Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet

by Mike Resnick

  “Would he want copies for himself ?” asked Rasputin slowly.

  Redwine uttered a harsh laugh. “He'd have a stroke if he thought anyone had made them. I mean, hell, they could put him behind bars for a dozen years.”

  “Then we've got a little problem,” continued the Security chief.

  “Oh?”

  Rasputin nodded. “A few days ago you pulled up some records from the main computer bank. I don't know what you did with them, but I know which ones you pulled.” He paused. “That was the night you figured out that Suma was the plant.”

  “I remember,” said Redwine.

  “But along with Suma and Gamble DeWitt, you also pulled the file on Lena Boatswain. I didn't know why you were interested in her, but since she works for Security, it made me interested too.”

  “And?”

  “You're not the only person on board who's made before-and-after copies of the financial records.” Rasputin leaned forward. “Now, if she didn't do it for Bonhomme, who did she make them for?”

  “It had to be for Suma,” answered Redwine with a frown.

  “What does Suma plan to do with them?” asked Rasputin. “Blackmail you?”

  “I think she's after bigger game than me.”

  “Bonhomme?”

  Redwine shook his head. “She's the plant, remember?

  She knows who my employer is.” He exhaled deeply. “My guess is that she's after him—or her, as the case may be.”

  “Will it work?”

  “It doesn't make any difference.”

  “I don't think I follow you.”

  Redwine allowed himself the luxury of a large grin. “If he pays her off, he's going to be buying her silence for a crime that won't exist a year from now.”

  “Then who becomes the next chairman?”

  “I don't give a damn. The Comet will stay in business, which is all the Madonna cares about. And to tell you the truth, that's all I care about at this moment.”

  “If I were you, I'd find a little more to care about,” commented Rasputin. “Even if no one figures out what you've done, it's going to cost you your job.”

  “I'm tired of my job.”

  “You might get tired of being permanent houseboy,” remarked Rasputin.

  “She's quitting too,” answered Redwine.

  “How soon?” asked Rasputin sharply.

  “Once this whole thing is resolved, and she can choose her successor.”

  “I take it that Suma isn't exactly a prime candidate?”

  “Suma's got twenty-six days to get her pretty little ass off the ship,” replied Redwine. “She was fired, remember?”

  “I have a feeling that this isn't quite as neat and tidy as you're making it sound,” said Rasputin. “Did you know that she paid a visit to Bonhomme last night?”

  “I'm not surprised,” answered Redwine. “Were you able to monitor them?”

  The Security chief shook his head. “He sealed off his room the minute she arrived.”

  “You really ought to get a skeleton card,” chuckled Redwine.

  “I didn't know that one skeleton card could overpower another,” remarked Rasputin.

  “It can't—but it can negate another card. If your security system is working, it comes to the same thing.”

  “He's going to be on the ship for a couple of more days, isn't he?”

  “To the best of my knowledge.”

  “Then there's always a chance that he'll meet with her again,” continued Rasputin. “Why don't you show me how that damned card works, and maybe I can listen in on them next time.”

  Redwine shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Can we do it from right here?” asked Rasputin.

  “Yes, but we'll have to unseal the room first. Right now no signal can get in or out.”

  Redwine withdrew his card while Rasputin adjusted his computer.

  “Ready when you are,” said the Security chief after a moment.

  “Let's get on with it,” said Redwine.

  Rasputin touched a number of squares on his console, then frowned as an orgy appeared on the screen.

  “I must have the wrong room,” he muttered, and reached for the console again.

  “No,” said Redwine suddenly. “That's Victor there on the bed.”

  “And that looks like Suma over there on the lounge chair,” added Rasputin, squinting at the picture.

  “They must have the whole damned Demolition Team in there with them,” commented Redwine. He turned to Rasputin. “I thought you told me the room was sealed off.”

  “It was,” answered Redwine. “I guess there's a little exhibitionist in all of us.”

  “Maybe,” said Redwine, frowning.

  Rasputin chuckled. “Why else would he stop jamming the monitors?”

  “I don't know,” said Redwine. “Unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  Suddenly Redwine sat bolt upright.

  “Unless they needed an alibi!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Get the Madonna's room—quick!” demanded Redwine.

  The Security Chief touched six squares in quick order, and the Madonna's office flashed on the screen.

  It appeared empty at first, but an instant later they heard a crashing noise and Rasputin transferred to a different camera.

  The Leather Madonna, blood streaming down her face, was backing away from Gamble DeWitt, who was throwing furniture out of his path as he slowly, almost casually, pursued her around the room.

  “Get a Security team there on the double!” yelled Redwine.

  Rasputin reached for the computer console, then cursed and jumped to his feet.

  “Come on!” he snapped, rushing to the door.

  “What's the matter?” demanded Redwine.

  “Lena Boatswain's on duty on that level! This thing was set up!”

  They reached the tramway in less than a minute, then spent the longest eighty seconds of Redwine's life traversing the two miles beneath the mall. They ran to an elevator bank, shoving prostitutes and patrons aside as they went, and burst into the Madonna's apartment another minute later.

