"I'm sorry it has to be like this." Staver spoke firmly. "You can be assured, Mister Arden, that at any appearances you do for Metropoli Interstellar, we'll provide you with full security."
"Thanks." Del wondered how Staver knew what had happened. He blanched at the thought of the news all over the meshes. "Have the m-casters picked up the story?"
"Nothing," Staver said, his voice reassuring. "Prime-Nova kept it quiet. I only know because I was expecting you to sign a contract that morning, so I was with Zachary Marksman when the message came in."
"What about my concert in San Diego?" Del didn't like to miss even a rehearsal. "I still had that one left on the tour."
"It would have been last night," Staver said. "You were here, in the hospital."
Damn. Del hated that people might think he had been unprofessional. He couldn't prove he was responsible about holding a job if he missed shows.
Del started to pull away the covers. "I have to reschedule—"
"Del, relax." Staver gently nudged him back. "Prime-Nova said you have bronchitis. They reimbursed people for tickets. Your fans are concerned. Not judgmental."
A flush heated Del's face. Like many empaths, Staver could judge his reactions all too well. "Do you know where Mac is?"
"He's been here non-stop," Staver said. "The doctors sent him home when he passed out from lack of sleep." He paused. "You'd think he was your father rather than your manager."
"I suppose." Del's mind was fuzzed enough from drugs that it lowered his natural emotional defenses, at least enough for him to say, "I lost my father recently." Mac had begun to fill that void.
"I'm sorry," Staver said. "It must have been difficult."
Difficult was such a weak word for that devastating loss. For all that he resisted his family, Del loved them. And his father had understood him better than the others.
"I took over for him after he died," Del said. "Except now I'm here . . ." His brother Vyrl would have been ideal to replace Del as the Dalvador Bard, except he couldn't carry a tune. His sister Soz had been a military genius, Imperator, commander of the Skolian forces. The thought of her staying home as the Bard was ludicrous. Besides, she couldn't sing worth spit. She made Vyrl sound good. Not that it mattered; the Aristos had made sure she would never do anything again when they blasted her ship into high-energy plasma.
Del pushed away the burning memories and closed his eyes, worn out.
"I'm sorry," Staver said. "I shouldn't keep you awake." His clothes rustled as he stood up. "Sleep well. We can talk later."
Del wondered if he would ever feel safe enough to sleep well again.
Denric Windward, or just Windar for short, taught reading, math, and anything else the children needed in the community where he had set up his school on the Skolian world Sandstorm. Today he took his students on an outing. They had nothing where they lived except water-tube ranches and sandstorms. So once a year he flew them to the starport where they could see the ships, visit the stores, and have a respite from the grind of their lives.
Sand blasted the fields outside the port, but the glossy malls inside gleamed. The eight teens he had brought wandered up and down the white Luminex concourses, gazing at displays, browsing the stores, and buying delicacies they could never get at home.
"Look!" One of the boys pointed to a marquee with red laser-torches. A gold sand-springer jumped up the wall and vanished in a wash of blue light. New springers appeared near the floor and dashed after the first.
"Sand-Springer Sounds," one of the girls said. "It's music!" She grabbed her friend's arm and headed into the store, followed by the others. Windar went with them, staying far enough back so he could chaperone without being intrusive.
The Sand-Springer brimmed with sound. Skolian music played everywhere, blending into a cacophony that was somehow harmonious. The store probably had AIs dedicated to creating that chaotic yet pleasant effect, matching it to whatever it picked up about customers from their conversation and body language. Colored lights reflected in the mirrored racks, and holos morphed in constant motion. The students spread out, exclaiming over the displays.
A tune jumped out at Windar, then faded into the din. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. He knew so little about what the kids listened to, though, and this shop clearly catered to a generation far younger than his own.
As he walked through the store, the music caught him again. He stopped, straining to hear.
"What's wrong, Genn Windar?" one of his students asked, Shainna, a dark-haired girl of about fourteen.
