Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (3 page)

“You're
here
,” she said, using a pen she had withdrawn from the secretary and indicating a tiny rectangle on the incredibly complex map. “If you'll follow this line I'm drawing, it will take you to the elevator banks leading to your suite. You do know the number, I trust?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Then that's all there is to it,” she concluded, handing the map to him. “If you decide to dine in one of our restaurants instead of using room service, just sign your name to the check; you have an unlimited line of credit, except at the casino and the shops.”

“What about an occasional companion for the evening?” he asked.

“As I said, you have an unlimited line of credit.”

“Much appreciated,” he said. “I'm rather surprised that I don't feel like a kid turned loose in a candy shop. I guess that reaction sets in later.”

“I really couldn't say, Mr. Redwine,” she relied, as the tabletop came to life again. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I really must get back to work.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Redwine, walking out of the room and staring at the map.

As he passed one of the restaurants he decided that he could do with a meal after all, and shortly thereafter he was dining on a sumptuous feast of real meat, sautéed in a white wine sauce that he couldn't identify but decided on the spot to order again before he left the ship. Finally, when he had finished his flaming dessert and a superbly-blended after-dinner drink, he withdrew the map from his pocket and found his way back to his suite with less difficulty than he had anticipated.

He checked the tiny device he had attached to the back of the commode, and was not surprised to discover that both his room and its computer terminal were still being monitored. He entered his darkened closet, made a show of getting out a change of clothes, and managed to remove his skeleton card from his briefcase and slip it into the formal jacket that he would shortly don. Then he stepped back into the brightly-lit bedroom, opened his briefcase again, seemed to check its contents, nodded with satisfaction, locked it, and placed it back in the closet.

This done, he shaved, showered, dressed, and left his suite, ostensibly to enjoy a few hours in the casino, where formal wear seemed to be
de rigueur
He strode down the corridor, entered the elevator, and ascended one level.

When he got out he found himself in a corridor almost identical to the one he had just left, waited until he saw a middle-aged woman and a handsome young man emerge from a suite about eighty feet away, and walked toward their door, pacing himself so that he reached it after they had entered the elevator.

He pulled out his skeleton card, inserted it in the lock, and entered the suite's elegant parlor an instant later. Wasting no time, he walked directly to the computer's holographic screen and held the card up.

“Activate.”

The screen flickered to life.

“This is Harry Redwine, Identification Number 00345, code name Fixer. Please scan my card and identify my retina pattern.” He waited a moment, then continued. “Once you've ascertained my identity, compare it against my Access Authorization under the code name Fixer. Let me know when you're done.”

The computer flashed a completion message a few seconds later.

“Has my skeleton card activated this room's security system?”

The computer gave him a negative response.

“Is this terminal currently being monitored?”

Negative again.

“All right. Institute Priority Code 03G6673H2.”

The computer winked in acknowledgement, and Redwine rattled off four more multi-digit codes in order.

“Now, computer, I want you to prevent anyone from monitoring or interfering with this terminal for the next 300 seconds, and then I want you to wipe all trace of these 300 seconds from your memory banks.”

Five minutes, he had decided was about as late as he could be and still claim unfamiliarity of the ship as an excuse.

“Now please bring up your Personnel File on Harry Redwine, Identification Number 00345.”

The computer did as it was instructed, and the Fixer set out to discover just how much anyone on the
Velvet Comet
actually knew about him.

Redwine was just finishing his breakfast when he looked up and saw the Leather Madonna approaching him.

She was wearing a different jumpsuit, composed of small strips of beige, tan, and dark brown leather in a chevron pattern. Her gauntlets and knee-high boots were both tan, though the boots possessed gold heels that matched her golden belt. Again she wore no jewelry except for a very simple pair of earrings.

“Good morning, Mr. Redwine,” she said pleasantly, sitting down opposite him. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“It was delicious.”

“And your suite?”

