Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (26 page)

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door to his suite.

“In a minute!” he shouted.

He stared intently at the seven writhing figures for another thirty seconds, then sighed and deactivated the screen, making a mental note to check the results later.

“Open,” he commanded the door, after adjusting his skeleton card.

The door slid back into the wall, and Suma, dressed in one of her more exotic outfits, entered the parlor.

“And whose little girl are
you
?” asked Bonhomme.

“Your boss's,” she replied.

“Then you must be Suma. Forgive me for being forward, but do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?”

“Not at all.”

“How many men can you take on?”

Suma grinned. “How many have you got?”

“I mean at the same time,” said Bonhomme. “It's something in the nature of a bet.”

“With who?”

“Myself.”

“Seven,” she answered promptly.

“
Seven
?” he repeated, certain that six had to be any woman's absolute physical limit. “Are you sure?”

“I've done it. In fact, it's probably available on one of the video channels.”

“Wasn't it...
crowded
?” persisted Bonhomme.

“That was half the fun of it.”

“This is some place, this ship!” said Bonhomme, shaking his head in amazement. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Later, perhaps.”

“A cigarette, then?”

“I don't smoke.”

“How about a chair?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.

“Thank you,” said Suma, walking over to a plush, tufted sofa and seating herself.

“Now, then,” said Bonhomme, sitting down on the lounge chair, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“We have a number of friends in common,” replied Suma, “so I thought we might have a little chat.”

“Does this mean you're not going to rip my clothes off and rape me?” asked Bonhomme with mock disappointment.

“It depends on how our conversation goes,” said Suma with a feline smile. “And we've got a lot to talk about.”

“Do we?”

“Oh, yes, Victor, we certainly do. By the way, is this suite secure?”

“Secure from what?”

“You know, Victor, the longer you play stupid, the longer it's going to take us to get to bed,” said Suma. “I know Harry has some kind of device he uses to jam the security system. I assume you have one too.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “It's secure.”

“I thought so, when the door wouldn't open on my command.”

“I'm just a guy who likes his privacy,” said Bonhomme.

“Of course you are.” She paused. “I assume one of our mutual friends told you about my message?”

“I heard something about it,” responded, Bonhomme. “He mentioned that you were feeling distressed, and asked me to look in on you.” He stared at her. “You look just fine to me.”

“I am.”

“Then why did you tell him otherwise?”

“It got you out here, didn't it?” said Suma. “I was rather hoping he'd come himself, but I suppose an underling is better than no one at all.”

“You think I'm an underling?” he asked, amused.

“I
know
you are.”

“Well, then, speaking as one underling to another, what seems to be your problem?”

“
I
don't have a problem,” said Suma. “You do.”

“Oh? And just what
is
my problem?”

“The Madonna fired me earlier this week.”

“I'm heartbroken to hear it,” said Bonhomme. “However, people get fired all the time. I hardly see that it's any of my concern—although I must say it seems profligately wasteful of so beautiful a young woman.”

“Oh, it's your problem, all right. I don't intend to stay fired.”

“Good,” he said. “I like a woman with spunk.” He walked over to the bar. “Are you sure I can't fix you something?”

“No,” she replied. “But don't let me stop you from making yourself a drink. I think you're going to need it.”

He stared at her for a moment, then pulled out a bottle, uncapped it, and poured a few ounces of its contents into a tall glass. “Shall I assume your being fired precipitated your message?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Then why didn't you mention it at the time? The extra charge for one more sentence would have been minimal.” He took a sip of his drink, added a couple of ice cubes, and returned to his chair.

“If I had mentioned that I was fired, you wouldn't be here now, and our mutual friend would be turning cartwheels in his executive office.”

“You make him sound like a spiteful man,” noted Bonhomme.

“No,” said Suma. “Just greedy.”

“Everybody's greedy,” replied Bonhomme. “He just happens to be a little more efficient at it than most of us.”

“He's not as efficient as he thinks,” said Suma. “For that matter, neither are you.”