"It's nothing," Windar said, feeling a little silly. "I thought I heard something I knew. But it wouldn't be in here."
She gave him the winning smile that had helped make her so well-liked among her peers. "You never know. Maybe you're more on the ultra than you think. What's the song?"
"I don't—" Windar stopped as he caught another few notes. "There it is." He and Shainna followed the sound to a section where they sold imports—
Windar froze.
Surrounded by a small audience, a holo-vid was running on a circular dais. It showed a man singing, his curls gleaming in the lights. Drums played, morphers, stringers, a swirl of sound, with the Skolian translation of his words scrolling around the dais. The upbeat, danceable melody contrasted with the intense lines he sang in his rich voice:
Look at all the widespread hate
Comes from the anger that fuels our race
Would you love me if I was somebody else?
Would you hate me if I choose to be myself?
Windar's voice cracked. "Gods almighty."
"Isn't he ultra?" Shainna said. "His vids are the newest thing from Earth. He's absolutely the best Allied singer."
"From Earth?" Windar stared at her in disbelief.
She regarded him uncomfortably. "Don't you like it?"
He stretched out his arm, pointing at the dais. "That man isn't an Allied singer!"
Other people were turning toward them, frowning at the interruption.
"But . . ." She hesitated, clearly not wanting to contradict her teacher. "Why do you say that?"
Windar spoke incredulously. "Because that's my brother."
Mac had seen General McLane angry plenty of times, but this was different. Fitz was furiously afraid. Mac understood the feeling, because he felt the same way.
"We were almost too late," Fitz said flatly.
"They might not have killed Del," Mac answered. He wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure, himself or Fitz. "They were threatening him to ratchet up the tension in their virt. They didn't go ballistic until we came in." Mac would never forget that horrific moment when he had seen Del crumpled on the ground with those two vultures hovering over him.
"How does he hypnotize all these people?" Fitz asked, incredulous. "It's like they can't get enough of him."
"He's good at what he does," Mac said.
Fitz spoke dryly. "A lot of us are good at our jobs. It doesn't send women into screaming ecstasy."
Mac gave a self-deprecatory laugh. "My singing would make them scream, but while they ran in the other direction."
The general shook his head. "It's odd, watching that virt of him with the girl. I would have expected him to be more—hell, I don't know. Jaded. Slicker. He was like an affectionate kid."
"Maybe that's part of his charm. No artifice." Mac had a more pressing concern than Del's charisma. "Did you destroy the virt?"
"All three copies," Fitz said. "Also the systems they used to create it. None of it will get out on the meshes."
Mac let out a breath. "Good."
"We still need to talk to his family."
Mac could just imagine Del's reaction. "He'll hit the roof."
"Tough."
"It's touchy," Mac said. "The Harrison Protocol is clear, and it's been in place for sixty years. Del is here with our permission. He's done whatever we asked him to do and obeyed our laws." Mac wasn't sure about the bliss-node, but so far
he'd found no indication Del's license was fake. "He has no link to anything military or political. He's a private citizen we've allowed to work on Earth. We have no more justification for violating his rights than for anyone else."
Fitz gave him a sour look. "He's a goddamn royal land mine."
"His family knows he chose to stay here," Mac said. "Our providing him a bodyguard and constant security is already going beyond Harrison." When Fitz scowled, Mac held up his hand. "Of course we protect him. But it was his choice to trick Cameron. As much as I'd like to lock him up, he broke no laws. He's responsible for his bad decisions and for how he tells his family."
"And if he doesn't tell them?" Fitz said. "What happens when they find out, 'Oh, excuse me, your son nearly died, and Earth's government neglected to mention it.' You want to explain that to them?"
Mac didn't want to be anywhere near that explosion. "No. I'm not saying we shouldn't tell them. But let me talk to him first. See if I can convince him to do it himself."
Fitz snorted. "His Royal Snarkiness is more likely to tell you to go fuck yourself."
"Maybe," Mac said wryly. "But I have to try. I've always leveled with him. If we talk to his family without trying to work with him first, he'll never forgive me. So we'll still alienate the Ruby Dynasty."
