He ran through a tangle of light-amps and morph engines, came around a looming pile of equipment, and plowed into a cluster of people standing around the base of the tower: Ricki, Staver, assorted techs, and four very large men from the stage crew.
Mac strode up behind Ricki. "Is he onstage yet?"
She jumped and spun around. "Mac! Don't scare me that way."
"You have to get him off the stage!" Mac said. "Now."
Ricki met his gaze. "No."
"This isn't some special effect!" Mac tried to push past her. The tower lift was gone, but he'd climb the stairs if he had to.
Two stagehands caught Mac's arm, one on each side of him. "I'm sorry," one of the mammoths said. "You can't go up there."
"Let me go!" Mac struggled to pull away. "Ricki, listen. You can't let him do this."
She met his gaze. "I promised I wouldn't let you stop him."
"Where are Tyra and Cameron?" It was all Mac could do to keep from shouting.
"Checking the area," Ricki said. "Like they always do."
Mac raised his arm, but one of the stagehands stopped him before he could activate his wrist comm. They were young, big, strong, and not out of breath, none of which applied to him.
"Don't hurt him," Ricki told them. She spoke more gently to Mac. "I'm sorry. But you can't comm Tyra or Cameron."
"Ricki, you have to listen to me," Mac said. " 'Carnelians' is a fire bomb."
"Maybe," she said. "We'll see."
"Why does it upset you?" Staver asked. "Del's material is cleaner than what you hear from a lot of bands. It's how he sings that causes problems, not what he says."
Mac gave an unsteady laugh. "You think I'm worried about sex? God, I wish. He's about to do one of the most politically inflammatory songs ever written." He willed Ricki to listen. "You hate politics. Believe me, you don't want him up there."
With a comment like that, the Ricki he had worked with all these years would have immediately pulled Del off the stage. This stranger just crossed her arms and said, "He goes on."
Mac clenched his fists, straining against the stagehands. He couldn't fight these hulking youths. He had to depend on Tyra and Cameron. Neither knew the "Carnelians Finale," but surely they would stop Del, especially when they heard the lyrics. If they would just get back here. He wasn't far from the stage, only a few yards back, behind a bank of light-amps. The stage remained dark, but the music was working up the audience. Del was just barely visible in the dark, already at the top of the tower. He raised his hand into the air.
"That's the signal to start the show," a tech said into her comm, probably to someone in the control booth.
The lights came up below Del. As he stalked down the ramp, the music swelled and holos formed around him, first green, then red and orange like flames.
"Don't do it," Mac said to the solitary figure striding down the ramp. "Del, be wise. Don't do it."
When Del reached the stage, he strode to its edge while the music crashed to its final ringing note. Jud immediately started the piece again. It could repeat as many times as the band wanted. In rehearsal, they played it over and over, improvising. Although sometimes Del sang a few verses, usually he left it as an instrumental piece.
Not tonight.
When the music quieted, Del's voice rolled over the audience. Desperate, Mac struggled with the stagehands. When Del shouted, "This is for you, Tarex," Mac swung around to Ricki. "You have to stop him! Don't you understand what he's doing?"
She answered quietly. "Maybe people need to hear him."
Mac stood transfixed as Del's vocals swept over the crowd, carried by orbs, holocams, the night air. You killed my brother, tortured my mother, shattered my father, murdered my sister.
"Gods," Staver said. "He sings as if that's all true."
Mac spoke numbly. "It is."
Light from the stage washed across Ricki's face as she watched Del. "I've never heard him do anything like this."
I'm no golden hero in the blazing skies. I'm no fair-haired genius hiding in disguise. I'm only a singer, it's all that I can do. But I'm still alive, and I'm coming after you.
"He's singing to the Aristos," Mac said.
Staver stood transfixed. "Why would the Traders devastate the family of an Allied citizen?"
Mac knew billions of people would soon be asking that same question. For every person who thought it was just a song, two more would wonder if Del were singing about himself. He struggled futilely with the stagehands. When Del shouted, "I'll lay your guilt bare," Mac felt as if an avalanche were crashing down on them.
