Free Eros at Zenith: Book 2 of Tales of the Velvet Comet by Mike Resnick

press Mr. Crane into service,” remarked the Black Pearl. “He likes a challenge.”
    “Perhaps I will,” agreed the Dragon Lady.
    “At least it'll keep him out of my hair,” said the Black Pearl. “By the way, where's Infante?”
    “We moved his body to one of the private rooms.”
    “Good. Well, there's nothing more to see here.”
    The Black Pearl walked back to the waiting room, followed by the Security Chief. A moment later a male patron wandered in, explained somewhat disjointedly that he had had a bit too much to drink and was suffering from a violently upset stomach, sat down, and promptly passed out.
    “How long before Weeping Willow is awake?” asked the Black Pearl.
    “Three hours, possibly four.”
    “I don't see any reason for sitting around here until she's cogent enough to fire,” said the madam. “Would you care to come back to my apartment for a drink?”
    “Why not?” said the Dragon Lady, getting to her feet.
    They walked out into the Mall, took the slidewalk to the airlock, and then rode the tramway back to the Resort. A few moments later they entered the Black Pearl's office, walked through it, and then entered her opulently-furnished bedroom.
    “It's nice to get out of this thing,” said the Black Pearl, removing her intricately-woven beaded garment. “It itches like the devil!”
    “Someday I must tell you about an outfit I used to wear,” remarked the Dragon Lady. “It was all leather, from the neck right down to the five-inch heels. The only things that were exposed were my breasts and my crotch. I must have sweated off ten pounds every time I wore it.”
    “Then why did you bother?”
    “Because I sweated off ten pounds every time I wore it,” said the Dragon Lady with a laugh. “I wonder if any of the patrons know just how uncomfortable most of these outfits are.”
    “It would spoil the illusion,” said the Black Pearl wryly, as she slipped into a nondescript orange jumpsuit and uttered a sigh of relief. “Ah! That's better.”
    A small chirping noise came from another room.
    “Feeding time at the zoo,” said the Black Pearl, heading off in the direction of the sound.
    “I'm not sure that zoo is the proper word for it,” said the Dragon Lady, following her.
    “Maybe not,” she agreed, passing through a doorway into a warm, very humid room. “But you'll never convince me that garden is any better.”
    When both of them were inside the room, the Black Pearl ordered the door to close.
    “I don't remember it being quite this warm before,” remarked the Dragon Lady.
    “I've been experimenting with the temperature,” answered the Black Pearl. “I think they do a little better if I simulate mild seasonal changes.”
    The Dragon Lady came to a stop, and looked at the row upon row of delicate flowers that were carefully arranged on utilitarian tables, three dozen large ones potted individually and perhaps one hundred smaller ones laid out in flats. They were completely transparent—stem, leaves, stamen, calyx, petals—but they seemed to glisten and glow with life, as the fluid that flowed through them made hypnotic whirling patterns that seemed to catch and hold the room's artificial light.
    Three or four of them were making tinkling little chirping sounds until the Black Pearl poured a reddish powder into a large container of water and began stirring it. Then suddenly the entire room became filled with more and more persistent chirpings that soon began to sound almost harshly insistent.
    “In a minute,” crooned the Black Pearl, stirring the mixture. “I'm almost done.”
    A moment later she began walking among the flowers, pouring perhaps two ounces of the water and additive at the base of each. The flowers that were so treated soon began uttering contented trilling noises, and then fell silent, while the others increased their musical jabbering to the point where it almost resembled panicky shrieking. It took two more containers of the mixture before all of