Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (22 page)

“Pretty standard rotation,” commented the Madonna as the list appeared. “One week on observation, one week in the airlock, one week in the Resort.”

“Computer, what is Lena Boatswain's security clearance?”

A number flashed across the screen.

“Nothing special,” muttered Redwine.

He stared at the screen for a few minutes, absolutely motionless.

“Aren't you going to ask it anything else?” asked the Madonna at last.

“I'm thinking,” he said.

“Well?”

“Nothing's coming.”

“Have you called up her personal dossier and job history?”

“Of course,” replied Redwine. “Absolutely ordinary.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Then why persist with her?”

“Because there's
got
to be a reason.”

“There is,” said the Madonna. “Suma likes her.”

“Suma doesn't like anyone but Suma,” he said firmly. “There's something else here, if I can just get a handle on it.”

“How long has this been going on?” asked the Madonna.

“An hour or so,” he said grimly.

“No. I mean between Suma and Lena.”

“Close to a year,” he said, calling up the data and staring at it. “Well, forty-five weeks, anyway.”

“Then it can't be connected to Gamble,” she pointed out. “He hasn't been with us that long.”

Redwine called up DeWitt's record. “Thirty weeks,” he read. “You're right.”

“Well, that was simple,” she laughed. “Now that I've shown you there's no connection, are you willing to call it a night?”

“No. She still had to have some reason for seeing Lena.”

“Since there can't be any connection between Lena and Gamble, are you at least willing to admit you were wrong about
him
?” persisted the Madonna.

“Maybe,” said Redwine. “But first let me check back and see if she was thinking about another enforcer before Gamble arrived.”

He called up Suma's file again.

“Nothing,” he said, frustrated. “Except for Lena and DeWitt she hasn't had a single liaison in the Home in more than a year.” He muttered a curse. “There's got to be a connection! I'm missing a bet somewhere, and I can't spot it!”

He got up, walked over to the bar, and poured himself a whiskey. He downed it, poured another, returned to the couch, and stared at the screen as if the computer itself was an antagonist.

“Harry, try to relax,” said the Madonna soothingly. “You look like you're about to have a stroke.”

“What the hell can she need her for?” he repeated.

“She's been keeping this damned thing going for almost a year; she's got to have a reason!” Suddenly he straightened up. “Wait a minute!” he said excitedly.

“What is it?”

“There's another way to approach this thing! It's got to be the timing!”

“I don't follow you.”

“Forty-six weeks ago she didn't need a friend in Security, and one week later she did. Why? What happened during that week?”

“I give up—what?”

“Let's find out,” he said, instructing the computer to bring up a list of Suma's daily activities during the week in question.

“What's going on here?” he demanded a minute later. “She wasn't on the ship.”

“Even prostitutes get vacations, Harry,” said the Madonna.

“Where did she go for it?”

“Deluros VIII, I think,” replied the Madonna. “Ask the computer.”

The computer confirmed her answer.

“Computer, give me a list of all locations Suma visited and all people she met during her trip to Deluros.”

An INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE message appeared.

“I could have told you that,” commented the Madonna.

“After all, why should our computer know what she did on her vacation?”

Redwine ignored her answer. “Tie in to the Vainmill computer on Deluros VIII, feed in my priority code, and obtain the data.”

“Why would
Vainmill
know?” asked the Madonna.

“She's an employee,” he replied. “She had to register at customs, so maybe they kept tabs on her.”

“And if not?”

He shrugged. “Then we'll have the Vainmill computer start checking around and talking to other computers until one of them finally tells us what we want to know.”

He had another drink while waiting for the computer to send out a subspace tightbeam. It beeped twice to confirm that it had tapped into the Vainmill computer, then flashed a red CLASSIFIED light.

“Classified, not unavailable?” asked Redwine.

The machine answered in the affirmative.

“What security clearance is required to read the information?”

The computer flashed a figure on the screen.

“Shit!” muttered Redwine, a worried expression on his face. “All right, break the connection with Deluros.”

“What does all this mean, Harry?” asked the Madonna.

“It means trouble,” he said, downing his drink.

“Computer, bring up a list of all Vainmill employees who visited the
Velvet Comet
and slept with Suma during the period six months prior to her most recent vacation.”

A list of more than fifty names appeared.

“Which of them has the following security clearance?”

He rattled off the figure the Vainmill computer had supplied.

Three names remained.

“What are the positions within Vainmill of these three people?”

The computer flashed the information on the screen.

“Well,” said Redwine to the Madonna. “Take a good look: one of them is my employer.”

“You're sure?” she said dubiously.

He nodded. “Eric Nogara, Director of Natural Resources and Manufacturing; Belinda Watson, Director of Finance; and Padani Makumbwa, Director of Acquisitions. They've all slept with Suma, they've all got a shot at the Chairmanship, and they've all got a high enough security clearance to keep the details of her trip to Deluros a secret from me.”

The Madonna looked skeptical. “Just how rare
is
this security clearance, Harry? How many people can keep you from reading that file?”

“With my skeleton card? The Chairwoman, the five division heads, and that's it.”

“How about Victor?” she asked.

“Not a chance. His card can't hide anything that mine can't find.”

“And what's Suma's connection to all this? Are you trying to tell me she's the plant you've been looking for?”

“Right. Except
plant
is a pretty inadequate word. I thought Victor had a spy on the ship; she's playing so high above him she probably doesn't know he exists. She most likely reports straight to my boss, and he passes stuff on to Victor.” He paused. “I don't know what kind of deal she cut, or why she needs a friend in Security, but she's so goddamned certain that she's going to become the madam that your job has got to be the payoff for whatever she's doing.”

“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.

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.