“Okay,” said Bonhomme pleasantly. “I'm sitting down, I'm relaxed, I've fortified myself with liquor—so tell me how this is all my problem, and then let's get on to the fun part of the evening.”

“All right,” she said. “I met our mutual friend about a year and a half ago.”

“I know,” interjected Bonhomme. “He came home raving about you.”

“He came back almost every weekend,” continued Suma. “He was a very nice man. He always had a gift or two for me.” She held out her hand so that Bonhomme could see her diamond-and-platinum bracelet. “This was one of his presents.”

“It probably wouldn't ransom more than two or three emperors,” commented Bonhomme dryly.

“It's very pretty, isn't it?” she said. “Anyway, when my vacation came up eight months ago, he insisted on flying me all the way to Deluros.”

“He can be very generous to people he likes.”

“I know. While I was there he begged me to quit the
Comet
and become his mistress.” She smiled at the memory. “He offered me a penthouse, and a country home on Earth itself, and all kinds of money.”

“You should have taken him up on it,” said Bonhomme. “He's a very successful man.”

She shook her head. “I've got more money than I need, and I sure as hell didn't plan to spend the next ten years sitting around waiting for him to sneak away from his family.” She paused. “But because he was nice to me, I decided not to hurt his feelings, so I simply told him that my contract with the
Comet
had three more years to run.”

“Well, this is a fascinating melodrama in the life of a lovely young girl,” said Bonhomme, “but I fail to see what it has to do with me.”

“We're just coming to the good part,” said Suma with a smile.

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Do you know what he said to me when I told him about my contract?”

“I haven't the foggiest notion.”

“He laughed and told me not to worry, that in less than a year I'd have more time on my hands than I knew what to do with.”

“Now, how could he have known the Madonna was going to fire you?” asked Bonhomme.

“Oh, I don't think he did. I got the distinct feeling that he thought the
Comet
would be out of business in a year's time.”

“Did he say so?”

“Not in so many words, but that was the impression he gave.” She paused. “He also mentioned your name.”

“He's a good man,” said Bonhomme with a sigh, “but he talks too much in bed. Always has, always will.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I put two and two together, and I decided that he planned to wreck the
Comet
. I even figured out that you would have something to do with it.”

“You've got an overactive imagination,” said Bonhomme.

“Perhaps,” she said. “At least, a lot of my patrons seem to agree with you.”

“You should listen to them. You're building some kind of paranoid fantasy here. Why the hell would anyone want to destroy the
Comet
?”

“You know, I asked myself that very question,” replied Suma. “And when I couldn't answer it, I asked a number of rather intimate friends. Do you know the answer I came up with?”

“Would you like me to guess, or will you just tell me?”

“I found out that his main competitor for the chairmanship of the Vainmill Syndicate is the head of the Entertainment and Leisure Division. Now, I never really thought he meant to blow the ship out of the sky—but it certainly makes sense for him to tamper with the books so he can show that we've been hiding enormous losses, doesn't it?”

“You think it makes sense for a member of the Vainmill board to let a twenty-billion-credit investment sink without a trace?” said Bonhomme with a mocking laugh. “Suma, I think you'd better stick to staring at the ceiling for a living. You'll never make it as a detective.”

“The investment won't sink,” replied Suma. “Just the business. He'll find some other use for the ship.”

“Do you know how quickly they'll laugh you out of court with that accusation?” said Bonhomme.

“Yes, I do. That's why I decided to back my word up with some evidence.”

“Evidence?” said Bonhomme, frowning. “What evidence?”

“I made friends with a woman in Security—you'll forgive me if I don't tell you her name—and had her make a copy of all the existing financial records six months ago.” She grinned at him. “Can you guess what I had her do last week?”

“You tell me,” said Bonhomme grimly.

“I had her make another copy, after Harry Redwine had been working on the books for a month.”

“Where are these copies?”

“In a safe place,” replied Suma with a smug smile.

“Why in the world are you suspicious of Harry?” asked Bonhomme. “He's just an old friend. He's never worked for me in his life.”

