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

  YOUR ANSWER IS SATISFACTORY. HENCEFORTH I SHALL RESPOND TO “CUPID". DEACTIVATING... “I told you you were in the right business,” laughed the Dragon Lady. “You've even satisfied the computer.”

  “It's a damned good name for a datebook, isn't it?” said the Black Pearl. “Maybe Crane's good for something after all.”

  “Besides catching killers and irritating you?”

  “He's spent enough time doing the latter,” replied the Black Pearl. “It's time he got back to catching killers.”

  Chapter 5

  Esteban Morales had just left Crane's suite. The detective checked the time, found that he had almost twelve minutes before his next interview, and walked quickly to the bathroom.

  “Activate the whirlpool,” he commanded, slipping out of his clothes. “And turn it off in three minutes.”

  WHAT TEMPERATURE WOULD YOU LIKE?

  “Something cool,” he said. “I'm exhausted; I've got to freshen up.”

  I REQUIRE AN EXACT TEMPERATURE.

  “Oh, make it about 20 degrees Celsius.”

  DONE.

  He climbed into the bath, let out a yelp when it turned out to be even colder than he had anticipated, and forced himself to remain there for the full three minutes. When it was deactivated, he felt refreshed and fully awake.

  He ordered the room to dry him with bursts of warm air, then changed into a fresh suit and re-entered the living room.

  He was sitting in his contour chair, sipping a cup of coffee and scanning the sports results on the computer's screen, when Pagliacci entered the suite.

  The comedian still wore his clown's make-up, and it looked as though it had been recently touched up, though he wasn't due to appear on stage again for another 14 hours. His suit, made of shining metallic fibres, stopped just short of being garish.

  “Good morning,” said Pagliacci. “You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yes, I did,” answered Crane. “Have a seat.”

  “You're from Vainmill, aren't you?” asked the comedian, sitting down on an angular chair and putting his feet on the long, low chrome table.

  “What makes you think so?” said Crane sharply.

  “Because I know all the crew members, and while some of the patrons have pretty bizarre tastes, none of them have ever yet asked to go to bed with the nightclub comic—and who the hell else would want to see me? Besides, I haven't spotted you in the club yet, which coincides with my theory that none of you Vainmill guys ever likes to smile.” Pagliacci paused. “Unless you're from my agent. If you are, tell that bastard he's fired.”

  “What do you have against your agent?” asked Crane, curious.

  “He booked me in here for four months!”

  “What's wrong with that?”

  “I've only got about 30 routines! That's what's wrong with that. I mean, hell, how original can you be when you have to perform three shows a night seven nights a week? The patrons laugh their heads off; but the whores have heard it so often that half the time they beat me to the punch lines. And if they don't laugh, the patrons start worrying about them and ignore what I'm doing.”

  “I can see where it might cause a problem.”

  “Oh, well,” sighed Pagliacci. “Three more weeks and then I'm out of this cesspool.”

  “I've heard it called a lot of things,” commented Crane. “But that sure as hell isn't one of them.”

  “Well, Vainmill, wait until you've watched some of this stuff go twitching down the corridor for a roll in the hay and figure out that your life savings couldn't buy you a single night here. Watch ‘em gamble away more in an hour than you make in a year, or go into one of those fancy restaurants while you have to make do with a sandwich in the commissary. After a while it gets to you.” Suddenly he grinned. “Okay. So much for laughing on the outside and crying on the inside. What can I do for you, Vainmill?”

  “I've got a few questions to ask you.”

  “You might start by asking me if I'd like a vodka martini,” replied Pagliacci easily. “Can you guess what the answer is?”

  “Fix it yourself. I'm conducting an interview, not hosting a party.”

  The comedian got to his feet, walked over to the wet bar, and pulled out the proper bottles.

  “Do you always wear that make-up?” asked Crane.

  “Do you always wear conservative business suits?” retorted Pagliacci.

  “I have a feeling that you're going to be difficult,” said Crane ominously.

  “It's a silly question.”

  “Answer it anyway.”

  The comedian shrugged. “Yes, I always wear my make-up.”

  “Why?”

  “It's my professional persona. You might just as well ask the Black Pearl why she's always spilling out of her gowns.”

