"You won't regret it," Del said. He would make it work.
If he didn't fry his brain.
VI: The Cosmos
"This isn't a costume," Del growled. "It's embarrassing."
Mac stood back and considered him. Although he supposed he should have expected Del's cranky mood, given how the concert had gone yesterday in Philadelphia, he had thought it would improve this morning, after Prime-Nova agreed to let him play New York.
It didn't surprise him the clothes made Del self-conscious. The black mesh pants fit him like a second skin and rode low on the hips, with his ring belt even lower. Few people could pull off wearing that outfit, let alone look as good in it as Del. Mac had known Del wouldn't like it, but he also knew what worked onstage.
"You look good," Mac said.
Del splayed his hand over his bare chest. "I need a shirt."
Mac braced himself for the explosion. "I think you should go without it."
"Are you out of your mind?" Del scowled at him. "Besides, I signed that costume clause in my contract."
Mac couldn't help but laugh. "Believe me, you could get away with wearing a lot less than this and no one would complain."
"Not funny, Mac."
The door of the hotel room hummed and swung open, admitting Jud and the tech Bonnie. Jud just glanced at Del as he walked by, but Bonnie stopped in her tracks and gaped.
"Oh," she said. "Oh, my."
Del's face turned red. "Don't you guys knock?"
Jud flopped down in the beanbag chair and picked up his guitar. "You need a shirt."
"Thank you," Del said.
Anne ambled into the room. "Hey, Del. Nice outfit."
"For flaming sake!" Del said, crossing his arms.
Randall walked past her. "You going without the shirt?"
"No!" Del glared at Mac. Then he glared at Cameron, who was just coming in. "My room is turning into Grand Central Starport."
The Marine regarded Del with the hint of a smile, then dropped into an armchair, stretched out his long legs, and poured himself a smart-mug of the coffee Mac had left on the table. His mug, which was supposed to pick up cues about his mood from his movements and hand, turned dark purple, gave a spurt of Del's song "No Answers," and fell silent as if to comment on the quality of the music, or lack thereof.
"Great," Del muttered. "Even the dishes are reviewing my music." He swung around to Mac. "You must have a shirt I can wear."
"All right." Mac relented and turned to the pile of clothes he had thrown on the bed. He pulled out a skin-tight muscle shirt. "How about this?"
"I am not going to wear that," Del said.
Bonnie smiled. "He'll get boys following him, too."
Anne's throaty laugh rumbled as she dropped into the armchair next to where Cameron sat. "They will anyway."
Del's face flamed. "What?"
"Oh come on," Randall said, slouching in his chair while he loaded a mug with coffee. "You can't be that innocent."
Anne stood considering Del. "Pick a more subtle shirt," she decided. "You don't need to be blatant."
"What, these pants aren't blatant?" Del demanded.
"Honey, the pants are dynamite," she told him.
Mac pulled out a long-sleeved white shirt. "This is more like what you wear." He wondered why Del was in such a bad mood. The clothes probably, but embarrassment usually made him quiet rather than testy. Mac suspected it was Ricki. She had stayed with Del last night, but she was nowhere in sight this morning.
Del shrugged into the shirt. It fit snugly and was open at the collar. A faint shimmer overlaid it, a mesh that molded the shirt to his body and would glint in the stage lights.
"Looks good," Anne decided. "Sex without sleaze."
Del tugged on his cuff. "I look stupid."
"You don't, believe me," Bonnie said, her eyes large.
"What about his hair?" Randall asked. "He ought to cut it."
Anne shook her head. "Prime-Nova doesn't want him to."
"I think it's nice," Bonnie said.
"Jud," Del said desperately. "Rescue me."
A ripple of music came from the corner. Jud was sprawled in the beanbag, playing his acoustic guitar. "You'll have to trust the women on this one. I have no idea what you should wear."
Del shifted his weight back and forth as if he wanted to run away but had nowhere to go. "When do we leave?"
"As soon as possible," Mac said.
"Why?" Randall asked. "It only takes a couple of hours to reach New York. If we go now, we'll be there before noon. The show isn't until seven tonight."
"We could have slept longer," Anne grumbled.
Mac thought of the Philadelphia concert. "I don't want to risk being late again."
Del walked over to Mac and spoke in a low voice. "Did you see anyone come out of here earlier this morning?"
"You mean your room?" Mac asked.
Del nodded, his eyes averted.
Mac wondered what the hell Ricki was doing, jerking Del around this way when he needed support. "No. Sorry. But I was in my own room most of the time."
"Yeah. Well. I don't have to wear this clown suit until the concert." Del spun around and stalked to the bed. He grabbed a pair of smart-jeans and a black T-shirt out of his throw bag, then strode into the bathroom and banged the door behind him.
"What's he so drilled about?" Randall said.
No one answered.
The heavy walls of the room muted the rumble of the crowds in the Cosmos Stadium above them. Del stood by a table, gripping his bottle of beer. He didn't know why he bothered drinking the stuff; it had no effect on him. But he needed something.
