Eros Ascending: Book 1 of Tales of the Velvet Comet (28 page)

“My pocket,” mumbled Redwine, turning his attentions back to the Madonna.

Rasputin approached him, gently removed the card and secured the apartment, as Redwine, again oblivious to him, cradled the Madonna in his arms.

Redwine remained absolutely motionless for another moment, then stood up and dried his face with the sleeve of his tunic.

“I loved her,” he said softly.

“I know,” replied Rasputin.

Redwine pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, then seemed to forget what he had wanted it for.

“We were going to live on her farm in the Pollux system,” he said in a faraway voice. He paused, momentarily disoriented. “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

“I don't know if he did,” replied the Security chief thoughtfully. “I think we startled him. If he had come here to kill her, she'd have been dead long before we arrived.”

Redwine stared at the Madonna's lifeless body.

“I didn't even know her name,” he said at last.

“You knew everything you needed to know about her,” replied Rasputin gently.

Redwine was silent for another moment.

“It's back,” he said at last, in a dull, dead voice.

“What is?”

“The emptiness.” He paused. “It was gone while I knew her, and now it's back.”

“I don't understand,” said Rasputin.

“You don't have to.
I
do.” Redwine's expression hardened. “Someone besides me is going to be sorry this day ever happened,” he announced at last.

“Can you be ready to leave the ship in half an hour?” asked Rasputin.

“Who's leaving?” asked Redwine distractedly.

“
You
are.”

“Not until I see Suma and Victor.”

“Harry, if you kill them, I won't be able to protect you. You'll go to jail.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“There's a better way,” persisted Rasputin.

Redwine looked at him blankly.

“Deluros, Harry,” said Rasputin, articulating each word carefully as if speaking to a child. “Take your copies of the records and go to Deluros. You'll not only take care of Suma and Bonhomme, but you'll save the
Comet
.”

“What do I care about the
Comet
?” said Redwine.

“
She
cared.”

Redwine looked down at the Madonna's body.

“All right,” he said at last.

“Good,” said Rasputin briskly. “Now we've got to get you out of here.”

Redwine remained motionless.

“Harry, are you paying attention to me?”

“I want her buried on her farm on Pollux IV,” said Redwine, never taking his eyes from the Madonna.

“I'll see to it.”

“And I don't want Suma to have any of her things. I'll see them burned first.”

“Is there anything of hers you'd like to take with you?”

Redwine looked slowly around the room.

“The chess set,” he said at last.

“Where's the container?”

“In the bedroom closet,” said Redwine. “And bring the briefcase that's next to it; it's got the data copies.”

Rasputin left the office and returned a moment later with the briefcase and the ornate wooden box.

He laid both on the floor, then dropped to his knees and began gathering up the chess pieces.

“I'm going to give you the first shot at this, Harry,” he said as he began collecting the scattered chessmen and placing them carefully in the box. “But if you fail, I'm going to see that Suma gets what's coming to her.”

Redwine made no answer, but merely stood there, trying to adjust to the terrible reality of the situation, to the fact that the Madonna would never read another book, or laugh at another joke, or greet him at the end of a day, or ever again walk the decks of the
Velvet Comet
.

Rasputin put the last piece in the box, locked it, and got to his feet.

“Harry, I've got to ask you a question.”

“What?”

“It's about your skeleton card.”

“You can't have it,” said Redwine. “I'll need it on Deluros.”

“You said before that it could negate Bonhomme's card.”

“So what?” said Redwine dully.

“Damn it, Harry—try to concentrate!”

Redwine looked at him. “What about the card?”

“I don't know all the intricacies of working it,” said the Security chief. “Is there a way you can stop Bonhomme from jamming his suite's monitors before you leave?”

Redwine stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

“What room is he in?”

Rasputin gave him the number, and Redwine walked over to the fruitwood secretary, activated the small computer inside it, and made a quick adjustment.

“It's done,” he said.