  DeWitt, a look of fury on his handsome face, had the Madonna in a corner of the room and was slapping her, first forehand and then backhand, with a quick, savage rhythm. Her eyes were glazed, and from the swelling and miscoloration of her face it was obvious that her nose and left cheekbone were broken. Most of the furniture in the room had been shattered, and the floor was littered with chess pieces, broken glass, and splintered wood.

  Redwine instantly hurled himself at DeWitt's back, knocking the athlete into a wall. Though surprised, DeWitt responded quickly, catching Redwine on the throat with the flat of his hand and knocking him to the floor.

  During the momentary confusion the Madonna began stumbling groggily toward the doorway. DeWitt saw the motion out of the corner of his eye caught her in a single stride, and landed a tremendous blow on the back of her head.

  Two cracking sounds followed simultaneously, one from the Madonna's neck and the second from Rasputin's hand weapon. DeWitt spun completely around and, cursing at the top of his lungs, charged across the room toward the Security chief, a huge bloody spot just under his left shoulderblade. Rasputin fired again, and DeWitt collapsed in a heap and lay totally motionless.

  The Security chief knelt down next to the Madonna's body and examined it briefly. Her bruised and bloodied head was twisted at an impossible angle, and he tried to straighten it out.

  “Stay where you are, Harry,” he said softly, as Redwine got painfully to his feet and began approaching him. “You don't want to see her like this.”

  Redwine uttered a moan that was more animal than human, then ran to the Madonna's side and pushed Rasputin away. He placed an arm under her terribly battered body and began speaking incoherently as tears streamed down his face. After a moment he took one of her lifeless hands and began rubbing it vigorously.

  “It's no use, Harry,” said Rasputi
n. “She's dead.”

  “No she's not!” snapped Redwine. He rubbed her hand for another few seconds, then lowered his mouth to hers and vainly tried to breathe life back into her body.

  “Where's your card, Harry?” asked Rasputin after another minute had passed.

  Redwine looked uncomprehendingly at him.

  “Your skeleton card, Harry,” repeated Rasputin, articulating each word slowly and carefully. “We've got to seal off the room.”

  “My pocket,” mumbled Redwine, turning his attentions back to the Madonna.

  Rasputin approached him, gently removed the card and secured the apartment, as Redwine, again oblivious to him, cradled the Madonna in his arms.

  Redwine remained absolutely motionless for another moment, then stood up and dried his face with the sleeve of his tunic.

  “I loved her,” he said softly.

  “I know,” replied Rasputin.

  Redwine pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, then seemed to forget what he had wanted it for.

  “We were going to live on her farm in the Pollux system,” he said in a faraway voice. He paused, momentarily disoriented. “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  “I don't know if he did,” replied the Security chief thoughtfully. “I think we startled him. If he had come here to kill her, she'd have been dead long before we arrived.”

  Redwine stared at the Madonna's lifeless body.

  “I didn't even know her name,” he said at last.

  “You knew everything you needed to know about her,” replied Rasputin gently.

  Redwine was silent for another moment.

  “It's back,” he said at last, in a dull, dead voice.

  “What is?”

  “The emptiness.” He paused. “It was gone while I knew her, and now it's back.”

  “I don't understand,” said Rasputin.

  “You don't have to. I do.” Redwine's expression hardened. “Someone besides me is going to be sorry this day ever happened,” he announced at last.

  “Can you be ready to leave the ship in half an hour?” asked Rasputin.

  “Who's leaving?” asked Redwine distractedly.

  “You are.”

  “Not until I see Suma and Victor.”

  “Harry, if you kill them, I won't be able to protect you. You'll go to jail.”

  “It doesn't matter.”

  “There's a better way,” persisted Rasputin.

  Redwine looked at him blankly.

  “Deluros, Harry,” said Rasputin, articulating each word carefully as if speaking to a child. “Take your copies of the records and go to Deluros. You'll not only take care of Suma and Bonhomme, but you'll save the Comet.”

  “What do I care about the Comet?” said Redwine.

  “She cared.”

  Redwine looked down at the Madonna's body.

  “All right,” he said at last.

  “Good,” said Rasputin briskly. “Now we've got to get you out of here.”

  Redwine remained motionless.

  “Harry, are you paying attention to me?”

  “I want her buried on her farm on Pollux IV,” said Redwine, never taking his eyes from the Madonna.

  “I'll see to it.”

  “And I don't want Suma to have any of her things. I'll see them burned first.”

  “Is there anything of hers you'd like to take with you?”

  Redwine looked slowly around the room.

  “The chess set,” he said at last.

  “Where's the container?”

  “In the bedroom closet,” said Redwine. “And bring the briefcase that's next to it; it's got the data copies.”

  Rasputin left the office and returned a moment later with the briefcase and the ornate wooden box.

  He laid both on the floor, then dropped to his knees and began gathering up the chess pieces.

  “I'm going to give you the first shot at this, Harry,” he said as he began collecting the scattered chessmen and placing them carefully in the box. “But if you fail, I'm going to see that Suma gets what's coming to her.”

