"It's so good to see you," she said. "Do come in."
Mac felt as if he were facing a pair of tigers. Right now, a purring Ricki was even more terrifying than Ricki pissed off.
"Nice to see you," Zachary said, coming forward as he extended his hand. "We should get together more often."
Mac shook his hand, wondering what neural-meth concoction Zachary had zinged into his brain. They never "got together." They moved in completely different circles; Mac would probably asphyxiate in the rarefied atmosphere where Zachary existed.
"It's good to see you," Mac said. What the blazes was Del doing? He heard nothing from the studio. His hope stirred. Maybe they had just kicked Del out of the booth. He walked past Ricki to the window and looked down—
At his nightmare.
Del was in the studio talking to Greg Tong. The prince had a mike, and his hair was tousled as if he had been wailing one of his songs. Mac wanted to drag Del out of there and tell Prime-Nova that absolutely, under no circumstances, would Del accept a contract. Of course he didn't dare do anything that would draw that much attention. He was in a diplomatic minefield, and if he took a misstep it could blow up in his face.
He didn't believe Del had deliberately preempted Craig's spot; Del had his share of faults, but Mac had never doubted his integrity. He had probably assumed Ricki was doing what Mac had offered earlier, showing him a holo-vid studio. Zachary's presence no longer surprised Mac; the moment Ricki realized what she had in that studio, she would have called in Prime-Nova's tech-mech king.
No wonder she and Zachary were so guarded behind their friendly veneers. They wanted Del under contract. It put Mac in an impossible position. If he turned them down without asking Del, he would alienate a Ruby prince, a man who could cripple relations between Earth and Skolia with just a few words to his brother, the Imperator. Unfortunately, Mac had little doubt Del would jump at the contract once he understood what it meant, that Prime-Nova wanted him to sing, and as a career. If Del went pro, it would put a spotlight on him, inviting the attention of assassins, kidnappers, and God only knew who else. If anything happened to Del, Allied Space Command might as well just walk up to Skolia's Imperial Space Command and say, "Hey, let's have a war."
Ricki stood next to Mac, watching Del and Greg in the studio. "He has an interesting range," Ricki said.
Interesting. Right. As in a spectacular six octaves.
"You could put it that way," Mac said.
Zachary was standing on Ricki's other side. "He didn't bring a resume with him. Nothing about his experience."
Mac glanced at him. "He's lived on a farm all his life."
Ricki smirked. "What happens when you take one part very healthy farm boy, mix it with one part horny effing mother, and shake well? What a recipe."
Mac barely held back his retort. Where did she come up with this stuff? The worst of it was, she was right. Del's mix of unsophisticated innocence and sensual wickedness would be dynamite. If he ended up on the holo-rock scene, a lot of people would talk about him like that. Maybe Del would be so insulted, he would walk away. Mac doubted it, though. It mattered far more to Del to have people like his music than for them to address him with deference, particularly given how much he resented his title.
Mac didn't know how to answer. He couldn't tell them anything until he discussed it with Del—and Allied Space Command.
"Are you saying he has no experience?" Zachary asked.
Mac knew they were bargaining, trying to counter the demands they expected him to make. So he said, "That's right. None." It was true, after all. For all they knew, when faced with making a living through his music, Del might fail miserably.
Both Ricki and Zachary stared at him as if they had run into a wall. They expected tough negotiation and instead he talked down his client. Yep. No experience.
Ricki slanted a look at the VP, and he nodded slightly. She turned back to Mac. "Half his songs are in some other language." She sounded genuinely curious. "Who writes his material?"
"He does mostly," Mac said. "What did he sing in English?"
"Something about running and blue clouds," Ricki said. "Another about emeralds."
"The Crystal Suite," Mac said. "Yes, that's his." At least Del hadn't sung "Carnelians," his rant about the Trader Aristos. Although it was one of his most powerful pieces, the lyrics revealed far too much about his identity.
"Can't call it the Crystal Suite," Zachary said. "It sounds like a drug reference."
Mac wanted to throw up his hands in exasperation. Already they were appropriating Del's work. "They're his titles."