“I wish to hell
I
had one of those,” muttered Rasputin. He picked up the briefcase and the box.

“All right, Harry. The sooner we get you off the ship, the better.”

“You go ahead,” said Redwine. “I want a minute alone with her.”

Rasputin nodded and left the room, and Redwine knelt down beside the Madonna once more.

“I waited forty-three years for someone like you,” he said softly, “and then we only had five weeks together.”

He lowered his head and kissed her for the last time. “It shouldn't have ended like this”—he sighed—“but it was worth the wait.”

He stood up, blew his nose once, and then walked to the door and followed Rasputin to the airlock.

Night had fallen on Deluros VIII, the enormous planet that would shortly become Man's capital world.

Seven billion bureaucrats had returned to their dwellings, secure in the knowledge that they had advanced the cause of the sprawling Republic for another day.

Traffic in and out of the ten thousand orbital hangars had slowed to a manageable flow, half a million restaurants had closed their doors for another day, all but a handful of the five hundred holographic video stations had switched from prime time entertainments to reruns and low-budget epics.

And yet not everyone on Deluros VIII had ceased working for the day. Five million police patrolled the streets and byways of the major cities, a third of a million bars remained open, a sanitation force the size of a small army was preparing the planet for another day's assault by its busy minions.

The Planetary Governor was hosting a party for a trio of alien ambassadors from Lodin XI, the Department of Commerce and Trade was holding an all-night session to explore means of combating the current recession, the Federation of Miners was polling its deadlocked membership regarding the Republic's latest contract offer.

And, on the eighty-sixth floor of the Vainmill Building, a very old woman sat in a sumptuous office, studying flow charts on a tabletop computer.

A cup of tea, cold and forgotten, rested on a corner of her desk. Every now and then she would utter a brief command to the computer, but for the most part she merely watched the endless display of charts and statistics.

Suddenly she heard a door slide into the wall, and looked up to find herself facing a middle-aged man.

The man touched a small card he held in his hand, and the door slid shut again.

The two stared at each other in silence for a long minute.

“Come in, Mr. Redwine,” said the old woman at last. “I've been expecting you.”

“You know who I am?” asked Redwine, surprised.

“Of course,” she said. “I make it my business to know
all
my major employees, even those I haven't met before.”

“You also make it very difficult for them to talk to you.”

“I'm a busy woman. If what they have to say is important enough, they usually find a way to see me, as you seem to have done.” She paused. “How did you get past my security people?”

Redwine held up his skeleton card.

“I can't quite see what you have there,” said the old woman. “Please step a little closer.”

“It's dark in here,” commented Redwine, approaching her desk.

“The light hurts my eyes. Ah—a skeleton card!

You show remarkable initiative, Mr. Redwine. Do sit down.”

Redwine seated himself on an overstuffed chair about ten feet away from her.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr. Redwine?”

“Like I said, we have to talk.”

“That sounds remarkably like an order, Mr. Redwine,” said the old woman. “And I don't take orders. I
give
them.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to take this one,” said Redwine. “I've sealed off your office.”

The old woman smiled and touched a button beneath her desk. An instant later the door slid open.

“We'll have our talk, Mr. Redwine,” she said as Redwine manipulated his card to no effect. “But you must understand that I am consenting to this meeting because
I
want to, not because you have told me that I must.”

She moved her hand and the door slid shut.

“Now,” she continued, “what is so important that you are willing to risk your career and even your life, just for a few minutes of my time?”

“I've come to tell you that you have a saboteur in your organization,” said Redwine bluntly.

“I have
many
saboteurs in my organization,” replied the old woman calmly. “Including you.”

“What do you know about me?” he asked sharply.

“More than you suppose,” said the old woman, taking a sip of her cold tea, making a face, and adding some sugar to it.

“Then you know why I was sent to the
Velvet Comet
?” he persisted.

“Certainly.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Are
you
my employer?”

