"I don't want scratches on the hull," Del told Wharton.
"No scratches?" Wharton looked bewildered. "You mean on a starship?"
Del glowered at him. "Yeah, my starship."
"We can arrange any type of docking area you like," Wharton assured him. "Indoors, outdoors, underground."
"But can you protect the finish?" Del insisted. He felt Tyra struggling not to laugh at him. Every ship took a beating from the cosmic ray flux in space and whatever else spun, floated, or radiated out there. Only a nut would try to preserve the finish. It was a little annoying how easily he convinced Wharton he was an eccentric, but it let him ask nosy questions without looking suspicious.
"Nothing will harm your ship in our facility," Wharton told him. "And if it's damaged in space, we can see to its upkeep."
"Good," Del said. "Can't have a cheap-looking yacht."
"No, absolutely not," Wharton said.
"I'd like to look at the docking areas," Del said. "To see if they match the yacht I'm buying. I don't want your décor to clash with my ship."
Wharton spluttered his sip of deluxo.
"You all right?" Del asked.
"Uh, yes. Yes, certainly." Wharton took a monogrammed cloth out of his pocket and wiped his mouth. The cup cleaned itself, absorbing the splattered java. Then Wharton indicated a gleaming white corridor that veered to the left. "This way, please."
Del walked with him, looking around, presumably to see if the décor clashed with anything. Mentally, he reached out, searching for Staver. He picked up a flicker, but nothing definite. He needed to be closer.
"I'm considering buying a yacht in the Dieshan line imported from the Skolians," Del said.
Tyra made a choked sound, and Del barely restrained himself from glaring at her. Yeah, all right, Diesha served as a military headquarters. Kelric's commanders there were about as likely to make yachts for rich playboys as they were to pull out their teeth without an anesthetic. But it was the first place that came to mind. So Del gave Wharton his best smile and added, "You've heard of them, of course."
"Ah—yes, of course." Wharton cleared his throat.
"Good. Then you know how to house Skolian yachts."
Wharton blinked. "It's different than housing Allied yachts?"
Del stopped smiling. "You don't know how to look after the ships in your care?"
"We do, yes, certainly," Wharton said quickly. "We have the best facilities on the Eastern Seaboard."
Del scowled at him. "Maybe I'd better see these facilities for non-Allied ships."
"We have several Eubian ships in dock," Wharton said. "We can look at that docking area if you wish."
Tyra shot a warning glance at Del. Damn it! She didn't want him near the ships.
It's safe, he thought. I'd know if Tarex was here. I'd feel it.
No, she answered.
Why not? he thought, frustrated. Even if he was here—which he's not—what could he do? Just grab me? I don't think so.
Her gaze had turned steely. The answer is no.
Del gritted his teeth. If he pushed, she would make him leave the port.
"I don't want to go close," Del said grudgingly. "Just see the place."
Wharton let out a breath. "I'll be glad to take you."
It didn't surprise Del that Wharton looked relieved. The last thing he probably wanted was a whacko rock star bothering the other clients.
A carpeted fast-walk whisked them down glowing corridors, past panels that showed holos of local attractions. When they came around the corner, Del found himself staring at a life-sized holo of himself wailing one of his songs from Starlight.
"Hey!" Jud laughed at his side. "Man, they'll put up any crackpot's picture."
Del glared at him. "Ha, ha." He could feel Wharton holding back a laugh. Bah.
"Right this way," Wharton said, escorting them off the walk.
They went under an archway of blue flexi-glass with lights darting within it like fireflies. It opened into a cavernous docking bay. Everything was gigantic, including the serrated doors and the clamps to hold ships. It looked like all the other docking bays Del's family used, but from what he had gathered about the commercial liner he had planned to take tomorrow, most ships docked outside a building, in far less protected areas.
Wharton brought them out on a platform that overlooked the bay. Del rested his hands on a metallic rail at its edge. In the distance, two Eubian Escort ships flanked a golden yacht. He reached outward with his mind, but he picked up only the people around him. Jud was having the time of his life watching Del make an idiot out of himself. Even Cameron and Tyra were amused, at least as long as Del stayed here, away from the Eubian ships.
