Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Page 18

  “You know, Harry,” said the Madonna after a moment's silence, “you make it all sound very neat and pat and logical, but there are other equally valid explanations.”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “You began with the preconceived notion that Suma is a serious threat to me, and that there's a spy aboard the ship, so it colors your analysis of what you learned. It's as if you presuppose that because all spies breathe in and out and Suma breathes in and out, she must therefore be a spy.”

  “What other explanation have you got?” he insisted.

  “I don't need one,” she replied. “All I have to do is point out the fallacies in yours.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, if Suma is really in league with the head of a Vainmill division, why does she need someone like Gamble?”

  “Protection.”

  “Oh? Who's going to attack her?”

  “How the hell do I know?” said Redwine. “Hell, if you wait until you're attacked, it's a little bit late to be thinking about a bodyguard—and like I said before, probably he's an enforcer rather than a protector.”

  “That's no better, Harry,” said the Madonna. “If one of those three division heads issues an order, she won't need Gamble to enforce it.”

  He stared at her without answering.

  “Then there's Lena,” continued the Madonna. “Why does Suma need a friend in Security? Everything I do is recorded and filed.”

  “Not anymore, it isn't.”

  “She couldn't have known that forty-five weeks ago, Harry,” the Madonna pointed out.

  “Don't forget who she's working for,” said Redwine stubbornly. “Maybe she knew I was coming forty-five weeks ago. I did, so why shouldn't she have, too?”

  “Then she'd probably have known what you were going to do, and that you'd have a skeleton card that would make a contact in Security absolutely useless,” said the Madonna. “And even if she didn't know about the card in advance, she surely knew about it a month ago—so why would she still be keeping Lena on a string?”

  “Because if she knows what I'm here for, she knows I won't be around much longer, and that means she knows she's going to be able to keep tabs on you again after I take my skeleton card with me.”

  “So what?”

  “Look,” he said. “We both know that she plans to be the next madam, and we both know that she's aware of what I'm doing. Now what good is it to be the madam of a whorehouse that's been shut down because it's losing money?”

  The Madonna looked puzzled. “I hadn't thought of that.”

  “I think at the right moment they're going to need a handy fall guy, and you're going to be accused of embezzlement,” he continued. “It'll happen after my employer is the Chairman, so he'll have what he wants. And once he blames you for what I did to the books, he'll reactivate the ship—if they've even closed it down by then—and Suma will have what she wants. It'll be your word against theirs, and at the last moment I wouldn't be surprised to see them pull in a surprise witness named Lena Boatswain who will swear that she caught you messing with the books and you threatened to fire her if she ever told anyone.”

  “Damn!” she muttered. “I hate to admit it, but it makes sense the way you say it.” She sighed. “Still, I can't just fire our biggest moneymaker without some more tangible proof.”

  “You're making a big mistake,” he persisted. “We've got all our rotten eggs in one oversexed little basket. The only logical thing to do is get rid of her before she can do us any harm.”

  “What if you're wrong?” she asked dubiously.

  “I'm not.”

  “But if you are?” she repeated.

  “Then the Comet will have to get by with one less prostitute,” he said.

  “That's not a good enough answer,” replied the Madonna. “Besides, even if I agree to fire her, I can't do it without cause. What grounds do I give espionage? You can't prove that she's done anything wrong, and even if you could, do you really want to let your employer know that you've changed sides?”

  “Where there's a will, there's a way,” said Redwine, lowering his head in thought. Suddenly he looked up.

  “Does her contract permit her to accept direct payment for sexual services?”

  “No.”

  He turned to the screen. “Computer, scan Suma's credit account and tell me if she paid for her trip to Deluros.”

  The answer was negative.

  “Who did?”

  The CLASSIFIED sign lit up.

  “I didn't really think I could find out,” he said with a shrug. “Well, there's your grounds for dismissal. My employer, who just happens to be one of her patrons, paid for her trip to Deluros.”

  “That's an awfully tenuous connection, Harry,” said the Madonna. “I don't think we could win if she appealed it.”

  “She won't appeal it,” he said confidently. “She'd have to claim that she went to Deluros on business, and my employer is never going to corroborate that, not after the pains he's gone to to keep this thing a secret.” He paused. “Well, what do you say?”

  The Madonna remained silent for a long moment.

  “I'll talk to Suma in the morning,” she said at last.

  “About Deluros?”

  She nodded. “And other things.” She stared long and hard at Redwine. “I'm not promising anything, but if I get the feeling talking to her that you're right, I'll probably fire her.”

  “That's all I ask.”

  “I just hope it doesn't become more than you bargained for,” she said seriously.

  Chapter 14

  The usual number of minor problems arose in the morning—two scheduling conflicts, an unanticipated patron who had to be detained in the airlock until his credit had been established, a shortage of wine in one of the restaurants, a holographic breakdown in one of the fantasy rooms—and it wasn't until slightly after noon that the Leather Madonna was able to send for Suma.

