Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (2 page)

“I suppose it's better than Johns and Janes,” he remarked, stepping in after her.

The elevator ascended three levels, then let them off in a large, opulent foyer decorated by muted tapestries and furnished with antique chairs and sofas from a period when the French were more concerned with making love than losing wars. A number of people, their clothes running the gamut from expensively casual to expensively formal, sat or stood in small clusters, conversing in low voices about topics ranging from business to politics to the selection of one of the
Comet
's restaurants. Suma wended her way among them, finally passing through an archway into a truly opulent lounge. There was a long, polished bar made of a wood that Redwine couldn't identify, a number of small marble-topped tables at which people were eagerly consuming everything from dainty pastries to exotic coffees to triple-strength drinks, and stationed in one corner, partially hidden by a fountain, was a quartet of musicians in formal dress.

They went through the lounge, passed a pair of restaurants—one a formal candle-lit affair featuring crisp linen tablecloths, fine china and silver, and servants dressed in powdered wigs and Revolutionary America costumes, the other a huge silk tent in which the customers sat or reclined on large cushions and ate off a very low table—skirted the casino, and came at last to an ornate door.

“We're here,” announced Suma.

“Good,” said Redwine. “For a while there I thought we were in training for a marathon.”

“That's not the kind of marathon we run here, Mr. Redwine.”

She waited for the door to slide open, gestured to him to step through it, then followed him inside as the door closed behind them.

At first Redwine couldn't decide whether he was in an office or just another sumptuous suite. There were two couches facing each other across an angular chrome table, a strikingly original metal lounge chair made of some incredibly reflective substance, a massive wet bar, and a fruitwood secretary. Then he saw a number of small lights flash and realized that the secretary was actually a computer in an elegant cabinet.

The plain, wheat-colored carpet was not as thick as some of the others he had seen, but it looked more expensive, as did the
objets d'art
that were discreetly displayed around the room. An alien musical instrument resembling a harp was in one corner of the room, and a pair of chairs framed an ancient and priceless chess table in another.

Redwine walked over to the chess table and examined the carefully-crafted inlays, the beautiful unity of design, the exquisitely-carved legs.

“What do you think of it?” asked a low voice.

“It's stunning,” he replied. Then he suddenly realized that he was not speaking to Suma, and he turned around and found himself facing a tall, auburn-haired woman.

She wore a low-cut jumpsuit made of some iridescent blue-green lizard skin. It fit like a second skin, and the millions of tiny scales dazzlingly reflected the light of the room. Her only other items of apparel were long leather gloves and a pair of calf-high boots that possessed spiked heels. She wore no jewelry except for a pair of delicate wire earrings that sounded like tiny chimes when she moved her head.

She used very little makeup, nor did she require much. Her green eyes appraised him frankly, and finally she extended her hand. He took it, and was surprised by the strength of her grip.

“You're Harry Redwine?” she asked.

“Right. And you are...?”

“You know perfectly well who I am, Mr. Redwine.”

“True,” he admitted. “But I'm not quite sure what to call you. The only name I could get from our comptroller was the Leather Madonna.”

“Well, then you
do
know what to call me after all, don't you?”

Redwine saw a grin of amusement spread across Suma's face, and decided to change the subject. “Where did you find the table?” he asked.

“On a colony world near the Spica system,” she replied, absently stroking the polished wood. “I spent seven years looking for something of that quality.”

“Where are the pieces?”

“There aren't any.”

“A chess table with no pieces?” he said with a smile.

“When I find a set that's worthy of the table, I'll buy it.”

“What do you use in the meantime?”

She raised her head and met his gaze. “I don't play chess, Mr. Redwine.”

“Strictly a collector, eh?”

“No,” she responded. “I just don't play games that I can't win.”

“Pity,” he said.

“You disapprove?”

“Not at all,” said Redwine. “I just liked it better when I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

“Well,” she said, turning to him, “I don't imagine you're here to talk about chess tables.” She gestured toward a couch. “Won't you sit down?”

