taste,” replied Redwine with a show of indifference. “Who recommended her?”
“Just a friend.”
“Do I know him?”
Bonhomme smiled. “I doubt it.”
“Well, good luck. She's usually booked up months in advance.”
“Oh, really? What a shame! I understand that she's an absolutely fascinating conversationalist.”
“I wouldn't know about that,” said Redwine with a shrug. “Do what you want—but I think you'll be happier with the Gemini Twins.”
“I'll keep it in mind,” said Bonhomme. “See you later, Harry.” Then he stepped out into the corridor, in quest of his various pleasures, and the door slid shut behind him.
Redwine waited a moment to make sure Bonhomme wasn't coming back for any final words, then raised the Madonna on the intercom.
“What's the matter, Harry?” she asked, staring at his image. “You look upset.”
“Victor's here.”
“You mean he's aboard the Comet?”
“Right.”
She lowered her head in thought for a moment, then looked up. “Well that's really not much of a surprise, is it? We knew if Suma made enough calls, one of them would elicit a response. Victor is the response.”
“He wants me off the Comet in four days,” said Redwine.
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I wouldn't go.”
“I think you may have to, Harry,” said the Madonna. “Right now he's irritated with you, but nothing more. You fight to stay here and he might start figuring out what's really going on.”
“Not Victor,” said Redwine with conviction. “He'll never be able to conceive of my doing something he himself wouldn't do.”
“Did he say anything about Suma?”
“Not really, but I imagine he'll be hunting her up sometime tonight.”
“Well, I guess we'd better play it by ear,” said the Madonna. “The next move is up to him.” She paused. “Is there any way you can monitor him?”
Redwine nodded. “Yes, but it's not worth the risk. He's got a pretty powerful card, too—and since his security clearance is higher than mine, there's a chance it might be able to tell him that I'm spying on him. As long as he thinks I'm on his side, let's not disillusion him.”
“If he checks your work, will he know what we plan to do?”
“Not a chance. That's hidden so deep in the computer's memory that he'd have to ask about two hundred unrelated questions to dredge it up, and then it's filed under your voice-print rather than mine.”
“Then I can't see what harm he can do us,” she said.
“Probably none—but I thought I ought to let you know he's arrived.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she replied. “I'll see you at dinnertime.”
“Right,” said Redwine, breaking the connection.
He re-lit his cigar, which had gone out sometime during his talk with Bonhomme, then stood up, walked over to the cabinet where he had stashed his liquor, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He was pouring himself a glass of it when he heard a pounding at the door. He checked his security screen, saw that it was Rasputin, and let him in.
“Hi, Harry,” said the stocky Security chief.
“Good afternoon,” responded Redwine. “Care for a drink?”
Rasputin shook his head. “Never when I'm on duty. Mind if I sit down?”
“Suit yourself,” said Redwine, capping the bottle and putting it away. “You don't mind if I indulge?”
“It's your liver,” said Rasputin with a shrug.
“Well,” said Redwine, walking over to a couch and sitting down, “since you're not drinking, I assume this is a business call.”
“I see that your boss has arrived,” said Rasputin. “I was thinking you might want to talk about it.”
“What did you want me to say?”
“Why he's come at this particular point in time, how close you are to finishing your espionage work, how long we've got before the Comet goes bankrupt, that sort of thing.”
“It seems to me that I spent more than a month asking you for a single piece of information that you refused to relinquish,” Redwine pointed out.
“True,” admitted Rasputin. “But you figured it out for yourself, so you really didn't need me. I watched the Madonna fire Suma a few days ago.”
“That's beside the point.”
“That's precisely the point,” said Rasputin with an amused smile. “My job is to ferret out information, not dispense it. Besides, Suma really wasn't a spy or a plant in the normal sense of the word, was she?”
“She was the name I needed, and you wouldn't give it to me. Why should I help you?”
“Because I think you're in more trouble than you're willing to admit. I notice t
hat Victor Bonhomme didn't show up until after Suma was fired. That tells me that someone on Deluros is very unhappy about this turn of events, and since they sent your immediate superior I have to assume that you're the one they're unhappy with.”
“How thoughtful of you to care,” said Redwine sardonically.
“Harry, I don't give a damn whether you sink or swim,” said Rasputin seriously. “Everything you touch turns to shit, and as likeable as you are, we'd all be better off without you.” He paused. “But I care about the Madonna, and you've gotten her involved in this somehow. And I care about the Comet.”
“What does caring about the Comet have to do with anything?”
“Look,” said Rasputin impatiently. “It's pretty damned obvious that someone is out to destroy it. Now, if you're at odds with your people on Deluros, it means that one of you might not be trying to destroy it. I mean, what the hell else could you be arguing about?”
“I thought we were arguing about Suma, remember?”
“Firing a nineteen-year-old whore shouldn't elicit this kind of response,” said Rasputin firmly.
“You overestimate Victor's importance,” replied Redwine.
“Harry, if Suma was the issue, Deluros would have slapped the Madonna's hand. Bonhomme is here to slap yours. The only thing you could possibly be in disagreement about is the fate of the Comet.”
“This story would go over better in one of the fantasy rooms,” said Redwine.
“Damn it! You've been swearing to me for more than a month that you're out to save the ship. If you meant it, and if you're in trouble, I'm the logical person to ask for help. My job is protecting the goddamned ship, for Christ's sake!” He paused for a moment while Redwine sipped his whiskey and stared thoughtfully at him. “Look,” he continued at last. “You don't even have to give me all the details. Just tell me enough so I can believe you, and we'll fight this thing together.”
“I appreciate the offer,” said Redwine carefully. “I truly do. But everything's under control. Victor can't do a damned thing.”
“He can pull you off the Comet.”
“It won't matter. Everything's taken care of.”
“How about Suma?”
“Suma was taken care of three days ago. All she is now is an unemployed, oversexed teenager.”