  “She should be here in about twenty minutes, Harry,” she announced to Redwine, who was seated on the metal lounge chair, sipping a cup of coffee.

  “She's just finishing up with a patron.” She paused.

  “I don't want you here when she arrives.”

  “Why not?” he asked, surprised.

  “Because if I decide to fire her and she appeals it, I don't want there to be any charges of collusion between us.”

  “She's not stupid,” he replied. “She's got to know I had something to do with it.”

  “I'm sure she will. But I don't want her to be able to say that you were sitting in on this meeting, hurling accusations at her while she was trying to defend herself.”

  “You're sure?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, I am. And before you leave, unjam the security system. I want this meeting recorded, just in case we ever have to go to court over it.”

  “All right,” he said, manipulating the skeleton card and getting to his feet. “I might as well watch the fireworks from the auxiliary office.”

  “Will you be able to?”

  He made a minor adjustment to her computer. “Just leave this channel open. I won't be able to talk to you, but I'll see and hear everything that goes on.”

  He kissed her as he walked to the door. “Good luck.”

  “Let's hope I don't need it,” replied the Madonna.

  It took him about five minutes to get to the tramway terminal, and another five to reach the auxiliary office. Once there he activated the computer, pulled a cigar out of his pocket, lit it, and stared at the holographic image in front of him.

  The Madonna was sitting on one of the couches, reading. After a few minutes had passed she walked over to the bar and began mixing herself a drink. She had just about finished making it when Suma arrived, dressed in one of the most exotic costumes Redwine had yet seen aboard the Comet.

  She wore an elaborate rhinestone headdress which flared out some thirty inches in all directions, and was matched in brilliance by a rhines
tone collar and long strands of pearls and rhinestones that draped her almost nude body in swirling patterns. A diaphanous white veil, attached to her collar and wrists, flowed gracefully behind her. Her shoes, also covered with rhinestones, were so high that Redwine couldn't figure out how she kept from falling on her face.

  “What a pleasure it is to get this damned headdress off!” said Suma, removing it and placing it down carefully on the couch.

  “How are things in the Ice Castle?” asked the Madonna, pouring her drink into a long-stemmed glass.

  “Active,” replied Suma. “Mr. Lumbwa decided to be an errant Knight of the Round Table, and insisted that he had to have a genuine Fairy Princess.” She made a face. “I just wish he knew how hard it is to fuck in this outfit.”

  “Can I fix you something to drink?” offered the Madonna.

  “No,” said Suma. “What was it you wanted me for?”

  “I thought we might have a little talk,” said the Madonna, walking over and sitting down on the opposite couch.

  “About the Duke, I hope,” said Suma. “When are you going to fire that bastard?”

  “I thought your problem with him was all cleared up,” remarked the Madonna.

  “Until the next time,” said Suma.

  “Will there be a next time?”

  “If there is, I know how to handle it.”

  “With Gamble?” asked the Madonna.

  “Of course, with Gamble!” she shot back. “No goddamned pit boss is going to cheat my patrons!”

  “Perhaps I haven't made my position on the matter clear,” said the Madonna. “If that's the case, let me do so right now.” She stared coldly at Suma. “If Gamble DeWitt strikes any patron or any member of the Comet's crew, he's gone. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  “He won't attack anyone without cause,” said Suma defiantly. "Your job is to see that nobody gives him any cause.”

  “In fact, Gamble is getting to be a bit of an embarrassment to the Comet,” continued the Madonna, ignoring her outburst. “I wonder if you have any suggestions about what to do with him.”

  “Is that what this is all about?”

  “No, not really,” said the Madonna. “But I'd appreciate any input you might care to offer.”

  “Just leave him alone and he'll be fine,” said Suma. “I'm working with him every day.”

  “Are you?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I had the impression that you were spending an inordinate amount of time with him without working.”

  “Well, whoever told you that lied.”

  “It's easy enough to check,” said the Madonna. “Shall we ask the computer?”

  “How I spend my time is my business!” said Suma defensively.

  “I hate to correct you, but how you spend your time is my business,” replied the Madonna. “And I think you're spending too much of it with Gamble.”

  “Not as much as you're spending with Harry Redwine!” snapped Suma.

  “Let me further suggest that how I spend my time is not your business.” She shrugged. “However, that's neither here nor there. I didn't ask you here to talk about Gamble.”

  “And what did you ask me here for?” demanded Suma suspiciously.

  “You're sure I can't fix you a drink?” asked the Madonna pleasantly.

  “Let's just get this over with.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I need your advice.”

  “My advice is to get rid of Harry,” said Suma. “The sooner the better.”

  “I need your advice about a different subject,” said the Madonna with a smile. “I have some vacation time accumulated, and I've been thinking of using it to take a trip to Deluros VIII. You've been there much more recently than I have, so I thought you might be able to recommend a good hotel—the one you stayed at, perhaps?”

