by Mike Resnick
“So you've told me.”
“You probably even think she does a good job running the Comet.”
“You don't?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Of course not. She's got no imagination, no flair.”
“What would you do differently?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.
Suma walked over to the metal lounge chair and sat down.
“Do you really want to know?”
“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”
“All right,” she said. “First of all, I'd double the rent of every shop in the Mall as quick as their leases came up for renewal.”
“That's a lot of money,” commented Redwine.
“Our business has tripled in the last five years, and their rents have only gone up sixty percent. They'll pay.” She paused. “Next, I'd get rid of the blackjack tables. They only give the house a three percent break. I'd replace them with some alien game, probably jabob that the Dabihs play out on the frontier worlds. I'd get rid of half the fantasy rooms, replace them with more suites, and triple the price on the fantasy rooms that remain.”
“I thought they were pretty popular,” said Redwine, fascinated and just a little uneasy about all the thought she had obviously put into this.
“They are—but we have too many of them. Anyone who spends a weekend here is likely to be able to use one. If we make them harder to come by, we can charge more, and do more business in the extra suites. I'd start selling drugs—which the Madonna absolutely refuses to do, despite the fact that anyone who wants them can get them in the Mall; that costs us perhaps two hundred thousand credits a week.”
“It sounds like you've given it a lot of consideration,” commented Redwine noncommittally.
“This ship is my life, Harry,” she replied seriously. “And someday I'm going to run it. I plan to know what to do when that time comes. You want more?”
“Absolutely.”
“I'd get rid of the tramway.”
“You were the one who told me how convenient it is,” noted Redwine.
“It is—but it means most of the prostitutes don't walk by the Mall very often. The whores on this ship make good money, Harry—based on what they tell me, the lowest contract we've got is for a third of a million credits a year.”
“You're not paid—uh—piecework?”
“I thought you were auditing the books,” she said, looking at him sharply. “How come you don't know?”
“I haven't gotten to the payroll yet,” he replied.
“Well, we're not. Most of the people who work here have developed expensive tastes, and they've got very little to spend their money on. I'd make them take the slidewalk every day.”
“Makes sense,” he agreed.
“And there's one more thing.” She paused. “You've seen the Gemini Twins?”
He nodded.
“That's what I would do!”
“I don't think I follow you.”
“They were surgically altered to appear identical,” she said, irritated that he seemed unable to jump to the proper conclusion.
“So what?” asked Redwine. “Are you saying that you would encourage more of the men to look like them?”
Suma shook her head impatiently. “Who's the most popular whore on the Comet?”
“Let me take a wild shot in the dark and say that you are.”
“And the most beautiful?”
“You're suggesting that someone become a surgical twin of yourself ?” he asked, puzzled. “That you want to work the way the Gemini Twins do?”
“No!” she almost shouted, her face taking on the glow of a fanatic as her mask finally dropped all the way off. “I'm talking about a whole ship filled with copies of myself! We'll call them the Suma Girls, and I'll select and train them myself. No more Gemini Twins, no more male whores at all. We wouldn't need them. Men would come from all over the galaxy to sample the Suma Girls.”
“Have I already mentioned that modesty isn't among your strong points?” inquired Redwine wryly.
“You think it won't work?”
“What about the man who craves a little variety?”
“He won't—not once he's had the best.”
“I did.”
“Yes, but you're not a man, Harry—you're a sniveling toad who thinks he can get special treatment by shacking up with the madam. We'll get along just fine without customers like you.”
“From now on, you're going to have to—and the word is patrons."
“Are you telling me how to be a whore, Harry?” she asked with a smile.
“I don't think anyone could tell you how to be a whore,” he replied truthfully. “But what are your female customers going to say when you bar the doors to them?”
“Not much. We'll start a sister ship for them. I've already chosen a name for it. Want to hear it?”
“I can't stand the suspense.”
“The Satin Comet,” she said proudly.
“Have you discussed any of these plans with the Madonna?” he asked her.
“She doesn't like them.” She flashed him a smile. “Especially the part about the Suma Girls.”
“I can't imagine why.”
“Because it's in her best interest to keep the status quo,” replied Suma. “After all, she's responsible for it.”
“And just how are you going to get rid of her?”
Suma laughed. “You don't really think I'm going to tell you, do you, Harry?”
“Why not?” he persisted.
“You're her new houseboy.” She paused. “I still don't know why, though. You're nowhere near as pretty as Adonis.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I have other advantages.”
She grinned. “I could straighten him out in two days.”
“He's probably the way he is because he spent two days with someone like you.”
“There isn't anyone like me.”
“Yet,” he said.
“Yet,” she agreed. She paused. “You're not being very nice, Harry.”
“I'm just a guy who's trying to drink his coffee and mind his own business.”
