Mac frowned at him. "You looked like you were drilled out of your mind. If Soo-Ling had seen you come offstage, she would have fined you twenty thousand on the spot."
"I didn't take anything! I can't help how I looked."
Jud suddenly opened the door and leaned inside. "You aren't going to believe this. Mind Mix isn't done playing, and one of the media biggies has already put out an Arden exclusive."
Del's pulse lurched as he jumped to his feet. "Good or bad?"
Jud smirked at him. "You'll have to decide for yourself."
Del regarded him warily. "If this is a joke—"
"No, really," Jud told him. "Come listen."
Mac stood up between them. "Del, we aren't done."
"Don't worry," Del said. "I know what I'm doing." He didn't, but he felt fine.
Del went with Jud into the green room, past Cameron, who was leaning against the wall by the door. Although the Marine seemed as impassive as usual, Del had the odd impression his bodyguard was amused. Huh. Cameron never laughed, he just hulked around and looked intimidating. Anne, Randall, and Bonnie were sitting on the floor around Jud's mesh, which lay on an equipment box.
"Why don't I get that treatment?" Randall was saying as he laughed. "I'm mortally wounded!"
"Just think what a boost it would be to your career." Anne raised her voice into a higher pitch. "Oooh, Randy," she squealed.
"Oh, stop," Bonnie said, reddening.
"What's going on?" Del asked as he walked up to them.
"Hah! He's here." Anne yanked him down so he landed next to her, then flicked a holicon above the screen. "Your first review for tonight's performance, Mister Heartthrob Arden. We've cycled through it three times."
"Heartthrob?" Del asked. He didn't recognize the word.
A woman's voice leapt out of the comm. "—who cares about Mind Mix? Let me tell you, girlzo, the ultra swivel tonight was in the hips of one Del Sweet-cheeks Arden."
"What the blazes?" Del's face heated up. "Who is that?"
"Careful what you tell your parents, Ell-bees," the woman went on, "or they'll call in the conking boredom police and zip the latest zap on your sweet dreams. Unless you zap your mom a holo of this boy first; then she'll want a copy for herself."
Anne let out a hoot of laughter. "Del Arden, the wicked wet-dream king, out to corrupt the teeny-bee bops of America!"
"I can't even understand what she's saying," Del muttered.
Jud knelt down and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's a rough review, I know. You'll just have to soldier through."
The woman continued. "You've heard the establisho crockers complaining about this one, haven't you? Now you know why. Gander a look-see at our mesh-mall, girlzo. We've got holos galore for your viewing entertainment." She was literally purring. "And let me tell you, with a face like that and his—other attributes—oh yes, this boy Del is definitely entertainment."
"I don't believe this." Del didn't know whether to die of embarrassment or crawl under a bed and hide. "Why is she talking about me that way?"
Randall smirked at him. "Congratulations. You've just become the latest bees-bopper idol."
"You know," Del said, "I would really appreciate if you all would quit laughing at me and explain what that woman is saying."
"It's the Ell-bee set," Bonnie said in a softer voice than the others. "It comes from Little Bees. L-B. That came from bopper bees." She smiled shyly. "I used to subscribe to Elba's mesh-mags. We always listened to what she said."
"They called them teenyboppers a long time ago," Anne said. "I don't know what it used to mean, but now it refers to one of the biggest interactive clubs on the mesh. Mostly adolescent girls. They shop at the Ell-bee mesh-malls, set up virtual concerts, talk their own lingo, and start fan clubs for whoever Elba the Queen Bee talks up as the latest hot boy."
"And what you just heard," Randall told him with a flourish, "is the Queen Bee herself. Talking you up."
"Oh." Del had no idea what to make of it. "That's good, isn't it?" He squinted at them. "I hope."
"Sure it's good," Anne said. "Elba's a hoot, weird as all git-go, but the Ell-bees are great. They don't do virts much because of the expense, but they'll zap up your latest holo-vid, no problem."
"I would have," Bonnie said, smiling.
"He doesn't have a holo-vid," Randall said. "Not yet. Prime-Nova put him on tour to stir up hum about Del Arden."