"Only one of them," Fitz said. "Their least influential, least involved member. Better him than the Ruby Pharaoh or Imperator."
"Give me a day. Just one."
Fitz exhaled. "All right. One day." Dryly he added, "Good luck."
"Thanks." Mac didn't doubt he would need it.
"His vids just hit the Skolian outlets," Windar said. "But he's huge on Earth."
Roca, his mother, stared at him. "You're sure it's Del?"
"Of course I'm sure! No one else sings like him."
They were standing in the living room of the pharaoh's home on the Skolian Orbiter, a space habitat dedicated to government and military personnel. Windar's visits were sporadic, but his Aunt Dehya and his brother Eldrin lived here. His brother Kelric—the Imperator—lived in a huge stone mansion on a hill above the pharoah's house.
At the moment, Kelric was leaning against the living room table, his arms crossed, the gigantic biceps straining his shirt. He stood seven feet tall, with gold skin and molten eyes. Windar had babysat Kelric too much in their childhood to be afraid of him, but even he broke out in a sweat when his "little" brother was displeased. If someone had told him back then that his sweet-natured brother would someday be a military dictator, Windar would have laughed. Except it wasn't funny anymore.
Kelric took after Roca, their mother, in his coloring and facial features, but where he was hard, she was beautiful. Usually. Right now, she looked more annoyed than anything. She frowned at Windar. "Del never said a word."
"And you're surprised?" Kelric asked. Then he said, "Bolt?"
The voice of Kelric's military EI answered. "Attending."
Kelric glanced at Windar. "Tell Bolt where to find this holo of Del. He'll play it for us."
Windar gave Bolt the codes, then said, "Open all the Del-Kurj mods."
"All of them?" Roca asked. "How many did you find?"
"You wouldn't believe it," Windar said.
Before he could go on, a woman walked through the archway across the room. Dehya. His aunt. The Ruby Pharaoh. A slight woman in a white jumpsuit, she had a heart-shaped face and a mane of black hair dusted with grey. She was small compared to Roca, and next to Kelric, she looked like a child. Windar had always liked Dehya, but her delicate appearance didn't fool him. Her strength of will was as powerful as Kelric's physical strength.
"I got your message," she told Windar. "What's wrong?"
Roca gave her a dour look. "He's showing us a holo of Del."
Bolt spoke in his deep tones. "I have the holos ready."
"Play the one called 'Diamond Star,' " Windar said.
"I remember that one," Roca said, her voice lightening. "Some parts have a nice melody. But he does such odd things with it."
The screens around a dais by the wall glowed, and the life-sized holo of a man formed. Music filled the room, a melody they all knew, though with instruments they had never heard. But it wasn't the song that mesmerized Windar. It was Del. He sang with abandon, his head thrown back. He turned around, crouched down, and jumped up, spinning in the air so he came down facing his audience. Then he ran forward and grabbed a stand. Snapping the mike into it, he stood with his feet planted wide, gripping the mike in both hands as he belted the chorus. His voice soared, and rainbow holos flared as if he were inside a diamond. Windar had never heard him sing this way before, wild and passionate, but the seeds had always been there. Now Del transformed them into a performance so intense, Windar couldn't stop watching.
"Gods almighty," Kelric said. "He's dancing."
"Look at the audience," Windar said. "They're crazy for him."
"I knew he was singing on Earth," Kelric said. "But I had no idea it was like this."
Dehya smiled. "He looks like he's having fun."
"I don't believe this," Roca said. "He 'forgot' to tell us about this show? And what the blazes kind of music is that?"
"It's more than one show," Windar said. "I looked up their music charts. This is the top-rated holo-rock song on Earth."
Roca squinted at him. "On a chart for holographic stones?"
"No!" Windar smiled at her bewildered look. "On Earth, they have an entire genre with artists who sing like him. They call it rock. Right now, 'Del Arden' is one of their stars. The Earth meshes have holos about it everywhere. Newscasts of people mobbing him. It's incredible. Del! Can you believe it?"