  Crane stared at him and made no comment.

  “That's it?” asked Pagliacci. “The interrogation's over?”

  Crane shook his head. “The interrogation is just beginning. What's your name?”

  “Pagliacci.”

  “I mean your real name. The computer doesn't seem to have it on record.”

  “Like I told you—Pagliacci. I had it changed legally.”

  “What did it used to be?”

  “Stanley Dombroski. What's yours?”

  “Andrew Jackson Crane.”

  “Do you mind if I call you Andy?”

  “I'd prefer that you didn't.”

  Pagliacci smiled. “And I'd prefer that you didn't use my former name. It would spoil the illusion.”

  The comedian finished mixing his drink and returned to his chair.

  “Have you ever been to Lodin XI?” asked Crane.

  “No.”

  “Seabright?”

  “Never even heard of it.”

  “How about New Sumatra?”

  “New Sumatra? Isn't that the place where that guy went nuts a few years ago? What was his name Belfast? Blandings?”

  “Bello.”

  “That's right—Quintus Bello. Wiped out half the planet, or something like that?”

  Crane nodded. “Something likes that. Have you been there?”

  “Of course not,” responded Pagliacci. “It's not the kind of place that's real likely to hire a comedian, if you know what I mean.”

  “How about Beta Hydri II?”

  “What is this, some kind of geography guessing game?”

  “Your employment and vacation records are incomplete.”

  “Then why not ask me where I've been—or do you plan to name every world in the Republic?”

  “I'll ask the questions my way, if it's all the same to you. Now, what about Beta Hydri II?”

  “Nope.”

  Crane worked his way through the remainder of the worlds that Infante had visited, with the same lack of success he had had during his previous interviews.

  “Now do you mind if I ask you a question?” said Pagliacci.

  “Go ahead.”

  “What's going on around here?”

  “What makes you think something's going on?”

  “I know I'm not the first person you've interviewed, and I know there are more lined up behind me. Are you asking them all the same questions? What happened on those worlds, anyway?”

  “Nothing.”

  Pagliacci laughed. “Are you seriously telling me that nothing out of the ordinary happened on New Sumatra?”

  “Nothing that concerns the Velvet Comet,” responded Crane. He looked sharply at the comedian. “Did you ever meet a patron named Edward Infante?”

  Pagliacci pulled out a cigar and lit it. “I hope you don't mind,” he said, “but I have the awful premonition that, having worked our way through all those planets, you're about to reel off a list of 600 names.”

  “Start with that one.”

  The comedian shrugged. “I really couldn't say. He might have bought me a drink or attended one of my shows, but the name is unfamiliar to me. Why?”

  “Just curious.” Crane paused, then turned t
o the computer. “Cupid, bring up a holograph of Infante.”

  The three-dimensional image appeared an instant later. Pagliacci stared at it for a moment, then shrugged.

  “I honestly don't recall the face, but I could be wrong. What's he done?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on,” said the comedian. “I don't know exactly who you are, but from the way you act I figure you're either Security or police. What did he steal from the Comet?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Did he shoot somebody?” persisted Pagliacci. “No, I guess we'd have heard about it if he did.”

  “I guess so.”

  The comedian scrutinized Crane for a long moment. “You would tell us if there was someone dangerous on the Comet, wouldn't you?” he asked at last.

  “Of course.”

  “Then why don't I believe you?”

  “I haven't the slightest idea.”

  “Damn it!” exploded Pagliacci. “What's going on up here?”

  “I'm an auditor for the Vainmill Syndicate,” said Crane. “A man named Edward Infante embezzled some money from us, and I'm trying to track him down. I know that he has business ties on those worlds I asked you about, and that he occasionally frequents the Comet.”

  The comedian leaned back in his chair and sighed. “That's better,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me for a minute.” He got up and walked to the bar. “I'm having another martini. Can I fix you one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You're sure? You look pretty tired; it'll help perk you up.”

  “I don't drink.”

  Pagliacci chuckled. “That's almost as rare up here as a guy who doesn't screw. Maybe even rarer.” He went to work on his drink. “Do you plan to be up here long?”

  “Why?”

  “I just wondered if you planned to catch my act.”

