"I've never seen so many of these things," Cameron said, scanning the crammed shelves.
Jud rejoined them. "They cost too much. You pay all that money for something so crude, you can't even change the font."
"They're antiques," Del said. "Historical. Claude reads to me all the time from old texts. I like Shakespeare."
Tyra regarded him curiously. "I wouldn't have guessed you had such a scholarly bent."
"I don't." Del gave a dry laugh. "You can't be illiterate and a scholar at the same time."
"You aren't illiterate," Tyra said. "You're—I don't know what. You input information differently than most people. You process it differently, too."
Process it differently. What a euphemism. Del smiled. "You're a diplomat."
Tyra snorted. "I have the diplomatic skills of a fungus."
"Del, you have a good brain," Cameron said.
"Annoying sometimes," Jud said. "But smart, yeah."
"Huh." This was an odd development. It mattered a lot to him that the three people who spent the most time with him didn't consider him stupid.
Del went to a kiosk and gave his codes to its AI. While he waited for it to process his purchases, his wrist comm buzzed. He jerked, startled. He would never become used to wearing a mesh. On Lyshriol, he had mostly ignored the tech, but it was unavoidable if he wanted to function here.
He touched the receive panel. "Hello?"
"Del!" A familiar voice came out of the mesh. "Staver here. How are you?"
"Fine." Del glanced up as Tyra stepped closer.
"Zachary Marksman told me that you're working on a new vid," Staver said. "I was wondering if you would like to have lunch today and talk about it."
Del knew he should comm Mac to join them if they were going to discuss business. But he was starting to chafe at Mac's father thing. Del had enough authority figures in his life.
"All right," he said. "It'll be four of us, though. I'm with some friends."
"That's fine," Staver said. "Bring them along. Let's meet at the Sheraton in Columbia. They've an excellent restaurant on the lake there. It's quiet and beautiful."
Del glanced at Jud, who mouthed Sure. Tyra and Cameron, standing a few paces back, both nodded.
"I'll see you there," Del told Staver.
As Del left the bookstore, he ran into a group of people strolling down the street. They were chatting among themselves, but they stopped when they saw him.
"Hey," one of the younger men said. "You're Del Arden."
A woman smiled at him. "Hi!" She hesitated, then held up a holo-map she had been holding. "Could I—would you mind if I asked for an autograph?"
"Sure," Del said. "I mean no, I don't mind."
They crowded around him, about ten people. One of the women touched his hair. "I love all these curls."
"Hey." Del smiled uncomfortably as he pulled away his hair. He felt Cameron's hand under his elbow, drawing him back.
"You're the morpher, aren't you?" a woman asked Jud.
"Are you doing a concert here?" someone else asked. "I didn't see any advertised."
Del backed into the antique brick wall of the store with Jud, the two of them flanked by Cameron and Tyra. He felt trapped.
A youth offered Del a napkin. "Would you mind signing this? I really enjoy your music. No one will believe we saw you."
"Yeah, sure." Del didn't know what else to say. Go away would hardly sit well with anyone. He took the boy's napkin and the woman's holomap.
"Here." Someone offered him a pen, and he scribbled his name on the napkin, then traced his signature over a panel on the map, leaving a squiggle of light.
"What's going on?" someone asked behind the group.
Del strained to look over the heads of the people. Another couple had come over to see what had drawn the crowd. More people were coming out of a shop across the street.
"All right," Tyra said. "Enough." Although she didn't speak loudly, her voice carried.
"Who are you?" someone asked her. He sounded annoyed. Someone else asked, "Did they answer about the concert?"
Del was getting claustrophobic. Someone touched his arm and another person brushed his elbow. Tyra drew him to the side, but people blocked their way. There were too many, too close. Cameron grasped a man's arm and carefully pulled him aside.
"Hey!" The man jerked away from Cameron. "Back off, bud." The fellow did try to give Del more room, but someone back in the crowd pushed forward, making it impossible. Cameron stepped in front of Del.
"Don't hurt them," Del said under his breath.