"My God," Ricki breathed. "He's magnificent."
"Magnificent?" Mac couldn't believe it. "Do you have any idea how the Traders react to criticism? With one song, he could shatter any hope we ever had of diplomatic relations with them."
"You want 'diplomatic relations' with monsters," Staver said harshly. "Listen to the first verse. It's all there. Your people need to hear it."
"Not like this!" Mac said. "It will destroy everything."
The music thundered to its crescendo and Del's voice soared into the final note. Finally the music dropped into the quiet opening, and Del stopped singing.
Mac sagged in the grip of the stagehands. Thank God. It was over.
"That was for all of you," Del told the audience. Then he raised his chin and said, "This one is for my people."
"What the hell?" someone said.
Mac started at the unexpected voice. A group of techs had gathered around them, all watching Del.
"My people?" one asked. "What is he talking about?"
The drums joined the chord progression, and Del sang—
In perfect, unaccented Iotic.
Staver's mouth dropped open. "Gods almighty."
"No," Mac said dully.
Staver swung around to him. "He's a Skolian lord?"
"If you only knew," Mac said. "Ricki, pull him off."
Tyra stalked up next to Mac, her gaze fixed on Del. "What the hell is he doing?" She looked at the stagehands restraining Mac. "What's going on here?"
"Tyra, stop him," Mac said. "Listen to what he's saying."
Tyra paused, her head tilted as she listened. Watching her, Mac feared she would refuse. Then she exhaled and strode toward the stage. The two stagehands who weren't holding Mac blocked her way. Although she countered them, whirling right and left, Mac had the impression she was holding back. Her fighting style looked like a cross between martial arts and street brawling. They kept trying to restrain her—
Tyra suddenly turned into a blur, like a black streak. She threw both hulks so fast, Mac couldn't even see what she did. One of Mac's captors let him go and waded into the fray, but it made no difference. Within seconds, all three mammoths were crumpled on the ground.
Tyra turned to Ricki. "Get him off the stage. Or I'm going out there."
"Look at them!" Ricki jerked her hand at the crowd. "You see how worked up they are? You pull him off, and we could lose control of the audience."
Mac needed no telepathy to read Tyra's thought. She could handle three stagehands, but a million people was another story altogether.
Tyra walked slowly onto the stage. When Mac strained in the grip of his guard, the man said, "I can't let you go, Mister Tyler. I'm sorry."
The stagehands that Tyra had knocked over picked themselves off the ground, brushing dirt off their arms. When they saw Tyra on the edge of the stage, they headed out after her.
"Take it slow," Ricki said. "If you start fighting onstage, it could cause a riot."
The men nodded and kept to the edge of the stage as they moved into the light. Tyra was about ten yards from the front. Del had seen her, but he kept singing, rising into the climax of the song. He held the last note longer this time, but finally, mercifully, he let it go. As the music dropped into the intro, Mac sagged with relief. Whatever damage that furious challenge was going to do, at least it was over.
Del watched Tyra while the music cycled. Then he spun around to the
other side of the stage. It looked like a dance move, but Mac knew he had sighted Cameron, who was coming from that side, in front of where Jud sat at his morpher. Jud's gaze flicked defiantly from Cameron to Tyra as he continued the song. Anne and Randall seemed bewildered, but they kept playing, too.
Del took a deep, visible breath—and moved to the very front of the stage, right on the edge. He was standing above a sea of people clapping, dancing, reaching for him, their energy driven by the music. If he took one more step, he would fall into that seething mass of humanity. Mac understood then why Tyra and Cameron weren't going closer. If they spooked Del and he jumped, the devil only knew what would happen. He had provoked the crowd to the edge of rational thought; if he fell now, he could end up in the hospital. Or worse.
Then Del raised his head and shouted into the mike. "This one is for you, Jaibriol Qox." He began again—
In a third language.
The blood drained from Mac's face. He had never had cause to use that language, but he could never mistake the harsh words. Oh, yes, he knew. Del was singing in Highton, the language of the Trader Aristos.
