Eros at Zenith: Book 2 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Read online

  “I don't know what either of your relationships are to him. I have to have your word that you won't try to hinder me once I tell you who it is.”

  “You have my promise,” said the Dragon Lady.

  “How much danger will you be putting him in?” asked the Black Pearl.

  “I don't know,” replied Crane honestly.

  “All right,” she said, after a moment's consideration.

  “It's Esteban Morales,” said Crane.

  “Esteban?” said the Black Pearl, surprised. “I just made a holo for him last week.”

  “A holo?” repeated Crane, suddenly aware of her costume once again.

  “A holographic entertainment,” she explained.

  “You mean a pornographic entertainment.”

  “If you wish,” she said, aware of his gaze and his ill-concealed discomfort. “I made it with Sugar Daddy and Totem Pole.” She paused. “It was a rather good one, if I say so myself.”

  “I'm sure you'd be the best judge of that,” he replied.

  “You can see it if you'd like,” she said with a catlike grin. “Tell Cupid to shift to video mode and turn to Channel 37Q.”

  “I'll keep it in mind.”

  “Who knows?” she added with a shrug. “You might learn something.”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted the Dragon Lady. “But what exactly do you propose to accomplish by arresting Morales?”

  Crane turned to the Security Chief. “One of two things,” he replied. “I know that the killer was trying to frighten Morales, but I don't know if he was trying to scare him into doing something or not doing it. Now, if he wanted Morales to do something badly enough to kill Infante, then he's going to have to try to make contact with Morales before we ship him off to Deluros for his mythical trial.”

  “But if he was trying to get Morales to stop, won't this do his job for him?” asked the Dragon Lady.

  “Yes—but, again, if it was important enough to precipitate a murder, then I can probably make a trade with Morales: his freedom to keep doing whatever it was, in exchange for the killer's identity.”

  “What if neither happens?” asked the Black Pearl. “What if the killer doesn't try to make contact and Morales won't deal?”

  “One or the other has got to happen,” said Crane with certainty.

  “You could wind up looking pretty silly if you're wrong,” said the Black Pearl.

  “Sillier than you think,” replied Crane. “I want the media up here.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded the Black Pearl.

  “I want this arrest to be big and noisy,” he answered. “I don't want to take a chance on the killer missing it.” He paused. “We'll let them stick around and hand them the real killer tomorrow morning. I figure it'll take them about six hours to get up here, so I'll make the arrest about midnight and —”

  “Not a chance!” said the Black Pearl firmly. “We're not having the media up here, and that's absolutely non-negotiable.”

  “It'll work much better with them,” said Crane.

  “Mr. Crane, it's bad enough that we've had a murder on the Comet. I cannot and will not allow you to make public the fact that the richest and most influential men and women in the Republic have shared an enclosed environment for almost five days with a killer whose identity is still unknown to you.”

  “Do you want him captured or not?”

  She stared straight into his eyes. “If you can't catch him without making a public spectacle out of it, then I don't want him captured.” She paused. “Earlier we were just jockeying for position, but this is in earnest. The Velvet Comet is like any other resort: it lives or dies with its reputation. And I will not allow it to have the reputation of being a haven for killers”—she paused—“or for publicity-seeking detectives, either.”

  “I resent that!” he snapped.

  “Resent it all you like,” she replied. “But don't waste your breath denying it.”

  The Dragon Lady seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and remained silent.

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” said Crane.

  “I think we both know,” replied the Black Pearl. “I've seen your dossier, I know how rapidly you've advanced and how ambitious you are. Understanding people is my business, Mr. Crane, contrary to what you may think. We don't need the media up here. The ship has a public address system, and Cupid can send messages to any member of the crew and any room in the ship. If you want the media up here, it's so they can disseminate holographs and stories about how the fearless young detective single-handedly captured yet another vicious killer. Except that the end result of your actions will be to cost the Comet millions of credits and untold confidence. I can't allow it.”

  “You're wrong,” he said without much sincerity. “But what the hell—let it be. No publicity.”

  “When and where will you make the arrest?” asked the Dragon Lady.

  “Probably as soon as I leave here,” replied Crane. “We'll have Cupid flash it on every screen in the place at ten-minute intervals.”

  “You haven't been listening to a word I've said,” interjected the Black Pearl. “I don't want the patrons to know there was a murder aboard the Comet.”

  “Just how long do you think you can keep this thing quiet?” said Crane. “Sooner or later the killer is going to stand trial in a public court of law.”

  “I'll worry about that when the time comes,” she replied. “Right now I'll just settle for later rather than sooner.”

  “They'll be just as mad at you when they find out you've been hiding a murder from them,” he said.

  “I have a suggestion that may solve that problem,” said the Dragon Lady, walking over to stand next to the detective's couch.

  “Go ahead,” said Crane.

  “What if we were to announce that two crew members got into a fight this morning and one of them killed the other? If we say it happened in the Home, that would hardly be a cause for concern among the patrons.”

  “Good,” said Crane, nodding his head. “I think it will work.”

