"Mike Resnick - Velvet Comet 2 - Eros At Zenith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"Various recreational areas."
"The fantasy rooms that I've heard so much about?" asked Crane.
"Yes, sir. And now, if you'll just wait here for a moment, I'll inform the Black Pearl that
you've arrived."
Crane watched the stocky security man walk to a bank of computers that had been set
into one of the foyer's walls, then examined his new surroundings. The foyer was an
octagonal room, perhaps eighty feet across, with numerous plush couches and contour
chairs, about half of which were occupied by couples and small groups. Clustered in one
corner were a number of men and women who were watching stock market quotations
and sporting results flash across a pair of large screens. Three elegantly-tailored cocktail
waiters circulated through the foyer dispensing free drinks, while four young women
worked a registration desk. Crane looked up and saw that the domed ceiling had an
enormous pornographic tableau done in bas-relief.
Finally he looked back down the Mall, which from this perspective looked like a polished
chrome-and-glass corridor extending to infinity. He noticed that a magician had set up
shop about eighty yards from the entrance to the foyer, and was amusing passers-by
with his sleight-of-hand tricks. Then an elderly woman, weighted down with a massive
diamond necklace and a totally unnecessary wrap made from the fur of some bluetinted
alien animal, walked out of a nearby boutique and began approaching the foyer. Crane
studied her, put her age at somewhere between seventy and eighty, and spent a few
moments appraising her jewelry. He had valued her multitude of rings and bracelets at
somewhere between four and five million credits, and was just about to go to work on
the necklace when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"She'll see you now," said Oglevie.
"Then let's go."
Oglevie headed off to his left, Crane followed him, and a moment later they began
passing a number of restaurants, each unique in its decor. One resembled a sanitized
and opulent version of one of the notorious drug dens of Altair III, another was a formal,
candle-lit affair featuring crisp linen tablecloths, fine china and silver, and servants in
powdered wigs and Revolutionary America costumes, while a third was simply a huge
silk tent in which the customers sat or reclined on large cushions and ate off a long, very
low table.
"How late are these places open?" asked Crane, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten
in quite some time.
"Around the clock, sir," replied Oglevie. "There is no day or night aboard the Velvet
Comet ."
"I thought I was told that the body was discovered at 0200 hours, ship's time," said Crane
sharply.
"Two in the morning," nodded Oglevie. "That would be about right, sir. When I said that
we had no day or night, I meant of course that we are a 24-hour-a-day operation."
"Of course," repeated Crane.
They passed a cocktail lounge filled with angular chrome chairs and polished obsidian
tables.
"What the hell is that ?" demanded Crane suddenly.
"What, sir?"
"That man with the make-up job," said Crane, indicating a middle-aged man with bright
red lips and black grease paint which had been applied in a diamond-shaped pattern
that made it appear as if he were crying. "He sure as hell can't be a customer."
"No, sir. He works here."
"Are you trying to tell me women find that attractive?" asked Crane. "Because if you