"Who's that?" someone yelled from the back.
Someone else said, "Del Arden. He's signing autographs."
"Let him by." Tyra's voice snapped out with an authority Del had never heard her use before. A startled murmur came from the crowd as people moved aside.
Together, Tyra and Cameron escorted Del and Jud through the group. Del was having trouble breathing, and he inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. They were just fans. Nothing threatening. He should be glad they liked him.
Del wasn't sure who pushed who, but several people stumbled into him. He staggered and lost his balance. As he fell, Cameron grabbed him. More people surged forward, pushing so he couldn't regain his footing even with Cameron's support. As he slipped to his knees, the crowd pressed in.
Tyra reacted with surreal speed, her motion blurring while she moved people aside and pulled Del to his feet. As murmurs went through the crowd, she and Cameron pushed forward, protecting Del and Jud. Whenever they had to move someone out of the way, they restrained their force with a gentleness Del hadn't expected in his military-trained bodyguards.
Then they were free and striding down the street, the guards flanking Del, each holding one of his arms, with Jud striding next to Cameron. Del had to run to keep their pace. He didn't look back, but he heard people following them.
They sped around the corner and waved down a hover-taxi. As they piled into the car, several women from the crowd knocked on the window and called out his name. Del blanched, but he waved back, because Harv had told him never to piss anyone off.
"Get us out of this crowd," Tyra told the taxi. "Fast."
"I can't do harm to anyone," the vehicle said.
"Just take us away from here," Tyra said. "We're going to the Sheraton Hotel in Columbia."
It wasn't until they had left the crowd behind that Del sank gratefully back into the worn seat. "That was weird."
Cameron surveyed the street. "It can't happen again."
Del knew what they were going to say. "Cam, I can't—"
"He's right," Tyra interrupted.
"I won't be a prisoner in my own apartment," Del said.
He expected Tyra to say he had no choice. Instead she said, "Then get your own transportation."
"I can't afford a car."
"Of course you can," Tyra said.
"It has to be on my earnings," Del said. The only exceptions he had made were the bliss-node and taking Ricki to the Moon.
"We should be getting our royalty statements soon," Jud said. "Ask Mac about it."
"All right." Del took a calming breath. Sometimes he could walk down the street and no one noticed him. But he didn't want a repeat of what had just happened. Probably no one would have hurt him or Jud, but it had felt too much on the edge of violence. "I don't get why people want to touch us so much."
Jud snorted. "It isn't me they want, Dello boy. When I'm not with you, I can go in public without worrying."
Del could tell he meant it; Jud preferred privacy to fame. Del exhaled. "I suppose it's better this way than if they forget me."
"Believe me," Tyra said. "You aren't forgettable."
Del hadn't expected that. His ISC bodyguards usually hadn't much liked him. Tyra said nothing more, just focused on her gauntlet as she monitored the area. Curious, Del eased down his barriers. He felt Cameron first; the Marine was tense but relieved they had done their job and avoided trouble. A sense of Anne
underlay his mood, nothing specific, just that unrequited desire. Jud was thinking about music, an upbeat tune he was writing.
Tyra had a sharper edge. She perceived more danger than Del thought existed. He also caught traces of emotions she thought she had hidden. She saw why women found Del sexually attractive, and that response bothered her, because she hadn't expected to notice him that way. She considered it unprofessional.
Del smiled and raised his shields. He didn't mind Tyra noticing him, but his celebrity was no longer so flattering. What if he scarred his face, wore ugly clothes, or gained weight? He would still sing the same. As much as he wanted to believe only his artistry mattered, he knew that if he lost whatever it was about him that attracted people, his popularity would decline. He didn't know which bothered him more: that millions of people had virts of him they could program as they pleased, doing gods only knew what, or that he would lose his career if they stopped.
"It's funny," Del said. "Sometimes when you get what you want, it isn't what you thought."
"At least you got it," Cameron said.
Del had a good idea what had put his bodyguard in a bad mood. "Ask her on a date, Cam."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cameron said.