Del reached out, searching, searching, searching . . .
Pain!
He slammed up his mental barriers so fast, he staggered and lost his balance. As he lurched to the side, Tyra caught his arm, and Cameron put a hand under Del's other elbow.
"Mister Arden, are you all right?" Wharton asked.
"F-fine," Del said. "I had a—" What? "A lot to drink last night." It was a weak excuse given that he could easily afford the nanomeds that would cure a hangover. But he couldn't think of anything else.
"Can I get you anything?" Wharton asked. "We have an excellent lounge for patrons. You can relax, put up your feet."
"Yeah. Ultra." Del straightened up. "Thanks."
A mental knock came at Del's mind. Taking a breath, he eased down his defenses. Tyra? he thought.
What happened? she asked.
Someone is here. In Tarex's yacht. In pain. Terrible pain. I think it's Staver. I recognize his mind.
Damn. That probably means Tarex is there.
I didn't feel an Aristo.
"Mister Arden?" Wharton asked.
Del nodded unevenly to him. "Lead on."
As Wharton escorted them though the port on a fast-walk, Tyra thought, If Tarex isn't there, he has no reason to leave Staver in pain.
Tarex probably isn't the only person with Aristo genetics on those ships.
You aren't going to stay here, Tyra told him. We're leaving.
Del stiffened. Don't pull that authoritarian crap on me.
You listen to me, Del, she thought. If you blow off every person who reminds you of your brother, you'll get killed. You gave your word not to argue, and I expect you to abide by that.
Was his resentment of Kelric that obvious? Del let out a breath. All right. Then he raised his barriers.
"Maybe it's better if I go home," Del told Wharton. "Thanks for the tour. I'll be in touch."
"Please do." Wharton handed him a glossy cube that fit into Del's palm. "That has my contact info, as well as displays about Centauri Travel. Feel free to comm me anytime, day or night."
"Thanks." He had to admit, Wharton did his job well. Del thought he might really buy a yacht; they had good facilities here, and it would make seeing Chaniece and the boys easier than if he took commercial flights. But he had a more important matter to settle first. Tyra expected him to leave Staver trapped in agony.
Del couldn't do it.
Jud paced the Centauri Lounge, restless and unsettled. "What's taking so long?"
"They've only been gone a few moments," Tyra said. "Even Del can't go to the bathroom that fast."
"I suppose," Jud said. He never knew what to make of Tyra. She wasn't anything like the women he knew. She looked feminine, but he had the feeling she could kill without blinking.
"Something about this doesn't feel right," Jud said.
Tyra tapped her gauntlet comm. "Cameron, are you with Del?"
His voice came out of the gauntlet. "Yes. Why?"
"Just checking." She sent Jud a questioning look.
"Del wouldn't screw around," Jud said. He wanted to convince himself as much as Tyra. "Especially not when we have that huge concert tomorrow night."
"Then why are you worried?"
He grimaced. "I'm always worried about Del."
"You don't
usually bring it up." She took off across the lounge, striding toward the entrance to the men's bathroom.
"Hey!" Jud went after her. "You can't go in there."
By the time Jud caught up with her, she was in the spa that Centauri Travel modestly called a bathroom, with its marble stalls and tiled bathing pool. She was kneeling next to an unconscious man who lay sprawled on the floor.
Tyra looked up with a jerk. "I swear, I'm going to fry his damned royal ass!"
Jud stared at her. "Oh, shit."
It was Cameron who lay there.
With the fast-walk carrying him as he ran, Del flew through the port, speeding past everyone else. He knew Cameron would never forgive him. The Marine should have taken Del's mai-quinjo training more seriously. Del hadn't been sure himself what he could do in a real engagement. But the moves had come easily to him, honed by all his live concerts, and the mesh woven into his pants added intelligence to his actions, enhancing his efforts by contracting or releasing the leather. He had barely managed to knock Cameron out, but barely was enough.