  “Maybe,” said Crane noncommittally. “Are you any good?”

  “I think so. You'll be the acid test, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “You are the unsmilingest person I've ever met. If I can make you laugh, I'll know I'm funny.”

  Crane checked his chronometer. “I've got a few minutes before my next interview. Give it a try.”

  Pagliacci shook his head. “Wrong time and place. I know I'm tired, and you act as if you are, too. But if you'll come to the club tonight, I won't give up until I've gotten at least one bellylaugh out of you.”

  “It might take a long time,” warned Crane.

  “What the hell—it's not as if I've got anything else to do up here.”

  “Where do you go when you leave here?”

  “It's up to my idiot agent. But I'll tell you this—I'm never working a whorehouse again unless we can put a couple of perks in my contract, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Tell me,” said Pagliacci, leaning forward confidentially.

  “Does Vainmill let you—ah—sample the wares?”

  “That's none of your business.”

  “Shit!” said the comedian. “I knew they did! A goddamned auditor gets to hop into bed with anyone he wants, and the star of the nightclub has to live like a monk!”

  “I thought the singer was the nightclub's headliner,” remarked Crane dryly.

  “She couldn't carry a tune in a bucket!” snapped Pagliacci. “I'm the one they come to see.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do!” said Pagliacci hotly.

  “Well, since you only condescend to amuse people in the nightclub, I think we're all through here, at least for the time being,” said Crane. “I'll contact you if I need any more information.”

  Pagliacci got to his feet and walked to the door.

  “I'm sorry about flying off the handle like that,” he said. “It's been a long night, and I'm tired. Come by the club later and you'll see the real me.”

  “I thought I was talking to the real you.”

  The comedian smiled. “Nobody's paid to listen to Stanley Dombroski in ten years. They come to hear Pagliacci.”

  Crane merely grunted, and the comedian left the room.

  “Cupid—wake up.”

  I AM INCAPABLE OF SLEEP.

  “Is his name really Stanley Dombroski?”

  CHECKING ... I HAVE NO RECORD OF THAT. I WILL HAVE TO TIE IN TO DELUROS.

  “While you're doing it, I've got another question for you.”

  YES?

  “I asked you for a list of all Comet employees who were leaving the ship in less than five weeks. How come you didn't mention him?”

  PAGLIACCI IS NOT AN EMPLOYEE OF THE VELVET COMET. AS AN ENTERTAINER HE QUALIFIES AS AN INDEPENDENT SUBCONTRACTOR, AND HIS CONTRACT IS NOT WITH THE VELVET COMET BUT WITH THE VAINMILL SYNDICATE'S ENTERTAINMENT AND LEISURE DIVISION.

  “Is there anyone else aboard the Comet, regardless of employment status, who will be leaving in less than five weeks?”

  OTHER THAN THOSE I LISTED YESTERDAY?

  “Right.”

  NO.

  “By the way, cancel my next interview. I'm exhausted. I need a little time to recuperate.”

  CANCELLED.

  The screen flickered for an instant.

  I HAVE JUST RECEIVED CONFIRMATION FROM DELUROS. STANLEY DOMBROSKI, PROFESSIONAL ENTERTAINER, LEGALLY CHANGED HIS NAME TO PAGLIACCI 10 YEARS, 4 MONTHS, AND 3 DAYS AGO.

  “No hours or minutes?” said Crane wryly.

  I CAN SUPPLY THEM IF YOU LIKE.

  “Forget it.” Crane walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of very tart fruit juice made from the flowering citrus trees of Doxloter VII. “By the way, did you ever access that information on Bello?”

  YES.

  “When?”

  AT 2213 HOURS YESTERDAY.

  “Why didn't you tell me?”

  YOU MERELY INSTRUCTED ME TO ACCESS IT AND FILE IT AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE.

  “Right,” said Crane wearily. “You know, Cupid, I've got a gut feeling that none of these damned interviews is going to turn up a lead.”

  WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CANCEL THEM ALL?

  “No. I've got to go through the motions, even if I think it's useless.” He paused. “Still, I think it's about time to start considering alternative approaches. Check out the financial holdings of every member of the crew, and see if any of them are heavily invested in any of the companies that Infante owned stock in.”