"Does he write his own music?" Ricki asked.
"The first draft," Mac said. "Jud Taborian works with him on arrangements." An idea came to Mac. "You may have heard of Jud. He's making quite a name for himself in the undercity."
A frown marred Ricki's perfect face. "I don't need any undercity assholes pulling their diva act."
Well, that was diplomatic. Mac motioned toward Del. "Just look, Ricki. He has undercity written all over him. You don't want undercity, you don't want Del."
"We didn't say we didn't want him," Zachary told him. "But you have to admit, his lack of experience is a drawback."
Mac shrugged. "That's the way it is."
Ricki and Zachary shared another of those glances. Then Ricki said, "We're willing to take a risk on this one, Mac. A firm commitment, two anthology cubes, both holo-vids."
Risk, hell. A typical vid only held ten songs. Del had enough material to fill five cubes. Vids were simple, just holographic movies that played as if the artists were in the room. Viewers could rotate them, zoom in or out, pull down a story vid, customize the songs for themselves. Prime-Nova should be offering Del a virt, or virtual reality simulation. Virt users weren't passive listeners; they participated in the holo-vid, which created a "reality" they could play with themselves. Entire communities in the mesh universe had built up around the more sophisticated virts. The interactive experience fascinated, even obsessed its fans.
Mac knew why they hadn't mentioned a virt. It was riskier to produce because it cost more. But they were also potentially much more lucrative. Of course, Del had no experience. So yeah, they were taking a risk. But even if for some reason Del had trouble providing twenty songs over the next few years, Greg and his crew could make whatever he gave them succeed. They had a lot to work with. Two holo cubes for a first-time artist was normally a good offer, but if Mac had actually been representing Del, he would have pushed for a virt on at least one, maybe both.
Today he said only, "I'll talk to him."
Zachary and Ricki waited. After a moment, Zachary said, "Prime-Nova has the longest track record in the business."
Mac didn't see his point. Yes, Prime-Nova was established. Then he realized what Zachary meant. They thought he was auditioning Del elsewhere, that he was waiting because he wanted to know who else was going to offer what. Cripes. They thought he was playing hardball.
"I'll tell him," Mac answered. "We'll get back to you."
"Mac, I've known you a long time," Zachary said. "I like you. For the sake of our relationship, we're willing to take a chance on this farm boy. We'll give you virts with both of his albums."
Hell and damnation. If Del had been anyone else, Mac would have started negotiating royalties, publishing rights, the whole game. But he couldn't make a commitment, and he sure as blazes couldn't tell them why. He didn't want Del to take the offer, but neither could he just walk away.
"I'll let him know," Mac said.
Ricki looked incredulous. "You won't get a better offer, Mac. And you sure as hell won't get the high level of backing Prime-Nova can give him."
Mac didn't doubt it. If Del had it in him to become a star, Prime-Nova could make him one. If. Sure, Del could play the undercity fringe. But succeeding on the level Prime-Nova wanted was another matter altogether, and Mac had his doubts that Del could manage that transition, especially given that he had spent so many years with
no outlet for his music. The youth had no idea what it meant to conduct a professional career.
Mac kept his voice neutral. "Like I said. Del and I will talk."
Ricki's voice cooled. "I can't promise the deal will stay on the table. I've two more auditions today. A lot of boys out there want what we're offering your client."
Mac nodded, secretly relieved. If he put them off, maybe they would withdraw the deal. Then he felt guilty; he knew how much this would mean to Del, to have people not only believe in his music, but offer him the backing of a conglomerate powerhouse.
"Just give me a day," Mac said. Just a day.
She shook her head. "Even a few hours may be too long."
Mac had never seen her push this hard before. "I understand."
She and Zachary waited. When Mac said no more, Zachary let out a sharp breath. "I need an opener for Mind Mix's live concert tour. I'll give the spot to your client."