Jud thumped Del's back. "You have to get into the studio."
"Not just me," Del said. "We, right?" He couldn't do it without them. "You're all going to work with me, aren't you?"
They all went quiet. Then Jud spoke in a more serious voice. "Are you asking us to?"
Mac was suddenly kneeling next to Del. "We can't make any contractual agreements at this time."
"Why not?" Del asked. "They should be on it." He could tell Mac wanted him to be quiet, the same as when Prime-Nova had offered him the contract.
Mac said, "These things have to be—"
"Negotiated. Yeah, I know." Del glanced at the others. "I want you five to work with me on the holo-vid." He tilted his head at Mac. "My manager, who is sweating right now because I won't shut up, will work out the details. So I guess I'm not supposed to say anything else."
Anne's smile gentled. "I'd be pleased to work with you."
"Count me in," Randall said.
Jud nodded his agreement. "Thanks, Del."
Mac rubbed his chin. "We need to check how Elba licensed those holos her people made of the concert. Even if they're mostly of Del, the rest of you are probably in them. The license will be with Prime-Nova, and they'll cross-collateralize it with tour expenses, but the royalties should be counted toward all your accounts."
License? Del had no idea what "cross-collateralize" meant, and "royalties" sounded like something to do with his title, which made no sense. "What did you just say?"
Anne patted his knee. "You are such an innocent."
Randall sat up straighter. "You mean, we'll get part of the Ell-bee sales?"
"Hell, yeah," Mac said. "Elba Malls can't make money off your images without paying." He glanced at Del. "And Jud is right. You need to get in the studio. This is a good break, but you can't capitalize on it until you have at least a vid and preferably a virt, too. That takes time."
"What time?" Del asked. "I've got more than enough songs." He motioned to the others. "They know the music."
Mac regarded him with exasperation. "Del, you need to do more than just sing."
"Why?" Del couldn't figure out why Mac wanted pyrotechnics. "I can sing. I don't have anything to hide."
Mac scowled at him. "Don't get cocky because you had one fairly good concert. I don't care if you're Luciano Pavarotti reincarnated. You don't want a sloppy vid, and neither does Prime-Nova."
Del went silent, feeling uncertain. He hadn't meant to sound cocky. He didn't think that was really the problem, though. Mac was upset.
Del wished he knew why.
VII: Virtual Mind Mix
Mac sank into his chair, relieved to relax in the quiet hotel room. These strange hours tired him out. Although he was fifty-nine, age-delaying treatments made him look younger, which was practically a requirement in this youth-oriented industry. But he felt his age.
At least Del's concert had gone better tonight. The reviews were brief but reasonably good. He still wasn't doing as well as Prime-Nova had hoped, given the opportunity they had handed him, opening for Mind Mix. But they wouldn't yank him from the tour after Del had grabbed one of the hottest markets with the younger female demographic. It wasn't really a surprise; Ricki and Zachary must have realized the potential the moment they saw Del sing. Still, they wouldn't have looked for it this soon, before he had a vid ready.
Except.
Del's convulsion scared the hell out of Mac. He had tried to take the obstinate prince to the hospital, but Del steadfastly refused. Even so, Mac intended to take no chances. He had contacted Philip Chandler, the doctor who cert
ified Del's age. Chandler wasn't a yes-man. He had verified Del was over twenty-five, but only after extensive tests. He would be straight with them if Del had medical problems after he saw Del tomorrow, in D.C.
If they made it to D.C. Although Mind Mix flew to each concert, Mac hadn't convinced Prime-Nova to provide air travel for Del. He could probably arrange a flyer now, though, so they could work on the vid between concerts. It would be grueling to commute between Washington and the cities where Del was performing, but the tour would be over in a month. They could manage that long.
Despite what he had told Del, Mac doubted it would take much to do the vid once they worked out the holos and extras. Del had more than enough material, and the band knew his music. Ricki would object to Jud Taborian because he was undercity, but she'd come around. She would have to be blind not to see how well Jud worked with Del.