“All the comforts of home,” he replied. “Plus a few dozen that home never had.”

“I'm told that you didn't avail yourself of the most enjoyable of them.”

“It was a long, tiring day. Besides,” he added, “I'm not quite sure of the procedure.”

“Just use your intercom and tell the person at the other end what you want,” she said. “Or, if you prefer, let me know and I can arrange it for you.”

“Much obliged,” said Redwine. “Shall we get down to business?”

“I was
talking
business,” laughed the Leather Madonna.

“
My
business, not yours.” He pulled out the map she had given him the previous day. “Before we start, I've got a couple of questions.”

“I'll do my best to answer them.”

“When my ship approached the
Velvet Comet
, I noticed that it was shaped kind of like a barbell,” said Redwine. “Now, I gather that the section we're in is called the Resort.”

“That's right.”

“And this long section here”—he pointed to the map—“which looks like the bar of the barbell, is called the Mall.”

“Yes. That's where we have all our shops and boutiques.”

“Right. But I can't seem to find the other bell on the map.”

“It's called the Home,” she explained, “and we don't include it on the patrons’ maps for the simple reason that it's off limits to them.”

“And to me?” he asked.

“Of course not. You have run of the entire
Comet
, Mr. Redwine. In fact, I'll be taking you to the Home during your tour, since you'll want to see our security headquarters. Also, I have an auxiliary office there which you can work in, if it meets with your approval.”

“The Home also holds the crew's quarters, I presume?”

“Among other things. It also houses most of our technical equipment, our staff infirmary, our administrative offices, and various lounges and other recreational facilities for off-duty personnel.” She paused. “Did you have any other questions?”

“I'll ask them as they come to me,” he said, rising to his feet. “Shall we begin?”

They spent the next hour going through most of the restaurants and lounges. The Madonna answered each of his questions pleasantly and thoroughly, and he noticed that the previous day's coolness and undercurrent of tension seemed to have vanished.

Finally, when they had gone through the sixth and last of the kitchens, the Leather Madonna removed her ornate belt buckle, turned it over, and touched a certain spot on it. A series of tiny lights blinked in a repeating pattern, and after staring at it for a moment, she replaced the buckle on her belt and turned to Redwine.

“It seems that all of our fantasy rooms are in use for the next hour or so. I can either show you some empty suites which are very similar to your own, or we can take the slidewalk past some of the shops.”

“I suppose if you've seen one million-credit suite you've seen ‘em all,” said Redwine with an attempt at levity that elicited a polite smile. “Let's take a look at the shops.”

She led him out through one of the restaurants and past the huge reception foyer. They received a number of stares along the way, but he couldn't decide whether it was due to the fact that the madam herself was showing him around the ship, or simply because of the striking contrast between her own brilliant outfit and his businessman's gray-on-gray.

Finally they reached the Mall, the two-mile-long store-lined bar that connected the two bells of the
Comet.
The domed ceiling was about thirty feet high, and try as he would, Redwine couldn't spot the source of the indirect lighting.

The main walkway of the Mall was some eighty feet wide, with a sixty-foot strip of polished parquet flooring separating the two slidewalks that ran in front of the stores. At first Redwine thought the stores weren't doing much business, but then he realized that the sheer size of the Mall tended to make it seem far less crowded than it was. Once he began concentrating on the shoppers, he was surprised to find that there were well over two hundred of them within his field of vision, riding the slidewalks, walking across the parquet floor from one side to the other, or browsing at various windows.

The shoppers were grouped in twos and threes, with one party of eight particularly catching his attention simply by virtue of its size. From this distance he was unable to see the discreet little badges that identified the
Comet's
personnel, and found to his surprise that he was frequently unable to distinguish client from employee. A few were dressed formally—the women in gowns, the men in the pleated tunic tops and dark pants that had become so popular on Earth and Deluros—but most of them wore stylish leisure clothes, some very exotic, some less so. Here and there he could spot a woman in a particularly revealing dress or costume, but based on his brief observations in the
Comet's
casino and restaurants he wasn't sure whether they were prostitutes or patrons.