Of their emperor, Jaibriol Qox.
Mac sank down to sit on a light-amp. His guard only eased his hold enough for Mac to move that much. The other stagehands were edging around the stage, closing on Tyra and Cameron.
And Del sang the "Carnelians Finale."
"He's going to start an interstellar war," Mac said dully.
Del was the Aristo's living nightmare, the prince everyone had overlooked, the survivor who came to fight them with one of the most powerful weapons in existence.
A song.
As Del finished the Highton version of the "Finale," he lowered his arm with the mike. This time when Tyra came forward, he stayed put. Mac didn't know what Tyra thought, but she was moving with caution, as if Del were a bomb ready to explode. She walked over and stood eye-to-eye with him. Then, slowly, she took the mike. The crowd was clapping like thunder, but quieter pockets of people were just watching. Staring. More and more, they were realizing Tyra wasn't part of the show.
The lights went out and the music cut off.
"Hey!" The protests swelled in a multitude of voices.
Mac laughed raggedly. "A little late, don't you think?" Why it had taken the concert management so long to cut the power, he had no idea. It was only when he looked at his wrist-mesh that he realized almost no time had passed. Del had blasted through the song three times in three languages in three minutes.
* * *
In New York, the giant holoscreen that dominated Times Square showed a man singing with fury, his music filling the humid night air as a Manhattan crowd gathered below to watch.
In Peking, China, holoscreens constructed from the sides of entire skyscrapers showed the giant figure of the man singing, his music filling the city.
The song poured out into space, to Mars, the asteroid belt, the moons of Jupiter and Saturn and beyond. The Kyle relays the Allieds had licensed from the Skolians kicked in and hurtled the music across space.
Deep in the Skolian Imperialate, in the Amphitheater of Memories where the Assembly met, thousands of tiers rose up like a vertical city. The delegates of an empire convened to discuss, debate, and vote on the business of a thousand peoples. Giant screens all over the amphitheater showed the speakers. When a broadcast from Earth suddenly replaced the proceedings, protests rumbled—until people recognized the singer. He had never sat in Assembly or spoken at any government convocation. Almost no one had met him. But his resemblance to the man who sat as the Ruby Consort was unmistakable.
The man sang in Iotic, his voice soaring. On the dais in the center of the amphitheater, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a giant man with gold skin—the Ruby Pharaoh and Imperator—stood together, watching the screen as the man sang: I'm no golden hero in the blazing skies, I'm no fair-haired genius hiding in disguise.
And even farther across the stars, in the largest empire ever known to humanity, the Trader Aristos gathered in the Amphitheater of Providence to rule their glittering, brutal empire, tier upon tier of them, all the same, with shimmering black hair and carnelian eyes. Their emperor stood on a balcony, his hands planted on the railing. As one, they watched the giant screen where a young prince shouted in Highton:
I'll never kneel
Beneath your Highton stare
I'm here and I'm real
Your living nightmare.
XXVIII: Sunrise Eyes
Mac had never seen Fitz McLane this drained. The general sat in the large chair behind his desk and rubbed his eyes, then dropped his arm.
"Hannah Loughten will join the conference from Australia," Fitz said. "Via a holo link."
Mac nodded. They were fortunate the President of the Allied Worlds was here on Earth, but she would have linked in from anywhere. "Does she want Del deported?"
"She hasn't said." Fitz leaned back in his chair. "That's moot, anyway. When Del can travel, Imperator Skolia will pull him out of here faster than a starship can invert. We'll be lucky if the Skolians don't sever all relations with us."
"I'm not so sure," Mac said. "I've never seen Staver Aunchild so grimly pleased. His people resent our dealing with Aristos." Dryly he said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they think Del should be canonized."
Fitz gave him a sour look. "His family are the ones we have to deal with. Let's just say my conversations with Imperator Skolia have been less than friendly."
Mac could imagine too well. "Which of them will be in the conference?"