He did so, and she walked around the chrome table and seated herself on the opposite couch.

“Can Suma get you a drink before she leaves, Mr. Redwine?”

He turned to Suma. “I'll have a whiskey, no ice, no water.”

“And the usual for me,” added the Leather Madonna.

Suma quickly poured his drink and then set about mixing some concoction for the Madonna in a long-stemmed crystal glass. As he waited for her to finish, Redwine turned his attention back to the Leather Madonna and tried to estimate her age. It was more difficult than he anticipated, and he finally concluded that she was in her late thirties, give or take a decade.

“Thank you,” said the Leather Madonna when Suma finally handed her an iced, bluish drink.

“Come back in about two hours.”

Suma nodded, gave Redwine his glass, and left the room.

“I don't think we'll have two hours’ worth of things to discuss today,” offered Redwine.

“I quite agree,” she replied. She took a small sip of her drink, and placed the glass down on the tabletop.

“I trust everyone has treated you courteously since your arrival?”

“Absolutely,” said Redwine leaning back and extending his arms along the top of the couch. “It's been the most courteous runaround I've ever experienced.”

She smiled, unperturbed. “Well, you must admit that your particular needs are not those we're used to serving.”

“Lady, I'm just an accountant trying to do my job.”

Her green eyes scrutinized him for a long moment.

“You're too modest, Mr. Redwine,” she said at last. “Somehow I feel you have many other talents.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Well, maybe one or two,” he replied, wondering exactly how much she knew about him. “But one of the talents I seem to lack is the ability to gain access to the material I need.”

“I thought you might be tired after your trip,” explained the Leather Madonna. “Otherwise, I would have had everything ready and waiting for you.”

He gave her a look of open disbelief.

“You seem dubious, Mr. Redwine,” she noted.

“True. But I'm willing to be shown the error of my ways,” he said. “I'll expect complete access to the computer's data banks by tomorrow morning.” He paused. “And I'll want a tour of the facilities.”

“Somehow I was sure that you would,” said the Leather Madonna.

“Look,” said Redwine reasonably. “We seem to be getting off on the wrong foot, and there's no reason for it. We both work for the same company, and we both want your operation to make as much money as it can. We have a lot more in common than you might think.”

“Mr. Redwine,” she said, “I run the finest brothel in the galaxy, and you spend all your time counting other people's money. What could we possibly have in common?” She finished her drink, then shrugged and smiled courteously. “Still, there's no reason why we can't work together in relative harmony.

You'll be given access to the material you need tomorrow afternoon.”

“What about tomorrow morning?” he persisted.

“I thought you wanted a tour of the ship.” She noticed his empty glass. “Can I offer you a refill?”

“Well, as long as I'm not working tonight, why not?” he said amicably.

She pressed a section of the tabletop, and a moment later a tall, bronzed, blond man, heavily muscled and wearing nothing but sandals and a loincloth, entered the room.

“Mr. Redwine will have another whiskey, without ice or water,” said the Leather Madonna.

He nodded and went over to the bar. She turned back to Redwine and was about to say something when the top of the chrome table glowed with a dim phosphorescence and suddenly came to life, displaying the image of a middle-aged man in formal attire.

“Yes?” said the Leather Madonna.

“We have a counter at the blackjack table,” said the man.

“Who is it?”

“Esteban Fuentes.”

“How many decks are you using?”

“Two.”

“All right,” said the Leather Madonna. “Use five decks. If he can keep track of
them,
he deserves to win.”

The tabletop went blank.

“I thought the casino was out of your bailiwick,” remarked Redwine.

