"Mike Resnick - Velvet Comet 1 - Eros Ascending" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

They reached the open area in front of the elevators.

"Nice frescos, too," he said, looking at the ceiling.

"We like them."

"Are they all pornographic?"

"They are all artistic," she replied.

The elevator arrived, and a smartly-tailored elderly woman got off, nodded pleasantly to them, and
began walking down the corridor.

"A customer?" asked Redwine, watching her until she vanished around a corner.

"One of our best," said Suma, entering the elevator. "And we prefer to call them patrons."

"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.