A juggler in mime's makeup suddenly walked out into the center of the floor about a quarter-mile from the Resort and began putting on a truly remarkable display of expertise. He drew a crowd of perhaps twenty people, but most of them, after watching for a moment, applauded politely and went back to the slidewalks to continue their tour of the shops.

“Does he work for you?” asked Redwine.

“The juggler? He's one of the technicians. He just likes to entertain the patrons during his free time.”

They stepped onto the slidewalk.

“Fascinating place,” he said.

“Didn't you pass through it when you arrived?”

He shook his head. “They put me on some kind of tramway system. I assume it runs beneath the Mall.”

“That's right.”

“VIP treatment?” he asked.

She laughed.
"Employee
treatment. They knew you worked for the Vainmill Syndicate. We like our VIPs to have a chance to spend their money at the shops.”

“Chardon of Belore, The Ice Crystal, DeLong's,” he read as they passed a trio of boutiques. “It looks like the lobby of the Royal Hotel back on Deluros.”

“You might try thinking of the
Velvet Comet
as an exclusive resort that provides a number of luxuries, including sexual assignations, rather than as simply a brothel,” commented the Leather Madonna. “After all, our clientele can certainly purchase any sort of sexual partners they want without going to the trouble of coming out here. We have to offer them a total experience.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Redwine.

“You wouldn't believe how hard I had to fight the Vainmill Syndicate before
they
saw the sense of it.”

“The shops are new, then?” he asked.

“The shops, the quality of the restaurants, the headline entertainers in the nightclub, even some of the fantasy rooms,” she answered. “They've all been installed over the past six years, always after initial opposition—and they've all turned a profit.” She turned to him suddenly. “I
made
the
Comet
what it is, Mr. Redwine,” she said passionately, “and no one is going to take it away from me.”

“Nobody's trying to.”

“Then why are you here to appraise the operation?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I can spot a way for you to make a little more money.”

Her expression said that she wasn't satisfied with his answer, but she decided to accept it for the moment, and Redwine went back to surveying the stores and shops.

“Sovereign & Crown,” he said, gesturing to an office on the far side of the bar. “Isn't that a brokerage house?”

“Yes.”

He looked puzzled. “All the suites have computers. Why the hell should a bright outfit like Sovereign's think they could do any business up here?”

Suddenly two men walked out of the office and took the slidewalk back to the reception foyer.

“A bright outfit like Sovereign's thought our clientele would like the human touch of conversing with a live broker,” said the Leather Madonna. “Evidently they were right.”

Redwine shrugged. “That just goes to show how much an accountant knows,” he said self-deprecatingly.

The Leather Madonna turned to face him. “I want to apologize for flaring up at you a minute ago,” she said.

“It's already forgotten.”

“No,” she insisted. “I'm sure coming here wasn't your idea. I was rude and ill-mannered. I promise that it won't happen again.”

He smiled. “You're about to embarrass me, which is something even the so-called entertainments I saw on the holoscreen last night couldn't do.”

She laughed. “All right, Mr. Redwine. The subject is closed.”

“If you really want to make peace,” he said, “why not start calling me Harry?”

“Harry it is.”

“By the way, your comment about Sovereign's brings up an interesting question,” he said, stepping aside to allow a middle-aged man who seemed in a hurry to pass him.

“Yes?”

“I notice that about every sixth or seventh shop has somebody working in it. Isn't that unusual?”

“Certainly—but our patrons can afford it, and they like the personal touch of dealing with people rather than machines. Also, the nature of the stores demands it. Whoever heard of a computer acting as a custom tailor? Usually one employee services half a dozen clustered shops. If you require personal service, simply announce it when you enter and someone will be with you as quickly as possible.”