"I know," Del told him. "But I still think you should ask her out. I'll bet she would go. She likes you."
Cameron glared at him. "You're talking nonsense."
"Well, I don't know for certain," Del admitted. "But her mood always improves when you're around."
"Her?" Tyra asked with curiosity.
Cameron sat back and crossed his arms. "It's nothing."
"How can you not know?" Jud asked Del. "You're an empath."
"Yeah, but I only get surface moods," Del said.
Cameron was watching him intently. "Could you get more?"
"Not really," Del said. "Even if I could break someone's mental protections, it's wrong. I wouldn't do that any more than I'd commit theft or assault."
Jud spoke dryly. "You're more courteous about privacy than people I know with the empathic abilities of a rock."
"Most people feel empathy to some extent," Tyra said.
"You ever hear that saying, 'Walk a mile in my shoes'?" Cameron asked. "It means 'Show some fucking empathy, already.' "
Del smiled. "Maybe." His good humor faded. "I'd go crazy if I couldn't shield myself from it."
"That why you're such an introvert?" Cameron asked.
Del blinked. "You think I'm an introvert?"
"Sure," Jud said. "Look how you always stay home. Even on tour, you hardly go out." Wryly he added, "Of course, Randall more than makes up for you in the partying department."
"I suppose." Del knew the empathy made it hard for him to be in crowds. He could probably walk a thousand miles in someone's shoes. He often wondered if it was more of a curse than a gift.
"The new vid should be done in a few months," Del said.
Staver nodded, relaxed in his chair. The four of them were sitting at a table by a wall of windows that looked onto a lake. The décor was elegant, but in a subdued way, with only a few hotel patrons at other tables. Aesthetic silvery-blue robots delivered their orders with impeccable courtesy.
" 'Emeralds' is doing better on the major Skolian charts," Staver said. " 'Sapphire Clouds' is more popular in smaller markets."
Del noticed he didn't mention "Diamond Star," which was higher than either "Emeralds" or "Sapphire Clouds," and on the Skolian Stellar Hundred. Since Mac wasn't here, Del didn't intend to agree to anything. But he had learned a bit about negotiating. "The Jewels Suite is number six on Earth's anthology charts."
"Six," Staver mused. "Not the top five."
"Yet," Del said. The anthology's slow but constant climb seemed to bemuse industry insiders. His work hadn't hit with a bang, but it had an unusual staying power. A band could do a virtual concert in one hundred cities on the same night, flooding the market, and the next day be replaced by a different virtual act in every city. When so much music was so available with so little effort, songs became ephemeral, easily forgotten. Del's music stood out, he didn't know why, but he needed to believe it had to do with quality, that it wasn't as worthless as the buried thought within him insisted.
He grinned at Staver. "It'll bust out to number one."
Staver gave a slight nod, his true reaction impossible to read. He was obviously interested, or he wouldn't have asked Del to lunch, but he wasn't committing to anything, either.
"This steak is good," Cameron said, oblivious to the undercurrents at the table. He had practically inhaled the biggest cut on the menu.
Tyra was picking at some fish-rice thing, and Staver had a stew from an offworld recipe. Del had ordered one of his favorites, a spiced curry with a freaky side dish called "yogurt." He could eat a vat of both, all mixed together, hot and cool, chewy and smooth. Although life on Earth could be a real pain, people here really knew how to eat. Everything on Lyshriol was bubbles: big, little, sweet, sour, leathery, smooth, but all bubbles. It got really boring.
Staver seemed distracted. He watched Del intently, and with a start, Del realized Staver was "knocking" at his mind.
Del partially lowered his shields, narrowing his focus so he wouldn't also send his thought to Tyra. She was a powerful psion, at least one in a million, six on the Kyle scale, maybe a seven. She wasn't as powerful as Staver, but then, almost no one alive had a rating that high.
Yes? Del thought to Staver.