  Redwine made no answer, but merely stood there, trying to adjust to the terrible reality of the situation, to the fact that the Madonna would never read another book, or laugh at another joke, or greet him at the end of a day, or ever again walk the decks of the Velvet Comet.

  Rasputin put the last piece in the box, locked it, and got to his feet.

  “Harry, I've got to ask you a question.”

  “What?”

  “It's about your skeleton card.”

  “You can't have it,” said Redwine. “I'll need it on Deluros.”

  “You said before that it could negate Bonhomme's card.”

  “So what?” said Redwine dully.

  “Damn it, Harry—try to concentrate!”

  Redwine looked at him. “What about the card?”

  “I don't know all the intricacies of working it,” said the Security chief. “Is there a way you can stop Bonhomme from jamming his suite's monitors before you leave?”

  Redwine stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

  “What room is he in?”

  Rasputin gave him the number, and Redwine walked over to the fruitwood secretary, activated the small computer inside it, and made a quick adjustment.

  “It's done,” he said.

  “I wish to hell I had one of those,” muttered Rasputin. He picked up the briefcase and the box.

  “All right, Harry. The sooner we get you off the ship, the better.”

  “You go ahead,” said Redwine. “I want a minute alone with her.”

  Rasputin nodded and left the room, and Redwine knelt down beside the Madonna once more.

  “I waited forty-three years for someone like you,” he said softly, “and then we only had five weeks together.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her for the last time. “It shouldn't have ended like this”—he sighed—“but it was worth the wait.”

  He stood up, blew his nose once, and then walked to the door and followed Rasputin to the airlock.

  Chapter 19

  Night had fallen on Deluros VIII, the enormous planet that would shortly become Man's capital world.

  Seven billion bureaucrats had returned to their dwellings, secure in the knowledge that they had advanced the cause of the sprawling Republic for another day.

  Traffic in and out of the ten thousand orbital hangars had slowed to a manageable flow, half a million restaurants had closed their doors for another day, all but a handful of the five hundred holographic video stations had switched from prime time entertainments to reruns and low-budget epics.

  And yet not everyone on Deluros VIII had ceased working for the day. Five million police patrolled the streets and byways of the major cities, a third of a million bars remained open, a sanitation force the size of a small army was preparing the planet for another day's assault by its busy minions.

  The Planetary Governor was hosting a party for a trio of alien ambassadors from Lodin XI, the Department of Commerce and Trade was holding an all-night session to explore means of combating the current recession, the Federation of Miners was polling its deadlocked membership regarding the Republic's latest contract offer.

  And, on the eighty-sixth floor of the Vainmill Building, a very old woman sat in a sumptuous office, studying flow charts on a tabletop computer.

  A cup of tea, cold and forgotten, rested on a corner of her desk. Every now and then she would utter a brief command to the computer, but for the most part she merely watched the endless display of charts and statistics.

  Suddenly she heard a door slide into the wall, and looked up to find herself facing a middle-aged man.

  The man touched a small card he held in his hand, and the door slid shut again.

  The two stared at each other in silence for a long minute.

  “Come in, Mr. Redwine,” said the old woman at last. “I've been expecting you.”

  “You know who I am?” asked Redwine,
surprised.

  “Of course,” she said. “I make it my business to know all my major employees, even those I haven't met before.”

  “You also make it very difficult for them to talk to you.”

  “I'm a busy woman. If what they have to say is important enough, they usually find a way to see me, as you seem to have done.” She paused. “How did you get past my security people?”

  Redwine held up his skeleton card.

  “I can't quite see what you have there,” said the old woman. “Please step a little closer.”

  “It's dark in here,” commented Redwine, approaching her desk.

  “The light hurts my eyes. Ah—a skeleton card!

  You show remarkable initiative, Mr. Redwine. Do sit down.”

  Redwine seated himself on an overstuffed chair about ten feet away from her.

  “May I offer you some tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr. Redwine?”

  “Like I said, we have to talk.”

  “That sounds remarkably like an order, Mr. Redwine,” said the old woman. “And I don't take orders. I give them.”

  “I'm afraid you'll have to take this one,” said Redwine. “I've sealed off your office.”

  The old woman smiled and touched a button beneath her desk. An instant later the door slid open.

  “We'll have our talk, Mr. Redwine,” she said as Redwine manipulated his card to no effect. “But you must understand that I am consenting to this meeting because I want to, not because you have told me that I must.”

  She moved her hand and the door slid shut.

  “Now,” she continued, “what is so important that you are willing to risk your career and even your life, just for a few minutes of my time?”

  “I've come to tell you that you have a saboteur in your organization,” said Redwine bluntly.

  “I have many saboteurs in my organization,” replied the old woman calmly. “Including you.”

  “What do you know about me?” he asked sharply.

  “More than you suppose,” said the old woman, taking a sip of her cold tea, making a face, and adding some sugar to it.

  “Then you know why I was sent to the Velvet Comet?” he persisted.

  “Certainly.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “Are you my employer?”

  “Not in the sense that you mean.”