  “How do we let the killer know what's going on?” asked the Black Pearl.

  “We announce that the name of the dead crew member is Edward Infante,” replied Crane. “The killer will be smart enough to figure out that we're lying so that the patrons won't be frightened. He'll know it's the same Infante.”

  “And if one of the patrons knew Infante?”

  “I don't think it's very likely,” said Crane. “But if anyone knew him, the chances are that they knew why he was killed. I think they'll keep their mouths shut.”

  “All right,” said the Black Pearl. “I can agree to that.”

  “Then it's settled?” asked the Dragon Lady.

  “Almost,” said Crane. “According to Cupid, Infante slept with seven different prostitutes during his various trips here. Is it possible to confine them to their rooms and keep them incommunicado for the next 24 hours?”

  “Because they knew Infante was a patron instead of a crew member, you mean?” asked the Black Pearl.

  “Right.”

  She shook her head. “Where would you stop? Every receptionist knows his name; he had a line of credit at the casino, which means the pit boss and some of the accountants knew him; he couldn't have eaten in the restaurants without reservations, which means most of the waiters know his name: he —”

  “I get the picture,” interrupted Crane. He lowered his head in thought for a minute, then looked up. “All right. What we'll do is this: Cupid will announce that there is an important general message waiting on the computer for every employee of the Comet. When they check it out, he'll tell them that for the security of the ship—and more to the point, for the security of their jobs—they must not contradict any information concerning Infante during the next 24 hours. Each of them will have to acknowledge the message by signing their personal code, and by 1800 hours we'll disseminate it to the stragglers.” He paused. “Can they be trust
ed to do what they're told? The patrons are probably going to ask about it when we announce that Morales was arrested for killing Infante.”

  “If we word it so that they know, in no uncertain terms, that they'll be terminated for contradicting the announcement, I think they'll keep quiet,” said the Black Pearl.

  “And if one of them does contradict it,” added the Dragon Lady, “at least we'll have a likely suspect.”

  “Well,” said Crane, “I guess that's everything. Cupid?”

  YES?

  “Close the Priority File again.”

  CLOSED.

  “Did anyone try to monitor us while the file was open?”

  NO ... URGENT MESSAGE COMING IN.

  A woman's face, the same one that had appeared earlier, materialized.

  “I hate to bother you again,” she said, “but Mrs. Weiboldt's just about to throw a tantrum. She only has the room for another 75 minutes.”

  “Give her a one-hour extension,” said the Black Pearl.

  “It's booked again 20 minutes after she's through with it,” replied the woman.

  “Shit!” muttered the Black Pearl. “All right. Tell her I'm on my way.” She broke the connection and walked to the door. “I've got to leave,” she said to them. “I have no objection to the plan you've outlined, but I insist on being informed if you decide to change it in any way.”

  “Fair enough,” agreed Crane. Then he added, with just a touch of sardonicism, “Have fun.”

  “I intend to,” she replied, walking out into the corridor.

  “What was that all about?” asked Crane, as the door slid shut behind her.

  “Mrs. Weiboldt is a 73-year-old lady who's worth about seven billion credits,” said the Dragon Lady.

  “I think her family made their money in mining, out in the Altair region. At any rate, she is what one might call a voyeur with delusions of literacy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that she comes up here once every two or three months, rents a fantasy room, hires a cast of 15 or 20 of us, and turns the script to her latest epic over to the Black Pearl, who does the casting. Today the Black Pearl is playing Cleopatra to Totem Pole's Mark Antony.” She paused. “It cost us almost two million credits to adapt the Roman Room for this.”

  “Adapt it?” queried Crane.

  “You haven't seen our fantasy rooms yet, have you?” she replied. “We have 36 of them, each rather large—and with a few carefully-selected props and a batch of holographic projectors and scents and sound effects, we turn them into tropical paradises, mountaintop ski lodges, domed underwater bedrooms, and the like. Not always realistic, mind you—after all, most medieval throne rooms were cold and dirty and generally unappetizing—but totally believable to the senses, and the imagination takes care of the rest. Most of the rooms are what you might call set pieces; we can change them, like we're doing for Mrs. Weiboldt, but it costs a lot of money. Fortunately, she has a lot of money to spend. I think the barge alone will run her half a million credits.”

  “Does she just pull up a chair and watch, or does she have to use the holographic screen in her room?”

  The Dragon Lady looked amused. “Neither. She writes herself into the script. Today she's Cleopatra's nurse.”

  “And she just stands around telling everybody what to do?”

  “We cater to some rather unique tastes,” admitted the Security Chief.

  “And the Black Pearl has to cater to them personally?” he said, frowning.

  “No. She's the madam. She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do.”

  He shook his head. “I don't understand her.”

  “I think it may be mutual,” replied the Dragon Lady.

  “Probably,” he admitted. He stood up and walked restlessly around the office, finally stopping in front of the holographs of the previous madams.

  “Were they all like her?” he asked.