It was all Mac could do to keep his mouth from falling open. They were offering Del a tour with a top band, one of the few good enough to play live concerts? It was absurd—and it made sense. Del could, in theory, give a show people would want to hear, which was better than most of the "talent" in the Prime-Nova stable. Except Del had never performed in concert. In fact, he had never played for more than fifty people. Mind Mix played live for hundreds of thousands, even millions. Prime-Nova would be crazy to put Del under that kind of pressure so soon.
"Look," Mac said. "I appreciate that offer. It's a good one. But I have to talk this over with Del."
"Take it now or not," Zachary told him. "You walk out of here looking for a better blast, that's it. Ours is gone."
Sweat beaded on Mac's forehead. If they were following the usual procedures, this conversation was being recorded and the offer would be binding on them if he agreed. Mac knew he should be jumping at the opportunity. But blast it, he couldn't.
The hum of the lift vibrated in the booth, followed by the whisper of its door opening. Mac had one moment to panic before Del walked through the gold shimmer to their right.
"Hey, Mac." Del grinned. "The acoustics in that room, you not believe it. They are being incredible."
"Del, hello." Zachary stepped past Mac and extended his hand. "It's good to meet you. I'm Zachary Marksman, Vice President of Technology, Mechanicals, and Media."
After the slightest pause, Del shook his hand. "Hello."
Mac recognized Del's hesitation. The youth's parents may have raised their children in a rural community, but Del wasn't naïve, not by a long shot. He knew vice presidents didn't just show up and introduce themselves for no reason. Suspicion flickered in his eyes, the knowledge of a prince whose acquaintance many people coveted for the status it brought them. It was ironic, because Zachary lived in the same type of world, where hopeful artists would do anything for that handshake he had just offered Del.
"We were discussing our contract offer with Mac," Ricki said smoothly. "He says he needs to discuss it with you."
Del looked from Ricki to Zachary. To Ricki. To Mac. Back to Ricki. Mac didn't miss the way Del's gaze skimmed over her voluptuous body and lingered on her face. Damn.
"What contract offer?" Del asked.
Ricki eased past Zachary, right up to Del. The vice president stepped back, giving her room to work. "Two cubes," Ricki purred. "Holo-vid and virt. And opening for Mind Mix in concert. Like it?"
"Del," Mac warned. "Don't answer. Your responses are being recorded. A yes could be interpreted as a binding contract." He doubted Del had a clue what they were talking about, but it didn't matter as long as the prince kept his mouth shut. Otherwise, Del could end up committing himself to Prime-Nova indenture.
Del's forehead furrowed. "I don't understand."
"I told them you and I need to talk it over," Mac said.
"Talk what over?" Del frowned at him, then focused on Ricki. "You want my music?" Although his voice was guarded, Mac could hear the incredulity that lay under that neutral tone.
"That's right." Ricki tapped his chest with her manicured fingernail, the blood-red polish bright against Del's snowy shirt. "We want your songs. And you. On stage. With Mind Mix."
"What is mind mix?" Del asked.
Silence greeted him. Mac didn't know whether to laugh or groan. A smile spread across Ricki's face, smooth and all too knowing, the master player sizing up an innocent lamb. "You probably don't hear them out in the edge colonies. They sing, Del. A great band. The best. And you could open for them."
"You mean sing on stage, before they come out?" Del asked.
"That's right." She splayed her hand on his chest, and he looked down, his lashes lowering over his eyes. In her sultriest voice, she added, "Would you like that?"
"Don't answer her." Mac stepped up and pushed away her hand.
She glanced indolently at Mac, then back at Del. "There's one catch, honey. You have to give us an answer now."
"Ricki," Mac warned.
Del considered him. "They want me to sing on one of those holo-vids, right? And as a warm-up for this other group?"
Mac felt as if the roof were about to fall on him. "That's right."
Del's face was hard to read. He was as guarded now with Mac as with the others. When he turned to Ricki, his eyes glinted. "Yes," he said, his voice deepening. "I do it."
"Damn it, Del!" Mac grabbed his arm and pulled him across the booth. He spoke in a low voice. "Don't say anything else. A deal like this has to be negotiated."