He felt painfully self-conscious in his getup. It could have been worse; Mac had at least picked clothes similar to what Del usually wore. These were just more—hell, he didn't know the English for it. Skolian Flag had a perfect word. It translated into harboring the night, which didn't make much sense, but anyone who spoke Flag would understand. Sexually suggestive, with a touch of the audacious. He was going out on that stage to harbor the night. Except he was a skinny guy from the farm, so all he was going to harbor was his own stupidity.
Mac spoke behind him. "You'll be all right."
Del decided to quit brooding. Turning around, he saw Mac leaning against the bar, drinking a beer.
"I should go join the band," Del said.
"They're okay with you staying here. They know why."
Del took a deep breath, trying to relax. "I can feel the audience. Like an avalanche above me."
"Listen." Mac came over to him. "Just go to the front of the stage. That's half the battle. Let people see you."
Del scowled. "In this getup I'm wearing, people will laugh."
"Trust me, they won't." Mac regarded him curiously. "How can you be an empath and not know how people react to you?"
"I feel their moods," Del said. "If I let myself, and if their reaction is strong. That doesn't mean I understand them." He thought of Ricki, who had disappeared this morning, and his anger surged. How could she moan with pleasure in his arms at night and then vanish the next day? No, damn it, he wouldn't think about her, not now. He needed to concentrate on the concert.
"So you can tell if someone notices you," Mac said. "But you don't know what they notice?"
"Essentially." Del squinted at him. "If I did know, I'd probably be so nervous about it, I'd be afraid to move."
Mac smiled. "Just be yourself, then."
Easy for him to say; he didn't have to wear these clothes. "How much longer?"
"About five minutes. You remember how to start?"
"Introduction. I won't forget this time."
"And you've changed the order of the songs."
"I'll remember." Even if he forgot, it would come back as soon as Jud started playing. They had put "Sapphire Clouds" first because Mac thought it had a catchier melody. Del had never considered his songs "catchy," given how much everyone seemed to want to miss them, but he figured Mac knew what he was ta
lking about.
"You ready?" Mac asked.
He managed to nod. "Let's go."
Cameron was waiting outside the doorway. He followed them up a narrow stairway to the backstage area. The noise of the crowd echoed in the indoor stadium. The pressure didn't crush Del as much as last night; even if he hadn't known they were performing for only ten thousand people, he would have been able to tell.
Anne met them at the top of the stairs. She beamed at Del. "You look a lot calmer tonight."
Del felt about as calm as a spaziotic-jumping-fly from the planet Diesha. But he said, "You bet."
Randall and Jud joined them. "You all set?" Randall asked.
"Couldn't be better," Del lied.
Jud was watching him. "Just remember. Stay at the front."
"I will." Del motioned toward the stadium. "With so many people in those tiered seats, though, they can see me no matter where I stand."
"And they'll see the holos of you we added to the show," Mac said. "I checked with the techs earlier. The screens are set."
Jud lifted his hand. "Then let's do it!"
Bonnie pulled aside a curtain separating them from the stage. Del took a breath, then ran with the band out into the lights. As soon as they appeared, the noise in the arena surged. The audience crammed the place, so much that Del wondered if the concert promoters had oversold the arena. People jammed the open area at the front of the stage, chairs on the main floor, and tier after tier of seats above them. They were calling, whistling, holding up laser-light candles, and climbing rails that separated the tiers from the main floor. Security guards hauled them down and put them back in their own section.
The rippling lights in the air flustered Del. But this time, he didn't lose touch with everything. He was aware of Jud to his right setting up his morpher, of Randall on his left flicking strings, of Anne behind him tapping a cymbal. Fighting his instinct to back up, Del went to the front of the stage. The kids below were talking to each other, calling to friends, or looking at him, waiting to see what he would do. Jud started the intro to "Sapphire Clouds," rolling through the fast-paced measures.
Del wondered if these people had heard his show was a disaster. No, don't think about that. Concentrate. Just pick one. One person. One mind.
"Hey, sweets, you're gorgeous," a girl called up. Her friend gave her a shove, laughing, her face red.
All right, Del thought. You're the one.
Then he lowered his mental shields.
A sea of emotions crashed into him. He reeled and actually started to fall. He was drowning!
No. Del caught his balance and focused on the girl, desperate for an anchor. Just her, no one else. Her mood swirled; she was aroused, not only from the excitement of the concert, but from him. A flush went through his body.
Jud and Randall were cycling through the intro, waiting for him. Del took a breath and sang straight to the girl:
Running through the sphere-tipped reeds
Suns like gold and amber beads
Jumping over blue-winged bees
Kiss me, don't tease
Running, running, running
He changed the fourth line for the girl, from Don't catch me please. He had written "Sapphire Clouds" when he had been eleven, from the sheer delight in racing across the endless plains that surrounded his home village:
Flight of bubbles everywhere
Pollen dusting in my hair
No more troubles anywhere
Sapphire clouds above the air
The girl was staring at him with a rapt gaze. Del took everything he picked up from her—desire, delight in the music, excitement—and sent it back. As their link strengthened, it also widened, taking in her friends, then others around her. They liked his song, liked his appearance, liked the music. He kept building the connection, reaching out to more people in front of the stage.