Kelric spoke coldly. "Bolt, lower the volume." As Del's singing faded, Kelric said, "He has only two bodyguards, and Mac Tyler is a retired military officer. Who controls his career? Who pays his bills? Who looks after his health? Who monitors these 'mobs'? If he's that much of a public figure, who the bloody hell takes care of him?"
"He never said a word about it." Roca sounded stunned.
Windar felt his mother's hurt, and his anger stirred. She was already grieving over the loss of their father. Always Del caused her pain, with his brooding silences, his challenges, his sarcasm. He could have at least told her.
Dehya was watching him. "He told us last year."
"One message," Roca said. "And what does he say? He's staying to see some woman."
Kelric shook his head. "I want him back here. Immediately. No more 'rock star.' "
Dehya frowned at them all. "Maybe that's why he didn't say anything. Because he knew he would get this reaction."
"If he had told us," Roca said, "we wouldn't react this way."
"You would have said he was wasting his time," Dehya answered. "In fact, you did tell him that."
"He could do so much." Roca thumped her palm on the table. "Why does he throw away all that talent?"
"He doesn't see it that way." Dehya went over to stand with her and Kelric. "Roca, he can only be himself." She looked up at Kelric. "Legally we have no justification for forcing him to come home. He isn't breaking any laws."
"I don't care," Kelric said. "And we don't know what he's doing, legally or otherwise."
Dehya motioned at the holo, where Del had launched into another song. "If he's performing in a venue that large, with all those musicians, equipment, and effects, he isn't doing it for free. So he's earning a living. For the first time in his life."
Roca crossed her arms. "It's unseemly."
Windar stiffened. "Why? Because Ruby princes don't work for a wage? I do."
His mother's voice softened. "You've dedicated your life and personal assets to helping communities that couldn't even afford a school before you came. You've made a big difference there."
"I'm doing what I love," he said. "So is Del."
"He's making noise," Kelric growled.
"Actually," Windar said, "I sort of like his songs."
Roca regarded him with bafflement. "Why?"
/> "I always liked 'Sapphire Clouds,' " Windar said. "And the others sound better the way he does them now. It fits, somehow."
Kelric just grunted.
A rustle came from the entrance of the room as a man appeared in the archway. Eldrin. The eldest of the Valdoria sons, he had been the first to leave home, when he moved here to the Orbiter. Watching Eldrin walk toward them, Windar could see how much he looked like Del. They had similar features, coloring, and builds, though Eldrin was broader in the shoulders and chest. But no one would ever confuse them. Del looked like a farm boy, and Eldrin looked like a king.
Dehya's expression warmed as she saw Eldrin. "My greetings."
He came over to her, his face gentling. "I got your message." He glanced at the holo-dais where Del was silently singing. "I guess I don't have to ask what it's about."
"Your brother is following in your footsteps," Roca said dryly. "But opera, this is not."
Eldrin watched the holo with a bemused expression. "It looks like he's in front of a real audience."
"He is," Windar said. "He's done it all over Earth."
"Live?" Eldrin stared at him. "I could never sing that way."
"You do a lot," Roca said. "Just last year, at the Parthonia Arts Gala. It was exquisite."
"That was only a few hundred people." Eldrin gestured toward the holo. "That crowd goes on forever."
Windar could never imagine facing that many people. "Maybe it's not real, just a mesh-created audience to make the performance more exciting."
"Maybe." Eldrin didn't look convinced. "Look at his eyes."
"I noticed," Kelric rumbled.
Windar glanced at his brothers. "Noticed what?"
Kelric scowled. "He's drugged."
"Gods," Roca said. "Is he trying to kill himself?"
Windar's pulse lurched. After all those years they feared Del would die in his cryogenic tomb, it would be unbearable if he overdosed or had another runaway reaction now, when he was finally better. Windar had never understood his brother, but he loved him. He couldn't imagine losing Del again, not after all Del had gone through and survived.