  “I didn't stay at a hotel.”

  “Possibly some restaurants, then, and perhaps a museum or two?”

  “I don't go to museums,” said Suma. “And I ate in.”

  “How dull,” commented the Madonna. “I hope you at least made some new and interesting friends.”

  “A few.”

  “Well, perhaps you can give me their names. I'm sure that any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

  “I doubt that very much,” replied Suma with a sarcastic laugh.

  “I wonder why,” remarked the Madonna dryly.

  “Harry lives on Deluros. Why don't you ask him about it?”

  “Oh, Harry doesn't know any interesting people,” said the Madonna.

  “You'd be surprised.”

  “Well, he certainly doesn't know any of the Directors of the various Vainmill divisions,” continued the Madonna.

  “All right!” snapped Suma suddenly. “What's going on here?”

  “Nothing at all,” said the Madonna. “We're just having a pleasant little talk about your friends on Deluros.”

  “What I did on Deluros is none of your business!”

  “I think it is.”

  “Well, you're wrong,” said Suma decisively.

  “Who paid for your trip there?”

  “I don't think I'm going to tell you,” said Suma with a confident smile.

  “I didn't think you were, either,” said the Madonna.

  She paused. “Let's change the subject.”

  “That's fine by me.”

  “Tell me about Lena Boatswain.”

  “She works in Security.”

  “I thought you might tell me a little more than that.”

  “Ask your computer,” said Suma with an amused laugh.

  “What's so funny?”

  “You don't know a damned thing,” responded Suma. “This is all guesswork.”

  “I know one thing,” said the Madonna seriously. “I'm not ready to step down yet—and when I am, I won't be replaced by some avaricious teenaged girl who doesn't give a damn about anything except herself.”

  “You think not?” said Suma. “Well, let me tell you, nobody cares more about this ship than I do!”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “You think you do?” said Suma contemptuously. “You don't even know what's going on! You're so busy worrying about the decor and the cuisine and the ambience that you don't even see what's happening right under your nose!”

  “What is happening right under my nose?” asked the Madonna calmly.

  “Well, for one thing, you're shacking up with the man who was sent here to kill the Comet!”

  “If you've known that all along, why haven't you told me before now?”

  “Because I'm not saving it for you,” said Suma. “I'm saving it for me. You're an obsolete old woman who's outlived her usefulness. You let Harry sweet-talk you into neglecting your duties, and you're going to pay the price for it.”

  “What duties do you think I've neglected?” asked the Madonna.

  “How about the preservation of the Comet?” responded Suma. “Isn't that supposed to be your primary duty?”

  “Yes, it is,” agreed the Madonna. “And you've just convinced me that you're a bigger threat to the Comet than Harry is.”

  “A bigger threat to you, maybe.”

  “It comes to the same thing,” said the Madonna.

  “The hell it does. The Comet will be here long after you're gone and forgotten.”

  “I sincerely hope so,” said the Madonna. She stared directly into Suma's eyes. “But you won't be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You heard me,” replied the Madonna calmly. “I'm firing you.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Insubordination.”

  “Don't make me laugh.”

  “I wasn't trying to,” said the Madonna. “Also, when you accepted a direct gratuity from a patron, in the form of a trip to Deluros, you were in violation of your contract.”

  “You think that'll hold up?” said Suma contemptuously.

  “For a while, at least. Besides, it
doesn't have to hold up forever; just until I choose my successor.”

  “Then you're quitting?”

  “I'm thinking of it.”

  “When?” demanded Suma.

  “When I'm ready,” replied the Madonna noncomittally.

  “This isn't going to work, you know,” said Suma. “I'll be back.”

  “Probably you will,” agreed the Madonna. “And hopefully you won't be able to do any more damage then than you did now.”

  “This is a really stupid thing for you to do. I'm the biggest earner you've got.”

  “Then we'll all just have to tighten our belts and make do as best we can.”

  “You're making a very big mistake,” said Suma ominously.

  “I don't think so.”

  “You don't think at all! Don't you know why Harry came out here in the first place?”

  “Harry isn't the subject of this conversation,” said the Madonna. “You are. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

  “Thirty days.”

  “I'd prefer it to be sooner.”

  “What you prefer really doesn't interest me,” said Suma. “My contract gives me thirty days.” She paused. “Do you want me to keep working during that time?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Will I be paid for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I'll work.” Suma got to her feet, picked up her headdress, and walked to the door. “You're going to regret this,” she promised.

  “Perhaps,” said the Madonna.

  “There's no perhaps about it,” said Suma coldly.

  “You're going to be very, very sorry that you did this to me—and sooner than you think.”

  Then she stepped out into the corridor, and the door slid shut behind her.

  The Madonna walked to the bar and began mixing another drink.

  “Harry?” she said. “Are you still there?”

  Redwine activated his end of the intercom, and allowed his image to be transferred to her screen.