"The Imperator," Fitz said. "The Ruby Pharaoh. The First Councilor of their Assembly. Queen Roca, Del's mother. Naaj Majda, the General of the Pharaoh's Army." He paused, squinting at a display on his desk. "And some person named Chaniece."
Mac sat up straighter. "Chaniece is Del's twin sister."
"Oh, great," Fitz said. "Just great. Another hothead."
Mac smiled. "She's the opposite, Fitz. They probably asked her to join the link because she may be the only person alive who can consistently calm Del down."
"I hope so." Fitz restlessly smoothed his sleeve. It was telling of how rough his night had been, that the self-ironing uniform could no longer stay military-sharp. "How is Del this morning?"
"He was asleep when I checked with Doctor Chandler at the hospital." Mac would never forget how Del had collapsed after the concert. "He was in pretty bad shape."
"I saw the report." Fitz's grimace heightened the dark circles under his eyes. "Tarex did all that to him?"
Mac's anger surged. "He beat the crap out of Del, whipped the skin off his back, and gave him neural shocks all over his upper body." It was no wonder Del had exploded last night.
Now they had to deal with the fallout of that three-minute blast.
Del didn't want to leave his room at the base. To say he dreaded the upcoming conference was like saying he had slept a little in cryo.
Although his body still ached, he felt much better than yesterday, when he had escaped Tarex. Physically. Emotionally he wasn't ready for anything. But he had to face the consequences of his concert. He, General McLane, and Mac would link into the conference from here in Annapolis. President Loughten would connect from Australia, and Del's family from the Orbiter, except for Chaniece, who would use a console in their home on Lyshriol. As the eldest member of the Ruby Dynasty on Lyshriol, she was now head of the family there, in charge of their holdings and the Valdoria branch of the royal family.
Today Del dressed far more conservatively than usual, grey slacks and a white dress shirt with diamond cufflinks, the type of clothes his family wanted him to wear. He stood in the middle of his living room, looking at nothing. He had seen no one but Doctor Chandler since he woke up this morning. But no matter what happened, he didn't regret what he had done. Whether or not anyone had heard, truly heard, what he had sung, he didn't know. But it was out there.
Del craved his bliss-node. He wanted nothing more than to submerge in the forgiving euphoria of his
dreams. The agitation he felt when he went more than a few hours with a session had plagued him all morning. How he would make it through the long days without it, he didn't know, but make it he would, because he had sworn to stop. The joy it offered was false, an escape that drained his life and his music.
Doctor Chandler was helping, giving him neural blockers that eased his need. But nothing took it away. The hunger always lurked in his mind. Yet no matter how difficult it became, he would keep the vow he had made to himself. No more would he waste his life in the counterfeit promises of a bliss that had never truly existed.
A chime came from his door. Del tensed. He had put off leaving for so long, someone had come looking for him.
"Claude, who's outside my room?" Del asked.
"Mac and Ricki," his EI said.
"Oh. Okay." His shoulders relaxed a bit. "Let them in."
As soon as the door shimmered away, Mac strode inside. "How are you?" He came over to Del, then stopped, blinking. "Good Lord. You look like a Ruby prince."
Del smiled. "Well, that's a coincidence."
Ricki came in more slowly. She spoke in a subdued voice. "You carry it well."
"Hi." Del wanted her to hurry over to him, pull him into her arms, say how happy she was to see him. She did none of those things. She did come closer, though.
"Are you nervous, babe?" she asked.
"I guess so." If only she would—what? Act like she loved him? Once he had told Mac he was incapable of loving a woman. So much had changed since then, but even as an empath, he couldn't tell where he stood with her. Either she didn't know herself or else she hid it so deep, he couldn't pick it up.
"You'll be all right," Mac told him.
Del just looked at him. They both knew it wasn't true.
The door chimed again.
"Guess it doesn't matter if I'm ready." Del's attempt to laugh sounded forced. "Claude, who is that?"
"I don't know," his EI answered. "I don't recognize the woman or the guards."
Huh. It couldn't be Tyra or Anne. It seemed odd McLane would send someone Claude didn't know, but they couldn't be here if the general hadn't approved their presence. "Let them in."