Del regarded him with a coldness he had never shown Mac before. "I need an expert to talk with them. You do this? Yes or no?"
Mac raked his hand through his hair. "Of course I'll do it."
"Good." Del's tension eased. He turned to Ricki and indicated Mac. "My front-liner, he work out details with you."
Ricki's smile dripped satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that."
Mac stared at her, and hoped to blazes he wasn't looking at the catalyst for an interstellar catastrophe.
III: First Step
Fitzwilliam R. McLane, aka Fitz, wasn't the only general Mac knew, but he left the others in the dust when it came to the force of his personality. His grey hair resembled iron, and his grey eyes were set under brows of the same color. He sat in his big chair behind his big desk and regarded Mac with a considering stare.
"What does it mean, exactly?" Fitz asked. "He'll sing in those things the kids watch?"
"That's right," Mac said, uncomfortable in his chair despite its smart-tech, which kept shifting the cushions, trying to relax him. "And he'll go on tour with the other band."
To Mac's surprise, Fitz smiled. "Who would have guessed? Of all the ways I thought he might find to get away from us here at the base, I never would have come up with this. I thought he'd go to the Skolian embassy when he realized we wouldn't stop him."
"I'm not so sure he wants to go home," Mac said. "Except for his sister's kids. He's been sort of surrogate father to them."
"Two boys, right?" Fitz asked. "One grown and the other—what? Ten?"
"Eight, actually," Mac said. "They use an octal system, so they say ten. The other boy is eighteen. I don't know much else; the family kept them away from our Allied delegation." Dryly he said, "We weren't exactly welcome on Del's world."
"So I gathered." Fitz tapped his desk, bringing up a screen, and flicked through a few displays. "The sister never married?"
"I don't think so." From what Mac understood, the Skolian government had interfered for some reason, something to do with her children, but he had no idea what. He was still figuring out the convoluted relationship between the Skolian Assembly and the Ruby Dynasty. The Assembly and royal family split the rule of the Imperialate, half an elected government and half dynastic. But that had only been since the war, which had ended with a bizarre twist when the Ruby Pharaoh overthrew her own government. Before that, she had been a titular ruler without political power.
From cryptic remarks Del had made, Mac gathered that in the past, the Assembl
y had mistreated his family in some way, spurring the pharaoh's coup at the end of the war. Politics had poisoned his family in some inscrutable Skolian way Mac had yet to figure out, but Del wouldn't talk about it.
"Do you think Del wants to stay on Earth?" Fitz asked.
"Yes, I think so, if this business with Prime-Nova works out," Mac said. "If he bombs, they'll probably drop him after his contract ends. I don't know what he'd want to do then."
Fitz sat, rubbing his chin. "How much time is involved in making and marketing these cubes?"
"His contract says he has to complete both within three years."
"And his tour?"
"It depends on how he does," Mac said. "If he plummets, they'll yank him after a few performances." He hoped he wasn't being prophetic. "Mind Mix is one of their biggest acts. They can't risk an unpopular opener."
"Do you think he will—what was the word? Plummet."
That was the billion-dollar question. Literally. "He has the talent," Mac said. "What he does with it is a different question. He's never performed in concert. He breaks rules, too, and he walks the edge of what the censors will allow. He could fail miserably." He paused. "With Prime-Nova backing him, though, he has a chance of a good career."
Fitz smiled wryly. "It isn't what you usually associate with the Ruby Dynasty."
No kidding. Mac was having trouble deciphering the general's reaction. "If you want the contract broken, we can manage. It will take lawyers, but given Del's identity, I think we can do it."
"Broken!" Fitz actually laughed. "Mac, it's brilliant. You've convinced him to stay on Earth and given him a reason to keep you around."
"You want him to do this?"
"His family can hardly accuse us of forcing him to stay if he insists on it. And he'll be right here, under our control." He considered Mac. "How does this front-liner thing work? Do you manage him, too? The more we keep you involved, the better."
Mac couldn't believe he was hearing this. "I just get him the contract. I'm not a manager. I don't have enough experience. And it would take a lot of time away from my other clients."