The Leather Madonna sighed. “Mr. Redwine, while we keep time aboard the
Velvet Comet
as a matter of convenience for our customers, in point of fact there isn't any day or night up here. We're an around-the-clock operation, and even our pit boss has to sleep every now and then. The man working the current shift is new to the job, and still unsure of himself in potentially awkward situations. Now, Mr. Fuentes is a very good customer of
all
our facilities, and one doesn't offend a very good customer when it can be avoided—or do you think we should have forbidden him to gamble until the pit boss wakes up and has breakfast?” She paused. “I realize that the company has its own ideas concerning our chain of command, but we're dealing with people here, not figures in one of your ledgers—and no matter how much money the casino brings in, it's still an adjunct to our main business. And I don't propose to let them offend
my
patrons.” She watched him carefully for his reaction.

“I'm not here to tell you what to do or how to do it,” said Redwine, noticing that she seemed to relax slightly as the words sunk in. “I'm just here to observe.”

“I thought you were here to audit the books.”

“And to appraise and evaluate the business,” he added.

“And how many brothels have you appraised and evaluated in your long and varied experience?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not a one,” he admitted. “In point of fact, I've never even been in one before today.”

“Then please feel free to call on me for any assistance you may require.”

“I just may do that,” said Redwine, wondering if she had just propositioned him, and deciding to ignore it rather than make a fool of himself in case it had been a totally innocent remark.

The young blond man walked over, handed Redwine his drink, and looked questioningly at the Leather Madonna.

“That will be all,” she said.

He inclined his head slightly, then left the room.

“Does he ever speak?” asked Redwine.

“When he has something to say,” replied the Leather Madonna with a smile.

“We could use someone with that attitude back at headquarters,” he commented dryly.

“How long have you been with the Vainmill Syndicate, Mr. Redwine?” .

“More than twenty years, in one branch or another,” he replied. “And you?”

“About ten. Have you been to Deluros?'’

“I've been stationed there for the past three years,” said Redwine, feeling a bit of the tension between them easing away as they moved on to other subjects.

“It's a hell of a world. I wouldn't be surprised to see the Republic move its headquarters there one of these days. Earth's a little too far from the center of things.”

“I've been there once,” she remarked. “That's where they
should
have constructed the
Velvet Comet:
in orbit around Deluros.”

“They'd have had to pay off too many politicians.”

“Prostitution and gambling are legal in the Deluros system,” she pointed out.

“I know,” answered Redwine. “But orbital space is at a premium. They must have ten thousand spaceship hangars and customs stations circling the damned planet. It costs a lot of money to put something in orbit there, more than the
Comet
can afford.”

“Not more than we could afford if we were
there
,” responded the Leather Madonna, and Redwine heard a note of defensiveness creep into her voice.

“Maybe you're right,” he said agreeably. “I suppose seven billion bureaucrats must have a lot of excess time and money on their hands.”

“Not that we aren't very successful right where we are,” she added quickly. “It's just that Deluros is ... well...
Deluros
.”

“The biggest of the big apples,” nodded Redwine.

“Exactly. We're the biggest and the best, so we ought to service the biggest and the best.”

“You'll get no argument from me,” he replied pleasantly. “However, I don't make the decisions. I'm just a two-bit bookkeeper.”

“So you keep saying,” commented the Leather Madonna. “By the way, what does ‘two-bit’ mean?”

“It's a holdover, from before we converted to credits.”

“And what
was
a two-bit?”

He shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea. I gather it was pretty trivial.”

The tabletop came to life again, this time displaying a young woman's face.

“We've come up with a minor scheduling problem,” announced the woman.

“The Gemini Twins again?”

The woman nodded.

“I'll get back to you in a minute,” said the Leather Madonna, and the screen went blank. She looked across the table at Redwine. “I don't mean to be rude, but is there anything further we have to discuss that can't wait until tomorrow morning?”

“No,” said Redwine, rising to his feet. “I certainly don't want to keep you from your work.” He walked to the door, then turned to her just as she was reaching down to activate the screen. “Ah ... there is
one
thing, I'm afraid.”

“Yes?”

“I'm lost.”

She smiled, walked to the secretary, uttered the word “Map,” and received a piece of paper an instant later. She then crossed the room to where Redwine was standing and showed it to him.