So Mac sat in his darkened hotel room and brooded. He felt like a hypocrite. He was Del's manager. He was supposed to wish Del success. But every time Del went on stage; every time someone wrote about him, good or bad; every time Del made eye contact with the audience, Mac cringed. Sure, no one had any reason to attack a minor rock singer. But the human psyche had never been logical. Who knew if some nut would take a dislike to Del and decide to kill him? Most singers had a flare of success for a few years, if they were lucky, and then dropped into obscurity. The same would probably happen to Del. But Mac sweated anyway. One slipup and Del could be dead. Del chose to accept the risk, but Mac couldn't help wanting him off the tour.
The room's AI said, "Del Arden is at the door."
Mac looked up with a start. "Open. And bring up the lumos."
As the room brightened, Del ambled in, wearing a T-shirt and jeans with ragged mesh patches. He smiled at Mac. "I got a comm from Zachary Marksman. He congratulated me on the show."
"Good." Mac wasn't surprised. Zachary was the one who had decided to yank Del off the tour. He probably wanted to minimize any hard feelings if Del found out.
"You should be sleeping," Mac said. "We're flying to D.C. in the morning."
Del went into the kitchenette and thumbed an order into the icer. "I thought the next job was in Boston."
"It is. But you have three days until then. You can work on the vid and virt."
Del looked up. "Isn't that too short notice to get a studio?"
"Yeah. But they'll let us work afterhours." Mac smiled slightly. "Prime-Nova has a lot of studios."
Del regarded him uncertainly. "I've never seen a virt. I don't know what to do."
"The techs put it together. You just sing." Mac took a cube from a pile on the table and lobbed it to Del. As the youth grabbed it, Mac said, "That's Mind Mix's latest."
"Great." Del pulled two beers out of the icer and came over with the drinks in one hand and the cube in the other. He mimed throwing the beer, but when Mac glared, Del grinned and handed it to him. Then he dropped into a nearby chair.
"Do you think Jason Mulroney really wants to interview me?" Del asked.
"Sure. You'll need someone to set it up." Mac flipped open his beer, which cooperated this time. "You need a publicist. Someone to field requests for interviews, send out promotional materials, all that."
"Ricki said something about Prime-Nova looking into it."
Mac snorted. "Ricki won't do anything for an undercity news service. She wants to separate your image from them." Wryly he added, "She'll say it's because they aren't commercial, but I think she just doesn't like them. They don't scrape and bow to her."
Del tilted his bottle back and forth as if suddenly fascinated by the condensation on its surface. "Have you heard from her?"
"Not since Philadelphia." It was three in the morning now, so technically Del's Philadelphia concert had been two days ago.
"I guess she's busy." Del glanced around restlessly. "You know, these hotel rooms all look the same."
"Don't let Ricki get to you."
Del glanced at him like a deer caught in a glare of laser-light lamps. "It's just—I didn't think I hurt her, but now I wonder."
"I'm sure you didn't." The only person Mac saw getting hurt was Del.
"I would know," Del said, more to himself than Mac. "I was upset about the concert, and maybe it came out in how I treated her. But I felt it, Mac. She likes me edgy. I don't understand why she's acting like this."
Mac took a long drink of his beer, cold and frothy. "Men have been trying since the beginning of human life to figure out why women don't act the way we think they should. If you manage it, you'll win a Nobel Peace Prize."
"I can't even understand half of what she says," Del grumbled. "Like what is 'dom' and 'sub'?"
Mac choked on his beer and sputtered out froth.
"What?" Del regarded him with curiosity.
Mac suddenly wished he were elsewhere. He was no innocent, but this was more information than he needed about Del and Ricki.
Del laughed, watching his face. "I've never seen you blush. Come on, give. What does it mean?"
Mac cleared his throat. "It refers to a type of, um, sex play."
"Really?" Del looked even more intrigued. "Like what?"
"You know. Dominance. Submission."
"Dominance and submission of what?"
"For crying out loud, Del. Of the people doing it."
"You mean sex?"
"Yeah, I mean sex."
Del tilted his head. "Dominant how?"
This was excruciating. "One partner is, uh, the dominant one. He, or she I suppose, does things to the other person." He wished Del would start getting it, so Mac could stop saying it.