Del had no doubt that when Kelric found out about this, he would pull Del off Earth faster than Del could grunt. But Del couldn't leave Staver condemned to a life of torture. As long as Tarex was on Earth, they could do something; once Tarex left, their chances of helping Staver were nil. The Star Road would die.
When Del had touched Staver's mind in the docking bay, he had caught only a hint of the exec—but given the intensity of what he found, that had been enough. Staver had commed him last night to talk about the rescue they planned for the provider. Del felt sure he could have convinced Staver not to go with the rescue team. Staver would be free now. But no, Del hadn't been available, because he had been submerged in his stupid, wretched bliss-node.
Del knew if he tried to help, he could become a prisoner. It scared the hell out of him. He was no good to the Aristos as a Ruby prince; if they linked him into the Dyad, he would die in a massive convulsion that made the ones after his concerts seem like nothing. But that would be better than the horror his life would otherwise become. All his instincts pushed him to retreat, seek protection, let the military take care of this mess. But he had felt the truth in his contact with Staver's mind; Tarex would leave today rather than risk losing the prize he had captured.
Del couldn't turn back. He had done nothing worthwhile with his life. If he were willing to admit it to himself, it was one reason he resented his family. It was easier to be angry at them than to acknowledge how useless he felt to help them. The Aristos had shattered his family, torn apart their lives, and turned them into interstellar pawns. He refused to let the Traders destroy a man who had fought them so well, a man Del might have convinced to stay in safety if he had been there when Staver needed to talk.
No more, he thought. No more will I stand by.
Del paused in front of the yacht, between the two Escorts, in full view of anyone within the three starships. They all had the circular shape of vessels that rotated in space, creating the effect of gravity, but they were too small to allow for much. He couldn't sneak into the yacht; they would catch him. More to the point, it would be obvious he was up to something they didn't want to happen. He had a better plan, one just bizarre enough, it might work, and let him get out with Staver, too.
So Del went up the ramp to the hatch—and knocked. "Hello?" he said in English. "Anybody home?"
Nothing.
Del knocked again. "Hello?"
A male voice came from within, speaking in the stilted phrases of mesh-translated language. "Who are you?"
"My name is Del Arden. Lord Tarex wanted to talk about licensing my work. I came to apologize for the way I acted."
More time passed. Del waited, his pulse racing. They would be monitoring his vital signs, which undoubtedly showed his fear. They probably assumed he was afraid of Tarex. Why wouldn't they? All "inferior" forms of life were supposed to fear Aristos.
Del was risking his freedom on his belief they wouldn't hold him prisoner if he came to talk business. They couldn't bargain with the Allieds if they grabbed the very people they wanted to work with. And Aristos liked one thing even more than providers: money. They were willing to deal with people they didn't consider human—which included everyone in the universe except themselves—if it would make them richer.
The airlock irised open. "Please enter," a voice said.
Taking a deep breath, Del went inside. As the airlock snapped closed behind him, an archway shimmered open in front. He stepped through into a gold and blue corridor with a lush carpet. A tall, strongly built man was approaching. He was larger than Dell and wore an elegant black jumpsuit, a surreal contrast to Del's leather and metal. The man didn't have red eyes, but his hair shimmered faintly, suggesting he had some Aristo heritage. But he wasn't an Aristo. Although his jumpsuit hid most of his neck, the edge of a bronze collar showed above it. A slave collar. Nausea swept over Del.
"My greetings," the man said. "I am Bronzeson. Please excuse my English. I know only a little."
"Hey." Del smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. "I've never spoken it that well, either. I sing it better."
Bronzeson paused, probably listening to a translation in his ear comm. Then he chuckled. "Yes. Lord Tarex likes your music."
"He probably doesn't much like me." Del said, doing his best to look rueful.
"That you have come to apologize helps. I send message to him. He is here in an hour." The man lifted his hand toward a plush lounge ahead of them. "Please, be our guest. We have delicacy and fine wine." He didn't seem the least fazed to invite a man dressed like a thug onto the ship.