“I thought your business was to audit the books, not to screw the Madonna.”
“When your business is to tell me how to run my own, I'll take your opinion under advisement.”
“It may not be that far off, Harry.” Suddenly she smiled. “You were much nicer to me in bed. Perhaps I ought to seduce you again.”
“I don't think that would be a very good idea.”
“I could, you know,” she said confidently, as she shifted her position on the chair to better display her jutting breasts. “What do you think the Madonna would say if she came in and saw us tumbling around together?”
“She's not going to, so your question is academic.”
“This may be your last chance, Harry.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” he said devoutly.
“She'd never even have to know,” persisted Suma, amused by his discomfort.
“Why would you want to, except to have her know?” he asked.
“I told you that the last time: I don't like being rejected.”
“Then don't ask me, and you won't be.”
She stared at him. “It's funny,” she said at last. “You don't look dumber than Gamble.”
“Ask Gamble if he can do double-entry bookkeeping sometime,” replied Redwine.
“She's not keeping you around for your wit, that's for sure.” Suma looked at the chess set. “Did you buy her that?”
“Yes.”
“How much did it cost?”
“I'm afraid that's none of your business.”
She walked over to get a closer look. “Ugly queen,” she commented. “Skinny and flat-chested.”
“Well, not everyone can look like you,” he said. “Until you become the madam, anyway.” He stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“To get another cup of coffee, if you've no strenuous objections. Can I get you one?�
�
“No,” she replied. “I really have to speak to the Madonna about a scheduling conflict tomorrow night.”
She picked up a bishop and examined it. “Maybe I'll take one of these pieces with me. The Madonna doesn't play anyway, and it would look nice in my room.” She grinned at him and waited for a reaction.
“You do,” he replied seriously, “and I'll come after you and break your arm.”
“Can't you think of anything you'd rather do to me?” she asked with a seductive smile.
“Truthfully? Not at this minute,” he replied, going to the kitchen. When he returned to the office she was gone.
The first thing he did was check the chess set to make sure all the pieces were there. The second thing he did was sit down on the lounge chair and allow himself to feel a moment of genuine pity for Gamble DeWitt. And the third thing he did was decide to take the morning off, since so much of it had been wasted already.
The Madonna returned half an hour later, walked over to where he was still sitting, and kissed him.
“Good morning, Harry.”
“Hi,” he said. “You had a visitor.”
“I know,” smiled the Madonna. “I met her in the reception foyer. She told me you tried to seduce her.”
“She did what?” he said incredulously.
The Madonna laughed. “First of all, I can't believe you'd have the energy after last night. And second, as far as seducing Suma is concerned, I don't think anyone has ever tried and failed.”
“She thinks she's going to replace you,” said Redwine.
“I know. She's not exactly unambitious.”
“She's given it a lot of thought,” he continued. “She knows exactly how she's going to run things.”
“Like raising the rents and changing the casino?” replied the Madonna.
“Yes.”
“It won't work. Half of the stores will pull out; they're only here as prestige showcases anyway. And by the time you explained how one of those alien games works to a patron, his vacation would be over.”
“Has she mentioned her Suma Girls to you?” he asked.
“They'd probably make a lot of money,” commented the Madonna. “Still, one Suma at a time is about all I can keep tabs on.”
“You know she's taken over Gamble DeWitt as her own personal project.”
“Poor son of a bitch,” she said. “He'll never be the same.”
“I keep wondering if she hasn't got something special in mind for him.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged. “A bodyguard?” he suggested.
The Madonna smiled. “Her body's never still long enough to guard it.”
“A hit man, then?”
“You're letting your imagination run away with you, Harry.”
“Maybe, but I think we should tell Rasputin to keep an eye on him.”
“Rasputin's already keeping an eye on him. That's his job.”
“Just the same...”
She sighed. “I already spoke to him about it yesterday.”
“You did?” he said, surprised.
“Harry, I didn't get to this position because they drew my name out of a hat. You're good at protecting yourself when you're working; well, so am I.”
“I guess you are at that,” he said admiringly.
“Well, that's taken care of,” she said briskly. “Now I have a special favor to ask.”
He smiled. “I thought I wasn't supposed to have the energy.”
“Oh, you'll have the energy for this,” she replied, walking over to the table and seating herself at one of the chairs. “Show me how to play chess.”
“You mean it?”
She nodded, picking up a bishop and holding it up to the light. “I've waited seven years for a chess set that was worthy of this table. It seems a shame not to know how to use it. Will you teach me?”
He got up, crossed the room, and sat down opposite her.
“I'd be honored,” he replied.
Chapter 11
The next three weeks were the happiest Redwine had ever spent. Thanks to Victor Bonhomme and his unknown employer he had occasionally felt needed, but this was the first time in his life that he actually felt wanted.