He had written the next verses when he was older, after his life had gone to hell. The music changed abruptly, shifting into a minor key.
Memories fade in life's strain
Winds of age bring falling rain
Cornucopia of lives
Of years and joys and grieving sighs
People in front of him were dancing, bodies jumping with the music. Del didn't know if they had done that at his other concerts; he had been too far back to see. In his side vision, he saw a giant holo of himself high above the stage. He was dancing, stepping back and forth as he often did when he practiced alone. Gods, how mortifying! He never let anyone know. Yes, men danced on Earth. But they never did on Lyshriol. It was forbidden. Yet here he was, doing it in front of thousands of people, and he couldn't stop because it might break his link with the small part of his audience in front of the stage. If he lost that focus, a tidal wave would rush in and drown him.
Recall Sapphire Clouds on high
Drifting in an endless sky
Childhood caught and kept inside
To treasure after days gone by
His mind jumped to people farther back in the arena, widening his link. He was losing control, but he couldn't stop. He felt as if he were on a neuro-amp high. His feedback loop with the audience surged and he threw back his head, letting go with the joy of singing to people who wanted to hear him.
Del barely realized he had finished the song when people started clapping. Although they had done that at the other concerts, he knew the difference. It had felt obligatory before; here they cheered with gusto.
"Yes!" Mac shouted in his ear. "You've got it."
Del's mind lurched with the onslaught of emotions buffeting him. It was like being on a roller coaster he couldn't stop. Jud was playing the next song. "Diamond Star." Del lifted his gaze to the scaffolding of the distant roof. In his mind, he looked beyond, into the night, past the stars. This is for you, he thought to the only woman he would ever truly love.
Then he let go, soaring through the first verse and into the chorus, A diamond, a diamond, a diamond star.
And so he went, in an ecstatic haze while his mind reeled in an empathic overload.
Anne was laughing, her gorgeous voice filling the green room under the stage. "He forgot the introduction again!"
"Who the hell cares?" Randall said, laughing with her. "They can't yank us now, not after an ultraviolet scream like that."
Del stumbled into the entranceway, his body vibrating with the sounds of Mind Mix playing above them. He hung onto the doorframe and stared at the others. He was aware of Cameron on one side of him and Mac on the other, but Del couldn't focus on anything. His mind was whirling.
"Here he is!" Randall strode over and clapped Del on the shoulder. "Now that was a show. You just needed a new pair of pants, heh?"
They all gathered around him, Anne, Jud, Bonnie, Randall. Del tried to answer, but he couldn't speak. It didn't matter. They were doing all the talking.
"Man, you're flying," Randall said. "What'd you take?"
Del focused on him. "Take?"
"You gotta watch that," Anne told him. "Your pupils are wide as the moon. If Soo-Ling catches you, Prime-Nova will get pissed."
"He didn't take anything," Mac said, maneuvering Del past them. "We'll be right back." He pulled Del toward another door.
Then they were alone, in the room where Mac had brought him before the show. Del collapsed on the couch, his booted feet on the coffee table, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. He couldn't get off the roller coaster, he was going into overload—
Mac's worried face swam into view above Del.
"Thank God," Mac said. He moved out of view.
Del lifted his head. He was still slouched on the couch with his legs across the table, but now Mac was sitting next to him, his face pale. Although Del felt a little strange, his mind had settled, and he was more in control.
He rubbed his eyes. "What happened?"
Mac spoke quietly. "Do you have epilepsy?"
Del looked up with a start. How had Mac known to ask that? "No. But my father did, so we've al
l been tested. I never showed any signs of it."
"Your father?" Mac looked surprised. "We had no idea."
Apparently the Allieds didn't have spies as good as they thought. "It's hardly something we talk about to your military."
"I think you need to talk to me," Mac said quietly. "You just had a convulsion."
What? No, that couldn't be. "I didn't feel anything."
"You stiffened and your eyes rolled back in your head." Mac's face was pale. "Then you jerked for about ten seconds."
Del didn't want to hear this. "That's never happened before."
"Tell me about your father," Mac said. When Del stiffened, Mac frowned at him. "It's your health at stake."
"My health is fine."
"Damn it, Del, if live performances give you seizures, I need to know what's going on."
Del didn't want to talk about so private a matter, but he knew Mac wouldn't let it go. "I never saw my father have one. They happened before he met my mother because his people didn't have good medical care. But she brought in doctors, and they helped him."
"Do you know why he had seizures?"
"It's an overload in the brain. Too many neurons fire." Del spoke with difficulty. "Psions, what you call empaths and telepaths, have extra neural structures. My father had even more than most. When he was a baby, his family died in an avalanche. He was in a mental link with them, and it damaged his brain. After that, if his empathic centers were overstimulated, he had a convulsion." Del didn't need a medical degree to know he was describing a more severe version of what had just happened to him. His seizure couldn't be serious, though. His brain was just adjusting, like untrained muscles cramping because they weren't used to a workout. With practice, he would be fine.
"I don't know what you did out there," Mac said. "But the price is too high. I want you to stop."
"Stop?" Del smiled. "Mac, it worked."