"What things?" Del asked.
Mac took a big swallow of beer. "Like, uh, tying up someone. Discipline. Um. Spanking. Like that." He squinted at Del. "This isn't really my thing. Maybe we should change the subject."
Del was staring at him. "Oh. Oh." Then he smiled. "You know, if Ricki doesn't—"
"Enough!" Mac's face was definitely heating. "I don't want to know what that smile means."
Del regarded him innocently. "What, I can't smile?"
"So," Mac said too loudly. "Did you have a good dinner tonight? I haven't tried the hotel restaurant yet."
Del burst out laughing. "All right. Yeah, dinner was fine. Some weird thing called a tuna-tish melt."
"You mean tuna fish?"
"I have no idea." Del's smile faded. He fell silent, lost in thought, staring at the floor. After a moment, he said, "I wonder sometimes if they aren't in all of us a little."
"Who?" Mac asked.
Del raised his gaze. "The Aristos."
It took Mac a moment to reorient. Startled, he realized Del was comparing himself to the leaders of the Trader Empire that the Skolians had fought during the war.
"Good Lord," Mac said. "That stuff with Ricki's crowd is just games. A consensual form of play. She wasn't comparing you to an Aristo slave lord."
"I know." Del got up and paced away, then swung around to face Mac. "But the drive to hurt people didn't just appear in the Traders. They may have magnified it to horrific proportions, but it's always been in us."
"Horrific?" Mac raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that a bit melodramatic? I've heard what your people claim, but—"
"We don't claim." Del punched at the air with his fist. "All you Allieds, you sit here satisfied with yourselves while the Traders hack away at my people. Oh, you're safe. Our civilization is so much bigger than yours, you hide in our shadow. And the new Trader emperor is only seventeen. But give him time. He'll turn into a monster just like his predecessors." He pointed at Mac. "One of these days, the Traders will come after all of you. And it'll be too late then for you to listen to us."
That had certainly hit a nerve. Mac pushed up out of his chair and walked over to him. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?" Del asked angrily. "About the slavery of billions? Brutality on a scale you can't imagine?"
"I've seen Trader cities," Mac said quietly. "Their people have the highest standard of l
iving among any of our civilizations."
"Of course they do," Del said. "There's over a trillion of them. Owned by several thousand Aristos. How do so few slave owners subjugate so many people? Make their lives pleasant. As long as they obey, they live well and the empire thrives."
"I agree that owning people is abhorrent," Mac said. "I've no love for Aristos. But what you're describing is hardly horrific."
Del met his gaze. "You think a nice house is worth constant oppression? If they step out of line, they die. It's called genocide, Mac. The Aristos can't risk defiance when so few of them control so many people." An edge honed his voice. "So what if you kill a few billion? There's plenty more where they came from."
Mac had heard similar from the Skolian military, when they sought Earth's support in their war against the Traders. They called the Aristos masters at propaganda. Yet Mac had seen a great deal of evidence for how well the Aristos treated their people and very little proof of the Skolian claims.
"Have you actually witnessed any of this?" Mac asked.
Del spoke tightly. "You don't want to go there."
"I want to understand. I'll listen, but not to propaganda."
"Propaganda?" Del looked ready to explode. "We underplay the truth with your people, because your damn government is always accusing us of overreacting. You have no flaming idea."
"Then tell me."
Del ground out the words as if they were broken glass. "They killed my brother Kurj. They tortured my brother Althor. He died. They tortured my brother Eldrin. He got free, but he still hasn't recovered. They shattered my father and fed off his agony. They caught my mother and—and—we got her out, but at first she couldn't even talk."
An image jumped into Mac's mind of the golden woman he had so recently witnessed scolding her son across interstellar space.
Del went on, relentless. "My sister's squad discovered that the Aristos planned to destroy the atmosphere of the world called Tams Station, to crush a rebellion on that planet. Her squad helped the colony evacuate. They got a third of the people out. One third. Think about it. Two thirds of a world died. It's all imprinted in the brains of the squad EIs." His voice cracked. "Yes, I've seen it."