“Perhaps not,” said Suma dubiously. “But he's an accountant, and he's from Deluros, and he's sleeping with the Madonna.”

“What does sleeping with the Madonna have to do with anything?”

“It's a business move, nothing more,” said Suma. “You don't really believe he could prefer her to the rest of us, do you? It's just a way to protect his ass, and to get her to fire anyone who knows what's going on.”

“Like you?” suggested Bonhomme dryly.

“Exactly. And of course our friend would be delighted if he knew, because he'd think it meant I was available.”

“There are worse situations to be in,” said Bonhomme. “Why don't you take him up on his offer?”

“Victor, you don't seem to understand what I'm telling you,” said Suma patiently. “I'm not letting
anyone
kill the
Comet
—not you, not your boss, not Harry. If you persist in trying, I'll turn the records over to the head of Entertainment and Leisure and a couple of other division heads whom I happen to know on a very personal basis.”

“Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

“No—except to say that if anything happens to me, I want the records turned over to the press.” She smiled pleasantly. “I also told my bodyguard that if any harm comes to me tonight, you're the one who should be held responsible.”

“You've got a bodyguard?”

“Gamble DeWitt,” she said proudly.

“
He's
on the
Comet
?”

“Yes. And he's very loyal.”

“I can just imagine,” said Bonhomme. He finished his drink and stared at her for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked at last. “You're holding all the aces, so why don't you just go public and be done with it?”

“Because I don't like hurting people,” she answered.

Bonhomme laughed aloud. “You have a delightful sense of humor.”

“Really,” she said. “And of course, there's an alternative.”

“I have a feeling that we just came to the gist of this conversation.”

“Yes we did, so pay careful attention,” said Suma.

“Because if we
don't
reach an accommodation, I'm afraid I won't have any choice but to expose all of you.”

“Which would no doubt cause you great emotional pain,” said Bonhomme sardonically. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”

“The
Velvet Comet
must stay in business.”

“I'm sure once our friend finds out what you've got on him, he'll be the very soul of reason,” replied Bonhomme. “Is there anything else?”

“Of course.”

“Somehow I had a feeling there would be,” he said. “What is it?”

“I want the ship to have motive power. We can do much better traveling from one solar system to another, rather than making all the patrons come to Charlemagne.”

“Motive power for the
Comet
can run into a lot of money.”

“We'll make it back,” she said confidently. “Every time we take up orbit around a planet, we'll be worldwide news. Planetary governments will bid for the privilege of having the
Velvet Comet
visit them for a month or two.”

Bonhomme sighed. “I suppose it can be arranged.”

“And there's one thing more,” continued Suma.

“Isn't there always?” said Bonhomme wryly.

“It's for your own protection.”

“How thoughtful of you. Go ahead.”

“The Madonna has to have some notion of what's been going on,” began Suma. “After all, she's been living with Harry for more than a month.” She stared directly at Bonhomme. “The Madonna loves this ship almost as much as I do, and she's a very stern, moral woman.”

“Not reasonable, like yourself ?” suggested Bonhomme.

“Totally unreasonable,” agreed Suma. “If she gets her hands on the data, she'll almost certainly blow the whistle on you.”

“Whereas if
you
became the madam, you could keep the lid on everything?”

“I'm glad to see that we understand each other,” she said with a smile. “Either way, the
Comet
is going to survive. But if you leave the Madonna in charge, you're not going to survive along with it. She's not as conciliatory as I am.”

“Obviously not.”

“It's time for a change, anyway,” said Suma with a smile that was a mixture of arrogance and triumph. “People like you and Harry and the Madonna can stockpile all the yesterdays you want, but tomorrow belongs to me. You're the past, I'm the future; it's inevitable that I wind up in control of the ship. Besides,” she added, “the Madonna has been very stupid.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“She forgot the prime axiom of a whorehouse: that there's a difference between love and sex. Her job is dispensing sex, and instead she fell in love with the man who's rigging the
Comet
's books. It was a very unprofessional thing to do.”