"Thanks," Del said. An hour. That was all the time he had. It didn't surprise him that Tarex made him wait. An Aristo would never let himself appear eager to meet someone who had treated him rudely. But he was coming, which meant Del had to finish his business fast.
"This yacht is great," Del said. He spoke slowly so the man's translator could keep up with him. "I'm thinking of buying one, too."
"Ah." Bronzeson beamed at him. "Take a look around. Lord Tarex has flawless taste and elegance."
Del had his own thoughts on that. Everything gleamed with too much metal, a stark blue and gold that seemed harsh to him. Whatever security measures were in place remained hidden. Given that Bronzeson had invited him onto the yacht, the ship would treat him as an honored guest. That was Del's only protection; it wouldn't immediately kill him when he started trouble. But that would only give him a few seconds to neutralize its defenses. It wasn't enough time.
As they entered into the lounge, Del lowered his mental shields. Bronzeson was easy to sense; Tarex would look with favor on him for hosting this guest, a man Tarex could make money from. Bronzeson couldn't imagine how anyone could refuse the Aristo. Nor could Tarex. Del's behavior at the party hadn't offended Tarex after Ricki "explained"; the Aristo took it as a given that empaths feared him. And of course Del crawled back to apologize.
Gritting his teeth, Del withdrew his awareness from Bronzeson and spread it through the ship. He didn't sense Tarex, but he did catch a sense of wrongness similar to what he felt around the Aristo. Where . . . ?
He hit the cavity.
Del froze. No! His mind reeled. He had slammed into someone part-Aristo, one of Tarex's officers. It said a great deal about how Tarex viewed him, that the Aristo had his most important crewmember elsewhere while Bronzeson met Del. But now that Del had found him, he couldn't avoid the mind of the officer. It pressed on him, suffocating, and Del mentally fled like a gazelle running from a lion.
"Are you all right?" Bronzeson asked.
"My apologies," Del said. "I'm not used to being on an Aristo ship." He didn't have to pretend to look shaky.
"A lord such as Tarex can be overwhelming even when he isn't present," Bronzeson said. "You are an empath, yes?"
Del tensed. "Why do you ask that?"
"Lord Tarex said you were." He lifted his hands as if to shrug. "I don't know how th
ey can tell, but apparently it's quite clear from your performances."
That surprised Del, not that Tarex knew, but that he and his people openly acknowledged Del had the traits they sought in their most coveted slaves. Maybe he wasn't the only one playing the game of Oh, isn't this all so normal?
Del had nothing against Bronzeson, but he had to act soon or he would never get off the ship before Tarex returned. He couldn't search for Staver with Bronzeson here. Nor would Bronzeson let him near the bridge, and Del needed to go there to disable the security. Fighting Bronzeson wouldn't be easy; he was a great deal larger than Del. But Del wasn't without resources.
Sorry, he thought to Bronzeson. Then he spun around and kicked. Fast.
Mai-quinjo had two modes: kill and disable. Del knocked Bronzeson over with the kick, then dropped next to him and applied pressure with his mind and hands until his host slumped into a heap. Done! And now his time was running out faster than sand in an ancient hourglass.
Del ran through the lounge and a dining area beyond. The tiny bridge was next, the same place it would be on a Skolian yacht.
A male voice spoke in Highton, the language of the Aristos, using the clipped tones of a ship's EI. "You are identified as a valued guest, but please explain yourself."
Del inhaled with relief. Explain yourself. It didn't just attack. Tarex had probably told the EI to accommodate Del; otherwise, it would have denied him access to the bridge. It would never occur to an Aristo that an empath, which Aristos viewed as the lowest form of humanity, would attack the ship. Their arrogance about their power was also their weakness. But the EI was undoubtedly contacting Tarex right at this moment.
"Bronzeson needs help," Del told it as he strode to the controls at the pilot's chair. Hieroglyphics covered them, but he couldn't read Highton any more than Iotic.
"You knocked out Bronzeson," the ship said. It had to be an expensive EI, to use idiom so well.