Staver stiffened as if he had been hit by a hammer. His thought came through, faint but clear. Can you modulate that? His response had a directional quality focused on Del, which meant Tyra probably wouldn't get any of this.
Del lowered his strength to the equivalent of a telepathic whisper. Is that better?
Staver's shoulders relaxed. Yes, much.
What didn't you want my friends to hear? Del asked.
You spoke to me once about offering help, Staver thought. For those who live the nightmare of a provider's life.
Del thought of how Raker and Delilah had reminded him of Staver and Lydia. He responded warily. I would need evidence my help would be used as expected.
And if that evidence was available?
If I were convinced, then yes, I would help.
Thank you. Staver's thought came with depth. This was no mask; what Staver felt went far down within him. Even those skilled at presenting themselves in a falsely positive light couldn't keep that façade in a telepathic link. What Del felt from Staver was genuine, a strength of character that, given Del's suspicions, he hadn't expected. The only "act" Staver put on was the subtly glitzy exterior he adopted as an entertainment exec; the real Staver was a quieter man with an abiding sense of spirituality.
Del carefully raised his shields. Such mental contact was only possible between strong psions, and it was a strain for more than a few moments. He glanced at Tyra, who was pushing her food around her plate. She smiled at him, but he caught no indication she had picked up anything.
Del sipped his java, which tasted like a rich coffee, but was apparently named after some antique mesh language no one except historians knew anymore. As he drank, he lowered his shields again, this time focused on his bodyguard. Tyra?
She blinked, her fork halfway to her mouth. But she continued to eat as if nothing happened. Cameron and Staver were talking about the hotel, a historical landmark from the twentieth century.
Tyra's voice came into Del's mind, well trained and clear.
Del, is that you? she asked in Iotic.
Yes. It's me. Did you know Staver Aunchild is a psion?
Your brother has a file on him. It lists Aunchild's rating as eight point four.
So Staver had told the truth. He may be part of an organization that frees providers. They route the people they help through Earth because the Allieds have less barriers to travel with the Traders than we do.
Tyra raised an eyebrow. That wasn't in his file.
Interesting. Either Staver's
people had remarkable secrecy, hiding even from Kelric's relentless operatives, or else Staver had lied about his activities.
It doesn't mean ISC doesn't know, Tyra thought. Her response had a strained quality. They could even be helping him. That wouldn't be in his regular file.
Can you check for me? I was thinking of backing them.
I'll look into it. She swallowed a spoonful of soup. Del, I have to break this mental link. Wryly she added, Otherwise, you'll burn out my brain.
Sorry! Yes, of course.
They spent the rest of the meal with small talk. But as they were leaving the hotel, strolling past a waterfall of laser-light, Staver sent Del one last thought.
I'll be in touch.
"It's broad daylight," Del said with frustration. "The Baltimore waterfront is perfectly safe."
Cameron stood like a bulwark, blocking the door out of Del's apartment, and Tyra was by the wall, deceptively casual, but right next to the security screen. Which meant Del could neither open the door nor tell it to open itself.
"I'm going crazy," Del said. "I need to get out."
"I'm sorry," Tyra said. She even looked as if she meant it. "Some festival is down there today. The place is full of tourists. But we could go somewhere else."
"Where?" Del asked grumpily. "You two nix everything."
"How about Life Million?" Cameron asked. "You'd love it."
"A mesh game?" Del couldn't believe Cameron had suggested it. "I want to talk to real people, not cartoons."
"It is real people." Cameron actually smiled. "In college, me and my friends used to hang out there when we couldn't get off campus."
"We used to do Life Million when I was at the Academy," Tyra told Cameron. "It was fun."
Well, that was great, his bodyguards were communing again. Good for them, they had so much in common. Del had never played the damn game. "Why call it Life Million?" he grumbled. "Why not Life Thousand? Hundred? Forty-two?"
"I think it was called Second Life when it started," Cameron said. "You know. You have your real life, and you have your mesh life. Except instead of mesh, they said Internet or some weird thing back then."
"Come on," Tyra coaxed Del. "Try it."