“Not in the sense that you mean.”

“But you know I was sent there to falsify the financial records?”

“Of course, Mr. Redwine. It is my business to know such things.”

“Do you also know a murder was committed just before I left?”

“It was most unfortunate.

“
Unfortunate
?” snapped Redwine.

“A poor choice of words,” said the old woman. “It was tragic.”

“Someone's going to pay for it,” said Redwine grimly.

“Oh?”

He nodded, withdrew a small package from inside his tunic, and tossed it onto her desk.

“The original records and the ones you forged?” asked the old woman.

“That's right,” said Redwine. “It's everything you need to nail whoever's been sabotaging your companies.”

“And you're giving them to me?” she asked.

“Yes. But there's a price.”

“There usually is,” she said with a
wry
smile. “All right, Mr. Redwine. What is your price?”

“Two other people have to take the fall along with my employer.”

“Victor Bonhomme and whom?”

He stared at her for a moment, startled. “A girl named Suma.”

“Ah, yes, Suma. A lovely young woman.”

“She killed the Madonna.”

“I was under the impression that a former athlete named Gamble DeWitt killed her, and was killed in turn.”

“He was her weapon.”

“You, of course, have certain knowledge of this?” asked the old woman.

Redwine stared at her. “Do we have a deal?” he said at last.

“I'm afraid not, Mr. Redwine.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“First of all, the only person implicated by those records is yourself.”

“You put me on a witness stand and I'll have Victor Bonhomme in jail in five minutes’ time.”

“Even if it meant you had to go to jail yourself?”

“Even so,” he said resolutely.

“You loved her that much?” asked the old woman, curious.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“My motives aren't important,” said Redwine. “Do you want the records or not?”

She took another sip of her tea.

“No, I do not,” she said.

“But I'm giving you this guy's head on a
silver platter
!”

“I have enough heads and enough platters, Mr. Redwine. I don't need any more.”

“I don't think you understand what I've been saying,” persisted Redwine. “My employer has been systematically sabotaging Vainmill operations all over the galaxy.”

“Do you really think I wasn't aware of that?” asked the old woman. “What a low opinion you must have of me, Mr. Redwine.”

He stared at her, trying to comprehend her answer.

Finally he shook his head. “It doesn't make any sense!” he said. “Are you just going to let him keep bankrupting your companies?”

The old woman took another spoonful of sugar and spread it on her desk.

“Do you see this sugar, Mr. Redwine?”

“Yes.”

“Even in a single spoonful, there are tens of thousands of grains. Let us pretend that it represents the Vainmill Syndicate.” She wet her finger. “Now let us remove the nine companies you have successfully sabotaged, as well as the
Velvet Comet
.” She placed her finger down at the edge of the sugar, then took it away. “Do you see a difference?”

“What's the point of this?” said Redwine.

“The point, Mr. Redwine, is that Vainmill is too big and too powerful and too far-flung to be diminished by the removal of ten companies, just as this pile of sugar remains just as full and potent despite the removal of ten grains. Do I make myself clear?”

“Do you mean you're going to let this bastard get away with what he's done, just because you can afford it?” demanded Redwine.

“In essence, that is precisely what I am going to do,” she replied.

“You're crazy!” he snapped.

“No, Mr. Redwine. I'm old, and I'm tired, but I am definitely not crazy. I plan to retire next year, and must leave behind me the most able successor possible.”

“The most able criminal, you mean.”

“Corporations are not human beings, Mr. Redwine,” said the old woman, “and they cannot be ruled by human laws. If your employer is bold enough and ruthless enough to pull this off; then he is my logical successor.”

“But he's
not
pulling it off!” insisted Redwine. “I've got the evidence to put him away.”

She shook her head. “You're a wild card, Mr. Redwine. You don't count.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you hadn't committed the unpardonable error of falling in love in a whorehouse, you wouldn't be offering me your evidence. Your employer gets a free pass for that.”