  “I only knew eight of them personally,” answered the Dragon Lady. “The only thing they had in common was a single-minded devotion to the Comet.” She smiled. “One doesn't become the madam of the Velvet Comet by emulating the previous madam, Mr. Crane, but rather by applying one's ambition and competence in unique ways. Of course, I can't speak for the five who went before me, but the ones I've known have all been remarkable women.”

  “You have male prostitutes,” he noted. “How come you've never had a male madam?”

  “We have a highly-charged sexual atmosphere up here,” she explained. “Men tend to become too aggressive when put under pressure, and the madam's job is the most pressure-laden I know of.”

  “That sounds like an unreasonable sexual prejudice,” remarked Crane.

  “Prejudice, yes; unreasonable, no. Other establishments have used male madams, and a well-run business learns at least as much from its competitors’ errors as from its own.”

  He shrugged. “Then I was wrong about the missing picture. I thought it might be of a man.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When I mentioned that there were eleven previous madams, the Black Pearl corrected me and said that there had been twelve, but that Vainmill refused to hang one of the holographs.”

  “Vainmill has an interesting notion of morality,” commented the Dragon Lady dryly. “The missing holograph is of a woman named Suma, who became the madam when she was nineteen, and was fired two months later for her involvement in the death of her predecessor.”

  “What makes that kind of morality interesting?” asked Crane.

  “She's the only former madam that Vainmill still does business with.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “She runs a school of sorts on Delvania III,” said the Dragon Lady. “It's where the Comet's recruits get their training.”

  “A school for prostitutes?” he said dubiously. “What the hell is there to learn?”

  “More than you imagine,” she replied. “Not all of our prostitutes come from Delvania, but the ones who do are exquisitely gifted and masterfully trained. That much I'll grant her.”

  “If they've got nothing but potential prostitutes there, who do they practice on?”

  “Each other, and an occasional guest of the management.”

  “Were you trained there?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn't that well established when I was starting out.”

  “How old is this Suma, anyway?”

  “In her mid-50s, I should imagine. I've seen a few holographs of her, and I must confess that she was the most beautiful of our madams, which is no small accomplishment.”

  He took a last look at the eleven striking women, then stretched once and turned to the Dragon Lady.

  “I think it's about time we got to work,” he said.

  “Give me about ten minutes to program Cupid with the message, and another hour to track Morales down and arrest him, and then you can make your announcement.”

  “All right,” she replied. “I think I'll do it from my office. I can coordinate things better from there.”

  “Where did you plan on keeping Morales?” he asked her.

  “We have a detention cell in the Security area.”

  He shook his head. “I want him confined to his own quarters. Just put him there, change the coding on the lock so he can't get out, and don't post a guard.”

  “So you really think the killer will try to make contact with him?”

  “I don't know,” lied Crane. “But if he does, let's not make it too difficult for him. I assume you have cameras in the hall?”

  “Of course.”

  “Make sure they're working.”

  “I'll check them out personally”

  “Good,” said Crane getting to his feet. “Now let's go to work.”

  And let's hope, he added mentally as he stepped aside and allowed her to pass through the doorway ahead of him, that you don't figure out what's really going to happen and wind up costing me my life.

  Chapter 7
/>   Crane arrested a very surprised Morales at 1200 hours, ship's time, waited long enough to make sure that Cupid was disseminating the information, and then went to bed. He awoke at 2100 hours, feeling much refreshed, quickly shaved and showered, replaced his gray businessman's suit with a metallic black one, and took the elevator up to the main level of the Resort.

  He discovered that the Cosmic Room was booked solid through midnight, found a different restaurant that managed to accommodate him without a reservation, and spent the next hour dining on sautéed meats and flaming soufflés.

  Finally, his hunger sated, he paid his first visit to the casino. It was a huge and opulent room, fully 200 feet long and 150 wide. Enormous crystal chandeliers provided more than ample illumination, and a number of waiters and waitresses were moving unobtrusively through the room, dispensing free drinks to anyone who was playing at the gaming tables.

  He had been to casinos on Deluros and a handful of other worlds, and had usually been disappointed in them. Romantic fictions and cinemas had always portrayed them as the playgrounds for the very rich, whereas his experience was that the typical casino gambler had no more knowledge of taste or culture than he had of odds.

  The Velvet Comet's casino was more in line with what he had anticipated before he had actually gone out into the adult world. The noise was subdued, the faces of the participants reflected a sense of enjoyment rather than tension or frightened expectation, the dress mode was elegant, the behavior sedate. As he wandered in among the tables, he became aware of a string quartet performing in a far corner of the room. Holographs gave the illusion of a number of balconies overlooking a clear blue sea at twilight.

  The tables were grouped by games—roulette, craps, baccarat, chemin de fer, blackjack, and a smattering of contests that were totally alien in origin—and there was a row of terminals lined up near one of the bars where contestants could match wits with Cupid in a variety of games ranging from chess to trivia. One section of the room had been turned over to a bookmaking parlour, where men and women sat in comfortable lounge chairs, made their selections on computer terminals, and then watched live holographs of various sporting contests that were transmitted up from Deluros VIII.