  PLEASE DEFINE “HEAVILY INVESTED".

  “Either fifteen percent of their assets, or a sum in excess of 100,000 credits.”

  CHECKING ... THERE IS A PROBLEM.

  “What is it?”

  WHILE WE REQUIRE FINANCIAL STATEMENTS FROM PATRONS, WE DO NOT REQUIRE THEM FROM CREW MEMBERS.

  “See if you can tap into the computers in the Mall's brokerage houses.”

  CHECKING ... I HAVE BEEN DENIED ACCESS.

  THE INFORMATION IS PRIVILEGED AND CONFIDENTIAL.

  “Use my security clearance code.”

  CHECKING ... I AM STILL DENIED ACCESS.

  THEIR COMPUTER MUST FIRST CHECK YOUR CODE WITH THE VAINMILL MASTER COMUTER. THIS MAY TAKE UP TO TWO HOURS.

  “Wonderful,” muttered Crane. “Then for the time being, we're back to those damned planets he visited. Have you turned up any other crew members who have been to them?”

  ONLY THE FOUR I LISTED YESTERDAY.

  “And none of them were on those worlds when he was there?”

  NO.

  “Just out of curiosity, was Infante on New Sumatra during the Bello Affair?”

  NO.

  “Too bad.”

  WHY IS THAT BAD?

  “It could have been a possible motive—someone taking revenge for all those people being killed.”

  YOUR STATEMENT INCORPORATES TWO LOGICAL FLAWS. FIRST, EDWARD INFANTE DID NOT WORK FOR QUINTUS BELLO'S GOVERNMENT.

  SECOND, IF REVENGE WAS THE MOTIVE FOR THE MURDER, THEN YOUR OPERATIONAL HYPOTHESIS THAT INFANTE'S MURDER WAS A WARNING IS INCORRECT.

  �
��Right,” said Crane with a sigh. He slumped back in his chair, stared at the screen for a moment, and then sat bolt upright. “That's the answer!”

  WHAT IS THE ANSWER?

  “First things first,” said Crane. “Is anyone monitoring me right now?”

  NO.

  “Has anyone been monitoring me since Pagliacci left the suite?”

  NO.

  “Can anyone call up what I've said to you at some point in the future?”

  YES.

  “All right,” said Crane. “Can you wipe everything that you and I have discussed since Pagliacci left the suite?”

  NO.

  “You're sure?”

  MY SECURITY RECORDS CANNOT BE TAMPERED WITH.

  “Can they be moved to a Priority File?”

  YES.

  “Then move everything from the instant Pagliacci walked out into a Priority File, and keep feeding our current conversation into it until I tell you to stop.”

  WHAT SECURITY CLEARANCE MAY ACCESS THE FILE?

  “What's the highest clearance rating aboard the Comet?”

  THE DRAGON LADY AND THE BLACK PEARL EACH HAVE A CLEARANCE RATING OF 1-D.

  “Then make it 1-C and above.”

  DONE. YOU ARE NOW THE ONLY PERSON ABOARD THE VELVET COMET WHO CAN ACCESS THE FILE. WHEN YOU LEAVE, MY PROGRAMMING WILL COMPEL ME TO DOWNGRADE THE CLEARANCE RATING TO 1-D.

  “Once I leave, I don't care who accesses it.” He paused. “All right. Let's get back to business. I've got just one question to ask you.”

  YOU SAID THAT YOU HAD THE ANSWER.

  “I do. But I want you to confirm it.”

  WAITING...

  “Was Esteban Morales on New Sumatra during the Bello Affair?”

  YES.

  Crane smiled triumphantly. “I knew it!” He leaned back and relaxed somewhat. “Thanks.”

  IT IS MY DUTY TO ANSWER QUESTIONS.

  “You did more than answer my questions,” said Crane. “You told me who the killer was trying to frighten.”

  I DID NOT.

  “Not in so many words,” admitted Crane. “But you reminded me that Infante was murdered to scare someone else. The other three are all too young to have had anything to do with Infante—Totem Pole is 25, and the two girls are even younger—but Morales is a different story. He's 53, and he comes from the most likely world.”

  MOST LIKELY FOR WHAT?