He woke up happy each morning, went off to the auxiliary office to continue going through the motions of rigging the books, began taking time off for some rather unambitious daily exercise in the gym, and even resolved to go on a diet, though he carefully placed the date for it sometime in the nebulous future. Each night he and the Madonna would eat at one of the Comet's array of fabulous restaurants, and then would return to her apartment, where they would talk, or read, or play chess, or make love.
It was an idyllic twenty-one days. Flaming Lorelei had gone over his work and had been unable to spot what he was doing, Rasputin had stopped trying to pry the details of his mission from him, and the Madonna, after learning how to manipulate the skeleton card, finally believed that he was telling her the truth. Indeed, the only bad news came when he found out how much he had paid for the chess set, and even that didn't bother him very much, considering how much pleasure it gave the Madonna.
He slept late on the morning of the twenty-second day. On a ship where there were no days or nights, and even the official time was pretty much of an arbitrary convenience, he had taken to working in odd shifts, trying to match his hours to the Madonna's.
She was already dressed in a black, patent-leather jumpsuit and silver boots and gauntlets when he finally got out of bed. He shaved and showered, donned one of the flashy new outfits he had purchased in the Mall, and wandered into the kitchen to get some coffee. Then, cup in hand, he walked into the office.
“Good morning,” he said, sitting down on one of the sofas.
“Aren't you running a little late today?” she asked him, looking up from the day's schedule, which was listed on the small computer inside her fruitwood cabinet.
“Let ‘em take it out of my pay,” he replied with a smile.
“The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back,” she said in persuasive tones.
“Maybe I'll take the day off.”
“Don't be silly, Harry,” she said. “I'll see you later.”
“You sound like you're trying to get rid of me.”
“Of course not. I just have a lot of work to do.”
He leaned back and put his feet up on the chrome table. “Let me just finish my coffee.”
“Harry, I wish you wouldn't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Your feet,” she noted irritably. “They're on my computer's communications screen.”
He took them off and stared at her. “Are you sure you're all right?” he asked. “You seem kind of touchy this morning.”
“I'm fine,” she responded with a smile. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”
“Is there anything I can bring back from the Mall to cheer you up?”
“Just yourself.”
The tabletop flickered to life, and a young man's face appeared.
“Madonna.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“We've got a holograph problem in the ski lodge.”
“Again?” She frowned. “All right. Close it up for the next two days and make sure that the techies fix it right this time.” She paused. “And see that everyone who's scheduled for it gets a full refund.”
“Ski lodge?” asked Redwine when the connection had been broken.
“One of our fantasy rooms,” she explained. “It resembles a section of a huge ski lodge atop a mountain on Mirzam X. It has lovely oak and leather furniture, a roaring fireplace, a bar that specializes in hot buttered rum, and a fabulous view of the mountains—except that right now it looks like a storage room with a couple of chairs and a bar. The holograph projector keeps breaking down.” She shook her head. “This is the fourth time this month. I don't know why the hell they can't fix it right the first time.”
Redwine sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Maybe I should take
a look at it myself.”
She laughed. “What do you know about holograms, Harry?”
“Not a damned thing,” he admitted. “But I know a lot about how to make the ship's computer jump through hoops. Maybe I can get it to analyze the problem.”
“That's just what they do,” she pointed out.
“Yeah—but I do it better.”
“All right, Harry,” she said with a smile. “If they screw it up again, maybe I'll unleash you.”
The screen lit up again.
“One of those mornings, huh?” he remarked.
“It's starting to look like it,” she replied.
The face of the black woman Redwine had seen in the shower appeared.
“Yes?” said the Madonna.
“Peter Brennard is due to leave in about three hours,” announced the woman. “He wants to say good-bye to you.”
The Madonna glanced at Redwine, then looked at the screen again. “Where is he now?” she asked.
“In the casino,” came the reply. “He says he'll be there for another twenty minutes or so.”
“All right,” said the Madonna, breaking the connection.
“What's that all about?” asked Redwine. “Have you taken to wishing godspeed to all your patrons?”
“No. Just some of our special ones.”
“Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I can do with another cup of coffee.”
He got up, walked to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and returned to the office.
“Are you still here?” he said, surprised.
“Of course.”
“But I thought this Brennard guy was only going to be in the casino for a few more minutes.”
She turned to him.
“Harry, I'm not meeting him in the casino,” she said softly.
He looked puzzled. “I thought you said —”
“I'm meeting him in his suite.”
“What?” he exploded.
She sighed. “Do you remember the first day we were together, when I was showing you the ship, and you asked me if I still serviced any patrons?” She paused. “I explained to you that I occasionally serviced an old and cherished one. Well, Peter Brennard is one of the men I was talking about.”
“That was before you met me, damn it!” he snapped.
“I know,” she said soothingly. “But this is my job, Harry.”
